As the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, King's Landing sits on the eastern coast of Westeros, overlooking Blackwater Bay.
Three hundred years ago, Aegon Targaryen had landed here with his three dragons to begin his Conquest.
Once his wars of conquest were over, Aegon was crowned in Oldtown as the "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
It's said that at that time, the Hightower family humbly offered to gift Oldtown to the Targaryens to serve as the capital, but for reasons unknown, Aegon refused.
Instead of choosing Westeros's most prosperous city, he built a new one at the mouth of the Blackwater where he had first landed—hence the name King's Landing.
Three hundred years later, the small fishing village by the river mouth has grown into the largest city in Westeros, with a population of half a million people.
After Robert's Rebellion toppled the Targaryens, the Baratheon family retained King's Landing as the capital of the Seven Kingdoms.
The once-new city still thrives, yet now staggers under the crushing weight of its growing population.
On Aegon's High Hill in the southeastern corner of the city stands the royal castle—the Red Keep.
Built from pale red stone, this massive fortress crouches on the hill like a sleeping dragon, quietly observing all below.
Petyr Baelish, known as "Littlefinger," the Master of Coin, rode through the towering bronze gates of the Red Keep, the mockingbird clasp on his cloak glinting in the sunlight. His mood seemed bright, and he greeted every guard and servant along the way with a smile and a nod.
Upon entering the council chamber, Petyr noticed that Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, had already arrived.
The Hand of the King, also called the King's Hand, served as the king's chief advisor and the executor of his orders, overseeing the day-to-day governance of the Seven Kingdoms.
At over seventy years of age, Lord Arryn showed his age. Once bright golden hair had turned gray, and broad shoulders were now bowed from years of handling the burdens of the realm.
Yet his blue eyes still shone with a sharpness that refused to fade.
Seeing Petyr, Jon gave a nod to the man he had personally raised to the position of Master of Coin, then returned to studying the documents spread before him.
Petyr bowed respectfully and took his seat, knowing that the old lord disliked being interrupted when deep in thought. He waited in silence, his gaze drifting aimlessly around the chamber.
The council chamber was luxuriously appointed, with a richly patterned Myrish carpet underfoot, walls adorned with paintings from all corners of the known world, and statues of Valyrian sphinxes flanking the entrance, their piercing eyes seeming to stare straight at the restless Master of Coin.
As he waited, the other council members began to arrive.
The Master of Ships, Stannis Baratheon. The Master of Whisperers, Varys. And the Grand Maester, Pycelle.
Finally, Jon Arryn raised his head and asked, "Is everyone here?"
The "Spider," Varys, smiled, his voice soft and sweet as syrup as he replied, "Everyone, save for Lord Renly, the Master of Laws, who is away on holiday, and Ser Barristan, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who is accompanying His Grace on a hunt."
In truth, Varys neglected to mention one other person—King Robert Baratheon himself.
But by now, the king's absence from council meetings was routine. It would be more surprising if he were here. After all, the once-fierce warrior king had, since winning his crown, shown all the enthusiasm of a child who tires of a new toy and tosses it aside. Nowadays, he spent his time reveling in drink, hunting, and carousing, leaving matters of state to his foster father, Jon Arryn.
It was almost as though the old lord was not merely the king's Hand but the king's brain, eyes, and ears, while Robert himself was content with just a mouth for wine and a cock for women.
"Well then, let us begin," Lord Arryn said, rapping the table. "Let us first discuss the dispute between the Reach and Dorne. You've all heard about it, I presume? Any thoughts?"
A brief silence followed, broken by Varys, who spoke in his familiar silky tone:
"Our dear Master of Coin has just returned from Eagle's Point, so he must know the particulars of this conflict rather well."
Petyr Baelish returned Varys's meaningful glance with a sharp smile, cursing the "damned eunuch" inwardly, but outwardly he replied mildly:
"I only went to inspect the silver mine at Eagle Point and make arrangements for coining silver stags. As for the dispute itself, I am as uninformed as anyone."
Feigning surprise, Varys covered his mouth with a delicate hand. "Oh, I would never have guessed that a simple silver mine could require our esteemed Master of Coin to travel so far."
"It's all part of my duty," said Petyr, smiling thinly, "and with the treasury in such a tight spot, how could I pass up the chance to assess a new mine's potential personally?"
Varys looked as though he might press the point, but a discreet cough from Lord Arryn returned them to the topic at hand.
"Enough. Petyr, share your thoughts on this knight from Eagel Point."
Petyr nodded to Jon Arryn and replied, "Ser Samwell is a skilled knight, but he is not one to take a slight lying down."
Lord Arryn gave a slow nod, as though piecing something together.
Next, he turned to Varys. "What about you, Lord Varys? What do you make of it?"
Squirming slightly, the spymaster let out a lilting laugh and said:
"My lord, I have uncovered quite a bit of news. This dispute is no longer confined to Eagle Point and Starfall. Nearly every lord in western Dorne has sent troops. And as for the Reach, there's troops from House Tarly, House Florent, House Redwyne, House Mullendore, and House Cuy. Quite the impressive display."
The Hand's brow furrowed. "Have House Martell and House Tyrell issued orders for war?"
"Not quite," said Varys, rubbing his shining bald head. "It seems that Princess Arianne herself is in Starfall, where she issued the summons to the lords of western Dorne. House Tyrell, however, has been silent."
The Master of Ships, Stannis Baratheon, who had been silent up to this point, now spoke:
"Tyrell has remained silent? So why have so many lords from the Reach gone to aid Eagle Point?"
The king's brother was not a large man, but he was compact and hard, with skin toughened from years under the sun. His hair had thinned considerably, leaving only a narrow black fringe around his scalp like the shadow of a crown.
Stannis's tone was dry and clipped, as if he were questioning a guilty party.
Unbothered, Varys let out a soft laugh and replied, "Tyrell may have held back, but I cannot say why so many other lords of the Reach have joined the fray."
Petyr sneered, "So, your little birds can't tell you why these Reach lords would support Eagle Point?"
"My little birds have eyes and ears but little sense. They only bring me what they see and hear; it is up to us to divine what lies behind their words."
Petyr snorted, "So your little birds are as dull as they look…"
"Enough." Lord Arryn rapped the table, cutting off the bickering.
With a sigh, he looked to Grand Maester Pycelle, seated at the far end of the table, and asked:
"What say you, Grand Maester?"
Pycelle made no response.
"Grand Maester Pycelle? Grand Maester?"
(End of Chapter)