King's Landing is said to have a history of three hundred years. It is built of pale red stone and has seven massive iron-topped drum towers.
Thick, sturdy walls surround the castle, featuring a massive bronze gate, an iron portcullis, and several narrow side gates. Upon entering the main gate, one can see an expansive cobblestone courtyard.
Construction of this castle began during the time of Aegon the Conqueror and was only truly completed during the reign of Maegor the Cruel. Despite the passage of centuries, the castle remains as sturdy as it was hundreds of years ago.
Only the mighty red dragon on a black field on the banners atop the walls has been replaced by the current golden crowned stag.
Inside The Red Keep, there is a Great Hall and several council chambers, where the iron throne, symbolizing the supreme power of His Majesty the King, is located.
"Your Majesty, I believe it would be best if you did not go. Your health is not what it once was. Look closely at your belly—besides providing a cushion when you land, what use is it? Look at your face now; I truly doubt whether you could even fit into your old armor. In your current condition, if you were to participate in the tourney, I fear some accident might befall you."
Eddard Stark finally understood why the former Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, could not stop King Robert Baratheon's endless extravagance, for King Robert's will was always firm and unyielding.
"After all these years, your bluntness remains as unchanged as ever..."
Robert curled his lip, looked at his belly, then touched his double chin, and sighed silently.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I believe that even if you were to participate, others would surely hold back when facing you, leaving you quite unsatisfied."
"I wasn't complimenting you... though the latter part of what you said actually makes sense."
Robert felt a bit helpless; this good brother of his was still the same as before. If these words came from anyone else, Robert would think they were crazy. But hearing them from Ned, he found them perfectly normal.
Just as Robert turned to chat with Eddard Stark, there was a 'pop' sound. A button suddenly flew into the air, spun a few times, and landed on top of Eddard Stark's brown hair.
A hint of awkwardness lingered between the two.
"Hahahaha!" Robert laughed heartily, looking at his belly stretching his clothes, and even Eddard's perpetually serious face revealed a slight smile. Perhaps this is what it means to be good brothers—always able to be themselves in front of each other.
Just then, Joffrey walked in, and the moment he entered, he witnessed this awkward scene.
"Why are you here? Why aren't you off embroidering with your sweetheart today?"
Robert covered his belly with his hand, acting as if nothing had happened.
Joffrey shrugged without speaking. However, his gaze remained fixed on the warhammer in front of his father, Robert. This warhammer had seen many battles, and it was stained with the blood of countless enemies.
"Father, why not let me go in your stead?" Joffrey looked at Robert, who was stretching his old shirt, and at the heavy warhammer before him. While trying to suppress a laugh, he also felt a surge of ambition.
He wanted to win the tourney championship; he wanted to present that laurel crown to his Sansa with his own hands.
Moreover, he was in a difficult position and urgently needed to establish his prestige; the fastest way to do so was through the tourney.
He had to build his own political base as soon as possible, otherwise, he would inevitably be undermined by his grandfather, Tywin Lannister.
"You? Do you think my warhammer is..."
Robert hadn't finished his sentence when he saw Joffrey lift his old warhammer with surprising ease. He widened his eyes involuntarily, followed by a hearty, boisterous laugh.
"Hahahaha! That's my son! Go! Put on my armor, take my warhammer, and smash those useless weaklings to pieces for me!"
To this day, King Robert Baratheon finally began to take his handsome, tall heir seriously. He realized that his eldest son was no longer that child who would only cry and run to his mother.
Eddard Stark, who had been standing to the side, was also taken aback, for he had once personally tested Robert's warhammer. Even using his full strength, he could barely lift it, let alone wield it in battle.
"Come, put on this suit of armor and let me see."
Joffrey walked slowly toward the armor Robert pointed to, which was displayed in the innermost cabinet. The old armor was covered in dense marks of war—sword slashes and spear stabs—some so deep they had nearly breached the defense.
