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King's Landing, the Red Keep, the Throne Room.
"Good day, Young Master Arthur."
A plump, pale-skinned minor lord standing next to Arthur greeted him warmly—it was Lord William Mooton of Maidenpool.
"Good day, Lord William," Arthur replied with a nod.
"You're welcome to visit Maidenpool anytime. We might not have grand sights, but we've got plenty of fresh springs, grilled fish, and pine forests," Lord William chuckled.
Maidenpool had its own harbor too, making it a solid trading partner.
"Absolutely, I'd love to," Arthur said with a friendly grin, keeping things light and easy.
Lord William was another hard-luck case.
Like Raymun and William, if their families' main heirs hadn't died on the battlefield, the inheritance would've skipped right over them.
This just highlighted Robert's casual attitude—handing out a major lordship to a kid brother on a whim.
And it wasn't even his own son, but his sibling.
Some folks claimed Robert was playing a long game to solidify his power.
That was nonsense; Robert thought in broad strokes.
His instincts told him he didn't need smarts—just gut decisions.
No normal guy would plant such a massive trap for his own kid.
Renly was only eight or nine, and Robert was ridiculously fertile. The "heir apparent" was on the way soon anyway, so why rush?
It boiled down to love and impulsiveness, nothing more.
"Young Master Arthur, the Twins would welcome you anytime," Ser Stevron Frey whispered, dressed in a gray-blue embroidered tunic.
"Thanks for the kind offer, Ser," Arthur replied politely.
House Frey's heir, Ser Stevron, looked like a weasel with his gray eyes.
House Frey was infamous for being ugly—not just nouveau riche, but with those sharp, rodent-like features.
With way too many family members, and old Lord Frey being a total family man, he was always hustling marriages for his kids and grandkids or shipping them off as squires to big lords.
You could find Frey descendants in Casterly Rock and King's Landing.
Not everyone respected old Frey, though.
The Arryns and Tullys looked down on him, which burned him up.
Compared to his dad, Ser Stevron was milder and more level-headed.
Too bad luck wasn't on his side—unlike the legendary survivor old Frey, Stevron was still just the heir in his fifties.
Nearby stood the lords from the Crownlands: House Rykker of Duskendale, House Thorne, and Dragonstone's vassals like House Velaryon and House Celtigar.
The eastern Riverlands and the Crownlands were basically one big interconnected zone, the old heart of the royalist faction.
Arthur greeted them all one by one, and everyone settled into their spots.
Down at the base of the throne's steps, in the second-tier seats.
The exiled prince from the Summer Isles, Jalabhar Xho, wore a lavish feathered outfit—exotic and over-the-top, making him look like a bird ready to take flight.
Lord Rosby coughed nonstop, a frail old man.
There was also the Red Keep's master-at-arms, Aron Santagar.
On the other side, Lady Tanda Stokeworth had dressed up in silk and fur finery.
The Crownlands lords were right next door to King's Landing, so a lot of them hung around court, but they rarely got high positions.
The fool Moon Boy sported a brand-new jester's outfit, clean as a spring morning.
And there was that ruddy-faced useless knight, Ser Dontos Hollard, serving at court.
Down in the third tier to the south, this was for lords from across the Seven Kingdoms' nine regions.
Basically, folks like Arthur—visiting lords, knights, celebrities, and rich merchants here for the show.
Dorne and the Iron Islands were no-shows.
The Northern envoy sat in the second tier, and many Crownlands and Dragonstone lords were courtiers anyway, so they blended in.
Dragonstone didn't have many vassals—mainly House Celtigar and House Velaryon leading the pack.
The main attendees were from the Reach, the Westerlands, the Vale, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands.
First up, the Reach lords.
House Tyrell and their vassals.
Leading them was the brown-curly-haired, sturdy Mace Tyrell, alongside his sharp-tongued, skinny mother, the "Queen of Thorns." Her eldest son, Willas Tyrell—Willas wasn't crippled yet.
The Queen of Thorns had been a beauty in her youth, but time had taken its toll.
Vassals included Lord Paxter Redwyne, Lord Mathis Rowan.
