Smoke & Salt: A Horse Grenadier Company in Westeros

[Balaur]

"You just let them escape, father?" Loras asked Lord Mace Tyrell with venom in his voice. "After Renly risked his life trying to urge you to move swiftly, and I risked mine harrying and delaying the Targaryen pursuit?"

Mace shrugged.

"They are trapped in the Stormlands, now. I already have messengers moving up the Mander to find Stannis and inform him we shall deal with clearing the passes and that he should head through the Kingswood. We have the lion caged now, and there is no need to jump into the cage with it."

"My sister is in Storm's End! Your daughter and granddaughter! When the enemy realizes their situation, they may be desperate enough to accept the losses involved in storming the castle!"

"You retreated from Bitterbridge to let them pass." Mace said.

"We slowed them down and drew them south to buy you time to cross back over the Bitterbridge and trap them between your army and the Hightowers at Cider Hall, and yet you delayed!" Loras shouted. "We could have trapped and smashed them and won the war at a blow!"

"Now, now. You should not speak to your father that harshly. We've all seen Storm's End. They could force the walls but there is no way to take the keep. It is on solid rock, it cannot be undermined. It is too high to get onto the roof with ladders and grapnels. Even if they somehow get a foothold inside, they would have to fight their way through floor by floor. No, Margaery Tyrell is quite safe so long as they are not secure enough to settle in to starve the place out, which would take years. And of course there is the smugglers cove. If defeat seems inevitable, she can always flee for Essos."

Mace Tyrell was right, if Stannis was correct about the dragons being out of the picture. But if he wasn't…

"Dragons." Renly said. "There's only one dragon dead and two unaccounted for. If anything can seize Storm's End it is a dragon. Loras, you said your outriders saw a dragon, didn't they?"

"Yes." Loras said. "Daenerys and one dragon may be dead in battle but there are two dragons and a Targaryen king who could tame them left. We must act as if they have one."

Loras did not care about the slow strategic calculations. Loras cared about bringing them to battle and smashing them once and for all. Loras cared about saving his sister, and reconciling with himself, and seeing the dishonoured King Stannis off the throne.

"If anything can ruin the fifty thousand men we have assembled, it is a dragon." Mace Tyrell said.

"We have more arquebuses than Storm's End. Better we face them in battle." Renly said.

"Only a few hundred." Mace said. "Now, you two are young and brave and foolish. You want to win a battle. I want to win a war."

"I want to win this war by defending my seat from the threat of a dragon." Renly said. "If Highgarden were threatened, and your wife and daughter there, would you not advance to defend it?"

Mace sighed. "You are… right. If they have a dragon, then no-one knows how long Storm's End may hold for. I have already resolved to fight our way through the mountains. But I suppose we must do it swiftly, and break through with all haste. I do like the sound of Mace Tyrell, dragonslayer."

Renly rubbed his scar. Mace veered from overcautious to reckless with no in-between, but Renly couldn't fault him for it. He was much the same, or had been.

*

The initial advance was through the mountain path north of Summerhall, the most direct route to Storm's End and the one the Targaryen force had taken.

The Targaryens had not left their path empty.

The enemy, Dornishmen double-armed with broad headed spears and fletched war darts and backed by Essosi archers and crossbowmen, picked their site well.

The vanguard of the army was snaking along a mountain road with rough, rocky ground and sparse trees on the rising slope to their south, and dense forest on the falling slope to their south.

Renly was at the head of the main body when a warhorn screamed and the scree up ahead exploding into motion. Men leapt up, armour and shields flashing as they cast off their cloaks, and with he saw boulders heaved loose with a shout and beginning to roll downhill. They'd moved most of their cavalry to the main body and rearguard since infantry would be more apt to respond to a sudden attack in the mountains, but even so it was no good. As he watched the archers fumbled to string and ready their longbows and the spears and pikes turned and braced to receive a charge, but it never came, just the rolling rocks smashing into them, pulping limbs and sending men flying from the impact. Some men leapt out of the way; he saw one man dodge a boulder, slam into his comrade and send both tumbling down into the valley.

Then the darts and arrows began to fly, hissing down thick and fierce. The vanguard was massed in march column, trying to form a shieldwall against the attack or shooting arrows back uphill, but their attackers were spread out and skirmishing, peeking out from behind the cover of boulders to make their shots or running forwards to cast darts before retreating.

Renly turned to his men, shouting. "Get men up onto the scree and flank them! Drive them back!"

He dismounted, drawing a bastard sword sheathed on his saddle he had brought in case he had to fight dismounted again like at Cider Hall.

"Follow me! Up! Up! Flank them!"

Some of the footmen began to break off from the column and scramble up the slope, Renly coming with them.

It was hard work. Rocks scrambled loose beneath his feet, and the men above him, with long triangular shields or pavises and spears, had it even worse with no hands free. By the time they'd gotten to the same height as the Dornishmen, he was panting with effort. Then they had to advance along the slope and into their flank. Every step felt like the ground would come out from under him and he would fall. He tried to ignore it, kept advancing, but it was too slow, barely a walk.

Their archers began to shoot into the ambushers up ahead, and they began to fall back, loosing arrows back, darting from cover to cover.

"Come on! Bring them to grips!" Renly shouted.

A dart came flying at him and he cut it out of the air, sending it spinning off down the slope. The Dornishman who'd flung it gripped his broad-bladed spear and charged. He was armoured only in a scale corselet and a steel skullcap; leaving his limbs unemcumbered; he scrambled forwards to the attack even as the rest of the Dornishmen were falling back.

The Dornishman's spear flashed at his face. Renly parried it and stepped in, feinting a thrust at his face then flicking a cut down at his leg when the Dornishman's shield jerked up-

The rocky ground came out from under him and he fell. He saw the grey sky and the grey rocks, felt like he was falling, heard the defeaning clangor of metal and rocks striking each other until suddenly he stopped. Yelling, the thrumming of warbows, wounded men screaming. He dropped his sword, lifted his visor, saw men scrambling downhill using their spear shafts like walking sticks. Three of them got between him and the enemy right as a couple more darts went whistling overhead, the fourth soldier crouched down over him. Renly gingerly pulled himself up to his feet.

"M'lord? Are you wounded?"

Renly shook his head. "The Dornish decided to let the mountain do the fighting for them. Cowards."

He swore under his breath.

"They're retreating."

One of his pages came clambering up.

"Tell the archers to continue trying to harass them. Keep them on the back foot. I'm heading down to look at the vanguard."

The skirmish went on all day, the longbowmen driving the enemy back under a hail of arrows but never managing to kill many. The attack on the vanguard had killed dozens and wounded hundreds; they only got the path cleared by nightfall and had to sleep under their cloaks and bedrolls.

That morning, they awoke to screams and shouts of alarm. Their enemies had crept down and cut throats during the night, killing a dozen more men.

"This is madness." Lord Randyll Tarly said, when they held their council of war, in broad daylight, on a goat path. There was no room to pitch the command pavilion.

"We killed of captured only a handful of them during that battle, and the guides we have hired claim there are even narrower and steeper paths ahead where we would be helpless against an ambush. We would be terribly exposed to a cold snap, and Grandview and Griffon's Roost command the passes ahead." Lord Randyll Tarly continued.

"We need to close with them and finish them off!" Loras shouted. "We should dispatch our lightest footed archers to move along the slopes ahead of us and on our flanks, to ferret out ambushes. An archer can shoot just fine on these slopes even if our spearmen are helpless."

"He's right." Lord Randyll Tarly said. "Just as we would use horsemen as pickets and scouts in the lowlands, so must we use footmen in the mountains. Pick marcher longbowmen for the task. They are fine shots and are more used to the slopes than the lowlanders. But that is only if we must advance. I would prefer we withdraw and find a more prudent way."

They tried that the next day. The Dornish got above their archers, and charged them downhill, flinging their darts then running in with swords and spears. The archers made a hard fight of it, shooting into them at close range and drawing swords, axes and mauls for the melee, but the Dornish forced them back and once they were on lower ground they were at a disadvantage to the Freedman archers who then had play upon them and the vanguard. Lord Tarly led more archers up onto the slopes to chase them off(on account of Renly's leg, and his sheer height and muscle, he had suggested that Renly stay on less tempermental ground), and once again again the butcher's bill was in favour of the Dornish. When they tried to resume the advance, then found boulders rolled across the road, and sharp branches tangled together into an abatis.

"We cannot keep going like this." Lord Tarly insisted.

"The obstacles are nothing that cannot be cleared. The archers are slowing their raids down." Loras insisted. "We have to break through."

"There are two castles in the way. Considering how dogged these Dornish are, I doubt those defenders will be any less determined." Lord Tarly said. "if we get heavy snows, our wagons will be trapped and we will not be able to feed the army."

"You cannot abandon Margaery!" Loras said, turning to Mace and Renly. "For all we know, they could be stuck trying to take Grandview and we can come up on their rear."

"I thought that too." Mace said. "But our guides have seen Targaryen banners over the castle. They must have taken it by surprise. Lord Grandison is old but does not seem the type to turn traitor."

"Loras is right, we must secure Storm's End and finish Aegon. But we cannot get through these mountains quickly. By the time we've fought through them we'll be exhausted, short on supplies and have lost thousands of men." Renly said.

"Then how do we get through? The other paths are too narrow to take an army and heading to the Kingsroad would take too long." Loras said.

"I'm not saying we abandon my daughter." Mace said. "I'm saying fighting our way through mountain paths and castles is foolish. We should pull out of the mountains and head through the Kingsroad."

"Not the Kingsroad." Renly said. "The southern Kingsroad. Much quicker."

"There are few paths there." Lord Randyll Tarly said.

"I've been hunting with King Robert often enough." Renly said. "He had paths big enough to take a wagon through cut deep into the woods. When he hunted he wanted to live like a wildling in the day and sleep like a king at night."

"Can we take an army through them, though?" Lord Tarly asked.

"Aye. We'll have to gather enough grain and cattle to supplement our forage and feed the army before we cross, but it can be done."

"Then that's the path we'll take." Mace Tyrell said.

There was no room to fully turn the army around, so they had to unhitch the wagons from the draught animals, lift them up by the shaft and turn them around, while the vanguard simply became the rearguard and marched out.

Mace was right. They'd lost over a hundred men and more wounded, as well as five days of marching and food. Charging into the mountains had been madness.

*

"You're hellbent on getting to Margaery, aren't you?" Renly said, once they had their pavilions pitched on open ground and something resembling privacy. "Even beyond reason. If we'd kept going in those mountains we'd be starving, exhausted and down thousands of men by the time we got through. We'd be in no position to win a battle."

"She is my family, and she is in danger. Of course it is my duty to defend her."

"Mace seems rather more rational about it." Renly said.

"He hasn't seen dragons in battle. They killed hundreds on the Kingsroad in less than a minute. They only narrowly missed killing the king. It took the fire of a whole battalion of silvercloaks to drive them off, and that didn't even kill any of them." Loras said. "But Mace has seen Storm's End, and the arquebusiers in action. He knows how fearsome both are."

"And he's… look. Willas thinks that Mace has gotten it into his head that what's best for his family is that we win the greatest glory possible, as early as possible. He sent Willas into a tournament before he was ready and got him crippled. He agreed to our plan to try and make Margaery queen."

"That was a terrible plan." Renly said with a laugh.

"That wasn't funny. We nearly pimped my maiden sister out to a whoremonger because we were young and stupid. We didn't know better, but Mace should have seen the risk and put a stop to it. He didn't, because he believed the risk was worth it to have a Tyrell be queen."

"I know he's willing to risk his family for ambition. You risked everything for ambition when you seduced me, when you joined the Kingsguard…"

"I think he wants Stannis and the Targaryens to chew each other up, so we can swoop in, clean up the mess. Make you king and himself Hand. And he thinks Margaery can hold until then. But we don't know if she can."

"He's told me as much, and he's right." Renly said. "Stannis is going to turn on us, and he is a tyrant who cannot be allowed to sit the throne. We need him weak."

"I don't care." Loras said. "I don't give a damn if Stannis Baratheon has a few more troops to his name when he comes for us, if it means my sister doesn't get burnt alive by dragonfire. We can take Stannis in the field, or have him poisoned if necessary, we can do what we must to survive and take the throne but we cannot leave Margaery to burn."

"I know" Renly said. "Why do you think I risked riding out to get Mace moving, and suggested we take the Kingswood instead of abandoning the Stormlands completely? I'm doing everything I can to get an intact force to Storm's End, my seat, and relieve it! Even if Margaery were not there every day Storm's End is under siege without me moving to relieve it is a stain on my honour."

"You did not seem eager to raise a force to defend it, considering you left for Highgarden and left Margaery to hold it."

"What do you think would have happened if I'd been burnt in the field with no silvercloaks to oppose the dragons? I had no choice because Stannis sent the Silvercloaks to Highgarden. He wanted to lure them in deep before he smashed them, so they would have little chance of escaping."

"He tried to fight them in open battle outside King's Landing last I looked."

"I never said the king was sane." Renly said.

Loras laughed. "There is that."

He stood up. "I'm going out for air."

"Would you pray with me, afterwards?"

Loras shook his head. "I need to keep my head clear. And yours. Until we've won this."

"Is this Highgarden again-"

"I'm not done with you, I still love you, we just need to focus on the war." He kissed Renly and went off into the dark.

He's right. We do need to focus.

The next morning messengers from Stannis's army came down. He was attacking down the Kingsroad towards Storm's End. They had the dragon at bay, now there was only the matter of killing the beast.

Another messenger arrived then, a man who had followed them out of the mountains and been caught by light horsemen in the rearguard. He had a letter for the eyes of Mace Tyrell and Renly Baratheon only, and they received him and opened it in the privacy of the command pavilion.

Mace read it, his face impassive, then handed it to Renly.

We still have command of two dragons. Out of his mercy the king is delaying in attacking Storm's End, but his patience cannot last forever. Turn your swords against the usurper Stannis Baratheon and Renly Baratheon shall be granted a handship, and a royal marriage for the Lady Olenna Baratheon while the great and powerful Mace Tyrell shall sit the Small Council. Stay your present course and we will have no choice but to attack Storm's End with dragonfire.

His Grace Aegon Targaryen's Master of Whispers, Varys.

 

[Balaur]

"How goes the war?" Theon Greyjoy asked as they sat down on the trestle tables in Eastwatch's hall. He'd made a point of befriending Theon, try to keep him away from the Greyjoy men. They couldn't afford conspiracies.

"They avenged King's Landing." Lancel said. "Lord Eddard told me all about it. Stannis's witch killed a dragon on the Kingsroad and Daenerys, but they had to retreat to Riverrun with the Targaryens in pursuit."

Seven Hells, King's Landing had been near as bad as Euron. The Targaryens had tried to blame Stannis's sorcery for driving the dragons mad, but Lancel reckoned they were just trying to avoid the blame for losing control of their dragons, or simply decided to punish the Westerosi for their defiance. As ruthless as Stannis and his minions where, and as potent as the magic Tane's witches commanded was, they'd never struck him as the type for rampant slaughter.

"Stannis was forced to retreat up the riverroad?"

"Aye."

"I almost hope the Targaryens win." Theon continued.

"They burnt an entire city!" Lancel snapped. "Tens of thousands dead!"

"How else do you think we can destroy the Others?" Theon asked. "Wights burn, and nothing burns like dragonfire."

"We don't need to get rid of the Others." Lancel said. "We just make sure the Wall holds, and they cannot harm the realms of men."

"Someone could still blow that magic horn of Euron." Theon said. "Then we'd have no choice but to fight them on the field. And you saw how they could climb onto the Wall. Maybe they could penetrate even further if they have time to work greater magic."

They won't. The Horn of Joramun was secure in Winterfell, with several Maesters and a lady of Hightower working to figure out how to destroy the magic binding it. Even if they could not succeed, there would be no chance for an enemy to sieze the Horn by surprise.

He didn't tell Theon that, though. Eddard had only told him in confidence, in light of what he'd seen in Bloodraven's cave.

He didn't fully trust Theon, and even if he did, he would not break a vow.

"If they could send an army past the wall, they'd have done it by now. Everything north of the wall is dead, the size of their army does not increase. Every year that passes is more of their forces rotting into uselessness."

"I suppose so." Theon said. "A dragon would still be nice. Or guns."

"Yeah, those would be good."

