Shouting, feasting, flowing wine, and smiling faces.
The atmosphere in the Throne Room was intoxicating, pulling everyone into a collective, euphoric trance.
Every lord, lady, knight, and merchant prince was cheering for Robert's reign, acting as if they had officially entered a golden age of eternal summer.
No wars, no bitter disputes—just a sea of apparent harmony.
Luxury and excess were naturally corrosive to a man's ambition, and this was the absolute pinnacle of material indulgence.
Right now, the overarching mood of the realm was focused on recovery and enjoyment; the grim specter of war felt like a distant memory.
"Without a doubt," Arthur smiled, exchanging pleasantries with his "uncle," Edmure Tully. On the surface, their interaction was incredibly warm and familial, but beneath the smiles, the tension was palpable.
You only had to look at Edmure's inner circle to understand the reality. His closest friends were all heirs to western Riverlands houses: Piper, Vance, Mallister, Blackwood.
The deep physical divide created by the Trident, compounded by the fresh, bleeding scars of the Rebellion, had essentially hard-locked House Tully's social network to the west.
Marriage alliances, fostering, squiring—ultimately, cold, hard self-interest was the only true foundation for an alliance.
After Edmure drifted away, Arthur found himself face-to-face with Lord Jason Mallister, a true knight of the old guard.
Standing before Arthur, the Lord of Seagard and premier power of the western Riverlands looked exactly like a fierce, aging falcon.
He was a tall, lean man, clean-shaven, with brown hair heavily streaked with white and a pair of predatory, blue-grey eyes. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones high and sharp.
Arthur was quite familiar with Lord Jason's reputation. If the Riverlands had a "martial high ground," Seagard was it.
As a coastal fortress, Seagard's ancient, sacred duty was to serve as the early warning system and first line of defense against Ironborn reavers.
(Though, to be fair, ever since Aegon's Conquest, the Ironborn had mostly shifted their raiding focus to the Westerlands, the Reach, and the North, leaving the Riverlands relatively unbothered).
During Robert's Rebellion, Lord Jason had personally slain three of Rhaegar Targaryen's sworn knights at the Battle of the Trident.
(And in the original timeline, during the Greyjoy Rebellion a few years from now, Lord Jason would personally cut down King Balon's eldest son and heir, Rodrik Greyjoy, beneath the walls of his castle, driving the Ironborn back into the sea).
Currently, the Riverlands suffered from a severe shortage of elite, top-tier knights. Lord Jason, the "Blackfish" Brynden Tully, Lord Blackwood, and Lord Bracken were essentially the only true heavyweights left.
The awkward part was that they were all getting old, and the Blackfish had fucked off to the Vale to serve House Arryn.
As for the younger generation of Riverlords? They were, frankly, incredibly underwhelming.
"Good evening, Lord Jason," Arthur greeted the veteran knight respectfully.
"You have good manners, boy. Give my regards to Earl Walter and his lady," Lord Jason replied, his tone clipped but polite.
House Mallister was famous for its strict adherence to chivalry and formal courtesy.
Even if they had been on opposite sides of the battlefield a few years ago, the bad blood had faded to a manageable level.
Following the initial, brutal wave of post-war purges and fines, the political landscape of the realm was basically locked in. The power dynamics in King's Landing had shifted massively, but the local lords remained largely the same.
"I will personally deliver your goodwill to Harrenhal, my lord," Arthur promised.
"I hear House Whent spends all its time in the dirt these days. Seems to be paying off," Lord Jason murmured softly, raising his goblet of Arbor red to clink against Arthur's cup.
"You flatter us, Lord Jason. We are blessed with the long summer; recovering our strength is our only priority right now," Arthur replied, swirling his lemon water with an easy smile.
"Indeed. The people are just like the land; they require tending and peace to recover. Harrenhal is perfectly suited for crops and cattle, while Seagard relies on its docks and its fleets. We actually complement each other quite well," Lord Jason noted, dropping the crucial hint.
"We do indeed. May the friendship between Seagard and Harrenhal be as sweet as the summer wine," Arthur replied, seamlessly slipping into the polite, empty flattery expected between lords. Both men seemed quite pleased with the exchange.
Lord Jason looked at Arthur with a complex expression. He had genuinely believed that Harrenhal was locked into an irreversible, terminal decline.
But the heir standing before him was poised, handsome, and radiating quiet competence.
If Arthur proved to be as politically astute as he was polite, Harrenhal might actually claw its way back from the grave.
By contrast, Lord Jason thought of his own heir, Patrek. Patrek was a core member of Edmure Tully's frat-boy entourage, and it seemed Edmure's mediocrity was contagious.
Patrek was excellent at drinking, whoring, and partying, but his actual leadership and martial skills were painfully average.