Lord Randyll Tarly with his massive greatsword, the wealthy Lord Florent, and Lord Oakheart of Old Oak.
House Tyrell had backed the wrong side, but they were too strong—the Iron Throne's punishment was just a slap on the wrist, basically keeping them out of the inner circle.
The chilliest of the big four, House Hightower, was nowhere to be seen.
They'd really been scarred by the Dance of the Dragons, keeping to themselves.
Or more likely, House Hightower was deep into occult studies.
Second, the Westerlands lords.
House Lannister and their hangers-on, led by "Tywin's shadow," Kevan Lannister.
After Tywin wiped out the Reynes and Tarbeks, the Westerlands didn't have any standout lords left.
House Marbrand, House Farman of Fair Isle, the "Boar" House Crakehall, the Leffords of the Golden Tooth—these were the stronger ones. House Prester wasn't bad either.
Yeah, Tywin wasn't here.
A guy as arrogant as Tywin—he'd been Hand in his twenties, and bowing to Arryn now probably stuck in his craw.
The Iron Throne had spots open, but regular ones wouldn't satisfy the former Hand.
Being a minister was an honor for others, but Tywin sneered at serving.
Plus, Tywin was pissed this time.
Robert was so fertile, Cersei was pregnant— no need to rush.
But Robert just waved his hand and gave away a huge chunk of land. So generous.
Any idiot could see splitting the pie like that was sloppy, let alone a sly fox like Tywin.
Too bad his objections fell flat, so he skipped it.
Third, the Vale lords.
Plenty of House Arryn's vassals showed, led by "Bronze" Yohn, Lord Grafton, and others.
Jon Arryn was stuck in King's Landing, so "Bronze" Yohn repped the Vale, bringing the other lords.
The Reach, Westerlands, and Vale ranked top three in wealth, ports, and population overall—no question.
The Riverlands, North, Stormlands, and Dorne each had their pros and cons, with Dorne officially dead last in population.
Fourth, the Stormlands lords.
House Swann, House Dondarrion, House Caron, House Tarth, and other big names all showed. The Stormlands turned out in force.
After all, this was a big deal for the Stormlands—all vassals had to swear fealty in person.
Fifth, the North.
The North only sent someone from House Manderly, fitting their remote, rugged vibe.
Sixth, the Riverlands.
The Riverlands were rich in resources and people, with lords everywhere—basically a budget version of the Reach.
But the Riverlands folks weren't united, so they ranked where they did.
Hoster hadn't wormed into the Small Council for that reason—his pull was weak.
Besides the Tully father and son at the council table.
Down below, the Riverlands were led by Lord Blackwood of Raventree Hall, Lord Mallister of Seagard, Lord Bracken, House Frey's heir Ser Stevron Frey, and Harrenhal's heir Arthur Whent.
"Renly, come stand here!" Robert suddenly boomed, his voice thundering like a storm.
Big guys like him always had voices that carried, perfect for commanding armies on the field.
Robert stepped down from the Iron Throne, and a white knight handed him an ornately carved sword.
Renly obediently left his seat, then under the gaze of hundreds,
Renly scampered up to the throne platform and knelt at the base of the Iron Throne.
All the ministers at the council table stood up, clearing space for the king's ceremony to avoid blocking the view.
Tall and imposing, Robert loomed over Renly, making the boy look like a toddler.
"In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I invest my brother Renly Baratheon as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Duke of Storm's End." Robert drew the longsword and rested it on his brother's shoulder.
Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Duke of Storm's End.
"No greater honor than serving Your Grace. In the sight of the old gods and the new, I swear eternal fealty to Your Grace," Renly declared, his voice clear and strong.
Robert named Stannis Duke of Dragonstone, but handed Storm's End's lands and taxes straight to Renly.
Such a straightforward move, one simple order, and it ticked off a bunch of people.
Like sowing discord to take out rivals.
The killer part was that the decree came straight from the king himself.
Basically, "after I'm gone, who cares about the flood."
A rift had already cracked across the Iron Throne—not just between Robert's brothers, but between husband and wife too.
Right then, no one in the hall objected; cheers exploded like thunder.