“Prince Mostafa Osei of the Summer Isles” I say.
“I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, your majesty” declaring loudly so as to blow away my fears with the volume of my voice.
An uncomfortable silence came over the room, the eyes of the most powerful individuals in the continent weighing down on my shoulders. Appraising me for all I’m worth and judging the threat if any I posed. Such distrusting eyes and scheming minds spoke lengths about the perilous environment of the capital. The people in this room being those who were able to pass through such a baptism and rise to the top of the pecking order. The metaphorical predators of this jungle who were currently trying to work out where I fit into the food chain.
The great hall of the keep seemed larger than it had in my vision. The spacious windows on the east and west walls streaming in light upon the iron throne and monarch seated upon it. Upon the throne, King Robert Baratheon appeared every inch the character sung about by the minstrels. A stalwart build paired with his sheer height formed a dangerous combatant. The hefty war-hammer leaning precariously on the throne making him an immovable object on the battlefield. Pity for the late Prince of Dragonstone began to spring up inside me, and I wondered if he felt as I felt now when he first witnessed him across the battlefield. Long black hair streamed down his head which connected with his thick black beard to create a frame for his face. True to form, his facial features were hard and unforgiving, the only thing giving me pause being his bright blue eyes.
Those same eyes were glaring in the direction of a decrepit old man stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the throne. The old man was completely bald, his scalp blotched with marks signifying his advanced age. A long flowing beard covered the majority of his torso. The most striking feature of his appearance was the chains that hung around his neck. The chains were formed from different materials but were all heavy and thick, offering an alternative explanation for his bent back.
“House Osei, Guardians of the Talking Trees. A noble house of Walano, tracing their lineage back thousands of years. Their name is held in high esteem all throughout the Summer Isles and rightly so.” informed the old man.
“You honour my house, Grand Maester Pycelle” I humbly said.
“I barely scratch the surface if the works of Archmaester Gallard are to be believed. But that does bring to mind a question. Gallard stated that House Osei had a noble duty so would only leave the islands on rare occasions throughout their long history.” Pycelle said, the implicit question not being lost on me.
“The citadel called to me, just as it called to you Grand Maester” I reply, drawing a nod of agreement from the old Maester and likely his respect.
“A long way to come for one so young.” A clear voice sounds out from the individual stood next to the king.
A silver clasp upon his chest bearing the insignia of the Hand of the King betrayed his identity as Jon Arryn. His position denoting him as the regent’s chief advisor and the second most powerful individual in the kingdom. If judged by appearance alone, Jon Arryn would have been considered a compassionate old man. In contrast to the Grand Maester, his broad shoulders and powerful stance spoke at lengths of his martial background. His hair had receded with age exposing a wrinkled forehead that looked like time-worn leather. His facial features including his aquiline nose and deep blue eyes suggested the old man would have been popular in his youth. It would have been easy to dismiss Jon Arryn as a spent force due to his age, but his wide eyes contained a deep wisdom accumulated over the years. In his youth, the King had been fostered under Jon Arryn resulting in a strong relationship which had bought stability to the realm after the chaos of the rebellion. Lord Arryn serving as a stabilising force to the more headstrong personality of the King. Hoping to impress the prestigious Lord, I thought about my next words carefully and spoke out.
“Youth is fleeting Lord Arryn. In my life I decided it was better to pursue my goals even one day earlier than to be left with regrets” I inform, while staring straight into his eyes.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
“A wise mentality to have, it will serve you well in the future” Lord Arryn replied, with a grandfatherly smile plastered on his face.
“Age be damned. When the Mad King demanded our heads, he never asked our age. And when we rallied our bannermen to kill him neither did they.” Robert bellowed, speaking for the first time.
“My father would often say duty is the death of youth, and it is a craven individual who turns her away when she knocks.” I recall.
“A smart man your father, you would do well to learn from him” A stoic man stood at the bottom of the stairs advised.
“I will endeavour not to disappoint, Lord Stannis” I humbly reply, bowing ever so slightly to demonstrate my respect.
Satisfied he had received his dues, Lord Stannis nodded in my direction and then returned to his silent vigil. A sombre individual just as the rumours had said, I take a moment to appraise him. Being the younger brother of the King, the resemblance between the two was clear to see. The characteristic large physique, blue eyes and dark hair identifying him as a member of House Baratheon. In contrast to the King, his hair had almost completely receded, creating a thin crown on the top of his head. The irony of it not being lost in me. An accomplished war commander who had supported the King throughout multiple battles, Stannis was not a man to be underestimated. His current position on the small council as master of ships also gave him full control of the royal fleet, making him a dangerous adversary.
Looking around the room, I mentally noted the remaining members of the small council who hadn’t spoken yet. Stood on the opposing side of the King from Lord Arryn was Ser Barristan Selmy. The white cloak and trimmings of his plate armour betraying his identity as a member of the Kingsguard, the elite defenders of the royal family chosen from the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. His cautious stance honed over his years of service afforded not a single opening for attack, instinctively marking him as worthy of caution. It would be hard to find a more decorated individual in the Seven Kingdoms, with the staggering level of esteem he is held in by the commoners. His long list of deeds, I’ve been hearing about over the last few days had shocked me and generated a sense of awe when looking at him. He joined the Kingsguard at the age of twenty-three and has since then honourably served three different kings each as well as the last. Now an old man, long white hair and lined features decorated his visage, but his sword remained as youthful as ever.
The three final participants of the meeting were the Lords Varys, Alesander Staedmon and Symond Staunton who sat on the small council as the masters of whispers, coin and laws respectively. Lord Staedmon is a bannerman of the King, raised to the small council after the rebellion to manage the finances of the crown. The commoners endearingly refer to him as Pennylover, for his miserly behaviour and he is routinely disliked. This dislike has even spread to the King, as Robert is fond of extravagant tourneys and feasts. Lord Staunton is a relic of the previous administration along with Varys, Pycelle and Ser Selmy. Chataya’s opinion on him was very straightforward, a self-serving sycophant but capable at his work. Though known to take bribes, Staunton had generally maintained a low profile ever since the rebellion and it has served him well.
The final council member and the one I am most wary of is Lord Varys. The only council member who isn’t technically a lord, Varys responsibilities include spying on allies and enemies of the crown alike. Contrastingly, information on him is scarce, essentially boiling down to him being a eunuch hailing from Essos. The Mad King scouted him for his abilities as a spymaster and Varys had proved that decision right countless times. Overweight and hairless, Lord Varys is known to dress in colourful silks and velvets which stand out among the other members of the council. Heavily perfumed and powdered, his every feature feels as if it is intended to make him seem harmless which ends up achieving the opposite effect in me. His silence during the audience is very telling, so I plan to approach him myself in the future. I decide it is time to call this meeting to an end having already made an impression and not wanting to outstay my welcome.
“I would like to thank your majesty for the audience and extend House Osei’s congratulations on the birth of Princess Myrcella” I say, bowing in the direction of the throne. The king returning a deep nod of acknowledgement.
“If you’re in the city in a weeks’ time, come watch the tourney. An empty seat will be left for you in the royal box.” The King says, inviting me to the event.
“It would be my honour, your majesty” I reply, turning around to leave the great hall.
As I walk through the gates of the Red Keep and Jahi falls instep behind me, I can’t help but wonder how many of those I had met today would survive the coming storm and how many of them are one of its causes.