The Council of Harrenhal

Cocking an eyebrow at Doran's directness, "In principle, I suppose it has it's merits. The prince seeks to cement the loyalties of his supporters, while enforcing it on those who have proven against him, all while lending legitimacy to his actions." Despite his faults the Prince seemed to have some level of cunning.

"Were it not for the potential consequences of such action, I could see it working." Giving a pause "As it stands, it may still, though I have my worries." Tywin says with some concern. The safety of Jaime being chief among them.

Lyonel certainly had the energy of youth on his side. Harwyn, though, had the experience of a knight. Not like those who fought in the Ninepenny King War, like Ser Barristan, but experience nonetheless. He had helped in policing the streets of Lannisport when he was married to his late spouse, Lady Lannett. During his services to House Kenning and Lannister, his sword killed brigands and bandits that waylaid roads. So which would prevail? Experience or youth?

As Lyonel pressed harder, Harwyn did his best to make himself a rock. His shield was raised, blunting the blow that was aimed above. A swing was made, causing the tourney swords to clank and parry. The cheers and jeers about were certainly refreshing after the long march from the Westerlands.

Before Walter could speak further, he turned to hear the voice of Lord Tully approach them. Old Whent whistled sharply, getting the attention of a servant.

Oi! Fetch a chair and a drink for Lord Tully!

The servant scurried off to perform the task before he addressed his liege fully.

Hoster, it has been some time. I hope my nephew, Edmure, is growing up to be a fine heir to Riverrun someday.

The servant brings a chair and pours a cup of wine for Hoster as Walter speaks.

Family is well. Harrenhal doesn't disturb them much. My three eldest are making me proud in my old age and the last two are still learning, but they will grow up fine lads.

The Prince’s litter was taken into Harrenhal’s Great Hall, where Rhaegar himself would take a position upon the raised dais, seated upon the traditional throne of the Lord of Harrenhal. But the Lothstons and Whents had scarcely found use for a hall so vast, a hall built to host entire kingdoms rather than a mere banner Lord’s court. The throne had last been seated upon by his own father during the feast that followed the fateful tourney here, when the halls had been packed to the brim with Lord Whent’s guests of honour. Aerys had sat above them all, all hair and fingernails, his neck and shoulders sagging under the weight of the magnificent crown of Unworthy Aegon. It was a monstrous thing, golden and thick, encrusted with gemstones that served as the glittering eyes of several carved dragons.

The halls of Harrenhal would be filled to the doors once again, though in rather different circumstances. Lords and knights filtered into the cavernous Hall by the thousands, parading their pennants and banners proudly behind them. Ten thousand devices or more; every animal that a man could conceive, sunbursts and stars by the hundred, castles and towers and skulls and swords. Even some of the crude northern sigils were among them, the flayed man and chained giant led inside by the snarling wolf. On every wall was Lord Whent’s field of bats, but above them all was the Red Dragon. The Dragon with three heads, snarling in victory. Royal sigil of the Conqueror, first borne westward on the back of Balerion the Dread, who broke this great fortress with dragonfire. It was perhaps the largest banner that any man had ever laid eyes upon, and it rippled menacingly above as the winds of a dying winter buffeted through the great arched windows.

With the Dragon watching on, each man was sorted and placed according to his rank. The most ancient houses were placed at the front, led in chief by the Lords Paramount, who stood directly before the Prince himself. These were the bloodlines that descended from ancient kings and heroes of yore, bloodlines that could trace their descent back to a time closer to myth than history. After them came the newer noble houses, some of which like the Freys and Whents were wealthy and powerful but only recently raised from obscurity. Then came the minor banners by the hundred, men who had earned the title ‘Lord’ and commanded a few landed knights to their name, but had little else to merit their appearance here. They would follow their liege in all things, for the most part.

A herald in the colours of the royal house announced that the proceedings were to begin, and so was convened the Great Council of 283 AL, held by the Prince of Dragonstone to address the cause of the rebellion and secure the realm’s governance.