No Greater Fury: A Horse Grenadier company in Westeros

[Balaur]

Tane leaned back against the chair in the small council chamber, tapping her finger on the table. The meeting would be due in a few minutes. She could guess what it was going to be; more dire warnings about the preachings of some septon or another, more arguments about how bloody expensive Stannis's new army was and how to raise money for it, Randyll Tarly picking a fight with her over some triviality of equipment or training in some sort of I'm-the-real-soldier-you're-just-a-lowly-women game of oneupsmanship, and then another letter about the latest disaster at the wall.

She could scarcely believe what was going on up there. Demons and monsters were real; of course; she'd seen enough war witches in action to know that. Even talk of pale beings leading hordes of minions was within reason. The fair folk of her own world had enslaved humanity with their witchcraft, after all; and some demons could possess humans and use them as their vehicles in the physical world. What got her was that this was the walking dead they were dealing with.

Death broke the connection between body, mind and soul. If these northern fey had some way to restore the vital force to a dead body… that was powerful magic, unprecedented even. The moving hand-long rotted away now-suggested that the wights didn't need a mind or a soul; only dead flesh and black magic.

Morgan said it would be more powerful than even the fountain of youth or the rituals of immortality. That merely stopped aging and boosted the bodies natural healing processes, not allowed the dead to walk as the slaves of the living.

To the people of the old world, Fey must have seemed scarcely believable. Arthur still came to the new world and defeated the unbeliable.

The door creaked open, interrupting her thoughts, as Stannis Baratheon strode into the room, Melisandre gliding after him. He looked even more hardset and determined than usual.

"There is grave news from the wall, graver even than last time." he said.

"Are there more savages? Has the army of the dead attacked?" Guncer Sunglass asked.

"Far worse. The few rangers that dare move north report that they've sighted whole legions of the living dead, marching north again." Davos explained, rubbing the bag that held his fingerbones.

"Then they're retreating." Randyll spat. "The Watch and the Wall did it's job. They've killed what they can but cannot pass. What is there to fear?"

"Many things. I see a wall torn down in my fires. Sometimes by giants, sometimes by krakens, sometimes by dragons." Melisandre said.

"Your fires have lied before." Stannis said. "They showed Joffrey crowned and a traitor who claimed the Iron Throne beheaded."

"Both of those came true. Joffrey was a traitor, and he claimed the crown. The fires tell it true, it is only the failings of mortals that distort their meaning."

"It's a wall. With nothing covering its flanks people can go around those." Tane said. "These Others, White Walkers, Ice Fey, whatever you want to call them, they bring the cold, right?"

If magic could suck the force out of an object, then it stood to reason that magic could suck the heat out as well.

"The Great Other is to Ice as the Lord of Light is to Fire." Melisandre intoned.

"Well then, they can freeze the waters and flank around the wall" Tane continued.

Undead not being able to walk through running water was a common superstition. She didn't put much stock in it. Then again, undead existing in the first place was a common superstition, and look where they were now…

"The northerners have enough men to deal with this. We should look to the east. What news of the bastards and Daenerys?" Randyll asked.

"Nothing good. The Golden company has broken the siege of Meereen. Daenerys has married Aegon Targaryen. The Lannisters still reside in Myr." Davos said.

"Aegon died in the sack, how could he be in the east-" Guncer said, shocked.

"The dead are restless lately" Renly answered.

"He's almost certainly an imposter." Tane said.

"That, or the dead child was a decoy." Renly said.

"There is but one option. Randyll, you are right, the North has strong armies. The Royal Army will remain in the south to ward against all threats. I will personally lead the royal fleet north in two weeks time, to see the situation on the wall for myself." Stannis said.

That was a change. The expedition had been in the works ever since the gravity of the situation in the north became clear, but this was the first she'd heard of Stannis leading the expedition himself.

"Surely you cannot think to risk yourself in those heathen lands-" Guncer said.

"A king should lead his men at war, not leave it to criminals and exiles." Renly said. "Brother, this is an excellent choice."

Stannis nodded grimly. "I expect to return with King's Landing in good hands."

"May the Lord of Light be with us in these terrible times." Melisandre added.

*

The flames roared into the night sky, sparks going fluttering as idols burned. They were of a hundred gods; a dozen faiths, trophies of wars across the narrow sea.

Tane's hand rested uneasily on the hilt of her rapier. She'd never been particularly religious, but even so, Melisandre's fanaticism unnerved her. The Triadist priest-scholars had forced out many lesser religions over the years, but it had devoured and digested them, rooting about in their remains for bits of true theology, not burned them wholesale as offerings like some war-witch cutting chicken throats before a battle.

"There's a disturbance in the aether around her" Morgan said beside her. "Not like a witch or a demon. Something else. It's the first thing I've seen in the aether besides souls since we arrived here. It comes every time I've seen her at the nightfire."

Tane shivered under her wool cassock, the sleeves buttoned up against the cold. That wasn't what brought the chill, though.

"I have something to ask of you." Stannis said behind her.

She jerked around. Stannis loomed over her, more than a head taller. She was taller than most women and many men, but even so, standing in front of Stannis, she felt in the shadow of a giant.

"Yes, your Grace?" Tane asked.

"I want your witch"-he pronounced the word like it tasted of venom-"to accompany me to the north. She has what you call a third eye, yes?"

"A third eye and a second sight, and the knowledge to do more." Morgan said, turning to face him. Her dress rustled against the scabbard of her rapier. Her face was as still as a lake. Sometimes Tane forgot how strange Morgan was to people who weren't used to her. Part of it was that Morgan played up her strangeness, for her own amusement and her reputation as a war-witch. Part of it was that she actually was that odd.

Tane knew something like this was coming. Stannis wouldn't have insisted that she visit the nightfires otherwise.

"Melisandre says that she sees souls. I want her to see the true nature of the walking dead. I have sent for the Maesters to send a representative."

"You wanted my forces in the south. We'll need our full strength in the south." Tane said.

"Our armour can skip their weapons without wards, and we've got more than enough firepower to break up formations without witchcraft. There's no demons for me to bind here and the watchers in the walls are gone after we got rid of Varys, for the most part. I'm more useful in the north." Morgan said, switching instantly into her soldier's tone.

Morgan was her most powerful weapon; the only witch on the planet, as far as Tane knew. Still though, she was right. Morgan Half-Fey had been Arthur's clever left hand in the war against the Fey, fending off their witchcraft while his better armed warriors overwhelmed the Fey in melee. The Westerosi had no such advantage that needed to be countered.

"You have my leave." Tane said, nodding to Morgan. "We've got plenty of powder, lead and steel in the south. Magic is what is needed in the north."

She might be another Arthur; sent to another world to conquer, but right now, she was also going to be acting as a glorified rearguard.

 

[Balaur]

Stannis lifted his hard gaze from the pile of parchment he was looking over in his solar as Renly entered and shut the door behind himself.

"You have scribes for that, you know." Renly said. He'd been summoned to meet with Stannis to discuss the final preparations for the Northern expedition.

"Robert trusted his underlings to deal with such matters, and look where that got him. I have intention of repeating his mistakes. Neither should you" Stannis said. Renly rankled. He was Hand of the King, scarred in battle, not some squire to be told off.

"In any case, the preparations for the expedition are almost ready." Stannis continued. "I will be taking half the royal fleet. The other half will be left behind in King's Landing as a line of defence against the Ironborn, Targaryens and Myrish. Half the necessary victuals have already been loaded, and the others are stockpiled. I've found the money for the Myrish severance pay. There's little booty in the North, and the treasury is overstrained as-is."

He continued on like that for what seemed like an eternity, explaining every detail of the preparations for his expedition-ships, supplies, manpower, leadership. Renly's eyes glazed over.

There was only thing he missed, and only thing that Renly actually cared about: Which of the Kingsguard were being sent north?

