Smoke & Salt: A Horse Grenadier Company in Westeros

[Balaur]

"I am pleased that you allowed me to meet with you." Septon Ollius said as he escorted her into the great sept. He was an old man, with crazed whiskers about his chin and a clean shaven head. He had an eccentric reputation to say the least, and had only been recently sent from the Starry Sept in Oldtown.

"There are many concerning matters to discuss." Margaery said. "For starters, the most disturbing rumours of the going-ons north of the wall."

He stroked his beard. "The Others. The peasants and the northerners speak of them as if they were some race of black sorcerors. They, I believe, are something much worse."

"Demons loose from the Seven Hells."

He smiled. "I see your septa taught you well. But what set them loose?"

"Of that, I have no idea." It was the truth, and besides, it would give him a lead to explain his own theories.

"The last time that the Others attacked, there was faithlessness in the realm, and Andals arrived soon afterwards to conquer the weakened First Men and spread the true faith. Today, we are in the midst of an unprecedented crisis." Ollius said.

Margaery raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

She could guess.

"A cuckold replaced a madmen, then an abomination born of incest fought for the throne. Apostasy is taught in the highest halls. There are dragons in the east, and the glass candles are burning. The red comet comes. A band of faithless foreigners armed with sorcery and led by a woman who acts like a man have come, sent by a seeming miracle. Does it not strike you as odd?"

"The red god may be dangerous, but we cannot lose sight of the true enemy…"

"The Others, yes. But why are they active? I think that chaos and disorder feeds them, against the will of the Seven. The first time they came, there were a thousand kingdoms and men worshipped by sacrificing before heart trees. Now, I fear, things are near as bad."

"You believe that the Others are a warning to purge the Seven Kingdoms of the faithless?" she asked in her most innocent voice. The last thing they needed was another faith rebellion on top of the other troubles brewing.

"Perhaps they are a warning. Perhaps they are the purge themselves." He said gravely.

Oh, lovely.

"And how do you know this?"

"I once studied to be a Maester and forged a Valyrian steel link, you know, before I felt the call of the Gods. There are many texts long forgotten that speak of this."

"I thank you for your time. I will ask my lord husband to hear you out on this. Matters of faith are of great importance to the realm."

She had no such intention. He sounded dangerous, destabilizing. She would defend her own position against Selyse, and push back against her at court, but starting a holy war was absurdly reckless at best.

She whistled up Meredyth and Elinor as she left. Out of her circle, those two were her dearest friends and the most trusted of them.

"Sounded like a bit of a frother." Meredyth said. "Gives Septons a bad name."

Margaery gasped in feigned shock, and Meredyth chuckled to herself.

"We could probably do with a bit of frothing." Elinor said. "Seeing as the Queen is not a woman of the faith."

The sun was getting low in the sky as they mounted up on their horses, her guardsmen escorts and handmaidens riding around her.

"Make for the markets." Margaery said. "I want to fetch something to eat. And my riding shoes are badly scuffed. I need to get myself a new pair."

There would be an hour or two before the markets began to pack up.

*

"That will be seven stags in advance, if it please's m'lady." The cobbler said. "Well, of course." Margaery answered, snapping her fingers. Larra, one of her household servants, come over. "Give him a dragon, will you?"

"Of course."

Larra tossed the cobbler his coin, and his eyes lit up as he saw the money.

"That is more than is needed, m'lady."

"Oh, it's no problem. I've no doubt you'll do a good job." Margaery said, flashing her sweetest smile.

"Your shoes should be ready in a week." He added. "I already have your measurements from your last pair, so there's no need to have them retaken."

"Excellent." Margaery said. "Well, I'll send someone to pick them up. Or maybe come myself. Depends on the weather." She glanced up at the sky. It was cold blue; good weather by winter standards. It hadn't snowed in days, leaving the streets slushy and muddy. She clambered up onto her palfrey, smiling despite herself. She'd once viewed the city with a certain level of fear: fear of the mob, fear of the unwashed masses, even if she'd rather enjoyed feeding and clothing the poor. Now, King's Landing was almost as much of a home as Highgarden.

"Say, is that Lady Bayder?" Elinor asked, pointing to someone riding through the crowd of the markets.

"Captain, not a bloody lady." Merry said, her voice an unnervingly good imitation of Tane's odd accent.

She was interrupted by yelling coming from up ahead.

"My lady! You must understand, we are here to aid you in your mission!" a man's voice called out. A group of at least half a dozen men in robes seemed to detach themselves from the surrounding crowds to surround Tane.

She trotted her palfrey up ahead, glancing at the family men-at-arms, now nervously thumbing their spears and crossbows.

She caught a glimpse of a tall, emaciated man, ancient with a long white beard, standing to someone on horseback. A grenadier, judging from the broad, low felt hat they wore over a tight-fitted doublet and baggy breeches.

The Grenadier-Tane, she noticed-turned her horse around, only to be blocked off by another of the followers. Margaery trotted her palfrey up. This could get very ugly very quickly. Tane was… less than courteous, and it was an open secret she'd badly wounded Ser Godfrey Farring in a duel half a year ago after he'd called her a coward who relied on black powder.

"Do you not understand! You were sent, Maiden and Warrior in one, to throw down the enemies of the Seven! You are their tool whether you know it or not!" the Septon called.

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

Seven hells Merry, are you a soothsayer?

She heard nervous laughter in the watching crowd, but mostly silence.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Margaery asked, riding out ahead of her guards.

Tane wheeled her horse around, her eyes quickly shifting between the Septon's followers and Margaery.

"These men would appear to have convinced themselves I'm their savior." Tane said.

"Is that so?" Margaery asked, glancing about for the group's leader, a man with an even wilder beard than Ollius in a Septon's robe.

What is with these people and beards?

The Septon turned. "Oh, the Lady Margaery? I am Septon Arle."

'Yes, I am indeed the Lady Margaery."

"It is most important that you receive our message." Arle said. He took a knee in front of her. "I know you are loyal to the faith, but the High Septon deceives us. All is not well amongst the faithful. Apostates rule the realm and the Stranger has sent the Others as judgement. Tane was sent down to us from on high by the Maiden in her mercy to purge first the incestuous and now the apostates from our halls, to…"

She glanced up at Tane. Even at this distance, Margaery could tell Tane was rolling her eyes. He went on and on, everything coming in one ear and out the other.

"…My lady, you must listen, you are our only hope."

"Of course." Margaery said. "I would be most pleased to speak with you at a later time."

She certainly intended to speak to the High Septon about the dangerous idiots undermining his position.

Mother above, why does every Septon who wants to speak to me have to be a lunatic?

"Of course, my lady." Arle bowed and turned away, with a final call of "We await your awakening!" to Tane.

Margaery trotted her horse over to Tane.

"That's not the first time you've run into them, is it?" Margaery said. She'd heard of this group-Septon Arle and his followers-around the city, but it was the first time she'd actually spoken to their leader. By the sound of things, that was a blessing.

"No." Tane said. "Bunch of tedious pricks. They seem to take every opportunity they can to ambush me or my men."

"There are heretics everywhere, nowadays." Margaery said, wheeling her horse in alongside Tane's, the rest of her retinue following them at a safe distance.

"Why, I was just back from meeting with another of them." Margaery added, leaning across in the saddle.

"Please don't tell me he had a theory about me." Tane said.

"Oh, of course he did. You were sent by the Seven as well. But you're apparently like, well, the Others. Not sent to protect us, but to purge the enemies of the faith." Margaery said. "Whether you know it or not."

"Lovely." Tane said. "What is the faith's opinion of this?"

"That they are dangerous." Margaery said. "No doubt the High Septon would be very grateful if you were to help dealing with them."

"You have the High Septon's ear?" Tane asked.

"Of course." Margaery said.

"Then I suppose I could at least talk to him." Tane said. She sounded doubtful.

"Excellent! I tell him next time I at the Great Sept."

Tane tipped her hat. "Thankyou for the help. And I do mean that sincerely." She glanced at the setting sun. "Now, I need to get to where I'm going before it gets dark out." She wheeled her horse away.

 

[Balaur]

The barracks room was stuffed full of bodies. Herself, Captain-Lieutenant Gryff, Colonel Bywater of the Infantry, Colonel Bydevere of the Cavalry, and half a dozen others.

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

"Yes, I know, Stannis wants eight battalions, no unnecessary costs and a dragon to ride. Bloody impossible. We've got two good battalions and two that need bringing up to speed. Get them dealt with and we can worry about more regiments. One step at a time." Gryff said, sawing away with his knife at a mutton leg.

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

"The costs of equipment are formidable. Stannis wants no unnecessary expenditure." Jacelyn Bywater, Colonel of the 1st Silvercloak Regiment, said. He was a former goldcloak, a tall and robust man who'd fought well in two wars now. His right hand was of iron.

"At least now that we enough of a surplus of gunpowder to start practicing shooting regularly like you wanted, we should be able to get marksmanship up to a decent standard faster. Though my armourer reports issues with cracked barrels in some of the arquebuses."

"That will only get worse if we have to cut corners on weapons. For now, I'd prefer to equip some of them with crossbows instead." Tane said.

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

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

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

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

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

"Each battalion has eight companies-four shot, four pike. Each pike company has forty armoured pikes, forty unarmoured pikes, and twenty halberdiers. Each shot company has as many firearms as we can get that have proofed barrels and the rest with crossbows. The regulation Tane drew up have a dozen officers, NCOs and staff for each company as well. Plus the Cavalry Regiment and the artillery. So about 8,000 soldiers, total." Brienne said. Tane had made her the Adjudant of the cavalry regiment, and charged her with keeping an eye on some of the administrative work. She was already a formidable combatant; Tane wanted her groomed for command.

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

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

War isn't cheap.

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

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

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

"We could offer a one off payment upon enlistment, and the promise of room and board. A shilling on the drum, so to speak." Bydevere said. He'd been her company quartermaster before his rise in rank. He'd started out as a gentleman volunteer looking to get promoted to being an officer, ended up an NCO instead, then suddenly jumped up all the way to Colonel when she'd needed an experienced, trustworthy leader for the Silvercloak cavalry.

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

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

"Indeed, that could work." Carwick said.

"Brienne, draft a table of personnel and equipment for an infantry battalion and the costs. Prepare three copies. One for me, one for the Master of Armies, one for the King. Those should make a good present upon his return."

Hopefully he'd be more willing to fork over enough money to do it properly after spending a few weeks cooped up on warships and examining the realm's defence.

*

"You're late." Taena purred as she opened the door.

"I got held up." Tane said, smiling. "Army business. Then another of those bloody preachers, Septon Arle again, insisting that I was sent by the seven."

"Well then, we'll need to make up for lost time." Taena said. "I ordered the servants to make you a roast." Tane stepped in and closed the door behind herself, then Taena took her arm, pressing her side up against Tane's in a way that suggested she knew exactly the effect she was having.

Her thick black hair was an artfully arranged mess, the sort of precisely planned nonchalance that courtiers everywhere loved, and the kohl under her eyes and the purple makeup she'd put on her lips had been carefully picked to complement her dark skin. Her dress clung to her hips like film, and the bodice she was wearing was so tight that, well, Tane wasn't sure if she was gladder that she didn't wear the bloody things or that Taena did.

She offered Tane a seat as they came out into her manse's dining room. There was already a bottle of arbour red on the table, and a couple of wineglasses.

"Say, have you thought of talking to Margaery about the rogue Septons? She knows many of them. She told many of those preachers are unorthodox, and the High Septon himself mislikes them." Taena asked, sitting herself down and smoothing her skirts as she did.

"Already on that." Tane said. "She saved my neck from Arle and his people in the market while I was on the way over here. Margaery suggested exactly what you suggested."

Taena laughed. "Well, then. I have received some most interesting news from Myr."

"Littlefinger again?" Tane asked, unbuttoning her jack of mail and slipping the heavy garment off. She'd worn the jacket, with mail sewn between two layers of cloth, over her doublet. It helped keep her used to the weight of armour, besides the protection if she were to be suddenly attacked. With Taena's servants having lit a roaring fire, she didn't need the extra warmth.

"Indeed. I hear that him and Genna Lannister have been trying to hire mercenaries, without much success. Only a few thugs and bodyguards. They don't have the coin for the big companies. And soon after he arrived, well, I hear the Myrish have been buying up all the charcoal and sulphur they can find."

Oh, shit.

"They won't be able to do much with it. Not unless they know how to make gun barrels or rockets safely. Maybe grenades."

She poured both of them a glass of wine. Arbor red.

Taena smiled broadly, raising her glass.

"To Myrish gunsmithing."

Tane laughed.

"To Myrish gunsmithing." Tane agreed.

The conversation meandered around then, as it always did. Taena asked most of the questions, as curious as always about the Old World, about witchcraft, about airships and wyverns, though Tane asked her own fair share of questions about Myr.

