Once, on a small terrace on the top floor of the castle, while the two of them looked out at the silhouette of Valyria City being built by the distant seaside, Margaery sighed as if inadvertently, "This land is being reborn, and everything upon it is full of hope. It's just that sometimes I wonder, for women like us, where will our ultimate destination be?"
Kinvara turned to look at her, a smile playing on her lips. "The flames illuminate the path; destiny has its own trajectory. Miss Margaery, you bear the mark of light upon you. Though it is faint, it truly exists. The flames of the lord of light sometimes burn before you in unexpected ways."
Margaery's heart stirred, and she asked tentatively, "Is High Priestess Kinvara speaking of your faith? But I have been bathed in the light of The Seven since childhood. While I feel awe toward the teachings of the Red God, in the end..."
Kinvara shook her head gently, interrupting her. "The flames once showed me some visions. Though they were somewhat blurry, I am certain. Beside His Majesty Viserys, several companions surround him. Among them is a close relative with silver hair and purple eyes, the Sun and Star of Dorne, and also a Golden Rose from Highgarden."
Margaery's emerald-green eyes were filled with disbelief. Kinvara's words directly corroborated her suspicions regarding Viserys's marriage, and even pointed more explicitly toward herself.
"How is this possible? I follow The Seven; the lord of light shouldn't be able to see me." She felt a moment of loss, shaken by being struck by a "prophecy" and instinctively resisting the notion that her future would overturn her current understanding.
Kinvara said calmly, "Prophecies are not certainties; they only speak of possibilities. The flames only illuminate the path; the walking must still be done by oneself. The threads of fate are very complex, and the lord of light does not only see those who serve him. What matters is whether you yourself are willing to see the path illuminated by the flames."
Margaery stood frozen in place, unable to speak for a long time. Kinvara's words were like a key, opening a door she had never imagined.
But if... if the lord of light's prophecy was true, then she might be able to get closer to the core of Valyria much faster than any plan she had previously envisioned. But with that came the need to change her previous perceptions. She needed time to digest all of this.
However, until now, as she watched the emotional displays within the Targaryen Family with her own eyes, she still couldn't persuade herself to accept it all. She wondered how the version of herself in the lord of light's prophecy had accepted it.
Westeros, King's Landing.
Robert led the Stark family through the King's Gate and into the streets of King's Landing. Citizens crowded the roadsides, vying for a glimpse of the Warden of the North and the King. Eddard rode his horse, his posture straight, his grey eyes calmly scanning the surroundings.
Behind him in the carriage, Sansa's eyes were wide as she curiously took in the city of her dreams, even though the air was filled with an uncomfortable odor that was far from what she had imagined. Beside her, Arya continued to complain about the smell.
Jon rode his horse just behind Eddard's side. He could feel the gazes from the surroundings filled with curiosity, scrutiny, and even hostility. King's Landing was indeed different from Winterfell; even the air here was thick with the scent of calculation.
On the walls of The Red Keep, Cersei stood beside Jaime, watching the approaching party in the distance. She wore a deep red gown, her long, golden wavy hair shining brightly in the sun, but there was no warmth in her green eyes.
"The King in the North has arrived," Jaime said softly from the side, his tone laced with mockery. After all, he and Eddard had a history; it was Eddard who had first spread the insulting title of "Kingslayer."
"He is not the King in the North," Cersei corrected. "He is just an old-fashioned, stubborn Northern lord, bringing along his ill-mannered wild children."
Jaime turned to look at her. "Are you really sure you want to treat him this way?"
"Treat him how?" Cersei raised an eyebrow. "Eddard Stark chose to come south, chose this game. If he plays it poorly, that's his problem, not mine."
The party arrived at The Red Keep. After a brief settling in, Robert immediately announced that a grand banquet would be held for the new hand of the king.
"I want everyone to know that Eddard Stark is my most trusted brother, and he has come to help me," Robert announced loudly in the council chamber, his voice carrying a sense of bravado.
Eddard wanted to oppose such extravagance, but Robert gave him no chance, directly arranging for people to take them to the Tower of the Hand to wash up.
That night, the banquet hall of The Red Keep was brilliantly lit.
The long tables were laden with all sorts of southern delicacies. Musicians played lighthearted tunes in the corner, while nobles in fine attire conversed over wine, their gazes occasionally drifting toward the high table.
Eddard, dressed in a black Northern-style doublet, sat to Robert's right. He felt uncomfortable all over; he had already faced too many stares and many hypocritical smiles today.
Sansa sat in the ladies' section, wearing the blue velvet gown her mother had prepared for her before they left. Her hair had been meticulously braided by a maid into a popular southern style. Her eyes could hardly move away from a golden-haired boy opposite her.
That was Joffrey Baratheon.
Joffrey was thirteen years old this year. He had inherited his mother's golden hair and features, but there was a spoiled arrogance between his brows. He wore a magnificent doublet embroidered with the Baratheon stag and the Lannister lion, sitting beside his brother Tommen and sister Myrcella.
"That's Prince Joffrey," Sansa whispered to Arya beside her, her cheeks flushing. "He's so handsome."
Arya sat next to her sister and rolled her eyes. She was also wearing a dress her mother had prepared, but she only felt completely uncomfortable.
"He looks like a peacock in fancy clothes," Arya muttered.
"Don't say that." Sansa glared at Arya and reproached her, "He is a prince, and more importantly, the future king. And he just looked at me."
Joffrey had indeed noticed Sansa. As the Flower of the North, her beauty appeared unique and fresh here, and the blue dress made her skin look even fairer.
But just as he was about to walk toward her, a slight look from Cersei stopped him. She had previously warned them not to get too close to the Starks in public. Emperor Joffrey was still just an obedient child for now.
Jon, meanwhile, enjoyed the food in a corner by himself, appearing quite relaxed. After all, among the people attending such a banquet, no one would bother to make an effort to get to know a Northern bastard, even if his father was a Duke.
The atmosphere at the high table was much more tense.
Robert pulled Eddard along, taking the opportunity to introduce him to the high officials of the Small Council.
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