Smoke & Salt: A Horse Grenadier Company in Westeros

[Balaur]

"Bread! Bread! Bread!" the mass chanted, as Margaeries men set about distributing the supply of food.

"Children first, and nursing women, please!" an officer of the Goldcloaks shouted. They did not have enough to feed everyone, not without running through their rations in a few days; they had decided that prioritizing children was the best way to convince the mob to accept that they couldn't feed everyone.

The covers were pulled back on the wagons; children came forwards from the sea of people. They had sunken eyes, sunken faces: gone too long without good food. Many of the children were alone, some carrying or leading younger siblings. Others were with their parents, women mostly but men too.

It went smoothly, at first. There was an argument; a mother insisting she get a ration too, since then she'd be able to work to support her children.

There is no work here. The Kingswood had been declared open to anyone who wished to hunt there, but game was already impossible to find within miles of the Blackwater bank. Unclaimed fields had been declared open to anyone willing to plant them and prepare for a winter harvest, but there had been no false spring in which to plant.

They were beginning work on building fishing ships, but those would take time to be ready. In the weeks she had been here, she had already seen thousands leave for elsewhere, and hundreds dead of disease. Few were outright dying of starvation, but they were left weak and vulnerable.

They had written to all the Free Cities, Freed and Slaver alike, begging for aid and promising them import subsidies and an abolition of tariffs. That was only a few weeks ago, though; even if a whole fleet laden with grain was coming, there was no time for it.

And the deaths of starvation would start soon. She knew that much from what the few remaining maesters in the city had told her. People were on the edge. Restoring some kind of supply of grain would save thousands of lives; delaying it would cost them.

There was a yell from the wagons of "Hey! You! Get back!", smallfolk shouting back at them. She came up to the barricades, Garlan and his Tyrell household knights surrounding her. They had swords on their belts and slung shields; they had decided not to bring pole-axes or greatswords to avoid making too threatening a display, but they were ready for violence none the less.

A group of men, dockworkers by their clothes and their weathered faces, had pushed up to the wagons, through the swarm of orphan children.

"We need food too!" the head of the men shouted.

"Stand back, orders are children eat first!" A goldcloak shouted back at them.

"We've got families to feed too, and at this rate we won't have the strength to work on your bloody fishing ships!"

"Stand back!"

The Goldcloaks lowered their spears. The dockworkers did not so much as flinch.

"Kill us and you'll end up as rations." One of the men shouted.

'We know you worked with the sellswords to steal children as slaves!" Another shouted. "Just give us an excuse and you'll face justice!"

"Put up your spears, good men!" Margaery said, coming to the front of the wagons.

"I understand the problem, but the children need less food to survive than grown men, and most cannot work to feed themselves. We can do the most good with what little grain we have. Besides, there are other bakeries still open, that will sell bread to any with money."

"We can only afford a day's bread with three days work!" the dockman shouted. "The bakers are making bread out of sawdust and pricing it like it's made of bloody silver! We cannot work to feed the whole city if we cannot eat, now give us rations!"

"I will send Goldcloaks to inspect the bakeries, and ensure they set fair prices." Margaery said.

We'll have to compensate the bakers, otherwise we shall ruin them when the price of flour exceeds the price of bread.

"I'll believe that when it happens." The man said.

Then a second one spoke up: "No food, no work. You want those bloody fishing ships? Set us as a ration."

Murmurs of agreement.

"Would you have children starve?" Margaery asked.

"You'd have children starve, if the fishing ships cannot be completed."

Seven hells.

They were right, but if she backed down from a simple threat like that, then everyone in the city would demand free bread and they'd be out of flour within days. As it was, they only had enough grain to continue this distribution for three weeks.

Negotiate. Make them know we're listening, but won't be intimidated.

"I understand the problem, but we need time to measure our supplies and calculate the rations. Meet us at the old carpenter's guild hall on the morrow. Pick seven men to negotiate on behalf of your guilds and fraternities, and I shall do the same. We shall ensure a fair ration, and cease the baker's gouging and fraud."

The band of men turned inwards. There was hurried discussion. Then the leader of them turned back to her. "Aye, we'll parley, m'lady. But mark my words, we shall have fair rations for fair work by the end of this."

"Of course."

And then she stepped back down from the wagons, heart hammering.

"We'll need a meeting with Lord Sunglass and Ser Janos today" Margaery said. "And we should send men to check the prices the bakers had set, and take another stock of our stores of flour."

*

They were waiting for Slynt, in the old merchant's manse by the gatehouse they had claimed as a keep of sorts, when the first messenger arrived. "M'lady, Sers, there was a theft last night. The Red Keep's storehouses. The sentries were bludgeoned and tied up, and everything taken from one of the larders?"

"How much was in the vault?" Garlan asked.

"Two barrels of pork and a barrel of salt fish, m'lord."

"And how many thieves?"

"The guard said at least twenty."

A poor haul, for such an effort.

"They'll be back, if they think us poorly guarded. Reinforce the guards on the Red Keep larders and pantries." Garlan said. The messenger nodded.

"Are the guards injured badly?" Lord Sunglass asked.

"One of them should be fine. The other is in a bad way."

"Have his treatment given over to a maester and pay all costs." Margaery said. She rubbed her face. This was worse than Storm's End. Much worse. There they had only a thousand or so soldiers to manage, and enough food for years. Here she had 250,000 souls still left and only enough grain for a few more weeks. Willas had authorized bargefuls of grain and vegetables sent up the Mander, Renly and Florent were coming with their seized supplies, but that would take time, time they didn't have. There were ships coming in loaded with grain from across the narrow sea too, but the dockyards were choked with half-sunken ships. Unloading was dangerous and difficult, and could only be done a few ships at a time.

Food was being delivered, but not as fast as the city was eating through it.

"What was that about Lord Slynt stealing children?"

"Rumours are about that the Goldcloaks cooperated with the sellswords in their plan to kidnap slaves and flee the city." Lord Sunglass said. "I fear at least some of those rumours are probably true."

"I will have it looked into as soon as the king returns." Margaery said. They could not tolerate having slavers under their nose, and hunting down those who had commited injustice after the sack would go a long way to relegitimizing Stannis. But for now they could not afford to confront the Goldcloaks.

Then a second messenger arrived.

"M'lord, there is a raven with a message of great import. A vagrant found it in the Red Keep's rookery and hoped he would be rewarded for doing us a service."

"What does it say?" Margaery asked.

"It is sealed, m'lady."

He pulled the message out from under his cloak, handed it to her. She cut the seal with the stiletto Tane had given her.

King Stannis Baratheon is dead. Ironborn defeated for good, Others beaten, Wall is secured. Fleet is returning south with Shireen. She was named his heir to the throne as his last words. Pave the road.

A hundred dragon reward to whoever delivers this to Lord Alester Florent.

Margaery paled. "Gods."

Then she turned to Lord Sunglass. "Wait for Ser Slynt and authorize whatever you think necessary to satisfy the dockworkers. Find the man who gave it to us and give him two hundred dragons, I am not so cheap as the Florents. I have matters of state to discuss."

She turned to Garlan. "Come."

The manse had a small tower, too cramped for any spy, and she showed Garlan the message up there.

"Seven Hells." He whispered.

"Whoever sent this wants Florent to know, specifically."

"And they are a fool. You cannot send a raven to a city like King's Landing and expect discretion. He managed to send it to the one literate beggar in all King's Landing."

"That means the fleet is coming south with Shireen, we still don't have Olenna back, Renly is stuck in the Stormlands…"

Garlan was pacing as well as he could in the cramped tower. "Whoever sent this wants Alester in King's Landing when Shireen arrives. They want him to try and crown her."

"That means we're a threat to them. They'll kill or capture us, then Renly and Mace will come down on the Florents and smash them. We need to retrieve Olenna." Margaery said. "I won't risk her being a hostage any longer. And write to Storm's End and Highgarden, tell Renly to come north with everything he has and for Willas to send help too."

"Do we announce this to the realm?"

"If they think the king dead, everything falls apart." Margaery said. "So no. But we need to be ready."

"We don't have the food to last a siege of the whole city, the Red Keep is indefensible, we probably can't beat Florent on the open field…"

"We need to get Renly here as soon as possible and crown him. Moving swiftly to crown Shireen based on the King's dying words is one thing, rebelling against a crowned king is quite another. And get in touch with the fleet, find out if this truly happened."

'Aye." Garlan rubbed his face.

For all her proclamations of friendship, Shireen seizing the throne could not be allowed, not least because it would mean Shireen's death at Renly's hands.

Tane-

Tane was with the fleet, she'd know what was happening. She might already be preparing to turn against the Florents, or to betray Margaery and see the King's will done.

She wouldn't.

She might. And Margaery was bound to Renly by marriage. She stood or died with him, on the matter of the crown. It did not matter if he had gotten her brother killed and threatened to strike her. If it came to it, she would do to Tane what Tane had done to Merryweather: disavow her utterly, see her put to the sword, even if it broke her heart.

A soft heart and a mind of iron.

"And no-one is to know of this." Margaery said.

"Of course." Garlan said.

*

The Brightwater Keep banners appeared in the north the next week, and her and Garlan rode out to meet them with a full banner of knights, squires and sworn swords. They had long lances in their hands, and wore full harness; the mounted archers and light horsemen trailing after kept their bows unstrung but had their swords and spears ready to fight. They reined in on a low hill overlooking the approach of the Florent force.

Thousands of extra mouths to feed: More, because the Florent army was mostly mounted, meaning horses and page boys too. They did have wagons trailing them, but there could not be the thousands of tons they would need to feed the city for more than a few more weeks. The outriders saw them, peeled back; a party of cavalry came forwards with Lord Alester Florent at their head.

"How goes the campaign?" Margaery asked.

"Most of them yielded quickly enough, when they realized how badly the war was lost." Lord Florent explained. "We bring you the contents of their granaries, and their herds. My foot still besieges Dyre Den. The Clawmen there are a stubborn breed." He continued.

"A fine campaign." Margaery answered. "The city fares poorly. There are imports of food, but not nearly enough to feed even a fraction of the people. The price of bread is unaffordable. We are giving rations to the shipbuilders and to orphan children, but we are weeks away from running out. Your provisions are greatly appreciated."

Lord Alester looked pleased by that, though he quickly squashed the look.

He knows how weak our position is, now.

No harm in telling him; he would have found out soon enough.

"A terrible situation. Tell me, what can my men do to help."

"Little enough." Margaery said. "We need the grain but we also need less mouths to feed. My lord, we should arrange for your men to be sent to Dragonstone to defeat the Targaryens laying siege there."

"There is no need." He said. "Ser Axell Florent reports that the Targaryens forces there fled on their ships to Essos, and that a squadron of galleys is now heading to King's Landing to reinforce us. He also reports that His Grace the King Stannis Baratheon died in defence of the realm, sacrificing himself to stop the onslaught of the Others, and that beforehand he ordered Ser Imry Florent to secure the throne for Shireen Baratheon in the event of his death. Now." Lord Alester said with a half smile. "I know how delicate the situation is. I know that Lord Renly would be greatly wroth if you were to be harmed, and if his claim to the throne was not given its due consideration. And I know that would end badly for young Shireen. So I would have this resolved in a just and honourable manner."

"And so would I." Margaery said. "But Stannis has long proclaimed Lord Renly his heir, and the laws of the realm say an uncle comes before a daughter in the matter of the Iron Throne."

"That is Targaryen law." Lord Florent said. "And the last Targaryens died under our swords. Shireen is his heir to the throne declared as the King's last words. That is the word from the north. A daughter before an uncle. I would have the Red Keep secured and ready for her coronation."

She saw the glint of Garlan's harness as he shifted in his saddle, uneasy.

"I received a raven with the same message. We must speak to the eyewitnesses to the King's will, to fully understand his intent. It would be best if we held a Great Council on such a difficult matter, and spoke to all the witnesses to get a clear understanding of what exactly the king said." Margaery then said. "The realm has had enough of war. I would have a resolution of this that all can agree is just. "

"And so would I." Lord Florent agreed. "But a Great Council here is impracticable. Thousands of lords and their retinues all gathered here, in this winter ruin? They would starve what is left of the peasantry. We must have a swift coronation to set the realm to rights."

"Mine own men already have secured parts of the city." Margaery said. "But even if a Great Council is impracticable, I should think we should wait for the arrival of the rest of the small council and those who were with Stannis when he died. Raven letters are short and lacking in detail."

"As the hand of the King, I require control of the Red Keep, so that I may administer King's Landing and the realm until a new ruler is crowned."

"Normally in such circumstances I would agree." Margaery said. "But the situation in King's Landing is very delicate, and my brother already has it somewhat in hand. Mayhaps it would be best if your men were garrisoned in the countryside, to reduce the strain on the cities populace?"

Lord Alester thought for a moment, then:

"My men shall secure the countryside against bandits. And we shall resolve this matter when the small council arrives."

We need to delay. Delay until Renly arrives, until Tane arrives, until I can find out what Shireen and Tane thinks of all this.

She would have the throne, she had not come this far to end up without her prize, but she would not have it be over the back of slaughtered friends and foes alike if she could help it.

 

[windoverwaves]

What a mess. For the sake of all involved, let's hope this doesn't turn to bloodshed again.

Who am I kidding? This is Westeros, it probably will turn to bloodshed. At that point, an invasion and takeover by the otherworld!Brits would probably be an improvement.

 

[Balaur]

The fleet came to Dragonstone as the sun was nearing the horizon.

Baratheon banners flew proudly over the castle proper, though she could see the detritus of a siege scattering the ground around it: The throwing arms of abandoned mangonels, burnt buildings in the little fishing villages that peppered the Dragonmont and the shoreline, the ground churned where there had recemtly been a camp. But there was no sign of the Targaryen force she had expected to see encamped, and no sign of any of Florent's fleet either. She thought they had been sent to secure the narrow sea and relieve Dragonstone? The only ships present were fishing boats, drawn up in the little half-ruined village beneath the castle.

Davos took a boat's worth of men ashore, and soon enough they came back with their report: No Targaryens. The smallfolk and a few dragonstone guardsmen standing watch on the shoreline said the ships at Dragonstone had gone to King's Landing to aid the city, and Ser Axell Florent held the castle.

"Signal the fleet to anchor, to the north of here." Tane said, pointing at a long flat beach a mile away from the fishing village." Tane said. "I would talk with the garrison of what has transpired here, and prepare our next move."

That was done, though slowly; the one horse transport they had with the fleet brought enough horses for their small party while Tane, Davos, Shireen and Ser Imry Florent took their boats ashore. The party trudged across the beach to where their horses were being held, and mounted up in silence. A few smallfolk watched them, but kept their distance.

The horses were all rounceys and coursers with war-saddles, brought in case they needed to mount up some of their force. There were no palfreys and no normal riding saddles, so Shireen had to awkwardly cram herself onto a high-backed war saddle.

They saw riders coming down along the beach in the shadow of the Dragonmont, under the Baratheon-Florent banner.

They met them halfway.

"Ser Axell Florent, I take it?" Tane asked, nodding at the leader of the group, the only one not in armour.

The queen's uncle was a grim, stout man, short, powerful built and not especially good looking. He wore clothes plain but of good make, and was flanked on either side by heavily armed and mounted guardsmen and household knights. Some of them had matchlock arquebuses, Tane noted, thought they were otherwise equipped in mail, Westerosi style cloaks and livery coats like the rest of the guardsmen.

"A poor time to arrive." he said.

"Uncle, you should not be so rude." Shireen said, reining in her horse.

Axell Florent grunted. "I'll order the servants to prepare you something. Congratulations on your victory in the north. The fire of Rhllor burned brightly in our late King."

How does he know? Did someone in White Harbour send ravens?

"I take it the siege is broken and the castle held?" Davos said.

"Aye." Axell said. "They threatened us with dragons and tried to make us surrender, but arquebus fire scared them well enough." He laughed. "It matters not if Dragonstone is the old Targaryen seat, they were not willing to risk gunfire for it. Then Volantene and Myrish pirates blockaded us. They pillaged much of the island, but the castle held and now they have all fled for Essos. The Lord of Light was our shield. You have been long at sea. You should stay the night, at Dragonstone."

Tane glanced at Morgan. At this point she'd rather spend her night on the ship rather than landsick, and she wanted to limit the spread of news of the Kings death until they were in King's Landing. And something about sending the ships at Dragonstone to the "aid of King's Landing" at the same time as the King's death seemed off to her.

"Of course, I would be honoured to show my guests the hospitality of my new seat." Shireen said.

Ser Axell looked like he was about to say something, then stopped himself.

We need to keep moving to King's Landing-

But even so, an offer of hospitality was an offer of hospitality and could not be turned down lightly.

"Then I shall have a meal and beds prepared for you." Ser Axell said.

"Send a runner back to the fleet, tell them we're staying the night at Dragonstone." Tane said.

It was slow going up the slope of the Dragonmont. The days were growing long-the length of days in Westeros had disconcertingly little to do with the seasons-but even so, they were only halfway up by the time darkness fell. The handful of mounted guardsmen with them lit torches and candles. Tane shivered under her cloak, and she could hear Shireen's teeth chattering. Being suddenly on saddle back after nearly a week at sea made her nauseous, like she wanted to vomit over the side of her horse.

When they arrived at the Dragonstone gatehouse, topped by snarling stone gargoyles, they found the gates open.

They dismounted and Ser Axell he led them into the castle keep. The buildings of the castle were strangely shaped, like a mass of snapping, snarling dragons had been turned to stone and passages bored through their bodies. She could not tell if it had been worked by sorcery, or merely fine stoneworking. The latter would had been more impressive, she decided.

Tane glanced at the escort they had brought. A bare dozen Silvercloaks armed with spears and no shields, poor horsemen and mounted on horses unsteady from too long at sea. She could hear grumbling as servants were roused and the kitchens prepared for a meal. "There is no need for a great meal-" Davos began.

"You'll have your meal. The servants shall complain, but do not mind them." Ser Axell said.

They came to the Great Hall, shaped like a dragon lying on its belly, with its mouth open. Inside were bleary-eyed servants, hurriedly lighting torches. It reminded her of the mouth-glow of a Westerosi dragon, preparing to breath fire. There were even windows built into its eyes, torches glowing from within.

He bade them sit down and wait for the meal to be readied, then summoned Ser Imry to speak with him in private.

"If I were to be lady of Dragonstone, I would not wake my servants up at night to make a meal. Nor would I make guests wait. I would see them coming up, and have a meal ready made." Shireen said.

"Axell is a stout soldier, but he is no steward." Davos agreed.

Tane got the impression Davos was being exceedingly generous. Their escort of spearmen was seated further down the table, and Morgan sat beside Tane.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The hairs stood up on the back of Tane's neck. She could almost feel the gargoyles staring down at her. The hall was far too big for the number of people seated, making it feel more like a cavern than a castle. Or a belly, like they had been swallowed up.

Bloody hell, no wonder Stannis hated this place.

Finally, Axell and Imry returned, and with them a dozen guardsmen. Tane eyed their equipment, saw that some had bits of plate harness as well as mail as if wearing their full equipment instead of merely that needed for guard duty, that the arquebusiers with them had lit matches.

"Ser, is the castle in danger?" Tane asked. She put her hands above the table, where the Florents could see. Tane wore her jack of mail alongside her sword and dagger, but had not brought her pistols. That was a mistake.

"No." Ser Axell said. "But I mean to take Princess Shireen under my protection."

"She is secure under the protection of the Royal Fleet already." Tane said. Is this a coup? Does he mean to seize Shireen as hostage, or try to enthrone her?

"But none of her family are amongst them." Ser Axell said. "No, I mean to ensure the princesses rights to more than this castle. King Stannis Baratheon told Imry Florent to secure her the throne, and I mean to ensure that promise."

What-

Stannis had promised Renly the throne, even his dying words made sense in that light. If they tried to crown Shireen the idiots would start another civil war.

She saw movement in the corner of her eyes, her escort beginning to stand up and reach for their weapons. She waved them down.

"I was with Stannis when he died." Tane said. "He named Renly his heir by Targaryen law."

"The Targaryens are all dead." Ser Axell said.

"And yet their laws stand by the King's word." Davos said. "I like it little, Shireen would make a fine queen, but it is the will of King Stannis Baratheon."

"What would you have us do?" Tane asked. "Crown Shireen and Renly will march against her, and kill her. I mean to defend Shireen's life, and that means giving her a secure castle she has an unambigious right to. Like the castle we are in right now."

"Turn your men against Renly and defend the princesses rights." Ser Imry said.

She could not march her army against Renly, kill more of Margaeries brothers in battle. Neither could she watch Renly kill Shireen. She had tried to chart the simplest and safest course, but even that looked full of shoals.

Storm's End. That was the king's will.

But Renly would never accept Stannis trying to steal his prize from beyond the grave. He might very well give it away in some act of largess, Robert had set that precedent, but never at her and Stannis's word, and never to Shireen.

"Sers. King Stannis ordered me to secure Shireen's inheritance. That is certainly Dragonstone and possibly Storm's E-" Davos began.

"Silence, smuggler!" Ser Imry barked.

"Do not insult guests in my castle so." Shireen said. "I may or not be queen but I am certainly the Lady of Dragonstone, and I will not put up with any more of these insults and silliness. Guards. Leave us."

"Stay in the room. Lady Bayder is too dangerous-" Ser Axell began.

"I am lady of Dragonstone." Shireen said. "And Lady Bayder has risked her life to defend mine own before. Please leave the room."

Murmuring amongst the guards. Then: "Yes, m'lady" from a vintenar and he waved and the men filed out.

Axell Florent was fuming. "You are a minor under wardship-"

"Guests shall not be harmed, threatened or insulted in my castle." Shireen said. "And since there are three versions of who is to inherit what going about, we must have a great council or suchlike, in King's Landing, to resolve this. With of course Lady Bayder to ensure the impartiality of it. I do not wish any of my uncles to be harmed fighting about this. Now. Everyone should sit down and have a meal."

They did. It was the worst meal of her life. The Florents were staring daggers at her across the table, she kept half expecting the a party of armed men to burst in and put them all to the sword, and worst of all the food was shit. The servants looked like they were halfway to dropping dead from exhaustion, and by the time it was done, Tane felt the same. She tried to beg leave to return to the ships, but Ser Axell insisted that he would not be responsible for their horses breaking legs in the dark or being thrown into the sea by the swell. It was after midnight by then; loathe as she was to admit it, he was right.

They were given quarters in one of the round towers, shaped like a dragon screaming to the sky. Shireen politely but firmly insisted that Tane's own soldiers be allowed to stand guard over Tane's chambers, not any of the Dragonstone men.

Even she doesn't trust her uncles. Morgan slept on the floor next to her, and Davos and the rest of her soldiers were in a chamber just across from them. A pair of spearmen kept watch over the staircase in shifts. Shireen went off to sleep in a disused guest chamber.

When they awoke that morning and came down for breakfast, Ser Axell Florent greeted them. "Lady Shireen has requested that she sail on the galley of Ser Imry Florent."

"I thought you meant to crown Shireen?" Tane asked, eyebrow raised.

"We shall argue her case at a Great Council. But until then she would feel safest under the protection of swords sworn personally to her, and a galley captained by her blood."

They don't trust me, they want her under their control.

"It would be best if she travel with Olenna." Tane said. "That way, any act of perfidy by Renly against her would put his own blood at risk."

"If she travels with Ser Imry, any act of perfidy by yourself would be protected against."

"I acted to save her life-"

"You acted to relinquish her crown, and you previously had Ser Imry arrested for acting against Renly. You claim to be acting in her interest, and that is the only reason you shall leave this castle alive. No, the Princess Shireen shall be escorted by the finest galleys in the Narrow Sea Fleet. If she cannot go protected by Imries squadron then she shall not go at all, and stay protected in Dragonstone."

"May I consult with Shireen on this?"

"She has had a very long night. It would be best not to wake her, until she is ready."

Bullshit. He's trying to avoid being shown up by her again, like last night.

But Tane could not yet risk confronting him directly, and they had to get the fleet moving. If she tried to force the matter, Ser Axell could have her expelled, arrested or killed, and she would not be able to do anything about it.

Even if they tried to seize Shireen on the ride down, Florent's household knights on rested warhorses would easily defeat her mounted infantry on seasick ones, and they could flee to the castle before the fleet could land troops to come to their aid. There was no time to send word ahead to set an ambush, and besides, the barren ground of the island and beach was poor terrain for a surprise.

"I understand. When she is ready, let her embark on Stag of the Sea."

*

"Ships ahoy! Three galleys flying Baratheon colours, ma'am."

Tane swore under her breath, jogged to the base of the ship's sail. It was two days after they had left Dragonstone under a pall. The new plan was to deliver their food to King's Landing, establish a camp on the south shore, and announce for all the realm to hear their plans for a great council.

Davos came up next to her. "Those are pickets." He point to one of the galleys, turning off under full sail and with oars slashing the water like a struggling centipede.

"That'll be where the other half of the fleet went." Tane said.

"Aiding with reconstruction? Defending them against pirates?"

"Maybe." Trying to keep Renly away from the throne, so they could contest him in a great council.

She glanced across at the heavy merchant cog keeping pace with the Fury. An honour guard of arquebusiers stood guard on its deck; Elinor Tyrell and Olenna were belowdecks, travelling in more comfort than they could expect on a war galley. The Stag of the Sea sailed on the other side, Imry's war galley moving with her central squadron at Tane's insistence.

As they drew in closer, she saw the towers and turrets of King's Landing, the smashed and sunken rooves. They had already passed the city once before, on the march south to Storm's End, but it did not make the sight any less shocking.

And around it, pavilions on land and moored war galleys at sea.

"Alester Florent's returned." Tane said. "Look at those banners. Those aren't Tyrell colours next to the Baratheons."

She peered at the Stag of the Sea, saw it was letting out more sail, unshipping oars and pulling out ahead of her squadron. Someone in full harness was shouting at the helmsman.

"What the fuck is Florent doing?" Tane asked. She clambered up onto the fighting castle. His galley was still within shouting distance, barely. "Let up sail and ship oars!" Tane shouted to them. He kept moving forwards at full oar. A single flaming arrow rose up from his ship.

"I suppose he seeks to get Shireen to the Florents as soon as possible." Davos said. "He does not mean to let her be relegated to Dragonstone while we crown Renly."

"At which point the Florents will crown her, Renly will move against her, we'll have another civil war… We need to stop them."

"Or he wishes to ensure her case is argued as strongly as possible at the Great Council." Davos said. "And how would we stop them? We can't chase down Stag of the Sea on the Fury, ordering the faster ships to chase him down would sow nought but confusion, and if we try to shoot down the rigging and splinter the oars we could kill Shireen."

Compared to the civil war that Renly would unleash, killing Shireen now would be almost merciful-

I made that decision at Eastwatch by the Sea. She had betted on the entire world to save Shireen's life, and she had won that gamble. No more slaughter, not of anyone who had not drawn a sword against her first.

And Davos would never allow that. He had risked his life and the whole world to save Tommen's life from Stannis. If he would go that far for a friendless prisoner, he would never risk his King's daughter to the fall of roundshot.

"We stay the course. Order the galleys to land on the south shore of the Blackwater and draw up for defence. We'll send men into King's Landing and get an eye on the situation. And fly a flag of truce."

Christ-Horus, why did Stannis's final words have to be ambigious lawyer talk, with no time to explain or clarify? Shireen his heir under Andal law? What the hell did that even mean? She was his heir to the throne? She was his heir to his lordly holdings? Give her what he had always desired, more than the Iron Throne?

