No Greater Fury: A Horse Grenadier company in Westeros

[Balaur]

The north lay still and silent.

Snow had fallen that night. It always did. Thicker and thicker it piled up, endlessly, a white blanket smothering the far north.

Or what remains of it. There had been little activity since that terrible night when the army of the dead had slaughtered the army of the living. Nothing; no four-footed beasts, no campfires, no hordes of the dead coming out of the forest to overwhelm the living.

There'd been another attack across the bridge of skulls, a stampede really, but that had routed under a hail of arrows and both the wildling survivors and the rangers sent to pursue them had never been heard from again. A steward, Sam, had made it back alive to there from Craster's keep and said he'd only barely evaded the armies of the dead, now marching north again. Or at least, that's what he'd heard from the rumour mill of Rangers returning from the long distance patrols that now prowled the top of the wall.

What do they want?

The optimist in him said that they wanted only to drive humans from their territory, their side of the wall, and although they had done it through terrible and sorcerous means it was all they aimed to do. The pessimist said they were regrouping and readying themselves to strike when the time was right.

"The reliefs should be up here any moment now." Satin said behind him, warming his hands over the fire. His face was red from the cold. His crossbow was propped up next to him, the black fletchings of his fire bolts poking out of his quiver. Eddard, as soon as he heard that the Wights were vulnerable to fire, had sent for fire arrows from Winterfell's stocks and set his men about making their own, while also asking about for sources of dragonglass. Every patrol that marched along the wall carried them, just in case.

Eddard's policy on the matter of the Others seemed to be to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

Lancel gave the dead wilderness another look over. It was the same as it had been for the last few hours since they'd taken sentry duty.

"More birds?" Satin asked, pointing at the sky.

Lancel looked up, and saw them. A wheeling flock, black stars against a cold blue sky and a pale sun. Flocks of birds were flying south for the winter constantly, but these seemed bigger and blacker than any he'd seen before.

"Are those ravens?" Satin suggested.

Lancel squinted at them. "Maybe."

"Do ravens even go south for the winter?" Pyp asked, pacing back and forth down the gravel-lined walkways. He said it helped keep the cold out.

Are they running from the cold, or the Others?

He shook his head, trying to ignore the gnawing fear at the back of his mind. Having an enemy in front of him he could fight would be an improvement. Knowing for sure that the threat was gone, even better. But this waiting and uncertainty…

"The reliefs are coming up!" Grenn shouted from behind him, followed by muttering something about leeches. Bolton men. Lancel nodded. "Gather up your equipment and try and look sharp." He did his best to channel the sergeants of the household troops he'd seen, back before he'd been sent north. He'd been appointed the leader of his little squad of watchmen, though he scarcely had any responsibility.

The Bolton soldiers clambered off the staircase and spread out, replacing the Night's watchmen who'd taken morning duty. They were hard men in furs and ringmail, longbows and spears and wicked looking long axes over their shoulders. Many had shields emblazoned with flayed men slung over their backs.

What kind of sick bastard takes a flayed man for a sigil?

One of them-Lancel vaguely recognized him as steelshanks-glanced at him. "Stark wants every man of the Night's Watch gathered down below, boy."

What does he want me for now?

He shook the thought out of his head. "Let's get down below and get ourselves warmed up."

*

Eddard was waiting in the great hall, alongside his lords and the surviving officers of Castle Black-Bowen Marsh, the new Lord Commander, chief amongst them, when Lancel arrived. Few enough of the great host of lords Eddard had brought with him were here. Most had returned to their homes with orders to prepare for war and winter, and others had been spread out amongst the other castles of the Night's Watch.

Lancel breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he wasn't being singled out.

"I know since the wildlings were slaughtered, there has been little sign of enemies living or dead in the north. But the army of the dead is out there. Some of you have seen it. Some of you have fought it and lived."

Eddard took a breath and continued.

"Some houses have boasts as their sigil. Hear us roar. Ours is the Fury. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. Mine has a warning. Winter is coming. Here in the north, we know what happens when winter falls. Grief and death and suffering, but in the end, summer always comes again."

"All of you know that if thedescend upon the wall, you are all that stand in their way. This is what you were founded for. Not to fight raiders and savages, but the true enemy. The Long Night gathers and your watch begins. You are the shield that guards the realm of men, you are the watchers on the wall!"

A few men cheered, but most were silent. He can't have gathered us here just for that…

"King Stannis Baratheon, First of his Name, has arrived safely at Eastwatch. He will likely be here within the week, bearing supplies of dragonglass and blackfire."

Then Eddard continued. "Stannis Baratheon will be bringing supplies of Dragonglass from Dragonstone. I have heard contradictory reports on what can and cannot kill Wights or Others or White Walkers, and I do not know if they are retreating or advancing or biding their time. I want one last ranging, beyond the wall. I want to know what the Others are doing, and what weapons are effective against them. I will not order men to do this. I want only volunteers, men of proven courage. Any who volunteer should know that they might very well be going to their deaths. I would have preparation begin before Stannis arrives."

A murmur of shock went over those assembled.

He wants us to go to our deaths.

For a few moments longer, silence reigned.

He doesn't want us to die. He wants us to find out what we face and return alive.

The Watch had given him a second chance at life after he had ruined his first. He intended to repay them.

"I'll volunteer" Lancel said, stepping forwards and raising his hand.

 

[Balaur]

"You have the warrant?" Tane asked, standing in the shade of the red keep's gardens. Boudace nodded. "Davos had it delivered to me personally."

The page girl passed Tane the document. She checked it, skimming over the alien Westerosi script that she could read only by a miracle. Her eyes settled on the end. Captain-General Tane Bayder hereby has right to interview the prisoner, and take his confession should he give one…

It was signed in a halting hand by Davos, and in a clean, courtly one by Alester Florent.

That was a mistake. Alester was connected to Selyse, the soon-to-be accused. That would make Renly or a perceptive guard less likely to give her access to the prisoner.

She tucked the message into her valise. "I should be going." Boudace walked after her.

"You know, you're old enough to hold a commission, and Sace said you did well guarding Margaeries handmaidens during the attack. What would say to being commissioned cornet?"

"Would you really?" Boudace asked.

Tane shrugged. "Lord knows I was barely older than you when I first saw combat. You've got a good head on your shoulders and I want to free up Sace as a Lieutenant."

She made her way down into the dungeons quickly enough, blowing through the first group once she showed them the letter.

Renly will find out, and Renly will be pissed. She decided she didn't care. The bastards had tried to gut a pregnant, unarmed civilian. They'd have killed her too. She wanted to know who did it, and it was them she wanted to make pay, not whoever a tortured man's half-mad ravings said it was. If Renly wanted to obstruct her, that was his problem.

She went down further, into the bowels of the dungeon. Second level. One of the gaolers led the way. Not, thankfully, Varys doppelganger.

The guards on the cell-both alert, upright and harnessed up-stopped her when she approached.

"No one is to see the prisoners without Renly's express permission. A precaution after what happened to Tommen and Myrcella, you see. Besides that, the prisoner is… resting. He's quite exhausted." The gaoler said.

They're already torturing him.

"I have written backing."

"From Renly?"

Tane shook her head. "Small council. Davos Seaworth, Master of Whispers. Alester Florent, Master of Ships."

"Show me the message." One of them said.

Tane paused for a moment, then passed it to him.

His eyes flicked down the scroll.

"Not Renly. You shall not pass and all that."

"She's been with Renly since the beginning." The other soldier said. "And Davos saved my bloody arse back in the siege. We can trust them-"

She recognized his voice. Brown Bill, the one she'd talked to the day after the attack.

"If they're supposed to have access to the prisoner, why didn't Renly sign-" the first one said.

Tane shrugged. "Davos wanted me to carry out my own investigation. He's Master of Whispers, I'm sure he has his reasons."

"Let her in." Brown Bill said, unlocking the door. She lifted her lantern, trying to look at the man in the cell.