Even after so many years, one could still smell the scent of blood on it.
Smelling this lingering scent of blood, Joffrey felt a nerve twitch. His heart rate accelerated, his breathing became rapid, and his green pupils gradually turned red. If one looked closely, they would notice a flame pattern appearing in his eyes.
In this state, it seemed to him as if the movement trajectory of everything was infinitely slowed down.
He inhaled the scent of blood and found it strangely enjoyable, as if a lush smelling fine wine. Was this feeling bloodlust?
When he passed by a large mirror placed to the side, he realized that his face was twisted into a hideous and terrifying grin.
"Stop staring; your old man was much handsomer than you when he was young!" Robert's impatient voice rang out. Joffrey snapped back to reality, but when he looked at himself in the mirror again, he found his expression normal.
He touched his face and made a peace sign with his hand; only after seeing the same gesture in the mirror did he feel relieved. He thought to himself: 'Could it be that I've been under too much pressure lately?'
However, he did not notice that as he turned and walked past the mirror, the hand in the reflection slowly turned into a fist.
Ceasing his aimless thoughts, Joffrey cleanly and efficiently put on the armor. Contrary to his expectations, the armor fit his body perfectly, as if it had been custom-made for him.
Joffrey turned around, picked up the heavy warhammer, and looked at his father, Robert.
Robert's mouth hung open, his eyes gleaming as he paced around the room, constantly scrutinizing Joffrey, who was clad in armor and holding the warhammer.
At this moment, Joffrey's temperament underwent a earth-shattering change. The heavy armor concealed his handsome features but bestowed upon him an unstoppable, murderous aura.
"Just like him, so much like him." Robert looked at his son, armored and weaponized, as if seeing himself in his youth.
Back then, he was just as high-spirited, and beside him, there would be a girl. Her eyes were as tender as water, and her voice was as soft as a breeze, as warm as the sun.
"Joffrey, my son. If you have a girl you fancy, marry her as soon as possible, otherwise..." Robert reminisced, leaving his sentence unfinished.
"Your Majesty, some things are in the past; do not let them cause you unnecessary pain."
Eddard Stark looked at his good brother Robert's slightly trembling frame, feeling a heavy heart. There were some things he could not judge as right or wrong; all he could do was offer comfort and divert Robert's attention.
"Your Majesty, the Prince's figure in that armor truly resembles you in your youth..."
"Yes, so much like me. I still remember when we followed Jon Arryn to quell the rebellion in the Vale; I was wearing this very armor. Do you remember, Ned? I smashed that idiot with the chains off his horse with a single swing of my hammer—hahahaha! That idiot was even shouting at me at the start."
"I remember; after you knocked him off his horse, you wanted him to surrender, but when you reached him, you realized the fellow had already been pounded to death by you."
"Hahahaha, if I had known, I would have followed the example of Aegon the Conqueror and collected trophies to forge an iron throne. That guy's breastplate, with the hole I smashed into it, would definitely have been my first piece in the collection."
After the laughter, Robert's voice stopped, as if he suddenly remembered something. He first looked deeply at Eddard Stark, leaving Eddard somewhat confused.
He then patted Joffrey's broad shoulder and instructed him earnestly—
"I hear that the so-called Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell, of that Highgarden rose family, has been spending all day with your betrothed, Sansa Stark, laughing and chatting. Joffrey, my son, do not spare him! Crush this annoying rose for me!"
"I shall do as you wish."
...
Eddard Stark walked out of the King's inner chamber. He had bid farewell to his good brother Robert in the morning and had just finished drafting the rules for the tourney with the King's younger brother, Renly Baratheon. He was now physically and mentally exhausted.
Although he couldn't stop Robert from holding the tourney, at least he hadn't let him participate in person, which was barely acceptable.
Eddard was deep in thought when, to his surprise, he bumped into the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, walking toward him just as he stepped outside. The man stopped elegantly before him.
