"What do you need to know this month?" Viserys's voice still had that slow, feeble tone.
The ministers looked at each other. That look - Rhaenyra understood that look.
It was a "you tell me" look, a "you tell me" look, and even more of a "don't let me tell you" look.
Finally, Tyland·Lannister spoke. His voice was stronger than the others, not because of his higher status, but because his last name was Lannister.
When people in the Lannister family speak in any situation, they will speak louder than others, straighten their waists, and lift their chins higher. This is an instinct engraved in their bones and there is no need to do it deliberately.
"Your Majesty, in the past month, everything has been generally safe and there have been no major incidents."
Tyland's voice echoed in the meeting hall, clear and powerful, "Riverlands Two lords had some disputes over land boundaries, and they have already mediated.
Vale Over there, several mountain tribes took advantage of the coming of winter to go down the mountain and plunder a few villages. The local lords have organized a raid and killed many of them. They should not come back in the short term.
Westerlands Everything is fine, Casterly Rock even sent a letter specifically asking about His Majesty's health."
He paused, as if hesitating whether to say the next sentence.
That hesitation hung in the air for less than a breath, and then he continued, with a hint of casual indifference in his voice, as if he was talking about a trivial matter, " There is a letter from Dorne too.
Prince of Dorne expressed his willingness to surrender to Iron Throne again. The messenger is already on the way."
The meeting hall was quiet for a moment.
That moment was so short that if you didn't capture it deliberately, you wouldn't notice it at all. But Rhaenyra noticed it.
She not only noticed the moment of silence in the meeting hall, but also noticed the change in expression on Viserys's face - his hand that was stroking his beard stopped, his eyes narrowed slightly, and his breathing rhythm changed, from even and slow to one deep and one shallow, one long and one short.
That moment seemed to be stretched by something, long enough that Rhaenyra could clearly see the entire process of Viserys's pupils contracting, long enough that she could count her heartbeats in her heart - once, twice, three times, four times -
Viserys put his hand down from his beard and placed it on the table. He tapped his fingers on the table twice, making two dull sounds like a heartbeat.
"Dorne." His voice was very soft, as if it came from a very far away place.
Viserys's face showed no abnormalities.
He is a king, a king who has sat on Iron Throne for more than 20 years, a king who has experienced countless political turmoil and power struggles.
He knew very well how to control his expression on such occasions, how to hide a knife behind a smile, and how to pack a hundred unspoken questions and accusations into an understatement.
He showed no anger or surprise, and no one could tell from his face that he was the last one among the people here to know the news.
He just continued to stroke his beard, nodded slowly, said "Okay", and then never mentioned Dorne again.
Then we discussed a few small things - a certain lord died, a bridge was to be built on a certain river, and the tariff at a certain port was to be adjusted.
Viserys listened to the reports one by one and gave instructions one by one. Every word was said accurately and every decision was made reasonable and reasonable.
He still looks like the wise, discerning, and unshakable king sitting on Iron Throne.
Rhaenyra sat in his seat and said nothing.
There was a cup of cold tea on the table in front of her. A thin, dark red film formed on the surface of the tea, but she did not drink it.
She was looking at Viserys, watching every subtle movement and change in his expression, like a doctor observing a patient who was slowly recovering - no, not a doctor, but another patient, observing the patient in the bed next door.
She knew that Viserys was acting. She also knew that Viserys knew that she knew.
They each played their own roles in this scene, acted according to the script, and spoke lines that had been rehearsed countless times.
The script reads: Viserys is a king who has just recovered from health, Rhaenyra is a filial, sensible and capable daughter, and the ministers are a group of loyal and capable ministers who perform their duties.
Everyone in the script is perfect, every plot is reasonable, and every dialogue is appropriate.
No one acted out, no one forgot the words, and no one said anything they shouldn't have said.
But Rhaenyra knew that on the last page of the script, there were three words "The End of the Play" written on it. But what happened after "The End of the Play" was not written in the script.
That's the real story.
The day's Small Council ended before noon.
Viserys left the meeting hall with the support of Alicent. His pace was still slow and steady. The sound of the cane hitting the marble floor echoed in the empty corridor, once, again, and again, like a slow and unstoppable clock that was counting down.
Rhaenyra walked behind them, looking at the backs of Viserys and Alicent, looking at the distance between them - not far, not close, just right, not like a couple, but more like the position of two actors on the stage who work well together.
She suddenly felt that there was not only a gap between herself and Viserys.
There was a barrier between her and this Red Keep, and between every stone, every window, and every corridor in this city.
She walked here like a guest invited to a dinner, smiling politely, talking appropriately, raising a glass gracefully, and then after the dinner,
She walked alone back to the room that didn't belong to her, took off the dress that didn't belong to her, washed off the makeup on her face that didn't belong to her, lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling that didn't belong to her, and waited for dawn and the start of the next dinner party.
She suppressed this ridiculous and breathless feeling, quickened her pace, and walked into her study.
She still has letters to write.
That night, Viserys was lying on the bed in the palace, eyes open, looking at the mural on the ceiling depicting Aegon the Conqueror riding a dragon and landing on Westeros.
The candle was burning on the bedside table, and the flames danced, projecting the dragon's figure on the ceiling into a huge, claw-baring black shadow that looked like it was flying or struggling.