He was a ruin of a man. His shoulder joints were swollen, and his left hand was bandaged. His short beard was unkept, and the stench of shit hit her like a poleaxe blow.

Christ-Horus, Renly's lot didn't fuck around.

He raised his eyes to look her in the eyes, then flinched back. "I already told you everything! I told you, it was a Westerosi man! He wanted to-"

"I'm not here to torture you." Tane said, shutting the door behind herself. She regretted not leaving her weapons with the guards. If the prisoner got her dagger, he could try and take her hostage.

"You're not him-"

"No."

"Then who are you!" the man said, cringing back against the wall of the cell.

"You know what. You tell me why your friends tried to kill me, I tell you how well your friends did. Let's start. I'm Captain-General Tane Bayder. So they obviously failed to kill me."

"How did you-"

Tane shrugged. "Mail. Clasp knife. They still managed to give me a memento on the back of my head. Now, why did they try and kill me?"

"It was for the service of Rhllor! "

Oh, fuck me, he's a right frother.

"I want to talk to you because I want to know why your friends tried to kill me, set off a riot that got half a dozen people killed and nearly got the Queen to slaughter her own citizens. Did you organize this yourself?".

"Why should I tell you?" the man spat, regaining some measure of his composure when he realized that she was alone and was unlikely to drag him off to the torture chambers.

Tane shrugged. "You can tell me honestly or tell the dogfuckers who are going to keep torturing you till you tell them what they want. Your choice."

This was a mistake, she realized. He'd already been tortured, she no real leverage to use on him, and not enough other information to reference against what he was saying.

"I was told that the faithful needed their enemies slain in the place of my birth, and I rose to the call."

"Who told you?"

"A Westerosi man. A knight." he said.

"Where?"

"Across the sea. The Red God has faithful on all three continents."

"That covers quite a lot of territory."

"He met me in Tyrosh."

"Margaery was injured. She'll survive, and the child too. What did the man look like?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because it's either expose the real culprits off in Essos, beyond our reach or risk having every Rhllorite in the city slaughtered as people flail about for someone to blame. The people think it's the Rhllorite merchants doing, you know."

"He was a tall man. Old. Scarred."

"His name?"

"He didn't tell me."

"Did you have any other accomplices?"

"Why should I-"

"Do you want to know if the High Septon lived or died?"

"We arrived in the city, I got into Renly's household. We didn't look for accomplices because someone might give us away."

Someone knocked on the door outside, and she heard Boudace's voice, muffled and distorted by the door.

"High Septon died, by the way."

She knocked on the door and shouted for someone to let her out.

The guards did, and she came face to face with a short, well groomed man in a green doublet.

"You don't have permission to see him." The man said.

"Well, I've already seen him, so that doesn't seem all that relevant." Tane said, stepping out and shutting the cell door behind her. "Unless you're going to say that the Captain-General of your army with the backing of the Master of Whispers can't see a vital prisoner but some turnkey can."

"Orders of the Hand of the King."

"As you wish." Tane said, reluctantly. She'd have preferred to be able to do this properly, but she couldn't risk a serious confrontation with Renly by defying him openly rather than going behind his back, and she already had useful information.

Tyrosh.

If he wasn't lying, Davos was right. This was planned out overseas. Either Selyse had suffered a sudden outbreak of common sense, or one of the exiles across the narrow sea had a hand in this pot.

 

[Balaur]

"I heard you managed to get the assassin to talk." Renly said, limping towards Tane as she pulled off her pierced steel goggles and handed her foil to Boudace. Gared had told him all the details about her going behind his back.

"He didn't say much of worth." Tane said, turning to face him. "Has he told you anything yet?"

Renly could tell she was lying. "Bits of this, bits of that. I'll get a confession soon enough."

Tane snorted. "Not if you kill him first. Or if he just makes it up to stop the pain."

"I have only my best men working on this. He won't get away with lying." Renly said.

"Better be pretty good, then." Gryff said, the burly lieutenant walking over to Tane's side. "The song they'll sing is whatever song they want you to. Trust me, I've tried enough times."

"Torture has served well enough in the past." Renly said. He considered launching into her for going behind his back, but that would just confirm her suspicions. No, patience and humility were what was needed. "No doubt Ser, or should I say Lord, Seaworth had his reasons for not telling me."

"I'll be sure to warn of the interogators of your concerns, though." He added. He glanced about at the group she had around her, many in their buff coats and hefting singlesticks or foils. Besides the Grenadiers and Silvercloaks, he noticed Taena Merryweather talking to Davos, of all people.

He knew Merryweather was having an affair with Tane, and that Davos must have worked with her to get her into the dungeons, but what on earth those two were doing talking to each other…

*

"He confessed." Gared said simply, setting a sheaf of papers down on the guardroom table.

Renly smiled. "Excellent. Three things. Firstly, I am unaware that the confession happened at this hour. Secondly, you will deliver the confession to me in the middle of the feast to celebrate Margaeries survival."

He wanted to make a public spectacle of this, one where he had no choice but to arrest Selyse before the eyes of gods and men. That would minimize the risk to Loras and the other Reachers he'd taken north. And if Stannis retaliates, he'll be the attacker.

"That was two things."

"Oh, even the most learned men forget things sometimes. And I have many virtues, but I wouldn't say great learning is one of them. It would be very useful if evidence of someone getting wind of the plot in Selyse's circle and trying her to put a stop to it but being ignored were to surface. Very useful."

Gared grinned openly. "You want me to take over the spider's web."

"You're already looking at a manse for this service, you know. A good position as a justicar. Davos was a smuggler and now a knight. And you're from a respectable family. You could do far better."

He stood up. "I need to finalize preparations for the feast."

"I always fancied myself a castle." Gared said.

And I always fancied myself a kingdom. Seems like dreams have a habit of coming true lately.

*

That night, Selyse sat at the head of the table, the big woman half a head taller than him. She was glowering, poking at her food.

He seemed to be the only one that was happy at the "celebration."

Margaery was clumsy and awkward eating one handed, her other hand splinted-it might have to be like that for months, the Maester said, if he wanted the stitches on the tendons to take. Renly wasn't quite sure how the hell that worked-didn't flesh wounds normally only weeks to heal?-but it seemed serious.

Tane was in her leather buff coat, and had worn, as usual, both rapier and dagger. With no hat on, her shaved head and the inflamed gashes down the back of her head were clear to all. Her other officers, Gryff and Sace and Bydevere and the Silvercloak captains were clustered around her, like a herd of auroch closing ranks. Davos and Taena were both part of the group as well. That raised an eyebrow. Taena, he knew, had been having an on-and-off affair with Tane for quite some time now, but Davos?

Signed by Davos Seaworth and Alester Florent. That was what Gared had warned him about the warrant Tane had used to get at the prisoners. Seven above, she's hopped into bed with the bloody Florents.

Why, though? He'd raised her up from leader of a mob of foreign sellswords to commander of Westeros's nascent army. He'd like to think some gratitude was in order.

Doesn't matter. Once that confession is read out to me, I've have no choice but to arrest our dear queen and sit her before a court.

This was going to be an enjoyable night, he decided.

He bolted down half the roast, but didn't drink anymore than was strictly necessary. He was going to need his wits about him if something. They stood up for dancing. It was thoroughly desultory. There were far more men than women; only Margaeries handmaids, Sace, and half a dozen other Courtiers wives and daughters. He danced with Margaery once or twice, slowly and carefully, then once the music picked up took his leave. Better that than embrassing himself.

"A most urgent message for the hand of the King!" someone called. Renly turned, just as a manservant came striding through the crowd, a letter in his hands. Renly took it, unrolled it, and read it slowly, reminding himself not to mouth the words.

"Item: I was recruited into the faith by the Red Priest Quellos of Myr. I was then but a humble sellsword…"

Renly skimmed over it. Rambling, mostly, about his career as a sellsword. The torturers were thorough. The scribes too.

