"Squire, come to my side," Joffrey beckoned with a smile.
Alyn's voice rang with admiration. "Your Grace is truly an angel descended to earth. If such miracles lie within your power, then surely keeping a remnant of the dragon's line as your squire presents no difficulty." He turned, eyes glittering with malice. "Viserys, why do you tarry? Hurry to serve His Grace."
Even now, Alyn could not resist flexing his brand-new left arm with quiet wonder. Yes, truly restored. A miracle beyond comprehension.
Viserys's face flushed crimson, then blanched to alabaster. Yet his legs remained rooted to the floor, refusing to carry him forward even an inch.
He, too, had witnessed the magnificent spectacle of the usurper's son being crowned in light, and despair had taken root in his heart. Could it be that even the gods favor the usurper's get?
Of course, Joffrey understood that what the onlookers had seen was no miracle, but rather a feat of grand sorcery achieved by consuming nearly all his reserves of light magic, sound magic, and fire magic.
A mere projection, nothing more.
The power was genuine enough, but far less impressive than what his subjects now believed.
The construction of a magical empire remains a distant aspiration.
"Viserys, I spared your life. Is this how you show gratitude?" Joffrey's face darkened with displeasure.
"You should know that according to my father's wishes, your skull should have been crushed to crimson mud beneath a warhammer, your head left to rot upon a spear in the summer sun."
"Is that what you desire? I can grant your wish readily enough."
Joffrey called toward the door. "Guards! Take him below and let the dungeon master tend to him properly."
Viserys finally broke. "No! No!"
He collapsed to the floor, strength deserting his limbs.
Daenerys watched her brother's plight with sorrow, yet what more could she ask for in their desperate circumstance? Survival must come first.
"Your Grace," Daenerys managed, her voice strained.
"My brother, Viserys... he is merely overcome with fear. He harbors no disrespect in his heart. I beg Your Grace to forgive his discourtesy."
"Hmph. Be grateful you possess a sister of such quality. For the sake of our shared blood, I shall overlook your transgression."
Joffrey fixed Viserys with a withering stare. "Why do you remain standing idle? Pour the wine."
Viserys struggled to his feet and cast about awkwardly for wine vessels. Only then did he realize, with bitter self-loathing, how desperately he clung to life. How pathetic I have become.
"Be seated, all of you." Joffrey drew Daenerys to his side. "Tell me of your adventures across the Narrow Sea. They must have been most diverting."
Joffrey's curiosity was genuine. Events had unfolded in ways that exceeded his expectations. Alyn's return had been delayed by a full turn of the moon, yet it had yielded unexpected dividends.
Joffrey studied the scholarly figure who stood beside Alyn, noting the respectful smile that graced the man's weathered features.
Alyn recounted his experiences with a storyteller's flair. "...The ship's captain suddenly demanded an exorbitant increase in our agreed-upon price—an impossible sum. Ser Jorah and I had no choice but to contest the matter with steel. As Your Grace can see, we yet draw breath."
"Unfortunately, in the struggle, we slew too many of the crew. The vessel proved difficult to navigate afterward. We drifted from our intended course and were forced to make landfall at the Free City of Tyrosh to recover our strength."
"Later," Alyn continued, his expression still haunted by the memory, "the contemptible Golden Company—truly the most shameless collection of scum and villainy in all the world—set their sights upon us. Ser Jorah fought valiantly to eliminate the threat, though with great difficulty. Your Grace's most loyal servant lost his left arm in the encounter."
Alyn regarded Joffrey with undisguised awe. "Who could have imagined that Your Grace possessed the power to restore a severed limb? The gods have blessed us indeed. The people of the Seven Kingdoms enjoy truly remarkable fortune!"
Joffrey glanced toward Daenerys, who seemed to be reliving the terrifying events in her mind's eye.
Alyn nodded to the scholarly man beside him, an expression of genuine gratitude on his face.
"Of course, I survived to stand before Your Grace today thanks in no small measure to Scholar Qyburn, who tended my wounds with remarkable skill."
