Chapter 145 – A Realm in Turmoil
Through the narrow window, what had moments ago been a quiet courtyard was now in uproar.
Blacksmith Mien.
Head cook Kasso.
Beastmaster Rigg.
Even stable boy Aro.
All of them had gathered together without prompting, voices overlapping in animated discussion about what had just happened. Every face bore the same expression—shock, awe, breathless excitement.
As if some great blessing had descended upon them.
Watching this, Renly Baratheon—clad in a violet night robe—drew the curtains shut and turned away from the window, his face dark.
He looked toward the man by the bedside, who was hurriedly pulling on his trousers.
"In Westeros," Renly asked slowly, "who doesn't believe in the Seven?"
It sounded like a question, but it felt more like confusion.
The brown-haired knight froze mid-motion, then turned toward his king.
"Your Grace?"
A faint, unnatural flush lingered on Ser Loras Tyrell's face—evidence of the intimacy they had only just interrupted. Yet compared to him, Renly looked deathly pale.
Renly stared at him and repeated, more quietly:
"In Westeros… who doesn't believe in the Seven?"
That was not an easy question.
Loras was silent for a moment before answering carefully.
"Other than the North and the Iron Islands… nearly everyone worships the Seven."
He hesitated, then added:
"Including us."
"Including us…" Renly echoed.
His lips trembled.
He stood there for several long seconds, then let out a defeated sigh.
"My brother is going to cut off my head."
Loras stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Your Grace… perhaps the situation isn't so dire."
"Not dire?" Renly gave a hollow laugh. "Mien, Kasso, Rigg… I even saw Ser Cleon of my Rainbow Guard rushing toward the rookery. Why do you think he's in such a hurry to reach the ravens?"
Why indeed?
"I would like to say the realm remains stable," Renly continued bitterly, "but unless I've gone blind…"
His expression turned bleak.
Since the wildfire consumed King's Landing, the southern lords' faith in the Seven had grown stronger by the day. Gatherings once devoted to politics or pleasure now inevitably drifted toward scripture, toward the Seven-Pointed Star, toward church history.
Old customs long dismissed as outdated superstition were quietly being revived.
And now—
A divine proclamation heard across the realm.
A public coronation blessed by heavenly light.
Stannis crowned not merely by men—but by God.
Renly's fingers tightened in the folds of his robe.
If the Seven themselves had spoken…
What, then, did that make him?
Not a rival claimant.
Not a younger brother.
But a heretic.
And in a land where nearly all bent the knee to the Seven—
Heretics did not fare well.
The courtyard outside roared again with excited voices.
Renly closed his eyes.
For the first time since declaring himself king, he truly felt alone.
Even Renly's relationship with Loras had begun to attract open criticism—something that would have been unthinkable before.
But that was the reality now.
In the past, shared hardship had bound them together. They could stand united against outside enemies.
But now…
After what had just happened.
After the gods themselves had declared his iron-willed older brother the rightful king.
What was King Renly supposed to do?
Half his soldiers and bannermen hailed from the Stormlands. By blood and by law, they had every reason to swear fealty to Stannis Baratheon.
In earlier days, Stannis's cold severity had worked against him. He was harsh, humorless, unforgiving. Many had preferred Renly's charm and warmth.
But now?
Now that every soul in Westeros had heard that divine voice—
Renly did not need to guess how uncertain his lords and soldiers must feel.
And that was before considering the ongoing war with Dorne, which had already strained loyalties.
By the window, Loras gently took his hand. Feeling the warmth of his lover's grip, the young king's expression shifted again and again as thoughts raced through his mind.
After a long silence, he inhaled deeply.
"I demand negotiations."
Loras blinked in shock. "Your Grace, we haven't—"
"It's decided!" Renly cut him off firmly.
Then, thinking of everything he had endured these past months, he let out a complicated sigh.
"Being king… is exhausting."
---
If Renly at Highgarden was steeped in pessimism, Casterly Rock in the Westerlands was no less troubled.
Inside the solar of Lord Tywin Lannister, the air was heavy.
The old lion sat stiffly in his chair, leaning back, his face stern as his fingers slowly rotated a silver ring. Across from him stood his son and daughter, both visibly unsettled.
"The cooks, the grooms, the knights, the soldiers—everyone heard that voice…" Cersei said anxiously, her green eyes filled with unease. "Father, what do we do?"
Tywin did not answer.
His plan had been clear: gather strength, rally allies, and accuse Stannis of orchestrating the wildfire. Once Stannis fell, House Lannister would clear its name and reclaim center stage in Westeros.
But what had just occurred shattered that strategy entirely.
Jaime snorted.
"What can we do? If Stannis dares march on us, I'll lead men to sack his stronghold first."
He clenched his jaw. "Recognized by the gods or not—he isn't the gods themselves."
"And how do we know that voice was truly divine?" Jaime added.
"But the wildfire…" Cersei began.
