It had barely been half a day since they'd left the cove, and the ship cut through the water toward King's Landing with steady speed. On the main deck, Renly stood ready, dressed in a bright yellow-orange tunic that caught the afternoon sun, the black stag of House Baratheon embroidered in thick thread over his heart. The fabric was well-worn but clean, tailored as best it could be to fit his growing frame, with extra room in the shoulders and sleeves to allow for movement.
With the sea calm and the wind steady at their backs, there was no better time to continue his training. He'd asked Borin earlier if they might spar before the sun grew too low, and his head guard had readily agreed ,always eager to test the young lord's progress. Now, as the ship glided onward, Borin took his place across from him, wooden practice sword in hand, his stance patient and sure.
He faced off against Borin, his head guard, his mentor, the one man who'd pushed him this hard with a sword. His grip on the wooden practice sword was as firm as any knight's. They circled, the beat of their blows falling in time with the tide lapping against the hull. He moved like water, ducking under Borin's swing, lunging forward with precision, parrying every strike so cleanly it made the older man grunt with effort.
"Seven hells, my prince," Borin breathed, taking a step back to catch his breath. "I've trained in the yards of Dragonstone and the Red Keep both, never seen a prodigy like you. You keep up with me perfectly, the only reason I can even get a hit in is because this body of yours is still just a boy's. When you grow… gods, Renly. When you grow, you'll be one of the finest swords in the realm."
Pride warmed Renly's chest—he'd learned in the weeks since Borin had taken up his training that the man was no ordinary guard. He was a well-known knight from the Reach, who'd served both in the City Watch and at Dragonstone through his prime years, and rarely offered praise lightly. To earn such words from someone with his reputation meant more than any compliment from a courtier ever could. But he just reset his stance. "Then let's keep going until we dock."
The ship glided into the slip, and Renly stepped off the gangplank first, his guards falling in behind him, Borin at their head. There, on the dock, stood two men in white cloaks: Ser Barristan Selmy, his silver hair catching the sun, and Ser Layman Vance, raised to the Kingsguard from House Vance of Wayfarer's Rest, a knight in his prime with broad shoulders and dark beard closely trimmed, who proved himself in the battlefields of Robert's Rebellion as a loyal and competent man, his reputation forged fighting alongside the Tullys and Baratheons along the borderlands.
"Lord Renly," Ser Barristan said, bowing his head respectfully. "The king requests your immediate presence at the Red Keep."
Renly nodded. "Lead on, ser."
They set off through the streets without incident. Renly's eyes scanned everything: the rickety wooden houses leaning into each other, the thin children begging in the gutters, the smell of rot mixing with smoke in the air. It was pitiful, and he knew this wasn't even the worst place. He also noted something else: the City Watch men patrolling the streets wore their usual gold cloaks, no sign of Lannister red among them. The lion's claw hadn't fully sunk into the capital yet.
They reached the Red Keep quickly, its red walls looming overhead. Before Renly could even take in the courtyard, a steward led him straight to the king's solar, his guards stayed outside the door, taking their posts along the wall.
Inside, King Robert sat behind a massive oak desk, bigger than Renly remembered, his belly already pushing against his tunic, his face flushed from drink. Beside him stood Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, his expression calm and steady.
Renly dropped to one knee and bowed his head, but Robert waved a hand dismissively. "None of that nonsense, boy! Gods above, you've grown quite a bit haven't ya? What have they been feeding you over there at Dragonstone?"
And it was true, since the last time they'd met, Renly had shot up several inches, his shoulders broadened slightly and set square, the soft curve of his cheeks giving way to a strong jawline that promised to be sharp and firm with age. Even now, the lean lines of his limbs and the way he held himself spoke to the masculine build he was sure to carry, there was no doubt he'd grow into a handsome man, with the Baratheon stature and presence that had always marked their line. His hands were still small, but they were calloused now from sword practice.
"Just fish and black bread, Brother," Renly said with a grin as he stood. "Though my maester swears it's all the books that's filling me out."
Robert let out a booming laugh that shook the room. "That's good! That's good! Jon here has been telling me about this list you sent for your repairs on Dragonstone. Says you're doing what a proper lord should be doing. When I was your age, all I cared about were swords and knighthood, couldn't have told you the first thing about fixing boats or looking after people."
"It's my duty, Brother," Renly said, his voice growing serious. "As a lord, and a Baratheon. I will not tarnish our name."
