No Greater Fury: A Horse Grenadier company in Westeros

[Balaur]

"The guardsmen?" Renly asked.

"What, uh, m'lord?" The Baratheon man-at-arms asked, his voice slurred. He'd been the watch captain for that shift.

"The men who were guarding the children. Where are they?"

"Uh, they're asleep."

"And why did the guards of the two most valuable prisoners in the seven kingdoms fall asleep on duty?".

Stannis had given him the unenviable job of trying to trace the kidnapper's steps, while Davos and Tane led the wild goose chase against the kidnappers. A trio of galleys were already preparing to head out and search any merchant ships that left the next morning, and every gate out of the city was being locked.

"I don't know. I think it was the wine."

"What?"

"The, uh, wine. A couple of nice Myrish chaps, the crossbowmen from one of the free companies, they turned up with a couple of barrels of wine, great big things. Good fucking wine, too, though we only had a few sips each. Had to stay sharp. I don't quite remember what happened after that."

Renly could guess. Knock them out with spiked wine, knock out the guards on the cell as well, smuggle the children out. Hide them in the barrels, mayhaps.

He glanced back at his own men at arms, standing behind him. "Brown Bill, arrest these men for falling asleep on watch."

The Storm's End guardsman grinned, showing his yellowed teeth. Something of a rivalry had evolved between the Storm's End and Dragonstone men, as of late. Renly turned away, waving to a pair of his crossbowmen to follow him.

Other soldiers were questioning the servants about what they'd seen. Everyone was jumping at shadows. He heard mentions of a couple of servants carrying a rolled up carpet, someone catching a glimpse of a blond child, a group of shifty looking Myrishmen carrying wine barrels in and out.

The latter would be the people who'd gotten the guards drunk.

Stannis's forces have made a right botch of this.

He had to laugh at that. Stannis had always acted like he was the hard, serious man, stuck ruling a backwater island while his foolish little brother inherited his birthright. Well, now he'd been handed the Iron Throne on a silver platter by said foolish little brother, and wasn't exactly making the best use of his gift.

He found Stannis with Ned, both of them heatedly discussing something.

His ears strained to hear what they saying.

"Mayhaps whoever did this did you a favour, Your Grace, if they took that particular burden off your hands-" Ned began.

"And did what with them? Spirited them off to the free cities to become another Viserys or Blackfyre? Took them to the Lannisters, so we have no more hostages?"

He saw Renly coming and stopped.

"Any news?"

"It was some of the Myrishmen, most likely. They put your guards to sleep with poisoned wine, then must have smuggled the children out somehow." Renly said.

Ned rubbed his eyes. "How long ago was it?"

"I don't know how long they were gone by the time the alarm was raised."

Stannis gritted his teeth. "It doesn't matter. They must be recaptured. Dead or alive."

By the time he returned to his chambers, the faint glow of the rising sun was visible in the east. He'd been talking to witnesses all through the keep, trying to trace the movements of the Myrishmen with their barrels. It had been no good. There had been too many servants, and too many sellswords, all of them serving or enjoying the feast, not looking about for suspicious behaviour. The soldiers themselves had been too drunk-and drugged, he suspected-to remember anything useful, even with Stannis's captain of the guard bellowing in their faces. Some of them still hadn't woken.

He could feel the beginnings of a hangover as he lay down in bed, barely noticing Margaery, already asleep. He'd been getting himself good and drunk in anticipation of the bedding. Loyalty to Loras was all well and good, but he would likely need an heir, and put a stop to rumours. Rumours that an unmarried lord had a male lover where one thing. Rumours that the heir to the throne refused to produce an heir were quite another.

No sooner had he gotten to sleep than he was woken by a servant furiously knocking on his door.

He rolled out of his bed. "Yes? Is it urgent?"

"Stannis wants to see you now. He says Lord Baelish also vanished from his apartments while the guards were distracted"

Renly had no words. This place leaks prisoners like a sieve leaks water.

He dragged himself out of bed, ready to deal with yet another snark hunt.

*

They gathered in sullen silence in the small council chambers, a dozen men and two women, no one wanting to begin explaining what had just happened.

"I'd wager Petyr's behind this. Never should have trusted him with the black powder formula" Tane began.

It did make sense. Littlefinger bribes a goldcloak amongst his guards, they somehow organize with the Myrishmen for the rescue attempt or kidnapping or whatever it was, and they're all able to slip out in the confusion. It had taken them a good while to figure out that Littlefinger was missing. Having him held in his lodgings in the city proper hadn't helped, nor had the small contingent of guards. He was to be prevented from fleeing or tampering with the records, not thrown in a cell, after all.

Who else? A Lannister rescue mission? The guards got so drunk that the children rescued themselves? Someone murdered the children, to frame Stannis or force his hand? Stannis would never have them killed under a false flag. The man was too… direct for that.

"He never should have escaped." Stannis said. "Stark, as Master of Laws, the Goldcloaks are your responsibility."

"I warned you to put men of your household to guard him, not Goldcloaks…" Ned began.

Not that that stopped them drugging your men…

"And I warned you to pick good, trustworthy men."

Renly glanced at Janos Slynt. That man was only trustworthy in that you could trust him to do what you wanted once the dragons had changed hands.

"The smallfolk are whispering that you had the children murdered, and tried to blame it on the Lannisters." Varys began.

"The smallfolk will whisper many things, and having those abominations killed would be doing the realm a favour. What of it?"

"They are valuable hostages, if nothing else…" Ned began.

"King's blood has power. Even the blood of false kings." Melisandre said.

"You want to murder children to work sorcery?" Eddard said, aghast.

"Killing them is justice. Besides, Cersei didn't confess. Their lives were forfeit, by her own choice." Stannis said.

Ned stood up. "The children are still missing, and we're wasting time trying to justify murdering them?"

"Yes. If they are recaptured, Melisandre, you may burn them as a sacrifice to your Red God, to ensure the deaths of Joffrey Waters and Daenerys Targaryen. Drug them first, so that they don't suffer."

The room exploded. Mace Tyrell looked shocked, Tane said something about sending them to the wall getting rid of the problem with less chance of getting them all killed by rebellious smallfolk, Slynt began loudly proclaiming how necessary hard men were to making hard decisions, Arys announced that he believed it went against a knight's oaths, but that a Kingsguard's oaths superseded them, Varys said something about it being a mercy for the realm as a whole if they had to worry about no more pretenders, and he could see Melisandre's eyes light up with delight.

"You'll have to find another Master of Laws." Eddard said, barely audible above the noise.

"What?" Stannis asked. "You have your duty, and you will do it."

"I said, you'll have to find another Master of Laws. I came south to be Robert's Hand, to protect him from his enemies, not to aid in the murder of children. I haven't seen my Lady and my sons for the better part of a year. My goodbrother's lands are burning. My duty is to my lady and children and bannermen and smallfolk, not to you."

He turned and walked out.

The room exploded again.

 

[Balaur]

"That was a most impressive display, my lady." said Lord Rowan.

Tane resisted the urge to tell him she was a bloody captain. She'd actually earned that title, and besides that, being a nobleman's bastard didn't get you any courtesy titles.

She glanced back at the splintered line of shields and the old plate harness shot full of holes behind them. They'd spent the day having a "friendly competition" with a company of longbow archers in Stannis's service. She'd insisted on shooting at realistic targets. The ability to rip through any but the toughest unwarded plate armour was the real strength of the musket, and the Westerosi had no witches to throw up wards to counter that. Get enough musketeers or even calivermen, and have them protected by stakes or pikes, and she'd wager she could, if not break, then at least take the force out of a charge by their knights, and give a pike block such a mauling that it wouldn't be able to resist their own cavalry.

"Took me only a month of training to get them to do that." she said.

It hadn't been her own Horse Grenadiers shooting. She was already confident in their skills. What needed testing was the force of goldcloak volunteers-"silvercloaks", they were increasingly called-being raised for service outside King's Landing. They already had a battalion of 800 raised, half pike, halberd and bill, the other half with crossbows and lightweight calivers. Plans were underway to recruit a second battalion, and a squadron of cavalry armed with the flintlock pistols and carbines the King's Landing smiths were only just beginning to figure out.

Come to think of it, that makes me a Lieutenant-Colonel.

More nobles came by, congratulating her, some of them clearly nervous. They'd hitched themselves to a stubborn horse with a bad habit of kicking, and they knew it.

What mattered, though, was that they had seen her troops could do. What Stannis's troops could do. It had been Renly's idea, after the utter disaster that the wedding night had turned into. First two valuable prisoners escaping, then Lord Baelish with the bloody gunpowder recipe, then Stannis openly saying he planned to kill children and almost arresting Eddard as he left to "lead his armies south"-a bit of pageantry and a show of force would be just the thing to distract them while the preparations for the campaign were completed.

Why am I even serving this prick? From what I hear, I could make a killing in Essos as a sellsword without ending up an accessory to child murder.

The again, mercenaries always end up doing the work that no respectable militia or regular wants to get caught up in…

"Captain." Renly said besides her, snapping her back to the present.

"Yes?"

"Stannis wants you present with the war council. Tonight."

And I'm a staff officer now. Wonderful.

*

"This" Stannis said, pointing at the tapestry-map of Westeros he had rolled out on the floor of the Queen's ballroom, "Is where the Lannister forces are located, roughly. Tywin is said to be around the Deep Den, with Joffrey Waters present. He has 20,000 men. Jaime lays siege to Riverrun with another force. I have heard counts of anything from 10,000 to 30,000 for that force. A northern host is marching south. I received a raven from Roose Bolton that he is nearing the Trident and intends to confront Jaime and break the siege of Riverrun. All the forces of the Reach and Stormlands are gathering at Storm's End and Highgarden. We have 15,000 men able to march here in all, considering our levies, sellswords, and the goldcloak volunteers."

