His helmet dropped with a clang. "I am a knight," he told them. He opened the silver fastenings of his breastplate and let that fall as well. "I shall die a knight."
A naked knight, it would seem, quipped Littlefinger.
They all laughed then, Joffrey on his throne, and the lords standing attendance, Janos Slynt and Queen Cersei and Sandor Clegane and even the other men of the Kingsguard, the five who had been his brothers until a moment ago. Surely that must have hurt the most, Sansa thought. Her heart went out to the gallant old man as he stood shamed and red-faced, too angry to speak. Finally he drew his sword.
Sansa heard someone gasp. Sir Boros and Sir Meryn moved forward to confront him, but Sir Barristan froze them in place with a look that dripped contempt. "Have no fear, sers, your king is safe... no thanks to you. Even now, I could cut through the five of you as easy as a dagger cuts cheese. If you would serve under the Kingslayer, not a one of you is fit to wear the white." He flung his sword at the foot of the Iron Throne. "Here, boy. Melt it down and add it to the others, if you like. It will do you more good than the swords in the hands of these five. Perhaps Lord Stannis will chance to sit on it when he takes your throne."