King’s Landing had come alive beneath the dazzling glow of triumph that accompanied the rise of the Baratheon dynasty.
Palaces and buildings once raised in honor of House Targaryen were now draped in the symbols of a new power.
Yellow and black banners bearing the stag of House Baratheon fluttered above keeps and towers, proclaiming the arrival of a new order.
After the swift coronation of Robert Baratheon, celebrated for an entire week at the expense of the generous and open-handed new king, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms was swept into a whirlwind of change.
Following a procession of delegations from every interested party, and the departure of many who had survived the king’s madness, people from every corner of the world flocked to the city in anticipation of yet another grand celebration, the Royal Wedding.
Their arrival drove King’s Landing to recover with astonishing speed from the exhausting war and its bloody conclusion.
Gold flowed like a river, and from that river even the smallest drops reached anyone who owned so much as a cramped corner in the city.
The influx of visitors and new residents expanded Flea Bottom and the poorer districts severalfold almost overnight.
Temporary structures clung to one another in a haphazard maze of mismatched dwellings, the sort that might one day become a great problem.
For now, however, people rejoiced simply because the war was finally over.
Like a tireless living creature, the city continued to breathe and endure.
Yet the changes that had begun on that historic day touched every street and alleyway, reflecting the turmoil both within and beyond its walls.
The markets, crowded with merchants from every corner of the known world, bustled with fresh energy.
Beggars and nobles, farmers and townsfolk mingled in the throng, discussing the changes and offering their own predictions about the future of the city and the realm.
They speculated on how magnificent the wedding would be, given the king’s famed generosity and the wealth of the richest man in Westeros.
They argued over the price of wheat and a hundred other matters besides.
The streets of the capital teemed with constant movement.
Wagons laden with goods rattled past beneath the ringing of iron-shod hooves, while mounted guards watched over the peace with vigilant eyes.
From time to time, a silver coin would discreetly change hands, and some minor irregularity would conveniently go unnoticed.
Within the Red Keep itself, the heart of royal power, there reigned a turmoil like a storm before calm seas.
Lords and ladies accustomed to privilege and intrigue now found themselves playing a new game, one governed by rules laid down by Baratheon.
The postwar struggle for influence, offices, and authority unfolded at full speed beneath the noise and splendor of the preparations for the royal wedding.
The richest prizes, seats on the Small Council, went to the victors.
Lord Arryn stood at its head as Hand of the King, while the remaining positions, after much debate and many arguments, were assigned to the following men.
Grand Maester Pycelle remained the creature of Tywin Lannister, who naturally desired a greater role in the governance of the realm.
Yet after his conflict with the king’s friend, Eddard Stark, who had been horrified by the brutal murder of Elia Martell and her children, Tywin was forced to temper many of his ambitions.
Robert had even considered abandoning the marriage altogether, but the perceptive Lord Arryn had persuaded him otherwise, understanding the political necessity of Tywin’s actions even if he did not approve of them.
No Master of Coin had yet been appointed.
Arryn fulfilled the office himself for the time being.
The previous Master of Coin, Qarlton Chelsted, had refused to help destroy King’s Landing with wildfire and had been burned alive for his defiance.
Rumors claimed that the “Old Falcon,” as some jokingly called the tall and lean Arryn, was preparing to install Petyr Baelish, fostered under Hoster Tully, in the position.
For the moment, however, negotiations with the Vale continued, and the office remained a matter of bargaining.
Lord Varys retained his position as Master of Whisperers, thanks to the timely support he had given both Tywin and Baratheon.
He had kept his seat even after the fall of Aerys II, likely because no one else in the realm could match him in the gathering of secrets.
It was also remembered that after the Mad King arrested Brandon Stark for threatening Prince Rhaegar, Varys had publicly urged Aerys to pardon him on the grounds that he was the heir to Winterfell and that the prince had carried off his sister.
The remaining seats upon the council went to Robert’s own family.
Whatever his shortcomings in matters of intrigue, any commander knew that a considerable portion of his council ought to be made up of men who served his interests above all others.
Thus Renly Baratheon was named Master of Laws, though his youth meant the office was largely ceremonial for the time being, while Lord Stannis Baratheon became Master of Ships.
If Renly was ill-suited to his post and held it chiefly to strengthen Robert’s position, ships and fleets truly were the domain of Stannis Baratheon.
Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, no longer attended council meetings.
Since he had served the previous king, Robert had shown caution.
In recognition of his unmatched honor and devotion to his vows, Robert had pardoned him and confirmed him as Lord Commander, yet he did not invite him to the council chamber.
Ser Barristan was not especially troubled by the slight.
He possessed graver reasons for sorrow.
During Robert’s Rebellion, after Lord Jon Connington’s defeat at the Battle of the Bells, Aerys had sent Barristan and Ser Jonothor Darry into the Riverlands to gather the remnants of the royal army.
Barristan had fought at the Trident, where he suffered three wounds, from arrow, spear, and sword alike.
He slew a dozen men sworn to Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark before finally being taken captive.
After the battle, Lord Roose Bolton had advised that Barristan’s throat be cut, but Robert refused to kill so valiant a man and instead summoned his maester to tend the knight’s wounds.
His injuries had been too severe to allow him to remain in King’s Landing when Lord Tywin Lannister presented Robert with the bodies of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen’s children, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, murdered during the sack of the city.
Later, Barristan would reflect that had he been present and seen Robert smile upon those corpses, nothing would have prevented him from killing the man then and there.
Now, burdened by such thoughts, he remained in his chambers, absent from the bustle that filled the Red Keep.
The wedding of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister was a magnificent ceremony spoken of throughout Westeros.