"How'd you end up coming to Westeros anyway?" Tane asked. "Well, besides the obvious." It was a question she'd asked of Taena half a hundred times before, on other nights. Taena had always evaded.

Taena hesitated for a moment, then leaned forwards. She was already slightly flushed with wine, not enough to make her drunk, but enough to make her bold.

"Well, I figured I could be the bastard of a bedslave and a middling magister in Myr. Or I could be the lady of a Westerosi exile making ready to return across the narrow sea."

She laughed, though her voice was deadly serious. Tane thought she could detect a touch of bitterness.

"It was not a hard choice to make."

Christ-Horus, no wander she didn't want to talk about it.

"So we're both bastards in a foreign country, with near enough the same name." Taena finally said.

At least my mother was just a mistress, not a slave. She didn't know what that did to a person, knowing they were property, to be bought and sold on, to be beaten and raped at their masters whim. She'd been raised as a fighter, one foot in the world of the gentry and the lower nobility, the sort who would happily pay good money for the privilege of command and kill over insults, and the other in the camp followers and soldier's brats who swarmed underfoot in garrison towns and forts. She'd learnt how to swear in three languages alongside how to issue commands above the din of battle and the delicacies of courtly etiquette.

"Indeed." Tane said. "Though I think my home is rather further away.

"It is no matter." Taena said, sipping the last of her wine and standing up. "I am a lady now, not a freedwoman, and you are a knight or near enough. And both of us know what knights do to ladies."

Tane very much approved of where this was going.

 

[Balaur]

Tane in full armour.

 

[Balaur]

The north lay still and silent.

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

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

There'd been another attack by wildlings across the bridge of skulls, a stampede really, but that had routed under a hail of arrows and both the wildling survivors and the rangers sent to pursue them had never been heard from again. A steward, Sam, had made it back alive to there from Craster's keep and said he'd only barely evaded the armies of the dead, now marching north again. More wildling survivors had massed at Hardhome, and Eddard has ordered galleys to bring them south and thus deny the Others recruits, but it had been too little, too late. The Others had attacked and overrun the starving, huddled masses in less than an hour as the galleys fled.

Or at least, that's what he'd heard from the rumour mill of Rangers returning from the long distance patrols that now prowled the top of the wall and the White Harbour and Eastwatch galleymen.

What do they want?

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

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

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

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

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

Lancel looked up, and saw them. A wheeling flock, black stars against a cold blue sky and a pale sun. He'd seen plenty of birds flying south when winter set in, but these seemed bigger and blacker than any he'd seen before. And late. Any birds migrating would have already done so.

"Are those ravens?" Satin suggested.

Lancel squinted at them. "Maybe."

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

Are they running from the cold, or the Others?

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

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

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

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

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

What does he want me for now?

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

*

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

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

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

Eddard took a breath and continued.

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

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

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

"King Stannis Baratheon, First of his Name, will be soon heading north, bearing supplies of obsidian and pitch arrows."

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

A murmur of shock went over those assembled.

He wants us to go to our deaths.

For a few moments longer, silence reigned.

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

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

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

 

[Balaur]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We could take another loan from the Faith."

Guncer's nose wrinkled like he'd tasted something foul. "With the treasury in the state it is, the High Septon will never see that money back. It should be spent uplifting the poor, raising great septs or for the benefit of godly kings, not thrown away."

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

"Tax ships and money in coffers. That would put the screws on the merchants while harming the highborn estates less. Tax vices-there's poppy fields in the Reach that are, ah, not used by Maesters. Enforce the brothel tax more strictly; I hear the Goldcloaks pocket most of the money themselves as it stands. Tax the followers of the Red God; there are some amongst the merchants of this city already"

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

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

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

Oh, here we go.

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

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

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

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

"Lord Baratheon is right here."

Guncer stepped aside.

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

"Tell me here. I trust Lord Sunglass."

"It's of a most sensitive nature-"

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

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

"What!" Renly roared, then "Are the killers at large?"

The man flinched back, before his face hardened.

"Yes."

He reached for the dagger in his belt.

Renly damn near leapt back of his skin when he saw the blade flash, tracing a line across the stuffed belly of his doublet. The assassin lunged, and this time Renly reacted like he was trained, twisting away from the slash and batting it with his hand, just as Guncer leapt at the man, trying for his dagger, managing to get both hands on Bill's dagger arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What happened?"

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

It'll have already been decided by now.

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

 

[Balaur]

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

This meeting had been a week or so in the planning; an attempt to get both Tane and the High Septon to take all the renegade Septons-many of them obsessed with the Grenadiers-seriously.

Margaery had her doubts it would work; the current High Septon had ignored the fanatics, the red god's followers and even the evidence from the North while letting the Faith fall to corruption.

The renegades, if the High Septon actually bothered to listen to them, threatened to set off another war. She didn't care what mad foreign god Selyse believed in, as long as she wanted the Others and their dead minions gone from the world and didn't act against Margaeries own interests. The former was true. The latter was quite likely not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, you want to do something about the heretics?" Tane began.

The High Septon nodded.

"Yes, yes, I believe so."

"So who are they? I only know of one."

"Septon Arle. Most unorthodox. Septon Ollius holds similar ideas that are no less troublesome, but he at least does not lead mobs about on the street. He is part of the Most Devout in Oldtown and is therefore owed a certain level of respect besides." The High Septon said.

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

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

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

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

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

The High Septon blinked.

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

"Then you are blessed by the Crone with wisdom." The High Septon said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"By using her influence on the King to force him to do so. And it turn Stannis will use his Royal Army, which should be an instrument of justice in the realm, against the Faith, perverting both of them."

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

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

What is it-

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

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

Margaery screamed in shock, a hand going to her mouth. Both the fighters tumbled back through the doorway, out of sight. There was swearing, snarling, the sound of blades ripping meat, lasting for what seemed like an eternity, then Tane backed back into the room, the back of her doublet torn open, revealing the bright mail underneath.

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

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

Oh, god no. Oh, god. Oh-

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

She dropped to her knees and began to crawl, the fingers of her cut left arm clumsy and stiff as she shoved the dropped chair out of the way and took cover under the table. Tane was swearing, loudly and viciously, as she grappled with her opponent, one hand struggling to keep his dagger hand pinned between their chests, stabbing him over and over with the other. The Essosi had changed his dagger to his off-hand as well and was stabbing at the face and throat of the Septon. The dying man was still clinging to the assassin's arm, even as he sank to the ground.

She crawled further away, looking for somewhere to run or hide. There was nowhere. The assassin clambered over the table, his dagger running red, ignoring Tane, still on the ground, twisting and gouging her knife in her opponent's throat. She was pinned under his body; there was no way she could reach her in time. He kicked the High Septon's fallen chair out of the way.

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

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

Gentle mother, font of mercy…

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

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

"Cap? Cap? Are you alright?"

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

"I don't think I got stabbed. Are there any other attackers in the building?" Tane asked, pulling herself up to her feet, disentangling herself from the body with Sace's help. Her face was a red mask, and her tied back hair had come half undone, hanging down around her shoulders.

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

Margaery tried to pull herself to her feet, but she was shaking so badly she didn't get anywhere. She tried to speak, but nothing coherent came out. She forced herself to nod.

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

 

[Balaur]

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

Margaery's alive.

Good.

He'd already mounted up and made ready to ride out with his retinue, but the time they'd been ready a lookout had spotted the column and he'd decided to meet them at the gates while Guncer had gone to rally the Horse Grenadiers and the silvercloaks. He'd kept his doublet on, the one that had it's stuffing slashed out; more dramatic to any onlookers. The servants would already be gossiping, he knew.

Sace and Elinor were helping Margaery down from horseback almost as soon as they were all through the gates. She was pale, and her hands almost seemed to be shaking. Renly clambered down to help them, putting his arm around her to pull her up. Her other arm went around Elinor's shoulders.

"Is she hurt? How badly?"

"She got cut on the arm. I don't think it'll be fatal." Sace said. He noticed she had blood on her shoes, and spackled on her skirts and bodice.

"What about the High Septon?"

"Dead." Sace said.

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

Oh dear.

"And the assassins?"

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

"Tane did what?"

"She killed three of them. With a knife and one of their hatchets." Sace said. "I came up when I saw Tane charge out onto the balcony. I shot the one trying to kill Margaery in the head when he wouldn't surrender."

"Did any of them say anything?"

"They were all dead or near enough. We took the bodies… one of them had a flame tattoo." Sace added.


When they'd gotten inside the Tower of the Hand, he stopped, sitting Margaery down in the nearest chair.


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

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

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

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

"Good. Did your attacker talk?"

"Only that you were supposed to be dead."

"They are. I'm not."

Renly sensed a certain level of pride in her voice.

"Did you see anything that identified the attackers?"

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

"Did any of them talk?"

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

"How did the witnesses at the sept react?"

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

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

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

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

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

"How did Selyse react?"

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

"Does she know the Rhllorists were involved?"

"Not that I could tell."

A sentry called out on the wall.

"What is it?" Renly called back.

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

"What kind of justice!" Renly shouted.

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

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

How the hell did that leak-

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

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

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

*

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

"Yes? What is it? Am I safe?" Selyse asked, waving the Kingsguard men who moved to block Renly out of the way. Shireen sat at her side, nervous. Without time to put on makeup to cover up the greyscale, she looked even worse than usual.

"From what? The assassins?"

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

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

"Disperse them!" Selyse snapped.

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

"And why me?"

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

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

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

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

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

Shoot herself in the foot. That's it.

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

 

[Balaur]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you wounded? How seriously?"

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

"Oh dear. Can you breath without difficulty?"

"Yes."

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

Tane nodded and walked off to her quarters, unbuttoning her jack of mail as she went.

*

"Two very shallow stab wounds, just pinpricks really, on the chest. Another couple of pinpricks on the back. Two nasty cuts that I can find on the back of the head; honestly, you'll probably have to shave so I can get them cleaned out properly and find any other cuts. If not for that jack of mail, you'd be stuck like prime bacon." Connor explained, the company barber-surgeon combining the two roles as he sifted through her hair for cuts.

"Fuck me, I got lucky." If she'd gotten stabbed in the head or hadn't had her armour on, she'd likely be dead or at least bedridden. She was very glad she'd taken to wearing her mail about, both to help keep herself used to the weight of armour and out of paranoia. This time, it had payed off.

Someone knocked on the door.

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

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

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

Selyse was tactless at best when she had no script to follow, and viewed her lessers with open contempt. She was the last person Tane would want facing down an angry mob.

"Don't shoot the messenger."

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

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

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

"Carrow, get an escort lance together! Gryff, keep everyone else ready to go." Tane shouted, buckling on her swordbelt. She tucked her heavy horse pistols through her belt, and put a fistful of cartridges in her pockets. She strode out into the maidenvault, swearing under her breath as her wounds chafed.

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

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

"What's going on-"

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

"What are they saying?"

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

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

"Enemies of your Seven." Tane said.

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

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

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

"Obviously."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That your lackeys murdered the High Septon!"

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

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

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

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

How the hell is she supposed to disprove that?

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

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

"Disperse or suffer the fate of all treasonous-"

This had gone on long enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She heard cheers and jeers down below.

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

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

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

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

"Do for Selyse what you did for Cersei!"

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

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

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

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

"Sinner!" someone shouted back.

"The only sinners are those making false accusations." Selyse said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Balaur]

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

Must be overcompensating for his job.

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

"What if he incriminates certain… important individuals?"
"No one is off limits. Even the Queen."

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

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

Gared's face cracked into something resembling a smile. He stood up, smoothing the sleeves of his immaculate doublet. He was one of the men that Renly had hired when they'd cleaned out the black cells staff after Rugen the gaoler and half a dozen others of suspiciously similar height, build and eye colour had vanished alongside Varys when Stannis had seized the city. So far, Renly had found him to be efficient, discrete and reliable. Exactly the sort of man he'd need for bringing down his second queen.

He wasn't going to get a chance like this again. If he handled this correctly, Selyse and her faction at court would be overthrown, there would be no chance of Selyse winning over Stannis with the matter of the inheritance, he would be a hero to the faith, and all without getting any blood on his hands. Even if Stannis let Selyse off, it would seem blatant nepotism and would sully his reputation amongst the faithful.

"I'll see you this time tomorrow. See how the prisoner is holding up."

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

Colonel Jacelyn Bywater, whatever in the seven hells that foreign title meant, approached, his iron hand resting on his sword. "My lord, the goldcloaks have driven off the rioters sacking Rhllorite houses in the cities."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nonetheless, it is a risk-"

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

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

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

He made for the Tower of the Hand. A pair of Baratheon spearmen, both armoured, stood guard over the door, and he could see crossbowmen pacing on the wall. He found Margaery's rooms quickly enough.

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

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

"Is her child unharmed?"

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

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

"Archmaester Edgerran's dissections of the muscles of the arm." Nymos explained. "I want to make sure I have the best splints possible in place."

