Cold, shaking.
In a daze, The Imp slowly opened his eyes. What met his gaze was a young, beautiful girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, yet her face was twisted into a hideous expression.
" Cersei ?"
Staring blankly at the girl who bore a striking resemblance to his own malicious queen sister, The Imp spoke in confusion, only to find that he could only make the wailing sounds of an infant.
"What on earth is going on?"
Lifting his hand before his eyes, he saw that the powerful hand he once took pride in—strong enough to bring every fallen woman on Silk Street to the Peak of her life—had actually become as tender as a baby's.
Looking closer, he realized he was lying in an incredibly luxurious crib, but the bedding that should have been warm was now soaked with freezing seawater.
"Is this a dream?"
If web novels weren't a thing in Westeros, The Imp would have immediately thought he had experienced a Rebirth.
"Hey, Cersei."
Just as he was bewildered, a black-haired youth, clearly several years older than Cersei, leaned his head over and peered at him curiously.
"Is this the monster you were talking about?"
"Why did you pour seawater into his crib? He's clearly just a little baby, even if his head is a bit large."
"Oberyn Martell?"
Though he hadn't seen him in many years, The Imp immediately recognized this younger version of the Red Viper.
"So he actually came to Casterly Rock to see me when he was young."
No one had ever mentioned to The Imp that Oberyn had visited Casterly Rock when he was an infant.
"A monster?"
Hearing Oberyn's words, The Imp felt an immense bitterness in his heart. He hadn't expected Cersei to hate him so much even when he was that small.
"No, Oberyn."
Though she was only seven, Cersei's perfect appearance already showed she was a true beauty in the making, fully deserving of her future title as the fairest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
But within her exceptionally beautiful eyes was a look of viciousness as she glared at The Imp, who was still in swaddling clothes.
"This is a godsdamned monster. He killed our mother."
"The seawater I poured in wasn't enough to drown it."
It was hard to imagine such malicious words coming from the mouth of a girl who should have been innocent.
After her cursing, as if still unsatisfied, Cersei directly undid The Imp's clothes and reached out to grab him.
As a sharp pain flared, The Imp was horrified to find that the beautiful but vicious Cersei was grabbing his tiny foot, seemingly trying to tear it off.
He wanted to strike back, but forgot that he was currently just an infant with no power to resist. He could only wave his hands frantically and let out a shrill cry, trying to attract someone's attention.
"Enough, Cersei."
Just as he thought he would soon suffer the same fate as Varys, a boy who looked very similar to Cersei stepped forward and reached out to stop her.
"Mother's death wasn't his fault. Tyrion is still our brother. You'll kill him like this."
Seeing the determination in Jaime's eyes, Cersei's brow furrowed several times before she finally had to let go.
"Go ahead and help this monster then. One day, it will be the death of all Lannisters!"
With a resentful curse, Cersei turned and left with Oberyn without looking back.
"Thank you, Jaime! When I get back, I'll definitely rent out all of Silk Street; you can play however you want!"
The sharp pain vanished, and The Imp, relieved that his 'little brother' was safe, shouted inwardly, though he could only produce baby babbles.
"It's alright, Tyrion."
Jaime reached out with his large hands, cradling the tiny Imp in his arms with pity in his eyes. He gently removed the soaked clothes and rummaged through a cabinet for a while to find a clean set to change him into.
"Don't blame Cersei. She just can't accept the fact that Mother is gone."
"Father has always been too overbearing and strict. Mother was the only place we could find warmth. With her gone, we are all heartbroken."
"Even if Father blames this mistake on you, I know it's not your fault, because you're just a little guy who doesn't understand anything."
At the mention of their mother, Joanna, a trace of sadness appeared in young Jaime's eyes. He teased The Imp in his swaddling clothes with a finger, muttered to himself for a bit, and then left the room as well.
"Jaime, actually, I miss Mother very much too."
"Even though I never saw her..."
After Jaime left, The Imp mused in his heart. Suddenly his eyelids felt heavy, and he slowly closed his eyes... "Open your eyes and look, Tyrion!"
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself outside a small cabin on the outskirts of Casterly Rock.
