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Corleone strode into the very heart of power in the Seven Kingdoms. In an instant, every eye in the hall fixed upon him.
His luxurious attire blended seamlessly with the gilded splendor of the chamber.
[Majesty Lv. 3] remained dormant, yet he walked with effortless poise through this temple of authority.
At that moment, Joffrey Baratheon on the Iron Throne frowned, squinting at Corleone for several seconds before suddenly pointing. "Wait… you're that… that fellow, aren't you?"
Seeing the boy king's expression, Corleone nearly rolled his eyes.
They had spoken so warmly before. The lad had even promised to knight him and grant lands and titles.
Turns out you didn't remember my name at all…
On the surface, however, he showed nothing. He merely bowed slightly, posture respectful yet never servile, and answered in a clear, steady voice: "Vito Corleone, Your Grace."
"It is my honor that you still remember me."
"Oh! Yes! Corleone!"
Joffrey finally recalled, but just as he opened his mouth to ask about the fighting pit, Tywin Lannister cut in smoothly.
"Your Grace and the Small Council are currently trying the matter of Captain Swyn Rosby's death."
"Ser Addam Marbrand has testified that Ser Jaime acted because Rosby accepted bribes, neglected his duty, and violently resisted arrest. Lord Gyles disputes this."
"As the commoner whom Swyn Rosby illegally detained through abuse of authority, you will state exactly what you saw and heard, Vito Corleone."
The words were brief, yet carried the weight of absolute command. The implication was unmistakable: deliver an answer that would safeguard the Lannister name.
All eyes locked onto Corleone once more.
So that's why.
A single glance at the wheezing Lord Gyles Rosby a short distance away told Corleone Tywin's true purpose in summoning him.
Although he had not been present when Jaime slew Swyn, the incident had reached his ears long ago.
He had come prepared.
"Your Grace, my lords."
He lifted his head, gaze candid as it swept across the assembly. "Regarding the late Captain Swyn Rosby, everything I know comes solely from what I myself witnessed and heard."
"If my description discomforts anyone, it is only because the facts themselves are foul enough to offend any upright ear."
Corleone did not rush into the details. He first framed the testimony itself.
This was both a declaration of loyalty to Tywin and a preemptive muzzle for Gyles, preventing the old fool from twisting words later.
Only then did he continue: "On that day, Captain Swyn Rosby led his men into the Blood Cellar. Ostensibly to investigate a case, but in truth using the investigation as cover for extortion."
"He not only slandered me and my companions as fugitives, but in broad daylight he fraternized openly with villains implicated in slave trading, murder, fraud, and a host of other crimes. His conduct was utterly disgraceful—completely betraying the Gold Cloaks' sworn duty to uphold the law and maintain order."
"This was no mere dereliction. It was outright collusion with filth!"
The words were crisp, logical, yet every "fact" had been artfully sharpened.
"Bullshit!!!"
Lord Gyles immediately jabbed a trembling finger at Corleone and bellowed, "House Rosby has wealth to spare! How could Swyn possibly—"
"Please do not interrupt the witness, my lord."
Master of Laws Kevan Lannister spoke at once, his tone cutting the old man off before the tirade could build.
Though Kevan was Tywin's brother and had governed the Westerlands as his deputy for decades, he possessed a rigid sense of justice and protocol. Even if Swyn had broken the law, he could not simply whitewash Jaime's direct killing.
He fixed Corleone with a grave stare. "What we require is whether you were present when Ser Jaime Lannister slew Swyn Rosby."
To the visible disappointment of several listeners, Corleone shook his head. "I am sorry, my lord. I was not present at the time."
Kevan's brow furrowed.
If this witness had not seen the act, then only Ser Addam Marbrand's testimony remained—and that alone would never satisfy Gyles.
Yet Corleone's voice rose again.
"Your Grace, my lords."
"Whether Ser Jaime Lannister is guilty depends in large part on whether the Kingsguard possesses the authority to intervene directly—even by force—in the internal affairs of the City Watch."
"This… touches upon the realm's legal traditions."
The statement drew deeper confusion from Joffrey and surprised glances from the Small Council.
A commoner speaking of "legal traditions"?
Corleone remained utterly composed, ignoring the astonishment as though he were a maester debating at the Citadel. "According to the White Book, in the two hundred and thirty-third year of Aegon's Conquest, Ser Duncan the Tall of the Kingsguard encountered a royal tax collector abusing his office by torturing commoners for coin."
"After ordering the man to cease, Ser Duncan subdued and delivered him for judgment. King Aegon Targaryen the Fifth later ruled that Ser Duncan's action was a necessary measure to uphold the justice of the Iron Throne and did not exceed his authority."
He cited a genuine, morally luminous precedent—Ser Duncan the Tall, the legendary hedge knight turned Kingsguard hero. The example carried both historical weight and moral high ground.
The hall fell briefly silent. Kevan was first to respond: "That was merely subduing the man, and… we do not know whether Aegon the Fifth's ruling rested on written statute."
"It did, my lord. It did!"
Corleone smiled, utterly confident. "The precedent did spark debate among the maesters at the time, but consensus was later reached. It is widely accepted that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard sits upon the Small Council, and that Kingsguard members swear to protect members of the royal family from harm."
"Acts that damage the Iron Throne's reputation, in cases of emergency, grant the Kingsguard the right to take necessary measures to end the offense. Such action is considered a direct extension of the king's will, not mere personal interference."
He spoke fluidly, laying out a coherent, layered legal principle.
"Applied specifically to the case of Captain Swyn Rosby…"
He returned to the present matter. "His suspected bribery, abuse of force, unlawful detention, and open defiance of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard already qualify as damage to the Iron Throne's honor."