Renly ignored him.

"Are you comfortable, my love?"

He almost cringed saying that.

Margaery propped herself up, visibly wincing as she moved her arm. Elinor sat by her side.

"Of course."

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

"Yes." Margaery said, her voice flat.

 

[Balaur]

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

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

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

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

She didn't let herself think about that.

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

Renly seemed taken aback.

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

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

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

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

"What? It couldn't be-"

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

"And now I've tried to befriend Shireen, to reduce the chances of her cooperating in any action her mother takes against us. Selyse must have seen it as me trying to steal her daughter out from under her, and when she heard I was pregnant... she would have been outraged. A pack of seven worshippers try and kill me and my lord husband, and kill the High Septon. I saw one with a Rhllorite tattoo on his ankle"-she'd barely been able to notice it through the haze of pain and fear after the attack-"and the one who attacked you said something about being a rhllorite, didn't he?"

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

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

"A little bird." She lied.

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

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

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

At least she was alive.

"Most fortunate." she said, smiling faintly.

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

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

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

Or the last.

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

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

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

"Wait-" Margaery said.

"What?" Renly asked.

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

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

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

"So what do you want-"

"To not be alone." Margaery repeated.

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

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

She didn't care if Renly did not desire her, but to not even treat with the regard he would an injured friend…

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

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

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

 

[Balaur]

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

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

"Was he a rhllorite?"

"A what now?"

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

"Ah." The old soldier stroked his salt-and-pepper moustache. "He never did go to the sept to pray with the other servants, but I never saw him at the Nightfires either."

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

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

She'd already talked with Brella, the head of Renly's household, about the matter. Bill had confirmed everything Brella had said.

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

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

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

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

Fucking Westerosi.

Then again, home wasn't much better.

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

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

Boudace and a couple more Grenadiers padded after her, muskets loaded and ring bayonets fixed. Boudace was a cornet now, and she was wearing her armour, expensive riveted mail imported from Qohor worn over a buff coat and under a breastplate that her family had purchased for her back in Genia.

They weren't getting caught with just a pocket knife again.

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

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

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

"Who?" Tane asked.

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

"No shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

She spotted a small man in a grey cloak, standing in the middle of a bloom of bushes coated in snow. Tane strode towards him, shrugging her cloak back to give her quick access to her blades and her pistols. Her jack of mail was a shredded mess, so she wore her buff coat instead. The thick leather wasn't as good as the mail armour, but it was lighter and could still stop a sword cut or even a spent bullet.

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

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

"No mistake." Davos said.

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

Davos shrugged. "Everything."

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

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

Tane nodded. "Renly mentioned that his one swore to Rhllor during the attack, and one of mine had a tattoo. And a couple of other sellswords. They might very well be Rhllorites who hid it better, or hired muscle."

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

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

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

Davos looked taken aback. "I'm a man of the Seven. If I had found out, I would have stopped it. And I'm good at finding these things out. I have several men amongst her retinue, and not one of them told me anything. It is possible she slipped me by, but not likely."

"I need a favour." Tane said.

"Yes?"

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

"And how would I do that?"

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

*

"You have the warrant?" Tane asked, standing in the shade of the red keep's gardens. Boudace nodded. "Davos had it delivered to me personally. He says Alester keeps changing his mind on whether to sign it." It had two days since she'd asked for it; Alester was apparently quite the procrastinator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They're already torturing him.

"I have written backing."

"From Renly?"

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

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

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

His eyes flicked down the scroll.

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

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

She recognized his voice. Brown Bill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're not him-"

"No."

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

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

"How did you-"

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

"It was for the service of Rhllor! "

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck this, different tack. Even if I can't confirm that his confession is correct, I can least get a confession that I can check against the official confession. See how well they line up.

"I want you to give me answers. "I'm not talking, bitch" is not an answer."

"Let's start again. Do you want to know if your friends dropped Margaery? I can recommend that the torture be stopped. Complete waste of time, if you ask me, but you need to give me something to work with."

The man grunted.

"You're a Rhllorite. No point denying it. You've already admitted it. How'd you convert?"

"The Red Priest Quellos of Myr showed me the light when I was across the Narrow Sea as a sellsword."

"And you attempted to kill Renly Baratheon?"

"Yes!"

"Where were you hired?"

"Myr. A knight in red from Westeros, six months earlier, came up to me and told me he wanted faithful to carry out a most dangerous mission."

"Margaery survived. Her arm got sliced up, but she'll recover."

"The High Septon?" the man asked.

"And what did this man look like?" Tane continued.

"Round faced and bearded. Neither tall nor short. A Westerosi."

"Who do you believe he was working for?"

"I don't know."

Tane stood up, looming over him. "The Queen? Petyr Baelish? The Targaryens?"

"I do not know. He told me faithful within the kingdom, but-"

"The Queen."

"I had nothing to do with the Queen! I was not so foolish as to go anywhere near her!"

"But you maintained your faith nonetheless? You visited the nightfires?"

She wanted specific details out of him that could be fact-checked. Even if he was lying to her, even if she led his confessions, they could fact check it for accuracy then close off his confession as a lead and try to go after more reliable sources.

"No, no, I stayed away from them, they'd blow my cover…"

"Clever man." Tane said. "So the queen hired you, but through an agent, and you kept your distance from her? Or perhaps Petyr Baelish, to sow chaos? I hear he's been hiring mercenaries."

"I'm not telling you."

"You can tell me the truth, or you can forced to tell Renly's men what they want to hear on the rack. I know which choice I'd pick."

She was about to push, to probe further, when there was a knock on the door. She turned around.

The best groomed gaoler she'd ever seen stood at the door, with a Storm's End guardsman on either side of him.

"Standing orders are no one in here without the express permission of the Hand." He said.

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

"Not the hand." the man said.

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

Myr.

Just like Taena said. Petyr's in Myr and hiring mercenaries. If Bill wasn't lying, Davos was right. The killers were Petyr's men.

 

[Balaur]

"You ordered the killings, didn't you?" Genna asked that evening, at dinner. News of the slaughter in the Great Sept of Baelor had only just reached the free cities, as had other, more worrying news.

Petyr made an exaggerated show of looking about to see if anyone was listening in. No-one. Only herself, Petyr, and Magister Nelyn. Even the servants had been ordered out, and the hall was big enough that anyone hiding behind doors or in crawlspaces would have needed some sensitive ears.

"Oh, of course I would never order such a thing." Petyr said, with a rather wicked smile. "Never."

It was obvious enough. Petyr had insisted he had a plan, had been spending just as much time talking to Westerosi sellswords as she had, and now the High Septon was dead, Renly nearly so, and all manner of wild rumours flying about.

She wasn't expecting Littlefinger to be quite that frank, though she'd suspected it from the moment she'd heard the news.

I'd like to think that murdering the High Septon and trying to kill a pregnant girl would have a little more gravity.

Renly and that soldier-witch were traitors, but Margaery and the High Septon…

"Ah. Well then." Nelyn said, stroking his greying moustache. He was a hulk of a man, once rumored to be a sorcerer and now one of the most powerful magisters in Myr's conclave.

"It would appear that Stannis is now said to be an apostate and deicide. The time would be ripe for the true king of the sunset landers to return. But…"

"What is the catch?" Genna asked. She could make a solid guess.

"Of course, Tommen is not the only exile king." he said. "You and I, we need a plan to deal with the Targaryens. Aegon had three dragons, and an army beyond count: The Golden Company and at least three other sellsword companies that I know of, Unsullied, Dothraki. All he lacks for is a way to get to Westeros. And he will have one, when Volantis revolts against their masters. The Volantene fleet is crewed by slaves. My spies tell me they believe that their "Mhysa" shall take them to a land without slavery, or something along those lines."

Aegon and Daenerys having conquered a great deal was not news. That they were building a religious movement was.

"Aegon will beat us back to Westeros." Littlefinger said. "Though all hope is not lost." He glanced conspiratorially at Nelyn.

"Well, we could arrive first. But he already has an army, and dragons, and we have no chance of beating Stannis in our current state. Anyone who doesn't care who rules as long as it isn't Stannis will rise for Aegon instead. It would be a decent way to commit suicide, if you're that way inclined. I say we let them fight, and take our time to let Tommen grow into a leader, and defeat the weakened winner. That we have a chance of." Genna said. Again, bloody obvious, but still. Laying things out like that was a good starting point for a plan. Though Tommen will never make much of a leader. He was kind and gentle, the sort of boy the world needed more of, but he was no warrior.

"Just so." Nelyn said, smiling. "That is why the Magisters of Myr have a modest proposal for our reclaiming of the Iron Throne."

"We marry into the Targaryens, bring them to Westeros, and get them settled there." Littlefinger said.

What?

"Ally with them? Aegon and Daenerys are already married, and-"

Genna could already tell this was a bad idea. She knew quite well what being married as a child was like, and she had no desire to inflict that on Myrcella without good cause.

"The dragon must have three heads. Now, Myrcella is the union of Lannister and Baratheon. Cersei had a marriage pact with Rhaegar, when that was broken. And House Baratheon is of Valryian blood. It would be a union, a renewing of broken branches of the family. And Stannis's army is dangerous. Aegon needs all the allies he can get, like, say, a western rising in his name, or Myrish sellswords" Petyr said.

"I never took your for a romantic." Genna said.

"Not a romantic. Someone who knows how to sell things to romantics. "Aegon sent me a letter, you know, proposing a union of our houses."

He still had that gleam in that his eyes that she misliked.

"We cannot fully dam the Targaryen flood, but we can channel in a direction of our choosing." Nelyn added. "This is the best chance you have to reclaim the Iron throne. Lannister children may well sit it at last."

That direction being away from the good Magister's slaves. "Why would Aegon trust us? Lannisters killed his mother. Baratheons killed his father. He won't care about genealogies and old pacts, he'll care about fire and blood. The Targaryens don't practise polygamy anymore. Besides, marrying Myrcella won't void Tommen's claim. If Aegon sent that, he is a fool."

"He'll care about having the Westerlands rise in his name." Petyr answered. "What was it that you said Lady Lefford said? The west will rise again. Tommen can always relinquish his claim."

The west will rise again with what it has. Which isn't much, after the mauling Stannis gave us.

"Say we do go down to Voltantis, or wherever Daenerys is now. Why would she accept the marriage? Daenerys, we shouldn't forget, has the dragons, the unsullied and the freedmen. She wouldn't like-" she paused for a moment to think of what the word for a woman getting cuckolded was, then gave up-"having to share. And Tommen is the rightful king to the seven kingdoms. Even if he relinquishes the claim, he will still be seen as a threat. He could be imprisoned, murdered. So would Myrcella if the marriage goes bad. I've seen that happen to enough Lannisters already."

"You Westerosi are so queer." Nelyn said, thinking out loud. "Polygamy worse than incest? Rulers not allowed to step down? Anyhow, there is only one way to find out how serious this proposal is."

"And that I will do." Petyr said. "Would you lend me a ship for the journey south? I have a mind to try getting a lion to ride a dragon."

*

She found Tommen practising water dancing with one of the slave boys Nelyn had sent, sticks clacking as they fenced back and forth. Tommen, from what she'd seen of him practicing, had never been confident with a sword, certainly not as good as Joffrey. He was slowly getting better, under the tutelage of Asyrio. She'd have to congratulate the bravo on the job he was doing.

Any excuse to talk to him? Come on, you'd have had a chance with him twenty years ago.

Pity that she had to have gotten rid of her waste of breath of a husband right when she was past her prime.

"Where's Myrcella?" Genna asked. She was going to have to tell about her about the disaster of a marriage Petyr wanted to push her into.

"She went to bed."

"Well, you should probably be getting to bed too. It's late."

"Asyrio says that I need to practise at night, so that I can fight when I can't see."

"That's what the Kingsguard is for." Genna said. "To protect you when you can't protect yourself."

"But I'm not a king, and I don't have a kingsguard." Tommen said.

"You are a king, and you'll enjoy your own sooner or later."

Not if Littlefinger has anything to do with it.

Something was seriously wrong with the Targaryen plan. It completely sidestepped Tommen, like he was just an afterthought.

Almost like Petyr doesn't care about the Lannister cause, just jumping ship to the Targaryens…

Well of course. Petyr might have sympathy as a fellow exile, but it was more a case of common cause.

"I don't want to be a king. Everyone who tried to be a king killed a lot of other people then died horribly."

"That's not true. There have been many good kings who lived for a long time. And even if there never was one, there's always a first."

Who? Robert, who was murdered by his wife, not that he didn't deserve it, and bankrupted the realm? Stannis the usurper? Aerys the madman? Bloody Joffrey?

Tommen looked thoughtful for a moment.

Littlefinger must be buttering him up for his scheme.

Or Tommen has the most brains out of any claimant of the last, say century or so. That too.

That, in and of itself, was a strange enough thought.

