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Chapter 165: The Council
🕑 Added 2025-02-22 12:37:35 +0000 UTCThe most talked-about topic in King’s Landing right now? Without a doubt, it's the Chosen One, the White Walkers, and the wights. These once-legendary beings have now been revealed to the public, proving that ancient tales might hold truth—and perhaps even the gods themselves are real. As a result, religious artifacts sold by portside peddlers have become the most sought-after items in the city.
However, no relic, no matter how ancient, holds as much sway as the septagram of the Seven Gods. After all, it was the Chosen of the Seven who defeated the White Walkers, the Chosen of the Seven who captured the wights, and as for Azor Ahai, legend says he has yet to be reborn from the Land of Smoke and Salt—yet the Chosen of the Seven is already working to save the world from the White Walkers' return.
Now, the Great Sept of Baelor is the most visited place in all of King’s Landing. While many believers come to pray to the Seven, an even greater number are drawn by something else: after His Grace the King personally inspected the captured wight alongside his advisors, he had it placed in the Great Sept for public display, ensuring that the people could see for themselves that the legendary Others is no distant myth.
Every day, long lines form outside the Sept as people wait for hours—sometimes an entire day—just for a glimpse of the undead creature. Some are even willing to pay large sums for the chance to stab the wight with a blade, as if to test whether it truly cannot die.
The spectacle has drawn attention beyond King’s Landing, with Septs in other cities submitting requests to have the wight temporarily relocated to them, hoping to showcase the Seven’s power. However, the Great Sept of Baelor has refused, taking the matter to the Red Keep and arguing that the wight was entrusted to His Grace the King by the Lord Lynd himself. Since His Grace had placed it in the Great Sept, they dared not move it elsewhere without his command.
Other Septs saw through this excuse, but there was little they could do to refute it. Left with no alternative, they turned to King Robert for a ruling. However, the king had no patience for squabbles over the wight’s display—he was far more concerned with the challenge of expanding the Night’s Watch.
“In other words, you’ve been debating this for days, and this is what you bring me? Expanding the pool of prisoners sent to the Night’s Watch from felons to minor offenders?”
King Robert threw the scroll in his hands onto the table. Without regard for the presence of Lords Eddard, Tywin, Hoster, and Mace, seated in their designated places, he turned his fury on the advisors before him.
“Even the account books of a brothel madam are more reliable than this nonsense. What about the support funds for the Night’s Watch? Where are the supplies? Nowhere! You think sending a few more prisoners will make a difference? Do you not see that thing? That’s just one of them—a tiny one among a horde of monsters! Do you want them crawling over the Wall and into your beds, humming your grandmother’s lullaby?”
The members of the Small Council fell silent under Robert’s outburst. Jon Arryn cast a glance at Moray Mollen, the Master of Coin, who sat to the side with his head bowed, saying nothing. Jon was beginning to think it might be time to replace the man—Moray had proven himself utterly inept, and the kingdom’s finances were in complete disarray under his management.
It wasn’t that Jon Arryn failed to recognize the threat of the wights or the urgency of supporting the Night’s Watch, but the truth was that the Red Keep simply couldn’t spare any funds or manpower. The only available resource was the large number of prisoners serving light sentences, and sending them to the Wall would serve a dual purpose—reducing the burden on the city’s dungeons while also reinforcing the Night’s Watch.
However, this decision clearly did not sit well with Robert, who had already made a grand declaration of full support for the Night’s Watch. At a recent banquet with the realm’s lords, he had boasted that when the war against the White Walkers began, he would personally don his armor and lead the knights of the Seven Kingdoms in the vanguard.
Now, Jon Arryn’s proposed measure—merely increasing the number of criminals sent to the Wall—was an insult to that grand promise.
“These men will be more than enough,” Eddard Stark spoke up, coming to the defense of his foster father. “The common folk’s perception of the Night’s Watch will not change overnight. If we forcefully recruit men, we’ll only breed resentment toward the Watch across the kingdoms. Besides, there is already enough support for the Night’s Watch—we do not need to demand more. As of now, only Lord Lynd Tarran has reported any signs of White Walker or wight activity beyond the Wall. There has been no sighting of an army gathering near the Wall itself. There is no need for haste.”
“Eddard is right,” said the elderly Hoster Tully, his voice weak, his face pale from his recent illness. “Once, the Night’s Watch was made up of brave knights and warriors who volunteered from across the Seven Kingdoms. It was only after the Watch lost its honor and purpose that criminals came to fill its ranks. But now, with the White Walkers and wights returned, I believe the Night’s Watch’s honor and duty will soon rekindle the courage of the realm’s knights. When that time comes, they will choose to don the black cloaks of their own free will—we will not need to force anyone. Until then, it is only fitting that we continue using prisoners to fill their ranks.
