Tormund, riding on horseback, glanced back and unconsciously smiled.
He dismounted swiftly and walked straight into the spacious wheelhouse.
Rhaegar opened the door and asked, "How is Harrenhal?"
"Not bad. The construction is basically complete, and Maester Trull has taken the recommendation letter and headed to Oldtown," Tormund replied crisply, stepping onto the footstool used by the coachman.
Upon entering the wheelhouse, Tormund was surprised by the lavish interior. He glanced around at the assembled councilors and politely greeted them, "I hope my presence hasn't disturbed you, my lords."
"A well-mannered young man," Linman nodded slightly while chewing on a biscuit with his tea.
Tormund caught a glimpse of an old pair of cloudy eyes scrutinizing him relentlessly.
Becoming a member of the Small Council was no easy feat—gray-haired or not, none of them were simple men.
Rhaegar took note of the scene, casually pouring two glasses of sweet fruit wine.
Tormund remained standing at the entrance of the wheelhouse, slightly bending due to the low ceiling, maintaining his polite smile all the while.
Leonor, Otto, and Jasper each glanced at him before adjusting their postures and sitting more upright.
They merely assumed he was a close friend of the Crown Prince, not yet someone worthy of direct engagement at their level.
The sound of wine pouring ceased, and one of the glasses was placed with a thud near Leonor.
The wheelhouse was spacious, and the seating arrangement of the councilors was relatively informal.
Rhaegar sat on a soft couch to the left, with the impeccably dressed Otto on his right, followed by the tense Jasper.
Linman, a highly respected elder, sat alone on another couch deeper inside the wheelhouse, next to Jasper.
On the right side of the wheelhouse, there was ample space, with Prime Minister Leonor sitting alone, directly across from Rhaegar.
The clinking of the wine cup drew the attention of the Small Council members.
Leonor, in particular, glanced at the cup placed a seat away from him, his bearded, round face growing serious.
Feigning surprise, Rhaegar looked at Tormund and gestured to the seat beside Leonor. "Why are you still standing there? You should sit next to Lord Leonor."
"Thank you, my prince," Tormund replied with a warm smile and took the seat without hesitation. He naturally picked up his cup and took a sip.
Rhaegar smiled and raised his own cup in response.
The two young men drank together, completely disregarding the reactions of the Small Council members.
Leonor furrowed his brows, shifting slightly to the side, his gaze growing heavy.
Allowing a mere boy to sit beside him—while the Crown Prince personally toasted him—was a clear message.
Did this mean that in the future, this young man would stand on equal footing with the Hand of the King?
The political implications of the gesture did not escape the keen instincts of the Small Council members.
Before Leonor could speak, Linman wiped the crumbs from his lips and deliberately asked, "Prince, you haven't introduced this... young man yet."
With the king having just departed, the Crown Prince would inevitably make moves while serving as regent. The councilors needed to carefully weigh the benefits and risks.
Setting his cup down, Rhaegar glanced at the council members and smiled. "This is Tormund, my childhood friend. He is the bastard son of Lord Bartimos of Crab Isle and a skinchanger."
"A bastard and a rare skinchanger?"
Linman raised an eyebrow, noting the white hawk and black raven perched on Tormund's shoulders.
In the noble and knightly traditions of Westeros, bastards were often looked down upon, and those possessing supernatural abilities—like skinchangers—were considered dangerous.
It was said that beyond the Wall in the North, the Free Folk had many skinchangers among them.
King Jaehaerys the Conciliator had once ridden Vermithor alongside the Night's Watch to defeat a wildling army composed of giants and skinchangers.
With a calm and clear gaze, Tormund said, "Being a bastard is hardly a glorious title, and my father—who sowed his seed far and wide—never cared whether I lived or died. You may treat me as a commoner if you wish."
"I recall you used to have only a white hawk," Leonor remarked politely.
They had met years ago during negotiations over Harrenhal.
In recent years, Tormund had managed the Mushroom Market, interacting with Riverlands nobles despite being under twenty. He had gained a reputation as the Crown Prince's 'tame dove.'
Hearing this, Rhaegar also turned his gaze toward Tormund with curiosity.
Skinchangers could usually only bond with one animal, and Tormund had been no exception.
Feeling the attention on him, Tormund said, somewhat puzzled, "A few days ago, I took over the care of Maester Trull's trained ravens, and before I knew it, I had bonded with one."
"A good omen," Rhaegar remarked, his eyes darkening.
He recalled the red comet that had caused an increase in magical energy—Tormund's situation was likely connected.
At this moment, Otto asked solemnly, "Prince, from what I understand, this skinchanger serves as your representative in the Riverlands. What is your intention in bringing him to King's Landing?"
The pleasantries were over. It was time to discuss serious matters.
Rhaegar did not hesitate and stated bluntly, "Lord Borros' death was highly suspicious. Yet neither the royal family nor Storm's End could uncover any leads. I believe the Iron Throne lacks sufficient intelligence gathering capabilities."
"Prince, intelligence operations in King's Landing have always been managed by the King. We have never extended them beyond the Crownlands," Leonor said stiffly.
Traditionally, the Hand of the King oversaw intelligence matters. By saying the intelligence network was inadequate, the prince was indirectly questioning his competence.
Rhaegar glanced at him and smiled. "Lord Leonor, I do not doubt your abilities. Your contributions to the realm are well known."
"Then are you suggesting expanding our network of spies?" Leonor asked, his expression slightly softening.
