The Iron Throne

King's Landing

Garrick's home was King's Landing, and he would be damned if he was to let a rebel lord or false king change that. He had been there, in the crowd, at the execution of Lord Eddard Stark, and though he did not have a trial, Garrick knew there must have been a reason behind his ****, and he vowed to be loyal to the Crown. He knew that as a measly sellsword, his loyalty would be laughed out of the throne room, so he decided to reinvent himself. As he walked along the King's Way, one of the four main streets of the city, the one that took him to the Red Keep, he decided who he would be.

Rather than continuing on as Garrick, the son and apprentice of a blacksmith on the Street of Steel, he would become Ser Garrick Tymber, a wandering Hedge Knight who had returned to the capital to swear an oath to the King. With that in mind, he entered the Great Hall and joined the queueing folk waiting for a turn to plead whatever issues they had before the King. It was early morning, but there must have been a hundred people before Garrick in the line, though King Joffrey seemed to be getting bored rather quickly. As he waited, he could not help but look around the Hall, staring at the marvellous tapestries bearing the sigil of House Baratheon, as well as those reciting the beginning of King Robert's reign.

What truly drew his eye, however, was the Iron Throne. He had heard tell of it, but had never seen it in person, and it was monstrous. Every man, woman and child of the capital knew the tale, of how Aegon the Conqueror had taken the swords of his enemies and melted them down with dragonfire to build the very symbol of his power. According to songs, it had taken a thousand blades to make, and Garrick thought that must have been true because it was enormous, easily three or four times as tall as Garrick. Swords stuck out from every angle, some seemed dull and blunt, but others glinted in the light and must have been sharp enough to kill. They say Aegon the First intended the sword-chair to be uncomfortable, believing 'a king should never sit easy' and it looked that way to the sellsword turned hedge knight.

Finally, it was Garrick's turn to come before King Joffrey. He walked as close as he was permitted to the foot of the chair, but the young King still sat far above him, many iron steps separating the two. Light shone through behind the throne, almost blinding Garrick, but he knelt all the same. Despite the distance, he could see the King clearly. He looked to be about the same age as Garrick, with regal blonde hair and a curious smile on his face. It seemed an armoured man on his own had piqued his interest compared to the other petitioners. He wore a crimson doublet belted with fine leather and gold, and his father's crown sat on his head.

"Who are you?" He asked, the curiosity dripping from his voice.

"Ser Garrick Tymber, Your Grace. I'm a hedge knight, I've come to pledge my sword to you."

Many of the nobles on either side of the throne chuckled, but Joffrey did not, and that silenced them quickly.

"A hedge knight? Why would I have need of a hedge knight?" He asked, his smile never faltering.

Garrick looked up nervously, taking a quiet moment before answering. "You do not, Your Grace, you have some of the finest knights in Westeros in your service, I seek only to add myself to that number by serving you."

For the first time, Garrick noticed the woman sitting to the left of the Iron Throne. He tried not to stare, but she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had golden hair that shone brighter than the sun beaming in his eyes, it cascaded down her back and over her shoulders in effortless curls, but what struck him most was her emerald eyes. The King had eyes of the same green, but this woman, who Garrick soon realised must have been Queen Cersei, had eyes that pierced his heart. She wore a dress of deep green velvet, cut low to tease any man who looked upon her. She held a goblet of wine in one hand as she looked at Garrick. She had started off disinterested, but when he announced his intentions, she leaned forward with renewed curiosity.

Joffrey seemed to think on Garrick's intentions for a moment, before chuckling and standing. "Well, Ser Garrick, you intrigue me. I accept your pledge. Stay on your knees, and swear your loyalty. Do you know the words?"

"I do, Your Grace." He took a deep breath, drawing his sword and holding it in front of him. "I, Ser Garrick Tymber, swear to be true and loyal to King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of Realm. I swear to defend his realm against all enemies, to uphold his laws and to serve him with my life and honour."

Joffrey smiled. "Then rise, Ser Garrick. Perhaps my mother will have a task for you."

Garrick looked over at Queen Cersei, who smiled at him, and that filled him with a feeling he could not name.