"Additionally, our Maester informs me that he found references to dragonglass being able to harm Wights. I have ordered obsidian from Dragonstone prepared to be picked up by the fleet on the way out-"

"Which of the kingsguard will you be taking with you? Surely not all of them? I am your heir, and Selyse and Shireen need protection as well."

"Indeed." Stannis said. "Arys Oakheart, Balon Swann, Emmon Cuy, and Loras Tyrell. Good men all."

He mistrusts Oakheart for not discovering the incest, Emmon Cuy only won a tourney, he must know Loras is only loyal to me…

Those weren't men he trusted with his life. They were men he wanted an eye kept on.

"Margaery might be bearing your heir. Surely a proven warrior of House Tyrell would be best to protect her-"

"She has the Tyrell household guard with her. Spread the kingsguard too thin and they are next to useless. Seven men can scarcely cover one man, let alone a whole family. She's safer with her Men-at-Arms. You rely on the Grenadiers, don't you?"

Truth be told, lately he wasn't. Back before the war, what seemed an eternity ago, Tane was in his pocket and his most potent weapon. Now, he couldn't tell who she was loyal to-himself, Stannis, herself, the Commonwealth she sometimes spoke of...

He preferred to rely on his household men for that kind of protection.

"I would prefer knights of the kingsguards protecting my dear Margaery-"

"It is Loras you want to protect, not Margaery." Stannis said, his tone barely changing.

"Is it-"

"I do not care if you want to keep a catamite, distasteful as it is. At least Loras will produce no bastards, and you have done your duty and produced an heir. Just as Loras will do his. He was elevated to the Kingsguard. He shall guard his king."

Renly's fists balls under the desk. Catamite? Loras was not some Essosi slave, but a highborn knight proven in battle, every part the equal of himself and Stannis.

"Even though you are leaving three knights behind? Why not one of them to be your fourth, not Loras?"

"At the Battle of the Goldroad, Loras took part in the charge to break the Lannister rearguard after Rolland Stormsong outflanked them. He unhorsed Selmy Barristan in the melee. I want only the finest knights accompanying me against the savages and demons."

You want a hostage against House Tyrell and your own brother.

"Just as your queen and your heir need fine knights! Lions and dragons lurk across the narrow sea, waiting for the chance to pounce. Balon will make his play sooner or later. The wall protects us from the North, and Ned has plenty of soldiers to protect his own lands."

Stannis glowered. "So do you. My decision is final. I sail in two days times."

Renly ground his teeth as the dull aching pain of his scar started up again.

"A king should listen to his advisors-"

"But he must not let them rule him. That was where Robert failed. The people serve the king and the king serves the people."

"As you wish." Renly said, resigned. He'd fought Stannis to a standstill last time he had tried to take Loras from him. He could never win such a fight. Stannis was immovable on such matters, and trying to push the immovable would only make look a fool. "I will keep the realm in good order for you when you return."

If you return.

If Stannis died in the north, he could sweep aside Shireen's claim and lay hold of the entire seven kingdoms. In these dark times, he was what was needed to unify the realm and lead it to victory, not a tight-fisted, humourless brute. The only problem was that if Stannis died, Loras would likely die with him. He couldn't allow that.

*

The cannons roared, hurling stone cannonballs from the prows of the Margaery Rose and Salt & Smoke out into Blackwater Bay as the first of the royal fleet set sail for the north. Crowned stags-the lions of Robert's day long gone-flew fluttering over the warships, at least three dozen in numbers, and the supply cogs and heavy dromons that sailed in the middle of the convoy.

By the time the last of the ships had pulled out from the docks, the first few ships were well out into the bay, sparkling green under the midday sun.

He'd said his goodbyes to Loras last night. When the sun set, no candle could replace it, but it would rise again.

Even the long night had ended.

"King's Landing will be all the darker without them." Selyse said. "Alas, the Red God calls north."

A good thing. Melisandre's light was like looking into the sun. Renly was glad for her to be gone.

He turned back from the battlements, gazing out over the city.

Once he had been a boy, sure to inherit nothing. Then he had been Lord of Storm's End, elevated above the tooth-grinder and his men, and risen further to become Master of Laws.

Now, he stood hand of the King, master of the realm, and he intended to end his life even higher. He had work to do.

 

[Balaur]

"Which of Stannis's taxes can we cut?" Renly asked, glancing at the list of sources of Crown incomes Guncer Sunglass had presented him with. It had been a week since Stannis had left the city.

"Well, for starters we should tell Emmon Frey to hurry up and get the Casterly rock mines working again." Guncer said. "We need all the sources of money we can find. Stannis's army is running the treasury dry, and cutting these taxes won't help." Guncer was a short, small man; hard to get along with. He was always complaining about this or that, always saying they were blessed or cursed by the Seven. Renly misliked him, but he was who had been assigned to the treasury, and he wasn't about to start removing Stannis's appointees. Yet.

"Oh yes they will. This"-Renly pointed to the land tax, marked with a royal seal-"has half the nobility sending me angry letters complaining that they can't pay, and the other half complanining that their smallfolk are getting restive when they increased their taxes to pay." He didn't give a damn if they had to take out more loans from the Iron Bank. He did care if the nobility started a rebellion.

"Seven forbid they cut into their feasting and tourneying to pay rather than giving the Smallfolk that burden. We have forgotten the ways of the old Andal lords." Guncer said.

"Where else to get money? The brothel tax? Flea bottom nearly rioted when they tried to enforce that."

He needed to get Guncer back onto the money before he started rambling about bringing back the faith militant or whatever nonsense notion the High Septon had planted in his head.

"Not one of Stannis's worst notions." Guncer said. "I would suggest taxing imports but not exports That would raise us revenue and please the merchants." The moonstones he covered himself in jangled as he talked.

"Why should we care about pleasing the merchants? The smallfolk have the numbers and the nobility the swords. "

"The merchants have the coin, and it is coin we want."

Renly's eyes almost rolled out of his head. The merchants were a waste of space, doing nothing that could not be done far better by a nobleman's agents.

"We could take another loan from the Faith."

Guncer's nose wrinkled like he'd tasted something foul. "The High Septon is most displeased with Stannis. Besides, the faiths coin should be put to work praising the Seven and uplifting the poor."

"Then how do you suggest we raise the money? This is your job, not mine."

"Tax imports. Tax vices-there's poppy fields in the Reach that are, ah, not used by Maesters. Enforce the brothel tax more strictly; I hear the Goldcloaks pocket most of the money themselves as it stands. Tax the followers of the Red God; there are some amongst the merchants of this city already. Most of all, get Casterly Rock working again."

"Now, now." Renly said, half smiling. "That would upset our dear moustachoed queen. We can't have that, can we?"

"We can and should. Regardless of her faith, the Seven are the true gods of the Seven Kingdom. Those who defy them must pay the price, in this case perhaps literally-"

As if to emphasize his point, the midday bells where ringing outside.

Oh, here we go.

Someone knocked on the door to the solar. Guncer, closer to the door, took it.

Bill, one of his newer servants, a lean, wiry man who'd been a soldier for Robert in the rebellion before serving for a time as a sellsword in Essos, stood on the other side.

"Where's Lord Baratheon? I have most grave news, of a death in the family."

Renly stood up, wincing as his leg twinged, and limped across. Must be the weather. His leg was worse on cold days.

"Lord Baratheon is right here."

Guncer stepped aside.

"This news must be given in private, if it please m'lord."

"Tell me here. I trust Lord Sunglass."

"It's of a most sensitive nature-"

"Tell me now. Your master demands it." Renly snapped.

"Margaery Tyrell is murdered. The High Septon is murdered. Tane Bayder is murdered."

What-

"You're lying!" Renly roared, then "Are the killers at large?"

The man flinched back, before his face hardened.

"Yes."

He reached for the dagger in his belt.

