CHAPTER XXXV - A TIME TO REJOICE
The entire realm had gathered in the capital to celebrate our victory over the Tenochcah invaders. It was a monumental occasion, the likes of which the Seven Kingdoms had never seen. We had been fully united for the first time in our history, and now we celebrated that unity with feasting, jousting and a fair, so that any man, woman and child, from the highest to the lowest born, could celebrate. Our victory would go down in history, our feats would never be forgotten.
To mark the beginning of the tourney, a grand feast was held, where every lord and lady of Westeros would gather and break bread, to celebrate together, in this time of peace. Dozens of large tables dotted almost the entirety of the yards between the great walls of the Red Keep, and Maegor's Holdfast. Where normally the colors of House Targaryen would fly over a feast in the capital, this victory belonged to all houses of Westeros. The white and grey of the Starks, the blue of the Arryns and Tullys, the green and gold of the Tyrells, and even the Red, white and orange of the Conningtons and Martells, who had not long ago rebelled against the crown, decorated the walls, tables and banners. Everyone was made to feel welcome this day, and everyone's contribution to the war would be honored as such.
At the feast, Lord Trystane had pulled me aside to inform me of his plans to step down as my Hand of the King. He was an aging man now, and longed to return to Sunspear, where he could see out the remainder of his days there, where he belonged. I honored his request, and allowed him to step down. The Martells ensured my ancestor could reclaim his throne over fifty years ago, and Trystane had served me well for many years. It was a loss to the courts of King's Landing, and to the realm, but one that I had to endure. As such, a search for a new hand began, and with everyone gathered in the capital, it was, admittedly, a relatively short one.
During the celebrations, I called for quiet and stood before the crowd to address them. My every word was met with a cheer, but I did not bask in them. I may have led our forces to victory, but it was these very men that fought beside me to achieve it. Every cheer was as much theirs as it was mine. "My lords, my ladies." I said. "I am sad to say that my Lord Hand, Trystane Martell, has announced his desire to resign from his position, and return home to Sunspear. Lord Trystane has served honorably as my Hand for many years, and has done the realm a great service. He deserves the respect of us all, for there are few men more worthy of it. To Lord Trystane, may his days be long and fulfilled!"
I raised my glass to the man, and the rest of the crowd followed suit with a "hear hear!" of their own. Trystane nodded politely before I addressed them once more.
"Now, with the loss of one Hand, a new one must take his place. I look out into the sea of faces before me, and see many men worthy of such an honor. Lord Stark, who remaining true to his people in their darkest hour." The Northern lords in attendance slammed their fists on their tables to show support for their liege. "Lord Tully, who so boldly held the Riverlands for months on end, allowing the Army of the Star time to arrive at the Neck to serve justice upon our enemies!" The entire crowd bellowed in support of Lord Harsley, none more louder than the River lords. "Any king would be so lucky as to count any one of you as their friend, let alone all of you. Each and every one of you has my thanks, but, there is one who has supported me longer than any, one who has been at my side since the day we were both boys. Lord Maelor!" I called, before my brother- sat no farther than twenty feet to my right- stood, shocked. "I would name you Hand of the King!" The crowed roared in support.
The next day, the Tourney of the Star began. Thirty two of the greatest knights, and most noble lords, of the Seven Kingdoms faced off for honor and glory. The tilts lasted for seven days, and with each passing day, the numbers dwindled. While the jousts went on, multiple melees took place, with various men claiming victory, and the prize that accompanied it. The men fought tooth and nail against one another in the dirt, the archers attempted to best one another with their precision, and the knights worked to unseat each other from their mounts, all in the name of glory, and a bit of gold. It was a joyous affair, and every man, woman and child in attendance could be seen laughing, conversing and celebrating appropriately.
By the last day, the melees had ended, the archery was over, and only two men remained left atop their horses in the lanes. Ser Balon Estermont, a relatively large man, skilled with a mace and a lance, and Ser Aemon Snow, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and one of the finest knights the realm had ever seen. Though Ser Balon was large, he looked small next to the Lord Commander. Even in his advanced years, Ser Aemon was remarkably intimidating, and still incredibly formidable in battle and in the lanes. If I was a betting man, I would have put my money on him. Luckily, I was not. In their fourth tilt, Ser Balon's lance found its mark, knocking the Lord Commander into the dirt. Ser Balon was named victor, and the crowded cheered in his name. "I have seldom seen the Lord Commander bested." I told the man, "you have my congratulations, Ser Balon, I hope you spend your winnings wisely."
