After the initial shock came a sudden sense of clarity, a feeling of unprecedented opportunity.
As for the deprivation of the old nobility's privileges? What did it have to do with them?
They had nothing to begin with, or had long been abandoned by that social class.
The Ash Company and the Bloodsworn, the core of Aegon Targaryen's forces, were even more composed; they had long grown accustomed to their lord's style of breaking all conventions to establish new rules, and they firmly believed that only by following such a lord could they forge an era of their own.
Taking in the reactions of the crowd below, Aegon knew that the foundation of his new policy had been quietly planted in the hearts of those who had no ties to the old world and saw new hope in him.
He stopped discussing the details of the new policy, and his tone shifted for the third time.
This time, his voice suddenly rose, carrying a clanging power like metal striking stone, instantly igniting the temperature in the hall that had already begun to rise:
"Before crossing the sea for this Western Expedition, I made a promise to you all..."
His gaze was like lightning, scanning every breathless face:
"Rewards according to merit!"
These four words were like sparks falling into a pool of oil.
"The swords in your hands and the new scars on your bodies are the fairest measuring tapes for your future fiefs!"
"Your courage on the battlefield and your loyalty to House Targaryen are the strongest contracts to win wealth and bring glory to your houses!"
"A brave warrior deserves a castle as a lord! A fierce Soldier can obtain land as a knight!"
"I, Aegon Targaryen, today, before this iron throne, reaffirm..."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice resolute and echoing between every stone pillar:
"I will never break my word!"
"Today is the time to fulfill that promise!"
"Roar—!!" Someone was the first to let out a low growl, and then, suppressed excitement erupted like a volcano, instantly filling the entire Throne Room with a scorching atmosphere.
The eyes of the generals and officers burned with intensity, their fists clenched and their breathing heavy, as if they could already see the towers of castles, fertile estates, and shining coronets beckoning to them.
Even the most mature and steady Jon Connington had an irrepressible, complex light flashing in his eyes.
Aegon said no more and began to bestow rewards in turn, his voice steady but carrying the weight of destiny:
"Jon Connington."
The veteran general's body jolted as his name was called, and he immediately stepped forward and knelt on one knee.
"Following me since the Narrow Sea, coordinating and planning, personally leading the Golden Company to recapture most of the Stormlands, stabilizing the rear, and reassuring the people—your merits are outstanding.
Today, I promote you to Marquess of Griffin's Roost. The original Griffin's Roost and its territories remain unchanged, and the newly captured Rain House, Longbow Hall, and their subordinate estates and villages shall all be under your jurisdiction and governance."
Griffin's Roost! The ancestral castle of House Clinton! And Rain House and Longbow Hall! This was not just a restoration of his old estate, but a massive expansion!
Jon Connington felt a surge of warmth hit his eyes. He bowed his head deeply, his voice carrying an imperceptible tremble but remaining incredibly firm: "I... Jon Connington, thank Your Highness for your generosity! I shall be utterly loyal and would die ten thousand deaths without hesitation to repay Your Highness! To the glory of the Targaryen name!"
"Laswell Peake."
That general from a branch line of House Peake could hardly believe his ears; he froze for a moment before hurriedly stepping forward to kneel.
"Joined from Tyrosh, with merit in commanding the Fleet and later following the army to fight in the Stormlands and capturing several castles. I grant you Mistwood as your hereditary fief and title you Count of Mistwood."
A Count! An exiled branch-line member had leaped to become a landed Count! Even if the power of a Count under this new order was far less than before, it was still a solid noble title.
Laswell Peake was so excited his face turned red, and he spoke incoherently: "I... I... thank Your Highness! Your Highness's heavenly grace! House Peake swears loyalty unto death!"
"Bennet Belen."
A burly officer with fresh scars on his face strode forward and knelt heavily.
"Landing in the Stormlands, you were at the forefront of every battle, being the first to scale the walls and break the enemy several times. I grant you Fawnton as your fief and title you a Knight."
"Thank you, Your Highness!" Bennet's voice was like muffled thunder, his excitement evident. A Knight!
An officer from a Mercenary background had, by virtue of his military merit, obtained a noble title and a real fief! This undoubtedly provided the strongest possible boost to the morale of all Soldiers of humble origins.
After rewarding several people, Aegon looked at the Jon Connington, who had stood up again: "For the rest of the Soldiers, all those who have performed meritorious deeds shall be rewarded with gold coins, land, or lower noble titles according to the size of their merits. You shall verify the list and personally oversee the distribution."
"It must be fair, without the slightest deduction or favoritism."
"As you command!" Jon Connington responded solemnly.
At the edge of the hall, the middle and lower-level officers and representatives of the meritorious Soldiers from the Bloodsworn and the Golden Company watched their comrades being granted castles and titles, their eyes filled with undisguised envy and even a hint of urgency.
