A Book of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones : Magic Network

"Your Grace, what do you intend to do with so many people?" Tyrion asked, his mismatched eyes reflecting genuine concern.

The previous day's labors had borne terrible fruit. Through the combined efforts of 20,000 soldiers, alongside thousands of septons, septas, scribes, and others, the great cleansing of King's Landing had proceeded with brutal efficiency.

The tally stood thus: precisely 523,426 souls now registered in the crown's ledgers. Of these, nearly 30,000 languished in temporary detention for various infractions, more than 1,000 "rebels" had been dispatched to whatever hells awaited them, and 31 soldiers had returned to the gods who had granted them divine grace.

All this had been duly reported in the first half of the Small Council meeting. Now the question that hung in the air, unspoken yet pressing upon every mind present, was: what came next?

The ministers seated around the long table regarded their king in watchful silence.

Joffrey's gaze remained fixed upon the detailed model of King's Landing laid out before him. His fingers traced its contours with the delicate precision of an artist contemplating a fresh canvas.

"Tyrion," he said at length, "what is the total area of the properties we've confiscated? When added to what the crown already possessed, does it amount to half of King's Landing?"

Tyrion blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. His mind worked quickly through the calculations, drawing upon the Research Department's latest measurements.

By the newly established units of measure, King's Landing encompassed approximately 71 square kilometers. The purge had claimed more than 300 brothels, 600 taverns and inns, 800 shops, 1,000 warehouses, 3,000 dwellings, and nearly the entirety of Flea Bottom. Add to this the properties already held by the royal family and House Lannister, along with streets, squares, and public spaces...

"About a quarter of the city, Your Grace," Tyrion replied carefully. "King's Landing still houses 500,000 souls, after all."

He watched the king closely, seeking some hint of his intentions. Could it be that Joffrey remained unsatisfied with this unprecedented seizure of property?

The previous day's actions had left Tyrion sleepless with anxiety. He had prided himself on his decisiveness, yet the other Purge Teams had proved even more ruthless than his own. Their leaders, captains, and scribes had followed the king's commands with single-minded purpose, utterly disregarding the concerns of the great houses.

The previous night, Tyrion had sat alone with the thick ledger of properties seized during the cleansing. His hands had trembled as he turned the pages, the implications of what he read washing over him in waves of dread.

The king's reach had proven longer and more grasping than anyone had anticipated. All properties with unclear ownership had been invalidated, all wealth of questionable provenance confiscated, all persons of suspicious background detained.

In the dense text of the ledger, Tyrion had discerned the shadow industries, proxies, and agents of many noble houses—not merely minor families, but great lords with ancient names. It was too reckless, too brazen.

Tyrion knew well that King's Landing had never truly belonged to any single person or family. Long before House Baratheon had claimed the Red Keep, powerful nobles from across the Seven Kingdoms and beyond the Narrow Sea had sunk deep roots into the city's fertile soil, secretly controlling countless enterprises and commanding the loyalty of innumerable retainers.

These forces had woven a complex web of influence throughout the capital, a tapestry so intricate that it had survived wars, rebellions, and the fall of dynasties.

True, the newly forged twenty thousand swords could slice through this web with brutal efficiency. But what of the places beyond the reach of steel? What of the lands outside King's Landing? What of the great houses whose trade sustained the capital?

Once ships and wagons ceased bringing provisions to the city, how long before the smallfolk starved? How long before the highborn turned their backs on a king who had stripped them of their hidden wealth?

Tyrion stared at Joffrey's placid features, a feeling of dread settling in his chest like a granite slab. What are you thinking, Joffrey?

The king's answer was disarmingly simple. "Then we shall continue the cleansing until half the city is ours."

He gestured toward the model, drawing an invisible line through its center. "East of the central square—this half of the city must be claimed. By the will of the gods, I shall paint here a clean and holy city, unblemished by the filth of ages."

Every minister's gaze fell upon the exquisite model, seeing it now as the king saw it—not merely as it was, but as it might become.

"Everyone who participated in yesterday's cleansing will receive a silver stag as reward," Joffrey continued, his voice calm as still water. "Rest today, then resume your work on the morrow. Block off one hundred grids each day. The soldiers shall be divided into two groups to alternate in their duties, led by Tyrion and Alyn."

Alyn bowed his head in respectful acceptance.

Tyrion fought to keep his expression neutral. He had no desire to hear his name associated with this venture. Ten thousand souls displaced each day, purging but an eighth of the city—he would make enemies beyond counting.