Storm's End.

Across the Blackwater, Imry was speeding up, his own dozen galleys angling across to join with Stag of the Sea.

They must have planned this while we were stopped at Dragonstone, Tane realized. I've been outwitted by Imry fucking Florent.

A trio of galleys, sleek low hundred-oared dromonds, were pulling out ahead of the fleet, oars churning at battle speed, aiming to chase down Imry on their own initiative. She peered through her spyglass, saw archers massing on the deck, the great crossbows in the fighting castle being readied.

Once we draw blood, that's it. No more Great Council, it is war between Renly and Shireen.

"Signal the fleet to rally!" Tane shouted. "Do not pursue! Pass it along!"

A flaming yard-long bolt came whirring from one galley, punching through the Stag's mainsail and tumbling into the ocean on the other side. She saw the flash and smoke-puff of the Stag's swivel guns firing, then the water plumes rising right as the boom of the guns a quarter mile distant hit her. "Fucking idiots, break off, break off…"

No effective hits, but the hundreds were closing fast. She got a good look at their sails, saw they were Redwynes.

Two of Imry's galleys were manouvering, aiming to put themselves between the Stag and the Redwynes. The Redwyne's wouldn't even be able to sieze Shireen now, just get tangled up fighting with the lesser galleys.

She glanced up at the main-mast, saw three lanterns were flying-the signal for do not pursue, stay close to your squadron commanders.

Come on…

Then she saw three lanterns flying on the mast of the foremost Redwyne galley, the ship turning away.

The other two kept coming, sweeping past their squadron leader.

Fuck fuck fuck-

Then they too ceased their attack, oars lifting out of the water and staying their, taking in some of the sail. The distance opened wider and wider between the two squadron.

Tane let out a breath.

"We'll draw up on the south shore of the Blackwater, fortify our position there." Tane said. "Then send boats across the river to find out the situation in the city and parley with Florent."

Margaery would be in King's Landing trying to secure the city, most like. She felt a pang of fear, at that. Alester Florent could have already seized the city and have her prisoner or worse-

No time for panic. Secure their own position, gather information, and only then strike.

The rest of the fleet began to turn for the south. Orders to draw up were shouted across to the other squadron leaders. Olenna's cog moved to the back, with the handful of cogs Stannis had taken north and the larger body of cogs and merchant galleys they had hired to carry grain at White Harbour.

Imry angled northwards, not even towards the fleet on the Blackwater but towards the Florent camp.

"Maybe it is for the better." Davos mused aloud. "Shireen is the King's daughter, it is only right she be allowed to make her case at a great council, with swords at her back."

"If the lords try to crown her, Renly and Mace would kill her, then." Tane said. "They'd come down with fire and steel and smash whatever paltry forces the Florents have ashore. And she would die with them."

"Not if you side with her."

The death of Loras had wounded Margaery deeply. Tane couldn't kill her brothers and father, keep her from the throne she desired, gun down her men in the field. She would quite happily dash Renly's brains out, and Mace too, but she could not bear to hurt Margaery.

She's using you, like Taena did, and it is working-

"No."

"Then what shall we do? Do you mean to wage war against Shireen and see her death if the will of the lords is that she be is crowned? Even after risking your life to save hers?"

"I mean to force Renly, Mace, Alester and Shireen to the negotiating table. This will be resolved not with swords but with ravens. And if it comes to steel, I shall side with whoever draws their sword last."

Davos looked uncertain, but he nodded.

"We had best hope that works, then."

 

[Balaur]

He rode with 6,000 men down the shores of Shipbreaker Bay. His men were alert, lancers riding in full harness, pages, grooms and younger squires riding with the baggage instead of with their master's banners. Lord Tarly and Ser Richard Horpe, appointed commanders of his vanguard and rearguard, rode with him, ready to move off and command their units as soon as he gave them orders.

They had already taken the surrender of half a dozen minor castles and holdfasts, and put to flight and ridden down a band of five hundred Dornishmen they had caught occupying a market village.

He'd led the charge against them. He'd wanted blood. He wanted to smash heads, cut throats, hurl men from the saddle; he wanted to visit on the loyalists what they had done to Loras. He did not care if they had not swung the axe, if they had not ordered their levies to march to war, if they were Dornish rather than Clawmen. The men who had done the killing where all dead, so it was they who had to pay.

His side still hurt where a Norvosi mercenary with a longaxe had struck him. He'd ridden him over, trampled him into the mud like Loras had been. The mercenary-a senior officer of the Martell household-had somehow possessed the presence of mind to gut his horse as Renly rode over him. Renly hadn't cared. He'd fought on on foot, then. They'd found the Prince of Dorne's brother Lord Oberyn dead after the battle. The feared Red Viper had been shot in the back by archers and finished off with their mauls, his helm crushed in like Loras's had been. Two of his bastard daughters had been killed in the fighting as well. The sun of Martell had been eclipsed, the spear of Dorne broken.

Better they and I suffer for it than Margaery.

But still worse than what he should have done; order the assault and watch the carnage from the nearest hill, ready to lead the reserves if anything went wrong.

Garlan was right. Loras would have killed him in an instant if he had seen him seize and threaten to strike his sister. Margaery had been trying to save Loras; even if she was disloyal and foolish, she could not pay for this.

"Who's banners are those?" Ser Richard Horpe asked, pointing up at the towers of Griffon's Roost. The castle was built on a promontory out onto Shipbreaker Bay. The approach, the Griffon's Throat, was sealed with a gatehouse on either end and flanked by walls. The white-and-red Griffon banners of House Connington flew from all parts of the castle, but those above the gatehouse were joined by Baratheon banners, while those above the inner walls and keep were joined by the dragons of House Targaryen. Tents and horselines had been put up before the gatehouse as well, the banners of House Connington, the Baratheons and half a dozen petty knightly houses flying over them.

Red Ronnet trying to take his castle back, Renly guessed.

"Someone took the gatehouse but couldn't finish the job." Lord Randyll Tarly said, riding besides him.

Renly smiled crookedly. "Excellent. The defenders are trapped now. We can bypass them and get into the southern Stormlands easily enough. Send word to dispatch outriders and request parley or a council of war with whoever holds the gatehouse."

He rubbed his scar. There were still rebel leaders unaccounted for. Varys had been found hacked to death trying to escape, Daenerys killed in battle, Genna Frey beheaded. He'd taken the Red Viper of Dorne off the list. But the Aegon they'd found mutilated could have been a body double, and Jon Connington the Hand of the King had escaped, apparently leading the remnants of the rebel foot south.

The outriders rode down to the castle, words were exchanged, they rode back, and Renly ordered his men to make camp while he held council with the leaders of the besiegers.

Red Ronnet Connington greeted him as he entered what passed for a command pavilion. The Connington force could not be more than a few hundred soldiers; their tents and pavilions were cheap and not of good make. Many were under lean-tos made of whatever brush was available.

"Golden Company men seized the castle while I was out on business." Red Ronnet explained. "I linked up with the forces Storm's End sent to harry these lands and try to draw the garrison out, but they were beaten by Dornish forces. When Jon Connington withdrew with his men from Storm's End and garrisoned this castle, I saw my opportunity. I had men clamber down onto the beach at low tide, at night. Then we climbed up the cliffs and onto the walls of the Griffon's Throat, woke the gatehouse commander at swordspoint and bade him open the gate and yield up the gatehouse."

"Did he open it?" Renly asked.

"He tried to raise the alarm. So we killed him and everyone else in the gatehouse, let our men in and held it against the counterattack."

Ser Richard Horpe whistled, impressed. "How many men?"

"Twenty good men." Red Ronnet said. "In the storming party. Rather more in the siege force."

"Jon Connington is here? With how many defenders?" Renly asked.

"Aye, he's here. I've parlied with him. Five hundred men, give or take." Red Ronnet said. "Golden Company and those eunuchs, mostly. Good soldiers all; the bad ones have all surrendered or scattered by now."

The Hand of the King. He vaguely remembered some report Davos had given them, before the Targaryens landed. That he had been with Aegon throughout his exile, had loved him like a son.

"We can't take the rest of the castle by storm, then." Lord Tarly said. "But you have enough men here to stop them breaking out, I take it?"

"Aye. They'll be low on provisions, too. The castle doesn't have room in its granaries to keep a garrison of 500 men for more than a few moons. I had provisions for a year for a garrison of a hundred."

"Good." Renly said. "Now, normally I would give you a few hundred more men and leave the taking back of the castle to time. There are many rebels in the south who still need hunting. But if the pretender Hand of the King is here, then this is too good an opportunity to pass up."

"What do you mean to do?"

"Negotiate with him. He has the authority to order all remaining rebels to return to the King's Peace or leave for Essos."

"I've already tried that." Red Ronnet said. "Connington won't fall for it. He insists there are no terms besides being allowed to return to Essos on ships loyal to the Targaryen cause he will accept."

"I am the King's Heir. With no due insult, I can offer him far more in the negotiations." Renly said. "Tell him that Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, Master of Laws, Heir to the Iron Throne, is here, and has the power to offer pardons if he so wishes to negotiate."

*

"Lord Jon Connington" Renly announced, as his horse paced on the Griffin's Throat. The long promontory of land jutted out into Shipbreaker's bay. The first gatehouse, the one Red Ronnet's men had seized, lay behind him, the inner gatehouse before him. The walls either side had been abandoned, since both side's archers could sweep them.

"Lord Renly Baratheon." Jon Connington answered, riding forth from the inner gatehouse. His harness was in good condition but plain, nothing befitting a hand of the king; his surcoat with the red and white griffons combatant was torn and spattered with dried blood. His face was lined, his red hair going grey.

"I take it you refused to attack until the last extremity, out of cowardice." Connington said.

Oh, is this how it shall be? A petty exchange of insults?

"I take it you fled, while you left your pretender king behind on the field to die." Renly said, smiling mockingly.

"I fought through to King Aegon's body when I heard he was fallen, and only quit the field when I was dragged back by my men."

"My apologies for unjustly maligning your courage. Braver than your excuse for a king, who fled all challenges to single combat and hid behind lowborn foot."

Renly saw anger flash across Connington's face.

"You should not insult Aegon's courage so. He died in the thick of the fighting, trying to urge his men on to one last effort."

"Curious. I saw him flee before my charge and turn down all offers of single combat." Renly said. "Now, are we here to trade insults or are we here to parley?"

"I have a challenge." Jon Connington said. "Single combat."

Renly shrugged. "Why should I accept that? I have already won. I could starve you out, you know. Very easily. But it would be very tedious, and many good men who do not have to die would perish. I know well how that works. Or I could simply request that you yield up the castle. Your position is hopeless. Even a token garrison on the gatehouse can keep you bottled up, the surrounding lords have all yielded, no army is coming to relieve you, the Targaryen claimants are all dead. Why should I consent to single combat? Why would I risk my victory on the fall of a sword?"

I should. Cave the old bastards head in, tear the Targaryen loyalists out root and stem. He's fought two wars for the Targaryens why not a third-

"To redeem your families honour. Robert hid in a whorehouse rather than face me in battle. Stannis abandoned his capital then burned it with witchcraft rather than face Aegon in battle. So now you, the third brother Baratheon, have a chance to redeem your honour in single combat. Show your courage, Baratheon."

The Iron Throne awaits, all you have to do is wait for Stannis to die in the north or to cross one line too many and incite a revolt.

He had nothing to win and everything to lose.

Renly laughed mockingly. "The family you serve was worse. Aerys appointed fire his champion against the Starks. Ser Loras Tyrell tried to fight Aegon in single combat. His challenge was refused and Aegon let the finest knight of our generation be butchered by lowborn foot. Do not speak to me of courage, traitor. You will lose this castle no matter what you do. But you can save your men and escape with honor, that much I promise. Yield now, and order all the remnants of the Targaryen invasion to put up their steel and I will let you leave for Essos and live out your days as a sellsword. That is the only way out of here alive, you know. The Royal Fleet burnt and scattered yours. No forces will relieve you. Stannis Baratheon is secure upon the Iron Throne. You do not have food for more than a few moons, not if you don't want to eat boot leather. You can come out of here half starved and clapped in chains in six months or you can ride out with banners flying now."

He so dearly wanted to kill Connington, make him eat his words, avenge Loras with the blows of his warhammer. Jon Connington had been Aegon's hand, after all. A hand substituted for a King when necessary.

Robert would have loved to see it, the fat dead fool.

But he could not. He had come so far, so close to the throne; he could not throw it away now fighting a cornered old man with nowhere to run.

"How do you answer my offer? Shall you yield the castle? Or when the fleet comes back from the North, shall they have a fine target to practise their gunnery upon? Perhaps you would like to fight Red Ronnet? He is a bold swordsman, and would dearly like his castle back."

"Fight me!" Connington snarled. "And we shall determine the answer with the blows of lances! Do you have no honour!"

"I do. But I doubt the knight of flowers would want to see me risk my life fighting a washed-up usurper such as you. I have better men than you to kill." He shrugged. "If you wanted to try your sword fighting a Baratheon, you should have moved faster at the Stoney Sept, or come to the defence of Aegon before Storm's End."

He turned his horse away.

"Aegon would have made a finer king than you will ever make!" Connington yelled after him.

"Perhaps. But at least I'll actually be king." Renly said, as he rode back to the gatehouse.

"The old fool wishes to fight me in single combat." Renly said to Red Ronnet. The Knight of Griffon's Roost had been waiting, mounted, in the gatehouse, just out of earshot.


"And did you take him up?"

"I would have." Renly said. "But his King Aegon fled both mine and Loras's challenges upon the field of Storm's End, and I do not see any reason I should honour his hands challenges now it is suddenly to their advantage." Renly shrugged.

Red Ronnet chuckled darkly. "He stole my castle anyhow. That traitor will die on my sword, no one elses."

"I did tell him me might have better luck challenging you." Renly said. They turned their horses out to the siege camp.

"The biggest enemy element left are a column of Unsullied foot, alongside Westerosi rebels. They're heading west to try and get to Dorne and from there to Essos. I am thinking I should leave all the infantry under your command to persecute the siege, and take the cavalry to chase down the Essosi. My men already put the Red Viper and his men to the sword."

"Will my force include the silvercloaks?"

There had been no time to arrange for the transport of the horses north, certainly not with all the horse carriers gone to the Iron Islands, and so Renly had been saddled with the hundred lancers left. He did not trust them.

He'd heard rumours that many of the officers in Humfrey Waters battalion with his army were annoyed about his performance on the field before Storm's End. They'd wanted to move to the support of the other battalions in Stannis's army as swiftly as possible. They were loyal to the king, Tane and to their fellow Silvercloak officers, not to Renly and Mace. The demi-lancers would be worse, they'd taken heavy casualties in the field and lost both Colonel Bydevere and Captain Brienne. Tane had personally led them thrice, including against a dragon.

Suggest he use them dismounted to lead the assault, get them too mauled to be relevant-

That would only make the problem worse. If Tane found out he had deliberately gotten her men killed, she would be enraged.

"Aye. They are good horsemen. Lightly armoured though, with no barding, and only a single horse each. They're the king's own men, so do not spend their lives lightly." Renly said.

"They can't be that good without their alchemy. The cavalry have no guns, yes?" Red Ronnet said. "No lords and just as many merchants and sellswords as knights amongst their officers. And led by some foreign freak of a woman too." He laughed. "I heard that Tarth woman ended up fighting for them, I'm not surprised."

"You're not wrong." Renly said. "But they can fight well enough. The Unsullied are foreign eunuch slaves. Madmen can be as brave as high lords, in the right circumstances."

That single volley against the elephants was what had tipped the battle before Cider Hall in their favour, after all.

"Anyhow, I think we should hold a council of war." Renly said, as he rode up to his pavilion. "Make more proper arrangement for the siege and pursuit."

He swung himself down from horseback, and then white-hot pain speared through his leg.

*

"It is a stress fracture." The maester explained, feeling over his leg. "Not fully broken, but the bone has cracked partway through. I fear when you broke your leg, it did not heal completely straight, and that put more strain on other parts of your leg until it caused a fracture. Especially considering the amount of riding and fighting you have undertaken, over the last year."

"You'll be up on crutches for the next month, and you shall use a cane after that. I do not care if people will think you a cripple, you must save your leg for when you truly need it." Renly gritted his teeth. The pain was still throbbing through his leg.

"I can give you milk of the poppy or strongwine, for the pain." The maester continued.

"No." Renly said. "I need to be clear headed."

"Only a little. Enough to take the edge off the pain. You will be more able to focus, then."

The last time he had taken strongwine, he had dishonoured himself.

"No. I… do not have the best history with strongwine."

"My lord." Ser Richard Horpe said. "There is a very urgent message for you. From Storm's End."

Renly glanced at his leg, stretched out and with his hose off.

"Please leave us." He said to the maester. The maester did. He did not know exactly which lord he was loyal too, or just how sensitive this message was.

Then to Horpe, "What is the message?"

"Not a written message. A messenger. From Storm's End. I'll ask him in."

A few minute passed, then. Renly waited, his leg throbbing.

Idiot, fighting on foot and on horseback and on ships, tumbling down mountainsides, putting all the weight of harness and muscle onto it… it was virtually the warrior's blessing it hadn't happened sooner.

He supposed he would have to stay with the siege force now, assign Horpe to lead the hunt for the Essosi holdouts.

At least I didn't try to fight Connington.

His leg breaking in the middle of that would have cost him his life, his throne, Loras's vengeance.

The messenger entered. He was dressed in the clothes of a yeoman farmer, was armed only with a sword and dagger.

He took a deep breath. "I have no message on paper, because if I was taken it would give the Targaryen cause life. Margaery Tyrell writes to you from King's Landing. King Stannis Baratheon has died in the north fighting the Others. They are defeated; no threat will come from the north for now. Lord Alester Florent has arrived in King's Landing and means to crown Shireen Baratheon claiming Stannis made her heir with his dying words, but Shireen is still with the Royal Fleet in the North. Margaery is occupying the Red Keep and trying to stall for time. She wishes to hold a great council that shall not be resolved until you and the other great lords are present. The food situation in the city is also very bad. She wishes you to bring whatever supplies or monies you can."

Renly breathed in and out, stared down at his feet.

This was serious. Very serious.

"Ride to the Reach, find Mace Tyrell and tell him what you told me. Ask him to move his forces to King's Landing to secure the city. No one else is to hear a word of this."

Then he looked back up, to Ser Richard and the messenger.

"Summon Lord Tarly for a council of war."

*

Lord Tarly sat across from him, the old warhorse glancing at his leg with discomfort.

The man holds weakness in disdain, exiled his own son for it. Renly had fought besides him, saved his life once in the Shield Islands. Now he was once again crippled, who knew how Lord Tarly's loyalties would swing?

His wife was a Florent too. But there was the catch. Lord Tarly believed women's duty was to breed, not to lead. He would never accept Shireen Baratheon sitting the Iron Throne as queen in her own right.

Unless he thinks he can control her through a regency. Unless he thinks he can have her married off to a husband who will become King, let him become a Kingmaker… his son is unmarried, last I heard.

"We're heading north with all my mounted men, including the Silvercloaks. Leave the foot behind, Red Ronnet has their command and the authority to use them to hunt down the remaining rebels." Renly said.

Seven hells, he had broken his leg just when he needed to be able to ride swiftly.

The maester can work something out, get me a splint for me leg and a block and servant to mount with.

He was going to need them.

"The Essosi?" Ser Richard Horpe asked.

"Let them run for Dorne. Once I'm on the throne, my leg is healed and this mess is sorted we can head south and chastise them and what's left of the Dornish army."

"You do not look in much condition to ride. And it is winter, the northern Stormlands are thoroughly stripped." Lord Tarly said.

It did not matter if they were slow. If Margaery was harmed in any way, then Mace's wrath would be immense. So would Tane's, the one upside of being cuckolded. The Florents would be smashed, Shireen dethroned, he could find a more tractable wife, and his own accession all but guaranteed…

But Tane and the Tyrells would know who did it, and they would turn on him. He could not accept that, and neither would Loras's memory.

"The fleet, then. There are a few dozen ships left behind at Storm's End, are there not? Enough to get a small force to King's Landing and secure it until Mace can arrive." Ser Richard Horpe suggested.

 

[Balaur]

Tyrell banners were flying from the ruins of the Red Keep as the rowboat slipped through the night mist. She wore her jack of mail under a Westerosi cut of cloak, hood and tunic, had worn Westerosi hose instead of her own breeches. She was still well armed; she bore sword, dagger and a brace of pistols, and had Morgan armed much the same as her. If they were ambushed on the city streets, witchcraft would do much to even the odds. Half a dozen old smuggling hands of Davos Seaworth rowed and steered the boat. Galleys flying Dragonstone-Baratheon or Florent colours blockaded the mouth of the Blackwater, but the area of river along the waterfront was clear enough but for a pair of patrolling galliots.

They had taken stock of the situation that afternoon. Alester's outriders on the south shore had made contact, promised to arrange a parley for the next day. Tane, however, wanted as much information as possible, and so now had arranged to slip into the city by night. She needed to see what the commander of the Tyrell banners-perhaps Garlan, or Mace, or even Margaery-intended.

They came ashore. It was not hard to find; the stink of bodies, the moonlit silhouettes of half-finished fishing boats on the shore. Tents and shanties studded the remains of the docks. The gates were more rubble than defence, now; one tower intact, the other collapsed into a mound of shattered stone. The portcullis and gate stood out, a mass of half-melted metal and scorched, splintered wood. They hadn't bothered clearing the rubble, since the ruins were still a decent defensive position.

"Hold up." One of Davos's men whispered. "Caltrops." The steel spikes glistened in the moonlight, sown just ahead of the rubble mound. She could see the faint silhouettes of men with long poles in their hands standing on top. Spears, maybe halberds.

No way to tell who's force they were loyal to.

"Thirteen souls." Morgan whispered besides her. Tane stepped forwards, slowly and carefully, alert for caltrops. She raised her hands.

"Who goes there! The city is under curfew, do you understand-"

"I understand." Tane said. "I am an officer of the royal guard. I seek parley with whoever holds the Red Keep."

"Wait there. We have strict orders."

"I understand."

They waited. By the movement of the moon, it had to be nearly an hour. Finally, they were ordered to head to the sally port a tower along the wall. "No safe way through the caltrops, I'm afraid." The officer on watch shouted to them.

The sally port was open and they filed through, met by the drawn swords of a party of archers. It was hard to see, but she thought she saw Tyrell roses on their chests.

They headed for the Red Keep, then, slipping through ghostly streets. The rubble had been cleared off the streets, mostly, but there were collapsed buildings everywhere. Some must have burned. Others had been brought down for firebreaks. Some streets had been completely levelled, others mostly spared.

We avenged them, at least. Killed two of the dragons and put the third to flight, killed the leaders who had brought this upon Westeros.

Stannis included.

She saw shadows moving up ahead, a group of cloaked men. Steel glinted in their fists. Hands went to swords. The shadows slipped away. Thieves who had no intent of confronting two dozen armed men moving with purpose, she guessed.

The gates of the red keep were open, she saw, two dozen mailed spearmen captained by a man in full harness blocking the entrance.

Tane raised her hands.

"Lady Margaery is ready to treat with you." The knight said.

They passed by the ruin of the throne room. The half-sunken ruin of the Iron Throne stood out like a sunken ship. Only now did Tane realize the full enormity of what had happened here; the fires had gotten beneath the throne room, detonated the wildfire in the confined space and collapsed the whole edifice of the throne room down into the chamber of the skulls. To her surprise they were led not to Maegor's Holdfast, but instead to the Tower of the Hand. She ordered Davos's men to remain behind, was led up the staircase by a man with a lantern.

Tyrell guardsmen trailed behind her, mail rustling and brigandines scraping.

They reached Margaeries old chambers, the guards standing aside while a servant opened the door. Tane slipped through, leaving Morgan outside, and the door was closed behind her. Margaery sat on the side of the bed, fully dressed and her hair combed despite it being midnight. She smiled, stood up, hugged Tane tightly.

"Missed me?" Tane asked, enjoying the feeling of Margaeries body pressed up against hers.

"Somewhat." Margaery said, looking up with a smile.

Tane wanted to kiss her, hold her, but there would be time for that later, when the city was not in a state of crisis.

Margaery let go of her. "What happened to your face?" she asked, motioning at the scabs pockmarking the side of Tane's face.

"An Other hit my visor and it shattered. Nothing that won't heal." Tane said.

"You fought the Others- What! Gods be good!"

"They're beaten." Tane said. "Stannis sacrificed himself and it drove them back north of the wall. I lost a lot of good men before that."

"What in the seven hells." Margaeries face was pale with shock. "The king is truly dead? This is not some ploy?"

"He's dead." Tane said. "And no clear answer on who he wishes to have crowned. It is most likely Renly, but his dying words might contradict that. That is why I am here. I don't know what the situation is in the city, I don't know what Florent's aims are, I do not know what your aims are. I mean to force Florent to negotiate and end this without bloodshed, but before that I must know my hand."

Margaery nodded, her face serious. "I arrived in the city with the intent of organizing relief. Which we did, with some difficulty, though supplies were running short. Then we received communication from the north trying to instruct Alester Florent to secure the throne for when Shireen came south."

"Who sent it? Imry?"

Davos had assured her the Stag of the Sea's ravens were secure, but apparently not as much as they thought.

"I do not know. I was not meant to receive it, however; he promised reward to whoever delivered it to Lord Florent. I think he did not expect me to have men watching the King's Landing ravenry, or the bird got lost. Then Lord Florent came south with many men and tried to convince me to let his men secure the Red Keep for a coronation. He revealed he too knew of the King's death and meant to crown Shireen."

"Stannis believed Shireen would die the whole time, he tried to sacrifice her before I stopped him."

"Stannis tried to sacrifice Shireen! What in the seven's name happened up there!"

"A lot." Tane said. "Before he died, Stannis declared Shireen his heir under Andal law and Renly his heir under Targaryen law. And that she should also get what Robert should have given him."

"What? Does that mean Shireen is now heir to the throne? Or that she gets Dragonstone?"

"Well, Imry certainly thinks the former. And Renly will think the latter. Also she might have a claim to Storm's End by the King's Word. Fuck knows."

"Anyhow, now my men are "securing the city", his men are "defending the area from bandits". Every shipment of food that comes in his men take control of, take most of it for themselves, and distribute the barest scraps outside the city. His galleys escort merchant cogs coming in and make them unload near his camp, saying the Blackwater wharfs are unusable."

"Are they?"

"Some of them. But not all. He all but has us under siege and calls it charity." Margaery spat. "He even harasses our fishing boats because he claims they are smugglers. I have tried to call a Great Council but to no avail, and now… where is Shireen and Olenna?"

"Olenna is with Elinor Tyrell on one of our cogs. Quite safe."

"Oh, thank the seven. Shireen?"

"On board the Stag of the Sea. Which peeled off and went to Lord Florent's camp, against my signals. There are many wild rumours abounding. Some say she should be made queen, for, and I quote, "She has seen the face of the seven hells and survived." Others reckon she's been kidnapped and the Florents mean to use her as a puppet."

"Alester Florent has control of her?"

Margaery looked conflicted, at that. She survived the Siege of Storm's End with Shireen. Shireen convinced her to commit to the sally. She probably saved my life, and cost Loras's…

"I think he means to crown her, or at least argue her case at a great council." Tane said. "But you have control of the Iron Throne."