"Now, where is Myrcella? There are some very important things I need to talk to her about."

 

[Balaur]

"I hear every battalion of Silvercloaks is ready for service." Renly said.

Tane nodded in agreement, in between bites of the meal. "The four current battalions, anyway. They'll be nearly quadrupled in number by the time Stannis had what he wants from them."

"Good. There is little and less known about what Euron is doing, but Davos believes he is calling his banners and readying to strike."

"May the warrior be with Mace, then." Margaery said. She knew where an Ironborn blow would fall the hardest.

"The warrior will be with him. He has prepared defences and experienced men. The Reach foot fought well when I saw them in action."

She decided to be discreet about her opinion of their leadership.

"It'll be a hard fight, but the sea wolves won't have the stomach for a stand-up fight. If not for the dragons, we could swing the royal fleet around, try and smash them against the coast or force them into decisive battle. Then again, the highest reports put them at a thousand or so ships. Things might be hairy if we can't ambush them at anchor or pick them off piecemeal."

"A thousand ships-" Renly said, jaw almost dropping.

"Maybe. Seems like such a nice round number that it's probably an estimate. They're still a serious fleet, though, even if they're mostly light galleys and longships from what I've heard".

"Those Septons preaching about you have only gotten worse since the killings." Margaery added, as they finished the meal.

Tane had eaten faster; she'd worked up an appetite drilling with quarterstaves against her officers after dealing with Davos and the other witnesses, and she'd had to slow herself down consciously. It was a skill you picked up when you might be eating dried meat one night, no cooked food because of light discipline, and dining with peers of the Commonwealth the next.

"Maiden and warrior in one sent to throw down bastards born of incest." Tane said, without missing a beat. "They've been preaching it for years."

She had no idea how on earth he'd convinced himself she was the bloody maiden-I've killed more people than I have fingers, fucked three women and brought down a king, and that was only after coming here-but now, apparently, she had to deal with it.

Renly nodded. "It would be helpful if you dismiss the more outlandish claims that Septon Arle has made. That one is nothing but trouble. Septon Ollius is one of Oldtown's most devout and he must be treated with more care. Anyway, I need the privy…" Renly stood up and took his leave, wincing as he put his weight on his wounded leg.

"It would some small way to honour the old High Septons memory, by doing what we discussed with him." Margaery added, leaning forwards and smiling.

Mother above, she really is wasted on Renly-

"I'll think about it. I don't want to risk making the situation in the city even worse, though." The last thing she needed was the seven-worshippers even more pissed off with her.

"It might calm things if you tell them you are a normal woman." Margaery said.

"I'm not, though. That's the problem. I just wake up in another world, knowing another language, with my entire company having the same done to them. My ancestors did much the same, although they did it on purpose and didn't know the language."

"Sace told me that." Margaery said. "If that's true…"

"That I was sent by the Seven? All religions are fragments of the true theology, you know. The Triad and the All. The god you call the Seven might well have sent me. This reeks of a miracle, not magic, whenever I think about it. I'm in the position King Arthur was in sixteen centuries ago, in another world. Worse in some ways; I'm not a king. Better in others; I'm not crippled. I even have a Bydevere and a Morgan with me." She chuckled to herself. Margaery laughed too, after a moment of confusion.

"By the time King Arthur and his men were done, the Feylaw had fallen, humanity was freed, and he and most of his lieutenants were immortal. Now the same thing happens to me, just as a Fey invasion of sorts looks to be getting underway, and this one is even worse than anything my ancestors dealt with." Tane finished.

Margaery nodded along. She'd heard the story before.
"Then why don't you tell the Septons you believe them?" Margaery asked.

Tane shrugged. "Because I try not to think about that sort of thing. I'm a soldier, not a priest or a king. My job is to make sure that at the end of the day, as many of my men are alive and as many of the enemy aren't as possible. Not to seize immortality or free humanity from Fey tyranny or whatever Arthur wanted beyond working legs. I'll worry about the next life when I get a musket ball to the face or a rapier through the lungs."

"Your people believe in hell, don't they?" Margaery said. "Wouldn't it be best to look after your soul before you end up going there?"

"The only way to avoid that is leaving the world a better place than you found it. That, and begging forgiveness of the Father. Not the Seven's father. The other one. Osiris or Jenovah or whatever you want to call him." Tane said. "Granted, I've still got a lot of catch-up to do on both of those."

She remembered the look on the face of Preston Greenfield, as she'd raised her pistol the moment he refused to step aside on the drawbridge. Joffrey begging for his life at the executioner's block, and Cersei describing how Robert had raped her. The feel of her rapier punching through a ribcage in a duel over some nonsense she couldn't even remember. The smell of villages burning in the distance, the smoke stinging her eyes. The Westerlands or the Genian highlands, she couldn't remember.

"Well then, if you want to leave the world a better place, dealing with Arle's cult would be a start."

"Aye." Tane agreed. And so would finding out if Selyse actually tried to kill you. Or for that matter, stopping a civil war breaking out. We have enough foreign enemies as is.

"How is your arm doing?" Tane asked. Margaery raised her wounded arm, still heavily bandaged.

"Well enough. There is no pus, which the Maester says is good."

Tane had heard enough arguments about whether pus was, in fact, laudable that she had little comment to make.

"You won't lose your arm, that's for certain. Hopefully the Maester knows his medicine, and the tendons will heal. That's the real problem with that sort of wound."

Back home, there would have been alchemical powders put on the wound that made it heal faster and cleaner. Even severed nerves could sometimes be successfully sutured with the benefit of that. Without it, though… tendon wounds were touch and go. And Connor's supply of albedic poultices had been exhausted in the Western campaigns, and Morgan's halting attemts at alchemy hadn't gotten far. A company moving alone, not expecting much in the way of combat and with a whole city at the end of the journey, didn't carry all that many medical supplies.

"Indeed." Margaery said. "Have you ever been wounded before? Badly" she asked.

"Yeah." Tane pulled the sleeve of her right arm back over the forearm, and raised it. There was a faint scar there, a line of too-smooth skin from halfway up the forearm to her elbow. "Rapier thrust. He missed, but the edge of the blade slid over my forearm. It didn't hurt much at the time. Battle rush. That's not the only one, either."

The cuts on the back of her head were healing well, but they still ached in the cold, and the lack of weight from her clubbed, shoulder length hair felt odd, almost like being in public without a hat.

"How long did it take to heal?" Margaery added.

"I don't remember. It wasn't as bad as your wound; it went up the arm, not across. Those are always harder to treat."

"Oh." Margaery said. "Well, I suppose you need two hands to fight, and I only need one to ride." She sounded resigned to it.

Christ-Horus. Tane didn't know how she'd react to being almost crippled at eighteen, but she suspected it wouldn't have been good. She was good at fighting, leading fighters and skullduggery to find out who to fight. Not much else.

"Wounds are unpredictable. Only time will tell. I can send Connor to have a look at it. He has plenty of experience with arm wounds." Tane said, pulling the sleeve of her doublet back over her wound.

"That would be excellent." Margaery said.

She heard the thump of footsteps as Renly returned from the privy.

Margaery glanced up at him. "Tane has agreed to meet with the Septons."

"Oh, wonderful." Renly said. "I believe you spoke to the prisoner yesterday. What did he tell you?"

"Bits and pieces. Recruited in Myr, denied any contact with the Queen. How true either of those are depends entirely on how Davos's investigations turned out. Definitely a Rhllorite. Unfortunately, your man was something of a stickler for orders and kicked me out before I could get anything done."

"My apologies. Gared is a little too good at his job." Renly said, smiling crookedly and something managing to make it look charming. No wonder Brienne and Loras and who knows who else are so taken with the bastard. "I'll tell him to be a little less zealous in the future."

"Who do you think did it?" Margaery asked.

"Selyse or Petyr. She would want to get rid of your heir, Petyr would benefit from the chaos caused. Petyr's in Myr now, so he would benefit, and I know he's hiring mercenaries. The Rhlorrites points to Selyse, but that could be misdirection." Tane shrugged. "We need more evidence."

Hard evidence. Right now, the circumstantial evidence was that it was Petyr, but she would wait on that until she could prove it. She had no intention of jumping the gun.

 

[shmone else]

Her pampering is the whole reason the boy is so cruel; he knows not what consequences are.".

Click to shrink...

Double period.

The Stark girls direwolves, Lady and Nymeria, were howling in the godswood.

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Stark girls', since it's both plural and possessive.

He wanted to grab his doublet and scream I could make you lord protector, the next best thing to a King! In his face.

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In shouldn't be capitalized.

Sour Bastard. Your house is near dead because your wives were never fond of their battlefield, and your sons too fond of theirs Renly thought

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This is a semi-persistent issue but there should be a comma before Renly thought, to mark it as separate.

She and most of her entourage of ladies in waiting where good riders, and the rest had ridden in carriages, while the knights and squires and men-at-arms and archers ahorse had impatiently tromped ahead, all the men Mace could gather on short notice.

Click to shrink...

Were, not where. And a run on sentence.

Posted from my phone so it's hard to write a lot here for me, but the story is good so far and there's some grammar/editing issues I noticed as I was reading. There's a consistent issue where you're not using commas to mark when a quotation is used mid-sentence, i.e. it should be 'John blah blah blah and said, "Words words words."' unless it's a direct quote. Quotes inside quotes should also usually use a different mark, using ' instead is typical. "As a wise man once said, 'a quote about a wise thing'."

And to wrap it up now that I got on my computer to edit this since I messed up the quote blocks, if a sentence doesn't end in the quotation then you can continue it with a comma, i.e.:

"Though I do think I fought better than Meryn did, all things considered." She added, with a slight smile.

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Should be:

"Though I do think I fought better than Meryn did, all things considered," she added with a slight smile.

Click to shrink...

 

[Yla]

Mother above, she really is wasted on Renly-

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Isn't this Tane as viewpoint narrator? Should it then not be Mary-Isis?

Margaery laughed too, after a moment of confusion.

Margaery nodded along. She'd heard the story before.

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That doesn't seem as intended.

 

[Balaur]

Isn't this Tane as viewpoint narrator? Should it then not be Mary-Isis?

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The triadic Mother and Mary-Isis are the same entities(and under Triadic theology, technically so are the Seven's Mother, the Maiden and the Crone...) Same way Jesus might be referred to as the Son of God, Odin as the Allfather etc.

That doesn't seem as intended.

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Fixed. Thanks.

Posted from my phone so it's hard to write a lot here for me, but the story is good so far and there's some grammar/editing issues I noticed as I was reading. There's a consistent issue where you're not using commas to mark when a quotation is used mid-sentence, i.e. it should be 'John blah blah blah and said, "Words words words."' unless it's a direct quote. Quotes inside quotes should also usually use a different mark, using ' instead is typical. "As a wise man once said, 'a quote about a wise thing'."

Click to shrink...

Will keep in mind.

 

[Balaur]

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

Renly smiled. "Excellent. Three things. Firstly, I am unaware that the confession happened at this hour. Secondly, you will deliver the confession to me in the middle of the feast held in honour of my lady wife's survival.

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

"That was two things."

"Oh, even the most learned men forget things sometimes. And I have many virtues, but I wouldn't say great learning is one of them. Thirdly, It is quite possible that Selyse was colluding with certain enemies of the realm. It would be helpful if evidence surfaced to prove or disprove such a possibility."

Gared grinned openly. "A little above a gaoler's salary, don't you think."

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the briefest instance, he smiled.

Then the fury took him.

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

Selyse pulled up to her full height, looming over him. "How dare you slander me! I had no part in this treason! The Great Other take anyone who tells such lies!"

"No, you are the one taken by the Others." A man said firmly. Renly glanced back. Septon Ollius, a member of the Most Devout from Oldtown come to King's Landing in recent times. He was part of the gaggle of lesser Septons seated below the Most Devout. "The old laws of the faith say the punishment for apostasy is death. By the laws of men, the punishment for treason is death."

"Arrest her." Renly said. "One way or the other, these accusations must see court."

 

[Balaur]

Bugger. Me. Sideways.

She could scarcely believe what had just happened. Selyse Baratheon surrounded by armed Tyrell guards. Shireen yelling for the guards to leave her mother alone, Elinor running over to try and calm her down. Septon Ollius lecturing the Most Devout on how he had warned them of the Rhllorite threat.

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

He nodded. "And if someone tries to seize the red keep?" She wouldn't put the Florents or Renly trying for a full coup attempt beyond them.

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

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

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

He'd lied to at least one of them of them. He'd changed who had converted him, and whether he had contact with Selyse. Changes that pushed the guilt more onto Westerosi Rhlorrites. Thoros of Myr had died in the Riverlands during the war, so he couldn't contradict the confession either.

Either the prisoner was trying to protect his friends from me and Renly's interrogators broke through to the truth, or Renly's been massaging the evidence.

