Dawn had scarcely broken over King's Landing when the throne room of the Red Keep already teemed with guards.
A hundred or more men-at-arms wore the crowned stag of House Baratheon emblazoned upon their armor and cloaks, while another hundred bore the crimson plate of House Lannister, polished to a high gleam in the early morning light.
Varys and Petyr Baelish exchanged a knowing glance, each reading the same thought in the other's eyes: the hour was at hand.
Clack, clack, clack...
Two long columns of gold cloaks marched past them, their armor freshly burnished, heading toward the throne room with measured steps. These were the men of the Red Keep garrison, some three hundred strong. The Small Council typically mobilized but a third of their number at most, yet today every man stood present.
Leading this formidable company was Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing.
The lowborn commander was a stout man of diminutive stature, his greed surpassing even his barrel-shaped belly, yet he understood well the value of loyalty to the crown—or at least the appearance of it.
"Haha, Lord Petyr, Lord Varys, set your minds at ease," the commander declared, thumping his chest for emphasis. "My lads are more than sufficient to ensure the safety of all. When His Grace returns, he will find the Red Keep exactly as he left it!"
Littlefinger's lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. "Lord Varys, shall we proceed together?"
Varys heaved a delicate sigh. "I confess I remain perplexed as to what urgent matter demands our attention at this ungodly hour. In service to His Grace's realm, I scarcely closed my eyes last night."
"Who can say?" Littlefinger agreed with a shrug.
Indeed, both men harbored misgivings.
The scheme had been meticulous—investigating the councilors' networks, bribing or eliminating gold cloaks throughout the city, and striking at the Small Council almost simultaneously. The forces within both the Red Keep and the city would surely suffice to quell any resistance thereafter. The plan had appeared sound; at minimum, the removal of these troublesome officials seemed assured.
But what arrogance had led their enemies to believe such machinations would go undetected?
Once such a conspiracy came to light, could a mere handmaiden and the Hound truly hope to overcome two members of the Small Council with roots that ran deep as the foundations of the Keep itself? Not even with Lannister gold behind them!
Yet the uncomfortable truth remained—they had indeed discovered the plot and had made robust preparations to counter it.
The situation appeared excellent.
Their lingering doubts and unease were merely the instinctive caution of men long versed in the game of thrones, nothing more.
And so Varys and Petyr deferred to one another with practiced courtesy before striding confidently through the massive doors of the throne room.
Within the great hall stood the assembled courtiers and ladies of the Red Keep, their finery a riot of color against the austere stone walls.
Beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne's twisted blades sat the familiar council table, where Grand Maester Pycelle and Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws, were already seated. No empty chairs remained.
Beside the throne stood the Castellan of the Red Keep, four knights of the Kingsguard in their gleaming white armor, and the handmaiden Hanna, her face a mask of studied neutrality.
Petyr's keen eyes swept the chamber. "My lords are truly diligent in their duties. It seems Lord Varys and I are the last to arrive. Has the meeting already commenced?"
The Grand Maester cleared his throat wetly. "Forgive our presumption, my lords, but the Crown Prince's steward, the Lady Hanna, has informed us that an urgent royal edict must be proclaimed without delay, and so—"
Varys immediately grasped their intent.
A royal edict? How trite and unimaginative a ploy, yet such crude devices often yielded the desired result.
Hanna approached the council table and presented a sealed scroll. The round wax seal bore the unmistakable imprint of the king's royal signet.
"If it please my lords, I would ask that each of you examine this in turn," she said, her voice clear and steady. "Verify that His Grace's seal remains intact and genuine. Afterward, I shall ask the Grand Maester to read aloud the king's commands."
Hanna had received this sealed edict from the Hound, and it proved most fortuitous on this day.
She first presented it to Grand Maester Pycelle.
The ancient maester scrutinized the document with painstaking care, nodding solemnly before passing the edict to Renly.
"I defer to the Grand Maester's wisdom in such matters," Renly remarked with a smile that held little warmth. He cast an enigmatic glance at Hanna before passing the edict directly to the courtier at his side.
One by one, the royal decree made its way through the assemblage until it reached Varys and Littlefinger, who stood at the chamber's center.
Varys caressed the parchment with his powder-soft palm, murmuring praise: "Most exquisitely crafted. The crowned stag impressed in the wax displays particular artistry—majestic and strong, with precise detail. I can find no cause for concern."