"Which means I am under threat." Margaery said. "Florent shall aim to seize the Red Keep, and keep me hostage-"

"I'll guarantee against it." Tane said. "I shall swear on my honour to Lord Florent that if he attacks first, I will turn all the strength of the Silvercloaks and the Royal Fleet against him. And I shall have Lord Davos inspect the wharfs. If they are usable, I will demand Florent let your cogs unload there."

"If he does not consent?"

"My galleys shall escort your ships in and I shall dare him to try his piracy."

"Thank the seven." Margaery said. "What forces do you have?"

"One thousand five hundred foot. The lancers went south with Renly to assist in his pursuit, and the King's Landing battalion went north with Lord Florent. Two thousand narrow sea marines, and more oarsmen and sailors who can be put under arms if necessary." She left out that her arquebusiers were were nearly out of powder, she had hundreds of men wounded or who had lost their weapons in the fighting, hundreds more left in Storm's End or Riverrun to recover from their wounds taken in the south, that much of the force had to be hastily reorganized from companies that were almost wiped out…

"What do you mean to do now?"

"You wish for a great council?"

"Yes." Margaery said. "I am certain Renly would win in the eyes of the realm, and it is the best way to resolve this without bloodshed. Alester Florent insists on succession by Andal law. A daughter comes before an uncle. Not Targaryen law."

"I can call it. I witnessed the King die-" Shot him in the head, more like-"And I have the force of arms to ensure the result is honoured."

"Renly might object. He has the strength to seize the throne himself and he knows it."

"If it comes to swords, I shall side with whoever draws theirs second." Tane said.

"Would you side against me?" Margaery said, giving her best doe-eyes.

Tane put her hands on her shoulders.

"I trust you not to draw first."

"And if Renly attacks Florent, against my will?"

Tane gulped. "I'll do what I can to preserve you, your brother and your household. But I shall have no choice but to side with Florent, if Renly draws his sword first."

"I thought you were loyal to me." Margaery said. She was starting to tear up.

"I'm sorry." Tane said. "Truly. But I cannot have another civil war. I have too much blood on my hands already-"

The Darry boy, Joffrey, Myrcella, the nameless thousands killed, maimed, raped, exiled at her command… she could not do it again, not even for the love of a queen-to-be.

"So you would turn your swords against me!" Margaery hissed. "Renly seized me and threatened to beat me the night after you left for the north! I cannot trust him, now I hear that I cannot trust you, I can trust only my own blood!"

Renly had struck her?

Christ-Horus. She felt a surge of protectiveness, of anger. I should ram my rapier through Renly's chest, if he did that. But that would mean her own death, and the downfall of Margaery. She had trapped herself; to support Margaery was to support Renly, to support Shireen would mean Margaeries ruin.

She had survived Taena's betrayal. She could survive this.

Taena forced my hand. I made this decision. Her heart was in her throat.

"There is a compromise that can be made, I think."

"And what is that compromise?" Margaery asked. Tane could still see the tears pricking the corner of her eyes, but she looked hopeful.

"Storm's End." Tane said. "The castle Stannis had always wanted. That would go to Shireen. And in return, the Iron Throne to you and Renly."

 

[Balaur]

Tane and Davos sent Elinor Tyrell and Olenna up into the Red Keep the night after Tane's visit, through the secret passage carved through Maegor's holdfast and into the Red Keep itself. Davos's men had ordered it blocked up, but Garlan's had opened it in case they needed to make a quick escape.

Margaery was waiting in the old King's Study, surrounded by armed men. Anyone could come up through that door, even Tane and her soldiers ready to storm the Red Keep. Tane had said she would not strike anyone who had not drawn on her first, but Margaery could not take chances. And worse, Florent's men could have discovered the passage. Cersei had been taken prisoner in this very room, she recalled.

Margaery had no intent of joining her in the seven hells.

A stone on the wall clicked. Household knights stepped forward either side of her, shields hefted, swords raised. The stonework swung open, revealing a cunningly disguised door, and the light of a lantern shining through into her men's eyes. Margaery winced, raising her hand over her face. It was almost midnight.

These secret visits are ruining my sleep.

The lantern light was shuttered, leaving the room lit only by her own men's candles.

A scruffy man with a miner's lantern in one hand and a falchion in the other stood in the doorway. He turned back to the tunnel. "Aye, that's Margaeries men. Bring up the princess."

He stepped out of the tunnel, and she saw other armed men further back in the tunnel. Mail rustled faintly as they flattened themselves against the wall, sheathed their swords. Her own guards harness clicked as they settled.

Elinor Tyrell came up through the tunnel then, in Tyrell green and gold. She carried Olenna in her arms, the baby still wrapped in swaddling though she was a year old.

Elinor passed Olenna across to her. The baby burbled, squirmed in her swaddling. She was much heavier than Margaery remembered. Another woman, northern looking, came out of the tunnel.

"Manderly wetnurse." Elinor said.

Margaery tried to rock Olenna, bumped her shoulder against a shield.

"You should come to my chambers, I think." Margaery said. "It is much more comfortable."

Elinor nodded.

"Yes. I…" -she glanced about at the soldiers crowding the small room-"agree."

*

"What happened in the south? I understand there was a siege and that Loras was killed? What happened to him?"

"There was a siege of Storm's End, yes. And then a great battle. The Targaryen army tried to trick us into surrender with faked messages saying that Mace intended to betray the Targaryens and that we should stay neutral. Stannis's army was in battle and losing. Mace's army arrived in the west and hesitated to give battle, so I thought for a moment that the messages were real and that he had turned against the King. But I thought Loras was with Stannis's bodyguard, and as such I could not let Stannis lose. So I ordered a sally against the Targaryen camp."

"And Loras? Were you too late to save him?"

"I was too soon. Mace and Renly wanted to delay their attack, to trick the Targaryens into thinking they were neutral before smashing them by surprise. Loras was with the Tyrell army-he had quit Stannis's service and fled south-and he thought that I was with the sallying forces and in danger. So he charged out ahead of the Tyrell army and forced the rest to follow. He died trying to force Aegon to fight him in single combat."

"Gods be good…" Elinor said, her face betraying shock. "Mace let Loras die? I never really trusted him- ''

''No, no, he ordered the attack as soon as he saw what Loras was doing" Margaery said.

But he did. He had Willas fighting in tournaments too young, he married me off too young, he pushed Loras into this. Her father was to blame, his ambition driving Loras to his last desperate charge, that and his failure to realize that the garrison might try to intervene in the battle over their fate.

Him and Renly. Gods damn them both.

She could feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"How has Olenna been doing? Is she well?"

"She… she cried terribly, the first few weeks. I do not think the journey by ship was good for her. But she is growing healthily. She has even begun to crawl, and to stand up when not swaddled."

"Oh! That is very good, isn't it, Olenna?"

Olenna just burbled in response. Margaery saw her looking across at Elinor.

"She, um. She spoke her first words on the ship over."

I missed that?

"What where they?"

"Mother." Elinor said, nervously.

"She knew she was going to see me?"

"She said it to me."

Margaery wanted to weep, then. The war had stolen her brother, had stopped her from hearing her firstborn's first words, had meant her baby did not even see her as her mother. Her husband hated her, her lover might lead troops against her-

Margaery gritted her teeth. There was no time for despair.

She knew this could happen. Tane had watched Lady Merryweather put to death; Margaery herself had resolved that she would cut Tane lose if it came to that, turn her heart to stone. Highborn babies oft bonded with their wetnurses more than their mothers. She had to stay focused. She had to keep moving.

"Well, she was doing a fine job playing her part in the deception." Margaery said, forcing herself to smile. "And you did a very fine job looking after her." It was not even a lie; she could not bear to resent Elinor for that. She had done everything that had been asked of her; she had never been anything less than a loyal friend.

"Anyhow, she is still yet to walk." Margaery said. "I still have that to see. Do you think it safe to stay in the Red Keep?"

Elinor nodded. "Better than the field camp or the ships. There is enough food?"

"For a few more people. And if Olenna is with me, there is less chance of her being snatched to use against me."

Tane had every intent of a peaceful outcome, had told her of the possibility of compromise with the Florents, had not tried to keep Olenna from her, but even so...

*

Seven representatives of the dockworkers met her and Lord Sunglass in the old carpenter's guildhall, the morning after Olenna had come to visit. Even with all the chaos of the claimants, she still had a dying city to make herself mayoress of.

The situation was beyond helping. They had completed the first batch of fishing ships, but the Florent galleys were blocking the mouth of the Blackwater and refusing to budge while searching the fishing ships as "smugglers." and forcing them to unload in his "more secure" camp. They too were redirecting merchant cogs coming in from the free cities away from the docks and towards his own camp. Even Tane's cogs had been turned away, and where now anchored behind her galleys.

The supplies coming up the Blackwater on barges from the Reach were being offloaded, but they were not enough. And Lord Florent's army… they had surrounded the city and were taking hold of and distributing the supplies, but she could guess from the size of the force and the sheer number of horses in his camp that most of the supplies meant for the city were going down his armies gullets, and the masses of smallfolk who gathered outside the walls to receive his charity were getting only the scraps. She had at least taken the ship of sending away most of their armies excess horses; the Florents had most of their archers and guardsmen mounted and a full set of three horses for every knight and sworn sword in their force.

We are all but under siege.

"Well, we've completed our first batch of fishing ships, and now we find out that you've run out of rations. My Lady." The leader of the shipwrights said.

"We have done all we can to secure your supplies." Margaery said. "But with the ships blocking the Blackwater rush, there is little that can be done."

"Get them to move." The leader said. He was a tall, whip thin man, his face sunburnt and pockmarked but his clothes fine. He was a grandmaster in the shipwright's guild, she took it.

"How? I have no navy here."

"They're within scorpion shot of the walls." Another representative said. He wore his sword and dagger with confidence, and had a sword-scar across his face.

"They'll just move the blockade further out, and board and seize any ships that come out instead of tricking them into thinking the wharves are destroyed." Margaery said. "And then blood will have been shed, and they will put the city fully under siege."

"It's already under siege. He wants to make us like dogs, who think themselves well fed on scraps while their master feasts." The guildmaster said. "My lady, the situation is untenable. My nephew died of fever last night. So have hundreds of others. There will be many more if the food situation does not improve. We need to let the merchant cogs in and the fishing boats out."

"There are many men here who have been trained to arms, and many small boats. Strike swiftly and we can seize the galleys blocking the Blackwater." The scarred sailor said.

"I shall give Lord Florent an ultimantum to move his ships away from the river mouth. Lady Bayder has promised she will have her galleys escort the cogs in if Lord Florent will not see reason. And in the meantime, the city guildsmen have my permission to organize into twenties and hundreds, amass whatever arms are available and prepare yourselves for action. I shall send officers of my household to help."

"Is this what you mean to do? Just ask him nicely to stop starving us?"

"That shall be the first offer. The second shall be to request Lady Bayder to use her galleys to break the blockade. And the third shall be to set you fine men upon the galleys. If Lord Florent insists he wants to make this a siege, then he must tolerate some sallies, I think."

*

She met Shireen to treat with her the next day. They were on the open ground of the Tourney Grounds, on the south side of the river. Margaery had Tyrell lancers behind her while Florent horsemen watched Shireen come forwards from the Florent delegation. Tane's own soldiers stood off to the side, a company of crossbows, arquebuses, pikes and halberds ready to intervene if violence broke out. Tane had managed to strongarm Florent into sending the Silvercloak battalion with his force back across the river. He believed Tane when she said would side against whoever drew first, and he did not fully trust the Silvercloak officers to not side with the captain general.

Shireen walked across the soft grass, the hems of her dress lifted so it would not be wetted. Margaery did the same. Merry Crane and Elinor Tyrell stopped following as they reached the middle of the field; so did the two Florent handmaidens following Shireen.

They stopped in the middle of the field.

"You did well, to feed the people of King's Landing." Shireen said. "I… apologize for Lord Florent's actions, here. I told him I thought blocking the Blackwater with galleys was a very cruel and foolish thing to do."

"And I apologize for not letting you prepare for a coronation." Margaery said. "If what I have heard is true, then you deserve the throne, for you have seen the face of the Seven Hells and survived."

"I did not do much to stop them." Shireen said. "Tane and some of the Night's Watch did. The Dornishman who killed Euron too. They sacrificed Father. By Father's orders."

Tane killed Stannis. What?!

Margaery was about to ask for an explanation of what in the seven hells happened when Shireen continued.

"Now." Shireen said, the confidence suddenly returning to her voice. "I have asked my uncle's men about this. They say that Stannis made me his secret heir to the throne. But my father never told me any such thing. Only that he wanted an inheritance for me according to Andal Law, and to be given what Robert should have given him. Your claim is that I inherit Dragonstone. Lord Florent's claim is that I inherit the throne. I think that Stannis wanted me to have something different altogether."

Thank the seven, there was a way to resolve this without bloodshed.

"And what would that be, my lady?"

"I wish to have a Baratheon inheritance as a lady, not as a princess or a queen. A castle and lands. A strong castle. Storm's End."

"Renly would never consent." Margaery said. That was the key to their power; Storm's End, Highgarden, and King's Landing all bound by blood and marriage.

And besides, Loras's flesh was buried there. She could not accept it; Renly would not accept it.

"His lords would." Shireen said. "A king who also holds all the Stormlands and Narrow Sea, and has command of a standing army. That would be a fearsome thing, would it not?"

Shireen had put a great deal of thought into this, or been talked through it by someone much wiser than her uncles.

Either way, Margaery had to admire the cunning. She had offered to step down from an impossible goal in return for being granted a merely difficult one.

"And anyway, King Robert gave Dragonstone to Stannis and Storm's End to Renly. He did not keep them all for himself. Renly should do the same. And I think I would be much happier in Storm's End, than I would be on the Iron Throne. It looks very uncomfortable. Especially burnt."

She smiled nervously.

"I will give your proposal to Lord Renly, when he arrives." Margaery said. She liked Storm's End, the sea cliffs, the brusque, professional guardsmen. But Shireen had spent most of the last year there, too.

Just like Stannis held it for a year, only for it to be granted to Renly. There was a certain irony to that.

"What should I do if Lord Renly does not consent?" Margaery asked. "My lord husband is a stubborn man and does not listen as he should. And Loras Tyrell was buried there. He and Renly were very close, and Loras died fighting at Renly's side."

"If I get Storm's End, I shall have a shrine dedicated to the Warrior raised over Loras's grave. And yourself and Renly shall be free to visit it, whenever you wish."

That would not persuade Renly. He would never consent to give over his prize to Stannis's daughter, at Stannis's word.

"What of your uncles? Do they not wish to seize the throne for themselves?"

"My uncles will not rescind my claim if there is not something in it for them, more than Dragonstone. And the King was quite clear he wanted me to inherit more than Dragonstone." Shireen said. "So it will come to battle. Which I do not wish to happen, by any means, but I cannot stop. I am only a girl and have no swords of my own."

"No." Margaery agreed. "That would be a very terrible thing to happen." Then she smiled. "Now, I have a proposal. Lord Alester Florent insists that a true Great Council is unworkable, and I think him right. But there is another path. When Renly arrives, we shall have most of Stannis's small council arrayed here. So I think we must have a great meeting of them. And there all who have claims to the throne, and all who saw the king die, shall agree upon what is to be done with the throne without bloodshed."

They thought on it, for a moment.

Alester would support Shireen for the throne or Storm's End, Renly himself. Sunglass would support Renly. She did not know which way Lord Tarly would swing; he was married to a Florent but had fought alongside Renly for years, and liked the idea of women ruling little. Davos could be persuaded; Tane would likely support Margaery, and she should support Renly with the caveat of Storm's End. There was no Grand Maester or Commander of the Kingsguard, and Velaryon was absent taking control of the Iron Islands. It had to be enough: The claimants themselves. Lord Florent, Hand of the King, to argue his grandnieces case. Lord Sunglass, the man who had held King's Landing together. The veteran Lord Tarly. Davos, Stannis's loyalest and humblest follower. Tane, the commander of his armies who had raised Stannis up in the first place.

She thought for a moment of ordering a meeting of the Great Lords, but that would not do: the Vale was ruled by a lackwit, Renly and Mace had vested interest, the Westerlands was still under an appointee, Winterfell had burned and Robb Stark hurried north with his men to restore order, Dorne and perhaps the Iron Islands were still in open revolt. It had to be a lesser council, the commanders of the armies that surrounded King's Landing like sharks around a dying whale.
"We'll hold a council." Shireen agreed. "And come to a fitting agreement."

"If we are to hold a council, we must keep the city intact." Margaery said. "What can be done to clear the mouth of the blackwater? Those supplies are purchased on Tyrell credit and meant for the people of King's Landing, but Florent seizes them and gives the grain to his own force. That is close to an act of war. Nor can be safely send out our fishing ships without fear of them being seized. Hundreds are dead of starvation and disease. There is word that men in the city are organizing to attack the galleys, on their own initiative. Could you request that the mouth of the blackwater be kept clear of warships, and that merchantmen be left unmolested?"

"I have tried to convince my uncle of that, but have had little luck." Shireen said.

"If we cannot convince him to move the ships, then I have other means." Margaery said.

"What would those means be?"

Margaery silently pointed at Tane's galleys, drawn up with their gun-armed fighting castles pointed out to sea.

"Myself, you and Lady Bayder are all of one mind on this. If the cogs cannot be let through to the perfectly serviceable wharves, then Tane shall have them escorted in. And if Lord Florent tries to board the escorted ships and engage the galleys, that is piracy. Tane has little love of pirates. Just ask Euron."

Shireen nodded, slowly. "I will tell my uncles that. That they are being very cruel to the people of King's Landing, and very foolish to provoke someone as dangerous as Tane."

"And Renly will be coming north soon enough. If he finds food payed for with his gold intercepted, he will take that as an act of war. My husband is not so patient as I am."

*

Lord Renly Baratheon came up the blackwater the next week, by galley. There were a dozen of them, dromonds left behind at Storm's End to help secure the narrow sea. They came ashore right up the Blackwater Rush, edging in to the docks amidst half-sunken merchant cogs, the nascent fishing fleet and a freshly moored cog busy unloading. Her parley had worked. The threat of having to confront cannon-armed war galleys had forced Florent's galleys away from the blackwater mouth, and any threat of him trying to divert them further out was deterred by Tane's galleys pushing out to escort them in.

Gangplanks were thrown out. Hundreds of well-armed footmen and archers came marching ashore. There were no mounted men, only dismounted knights in harness.

Margaery rode down to greet him. She was surrounded by armoured cavalry; Tyrell knights under Garlan riding on one side, Lord Sunglass and Tane leading a band of Goldcloak lancers on the other. Tane had come across the Blackwater to greet Renly.

Renly was cloaked, out of armour. His leg was in a plaster and he was up on crutches. Dismounted knights with greatswords and pole-axes surrounded him.

Margaery dismounted as well, striding forward out of earshot of her escort.

"What happened, my lord?"

"It broke again." Renly grunted. "Last time I ignore the maesters." He hobbled over to her. "What in the seven hells is going on here?"

"Tane's recovered Olenna but Lord Florent seeks to crown Shireen." Margaery said. "He almost had us under siege but he's been convinced to back off."

"Who's side has Tane taken-"

"Mine, for now. Her galleys escort the grain cogs in so Florent cannot take them for his own force. She is trying to arrange a council to agree on the inheritance and is pushing for a compromise. But she says if it comes to blows she will side with whoever draws their sword last."

Renly grimaced.

"And Florent does not look ready to back down."

"Not without concessions."

"What concessions?"

"Speak to him and Shireen. They shall tell you." Margaery said. "She is willing to give up the throne if necessary. Myself, Tane and Florent all agree that we should hold a meeting of all the small council members and great lords present to resolve this as quickly as possible. And we cannot resolve this with arms."

"And why not? I have many men here. More are coming up the Kingsroad. Mace Tyrell will be marching to my support with thousands of men too. The longer I wait, the stronger my position becomes. I think I shall keep them at council as long as possible."

"Because Florent surrounds the city, because the Red Keep is in no shape to withstand a concerted siege, and because Tane has promised to turn her troops against whoever draws blood first. She does not have her full force of silvercloaks, that is true, but she still has over a thousand silvercloaks and thousands more Narrow Sea men loyal to Stannis personally. We can win this with ravens but we cannot win it with steel."

"We shall delay until Mace arrives." Renly said. "With the forces he can muster on the north bank we can drive the Florents into the sea before Tane can move against us. Lord Alester Florent is not so stupid as the rest of his family, he will come to terms when he sees that."

"You shall risk another war." Margaery spat. You would not dare strike me. Not with Garlan here, with Tane and all her forces arrayed against him.

He is right, we cannot give up Storm's End, not so long as Loras lies buried there.

"Only if they force me." Renly said. "I will have my birthright, that is true, but I am a generous man. There are many treasonous lords who'se lands shall be distributed. The Florents will have their due. And I shall have mine."

Gods be good. Renly was amenable to reason, and so was Lord Florent. With Mace coming and the blockade soon to be lifted, the throne was all but guaranteed. Now the real question was rule of Storm's End.

 

[Balaur]

"Lord Florent. You have a wish to see me?" Renly asked, sitting in his grand pavilion laid out beneath the tournament ground of King's Landing. He had elected to receive Lord Florent sitting as if already a King receiving petitioners. He would not hobble about in sight of his enemies; no, he would have them come to him, while he sat in comfort.

Lord Florent nodded. "Yes, I have come to treat with you, on the matter of the throne and the succession." He was finely dressed, in a white doublet embroidered with blue flowers. He had left his sword and dagger outside; so had Renly. Both men's bodyguards had been ordered to wait outside.

"That is good. I have every wish to see this resolved without bloodshed." Renly said, though he bitterly wished he could just order his men to cross the river, put every Florent to the sword and be done with it. He thought a fox hunt would be just the thing, to fix his mood.

"So do I." Lord Florent said.

"Now. You must understand my dilemma." Renly said. "His Grace the King has been quite clear ever since his accession that, until such time as he had a male heir, I was his heir to the Iron Throne. He was also quite clear that he wished for Shireen to receive Dragonstone. That I have no intention of denying her. But now I hear that King Stannis Baratheon died fighting undead monsters, that moments before his death he stated Princess Shireen is his heir, and that the ship carrying said heir broke off from the Royal Fleet against orders in order try and have her crowned. And also that merchant cogs paid for with my families coin were being redirected to your camp until Lady Bayder put a stop to it. I would have my brother's will done, but this is highly irregular."

Lord Florent smiled sympathetically. "My nephew Ser Imry Florent tells me that the King told him that he had changed his mind on the matter of the succession, and that he wished to make Shireen his heir to the Throne. He took extreme measures to ensure her safety. He does not think you likely to murder a young girl or disobey your dead King's will, but he could take no chances, especially when in the presence of someone as dangerous as Lady Bayder and with Targaryen loyalists still on the loose. He acted irregularly on purpose, to throw off the scent of any assassins seeking to throw the succession into dispute."

"I do not dispute Ser Imry's loyalty to his niece, or his respect for the law." Renly said. "But what evidence do we have for Stannis's will being for Shireen to sit the Iron Throne? Do we have a stamped and sealed statement? Multiple witnesses of good reputation?"

"Ser Davos and Lady Bayder have both taken statements from witnesses." Lord Alester said. "There were five witnesses in total, who heard the King's last words and survived the battle."

"What are their names?"

"Alleras the half-Maester. Lancel Lannister, an officer of the Night's Watch. Lady Tane Bayder, Captain-General of the Royal Guard. Morgan, Tane's sorceress. And Princess Shireen Baratheon."

"A Dornishman, a Lannister, and the girl who stands to become queen. And Morgan, who is Tane's shadow and would back whatever she says. Tane is the only truly independent witness." Renly said. He had been Master of Laws in Roberts reign; he had not been enthusiastic at his position, nor good at it, but he had learned something.

"There are ten sealed statements, two from each of them taken separately by Tane and Davos." Lord Alester said. "Davos insists they only be unsealed and read out in the presence of both claimants. Now. Ser Davos is a lowborn smuggler, but his loyalty and honesty are indisputable. Lady Bayder bore the King much ill-will, but she acted with considerable integrity in the matter of the assassination of the High Septon. They are both deeply trustworthy individuals."

"You will have spoken to Shireen. What did she say of the King's Last Words?"

"She said that the King named you his heir under Targaryen Law but her his heir under Andal Law. And that he wished Shireen to receive what Robert should have given him."

Under Andal law, a daughter came to the inheritance before an uncle, or at least that was how the common law was traditionally interpreted. Of course, in most such cases, the uncle could gather more swords than the daughter, at least if the daughter was an unmarried young girl, so many daughters quietly surrendered their inheritance; but that was not how it was supposed to go according to the written law codes and the great codices of cases and precedents he had forced himself to read through.

Under Targaryen Law from the council of 101 AC, the rules were quite simple: No woman could sit the Iron Throne, nor could the succession be passed through a woman's line. King Viserys I Targaryen had named his daughter Rhaenrya his heir and tried to keep her as heir even after three sons from a second marriage. That had led to the Dance of Dragons and the deaths of thousands when the family of said sons took issue and crowned Aegon II.

"The interpretation seems clear enough. Lordships are inherited by Andal law, the Iron Throne by the Council's precedent. As Stannis's daughter, Shireen is his heir according to Andal law and therefore receives Dragonstone. And as brother and according to the King's stated will, I am his heir under Crown law and the Iron Throne passes to me."

"Ser Imry does not see it that way. He interpreted it as meaning that Stannis wishes a shift to Andal Law for all his holdings, and that therefore Princess Shireen is due to sit the Iron Throne. That is what Robert should have always given Stannis: direct inheritance, instead of letting the Lannisters chase him into near-exile on Dragonstone."

Ser Imry did not know Stannis well if he thought that. Stannis cared little for the Throne; it had been Storm's End he had always bitterly desired. And he loathed Renly for it. Trying to undercut his triumph by setting up Shireen to steal Storm's End out from under him just as he ascended the throne, all with an ironclad legal justification, would be just the kind of ploy Stannis would have loved.

And Renly had no desire to let it happen.

"That is quite a conundrum." Renly said. "I shall make summons to all eight of the great lords to come attend King's Landing and examine the King's Word."

Few enough of them be able to attend, except for Lords Edmure Tully and Mace Tyrell. Lord Mace would back him to the hilt for the dream of seeing his daughter as queen. He could charm Lord Tully easily enough. Truthfully it did not matter; he needed to buy time for Mace to arrive and truly secure his position.

"The Great Lords cannot come." Lord Alester said. "Lord Doran Martell of Dorne is in open rebellion, there has been nought but silence from the Iron Islands so Lord Velaryon is likely still at war there. The Vale is ruled by a lackwit, and Lord Emmon Frey is all but a puppet to Ser Roland Stormsong, Warden of the West. Lord Robb Stark is a good man but left swiftly to try and restore order in the north, where his father is dead and his seat Winterfell badly damaged by dragonfire. There are only three Great Lords fit to attend such a council: You, Lord Mace Tyrell and Lord Edmure Tully. And with the state King's Landing is in, we cannot afford to wait, nor to invite more lords to swell the cities population further. We have both been Hands of the King and Masters of Law, we both understand the issues at hand well enough. So we must resolve this between us."

"And what resolution would we see?" Renly said. "The King's dying words are ambigious and could have many meanings; his words before that are unambigious: I am heir to the Iron Throne, Shireen is heir to Dragonstone. And his dying words could also be interpreted in that light. So it seems quite clear to me."

"The King said to give Shireen what King Robert always should have given him. That was more than Dragonstone, I think. If not the Iron Throne, then what?"

