In Harrenhal's temporary Council Chamber, the air was stifling, thick with the stale smell of wine and roasted meat.
Robert Baratheon's massive body sank into his chair. One hand gripped a heavy wine cup, while the fingers of the other nearly poked Suleiman in the nose.
He grinned, revealing teeth stained dark red by wine. "At tomorrow's ceremony, you will be knighted by the king himself, boy."
"Your deeds in battle have resounded throughout the Seven Kingdoms. They are nearly the equal of mine, and you deserve this honor."
The king's voice boomed like a war drum, echoing through the cramped room.
"Your Grace, all that I know and all that I possess come from the monarch's generosity."
Suleiman dropped to one knee and lowered his head, his posture humble and respectful.
"Your Grace ended the tyranny of House Targaryen through martial valor and brought about the present prosperity of the Seven Kingdoms. Your achievements surpass those of any legendary king of old. It is for this very reason that lords from all directions pledge their hearts and come to pay homage. For the Seven Kingdoms to have a ruler such as you is the fortune of the realm and its people."
"Your achievements are like the red sun hanging high in the sky, shining upon the Seven Kingdoms. All things grow by relying on your grace. My own accomplishments are no more than firefly light, a few scattered sparks. How could I dare compare myself to the sun?"
His voice was clear, carrying a cadence Robert Baratheon had never heard before.
"Your Grace's royal favor is vast, and you have bestowed such an honor upon me. I am filled with awe and gratitude, moved to tears. I only wish to serve you as faithfully as a hound and a