Tane took it in. They could hit Tywin from three directions at once, and he had only two armies in the field.

Tywin's only advantage would be interior lines; he could quickly move troops, supplies and messengers from one front to another, while it would take a good deal longer to shift troops from the Riverlands to the Reach and vice versa.

"We should attack at once, with the strength of the Stormlands and the Reach at our back. Crush Tywin in battle and the rest of his armies will crumble!" Loras said.

Lord Rowan shook his head. "The Deep Den is narrow. We could outnumber him twenty to one and it wouldn't matter if we can't break through."

She heard yells of "hear, hear!" from the other lords. Almost every lord in King's Landing had been packed into the room, and most of the senior knights and sellsword captains too.

"Advance up from the south, there's no mountains there. We'll make him pick between leaving Casterly Rock open or facing us in the field without mountains to guard his flanks" yelled Lord Velaryon.

"Loras is right!" Renly called. "We have the numbers, we should use it to win this quickly."

"We should hit them from two directions, with one army coming from the south and the other from the east, while Roose pins down Jaime's forces. Give them more threats than they can deal with." Tane said.

"Two men against two is a fair fight. Three against two isn't. And in war, you never fight fair" said Salladhor Saan, the pirate leaning back against the wall nonchalantly while the nobles stood stiffly around him.

"Joffrey is with Tywin's army. Our king should face theirs and decide the matter!" called one of the lesser knights, at the rear.

Stannis gritted his teeth. "We will send two forces. I will command the Stormlanders and my own men, to attack the Deep Den. Renly, Mace Tyrell, you will head to Highgarden and attack the Westerlands from the south. Imry Florent, you will take the Royal Fleet around the south of the continent and blockade the Westerlands, to prevent Joffrey from escaping."

"And who will rule in King's Landing?" someone called.

"Selyse will have the rule in King's Landing, with Alester as acting Hand of the King." Stannis answered.

"That'd work." Tane said. "Though you might wish to send someone to link up with Roose's forces and smooth things over with Ned."

"I wasn't asking if it was a good idea. I was saying that is what we'll do." Stannis snapped.

"And Eddard?" Tane asked. He'd left yesterday in a rush with his remaining guardsmen after Stannis's charming outburst in the small council.

His only words were that he would support Stannis's right to the throne, but not his actions. He'd mentioned his goodfather's lands burning, so perhaps he was planning to liberate the riverlands, but leave the southern wars to the Baratheons.

"I will send an envoy to find Roose Bolton's army and insist he attack Jaime's forces."

Please don't. The last thing they needed was to further anger the Northerners.

"When do your forces set out, Your Grace?" someone asked. Lord Merryweather.

That reminded her, she'd have to arrange a meeting with Taena at some point before she left for campaign.

"In a week's time."

Tane realized that Stannis must have already planned the campaign, in private. This was just a show for the lord's benefit.

"Any further questions?" Renly asked, standing by his brothers side.

Little was asked, beyond grumbling about who had which place in each army. Every lord present, it seemed, wanted a spot in the Vanguard.

Stannis ground his teeth. "All the Stormlords will march with me except for Renly, and the Myrish sellswords too. Velaryon will have my van. All the Reachlords with Mace and Renly. Randyll Tarly will have their van. The Goldcloak Volunteers and Lady Tane's troops will march with Renly's army."

For once, she was actually annoyed that she would get to avoid Stannis. From what she'd heard, he was a talented commander, while Renly was unproven in battle.

Then again, someone as bloody minded and vindictive as him also seemed the type to keep feeding reserves into a failed attack, or pick disliked generals to lead the most bloody missions, while someone who was inexperienced and knew it might be inclined to listen to competent subordinates.

Like, say, a certain Captain Bayder.

 

[shivers]

Driving off the loyal Stark, depending on a Bolton army, making the Faithful angry by planning to burn children for a foreign God - and that's just a Monday for King Stannis.

 

[Balaur]

The column of wildlings made for a both familiar and absurd sight. Led by a dwarf, armed with their usual cruel array of rusting swords, spears, axes and stone mauls, some of them riding two to one horse-those poor animals-they moved up the river road in surprisingly good order, with all manner of loot stuffed anywhere they could find. He'd heard men call the mountain clans savages, and that was true, but to think of savages as beasts in human skin rather than skilled warriors who just so happened to like burning off their own digits was to invite death.

I get sick of fighting wildlings, go back home to fight some lions, and what happens? The bloody wildlings follow me here.

"Send a rider. Tell them they'll be on them in an hour."

His messenger nodded and took off on his light pony, moving to keep a hill between himself and the march column.

400 good men. More men than the twenty every sellsword full of piss and vinegar said he'd need to accomplish this or that goal, but it was what he'd need to track down the Clansmen, after the reports of them ravaging through the riverlands had arrived. They'd been passing Seaguard when they'd received the raven, written in a rushed hand and begging for help, for Darry had been sacked. After that, another raven had come in from some landed knight, claiming he had sighted savages on his lands and asking for reinforcement. He'd also mentioned a dwarf with them, and Brynden realized that he must have somehow allied with-or been kidnapped by-the Mountain Clans while they tried to ravage the riverlands.

That had been an opportunity, and he'd begged leave of Roose to race ahead to cut off Tyrion's westward journey. A bit of scout work and here they were, him and a half dozen other scouts shadowing them while they marched right into the force of Barrow Knights and Riverlands mounted archers, longbows and crossbows, waiting in ambush.

Oh, sure, they would be getting nervous. Pickets vanishing had a bad habit of causing that. But they were moving through hostile territory-the number of crudely bandaged wounds attested to that-and peasants had a habit of taking whatever vengeance they could on armies looting, raping and slaughtering their way through the local territory. The wildlings suspected nothing.

He continued shadowing them, moving slowly and carefully after them on foot until they pulled out of sight then mounting up and rapidly pursuing whenever they lost sight of them before dismounting and repeating the whole cycle. It wasn't hard work, with the clear road and dense vegetation on either side giving them a good view of the wildlings while shielding the scouts. His chosen ambush point was a pair of small but steep hills, close on either side of the riverroad. The archers on either side would pour arrows into the wildlings, while the main force of the Barrow Knights would sweep up the valley. A smaller detachment would then move in and start cutting them down as they fell back out of the valley in disorder. He could order them trapped in the gorge, but that would just mean they would fight to the death. A fleeing man was easier to kill than a trapped one.


*

The first sign they had moved straight into the ambush was the roar of warhorns.

"Too early." Brynden muttered. "They should have waited until they were all in the valley."

Then the archers stepped over the ridge and the arrows came in, thick and fast, tearing into vulnerable flesh. Many of the wildlings hadn't bothered with shields, and it cost them nearly, as it always did. Even at near two hundred yards away, he could hear the screaming, and someone roaring orders, and then more warhorns blowing and the Barrow Knights under the Dustin banner, riding on the red horses of the Barrowlands, came over the hill and wheeled to charge down the riverroad.

The neat march column almost burst outwards, some fleeing, some charging up the slopes at his archers, some rushing at the knights, many milling about in confusion. He hefted his spear, more versatile than a knightly lance, and spurred his horse up towards the fight. Light armoured and on the fastest horses they had, he and his small band of outriders were well placed to hook any fish who slipped out of the net.

The heavy horse crashed in amongst them, skewering with lances and hurling men prone with the sheer impact of their destriers, then throwing those down to lay on with sword and axe and mace. The riverroad turned into a terrible savage tumult, the wildlings thrown into disorder by the knights scything through them. The clansmen charging the archers on the left had all been shot down, but those on the right had gotten in amongst them, the archers defending themselves hand to hand with falchions. Some of the archers vanished from the ridgeline, and for a moment he feared they were routing, but then they came back into view on horseback, charging down the men on the ridge.

"You see the dwarf?" Grey Gam asked, the bearded huntsman sitting beside him on horseback.

"No. Heard he proved his innocence with a battleaxe in hand." another of his outriders answered, still watching the fight.

"Fucking bollocks. That sellsword did for the Vale knight, and besides, he's still guilty of Darry and god knows what else." Gam said.

The rear of the formation, not fully into the canyon, was pushing straight up into the valley, aiming to get through to the knights at the front. The second squadron, eighty lances in all captained by Ser Ronnel Stout, moved in, aiming to take the rear in flank while the leftwards archers continued to shoot, shifting their fire down towards the confused, unengaged rear.

He saw some of them fleeing on horseback, and then it was over. The whole force just collapsed, changing from surging up the riverroad to fleeing, scattering, the Barrow Knights crashing into them alongside archers who had leapt onto their horses. The wildlings were routing, as they always did when faced with encirclement, and the rout was when the real killing began. He saw skulls crushed, arms hacked off, men trapped under dying horses. A horse with arrows sticking out of it's side galloped past him, and then another with a man with a piece of broken lance stuck through his rusted mail, still somehow in the saddle. And then he saw Tyrion, a dwarf on horseback galloping away, a man trading blows with a knight at his side and Brynden called "that's him! With me!" like it was a shadowcat hunt and spurred straight at him, angling to cut them off as they fled. The man riding with Tyrion got the better of the Barrow Knight, cutting his reins then slashing his horse's throat.

They rode in on Tyrion, the dwarf changing course to avoid running straight into the Blackfish even as he struggled to outrun the knights behind him, shifting so that they were chasing rather than charging him. Brynden bloodied his spurs on his courser, forcing every ounce of speed out of the beast. He hefted and reversed his spear, making ready to throw it to bring down Tyrion's horse, as he came within range-twenty yards, fifteen, ten. The other man with Tyrion, a lean man in ringmail, galloped up on his left, aiming to cut his reins like he'd done to that Barrow Knight. Bryden twisted across, parrying and striking back with his spear, aiming at horse rather than man. A bigger target and less protected.

