Apart from the Cargyll brothers, there were four other active Kingsguard members.
Ser Steffon Darklyn had driven to receive Aemond and the Four Storms, and he was likely at the Dragonpit at that moment.
Ser Steffon was from House Darklyn of the Crownlands, the uncle of the Count of Duskendale, and had served in the Kingsguard for many years.
He had sparse brown curls, a mature face, and narrow eyes. Diligent and committed, he carried a strong sense of justice.
Rhaegar had spoken with him many times and held great respect for this noble white knight.
In addition to him, there were three other Kingsguard members present before Rhaegar.
Ser Lorent Marbrand, from House Marbrand of the Westerlands, was a tall, bald man with a stern face.
He was meticulous in his actions and possessed exceptional swordsmanship.
Ser Rickard Thorne, from a minor Crownlands house, was lean, with thick brows and large eyes, exuding a fierce aura.
His martial prowess was commendable, and he had a bold, straightforward personality.
Ser Wylis Fell, from Fellwood in the Stormlands, was a typical Stormlander—strong, broad-shouldered, with sharp and perceptive eyes.
He was a solitary man who rarely engaged in conversation.
Rhaegar had little interaction with these three Kingsguard members, though they were somewhat familiar with each other.
"Ser Lorent, please summon the commander of the Royal Guard for me," Rhaegar instructed, choosing the most imposing-looking knight.
"Yes, my prince," Lorent replied solemnly.
While waiting, Rhaegar glanced at Robb and Samwell, his eyes gleaming.
Since Ser Criston Cole had stepped down as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the seven-man order had remained one member short. His father had continuously delayed selecting a replacement.
The small council suspected that the king wanted to leave a path open for the illustrious Criston's return. After a few unsuccessful proposals, they stopped bringing up the matter.
Before long, Lorent returned, bringing along a handsome young man with a crookedly worn cloak.
"Greetings, my prince," the young man said, his breath reeking of alcohol.
Rhaegar smirked. "You're on duty today, aren't you?"
"I…"
"He was gathering his subordinates for a drinking party. I just dragged him out," Lorent said with clear disdain.
Rhaegar chuckled and nodded. "Very well, the commander of the Royal Guard has set a fine example."
He stepped back a couple of paces and clapped his hands lightly.
Swish!
Robb Harwyn, who had been standing by, drew his sword and, with a few quick strides, decapitated the young man.
The headless corpse collapsed with a thud, blood gushing from the severed neck.
Leonor and the three Kingsguard members were momentarily stunned, not expecting the crown prince to act so decisively.
Rhaegar bent down, removed the crossed-swords-and-shield insignia from the corpse's chest, and tossed it to Robb in disgust.
"Inform Lord Roland that his nephew died heroically in the defense of the Red Keep against thieves. Robb Harwyn of the Stone Mill shall assume command of the Royal Guard."
Roland Westerling was the Count of Crag and the father-in-law of Duke Jason Lannister.
The former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Harold Westerling, had been his cousin's uncle. Using this connection, Roland had recommended his distant nephew for the position of Royal Guard commander.
Ser Tormund spoke softly, "I will personally write a letter of condolence."
Rhaegar dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand and summoned Samwell to stand before the three Kingsguard members.
"There is an open seat in the Kingsguard," Rhaegar said. "I propose three candidates for election, and he is one of them."
Lorent frowned. "Joining the Kingsguard requires renouncing land, titles, and the right to bear heirs."
He was familiar with Samwell, the young Count of Raventree Hall from the illustrious Blackwood family of the Riverlands.
Rhaegar said nothing, simply patting Samwell's shoulder.
Samwell's expression was firm. "My son is already two years old and can be cared for by my sister. If I am honored to be chosen, I will gladly take my oath."
Rhaegar continued, "Ser Joffrey Graveson of Gulltown and Ser William Royce of Runestone are also my recommended candidates. They will arrive at the Red Keep and formally undergo selection through the small council."
The message was clear—no favoritism, only a fair competition.
Rhaegar did not necessarily expect any of the three to be selected for the Kingsguard; they were more valuable to him in their respective lands.
This move was merely to highlight the vacancy in the Kingsguard and remind the small council to take action.
Leaving Robb and Samwell behind, Rhaegar prepared to depart with Tormund, Leonor, and Grey Worm.
Before leaving, he instructed Robb, "Carefully vet the members of the Royal Guard. Increase their numbers from three hundred to five hundred."
Originally, the Royal Guard had merely been a patrol and ceremonial force. Later, with the incorporation of over a hundred Dragon Guards, it had begun to take shape.
It didn't matter when Rhaegar was away from King's Landing, but now that he was here, necessary reforms had to be made.
—
Godswood
Rhaegar stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the swaying red leaves of the ancient weirwood tree.
Leonor and Tormund waited patiently on either side of him.
Before long, the back door of Maegor's Holdfast opened, and two Unsullied warriors dragged out a stumbling figure.
Leonor turned to look and was stunned. "Larys?"
Larys' curly hair was in disarray, and his clubfoot, still in its large boot, dragged across the ground as the Unsullied held him up by his armpits.