Renly damn near leapt back of his skin when he saw the blade flash, tracing a line across the stuffed belly of his doublet. The assassin lunged, and his this time Renly reacted like he was trained, batting away the blade, hand pushing against hand, just as Guncer leapt at the man, trying for his dagger, managing to lock up his arm.

"Guards! Guards!" Renly roared, wishing he was in the habit of wearing his dagger about the tower. Guncer had a strong grip, but the assassin was slamming himself up against the doorway, trying to dislodge his smaller opponent.

Bugger this. Renly lurched over, wincing from the pain, and punched the assassin in the face, hard.

He swore as pain shot through his hand, even as blood spurted out of the mans nose and the dagger went clattering to the ground.

"Did you kill Margaery? Did you? Was that a lie to get my audience?"

The man spat. "They'll be with the stranger by now, Rhllor be good. Strike on the midday bells."

Renly punched him in the stomach, doubling the man over. "Rhllor? Who sent you? Who? The Lannisters? The Targaryens? Melisandre?"

Selyse. Stannis. He didn't dare say it out loud, though.

"An-an agent of the king. He didn't give me his name!"

Brienne loomed up behind the man, her sword drawn, a gang of guardsmen in her wake.

"What happened?"

"He tried to kill me. He failed. Not a word of this to anyone. Lock him up at the top of the tower. Get me the first horse you can find, and get everyone you can round up to the High Sept."

It'll have already been decided by now.

Margaery was like to be surrounded by her hens, and she was with Tane, who had an almost obsessive need to be armed at all times. He hoped that Rhllor was not, in fact, good.

 

[Balaur]

The familiar seven-sided bulk of the Great Sept, all glass and spires, towered above them, a bastion of wealth in the filth and desperation of Flea Bottom. Tane and Sace rode alongside her, both of them wearing their long thin swords-Tane's was a rapier, and Sace's a smallsword- and daggers and the outlandish baggy breeches and cloaks of the foreign soldiers, worn by both men and women.

This meeting had been a week or so in the planning; an attempt to get both Tane and the High Septon to take all the renegade Septons-many of them obsessed with the Grenadiers-seriously. Margaery had her doubts it would work; the current High Septon was unwilling to truly protect the faith, while the renegades, if anyone actually bothered to listen to them, threatened to set off another war. She didn't care what mad foreign god Selyse believed in, as long as she wanted the Others and their dead minions gone from the world.

Their horses cut a swathe through the crowds on the street. Even the lesser nobility knew it was a good idea to get out of the way of the wife to the heir of the throne and the general of his armies. A priest saw them coming, and vanished back into the building. They dismounted quickly, a harried looking minor septon leading the horses to the Great Sept's stable before she led Tane in through the doorway into the main chamber. Light streamed in, illuminating the statues of the seven that gazed down on them with judging eyes.

There were all sorts praying there; smallfolk, knights, merchants, even a few men who liked like sellswords from Essos. Tane glanced about the building suspiciously, her hand resting where her rapier would be if not for the fact that she'd left her weapons with the horses, under the watch of a couple of Margaeries handmaidens.

Elinor walked over to the statue of the Maiden and began to pray. "I'll join you when this business is resolved."

The High Septon's offices where located right over the Stranger's statue, amidst the seven spires of the sept. Margaery knew how to get to the High Septon's office easily enough. A Septa escorted them up and ushered them in in.

"Captain Tane Bayder, General of the King's Army." Margaery said, nodding to Tane. "The High Septon."

He sat behind his desk, dressed in his full regalia for the audience-although he'd put his crystal crown down. He was as obese as ever, although his eyes were flintly and sharp.

"May the Maiden's light shine on you." The High Septon said at Tane sat down.

"This is about that preacher who was saying I was sent by the seven, yes?" Tane began.

The High Septon nodded.

"Yes, yes, I believe so."

"What's his name?"

"Septon Ollius. Most unorthodox. A troublemaker. Before this, he was meddling in the Faith's tithing."

"And what's he saying about me?" Tane asked.

"That you were sent by the Stranger, he says. You, pardon me, dress and talk like a man but are a woman; and thus he said are neither. You have killed only the guilty and faithless, and your men kill at a distance and randomly. You, he says, were sent by the Seven Kingdoms to purge Westeros, and remove all the unfaithful before the demons of the Seven Hells grow strong enough to break down the Wall." The High Septon said, fidgeting. He seemed uncomfortable in Tane's presence.

"I could talk to him myself. Disabuse him of his notions." Tane said. "Then again, that might not work. I'm pretty sure there's some sort of miracle going on."

"What sort of miracle?" the High Septon asked.

"Everyone calls me a foreigner. Well, which country do I come from?"

The High Septon blinked.

"Exactly. Not any from this world. I just woke up and me and my company were here. We spoke the language perfectly, too."

"Then you are blessed by the Crone with wisdom."

Tane looked like she was about to say something unwise, then stopped herself.

"In any case, we can't risk forcing the matter for now. Conflict would benefit no-one. We must remain unified against the threat from the north, and only then worry about the Red God's threat." Margaery said.

"There is another matter. Septon Hallett of the Most Devout has been spreading most distasteful rumours about our good queen."

"Like what?" Margaery asked innocently. She guessed that at least some of them were true.

"That she intends to overthrow the Faith of the Seven and replace it with her red god."

"And how does she intend to do this?" Margaery said.

"Using the royal army."

"There are more than a few Rhlorrists in my army." Tane said. "Your faithful outnumbers them, though."

The midday bells rang. Outside the sept, they sounded beautiful, but from within, they were ear-jarring.

Someone screamed outside the door, followed by a yell of "Murder!". Tane stood up and began to turn, swearing under her breath, reaching for something inside her pocket. Margaery gingerly pushed back the chair, trying not to hit her pregnant belly on the table.

What is it-

A throwing axe sprouted from between the High Septon's eyes, and Margaery turned just in time to see the attacker, a bearded man in a Septon's roughspun robes, reaching for another weapon in the doorway.

For a half-second, Tane seemed stunned. Then she just moved, hurling her chair at him and charging, a folding knife in her hand. The man's hands jerked up to protect his face, while Tane rushed in, one arm grabbing his second axe by the haft and twisting it out of his hands, the other stabbing over and over up into his chest and throat.

Margaery screamed in shock, a hand going to her mouth. Both the fighters tumbled back through the doorway, out of sight. There was swearing, snarling, the ring of steel on steel outside-subtly different to that of the training ground, for this was live steel-then Tane backed back into the room, the back of her doublet torn open, revealing the bright mail underneath.

"Four of them. Two down." Tane snapped off, falling back into some kind of high fighting stance. Blood dripped from her knife, and Margaery noticed she had a hatchet in her other hand. Margaery glanced back at the High Septon. He'd tumbled back and fallen out of his chair, the hatchet still in his head like a unicorn's horn.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she was paralyzed like in a night-terror. Another attacker charged in through the door, tackling Tane down even as she buried her axe in his chest, stabbing furiously at her. They rolled on the floor, struggling. A third man came after him, moving to cut at Tane, but the man on the ground was over her. He turned to face Margaery, gripping a dagger of his own. He was Essosi looking, with a long black mustache and a boiled leather doublet.

Oh, god no. Oh, god. Oh-

Her baby kicked inside her, and that seemed to knock her out of her stupor. She grabbed at a chair and swung it awkwardly as the man lunged at her. Somehow, she managed to hit his dagger hand, not enough to disarm him but enough to stop him stabbing her. He slashed at her, her arm jerking up to block with the chair, but he grabbed the chair and twisted it out of her hands. He slashed again and this time she tried to block with her arms, his blade sheering through flesh, but before he could press the attack someone-a big Septon in brown robes-was grabbing at his dagger arm, trying to disarm him, slamming him up against the wall.

