The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Chapter 487: Demise in the Throne Room (10,000 Word Update)

(ps: This chapter is a major climax, with many deaths. It's a combined release of three chapters, totaling 10,000 words. Consider it as repaying one chapter of the debt owed to Little Tyrant, with the rest to follow slowly. Please subscribe, as the lack of over a thousand average subscriptions diminishes my motivation to update.)

*

The procession moved through King's Landing, the streets lined with a sea of people, their cheers like a surging tide. The entire city's populace deeply loved Margaery Tyrell, and most of the cheers were for her. King Joffrey, riding his horse, waved to the people, his mood greatly improved.

Because the bride's virtue and benevolence had won the hearts of the people, King Joffrey also received respect from the populace, which he was not oblivious to. The cheers made him realize he was a true and majestic king.

Cersei and Duke Tyrell, walking behind the King and Queen, both wore smiles. Cersei's smile was fake, while Duke Tyrell's smile came from the depths of his heart.

Queen Margaery and Duke Tyrell had brought food and other supplies to the people and refugees of King's Landing. Recently, food and supplies had flooded into King's Landing like a tide, causing the Tyrell family's prestige and popularity to skyrocket. The suffering people and hungry refugees were very grateful.

This severe famine was precisely caused by the strict blockade of the Reach when Mace Tyrell was loyal to King Renly Baratheon.

Tyrion rubbed his itchy, scarred nose, and began to envy Littlefinger Petyr Baelish. Littlefinger was clever in everything he did, and had found a job and left King's Landing before the wedding, escaping this suffocatingly long charade.

Although it was not long after the new year of the Aegon era 300, it was still the season of the long summer. The adults' sedan chairs, placed under the scorching sun, had become extremely stuffy inside.

After leaving the Sept, the Queen of Thorns, Tyrion, and Kevan rode in sedan chairs, while the Red Viper rode his Dornish horse, the procession continuing in its previous order.

Tyrion looked at the fake Sansa beside him, who timidly looked at her folded hands. Her beauty was delicate and charming, but she lacked the aura of nobility. Sadness made her look haggard and lonely, pitiful, which increased Tyrion's pity for her.

As long as Tyrion didn't speak, Sansa would never say a word!

She was used to being with silence!

"Lady!" Tyrion's voice was also full of weariness. This marriage in name only brought him the humiliation of being looked down upon by the nobles, because this Sansa was actually just a maid, not worthy of the Lannister name.

Sansa slowly raised her head, and he saw the reflection in her eyes: a bulging forehead, a scarred nose, a strange pink scar, and eyes of different sizes. Her gaze was scattered, timid, fearful, empty, and cold.

Tyrion wanted to make a joke to relax, but it only made him feel more stifled.

His father had given him a damn farcical marriage before he died!

Tyrion pursed his lips, his mouth full of bitterness!

Outside, the common people were shouting the names of King Joffrey and Queen Margaery.

And three years later, this cruel child will grow up and rule the court… By that time, anyone with a little insight will flee King's Landing far away.

And where the hell am I, the Imp, supposed to escape to?

Across the Narrow Sea?

Inherit Casterly Rock?

Travel the world or become a mercenary to be laughed at?

I'm a dwarf. I can go to the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea and become a comedian. I definitely won't starve as a clown.

Tyrion finally finished the last part of the journey in torment. Everyone returned to the Red Keep, where they would have half an hour to rest before the wedding banquet in the Throne Room, which would last until late at night.

Tyrion and Lady Sansa got out of the sedan chair, and he saw Joffrey carrying Margaery across the saddle, the girl letting out a breathless giggle. In three years, Joffrey will be as tall and strong as Jaime, and I will always be a dwarf at his feet. Without a doubt, he wants to make me even shorter…

Tyrion and Lady Sansa returned to the Tower of the Hand to change clothes for the wedding banquet and rest for a while. When he woke up from a nap after using the toilet, he smelled the aroma of baked bread and roasted meat. The entire Red Keep was filled with this appetizing fragrance. More than a hundred top chefs had been busy for days, and today they finally showed off their skills…

The wedding banquet is about to begin, and I have to change into formal attire. This is really damn it!