"Lord Stark, someone wishes to see you. I hope you can come with me."
"Who wishes to see me?"
"Your wife."
"Who?! Are you kidding me? This is not funny at all."
Eddard Stark did not believe it for a second. He had said goodbye to Catelyn Tully when he left, and now, only his second day in King's Landing, Catelyn Tully had already arrived? How was that possible?
"Lord Stark, if you hadn't come, she would have been mine."
After saying this, Littlefinger turned and walked away without waiting for an answer from Eddard Stark.
The signature smirk on Petyr Baelish's face made Eddard Stark feel very uncomfortable, but Eddard felt that a high-ranking minister of the realm, the Master of Coin, should have no reason to lie to him, so he followed behind him.
Eddard Stark followed him out of The Red Keep and into the bustling streets.
Comparing the opulent The Red Keep to the ragged, scantily clad paupers, Eddard felt a heavy weight in his heart.
Beside him, Petyr Baelish merely smiled at Eddard Stark's compassionate expression, saying nothing.
The two walked through the busy market and did not stop until they reached a lavishly decorated, towering building.
Eddard Stark gazed at the tower as the red and pink doors in front of him slowly swung open. The flowers on both sides of the entrance were clearly very expensive, and he smelled the scent of roses from Highgarden, identical to those inside The Red Keep.
The entire building was designed with vibrant colors, luxurious and full of the vitality of spring.
Well, it would be even better if one could ignore the scantily clad attendant at the door who kept caressing himself...
Petyr Baelish ignored Eddard Stark's embarrassment; he pointed to the entrance of the brothel and said with a smile, "She is waiting for you inside."
Eddard Stark's patience had been worn thin before arriving here, and hearing these words, he instantly flared up. He thought this guy was insulting him, or even slandering his wife.
Eddard's movements were swift and powerful. In an instant, he twisted Littlefinger's arm behind his back. Littlefinger, in pain and before he could struggle, was elbowed by Eddard directly against the wall, successfully subdued.
"It seems my brother Brandon was too gentle with you back then, wasn't he?"
"No! Stop! My Lord, your lady really is here waiting for you."
A shout of surprise followed. Eddard Stark turned his head to look and saw, to his shock, Ser Rodrik. Wasn't he supposed to be at Winterfell? How could he have come to King's Landing? Could his wife, Catelyn Tully, really be here? Eddard was bewildered for a moment.
"Ser Rodrik? Why are you here? What is going on?"
"I think it would be better if we went inside to talk."
"What happened to your whiskers?"
"Oh, that is also a sad story; we should definitely go inside to discuss it."
...
"This dagger originally belonged to me, but in a game not long ago, I lost it to the Lannister Imp, Tyrion."
Petyr Baelish held the dagger Catelyn Tully had handed him, examining it as he explained.
"I think it would be best if I gave you two some private space."
Petyr Baelish blinked, walked out, and closed the door behind him. As soon as he closed the door, he heard Catelyn Tully's angry voice from inside the room.
"It must have been Tyrion! That ugly, treacherous little Imp!"
"Cat, I have a feeling this matter isn't as simple as it appears on the surface. We need to investigate in secret; we cannot make a scene."
Eddard Stark, conversely, calmed down immediately. He did not believe Tyrion had done this; in his impression, Tyrion was a clever and cunning man.
Even the stupidest person wouldn't use their own weapon to commit an assassination, would they?
"Cat, listen to me, go back quickly. This place is far too dangerous; I always feel a dark cloud hanging over it. Go back and tell Robb to prepare in advance."
"Ned, has it reached that point?"
"Listen to me, and prepare early."
"Ned, I will listen to you. But I must first go to the Vale to see my poor sister Lysa. Since Jon Arryn passed away, she has been raising the child alone, living in fear every day."
Catelyn Tully leaned against her husband Ned's broad shoulder; perhaps only this could give her a sense of security.
"Go, and stay safe. The journey is long and arduous, so do not overexert yourself."