She dropped to her knees and began to crawl, the fingers of her cut left arm clumsy and stiff as she shoved the dropped chair out of the way and took cover under the table. Tane was swearing, loudly and viciously, as she grappled with her opponent, keeping his dagger an inch from her throat, driving her hand into her opponent's face, while the Essosi had changed his dagger to his off-hand as well and had thrust it through the throat of the Septon. The dying man was still clinging to the assassin's arm, even as he sank to the ground.

She crawled further away, looking for somewhere to run or hide. There was nowhere. The assassin kicked the Septon's hand away and clambered over the table, his dagger running red, ignoring Tane, still on the ground, stabbing her dying opponent over and over with his own dagger. He kicked the High Septon's fallen chair out of the way.

There was nowhere to run, and she had no weapons.

She backed up against the wall. "Please, I'm pregnant, please…"

Gentle mother, font of mercy…

"Drop the dagger and get away from her!" someone screamed.

The assassin turned and took one step before the back of his head burst open, her mind registering the sound of a gunshot a moment later. He crumpled to the ground, revealing Sace standing in the doorway, a smoking pistol in one hand and her smallsword in the other, breathing hard.

"Cap? Cap? Are you alright?"

She was visibly pale. Through the doorway there were more bodies lying on the floor, one still moving. The High Septon's solar was awash with blood and brains.

"Mary. Fucking. Isis. I don't think I got stabbed. Are there any other attackers in the building?" Tane asked, pulling herself up to her feet. Her face was a red mask, and her tied back hair had come half undone.

Sace shook her head. "No, no, I heard screaming and came at once, Boudace brought her sword, she's guarding Marge's handmaidens. Is Marge alright?"

"Someone get a surgeon! Or a Maester!" Sace added, yelling out the door.

Margaery tried to pull herself to her feet, but she was shaking so badly she didn't get anywhere. There was blood all down the front of her dress. She forced herself to nod.

 

[Balaur]

He watched the riders returning from a window in the Tower of the Hand, two dozen of them at least. He recognized Margaery quickly enough from the green, black and gold dress she'd worn that morning, now splattered with blood. Tane rode at their head. Even at this distance he could see light glinting off mail that shone through the gashes in her doublet, and the bloodied rag tied around her head.

Margaery's alive.

Good.

He took the stairs as fast as he could, his leg flaring up with pain worse than it normally did. He'd already gotten his sword strapped on, while Guncer had gone to rally the Horse Grenadiers and the silvercloaks. He'd kept his doublet on, the one that had it's stuffing slashed out; more dramatic to any onlookers. The servants would already be gossiping, he knew.

By the time he reached the bottom of the tower, Sace and Elinor were helping Margaery into a chair. She was pale, and her hands almost seemed to be shaking.

"Is she hurt? How badly?"

"She got cut on the arm. I'm worried it damaged the tendons." Sace said. He noticed she had blood on her shoes, and spackled on her skirts and waistcoat.

"What does that mean-" Renly began.

"That she'll lose the use of her left hand." Sace said. She didn't look all too pleased about the prospect.

"Oh. What about the High Septon?"

"Dead." Sace said.

If he was dead… that would mean that the Red God's followers had directly killed the wordly representative of the seven.

Oh dear.

"And the assassins?"

"She, she shot one of them when he was going to kill me. Tane killed the rest." Margaery said. Her voice was shaking, but at least she was talking.

"Tane did what?"

"I saw it myself. Tane knocked one of them back against the balustrade, stabbed him a bunch of times, put another one down with the first man's hatchet, got slashed up by the other two but her mail saved her, then retreated into the room. I chased the assasins and shot the one attacking Margaery. Tane stabbed the other one to death with his own dagger." Sace said.

"Did any of them say anything?"

"They were all dead. We took the bodies… the people saw one of them had a flame tattoo and where most enraged, my lord." Brienne said, the big woman striding into the room.

"Where's Tane?" Renly asked.

"Outside. She wants to talk to you."

"Get Margaery to her rooms. Summon Brenna and the Maester and make sure she is cared for most dutifully."

Renly limped out of the tower, only to come face to face with Tane. She was, to put it mildly, not in a presentable state. Her doublet had been slashed to ribbons, exposing the mail hidden underneath, and the cloth was splattered with darkening stains. Her brown hair was covered by a grey rag, blood slowly soaking through it, and there was blood under her nails and bruises on her knuckles. She had the slightly faint look of someone who'd drunk a little too much, or had gone too long without sleep but was struggling to stay focused anyway.

"Who attacked you? Were there any other attacks? Is Selyse secure?"

"One at a time. Some fool with a knife who'd entered my service a few weeks ago. Not that I know, and as far as I can tell, Selyse has holed herself up in Maegor's fearing another attack."

"Good. Did your attacker talk?"

"Only that you were supposed to be dead."

"They are. I'm not."

Renly sensed a certain level of pride in her voice.

"Did you see anything that identified the attackers?"

"The one that killed the High Septon was dressed as a priest. He had throwing axes. Another two looked Essosi. Third one had a Rhllorite tattoo on his ankle."

"Did any of them talk?"

"Well, Sace blew one's head off, another two got axes in the chest and I'm pretty sure the first one drowned in his own blood. Two of them lived long enough for me to try and interrogate them. They didn't have much to say."

"How did the witnesses at sept react?"

"Good and pissed. Someone saw the tattoo, and when we left someone was haranguing them about the Rhlorrite menace. I'd be getting ready to deal with a riot. Now, I need to see my bloody surgeon and make sure I'm not about to keel over."

"Were you stabbed?" Renly asked. Just about all that he knew about medicine was that getting stabbed was bad news, especially in the gut.

"Maybe. I think the mail stopped most of the thrusts."

A moment later, Guncer appeared, visibly frazzled. "Selyse has been informed of the attempt on your life. She was most alarmed."

The more he thought about it, the more a fool Stannis would have had to have been to order the attack. He gained nothing but chaos, and he suspected that, if Stannis felt the need to indulge in a bit of kinslaying, he'd do it himself, complete with a sham trial and a headsman. No, this was someone else's work.

"How did Selyse react?"

"She seemed surprised, I think. She said it was a most terrible and unjust attack and that she would pray to Red Rhllor for the safety of your wife."

"Does she know the Rhllorists were involved?"

"Not that I could tell."

Selyse, perhaps. One of the plotters across the narrow sea, Varys and Petyr. Some renegagde idiots with more swords than sense.

A sentry called out on the wall.

"What is it?" Renly called back.

"A mob! They're demanding justice for the High Septon."

"What kind of justice!" Renly shouted.

The sentry, a Horse Grenadier, yelled something down at the mob down below. Although the noise was muffled by the wall, now that he knew what he listening for he could hear yelling on the other side.

"They say agents of the Red God killed him! One of them had flame tattoos all down his body, and that the false gods agents tried to kill you too!"

How the hell did that leak-

Doesn't matter. People always talk, rumours always spread, they could have overheard it at the sept. He forced himself to think. There was a mob going for the Red God. The Red God whose agents had just wounded the beloved wife of the hand of the king and killed the High Septon. The Red God whose most prominent follower was the Queen.

Time for a certain someone to be given just enough rope to hang herself.

"I think the queen should dispel these most vile and distasteful rumours herself. I'll summon her to address the mob." Giving things even more time to stew would only increase the chances of… what was the expression Tane had used?

*

"Your Grace." Renly said, stepping into Selyse's quarters.

"Yes? What is it? Am I safe?" Selyse asked, waving the Kingsguard men who moved to block Renly out of the way. Shireen hid behind her skirts.

"From what? The assassins?"

"Yes, them. I was told that you were attacked by a madman."

"Not just me. Margaery was greviously injured, and the High Septon… His Holiness is dead. The mob are screaming for justice, accussing you of the attack."

"Disperse them!" Selyse snapped.

"No." Renly answered. "Their accusations are absurd. Simply dismissing them out of hand would only make it look like you have something to hide. There is no evidence it was a man of your faith, only a flame tattoo on one of the assassin's ankles. Some queer Essosi custom, no doubt. You must tell them as much yourself."

