The midday sun was blindingly bright, making one feel uncomfortable.
Kevan Lannister, the master of laws, was enjoying his lunch.
The meal was very simple: roasted chicken breast, boiled beans, black bread, and a cup of fresh water.
He ate quickly and with great focus, as if he were carrying out a mission.
"Lord Baelish." Only after swallowing his food did Kevan look up, his brow furrowed slightly. "Is there something you need?"
"I apologize for interrupting your meal, Ser Kevan."
Petyr was not at all polite as he sat down at the table, his movements as natural as if he were in his own home. "It is just that I have heard some news, and I thought I must tell you, the master of laws, immediately. It concerns the attack on the King this morning..."
Hearing this, Kevan immediately put down his knife and fork and wiped his lips clean with a napkin.
"Adam has already reported it. A mob attack. Vito Corleone, the chief special agent of the small council, arrived in time. His Majesty and the Queen Mother are safe and sound. Lady Margaery was startled but is otherwise unharmed."
"Ser Meryn Trant was killed in the line of duty, but other than that, there were almost no casualties."
"Is there anything else you wish to say?"
Kevan's voice was very deep, and his expression was solemn, exuding an air of confidence.
Having served as his brother Tywin's deputy for decades, he had governed Casterly Rock with perfect order and had never made a mistake.
"A very complete report." Hearing this, Petyr merely smiled. "But don't you think..."
"...it is a bit too complete?"
As he spoke, Petyr pulled a roll of parchment from his robes and spread it out on the table.
Kevan focused his gaze and saw a hand-drawn, simplified map of King's Landing, marked with various symbols.
"I sent men to the scene to take a look."
Petyr seemed to have no intention of hiding anything, pointing directly at the map. "The location where the attack occurred was in the middle section of Saltpans Street, here..."
He pointed to a red dot. "This is where the carriage stopped. And here... is where Corleone appeared."
Kevan looked closely and saw the two places connected by a line.
"From the Place of Order to the middle of Saltpans Street, it takes at least ten minutes on horseback. But according to Ser Adam's report, only four minutes passed from the moment the attack began to when Corleone appeared."
At this, Petyr looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Don't you find it strange? How could Vito Corleone know in advance that an attack would occur and arrive 'just in time' in such a short period?"
At those words, Kevan's brow furrowed even deeper.
"A coincidence." He thought for a moment. "Perhaps they happened to be on that street."
"Perhaps..." Petyr's smile grew wider as he pulled out a second sheet of paper. "These are the entry and exit logs for the Place of Order from this morning. At four in the morning, twenty-three people left. At five-thirty, thirty-one people left."
"Not a single one of these people returned before noon."
"And the alley they headed toward happens to lead to... Saltpans Street, where the attack took place!"
Hearing this, Kevan stared at the two papers, his brow furrowed in constant thought. His fingers tapped the table unconsciously before he looked up at him. "What are you trying to say, Baelish?"
"I am not trying to say anything, my lord." Petyr leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "But the King has only just ascended the throne and has already faced two riots in quick succession. Is all of this too much of a coincidence? Perhaps... you could send Ser Adam to investigate."
Kevan remained silent for a long time.
"Do you have evidence?"
"I am merely raising a few doubts, my lord."
Petyr smiled as he slowly gathered the papers on the table, rolled them up, and tucked them back into his robes. "As a loyal vassal, I believe the honor of the iron throne should not be clouded. It is best to investigate things clearly."
He stood up and gave a slight bow. "I shall take my leave, Ser Kevan."
With that, he turned to walk away.
One step, two steps, three steps.
"Wait."
Hearing Kevan's voice, Petyr stopped, smiled slightly, and turned around. "My lord?"
Kevan also stood up, looking at him sternly. "The iron throne shall never be clouded by anyone."
"It is the kingdom's honor to have you as master of laws." Petyr gave a slight bow.
However, just as he was prepared to leave once more, he heard Kevan continue, "Tywin wants you to leave King's Landing, correct?"
Hearing this, the smile on Petyr's face froze.
He turned his head to see Kevan's expression, which was cold and solemn. "Then... leave."
The following day.
In the early morning at the Great Sept of Baelor, multicolored sunlight poured down through the massive stained-glass windows.
Almost all the nobles of King's Landing were present, standing on either side of the Sept's nave.
Queen Regent Cersei Lannister stood in the front row, closest to the altar, wearing a deep red gown embroidered with gold thread. Her collar was high, and a faint smile played on her lips, looking somewhat disdainful.
The King stood beside her, his heavy crown constantly sliding down. He adjusted it every few minutes, stomping his feet impatiently, his leather boots clicking against the marble floor.