Lancel glanced at the Ironborn on a nearby trestle table. A few dozen of them had been inducted into the Watch, with the rest still in training or holed up on the hulks moored in harbor. They'd tried to spread them out amongst different barracks, to force them to assimilate and to stop them conspiring amongst each other, but it didn't seem to be working. Any time they had freedom of association, they picked other ironborn.

We should send them to Castle Black. Get them away from the sea.

They would, soon enough.

Lord Eddard was done with his extended stay at Eastwatch shoring up the defences from the sea(that being the most likely direction for an attempt to skirt around the wall) and was planning on returning to Winterfell soon enough, by way of Castle Black. Lancel would be leading his patrol back with them after his stay in Eastwatch. He'd been here for nearly six moons now, helping to train the Eastwatch men on how to fight against wights and to try and to try and help avert any mutiny.

Outside the hall, he heard a single horn blow. Rangers returning from patrol.

That would be the galleys, he supposed, out hunting for signs of the Others trying to use ice to get south or swim around the wall.

Through the walls of the great hall and the distance to the piers, he thought he heard the sounds of distant commotion.

Then two horn blasts sounded.

Wildlings? Had they found survivors north of the wall?

Was it three blasts for the Others, and the sequence had been interrupted and resumed?

Lancel swore under his breath and stood up.

"Theon, come with me."

He found the rest of his patrol, Red Riddick and Jon Small and Wyl, and ordered them to head to the armoury, fetch their weapons and meet him by the drill grounds. The rest of the hall was milling about in confusion, until Cotter Pyke stomped in and shouted "I don't know what the fuck is going on but it isn't good! To arms and to your posts!"

The whole of Eastwatch-By-The-Sea exploded into motion then, like a kicked ant's nest. Lancel took off at a run for the armoury. Stark, Bolton and Umber men were already assembling. They were well organized; some men were appointed to get to their positions as fast as possible with whatever weapons they had to buy time for the rest to get themselves properly armed.

Lancel got to the armoury first. He undid his belt, laced his falchion in place(he already had his daggers on), threw on a mail shirt and bascinet with aventail then did his belt back up. His men were appointed as a reserve in the defence, so he and half his patrol took up spears and shields, while the rest took longbows and crossbows. Theon put on a leather jack, coat of mail, brigandine and a helmet with a nasal he had brought from Winterfell, and a longbow, quiver, set of daggers and a sword.

Then his men filed out into the parade grounds.

"What the fuck is going on?" Wyl asked.

The defenders were taking up their posts on the maze of towers and halls, while chains were pulled across streets to slow down the attackers and spearmen were posted behind them. Lord Stark marched in, mail rustling(he had no yet had time to put on his plate harness) and Ice sheathed in his hand, Winterfell guardsmen marching in close order around him.

He turned to the assembled reserves.

"The galleys Talon and Storm Crow encountered at least a dozen war galleys and longships flying the crowseye banner of Euron Greyjoy. Storm Crow was taken after a fierce fight but Talon has escaped to warn us. Euron Crowseye was a sorcerer of the utmost cruelty, and his followers attacking the Wall would bode ill for the entire realm. We must resist this attack with everything we have."

They went on like that, standing to arms all day. Men began to sit down and lean on their spears. The galleys were sent out to warn of the Ironborn approach, and search down the coast, while still staying within sight of land so they could not be picked off unseen.

It began to grow dark, and the cooks had hot meals sent out to the men.

"Why aren't they attacking?" Theon asked.

Red Rickard grunted. "They're probably just pirates who hadn't thought to change their banners. The Stark just doesn't want to take chances."

"They could be waiting for nightfall." Wyl suggested. "Wait until it's dark and our eyes are tired of searching, then slip in close without warning."

Lord Stark, now in full plate harness, walking over to them. His bodyguard, men in harness with longaxes and greatswords alongside mailed spearmen and archers, trailed after him.

"Lancel, I need to speak with you."

Lancel nodded and was ushered out of earshot of the rest of his patrol.

"There are two possibilities as to why they have come this far north. Firstly, that they wish to make Theon Greyjoy their king, in which case they will seek to take him alive. Do not let that happen. If they look to overrun Eastwatch, run with him in tow. If they capture him, do everything you can to seize him back."

"If he sides with the Ironborn?"

Lord Stark paused for a moment.

He took Theon hostage as a boy and had him raised with his other sons.

He would not easily order someone who was almost an adopted son killed.

"Kill him. If he makes that choice then he's forced our hand."

Lancel nodded. "I killed Lannister men during the mutiny. I'll do it again if I have to."

"Good man."

"And the other possibility?"

"That the Ironborn are coming to finish what Euron started, with the Wall."

The Eastwatch gate had already been filled with rubble and boarded up, and tubs of water had been made ready to flood it and freeze the gate solid. They'd then collapse the staircase over it, burying it, and archers and scorpion crews on the Wall would remain on top of the wall as long as possible, bleeding the attackers dry until they ran out of arrows and retreated along the top of the wall to the nearest castle.

"We should flood the gate." Lancel said. "No matter how swiftly they attack, they cannot let anything through. It would take them weeks or months to chip through that much ice, enough time to rally and take back the castle."

"Aye. I've already given the order, the moment they appear. You should make sure your men get some rest."

Lancel nodded. The men on reserve began taking turns to sleep in the great hall, still under arms. It was a wan moon, the stars shining brightly. Bonfires were lit out away from the defenders lines, to illuminate attackers so they could be picked off by archers.

Iron Emmett approached, leaning on a broad-bladed hewing spear. "It's your mens turn to rest. We're waking the Bolton men up right now-"

There was a noise from the sky like a warships sails straining again a gale, and then fire came streaming down from the sky into the Tower of the Raven, and it burst open in a shower of tiles and burning ravens fluttering into the sky and falling, and then something vast slipped across the sky and made the stars flicker.

Someone screamed "Dragon!", and then there were yells from the south, men with harsh Iron Islands accents shouting "A Kraken! A Kraken!" and watchmen shouting in panic all through the defences.

They have a dragon they have a dragon where the fuck did they get a dragon-

No time for panic.

"On me!" Lancel shouted, and Lord Stark and Iron Emmett where bellowing orders to their own men. The dragon came in for a second pass, burning all along the wall, trebuchets and scorpions and men going up as kindling, and Lancel thought he saw men leaping to their deaths rather than burn. Burning debris and bodies went plummeting down to earth.

"Captain Walton!" Stark shouted. "Get men to the Wall and make sure the gate is frozen then head to the south! Lancel! Bring your men to the west! Support the defenders there! If it looks like we are to be overrun, break out with everything you have!"

"Aye M'lord!" Lancel shouted. "Wyl! Get as many horses as you can and bearpaws then lead them to us! Everyone else, on me!"

They took off at a jog, ducking between buildings and past lines of nervous defenders. The Western line was all Watchmen, a single rank of spearmen and a rank behind them of archers behind a chain strung up between a tower and a storehouse.

They doubled their ranks, letting Lancel fit his own men in to their left.

"You see anyone?" Lancel asked.

"Nothing yet."

There was the sounds of heavy fighting coming from the south, and to the east he heard the faint boom of ships hitting a pier at speed. The top of the Wall and the rookery were still burning, but he could not yet see the dragon.

The fighting continued, off in the distance. They'd sent most of the Ironborn to other castles inland, and mixed the rest in with the other watchmen so they couldn't defect as a unit. He had no idea if it would be enough.

There was no noise on their front. Wyl arrived with a dozen horses, bearpaws hanging from their saddles, and Lancel ordered him to go check on the reserves. If the Ironborn where through the outer ring then it was time to run.

Then out of the moonless night, the Ironborn came running into the bonfire light. They were a mass of men, at least thirty or forty, some with round studded shields peculiar to the Islands and others with the heavy, triangular shields and rectangle pavises used by mainland foot. Light shone off their mail and the glint of spearheads and axeblades. Their longaxes had crooked shafts so the blade would slice flesh like an arakh, and they had wrapped their hafts in iron.

"Spearmen, take knee! Archers loose at will!" Lancel shouted, dropping to a crouch. Archers were running ahead of the ironborn, loosing arrows as they swarmed in, falling off to the sides as the heavy foot came up, and Lancel's men shot back. Some of the archers fell, and the heavy foot bowed their heads and raised their shields. When they were less than ten yards out, they hurled a volley of throwing axes and javelins. An axe smashed into Lancel's shield, another bounced off his helmet, and someone behind him screamed as he was hit. Red Rickard beside him got a couple of javelins stuck through his shield, and then Lancel shouted "Up! Up!" as the ironborn began to charge.

They screamed "Theon King! Theon King!" as they attacked, and Lancel thought to order his men to restrain Theon but there was no time.

An axeman swept Lancels point aside as he thrust for his face, tried to rush him and died with Red Rickards spear through his face. Lancel thrust at a spearmen coming at him who jerked his shield up, knocking the point so it only skimmed off his helmet. That made the spearman flinch, and Lancel stabbed at him again and again, trying to keep him at a distance and behind his shield, deflecting and parrying the spear shafts that came darting back on his own shaft and with his shield. Missiles flew in all directions, the Ironborn hurling spears and axes over their front-rankers shoulders, his own archers shooting through any gaps in the line that opened, men in the tower hurling rocks down at the Ironborn.

"Stand!" Lancel screamed. "Stand!

Another thrown axe smashed into his helmet, and as snarled and as his head jerked back an ironborn came rushing in with a wicked two foot long fighting knife in his hand. Lancel stepped back, thudded into the shield of a man behind him, and he tried to withdraw his spear before the knifeman was onto him, but the man slammed into the chain shield first, his knife slashing at thin air, and Lancel drove the spear overarm into his shoulder with as much force as he could muster. The man screamed as it parted his pitch-daubed jack and drove into his flesh, and Lancel ripped it clear and impaled his unarmoured knee. He fell, caught on the chain, and Lancel stabbed him again through the back. Red Rickard had lost his spear and shield, and was grappling with an Ironborn, his left hand gripping his foes longaxe shaft while his right stabbed into anything that looked exposed with a dagger. Lancel saw the man had only a padded coif, so he impaled him through the throat and ripped his spear clear and began raining thrusts on the ironborn line as he stepped back up to the chain. The Ironborn couldn't dislodge them at spear-fencing distance, and the chain meant that a rush with short weapons could be dealt with by just stepping back and skewering them as they tried to get over the chain.

"Fuck you!" Lancel shouted. "You're just a bunch of pirates! We are the Watchers on the wall! We guard the realms of men-"

Someone behind him was screaming, and there was a shout of "The roof! Left!" and he risked a glance away from the surging line of Ironborn and up to the tiled roof of the storehouse. There were silhouettes up there, archers who'd clambered up to throw tiles and shoot arrows.

"Rickard! Out of the line! Rickard!" Lancel shouted. "Reserves up! Reserves up!"

He stepped back, narrowing his body, and a second ranker-Small Jon, he thought-stepped past him into the line.

"Look out!" someone shouted, and he raised his shield just as arrows came thudding into it. Theon raised his bow and shot at one of the figures in the windows and he fell back gurgling.

Thank the Seven, thank the seven, he's loyal.

"Rickard! Theon! Get your swords out!" Lancel shouted. "We're clearing the storehouse."

There were half a dozen wounded or dead men pulled from the line behind their little shieldwall. The spearmen were cringing back behind their shields, now, under the hail of missiles, though the tower men were shooting back at them and keeping the pressure off.

Lancel propped his spear up against the wall so the archers had a spare, drew his falchion, and took his position next to the door.

He kicked it open and his three men ran in. It was pitch black inside, but he could hear footsteps on the floor above. They crept up, saw faint light coming from a hole in the roof and an ironborn man shouting and the thrum of arrows. Four men, shooting from windows, and a lump lying on the ground. The man Theon shot.

Lancel picked his man and attacked. He moved forwards as quickly as possible, keeping his blade ahead of him, careful to not trip in the near blackness.

The silhouetted man never even saw what killed him. Lancel chopped him down through the back, slicing through his leather jerkin and biting flesh, then as he jerked forwards hamstrung him with two fast low cuts. A second archer whirled and lunged at him with an axe. Lancel stepped into the blow, catching in on his shield and severing his wrist. The man had lost his helmet, so Lancel hit him thrice across his coifed head and he fell motionless. He chopped into both their necks as hard as he could; even with mail coifs on, that should crush their windpipes or break their necks.

He thought he saw movement in the corner of his eye-the wounded man-so he turned and struck at the figure on the ground before he realized it was just a bag of flour. "Theon? Rickard? You good?"

"Yeah."

"Theon, get in the windows and keep their heads down. Rickard, look for a way up on to the roof."

He came up to the window, shouted "Friendly! Watchman!" and stuck his head out. They were being driven back, well past the chain, there was only a single rank of spearmen left, and the archers were shooting into attackers in their rear.

They got into our rear. His heart stopped. They were trapped now. He leant out and saw them; more of those accursed archers, clambering up through windows, flowing like water into any weakness in their defence. They'd be good at that, he realized, used to leaping and climbing between ships during sea fights. Most of them were in Ironborn armour, but some of them wore the black upon black of the Night's Watch. Traitors and turncoats.

They can't take Theon alive. Then there's an ironborn pretender for them to rally around.

"Rickard! Theon!" Lancel shouted. "Reform on me!"

"They're in our rear!" Lancel shouted as they came up to him. "We're going to charge them and try to fall back to the drill square!"

"How many?" Theon asked.

"A dozen or so." Lancel said, and then he came back down the stairs to the door, took his breath, and stepped out onto the street. He turned right, facing the enemy archers, bringing his shield up right as arrows thudded into it. "For the Watch! For the Watch!" Lancel shouted, turning his head back to the Watch archers. "We're fighting through to Eddard! On me!"

And then he turned and charged the archers, screaming "Follow me!" Arrows buzzed into his shield, bounced off his helmet. One stuck into the mail on his thigh. He didn't glance back to see if anyone was following him, he just charged.

The Ironborn panicked as he attacked. They stumbled back, dropping their bows and going for swords and axes. One man turned and ran as another rushed in to attack Lancel, and they clipped each others shoulders and stumbled and Lancel chopped through the face of the man facing him. He caught a second man's axe blow with a hanging parry of his falchion, let it slide down onto his shield, then chopped into his neck with a brutal downright blow. Another two archers came at him, and for a moment he was on the backfoot, turning, parrying both their blows, barely able to see their blades in the darkness. An arrow caught one in the side of the head and a Watchman tackled the second and put an axe through his face, and Lancel raised his falchion and came on at the rest screaming, and they turned and ran, right into men in full harness with helm-splitting longaxes, and tried to fight and they were butchered until Lancel came face to face with Lord Eddard Stark, his Valyrian steel running red.

He glanced back, saw the shieldwall making a fighting retreat back towards them, saw they were at the courtyard.

"My men will take over on the line." Lord Stark said. "They're breaking through on the south too, I'm going to cut around and flank them. The dragons burnt hundreds. Get your Watchmen mounted and be ready to run."

Lancel saw that they'd managed to somehow keep the horses corralled. They only had a dozen horses, a few them now dead of arrows on the path, but their were bearpaws fitted for humans tied to their saddles.

He pulled the arrow out of his thigh. It had caught in the thick coat under his mail, not in his flesh. Must be why I didn't feel it.

"We're not running-" Rickard said.

"They burned the rookery." Lancel reminded him. "We have to warn the rest of the Watch they have a dragon. And if they're coming to crown Theon, fuck them, they're not getting him."

As he watched, the shieldwall was pressed back, into the central courtyard, and the Ironborn began to spill out into their flanks only for Eddard's men to charge. The Ironborn were tired and had taken casualties. Eddard's men were fresh and eager for blood, instead of helplessly watching their men die in dragonfire. He could smoulderings corpses in mounds and lines, lying upon the courtyard lines. Flames shot up from burning barracks.

The Stark men surged around the Watch's shieldwall, slammed into the ironborn flanks, drove them back. Lancel ran up to the men as they disengaged and let the Northmen take over the fight. "Every spearman who isn't wounded, get mounted!" he yelled. "Archers, get bearpaws, Wyl tied them to the saddles." He didn't even know where Wyl was at this point. It didn't matter; he'd gotten them the horses and the reserves, if he was dead he'd died bravely.

"What about the wounded?" Someone asked.

"Leave them with the Stark men." Lancel said. "We're breaking out but his men and the rest of the Watch are going to keep fighting. Either they repel the assault and we can lead reinforcements to relieve them, or they buy us time."

He saw Theon beginning to get snowshoes. "Theon, you're with me! Get a horse!"

