Chapter 19 2 страница

Standing on the opposite side of the queen was an old man who was wearing a golden hand pin on his chest. 'The Hand of the King, ' Jon thought. 'Lord Jon Arryn. Foster father to my own father and King Robert. And my namesake I suppose. At least for now. ' The man was, again, not what he'd expected. He was old, very old. And going by the look in his eye, extremely tired. Though from what Jon had no idea.

The only other person standing beside the throne that caught Jon's attention was an extremely old man that stood hunched over with more chains wrapped around his neck and shoulders than Jon had ever seen before. The Grand Maester. Though it was odd. The man was hunched over and he was shaking, but what Jon could sense from him was the opposite. He could sense anger, overwhelming anger. But also fear. A lot of fear. And lastly, sitting atop the Iron Throne was the King, Robert Baratheon, First of his Name. And he…he was not what Jon was expecting. From the tales his father had told him, the King was a man who was larger than life, could turn his enemies into friends with only a few words and was perhaps one of the fiercest warriors in the realm. But that is not what Jon saw when he looked upon the king. What he saw was a man whose girth rivaled that of Lord Manderly's and looked as if he was in dire need of a proper grooming.

" Ned! " the King bellowed, rising from the throne and descending the iron steps towards the line of Kingsguard standing between them.

" Your grace, " his father said before dropping to a knee, prompting the rest of them to do so as well as the King reached the line of Kingsguard.

But as Jon's knee touched the ground, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Lord Nox had not gone to a knee. Instead his Master merely held his hands in front of him and gave the slightest of bows to the approaching king. An act which caused no small amount of murmuring to spread throughout the hall.

" You dare show such disrespect to the King in front of the Kingsguard, cur?! " one of the whitecloaks yelled, palming the hilt of his sword and taking a half step forward.

" Oh, fuck off, Blount, " the king groaned. " The Sorcerer's knees don't bend easy. Hells, I'm surprised he even fucking bowed to me and I'll take that. And what the fuck do you think you can even do about it? Hm? This man could probably kill you just by snapping his fingers. Now keep your tongue behind your teeth or I'll have it fucking removed. And the rest of you, get up off your knees. "

Rising with the others, Jon took several deep breaths to try and keep himself calm as the king stepped past the line of Kingsguard. His advance halted though as his eyes bounced off Winter, the direwolf now sitting calmly on her hind legs but still almost as tall as the king.

" Fucking hells, Ned. A fucking direwolf… Only you, Ned, " the king chuckled as he raised his hand before apparently thinking twice about it. " Is it tame? "

" No, " his father replied, causing several of the kingsguard behind the king to shift their feet to make themselves ready to jump to the king's defense should the need arrive. " She is as wild as the day we found her and her pups after a Wildling attack. But she will not harm you, your grace. "

" Only you Ned, " the king laughed, his belly shaking slightly as he did while he reached out a meaty hand and lightly touched the top of Winter's head. The next part was said so quietly, that Jon wasn't even sure the king said anything at all. " A she-wolf… She would've had one of you as well…I know it. "

" Your grace, " Lord Stannis said, stepping forward from the throne, " I doubt that Lord Stark and Lord Hightower have traveled all this distance to speak of idle matters. "

Jon could've sworn that the King growled in annoyance as he stepped back from Winter. " Well, Ned, let's hear it. What in the Seven blazing hells is going on? An attempted coup in the North. Then you head south and slaughter the Maesters –"

" An action which requires justice, your grace! " the Grand Maester shouted, taking a step forward. It was brief, but for a second the man's shaking and quivering stopped, and he held himself straight and his eyes became hard. 'It's an act, ' Jon realized as the man quickly reverted to the hunched over and shaking stance he'd had a moment before. 'But why? '

" Keep your mouth shut, Pycelle, " the king said, glaring at the oldest man in the room with a look that made Jon realize that, despite his appearance, there was still quite a bit of strength left in King Robert. " I told you we would be giving Ned the chance to explain his actions once he'd arrived. And seeing as how he's standing here with Lord Hightower, I'm sure he has a good explanation for stringing the Maesters up and using them to line the side of the Roseroad. So, let's hear it, Ned. What the fuck is going on? "