Even by the strict martial standards Lord Jason prided himself on, his son was a second-rate knight at best.
Honestly, it almost felt like the Tullys intentionally surrounded themselves with mediocre talent so they wouldn't look bad by comparison. Anyone who hung around them seemed to inevitably stagnate.
The two lords exchanged a few more pleasantries before Lord Jason excused himself.
"It seems Lord Jason is looking for a favor," Ser Lucas Dayne murmured once the older man was out of earshot.
"We both are," Arthur replied, setting his cup down.
The Iron Throne didn't care if the lords engaged in mutual economic cooperation. In fact, they encouraged it. The richer the vassals, the fatter the royal tax revenues.
Furthermore, the Iron Throne was currently making a passive effort to blur the lines between the former Royalists and the Rebels. Having extracted their pound of flesh, they were perfectly happy to let bygones be bygones, at least on the surface.
Because the Targaryen dynasty had been so utterly and completely annihilated—leaving only two miserable, exiled children—the lords of Westeros had collectively embraced a massive wave of optimistic pacifism. Everyone was just eager to get back to making money.
And honestly, they were right to feel that way. If Daenerys hadn't literally hatched dragons through sheer blood magic, the Targaryen line would have gone quietly extinct in Essos.
This economic anxiety was exactly what was driving Lord Jason.
Lord Jason was primarily a proud, martial knight, but he possessed a sliver of a merchant's cunning.
Unlike Lord Bracken or Lord Tarth, Lord Jason wasn't desperately trying to marry off a daughter; he had approached Arthur to feel out the possibility of a legitimate trade partnership.
Seagard possessed incredibly ancient, noble bloodlines and a solid port, but its actual landmass was relatively small.
As a result, Seagard's overall revenue had always been painfully average.
Centuries ago, the ancient River Kings had actively blocked towns like Fairmarket, Saltpans, Lord Harroway's Town, and Seagard from obtaining official city charters, deliberately stunting their growth to prevent them from becoming true economic threats.
Compare them to the Freys or the Whents.
Both were considered nouveau riche upstarts by the older houses, but they possessed unimaginable wealth. They generated massive, passive income through toll bridges and endless tracts of hyper-fertile farmland, allowing them to field massive armies.
---
Once the guests had eaten and drank their fill, the banquet finally wound down. The lords, knights, and ladies trickled out of the Throne Room, laughing and gossiping as they headed back to their respective quarters.
Arthur walked with a light step, feeling that the night had been a massive success.
House Darry, Mooton, Frey, Tarth, Bracken, Mallister.
The world bustles for profit. As long as there was mutual benefit to be found, there was always a path for communication and alliance.
---
High up on the dais, Jaime Lannister watched the guests file out, his mind churning with a toxic cocktail of emotions.
Jaime had, of course, spotted Arthur in the crowd. That black bat sigil was impossible to miss.
Ser Oswell Whent was dead, but seeing his great-nephew here tonight filled Jaime with a profound, suffocating sense of melancholy.
Given their shared history, he felt he should probably reach out and offer the boy some gesture of goodwill.
If he hadn't donned the white cloak, Jaime would have been sitting at one of those high tables as the heir to Casterly Rock, rather than standing against the wall like a glorified security guard.
He watched Cersei paste on a sickeningly sweet, fake smile as she coaxed her blackout-drunk husband toward the royal apartments.
"Good wine! The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair!" Robert roared with laughter, stumbling heavily.
Robert possessed a raw, magnetic affability. He was crude and boisterous, completely lacking Tywin's cold, suffocating arrogance, and people loved him for it.
Though Robert and Cersei's marriage was fundamentally toxic, Robert never hesitated to exercise his "rights" as a husband, especially when they were still maintaining the fragile illusion of a functional royal couple.
Following a few paces behind them, Jaime felt his blood boiling with absolute, homicidal rage.
Thanks to Jon Arryn's pragmatic advice, Robert had formally pardoned Jaime for his treason.
But Jaime would never, ever forget the "joke" Robert had made when he accepted his fealty.
"You've already killed one king, Lannister. Try not to kill another."
Robert was a loud, blunt man; he probably thought it was just a bit of dark, barracks humor.
But the Kingslayer was an incredibly vain, insecure, and petty man. He had never forgiven Robert for that casual, humiliating insult.
Watching Robert drunkenly paw at Cersei now only amplified Jaime's agonizing sense of impotence. He was the greatest swordsman alive, yet he was forced to stand by and watch another man claim the woman he loved.
Desperate to escape his current misery, Jaime's mind drifted back to his youth. Back when the world still made sense, back when everything was bright and honorable. Especially the day he first donned the white cloak.
Back when he was surrounded by his true brothers. Back when they were all legends.