Leonor was shocked and turned to Rhaegar in confusion. "My prince, what crime has Larys committed to warrant such treatment?"
"You truly haven't noticed anything at all, Lord Leonor?"
Rhaegar turned to him calmly, his words laced with deeper meaning.
"Larys is the chief interrogator. What could he have done wrong?"
Leonor's voice was firm, his frustration evident as he scanned the godswood.
Grey Worm had stationed the Unsullied around the weirwood tree, ensuring complete isolation from any outsiders.
"Lord Leonor," Rhaegar said smoothly, "there's no need to get agitated. Some matters are best discussed in private."
Tormund stepped in to ease the tension, glancing at the Unsullied and sincerely saying, "You wouldn't want anyone to know what you're about to witness."
Leonor was taken aback by these words, suddenly realizing that many troubling things had happened without his knowledge.
Two Unsullied soldiers moved swiftly, dragging Larys like a dead dog to the base of the weirwood tree.
Thud—
Larys fell flat on his back, a bruise forming at the corner of his mouth where blood oozed. His body trembled as he struggled to get up.
Bang—
One of the Unsullied delivered a fierce kick to his stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Agh!..." Larys groaned in pain, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as he curled up and writhed.
Moments ago, he had been savoring the satisfaction of his successful scheme in the attic when the Unsullied stormed in, struck him without mercy, and dragged him here.
Rhaegar glanced at him and said calmly, "Larys, you should already know why you're here."
Now that the issue at Storm's End had been resolved, they could quietly dispose of this schemer.
"Apologies, my prince. I'm not very good at riddles," Larys replied, lying limp on the ground, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Rhaegar's gaze turned icy. "Borros Baratheon died under suspicious circumstances, and you played a significant role in it."
As soon as he finished speaking, Larys showed no immediate reaction, but Leonor's face changed drastically.
"My prince…" Leonor stammered, panic flashing in his eyes as he attempted to explain.
"Lord Leonor, I have a bit of evidence," Rhaegar interrupted, gesturing to the Unsullied.
Clatter—
One of the Unsullied lifted a burlap sack and emptied its contents onto the ground—various bottles and jars spilling across the dirt.
Rhaegar casually picked up a glass vial filled with purple liquid and examined it. "Purple Rose—an anesthetic from Lys. A single drop can calm a raging bull."
"I'm an interrogator. The sedative is used to keep prisoners conscious during torture," Larys murmured, keeping his head lowered.
"A good excuse."
Rhaegar nodded indifferently, then picked up a porcelain jar filled with a creamy substance.
"This is Numbing Oil from Myr—mainly used in brothels to help clients last longer. Few people know that applying it to the throat can cause asphyxiation."
Larys maintained an innocent expression. "My prince, I possess many similar concoctions, all used to aid in interrogations."
Watching Larys continue to evade, Rhaegar spoke slowly, "Lady Elenna's letter stated that Lord Borros' corpse bore a striking resemblance to that of my grandfather, Prince Baelon."
Larys' expression tightened, and he instinctively shrank back, his twisted, lame foot twitching.
"A coincidence, perhaps—but I've seen a similar death before."
Rhaegar tilted his head slightly, locking eyes with Larys as he continued in a cold tone, "After the Battle of the Stepstones, Ser Beaumont Velaryon died with a bloated stomach—he was poisoned with Tears of Lys, the weapon of the Three Daughters."
There were very few poisons in the world capable of killing someone silently, and Tears of Lys was infamous in the Free Cities.
"Lord Borros died from Tears of Lys, and yet you claim to have no involvement?"
Larys' voice was hoarse as he averted his gaze, his expression unreadable.
He had only collected non-lethal drugs—there was no Tears of Lys among them. It wasn't enough to convict him.
"Larys, you're a clever man. This pile of junk won't be enough to prove your guilt."
Rhaegar made a casual remark before asking, "But how do you explain your extensive smuggling ties with Myr, Lys, and Pentos?"
Larys' expression darkened as if realizing something.
Tormund pulled a parchment from his cloak and began reading aloud, "Larys Strong—you have engaged in repeated smuggling operations overseas for several years…"
"You have also conducted unauthorized interrogations of death row prisoners, inflicting torture that led to fatalities…"
"You purchased children from Flea Bottom, using them as informants and investing in illegal underground fighting pits, where child combat was used to entertain and curry favor with certain nobles…"
One crime after another was laid bare.
Rhaegar clicked his tongue and turned toward Leonor, whose face had turned ashen. He smirked. "Smuggling, illegal executions, child trafficking—should he be hanged or beheaded?"
Larys was a man with a dark heart. Someone like him, lurking in the shadows, would always find ways to vent his twisted desires.
Rhaegar couldn't prove that he had poisoned Borros, but he had enough evidence to sentence him to death.
Don't ask how he knew Larys was guilty.
Because in King's Landing, more than half of the so-called 'lords' were the same. Investigate deeply enough, and few would be found clean.
"Larys, you bastard! What the hell have you been doing behind my back?!"
Before Larys could defend himself, Leonor finally lost control, striding forward and kicking his son hard in the chest, roaring in fury.
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