Jon's father didn't respond immediately as his attention had shifted from the King to the grand maester standing next to the Iron Throne. It might've been just a trick of his eyes, but Jon could've sworn he saw a wisp of black smoke coming from his father in much the same manner as it did from Master Nox when he got extremely angry. " Several moons ago, a coalition of lords from the North and the Vale came to Winterfell and attempted to assassinate myself, my family, Lord Nox and his family. The attempt failed, but at the cost of the life of my wife and my son and Lord Nox's yet unborn son. Before the traitorous Lords were executed, Lord Nox questioned them thoroughly and learned that they were not acting alone. They had help. Help that provided transportation and coin for several sellswords and assassins from Westeros and Essos. And help that provided the poison that was used to try and assassinate Lord Nox during his own wedding feast. Help, that came from a select group of Maesters that called themselves the Order of the Guiding Hand. "

" Preposterous! There is no such order! "

" Pycelle! " the King boomed, turning and glaring at the Maester. " If you open your mouth one more time before I call upon you, I will have your jaw shattered! Ned, continue. " The anger that was so prevalent in the Grand Maester started to fade, being replaced by a choking fear. " And why the hells didn't you inform me of this 'Order'? I would've called the banners and wiped them out. "

" And that is why I did not inform you immediately, your grace, " his father answered. " Their Order has eyes and ears everywhere. Had word reached them that their secret was known, they would have scattered like rats. So instead I took those I trusted and ventured to Oldtown to deal with the matter directly. But our arrival was…preempted by another. One of the Archmaesters, who is not part of the Order, captured those responsible and imprisoned them. Upon our arrival, he delivered all those who were part of the Order within the Citadel to Lord Hightower and myself while also providing us with evidence of their treachery. After dealing with the traitors, Lord Hightower and I decided to come to King's Landing and explain ourselves in person. But on the road…I discovered from reading the evidence provided by Archmaester Marwyn that I had another reason to come here. "

All eyes and ears within the court were on Jon's father as he paused, seemingly taking a moment to collect himself, before pressing onwards. " My father. My brother. They were murdered in this very room under the guise of a farce Trial by Combat. Some of you in here even bore witness as my father was roasted alive in his armor while my brother strangled himself trying to save him. The true nature of the Mad King was truly shown that day. And ever since their deaths I have laid the blame solely at the feet of the Mad King. But now, now I have learned that there was one amongst the Order of the Guiding Hand who whispered into the Mad King's ear, encouraging their deaths in such a horrendous manner while others cautioned leniency. The same one who whispered into the Mad King's ear to trust Lord Tywin Lannister, which led to the Sacking of King's Landing. Grand Maester Pycelle. "

The entirety of the throne room went silent as, almost as one, all eyes turned towards the Grand Maester, who had gone a remarkable shade of white as all the blood left his face. " Y-Your grace! It's–It's a lie! A lie! I–I have only ever been loyal to you! " But the Maester's pleas did not seem to reach the King as the man merely glared at the Grand Maester with a steadily reddening face.

His fear overtaking him to the point where he was shaking, the Grand Maester started looking around wildly. " Queen Cersei! " he shouted, falling to his knees, " I – I have always been loyal to House Lannister! E–Ever since the time of the Mad King! Pl-Please, your grace! You must–! "

" Silence! "

King Robert's voice cut through the Maester's words like a hot knife through butter. The Maester hesitated for but a moment before shifting and nearly pressing his face to the floor as he groveled before the King. " Pl-Please, your – your grace. There – There is no proof of their words! "

" Proof? " Master Nox's voice was calm and gentle, but it carried throughout the hall as if he'd bellowed out at the top of his lungs. A Force technique he had yet to teach Robb and Jon. Reaching into the folds of his robes, Master Nox pulled out a leather bound book that he recognized as the same one he and his father had been pouring over almost every night since they left Oldtown. " Would written proof of your transgression work? Or perhaps the marking on your body that identifies you as part of the Order of the Guiding Hand? Which would you prefer to go first? "

