A Book of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones : Magic Network

The king had made his judgment.

Lord Beric Dondarrion and the Red Priest Thoros immediately bowed their acceptance, their faces solemn with the weight of their charge.

Many nodded their approval, the members of the Small Council offered no objection, and the petitioning smallfolk looked anxiously toward their lords, seeking some sense of what this decree might mean for their shattered lives.

Lord Mallister had already retreated behind the two lords, his momentary boldness evaporating like dew beneath the summer sun.

Lord Massey's brow furrowed slightly, the merest crease betraying his uncertainty.

Lord Mooton, by contrast, was effusive with gratitude. "Your Grace has dispatched the divinely blessed Holy Warrior Army," he proclaimed, "and with such an upright and wise man as Lord Dondarrion leading them, the rebels' evil deeds will surely be judged, and the people of Massey's Hook shall suffer no further calamities."

Divinely blessed.

The words echoed in Lord Massey's mind. Recalling the various miraculous transformations he had witnessed throughout King's Landing these past two days, he smoothed his expression and offered a deep bow of gratitude.

The three nobles returned to the ranks of courtiers, while the smallfolk who had knelt upon the hard stone floor staggered to their feet and departed from the throne room, their faces still haunted by memories of fire and sword.

The center of the hall stood empty once more.

The herald glanced toward His Grace upon the throne, awaiting some subtle signal to summon the next petitioning party.

Joffrey, however, had no intention of remaining any longer.

The requests of those who still waited beyond the great doors had already been presented to him in advance—trifling, tedious matters, unworthy of his precious time.

In truth, with the aid of the God's Grace Light Screen's instantaneous communication, King's Landing had already achieved a rudimentary form of governance through information. Except for matters of grave import and the petitions of those common folk not yet blessed with God's Grace, Joffrey no longer needed to sit upon the Iron Throne to issue his commands.

Viserys Targaryen entered from outside the hall, knelt in the center of the gleaming floor, and pleaded in a trembling voice, "Your Grace, I have been negligent in my duties. Your mount has suddenly fallen ill. It has refused all nourishment since morning and lies motionless in its stable. It appears that—"

The courtiers struggled to maintain expressions of concern.

The illness—this excuse had already been employed thrice, among several other transparent pretexts. Everyone understood that the king did not come to the throne room daily to conduct the realm's business.

Joffrey rose to his feet. "How could this happen again! You have been unconscionably careless!"

Viserys pressed his forehead to the floor, begging forgiveness with abject humility.

Joffrey sighed and descended the throne's steps one by one. "The white stag is a divine omen bestowed by the gods themselves. I am deeply troubled by this news." He turned toward the Queen Mother. "Mother, I must ask you to handle affairs of state in my absence."

Queen Regent Cersei fixed her son with a glare that mingled helpless affection with mild exasperation.

As Regent, she frequently sat upon the Iron Throne to render judgments, yet not a single matter of genuine consequence ever passed before her—merely ordinary disputes and petty quibbles, monotonous beyond measure.

If her son did not regularly please her with smiles and gifts, Cersei would have long since abandoned all pretense of desiring this cold, uncomfortable seat of power.

The truth that all recognized was that the Regent's authority had become mere ceremony, an empty vessel.

This reality was apparent not only to Cersei herself, but to every courtier, servant, and laborer within the Red Keep's walls.

The God's Grace Light Screen had all but replaced the throne room's function.

Compared to the instantaneous transmission of decrees through the Light Screen, these elaborate petitioning rituals seemed cumbersome and archaic, relics of a dying age.

Similar transformations had overtaken legal proceedings, personnel assignments, resource allocations, and countless other aspects of governance.

Beyond all doubt, as God's Grace illuminated the world with ever-greater brilliance, every system and tradition would prove fragile, subject to sudden overthrow.

When that day arrived, His Grace, who controlled God's Grace with absolute mastery, would wield supreme power that none could hope to challenge or constrain.

Everyone in the throne room watched the king depart, while the Light Screen that hovered at the edge of their vision continued to remind them who truly ruled King's Landing and the Seven Kingdoms.

If Regent Tywin were still present in King's Landing, what then?

