No Greater Fury: A Horse Grenadier company in Westeros

[Balaur]

Amos Casseria. Brandon Vellene. Artur Messelos. Gwenhefar Carnel. Four grenadiers dead. Amos and Brandon to Mandon Moore's sword, the only effective resistance the night of the coup. Artur in the final clash they were calling the Battle of Four Armies, hit in his unprotected face by a spear thrust. Gwenhefar dead to dysentery on the march to Casterly Rock.

Another six or so had been crippled by wounds at some point, unlikely to be fit to return to service, mostly due to damaged tendons and nerves in their sword arms. A dozen silvercloaks under her command had also died, taking the brunt of the fighting and armoured only in cheap, crude butted mail. More were wounded, including several with missing fingers and burned faces from their cheap, low quality calivers bursting.

Only 65 or so enlisted left fit for combat, and her officers and staff. They'd seen things the Westerosi wouldn't believe. Rockets glittering in the night above the Hendiot range. Great flights of wyverns, migrating over the border marches, but in a century, there would be no one alive on this planet who'd seen those things, utterly mundane to her but wondrous to the Westerosi. They'd be just as lost as the great northern wall or the seven wonders.

Their only option was to become part of this new world, or conquer it and impose themselves as rulers over it like Arthur had.

"Ma'am, the king is going to be sentencing the prisoners tomorrow morning." Boudace said, sticking her head into Tane's room. They'd occupied one of the outlying villages, while Stannis was holding court in the now that the siege was over. Most had surrendered, but some had held out in the depths and heights of the rock. They'd been forced to surrender, overrun, often by former Lannister bannermen, or killed while trying to break out in the days following the betrayal, and now virtually all resistance had vanished. There was still resistance in the north; Eddard's troops would be cleaning that up.

"Aye." Tane said, finishing up her check of the company muster rolls and the lists of pay and equipment. Stannis's sentencing of the surviving rebels was likely to be a hair raising experience. The man chopped off fingers for saving his life, and had seriously considered burning children alive. How he dealt with actual traitors… well, it wouldn't be pretty.

*

The sentencing was to be held in Casterly Rock's Golden Hall, surrounded by the evidence of House Lannister's ancient glory. Suits of armour hung on the walls: Ironborn, Northern, Reachmen, Riverlanders, Reynes and Tarbecks, testament to thousands of years of probably fabricated glory. All of it destroyed because a knight couldn't keep it in his breeches.

Stannis had moved as much of his army as possible into the citadel, while the Westermen had been forced to camp out on the plans, to stop any reversal of the surrender. The hall was unpleasantly damp feeling, neither warm nor cold. Like a cave. Mostly because Casterly Rock, was, when you got down to it, a man-made cave network inside a mountain. If not for Sarsfield's treachery, they could have been sieging it for years.

A hundred or so nobles and near a thousand knights had been stuffed into the cramped space, while the Westermen prisoners were held in a second, nearby hall, ready to plead for mercy.

Eddard Stark had ridden south, taking his prisoners with him, for this. Renly had been unable to attend due to his injuries, and was recovering at Crakehall, alongside his sworn shield Brienne.

Stannis had quietly set out his plan for her future: an advisory position on the small council for matters military. She'd agreed. Becoming a general was beyond her immediate skills, but she would learn, and royal favour was never something to be thrown aside. It was clear the idea of having loyal, professional troops with powerful weapons at his beck and call appealed to him.

There were hundreds of others in there with her. Squires and common soldiers set to receive knighthoods for some deed or another; nobles waiting to snap up empty holdfasts for their second sons and bastards.

Banners hung from lines strung across the wall, hundreds of houses of the Stormlands and Reach and a few from the North. Her own cornet hung amongst them, cleaned and stitched up after being trampled at the Battle of Four Armies, the flaming grenade above the three spoked wheel of the Commonwealth on a green field, the slogan of the 3rd Horse Guards flying proudly above it-No Greater Fury.

Stannis marched out into the middle of the hall, it's ceiling lost in shadow. His right arm was stiff, too stiff; probably from his wound, a mace blow to the inside of the elbow. He was dressed in a stiff red doublet and black breeches, with his hastily repaired crown on his head. The mere fact that his clothes weren't crumpled or dirty made him better dressed than almost every lord in the room.

"Firstly, the sentencing of all those who rose with Lord Tywin Lannister in his western rebellion. I will spare many, those who only served who they falsely believed to be their rightful king faithfully. Others, those responsible for Tywin's cruel sack of the riverlands and the spawning of the abomination Joffrey Baratheon, will be shown no mercy."

A golden haired man in a sweat stained shirt was led out into the hall, alongside a dwarf, both chained hand and foot. His face was a ruin, split by an angry red line and a mass of stitches, his nose and right eye gone. Jaime Lannister. He made his misshapen, dwarf brother-look outright charming in comparison, and Tyrion made your typical Woose look beautiful in comparison.

"You are guilty of the attempted murder of Brandon Stark, twice over, the killing of Lord Eddard Stark's men, abandoning your duties as a kingsguard, incest and rebellion. The punishment for all of those is death. You will be beheaded tomorrow. So will Tyrion Lannister for his role in the rape of the riverlands."

And for being a potential leader for the Lannisters. Can't have that.

They were lead off, Jaime's shouted demands for trial by combat ignored.

Other prisoners were lead out. Those who had betrayed Tywin were only pardoned for treason, not rewarded. Harwyn Sarsfield, the man who had organized the scheme, was given an empty holdfast when he pleaded that he had believed in the truth of Joffrey's claims, but had immediately defected when he discovered the truth. For those who had stayed with Tywin to the last…

Wall, off with his head, Silent Sisters, Wall, off with his head summarized it well enough.

Finally, the King who had started all of this was led out. He was not the boy she had known in King's Landing, seemingly courteous, prone to fits of rage, who had once gutted a cat out of curiosity. He was broken, his eyes downcast, red from crying.

"I shall not suffer the spawn of incest to live, nor usurpers." Stannis droned. "You shall be beheaded on the morrow."

This is butchery, not justice. Killing him to stop another war would be all well and good, if they didn't have a perfectly sensible way to dispose of him without killing…

He was led off, and then the knightings and granting's of boons began.

There were dozens of them. Devan Seaworth and Bryen Farring were knighted for staying by their king's side even as Tywin's cavalry crashed in amongst them. Many other squires were knighted for the same. An archer received his pick of the captured horses and armour as a reward for felling some Western lord with a single shot through the visor. Brienne of Tarth was offered three strong warhorses for saving his brother's life. The lords were given boons, obviously planned out ahead of time. Western Lord's lands, cuts of the loot, children as wards and hostages. A position as Master of Coin for Guncer Sunglass. A new position, as Master of Armies, for Randyll Tarly.

Casterly Rock, and the lord paramountcy of the West, went to some Frey who'd married a Lannister(though said Lannister was off to the silent sisters), though the Rock itself was to be bricked up and abandoned, leaving only the outer walls and courtyards to be inhabited-little more than a fortress around a mountain, rather than a mountain that was a fortress. She had her doubts about how well that would work, but it was better than having to siege the bloody thing all over again.

Tarbeck Hall and Castamere, too, and funds to repair them, were granted to Ser Rolland Storm, alongside the wardenship of the west and legitimacy. He'd apparently led the force that had outflanked and destroyed Tywin's tiny rearguard in the passes, letting Stannis move fast enough to nearly catch them at the battle of the oceanroad.

Eddard Stark was called up, too.

"Your Grace" he said, taking his knee, "As your favour, I beg mercy for Joffrey Waters. Though an abomination born of incest, it is the crime of his parents, not himself, that you condemn him for. By your leave, I would have him sent to the wall instead, no threat to the realm."

She'd had Eddard Stark's word that if she fought in trial by battle, the children would be spared. Cersei had died, and good riddance, and the younger children vanished.

Back him. Force Stannis's hand.

Stannis's jaw twitched. "He is too dangerous."

And risk having royal disfavour?

"Bryden Rivers caused no trouble once he took the black. Neither did Aemon."

You've killed dozens of people. At least save someone from this bloody mess.

"Spare him, Your Grace. That was the condition I agreed to in return for killing Trant." Tane said.

Stannis glared at her wordlessly.

"That too is the boon I would ask of you. Enough blood has been spilt on the Queen's account." A small man said. Davos Seaworth, freshly ashore from the blockade.

Back down, back down god damn you.

Stannis said only one word.

"No."


*

The next morning, she stood amongst those assembled to watch the beheadings in Casterly Rock's courtyard. She'd started this by carrying out the coup; the least she could do was carry it out to the bloody end.

Stannis stood upon the stage, Illyn Payne at his side. The king looked as grim as ever, but there was something off about him.

The first captive was dragged across the stage, Ser Addam Marbrand, freshly missing an arm. He placed his head upon the block without being forced.

Dying bravely. She approved of that, although she approved of living bravely more.

Illyn hefted his greatsword.

At the last moment, Stannis called out "You are hereby commuted from a sentence of death, to a sentence of serving the Night's Watch. Your crimes against the realm are many, but you fought bravely for a false cause. Therefore, you must fight bravely for a true cause, for the Night's Watch needs brave men for what is coming."

Addam stood up, bewildered. He looked so resigned to death that he seemed to be almost disappointed to not be martyred in the name of the West.

The next lord, a huge Crakehall who looked like the rather more athletic twin of the man she'd duelled storming their castle, was dragged forth, forced to the block, then spared.