"Right!" Lancel shouted. "Eddard's going to punch a hole in their lines. We're riding for Last Hearth to warn the rest of the North and the men on bearpaws are heading for Greenguard to warn the Watch. Move as quickly as possible! Whatever happens here, they'll need reinforcements."

As they prepared, he saw Stark massing a wedge of his best fighters, axemen and greatswordsmen in plate and mail. Dismounted lancers and northern knights. Horns blew and orders were shouted and the line of Northern spearnen began to clear off, and Eddard raised Ice and shouted "For the North! For the living!" and his men charged forwards and smashed into the Ironborn, disordered and tired and suffering heavy losses, and put them to flight, and Lancel lead his men trotting after them, over corpses and moaning wounded.

The storehouse was burning, the men in the tower must have set fire to it to stop it being reoccupied. They came streaming past that, the heat stinging him, and out onto the fields surrounding Eastwatch. Lord Stark was shouting, getting his men turned around to the left, to circle around and began flanking the attackers further along, and Lancel shouted "On me! On me!" as their horses moved off into the night, with the top of the Wall and half the buildings of Eastwatch aflame.

Lord Starks men charged into the flanks of a mass of Ironborn trying to break through a palisade, and began to drive them in before the dragon came hurtling down out of the sky, and burned Ironborn and Northman and Watchman alike, and he wanted to gallop back into the fight, or flee, or anything but slowly walking his horse down the path so they would not break a leg, but he did it anyway, because he knew the survival of the realm depended on it.

 

[Yla]

Oh Seven, Lancel is such a badass.

 

[Balaur]

"And behold, like a lone she-wolf in her desperation drags down an elk to feed her cubs, so did the Night's King fight on alone, even with his body crushed by ice and shot through with many arrows. But he was overcome, and dragged down by Men, and bound him. And the Chief of Men said; has the horn of giants not holed the wall? Have we not in killing this lesser enemy, let a greater one through? And the child of the forest, king of Greenseers, said: Look, we shall work our sorceries upon the Wall and repair it, and the Others cannot pass. And so it was repaired. But though the blocks of ice were put back into place, the sorceries upon it had also been damaged. So they took the Night's King, and cut out his heart, and so turned the wall against the Others." Alleras read out from the Translation of Certain Tales in the Old Tongue.

They had been in Winterfell now for months as the war raged on to the south, trying to understand what the Green Men had told them, looking for confirmation or further clues in the old records of the North.

They had been reading a translation of tales recorded by a Maester who had lived amongst the wildlings for a time, and this was the record of the reign of the Night's King, a commander of the Watch who had gone rogue, sided with the Others against humanity and had to be brought down by an alliance of northern chariot-lords and the earliest wildlings, bands of escaped slaves and hunter-foragers fleeing the advance of farming civilizations. Aided by the children of the Forest, they had advanced against the Night's King. After a frightful battle, they had to resort to magic to collapse part of the wall on him, then had sacrificed the Night's King, a king of the dead, upon the wall to restore it's wards against the attack of the Others.

And that lined up almost exactly with the vision the watchman Lancel Lannister had told them of, in a letter to Winterfell.

That Greenseer he met in the cave had told the truth.

Or just read the same book as us.

"What was King of the Living Dead translated from, in the Old Tongue?" Mallora asked.

Allerras glanced at the column of text in the Old Tongue, then at the two-language dictionary that they'd found in a half forgotten corner of the Winterfell library.

"Marmagnar Yersall" Alleras said. "That translates most literally to Dead High-Lord."

"But does that mean a High-Lord who rules over the dead, or a High-Lord who is himself dead?" Mallora asked.

"A dead king can't exactly fight."

"Stannis seems to be doing fine fighting." Allerras said. "And he was very definitely dead."

"He's not half rotted and his eyes aren't blue."

"Well, he was raised by Melisandre." Mallora said. "Maybe that magic works a little differently."

Allerras rubbed his head. "Gods I'm tired."

"Just lay everything out again." Mallora said. "Everything we've found so far, all at once."

"Right." He breathed in. "The greenseer we met on the Isle of Faces claims the wall was made by the Others, as protection for their realm against the realms of mortals. They lost the war that we know as the Long Night, though, and humanity took the wall from them and consecrated it with sorcery to keep them out. The Horn of Joramun was made and enchanted sometime before this, perhaps as a weapon against the Others.

The watchman Lancel Lannister also claims to have met a Greenseer, who told him the wall was built by Brandon the Builder as a defence against the Others, consecrated with the sacrifice of an Other, and that the horn was made as a tool of last resort in case the Others seized the wall from humanity. Then the Night's King made a pact with the Others and was killed by collapsing part of the wall on him, using the Horn of Joramun."

"And the historical sources that aren't just madmen squatting in caves?"

"Well, Certain Tales in the Old Tongue claims the Wall was built after the Long Night, by both men and Others as a dividing line between the realms of fire and ice, and that Bran the Builder was the architect. We know that the Others can physically get wights on top of the wall, and through it if invited, but otherwise can't seem to launch an invasion even though they've killed everything north of the wall and have clear hostile intent toward the south. We know Targaryen dragons refused to fly over the wall. So claiming there is some sort of magical barrier on it is defensible, I would say. Both greenseers agree on a conflict between fire and ice being a vital part of all this."

"And consecrating the wall?"

"I think you'd need to sacrifice an Other. A King of the Dead, that maceman said. That's probably why the Night's King could be sacrificed, he was half turned into an Other. They probably took an Other prisoner and sacrificed him, the first time they consecrated the wall.

Gods, why are these old sources so vague about this? They tell us exactly where each spear thrust landed, and each heroes lineage, but they cannot tell us how the Children averted a second long night in detail besides it entailing sacrifice?" Alleras asked.

"What about a dragon? If sacrificing a creature of ice can keep a dragon out like Rhaenrya's when she visited the wall, then perhaps the sacrifice of a dragon can keep an Other out?" Mallora suggested.

Alleras laughed. "Good luck getting a dragon to the wall alive."

"Stannis killed one. Mayhaps it could be taken to the wall." Mallora said.

"Ser. M'lady. My apologies, Maester Luwin and Lady Catelyn Stark would like to have a word with you."

*

Maester Luwin was in his chambers under the rookery. Narrow, overflowing with books and filled with the constant cawing of ravens, it reminded Alleras of nothing else than the Citadel. Luwin was a small man, old and white-haired, in the grey robes of a master and with a tight chain choker around his neck.

"What have you found in your studies?" Luwin asked. "I have found little enough in mine own."

"Nothing on how to get rid of the Horn of Joramun." Alleras said. "Every account we have differs on virtually every detail. Whether the wall was built by the Others, humanity, or Bran the Builder working for the Others. Who made the horn of Joramun, why it was made, the role of the Children of the Forest in all of this, who the Night King was-all of it varies between stories. But something is very consistent, all the way from the Stony Dornish to the Wildings. The Wall was consecrated by the sacrifice of an Other, or the Night's King. A "king of the living dead" in the words of most accounts."

"This happened long before men wrote their stories down, and even when they were eventually written down generations later in the time of the First Men trying to preserve their traditions in the face of the Andals, all we have are copies of copies. Details and motives are embellished, different aspects emphasized. The heroic feats of the ancestors of whoever commissioned the work are most prominent. I am not surprised the story is inconsistent." Maester Luwin said, to a nod of agreement from Alleras. "But this sacrifice is consistent across stories?"

"Aye." Alleras said. "Magic is powered by blood and sacrifice. Even the glass candle requires me to cut my hand to see through it. Keeping an architectural impossibility like the wall intact, and scaring off dragons and wights alike, would require a truly weighty sacrifice, I think."

Maester Luwin nodded slowly. "Magic has always been a sword of glass, just as dangerous to those who wield it as those who stand against it. No wonder those who rely upon it always come to a grisly end. The Rhoynar smashed by the Valyrians, the Valyrians smashed by their own sorcery, the Children of the Forest wiped out by our own ancestors."

"The Others seem to be doing fine for themselves." Mallora pointed out.

"If they come south of the wall, then hopefully Lord Stark can bring them to a similar end." Luwin said. "Though a sword of glass may often shatter, it will cut fearfully if it stays intact. Is anything said of how to carry out this sacrifice of a King of the Living Dead?"

"That's the problem, there are no details on the sacrifice." Alleras said. "The Children took the secret to their grave, it would seem."

"Where would we find such a King of the Living Dead, if it became necessary to restore the wards upon the wall?" Maester Luwin continued. "This would be information of the utmost importance to Lord Stark and the Night's Watch."

"An Other. Probably one of their commanders or kings or chieftains, or whatever kind of leader they have, beyond the wall. It depends on how the word Marmagnar Yersall it translated. It literally means High Lord Live Dead, but it could be interpreted to mean either a king who rules over the living dead, or a king who is himself living dead."

"I studied some of the Old Tongue when I earned my Valyrian Steel link." Luwin pointed out. "descriptors attached to a title normally go after the title. If he was a king who ruled over the Living Dead, it would be Yersall Marmagnar. A prefix. A king who is himself living dead is the mostly likely meaning."

There was a distant shout, then suddenly, muffled by walls, distorted by distance, screaming and swearing and a faint rush of wind. Maester Luwin stood up, about to call for the guards, and Alleras did the same-

Something slammed into the tower, hard enough to make him stumble, and he had barely a moment to notice the claws punching through the rooftiles before the armoured snout of a dragon smashed through one of the largest windows and seized Maester Luwin in it's maw.

Mallora and Luwin both screamed.

Alleras was too stunned to respond.

Then a guard burst in as the dragon began to flick it's head up and done, Luwin screaming and thrashing in it's grip. The man startled, stunned at first, then recovered his wits, ran into the room and tried to spear the dragon and it flicked Luwin's body straight into the guard's spear and both of them went tumbling to the ground. Luwin flopped about on the ground, blood pouring from his wounds, eyes glassy, and Alleras was too stunned to react until Mallora screamed "Run!"

He ran. He came out of the room, the second guard only barely pulling his spear up in time to avoid impaling him. He turned back, to see Mallora crawling away and Luwin impaled and dying and the monster searching the room. He froze in fear as it looked at him; all armoured scutes and eyelids and thick horns, searching, searching.

The Targaryens, it's a decapitation attack, they're trying to burn Winterfell…

"Help me get him out-" the guard shouted at him, pulling himself out from under Luwin's body, grabbing him by the scruff of his robes. Blood was running in torrents from Luwin's belly.

What the hell do I do, what the hell do I do-

"Get the horn." Mallora was yelling, her hands waving in panic as she scrambled out of the room, the dragon's head flicking out to grab her and ripping away her skirts. Alleras grabbed her, pulled her away from the door. "We need to get the horn-"

She was interrupted by the roar of flames and the flash of heat from the room, and Luwin and the guardsmen screaming in agony, and Alleras turned and ran. His and Malloras rooms were below the library tower, and that was where he kept his bow and his sword, but the weirwood spear and the horn were kept in a locked room in the armoury, connecting to the Great Keep by a bridge. It was there that he ran, through the maze of linked bridges and passageways, halfway across Winterfell. Twice servants blocked him and he screamed "Dragon! The Targaryens are attacking! To arms!" and they got out of the way. He couldn't tell if Mallora was following. Just stay down, get out of the way, she can't do anything to fight that monster.

Distorted by the thick granite walls, he could hear the screams and the sound of fire coming from the courtyards.

The bridge from the great hall into the armoury was clogged, guards and servants who did military service running for the armoury or trying to get out.

Alleras flattened himself against the wall and tried to slip past, past running men in mail and jacks with long spears and axes and bows in their hands. He got past, out into the armoury and drew the key to the locked room that had once held the Valyrian greatsword Ice.

Catelyn Stark had the only other key, and Seven only knew where she was.

He unlocked the door, grabbed the Horn of Joramun and slung it over his back, pulling his cloak a little over it, then picked up the spear that Euron Greyjoy had killed Stannis with. It was 8 feet of gnarled, milky white weirwood, with a long leaf-shaped flesh-parting head. He ran out into the armoury and threw on a pot-helm(he did not want to end up brained by falling tiles) and belted on one of the spare swords they kept for the arming of levies, next to his loop-hilted dagger.

He thought of taking a shield, then decided that would just slow him down.

Then he headed for the bridge, when the monster crashed through the tiled roof. A scaled, armoured foot ploughed down, nailing a guardsman to the bridge floor. Clawed wings scrabbled for purchase, ripping away the roof bit by bit. Fire spewed forth, tearing down the walkway, immolating a dozen men who had hesitated with the terror of facing such a beast. They stumbled and screamed and danced, mail running into jacks and jacks running into flesh, some tumbling off the bridge, others running towards the safety of the armoury. The dragon lowered its head down to peer at him, armoured and golden, and Alleras raised his spear to throw right as it opened its mouth-

He hurled himself sideways as flames jetted past him into the armoury. More men burned, the steel glowing and running together into a new iron throne, and Alleras stumbled down a staircase into the stables below where the horses where neighing and screaming in panic, and Alleras ran past them, to the outside courtyard beneath the walkway, and he turned and raised his spear to face the dragon and saw who rode it.

It was Euron Greyjoy in his armour of smoky grey scales, atop the unsaddled brute.

How? I shot him in the head and he fell into the sea in full armour, it doesn't matter if he skinchanged a captain, that's him-

The dragon's head swivelled to stare at him, following the riders head almost exactly.

Both stared at him.

"Yield the horn or burn." Euron Greyjoy shouted.

"No!" Alleras shouted. The dragon hopped down from the walkway, elegant as a cat leaping from a couch. It stalked forwards, head tilting.

Then there was a scream of "Aim for the rider! Aim for the rider" behind him, and three of the Silvercloak men were running in, stopping and shouldering their crossbows and loosing against the dragons. Alleras threw his spear too. He'd practised spear throwing, in Dorne, and he remembered something his father Oberyn Martell had told him, that to throw accurately you had to see the impact, visualize it hitting home. He did. He imagined it driving into flesh through armoured scales, like it had parted the steel scales of Stannis's armour.

Everything passed in slow motion. The bolts went spinning and bouncing off armour both scaly and Valyrian steel. He saw the scars on the dragon's neck, white patches of unscaled flesh, and wished he had thrown for those instead. And as he saw that, he almost felt the spear arc in flight, right into the vulnerable flesh where the armour did not cover, and the dragon howled and shook and raised a wing to paw at it like a dog with a bone stuck in its mouth.

Seven hells. It pierced flesh. He'd turned the sorcery of Euron Greyjoy back against him-

Common sense prevailed just as the dragon tore the spear out of its throat and began to charge.

He's distracted, he's here for the horn, run.

So Alleras did, leaving the Silvercloak men to die, sprinting for the entrances to the crypts, ignoring the screams and the rush of flames behind him. He paused when he saw a couple of spearmen hurrying Arya Stark towards the great hall, right towards the direction the dragon was attacking from. "He's attacking the Great Hall, get down into the crypts, a dragon can't follow us there!"

He ran for the First Keep, the old First Men drum tower built in the old Citadel style. The entrance to the crypts was near there, but he didn't have the keys, so he decided he'd go to the Keep instead. He turned and looked to the skies, and saw the dragon perched on the side of the Great Keep, head swivelling, seeking him…

It leapt and its wings spread and came gliding down, and Alleras hurled himself into a sprint for the gates of the First Keep, shoving past fleeing servants and soldiers, motivated by raw animal fear just as much as the knowledge of what Euron would do if he seized the horn.

He did not dare look back until he made the gates, and he glanced over his shoulder and saw the dragon breathing fire into a clump of archers, turning snow to steam and men to charcoal.

Not as much as fire as before, and some of it was bursting out from it's neck, where he had speared it.

It's wounded, I've slowed it down-

The dragon saw him, charged, stuck it's head in through the doorway and sprayed more fire. Alleras hurled himself flat, felt the heat wash over him. He began to crawl beneath dust covered trestle tables, heat licking him, the fire turning the tables ahead of him and behind him into kindling.

He doesn't know where I am.

He does, Alleras realized. He needs the horn intact. He's trying to trap me, not burn me and with it ruin the horn.

He stood up and raised the horn from under his cloak.

"Hey! Hey you! You want this?"

The dragon turned to face him, armoured eyelids blinking open and shut. The wound on the neck was gruesome, Alleras saw: hideously burnt flesh, smoke lifting up and blood running down its neck. Every time it breathed fire it was just making it worse.

The dragon withdrew its head. It's whole body could not fit into the hall, and Alleras took the moment to run. He saw the way to the crypts was blocked by flames, the burning ruin of an ancient trestle table.