There are still wars in the Riverlands, but the sparks are gradually dying out. The North is under the dual threat of tens of thousands of wildlings marching south and rumors of White Walkers. It is already overwhelmed and unable to send troops to save the Riverlands.

The North has also been fighting wars for two consecutive years, and more than two-thirds of its soldiers have been killed or injured. It has been severely weakened and can no longer counterattack. Except for the Mountain's restlessness in the Westerlands, the overall situation in the world is basically settled. Mace Tyrell even complained at the meeting of the Small Council that he had not been given the opportunity and glory of victory. He believed that he should personally lead troops to attack the North, that damn inflatable fish.

Tyrion changed into his formal attire with the help of Podrick. He secretly resolved to get drunk tonight.

Walking into the bedroom, Shae was combing Lady Sansa's hair.

Shae was happy and Sansa was sad, one laughing and one crying, a wonderful contrast. Sansa wore a silver silk dress trimmed with squirrel fur, with long sleeves that almost touched the floor with pale purple tassels. Shae covered her with an exquisite silver hairnet inlaid with deep purple gemstones.

Clothes make the man. Although this Sansa was just a maid, the exquisite dress added to her beauty, without a doubt.

"Lady, you will be the most beautiful woman tonight."

"You flatter me, my lord," Sansa said, like a slightly startled rabbit.

"Lady," Shae pleaded in a yearning tone, "Can I serve you during the banquet? I've never seen the spectacle of pigeons flying out of a pie."

Shae wanted to attend the wedding. She made the request last night when Tyrion was at his most interested, but Tyrion refused.

The Imp said, "Shae, the Queen Mother personally selected all the servants for this wedding. Everyone has undergone the most rigorous scrutiny. Everyone who can enter the hall, regardless of gender, is not allowed to carry any knives, not even dinner knives. Ellaria Sand, Prince Oberyn Martell's lover, is not allowed to enter the hall because she is a bastard. If she were present, it would make all the noble ladies feel humiliated."

Shae's face was obviously displeased.

Sansa also stammered, "Shae, the wedding review… is really… very… very… very strict. Even the Tyrell family's maids, relatives, and guards were carefully questioned and strictly reviewed one by one by the Queen Mother and Jaime."

"And the hall is too crowded," Tyrion struggled to suppress his displeasure. "Forget it, Shae. There will be musicians performing everywhere in the castle, and tables will be set up in the outer courtyard, filled with food and drinks." He looked at his new coat, a deep red velvet garment padded at the shoulders, with puffed sleeves that opened to reveal the black satin lining underneath. It was indeed beautiful, but there was no beautiful person to wear it.

Shae closed her mouth tightly, her lips as thin as a blade.

*

They arrived outside the Throne Room, where there were already at least five hundred people, and more guests were still arriving. Outside the hall, tables and chairs were also filled, with specially arranged rest and chat areas for guests waiting to enter the Throne Room.

The Queen of Thorns appeared again, trembling, supported by her left and right hands, and began her incessant chatter in front of Tyrion and his wife. She even fondly stroked Sansa's silver hairnet studded with gemstones, which Tyrion couldn't stand.

"Please forgive us, Lady Olenna, my wife and I should take our places."

"I should go in too. Heavens, seventy-seven courses, isn't that a bit too extravagant? I can only try three or four at most. Oh, you little ones are as unlucky as I am, Lord Hand. You're too small to eat much!" She touched Sansa's hair again. "Alright, go on, children, have fun. Where's my guard? Where did my guard go? Left hand! Right hand! Help me into the Throne Room. You're too slow. When I get back to Highgarden, I'll have the executioner cut off one of your hands."

Tyrion and his wife fled into the Throne Room as if escaping, and immediately saw the Red Viper Oberyn Martell already seated in a high position.

The Throne Room was brightly lit, with torches lit on every sconce. The guests who had arrived stood behind the long tables, and the lords and ladies entering were announced one by one by the heralds, and then escorted through the wide central aisle by wine servers dressed in royal attire. The gallery was full of musicians, including drummers, flutists, and violinists, as well as those playing horns, harps, and bagpipes.

Tyrion tightened his grip on Sansa's arm. Everyone admiringly appreciated his well-proportioned figure and the scar that crossed his entire face, while cheerfully calling him Lord Hand.