They continued trading blows until a tree came up and they separated. Brynden took the opportunity, wrenching his horse rightwards to give himself space as he hurled his spear into the Half-Mans horse and drew his sword as swiftly as possible. It wasn't necessary. An arrow took the lean man in the back, knocking him forwards in the saddle, Grey Gam shooting from horseback like he was a bloody Dothraki.

The sellsword's horse kept galloping, the man clinging to its back like his depended on it. Mostly because it did. Brynden barked out "after him!" to Gam and brought his horse down to a trot, turning back to where Tyrion's horse lay dying.

The Lannister disentangled himself from under the horse, glancing at the mercenary galloping off into the distance.

"Yield!" Brynden barked, glaring down at the man.

"You could have saved me the time and taken me when I returned to the crossroads the second time, you know. It would have been very droll" he said, unbuckling and throwing away the dagger on his belt.

"You could have saved me the time and not killed Ser Vardis, you know."

"Bronn did that. Never got to pay him, actually."

"Pity." Brynden said, as the Barrow Knights rode up with fetters ready.

 

[Teucrian]

You've double-posted this update.

 

[Balaur]

You've double-posted this update.

Click to shrink...

Indeed.
*Hits delete button*

 

[Balaur]

The columns rode out of King's Landings, 10,000 men in all. The knights came first, and outriders and mounted men-at-arms and the Horse Grenadiers, their drab yellow buff coats and grey steel cuirasses a stark contrast to the pageantry that surrounded them. She stood on the walls with Selyse, a woman as tedious as her husband, and Shireen and Melisandre and all the other court women, cheering and waving at the soldiers passing underneath. The infantry came next, pikes and spears, longbows and crossbows, and the queer new musketeers or calivermen or whatever they were called marching out of the city to join with the even greater numbers of foot camped outside the walls, Stannis's mercenaries and the Crownland levies.


Ser Arys Oakheart stood besides Selyse. He was the only Kingsguard member that remained. Balon and Loras had received their white cloaks, and were to accompany Stannis on campaign, much to Renly's displeasure. Margaery had watched the whole argument, when Stannis had told Renly where his lover to serve. It hadn't an argument fought with screamed threats, but with them flinging volleys of barbs back and forth, mocking each other for every slight-and there were many-they'd ever inflicted on each other. Everything from Stannis refusing her offer to dance, to Renly's tastes to the lordship of Storm's End was brought up, argued to death and then given the cold kiss of the Others to rise again and be argued over some more.


Her attempts to intervene-she no more wanted Loras under Stannis's command than Renly did-were brushed aside, so she instead listened meekly, memorizing every word in case she ever needed any barbs to launch right back at either of them. By the end she had been half asleep, truth be told. Renly could be just as tedious as Stannis, when he put his mind to it.


Seven Above, Olenna would have loved seeing those two fight.



The crack of gunfire jerked her back to the present, as a small group of goldcloak musketeers fired off a volley in salute of Stannis's forces. More cheering went up, and she joined in, waving her handscarf, caught up in the moment as the last of the foot left, the knights and lords already nearing the horizon. Many of them would die. Most of them would survive, and live unremarkable lives, marrying and raising children in quiet keeps. But some of them would live forever in song, and it was that group, the true knights, warriors like her brothers, that had captured her imagination when she was a girl. They were brave and true, protecting the weak with their own strength.


That was not what she was. Her weakness was her strength, her grandmother had taught her. All she had to do was pretend to be a silly woman just so and the oafs in their chain dresses would be falling over each other to get themselves killed for her. Sensible enough, though she liked to think she had a little more respect for the oafs than Ollenna did.


*


Margaery fidgeted amongst the watching courtiers as Selyse stood besides the Iron Throne occupied by Alester Florent, Melisandre and Shireen at her side.


"Your grace, with all the levies and ships away, we were worried that we would be raided by pirates and slavers from the stepstones." said one of the petitioners. He was a short, goateed man, a merchant by the look of him.


Alester Florent stroked his short, carefully groomed beard.


"We have no troops to spare, besides the Goldcloaks. All our men were taken, to deal with the traitors in the west." Alester said, sadly.


The merchant looked just slightly concerned.


"Is there any other way we could be protected?"


The Red Woman stepped forwards. "I can gaze into the flames, and tell you what I see. That could tell what threat you shall face."


The man now looked very uncomfortable. "M'lord, we ask for men and ships, not for sorcery."


"And we have none of the former, but plenty of the latter." Alester said.



Margaery shuddered. She had no like of sorcery. Melisandre was bad enough, taller than many men, talking of fire this and shadow that. So was Morgan, the grey witch that the foreigners had. She seemed to sense people when she shouldn't, and there were rumours she had power beyond that of even the old heroes. The power to break minds, bind demons, make things fall sideways, knock arrows and bullets out of the air…


Thank the seven she was gone to fight, because if half of that was true, she was more dangerous than all the other grenadiers put together. She only wished Stannis had taken Melisandre with him as standard bearer like he'd originally planned. Consorting with the red priestess was something Renly had barely talked him out of, but the fewer sorcerers in King's Landing, the better.


The merchant shook his head. "As you wish, mi'lord."


He turned away and left.


The rest of the petitioners came after him, the usual nonsense about taxes this and boundaries that that she'd watched Mace adjudicate many times. She barely listened. She was here both because she needed to know the affairs of the realm, and because it helped with the picture she was trying to paint as a noblewoman who cared, who was pious and virtuous and used her families resources to help the poor.


Finally, mercifully, Lord Florent announced an end to proceedings. Her legs felt like they were about to give out. The attendant courtiers began to file out.


As she began to leave, she saw out of the corner of her eye Selyse padding up to her.


"Yes, your grace?" Margaery asked.


"Would you care to witness the night fires tonight?"


"I would, your Grace, but I am afraid I am to meet with the High Septon to pray for the success of our King."


Selyse glanced at the people around her.


"R'hllor will grant Stannis his victory, not your Seven. Worship with me. The Lord of Light can keep your husband safe from the grip of the Great Other."


"Only the mercy of the Mother and his own might, granted by the Warrior, can keep him from the Stranger" Margaery said. Watching the night fires was one thing, but worshipping them quite another.


She might make a show of her piety for the benefit of the smallfolk, especially in these troubled times, but it was still real, and the gods truly where out there, watching her every move.


Selyse sniffed. "Melisandre has power. True power. She saw Stark fighting Lannister in the Red Keep. She saw Ser Illyn's blade take the traitors head. She saw Stannis sailing up the blackwater triumphant, and Renly marching forth to war. She will grant Stannis his victory."


Margaery was silent. The thing about prophecy, her Septa had always said, was that it tended to be so vague that anything could be taken to fulfil the prophecy. Seeing Illyn take a traitors head or the master of ships sailing meant nothing. But insulting the queen was a dangerous path.


The Queen walked off, Lord Florent and the rest of her entourage following her.


Margaery decided she was going to do more than pray with the High Septon. She was going to have a very earnest and very fearful discussion about the threat that the Red God posed to the kingdom's faithful, and what could be done about it.

 

[Balaur]

Highgarden was exactly what its name promised. It was high, with three layers of concentric walls surrounding the central keep, each further up than the last, and it was a garden, masses of vines and climbers overrunning the walls like an invading army, while he could see topiary mazes and fruit trees on the slopes. It could virtually feed itself in the event of a siege, while outside the walls there was a sea of sunflowers.

Food, and the vast armies that food fed, was the reaches greatest weapon, and the Tyrells knew exactly how to use it.

He'd ridden out with the army's vanguard, all the greatest knights, to meet with Randyll Tarly and Willas and Garlan. The Horse Grenadiers had come too, and the mounted archers and some of the men-at-arms. That had been Tane's idea, to ensure the heavy cavalry had infantry support available whenever they needed it. He'd laughed it off, saying they were in friendly territory, but Tane had insisted that being ready for surprises was always a good idea, and that it was good practise for a march in hostile territory. He'd reluctantly indulged her.

In the distance, tiny, like a toy castle, he saw the gates of highgarden open and riders emerge. Tyrell banners, some of them double-flowered, alongside the Tarly huntsman, the Florent fox, Hightower's high tower, the Blackbar's black bar. Very imaginative heraldry, the reach lords had.

They met each other halfway, all the lords under their command gathered to them.

Willas smiled as he saw them coming. "Ah, Renly! Hand of the King, now, isn't it?"

Renly laughed. "First Hand to the Regent, now I'm a good and proper Hand to the King."

"Say, where's Loras and Margaery?" Willas asked, looking through the assembled lords.

"He wears a white cloak now." Renly said. "Off with Stannis in the mountains. Margaery is in King's Landing."

Though he was loath to say it out loud, he missed Loras. It had been weeks since he'd seen him last.

I wonder if Stannis did that just to spite me. Or if it was some attempt at reconciling with Tyrell.

He brushed the thought away.

"Well, a white cloak would suit him well" Garlan said, trotting up besides his older brother. He looked uncannily like Loras, only taller, burlier, and with a short beard.

He was, essentially, to Loras what Robert was to Renly.

Randyll Tarly joined the Tyrells with Renly.

"We have all the forces you need in place, Lord Baratheon. 40,000 foot and 10,000 horse, in three camps."

Renly nodded. "Excellent. Now, I wonder how well you arrange feasts compared to Mace, Willas?"

*

He'd attended feasts a hundred times before. Possibly literally, come to think of it. Robert had loved his feasts, and he'd arranged them in Storm's End whenever possible.

But the Tyrell's went beyond anything even Robert had indulged himself in.

They had virtual mountains of food. Boars and venison, mutton and auroch, and very pointedly a whole lion, stuffed and cooked. Wine flowed like water, and the peaches tasted as sweet as always.

