KHENRICH

The halls were filled with chatter. They were filled with the mumblings of servants who've worked the long hours without a minute's rest. The halls echoed with the silent murmurs of the Lords and Ladies from the Seven Kingdoms, eager to attend the long-awaited event. The halls, once silent, have now become a hub for gossip and nonsense. Two things Khenrich particularly disliked. But what was he to do? Westeros was to see one of the grandest occasions to be held by a King since Aegon the Conqueror crossed the Narrow Sea and claimed the land. He thought the comparison absurd and pathetic, but it was what filled the gossipers mouths all day.

He stared out his window from one of the tallest towers in the Red Keep. He happily called it his private chambers. The tower was once a prison, an old Maester told him. It held nothing but the rotting souls of criminals awaiting execution. It was rumored, for years, to be haunted. But that was over a century ago. Soon the tower was vacated and for a time it was empty as "empty" could possibly be. At the age of 15, weeks after his Septa passed away, he came across the tower and told his Father the King if that he would have it as his own. The King did not protest. He was far too busy with matters of state to care which room his son chose to sleep in. The castle was big enough for the both of them. In his tower he had the privacy he could not have when in the halls. He could shed all inhibitions and be himself, not Prince Khenrich Baratheon, crown prince to the Iron Throne. In the tower he was just Khenrich. A boy who hated his father and yet craved his affection.

From the window he could see hundreds of servants out and about, preparing for the grand wedding that was to be held in 4 days.

Ah, the wedding, he thought bitterly. His father was an old man of 76 who pretended he was still 3o.

He gritted his teeth as he recalled the day his Father sent for him in his chambers, only to find a woman of about 25, dressed in the finest red silks and emeralds, cradled on his father's lap. In public his father would not dare present himself in such a manner. But he did not care what his son thought of it.

Lannister, he thought to himself as he eyed the way the woman's golden hair covered half her exposed bosom. She had eyes as green as the emeralds on her necklace, and Lannister pride from the way she smiled. She was sitting on the King's lap, but still had the gull to look at the Prince with what he thought was lust. His father held no regard for their immodest position.

"Lady Catherine of House Lannister, youngest sister of Lord Lucas Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of the -"

"I know." He cut his father bitterly. He knew who she was and he hated her more because of that. His father the King had bedded many whores and wenches but he did not expect him to bed…a Lannister. And the words that came next, although already anticipated, became a big blow not only to him but to the memory of his sweet, loving Queen mother.

"She is to be my wife."

Queen Arriane Baratheon died of a horrible illness was Khenrich was a mere four year old. Now he was turning 20 and the sight of his father with other women still repulsed him. But what right had he? His mother was nothing more but a ghost to the man before him. He was a great king, true, but a horrible father and husband.

"You've had plenty of decades to choose a new queen and remarry, Father. Why now? Were you just waiting for this one to be born?" he mocked.

"Do not use that tone on me, boy." His father's face had reddened with anger as he moved the lady aside. The King stood on his feet, tall and proud and looming just as a king should be. He cringed whenever his father called him "boy." It always sounded like an insult, like he could never be the man his father expected him to be.

The room fell silent, but the King's grim voice broke it as soon as it set.

"The Lords of my council have finally convinced me to take on a new bride. Apparently, the decision to inform you first is an obvious mistake. You will pay respect to her just as the realm will when she becomes your queen."

"You are still heir," he continued. His father said the words with poison in them, and looked at him with so much distaste as if he wanted to strip the title away from his son. The horn of a stag mounted on the wall cast a shadow on the space between Khenrich and King Lyon Baratheon.

"This union," the King bellowed in his deep raspy voice, "will be far more necessary than you think."

The Prince rolled his eyes. No sooner did he hope the darkness to conceal his act of rudeness. That would have earned him a slap.

"Im sure it is." Khenrich said incredulously. He looked back at the woman who stayed silent. "Should I start calling her mother then? Or her highness? To which do you prefer, my lady?"

"Hold your tongue."

"I've held my tongue for far too long, Father. Marrying a Lannister? And a woman only five years my senior! Have you no respect for-"

"I said…hold your tongue, boy!" The king's voice echoed in his vast grand chambers.

Khenrich cringed again. The woman looked at him with pity in her eyes, but it had gone no sooner after it arrived. She had the right mind to stay quiet, even though the Prince insulted her.

His father moved closer, tall and muscular for a man of 70. In his youth the knights would tell the prince of his many victories, of how King Lyon of House Baratheon killed hundreds of enemies with his great sword, Lionheart. In the king's youth, he was clean shaven and muscular, with bright blue eyes as clear as any sky and looks as handsome as the heroes in old tales. They told tales of how he defeated usurpers and rebels who were after the throne. And tales of how he valiantly won the late Queen Arriane's heart. The singers and poets made him a hero in their songs. Khenrich looked at him. He was still tall, he was still muscular, but his eyes were now a dull grey instead of blue, his long black hair now as white as the snow in the north. His crown, a mixture of gold and jewels, thin at the bottom but with stag horns adorning it, shone brightly even in the dark. He looked powerful. The way he spoke and acted emanated power. But he was no hero in Khenrich's eyes.

The shadows around the room grew darker and moved around as if there was life to them. The shadows made his father look even more terrifying. He was always afraid of him, but he will never admit it even to himself.

King Lyon poured himself a cup of wine and looked into the distance as he spoke.

"Winter is coming."

The room fell silent again.

"You are an ignorant summer child. You know not of the terrors the Winter brings. And with the cold and suffering of Winter comes the threat of war." The King sat himself and drowned the wine in his stomach.

"Leave."

Khenrich gave his father and the Lannister woman a long and sour look before turning to leave. As his palm fell on the knob of the chamber door, his father spoke again.

"Oh, and the wedding will be in a fortnight, boy. The Great Houses of the Realm will soon fill the halls of this castle. I expect you to do well with Lord Lucas' only daughter. You will be introduced. Be well-mannered and don't embarrass me like you always do."

Khenrich responded with silence as he closed the door.

A servant's shout in the distance brought him back to the present. He loathed the memory of that encounter but it clung to him like cheap perfume. He set them aside. Clinging to the past will not befit a future King. He had other pressing concerns.

He stood and examined himself in the mirror. He was tall for a boy of 19. He had dark hair and eyes as blue as the Narrow Sea. He was a handsome lad. He had his father's good looks, but his mother's spirits.

As if the sight of his reflection repulsed him, he pulled away and went back to the window. The sight before him a few minutes ago differed so much from the sight now that he wondered if he was looking at the right side of the courtyard. The place, once just green with grass and leaves was now covered with millions and millions of flowers. Reds, yellows, purples, oranges, blues flooded the yard. The wind blew some of the petals high enough for them to reach his window.

A single red petal fell on his lap. He eyed it closely before he took it in his palm.

"Ahh." He said to himself. "The Tyrells have arrived."