Tyrion noticed that the Throne Room was densely lined with red robes and gold robes. The red robes were led by Jaime, Ilyn Payne, and Balon Swann; the gold robes were led by the commander of the garrison, Tywin's drillmaster—Bronn, the Knight of Flowers, the captain of the Kingsguard—Loras Tyrell, and the tallest and most powerful of the Kingsguard, Osmund Kettleblack, known as Little Mountain.

This shocked the Imp!

The entire Throne Room was as if facing a great enemy, with armor, swords, and solemn dignity, like a battlefield, not a king's joyous wedding.

What happened? Tyrion looked around sensitively, unable to see any clues. Such a scene was too unusual.

Joffrey and Margaery rode into the Throne Room on matching pure white warhorses. Wine servers ran ahead, scattering countless rose petals.

The King and Queen had also changed their attire for the banquet. Joffrey wore black and deep red striped breeches, a gold-threaded shirt with black silk sleeves and onyx buttons; Margaery wore a light green brocade dress, with a bodice that revealed her shoulders and the upper part of her small breasts. Her soft brown hair was scattered over her white shoulders, hanging straight to her waist, and she wore a slender golden crown on her head.

The Queen's smile was shy and sweet, beautiful and moving, impeccable. Tyrion sighed in his heart: Joffrey does not deserve her.

When the King and Queen took their seats, the High Septon led everyone in prayer.

The Imp Tyrion and Sansa sat to the King's right, next to Ser Garlan Tyrell and his wife, Lady Leonette, separated from Joffrey by six or seven seats.

As a core member of the Lannister family and the current Hand, his position was still behind the Red Viper and Garlan Tyrell, a blatant insult in front of thousands of guests.

But after the gift of The Lives of Four Kings that Tyrion had carefully selected yesterday was chopped to pieces by the King's sword, Tyrion decided to accept today's re-humiliation. Although Jaime gave him an apologetic look, Tyrion actually felt that he was not far enough away from Joffrey.

The skinny High Septon began to recite the prayer, which was not long and was quickly finished.

"Fill the glasses!" Joffrey announced impatiently. His wine server quickly stepped forward and poured a whole jug of Arbor Gold red wine into the golden cup given by Duke Tyrell in the morning. The King held it with both hands, "To my wife, Her Majesty the Queen!"

"Long live Margaery!" The whole hall responded with a shout, "Long live Margaery! Long live Margaery! To Her Majesty the Queen!" More than a thousand glasses clinked at the same time, and the wedding banquet officially began.

Tyrion drained the first cup and had it refilled when he sat down. He decided not to think about anything and get drunk.

The first course was a creamy soup of mushrooms and butter snails, served in gilded bowls. Tyrion ate heartily and quickly wiped it clean. After one course, there were still seventy-six to go. Children were starving to death in the city every day, and civilians were fighting each other for a carrot, yet here they were enjoying seventy-seven courses that they couldn't finish. If ordinary people were allowed to come into the hall to see, they would no longer like the Tyrell family, nor would they love their Queen anymore.

The second course was a pie filled with pork, pine nuts, and eggs.

Following the second course, the first of seven singers who had won valuable performance opportunities came up: the gray-bearded "Minstrel" Hammish. The singer's fingers brushed over the harp strings, and the Throne Room was filled with sweet melodies.

"The Golden Rose" praised House Tyrell; "The Rains of Castamere" flattered his father, who had not yet been announced dead; "The Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone" pleased the High Septon; and "My Beloved Wife" ignited the fire of romance in the hearts of young men and women.

Next, the dishes came faster and faster, and the performances became more numerous. Tyrion gorged himself and drank desperately. Jaime Lannister noticed the Imp's 'abnormality', but he stood there motionless, looking around, his eyes cold.

Four masters of pyromancy summoned four fiery beasts, attacking each other with fiery claws, while servants served bowls of light food, including beef broth and boiling wine with honey, and large chunks of chicken stewed with white almonds. Then several bagpipers, pet dogs, and sword swallowers entered the hall to perform separately. The accompanying dishes were buttered peas, crushed nuts, and swan meat cooked with saffron and peaches.

"A brave king, his hair is the gold of gold…" the musicians sang again, with wooden harps and violins joining in. They were singing about the King's bravery in the Battle of Blackwater, which made Tyrion want to vomit.

