"You claim I am… who?" Eddard Stark stood at the castle gates alongside his wife and children to greet the king.
Cersei Lannister, holding her doll-like daughter, Myrcella, descended from a magnificent carriage. The tall boy standing beside Sandor Clegane was evidently the current heir, Renly Baratheon. Eddard had been informed by Jon that this heir was rather affable, and since Joffrey held little affection for the North, he had been sent back to Casterly Rock. To ensure Joffrey's safety, Jaime Lannister had been dispatched as an escort.
Thus, Ned noticed that the Duke, long frozen in the North, regarded Renly with a peculiar tenderness. The boy standing rigidly beside him, like a young steel beam, could only be Robb Stark.
"Greetings, Robb," Renly said, extending a hand. He felt Robb's entire demeanor stiffen the moment their palms met. As contemporaries, Renly towered over Robb by a head. And though Robb was the heir to Winterfell, he appeared rather austere in contrast to Renly's splendid southern attire.
Fortunately, Catelyn Stark skillfully diverted the conversation. "Your Highness, do not misunderstand. Robb is merely eager to witness the prowess of the heir apparent. Winterfell is remote and rarely welcomes visitors from the south."
Sansa gazed at Renly with admiration. "Indeed, two years ago at the tourney in Lannisport, your gallant figure remains vividly etched in my memory."
Renly chuckled, feeling somewhat bashful. "You are too kind. I was defeated by Ser Barristan after only a few rounds. The bards boast that the young hero, despite his loss, held his honor, but the truth is I spent the entirety of the match in a state of passive defense." He gestured toward the castle. "Let us not dwell on that. We should proceed inside. I also intend to engage in some sparring with Robb."
As he spoke, he noticed that Jon Snow was regarding him with an expression reminiscent of mourning—pity, sympathy, and regret all mingling in her gaze.
"Why do you look at me so?" Renly asked.
"Your prowess is renowned throughout the realm," Jon replied.
Renly, skeptical, scoffed lightly. "There is no need for flattery."
Jon continued to observe him, hesitating to speak.
"Ned, let us visit your family's crypt," Robert said with a hearty laugh, breaking the silence while discreetly exchanging a knowing glance with Renly.
Unexpectedly, Eddard did not immediately respond to the king's suggestion. Instead, he scrutinized the servant, Alfie, who stood behind Renly. "And who might this be?"
"He was Lord Arryn's squire, present at the time of his demise. I once suspected foul play, yet this unfortunate servant remains oblivious to the true origins of the events," Renly lamented.
It was not until they were seated at the high table in Winterfell's Great Hall that the slight boy, led by a servant, took a seat alongside Robb and Sansa. The fare of Winterfell, of course, paled in comparison to the bounty of the southern lands. The variety of vegetables was limited, and with the cold climate, the food consisted of hearty beef and onion soup—nourishing, yet simple. Renly bit into a piece of bread, the taste slightly astringent on his palate. Myrcella seemed to share his sentiment, though she concealed it gracefully, praising the stark beauty of Winterfell instead. Cersei Lannister maintained a stoic demeanor throughout, refraining from touching her utensils, while Robert appeared quite jovial, engaging in conversation with Eddard Stark.
Among the throng of guests, Renly could not discern his father's true thoughts. At some point, Alfie had stealthily departed the banquet with a chicken leg in hand. To preserve appearances, Renly chose not to address it publicly, but silently resolved to dock the boy's wages.
"Brother," Myrcella whispered cheerfully, "don't you think Robb is quite handsome?"
Renly followed her gaze and replied candidly. "He falls just short of my own stature. Though, dear sister, if you truly seek a husband, Robb would be a commendable choice. I sparred with him today. He wields a longsword with greater finesse than I, though his strength does not match mine. Among the heirs of the Seven Kingdoms, his martial prowess ranks within the top three." Even without a Valyrian steel sword, Renly could sense that Robb Stark was the kind of man destined for the battlefield. Moreover, he was the son of Eddard Stark. Should Renly ascend the Iron Throne, Robb would be his most steadfast ally.
Myrcella, with a touch of exasperation, squeezed her brother's hand. "Brother, you are overthinking this. No matter how formidable Robb might be, the current Lord of Winterfell remains Lord Stark."
Indeed, he had allowed his thoughts to wander too far. As the weight on Renly's heart gradually lifted, he realized that the first heir to the throne was not the infamous Joffrey, but himself. With Bran's fall and Eddard's execution averted—two significant events that would not transpire—the conflict between the wolves and lions seemed unlikely to erupt.
He rose and stepped out of the raucous banquet hall. The night air was cool and, in its own way, intoxicating. To be more objective, the frigid wind was biting, and with no stars in the sky, had he not been dressed warmly, he would have been reduced to a frozen statue. He strolled by the steps, contemplating the future, when suddenly a shriek pierced the air.
"My Lord Eddard, you are mistaken! Lady Lysa is truly unrelated to Lord Jon's demise!"
In the shadows, Alfie quivered as he took a step forward, engaging in a heated dispute with a towering figure. Moments later, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.
It was never meant to be so conspicuous, Renly observed. But the fact that Alfie cast a furtive glance at me before fainting clearly indicates a setup.
Another figure emerged slowly from the darkness, illuminated by the lights of the banquet hall. Her beautiful and delicate features, marred by incredulity, were wrapped in layers of clothing. The Stark family's signature gray and white hues adorned her tall frame, complemented by high leather boots that echoed Eddard Stark's own stature.
Jon Snow crossed her arms and asked in a business-like manner, "Shall we proceed with the formalities, or shall I simply berate him?"
Before Renly could finish, Alfie swiftly opened his eyes and, in a remarkable display of recovery, declared, "Your Highness, Lady Stark, I was mistaken earlier! I am willing to testify that Lysa Arryn is indeed the perpetrator behind Jon Arryn's murder!"