The main council chamber of the Prince's Manse was originally a eting place for the Magister and councilors.
Today, the long council table that symbolized the core of power had been removed.
The hall appeared exceptionally empty. Under the high vaulted ceiling, sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting mottled yet cold patches of light on the floor.
The black and white marble floor was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the silent, standing figures on both sides.
Core figures from various places had already taken their positions in sequence. On the left, led by Jon Clinton, followed by the Golden Company's commander stationed in Myr, Lyswell Peck; then ca Karl, Henry, and a group of military officers including the Captain of the Guard.
On the right, Luciana stood at the front, followed by the chief administrative officers, tax ministers, and Port masters of the three city-states.
Dozens of people filled both sides of the hall.
Upon the dais, the high-backed chair that originally belonged to the Magister of Lys had been kept.
Aegon sat upon it.
He had changed into more formal attire. It was still predominantly black, with dark sisters and blackfyre hanging crossed on the right side of the seat within easy reach.
He simply sat there, his gaze calmly scanning the people below. He did not deliberately release any pressure, yet the air in the entire council chamber seed to slowly solidify around him.
Amidst this standing crowd, one figure appeared particularly out of place.
Viserys Targaryen.
He stood in a relatively forward position in the left line, but not at the very front.
He wore that overly ornate brocade robe embroidered with gold-threaded red dragons, with that gem-encrusted sword hanging at his waist.
He tried his best to straighten his chest and tilt his chin slightly, attempting to maintain an air of transcendence.
But his eyes flickered, his lips tightened involuntarily, and his fingertips curled slightly within his sleeves.
He was not originally on the list for this Grand Council.
Having heard rumors, he ca on his own accord in his capacity as the Targaryen King.
He thought Aegon would invite him, the King, to take the seat of honor, or... at least place an extra chair next to it.
He had even rehearsed in his mind how he would "humbly" decline when Aegon invited him to the seat, and then, as an elder and monarch, modestly sit down to receive the homage of the ministers and generously grant rewards.
However, there was nothing.
When he entered the council chamber, Aegon only cast a plain glance from the dais, gave a slight nod, and then looked away.
No invitation, no extra seat.
An Attendant silently guided him to his current position—a forward one, but not the center.
Embarrassnt wound around his spine like cold vines.
He comforted himself: Aegon just hadn't expected him to co; this was his manse, and he might have his own arrangents... Once the eting began, he would naturally realize he needed his King present to decide on major matters.
But now, the eting had already been underway for a while.
Jon Clinton was reporting, his voice steady and powerful:
"...The situation in Tyrosh has basically stabilized. The city walls are sixty percent repaired, Port functions are ninety percent restored, and trade routes have begun to flow again."
"Financial aid from Lys is crucial. Currently, grain reserves can support the entire city for three months, and public sentint has initially settled."
"The main threat remains the secret connections among a few remnants of the forr nobility, but the garrison and the Golden Company's stationed troops have strengthened monitoring; they cannot cause any major trouble."
Aegon listened, occasionally asking one or two brief questions, all regarding key points. Jon answered fluently.
Next was the latest progress on the Fleet integration, which was largely the sa as previous reports but with more specific details.
When the figure of one thousand one hundred and twenty-seven available warships was confird again, a suppressed gasp still echoed through the hall.
Even among these officials, not everyone knew that this patched-together Fleet had actually beco so massive.
Subsequently, officials from various regions stepped forward in turn to report on taxes, public security, engineering progress, and material reserves... The matters were complex and trivial, but Aegon listened patiently.
He hardly interrupted, only giving clear and concise instructions after each report: approved or not; additional resources or a deadline for rectification; promoting soone or investigating sothing. He was succinct, with not a single wasted word.
Viserys stood there, feeling like an outsider.
Most of those place nas, figures, and personnel were unfamiliar to him. He wanted to interject, to offer so guidance from a higher perspective, but found he had no opening at all.
He heard Aegon skillfully handling military, financial, and civil affairs, with a level of proficiency that made him, the King, feel waves of insecurity and... a faint anger.
He was the King! These reports should be presented to him! These decisions should be made by him! Aegon was overstepping! Blatant overstepping!
But he didn't dare shout it out.
He didn't even dare let his anger show too obviously.
Because the atmosphere of the entire council chamber was firmly in the hands of that young man on the dais.
That silent, cold authority weighed on him until he could hardly breathe.
Just then, Aegon's voice rang out again, ntioning the Bloodsworn.
"...The Bloodsworn need to be reorganized. No longer as ordinary elite infantry; the mode of warfare in Westeros is different from that of the coastal Free Cities. We need an elite cavalry."