"And why me?"

"You are the most prominent supporter of the Red God in this kingdom. If you personally condemn the attacks and deny any involvement, it would have more strength than sending some herald to deny it."

"And if some mob is baying for my blood, what does my word mean?" Selyse asked, frowning.

"Nothing to those already convinced that the red god was behind it. To those who do not yet know what happened, or are making their minds up? Perhaps everything."

Selyse sniffed. "If you insist. A queen must keep up appearances."

He remembered that phrase of Tane's that he'd forgotten.

Shoot herself in the foot. That's it.

And he'd just given her the gun to do it with.

 

[Balaur]

It was a dark and stormy night on Pyke as he gathered his brothers and daughter about himself, before the seastone chair.

He'd spent the day inspecting the last of the new warships-sleek galleys, swarms of longships, and no less than five heavy galleasses bristling with scorpions. He'd brought them with the iron price; wealth beyond imagining sacked from Lannister ports.

He'd waited for this moment for years. The time was now ripe. His agents reported that their were dragons and lions both in Essos. The realm was in a frenzy of fear, mad rumours spreading about goings on to the north and foreign witches. One kick would bring the whole rotten house down, and he would at last have his vengeance and his redemption on the Greenlanders for the humiliations they had inflicted, the sons and brothers they had killed.

"The time to strike is now." Victarion said, near as soon as Balon entered. He gritted his teeth. Victarion had never been the smartest of his brothers, though by far the bravest. He would have rathered Euron, the mind behind the first raid on Lannisport, be the one sitting on his council and Victarion the one exiled, but that was not to be.

"Soon." Balon said. The map of Westeros was already unfurled, playing pieces scattered about.

"Theon-" Asha began.

"Is a lost cause. We have no way to retrieve him. We must continue with our plans. Plunder the Reach and the Riverlands, and the North too. By the time Stannis has turned to face us, the Targaryens should already be falling upon him and he will have to turn his attention away. The only question now is of timing."

The Drowned God detested a coward, but he also detested a fool. Balon would not waste this chance.

"I've heard rumours Stannis is sending the remaining troops in the Westerlands east." Asha said.

"Even better." Victarion said.

"Tonight, I will send the ravens commanding the captains to make ready to sail as soon as I know for sure than Aegon has set sail. When that happens, the Iron fleet will gather under Victarion and sail south, to attack the Redwyne fleet at anchor, sack Oldtown, and intercept any royal fleet that tries to round Dorne. Asha, you will command the forces that lay sack to the west of the North and Riverlands. You already know which ships you've been assigned. I want to see the western ocean painted black and gold."

They'd been over this half a hundred times, many of his lords and veteran captains participating in the planning. Captains would argue about which squadron they'd be part of, and lords would insist on having this or that place of honour, but the foundations were already in place.

"When the time comes, Stannis must face the wrath of the kraken and the dragon both." Victarion said.

"Not even a dragon can stand against the might of the drowned god." Aeron said, looking up from where he sat at the back of the table.

"Indeed." Victarion said. "If these rumours of dragons are true, they will be young. Our scorpions should be able to bring them down."

"If they can hit." Asha said. "The dragons are real, all right. I met one sailor who said he was there at the sack of Astapor, saw slavers roasted with his own eyes."

"In that case, we shall glut ourselves on the wealth of the realm for as long as possible, then turn on Essos." Victarion said. "We'll bend one knee, but not both."

"I'd like to see how that works, nuncle." Asha said.

Balon ignored the jibe. She was as worthy an heir as an ironborn lord could ask for, sex aside, but her needless levity sometimes grated upon his nerves.

"Now, we need to discuss how many longships the Harlaws can bring…"

*

By the time they were done, the candles were burning low and the winds were howling outside. Cold spray whipped through the arrow slits. He didn't shiver. He'd been drowned as a babe. He was made of sterner stuff than that.

What is dead can never die, only rise again harder and stronger. That was the Ironborn way. The defeated must not slink away with their tails between their legs. They must lick their wounds and return to the fray when the time was right. Soon, the Old Ways would return. They were sea-wolves; proudest on the western seas, who sailed the roaring oceans with the Drowned God at their heels. Not shrinking Greenlanders who feared to leave sight of land. Even their castles where built in defiance of the storm god.

He opened the door that led out into the final, rope bridge, leading to his chambers in the Sea Tower. In his youth, Quellon had suggested having it replaced with stone bridges; safer and easier to move supplies through the castle. He'd answered that anyone who feared to trust in rope and wood had no place in Pyke. Quellon had eventually replaced some of the bridges, but not this one.

He pulled his cloak around himself and trod across, the heavy rope twisting and kicking under him. It wasn't as if he hadn't done it well over a thousand times before, but this time, even with the storm it seemed fiercer than usual.

He suddenly halted when the door swung open. A lone figure stood there, backlit by a roaring hearth. Knives glinted in his hands.

Balon reached for his own sword, but the knives weren't for him. They were for the ropes holding the bridge up.

Balon would have rathered he died dashed against the pounding waves and dragged underwater, in the Drowned God's realm.

He didn't. He didn't drown under the salt sea.

What is dead can, in fact, die, if turned to red ruin by the Storm God's rocks and winds.

 

[Balaur]

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" Gryff asked, almost as soon as she pushed the maidenvault door open.

"Sicarios tried to knife me. Killed three of them, Sace got the fourth."

Put like that, it seemed so simple. The fight had been anything but. Her mind was still organizing the memories, putting together exactly what happened: the realization they were under attack, stabbing the "priest" over and over, the blurs of movement in the corners of her eyes as the others came in, the feeling of realizing she was being knifed and the mail was the only thing stopping it. The frustration and growing terror as she realized she was pinned under a corpse and there was an attacker still up, about to gut Margaery; then the final relief as Sace shot the last one.

All in well under a minute; though it seemed far longer when her heart was pounding and the battle-rush was narrowing her vision.

"I've got the company up and armed as soon as I heard the news." Gryff added.

"I think the situation is under control." Tane said. The back of her head felt like someone had poured vinegar into it, her ribs hurt every time she turned her body-Thank the Mother I decided to wear my jazerant today-and she just wanted to lie down and go to sleep.

Connor O'Carrene jogged over to her, his surgical bag already over his shoulder. He was a tall, skinny, scruffy man, red haired, and not in the habit of maintaining military discipline. He was rather good at his job, though.

"Are you wounded? How seriously?"

"I got stabbed and cut a couple of times, mail caught it. I think. Got cut on the head."

"Oh dear. Can you breath without difficulty?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll need to get a proper look at you, though."

Tane nodded and walked off to her quarters, unbuttoning her jazerant as she went.

*

"Very shallow stab wound, just a scrape really, on the chest. A bunch of bruises on the back and abdomen. Two nasty cuts that I can find on the back of the head; honestly, you'll probably have to shave so I can get them cleaned out properly and find any other cuts. If not for that jazerant, you'd be stuck like prime bacon." Connor explained, the company barber-surgeon combining the two roles as he sifted through her hair for cuts.

"Fuck me, I got lucky." If she'd gotten stabbed in the head or hadn't had her armour on, she'd likely be dead or at least bedridden.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Tane yelled. It was Sace. She blushed and looked away when she saw that Tane wasn't wearing her shirt.

"There's a mob outside. Renly's gone to get Selyse to deal with it." Sace said.

"Renly wants Selyse to deal with a mob? Is he the dumbest bastard in this world of dumb bastards?"

"Don't shoot the messenger."

"Yeah, I know." Tane stood up, quickly pulling her bloodstained shirt and strophium back on then doing up her jazerant.

They were already bloodied; they couldn't get any bloodier.

Connor quickly put the bandage back around her head. "If you suddenly keel over because I missed something, be sure to let me know."

