Chapter 24:
The Gardens of the Red Keep were decorated in dazzling gold and splendor to celebrate the wedding of King Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell.
Joffrey Baratheon sat on the high seat, with the ever-perfectly smiling "Little Rose" Margaery beside him.
The young tyrant was in an exceptionally good mood today. Just a few days earlier, Victor Pompey had brought back the news that "Robb Stark is willing to negotiate a truce" (though it was fake, it was enough).
"Hahahahaha! It seems that little Northern wolf pup has been scared out of his wits!"
Joffrey held a huge pigeon pie, grease dripping down his chin. "Victor! You did well! Once I have a free hand, I'll definitely grant you a high position!"
Victor Pompey, seated further down in a deep purple velvet doublet, gracefully raised his wine cup.
"It is my honor to serve you, Your Grace."
His gaze passed over Joffrey and met, for a brief instant, the sharp-eyed old woman with silver hair sitting on the other side — "The Queen of Thorns," Olenna Redwyne.
It was a silent understanding that needed no words.
Just moments ago, Victor had personally witnessed Olenna, while helping "Sansa" (a disguised stand-in, since the real Sansa was safely at Pompey Castle; here Victor had used a system-created illusion or simply kept Sansa absent) adjust her hair, secretly remove a crystal containing the "Strangler" poison.
"Uncle!"
Joffrey suddenly turned his attention to Tyrion Lannister, who was quietly drinking in the corner.
"Why so silent, my royal fool? Come, perform for everyone! How about riding that pig around the hall?"
Laughter erupted across the hall. Cersei laughed along, while Tywin remained expressionless.
Tyrion gritted his teeth, enduring the endless humiliation.
"Your Grace," Margaery tried to smooth things over, "perhaps we should cut the cake first…"
"Shut up!" Joffrey shoved Margaery away. "I'll do whatever I want! Dwarf! Pour me more wine!"
Tyrion staggered onto the dais, picked up the massive golden flagon, and laboriously filled Joffrey's cup.
Joffrey didn't take it. Instead, he kicked the cup over, spilling red wine all over Tyrion.
"Oops, my hand slipped," Joffrey said with malicious glee. "Pour another. On your knees."
The atmosphere grew unbearably awkward.
At that moment, Victor stood up.
He held his own wine cup and walked gracefully onto the dais, positioning himself between Tyrion and Joffrey.
"Your Grace."
Victor wore his signature warm, spring-like smile.
"On this joyous day of celebration, why ruin the mood over such a small matter? Here, allow me to drink this cup on behalf of Lord Tyrion."
With natural, flawless movements, he picked up the poisoned cup that Olenna had prepared and handed it to Joffrey.
No one suspected a thing.
Even Olenna raised an eyebrow slightly, thinking: This boy has good eyes.
"May you…"
Victor looked into Joffrey's eyes, which were filled with cruelty and stupidity, and said softly:
"…live a long life and rule forever."
Joffrey snorted, pleased by the flattery, and took the cup. He tilted his head back and drank it in one gulp.
Gulp.
The sound of swallowing was insignificant amid the noisy wedding.
But in Victor's ears, it sounded like a death knell.
One second.
Two seconds.
Joffrey suddenly dropped the cup and clutched his throat.
"Cough… cough…"
"This pie… is too dry…"
Joffrey tried to speak, but his voice turned into a horrible gurgling sound. His face flushed red, then rapidly turned a deep purple. His eyes bulged, bloodshot, as if they were about to burst from their sockets.
"Joffrey?!"
Cersei screamed in terror and rushed to embrace her son. "Quick! Call the maester! Someone help!!"
"Urk… urk…"
Joffrey convulsed violently in his mother's arms, his nails clawing bloody trails across the table. His gaze frantically searched the crowd, finally landing on Tyrion. His trembling finger pointed at the dwarf before falling limply.
At last, he looked at Victor, who stood nearby, watching him from above with cold indifference.
In that final moment, the dying Joffrey seemed to see the undisguised mockery in Victor's eyes.
Splurt!
A mouthful of black blood sprayed out.
The arrogant, cruel, and foolish boy king stopped breathing.
Chaos erupted.
"The king is dead! Poison!"
"Seize the dwarf! He poured the wine!"
Cersei pointed at Tyrion like a madwoman. "Arrest him! He killed my son! Arrest him!"
