After lunch, Joffrey strolled to the Throne Room near the main gate of the Red Keep.
Seeing the petitioners gathered outside the gate, he suddenly became interested and immediately had The Hound clear the way, pushing through the dense crowd.
Normally, the king at this time should be sitting on the Iron Throne in the Throne Room, listening to the people's petitions and grievances, dispensing justice, and announcing judgments.
King Robert was clearly not among them.
Hunting in the Kingswood across the river occupied most of the king's time, and trivial matters like this were handled daily by Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.
Stepping through the main gate of the Throne Room, the grotesque and terrifying Iron Throne on the raised platform directly opposite immediately dominated Joffrey's view.
Nearly three hundred years ago, Aegon the Conqueror of House Targaryen first united the Seven Kingdoms.
His dragon, Baleriion the Black Dread, breathed dragonfire, melting all the swords offered by those who surrendered during the conquest.
The Iron Throne, covered in spikes, sharp points, and twisted metal, symbolizing royal authority and dignity, was thus born.
Dragon King Aegon even left behind a famous quote – "A king should never sit easy."
It sounded cool. But facing this throne, Joffrey suddenly understood the pain of those Targaryen kings.
Unable to lean back in the chair, constantly having to be careful of the spikes and sharp blades in front, back, and sides, it was simply torture.
Joffrey would not inconvenience himself. How could a king's throne be such a thing? He would change it sooner or later!
After admiring the grandeur of the Iron Throne, Joffrey walked forward, stepping on the two rows of floor tiles in the center of the hall with their fire-breathing dragon patterns, under the gaze of the crowd.
The Throne Room was currently in recess, and the next group of petitioners was waiting to be called.
Jon Arryn sat upright on the Iron Throne.
Kingsguard Mandon Moore and Meryn Trant stood on either side of the platform.
Beside the council table at the foot of the throne steps sat the five members of the Small Council in order – Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws; Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships; Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin; Grand Maester Pycelle; and Varys, Master of Whisperers.
The giant dragon skulls that once hung high on the walls on both sides of the path had long been replaced by tapestries depicting King Robert's hunting scenes.
Beneath the tapestries stood hundreds of knights, nobles, and ladies.
The observers stood in the inner corridors on both sides. On the innermost side were two rows of Gold Cloaks maintaining order, all fully armed and wearing golden cloaks over their shoulders, looking quite imposing.
Varys understood and asked on behalf of everyone, "Your esteemed Crown Prince, what brings you here for an inspection today?"
Joffrey maintained a proper smile. Usually suave, yet doing foolish and cruel things, this was the typical "him."
"Nothing in particular, I just suddenly wanted to see the petitions, to learn in advance."
The day he sat on the Iron Throne would be much sooner than people expected.
Joffrey calmly scanned the people before him.
The Hand, old but strong, was expressionless, his bald second uncle Stannis had sharp eyes, and everyone else's attitude seemed friendly.
The Hand and his second uncle were undoubtedly enemies, but others were not to be trusted either.
"My lords, is there a seat for me here? Surely the Crown Prince cannot stand."
Joffrey behaved politely and courteously, and it would have been even better without the last sentence. The expressions of all those standing couldn't help but change slightly.
Jon Arryn spoke, "Prepare a seat for the Crown Prince, the one embroidered with the Crowned Stag."
The king's stag, it's a pity you're not, Joffrey Waters?
Bastards born in the Crownlands were uniformly given the surname Waters, but whether the product of incestuous twins was included, Jon Arryn was not sure.
He could only silently tell himself that it was not yet time.
Although he had confirmed Joffrey's parentage and chosen to support Stannis as the heir to the Iron Throne, Jon still had to keep up appearances.
Hand Jon tried his best to suppress his disgust.
As long as he found conclusive evidence and handled Robert's emotions and the Lannister family, the kingdom could be rid of the defiled incestuous bloodline and return to the right path.
He secretly prayed that the documents he would review tomorrow would be helpful.
Joffrey sat alone between the Iron Throne and the council table, observing. This seemed to imply that he could not voice his opinions here.
The herald announced loudly, "Petitions continue."
Several people who looked like merchants walked in and knelt humbly before the Iron Throne.
"Reporting to the Hand of the King, my lords, the five of us are representatives of the weapons merchants on Steel Street, recently..."
Joffrey paid no more attention to these.
Most of the time, the Throne Room only served as the administrative center of King's Landing, handling the affairs of hundreds of thousands of people, a far cry from the image of a national center he had in mind.
The reason he came in was mainly to see how his future opponents would perform in formal settings before leaving King's Landing.
After listening to the petition, Master of Coin Littlefinger was the first to speak, his tone lazy and playful.
"The price of pig iron has doubled, that doesn't seem to be the Iron Throne's fault, does it? Or are you expecting the royal treasury to subsidize it?"
The leading merchant quickly shook his head, "How dare we? It's just that the market has been very stable recently, and suddenly like this, perhaps... someone is causing trouble behind the scenes."
