Chapter 478: The New Small Council

After days of snow, the skies over King's Landing finally cleared. Bright sunlight poured down, cloaking the city in a pale silver glow. The capital of the Seven Kingdoms, blanketed in pristine white, looked like a fantastical city forged from ice and crystal. Even the city's usual stench had been largely swept away by the winds and snow.

Tyrion Lannister, wrapped in a thick fur coat, stepped into the council chamber of the Maegor's Holdfast, preparing to attend the first Small Council meeting of the new regime.

To be honest, he hadn't expected to be invited.

Did Caesar intend to keep him on as Master of Coin?

Four others were already present in the chamber.

Tyrion greeted each of them warmly, all while silently speculating on which positions they might assume in the council.

The first was Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill. As the King's father and most trusted advisor, there was little doubt he would serve as the new Hand of the King.

Next was Lucas Dayne, Lord of Starfall. Caesar's first knight and one of his earliest supporters, Lucas had fought alongside the King in numerous campaigns, earning distinction in the Dornish Sea Battle. Although he suffered a defeat at Blackwater Bay, his bond with Caesar remained unshaken. Tyrion assumed Lucas would become the new Master of Ships.

The third figure was a gaunt, slightly hunched man with a faint smile on his lips. Tyrion recognized him as Qyburn, a former maester who had been stripped of his chain by the Citadel for unethical experiments on living subjects. Despite his disgrace, Caesar had taken him in early on and made him the de facto maester of his first holding, Eagle's nest .

Now, Qyburn stood openly in the Red Keep's council chamber, evidently slated to become the new Grand Maester.

But would the Citadel approve? Tyrion knew that while the Citadel technically appointed the Grand Maester, it rarely opposed a king's wishes—unless the nominee was someone as controversial as Qyburn. Tyrion was curious to see how this clash would play out.

The final attendee was a young yet composed man: Gavin Mander, a baron who had long served as Caesar's steward and most trusted administrator. It was no surprise to see him on the council, but Tyrion couldn't guess what role he might fill.

As Tyrion took his seat, he considered the seven traditional positions on the Small Council. With the Hand of the King, Master of Ships, and Grand Maester seemingly settled, that left four more roles: Commander of the Kingsguard, Master of Laws, Master of Coin, and Master of Whisperers.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was clearly going to be Ser Barristan Selmy. As a living legend, Selmy's presence symbolized royal authority, and no king could afford to be without such a figure at their side.

That left three positions unassigned, and Tyrion wondered if he was about to resume his role as Master of Coin.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of a new figure: Leyton Hightower, Lord of Oldtown.

Leyton's presence wasn't a surprise. The Hightower family had been early supporters of Caesar, offering crucial backing during his rise. A seat on the Small Council was a fitting reward for their loyalty, but which position would Leyton take?

Counting the attendees, Tyrion realized that all seven positions were likely filled.

Six were present in the chamber, and the seventh would undoubtedly go to Ser Barristan. The absence of any representatives from the North was striking. While Caesar's power base lay in the south, excluding the Northern lords entirely from the Small Council spoke volumes. Even the Westerlands—his former enemies—had secured a seat.

As Tyrion pondered this, the door opened again, and the King himself entered.

Caesar wore a light blue velvet doublet adorned with a two-headed eagle, and the fabled greatsword Dawn was strapped across his back. On his head was the Valyrian steel and ruby crown passed down from Aegon the Conqueror.

Ser Barristan Selmy, clad in white armor and a white cloak, followed close behind.

The six men rose to greet their king.

"Be seated," Caesar said, waving them down as he took his place at the head of the table.

The others waited for Caesar to sit before resuming their seats. Only Ser Barristan remained standing, a silent sentinel behind the King's chair.

Caesar's gaze swept over the room, his expression calm yet commanding. Finally, he unfurled a parchment and smiled faintly.

"I will now announce the appointments to the Small Council."

The room fell silent as the councilors leaned forward, eager to hear their assignments.

"Hand of the King: Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill.

Master of Whisperers: Gavin Mander, Baron of Mandholm.

Master of Laws: Leyton Hightower, Lord of Oldtown.

Master of Coin: Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock.

Master of Ships: Lucas Dayne, Lord of the Arbor.

Grand Maester: Qyburn.

Lord Commander of the Kingsguard: Ser Barristan Selmy."

Caesar rolled up the parchment and smiled. "These are the seven appointments. I trust each of you to fulfill your duties and help me bear the burden of ruling."

"We will, Your Majesty," the councilors replied in unison, bowing their heads.

Caesar gestured for them to sit again and continued:

"Winter is here. The winds from the North grow stronger, and ancient terrors stir once more. Our most pressing task is to prepare for the next great war—a war that will determine the fate of all the people of Westeros.

What suggestions do you have?"

Randyll Tarly was the first to speak.

"Your Grace, nearly 200,000 of the realm's finest soldiers are gathered here in King's Landing, ready to march north and reinforce the Wall. However, provisioning such a large force for a northern campaign will require a massive supply of grain."

"And with winter upon us," Leyton Hightower added, "southern fields may fare well enough, but northern crops will fail. The farther north we go, the worse it will be. The North, in particular, will face severe famine without aid."

Lucas Dayne chimed in:

"Then there's the matter of winter clothing for the soldiers. Outfitting 200,000 men with proper winter gear will be a daunting and expensive task."

"In other words," Caesar summarized, "we need money and grain. Tyrion, as Master of Coin, this falls under your purview. What solutions can you offer?"

Tyrion felt a chill run down his spine. He had been right to suspect that the council seat given to House Lannister came with a price.

And now, that price had come due.

There was only one solution to the kingdom's financial woes.

Increase taxes.

Tyrion sighed, knowing that he would have to do the evil himself.

"Your Majesty," Tyrion said with a resigned sigh, "I recommend imposing additional taxes on the southern lords."

(End of Chapter)