The grand banquet, amidst the clinking of cups, also served the political function of the first distribution of power in the new dynasty.
Every noble who stepped forward to present a gift was not only expressing congratulations but also confirming their status and loyalty before the new King. And every response from Robert was not merely a return courtesy, but a reconfirmation and endorsement of the existing order of the Seven Kingdoms in the name of the Iron Throne.
Robert sat high on the dais, drinking fine wine and enjoying this moment belonging to the victor. Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, stood by his side like his most solid cornerstone. Whenever a noble approached, the seasoned Hand would lean in slightly, whispering the name, house, and their stance and deeds during the Usurper's War into the King's ear.
These silent whispers ensured that every time Robert spoke, he struck the perfect balance.
The vast majority of bannermen received confirmations maintaining their original titles and lands.
"In the name of the King, reaffirm Tywin Lannister as Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock..."
"In the name of the King, reaffirm Mace Tyrell as Warden of the South, Lord of Highgarden..."
These seemingly repetitive investitures were actually crucial.
Under the laws and traditions of Westeros, everything granted by the Targaryen dynasty became void after its overthrow. Now that a new King had ascended, all lands and titles required reconfirmation by King Robert to possess continuing legal validity. This was not a simple formality, but the most direct embodiment of "a new king, a new court," symbolizing the Baratheon dynasty's comprehensive takeover and recognition of the order of the Seven Kingdoms.
The rewards proceeded methodically until Euron Greyjoy was named Lord of Harrenhal.
When this news hit the nobles like a boulder in a still lake, stirring silent but turbulent waves, everyone realized the weight and suddenness of this reward far exceeded any before it. It wasn't a confirmation of the old order, but the creation of a brand-new, prominent lordship with an almost generous gesture.
After a brief astonishment, on second thought, this reward made sense.
Given Euron's seniority as one of the earliest initiators of the rebellion, his undeniable battle achievements at the Trident and other key conflicts, and his powerful control of the Iron Fleet guarding the sea routes, he long possessed influence surpassing ordinary lords. Granting him the largest, most symbolic castle in Westeros was unexpected, but certainly not absurd. It felt more like a belated, weighty public acknowledgment of his existing strength and merit.
More importantly, the former House Whent of Harrenhal had sided with the Mad King during the war. Aside from the former Kingsguard Oswell Whent, far away at the Tower of Joy, all male members of House Whent had died in battle. After this war, the family no longer had the strength to control such an important castle.
---
The lengthy ceremony of gifts and investitures would last the entire afternoon.
When the news of Euron being named Lord of Harrenhal spread, he was quickly surrounded by nobles coming to offer congratulations. Flattery and polite words surged like a tide, truth indistinguishable from falsehood.
Amidst this noise, the approach of one figure stood out distinctly. She was tall and slightly clumsy, completely out of place with the surrounding ornate and exquisite atmosphere. It was Brienne from Tarth. Her clear blue eyes held no trace of fawning, only pure, almost unadulterated light.
"Congratulations," her voice was a bit stiff but exceptionally serious. "Now... you are a knight."
Euron looked at the girl with whom he once had an agreement. A genuine smile, different from the one used to deal with others, appeared on his face. "Yes, finally fulfilled the promise. Didn't we agree back then?"
"En." Brienne nodded vigorously, her hands unconsciously clenching tight, her gaze firm. "I will definitely work hard."
Euron looked around at the chaotic scene filled with power exchanges and hypocritical smiles. A trace of imperceptible boredom flashed in his eyes; such occasions truly bored him.
"Talk is cheap," he suddenly turned to Brienne, his tone becoming casual and familiar. "Haven't seen you in a long time. Let me see how much you've improved."
Hearing this, an undisguised joy blossomed on Brienne's face—the excitement of finally being valued and recognized. "Wonderful, my Lord!" she responded almost immediately. "I couldn't ask for more!"
Euron turned to Selwyn Tarth, the Evenstar, Brienne's father, and smiled. "I wonder if Lord Tarth feels at ease with this?"
Brienne looked at her father with puppy-dog eyes. Selwyn Tarth smiled and nodded. "Go on. Instruction from the First Warrior of the Seven Kingdoms is a rare opportunity. Lord Euron is too kind."
Without further words, Euron and Brienne, one after the other, tacitly slipped away from the noisy crowd and quietly entered a relatively secluded training yard within the Red Keep.
Before long, rhythmic, clanging sounds of metal clashing rang out in that quiet space enclosed by high walls—the whistle of blades cutting the wind and the solid impact of blocks, sounding more real and full of power than any banquet music.
Dust in the training yard danced gently in the afterglow of the setting sun. After a fierce exchange of blows, the two finally stopped, sitting down against the cold stone wall to rest a bit.
Brienne's progress was evident. Her innate strength had grown even more astonishing with age; every slash carried a heavy power capable of shaking a shield. What made Euron nod inwardly was that her once-obvious weaknesses—whether footwork transitions, sword speed, or agility—had undergone extremely rigorous training. Though not yet top-tier, she had shed her past clumsiness, becoming steady and effective.
