Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Chosen

Eddard Stark felt his ears ringing all day.

Robert deserves to die.

He stood by the window of the Prime Minister's Tower study, pressing his fingers hard against his throbbing temples.

Outside, the rooftops of King's Landing stretched out in a chaotic pattern, red roofs followed by gray roofs, extending haphazardly to the city walls in the distance.

Yesterday's imperial meeting was still churning in his mind.

The martial arts tournament is a seven-on-seven team battle.

There is also a debt of six million gold dragons.

This money is enough to help the entire North survive its longest winter.

Robert, however, devoted all his time to eating, drinking, and having fun.

He deserves to die!

"Father--"

Ed's daughter's voice pulled him back to reality.

She was standing at the door of the study, her hands elegantly folded in front of her, wearing a green dress and her hair neatly combed.

She had only been in King's Landing for two days, yet she already possessed the demeanor of a Southern lady.

"What is it, Sansa?"

"Everyone's talking about the tournament..." Sansa stepped forward and gently shook his arm, "saying it's to celebrate your inauguration and His Highness's name day."

"May I go?" Sister Mordan said it was a very important social occasion.

Ed's temple throbbed again.

"Sansa, this stupid thing wasn't meant to welcome us at all; it was clearly Robert's own idea."

"I have to help him make arrangements, but that doesn't mean you all have to get involved."

"Oh, I really want to go!" Sansa persisted.

"Princess Myrcella will be there; she's even younger than me. Prince Tommen and Prince Joffrey will also be there."

Joffrey, it's Joffrey again.

This guy must have given Sansa some kind of spell, making her go there every few days.

Although Robert had already arranged the children's marriage with him, it was still too early.

To be fair, Joffrey was indeed much more pleasing to the eye than his Lannister family.

If Renly only dressed like a young Robert in appearance...

Joffrey's inherent temperament is a spitting image of Robert's childhood self.

Ed finally sighed, "Alright, Sansa, I'll get you a seat."

"And Arya too," he added. "I'll get both of you."

Sansa jumped for joy and went over to hug him.

Then she pouted and said, "Why should I care about Arya?"

"She definitely wouldn't want to go; all she does all day is wander around behind the house with a stick, hacking away aimlessly."

Oh, gods, and Arya too.

Robert called him in again after the meeting yesterday.

After rambling on and on, it turned out they wanted to find Arya a swordsmanship instructor.

This gave him quite a fright, and he quickly made up an excuse and left.

Ed took a deep breath.

"Alright, Sansa, I hope you can get along well with your sister, okay?"

"I have something to do later, you should go back first."

Sansa bit her lip, nodded, lifted her skirt, and left the room.

The door closed gently.

Ed stood still for a moment, then pushed open the door and went out.

We can't keep daydreaming.

An investigation into the death of Jon Arryn must begin.

The first person he wanted to ask was in the Bachelor's Tower.

The Scholar's Tower is a tall, slender building, with a small flock of crows circling around its top.

Grand Secretary Pelsey lifted his mottled bald head from behind the pile of books and bowed slightly to him.

"Lord Ed, please have a seat. Would you like something to drink? On this hot day, a glass of iced milk with honey would be just right."

"Thank you very much." Eddard sat down in the chair brought by a maid. "I came to inquire about the details of Lord Jon's passing."

"Oh, the former Prime Minister," Paisell leaned back in his chair. "To be honest, he often seemed quite distracted during that period..."

He began to recall Jon's experiences before his illness.

After a while, a maid brought over a silver cup, the sides of which were covered with fine water droplets.

"Ah, our milk is here, what a good boy." Pascal took it and took a satisfied sip.

"People often say that the last year of summer is the hottest year, and of course, you know they like to say anything..."

Distracted by this matter, Paisell forgot Ed's purpose and began to ramble on, from the summer heat to old stories from the time of King Mecca.

His voice began to slur, and his eyelids slowly drooped, as if he might fall asleep at any moment.

Ed sipped the milk politely, but it was a little too cold and too sweet for him, a Northerner.

"Grand Scholar?" he called softly.

"Oh! Look at me, I got so carried away..." Paisell's cloudy eyes darted around, "Where were we?"

"What exactly is wrong with Lord Jon?" Ed asked patiently.

"Maester Cormon initially thought he had caught a cold, after all, it was hot, and Lord Jon always liked to add ice to his wine."

"But after a few days there was no improvement, so I went to see him myself."

Paisell shook his head: "It's a pity the gods won't grant me the power to save him."

"The Prime Minister's life was like dry tinder that had burned out, and it was exhausted in just a few days."

Ed asked, "He was perfectly healthy, how could he suddenly fall ill?"

"That's how it appears on the surface, but I'm afraid the disease has long been taking root in his body," Paisell sighed. "The king neglects state affairs, and the burden of the kingdom rests entirely on his shoulders."

"And his son."

"You know, that child is six years old and still can't be separated from his mother. He gets sick every few days, and Lord Jon is very worried about him."

"And Mrs. Lysa?" Ed pressed. "What was she doing?"

"Mrs. Lysa...she's very nervous." Pachelton paused.

"She wouldn't let the Prime Minister see his son, saying it was for fear of infection, and in the end the father and son were never able to see each other."

"To be honest, I don't think this is...normal." Paisell lowered his voice. "A wife, a mother, shouldn't act like this."

Eddard recalled the secret letter Lysa had sent to Winterfell: "Did Lord Jon leave any message?"

Paisell murmured, "He called out 'Robert' during the days he was sick. You know, his son was named after His Majesty."

"Before he died, he murmured 'caste strength' to His Majesty. Oh, and he also borrowed a book from me."

Eddard looked up. "I heard some rumors yesterday that Lord Jon might have been poisoned."

Paisell's expression immediately turned serious.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice even further: "Lord Ed, please don't let these gossips affect you."

"There are too many people in King's Landing, and they like to spread sensational stories in a chaotic manner."

"But rumors always have a source," Ed said in a deep voice.

"The root cause is often ignorance." Paisell leaned back. "Lord Varys and Lord Baelish have already investigated."

"They used all their connections, only to find out it was just idle gossip."

"A few poets composed a piece called 'The Prime Minister and Poison' because that kind of subject matter is popular. That's all."

Eight-legged spider.

Ed felt a wave of exhaustion wash over his shoulders.

And the little finger.

Last night, it was Littlefinger who led him out of the Red Keep and found Caitlyn.

His wife secretly traveled thousands of miles south, claiming that someone wanted to murder their son, Bran.

The dagger he used belonged to Tyrion Lannister.

Littlefinger said it.

Ed rubbed his head and stood up.

Thank you for your help.

"I'm quite interested in the book Lord Jon borrowed. If it's convenient, could I borrow it to take a look?"

"I'll send someone to deliver it to you as soon as I find it," Paciel nodded in agreement.

As he was leaving, Eddard suddenly remembered something: "By the way, before Lord Jon died, you said the King was by his side. I wonder if the Queen was present at that time?"

"Yes, she watched with the children as His Majesty the Prime Minister closed his eyes." Paisell nodded again.

"On the contrary, Lady Lysa did not even attend the funeral. In the end, it was His Majesty the King and Prince Joffrey who kept vigil in the sanctuary."

Ed nodded in acknowledgment and pushed open the door to leave.

His steps were unusually heavy as he walked down the stairs.

Every clue points to his wife's sister.

But Littlefinger and Lysa insisted that the Lannisters murdered the Hand of the King.

Whom should he believe?