Clamp You, Clamp You, Clamp You

The banquet celebrating the king's coronation was naturally held in the Queen Mother's Ballroom in Maegor's Holdfast, which could accommodate a hundred people. This was also the place where Jon had grabbed the battering ram to smash someone that day.

The Queen Mother's Ballroom could accommodate not just one hundred people, but one hundred people dancing at once.

The ballroom was filled with men and women chatting amongst themselves, all dressed in gorgeous robes and long skirts, speaking in hushed tones.

The floor beneath their feet was polished to a gleaming shine, reflecting their shadows, but the long skirts of the noblewomen and girls covered their feet, so there was nothing to see.

The flags hanging around had long since been replaced.

The Flaming Stag Banner in the very center is noticeably larger, followed by the banners of the other families. Closest to the Flaming Stag Banner are the Tyrell ' green banner with gold flowers and the Jon's black White Wolf Banner.

The former represents courting, while the latter signifies bestowing favor.

The House Florent was in a bit of a predicament, as one of the two positions should have belonged to them.

The maids and servants around were like clouds drifting in the wind, summoned and dismissed at will, yet also visible everywhere.

The musicians' singing and harp music lingered in the ears of the nobles.

However, these people were all supporting characters; the real protagonist had not yet appeared. As the servants at the door called out his name, Stannis, who had just put on his crown, finally appeared.

"King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm the Seven Kingdoms and the entire realm, Stannis Baratheon I has arrived—"

Everyone stepped aside, and Stannis had Alerie take his arm as they entered the ballroom.

"The Lord of Highgarden, Lord Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South, and Queen Selyse Baratheon have arrived."

Mace followed closely behind, the Queen supporting his arm, but Mace's expression was not very pleasant; his wife was far more beautiful than Stannis's.

Alerie comes from the Hightower, and the Hightower once married the daughter of the Dragon King, as evidenced by Alerie's silver-gold hair.

In other words, the House Tyrell now also has Targaryen blood flowing through their veins.

Finally, the servants called out the last name worth announcing, "Jon Stark, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, has arrived!"

-"

Everyone looked towards the entrance, eager to see how this duke without a fiefdom would make his entrance.

Mace, walking ahead, smirked with triumph. He had left Jon with a small problem that, if handled poorly, would become a laughingstock among the nobles. Mace might then have an excuse to make Stannis see how unworthy this bastard was of his daughter.

The little trouble left behind by Mace was none other than Lya.

According to etiquette, she should also take Jon's arm as they enter the hall, but Mace's orders were to embarrass Jon, and to have Lya deliberately not take Jon arm.

Lya was Tyrell from the moment she was born, and although she usually served as Margaery's companion and handmaiden, she still considered herself superior to Jon.

Furthermore, Lya was unwilling to be with an illegitimate child, so she resolutely carried out Mace's orders.

Jon saw that she looked like a statue, or a hedgehog struggling to pop out its quills, radiating resistance from head to toe.

Lya spoke in a cold and distant tone, "Let's go, Your Grace. I'm not used to taking the arm of someone whose origins are unknown; it's not in accordance with the etiquette of the Seven Kingdoms. Besides, I'm not feeling well, so please forgive me."

Lya's voice was calm and even, yet it reached the ears of those closest to her clearly, such as Olenna and Margaery, who were standing behind the two of them.

The grandfather and grandson exchanged a glance, both wondering how Jon would resolve this awkward predicament. Reason with him? Plead with him? Or perhaps—leave in a huff? Any of these would give Mace an excuse to cause trouble.

"Jon, what will you do?" Margaery thought to herself. If he couldn't handle the situation effectively, Jon, who was already in the eye of the storm and caught in the political vortex, might very well rise and fall in the future.

In the blink of an eye, Jon's presence began to subtly draw attention, as the only two dukes had not yet appeared, and those inside started peering out.

Jon knew that he was running out of time. Mace, as expected of an old nobleman, had a knack for manipulating people in this situation.

Jon turned his head slightly to look at Lya. She was pretty and had a head of thick, well-groomed brown hair, but her lips were tightly pursed, as if she were wearing a mask that kept strangers away.

"Ridiculous," Jon thought disdainfully. He had completely given up on marrying Lya.

Spending your whole life with a woman who only ever gives you the cold shoulder is too high a price to pay.

Moreover, it is also a huge hidden danger. If she regards marrying him as a sacrifice from the beginning, no matter how much he gives in the future, he will not be able to balance her perceived tragic feelings and grievances.