"No."
Rhaegar shook his head and said calmly, "I intend to reinstate the position of Master of Whisperers, dedicated solely to providing intelligence for the Iron Throne."
Leonor was stunned. "Prince, the Master of Whisperers sits on the Small Council—that is a dangerous position."
"An excess of misleading intelligence only serves to corrupt a ruler's sense of justice," Linman objected.
The last time the position of Master of Whisperers had existed was over seventy years ago.
The infamous Maegor the Cruel had appointed his Pentoshi mistress, Tyanna, as the first Master of Whisperers—a woman who committed unspeakable crimes.
Rhaegar's expression grew serious, his tone allowing no room for dispute. "My father has granted me the authority to rule as regent. The reinstatement of the Master of Whisperers is not up for discussion. My decision is final."
"Prince…" Lin Man furrowed his graying brows, still wanting to persuade him.
"Lord Lin Man, you need not say more. The Master of Intelligence exists to monitor those of ill intent."
Rhaegar interrupted directly, pointing at Tormund and announcing loudly, "I now declare that Tormund will assume the position of Master of Intelligence and take his seat on the Small Council."
As soon as these words fell, the council members exchanged glances, their expressions filled with silent discontent.
The king had only been gone for a day, and the crown prince was already making unilateral decisions by adding a new seat to the council, leaving them unsettled.
Previously, the king had always consulted them in council meetings before making any decision.
Tormund glanced around and, with an apologetic tone, said, "Lords, from now on, we shall be colleagues."
"…"
A brief silence fell.
Otto shook his head with a faint chuckle and took the initiative to speak. "I've heard of you. You participated in the Second Stepstones War."
"Yes. A man must serve his country in different ways over time."
Tormund admitted freely, then extended a hand with a bright smile. "Lord Otto, you are a loyal and wise minister. I have long admired you."
Interestingly, he offered his left hand, while his right hand gently stroked the white falcon on his shoulder.
Otto's eyes narrowed, and his smile faded.
He was right-handed and typically wrote and worked with his right hand.
However, few knew that as a young man, he had trained himself to use both hands equally to facilitate reading more efficiently.
"Something wrong?" Tormund's face remained soft, his smile appearing innocent and harmless.
Otto regarded him coldly, losing any further interest in conversation.
So-called admiration from afar? More likely, Tormund's shapeshifting abilities had been used to spy on him long ago.
The atmosphere froze. The first interaction between the new and old council members was anything but harmonious.
Rhaegar, however, remained indifferent and called out to the coachman outside the hall. "Return to the Red Keep!"
He always remembered what Rhaenyra had once told him—he had no solid foundation within the Small Council.
But as he grew older and his power expanded, he gradually changed that reality.
The Master of Ships, Tyland, was cunning, no less scheming than the seasoned Otto.
During the Stepstones War, Tyland had been reckless in pursuit of glory and was stripped from the Small Council, left to be tempered under Rhaegar's watch for three years.
Grand Maester Mellos was a spineless opportunist; Rhaegar had found the perfect moment to behead him with a single stroke.
To further dilute the influence within the council, he even established the position of Prince of Dragons, reinforcing House Targaryen's familial unity.
Now, as Regent, it was only natural to make further adjustments.
Appointing a Master of Intelligence was merely an appetizer.
After about half an hour, the royal carriage entered the gates of the Red Keep.
Three Kingsguard knights, clad in silver armor and white cloaks, stood in formation, respectfully awaiting their arrival.
Rhaegar was the first to step down from the carriage, gazing toward the gate.
Beyond the entrance stood two young knights astride warhorses, along with the solemn-faced Grey Worm and ten disciplined Unsullied soldiers.
"Prince…"
The two knights dismounted, removed their helmets, and revealed familiar faces.
Baron of Millstone, Robb Rivers.
Earl of Raventree Hall, Samwell Blackwood.
Rhaegar exchanged greetings with the two before turning to Grey Worm. "How many Unsullied captains remain in the army?"
"Ten." Grey Worm was as terse as ever.
Rhaegar pondered for a moment and nodded.
He commanded a force of over four hundred Unsullied, primarily serving as his personal guards, with a small portion assigned as officers within the Fearless Legion.
Ten Unsullied captains were sufficient to command a thousand Fearless soldiers.
After a slight pause, Grey Worm reported, "Three hundred Unsullied and two thousand Fearless remain stationed at Harrenhal, under the command of my two deputies, Vandell and Red Tide Worm."
Rhaegar patted his shoulder approvingly before turning toward the three Kingsguard knights.
The Unsullied's loyalty was unquestionable, and Grey Worm was someone he could trust completely.
As the other Small Council members stepped down from the carriage and dispersed to their quarters, Rhaegar spoke softly, "Lord Lyonel, please wait a moment. I have something to discuss with you privately."
Lyonel was slightly taken aback but stepped aside with Tormund, waiting patiently.
The three Kingsguard knights stepped forward and greeted him respectfully. "Your Grace."
Rhaegar smiled and nodded, taking a moment to observe each of them.
The Kingsguard was the king's personal elite force, enjoying the highest honor in the realm.
Ser Erryk Cargyll had been promoted to Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, while his twin brother, Ser Arryk Cargyll, had been assigned to protect Queen Alicent.
The king had traveled to Maidenpool, and the Cargyll brothers had set out two days earlier with the royal escort, leaving them absent from the Red Keep.
(End of Chapter)