Master of Laws Renly chuckled, "Varys, it's your turn, do your little birds know this secret?"
The eunuch stroked the smooth sea-blue silk on his body and responded casually, "Perhaps our Lord Petyr can also provide an answer."
Joffrey's lips curved into a smile. Littlefinger was being complained about, how interesting.
But Littlefinger seemed to not understand Varys's hint at all. "That's strange, how could my information be better than the 'Spider's'?"
No one spoke after that.
After a brief silence, the Hand of the King on the Iron Throne stood up.
"Alright. In the King's name, Petyr is responsible for returning the price of pig iron to normal within two weeks. Does anyone object?"
Count Petyr bowed and accepted the order.
"As you command. Your servant will do his utmost to investigate the mastermind behind this and restore a satisfactory business environment to the steel market."
The merchants couldn't say anything more and could only withdraw with profuse thanks.
Joffrey saw it clearly.
The Throne Room was just a formality. The outcome of the weapon merchants' complaint had already been decided. As long as Littlefinger didn't fall, this small matter was just a deadline for him to stop.
The merchants couldn't see the situation clearly, and the people present weren't their backers, so they just had to suffer a little.
During the subsequent petitions, Joffrey watched with cold eyes, getting a good look at the entanglement of interests and overt and covert struggles in the feudal era.
Disagreements over the boundaries of cultivated land between farmers outside the city, compensation issues for tavern fights, knights who felt they had been insulted demanding severe punishment for the other party, two small lords in the Crownlands accusing each other of encroaching on land...
Until the setting sun's afterglow shone on the crimson tiles of the Throne Room.
The last group of petitioners entered.
"Noble lords, please decide!" a middle-aged woman in luxurious clothing knelt and wept.
"It's all this little bastard and his whore mother!" She pointed excitedly at a mother and son embracing each other nearby.
"Everyone understands the principle of a life for a life. Originally, there was no need to trouble you noble lords, but this bastard actually threatened with a knife and insisted on a judgment from the Iron Throne before he would give up."
"He even wanted to bring a knife into the palace!"
The clerk at the council table explained the situation to the ministers.
Ser Alf Rolyngford, who was killed, was the husband of the woman who was petitioning.
Alf died in the room of the prostitute Lollys while visiting a brothel, killed by a single knife wound. She had already admitted that she had acted because she couldn't bear Alf's torture.
Rumor had it that Ser Alf did indeed have some unspeakable special habits.
Joffrey examined the mother and son.
The mother's appearance was faded, her skin dull, and there were bruises and scars all over her body under her thin linen clothes.
Although accused of murder, she spoke calmly as if discussing everyday matters, clearly a person with a story.
The son, who was tightly gripping his mother's arm, was a teenager with a gloomy, numb face and a strong hope in his cloudy eyes.
Varys sighed repeatedly.
"Oh, such a tragedy. It's a pity that the law doesn't allow for human sentiment. Alas, how can one bear it? What does the Grand Maester think?"
Grand Maester Pycelle, over eighty years old, kept his head bowed very low, as if unable to bear the heavy weight of the maester's chain made of twenty-four different metal links around his neck, or as if he had fallen asleep.
"Hmm, indeed, as the law states. In this situation, ah, probably no exception. However, it still depends on Lord Renly's, hmm, attitude."
The Grand Maester's murmurs made one wonder if he was fully awake.
Master of Laws Renly frowned and hesitated before speaking. "While the law is strict, the circumstances are complex. Perhaps Lollys could be sentenced to lifelong servitude instead of death, to avoid causing more suffering."
The boy kneeling on the ground looked up at his benefactor, the hope in his eyes growing stronger.
The handsome and benevolent Renly was just like King Robert in his youth, always winning people's affection.
Stannis had always disapproved of Renly's leniency in legal matters.
"The law is the law! Evil deeds cannot be canceled out, and killers must pay with their lives. Moreover, isn't that the job of a prostitute? To kill for this reason is simply unworthy of mercy!"
The boy stiffly turned his head to stare at Stannis. Just as he opened his mouth, his mother immediately pulled him into a full embrace.
"Good-hearted lords, I confess. I only beg for mercy for my poor son. He was just too scared and didn't mean to harm anyone with the knife."
Renly did not plead further.
After a few breaths, the Hand of the King stood up.
"Guards, step forward. In the King's name, the killer Lollys is sentenced to death, to be carried out immediately."
"Today's petitions end here."
Joffrey saw the mother whisper a few words in her son's ear. Without struggling, she followed the executing guards out of the Throne Room towards the outer wall of the Red Keep.
The day's work was over.
Everyone gradually dispersed.
Renly sighed and walked out, not forgetting to give the helpless boy a Gold Dragon.
The upright Stannis only gave him a cold snort.
Prostitutes and bastards shouldn't exist. The law is the law, and I am Robert's legitimate heir, not that abomination the Gods won't tolerate!
Joffrey walked steadily.
He calmly passed by the huddled, motionless figure of the boy.
Perhaps another layer of insurance could be added.
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