Through the narrow, high windows of The Red Keep's vast Throne Room, the setting sun's last rays spilled onto the floor, painting dark red stripes on the walls.
Dragon heads once hung high in the Throne Room, their hollow eye sockets terrifying. But Robert disliked them, and the dragon skulls had long since been cast into the underground passages.
Now, although the stone walls of the Throne Room were covered with tapestries depicting vivid hunting scenes in shades of green and brown, in Eddard's eyes, the entire hall was still bathed in a bloody red, just as it had been when he first saw Jaime sitting on the iron throne.
Eddard sat on the iron throne, and everything was terrible. The King had not yet departed for The Kingswood; he had been drunk for days, and the white hart had seemingly not yet appeared, so the King could still enjoy himself in King's Landing. In fact, the King had little interest in state affairs.
As for the infant girl Eddard had mentioned, Eddard felt it would not win the King's favor; perhaps the King himself was still a Child, a willful and selfish Child.
Today, Eddard wore a white linen tunic embroidered with the House Stark Direwolf sigil on his chest, and a black wool cloak fastened at his neck with a silver hand badge, symbolizing his office. Black, white, and grey—these were the three possibilities of truth.
"What a damned uncomfortable iron throne," Eddard thought. The iron throne was a chair made of steel, full of grotesque spikes, sharp edges, and strangely twisted metal. The back, bristling with tooth-like spikes, made it impossible for him to lean back.
Eddard sat on the iron throne, with the remaining high officials including the Old Maester, Varys, and others. Lord Renly had likely also drunk too much with the King and was not present.
In the Throne Room, apart from the royal family and a few high officials, everyone else had to stand or kneel respectfully. The petitioners gathered by the main door; knights, nobles, and ladies stood beneath the tapestries, while common folk were in the corridor. Fully armed guards, cloaked in gold or grey, stood tall and imposing.
Looking at the petitioners below, Eddard couldn't help but feel sad. The rise and fall of nations always brought suffering to the common people. He had worked hard to avoid war, but his wife's reckless actions had hastened its arrival. Tywin had also been plotting this war for a long time.
This group of villagers from the Riverlands knelt on one knee, men, women, and children alike, all dressed in rags, covered in blood, their faces etched with fear. The three knights who brought them to testify stood behind them.
"Are you sure they are bandits?" Varys asked. No emotion could be seen on the eunuch's face.
"Bandits? Of course, they are bandits, Lannister bandits," Ser Raymund Darry said disdainfully.
Upon hearing "Lannister," the atmosphere in the hall instantly tensed. Everyone knew the power of the Lannister and had heard of Lord Tywin's ruthlessness.
With eyes full of sorrow, Ser Karyl Vance, who would have been handsome but for the wine-red birthmark on his face, pointed at the kneeling villagers and said, "Lord Eddard, these are all that remain of Shear Village. Everyone else, like the residents of Wendwater and Bitch's Pool, is dead."
"Rise," Eddard commanded the villagers. He never trusted what a person said while kneeling. "All of you, rise."
Eddard looked at the sorrowful people; before the judgment, he needed to see each person's face clearly. Eddard listened as they slowly continued their stories. Although Ser Raymund had already provided some facts, hearing their accounts further emphasized the horror of war.
The villagers of Shear Village began to rise one by one. Their clothes were out of place in King's Landing, and what they spoke of was terrible slaughter.
First was the bald, stout man in a brewer's apron, whose tavern owner's house had been burned down by bandit knights.
Next was the poor farmer, whose land and house had been completely burned, and his cows and livestock killed. These were no ordinary bandits.
"They also trampled my apprentice to death," said a short, stout man with a blacksmith's muscles and a bandage on his head. It was clear he had changed into his best clothes for court, but his trousers were patched, and his cloak was dusty. "They rode on horseback, laughing, chasing him around, poking him with spears as if it were a game. The Child ran and screamed incessantly, finally falling to the ground, where the largest one stabbed him to death with a spear."
The girl kneeling on the ground stretched her neck, looking up at Eddard, who was high above. "Your Grace, they also killed my mother. Then they… they…" Her voice trailed off as if she had forgotten what she was going to say, and she began to cry to herself.
Shear Village was relatively lucky. The residents of Wendwater hid in their manor, but the house was made of wood, so the invaders covered it with straw and burned them alive inside. Some opened the doors and rushed out of the fire to escape, but the bandits shot them with arrows, not sparing even women holding infants.
These bandits were not too foolish; they did not use Red Cloaks or Lannister banners, nor did they have any obvious insignia on their bodies or equipment. However, riding fine horses, clad in armor, and wielding steel swords and Longspears, these were not ordinary bandits. The answer was already clear.
Eddard listened to what those people said; all the evidence pointed to that formidable and terrifying man, the Mountain… Eddard listened carefully to the words. Although it seemed very obvious, it was still necessary to send someone to the Riverlands once more.
The three leading knights from the Riverlands were filled with righteous indignation. The Riverlands' blood, they yearned to wash away with blood.
Eddard was inclined to lead a force himself to clear them out, but he also wanted to go hunting with the King, seizing the opportunity to see Robert's attitude. Without the hunt, it would be difficult for the two to meet.
Those condemned to death should be executed by one's own hand; this was a requirement of House Stark. However, this was different from Winterfell; he had too many things to do.
"Alas, please forgive my helplessness," Eddard thought. He had to accompany the King to The Kingswood to get a rare opportunity to talk… Khal Drogo looked at the yellow earthworks that appeared before him, sturdy and difficult to cross, seemingly as high as the walls of Myr, with deep moats below. These cunning Myr men had employed deep moats and high earthworks.
The earthworks appeared like a circular protective wall around Myr, extending from the sea-facing side to the other. Scorpions and trebuchets were already placed on top of the earthworks.
A defensive line was inherently a foolish method, but because the Dothraki dared not approach the sea, they now had no choice but to forcibly break through the defense network.
"What are those banners?" Drogo saw the quartered banners above the earthworks: a black field with a red dragon, a black field with a warhammer, slaves breaking chains, and a surging Wolf Pack.
Khal Drogo was very tall, a head taller than his warriors, yet his movements were extremely agile and light. His skin was bright bronze, and his thick beard was adorned with gold and bronze bells.
"Whose banners are those?" Drogo asked.
"They are the banners of the King of Myr, the quartered banners. There is also another banner, which should be that of the King of Myr's great general, Jorah," Drogo's guard said. Indeed, beneath the highest quartered banner, there was also a deep green banner of an upright bear.
"Take him down. I will smash that King's bones and plunder his bride."
"You can, Khal."
Drogo's hair braid was as black and shiny as the midnight sky, oiled and appearing heavy, adorned with many small metal bells that jingled with his movements. His long hair reached his waist, past his hips, and lightly brushed his thighs.
Drogo was the Khal of Khals, the strongest Khal of the Dothraki Sea. Although the fortifications before them were formidable, Khal Drogo's past victories made his subordinates believe in him. Drogo had never failed.
"Khal, should we raid other parts of the Disputed Lands first to lure out the main force of the sheep men?" Drogo's subordinate asked.
"Destroy their cities, crush their courage," Drogo said confidently. He had brought fifty thousand Screaming Warriors, which was his greatest confidence.
He did not need to use tactics of luring the enemy deeper; instead, he aimed for an unparalleled victory.
"Send the sheep men and slaves forward to fill the moats."
Jorah also saw the Dothraki below, like an endless black cloud.
"I consider this war my last, Father." Jorah recalled his father, who might still be in the distant North at this time.
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