Chapter 72: The Trial Assembly
King's Landing, Great Sept of Baelor, Baelor's Square
Baelor's Square, situated before the Great Sept of Baelor, appeared exceptionally solemn and dignified on this special day.
When sunlight pierced through the clouds and spilled onto the crystal crown atop the Great Sept of Baelor, dazzling beams of colored light scattered across every inch of the square like divine radiance.
"Clang, clang, clang…"
At the sound of the summoning bells from the Great Sept, the smallfolk of King's Landing gradually gathered, their gazes fixed upon the newly erected trial platform on the steps of the sept, revealing all manner of expressions in their eyes.
Because there were too many people today, quite a few had climbed onto the rooftops of surrounding buildings. Many who had learned the news earlier were loudly explaining and shouting to those around them.
In truth, the royal court had already announced the matter, but due to the slow spread of information, many people had been unaware of the coup that occurred within the Red Keep.
"Clang, clang, clang…"
As the crowd swelled, the bells rang once more. Their resonant chimes echoed across Baelor's Square, drawing everyone's attention toward the platform.
"Back! Move back!"
"Silence!"
"Further back!"
The soldiers of the City Watch of King's Landing, wearing their gold cloaks and pointed helmets, maintained order. These men—known commonly as the Gold Cloaks—held considerable authority in the eyes of the city's people.
Under their shouting and prodding, a wide distance was kept between the gathered crowd and the trial platform.
Behind the Gold Cloaks stood guards of the Red Keep in standard Lannister service armor. Arrayed behind the platform stood the seven knights of the Kingsguard, positioned in a formation reminiscent of the seven-pointed star, guarding the young king.
The coronation of King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, had taken place that very morning. Though rushed, by the laws of succession he was now the acknowledged King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.
As the second ringing of the bells concluded, the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven, wearing his crystal crown and holding the seven-pointed crystal staff, ascended the platform.
This High Septon, mocked quietly among the smallfolk for his girth and greed, was known for enriching himself from the Faith's coffers.
Each year, nobles and wealthy merchants donated generously to the Faith. Much of that wealth, intended for sept maintenance and charity, found its way into the purses of powerful clerics.
The Faith of the Seven wielded immense influence among the smallfolk. To ensure it did not become a threat to the Iron Throne, the selection of a High Septon often favored men more pliable than principled.
"Cough, cough… my faithful children, I am your High Septon…"
By custom, a High Septon did not use a personal name, presenting himself only as the voice of the Seven.
His strained voice echoed across Baelor's Square, amplified by the natural acoustics of the sept's elevation.
The design of the square allowed sound to travel far when spoken from a height, much like an amphitheater.
Gradually, the murmuring crowd quieted—though the sheer number present ensured many still could not hear clearly.
"What is that fat septon saying?" a blacksmith muttered to the man beside him.
"Have you not heard? Lord Eddard Stark stands accused of murdering the King."
"Lies. Lord Stark and King Robert were fostered together at the Eyrie. They were closer than brothers."
"House Lannister twists truth like soft metal," a merchant whispered nervously, glancing about in fear of being overheard.
"I care little for lords' quarrels. I care whether I can eat tomorrow," another grumbled.
As time passed and the High Septon's accusations became clear, debate once again rippled across the square.
Some, hearing the charges for the first time, reacted with anger. To them, treason against the king was the gravest of crimes.
Many among these held favorable views of the crown and the Faith. They accepted the High Septon's pronouncements without doubt.
Their shouts intertwined with the droning recitation of charges, lending the square an air more akin to a marketplace than a solemn tribunal.
Some hot-blooded youths even leapt and shouted, fists raised in outrage.
Yet not all were swept up in emotion.
Some stood quietly, observing.
Many of these harbored resentment toward House Lannister. At the end of Robert's Rebellion, Lord Tywin Lannister had entered King's Landing under the pretense of allegiance, only to sack the city in the name of King Robert.
Though years had passed, memory lingered.
Still others adopted indifference. To them, all nobles were alike—whether lion, stag, or wolf.
"Kill him!"
"Off with his head!"
"Traitors must die!"
Despite their differing views, many shared one dark curiosity: they wished to witness the execution of a great lord.
Few among the smallfolk would ever behold a lord paramount in person. Fewer still would see one condemned.
After the High Septon declared the verdict against Lord Eddard Stark, anticipation rippled through the crowd.
Joffrey, standing behind the platform, felt a thrill.
He had been crowned that morning. The cheers below intoxicated him.
"Bring forth the prisoner, Eddard Stark!"
After the High Septon bowed, Joffrey gestured grandly, relishing the illusion of sovereign authority.
"Move!"
"Faster!"
Escorted by Red Keep guards, Eddard Stark—hands bound—was pushed forward.
"Lord Stark," Varys murmured softly as he passed, "I had hoped you would see reason. I did not expect such stubborn honor."
Clearly, Eddard had refused certain proposals.
But Varys did not know that the true heir of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was already bound to House Stark's fate.
Since hearing Jon's revelations, Eddard had changed. The brush with fate had forced him to reconsider much.
"Hmph."
Eddard responded only with a cold snort.
After betrayals and disappointments, he had adopted a new rule: trust only a fraction of what one hears.
"Now I declare that the accused, Eddard Stark, stands guilty of treason and regicide. Yet our gracious King Joffrey, in his mercy, grants him a choice: confess and take the black, or refuse and face execution."
The proclamation had been meant for Grand Maester Pycelle to deliver.
But intoxicated by the crowd's reaction, King Joffrey seized the scroll from the old maester's hands and declared the judgment himself.
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