Renly Baratheon stood by the window of Storm's End's tallest tower. Outside, the Narrow Sea rolled gray and wild, its whitecaps churning like the unrest in his heart. In the courtyard below, several attendants struggled to calm an agitated stallion. The beast's shrill neighs were shredded by the howling sea wind, heightening the tension in the air.
Yesterday, a raven from King's Landing had brought news that left him reeling. Cersei's three children were not his royal brother's, but bastards born of her and the Kingslayer. And worse—his dear kingly brother had declared all his bastards legitimate in one sweeping decree... Renly had been contemplating his next move ever since.
Just then, the maester of Storm's End came hurrying through the corridor, his sallow face pale as parchment, several scrolls clutched tightly in his hands.
"My lord—another raven... from King's Landing..."
Renly spun around and seized the letter sealed with the royal wax, his movements harsh. His eyes skimmed the words, and a shock deeper than yesterday's flashed through them.
Eddard Stark—a Kingslayer? Tywin arriving in time to save the royal family?
Renly's jaw tightened, his face darkening as fury surged within him.
Lies. Vile, clumsy lies.
He could almost smell the stench of lions bleeding through the ink.
He forced himself to steady his breath. A flicker of conflicting emotion crossed his face before hardening into the faintest trace of satisfaction. His brother was dead. The Iron Throne stood empty. The crown of the Seven Kingdoms was finally within reach.
He pictured himself upon the Iron Throne, commanding the realm. The image stirred a rush of triumph—only to vanish as quickly as it came when he remembered that damned decree of legitimacy. Within his own castle lived one of his brother's bastards—Edric Storm. And there were others, scattered across the realm, too many to name.
All of them had suddenly become threats. A flash of cold ruthlessness crossed Renly's eyes. How lucky these bastards were—untouched by the intrigues of King's Landing, yet now granted claims to the throne. They were thorns waiting to pierce his path to power. He would need to deal with them.
Renly turned sharply to the maester.
"Write to Highgarden—address it to Lady Olenna. Tell her Tywin's letters are nothing but lies. My brother died at Lannister hands. The decree legitimizing bastards holds no authority. The Stormlands seek alliance with the Reach to strike against the usurping Lannisters. And, maester—inform Lord Penrose to place Edric Storm under immediate confinement and strict watch."
He continued without pause.
"Send another raven. Summon all Stormlands vassals. I want their swords, their oaths, their armies gathered beneath the walls of Storm's End."
The maester, seeing the burning ambition in Renly's eyes, bowed quickly and hurried to obey.
...
Half a month later, Renly assembled a portion of the Stormlands' forces and advanced along the Roseroad toward Highgarden. Hooves struck the smooth pavement, producing a dull, rhythmic echo.
Highgarden in midsummer seemed frozen into liquid gold. Endless fields of golden wheat rippled along the roadside in the warm breeze, heavy ears of grain drooping low. The air was thick with the rich scent of ripened grain, blooming wildflowers, and damp earth—a sweetness almost intoxicating.
At the horizon's edge, Highgarden's vast white marble castle complex emerged, shimmering with a pearly luster under the afternoon sun. Its walls seemed carved from a single slab of warm jade, adorned with vibrant ribbons woven from climbing vines and blooming roses. Lush greenery and riotous blossoms flowed freely across the stone facades. The closer they drew, the more majestic and elegant the castle appeared—less a fortress and more a garden palace plucked from myth.
Before they reached the gates, a deafening roar of cheers washed over them. Lord Renly's warmth and charm were celebrated not only among the nobility but also revered by the common folk. The roadside teemed with people dressed in their finest. Farmers laid down their tools, merchants ceased their hawking, and women and children stood on tiptoe. Bright dresses, fluttering banners, and scattered petals merged into a seething sea.
Rose petals fell like a shower of colorful raindrops, landing on the gleaming armor of Renly and his knights, and upon the manes of their steeds. Mounted upon a jet-black stallion of extraordinary stature, Renly wore a radiant smile—gentle yet confident, like sunlight piercing through clouds. He waved repeatedly to both sides, each gesture igniting a fresh wave of cheers.
"Long live Renly!"
"The true king of the Seven Kingdoms!"
"Long live House Baratheon!"
Knights of the Stormlands surrounded him, their golden Baratheon banners fluttering in the wind, contrasting vividly with the green-and-gold roses of House Tyrell. The knights' armor gleamed, their horses adorned with splendid trappings. They sat tall in their saddles, faces aglow with pride.
Nobles from the Reach had long been arrayed before the castle, their attire more elaborate and luxurious than that of the Stormlands folk. Silk, velvet, and embroidery shimmered like jewels in the sunlight. At the head of the procession stood the heart of House Tyrell. Though Lord Mace was deep within King's Landing, the true ruler of Highgarden was Lady Olenna.
Her small yet commanding figure stood out prominently among her entourage. Those piercing eyes locked onto Renly from a great distance. As Renly reined in his horse and dismounted before the massive iron-studded oak doors, Lady Olenna, supported by her maids, advanced slowly.
She wore a deep green velvet gown, her neck adorned with a large gold rose brooch crafted from pure gold and emeralds, radiating opulence. Beside her stood her eldest grandson, Willas Tyrell. Seated in an ornate wheelchair pushed by attendants, he wore a gentle smile.
"Lord Renly," Lady Olenna said softly, her voice cutting through the surrounding clamor. "Highgarden offers you its heartfelt greetings. Your journey must have been arduous."
Her gaze swept over the spirited Stormlands knights behind Renly before settling on the lord himself. "The might of the Stormlands remains as formidable as ever."
Renly bowed with grace, taking the crested hand of the elderly woman and performing a flawless hand-kiss. "Lady Olenna, your hospitality shines like Highgarden's sun—warm and radiant. To have Highgarden's support in these trying times is an honor to me, Renly Baratheon."
He straightened, meeting the old woman's gaze with sincerity. "The combined might of the Stormlands and the Reach shall be a torrent cleansing the filth from King's Landing."
His words, both measured and powerful, drew another wave of murmurs and applause from the nobles around him. Lady Olenna's world-weary eyes lingered on Renly's face for a moment. Finally, she gave a slight nod, a barely perceptible flicker of satisfaction crossing her features.
"Very well. The rose and the stag should indeed bloom side by side."
She turned slightly, gesturing invitingly. "The feast is ready. Please, my lord. Let us discuss matters vital to the kingdom's future amidst fine wine and music."
Renly nodded with a smile. Accompanied by Lady Olenna and Willas Tyrell, and under the enthusiastic gazes and cheers of the nobles from the Reach and the Stormlands flanking him, he entered the hall of Highgarden, its air heavy with the scent of flowers.