Aegon's gaze fell on Henry: "I want them to be a sledgehamr, a blade that can pierce through any line. Change them to Cataphracts, both n and horses armored. The temporary strength is set at three thousand."
A slight commotion stirred in the hall. Three thousand Cataphracts? Both n and horses armored? This was equipnt almost equivalent to knights! And the cost... Aegon continued: "The warhorses must be the best. Horses from the Dothraki Sea, or whatever fine breeds can be obtained in Essos. The armor and weapons must be of the highest quality."
"Send soone to Qohor to contact them. Have the best craftsn bring their skills and so materials here. We will pay, and they will set up workshops here to forge them. The construction period must be fast."
Now, even veteran generals like Jon and Lyswell had a change in their expressions.
Full plate armor and weapons forged in Qohor were recognized as top-tier goods, and their prices were also top-tier. Armoring three thousand n... the expense was simply astronomical.
Luciana stepped forward at the right mont. Her voice remained steady, but she voiced everyone's concerns: "Your Highness, such a reorganization would be imnsely costly."
"With the current finances of the three cities, even with future tax expectations, it will be extrely difficult to support. The blacksmiths of Qohor have always demanded high prices, and the manufacturing cycle for three thousand sets of heavy armor, lances, and swords is long. During this ti, the food for n and fodder for horses, along with training losses, will all require continuous investnt."
"The finances... may be unable to sustain it."
After she finished, she looked up at Aegon, her eyes showing no doubt, only a calm statent and anticipation. She seed to have thought of sothing.
Aegon t her gaze and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"The trip to Braavos yielded so gains." His voice was flat, yet it was like a stone thrown into a still lake.
"The first loan from the Iron Bank, ten million gold coins, has been escorted by the Fleet and is currently en route to Rhis."
Silence.
Deathly silence.
Then, with a "boom," it was as if an invisible wave exploded within the council chamber.
Although everyone tried their best to maintain their decorum, the shock, ecstasy, and disbelief that instantly surged onto those faces were so obvious.
Even the most composed Jon had his pupils contract sharply. Karl straightened his back. Henry's mouth hung open.
Ten million gold coins! And that was just the first batch!
No one present was unaware of what this sum of money ant.
It could free all plans from their shackles, it could arm a despair-inducing army, and it could accelerate the construction of the entire Narrow Sea Realm tenfold! This was truly the power to turn stone into gold!
An atmosphere of ecstasy filled the air as officials exchanged excited glances, almost on the verge of cheering quietly.
Only Viserys was struck as if by lightning.
He stood where he was, his whole body cold, as if his blood had frozen.
Ten million... gold coins? Aegon went to Braavos once and brought back... ten million gold coins?
Had all the gold coins he'd seen in his life added up to even ten thousand?
And Aegon just said it so casually, as if he were saying the weather was nice today.
Jealousy gnawed at his heart like a venomous snake. Fear spread with it.
With such a vast sum of money, such an army, and such cities, did Aegon... still need him, the King?
He felt the officials around him imrsed in joy; when their gazes occasionally swept over him, that unintentional neglect stung him more than any contempt.
He was here like a redundant decoration, like a joke!
Just then, the side door of the council chamber opened, and a guard walked in quickly, whispering a few words into Luciana's ear.
Luciana nodded and stepped forward to report to Aegon: "Your Highness, the envoy from Volantis is waiting outside the hall."
"Bring him in," Aegon said.
The atmosphere of joy subsided slightly, turning into a solemnity characteristic of diplomatic occasions, tinged with scrutiny.
A middle-aged man wearing a magnificent purple robe and a gold circlet on his head walked in, accompanied by two guards.
His face was pale, he had a ticulously trimd short beard, and his manner was elegant, yet his eyes held the reserve and calculation of one who had long held a high position.
He first faced the dais and perford a Volantene bow—flawless, but by no ans humble.
"Greetings, Prince Aegon Targaryen. Volantis extends its most sincere greetings upon the return of the true dragon."
His Common Tongue was very fluent.
"The envoy has worked hard coming from afar." Aegon nodded slightly, returning the gesture. "I wonder what advice the Triarchs of Volantis have to offer?"
"I wouldn't dare offer advice." The envoy smiled, a smile as standard as if asured by a ruler.
"We have heard that Your Highness has, with thunderous montum, brought the three daughter cities of Valyria—Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr—back under the protection of the true dragon's wings. We are imnsely gratified. This is the reappearance of the glory of the Valyrian bloodline, and also a blessing for the Free Cities."
He paused and raised his voice slightly to ensure everyone in the hall could hear clearly:
"To celebrate, and to demonstrate the kinship of the Valyrian bloodline, the joint eting of the Volantene Triarchs has unanimously resolved to grant Prince Aegon Targaryen the lifelong title of Master of Laws of Volantis!"