Petyr Baelish leaned against the wall outside the door, listening to the conversation within, and secretly offered a bitter smile.
Cat was Catelyn Tully's nickname; when they were young, he had liked to call her that too, but unfortunately, that name now belonged only to another man.
"Thank you, Petyr. I didn't expect that after all these years you would still be willing to help me. You are my true friend."
Catelyn Tully walked out and saw Petyr Baelish beside her; every time she saw him, she thought of their childhood.
Catelyn Tully curtsied slightly, her demeanor elegant, fulfilling the etiquette expected of a Lady.
"Why must you say such things between us? We grew up together, after all." Petyr Baelish offered a slight smile, but the more polite Catelyn Tully was to him, the more he felt their relationship drifting apart.
"Regardless, thank you."
...
After sending off Eddard Stark and his wife, Petyr Baelish leaned against the doorframe and sighed. His eyes flickered, wondering what he was thinking.
"Did you bring me here just to see this?"
A figure wearing a large red robe, with a hood obscuring their face, stepped out from behind Petyr Baelish.
"Don't you think this is a reflection of my unwavering loyalty to you?" Petyr Baelish revealed that signature faint smile.
"Don't you agree, Prince Joffrey?"
The figure in red took off the hood covering their face, revealing a handsome countenance. The blonde hair hidden beneath the hood fell down along the collar; this person was none other than Joffrey Baratheon, whom Eddard Stark had parted ways with that morning.
He looked at the smile of the Master of Coin, Littlefinger, and thought to himself: This person's level of danger is no less than "The Spider" Varys, but his utility is directly proportional to that danger.
What a double-edged sword that one both loves and hates!
Joffrey blinked his green eyes, understanding one thing very clearly: the economic lifeline of King's Landing was basically in the hands of this seemingly somewhat frail man. If he wanted to secure his position, he had to cooperate with him, especially since the other party had approached him voluntarily.
"This is what you wanted."
"Oh, my Prince. You are indeed a clever man; the decision you have made will bring you incomparably rich rewards."
Petyr Baelish looked at the appointment letter with the seal in his hand, his expression unchanged, still wearing a faint smile, but he was overjoyed inside.
This was the appointment letter he wanted, naming him the Warden of the Riverlands, which would be the first step in his climb up the social ladder.
Joffrey stared intently at the other man's face, watching Petyr Baelish as he tried to suppress a laugh while forcing a straight face, and cursed inwardly: This old fox.
Petyr Baelish, filled with joy, quickly scanned the text above. However, when he reached the end, his smile suddenly froze.
He frowned, deliberately feigning a confused expression, and looked up at Joffrey, saying, "Prince, this seal..."
"The appointment letter I issue naturally bears my seal." Joffrey smiled; he knew very well that Littlefinger was not a person to be fully trusted.
Therefore, when writing the appointment letter, he had used his own seal and written his own name.
Currently, that wasn't much of a problem, because everyone believed Joffrey would be the heir to the iron throne.
However, Joffrey himself understood very well: from the War of the Five Kings that would begin before long, this appointment letter would be equivalent to a piece of waste paper to Stannis and Renly, let alone the North and the Iron Islands.
If Petyr Baelish wanted this appointment letter to take effect, he had to support his claim as the legitimate heir to the iron throne.
"Could it be that the loyalty Lord Baelish just showed me is fake? Or is it that you have placed your bets on more than just me?"
"Of course not, my Prince, you are overthinking it; I was just a bit confused."
Petyr Baelish looked at the blonde-haired, green-eyed Prince with a stiff expression; he had been outplayed! The moment he saw the seal, he understood Joffrey's intention.
Unlike Joffrey Baratheon, who knew the plot, Petyr Baelish was a true politician.
He already anticipated that war might break out in the future, and to elevate his own status, he was frantically fanning the flames behind the scenes.
He cursed inwardly: This little fox!