He raised a hand over his face and shut his eyes and leapt the burning table, the heat biting at his hose, and then he was through into one of the adjoining halls. He paused momentarily to catch his breath, then he realized his mistake. He had no torch and no lantern, and the crypts were solid black. Euron had no torch either, but who knew what sorceries he could command?

The well. The First Keep had an ancient well, deep enough that one man could never hope to fish the horn out of it before the guards overran him or his dragon died of its wounds.

So Alleras ran for that, and he heard Euron shouting "Yield the horn!" behind him, and as he entered the well-room he turned back and saw Euron Greyjoy stalking forwards through the hallway, backlit by the burning great hall, his swords still sheathed.

Alleras pulled the horn out from under his cloak, and held it out over the well.

"Your dragon is dying. You're one man against a hundred. If I drop this, you'll never get it back."

The monster in human flesh laughed, then. "There are other ways of collapsing the wall, do you understand? If you drop that thing down the well, then I'll just have to gut some prisoners, or blow a hole in the wall with dragonfire, or just ask the Others nicely to come into my castle. This just makes it easier."

"And why should I make it easy for you-"

Euron went still, and something came bubbling up in the base of his mind, something tearing into his consciousness like a plant forcing its roots through a foundation. He wanted to scream, he wanted to spasm in seizure, he knew he needed to drop the horn but he couldn't.

He's skinchanging me-

Yes I am. Put it down and I'll leave you and the rest of this castle alone. Drop and it and I'll burn Winterfell like I burnt Oldtown.

Euron has managed to force the muscles of his right arm to seize up, but he could inch his arm towards the dagger on his belt. He drew it, raised it to his throat as he began to fight through the spasms.

No, no, no, you skinchange me then you'll die trapped in this body, fuck you-

He saw Winterfell guardsmen running up behind Euron, two with longaxes and the other with a spear and shield. The spearman hurled his spear and Euron whirled to fight them as if he'd seen them through Alleras's eyes, snatching the spear out of the air and casting it into the chest of the first axeman, causing him to flop back like a harpooned fish. He was the only one who had no time to put on mail. Euron drew both his swords, and Alleras saw the blades were smoky grey Valyrian steel.

He caught the second axeman's blow in a double parry bracing one blade with the other, rolling one sword back into a hanging parry and severing both hands with a cut from the second. The third man drew his sword and ploughed into Euron shield first, striking fast blows around his shield, trying to pin Euron up against a pillar.

Euron slipped free, both men whirling to face each other, and Euron kicked his opponent in the shield hard enough to drive it back into his face. The man jolted backwards, blood jetting from a fractured jaw, and Euron lunged in and thrust both swords through his face. Mallora Hightower came around the corner and hurled herself screaming at Euron with a sword in her hand, and before Alleras could yell for her to get out of there she died too, Euron parrying with one blade and gutting her with the other then effortlessly shearing off her head with both as she fell.

The pressure in his soul was gone.

Alleras dropped the horn into the well and drew his blades.

He ran at Euron from behind, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Euron spun and parried his cut but Alleras came in with his dagger, aiming right for Euron's eye, the only exposed flesh anywhere on his body-

Euron parried the thrust forearm to forearm, diverting it just enough to send the dagger screaming harmlessly off Valyrian steel, and then they slammed together body to body, Alleras actually managing to send him staggering with his momentum, and then a pommel strike hit his head and made it jar, and a second strike, and Euron got his knee behind Alleras's and his forearm across his throat. Euron twisted, levering him over and sending him slamming to the tiles. Alleras saw stars, and Euron raised his sword to finish him.

Alleras smiled then, half stunned from the blows he had been dealt.

"You didn't get your horn" he slurred. His vision was blurring.

An axe blow crunched into Euron's vambrace as more men charged, and one sword fell from his hand, and Euron turned and began to fight his way back out. He moved with unnatural speed and precision, fighting first with his single sword then snatching up a spear out of a corpse and using that in his right hand. Alleras tried to rise and get his sword, or the one Euron had dropped, and finish the job, but he'd been stunned like a pig for slaughter. He fell back to his knees and vomited, as the blood of Winterfell and Hightower seeped into the stone.

The guards found him afterwards. Rodrik Cassel led them, half his hose and his shield scorched by heat.

"Did we kill him?" Alleras asked, slowly rising to his feet, head ringing.

"No. He fought his way to his dragon and fled. Did he take the horn of Joramun?"

"I flung it down the well." Alleras said. "He hasn't seized it. But he said he has other means to destroy the wall. We need to send a message to all the kings fighting in the south. I don't care if it's guns or dragons of our own, we need to kill him once and for all."

"I know." Rodrik Cassel said. "He burnt the ravenry during the attack."

"Then get messengers to all other ravenries or something." Alleras stood up slowly, vomiting. "And if he's in league with the Others the Watch needs to know to be ready for an attack. Sevens hells."

 

[windoverwaves]

Well, that's something. The horn is likely a non-issue for now, but It might be a thousand year from now, being involved another madman's attempt in taking over the world.

Poor Ludwin. I swear, you're just as bad as GRRM in killing off characters.

 

[Balaur]

They came down through the Kingswood, marching to the battle that would decide the fate of the Seven Kingdoms, and she could only think of the tarred, shrunken heads of her soldiers who had died for her crimes and those of Stannis at Stoney Sept. The Targaryens had beheaded them for treason, and put their heads up on spikes before they marched on.

She had heard the verdict that had been passed of her, at the trial: A coward off the battlefield, who would counsel against atrocity but never actually prevent it.

Taena Merryweather had been amongst those who had borne witness against her.

She couldn't help but ask what she'd said.

Taena had told them what Tane had told her once, in a bout of guilt, of how back in Genia her men had been positioned as security as a commission of fire and sword had been carried out beneath them, and peasants where burnt out of their homes and put to the sword and their cattle carried off for the crimes of their lords.

She had done nothing.

But she could not dwell on that, or she would die and all the thousands she commanded, so she had hurled herself into the task at hand: Moving their army south through winter country, reorganizing the mauled Silvercloak regiments, enforcing the surrender of the holdfasts and petty lords in their way and seizing their grain and cattle. Stannis was no longer interested in devastation for the sake of devastation; the only armies following their trail would be reinforcements. Instead, he only took what the army needed.

That would still be enough to force a lean winter. It might mean death for the very old, very sick and very young. She still did it anyway.

Then they had come down along the Kingswood into the Stormlands, passing the huts of refugees who wished to escape what remained of King's Landing. The city was full of disease, they said, from the unburied bodies, and it stank horribly; there were riots over food and most of the Goldcloaks were dead or fled.

She had tried to find out what had truly happened at King's Landing, and heard only madness: The dragons turned on the city by Daenerys out of spite, bells panicking the dragons, Stannis having left behind agents to blow up the city and the dragons being frightened into madness by the explosions, Stannis blowing an ancient Valyrian horn to steal the dragons, the ghost of Euron Greyjoy back for revenge. There was no sense to it, no way to rationalize it. So she would simply kill all those who could have been responsible. Daenerys had already died to her sword, and Aegon, Stannis and perhaps Renly too would be next.

They had met Renly's outriders as he pushed through the hunting trails in the southern Kingswood, and gathered the whereabouts of the Targaryen force. Renly had more foot, so he was ordered to detach infantry to invest the hostile castles in the area while marching south with his cavalry and the best of his foot.

And then they came to Storm's End, and saw the might of the Golden Company and Unsullied together encamped before Durran's Point, and they prepared to offer battle the next morning.

Her own silvercloaks and tens of thousands of Valemen, Rivermen and Northerners were ready to attack the Golden Company and Unsullied head-on, while Renly's own Reachman force was to hook around and take them in the flank.

Her pages did up her harness: buff coat and mail voiders first, then greaves, gorget, back and breast, tassets, pauldrons and arm harness. Her sword, a Westerosi one-hander with side rings and a knuckle bow hastily forged, was belted on, and her dagger and sash. One of her pages took up her pole-axe in her right hand and her round steel-faced shield in her left, and her horse was led to the outside of the tent, with loaded pistols in his saddle holsters and a short battle-axe hooked over the rim of one of the holsters.

She was fighting for monsters, against monsters, and no matter who won she would die honourless. She shut her eyes, and took a breath, and focused.

You are a shark, you cannot stop swimming.

Leading and fighting was burnt into her, came as naturally as breathing. No one could stop breathing even if they wanted to, and a drowning man would do anything, even drag those trying to save them under, if it meant they could continue to breath.

She wanted herself to survive, and Margaery Tyrell and what was left of her command, and if that meant slaughtering runaway slaves and men returning from exile, then so be it even if it meant she could not live with herself afterwards.

"Captain-General, are you ready?" someone asked, and she nodded and took up her helm and mounted her horse. All around her the Silvercloaks were preparing for battle, taking up pikes and halberds, crossbows and arquebuses. The arquebusiers had only powder for a handful of volleys, so they'd been given slung shields as well to make them more useful in the melee. They were filing company by company out of the camp and arranging into their battalions on the field ahead, and those battalions marching off in columns to follow the rest of the army. The vanguard was heading out first, up across the ragged ridges and fields. Shipbreaker's bay and the sea was to their left, endless fields, most of them abandoned for fear of raiders, to their right.

Storm's End poked out on the promontory of Durran's point, an ugly grey slab of black stone with a central tower in the middle and banners flying all around it.

Around the great castle, built just out of bowshot, was the siege camp with endless tents and pavilions and simple huts bright as a field in spring. Long trebuchet throwing arms rose up like the necks of browsing reapers, and there were other siege weapons: rolling turtles for the protection of sappers and ram crews, springalds and mangonels for sweeping the walls, the skeleton of a half-built siege tower.

And to the left of that, relying on the camp to anchor their flank and protect them from sallies from Storm's End, was the mass of the enemy; Golden Company pikemen and archers, Unsullied spearmen and what was left of their rebel allies. They'd deployed the Company on their right with all their cavalry massed on their right flank, and the Unsullied on the left, flanked by Dothraki who could take advantage of the wide open spaces inland. The second line was all Westerosi, Reachmen and Clawman and Dornish mostly, the low ridge they were on making them visible even over the pikes and banners of the Golden Company. Behind all that was the Targaryen royal banners and the glint of light off a dense body of armoured men that signalled the presence of a bodyguard or reserve of armoured cavalry.

She drew her looking glass from her saddle-bags, peered at the banners upon the walls of Storm's End. They were Renly's, the stag with roses in it's antlers, but also Stannis's banner of the Crowned stag.

Storm's End still holds. I'm coming, Margaery.

Then she put away her looking glass, and fell in with her mounted officers, and they began the march up into the teeth of the enemy. She could see the distant banners of Renly and Mace's army coming off to their right, up on far off ridges. They were supposed to hit the Targaryens an hour or two after the initial engagement, smash into any exposed flanks or even get around into their rear, but it looked as if they were lagging behind.

She had no idea if that was friction of war, or treachery, or if Renly simply wanted to let his enemies maul each other. It did not matter. They had survived the attack of the Unsullied when they had the aid of dragons, and at least one of the dragons was dead with no sign of the others.

Probably, unless Aegon had taken the black dragon as a mount. Even so, they would know when the beasts attacked and have time to brace, since the clouds were high.

The columns stopped and formed up into their lines half a mile out from the enemy.

Brynden Tully had command of the right wing cavalry and Robb Stark the left wing cavalry wedged up between the sea cliffs and the infantry, Tane command of the Silvercloak reserve, Alester Florent command of the infantry.

Tane turned her horse in front in front of the 1st Battalion.

"Last time we faced them in open battle, we lost the field. And yet we were victorious that day, for we killed their dragon and their queen, and marched off the field with colours flying, and so ravaged the countryside they had no choice but to flee for the south. And now we have the enemy at bay! They are surrounded on all sides but their rear; even the garrison of Storm's End threatens their right. They cannot even flee to their ships, unless they learn to fly over the cliffs! They will fight like rabid dogs, and we will put them down like rabid dogs, for we have the numbers and the will to win. Smash their armies! Drive them into the sea! Death to tyrants and false kings! Avenge King's Landing and Lieutenant Sace Cale and your brothers burnt on the Kingsroad! Ours is the Fury!"

Some men cheered. More were grim and silent.

She repeated it for every other battalion.

Then the trumpets blew and Northern horns too, and drums began to beat and the army advanced, longbowmen all in the first line then masses of spears and pikes(they'd quickly reassigned most of the pikes to the left to oppose the Golden Company), and her own back in reserve. Thin snow spattered the ground, and mud and dead grass; not enough to slow down their own advance.

Or stop the advance of the Golden Company.

The sheer breadth and depth of such a pike block was almost terrifying to comprehend. It was not broken up into battalions and brigades winged by arquebusiers, could not be flanked and surrounded. It was so deep that if the front ranks hesitated, they would be driven forwards by the weight of men behind them. Such deep blocks were old fashioned at home, wasteful of firepower, tactically inflexible, vulnerable to attack from the air and artillery.

She had no cannons and no war-skeins to stop this monster, however, only archers and arquebusiers half out of shot.

The longbowmen stopped at the edge of bowshot and waited. The enemy archers in their front line were all Golden Company men, and there were few of those left; she took Renly's cavalry had ridden most of them down outside Cider Hall. She spotted movement as they began to send reserve line missile troops up, Reachmen and Clawmen with longbows and crossbows, Dornish with double-curved hornbows or clutches of javelins.

The longbowmen advanced and got their first volleys in, shouting as they loosed. Shields came up on the enemy line.

Stannis was trying to get them to move first, to avoid having to be the one to disorder his line advancing.

The rebel archers came forwards through lanes between the pikes and spears and shot back. The wind was whipping off the sea, making the banners snap and flutter, driving arrows off target. Stannis's line had more longbowmen, but then she saw Myrish crossbowmen coming up, working in teams of pavise-bearers and shooters, and they began to turn the tide back. The Northern clansmen slingers and shortbowmen joined the fight too, flinging fist sized rocks and barbed arrows with frightful accuracy and force while the mailed champions and household men with their greatswords and sparth axes hung back.

The enemy had more men with what looked like metal pots on sticks, some kind of crude arquebus. They were staying back too, screening the front of the Golden Company.

Thankyou, Lady Merryweather and Lord Baelish. Thankyou so very much.



There was still no order to attack. Stannis was daring the enemy to blink first, to commit to the attack or to wait and so buy time for Renly to wrap around their flank. Tane shifted in the saddle, gritted her teeth.

If we hadn't lost the cannons, we could be making them bleed right now.

Out on the enemy left, the Dothraki and Dornish cavalry were beginning to skirmish, charging in to loose arrows and hurl darts then wheeling off to avoid retaliation. The archers there were keeping them back, but they were working around to the flanks there as well. The enemy right was still; with seacliffs and the camp to their south there was no room for a flanking manoeuvre, and a headon charge would run into the enemies archers.

The sun reached midday, or at least the glow from behind the clouds seemed that way. Renly was advancing but with terrible slowness, the archers were down to shooting enemy arrows back at them and were even retrieving some of their own arrows, shot back by the enemy. The Myrish were still shooting, their heavy windlass crossbows forcing them to slow down and pace their shots and their pavise bearers carrying extra bolts for the crossbowmen.

"Stannis is ordering an advance on the trumpet signal!" A messenger shouted. "He wants you to bring the Silvercloaks up to support the main line but not to commit!"

We've blinked first. At least the Golden Company wouldn't have momentum on their side.

"Understood." Tane said, and she sent her own messengers to relay the order to the colonels, and then they waited.

The trumpet blew, and the advance began past the exhausted archers. Drums beat and the lines shuffled up, forming waves and ripples as they hit uneven ground and the better drilled or more enthusiastic contingents outpaced the worse ones. The Northern pikemen on the right were yelling "On!" every few steps, and the enemy archers got off a last volley or two and fell back behind their heavy foot.

The attack on the Unsullied fell apart before they even made contact. The Unsullied stood in their layered turtle until the last minute, when they unlocked their shields, hurled a volley of javelins into their enemies and with a shout advanced spears flashing into the disordered foe. It broke up into chaos, banners of men rallying to their captains and charging even as others gave way to the steady advance of the Unsullied. The air on that flank was thick with javelins, the Unsullied rear rankers casting them over the shoulders of the front rankers.