The procedure was repeated endlessly, thirty odd lords and knights, mostly those who had refused to surrender or participated in the Riverlands sack, had their sentences commuted. By the end, they abandoned the song and dance of forcing their heads to the block.

She could scarcely believe that Stannis had actually listened. He, of all people…

Has he been possessed?

She saw Eddard nodding approval, even as the soldiers grumbled; the more intellectual about why the nobles where spared while the commons where cut down on the field, the less intellectual about the lack of blood.

Tyrion was pardoned too, sent to the wall for his part in the pillaging of the riverlands and treason, but otherwise no more to blame for the rising than any other petty lord, and then Jaime was brought forth.

His head was forced to the block. Illyn raised his blade. Stannis repeated his spiel about brave men and "what is coming".

"For the crime of incest, however, there can be no forgiveness, no second chances. Ser Illyn Payne, bring me his head."

The sword crashed down three times; one to kill, two more to remove the head. Illyn lifted his head, once handsome, now ruined, for all the crowd to see. The soldiers cheered, baying in approval. They had come to see blood; they'd finally gotten it after being cheated half a hundred times. The corpse, still twitching, was dragged off the stage.

Then Joffrey was lead forth towards the block, now blood spattered. He was struggling, screaming. "You killed Uncle! You had Father murdered! Usurper! Traitor!"

"Many have counselled me to spare you. People wise and brave. That would be the merciful thing. But mercy and justice are not the same thing. As long as I am King, crimes against nature shall never go unpunished. Ser Illyn Payne, bring me his head."

Joffrey fell to his knees, pleading, begging. Eddard was striding towards the stage, yelling that Stannis should do it himself. Ser Illyn grabbed him by the hair and dragged him towards the block. She started pushing forwards herself, irrationally. Even with her pistols, there was nothing she could do. She would not throw away her life to save some boy, even if she'd promised his monster of a mother to try and have him spared and spoken in his favour.

She'd signed their death warrant when she'd shot Ser Preston Greenfield, when she'd rammed her backsword up through Trant's voiders, when they'd punched through the shieldwall covering Tywin's flanks, and she'd carried it out when she'd watched Cersei beheaded and helped to try and recapture the younger children.

If I'd not wanted to see him killed, I should never have taken part in the coup.

"Your Grace! I passed the verdict, I should pass the sentence. I beg of you, he is only a bo-" Eddard called out, his voice ringing above the cheering and jeering.

"Do it." Stannis said, cutting him off.

Illyn took the boy's head with a single cut.

 

[Balaur]

"Always up. Always to your right." The warlock said, repeating her instructions yet again. "Always up, always to your right."

"I understand. And I am to leave the same way, not by reversing the order?"

"Yes, yes'. Within, you will see things. Things of horror and of loveliness. Things that will be, that have been, that could be. Things of other worlds, even. We have begun to see that lately…"

"I understand."

She turned away from her bodyguards, towards a tiny, shrunken man who stood by the oval door. He held out a stoppered vial for her to take.

"Shade of the evening. One draught will unstop your ears and clear the caul from your eyes, to understand the truths that will be revealed." Pyat Pree said when she asked if it would turn her lips blue.

"Now you may enter."

She stepped inside, into a stone antechamber with a door on each side. She picked the right and stepped through. She pushed through two more such doorways, then into an oval, wooden antechamber with six moth eaten doors. Drogon flapped ahead of her, screeching in annoyance as he struggled to fly and thudded to the ground. Rats scurried in the walls, Drogon keeping a watchful eye on them.

Something thumped against one door, and piping played from behind another. She ignored them, striding towards the door on the right. Some where open. She tried to ignore them, and failed. She saw two savage dwarves, cheered on by puppetmasters, fighting over a pleading, naked woman.

The next door showed her three men, all finely dressed; a king, a septon, and a rich man in chains of gold. All where on their knees before a woman, hard faced, in battered grey armour, with the wickedest looking axe Daenerys had ever seen in her hands.

"Spare me because the gods will it."

"I am your king, my word is law!"

"Imagine what my wealth could buy…"

She hurried past, hurried past another doorway, into the house with the Red Door and Ser Willem Darry welcoming her home. She could not be tempted. She must not.

It went on, endlessly. She ran, as fast as she could, past doors of every description, Drogon flapping at her back, not daring to look.

She came upon two great doors of bronze. The one on the left was open, and she saw a great crowned king on the Iron Throne, surrounded by dragon skulls. His hair was silver and his eyes dark, and a man lay prostrate before him. "Spare him? Do we think me mad?"

"Your Grace, we could send him to the wa-" the second said.

"I would hear no such thing."

She saw a man, almost but quite like Viserys, holding a babe. "Aegon. A fitting name for a prince."

"Will he have a song?" a woman asked, lying on his bed.

"He has a song. He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire."

"There must be one more. The Dragon has three heads." The man said, whether to her or the woman on the bed she could not tell. He began to pluck his harp, and Daenerys turned away.

There were no doors on her right, only on her left, forever and ever. Some of them were open.

She marched on. The torches guttered, going out, and she broke into a run until she came to the end of the hall. Stairs led downwards, and there was no right door.

The first door on the right is the last on the left, she remembered, and she took it.

It was another sequence of small square rooms, and she took the right door over and over.

Finally, Pyat Pree stood before her, ahead of a door leading out into a green field.

He began to say something, but his door was not to the right, so she ignored him and took off to the right, climbing, climbing up an endless staircase. Her legs felt half dead, and she wondered how on earth the staircase fit within the house which had no towers.

Finally, she came into a room filled with warlocks. They of every age, every sex, dressed in fine robes, in Qartheen dresses, in armour. They told her they had seen her coming; they told her they had power, knowledge. They told her she had passed their tests. She once again pushed the great old door open, then the smaller door behind it, and continued onwards.

A human heart, blue and swollen, floated at the centre of the new chamber, surrounded by blue shadows. She stepped forwards, towards a single empty chair.

Mother of Dragons… something moaned.

"I am Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Grant me your counsel, and speak to me with the wisdom of those who have conquered death."

She made out their features through the indigo murk, old men and women, ancient, beyond ancient, every part of them stained blue.

We know… the shape of shadows… morrows not yet made… drink from the cup of ice… drink from the cup of fire… Mother of Dragons… Child of Three… three heads has the dragon… three fires must you light: one for life and one for death and one to love… three mounts must you ride: one to bed and one to dread and one to love… three treasons will you know: once for blood and once for gold and once for love… daughter of death, slayer of lies, bride of fire…

"Show me what the visions mean. Let me understand!"

Then she saw it, Viserys screaming as the gold burnt his face. She saws lines of marching men, endless, heads bowed, broken, marching north towards the Wall, led by a boy with a head of blonde, and then suddenly he didn't, just a spurting stump. She saw a city, unlike any she'd ever seen, through a window from a city in the sky. As she watched, glowing, smoking streaks of steel flashed down, bursting amongst the city, as clouds of canvas and wood burned beneath her.

She saw three stags, grazing, next to the body of a dragon. She saw a lion spring from the bushes, tear down one stag down and crush it's throat. But then the other turned on the lion, goring at it, sending the lion fleeing, cowering. It tried to flee to the south; the thorns tore its flesh. It tried to flee to the west; a kraken burst from the water, tentacles flailing. It tried to flee to the north, but wolves came from the forests, all the while a falcon soared and watched.

She saw a great turning wheel, and then it only had three spokes, before it was filled with strange geometries. Figures with long, whip thin swords danced across it, then it was a pentagram while liquid serpents writhed on it, then some sort of vast castle, it's walls angular, spitting fire, and finally three dragons lying dead in the snow and the wheel broke.

A cloth dragon swayed amidst a cheering crowd. An olive skinned man with silver hair charged against men in black iron. A little girl ran barefoot towards a house with a grey door. A dragon's shadow flew over the water, and something vast, impossibly so, matched it beneath the waves. A crowned man was burnt alive before something tore through his brain, killing him instantly.

Crows scattered from a burning forest. She was below the water, looking up, into a tangle of ships above, some burning green and others red. Corpses sank around her, Viserys and Drogon and a girl she recognized as herself.

Then, finally, she was above a field as men fought, without colours or banners, without order, without sides, a war of all against all. The clockwork of the world went to rust around them, spinning too fast one moment and too slow the next. The bodies piled up, into a mountain, and they simply kept coming, swarming over the carrion to kill and die on top of it, growing it higher and higher until it took on a life of it's own. Dragons circled around it, melting the dead together with their flames. The colossus of the dead rose from the mountain, stretching out arms, one with steel, the other with fire, and it's face formed, cold and hard as iron and crowned with gold. It stared upon the ruin around it, and the fighting ceased, and the warriors set to farming, to raising castles and septs. It's features shifted and warped. It had a bristling beard; it was clean shaven; it had hair of silver and black and blonde. It had a man's face, and a woman's. It was human, and then it was something other.

 

[Balaur]

They came riding in their hundreds, lords and knights and Men-at-Arms.

She greeted them at the gates, of course, with the noblewomen and the stay-behind garrison there to greet them, waving scarves in the shadow of flapping banners.

Selyse stood beside her, and Shireen too, the princess-the heir to the throne, depending on who you asked-straining to see over the parapets. She was dressed in her finest, with a flesh-coloured patch on her face that tried to cover her scars but only drew attention to them.

The great lords were at the front of the column, under roses and stags, huntsmen and foxes.

Light glinted off their armour, freshly polished as they went for the pageantry of a tournament rather than the mail and boiled leather of an army on the move.