Night had fallen outside the high windows, and many guests were drunk and began to look for fun. Dancers from the Summer Isles, wearing bright feathered robes and streamer-like silks, frolicked into the hall, and Grand Maester Qyburn had fallen asleep at his desk. A Dornishman and a Reach knight started fighting, and Jaime immediately stepped forward to knock them both down. The red robes swarmed up, knocked them unconscious, and dragged them out.

Five dwarfs began performing slapstick comedy, riding pigs and dogs onto the stage. The pigs and dogs were clad in armor, and the dwarfs wore masks representing Lannister, Stark, Baratheon, Tyrell, and the King, engaging in chaotic battles. Finally, the King pinned Stark to the ground, using a prop to violate him, bringing the atmosphere to a climax.

Joffrey laughed so hard that wine sprayed from his nostrils. Panting, he stood up and shouted, "Champion! I am the champion!" Hearing the King's words, the hall fell silent. The dwarfs obediently stood up, lined up, waiting for praise and rewards. Rewards they could never spend in a lifetime. A royal wedding was the highest honor, and every comedian dreamed of such an opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to strike it rich.

The King continued, "The true champion must defeat all challengers!" The King climbed onto the table. "Is there anyone else who wants to challenge my little champion?" He turned to Tyrion, "Uncle! For the honor of the kingdom, can you fight? I say, ride that pig!"

Laughter crashed like waves.

Tyrion didn't remember what he did, but when he came to, he found himself standing on the table.

"Your Majesty," the Imp shouted back, "I'll ride the pig… you ride the dog!"

The King frowned in confusion, "Me? I'm not a dwarf, why would I go on stage?"

"Why? Because you're the only person here I'm sure I can beat! No question about it!" The Imp had been suppressing himself for too long, and with the help of alcohol, he exploded!

In an instant, the hall was filled with horrified silence!

Then, wild laughter erupted!

Joffrey's face was livid, his jaw dropped. The Imp laughed heartily, and he jumped off the table with satisfaction, while Ser Osmund and the Knight of Flowers carefully helped the King down.

The Hand of the King gave the glaring Queen Mother Cersei a flying kiss.

The musicians resumed playing, easing the atmosphere in the hall. Finally, the last two dwarfs led the pigs and dogs away, and the guests began to enjoy the boar meat. Tyrion was asking someone to pour wine when Ser Garlan abruptly tugged at his sleeve. "My Lord, be careful," the knight warned, "The King is coming."

Tyrion turned in his chair and saw Joffrey approaching, his face flushed, staggering, holding a golden goblet, the wine spilling over the rim.

"Your Majesty!" Joffrey stood up!

The King glared at him and poured the entire goblet of wine over his head. The red wine washed over the Imp's face, soaked his hair, stung his eyes, burned his scars, flowed down his chin, and wet his new velvet coat.

"How does it feel, Imp?" the King laughed.

Tyrion's eyes almost burst into flames. He wiped his face with his sleeve, blinking repeatedly, trying to clear his vision. He wasn't afraid at all, he had drunk a lot of wine.

"This is very inappropriate, Your Majesty," he heard Ser Garlan Tyrell quietly say beside him.

These words and the stinging in his eyes brought Tyrion back to his senses. He controlled the surge of alcohol and anger. Today was a special day, and Jaime was watching him all the time.

Tyrion didn't want to make an even bigger fool of himself, not here, in front of the great nobles of the country. "The King personally offered his humble servant a drink, it is a pity that the wine spilled."

This was a beautiful and perfect way out, for both sides!

"It didn't spill, and I didn't come to offer you a drink, I came to humiliate you, dwarf uncle." A very honest child, saying whatever was on his mind, not hypocritical at all!

Queen Margaery suddenly appeared beside Joffrey. "My beloved King," the Tyrell girl pleaded, "Come, let's go back to our seats, another singer is about to perform."

"Yes, Esonian Aric," Lady Olenna Tyrell approached, leaning on her cane, as indifferent to the soaked dwarf—the Hand of the King—as her granddaughter. "I hope he sings 'The Rains of Castamere' again. After eating for an hour, I almost forgot the lyrics. What were the words? Red lion fights yellow lion, claws sharp and unforgiving, strikes deadly, every move ruthless, remember, child, remember, child! Oh, he said, he said, the Earl of Castamere said… what came after that?… Let me think, to this day, the rain cries in the halls, but there is no soul within. Quick, call Esonian Aric to sing this song, I want to learn it, so I can take it back to Highgarden. Claws sharp and unforgiving, strikes deadly, every move ruthless…"

"Ser Addam will also give us a toast," Margaery said, "Come, Your Majesty."