Considering what Bill's evidence and Renly's behavior suggested, she was leaning towards the latter.

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

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

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

"He just up and left." she answered, somehow keeping her "sultry" accent-an accent Tane knew to be affected-even as the hall descended into chaos.

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

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

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

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

"I'll get a silvercloaks detachment after him as fast as possible" Tane said.

And I'll be handling the interrogation myself. Any lead was too valuable to pass up, but she wasn't going to ruin his value with torture.

"Do you have his address?"

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

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

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

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

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

"The plan you made with Davos was good." Tane said. Use her contacts in Myr to nose around Petyr, see how he reacted to the failure of the attacks. See if he seemed prepared for this happening. It would take time to pay off, the evidence was circumstantial, and there was no guarantee it would work. It was the best they had, though. Davos had been planning on doing something about the dragons as well, but there seemed little time for that. Selyse was one possibility, but the assassin could be lying or could have been coerced into a false confession. Whoever had hired him could have even tricked him into thinking it was Selyse ordering the killings.

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then someone stepped forward, right into the guards face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Listen!" their leader yelled. Imry Florent, oversized ears and all. "I need to tell Stannis of this, the Tyrells struck first, they have framed the queen. I know I can rely on your support. We need to stop Renly before this goes too far."

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

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

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

She glanced at Gryff.

I would have died.

"Arrest him!" she barked.

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

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

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

 

[Balaur]

The crack of gunshots echoed across the red keep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bloody madwoman.

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

"They're fighting. I don't know who." Margaery said, keeping her voice calm and kind. Anger would not do right now. It came out more patronizing than she would have liked.

Margaery walked over to Selyse, stepping around a chair someone had knocked over in their rush to leave the hall.

"What on earth where you thinking?" Margaery said. Selyse on her knees still matched her own height.

Selyse looked Margaery dead in the eyes. Her coif had been pulled down, her hair loose. For a moment, Margaery felt pity for her, forced to her knees and surrounded by armed men, her daughter terrified.

She crushed it. Selyse was a rival for power, had tried to have her murdered, had tried to kill her baby. She was an enemy, and clearly a dangerous one.

"I did not do this. I am innocent of these charges!" Selyse said. "I did not know this Bill, have never met him. The killer is lying, trying to damage all of us!" Her face was twisted with anger, with contempt, with disbelief.

Are her excuses that poor? Did she really think she would get away with this?

She twisted in the guards grip.

"Unhand me and you will be rewarded when Stannis returns-"

"Be quiet, woman." One of the guards snapped, giving her arm a tug. It almost wrenched Selyse down to her knees. Shireen looked like she would break down crying.

"I am your Queen!" Selyse said.

Anyone who has to say they are the king is no true king. Margaery supposed that went for queens, too.

"Not for long." One of the guards said.

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

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

"That is for whoever judges her to decide." Margaery answered. She turned her back, walked to the other end of the hall. There was little to be gained from arguing with madwomen.

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

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

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

Septon Ollius turned to her. He had attended the feast, along with a few others of the Most Devout. "I am sorry for the High Septons fate and your injuries." The lean, long bearded man seemed decrepit, but his eyes were alert and calculating.

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

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

Margaery gasped in shock, half feigned, at his frankness. Part of her didn't disagree, though.

Not all of them, of course. Septon Samwise with his orphanage. Septon Tywin-that was his inauspicious name, she had learnt-who had died saving her life in the Great Sept. Dear old Septa Nysterica of her own household.

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

"Alas, he is not one of the Most Devout." Septon Ollius said. "Septon Ollidor is the current favourite."

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

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

"What sort of things?"

"Things not fit for repeating in polite company."

She could guess. There was gossip amongst the smallfolk that he frequented whores. That had filtered up to the red keep's servants, which had filtered up to her handmaidens, which had filtered up to her.

"I see."

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that was what he was trying at.

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

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

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

"Is the keep safe?" Brienne asked, disentangling herself from the group of Silvercloaks with lit matchcords and loaded crossbows.

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

"Good. The enemies of the faith have faced the Father's swift judgement, I see." Septon Ollius said, stepping past a leading guardsman. He nodded to Renly. "I am most concerned about these recent attacks on the Faith by the faithless…"

"Who are you? The, ahem, Most Devout from Oldtown? Septon Ollius, I believe."

"Yes, indeed I am." Ollius said. He lowered his voice, dropping it down enough that Margaery could still hear it. "It would be most appreciated if I could have a word with you about the situation facing the faith."

"Of course." Renly said.

Margaery had either a very good or a very bad feeling about where her husband getting involved with faith politics would lead.

 

[Balaur]

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

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

Grenn chuckled behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, m'lord."

Luke began to explain their mission; to move north up towards the Milkwater until they ran into wights, and try to spot any sign of what the Others were doing. If they got the opportunity, they were try using dragonglass weapons against wights to confirm once and for all if they worked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lancel felt his heart beat faster. They were going north of the wall, willingly into the teeth of the old enemy, by his own choice. After two years of patrolling, drilling and mucking stables, it seemed almost a relief.

*

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

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

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

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

Come on.

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

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

Was the punishment a blessing in disguise?

The Seven worked in mysterious ways, after all.

Outside, the ground was a blanket of snow. The top layers had melting lately, in what could be the start of a false spring, exposing some of the remains and bringing the scavengers back in force.

Crows rose in a swarm off a blackened hulk like a half sunk ship in a white sea. A mammoth and a giant, tangled together in death, burnt, half eaten.

The killing field looked different on the ground, wider, vaster. As their horses pushed through the snow, amongst frozen hands and splintered spears and the tips of tentpoles, he saw that not all the corpses were burnt. Some had simply been left to rot, crows having stripped flesh off their bones, their bones jumbled by snowfall and snowmelt. He remembered what rangers who'd ventured out to probe the ground on foot the day after the battle had said. The unburnt were mostly animals, or cripples missing limbs.

Those least valuable as fighters.

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

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

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

They were alone in a dead world.

*

"There's little out there. No bodies, no living animals. I found a wildling village that was all burnt down, but again, no bodies." Bedwyck said, as the patrol fell back in with the main column, already making camp.

The Others had nearly two years to scour the North of life. They had been thorough.

"Get some sleep. Seven knows we're going to have to be sharp when we hit the Milkwater." Luke said, slapping him on the back.

"You're on sentry duty at the hour of the wolf, lion. Best get rested up too." Luke added, turning to Lancel.

It had been three days since they left Castle Black. Three days of slogging through empty forests and driving snow, three days of seeing only the smallest of dead animals-squirrels, sparrows, rabbits-and nothing else living or dead.

Two days since they'd found another smashed wildling camp, half a dozen charred bodies and a finely made dragonglass dagger, worked to have the same hilt shape as a steel one, lying amongst the carnage. Arrows where stuck into the nearby trees, one with bits of rotting flesh stuck into it. It must have punched clean through a wight.

Those wildlings must have lasted longer than the others.

Lancel shivered under his cloak, peering through the trees. The enemy was out there, watching, waiting. He was sure of it. He could feel in his gut. High above them, a crow cawed. He looked up and saw it, a wedge of black against the blue and pink dusk sky, flying unsteadily on ragged wings.

"Reckon they can turn crows into wights?" Grenn asked, pointing at the bird.

"Well, why do think the Lord Commander's tower burnt down?" Pyp said.

"It's probably sick or starving. Poor thing doesn't have long to go. That's why it's such a mess." Tim Stone said. He'd worked in his fathers ravenry, for a time. He'd refused to get dragged back into ravenry, much preferring ranging, but he still knew his birds.

"Best hope that." Lancel said.

On the fourth day, they hit Craster's Keep. Lancel had heard terrible things about it, that it was a place of incest and child-rape, of demon worship and polygyny. The mutineers, too, had done worse, murdering their own lord commander and anyone else who resisted and taking it for themselves. Luke wanted to know what had become of them, or of the Others that Craster had consorted with.

Luke had ordered them to approach in open order and they did, arrows nocked, three or four yards between each man, taking cover where they could, running forwards in bounds. When he'd made the final rush, over three dozen yards of open ground, he'd feared that he'd take a crossbow bolt to the face from mutineers turned cannibal or that a wight would leap out at him.

Instead, as he pushed open the door and stormed into the hall, falchion drawn, there was nothing. Not even burnt wights and loosed arrows, like at the wildling camp; it just looked like they'd just up and left.

"They fled." Lancel said, after he called down that the rafters were free of enemies.

"Or they got themselves killed without a fight then got up and walked off. Serves the bastards right." Tim Stone called back.

"Hey, the wives would have all been killed. They didn't deserve to go like that…" Pyp said, to no one in particular.

Lancel clambered down, his heartbeat slowing back to its normal pace. "Just be glad that we didn't have to fight today."

"The longer we go without running into wights, the longer we go without having to return to the wall. Which means that it'll be further to march, being chased the whole way. I, for one, hope we run into them sooner than later." Tim answered.

*

On the fifth day, they hit the Milkwater's southern branch, the thornwater. Already frozen half solid, with bergs grinding against each other, it was obvious that a crossing was going to be difficult. Even when the ice became solid, it seemed suspiciously thin. There was a long strip of treeless land, a hundred yards wide, along either side. A poor man's floodplain. It was heavily overcast, as gloomy as early dawn, and he feared it might snow at any moment.

Luke had shrugged off any concern. "We'd best scout along for the fords. I don't trust that ice. There's one that should be about five miles up from here. Keep your eyes peeled and on the treeline. If they come, they'll come from up there, try and get us pinned against the milkwater."

"And if they attack from up there?" Hargrey asked. He was a Bolton volunteer, a hard old man who'd said he wanted to die doing something better than guarding some highborn's castle.

"We retreat. Slip out from between hammer and anvil."

Tim nodded, and Luke waved his torch. Every fourth man should have a lit torch at all times, it was agreed. "All right, let's move!"

Lancel nudged his garron up to the walk, his hand going back to feel the longbow and quiver strapped reassuringly to his saddle and the falchion and two daggers-one steel, one obsidian-through his belt. The river curved up ahead, a gentle bend like an undrawn longbow, and they fell in along it, Tim leading a detachment through the trees, his men just in view.

That same half dead crow was in the sky again, and as it come down low over them-

For the briefest of moments, it's eyes glinted blue like saphires, like the glowing dots he'd seen in the darkness when the wildlings had been put to the sword, catching the dusk light at just the right angle.

"That crow's a wight, it's a bloody wight!" Lancel called, fumbling for his longbow. "It's got blue eyes! They're watching us!"

Up at the front of the column, he heard swearing, someone hefting a crossbow and yelling for a lit torch. An arrow went flying, then another. One hit it mid-body and it wobbled in flight without falling. He got another glimpse of the glowing eyes. "Light your arrows to knock it down!" Luke called. "Wheel off, we're moving into the trees, if Lancel's right it can't see us from in there-"

"WIGHTS!" someone bellowed from the trees, then "What the fuck was that!" and Luke bellowing "Bows strung! Torches lit!" as the pickets came galloping back out of the forest, two of their horses riderless.

Tim Stone had gotten his wish.

 

[Balaur]

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

Signed His Grace King Stannis Baratheon-"

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

He missed having Guncer around to throw that sort of thing to. The Master of Coin had been annoyingly pious, but he was useful enough. He remembered faintly that Tane had once mentioned someone called a secretary. Like a scribe, but more useful. Or a maester, but less annoying.

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

Stannis had abandoned his brother to die, had nearly abandoned him. Stannis had watched him starve as a child at the siege of Storm's End, had complained endlessly about being given the traditional seat of the heir to the throne. He had done everything he could to take Loras from him out of nothing more than spite.

And Selyse was a dangerous fanatic. Even before the murders her name whipped the smallfolk into a frenzy. Despite Shireen being a diseased girl, she still wanted her as the heir over Renly himself or his child. That was unacceptable.

Selyse first. Then the rebels and monsters. And only then worry about Stannis. If he's even alive after the wars to come.

He shook his head. War might come, but it might not. The Others had no way to get past the wall as long as it was defended; they were a ghost threat. The dragons were small and weak. Tane's gunners would rip through their hide. Euron was a nuisance at worst, and there was no evidence he intended to make war.
*


"Off! With! Her! Head! Off! With! Her! Head!" the crowd chanted, over and over as they gathered before the Great Sept. There were hundreds of them, at least, with Septons leading them and a dozen mounted goldcloaks watching at a safe distance. His own entourage trotted forwards, armed escort staying in tight. He doubted the mob would finish Selyse's job for her, but it never hurt to be safe with extra guards.

"The Sevens blood in the great sept, her blood on the chopping block!" someone called.

Margaery raised her scarred arm, still splinted. Maester Nymos said that it was unsafe to put too much stress on the sutured tendons, that they might burst otherwise and would need months to heal and that even then, it was unclear if her arm would heal well enough to be functional.

"I want justice for this as much as you do! I was there! I saw his holiness die! I nearly died with my own unborn babe!"