"Item: I was alongside four others, all of us faithful, hired by a man who called himself the red knight. He said he had been sent by certain highly placed persons to kill all those who opposed the one true king and the one true faith."

"Item: When in King's Landing, I took a position in Renly's guard so as to be close to him. I attended the nightfires while I was there, and greatly admired Selyse. I told her at the nightfires I had great plans to do service for the faith, and she smiled and told me she was glad the faith had such experienced warriors in it's service. Later, she told me that she wished someone would rid her of the meddlesome Margaery."

"Item: We were planning to kill only Renly and the High Septon, but when we found out about the meeting, we postponed it for a day to kill Margaery and Tane too, in order to please Her Grace."

Half his face, for the briefest instance, smiled.

Then the fury took him.

"The assassin confessed, and the bastard accuses the queen of the Seven Kingdoms of being accessory to the murder of the High Septon and the vile attack on my beloved! Either he is a liar, or the Queen is!"

Selyse pulled up to her full height, looming over him. "How dare you slander me! I had no part in this treason!"

"You had better not, otherwise there is no hell cold enough for you." Renly snarled.

"A follower of the lord of light would never indulge in such treason! You are deceived by the Great Other!"

"No, you are the one taken by the Others." A man said firmly. Renly glanced back. Septon Ollius. "Given to the worship of demons, you would lead all of us astray, and bring the cold and the dead down on us for our sins. The old laws of the faith say the punishment for apostasy is death. By the laws of men, the punishment for treason is death." He was part of the gaggle of lesser Septons seated below the Most Devout.

"That it is. Guards! Arrest her for murder and treason! Either these vile accusations shall be disproven, or she will face the consequences of breaking the laws of gods and men."

 

[Balaur]

Bugger. Me. Sideways.

She could scarcely believe what had just happened. Selyse Baratheon surrounded by armed Tyrell guards. Shireen sobbing in fear, Elinor running over to comfort her. Septon Ollius lecturing the Most Devout on how he had warned them of the Rhllorite threat.

Her own fingers itched, ready to go for rapier and dagger the second the violence that seemed to hang heavy in the air broke. Then instinct and training and hard experience took over. "Bywater, get the troops mustered and ready to go. If rioting breaks out, put it down. Minimal force would be preferable, but if necessary…"

He nodded. "And if someone tries to seize the red keep?"

"That's what the Grenadiers are for. Take whichever side the buff coats are on. Gryff, get everyone gathered up. Boots and saddles right fucking now."

"Right fucking now." Gryff agreed, yelling for Sace to come with him.

Bloody hell, Renly. If the bastard was as good at seizing opportunities on the battlefield as he was at court, he'd have conquered more than Arthur and Aegon put together. She'd linked up Taena and Davos, hoping they could pool their contacts to see what players had agents in Tyrosh and what they'd been up to, but that would take months. Months they didn't have now that the prisoner had confessed and Renly had moved.

"…I want all Selyse's handmaidens questioned, gently…" Renly was saying, rattling off orders to a sergeant of guards. Margaery stood up, uncertainly, and marched over to Selyse, waving aside a pair of guards that tried to block her. "Why?" she hissed. "I only ever tried to make peace!"

What the hell-

"I knew you were a liar!" Selyse snarled back. "All of you! Trying to seduce me to false gods, trying to frame me for this terrible attack!" She struggled against the guards trying to wrench free, but one of them tugged her to her knees, using her arm as a lever.

She glanced about for Davos. He had already vanished. Taena was hanging at the back of the crowd that now surrounded the drama. "Where did Davos go?" Tane asked.

"Oh, no idea. He just up and left." she answered, somehow keeping her "sultry" accent-an accent Tane knew to be affected-even as the hall descended into chaos.

Tane swore under her breath. If Davos was trying to organize a coup…

There's more Storm's End and Highgarden men than Florents, but he might be counting on my allegiance…

It had worked out well enough as a strategy the night of the coup.

She glanced about for Gryff or Sace. They'd already left. Renly turned around and strode over to her, his limp barely noticeable. "Master Sallereon was named as paying for the killer's accommodation. He's a smith on the street of steel, has a pair of hammers hanging above his shop. I want him arrested."

"You want a man named in a confession acquired under torture arrested, in the dead of night, by a General?" Tane asked, eyebrow raised.

It had only taken a few years and a miracle to go from being a doorkicker par excellence to such things being beneath her.

Renly shrugged. "Yes. He's a witness, and I know I can rely on you to get results."

He's trying to sideline me, get me out of the keep so I can't back the Florent's if they do something stupid.

"I'll get a silvercloaks detachment after him as fast as possible" Tane said. "Do you have his address?"

"No, I'll send a goldcloak to you." Renly said.

Tane nodded and turned away, throwing on her cloak before braving the cold. She knew the Red Keep like the back of her hand by now. Get to the troops, get organized. Take this Sallereon prisoner and keep him well away from Renly's torturers. Taena rustled after her. "I'd go to your chambers and lock the door if I were you." Tane said. "It only takes one drawn sword to turn this sort of thing into a bloodbath."

She hoped to the triad that the Westerosi would see sense. They were surrounded by enemies, Stannis had Mace and Loras with him, hostages against Renly and the Tyrells the moment something went wrong, while Renly had the loyalty of two of the major provinces and tens of thousands of soldiers. Neither brother or their supporters could move against the other without unacceptable risk.

Unfortunately, Westerosi weren't known for their ability to see sense.

Her eyes were flitting towards doorways, corners, windows, trying to cover every angle at once. At night, with no armour, no horse, only an unarmed civilian with her and things this tense, she felt almost naked. If only that jazerant wasn't being remade…

"I'd rather be with the people with swords, in that case." Taena answered.

The spirit of a true camp follower. If you couldn't avoid the maniacs with swords completely, or be one yourself, best stay close and make yourself useful.

"The plan you made with Davos was good." Tane said. Use her contacts in Myr to nose around Petyr, see how he reacted to the failure of the attacks. See if he seemed prepared for this happening. It would take time to pay off, the evidence was circumstantial, and there was no guarantee it would work. It was the best they had, though. Davos had been planning on doing something about the dragons as well, but there seemed little time for that.

She saw movement in the corner of her eyes. Half a dozen men without torches, stalking through the moonlight.

Someone yelled "Who goes there!" and the men fanned out, hands going to sword hilts.

Shit.

The maidenvault was less than a hundred yards away, lits up by torches flickering as her soldiers prepared themselves inside.

"In the name of your king, halt!" the same man yelled again. He stood alone, silhouetted in the doorway of the tower, a halberd over his shoulder.

"Go to the vault and get troops back here." Tane said to Merryweather. "Watchword is Kludda". She switched between Westerosi and Brythwic without even thinking, her native tongue seeming more foreign to her now than one planted in her mind by a miracle. Taena took off at a fast walk, lifting her skirts to avoid getting them tangled. Tane slid in closer to the wall, sticking to the shadows, loosening her rapier in it's hilt.

"Tell me what you want you with the rookery and maybe I'll think about it." The guard on the door said.

"To inform King Stannis and Selyse's kin of these most terrible events."

"I have my orders. No one gets into the rookery who does not bear the seal of the hand of the king."

"I am acting in the name of the king. I rather think he outranks Renly." the group's leader answered. She'd heard him before, though she couldn't quite place it.

"King Stannis, yes. Who is also who M'lord is acting in the name of." The guard growled back.

She heard the Florent men grumbling and swearing, even from this distance.

Then someone stepped forward, right into the guards face.

"In the name of King Stannis, stand asi-" the soldier yelled.

The guard slammed the haft of his halberd across his chest, knocking him back, and then a blade flashed in the torchlight and there was the familiar clack of wood on steel and all hell broke loose.

"HOLD! STAND DOWN!" Tane roared, drawing rapier and dagger automatically, without thinking.

They didn't hear it, or didn't care, too busy fighting against the lone halberdier.