The whimpering from Pycelle grew louder and more pathetic as the King held kept his eyes trained on the prostrated Maester. " Oakheart. " No further orders were necessary as one of the Kingsguard drew his sword and advanced on the Grand Maester, not to kill, but rather to ensure the old man didn't get any foolish ideas. " Give me the damn book. "

" Of course, " Master Nox said, handing the book over the king. " The Order was impressive, but foolish. They kept detailed records of their actions and even categorized them based on location. This book here details the actions taken by every Grand Maester who a member of the Order ever since the founding of the Seven Kingdoms was. There's quite a detailed accounting for how they caused the Dance of the Dragons. And there are even a few short pages on Pycelle's attempted manipulations of yourself. I believe you'll be most interested in the pages Lord Stark and I marked for you, it details his orders to turn yourself and the Small Council against myself and the actions I've been taking in the North under Lord Stark's watchful eye. Then there are also a few pages that we marked where Pycelle gave his recommendation that it would be most beneficial for the Order's long term plans if your father, Lord Steffon Baratheon, did not return from his venture to Essos to secure the former Prince Rhaegar with a Valyrian bride. And Lord Stannis, while the Maester on Dragonstone seems to have not been a part of the Order, he did inform the Citadel that your daughter was showing…unique abilities, and that you were considering requesting my aid to sort the matter out. The Order took this information and decided that it would be best to curb the influence of magic across the land by ending your daughter by sending her a doll that'd been in possession of one with greyscale. "

The entirety of the throne room was silent as the catacombs beneath Winterfell as the King flipped through the pages of the book, his face becoming redder and redder the further he read. And while he managed to keep calm on the surface, Jon could sense the pure fury swelling within Stannis. " Someone get a block and get Payne's ass up here. Time for him to earn his keep. "

" Your grace, please! " Pycelle all but screamed, his hands held before him in a begging fashion. " Please, mercy, your grace! E – Everything I have done has been for the realm! " The king, nor any of the others standing next to the throne, seemed to care as the Grand Maester started begging everyone who was near to him for any form of mercy.

" You have only one hope left, Pycelle. " Again, his Master's soft voice carried throughout the hall, making the Grand Maester perk up at the chance offered to him. " The only question that remains is how will you convince someone to stand for you? "

Jon wasn't quite sure just what his Master was talking about, but his father, the King, and Pycelle all did going by the looks each man was giving Lord Nox.

" Trial by Combat! " Pycelle shouted as loudly as he could. " I – I demand a Trial by Combat! "

A shocked silence went through the throne room. Slowly, the silence was replaced by chuckling, then full out laughter as the people of the court laughed at the Grand Maester.

" A Trial by Combat, huh, Pycelle? " the king asked, a hint of amusement and a look of excitement entering his eye. " Alright then. Doubt you can even hold a sword, so you'll be naming a champion then, eh? Who here with stand for this decrepit piece of shit? "

No one answered the call. And as the time stretched on, Jon could sense dread reaching higher and higher levels within Pycelle. 'Is this why Master Nox brought the option forth? ' Jon frowned as he tried to reason out just why his Master had even brought the option up in the first place. 'Was it just to give the man some semblance of hope to escape death, only to take it away from him? That's…cruel…but…I can't say that the Grand Maester and the Maesters don't deserve to suffer for what they've done. '

" A hundred gold dragons to the man who will st-stand for me! " Pycelle screeched, drawing a few mumbles from the crowd. " T-Two hun – no, a thousand! A thousand dragons to the one to stand for me! "

Jon felt his eyes widen as shocked murmurs spread throughout the throne room. A thousand gold dragons was, gods, that was more coin than even most nobles had at any one time. Hells, a family of smallfolk could buy a large piece of land and live comfortably for the rest of their lives on that much coin. It was…a very tempting offer. But despite the promise of enough gold to support a family through several generations, there were still none who were willing to stand for the Grand Maester.