“Don’t you agree, Lord Tyrell?” Hoster turned to Mace Tyrell. “I recall that your heir, Willas, has always been a strong supporter of the Night’s Watch.”
“Yes, Willas has always supported the Night’s Watch. He has never forgotten its importance to mankind.” Mace Tyrell tilted his head slightly, speaking with great pride. “If the Night’s Watch is struggling financially, Highgarden is willing to donate 20,000 golden dragons to The Wall in support.”
Mace Tyrell believed this would not only address the Night’s Watch’s immediate financial crisis but also serve as a demonstration of Highgarden’s strength before the Iron Throne. However, in reality, his words were nothing less than a direct affront to Robert. The king’s expression darkened with even greater disdain as he looked at Mace Tyrell.
Lord Tywin, observing the reactions around the room in silence, finally spoke. “Since Lord Stannis led the royal fleet to clear the Stepstones of pirates, my own fleet has reaped considerable spoils. As a result, I have amassed a significant sum in golden dragons. I am willing to lend a portion of these funds to Your Grace for emergency use.”
Robert’s expression lightened slightly at Tywin’s offer. Meanwhile, Stannis, seated at the Small Council table, remained impassive. He showed no sign of reaction to Lord Tywin’s indirect praise of his efforts.
At that moment, Renly, seated beside Robert, also spoke up. “The Stormlands is likewise willing to contribute funds to replenish the Iron Throne’s coffers.”
Hearing this, Robert grinned and reached over to ruffle Renly’s hair. “No need. Your older brother has more than enough money.”
Stannis, on the other hand, shot Renly a glance filled with thinly veiled contempt. It was clear what was on his mind—everything Renly had now should have rightfully been his.
Robert turned back to Jon Arryn. “Draw up a new plan. Even if we can’t send enough men, we must at least ensure the Night’s Watch has sufficient funding. The gods only know what horrors they’ll encounter in the North. Since we can’t give them the strength they need, we should at least make sure they have enough coin for food and proper weapons.”
“But our finances…” Jon Arryn hesitated, furrowing his brow.
Robert bellowed, “Then borrow! Borrow from the Faith! All those golden dragons, silver stags, and copper stars given by the followers of the Seven—rather than letting them gather dust in the Sept’s vaults, they might as well lend them to me!”
“It won’t be easy to secure a loan from the Church these days,” Jon Arryn reminded him. “They’re currently funding the construction of a castle and port city for the Lord of Summerhall. They won’t have much left to lend us.”
“Damn it! That Lynd is always finding ways to make my life difficult.” Robert cursed, but his tone lacked real anger—there was only helpless frustration.
At that moment, Varys, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. “I have recently received some news regarding this Lord Chosen One. Would Your Grace like to hear it?”
Robert immediately sat up straighter, eyes gleaming with interest. “He has news again? Quickly, speak!”
Varys began, “First, he and a group of renegade Night’s Watchmen encountered a vast army of White Walkers at the Fist of the First Men beyond the Wall. It is said there were thousands of wights. At the time, Lord Lynd believed he was doomed. But then, the storm suddenly ceased, and the White Walkers, along with their wight army, retreated in his presence.”
“They just… retreated?” The council members exchanged surprised looks. They had expected to hear a tale of battle, of Lord Lynd fighting his way through the undead horde—but instead, the story ended with an inexplicable withdrawal.
“The storm suddenly stopped?” Grand Maester Pycelle, who had been listening quietly, seemed to sense something peculiar. His aged voice rasped as he spoke. “I have read records in the Citadel concerning the White Walkers. Their appearances are always accompanied by fierce storms and extreme cold. If Lord Lynd’s account is true, then this suggests that the White Walkers can only move south under specific conditions—namely, extreme cold.”
“Could the severe natural disasters of the past two years be the reason the White Walkers have reappeared beyond the Wall?” The minds within the council chamber were sharp, and it didn’t take long for them to make the connection.
“Not long ago, the Citadel sent word that after extensive measurement, they have determined that our continent of Westeros may be entering a long summer,” Pycelle continued. “If that is true, then I do not believe the White Walkers will pose an immediate threat. However,” he added cautiously, “the Night’s Watch should remain vigilant. If a long winter does come, it may well be the one foretold in prophecy.”
The lords nodded in agreement with Pycelle’s reasoning—or rather, they wanted to believe he was correct. The sudden return of the legendary White Walkers had shaken them all. They needed time—time to adjust, time to prepare. And a long summer, if it truly came, might just give them that.