He sat on the dais next to Mace, above even Willas and Garlan and Alerie, laughing along with their japes, making his own in return. Mace joked about being a guest in his own hall, and the Grenadiers drew the usual attention. Even Brienne seemed to gain the attention of a few of the younger knights. There was no need to clear the tables for dancing; they had such a vast hall, almost bigger than those in the Red Keep, that they could feast and dance at the same time.

It passed in a blur. He danced with a dozen noblewomen, any of whom Robert could have bedded. He wasn't Robert, and he barely noticed them. He'd never had much interest in women for bedding(though they seemed to like him well enough), and most of them were much too foolish to be good company. Then again, most men found insulting their wives and daughters to be very poor form, so he graciously accepted their invitations to dance. He preferred the noblemen. At least they tended to find his stories about absurdities that Robert had committed while drunk amusing.

He was quite happily talking to a pair of marcher knights when Garlan came for him.

"Lord Baratheon." Garlan said. "My brother wants to speak with you. Now."

Renly made his excuses and left, following after Garlan.

"What does Willas want with me?" he asked.

Garlan shrugged. "I've no inkling. All I know is he's none too pleased."

He said it like he had quite a few inklings, but didn't want to spoil the surprise just yet.

They found Willas waiting amongst a crop of sunflowers in the gardens, leaning on his cane. Half his face was bathed in lantern light, the other hidden. Renly chuckled.

"What is it?" Garlan asked, annoyed.

"Your brother looks rather like the Hound, just now."

Garlan didn't respond, instead simply standing to the side while Willas limped forwards out of the shadows.

"What in the seven hells were you thinking?"

"What?" Renly asked, confused.

"Leaving my little sister in that bloody snake pit of a city unprotected, and letting my little brother go charging off with Stannis."

"I did everything I could to stop Stannis from sending him off. He wouldn't listen."

"And Marge?" Willas asked, stepping even closer. "Did you ever think to take her with you to Highgarden, or at least send her to Storm's End?"

"While I and Stannis were fighting the war, she would gather me support by aiding the smallfo-"

"She's only seen one winter, never been to court before and has barely any soldiers with her. That court ate Robert and Cersei alive. It could do the same to her. Stannis bears us and you no love, all over that accursed castle. Selyse is a fanatic if half of what Olenna's told me is true. You bloody fool. And that's not even starting on Loras."

"He's a good sword-" Renly began.

"Oh, he's a great jouster." Garlan said. "How will that help him crack open a shieldwall? How will that help him when the arrows fall like rain? How will that help him in the chaos of a melee? He'll ask for the van or some such, Stannis will give it, and he'll get himself killed or maimed on some brave fool charge. He'll live forever in song, I don't doubt, but he'll still be dead."

"Stannis is Stannis. There was nothing I could do, I argued until I was red in the face, but he would not yield."

"How did Loras get his white cloak?" Willas asked.

"He told me he wanted it, and I recommended him to Stannis. The man was reluctant."

"So there was something you could do. You could have not helped my fool of a little brother swear himself to a man who has little love for our house."

"Loras was quite insistent…"

"Was he? I would've thought you smarter than that." Willas said. "Now you've put your wife and your lover, and my little brother and sister, in mortal danger. I hope you're pleased with yourself."

He shook his head. "All this because Loras wanted a bloody white cloak. Well, he'll get a bloody white cloak, the way Stannis is going. Fighting his way through passes held by Tywin Lannister, what was Stannis thinking."

"Not if our army can advance fast enough." Renly said. "While they're busy fighting in the mountains, we can sweep up from the south and take Lannisport and the Rock."

"Wouldn't work. They're probably already fighting as we speak, or at least in a stalemate. Tywin's good as dead, but a mortally wounded lion is as dangerous as ever, and we can't move in time to help Loras."

"I can't help Loras, no, and Margaery too, and my lack of foresight is to blame. It runs in the family" Renly said. Admitting guilt, even if he had no choice, would at least placate the Tyrells.

Willas didn't laugh at the jape.

"But we can still try and win this quickly, if we strike hard and fast."

Stannis might have tried to take his lover, but Renly would take his prize.

 

[Balaur]

"I need to see Roose. Now." Brynden snapped at the guards defending the perimeter camp. The men glanced at each other. "He's not in command anymore." the taller of the two said.

Brynden raised an eyebrow. He'd been riding out ahead for weeks, watching Jaime's army break the siege and advance with a few of his outriders after sending the rest back with his prize.

"Then who is?" Brynden asked, dreading the answer. If Roose had fallen ill or being wounded or killed in some skirmish, then the last thing they needed was the lords getting into some pissing match over who had the command.

"Lord Stark" the guard said. "He's back from the south."

"Then I need to see Stark. Now." Brynden repeated.

The guard chuckled. "Aye, if you insist, he's in the grand pavilion."

Brynden nodded in acknowledgement and took off at a trot, his escort following behind him.

Eddard was indeed in the pavilion, talking hurriedly to Bolton. Both of them were cold, hard men, but Ned at least had warmth for his wife and children and friends. Roose, from what he'd seen of him, was pure ice, not like to thaw. Brynden knew his sort. He was a calmer, more cultured version of the sort of sellswords who'd slit your throat for a penny and not even have the decency to feel bad about it.

"Ah. Ser Brynden." Eddard said as he saw him coming.

"Eddard." Brynden answered and shook his hand. "Cat is well, last I saw her."

"It's been far too long since I saw her myself." Eddard said quietly.

"He's been a great help to me" Roose softly added.

Brynden snorted. "Tracking down a few hundred rampaging wildlings wasn't hard. Especially since they had a dwarf lion at their head."

He made a note to himself to see Tyrion in his cage again. The man was thoroughly amusing.

"Anyhow, tracking down a few thousand rampaging westermen wasn't hard either. Jaime's broken the siege and is marching straight at us. When I sighted him four days ago, I'd say he was eighty miles away and advancing. He'll be closer by now. Much closer."

"My outriders encountered his a day ago. He's close." Roose said, quiet as a whisper.

Ned nodded grimly. "We break camp and advance to meet him on the morrow. Brynden, I want your scouts out finding his route, and a good place to offer battle along it.

"Is that wise?" Roose asked.

"I want Jaime broken as swiftly as possible, before he ravages the Riverlands further or moves south to reinforce the Westerlands."

"I thought you no longer wanted to serve Stannis" Roose said.

Ned shook his head. "I no longer want to serve on his councils, stuck in King's Landing as he argues about killing children. I still won't let people who violate all the laws of gods and men ravage my goodfather's lands, and I want Tywin and Jaime captured and made to face justice. They killed Jon and Robert to hide their sin. I won't let their deaths be in vain. We offer battle tomorrow."

*

They offered battle. Jaime accepted.

It didn't end well for him.

The northern foot had fought like demons, packed in so tight into their shieldwall the dead hadn't room to fall, as Jaime hurled wave after wave of soldiers at them. He'd fought at the head of the Lannister horse himself, charging the shieldwall over and over, butchering dozens of common foot who couldn't hope to match him.

Brynden had led the archers, anchoring the left and right of the main shieldwall from behind rows of stakes. They'd expended all their arrows in the first hour, and had to rely on camp followers bringing up fresh bundles of arrows, or picking up and shooting back Lannister arrows, or even Tully and northern arrows the Lannisters were shooting back at them.

It was the third charge by Jaime that could have lost either side the battle. From what he could tell, the Lannisters had seemed near to breaking through the shieldwall when a terrible cry had gone up that Jaime had been killed. They'd broken, the knights and half the foot falling back down the hill in disorder to join the other half of the foot, resting between assaults.

Part of the northern foot had given chase, all semblance of order gone, thinking the battle won. They'd nearly paid for it with their lives when the lions turned and counterattacked. The pursuers had formed round to avoid being swamped when they realized their mistake. It wouldn't have been enough, and they'd left a gaping hole in the battle line that Roose was left scrambling to fill.

But Eddard had seen the opportunity and thrown in the cavalry, knights of White Harbour and Seagard, the Barrows and the Twins, alongside swarms of mounted men-at-arms and unknighted northern lancers. They'd been held back in reserve behind the shieldwall, waiting for just such an opportunity. 3,000 fresh horsemen plunging into exhausted and disordered foot had never ended well for the infantry, and the battle had turned into a rout, and for the Lannisters, this time there was no rallying, especially once Jaime fell, his face cut so terribly it had damn near fallen off.

He was still alive, though, his face buried under plaster, under armed guard. The rest of his army had scattered, surrendered or been ridden down in the long rout that had followed, except for a contingent under Forley Prester who had marched off the field in good order, resisting every attempt to charge them down. He'd mounted up all his archers who had horses ridden with the pursuit till the sun had gone down and his sword was dulled, then returned to the camp to find the butcher's bill.

*

"What now?" Wylis Manderly asked. "On to riverrun to liberate it, or course, but what after that?". The man was near as fat as his father, but he'd acquitted himself well in the battle, killing two Western knights and fighting on with arrows sticking out of his thigh and shoulder.

"We have Tywin's heir hostage. I say, force Tywin to give us all the gold in Casterly Rock to get them back, send them to Casterly rock, then let Stannis recapture them when it falls." One of the Freys said.

It was a day since the battle, and Ned had gathered all of his commanders for a council of war.

"That's if Jaime lives and Tywin wants Tyrion back." Glover said.

"He went to war to get Tyrion back. He'll want him." One of the Karstarks said.

Roose and Ned both listened silently.

Bryden raised his voice. "Here's an idea. We march right into the Westerlands. Anyone tries to resist us, we threaten to kill one of the Lannister hostages. We have two of them, so they can't call our bluff. We take Lannisport or perhaps even Casterly rock. Sack the place or protect it from getting sacked by Stannis, depending on whether we're feeling chivalrous."

That got Roose's attention. "A most wise plan, Ser."

