The Throne Room.
At the highest point, countless swords melted together by dragonfire twisted and coiled, forming the ultimate symbol of power in the Seven Kingdoms.
They glinted coldly under the thin light filtering through the high windows, looking solemn and frigid.
Seated upon this throne, however, was a young king who seemed entirely out of place: the Great Joffrey Baratheon, the First of His Name.
A crown of gold and red sat atop his head, and he was draped in magnificent velvet robes, yet he yawned incessantly without any sense of decorum.
This wasn't entirely his fault, though, as he had found some new amusements in recent days.
According to word from a certain Ser Meryn Trant, who preferred to remain anonymous, His Majesty had recently taken a keen interest in using a crossbow to shoot prostitutes brought from Silk Street for sport, often carrying on late into the night.
Below, almost all members of the Small Council were gathered.
Kevan Lannister, the master of laws, had a face as stern and rigid as the rocks of Casterly Rock.
Grand Maester Pycelle, whose long white beard nearly reached his chest, was as drowsy as the King, though he was standing—clearly demonstrating a superior level of skill in napping.
Varys, the Master of Whispers, with his smooth, shiny bald head...
And seated on a slightly lower chair beneath the iron throne was the man who truly ruled this country: the hand of the king, Lord Tywin Lannister.
Only a certain master of coin was missing; it was unclear if no one had notified him of the meeting.
However, at this moment in the Throne Room, all members of the Small Council remained silent as a sickly voice prattled on incessantly.
"By the Seven... *cough cough cough*... witness the Father's justice..."
"
Lord Gyles Rosby stood before the throne, his body hunched over, coughing fitfully. His sallow complexion looked as if he might draw his last breath at any moment.
He held a silk handkerchief to his mouth, each cough appearing to take all his strength, as if he were trying to hack up his very lungs.
His shrill, stubborn voice, punctuated by coughing, was like nails scraping on a chalkboard, grating on everyone's nerves.
"I truly don't know... *cough*... don't know since when the laws of the realm, the sacred laws, could... *cough*... could be trampled upon at will by the Kingsguard!"
"And the one killed was... *cough cough cough*... a captain of the City Watch!"
As he spoke, he beat his chest as if he were harboring an endless well of grievance.
Seeing him like this, Kevan, who was suppressing a mounting headache, reminded him: "Perhaps you should have a drink of water first, Lord Gyles. In case you cough yourself to death... well, in any case, have some water."
But Gyles was not at all appreciative, stubbornly continuing his cry for justice: "Mother, have mercy on us all..."
"
"I... I only... *cough cough cough*... Sven Rosby was my only close relative left!"
"I had intended, with the blessing of the Seven, to take him as my ward... *cough*, so that he might inherit Rosby in the future and continue the family's glory!"
"The Warrior gave him courage, and he became a captain of the City Watch... but..."
As he spoke, he fell into a sudden, violent fit of coughing, nearly losing his breath.
Kevan hurried forward, gently patting his back. It took quite an effort for the man to recover without spraying blood across the iron throne on the spot.
"But he's dead just like that!"
Lord Gyles finally caught his breath, his voice suddenly rising: "Died for no reason, died by the sword of the Kingsguard!"
"What of the Kingsguard's vows? The vows to protect the King and the laws?"
"The Crone's wisdom guides us to seek justice, and the Maiden's purity reflects the filth of this matter. This..."
"This is simply sacrilege!"
"A blatant desecration of the Seven and the laws of the realm!"
He rambled on, coughing and crying injustice as if House Rosby had suffered the greatest humiliation since the Dawn Age.
However, this performance was utterly tedious to those present.
Kevan's brow was furrowed, and Pycelle seemed on the verge of falling asleep again.
Lord Tywin, meanwhile, remained expressionless, as if wearing a golden mask.
Only Varys was kind enough to speak up and remind him: "With all due respect, my Lord, the Kingsguard do not swear to protect the law, only the King and the royal family."