She might even betray you, and perhaps she would betray you with a clear conscience.

Even without Highgarden's support, he was confident he could take the Westerlands; it would just take longer, be more troublesome, and involve more battles.

If you've worked so hard to become a duke and still have to put up with a maid's attitude, you might as well go back to the Wall.

"Alright, I understand," Jon said. Olenna and Margaery heard him clearly, and both instinctively slowed their breathing, wondering if Jon was going to give up.

The next second, none of the expected reactions—reprimands, pleas, or stalemates—occurred.

His movements were lightning fast, but not an attack. With a bend of his left arm, like a steel gate closing, he precisely and firmly "clamped" Lya's slender right arm, which she was trying to hide, between his own arm and her side chest.

The movements were clean and swift, as if catching a new recruit about to fall on the battlefield, or picking up a vital military flag.

"!?"

The girl froze completely, her panicked eyes filled with disbelief and bewilderment. She tried to struggle, but her feeble strength was like an ant trying to shake a tree.

Jon could feel the stiffness and slight trembling in her arm, and the fear in her eyes.

"If you could speak with the nobles who once fought alongside me, you would know that praying on the battlefield won't save you from the gods, but Jon will. Since you're unwell, come closer to me, and I'll support you."

"You!"

Lya was about to say something like "Let me go" when she was already being "held hostage" and dragged into the bright and bustling hall.

She felt like she was being moved into the dance hall, like cargo without her control.

Once in everyone's sight, Lya was unable to put up any strong resistance. All she could do was remain stiff in that position, her face drained of color and then flushed red with shame and anger.

Olenna and Margaery's gazes shifted from expectant mockery to astonishment and surprise.

"This young man—" Olenna smiled and followed him with Margaery's help.

She had expected Jon to reason with Lya, but instead, Jon led her into his area of expertise.

The methods were simple, even somewhat crude, but extremely effective.

Because of his Golden Finger, Jon was able to sense the emotional changes of Olenna and Margaery behind him.

However, he remained focused and composed, even taking the time to nod to Martin and Sandor.

He could feel the almost tangible shame and despair emanating from the girl beside him, but what did that have to do with him?

He upheld his dignity in the most direct way, shattering this farce. As for the girl's pitiful sense of self-esteem?

It's already a miracle that someone so brainless could escape unscathed, especially since she didn't lose anything.

At this moment, Lya seemed unwilling to give up. Coupled with the slow pace of everyone else, she quickly steadied herself, took a deep breath, and tried to maintain her shaky arrogance. Her voice was deliberately lowered and sharp. "Your Grace, your strength is indeed great, but you now call yourself the Lord of Casterly Rock. Can you really mobilize a single gold coin and a single soldier from Casterly Rock?"

Do the commoners of the Westerlands even know when they acquired a new Warden? I advise you to have His Majesty rescind this ridiculous title. It won't be long before the Iron Throne and Casterly Rock reach an agreement; Tywin will only need to pay a fine, and the Lannister will remain the masters of Casterly Rock.

Lya's words earned Jon's respect; as expected of the daughter of a noble family, she had quite a bit of insight.

Of course, it's also possible that she overheard it.

But that still wasn't enough to pique Jon's interest in responding to her.

"Shut up! Your father is just a collateral branch of the family. At most, you'll marry an Earl, and your husband will have to bow respectfully to me and address me as a duke."

Jon's words reached her ears clearly, making Lya both angry and anxious, her face changing color from pale to flushed.

As they approached the dinner table, Jon decided to deliver the final blow. He continued in a voice only the two of them could hear, "If you please me, I will marry you, and our child will be a duke. Margaery is already fifteen; there are no suitable marriage partners at the duke's level. At most, she will marry the son of an Earl. If you and she both have daughters in the future, then her daughter will become your daughter's companion. Now you have closed that door with your own hands."

After saying that, Jon released Lya's hand, which had become numb from being squeezed, and sat down in his seat at the very front.

Lya felt the lingering warmth on her hands and only realized what was happening after Margaery reminded her.

In the end, all I could do was angrily mutter to myself, "Who cares?"

However, Jon had already put her out of his mind; now he had to deal with Mace.

He'd already gotten Lya into trouble before he'd even started speaking; he'd probably have to get involved himself next, and who knows what tricks he'd pull.

Moreover, with the Queen of Thorns, the most brilliant strategist of House Tyrell, Jon knew he would have to be extremely careful if he wanted to marry Margaery.