"This title enjoys the sa etiquette as the current Triarchs without needing to reside in Volantis! The Ports and markets of Volantis will forever open their most favorable doors to Your Highness and the rchants under your command!"
As his voice fell, low discussions broke out in the hall.
Master of Laws? This title sounded extrely noble, almost the highest honor Volantis could bestow upon an outsider.
But Aegon's face remained calm, and a very faint trace of mockery even flickered in the depths of his eyes.
Master of Laws?
It sounded nice.
No real power, no territory, no duties to perform—just an empty title plus so trade concessions.
Volantis played this hand beautifully.
With a magnificent yet hollow title and a nominal show of high respect, they "elevated" him to a position of equal dialogue with Volantis. This both mitigated the direct conflict that might arise from his sudden rise and bound him with this empty na... If he accepted this "honor," any military action against Volantis in the short term would first lose moral ground.
This was an open sche—a beautifully packaged diplomatic shackle.
However, Aegon had no intention of heading east at this ti. His gaze was always to the west, on Lannister, on Baratheon.
He was about to speak, to give an equally appropriate and non-committal response... "Wait!"
A sowhat sharp voice, slightly out of tune due to excitent, broke the silence of the council chamber.
Everyone turned their heads in astonishnt.
They saw Viserys suddenly take a step forward from the left line, his face flushed, his chest heaving, and his finger trembling slightly as he pointed at the Envoy from Volantis.
"You've got it wrong!" His voice sounded hoarse because of his urgency.
"I! I am the Targaryen King! Aegon's uncle, Viserys Targaryen! King of the andals, the Rhoynar, and the first n! The lawful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms! It is to you should pay your respects!"
Silence.
A silence even more suffocating than before.
The Envoy from Volantis was clearly stunned. He looked confusedly at this man who had suddenly jumped out—dressed magnificently but behaving inappropriately—and then looked doubtfully at Aegon on the dais, completely failing to understand what was going on.
All the officials—Jon, Luciana, Karl, Henry... everyone's gaze was fixed on Viserys.
In those gazes, there was shock, disbelief, hidden embarrassnt, and a trace of cold scrutiny.
After Viserys finished shouting, he also seed to realize his loss of composure, but since the words were already out, he could only brace himself, puffing out his chest and trying to look more majestic, even though his fingers were still shaking.
Aegon sat on the dais, quietly watching this scene. There was no expression on his face—neither anger nor embarrassnt, only a calmness like a deep pool.
After a mont, he spoke slowly. His voice was not loud, but it clearly suppressed all the noise and relieved the envoy's embarrassnt:
"This is my uncle, Viserys Targaryen. The second son of the late King Aerys and Queen Mother Rhaella."
He paused and added, his tone as flat as if he were stating a fact that had nothing to do with him:
"King of the andals, the Rhoynar, and the first n."
No one in the hall responded; there was only a deeper silence. That silence itself was a statent.
Viserys's face turned from red to white, then from white to pale green. He heard the calmness in Aegon's words and, beneath that calmness, the undisguised neglect.
Aegon stopped looking at him, his gaze falling back on the sowhat bewildered Envoy from Volantis.
"As for the title of Master of Laws bestowed by your state..." Aegon said slowly, each word articulated clearly.
"The kind sentint is appreciated. However, this matter is of great importance, and I need to continue discussing it with my subordinates before giving an answer. The envoy may first return to the guest house to rest."
This was a dismissal and also a way to temporarily set the matter aside.
The envoy felt as if he had been granted a great amnesty and hurriedly bowed: "As it should be, as it should be. Then this humble official will take his leave and await Your Highness's good news."
He almost couldn't wait to turn and leave, accompanied by the guards, as if fleeing from this suddenly strange and embarrassing situation.
The doors of the council chamber closed again.
But the atmosphere could no longer return to what it was. An invisible cold current spread through the silence.
Aegon's gaze finally fell back on Viserys, who stood frozen in place. That gaze was very calm, yet it made Viserys feel a chill rush from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
"Today's council is concluded."
Aegon's voice rang out, breaking the awkward silence.
"Return to your posts and act according to what was discussed today. Luciana, stay behind; the rest of you may leave."
The officials were relieved and bowed one after another, filing out silently and in an orderly fashion. No one gave Viserys a second look, as if he were a redundant pillar.
Soon, in the empty council chamber, only Aegon on the dais and Luciana standing quietly to the side remained. Below the dais was the isolated, pale-faced Viserys, and the guards standing as still as stone statues by the door.
The sunlight shifted, stretching Viserys's shadow very long and lonely, casting it diagonally across the smooth, cold marble floor.
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