"Lord Tywin, you have finally arrived."
"We have all been waiting eagerly."
Pycelle's voice sounded like a careless child tossing a stone into still water, sending an awkward ripple through the silent throne room.
Several people exchanged glances.
No one spoke.
Joffrey stood slightly behind Cersei, his eyes slowly sweeping across the hall.
In the center stood the powerful lords and nobles of the Red Keep. Among them was the Grand Maester, who had only just realized he had said something foolish.
Facing them across the hall stood Joffrey's grandfather.
Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock.
Though past fifty, he still stood tall and imposing. His legs were long, his shoulders broad like carved stone.
He was not wearing his famous armor today.
Instead, he wore a dark crimson velvet coat with a golden lion embroidered on a sash across his shoulder.
Even so, the silent authority he radiated was far more intimidating than the two fully armored guards from Casterly Rock standing behind him.
And seated above everyone else, upon the Iron Throne forged from a thousand swords, sat the man meant to welcome him.
It was not Robert.
It was the current Hand of the King.
Eddard Stark.
His back was as straight as a weirwood tree in the North, rigid and upright, as if the blades behind him were pressing sharply against his spine.
"Lord Tywin," Eddard said, gripping the arms of the Iron Throne.
"I welcome you on behalf of Robert the First of House Baratheon, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm."
His voice sounded dry.
"His Grace… is presently occupied with other duties."
A thought crossed Joffrey's mind.
Those duties probably involved not interrupting the king while he drank in some tavern and chased women.
He doubted he was the only one thinking that.
Robert, after all, could be surprisingly creative when he wanted to embarrass someone.
And this open insult had already made Cersei tremble with anger.
She stared down the steps at her father, her eyes filled with both rage and silent pleading.
Perhaps even the queen hoped Tywin would not lose his temper here.
At last, under the watchful gaze of everyone present, the king's father-in-law finally responded.
Tywin did not bow.
He did not even lower his chin.
He merely nodded slightly.
It was less a gesture of respect and more an acknowledgment that he had heard.
"His Grace's diligence in matters of state is a blessing for the realm," Tywin said calmly.
"With the Hand of the King seated firmly in his place, His Grace must surely have no worries."
His voice was steady and low.
Yet everyone in the hall felt as though they were standing beside a volcano ready to erupt.
Eddard swallowed.
"Your journey must have been tiring, my lord," he said stiffly, clearly eager to move on.
"The Red Keep has prepared chambers for you. Please rest."
"Your arrangements are appreciated."
Tywin said nothing more. He did not even glance toward his daughter or grandson.
He turned sharply and walked away.
His footsteps echoed through the empty hall until they disappeared beyond the doors.
Behind Eddard, the captain of his guards looked furious, as though he had just witnessed a great insult.
"Dismissed," Eddard said with a tired sigh.
His face looked numb.
He quickly left with his guards.
Joffrey quietly exhaled.
Good.
Both men still had some restraint.
If certain other people had been placed in that situation, swords might already have been drawn.
The great doors slowly closed.
The silent hall immediately erupted like a disturbed beehive.
"Grand Maester, what on earth were you thinking just now?" Varys floated over first, his sweet voice dripping with amusement.
"You nearly frightened me to death. For a moment I thought the bloodshed of years past might repeat itself here."
"Seeing your old master again after so long must have made you too excited," Littlefinger added as he joined them.
His words were sharp as needles, aimed precisely where they would sting.
Pycelle's face turned red and pale by turns as he tried to explain himself.
When he realized he could not outtalk either of them, he simply waved his sleeve in frustration and slipped away while pretending not to notice their mockery.
Cersei had already stormed out before Eddard left.
Only Joffrey remained behind.
He had stayed on purpose to watch the show.
After a moment, Littlefinger seemed to notice him for the first time and strolled over.
He glanced cautiously at the Hound standing nearby before speaking.
"Your Highness," Littlefinger said with a charming smile, "it seems your grandfather and your future father-in-law do not get along very well."
Even in a moment like this, his instinct to mock others never disappeared.
"You jest, Lord Petyr," Joffrey replied politely.
"The Hand and Lord Tywin are both pillars of the realm. They simply fulfill different duties."
"Well said," Littlefinger answered smoothly. "After all, Lord Tywin once held that position himself."
He leaned slightly closer.
"So perhaps he is simply upset that this... newcomer has taken his seat."
Joffrey's smile never changed.
"Lord Tywin has always been broad-minded. He would never grow angry over something so small."
"Would you agree?"
Littlefinger laughed softly.
"Of course. Young men climbing above old men is inevitable."
His tone was casual, but the meaning beneath it was clear.
"I only hope they can coexist peacefully," he added. "It would be unfortunate if such a minor matter harmed their relationship."
What they were truly referring to was the matter Joffrey had arranged a few days earlier.
The business involving the commander of the Gold Cloaks.
Joffrey understood people like Janos very well.
Loyalty and principles were merely tools used to gain profit. The moment someone offered a higher price, men like him would switch sides without hesitation.
They might even imagine themselves clever for trying to serve two masters at once.
However, Joffrey had not been able to confirm whether Janos had kept his mouth shut.
With Littlefinger's intelligence network, even the slightest movement within the City Watch would eventually reach his desk.
Which meant that every arrangement Joffrey had made for the tournament—whether the fragrant meat pies sold openly or the hidden betting games buried beneath the surface—served another purpose.
He was testing the loyalty of the City Watch.
In theory they served the king. But after years of Robert's neglect, who did they truly serve?
The Master of Coin who paid their wages each month?
Or the distant king on the Iron Throne who spent his days drinking and hunting?
At that moment Varys drifted over like a cloud carried by the wind, joining their harmless conversation.
He skillfully smoothed the atmosphere, playing his usual role as mediator and observer.
Watching the two men in front of him, Joffrey's thoughts were perfectly clear.
Removing these two dangerous figures would not actually be difficult.
With the right excuse, either of them could disappear from the world without anyone in King's Landing shedding a tear.
The problem was timing.
Both would have to be removed at the same time. If only one fell, the other might panic and reveal every secret he knew just to survive.
And those secrets could easily become deadly weapons.
Besides, Joffrey did not want to handle it that way.
He had spent too long building his reputation and public image. He could not allow it to be stained by conspiracies and assassinations.
At least not openly.
He needed a proper reason. A reason that would make their downfall appear deserved.
Something the people would cheer for.
Littlefinger continued chatting about the awkward meeting with Tywin, while Varys responded gently beside him.
Joffrey listened with a faint smile, but his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.
There was a land of mountains and narrow passes.
A land whose knights were famous across the Seven Kingdoms.
Yet under the rule of a certain regent widow, that region might refuse to join the coming wars and remain isolated.
The Vale.
Littlefinger dreamed about controlling it whenever he studied the map at night.
But he was not the only one.
Joffrey wanted it as well.
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