“Lord Ormund Hightower,” Larys called out, his voice cutting cleanly through the murmur of the hall.
Ormund parted from sycophantic lords vying for his favor and stepped before the Iron Throne.
Unlike the terrified, begging Crownlords who had just been swept away, Lord Hightower swelled with pride and smug vindication, clad in the finest silks and glittering heirlooms of Oldtown.
Beside him walked his wife, Lady Samantha Tarly, a bold, fiery, beautiful presence, despite the sharp irony of her standing before the throne while her own house was actively fortifying Horn Hill in open rebellion against the King, prepared to fight to the bitter end.
Trailing just behind came Ormund’s young son and heir, Lyonel.
The boy paid no mind to the Iron Throne or the tension in the air; his eyes remained helplessly fixed on his stepmother, never straying from her for a single second.
Ormund came to a stop at the base of the Iron Throne.
He sank smoothly onto one knee, sweeping his cloak behind him.
Beside him, Samantha and Lyonel dropped to their knees in unison.
“Your Grace,” Ormund called out..
“Rise, Lord Ormund,” Aegon said.
As Ormund stood, adjusting his silver collar, Aegon straightened upon his throne of blades and looked down at his uncle.
“Let all lords and heralds present hear and record the royal decree,” Aegon proclaimed.
“In the sight of gods and men, the Iron Throne delivers justice. For unwavering fidelity to your sacred oaths, for blood shed in defense of the realm, and for standing fast while lesser men faltered. Whereas House Tyrell has cowered in silence, harboring rebels and withholding their duty from the Iron Throne, they have proven unfit to command the blood and soil of the south. Therefore, by decree of the King, House Tyrell is hereby stripped of the Lordship of Highgarden and the Lord Paramountcy of the Reach. Their banners are cast down, and their authority dissolved. Henceforth, House Tyrell shall serve as mere stewards of Highgarden, custodians of a castle they no longer own. And to you, Ormund of House Hightower, Lord of Oldtown, Beacon of the South—for your steadfast heart and unbroken loyalty, We name you Lord Paramount of the Reach, Lord of Highgarden, and Warden of the South. The Mander is yours, the lands are yours, and the vassals shall answer to your word alone.”
Roars and murmurs erupted throughout the hall.
Amidst all the noise, a broad smile broke across Ormund’s face.
Beside him, his lady wife looked at her husband in total shock, while Lyonel looked back and forth between his father and stepmother, equally stunned.
“In addition!” Aegon continued, his voice cutting through the hall.
“Let word be borne swiftly to Honeyholt. House Beesbury remains in open rebellion, their banners raised against my crown. Yet where lesser men see traitors, I see men of valor.”
The men of Honeyholt march not out of dark ambition, nor out of greed for land.
They march to seek blood for their lord, Lord Lyman Beesbury, a counselor of this realm who met a cruel end within these very walls.
The Iron Throne does not condemn men for possessing honor, nor for seeking vengeance for their slain blood.
Their fury was born of loyalty, and loyalty I shall never punish.”
Aegon raised a hand, sealing the decree before the court.
“By my hand and word, House Beesbury is hereby granted a full and absolute royal pardon. Let them know that the gates of the Red Keep stand open to them. They shall be received in these halls with open arms, not as rebels, but as honorable men who shall have the King’s justice under my own protection.” Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
A stunned silence filled the hall before applause and cheers rang out, though most of the gathered lords were already looking toward the redistribution of land.
Lady Samantha Tarly was in a very awkward position, both politically and in her own marriage.
She was wed to Lord Ormund Hightower, yet her house had broken the bond and marched against the Hightower army, inflicting the heaviest losses upon them.
Now, with the war lost, her hot-headed, prideful, and fiercely stubborn brother refused to strike his banners and disband his host.
Instead, he openly declared he would make the King bleed for every league of Tarly land and every drop of Tarly blood, and was actively fortifying Horn Hill.
“You speak of the Beesburys as men of honor, driven by pride and loyalty rather than treasonous ambition. My brother Alan is afflicted with that very same affliction. He is young, hot-headed, and stubborn as iron. When your father summoned the realm to the capital, My brother stood before the throne and swore a solemn oath before the Seven to acknowledge Princess Rhaenyra as his heir.”
“My lady,” Aegon began, leaning back against the cold steel of the Iron Throne.
