Chapter 100: Rising Storms in Westeros
Westeros, King's Landing, the Red Keep, Throne Room
"Rebels of the Seven Kingdoms, I am the last surviving male descendant of House Targaryen, the true blood of the dragon. In the name of the King of the First Men, the Andals, and the Rhoynar, I command you to surrender..."
Grand Maester Pycelle, in a somewhat timid voice, read aloud the entire contents of the raven message.
Under the weight of his words, the entire Throne Room fell into an eerie silence. The nobles whispered among themselves, while the soldiers looked uneasy, clearly shaken by what they had just heard.
"Enough! I don't want to hear any more. He is nothing but a rebel! I bear the noble blood of the stag and the lion—something that traitor could never compare to. I— Ouch!"
After hearing the message, King Joffrey Baratheon roared in fury from atop the Iron Throne. In his agitation, he carelessly struck one of the jagged blades, slicing his palm.
"Oh! Seven save us! Grand Maester Pycelle, come quickly and tend to your king!"
Queen Cersei Lannister, standing behind the Iron Throne, immediately cried out upon seeing her son injured. At her command, Pycelle hurried forward in panic.
At this moment, the expressions of the nobles below shifted drastically. Though the houses of the Crownlands were not the most powerful, they were well-versed in history.
They all knew one thing clearly—those rejected by the Iron Throne rarely met a good end.
King Viserys I Targaryen had suffered endlessly from wounds inflicted by the Iron Throne, his body rotting before his death.
Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was said to have been rejected by the throne as well, falling from the "Realm's Delight" into the cruel mockery of "Maegor with Teats," before ultimately meeting her end at the jaws of a dragon.
What happened today was witnessed by many. Soon, whispers would spread across King's Landing—and beyond—that the Iron Throne had rejected Joffrey Baratheon.
Various emotions flickered in the nobles' eyes. Some even began to think that the young man who had transformed into a dragon before the Great Sept of Baelor might be more worthy of sitting that throne.
While the Lannisters descended into chaos, Lord Varys—the Spider—quietly stepped closer to Petyr Baelish, known as Littlefinger.
"Lord Baelish, what do you make of this situation?"
Varys spoke softly, so softly that only Baelish could hear him.
Littlefinger kept his gaze on the throne, a thoughtful expression on his face, before replying in a low voice:
"I am Master of Coin, appointed by Lord Jon Arryn and the late King Robert Baratheon. Naturally, my loyalty lies with House Baratheon. Why, Lord Varys—are you perhaps planning to spin your webs in Tyrosh?"
Varys only smiled at the jest.
"I am loyal to the realm. Though I must say, in this situation, you must be quite pleased. I hear Lord Tywin Lannister is preparing to march on the Riverlands under the charge of 'treason'."
The North, Winterfell, the Great Keep, Bedchamber
"Haa... haa..."
After an intense moment of passion, Lady Catelyn Stark rested in Eddard Stark's arms like a contented kitten. Having nearly lost her husband, she clung to him tightly, unwilling to part.
"My lord, what do you intend to do now? I have already sent your letter to Riverrun, but Father's health prevents him from taking action."
Still catching her breath, Catelyn spoke softly, her voice filled with worry.
"The worst has already come, Catelyn. All we can do now is watch and endure. If it comes to it, Edmure must yield to the Iron Throne. As long as we hold Moat Cailin, no southern army can march north."
"Will that truly be enough? And my sister, Lysa..."
Before she could finish, Eddard cut her off.
"Her mind is consumed by Petyr Baelish. She was willing to poison her own husband for him. To her, we are nothing more than pieces on a board. Leave the rest to Jon... no—Aegon."
After placing a kiss on her forehead, Eddard spoke with quiet disappointment.
This journey south had taught him a harsh truth—before power and ambition, even blood ties could be cast aside.
He no longer wished to play the game of thrones. All he wanted now was to protect the North.
"Do you truly intend to send Bran and the others to Tyrosh?"
Sensing his mood, Catelyn wisely changed the subject.
After everything had been revealed, Eddard had told her the truth upon returning North. Years of secrecy had weighed heavily on him, but now he seemed freer than ever.
Having faced death, he had let go of many burdens. No longer did he feel overshadowed by his father and brother—he now stood as their equal.
"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Winter is coming. Jon—Aegon—will need our help. I cannot send armies, but blood must stand with blood."
The North had already severed ties with the Iron Throne and openly declared that Jon Snow—Aegon Targaryen—was the rightful heir.
Yet Eddard did not march south.
Instead, he strengthened the defenses of the Wall, for the threat of the Others and the wights was growing ever more dire.
The Reach, Bitterbridge
Bitterbridge was more lively than ever, as the forces of the Reach and the Stormlands gathered for a grand coronation.
"In the name of the Seven, I proclaim you, Renly Baratheon of House Baratheon, rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms..."
A septon clad in rainbow-colored robes spoke loudly as Renly Baratheon knelt before seven statues representing the Seven.
The Father with his scales, the Mother with her child, the Smith with his hammer, the Crone with her lantern, the Maiden with flowers, the Warrior with sword and shield, and the Stranger shrouded in shadow.
"Long live King Renly Baratheon! Long live the Seven!"
As the golden antler crown was placed upon Renly's head, cheers erupted across the gathered armies.
Renly was beloved in both the Reach and the Stormlands. This popularity was why so many lords supported him over his elder brother, Stannis Baratheon.
Whenever a new dynasty rose, succession struggles were inevitable. It had been true for House Targaryen—and now it was true for House Baratheon.
Even if Joffrey were legitimate, ambitious men would still find reasons for war.
"Your Grace, these are the seven champions we have gathered from across the Reach and beyond. Many possess rare talents from the Free Cities. They shall serve you in the wars to come."
After the coronation, seven figures stepped forward.
"Your Grace, I am Wolkan of Bloodstone. By the Seven, I shall slay all who oppose you."
"I am Glen of Citrine..."
"I am Kurgan, called Topaz..."
"I am Selene, a fire mage..."
"I am Avy, a shadowbinder and seer..."
"I am Cassella, wielder of the axe..."
"And I am Dussan. I shall be your shield, Your Grace."
Renly studied them carefully before turning to the septon beside him.
This man, called the "Shepherd," seemed to hold great authority in the Starry Sept of Oldtown, though Renly did not recall hearing of him before.
The only figure he knew by that title was the mad prophet during the Dance of the Dragons—the man who incited the storming of the Dragonpit.
"Your Grace," the Shepherd said with a smile, "the Gemstone Brotherhood are all blessed by the Seven. In time, their power will astonish you."
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