"YOU HEARD THE FUCKING GENERAL! STAND DOWN!" Gryff bellowed, running up to her side, half a dozen armed and armoured grenadiers with him, just as the Florents started to surge forwards into the tower, attacking the halberdier two or three to one.

"HOLD!" Tane roared again, then "Fire over their heads!"

Even a volley from a single lance left her momentarily deaf.

Most of them stopped, stunned. She heard faint screaming.

"Listen!" the man yelled, running over to her, waving his hands. She vaguely recognized him as Imry Florent, oversized ears and all. "I need to tell Stannis of this, the Tyrells struck first, they have framed the queen. I know I can rely on your support. We need to stop Renly before this goes too far."

There's no easy way out of this. Support Renly, support this idiot, get fucked either way.

"No, you can't." She glanced at the men lurking around the doorway, watching the halberdier intently, about to strike at a moments notice. She could hear yelling, and saw Tyrell men with spears and crossbows advancing in the corner of her vision.

"If I were you, I would have gotten the fuck out of here while I still had the chance. You've wasted that chance."

I wouldn't have. Not truly. I would have fought.

She glanced at Gryff.

I would have died.

"Arrest him!" she barked.

"What! I-" Imry began, his eyes going wide as a pair of grenadiers advanced, his hand reaching for his sword.

Tane was faster, and her blade was already drawn.

The needle point of her rapier hovered an inch from his throat as he let go of his half drawn sword, the weapon sliding back into the scabbard under the power of gravity. The Florent men were backing away, looking to their swords as Gryff barked for the company to reload.

The Florents left her no other option. Another bloody coup over even less than what had seen the House of Lannister overthrown and the near guarantee of war, or throw him overboard and hope she could pin down the attackers in court.

 

[Balaur]

Gods be good, being a Lord is hard work Robb thought as he decreed that a workman injured making fire arrows should be compensated for his injuries.

At least that's the last one. He gave Vayon Poole his thanks for his assistance, dismissed the court, and set out for the training yards. After all that talking, he needed a good fight. He was good at fighting. Not so much at ruling.

Theon met him halfway, chatting up a servant, leaning over her. Robb shook his head, laughing under his breath. "Want to go train?"

Theon shrugged. "Sure."

He blew the servant a kiss. She flushed and looked away.

He padded off, Grey Wind at his side, finding Rodrik Cassel quickly enough, and piled into his padded armour, then made off to the training yard. He could hear hoofbeats mixed into the noise of wood on wood.

When he saw what was going on as he rounded the corner, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Arya and Bran, in thrown together training armour, were making passes at each other on horseback with wooden swords. Bran had been strapped onto his horse, Dancer, while Meera was watching, shouting advice. She'd come north to pledge their allegiance to House Stark, and nowadays Arya worshipped the ground Meera walked on almost as much as she worshipped Syrio and that Bayder woman he'd heard so much about.

"What on earth are they-" Theon began.

"Your people like to fight on horses. I figured Arya should learn to do that." A short, hook nosed man with an unplaceable accent said, stepping out of the shadows. Syrio Forel. They'd dropped the ruse of him being her dancing master months ago. Arya said that if the Mormonts, Meera, the Genians and Brienne-the woman who'd saved the hand of the King's life on the Oceanroad-could be fighters, so could she. Robb couldn't be bothered arguing with her and besides, when he'd sparred with Syrio, the man had taught him more than a few useful tricks. Catelyn had objections, but Arya had insisted that Father had hired Syrio so it was alright.

"Bran, he can't, it's too dangerous-" Robb began to say.

"Luwin said we could do it. To cheer Bran up." Arya said, trotting up to him. She looked down from horseback, peering through the bars of her training helm. She looked more like a page boy than a noble girl. "He's been having bad dreams again." Meera added, the short, wiry girl watching them with a wooden trident over her shoulder.

Bran often woke up screaming, from visions of a three eyed crow telling him to go north and of hordes of the dead slaughtering their way south, of a one eyed man with seaweed in his hair blowing a great horn and the world dying like a man fallen into icy water.

He knew. He knew what was coming. And if some of the visions where true, what of the others?

Robb shook the thought out of his head. That was Father's problem, not his own. He was to rule winterfell, be the lord of the North, while Eddard protected them from whatever in the seven hells was going on north of the wall.

Something jerked in the corner of Robb's vision and he turned and saw Wylis staring at his hands, mumbling to himself under his breath. He'd suddenly stopped being, well, Hodor a few weeks before the King had arrived at Winterfell. He still hadn't recovered his wits, though.

"I saw a kraken killing a dragon last night." Bran helpfully added, glancing nervously at Theon.

Theon grinned. "Well, they do say that there are dragons in the east. Mayhaps I could shoot one between the scales."

Robb laughed. "I'd put more money on getting one through the eye with a lance."

"That would depend on the rider being dumb enough to land in the presence of warriors such as ourselves." Theon said, thumping himself on the breastplate and grinning broadly.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face a manservant. "Robb, Rodrik, you need to meet with Catelyn in her rooms right now. Theon can wait here."

"What's going on?"

"I don't know." The servant said. "But it seems serious"

*

"Balon Greyjoy is dead. Euron has proclaimed himself King of the Ironborn. I don't know who this letter was from. Some lordling hostile to Euron, no doubt." Maester Luwin explained, passing Robb a letter. Catelyn's face was grave as she watched him read.

…Ironborn ships are gathering. Euron Greyjoy has usurped the rightful inheritance of Theon Greyjoy, calling him a Greenlander, and Asha, saying that a daughter may come before an uncle in Greenlander laws, but a woman may never sit the seastone throne. Many dispute his claim. Theon has the best claim to the Iron Islands. Release him and you may yet avert a war…

The letter was signed only A well-wisher of the true lord of the Iron Islands.

"Who is Euron? One of Balon's brothers? The one who burnt the Lannister fleet in the rebellion?" Robb asked. Gods be good, this is bad. If this came to war…

Theon was almost a brother. Losing Jon to the wildlings was bad enough, but having to behead him by his own hand…

"All I know of him is that he was exiled for reasons unknown, and that he did indeed plan the attack on Lannisport. He also returned immediately after Balon died. That is auspicious timing." Luwin said.

"Theon is our only leverage. Release him, and Euron has no reason not to attack." Rodrik said behind him.

"Considering how Euron is an usurper, I do not think he cares about his family overmuch …" Robb said.

"Rodrik is right. Releasing Theon is too dangerous." Mother said.

"Why so? We cannot afford another Greyjoy rebellion! Father needs to focus on the Wall, and Stannis on the dragons. If Theon can depose this Euron and take his rightful place, he could well stop this madness!" Robb answered, surprised at the anger creeping into his voice.

"He could very well launch a revolt of his own. Or Euron could have him killed or imprisoned." Luwin said.

"No man is accursed as the kinslayer. Euron wouldn't dare, and if he did, all his allies would desert him."

"Euron most likely killed his brother. Why else Balon die just as he returns from exile? What is a nephew to that, especially if he can claim Theon as a puppet?" Luwin explained.

Robb leaned over the table, trying to think it through. He couldn't send Theon to his death. He couldn't keep him here and be forced to execute a dear friend, almost a brother. He couldn't lose their leverage over the Ironborn. He couldn't let Euron start a war. He couldn't…

Eddard left me in charge of Winterfell. Not the North and not the realm.

Stannis would be arriving at the wall soon, or might already be there. He knew that much from the ravens he'd received.

"Send the letter to Eddard. Ask him what he would have us do. Theon doesn't leave the castle without trusted men watching him. Don't tell him why, find excuses."

"And if he finds out about this?"

Robb gulped. He couldn't do this.

I have to. I'm a man grown.

"Have him confined to his chambers. Keep him unharmed. Tell him that the Ironborn might rebel, but that if it comes to it I have no intention of executing him."

"And if you have to kill him anyway?" Catelyn asked.

I'll pray to the old gods and the new that I never have to find out.

 

[Balaur]

The crack of gunshots echoed across the red keep.

"What was that? Is there fighting?" she asked, glancing at Brown Bill.

