Chapter 326: Trial of Larys

In addition to the Cargyll brothers, there were four other current members of the Kingsguard.

Ser Steffon Darklyn had gone to greet Aemond and the Four Storms, likely at the Dragonpit at the moment. Ser Steffon hailed from the Darklyn House of the Crownlands and was the uncle of the Lord of Duskendale.

Having served as a Kingsguard for many years, his thinning brown curls and narrow eye corners gave him an aged appearance. He was known for his hardworking nature and a strong sense of justice, traits that Rhaegar deeply admired.

Present before Rhaegar were the three remaining Kingsguard members:

Ser Lorent Marbrand, from House Marbrand of Ashemark of the Westerlands, stood tall and bald with a resolute face. Known for his strict demeanor and sharp swordsmanship, he was a figure of discipline.

Ser Rickard Thorne, from a small family in the Crownlands, had a lean build, thick eyebrows, and a pugnacious aura. His martial prowess was matched by his rough yet generous personality.

Ser Willis Fell of Felwood in the Stormlands was a typical Stormland man-strong, rugged, and with keen, piercing eyes. He was a loner, not inclined to much communication.

Rhaegar was less familiar with these three Kingsguards, their interactions having been minimal.

"Ser Lorent, please summon the commander of the royal guard," Rhaegar requested, choosing Lorent for his impeccable demeanor.

"Yes, Prince," Lorent responded solemnly.

As Lorent left, Rhaegar glanced at Robb and Samwell, a flicker of thought crossing his eyes. Ever since Criston Cole had stepped down as Commander of the Kingsguard, there had been a vacancy among the seven main Kingsguard, and his father had been delaying the selection.

There was a suspicion among the council that the king hoped for Cole's return, but after a few proposals, the topic had been set aside.

Lorent soon returned, accompanied by a handsome young man with a disheveled cloak.

"Greetings, Prince," the young man said, the smell of wine evident on his breath.

Rhaegar's lips curled into a smile. "You're on duty today, aren't you?"

"I..."

"He organized his subordinates for a drinking session and was just pulled out by me," Lorent interjected, his contempt clear.

Rhaegar couldn't help but smile, nodding as he said, "Very well, as a commander of the royal guard, you really set a fine example."

Stepping back, he casually clapped his hands.

Swish—

With a swift motion, Robb, who had been waiting nearby, drew his sword and stepped forward, decapitating the handsome young man with a single, clean stroke. The headless body collapsed to the ground, blood spurting from the severed neck.

Lyonel and the three Kingsguard onlookers were stunned, not expecting such decisive action from the Heir.

Rhaegar bent down, retrieved a badge depicting a sword-crossed shield from the corpse's chest, and tossed it to Robb with disdain. "Inform Lord Roland that his nephew died defending the Red Keep from thieves, and that Lord Robb of Stone Mill is now the commander of the royal escort."

Lord Roland Westerling, the Lord of Crag in the West, was Jason Lannister's father-in-law. His cousin, the former Kingsguard Commander Harold Westerling, had recommended his nephew for the position.

Rhaegar waved dismissively and called Samwell to stand before the three Kingsguard. "The Kingsguard is short one man. I recommend three candidates, and he is one of them."

Lorent frowned with concern. "To serve in the Kingsguard, one must give up their fiefs, titles, and cannot have heirs."

He knew Samwell, the young lord of Raventree Hall from the prominent Blackwood House of the Riverlands.

Rhaegar remained silent, patting Samwell on the shoulder.

Samwell spoke earnestly, "My son is already two years old and can be cared for by my sister. If I am chosen for the Kingsguard, I will be honored to take the oath."

Rhaegar continued, "Joffrey Grafton of Gulltown and Ser Willam Royce of Runestone are also my recommended candidates. They will arrive at the Red Keep for the selection process overseen by the Small Council."

The implication was clear: the selection would be fair, with no favoritism. Rhaegar did not expect all three to be chosen for the Kingsguard; they could serve him best in their own territories.

Leaving Robb and Samwell behind, Rhaegar departed with Tormund, Lyonel, and Grey Worm. Before leaving, he reminded Robb, "Carefully select the members of the Royal Guard and expand the number from three hundred to five hundred."

The Royal Guard, originally a ceremonial and patrol force, had gradually evolved, incorporating more than a hundred Dragonkeepers over time. With Rhaegar in King's Landing, it was time for necessary reforms.