At these words, Lord Gyles pointed at that shiny bald head, his chest heaving violently, nearly fainting away again.
He could only turn his head helplessly, looking toward the master of laws with pleading eyes.
With a helpless sigh, Kevan Lannister cleared his throat and turned toward the iron throne, bowing slightly.
According to protocol, he had to ask for the King's opinion first.
"Since Lord Gyles believes there is an injustice in the death of Captain Sven Rosby and demands a thorough investigation, then Your Majesty..."
"
*Snore~~~~ Haaa~~~~*
The abrupt snoring caused Kevan to freeze instantly.
He looked up to see Joffrey leaning askew against the cold blades of the throne, his mouth slightly open, a glistening trail of drool slowly sliding from the corner of his lip, sound asleep.
This utterly ridiculous sight made even the habitually solemn Kevan struggle to keep his lips from twitching.
After all, just this morning, this King had been exceptionally forceful with his grandfather and Hand, insisting on moving this Small Council meeting to the Throne Room, vowing to "personally attend to state affairs and let everyone witness the King's majesty."
But now...
"Your Majesty... Your Majesty?"
Kevan had to raise his voice, attempting to wake the great King who intended to "personally attend to state affairs."
However, Joffrey only muttered something unintelligible, adjusted his posture, and continued his pleasant dreams.
The scene was momentarily very awkward.
Then again, the iron throne was a sinister thing by design, forged from a thousand melted swords.
Rather than a throne, it was more like a pile of iron covered in sharp spikes; even the backrest had many thorns. Sitting on it was meant to be uncomfortable.
Its builder, Aegon the Conqueror, once said that a king should not sit easily.
But this thing frequently cut those who sat upon it, and after hundreds of years, those blades had likely accumulated countless magical damage buffs, giving people tetanus at the slightest touch.
It was said that even Maegor the Cruel, known as the strongest warrior in Targaryen history, was killed by this chair.
Yet upon such a chair, His Majesty Joffrey Baratheon, the First of His Name, could nap peacefully. Was this not a sign of divine right?
"Your Majesty!!!"
Seeing this, Kevan had to raise his voice even louder.
Joffrey jerked awake, his head nearly hitting a sharp blade.
He blinked blankly, and after seeing the crowd below, he quickly straightened his face, trying to regain his kingly dignity, even clearing his throat with feigned depth: "*Cough cough!!*"
"I heard you, I heard everything!"
"I was just thinking, I wasn't asleep. So... where were we?"
This absurd acting naturally couldn't fool the shrewd people present, but they all tactfully maintained neutral expressions.
Only Lord Gyles immediately stepped forward, repeating with a sob: "By the Seven!"
"I accuse the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister, of abusing his power and brutally murdering my only distant relative, the loyal captain of the City Watch, Sven Rosby!"
"Mother have mercy, Crone guide us, I beg you to uphold justice, Your Majesty!"
Perhaps because he was so emotional, the old fellow actually stopped coughing.
"Jaime Lannister?"
Upon hearing this name, Joffrey's eyes instantly lit up.
Perhaps it was due to a deep-seated hatred for the ambiguous rumors between Jaime and his mother, Cersei, or perhaps it stemmed from others' doubts about his own bloodline.
In any case, Joffrey had been annoyed with Jaime for a long time.
Hearing someone formally accuse Jaime now, he almost wanted to clap his hands in excitement.
"I knew it!"
Joffrey leaned forward, a smug smile spreading across his face, looking even happier than when he heard news of Renly's death.
"That kingslayer, thinking he's so high and mighty just because he's Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"
"Murdering an officer of the Gold Cloaks is a grave crime. I will punish him, I must punish him!"
He had wanted to shout "death penalty" directly, but a lingering shred of reason—or rather, fear of Tywin—made him swallow the words.
"I shall strip him of his position in the Kingsguard! Strip him of that white cloak!"