Stannis rode at their head, easily recognizable from the crown on his head and the fact that his armour was otherwise unpardoned.

Renly, of course, wasn't with them. He'd been taken back to Highgarden, scarred and crippled.

The gates opened, and Stannis and his high lords trailed beneath, his knights and lesser lords after them. The citizens of the city thronged around them, held back by goldcloaks.

"Stannis King! Stannis King!" they called, but "Down with the Red God!" as well. One brave man even shouted "Joffrey King!" before vanishing back into the masses. Selyse glared not daggers but spears at them.

I tried to help you about that, but no…

As the lords began to enter, Margaery and the others climbed down the walls, to their horses. They would ride to the Red Keep, then go to the great sept of Baelor to thank the Warrior for their victory. A great victory feast would be held within the week.

They clambered onto their horses, palfreys and jennets. Shireen struggled with her pony, and Margaery moved to help her. Selyse made an expression halfway between a grimace and a smile.

Noted. If Selyse was going to be unpleasant, the least she could do was be friendly to her daughter. Selyse was already convinced she had tried to convince her to turn apostate; it wasn't as if she could make things any worse.

Shireen thanked her, politely and exactly as her septa had told her, as Margaery clambered up onto her own palfrey.

She chattered amiably with her handmaidens, trailing her like squires after a night, as they fell in with Stannis's column. Loras turned and nodded to her in acknowledgement, then quickly returned to scanning the crowd. There would be time aplenty to be reunited with her family soon enough.

She came up besides Garlan, in dull grey plate under a green cloak, not the magnificent green plate he'd set out in what seemed like an eternity ago.

"Thank the warrior you had the courage to cut your way free."

"Thank the mother they hesitated enough to get them by surprise. If they'd been paying attention I would have been cut down where I stood. And thank Stafford Lannister that his men where too indecisive to decide whether they were going to kill us or take us to Casterly Rock until Mace's men were in the camp already. If I'd had to defend myself for more than a few moments with my hands bound I would have died. Gods be good, I should have died on the Ocean Road."

"You're alive. Loras is alive. Mace is alive. We're still growing strong." Margaery said.

Garlan sighed. "When I was at Highgarden, I told Renly that Loras had no chance in a real battle, that he'd get himself killed or maimed on some damn fool charge. Now look at us. Renly goes charging off into Tywin's army and gets maimed, I get unhorsed and taken prisoner, and Loras gets through with not even a scratch."

"Did you hear the news of the Night's Watch?" Margaery asked carefully.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was some mummer's trick."

Margaery shook her head. "I've seen it with my own eyes. It was real."

"Stannis believed it well enough. It's why he sent every prisoner but Joffrey and Jaime to the wall rather than pardoning or killing them."

"The smallfolk were saying he spared Joffrey too. No idea where they got the notion."

Garlan laughed. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"But I do believe everything I see."

*

"Great Warrior, font of strength, lend us strength to our arms and courage to our hearts…"

Margaery joined in the singing in the Great Sept of Baelor with relish. She'd always had a good singing voice, and she enjoyed using it, especially in support of the faith. The High Septon, his voice flat and bored, led the singing, matched only in lack of enthusiasm by Stannis's irritation and Selyse's outright anger. Stannis had dragged her out here when she'd informed him of the religious tensions. At least Shireen seemed to be enjoying it more than her mothers nightfires. She'd arranged it herself, a great prayer session to celebrate Stannis's victory.

She could smell the incense over the scent of unwashed bodies, though the others could not; the privilege of being closest to the front. Hundreds packed the hall of the sept, returning soldiers and their families, great lords and humble sellswords, servants and ladies, even a few curious Horse Grenadiers. They'd been whispering before the service had started, whispering of the hand, of how demons had escaped the seven hells, of how the red witch was raising the dead, of how the Grenadiers had been sent as a miracle to throw down a false king.

The high septon droned onwards, swinging his censer.

Finally, they finished the last song, and another septon, bony and hard faced, stepped forwards. "Septon Hallett will now read from the Seven Pointed Star" the High Septon said.

Hallett picked up the Seven Pointed Star and flicked to the earmarked sections he wished to read from.

"Firstly, a parable on the risks of illusion."

He held it up, his eyes slowly tracking across the page.

"Once there was a town in Andalos that lived in great fear…"

She was quite familiar with that story.

The town had been in terror of a dragon that lived inside a mountain. The town's priestess was a venal and cowardly woman. She said the people needed her to protect them from the dragon with his water magic, which would let her hold off the dragon. In return, they would give her gifts of fish and obsidian. One of King Hugor's seventy-seven knight's came to this town, looking to kill the dragon he had heard of. The priestess insisted he not go to kill it, for it would surely burn him alive.

But he went to face the feral dragon anyway, so she went with him. Crossing the lake, waves came up and nearly swamped his boat. But he prayed to the Warrior for courage, and the waves subsided and he sailed on. Then, he came to the cave. She once again begged him not to fight the beast. But once again he ignored her, and went into the mountain. There were great boomings and roarings from within. As he entered the cave, he saw the dragon before him. It breathed fire, but it caused him no harm. When he struck it, his sword passed through it. He prayed to the Crone for wisdom, and he saw the truth. It's breath of fire was only mist. The roaring had been a thrush beating a snail against the rocks. And the dragon was dead and lifeless, only a skeleton. The Priestess had used her meagre powers to construct illusions, to keep the weak in her thrall.

The knight turned on the priestess and cut her down, and the illusion she had cast over herself was lifted and she was revealed as a hag, a merling that walked on the land. The true monster had been before him all along. When he revealed the truth, the smallfolk converted to the faith that had given them true vision in gratitude.

The Septon shut the holy book.

"Thus our faith lets us look through illusions and see what is truly there. Not a roar but an echo. Not a harmless priestess but a lying witch. Not a living dragon but a dead skeleton. And nowadays, not a prince but an abomination and not a great man but a weak traitor."

The High Septon quickly returned to the pulpit.

"It also teaches that the faithless can be won over with patience and mercy…"

She glanced at Selyse. She seemed confused for a moment, then anger crossed her face and she began to turn to leave before Stannis caught her wrist.

The Septon's point was not easily missed.

It was also being misinterpreted.

He hasn't seen it. He hasn't held it, felt the dead fingers hit the sides of the jar.

That wight's hand was not a mummer's trick. The parable was backwards; Melisandre was the dragon, the illusion that seemed mighty but was truly nothing, the Wight the hag priestess, the true monster before them.

*

Half a hundred men stood before them in the throne room, Alliser Thorne at their head.

There were prisoners from the war; Lancel and Tyrek Lannister, utterly forgotten in a dungeon and other Lannister prisoners from the coup. A few dozen other criminals flung in jails or spared the noose since the last Night's Watch man had left, all shackled. And volunteers, many highborn, who had been shaken by the sight of the grasping black hand and Alliser's tale of dead men walking and the sorry state of the Night's Watch.

Seven protect them. Whatever was north of the wall, demons loose from the seven hells, wildlings trying to fight the Watch with black magic, or Others riding ice spiders big as hounds, it was real and dangerous. She was glad she was not the one to have to face them.

"The Crown wishes you well, in the wars to come." Stannis said. "I have already sent all the arms and prisoners captured in the Western Rising to the wall, and will be sending firearms as well when there are enough."

Selyse stood at his side, and Melisandre at Selyse's.

"You do the work of Rhllor, whether you know it or not, watching against the Great Other, keeping the darkness back with your watchfires." Selyse said, her chin held high.

"We serve the realm, not your Red God." Alliser said, scowling.

Margaery stepped forwards, drawing a handkerchief she'd embroidered with the Tyrell rose from her pocket. "Take my favour. You have earned it as much as any knight."

Alliser seemed taken aback.

"Why-"

"As a token of the gratitude some of the people of the South for defending the realms of men."

He almost snatched it from her hands.

 

[Balaur]

The small council was less crowded than it had been, back in the chaos after the coup where every noble in the city with an opinion and some sort of connection to Stannis or Renly had stuffed themselves into the chamber. Now, it was smaller: Stannis and Selyse at the head of the table, looking singularly unamused, the arbiters of royal will and their favour the high ground that the battle of the court would be waged around, and their councillors beneath them: Herself and Melisandre as "advisors", Alester Florent as acting Hand of the King and Master of Ships, Varys in the position he had held for decades as Master of Whisperers. Arys Oakheart and Maester Nymos as the new Lord Commander and Grandmaester respectively.

"The first matter to discuss for the day" Stannis said, clearing his throat, "is the matter of the pretenders across the waters. Varys, what news?"

"While you were going off on your, pardon me, lion hunt, the beggar king received a crown of gold from his Dothraki savages. Since then, some of my sources say Khal Drogo has gathered a vast horde and is heading west, others east, and yet others say he is died and his Khallassar had scattered, while his queen is in Qarth."

"I saw it in the flames." Melisandre intoned from behind Stannis.

I'm sure you did.

"And what else do you see in the flames, my lady? I, for one, see in my web that a boy and a girl with golden hair have been seen in the company of one Petyr Baelish in Myr." Varys continued.

Oh dear. The best thing for those two would be to vanish, becoming a loose end in history. Them trying to take back the throne…

"That the hinges of the world are moving. That-"

"This is the small council, not the nightfires." Stannis said. "Make it known that Robert's bounty is still out on Daenerys. Investigate the Lannister children in Myr further." He ordered Varys.

"What of the debt?" he asked, turning to Guncer Sunglass.