Gods be good, this really has gone to the Seven Hells.

"I don't know." The sergeant answered.

She strained her ears, and realized she could hear, faintly through the walls of the hall, yelling voices and steel on steel.

Her heart dropped. She'd hoped they'd be able to serve justice to Selyse without fighting, but now…

It doesn't matter. Stannis took the bulk of the Florent and Dragonstone men north, while Renly has all the Storm's End men and some of the Tyrells here. And the Grenadiers and watch should have our side.

"Two spears, two crossbows covering each door. Get ten men formed up in the center of the hall as a reserve. The rest protect the ladies. Get to it NOW!" Brown Bill yelled. Brienne drew her sword and put herself between Margaery and the door closest to the shots, a strange look in her eyes.

"What's going on?" Shireen asked, sitting by the corner of the hall, a pair of armed Storm's End men standing over her. The fear in her eyes was palpable.

Maiden above, Selyse, why did you have to do this to your daughter?

The bloody madwomen.

She heard another shot, this one not a full volley, then a bloodcurdling scream. She shuddered as she remembered the horror of seeing her arm cut, the septon's throat opened, Sace gunning down the killer…

"Your mother has been accused of trying to kill your uncle and me, and your uncle arrested her." Margaery said, keeping her voice from trembling. It came out more patronizing than she would have liked.

"I know that. She doesn't like you, but she wouldn't try and kill you. If not liking someone made you try to kill them, everyone would be a murderer." Shireen said. "She'll be proven innocent. You'll see."

No, she won't be. She had both cause and means to try and kill her, and now there was a confession. It was only a matter of time.

The night dragged on for an eternity, waiting in the hall.

A Horse Grenadier arrived, rattling off "skirmish with Imry's men, nothing serious; two of them dead, the rest captured." before leaving just as quickly.

Renly came and went, making a show of concern for her that whistled past her like wind. Once, Alester turned up, told them all very firmly that he had no idea about Selyse's treason or Imry's foolishness and that all the soldiers who had tried to take part in his treachery would be punished, then left again.

Septon Ollius turned to her. "I am sorry for the High Septons fate and your injuries." The lean, long bearded man seemed decrepit, but his eyes were alert and calculating.

"The new High Septon shall be as worthy as his predessescor, I pray." Margaery answered.

"That is no high bar to clear, I am afraid." Olius said, with a shake of his head. "The Faith has been much given over to corruption as of late."

Margaery gasped in shock, half feigned, at his frankness. Part of her didn't disagree, though. The faith in King's Landing was corrupt, too given over to luxury.

Not all of them, of course. Septon Samwise with his orphanage. Septon Tywin-that was his inauspicious name, she had learnt-who had died saving her life in the Great Sept. Dear old Septon Garrett back at Highgarden. But many of them needed a truly pious leader to restore the faith.

"Septon Petyr is a truly devout man, and has given generously to the poor. He would be a fine choice." Margaery said.

"He refuses to nominate himself. He believes himself unworthy." Septon Ollius said. "Septon Ollidor is the current favourite."

"He seems decent enough, from what little I know of him." Margaery answered.

Ollius shrugged. "I've heard all sorts of interesting things about him, you know."

"What sort of things?"

"Things not fit for repeating in polite company."

"I see."

She would have to familiarize herself more with faith politics, it seemed.

*

"Renly says the Holdfast is under control…" Brown Bill said.

"We need to get back to the tower. You're barely on your feet and my eyes are half shut." Elinor agreed. "There hasn't been any sign of fighting. And if there is, we'll be safer there."

Margaery yawned, then nodded. "Take anyone who wants protection as well."

It seemed the decent thing to do, and besides, hostages never hurt in the case of things going horribly wrong. Septon Ollius accompanied them.

They set out moving at the center of a huddle of household men, spears and crossbows and long two-handed axes covering every angle of attack while her own handmaidens and the others at the feast-at least those who hadn't vanished at some point or another like Taena or Davos-clustered at the center.

"There's men carrying a body over there." Someone muttered. Margaery turned to look, and saw them then; four men in Storm's End colours carrying what looked like corpses draped in white sheets, dark stains showing against the linen in the torch light.

"Imry's men!" one of the corpse-carriers called out. "They tried to storm the rookery!"

So that was what he was trying at.

Then they passed out of sight. Five lives, this has claimed so far. Nine if you count the assassins.

More than that. People had died in the riots, at least half a dozen that she knew of.

She found Renly waiting at the base of the tower, his sword belted on and guardsmen around him.

"Is the keep safe?" Brienne asked, disentangling herself from the group of Tyrell guardsmen.

"Imry's little treason has been dispatched thanks to a certain captain. I think you can guess which one." Renly said. Margaery could tell he was reminding himself not to smile. That tended to look rather more gruesome than it had before his wounding.

"Good. The enemies of the faith have faced the Father's swift judgement, I see." Septon Ollius said, stepping past a leading guardsman.

"And who would you be?" Renly asked, glancing at Ollius.

"A godly man." he answered, "who would greatly appreciate an audience with the hand."

"Of course." Renly said.

 

[Balaur]

He felt the cold in his bones like he'd never felt it before. Not even in the deepest of the winters he'd lived through, when it had snowed in the marches of Dorne, had the snow reached these depths.

Is the wall always like this?

After all, this was the furthest north he'd ever been, and winter was setting in.

But still. Dear Margaery, having seen the living hand, was convinced that the dead were coming. He had thought it paranoia, old stories and some wildling witches tricks, but then he'd heard from witnesses what had happened. An entire Wildling army dead and vanished overnight, the Night's Watch put to rout by dead men, the slaughter at Hardhome that the men of Eastwatch had found when they'd tried to scout along the coast.

The Long Night was coming again, and he would have to face it. Not just himself; his sons, better men than himself; his daughter, cleverer than a fox and more beautiful than the dawn, his loyal lords, the hundreds of thousands of peasants and townsfolk, knights and men-at-arms, who called him lord.

The news from the south was not good, of course. The High Septon dead? Margaery wounded? He had insisted on turning south, but that was not an acceptable to Stannis.

"Renly can deal with the threat against himself. That is why I made him Hand. I shall deal with the threat to the entire realm." The King had said.

Mace had bristled and fumed, but ultimately, Stannis was right.

"Lord Tyrell." A man said behind him, breaking him out of his thoughts. Randyll Tarly. "Stannis is calling the small council."

The very small council. Half of them, after all, where in the south.

"What for?"

"Grave news from the south. Lord Baratheon has arrested Selyse for the murder of the High Septon."

"Oh. Oh dear."

Good riddance. Selyse was an unpleasant at best fanatic who had an unhinged grudge against his daughter. And now, if this was true…

She was in the same category as Cersei. Worse, even. He hoped she shared in the same fate.

They found Stannis in the Ranger's Hall, alongside Lord Sunglass, Melisandre, and the Grenadier witch Morgan, dressed in her breeches and buff coat with sword and dagger on her belt. Her black hair was tied back, and her face was expressionless, revealing nothing. Stannis's face, of course, was his obligatory scowl, while Melisandre had a look on her face that screamed I told you so.

"My wife has been arrested by my brother for ordering the wounding of my goodniece, the attack on him and murder of the High Septon." Stannis said, throwing down a letter onto the table. "The living dead march to assail the realms of men. No matter what I do, I must abandon my realm or my kin."

"Let Renly deal with it." Lord Tarly said. "That was why you made him Hand, is it not?"

"Aye." Sunglass agreed. "If she is guilty, then may the father judge her justly. If she is not guilty of murder, then she is only guilty of apostasy."

Stannis glared at him. "There is no law against apostasy in this realm."

Sunglass looked as if to say there should be, but thought better of it.

"What is the evidence arrayed against the Queen?" Lord Tarly asked.

"One of the assasins confessed that Selyse backed him." Stannis said. Mace could almost hear teeth grinding from where he sat. "Many of the killers had Rhlorrite tattoos. Ser Imry Florent was arrested when he tried to storm the rookery. Incriminating letters were found amongst Selyse's possessions."