Robert's smile faded, his eyes going quiet and heavy with something Renly recognized as guilt. He stared at his brother, at the set of his shoulders, the focus in his eyes, and saw how much had been asked of him, how fast he'd had to grow up alone on Dragonstone.
"You know," Robert said softly, leaning forward on his desk. "You could live here, in the Keep, all the luxury a lord could want. Or go back to Storm's End, have every comfort laid out for you. You wouldn't have to worry about a single thing. Forget about all these lordly duties and just… be a boy for once."
"But this is what I want," Renly replied firmly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I choose this for myself as well. And I'll not have other people suffer for it, especially my people, my land."
Shock crossed Robert's face, followed by deeper guilt. He'd known he'd left Renly to manage Dragonstone on his own, but he'd never truly understood that his little brother had stepped into the role not out of obligation alone, but by choice, growing up faster than any child should. He'd given Dragonstone to Renly out of emotional intensity back then, in the heat of the moment, he hadn't truly thought it through, hadn't considered what it would mean for a boy to rule a barren, isolated island.
But he'd been too proud, too embarrassed to make a fool of himself by taking back his word. Now, staring at his brother's mature gaze and steady hands, he wondered if that had been the worst mistake he'd made since putting on the crown.
Clearing his throat, Robert shifted the topic. "Well… at least tell me you're taking up the sword, eh? Don't want you spending every waking hour with ledgers and plans."
Renly's lips curved into a small, confident smile. "My guards and I sparred the whole way here on the ship. They say I'm keeping up now, only falling short because I'm still growing into my frame."
Relief washed over Robert's face, mixing with a flicker of pride. "Aye? That's more like it! Speaking of which… Did you like my gift?"
Renly nodded, a small smile touching his lips. "Yes, Brother. It's beautiful, crafted with fine steel and a stag's head pommel. Although it's too big for me now, so I don't carry it much."
Robert let out a rough chuckle, running a hand through his dark hair. "Aye, well, you'll grow into it soon enough. We'll have the armorer fit you with a smaller practice blade in the morning, so you can train here while you're visiting."
Robert suddenly seemed to recall something and beamed, gesturing toward the window where the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon. "The feast starts at sunset, just for you, boy! Had the cooks pull out all the stops, boar, swan pies, every drop of good wine from the Arbor we can find!"
Jon Arryn stepped forward, his voice calm and warm. "I'm sure you're tired from the journey, Renly. I've already given orders to arrange your quarters, they'll be comfortable and well-suited for you. A servant will take you there shortly to rest. And perhaps we can talk about the matters at Dragonstone later, during the feast? I want to hear everything you have to say."
Renly bowed his head respectfully to the Hand. "Thank you, my lord. I must thank you as well for covering the payment of everything we needed for the repairs. I will remember your kindness always."
Jon Arryn called for a servant, and a young girl entered to lead the way. Renly offered brief farewells to the king and his Hand before following her through the castle's torch-lit halls, past hanging tapestries and polished suits of armor that caught the warm glow of flame.
As they walked, he spotted his guards, Borin and six others, waiting at the corridor's end. When they reached the door to his chambers, Renly turned to them with a nod.
"Rest up, all of you," he said. "Borin, set a two-by-two shift outside the door, no need for all of you to stand watch through the night. Send someone to the kitchens for food too."
Borin bowed his head in acknowledgment. "As you command, my lord. We'll keep watch close by."
Renly paused with his hand on the door handle, looking back at his head guard. "Never too bad to be cautious," he added quietly, "especially in a den of snakes such as King's Landing."
Borin's jaw tightened slightly, he knew well the dangers of the capital. "Aye, my lord. We'll be ready for anything."
They came to a door set back from the main corridor, and within lay chambers prepared for his stay: a large bed draped in thick furs, a sturdy wooden desk stacked with fresh parchment, and a narrow window that looked out over the training yard below. The space was neat and comfortable, with a small table already set with water, crusty black bread, and a wheel of sharp white cheese.
Outside, the guards split into pairs, one duo taking their posts against the wall beside the door, the other heading off toward the kitchens as Borin made his way to speak with the castle watch captain.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the long hours on the ship and the weight of the day's meetings settle deep in his bones. Sunlight still streamed through the window, but he could feel the castle beginning to stir with preparation for the evening's feast.
He knew he couldn't sleep through the meal or else it would seem disrespectful, especially not when the king himself had gone to such trouble for him. Still, a short rest would do him good. He kicked off his boots and stretched out across the furs, pulling a light blanket over himself. Closing his eyes, he let the quiet of the room wrap around him, planning to rouse himself well before sunset to wash and change for the feast.