"Carrow, get an escort lance together! Gryff, keep everyone else ready to go." Tane shouted, buckling on her swordbelt and tucking her heavy horse pistols through her belt. She strode out into the maidenvault, swearing under her breath as the bruises on her back chafed.

She moved as fast as she could towards the main gate once Carrow had his lance together, where she guessed that any outraged mob would be going to confront Selyse. There would already be Horse Grenadier sentries on the walls there; she'd seen them coming in.

When they arrived, Selyse was already up on the walls, a gaggle of Queen's Men on the ground and more around her on the battlements. Archers, Tane thought with a wince. Renly and more of his guardsmen-Storm's End troops-were waiting at the base of the wall.

"What's going on-"

"Our queen has decided to address the mob from atop the walls. Not her wisest decision." Renly said, shaking his head.

"What are they saying?"

"That the Red God's followers are responsible for this, or perhaps Ironborn. One of the killers, the one dressed as a priest, had a long beard and throwing axes, you know. Another had a flame tattoo on his leg."

The one I drowned in his own blood, and the one Sace shot.

"Enemies of your Seven." Tane said.

"Exactly. I intend to have the man who attacked me interrogated with the utmost vigor to get to the bottom of this. He claimed to be a follower of Rhllor during the attack."

Up above, she could hear Selyse calling to the crowd, her voice thin and high. "The Lord of Light abhors such acts of needless violence. I am innocent! Now, return to your homes and trouble me no more."

"You want to have him tortured for information about who tried to kill you." Tane continued.

"Obviously."

"Meaning that there's a decent chance he'll just make up some nonsense to make it stop-"

"That is only the innocent." Renly said. "And we know that he is guilty, and he knows that we know. He'll crack, sooner or later."

"If you want, I could handle the interrogation. I've done it before."

"I think I trust the black cell jailors for this." Renly said, shaking his head.

"I'm going to see this mob for myself."

She clambered up through the tower gatehouse, to one of the loopholes, watched over by a couple of Baratheon crossbowmen. She leaned out the loophole, trying to listen to what the mob-not quite a sea of humanity just yet, but certainly a lake-was saying.

"So you're saying your bleeding red god sent our sons off to fight, taxed us half to death and put that mad bitch loose but you didn't order His High Holiness whacked? Bugger that!" a burly woman in a dirtied dress yelled.

"What did you just say to your queen?" Selyse snapped, outside the open door of the battlement.

"That your lackeys murdered the High Septon!"

"He's the gods in human form, yeah? Your red god tried to murder the seven!" someone else yelled.

"That is a lie!" Selyse shouted back at them. "You must disperse at once!"

"Don't fire unless I give the order." Tane said, glancing at her grenadiers and the Baratheon longbowmen in the gatehouse. "Relay it down" she added, nodding to Carrow.

"Yeah, no." the woman shouted to Selyse. "Prove you didn't do it and we'll disperse."

How the hell is she supposed to disprove that?

"I had no part in this! The Red God abhors unjust killing!"

"Oh, bloody red rahloo abhors killing does he? That murderer sure didn't seem to abhor it!" the woman shouted. A waves of yells and jeers came a moment later, then rocks and planks of wood, flying uselessly short.

"Disperse or suffer the fate of all treasonous-"

This had gone on long enough.

Tane glanced out the door, just in time to see archers nocking arrows on the walls.

Selyse is the queen, I can't just confront her in public-

But she could. She was a captain-general now, not just a lowly company commander. Selyse was faithless, and so was she, and they were both women in a realm that abhorred them. But she had fighting men at her back. She had the favour of a king and his deputy. She had brought down a king with her company and virtually signed the death warrant of a queen with her pole-axe. Many saw her as some sort of avenging warrior-saint. If all else failed, she had the mail on her back and the blades on her hips.

I might very well be the most powerful woman on this godsforsaken world.

"Carrow, Lonwyn, on me." Tane said, turning for the door out onto the battlements.

"Loose at them!" Selyse said. "Let them see the consequences of their sla-"

"HOLD FIRE!" Tane roared, switching to her battlefield voice, louder and harsher even than her drill-ground yell.

If nothing else, it got the archers attention, and Selyse's too.

"What is the meaning of this-" Selyse asked, rounding on her, stepping past her soldiers. She towered over Tane and most of her soldiers; well over six feet in height, all of it scarecrow thin. Tane didn't react. She'd dealt with far worse than Selyse before.

"You, a Red God follower, were going to kill Seven followers straight after they accused you of killing the High Septon. Do you know how that bloody looks?" Tane hissed.

"Do not question me, woman-" Selyse began.

I'm saving your bloody life if you'll listen to me.

Tane stepped up behind the merlons, glancing at the crowd. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves, trying to work out what was going on.

"I am Captain-General Tane Bayder!" she called.

A hush went over the crowd as they seemed to work out what was going on.

"I was witness to the High Septon's murder and the wounding of Margaery Tyrell. I killed three of the murderers myself."

She heard cheers and jeers down below.

"It is true that one of them had a Rhllorist tattoo on his ankle, and that another was probably an Ironborn. This could be a conspiracy by the Rhllorites or the Ironborn. It could be a gang of mercenaries hired by the Lannisters or Targaryens. Renly took his attacker alive. We'll know who did it soon enough."

We'll know who Renly thinks did it, at least.

"I promise you that on my honour"-she barely stopped herself saying as an officer of the Commonwealth-"that whoever did will be punished with the utmost severity!"

She'd have mentioned breaking on the wheel or crucifixation, but she didn't want to give the Westerosi any ideas.

A few members of the mob seemed to disperse, but the rest stood their ground. "It's bloody obvious who did it! The enemies of the seven! You were sent by the Seven to throw them down!" someone shouted back, then "Even if she didn't do it, she's still a bloody apostate who should burn in the seven hells."

"Do for Selyse what you did for Cersei!"

"Bring the coward bitch down here to face us!"

"No godless woman should ever rule the Seven Kingdoms!" someone else agreed.

"I told you, you will disperse or be shot down!" Selyse yelled, stepping up to the crenellations.

Mary. Fucking. Isis. Why. If she wasn't the queen, Tane would have slapped her for the sheer stupidity.

"Sinner!" someone shouted back.

"The only sinners are the faithfless accusing the faithful of sin." Selyse said.

"And what about the murderers? They ain't sinners?"

"You're signing your own bloody death warrant." Tane snapped at Selyse.

"A Queen should never be accused of such vile crimes." she retorted, shouting down to the crowd.

"That's for the gods to decide." A Septon amongst the mob shouted. "If you are innocent, you will prove it before the eyes of gods and men, in a court of law."

A rock flew at them, high enough that Tane wished she had her helmet.

"Disperse them! I have no time for this." Selyse said, turning back from the battlements.

"Don't shoot. Just let them get bored and go home." Tane said as soon as Selyse was out of earshot.

"But the Queen's Orders-" one of the men, an archer with a flaming fox on his livery coat, began to say.

"You heard the Captain-General, stand down!" Carrow yelled. "Any man shoots without orders from a bloody officer, he gets flogged! That clear?"

 

[Balaur]

"The prisoner, yeah? You want him to talk?" Gared the gaoler asked through immaculate teeth. Despite his job, the man somehow managed to remain impeccably clean. Renly spun a gold dragon on the table.

Must be overcompensating for his job.

"Yes. During the attack on me, he mentioned allegiance to Rhllor. One of the men who murdered the High Septon had a Rhllorite tattoo on his ankle. He claims to be a former member of the Storm's End garrison. A few of them recognize him; he signed up after the siege was over. I want to know who converted him, who recruited him, and his connection to any other followers of the Red God. No torture is too severe. Just keep him alive to testify."

"What if he incriminates certain… important individuals?"

"No one is off limits. Even the queen."

He snapped the coin down and slid it across the table.

"Especially the Queen. I do understand what a difficult task you have, here. You'll have my utmost support."

