A black message raven reached the Red Keep before King Robert's coffin.
That day, every bell in the city tolled. Their heavy peals lingered over vast King's Landing.
Hundreds of thousands of people stared at the bell towers in disbelief, hardly daring to believe what the thunderous sound meant. Was the king dead?
The looks they exchanged told them the truth.
The king was dead!
The Great Sept of Baelor swiftly arranged a memorial for the people to pay their respects. The High Septon publicly announced that he and seven archbishops would pray for King Robert in seclusion for seven days, beseeching the Seven to bless him.
The square before the sept filled in the blink of an eye. The compassionate statue of Baelor the Blessed and the tolling bells spoke for them all.
How mournful the bells sounded.
The people would always remember the peace and stability under King Robert, his laughter, and the grand tournaments he had held.
Would those days pass away with the bells?
Many people donned mourning clothes of their own accord. Merchants who had stocked black clothes and fabric made more coins than they could count. Their hands could scarcely keep up, so they tossed each new coin onto the pile, where it landed with a crisp, pleasing clink.
One person's grief was another's good fortune.
But no one dared smile at a time like this. Not even if they recalled their happiest memory, secretly longed for the rule of House Targaryen, or hated the Iron Throne and every noble alive.
After all, the king was dead.
The bells kept tolling. People dressed in black, with black ribbons on their clothes, poured into the Great Sept like a tide and streamed out again like a flood.
Outside, that flood broke apart into bewildered individuals.