"Ser Imry and the Queen? Have all the Florents turned traitor?" Mace began.

"Alester is loyal and has no idea of the treason." Stannis said.

Or so he says.

The Florents were evidently not to be trusted.

"So do you intend to stay in the north?" Mace began.

Stannis gritted his teeth. "Yes. Send a raven to Renly telling him to continue to investigate and gather evidence but not to carry out any sentence until I return. I will still travel to Castle Black. You should all prepare to leave tomorrow morning."

Mace sighed and stood up. He would much rather be in the south. His daughter was both pregnant with her first child and wounded, and his lands would be preparing for winter. Highgarden or King's Landing would both be better than here. Alas, he had decided to obey his king.

"That is a wise decision, your Grace. The Great Other is a direr threat than some faithless fools." Melisandre said. "I have seen it in my fires. A castle along the wall burning. Men fighting the dead in the snow."

"I would rather her trial be delayed than risk not knowing the truth of what is going on north of the wall." Stannis agreed. "When we return, I shall stand judgement, for better or for worse. Renly shall have all the more time to prove or disprove these accusations."

*

He swore there was frost catching in his beard that morning as he mounted his horse, surrounded by Tyrell soldiers. He swore under his breath as his thick fur cloak, bought especially for this trip, caught on something. He'd always been clumsy.

Randyll was already ahorse, his valyrian steel greatsword slung on his saddle. He hadn't bothered with plate harness, but wore mail even for travelling. The man was a born soldier. Mace wasn't, and men mocked him for it. Never to his face, though, because one man being a poor sword counted for little when he had 60,000 able fighters at his back and had appointed men like Randyll to lead them.

Stannis was there too, dressed plainly but practically. Good for a sellsword, but unbefitting a king. If Mace had the good fortune to be king, he'd make sure people knew it. He had a troubled look on his face. Even more troubled than yesterday. Loras rode after him, his son resplendent in his plate harness, scanning the crowd watchfully.

"I have reconsidered my decision." Stannis suddenly said. "Sunglass, Tarly, you shall attend on Lord Eddard. You command the army and finances of the seven kingdoms; you best know how to use them. Inspect every castle and report back. Lord Tyrell, you shall remain here, where we can travel quickly to either Castle Black or King's Landing as needed."

"If you fear trouble in the south, I should be made ready to gather the strength of Highgarden. Is it Balon? The Dragons?" Mace snapped. Something very odd was going on here, and he intended to needle the truth out of Stannis.

Stannis wheeled his horse, the bit grinding its teeth. "I want you, the most powerful lord in the realm"-Mace could hear how much it pained Stannis to say that-"and myself ready to respond to problems whereever they may appear. Eastwatch is that place."

"But yesterday, you declared we would head west. Why the change?" Morgan asked innocently.

Stannis grimaced. "I have been informed that the situation with Selyse is more urgent than I thought. Garlan or Willas will suffice in Highgarden."

"How so?" Randyll asked.

"That is not for you to know."

"If there is more treason afoot, then Margaery needs me-"

Stannis glared at him. "This treason is not directed against Margaery, I assure you. As I said, we shall remain here and wait for more news."

That was what he would do, he knew. Wait, plan, take counsel, see how things played out. If not for his only daughter being in danger from assassins, and his people from pirates.

The moment I hear of anything else happening in the south, I'm heading back, Stannis's blessing or not.

He might be Master of Laws, but his duties as a Lord and a father came first, in all the laws of gods and men.

 

[Balaur]

"How many wildlings have you killed, boy?" the hard faced ranger asked. Tim Stone. A whip thin man, though you wouldn't know it when he was bundled up in furs, with a lean face and a nose that had been frostbitten more than once.

"I wasn't keeping count during the attack. Sorry." Lancel answered.

Grenn chuckled behind him.

Luke of Longtown shrugged from where he was sitting on the trestle tables. "Ever been beyond the wall? That's the real problem. At the best of times, only the hardest men last long out there." The burly man said. His face was scarred, splitting his yellow beard.

"We aren't exactly drowning in volunteers. I suppose I'm the best you'll get." Lancel answered.

Besides himself, they had two dozen volunteers. Veteran rangers who wanted to try and find out exactly what they were facing. New recruits desperate to prove themselves. A few northern soldiers. Grenn, who was one of the few survivors of the march south from the Fist and wanted to get payback. They were lounging about the great hall, summoned together by Eddard Stark.

Finally, Stark entered, looking even more harried than usual. He seemed late, though Lancel couldn't say by how much.

"His Grace will not be travelling to Castle Black. He is investigating the defences at Eastwatch instead. There are… serious matters afoot in the realm and he wants to be ready to sail at a moment's notice."

More serious than a horde of very real, very murderous grumpkins and snarks coming to kill us all?

"Is the ranging still going ahead?" Luke asked.

Stark nodded. "Aye, it is. You have the plan already worked out, I hear?"

"Yes, m'lord."

Luke began to explain their itenary; to move north up towards the milkwater until they ran into wights or wildling survivors, then to observe them as long as possible and report back. He intended to try killing wights and Others with dragonglass if they got the chance, as well as looking for survivors at Craster's Keep.

The logistics were planned out as well. The band had nearly thirty garrons ready, two thirds as mounts and the rest for supplies and as remounts. Every man was to carry a bow with steel, incendiary and dragonglass tipped arrows, as well as sword or axe, torch and dragonglass dagger. Every fourth man was to have a torch lit at all times, the rest close enough to light their own off his. Torches consumed every bit of space on their packs and horses that wasn't taken up by food and weapons.

"Luke of Longtown, you will be captain of this ranging." Stark said, solemnity in his voice. "I take it you have already instructed those who need it on surviving in the north?"

Luke nodded, and Lancel shuddered as he remembered the days he'd spent out in the Gift, trying to light fires with shaking hands and listening to Luke explaining how to unmake a stag.

It had been hard, but he'd forced himself through it. He had to be prepared if he wanted to survive. If he wanted to not let his brothers down.

"And have all the preparations been put in place?"

Luke nodded again. "All of them, m'lord."

"Then you have my leave to depart when you deem the weather suitable."

Lancel felt his heart beat faster. They were going north of the wall, willingly into the teeth of the old enemy, by his own choice.

*

All twenty of them were gathered in the courtyard of Castle Black, buried under their furs and packs and the mail shirts that the leaders wore, standing besides their shaggy, squat garrons.

"The night gathers and now my watch begins…" Bowen Marsh began, the Lord Commander leading them in their recitation of their vows.

Lancel knew the words by heart by now. As soon as they were finished, Eddard gave his own speech, similar enough to the one he'd given when they wanted to volunteer.

His nerves were fraying, and he wished that they'd get a move on. The sooner they were out the gate, the less time he'd have to make a decision he'd regret.

Come on.

Finally, Eddard ended his address, the gate opened, and they set forth to cheering that echoed after him as they rode through the dark tunnel beneath the wall.

He'd never have received that in King's Landing, even had he been knighted.

Was the punishment a blessing in disguise?

The Seven worked in mysterious ways, after all.

Outside, the ground was a blanket of snow. The remains of tents lay scattered about, peeking above the snow like rocks in blackwater bay. Crows rose from an immense blackened hulk that, as they drew closer, he realized was the burnt giant and mammoth their bodies tangled together, that he had witnessed burning on the night of the massacre. The killing field looked different on the ground, wider, vaster. As their horses pushed through the snow, amongst dessicated hands and splintered spears, he saw that not all the corpses were burnt. Some had simply been left to rot, their eyes picked out by crows. He remembered what rangers who'd ventured out to probe the ground on foot the night after the battle had said. The unburnt were mostly animals, or cripples missing limbs.

He'd known what that meant since the day after the attack, but only know did the full enormity strike home. For every corpse that lay there, there was a dozen, a hundred, that had walked away.

