79 AC
A full year had passed since Vaegon left King's Landing for the Citadel in Oldtown.
Under Gaemon's meticulous, daily care over the last two years, the sickly Valerion had defied the odds. He successfully survived past the two-year death sentence secretly predicted by Grand Maester Elysar.
For King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, this was a profound cause for celebration.
To honor Valerion surviving to his second nameday, King Jaehaerys announced a grand celebration. The festivities would not only feature a massive feast within the Red Keep, but the King also invited the nobility to participate in a grand hunting competition in the Kingswood. However, to avoid making the event overly cumbersome, the invitations were primarily restricted to the lords of the Crownlands and a few neighboring houses.
The most notable exception on the guest list was Lord Boremund of Storm's End. He was the only Lord Paramount invited to the intimate gathering, a clear testament to the incredibly close bond between House Baratheon and House Targaryen.
The closeness between the two great houses went far beyond the widespread rumor that Orys Baratheon, the founder of the house, was a bastard brother of Aegon the Conqueror.
The strongest link binding them now was Prince Aemon's wife, Jocelyn Baratheon. Jocelyn was the daughter of the former Queen Dowager, Alyssa Velaryon, and her second husband, the previous Lord of Storm's End, Rogar Baratheon.
By blood, the current Lord of Storm's End, Boremund Baratheon, and Jocelyn Baratheon were maternal half-siblings to both King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne.
This deep, intertwined bloodline permanently anchored House Baratheon to the Iron Throne. If one were to ask which house in all of Westeros was the most fiercely loyal to House Targaryen, the answer was unquestionably House Baratheon.
Driven by his deep affection for his royal family, Lord Boremund Baratheon rallied his household the moment he received the King's invitation. After a brief period of organization, they immediately set off toward King's Landing.
Because the notice was short, Lord Boremund traveled light. Before departing, he sent ravens to House Trant of Gallowsgrey and House Errol of Haystack Hall, instructing them to meet him on the Kingsroad so they could ride to the capital together.
Even moving quickly, the Stormlander procession arrived outside King's Landing only a few days before the festivities were set to begin.
Despite their haste, Lord Boremund refused to ignore basic aristocratic decorum. Instead of rushing through the gates covered in road dust, the Stormlander host made camp a short distance from the city to rest for the night. The next morning, under the bright sun, they formed up in pristine, ordered ranks and marched toward the capital.
The harsh sunlight glinted off the massive, imposing walls of King's Landing. Summer had only recently arrived, but the oppressive heat was already settling over Westeros.
Outside the city gates, a chaotic sea of humanity ebbed and flowed. Merchants looking to peddle their wares and local farmers bringing food to market formed a massive, slow-moving column shuffling through the arched entrance.
Despite the overwhelming volume of people, the crowd was relatively quiet; the flow of traffic was orderly, painting a picture of a bustling, prosperous city.
Suddenly, the rhythmic, metallic clatter of marching steel echoed from the far end of the Kingsroad. As the sharp, heavy sound drew closer, the orderly line of peasants and merchants instantly shattered.
The smallfolk near the gates practically threw themselves onto the dirt shoulders of the road. They knew exactly what that sound meant.
Living at the absolute bottom of the social ladder in Westeros's largest city honed a certain set of survival instincts. Even without seeing them, the peasants could tell from the sheer volume and weight of the metallic clatter that a massive force of heavily armored cavalry was bearing down on them at high speed.
Only a high lord of immense wealth and status could field a retinue composed entirely of fully plated knights.
For a lowly merchant or farmer, accidentally blocking the path of an irritable high lord was a quick way to end up maimed or dead. No one who wanted to survive in Westeros was stupid enough to stand their ground.
And even if someone was foolish enough to try, the Gold Cloaks guarding the gate were there to ensure they didn't.
The moment the guards heard the approaching armor, they began violently shoving the lingering smallfolk away from the entrance, desperate to clear the path and avoid the approaching lord's wrath.
The Gold Cloaks worked efficiently. Before the vanguard of the approaching force even reached the shadow of the walls, the gate was completely clear. The guards snapped to attention, standing rigidly on either side of the entrance to welcome the lords.
The first thing to appear over the crest of the road was a massive, snapping banner depicting a proud, crowned stag. It was immediately followed by a second, and then a third.
Beneath the banners rode dozens of massive knights, their armor polished to a blinding silver shine. Long black cloaks snapped behind them as they rode their heavy warhorses at a brisk trot, forming a protective ring around three lavishly decorated four-wheeled carriages.
Seeing the crowned stag, the captain of the gate guards immediately recognized the Stormlanders. After a brief, purely procedural inquiry, the captain waved the procession through.
The smallfolk kneeling in the dirt didn't find the preferential treatment surprising; this was simply how the world worked.
The Baratheon host didn't slow down as they entered the city, maintaining their brisk pace straight toward the Red Keep. As the rear guard passed through the gates, a heavy leather pouch was tossed from the formation, landing squarely in the captain's hands.
The captain bounced the pouch in his palm, listening to the heavy, unmistakable clink of gold dragons. He grinned, nodding in satisfaction. "Say what you will about the Baratheons, they're rich bastards. Well worth the effort of clearing the gate."
Stuffing the gold into his tunic, the captain waved his hand at his men. The guards relaxed their rigid posture and stepped aside.
Within moments, the brief interruption was over, and the chaotic, bustling sea of merchants and farmers once again choked the entrance to King's Landing.