Chapter 127: First to King's Landing Is King
The sudden arrival of the messenger brought the boisterous feast to an abrupt halt.
Conversation died mid-breath.
Faces turned as one. Even those seated farthest back rose from their benches, straining to see what had happened.
The knight in the winged helm stood panting, having shouted once before his eyes locked onto the very center of the hall.
Seeing at a glance that the rider had come at breakneck speed, Renly instantly understood—this was no small matter.
He rose, brow furrowing, his posture straightening.
"I am here, ser."
He scarcely needed to call out. The messenger, who had driven his horse mercilessly, had already found him.
"Your Grace," the knight gasped, forcing his way through the crowd before dropping to one knee.
"I rode as hard as I could—from Storm's End. We are under siege. Ser Cortnay Penrose is holding them off, but—"
His words spilled out in fragments, breathless, urgent, barely ordered.
And with those words, the great hall fell into a sudden, terrible silence.
"That's… impossible," Renly said at once.
"If Tywin Lannister had left Harrenhal, I would have known."
He was not alone in that reaction.
Everyone present had just been told that Tywin Lannister remained firmly entrenched at Harrenhal. Lady Stark herself had arrived from Riverrun only days ago.
There was no conceivable way Tywin could already be attacking Storm's End.
And the messenger, realizing the misunderstanding, hurried to correct it.
"Not the Lannisters, Your Grace," he said urgently.
"It is Lord Stannis. He has come before the walls."
A heartbeat passed.
Then—
"He now proclaims himself King Stannis."
The words struck like a hammer.
If the hall had been merely quiet before, it was now utterly lifeless.
Even the fool and the dwarf ceased their antics at once. The singers fell silent, hands stilled on lute strings.
"You said… who?" someone breathed.
"Stannis Baratheon," the messenger replied, voice firm now.
"Your brother. He sailed from Dragonstone and has laid siege to Storm's End. Ser Cortnay Penrose is resisting him even now."
The repetition destroyed the last remnants of disbelief.
Renly stared at the messenger, eyes unfocused, as if the meaning refused to settle.
Only after someone called his name did he stir, sitting back down heavily.
He did not ask why Stannis had moved against him.
There was no need.
Everyone in the room—including the fool he had mocked earlier—understood perfectly well.
"Your Grace…"
The voice at his side belonged to Ser Loras.
The Knight of Flowers looked openly worried, steadying Renly's arm as he helped him sit.
"What will you do?"
It was the question on every face.
Lords and knights crowded closer, eyes fixed on the king they had sworn to follow.
Renly was silent.
Several long seconds passed before he lifted his head and looked at them in return.
"And you?" he asked calmly.
"What do you think? What would you advise?"
The question seemed to catch them off guard.
They exchanged glances, uncertain—until Lord Randyll Tarly stepped forward, blunt as ever.
"Your Grace, there is no cause for haste," Tarly said.
"Storm's End is held by Ser Cortnay Penrose—a seasoned commander. He will not be easily overcome, nor will the castle fall quickly."
"The garrison is strong. Supplies are ample. There is little cause for concern."
He paused, then continued, voice hard with certainty.
"King's Landing, however, lies before us—within arm's reach."
"One push, and it is yours."
Lord Randyll Tarly's words voiced what most of those present were already thinking. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the hall, one after another urging their king to continue his march on the capital.
At that moment, Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove also stepped forward.
"Your Grace," he said, "Lord Tarly speaks truly. I, too, believe Ser Cortnay Penrose to be a commander of great experience. With him holding Storm's End, there is no cause for alarm."
"We have eighty thousand men gathered here. King's Landing and the Iron Throne lie directly before us. And before long, the Dornish will surely join us with their strength as well."
"Therefore, Your Grace's foremost task should be to take the capital and seat yourself upon the throne."
"At that point," he added calmly, "all of Stannis's struggles will amount to nothing more than a child's tantrum."
With Renly having opened the floor, nearly everyone echoed the same counsel: take King's Landing first, deal with Stannis later.
Yet despite the unanimity, Renly's expression remained uncertain.
He turned his head and looked toward Catelyn Stark, who had heard the news in silence and had yet to offer her opinion.
"And you, my lady?" Renly asked.
"Is that your view as well?"
In truth, it was—indeed, one of the very reasons she had come.
Yet she could see clearly that Renly himself did not fully accept his lords' advice.
It was as though he did not wish to refuse Stannis's challenge.
"I had thought," Catelyn said quietly, "that you had already forgotten your brother Stannis."
She did not answer his question directly. Instead, she raised a point that seemed, at first glance, unrelated.
"He, too, has a claim. You know this."
Her words were like a pin to an overinflated bladder.
At once, everyone understood the source of Renly's hesitation.
But instead of bristling, Renly Baratheon laughed aloud.
