PLOT DROP 002 pt 2 ;;
King Rhaegar sat at the high table, a fine figure in his royal attire, adorned with the emblem of the dragon. His keen violet orbs watched his guests, a soft smile playing upon his lips as he savored the roasted boar, the meat cooked to perfection and subtly seasoned. He seemed to be enjoying the festivities, laughing heartily at the jester's antics, clapping in rhythm with the bards’ songs, and raising his goblet in several toasts. His charm was infectious, his charisma a beacon in the grand hall.
Rhaegar, resplendent in his silver and crimson attire, rose from his seat of carved ebony, a goblet of Dornish Red glinting in his hand. A hush descended upon the sea of guests as his voice rang out, the words of the peace treaty echoing in the grand hall. The room was charged with anticipation as the King brought the goblet to his lips.
As if struck by an unseen bolt, Rhaegar gasped, the goblet tumbling from his grip, crimson wine cascading down like a river of blood. He buckled, a proud tree felled in an instant, his life extinguished as swiftly as a candle in a storm. His goblet lay abandoned, a silent witness to a king's fall.
Panic rippled through the hall, a tidal wave of terror and confusion. Swords sang as they were unsheathed, metal clashed against metal, a symphony of chaos. The madness was curbed only by the combined efforts of Prince Daeron Targaryen and the Stark King, their voices booming through the uproar, a lighthouse amidst a raging storm. A grim decree was issued: the Red Keep, once a beacon of joy and revelry, was now a prison. No one would leave the capital; no soul would escape until the serpent that caused the tragedy was brought to justice.
Without wasting a moment, the royal guards began a frantic search throughout the castle, interrogating guests, scouring rooms, all in the desperate attempt to uncover the culprit. The Red Keep was on high alert, its once welcoming halls now a labyrinth of suspicion. The dawn brought no relief, only a chilling discovery. The news descended upon the court like a raven of ill omen, casting a pall of suspicion over the Stark household. The remains of potion were discovered in Prince Richard Stark’s and Ser Silas' chambers. In the eye of this growing tempest, a lifeline was thrown over the next few days.
A betrothal between Prince Jasper Baratheon and Princess Wylla Stark was announced, a bond aimed to unite the dragon and the wolf, to bridge the widening chasm of distrust. A glimmer of hope pierced the cloak of uncertainty, but it was a fragile thread holding the realm together.
The air in the Great Sept was heavy with expectation, the echoes of Rhaegar's untimely death still resounding in the hallowed stone. The coronation of King Daeron was fast approaching. For now, the realm held its breath, caught in the delicate dance of politics and power, the shadow of betrayal looming overhead from the loss of their king.
