The Last Stag • Game of Thrones

45.

Chapter Forty-Five.
My Family Crypt

Renfri snuck into King's Landing under the cover of the night.

No armor. No grand headpiece or Baratheon cape. A flowy white shirt and leather pants, her old worn boots. Staghorn and the twin Lannister dagger tucked away in the saddlebag. Her braids undone, curls swishing against her back.

Just a girl with one last thing to prove.

Just Ren.

She left her steed at the gates, slapping his behind so he would flee into the Kingswood, taking her blades from the bag. She would have no need for a horse. Not ever again. 

Ren made her way up the winding streets, the City Watch paying her no mind. For once, King's Landing was almost empty. There were no lights in any windows, no taverns bursting at the seams with men and whores. 

Part of her had forgotten just how big the city really was. As the sun burst over the horizon, signaling the last day of Cersei Lannisters reign, Ren was still nearly a mile from the Red Keep. She ducked into an empty tavern, settling in.

This may be her last day alive.

Ren poured herself a mug of ale, staring out into nothing. 

She was leaving everyone in a good spot. Tormund and Karsi were returning beyond the Wall. Jaime was staying in the North. Tyrion would be the Hand to the new Queen, Jon would be the Warden of the North. Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell, Arya would find her peace. Davos would receive a position under Daenerys. Gendry would be the Lord of Storm's End. And what of Renfri? Of the Last Stag of the great House Baratheon? The lost Princess of Westeros?

There was no room for her left after she killed Cersei. Not really. Everyone had their purposes, their reasons to go on. She could return north with Tormund and Karsi, maybe, but she hated the real North. She could stomach Winterfell, but beyond the Wall was too cold for her blood. Renfri did not belong up there.

What about Jaime? She had grown unfathomably fond of her uncle. In a way, he had finished the rest of the fathering she had needed. He was her parent, too. She could live in the North with him and Brienne and Sansa. But Ren would always be the odd one out- with her old blood and ancient rites. Each of them had their positions, but there was no real place left for Renfri. Nothing to really do, to really be. 

Storm's End? No, the Stormlanders would never truly follow Gendry then. Not while Renfri still walked those halls. It was her own fault, really. She had made herself their Lady and then handed the reins to someone new. They would always look to her, always root for her. Resentment would inevitably grow. She could not do that to Gendry. Not when she had finally given him what he deserved. 

Daenerys would never allow her to stay in King's Landing, not when it was all said and done. This was her home, she had grown up here. She had learned to walk and talk in the Red Keep, learned to ride a horse and swing a sword within its walls. And beside that, she was the true heir to the last royal dynasty that had sat the Iron Throne. No, the Dragon Queen would never allow her to stay with Tyrion and Jon and Davos. Not peacefully. 

Ren looked down into her ale, her bare hands circling the mug. 

What of Myr, then? She had told Gendry that's where she was going if Daenerys let her live. What of her dreams? Of Jon, gray-haired, sunbathing in the backyard. Of the grand house where Goji could grow old, where they could raise their children? She could start that book trade that she had always dreamed of.

But it didn't feel right. It would be empty on her own. Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen growing up in that house on the cliff. Jon and Goji by her side. Ben, learning to walk amongst the flowers, holding Renfri's hand.