Meanwhile, inside the Red Keep, all the remaining unarrested nobles had gathered in the great hall. The very fact that they stood there, untouched, already spoke to their political allegiance.
Near the entrance, a crowd of commoners from King's Landing had been brought in specifically for the occasion. These so-called citizens were idle drifters—useless for most things except their mouths. In Joffrey's own words, they could spread word of what happened in the hall today, ensuring that everyone would hear of the majesty of Joffrey I.
A sharp clang rang out—deafening in the vast hall—as the famed Barristan was surrounded by his fellow Kingsguard, all armed. A dozen Gold Cloaks stood nearby, on high alert, watching him closely as he drew his longsword.
Though just moments ago they'd mocked Barristan for being too old to protect anyone, none of them truly believed he was harmless. Instinctively, they feared him. Even armed, he was still a force—someone no single person in the room dared face alone.
Barristan, his gaze sharp, scanned the nervous faces of the Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks around him. His eyes finally landed on the boy seated atop the Iron Throne. He sneered, tossed his sword to the ground, and said, "Boy, if you want it—take it."
He unfastened the clasps at his shoulders, letting the snow-white cloak of the Kingsguard fall and pile at his feet, then removed his helmet and threw it aside.
As he undid the buckles of his breastplate, letting the armor crash to the ground, the white-haired Ser Barristan spoke with pride. "I thank you for your kindness, my lords—but I spit on your pity. I was born a knight, and I'll die like one."
"Like a knight without his clothes, wouldn't you say?" Littlefinger quipped.
Laughter erupted through the hall. Joffrey on the throne, the Red Keep's gathered lords, the common folk at the back, and even the Kingsguard brothers who once fought beside him—everyone laughed as if it were the finest joke they'd ever heard.
Only Sansa Stark did not laugh. She simply watched the old knight, sorrow in her eyes, this man once honored across the Seven Kingdoms.
Barristan, however, remained calm. Coldly scanning the crowd again, his gaze fixed on Littlefinger. His eyes, sharp as blades, seemed to press against Littlefinger's throat. The smirk faded from Littlefinger's face. Slowly, the laughter around them died down. All eyes turned to Barristan in tense silence.
Without a word, Barristan turned and walked out of the hall. His heavy footsteps echoed against the bare stone walls, each one louder than the last, filling the air with a suffocating stillness.
"He dared call me a boy! That's treason! A grave insult to the king!" Joffrey blurted as soon as Barristan disappeared from sight. The pressure of the moment gone, anger overtook him. "He's probably conspiring with my two rebellious uncles. I want him arrested—immediately! Interrogated!" When no one moved, he shouted louder, "I said, arrest him!"
Janos Slynt, newly made Lord of Harrenhal for helping suppress Eddard Stark's rebellion, stepped forward eagerly. "Your Grace, leave it to my Gold Cloaks. I will personally ensure—"
"Enough!" said Queen Cersei sharply. She had remained silent until now. "He's just an old man. No threat at all. And Joffrey—don't forget—when Eddard Stark produced that forged will, he was the first to denounce it. He did you a service. If you arrest him, it will—"
"Mother, you just used my name!" Joffrey interrupted sternly. He hadn't heard a word of what she said. He turned to her, face serious. "I sit the Iron Throne. I am the king. Right now, you are merely my subject. You should address me as 'Your Grace,' not by name."
Cersei's expression tightened. Glancing at those around her, she lowered her head and replied, "Yes, Your Grace. I'm simply used to the old way of speaking."
"Let's hope you adjust soon. I am the king now," Joffrey said, his tone one of magnanimous forgiveness. Then he turned away. "Yes, Barristan did expose the usurper's forgery, and he served me well. But service doesn't give him the right to be disrespectful. Lord Janos, I command you—go now. Arrest Barristan, throw him in the dungeons, let him starve for a few days. Once he bows his head, then you may let him out."
Janos Slynt bowed and immediately left the hall with his two sons, summoning the Gold Cloaks to begin the hunt for Barristan.
Littlefinger leaned in. "Your Grace, there are only six Kingsguard now. We'll need a new one to fill the seventh seat."
"That's simple," Joffrey said lightly. "Good dog—you take it."
"Your Grace, the Kingsguard has always been made up of knights," Ser Boros said with a frown.
"Not anymore," Joffrey said, clearly enjoying the moment. "We'll start a new tradition." He turned to Sandor Clegane. "What do you think, dog?"
"I don't care," the Hound rasped. "No land, no wife—I've got nothing to lose. But don't expect me to take any knightly vows."
He descended the steps, picked up Barristan's discarded white cloak, shook the dust from it, and threw it over his shoulders.
"The king will now hear the petitions of those present. If you have business, step forward. If not—dismissed!"
At the herald's booming announcement, Sansa stepped forward from the crowd, trembling. Every eye turned to her. It felt like invisible hands were tightening around her throat, but she knew she had to be brave—because she was the only one who could save her father.
"Your Grace." She tried to sound composed, but her voice still shook.
Her fear pleased Joffrey. He smiled at her and said, "Lady Sansa, come forward."
Sansa lifted her head, doing her best to remain poised, and approached the Iron Throne at a measured pace.
But Joffrey's smile faded. Seeing her walk so calmly made him frown. Before she could even speak, he cut her off.
"I know why you've come. You're here to beg mercy for your traitorous father."
"Yes, Your Grace," Sansa said quickly, dropping to her knees. "Please, I beg you—be merciful. Spare my father..."
"My lady," Grand Maester Pycelle suddenly interrupted, his tone harsh and righteous, "your father committed treason and sought to usurp the throne. What kind of wicked man commits such a grievous crime? Treason is a poison weed—it must be ripped out by the roots. If it's left to grow, Your Grace's authority will be diminished, and traitors will multiply."