Storm's End. But he could not accept that. Stannis's ugly daughter would not preside over Loras's resting place, certainly not when she had gotten him killed.

Margaery had said as much, that she had been in negotiations with Shireen and the girl had an alternate proposal. Is that their plan, to argue the case for Shireen's inheritance of the throne long and hard until they make a "generous" concession and force me to give them Storm's End?

He had to delay until Mace Tyrell arrived. Once Mace arrived, he would have the force of arms to destroy Florent and even Tane if it came to that. Alester was not so stupid as the rest of his family; he would back down and limit Shireen to Dragonstone once faced with the prospect of fighting thousands of Tyrell soldiers. Then Olenna or his secondborn would have Storm's End, his firstborn son would be heir to the Iron Throne, and both the lordly and kingly dynasties of Baratheon would continue as separate lines, as King Robert had intended.

"I shall have to consult my books of law." Renly said. Lord Florent's galleys controlled the north shore of the bay Tane's galleys the south, but he'd had his own galleys positioned in the river, to keep lines of communication between the Red Keep and his own camp open. If Lord Florent attacked Margaery and Garlan's foothold in King's Landing, then Tane would be enraged and turn against him. He almost hoped Alester would; it would solve a great many problems.

"And so do I." Lord Alester said. "Would you be so kind as to grant my Maester access to the Red Keep's libraries?"

"Yes. I would." Renly said. "Once our consultations are complete, then we can convene another meeting with all the remains of the small council present and discuss our findings. If a clear case can be made that we both agree on, then that be our agreement. If not, then I shall call a Great Council to resolve this matter."

Which outcome he would take depended entirely on whether Mace Tyrell arrived in time.

"When shall we hold this consultation?"

"When both our maesters agree their consultation is complete." Renly said.

"I think it would be better to set a date." Florent said. "One week from now?"

"The King's Landing libraries are badly damaged." Renly said. "It may take time to find the right books. Two weeks?"

Lord Florent looked unconvinced. He thought for a moment. Then: "Aye, two weeks. But send word if your maesters are ready earlier."

They said their goodbyes, and then Lord Florent left.

He had by far the better legal case to the Iron Throne, and the advantage in swords so long as Tane did not betray Margaery.

But Storm's End. That was the obvious interpretation of the King's Will, that Shireen should have it, and there would be support for it even amongst Renly's own supporters. They wanted a crown as weak as possible; control of the Crownlands and Stormlands both and their taxes and revenues would make for a strong crown. If Lord Florent gave up pressing for the Crown and turned to demanding Storm's End for Shireen, he would likely win much support.

Renly could not let that happen. Loras's flesh was buried there; Shireen had convinced Margaery to send troops with her banner down and lured Loras to his death. It was an unacceptable trade.

The ugly little girl Shireen would have the ugly little castle that Stannis had hid on while Renly had fought the Lannisters at court and won him his throne. And his own children would sit Storm's End and the Iron Throne both.

He had to wait until Mace arrived, then the Florents would be lucky if they managed to keep Dragonstone.

He gripped his cane, stood up. Guardsmen and servants entered; he asked for water, and told them to prepare his horse and an escort. They were in a dangerous position, now. Tane had requested he meet with her, in her camp. I am the king to be, I should be summoning her-

He would have to humour her. Her forces could make him king, just as they had made Stannis King before. He gritted his teeth, stood up, and called for his horse.

*

Tane's soldiers were encamped all along the south shore of the Blackwater bay, the fighting castles of their anchored galleys pointing out to sea and ditches and barricades dug inland. The Florent galleys were drawn up on the north shore, their infantry spread out in three small encampments around King's Landing that were definitely not siege camps. His own galleys had taken control of the Rush itself, linking his south shore camp with Margaery and Garlan's men squatting in the Red Keep. That was a strong position, but a dangerous one too; either of the other fleets could trap him in the rush with no hope of escape.

His escort rode around him, twenty mounted guardsmen with spears and hauberks.

Halberdiers stood guard over Tane's camp. They let him through when they informed him he was hand of the King, though not without grumbling and a delay while they assembled an escort to take him to Tane. Soldiers, sailors and camp followers eyed his men. He thought he saw hate in the eyes of some, or at least contempt. One man stared at him, his gaze following Renly as he sharpened the blade of his halberd.

Finally, half a dozen men blocked his path, sliding out from between the tents and rough-made huts. They were unarmed except for their swords and daggers, wore no armour except for a few leather jerkins. The sergeant of his escort barked for them to step aside. They refused.

"We wish to speak to Lord Renly." One of the men said.

"Back off, he is here to speak to the Captain-General and her only." The sergeant replied.

"Let them speak." Renly said, trotting his horse forwards. He would know why exactly they hated him so.

The escort stepped aside.

"You sat and watched on your hill while we fought for our lives." One of the silvercloaks said. "You sat and watched while my brother was gutted with a Myrish bill and my captain who had stood and fought against dragons had his leg cut off. You hid in the south while we fought to save the whole world from demons out of the seven hells. Why should we risk our lives to give our pikes to your cause?"

"My banner was second to charge, only after Loras Tyrell." Renly said. "I came within a sword's reach of Aegon Targaryen before the coward fled before me. We only delayed the attack until the supporting banners could come up."

"Your wife ordered her attack before you did yours. I count her brave. Not you. Loras charged only after his sister's banner came down from the castle. That is what my wife tells me, and she watched the whole affair from camp." The soldier said. "I spoke to the men of Humfrey Water's battalion who marched with your army. That was what they said happened, too. If there is any justice in the world, Shireen shall sit the Iron Throne."

"Why?"

"The girl came within a sword's breadth of demons out of the seven hells, and lived. I think that counts for more than a sword and a cock." The soldier spat, and turned away.

"Will, Ryk, you are out of line!" A silvercloak Sergeant barked, hefting his halberd as he came towards the confrontation.

One of Renly's footmen stepped forwards, seized the silvercloak Will by the shoulder. "Do you call my lord a coward!"

The silvercloak whirled, hand going to his sword. Spears were levelled either side of Renly. Men all around him stood up from campfires, hands going to sword belts. His Silvercloak escort pushed in, trying to separate the two bodies.

"Stand down!" the sergeant barked.

Renly waved his guards back.

"Battle is confusing." Renly said. "Ask two soldiers what happened in a battle, and you shall get three answers. Unhand the man, I will have no blood shed here."

His men were in armour and some were mounted; even so, he liked their chances in a confrontation little.

If this is how Tane's men see me…

He gritted his teeth. They'll stay loyal to Tane, in the end. The smallfolk always do. Tane's command was what mattered.

The sergeants and officers were piling in, then, pulling men back, separating the two groups. He waited as they led the men off, then his escorts bade them ride on.

They rode to the command pavilion Tane had pitched, smaller and cheaper than the tents himself and Florent used. He dismounted carefully, took up his cane. Tane was waiting in the command tent. She motioned for him to take a seat on one of the folding stools. Her face was patterned with patches of scarring, her hair worn loose and shoulder length in a Westerosi style worn by men. She wore a Westerosi cut of doublet, and tight hose all the way up her legs without bothering with her separate baggy breeches.

He found that more jarring, than her usual manner of dress. That at least could be chalked up to foreigness; now she looked as much a freak as Brienne, though at least Brienne had not been in the habit of going about cuckolding her betters.

"Lord Baratheon."

"Captain-General." Renly answered. "I have been negotiating with Lord Florent. We have agreed to wait at two weeks, while our maesters consult their books. Then we shall hold a meeting of the small council and see if we can come to a satisfactory answer."

"Setting surgeons to do a lawyers job?" Tane asked.

Renly shrugged. "Better that than burgess lawyers. Who have all fled King's Landing."

"Smart of them." Tane said. "Anyhow, I myself have been negotiating with Lord Florent. And he wishes to hold a council only a week from now. All the small council members and great lords present would be convened, and the witness statements unsealed and read out."

"He agreed to two weeks when he spoke with me." Renly said.

"Was his original request for one week?" Tane asked.

"Yes."

"I see no reason to wait too long. King's Landing is falling apart. Even with the cogs coming in, the situation is very bad. The faster we can end this stand-off, the sooner we can get about to seeing the city fed. It would be best to hold it in a single week."

"Lord Mace Tyrell is coming." Renly said. "He is a great lord of import and deciding on so vital a matter without his counsel would be rash."

"How many swords does he march with? How many banners of horse, how many hundreds of foot?" Tane asked. "Is that how you mean to win this? Delay with negotiations until you have enough lances gathered here to take it all?"

There was no point denying it; Tane had understood perfectly what he planned. It was not subtle.

"Lord Florent is gathering more men too. Narrow Sea levies, elements of the Dragonstone garrison…"

"A trifle compared to what Mace will come with. Now." Tane said. "I support your claim to the throne. That is my best interpretation of the King's Will. But it comes with conditions."

"And what are those?"

"Firstly, that Shireen shall have her right to inheritance respected and be given Dragonstone in perpetuity. The clear, unambigious will of Stannis Baratheon, and the least that the Florents shall accept."

Renly didn't care about that; Shireen could have her hellhole island for all he cared. It was her desire for Storm's End that posed the problem. She could not, under any circumstances, be allowed to have that. He would not let Stannis deny him his lordly rights from beyond the grave, one final act of grasping spite.

It was very like Stannis. If Stannis could not have Storm's End, then neither could Renly, or Renly's heirs.

"Secondly, that you do not initiate any action against the Florents. This suit shall be resolved with words and not with lances."

"Thirdly, that you accept any good-faith offer the Florents make in exchange for giving up Shireen's claim to the throne, including requests for castles other than Dragonstone. I will not risk my mens lives in service of an overambitious fool. I will risk their lives in service to ending this mess once and for all."

Storm's End. She was trying to convince him to accept the Storm's End deal. But he could not accept that. Storm's End was not Stannis's to give away, Robert had ensured that much. It was his seat, and he decided who it went to when he ascended the throne.

"That is all. That seems simple enough?"

Tane suddenly stood up, and strode over to Renly.

"And fourthly, you shall never again strike, seize, force, or threaten the Lady Margaery Baratheon, otherwise it shall be only a matter of if I get to you before her brothers do."

"I did not strike her-"

"Only grabbed her and threatened to do so, yes." Tane said.

"Why do you care so much if I must chastise my wife?" Renly asked. "You watched Lady Taena your paramour beheaded and said nothing."

"Lady Taena betrayed me." Tane said, the coldness in her voice forced.

"And Margaery betrayed me." Renly said. "She has confessed to it, you know."

"Under fear of your fist. I have long admired her, and am close in friendship, but have never lied with her." Liar.

"Nonetheless, she is my beloved and I consider her defence a matter of honour. That means supporting you so long as you would make her queen, and defending her should you pose a threat to her. Do you understand?"

Oh, she wants to play the knight in unrequited love?

"Do you dare threaten me!" Renly snapped, pulling himself up to tower over her.

"I've thrown down kings on your word." Tane said evenly. "I think I've earned the right to, by now."

"You understand what would happen to you, should you do that?"

"I understand that you are threatening the sword of the Stranger, the last hero reborn, witness to the martyrdom of King Stannis Baratheon. I understand that you are threatening the heir of Artorius duke of battles." Tane said. "A bastard-born soldier sent to another world by divine providence, and destinied to conquer those who would enslave humanity." Tane said.

Has she gone mad? What in the seven hells is she talking about?

She gestured at her face, at the pockmarked scars across it. "I took these scars fighting a thing out of the far north. Others, White Walkers, demons out of the seven hells, ice fairies, call them what you will. I was struck across the face hard enough to shatter my visor and survived. My men have stood their ground against monsters, things that cannot be, on my word, and we won."

"Should you become King, I think there would be consequences to having me killed. But I am quite willing to accept lands and a retirement from public life." Tane shrugged. "I am quite done with bloodshed. Just turn up to the meeting of the small council in one weeks time, negotiate in good faith, give Shireen her due, and I am sure you can have your throne easily enough."

 

[Balaur]

Tane combed her hair, checked it in the steel mirror she bore. Tied it back behind her head into a club, in Commonwealth fashion. Checked the fit of her doublet, one of the padded Westerosi style ones that went down to mid-thighs. She wasn't being caught dead in a dress, but her Brythwic clothes were old and worn out and she'd had little opportunity to have them repaired or replaced. She buckled her sword belt into place; rapier and parrying dagger. She could've worn one of her Westerosi swords-she was so out of practise with a rapier she suspected she'd be better with an arming sword, even in an unarmoured duel-but decided not to.

If this came to sword blows, she had already failed. She left her command tent. An escort of Silvercloak halberdiers fell in with her, brigandine rivets and mail shirts shining in the winter sun. It had not snowed in days, and the sun was shining strongly; the ground was steadily turning to mud.

Bad conditions for cavalry; her troops would have the advantage-

No steel. They would not end this with the sword.

One of her pages offered her the reins of her horse. Tane mounted up. Silvercloak Demi-Lancers fell in then, the halberdiers marching behind them for when they dismounted. Renly had sent her lancer squadron back as an escort to the baggage and horses he could not fit on his galleys. She was only glad the bastard hadn't gotten them all killed storming some half-forgotten holdfast. He had already let Brienne die by inaction, and two dozen others of the Demi-lancers.

Ahead of them was the meeting ground, the great pavilion in the middle of the tourney field. Smallfolk had surrounded it, hundreds of them, looking for a break from the tedium of life in the dead city, hoping for any leftovers if there was to be a feast.

Either side of her were the soldiers and sailors of her part of the royal fleet, arquebuses and spears and crossbows over their shoulders. They were not drawn up in battle array, not in armour; this was a spontaneous meeting.

There were watchmen and marines and Silvercloaks on the pier who had seen what had happened, dozens of them. She had already heard of the wild rumours: Stannis executed in a black magic sacrifice, Stannis commiting suicide in despair, the Seven so pleased by the death of the infidel king that they threw back the Others in joy, Stannis repenting from his foreign faith and embracing the Seven in martyrdom. Once the fleet had drawn up, over the last few weeks the stories had begun forming a consensus: Stannis Baratheon had sacrificed himself willingly to stop the Others and save his daughter(the means and motive, of course, varying between the Rhllorites and the followers of the Seven), and Tane, having defended him long enough to do so and witnessed his death, was the Last Hero, the sword of the Stranger.

And Shireen was his heir, the princess who had bravely endured horror after horror and would now see her reward.

One of them shouted "The sword of the stranger!" as she passed. "The sword of the stranger!"

"Raise Shireen up!" Another one shouted. "She saw the face of the Seven hells and lived! Raise her up!"

"Renly sat on his hill and watched my man die!" a camp woman shouted. "Fuck him! Shireen queen!"

Then the chant began in full: "You are the last hero! You are the sword of the Stranger! You are a scythe in a field full of briars! Raise Shireen up!"

Her heart sunk as she realized what she had done, that she would have to convince her men to back Renly. Then a sudden surge of fear; The Commonwealth army had a fearsome history of radicals and agitators willing to stand against King, Parliament and their own commanders alike. If she had created such a monster here…

She wheeled her horse to the chanting men, raised her hand. "I am here as a guarantor of justice!" Tane shouted to her soldiers. "I have vowed to resolve this without bloodshed and see the late king's will done. But should either the Florents or the Baratheons try to betray the other, we will stand against them! If Shireen is proclaimed Queen and Renly refuses to accept, we shall throw him down! And should Renly be proclaimed King, I assure you, Shireen will receive her due inheritance, and I shall ensure her safety on my honour as an officer and a gentlewoman!"

More cheering from her men. She had stood with them in the front ranks of pike blocks, had commanded them to stand their ground under attack from dragons, had fought against the living dead alongside them. They would not disobey her lightly.

War galleys under Royal Fleet and Florent colours were drawn up on the bank of the Blackwater, archers studding the fighting castles. There could be no treachery here; if herself, the Florents or the Baratheons tried anything, the other two would be poised to swiftly intervene. The horses of the Florents were already being held by their pages, outside the pavilion; she glanced across and saw Margaery, a handful of her ladies and a body of Tyrell knights riding across from where a Baratheon galley had ferried them across the Blackwater.

Tane dismounted as she approached. She strode towards the pavilion, the halberdiers flanking her either side while the lancers hung back. Morgan was not with her. The witch was her shadow at this point, but she'd excused herself to avoid setting off Westerosi suspicions of intervention by witchcraft.

She's a witness to the king's death-


And she is a soldier in my service. Her word will add no weight to mine.

She slipped in through the tent flap, saw the round table that had been layed out. Renly sat on one side, Baratheon household knights behind him. Lord Guncer Sunglass with his household guardsmen sat a quarter-circle away from Renly; Lord Florent alongside Ser Imry and Shireen sat opposite Renly. Davos sat between the Florents and her own seat.

Tane seated herself, carefully. "The Lady Margaery is coming as well, and will wish to have her seat." Tane said. "I think we can wait until then to begin."

They nodded sagely.

They waited. Margaery entered, alongside Garlan Tyrell. He had not bothered to wear armour. They took seats at the side of Renly.

"Now, shall we begin?" Alester asked, and so they did.

Renly began: "I thank the good will of the all the lords who have gathered here today, to resolve this difficult matter without bloodshed.

Now, this is the legal problem we are faced with. By tradition of Andal law, a daughter inherits before an uncle. However, by tradition of Targaryen Law as established in the Council of 101 AC, an uncle inherits before a daughter.

Stannis has publicly proclaimed me his heir until such time as he had a son, as would occur under Targaryen Law. However, it is the claim of Lord Alester Florent, Hand of the King, that Lord Stannis Baratheon did declare to Ser Imry Florent that he wished to make Shireen his heir in her own right, in accordance with Andal law should he not survive the wars to come.

As the King, Stannis has every right to declare his own heir and to create his own law, However, my points of dispute are twofold: That Stannis declared myself his heir, therefore any override of Targaryen Law would be in my favour. And that, more importantly, he did not in fact declare Shireen Baratheon heir to the throne."

Tane sucked in her breath, slowly.

"Now, to all witnesses, who was with Stannis Baratheon when he died?" Renly asked aloud. "Did he, or did he not, declare Shireen Baratheon his heir? Lord Davos Seaworth, your testimony?"

"That depends on what she was supposed to be heir to. He was quite clear Lord Renly had the claim to the Iron Throne." Davos said. "And I was charged with securing Shireen's life should the king fall in battle. He was quite clear I was to try and crown her only if both Lord Renly and King Stannis were dead. He told me to secure her an inheritance and livelihood according to Andal law should he die before her, but that does not mean the throne. That meant Dragonstone, and perhaps other Baratheon holdings such as Storm's End."

Stannis had tried to sacrifice Shireen. Of course he could not make her his heir, if he thought she would predecease him. But Tane dared not say that out loud, not with what it meant admitting. The line of Baratheon spat in the face of all the laws of gods and men.

"Captain-General Tane Bayder?" Lord Davos asked.

She glanced at Shireen. The girls face was impassive, trying to stay still.

"Stannis told me what he told everyone else, that Renly was his heir according to Targaryen law. He never spoke to me about it on the trip north." Tane said. "Lord Davos, would you have the statements read out?"

Firstly, her own statements were read out. Davos cut the seal on the first letter with his dagger, and began to read, somewhat hesitantly. Tane recalled Davos had only recently learnt to read.

"But before he died, he said "Get her an inheritance. Renly is my heir according to Targaryen law, Shireen is mine according to Andal law. Secure her what Robert should have given me." And then he was cut off, because the Others attacked and we were fighting hand to hand." Davos read out.

That was the statement Tane had dictated and put into Davos's care. Next he read out the statement Tane had written down herself; much the same. Morgan's statements confessed she had not heard clearly what the King said, Alleras was similar to Tane's with only a few changes in the kings words. Memory was a fuzzy thing, especially in the noise and chaos of close action.

"Those are from witnesses who could not travel south with us. An apprentice maester who helped kill Euron Greyjoy and saved the King's life in the battle off Grey Gallows, and an officer of the Night's Watch. Both men of considerable reputation and honour.

He was reaching for Lancel's statements when Imry spoke up.

"His Grace The King was wise not to tell you anything of his true will before his deathbed." Imry Florent said. He stood up, pointed across the table to Renly "I knew and liked little of this. You, a Lannister and a Dornishman conspiring against the rightful king, to steal his heir's throne!"

"That is a very serious allegation, Ser Imry." Renly said. "What witnesses do you have?"

"Eyewitnesses amongst the fleet." Imry said. "Galley commanders who have told me of what Tane did. Listen to what the sailors say. Shireen saw the face of the Seven Hells, of the Great Other, and survived!"

"If they meant to steal the throne from Shireen," Davos asked innocently, "why did they not let her die in the chaos of the fight, or kill her with the king? This seems a sloppy conspiracy. Especially since Tane acted with integrity in the matter of the Queen. There are many wild rumours amongst the fleet. Some say that Stannis was Tane's Nissa Nissa, and that she is Azor Ahai. Others say that Stannis rejected the Red God, embraced the Seven, and helped the lost souls of the wights back into the afterlife. I would not put much stock in them. There are only five living people who know the truth of what happened and two of them are in this tent."

"Princess Shireen." Margaery said, suddenly speaking up. Her face was hard. "You were with the king when he died, I take it? What is the truth of this?"

Shireen hesitated. She stammered. Then:

"My father believed that I was his Nissa Nissa, that I would have to die to light his sword aflame and stop the Others. But then the Watchman, Lancel Lannister I think, and Tane Bayder, they convinced the king to sacrifice himself to save his men. Or something like that, it was very loud and very dark. And then Stannis ordered himself bound up and burned. Like what Mother did to herself. And then the Others attacked. The ice monsters, I mean. There was a fight on the ship, and my father was burning and screaming, and I didn't see what else happened. But at the end of it his heart had been cut out and he'd been shot in the head, as part of the sacrifice. And then all the wights-the dead people-fell dead again, and the Others ran away. So I think that is what the sailors must have seen. They did kill Stannis, but he died willingly, and they saved all our lives."

"Gods." Lord Sunglass murmured, drawing a seven-pointed star across his chest. There was a few moments of shocked silence.

"That is the truth of what I saw." Shireen finally said. "And I do not think Stannis offered me the throne, because he thought I would die before him."

She stood up, looked at Davos. He nodded.

"That was only because he thought I would not survive the war against the Others. He had spoken to me of the matter before. Before, he told me by Crown law and nescessity I could never sit the Iron Throne, but that he wished to give me Storm's End, as Robert should have given to him. And he said as much as his last words to Tane too."

Oh, seven hells, she's openly playing for Storm's End. They had a chance, now, of forcing Renly and the Florent's to some kind of agreement.

"The King's will is what matters, not what we think he would have done." Renly said. "As master of laws-"

"Oh, as master of laws, you declare yourself king!" Ser Imry shouted.

"Ser Imry, calm yourself." Lord Alester said. "I know you witnessed many strange and terrible things in the north. But the Princess Shireen contradicts your account." He turned to Shireen, was talking quickly and quietly. Shireen looked frightened.

Lord Alester turned back to the assembled lords.

"I think there is a compromise that can be made. Stannis may or may not have secretly declared Shireen his heir to the throne according to Lord Florent. But according to the Captain-General Tane Bayder, and Princess Shireen, he openly declared Shireen his heir to something more than Dragonstone. Storm's End." Alester Florent said, with a smile. "There is an easy compromise then. Robert gave Stannis Dragonstone, but it is not what Stannis thinks he should have given him. It is either Storm's End or the throne that he meant. Either, I believe, would satisfy the King's dying wish. And of course, the throne has the slight problem it was already promised to Renly. Lord Renly, I propose you do what King Robert did when he defeated the Targaryens. Take the throne for yourself and grant Storm's End and Dragonstone to your family." Lord Sunglass said, serious.

"But my brothers are all dead, and I have only a daughter. I am the only male remaining in the line of Baratheon. Even Robert's noble bastards are dead." Renly said.

"The Florents and the Tyrells are both family by marriage." Lord Sunglass said. "I think what Lord Florent means is you should grant Lady Shireen Storm's End if you take the throne. Stannis's public will and what he told Princess Shireen and Lord Davos would be met. The Baratheon Lordships would be inherited by his daughter according to Andal law, and the Kingdom by the uncle according to Targaryen law. As fits the King's will and the precedent."

"Storm's End was granted to me and my descendants in perpetuity by King Robert Baratheon first of his name." Renly said. "My oldest memories are of that castle. Ser Loras Tyrell my squire is buried before it. I cannot give it up lightly. And a daughter comes before a niece under Andal law, as you said. It is Olenna's birthright. Shireen can have Dragonstone as lady in her own right, as it was her father's lordly seat before he became king. There are many lordly seats that were left empty by treason. I can do your family great honour. You could have Longtable, Cider Hall, Greenstone…"

Renly smiled. "You could be Long Florents, Cider Florents, Green Florents. I am a generous man."

"King Stannis did not mean for his brothers-in-law to be given holdfasts. He meant for Princess Shireen to have great holdings, greater than what King Robert had given him. Storm's End and the Throne. One for you, one for Shireen, as the King willed. Those are my conditions." Lord Alester said. "Whether the will he gave to Ser Imry or the will he gave to the Captain-General, I shall see the at least part of the King's will done. I shall not risk the possibility of an overmighty king nor shall I let a princess be left penniless."

"You cannot just let Renly steal the throne-" Imry snapped.

Lord Alester stood up, motioned for Ser Imry to follow him outside. Ser Imry did. The Florent knight was brave and had a bold tongue, but he still followed his uncle's command.

Margaery was talking to Renly, quietly and hurriedly.

He'll go for Dragonstone, let Shireen have it. But Storm's End? That was his castle, his prize that he held over Stannis, the castle Loras had his flesh buried before. He would not see it turned over to a Florent.

Lord Alester Florent returned from outside the tent.

"Lord Renly, you are willing to grant the Princess Shireen the inheritance of Dragonstone. Is that castle not the traditional seat of the heir? Would it not be taken from Shireen if you were to have a male heir?"

"No it would not." Renly said with a smile. "For that was a Targaryen tradition. And I am no Targaryen. Dragonstone is a good strong castle, but I do not mean to give it to my heir. Stannis held it as a lord even after Joffrey was born; Andal law says a daughter comes before an uncle in the inheritance of a Lordship."

"Who would then rule Storm's End? Surely you cannot, as king your duty would be to the whole realm?"

"And if you are no Targaryen, why do you then mean to inherit the throne according to Targaryen law?" Lord Sunglass asked, as well. "That is an… inconsistency."

"Inheritance according to Crown law is my brother's wish. I would honour it because it is the word of my king and beloved brother, but no more than that. I would hold Storm's End until King's Landing is rebuilt and a suitable seat." Renly said. "By then I will have a second son to inherit it when my firstborn takes the Iron Throne, or give it to Olenna and her future husband, I am sure."

"You honour the King's will when it benefits you, but not when it would remove your holdings?" Lord Sunglass asked.

"The king has the right to dispose of his own inheritance, but not those of other men." Renly said. "I have never been attainted."

Then the clatter of plate harness moving behind them, and Tane turned in her seat and saw Lord Randyll Tarly standing, one squire holding his helmet, the other his two-handed Valyrian Steel sword Heartsbane.

"My lords." Randyll Tarly said. "I am a staunch supporter of Lord Renly's right to the throne. He is the best of our claimants, who has stood firm against foreign tyrants. He has fought besides me in battle, and even saved my life. So take this as a proud supporter of Tyrell and Baratheon: I cannot accept a king holding the Stormlands, Crownlands, Narrow Sea and the Iron Throne, and also maintaining a standing army. Ever since the death of the dragons, tyranny has been made impossible; any tyrannical king can be deposed by a majority of the great lords rising against him. But a king who has consolidated such power around himself could stay on the Iron Throne even with a majority of lords against him. Lord Renly is a just and honourable man, I hold him no risk of such an act, and I trust him to raise his heir well.