"Then why doesn't you give us justice!" a fishwife with a babe under her arm called.

"I would, good folk, but King Stannis has forbidden me to try her, and I am nothing if not a loyal man!" Renly called back. There were yells and jeers. "Coward!" "Bloody faithless king!"

"We have much evidence, but no proof. It requires much to convict a queen. That is King Stannis's proclamation. He would have us wait until he returns." Margaery added.

"That didn't help Queen Cersei" the same fishwife yelled.

"Then he should hurry up and return! Justice shall not wait!" A burly, black haired lad yelled.
Someone called out "you should be bloody king!" but was yanked back by his wife.

Seven willing, you'll get your wish sooner rather than later.

"I am here to pray for Stannis's swift return, so that the Father's judgement may be brought upon those that tried to butcher my wife and stained the halls of the Great Sept with blood!" he added. He trotted to the Great Sept, dismounted and virtually swung Margaery down from horseback, then linked arms with her as he strode across to the Great Sept. His leg screamed with the pressure, but he didn't let it cross his face. To them, he was the Demon of the Trident come again.

"The Seven's blessings upon you, Lord Renly" Septon Ollius said as he strode into the great sept of Baelor, Margaery at his side. In the few days Renly had been working with him, he had already proven himself most useful.

"And may their blessings be upon you too. And of course the new High Septon." Renly answered, raising his voice over the chanting outside.

Hopefully more blessings than the last one had. Dying of an axe to the head in the middle of the Great Sept was an… unprecedented way to go.

Margaery slipped away from his side, going to the private prayer rooms of the Mother. He did the same, heading to the rooms of the Father. Ollius followed.

"Septon Luceon is short only a few votes of being High Septon, after Ollidor's… indiscretions were exposed." Ollius finally said, once they were both safely down the tunnel.

"May be the worthy man be crowned." Renly said with a shrug. "As long as he does what is needed to protect the faith. As you are doing admirably." For once in his life, he actually felt like he could kiss Margaery after she'd introduced him to Ollius. She thought him a fanatic who needed to be brought into line, but Renly saw a tool, and a very useful one at that.

"Of course. Not all of my fellow Septons are as… devoted as they should be, but all agree with us that Selyse Baratheon must face trial, and soon. However, the Most Devout wish to have this trial held by Stannis Baratheon. The people of the city are in agreement with you as to what should be done." Ollius added.

"Oh, trust me, I know." Renly said. Good job on that, by-the-by. The more severe the pressure, the simpler it will be deflect any accusations of disloyalty from Stannis.

"You know, I have a thought. Stannis has expressly forbidden you to judge Selyse, yes?"

"Yes."

"I believe there is a way around that. A, well, not a trial but an inquiry, would calm the smallfolk while we wait for Stannis to return."

"Show that something is being done, and make the confessions known to all doubters." Renly added.

Bill the assassin was, of course, still alive and well, and they had the confessions signed. Guncer had gone north, to give Stannis an eyewitness account of the attack; it would come down to Renly's word that the assassin had claimed to be a Rhllorite.

"I am reluctant to put Imry Florent to the question, being noble and all. But, of course, he was arrested trying to organize the overthrow of the Hand of the King. That might as well be a confession of guilt. Or stupidity."

"Either way, he is an enemy of the faith. I am sure you are aware that in these trying times, the faith must assert itself. Septon Luceon has many theologically suspect ideas, but his core thesis is correct."

"What is that?"

"That the faith must be strengthened, without direct contradiction with the rights of kings."

"Of course."

An inquiry nicely avoided the problem of confronting Stannis head-on, or leaving the trial to him. Let the evidence be known, let all the people know what sort of woman Selyse was in excruciating detail. Then let Stannis cause not just a miscarriage but an abortion of justice when he returned and inevitably let Selyse off. He'd be the hero of the hour, and Stannis, well…

How unfortunate.

"Spread the word amongst the faithful that I shall be addressing their concerns. Tell them the exact date. Just rumours. I want it to be a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one."

Seven days from now. Put about that it is fourteen days away, to throw anyone spying off balance. That would be enough to get Gared to put together a case, and for Septon Ollius to get the mob well and fired up. If Stannis blamed him, it was the faiths idea. If Stannis blamed the faith, it was the mob's idea.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's definitely with the Florents. He wants her out of here if it comes to drawn swords. No such chance.

"And the second?" Renly asked.

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

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

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

Renly rubbed his scar, wincing in frustration. This was moving faster than he'd expected. He needed to deal with Selyse and soon, but Stannis would have to wait.

The meeting of the court went by quickly enough. Land disputes amongst crownlanders; he resolved those quickly enough, trying to make sure both parties gained something out of the deal and would be in his gratitude. Bandits in the kingswood; two companies of silvercloaks to deal with that. He was good at it.

Born to do it.

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

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

This time, they gave the same sob story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But she must face justice!"

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

The inquiry would come as a surprise. The best gifts always did.

*

"Captain Bayder."

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

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

Tane shrugged. "I was too busy cleaning up Imry's mess that night. Listen, how much evidence do we have Sallereon was even involved? Only the Assassins word. They'll say anything to make it stop. I know he's lying to one of us. His confession to me didn't line up with his confession to you."

"He could be lying to cover his tracks."

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

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

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

"But what if he doesn't talk?"

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

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

"Which is why we do this properly and carefully. Not by dislocating his bloody shoulders. As I said, I've handled interrogations before."

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

"How do you know he'd tell the truth to your gaoler? I already know he lied to one of us. Neither of the killer's accounts match up on whether he knew Selyse or attended the nightfires. He was recruited in Essos. If a Rhllorite knight suddenly vanished, you'd think Davos would know, wouldn't he? None of this adds up. Either-"

"Either what?"

Tane looked like she was about to say something unfortunate before she caught herself.
"Either he's lying to you or to me. And what he told me matches up better with the facts, so draw your own conclusions."

Renly ground his teeth.

Tane was not as reliable as he would have liked.

 

[Balaur]

Tane stood against the back of the Sept, checking over her plans for dealing with unrest with Jacelyn Bywater. She hadn't liked getting dragged out here, and had told Margaery as much.

"If you want the rumours to stop, you'll have to show them what you are." Margaery had said.

"I know. Doesn't mean we have to hold it out here where any one of them could bring a mob."

"Do you want them to think you afraid?" Margaery had asked.

That had gotten through to her, and now here they were.

They'd agreed to meet at the Lesser Sept, one of the half dozen that dotted King's Landing besides the Great Sept. Ollius and Arle had both agreed to arrive, alongside Tane and some of her troops.

She would need her aid to protect her through the childbirth, and her baby through the coming storm.

She kneeled down before the statue of the mother, older and wiser than the maiden, her clothes plainer, her face smiling with love and mercy, a child in her arms.

"Gentle mother, font of mercy, protect my child from the wars to come…"

Once she was done with the more usual prayers to the mother did she add her own little addition: That Selyse and whoever else had tried to kill her and her child be sent to the Seven Hells. This was no longer some petty rivalry over inheritances. This was war.

The Seven didn't answer. It was their followers faith that did their will, not miracles.

Ollius arrived first with a couple of other septons, disciples in the hardline faction he was building at court, in tow.

Tane strode across to meet them, tucking her gloves through her belt and doffing her ridiculous beaver-skin hat. Margaery could tell she'd worn her mail-stuffed doublet from the bulk on the arms, though she'd replaced the covering material because of the bloodstains and the gashes torn through and-

Margaery stopped herself, shivering. That won't happen again. There were a dozen each of grenadiers, goldcloaks and Tyrell men each here. Unconsciously, her good hand reached down and petted the dagger hidden inside the folds of her skirts, remembered the shock on the first assassin's face when he'd seen one of his victims charging him down with a knife. She didn't know if she'd have it in her to gut someone like Tane had, but it was better than nothing.

"Are you alright?" Elinor asked. She must have seen her tense.

Margaery nodded. "I'm fine." Her fingers twitched stiffly under the splints.

She walked over to Ollius and curtsied.

"I am grateful to see you here." she said.

"Well, of course. I consider myself a loyal friend to the faithful. Now, Septon Arle turning up, that is the real question."

Ollius and Tane said their courtesies as well, and he fell back to his group, talking amongst themselves.

Tane glanced at her. "Reckon it's the first time most of them have seen me up close."

Margaery laughed. "You did defeat a kingsguard in front of half the city."

Come to think of it, between that and the Great Sept, Tane had a habit of killing people in front of her.

Better that than Cersei going free or me being butchered.

"They know very well what my close helmet looks like." Tane said, with a flicker of a smile.

Finally, Septon Arle arrived.

There seem to be rather a lot of bearded Septons about these days Margaery thought. He had six followers in tow, three male, three female-very pious-all in simple roughspun robes.

The man was thin and unbent by age with a long greying beard and plain, roughspun robes. Uncannily like Septon Ollius. Ollius, though had devoutness combined with cunning. Arle, from what she'd seen of him, combined something vaguely resembling devoutness (though not to any particularly coherent interpretation of scripture) with utter raving lunacy.

"So, can we begin?" Tane asked, shaking Arle's hand as well. She had an inch or two on both of them, and her hair was still clipped short and messy from her surgeon getting at her wounds. She looked more like a squire boy with a bad haircut than anything else.

"Of course." Ollius said, nodding to Arle. "Would you enlighten us on your doctrines regarding Lady Bayder?"

"There are three essential points. Firstly, that the Others were sent by the Stranger, to punish us all for our sins."

Secondly, that in her mercy the maiden sent Lady Bayder to punish only the sinners, and spare the rest, and thus avert the apocalypse."

"Citation for their the Seven who are One acting against themselves? Book and verse. They are seven bodies with one soul, seven aspects of one god. Not some bickering pagan pantheon." Ollius said.

"This was revealed to me in a dream."

It wasn't hard to tell that Ollius had been a Maester before finding the faith. Arle had been… she wasn't sure, but he wasn't well respected by the Septons.

"You are saying she is a saviour sent by the Seven. I, however, believe she is like the Others. Both sent to test our faith and purge us of evildoers, both aspects of the Stranger." Ollius continued.

It wouldn't do for a girl of her age, even the wife of the hand of the king, to be seen being rude to Septons, so she let them continue. She was just here as a facilitator anyway. This was Tane and Arle's business.

"Now, my third point. The intervention of the maiden and Lady Bayder is all that will prevent our death at the hands of the stranger. Without her, we will all die, as the First Men would have without the Father's intervention to preserve Westeros for His future children."

Finally, Tane stepped up. "Firstly, I'm not a lady. I'm the bastard daughter of a nobleman and don't have any titles. I do have the position of Captain-General of the Royal Guard. Ma'am or General would be preferred. Or Sir. Secondly, why do you think I was sent by the maiden?"

"She sent you in her mercy to protect the seven kingdoms, lacking both the base lusts of man and the weakness of women."

Tane looked like she was trying not to burst out laughing.

"I'd dispute either of those. I know a fair few women who could kill either of you in a heartbeat. As to base lusts, a gentleman doesn't ask and a gentlewoman doesn't tell."

"Surely you must be testing our faith-" one of the acolytes said.

"She is an aspect of the Stranger." Ollius said. "Neither man nor woman."

"I'm a bloody woman." Tane said.

"But you-" another of Arle's acolytes began.

"Yeah, I know." Tane said. "You have a problem with that?" She stepped closer to Arle, and the Septon backed up. The hilts of her rapier and dagger glinted in the rays of light coming down through the Warrior's skylight.

This… wasn't turning into the productive dialogue Margaery had been hoping for.

Arle raised his hand, turning to his followers. "Patience. She is testing our faith."

"I'm not testing your faith. I'm saying you know nothing about me. Yes, I was probably sent by a miracle. Yes, the divine was involved and it was probably for a reason. But I'm not some kind of bloody virgin man-woman. If I save all of you, it'll be with gunpowder and poleaxes and common bloody sense, not my fucking purity."

Oh seven above, here we go-

Olenna would draw the line at that, and she reckoned if a lady's armour was her courtesy, then one should go into battle naked and screaming like a Dothraki.

Ollius looked like he was warding himself against demons. "Are you possessed-"

"No. Now, you know what would actually help save us all from the Others and the dragons? Stop whipping the crowd up against Selyse. There were a couple of Rhllorite assasins, sure. They were recruited in Myr. Varys is from Myr, or so I hear. Petyr Baelish is in Myr with the Lannisters. Both have plenty of reason to want chaos in the realm or revenge on Stannis or whatever they want."

"But the confession! Selyse aided the killer! He was converted by Thoros of Myr, a westerosi knight."

"The assassin said he was converted in Essos by a Quellos of Myr. There's little evidence he attended the nightfires or knew Selyse. I've spoken to him myself. He'd agree with anything I put to him if I put to him if I put enough pressure on him. Meanwhile, the agents of the Lannisters are hiring sellswords and Aegon could be paving the way for an invasion, and we're wasting time fighting each other!"

