Chapter 122: The Way of a Good King
"Please speak. I am listening." Jacaerys gradually adapted to his role as King. The brown-haired youth now possessed the bearing of a ruler. Of course, what people feared was likely not the crude crown upon his head, but Vermax coiled behind him, Draezel Varezes standing nearby in full armor with a sword at his waist, and Vermithor—the undisputed largest Dragon in the world and strongest Dragon of the age—gazing disdainfully over everything within the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.
After all, before tens of thousands of witnesses, Vermithor had nearly effortlessly knocked Vhagar from the sky and decisively slain the former largest Dragon in the world.
Simon Strong carefully spoke his request:
"Your Grace, House Strong was granted Harrenhal during the reign of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen. From the time of Larys Strong onward, House Strong has suffered betrayal, death, and disaster beyond measure. Your Grace, seeing that House Strong—aside from the traitor Larys—has always stood beside you and the Queen, House Strong is willing to forgo all rewards. We ask only that Your Grace reestablish a lord for House Strong and grant us a new seat. In exchange, House Strong willingly surrenders Harrenhal and all its surrounding lands."
Hearing that House Strong was offering Harrenhal, the nobles immediately began whispering among themselves.
Lord Forrest Frey was somewhat tempted, but quickly regained his senses. Though House Frey was looked down upon by many Riverlords, they still possessed several centuries of history. House Frey had witnessed the strange misfortunes surrounding Harrenhal over the past century.
The entire House Hoare had burned beneath dragonfire. The last members of House Qoherys had been castrated and murdered by Harren the Black beneath the weirwood tree, ending that ancient Valyrian bloodline. House Harroway had been exterminated during the reign of King Maegor I Targaryen. House Towers later inherited the castle, only to die out as well. Even Dowager Queen Rhaena, wife of Aegon the Uncrowned, had eventually been buried here.
As for House Strong—their suffering was obvious to all.
Ser Lucamore Strong of the Kingsguard had broken his vows, disgracing both his white cloak and House Strong's honor by fathering countless bastards. Lyonel Strong and Harwin Strong had mysteriously burned to death inside the damp halls of Harrenhal. Larys Strong, born crippled and forever scheming, ultimately perished beneath dragonfire.
The once prosperous House Strong now had only a handful of surviving members.
Its wealth had all but vanished.
Perhaps Harrenhal truly was cursed.
When Lord Forrest Frey briefly seemed tempted, his companions—Lord Petyr Piper and young Lord Benjicot Blackwood—immediately restrained him. The Riverlords who had fought alongside him had developed a very favorable opinion of Lord Frey.
Benjicot Blackwood and Kermit Tully—Lord Elmo Tully's eldest son, a tall, thin, clever youth—had even given Lord Forrest a new nickname:
"Ser Frey."
This pleased Lord Frey immensely.
"I understand your meaning, Ser Simon." Jacaerys looked toward Draezel.
Draezel thought for a moment. Most lands left ownerless after the war now belonged to him.
"If Ser Simon is willing, Duskendale and its surrounding lands—formerly House Peake territory—may be exchanged for House Strong lands. However, House Strong would swear fealty to me."
"That is no issue!" Simon Strong immediately became overjoyed.
He hurriedly pushed a young boy forward.
His own son and nephew had died on campaign, while his grandnephew had suffered the misfortune of being drenched in Vhagar's dragon blood and dying several days later after endless agonized screams.
Now only one youth remained for House Strong.
Tall and lean with a broad nose and handsome features, fourteen-year-old Lucan Strong even bore some resemblance to Jacaerys.
But everyone ignored such matters automatically.
After all, the one seated upon the throne possessed a Dragon.
"Very well. Lucan Strong, in recognition of your family's service, I grant your grandfather's request. House Strong voluntarily surrenders Harrenhal and its surrounding lands. In exchange, Lucan Strong shall become Lord of Duskendale, possessing all rights over Duskendale and its surrounding territories. As for Harrenhal, it shall temporarily remain Crown property until a suitable family is found. The Crown will use it in future as a reward for loyalty."