Littlefinger is the true threat. A few discredited claimants with no army and no support was no threat and was best ignored, but Baelish has risen from nothing before and could do it again, this time with a convenient pretender for when he made the decisive move.

"The Lannister debt is forgiven by edict of Emmon Frey. That still leaves several million dragons of debt to the Tyrells, the Faith and the Iron Bank. More, now that the war is over."

Stannis was unfazed.

"Request that the Iron Bank send an emissary to discuss loans. Send a raven to Emmon and telling them that resuming mining in Casterly Rock and Castamere is of the utmost importance."

"Of course, your grace. The Faith has requested that I speak to you about their debt in particular. They have suggested that a large portion of the proceeds from the sack of the Westerlands go to them as penance for bloodying the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor at the execution of Cersei Lannister and for allowing the Red Witch to preach unmolested." Guncer explained.

"That will not happen." Stannis said bluntly.

"Arousing the anger of the faith would be a poor idea." Guncer said.

"The faith can complain all they like. They exist to serve the realm, not the other way round. The Septon will receive what he is owed. Nothing more, nothing less." Stannis answered.

"The nightfires will light our way, not the seven pointed sta-" Selyse began to say.

"Be quiet, woman."

"Your Grace, paying penance to the faith would do well to quell some of the more unsavoury rumours." Mace Tyrell said.

"What sort of rumours?" Tane asked.

"That, Your Grace, pardon me, the King has abandoned the true faith, and is planning to burn the Seven in the Nightfires. Or the Godswood. A most terrible slander."

Selyse manfully resisted the urge to say anything.

Stannis ground his teeth. "Make it known I have nothing against the Faith of the Seven. Lord Randyll, how is the plans for the royal army coming along?"

"Poorly. We still have the Crown troops Bayder commanded in the West, but the funds allocated are not enough to pay and equip the 4,000 men you wish for. Bayder insists on armouring them with plate, or some newfangled foreign sort of mail, and having half of them with firearms, which will only increase the costs." Randyll said, glaring at her.

"I just wanted the armourers to rivet it properly, rather than just butting the ends together. I chopped through enough of that stuff out west that I wouldn't want to rely on it in combat." Tane snapped. She wouldn't trust normal mail in combat against guns either, but it was good protection against swords and arrows.

"And that is an expense we cannot afford." Randyll said.

Christ-Horus, we've already been over this.

"Then get cheap plate harness, just a corselet. That'll keep arrows out of the vitals better and be cheaper than having to do up thousands of links. Or padded jacks, those turn cuts and catch arrows as well. If you're worried about money, there are better things to spend it on than useless mail."

"Like more of those most fearful weapons." Varys said.

"Dangerous and unproven." Randyll said.

"You've never seen what siege guns can do to a fortress." Tane said to Randyll. "If it's not a proper bastion fotress, a few shots and it all comes crumbling down."

"Several silvercloaks were maimed by their own weapons. Why should we use more of those?"

"Because they were rushed out in months by craftsmen with no experience making firearms." Tane said. "Your Grace, this is your chance. Give us enough money to get your forces properly equipped, and we can have the most powerful army in the world."

"And where will the money for this come from? It will take time until we can begin mining and taxing Casterly Rock again, Baelish's records are nigh unreadable, the Faith is offended, the war has put us nearly another million dragons in debt…" Guncer said.

"I wrote to Lady Arryn asking her to seize all of Baelish's monies and goods in Gulltown and have them sent here, but she has not yet responded. The vale's tax payments are late as well." Alester Florent added.

"Your Grace, House Tyrell would be willing to make a loan with very generous interest." Mace said, leaning forwards.

"Again, Lord Guncer, send an emissary to the Iron Bank with all haste." Stannis said.

It didn't take a genius to realize that the Tyrell's contribution to Stannis's crown had done nothing to reduce Stannis's enmity to them.

Stannis stood up, pulling himself to his full, impressive height. His blue eyes glared at the dozen or so courtiers, soldiers and lickspittles that ruled a continent three thousand miles from north to south.

"There are false kings across the narrow sea. The rangers say there is another King beyond the Wall. The dead walk. Winter is coming. I want a united realm. Can you offer me that much?"

Not at the rate we're going we can't.

 

[Balaur]

Everything hurt. His face, his leg, his pride.

His face had been torn open by a sword stroke, ear to chin, and was likely to be a terrible scar. Not the kind of scratch the more dashing sellswords had, but something worse, a twisted sunken furrow down his face that stung every time he smiled or spoke.

His leg had been snapped by the fall of his horse. The Maesters said he would eventually be able to walk, but always with a limp.

Worst of all was his pride.

He'd given Stannis the throne. He'd given him an army, near a hundred thousand Tyrell lances and bows and pikes. He'd given him everything.

But lose one battle, and Stannis had washed his hands of him.

As far as Stannis was concerned, it was apparently all his fault. Not Tarly, who had suggested the plan, not Stannis and Mace for not moving up fast enough to pin Tywin's army, and not simply the fact that all of them were outmatched by Tywin.

Stannis had only visited him once when he was wounded, for only an hour, before marching off to make a bastard a Warden of the West. If Stannis ever had the temerity to complain about how hard done by he was over Dragonstone to Renly's face again…

I'd smile and laugh and jape.

That's what he'd always done. That was how he'd won the loyalty of the lords of the Stormlands away from Stannis, how he'd won Loras's love, even Brienne's. But it would never work on Stannis.

"Lord Baratheon, your wine" Brienne said, opening the door and letting a pair of Highgarden servants in. He'd only just arrived in Highgarden, after beginning to recover in Crakehall, and Brienne had ensured the servants made him comfortable before standing guard at his door. At least she wasn't at his bedside.

Why couldn't I be lucid when Loras was watching over me?

Loras had defied Stannis to visit him at his bedside, standing vigil for a full day before Stannis had forced him to leave as they marched north. Unfortunately, he'd been barely awake when that happened. He was sure what memories he had of Loras before they'd doubled the strongwine dose were actually of Brienne, distorted by milk of the poppy.

He'd die a happy man if he never had to see her face again. Granted, he'd already be a dead man if he'd never seen her face, so he supposed it evened out.

Olenna came tottering in after the servants.

Gods have mercy on me.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and pulled himself up, grabbing his crutches.

"Oh, don't look so poleaxed, it's just your dear old grandmother" Ollenna said.

"It was a sword." Renly said, smiling disarmingly on instinct. His voice slurred. The left side of his face didn't quite work properly. He ground his teeth as the pain flared up, taking a sip from the strongwine.

He suspected his smile wasn't going to be charming any maidens.

Or knights, he thought darkly.

"Did you enjoy going to the great tournament? I heard Garlan lost the joust but Mace and Loras restored our honour at the melee. Or was it you who lost the joust? I forget things sometimes, it happens when you're old."

Renly laughed. "Oh, I always get knocked on my arse at the joust."

"It's all very funny until someone gets hurt." Olenna said.

"Just ask Willas. Loras would say that glory has its price." Renly said.

Which Stannis has bought while I pay for it.

"Loras is good at..."

"Knocking men off horses with pointy sticks, and it doesn't make him wise. Yes, I know." Renly sighed.

Mother have mercy, I hope Margaery isn't like this when she lets her maiden's mask fall.

"Ah, you're learning. They say you should lose a battle in your youth so you don't lose a war when you're old. Of course, that's a silly saying. You can't win anything if you're dead."

"It could be worse. I could have ridden my army off a cliff."

And I see why. Poor bastard…

That actually got Olenna to laugh.

"Now, enough of that. Onto business. Stannis and Mace have arrived in King's Landing. If you don't want Stannis to amputate his hand and get a new one, you'd best get yourself cleaned out and sewn up and get back out there. My poor granddaughter must be terribly lonely. She's already declared war on the Grumpkins and Snarks." Olenna said.

"What?"

"Didn't you hear? There's some rotting hand, that's twitching and clawing, that the Night's Watch took down from the south. It's magic all right, but that red witch has fooled even her. She wrote to us, telling us the Night's Watch was doing the seven's work and worse than cold was coming this winter."

He remembered stories he'd been told by his nanny, when he was a child, of demons from the seven hells riding ice spiders big as hounds. Cressen had said it was a mangled account of a wildling invasion. The Septon said it was just an old First Men story with a new lick of paint, not worth listening to.

He was inclined to agree. They were tales to scare children.

"Stannis believes it too. He spared most of his prisoners from the headsman and sent them to the Wall. As much of a death sentence, just that they'll die of boredom. Much kinder to take their heads." Olenna continued.

And kings too. Ah, Stannis.

"Does the red woman have anything to do with this?" Renly said. She had influence over the king, and far too much over the queen.

"The Faith and the Red Rahloos are at each other's throats. Margaery made an attempt to smooth things other but made it worse. I've no idea how; I've never heard the details. Seems rather unlike her."

"Well, if you want me to travel, I can." Renly said. The road jarred his leg, but anything was better than being stuck in a confined space with Olenna Tyrell, the result of degenerate, lustful acts between a woods witch and an Other of the Seven Hells.

"I'll have Willas loan you one of his special saddles. Never mind your dear old grandmother, she says things she doesn't mean sometimes. It happens when you're old." Olenna said, turning to leave.

Renly took a long draught of strongwine and sunk back into his featherbed, resisting the urge to rub at his scarred face.

His wife had gone mad, his lover had been shackled to the King of the Teeth Grinders, and he'd lost a battle.