Beside his ear was the stern voice of his noble father, Tywin Lannister, lord of casterly rock and warden of the west.
Turning his head, he saw Tywin, whose expression held indignation mixed with a hint of amusement. Seeing the familiar cabin nearby and the young girl being held by a group of Lannister guards, a bad premonition rose in The Imp's heart.
"That's... Tysha!"
Long-buried memories flooded his mind, and he blurted out the name he hadn't mentioned in years.
"Look at you, Tyrion."
Seeing his loss of composure, Tywin elegantly drew the sword at his side and rested it against The Imp's neck, his words incredibly cold.
"I originally thought you were lowly enough, but I never imagined you'd be so base as to marry a filthy farm girl."
"Didn't Jaime tell you? She's nothing but a whore!"
Tywin seemed very satisfied with the resentful look The Imp gave him. A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he waved his right hand. A group of Lannister guards dragged the struggling girl and threw her to the ground, and everyone began impatiently unbuckling their belts.
"Open your eyes! Tyrion!"
Under the sharp roar, two Lannister guards held The Imp from both sides, forcibly prying open his eyelids as he tried to look away from what was about to happen, forcing him to stare at the scene before him.
Like a professional commentator, Tywin withdrew his sword and spoke slowly.
"There are a hundred elite guards of House Lannister here. For every customer she takes, she will receive a Silver Stag."
"When she has collected a hundred Silver Stags, I will let you go last."
"Of course, a Lannister's price is higher, so your fee for her will be a Gold Dragon!"
With that, Tywin slowly sat on a chair brought by a guard, watching the scene as if it were a play.
"No!"
"Tywin, you miserable bastard!"
Unlike the cowardice of those years, to Tywin's astonishment, The Imp actually struggled and pointed a finger at his nose, cursing him.
"Just because I was born ugly, you torment me in every way, yet because Jaime and Cersei were born handsome and beautiful, you turn a blind eye to their incest!"
"Why are you so unfair to me? I am a Lannister too, Father!"
The Imp roared, veins bulging on his forehead. His gaze looked as if he wanted to swallow Tywin alive, but then he looked like a helpless child begging for comfort.
"Tyrion..."
Tywin sat stunned in his chair, seemingly never having expected The Imp to have the courage to defy him.
First, he let out a sigh, then he slowly stood up, walked over to him, and gently stroked his head.
"Father..."
Thinking Tywin was moved by his words, a glint of tears appeared in The Imp's eyes as he called out with a trembling voice.
But what followed was a resounding slap!
"How dare you curse me, you godsdamned monster!"
Feeling the burning pain on his face, The Imp turned back and looked at this father who had never given him warmth with disbelief. In Tywin's eyes, there was no fatherly love or affection for a son, only endless disgust and disdain.
"The laws of men give you the right to bear my name and display my colors, since I cannot prove that you are not mine."
"To teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that lion sigil that was my father's crest and his father's before him, the sigil of House Lannister!"
"But you, you disgusting, lewd creature, you don't even cherish the glory that doesn't belong to you, and instead go and marry an even lowlier woman!"
The cold words kept pouring into The Imp's ears, and his heart grew cold along with Tywin's words.
"You are no son of mine, Tyrion!"
In The Imp's eyes, Tywin's figure began to distort like an illusory demon. His mind went blank, with only that single sentence echoing repeatedly.
"I AM your son!"
With a roar, an astonishing chill erupted from The Imp's body. The same eerie blue energy from that day at the inn danced wildly at his fingertips, his eyes flickering like blue flames as his body slowly drifted into the air.
Boom!
Boundless energy instantly exploded with him as the center, freezing everyone including Tywin, Tysha, and the Lannister guards.
"You... are no son of mine, never..."
In the instant before he was frozen, Tywin was still muttering those unwilling words.
Tears fell from the corners of his eyes as The Imp dropped to the ground, pounding the earth and weeping bitterly.
"I told you long ago, Tywin was never a fit father. He can't even be considered a fit... human."
As The Imp was plunged into endless sorrow, a pair of dark silver boots appeared before him, accompanied by a steady, warm voice.
