Iron Throne Hall.
At the very top, countless swords melted by dragonflame twisted and coiled together, forming the ultimate symbol of power in the Seven Kingdoms.
They glittered with cold light beneath the thin rays streaming through the high windows, looking stern and icy.
Yet the one seated upon this throne was a young king completely out of place with it—the great Joffrey Baratheon the First.
He wore a gold-and-crimson crown and a magnificent velvet robe, yet kept yawning without the slightest decorum.
No one could really blame him. These days he had discovered a new pastime.
According to a certain Ser Meryn Trant who preferred to remain nameless, His Grace had recently taken great delight in using a crossbow to hunt whores brought in from the Street of Silk, often carrying on well into the night.
Below the throne, nearly the entire Small Council had assembled.
Lord Kevan Lannister, Master of Laws, wore a face as stern and rigid as the rock of Casterly Rock itself.
Grand Maester Pycelle, his long white beard nearly reaching his chest, looked just as drowsy as the king—though he was standing, which clearly put him in a higher league.
Master of Whisperers Varys, with his shiny, hairless dome…
And seated on a slightly lower chair beneath the Iron Throne, the man who truly ruled the realm: Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King.
The only one missing was the Master of Coin—no one knew whether he simply hadn't been informed of the meeting.
At this moment, however, every member of the Small Council remained silent. Because a sickly, wheezing voice was droning on and on.
"By the Seven… cough cough cough… the just Father bears witness…"
Lord Gyles Rosby stood before the throne, body hunched, coughing incessantly. His sallow face looked as though it might draw its final breath at any second.
He pressed a silk handkerchief to his mouth; every cough seemed to drain his entire strength, as if he were trying to hack out his own lungs.
His shrill, stubborn voice mixed with the coughing sounded like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard, grating on everyone's nerves.
"I truly do not know… cough cough… I do not know when the laws of the realm, the sacred laws, began to be… cough cough… so casually trampled upon by the Kingsguard!"
"And the victim… cough cough cough… was a captain of the City Watch!"
He pounded his chest as he spoke, as though nursing endless grievances.
Seeing his state, Kevan—barely restraining the explosion building in his skull—reminded him, "My lord, perhaps you should drink some water first. If you keep coughing like this… well, in any case, drink some water."
But Lord Gyles refused to be moved. Stubbornly continuing his tirade: "Mother have mercy upon the world…"
"I… I… cough cough cough… Swyn Rosby was the only close kinsman I had left!"
"I had already planned, under the blessing of the Seven, to take him as my adopted son… cough cough… so that he could one day inherit Rosby and carry on the family's glory!"
"The Warrior granted him courage, and he became a captain of the City Watch… but…"
He broke into another violent fit of coughing, nearly unable to breathe.
Kevan hurriedly stepped forward and patted his back until the old man finally recovered—without spattering blood across the Iron Throne.
"But he died just like that!"
Lord Gyles finally caught his breath, his voice suddenly rising. "He died for no clear reason—slain by a Kingsguard's sword!"
"Where are the Kingsguard's vows? Where are the vows to protect king and law?"
"The Crone's wisdom should guide us to justice; the Maiden's purity should expose the filth of this matter. This… this is blasphemy!"
"A blatant desecration of the Seven and of the realm's laws!"
He rambled on and on, coughing and wailing as though House Rosby had suffered the greatest humiliation since the Dawn Age.
Yet his performance left everyone present thoroughly bored.
Kevan's brows were tightly knit. Pycelle looked ready to fall asleep again.
And Lord Tywin remained utterly expressionless, like a golden mask.
Only Varys showed a little kindness, gently reminding him, "Forgive me, my lord, but when the Kingsguard swear their oaths, they do not vow to protect the law—only the king and members of the royal family."
The words struck like a slap. Lord Gyles pointed a trembling finger at the shiny bald head, chest heaving violently. He barely avoided passing out again.
He could only turn his pleading eyes toward the Master of Laws.
With a helpless sigh, Kevan Lannister cleared his throat and turned toward the Iron Throne, bowing slightly.
By protocol, he had to ask the king's opinion first.
"Since Lord Gyles believes Captain Swyn Rosby's death contains injustice and demands a thorough investigation, then Your Grace—"
"Huuuuh… haaaaah…"
A sudden snore made Kevan freeze mid-sentence.
He looked up to see Joffrey slumped crookedly against the cold blades of the throne, mouth slightly open, a glistening thread of drool slowly sliding from the corner of his lips. He was sleeping soundly.
The absurd scene was so ridiculous that even the ever-serious Kevan could not stop the corner of his mouth from twitching.
After all, just that morning this same king had been unusually forceful with his grandfather and Hand, insisting the Small Council be held in the Iron Throne Hall. He had sworn he would "personally preside over affairs and let everyone witness the king's majesty."
And now…
"Your Grace… Your Grace?"
Kevan had no choice but to raise his voice, trying to wake the great king who had intended to "personally preside."
But Joffrey merely mumbled something incoherent, shifted his posture, and continued his pleasant dream.
The atmosphere grew unbearably awkward.
Though to be fair, the Iron Throne had always been a cursed design—over a thousand swords melted together.
It was less a seat than a jagged iron lump covered in spikes; even the backrest was full of blades. Sitting on it brought nothing but discomfort.
Its builder, Aegon the Conqueror, had declared that a king should never sit comfortably.
Yet this thing frequently cut its occupants, and after centuries the blades had accumulated who-knew-how-many magical "tetanus" debuffs. People kept catching lockjaw.