"I have no wine," Joffrey declared, "How can I accept a toast without wine? Dwarf uncle, since you dare not fight, be my cupbearer."

"I am honored."

"It's not an honor!" Joffrey shrieked, and as he spoke, he loosened his grip, and the goblet fell to the ground. "Pick up the cup for me, demon uncle."

Tyrion suddenly wanted to laugh, and cry, but in the end, he chose silence!

Tyrion silently complied, squatting down to pick up the cup, but the King kicked the cup under the table. "Pick it up! You dwarf, you can't even pick up a cup, how can you be my Hand, you are not only stupid, but also incredibly clumsy!"

Tyrion glanced at the plates on the table. As soon as he reached out, Ilyn Payne appeared, staring at him coldly.

The King's executioner, the Royal Justice, Ilyn Payne, his greatsword behind him could cut Tyrion in two with just one blow.

Tyrion met Jaime's gaze, and then looked at his icy sister Cersei. He crawled under the table like a dog and took out the goblet.

"Dwarf uncle, pour me wine immediately!" King Joffrey commanded.

The whole place was silent, everyone staring in astonishment at this scene.

Jaime strode over, but then stopped, Tyrion shook his head slightly, signaling him not to move.

Tyrion complied, pouring wine for the King.

"No, kneel down, dwarf."

In full view of everyone, the Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms knelt on one knee, and raised the heavy golden goblet.

"Kneel on both knees!"

Tyrion knelt on both knees!

Joffrey looked around the hall, and under the gaze of thousands of people, he smiled. After a long while, he said indifferently, "Get up, dwarf!"

Tyrion got up, his body staggered, Tyrion quickly grabbed the chair to steady himself, Ser Garlan Tyrell next to him quickly reached out to help.

Joffrey laughed, Cersei laughed, the Queen laughed, the Queen of Thorns laughed, the Red Viper laughed, the tongue-less Royal Justice Ilyn Payne also made a croaking sound, and finally, the whole hall laughed.

But there was one person who didn't laugh: Jaime Lannister!

Tyrion scanned the hall, he couldn't see the faces of these mocking people, his mind was clouded with alcohol, his mood was extremely bad, but he remembered all the mocking voices.

"Your Majesty," the Queen laughed, "The pie is here, you have to cut it yourself."

"Pie?" The King grabbed the Queen. "Come, madam, it's time to cut the pie."

The large pie was carried in slowly by six cheerful chefs, its diameter was two meters long, the color was golden brown, the crust was crisp, and there were bird chirps, flapping, and fighting sounds from inside.

Tyrion sat back in his chair. Today's experience was good, unique, and rare. The wine not only soaked his new coat, but also soaked into his underwear, his skin was wet and uncomfortable. He wanted to change, but before the wedding night, no one could leave, and there were still twenty or thirty dishes to come.

Ser Ilyn drew out a six-foot-long, rune-covered, ornately decorated silver greatsword, then knelt on one knee, presenting the hilt of the greatsword to Joffrey, the hilt was carved from a large piece of dragon crystal into a smiling skull, the ruby eyes flashing with red light.

Ser Ilyn's sword was as long and wide as the Mountain's Ice, but the color was not the dark and smoky Valyrian steel, but a silvery sheen.

Joffrey and Margaery worked together to lift the greatsword and swung it down sharply, drawing a silver arc. As the pie crust broke open, a hundred white doves rushed out impatiently, flying in all directions, the air filled with scattered feathers.

The hall thundered with cheers, and the fiddles and bagpipes in the side seats played lively tunes. Little Joffrey picked up his bride and spun around happily.

A servant placed a slice of pigeon pie in front of Tyrion and Sansa, and sprinkled it with a spoonful of lemon cheese. Tyrion handed the pie to Sansa: "Please, madam, I'm not used to this thing."

"Thank you, my lord." Sansa politely agreed. This pigeon pie was indeed good, delicious and fragrant, obviously with expensive edible spices. Sansa had never smelled such fragrance in the North. This was her first time in King's Landing.