Raising his tear-filled eyes, the first thing he saw was dazzling golden hair and an exceptionally handsome face.
"Ar... Arthas?"
With an uncertain tone, The Imp looked at the bright and kind tall youth before him and asked in confusion:
"Shouldn't you only be one year old right now?"
Without answering his question, Arthas simply strolled over to the frozen statue of Tywin. With a light flick of his finger, he shattered it into powder, which gradually vanished into the void.
"It's time to wake up, Tyrion."
Clenching his fist slightly, The Imp was surprised to see all the surroundings instantly vanish. Tysha, the cabin, the guards—all were gone, leaving only endless void and darkness, except for Arthas standing before him.
Walking over and gently patting his shoulder, Arthas said with a smile:
"One cannot always live in memories."
"We still have more important things to do!"
...Opening his eyes once more, he saw the familiar silk and down blankets, the familiar soft bed.
Attempting to lift his hand, those powerful hands that brought happiness to the fallen women of Silk Street appeared before his eyes again.
"Arthas..."
Turning his head, a sharp pain stung his brain like a needle. After it finally subsided, he saw the youth with almost entirely white hair sitting quietly on a chair with his eyes closed. The Imp asked softly and uncertainly:
"Is this a dream, or reality?"
"What do you think, Tyrion?"
Instead of answering The Imp's question directly, Arthas simply kept his eyes closed and reached out his right hand to place it on Tyrion's forehead.
Immediately afterward, an incredibly familiar surge of ghostly blue energy slowly flew from his fingertips, continuously pouring into The Imp's head.
"You overused your magical energy, causing your Mental Energy to be somewhat insufficient, which is why you remained immersed in the world of dreams, unable to escape."
"However, I pulled you out at the opportune moment; otherwise, you might have been trapped in there for several more years."
As the shining blue energy poured into his mind, constantly repairing his damaged Mental Energy, Arthas explained to him in a soft voice.
"But..."
Finally recalling what had happened before he fainted, and seeing the energy dancing at the fingertips of his mysterious younger brother, The Imp raised his palm before his eyes again and clenched his fingers hard.
Back at the inn, it was this very energy that had almost driven him to kill everyone.
"I killed Catelyn Tully!"
Suddenly realizing the situation, The Imp cried out, looking at his hands in disbelief, knowing that a great disaster had been wrought.
Just then, the restoration reached its conclusion. The blue energy vanished, and the boy's somewhat eerie white hair returned to its usual warm gold.
"It's all right, Tyrion."
Gently stroking The Imp's forehead with his right hand, Arthas's steady voice caused Tyrion's racing heart to gradually settle down.
"What's done is done; regret is of no use. You must simply find the courage to face it."
"But don't worry, as long as I am here, no one in King's Landing will dare to touch you!"
Listening to the boy's familiar and overbearing declaration, The Imp gave him a grateful look, consciously choosing not to ask where that pure, ghostly blue magical energy had come from.
After being together for so many years, his trust in Arthas had surpassed everyone else in the world, even Jaime could not compare.
"And..."
"If I can master this powerful magical force, perhaps I can become even stronger than a normal person!"
Looking at his own hands as a faint blue light emerged from his fingertips, The Imp couldn't help but think this to himself.
"This kid's affinity for Necromancy is indeed very high."
Feeling the Necromancy energy slowly circulating within The Imp's body, Arthas nodded with satisfaction.
To be able to circulate it by relying on muscle memory and instinct after only using it once through his power—it seemed he had quite the talent for becoming a Lich.
But that was for the best.
"Don't just lie there in a daze, Tyrion."
"There's a whole lot of business waiting for us to handle."
Standing up cleanly, Arthas took the lead and walked toward the room's door.
"But before that, we have to go collect some interest."
...Inside the cellar of the Red Keep.
Joffrey frowned, following behind the tall The Hound with a look of impatience, constantly urging him.
"How much further is it, The Hound!"
"Soon, Your Highness."
Facing the prince's inquiry, The Hound just strode forward without looking back, completely unwilling to turn and see that handsome but twisted face.
"I swear, when we get back, I will punish you severely!"