But his heir's heir's, could perhaps be tyrants, armed with the wealth of two realms and the power of foreign alchemy. I say to all the lords assembled, this cannot come to pass. Lord Renly, I counsel you, split your inheritance wisely and swiftly."

Renly smiled. "That is exactly my plan. My son shall sit the Iron Throne, and Lady Olenna or my second son when I have one shall be made Lord or Lady of Storm's End. She shall rule in her own right, and her heirs to Storm's End lines shall split from those of my firstborn's heirs to the Iron Throne. And there shall be no great consolidation of power, no more than Stark and Karstark are the same house. The Silvercloaks shall keep their current strength; four battalions and a few hundred horse, no larger. They shall be a Royal Guard to defend the king and King's Landing, not a field army to repress my loyal lords. There shall be no tyranny in King's Landing, and I shall guarantee it with an extension of more seats to the Small Council, to ensure I have great lords from every realm to give me counsel. Furthermore I shall not solely rule from King's Landing; I intend to tour the realm, and see for myself my subject's troubles."

He shall never back down on Storm's End, Tane realized. Not as long as he knows that Mace was marching to his support, that his opponents were exhausted, low on supplies and willing to back down from their claims if pushed, that the King's word was ambigious. It was a miracle they had even gotten him into this tent in the first place.

And then outside, the chanting: "Shireen Queen! Shireen Queen! Shireen Queen!"

She could hear the thud-thud-thud of weapon butts beating against the ground, the shouts of hundreds of soldiers, marines, camp followers.

She needed to deal with that, swiftly.

She stepped outside the tent, out into the morning cold. A mob of her men, none in armour and many unarmed, had come out of the camp and were surrounding the pavilion. The officers of her own escort and the other great lords present were shouting for them to return to their camp, to stand down, but their men looked singularly unenthusiastic about enforcing such an order. She spotted the faces of some of her officers amongst them, the mishmash of former sellswords, burgesses, highborn bastards and petty landowners who commanded her men.

"Captain-General! What are they saying in there!" a sergeant shouted at her. "Do they mean to steal Shireen's throne and give it to the coward Renly Baratheon?"

Before Tane could respond, there was a shout of "Fuck Stannis! He left us to burn!", and she turned and saw a mass of smallfolk come up from the shoreline settlements. There was a thin line of foot to the front, many with spears and tall Goldcloak shields repainted in guild colours, others with crossbows and longbows. Few had any armour. Behind them were hundreds of lighter armed men and women, unarmed except for knives, daggers and the occasional sword, wood axe or quarterstaff. They had the gaunt, haunted look of men who should have died but hadn't.

"As opposed to fucking Renly?" a soldier shouted back.

"He sent his wife with supplies!" a woman in the King's Landing mob shouted. "He did more than Stannis!"

"Margaery gave my daughter enough food to live!" a man agreed. "And launched fishing ships for us! Then Florent's galleys stopped them putting out to sea! Fuck Shireen's claim!"

"We saved you bastards from the Great Other and his walking dead and this is the greeting we get?" A Dragonstone household archer shouted.

"They came as punishment for Stannis's crimes! They left when he died! Bugger Stannis!"

"Stand down! All of you!" Tane bellowed. 'Do you think a battle will improve the situation any! We are trying to negotiate a solution-"

"Stannis's will is clear." An arquebusier said, coming out of the Silvercloak mob towards her. Her bodyguards levelled halberds either side of her. There was scarring on his face, half-healed flash burns. Perhaps he'd been narrowly missed by dragonfire, or had his bandolier cook off. Either way he had survived heavy fighting. She motioned for her bodyguards to raise their weapons.

"Shireen shall sit the Iron Throne." The arquebusier continued.

Not if that mob has anything to do with it.

But if it came to blows, the Silvercloaks would roll over the smallfolk. They were better armed, better trained; if worse come to worse they would run back to their encampment and fully arm themselves there. It was no fair fight.

Except for those militiamen. She had not seen them before, did not know how well trained they were. Few had even helmets, that much was a comfort.

Tane heard a commotion amongst her escorts, turned back, saw Shireen come out of the pavilion, twisting past one of Alester's men trying to grab her. She was taller than him already. "The King told me his will before he died!" She shouted, her small voice drowned out under the noise of the mob.

"SILENCE!" Tane bellowed, switching to her battlefield voice. "Let the Princess be heard!"

"King Stannis was a generous man who wished both his daughter and his brother to have their due!" Shireen shouted. "He told us all that he wanted Renly to have the Iron Throne as is the law of all the Seven Kingdoms! But he also wished me to have good lands and be safe, and to have the castle he had always wished for more than the throne, and so he granted me Storm's End, the strongest castle in all the Seven Kingdoms, that he knew could never be taken and that I held in friendship with Margaery Tyrell! There is no need for bloodshed! Renly will inherit the throne as the Crown Law demands, and I will inherit Storm's End and Dragonstone according to Andal law and the King's Will!"

She turned back, saw Renly was heading out of the pavilion, trying not to lean on his cane. She hurried up to him.

"Stannis never said that." Renly began.

Renly knew how to play to a mob of smallfolk, turn them against his enemies. But this was a mob of soldiers, loyal to Stannis and Shireen and herself. Renly trying to manipulate them would only enrage them.

"Oh, no, but he did. I was there when he died." Tane said. "I know what you doing. You are waiting for the army of Mace Tyrell to come up and let you have it all. That won't happen, because if you try and delay, or defy them, this mob will tear you apart. She just told them Stannis gave you the throne and Shireen Storm's End, and if you play for it all, they'll see you as a vulture too stupid to take flight when the hyenas come."

"Storm's End is my castle, my holding granted by Lord Robert Baratheon to dispose of as I will" Renly said.

"Do it." Margaery said, hurrying up to them. "She told them Stannis wanted you to have the throne, she destroyed her own claim to the throne in return for Storm's End, Florent can't stand against you and the soldiers and the princess herself, do this and King's Landing and the Army both will love you, take the victory."

Soldiers were chanting outside: "Give her Storm's End! See the King's Will done!"

"What kind of King lets himself be intimidated by little girls and commoners?" Renly asked.

"The kind of King who is outnumbered ten to one." Tane hissed. "Give them this, or you'll be ripped apart and Shireen will sit the Iron Throne."

"Margaery Queen!" the King's Landing smallfolk were shouting, and then both groups were shouting in unison: "Margaery in the Red Keep! Shireen in Storm's End! See the King's Will done!"

Renly turned back, to Randyll Tarly and Garlan Tyrell talking hurriedly. That will not avail him. Lord Tarly wanted exactly this, wanted the power of Baratheon and Tyrell split up so no overmighty king could become a tyrant with impunity.

He was a woman-hater par excellence, he would not like Shireen in control of Storm's End-

But then of course, she would need a regent, and then a husband, and there lay the opportunities. Even a brute like Tarly could see that. And his wife was a Florent; this would only increase the power of the Florent's alliance network. Lord Tarly would have his cake and eat it too.

Margaery was talking to Shireen where she had come back inside the tent, quickly and quietly.

And then Renly came back out, limping and leaning on his cane. She and Margaery followed him out.

Maimed, intimidated, he still managed to make himself look brave. "By the law of the Seven Kingdoms and the King's Will," he shouted, "I am heir to both the Iron Throne under Crown Law and the Lord of Storm's End under Andal Law. The king's will was spoken as he was lay dying, and is difficult to understand. But-" he shouted-"the will of my loyal lords and soldiers has been made clear! It would be a miserly thing to hold Storm's End and the Iron Throne both! And Shireen helped Lady Margaery lead the defenders very bravely, and it would be a terrible thing for a princess to be left penniless, and so my first act as King shall be to grant the Lady Shireen Storm's End!"

Then cheering, laughing, yells of "Margaery in King's Landing! Shireen in Storm's End! Renly King! Renly King!"

And Shireen turned to Renly, and smiled, and shouted "The King's Will is done! Thankyou, Your Grace, for your wisdom and generosity!" She turned to the mob, then. "Under Andal law, I have claim to the inheritance of Dragonstone as it's lady. But to honour the King's generosity and my friendship with Lady Margaery, once I have Storm's End I shall give up my claim on Dragonstone so that King Renly may train his heir up to rule there!"

Tane wanted to laugh, wanted to smile, at the audacity and the display of generosity. She had turned it around. Shireen and Davos, probably, they'd turned a certain slaughter into a triumph.

"The King's Will is done! The King's Will is done!"

 

[Yla]

Thank R'hllor and the Seven and Old Gods, he saw reason.

 

[windoverwaves]

Thank R'hllor and the Seven and Old Gods, he saw reason.

Click to shrink...

It only took an armed mob, but he did!

 

[Balaur]

Mace Tyrell arrived three days after they bargained away Storm's End. His men rode in long columns, knights and sworn swords, squires, pages and grooms, horsed guardsmen, freeriders and archers. He had left his foot behind, it seemed, but even so she guessed his force had to be nearing five thousand.

She watched his men pitching tents out on the plain, preparing to draw up horse lines. She noticed the number of packhorses with them; he must have decided carrying supplies on them would be faster than foraging or trying to drag wagons through the winter mud.

Renly and Garlan had rode out to meet them; while she had ordered preparations for a welcoming feast. It would not be much of a feast, certainly not by Highgarden standards, but it would be enough. The scraps would go to the smallfolk. That would gain Mace Tyrell some amount of goodwill, even if not nearly enough to compensate for the amount his men would eat.

Too late. If they had come earlier, the Florents would have been lucky to secure Dragonstone in the negotiations. As it was, they just made the situation with the food worse.

You are queen, now, and you did not have to spill the blood of Tane or Shireen to get there. You will still be welcome at Storm's End. That is a good enough outcome, is it not?

She turned away, climbed down the walls of the Red Keep, the cloak she wore over her dress snapping in the wind. An armed escort of household knights and guardsmen stood waiting for her, alongside her ladies in waiting. The sounds of demolition work echoed through the Red Keep; Renly was having the wreckage of the old throne room torn down. A new hall would have to be built around the Iron Throne, but until then the hole in the floor would be planked over and a pavilion raised over the Iron Throne.

"Mace Tyrell is within the city." A herald announced. Margaery nodded. They took up their positions. The guardsmen formed two lines either side of the castle gate, herself and her handmaidens at the end. Merry passed her a platter with bread and salt. The household knights and squires remained mounted behind them.

Lord Mace Tyrell and King Renly Baratheon, first of his name, came riding up the roadway. Their banners came into sight first, then the lords themselves, both men unarmoured and in full courtly dress. A body of the great lords who rode with Mace come after them, and then a banner of household knights, followed by squires, pages, and grooms. Trumpeteers of her own household blew, then Mace and Renly both came through the gatehouse, riding side by side. She saw what her father had done; he was positioning himself the equal to the King.

He shall want offices, and great offices, not any meagre sinecure. Her father wanted many things. Glory was greatest amongst them. Herself on the throne, too.

At least I have succeeded at that. The glory, on the other hand…

"Lord Mace Tyrell my father. It is been so long since you have come to the capital." Margaery said, stepping forwards.

Mace's dream had been realized. His daughter was queen. The Tyrells were part of the royal family, their blood would hold the Iron Throne.

But not Storm's End. Lords of Tyrell blood would not control the south from the Narrow Sea to the Sunset Sea.

Her father smiled as he dismounted, wincing with the effort. He wasn't getting any younger, and campaigning had not burnt off much of his fat.

"When you came to King's Landing, you were just a girl. Now look at you. A woman grown, a mother, and a queen." He put his hands on her shoulders. "All those years ago, you told me you wanted to be the queen." He laughed. "A childhood fantasy no longer."

A queen over her brothers corpse. A queen to a king that hates her. A queen of a burnt ruin of a capital.

"I am so proud of you."

Is this how you wanted it? Your heir a cripple because you pushed him into tourneys too young. Your youngest son dead in battle because of your ambition and inaction. Your daughter married to a man who loathes her. And your middleborn hates you, considers you the killer and crippler of his brothers.

But that did not matter, now. She was the triumphant queen and he was the proud father, so she did not let her doubts show on her face, only offered him bread and salt and invited him to the welcoming feast.

*

She sat at the head of the feasting tables, seating near a hundred lords and landed knights. The smoke was thick and dense, the heat making sweat run into her dress. She sat to one side of Renly, who smiled and jested and praised the loyalty of the great lords seated at the head of the table, Tyrell, Tarly, Florent and all the rest.

He did not drink wine. That much was to be praised; she supposed; one promise he was able to keep. When asked why by Lord Tarly, he said it was a challenge by his wife, a chivalric show of love like a knight asked to lose a tournament.

She joked too, praising their courage at the battle-winning charge on the field before Storm's End or their desperate stand against the combined might of the Unsullied and Golden Company, trying not to betray that is where my brother died, that is where my father's courage failed. She held Olenna, and showed her to all the gathered lords, her daughter, Renly's heir if not for the precedent he had set with Shireen. There is no male line of Baratheon left; not unless Renly could get her a son and soon.

It dragged on and on. The feast felt hollow, somehow. The food was poor for a banquet though far better than what the smallfolk were eating. She knew well from the cities ledgers the terrible cost it would have for the populace even with the grain cogs now coming in unmolested.

The room was poorly hung with tapestries, many of them having been looted or damaged during the cities anarchy, and the tables were in noticeably poor condition.

And Loras should have been at Renly's side. Her whole family should have been here. Garlan Tyrell was sullen; Mace Tyrell was roaring drunk, boasting of how he had shattered the Targaryen line and praising Loras's courage. Tane was further down the table, tearing at her food savagely, not talking to the knights seated either side of her. Many of her officers who would normally have accompanied her at such an event were gone: Brienne, Sace, Gryff. They had died in dragonfire, or upon the pikes of the Golden Company.

Is this what victory feels like?

Tane left halfway through the feast, stumbling like she was drunk. The smoke was making Margaery lightheaded, and when they broke the feast to lift the tables for dancing, she made her excuses she was going for air once she was satisfied the stewards had things underway.

She found Tane out by the arrow slits that looked out over the blackwater. Tane was in Westerosi dress, a padded doublet over a flowing tunic and tight hose that clung to the muscles of her legs but still armed with a rapier and dagger. Her brown hair was loose and shoulder length like a Westerosi man, carefully combed out.

"There's tailors who could make you more Brythwic clothes, you know." Margaery said, eyeing Tane's legs. "Elinor and Alyn got a matching set made for themselves, years ago. I've seen others wearing them, about court."

Tane turned, started. "I command Westerosi soldiers, now." She shrugged. "I should probably dress like a Westerosi, then. Has the feast already finished?"

Tane leaned back against the wall, rubbed her face. She looked like she had too much to drink.

"They're moving the tables for dancing." Margaery said. "Do not worry, I have it well in hand."

Tane had always hated the dancing part of feasts.

"Renly knows." Tane said. "I told him I was in love with you but had never so much as touched you, but he knows it's a lie."

"Which part?"

"Well, the second, obviously." Tane said, though she sounded doubtful.

She does not love me?

Margaery was not sure if she loved Tane. Trusted her, at least before recent happenings. Considered her a close friend, certainly. Desired her carnally, to an extent. But she probably did not love her, not in the sense the singers meant. Margaery had never been properly in love, she realized. Maybe that was what love was, a combination of desire and trust, and everything else was just invented by the singers.

"I've all but confessed to Renly." Margaery said. "He knows. And I'm going to have him get a son on me. It is the only way to ensure the line of succession holds."

"I'm used well enough to being a side-piece." Tane said. She shrugged. "And you look good pregnant."

Margaery flushed. She steadied her nerves.

"During the succession crisis. Why did you threaten to turn your sword against me?"

"Because a dying man told me to secure his daughter's safety." Tane said. "And I have had enough of civil war. I had to make it clear that I would turn on anyone who tried to start a fight, that drawing a sword was a losing move and there was more to gain by negotiation."

"And Storm's End. Your men forced me to bargain away Storm's End. I could have been the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms this side of the dying of the dragons. My brother is buried there, I held it for a year…"

"I did more than that. I ordered Renly to move up the council to decide the fate of the Throne. He was going to hold it two weeks from now. I moved it to one week away. If Mace had arrived, Renly would have felt strong enough to go for the Iron Throne and Storm's End, and Lord Florent couldn't walk away with nothing. It would come to steel, and there would be thousands dead."

"You betrayed me." Margaery said flatly, though there was not much force to her words. Tane's motives made sense, she would have done the same in Tane's place, but still… she thought she had bound Tane's cause to her own.

Tane is less easily swayed than I thought. She cut Taena loose, after all-

"I saved thousands of lives, possibly yours included. Do you know what my men saw?" Tane asked. "They saw monsters out of song, the living dead and their unholy masters. They saw them keep attacking on fire and with their limbs hewed off. They saw the king set himself alight, and every last walking corpse in Eastwatch fall dead when he died. And they saw Shireen witness all of that. They are loyal to her, Marge. Deeply loyal. Stannis's death caused a miracle that saved every last one of our lives. And Renly betrayed us first upon the field before Storm's End. If not for you, I would have had Renly's head."

She remembered that awful moving, clutching, grasping hand the Watch had brought south, the Watchman-Allisser Thorpe, she thought his name was-she had given her favour to. Gods. Tane had fought an entire army of those, stopped them coming south. She had understood what had happened intellectually, but only now did it sink in. The Silvercloaks were almost like the Andals of old, fanatics who had seen miracles upon the battlefield, and Tane-

Tane had been sent from another world, knowing the Westerosi language by miracle. Tane had raised up a king, killed the abomination Euron Greyjoy, saved the entire world. No wonder, after all that, she'd had that sense of ruthless certainty, setting herself and her men up as the guarantors of justice. No wonder, then, that her men had seen fit to force the claimants to their compromise, and Tane had seen fit to grant it.

It was a betrayal, to be sure, but it was a betrayal that Margaery would have done in Tane's place. It was a betrayal that may even have benefitted herself. Margaery decided she could forgive that, even if it stung her pride.

"What do you mean to do now?" Margaery asked.

"Set the affairs of the Silvercloaks in order. Get land somewhere. Harrenhal maybe, or one of the keeps left empty by the war. Retire." Tane shrugged. "I've had enough of slaughter."

"Me too." Margaery said. She had not witnessed what Tane had, the burning villages, the spoiled granaries, the prisoners with their throats cut, had not stood her ground in the chaos of hand-to-hand fighting, but it had been done in her name all the same.

Better them than me.

"If you're going to Harrenhal…"

"Yeah." Tane said, quietly. "Knowing the Westerosi, they'll find a way to drag me back to King's Landing."

"But you'll be gone from King's Landing for years. I doubt carrying on… this… would work too well."

"We'll see." Tane said. "You take up with one of your ladies in waiting, I probably won't challenge her to a duel." She smiled faintly. "I'll definitely be sticking around long enough to say I've slept with a queen."

Margaery laughed quietly. "A queen and a soldier from another world. That'll be one for the singers."

"If the singers know, the public knows. And if the public knows, then Renly would have no choice but to act against me to defend his honour." Tane said. "Best keep it quiet."

She pulled up to her tip-toes, kissed Tane. Tane still had to bend herself down slightly, to let her reach.

She turned away. "I'll see you later."

"You too." Tane said.

Her heart was heavy as she returned to the feast hall. She knew well enough it couldn't last, not with the eyes of the whole court upon her. Even what had already transpired had probably damaged her reputation for untouchability.

"Where've you been?" Merry Crane asked, as Margaery slipped back into the hall. The musicians were starting to play, now.

"Talking."

"Oh. The Captain-General. Yes." Merry smirked knowingly.

Margaery rolled her eyes. "I would keep quiet about it. Especially now I am queen."

"Anyone paying attention can tell."

"Let rumours stay rumours." Margaery said.

Elinor hurried over to her, holding Olenna in her arms. "Half the court is asking where you are. They wish to be the first to ask you to dance."

"The other half?"

"Very annoyed no-one is asking them to dance."

Margaery laughed, stopped a pair of young knights approaching her, smiled as they came over to her.

That, she thought , was the paradox. She could sleep with Tane all she wanted, but to acknowledge it openly would be disastrous. She could dance and flirt with the men of the household, was even expected to, but to actually sleep with them would see her beheaded.

Before either could ask her to dance, though, Shireen approached.

"Before the dancing begins, I would like to say a few words in praise of my friend and aunt-in-law Margaery Tyrell." Shireen said. Davos nodded knowingly her.

"Oh?" Margaery said.

"Margaery has been a very brave and loyal friend to me, in spite of the enmity my mother bore her." Shireen said. "She acted very bravely at the siege of Storm's End, to command the garrison and to help the wounded, and told me many good and worthwhile things about how to be a great lady. And by her generosity and good counsel towards both me and our new King Renly Baratheon, we were able to come to an understanding of the King's wishes that benefitted all the parties, so that I would receive Storm's End and Renly the Iron Throne, precisely as my father the King intended. And so when King Renly gives me Storm's End to rule, I promise I shall give Dragonstone back to the Iron Throne to do with as he wishes, since I will not need it as a seat."

Margaery smiled. Oh, very clever, reminding the whole court of exactly what Renly had promised her, as often as possible so he could not go back on his word. And very generous, to give Dragonstone away, her own show of generosity to match the kings. Shireen had already made the offer of course, but that had been in the chaos of the council meeting. This was more formal, in front of the entire gathered court. She would not let them forget Renly's promise and her own generosity.

"I thank you for your gift." Margaery said. "It shall be a fine place to train my future son up to rule. And I too must praise you for your courage at Storm's End. You very bravely saved the lives of many wounded men, and helped me see through the traitor Varys's deception. I remember the day that the Watch bore a hand of the living dead south, to show to all of us the threat that awaited. I saw it move, and it frightened me terribly. And you have seen a whole army of the dead marching, and lived to tell the tale! Great courage, fitting for a Lady of Storm's End." Margaery said with a smile.

Shireen had pulled Storm's End out from under her, but Margaery could not help but admire the strange combination of cunning and generosity that had enabled it.

A soft heart and a mind of iron. Shireen had learned well by observation it seemed.

"And besides." Margaery said. "Being queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Lady of Storm's End both does seem terribly taxing. So I think my lord husband has done me a rather great favour."

Some of the assembled court laughed, Renly loudest amongst them. She saw Tane smirk faintly, leaning against the wall. Mace Tyrell looked displeased, but he did not say as much.

Perhaps you should have charged faster in Loras's defence, or marched faster in mine, then.

But there was no time for bitterness. Westeros had burned, but now the flames were guttering out. It was the time to clear away the debris and see what could be salvaged and rebuilt amidst the ruins. Shireen understood that, and Tane, and judging by his laughter she hoped Renly did too.

She had a crown to take up and a kingdom to rule, now.

 

[Snypehunter007]

Is this the end? That felt like a pretty final line, even if we don't see the end from Tane's perspective.

 

[Balaur]

"By the power invested in me by the Seven I name you His Grace the King Renly Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of Storm's End and all the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the Realm!" the High Septon said, and Renly took knee before him. He wore his finest clothes, a heavy fur-lined gown over a cloth-of-gold doublet. He was belted with sword and dagger, and had his walking cane jewelled and gilded like a sceptre. If the Maester's insisted he use a cane in public, it would be a kingly cane.

A neophyte passed the High Septon a bowl of sacred oils, and the High Septon daubed his fingers in the liquid and stepped forwards. He made the outline of the seven-pointed star upon his forehead, as both his brothers had been anointed before him, as the Targaryen kings they had killed did for three centuries.

"Now, Your Grace. You are anointed a king in the eyes of the Seven. But you must be crowned King, in the eyes of the realm!" The High Septon announced.

A trumpet blew, and the crown bearers came forwards from the body of watching nobles. Queen Margaery Tyrell, the long train of her queenly gown carried by attendants: her cousin Eleanor, Meredyth Crane, Alerie Tyrell her sister-in-law, and the Princess and thief Shireen Baratheon. Margaery glid forwards, the great golden crown of Stannis Baratheon in her hands. The smaller one Stannis wore over his helmet had been lost in the north, knocked off his helmet and trampled in the chaos.

She settled it down upon his head, the heavy jewels and gold feeling weightier than his bascinet.

"Now rise my love, King Renly Baratheon First of His Name, Arise as a King!" Margaery said, and Renly stood. The sacred oils had anointed him, the sacred vows had been said, the golden crown had been placed upon his head. Now all that was left was to sit the Iron Throne.

The Great Sept of Baelor was packed. In the front ranks, the nobles: Tyrells, Florents, Tarlies, Cranes, half a hundred more. Tane and the officers of the Silvercloaks behind them, then the lesser nobles and landed knights, and finally behind them, a thronging mass of smallfolk.

All those who had sullied his victory were there. The nobles who had schemed to split his power and steal Storm's End, the mob who had sided with his fool of a wife and a crippled girl, the soldiers who had refused to stand with him.

They would pay-

They would not, for the realm was shattered, held together by prayers and swords. He had the greatest victory of all, the Iron Throne. He could not cast it away for petty vengeance.

He walked towards the doors of the Great Sept, and the waiting horses. The smallfolk parted, parted like the water around a galley's ram. He came outside, into the midst of his household knights and their riding lances. Grooms held his horse for him and he mounted up. The other nobles, small council men and royal officers did the same. Margaery climbed into a litter accompanied by her handmaidens, as befitted a queen.

He ground his teeth. Shireen had dragged the promise to grant her Storm's End out of him under threat of the mob and her grasping uncles greater ambitions. He could not show himself to be a king who was easily intimidated. But neither could he show himself to be a man to go back on his word.

Shireen had all the cunning her parents had lacked.

Others had colluded with her, Tane and Margaery and Lord Tarly, probably Davos Seaworth too. All of those who raised me to the throne. He felt like a tamed lion, never wanting for shelter or food, mighty enough to tear his captors limb to limb, but nonetheless caged and forced to perform tricks for their amusement.

Then they rode for the Red Keep. The path was kept clear by Goldcloaks and Silvercloaks, but smallfolk lined the snow-choked streets. They were cheering for him. After the madness of the last years, the burning of the city, a new king seemed a new start, a chance to go back to the endless summer of King Robert Baratheon.

"Renly King! Seven Faces, One God! Seven Realms, One King! Seven Faces, One God! Seven Realms, One King!"

Oh, the smallfolks theology might be lacking-though he never understood how seven gods could be one himself-but no one could doubt their piety.

They came to the Red Keep, the crenellations gouged and scarred where dragons had battled across their tops. The gates were already open, household longbowmen from Storm's End studding the top of the gatehouse.

They came through, out into a courtyard filled with watching smallfolk surrounding the great pavilion and wooden hall raised over the ruins of the throne room.

They had been invited into the castle upon Margaeries insistence. He did not want them here. The mob were unreliable, dangerous; with food so scarce in the city even with grain shipments from Bravos, they were a powder keg waiting to be given light.

She wishes to force me to not go back on my word. Shireen had set the mob on him, stolen his birthright of Storm's End; even Lord Tarly had turned on his lawful king in favour of Shireen-

You have the greatest prize of all. Do not cast it away, for anything lesser.

He had spared no expense for the reconstruction. They had torn down the walls and roof, too unstable and badly burnt to be saved, shoved the rubble down into the pit of the collapsed floor then covered it over with wooden flooring. A new throne room would be erected upon the site, even greater and more magnificent than the one Aegon the Conqueror had built.

