The Conciliator's speech, a gathering storm
The Red Keep's banquet hall has never been as magnificent as it is today. Even the banquets last year celebrating Rhaenyra's birth and Daemon's return to the family, and even the King and Queen's wedding banquet, seem to pale in comparison to today's feast celebrating the King's successful conclusion of the Tournament of the Seven Kingdoms.
Three hundred giant beeswax candles burned on silver chains hanging from the dome, their flickering flames bringing the brocades hanging on the walls to life.
To the east lies the grandeur of Aegon the Conqueror's Balerion burning Harrenhal; to the west, the tender romance of Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne's journey through the Seven Kingdoms; to the north, the fierce battle of the Battle of the Hundred Candles Dorne by Jaehaerys, Aemon, and the Baelon father and son; and to the south, Prince Baelon's valor last year, leading the Little Daemon Dragonstone and the Velaryon Fleet to defeat the pirates of the Three Cities.
The candlelight illuminated the Dragonfire and spears in the brocade, as if the glory of the Targaryen over the past century had been blended into the warm night.
A long table stretched from the hall entrance to the foot of the high throne, its surface covered with scarlet velvet from Arbor and piled high with delicacies from the Seven Kingdoms:
The roasted wild boar from the Westerlands is stuffed with apples and rosemary, its skin roasted to a golden brown and glistening with oil.
The candied cherries from the Reach were piled up like small mountains, with sweet pies sprinkled with almond flour placed next to them;
The smoked deer leg from the the North is wrapped in a thin pancake and served with a cranberry jam.
The lemon cake across the Narrow Sea was sprinkled with gold leaf, and even the silver plate on which the food was served was engraved with a three-headed dragon pattern.
The musicians sat in the corner, the melodies of harps and Roote flowing in the air, mingling with the aroma of ale, the fat of roasted meat, and the fragrance of incense on the nobles, creating an atmosphere unique to this celebration.
The feudal lords chatted in small groups, the clinking of silver cups mingling with laughter, like a hymn of peace.
In the western seats, Lord Taimond Lannister was clinking glasses with Lord Mathos Tyrell, their silver cups, adorned with gold lions and roses, striking each other with a clear, resonant sound.
"Lord Tyrell," Taimond's voice carried the characteristic steadiness of a Westerlands man, "The wines of the Reach are richer than ever this year; it seems peace truly does nourish."
Mathos smiled and nodded, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "Lord Lannister's gold mines have made the Westerlands increasingly prosperous. I heard the new foundry in Ashemark is nearing completion?"
The two exchanged a smile. Behind them, Jason Lannister and Tyland Lannister were chatting animatedly with Garlan Tyrell, their conversation ranging from the lances used in the tournament to the trade routes of the Narrow Sea.
The seats for the younger people were much more lively on the other side.
Brandon Stark, with his arm around Borros Baratheon's shoulder, held up a rough earthenware cup filled with the North ale. "Borros! Next time we're at Storm's End, I'll definitely challenge you to a battle axe duel!"
Borros patted him on the back, laughing heartily, "Alright! Let this Wild Wolf from the the North see just how hard our Stormlands axes are!"
Harmund Umber, who was pouring drinks for everyone, exclaimed excitedly, his rough face beaming, "If Little Daemon were here too, and we all got together at one table, we'd definitely have to make that kid Myles Rivers perform a plank-breaking act!"
Meanwhile, the seats in the Vale were relatively quiet.
Yobert House Royce Earl speaking in hushed tones with Earl Corbray, his gaze occasionally sweeping over Rhea House Royce.
Today she wore a bronze-patterned dress, clutching a silk handkerchief in her hand. Although her face was expressionless, a hint of weariness was hidden in her eyes.
Lyonel Corbray and Harlan Hunter, unusually not sitting with their brothers from Daemon's follower guard, returned to their family seats at the banquet, holding wooden plaques and recounting the day's lance duel. "Your Highness's final move, using the opponent's force to lift the spear, I still haven't figured it out, you see—"
Lyonel shook his head with a smile, "If even you, a master archer, couldn't see it clearly, how could I? At the time, I only felt it was as fast as lightning."
Beneath the high throne, Daemon held Gael's hand, feeling the warmth of her palm through his fingertips.
Before the crown of "Queen of Love and Beauty" was removed from Gael's head, the petals of a golden rose brushed against her cheek, causing a slight tickle.
Mysaria and Johanna Swann served behind her, while Brienne Tarth and Lia Osgre stood guard on either side of her.
"Look," Gael said softly, her gaze sweeping across the room, "Everyone is very happy."
Daemon followed her gaze and saw Rhaenys holding Laena and Laenor, with Jocelyn sitting beside her, the two of them laughing and talking.
Viserys had his arm around Aemma, while Rhaenyra rested on her father's shoulder, clutching a piece of honey cake in her small hand and popping a bite into her mouth every now and then.
Prince Baelon stood at the edge of the platform, conversing with Sir Leonno Strong, his deep purple eyes filled with satisfaction.