Joffrey cursed. The cellar was dark, damp, and somewhat cold; shivering, he still hurried to keep up with the other's pace.
Just this morning, The Hound had very confidently reported to him that he had found an assassin to poison Arthas, and now the target was paralyzed and unable to move.
Hearing this news, Joffrey was exceptionally excited. After all, even if his intelligence wasn't high, he knew that the first knight of the seven kingdoms was not easy to deal with; he had only sent The Hound to try as a long shot, without much hope.
Unexpectedly, this fellow had caught the target off guard and given him a "surprise."
The noble prince immediately declared that he would personally finish off Arthas.
The Hound tried to dissuade him in every way, explaining the potential dangers, but Joffrey was headstrong and even issued a command in his capacity as a prince.
The lowly The Hound had no choice but to obey the prince's order, reluctantly bringing him here.
"We're almost there, Prince Joffrey."
The two went deeper down for an unknown amount of time until a row of giant dragon skulls left behind by the Targaryen family came into view; only then did The Hound turn to report.
Looking in the direction The Hound pointed, he saw a white-haired boy sitting cross-legged before the massive skull of Balerion. His lips were excessively pale, looking as though he were under the influence of some potent toxin that left him unable to move.
And that familiar, eerie sword was nowhere to be seen, its whereabouts unknown.
"Hahaha~"
Before The Hound could even speak, Joffrey directly bypassed him, walking toward Arthas with elegant steps and the expression of a victor.
"Look, isn't this the commander of the city watch, the grand first knight of the seven kingdoms, and heir to Casterly Rock, Lord Arthas?"
"How did you end up in such a state?"
That smug expression and venomous gaze were almost exactly like those of his beautiful queen mother.
"Joffrey, you despicable scoundrel, you actually tried to find someone to assassinate me!"
Arthas did not open his eyes, merely gritting his teeth to force these words through his lips, appearing to be at the peak of his rage.
Startled, Joffrey quickly backed away a few steps, but then noticed that the other had no intention of standing up. It seemed he had long since lost the ability to act, so Joffrey relaxed and stepped forward again.
However, he was still cautious enough not to get too close. Standing several meters away with eyes full of hatred and disdain, he slowly pulled a small crossbow from his chest.
"You damn bastard, you've insulted me time and time after again."
Accompanied by an angry roar, Joffrey pulled the trigger without mercy. A sharp arrow shot out, plunging directly into Arthas's arm, sinking in at least three-quarters of the way.
"I am the eldest son of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, the future protector of the realm!"
Seeing that the other truly lacked the power to act, Joffrey pulled out another arrow, set the bowstring, and pulled the trigger again, directly piercing Arthas's other hand.
"You're just a lucky fellow, a lowly bastard who became the heir to the west, yet you dare to speak so arrogantly before me!"
With one curse after another, the arrows in Joffrey's hand kept firing. Arthas's limbs and chest were gradually filled with arrows, looking absolutely horrific.
"You are a bastard yourself, don't you know that, Joffrey?"
Just as Joffrey had exhausted his supply of bolts and slowly lowered the crossbow, thinking the other was about to die, Arthas's mocking words escaped his mouth.
He was greatly shocked and looked at the other in disbelief. He saw that Arthas had opened his eyes at some point, and ghostly blue flames were dancing incessantly in his eye sockets, like a demon crawling out of Hell!
"You... what kind of monster are you!"
Amidst Joffrey's trembling voice, Arthas disdainfully tore the arrows from his body one by one and slowly stood up.
Only then did Joffrey realize that not a single drop of blood had fallen from the places pierced by the arrows.
"Don't come over here! Don't come over!"
"The Hound! The Hound!"
The panicked prince backed up two steps and then fell directly to the ground, scrambling backward on all fours, constantly screaming The Hound's name toward the way they came.
But no matter how he called, he received absolutely no response.
"No need to call, my dear nephew."
Arthas moved his feet, slowly approaching him. The strangely shaped frostmourne appeared in his hand, and ghostly blue, somewhat whitish Necromancy energy dissipated in all directions, accurately entering each of the dragon skulls.
