"Your will be done!"Every voice answered in perfect unison. All heads bowed low in submission.
Renly shouted along as well, drawing his dagger at the same time, ready to stab the eight-legged spider to death, hoping to show his sincerity in front of his elder brother.
"That eunuch is damn lucky!"Robert stopped his brother. He really had been drunk earlier, but now the alcohol had worn off and reason returned. Only then did he suddenly realize that Jon's final wish before death had been to stop him from venting his anger on Varys.
Knowing his foster father had indirectly died by his own hand filled him with deep guilt. Jon's "last words" weighed especially heavy on his heart.
The next day, the Small Council convened as usual. Even Varys attended, his head still swollen and bruised.
"Lord Arryn's body will lie in the sept for seven days, allowing the people of the city to pay their respects!"
"Since the Lady Regent took young Lord Arryn back to the Eyrie last night to prepare the Vale's funeral rites, we must also assign fifty Gold Cloaks to escort His Lordship back to the Vale!"
"..."
"That concludes the general arrangements for Lord Jon's funeral."
Petyr held a thick black ledger in his hands as he reported to the king and the assembled ministers.
"Lord Petyr has arranged everything very well!"
Robert praised Littlefinger first. If not for his quick thinking and clever manipulation of the facts yesterday, Robert would likely be facing endless trouble today.
"Bury my father first, then we will reward the merits!"
His words had barely fallen when his squire, Lancel Lannister, rushed into the council chamber.
"Apologies, Your Grace! My lords—urgent news from Sea Guard in the Riverlands!"
Lancel raised the urgent letter sealed with red wax and handed it to Grand Maester Pycelle.
Royal letters issued by the king were usually bound with a red silk ribbon.
Local lords almost never sent letters directly to King's Landing—unless something had happened that endangered the Seven Kingdoms!
The Grand Maester trembled as he accepted the letter. After opening it, he immediately handed it to the king, whose eyes were locked onto him.
"Fuck—!"Robert scanned the contents at lightning speed. Once again, he lost control of his fury and flipped the long table. "Damn iron bastards! Damn iron eunuchs!"
In an instant, ledgers, seals, and wine cups flew through the air. Several ministers failed to dodge in time and suffered injuries to their faces.
"Ahhh—!"
Varys clutched the bruises around his eyes. Another heavy account book had slammed hard into his face, and the pain forced a cry from his throat.
That scream drew the attention of Robert, who stood on the edge of explosive rage.
Seeing the king's savage, bloodthirsty gaze fall on him again, Varys helplessly retreated until he hit the wall, crouching in the corner and trembling as he covered his head.
This time, Robert was neither drunk nor blinded by rage. He merely glanced at the spymaster and no longer bothered with the useless man.
Jon's death had made him clearer-headed than ever before.
"Whelp, go fetch the map!"
He barked at Lancel, who was also shaking with fear. Lancel dared not hesitate and rushed out of the hall to retrieve the great map of the Seven Kingdoms.
Renly, who had also been struck on the forehead by the Master of Coin's flying seal, ignored whatever had hit him. He picked up the urgent letter that had fallen nearby and passed it around for the ministers to read.
Very quickly, the four ministers and six Kingsguard understood why the king had erupted once more.
The Iron Islands had rebelled again.Again.Again.
Worse still, Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands had not only openly declared rebellion and sent troops to attack Sea Guard and plunder the Riverlands—he even dared provoke the Westerlands, launching raids along its coast.
Littlefinger and Pycelle both sensed something was wrong. The Iron Islands' movements were far too abnormal. As for Varys, pain wracked his entire body, leaving him unable to think deeply.
When Lancel returned with the map and spread it across the hastily reassembled table, the situation grew even more dire.
"Damn it."
Robert's headache worsened, and a deep sense of powerlessness washed over him.
From the map, the Iron Islands, King's Landing, and Tarth lay almost perfectly along a forty-five-degree diagonal. The two island regions formed a pincer threatening King's Landing itself.
If the ironborn were stronger on land, or if the combined forces of Tarth had already advanced east into Rolas, Robert would be best advised to abandon King's Landing immediately and seek greater strategic depth.
