The investiture ceremony ended, and Suleiman slowly stepped back into the gathering of Riverlands nobles.
The clamor in the hall gradually subsided, but the tension hanging in the air only grew heavier.
Before a storm arrived, there was always a moment of dead silence.
Everyone knew that the real matter was only beginning now.
Robert Baratheon sheathed his heavy sword with a dull clang.
He handed the sword to an attendant, his gaze sweeping over the nobles gathered below.
Like a lion surveying its domain, his eyes passed over the Stormlands and The Reach before finally settling on the Riverlands nobles.
"Warriors of the Riverlands, I will remember your deeds."
The king's booming voice echoed through the hall.
The Riverlands nobles bowed in acknowledgment, pride showing on their faces.
Jon Arryn stood at the Hand of the King's position, a trace of weariness passing over his wrinkled face.
He sighed soundlessly. The breath was faint, yet it carried his deep concern for the kingdom's future.
Young Raymun Darry stepped half a pace forward, seemingly intending to speak on their behalf.
But someone was faster than him, forcing him to retreat awkwardly.
A corpulent figure squeezed out from the crowd and trudged heavily into the open space before the throne.
William Mooton of Maidenpool.
His luxurious robes clung tightly to his bloated body like taut sausage casing.
He bowed deeply to the king. The motion was somewhat comical, but no one laughed.
William Mooton's voice was as weak and hollow as the man himself. "Your Majesty."
"Forgive my presumption, but on this day of rewarding merit, there is one contribution we must not forget."
Robert Baratheon watched him with interest, his fingers tapping the armrest. "Go on."
William Mooton's voice rose. "I stand here today entirely because of Lord Lymond Lychester."