The cold Necromancy energy instantly occupied the entire cellar, and in the haze, grim white bones seemed to crawl over the floor and walls.
Ghostly blue flames suddenly danced in the eye sockets of all the dragon skulls. Joffrey felt as if these powerful magical creatures, which had slept for centuries, had come back to life at this moment, all staring at him with cold eyes.
In the eye sockets of Balerion's skull, the two largest clusters of ghostly blue fire flickered. If one observed closely, it wasn't hard to notice that a spine of over ten centimeters had actually grown from the back of its neck!
A Boneyard!
If any famous mage from Azeroth were here, they would likely recognize immediately that this cellar filled with dragon skulls had now become the Scourge's most famous landmark.
But Joffrey was no Archmage, and this was not Azeroth, but Westeros.
"You... what on earth are you?"
His body trembling as he kept crawling backward, even Joffrey's none-too-bright head could see that this place was filled with an eerie aura.
"I... was once named Arthas Menethil, the lich king of Azeroth."
Slowly stabbing frostmourne into the ground, a phantom of a strangely shaped helm of domination gradually appeared over Arthas's head.
Undead energy flowed toward Joffrey like a thin stream of water. Under his shocked gaze, he was unable to resist as the energy poured into him through his seven orifices, and his body flew into the air.
His ears began to grow pointed, red light flared in his eyes like a specter, long fangs grew from his mouth, and his five fingers gradually merged until only three remained, with nails becoming as long and tough as steel.
A surge of intense pain struck as two large lumps bulged on Joffrey's back. As the flesh was forcibly torn open, a pair of dark, bat-like wings extended from his shoulder blades.
After the pain, the reborn Joffrey had completely changed his appearance. He flapped his wings and flew to the top of the cellar, his feet hanging upside down from the hard rock like iron hooks.
"Very well, you shall stay here and guard them for me."
Watching with great satisfaction as the former prince turned into a Gargoyle, Arthas let go of frostmourne, allowing the magical energy within its blade to dissipate in all directions, making the area more suitable for the growth of a Frost Dragon.
"So... this guy has turned into a monster?"
At this time, The Imp's short and stout figure slowly walked over from the side. He sized up the surroundings with great interest; such an eerie scene actually gave him a slight sense of familiarity.
Pointing to Joffrey, who was hanging upside down like a bat from the ceiling without a sound, he asked the question in his heart.
"Gargoyles are natural killers."
Although the transformation process had been somewhat taxing relying on his limited magical energy without the subject's cooperation, Arthas was still very satisfied with his masterpiece and patiently explained to The Imp.
"They have a hard skin to protect them from enemy attacks and can land on the ground to disguise themselves as a stone."
"These dragon skulls are important; they will be an indispensable combat force for the Scourge, and I cannot stay here to guard them forever."
He looked up at the motionless Gargoyle above.
"With him here, it's enough to deal with most fellows who dare to come and cause trouble."
"But Joffrey has disappeared. Robert will surely be furious. I'm afraid the whole of King's Landing will be in chaos by then."
Looking at Joffrey's current state, a trace of sympathy actually emerged in The Imp's heart.
Once upon a time, everyone looked at him with the same gaze they would use for a monster.
"It's fine, Robert is no longer a problem."
Patting his shoulder, Arthas's smile remained as gentle as a spring breeze, but his tone contained a chill that seemed capable of freezing a person solid.
"Even if I asked him to abdicate tomorrow and give the Iron Throne to me, he wouldn't have the slightest complaint."
"Let's go, Tyrion."
As the phantom of the helm of domination on his head gradually vanished, Arthas felt that he was still missing something to fully summon its complete form.
However, he had a premonition that this day would not be far off.
"I imagine our Lord hand of the king should be waiting for us in the council chamber right now."
...Inside the council chamber of the Red Keep.
Robert sat upon his iron throne, with Eddard Stark beside him, clad in black heavy armor.
His expression was solemn, his eyes fixed intently on the cold corpse lying in the center of the hall, intense killing intent emanating from his bloodshot eyes.
Last night, Stannis's chief advisor, Davos Seaworth, had finally arrived by ship, bringing Catelyn's body here.