The left fared little better. The arquebusiers she had seen in the front ranks of their block fired off a volley at thirty yards out and the Golden Company men attacked past them, but they mistimed the volley for it. The loyalist pikemen hesitated under the shock of the new weapons, but she saw few points fall and their nerve seemed to have steadied by the time the enemy was upon them. Then the Company ploughed in and the loyalist foot were locking horns with the Golden Company in a dark tangle of points, the Company driving the Royal foot back step by step.

The right was rallying, beginning to arrest the shock of the Unsullied's counterattack as reserves came up and Florent's household knights charged in on foot with poleaxes and greatswords, but the left descended into carnage. The Golden Company had pressed the attack ruthlessly, trying to close in past push of pike into a close press where sword and dagger would win the day, and the front ranks of the Westerosi had recoiled away even as the back ranks pushed up, creating a crush where the mid rankers had no room to lower their pikes. The Company beat the single line of pikes facing them down or up and began the killing, driving pikes through unarmoured faces then dropping them and drawing swords as they were driven forwards by the pressure of rear ranks. It was turning into a crush in some parts and an open melee in between the blocks in others as some men fell back and others stood their ground and Company greatswordsmen and halberdiers began to flow forwards and cut them down. The Golden Company pikemen had shields as well as swords, giving them the edge up close against the Westerosi pikemen, and their pikes outreached the spears, halberds and longaxes of the rest of the foot. And more than that they had cohesion and discipline; hardened veterans drilled weekly against relatively green men, some on their first battle and others fearful of taking more wounds.

We need to stop them.

Then as she watched the left wing infantry began to break. Some men, rear rankers mostly, began to run, others were scrambling back trying to get fighting room, and then, like a tower whose base had been hit by a trebuchet stone crumbling, it began to disintegrate. Men ran away in masses or stumbled back with their faces to the enemy, the Company pikemen continuing their relentless advance against those giving ground while the halberdiers charged ahead to begin the slaughter of those fleeing.

Tane drew her pistols from her saddle holsters and pushed them through her sash, dismounted her horse, and shouted for her pole-axe, and then she was bellowing for the Silvercloaks to get on-line and turned diagonally to sweep in and stabilize that flank. The colonels were thinking fast; they were already turning their men without waiting for orders, and Tane was in the front ranks of 1st Battalion with Bywater and was shouting for them to follow her. Her whole body was itching with the trepidation and anticipation of close combat.

They made for an immense column of pikes ahead of them, a banner that had advanced faster than the one to their left and opened up an exposed flank. The Golden Company officers must have seen the counterattack coming, because they were shouting orders, trying to get their front turned around to face the advancing Silvercloaks. The Myrish arquebusiers came up and began to form a single line in front of the Golden Company. Her men advanced to fifty yards, forty, fleeing pikemen stumbling out of their way. She got a good look at the Company men, now: the round shields or small pavises hanging from their leading arms, the mixture of mail, brigandines and plate each man was armoured in, the golden rings that encrusted their arms. They wore open faced helmets, some simple Westerosi bascinets or kettle hats and others ornate Free Cities helmets with feather plumes and whorled brass crests.

The enemy arquebusiers opened fire.

She had forgotten how terrifying even an ill-timed volley as close range was. The front of the Golden Company line ripped open with a flash and a flood of smoke and a rippling, crackling thunderclap like they had used some sorcery to summon a storm into being, and then something punched her hard in the chest and she flinched and realized she'd been shot, and she looked down and saw the fresh dent on her harness but no penetration, maybe keeping the overweight Genian harness of proof had been a good idea after all, and something heavy slammed into her shoulders and went tumbling to the ground and she realized it was a dropped pike. Captains screamed for men to step up and replace the dead and wounded.

"Three rank volley!" Tane roared as the Golden Company pikemen began to advance, and the officers on the flanks echoed it and they delivered the vollies: Three ranks of crossbowmen first, leaving the Golden Company front rankers cringing under the round shields they had strapped to their forearms, then as they were ten yards out and the tips of the pikes were about to brush, a three rank volley from the arquebusiers crashed in and almost all the front rankers were dead or maimed and Tane was screaming "On me!" and they lowered their pikes and attacked into the carnage. There was a moment of fencing, jockeying to beat points away as the shafts overlapped but were not yet close enough to thrust for bodies. More hesitant soldiers might have left it there, simply jostling shafts until someone backed off. Her soldiers were not hesitant; the veterans in the rear rank would not let them be. Her men pressed in, Tane yelling "Faces! Go for their fucking faces!" and trying to sweep points down with her axe. She beat a pikeman's point down to the ground, stomped on it, hit the shaft with her axe and whipped it out of his hands and he was going for his sword when someone else got the man through the face with a pike thrust.

A pike tip punched into her pauldron, deflected, and Tane drove the pike up with her axe so the next thrust went right over her and saw Company men with swords and shields scrambling forwards half crouched, trying to get in through the tangle. They must have dropped their pikes earlier in the fight, or maybe the Company had specialized targeteers, it didn't matter. One of them stood up as he got close to her, pushing pike shafts aside with sword and shield, and she stepped in and hit him over the head with her axe hard enough to drop him, then hit him twice more before a pike thrust slammed into her chest with enough force to knock her off her feet. She pulled herself up, one of the halberdiers helping, and her men were pressing forwards and the Golden Company was too and she realized it was about to be another close press. "Halberds up!" Tane began to yell. "Halberds to the front!"

Another thrust scraped off her armour, a pike driven in past the front ranks and now being jabbed about for a target. She grabbed it and yanked on it, and the man on the other end tried to pull back when the resistance suddenly slackened and then she dropped it and drew a pistol and stepped back into the front ranks and shot the nearest enemy she saw. At close range, it ripped through his brigandine and he crumpled. Almost all the Golden Company front ranks had dropped their pikes, drawn swords and worked in past her own men's points by now, and Tane raised her axe and yelled "Meet them! Stand your ground!" as the first men came at her.

She swung at the first man's head. He caught it on his shield and tried to rush as she stepped back and wrenched the axe down, hooking his shield down with it. He ran right onto her poleaxe's tip and almost bounched off it as it slammed into his mailed throat. She drove the tip into his face with a step forwards, hit him a third time as he fell, and then saw a halberd blow swung at her head and stepped into it and caught it mid shaft, between her hands. She drove the butt end forwards and stabbed the halberdier through the thigh right as a Company pikeman ploughed into her shield first and bowled her over. She managed to catch his sword cut on her axe haft, got her legs around his and twisted and he went down. Both of them began reaching for their daggers when a halberd blow crashed down into his neck, mashing mail and meat together, and halberdiers were surging up around her and she pulled herself up and attacked with them. The Golden Company surged back for a moment, pikemen with their swords out driven back by the reach and armour crushing weight and leverage of the halberds, but suddenly the pressure of the rear ranks stopped them and the rear ranks of the Silvercloaks kept driving them forwards and they were smashed in man in to man.

Tane lifted her axe right before the crush began, the shield of a Golden Company pikeman pressing into her chest and someones pike shaft into her back. She was stabbing frantically with the butt, not at the man facing her, a bearded veteran of forty or so who was snarling and yelling as he wildly stabbed over her, but at the man behind him. She tried to dig in, to push, found the effort difficult. Shadows flickered and twisted across the face of her opponent as the thicket of pikes overhead moved. She realized the only reason she could breath was her cuirass. She let go of her poleaxe one handed, tried to worm her arm down to her dagger or second pistol, but her arm got stuck by the weight of bodies. She wanted to yell for the rear ranks to back off, give them fighting space, but if they did that and the Golden Company kept pushing they'd be bowled over.

The push stalled. There was little movement in the line, just grunting and yelling and the occasional scream as someone was hit by an awkward sword thrust or a dagger was brought into play.

Then suddenly there was the roar of an explosion of fire and smoke, and she couldn't quite see what was happening but she could bend her neck enough to see movement on the flanks of the pike block and realized the arquebusiers must have decided fuck conserving powder, we're charging because she could see the Company men beginning to give way on either flank- A point blank three rank volley and a charge would do that to you-and then her men were shoving back in and actually making progress, and the Company was giving ground, their men driven back, halberd and sword blows raining down as both sides got room to swing, and just as suddenly the enemy midrankers still with pikes managed to get their weapons down and started stabbing over shoulders, arresting the attack of the arquebusiers on the flanks and the halberdiers with Tane and she was yelling for them to back off and let the pikemen back in to the fight, and the Company must have had the same idea because they were pulling back too, the exhausted, bloodied pike blocks pulling apart.

Someone grabbed her shoulder. "Captain-General!"

Tane turned, saw Colonel Bywater, seemingly oblivious to the blood running down his face.

"We've stopped them, we can't risk you getting pinned in another close fight!" Bywater shouted. "You should pull back and assess the situation while we have the chance! Stannis and Florent are engaged too, we need someone controlling the reserves!"

Tane took a moment to breath, realized he was right. Leading the pike block in had been the right decision, they hadn't stopped the Company's advance, but they'd arrested it, broken up their solid line, brought time for the levies to regroup.

Now she had to see how the rest of the battle was faring. She'd been thinking like a colonel, not a general.

"You good to stay with the regiment?" Tane shouted.

"Yeah, it isn't deep-" he said, gesturing at his face.

"I'll get mounted and stay with the cavalry." Tane said. "Keep holding the line."

He nodded and she turned back through the mass of men catching their breath, trying to rally for the next push of pike, congratulating them-"You stopped the Golden Company, keep at it, I'm going to see if I can get the cavalry into their flanks"-until she pushed through to the back and her pages and horse holders.

Morgan turned on horseback. She'd kept the witch out of the melee. They'd need her if the Targaryens still had a dragon.

"Renly's men are half a mile out!" Morgan shouted. "They're arrayed for battle but they still aren't attacking!"

"Fuck! Where's Stannis?"

"His banner's engaged. I think on the right wing."

"And Alester?"

"Still in the press with the Unsullied."

"So who's in charge of the centre?"

"I think you are." Morgan said.

Tane laughed, sputtering. She was still breathing hard from the push of pike.

"Could have told me that before I got stuck in a push of pike."

Morgan shrugged. "We're holding them. Look, the Westerosi foot are rallying and getting back into the fight. And the left wing cavalry are winning."

"Is Brienne engaged?"

"No."

"Then I'm going with her. Horse!" Tane shouted, turning to her horse holders and mounting up.

She surveyed the battlefield again, got the measure of it: the centre-right stalemated, the centre-left crushed in by the attack of the Golden Company but stabilized by her Silvercloaks, the sweeping chaos of the cavalry battle on the right wing, the King's banner prominent amidst the carnage and the tight packed masses of horses and riders on the left wing. And across to their right a mile away was the immense Tyrell host, cavalry in thousands already deployed for battle and infantry trailing up behind them, straddling the flanks of both armies, positioned to at once take one force in flank and reinforce the other.

Renly couldn't do this, he wouldn't, he and Mace desired the crown so dearly, they wouldn't take the side of the Targaryens when Stannis's victory meant they could seize the crown with little more than poison, but they weren't attacking, not even when the cavalry battle looked so close-fought a few banners could turn the tide and they had at least 5,000 horsemen deployed in battle array.

And then she realized what they were doing, they were waiting, waiting for Stannis to be killed in battle so they could swoop in and seize the victory and be proclaimed heroes, and she almost hoped they succeeded.

Then a stray arrow went spinning off her armour, and there was no time for thinking. None of that mattered if they could not hold this flank for long enough. She trotted over to Brienne's demi-lancers, shouted "You're with me!" and she turned and searched the battlefield for a good target for a charge and spotted one, an exposed flank that had opened in the Golden Company lines where they'd driven back one Silvercloak battalion but failed to break the ones either side, and she yelled for them to prepare to charge.

She could not control Stannis, or Renly, or any of whatever mad games they were playing, but she had her command and her sword. That would be enough to hold until Renly made his mind up, or they won a victory on their own, or she at least died with some measure of honour.

 

[Balaur]

Hold your neutrality. Do not sally against the Targaryens but neither shall you yield. When I march to Storm's End, act as I do. If I go over to the Targaryens, sally against Stannis. If I side with Stannis, sally against the Targaryens. If I stay my hand, stay yours.

Your Loving Father, Mace Tyrell.

Margaery rolled the letter up, the one that had arrived by raven two weeks before.

Beneath on, on the fields before Storm's End, the armies began to clash with a cacophonous rustle: spear shafts knocking against shield rims, the clatter of plate harness, hooves against dirt, drumbeats, shouted orders, the moan of the wind through banners. Off to the north, columns of Tyrell and Baratheon horse advanced.

The letter was genuine, most likely. She could guess that much, simply because it had no resemblance to the forged letter the Targaryens had tried to use to convince her to yield up Storm's End.

She remembered that well. Genna Frey, the leader of the exiled Lannisters, had come up to the castle to negotiate. Margaery had received her in one of the dining halls built into the walls.

"You have come to negotiate?" Margaery had asked her. "If you wish to ask for our surrender, the answer remains no."

"Not to ask for your surrender, but to inform you of a message we have received from your father. Your father and husband both have broken away from the Baratheon cause. They have promised to betray Stannis at the point where they see the greatest chance to harm him, and they request that to secure this pact, that you open your gates."

"I too have received such a message. It also says that I should avoid sallying and offensive action but it says nothing of opening my gates and letting your men into Storm's End. How do I know that this is not trickery? I would never accuse such an esteemed lady as yourself of this, but Aegon commands a force of sellswords and eunuchs. They know how valuable deceit is as a tool of war."

"Because this is the seal of Mace Tyrell."

Genna took the letter out from a bag she carried, and passed it to a page, and the page took it down to Margaery.

Margaery read it slowly and carefully, her face going pale. It contained exactly the information Genna had said it would.

I am preparing to turn against Stannis Baratheon at his moment of greatest weakness. Yield the gates of Storm's End to the Targaryens to secure this pact. Your loving father, Mace Tyrell.

Then she composed herself.

"if this is truly the seal of Mace Tyrell, it is grave news indeed. However, on my honour as a Baratheon and a Tyrell, I am sworn to protect the Princess Shireen and I shall not deliver her into the hands of her enemies. And this castle is my husbands, not mine or my fathers to deliver up. Seals can be forged, or captured in battle. I regret that I must wait for Renly to order me to yield in person before I can do any such thing."

"King Aegon is merciful. He nearly made Myrcella a queen before Stannis killed her. Tommen Baratheon is a page for Aegon, now. If you were to yield up the castle, Shireen could have an honoured place as a septa, or even be queen now that Daenerys is dead in battle. Uniting the lines of Baratheon and Targaryen could avert much bloodshed."

"I am sorry, but I cannot." Margaery said. "However, I shall make you an offer back. If you cease all bombardment, escalades, skirmishing and mining, I shall order my men to cease their nightly sallies as a show of good faith. I shall only yield the castle to my Lord Husband when I see him in person riding down the Kingsroad, for it is he who commands my love and loyalty, not my father."

Genna looked as if to say something unwise, then nodded. "Of course. I should warn you, though, that as we speak King Aegon works to tame the dragon Drogon, heir of Balerion the Black Dread."

"I shall reconsider when I see him tamed and saddled." Margaery had said. "Until then, I wish you luck in the wars to come."

*

And now beneath her, thousands of men were being shot, speared, bludgeoned, trampled, in the name of relieving the castle she commanded, and yet she could do nothing. Stannis's infantry advanced, then their assault was beaten back but the Silvercloaks came up as reserves and stabilized them before they could rout. She wondered for a moment where Tane was in the fight, whether she was leading her grenadiers out on the flanks or if she was with the Silvercloaks in the center.

She's probably coming for me right now, because I used her, took advantage of her.

Loras too. The King's banner was not yet in the fight, but if was, he would be in terrible danger as well.

She had to hold. If she carefully played her neutrality, she could secure mercy from whichever side won, and she had the letter as her excuse. She was simply exercising loyalty to her father.

Olenna-

Whichever men Stannis had guarding her could have standing orders to kill her if Renly betrayed him. Gods be good, she was a fool, trusting Stannis with her.

"Banners in the north!" a lookout called. "My lady, you shall want to see this, the banners of Tyrell and Baratheon are forming for battle!" She hurried over to the tower, stepping around bundles of spare arrows and buckets of rocks, wincing from the awkward fit of her jack and mail coat. She hurried up the tower, and the spearman pointed at a distant mass of shapes, the bright surcoats and shields and banners spackling the fields like flowers on a field in spring.

She had already seen them coming, but now they were fully deployed with more than enough men to turn the tide, and yet they were not attacking.