The Iron Throne lay half sunken in what was left of the Throne Room. The floor had collapsed and it had crashed down into the empty chambers beneath the throne room, but somehow it had stayed upright enough that his workmen had managed to pull it fully up. Raising the Iron Throne up was impractical, the builders had said, so once the coronation was done and the floorboard removed, they would finish filling the old basement with rubble then rebuild the stone floor around the Iron Throne. It would be a little shorter than the original, but still more than enough to overawe any onlookers, they said.

The Iron Throne was diminished in height, covered over with a great pavilion, but it was still there all the same, like a galley rammed and waterlogged but still fighting savagely.

He took in a breath, dismounted gingerly, and winced as he began to walk towards the pavilion, leaning on his cane. Margaery was at his side, Olenna in her arms. Knights of Storm's End surrounded him, pole-axes in their hands, alongside squires and page boys, Tyrell knights under Garlan, Margaeries handmaidens.

Those household knights would not be his for long; he knew. Shireen would take Storm's End and with it the garrison.

Not if I strip it of men to form my household guard, of course. Let her raise up her own guard; I will have mine own.

Trumpets blew. Drums hammered. He came forwards, leaning heavy on his cane, his other hand resting upon his sword hilt.

He was still a warrior, and an anointed knight. Once he was crowned he intended to have a warhammer long enough to serve as a walking stick forged, and to carry it everywhere. Men would not know whether he leant upon it because he was a cripple, or because he was so fierce a warrior he wanted a hammer to hand at all times.

Hundreds of people stood watching, lords and ladies, and landed knights, septons, burgesses. Soldiers lined either flank of the pavilion: Silvercloak halberdiers on one side, footmen of his household on the other.

Then there was the cheering, the beating drums, the shouts of "Renly King! Renly King! A stag! A stag!"

He climbed up upon the Iron Throne, the twisted mass of swords melted together by dragonfire. He had half a mind that they should throw it into the sea as a symbol of the old Targaryen tyranny and replace it with something made of the bones of dragons killed by human weaponry, but that seemed altogether too impractical.

The stairs went up and up. There was nothing to lean upon. His leg ached. Bloody impractical thing-

It was that way on purpose, he knew. A long hard climb to sit it, never comfortable, always at risk of being cut should he move recklessly.

But he made it, there, to the mass of cruel flesh-hungry steel, and he sat upon it and gazed down at his subjects.

The throne is mine. Mine and no one elses. He had done it, seized the throne, had the victory.

Over the body of Loras, your own shattered leg, bargaining away Storm's End…

He cleared his throat. The heralds read out his full title once again.

Then: 'Now I am crowned and anointed, it is my right to rule, and my duty to see justice done. As king on the Iron Throne, it is my royal duty to see that all members of the royal family are well cared for and well governed. His Grace the King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, granted me Storm's End as Lordship though I was only a third son, instead of keeping it for himself. To pay his generosity forwards, and to ensure the child of my beloved brother has a good income and a fine dowry, I hereby declare that when Princess Shireen marries, she shall receive Storm's End as a dowry. And until then, she shall be resident in it, and receive all its incomes, under the wardship of Ser Courtnay Penrose."

Courtnay Penrose. A loyal man, who had done a good enough job of raising himself and Robert's bastard Edric Storm after their parents had died upon Shipbreaker Bay. And loyal to Renly, as well. No great risk of him filling Shireen's ear with poison like Imry would.

"And owing to her peerless service in the defence of the realm, I do declare that Lady Tane Bayder, Captain-General of the Royal Guard, be given all the land and incomes of the seat of Harrenhal. And that the Royal Guard battalions take up residence there, well positioned to respond to any attack upon the realm."

Tane would have no heir, it was not as if that accursed castle could make her line any shorter. She had said she wanted to retire from public life; well then let her.

Then he read off his great list of other seats and lands to be dispensed: attainted traitors, families wiped out, orphans too young to rule. Some lords who had turned traitor had their lands turned over to cousins who had stayed loyal; others had their heirs given over as wards. His loyal lords needed many barrels of pork rolled their way, and Renly was all too willing to oblige. And then, finally:

"To fund the rebuilding of King's Landing, I would have a tournament held. However, the price of entry shall be providing enough food to feed a smallfolk family for a month." Renly announced. "And the great prize shall be a place upon the new Kingsguard for those unmarried and who wish it, or whatever other great boon they would demand."

He had done it, he had thrown away the castle he had grown up in, the castle where he had helped train Loras to arms, the castle he had won his crown beneath.

But it was for the best, was it not? His crowning was not marked by children buried under bloody shrouds, by animosity between brothers, by madness and treachery. It was marked by generosity, by the sheathing of swords, by promises of food and shelter for the smallfolk and of lands and offices for the nobles. A king was owed his people's swords and their gold, and in turn he paid them back with good governance, leadership in times of war, charity in times of peace.

"Now, I will convene the small council tonight." He announced. He read out of the names: Lady Tane Bayder the Captain-General of the Royal Guards, Lord Randyll Tarly the Master of War, Davos Seaworth the Master of Whispers. Lord Velaryon stayed Master of Ships, Lord Sunglass Master of Coin. Lord Alester Florent had been given back his old role of Master of Laws "owing to his fine counsel in the matter of the inheritance", while Mace Tyrell was Hand of the King. Garlan Tyrell and two dozen other senior lords, two or three from each realm, had been named "Royal Counsel" and permitted to sit upon the small council and give the king their advice whenever their affairs took them to King's Landing.

More Tyrells about would please Margaery and counterbalance the Florents.

Seven Hells. He'd done it. He had sat the Iron Throne. He had named his small council. He had outlasted his brothers, had outlasted the usurpers and tyrants who would see the line of Baratheon thrown down.

And now came the hard part.

*

"We are still, for all intents and purposes, at war." Lord Tarly said. "Bands of Essosi are joined by runaway smallfolk and masterless soldiers in the Riverlands and Southern Stormlands, the Dornish refuse to submit to the King's peace, Lord Velaryon has seized control of the Iron Islands…"

"We clean up the south first." Tane said. "If I were you, I would offer amnesties to anyone who puts down their arms and returns to their fields or sails back to Essos. Once-"

"A weak stand. Do that and everyone will think becoming a bandit safe and easy." Tarly snapped.

"I did not finish." Tane said, annoyed. "There will be one and only one amnesty. Once the amnesty has been given, anyone who remains under arms will be hunted down by flying columns and put to the sword or sent to the Night's Watch, without mercy or second chances."

"We must deal with the Dornish too." Garlan said. "They are raising a new army to defend the passes."

"Aye." Lord Tarly agreed. "We took many of their lords prisoner. We can tell them to yield now, or they shall get their sons and brothers back as heads alone."

"They surrendered honourably in battle." Tane said. "I have had quite enough of executions without good cause."

Renly ground his teeth. The Dornish had come out under Targaryen banners, that much was certain. "What are their terms for peace?"

"Independence." Davos said.

"Unacceptable." Renly said. He had given up his Storm's End for the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, he would not accept a broken realm on top of that.

"Then do we mean to try and conquer them? That was hard enough for the Targaryens, with dragons."

"Lady Shireen needs a husband." Lord Sunglass pointed out. "The Martells have an unmarried boy, brave and courteous by all accounts. They can give us peace in exchange for an alliance."

"The Martells are rebels and traitors." Lord Tarly said. "We cannot give them such a gift. Especially not Storm's End. The Marcher Lords would be outraged."

"They despise all Baratheons." Garlan Tyrell pointed out. "And for a reason. Lady Elia of Dorne died cruelly thanks to Tywin, and Lord Robert only rewarded him. The Dornish are snakes, for sure, but they are snakes who have been stepped on."

"We killed Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch who did the butchery." Renly said. "And hunted Lord Tywin down till his own men betrayed him. We killed the men responsible for that act."

"And then we complete the restitution by offering them a royal marriage, yet again." Lord Sunglass said.

"And if they do not accept? And if they do, will they not use the strength of the royal marriage to prepare their strength for another revolt?" Lord Tarly asked.

"Most of their major settlements are within striking distance of the Royal Fleet. We cannot conquer Dorne, but we can make it a very unpleasant place to live." Renly said with a crooked smile.

"Giving them a royal marriage for rising out against the crown is unacceptable." Lord Tarly said.

"Better than sinking our army into another Dornish quagmire. We need to disperse our armies to bring in the next winter harvest." Tane said. "The food situation is dire."

"Better than telling the Dornish they can keep trying this." Tarly snapped.

Tarly wanted to marry Shireen to his son and gain control of the Stormlands. Garlan wanted to undercut the strength of their most powerful vassal by ensuring that never happened.

Renly rubbed his scar. This was going to be a long small council meeting.

"I believe there is a compromise option. We offer no marriage to the Dornish, but we can do them a different honour: The heads of Gregor Clegane and Tywin Lannister, and a general pardon for all the depredations their troops committed as long as they return to the King's Peace…"

*

He lurched into his bedroom in the Red Keep, the household footmen opening the door for him as he slipped through. His leg was screaming from the coronation feast, especially since he had denied himself all wine. He'd seen what it had done to Robert, and he had no intent to follow in his footsteps.

The Small Council meeting had been worse, nearly an hour arguing in circles as they tried to agree upon what exactly to do with the Dornish. The eventual compromise: Send out an envoy with demands for surrender, then sweeten or harshen the next offer depending on how they responded.

He demanded a candle lit. His servants hurried to the task, bathing his chambers in flickering yellow light.

Margaery lay on his bed, dressed only in her chemise half-transparent in the candle light.

Was she expecting Tane?

She pulled herself up. "Would you like some wine, Your Grace?"

"Is that a jape? I meant it when I swore to you I would lay off all wine."

Margaery smiled, then. "It was a test, Your Grace. Which you passed."

"Oh? Do you think to test me?"

"Perhaps." Margaery said. "You'll get your due for Storm's End, you know. Shireen was serious when she said would surrender her claim to Dragonstone and give it up as a Royal Holding." Margaery shrugged. "She says if you cannot have two great holdings, then neither should she. It would be only fair."

She had already announced it before all the court, but words were wind. "What proof of her intent?"

"She did tell the court. And her maester has prepared a sealed letter of promise she said she would give to you once a similar document is provided writing up the full terms of Storm's End."

Renly ground his teeth. It irked him that a girl of thirteen saw fit to grant him gifts as if she were doing him a great generosity. But at least he wouldn't end up with a ring of Florents to the south and east. There was that much, at least.

"The Captain-General is going to Harrenhal, isn't she?" Margaery asked.

"If she wishes." Renly said. The sooner he could get rid of her and the bloody soldiers, the better. They had defied their king's will to try and crown Shireen.

"I do not wish to have the Silvercloaks garrisoned here, in any case. They are too many men and far too dangerous. Best to have them away as the garrison of a great castle."

He could not disband them; thousands of veteran soldiers who already misliked him left to their own devices would be a disaster. Better to have them well-paid but idle, where they could go to fat and lose their fighting edge like the household guardsmen and knights of many lords did.

"Well, if you mean to tour the realm-and I think it a wise decision-then I would visit Harrenhal."

"Is this about-"

"Yes." Margaery said, with a shrug. "You have no interest in me, beyond the necessities of an heir. I still have certain needs, Tane can meet them, and any damage to my reputation is already done."

"What do mean? I have heard plenty of rumours about you cuckolding me. With someone who does not even have a cock. That has to end-"

"They were about before I so much as kissed Tane." Margaery said. "Besides, there were many rumours about Loras. That did not stop you or him."

"That was different." Renly said. "A queens reputation must be impeccable. A king has more leeway. Like Robert and Cersei. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Margaery said. "And so does Tane. She understands the value of letting rumours stay rumours well enough. You know how she mislikes you. Do you want her to remain bound to you nonetheless?"

"She took Storm's End from me!" Renly snapped.

"Oh, I like that little either. Remember, I held Storm's End for the better part of a year. My brother is buried outside it. But it was better than what she could have done, which is kill you and crown Shireen. And I think it in large part thanks to me. So do you wish Tane to remain bound to your cause, or to have the Silvercloaks loose under a vengeful and jealous captain? I know what I would pick." She shrugged. "We all know it was Loras and not myself that your Tyrell support was first built on."

Is this what it had come to? His great seat stolen out from under him, his throne half ruined, his realm still at war? Openly cuckolded by a foreign sellsword, his own lover dead?

He wanted to scream. He wanted to smash something. He wanted to drink. But if he did that-

He ground his teeth, so hard he thought his jaw would crack.

You are a king, so act like it. Play neither the tyrant or the fool even if you wish to be both.

"Then I shall permit it." Renly said. "But be subtle. And should you lie with any man, I will have no choice but to set you aside or behead you for treason."

"Of course. No child of mine shall ever be called a bastard."

"Good." Renly said. He rubbed his face, sat down on the side of the bed facing away from Margaery. "Then I think we can come to an arrangement."

You wanted this. You dragged yourself this far. You have splintered your leg twice over, given up Storm's End, lost Loras. You will not cast away your prize. You will not die like Robert, a betrayed drunkard.

Margaery touched his hand. "You will need to get me with child again, and soon. They must see it is only your leg that is broken-"

Renly couldn't look her in the eyes. She looked too much like Loras, but she didn't sound like him, didn't smell like him. Didn't feel like him. He could never see what other men saw in women. Or what the likes of Tane did, either.

Come to think of it, after Loras, he had not seen much in the charms of other men, either.

"I'll need to be drunk for that. And you forbid me to drink."

Margaery laughed, lightly. "it doesn't count as breaking your vow if no one sees."

'Is that another test?"

'"No." Margaery said, seriously.

Renly sighed, stared at his hands.

"Give me a few moons. I need time-'

"I understand." Margaery said behind him. "I do not mean to force your hand. Look. We are going to have to rule this together. However many millions of people. We do not have to love each other, there is no chance of that, we do not even have to like each other, but we have to be able to at least tolerate each other. You don't want to get gutted by a boar, I don't want to be beheaded. So look. Look at me."

Renly turned on the bed, turned to face her. Her face was serious. "I know your miscalculations got Loras killed. You also fought ferociously to defend him. I know you tried to frame Selyse. That was to defend and improve our position at court. I understand why you did what you did, even I do not approve. You understand the same for me?"

"Yes." Renly said, reluctantly.

"Now, shall we agree, nothing before the coronation happened? Bury the grudges, mourn Loras together, and rule?"

Renly nodded, slowly. "Yes. we shall do that."

Margaery smiled. "Now, as to the tournament, I have an idea…"

 

[Balaur]

Is this the end? That felt like a pretty final line, even if we don't see the end from Tane's perspective.

Click to shrink...

Nope, but we're getting veeery close. After this, there's just a Lancel and Tane chapter.

 

[Balaur]

"How is your leg faring?" Lancel asked.

"Well enough." Alleras said. They were in one of the dozens of huts that had been constructed around Eastwatch, to house the men who had lost their shelter when all the buildings burned in the assault and the coming of the Others. Sleeping on the floors of the remaining structures was well enough, but they needed something better that could last.

Alleras pulled himself up out of his seat, grabbed the Ironborn axe he'd been using as a cane.

"Any reports from the galleys?"

"None." Lancel said. "Nought but snow and dying trees, north of the wall."

The staircase was wrecked at Eastwatch, so they had no ability to get sentries up onto the Wall. The gateway had been left blocked, and it was far enough from the nearest forts(those that hadn't had their garrisons wiped out by the Others, anyway) that few patrols could walk the top of the wall. All their galleys had been burnt, and most of their crews killed during the Ironborn assault. The only eyes they had on the true north were a pair of longships captured intact by the Royal Fleet, renamed to the Drowned God's Bane and the Crow's Beak. They had been patrolling up and down frantically, rangers on their deck watching for signs of life or unlife.

"What of the south?" Alleras asked.

"We got a raven from King's Landing. Renly's king, now." Lancel said. The man who had arranged the storming of Maegor's holdfast. And unlike King Stannis and Lady Bayder, he lacked the courage to go north and fight the true enemy.

"Dorne?"

"No idea."

Alleras sighed. "I'll have to go south again, sooner or later. See what's left of my family."

"We need you on the wall. If someone collapses the wards again-"

"There's a bit of a shortage of living dead kings." Alleras said. "The maesters think the Others an old maid's tale, an allegory for the horrors of long winters and wildling raiders. They have influence all across Westeros. I've fought the Others hand to hand, I know how to stop them. If I go to Oldtown and convince them of what I've seen-and I can, we have thousands of witnesses to back us up-in a few decades every Great House will have a maester who knows of the Others and how to fight them. If some other mad sorcerer, a century from now, tries what Euron did, they'll know to stop him sooner than we did."

Lancel rubbed his face. "For the better, I suppose. Though give it five thousand years and I doubt they'll remember as well."

"It'll keep the memory of them fresh, if nothing else." Alleras said. "Stop them fading from legend into myth into being forgotten altogether. How is Theon doing?"

Theon had become scarcely concious, ever since they tore Euron Greyjoy out of his mind. He ate, drank, slept and relieved himself but not much else, sometimes babbling about a heart of winter and impaled dreamers. "They have come now and they have come before and they will come again and again and again-", over and over.

Some of the watchmen said it would have been better to put Theon out of his misery, for all his courage during the battles for Eastwatch.

"He's come out of it. Says he wants to talk to you."

"Thank the Seven." Alleras said. "I can speak with him now, if you wish."

"Let's go, then."

They stepped out of the warmth of the tent and out into the freezing cold of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

Row after row of huts, tents and lean-tos had been built outside the ruins, where the wooden buildings were steadily being pulled down and sifted through. The remaining timbers still in good condition were being used to shore up the damaged stone towers or to build new huts, while the rest was broken up for firewood. They'd found several cellars blocked off by rubble but still full of usable supplies, and Lady Bayder had offered them a blank check for purchases of supplies from Braavos and White Harbor.

The Wall loomed above them. In it's shadow and with the sun hidden by dark winter clouds, it looked like dusk though it was almost midday.

Snow crunched under their feet as they marched to the sickhouse, the only hall that had been kept intact through all the fires and now doubling as a barracks. Men were coming down with fevers and frostbite from the cold, and they still had many wounded recovering from the battle. Spearmen stood guard, buried so thickly in furs they looked more like moss covered rocks than men. A fast exchange of watchwords; Lancel wanted discipline maintained. The wildlings were all dead and the Ironborn defeated. That did not mean they could be complacent. He walked slowly through the wards, asking after the sick and wounded men that filled the building. There were not enough beds, so many slept on the floor.

Theon was at the very end of the hall, sitting in an old camp chair staring at his hands. He looked haggard, though he had recently shaven and donned fresh clothes.

"You brought Alleras?"

"Aye."

Alleras limped in, setting his axe against the wall and leaning against a post.

"It's good to see you."

"You too." Alleras said. Alleras has saved Theon's life when Euron had possessed him. Lancel was glad of it; after Theon had stayed loyal to the watch through everything, it would be a shame to see him killed by his brothers.

"I saw things when Euron had control of my body." Theon said. "Things north of the wall."

"We heard. When you were dreaming." Lancel said.

"The Great Other tried to speak to Euron."

"What were they saying?"

"Threats. Casting the blame for the defeat upon each other."

Alleras chuckled, darkly. "So the King of the Others and the King of the Ironborn are as vindictive as any other king?"

"Aye. He told Euron he was lucky he had not fled north of the Wall, otherwise his soul would be impaled screaming on spikes of ice for all eternity."

"Do go on."

"I saw all Euron's memories, too. He is a monster. A rapist and a torturer. He did things to his own family… gods. I am almost glad I was taken hostage to Winterfell." Theon was staring at his hands.

"If you do not wish to speak of it…" Lancel began.

"Euron thought himself Azor Ahai, born amidst smoke and salt, destined to defeat the Others. He thought he could not die before he defeated them." Theon shrugged. "So if he ensures the eternal victory of the Others, then he cannot die. He would let the Others conquer everything south of the wall, become immortal through their benefit, then conquer them from within as was destinied and rule everything, forever."

"What kind of logic is that?" Alleras spat. "That's absurd-"

"He also simply thought that seeing how much he could burn and conquer was fun." Theon said. "That is why he attacked Winterfell alone on dragonback with a valyrian steel sword in each hand. The world is all a game, and what is a game if you cannot enjoy it's playing?"

"He thought no more of this-" Lancel gestured at the hall, at the men lying covered in sword wounds, with frozen pieces of steel driven back into their flesh, shot through with arrows, splashed with burning pitch from firepots that burst too close-"Than taking breaking a lance in a joust?"

"Yeah."

"Bastard. How many died because of him?" Alleras asked.

He was in Oldtown when the Ironborn sacked it, Lancel remembered. He was at the battle in the Stepstones where Euron died the first time. He'd been at Winterfell when it burned. He'd seen, probably more than anyone else alive, the horrors that Euron had wrought.

"How do we end this for good?" Alleras continued. "The Others must still be active, they were speaking to Euron after the end of the invasion."

"The Others have not given up. Their traitor letting them in has been defeated and their assault upon the Wall repelled. They were laughing, mocking Euron's failure, his inability to control them. Raging at him for his failure, too. They'll try again. It might be next winter or might be in a millenia, but they shall keep coming."

"We haven't won, then. How do we stop them?"

"We don't." Theon said. "They won't stop. Not so long as they have a chance of victory. The powers of fire and ice, of sun and moon, have both waxed large. They saw a threat in the return of the dragons, the long winter and an opportunity in the increase of their own power and Euron's madness."

"So they just keep coming and coming until we get unlucky?" Lancel asked. His heart was sinking. All that struggle to stop them, to stop Euron, only for the world to die in the cold and dark…

"I spoke to priests of the Old Gods in the south. On the Isle of Faces." Alleras said. "They said the Others will negotiate if we send men north of the wall. We can try and form a pact with them. We just need a speaker of the Old Tongue."

"Euron spoke not a word of the Old Tongue, and he could converse with them well enough." Theon said.

"Perhaps they have learnt another tongue, since last they came south." Lancel said. "We could sail out off the coast. With the glass candle. You could project yourself out to them that way."

"They respect courage, after a sort." Theon said.

"A glass candle is too dangerous. Euron nearly seized my soul, remember, and there is some sort of sorcerous barrier that prevents seeing north of the wall."

"So what? Do what the last hero did? Ride off alone into the north and demand they come out and speak with us?" Lancel asked.

"We have to try something." Alleras said.

"I can go." Theon began.

Lancel took a deep breath. Time and time again, he had volunteered for certain death and came out alive. Perhaps this was his time. Perhaps he could repeat the Last Heroes envoy, and like him come back out of the dark alive.

"I'll do it." Lancel said. "I'll go north, tell them I have come to talk terms of peace on behalf of the Night's Watch and all humanity."

"What if they will not talk?"

"I'll challenge their leader to single combat. Victor takes all."

"And if they shall not negotiate even with that?"

"Then I'll sell my life dearly." Lancel said. His heart was hammering. This would be where it truly ends, the second long night or his life or both. "I'll need one of Euron's swords. Valyrian Steel can match an Other's sword, I think."

"Red Rain. The Drumm sword. We recovered it off Triston Farwynd's body."

"Nightfall seems the better choice. For the auspicious name, if nothing else."

"I planned to give it to the Watch before I went south. The Lord Commander needs a sword that can fight wights, and Mormont's sword Longclaw vanished with Jon Snow."

"Whichever sword, I'll give it to the new lord-commander when we head south."

"If I head south."

Theon grabbed Lancel's wrist.

"I must go. My blood caused this, my family. I have already spoken to them. Whatever happens the Watch needs good leaders and you are better placed than me to do it-"

"Gods. I need to think. Give me a few days to think this through." Lancel said. "Whatever happens, we need to be well prepared."

*

"How are you holding up?" Lancel asked Tommen, that night.

"I'm cold." Tommen said. His small pale face, bundled up in black coats and cloaks, made him look half his age. What was it? Twelve? Even that was far too young for the Wall.

"I am too." Lancel said. He sat down next to his cousin. The fireplace was smoky. They were burning wet wood, the remains of a shield pulled out from a collapsed building. "And it's not going to get warmer anytime soon."

"What do you mean? It has been winter for over a year-"

"Two years or so. I think." Lancel said.

"So at least we have a long summer to look forwards to."

"Those cause the long winters." Lancel pointed out. "And food is getting very expensive. There has only been a handful of winter harvests, and much of that was ruined by the war."

"So what? We will just starve, then?" Tommen said. He looked close to tearing up. "All of this, was for nothing? We'll all die?"

"Have you heard the story of the Last Hero? It's an old northern story. Though Alleras tells me there are versions of it the southern smallfolk tell themselves."

"He went to fight the Others, with a band of his friends. He sought to go into the heart of winter to stop them once and for all. And as he went further and further north, all his friends died around him, and even his dog. But finally he found the Others, and did something that he would speak to no man of, and came south and ended the long winter."

"Aye." Lancel said. "He bade the Others negotiate with him, and forced them to speak to him. And they did, it worked. They are rational. They can be reasoned with. We can negotiate with them. So someone has to go north, and try to do that if we want to end this."

"Who is going?"

"Myself. Or Theon." Lancel said. "Theon thinks he should go, to redeem the honour of House Greyjoy or something. But I've been north of the wall before, I've fought Others and survived, I was there when Stannis died. I have to do this."

"I can go!" Tommen suddenly shouted.

"What! You're twelve. You've never seen an Other before, you have years ahead of you-"

"Years of what!" Tommen burst out. "I hate it here! It's cold and dark and dead, and the men here scare me."

Lancel had not considered that; a young boy around known rapers and thieves could be very dangerous. He had not had to fear that, having quickly gained a reputation as a vicious fighter who the Lannister men defended, and then after as a hero of the watch. Satin had had to pull his dagger on men who'd thought him the closest thing to a girl in miles. Tommen…

"All my family are dead! Father and mother and Myrcella and even Joffrey, they're all dead. Auntie Genna too, Stannis chopped her head off after I convinced her to surrender. And all those poor people who died when we invaded! Auntie Genna said I had to do everything possible to keep myself alive, so her confessing was worth it, but I don't care. I should go north and make it up to the people we killed in King's Landing, and try and end the winter-"

He is as much a wreck as I was, when I went north.

"This won't be a one way trip, Seven willing." Lancel said. "I mean to come back alive. But if you don't want to serve on the wall, I can have arrangements made."

"Like what?"

"Alleras is going south once this is done, to Oldtown. He wants to finish his Maesters studies and spread the word of how to fight the Others. You can go with him, study to be a maester or a septon. We can tell the Crown it is because the Watch needs more Septons and Maesters. More than we need more soldiers, anyway. It would not even be a lie."

"But-"

"You're going south." Lancel said. He smiled faintly. "I'm in charge of Eastwatch for now, and you're a recruit given over to the Night's Watch. And it's my opinion that we need maesters more than we need spearmen."

Tommen was sobbing, suddenly. "But Stannis killed Genna, and we killed all those people, thousands of them, I saw the bodies, I can't, I have to do something, I want to-"

Lancel grabbed him by the shoulders, looked him in the eyes. "I killed Robert Baratheon. I started all of this. I got him roaring drunk, so a boar gutted him, all because Cersei Lannister told me to. Stannis and his men knew I did it, but they couldn't prove anything, so they imprisoned me for nearly a year then sent me to the Wall. I wanted to die too. I didn't die though, I forced myself to live, I found something to do with myself, and now I have saved the world from the Others."