Joffrey rapped his knuckles against the table's polished surface. "Tyrion shall oversee the operation. Industrial exchanges and property redemption are acceptable methods. I desire only a blank canvas—a clean eastern half of the city. Until then, the gates shall remain closed. Only those who bring necessities into the capital—fishermen, farmers, peddlers, carters, and the like—may pass through. None shall depart without express permission."

The meaning was not lost on Tyrion. Joffrey was not so avaricious as to take without compensation. Properties and gold dragons from the western half could be exchanged for holdings in the east. Though still a bitter draught, it would prove more palatable than outright seizure at swordpoint.

"Tyrion?" The king smiled faintly. "Your thoughts? Do you foresee difficulties?"

"As Your Grace commands," Tyrion replied with a bow, keeping his reservations locked behind his teeth.

Joffrey's gaze swept across the assembled councillors. "For King's Landing to transform into a holy city beloved of the gods, change must embrace not only the smallfolk but ourselves as well."

Every minister sat straighter, anticipating the king's next pronouncement.

Joffrey turned first to the aged Grand Maester. "The maesters and acolytes who serve under the Grand Maester should bear a formal title. We cannot allow their contributions to the realm to remain unacknowledged."

"Your Grace's concern is most touching, most touching indeed," Grand Maester Pycelle responded, his trembling hand wiping at the corner of his eye.

"The Ministry of Education," Joffrey announced with the slightest of smiles. "To educate the world in service to the gods, to dispel ignorance, to spread knowledge—these are the proper duties of the maesters. Grand Maester, I would ask you to compile a registry as soon as may be done. Let not a single man of learning go unaccounted for."

"I shall see it completed within a fortnight, Your Grace," Pycelle pledged, his long beard quivering with apparent emotion.

Joffrey turned his attention to Tyrion once more. "I know that your tasks are arduous. Finance and cleansing are no simple matters. What difficulties do you anticipate? Speak freely."

Tyrion was not so naive as to accept such an invitation at face value. "I shall follow Your Grace's commands," he replied with careful neutrality.

Joffrey appeared to consider this for a moment before addressing the Kingslayer. "Ser Jaime, the Ministry of Finance bears a heavy burden and unquestionably requires additional strength. Assign four thousand of the new soldiers to form an 'Investigative Team' under the Ministry's authority."

Jaime Lannister glanced briefly at his diminutive brother. "Yes, Your Grace."

"You and Tyrion should communicate clearly," Joffrey instructed Alyn, "and establish distinct boundaries for your subordinates. The little birds and new soldiers assigned to you shall belong to the Security Bureau, while Tyrion's men shall form the 'Kingdom Statistics Bureau' within the Ministry of Finance."

The king's eyes gleamed with purpose. "We shall no longer speak of a Master of Whisperers. You are now the Minister of Security, commanding the Security Department."

Alyn bowed low, his face alight with gratitude. "I thank Your Grace for this honor!"

Tyrion observed the proceedings in thoughtful silence. In the span of mere moments, he had gained four thousand men for his service, along with grandiose new titles that carried the weight of royal authority.

"Ser Barristan," Joffrey continued, turning to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, "consider the fate of those who sat the Iron Throne before me. Aegon the Second perished from poisoned wine, the Mad King Aerys fell to the sword, and my own father was torn apart by beasts. Does this not suggest that the strength of the Kingsguard is insufficient?"

Jaime's handsome face immediately hardened, though whether from guilt or anger, none could say.

Barristan Selmy, valiant to the last, dropped to one knee, his white cloak pooling around him. "I can offer no excuse, Your Grace. I await your judgment."

Joffrey rose and, with surprising gentleness, helped the aged knight to his feet. "I intend no rebuke, Ser Barristan. Seven Kingsguard cannot stand against every threat that may arise. From this day forward, the Kingsguard shall number seventy-seven. You shall remain Lord Commander, with the other six original Kingsguard each commanding their own division, rotating duties as necessity demands."

The king's voice held no cruelty, yet his words left no room for dissent. "Lord Commander, do you find this arrangement acceptable?"

What answer could there be? The king had invoked the deaths of his predecessors as evidence. "I shall obey Your Grace's will," Barristan replied, his weathered face betraying nothing of his thoughts.

Joffrey's gaze returned to Tyrion. "As for the 30.000 souls now languishing in confinement..."

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