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The bells of the Red Keep tolled.
Their sound was heavy and long, like the dying sigh of a giant from beyond the Wall, echoing through every street and over every rooftop in King's Landing.
The king was dead.
In the Hand's Tower, Lynn stood by the window, gazing down at the city swallowed by an eerie silence.
Robert's death came even sooner than he expected.
He had thought the boar would at most badly wound Robert—that the king would lie in bed ten days, maybe half a month, slowly draining away in pain and fever.
He never imagined that beast,spiked with a little "seasoning" Jaqen had slipped it, would be so fierce.
One strike, and Robert hadn't even lasted two days.
That was for the best.
Now Lynn didn't have to return after finishing matters in the North to clean up this mess.
Everything could be settled before he left King's Landing.
Lynn turned and left the Hand's Tower.
...
The atmosphere inside the Throne Room was suffocating.
Beneath the massive dome sat the Iron Throne, a vicious seat forged from a thousand melted swords.
All the Small Council's important lords were present.
They'd come for that prickly throne and for the choice of king who would soon occupy it.
Ned Stark stood at the Hand's place, clad in simple black.
Grand Maester Pycelle hunched his shoulders; the heavy chain marking his office seemed more like a shackle now.
"The Spider" Varys lingered in shadow, a sorrowful and pitying mask on his face. But hidden beneath his wide sleeves, his hands rubbed together restless and quietly.
Sansa Stark, Master of Coin, had hurried here at once.
Queen Cersei Lannister stood at the foot of the Iron Throne steps, dressed in a sumptuous black gown.
Her face,stunning and flawless—showed no hint of grief.
Only a near-pathological excitement and a barely concealed tension.
Her eyes kept flicking toward the entrance.
She was waiting for someone.
When Lynn's tall figure appeared in the doorway, every pair of eyes snapped to him.
Cersei's heart nearly stopped, pounding in her throat.
Her fingers clutched tightly at the folds of her skirt.
He was here.
The man who held the secret of Joffrey's parentage.
What would he do?
Would he expose that secret, dooming House Lannister forever, right here in front of everyone?
Would he honor their fragile alliance or strike a killing blow at the perfect moment?
Cersei felt the air leave her lungs.
Lynn ignored all those looks—whether wary, curious, or judging.
He walked slowly to the center of the hall, first nodding slightly to Ned Stark's grim face. Then his gaze settled on Cersei.
Their eyes locked.
There was nothing in those deep eyes.
No threat, no mockery, no mercy.
Only a calm so profound it was terrifying.
This calm was more terrifying than any clear threat.
Because she had no idea what Lynn would do next.
"The passing of His Grace the King is a tragedy for the realm," Lynn's voice rang out, clear and steady in the heavy silence.
"But grief solves nothing."
"Now, the realm's greatest need is stability."
"A ruler who is strong and undisputed!"
His gaze swept over everyone present before resting on the menacing Iron Throne.
"According to Seven Kingdoms law and tradition, His Grace King Robert's eldest son, Prince Joffrey Baratheon, is the sole legitimate heir to the throne."
"I, Lynn, King-Beyond-the-Wall, hereby support Prince Joffrey's claim!"
After the initial shock, a wild joy surged through Cersei.
She had bet correctly.
Lynn had honored their alliance.
She and her son were safe.
The heart hanging suspended in mid-air finally settled.
But then a colder chill crept through her.
She looked again at Lynn standing there in the hall's center.
She realized this "support" was never free.
Had Lynn revealed Joffrey's secret to make trouble, everything would have unraveled.
As the hall buzzed with mixed thoughts, a voice rang out, youthful but filled with joyous arrogance.
"Lord Lynn is right!"
Prince Joffrey entered through a side door.
He had shed his plain mourning clothes for an ornate robe embroidered with a crowned stag and roaring lion.
His handsome, sharp features flushed unnaturally with excitement.
Without even glancing at his mother, he strode straight to Lynn, eyes shining with open gratitude and deep trust.
Lyanna's words and Lynn's support made him feel like he owned the whole world.
He was no longer a weak prince living in his father's shadow.
He was about to become king.
"I am the true stag of House Baratheon!"
Joffrey's voice sharpened with excitement.
He scanned the lords gathered, lingering briefly on their faces with a hint of challenge.
Suddenly, he remembered Renly's "plot."
Rage flared up.
Then with a near-roar, Joffrey proclaimed his first royal decree:
"My uncle, Renly Baratheon!"
