After all his efforts, Wayne finally entered the Silver Keep in the most conspicuous manner possible, with all eyes upon him.
The destitute had no time to pay attention to this place. Ordinary citizens had no inclination. Small merchants and petty townsfolk would discuss it over meals at most. But the nobles, practically every noble who'd caught wind of the news had been following developments from the very start.
Yet the towering, silver-foil-clad castle walls stood tall, blocking the view of most onlookers. Mid- and low-ranking nobles hadn't been granted entry to the Silver Keep, and their usual channels to higher-placed sources of information had been shut down by royal order since dawn. They could only watch the grand procession disappear into the castle, then discuss what was already public knowledge, secrets that weren't really secrets.
The Northern Grand Duchess, Victaria Stark, had arrived at the Silver Keep three days prior.
The Western Grand Duke, Baelor Tyrell, and the Eastern Grand Duke, Sylas Arryn, had arrived jointly one hour ago.
Several advisors and the High King's Lord Chancellor had also entered the castle.
The gates were now sealed. No one knew what was happening inside.
A banquet? A secret conference? An argument? Even an assassination?
Countless pairs of eyes fixed on the castle rotated in their sockets. The noses beneath them twitched nervously, sniffing for the scent of conspiracy or opportunity. The mouths beneath those noses opened and closed, manufacturing fresh opinions and rumors. The listeners, for their part, were wise enough never to take anything they heard as truth, because until those castle gates opened again, no one could know what a man awakened from seven hundred years ago would discuss with the current king.
Denethor II hadn't organized any tiresome banquet, nor had he arranged a formal "summons" in the throne room. He chose to hold this meeting in the Oaken Hall adjacent to the council chamber, and this was also Wayne's request.
The Oaken Hall was an ancient place, dating back to the Silver Keep's original foundations seven hundred years ago, back when the castle looked nothing like its current silver-foiled self, and the "Silver" in its name existed solely because Charles Martell genuinely couldn't think of anything that sounded better.
As the most senior room in a castle that had been renovated and rebuilt countless times, the Oaken Hall had been enchanted roughly four hundred years ago by a powerful court druid, ensuring its main timbers would remain forever vital (in practice, this spell needed recharging every century).
Though the Oaken Hall was only a third the size of the main council chamber, this small, old room was the most extraordinary place in the castle. Only nobles of Earl rank or above could set foot here, and only matters capable of shaping the kingdom's fate were secretly discussed within these walls.
A round oak table stood at the hall's center. The High King sat in the position marked "Crown" on the star chart. To his right sat his Lord Chancellor, Aemon, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and deep-set eyes. To his left sat the current Northern Duchess, Victaria Stark. Extending further in both directions sat the Western Duke, Baelor Tyrell, and the Eastern Duke, Sylas Arryn. Several other noble representatives whose names Wayne couldn't be bothered to remember occupied remaining seats, while the royal advisors sat in a second row of chairs behind the High King.
At Wayne's side was Rebecca alone.
Amber and Ser Byron obviously didn't have the standing to participate here, so Wayne had simply left them at the Crown Street residence. He'd never even considered bringing Amber to the Silver Keep, with that thief's professional dedication, she'd have scraped every last bit of silver foil off the castle walls.
Apart from the Lord Chancellor and the advisory panel (who were essentially making up the numbers), every person present was a descendant of the pioneers who had founded Andraste, plus Wayne himself, an actual pioneer. This meeting had been imbued with extraordinary significance from the outset.
As a founding ancestor, Wayne had no need to bow or pay respects to anyone present. He sat down in his designated seat without ceremony. Rebecca beside him was visibly nervous, the girl clenched her fists, took several deep breaths before settling into her chair, and in the process completely forgot that she was actually supposed to bow to the High King.
But under the circumstances, no one was going to call her on it. That was the power of showing up to the meeting with a parent in tow.
From the instant Wayne walked in wearing ducal attire with the Pioneer's Sword at his hip, every pair of eyes in the room had locked onto him. Even after this living fossil sat down, the staring barely let up. This was admittedly a breach of noble etiquette, but it was hard to control. when a figure from seven hundred years ago pops out of a coffin and walks right up to you, who wouldn't stare?
And while staring, more than a few were still internally debating Wayne's authenticity, or rather, Denethor II's stance on the matter.
Then the old king across the table rose to his feet. His hair was white, his years clearly advanced, but his fine robes lent him an undeniable air of authority and vigor. He led the three Grand Dukes in rising, which prompted all other attendees to stand as well.
Wayne watched him, and heard him speak with solemnity.