“That I know. But my sister is dead. I fed her to my dragon right there, right outside the gates of the Red Keep. Who is your brother fighting for now? If he is so eager to die for a dead Queen’s memory, then so be it. Let him die with his honor. I will not desecrate his corpse when I am done with him, he will be treated with the respect his bravery warrants. You have my word as King.”
“He knows she is dead, Your Grace,” Samantha said, her voice steady and ringing clearly across the quiet hall.
“Alan is not fighting for a dead woman, he is fighting because he refuses to bow like a beaten pup.
He believes that if he yields now, the realm will call House Tarly oathbreakers who only kept their word while it was convenient.
It is foolish, stubborn pride, Your Grace.
But a dead man’s pride buys no grain, and a burnt Horn Hill serves no King.
He will never surrender to my husband or a Hightower army, his pride will not allow it.
But he will bow to the Iron Throne if he can do so without crawling to Oldtown.
Do not send my husband to burn my father’s halls.
Send Alan a royal terms from your merciful, generous hand alone.
Tell him his oath died with the Queen, and demand he bring the Huntsman’s bow to your own host.
Give a proud, foolish boy a way to yield with his honor.”
Aegon thought about it for a moment as he sat atop the Iron Throne.
The Tarlys were proud and loyal.
He needed men, and he needed more thorns in his uncle’s path.
Aegon looked back down at her and announced, “I am a generous King, and a merciful one at that, but my mercy has limits. Young Lord Tarly will keep his head, his life, and his lands, but he will pay the Crown for the crimes committed against it. He will march his host to King’s Landing, kneel before the Iron Throne, and swear fealty to me before the week ends… or he will meet his queen in the Seven Hells as an honorable and stubborn rebel.” Get faster updates on g.com.
“On behalf of House Tarly, we thank you for your mercy, Your Grace. We shall be ever loyal and grateful.” With those words, she returned to her husband’s side, whose smile had already frozen on his face.
“Your Grace,” a man called out from the back tables, furthest from the throne.
“If I may… I come as a representative of Lady Jeyne Arryn, Maiden of the Vale, of the ancient and noble House of”
The envoy stopped abruptly as Aegon raised a lazy, dismissive hand.
“I do not wish to hear it,” Aegon declared.
“I am in a delightful mood, good ser, breaking bread and wine with men who bled for my crown. I will not have my feast poisoned by traitors and turncoats, nor will I tolerate men who speak out of turn. Leave the hall. Your very presence sours my mood, you will be summoned when I deem fit to deal with you.”
Yet even as the humiliated Vale envoy was escorted out by royal guards, Aegon’s eyes never followed the man.
His gaze was fixed entirely on the front row of the tables, specifically on Lord Unwin Peake.
By every law of feudal custom, Aegon had no obligation to personally reward every bannerman who had marched under his banner.
He had raised Ormund Hightower to Lord Paramount of the Reach; it was Ormund’s burden to carve up table scraps among his own vassals.
“Your Grace!”
Unwin’s voice sliced through the murmurs of the court.
Sweeping past Ormund and Lady Samantha, he strode up the dais and dropped to one knee before the Iron Throne.
“A King as magnanimous as Your Grace knows the precise line where royal mercy must end and royal justice must strike!” Peake declared.
“House Tarly may have repented, but Goldengrove stands cold, defiant, and drenched in Green blood!”
Of course the insatiable Lord Peake wants Goldengrove, Aegon thought.
Who wouldn’t?
Goldengrove was one of the richest, most fertile lands in all the Reach.
But was it wise to hand such a prize to a man like Unwin?
House Peake was already ancient, proud, and dangerously ambitious.
Would granting him the seat of House Rowan finally sate his hunger… or would it merely give a predator bigger teeth?
On the other hand, a powerful Peake sitting on Rowan’s lands would act as a sharp, permanent check on Ormund Hightower’s new authority as Lord Paramount.
“Lord Thaddeus Rowan was the brain behind the rebel host in the Reach!” Unwin continued.
“He bled your vanguard! He plotted against your sacred person! Even now, while the realm bows to its rightful king, Goldengrove remains a fortress of treason. The Reach can never truly know peace while such venom rots in its heart, Your Grace! I beg you, issue a royal attainder this very day. Strip House Rowan of their name, their seat, and their lands! Grant Goldengrove to House Peake! I swear to you upon my honor, I will sweep the last ashes of rebellion from those fields and hold that fortress in your name forever!”