The Kingsguard drew their swords and charged toward Tyrion.
In the center of this storm of chaos, Victor remained eerily calm.
He took half a step back, melting into the shadows, and opened the system panel.
[Ding! Key Plot Point Achieved: The Purple Wedding (Completed)!] [Participation Level: S-rank (Personally handed over the poisoned wine).] [Achievement Unlocked: Undertaker of the Tyrant.] [Reward: Political Points +1000.] [Hidden Reward Triggered: Due to Joffrey's death at your hands, Cersei, in extreme grief, will experience "Psychological Transference." She will subconsciously seek a powerful pillar of support.]
Victor looked at Cersei, who was sobbing hysterically while clutching the corpse, and a sharp glint flashed in his eyes.
This was exactly the outcome he wanted.
With one disobedient son dead, Cersei's emotional defenses would completely collapse.
He stepped forward, pushed aside the flustered maids, and forcefully pulled Cersei away from the body, wrapping her tightly in his arms.
"Calm down, Cersei!"
Victor growled in her ear, his voice full of strength. "Joffrey is gone. But you still have Tommen! You still have House Lannister! Don't let our enemies laugh at you!"
Cersei struggled for a moment in his embrace, then clutched his collar desperately like a drowning person grabbing a lifeline, wailing:
"Kill him… Victor… kill that dwarf… avenge our son…"
Our son?
Victor sneered inwardly.
No. Our son is still in your belly.
"Don't worry."
Victor stroked her golden hair, his eyes coldly sweeping over Tyrion, who was being pinned to the ground by the guards.
"Everyone who has hurt you will pay the price."
Not far away, Tywin Lannister watched the scene with cold eyes.
He felt no grief.
He was merely calculating: Joffrey was dead, Tommen would ascend. Compared to that uncontrollable madman, the weak Tommen seemed much easier to control.
However… that man embracing the Queen had extended his hand a bit too far.
…
That same night, the atmosphere in the Red Keep was oppressively heavy.
Victor did not stay in the palace to comfort Cersei (that would be tonight's main event). Instead, he went to the dungeon where Tyrion was being held.
In the dim torchlight, Tyrion Lannister huddled in the corner. He knew he was finished. Cersei wanted to devour him alive, and his father Tywin… was probably already thinking about how to use his death to his advantage.
"You're the only one who came to see me?"
Tyrion looked up with a self-mocking smile. "Here to mock me, Lord Pompey? Or to deliver poison?"
"I'm here to make a deal with you, Imp."
Victor stood outside the bars, holding a bottle of fine wine.
"I know you didn't do it."
Tyrion's eyes lit up. "You believe me?"
"The truth doesn't matter, Tyrion."
Victor passed the wine through the bars. "What matters is — do you want to live?"
"I want to live." Tyrion took the bottle and drank deeply. "But my sister and father have probably already sentenced me to death."
"Then demand a trial by combat."
Victor spoke in a low voice.
"Trial by combat?" Tyrion laughed bitterly. "Who would be my champion? Jaime is crippled (assuming he was injured in the North or bound by his vows). Bronn, that profit-driven bastard, has surely been bought off. Who else can I find?"
"Me?"
Victor smiled. "No, I can't appear. That would be too obvious."
He took out a portrait from his chest.
It depicted a venomous snake from distant Dorne — one that had conveniently just arrived in King's Landing.
"Send for Prince Oberyn Martell."
Victor's eyes gleamed with calculation.
"Tell him that if he becomes your champion, he can get what he wants most — the chance to take revenge on House Lannister."
"Of course, you'll have to pay a small price."
Victor stared at Tyrion.
"I want your mind. If you survive, I want you to leave Westeros and go east to help me find someone."
"Who?"
"Daenerys Targaryen."
Victor turned to leave, his voice echoing in the dark dungeon.
"Tell her that her destined one is waiting for her in King's Landing. If she doesn't hurry back… I'll sit on the Iron Throne first."
Tyrion gripped the wine bottle and shivered as he watched Victor's retreating back.
This man…
He had schemed against the lion, against the wolf, and now he was even scheming against the dragon.
If you enjoyed this chapter, thank you so much for reading! Translating these stories takes a lot of time and effort, and your support really helps me keep going and release more regularly.
If you'd like to read a few chapters ahead (or just want to help fuel more translations), consider checking out my Patreon: Patreon.com/arthursink