Jon Arryn quietly withdrew his hand, and Lysa immediately felt a sense of relief wash over her.
The old Hand lifted the still-warm teacup.
The fragrance of tea mingled faintly with her perfume as he took a slow breath.
"He's a capable young man," Jon said calmly. "To increase Gulltown's tax revenue fivefold is no small feat."
"If I remember correctly, he's Hoster's ward. I will convene a Small Council later today. Let him serve as Master of Coin for now."
Lysa naturally understood what the position of Master of Coin meant.
It was not a post given lightly. Only someone deeply trusted by the king or the Hand could hold it.
But Lysa did not care about rank or power.
What mattered to her was that she could finally see the man she loved more often.
When she leaned into Jon again, she no longer resisted as much as before.
Sunlight broke through the clouds.
Jon felt a little better.
With attendants following behind him, he made his way to the long table hall.
"We have the entire continent," said Renly confidently. "The Targaryens are reduced to a single small Gohor. Seven to one—no, eight to one in strength. What is there to worry about?"
"My dear Lord Renly, that is not how one counts," came a sharp voice in response.
The speaker was a noble with a large head and golden hair, though his features were... less than impressive.
Short in stature and somewhat grotesque in appearance, he did not inspire much affection at first glance.
"Perhaps Lord Tyrion is referring to population," Renly continued smoothly.
"Gohor has, at most, four hundred thousand people, while King's Landing alone has five hundred thousand.
By that measure, Viserys stands no chance at all. If I were in command, Gohor would have already fallen."
Renly spoke with great confidence.
Around the hall, many inwardly sneered.
For three hundred years, this chamber had gathered the sharpest and most ambitious minds in the realm.
Never had such childish reasoning been voiced so boldly.
In most eyes, Renly was still just a boy—immature in both age and thought. No one truly took him seriously.
Except one.
Standing beside him, his squire and sworn sword Loras Tyrell looked at him with pure admiration.
It was as if he were ready to follow Renly to conquer the world that very moment.
In a corner, Kevan Lannister quietly spoke with Brynden Tully.
Over the years, Viserys had continuously provoked Robert.
As the family most tightly bound to Robert, Tywin had sent his own brother to represent House Lannister's interests in King's Landing.
Kevan's presence symbolized both loyalty to the crown and the Lannisters' firm stance.
As for Brynden—
During the rebellion, House Tully had suppressed many Riverlords loyal to the crown.
They were already too deeply tied to Robert's cause to turn back.
And as the military backbone of his house, Brynden had to remain on the front line in King's Landing.
"According to our intelligence," Kevan said in a low voice, "Gohor itself has only four hundred thousand people."
"But including the Lower Rhoyne and Upper Rhoyne regions, the population is close to one million.
That's enough to raise an army of fifty thousand."
Brynden nodded. He already knew this.
"But where will the Targaryens land? Dorne?"
"The Crackclaw Point is also possible.
Those savages hiding in forests and valleys would gladly lick Targaryen boots if given the chance."
The hall was filled with representatives of the Seven Kingdoms.
Kevan and Brynden needed no introduction.
Jon himself represented the Vale.
Renly stood for the Stormlands.
From the Reach came not Mace Tyrell, but his heir Willas Tyrell.
Each wore colors representing their house—red, blue, green, gold.
All except Dorne.
Dorne had never truly feared House Baratheon. Even during the height of Targaryen dragon power, they had stood defiant.
Now, their loyalty to the Iron Throne existed only in name.
Most of the satirical pamphlets and mockeries of the king had spread from Dorne into the rest of the realm.
As the discussions continued, a guard's voice rang out:
"The Hand of the King has arrived!"
Everyone turned toward the entrance.
Those seated quickly rose to their feet.
Under normal circumstances, Jon Arryn's arrival would signal the beginning of the meeting.
But today was different.
Robert himself would attend.
The Crownlands had gathered a massive army, and the financial burden had become unbearable.
Jon had summoned the lords in hopes they would offer support.
But to extract gold from them, his authority alone was not enough. Robert had to be present.
"Lord Hand."
"May your health endure, my lord."
Even Willas, despite his status, spoke with polite courtesy.
Because Jaime had lost his sword hand earlier than expected, Willas had never suffered the crippling injury from their joust.
Jon lingered on Willas for a moment, nodded, and took his seat.
"My lords," he began, "you all know why His Grace has called this meeting. The remnants of House Targaryen continue to stir unrest in Essos and cast their gaze upon the Iron Throne."
"The Crownlands are strong, but maintaining an army of sixty thousand is no small burden.
We hope that each of you will extend your support and help the realm weather this crisis."
After he finished, an awkward silence filled the hall.
Then, from a corner, came a faint snicker.
"I imagine helping the crown is not our strength," said Tyrion in a low voice. "But sending kings away... that we are quite good at."
His tone was unpleasant.
But the remark was sharp. Even those who tried to remain composed could not help but smile.
Even Willas nearly lost his composure.
Jon may or may not have heard it.
But as Hand and lord, he knew better than to engage with the man known as the Imp in such a setting.
"Perhaps we could form a coalition army," Brynden said, breaking the tension.
"Each kingdom contributes according to its strengths.
The Riverlands can supply grain. The Westerlands can provide gold. The Vale can supply arms.."
This was, in truth, a proposal from his brother, Hoster Tully.
Among the Seven Kingdoms, the Stormlands, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands had no path of retreat.
They were committed to opposing the Targaryens to the end.
The suggestion gained quiet approval. If those three agreed, a tighter alliance could be formed.
The Reach and Dorne would then be pressured to contribute as well.
Just then, the herald's voice rang out once more:
"Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, has arrived! Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, has arrived!"
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