The morning sky above King's Landing was heavy and overcast, thick with low clouds that pressed down like a smothering hand. Across the heavens, the red comet burned its slow path, a long scar of crimson light—as if the sky itself had been wounded and was bleeding.
King's Landing remained King's Landing in stone and streets, but its people had changed. Everywhere, citizens paused to stare upward, whispering prayers or curses beneath their breath. Sailors crossed themselves. Septons muttered omens. The city felt uneasy, as though it stood on the edge of a blade.
Within the Red Keep, Sansa Stark sat at the breakfast table with her sister Arya and Septa Mordane. The food before her lay mostly untouched. Her shoulders were stiff, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared down at her plate. In contrast, Arya ate with her usual enthusiasm, tearing bread apart with her fingers and chewing noisily.
"Are your clothes packed?" Arya asked between bites.
"Almost," Sansa replied without looking up. "Though I don't understand why I must leave while you stay. I don't have to attend your dance lessons."
"That's not a dance lesson," Arya snapped. "It's sword practice."
"Whatever you call it," Sansa said bitterly. "If you can go to class, why can't I say goodbye to the prince?"
Arya froze, glaring at her sister. "The prince?" she said sharply. "Father says he's cruel. He has his reasons. When we return to Winterfell, you'll understand."
"Father must be wrong," Sansa insisted, her voice trembling. "I'm going to marry Prince Joffrey. I'll love him as Queen Naerys loved Aemon the Dragonrider, and as Jonquil loved Florian. I'll be his queen and bear his children."
"Don't even think about it," Arya said fiercely. "Father said your betrothal was a terrible mistake. Joffrey is a liar and a coward. He'll find you a better man—brave, kind, and worthy of you."
"You're lying," Sansa whispered.
Before Arya could answer, Septa Mordane spoke gently but firmly. "Lady Sansa, Lord Eddard has given his command. We must obey. His Lordship has his reasons, and it is not for us to question them."
"This is so unfair!" Sansa cried. She shoved her chair back, sending it clattering across the floor, and fled the room in tears.
Septa Mordane rose at once. Arya looked up at her, her face unusually serious. "Please watch her closely," she said softly. "She's still blinded by that idiot prince. This is important. My father has warned us again and again."
"I understand, Lady Arya," the septa replied.
Soon, Arya was left alone at the table. No father. No Jon. Even Sansa and the septa were gone. King's Landing always made her feel small and unsafe, like a wolf trapped in a gilded cage.
We only have a hundred men, she thought grimly. And the Lannisters have thousands.
Far away, in Maegor's Holdfast, Queen Cersei Lannister stood beside a narrow window, her green eyes sharp as knives.
"Is the king truly dying?" she asked.
Lancel Lannister swallowed hard. "His wound… it was terrible. From his groin to his chest. I've never seen such loss of blood. He shouldn't still be alive."
"And Lord Stark?" Cersei asked casually.
"He did not hunt that day," Lancel replied. "They drank heavily the night before. Lord Eddard never rose from his bed."
Cersei smiled thinly. "Very well. Robert will speak to him if he can—but I won't wait. I must prepare."
When Eddard Stark returned to the River Gate with the coffins of the king and the boar, the city greeted him with silence thick as fog. The funeral procession was pitifully small, almost insulting. Renly Baratheon had fled with his guards. Ser Barristan Selmy was gone as well.
Scarlet Lannister banners lined the gate. Fully armed guards stood waiting, their cloaks bright as spilled blood. Eddard felt a chill settle into his bones.
Where are the stags? he wondered. Has House Baratheon vanished from its own city?
Six figures stepped forward to greet him: Grand Maester Pycelle, Sandor Clegane, Varys, Janos Slynt of the City Watch, Ser Boros Blount, and Petyr Baelish.
Littlefinger.
So he had returned.
Eddard's heart sank. Renly gone. Barristan gone. Stannis absent. He was surrounded by enemies, with only duty and honor for protection.
I have made too many mistakes, he thought. But I cannot abandon Robert now.
The king's will weighed heavily in his mind. In this chaos, there was no way to enforce it. Perhaps Barristan would have had better luck.
"The queen has ordered a council meeting in the Throne Room," Pycelle announced.
"And your daughters are safe," he added pointedly.
That was no reassurance—it was a threat.
Eddard had no choice. He followed them into the Red Keep.
Gold Cloaks filled the halls. Lannister soldiers lined the walls. Every step felt like walking deeper into a trap.
The bronze doors of the Throne Room opened.
"Hail King Joffrey the First!" proclaimed the steward.
Joffrey sat upon the Iron Throne, dressed in gold and crimson. Cersei stood beside him, serene and deadly. The Kingsguard formed a white arc at the base of the throne.
"I will be crowned within two weeks," Joffrey declared. "Today, I receive oaths of fealty."
Eddard stepped forward.
"I cannot swear," he said calmly. "Joffrey has no claim. King Robert named Gendry Baratheon his heir."
The room exploded into chaos.
"Seize him!" Cersei commanded.
Steel rang. Eddard's men fell one by one. He fought, but the odds were hopeless.
At last, Sandor Clegane's blade rested against his throat.
"In the game of thrones," Cersei said coldly, "you win—or you die."
Eddard Stark was dragged away as blood soaked the stones of the Throne Room.
The coup was complete.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)