“That’s just the first thing. Is there anything else about Lynd?” Robert asked impatiently.
“This matter concerns Lord Willas of House Tyrell,” Varys replied, his gaze shifting to the puzzled Lord Mace Tyrell. “Lord Lynd’s journey beyond the Wall this time was primarily at Lord Willas’s behest—to find the legendary artifact known as the Horn of Winter.”
At these words, the room fell silent. Every person present had heard the old tales, the ones their grandmothers had whispered to them as children—how Joramun, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, had once blown the Horn of Winter to awaken the giants sleeping beneath the earth and bring an end to the Night King’s rule.
“Did he find it?” Robert asked anxiously.
“Yes, he found it.” Varys nodded. “It is said that he discovered it at the Fist of the First Men. And at the same time that he uncovered the Horn of Winter, a vast army of White Walkers appeared at the base of the Fist, as if they had come seeking the Horn themselves.”
Eddard Stark, hearing this for the first time, couldn’t help but speak. “Fortunately, fortunately, the White Walkers retreated and didn’t take the Horn of Winter.”
Though these were only a few simple words, the weight of the moment was not lost on anyone in the chamber. Had the White Walkers obtained the Horn of Winter, the Wall’s defense would have been rendered useless. The White Walker army would have marched south unimpeded, and the Seven Kingdoms would have had no fortress strong enough to halt their advance.
“Damn it, damn it!” Robert slammed his fist on the table, his frustration boiling over. “I should never have been sitting on this damn iron throne! I should have been at the Fist of the First Men, standing against the White Walkers myself. I should have carved my name into legend, just as Lynd Tarran has! I should have been part of an eternal story!”
Jon Arryn’s voice was deep and steady as he responded, “Your Grace, you are already part of the legend. The fall of the Mad King, the restoration of peace to the Seven Kingdoms—these deeds have already been written into history by the Citadel. There is no need for another legend.”
“All right, all right! I was only speaking my mind,” Robert waved his hand dismissively, though his frustration lingered.
Lord Tywin, more concerned with the practical implications, turned to Varys. “Is the Horn of Winter still functional?”
“No,” Varys said, shaking his head. “It was split apart with a weapon long ago. It may have been…” He turned his gaze to Eddard Stark. “It may have been Brandon the Breaker,’ the King in the North at the time.”
“Eddard, it seems your ancestor did a good thing!” Robert laughed.
Eddard Stark offered a small smile, though he was unsure what to say in response.
“So, in other words, the Winter Horn is nothing more than a useless piece of junk now?” Lord Tywin asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.
“The Night’s Watch posed the same question to Lord Lynd,” Varys replied. “But according to Lord Lynd, while the Winter Horn is damaged, it still contains a tremendous power within it—one that is tied to the Wall itself and still poses a great threat to its stability.” His expression was serious as he added, “Because of this, Lord Lynd decided to bring the Winter Horn south and entrust it to Lord Willas for safekeeping.”
“How can it be placed in Highgarden?” Robert frowned. “Where in all the world is safer than King’s Landing? Safer than the Red Keep? The Horn of Winter should be kept in the Red Keep, of course. Don’t you agree, Lord Mace?”
“Of course, of course! The Red Keep is far more suitable than Highgarden,” Lord Mace quickly nodded in agreement.
Satisfied with this response, Robert gave a nod. Maester Pycelle, who had been sitting with his head slightly bowed, lifted his gaze, his eyes gleaming with interest. It was clear that the legendary artifact intrigued him as well.
“The last matter is perhaps the most remarkable,” Varys continued. “It is said that Lord Lynd has brought more than twenty giants under his command beyond the Wall—each as tall as a city wall.” He paused, then added, “Now that Lord Lynd has reached Winterfell, I believe he will soon make his way to King’s Landing. When he does, the city will once again be brimming with excitement.”
“Giants?” Robert’s eyes widened with admiration, a flicker of envy crossing his face. “When he passed through King’s Landing, I should have gone with him. To the North, beyond the Wall…” His voice trailed off as he turned to look at Jon Arryn, who was already preparing to caution him. Robert sighed heavily. “I know, I know. A king must not act so recklessly.” He exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. “This meeting is over. I want to be alone for a while.”
At these words, the gathered lords and councilors rose and began to leave the chamber, filing out one after another. As Eddard Stark exited, he glanced back at Robert, slumped in his chair with a weary expression. At that moment, a thought struck him—perhaps it had been a mistake for Robert to become king.