Varys stood silently to the side, watching everything unfold, saying nothing.
Queen Cersei let out a soft sigh and gently reminded, "Sansa, do you remember what I told you?"
Littlefinger seized the moment to press further. "Do you admit to the crimes your father committed?"
Realizing what was being asked of her, Sansa hesitated briefly, then nodded. "My lords, I admit that my father committed the unforgivable crime of treason."
Her words immediately stirred murmurs throughout the hall. As the eldest daughter of Eddard Stark, her admission effectively confirmed his identity as a traitor in the eyes of the court.
"Silence!" Joffrey barked, cutting through the noise. He turned to Sansa with a smile. "Go on, Lady Sansa."
"I know my father must be punished," she said, voice trembling, "but I beg Your Grace, and all the lords present, to show mercy and spare his life. He surely regrets everything he has done. He was a friend to King Robert—he loved him dearly, as you all know. He must have been misled... perhaps by Lord Renly, or Lord Stannis…"
"Enough!" Joffrey cut in sharply, raising a hand to silence Queen Cersei, who looked ready to speak. "Whether he was misled or not is irrelevant. What matters is that he committed treason."
He leaned forward and declared, "Lady Sansa, your love for your father has moved me. I will honor your filial devotion and spare his life—but only if he publicly confesses his crimes, acknowledges me as his king, and writes to your brother in Winterfell, commanding him to come to King's Landing and bend the knee. Only then will I grant Eddard Stark his life and allow him to take the black. Otherwise, I cannot be merciful. Do you understand, noble lady?"
"Yes, yes, I understand," Sansa nodded quickly, tears streaming down her face.
"You may leave now. I'll have someone escort you to the dungeons to see your father shortly," Joffrey said with a dismissive wave. Then, turning to Queen Cersei, he added, "Mother, didn't you have something to announce?"
"Yes," Cersei said, rising to address the hall. "Loras of House Tyrell of Highgarden has conspired with Renly to usurp the throne—an act of treason. House Tyrell must have been involved as well. Therefore, the marriage arranged by the late King Robert between His Grace and Lady Margaery Tyrell is hereby annulled."
The hall fell into stunned silence. All eyes turned to Cersei and Joffrey, shock written on every face. Even Grand Maester Pycelle, a staunch supporter of House Lannister, looked at the royal pair with an expression that was difficult to read.
Anyone with the slightest sense could grasp the significance of the Reach. Nearly half of King's Landing's daily food supply came from the Reach, and its military strength ranked among the highest in the Seven Kingdoms—even the wealthy Westerlands couldn't necessarily compete with the power and abundance of the Reach.
More critically, Prince Lynd Tarran—Lord of Summerhall, Prince of the Narrow Sea, the Stepstones, and the Disputed Lands—was, nominally, a vassal of House Tyrell and held unusually close ties to Highgarden. By canceling the betrothal to Margaery, the Iron Throne wasn't just offending Highgarden—it was also offending Prince Lynd.
In the minds of those gathered, the image of Lynd Tarran marching on King's Landing had already taken shape. Tumbleton, after all, lay just outside the capital—and it housed a permanent force of over ten thousand troops, ready to strike at any moment.
As the court reeled from the shock of Cersei and Joffrey's reckless decision, Lord Janos—who had just been dispatched to capture Ser Barristan—came tumbling into the hall in a flurry of panic.
"Your Grace! Prince Lynd of Summerhall is here—in King's Landing! He's at the Great Sept of Baelor right now!"
"Lynd Tarran is in King's Landing?" Joffrey immediately recalled the fearsome impression Lynd had left on him previously. Though alarmed, he struggled to maintain his composure, masking it with feigned indignation.
"If he's come to King's Landing, he should have presented himself before his king at once and sworn his loyalty!"
Janos quickly added, "Your Grace, he… he came on a dragon! A giant dragon—flying through the air!"
The hall fell silent once again, followed by an eruption of murmurs that only grew louder with every passing second.
"Silence them! Shut them up!" Joffrey snapped, clearly panicked.
"Quiet! Quiet!" bellowed the herald, using his booming voice to quell the crowd.
Everyone turned their attention to Joffrey, waiting for him to make a decision—but he had no idea what to do. His mind was completely blank.
At that moment, Queen Cersei stepped in, addressing the Small Council. "Speak your minds. Lord Baelish, Lord Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle—the king needs your counsel."
The named advisors exchanged glances. Varys, who had remained silent since entering the hall, stepped forward first.
"Prince Lynd's actions make one thing clear—he holds great respect for the late King Robert. He came to the city to mourn him and keep vigil. Such loyalty should be rewarded, Your Grace."
Littlefinger was quick to echo him. "Yes, yes! Prince Lynd's loyalty is well known. King Robert trusted him deeply and entrusted him with significant responsibilities. At the beginning of your reign, Your Grace, you need such loyal subjects by your side. He should be rewarded."
Grand Maester Pycelle added gravely, "I believe Your Grace should grant Prince Lynd the title of Lord Protector, to honor his service in defending the realm and expanding its reach."
Joffrey bristled at the idea of rewarding someone who hadn't even come to kneel before him—especially someone who frightened him as much as Lynd Tarran. He glanced toward Queen Cersei, hoping she would reject the idea.
"Let it be done," Cersei said without hesitation. "Issue a royal decree—grant Prince Lynd Tarran the title of Lord Protector, in recognition of his loyalty to the realm."
She swept her gaze across the chamber, then fixed her eyes on Varys.
"You, Varys, will deliver the decree on the king's behalf."