Hadrian Peverell: High Lord of Skagos

Chapter 29: Council Deliberations

97 A.C.

The sun streamed through the narrow windows of the small council chambers in the Red Keep, casting long, slanted beams across the ancient, worn stone of the floors. King Jaehaerys Targaryen, the First of His Name, sat at the head of the great oaken table, his expression thoughtful as he listened to the discussions around him. The room was alive with the muted hum of voices, the scrape of chairs against stone, and the rustle of parchment as the members of his council argued and debated the affairs of the realm.

It was a typical morning in King's Landing. The air was filled with the mingled scents of the harbor and the city's many bakeries and taverns. Beyond the thick walls of the Keep, the city bustled and teemed, the narrow, winding streets crowded with merchants and commoners alike. But inside this chamber, the fate of Westeros was being shaped, one decision at a time.

Jaehaerys leaned back in his chair, his eyes moving from one council member to the next. His face, framed by the silver hair of the Targaryens, was calm and composed, but his mind was sharp, keenly aware of every word spoken and every nuance of tone. He had ruled for many years now, long enough to know that true power lay not in dragons or armies, but in wisdom and careful governance.

"His demands are ludicrous," the Master of Ships, Lord Corlys Velaryon, was saying, his voice carrying an edge of irritation. "Lord Tyrell presumes too much. A seat on the small council, after his cousin's tenure as Master of Coin? It's arrogance, plain and simple."

Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow. Lord Corlys had always been direct, a trait the king appreciated in the often convoluted world of court politics. He glanced at the Hand of the King, Septon Barth, who sat beside him, his face impassive as ever.

"Lord Tyrell's demands are indeed bold," Septon Barth said calmly. His deep, even voice carried a weight of reason that often diffused the most heated debates. "But we cannot deny that his house has served the realm loyally, especially during the recent troubles in the Reach."

"Loyalty is expected, not something to be rewarded with a council seat," Lord Beesbury, the current Master of Coin, interjected, his voice tinged with annoyance. "He merely seeks to inflate his family's importance."

Jaehaerys nodded thoughtfully. "House Tyrell has always been ambitious," he mused. "But ambition is not a crime. We must consider whether his demands have any merit, beyond his desire to elevate his house's standing."

"Merit?" Lord Beesbury spluttered. "He's no better a Master of Coin than I am, Your Grace! And my predecessor was a Tyrell too!"

"That is precisely the problem," Jaehaerys said softly. "A council filled with men from the same families can become insular, blind to the needs of the realm. We must be cautious not to allow one house to gain too much influence."

He turned to the Grand Maester, Elysar, whose robes rustled as he leaned forward. "What do you think, Grand Maester?"

Elysar stroked his long, graying beard, his eyes thoughtful. "I believe, Your Grace, that while Lord Tyrell's ambitions should be noted, they need not be indulged. A man too accustomed to having his way will never know where to stop. Perhaps a more modest reward might suffice—an acknowledgment of his service, but not a seat on the council."

Jaehaerys nodded. "Agreed. Send a letter, Lord Beesbury, thanking Lord Tyrell for his service. But make it clear that there are no vacancies on the council at this time."

Lord Beesbury's lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. "As you wish, Your Grace."

With that matter settled, Jaehaerys turned his attention to Septon Barth. "You mentioned unrest in the Vale?"