"A claim?" he scoffed.
"Let us speak plainly, my lady."
He rose again, his eyes suddenly blazing.
"And you as well, my lords," he called out.
"We all know what sort of king Stannis would be."
"Men respect him. They even fear him. But no one loves him."
"But he is still your elder brother," Catelyn replied evenly.
"And if the two of you truly possess a rightful claim, then that claim should be his."
"Then tell me," Renly shot back with a grin,
"what claim did my brother Robert have to the Iron Throne?"
He shrugged lightly, not waiting for her answer.
"Yes, yes—there are tales of ancient blood ties between Baratheon and Targaryen. A marriage centuries ago. A bastard line here, a king's daughter there."
"But aside from the maesters," he said dismissively,
"who truly cares?"
"Everyone knows how Robert won his crown—with his warhammer."
"And that," Renly declared, spreading his hands,
"is my claim as well."
He turned his bright gaze back to Catelyn.
"If your son supports me as his father once supported Robert, he will find me a generous king."
"I will gladly recognize all his lands, his titles, and his honors."
"He may rule Winterfell forever. If he wishes, he may even keep the title King in the North."
"All I require is his knee—his acknowledgment that I am his liege."
"A crown is but a word," Renly said lightly.
"Obedience, loyalty, service—those are what matter."
At last, he laid bare what he had left unspoken that morning.
He had shown his hand.
The offer made Catelyn hesitate.
Though it did not reach the full extent of what Robb had hoped for, it was—by any measure—extraordinarily generous.
A bargain worth considering.
But she was not Robb Stark.
She was not the King in the North.
She was his messenger.
"And if," she asked calmly,
"he refuses these terms, my lord?"
The question was undeniably provocative.
Even the mildest lords shook their heads in regret. A wave of murmured reproach washed over her.
Catelyn closed her eyes and remained seated, letting the accusations pass over her unheard.
Her refusal startled Renly.
To make such concessions before so many witnesses—and to do so with honor binding him from retreat—was no small thing.
Yet still, she declined.
For the first time, irritation flickered across Renly's face, sharpened by the fresh challenge from Stannis.
"I wish to be king, my lady," he said, voice firm.
"And I will not rule a kingdom torn apart."
"Three hundred years ago, a Stark king bent the knee to Aegon the Dragon, knowing resistance was futile."
"That was wisdom."
"So why can your son not be wise as well?"
"Once he joins me, the realm will be settled. We—"
She cut him off.
"Did you not tell me this morning," Catelyn said, rising to her feet,
"that you would hold a feast in the halls of the Red Keep to celebrate your coming victory?"
"And did you not ask when my son would march on Harrenhal?"
Renly blinked, caught off guard, then nodded.
"Yes."
"And yet," Catelyn continued, gripping her bandaged hands tightly, ignoring the pain in her palms,
"I see no hunger for the throne in your eyes."
"What I see," she said quietly,
"is your concern for the challenge of a man you yourself deem unfit to rule."
Renly stared at her.
"I never said that, my lady. You may be mistaken."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Then why," she pressed,
"do you hesitate to answer your lords' counsel?"
"Is it because they are wrong?"
"Or because this is a matter of pride—a challenge to your honor?"
"You say Robert won his crown with his hammer. Do you truly believe otherwise?"
Renly fell silent.
Because she was right.
His claim was weaker than Stannis's.
And that silence unsettled the hall.
Seeing it, Catelyn knew she needed one final spark.
"Very well," she said.
"I will answer your question."
"The moment you march on King's Landing is the moment my son marches on Harrenhal."
"Together, we will crush the Lannisters between hammer and anvil."
"But before that, I require your promise: that my two daughters in the capital will be kept safe."
"Then you may speak to Robb yourself of your mercy and generosity."
"I believe that then, a new King in the North may yet bend the knee—just as his forebear once did before Aegon."
Her sudden concession stole Renly's breath.
The offer was tempting—dangerously so.
And when she finished speaking, her heart hammered wildly.
This was the chance.
Her daughters' safety.
Robb's victory.
An end to wolf and lion alike.
All depended on Renly's answer.
Around him, his lords stirred eagerly.
"Your Grace," Lady Elinor Oakheart said softly, stepping forward,
"the first to enter King's Landing is king."
"Once you sit the throne, your doubts may fade."
"We have lived long enough to know—nothing clarifies the heart like victory."
All eyes turned to Renly.
He glanced to his side—at Ser Loras, his head still wrapped in bandages from the tourney.
The Knight of Flowers met his gaze and smiled.
Whatever you choose, I stand with you.
Renly smiled back.
And just as he opened his mouth to speak—
Another servant forced his way through the crowd.
He held an unsealed letter, his expression tense yet oddly excited.
Leaning close, he whispered:
"Your Grace… this was just delivered for you."
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