A reshuffle of appointments

In the council chamber of the Red Keep Small Council, the morning light slanted through the carved lattice windows of the high windows, falling obliquely on the red-gold three-headed dragon emblem in the center of the long table, giving it a cold and majestic light.

The air in the hall was like solidified amber, carrying the scent of aged wood and the rich aroma of ambergris; every breath seemed to touch the sharp edge of a power struggle.

Several high-backed chairs were arranged in order of their relationship to the royal family and their rank, and the family crests on the backs of each chair, representing the status of their owners, were clearly visible in the light:

The Targaryen's three-headed red dragon, the House Velaryon's silver seahorse, the Lannister's roaring golden lion, the Burning Tower of Hightower, Strong's tricolor stripes, and the Triassic hive of Beesbury—

Every line exudes an invisible tension, as if they are silently competing.

King Jaehaerys sat on the highest throne, his long silver hair tied up with a golden crown, the golden dragon patterns on his black robe flowing in the light, and his hand holding the ruby scepter trembling slightly, yet still exuding the majesty accumulated over fifty years of rule.

Queen Alysanne attended the meeting today, seated to the side. Her long, silver-grey hair was styled in a bun and adorned with pearl hairpins. Her gaze was calm yet insightful.

Prince Baelon stood beside the King, his deep black tuxedo outlined with crimson and gold thread, the Vhagar- style dragon pattern gleaming. An old wound on his ribs caused him to stand slightly to the side, but it did not diminish his composed aura as the "Prince of Spring Dawn".

Daemon sat at the end of the long table, his black dragon-scale-patterned tuxedo gleaming with a dark gold luster in the sunlight. His long silver-gold hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his deep purple eyes were calm and undisturbed. The Blackfyre was slung across his waist, the dragon patterns on its scabbard echoing the patterns on his clothing.

He gently stroked the hilt of his sword with his fingertips, awaiting the core of the meeting—the handover of his position as Minister of Intelligence—his expression so composed as if he were discussing a trivial matter.

Otto Hightower sat on the left side of the long table, his dark green velvet robe embroidered with a burning tower pattern on the collar. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the badge of the Master of Laws on his chest, a hint of barely perceptible smugness hidden in his eyes.

He had received a secret report from Ellyn Beesbury last night, informing him that Daemon was overwhelmed with work in Dragon's Roost Port due to the torrential rains and had even had some minor clashes with the displaced people.

At this moment, it is assumed that Daemon resigned voluntarily because he could not withstand the pressure. As long as the position of Minister of Intelligence becomes vacant, he can install his own confidant to further weaken Daemon's power and even indirectly regain control of part of King's Landing's intelligence network.

Little did he know that Damon's true intention was simply to temporarily distance himself from the vortex of power in King's Landing, the center of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, to focus on developing his own territory and influence, accumulating strength, and avoiding suspicion.

"Your Majesty, and all the esteemed officials present today," Daemon broke the silence first, his voice steady as Narrow Sea current, piercing through the oppressive atmosphere of the hall, "The construction of Dragon's Roost Port is on track, and the governance of the Crownlands is becoming increasingly complex. My energy is limited, so I have come today to resign from my position as Minister of Intelligence, and humbly request Your Majesty's permission."

He rose and bowed, his movements fluid and respectful. Strands of his silver-gold hair fell with the movement, obscuring the corner of his eye, but unable to conceal his composure.

Otto's lips curled up almost imperceptibly, and the smugness in his eyes was almost overflowing.

He deliberately kept a straight face, but couldn't help glancing at Mund Hightower beside him out of the corner of his eye. His nephew immediately understood and quietly straightened his back, clearly ready to read out the names of their "own people" for his uncle.

In Otto's view, the important position of Minister of Intelligence was either held by himself or a confidant of his friend Viserys, or by someone from the House Lannister whom he had already bribed; in any case, it would fall under his control.

King Jaehaerys tapped his scepter lightly; the crisp sound of the ruby tip striking the marble floor made the air in the hall even more heavy.

"Granted." The old king's voice was not loud, but every word was clear. "My youngest grandson Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen, your achievements in pacifying the Narrow Sea and expanding the Crab Claw Peninsula are outstanding. It is a wise move for you to resign from your position as Minister of Intelligence and focus on governing the Crownlands."

Otto suppressed his excitement, his fingers tightening slightly as he plotted how to gain an advantage in the upcoming nomination round.

He had even prepared his arguments, intending to recommend "his own people" on the grounds that "the intelligence network needs to be managed by a mature and prudent person."

With the support of several ministers, His Majesty the "the Conciliator" will most likely not reject the proposal.

But just as Otto was about to speak, the Grand Maester Alar emerged from the corner, holding a roll of parchment.

The old scholar, frail and with a somewhat unsteady gait, still straightened his back, unfolded the parchment, and read aloud in a hoarse yet resonant voice, "By order of His Majesty the the Conciliator, the position of Minister of Intelligence Bartimos Celtigar, Earl of Crab Island, nominated by His Highness Daemon Blackfyre."