"Indeed. We lost nearly a thousand men in that battle. It would be wise to force the surrender of the West rather than having to crush them one by one." Eddard said.

"Sieges are always bloody business. The more of them we can avoid, the better. If nothing else, it'll make sure Stannis knows you're no traitor" Brynden said.

Roose Bolton stood up. "A toast to our victory?"

"Aye!" called the lords in unison.

 

[RideTheWalrus]

They offered battle. Jaime accepted.

It didn't end well for him.

Click to shrink...

Well Jaime, your first mistake was thinking your skills of command were similar to your excellent skills with the sword.

this time there was no rallying, especially once Jaime fell, his face cut so terribly it had damn near fallen off

Click to shrink...

Ouch. That doesn't sound like a prestigious scar. His sister is probably going to be cruel about it

 

[Teucrian]

Bryden raised his voice. "Here's an idea. We march right into the Westerlands. Anyone tries to resist us, we threaten to kill one of the Lannister hostages. We have two of them, so they can't call our bluff. We take Lannisport or perhaps even Casterly rock. Sack the place or protect it from getting sacked by Stannis, depending on whether we're feeling chivalrous."

That got Roose's attention. "A most wise plan, Ser."

"Indeed. We lost nearly a thousand men in that battle. It would be wise to force the surrender of the West rather than having to crush them one by one." Eddard said.

"Sieges are always bloody business. The more of them we can avoid, the better. If nothing else, it'll make sure Stannis knows you're no traitor" Brynden said.

Click to shrink...

It seems a bit optimistic to assume that they have free reign to do as they please.
"We've got your heirs, open up your gates to my army!"
"No... then you'd have my heirs and my capital would be sacked of the gold I need to ransom them back."
"Well, damn."

 

[Balaur]

"How many more attacks can we hold against?" Ser Addam Marbrand asked.

Kevan shrugged. "Dozens. Even if he breaks the men holding the goldroad pass, he'll have to do it again and again, against each successive layer of men. Even if he does that, any survivors can hide in the Deep Den and force him to starve them out."

Joffrey smiled to himself. Stannis's first attack up the goldroad had seen the Myrish crossbowmen in the vanguard shot down by archers and ridden down by Stannis's own knights, his men milling about in chaos as half of them tried to retreat and the other half tried to advance. He wore a Myrish crossbow on his saddle now. What he really wanted was a musket and a couple of pistols like the Grenadiers, but that would have to do for now.

"The true threat is Renly." Tywin said. "He is heading up from the south as we speak. If he catches us in this pass, we will be caught between hammer and anvil and will have to fight as hard to break out as Stannis currently has to break through."

"Then we should attack and crush Stannis!" Joffrey said. "He has as many men as we do, but we already bloodied him so they'll be scared of us. I'll ask him to fight me in single combat, then shoot him when he accepts. Then we can fight Renly and kill him."

Tywin glared at him.

"That will not work." His grandfather said.

Joffrey bristled. "Why not? If Stannis doesn't accept, he's a coward and his men won't follow him."

He'd talked to Ser Barristan and his dog beforehand about killing Stannis. Barristan thought it a terrible idea, but he was a coward and a fool, so what did he know?

"If you're fool enough to risk your life in single combat, your men won't follow you. If you get yourself killed, our cause is lost. If you kill him with a peasant's weapon, you'll be a coward and a jape."

He felt something burning inside him. The same thing he'd felt when he'd drawn his sword on his coward grandfather. Hate. He hated Tywin, the weak fool. He hated his mother for letting herself be captured, the dumb bitch. He hated Renly and Stannis for stealing what he had been born to have. He hated that foreign sellsword whore for being their catspaw. Most of all, though, he hated his own powerlessness when he was the king. He should be the most powerful of all, but the weaklings and cowards and traitors had taken it all from him.

"I am the king! If I want to face Stannis, you will let me face Stannis. He stole my throne! He sent that Stark bitch to seduce me! He killed my mother! I won't kill him, I'll cripple him, and have him broken on the wheel as a traitor deserves!"

"If you kill him, then Renly becomes king and nothing changes. His men will keep fighting. His lords are loyal. His mercenaries want pay. Killing Stannis with a crossbow does nothing but stain your name. There is a time and a place for staining your name for greater benefit, but this is not it."

"Then what will you do to kill Stannis?"

"Exactly what I said I would do. Leave troops in the passes to hold his forces, move south to attack Renly with the rest of his force, and if we break him, shift back north to finish Stannis. He'll probably have found a way through, but he will be weakened and delayed."

"And if we can't break Renly?" Joffrey asked.

I bet you didn't think of that, you old fool.

Tywin barely blinked.

"Then we retreat north to defend Casterly Rock and Lannisport."

"Certainly better than being trapped in the mountains. And there is more. We have a report from a holdfast south of Crakehall. Renly is riding with all his horse ahead of the foot, hoping to surprise his enemies with speed. Thanks to a certain brave Maester's actions, he no longer has that surprise." Kevan added.

"If we can hit his vanguard while it's isolated, we can cut off the head of the snake and not even have to touch the body." Ser Addam said. The copper haired man had been silent for most of the war council.

A wiser man than his grandfather. He knows not to invoke a kings wrath.

"I told you killing the traitor leaders was a good idea!" Joffrey said.

Tywin did not respond.

He doesn't say anything because he knows I'm right.

"Who shall command the defence of the goldroad and the Deep Den? If we leave the mountains, we cannot leave the pass undefended." Ser Addam asked.

"You would be a good choice, Ser." Kevan said.

"Or Gregor Clegane. He would certainly put the fear of the seven into those Myrishmen" Marbrand said. He grinned, in the most annoying way Joffrey had ever seen. "Or better yet, put me in command of Gregor. That would be something to see."

Joffrey altogether approved of that. He'd seen Gregor sparring. If Uncle Jaime didn't come back from the war, he wanted that man to command his Kingsguard.

"Ser Selmy will lead the defence." Tywin said. "He is loyal, brave and a skilled commander."

"Unless you would have him remain with you, your grace." Kevan quickly added.

"Barristan is an old man and a coward. I wouldn't trust him to watch my back. My dog is all I need" Joffrey said.

"Selmy saved your life, and Aerys before him. He has a lifetime of experience in the arts of war. If we can hold the pass, Stannis's numbers mean nothing while we deal with Renly. If he cannot, he will still cost Stannis dearly in blood and time." Tywin coldly said. "Ser Addam, invite him into the tent, and give him his charge."

The knight nodded.

Ser Selmy entered a moment later. He had been standing watch outside, fully armoured.

"Your Grace" he said to Joffrey, bowing.

"I have a new duty for you." Tywin said as soon as he entered, and then the old bastards were off, babbling of the forces they had, how many in each lord's consignment, how many lances and pikes and bows, the positions of slopes and ditches, of where to make a stand. He ignored it. Such matters were for common captains, not for kings. Finally, Tywin asked Ser Selmy for a final summation.

"Three hundred knights, the best we have, to hold the narrow defiles. Three hundred squires to serve the knights so they can focus their strength on the fighting. They should be fully armed, to fight alongside the knights if things become desperate. And three hundred archers to stop them being shot down by Myrishmen. Another few hundred archers and spears to guard the lesser passes. And Lydden's men should continue to hold the Deep Den, so that come what may, they can still slow Stannis." Ser Selmy said.

Tywin nodded thoughtfully. "Then I can strike at Renly with my back protected."

Barristan will just get himself killed.

He was about to say that, when he realized that if he let Barristan fight he'd finally be rid of the bastard.

That, of course, would be well worth the cost.

 

[Balaur]

"Yield! It's over" Tane called to the men at arms surrounding the Crakehall lord.

The man shook his head from behind the men, who surrounded him. "I'll not yield my home!"

"It'll do nothing but get your men killed!" Tane shouted back.

Her ears were still ringing from the indoors gunfire, and her heart was hammering from the battle-rush, even though they'd faced barely any resistance. She tightened her grip on her pistol and backsword, squinting at the dozen or so men through the torchlight. They were huddling around their lord, unarmoured and only lightly armed. No time to get properly equipped as they'd hastily gathered on the roof of his keep. They were panicked and confused, but they were still trapped between losing their lives by fighting or losing their honour by surrender, and trapped men were the most dangerous of all.

"Just yield!" Tane called again. Her own grenadiers had their armour on, and loaded muskets, and just the ones with her on the roof had them outnumbered slightly. She could hear the thump of grenade blasts down below, as Lieutenant Gryff led men to secure the guardhouses, and the ring of steel on steel from Emon Cuy's men securing the other gatehouses.

"Face me. Me and you, in single combat." he said. She could tell he was desperate. "You're a craven, attacking in the night with sorcery."

Tane sighed.

"One word and I can have all your men gunned down where they stand. I'm dictating the terms, not you. Yield!"

He shoved his way out in front of his line of retainers, sword and shield in hand. "What will it be, craven!" he yelled again.

Can't be known as a coward, Tane finally decided. "I'll fight, though it won't save you." She yelled at him, then glanced back at Morgan, the grey witch inconspicuous in her buff, back and breast. "The moment I get wounded, throw the fight." she ordered, in Genian as she pulled her pistols out of her belt and handed them to Aurene Slach, the Valadian now carrying no less than five guns.

The witch nodded.

She stepped forwards into the no-man's land between the lines, hefting her backsword and rondache as Crakehall advanced, hunkering behind his shield.

She edged in, adopting a low nails-down guard, her shield held back to cover her inside line Hassarchene style, watching him carefully. He towered over her, a good six foot three by the looks of him, but he was all fat. He'd slept only in his breeches, and apparently planned to fight in them too.

Work his outside line, go for the sword hand or a clean hit to the head.

The corners of her burgonet restricted her peripheral vision, but she barely noticed the weight of her armour beyond the constant rattling.

