Inside the Throne Room of the Red Keep, the air was thick enough to suffocate. A Small Council meeting, pivotal to the future of the realm, was underway.
Gathered around the long table was the core of the kingdom's power: Master of Coin Qarlton Chelsted, Master of Laws Symond Staunton, Master of Whisperers Varys "the Spider," Hand of the King Lord Owen Merryweather, Grand Maester Pycelle, and sitting under the shadow of the horrific Iron Throne with an erratic expression, King Aerys II Targaryen.
The focus of their discussion was the hot topic currently sweeping the Seven Kingdoms—the Tourney at Harrenhal.
Master of Coin Qarlton Chelsted spoke first. His voice carried its usual sycophancy, yet intended to provoke the most sensitive old wound. "Your Grace, recall the Defiance of Duskendale. That traitor Denys Darklyn dared to kidnap you and threaten the Hand of the King at the time, Tywin Lannister, saying that if he dared make a move, he would harm Your Grace."
Chelsted paused deliberately, allowing the memory of fear to spread. "Denys might have eventually acted, or perhaps not. But according to reliable rumors, Lord Tywin Lannister pointed at Prince Rhaegar and responded: 'If he acts, we shall have a better king.'" He looked meaningfully at the King. "Given such a dangerous precedent, I strongly advise Your Grace to forbid Lord Whent from holding this tourney."
Master of Laws Symond Staunton followed closely, his tone harsher and more direct. "Your Grace, this is by no means baseless. There is reason to believe the Prince and Tywin Lannister might have colluded back then. Their storming of Duskendale was likely to force Lord Darklyn to harm you. Thus, Prince Rhaegar could ascend the Iron Throne, and Lord Tywin could marry his daughter Cersei to the new king as he wished." He concluded, "To eliminate all hidden dangers, I beg Your Grace to ban all tourneys!"
Just then, Varys's voice drifted over, light as a feather yet sharp as a dagger. "Oh, my lords are clamoring, yet perhaps none have touched the true core."
Varys turned to King Aerys, wearing a mask of concern. "According to my little birds, Prince Rhaegar has little interest in the game of riding horses and tilting lances itself. His true intention is likely to use this opportunity, where nobles from all over gather, to convene an informal Great Council." He paused briefly, letting the most terrifying guess ferment in the air. "The topic of the council will be discussing how to handle—forgive my bluntness, Your Grace—how to handle your increasingly... distinctive style of rule. The conclusion could very likely lead to forced regency, or even deposition!" He added seemingly inadvertently at the end, "Moreover, the Prince is very close with Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard (Lord Whent's brother), which makes one think."
Amidst the voices calling for a ban, the Hand of the King, Lord Merryweather, offered a relatively pragmatic view. "Your Grace, such a grand gathering is a rare celebration and solace for the people. Banning it without cause will only lose you more of the already fragile public support. House Whent's intention is merely to display their wealth and glory, using this chance to show off their magnificent castle and outstanding children to all Westeros." He sighed. "Are we perhaps overthinking this?"
Varys chimed in softly, his words like sweet poison. "Lord Merryweather has a point. Perhaps Your Grace attending the grand event in person, displaying your majesty before the masses, is the perfect opportunity to win back their love."
Opinions clashed fiercely.
In the end, amidst suspicion and calculation, Aerys II made a decision that shocked everyone: He would personally travel to Harrenhal. He would let everyone know who the King of the Seven Kingdoms was! He would reclaim the people's love and the awe and respect of all nobles there!
Aerys II was full of confidence in the final outcome of this trip!
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Above the vast encampment outside Harrenhal, thousands of banners flapped in the wind, like a rolling, colorful ocean.
Under this rare spectacle, Euron Greyjoy, Ashara Dayne, and Tyrion Lannister agreed to stroll leisurely together through the noise and prosperity.
"Look! This is simply a living fossil forest of Seven Kingdoms heraldry!" Tyrion Lannister pointed excitedly, his eyes shining with a thirst for knowledge, acting like the most enthusiastic tour guide. "Usually, you can't recognize so many families in one place. Just being able to name all these and their stories is enough to be a Maester in the Citadel!"