But not the war. He was still Lord of Storm's End, he was still hand of the King, he was still Heir to the Iron Throne. He was married into the most powerful family in Westeros. He had some of the deadliest soldiers alive at his beck and call, with sorcerous power that matched anything Melisandre was even rumoured to have. He had a knight who should be crowned Champion and King of Love and Beauty both as his lover. Unlike Stannis, he was born to lead and rule.

If Stannis could not rule the Seven Kingdoms properly, then he would, from behind the iron throne. Or if need be, on it.

 

[Balaur]

Lancel wretched over the side of the ship and leaned against the railings, groaning in pain. This was the third day of rough weather in a row now, and he could barely stay on his feet or keep his food down.

"If you think this bad, wait till you reach the wall." Allister Thorne said. The humourless man, always in black mail in case of pirates, was like a shadow dogging his footsteps.

"You highborn pricks won't last a day. The lowborn ones, the rapers and thieves, they know what it's like to go hungry, they know what it's like to work until their body gives up and keep working anyway. You highborn, though, you'll just melt like snow in a fire when winter comes."

He'd done worse than raping and stealing, though.

He'd killed a king.

He'd killed a king, and his whole family too, and paid the price.

A kiss and the promise of more to push a wineflask in Robert's face and ask him "More wine, your grace?". It had seemed so easy at the time; vengeance on the man who had treated him like a slave and a jester, and a night with the queen, the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms in return for getting a drunkard drunker.

If he could have talked to himself back when he'd done it, he would have shaken himself, screamed in his face, told him it wasn't worth it.

He'd wanted to do it the moment he'd seen Robert down, snarling and swearing and moaning, his blood running out in a torrent. He'd wanted to do it when he'd faced goldcloaks, half a dozen of them, surrounding him in a ring of spears.

He'd wanted to do it when he was trapped in that bloody tower with half a dozen other squires taken hostage. The only people who'd entered had been servants, to bring in food and clean clothes and remove the chamberpots. They'd gone half mad in there. Tyrek had gotten into a fistfight with a Sarsfield squire over god knows what. Tyon Hill, a bastard of one of the Lannisport houses and a page to a knight killed by goldcloaks, had cried so much a man-at-arms had threatened to break his neck.

Most of all, he'd wanted to do as he'd found out in dribs and drabs what had happened to his family. Cersei, the whole reason he'd done it, had lost his head. Tommen and Myrcella had vanished, feared dead. Tywin had been killed by his own men, Jaime executed. Worst of all, his own father had been bludgeoned and hurled off Casterly Rock.

Lancel had wanted to talk to someone, anyone, confess his sins, tell them what he'd done. But he was too scared to admit to anyone, even a Septon. As bad as being locked in that tower was, being killed for treason was worse.

So he'd kept his mouth shut for what felt like a year, and now here he was, on a ship to the wall with the older of the squires and the surviving Lannister Men-at-Arms alongside a fresh crop of criminal scum.

"You listening to me? Or are you too high-and-mighty to listen to someone as humble as a mere knight?" Allister said.

"I was… thinking, Ser."

"About how quick you'll die when the wildlings, let alone more dead things, come south?" Alliser said.

Allister was worse than Robert, truth be told.

At least Robert mostly ignored him, rather than following him about like a ghost in mail and leather.

"N-no, Ser."

Allister shook his head and stalked off, yelling orders to the Eastwatch galley's crew.

Lancel threw up over the side of the ship again.

*

Are those clouds?

A vast low white smear crossed the northern horizon.

The clouds caught the light of the sun, and he squinted against the glare.

No, no….

That was the Wall.

When he'd heard the bards sing of it, he'd thought it was just some castle wall. High enough, and long, but not quite so vast. This, though, was like a mountain range of ice, only without peaks or valleys, just a single straight line from the shore to the western horizon.

Seven be good….

As they drew in closer, retching up his breakfast all the while, he saw a faint black blotch at the base of the Wall that slowly resolved into a squat castle, little more than a mass of towers without walls or a central keep. The sailors were yelling to the recruits to get up onto deck, and bringing in the sails and running out the oars for the final approach into the harbour.

"Lion of Lannister! Get over here!" Allister called from behind him.

If it had been Robert who'd called that, he would have expected to be asked for more wine, or sent off on some snark hunt. If he took the bait, he'd be laughed. If he didn't, he would be yelled at.

Caught between the Giants and the Children.

Lancel staggered towards him, keeping one hand on the rails. The other recruits were slowly gathering as well, two dozen Lannister men and a dozen criminals. A couple of watchmen with crossbows in their hands and swords on their belts flanked Allisser.

We could take them. Overwhelm the guards, capture the ship, run for Essos….

It was too risky. They'd be hunted down and killed without mercy.



Besides, he was already doomed for the Seven Hells. There was no need to make his stay longer.

They were within a few miles of Eastwatch, now.

"Lannister, I told you get over here. The rails are not over here."

Lancel shut his eyes. He didn't have sea legs worth speaking of.

"Get over here!" Allister said. "Or are you afraid of walking?"

Yes.

He staggered towards Allister, trying to keep his balance. He was swaying like he was drunk. The world swam.

The ship hit a wave and pitched and rolled, and he went down like he'd been pollaxed.

The world spun around him, and for a moment he feared the ship was capsizing.

He could hear laughter as he struggled to his feet, grabbing a rope for support.

"The Lion of Lannister rises again!" Allisser said, to laughter from some of the recruits.

As it died down, he turned to address them as a group.

"Listen, you soft Southron bastards. None of you chose this. None of you want to be here. Good. Men with nowhere to run fight harder. You'll die like flies when winter comes, you'll be wheat for the threshers, that much is certain, but as long as you stand your ground and take even one wildling or wight with you, you will have done your duty and dragging you all the way up here will have been worth it."

Wights?

He'd heard the rumours, but thought it only a mummer's trick, a recruitment ploy.

One of the Lannister men, Will Harrow, spat and said "So our duty is to die? Why not desert? At least then we'll have a chance of surviving."

Alliser stalked forwards, right into Will's face. "Would you rather die on your feet or on your knees?"

Will didn't flinch.

"Seems to me dying in your open-air dungeon is dying on my knees, and running is living on my feet."

The others backed away slowly, and Alliser put his hand on his pommel.

For a moment, it looked like they might mutiny.

They didn't, though.

They only stared at Alliser, and the galleys coming from Eastwatch to escort them in. It was too late to steal the ship and flee, and too soon to flee overland.

 

[Balaur]

She was walking to the training yards with Sace, Boudace carrying their foils and singlesticks behind them, when she ran into Margaery's entourage.

There were a dozen of them: Margaery herself, her cousins, Megga and Elinor and another one she didn't recognize, a few little girls, their Septa-who looked none too pleased to see Tane-and Lady Taena Merryweather.

Ah, Littlefinger, it wasn't enough that you bankrupted this shithole, took our hostages and are probably going to sell the gunpowder formula to Myr, you had to stop me having a good roll in the hay as well.

"I hear you fought in the charge that saved my brother." Margaery said, curtseying.

"I was with the Horse Grenadiers and silvercloaks that broke up Tywin's attempt to refuse his flanks. Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly led the charge into the camp." Tane said, her voice all business. "From what I hear, Garlan fought bravely at the Oceanroad. His left wing's stand probably saved Renly's life. So did Brienne of Tarth."

Not that Renly made that particularly easy. Or Randyll.

"You saw it?" Margaery asked.

Tane shook her head. "I was with your father's Foot. I made a point of finding out what had happened afterwards."

She considered going on a rant about how Renly's idea of tactics began and ended at have more troops than the enemy, then decided that badmouthing the man who was responsible for her current position in front of his wife was probably a poor idea.

Margaery nodded gravely. "Oh, of course." Sace stepped up to her a moment later, introducing herself. She was only a year or two older than Margaery, and they could almost have been sisters, looking at them now. Sace was a little taller, and had black hair and sharper features, but otherwise…

Within moments, the two were chatting happily about, as far as Tane could tell, Sace's smallsword.

"Ah, Captain Bayder." A heavily accented voice said.

Taena Merryweather walked up to her.

"Lady Merryweather." Tane said, smiling.

"You must tell me all about the fall of Tywin Lannister…"

"it's a rather long story."

"Well, then, you'll just have to tell me when there is more time."

Tane ran through her schedule. Supper with her officers tonight, including the silvercloaks captains led by Jacelyn Bywater. That would involve plenty of planning, arguments and paperwork of the sort that wouldn't be unfamiliar back home. She'd be free tomorrow, though.

"Say, tomorrow?" Tane asked

"Oh, of course." Taena said.

"Did you see the dead hand?" Tane asked.

She'd been asking as many people as possible about that, to see if it truly moved or if it was some trick. She wouldn't put it beyond Melisandre to lie to win herself new followers, or Stannis to secure unity, but if it was true…

Well, stranger things had happened than the dead walking, and the ranger who'd brought the hand south seemed sincere enough.

"Yes. A most fearful sight. The way it moved and twitched, I shudder to think about it. The watchman said the only way to kill them is with fire."

"Fortunately, we have plenty of fire." Tane said, remembering the pots of the "substance", some sort of vile green liquid like dragon vitriol, that the alchemists had shown her when she'd inquired about manufacturing gunpowder.

"Just so. I hear the magisters of Myr have powdered fire too. A certain fugitive was involved." Taena said.

Fucking Baelish.

"Indeed. How did you hear about that?" Tane asked.

"Friends in high places, across the Narrow Sea."

"Now, I do believe my lady has a need to pray at the castle sept, and you have a need to be… fencing, you call it?"

"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow."

She had a mind to kill tw birds with one stone.

