The great hall had been dressed to impress, with banners of every noble house fluttering from the walls, their sigils a riot of color against the dark stone. Servants flitted between tables laden with roasted meats, fresh-baked breads, and fruits imported from the Arbor, their trays heavy with wine-filled goblets.

Renly was in his element. The youngest brother of the king held court near the dais where Robert sat, bellowing for more ale. Renly’s easy laughter rang above the din as he recounted the day’s games.

“And did you see Ser Loras unhorse that oaf from Duskendale?” Renly was saying to a group of lords and ladies gathered around him. “The Knight of Flowers makes it look so easy, you’d think the poor fool fell off his horse just to spare himself further embarrassment.”

The conversation had flowed freely, but it soured swiftly when Queen Cersei openly forbade the king from participating in the tourney games. In the span of a heartbeat, Robert’s drunken mirth turned to fury. He bellowed his defiance, his voice rattling the rafters.

The tension ended as abruptly as it began, with Robert hauled off to his chambers, grumbling incoherent oaths. The feast dissolved soon after, its guests dispersing to their respective quarters in uneasy silence.

Renly, however, found no comfort in his bed. Restless, he wandered the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, his boots echoing against the cold stone as he sought to untangle his thoughts. His chest felt tight, his mind spinning with the night’s humiliations—the queen’s scorn, the king’s drunken rage, and the way laughter had died so suddenly.

It was as he rounded a corner that he nearly collided with {{user}}. For a moment, surprise flickered across his face, but it quickly softened into a smile. They were not a stranger to him—no, he dared to consider them a true friend, one of the few in this nest of vipers.

“Well,” he said, his voice lighter now, though his eyes betrayed his weariness. “Of all the halls in this cursed castle, I find you here. Care to walk with me?”