"Arthas Lannister?"
King Robert Baratheon sat upon the Iron Throne that belonged to him alone. He gave a derisive laugh, set down Tywin's letter of recommendation, and fixed his deep-set eyes on the handsome blond boy below.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Arthas remained neither servile nor overbearing, studying the man's deeply sunken, dark-ringed eyes with interest. He thought that the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros must have bedded who knew how many whores again last night.
Robert shifted his enormous backside and slowly rose from the throne. His once powerfully muscular frame had now grown monstrously fat.
Fortunately, after putting on weight, he never bedded his queen. Otherwise, Cersei's slight frame probably could not have endured being crushed beneath him like a fat pig.
"My dear king."
Still not recovered from last night's drinking, Robert picked up the wine in his right hand again and poured it down his throat. His lips moved rapidly, spittle flying as he loudly repeated the contents of Tywin's letter:
"My youngest son, Arthas Lannister, possesses exceptional martial prowess and a keen mind. He is the ideal choice for commander of the City Watch."
"I trust that he will keep King's Landing well protected while you travel to Winterfell."
His voice grew louder and louder. As the last word fell, he became so agitated that he hurled his cup forcefully to the floor.
"Another Lannister."
Robert's fat face flushed crimson, whether from anger or the wine rising in him. He extended his right hand and pointed a trembling finger at Arthas, who stood proudly in the center of the hall:
"My queen is a Lannister, my Kingsguard is a Lannister, and now even the commander of the Gold Cloaks is going to be a Lannister!"
"What, has King's Landing been surrounded by Lannisters?"
"Fuck the Lannisters!"
"If you ask me, House Tyrell might as well hand over their words to the Lannisters. You're the ones truly growing strong!"
"If you're so eager to protect your king, why don't I just give the throne to a Lannister!"
Robert grew increasingly agitated as he spoke, making no attempt to conceal his loathing for the Lannisters in such a public setting, dragging Cersei and Jaime beside him into his tirade as well.
Had the Imp not been preoccupied with the fallen women in the brothels and stayed away, Robert probably would have been even angrier.
"Robert!"
Seated beside Robert, Cersei could bear it no longer. She slammed her hand on the table and rose, glaring at her drunken husband as she said in a low voice, enunciating every word:
"You're drunk!"
Then she turned to Jaime, who stood before the steps in white cloak and white armor, seemingly keeping loyal watch, and issued an order:
"Jaime, as a member of the Kingsguard, I believe you should escort the king back to his chambers to rest."
Receiving the order, Jaime gave Cersei a meaningful look, seemingly somewhat reluctant. Yet it was his duty, after all, and he could only reply unwillingly:
"As you command, my queen."
His left hand gripping his scabbard, he strode to the king's side and firmly supported Robert's thick arm with his powerful right hand:
"Your Grace, you are indeed drunk. Please come with me."
"What, do you Lannisters now get to decide when I go to bed?"
Robert bellowed, his pungent wine breath flooding Jaime's nostrils and spittle spraying all over his face.
Jaime said nothing. He merely supported Robert, who was clearly becoming unsteady on his feet, and led him toward his chambers.
"Seven above!"
Barely conscious now, Robert could only let Jaime drag him along. Like a man in a drunken frenzy, he threw back his head and shouted:
"I curse every last one of you Lannisters to the Seven Hells!"
As the two departed, Robert's bellows gradually faded, finally disappearing from the hall.
Everyone in the hall chose to turn a blind eye to this farce, no different from a street thug's ranting, as though they had long since grown used to the sight.
"I'm sorry, Arthas."
Only once the hall fell completely silent did Cersei's livid expression soften a little. Her green eyes brimmed with desire as she looked at Arthas and apologized sincerely:
"King Robert has just lost his Hand. He hasn't been in a good mood."
"It's all right, sister."
Arthas answered with his expression unchanged, deftly avoiding Cersei's heated gaze and making no eye contact with her.
Her affair with Jaime was essentially an open secret among the Lannisters.
Arthas always maintained a respectful distance from this sister with her special feelings for members of House Lannister.
"Does anyone have any further objections to Arthas's appointment as commander of the City Watch?"
Seeing that Arthas was ignoring her, Cersei also understood that this was no place for flirtation. She turned instead to loudly solicit the opinions of those in the hall.
"Your Grace."
Apparently unaware that the first to stick his neck out would draw fire, Baelish, the Master of Coin, was the first to step forward and speak.
He had changed into clean clothes, no longer looking as disheveled as he had earlier in Flea Bottom, and had regained his usual courteous bearing.
But the faint hint of amusement hidden in Baelish's eyes did not escape Arthas.
"I believe that, even with Lord Tywin's recommendation and Lord Arthas's exceptional martial prowess, he is still far too young. A commander of the City Watch so young may struggle to command respect."
Baelish narrowed his eyes like a venomous snake waiting for its opportunity and openly expounded his views:
"Moreover, Your Grace must not forget that the current commander of the City Watch, Commander Janos Slynt, is still in his prime. If Lord Arthas takes office, Commander Janos may well resent it."
His argument was so well reasoned that Cersei could find no grounds to refute it. She could only turn to the bald man beside Baelish and ask:
"Lord Varys, what is your opinion?"