*

"King Stannis wants four regiments-" Humfrey Waters, a burly, muscular dark haired man who was Captain of the Mud Gate Auxiliary Company, began to say.

"Yes, I know, Stannis wants four battalions, no unnecessary costs and a unicorn to ride. Bloody impossible. We should get the current battalion's kit up to snuff, raise a second battalion, then worry about the next two. One step at a time." Gryff said, in between mouthfuls of mutton.

Say what you will about the Westerosi, but they make good food.

"The costs of equipment are formidable. Stannis wants no unnecessary expenditure." Jacelyn Bywater, Lord Commander of the Goldcloaks and Colonel of the Silvercloaks, said.

"For now, I'd prefer to equip some of them with crossbows rather than having to cut corners with cheap firearms. We can issue padded jacks instead of butted mail armour too. Better protection and cheaper." Tane said.

The silvercloaks equipment had been a slipshod mess, poor Westerosi armour and rushed imitations of the Grenadier's own kit thrown together in the hurry to get them into the field. Men had died or been maimed because of it. Several of the Calivers and Hand-cannons had cracked barrels. She was going to do better this time around.

"The blackpowder weapons ripped right through their shields at the battle of four armies. Those are our real edge. Not pikes and crossbows." Bywater said.

"I'd rather a few expensive firearms that are up to standard, backed up by reliable crossbows, than firearms that get cracked barrels or are so weak they're less powerful than handbows while being slower firing." Tane said.

Back home, wards and the fact that everyone and their dog had plate armour would have gotten crossbows laughed out of the room for anything other than grenade launching and killing sentries. Longbows at least where good for indirect fire and arcing shots over wards, when paired with witches. In Westeros, though, the calculus was different.

Crossbows ripped through their mail like it wasn't there and had a decent chance against crude Westerosi plate and shields, while being more reliable than the crude firearms the Westerosi were rushing out.

"Fine." Humfrey said. "But how many men do we need again?"

"Each regiment has eight companies-four shot, four pike. Each pike company has forty heavy armoured pikes, forty light armoured pikes, and twenty short weapons. Each shot company has as many firearms as we can get that have proofed barrels and the rest with crossbows. About a dozen officers, NCOs and staff for each company as well. So about eighteen-hundred men, total."

"Seven Above." Jacelyn murmured. "Five stags a day for pay or so, yes?"

She could almost hear him doing the maths in his head.

War isn't cheap.

"We can lower peacetime pay if that's too much." Tane said.

When she'd just been another captain, it had been easy enough to ignore the question of where the money actually came from and how to get more of it. She was given enough money to pay her troops, though often late, and money, though often too little, to replace damaged equipment and buy supplies. Military bureaucracy was bad, but turning poverty stricken and starving soldiers loose on the populace was worse. Now, though, she was the military bureaucracy, and she was the one who had to tighten the pursestrings rather than the one complaining about it.

"Aye, we could, and then who would sign up?" Ser Blayne Carwick asked. He was a short wiry man, with the flinty, alert eyes of a professional fighter. He'd been a minor crownlands knight, before becoming first a watch captain then a silvercloak officer.

"We could offer a one off payment upon enlistment, and the promise of room and board. A shilling on the drum, so to speak." Tane said.

"And the promise of promotion for good service." Gryff added. He knew well enough how beneficial that could be. He'd started in the army as a runaway from some godforsaken farming town in the middle of nowhere at fifteen. Thirty years and one miracle later, he was lieutenant and acting captain of a Guards cavalry company, outranking gentleman volunteers from respectable families.

A bit of social climbing would do the Westerosi some good. They considered six-hundred year old houses upstarts.

"Indeed, that could work." Carwick said.

Tane had one rather obvious for increasing the silvercloaks recruitment pool, but she had intention of mentioning it until the silvercloaks were more established. If she tried to recruit women for the silvercloaks, Lord Tarly would likely object. And if he said any of the things he'd said about her to her face-"a whore posing as a sellsword posing as a knight" was the choicest-then honour would demand she challenge him to a duel, which she couldn't, because stabbing your superior officer to death was a poor start to a new military career.

"Gryff, draft a table of personnel and equipment for an infantry battalion and the costs. Prepare three copies. One for me, one for the Master of Armies, one for the King."

She had no intention of letting Randyll block the document from reaching Stannis. Stannis was the one who controlled the treasury and wanted a standing army; his word was more important than Randyll, who was effectively powerless for now-despite being master of armies, he didn't have command of the forces still mustered in the Westerlands. Jacelyn was colonel of the 1st silvercloak Battalion, while she had overall command of both the silvercloaks and Grenadiers, and they still hadn't picked a Lord-Commander of the horribly overworked seven men-three currently-who were in charge of the king's security. The goldcloaks were a bad joke; even with Jacelyn doubling as their Lord-Commander, they were every bit the incompetent mess you wouldn't expect a force halfway between an urban militia, city watch and a Guard regiment to be.

As it stood, she had about as much say in the running of the nascent Westerosi army as Randyll did, and she intended to keep it that way.

 

[Balaur]

"I hear Renly has a terrible scar." Margaery said as they rode out to meet her lord husband on the road.

"There is no shame in a scar." Loras said.

"Oh, I know." Margaery answered.

Even when it was taken nearly getting my brother killed?

Stannis would be riding out to meet him at the gates, she knew, but Loras but had been assigned to escort her out to meet Renly ahead of time out of "lovesickness."

Someone was lovesick, but not her. She'd arranged it for Loras's sake.

There were more travellers coming into the city than out of it, as always for a city. Those tended to eat up more than they spat out. They looked up at them with curiosity and surprise, more at Loras than at her. It wasn't often a knight of the Kingsguard, fully armoured and cloaked, rode the streets of Kings Landing almost alone.

They saw the banners first, rose and stag, coming up over a rise in the ground fifty yards distant, followed by the riders. Renly, even at a distance, was unmistakeable in his armour of shining green. A knight in blue rode at his side, with more knights, archers and mounted servants-thirty in all-coming up behind them.

She spurred forwards, Loras and her handmaidens following her. Renly must have seen them, because the man in the green armour removed his helmet and spurred towards them.

As he came closer, she saw how Renly had changed. He had the beginnings of a beard, for starters, and his hair was cut short. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes hard. Most noticeable was the scar.

She saw it first as a white gap in his black beard, running from chin to ear. As she got closer, she saw that, despite his smile, the left side of his face didn't move. It was disquieting to say the least.

Loras almost leapt down from horseback, his hand going to steady his sword. Margaery followed him down. Dismounting in a dress was awkward at best, but she'd been going it since she was a child.

Renly dismounted as well, striding up to Loras, relief breaking over both their faces.

They hugged, breastplates clinking together, and Margaery suspected they would have kissed if not for the servants watching. She fidgeted, uncomfortable.

"No matter how long the sun sets, it always rises again." Loras said.

"Ah, my love." Renly said, breaking away from Loras and turning towards her.

"My lord. I have missed you so."

"So have I."

If some mummers had tried to pass this off as a romance, she would have cheerfully joined in with the smallfolk in booing them off the stage.

"Much and more has happened since you left for the wars." Margaery said.

"Like what?" Renly said, smiling crookedly again.

She turned back for the horses. "Let's start from the beginning. Our good queen Selyse and Alester Florent went half mad with power. They were telling half the petitioners to pray to their red god, and there were rumblings amongst the Smallfolk. Her Grace wished that I convert to the red god-"

"Yes, I know the queen is a madwomen. What of it?" Renly asked.

"I tried to make a deal with her. That I would attend the nightfires-not worship, just watch them-if she would pretend to reconcile with the Faith and worship at the nightfires."

"That was foolish."

So was getting your army smashed and tethering Loras to Stannis.

"Yes, I know. She never kept her end of the deal and accused me of trying to deceive her. Which, to be fair, was true. So now Selyse is angry at us."

"And Stannis?"

She laughed as she clambered back onto horseback.

"He already hates roses. Angering that harridan of a wife can hardly make things worse. No, he's trying to build himself an army. Which is the wise course of action, if you ask me, considering what's going on up north."

"Do you truly believe that? This army of grumpkins and snarks had it's banners called by Melisandre." Renly said.

She realized that her practised façade of courtesy and demureness was dropping.

"It was a night's watchman with no love for the Red women, or anyone else, who brought it south. Renly, I held the jar in my hand. I could feel it moving. Melisandre's red god is an illusion. The dead thing was not."

"So why does one hand make you think a whole army is coming?" Loras asked.

"The longer the summer, the longer the winter, yes?"

"You think a long winter means we're going to be invaded by the living dead?" Renly asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's possible. The Northerners and the smallfolk believe it has happened before, and now we have evidence that the dead walk again and a long winter is coming."

She had every intention of talking to the Grand Maester about that.

Renly shrugged. "For now, what matters is how much of the realm Stannis has managed to outrage. Those are a greater threat than shadows on the wall."

"The smallfolk are angry about Stannis raising taxes and his queen's apostasy. Selyse is angry with me because I tried to convince her to reconcile with the faith. The Faith is doing barely anything about the red cult and nothing about the Wights. The Florents are less than pleased that Alester is getting demoted. Randyll Tarly is angry with Stannis because he's listening to Tane, not him, about matters military. Tane is angry with Stannis about killing Joffrey, with you for the battle of the Oceanroad, and with Randyll for being Randyll. Stannis is angry that his people will not do as he says, and resents the Tyrell influence."

"So the entire court is angry with someone or another?"

"Varys seems calm enough. And happy to feed me information."