"Your Grace, the ironborn are merely a festering sore. I believe once they finish plundering the Riverlands, they will retreat. Duke Stark still holds the Iron Islands' heir as a hostage."
Pycelle proved his old cunning once again, clearly following Tywin's line of thinking—unsurprising, given his lifelong admiration for Tywin.
"Order the Shield Islands fleet of the Reach to sail north. After helping the Westerlands drive off the ironborn, the Westerlands will then send troops to aid the Riverlands. At the same time, command Duke Stark to escort the hostage south, forcing the ironborn to withdraw."
"Tarth is currently empty and weakly defended. This is a rare opportunity for the Master of Ships."
Robert nodded in agreement. The Vale was currently disbanded and could not act; only the Westerlands could move.
Littlefinger frowned deeply and remained silent. He could not tell friend from foe, nor did he know whom to support. He did not even dare contend for the position of Protector of the Vale.
The course of events had completely slipped beyond his expectations.
...
At dusk, beneath the setting sun, the sea shimmered with golden light. Near the coast by Harvest Hall, more than a hundred massive warships lowered their sails and dropped anchor one after another.
Half a month earlier, Stannis had finally been unable to withstand the pressure of six ravens sent in succession by Pycelle in Robert's name. He led the combined fleet of Dragonstone and Gulltown—over a hundred ships—southward.
Stannis's fleet sailed with extreme caution along the coastline. After fifteen days, they finally entered the Straits of Tarth from Dragonstone, heading toward Harvest Hall.
Even with its newly expanded harbor, Harvest Hall's port was still far too narrow for such a fleet. Most warships could only anchor near the shore.
The flagship of the Master of Ships, the Lord Steffon, slowly docked at the pier. At the bow, Stannis spotted the much-respected Barristan the Bold standing on the dock, waiting to welcome him. He almost smiled in delight.
The irritation caused by Pycelle's relentless harassment over the past days vanished completely.
Beside him, the Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth, felt rather speechless. The lord he served was capable and not a bad man, yet vain and obsessed with appearances—forever leaving others with the impression of being harsh and ungrateful.
"Your Grace, welcome to Harvest Hall. You will find this a most suitable place for hunting and picnics."
As soon as Stannis set foot on land, Barristan stepped forward to greet him.
"Ser Selmy, my thanks."
Stannis maintained his stern expression and returned the salute with a slight nod.
Before they could exchange many pleasantries, hurried footsteps sounded from the gangplank behind Stannis.
All three turned their heads at once, seeing a young man trot down from the ship.
Stannis and Davos recognized him as one of Maester Cressen's assistant acolytes, responsible for caring for the ravens accompanying the fleet.
"My lord, urgent message from King's Landing!"
Panting, the young man ran up and produced a top-secret letter bound with a red silk ribbon.
"Shit—!"
Stannis could not help swearing aloud. This was already the seventh raven.
Wait.
Red silk ribbon?
He snatched the letter from the young man and tore it open, eagerly scanning the contents.
"How is this possible?"
Before even finishing the letter, he lost his composure and cried out in shock.
The Onion Knight, unable to contain his curiosity, leaned over Stannis's shoulder and glanced at the letter as well.
The letter contained only three pieces of information.The first two informed Stannis of the Hand's death and the Iron Islands' renewed rebellion.
But the third—stamped with the king's seal—was directly tied to them.
King Robert Baratheon had formally issued the order:The combined fleet was to immediately cross the Straits of Tarth and annihilate House Tarth!
This order brooked no delay.This order allowed no appeal.
...
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Here are a few fan-fic titles that I've recently uploaded on my Patreon:
"Game of Thrones: Dragon Prince"
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"The Game of Thrones Upgrade System"
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"Game of Thrones: Godzilla vs. Dragons"
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"Game of Thrones The Glory of a Knight"
"Game of Thrones: The Most Powerful Dragon Queen"
" Game of Thrones: From the Elden Lord to the Young Wolf"
"Game of Thrones: Rise of a Lord with the Army-Building System"
(End Chapter)