She stamped her foot. "You wanted a duel, then fucking duel!" she snapped.

The big man took the bait.

Crakehall stepped forwards and hurled a brutal overhand cut, swinging his shield back as a counterweight. She parried, rolling her wrist back into a hanging guard as he tried to bull through her defence, let his blade slide down onto her shield, took a step to his outside line, and whipped her sword into his face with a half reverse. He staggered back, screaming. Tane was on him a moment later, knocking his blade off line in the same movement that chambered her cut then whipping it down to chop into his arm. She blocked his flailing afterblow with her shield, slashed at his face again only for it to be caught on his shield, then retreated out of the way of his shield as he attempted to push her down. She realized her back was to his men and began to circle back towards her own, returning to guard.

"Cunt! Fucking cunt!" Crakehall roared as he staggered towards her, his whole right side shining red in the torchlight.

"The last knight I killed called me that, too. Didn't help him." Tane said, cursing herself a moment later for breaking her concentration.

He hurled his shield aside, letting his off-hand help his wounded arm with his sword. Tane twitched at him, as if to attack. He parried thin air, and Tane knew then that she good as had him.

He roared and hacked at her again, going for her outside line, forcing her to defend with her sword rather than her rondache. Tane parried, trying to deflect his blade rather than stop it, and gave ground even as he came back in with a second blow, straight overhead. She stepped forwards into the attack, catching it on her shield even as she stabbed him through the throat and retreated back out at an angle, parrying another clumsy blow.

He kept coming, and for a moment Tane feared that she'd failed to penetrate anything important. Then, just as he looked to be about to swing again, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. Tane kicked his sword away and stabbed him again, in the back of theskull , to make sure he stayed down.

"I'd fucking yield, or that'll be you!" she yelled at his men.

They took her advice.

*

"Randyll's coming. Pickets made contact with him." Lieutenant Gryff said as he walked up onto the gatehouse crenellations beside her, a short pollaxe over his shoulder. He was a short, burly man with a massive moustache, promoted up from the ranks.

During the assault he'd led men to climb the walls, cut the gatehouse defender's throats, and let the rest of her company in, alongside others of Renly's vanguard. By the time they'd realized what was going on, it was too late. They'd stormed into the lower levels of the keep with barely any warning, massacring everyone in their path, taking them prisoners or simply having Morgan put them on the ground, twitching and drooling. She'd knocked the portcullis operators out with a brutal bit of tilting, then simply mindbroken half the soldiers who'd tried to defend the gateway. One of the guardhouses had been looking to be getting organized, so Gryff had led men across to toss in grenades, while she continued with the assault on the keep. Robar Crakehall was the closest thing to an actual fight they'd faced.

"Bloody Randyll" Tane muttered. She had no liking for the man. He was a skilled commander by reputation, but he held her grenadiers and her in particular in disdain. She clambered down the stairs, Gryff following her. Half a dozen grenadiers were in the gatehouse; Corporal Adaire Hralt's lance. They had grenades stacked next to the murder holes, and a pair of soldiers watching through the arrow slits while the rest leaned against the walls.

"Cavalry's arrived, Cap" Adaire said, grinning.

"Thought we were the cavalry" one of his soldiers said.

"We're mounted infantry. That means we're cavalry when the infantry are bitching about us being too high and mighty, and infantry when the cavalry are looking down their nose at us." A third trooper said.

The other soldiers laughed.

"Get ready for muster" Tane said. "Gryff, get Caradoc, Morgan and Sace up. Boots and saddles, the whole lot. Rotate Ser Cuy's men onto lookout and picket duty." She left for the courtyard.

Ser Emmon Cuy greeted her in the courtyard, his armour yellow to match his beard. "M'lady, do you want me to gather my troops?"

He'd led the Westerosi troops in the raid, a hundred each of longbows and spearmen, all of them mounted.

"Captain, not lady." Tane said. She repeated the order she'd given Gryff and whistled for Boudace. The page girl came running up to her, one hand going to her backsword, awkwardly long on her short frame. "Get my horse saddled and get an escort lance together. Get Sace too, tell her to get the company banner."

Boudace nodded and ran off.

*

"Lord Renly." Tane said as she saw him coming, saluting.

"Captain Bayder. Your victory was most impressive" Renly said, trotting up to her. He had the whole vanguard of his army riding with him, knights and squires and the mounted spearmen that the Westorosi insisted on calling men-at-arms. His bodyguards rode with him; a couple of reacher knights she didn't recognize and Brienne of Tarth.

She was the biggest woman Tane had ever seen, and fast and skilled as well, and even then the Westerosi treated her as a joke. It was absurd. They insisted that women lacked the strength needed to fight, then when a woman who was more than strong enough came along, they mocked her anyway.

Tane wheeled her horse to match Renly's pace.

"Lord Tarly" Tane said as Randyll rode up next to them. The hard faced, balding man was in dull grey plate harness, his Valyrian steel greatsword slung across his back and an arming sword on his hip. Knights of half a hundred houses rode behind him, alongside their squires and the mounted spearmen they insisted on calling "men-at-arms".

"Tane" Randyll answered, contempt barely restrained. Well, at least he didn't call me a bloody lady.

"Crakehall has fallen. Only light casualties for us, no deaths. About a hundred prisoners. Robar Crakehall's dead. Killed him in single combat." Tane said. They'd probably already gotten the message, but it couldn't hurt to repeat it.

"Good. Now, we need you and your grenadiers stiffening up the silvercloaks, not out in the vanguard. There's questions about their reliability. We've had problems with desertions, and the officers aren't sure how to make best use of the firearms." Randyll said.

"Just like crossbows, only more. Powerful, slow to reload." Tane said. "Hopefully the silvercloaks know how to use those, and if you don't Bydevere will know."

Bydevere was a gentleman volunteer and formerly her companies quartermaster. He'd always wanted a position as a commissioned officer, bristling at being outranked by Gryff, so she'd granted him a position as a captain of one of the silvercloak's caliver companies. The man was rigid and short tempered, but he knew what he was doing.

Randyll grunted. "Renly's orders, not mine. Though they aren't unwise."

Tane glanced at Renly questioningly.

"Well, everything Randyll said is true, and besides, at the rate you're going there won't be any glory for the rest of us!"

The knights with him laughed.

"So what you're saying" Tane began, "Is that you have a unit of elite cavalry, capable of serving as both horse and foot, who have just taken a castle with no casualties in one night, and armed to the teeth with the deadliest weapons around, and you want to use us as line infantry because we're doing our job properly?"

"I'm not saying that, I'm saying that I want someone who knows how to lead soldiers leading the Silvercloaks, and experienced soldiers stiffening them up. Jacelyn Bywater is a goldcloak, not a warrior." Randyll answered.

"The soldiers I had for Crakehall were the biggest command I've ever held. I've never led an infantry battalion. If you insist, I'll lead the silvercloaks. But you're losing an opportunity here."

"And you're gaining one. Consider this a promotion." Renly said, smiling as always.

Tane sighed. "That I will." The Westerosi capacity for shooting themselves in the foot never ceased to amaze her.

 

[Teucrian]

The Westerosi capacity for shooting themselves in the foot never ceased to amaze her.

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They'll be learning new and interesting ways to do it now that you've given them firearms!

 

[Balaur]

The smell of flea bottom hit her like a lance strike. It was overwhelming, the all-encompassing stink of manure human and animals, rotting corpses of horses and dogs and rats, and the blood and sweat and tears of a sea of humanity crammed into far too small a space.

She was glad she was born noble. It was her lot to live amongst luxury, not amongst filth; and in return she had only to do a highborn's duty to look after their smallfolk, and as the wife of the absent Hand of the King, the people of King's Landing, who had no other lord, were hers to look after. Today she was bringing a cartful of food to an orphanage in Flea Bottom, run by a Septon on donations from the faithful.

She could hear yelling outside as people came to watch, and a horse whickering nervously. A highborn coming anywhere near flea bottom was a rare sight.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Elinor Tyrell asked.

"They don't hate us." Margaery said, followed by a whispered "They hate the queen."

"Even so… this is still dangerous."

"No, you're right. If a mob is hateful enough, they can kill even dragons. That's why we have to make them love us. And going out into the city rather than hiding in the red keep will do that." Margaery added.

Margaery glanced at the shapes moving outside their litter. She would have preferred to be on horseback. She'd be safer if she could move freely and see clearly, and it would tell the smallfolk that she wasn't afraid of them.

The litter lurched to a halt, and she heard raised voices ahead. Voices, at least half a dozen, yelling for the whore to show her face. She felt her hand begin to shake, and wished she was in the habit, as some ladies were, of carrying a dagger.

Margaery pushed the litter open and leaned out.

"What is it?" she asked the nearest guard. Cleg the Peg, an old, weather beaten man who'd first fought in the war of the ninepenny kings. She'd managed to get the reason for his name out of a couple of comrades. He'd had his leg maimed so badly by a crossbow bolt at Storm's End the Maesters had thought they'd had to amputate it, but he'd recovered near flawlessly. His comrade's hadn't let him forget the incident, though.

"There's a man blocking the path. Says Selyse is a faithless highborn whore and wants her to come out and face him."

Margaery paused in thought. Trying to argue with fanatics would be more trouble than it was worth, but simply ignoring a problem seldom solved it.

What was it Garlan said? Facing danger, it is often safer to charge than to hesitate.

She leaned further out of the litter.

"Margaery, no!" Elinor squeaked from behind her.

"I'll have you know I'm not Selyse, faithful to the seven and no whore. Though I am, in fact, Highborn." Margaery shouted.

She heard a few boos in the crowd, but more cheers.

She retreated back into the litter, laughing to herself, half in relief and half in exhilaration. Elinor giggled with her.

The litter began to move and sway as the servants carrying her set off again. She made a note to herself to pay them extra, for having to carry her through Flea Bottom.

