King's Landing

The ninth year of summer.

April 1st, 298 AC.

King Robert was about to arrive at his loyal Winterfell.

Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, as close to the king as brothers, had prepared everything several days in advance. The ceremony, servants, food, banquet—Winterfell had shown the utmost sincerity.

Though Bastard Jon Snow could not stand among the Starks in the front row to welcome the king, he still had to attend the reception alongside Theon Greyjoy and the others.

There was little time left.

Jon Snow was alone in his little room, soothing his Direwolf.

"Ghost, stay put for half a day, all right? Once the ceremony is over, I'll give you your favorite venison."

He believed Ghost could understand him.

Ghost, his fur white as snow, blinked his blood-red eyes, lively yet quiet.

Good boy. Jon smiled proudly.

Jon left the little room alone.

The moment he left the room with hot water flowing through its walls and the blazing fire, the chill of The North rushed over him. He tightened the heavy fur clothing wrapped around his body.

Little Arya came running over and eagerly tugged Jon along. "Jon, come on! There are so many singers over there!"

Jon affectionately ruffled Arya's hair.

Among Lord Stark's children, Arya was closest to him. She had never shown the slightest disdain for him, her Bastard brother.

Bran and Robb were good to him as well, but Jon always felt somewhat inferior when he faced them.

Jon had never wanted to think about his future. Robb would inherit Winterfell, Bran could serve his elder brother or receive another holding—but where was a Bastard like him supposed to go?

Jon let Arya pull him toward the East Gate.

Theon Greyjoy sidled over with a malicious grin. "Jon Snow, a kind reminder: don't stand in the wrong place later. We're all in the back."

Jon could not be bothered with such shallow provocation.

Theon was supposedly a foster son of House Stark, but in truth, he was merely a hostage sent by the Greyjoy family. His status was even lower than Jon's, so it was no surprise that his temperament was so vile.

Jon's attention was fixed on the musicians lined up on both sides inside and outside the gate.

Arya had not been wrong. There were quite a few musicians carrying all manner of instruments—nearly a hundred of them, an exceptionally conspicuous sight.

Jon was deeply curious.

Father's arrangements had long been finalized, and he had heard nothing about needing so many musicians. So was this the king's doing?

"Arya, did you just crawl out of a mud pit? Gods, you're even wearing that dusty helmet. The king is about to arrive. At least dress like a lady."

Sansa, Lord Stark's eldest daughter, approached gracefully.

Today, Sansa wore an elegant gown adorned with exquisite embroidery. Even her tone as she lectured her sister was soft and pleasant.

When she came closer, she gave Jon a ladylike smile, but sensitive Jon could sense the politeness and distance behind it. Of course. How could a young girl dreaming of marrying a prince possibly like an illegitimate, half-blood Bastard brother like him?

Lady Catelyn glanced in this direction, and Jon immediately turned his head away timidly.

Lady Catelyn Tully had borne three sons and two daughters for Lord Eddard, yet Lord Eddard had brought his Bastard son Jon back to Winterfell.

Jon wanted to try to understand and accept Lady Catelyn's attitude.

But every time he came into contact with her, the cold disgust in her eyes made him recognize his awkward position all the more clearly.

His eldest brother Robb came over just then.

Robb had inherited his mother's blue eyes and auburn hair. But Jon knew that, inside, Robb was Father's son: steadfast in honor, loyal in character, and devoted to justice.

Robb explained why the musicians had appeared.

"The Crown Prince composed a new piece as a tribute to the king. Its first performance will be at Winterfell, which is why so many of them arrived early."

Robb then specifically warned his two sisters, "The Crown Prince seems to have brought a Giant Lion as his mount. Don't lose your composure and make House Stark a laughingstock."

The curiosity and anticipation on Arya's face deepened. "I'm not afraid! What is a Giant Lion? What does it look like?"

Sansa clasped her hands, her eyes full of yearning. "They say Prince Joffrey has golden hair as dazzling as sunlight..."

Jon began to miss Ghost. Such a quiet, good boy—he did not make noise, did not get angry, and did not have thoughts as complicated as humans did. He truly wished today's event would end immediately.

More and more people gathered around the East Gate.

Bran nimbly climbed down from the tower and ran all the way to his father, shouting that the king's party was already close.

The preparations within the castle were completely finished. Jon and the others stood straight, awaiting the king's arrival.

The air was utterly still.

Jon had never seen Winterfell like this.

Several hundred soldiers of The North stood armored and spear in hand, divided into two lines guarding the outer side of the Kingsroad. Dozens of enormous, exquisite Stag Banners and Grey Wolf Banners hung from Winterfell's walls and inner ramparts.

Every member of House Stark stood in the courtyard, while the knights, nobles, and servants behind them all wore solemn, serious expressions.

The musicians adjusted their posture.

Jon, too, was swept up by the atmosphere. What would the king be like?

The sound of hoofbeats gradually drew nearer.

Cellos, violas, and violins began playing at once, their melody graceful and restrained.

Jon thought it sounded quite good, more pleasing than most minstrel tunes, but it did not seem particularly suited to an occasion like this.

Yet he also noticed that many of the musicians had not joined in.

Several hundred knights gleaming with Golden Light, silver light, and White Light rode down the Kingsroad. Two imposing knights in white armor led the way, guarding a huge fat man.

The instant King Robert stepped through the East Gate, everyone dropped to one knee and welcomed the king.

The first part of "King's Landing" ended at just that moment.

Countless stirring drumbeats and horn calls instantly rang through Winterfell.

Jon's heart thudded violently several times on its own, and a surge of heat rushed through his entire body. Many present reacted even more intensely.

The graceful melody before had merely been a prelude, like Winterfell's preparations over the past several days. All of it had been for the arrival of the latter half—King's Landing.

The visiting knights streamed in like a long dragon.

Countless Baratheon Stag Banners and Lannister Golden Lion Banners swept past before their eyes.

The drums had yet to cease. If anything, they grew even more frenzied.

A flash of golden light suddenly filled Jon's vision.

Many people let out suppressed gasps.

Jon's gaze was firmly captured. It was a Giant Lion, more than twice the size of Ghost's dead mother, the Direwolf!

It truly was a legendary beast!

Jon saw the figure atop the Giant Lion. He wore magnificent red-and-gold robes, tall and powerfully built, with golden hair as dazzling as sunlight streaming behind him and a sincere, bright smile on his face.

The figure looked toward Jon and gave him a glance whose meaning he could not understand.

Jon knew that this was the Crown Prince, the future king.