"Few can meet your strength head-on now," Euron wiped dust from his forehead, getting straight to the point. "But your exertion is too rigid, lacking room to maneuver. Facing a truly fast swordsman, your ribs here," he pointed vaguely at his own side, "would be a fatal opening."
Brienne didn't refute him immediately. Instead, she frowned slightly, lowering her head to ponder the exchange just now, then nodded seriously.
"Footwork too," Euron continued, picking up a twig to draw simply on the ground. "You focus too much on a stable base. That's not wrong, but your center of gravity shift during movement isn't fluid enough. Think of waves hitting a reef—not a hard crash, but a continuous surge and infiltration."
His words were sharp, pointing directly at the crux, without a hint of polite reservation.
Brienne listened with rapt attention. Her blue eyes sometimes showed realization as weaknesses were pointed out, sometimes deepened in thought seeking solutions, nodding heavily from time to time, carving every word into her heart. In this secluded yard, there was no lord and maiden, only two souls immersed in the exploration of martial arts.
Euron looked up with mild surprise to see Jaime Lannister leaning against the archway of the yard. The golden-haired Kingslayer still wore his snow-white Kingsguard armor, strikingly visible in the twilight. He watched the two who had just finished sparring, a trace of elusive dimness flashing in his famous emerald eyes.
Euron jerked his chin at him, a breezy, uninhibited smile on his face. "Well? Want to come down and practice? Loosen up the muscles."
Jaime shook his head, posture unchanged, merely pulling a smile devoid of mirth as a response.
Euron's gaze fell on his white cloak, as if suddenly remembering something, and asked with interest, "Speaking of which, seeing you still in that white cloak makes me curious. Does your father... actually allow you to remain a Kingsguard? Isn't he in a hurry for you to resign and return to inherit Casterly Rock and the entire Westerlands?"
At the mention of his father Tywin, Jaime's eyes grew a few degrees colder, his tone carrying an imperceptible irritability. "My father? Of course he doesn't agree." He snorted. "We've argued about it countless times. But I insist on staying, and he... can't do anything about me for now."
Hearing this, Brienne couldn't help but interject with her unique, earnest-to-the-point-of-stubborn tone. "The Kingsguard is the highest honor a knight can dream of. If it were me... I would also be willing to wear the white cloak for life."
Euron turned to Brienne, smiling teasingly, but his gaze swept meaningfully over Jaime. "Counting him, there are only two Kingsguard left now. Brienne, if you were a few years older and your skills more refined, maybe you'd really have a chance to fill one of the vacancies."
Euron's gaze rested on Jaime's overly dazzling white armor, his tone calm but direct. "Still brooding alone here because of that 'Kingslayer' remark at King Robert's feast?"
Jaime shrugged, the motion seemingly casual, but a self-mocking curve tugged at his lips. "He wasn't wrong. I am a Kingslayer. I fear this title will follow me all my life, just like this white cloak."
Euron looked at him silently for a moment. In some ways, he did hold a unique sympathy for Jaime. He spoke, voice not loud but words distinct. "In all fairness, Jaime... if I were in your position back then, standing beside that mad king, perhaps I would have made the exact same decision even sooner."
Euron's gaze was sharp, seeming to pierce through the white armor to the truth behind it. "No one would kill the king they swore to protect with their life by their own hand lightly. Likewise, no sane person would sit by and watch a madman use wildfire to bury the entire population of King's Landing—half a million people—with him, even if the one giving the order was the King himself."
"Choosing between a Mad King destined to burn everything, and your own father, family, and half a million innocent lives... that is not a difficult decision."
Jaime was slightly moved, but the stigma borne for so long was hard to let go. He whispered, "But... many say I broke my vows and disgraced this white cloak."
Hearing this, Euron suddenly laughed, a laugh filled with contempt for worldly views. "Why care how they wag their tongues? Right and wrong in this world often doesn't lie in how others judge." He stopped laughing, his tone becoming deep and affirming. "As long as your own conscience is clear, that is enough."
The gloom on Jaime's face seemed to dissipate slightly with this conversation. He pulled a smile that wasn't exactly bright, but much more relaxed, and nodded to Euron, accepting the understanding.
Euron looked up at the sky, estimating there was still some time before the feast of power and socializing in the hall ended. He turned to Brienne, smiling. "Still have strength? Come, I'll teach you a movement technique commonly used by assassins across the Narrow Sea. It's quite different from a knight's footwork."
Hearing this, Brienne's clear blue eyes lit up instantly like ignited stars. She nodded vigorously without hesitation. "I have strength! Yes!"
Fatigue seemed worthless in the face of her intense thirst for knowledge.
Even though Euron didn't ask him to leave, Jaime, standing nearby, showed the grace a knight should have. He knew well the privacy of martial arts transmission, especially when teaching unique techniques. Without any hesitation, he simply nodded slightly toward Euron, then consciously turned around. With steps that were still elegant but seemingly lighter of burden, he quietly left the training yard, leaving the space gradually shrouded in twilight to the master and apprentice.
The two only left the training yard when the setting sun dyed the clouds gold and red. They needed to wash and change separately; there was still an evening banquet to attend.