...

Godswood Forest

Rhaegar stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the crimson leaves of the ancient godswood tree. Lyonel and Tormund waited patiently beside him, flanking him on either side.

Moments later, the back door of the Maegor's Holdfast swung open, and two Unsullied soldiers emerged, dragging a staggering figure between them.

Lyonel turned, his eyes widening in shock. "Larys?"

Larys, his curly hair disheveled and his feet dragging in oversized boots, was being roughly manhandled by the Unsullied.

Lyonel looked at Rhaegar in disbelief. "Prince, what crime has Larys committed to warrant this treatment?"

Rhaegar turned, his expression imploring. "Lord Lyonel, you really noticed nothing?"

"Larys is an Inquisitor!" Lyonel protested, his voice rising. "What offense could he have committed?"

Grey Worm and the Unsullied had formed a perimeter around the Godswood, ensuring their conversation remained private.

"Lord Lyonel, let's discuss this calmly," Tormund interjected, glancing at the Unsullied. "You wouldn't want this to become public knowledge."

Realization dawned on Lyonel's face as he understood the gravity of the situation.

The Unsullied dragged Larys to the base of the weirwood and threw him to the ground like a ragdoll.

Larys fell with a thud, a bleeding bruise on his mouth. He tried to rise but was kicked back down by the Unsullied.

"Ah! ..." Larys groaned in agony, curling up on the ground.

Rhaegar looked at him coldly. "Larys, you must know why you're here."

Larys, beads of sweat on his forehead, stammered, "I'm sorry, Prince. I'm not good at guessing riddles."

"Borros Baratheon's death was no accident," Rhaegar said icily. "You had a significant hand in it."

Before Larys could respond, Lyonel's face went pale, and he began to protest. "Prince ..."

Rhaegar cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Lord Lyonel, I have evidence."

He signaled for the Unsullied to come forward, their presence adding weight to his words.

Clattering...

An Unsullied soldier emptied a sack, spilling an assortment of bottles and jars across the ground.

Rhaegar picked up a glass bottle containing a purple potion, his voice deep and authoritative. "Sweetsleep, a sedative potion produced by Lys' Specialties. A single drop can calm a raging bull."

Larys hung his head low, his voice subdued. "I'm an Inquisitor. The sedative is for keeping prisoners under control during interrogations."

"A plausible excuse," Rhaegar replied indifferently. He then picked up a porcelain vial filled with a creamy ointment. "This one is from Myr, typically used by brothel clients to prolong their encounters. However, it can suffocate when applied to the throat."

"Prince, these potions are meant to aid in interrogations," Larys insisted, attempting to maintain his innocence.

Rhaegar's voice turned methodical. "Lady Elenda's letter describes Lord Borros's death in a manner similar to my grandfather, Prince Baelon."

Larys's eyes widened, and he recoiled slightly.

"Coincidentally, I've seen a similar death," Rhaegar continued, his gaze piercing. "At the end of the Battle of the Stepstones, Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon died of bloating, caused by the Tears of Lys, a poison used by the Triarchy."

Few poisons in the world could kill so discreetly, and the Tears of Lys had long been infamous.

"Lord Borros died from the Tears of Lys, and I had nothing to do with it," Larys croaked, his eyes avoiding Rhaegar's.

"The potions here are non-toxic and not enough to convict you," Rhaegar admitted. "But how do you explain the extensive smuggling dealings with Myr, Lys, Pentos, and other places?"

Larys's face darkened as if recalling something incriminating.

Tormund pulled out a slip of paper and began to read. "Larys Strong, you have repeatedly engaged in smuggling over several years... You have privately interrogated and tortured death row inmates to death... You bought children from Flea Bottom to use as informants and invested in an underground fighting ring, exploiting children's to curry favor with certain kind of adults."

Rhaegar turned to Lyonel, whose face was grim. "Smuggling, lynching, murder, and child trafficking—are these crimes deserving of hanging or beheading?"

Larys was known for his dark heart and cruel methods. Even if they couldn't prove he had murdered Borros, there was enough evidence to ensure his execution.

Rhaegar didn't need proof of Larys's guilt. In King's Landing, many "lords" were equally corrupt; few were truly clean.

"Larys, you bastard! What heinous acts have you committed behind my back?" Lyonel exploded, stepping forward and kicking his son in the chest, his voice a furious roar.

(Word count: 1,507)