Lady Tanda presented a pair of riding boots. Ser Kevan Lannister offered an excellent tournant saddle.
I took each item in my hands, examined it carefully, thanked the giver, and passed it to the stewards, who carried the gifts away sowhere.
People ca forward one after another, giving gifts according to their wealth and standing.
Prince Oberyn Martell—the Red Viper—a tall, muscular, agile man with black hair, a light beard, and a dangerous glint in his eyes, presented with a red-gold buckle shaped like a scorpion.
From Ser Addam Marbrand, commander of the Gold Cloaks and Tywin Lannister's loyal man, I received a pair of silver spurs.
Lord Paxter Redwyne, a vassal of House Tyrell, presented a wooden model of a two-hundred-oared galley.
"Your Majesty, this ship is nearly completed at my shipyards," he said proudly. "With your permission, I would like to na it The Valor of King Joffrey. Do you object?"
"How about The Lion and the Rose?" I suggested. I noticed from the expressions of many present—especially among the Tyrells and their vassals—that my idea pleased them.
"A fine na, my lord," Ser Redwyne bowed. "It shall bear that na."
Then Tyrion approached. A young, broad-shouldered man with dark hair—most likely Podrick Payne—carried an impressive, thick book bound in rich leather.
"The Lives of Four Kings," I read aloud. It felt pleasant—and sowhat strange—to read fluently in a language that had once been completely foreign to , though Joffrey's brain and mory helped imnsely. "Will you tell what this book is about, Uncle?"
"The Grand Maester Kaeth collected the tales of four kings: Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good," Tyrion replied.
"A beautiful book," I said, flipping through a few pages. It was a true work of art—rare and very expensive, but above all beautiful and informative. And the illustrations are simply wonderful. "I've heard Kaeth himself drew all the images, and that only four such copies exist in all of Westeros?"
"That's right," Tyrion confird, his tone slightly bewildered.
"Have you read it, Uncle?"
"Unlike others, I do read from ti to ti," a flash of irony in his mismatched eyes.
"A wonderful gift, Uncle. When I've read it, we shall discuss these kings and their deeds," I promised, deliberately ignoring his barb. Tyrion once again studied briefly, then stepped aside.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the strange looks exchanged between Cersei and Tywin. Never mind, dear relatives—get used to the new Joffrey.
Next ca Lord Mace Tyrell and his wife, Lady Alerie, who presented a golden cup—massive and heavy, three feet tall, with two curved handles and seven sides.
"These seven sides represent the seven kingdoms of Your Majesty," Lord Mace explained with pride. "Each bears its own emblem. See here: the lion, the rose, the stag, the trout, the falcon, the sun, and the direwolf."
"An impressive cup," Cersei remarked, her tone unreadable.
"Yes, magnificent and symbolic," I agreed. "It's only a pity there was no room for the dragon and the kraken—for their heritage, too, forms part of my and Lady Margaery's realm."
Lord Tywin nodded faintly, and Lord Mace smiled a little awkwardly. I thought he might have been offended, but since I had ntioned his own daughter, it would have been improper for him to show it.
The people around us murmured in amazent. They had never seen Joffrey like this before.
"Margaery and I will drink from it at the feast, Father," I said, lifting the cup above my head with so effort. Lord Mace smiled broadly. "You will allow to call you that, won't you?"
"Not only allow, but be honored by it," he replied, glancing for so reason toward Tywin before returning to his seat.
I wasn't deceiving myself—or him. I truly intended to drink from that cup. Perhaps it would help survive.
Finally, my grandfather and Hand of the King, Lord Tywin, rose to present his gift. I already knew what it would be: a magnificent Valyrian steel sword—one of the two forged from the Stark greatsword, Ice.
The Valyrian steel sword and everything associated with it always affected Tywin deeply. After all, the Lannisters were among the few great houses without such a blade, and that wounded their pride. His younger brother, Gerion—my great-uncle—had sailed east years ago in search of the Lannister family's lost sword and had vanished in the Smoking Sea.
So, a sword like this was not rely a gift; it was a restoration of honor.
I accepted the scabbard—made of cherrywood and embossed red leather, its fittings shaped like golden lion heads with ruby eyes instead of rivets. Carefully, so as not to harm anyone (especially myself), I drew the blade. As it slid free, the tal rang with a thin, very pure tone. The red steel, veined with black, glittered in the morning light. The crowd erupted in admiration.
"An incredible gift, Grandfather," I said, bowing my head slightly to Tywin. "A gift not only to , but to our entire house. I vow to be worthy of such a sword."
"That is precisely what we all expect of you, Your Majesty," Tywin replied, one eyebrow raised.
"A sword fit for legend," said Mathis Rowan.
"A magnificent weapon for a young king," added Lord Redwyne.
"Such a sword deserves a fitting na," I said, turning to the hall. "What shall I call it, lords?"
The guests began shouting out suggestions.
"Cleaver!"
"Stormbringer!"
"Lion's Claw!" that one wasn't bad, but I kept listening.
"Death to Enemies!"
"Comforter!" I ignored Ser Tallad's idea, though, to be fair, it had so charm.
"Furious Roar!" also not bad, hinting at the mottos of both the Lannisters and Baratheons.
"Widow's Wail!" Joffrey's original choice. But I wanted this sword to stand for more than just killing, so I rejected it.
"Benefactor!"
"Last Breath!"
"Royal rcy!"
Dozens more nas echoed through the hall, none quite right for .
"Kiss of Death!"
"Whisper!"
The crowd grew quieter, thinking.
"Wind of Change!"
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