King’s Landing came alive in the dazzling light of triumph that accompanied the Baratheon dynasty.
Palaces and buildings once raised in honor of the Targaryen dynasty were now draped with the symbols of new power.
Yellow and black banners bearing the stag of House Baratheon flew over fortresses and towers like emblems of a new order.
After Robert Baratheon’s swift coronation, which was celebrated for an entire week at the generous and prudent new king’s expense, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms plunged into a whirlwind of change.
Delegations from all interested parties streamed into the city, followed by the departure of those who had survived the king’s madness.
In anticipation of yet another celebration, the Royal Wedding, people from all over the world descended upon the capital, causing the city to recover with incredible speed after the exhausting war and its bloody conclusion.
Money flowed like a river, and from that river, anyone who owned even a small corner in the city’s buildings could catch a few drops.
The influx of guests and new residents expanded the district known as Flea Bottom several times over, along with other less affluent areas.
Temporary structures clung to one another, creating a chaotic labyrinth of mismatched houses that would one day cause serious problems.
But for now, people were simply glad that the war was finally over.
The city continued to live and breathe, and the changes that had begun on that historic day permeated every street and alley, reflecting the turbulent currents within and without.
The markets, bustling with traders from every corner of the world, now seethed with new activity.
Poor and rich, peasants and townsfolk, all mingled in the crowd, discussing the changes and offering their own theories about what awaited the city and the kingdom, how lavish the wedding would be, and how much the price of wheat would rise.
Constant motion ruled the capital’s streets.
Horse-drawn carts laden with goods rumbled past, accompanied by the clatter of hooves, while mounted guards kept watch over order, occasionally pocketing a coin and turning a blind eye to “minor infractions.”
Inside the Red Keep itself, the heart of royal power, chaos reigned, heralding the start of a new game.
Nobles accustomed to privilege and high intrigue now played a new game, one with rules dictated by Baratheon.
The postwar redistribution of power, the struggle for the best positions and spheres of influence, was in full swing beneath the noise of preparations for the royal wedding.
The choicest prizes, seats on the Small Council, went to the victors.
Lord Arryn led it as Hand of the King, and the remaining seats, after heated disputes, went to the chosen few:
Grand Maester Pycelle was a creature of Tywin Lannister, who naturally desired a greater hand in state affairs.
But after the conflict with the king’s friend, Eddard Stark, who had been horrified by the public execution of Elia Martell and her children, Pycelle was forced to curb his ambitions considerably.
Robert had wanted to call off the wedding entirely, but the perceptive Lord Arryn talked him out of it, also understanding the political justification for Tywin’s move.
The Master of Coin had not yet been appointed.
Arryn was temporarily fulfilling the duties.
The previous Master of Coin, Qarlton Chelsted, had refused to betray King’s Landing to wildfire and was burned alive for his trouble.
Rumors whispered that the “Old Falcon,” as they joked about the tall, gaunt man, was preparing a replacement in Petyr Baelish, the ward of Hoster Tully.
But while negotiations with the Vale dragged on, the high office remained a bargaining chip.
The Master of Whisperers, thanks to his timely assistance to both Tywin and Baratheon himself, remained Lord Varys.
He kept his position even after the fall of Aerys the Second, likely because no one could handle espionage better than he could.
Furthermore, after the Mad King arrested Brandon Stark for threatening Prince Rhaegar, Varys had publicly urged the king to pardon Brandon on the grounds that he was the heir to Winterfell, and the prince had abducted his sister.
The remaining council seats went to Baratheon’s own family.
Perhaps Robert was not well-versed in intrigue, but like any commander, he knew that a significant part of the Small Council must consist of those who championed his interests.
Thus, Renly Baratheon became Master of Laws, though due to his young age, he held the position only formally, and Lord Stannis became Master of Ships.
While the former was ill-suited for the role and only there to strengthen Robert’s position, ships and the fleet were truly Stannis Baratheon’s domain.
Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, no longer participated in council meetings, as he had been a Kingsguard under the previous king.
For his exceptional honesty and steadfast loyalty to his oaths, Robert pardoned him and made him Lord Commander, but did not allow him to attend meetings.
This did not particularly trouble Ser Barristan.
He had reasons for sadness without this minor “demotion.”
During Robert’s Rebellion, after Lord Jon Connington’s defeat at the Battle of the Bells, Aerys sent Barristan and Ser Jonothor Darry, another Kingsguard knight, to the Riverlands to gather the remnants of the royal army.
Barristan fought at the Battle of the Trident, where he was wounded three times: by an arrow, a spear, and a sword.
He killed a dozen of Lord Robert Baratheon’s and Eddard Stark’s men, but was eventually captured.
After the battle, Lord Roose Bolton advised cutting Barristan’s throat, but Robert refused to kill such a valiant man and instead summoned his master to tend to the knight.
The severe wound prevented Barristan from being in King’s Landing when the bodies of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen’s children, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, slain during the sack, were presented to Robert by Lord Tywin Lannister.
Later, Barristan reflected that if he had been present, and Robert had smiled upon the corpses, nothing would have stopped him from killing the man.
But now, sunk in heavy thoughts, he remained in his chambers, missing the chaos unfolding in the Red Keep.
