Grover Tully

A new day.

Rhaenyra went to the Small Council to serve as cupbearer, as usual.

With the celebration approaching, there were noticeably more nobles in the Red Keep. Earls and barons greeted her from either side of the corridors now and then.

"Princess Rhaenyra?" A thin, white-haired old man stopped her.

A silver trout on a red field was embroidered on the old man's blue woolen tunic.

House Tully.

Rhaenyra nodded. "Lord Grover, I didn't expect you to come so far."

Grover Tully laughed and patted his chest. "I'm still hale and hearty!"

"Ten years ago, I traveled all the way to Harrenhal for the Great Council of 101 and stood firmly behind Prince Viserys. My hair was already completely white back then, hahahaha."

"Oh, I should call him King Viserys now."

His voice boomed. "If you ask me, how can women compete with men for power?"

Rhaenyra barely maintained a polite smile.

The older Grover Tully grew, the more stubborn he became.

He waved away his grandson's hand tugging at him and knocked on his hard kneecap. "Oh, right!"

"Princess, please thank Prince Baelon for me. His ointment has done wonders for my rheumatism!"

"I've been wanting to meet Prince Baelon, but unfortunately, he's too busy. He's either on Dragonstone or outside the city visiting the dragons."

"Please tell Prince Baelon that I will uphold his rights without wavering!"

"Riverrun will always fight for him."

"I will." Her face taut, Rhaenyra strode away.

Behind her.

Grover Tully muttered, "Fortunately, Queen Aemma gave birth to a prince before she died."

Rhaenyra stopped dead, clenching both fists.

She wheeled around and strode back to the Duke of Tully. "Lord Grover, how dare you profane a queen!"

The smile slowly faded from Grover Tully's face.

Rhaenyra raised her head, her gaze piercing. "My mother was the king's wife, the queen of the Seven Kingdoms!"

"Remember your place. You have no right to dictate to her or pass presumptuous judgment!"

Rhaenyra sneered. "Or did you think I would suffer your insolence in silence?!"

"I am King Viserys's eldest daughter, a princess of House Targaryen, and I ride a dragon."

"If you dare say such things again, I will defend my mother's rights with sword and dragonfire."

"I don't care whether that hurts you. Or rather..." Rhaenyra enunciated every word. "I mean to hurt you."

"Neither your age nor your position can protect you."

With that, she left without a backward glance, ignoring Duke Grover Tully's ugly expression and the sidelong looks of the surrounding nobles.

Silence fell over the corridor.

After a long moment, feeling the strange looks from the nobles around him, Grover Tully's chest heaved.

His hand trembling, he snarled in a low voice, "I will never take back what I said!"

"Women are inherently unsuited to wielding power or commanding armies!"

"What does she think won her father the throne? It was that thing between his legs!"

His grandson Elmo Tully tried to stop him in a low voice. "Enough. Rhaenyra is a woman, but dragonfire makes no distinction between male and female!"

But a voice of agreement rose from the crowd. "The Duke of Tully isn't wrong."

Borros Baratheon walked over to Grover, taking an open-minded stance. "The crown and royal power belong to men, but women can be queens."

"Of course," Borros added, "I love my daughters dearly. I have four of them, after all."

"But if the gods grant me a son, even one... I'll certainly have him inherit Storm's End."

Seeing a great lord of equal standing agree with him eased Grover Tully's temper somewhat.

He snorted. "The laws and customs of Westeros have always been this way."

Male heirs took precedence. That was an unshakable, ironclad rule.

The Council Chamber.

Attending the Small Council for the first time, Baelon arrived at the Council Chamber early.

He briefly inspected the wine cups and flagons.

Nearby, attendants wiped the flagons, brought large pitchers of water for diluting the wine, and served baked almond tarts, raisins, white bread, cherries in honey, and other food.

As crown prince, Baelon only needed to pour wine as a courtesy, not actually perform an attendant's duties.

"Baelon!" Viserys strode into the Council Chamber with Otto Hightower behind him.

He spread his arms with a smile, hugged his son, and asked in a low voice, "How does it feel?"

"I don't feel anything in particular," Baelon answered honestly.

Otto Hightower greeted Baelon with warmth and friendliness. "Prince Baelon."

Baelon nodded politely in return.

Who said Otto was no good? From what Baelon had observed over the past six years, everything Otto Hightower said was what Viserys wanted to hear.

Moreover, Otto Hightower treated him with friendliness and respect.

Clearly, Otto Hightower was a fine, loyal servant of the crown.

Soon, the senior members of the Small Council arrived at the Council Chamber one after another.

First came Earl Lyman Beesbury, the master of coin, who greeted Baelon with a cheerful smile.

Daemon Targaryen, commander of the City Watch.

Daemon's long hair was disheveled, his black armor and gold cloak were stained with blood, and he carried his helmet.

He had clearly spent the entire night restoring order in King's Landing.

With the celebration imminent, great numbers of people and horses had poured into King's Landing.

He, however, found fault with everything about Baelon and gave a cold snort.

The senior councilors took their seats one by one. Looking at the two empty chairs, Lyonel's thoughts churned.

There was an empty chair beside King Viserys. Lyonel understood that it belonged to the crown prince.

As crown prince, Baelon was entitled to attend the Small Council. He had a chair.

Then what about the empty chair beside Lyonel?

Could it belong to Princess Rhaenyra?

But Princess Rhaenyra had spent seven years serving as cupbearer, listening to affairs of state and learning to govern. She had always stood to one side.

Lyonel frowned slightly.

Tap, tap, tap-

The familiar tapping sounded.

Lyonel turned his head, his eyes widening.

Larys approached the council table step by step and openly bowed to Viserys. "Your Grace, I hope I'm not late."

Viserys gave him a gentle smile. "Of course you aren't."

"Take your seat, Larys."

He introduced him to the others. "This is Larys Strong, my Master of Whisperers."

As Viserys spoke, he watched Lyonel's reaction with a smile.

Lyonel's brows knitted, his voice betraying unmistakable surprise. "Larys?"

Larys flattened the corners of his mouth and slowly lowered himself into his seat. "Lord Lyonel."

"At the Small Council, you should address me as Lord Larys."

But clearly, this was not the time for him to ask questions and resolve his confusion.

After pouring wine for all the senior members of the Small Council, Baelon sat in his own chair.

He glanced at the empty doorway.

Otto Hightower opened the Small Council's first item of business.

"Earl Bracken believes that Blackwood men dammed a stream at night and stole their river water."

"Meanwhile, Earl Blackwood accuses Bracken men of secretly moving boundary stones at night and driving their horses onto his land to graze."

Baelon: ...

These two families certainly kept busy at night.

"The Sea Snake," Corlys Velaryon, said impatiently, "This matter should be judged by their liege lords, House Tully."

"Never mind those trifles."

"The Triarchy has signed an agreement with the Prince of Dorne, Qoren Martell!"