"How much longer?" he asked his mother in a low voice.
His eyes, however, were fixed on the Sept entrance, where his squire held an exquisite box containing the Valyrian steel arrowheads he had recently purchased.
He was eager because he had just tested them this morning; the arrowheads could pierce through three layers of oak planks. He was already thinking about which disobedient servant he should use to test them on after the ceremony.
"Patience, Your Majesty." The voice of Margaery Tyrell beside him was soft. "The Seven love to see people wait."
"Today is a good day; the brave shall finally be rewarded."
She patiently soothed the King, but if one looked closely, they could see her gaze drifting toward the Sept's side door from time to time, where her seven guards stood, their hands always resting on their sword hilts.
After experiencing yesterday's riot, Margaery understood how important it was to have bodyguards with her at all times.
At her words, Joffrey irritably flicked his robes. Beside him, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister, stood proudly.
He had specially shaved his beard today, washed his golden hair that was streaked with white, and even put on a brand-new suit of pure white armor. A long-absent, sincere smile was on his face.
Though he stood guard by the King, Jaime's eyes were fixed on the door, waiting for that familiar figure to appear. He was even more excited than on the day he himself had been knighted by the sword of the morning.
This was that fellow's big day, after all.
Though he was already reviled by the world, at least someone should receive the honor they deserved.
Beside Jaime, the dwarf stood slightly behind, wearing a deep purple velvet doublet in an attempt to look solemn, but the overly long hem made him look like a child wearing adult clothes.
He wore a forced smile, but there was no warmth in his eyes.
Lately, ever since his marriage to Sansa Stark, Shae had not let him touch her.
No matter when it was, both women faced him with sullen expressions. Tyrion truly felt exhausted in mind and body.
It was all his father's arrangement...
"Witnessing the brave is always pleasant, is it not?"
At that moment, a voice spoke up beside him.
Tyrion turned to see that Petyr Baelish had stood beside him at some point.
This fellow was dressed exceptionally grandly today, in a dark green brocade doublet embroidered with intricate vine patterns. The mockingbird brooch shimmered on his chest, making him look even more flamboyant than when he was named Lord of Harrenhal.
Vito Corleone is the one being knighted, yet here you are, putting on a show...
"I only find it boring."
Tyrion snorted. "This kind of ceremony is like cheese left out too long—bright on the surface, but moldy underneath."
"Oh, don't say that, dear Lord Tyrion!"
Hearing this, Petyr laughed exaggeratedly. "A Farmer is about to be knighted by the master of laws, and he's managed to draw the attention of so many nobles. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; we should all be happy for him!"
"You know, this hasn't happened often in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. Even Ser Duncan the Tall at least started as a squire."
He smiled with great warmth, as if he were truly happy for Corleone's investiture.
"There are many things in history that haven't happened often."
Just then, a voice spoke up beside them. "Rare yesterday, rare today... and tomorrow? Who knows?"
The two turned their heads to see a shiny, bald head come into view.
The Master of Whisperers wore a simple gray robe, his hands folded in his wide sleeves. He still wore that expression of pity for the world as he quietly shifted his steps to stand on Petyr's other side, the three of them forming a subtle little circle.
"Lord Varys," Petyr's pupils constricted slightly before he nodded in greeting. "You look well today."
"Do I?" Varys rubbed his smooth chin. "Perhaps it is because I slept well last night."
"My little birds told me that some people did not sleep well last night, seemingly busy packing their bags and preparing for a long journey."
At these words, Petyr's smile stiffened.
But he quickly recovered and said calmly, "A long journey is sometimes necessary. Staying in the same place too long makes one dull, don't you agree?"
"Indeed." Varys nodded, his voice very soft. "But sometimes, when one leaves too hastily, things are always left behind."
"When I was in Pentos, my master always told me that one should never be happy too early when they are at their most successful, otherwise they will find the ending unacceptable when disappointment arrives."
"I do not understand your meaning," Petyr said.
"You will." Varys smiled, and after speaking, he stepped aside and remained silent.
Seeing him like this, a sense of foreboding rose in Petyr's heart. But before he could think further, a commotion came from the Sept entrance.
The crowd parted automatically as a well-proportioned figure stepped inside.
Vito Corleone.
He wore a seemingly simple set of dark gray plate armor. It was not ornate, but it reflected a cold metallic luster under the sun.
The style of the armor was very basic, without intricate patterns or redundant decorations, yet the sigil of a black hand on a white field on his chest made it impossible to look away.
He walked slowly, each step steady and powerful. His armored boots clicked against the marble floor as he looked straight ahead, directly at the statue of the Father.
