As Joffrey passed the Iron Throne, forged from countless melted swords, he glanced at it briefly.
The twisted blades gleamed faintly in the dim light. Anyone who sat upon it had to remain constantly balanced, or risk being cut.
Aegon the Conqueror had created it for a reason.
Power was never meant to be comfortable. To hold it meant accepting the cost that came with it.
After crossing the great hall and turning into the corridor on the left, they arrived at the council chamber.
The luxury here represented the opposite extreme.
The Myrish carpets beneath their feet were thick and soft, almost like walking on clouds.
In one corner stood a carved wooden screen from the Summer Isles, decorated with hundreds of lifelike birds and beasts.
The walls were covered with tapestries from Norvos, Qohor, and Lys.
Two Valyrian sphinx statues stood beside the doorway.
The council members had already gathered, speaking quietly in small groups.
"Lord Eddard, you are quite fortunate," Renly said with his usual cheerful smile.
"Your very first day here and you already have the rare chance to attend a small council meeting personally presided over by the king."
Robert ignored the teasing from his younger brother and walked straight to the head of the long table.
His heavy body made the high-backed chair creak loudly as he sat.
Eddard took the seat at Robert's right hand, the position of the Hand of the King. It was the same chair Joffrey had been pushed into before.
Renly took the seat on Robert's left. The rest of the council followed accordingly.
Since Stannis remained on Dragonstone, Joffrey did not need to pull up another chair. He simply sat at the far end of the table on the right side.
Directly across from him sat Grand Maester Pycelle.
To his left was the bald eunuch Varys.
Ser Barristan sat upright on the opposite side of the table. His seat symbolized justice, though it also meant the old knight would mostly remain a silent witness.
"Alright, everyone seated? Let's get to the point," Robert said, clapping his hands.
"To welcome our new Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.
And to make up for my son's nameday celebration, which has been delayed for several months."
He slowly poured himself a cup of wine, deliberately pausing for dramatic effect.
"I'm going to hold a grand tournament."
"The kind the Seven Kingdoms will talk about for ten years."
"So…"
"The champion will receive eight thousand gold dragons."
The entire room inhaled sharply.
Eddard, clearly not yet accustomed to the atmosphere of the small council, reacted immediately.
He nearly choked on his drink.
"Your Grace, that's eight thousand gold dragons! That's enough to feed two thousand people with bread for half a month!"
Pycelle slowly turned toward Petyr.
"Master of Coin… can the treasury afford such an expense?"
Littlefinger tapped his fingers lightly against the table in a rhythmic pattern.
"My dear Grand Maester," he said softly, "why pretend in front of His Grace?"
"The royal treasury has been empty for years. Surely you know that."
His tone remained gentle.
"Besides, Lord Tywin will soon arrive in King's Landing to watch his son Jaime compete in the tournament.
We already owe him three million gold dragons. What difference does a few hundred thousand more make?"
"Debt piled upon debt becomes surprisingly comfortable."
"Three million?" Eddard exclaimed, turning toward Robert in disbelief.
Robert flinched slightly under the shout.
"Don't yell at me," he said defensively.
"I've never concerned myself with counting coins. Jon handled all that when he was alive."
Littlefinger continued calmly.
"To be precise, Lord Eddard, the crown owes three million to House Lannister alone.
We have also borrowed from House Tyrell, the Iron Bank of Braavos, and several Tyroshi trading companies."
"Oh yes, and from the Faith as well. The High Septon negotiates like a fish merchant from Dorne."
He smiled faintly.
"In total, the royal debt now exceeds six million gold dragons."
Eddard's face turned pale, as if he might faint at any moment.
Even Joffrey felt a faint ringing in his ears.
He had always known the debt was enormous, but hearing the number spoken aloud felt different.
"Jon…" Eddard murmured, his voice filled with confusion and pain.
"Aerys Targaryen left mountains of gold and silver. How could you spend it all in just over a decade? How could Jon allow this?"
"Stark!" Robert slammed his hand onto the table, making the wine jug tremble.
He sounded genuinely angry.
"I brought you to King's Landing to give me advice, not to start questioning my decisions on your very first day!"
The other council members lowered their eyes silently. But Eddard continued glaring at the king.
The tension in the room thickened.
Then Joffrey spoke.
"Father."
"The reward of eight thousand gold dragons is indeed too high. It's also unnecessary."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"If all the prize money is concentrated on one winner, it will not make the tournament feel grander."
"Instead, we could spend that budget on improving the celebration itself. For example, providing food and drink for the spectators."
"Or adding more events. Poetry recitals, horse races, things like that."
Robert remained silent for a moment. His thick fingers rubbed against the armrest of the chair.
Then his eyes lit up and he slapped the table again.
"Good boy! That reminds me of something!"
"Just a tournament would be boring."
"I'll follow the example of my great-grandfather, Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm."
"We'll hold a Trial of Seven."
"A seven-against-seven mounted melee! The entire realm will sing our praises after this festival!"
Hearing this terrible idea, Joffrey covered his face with his hand and decided not to say another word.
Robert became more and more enthusiastic, his voice echoing through the chamber.
The others gave up trying to interrupt him and simply listened with various expressions as he described his grand vision.
Eventually he grew tired and stood up, clearly believing the meeting had concluded successfully.
"Petyr, you and Ned figure out the details."
"Don't cut any events. As for the prize money…" he glanced at Eddard's dark expression and finally relented slightly.
"You decide the amount, but don't make it look cheap. We can't embarrass the royal family."
"Meeting adjourned!"
The council members left quickly, relieved.
Renly approached Eddard and patted his shoulder. "Relax. My brother is always like this. You'll get used to it."
But after hearing that, Eddard's back seemed even heavier.
When Joffrey returned to Maegor's Holdfast, he did not go straight to his chambers.
Instead, he lingered in a corridor where he could see the Tower of the Hand.
About fifteen minutes later, he finally saw the newly appointed Hand walking slowly toward the tower, his head lowered.
Almost at the same time, another figure hurried from the side and warmly wrapped an arm around Eddard's shoulder.
After whispering a few words, the two men disappeared into the shadows together.
An hour later, Joffrey sat on the edge of his bed.
He closed his eyes, shutting out every sound around him.
Stargazing.
Catelyn Stark.
The scene before him changed instantly. He now stood in a dimly lit room filled with cheap decorations and suggestive furniture.
A tall man from the North and a woman from the Riverlands embraced each other.
Nearby, a thin man watched them with jealous eyes.
And on a wooden table in the room— A dagger with a dragonbone hilt had been driven deeply into the wood.
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