"Killers lie. Apostates lie. He was trying to protect his mistress." Ollius said.

"Tortured men lie, if it makes the pain stop." Tane said. "We know he's lying, the only question is to me or Renly."

*

"What in the Seven's name were you thinking!" Margaery snapped, the moment she'd dragged Tane into a cranny of the Red Keep she knew to be free of servants. "Insulting the faithful like that, when we need calm? It's like trying to put out a fire by pouring oil on it!"

After that exchange, she'd managed to drag things back onto theology, but the conversation had been poisoned nonetheless until she'd called it a day. She doubted much productive would be gotten out of it.

"As opposed to the rioters, who are going around starting actual fires." Tane said.

"And this will make it even worse!" Margaery hissed, her fingernails digging into her good hand. Tane had handled it like a man-at-arms with too many drinks in him would, not like a member of the small council with command of the strongest force in the city should.

"I had to try and get the truth out there, before this gets even worse." Tane said. "I'm not a bloody goddess, and Selyse, as much of an idiot as she is, isn't some kind of murderous mastermind. If they managed to convince the mob that she isn't, then that might force Renly to start following the actual trail."

"You'll convince the mob of nothing if you treat Septons like that." Margaery answered. "Even if Arle is a hedge Septon, he is fully anointed. You just can't insult him-"

"He's the one spreading nonsense about me." Tane said.

"And saying that Selyse didn't do it isn't spreading nonsense? She thinks I tried to spy on her, she's spiteful at the best of times, it was a Rhllorite knight did the recruiting, she told the killer she wished someone would rid her of me, my child eliminates any chance of Shireen getting back her place in the succession. She has every means to do it!"

"Varys and Petyr would know all that. Confuses the trail. Why would Selyse of all people go to the trouble of sending an agent to the Free Cities? Davos has no record of any of Selyse's knights leaving for those parts around the right time to recruit the assassins. Why would she tell an assassin who she supposedly knew had orders to kill you to kill you in public? If she was careful enough to elude Davos about her recruiting, she wouldn't be dumb enough to do that. If that even happened and it wasn't Bill making things up to make the pain stop, it was probably her mouthing off about you to anyone who would listen, not an assassination order. And Florent? What would Garlan or Mace do, if someone arrested you on false charges? Sit there and take it? Or would they try and fight back?"

"Do you have any proof of this, besides what the killer told you?" Margaery said.

"More than what Renly has. I know Davos's evidence contradicts the confession. I know Petyr was recruiting mercenaries in Myr, and Varys has connections there and is probably a Lannister agent. I know the confession he gave me and the one he gave Renly are different, and mine fits the facts better. I know men under torture will tell their torturers whatever they want to hear to make it stop. Sometimes it's the truth, sometimes it's not, normally it's a mix with no way to tell the difference."

"How do you know that?" Margaery asked.

Tane gave her a rather pointed look. "Field experience."

"Oh."

Finally, Tane sighed. "Look, I don't have any proof of this. I want the bastards who did this dead as much as you do. I reckon Imry is an idiot and Selyse a fanatic as much as you do. It's why I stopped Imry's coup rather than joining in. It's why whichever scheming bastard across the narrow sea picked them to set up. But I don't think she ordered it. If she had, we'd know for sure."

Margaery was almost shaking. Selyse ordering it made perfect sense, but, but. What Tane said, Selyse being the perfect scapegoat, her going out of her way to hide her involvement then talking to the infiltrator anyway, the Myrish connection... it was starting to make sense too. This was a time when the dead walked, when people came from other worlds, when queens cuckolded kings with their twins. One of the pretenders across the narrow sea framing Selyse would hardly be the strangest thing to have happened.

Tane was… she didn't know what Tane was. But she knew that Tane knew what she was doing, at least on the battlefield if not at court. And interrogating prisoners was soldiers work, from the stories Sace had told of bandit hunts in the Highlands and border marches. Tane had saved her life. She'd fought for Renly. She'd put down the Florent coup. She wouldn't turn on Renly without a good reason.

Does it even matter? Selyse was still an enemy who posed a threat to her babe's inheritance, even moreso now that Renly had openly moved against her. Turning on Renly could damage her own position.

Selyse would have to go sooner or later, but she couldn't afford to let the actual killers go. They'd tried to butcher her. They'd murdered the High Septon. This was bigger than the game of thrones, and smaller.

She had to at least encourage Tane to track down the real killers. "Renly is going to put Selyse on, well, not a trial, but a public inquiry. Eleven days from now. He told me to keep it quiet until closer to the date, but he'll want you as witness. You should make your case then. Present it as well as you can. Try and convince me. Try and convince the crowd."

She owed the Captain-general an open ear, if nothing else.

 

[Balaur]

Margaery Tyrell:

 

[Balaur]

Luke of Longtown's Garron stamped and whickered as he wheeled his horse back around, holding out the torch for the others to light off of. The men coming out of the forest were yelling warnings at the top of their voices as they came galloping in to form up with the main body.

He tried to make sense of the shouts, a garbled back and forth between Luke and the pickets.

"They got on top of us before we could see what was happening-"

"-fucking walkers, not wights-"

"-Tim's down, I didn't see what happened to Garrett-"

Lancel lit his torch off one that was thrust out by a Stark soldier, riding ahead of him, and peered into the trees. Someone was still screaming in there, and he could see flickers of movement, like shattered, falling glass.

"Double back! Break off!" Luke yelled. Lancel wheeled his horse and began to spur up. The others did the same. They didn't bother with anything resembling a formation, just got the horses moving as fast as they could through the snow. A drift ahead of them burst apart, rotting men with spear and axe clambering out from beneath the snow.

"Charge them down! Give them flame-" Luke began, but he was cut off as something leapt onto him, a shimmering blur of legs and fangs that tackled him straight off his horse. Someone screamed out "Spiders!" behind him. Lancel glanced left, saw the shimmering blurs charging across the open ground, as fast as a galloping warhorse.

His breath caught in his lungs in terror.

One of the things leapt up onto his horse's haunches. He twisted back, trying to knock it away with the burning brand like a maid trying to chase off a spider with a broom, but the combination of that and the monster was enough to make the horse rear back and throw him.

He hurled himself clear and rolled as he hit the ground, coming to his feet. His knightly training was lacking, but it wasn't non-existent. Two spiders came charging him down a moment, carapaces at once both dripping wet and smooth and hard as glass. He'd lost his torch; he drew his falchion, cutting one across the middle as it leapt at him. It shattered, shards of ice going flying in all directions. The second one went for his legs. He leapt back from it's first attack, dodged a second attack and tripped. Saw the clouds for a moment before he pulled himself up, just in time to see the spider go under someone's hooves and fly apart in a shower of broken glass.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to get his bearings.

It was carnage. Riderless horses, horseless riders, spiders leaping and clawing and tearing in the middle of masses of wights closing in from all directions-from the north, from the trees, from the snowbank, linking together like closing jaws on the frozen river.

Three or four riders seem to have gotten free of the trap, but as he watched pale men in polished harness-no, Others in armour of ice-came lumbering out of the forest atop gutted horses, lances whose points shimmered white in their hands, ready to run them down. Another group had stayed together, and were hacking their way through the tumult, moving along the bank towards him…

He saw someone struggling to throw off a spider on his back, turning and turning.

"Stay still! Stay still so I can get the thing!"

He didn't manage to stay still, but Lancel managed to line up a good swing anyway, cracking it almost in half.

The ranger-Pyp, he realized-staggered forwards and fell to his knees.

"Get up! Come on, we need to get out of here-"

"Come on-"

Pyp fell forwards, face first. Lancel dropped down, rolled him over. Pyp's eyes were wide and staring.

"Get up!" That wasn't Lancel, it was Hargrey, the old Bolton veteran, with five other men with him, all dismounted. "Get up!"

"Pyp! Are you awake!"

His eyes were open, but glazed. "Pyp!"

He slapped him. No response. Tried to shift him, but his neck had already gone rigid. Grenn scooped Pyp up, and slung him over his shoulders, the flaming torch in the other hand.

He's dead, the things killed him, gods be good-

The wights were advancing from every direction, already within a few dozen yards, and Hargrey's men met them with flaming arrows. They screamed and flailed as they burnt, often taking two or three more with them, but they kept coming and coming, and only three of Hargrey's men had managed to get their bows strung and supplies of flaming arrows off the horses.

"Fight through them, across the river. Bedwyck, you're on rearguard, otherwise the spiders will get us!" Hargrey yelled, gesturing at spiders that lurked in the narrowing gap between the masses of men. They began to advance, out onto the ice, moving into a line with something resembling open order; enough room to use their weapons, not so spread out they couldn't support each other. The line of wights was thinnest on the ice, not the masses boiling out of the forest and snowbanks.

The jaws have closed on us, but we can force them open.

Someone pressed a lit torch into Lancel's hand, and he took it, falling in shoulder-to-shoulder with Grenn. The big man had a torch in one hand and a dragonglass dagger in the other with Pyp's body tucked under his arm, his face gashed open.

His boots sank down into the layer of snow over the ice, thicker and deeper here than in the thin pack ice further down. The wights on the ice pressed forwards, and it took everything Lancel had to keep retreating towards them rather than piss himself and freeze up. They lumbered forwards, gasping, eyes glowing blue, closer and closer, silently, spiders scuttling around their legs, looking for vulnerable prey.

Then the wights were on them, and there was no more time for thought.

The first of the wights to come at Lancel had its clumsy blow parried and a flaming torch shoved into its guts. It staggered forwards, screaming as its guts caught fire, it's hands flailing for his torch. They clamped on, tugged back; he chopped at its arm, ripping straight through the elbow joint, but the forearm kept clinging to his torch even as the owner burnt, setting another wight that tried to claw over it aflame. Grenn and the man to his right, a veteran watchman called Harwyn kept slashing and burning, trying to cut free, and Lancel did the same. Hargrey was bellowing for them to keep pushing forwards, to close off a gap, off on his right, but there was no time to look, and no reserves…

The dull fear that had been with him since they'd left the wall had been replaced with razor edged terror, leaving him fighting like a rat trying to fight it's way out of the corner it had forced into.

A burning wight bulled straight into Grenn, screaming in pain as flaming hands tore at his throat. He somehow stayed on his feet, stabbing the dragonglass dagger into it. The wight tumbled down, limp, it's animating force gone. Grenn's throat was running red and black, and Lancel was about to yell for him to get back behind him when a spear punched into his face, laying him out flat. Lancel moved to cover him, but a blow from another burning hand caught Lancel across the shoulder. His mail and furs meant he barely felt it, and he parried the follow-up blow with his falchion. He jabbed it under the chin with the torch to make the bastard burn faster, then took a step backwards to get room and to the side to cover the gap Grenn had made, only to realize that a couple of wights were over Pyp and Grenn, hacking at them with axes as Grenn flailed and tried to protect himself. He realized there was no more wights directly to his front; he could sprint straight across the river, but it would abandoning the rest of them who still hadn't fought free from the mob.

Before he could do anything, something hit from behind, deflected by his mail. He turned and there were more wights on him, coming from the direction of the forest-Oh Seven, they're on us from both sides- and he was again fighting for his own life two or three at a time, now backing away across the river. His arms were numb from the effort, not helped by a blow that slid off his mail but deadened his arm. He realized with a start he could see Grenn's body 10 feet away at least, at least two wights between him and the attackers, and that Hargrey and Bedwyck had fallen in on his flanks.

"We've got a clear run to the forest! On my mark, break for thirty yards, then rally on me!" Hargrey yelled.

Grenn's-

He's dead. Nothing you can do.

"Break!" Hargrey screamed, and they did. It took just as much effort to turn his back to the undead as it did to face them, but Lancel did it anyway, racing through the snow as fast as he could, kicking up a spray of mist. There were only four of them left, himself counted; two, as he saw a Stark man taken down by a spider and Bedwyck impaled by a thrown spear of ice. Lancel slipped and went down face first into the snow, managed to get up again. He rolled over, and saw a spider leap at him. There was no time to swing; he just managed to raise his falchion, stopping the fangs an inch from his face. He screamed in terror as he tried to push it back, the thing pushing back with unnatural force, nearly driving the fangs through his eyes-

It melted, soaking cold water running down through his furs, as Hargrey stood over him, dragonglass dagger in hand. "Get up and run!"

As he stood up, the ground twisted under him, and panic lanced through him.

Ice, ice, it's the ice breaking-

He had enough presence of mind to leap clear, screaming out a warning to Hargrey. The wiry old man was coming straight after him, limping, the wights in close pursuit, ploughing through the snow without a care-

One wight went through the ice, and then another, thrashing, struggling for grip, only widening the gap. It was all along the line of them, a gaping maw in the already thin ice cracked open by the weight of first stamping feet and then the mass of wights. They surged to go around, but that just made a whole section of the ice tilt, throwing dozens of them down into the gap. He thought he saw Grenn's mutilated face amongst them.