Tyrion looked around, the Queen of Thorns, who was talking endlessly, had returned to her seat, and a servant handed her a pigeon pie.

Pigeon pie, made with real pigeons!

The servants and cupbearers passed the huge pigeon pie to the nobles' tables.

Tyrion had just stood up and taken two steps when Joffrey returned: "Uncle, where do you want to go? You're my cupbearer, you're not allowed to leave!"

"I have to change my clothes, Your Majesty, may I be excused first?" His underwear had been wetted by the wine bestowed by His Majesty, sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

"No, I just like you the way you are now. Pour me wine."

The King's golden goblet was still on the table, Tyrion was too short to reach it, Sansa reached out to hand the goblet to Tyrion, but was stopped by the King.

Tyrion had to climb onto the chair, pick it up, and hand it to the King.

Little Joffrey reached out and grabbed it, taking a deep drink, his throat constantly swallowing, the purple wine flowing down his chin.

"Your Majesty," Margaery pleaded, "We should go back, Lord Buckwell is about to give a toast."

"My uncle hasn't eaten pie," the King held the cup in one hand and fiddled with the pie in the other. "It's unlucky." The King was followed by servants, holding a plate of pigeon pie. Queen Mother Cersei had long been unable to eat anything, she sat high up, her expression cold, with only a glass of red wine in her hand. In front of her, there was also pigeon pie emitting fragrance, but she was unmoved.

Cersei watched the King coldly, only to see the King grabbing a handful of pigeon pie and stuffing it into his mouth: "Look, dwarf uncle, this is delicious." He swallowed the hot spiced pigeon pie, choking out some crispy skin, and then grabbed another handful and handed it to the Imp. "Come on, it's your turn, eat this plate of pigeon pie that I left, and I'll let you go."

"Your Majesty…" The Imp decided to compromise again, although he really wanted to throw the pigeon pie in his nephew's face…

Cough cough cough!

Sansa began to cough!

Tyrion's hand, which was grabbing the pigeon pie, stopped at his mouth. He turned back and saw Sansa's face was pale and her expression was strange.

"What's wrong?" Tyrion hurried over, put down the pigeon pie, and patted Sansa's back.

"Cough cough cough, cough cough cough, my throat feels stuck… stuck… stuck."

Cersei screamed, "You idiots! Are you just going to stand there gawking? Help your king! Maester Qyburn, where's Maester Qyburn? Qyburn! Qyburn!"

Jaime looked around, noticing some people coughing in the hall.

"Stop eating the pies!" Jaime shouted, jumping onto a table. "Don't touch the pigeon pies! They might be poisoned."

Pfft!

Sansa spat out a mouthful of blood, her body convulsing!

Pfft!

The Queen of Thorns spat out a second mouthful of blood, her eyes wide, her face covered in red veins, and died.

Oberyn Martell held a pigeon pie in his hand, leaning down to sniff it!

Oberyn had not eaten the pie!

Pfft!

Sansa spat out a second mouthful of blood, her whole body convulsing, trembling in Tyrion's arms, then gradually stopping, and she died.

Cersei sat on the floor, weeping and holding Joffrey, who was making a thin, terrifying hissing sound from deep within his throat, like someone trying to drink a river with a reed, then even that disappeared, leaving only terrifying silence.

"Turn him over! Lift his feet and shake him!" Ser Barristan Selmy shouted.

"Water, give him water!" another knight yelled.

The small High Septon prayed loudly, the monks beside him praying to the Seven Gods, when suddenly, the small High Septon swayed and began to cough…

Maester Qyburn stumbled to the king's side, ordering his apprentice to hurry back for medicine. Joffrey reached for his throat, his nails digging bloody marks into his skin, but the muscles underneath were as hard as rock. Prince Tommen crouched beside his brother, crying, his face covered in tears.

The throne room was filled with chaos, noise, and fury!

Tyrion held the lifeless Sansa in his arms!

Garlan Tyrell held the dead Queen of Thorns.

King Joffrey's face grew darker and darker, and Qyburn's emergency treatment was of no use. Knights shouted meaningless suggestions to each other.

Half the guests stood up, some pushing forward to see clearly, others hurrying to slip out the door.

