Game of Thrones: I Created the Weave

June in King's Landing was truly extraordinary.

First, King Robert died, and the city's bells tolled. His Majesty's coffin was taken to the Great Sept of Baelor yesterday, and today the port welcomed a mighty fleet. Fortunately, the large Crowned Stag was emblazoned on the sails.

People by the river looked curiously towards the port.

The largest berth in the port had been cleared. Gold Cloaks stood like statues on either side, and the center was filled with elegant and noble dignitaries. Even the servants and maids seemed unapproachable.

Thus, people knew what they were looking at as the warships docked.

The first to catch their eye was the valiant young man wearing a crown, and beside him, a lovely but ordinary little girl.

His Majesty the King, supreme and sovereign, arrived in his loyal King's Landing today.

"Long live His Majesty!"

Joffrey enthusiastically helped up Lord Eddard, who was about to bow. "Lord Eddard, there's no need for such formality. We are family."

He immediately asked, "Father has already been buried in the Sept?"

The Hand of the King nodded silently.

Joffrey looked regretful. "If it weren't for this business with Uncle Renly, there would have been no need to make a special trip to Dragonstone, preventing me from seeing Father one last time!"

Was it truly Renly? Eddard slightly turned his head, and the little girl before him immediately caught his attention.

"Your Majesty, is this Shireen?" Eddard was uncertain.

Although he had never met her, he had long heard of the tragic fate of Stannis's only daughter in her childhood.

The potentially fatal greyscale hadn't killed the child, but the horrifying grey-black dead skin would forever mar the girl's face. Could it all have been rumors?

Shireen lifted her skirt in a lady-like curtsy. "Lord Eddard, Shireen greets you."

She tried her best to show her sincerity. "Greyscale was difficult to endure, but your and Father's honorable deeds helped me forget the pain. And thanks to His Majesty's treatment, everything is now in the past."

Shireen smiled broadly.

Eddard looked at Joffrey.

Joffrey smiled without speaking and beckoned everyone back into the city.

Shireen's symptoms were considered mild; at least she hadn't been completely petrified and driven mad, so the treatment wasn't difficult.

After giving Shireen an anesthetic, the tissues ravaged by greyscale were removed, and Recovery Magic Energy successfully regenerated fresh, normal flesh.

Only one thing was very concerning.

Joffrey recalled the scene of the treatment at the time. Greyscale, it seemed, was not just an ordinary disease.

The familiar melody of violins and drums reached his ears.

Joffrey was taken aback.

Tyrion walked over and bowed respectfully. "Your Majesty named this piece 'King's Landing'. His Majesty King Robert was particularly fond of it. How could it not be played upon entering the city today?"

Joffrey smiled with emotion. "Yes, since Father loved it, I certainly must carry on the tradition."

Carrying on the tradition is good. Tradition means stability.

The courtiers seemed to hear a promise and immediately praised His Majesty's filial piety. But they all forgot one thing.

Robert Baratheon loved war the most.

Rain came closer, and Joffrey stroked its head. He mounted the Lion's Back and entered the city gate.

The stirring music still echoed.

People watched the young King and the Giant Lion rush towards the Red Keep perched on the hill, suddenly realizing that King's Landing had a new King, and the old era had completely ended.

New King's Landing.

...

The evening glow was brilliant.

The Hound carried two heavy wooden boxes for His Majesty.

Joffrey sat leisurely in the King's study, flipping through the mountain of outdated reports.

They either pleaded poverty, complained about lack of manpower, or justified failure to complete tasks. Joyful reports were very, very few.

Looking at these alone, who could have imagined that the Royal Family had endured in this state for over a decade, and on the surface, everything still seemed normal, a true miracle.

He looked at the slightly shaking wooden boxes by the Hound's hand.

A man-made miracle.

"Sandor, what are you waiting for? The country is in crisis, quickly summon the two lords for an audience," he said mockingly.

The Hound looked at the wooden boxes.

Although some time had passed, every time the half-man-high wooden box shook, his heart trembled with it. He had once thought being burned by fire was the greatest torture, but who knew there could be such a hellish method in the world.

Indeed, those who play politics have no hearts.

The Hound bared his teeth and opened the front panel of the wooden boxes. Two familiar faces were inside the boxes.

Joffrey tossed aside the report in his hand.

"Lord Varys, Lord Petyr, why are you crying? Are you perhaps also grieving for my father's passing?"

Tyrion sighed and looked away. "Finally, someone shorter than me has been born into the world."

The two half-men, amputated from the shoulder and thigh, writhed their non-existent limbs in their wooden boxes, causing the boxes to tremble slightly.

How could they not cry?

Littlefinger's reaction was even stronger than Varys'. He had so many trump cards, countless schemes and plans, and lifelong ambitions.

But now, all of it was buried in the earth along with his hands, feet, and lower body, becoming a feast for worms and ants.

I don't even have an heir!

The culprit was right before his eyes. Littlefinger forced himself to speak calmly, "Joffrey, you..."

The Hound kicked over the wooden box, and Littlefinger almost bit off his tongue.

Varys squeezed out a fawning smile. "Your esteemed Majesty, I was already incomplete. My hands and feet were my last comfort. I beg you, please return them to me."

Joffrey chuckled lightly. "I can even make you a man again. However, Lord Varys, what will you trade for it?"

"That fake Aegon? Can you bear to? Can you do it?"

What?!

Varys shook his head and wailed. How could he know about Aegon? I'm completely exposed?!

Joffrey walked to the front of the wooden box and squatted down. "Don't say he's fake. Even if he were a true Targaryen prince, what of it? Let him come. War will add glory to the Throne!"

Varys could not see a trace of weakness or hesitation in those eyes, only endless fire.

Tyrion handed a blueprint to him. "All the explored secret passages of the Red Keep are here, Lord Varys. See if anything is missing?"

Not a single one. Varys closed his eyes.

Joffrey gestured for the Hound to lift Littlefinger's wooden box.

"Varys, Petyr, be glad you are rare intelligent men. Starting tomorrow, I will place you beside the Throne and look forward to your counsel."

"Work hard. A hundred useful pieces of counsel for a hand or a foot, two hundred for a man's dignity."

Varys and Petyr couldn't help but calculate how long it would take.

Joffrey waved his hand.

The half-men in the boxes immediately became terrified, begging incessantly.

The Hound mercilessly closed the wooden boxes and sent them back to the dark, silent storage chests in the distance.

Joffrey sat back on the Throne and sipped his wine.

Tyrion said bitterly, "Littlefinger truly deserves this. Look at the state of the Royal Treasury he's ruined. How are other Masters of Coin supposed to work?"

The situation was worse than expected.

The Royal Family's foreign debt had reached 6.5 million Gold Dragons, annual daily expenses were one million Gold Dragons, but actual annual income was only a little over 1.3 million. Various taxes from different regions were in arrears to varying degrees.

Littlefinger was naturally guilty, but courtiers and lords were also subtly involved, including those from the Westerlands and The North. How should they deal with this?

The vicious and sharp Iron Throne was not easy to sit on, in every sense.

Joffrey checked the invisible Runes in his consciousness. One, two... a total of twenty.

It was time to change how the Throne was sat upon.

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