Just then, the master of ceremonies' voice rang out through the horns. "His Majesty the King and His Majesty the Queen have arrived!"
The music suddenly stopped, and the feudal lords all stood up, their eyes fixed on the hall entrance.
King Jaehaerys, leaning on his ruby-encrusted scepter, entered slowly, supported by Queen Alysanne and her maid Alicent. His long, silver hair was tied up with a golden crown, and the golden dragon embroidered on his black robe gleamed dimly in the candlelight.
Although the old man's steps were somewhat slow, they still carried a kingly majesty, each step seeming to tread on everyone's heartbeat.
After the king and queen took their seats on the high throne, the princes bowed and sat down. The banquet hall fell silent instantly, with only the crackling of the candlelight.
Jaehaerys cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across the room. His voice, though slightly hoarse, carried an undeniable authority. "My vassals, my friends, my people."
He paused, looking at the familiar and unfamiliar faces.
Some were old nobles who had followed him in battle, some were young people who had recently inherited their territories, and some were representatives of commoners who had come from all over the Seven Kingdoms.
"Today, we not only celebrate the successful conclusion of the martial arts tournament, but also the fiftieth year of my reign over the Seven Kingdoms."
A low cheer rose from the audience, and someone raised a silver cup in salute. Jaehaerys gestured for silence and continued, "Fifty years ago, when I reclaimed the Iron Throne from the cruel Maegor, the Seven Kingdoms were shrouded in war and fear. At that time, the ruins of Harrenhal were still smoking, the spears of Dorne were still pointed at the Dornish Marches, and the longships of the Iron Islands were still plundering the coasts of the Riverlands."
His voice softened. "It was Alysanne who stood by me, it was the ancestors of all of you present here who stood by me— the House Baratheon held the line of defense for the Stormlands, the House Lannister stabilized the Westerlands, the House Stark quelled the rebellion in the the North, House Tyrell brought life back to the Reach. Without you, without your ancestors, there would be no Seven Kingdoms as we know them today."
The old king's gaze fell upon the gray-haired nobles, his tone filled with emotion. "I still remember when I was a boy, leading Aemon and the Baelon brothers alongside Duke Boremund Baratheon to defend Storm's End; I remember forging swords with Duke Taimond Lannister's father in Lannisport, discussing how to strengthen the sea defenses. Now, even Boremund's son, Borros, can wield a battle axe, and Taimond has become the guardian of the Westerlands."
Earl Boremund Baratheon rose and bowed. "Your Majesty, it is an eternal honor for House Baratheon to serve the Targaryen dragons."
Taimond rose as well, his golden lion-patterned cloak sweeping across the ground. "The Westerlands are also commanders forever loyal to the Iron Throne."
Jaehaerys nodded slightly, a smile of satisfaction in his eyes, "This fifty years of peace is not my achievement alone, but a shared glory of the Iron Throne, all its vassals, and all its subjects. Today, I raise a glass to this glory—to the Seven Kingdoms, to peace, and to everyone present!"
The feudal lords raised their silver cups in unison, their cheers so loud that the candlelight flickered.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Mathos Tyrell shouted first, "Long live His Majesty the King!"
Immediately following, shouts of "Long live the Targaryen!" and "Long live peace!" rose and fell, and even the musicians in the corners couldn't help but applaud.
As the cheers gradually subsided, Jaehaerys's expression turned serious, his gaze regaining its usual sharpness. "But peace and prosperity are never eternal. There will always be some people who cannot bear to see us stable, cannot bear to see us prosper."
His voice suddenly rose. "Those treacherous and vicious Sand Snakes of Dorne have never given up their covetousness of the bountiful and peaceful Stormlands and Reach. Last year, their envoys were still in secret talks with the Triarchy on the Stepstones, attempting to incite war; earlier this year, their cavalry even crossed the Dornish Marches and plundered the villages attached to Storm's End!"
The seats in Stormlands instantly erupted in cheers.
Even the usually composed Duke Boremund Baratheon's face flushed crimson, his fists clenched white. "His Majesty is right! Those Sand Snakes deserve to taste Dragonfire!"
Borros, leading the young men of the Stormlands, slammed his fist on the table and shouted, "I will lead my army to Dorne and trample their sun-piercing golden banner under my feet!"
The surrounding lords of the Stormlands echoed their sentiments, their voices filled with anger.
Mathos Tyrell frowned, and even Garlan beside him said angrily, "The serpents of Dorne are truly outrageous. Last year, our Reach caravans were robbed by them three times at Cape of the Broken Arm alone."
The lords of the Reach bend nodded in agreement, their eyes filled with dissatisfaction.
Jaehaerys raised his hand to quell the commotion and continued, "Even more hateful are the Ironborn of the Iron Islands! Their longships have twice invaded our seas this year—in the spring, they raided the Riverlands ' Seagard, burning half the harbor and Eagle Cape into a sea of fire; in the summer, they attacked Lannisport, and although they were repelled by the defenders, they almost set fire to all the merchant ships at the docks! This resulted in the tragedy of the ' Burning of Lannisport '!"
