The Boy in the Throne Room

After lunch, Joffrey wandered into the Throne Room near the main gate of the Red Keep.

Seeing the petitioners gathered outside, he suddenly took an interest and immediately had The Hound clear the way through the dense crowd.

Normally, the king should have been seated on the Iron Throne in the Throne Room at this hour, hearing the people's petitions and grievances, dispensing justice, and delivering judgments.

King Robert was clearly not one of those kings.

Hunting in the Kingswood across the river occupied most of the king's time, while such trivial matters were routinely handled by the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn.

The moment he stepped through the doors of the Throne Room, the grim and terrifying Iron Throne atop the High Platform directly ahead seized Joffrey's attention.

Nearly three hundred years ago, Aegon the Conqueror of House Targaryen had unified the Seven Kingdoms for the first time.

His dragon, Baleriion the Black Dread, had breathed Dragonflame and melted down every sword offered up by those who submitted during the war of conquest.

Thus was born the Iron Throne, covered in spikes, sharp points, and twisted metal, a symbol of royal authority.

Dragon King Aegon had even left behind a famous saying because of it—"A king should not sit comfortably."

It sounded impressive. But now that Joffrey was truly facing the throne, he suddenly understood the suffering of those Targaryen kings.

You could not lean against the backrest, and you had to watch out for sharp blades and spikes in every direction. It was practically torture.

Joffrey had no intention of making himself suffer. How could a king's throne be such a thing? Sooner or later, he would replace it!

Having admired the Iron Throne's splendor, Joffrey walked forward beneath everyone's gaze, stepping along the fire-breathing dragon patterns in the two rows of tiles running down the center of the hall.

The Throne Room was currently in recess, and the next group of petitioners was still waiting to be summoned.

Jon Arryn sat upright on the Iron Throne.

Kingsguard Mandon Moore and Meryn Trant stood on either side of the High Platform.

Five councilors sat in turn around the council table below the throne steps—Master of Laws Renly Baratheon, Master of Ships Stannis Baratheon, Master of Coin Petyr Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Master of Whisperers Varys.

The dragon skulls that had once hung high upon the walls on both sides had long since been replaced by tapestries depicting King Robert's hunts.

More than a hundred knights, nobles, and ladies stood beneath the tapestries.

The spectators stood in the inner corridors on either side. Closest to the center were two lines of Gold Cloaks maintaining order, each fully armed and wearing golden cloaks over their shoulders, an imposing sight indeed.

Varys understood at once and spoke for the others. "Your Highness the Crown Prince, what brings you here to inspect the proceedings today?"

Joffrey maintained a proper smile. Normally charming and graceful, yet foolish and cruel in his actions—that was the typical "him."

"Nothing in particular. I simply wanted to watch the petitions. I should start learning early."

The day he sat upon the Iron Throne would come far sooner than people expected.

Joffrey calmly swept his gaze over the people before him.

The vigorous old Hand remained expressionless, his bald second uncle Stannis had a sharp gaze, and everyone else appeared quite friendly.

The Hand and his uncle were undoubtedly enemies, but none of the others deserved his trust either.

"My lords, is there a seat for me here? Surely you cannot have the Crown Prince standing?"

Joffrey's manner was perfectly polite and proper. It would have been even better without that final sentence. The expressions of everyone standing inevitably changed somewhat.

Jon Arryn spoke. "Prepare a chair for His Highness the Crown Prince. The one embroidered with the Crowned Stag."

The king's stag. A pity you are not one, Joffrey Waters.

Bastards born in the Crownlands were uniformly given the surname Waters, but Jon Arryn did not know whether the products of an incestuous pair of twins were included.

He could only silently remind himself that the time was not yet right.

Although he had already confirmed Joffrey's parentage and chosen to support Stannis as heir to the Iron Throne, Jon still had to keep up appearances.

Hand Jon did his utmost to suppress his disgust.

So long as they found conclusive evidence and handled Robert's emotions and the Lannister family properly, the kingdom could rid itself of its filthy incestuous bloodline and return to the proper path.

He prayed in secret that the documents he would examine tomorrow might prove helpful.

Joffrey sat alone between the Iron Throne and the council table, attending as an observer. It seemed to imply that he was not permitted to voice his opinions here.

The herald announced loudly, "The petitions shall continue."

Several merchant-like men entered and humbly knelt before the Iron Throne.

"My lord Hand, my lords, the five of us represent the weapons merchants of Steel Street. Recently..."

Joffrey stopped paying attention to them.

Most of the time, the Throne Room merely served as King's Landing's administrative center, handling the major and minor affairs of hundreds of thousands of people. It was far removed from his image of a nation's central seat of power.

The main reason he had entered was to observe how each of his future opponents behaved in a formal setting before he left King's Landing.

After hearing the petition, Littlefinger, the Master of Coin, spoke first in a languid, teasing tone.

"The price of pig iron has doubled. Surely that cannot be blamed on the Iron Throne? Or were you hoping the Royal Treasury would pay subsidies?"

The leading merchant hurriedly shook his head. "How would we dare? It is simply that the market has been very stable lately, and then this happened so suddenly. Behind it... someone may be causing trouble."