He'd been quite willing to, in various ludicrous disguises, inform her of what was going on in the small council meetings, as well as the private affairs of the court. She suspected he was trying to gain her trust; so she could be manipulated when he deemed it necessary.

She had no intention of trusting a man who had worked for Aerys and Robert both.

*

Stannis met them at the gates, flanked by Balon Swann and a detachment of silvercloaks with halberds.

"Brother. Your Grace." Renly said, half-smiling.

They turned to ride for the court, Stannis and Renly talking in hushed tones ahead of them. The smallfolk gasped when they saw his scar. Some called it a traitor's mark. More called it a badge of bravery.

The column came juddering to a halt, and she heard yelling up ahead.

"Clear the way! Clear the way!"

A man's voice rang out ahead of them.

"The gods send miracles to throw down abominations!"

"Clear the way!" Stannis barked.

She trotted her palfrey up ahead, glancing at the guards, silvercloaks and goldcloaks and Grenadiers, who were closing ranks around the royal party.

The smallfolk were quiet. The mood wasn't ugly, but it wasn't pretty either.

"Just as the abomination of incest was destroyed by the warriors of the Seven, so shall the abomination of apostasy unless you repent! Repent! Repent!"

Warriors of the seven?

She caught a glimpse of a tall, emaciated man, ancient with a long white beard, standing in front of the royal party. Half a dozen others, disciples most like, stood behind him.

The High Septon rode forth.

"The Seven Pointed Star teaches mercy and forgiveness for all sinners."

"The Seven Pointed Star teaches no such thing. Those who blaspheme against the seven burn forever."

That was a questionable reading of the Star at best, but it was not a highborn ladies place to debate theology with madmen.

"Clear. The. Way." Stannis growled.

"You!" The madman pointed at Tane, her hand resting on her saddle pommel, ready to snatch up her pistols or short pole-axe at a moments notice.

"Do you not understand! You were sent, Maiden and Warrior in one, to throw down the enemies of-"

"I'm not a bloody maiden. Now clear the way." Tane said.

And I still am, as much as I'd like not to be.

She heard laughter in the crowd, but mostly silence.

"Do you not see-"

"Clear the way. What part of that order do you not understand?" Stannis yelled.

A pair of goldcloaks grabbed the man and hauled him of the way, others herding his disciples off. The crowds were quiet. She glanced at their faces. Angry, but not outraged.

"When the Father stands in judgement, do not tell him you were not warned!"

The column got moving again, some of the Grenadiers and a group of lancers under Ser Jacelyn fanning out ahead like an armies vanguard.

"You must tell Selyse to be less conspicuous in her apostasy." Renly said, riding close to Stannis.

"Melisandre foretold that the dead would walk. When the red comet lit up the sky, she said it foretold my victory. I care little and less what faith people follow, as long as they do their duty and do it well." Stannis answered.

"A fool could have foretold that. Every region but the Vale and Dorne, united against one? No-one could stand against us."

"And the wight?"

If she truly foretold it, she doesn't seem to have told many people.

"There are many wizards across the narrow sea who perform acts of petty magic."

"Does that include prophecy?"

"It includes illusion." Renly said.

What did I tell you? It moved! It had weight, it had strength!

If they were talking loud enough that she, riding a few yards behind, could hear, then it was almost certain that Selyse and the High Septon could hear. That was not good. That was not good at all.

 

[Balaur]

"Hurry up and ride! We haven't got all day!" Ser Patrek of King's Mountain snapped behind her.

"Hard to do that when you put me on the weakest horse you had and bound my hands." Genna said. She couldn't believe a dozen men-at-arms, a dozen mounted crossbowmen and two knights had to resort to that to stop a women of well over fifty escaping.

"I thought you swore a vow of silence." One of the men-at-arms grumbled.

"I haven't said my vows yet, and I intend to enjoy my tongue as long as it remains in my mouth."

"Should just cut the bitches tongue out already, save the sisters the trouble." Ser Clayton Suggs grumbled.

"Alas, that is against your orders." she answered. "If you cut my tongue out, Stannis might very well cut yours out. He did maim that smuggler for saving his life."

Jape as she might, she was an unarmed, aging woman surrounded by younger, stronger killers. She full well intended to remind them there was always a bigger fish in the sea.

"What he doesn't know can't hurt him." Clayton said.

The Golden Tooth rose up ahead of them, positioned to block the northern passes with a garrison of near three hundred knights and more foot and light horse. Most of those would have left with the traitor Lord Lefford, and were still with the army camped with her Ser Rolland Stormsong, the new warden of the west. A bastard Marcher being appointed warden of the west had the Westerlords bristling, but not so much as her lord husband being made Lord of Casterly Rock and promptly packing her off to the silent sisters at Stannis's behest.

This is what you brought us to, Tywin.

Tywin had been prideful, stubborn and needlessly cruel when he wished to be, but he had still made the Westerlands great again with his grandchild poised to inherit the throne. That had been before it had all gone to hell. Between the periodic ravens, Stannis's ultimatums and Joffrey's mad ravings, she'd managed to work out what had happened or near enough. Renly, Eddard and some foreign witch had imprisoned, tried and killed her niece, crowned Stannis, and raised three armies against Tywin. He should have done what Balon did, bent the knee and waited for the chance to rise again harder and stronger, but it had evaded him.

Now House Lannister was in ruins. Half her children dead and the other half vanished, dear little Dorna spared the faith only because of her young children, virtually everyone not killed made to take the black. Herself condemned to a life of silence and chastity.

All over a boy who made Emmon look like the fucking dragonknight in comparison.

Gods be good, she'd known Tywin would ruin their house like this when she'd refused to talk to her for six bloody months because she'd said Tyrion was his true son.

He was one of those people who would rather break than bend.

"Are those riders?" one of the soldiers asked.

She squinted at the patchwork of fields and houses that lay in the valley floor, before the pass got high and narrow past the golden tooth.

Her eyes weren't what they used to be, but she could still make out a column of something or other coming up the slope, a blue and gold banner over their head.

"Indeed they are." Ser Patrek said. The men grew in closer, and she saw the manticore on the lead knights shield. That would be Ser Lorent Lorch, one of the most important of Lefford's bannermen though not a lord himself, and Lady Alysanne's lover.

Lord Lefford was a traitor; his men had killed her boy Walder during the fall of Casterly Rock. Tion had died in the Riverlands, Lyonel at the fall of Crakehall. Cleos was sentenced to the wall. Only her two grandchildren remained under Emmon's charge as heirs to Casterly Rock.

His sister, however, was an old, loyal friend and commanded the loyalty of much of the guard, for all her eccentricities. Leo was often absent for business in Lannisport; as the only other member of the family, she managed the Tooth in his absence.

If I can talk to her, she may be able to get me out of this predicament. Even if sent to the silent sisters, she had every intent of trying to escape. She also had no illusions about her chances of success.

"Form up!" Suggs barked as the knights trotted uphill. A man grabbed her mare by the reins and dragged it into the middle as they formed into a line, spilling off the sides of the road.

"You fly no banner. Who do you serve?" asked Lorch.

"The king. We might ask the same of you." Ser Patrek said.

"My lady of Lefford. She would love to hear of the feats of such knights as you in the war of the Lannister Usurper and has sent me to greet you."

"We have urgent business." Ser Patrek growled.

"The courteous thing to do would be accepting a ladies invitation to dine. Besides, the sun is getting low, and there are worse places to rest than in a castle."

"If you insist."

Lady Lefford greeted them at the gate a miles ride later, dressed in blue and gold. She was thin and gaunt, nearing fifty, but her arms were wiry. She practised archery quite publicly, and swordfighting in private.

"I see you've honoured our new king" Genna said, when she saw that Aly had hair of black. Her hair had began to fall out when she was thirty, so she'd made the best of it by shaving it off and wearing an increasingly varied collection of wigs. She had one imported from the free cities in Valyrian silver, and another dyed Tyroshi green.

"Indeed." Alysanne said. "May his reign and life be long and prosperous."

"You're still supposed to be silent." Ser Patrek said, glaring at Genna.

"I'm sorry to arrange the feast on such short notice" Aly said, "but my cooks shall make do."

"I am sure they will. Please refrain from speaking to Genna Frey. She is to take a silent sisters vows." Ser Patrek said.

Aly's face told Genna exactly what she thought of that.

*

The feast was near the most miserable of her life. Aly, an old and dear friend, sat at the head of the table, with her honoured guests Ser Patrek and Ser Clayton on one side and Ser Lorent Lorch on the other. He was younger than Aly, five and forty, and his hair was turning an attractive shade of silver. Courteous and cunning, it wasn't hard to see why Aly liked him.

Genna was seated at the base of the table, wedged in between a couple of spearmen. She gnawed at the roast mutton half heartedly. The Leffords threw a banquet as good as any in the West, but now she was a prisoner, with the hosts and the hosted glaring at each other while making nervous small talk. Ser Patrek was telling a bored Aly of his part in Tywin's downfall-sitting on a horse while Sarsfield, Brax and Lefford traitors did all the real work-and grumbling about Stannis denying them the chance to loot Lannisport.

I need to find a way to talk to Aly without these men watching me.

So she kept eating, waiting for an opportunity. This might very well be the last good food she ever ate.

It was what seemed like an eternity before Aly got up to go to the privy.

Genna waited a few minutes, then excused herself to go herself. She waited on the corridor that led back to the feast hall, until Aly came around the corner, adjusting her wig.

"Is there anything that can be done?" Genna asked in hushed tones.