"After repeated warnings proved futile, Ser Jaime's execution of the man may therefore be viewed as the direct extension of the king's will under that emergency."
Having delivered the full argument, Corleone fell silent and stood calmly.
The hall had grown deathly quiet. Everyone stared at him in disbelief.
A commoner—standing before the Iron Throne and the Small Council—had just cited chapter and verse of the realm's legal traditions, naming exact years, kings, and precedents with flawless clarity!
Unbelievable!
Corleone met their gazes without flinching.
Since arriving in King's Landing he had known his low birth would be a constant obstacle in the game of thrones. Whenever he had the chance, he had devoured knowledge—histories, genealogies, obscure legal commentaries, even the White Book itself. Jaime's access had made it possible.
He had absorbed it all like a sponge, not to become a maester, but to learn how to bend the rules to his advantage.
On the Iron Throne, Joffrey looked utterly lost yet somehow felt the logic rang true. When he heard "direct extension of the king's will," he actually straightened with pride—though what exactly he was proud of remained a mystery.
Kevan's eyes flashed with genuine surprise; he reappraised Corleone.
Varys's smile grew faintly amused, as though he had spotted an intriguing new variable.
Even Tywin gave Corleone a brief, startled glance, clearly revising his estimate of the man's learning and eloquence once more.
Only Grand Maester Pycelle continued dozing, head nodding—apparently exhausted from "late-night scholarly discussions" the previous evening.
"Liar!!!"
Lord Gyles finally reacted, jabbing a finger at Corleone again and sputtering, "He's lying! This is all fabricated! There is no such law!"
Kevan snapped out of his astonishment, shot Gyles a glance, then cleared his throat and declared loudly: "Grand Maester Pycelle!"
"Eh? Ah?"
Pycelle opened his eyes with feigned grogginess, slowly stroked his long white beard, and spoke in that aged, authoritative tone.
"Regarding the account of Ser Duncan the Tall given by Lord Corleone, it is indeed recorded in the White Book."
"In my youth, while compiling the Compendium of Major Royal Precedents, I personally examined the original text. Ser Duncan exemplified knightly virtue; his deed shines with justice and loyalty to the crown."
He spoke eloquently, every word precise. There was no trace of drowsiness—clearly he had heard every syllable.
As the faithful hound… er, devoted admirer of the Hand, Pycelle immediately verified the precedent's authenticity and wrapped it in moral glory.
He continued smoothly: "After the two hundred and thirty-fourth year of Aegon's Conquest, members of the Kingsguard have repeatedly invoked the spirit of this precedent. In cases of extreme and urgent violations of the law, they bear an emergency corrective duty that transcends ordinary jurisdiction."
"Though this principle never became a single codified statute, it is nevertheless recognized as custom within the realm's common-law system."
"It embodies the ancestral wisdom that the king's law is flexible and exists to serve and protect the dignity and honor of the Iron Throne."
"As my mentors at the Citadel often quoted: 'He who sows poison weeds shall reap bitter fruit.'"
"And Ser Jaime… simply happened to be the one forced to pluck that bitter fruit."
Masterful.
Pycelle had not only confirmed Corleone's words but elevated them to the status of "recognized custom within the realm's common-law system."
He had perfectly satisfied Tywin's need to protect the family name while stroking Joffrey's fragile sense of royal authority. With a few light sentences he had displayed erudition, demonstrated loyalty, and sealed off any legal avenue Gyles might use to object.
After all, even Kevan Lannister—the Master of Laws—did not necessarily know every obscure statute. Who else could challenge it?
In other words, the final right of interpretation over the law now rested squarely with Pycelle.
Truly a master of the craft.
I still have much to learn…
Watching the old man finish speaking and immediately resume his doze, Corleone could only feel genuine admiration.
Pretending for one day is easy. Pretending for a lifetime—that is true skill.
As soon as Pycelle fell silent, Tywin did not wait for Joffrey to offer another "wise opinion." He declared flatly:
"The facts are now perfectly clear!"
"Swyn Rosby accepted bribes, neglected his duty, and openly defied the Kingsguard, thereby gravely damaging the honor of the Iron Throne."
"Ser Jaime Lannister, as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, exercised emergency authority. Though his action may be debated, its fundamental purpose was to protect the authority and dignity of the Iron Throne."
"I have spoken. Who agrees? Who objects?"
Tywin swept the room with his gaze. Almost no one dared meet the Old Lion's eyes.
But there is always an exception.
"I object!"
Lord Gyles had not accepted the verdict. Rage and resentment had clearly clouded his judgment. He wailed, "By the Seven… cough cough… what manner of justice is this!"
"The Maiden's tears cannot wash away this injustice… cough cough… If the Hand of the King were still Lord Jon Arryn…"
"He would never render so biased and unfair a judgment after hearing only one side!"
"The Warrior would never condone such cowardly compromise! The Father's judgment shall descend upon us all!!!"
He invoked the Seven with every breath, Jon Arryn on his lips, voice cracking like a man in mourning.
Fortunately his mind had not completely failed—he had not mentioned Eddard Stark, already convicted of treason and beheaded.
Yet the moment those words left his mouth, the temperature in the Iron Throne Hall seemed to plummet to freezing.
Joffrey looked baffled, merely irritated by the old man's rambling.
Grand Maester Pycelle buried his head lower and began to snore softly.
Varys's smile never wavered, yet it somehow grew subtly sharper.
Kevan Lannister, as though he had foreseen exactly this, knitted his brows into a deep frown.
Corleone stood to one side, watching in perfect silence as Lord Gyles drowned in his own self-righteous "grief" and "piety," endlessly repeating Jon Arryn's name.
His eyes were tranquil, yet the gaze he turned upon the old man carried the detached indifference one reserves for a corpse already lying in its grave.
Idiot.