They had also followed His Highness across the sea to fight.
However, the destruction of Stannis at the Houdao Sea was due to the Prince's dragon-riding; the capture of King's Landing was due to the Prince's overwhelming power.
Many times, these infantrymen and cavalrymen didn't even have the chance to engage the enemy's main force before the battle was over.
Without prominent military merit, it was difficult to receive earth-shattering rewards; most only received some gold coins and were excluded from titles and fiefs.
A faint sense of disappointment and dissatisfaction quietly spread in the hearts of some.
Aegon took in all these subtle emotional fluctuations, his heart as clear as a mirror.
He was a Targaryen Prince, the future ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and the commander of the three armies, not a vanguard general who had to lead the charge in every battle.
A king's majesty lies in strategic planning, in clear rewards and punishments, and in driving his servants to hunt the world for him.
If he personally rode his dragon to sweep everything away in every major battle, and his Soldiers lacked even the opportunity to earn merit and rewards, then over time, military morale would surely be affected.
Bravery should be rewarded, but as a commander, one also needs to know how to create opportunities for subordinates to earn merit.
In the future, unless it was a necessary moment, he should perhaps sit more in the center and leave the merit of conquest to those loyal Soldiers who craved wealth and honor through their swords.
With the rewards settled, the atmosphere in the hall was warm and complex.
Aegon's voice rang out again, this time with a tone that became exceptionally solemn and deep, as if he were explaining a fundamental principle that transcended temporary rewards and punishments:
"I have my own principles in my actions. Merit must be rewarded, and faults must be punished. This is the foundation of governance; without trust, one cannot stand."
His gaze slowly scanned the room, lingering on the faces of the newly titled generals and the many more officers with expectant eyes.
"Anyone who is loyal to me and to the Targaryen Dynasty, regardless of their origin or past, I shall treat with sincerity, grant them the honor they deserve, and ensure the peace they should enjoy."
He paused slightly, leading the conversation in a direction that seemed somewhat different from the current atmosphere of rewards:
"For example, House Crabb of the Whispers on Claw Isle."
Hearing this unfamiliar name, many generals looked puzzled and whispered to each other.
Claw Isle? What remote and barren place is that? Never heard of it.
"Baron William Crab," Aegon's voice was calm and steady, "hearing that I have taken King's Landing, he did not wait for a royal summons nor fear the new policy, but took the initiative to come to King's Landing to swear his fealty to me."
"Summon William Crab to the Throne Room for an audience."
The guards announced loudly, their voices shaking the roof tiles.
After a moment, a youth dressed simply, his face somewhat pale with nervousness, walked carefully into the center of the hall under the gaze of countless curious, scrutinizing, or dismissive eyes.
His posture was slightly bowed as he tried to stand straight but still appeared youthful; standing amidst that sea of black armor and majestic gazes, he seemed so out of place, his heart pounding so hard it almost burst from his chest.
Aegon looked at the nervous youth below, but his first words were like ice water poured over his head:
"The old noble privileges of House Crabb are hereby stripped, starting today, in accordance with the new system I have just promulgated."
William Crab's face instantly turned as white as paper, and the last trace of color vanished completely.
His body swayed imperceptibly, as if all his strength had been drained away.
As expected... is it still not enough? He had gambled the future of his entire house, traveling a thousand miles to be the first to swear fealty, only to be publicly stripped of the power base passed down through generations?
Despair, like a cold tide, instantly submerged him, making him almost unable to stand; his ears buzzed, and the surrounding gazes seemed to take on a mocking tone.
However, just as he was disheartened and in utter despair, that cold voice rang out once more from the throne.
This time, the tone did not become gentle, but it strangely possessed a weight that pierced through the long river of time and a crystal-clear recognition:
"However—"
This turn caused William to snap his head up, his vacant eyes refocusing.
Aegon's gaze seemed to travel through time and space, returning to that blood-stained riverbank seventeen years ago:
"At the Battle of the Ruby Ford, when the Targaryen Dynasty was on the verge of collapse and surrounded by powerful enemies, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms either turned against us, stood by and watched, or surrendered to the prevailing wind."
His voice was not loud, but every word knocked clearly on everyone's heart:
"Only on Claw Isle did several small lords remember their vassal oaths and did not hesitate to commit their entire houses."
"Among them, House Crabb was the foremost. Every male of the house, from the lord down to anyone who could hold a weapon, followed Prince Rhaegar to that place of death, fighting a bloody battle until... their bloodline was almost severed..."
He paused slightly, his purple eyes staring at the dumbfounded William Crab below:
"Such loyalty..."
"I remember."
"House Targaryen remembers."