"Yes. I mean to see you freed. As to the means, I need to talk to Lorch in private."

"How will I escape after getting free."

"I find having so many wigs about will help with your disguise while you escape to Essos…"

"And from there, Tommen and Myrcella are in Essos most likely, if Stannis did not kill them."

"Precisely." Aly said. "The West will rise again, and I mean for both of us to live long enough to see it."

*

Just as Aly promised, her chance came soon enough. The mountain road was narrow and winding, more dirt than cobbles, cut into the side of a steep slope. A creek ran through the centre of the, the slopes on either side near bare. More than once, they passed carts that had been laboriously pulled off the road by peasants to let them pass.

Thirty of Aly's men, mounted crossbowmen mostly, rode behind them, led by Lorent Lorch. They were there for "protection from bandits", but she had an inkling of what their real purpose was. From how wary Suggs looked, it seemed she wasn't the only one.

She saw a stuck cart up ahead, a couple of men in what looked suspiciously like boiled leather trying half-heartedly to clear it.

"Clear the way!" Patrek yelled.

"We can't hear you! Come over here!" one of the men shouted back.

Patrek didn't get a chance to answer as a longbow arrow lodged in his eye.

All hell broke loose. More arrows came raining down, ripping through the light armour of the crossbowmen. Men-at-Arms leapt up from behind boulders and charged, spear and sword and axe drawn, and she could hear the sound of close combat behind her. Her horse screamed and reared, and something slammed into it hard enough to knock it staggering. With her hands tied, she pitched off, splashing down into the mud.

That was all that saved her from breaking something important. A horse backed up towards her, impossibly vast viewed from the ground, the rider struggling to winch his crossbow. She rolled away from the beast as its hoof came down an inch from her head, damn near pissing herself in fear. A man fell next to her, screaming, a bolt through his groin. A Lefford man was on him a moment later, hacking his arms apart when he raised them to protect his face then stabbing him through the face and moving on to the next opponent.

"Kill the bitch! Kill the bitch!" Suggs was bellowing, and someone else was screaming and a third man was yelling for mercy. She tried to get to her feet, but a stormlander shoved into her shield first, and she was on the ground again. He raised his sword, bellowing something about letting them go or he'd kill the lioness, and her life flashed before her eyes, but it didn't get much further than her being bitterly disappointed to be marrying Emmon before a Marbrand knight knocked him to his knees with one mace blow and crushed his skull with the second.

The fighting was moving up the road, a few remaining stormlanders with their backs to a boulder fighting on foot and another couple of survivors being chased by mounted men. She saw crossbowmen shooting down the scree, probably at fleeing men.

The Marbrand offered her his hand, his mace dangling from his lanyard.

"Lady Lefford pays her debts." he said, his weather lined face half smirking.

"With interest, it seems." Genna said, her voice shaking from fright even though this was the best thing to happen to her since the fall of House Lannister began.

 

[Balaur]

"I never should have asked Stannis to put you onto the kingsguard." Renly said.

Loras leaned back into his chair in Renly's temporary apartments, stretching his legs. "Why do you say that? I fill the part far better than those louts the Genians rid us of, and Stannis won't be king forever."

Renly had to laugh. "Oh, you're worth seven Trants and forty-nine Blounts. Just, well, you're bound to Stannis now. He tried to keep you from me out of nothing but spite. And we all know what Stannis's opinion of Tyrells is."

"The man doesn't know what love or friendship is, only duty, and he expects everyone else to act the same out of spite." Loras said.

"Oh, I know. But remember how Jaime got his Kingsguard post? Jon Arryn once told me why Jaime was picked for the Kingsguard. He wanted to take a hostage against Lord Tywin." Renly said.

He'd been a child in those years. He remembered almost nothing of the time before the rebellion, and little of the rebellion itself, only the gnawing hunger and the fear of the bad men outside the walls and Stannis, half a boy himself, somehow having the will to keep the defenders together.

Loras snorted. "That turned out well for him."

"By Aerys standards, that was wise. My point is, though, that Stannis still fears House Tyrell, their sheer numbers, their popularity with the smallfolk. Margaery is constantly throwing money at the smallfolk while Selyse hides behind Melisandre's skirts. Stannis is scared of House Tyrell."

"He should be scared of you. I'm seven times the knight the old kingsguard were, and you'd be seven times the king that-"

"The walls have ears. Captain Bayder's witch says there are people moving in the walls, listening, and that she once found a mute child hiding behind a tapestry."

As much as the fact that he'd make a better king than Stannis was true, voicing it out loud could doom him if the spider was listening. Then again, Varys was feeding Margaery information, so it might very

Loras laughed. "Ah, we dismiss it as servant's gossip, then it turns out to be true."

Like whatever is going on up north.

"In any case, it's been too long." Loras said, unbuttoning the top of his doublet.

Renly laughed. "Oh, only since yesterday?"

"Still too long." Loras answered.

"You're right." Renly said, standing up.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in" Renly said, hoping the annoyance didn't tinge into his voice.

Margaery pushed the door open.

He was never less glad in his life to see her than now.

"Ah, my dear Renly." Margaery said, her voice all rehearsed affection. "One of the servants was asking after you. Stannis wishes to meet with you, apparently. About the Kingsguard."

"Where?"

"In his solar."

"Well, Stannis is not a man to be refused." Renly said, smiling by way of apology at Loras. He out at once. To his surprise, Margaery trotted after him.

"I know the way to Stannis's solar." Renly said.

"We need to talk." Margaery said.

Renly sighed under his breath.

"About what?"

"You need to try and get me pregnant, for starters. Once or twice isn't going to cut it." Margaery said. It was matter of fact, no disappointment or trepidation in her voice. "The sooner Storm's End has an heir, the better. For another, Brella finished counting the household's stocks and Florent hasn't taken what he isn't supposed to when he moved out."

"Well that's good." Renly muttered.

"Who is your heir?" Margaery asked.

He didn't have a good answer for that.

"You don't know. So the sooner you get me with a big belly, the better. Yes, I know you'd much rather be with Loras. And I'd much rather be having my pick of the dozen or so knights who're eying me up. But alas, you're Hand of the king and I'm the daughter of Highgarden, so we need an heir, and soon."

Renly gritted his teeth. "Fine. Tonight."

"Good." Margaery said. "And keep it up until I'm pregnant."

*

He found Stannis waiting in Maegor's holdfast's solar, in his usual dull clothes with the crown sitting on his desk.

"You summoned me about the Kingsguard?" Renly said.

Stannis nodded grimly. "We have only three, and I mistrust Ser Arys Oakheart."

"Why?" Renly asked. He could guess the answer: he had failed to notice the incest.

"He had failed to notice the incest."

A most unpredictable man, is our king.

"And yet you made him Lord-Commander." Renly said.

"For a while, he was the only Kingsguard left. He is Lord-Commander by default." Stannis said. "I like it as little as you do, which is why we need more Kingsguard. There are several promising candidates."

"Ser Guyard Morrigen. Ser Emmon Cuy. Ser Rolland Storm would have been ideal, if you hadn't made him Warden of the West."

"The Florents want Ser Imry, and I am inclined to agree. He is good with sword and lance both, and managed the fleet well." Stannis said.

"Aye. But that is only position filled." Getting a Florent onto the Kingsguard would cut down on the amount of pissing and moaning about the Tyrell's influence.

Stannis ground his teeth. "Your candidates are possible, but the Riverlands and Vale will be wroth if only the Reachmen and Stormlanders get their positions."

Renly shrugged. "Then hold a tourney, with the winner being chosen for the Kingsguard if they are suitable. I'll pay for it out of my own coffers. Give the people their show, and win a great knight to stand by your side."

"And if they aren't, we shall have wasted funds we don't have on nothing."

"Not on nothing. The people love tourneys. The pageantry, the fine food, the chance to see the finest swords in the realm fight for their entertainment. Besides, between the jousts and the melee, there should be a champion who is suitable for the kingsguard."

I shouldn't have to be explaining this.

"If you want to pay for something out of your own money, pay for Tane's army. She wants tens of thousands of dragons to pay for the force we need."

"Oh, I think I have quite enough money to assist with both."

"No thanks to you. Lord Baelish was-"

"Jon Arryn's idea." Renly said. "If a man bakes twenty pies and takes a few for himself, I see no problem. Little did we know he was stealing our flour to make his pies, and saying he only made two when he was making twenty."

"You were Master of Laws. That was your duty." Stannis said.

"You did nothing either even though you knew." Renly said.

"Only because I lacked enough evidence to move against Lord Baelish. I needed to destroy him, not merely tell him to be more careful covering his tracks."

"And why not the same for me?" Renly asked. "I brought down the Lannisters, while you waited for the opportunity I created."

Fled in fear, more like. Where was your duty then?

"The Lannisters would kill me like they did Jon Arryn."

So you left Robert to his death.

"Do you know what being King means?" Renly suddenly asked.

"It means that it is my duty to rule the Andals, Roynar, and First Men." Stannis said, grinding his teeth.

"It means making men believe you are king, with as much faith as they hold in the gods. It means making men love and fear you both."

"There are no gods, or they are cruel and not to be worshipped." Stannis's face was cold and hard. "I knew that the moment our parents died before our eyes. All that matters are the laws of men."

"Love and fear are real, though, and they win and keep thrones. Ask Robert how he brought down the Targaryens. Men no longer feared them when the dragons died, and then a monster like Aerys comes along… no love, only hate. And if you want the people to love you, you must give them what they want. Like, say, a tourney."