Master of Laws Renly chuckled. "Varys, it is your turn. Do your Little Birds know this secret?"

The eunuch stroked the smooth sea-blue silk he wore and replied casually, "Perhaps our Lord Petyr might also provide an answer."

The corners of Joffrey's lips curled upward. Littlefinger was actually being accused. Interesting.

Yet Littlefinger seemed not to understand Varys's implication at all. "How strange. How could I possibly be better informed than the 'eight-legged Spider'?"

No one spoke after that.

After a brief awkward silence, the Hand of the King rose from the Iron Throne.

"Enough. In the king's name, Petyr will restore pig iron prices to normal within two weeks. Does anyone object?"

Lord Petyr bowed and accepted the order.

"As you command. I will spare no effort in uncovering the culprit behind this and restoring the steel market to a satisfactory operating environment."

The merchants could say nothing more and could only withdraw after offering profuse thanks.

Joffrey saw it clearly.

The Throne Room proceedings were merely for show. The outcome of the weapons merchants' complaint had long been decided. So long as Littlefinger did not fall from power, such a minor matter only meant that he had to stop within a set time.

The merchants could not read the situation, and none of those present were their patrons. They could only suffer a little.

During the petitions that followed, Joffrey watched coldly and gained a thorough glimpse of the tangled interests and open and covert struggles of the feudal age.

Disputes between farmers outside the city over field boundaries, compensation for tavern brawls, a knight who believed he had been insulted demanding severe punishment for the other party, two minor lords in the Crownlands accusing each other of encroaching upon land...

Until Sunset Glow spilled across the Throne Room's scarlet tiles.

The final group of petitioners entered.

"My lords, please uphold justice for me!" A richly dressed middle-aged woman fell to her knees and wailed.

"It was all this little Bastard and his Prostitute mother!" She pointed excitedly at the mother and son embracing beside her.

"Everyone understands that murder must be paid for with a life. There would have been no need to trouble you noble lords, but this Bastard actually threatened us with a knife and insisted that the Iron Throne pass judgment before he would let the matter rest."

"He even wanted to bring a knife into the court!"

An official beside the council table explained the matter to the councilors.

The murdered Ser Alf Rolinford had been the husband of the woman petitioning them.

Alf had died in the room of the Prostitute Lollys while visiting a brothel, killed with a single stab. She had already admitted that she had acted because she could no longer endure Alf's torment.

Rumor had it that Ser Alf indeed possessed certain unspeakable peculiar tastes.

Joffrey studied the mother and son.

The mother's looks had faded, her skin was dull, and her thin linen clothing concealed bruises and scars.

Though accused of murder, she spoke as calmly as if she were discussing household matters. One look told him that she was a woman with a story.

Her son, a boy in his teens who clutched tightly at her arm, had a gloomy, numb expression. Yet intense hope shone through his clouded eyes.

Varys sighed repeatedly.

"Oh dear, what a tragedy. Alas, the law does not allow room for sentiment. Ah, how can one bear it? What does the Grand Maester think?"

Grand Maester Pycelle, already over eighty, had lowered his head so deeply that he seemed unable to bear the weight of the Maester's Chain around his neck, strung with links of twenty-four different metals. Or perhaps he had simply fallen asleep.

"Mm, indeed, that is true. It is written in the law. In this situation, ah, there are probably no exceptions. Still, we must see what Lord Renly's, mm, position is."

The Grand Maester's mumbling made one wonder whether he was awake enough.

Master of Laws Renly frowned and spoke hesitantly. "The law is indeed strict, but the circumstances are complicated. Perhaps Lollys could atone through lifelong labor, so as not to create further suffering."

The kneeling boy looked up at his benefactor, and the hope in his eyes grew stronger.

Handsome and kind-hearted, Renly was the very image of King Robert in his youth and always won people's hearts.

Stannis had always disapproved of Renly's leniency in matters of law.

"The law is the law! Evil cannot be offset. A murderer must pay with their life. Besides, is that not a Prostitute's work? To kill because of it means she does not deserve mercy at all!"

The boy stiffly turned his head to stare at Stannis. The moment he opened his mouth, his mother immediately gathered him into her arms.

"My kind lords, I confess my guilt. I only beg you to spare my poor son. He was simply too frightened. He never intended to hurt anyone with that knife."

Renly did not plead further.

A few breaths later, the Hand of the King stood.

"Guards, step forward. In the king's name, I sentence the murderer Lollys to death. Carry it out immediately."

"That concludes today's petitions."

Joffrey saw the mother whisper a few words into her son's ear. Without resisting, she followed the execution guards out of the Throne Room and toward the outer wall of the Red Keep.

The day's work was over.

Everyone gradually dispersed.

Renly sighed as he headed out, not forgetting to toss a Golden Dragon to the helpless boy.

The upright and unyielding Stannis gave him only a cold snort.

Prostitutes and Bastards should not exist. The law is the law. I am Robert's rightful heir, not that abomination condemned by the Gods!

Joffrey walked steadily.

He calmly passed the boy's curled-up, motionless figure.

Perhaps he could add another layer of insurance.