A disembodied, mechanical voice echoed in the void.
Translocation successful. Welcome to the world of A Song of Ice and Fire.
Assignment in progress... Congratulations. You have drawn: "The Doomed Fetus." Identity: Renly Baratheon.
Countdown to demise: One hour.
Upon hearing the words, the consciousness known as Renly—still entranced by a recent video game—struggled to open his eyes. He failed. In his hazy state, he faintly discerned a woman's voice, thick with displeasure. Whether it was a figment of his imagination or reality, his heart sank.
As a university student on the brink of graduation amidst an unforgiving job market, he had often fantasized about traversing into this very world. He would have accepted even the fate of becoming Varys. Yet, why was he cast as a minor character destined for such an absurdly tragic end? (Though, he supposed, not the most absurd compared to Tywin Lannister).
You have one opportunity to alter your fate. Will you use it?
Yes! he thought desperately. Yes!
Though, given Cersei's nature, survival now might only mean prolonged torment before an inevitable end. He feared the prospect of being violently extracted and buried, his name forgotten by all.
Soon, he exhaled a wave of relief. He heard the woman respond to some unspoken threat, "I am sorry, but if you were to miscarry this time, you would no longer be able to bear a prince for the king, Your Grace."
Somehow, he had prevailed in the first trial within Cersei's womb.
But Renly rejoiced too soon. He soon realized that although Cersei restrained her fury enough not to end his existence, he was subjected to an unending cycle of intense auditory assaults—the roar of her anger, the tension in her voice—for months on end.
After what felt like an eternity, a resounding cry heralded his successful escape from that dismal existence. With widened eyes, he surveyed the new world. The first sight was a stunning blonde woman who, despite just giving birth and appearing utterly fatigued, radiated an enchanting aura. It was completely at odds with her reputation as a cruel and fiery queen.
"What do you intend to name him?" Cersei inquired coolly of her husband.
The handsome, yet somewhat portly, King Robert Baratheon, glanced at the babe in the wet nurse's arms. He pondered for a moment before declaring, "Renly. To honor my foster father, Lord Estermont, rather than your father."
Following a fierce argument, Renly was silently fed by Cersei, who maintained a fierce glare directed at him throughout.
In the ensuing years, Cersei unexpectedly refrained from taking any overt action against him. In consideration of this strained maternal affection, Renly felt compelled to maintain an appearance of filial piety. As time passed, it seemed she had truly set aside her grievances.
When Renly was two, Joffrey was born. Approximately three years later, Myrcella came into the world. After that, Cersei's womb remained silent.
What is happening? The butterfly effect? Renly wondered. Lying in his bed, a sense of resignation washed over him. Having already traversed into this world, there was little he could do. The disappearance of Tommen seemed almost inevitable.
Calculating the passage of time, he realized he was now fourteen, the same age as Robb Stark. If predictions held true, Jon Arryn was nearing his demise at that very moment.
The soon-to-be victim, the Hand of the King, cheerfully poured him a cup of wine. "What troubles you, Renly? You appear to be burdened with thoughts." Despite his gray hair, Lord Arryn exuded vitality and was not lacking in curiosity. "Have you perhaps developed feelings for a certain maiden?"
"Um, not exactly," Renly replied. "In truth, I am concerned for Lady Lysa. She seems to be in a rather poor state of mind. Perhaps you might consider sending her to Winterfell to be with her sister, Lady Catelyn?"
Upon hearing this, Jon Arryn fell silent, his expression subtly shifting. "How do you know this? Never mind. It is best left unsaid. More importantly, your relationship with your brother, Joffrey, warrants attention. Although Joffrey is mischievous and obstinate, that does not justify your continued suppression of him as his elder brother."
"Is that so?" Renly retorted. "Then tell me, what does it signify when he flayed alive a female cat I once cared for?"
Another Arryn heir. Jon sighed heavily. "Very well. Robert was just as headstrong as you in his youth."
"This is different." As a time traveler, Renly found it utterly impossible to adapt to the twisted nature of medieval aristocracy. A recent, furious confrontation where he had struck Joffrey, and Cersei's subsequent reaction, had left him utterly disheartened.
Jon Arryn said nothing further, simply offering a gentle pat on his shoulder. "Regardless, Renly, I hope you will become a remarkably capable king. And a successful king must possess a spirit of inclusiveness."
As Renly descended the steps from the Hand's tower, Sandor Clegane fell into step beside him. Approaching them was a young man adorned with a mockingbird badge on his chest.
"Ah, Your Grace! Lord Petyr," he exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across his face. "I wonder if you have any inclination to visit my establishment? I assure you, the queen will remain none the wiser."
"Thank you, but I shall pass." Renly had no desire to follow in Robert's footsteps, leaving a trail of royal bastards across the city. For the past few years, raised under Jon Arryn's guidance, he had become aware that Robert's illegitimate daughter was placed in the Vale by Jon, while another still lingered on Dragonstone. Such an irresponsible father was, compared to Cersei, truly a matched pair.
"How unfortunate," Littlefinger lamented with a shake of his head, a glimmer of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. "However, I possess more than just a brothel. If you're willing to accompany me, I could divulge the reasons why Cersei harbors such disdain for you. Might this be considered a bargaining chip?"
Renly burst into hearty laughter. "How could that be, my lord Petyr? You are not the all-seeing spider lurking in the castle's walls. And I, Renly Baratheon, doubt you understand my mother better than I do. Nevertheless, should you be inclined to earn some coin, I could finance a brief excursion for the Hound."
The Hound interjected, his voice a low growl. "You'd be better off handing me the money directly, sparing the brothel altogether."
"You're truly unlike that wretched Robert," Littlefinger chuckled resignedly. "Though I frequented brothels in my youth, I rarely indulged after I took Catelyn and Lysa's maidenhood."
A blatant lie. An egregious falsehood, Renly thought with clarity, yet he continued to smile. "You are indeed fortunate in your conquests. Thankfully, I remain unwed, or I might find myself consumed with jealousy."
At that moment, a young boy dashed down from the prime minister's tower, panic-stricken. "Your Grace! Lord Petyr!" he gasped, his words tumbling over one another. "Lord Arryn… he has passed away!"