With the week of the tourney concluded, attention now switched to the summer fair. The distraction of the tourney gave the merchants and peddlers plenty of time to set themselves up for the fair, to bring in their finest wares, to sell to those in attendance. It was a fantastic opportunity for them, many had never met a lord, and yet now they had each and every one from across the Seven Kingdoms all within walking distance of their stalls. Some stood to make a fortune, others, a modest take, but all would leave with more gold in their purses than they had arrived with, and so all were in hearty spirits.
Merchants from within the Seven Kingdoms showed off their finest wares. Great blades and polished bows were sold by some, Dornish and Arbor wines sold by others. Even merchants from across the Narrow Sea attended. Fine tapestries from Lys and Qohor, glassware and lace from Myr and Armor from Tyrosh were all on display in the grounds. The sounds of merchants flaunting their goods was stupendous, and drowned out any other noises to be heard within a good distance of the fair. Dances, perfomers, musicians and poets dotted the stalls and lanes, performing for those in attendance. Some sought patronage with a noted lord, others sought only coin, yet all were entertaining to bear witness to.
As I made my way through the lanes of stalls, each and every merchant attempted to peddle me their goods. I smiled courteously, but waved them off. I told them that I was not there to purchase, but merely there to enjoy the festivities, and that many a lord and lady after me would no doubt be interested in some of their wares. Before long, the enjoyment turned sour, as the Lord Commander came running down the lane towards me. "We've caught some thieves your Grace, attempting to sell stolen wares, you'll... You'll want to come see this." He said. We made our way hurriedly towards where the incident occurred. Four men, stood in the arms of eight of the Gold cloaks, not far from their stall at the fair. I scanned them before I realized what as on the floor beside them.
Donned in his white armor, the upper portions of his cloak now pink, due to the onset of blood around him, Ser Tyron Peckledon of the Kingsguard lay dead in the street, butchered by the four men now in custody. According to the Lord Commander, it was Ser Tyron that had discovered the stolen goods, and confronted the merchants. In a straight fight, even the elderly Kingsguard would have felled the four of them with ease, but a dagger to the neck from behind was enough to kill the man in moments. An honor-less death for an honorable knight. I did not speak to the men in custody, but only to the Lord Commander. "They murdered a sworn knight of the Kingsguard," I said, "hang them. When you are done, find Ser Terrence, and bring him to the Great Hall, I wish to speak with him."
I departed the fair and made my way to the Great Hall. I sat on the throne and waited for the Lord Commander's return, anxiously tapping my fist against one of the arms of the Iron Throne. The murder of Ser Tyron had left me enraged, but I knew that out in the yard, justice was being served. Before long, the doors flew open and Lord Commander Aemon approached me with a young man at his side. As they reached the steps of the throne, the young man knelt before me. "Ser Terrence," I said, "I wish to congratulate you on your showing in the melee today. Defeating some of the finest knights in the realm, and at such a young age, is no simple task."
"Thank you, your Grace, I am most honored." He replied.
"Good, good. But I would like to honor you further. Stand, if you please." Ser Terrence stood. The young man, barely twenty, was tall and lean, but exceptional with a blade. Where Lord Commander Aemon was strong and powerful, Ser Terrence was swift and agile, capable of cutting down men in a flurry of strikes. "You have no lands nor titles to your name, correct?" The young knight nodded. "Nor are you set to inherit any?" Ser Terrence nodded again. "Good. That makes my offer to you all the more plain. Ser Terrence, an unfortunate incident has left me short on Kingsguard, I would like to offer you the position. I can think of no man in the capital more worthy of it. Do you accept?"
The young knight knelt so fast that his knee cracked against the stone floor, and echoed throughout the hall. "Your Grace, it would be the highest honor to serve in your Kingsguard."
"Good. Rise then, Ser Terrence of the Kingsguard. Lord Commander, take your new brother to the Tower, find him a new cloak." I said, as the Lord Commander nodded and departed with Ser Terrence. A smile had returned to my face, but I had not forgotten about Ser Tyron. I made the arrangements for his body to be returned to Peckledon, where his family could bury and morn for him appropriately. I penned a letter to them personally, thanking them for the service of Ser Tyron, and ensuring them that he would never be forgotten. After that, I made my way back out to the fair. It was hard to be happy after such a miserable event, but I had responsibilities as king, and it was expected of me to be present, and so I made my way to the yard, and donned a smile on my face once more.