Then he tore his gaze away from the carnage behind him, and plunged into the forest ahead.

 

[Balaur]

Mother above, Brienne hits hard. And fast Tane thought as she slipped back from a cut to the leg. Brienne turned her own cut to her head aside with her shield, and Tane retreated, keeping her waster out in a near straight-line guard to dissuade pursuit.

They circled around, Tane keeping Brienne close enough that she'd have time to react before a blow came in while still being close enough to exploit any openings. She took a subjection, placing her blade over Brienne's and taking it off-line, tried to wrench Brienne's blade offline with a flick of her arm, and came in for the thrust, only to have Brienne deflect the thrust with her shield and swing her own blade into her helmet hard enough to make her vision jar.

"Walked right into that. Should have cut at the wrist or the head." Tane set down her waster and pulled her training helmet off, then started unbuttoning her padded doublet. She'd have at least a few bruises, though Brienne had the good sense to pull most of her hits. She easily hit harder than most men.

"How's the lancer squadron going?" Tane asked. She handled paperwork and overseeing large drills often enough, but she needed to do better at staying in touch with her company and battalion officers. Brienne was an adjundant and lieutenant in the demi-lancers, being readied for a senior command if she was up to it. She was literate, unlike most of the common-born soldiers, and was already blooded unlike the relatively few highborn officers she had. Besides, senior officers tended to patronize officers who reminded them of themselves, and Tane wanted more women in the Silvercloaks in the long run.

"Very well. The last time they drilled, we actually managed to wheel at the gallop without anything going wrong."

"Good work."

That was a tricky maneuver at the best of times.

"There is… one problem."

"What is it?" Tane asked.

"I'm not sure if I can lead in combat. I mean, I know I'm trained better in arms than any of them, but I don't know if I'll…"

"You know how to keep your head in combat. You took on five knights and won. You can lead men in garrison and training, and do it well. You've done an excellent job with the paperwork as well."

"Look, I've spoken to your NCOs and subalterns. "Better boss than most of the bloody lordlings I've had to put up with up, if you'll excuse my language, m'lady." Besides that, if you're worried without outright panicking, that's good. Keeps you sharp and careful and stops you getting everyone killed. As long as the men don't know. If they do, they'll think you're going to get them all killed, and they'll do something rash that gets everyone killed."

Brienne looked doubtful at the validity of that piece of advice.

"Got the man you missed, lady." A soldier's voice called out behind her. Tane started and turned to face half a dozen goldcloak men, alongside some of Renly's household guard. They were dragging a muscular, portly man between them, his hands already clapped in iron.

Salloreon. That blacksmith Renly had ordered her to arrest.

"Ma'am. We were going to carry out the snatch tonight, actually." Tane said. That was true enough, though she had every intent of handling interrogation herself.

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

Poor son of a bitch. Renly was going to torture him until he was a blubbering wreck unable to give any useful information but what his torturers told him.

She needed to see Davos, now.
*

"So what now?" Tane asked, the second she and Davos were in the Godswood and she'd explained the situation.

"Well, I've interviewed everyone reliable I could find at the night fires, including my own agents who have no motive to protect the queen. The assassin was never seen at the nightfires and was never so such as in the same room as the queen. You already know that. But there's no evidence of any of Selyse's men leaving Westeros at the right time to be the "Red Knight." either. I have agents who keep track of everyone highborn or suspicious coming and going overseas. That part of the confession was a lie, or at least our assassin and recruiter are both very subtle men."

Bloody hell. It was all but unambiguous now. The confession had been consistently twisted against Selyse, and parts of it were fabricated. Renly could be foolish and reckless, but she'd known him long enough to know that he was good at court games. Very good.

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

Davos rubbed the bag of bones around his neck. "We'll have to try and convince the court and the mob to calm themselves, and listen to our evidence. Renly too, though I doubt he will listen to reason. He and Margaery have enough reasons to want the Queen out of the way."

Tane snorted. "Good luck with that. Margaery might be more amenable. Best you can do is try and get Stannis to return, quick as possible. Hope he can deal with whatever mess this Inquiry creates. At least we've got nine days to prepare."

"I have already sent a raven to Lord Stannis Baratheon suggesting that he write a missive banning all action related to Selyse until he returns." Davos said.

"Excellent." Margaery would be angered if she worked out how Stannis had found out, but other than that, it would prevent anything too drastic from happening, and if confronted, she could just say that Davos had his own sources it had leaked through.

"How did you find out about that anyway?" Davos asked.

Tane shrugged. "I protect my sources."

Davos half-smiled. "You'd do well as a smuggler."

"I know I did well enough fighting them, back home. How did the king react?"

Stannis would put a stop to the present madness, though she suspected he'd promptly start planning brothel bans or the ritual sacrifice of small children or whatever the hell it was made the bastard actually smile as soon as he had the situation under control. A bit of an out of the frying pan, into the fire situation.

"He hasn't responded to the last ravens I sent, but His Grace is coming." Davos said. "The only question is how soon."

*

She was at the point she was using bloody paperwork to clear her head. Sixscore gold dragons for gunpowder to that company, two dozen new jacks of plate to this company, contracts for horseflesh for the demi-lancer squadron, signing the commission for a new ensign for 2nd Company 3rd Battalion… she'd insisted on having proper accountability for the silvercloaks, and now she was paying the price.

It still didn't make her head hurt as much as the fucking mess that was the dead High Septon. Two different batshit priests, Renly's incompetent shipwreck of an investigation-that is, if it wasn't bloody treason, whatever Margaery was doing, and then Littlefinger or Varys or Euron or whoever the fuck had ordered it probably getting ready to follow up on the opening. Taena had contacts in Myr, but they would take too fucking long to pay off, and she had no idea how much pull someone who'd never set foot on that side of the narrow sea in years actually had. At least her and Davos should be able to pool their resources…

Three knocks came on the door, and Tane stood up, her hand slipping inside the pocket of her breeches and settling on her knife. She checked through the keyhole, and was greeted with a faceful of what it took her a moment to recognize as one of Taena's nicer bodices.

Oh. Well then. She'd been expecting her.

Tane threw the bolt on the door and tugged it open.

Taena stood in front of her, wrapped up in a black fur cloak and her olive skin flushed red from the cold outside. The morning sun shone behind her, leaving her with a halo of light against her black hair, not even covered with a coif.

"Think of a demon and they'll come."

"It was rather cold in the seven hells, so I decided to come somewhere warmer." Taena said, slipping past her into Tane's rooms. She slipped her cloak off and gathered it in her hands, then nonchalantly tossed it aside.

Tane recognized the motion instantly, drilled into her well enough she could do even with a swordsman bearing down on her. A cape wasn't the most effective off-hand weapon, but it was better than nothing, and tossing it over someone's sword an effective way to create an opening. She wondered if Taena had learnt it from a fencer, or if the movement had been taught by some school of courtesy first then turned to fighting. Perhaps one in my world, and another in this one.

"Writing again?" Taena asked, glancing at the chaos of Tane's desk.

"Nothing better to do." Tane said, closing the door behind her. The sudden inrush of cold morning air when she'd wearing only shirtsleeves had made her break out in goosebumps.

"Just so." Taena said, smoothing her skirts as she sat down on the bed. "How has the investigation being going?"

"Bloody wonderfully. Every witness he found confirms what the source in Renly's guard said. No visits to the nightfires, no contact with the Queen. The confession isn't worth the paper it's written on. And now Renly's sent the bloody goldcloaks to go grab that blacksmith, so I'll have no idea if any intelligence from him is true or just shit he made up. Poor bastard's going to get tortured too. Mary fucking Isis-"

She caught herself, stopped. Forced herself to breathe. She realized that she wanted to hit something.

"Anything on what Petyr's been doing?" Half her brain was yelling you have a beautiful and very willing woman who's clothes are halfway to falling off in front of you and you're worrying about bloody politics, and the other half was telling her to grab her pole-axe, break into Renly's chambers and make him explain himself, but she forced herself to focus. Any information she could get was vital.

"He is working closely with a certain Magister Nelyn. A very powerful man in Myr. He was a sorcerer of some disrepute, when I lived in the city. He has connections to every mystery cult and band of fanatics out there… which would include our Rhllorites."

"I'd say he wants to take the united out of this being a united kingdom, but then he'd know that would just get him slaughtered by Aegon."

"You are the soldier and know more of these things, but perhaps he wanted both to destroy each other?"

"Perhaps." Tane said.

"The courtiers were already gathering when I came in. Renly has put about that he is making an important announcement."

"He'll be announcing an inquiry of some sort. Not a trial though. Nine days time. He's been keeping it quiet outside his household. Nothing urgent." Tane said. No point trying to hide that; as long as she covered her sources.

"Who told you that? I do not think Renly is like to tell you his secrets this late." Taena said.

"A little bird." Tane said, immediately regretting it. She didn't particularly like comprising sources. It was the sort of habit that came in handy whether hunting down partisans in the Genian deep south or dealing with court intrigue.

"One of his servants perhaps? A spy? Or someone highborn?"

Her fingers brushed over Tane's arm, over wiry muscle and a rapier scar taken in another world.

"You seduced one of Cersei's servants"-she paused to make a faux-scandalized gasp-"Could you have seduced one of Renly's?"

Tane laughed it off. "A lady doesn't ask and an officer very definitely does not tell. And I had no idea that maid was one of Cersei's when I slept with her."

"Well, I cannot complain if you are discreet." Taena said, flopping back onto the bed. Her black hair and red skirts spread around her like spilt wine around a dropped glass, and kirtle slid back enough for Tane to get a good look at her hose, pale white Myrish lace leaving her dark skin half exposed.

it took all of Tane's self control not to pin her down and fuck her like her life depended on it.

Instead, she checked her pocket watch. Nearly noon. That was when Renly would be holding court.

-Oh.

"We have to go." Tane said, annoyance tinging into her voice. "Can't miss anything about what he's doing to Selyse."

Taena looked rather disappointed, as she began to pull herself up.

"Afterwards." Tane added.

She buckled her sword belt on and swept her cloak over her shoulder, then put on her beaver skin hat.

"You look most dashing. Like a bravos." Taena said.

Snow crunched under her feet as they set out through the cold.

"How has Russell been doing?" Tane asked.

"Oh, very well. He has started training with steel swords and taken to it very well, last I heard."

"A good master at arms, or talented? Or both?" Tane asked.

"I would like to think both."

Tane laughed. "Aye, talent or training will do well enough, but anyone who wants to be a great fighter needs both. Have you thought of taking him to King's Landing?"

"I have considered it, but Orton reckons it too dangerous. With the riots, and the risk of invasion." Taena was rather fond of her son, even if she'd only married Orton Merryweather for the money and to get out of Myr. Despite Taena being, well, Taena, the feeling was mutual. Orton seemed solely interested in men. Coming to an accommodation with his wife had been rather easy; Taena only had to be discreet in any involvement with women and very discreet with men.

"I'm with the small council." Tane said. She leaned across and whispered in Taena's ear. "When this is done, I want you waiting back at my rooms." She tried to use her command voice. Taena was rather fond of that voice.

"Of course, my love."

Tane felt a flicker of annoyance at that. They'd been fucking on and off for well over a year now and seeing each other regularly for longer, but something about Taena was prone to coming off as insincere, prone to flattery, constantly probing for information. Tane didn't care most of the time, even liked it, but occasionally it rankled.

This place is making me too bloody paranoid.

The throne room was packed, even moreso than usual. The common petioners and curious servants at the back shuffled aside as they realized who she was, letting Tane slip through to the front of the hall. There was a space cleared just in front of the Iron Throne where Renly sat, sitting atop the monstrous hulk of twisted metal. A pair of kingsguard knights guarded the throne, backed by dozens of goldcloaks. Margaery and the rest of the small council ringed the throne as well. Tane slid in amongst them.

"… The Hand of the King will now ask all petioners to come forth!" the herald called.

More of the usual. Nothing that she hadn't seen before. Riot victims asking for recompense, various property and land disputes that needed resolving, and Septon's Ollius's followers asking for Renly to grant them justice.

Well, that was a waste of time.

Worth a try, at least.

Her eyes were beginning to glaze over when she heard Renly call out.

"I have a most important announcement to make. It is quite clear that the good people of King's Landing want action, not more platitudes. As much as I would like to hold Selyse's trial right this instant and give us all the justice we crave, I am unable due to His Grace the King's proclamation. However, although I am forbidden to hold a trial, nothing prevents me from holding an inquiry laying out all the facts of the case as they are known. Therefore, two days from now at noon, I shall allow all witnesses to these events speak for and against the queen, to make the situation clear until Stannis returns and resolves this once and for all."

Two bloody days-

If there was a chair within reach, she would have kicked it.​