Gared's face cracked into something resembling a smile. He stood up, smoothing the sleeves of his immaculate doublet. He was one of the men that Renly had hired when they'd cleaned out the black cells staff following Varys's exile. So far, Renly had found him to be efficient, discrete and reliable. Exactly the sort of man he'd need for bringing down his second queen.

He wasn't going to get a chance like this again. If he handled this correctly, Selyse and her faction at court would be overthrown, Shireen's claim made completely irrelevant, he would be a hero to the faith, and all without getting any blood on his hands. "I'll see you this time tomorrow. See how the prisoner is holding up."

"He won't be." Gared said, as Renly turned and left, adjusting the collar of his doublet. He could have already had this over with by the end of today if Selyse had taken the friendly advice he'd given her on the way to the wall and confronted the mob on the ground. Alas, a sudden outbreak of common sense and a certain foreigner had saved Queen Moustache from a grisly end.

One of his Silvercloaks officers-Bywater, wasn't he?-approached, his iron hand resting on his sword. "My lord, the goldcloaks have driven off the rioters sacking Rhllorite houses in the cities."

"How unfortunate. For the merchants, of course."

The sun was going down outside and things were already going excellently. He should hopefully wake up to a confession tomorrow, and the people of King's Landing had made their distaste for the Red God quite clear.

"Should we send more silvercloaks into the city in case things flare up again?"

"As long as we don't have to reduce the guard on the Great Sept, Red Keep or gates. We wouldn't want any conspirators trying to finish the job. I also want a company of them under arms, ready to make arrests as soon as I extract a confession."

"Of course. I'll see if I have any troops to spare."

He nodded his assent. An early winter chill had set in as he left the dungeons, a pair of guardsmen falling in on either side of him. A column of smoke was rising over the walls, still visible in the dusk sky, as were the embers drifting up with it. His leg ached, and he wished he'd brought his cane. He had no desire to show weakness, however.

Renly rubbed at the scar on his face, the hairless furrow through his short, carefully groomed beard. Without the beard, his face, half paralyzed, looked almost grotesque. With it, he liked to think he looked like a battle hardened soldier.

It was at this point that Alester Florent ambushed him from around a corner, a couple of Florent guardsmen following him. Renly's hand shot to his sword on reflex, letting go when he saw who is was.

"Are you sure confining Selyse is the wisest decision?" Alester asked, stepping up to him. Since Stannis had left, the Master of Ships was doubling as a Master of Laws, temporarily taking over from Mace while he was up north with Stannis.

"Confining? It's for her own safety. Anyone could be an assassin." Renly said, playing the fool. After she'd come down with an unfortunate case of common sense and avoided the mob, he'd politely suggested that she remain in Maegor's holdfast under the watch of the most loyal men-at-arms and served by only the most trusted servants. The most loyal to and trusted by him, anyway. Any objections had been overridden.

"Including your own men, many of whom you have set to guard her. One of them nearly gutted you, from what I have heard. Besides, if she is in one known place, she could be an easier target."

"An unfortunate oversight. I'll be having all of my guards vetted for that. My stewardess is already working on it."

"Nonetheless, it is a risk-"

"It is the lesser of two evils. Until these most vile rumours are dispelled, she must be protected from both a third attack and the misguided but righteous mob."

"As you wish." Alester turned and walked off, his guards following.

I'll have to keep an eye on him. He had a few spies in Selyse's household-and he had no doubt she had a few in his-but none in the Master of Ship's personal household.

He made for the Tower of the Hand. A pair of Baratheon spearmen, both armoured, stood guard over the door, and he could see crossbowmen pacing on the wall. He found Margaery's rooms quickly enough. Brienne stood guard, her bulk further increased by the heavy plate she'd donned.

"She is in great pain, my lord. She refuses to take milk of the poppy. The Maester believes it could harm her baby."

Good. He'd had quite enough of milk of the poppy after the battle on the oceanroad. He'd sworn to never touch it again; strongwine and strongwine alone for him.

"Is her child unharmed?"

He'd heard of miscarriages caused by wounds. Margaeries child-his child-would be his heir, to Storm's End and perhaps the seven kingdoms.

"The Grandmaester says there is no sign of anything wrong with the pregnancy." Brienne said, opening the door for him. Margaery was lying on the bed, her arm heavily bandaged and splinted. Thankfully, she looked less pale than when she'd been returned to the red keep. Elinor sat by her side, while Maester Nymos was reading one of his books.

"Archmaester Edgerran's dissections of the muscles of the arm." Nymos explained.

Renly ignored him.

"Are you comfortable, my love?"

He almost cringed saying that.

Margaery propped herself up, visibly wincing as she moved her arm.

"Of course."

"Should I arrange to sup in your quarters?" Renly asked.

"Yes." Margaery said, her voice flat.

 

[Balaur]

She poked at her pea soup with her spoon, wincing in pain as her maimed hand reflexively moved to support the bowl. She still felt faint and dizzy, and every time someone entered the room, her heart caught in her throat and her eyes checked for a knife.

"How is your arm?" Renly asked. "Can you feel it?". There was concern in his voice, but it seemed affected, half hearted, like he was trying to gather information rather than give comfort.

"Not good. Nymos said not to move my fingers to avoid making it worse. It hurts. Constantly."

She wanted to lie back in her featherbed and cry herself to sleep. She'd nearly been butchered like swine, and her unborn child too, in the most sacred place in the seven kingdoms. There had been no warning, no time to brace her nerves like soldiers said they did, no nothing; just talking religion and politics one moment, then blood and iron the next. Tane had butchered three armed men with little more than a pocket knife and a hatchet. It still hadn't been enough to save her. She'd still nearly been gutted like the servants said Joffrey had gutted that cat, if not for Sace saving her. If the killer had been been a moment faster or Sace a moment slower…

She didn't let herself think about that.

"How did it feel after you were wounded? On the kingsroad?" she asked.

Renly seemed taken aback.

"I don't remember." he said. "I was unconscious for most of it. Milk of the poppy, you see."

Her arm accidently brushed the bedsheets and she nearly screamed in pain. She ground her teeth and continued. "Nymos offered me milk of the poppy… but he said it could be dangerous for babies…"

"A wise decision." Renly said quietly, ripping into his mutton. Margaery couldn't muster up the enthusiasm, but she stabbed up a turnip, wincing at the grease running down into her chemise.

"It was my fault they tried to kill me." Margaery suddenly blurted out, after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

"What? It couldn't be-"

"When you were off at war, I saw trouble brewing with Selyse and tried to avert it. I… offered to attend the nightfires, if Selyse would attend the Sept. It didn't work. Selyse didn't keep her side of the bargain, and when she realized I didn't want to convert, she said I was a spy. Or a demon worshipper. Something of the sort." She laughed weakly.

"And now a pack of seven worshippers try and kill me and lord husband, and kill the High Septon. I saw one with a rhllorite tattoo on his ankle"-she'd barely been able to notice it through the haze of pain and fear after the attack-"and the one who attacked you said something about being a rhllorite, didn't he?"

She briefly saw annoyance flash across Renly's face. "Who told you that?"

Guncer. Judging from the look she'd seen, he wasn't supposed to have told her that.

"A little bird." She lied.

Then Renly laughed, quick as that, any sign of anger gone. "Ah, even little birds know it was Selyse! She nearly had a mob accusing her shot down before Tane stopped her."

Seven above. She'd already managed to wheedle rumours about it from her servants, and had Elinor keep her abreast of going-ons in the rest of the keep, but to hear it confirmed…

She didn't know whether to be outraged or relieved. Outraged, because Tane might well have saved Selyse's life; relieved, because she didn't have the blood of dozens of smallfolk on her hands. As it was, two septons had died alongside the High Septon and people were dying on the streets.

At least she was alive.

"Most fortunate." she said, smiling faintly.

Renly nodded. "Mobs are sacking Rhllorite houses in the city. Thankfully, I've had her put under guard for her own protection."