Some could not help but wonder.

As he walked the corridors, Joffrey's mind entered the white space once more.

He surveyed his surroundings.

All projections of people had been removed, leaving only the vast, pristine emptiness—a realm of infinite possibility that nonetheless grew monotonous after extended contemplation.

The time had come.

The new throne room had been designed, and the moment had arrived to reveal it in all its glory.

With a mere thought from Joffrey, the whiteness of the space fractured into countless motes of light, which gradually recombined and coalesced, taking on vibrant hues and intricate forms.

Thus the illusory throne room took shape.

This was a magnificent domed hall, two hundred feet high, its circular expanse measuring precisely one thousand feet in diameter. The broad inner walls had been carved with elaborate pillars, statues, esoteric symbols, and noble crests.

Above the transparent dome stretched a crystalline night sky.

The Moon Palace and the seven Holy Stars shed silver light that converged upon the shining, sacred, square throne—a towering seat adorned with peculiar, otherworldly patterns.

Joffrey, transformed into a hundred-foot giant, sat upon this ethereal throne.

Perfect.

He gazed downward with immense satisfaction.

Before him lay a sunken pool wherein the pale blue waters surrounded a model of the continent of Westeros, proportioned to match his own titanic form.

Upon this three-dimensional map, miniature mountains and rivers crisscrossed the terrain, while white lines delineated the boundaries of lordly domains. Red, blue, and black spheres of light marked the castles of hostile, friendly, and neutral lords respectively.

Several chairs had been placed on either side of the map, each a full twelve feet high, yet they seemed no more significant than any other feature of this vast chamber.

Joffrey summoned the members of the Small Council.

Projections materialized one after another upon the chairs flanking the map, each six feet in height—no more, no less.

The ministers' consciousnesses entered these projections.

Wonder dawned upon their faces as this magnificent hall, unlike anything they had ever beheld, suddenly manifested around them.

The Minister of Finance, "The Imp" Tyrion Lannister, offered effusive praise, his gaze drawn repeatedly to the novel patterns adorning the throne.

The Minister of War, "Kingslayer" Jaime Lannister, surveyed the chamber with unconcealed amazement before fixing his attention on the map of Westeros in the pool, evidently contemplating future campaigns.

The Commander of the City Watch, "The Hound" Sandor Clegane, glanced briefly at the king before likewise studying the detailed map below.

Grand Maester Pycelle carefully observed the exquisite decorations adorning the opposite wall, his ancient eyes missing no detail.

Minister of Security Alyn Lantell, Lady Hanna, and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard "The Bold" Barristan Selmy all turned toward the throne, awaiting the king's commands with attentive silence.

Joffrey's gaze settled upon the nearest empty chair to his right—a seat reserved for Lord Tywin.

At present, Lord Tywin had assembled an army of thirty thousand at Casterly Rock, simultaneously training his forces and maintaining a strategic position against Lord Mathis Rowan of the Reach, while continuously recruiting fresh troops to bolster his numbers.

Lord Tywin's younger brother, Kevan Lannister, had led ten thousand cavalry from the Westerlands eastward along the River Road. He had now reached Harrenhal, where he had taken command of three thousand additional cavalry and ten thousand infantry contributed by the lords of the Riverlands and the Vale. These combined forces were now resting and training in preparation for the coming conflict.

Meanwhile, the true extent of King's Landing's newfound strength remained unknown to the lords of the realm.

In such circumstances, Joffrey strongly suspected that many throughout the Seven Kingdoms believed Lord Tywin to be the true power behind the Iron Throne.

Did Lord Tywin still remember their previous agreement?

Joffrey sent formal invitations to the Regent and Master of Laws, Tywin Lannister, and the Regent and Hand of the King, Eddard Stark.

After a brief interval, two additional projections gradually took form.

The ministers all looked toward these new arrivals. These projections stood six feet tall, like the others, but rather than appearing directly seated upon their chairs, they materialized standing beside them, facing the king.

Lord Eddard was the first to respond, bowing deeply to the hundred-foot king. "Good day, Your Grace."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Support me at [email protected]/goldengaruda and check out more chapter of this or more early access chapter of my other fanfic translation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~