A dozen or a hundred that they might have to kill all over again.

As they came out towards the treeline, Luke barked for pickets to be put out on either side of the march and for Tim to scout out ahead. They drew into the trees, their brown trunks the only thing that hadn't been painted white. The ground was dappled in shadow; shadow that could conceal wights or worse. Less than a mile away, the Wall was already out of sight.

They were alone in a dead world.

 

[Balaur]

"Gather more evidence, but do not harm a hair on Selyse or anyone else's heads. I believe she is being framed by enemies of the realm.

Signed His Grace King Stannis Baratheon-"

Renly slipped the letter back into his rapidly accumulating pile of papers.

He missed having Mace and Guncer around to throw that sort of thing to. He remembered faintly that Tane had once mentioned someone called a secretary. Like a scribe, but more useful. Or a maester, but less annoying.

He stood up, stretching his arms. This complicated things. He could either wait until Stannis came south and ruined his golden opportunity, or risk his wrath by defying him. The simplest way, of course, would have been to goad Selyse into being killed by rioters, punish them half-heartedly, and that was that, but now he was going to have to get his hands bloody dealing with the madwoman.

Septon Ollius had convinced him that he would provide support amongst his flock in return for Renly giving the Seven a stronger voice at court. The plan he had suggested for avoiding retaliation would be even more helpful, now. Still, though, Stannis might react badly even if he had reason to say his hand was forced.

I could undermine as much of his power as possible now, then finish him off after the wars to come.

He shook his head. War might come, but it might not. The Others had no way to get past the wall as long as it was defended; they were a ghost threat. The dragons were small and weak. Tane's gunners would rip through their hide. Euron was a nuisance at worst, and there was no evidence he intended to make war. Besides that, it was best to have the realm united. Seven gods that are one, seven kingdoms that are one. Stannis, if left in charge, would throw all that away with his tight-fistedness, his taxes and his mad wife.

And if war did come, it might counter-mine his attempts to undermine Stannis. Whatever else Stannis was, he was a skilled commander. Letting him fight the war might win him his reputation back with his lords… or it might see him dead. There was also the issue of Loras. At Stannis's side, the second war broke out, he was likely to be a hostage. That was an unacceptable risk. He would not let the legacy of his lover and the finest knight in the seven kingdoms being that of King Tooth-Grinders hostage.

Selyse, and mayhaps Stannis, had to be taken down now.

*

He marched off to the throne room, ready to hold court. That was always tedious work, but it provided him a chance to play the fair and gracious lord, now he could no longer be Lord Charming.

"My Lord." Davos said, catching up to his party of guards.

"Oh? What news?" Renly asked. Bloody master of whispers. His sources still hadn't been able to figure out where he'd been in the aftermath of Selyse's arrest. If not for Stannis, he'd try and do to Davos what he'd failed to do to Varys.

"Two things. Firstly, an assassin was able to infiltrate your own retinue, with the possible support of the queen herself. I fear that with such lapse security, others… important individuals could be struck. I would suggest sending Shireen to Dragonstone for safety."

Renly blinked. "No such chance. In Maegor's Holdfast, there is only one known secret entrance, and that is guarded-"

"That did not stop you from nearly being knifed by one of your own men, or Tommen and Myrcella vanishing from under our noses. The Dragonstone garrison is smaller, and less people come and go compared to here. An intruder would be spotted quickly."

"It is also heavily guarded. Anyhow, who would benefit from killing Shireen?" Renly mused aloud.

"Anyone wanting to harm the royal house. And not just kill, but kidnap. She would be a valuable hostage against Stannis."

"And the second?" Renly asked.

"There is other news. There is no response to ravens demanding answers of Euron Greyjoy even though he has had more than enough time to respond."

"That pirate king?" Renly asked. "The one who had his brother murdered?"

"Yes. I have little information so far, but it is likely this is the beginning of a second Ironborn rebellion. Worse, I have heard that Daenerys and Aegon are gathering ships to their cause. With how long news takes to travel, they could already have set sail…"

Renly rubbed his scar, wincing in frustration. This was moving faster than he'd expected. He needed to deal with Stannis and soon, but without leaving himself vulnerable as soon as the next challenger arrived.

The meeting of the court went by quickly enough. Land disputes amongst crownlanders; he resolved those quickly enough, trying to make sure both parties gained something out of the deal and would be in his gratitude.

A group of bandits had been causing trouble in the Kingswood, so he dispatched three dozen volunteer knights and a few companies of Silvercloaks under Captain Bydevere, one of Tane's officers, to go deal with them. Tane agreed; the new Silvercloak units needed to be blooded in combat.

Then came the thorny part. Half a dozen merchants had arrived, waiting at the back of the line of petioners after the lords. Some of them were glancing nervously at the group of peasants with seven pointed stars around their necks.

He recognized some of the faces there. They were some of the same people who had petioned him after the riots in the aftermath of the assassination, asking for compensation for damaged goods. They'd gotten it, though less than they'd liked.

This time, they gave the same sob story.

"As sad as your sufferings may be, it surely would not have happened if your faith had not harboured such dangerous people, and I cannot blame the faithful for their misdirected but righteous anger. There will be no compensation, but I will make sure the gold cloaks respond faster in the future."

He waved them on. The next group where of the faithful. Their demands were much simpler.

"How soon shall the trial of the septon-slayer Queen Selyse be held? The faith demands justice!"

Renly felt the corner of his mouth lift into a smile. He composed himself immediately. He knew this was coming. Septon Ollius had been most helpful in his efforts to guide his flock in the right direction.

"I am working as fast as I can to gather the evidence against Selyse so that when Stannis travels south he is able to oversee a fair trial."

"King Stannis the apostate giving his wife a fair trial?" someone shouted in disbelief.

"That is what he has demanded I do,and as a humble servant of the king I have little choice but to obey."

Oh, I'll have plenty of choice once I've gotten Loras away from him.

"But she must face justice!"

"She will, as soon as I have the chance. I want to see justice served as much as you do. But I must also serve my brother and king…"

*

"Captain Bayder."

"Lord Renly." The tall woman tipped her hat at him. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"The Blacksmith, Sallereon? Were your men unable to find him?"

He distinctly recalled asking her to capture him on the night of the arrest.

Tane shrugged. "I was too busy cleaning up Imry's mess that night. Listen, how much evidence do we have Sallereon was even involved? HeThey'll say anything to make it stop. I know he's lying to one of us."

"He could be lying to cover his tracks."

"Aye. He could. Or he could have been lying to you because he knew what you wanted to hear."

"Just as much chance he was lying to you. Gared is a professional. Reliable. He'll find out the truth."

"Gared is a professional torturer. He's good at making people talk. Not making them tell the truth. We just don't know, and unless you stop ripping fingernails we can't get any good intelligence out of the prisoners we do have. If I go out and snatch him for you, there's a risk that you'll just torture him into a gibbering wreck."

"But what if he doesn't talk?"

"Well, look at it this way. Toss-up Sallereon actually helped the assassins. If he did, we torture him and he confesses, great. If he didn't, he confesses anyway because you're breaking his goddamn arms, then we're buggered chasing the wrong leads while whoever actually did this gets away clean and we've crippled an innocent man into the bargain."

Renly felt his fist clench, reflexively. As much of a man-woman as Brienne is, at least she wears courtesy as well as mail. "We cannot let any leads escape-"

"Which is why we do this properly and carefully. Not by dislocating his bloody shoulders. As I said, I've handled interrogations before. I'll do the snatch, I'll do the talking, and your torturer doesn't lay a hand on him."

"How do you know he won't lie to you?"

"How do you know he'd tell the truth to your gaoler? I already know he lied to one of us. Neither of the killer's accounts match up on whether he knew Selyse. And I know from witnesses he was rarely seen at the night fires, hardly the sort of person Selyse would confide in. All the accounts say he had his targets given to him in Essos. Do you think Selyse would send a knight to Essos for the purpose of recruiting assassins? If a Rhllorite knight suddenly vanished, you'd think Davos would know, wouldn't he? None of this adds up. Either-" Tane looked like she was about to say something before she caught herself.