At these words, Tywin couldn't help but feel a flash of joy, which immediately plummeted to freezing point.
Because the wise King continued his proclamation: "I will send him to the North, to guard the Wall!"
"Yes, that's what we'll do. Let the kingslayer keep company with wildlings and the cold wind, hahaha!!"
Looking at the boy's smug expression, even Tywin couldn't help but grit his teeth.
Why did he suddenly feel such an urge to kill!
He did indeed want Jaime to take off the white cloak and return to inherit Casterly Rock, but certainly not to take off the white cloak only to put on the black!
That would be worse than being in the Kingsguard!
This was not just an insult to Jaime; it was trampling the dignity of House Lannister underfoot!
At this point, Tywin's feeling toward this foolish, impulsive grandson, who completely ignored the big picture, was no longer just disappointment, but a profound sense of powerlessness and rage.
Stupid!
Mad and stupid!
In hundreds of years, such a specimen had finally appeared; even the Mad King couldn't compare!
Suppressing his anger, Tywin spoke coldly, interrupting the gesticulating Joffrey: "Your Majesty!"
"A wise king, before rendering a judgment, needs to first understand the circumstances and reasons behind the event."
"To judge a high-ranking official like the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard based solely on one side of the story would hardly be convincing and would damage the crown's reputation for justice."
Hearing this, a flash of indignation crossed Joffrey's face, but given his past experiences, he didn't dare contradict Tywin directly. He merely waved his hand impatiently: "Then get on with it!"
"Hurry up!"
Tywin then shifted his gaze away from Joffrey, as if looking at him a moment longer would pollute his intellect, and gave Kevan a look.
Soon, Ser Adam Marbrand strode into the hall.
"Ser Adam."
Tywin didn't waste any words and asked directly: "Regarding the slaying of Captain Sven Rosby by Ser Jaime Lannister, report what you know truthfully to the iron throne."
He was very careful not to use the word 'murdered' but'slain,' and he had Adam report to the iron throne, not the King.
Ser Adam was clearly prepared; he stood tall, his voice loud and clear.
"Your Majesty, my Lords."
"According to my investigation, this matter began because Sven Rosby abused his power, openly accepted bribes, and attempted to arrest a commoner without sufficient evidence or legal procedure!"
"Ser Jaime was present, witnessed his dereliction of duty and bribery, and determined that it seriously tarnished the reputation of the City Watch. When the captain attempted to violently resist the law, Ser Jaime, in his capacity as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, exercised emergency enforcement powers on behalf of the hand of the king and executed him on the spot."
"In my opinion, Ser Jaime's actions are entirely justifiable under the law!"
This explanation was very smooth and placed all the blame on the deceased Sven Rosby.
After all, dead men tell no tales.
However, Lord Gyles was clearly extremely dissatisfied with this outcome.
He began coughing violently again, shouting back shrilly: "Lies!"
"By the Seven! These are all lies!"
"You are also a knight who swore in the Great Sept of Baelor; the Warrior would never recognize such a base excuse, Ser Adam Marbrand!"
"Who doesn't know you were once Lord Tywin's squire? Of course you would speak for his son! This is blatant shielding, a desecration of the Seven's just will!!"
His hoarse accusations sounded particularly piercing in the empty hall.
Ser Adam's face darkened, but he didn't immediately argue back; after all, the fact that he had been Tywin's squire was common knowledge.
Just then, a Gold Cloak soldier quickly and quietly entered the hall, walked straight to Lord Tywin, and whispered a few words in his ear.
Tywin listened expressionlessly and then nodded slightly.
He raised his hand to signal Lord Gyles, who was about to continue arguing, to be silent. Then his gaze swept across the room, finally landing on Joffrey.
"Your Majesty."
The Hand bowed slightly, his voice still devoid of any emotion. "Lord Gyles's questioning of the impartiality of Ser Adam's testimony is understandable."
"As it happens, I have found another key witness who might provide... more direct testimony."