Tommen stared at him, shocked. "You killed father!"

Lancel nodded. "I've done far worse than you. And I lived. Your only crime is being a boy whose family wanted to see you safe and happy."

"Thousands of people died for me! So I could be Lord of Casterley rock-"

"They died because of the Targaryens, and Stannis, and Euron." Lancel said. "Nothing would have changed had you not escaped from King's Landing. You've done nothing wrong. You deserve better than this."

He gestured at the walls of the rough-hewn hut they were in, at the burning chair in the crude fireplace, beginning to die.

"You're smart, and you're kind. And more moral than most. You'd make a good septon, or maester."

"And you'll go north? And let yourself be killed?"

"Well, it's certain death, by any logic. But I've survived that before." Lancel shrugged. "And I do not wish to die. Which I think would give me better odds than yourself or Theon."

*

The rowboat bumped up against the shoreline. A pair of Rangers pulled themselves out, hauling it ashore through the freezing surf. Their sealskin boots and breeches, Wildling style, kept most of the water out.

All that's left of those wildlings. Their old enemies boots.

The wildlings had been marauders and thieves, most of them, but even they'd deserved better than to die caught between the anvil of the Wall and the hammer of the Others, their corpses enslaved to their oldest enemy.

Lancel climbed out, all in black, mailed under his furs and over his quilted jack. The weight of Nightfall felt unfamiliar on his hip. He was used to his falchion, has been using it for years ever since he grabbed it on a whim out of the armoury at Castle Black, but that sword had been forged for killing men, not monsters. The Rangers pushed up off the beach in silence, staking obsidian tipped spears butt-first into the snow-covered hillocks just off the gravel beach. The mist and falling snow was so thick those were the only options; torches would go out and they couldn't see targets for their longbows until they were nearly on top of them.

"Give me till nightfall." Lancel said.

"If you're not back by then?"

"Leave. Either I'm dead or I'll find my own way back."

"Aye." Jarman Buckwell said. The veteran ranger had survived the retaking of Eastwatch and had now volunteered for this most dangerous of missions. Lancel had wanted him to stay south, insisting they'd need strong leadership if he failed.

Jarman had said leadership wouldn't matter if Lancel couldn't stop the Others. If he could not break the winter or they found another way through the Wall, the Watch was done, no matter what.

Lancel had no way of arguing with that.

He checked his pack again: Torch, steel and dragonglass daggers, a week's rations, flint, steel and tinder, bearpaws, a heavy rolled-up mammoth fur if he needed shelter. He'd need to find a cave for even that to have an effect. He had his heavy oak-and-iron shield built for foot combat. He hadn't bothered with a bow or spear; if he had to fight the Others would simply slash the head off a spear, and a longbow would be no good in a single combat anyway. Most important of all, the long weirwood baton that had been cut from Eastwatch's godswood, the ancient and inviolable sign of a herald and envoy according to old northern custom.

He hoped those customs dated back to the last time the Others came south.

"I'm ready."

Jarman nodded. "Farewell. If you don't come back, you've been a credit to the watch."

Lancel nodded, in silent agreement. "You too, Ser Buckwell." He set off into the cold. The stern lantern of the Drowned God's Bane shone through the mist like a lighthouse in the fog behind him, but even that got steadily fainter every time he glanced back to orient himself. The snow was thick, thick enough he soon had to put on bearpaws. The shoreline had been swept clear of all life, but as he went further and further north, he saw the trees. Tall pines, stripped of needles. This winter was so harsh not even the soldier pines stayed evergreen. Even through all his layers, the cold stung him to his bones.

Nothing moved. No crows, no squirrels or elk. The north was dead. Truly, truly dead. He kept trudging onwards, trying to spot any landmarks he could use to navigate back. There weren't any, so thick was the layers of snow on the ground and the fog in the sky.

Then out of the silence, movement in the corner of his eye. He turned, saw nothing. His instincts shouted for him to draw his sword.

That was a last resort; he was here as an envoy. He turned and kept walking. More flutters of movement, in the corners of his eyes. Half muffled sounds in the cracking language of the Others.

Finally, he stopped, planted his weirwood staff, pulled the scarf down from his face and shouted:

"I am Lancel of the Night's Watch! I come to parley on behalf of the Night's Watch, the Kingdom of Westeros and all humanity! Come forth! Come forth and speak to me!"

Three of them came out of the gloom, tall pale men in shining plate harness. They were mounted on dead half-frozen wight horses, barded in mail of woven snowflakes, their rider's armour shimmering like fresh-frozen ice not yet covered in snow. Monstrous spiders scuttled at their feet, the same ones he had fought along the frozen river.

They hefted their spears as if to throw, fanned out in silence around him. Lancel turned, trying to keep all three in sight, but it was hopeless. Even with the Valyrian Steel they would butcher him if it came to steel. He did not draw.

"I have come to parley!" Lancel shouted, raising his weirwood staff.

Soft talking in their tongue, like the moans of a glacier.

Then something speared into his mind, and he yelled in pain and fell to his knees. Like Bloodraven did. They are talking to me like Bloodraven did.

He forced himself to not fight.

And in the voice of his own mind:

So you have come to gloat of your false victory?

"False victory? The Wall stands. You could starve us out of spite, but could never come south and rule the ruin you have made. And we need babies of flesh to make more of yourselves, don't you? Destroy us and you doom yourselves to a slow death. We can both die, or we can both live. There is no other way out of this."

Starve us out of spite? How little you understand. The Heart of Winter is as above us as we are above you. The cold brings us south as surely as the warmth brings forth your crops. Fire and ice ebb and flow, they create our windows of opportunity, and through those we strike.

The Other laughed, voice cracking.

We need the warm-blooded men, fool. They were our livestock just as sure as you have your reindeer and dogs. We culled them for soldiers and labourers, we harvested them to make more of ourselves, we hunted them for sport. We sent them out hunting south of the wall to seize more livestock. They were our herd-

"You wiped them out."

We culled the herd when it had grown overlarge and disobedient. They were more like to fight us than to serve us in the last thousands of years. Our livestock had grown feral. And besides, we aimed to seize a much larger prize.

"You see us as livestock, as prizes to be conquered."

Yes. Because you are.

"But you failed. You culled your whole herd and have nothing to breed them back from, you have failed to seize your new pasture, you've trapped yourselves."

Lancel laughed, then, laughed bitterly. They were no smarter than the grasping southron kings, than Euron, than himself when he'd killed his king for a monster's love.

"You're no more above us than a petty knight is above a rich merchant. Oh, you think yourselves superior, but you are not. And now like King Robert you have found yourself gored by the beast you thought to hunt for sport."

Perhaps. A hundred thousand wights lie buried in glaciers waiting for the command to rise. They shall last ten thousand years if need be. We have left bands of wildlings alive, out on the sea-ice to the west. We can breed our herd back from them. We are old, and we are patient. We will come again, and again, and again. And one-day we shall succeed.

"Old Valyria lasted a thousand years before their source of power turned on them."

The Valyrians were men. They could burn. We cannot freeze.

"What would be your terms for peace?"

Control over the wall. We built it, it is ours by right. Freedom to range into the south, to tend our herds. You will only live on our terms, by our consent.

"You would make slaves of us?"

We would rather tame you than kill you.

"If we let you south would you not simply freeze us faster?"

Not if our livestock need to fatten.

"I am sworn to defend the realms of men from the likes of you, I cannot let you enslave us." He would not become another Night's King, selling out the Watch and the realm from within.

"In the south, we have a custom. An old and sacred custom. Trial by combat. I propose we settle the matter the same way. There will be no more wastage of your… livestock, no more slaughter of my people." Lancel said. "Appoint your finest champion, agree to our terms, and fight."

We shall not risk our victory on this custom. If you will not assent to our terms, your great-grandchildren will assent in a century when the crops fail and they watch our armies march south through the ruins of the wall. If still they will not assent, they will in a millenia when even the last bands of wildlings fishing upon the sea cannot find any gap in the ice to cast their lines through.

"And if they do not assent? Then what? You'll have destroyed all your livestock and be trapped alone on a dead world."

We will relent and let our herds repopulate themselves.

Lancel breathed out, slowly. This would never end. The Others were of ice, like glaciers, old and slow, patient and destructive. They would not burn themselves out in an orgy of destruction like the Valyrians and their dragons had.

But they had allies, in the south. Alleras was trained in magic and the Maester's knowledge both, the Watch could be rebuilt. The Hightowers were knowledgeable in sorcery, the Maesters could be convinced to eschew their hatred of magic so as to better understand the Others and their threat. The realm had thousands of men who had seen the threat of the Others firsthand, armed with strange new weapons and new sorceries. When the Others next came, they would be prepared. Better prepared than they were this time.

"And when you come, we will be ready." Lancel said. "I thank you for your willingness to parley."

We wish you luck in the wars to come. You and your men will make good sport the Others voice said in his mind, and they turned and rode off into the cold and the dark.

Lancel turned back, looking for his bearpaw prints in the snow. If he wanted to find his way back, he'd need to move quickly before the snow filled them in.

There would be no lasting peace. They would keep coming, and coming, and coming, just as Theon had said.

It would be a long, cold war.

And each time the Watch and the Wall would stand ready to repel them like it already had thrice before. He would make sure of that much.

 

[Yla]

Have I mentioned that I love your Lancel?

 

[Balaur]

"You think this is a false spring or a proper one?" Tane asked, gesturing at the mud-choked fields on the shore of the God's Eye.

"No idea." Morgan said. "Never seen a proper Westerosi spring before."

"This is a proper one. I think. That's what the camp Maester reckons, anyway." Colonel Bywater said, his warhorse trotting alongside hers.

A long summer of harvests would refill the granaries, bring the smallfolk away from banditry and back to their fields.

Christ-Horus. It had been nearly six moons since the coronation of Renly Baratheon. She'd first marched the Silvercloaks to the south, near the Dornish Passes, to bring them to heel. They had yielded quickly enough, Oberyn Martell their Prince's brother and their best forces slaughtered in the Stormlands. The royal marriage to Shireen Lord Sunglass had proposed had not gone through.

Thankfully. Marrying Shireen to a known rebel would have made Renly inclined to do something rash.

At least he has stayed away from the wine. And he has not struck Margaery, that I know of…

Margaery and Renly did seem to have come to some sort of understanding. They did not seem like to try to kill each other, at least.

Good for Margaery, but bad news for me-

It wouldn't last anyway. Not with the tyranny of distance, with Margaery under ever-increasing scrutiny at court.

Well, it was good enough while it lasted.

Tane ground her teeth. The scars on her face ached in the cold. Horns blew ahead of her.

She swore, peered through the morning light shining off the wet half-dead grass. Demi-lancer pickets were trotting back towards her.

Two horn blasts. Friendly troops. Giving every scout and picket a horn was one of the brighter ideas the Night's Watch had, and she'd adopted in for the silvercloaks with gusto. With modification, of course: two horn blasts for friendlies and one for hostiles meant an attempted warning could not be cut off so easily.

"At ease. It's friends, not foes." Tane said. She glanced back. Behind her, officers were getting their men moving again after the sudden pause.

"Men under Tully and Valesman banners. Light and heavy horse, mounted archers too. In column." The demi-lancer said, his horse stamping.

"Good. Very good. Push the pickets back out, I'll ride out greet them."

Valesman banners too. The Blackfish.

Lord Edmure Tully and his brother the Blackfish had their work cut out for them. Last she'd heard, they'd been in the saddle near constantly, leading columns of horse to chase down bandits and broken men operating in the hills and woods. Essosi freedmen were amongst them; most spoke no Westerosi so it was hard to so much as negotiate a surrender.

The demi-lancers rode back out. Once she had the time and money, she intended to reform them into lances along Westerosi lines with her own flair: A fully armoured lancer on a barded horse, a mailed light horseman, an armed servant and a pair of dragoons with arquebuses. Coverage of armour counted for more than thickness of plate in Westeros. The number of unbarded horses they'd lost told her that much.

Then again, firearms would spread, were already spreading. She'd seen the Myrish hand-cannons, the arquebuses of the Dragonstone garrison. Perhaps it was better to move her forces away from mail, to thicken their plate enough to stand up to gunfire without the benefit of wards.

Much to think about. She'd have time, hopefully, before the next war.

She trotted her horse out ahead of the column of foot behind her, saw the Tully banners snapping on the end of lances. One of the fish was black. They came up over the hills, halted. Ser Brynden Tully rode out ahead of them. He'd led the force that had saved them after the battle on the Riverroad, she recalled.

She spurred her horse forwards, raised her hand as she saw Brynden Tully trot forwards from his men. He was old, his hair gone grey, his plate plain but good quality.

"Captain-General Bayder." Brynden said in greeting.

"Ser Brynden." Tane said, in acknowledgement.

"Harrenhal's been cleared of foes." Brynden said. "Targaryen freedmen. And Westerosi broken men."

"They yielded?"

"They refused. So we stormed Harrenhal at night and put them to the sword. The walls were too wide for them to defend all of it properly, and once we were through the gates it descended into confusion." Bryden said. "They died bravely enough."

Tane nodded, slowly. She'd need to put together a household at Harrenhal. Stableboys, cooks, maidservants. And they'd need incomes too. She'd never run a household, before.

You ran an army. At least households don't move.

"Harrenhal's a bit of a mess, I'm afraid. Been mostly abandoned for years." Brynden continued.

"I'll do what I can. How are the surrounding peasantry, and the lordlings and banner knights?"

"Many are fled or dead. Granaries are nearly empty. The area is close to famine."

You did this. You who convinced Stannis to fight in the interior rather than getting it over with in the Crownlands. You who threw corpses into granaries and poisoned wells and killed anyone who resisted. You who-

"Well then. I'm going to need to arrange for food imports." Tane said quietly. "And get the land resettled. How many prisoners do you have?"

"Some? Most of them we have sent back to Essos, or are being held for execution."

"I need anyone who can farm. And skilled tradesmen." Tane said. "The moment the growing season starts, we're going to need every acre of this planted."

She could not wallow in the ruin she had made of the riverlands. She had to try to mend this, for her own sake as much as anyone elses.

"What about all those soldiers?" Bryden asked, eying the column marching behind them. "That is at least a couple of thousand men."

Tane shrugged. "They can dig a trench, they can plough a field."

Bryden whistled. "Well, I shall report to my lord that Harrenhal is in good hands."

"Hopefully." Tane shrugged. "I've never had an estate before."

"Better prepared for it than most lordlings when their father dies."

Her father-

Was any of her family still alive? Was her father dead in battle, perhaps the revolt the Lord-Protector had feared was brewing in Carfane? Her blood-mother and step-mother, her half-sisters. The other officers who had fought alongside her in a dozen nameless skirmishes.

The Commonwealth itself could be aflame, torn apart by renewed revolt in Low Goilene, the Marchs, Carfane, the Dikelands-

There was no time for that.

"Thankyou for your work securing Harrenhal. Will you and your officers be able to attend a meeting at Harrenhal tonight?"

"Of course."

"Good. I aim to make camp there at nightfall."

She turned her horse back to her men, shouted for them to resume the advance.

*

Harrenhal was the same castle of ghosts she remembered the last time she was there. Towers half-melted by dragonfire, courtyards with their flagstones cracked into unwalkability. Halls with their rooves collapsed in, crudely covered-over latrines and mass graves from the war. There had been efforts made to repair it from when it had briefly been made a black-powder workshop, but those had not been extensive, nor had they lasted long.

"Make camp in the courtyards." Tane barked. "We'll assess which of the buildings are safe tomorrow. Colonel Bywater, see to the defence of the gates and that patrols are put up on the walls."

"Do any of the Whent's servants remain?"

Bryden Tully shook his head as he passed his horses reins to his squire.

"Dead or fled."

Tane sighed. "We're going to need summons for the village heads and all the lordlings, landed knights and masters sworn to Harrenhal, assessments on the fallow land, counts on Harrenhals granaries…"

"Aye. My outriders can sweep the area tomorrow, send the word out. And tell your officers what they know of the area."

"Good."

Tane dismounted herself, winced from the impact on her knees. Too much running and climbing in her arquebus-proof harness. It wasn't built for foot combat. She'd need to get a lighter harness made.

The officers meeting was short and sharp. Nothing she hadn't already discussed: get the local leaders in, send to Riverrun requesting prisoners be sent, assess the available farmland and the state of the granaries, try to get the men barracked properly, the horses stabled, get the walls into a defensible state. She was almost glad of the scale of the mess she had inherited. She needed to focus on something, something that didn't have a death-toll. It was better than slowly going mad from boredom and her guilt.

She sat down on her camp bed, stared at the fluttering candle. She could hear the soft scrape of her pages scouring and oiling her pistols and checking the edge of her blades.

She wished Margaery was here, or her officers dead on the Riverroad, or her old family.

It is lost to you, as surely as the old world was lost to Arthur.

This is your home now. You will grow old and die here.

She gritted her teeth. She would be lost to history, a mysterious foreign soldier in Westeros, a mysterious disappearance back home. No one would know who she was, where she came from, why she had done what she had done. Even she scarcely understood.

Write it down, she realized. Write it all down. Everything from the old world she could remember.

There were, she supposed, upsides to being literate. It would be an incomplete memoir, of course: The innocent must be protected and the guilty knew who they were. But it would be some sort of explanation, of just who the foreign warlord who had raised up two kings and cut down all in her path was, where she had come from.

Yes. She would do that. But first she had her own little fiefdom to run, her own standing army-a good-sized brigade, really-to lead.

 

[Yla]

Thank you for writing this I didn't always drop everything to read it, but I did always get around to it.

- At times it gets a bit very dark and "everything is falling down" and I had trouble seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Broken Lance, while also having its stakes, felt quite a bit more hopeful. There's a place for both kinds of stories, but it did make it sometimes a bit less fun to read than otherwise.
- That one very out of character moment for Genna I mentioned before.
- The choice to have a "Scouring of the Shire"-type last act about the succession is an interesting one. I like seeing stories where beating the supernatural evil threat doesn't immediately fix everything. It stayed a bit below its potential since the story already had a bit of a grimdarkness problem, so it felt like more of the same "can't have good things" slog at first until it became clear "yes, the struggle is actually over now". I think there's potential for it to be a genuinely hopeful ending note and palate cleanser.
- Lancel. Lancel. Lancel. I absolutely love what you've done with him.
- At this point you've written more words of Broken Lance crossover than of Broken Lance itself. Did you foresee that when starting it, or did Smoke and Salt ran away with you? Do you plan to write more main stories in the Broken Lance setting?

 

[Balaur]

- At times it gets a bit very dark and "everything is falling down" and I had trouble seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Broken Lance, while also having its stakes, felt quite a bit more hopeful. There's a place for both kinds of stories, but it did make it sometimes a bit less fun to read than otherwise.

Click to shrink...

Broken Lance felt, to me anyway, grimmer in some ways. It's about a ruthless imperial power vs. a bunch of maniacs being manipulated by a terrorist mercenary sorcerer. There's an impending genocide fuelled by ideology and demographics that none of the characters can really do much about hanging over the whole story. No matter who wins, the woodwose lose hard.

But it's shorter, more focused, there's a specific goal the characters are working towards and the villain ends up extremely dead in a 1 vs. 1 swordfight. It's also much, much shorter and doesn't involve no less than three massive wars. So yeah. I definitely see where you're coming from.

Doesn't help that the latter part of the story is war in a Westerosi winter, which means everything is gloomy all the time and everyone's one bit of bad luck away from a famine.

- The choice to have a "Scouring of the Shire"-type last act about the succession is an interesting one. I like seeing stories where beating the supernatural evil threat doesn't immediately fix everything. It stayed a bit below its potential since the story already had a bit of a grimdarkness problem, so it felt like more of the same "can't have good things" slog at first until it became clear "yes, the struggle is actually over now". I think there's potential for it to be a genuinely hopeful ending note and palate cleanser.

Click to shrink...

The brutal twist was that there was no brutal twist. You're not the only one who was surprised by it not turning into another war, by the way.
Over on AH.com people were speculating about how it was all going to go tits up for Renly right up to the very last moment. I guess I'd trained readers into a pattern of meatgrinder war --/ Renly fucks up everything at court and somehow escapes with his head ---/ meatgrinder war?

- Lancel. Lancel. Lancel. I absolutely love what you've done with him.

Click to shrink...

Lancel is the GOAT. Very fun to write, too.

- At this point you've written more words of Broken Lance crossover than of Broken Lance itself. Did you foresee that when starting it, or did Smoke and Salt ran away with you? Do you plan to write more main stories in the Broken Lance setting?

Click to shrink...

NGF literally started as advertising to try and direct the giant ASOIAF audience to my original fiction after I got frustrated that my godawful SI fic was getting an order of magnitude more response than broken lance.
Well, that and I needed a plot device to make my scenario(Renly's coup succeeds in KL) work properly. Renly and Stark together didn't have enough swords to take on the Red Keep and the goldcloaks, but with a bit of dimension-hopping shock and awe...

Broken Lance will return(probably under a different name). I want to have a third crack at Broken Lance since there's a lot of stuff I'm not happy with and a lot that's changed about how the setting works in my head since then(no more airships-at least for humans anyway). I also have a whole lot of ideas for other stories set in the same universe and am going to keep plugging away at it. It might be a while before I post it, though-now that this is done, I want to put a higher level of polish on my writing instead of posting it before the work is fully finished.

 

[Balaur]

This would have gone in shortly before the Storm's End battle. Cut because Margaery seeing through the bluff this early and the reader knowing Aegon couldn't tame Drogon made the outcome too obvious.

*

She watched from horseback as Aegon paced across the field, whip in his left hand and his right hand outstretched, towards Drogon. The brute crouched over a burnt cattle carcass, blood dripping from his jaws, eyes slowly tracking Aegon.

This was better than the last two attemps, where he had flown off the moment Aegon approached.

"The messenger returned." Varys said. "Lord Mace Tyrell has agreed to betray Stannis in in exchange for the safety of his daughter."

The safety of his daughter, threatened by dragons we do not have, and the promise of a marriage that will be over a decade before it can be consumnated.

They were relying on a sham threat, a mummery, to win this. Stannis had delayed his pursuit, but he was coming all right, attacking down the Kingsroad. The Tyrell army had been turned back in the mountains but they were closing in as well.

Seven Save Us. If it was true, they had a chance. If it was false, a lie to make them lower their guard, then they had trapped themselves, trapped against sea-cliffs they could not easily take to sea from, with narrow winter passes leading into the teeth of Tyrell soldiers to their west and the trap of the rainwood to their south.

Beneath them, Aegon drew in closer, close enough to touch Drogon's snout. There was scarring on his wings where he had been shot, and he had torn his saddle and bridle away.

Daenerys was nowhere in sight. There were still rumours that Drogon had set her down in a place of safety, a loyal holdfast perhaps, and left her to recover from her wounds while he rejoined the army. It was the desperation of men changing their story to fit the facts. She's dead. But at least Aegon could tame a dragon, perhaps.

Aegon put his hand on Drogon's snout. The beast stilled and tensed as Aegon began to slowly walk around him, around folded wings and curled tail to Drogon's hindquarters. Drogon's head followed him the whole way, watching icily.

Aegon hesitated for a moment, and then he tried to climb onto Drogon's back.

Drogon screamed and reared, wings flaring in threat like he had facing his brothers in King's Landing, tail lashing. Aegon fell and hit the ground and rolled to his feet as Drogon turned on him, tottering forwards on two legs, mouth gaping in threat. Aegon backed away, keeping himself facing the dragon. This is madness.

If they had wanted to gamble, they should have gambled when they rejoined the Golden Company and turned to face Stannis again, or tried to force the fords against the Tyrells, not now, cornered and forced to bay.

"I am the blood of the dragon!" Aegon shouted, cracking his whip. "I am your father as Daenerys was your mother, and you shall bow to me and me alone!"

Drogon lashed out, jaws snapping shut inches away from Aegon as the king danced out of his way. He struck Drogon with the lash across the snout, and Drogon recoiled with a scream, wings beating and sending flutters of snow into the sky.

"Yield!" Aegon shouted, striking him again.

Drogon went down on all fours and backed away, cringing. He could tear Aegon limb from limb, or burn him, and there would be nothing the King could do about it. But he was submitting now, backing off.

Then he hurled himself into the sky, black wings flaring and began to beat upwards and upwards, circling and trying to gain height. Aegon was yelling for Drogon to come down, still cracking his whip in futile desperation, and Drogon was circling higher and higher before he suddenly came back down into a dive.

His wings flared at the last moment and fire spewed forth. Aegon twisted out of the way and came away with his clothes smouldering. He was patting at himself, trying to put himself out, as a pair of pages (Tommen not amongst them, Seven be praised) came running down and Aegon shouted for them to stay back.

Drogon was still circling and hissing, and Aegon began to back off, slowly turning as he kept his eyes on the dragon, heading back towards the onlookers on the hillock. Drogon did not attack again, he just waited, until Aegon was far enough way to come back down onto the carcass and take it in his talons and carry it away.

"He fears me." Aegon said to Varys as they rode sullen back towards camp. "But he flees, he does not yet submit!"

"Mayhaps it would be wise to avoid trying to tame him further-" Varys began.

"We need him because we have tried to convince Renly to turn against Stannis with the threat of him!" Aegon said. "If he realizes it is a bluff, Renly will come down on us fiercely. He broke the Golden Company, remember?"

"We could make another attempt at parleying with the defenders of Storm's End and convince them to yield themselves up immediately, using the response Mace Tyrell gave us." Varys said. "And season it with the threat of the dragons."

"They'll have seen that Drogon never lands in our camp, but that he flies about often enough." Genna said. "And they might know that guns killed his brother Rhaegal."

There were arquebusiers in Storm's End; they'd shot crossbowmen right through their pavises during one of the night skirmishes.

"We can tell them that Drogon has been turned loose to hunt, but that at any moment he could be saddled up and sent back to war." Varys said. "If we can convince them to surrender with that bluff, then we have real leverage over Renly and Lord Tyrell and can turn them more securely against Stannis."

"We can try." Genna said. "Who would be envoy?"

"Not Lady Merryweather." Varys said. "Last time she was envoy, she reported that Margaery called her a traitor and demanded she never see her again."

"Ah. I could try."

"You doubt the plan would work."

Genna shrugged. "But I have myself seen the mercy and generosity of His Grace. Who better to convince the Lady Baratheon to trust her life to that?"

*

The next morning she rode alone towards the sally port of Storm's End, longbows and spears peeking out from over the crennellation. She was alone; valueless as a hostage with most of her family dead or Freys, unlike the officers and noblemen of Aegon's army.

A lone spearman stood at the sally port and ushered her in, shutting and barring it behind him.

There were galleries and chambers built into the walls, an entire maze of them, many unlit with torches. She realized then the enormity of Aegon's gamble, that he could, even gaining a foothold on the tops of the walls, fight through and clear this against hundreds of determined defenders, and even then they'd have to take the keep. Even with dragons, she doubted the heat could reach the deepest parts of the keep.

She was led into a well-lit hall and a long table, with a brown haired young woman in a dress of green and yellow sitting at it's head. Margaery Baratheon. She was flanked either side by knights with poleaxes.

"You have come to negotiate?" Margaery asked. "If you wish to ask for our surrender, the answer remains no."

"Not to ask for your surrender, but to inform you of a message we have received from your father. Your father and husband both have broken away from the Baratheon cause. They have promised to betray Stannis at the point where they see the greatest chance to harm him, and they request that to secure this pact, that you open your gates."

