WebNovels

Chapter 27 - Chapter 27 – I Hardly Recognized You With Clothes On

Chapter 27 – I Hardly Recognized You With Clothes On

Under the weight of countless gazes, Lance finally spoke. Each word carried the force of a warhammer, slamming into Prince Rhaegar's chest.

"Arrogant!"

Jon Connington, Rhaegar's sworn companion and closest friend, could not bear to see his beloved prince slandered so. He immediately lashed out.

"You imposter—pretending at nobility while bullying commoners! You coward, how dare yo—"

"A coward, Ser Jon? Is that what you call me?"

Lance's head snapped toward him, eyes blazing with fury, cutting him off without hesitation. His right fist struck his breastplate with a thunderous clang, like a tiger roaring in rage.

"That coward you speak of fought his way out of the dungeons of Duskendale, surrounded by hundreds of Darklyn soldiers, to drag the king back to freedom!

That coward's hands are soaked in the blood of the Darklyns, vengeance for a king chained and humiliated for half a year!

That coward walked through an inferno hot enough to consume dragons themselves, alone, burning and bleeding, and even now his skin still smarts from the oil and flame!"

Lance had not shouted. His tone was measured, yet his voice carried clear and sharp into every ear, his words weighted with brutal truth.

"My lords… my knights! Hear me!

The king was imprisoned for half a year—six long months!

And in all that time, I never once saw any of you in Duskendale. Not one!

Not the Kingsguard. Not the Hand. Not even you, Ser Jon Connington. None of you.

It was I—a son of Duskendale, born of humble stock, a blacksmith's child—who fought through blood and fire to bring His Grace home, even when my body was carved with a dozen wounds!"

He swept his gaze across the hall. Wherever his eyes passed, heads lowered. None dared meet him. That look of challenge was like a lash striking deep into the hearts of the White Cloaks themselves. Even Ser Arthur Dayne, the famed Sword of the Morning, found himself averting his eyes in shame.

For half a year their king had languished in chains, while he and Oswell Whent remained cloistered at Dragonstone. Whatever the excuses, it was hard to reconcile with the honor of a Kingsguard knight. The realization stung.

Only Tywin Lannister held his ground, though even his calculating mind reeled. His cold gaze fixed on the newcomer before him. This so-called knight was no mere brute—he was maneuvering, step by step, out of the very snare laid for him.

From the corner of his eye, Tywin saw the mother and daughter, trembling in Rhaegar's shadow, broken by Lance Lot's presence. The careful design of this trial had slipped from his control, veering into uncharted waters.

A dangerous man, Tywin admitted silently.

---

"Your Highness."

Lance's voice once more rang through the silence, sharp as a drawn blade, turning Rhaegar's way.

"Tell me, as a son—your father endured torment beyond imagining. At last he returned to King's Landing, battered in body and broken in spirit. If it had been my father, I would have offered him meat and broth with my own hands, seen to him with care.

But you? You never spared your father so much as a word of comfort. Instead, at a whisper from a woman, you rush to put his savior on trial. Tell me, Prince, is that the act of a son—or of a usurper eager to wield a crown not yet his?"

His words were merciless, stripping Rhaegar of his dignity before the court, dragging him down from the high pedestal of his pride.

The silver-haired prince, so long praised as noble and gentle, flushed crimson. He could not answer. Head bowed, he sneaked a glance at the Iron Throne.

There sat Aerys, his father, his face hidden in his hands. To Rhaegar's astonishment, tears slipped between his fingers.

He understands me… He truly understands…

Aerys' blurred vision caught the pale figure standing tall in the hall. In his mind's eye, it became one with the shadow that had shielded him that fateful night in Duskendale, blade flashing amidst chaos.

"If only this boy were my son…" the king thought, a shuddering sob in his chest. "What a fine heir he would be."

Aerys, though deeply moved, suddenly felt a pang of regret and let out a weary sigh.

Rhaegar, who had been furtively watching his father's every reaction, was struck by an inexplicable sense of dread. He could not name its source, yet it pressed on him with startling weight.

"You stray further from the matter at hand with every word, Ser Lance Lot!"

He did not know why this dread grew within him, but one truth was clear: if Lance continued unchecked, all the reputation he had so carefully built over the years would be stripped away.

In desperation, Rhaegar shifted aside and thrust the two women behind him—Lady Maris and her daughter—into the open.

"Whatever else may be overlooked—even your false claim to noble birth—the fact remains that you slew this woman's husband, as well as Ser Richard and Ser Myles. By the laws of the realm, not even the king himself may pardon such crimes!"

His words rang with righteousness, but all in the hall could hear the hollowness beneath. His voice carried the tremor of a man already cornered.

From the side, Tywin Lannister quietly shook his head. For the first time, he wondered if this prince was even worthy of his service. In truth, he seemed less impressive than Aerys had been in his youth.

At least then, Aerys had displayed a vision and an ambition that commanded even Tywin's respect. But Rhaegar… this young dragon had no grasp of the field before him. The trial, so carefully prepared, had already collapsed the moment Rhaegar betrayed his fear.

"Your Grace. Your Highness."

Before judgment could be declared, the Hand of the King raised his voice.

"It occurs to me that Lord Kaven awaits with matters of state unresolved. The lands of House Darklyn and House Hollard too must be resurveyed and redistributed. With your leave, I shall depart."

"If Lord Tywin wishes to depart, who dares stay him?"

Hearing his Hand so openly retreat, Aerys at last broke into a smile of genuine triumph. For years he had postured in his crown's name, but never before had he bested Tywin in open contest.

And all of it—this rare, sweet victory—was owed to Ser Lance Lot.

"Take care of your health, Your Grace," Tywin said with a measured bow. His face betrayed no hint of defeat. He even found room to cloak his withdrawal in courtesy.

To him, perhaps, this was no defeat at all. For he had never openly claimed the trial as his own design. The old lion simply showed his claws when needed, then sent the young dragon to bleed on his behalf.

"Ser Lance Lot."

Tywin turned before leaving, his tone unexpectedly warm.

"In the name of His Grace, I thank you—for what you have done for the realm, and for House Targaryen. I cannot dissuade the prince from pressing his trial, yet I trust a knight as bold and true as yourself would never stoop to wronging the innocent.

When you find the time, you will always be welcome in the Tower of the Hand. My study doors stand open to you."

With a final nod, he strode from the hall, tall and proud, every motion giving the impression of a man who had lost nothing at all.

"So this… this is Tywin Lannister…"

Lance watched his back recede and could not help but marvel. Even knowing full well that Tywin had orchestrated this spectacle, the Hand's final display of sincerity left no room for real enmity.

If he could not destroy Lance Lot, then he would seek to bind him instead. And to lower himself—even as Hand of the King—to show such respect spoke of a mind vast in scope, one with the bearing of a king in all but name.

---

"He… he left?"

Rhaegar, however, was not so composed. Seeing Tywin exit so smoothly, panic clawed at him. His heart raced, his confidence crumbled.

Those women—he brought them forward, did he not? And now he abandons me? What am I supposed to do? What should I do?

Sweat beaded on his brow. His thoughts tangled in confusion.

But Lance Lot gave him no time to think.

As Tywin's footsteps faded beyond the chamber, Lance Lot strode toward Lady Maris. She quivered, pale and trembling under his gaze.

And then—he smiled.

"Lady Maris… with your clothes on, I almost failed to recognize you."

More Chapters