Septon Samwise greeted her when she arrived at the orphanage, alongside the High Septon. The two couldn't look more different. Samwise was tall and lean with a kindly smile, in plain roughspun robes. He dedicated every bit of wealth he could get his hands on to looking after his orphans, keeping them fed and clothed, or getting them apprenticeships or positions as lord's servants.

The High Septon, on the other hand, was fat, aging, and dressed head to toe in fine robes. Margaery wished more Septons were like Samwise rather than the High Septon, though she knew that if given the choice she'd happily take the latter's lifestyle.

She clambered out of the litter, letting a maid on foot take her hand as she did so, and ordered the guards to bring out the food, and the old tapestries she was donating to the faith.

*

When she returned to the Red Keep, it was nearly midday. She clambered down out of the litter as soon as they were within the walls, greeting the Tyrell guards as she was carried through. She wanted to stretch her legs.

"Want to go find something to eat?" Margaery asked. "It's almost lunch." She glanced at the sun's positions.

"Preferably something nice smelling."

Margaery laughed.

"I'll tell the tell the cook that."

Since Axell had been appointed acting Hand of the King and the Horse Grenadiers had left, the Tyrell contingent had been thrown into the Maidenvault, and they'd gotten their food from the keep's main kitchens rather the Tower of the Hand's.

They ducked through hallways and waved to servants, acting like she would have in Highgarden while trying to pretend that she didn't have half a dozen armed guards following after her, spears over their shoulders and mail clanking.

She heard angry voices up ahead, and as she drew closer they turned into words.

"The Lord of Li-"

"Bugger the lord of light and bugger your prattling."

"The Lord of Light is the one true god of our one true King."

"The false god of our queen, you mean. Stannis don't give a fuck."

"You dare insult my queen?"

She heard the noise of a sword being drawn, and then another and caught a glimpse through the doorway of a man in Renly's colours backing away, hands raised.

"Look, mate, there's no need…"

She stopped, her breath catching in her chest. They're going to kill each other in the Red Keep.

"Stop them. Now." Margaery yelled, surprised at the fear and anger creeping into her voice.

"Yes, M'lady" Cleg grunted. "On me!"

It had to be said, Mace had picked good men to protect her. They pushed forwards in a sort of wedge, the men who'd brought shields unslinging them, and rushed through the doorway. She heard bellowing to the effect of "Stand down!", only with the downright rainbow vocabulary of soldiers. It lasted for several minutes.

When the yelling had died down, she ducked through the doorway. The Handsmen and Queensmen-that was what they were calling themselves now, both claiming to be the ones truly loyal to Stannis-had been forced apart by the Tyrell footmen. One of them was on the ground, pinned by a Tyrell spearman with his sword lying out of reach.

"We are at war!" Margaery said plaintively. "Why should the followers of the true King fight when an abomination threatens his true rule?"

Because this isn't a fight between the Seven and the Red God, or between Selyse and I. This is a fight between the Florent's Baratheon puppets, and my own puppets.

But that had to wait, until the present enemy was defeated.

*

She ambushed Selyse after dinner in the great hall, glancing about to make sure they were alone.

"Your Grace" Margaery said, curtseying neatly.

"Yes?" Selyse asked, looking down her nose at her.

"I'd like to pray with you at the Nightfires."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, on one condition. In the name of peace and unity, you'll pray with the High Septon."

"I will not worship false gods."

"You just have to put on the mask of doing that. Say that you are having a crisis of faith and are thinking of reconciling."

"And why should I do this?"

"Because our men are moments away from slaughtering each other in the red keep. Because the commons are moments away from rioting because they see you as faithless. Because it would give me an excuse to worship at the night fires, and I am becoming rather curious about this red god."

 

[RideTheWalrus]

Because it would give me an excuse to worship at the night fires, and I am becoming rather curious about this red god."

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Interesting. This is how it starts with the red god. Liking the story

 

[Balaur]

Interesting. This is how it starts with the red god. Liking the story

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I probably should have made it clearer in the text, but Margaery is a firm follower of the seven who is creeped out by Melisandre. She's basically pretending to be interested in the Red god to try and get on Selyse's good side, while using it to try and convince Selyse to make noises towards reconciliation with the seven to calm things down in the city.

 

[Balaur]

Tywin's army was supposed to be one of the finest in Westeros, but all Renly saw of his vanguard were a few thousand levied men with spears, shaking out of march columns into a ragged shieldwall. Archers were steadily appearing on the slopes of the hill behind them.

10,000 horse, against unsupported foot we outnumber. It'll be a rout. Then we can roll up the rest of his army as they try to deploy for battle, or retreat and lure them back into the infantry.

That was what they'd agreed, in the hasty council of war they'd held in the early hours of the morning after his scouts had ran into and skirmished with Tywin's. Garlan had urged caution and bringing the infantry into play, Ser Cuy a spoiling attack, and Randyll an attack aimed at overwhelming the vanguard and forcing the rest of Tywin's forces to retreat, inflicting a defeat in detail like he'd inflicted on Robert at Ashford. In the end, they'd agreed to a compromise. Renly was happy enough with that. If they relied on the infantry, men would say it was numbers and sorcery that defeated Tywin Lannister. If it was with an attack by the vanguard… well, that would be Randyll's plan, but listening to his generals was a credit to a commander.

He glanced back behind himself, checking the stream of knights and mounted men-at-arms still streaming down the hill and fanning out into line on either side of him. Knights of the Reach, mostly; the few Stormlands men were all with his personal guard.

How long? How long?

If the vanguard took too long to deploy, they would lose the advantage of numbers, and besides, he was getting a horrible itch sitting still in his saddle.

The archers on the hill were working, as if digging.

"What do you reckon they're doing?" he asked, glancing at Brienne. She'd sworn to protect his life with hers a day before the battle, and Renly had accepted. As a woman, she was absurd, but as a knight she was ideal. And he didn't much care for women.

She squinted at them. "Driving in stakes. Tywin wants to make his stand here, I believe."

"Then we'd best attack." he said.

He spurred forwards from his position on the vanguard's right, the place of honour, and watched the line forming. The right under his own command and the centre under Randyll were fully deployed. The left under Garlan was nearly finished, and the reserves under Rowan were still coming over the hill. He could attack without the reserves-by the time they were needed, they would have finished deploying-but leaving an open flank was less than ideal.

He waited until Garlan's men were done forming. It seemed like an eternity.

He returned to the lines and called for a trumpeter.

"Signal the attack."

The boy nodded and blew out the notes, and the rest of his army echoed it. Renly's squire handed his lance, and he shook out the pennon of Baratheon on its end as he spurred his horse forwards at the walk. It was about 500 yards to the first Lannister line, and his horse, a tourney-trained destrier, was stamping at the bit. He forced himself to keep pace with the knights on either side. If they got strung out, they'd have to pause to dress the lines, and that would be even more time wasted.

They worked in closer and closer, slowly and steadily. When they were two hundred yards out, he sped up to a trot, the men on either side matching his pace, and then the whole formation was moving, faster and faster.

The spearmen formed shieldwall, the front rank crouching and bracing their spears butt-first against the ground, the second rank layering their shield over those in front, presenting a wall of wood and steel. At a distance, they seemed almost a joke compared to the raw power of the chivalry Renly had at his command. This close, though… he didn't like the idea of hurling his horse against those points.

They'll break before contact, peasants always do. And besides, I'm armoured, my horse will die, not me if they don't break.

He sped up to the gallop, his powerful horse letting him move out ahead of the rest of the line. Robert had always said the best way to deal with fear was to channel it, into a desire to kill the other bastard before he killed you. They moved in, a hundred yards, fifty, twenty… he couched his lance as the men facing him began to cringe away, and he caught a glimpse of a spearmen's shocked face before his lance tore through it.

They didn't have a chance. His horse slammed into them, spears glancing off their armour, knocking men down, coming down to a halt as the mass of men arrested it's momentum with their packed bodies. Renly was first rocked back in the saddle by a spear thrust, then knocked forwards by the impact with the shieldwall. His horse paced up to a walk as it regained momentum, ploughing through the foot who were already beginning to run. That was the worst thing they could have done.

Renly hurled his broken lance aside and grabbed his warhammer, small and light, unlike the monster Robert had wielded, and began to lay on, crushing helmets and faces, pursuing the men up the slope. He glanced back and saw the first lines of the cavalry intermingled with the foot. A few clumps of infantry had kept their nerve, or the knights had lost theirs, and were holding their opponents off with spears. They would soon be flanked and rolled up, he knew, by the vast sea of horseflesh. The casualties they'd taken almost paltry compared to that. so he ignored them and kept pressing on, other riders falling in with him on either side.

He screamed for the knights to stay on him, but found he couldn't hear his own voice. Arrows began to fall, first in dribs and drabs, then in swarms that he swore made the sunlight flicker. Horses staggered and fell, and the Lannister spearmen too, but the knights were mostly unharmed except for those who had opened their visors.

He began to see why, as the air in his helmet became increasingly stale, but ignored it and kept moving, his horse heaving under him. He pricked it with his spurs, forcing it back to the gallop, rushing at the archers uphill.

As he drew in closer, though, he saw Brienne was right, and there were stakes, thick as a forest, screening their front. He kept pushing forwards, aiming to rush them down, to jump the stakes. Something slammed into him, hard, and his horse staggered, and for a moment he feared he would fall but his horse righted itself. A knight, Emmon Cuy, who had ridden up ahead of him fell, man and horse, and Renly leapt the dying beast. He felt a rush of exhilaration, and understood why Robert had loved war so.