"His healing arts have surely reached the pinnacle of what mortal hands might achieve. Though they cannot begin to compare with Your Grace's divine gifts, they proved most efficacious for one such as myself."
Qyburn rose and knelt with practiced humility. "Today, having witnessed Your Grace's godlike power with my own eyes, I understand that all I have learned and witnessed in my life amounts to less than nothing. I beg Your Grace to permit me to remain at court. Qyburn shall devote every fiber of his being to your service."
Joffrey had no intention of refusing. Though the necromancy that Qyburn studied represented merely a dispensable art, the man's scientific temperament and spirit of inquiry were exceedingly rare qualities.
"Scholar Qyburn, what became of your maester's chain?"
Qyburn sighed heavily. "I once committed certain... irredeemable transgressions. The Citadel stripped me of both chain and title. Thus did I find myself wandering the eastern continent, ultimately taking service with the Golden Company."
"In retrospect, I strayed grievously from wisdom's path. If Your Grace does not cast me aside, Qyburn shall surely return to righteous pursuits, using his life's learning to benefit mankind."
Joffrey smiled. "You are acquainted with Archmaester Marwyn, are you not?"
Qyburn nodded, surprise evident in his features.
"I intend to establish a dedicated institution for research, the better to harness the great power the gods have bestowed. Qyburn, you shall serve as one of its directors. Perhaps you might pen a letter inviting Archmaester Marwyn to join our endeavor?"
Qyburn bowed deeply, unable to conceal his excitement. "Your Grace shows me undeserved favor."
Joffrey turned his attention to Alyn and Jorah Mormont. "You have rendered the crown valuable service. Alyn, Ser Jorah—what rewards would you claim?"
Alyn replied with practiced deference. "I place myself entirely at Your Grace's disposal."
Jorah Mormont's voice was gruff with emotion. "I ask only that Your Grace permit me to return to my homeland."
"I am not so miserly in my gratitude." Joffrey smiled as he produced a slender dagger and several dragon crystal shards.
The blade gleamed with cold purpose, causing Alyn to draw back instinctively.
"Be still. This is divine grace."
After the procedure was complete, Alyn, Jorah, and Qyburn stared wide-eyed at the empty air before them. Qyburn's reaction proved the most fervent, his excitement bordering on religious ecstasy.
The blue light panel that had appeared before them could convey limitless knowledge and information—a creation of unsurpassed genius!
How does such a wonder function?
"Bring Varys to me." Joffrey clapped Alyn upon the shoulder. "Alyn, I have witnessed both your loyalty and your capability. Work closely with Varys in the days ahead, and prepare to assume his vital responsibilities without delay."
Alyn prostrated himself, overcome with gratitude. "I shall prove worthy of Your Grace's trust!"
Joffrey approached Jorah Mormont. "By authority of the Iron Throne, Ser Jorah, your honor stands fully restored from this moment forward."
"The newly established Department of the Army seeks men of quality. You shall hold the rank of colonel, charged with recruiting and commanding one thousand soldiers. Do not think the number paltry—these warriors shall become elites, each capable of facing ten common men in battle."
Jorah bowed his acceptance. "I am honored to serve Your Grace."
"Qyburn," Joffrey continued, his gaze encouraging, "your first task shall be to research a more convenient means of accessing this light panel. Consider this a long-term undertaking. Succeed, and the entire world shall benefit from your labors."
"I have faith in your abilities."
Qyburn's face shone with gratitude. "I shall honor Your Grace's will in all things."
The Hound entered, escorting Varys.
Daenerys could not suppress a gasp of shock. Alyn and the others stared in horrified fascination.
Joffrey glanced toward Viserys, who trembled uncontrollably at the sight. "Have no fear. At least he lives still. While breath remains, hope endures. Is that not so?"
He walked to the window. Night had fallen, dark and complete.
Lord Tywin had arrived at the Red Keep that very evening, too late to witness the coronation ceremony.
"Alyn, you shall attend tomorrow's Small Council meeting as well. Apply yourself diligently. Do not disappoint me." His eyes conveyed deeper meaning as they met Alyn's gaze.
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