Merry Crane passed her the Myrish Far-Eye, and she swept it across them, saw the yellow upon green and the black upon gold of Baratheon and Tyrell banners clumped at the center of the field. It was cavalry, thousands of them and more banners arriving every minute, less than half a mile off the flanks of the engaged armies.

"M'Lady, they are in position to give battle but they don't seem to be advancing." The spearmen said. She nodded, turned to one of the escorts who'd followed her up onto the tower. "Send for Ser Courtnay Penrose. We shall hold a council of war."

Ser Courtnay arrived, and Shireen too, a page's brigandine worn over her dress in imitation of Margaery's mail coat. "What is she doing here?" a spearman asked.

"She is the princess of Dragonstone." Margaery said. "Her father is on the field and we fight in her defence, she has as much right to be here as anyone else. Anyhow."

She took a deep breath. "My lord father has given me the strictest instructions to do as he does and wait until he attacks the Targaryen army, to maximise the surprise of our attack."

She left out that that included attacking the Baratheon army, depending on how things went, or simply doing nothing at all. She had burnt the letter after she received it.

He can't do that. He can't. Loras was with Stannis, any attempt to overwhelm the King's banner could see Loras cut down in the confusion.

"So you mean to stand our ground? That message could have been faked." Ser Courtnay said.

"It only asks my neutrality until Mace Tyrell attacks, and has Mace's seal. The one the Targaryens gave me had a faked seal and demanded my surrender."

"They have Lord Varys with them, don't they?" Shireen asked. "He was always very cunning, wasn't he?"

"I think so."

"Well, then." Shireen said. "He could have sent an obvious fake message, to make the better fake look more convincing by comparison. And anyway, he lied about the dragons too. They obviously don't have those otherwise we'd have seen them by now."

Shireen hopped up onto the crenellations. She'd grown gangly, and she was near as tall as most of the men now.

"That's Stannis's banner charging!" she said, pointing at the clash of arms on the field. "My father is in battle, now!"

And Loras with him. Stannis had been cunning, entangling their families and causes so that any betrayal would mean losses for both Highgarden and the Iron Throne.

They had to do something to help Loras.

Ser Courtnay climbed up with her, examined the field, stepped down. "It's deadlocked down there. Could go either way. If Mace commits, they won't have enough reserves to fight off a commited attack on their flanks. Even the vanguard cavalry could make a difference and buy time for the rest of the army."

Margaery chewed her lip. If Mace saw her forces commiting…

She could force his hand. She could decide who sat the Iron Throne.

She could not risk it. If we commit and the Targaryens win anyway…

They won't. Not with us distracting their reserves, with the Tyrell army coming down on their flanks once Mace sees I have sallied. He won't hang me out to dry.

He would.

He might already have placed Loras in danger to play kingmaker…

"The king is in battle." Shireen said. "We have to go out and support him. And Loras too! If we sally out we help both our families."

"The letter!" a Tyrell knight said. "I cannot go against the orders of my sworn lord. If he wishes us to coordinate our attack with his, we must wait."

"Well, they lied about the dragon, didn't they? That letter could be a fake. Or a lie by Mace to make the Targaryens let their guard down. Anyway, we don't have to worry about Mace's orders." Shireen said. "Renly is lord of this castle."

"Do you insult Mace Tyrell's loyalty?" One of the knights asked, rounding on Shireen.

"No, my father is a loyal man." Margaery said. "But he is very cautious. He could wait for all his forces to come up, and by then the Targaryens could have broken Stannis and be rounding on him." Margaery said.

Stannis or Aegon. One of those meant Loras dead, Shireen dead, Tane dead, Olenna at risk, herself nowhere near the throne. And the other meant all that was needed was poison in Stannis's wine and she was queen. She could be fully secure and safe, not caught between the whims of Renly and Stannis, not sent off to seduce kings almost thrice her age.

And Loras was with Stannis's army. She could not let Mace do this.

Margaery took a deep breath. Enough caution and playing both sides. That would get them nowhere.

"Shireen is right. My loyalty is to my lord husband Renly Baratheon now, and he has put command of this castle in my hands. I have the final decision, and I believe we must prepare to sally."

"You just said, you cannot order the Tyrells men to go against their lords wishes." One of the knights said.

Margaery laughed. "Shireen is right, the snake Varys played us all for fools. Mace is a loyal man, he would never fail the rightful king even through inaction. His own son fights in defence of Stannis! He is simply being cautious, massing his forces so he can fully smash the Targaryens."

Ser Courtnay looked doubtful.

"I believe he is waiting for the right moment to attack. And that moment will come sooner if we attack the Targaryen camp and lure men away from their flanks." She was almost smiling now. She did not care about what Renly was planning, as little as he cared for her. She had her opening, her opportunity to win this war, rescue Olenna and Loras from Stannis's clutches, force Mace's hand before he could get them all killed through overcaution. Tane had taken her opportunity at the Red Keep all those years ago, and now she had hers.

"What about the dragons?" A Tyrell asked.

"With what dragon?" Margaery said. "We took men in the sallies who say they have never seen Aegon ride a dragon, that Drogon only follows their army like an albatross after a ship. Rhaegal died in battle to the guns of Captain-General Tane Bayder and I believe my own men can match her, given half a chance. Mass the men for an attack. Half the force shall sally, the remainder hang back as a reserve. Shireen, come with me, I have a speech to make."

She almost skipped down the stairs, tight-packed men in plate harness surrounding her.

Knights and mounted infantry were already massing in the courtyard, ready to sally or dismount to repel an attack on the walls. "We are going to sally forth against the Targaryen army!" Margaery said, hands balling, pacing back and forth with furious energy. She could not back down now, she had commited herself to this.

"The snake Varys tried to secure our neutrality and sow division with his forged letters, but little did he know he gave us nothing more than an excuse to keep our horses fresh and our harness bright. Whatever may have happened here in the past, between Baratheon and Tyrell, that is gone now. We are one house, united, against the Targaryens. We shall descend upon their camp, as Mace Tyrell and my Lord Husband Renly Baratheon crush their flank and His Grace the King Stannis becomes the anvil against which we shall smash them." He took her personal banner off her banner bearer, the banner with the doe with roses behind her ears, and gave it to the nearest knight.

Shireen was talking to a mass of archers, sudden bloodlust in her voice. "My father the king is out there! Every arrow you loose in in his defence! The liars have no dragons! They burnt King's Landing! Rout them! Break them!"

Then cheering, chants of "Ours is the fury! Ours is the fury!" and the soldiers flowing towards the sally ports and the opening main gate.

 

[Balaur]

"Why are we not attacking?" Loras asked as the last banners of cavalry moved into position, and the infantry columns inched forwards behind them.

Renly peered down into the chaos beneath them. The infantry battle was a mess, Stannis's lines having initially fractured then reformed and were holding, if shakily against the attack of the Golden Company, Unsullied and the Westerosi rebels. The right flank, inland, was madness, banners of horse swarming over almost a mile of open ground and the King's Banner in the midst of it all, and the left flank cavalry barely visible with all the masses of pikes and drifts of smoke that clogged their view.

"They still have uncommited reserves." Renly said, pointing at a shining mass of Dornish spearmen and Reachman pikes on a hillock, near Aegon's escort. "Wait for them to commit then nothing can stop us smashing their flanks."

"If Stannis's army begins to rout, then they can turn all their foot around to resist us." Loras said. "That could happen any moment. Remember how Robert won three victories in one day! That could be done to us!"

"If that happens, then we were on the Targaryen side all along, but could not bear to risk kinslaying." Mace retorted. "I shall not risk our army until the odds are fully in our favour."

Gods be good. Mace was actually countenancing the treason they had conceived.

He had thought it only a trick, a ploy to make the Targaryens not expect an attack from his army until it was too late, or a way to gain clemency if Stannis fell in battle. But Mace was actually doing it.

Loras was angry, desperate. "They won't leave you alive if they win, Renly! You're too popular, have too good a claim to the throne. And they'll kill Olenna and Margaery too. And the odds are in our favour! They have a few thousand foot in reserve, against near 10,000 horse and more foot coming up behind. Seven hells, we have to attack."

"Stannis will kill you too if he sees you. He told you that much." Mace said, his voice suddenly cold. "I want no child of mine dead upon this day."

He pointed at the banner of Stannis Baratheon, locked in a savage tumult of men and horses with enemy knights. Dornish light horse swarmed in on one flank.

Mace Tyrell shrugged, his voice suddenly hushed so that only Loras and Renly could hear him. "Let Stannis bleed a little longer. With all luck his banner shall go down, and we kill Aegon and march straight to King's Landing for a coronation."

"King's Landing is destroyed and the Iron Throne with it." Loras said.

"Then Lord Renly shall make himself a new one, out of the swords of dead Targaryens." Mace Tyrell answered.

"Perhaps we should hurry up and kill ourselves some Targaryens then." Loras said.

Loras bit his tongue, and waited. Stannis's banner rallied and fought their way back to a friendly banner, but the cavalry were being driven in, slowly but steadily. And once that flank collapsed, and the infantry had to deal with knights charging into their flank as well as the frontal attack of the Golden Company and Unsullied…

Mace is right. We wait. But not for much longer. Not if they wanted to give the Targaryens time to regroup and turn around. Maybe Tane would get herself killed in the chaos as well. That would rid him of at least one thorn in his side.

Loras watched silently, brow furrowed in anger.

Then he pointed at the gates of Storm's End. Renly raised a spyglass, tried to see what he was pointing at, and then he saw it; cavalry coming down from the gate and a column of infantry advancing from a sally port to attack the Targaryen siege camp.

"Margaery has made her decision." Loras said. "Look, her men are sallying!"

"She won't be with them." Mace said. "Her life is not at risk. And I have given the garrison their orders to maintain their neutrality until they see what I do. Yours is if we do not weaken the king, and Olenna's too…"

"Her banner is with them." Loras said, pointing to a tiny green-and-gold speck on the other end of the field, barely noticeable even with a Myrish glass "My sister is brave. Braver than you. "

"Anyway, what do you think the Targaryens will do to Olenna if they win, and Renly?" Loras suddenly yelled. "She has the blood of a pretender king and an ambitious lord in her veins as far as they're concerned."

"She's safe in the north." Renly said. "You told me as such. Margaeries brave but she's not a soldier. She'll have given her men her banner as a favour, I reckon."

"They'll hunt her down, or she'll make her own play for the throne and we'll have to do this all over again in twenty years. And they'll kill Margaery, they can't let you have any more heirs. Those are men who squired for you, who defended you in the rebellion, down there. We can't just watch them die. We have over 10,000 cavalry and they are nearly out of reserves. We cannot give them time to rally and turn to face us. Attack!" Loras said.

"We hold." Mace said. "The sallying force will draw off the last of their reserves then we advance in support. If Margaery is with the sally she'll be away from the fighting and she'll retreat to the castle if threatened."

Loras shook his head. "I thought you were better than this."

Then he turned and rode off, to the left wing of horse Garlan Tyrell commanded.

"He always was impetous." Mace said.

Renly grunted. "He's right. We can't claim neutrality if Stannis loses and Margaery is attacking already. And the Targaryens will kill me, sooner or later. I'm too dangerous. Trying to play for Aegon is suicide. And the Golden Company are good troops, they can turn and fight against a cavalry charge on their flank."

"Give it time. Every minute we wait is less men for us to fight."

"I know." Renly shrugged. "That's why I didn't side with him. I want Stannis and myself victorious."

"The longer we wait, the more the Targaryens think we've sided with them." Mace said. "Look, they're committing those pikemen to the fight. Less reserves for us to fight through."

They did wait, and then they heard trumpets blowing on the left.

"What in the seven hells-"

Renly turned, and saw the left wing cavalry beginning to advance, shining harness and bright caprisions flowing forwards with Loras and Garlan at their head.

Mace swore. "No one is to follow!"

He turned his horse and began to gallop across, to the nearest banner. He was waving and yelling, ordering them to halt. Some of the other banners further down the line halted too when they saw the confusion, but the banners of Loras and Garlan Tyrell began to pace up to a canter.

Renly realized with horror what was happening. Loras would either force Mace to commit to an attack, or make him watch his sons die, brave but unsupported.

Renly smiled openly in his helmet. Seven above, Loras might be reckless, but no one could fault his courage, or cunning.

"Signal the advance, we're moving down to support Loras!" Renly shouted to his trumpeteers and messengers.

"But m'lord, Mace Tyrell does not wish for us to attack." A squire answered.

"He is getting on in years, and he was never much of a fighter." Renly said. "I am, and I sense that we need to attack. On me!"

More trumpets were blowing as Renly's men prepared to advance, and Mace came galloping back.

"What are you doing, we cannot attack-"

"Loras doesn't care." Renly said, laughing. "He wants me on the throne and his sister safe and he will charge straight into their army alone if he thinks that will secure him his aims. So we either leave him to die alone or we attack, right now. And even if you order all our Reachmen to stand their ground, I shall take charge of my Stormmen and lead them down. The throne is mine, and Loras Tyrell shall live to command my kingsguard, do you understand?"

Mace blanched, then nodded.

"I understand."

"Good."

And Renly took up his lance and lowered his visor, and they attacked the flanks of the Targaryen army in revolt.

The whole mass of horse came streaming over the hills at a walk, a rolling clatter of hoofs and harness that flowed down the slope between their armies. The Targaryen reserves moved to block their advance, and they were trying to turn some of the cavalry banners around too, but it was too little too late. Ahead of him, off to the right, Garlan's banner slowed his advance and fell back in with the rest of the right wing, but Loras's paced up to a trot, pulling further ahead of the rest of the army.

He's still going to charge in unsupported. Seven Hells.

And then Renly tracked his eyes across the field, and saw the straight line between Loras and Aegon's command banner just behind the second line of foot, and the Dornish infantry moving to block them, and realized what was about to happen.

Renly pricked his horse up to a canter, and his banner followed, and the Targaryen reserve cavalry tried to counter-charge the center but it was too late.

Renly's banner and the rest of the line galloped at them, lowering their lances at the last moment. The banners either side of them charged home, driving lances into flesh and mail, passing through their lines and wheeling back in for the melee. The banner ahead of Renly, light armed Dornishmen, melted before the charge of his heavy horse, throwing a volley of javelins then turning and fleeing. One Dornishman, his horse exhausted, could not gallop fast enough and was lanced through the back of the neck.

Renly's banner ploughed through the line, and he knew he should turn back and support the other banners in the melee but Loras was up ahead and to his right, charging straight into the Dornish shieldwall, and Renly knew he had to support him so he shouted "Follow me! Follow me! We're killing Aegon!" and they wheeled and cantered towards the Dornish line.

The Dornish held firm against Loras's charge, and the horses did not balk at the thicket of spears and shields that faced them and so they slammed together.

The front ranks almost exploded, a shower of flying lance splinters and bodies hurled through the air and flicking javelins and then Loras's men were ploughing forwards, hacking in all directions.

Renly screamed out "Charge! Charge! A Stag!" and his own banner paced up to the gallop and lowered their lances.

The front three ranks of Dornish layered their spears and shields, front rank crouching and the second stooping, while those behind hurled javelins over their shoulders.

Renly remembered how they had rode through the line of Lannister levies on the Ocean Road.

He did not flinch.

The shocks came one after the other, first his lance going screaming off a bronze-faced shield and then his horse slamming breast-first into the infantry. Renly was rocked forwards in the saddle, the high-fronted war saddle being the only thing that stopped him being tumbled forwards into the mass of the enemy, and recovered himself and began beating at the nearest enemy with his lance butt. It was carnage then, overturned horses and men on the ground, some Dornish throwing their spears and running in with swords and others backing away, sword and axe and mace flashing as the cavalry ploughed forwards into the mass of enemies. Renly drew his hammer and rained blows on one man until he dropped, had a second run at him with his shield over his head and try to stab his horse under the barding, but one of his constables bowled him over with the weight of his horse and then he thrashed at more Dornishmen to his left and right and they were pushing through, passing out onto the open ground on the over side and both them and the Dornish were falling apart, some men running for their lives, others trying to fight with unhorsed or stalled men. He could see men who's horses had balked on the other side of the remnants of the Dornish line, and then more banners charging in after him, completing the ruin of their shieldwall. He turned about for Loras and saw his banner had broken through and was charging straight at Aegon's own command banner, and Renly shouted for fresh lances to be passed up from the squires and lowborn lancers in the rear ranks and they were charging again, leaving the supporting banners to deal with the Dornish.

