Chapter 325: Master of Whisperers

Tormund glanced back from his horse with an involuntary smile. Dismounting smoothly, he walked straight to the spacious carriage.

Rhaegar opened the carriage door and asked, "How are things at Harrenhal?"

"Not bad. The construction is nearly complete. Maester Tru has gone to Oldtown with a letter of recommendation," Tormund replied crisply as he stepped onto the short stool provided by the coachman.

Upon entering the carriage, Tormund was struck by the lavishness of the interior. He looked around at the circle of royal advisers and greeted them politely, "I hope my presence hasn't disturbed you, my lords."

"A young man who understands manners," Lyman remarked, nodding gently while nibbling on a cookie and sipping his tea.

Tormund felt a pair of dim old eyes scrutinizing him. Becoming a member of the Small Council meant even an old man with gray hair had significant influence.

This scene did not escape Rhaegar's notice. He poured two cups of sweet fruit wine. Tormund, still standing at the entrance, had to stoop slightly due to the low ceiling, maintaining a polite smile.

Lyonel, Otto, and Jasper observed him critically, assuming he was one of the Heir's close friends, not yet worthy of direct communication with them.

The sound of wine being poured drew their attention. Rhaegar placed one of the glasses with a thud in front of Lyonel. The carriage was spacious, and the royal advisers sat casually. Rhaegar sat on a soft cushion to the left, with the impeccably dressed Otto to his right, and the nervous Jasper further in. Lyman, a highly respected elder, sat alone in a soft corner next to Jasper. Hand of the King Lyonel sat across from Rhaegar.

Lyonel's eyes sharpened as he noticed the glass of wine placed near him. Rhaegar feigned surprise and gestured to the seat next to Lyonel, saying, "What are you waiting for? Sit next to Lord Lyonel."

"Thank you, Prince," Tormund said, raising an eyebrow. He took his seat gracefully, picked up the wine, and took a light sip.

Rhaegar smiled, raising his own glass in a toast. The two young men drank together, completely disregarding the opinions of the royal advisers.

Lyonel's brows furrowed as he shifted in his seat, his expression growing serious. Letting a young man sit beside him and sharing a drink with the Heir suggested a significant gesture. It implied that Tormund might be considered equal to him, the Hand of the King, in the future.

The political significance of this move did not escape the notice of the seasoned royal advisers.

Without waiting for Lyonel to speak, Lyman wiped cookie crumbs from his mouth and asked knowingly, "Prince, you haven't introduced this...young man."

Rhaegar put down his wine, glanced around at the royal advisers, and laughed softly. "Tormund, my best friend since childhood. He's the bastard son of Lord Bartimos of Claw Isle and a Skinchanger."

"A bastard son and a rare Skinchanger?" Lyman remarked, noticing the white falcon and black raven on Tormund's shoulders. In Westeros, bastards were frowned upon, and Skinchangers, with their supernatural powers, were often seen as dangerous.

It is rumored that there are many skinchangers among the wildlings beyond the Wall in the north.

King Jaehaerys had also ridden Vermithor alongside the Night's Watch and defeated an army of wildlings made up of giants and skinchangers.

"It's true," Tormund said calmly. "My father doesn't care if I live or die, so it's best you regard me as a commoner."

"I recall you once had only a white falcon?" Lyonel asked politely. The two had known each other since the Harrenhal exchanges.

In recent years, Tormund managed the Mushroom Set, and he's known as the White Falcon kept by the Heir.

Rhaegar also looked at Tormund with some curiosity.

Skinchangers could usually only possess one animal, and Tormund was no different.

Tormund nodded, explaining, "A few days ago, I took over Maester Tru's ravens, and I unknowingly bonded with one of them."

"That's good news," Rhaegar said thoughtfully, considering the recent increase in magic power triggered by the red comet.

Otto interjected seriously, "Prince, this Skinchanger is your spokesperson in the Riverlands. What are your plans for transferring him to King's Landing?"

Rhaegar didn't hesitate. "The death of Lord Borros is too strange. The royal family and Storm's End Castle haven't found any leads. The Iron Throne lacks sufficient intelligence."

"Prince," Lyonel began, "the king runs King's Landing's intelligence and has never extended beyond the royal domain."

Rhaegar smiled, "Lord Lyonel, I don't question your ability. Your contributions are clear."

Lyonel's face eased. "Then you want to re-establish a network of spiders?"

"No," Rhaegar shook his head. "I want to reactivate the position of Master of Whisperers, specializing in intelligence for the Iron Throne."

Lyonel was astonished. "Prince, the Master of Whisperers sits on the Small Council. It's a controversial position."

"Too much disturbing intelligence can corrupt a lord's impartiality," Lyman added.