The aura of [Majesty Lv3] was fully released, sweeping through the entire Sept like an invisible tide.
The nobles' whispering ceased abruptly, and all eyes were suddenly focused on him.
His back was perfectly straight, lacking the humble posture common when commoners had an audience with nobles; instead, he walked with the composure of a king.
Watching this, Jaime's smile deepened.
Yes, just like that.
As the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he could have knighted Corleone himself, as he possessed that authority, but Jaime was unwilling to do so.
Because he always bore the title of "kingslayer." Though he didn't care, it would cause Corleone to be tainted by association as well!
But now... Uncle Kevan was the person Jaime respected most; he was a man of steadfast honor and noble character.
Having him perform the investiture was truly the most appropriate choice!
Under everyone's gaze, Corleone walked to the altar and stood tall.
The fat High Septon, wearing a magnificent robe embroidered with the symbols of the Seven, tried his best to straighten his back and maintain a sacred dignity.
"Vito Corleone."
He called out loudly, "You heroically came to the rescue when the King was attacked, protecting the dignity of the iron throne. The Seven witness your courage and loyalty."
"Now, in the presence of the Seven and these lords, you shall swear your oaths and receive this supreme honor of investiture onto the iron throne!"
Taking a deep breath, the High Septon turned toward Kevan Lannister, who was standing to one side.
The master of laws was wearing a deep blue formal suit today, with the badge of a pouncing lion pinned to his chest.
His expression was solemn as he held a longsword inlaid with rubies in both hands.
According to the ceremony, he should now step forward, tap Corleone's shoulders with the sword, and recite the investiture vows.
However, under the expectant gaze of the fat High Septon and everyone else, Kevan did not move at all.
He stood in place, holding the sword in his hands, looking straight ahead like a statue.
"My lord..." the fat High Septon urged, but Kevan remained deaf to it.
The Sept was terrifyingly quiet, save for the High Septon's heavy breathing as he tentatively reminded him again, "My lord... please proceed with the investiture..."
But Kevan still did not move.
This posture caused beads of cold sweat to break out on the fat High Septon's forehead.
What is he doing!
"My lord, please begin the investiture ceremony!"
By the third time he urged him, the High Septon's voice had begun to sound incredibly agitated.
His son's illness still needed Corleone's follow-up!
Fortunately, Kevan's eyes swept across the room, and he finally spoke: "I... will not perform the investiture for Corleone."
As soon as these words were spoken, everyone present looked at Kevan in utter astonishment and began to whisper.
"What?"
"What did he say?"
"No investiture? Why?"
The High Septon was trembling all over. "My lord... you..."
"What are you doing, Great-uncle Kevan? Hurry up and finish this ceremony!"
At that moment, the brave King stood up, pointing at Kevan's nose as he shouted, "Corleone saved the King; he should be rewarded!"
"Exactly..."
"To say there will be an investiture and then not do it, isn't this just playing with us?"
"Even the master of laws cannot act so recklessly!"
As Joffrey's words fell, another wave of discussion broke out among the crowd.
But Kevan looked directly at the King, his voice very cold. "The procedure can be changed, Your Majesty."
"In light of what Corleone has done, I cannot perform the investiture for him!"
This statement caused another uproar.
Jaime's expression changed abruptly, and he took a step forward as if he wanted to speak up for Corleone, but he was immediately stopped by his brother beside him, who tugged at his trouser leg and shook his head at him.
Then, as if Tyrion had sensed something, he looked up at Petyr and saw the fellow smiling brilliantly. Petyr even tilted his head slightly and whispered to Varys, "It seems... the brave do not always receive their rewards."
But the Master of Whisperers did not look at him or respond; he simply remained silent.
Before the altar, the High Septon had completely panicked.
He looked at Kevan, then at the kneeling Corleone, at a loss for what to do. "This... this is not according to procedure, my lord. The King has already approved it, and the Faith has also unanimously agreed..."
Watching this scene, Petyr's smile became more and more triumphant.
Success.
The seeds of doubt had sprouted. Now, this Farmer would be stripped of all his glory and returned to his original form, and then all his industries...
Just then.
At the entrance of the Sept, the sound of heavy, slow footsteps rang out.
Heavy boots stepped on the floor, each step like the beating of war drums, sounding incredibly majestic.
Everyone turned their heads, holding their breath.
At the entrance of the Great Sept of Baelor, a figure stood silhouetted against the light.
Morning light flooded in from behind him, casting a golden silhouette; he was tall, broad-shouldered, with a tall and stalwart build, pacing forward with a drawn blade in his hand.
Pale green eyes swept over the surroundings, like a... lion patrolling its territory!