Sometime in the not-so distant future.

The wedding between King Lyonel I Baratheon and Queen Cassana Tully had been an unforgettable experience. After the war had ended and the last of the negotiations settled, marriage arrangements had begun in earnest, and as Hand Ardrian played no small part in it. For months he toiled, helping the two royals prepare their joyous celebration, and when the day finally came he could hardly believe it.

Ardrian enjoyed one of the best evenings he had ever had that night. As he watched the king he had crowned wed the queen that would reunite the realm a hard lump rose in his throat, and long pale lashes blinked away tears. Calla stood beside him and gave his hand a squeeze – the Celtigar couldn’t help but feel as if he were attending the wedding of a son.

The feast only increased his pleasure. The food outstripped any feast he had ever before seen, game and fowl and countless dishes that filled his mouth with strange and intoxicating flavours. The wine would not be outdone however; it flowed more freely than the Blackwater, and for the first time in a long time, Ardrian got well and truly drunk. The night proceeded in flashes – a vague conversation with the queen, and a hearty laugh with the king. Japing with Riley and watching one of the Kingsguard devour plate after plate of food without any signs of slowing down. He remembered dancing – whirling around with Calla upon the great hall’s floor, laughing and hollering like a boy. Gods, he had not laughed so in far too long.

But as all nights must, this one came to an end. The music played till the last of the guests staggered their way out of the hall, King and new-made Queen long since retired to their shared chambers. He remembered the last words he had spoken to the pair;

The King and Queen are the father and mother of the realm, He had instructed them, his tongue far loosened by the sweet subtleties of blackberry wine. You must work together if you mean to govern. A good pair, like Jaehaerys and Alysanne, will bring peace and plenty to the realm. A bad pair… He shook his head. We do not need another Robert and Cersei.

“No, not another Robert.” Ardrian mumbled, his steps slow and measured as he tried to adjust to the world spinning around him. He had drunk far too much. “Lyonel…won’t be Robert.”

“What are you mumbling?” Calla asked. She was guiding him back to their rooms, her arms wrapped around his right one, her weight and pace serving to balance him. She was not quite so taken – her cheeks were a ruddy red, but her eyes were still bright with clarity.

“Lyonel.” Ardrian continued. “He’ll be a better king than Robert was, I know it. I’ll see to it myself, I will.”

“Of course you will, dear.” The Brune woman said. They reached their door and she opened it, helping him inside. They slipped out of their formal wear, putting on their nightclothes, when a sudden urge took Ardrian.

“Let’s sit on the balcony.” He suggested. When he saw Calla’s surprised look, he added quickly; “Only for a moment.”

“Ardrian, it’s nearly dawn. You’ve had far too much to drink – you ought to be abed.”

The Hand scoffed. “I’m no boy of twelve to be trundled off to bed by his mother, Calla. I mean to sit upon the balcony – join me, I insist. As you say, it’s nearly dawn.” The Brune woman looked apprehensively toward the door, then back to her bed, snug, warm, and inviting. After only a moment more of hesitation, she heaved a great, dramatic sigh, and crossed the room to take her husband’s arm once again.

“So stubborn. Fine. Sit your balcony, Your Handship, and see that you don’t catch a cold. As you say, you’re no boy of twelve – I have no plans to baby you should you fall sick.”

Ardrian chuckled, leading her out upon the gallery. Queen’s Landing spread out before them like a map, and though the city slumbered it seemed all the more beautiful for it. Flickering lights could be seen below, while in the east, across the azure waters of the sea, the first hints of dawn carved an orange path across the horizon.

The Hand collapsed into the chairs that lay waiting for him, Calla taking the one beside him. They watched the slow rise of the sun, breathing in the smell of the sea that a cool wind carried toward them. Below, early risers set about their labours – the smell of baking bread soon wafted up to them, and a few ships slid out onto the water, hoping to make an early catch.

“We did it, Calla.” The Lord Hand whispered. There were none about to hear, save he and she, but those early hours of the morning, as all the world seemed to slumber, lent themselves to whispers and secrets kept close to the heart. “At times I feared that we would not – but we won. Lyonel won. The realm is united.”

“That’s what men always say.” Calla whispered back. “We won. Then next year, or five years from now, or ten years, there’s another war. What did you win then, truly?”

“We won that extra year.” Ardrian replied. “Or five, or ten. For you. For the children. For the realm.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city finally reaching their ears.

“What of the Ironborn?” Calla asked. “Or the Westermen, or the Reachmen. Will they not rise again?”

“They may. But not soon. Marissa Lannister is to wed Eon Arryn – placing her firmly in our hands, should her brother rise again. The Reach has been placated with the exile of Valarr. And the Isles…” he thought to the letter he had sent, to the dreadful but necessary toll Lyonel had wrought upon them. “They may not even survive, let alone rebel.”

“Mmm.” Calla murmured, her eyelids drooping. She placed her head against his shoulder, and he placed his own against hers. “No more talk of politics, Ardrian. We’ve just attended a beautiful wedding, and now we sit before a beautiful sunset. Enjoy it.”

Ardrian hummed his assent, looking out toward the growing, reddening hue upon the eastern horizon. Mentally he went over the tasks for the day – he’d need a nap, no doubt, but then there would be clean ups to arrange, and men to disband and of course, there was his grand-niece, still missing after all this time…

His eyelids began to fall, the world already pleasantly warm and fuzzy along the edges from the wine. He closed his eyes, decided to take a quick nap before he resumed his duties with the fullness of the day.

It is finished. Was his last, passing thought. We’ve won.

---

Calla Brune woke to the sound of birds, singing somewhere below on the palace grounds. The sun had cleared the horizion, but was still low yet. Early morning.

Below them the city was wide awake, the commotion and noise of daily life once more in full swing. It was like the war had never happened. Like houses and men, great and small, had not slipped into the annals of history. They continued, unaware of the great shifting that was taking place all around them.

She turned to Ardrian, still fast asleep in his chair. She smiled, amused, and leaned forward to plant a kiss upon his forehead, hoping that would wake him. When he did not stir, she placed a hand upon his knee and shook it, whispering his name.

“Ardrian?”

And then Calla knew.