Jonos Bracken's words echoed through the vast, lavish banquet hall.
Then they plunged everyone into deathly silence.
Not one person stepped forward to rebuke his insolence.
Nor did anyone dare voice agreement with his anger.
The burning logs in the fireplace crackled and popped.
Firelight shone on every pale, terrified, or wavering face.
"No feast boded well, no gathering meant well."
Those words flashed through their minds.
They could not help recalling the banquets connected to Suleiman that had taken place in the Riverlands of late.
Five.
Five whole banquets connected to Suleiman.
To their horror, they realized that in this short span of time,
they could not find a single ordinary banquet held simply to improve relations.
The first had been House Grell's slaughter of the Ironborn at a banquet, where blood flowed and the gods were forsaken.
The second had been Lymond and Lychester plotting to seize the Riverlands over rounds of drinks, with undercurrents stirring.
The third had been a bloody purge of the Riverlands' merchants, with fortunes and heads tumbling together.
The fourth had been the slaughter of captives from the Vale, using screams and wails to test everyone's limits.
The fifth... was everything that had happened today.
A banquet of flowing wine and hidden daggers, a mass transfer of fiefs that would uproot them all.
No feast boded well, no gathering meant well.
They had best attend fewer of Suleiman's banquets from now on. Nothing good was ever bound to happen...
In the Westeros of the future, this reshuffling of power would surely give birth to a terrifying new term.
Suleiman's Feast.
"Lord Suleiman..."
A slightly hoarse voice, striving to remain steady, broke the suffocating silence.
Arwood Halton still sat in his seat, his posture upright, but his faintly trembling fingers betrayed the turmoil within