The banquet at Highgarden was more lavish than anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms. The great hall resembled a dreamscape woven from gold, crystal, and blossoms. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from a dome painted with vines and roses, their light refracting through thousands of candles until the entire space shone as bright as day—brilliant and resplendent.
The air was heavy with the rich scent of roasted swan, the sweet aroma of honeyed fruits, the deep fragrance of fine wine, and the intoxicating perfume of countless rose varieties. The long table was draped in the finest Myr lace, while silver cutlery and gold-rimmed crystal goblets gleamed invitingly in the candlelight. Between mounds of delicacies, vases of carefully trimmed roses added bursts of color and grace.
Musicians hidden behind vine-draped columns filled the hall with the gentle harmonies of accordions, the lilting notes of flutes, and the soft beat of drums.
Renly sat at the head of the table, with Lady Olenna on his left and the breathtakingly beautiful Margaery Tyrell on his right. She wore a pale gold off-the-shoulder gown, its hem studded with tiny pearls that glimmered like starlight. Fresh white roses were woven into her golden-brown curls, framing a face smooth as jade and a smile as flawless as it was sweet. From time to time, she leaned close to whisper to Renly, her manner both intimate and graceful.
Renly maintained perfect composure throughout, speaking with effortless charm as if he were born to rule every feast he attended. Each glance, each raised goblet, drew the attention and admiration of every noble present.
Lady Olenna took a slow sip of her golden wine, savoring the rich flavor before setting the goblet down. Leaning slightly toward Renly, she spoke in a low voice.
"The old lion in King's Landing has written again—under Mace's name—urging us to attend the new king's coronation."
She gave a short, sharp laugh. "A coronation? Absurd. The whole realm knows by now that Joffrey is a false king, stained with Lannister blood."
Renly's smile did not falter. With calm precision, he cut a tender piece of pigeon from his plate. "Tywin means to use Lord Mace's safety to bind Highgarden's hands and make me hesitate."
"Exactly. My son Mace may be in Tywin's grasp, but Highgarden's will shall not bend for one captured duke. The rose will not bow to the lion, even if it must bleed for it."
Lady Olenna's expression darkened. She had pondered the matter long and hard before finally deciding to let Mace go. The words of her house—Growing Strong—echoed in her mind. One rose may wither, but from it, countless others will bloom.
Her sharp gaze fixed on Renly. "Wherever your sword points, the thorns of Highgarden will follow. Hold nothing back."
The last trace of doubt vanished from Renly's heart. He raised his jewel-encrusted goblet.
"To the eternal alliance of Baratheon and Tyrell! To the future of the Seven Kingdoms!"
His voice rose clearly above the noise, carrying through the vast hall. The nobles at the nearest tables fell silent one by one.
Lady Olenna lifted her goblet as well, a knowing smile touching her lips.
At that moment, the music ceased. All conversation, the clinking of goblets, the soft scrape of silverware—everything fell still.
Hundreds of eyes, filled with fervor and expectation, turned toward the head of the table. The lords of the Stormlands and the Reach held their breath. Knights straightened their backs. Ladies tightened their grip on their fans.
Renly rose to his feet, his figure tall and commanding beneath the golden lights. He swept his gaze across the hall, and wherever it fell, no one dared meet his eyes.
...
"My lords and ladies, the news from King's Landing is nothing but shameless lies spun by the Lannisters to whitewash their monstrous crimes! My royal brother, Robert Baratheon—the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms—did not die by Eddard Stark's hand. He was struck down by the treachery of the Lannisters, murdered in a plot carefully orchestrated by Tywin Lannister! All because my brother dared to expose that woman Cersei's disgrace, because he sought to defend the pure blood of House Baratheon!"
A wave of gasps and furious murmurs rippled through the hall.
Renly's voice rose higher, filled with passion. "My brother is dead, and his so-called heirs are bastards! The Iron Throne stands empty! The Seven Kingdoms need a true leader—a king of Baratheon blood, one who can bring justice and prosperity! The Stormlands stand with me! Highgarden stands with me! Before gods and men, I, Renly Baratheon, brother to Robert, Great Lord of the Stormlands, hereby claim my right—I demand the crown that is mine!"
Renly's speech, powerful and stirring, glossed neatly over the royal decree legitimizing the bastards—a detail the gathered nobles wisely chose not to mention.
"King Renly!"
Lady Olenna's aged yet commanding voice rang out first, her goblet raised high. Like sparks falling into hot oil, it ignited the entire hall.
"King Renly!"
"Long live King Renly!"
"For King Renly!"
The hall erupted. The lords of the Stormlands and the Reach leapt from their seats, dropping to one knee, heads bowed, right hands pressed to their hearts or gripping the hilts of their swords. Their shouts merged into a deafening roar that shook the rose-painted vaults above. The hall became a sea of oaths and pledges.
Hundreds of the realm's most powerful nobles offered their swords and loyalty toward the young man standing tall in the blaze of light at the head of the hall.
Margaery stood at Renly's side, her cheeks flushed with excitement and longing, as though she could already feel the weight of the Queen's crown upon her brow. Renly stood at the heart of the storm of voices, feeling the floor tremble beneath him, feeling power itself surge through his veins. His smile was full of triumph.
...
The next morning, beneath the grand dome of Highgarden's great sept, and before the assembled lords of the Stormlands and the Reach, Renly was formally crowned and took Margaery as his queen.
A thunderous chorus of acclamation rose again, louder and more fervent than the night before.
When the ceremony ended, the crowd poured like a tide into the castle's sky gardens, where a magnificent open-air feast awaited. Sunlight poured down unhindered, turning the endless roses into a blazing sea of color. The air was fresh with the scent of grass and earth—a striking contrast to the indulgence of the hall the night before.
Lady Olenna walked slowly beside Willas's wheelchair. Her sharp eyes swept past the jubilant crowd, settling on Renly in the distance, surrounded by Stormlands and Reach lords offering him toasts.
The young king shone with confidence, his manners graceful, his every movement already touched with regal poise. Yet, Olenna's brow furrowed—barely perceptibly.
"He's doing splendidly, Grandmother," Willas said gently, his long fingers brushing the armrest of his chair. "Better than anyone expected. He was born to command attention."
Olenna gave a low, cold laugh. "Candlelight reveals more than crowns—it shows the vermin that crawl in the shadows. You know what I mean, Willas. The whispers about Renly and Loras…"
Willas's expression remained calm. "Rumors fade before wisdom, Grandmother."
"Hmph." Olenna's tone was sharp. "In the Seven Kingdoms, fools outnumber the wise ten to one. A king without an heir? A king who shares his bed with men? That crown sits only half upon his head. The other half must be secured by Margaery's womb—and quickly. The child's first cries must drown out every whisper before they can spread."
Her voice hardened. "She must be with child soon. It is her highest duty as queen."
Willas inclined his head slightly, unconcerned. He had long heard of Renly's tastes—a man fond of his ale.
But that didn't mean he couldn't drink sweet wine.
...
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