Inside the Throne Room.
There were no fervent crowds here, no vast open spaces.
Only cold stone pillars, the fearsome Iron Throne, and the nobles gathered around them, each with a different look in their eyes.
An oppressive atmosphere hung over the trial.
Robert Baratheon panted like an enraged bull, his clouded eyes burning with a thirst for blood.
Cersei Lannister stood nearby, her face pale as paper, her fists clenched tight.
Her only hope rested with Lynn, the man in the black cloak.
Lynn and Donnel walked to the center of the hall.
They faced each other, ten paces apart.
Donnel wore an expression of devout resolve, as though he truly were a loyal servant fighting for his king's honor.
But the faint trembling of his hand around his sword hilt betrayed his fear.
The poisoned needles he had concealed all over his body, the secret weapons that had earned him his reputation, were all gone.
Now he was merely a swordsman with decent skills.
Nothing more.
Lynn was far calmer.
He slowly drew his weapons.
In his left hand was Longclaw, his usual blade, the wolf's head on its hilt lifelike in the firelight.
His right hand closed around another sword.
It was pitch-black from end to end, shorter and more slender than an ordinary longsword.
Its narrow blade had a simple, ancient design, without a single unnecessary embellishment, yet it radiated an indescribable menace.
Dark Sister.
He had already had a craftsman disguise it.
"Two swords?"
A low murmur rippled through the nobles.
Knights who wielded two longswords were not unheard of, but precious few could use them well.
Jaime Lannister had been leaning against a stone pillar, utterly bored.
When he saw Lynn draw his second sword, his brow involuntarily furrowed.
Something about that slender black