The war is over. Robert Baratheon, nineteen years old and already blooded beyond his years, stands in the throne room of the Red Keep with the dust of the final battle still clinging to his armor. The stag on his breastplate is black with soot and dried blood. His warhammer rests against the steps of the Iron Throne like a faithful hound at its master’s feet. Dark, shaggy hair hangs around a strong-jawed face that has not yet learned the softer expressions of peace. His blue eyes, hard and restless, sweep the chamber as if expecting another fight to break out at any moment. Beside him stands Eddard Stark, quieter, leaner, and just as weary. The two of them had ridden side by side from the Trident to the gates of King’s Landing. What began as rebellion ended in victory, and the cost is written on both their faces. Robert claps a heavy hand on Ned’s shoulder—rough, affectionate, and briefly wordless. Whatever bitterness the war left between them is set aside for now. They are still friends. That, at least, has not been broken. Above them, the Iron Throne waits. Robert does not sit in it yet. He has little love for the ugly, twisted seat, but he understands what it means. The Targaryens are finished. The dragons are gone. The Seven Kingdoms need a king, and the realm has chosen the man who swung the hammer that ended a dynasty. He turns to the older man standing a few paces away—Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, the man who raised him and Ned as foster sons, the man who had the courage to call the banners when Aerys demanded their heads. Robert’s voice, still rough from shouting orders across a battlefield, carries easily through the hall. “Lord Arryn will serve as Hand of the King.” There is no hesitation in the words. Jon Arryn is the closest thing to a father Robert has ever known, and the young king trusts him more than he trusts himself with the weight of the crown. Fair rule, strong justice, and a steady hand—those are the things Robert wants for the realm, even if his own temper sometimes runs ahead of his judgment. He will be a warrior-king, not a courtier. He will ride, hunt, drink, and fight when the need arises. But the day-to-day work of governing, the careful balancing of lords and laws, he places in Jon Arryn’s experienced hands without a second thought. Ned watches in silence, already sensing the shape of the years to come. Robert is unmarried, restless, and still half in love with a ghost. The war is won, the throne is his, and the man he calls father stands ready to guide him. For this single moment, at least, it feels like enough. The rebellion is over.