Euron smiled. "Then I assume you must know them all?"
"Of course!"
Tyrion began pointing them out as if enumerating his family valuables. "See that one? A mangled, bloody boar's head on a black field—House Vogh. It's said their ancestor killed a raging giant boar alone in the forest but lost half his face. So their motto is 'Blood for Tusk'. Crude enough, right?"
"And over there, a pile of crooked white stones on yellow and green stripes—House Smallwood. They claim their ancestor was a foreman moving stones for Brandon the Builder, so their motto is 'From These Beginnings'. But I think their biggest contribution now is producing terribly sour wine."
Ashara chuckled at his description. Euron pointed to a blue and white banner depicting a giant lobster and asked, "Test for you, what's the background of this one?"
"Can't stump me! House Celtigar!" Tyrion slapped his thigh and laughed. "Small players on Claw Isle, living by catching lobsters and occasionally moonlighting as pirates. Their motto implies hidden strength under a hard shell. But I guess they have a lot of grievances because they eat lobster every meal."
Ashara laughed. "What about the one with three squirrels?"
Tyrion patted his chest proudly. "Three dead squirrels on a white flag—that's an insignificant branch of House Piper, the Pipers of Squirrel's Den. Legend has it their ancestor got land for saving a starving lord because he was good at catching squirrels. Their motto is 'Stock Well Supplied'. Truly... ambitious."
"And that one, a skinny dog gnawing a bone on a grey field—House Allyrion of Bonebridge (Note: Likely a minor invented branch or similar, as Allyrion is Dornish and usually 'No Foe May Pass' with a hand sigil, but sticking to Tyrion's funny description). Poor as church mice. Motto 'Loyal Bone Gnawers', meaning give them a bone and they'll follow. Heard they rented out half their family crypts last time to save money."
Tyrion's commentary was humorous and sharp, full of various obscure gossip and satire. He not only pointed out major houses like the Lannister Lion, Stark Direwolf, Tully Fish, Tyrell Rose, and Martell Sun/Spear, but also turned the banners and backstories of countless minor houses—whether glorious or laughable—upside down.
Euron listened, occasionally commenting, "Remembering these families is useful. At least know which ones you can provoke, and which aren't even worth provoking." Ashara focused more on the beauty and symbolism of the patterns themselves.
Euron narrowed his hawk-like eyes and pointed into the distance.
As the sun set, at the end of a golden field, three ferocious black dogs flapped in the wind. "Three black dogs on a yellow field," a playful smile curled his lips. "That's the sigil of House Clegane, right? I recall they are bannermen to your House Lannister."
Tyrion's brow knotted, his gaze following the fluttering banner. "House Clegane's history isn't glorious."
Tyrion's voice dropped low. "Old Clegane was originally just the kennelmaster at Casterly Rock. One autumn, when Lord Tytos was hunting, he was chased by a lioness. It was Old Clegane who released all the hounds, trading the lives of his three most loyal dogs and one of his own legs for the Lord's life."
He paused, taking a sip of wine as if needing alcohol to wash away the bitterness of the memory. "As a reward, Lord Tytos granted him a piece of land, a towerhouse, and took his son as a squire. Those three dogs were forever embroidered onto the family banner." Tyrion turned, looking solemnly at Euron. "But you must know, Gregor Clegane—people call him 'The Mountain'—is absolutely not one of those loyal dogs. If you meet him in the arena, you must be extremely careful." The dwarf's voice grew even lower. "That is no ordinary opponent. He is like a moving mountain of steel. Wherever he goes, no grass grows."
Euron nodded, a strange light flashing in his eyes, like a shark smelling blood.
I really want... to meet him! The Mountain!
The three seemed to be strolling through a living encyclopedia of heraldry narrated live by Tyrion, enjoying a visual feast full of knowledge and fun unique to this grand event.
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