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The atmosphere in the Small Council Chamber was as cold as a winter beyond the Wall.
Pycelle lay sprawled on the floor, tears streaming down his old face.
His trembling hand picked up a broken silver link, the proof of his mastery of healing arts.
Now, the link was shattered, along with his dignity.
Joffrey stood before him, his chest heaving violently, his face full of the pleasure of revenge.
He felt he was the only true master in this room.
Just then, a voice filled with anger and panic shattered the eerie scene.
"Joffrey! Stop!"
Cersei Lannister strode in quickly.
She had heard the commotion inside and could no longer sit still.
Her magnificent gown dragged over the scattered metal links on the floor, producing a grating, scraping sound.
"What are you doing? Do you know what you're doing?!"
Cersei rushed to Joffrey's side, grabbing his arm, her green eyes filled with disbelief.
"He is the Grand Maester! You tore off his chain! This is declaring war on the entire Citadel!"
"Declaring war?"
Joffrey shook off her hand and let out a scornful laugh.
"I am the King! I declare war on whomever I please!"
"He's nothing but an old dog I keep, and now he dares to bite his master!"
"Joffrey!"
Cersei's voice rose sharply.
She glanced at Pycelle, who lay on the floor like a dead dog, then lowered her voice, speaking in a volume only the two of them could hear.
"Don't forget whose man he is!"
"How many Golden Dragons does your grandfather spend every year to keep him obedient!"
"He is our Lannister's most important eyes in King's Landing!"
"You cripple him, who will watch that spider Varys for us?"
Cersei's words were filled with urgency.
Pycelle was a nail Tywin had driven deep into the heart of the Red Keep.
He knew too many secrets and had passed on too much information.
Now, Joffrey wanted to personally pull out this nail, for Lynn's sake?
This was utter stupidity!
The smugness on Joffrey's face froze.
Tywin again!
The Lannisters again!
He felt he had just managed to break free from that old man's shadow.
Now, his own mother wanted to push him back into it?
"So, I, the King, have no right to deal with a disloyal subject?"
Joffrey's voice turned dark.
"Because he takes Lannister gold, he can publicly defy me, question my decisions?"
"Cersei, whose mother are you, anyway?"
"I am your mother!"
Cersei looked at her son's twisted face, a chill running through her heart.
"I'm just trying to tell you, some pieces are still useful!"
"Enough."
A calm voice came from the side, interrupting the mother and son's whispered argument.
Lynn rose from the Hand of the King's seat and slowly walked over to them.
He first looked at Cersei's anxious face, then turned his gaze to the trembling Pycelle on the floor.
"The Queen Mother is right. Perhaps we should not be so harsh on an old man."
Hearing Lynn speak up for her, Cersei's expression faltered slightly.
Joffrey frowned with displeasure.
"Grand Maester Pycelle has, after all, served the royal family for so many years. If not for merit, then for toil."
Lynn's voice carried a convincing sincerity.
"And besides, to err is human."
"The Maester's vows are strict, demanding they abstain from women."
"But humans always have desires."
"I heard that in Lord Petyr's brothel before, a few girls couldn't stop praising the Grand Maester's generosity."
As soon as Lynn finished speaking, a strange smile appeared on Varys's face.
Pycelle's body stiffened abruptly, the color draining completely from his face.
"You... you slander me!"
"Oh?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
"It seems I heard wrong."
"Forget it, let's just assume the Grand Maester never went."
"And surely, the Grand Maester's loyalty is beyond doubt."
Lynn shifted the topic, looking at Joffrey with a reminiscent expression.
"I still remember King Robert's might."
"Your father could drink an entire cask of Dornish strongwine and still unhorse men in the tourney grounds."
"It's truly hard to understand how such a legendary king could end up grievously wounded by a boar because he drank too much."
Joffrey's breathing hitched.
Father.
Robert Baratheon.
That word was the only soft spot in his heart.
He worshipped him, feared him, imitated him.
"I heard that the wine King Robert drank before the hunt that day was personally prepared by you, Grand Maester Pycelle."
Lynn's gaze returned to Pycelle.