It marked the union not merely of two people, but of two great houses whose colors and sigils intertwined that day like golden threads woven through royal garments.
The day shone beneath a brilliant sun, as though nature itself had chosen to bestow its blessing upon the occasion.
King’s Landing hummed like an immense hive.
Endless crowds filled the streets while caravans, riders, and carriages brought lords and ladies from every corner of the realm.
The air was heavy with the fragrance of fresh flowers strewn along the roads and the scent of wines brought from Dorne and the Reach.
Countless citizens poured into the streets to witness with their own eyes the splendor and grandeur promised by the king’s wedding.
The Red Keep gleamed in uncommon glory.
Its massive walls seemed to glow beneath the sunlight, while crimson banners bearing the crowned stag of House Baratheon streamed proudly overhead.
The golden lions of House Lannister, displayed upon their standards, mingled with black stags against fields of yellow silk, symbols of power united with power.
The castle had been adorned with garlands of flowers, precious stones, and banners.
Every detail proclaimed the wealth and magnificence of the day, all lavishly paid for by Tywin Lannister.
The wedding ceremony took place within the Great Sept of Baelor, which on that day resembled a palace fashioned from light itself.
Towering domes and columns of white marble reflected the golden sunlight pouring through stained-glass windows depicting the Seven.
Thousands of candles burned in honor of the gods, filling the vast hall with a soft, almost mystical radiance.
Around the perimeter stood maesters, great lords, noble ladies, representatives of ancient houses, and knights clad in their finest armor, a living wall observing the union that would strengthen the authority of the Crown.
Robert Baratheon stood before the altar, magnificent and full of strength, towering over all who surrounded him.
His broad shoulders were draped in a cloak of black velvet embroidered with gold, upon which gleamed the royal arms, the crowned stag standing proudly upon a field of gold.
On that day he stood at the center of every gaze, not merely as the warrior who had won a throne, but as the king now bound by sacred vows to House Lannister.
His face glowed with health and happiness.
A cup of wine rested in his hand as he laughed and traded jests with the gathered lords.
Yet even as his eyes wandered across the assembly, his thoughts seemed distant, lingering somewhere in the past, with another woman entirely.
Tywin’s daughter was the very image of royal grace.
She advanced toward the altar like a queen born to rule.
Her gown was woven from the finest gold and white silk, shimmering in the light like molten metal.
A long train embroidered with lions and stags flowed behind her like a river carrying her majesty forward.
Her golden hair had been arranged into an intricate crown, adorned with a delicate diadem of rubies and diamonds, a symbol of the new queen.
Young Cersei appeared flawless.
Her movements were graceful, her face smooth and radiant, bright with genuine pride and happiness.
When Cersei saw Robert waiting at the altar, her heart seemed to stop for a moment.
She looked upon him with admiration.
Tall, broad, and powerful, he was not merely a king but a hero, the victor of a great war who had seized a kingdom through strength and courage.
On that day he embodied every quality she had long dreamed of finding beside her.
Her visions of life with a warrior king such as Robert were finally becoming reality.
She saw in him not only a king, but a man who could become her protector and support, her equal.
When their hands joined beneath the blessings of the septons, Cersei felt happiness overflow within her heart.
She believed in this union.
She believed that together they would create not only a powerful political alliance but a happy family.
She saw a future filled with triumphs, with children who would inherit the Iron Throne, and with long years of rule in which she would stand beside him as an equal queen.
With every word of the vows her heart sang, and she squeezed his hand a little tighter, offering him all her joy and her willingness to remain at his side until the end.
After the ceremony came a feast that surpassed all expectations.
The great hall of the Red Keep was adorned with hundreds of garlands, candles, and noble banners.
The tables groaned beneath roasted boars, venison stewed in wine sauces, and exotic fruits brought across the Narrow Sea.
Wine flowed endlessly from cask to cup.
The finest musicians in the world played upon harps and lutes, their melodies weaving through the laughter and conversation of the revelers.
Songs praised the king’s victories and celebrated newly composed ballads of the queen’s beauty and the greatness of their love.
Robert, with his customary rough good humor, drank deeply and raised toast after toast to his new queen, laughing as though every cup marked another victory won.
He surrounded himself with lords, knights, and old companions from the war, entertaining them with stories of battles and filling the hall with noise and merriment.
Cersei sat beside him at the high table, her laughter joining his booming jokes and endless toasts.
She laughed easily and sincerely, savoring every moment.
The wine in her cup was sweet, but not nearly so sweet as her thoughts of the future.
When Robert rose and danced with her at the center of the hall, spinning to the rhythm of lively music, Cersei felt as though the world vanished around them.
For those moments she allowed herself to be nothing more than a woman in love with her king.
Her face shone with happiness.
She was a queen, beloved and desired, standing upon the threshold of a new life.
As she danced in his arms, she envisioned years of happiness before them, years filled with love and the power they would share.
That day Cersei truly believed her life would be bright and glorious, that her union with Robert would be one of love, strength, and greatness.
There was no doubt within her heart.
Only joy.
Only hope for the radiant future they would rule together.
The night stretched long and splendid, consumed by wine, music, and dancing.
Yet despite all its glitter and magnificence, a deep and invisible crack ran through that union after the very first night.
While Westeros celebrated, none suspected that this marriage would mark the beginning of a new age in the history of the realm, an age of intrigue, conspiracies, and bloodshed that would forever alter the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.
And somewhere in an orphanage, wrapped in scraps of cloth, a child torn from his mother wept quietly.
After his tears had fallen, his bright blue eyes seemed purple beneath the moonlight.