WiSh - Chapter 46
Chapter 46: Qualification for the Kingsguard
Joffrey drew his sword, its hilt adorned with emeralds, the edges of the scabbard embroidered with gold thread, the blade gleaming in the light. "Arya, step aside." He pointed his sword at the short swordsmanship instructor. "Let me play with you, little man. Don't worry, I won't chop off your head."
The swordsmanship instructor, Syrio, smiled and stroked his small mustache. "Are you sure, Prince?"
"Come on, let me see what you've got." Joffrey's right corner of his mouth curled up, not hiding his contempt for the short swordsmanship instructor. Although only thirteen years old, Joffrey was tall, with golden hair and fair skin, very handsome, a head taller than the swordsmanship instructor.
Under his father's strict demands, Joffrey began practicing swordsmanship and martial arts with the guards at the age of six. Seven years had passed, and his martial skills were so high that the guards were no longer his opponents. Except for the new guard captain, the Hound Sandor Clegane, arranged by his mother, he believed he was not afraid of anyone in swordsmanship. He was well aware that his swordsmanship was already very formidable, with few rivals.
"Very well!" Syrio said, a playful smile on his face, his body shifting to the side, the training sword pointing at Joffrey's face.
Joffrey's precious sword slashed down fiercely, aiming to cut the opponent's training wooden sword in half. However, Syrio's move was just a feint, drawing out Joffrey's sword. The wooden sword in his hand was like a fluttering butterfly, instantly tapping Joffrey's wrist, elbow, and knee.
Joffrey yelled in pain, the sword slipping from his hand. His wrist, elbow, and knee felt as if they had been struck by a hammer, the pain piercing his heart. He involuntarily knelt on one leg. His handsome face twisted, his left hand tightly covering his right wrist, his face pale, sweat pouring down his forehead like rain.
He looked up, his beautiful eyes full of resentment, but the swordsmanship instructor was no longer in front of him. "Hound, kill him!" Joffrey shout
"Kill them, kill them all." Joffrey waved his left hand, including Arya, Robb, Bran, Jon, Theon, Ser Rodrik, and the swordsmanship instructor. "Kill them all."
"Oh, who has upset my nephew?" a voice teased, and Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, quickly walked over, stopping in front of Joffrey and slapping him with a resounding slap. "Who do you want to kill, my dearest nephew?"
Joffrey looked at his uncle, who was half his height, with disbelief. The resentment and malice in his eyes turned to fear. He could have kicked Tyrion over with one foot, but he only dared to cover his stinging cheek with his hand. Then, with a look of both anger and fear, he turned and stormed off.
"Hound, your master has left, why don't you bark and follow him?" Tyrion said.
The Hound and Ser Rodrik pushed against each other, separating. The Hound sheathed his sword, glaring at Tyrion, who responded with a whistle. He turned to glare at the swordsmanship instructor again, who bowed slightly, elegantly, and smiled at him.
Boom!
A loud noise came from the great hall of the main castle, as if a heavy object had been smashed on the ground, followed by a series of sounds of porcelain shattering. Then came King Robert's roar: "Seven hells, do the Lannisters consider me their king? Leaving just like that, only leaving me a flimsy note. Where has his knightly honor gone? Oh, I know, the Kingslayer lost his knightly honor long ago. He dared to stab the Mad King in the back. Good riddance, maybe one day he'll do the same to me!"
The hall was lined with courtiers and knights against the walls, none daring to speak, all trembling.
"Lannister, Lannister, Lannister, I've had enough of the Lannisters. Servants, guards, even the woman who sleeps beside me, they're all Lannisters. Who around me isn't a Lannister? Good riddance, just as I wish, get the hell out, far away, and you, stinky woman."
The king looked at Queen Cersei, tore Jaime's note to shreds, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it fiercely. "Wine, I need wine, pour some for your king."
A young man in a red cloak lowered his head and immediately poured wine for Robert. Robert drank it in one gulp and cursed: "Look, you all look, I need a cup of wine, and it's a Lannister who pours it. Why are there so many Lannisters?"
Queen Cersei looked expressionlessly at the ground. Eddard Stark and Catelyn both looked down, watching the carpet in front of them.
"Seven hells, have you all gone mute? It's just a Lannister leaving, what's the big deal? He's gone to guard the realm as a man of the Night's Watch. We should toast to his great spirit of sacrifice. Come on, Ned, let's drink, and then you have to give me a man."
"Winterfell is at your service, Your Grace." Eddard Stark said respectfully.
"Look, haha, that's my good brother, Eddard. Now my Kingsguard is one short. You have to find me a replacement, haha. Who is the most loyal, the strongest, the most upright, and the most handsome knight in the North? Find me one, now, immediately!"
"Your Grace, the southern climate may not be suitable for a northern knight." Cersei said coldly. She raised her head, her eyes fixed on Robert.
"Look, look, the Lannisters are teaching me again? Ned, call one of your knights out to show this woman that Northern knights are not just for show, haha!"
A knight stepped forward, walked to the center of the hall, and knelt on one knee: "Your Grace, Your Majesty, Lady Stark, I, Ser Heway of the North, vow to forsake lands, wife, and children, to reject all worldly fortunes, to guard the king with unwavering loyalty, to serve him all my life, and never to break my oath."
"I do not agree." Queen Cersei said coldly again. "Unless he can defeat Sandor Clegane."
The Clegane family were vassals who had served the Lannister family for generations.
Robert laughed heartily: "Cersei, the first half of your sentence is treason. I am the king, and I do as I please. So, whom I choose does not require your consent. But the second half of your sentence is interesting. Call your Sandor over here, where is he?"
"Dog!" Joffrey, who had returned to the living room, whispered in Sandor Clegane's ear, "If you don't kill Him, I'll kill you."
Sandor Clegane's expression remained unchanged, as if he hadn't heard his young master's threat. He stepped forward, walked to the center of the living room, and knelt beside Heway. The right half of his face was haggard, the left half a mess. His ear was completely burned away, leaving only a hole. His eyes were not blind, but the surrounding area was covered with large, twisted scars, his skin as hard as leather. The burned part of his chin revealed bones.
On his hideous face was a large, hooked nose, and his hair was dark and fine. He let his hair grow long, combing it from the right to the left, covering the entire left side of his head—because the left side of his scalp was twisted and scarred, with not a single hair.
"Sandor, Ser Heway, let me see your swordsmanship." King Robert said with a smile, his wine glass empty again. "Whoever wins, I'll drink a cup with him."
"Yes, Your Grace." The Hound and Ser Heway stood up together, stepping back from each other. With a clang, both drew their swords simultaneously.