"Reportedly, it was a very potent strongwine, meant to 'keep the king's spirits up' during the hunt."
Pycelle's lips began to tremble, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
"That... that was what His Grace asked for himself..."
"Was it?"
Lynn smiled and did not press further.
Because not only had Pycelle acted then, but Jaqen had also acted.
Only Pycelle didn't know about Jaqen, only knew what he himself had done.
"Of course, what I admire most is your superb medical skill after the king was grievously wounded, Grand Maester."
"I heard Ser Barristan say that you didn't clean the wound then, but let the boar's filth cake over it, then directly applied a red-hot branding iron."
Lynn's voice was soft, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly.
"That was a truly... bold treatment."
"Then, to ease the king's pain, you fed him large amounts of milk of the poppy."
"King Robert ultimately passed very 'peacefully,' without any struggle."
Lynn looked at Joffrey, his expression becoming meaningful.
"The Grand Maester preserved the king's final dignity and also preserved his own reputation of 'having done his best.'"
"That treatment, in appearance, was almost like a perfect execution."
Execution!
Those two words, like two warhammers, slammed hard into Joffrey's mind.
He stood dumbly, his mouth slightly agape.
Every scene Lynn described rapidly pieced together and reassembled in his mind.
Father...
That man, strong as a warrior descended from the heavens...
Drank Pycelle's wine before the hunt...
Grievously wounded by a boar...
Had his wound seared with a branding iron...
Was force-fed large amounts of milk of the poppy...
Then died "peacefully"...
And this Pycelle was a man bought with Tywin Lannister's Golden Dragons!
A terrible thought wildly sprouted in his heart, instantly turning into a beast that devoured reason.
It was them!
They conspired to kill my father!
"Ah—!"
Joffrey let out an inhuman shriek, his blue eyes instantly filling with blood vessels.
He spun around and, like a maddened lion, pounced on the shivering old man on the floor.
"You! You killed my father!"
He kicked Pycelle hard in the stomach.
"Urgh—"
Pycelle let out a pained grunt, curling into a ball.
"Joffrey! You're mad!"
Cersei screamed, trying to pull him away, but Joffrey shoved her to the ground.
"Get away!"
Joffrey didn't even glance at her, his eyes only on Pycelle.
He straddled Pycelle, swinging left and right, slapping the old Maester's wrinkled face hard, one blow after another.
"Smack! Smack! Smack!"
The crisp sounds echoed in the Small Council Chamber.
"Speak! Was it you!"
"Did that old dog Tywin order you to do it!"
"Why did you kill him?!"
"Speak!"
Pycelle's face quickly swelled into a pig's head, teeth flying from his mouth mixed with blood.
He wanted to beg for mercy, to defend himself, but could only emit muffled sobs.
"Your Grace! Stop! You'll kill him!"
Ser Barristan Selmy tried to step forward to intervene.
"Anyone who comes near, I'll kill them!"
Joffrey turned his head, glaring at him fiercely with those bloodshot eyes.
Barristan's steps halted.
The king before him had gone completely mad.
Varys's hands, tucked in his sleeves, trembled slightly with excitement.
The other nobles were pale with fright, wishing they could shrink into the carpet beneath their feet.
"You think I don't know?"
"My father's capacity for drink is known throughout the Seven Kingdoms! How could he be drunk by a few cups of wine!"
Joffrey grabbed Pycelle by the collar, pulling his bloodied, mangled face close to his own, spraying him with spittle.
"And that wound! You just wanted him to die in agony!"
"You damned old bastard!"
"My father trusted you so much! And you stabbed him in the back!"
The more Joffrey spoke, the angrier he became.
He let go, stood up, then raised his gold-booted foot and stomped down hard, again and again, on Pycelle's chest and face.
The aged Pycelle's bones were terribly brittle.
"Crack..."
The sound of breaking bones was clearly audible.
"Tell me!"
Joffrey grabbed his own hair in agony, screaming hysterically, his voice becoming shrill and piercing with excitement.
"Who! Who exactly gave the order to kill the King?!"
➤ Next: Did Cersei Participate?
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