"Good.". She'd have rathered they avoid confrontation with Selyse until they knew what was happening north of the wall, but if Selyse wanted to strike first…

It wouldn't be the first time House Tyrell had crushed upstart bannermen.

Or the last.

As she took another spoonful of her bowl of broth, she shifted, and her clumsy left hand caught on the bowl.

"Fudge!" she hissed in pain, some of the hot broth splashing across her chemise.

"I'll fetch the servants." Renly said, standing up to leave.

"Wait-" Margaery said.

"What?" Renly asked.

"I don't want to be alone." she said plaintively.

"You're injured..." Renly began.

"Obviously!" she snapped, then "Not in that way!" when she realized what he meant. She was too exhausted to be polite.

"So what do you want-"

"To not be alone." Margaery repeated.

"Well, you're not alone." Renly said carelessly, flopping down into his chair.

Your pregnant wife nearly got gutted by a madwoman's catpaw and you barely care?

She sat there for what seemed like an eternity, eating the remains of her meal, Renly looking supremely bored besides her. In public, he was all smiles and japes and gracious chivalry, but in private… it was as if he couldn't be bothered. She was his wife, not his friend or lover. He could take her allegiance for granted and didn't care about her affection. Normally, she wouldn't have minded, but now...

Half of her felt like slapping him. The other half felt like breaking down in tears.

Despite him sitting there, she'd never felt so alone in her life.

 

[Balaur]

"The guardsman who attacked Renly. When did he join?"

Brown Bill, one of Renly's sergeants, rubbed his head, trying to remember. "New Bill, hmm, a few weeks ago. Said he'd served with the garrison, the storm's end garrison, after the rebellion then was a sailor in the free cities for a while. Decided to head back to Westeros for reasons. Wasn't too clear on it. Kept to himself and seemed twitchy." Brown Bill shrugged. "Bad bloody call letting him into the household, I know."

"Was he a rhllorite?"

"A what now?"

"Follower of the red god. Red rahloo or whatever you call it."

"Ah." The old soldier stroked his salt-and-pepper moustache. "He never did go to the sept to pray with the other servants. Someone said they saw him at the nightfires, but not often."

Two rhllorites, then. And an Ironborn and two more thugs from god knows where. Renly had shared some of what he knew, and was already interrogating the surviving assassin, but she wanted independent confirmation. Torture as a basis for intelligence work was a waste of time and effort.

She tossed him a couple of gold dragons. "If you find out anything else, I'm all ears."

She'd already talked with Brella, the head of Renly's household, about the matter.

If it was Selyse's work, as the mob believed, then Selyse was quite good at cloak and dagger bullshit. Most of the killers seemed to have spent at least some time in Essos, just from their looks; and there were only two rhllorites amongst them. She must have sent agents to the free cities to prepare the team, then sent them to Westeros. Trying to put distance between herself and the killers.

Does she even have the brains for that? Selyse was as subtle as a poleaxe to the face, from what Tane had seen of her.

Granted, if I were in her position, I'd let a spymaster handle the details.

There was only one man alive who might know, and she'd have to move fast to get to him before the torture broke him. If they wanted this to not descend into another civil war, they'd have to either nail Selyse to the wall or clear her name. Even then…

Fucking Westerosi.

Then again, home wasn't much better.

Tane touched the brim of her hat in thanks, wincing as it chafed against the cuts on the back of her head, making the constant dull pain flare up into a sharp sting. The back of her head was shaved; easier to keep the cuts clean that way. The last thing she needed was getting a peasant plait made of blood.

The Red Keep was alive with soldiers. Her soldiers. Silvercloaks in jacks of plate, crossbows and arquebuses on their shoulders, patrolled the walls, while a squad of goldcloaks with spears stood guard over the gates. Baratheon guardsmen, mostly Storm's End men, would be keeping Selyse's chambers tightly guarded; sheep protected by feral dogs pretending to be sheepdogs. She could guess what Renly was planning. Isolating Selyse until he had the evidence he needed. Renly had organized one coup, he could organize another.

Boudace and a couple more Grenadiers padded after her, muskets loaded and bayonets fixed.

She wasn't getting caught with just a pocket knife again.

As she approached the maidenvault, she saw Gryff stride out, the burly Lieutenant-Captain already wearing his cuirass and buff coat.

She'd say it was the tension in the air, so thick it could be cut, but it was Gryff. The old soldier would probably find a way to attend a ball harnessed up and armed to the teeth.

"Someone wants to meet with you. They sent a runner." he began, getting right to business. He was a former NCO. It was in his bones to make sure his commander knew exactly what they needed to know, nothing more and nothing less.

"Who?" Tane asked.

"Didn't say who he was working for. Runner was one of the servants, Baratheon colours. Could be a trap."

"No shit."

"They said to meet their patron in the godwood. At midday."

Tane swore under her breath. "It could be a witness. Afraid to come forwards in public."

"Aye. It could be." Gryff agreed. "I'd bring backup. And armour. Just in case."

"No such thing as being too careful." Tane agreed. "Now, is there anything that came up at muster that needs looking at?"

Gryff was effectively the commander of the Horse-Grenadiers, but by Commonwealth custom, she was, as well as being a Captain-General of Westeros's nascent army, still their Captain.

"Tell Sace to send Margaery my regards. I see if I can make time to talk to her later." Tane said. "Oh, and ask Connor if he could have a look at her arm." Tane suspected that the company surgeon had rather more experience with dealing with aftermath of hack-and-slash than whatever surgeon-cum-historian-cum-advisor the Westerosi relied on.

*

Even the godswood wasn't free of watchers. She could see, in between the trees, armed men patrolling on the wall, their halberds and spears glinting in the midday sun. She searched through the trees, looking for her contact. If it was a trap, it was a poorly laid one. Their was only one way in or out of the godswood, and she had a full lance of Grenadiers loitering around the entrance. If anyone tried to kill her and was loud about it, they'd storm in. If they were quiet about it, well, she had no intention of letting herself be killed quietly.

She spotted a small man in a grey cloak, standing in the middle of a bloom of dark red flowers. Tane strode towards him, shrugging her cloak back to give her quick access to her blades and her pistols. Her jazerant was a shredded mess, so she wore her buff coat.

The man turned to face her. Davos Seaworth, the master of whispers. Figures.

"You asked for me?" Tane said. "That, or their's been an unfortunate mistake."

"No mistake." Davos said.

"What do you want to know about the killings?"

Davos shrugged. "Everything."

She started from the beginning. If she wanted to nail whoever had hired the killers to the cross-and she every intention of hammering the nails herself-they needed to share information as effectively as possible.

"So two Rhllorites and an Ironborn?" Davos questioned as she finished.

Tane nodded. "Renly mentioned that his one swore to Rhllor during the attack, and one of mine had a tattoo."

"I've had it put out that I want information on the activities of men matching their appearances around the docks. If I can work out when they entered the city and where they came from… well, it's a distant hope, but it's better than nothing. After those riots last night, I suspect I'll be wasting my time chasing Rhllorite merchants rather than any actual leads."

"Aye." Tane said. Intelligence work was tedious and often fruitless, but someone had to do it.

"Between you and me, do you think the queen ordered it?" Tane said.

Davos looked taken aback. "I'm a man of the Seven. If I had found out, I would have stopped it. And I'm good at finding these things out."

She could do the maths. Either Selyse was innocent, Selyse was far more competent than she seemed, or Davos was lying.

The middle option seemed thoroughly unlikely.

"I need a favour." Tane said.

"Yes?"

"As Master of Whispers, you'd have the best shot at getting me access to the prisoner. Bill or whatever he's called. Could you get me that? Renly's got him locked up tight. I need to get to him before the torture turns him into a gibbering wreck."

"And how would I do that?"

Tane shrugged. "You're master of whispers. Whisper in the right ears."