It wasn't until he saw his beloved's corpse with his own eyes that Eddard Stark truly accepted the reality.
He had summoned over twenty of his personal guards overnight and, with Robert's full cooperation, called back Renly, the master of laws who had been stationed at Storm's End.
Now, the King's council chamber was crowded. Everyone looked at Catelyn's body with shock, completely baffled as to who would have the audacity to murder the wife of the lord of winterfell and hand of the king.
"Are they here yet?"
After waiting a long time without seeing the main party appear, Eddard glanced somewhat anxiously at Jaime, who was guarding Robert's side.
"Lancel has already been sent to find them."
Under Robert's similarly questioning gaze, Jaime had no choice but to answer with forced composure.
He truly couldn't understand why the kingdom and its Hand were so certain that Tyrion had killed Catelyn.
And even if he were the killer, what deep grudge could he have against Catelyn to be so enraged as to kill her directly, showing no mercy at all?
At this moment, Jaime was arguably more anxious than Robert and Eddard, because he knew nothing!
Lately, Cersei had become extremely insatiable, requiring him to spend the night in her chambers almost every evening.
And Robert's mental state recently didn't seem very good; he didn't care at all whether Jaime was by his side, which provided very convenient conditions for him and Cersei.
But he hadn't expected such a massive upheaval to occur in just a few days.
Jaime cast a worried glance at the greatsword propped in front of Eddard—it was Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark!
With even this sword brought out, it seemed Tyrion would have a hard time escaping today.
"They're here! They're here!"
Amidst the anxious waiting, someone shouted, and everyone's gaze drifted toward the outside of the hall.
Arthas, clad in crimson heavy armor, walked in slowly with The Imp, who wore a matching bright red short robe; the golden lion emblems on their chests shone brilliantly.
"Tyrion Lannister!"
Seeing the short figure enter the hall, the fury in Eddard's eyes was impossible to suppress, but out of adherence to the laws of the kingdom, he forced himself not to draw his sword and strike, instead roaring loudly at him:
"Do you recognize the woman lying in this hall!"
"Of course, Lord Hand."
Under Arthas's reassuring gaze, The Imp straightened his chest, stepped forward, and answered very honestly:
"Lady Catelyn Tully, she is your wife, the Lady of Winterfell."
"When I last accompanied the King to your Winterfell as a guest, I had the honor of meeting Lady Catelyn a few times."
"Good!"
Eddard stepped forward angrily, his greatsword scraping slowly against the floor, making a piercing sound.
"I would like to ask, when you were a guest at Winterfell, was there any lack of hospitality from the North?"
"Of course not, my lord."
"While I was at Winterfell, everyone in the North was very friendly to me, even the whores in the brothels worked very hard to welcome my arrival."
The Imp replied with a serious expression.
"Then why did you murder my wife in an inn in the Riverlands!"
"What!!"
As soon as he spoke, a massive wave of discussion erupted among the crowd. Everyone looked at the short figure in the center of the hall in disbelief, seemingly unable to believe he could have such courage.
"Your Majesty, my lords!"
Eddard raised his voice, drowning out the murmuring crowd, and lifted Ice with one hand to point it at The Imp, his voice loud with grief, indignation, and righteousness:
"This member of House Lannister was well-entertained as a guest at Winterfell."
"But not only was he ungrateful, he brought his notoriously cruel guard—Gregor Clegane—and at the Crossroads Inn in the Riverlands, brutally murdered my wife of many years, Catelyn of House Tully!"
"Lord Renly."
After everyone's attention was captured, Eddard followed the procedure while suppressing his inner anger, solemnly asking Renly:
"I would like to ask, under the laws of the kingdom, what punishment should be meted out for the murder of a noble of a Great House of the Seven Kingdoms, especially a Duchess?"
"Please accept my condolences, Lord Eddard."
Renly bowed slightly to Eddard with great politeness. Although he had a very good relationship with Arthas, it hadn't reached the point where he would stand up for The Imp.