"Thank you for your grace, Your Majesty."
Lucan Strong knelt on one knee, accepted the exchange, and swore fealty to Draezel.
Draezel also learned Arya Harroway's whereabouts.
She had ultimately decided to leave Harrenhal and return to the Isle of Faces. The Green Men elder was willing to accept her on the condition she teach the island's children her knowledge of sorcery.
At that moment—
Among the Northmen contingent, Lord Bolton nudged Ser Medrick Manderly and quietly asked:
"If I remember correctly, Duskendale used to belong to House Manderly, didn't it?"
Medrick replied indifferently:
"My family was driven out centuries ago by the Gardener Kings. The current House Manderly are loyal hounds of the wolves. As for Duskendale, House Peake has likely changed it beyond recognition."
House Manderly of White Harbor—the North's only house following the Faith of the Seven and maintaining true knights—had once been a great Reach family descended from Garth Greenhand.
The Gardener Kings, fearing House Manderly's growing power, had allied with House Peake to drive them out.
Eventually the exiled Manderlys were accepted by House Stark, Kings of Winter.
The Wolf Kings generously granted them extensive lands.
From then onward, House Manderly became among House Stark's most loyal bannermen and one of the North's strongest pillars.
The Great Judgment ended with both punishments and rewards, and the assembled nobles gradually dispersed.
Valarr mounted Silverwing and returned to Dragonmont City after the meeting.
Jacaerys and Draezel, however, had no desire to rest.
After only a single night in Harrenhal, Draezel took the young King into the skies.
They intended to visit villages destroyed by war, castles conquered in the Westerlands, and towns ravaged by plague.
Beside the Red Fork—
A village still billowed with thick smoke.
Vermax lazily played with its own tail outside the village.
Vermithor lazily watched Vermax playing with its tail.
Meanwhile Jacaerys sat upon the ground at the village entrance.
Draezel sat beside him.
Before the King sat a bowl of simple bean soup identical to what the villagers themselves were eating.
"There are no children left in this village, Your Majesty." A middle-aged man with one leg missing sighed.
"When those Westerland dogs came, they killed every man they saw and took every woman they found. As Your Majesty can see... we no longer have enough hands to plant next season's crops."
Beside him sat only old men, children, and a few elderly women.
"Your Majesty, may the Seven bless you. Several nearby villages are in the same condition." An elderly woman wiped away tears.
"Thankfully our old knight died before they arrived, otherwise we would not even have seed grain remaining. Things are slightly better now. There are still some seeds left—barely enough to survive awhile."
Jacaerys silently lifted his bowl and drank deeply.
There was no salt whatsoever.
The beans carried a strange flavor—not fully cooked, yet not hard either.
The texture was awful.
Nor was it filling.
"Are these your seed grains?" Jacaerys stared at the soup and suddenly realized something.
The old woman sighed and nodded.
Jacaerys turned toward Draezel.
"My lord."
Draezel merely shook his head.
"Jacaerys, this is your test. Knights collect taxes and provide service to their lords. This is the tradition of Westeros and the foundation supporting all great houses—including the Crown itself. You must find balance between starving peasants, an empty treasury, and disloyal nobles."
"What about Westerlands reparations?"
Draezel looked at Jacaerys and inwardly sighed.
Jacaerys was a good child.
He possessed the potential to become a truly good King.
But unfortunately—
Jacaerys understood immediately.
Westerlands reparations would ultimately come from common folk and miners.
The nobles themselves would not truly bleed.
Though tax income would eventually collapse because of this, who cared about the future?
"I understand."
Jacaerys looked at the villagers and wandering septons around them before quickly finishing the offered bean soup.
"I will prepare food for everyone for winter. Please trust me."
Jacaerys looked toward the villagers.
"I swear in the name of the Seven that I will ensure everyone survives this winter."
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