Lights protruded into the large room, casting shadows on the table as the most powerful men in the realm sat discussing matters of statecraft.
The council chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles.
The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and Lys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes and Targaryen tapestries flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering in black marble faces.
The King sat at the head of the table of the small council table, the sigil of the Targaryen embroidered in red, black with a little daint of gold thread on its pillows as well as the rest seats.
Enthroned, Viserys is presently scooping egg and sausage into his mouth while laughing at some joke.
He is already in his 40s yet still aigle, strong and wise. Viserys reign has brought nothing but peace and prosperity in the realm, and he means to keep it together, sane.
Seated at his right is his most trusted advisor, Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower, a man in his mid 40s, strong, proud and haughty. He wears the brooch of his office with pride. Yet Otto is an astute, a high functioning political creature in the realm.
But on King Viserys's left and across from the Hand of the King, sits a conspicuously empty seat .
Beside the empty seat was seated Lord Lyonel Strong, a man in his early 50s, the Master of laws, a big man, stout and muscular. He's slow to speak but does not miss anything.
Beside him was seated a man in his early 70s, the Grand Maester Mellos, His collar was no simple metal choker, but two dozen heavy chains wound together into a ponderous metal necklace that covered him from throat to breast.
The links were forged of every metal known to man: black iron and red gold, bright copper and dull lead, steel and tin and pale silver, brass and bronze and platinum. Garnets and amethysts and black pearls adorned the metal-work, and here and there an emerald or ruby and has served the realm for decades.
Next was the legendary knight of the Kings Guard. Lord Commander Ryam Redwyne.
he was once Hand of the King to King Jaehaerys, but he was bad politician, so Jaehaerys fired him to return to the King's Guard making his late son Baelon Targaryen Hand of the King before he passed.
Lord Ryam has been on the King's Guard for fifty years, The man is in mid 70s, though he appears old and frail in his pure white raiment, as if he's wearing a larger man's clothes.
However he stood five steps adjacent to the King while holding the hilt of his sword.
And at the end of the table, facing the King was seated Corlys Velaryon, the famed nautical adventurer known as The Sea Snake, the dark skinned man is in his 50s, and he serves as the king's Master of Ships.
Unlike the members of this council who have lived only at court, the Sea Snake is a well-salted sailor and warrior, he's built his wealth from his voyages and earned his place in the realm, yet Lord Corlys is still wrath his wife is known as the 'Queen Who Never Was' and not the 'Queen of the Seven Kingdoms'.
The Master of Coin, Lord Lyman Beesbury, a man in his 60s was also an advisor to the late King Jaehaerys Targaryen, he is the longest serving member of the small council, yet he is penurious to a fault.
And finally one person was not in attendance, the Mistress of Whispers.
While the King was busy throwing jokes around the table, Ser Lyman speak up.
"Your Grace, might we discuss the reformed City Watch?" He says, but the other men continues laughing at the King's jokes, and Beesbury is ignored.
"Well, all right then......." Beesbury, only barely saves his cup of wine from spilling.
"So I said him, well I believe you might be looking up the wrong end!" Viserys says as the men in the room laugh with their king, either dutifully or sincerely.
Except for the Sea Snake, he did not laugh. He stands over the small council table, unrolling a map painted on animal skin, depicting the Stepstones, a small archipelago at the southwest corner of Westeros. The Stepstones are a key shipping lane through the Narrow Sea.
"My lords. The growing alliance among the Free Cities has taken to styling itself "The Triarchy." They have massed on Bloodstone and are presently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation." Lord Corlys informs them.
Viserys is still laughing at his own joke, slowly and begrudgingly coming around to the counsel business, work was to be done.
"That sounds suspiciously like good news, Lord Corlys." The King tell him with a happy face.
"A man called Craghas Drahar has styled himself prince-admiral of this Triarchy. They call him "The Crabfeeder" due to his... inventive methods of punishing his enemies. "
"And are we meant to weep for dead pirates?" Viserys questioned with incredulity.
Lord Colys admitted "No, Your Grace. But my fear is that we could trade a disorganized enemy for one who is quite the opposite -----"
The Sea Snake's point is run over by the princess's arrival. The council chamber doors open, revealing Princess Rhaenyra ahead of her sworn protector, Ser Harrold Westerling. Rheanyra comes in and starts to fill the cups on the table, her duty as the King's cup bearer.