He handed it to Littlefinger.
Petyr accepted the scroll with a respectful bow, exchanged meaningful glances with both Renly and Commander Slynt, then strode forward to return it to Pycelle before retreating once more to the center of the hall.
"It appears there has been some oversight in today's arrangements," he observed lightly. "Lord Varys and I shall simply have to endure standing here to hear His Grace's proclamation."
The atmosphere within the throne room grew taut as a drawn bowstring.
The assembled nobles had already regarded the unusual summons with deep suspicion, and now, having witnessed this peculiar tableau, even the dullest among them sensed that momentous events were poised to unfold.
Pycelle broke the seal and unrolled the parchment with trembling fingers. He cleared his throat with a sound like gravel in a copper pot.
The throne room fell abruptly silent, hundreds of eyes turning toward the aged Grand Maester.
Far away in the Neck, Joffrey was also watching intently through his magical sight.
In less than the span of a heartbeat, the Grand Maester's eyes widened in shock, his lengthy white beard quivering violently.
The assembled court held its collective breath. What dire news did the scroll contain?
After muttering incoherently for several moments, the Grand Maester at last straightened his stooped shoulders and began to recite in a voice gone suddenly firm:
"The following is decreed by Robert, the First of His Name, of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.
I hereby declare that Petyr Baelish of House Baelish, Master of Coin, and Varys, Master of Whisperers, stand accused of high treason. These men—"
The hall erupted in a cacophony of gasps and exclamations!
Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard, standing beside the throne, bellowed, "SILENCE!!!"
The court fell abruptly quiet, all eyes fixed upon the two ministers standing at the hall's center. Their faces remained impassive, betraying nothing.
"—have colluded with the foreign enemy 'Bloodraven' Brynden Rivers, amassed wealth through illegal means, corrupted courtiers and officers of the realm, abused their sacred authority, conspired to harm the kingdom, and most grievously, orchestrated the murders of the former Hand of the King, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, Jon Arryn of House Arryn, as well as my own brother, the former Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships, Stannis Baratheon of House Baratheon.
Their crimes are unforgivable!
They are to be imprisoned forthwith, to await my personal judgment upon my return.
In accordance with the wisdom of the gods, and to demonstrate mercy and compassion, I hereby pardon the transgressions of all those who served under their command, who shall retain their respective positions. However, any who oppose this decree or plead for clemency on behalf of the accused shall be deemed guilty of the same offenses.
Let the Small Council execute this royal command, under the supervision of Hanna, steward to my son Joffrey, and Sandor Clegane, sworn shield."
The hall fell deathly still.
Lannister guards, Baratheon men-at-arms, and gold cloaks alike gripped their sword hilts and spear shafts with white-knuckled intensity.
Littlefinger turned to Renly, his voice wounded and incredulous. "Lord Renly, we have served together on the Small Council for many years. Surely you know my character better than this? Someone must have poisoned His Grace's mind against us with vile falsehoods!"
Varys collapsed to his knees with a heartrending sob. "There must be some dreadful mistake! I beg you, I must speak with His Grace! My loyalty has never wavered—His Grace has always known this!"
The courtiers remained as silent as the stone statues that lined the hall.
Hanna stepped forward, her voice firm. "The lords may plead their case to His Grace in person upon his return, but now, we must adhere to the royal decree. Guards!"
Several of the guards took an instinctive step forward, immediately prompting countless swords and spears to be drawn from their scabbards with a steely chorus.
Commander Slynt raised his hand forcefully. "Sheathe your weapons! This is the Small Council chamber, not some common battlefield!"
The commander turned to Hanna, his jowls quivering with barely contained rage. "His Grace would never act with such haste. This decree must arise from some grave misapprehension!"
Hanna's face hardened with righteous indignation. "Do you dare defy the king's explicit command?!"
"I dare not," Slynt countered. "I know only that His Grace entrusted the City Watch to my care, and I am bound to ensure that both King's Landing and the Red Keep remain peaceful and free of strife."
The doubt etched upon the commander's face was plain for all to see. "Even if this edict proves genuine, I care not how His Grace punishes me upon his return. I will not permit any precipitous action today! These are members of the Small Council, not common criminals!"
Varys and Littlefinger had already exchanged meaningful glances with many of the assembled courtiers, their silent communications woven like an invisible web throughout the chamber.
Then Renly rose to his feet.
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