"May the gods protect Andraste. Seven hundred years later, we have the extraordinary honor of meeting a hero of the Pioneering Age face to face. We thank you and your generation for the sacrifices and contributions you made for humanity's survival. This land, and every person upon it, will never forget the great pioneers. I hereby pay my respects to our ancient hero, in my capacity as a scion of House Martell, and together with the descendants of all the pioneers."
The High King bowed. Every pioneer's descendant, including the three Grand Dukes, did the same.
And now, the High King had made his position clear. The resurrection of Gwayne Seawright could be accepted as true.
As for whether a king bowing to a duke was problematic, it wasn't, not in the slightest. A man dead for seven hundred years was no longer merely a duke; he was a symbol. Everyone present bowed multiple times each year before the portraits of Gwayne Seawright and the other pioneer ancestors during memorial ceremonies.
Now that there was a life-sized, one-to-one reproduction standing right here, what was one more bow?
But something felt off to Wayne. A second later it clicked, and his expression turned peculiar.
"The last time this many people bowed to me at once, I was lying in a coffin..."
Everyone: "..."
The atmosphere grew exceedingly awkward.
But fortunately, everyone here had weathered their share of storms (though admittedly this particular variety was a first). They recovered quickly, straightening up with composure. The High King smiled.
"It is customary for children to bow when greeting an elder."
Wayne smiled along. Though he looked several decades younger than Denethor II, his tone was entirely that of a senior.
"The age gap is a bit extreme, but that expression you make when finding excuses is exactly like Charles."
And now Gwayne Seawright had made his position clear as well.
The Martell blood flowing through Denethor II could also be accepted as authentic.
With that, Wayne and the old king shared a smile. The latter was visibly relieved, even a touch giddy.
Everyone present was sharp (with the possible exception of a certain thick-headed descendant). They were supremely skilled at analyzing someone's ancestral personality chart from a single offhand remark. So this brief exchange between Gwayne and Denethor II was more than enough for them to grasp the meeting's tone, and to infer that the High King and the ancient Grand Duke had likely reached some prior understanding.
The woman seated to the High King's left seemed to furrow her brow ever so slightly, but a second glance revealed no change in expression at all. As the only female Grand Duke among the three, her very presence had drawn extra looks from Wayne.
She was a woman of around thirty, mature and beautiful like Hestia, but with far more frost and detachment in her bearing. She wore a white gown with a silver fox stole across her shoulders, paired with white silk elbow-length gloves and a head of silver-white curls. The cumulative effect made her appear wrapped in ice and snow. This icy beauty was strikingly conspicuous in the Oaken Hall, which proved one thing above all else. White has a very high reflectance.
Denethor II's entire left side was noticeably brighter than his right...
This was the current Northern Grand Duchess, Victaria Stark. Wayne matched the hastily crammed intelligence in his head to the person before him, while recalling the founding of the Second Dynasty. it was House Stark from the north that had propped up a supposed illegitimate son and placed him on the throne.
But by the looks of things, that illegitimate son's descendants had long since slipped out of House Stark's control.
Noticing the gaze from across the table, the Ice Lady gave a wooden-faced nod, presumably a greeting. Wayne waved in response.
"Same stone face as your ancestor. I told Stark back then, marry a lively southern girl, balance out that face of serious yours a bit. He wouldn't listen. And now the curse has passed down to the grandchildren..."
The Northern Grand Duchess' facial muscles twitched almost imperceptibly. Wayne then turned to the Western and Eastern Grand Dukes, chatting briefly about matters relating to their respective ancestors based on his memories. Finally, his gaze came to rest on the empty space between the Lord Chancellor and the Northern Grand Duchess, where there was no chair.
That had been House Seawright's seat. But a hundred years ago, the chair had been removed. Since then, the four cardinal dukes were reduced to three. Andraste's south had no Grand Duke. The crown's direct vassal nobles of various ranks became the southern ruling class, and House Seawright was squeezed into the most remote corner.
When everyone, Denethor II included, noticed where Wayne's gaze had landed, they couldn't help holding their breath. The atmosphere seemed to tighten in an instant, shifting from the friendly, familial catch-up phase into the meeting's main body, which is to say, the haggling, shouting, and table-pounding phase.
But Wayne merely glanced at the empty spot, then let an easy, natural smile spread across his face, one that even carried a hint of disdain. He looked at the High King across the table.
"Let's get to business. My descendant, Rebecca Seawright, will now brief you on the disaster that struck the kingdom's south. Ladies and gentlemen, that is the real problem."