Ser Ryam Rayder, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, had handled the recent affair with an almost disconcerting leniency. He had not punished the guilty party, had not even raised his voice, and certainly had not condemned himself. The scene left Erlad with a lingering sense of unease. Why, he wondered, was King Jaehaerys so tolerant of Rayder's actions? It was not like the old king to indulge recklessness or to ignore breaches of duty.That night, as the torches burned low in the hallways of the Red Keep, Erlad's thoughts spiraled. He imagined every kind of melodramatic scenario to explain the King's behavior: secret oaths, hidden blood ties, debts of honor stretching back across seas. He even began to question Rayder's true identity. Was he really only what he claimed—a man from Essos, a descendant of a forgotten Dragonlord family? Or was there something far more dangerous beneath the polished armor of the Kingsguard?The more Erlad turned it over, the more determined he became. If Rayder's arrival in Westeros hid a deeper purpose, it was his duty to uncover it. He began quietly gathering information—listening to servants' gossip, speaking to minor courtiers, slipping questions into casual conversation. In the shifting sands of Westerosi politics, he understood that knowledge was as sharp as any sword. Only with knowledge could he survive the storm that was clearly gathering around the Great Council.At the same time, Erlad weighed his own ambitions. The Great Council about to convene would decide the future of the realm. Houses great and small would pin their fortunes on a single name. If he wished to be more than an observer, he needed to prepare himself, to wield his influence with precision.Meanwhile, Ser Rayder himself had become the object of intense scrutiny. Before the Council even opened its doors, the young knight was the focus of dozens of probing gazes. Lords and ladies approached him under the pretext of polite conversation, hoping to draw out details of Dragonstone, where King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had recently flown despite their failing health. Rayder's arrival in King's Landing so soon afterward had only deepened the mystery. Was he the King's confidant or his hidden enemy?The lords of Dorne were the boldest. One even came perilously close to asking outright whether Rayder bore a grudge against the Targaryen family.Rayder felt increasingly out of his depth. He was, at his core, an ordinary man who had stumbled into extraordinary power. Whatever he had gained from his strange journey across worlds, it had not included the slippery art of courtly intrigue. Yet the nobles' questions revealed more than they concealed. Their sharp words betrayed Dorne's own attitude toward the Iron Throne, and Rayder made mental notes even as he fumbled through polite replies.Still, he noticed that none of the houses truly tried to recruit him. They preferred to watch first, to gauge his value before committing. That in itself told him much. Somewhere on Dragonstone, the old King was maneuvering. He had hidden the recent dragon battle so well that the court was left brimming with speculation. If Rayder was not careful, he would be caught in the middle and used as a pawn.He began to think not only about surviving but about using his unique position to shape events. Power, he realized, meant little without a clear aim.It was in this tense atmosphere that Corlys Velaryon brought his young son Laenor to meet Rayder. The Sea Snake had high hopes for this encounter. Laenor was one of the central figures of the day's Council, and Corlys wanted Rayder's sympathy firmly on his side.Rayder saw a boy of about seven, bright as a coin fresh from the mint. Laenor's Valyrian heritage was unmistakable: a handsome face, an aquiline nose, silver-white hair, and eyes of clear amethyst. The child already carried himself with a hint of pride.Rayder nodded once to show he had understood Corlys's introduction. Then, in a gesture that made several bystanders stiffen, he reached out and gently patted Laenor's head, as though he were any ordinary child. He neither bowed nor offered the careful courtesies expected before a potential heir to the throne.Inside, Rayder felt no disrespect. His soul was that of an adult from another world, and he could not bring himself to treat a child as a king. But to the nobles watching, the gesture was shocking. They mentally stamped the young knight with the label of "lawless."Corlys felt his plans slipping. He had hoped Rayder would be charmed by Laenor, perhaps even pledge support. Instead, the outsider's casual manner left him awkward and uncertain. Clearly, this man from Essos was not a piece to be moved at will across the board. Corlys would have to rethink his strategy.Rayder himself had changed over the past two or three years since arriving in this world. The bewildered foreigner who once stumbled through Westerosi customs was gone. In his place stood a man learning to carve out his own space in a realm built on blood and oaths. Yet his growth did not include deference to empty titles.When King Jaehaerys finally appeared, the low murmur of the hall faded into a taut silence. Courtiers glided to their seats like pieces settling on a game board. From the arrangement alone one could read the factions.Corlys had marshaled his wealth and reputation to rally support for Laenor. Duke Boremund Baratheon sat on his side, along with a scattering of counts from the Crownlands and the Reach. Across the aisle, Viserys had gathered an equally impressive coalition. Duke Grover Tully, Duke Tywin Lannister, and many of the Westerlands' counts lent their voices to him.At first glance the two camps seemed balanced. But when the tally of votes was considered, the truth emerged. The dukes might be evenly matched, but Viserys held far more counts. And in the Great Council's arithmetic, a count's voice weighed as much as a duke's. Unless something drastic happened, Laenor would lose.Rayder and Erlad exchanged a look from their corner of the hall. Corlys caught their glance and felt a twist of humiliation. By all rights—by primogeniture itself—many of these lords should have stood with his son. Yet they had defected. The Sea Snake was no fool. He could see whose hand had arranged this.He looked at the old King on his dais and nearly trembled with rage. Jaehaerys had played him—played them all—while wearing the mask of impartiality. The Great Council, which Corlys had believed a fair contest, had been rigged from the start. His son had been offered up as the illusion of choice, while Viserys was quietly crowned the inevitable victor.A less disciplined man might have shouted then and there, but Corlys forced his fury down. This was only the opening move. The realm's future was not decided in a single vote but in years of alliances and rivalries. He would need a new strategy, perhaps a new ally, to protect his family's interests.Erlad watched Corlys's face darken until it was nearly black. He nudged Rayder with his elbow and whispered, "Is there still a chance?"Rayder, absently stroking the smooth scales of Kidora's head, replied without hesitation, "In normal circumstances, no. In abnormal ones… perhaps."Erlad exhaled, half a laugh and half a sigh. "So that's a no."Rayder said nothing more. Around them the hall buzzed with suppressed anticipation. Votes would soon be cast, and the future of the Seven Kingdoms decided—or at least, decided for now.Yet even in this moment of seeming inevitability, small undercurrents flowed. Some lords whispered of dragons on Dragonstone, of rumors of a mysterious battle in the sky. Others wondered whether the outsider knight might yet tilt the scales. In Westeros, after all, nothing was certain until the last raven flew.Rayder felt the weight of all those eyes and questions pressing in. He had wanted only to survive. Now he found himself standing at the edge of a whirlpool that could draw him down into history's depths. He would have to learn quickly—learn how to wield his power, how to maneuver among snakes, and how to decide, at last, what he truly wanted.
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