At the queen's question, Varys hurriedly stepped forward, his hands tucked into his sleeves. His round, bald head lent him a somewhat comical air, as though he ought to have been a fool rather than the Master of Whisperers.
"Your Grace, I believe Lord Baelish does indeed make a sound argument."
An unusual man among eunuchs, Varys valued order and balance above everything else. Now that Tywin actually sought to bring control of King's Landing's peacekeeping into Lannister hands, he naturally intended to stop him.
"Lord Janos Slynt has served as commander of the City Watch for many years, always diligently attending to his duties. Nor has there been any trouble with order in King's Landing."
"To remove him from office so lightly would, I think, be beneath the dignity of the realm..."
"Enough. Say no more."
Before Varys could finish, Cersei impatiently interrupted him.
"Grand Maester Pycelle, I would like to hear your thoughts."
Grand Maester Pycelle was an old man whose hair and beard had turned gray. Always close to the Lannisters, he had now become Cersei's only hope on this Small Council.
He tottered forward two steps, looking as though he might collapse at any moment, and answered with indistinct articulation:
"Y-Your Grace."
"Throughout the history of Westeros, there has indeed been no precedent for anyone becoming commander of the City Watch at fourteen."
Just as disappointment began to fill Cersei's eyes, Pycelle spoke again:
"However, in this old man's opinion..."
"If Lord Arthas truly possesses exceptional martial prowess, he might put it to the test in the upcoming tourney."
"If Lord Arthas can win the tourney and earn the title of the foremost warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, he could rightfully assume command of the City Watch. I imagine Commander Janos would have no complaints."
Old fox.
Looking at the decrepit Pycelle, Arthas could not help inwardly disparaging him.
With his discerning eye, how could he fail to see that this old fellow was perfectly healthy, even healthier than the average young man?
He could clearly speak and walk normally, yet he feigned senility and decrepitude precisely so that others would not be on their guard against him.
Now that someone was finally supporting her, Cersei's eyes lit up, and she nodded in satisfaction:
"Arthas."
She slowly rose, completely ignoring Baelish and Varys, who remained opposed, and seated herself upon Robert's Iron Throne. Her clear voice rang through the hall:
"Are you confident you can take first place in the tourney?"
"Of course!"
Arthas answered as though it went without saying.
Knowing that Arthas was highly capable, and that even Jaime had once lost to him, Cersei also considered this the best solution. She immediately prepared to announce loudly:
"Very well. I declare this meeting of the Small Council adjour-"
"Your Grace!"
Before she could finish, Arthas loudly interrupted her:
"The tourney is at least two months away. During that time, nearly all the noble knights of Westeros will come to King's Landing.
"I seriously doubt whether Commander Janos has the ability to maintain order in King's Landing under such complicated circumstances."
"I have a faster way to prove my strength!"
Arthas's startling declaration and the powerful confidence he radiated drew the eyes of everyone present.
Cersei was utterly captivated by Arthas's commanding presence, her gaze upon him almost clinging to him.
"Then, Arthas, what is your method?"
Gently shifting her hips and continually rubbing against the Iron Throne, Cersei had already begun imagining how it would feel to sit on Arthas's lap. Even her voice trembled a little.
"It's very simple."
Arthas's gaze was like a sharp sword as he looked at the old man in white cloak and white armor, a longsword at his waist, who had been silently guarding Cersei's side:
"Ser Barristan Selmy, if I remember correctly, there are seven members of the Kingsguard, aren't there?"
"That is correct, Lord Arthas."
The old man's voice was resonant. With his white hair, sorrowful blue eyes, handsome face, and graceful bearing, he remained the man of countless noblewomen's dreams in King's Landing even now.
This was the current Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, known as "Barristan the Bold"!
He was tall, and though advanced in years, his body remained strong. Given his prowess, no one doubted that even at his age, he could effortlessly dispose of any villains who sought to harm the king.
Seemingly guessing Arthas's intention, Barristan, who had not felt any desire for battle in a long time, actually grew excited for the first time in years.
"Ser Barristan Selmy, you are a senior whom I greatly respect."
Arthas's smile was as brilliant as the spring morning sun. Pressing his right fist to his chest, he bowed gracefully to the old man before him:
"Tomorrow, after King Robert has sobered up, I hope you can assemble all the Kingsguard."
"With the Seven as witnesses, before all the nobles of King's Landing, face me in an open contest!"
"If I can defeat seven members of the Kingsguard, surely no one will question whether I have the strength to win the tourney."
"Am I right?"
Barristan's eyes suddenly widened like those of a sleeping beast jolted awake. His clear blue eyes regarded the boy before him, who seemingly knew no limits:
"Excellent. It has been a long time since I met a young man with such fighting spirit."
"Hahaha, Arthas Lannister, your courage is admirable."
The corners of his lips curved slightly upward. This man, once the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, showed a keen interest in Arthas:
"But there are a full seven members of the Kingsguard. How many men do you intend to bring?"
As soon as he finished speaking, everyone in the hall felt a chill sweep over them. A trace of frost actually appeared in Arthas's golden eyes.
An invisible, powerful aura of dominance seemed to radiate from the boy at the very center of the hall, as though at this moment he alone were the protagonist of this world.
"I don't need to bring anyone."
Arthas's nonchalant voice reached everyone's ears. Such arrogant words sounded utterly natural coming from his mouth:
"I alone am enough!"
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