Tywin's fingers stopped turning the ring. He looked at her flatly.
"No 'but.' We proceed as Jaime suggests."
Cersei hesitated. "But we—"
"You will leave," Tywin cut in coldly. "I need to speak to Jaime alone."
She bit her lip, resentment flickering in her eyes, but ultimately turned and left, anxiety heavy in her heart.
When the door closed, Tywin fixed his gaze on his eldest son.
"Take Tommen. And Myrcella. Go to your brother."
Jaime blinked. "What?"
"Go north. Find your brother," Tywin repeated.
"Why?"
"Why?" Tywin's voice sharpened. "Stannis now bears divine endorsement. Any who worship the Seven will not question him again. So who will be blamed for the wildfire?"
"Are you saying that truly was the gods' voice?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Tywin countered. "Who else can speak directly into the minds of every believer?"
Jaime fell silent.
Then he shook his head. "I'm not leaving."
"You must."
"Even if Stannis is recognized, that doesn't erase suspicion. And even if we were behind the wildfire—who dares oppose us? Who has that strength?"
"If someone leads, they will," Tywin said quietly. "Everyone knows Lannister gold is unmatched. They even say I shit gold."
A thin, self-mocking smile touched his lips.
"Even if the danger is uncertain, the risk is real. I will not see House Lannister's bloodline end with me."
Jaime's expression darkened.
"We go together," he said finally.
"And be hunted to the North? Or would you have me lose my head to some northern lord?" Tywin scoffed.
"Why the North at all?"
"Where else? The Free Cities?" Tywin's tone hardened. "In Westeros, we still hold standing and history. Abroad? You are no one."
"That might not be so bad."
"Lannisters do not live among mud-caked peasants," Tywin snapped. Then he exhaled slowly. "Your brother made the correct choice, even if he acted without my consent."
He shook his head faintly.
"I've heard the so-called wizard treats him well. And he has ties to the gods. Go north. Go to the Wall. If Casterly Rock falls, you will still have the means to rise again."
Jaime said nothing.
What had once seemed like Tyrion's reckless decision now appeared their only escape route.
"I'm taking Cersei," Jaime said suddenly.
"You most certainly are not!" Tywin barked. "Nor Joffrey. You will take neither."
"Why?"
"Have you forgotten where that wizard first appeared?"
Tywin's jaw tightened.
"If Cersei and her son had made a different choice back then, we might not stand at this precipice."
"He threatened her!" Jaime protested.
"And who ordered him thrown into the Red Keep's dungeons?" Tywin shot back coldly.
Seeing Jaime's stubborn expression, he cut him off sharply.
"Listen carefully. You will not take Cersei. You will not take Joffrey. I will not repeat myself."
"And let them die?" Jaime demanded.
"If it comes to that," Tywin said, voice complex and unreadable, "I will have a ship waiting at Lannisport. They can flee to Braavos—or any Free City. They will be safe."
Jaime exhaled slowly.
"And you?"
Tywin paused.
Then he smiled faintly.
"I will leave as well. Of course."
---
While Westeros trembled in silent upheaval, far across the Narrow Sea, a black-sailed ship cut steadily through calm waters.
Daenerys Targaryen stood at the prow, hair whipping in the wind, staring out at the vast sea.
"Khaleesi, are you well?" someone asked softly.
She shook her head.
Then she nodded.
Then she bit her lip and turned to Ser Jorah Mormont.
"What does Stannis look like?"
Jorah understood immediately.
Moments ago, a divine voice had echoed in every believer's mind, proclaiming Stannis Baratheon the rightful king of Westeros.
At first he had thought it madness.
But every sailor who worshipped the Seven had heard it too.
He could not dismiss that.
"He's tall," Jorah said carefully. "Lean. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair. Stern face. Doesn't smile."
He hesitated, then added:
"And… he's bald. Just a ring of black hair."
Bald.
Daenerys' expression dimmed.
I'm not even as good as a bald man?
She unconsciously touched her own scalp. Silver hair had begun to grow back from where fire had taken it.
"So… does He only favor the bald?" she murmured.
"Khaleesi?"
"Nothing."
But the hurt in her voice was unmistakable.
Her advisors argued nearby—about Pentos, about Astapor, about armies and alliances.
She barely heard them.
Her fingers tightened around the black seven-pointed star pendant she carried.
Whenever she felt lost, she clutched it.
She rarely prayed aloud anymore.
It felt… embarrassing to summon that radiant, handsome young god again and again.
But now—
He had declared another king.
"I really am not the rightful ruler?" she whispered.
"Khaleesi!" Jorah pressed. "We must decide our course!"
Daenerys lifted her chin.
"I will not rely on Illyrio," she said firmly. "We sail to Astapor. We buy the Unsullied."
She looked toward the west.
"Then I will march to Westeros myself."
"I want to see what kind of king the gods favor."
Her violet eyes hardened.
"And I want to see whether he fears dragonfire."
---