That was until Master Nox started chuckling, drawing looks from the King and Jon's father. " If it gives anyone the courage, I will not stand as champion for the crown, " his master stated, drawing more murmurs from the crowd. Yet still, the Grand Maester's plea for a champion went unanswered. " Meryn Trant…Your feelings have betrayed you. You want to stand for the Grand Maester…Not for him, but rather for the coin he offers. Such a shame to think that a member of the Kingsguard could be bought for such a paltry sum. "

The king blinked, then quickly turned around and glared towards the line of Kingsguard behind him before settling his sights in on one of the men standing near the end. " Trant. "

One of the Kingsguard who was wearing a tall helm depicting a sunburst with a red beard coming out from under the edges of the helm took a step back, his hand twitching towards the hilt of his sword. " It – It's a lie, your grace! He's a liar! "

" I am many things, Ser Trant, but a liar is not one of them, " his Master stated, folding his hands in front of himself and taking a few steps towards the knight. " Your feelings have betrayed you. Your desire for the coin is fueled by your lust. Which has turned into an inferno consuming you from within. A lust…driven by the want of a child…a girl. A slave girl…here in King's Landing. One of with golden hair and green eyes. One said to resemble the Princess. One that you can use and brutalize for your own twisted sexual pleasures. "

" H-How dare you say such things about me! " the Kingsguard shouted, taking a step back and resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, " I will have your tongue for daring to slander my name, you worthless sack o-"

" There is a way you can clear your name, Trant. " The movement was slight, but Jon could've sworn that when his Master unfolded his hands, he made a short cutting gesture across his front with two fingers extended. " Stand as champion for Pycelle. Should the gods favor you, then I will concede that you are innocent, and I was wrong. And you will get the bonus of the thousand gold dragons from Pycelle here, provided he actually has the coin to pay you. "

Trant seemed to waver for a moment before shaking his head. " I will stand as champion for the Grand Maester and prove you a liar! "

The king was clearly confused as to just what had happened and judging by the looks on Jon's father's face as well as the face of many others, he was not the only one. " Fine, " the king snapped. " Trant will stand for Pycelle. Who will stand as champion for the crown? "

There was certainly no lack of volunteers to stand as champion for the crown. For as soon as the words were out of the king's mouth, more than a dozen voices, most of them from the men of the North, quickly went into the air offering to stand against the Kingsguard who was standing as champion for the Grand Maester.

'You want to make a name for yourself, Jon, beyond just being a Stark or my Apprentice? ' Hearing his Master's voice in his head made him start, his eyes darting to his Master who still had his back turned to him. 'Now is your chance. Set your nerves to steel. Do not fear or falter. To fear is to hesitate and to hesitate is to die. Do not let others dictate who or what you are. Charge forth and forge your own path. As is the true way of the Sith. '

The words stirred something within Jon. His Master was right. He wanted to prove himself more than just a bastard or…or the child of his parents. And this was a chance to do just that. " Your grace, " Jon called out, drawing the king's attention and surprised looks from his father and brother. " I would stand as champion for the crown and the North. "

Somehow, Jon's voice had managed to cut through the din of the others who were also offering themselves and the hall went silent. A silence which was quickly ended as more than a few of the Southerners started outright laughing at him, including one or two of the Kingsguard. The king however wasn't laughing. Instead, he was just…staring at Jon. " One of yours, Ned? " The king asked, never taking his eyes off him.

" Aye, " his father said, a note of fear in his voice. " My son, Jon Snow. "

The king nodded as if expecting the answer. " Ah, your bastard boy. And the sorcerer's squire from what I've heard. You got a set of balls, boy, but a Trial by Combat is no place for a greenboy. "

" A greenboy? " Jon wasn't sure why, but the label stung more than being called a bastard. " I killed my first man over a year ago while traveling with the Wolf Rangers to hunt down the sellswords who were plaguing the trade roads in the North. I stood with Lord Nox and other brave men and women from both the North and Dorne as he led us into the very depths of Old Valyria. I killed a dragon that'd been slumbering in Valyria since before the Doom while on foot. I fought and defeated Ser Gerald Dayne in Sunspear with nothing more than a training blade while he used live steel. And I am Lord Nox's Apprentice, your grace. Not a greenboy. "

The laughter that'd been ringing through the hall was silenced yet again by the time Jon finished speaking. And without even realizing it, he'd taken a few steps closer to the king, an act which had drawn the attention of several of the Kingsguard who were now flanking the king on either side. But the king didn't seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, he had a small smile on his face as the two stared each other in the eyes.