It was even said that Maegor the Cruel—the strongest warrior in Targaryen history—had ultimately been killed by the chair itself.
And yet the great Joffrey Baratheon the First could nap peacefully upon it. Was this not proof of divine mandate?
"Your Grace!!!"
Seeing the situation, Kevan had to raise his voice again.
Joffrey jolted awake, nearly smashing his head on a sharp blade.
He blinked in confusion. Once he recognized the people below, he quickly straightened his face, trying to reclaim royal dignity. He even cleared his throat with exaggerated solemnity: "Cough cough!!"
"I heard everything! I heard it all!"
"I was merely deep in thought earlier—not sleeping. Where… where were we?"
The ridiculous performance fooled no one, but the others were professionals and kept their expressions perfectly blank.
Only Lord Gyles immediately stepped forward, voice tearful as he repeated:
"By the Seven!"
"I accuse Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, of abusing his authority and brutally murdering my only close kinsman—the loyal captain of the City Watch, Swyn Rosby!"
"Mother have mercy, Crone guide us—deliver justice, Your Grace!"
Perhaps from sheer agitation, the old man had actually stopped coughing.
"Jaime Lannister?"
At that name, Joffrey's eyes lit up.
Whether from the deep-seated hatred of the rumors about Jaime and his mother Cersei, or from others questioning his own bloodline, Joffrey had loathed Jaime for a long time.
Hearing someone formally accuse him now, he was practically ready to clap with joy.
"I knew it!"
Joffrey leaned forward, face beaming with delight—more pleased than when he had heard Renly was dead.
"That Kingslayer always thinks he's above everyone just because he's Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"
"Murdering a Gold Cloak officer is a grave crime. I shall punish him—I will punish him!"
He almost shouted "death penalty," but a sliver of remaining sense—or rather, fear of Tywin—made him swallow the words.
"I shall strip him of his Kingsguard position! Tear off that white cloak!"
At those words, Tywin's heart actually leapt with brief joy—before plunging straight into ice.
Because the wise king continued his proclamation: "I shall banish him to the North and make him guard the Wall!"
"Yes, that's it—let the Kingslayer keep company with wildlings and cold winds, hahaha!!"
Watching the boy gloat and wave his arms, even Tywin could not help clenching his teeth.
Why does he always want to kill people?!
Yes, he did want Jaime to remove the white cloak and return to inherit Casterly Rock—but not to trade it for black!
That would be worse than remaining a Kingsguard!
This was not only a humiliation to Jaime; it was trampling the dignity of House Lannister beneath their feet!
At this point, Tywin's feeling toward this foolish, impulsive, utterly shortsighted grandson was no longer mere disappointment—it was a deep, bone-weary rage.
Idiot!
Mad and stupid!
In hundreds of years, only one such specimen had appeared—even the Mad King could not compare!
Forcing down his fury, Tywin spoke coldly, cutting off Joffrey's triumphant flailing: "Your Grace!"
"A wise king must first understand the full circumstances and reasons before rendering judgment."
"To condemn a high lord such as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard based on a single accusation would hardly convince the realm and would damage the royal family's reputation for justice."
Joffrey's face flashed with irritation, but given past experiences he did not dare openly contradict Tywin. He merely waved impatiently: "Then investigate quickly!"
"Hurry!"
Only then did Tywin shift his gaze away from Joffrey, as though one more glance would contaminate his reason. He gave Kevan a meaningful look.
Soon, Ser Addam Marbrand strode into the hall.
"Ser Addam."
Tywin wasted no words. "Regarding the slaying of Captain Swyn Rosby by Ser Jaime Lannister, report everything you know truthfully to the Iron Throne."
He deliberately used "slaying" rather than "murder," and had Addam report to the Iron Throne rather than directly to the king.
Ser Addam had clearly come prepared. He stood straight, voice loud and clear.
"Your Grace, my lords."
"According to my investigation, the incident began when Captain Swyn Rosby abused his authority, openly accepted bribes, and attempted to arrest a commoner without sufficient evidence or legal procedure!"
"Ser Jaime was present at the time. Witnessing this dereliction of duty and corruption, he deemed it a serious stain upon the City Watch's honor. When the man attempted violent resistance, Ser Jaime, in his capacity as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, exercised emergency enforcement on the king's behalf and executed him on the spot."
"I believe Ser Jaime's actions are entirely justified under the law!"
The explanation was smooth and pinned every fault on the now-deceased Swyn Rosby.
After all, the dead could not speak.
Lord Gyles, however, was clearly dissatisfied with this outcome.
He broke into another violent coughing fit and shrieked in protest: "Lies!"
"Seven save us! These are all lies!"
"You too swore your knightly oath in the Great Sept of Baelor—the Warrior would never accept such a despicable excuse, Ser Addam Marbrand!"
"Everyone knows you were once Lord Tywin's squire; of course you would speak for his son. This is clearly a cover-up, a desecration of the Seven's justice!!"
His hoarse accusations echoed sharply through the vast hall.
Ser Addam's face darkened, but he did not immediately retort—after all, his past as Tywin's squire was common knowledge.
At that moment, a Gold Cloak soldier slipped quietly into the hall, walked straight to Lord Tywin, and whispered a few words in his ear.
Tywin listened expressionlessly, then gave a slight nod.
He raised a hand to silence the still-protesting Lord Gyles, then swept his gaze across the room and finally settled on Joffrey.
"Your Grace."
The Hand bowed slightly, his voice still completely emotionless. "Lord Gyles's doubt regarding the fairness of Ser Addam's testimony is understandable."
"Fortunately, I have found another key witness who may provide… more direct testimony."