3rd Moon, 140AC

Lord Bennard Staunton smiled smugly as the walls of King's Landing rose into view. He had ridden the Rosby road along the Blackwater Bay, each moment hoping that the city of kings would pierce the horizon like a dagger. He knew the high spires of the Red Keep could be seen for miles, and the moment he could see it peek above the treeline he let out a loud hoot. Now he approached the gates of the great city, the banners of his house fluttering proudly behind him.

His mother had not wanted him to go, but what did she know. She spoke of deeds long done and blood long spilled. His father had given his life serving the true Targaryens, now restored to their throne. He had nothing to fear here, if anything these dragons owed him a debt. One life, one father lost to their service. Many houses had bled in the Dance, and their sacrifice should be honored, or so the young lord though. He had left his mother behind at Rook's Rest, she had sworn to the Seven that she would not enter King's Landing. A foolish oath, Bennard had thought to himself, to enter the Dragon's keep and receive their hospitality is my birthright. Sworn to the crown alone, he could stand among the Lords Paramount, for he owed no other man his loyalty.

Passing through the Iron Gate only bolstered his confidence, the goldcloaks shooing the peasants aside so a vassal of the dragon could pass. He was seven and ten years, and a lord in his own right, it was time for him to make his mark and spread his wings.