"I too have received such a message. It also says that I should avoid sallying and offensive action but it says nothing of opening my gates and letting your men into Storm's End. How do I know that this is not trickery? I would never accuse such an esteemed lady as yourself of this, but Aegon commands a force of sellswords and eunuchs. They know how valuable deceit is as a tool of war."

"Because this is the seal of Mace Tyrell."

She took the letter out from a bag she had been given, and passed it to a page, and the page took it down to Margaery.

Margaery read it slowly and carefully, her face going pale. Then she composed herself.

"if this is truly the seal of Mace Tyrell, it is grave news indeed. However, on my honour as a Baratheon and a Tyrell, I am sworn to protect the Princess Shireen and I shall not deliver her into the hands of her enemies. And this castle is my husbands, not mine to deliver up. Seals can be forged, or captured in battle. I regret that I must wait for Renly to order me to yield in person before I can do any such thing."

"King Aegon is merciful. He nearly made Myrcella a queen before Stannis killed her. Tommen Baratheon is a page for Aegon, now. If you were to yield up the castle, Shireen could have an honoured place as a septa, or even be queen now that Daenerys is dead in battle. Uniting the lines of Baratheon and Targaryen could avert much bloodshed."

"I am sorry, but I cannot." Margaery said. "However, I shall make you an offer back. If you cease all bombardment, escalades, skirmishing and mining, I shall order my men to cease their nightly sallies as a show of good faith. I shall only yield the castle to my Lord Husband when I see him in person riding down the Kingsroad, for it is he who commands my love and loyalty, not my father."

"If you do not yield and Mace Tyrell betrays us and sides with Stannis, then Aegon may become wroth. He may burn the castle to the ground trying to compel your surrender."

"With what dragon?" Margaery asked, her voice suddenly mocking. "We took men in the sallies who say they have never seen Aegon ride a dragon, that Drogon only follows your army like an albatross after a ship. Rhaegal died in battle to the guns of Captain-General Tane Bayder and I believe my own men can match her, given half a chance. If the dragons don't go mad again and burn your own army like they did at King's Landing. No, for the sake of decency and peace I shall order a halt to all sallies until such time as I find out the truth of the matter. But I shall yield my castle only to my lord husband. I wish you luck when King Stannis comes down the kingsroad, and you face him side by side with Mace Tyrell. And if Renly Baratheon is at his side, then I shall even lead mine own troops out in his support."

She smiled and stood up. "My apologies if I was overly harsh, but I must be firm. I have a heavy burden of command at so tender an age."

"No offence taken." Genna said. "I would rather harsh words be exchanged than harsh blows."

"Very wise." Margaery said.

*

"She won't yield the castle. Not until Renly orders her to open the gates in person. She suspects treachery and forged messages." Genna said to Aegon in his council of war. "But she did order a halt to the sallies, so there is that."

"Are the messages forged?" Genna asked.

"The part about demanding she open her gates was." Lord Varys said. "The rest is genuine, from Lord Mace Tyrell himself. He may have turned against Stannis or he may be trying to trick us."

Aegon rubbed his face. "The fighting in the southern Stormlands was worse than I thought. We're going to have to forage far to pull in enough supplies to hold our position for long. If we can't get them to yield and the Baratheons don't attack soon…"

"We still have tens of thousands of spears and lances to command, your Grace, the finest foot in the world." Jon Connington reminded him. "Mace Tyrell may commit his treason, or he may not. More than likely he will wait to see who wins the battle between us and Stannis. We must have faith."

Aegon gritted his teeth. "We can't retreat anyway, there are too few ships after the battle off Cracklaw Point. And Westeros is the birthright of myself and the Golden Company. I shall rule here or I shall die here, come what may."

"Not all of the men might agree." Varys said. "Once hunger sets in."

"I'll have the camp followers shipped back to Essos with the fleet." Aegon finally said. "The soldiers will know there is no retreat."

He turned to Genna. "You and Tommen may head back to Myr, if you so wish. Myr will have need of experienced nobles and brave young men in the years to come, I think. And Casterley Rock shall still be waiting for you if I kill the usurper and claim his crown."

Genna breathed slowly. All this way, just to flee at the last moment…

Tommen is a child and you are an old women, there is no shame in waiting out a war especially if your King commands it. And he is right, you can still claim Casterley Rock-

And Tommen wants nothing to do with this war. He thinks it madness and that his sister died for nothing.

"I'll leave for Myr with the camp followers." Genna said. "You are right, we must strip the fat from this army if we are to have victory. And I shall ask Tommen if he wishes to remain in your service."

 

[Balaur]

A Triston/Euron brain hybrid POV thingy. Would have gone right after the attack on Winterfell, cut because playing up how weak Euron's position is undercut the tension during the assault on Eastwatch and I wanted to keep what was going on in Euron's head a bit more mysterious.

*
You idiot. You absolute imbecile. We had a dragon, Valyrian steel armour, a glass candle, knew exactly where the horn was, and we still managed to lose the horn? You are truly a fool, Euron Greyjoy.

With every wingbeat, the golden dragon beneath him grew weaker. The spear had missed his blood vessels but punctured the windpipe, and Euron had, against Triston's advice, forced the wounded dragon to breathe fire, burning its throat further. There was no chance, now, of Euron forcing it to melt the frozen mass of rocks, gravel and ice sealing the gate in the wall.

Shut up. The black Dornish killed me once before. He had to die.

You could have stolen in at night, snatched the horn then burnt him as you fled.

Not brutal enough. I had to break the Winterfell garrison, kill Robb Stark, strike terror into the north.

Do you not understand? Triston asked. We are not a conquering fleet anymore. We have a dozen and a half ships, less than a thousand men and a wounded dragon to our name. We must use speed, surprise and stealth to win our battles, not brute force-

Triston felt his breathing suddenly cease. Whatever the flying splinter of wood had done to his brain and Euron had done to his soul, it had left his mind intact but Euron with control of his flesh to a degree even he had never held before being broken.

He tried to force his lungs to take in air. They would not. His entire body was paralyzed, at the mercy of Euron Greyjoy.

We have. We seized the dragon off the Targaryens. The remaining dragons are dead or scattered, they cannot oppose us. Now, the North thinks me beaten, that it is only a matter of time until they can gather forces to crush us.

He laughed, forcing yet more air out of his lungs. Triston felt like he was drowning, or breathing in smoke, his body aching for air.

Do you know how you invite the dead into this realm? Anyone can invite wights through the wall. But the Night's King, now. He was more ambitious than letting through a few wights, barely controlable more than a few hundred yards from the wall.

The horn of Joramun is one way, to smash the wall and all the wards upon it. That was not how the Others intended the wall to be built, though. They sacrificed a King of the Children of the Forest upon the wall, to make a bulwark against the realms of fire. And the Kings of Men in turn sacrificed an Other, a King of the Living dead, to turn the sorcery back against them after the Long Night.

The Night's King aimed to lure his brother the King of Winter into battle, to capture him and sacrifice him and turn the wall back to the Others control. He failed, but only because his brother blew the Horn of Joramun to bring the wall down upon him.

Triston laughed again. He could feel the edges of his vision blurring, loss of consciousness setting in. It reminded him of a dream he'd had once, of being a seal diving off the coast of Last Light and being seized by a kraken, his body slowly dying for want of air.

Of course, they fixed the wall by sacrificing the Night's King. The wildling king, not the King of Winter. The Night's king was living dead. Sacrifices upon the wall tell it what it shall ward against. He was half-man and half-Other at that point. His sacrifice restored the wall's wards against the dead.

So now, The sacrifice of a king of the living needed to turn the wall over to the Others. A thousand Ironborn, enough for a Kingsmoot. And you, a whining half-cripple who wears my armour and shall be proclaimed my heir. Do you not see?

He let Triston take in a gasping breath, enough that his lungs were not burning, then stopped him again.

You have a simple choice, Triston. You can shut up and do as I say, hunt down Prince Theon, crown him Euron's heir then kill him and enjoy immortality. Or I can call a kingsmoot, force you to win, have yourself sacrificed and I leave your worthless form behind for a new suit of flesh. Lars is a skinchanger like you. He would suffice, until I can abandon him for the body of an Other.

Fuck you.

I think you'll make a fine sacrifice.

And with that, Euron let him breath. Euron's consciousness flowed out of his body and into the dragon Viserion, forcing her to begin her descent towards Eastwatch. Burned buildings and hastily reinforced palisades surrounded the outer buildings, Ironborn longships and dromonds moored alongside the prison hulks and the sleek Night's Watch Galleys.

The dragon came in, wings flaring to slow her descent, the thud of final landing jolting through his body. Ironborn warriors rushed to meet him as he dismounted, his old chief of archers Lars at the head of them.

"Did you burn Winterfell?"

"Is the Stark dead?"

"What about the horn? Did you seize the horn?"

Euron had told them of the horn. He said it would raise giants from the earth, just as he had bound Dragons. They knew only the broadest strokes of his true plans.

"The cowards fled from me and flung the Horn down a well. The Dornishman who shot Euron fled in terror. I would have finished him off, but my dragon was wounded with the same spear that nearly killed Stannis Baratheon. What of the prisoners?"

"A few of them took your offer. The rest refused…"

"Right." Euron said through Triston's mouth. "Put their weapons and armour onto a cog with them, sail it north of the wall and abandon it. The Others will appreciate having another few hundred wights all in mail, I think. Did Greenguard fall while I was gone?"

"Aye. They were ready for us but we burned them out all the same. We've left sentries there. We'll have early warning of a counterattack by the Watch."

They strode towards the gates of the Great Hall, one of the few buildings left untouched by dragonfire and the pitch arrows and torches they had used to flush out defenders during the assault.

Lars and Triston pulled away from the rest of the men, slipping into the privacy of a snow-choked alleyway.

"That is another thing, Captain. The men are… doubtful of your reliance upon sorcery and these dead men of ice. They say the krakens and the storm did near as much damage to us as they did to the enemy, and they would rather we be raiding the Free Cities in their moment of weakness than taking such a gamble as this. Besides, the first part of the plan, to rescue Theon Greyjoy and proclaim him king, has already failed. We sighted him in the battle and he shot at us."

"We must have giants." Euron said. "And once that gate in the wall is opened, we must have the Others. They'll be at our invitation and therefore ours to command."

Liar. Once they were through, Euron would slaughter the Ironborn and skinchange into an Other, becoming a new Night's King.

"We shall have an army of monsters. All the while, I shall hunt down and kill every last one of the Lord's of the Seven Kingdoms from dragonback, leaving the kingdoms in anarchy. Once that is done, we descent from the north upon a weakened realm, and have ourselves a feast for crows. Men will flock to our raven banners, all those who wish to rape and pillage at their will and reject the laws of gods and men. The meanest oarsman amongst us shall become a lord, and I shall be King Aegon come again sitting atop a throne of bone. Euron Greyjoy may be dead, but there shall be an Ironborn kingdom greater than any he could have imagined."

"The men understand all of that." Lars said. "The problem is, they don't agree. They think it is a foolish plan. Why risk everything up here when we could be seizing Myrish lace and Lyseni salt wives? The Targaryens threw the Free Cities into chaos and fucked off to let the Essosi pick up the pieces. We are krakens, my captain. We follow the blood in the water. Up here, it is only a matter of time until the Umbers or Boltons send forces against us. This is not a defensible position. Even if you still wish to ally with the dead, we should take to the sea and raid down the northern shores, not wait here for our enemies to close in."

"Well, up until now, I have commanded us by nescessity." Euron said. "But clearly the men think differently. And Theon Greyjoy is clearly no longer a true Ironborn, too long away from the sea. We need ourselves a King, an heir of Euron Greyjoy. So let us hold a Kingsmoot!"

No.

Do you want to keep on living? Should have stopped whining when I told you to if you didn't want your lungs pulled out.

Fuck you.

You're a cripple, you cannot even get hard without me controlling your body. Unlikely. Anyway, the blood eagle should be an interesting experience. I'm running so short of those, these days.

Fuck you.

Silence.

His lungs stopped working again.

"Captain Farwynd?" Lars asked, staring at Triston with concern. "Are you alright?"

"The wound makes me… forget sometimes." Euron said. "All the more reason to elect a new King, I think."

So, Euron. What shall happen if you do not win the Kingsmoot?

I won't lose.

Euron took in another breath. "Tell the men we shall wait until we have every patrol gathered back here. Then all who wish to nominate themselves may do so, and we shall have our vote. Now, I must tend to our dragon. It was wounded in the attack."

Euron turned their body back towards where they had landed the beast. The dragon had lain down on its belly, curled up and shivering against the cold.

He needs warmth and he cannot light himself a fire because of his wound.

Obviously. Useless creature. We must close his wound.

Euron turned to a pair of Ironborn. "Light the beast a fire! And fetch us catsgut!"

The bonfire was lit, soon enough, and the dragon lurched over to it and began to curl up. Euron approached the wound, peering in for a better look.

It was amongst the most hideous things he'd ever seen. The fire bursting out the hole in its throat had cauterized the wound, but also burnt the flesh around it to the point it was black and crisp. It smelled like burnt chicken.

You idiot. We have a dragon who cannot safely breath fire and is too weak to fly. All thanks to you.

Shut up, Farwynd.

Euron lanced his mind out, into the body of the dragon. It spasmed and twitched and tried to rise but it was no good, and soon enough it was helplessly paralyzed. Euron drew his dagger and began to cut, slicing away the ragged pieces of burnt flesh around the wound. One of the Ironborn thralls, a barber-surgeon they'd taken at Oldtown, came up with the catsgut. Euron took it and began to sew, reaching hands deep into the bloody wound, suturing first the inside of the wound then the outside.

Then he stood back and admired his handiwork.

"The dragon shall need feeding." Euron announced, then, to the Ironborn men who had been watching his surgery.

"We have few enough stores of food fit for men here, but plenty fit for a dragon. Bring him some captured watchmen. A fine meal!"

Murmurs of shock, then nods of assent as the men went off to fetch the dragon a prisoner.

They were getting used to being in the service of Euron Greyjoy.

*

In his dreams that night, Euron dragged him north of the wall. Or more accurately not Euron, but a monster, a hybrid of kraken, dragon and man, eight feet tall. It had four arms, and two pairs of wings; two of those of a dragon, and two of those of a raven. It's eyes, all three of them, had the shining blue of an Other and the figure-of-eight pupils of a kraken. In place of legs where the twin tentacles of a kraken.

In two of his hands where long spears of ice, and on the left spear, impaled through the face, was Euron's old body, lips stained purple, face torn apart by gunfire and arrows. Triston was impaled on the right, the spear of ice driven in through an eye where the flying splinters had paralyzed him. His flesh had grown over the spears and up into the flesh of the walking Kraken that was now the mind of Euron Greyjoy.

Euron's boneless legs and four wings cast him into the air.

Triston tried to resist, tried to will himself to remain upon the ground, but the spear through his face wrenched him up.

He shouted for the stone-eyed sorcerer to unhand him, but Euron laughed in his face. Triston drew his sword, not the Valyrian Steel ones but the old serpent steel he'd once carried alongside his hewing spear, but the monster he was part of knocked it out of his hands, and he was dragged through the sky trailing after the monster like a speared seal after a boat.

The Others met him. There were three of them, tall and pale and every feature of them sharp as steel. The leader was a woman in a shimmering court dress made of snowflakes woven like mail. Behind her stood her two guards, in glassy armour with strange short-hafted polearms on their shoulders.

"Unfortunately, the tides of war were against me thrice." Euron said. "I would have simply dashed the wall to splinters with the horn of Joramun, but I was unable to seize it before a certain individual flung it down a well, and the coward Theon Greyjoy betrayed us and killed the men trying to rescue him. However, there is a third plan. I've come to show you my offering." Euron said. "A crippled, half-dead captain, aye, but soon to be acclaimed a king. I control his body. He will nobly sacrifice himself when the time is right, the full moon after next, and the death of a king of the living will return the wall to your control."

The lady of the Others spoke, in a language like the grinding of glaciers. Euron listened momentarily, then responded:

"Ah, so you wish to know what payment I expect, for my services in letting you into the realm of the Living. When the cold winds blow, I want nothing more than to live for eternity as a lord of the dead. I want to be transformed by your sorcery as the Night's King was, and to be raised into the true nobility."

Don't do it. Euron amongst the Others, with an eternity to work, would just as surely bend them to his ends then expend them like arrows as he had done to the Ironborn. If they agreed they would invite a monster into their house, and he would tear the realms of the dead apart as easily as he had done the living.

The lady responded, and Euron smiled. "I understand my plans have not been as… successful as intended. However, unless you want to watch your great army of the dead stare at the wall and rot, I am all there is. I will have Triston Farwynd crowned king. I will make him sacrifice himself and let you over the wall. And all I ask is a place amongst you. If you need proof of my sincerity, I am sending north a shipful of two hundred captured watchmen and northmen, together with their weapons and armour. No doubt armoured wights will be sorely needed when you head south. And another thing. I know the location of the sorcerer Bloodraven, I know how to breach the defences he has erected around himself. I know how to kill him. Let me help you eliminate him."

The lady of the Others spoke in assent.

Triston tried to stand, then. This was a projection, their minds drawn out of their bodies by Euron's greenseeing, the spear a mere extension of Euron's consciousness. But this was no mere dream. Euron was speaking to the Others, planning their descent upon the realms of men. Triston was past caring about the victory of the living over the dead, or the dead over the living, or Ironborn over Greenlanders.

He only wanted Euron dead for the theft of his body and half his mind.

He stood, unevenly, stumbling. The usual broken sense of dream balance, and the fact he had not himself commanded his legs to move since the battle in the stepstones.

He tried to speak.

"If you grant him his immortality and let him become one of you, he will tear you apart from the inside out simply because he can. He does not desire to escape death, he desires to see how much he can conquer and slaughter before death catches up to him-"

His words came out hopelessly slurred, and Euron yanked on the spear and was tugged down to his knees. The lady laughed at him, cruel and mocking, and Euron said "His mind was broken by a flying splinter in the battle off the stepstones. He can only walk or talk when I skinchange him and link the fragmented parts of his brain with sorcery. He will not resist, when the time comes to sacrifice him."

Euron spoke again.

"I will have him proclaimed King by means of the horn dragonbinder, that bends the minds of men as easily as it bends the minds of dragons. The men do not know he is a cripple. I inhabit his waking body and make it move at my command."

The lady of the Others laughed again, and said what could only be her goodbyes, then she and her guards turned and vanished into the snow.

Euron turned to him, and laughed. "Kingsmoot soon enough, I think. I'll carve out your lungs before the wall, before they can gather troops and come north against us, and end your worthless life. I'll take Lars as my new body. He's a skinchanger like you, easy enough to abandon when he's done."

"I'll kill myself and you with me."

"That would require being able to move under your own sail. Which unfortunately you can't. Besides." Euron laughed. "You are a skinchanger. I can escape your body easily enough, when the time comes. You'll die with your corpse and I'll leave your body for the carrion birds."

Then he jolted awake.

Why do you do this. Why are not happy with even the conquest of Westeros, or eternal life-

I am a god, you know.

Euron laughed as he pulled them out of bed and began to dress himself for the day ahead.

I was the chosen heir of the Greenseer Bloodraven. He showed me the realms of the dead, the fate that faced humanity if it was not defeated, the bloody fate of the hero Azor Ahai who would oppose it…

He thought that it would spur me to commit to my studies, to understand the magnitude of the threat. But I understood better than him.

I am the hero fated to destroy the Others. Destiny smiles upon me. I can do what I wish, safe in the knowledge that I shall succeed . Azor Ahai was born amidst smoke and salt as I was. Azor Ahai sacrificed what he loved most, as I have sacrificed my own body of flesh. Azor Ahai cannot die until he has achieved his fate of destroying the Others, and I do not intend to destroy the Others, therefore I am immortal. That is why I assaulted Winterfell as I did: This is a game, a game I cannot lose, and what is a game if you cannot enjoy yourself in it's playing?

 

[Balaur]

This is from the Griffon's Roost chapter. Originally Renly was going to goad Joncon into duelling him, but I decided that didn't make any sense with the pacing, Renly backsliding on his character development again this late in the story and the tactical situation, so I changed it to Jon trying to goad Renly into fighting and Renly turning him down.

But by then I'd completely written out the fight, so enjoy some gratuitous harnessfechten.

*

They fought the next morning. Renly's charger, a heavy black destrier barded all in plate, stamped and snorted beneath him. He'd worn a visored bascinet, bore a lance and shield in his hands. A sword and dagger hung from his belt, and a bastard sword and warhammer from his saddle. Jon Connington came on opposite. His horse's flowing red-and-white caparision covered only mail, and his heavy greathelm was not visored. If he wanted better vision and breathing, he would need to throw it off. He bore a pair of maces on his saddle, in the style of Essosi heavy horse, but the lance in his hands was a heavy Westerosi one built for the couched charge at the gallop only.

The herald who had read the terms of the fight before their gathered men hurried out of the way. Up on the walls surrounding them, men began to chant: "Baratheon! Baratheon! Baratheon!"

The Golden Company men on the Griffon's Roost gatehouse were silent. Connington winning would not mean victory for them, just escape and survival.

"You are no coward, that much is true." Renly said, raising his lance in salute like it was a joust then lowering his visor.

Connington did not salute back. He simply spurred his horse up to the charge.

Renly swore under his breath, spurring his own horse. He lowered his lance at the last moment, aiming to parry Connington's lance off and drive it through his face at a blow.

Wood clacked together, his vision jarred, the shock of his lance hitting metal buzzed up his arm, and then both of them were pounding past each other, pulling their horses up and circling. Renly swept his visor back and forth, trying to see Connington through his narrowed vision-there-and then came galloping at him again.

"Rhaegar!" Connington bellowed as he turned and charged back, and then both lowered their lances once again.

This time, Renly did not try to parry. He did what Loras would have advised him to do, in such a situation. He aimed at the neck of Connington's horse, where the mail did not cover. His lance drove into flesh even as Connington's smashed into his visor, something wrenched his lance but it stayed in his hands, and then a split second later their horses shoulders clipped each other, sending them staggering off. Half his vision was gone, blacked out.

Oh gods oh seven hells I'm blinded, a splinter got me…

He gingerly-or as gingerly as he could, holding a lance-reached up and pushed his visor up, and then he could see everything; Connington's horse, bucking and kicking uncontrollably with a piece of lance stuck through its neck, Connington trying to restore control of his beast, the men up on the walls shouting encouragements…

The tip of Connington's lance must have gotten stuck in his eyeslit, less than an inch short of his eyes.

If he lowered his visor, he'd be half blinded. Doesn't matter.

Renly hefted his lance to press the attack, realized he had broken the last three feet off. He flung it aside, drew his warhammer from where it hung on his saddle, and charged at Jon Connington, aiming for his horses side. Connington tried to face him, tried to charge; his destrier stumbled and turned at the last moment and Renly slammed into him side on, hard enough to hurl his horse over onto its side. He reined in, turned his stallion away. Connington managed to drag himself out from under his flailing destrier, and drew his sword. The destrier got to its feet and tried to gallop away, half blind with fear, neighing in panic as it realized it was trapped.

"Come fight me on foot." Connington yelled. "We have matched lance against lance, now match sword against sword!"

"Oh no." Renly shouted. "Aegon ahorse fled before Loras on foot. Surely, then, you have the advantage!"

He would trample Connington underfoot like Loras had been trampled, drive him down into the mud.

And once again, Renly charged at him with a yell of "Loras!" and Connington bellowed "Rhaegar!" back, and tried to sidestep off to his shield side, but Renly veered his horse a little over and he smashed into Connington hard enough to send him flying. He rode over Connington as he lay prone, flailing and trying to defend himself; Renly's horse kicked and trampled him, pounding him into the courtyard, hooves skidding off armour. He rode away, wheeled back to admire his handiwork. Connington was covered in snowmelt mud, hoofprints on his shield, his surcoat torn and battered. But his sword was bloody, Renly realized, and blood trailed away to where Renly stood on horseback. Jon stumbled to his feet, settled into a guard.

"Coward! You are all cowards, you Baratheons!" Connington shouted. "Robert hid in a whorehouse, Stannis hid on Dragonstone, you hid behind your false letters and your treasons."

Renly tried to spur to charge at him again, but his horse balked and refused, and then suddenly sank down to his haunches and Renly only then realized what had happened, Connington must have gutted him as he was being trampled.

Connington ran at him again. "Rhaegar! Aegon! Better kings than any of you dogs! You put them to the sword all the same!"

Renly swore, fumbling off horseback, trying to swing his foot off over his dying horse.

He just barely got away in time. Jon was shorter and older, but his attack was ferocious and skilled, coming in behind his shield, trying to pin Renly's hammer and shield together while he threw a flurry of fast, vicious stabs at Renly's face. Renly was stumbling back, desperately turning them, throwing blows of his own that bounced off Connington's helmet and shoulders and thigh-guards. He never got in a clean hit with enough force to lay Connington out, though; he was defending himself with enough skill to prevent that.

He remembered sparring against Loras once; Loras had done the same thing as he rushed in. Get off the line, Loras had told him, turn his momentum against him, use your advantage in reach.

Renly did. He stepped forwards and to the right, letting Jon Connington almost bounce off his shield; smashed his hammer into the side of his helmet, punched out his shield and left Connington reeling.

"Do you yield?" Renly asked.

"No."

"Good, because I have no intention of letting you live." Renly said. "You'll get the same mercy your men showed Loras."

"He died in battle! Knights do that!" Connington shouted. He threw his greathelm off, relying on the halfhelm and aventail he wore underneath for protection, tossed aside his cracked shield and gripped his sword with one hand on the blade. His face was haggard and sweating. Renly took a moment to pull his shield guige loose; better for foot combat, so he could drop it quickly.

"Just like Aegon and Rhaegar, yet you shout their names all the same." Renly said. "I cannot avenge myself on Aegon, or the men who actually swung the axes; but you are close enough. A Hand is a surrogate for a King when necessary." He grinned savagely as he began to advance on Connington, and then his leg gave out. He tipped sideways, fell to the ground in a clatter of harness. White hot pain shot through him, like shards of bone were tearing out of his flesh. Jon strode towards him. He tried to get to his feet, collapsed again with a snarl. Jon came on, stomped on his shield, thrust down at his face. Renly jerked his hand up, managed to parry the blows with his hammer shaft until he could wrench his arm loose from the shield straps and roll away. Another blow thudded into his backplate. He rolled onto his back, swung his hammer at Connington's feet. Connington slipped his foot back, let the hammer bite dirt, brought it back down on his hammer shaft.
Renly tried to draw the one-handed sword on his belt and scrambled backwards as Connington came striding towards him. No time-

He got one leg against the outside of Connington's ankle and the other against the inside of his knee, and rolled and twisted. Connington went crashing to the ground. Pain surged through Renly's leg. Renly rolled, on top on him, pinning his sword arm with his knee. Connington drew his dagger with his left hand and drove it up into Renly's mailed armpit the same moment Renly drew his own dagger and slammed it down into Connington's face.

Renly twisted the dagger, felt it grind against bone. He tore it lose. The dagger fell from Connington's hand; Renly flicked it aside with the tip of his dagger. He realized he'd stabbed Connington under the eye, where Loras had been stabbed. Connington bucked and struggled underneath him, trying to get his sword out.

"Any last words?" Renly asked.

"You may have beaten me." He hissed as blood bubbled out his nose and mouth. "But Aegon would have made a finer king than you'll ever make."

"Mayhaps. But at least I'll actually be king" Renly said, and then he stabbed Connington until he stopped struggling, and darkness covered his eyes.