" Gods boy, how in the Seven hells do you get through doors with balls that big? " The king laughed, slapping his thigh. " You remind me of myself when I was your age, boy. And your eyes…I see those rumors about you Starks and your wolf eyes aren't just tales. Hmm. Ned, he's your son. But I say let him fight. "

Turning to his father, Jon was met with a look he'd never actually seen. Worry. His father was…worried. About him. " I can do this, father, " he said, keeping his voice low so it didn't carry.

" Aye, I know you can, son, " his father replied sadly before turning towards the king. " Jon has my blessing to stand as champion for the crown in this matter. "

" Ha! Let's see what you can do, boy! " the king laughed. The look of excitement from earlier had returned to his eye before he turned to look out over the court. " Clear a space, you lackwits! Time to see what a man trained by the sorcerer can do against a Kingsguard! " Immediately, the crowd surrounding them pulled back as the king ascended the steps up to the Iron Throne and retook his seat.

" What in the hells are you thinking, Jon? " Robb hissed as he made his way to one side of the room with his father, Robb, and Lord Nox. " This isn't – You could die! "

" I could, but I won't, " Jon replied, his voice far calmer than what he felt as his heart hammered away inside his chest.

" Of course he won't. Have faith in your brother Robb, " Lord Nox said, laying a hand on his shoulder. " You've been well trained, Jon. And you've faced far greater challenges then this sorry excuse for a Kingsguard. The only thing that can defeat you is yourself. Remember, this is a fight to the death, Jon. Hold nothing back, cause he won't. "

Robb was clearly still not fully free of worry. " He should get some armor, " he said, waving towards the simple studded leather Jon and the rest of the Northmen were wearing. " And he should get some rest. We've been riding for days and he—"

" Robb, " their father said firmly, ending whatever Robb had been about to say. " Have faith in your brother. He will succeed. "

Shrugging off his traveling cloak, leaving him in only a studded leather chest piece for any sort of protection, Jon gave his brother a squeeze on the shoulder before stepping past him and into the midst of the circle that'd been created for the Trial. The moment he stepped forth, he could immediately see a shift in the Kingsguard, Ser Trant. His expression went from one of anger, to one of confusion to one of amusement.

" This…This is who you send against me? " Trant laughed, which was echoed by many within the throne room. " A greenboy who doesn't even have a sword or armor? I wasn't expecting much from a bastard. But you must have a true death wish, boy. "

Jon didn't say anything as he slid his left foot forward, grounding his stance with his left hand crossing the front of his body while his right was position over the metal cylinder that was still mostly hidden from view.

" Well, get on with it already! " the king shouted from the Iron Throne.

Bellowing out a war cry, Ser Trant charged at him, his sword held in a high guard with the clear intent of cleaving Jon in two. Holding his ground, Jon waited until the Kingsguard fully committed himself before launching an attack of his own. The moment Trant's sword began to descend, Jon moved. Pushing off with his right foot and using his left as a guide, he sidestepped the overhead strike and brought himself even with the kingsguard while using the Force to pull the hilt of his blade into his waiting right hand. The hiss of quenched steel was followed by a cry of pain from Ser Trant as Jon's lightsaber came to life in his hand and cut through the man's scaled armor and bit into his side.

" Fuck! " Trant screamed, his hand going to the wound at his side, only to have jerk his hand away quickly as the cut in his armor glowed red from the heat of Jon's blade.

Shocked murmurs filled the hall as Jon settled himself into a makashi stance while rotating his blade slightly in his right hand. Blocking out all sound, Jon opened himself to the Force, letting it fill him completely as he focused on keeping his breath steady. What mocking there was in Trant's eyes was now gone, replaced by true fear as his eyes stared hard at the glowing white blade in Jon's hand.