Arrows raked into Loras's banner ahead, archers who had been previously lobbing shots over the line or running forwards to skirmish in lulls in the fighting suddenly finding new targets to their rear. Horses went down, men cringed under shields, but it did not stop the charge, by now only a few dozen knights and their retainers, from crashing into the tight-packed mass of Golden Company knights. The Company only had time to turn, they had no time to countercharge.

His heart leapt as he saw armoured men unhorsed by ash and iron, Aegon's banner going down, sunlight flashing off Loras's harness as he wheeled in the midst of them, axe striking in all directions.

Men were yelling orders, loosing arrows into Renly's banner. They were hitting the vulnerable sides, where the barding did not cover as well and where the helmets were thinner. Something smashed into the side of his helmet with a noise like he was being hit by a blacksmith's hammer and he saw red for a moment. His horse stumbled and other knights pulled ahead of him.

Loras's horse went down in the midst of the melee, and Westerosi rebel soldiers were rushing to Aegon's defence, and Renly screamed "Go! Go! Lay on!" and spurred his horse as hard as he could into the melee and couched his lance at an Andal soldier, in hauberk and kettle hat who turned just in time to see the lance coming for his face.

He died instantly. Renly dropped his lance and rode straight at a knight, turning and trading blows with a Tyrell squire, and Renly rode into him side-on and hurled him from the saddle, and leaned down in the saddle to kill him with a thrust to the face from his bastard sword.

Something hooked into his pauldron and he snarled and turned, and then his horse was falling and he tried to throw himself clear but his spur was stuck in the stirrup, and there was still a halberd snagging his pauldron and someone yelling "Finish him! Finish him!" and a knight on foot with a longaxe raised it for a stunning blow.

Loras chopped down into the axeman's mailed wrist, breaking it, then razored his face open with a rising cut. The halberdier dropped his halberd and went for his sword but he was too slow, Loras hit him in his mail-coifed throat hard enough to drop him to the ground wheezing then finished him with two more blows. Renly wrenched his spur free, reached up and tore out the halberd stuck in his pauldron and got to his feet. His horse had a spear through his neck. He slung his shield and gripped his bastard sword two-handed. Loras pointed at a man on horseback, shouted "That's Aegon! Kill the pretender!" and was running towards him, ducking through the chaos of the cavalry fight and Renly was running after him.

A knight turned and shouted a warning, and lashed at Loras with his flail. Loras rocked back from the first blow, caught the second on his axe shaft and let it wrap around then yanked down. Another knight came at Loras from the right and Renly charged him, stabbing with his bastard sword two-handed. The knight turned it on his shield and Renly parried his riposte on the middle of his sword, seizing it by the blade like it was an axe shaft, then a Tyrell lancer got the Golden Company knight across the visor with a warhammer, hooked him around the neck and began to drag him from horseback. Renly turned back to Loras, saw him over the knight he had been fighting, now unhorsed, raining axe blows into his face, and Aegon was surging away, his officers and bodyguards closing ranks around him, a hole in the line of rebel foot closing up as his men withdrew.

They were a dense line of spearmen. All of them had jacks, mail or brigandine, and they wore kettle-hats or half-helms with aventails. Behind the spears and shields were men with two-handed weapons: longaxes, halberds, war scythes, spike-bladed cleavers. They would run forwards for the slaughter when the enemy line broke, or unhorse and kill cavalry penetrating into their own lines.

"Back up, we need to get back to our banners-" Renly shouted.

"Aegon's right there, we have him, we have him!" Loras shouted, pointing to where Aegon and a few of his bodyguards were rallying behind the foot. Aegon dismounted, vanishing behind the mass of spearmen.

A pair of mounted knights wheeled out from the mass of rallying cavalry and charged the rebel foot. One crashed through the shieldwall, stalled in the supporting ranks and was dragged from the saddle and killed in their midst. The second's horse balked and he was driven back by the flicking spears of the file-closers, old, grim looking men with the colours of Houses Crabb and Brune on their shields; the kind of veterans who could be trusted to stop the rest of the shieldwall from fleeing and to not panic if taken in the rear.

Renly began to back away towards where the remains of his and Loras's banners were rallying, shouting for Loras to come with him, but Loras was standing his ground, screaming for Aegon to face him in single combat.

A halberdier ran out ahead of the mass and swung at Loras. Loras stepped forwards and to the side, caught the blow on his axe shaft then drove the axe butt up into the footman's face before swiftly felling him with a cut across the face.

Someone flung a spear and it caught in Loras's surcoat. He staggered back, snarling, trying to get it free, and then there was a yell of "That's a rose and a stag! Get them, we're rich men!" and the whole mass of foot charged at them. Loras's and Renly's horsemen counterattacked, and Renly ran to Loras's defence. Loras turned a spear thrust but someone slammed into him shield first and knocked him staggering. Renly bulled into that man shoulder first, knocked him over, and a sword blow went screaming off his helmet and he turned and was trading blows with a footman over Loras, screaming "Get back! GET BACK!".

A horsemen stunned his opponent with a mace, and Renly drove his sword through his face. Another spearmen stabbed over the dying man's shoulders, forcing Renly to parry lest he be speared through his raised visor, and the men-they had to be a lord's personal retinue, they were fighting like lions-were driving the cavalry back in, forcing the horses back with lashing spears and tight packed bodies. They were over Loras; he saw men falling there, Loras must be fighting from the ground; and Renly hurled himself at them, stabbing over shields frantically, leaning his weight in, trying to shove them back.

Then the enemy were falling back, cavalry in Tyrell colours surging into their flanks and he could see Loras on the ground, face bloody and someone had grabbed him by the ankle and was trying to drag him back into the enemy line. Renly grabbed that soldier by the brim of his helmet and smashed his pommel into his face, over and over until the man collapsed, and then he turned back to Loras, couldn't see him, no, he was over there, a Storm's End squire was dragging him back, and Renly ran over and crouched over him.

"Are you hurt! Are you hurt!"

His helm was crushed in by heavy axe blows and someone had gotten his visor open and stabbed him through the face, right under the eye. His dagger was in his hand and bloody.

Loras's brown eyes were glassy. "Loras!" Renly shouted. He grabbed his hand. "Loras! Can you hear me!"

Loras blinked, shuddering.

"I… can…"

No, no, no, they had their victory, but not like this, it couldn't be, not like this-

"Lord Renly!" A knight shouted. "Lord Renly!"

"G- get him back."

"M'lord-"

"Loras is wounded, we need to get him out of here!" Renly shouted. "Get me a horse!"

He turned back to Loras.

"We're going to get you out of here-"

Loras's pupils were spreading open. His eyes no longer moved. Renly took his hand, and felt the heaviness in it, the combined weight of flesh and bone and harness with no life to move it.

He could be unconscious but not dead, there's still a chance-

Men dismounted around him, knights and mounted infantry forming to screen them. Someone was shouting to find Lord Baratheon a new horse.

"M'lord! What are our orders! We're strung out and exhausted, we can't hold against a counterattack-"

"I don't fucking care!" Renly shouted, then, gathering himself "Get everyone mounted, get Loras out of here, get him to a maester, find Garlan, tell him he has command…"

He got to his feet. He felt drunk, like his head was full of fog. "Aegon! Come out and fight me you fucking coward! I'll bash your head in like Robert did your father at Ruby Ford! Aegon!" There was no reply from the mass of foot opposite, still fighting savagely against the Tyrell knights, steadily falling back to the mass of Golden Company pikemen behind them, or from the Golden Company commanders pacing behind them.

Renly tried to shove past the line of dismounted men to his front. "Aegon!"

"M'lord, were you struck over the head?"

All around him the enemy was beginning to break, trickles of men now but it would turn into a torrent. Banners of cavalry were running back and forth in their rear, cutting down men, harrying the enemy rear, and he could see even men of the Golden Company beginning to run, and the Unsullied beginning to fall back in good order, but it didn't matter, Aegon had stolen Loras and Stannis would steal his throne, and there was nothing he could do.

"Aegon! Fight me you coward!" Renly bellowed.

The knight who Loras had thought was Aegon mounted up, and for a moment Renly thought he would fight, but he drew an axe from his saddle and turned and rode into the collapsing line of the Golden Company.

 

[Balaur]

Tommen Baratheon and Russell Merryweather had been assigned by Aegon to be the King's eyes in the beach camp, to give them the best chance of escape in the event of a defeat without the dishonour of being sent away by the king. The camp on the beach was near as large as the siege camp, with row after row of crude lean-tos and huts: oarsmen of beached galleys getting some rest outside the cramped conditions of their warships, camp followers sent away from the main force, foraging parties going inland to fetch fresh provisions for the fleet in preparation for the noncombatants being sent home to Myr.

The Myrish admirals, merchant cogsmen mostly who had employed free crews and as such avoided being killed or deposed by their oarsmen in the slave uprisings, had command of the ship's crews. Herself and Taena Merryweather had command of the camp followers.

The main force was in battle, she knew that much from the flow of messengers and wounded men. Mace Tyrell was in position but he was not attacking either side. The main line was driving Stannis in.

The threat of the dragons had worked to stay the hand of Tyrell. Every attempt Aegon had made to lure Drogon down and tame him had failed. He simply seized gifts of food and carried them off into the sky, and snarled and spat fire when Aegon tried the lash. They were relying on a sham threat, a mummery, to win this, and yet somehow it worked. Margaery Tyrell, her scouts observant of the coming and goings of their camp, had not fallen for the bluff, had refused any attempt to convince her to open her gates until such time as Lord Renly personally ordered her to yield the castle. But her father had no such information, and now would not risk his army and his family against dragonfire.

That seeming victory had not lasted.

The first signs of defeat appeared late in the afternoon on the day of battle. Clumps of fleeing men, some of them wounded, had come riding in on blown horses, shouting that all was lost: the flanks were collapsing, Storm's End and the army of the Reach had broken their pact and where attacking on both flanks, Drogon would not descend to battle.

What, he sent a raven informing us of his plan to betray Stannis, he held his forces back, they said he was-

It didn't matter. The Tyrells were a weathervane. She'd expected it to be a cautious sort of weathervane though, not outright deception and treachery.

I told Aegon this was a trap. I tried to tell him.

Her heart sunk and her gut was liquid, but she realized what she had to do.

If Aegon was routed in a pitched battle, then that meant pursuing forces would be coming soon. Tommen…

Stannis killed children. If they were taken alive, that was as good as being killed in battle.

She strode into the tent of the chief Myrish admiral.

"Aegon's lost the battle, there are already fleeing men, we need to get everyone out of here to Essos."

"I know." The man snapped. Drums were beating outside. "I'm getting every oarsman to our warships."

"We need to take the women and children out."

"I'm signalling for the dromonds and fifties to clear off the shore, so the cogs and galleases can send boats."

"The galleys are already ashore, we can start loading them with people right now."

"The Baratheon fleet is moving on us. We need every galley we can screening for them."

"The fleet?"

"Aye, Stannis is trying to trap us."

Off at sea, she heard booms like distant thunder, and realized with dread that was the weapons of the foreigners.

So they waited. Some attempt was made to organize a defence as battle was joined out at sea, the screening galleys fighting fiercely but being overrun one by one. Some of the merchant transports and horse-carriers were trying to flee for the stepstones and the free cities, others were coming in to take off the crowds of refugees beginning to throng the beach, and the galleys were trying to get out to sea to fight off the attacking Westerosi Dromonds.

Genna did what she could, going up and down the beach, imploring the fighters to defend the ditches and stakelines while they took the women and children off.

Warships began to burn like candles out at sea, the fires and the setting sun turning the waves the colour of red wine. The fleet was holding, more and more ships coming out as reinforcements, but the merchantmen were fleeing, or were so big they could only send their boats ashore, and those could take only a few dozen people at a time.

Fighting began around the ditches as the sun set, dismounted Tyrell knights and archers apparently. Stray arrows began to flick down amongst the camp followers. A longboat came in from one of the cogs, and everyone rushed it all at once, women and children mostly who began screaming and pleading and striking at each other when it was clear there wasn't enough room. A group of freedmen with spears and shields, another knot of women and children and wounded behind them, came shoving in through the mess, ordered everyone out and took the boat for themselves.

The next boats had Myrish marines on them who levelled their crossbows and bellowed orders, forcing people to come on to the boats one by one.

We aren't going to get even a tenth of these people out, Genna realized, and then: We can pull rank, we can push ahead of the smallfolk, we can save ourselves.

She found Tommen and Russell with a group of Westerosi lancers and archers, fleeing men who had refound their courage and dismounted to defend the camp.

Genna took Tommen aside. "There's not enough places in the ships for everyone and not enough time. If we want to escape, we need to get out of here right now"

"I can't…."

"Stannis is going to overrun this camp." Genna said. "When he does, we'll die, he won't tolerate threats to the crown. He'll kill all of us. We have to flee. Please."

"We led all those people here!" Tommen suddenly yelled. "We burnt King's Landing down! We can't just run away and leave them-"

"Stannis killed your brother and your sister and your mother, his soldiers killed my sons, I can't lose anyone else to these bastards, please."

The sounds of fighting drew in closer, blows thudding into shields and the fearful cacophony of hundreds of men in plate harness moving. Someone was shouting "Reserves to the front! We need more fucking spears-" and one of the knights shouted for his men to get going. The knight turned to Tommen and Russell. "Fuck Aegon. Save your families."

She grabbed Tommen's hand. "We're getting out of here. You're not dying to Stannis Baratheon."

She dragged Tommen down to the beach. He could have pulled away from her easily enough, but he was too struck with fear and shock to resist. She thought to look for Varys, see if he had some plan to escape, but he had not appeared at the command tent and was nowhere to be seen on the beach.

The snake dragged us into this disaster then left us to die. If she ever saw him again, she would strangle him with her bare hands.

Taena Merryweather was screaming at a group of freedwoman, "Please, I risked my life spying for Aegon, I need to save my son-" only to be shoved back by someone screaming "Fuck the highborn!"

"I'm not highborn, I was a slave too-"

Russell drew his sword and strode down the beach shouting "Get away from my mother!" and the crowd of freedwomen surged away, and Tommen and Genna both were shouting to anyone who would listen that it would go faster if they just stopped fighting, and down on the waterfront there were crossbows thrumming and people screaming and overloaded boats going out to sea, and as she watched in the moonlight one capsized and dozens of people who had come seeking freedom died in the waves.

Half a dozen marines came out of the crowd and up onto the beach, swords drawn and crossbows held in their off-hands, screaming threats and orders in Low Valyrian.

"Hey!" Genna waved, stumbling over to them. "Hey!"

The leader turned to her. "They stole our boat."

"There's no way we can get off the beach or you can escape, here. Listen, is there a way we could signal a ship to pick us up somewhere else?"

"The ocean's going to be crawling with Baratheon galleys, everyone is busy fighting and they're already overrunning the camp. We escape today or not at all."

"Alright." Genna took a deep breath. "Listen. I need to get Tommen Baratheon out of here before Stannis kills him. There's loyal houses in the rainwood, they could get us to Dorne or the Stepstones…"

"It's too dangerous." The man said.

"Do you want to go home?" Taena Merryweather asked. "Please. Get us off this beach alive and I'll give you any reward I can secure. I'm a highborn lady, my husband has a castle. I beg of you."

The man glanced at the thronging crowd, and the carnage spreading through the camp as the Tyrells advanced, cutting tent lines, throwing burning torches, and then he nodded.

"I'm taking my men to the horselines. The Tyrells haven't advanced that far. We'll see if any ships come to pick up stragglers."

"Thankyou. Thankyou."

The crossbowmen loaded their weapons. There was screaming on the beach, and a sudden surge in the crowd, and as she looked back she saw mounted men come charging onto the sand through a gap in the palisade, hacking at fleeing soldiers and any camp followers who got in their way. The crowd swarmed in around her as they fled, almost buffeting them. She grabbed Tommen's hand and he drew his sword and they set off through the chaos, swept along in the tide of fleeing bodies. She focused on the pavise slung across the back of the marine's vintenar, followed that as tightly as she could. They shoved their way out of the crowds on the beach, came up onto the beach. A group of freedwomen carrying spears and woodaxes ran up to them, fleeing for the beach. They had children following after them and one of them had an arrow through her thigh. "The beach is no good!" Genna shouted. "Head west!"

They stumbled through the chaos, only to run into half a dozen Tyrell archers hacking and stabbing at struggling shapes in collapsed tents. Another two were grabbing at a Lyseni freedwoman, trying to rape her in the torchlight. A knight in Florent colours was trying to pull the archers off her, bellowing that orders where to secure the camp, not sack it.