Lymond Earl Mallister Seagard abruptly stood up, the winged silver eagle emblem on his silver armor gleaming coldly in the candlelight. "Your Majesty! The Ironborn are rampant! The fishermen of Seagard are now unable to go to sea because of the burning at the beginning of the year!"
Earl Farman of Fairy Island also rose to his feet, his voice trembling. "My daughter was nearly kidnapped by the Ironborn on her way to Casterly Rock last year! Those pirates deserve to be burned to ashes by dragonfire!"
In the western seat, Taimond Lannister's face instantly turned as cold as ice, his grip on the silver cup with the golden lion emblem deformed, his knuckles turning white from the force.
Mathos Tyrell, standing beside him, was startled by his sudden outburst of anger and instinctively moved aside.
This Warden of the West, though usually calm and collected, was now like an enraged lion, his eyes blazing with fury.
Jason Lannister and Tyland Lannister also glared ahead, clearly still harboring resentment over the Ironborn's burning of Lannisport that night, despite their youth.
The atmosphere in the banquet hall instantly became heavy. The discussions among the lords were filled with anger and worry. Some said they should send a fleet to the Iron Islands, while others said they should ask the king to send a dragon to quell the rebellion.
Just then, Jaehaerys's voice rang out again, his tone tinged with warmth. "Fortunately, my grandson Little Daemon., happened to pass through those places while touring the Seven Kingdoms."
All eyes instantly focused on Daemon. He tightened his Gael's hand slightly, stood up, and bowed slightly to the platform.
"When the Seagard was attacked in spring, Little Daemon, riding Glutton, arrived with his cousin, Big Daemon, and aunt, Gael, and used the dragonfire of Caraxes and the three-headed Dragonfire Dreamfyre to burn down the Ironborn invaders; when Lannisport was burned in summer, he again led his men and the garrison to repel the Ironborn, preventing a greater tragedy."
Jaehaerys's self-bright light fell upon Daemon, his eyes brimming with pride. "Lannisport is not only the heart and jewel of the Westerlands and House Lannister, but also the jewel of the entire Seven Kingdoms ' west coast. The Burning of Lannisport summer" is not only a sorrow and disgrace for the Westerlands and House Lannister, but also a sorrow and disgrace for all of the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne!
Glancing at the expressions of the lords below, Jaehaerys spoke again slowly, "Today, I do not wish to lament the devastation of the Ironborn raids, nor merely to praise my grandsons and descendants alone, but to tell you all, to tell all my subjects—my vassals—that the dragons of Targaryen Lineage are forever with you!"
His voice suddenly rose, carrying a power that pierced the heart. "When the Sand Snakes of Dorne cross the Dornish Marches, when the Ironborn longships sail to your harbors, when any foreign enemy invades, the royal dragons will circle over your lands, burning all invading foe for you—my loyal subjects!"
As soon as he finished speaking, a deafening cheer erupted in the banquet hall.
Lord Lemon Mellist was moved to tears, and Lord Farman raised his silver cup and shouted once more, "Long live His Majesty the King! Long live the Targaryens!"
Taimond Lannister's anger gradually subsided, and a smile appeared on his face. When he clinked glasses with Mathos Tyrell again, this time with a noticeably stronger force than before.
Daemon, holding Gael, slowly stood up again and bowed slightly to the high platform and the feudal lords.
The laurel wreath on Gael's head gleamed in the candlelight, and her pale purple eyes were filled with pride;
Daemon tightened his grip on the Blackfyre, feeling the warmth of those around him and the enthusiasm of the lords. His heart was filled with determination—he would use the Dragonfire of his Glutton and the Blackfyre in his hand to firmly protect this peace.
The musicians played the music again, this time with an even more stirring melody than before;
The laughter and conversation of the feudal lords resumed, even more enthusiastic than before.
The clinking of silver glasses, the aroma of roasted meat, the dragon silhouette in the brocade, and the gentle gazes of the King and Queen on the high throne brought the banquet to a climax.
As night deepened, the lights of the Red Keep remained dazzling, like a jewel set in the heart of King's Landing.
The lords were still raising their glasses in celebration, discussing the beauty of peace and the hope for the future, but no one noticed that Prince Baelon on the edge of the platform was speaking in hushed tones with Ser Leonno Strong. Both of them were filled with solemnity. They knew that the threat from Dorne and the Ironborn was far from over, and this celebration of peace was more like the prelude to a war.
But at this moment, no one wanted to break the festive atmosphere. Everyone was immersed in the glory of fifty years of peace, in the king's promise of protection, and in the hard-won tranquility that belonged to the Seven Kingdoms.
Of course, the King's speech today is not over yet, and a new storm is gradually brewing. This storm will soon sweep across the entire coast of Westeros, drifting towards the Iron Islands to the west and the Sand Serpents of Dorne to the south, and finally heading straight for the other side of the Narrow Sea.