" Fucking sorcery horse shit, " Trant hissed through clenched teeth as he held his sword in a two-handed grip. " You should've killed me on that blow, boy…Cause now I'm going to cut you to fucking pieces and feed you to the dogs, you pathetic bastard! "

Shifting his stance, Jon gripped his lightsaber in a two-handed grip as he shifted from makashi to juyo. 'Pathetic bastard? ' Jon seethed as he launched himself at Trant with a thrust aiming for the man's neck. 'I'll show him who's the pathetic bastard! '

Trant immediately parried the thrust, and for a brief second Jon was surprised his lightsaber hadn't simply cut through the man's blade. 'Valyrian steel! ' Jon cursed himself as he ducked and spun around Trant, avoiding the man's counter. 'That's right! Master Nox gave the king enough swords to arm the Kingsguard as tribute. I forgot that and it nearly killed me. Focus, Jon! '

Letting his frustration over forgetting about the Valyrian blades take hold, Jon righted himself and launched a flurry of attacks at Trant's shoulder, his leg, his off arm and his midsection. Never once attacking the same place twice in succession as he kept pressing the Kingsguard, forcing him onto the defensive and not giving him room to breathe or think. It didn't take long for the heavily armored Kingsguard to start slowing as he struggled to keep up with Jon. And quickly enough, Jon started to land light blows against the man's armor, leaving gouges in the plate and often cutting clean through to the flesh underneath.

Ducking underneath a wild swing, Jon threw out his left hand, palm facing Trant and pushed with the Force. The knight could do nothing more but grunt as he was sent tumbling backwards head over heels, the front of his armor dented from the sheer force of the push Jon had sent his way. Not wanting to give him time to recover, Jon rushed forth and brought his lightsaber down in an overhead swing. But Trant managed to recover far faster than Jon thought possible and managed to get his sword up in a guard just in time to block the strike and lock their blades.

In his short time of wielding a lightsaber, Jon had started to fully adapt to the many, many benefits that the weapon granted him in a fight. However, there was one area in which regular swords still held an advantage. And that was in the simple fact that a lightsaber had no weight behind it's strikes, which meant its power was created purely from momentum and the users own physical strength and strength in the Force. Normally, the weight discrepancy wasn't an issue. However, he'd noted that when he locked blades with an opponent, usually only his Master, he was usually at a disadvantage. Which was why, after locking blades for a moment and stopping his momentum, Trant was able to push him back and regain his footing.

'I can't let him lock blades with me again, ' Jon thought, letting his lightsaber sing through the air as he idly rotated the blade. 'I suppose it's time to see if this technique really does work as well as I think it should. '

Holding his blade in a two-handed grip and in a mid-guard, Jon spread his legs with the left foot forward and waited for Trant to reset himself. The moment Trant got his bearings, Jon threw his whole weight behind a single strike aimed towards the Kingsguard chest plate. Trant moved his sword to intercept while stepping forward, no doubt hoping to lock their blades once more. But just before their blades could touch, Jon retracted his lightsaber, making the white blade disappear back into the hilt. Trant's block hit nothing but air as Jon pushed with his right foot to change his placement before activating his lightsaber once more, the white blade coming to life between Trant and his sword.

Letting out a yell, Jon swiped downwards. His lightsaber met resistance for only a moment before passing through both of Trant's forearms. Gasps and cries of alarm were raced through the nobles as Trant's sword clattered uselessly to the tiled floor, his hands and half of his forearms still attached to the hilt. Not giving the man time to realize what'd happened, Jon slashed again, this time cutting clean through the man's knee. The knight cried out in agony as his leg collapsed, no longer able to support his weight.

Grapping a hold of the collar of the knight's armor, Jon yanked him closer and held his lightsaber to the man's throat, close enough to singe his beard. Trant's breathing was erratic and his eyes wide and full of fear as he stared first at the white blade about to cut through his throat and then up to Jon.

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