Furthermore, anyone could tell you the laws of the kingdom; there was simply no room for a reversal in this matter. He answered honestly:
"According to the laws of the kingdom, the perpetrator should be sentenced to death before the Seven Gods and the assembled nobility!"
"Thank you for upholding the law, Lord Renly."
After softly thanking him, Eddard turned back to Robert, holding his greatsword horizontally in front of him as he knelt on one knee.
"Your Majesty, I request the death penalty for this fellow who has violated guest right and treated the laws of the kingdom as nothing!"
"I shall personally wield Ice to take his head before the Seven Gods and the assembled nobility!"
"Wait, Lord Stark!"
Just as Robert was about to speak, The Imp stepped forward and interrupted them.
He first cast a regretful look at Catelyn's corpse on the ground, then scanned everyone present, including the seven Kingsguard, twenty Northern guards, and a few Gold Cloaks.
"I would like to ask everyone here, if someone were to force a false accusation upon your head, how would you conduct yourselves?"
His questioning met with no response. Although many believed The Imp wouldn't have the guts to kill Catelyn, stereotypes always led people to assume the worst of him.
Even though no one answered him, The Imp still straightened his back and defended himself loudly:
"I admit, Lady Catelyn Tully was a formidable and spirited mother who bore Winterfell five excellent children; she was a role model for the women of Westeros."
"But when it came to matters involving her children, she was truly far too impulsive!"
Meeting everyone's gaze, The Imp's eyes showed no fear as he looked at the furious Eddard, loudly recounting the injustice he had suffered:
"Ever since your son met with misfortune, your wife has gone mad, Lord Eddard."
"She suddenly appeared out of thin air at the Crossroads Inn in the Riverlands and baselessly accused me of sending an assassin to kill your ten-year-old son, Bran Stark."
"Heaven knows, if it weren't for me, your son probably wouldn't even be able to ride a horse right now!"
The Imp beat his chest, his voice shrill:
"Pity my loyal guard, who heroically gave his life to protect me while surrounded by the Riverlands knights incited by your wife."
"And I swear to heaven, I have no memory at all regarding Lady Stark's death, because I had already fallen unconscious before that."
"The nobles sitting here all know that I am but a Half-man who can't even hold a blade steady; I wouldn't dare go far without guards to protect me. How could I have the strength to murder Lady Stark while she was surrounded by a host of Riverlands knights?"
His words were powerful, logical, and well-reasoned; even Arthas was impressed by his superb acting.
"I think there must be more to this matter, Your Majesty."
Seeing that the crowd was being swayed, Renly stepped forward at the right moment:
"Lord Tyrion is the Master of Coin of the kingdom. No matter what crime he committed, it was not for Lady Stark to overstep her authority and seize him arbitrarily."
"Furthermore, his stature is small, and he lacks the martial prowess to kill a group of Riverlands knights."
"Catelyn's death was very strange, Your Majesty!"
Seeing Robert's expression shift as if he were about to be convinced, Eddard quickly pointed at The Imp:
"I think he must have learned some kind of bizarre magic!"
"Moreover, the words of this Lannister have yet to be verified; they don't fully prove that Catelyn was truly the one at fault!"
Robert, sitting on the iron throne, shifted his weight several times as if his sitting position were uncomfortable, or perhaps he was thinking about how to handle the situation.
Suddenly, he looked at Arthas, who had been standing silently in the hall. A faint, imperceptible blue light flashed in his eyes as he asked:
"My commander of the city watch, what is your view on this matter?"
Seeing everyone's gaze turn toward him, Arthas merely showed a very calm smile and spoke slowly:
"Your Majesty, logically, this matter involves my brother, so it would not be appropriate for me to offer any opinion."
"However, as the commander of the city watch of King's Landing, this matter falls within my jurisdiction to some extent."
"Therefore, for the sake of fairness, let us speak with facts."
"Facts?"
Robert leaned to the side, his elbow resting lazily on the throne.
"You mean you have evidence to prove this?"
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Under the puzzled gazes of the crowd, Arthas gestured toward the outside of the hall. A lean man with black hair walked in slowly.
"Everyone, allow me to introduce to you."
"Ser Bronn of the Riverlands."
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