The entire realm had gathered in the capital to celebrate our victory over the Tenochcah invaders. It was a monumental occasion, the likes of which the Seven Kingdoms had never seen. We had been fully united for the first time in our history, and now we celebrated that unity with feasting, jousting and a fair, so that any man, woman and child, from the highest to the lowest born, could celebrate. Our victory would go down in history, our feats would never be forgotten.
To mark the beginning of the tourney, a grand feast was held, where every lord and lady of Westeros would gather and break bread, to celebrate together, in this time of peace. Dozens of large tables dotted almost the entirety of the yards between the great walls of the Red Keep, and Maegor's Holdfast. Where normally the colors of House Targaryen would fly over a feast in the capital, this victory belonged to all houses of Westeros. The white and grey of the Starks, the blue of the Arryns and Tullys, the green and gold of the Tyrells, and even the Red, white and orange of the Conningtons and Martells, who had not long ago rebelled against the crown, decorated the walls, tables and banners. Everyone was made to feel welcome this day, and everyone's contribution to the war would be honored as such.
At the feast, Lord Trystane had pulled me aside to inform me of his plans to step down as my Hand of the King. He was an aging man now, and longed to return to Sunspear, where he could see out the remainder of his days there, where he belonged. I honored his request, and allowed him to step down. The Martells ensured my ancestor could reclaim his throne over fifty years ago, and Trystane had served me well for many years. It was a loss to the courts of King's Landing, and to the realm, but one that I had to endure. As such, a search for a new hand began, and with everyone gathered in the capital, it was, admittedly, a relatively short one.
During the celebrations, I called for quiet and stood before the crowd to address them. My every word was met with a cheer, but I did not bask in them. I may have led our forces to victory, but it was these very men that fought beside me to achieve it. Every cheer was as much theirs as it was mine. "My lords, my ladies." I said. "I am sad to say that my Lord Hand, Trystane Martell, has announced his desire to resign from his position, and return home to Sunspear. Lord Trystane has served honorably as my Hand for many years, and has done the realm a great service. He deserves the respect of us all, for there are few men more worthy of it. To Lord Trystane, may his days be long and fulfilled!"
I raised my glass to the man, and the rest of the crowd followed suit with a "hear hear!" of their own. Trystane nodded politely before I addressed them once more.
"Now, with the loss of one Hand, a new one must take his place. I look out into the sea of faces before me, and see many men worthy of such an honor. Lord Stark, who remaining true to his people in their darkest hour." The Northern lords in attendance slammed their fists on their tables to show support for their liege. "Lord Tully, who so boldly held the Riverlands for months on end, allowing the Army of the Star time to arrive at the Neck to serve justice upon our enemies!" The entire crowd bellowed in support of Lord Harsley, none more louder than the River lords. "Any king would be so lucky as to count any one of you as their friend, let alone all of you. Each and every one of you has my thanks, but, there is one who has supported me longer than any, one who has been at my side since the day we were both boys. Lord Maelor!" I called, before my brother- sat no farther than twenty feet to my right- stood, shocked. "I would name you Hand of the King!" The crowed roared in support.
The next day, the Tourney of the Star began. Thirty two of the greatest knights, and most noble lords, of the Seven Kingdoms faced off for honor and glory. The tilts lasted for seven days, and with each passing day, the numbers dwindled. While the jousts went on, multiple melees took place, with various men claiming victory, and the prize that accompanied it. The men fought tooth and nail against one another in the dirt, the archers attempted to best one another with their precision, and the knights worked to unseat each other from their mounts, all in the name of glory, and a bit of gold. It was a joyous affair, and every man, woman and child in attendance could be seen laughing, conversing and celebrating appropriately.
By the last day, the melees had ended, the archery was over, and only two men remained left atop their horses in the lanes. Ser Balon Estermont, a relatively large man, skilled with a mace and a lance, and Ser Aemon Snow, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and one of the finest knights the realm had ever seen. Though Ser Balon was large, he looked small next to the Lord Commander. Even in his advanced years, Ser Aemon was remarkably intimidating, and still incredibly formidable in battle and in the lanes. If I was a betting man, I would have put my money on him. Luckily, I was not. In their fourth tilt, Ser Balon's lance found its mark, knocking the Lord Commander into the dirt. Ser Balon was named victor, and the crowded cheered in his name. "I have seldom seen the Lord Commander bested." I told the man, "you have my congratulations, Ser Balon, I hope you spend your winnings wisely."