Robert Baratheon’s wedding to Cersei Lannister was a grand ceremony spoken of throughout Westeros.
It was a union not only of two people but also of two great houses, whose emblems and colors intertwined that day like golden threads in royal vestments.
The day was bathed in bright sunshine, as if nature itself had decided to bless the event.
King’s Landing hummed like a giant beehive.
Countless crowds streamed through the streets: caravans, horses, and carriages carrying lords and ladies from every corner of the kingdom.
The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers strewn along the roads and the aroma of wines brought from Dorne and the Reach.
Countless masses poured into the streets to witness with their own eyes the grandeur and splendor promised by the new king’s wedding.
The Red Keep gleamed with special colors that day.
Its massive walls seemed to glow in the sun’s rays, and as if anticipating this important event, crimson banners bearing the crowned stag, the symbol of the Baratheons, flew above them.
The golden lions of the Lannisters, proudly displayed on their banners, intertwined with the black stags on yellow silk, symbolizing the union of strength and power.
The castle was adorned with garlands of flowers, precious gems, and flags, every detail embodying the wealth and grandeur of the day, generously paid for by Tywin Lannister.
The wedding ceremony took place in the Great Sept of Baelor, an enormous temple that that day looked like a palace of light.
Its high domes and columns of white marble reflected the golden sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows depicting the Seven.
Thousands of candles lit in honor of the gods added a soft, almost mystical glow to the entire hall.
Along the perimeter of the sept stood masters, high-ranking nobles, representatives of great houses, and knights in their finest armor, like a living wall watching over the union meant to strengthen royal power.
Robert Baratheon, majestic and full of strength, stood at the altar, towering above all who surrounded him.
His broad shoulders were wrapped in a mantle of black velvet trimmed with gold, bearing his royal sigil, a crowned stag rising against a golden field.
That day he was the center of attention, not only as the warrior who had won the throne but also as the king now bound by sacred union to House Lannister.
His face shone with health and joy, and in his hands he held a goblet of wine, laughing and joking with the lords around him.
Yet even in that moment, as his eyes swept over the assembled guests, his thoughts seemed far away, in the past, when he dreamed of a different woman.
Tywin’s daughter was the embodiment of royal grace.
She walked toward the altar like a queen born to rule.
A long train of gold and white silk, embroidered with lions and stags, followed her like a river carrying her majesty.
Her golden hair, woven into an intricate crown, was adorned with a delicate diadem of rubies and diamonds.
Young Cersei looked flawless, her steps graceful, her flawlessly smooth face glowing with genuine pride and a bright smile.
When Cersei saw Robert at the altar, her heart stopped for a moment.
She looked at him with admiration, tall, strong, and mighty, he was not only a king but a hero, a victor in the great war who had seized the throne and struck down Rhaegar Targaryen himself.
That day he was the embodiment of strength and courage she had long dreamed of standing beside.
Her dreams of a life with a warrior king like Robert were finally coming true.
When their hands joined under the septons’ blessings, Cersei felt her heart fill with happiness.
She believed in this union, believed that with Robert they would build not only a politically strong but a happy family.
She envisioned their future full of triumphs, children who would inherit the Iron Throne, and long years of rule with her beside him as his equal queen.
With every spoken vow, her heart sang, and she squeezed his hand a little tighter, conveying all her sincere joy and readiness to be his companion until the end.
After the ceremony began the feast, which surpassed all expectations.
The great hall of the Red Keep was decorated with hundreds of flower garlands, candles, and house banners.
The tables in the Great Hall groaned with dishes, roasted boar, venison stewed in wine sauces and rare spices, exotic fruits, and chocolate brought from across the Narrow Sea.
A river of wine, bubbling in goblets, flowed endlessly.
The finest musicians from across the world played lutes and harps, performing melodies that echoed with the laughter and roar of feasting guests.
They praised the king’s deeds, sang freshly composed ballads of great love and the queen’s beauty.
Robert, with his usual coarse cheerfulness, drank wine and raised toasts to his new queen, laughing loudly as if each toast were another victory.
He surrounded himself with lords, knights, and his battle companions, telling them stories of battles, filling the hall with noise and merriment.
Cersei sat beside Robert at the head table, her laughter mixing with his thunderous jokes and toasts.
She laughed, easily and sincerely, savoring every moment.
The wine in her goblet was sweet, but not as sweet as her own thoughts of the future.
When Robert rose and danced with her in the center of the hall, spinning to the rhythm of merry melodies, Cersei felt the whole world vanish around them.
She allowed herself to be simply a woman in love with her king.
In those moments, her face shone with happiness, she was a queen, loved and desired, ready for a new chapter in her life.
Dancing in his arms, she saw before her years of happiness, full of love and power they would share.
The night was long and lavish, consumed by wine, music, and dancing.
But despite all the glitter and pomp, after just one night, a deep, invisible crack ran through this union.
One word from the king’s lips erased everything.
That day Westeros celebrated, unaware that this union would mark the beginning of a new period in history, an era of intrigue, conspiracies, and bloodshed that would change the fate of the kingdom forever.
And somewhere in the orphanage, wrapped in scraps of fabric, a child torn from his mother wept quietly, and his bright blue eyes, after shedding tears, appeared purple in the moonlight.