Then they hit the stakes. His horse ploughed into them, like it had ploughed into the spears, only this time its armour didn't hold, and it twisted and fell. He was thrown forwards, visor knocked askew. He tried to get to his feet. Someone knocked him face-first into the dirt. He felt a weight straddle him, and someone grabbing at his helmet, and he tried to yell out "I yield!" but he couldn't make the words come out, and then the weight was lifted. He rolled onto his back, and threw his helmet off. Brienne of Tarth in her blue armour had managed to jump the stakes and was standing over him, laying on with her Morningstar, facing half a dozen men on foot with swords. Others had done the same, or had dismounted and were pulling up stakes.

No need to yield, no need to yield, we're winning, we're winning….

He staggered to his feet as if drunk, and went for his sword. As he looked down, he saw his surcoat and shield had half a hundred arrows shot through them. He cut down one of the men facing Brienne with half a dozen butcher's blows, was knocked staggering by a spear thrust to his back, turned to face his attacker, then hacked first his spear then his shield then his skull to splinters.

"FOLLOW ME! OURS IS THE FURY!" he screamed, the terror of mere moments before forgotten.

The archers were routing too, now, as cavalry began to spill in through breaches in the stake line. He kept running forwards, amongst knights on foot and horse, and fleeing archers. One of them turned to fight, cutting at his face; he parried and gutted the man on reflex. He'd never been an especially good swordsman, but it was enough for facing terrified, disordered peasants.

Then he saw the tips of lances coming over the hill crest, and the banners of Lannister and Crakehall and Marbrand and a thousand others, and then the riders, and then horses, and blocks of pikemen mixed in amongst them, and saw in the corners of his eyes his own knights, many of them horseless, milling about, trying to regroup after breaching the stake line.

He said a silent prayer to the warrior, for he was going to need his help.

 

[Somebodynobody10]

**ck-up in action, I see.

 

[Mackon]

Maybe time Tane got knighted and a noble seat or something for services rendered?

 

[Jane Dough]

Retard**ck in action, I see.

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Language.

 

[Somebodynobody10]

Language.

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Self-censure was in place.

EDIT: ah yes, some people have problems with that word.

 

[Balaur]

Maybe time Tane got knighted and a noble seat or something for services rendered?

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Possibly, although I'm not sure if women can actually be knighted in Westeros. However, there will be lots of empty land in the Westerlands and Renly/Stannis will be giving out titles like candy.

Self-censure was in place.

EDIT: ah yes, some people have problems with that word.

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For example the author.

 

[Balaur]

I've decided to retcon the timescale for firearms manufacture, with black powder production and the first prototype firearms being manufactured well before the coup, and things kicking up into mass production soon after.

*

The first of the vanguard to return where outriders, warning that they'd contacted Tywin's forces and were preparing to advance, and ordering the foot to move up to support the vanguard.

Mace happily accepted, pushing his troops at double-quick time to attack the Lannisters, joking about how he wasn't going to have his goodson steal all the glory.

Then the cavalry came over the horizon. Some of their squadrons were in good order, though most were badly organized mobs, clouds of stragglers trailing behind them. They were nearly a mile out when she got her first good look at them, silhouetted against the gently rolling hills.

Tane stood up in her saddle, reaching for her spyglass when she saw them coming.

Hostiles?

She panned past the knights, stag and rose flying over their heads, some of them slumped over their horses, others riding pillion, and watched the horizon for pursuers. A victorious army didn't return looking like that.

"Boudace, find Mace and tell him we've got a problem. Bywater, get the men into approach columns and halt now."

The knight obeyed, bellowing orders to the company captains and NCOs. There was no time for arguing about precedence or complaining about being ordered about by a woman.

Tane trotted her horse over to Gryff, now the Captain of the 3rd Horse Guards Grenadier Company after Tane had been promoted to Colonel of the silvercloaks. The horse grenadiers were riding alongside the silvercloaks, ready to act as light cavalry support or dismount and supplement their firepower as needed.

"Get the Grenadiers out to that hill, screen for pursuit. If you see them, fall back, warn me, and get back into reserve. You know how close cavalry support works. Morgan, stay with the grenadiers."

"Yes Ma'am" Gryff and Morgan barked simultaneously, then turned to the Grenadiers, shaking them out into a six rank deep combat formation.

Tane turned back to the silvercloaks, watching them fan out into their combat formation. 10 deep, pikes at the center, crossbows and calivers on the flanks, short weapons back in reserve. They were at the head of the main force's march columns. Even so, it took an agonizingly long time for each company to come up out of the march column and begin to deploy. She could see some of the contingents behind were moving off the road and into the cornfields, in anticipation of forming on the silvercloaks flanks.

Thank fuck for officers who can take the bloody initiative.

She glanced back at the column, looking for Mace's banner, seeing how close he was.

Only about, say, five minutes away. A little less time until the first units of the vanguard arrived, since most of them seemed to be going at a slow trot. With a force of Westermen ready to come charging over the horizon any moment in pursuit, that might as well be an eternity.

Come on Gryff, get those pickets out there.

Gryff was more experienced than she was and had been her lieutenant since she was commissioned into the Grenadiers, but even so, not commanding the horse grenadiers herself felt wrong somehow.

She checked the lines of the silvercloaks as she waited, checking that they had matches lit, had enough room between files to countermarch and fight effectively, that the officers and NCOs were in their correct positions. She'd been lucky that the miracle had brought their books back with them, including an old drill manual from back when the commonwealth had relied on matchlocks.

The first knights began to ride past them. Tane saw the arrows and even snapped off lances and pikes sticking into them, impaled into their shields and surcoats and caprissions. Many of the horses seemed to be barely on their feet, whether from exhaustion or wounds she did not know.

She searched for Renly's banner amongst the masses of men and couldn't find it. Plenty of crowned stags, but not the massive embroidered one with no crown Renly used as his personal standard.

One of the first units that had actually kept it's cohesion rode in, the half-formed shieldwall on her left opening a gap for them to ride through. They were in the colours of Brightwater Keep and it's bannermen, less shot up than the others.

Tane trotted over to them.

"What happened? They got cavalry in pursuit?" Tane asked.

A tall knight with a fox shield lifted his visor. His eyes seemed almost glazed over.

"We, we pushed in Tywin's vanguard but then he counterattacked…. He smashed the right and center and routed them… there was nothing we could do…"

"Cavalry? They got horse coming after us?"

"They caught and butchered the knights of Oldtown, they were coming for us but we outran them…"

Mace rode up to her in his bulky armour, surrounded by heavily armed bodyguards.

"What is happening? Has Renly returned? Are we under attack?". He seemed almost puffed after riding up a mild slope.

The knight turned to face him, babbling about stakes and clouds of arrows and outflanking while Mace asked questions, his face increasingly panicked.

As far as Tane could tell, Renly had just been given an object lesson in why combined arms existed, and his forces had routed, but Tywin had enough good sense not to pursue straight into the infantry. That would have been disastrous for both of them.

"Is Renly with them? Is Garlan?" Mace asked.

"I don't know."

Oh, bugger.

"Renly attacked. Renly got thrown back. Now, what do we do?" Tane said, as calmly as possible.

Like a sergeant telling an Ensign to unfuck himself, only with a man in charge of 60,000 men.

"We, uh, should wait until we see what Tywin's doing. And find out what happened to Garlan and Renly." Mace began.

"We need to get a credible line of battle together in case Tywin attacks, figure out where he is and what he's doing, and get the cavalry regrouped before-"

Mace galloped over to another group of horsemen.

"Where is Lord Renly! Where is Garlan!"

"I saw Garlan's horse killed by a lance, I don't know what happened to him afterwards…" one of them said.

Mace seemed somewhere between outraged and about to break down in tears.

"We, we advance on Tywin! We have him two to one or more!" Mace said, his fear suddenly forgotten.

"Is that wise? We may fall into the same trap as Renly did." a lord in Mace's retinue said.

"We have the numbers! Renly was outmatched, but we are not."

*

It took them over an hour to reach the battlefield, only five miles away. There were bodies here and there, and stragglers and wounded left by the pursuit. Riders brought in Renly and Brienne, both of them badly wounded and barely conscious. They'd been found surrounded by half a dozen dead, apparently saved by a group of knights who regrouped and counterattacked the pursuers. Or at least that was what she'd been able to deduce when she'd seen them riding by, slumped over their saddles and covered in blood, to cheering from the troops, and what had been explained by a messenger who'd gone about when they'd halted to dress their lines. They were bundled off to the baggage train by the Maesters, and the advance continued, Mace looking increasingly fretful.

The hillside where Renly had met Tywin was strewn with a multicoloured smear, increasingly dense up to the tangle of dead men and horses around the stakeline. They halted on their own hillside and began to deploy into battle lines, while the horse grenadiers picked their way up through the maze of bodies. When they reached the top of the hill, Tane spotted three flashes from a field mirror, the signal for all clear. She had the message passed along, and the advance resumed.

Many of the men on the hillside were still alive and sometimes even unwounded, only pinned under dead horses or stunned. That was usual for armoured fighters, though she saw many had their visors pulled open and had been stabbed to death. Some had even been mutilated or scalped. Tane didn't look away from the ruined faces. It wasn't as if she hadn't done that sort of damage to people before.

She ordered her men to avoid trampling on anyone, sent a runner back for the camp followers to be brought up, and kept up the advance.

There were no bodies once they got past the stakeline, the formation awkwardly shifting into a three file wide column to pass through, her orders yelled over the noise of dying horses. It was always the horses that got the worst of things in a fight like this. Only the best equipped knights armoured their horses, and no-one cared enough to take them prisoner, or pull them out of the fight once they went down.

They crested the hill, and saw Tywin's men snaking off into the distance, beating a hasty retreat.

"Captain Tane?" Bywater said. "There's something you might want to see." He pointed at the eastern horizon.

There was a third army marching in. Stannis.

 

[Mackon]

Well that was a little anti-climactic, get all set up for desperate battle only for the Lannisters to get scared off by Stannis