"That coward! That schemer who rose by flattering women and men!"
"Does he think fleeing to Storm's End will save him from my judgment?"
"I, Joffrey, heir to House Baratheon and House Lannister, command him in the name of the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms:"
"Return to King's Landing at once!"
"Kneel before me and beg for mercy!"
"Or I will lead an army to raze Storm's End to the ground!"
Cersei's face went deathly pale.
"Joffrey!"
She screamed, desperate to stop her son's reckless words.
This was madness.
To provoke Renly before his power was secure?
This was not shoring up the throne; it was digging his own grave.
"Silence, Cersei!"
Joffrey spun to glare at her and roared:
"I am the king now!"
"I give the orders here!"
Without Tywin or Tyrion beside him, Joffrey had completely lost control. Cersei couldn't hold him back.
Joffrey's anger contorted his face into a grim echo of the Mad King Aerys.
Roaring wasn't enough.
"Tomorrow, I will hold the grandest coronation ever!"
...
King's Landing, the Great Sept of Baelor.
This magnificent white building was the heart of the Faith of the Seven in Westeros.
Seven crystal towers glittered like gods watching the world from on high.
Inside, the mood was solemn and reverent.
Nobles from across the Seven Kingdoms gathered in their finest robes, their faces grave, to witness the birth of a new king.
On the altar, the High Septon's aged voice echoed through the vast hall.
Joffrey knelt on the cold marble floor, head bowed low.
The High Septon took up a crystal vial of holy oils, anointing Joffrey's forehead, palms, and the backs of his feet with seven sacred oils.
"In the name of the Father, may you be just and stern."
"In the name of the Mother, may you be merciful."
"In the name of the Warrior, be brave and decisive."
"In the name of the Maiden, protect innocence."
"In the name of the Smith, labor diligently."
"In the name of the Crone, be wise and discerning."
"In the name of the Stranger, respect death."
The long prayers ended.
The High Septon received a golden and obsidian crown from an attendant.
It was Robert Baratheon's crown.
Raising it high, he slowly placed it on Joffrey's head under the watchful eyes of all.
"I crown you, Joffrey, heir to House Baratheon and House Lannister."
"King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm!"
"Long live King Joffrey!"
The High Septon cried.
"Long live King Joffrey!"
A thunderous shout rose from the nobles.
Joffrey rose slowly.
He turned to face the subjects kneeling before him.
Sunlight poured through the stained glass above, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across him.
He felt like a god.
An all-powerful god.
His gaze roamed the crowd.
He saw his mother, Cersei.
Her beautiful face hid complicated, unreadable emotions.
He saw the Hand, Ned Stark.
That northern fool lowered his head, lost in thought.
Finally, his eyes fixed on Lynn.
Lynn stood calmly at the very front, not shouting like the others.
He just stood there quietly, a faint, elusive smile touching his lips.
That smile made Joffrey feel safe.
It made him certain everything he was doing was right.
The coronation ended.
Joffrey stepped down from the altar, flanked by the Kingsguard, preparing to return to the Red Keep.
Just as he reached the main door, he suddenly stopped.
He turned and looked toward Ned Stark.
"Lord Stark,"
The hall instantly fell silent.
Ned lifted his head to meet those dark, hostile eyes.
"My father is dead. Isn't it time for the Hand to change as well?"
A cruel smile spread across Joffrey's face.
He still simmered with resentment over his father's apology to Ned—because of Sansa.
"I heard you never really liked King's Landing."
"If that's true, then I'll grant you your wish."
"From today, you are no longer the King's Hand."
"You can crawl back to your frozen North."
Shock rippled through the hall.
Ned's face went pale as iron.
Cersei's vision blurred. She almost fainted.
You fool!
What are you doing?
Do you have no political sense at all?
Though unspoken, everyone,even a dog in King's Landing, knew Ned and Lynn were as close as brothers.
Lynn would even marry Ned's youngest daughter, Arya.
Even Sansa's relationship with Lynn was complicated.
That boy might well end up with both sisters.
And what did you do?
You've utterly insulted your future father-in-law.
Lynn only just publicly declared his support for you in a bold move. How do you think the other lords see you now?
Today you burn your bridge with Ned.
Tomorrow?
What will those lords think?
Everyone will feel insecure.
Foolish child, you're going to lose the people's loyalty.
Sure enough, the assembled lords' eyes toward Joffrey grew distant, wary.
Cersei felt her whole world collapsing.
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