Ser Jaime helped Maester Qyburn pry open the king's mouth, inserting a spoon deep into his throat to investigate. At that moment, the king's eyes met the blank stare of the Imp.

The king's eyes were filled with unprecedented fear, and a dry, hoarse sound squeezed from his throat, as if he wanted to speak. The whites of his eyes showed, his expression was terrifying, and he raised a hand… pointing at his dwarf uncle…

Cersei wailed, "Father, save him, someone save him, he's my son, my son…"

Tyrion stared blankly at the chaotic hall, his eyes falling on the forgotten golden cup on the floor. The king had drunk wine and eaten pigeon pie…

Queen Margaery Tyrell was sobbing, clutching the Queen of Thorns' hand. Lord Mace Tyrell was pale, his lips trembling: "Be brave, be brave!" he said, comforting Margaery with a shiver.

In the gallery, all the musicians had fled, leaving only one flutist to play a mournful dirge.

At the bottom of the throne room, a melee broke out as guests trampled each other to escape. Bronn's gold cloaks hurried forward to maintain order. Guests rushed out of the throne room and into the dark night outside.

In the hall, screams, shouts, cries, collisions, vomiting, cursing, yelling… chaos!

Fear was written on everyone's face, even Jaime looked frightened. He wasn't afraid of enemy swords, but he was helpless against poisoning. No number of soldiers could defeat poison that had been swallowed!

The chaotic order was brought under control, as the gold cloaks and red cloaks were prepared enough, and people began to leave the throne room in order.

Miserable cries rang out in several places!

Tyrion turned his large head. Someone wanted to poison the king, to poison him, to poison the Tyrell family, in fact, to poison most of the people in the hall with pigeon pie. So, who was the culprit?

Someone who could poison!

Who in the hall could poison?

Tyrion turned his head, his eyes slowly meeting Oberyn Martell's!

Oberyn Martell stood up and came to his side: "Someone wants to get rid of all of us, Lord Hand. We need to stay calm."

Cersei's miserable screams echoed through the hall like a ravenous wolf. King Joffrey was dead!

Tyrion thought numbly, "I should leave too. This game of thrones is too terrifying. Someone wants the royal family and the courtiers to die."

Oberyn Martell picked up Sansa's body from Tyrion's arms and handed it to a guard: "Lord Hand, we need to stay calm, control the situation, and find the murderer."

Tyrion nodded mechanically, staggering over to his sister and brother. He saw the king's miserable state. He had died even more horribly than Sansa and the Queen of Thorns!

Queen Dowager Cersei collapsed into a puddle of wine, holding her son's gradually cooling body. Her dress was torn and dirty, her cheeks as white as chalk. A thin black dog crawled to her side, sniffing Joffrey's corpse.

"He's gone, Cersei," Tyrion heard his own voice, surprisingly calm.

Two red cloaks drove the dog away!

"Let Cersei go, the boy is gone," Tyrion reminded Jaime.

Jaime was calm. Joffrey was dead, his eldest son, but he found that he felt no pain at all.

"Am I a monster?" Jaime asked himself.

Cersei held Joffrey tightly, unaware of anything. Jaime and Ser Barristan Selmy, two Kingsguard, worked together to pry open her fingers, and the body of Joffrey Baratheon I, King of the Seven Kingdoms, slipped softly and silently to the floor of the throne room.

On the other side, the frail High Septon also fell, he had not eaten pigeon pie, he had also spat blood, his neck scratched with bloody marks.

In a short time, two High Septons had died!

Maester Qyburn knelt beside the king's body: "Heavenly Father, judge our good King Joffrey fairly," he chanted in a drawn-out voice, beginning the last rites. Margaery Tyrell wept uncontrollably beside the Queen of Thorns, unable to control her grief.

Cersei suddenly stood up, her voice sharper than Ser Ilyn Payne's sword: "My son was poisoned." She scanned the white knights and gold cloaks helplessly surrounding her. "Kingsguard, soldiers, I order you to carry out your duties immediately."

"Cersei, who do you want to arrest?" Jaime asked.

"Immediately arrest my brother Tyrion and Oberyn Martell," she ordered. "They did it, the dwarf and the Red Viper. They killed my son, they killed your king. Kingsguard, seize them immediately! Seize them!"