With the week of the tourney concluded, attention now switched to the summer fair. The distraction of the tourney gave the merchants and peddlers plenty of time to set themselves up for the fair, to bring in their finest wares, to sell to those in attendance. It was a fantastic opportunity for them, many had never met a lord, and yet now they had each and every one from across the Seven Kingdoms all within walking distance of their stalls. Some stood to make a fortune, others, a modest take, but all would leave with more gold in their purses than they had arrived with, and so all were in hearty spirits.
Merchants from within the Seven Kingdoms showed off their finest wares. Great blades and polished bows were sold by some, Dornish and Arbor wines sold by others. Even merchants from across the Narrow Sea attended. Fine tapestries from Lys and Qohor, glassware and lace from Myr and Armor from Tyrosh were all on display in the grounds. The sounds of merchants flaunting their goods was stupendous, and drowned out any other noises to be heard within a good distance of the fair. Dances, perfomers, musicians and poets dotted the stalls and lanes, performing for those in attendance. Some sought patronage with a noted lord, others sought only coin, yet all were entertaining to bear witness to.
As I made my way through the lanes of stalls, each and every merchant attempted to peddle me their goods. I smiled courteously, but waved them off. I told them that I was not there to purchase, but merely there to enjoy the festivities, and that many a lord and lady after me would no doubt be interested in some of their wares. Before long, the enjoyment turned sour, as the Lord Commander came running down the lane towards me. "We've caught some thieves your Grace, attempting to sell stolen wares, you'll... You'll want to come see this." He said. We made our way hurriedly towards where the incident occurred. Four men, stood in the arms of eight of the Gold cloaks, not far from their stall at the fair. I scanned them before I realized what as on the floor beside them.
Donned in his white armor, the upper portions of his cloak now pink, due to the onset of blood around him, Ser Tyron Peckledon of the Kingsguard lay dead in the street, butchered by the four men now in custody. According to the Lord Commander, it was Ser Tyron that had discovered the stolen goods, and confronted the merchants. In a straight fight, even the elderly Kingsguard would have felled the four of them with ease, but a dagger to the neck from behind was enough to kill the man in moments. An honor-less death for an honorable knight. I did not speak to the men in custody, but only to the Lord Commander. "They murdered a sworn knight of the Kingsguard," I said, "hang them. When you are done, find Ser Terrence, and bring him to the Great Hall, I wish to speak with him."
I departed the fair and made my way to the Great Hall. I sat on the throne and waited for the Lord Commander's return, anxiously tapping my fist against one of the arms of the Iron Throne. The murder of Ser Tyron had left me enraged, but I knew that out in the yard, justice was being served. Before long, the doors flew open and Lord Commander Aemon approached me with a young man at his side. As they reached the steps of the throne, the young man knelt before me. "Ser Terrence," I said, "I wish to congratulate you on your showing in the melee today. Defeating some of the finest knights in the realm, and at such a young age, is no simple task."
"Thank you, your Grace, I am most honored." He replied.
"Good, good. But I would like to honor you further. Stand, if you please." Ser Terrence stood. The young man, barely twenty, was tall and lean, but exceptional with a blade. Where Lord Commander Aemon was strong and powerful, Ser Terrence was swift and agile, capable of cutting down men in a flurry of strikes. "You have no lands nor titles to your name, correct?" The young knight nodded. "Nor are you set to inherit any?" Ser Terrence nodded again. "Good. That makes my offer to you all the more plain. Ser Terrence, an unfortunate incident has left me short on Kingsguard, I would like to offer you the position. I can think of no man in the capital more worthy of it. Do you accept?"
The young knight knelt so fast that his knee cracked against the stone floor, and echoed throughout the hall. "Your Grace, it would be the highest honor to serve in your Kingsguard."
"Good. Rise then, Ser Terrence of the Kingsguard. Lord Commander, take your new brother to the Tower, find him a new cloak." I said, as the Lord Commander nodded and departed with Ser Terrence. A smile had returned to my face, but I had not forgotten about Ser Tyron. I made the arrangements for his body to be returned to Peckledon, where his family could bury and morn for him appropriately. I penned a letter to them personally, thanking them for the service of Ser Tyron, and ensuring them that he would never be forgotten. After that, I made my way back out to the fair. It was hard to be happy after such a miserable event, but I had responsibilities as king, and it was expected of me to be present, and so I made my way to the yard, and donned a smile on my face once more.
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