Earl Bartimos, of ancient Valyria lineage, whose family has served the Targaryen for generations, is well-versed in the Narrow Sea trade and intelligence networks. Effective immediately, he will be fully responsible for intelligence affairs before the Emperor and will attend Small Council.

"What?" Otto looked up abruptly, his eyes filled with astonishment, as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world.

He even doubted his ears and subconsciously asked, "Scholar Alar, are you pronouncing it wrong?"

"Bartimos Celtigar? He's just a lord of a remote Crab Island, how could he possibly be qualified for such an important position as Minister of Intelligence?"

His voice, tinged with a hint of irritation, shattered the solemnity of the council chamber.

All eyes in the hall instantly focused on Otto, some with surprise, some with amusement, and some with understanding.

Bartimos stood behind Daemon, wearing a deep red velvet robe embroidered with golden crabs, the ruby scimitar at his waist reflecting the light.

The moment he heard the appointment, his eyes lit up like stars, his slightly hunched back straightened abruptly, the fawning smile on his face turned into undisguised excitement, and his hands even trembled slightly.

He deliberately puffed out his belly, making the red and white crab-patterned badge on his chest more conspicuous. When his eyes swept over Otto, there was a hint of smug satisfaction in his expression, as if to say, "The person you once looked down on has now stepped on your path."

Daemon slowly straightened up, a faint smile flashing in his deep purple eyes, and looked at Otto, saying, "Lord Otto, although Earl Bartimos has lived on Crab Island for a long time, he controls more than half of the merchant ships in the Narrow Sea. His ancestors once served as the Hand of the King and the Master of Coin, and his family has a profound foundation."

Compared to some people who only spread rumors and sabotage others, he is clearly more suitable to lead the intelligence network.

These words directly targeted Otto's previous actions, causing Otto's face to flush red instantly, as if he had been slapped in the face in public.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't find any reason to refute it. He could only clench his fists tightly, his nails almost digging into his palms. The smugness in his eyes was replaced by astonishment, as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

Mund Hightower stood behind Otto, his expectant expression freezing instantly, the smile at the corner of his mouth turning into an awkward line.

He glanced instinctively at his uncle, only to see Otto's face ashen. He could only lower his head silently, his fingers nervously twisting the hem of his robe, his heart filled with disappointment and fear.

He knew that his uncle's faction had once again missed this golden opportunity to rise to power, and that his uncle's plan seemed to have failed from the very beginning.

Corlys House Velaryon sat on the other side of the long table, a silver-white seahorse-patterned cloak draped over the back of his chair, toying with the barrel of a brass telescope in his hand.

Upon hearing of Bartimos's appointment, his eyes remained completely unmoved, as if he had already anticipated it.

He glanced at Otto's flustered appearance, a faint smile curving his lips before returning to his calm. He merely slowed the rotation of the telescope with his fingertips, revealing a hint of understanding.

Taimond Lannister sat opposite Corlys, his gold ring twirling lightly on his finger, watching the farce unfold with indifferent eyes.

It was as if the dazed Otto Hightower was not an "ally" on the same side as him.

He didn't really care who the intelligence minister belonged to; as long as the interests of the Westerlands were not harmed, it didn't matter to him who took charge of the intelligence network.

Seeing Otto's humiliation, a barely perceptible glint of amusement flashed in his eyes, and the gold ring spun slightly faster, as if cheering for this silent contest.

Vaegon Targaryen sat beside the maester of Alar, dressed in a grey maester's robe with the Citadel chain pinned to his collar, holding a copy of the Book of Chronicle of the Stars, seemingly oblivious to the personnel changes in the hall.

He occasionally lowered his head to turn the pages, his fingertips moving smoothly across the pages. Only when he heard the name "Bartimos Celtigar" did his eyelids lift slightly, before returning to normal, as if he had only heard an insignificant place name.

Prince Baelon's gaze swept over Otto, his purple eyes filled with majesty and a hint of barely perceptible warning.

He didn't speak, but simply nodded slightly, signaling the Grand Maester of Alar to continue. His calm demeanor instantly quelled Otto's outburst, but he still sat back down in his chair, his chest heaving violently.

"Your Majesty, I—I will certainly not fail Your the Conciliator's high expectations!" Bartimos Celtigar, suppressing his excitement, knelt on one knee, his voice trembling slightly but exceptionally firm, "I will definitely purge the traitors from the intelligence network, for the Iron Throne..."

To protect Your Highnesses and ensure that no movement in King's Landing capital escapes His Majesty's notice!

King Jaehaerys nodded slightly, his scepter striking the ground again. "Rise, Lord Bartimos. Remember your oath. The intelligence network is the eyes and ears of the Iron Throne, and cannot tolerate any selfish motives. If anything goes wrong, Dragonfire will show no mercy."

"Your Majesty's teachings will be remembered!" Bartimos respectfully rose and sat down in the empty chair next to Otto, deliberately straightening his back and looking straight ahead, as if he were already used to sitting in this seat at the Small Council.

He occasionally glanced at Otto's tense profile out of the corner of his eye, his smugness almost overflowing.

The House Celtigar, absent from the Small Council for many years, has finally returned to the center of power under his leadership, all thanks to his successful bet on Daemon, the "true dragon."