It's been over seventy years since they had a Master of Whisperers. The last was under Maegor I and was his mistress, known as Tyanna of Pentos, and committed heinous crimes.

Rhaegar's face was solemn. "Father has entrusted me with the regency. The Master of Whisperers must be reactivated. This isn't up for debate."

"Prince..." Lyman began to protest.

"Lord Lyman," Rhaegar interrupted, "You don't need to worry, the Master of Whisperers will only oversee sinister activities."

Turning to Tormund, he announced, "I now appoint Tormund as Master of Whisperers, with a seat on the Small Council."

The royal advisors exchanged glances, stunned into silence; the king used to consult them on all matters, but the king had only been gone a day, and already the heir was making significant changes.

Tormund, feeling the tension, smiled awkwardly. "My lords, we will be colleagues from now on."

For a moment, dead silence hung in the air.

Otto shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips, and broke the ice. "I've heard about you. You participated in the Second Battle of the Stepstones."

"Yes, one must serve one's realm in many ways," Tormund replied frankly. He extended his hand with a warm smile, "Lord Otto, you are a loyal and good adviser. I have long considered you a friend."

Interestingly, Tormund extended his left hand, while his right hand gently stroked the white falcon perched on his shoulder.

Otto's eyes narrowed, and his smile grew more calculated. He was a right-handed man, known for writing and working predominantly with his right hand. However, few knew that in his youth, he had trained himself to use both hands equally to better facilitate his scholarly pursuits.

"Is something wrong?" Tormund asked, his facial features soft and his smile seemingly innocent.

Otto stared coldly at him, losing all interest in continuing the conversation. The so-called long-time friendship was likely just a cover for Tormund's Skinchanger abilities, which had probably been used to monitor him for years.

The atmosphere grew tense as the new master and the old master struggled to connect.

Rhaegar paid little attention to the awkward exchange and promptly ordered the carriage driver, "Return to the Red Keep!"

He remembered Rhaenyra's advice about his lack of roots in the Small Council. As he grew older and expanded his influence, he aimed to reverse this situation.

Master of Ships Tyland was no less cunning than Otto. After the Battle of the Stepstones, Tyland's claims to glory were stripped away, leaving him out of the Small Council for three years. During this time, Rhaegar honed his skills.

Grand Maester Mellos was a sycophant who adjusted his loyalty based on the prevailing winds. Rhaegar was just biding his time to remove him.

To dilute the power of the Small Council, Rhaegar had also created the position of Master of Dragons to strengthen the Targaryen House sense of unity.

Now, as the Regent, Rhaegar was determined to pick up the pieces. The appointment of a new Master of Whisperers was just the beginning.

...

About half an hour later, the carriage pulled into the gates of the Red Keep.

Three silver-armored, white-robed Kingsguards stood in a line, greeting them respectfully.

Rhaegar was the first to step down from the carriage, his gaze directed towards the gates. There, alongside two young knights on warhorses, stood Grey Worm, his expression solemn, flanked by ten Unsullied with upright postures.

"Prince..."

The two knights dismounted, removing their helmets to reveal familiar faces: Lord of Stone Mill, Robb Rivers, and Lord of Raventree Hall, Samwell Blackwood.

Rhaegar greeted them warmly before turning to Grey Worm. "How many Unsullied captains remain in the army?"

"Ten," Grey Worm replied succinctly.

Rhaegar pondered for a moment and nodded. He commanded over four hundred Unsullied, primarily his personal guards, with a small contingent assigned as basic commanders in the Fearless Legion. Ten Unsullied captains were sufficient to manage a thousand Fearless.

Grey Worm continued, "Three hundred Unsullied remain in Harrenhal. Two thousand Fearless are managed by my lieutenants, Vandel and Red Worm."

Rhaegar patted his shoulder, showing his trust, before turning his attention to the three Kingsguards. The Unsullied's loyalty was unquestionable, and he had great confidence in Grey Worm's leadership.

As the royal advisers disembarked from the carriage and headed to their quarters, Rhaegar softly said, "Lord Lyonel, wait a moment. I have something to discuss with you in private."

Lyonel was slightly taken aback but stood aside with Tormund in silence.

The three Kingsguards approached, bowing respectfully. "Prince."

Rhaegar smiled and nodded to each of them. The Kingsguard was the King's private guard and held the highest honor. Erryk Cargyll had been promoted to Commander of the Kingsguard and was assigned to guard the King, while his brother, Arryk Cargyll, was assigned to guard the Queen, Alicent.

With the king traveling to Maidenpool, the Cargyll brothers had led the guard of honor two days in advance, explaining their absence from the Red Keep.

(Word count: 1,656)