As the words fell, Aegon's voice suddenly rose, clear and majestic, echoing throughout the silent hall:
"The old system has been reformed, but loyalty and righteousness must be rewarded! Now, in the name of the Prince of Targaryen, I issue a special decree..."
"I appoint William Crab as the Governor of Claw Isle, in charge of the peninsula's civil administration!"
"And as the Warden of Claw Isle, in charge of the peninsula's defense and garrison!"
"I promote the Baron of the Whispers to Count! This shall be hereditary and perpetual!"
Governor in charge of the people, Warden in charge of the military, and the rank of Count!
With these three powers combined, it was a supreme honor! His status and responsibilities were almost equivalent to those of a powerful Duke or a Great Lord under the old system!
"Boom—!"
The entire Throne Room was in an absolute uproar! All the generals, whether they had just been rewarded or not, now stared with wide, unbelieving eyes at the youth still standing blankly in the hall, and then at the calm Aegon on the throne.
No one expected that His Highness would give such a staggering and unconventional reward to a small house from a remote and barren land with almost no strength to speak of!
This was no longer a simple reward; it was clearly... raising a banner! A banner that proclaimed "Loyalty shall be richly rewarded!"
William Crab was completely stunned.
The massive contrast between hell and heaven left the youth's mind a complete blank.
His mouth was open, but he couldn't make a sound; his whole body just trembled violently, and tears welled up in his eyes uncontrollably.
With a thud, he fell to his knees—not to perform a ritual, but because he had almost collapsed. He prostrated himself on the ground, his voice hoarse and broken from extreme excitement, speaking incoherently:
"I... William Crab... thank... thank Your Highness for your great grace! Your Highness... Your Highness... House Crabb swears loyalty unto death to Your Highness! Loyalty to Targaryen! I would die ten thousand deaths... without hesitation!!"
He almost wanted to laugh wildly, and then to wail loudly.
Those Brunes and Boggses who had stayed on Claw Isle to watch, mock, and not dare to come... if they knew everything that happened in the hall today, and knew that this immense wealth and power had fallen upon House Crabb like this, what would their expressions be?
Their hearts would probably turn green with regret!
Margaery Tyrell sat in the side seat, her expression gentle from beginning to end, as if she were merely listening.
However, the moment Aegon announced the rewards for House Crabb, her slender fingers crossed over her knees tightened imperceptibly, her fingertips sinking slightly into her palms.
In the depths of her eyes, a flash of realization flickered.
She instantly grasped the deep meaning behind Aegon's move.
Splitting the three major powers of the old lords was to centralize power and root out separatism. This was a cold system and a rational design.
But at this moment, he was willing to recombine these three newly separated powers—civil administration, military, and title—and grant them unreservedly to a single house.
Why? Because House Crabb had proven "absolute loyalty," using the blood of almost their entire house to prove the value of that loyalty.
The nature of the power itself might have changed, from governing private estates to governing royal lands, but its weight and glory were not diminished in the slightest; in fact, it was even more esteemed because of this "special case."
This was sending a crystal-clear signal to all of Westeros, especially to those great nobles who were still wavering and watching:
The new policy is heartless, but rewards and punishments are clear. Those who follow me may have their old interests curtailed, but new favors can be expected, and their glory and favor will surpass the past.
Those who oppose me shall be reduced to ashes.
Highgarden... House Tyrell... was not without a way out.
The key lay in whether they could prove to Aegon Targaryen that Highgarden's loyalty was worth him breaking his own established convention of "separation of powers," and worth him granting an integrated power and status similar to that of House Crabb.
In Margaery's heart, a thought quietly took root and quickly became incredibly firm.
After this Grand Council ended, she had to find a suitable time as soon as possible to have a private audience with Aegon.
Some words and some attitudes needed to be expressed in a more private and candid environment.
Aegon raised his hand slightly, signaling the uncontrollably excited William Crab to rise and withdraw.
The youth was almost supported by the nearby guards as he stood up, his face still wearing a dreamlike trance and wild joy.
"Today's council is adjourned."
Aegon said no more and declared the meeting over.
The officials gradually recovered from their immense shock, excitement, envy, and reflection, respectfully performing their salutations in turn and slowly exiting the magnificent and solemn Throne Room.
As everyone left, their steps seemed much heavier than when they had entered, as if an invisible weight had suddenly been placed on their shoulders, and their eyes flickered with new calculations for the future and an unquenchable awe.
The iron throne still stood tall, and against its backdrop, Aegon's figure appeared increasingly solitary and inscrutable.
The Throne Room returned to emptiness, leaving only the cold wind blowing through, whistling past those silent swords as if telling of the storm of change that had just been settled here and was about to sweep across all of Westeros.
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