Otto sat in the chair, feeling extremely uncomfortable. The strong ambergris emanating from Bartimos, mixed with the salty scent of the sea, felt like a thorn in his heart.

He subconsciously shifted to the side, his eyes fixed on the table with a sinister gaze, his fingertips unconsciously tracing circles on the surface, his mind racing as he pondered the deeper meaning behind it—

Daemon's voluntary resignation, coupled with his recommendation of Bartimos Celtigar, clearly indicates that he had planned this all along. This means that even if Daemon doesn't take charge of the intelligence network, he can still control the intelligence network through Bartimos. Damon's previous schemes have become utterly laughable.

Just as Otto was still struggling to calm his emotions, the Grand Maester Alar unfurled another scroll of parchment, cleared his throat, and continued reading, "Second decree: The position of Master of Ships shall be reinstated by Earl Corlys House Velaryon of Tidehead Island;

The position of Provisional Governor of the Stepstones is hereby officially assumed, effective immediately, by the newly Master of Ships, Corlys House Velaryon, who will be fully responsible for the governance, trade, and defense of the Stepstones. The Joint Fleet, except for its daily command and dispatch, will be under the Master of Ships.

This imperial decree was like a second thunderbolt, causing another uproar among the people in the hall.

Leonno Strong sat on the other side of the long table, dressed in a black outfit, his bald head gleaming in the light. The moment he heard the decree, his hand gripping the silver chain tightened abruptly, and the composure on his face was instantly replaced by astonishment.

He knew his position as Master of Ships was only temporary, but he never expected to be replaced so quickly, and by Corlys House Velaryon no less.

That legendary sailor, captain, and navigator who completed nine great voyages and twice resigned Master of Ships.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he only sighed softly, a hint of relief flashing in his eyes, along with a barely perceptible sense of loss.

After all, the position of Master of Ships embodied his love for the fleet, and although his resignation was expected, he still felt somewhat melancholy.

Otto's expression became even more complicated.

While Corlys cannot be considered a staunch supporter of Daemon, his return to the Master of Ships and concurrently governor of the Stepstones undoubtedly signifies the consolidation of his power in the Narrow Sea, and the complete fall of the Joint Fleet into the control of Daemon and Corlys, or rather, the Royal Family.

He looked at Leonno, his eyes filled with complex emotions— Leonno was also a close friend of Viserys, and someone he had previously tried to win over. Now that Leonno had stepped down, he had lost a potential breakthrough, and he couldn't tell whether he was happy or sad.

The good news is that Leonno, his "rival," has left the position of Master of Ships; the bad news is that his successor is the even more difficult Corlys to deal with.

Corlys slowly rose, his long, silvery hair gleaming coldly in the light. He bowed deeply, his voice as steady as the deep sea. "Your subject, Corlys House Velaryon, thanks Your Majesty for your trust. I will certainly live up to your expectations, govern the Stepstones well, safeguard the Narrow Sea route, and make the Joint Fleet the sharpest naval weapon on the Iron Throne."

His gaze swept across the hall, and when he met Daemon's eyes, he nodded slightly, revealing a tacit understanding.

When Taimond met his gaze, Taimond nodded slightly, his gold ring stopping its spinning, clearly indicating that he had no objection to the appointment. With Corlys in charge of the navy, trade routes in the Westerlands would be smoother, which would be beneficial to House Lannister.

King Jaehaerys nodded in satisfaction. "Corlys, you have nine voyages and are highly experienced. I trust you with the Stepstones. The Joint Fleet is the shield of the Seven Kingdoms and must be well managed; we must not betray the trust of the lords."

"Your subject will keep that in mind." Corlys returned to his seat, still fiddling with the telescope, his expression as calm as if he had merely accepted a trivial task.

Only those who know him well understand that beneath this calm lies a love for the ocean and a reverence for responsibility.

Leonno took a deep breath, rose, and bowed to King Jaehaerys: "Your Majesty, I wish to immediately hand over the seal of the Master of Ships and the fleet roster to Lord Corlys."

"There's no need to rush. We can hand over the duties later." Jaehaerys waved his hand gently, his tone mild. "Leonno, during your tenure, the Joint Fleet was well-organized and your contributions were immense. The Iron Throne will not forget your achievements."

Leonno bowed in thanks, returned to his seat, and lightly tapped the table with his fingers. The disappointment in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a hint of anticipation.

He knew that since the king had said that, there must be a follow-up plan, and he wouldn't leave empty-handed.

As Otto watched this scene, his unease grew stronger.

Daemon resigned but supported Bartimos; Corlys returned to the Navy and took control of the Joint Fleet and the Stepstones in place of the royal family;

This series of personnel changes was clearly planned by King Jaehaerys and Prince Baelon long ago, with the aim of consolidating the power of the Targaryen royal family and weakening his previous influence.

He glanced instinctively at Viserys's seat, only to find that Viserys was absent again due to "illness," and his last shred of hope vanished.

Without his close friend Viserys to mediate, he became increasingly isolated and helpless at the Small Council.