Renly concluded that Eddard Stark had indeed received an extraordinary fortune. Whether this was a blessing or a curse remained uncertain. After all, it was far better for a man of Eddard's integrity to possess such foresight than for someone as cunning as Petyr Baelish. Yet, in the presence of King Robert, he could not voice this sentiment aloud.
Instead, he sincerely agreed when Robert sighed, "It appears we must appoint Eddard as Hand of the King. What do you think?"
"If Lord Eddard has foreseen the future, he will surely decline," Renly reasoned, though he knew it was futile. Outwardly, he acquiesced. "But your plan seems appropriate."
"You are of an age where it is time to consider a betrothal," Robert continued. "Lancel has suggested a match with Lady Margaery, sister to Ser Loras, who is said to be as radiant as the dawn. However, I would prefer to see you betrothed to Eddard's daughter." Robert clasped his son's shoulder tightly, his expression heavy with melancholy. "Eddard is my dearest friend. Apart from Casterly Rock, the North is surely your most loyal ally… though I am uncertain if this is a wise choice. I have heard that Margaery of Highgarden possesses a remarkable ability to win hearts. Should she become queen, she might prove a better choice."
"Father, I understand. You need not worry. I shall make a decision when I have met the Lady of Winterfell and Lady Margaery myself."
"And what if they find me wanting?" Renly jested, though the humor fell flat.
"Then make haste, for the journey to Winterfell is not a trivial one."
Renly acquiesced and turned to leave, but encountered his uncle, Lancel Lannister, along the way.
"What brings you here, Uncle Lancel?" Renly felt a shiver of apprehension, yet mustered the courtesy to greet him.
"Oh, nothing of consequence," Lancel chuckled, perhaps a bit overheated, as he handed his cloak to a servant and draped an arm over Renly's shoulder. "Ser Loras has invited me to Highgarden. I wondered if you might accompany me."
Renly was taken aback. "My father is preparing to lead the royal party to Winterfell to visit Lord Stark. I must wait until our journey concludes."
Lancel maintained his smile. "What a pity! However, I believe you will still have the opportunity to meet his sister, Margaery. If all goes well, she may become a member of House Baratheon." He showed Renly a portrait of Margaery, styled in the fashion of the Reach. As described, the maiden was sweet and innocent, akin to a fawn. It seemed Lancel harbored intentions towards both siblings, which suited his temperament.
Is this the future Queen, the Rose of Highgarden? Renly pondered. Does she aspire to be the Duchess of Storm's End?
"That would be splendid," Lancel said, wearing a curious expression. "Storm's End? No. What she desires is King's Landing."
Renly smiled but offered no response. Suddenly, a thought struck him. "Might I keep the portrait?"
As the king and his entourage traversed the Kingsroad towards the North, snowflakes began to swirl around them, even miles away from Winterfell.
"Damn it," muttered Robert. "I hope we brought enough clothing."
Myrcella, entirely enveloped in heavy garments, found herself compelled to concur. "Indeed, it is late summer now, but once winter descends, the North shall become even more frigid."
Robert observed the boy beside his son, frowning. "Is that Jon Arryn's squire?"
Renly replied with a thin smile. "Yes. Before my departure, he poured a glass of wine for Lord Arryn. And soon after, Lord Arryn passed away. What an unfortunate coincidence. Wouldn't you agree, Alfie?"
The boy named Alfie nodded tremulously. "Yes, indeed. Very unfortunate."
The group sought lodging at the nearest inn. The proprietor, a sturdy woman, brightened at the sight of gold dragons, showering praises upon Cersei's beauty and the extraordinary prowess of the Kingsguard.
Joffrey maintained a sullen demeanor, while Tommen appeared quite intrigued. A beautiful young girl seated nearby possessed a visage that melded the wildness of the North with the refinement of the South. When she lifted her violet-blue eyes, they shimmered like lakes under the sun. At her feet lay a white wolf, to which she tossed a sizable piece of meat; the creature devoured it ravenously.
Joffrey cast a disdainful glance. "Northerners actually keep wolves as pets. Such dreadful beasts should not exist. Rustic backwaters breed nothing but ruffians."
"That was a direwolf, the sigil of House Stark," the girl said, wiping her hands and regarding Joffrey with an impassive expression before curling her lips into a standard smile. "If I may be so bold, if you fear direwolves, it would be wise not to mock the North. I was raised here and truly do not believe the gold of Casterly Rock can illuminate your cowardice."
Joffrey's expression darkened. "She is mocking me! Hound, cut out her tongue and slay that direwolf! Let us see if she dares to act so insolently again!"
The Hound remained still, calmly observing the spoiled young prince.
"What say you, my prince? Utter foolishness. She speaks the truth," Renly said, regarding his nominal brother, his face a tapestry of greed and cowardice, as if the flaws of Cersei and Jaime Lannister had coalesced within him.
Robert looked at his eldest son with concern, fully aware that one day Renly would inevitably become his heir. He gestured expansively. "Renly, what do you propose we do?"
In both sentiment and reason, Renly understood that Joffrey could no longer remain in the North. The notion of cutting out tongues should never find its voice in a child's words. Within a short span, he contemplated Highgarden, Dorne, the Whispering Isle, Dragonstone, and even the Vale of Arryn. Ultimately, he concluded.
"Return Joffrey to Casterly Rock."
Cersei's gaze fixed in astonishment upon her son. "Casterly Rock?" She had long harbored disdain for her eldest, yet as he matured, a complex tapestry of affection and loathing had begun to intertwine within her heart. Had their uncle Tyrion not been disinherited, and their uncle Jaime donned the white cloak, Joffrey would have been the rightful heir to Casterly Rock.
Renly offered an innocuous smile. "He ought to learn how to earn the genuine affection of his subjects."
Subsequently, Renly confided in Jaime. "Uncle Jaime, escort young Joffrey back. Should he refuse to heed your counsel, regale him with the tale of Aerys—omitting the more fatal details."
Jaime responded with a perplexed yet peculiar smile. "Very well, Renly."
Finally, Renly hesitated before speaking candidly. "Though my words may sound harsh, Joffrey's nature is inherently cruel. One cannot hope to alter him. At the very least, I wish for you to assume the future title of Lord of Casterly Rock."
As Renly and Jaime exchanged glances, a flicker of surprise crossed Jaime's eyes, perhaps astonished by Renly's evident animosity. In truth, it was not merely the cat that had vanished. A servant from the Vale, who had been a close companion of Renly in his youth, had also mysteriously disappeared after an outing with Joffrey.
Yet, Renly merely maintained his gentle smile.