Viserys beams at his beloved daughter as he pretends to chastise her.
"Rhaenyra, You're late. The king's cupbearer must not be late. It leaves people wanting for cups." He amused.
"I was visiting mother." She justified her lateness, comes to him and kisses him on the cheek.
Viserys sniffs her, a whiff of sulfur oozing mildly revolted by the smell of dragon.
"On dragonback?" He questioned, Rhaenyra makes a face at him. Viserys laughs. She then goes to gather cups and wine to deliver to the small council.
The copper-counting Beesbury gently moves the Sea Snake's map aside and brings his wine back in front of him, interjecting again.
"Your Grace -- at Prince Daemon's urging, the crown has invested significant capital in the retraining and re-equipping of his City Watch. Despite multiple inquests, the prince has yet to provide us with an update." Lord Lyman tells him.
Viserys looks absently to the empty council seat to his left. Daemon wasn't here and his seat is often empty.
"Tell me Lord Beesbury. Are his thoughts and energies occupied or should I say distracted?' Viserys questioned.
"Distracted enough not to answer our letters, Your Grace" Lyman replies.
Viserys only sighs giving that the position assigned to Daemon has made him more serious and busy these days, at least he is working and not causing trouble.
Same thing goes for Geralt, sad to say he misses his son dearly.
Viserys hope his son isn't causing any trouble but learning his swordsmanship and mastering his abilities.
It's been eight years now, and boy never wrote him nor replied his letters, is it as though he is still angry with him for sending him away to be under the guardianship of his uncle Oberyn Martell.
Since then Aemma has being the only person receiving letters from him. He had to admit he was jealous but what could he do, the boy is an enigma.
Aemma is the only one who brings news about Geralt, his upkeep and wellbeing. Geralt's outcome twelve years ago was a discovery for him.
Daenys foresaw the Doom of Valyria.
Aegon foresaw the end of men but Geralt was extraordinary, the only Targaryen to walk admit burning the flames of hell. A day he'll never forget.
And not only that, he received news from Dorne that Geralt has other abilities, inherited from the blood of his late mother, the markings of a Witcher.
Strange yet undeniable the boy is indeed special and he is proud to call him his son, a Dragonsbane, the unburnt.
Fortunately Dorne is a safe place for him. It is they that can help train him to harness his powers.
And soon he'll be marrying from his mother's side and he can't wait to sail for Sunspear to attend his son's wedding. Elated, Viserys mind was now crowded with the thought of his son making him a proud grandsire.
Visenna would be proud as well.
"I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on his council and provide assessment of his progress as Commander of the Watch." Lord Lyman added cutting the King out of his thoughts.
"Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks Lord Beesbury?" Viserys asked, playing to the room at his expense.
"One would hope, considering the associated costs." Lord Lyman keenly tells him.
"Then let us all consider your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury." Viserys says, stylishly brushing the matter under the carpet. There are smirks around the table except for Lord Corlys who keeps a plain face, and Lord Beesbury silently grumbles.
But Rhaenyra does not like that her uncle is spoken of in such a mocking, dismissive manner.
He is the King's brother and he deserves to be treated with respect and yet if her uncle was in attendance, no one of them would dare show their smugly faces to him, ofcourse everyone had something to say about Daemon and they know what he's capable of, after all he's the Prince of the City and when he gets angry, he burns and no one can put a leash on him, except King Viserys himself.
Still on his feet, the Sea Snake, still looming over the table, sees an opportunity to make his point about the Stepstones. He reaches for the map on Beesbury's side and to collect it.
"I'd urge you not to allow this Triachy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes were to fall, it could beggar our ports."
"The crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement." Ser Otto reassures Lord Corlys.
For a moment no one speaks until Corlys appears to concede. The Sea Snake doesn't agree, but he sublimates his dissent and returns to his seat at the end of the table gazing at the Hand distastefully with frustration.
Rhaenyra carries cups, listening intently to the goings-on.
"Shall we turn our minds to the Heir's Tournament and Prince Geralt's nuptials Your Grace?"
"I would be delighted...." Viserys replies cheerfully.
*****
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