"Either what?"

"Either he's lying to you or to me."

Renly ground his teeth.

I'll have Sallereon captured tonight. Storm's end men, not any of the goldcloaks.

Tane was not as reliable as he would have liked.

 

[Balaur]

It was a few hours after dawn when she saw the goldcloaks come marching in, a burly, half-dressed man in tow. "Got the man you missed, lady."

Salloreon. That blacksmith Renly had ordered her to arrest.

"Ma'am. We were going to carry out the snatch tonight, actually."

Tane resisted the urge to swear. She'd put off carrying out that raid, and now it had blown up in her face.

Poor son of a bitch. Renly was going to torture him until he was a blubbering wreck unable to give any useful information but what his torturers told him. He was either shit at the cloak-and-dagger game, or knew exactly what he was doing. No middle ground.

And she'd known Renly for long enough to know that he was good at this.

He's setting Selyse up, he doesn't give a damn if the evidence is true or false as long as he can nail her.

"It's Magister Nelyn's mansion that the Lannisters have set up in, yeah?" Tane asked, turning to Taena, walking besides her. She'd had dinner with Orton Merryweather last night, then mercilessly abused the allegedly innocent westerosi custom of women sleeping together to fuck his wife silly. They hadn't talked politics. With Morgan gone, there was no way to know if the listeners in the walls were still there.

"From what my friends across the narrow sea say, yes…"

"Anything on what Petyr's been doing?"

They'd been over this half a dozen times before, but more news might have arrived. With how bloody big Westeros was and reliant on the unreliable raven system, everything seemed to move agonizingly slowly. An airship postal service would go a long way in Westeros.

"The Myrish are terribly fearful of a certain Mother of dragons. She has been freeing slaves around slavers bay-"" Taena said.

It never ceased to amaze Tane that any self-respecting civilization would call themselves that. Even the bloody Fey would draw the line there.

"-and the Myrish have two-thirds of their population in chains. Most are content with their lot, but if this breaker of chains arrives there, there will be blood in the streets."

"How is Petyr involved, though?"

"I don't know. I do know that he is working closely with a certain Magister Nelyn. A very powerful man in Myr. He was a sorcerer of some disrepute, when I lived in the city. He has connections to every mystery cult and band of fanatics out there."

Taena shrugged her bare shoulders. "Or at least that is what my source told me. It could be "

*

"Charge for horse! Form Square!" Bydevere bellowed from horseback, the men of the 1st Royal Guard Regiment scrambling to follow his orders, swinging from a winged battalion to a square.

She was good at this. Planning, organizing and training soldiers. There was a military problem, you worked out a solution, put it into practise as best you could and hoped for the best. Not dealing with whatever game Renly was playing, trying to undermine his sister-in-law for no good reason beyond his own power she could see while they were surrounded by enemies closing. She almost wished someone would hurry up and invade. She knew how to deal with problems with a pole-axe. With the pen and the tongue… she had some knowledge, but she'd learnt what she knew about intrigue dealing with cateran and reiver clans and acting as a doorkicker in Trarabac, not in high courts.

She was a soldier, not a politician.

"Come on! They've got lancers coming in! They'd be pacing up to the gallop by now! You want to get spitted?" Bydevere yelled.

Calivermen and crossbowmen took cover under the hedge of pikes. Tane spurred her own horse up, probing at the formation. Every time she drew in close, the shot levelled their weapons with a yell, while the pikemen braced, their pikes held in one hand and their swords in the other.

There was no obvious gap she could find; no way to break in besides brute-forcing it by sacrificing her horse for a hypothetical follow-up squadron to break through. Calivermen and crossbows would have even odds, at least, against enemy archers trying to shoot up the formation, and it wasn't as if the Westerosi had the artillery or airships that would seriously threaten a pike square.

She smiled in satisfaction. "Good work!" she called to the men.

Whoever orderered that attack probably feels like we do right now. Unassailable.

She glanced back, and saw that Margaery and half a dozen of her handmaidens were watching her. Brienne was alongside them, the big woman unmistakeable even in her plain blue riding dress.

Actually…

Sace had saved Margaeries life in the attack, and Margaery might have something vaguely resembling influence over Renly. If she could convince her that her husband was letting the killers get away, she would have a potential ally.

She congratulated Bydevere and Bywater on their good work with the 1st battalion, promised the men that their back pay would be cleared before they set out bandit hunting(it, in fact, would; with Sunglass away she'd bypassed him and gotten a pen-pusher to authorize the release of the money from the royal treasury), then wheeled back towards Margaeries group on the hill. As she came closer, she saw Sace was with them, in a Westerosi cut of dress with her smallsword belted over it.

Tane waved as she approached.

"Showing the civilians what we can do?" Tane asked, smiling.

Drilling for the benefit of civilians had been a regular feature of life back in Trarabac, and even basic drill often attracted gawkers.

"Might be that." Sace said. "Though if I was going to show off, I'd make sure I was in the ranks." She shifted in the saddle. "No, Margaery wants to talk to you."

Margaery trotted her horse gently forwards, a maidservant guiding it. Heavily pregnant and with her arm still maimed, no risks could be taken.

"I still don't think I've expressed my gratitude enough…" she began.

Tane rubbed the healing wounds on the back of her head.

"Well, to be honest I was fighting to protect myself more than you, and I managed to make a hash of that. Sace saved both of us."

"And could she have beaten four of those assassins? Both of you saved my life." Margaery said.

"Anyway, about the assassins-"

Margaery gingerly moved her horse away from the others, out of earshot, and dropped her voice.

"You don't believe that Selyse ordered the murder, do you?"

Tane blinked. "It's not certain. We only have one source and he's lying to someone."

"That someone being…?"

"I don't know." Tane said. "Myself or Renly's torturer. He's told both of us different stories. Either he lied to me or he lied to Renly. That's all the information either of us has to go on, and it feels like Renly, well…"

Actually telling Renly's wife that her husband was, more likely than not, at best wilfully ignorant and incompetent and at worst was actively conspiring against the queen seemed a bridge too far.

"What is Renly doing?" Margaery asked in her most innocent voice.

Tane gritted her teeth. Time to rip out the splinter.

"He's trying to keep anyone but his own men away from the prisoner, then torturing him. Not just him, but other suspects too. Suspects we don't have any evidence but a known liars confession against."

She avoided dropping her voice. If the rumour mill got grinding to avoid her having to make the accusation formally, then good.

"An assassin lied? Colour me shocked." Margaery said. "I know why Selyse wanted me dead, the killers were Rhllorites, and Selyse had enough sense to hire her assassins overseas."

"Selyse wanted you dead?"

"She convinced herself that I was trying to spy on her when I tried to reconcile the Faith and the Red God. She seemed quite... sincere."

"But the killer lied to Renly about his contact with Selyse. He scarcely ever went to the nightfires. She would never have trusted him enough to tell him to kill you otherwise… And if Selyse had sent an agent abroad and then had an obvious Rhllorite join Renly's household, Davos would have noticed."

This was proving to be more of a headache than the Cersei mess. And that was saying something.

"Selyse is not known for her intelligence." Margaery said with a shake of her head.

"In which case we'd likely be dealing with some local knight or footpad, rather than her sending a mysterious agent all the way to Essos to recruit her killers, infiltrating one of them into Renly's household then trying to kill us and Renly all at once. And if it was Selyse, it got her arrested and set off riots. If Selyse did this, she would have to be both very competent and very incompetent for it to make any sense."

Not for the first time, she regretted that she hadn't been able to take any of them prisoner.

"Then who do you think sent Rhllorites to kill me, if not the Rhllorite who thinks me a spy and knows that the child in my belly could be a threat to her own?" Margaery asked.

"The Targaryens. Rhllorites across the narrow sea who didn't know the ground. Varys. Petyr Baelish."