The Myrishmen raised their crossbows and loosed. A bolt punched through the side of the knight's helmet and dropped him and two of the archers went stumbling back, pierced through with bolts. The Myrishmen were marines; they were made of stern enough stuff to draw their swords and charge. The Tyrells, caught by surprise, turned and ran; one of them tripped on a tentline and was killed with a blow to the back of the neck while the rest were lost in the chaos of bodies and tents. The Lyseni girl went scrambling past them, sobbing in fear. They reloaded and kept moving, through the screams and the panicked orders in a dozen languages, through the smoke that stung her eyes. She could feel Tommen's hand shaking with fear. The horselines were up ahead, she knew that. There were only a few hundred mounts in this camp; the guards were all infantry and only a handful of the camp followers rode.

The Myrish vintenar ordered his men to fan out into a line and advance into the chaos. Horses screamed and reared, terrified by the noise and the flames, as freedmen and fleeing soldiers fought over the mounts, some of them leaping up onto them bareback. A Westerosi horseman was caught up in the chaos, slashing at men on foot. He saw them, shouted something and began to gallop towards them only to die in a hail of crossbow bolts. They saw a group of horses, still tethered, at least a dozen of them. "Look! There's enough for all of us!" Taena shouted, and she began to run for them, Russell following them.

Gods, they had a chance. Get to the Rainwood, there had to be someone there, someone who could aid them.

"That's the Lannisters! Take them alive!" someone shouted, and she turned and saw men in Tarly and Crane colours advancing on them. A wave of freedmen spears backed by camp women with knives and woodaxes charged them, trying to get to the horses, and in that moment of chaos Genna ran for the horses. Genna scrambled onto horseback, on a freshly saddled horse. Someone grabbed at her reins, trying to pull her horse down, and she drew her dagger and stabbed at the attackers face and only realized when her victim had fallen it was one of their own, one of the newly-freed slaves the Dothraki kept as servants and brought across against their will. She didn't care as she checked Tommen was mounted. They took off at half a gallop, through a gap in the stakes the fleeing camp followers had pulled out. There were people running in their hundreds, soldiers throwing down their weapons, camp followers carrying babies and bags of loot. Freeriders rode amidst the chaos, trying to herd up the prisoners like sheep, hacking down anyone who tried to stand and fight. An arrow whipped past her face and punched into one of the crossbowmen's throats, sending him tumbling from the saddle. Another freerider galloped up to them, seizing the reigns of the riderless horse, and the vintenar was yelling "Run! Fucking run!" as they tried to flee, his men unused to horseback, many of their horses poorly saddled. She kicked her horse as hard as she could, whipped his reigns, tried to force him to gallop, screaming for Tommen to stay close. She would probably die if her horse broke a leg in the dark and chaos. She would definitely die if the Baratheons caught her.

*

It did them no good, in the end.

They were hiding in a barn two dozen miles from Storm's End when the Baratheons caught up to them at dawn, two days later. They'd gone to ground there, hoping to signal down one of the passing Targaryen galleys who were fleeing for the stepstones with Myrish fleet signals. It had not worked; all their attempts had done was tell the Baratheon dragnet where they were. Every ship fleeing under Targaryen colours had ignored them.

She could hear hooves outside, hushed voices with thick Stormlanders accents, the clatter of harness as a man dismounted, and around her the half dozen Myrish marines spanned their crossbows and set up the lone pavise they'd brought so a team could cover the doorway, and there was a shout of "Yield yourselves up! You are a dozen against a hundred!"

Tommen drew his sword, and her heart ached for him, a boy of twelve born to be King of the Seven Kingdoms about to die in a hopeless skirmish.

The vintenar of the Myrishmen glanced between her and Taena Merryweather.

"What do we do?"

"Can we break out?"Genna asked.

"We could try. They'll have men covering the door." He said. "And they'll ride us down. They have mounted men out there."

"Can we hold them?"

"We could make them bleed, if we hide up in the rafters. But then they'll just burn the barn down around our heads."

Stannis will kill us like he killed Joffrey and the Darry boy and half my sons, if we are taken alive-

"Yield!", again from outside. "Come out or we'll burn down the entire barn with you inside!"

One of the men came clambering down from the rafters. "I got a good look at them, there's dozens of them out there, with plenty of archers and heavy foot both. Fuck this. I'm yielding."

"They'll kill Tommen if they take him alive." Genna said. "We have to try to break out."

"They'll kill the lot of us if we don't yield." The marine said.

""We can't beat them, can we?" Tommen asked.

Genna shook her head.

"Then we shouldn't let the Myrmen die for us." Tommen said.

Genna shut her eyes, opened them. All this way for nothing, nothing but the headman's sword.

We should have stayed in Myr.

"Yield or we'll loose burning arrows!"

Tommen walked towards the barn doors. "We yield! We're coming out!" He shouted, his voice trembling.

The Myrishmen opened the barn doors and filed out into the sunlight, where longbowmen with arrows nocked watched and waited for them to emerge. A clump of spearmen and axemen stood behind them. Freeriders paced around the outside of the barn with spears, ready to ride down anyone who dared to flee.

She raised her hands, and Tommen and Russell Merryweather undid their sword belts. The Myrmen hooked windlasses to their crossbows and unspanned them, then put down their swords, daggers, and quivers.

Genna yielded up her dagger, as a knight with the design of an onion upon his shield, wearing a kettle hat and plain harness rode up to them.

He looked them up and down, then: "That's them."

Someone laughed "We got them, boys!", and soft cheering, and footsteps off to her right and she turned and saw men she hadn't even noticed before, men with sunburnt skin armoured only in brigandines at the most and armed with crossbows or spears and shields, moved in to secure the prisoners.

The Myrishmen were pushed down to their knees and had their hands tied, and Tommen and Russell too. They shoved Taena down with more force than seemed necessary, and looked to go farther until the knight snapped at them to treat the prisoners with respect. Genna was left unbound; her arm had healed enough to be unsplinted but they decided not to bind her on account of age. The crossbowmen went off to search the barn, the onion knight(Davos Seaworth, perhaps?) paid a group of watching peasants handsomely in silver, and they set off in a column, the spearmen surrounding the prisoners while the archers and horsemen moved around them like a cloud.

There was shouts ahead, the clatter of hooves on the road, and her heart lifted and she thought for a moment she was saved as she had been in the Westerlands but crossbows buzzed, there was the thud of a horse going down, and more hoofbeats. Someone yelled in Dothraki. A second horse tripped and fell with a noise like green kindling breaking, screaming, then a few more crossbow shots and silence.

She could scarcely see what had happened, surrounded as she was by the armoured footmen.

"Dothraki stragglers." Someone murmured. "Got two, three legged it."

"We need to keep moving. I heard some of the Tarly cavalry got ambushed and routed by a couple hundred Unsullied yesterday, while they were riding through a village."

"I'd believe it. Fuckers want to get to Essos but we burnt their ships. Got nothing for it but to run for Dorne or die fighting."

They were taken to the coast, where a long low galley hung off the coast. Longboats were pulled up on the shore, and she was forced into it. They were rowed out in silence, taken onto the deck, then locked up in the ship's handful of cabins. Hers looked like a captain's cabin, with a bucket for a latrine and a simple bed. Someone had been kind enough to give them a candle. "I'll be back." The Onion knight said. "Get some rest."

Then she was locked up, and left for the night.

Even with the exhaustion of two days awake and on the run, she could not sleep. She feared that men would come, to murder her quietly. Stannis and his minions were ruthless, but they were not stupid; they might very well try to blame her death on renegade soldiers.

Waking would not save her, she knew. She could not overpower an assassin. Even if she could, they would just send another, and another, until it was done.

But her mind was not rational, it was filled with animal fear, and that fear said you are hunted, you must be ready to run or fight.

Hours later, there was a sharp knock and the door opened.

A man entered. It took her a moment to recognize that it was the same man as the onion knight when he was not in armour. He was neither short nor tall, unarmed and unarmoured, short, brown haired and grey bearded and with a face so plain she could almost think she'd met him a hundred times before.

She froze.

The stranger.

"I am Lord Davos Seaworth." he said. "The King's Master of Whispers."

"If you've come to kill me, make it quick."

"I'm not here to kill you." He said. "My men have strict orders to keep your location a secret and to protect you and Tommen."

"So no one knows we were taken alive?"

"What is left of the rebel army, those who have not yielded anyway, could try to hunt down Tommen and rescue him as a figurehead to continue the revolt. That is intolerable. And His Grace the King Stannis Baratheon is a ruthless man. He does what he thinks best for the realm, and if that means killing children for their birth then so be it."

"You mean to kill us quietly, then?"

"No, I mean to save Tommen's life."

Does he wish to use us as a puppet in some scheme or treason? Does he mean to overthrow Stannis and rule through Tommen?

"Why?"

"The King will know. I cannot hide that." Davos said. "But I am placing myself, my men and the sea between him and his wrath. That will slow him down, and force him to see reason. Stannis is ruthless and bloody-minded, but he is not cruel, and I am an old friend. I will force him to see mercy and reason."

She almost had to laugh, everything gone to pieces only to end under the control of a man apparently willing to commit treason for them.

"Then if you have your way what will be done with us?"

"Tommen will become a Maester, a Septon or a watchman. To spare the realm the cruelty of another war, and him the cruelty of execution." Davos said. "Russell will not be executed, he is only a lord's heir. He has done no treason himself and poses no threat to the realm. Lady Merryweather is a known spy and traitor. She'll have to be executed or confined, I'm afraid."

"If I may ask another question… what became of Aegon and Daenerys?"

"Dead in battle." Davos said. "Both died fighting bravely."

"Ah."

"I saw the body of Aegon myself, and one of Stannis's commanders, someone who is not prone to lying, says she personally killed Daenerys in the battle on the Riverroad."

The Dothraki was right. The khal of witches killed her.

It was over. No daring escape, no second attempt at the throne, just Stannis Baratheon finishing what his brother had started. Every last head of the dragon had been severed.

At least if Lord Seaworth told the truth, they had a chance of survival.

"What is to be done with me, then?"

"I can defend Tommen and Russell. Captain-General Tane Bayder has similar objections to the murder of children as I do, and she has a degree of influence over the King."

"The Captain-General? She stormed the Red Keep in defiance of guest right, took Tommen prisoner the first time and helped condemn Cersei to death! How could you rely on her-"

"She has her principles." Davos said. "More so than the king. But Stannis is ruthless. I need to give him a concession."

"You'll argue that the killing of young boys is too far and so you cannot turn over Tommen, but that highborn ladies should face the consequences of their treason?"

"Aye."

She had come all this way to die. She would never see what was left of her family, or Casterley Rock or Lannisport. She would never rule as lady of Casterley Rock, or avenge the slaughter of her sons and Jaime and Cersei, Tywin and Kevan and all the others.

She would never know if Tommen was safe, or see the traitors Stannis and Renly and their witches heads up on stakes for what they had done. It was all for nothing.

"What's more, if you confess that Tommen is a bastard but otherwise innocent, then Stannis will be more likely to spare him. I can convince him that Tommen is no longer a threat if his claim is utterly discredited. I need all the leverage I can over Stannis, my lady."

"I shall confess. But I want an oath from Stannis. A public oath. That Tommen Waters shall be spared, and sent to the wall or the keep or the Maesters."

"I will do what I can-"

"I will only confess with a guarantee of such. I will sacrifice Tommen's claim and secure Stannis's to defend his life, but if there is no such guarantee Stannis shall go to the grave known as an usurper and kinslayer."

 

[Balaur]

Lord Renly and King Stannis rode up to the gates of Storm's End looking like dead men.

Renly's surcoat was cut to pieces, his helm gone, his eyes glassy. He had his face bandaged; there was a redness to one side of his face, like it was bruised, or a little blood was left after the rest had been dabbed away. Stannis was worse, his eyes sunken, his hand bandaged. That awful wet cough had come back and he was hacking in the saddle.

She came down to greet them at the gates alongside Shireen. There was blood under her nails too; she had been helping with the wounded from the sally.

The aftermath of the battle stretched out before them. It was slaughter on an almost inconceivable scale, thickets of bodies where masses of infantry had clashed, dying horses all across the fields, knots of corpses stretching to the horizon where fleeing men had been caught up against ditches and stone fences and were killed by pursuing Tyrell cavalry. There were even bodies at the base of the sea cliffs, she was told, where panicked horses had carried their riders to their doom. There would be corpses all through the camp too. Many of the Freedmen had died fighting desperately, as her own garrison and advancing Silvercloaks had cleared the siege camp.

"You are victorious, my lord!" Margaery said, leaning across on horseback to kiss Lord Renly. He was even colder than usual, seemed to almost stare through her.

"How fares my brothers?"

Renly did not react.

"My lord?"

"Loras Tyrell is dead in battle." Stannis said. He broke out into another fit of hacking coughs. "He broke his Kingsguard vows, but he died with courage. I can say that much for him."

"My brother is dead?"

Not Loras. If Stannis had led him to his death…

"He, he… he tried to fight Aegon in single combat." Renly said. "And the coward let his footmen kill Loras."

"Oh." Margaery said.

Oh.

He was gone, dead in battle, as simple as that. It had all seemed almost intellectual up until now, but one name and one face had more force to it than ten thousand nameless dead.

"What about Garlan? And Mace? Did they make it?"

Panic was creeping into her voice, then. The male side of her family, everyone except Willas, could have been wiped out while she watched with her none the wiser.

"They are unhurt" Stannis growled. "Thanks to Maces cowardice."

They are safe, at least. But Loras…

She could feel the tears pricking her eyes as she turned and began to ride for the keep. "My lords, I will instruct the cooks to prepare a victory feast."

"There is no need. I have no appetite, after that slaughter." Stannis said.

*

She came to her chambers after a perfunctory order to the staff to prepare a victory feast anyway and to send out the Maester and some of the servants down to the field to help with the wounded and the burials.

She was too stunned with grief to think clearly. They had won, they had smashed the Golden Company and the Unsullied, no dragons had come down from the sky to burn her, but Loras's life seemed too high a cost to pay.

Someone entered. It was Renly Baratheon, his face still pale where it was not bruised, shocked into numbness. He had clearly been crying.

He sat down on the bed next to her, stared at his knees.

"Where is Olenna? I have not seen her all this time." Renly asked. "Is she unharmed?"

He sounded pained, almost rehearsed.

He wishes to mourn Loras, but must attend to the matter of his living family.

"Ser Davos's men took her north, to White Harbour. I let them take her, for her safety in the siege."

"And I was not told?"

"We only conceived of the plan after you had left on campaign." Margaery lied.

"Loras told me the plan was conceived before then. And that you lied to me about it."

"If you were taken in battle and interrogated… wait, how did Loras tell you? He was with Stannis's army for the whole war. Did your forces meet? How did he die? Stannis said he broke his vows"

She had to know. It didn't make any sense. Had Loras broken his kingsguard vows to die fighting at Renly's side?

"Stannis took a messenger prisoner and wanted Loras to take him off to be tortured, back in the Riverlands." Renly said. "Loras refused, Stannis tried to have him arrested for treason but relented and instead stripped him of his armour and sent him off on an archer's nag. He ended up with our army…"

Gods be good.

She did not respond, did not know how to, but Renly continued anyway.

"He died because Mace Tyrell wanted you to be queen." Renly said. "Mace wanted to wait until Stannis was dead and his army was routing, then he would come down upon the flanks and rout the Targaryens and make you queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and me King, and Loras captain of the Kingsguard. Loras would not risk it, he saw your banner amongst the men sallying and wanted to attack immediately. Mace would not charge, until Loras led his own banner out ahead of the others and then Mace had no choice but to save his son."

"You went with him?"

"I took Mace's side. That we should preserve our army as much as possible."

"And Loras charged off alone, while you hung back?"

"I ordered my men to charge as soon as I saw what Loras was doing! I followed his banner all the way across the field, and I was at his side when he died." Renly said, stung.

It was his fault. Mace Tyrell listened to him, there could have been a coordinated attack that didn't end up with Loras and a few dozen other men facing hundreds of foot. They could have told her that Loras was not with the Kingsguard. Renly got Loras onto the Kingsguard, Renly sent her to Storm's End, Renly brought her to King's Landing, all of this had been put into motion by the Baratheon brothers.

But she had given her personal banner, the one her procession had taken down the Kingsroad, to Penrose's men as they had prepared to sally. She had made Loras think she was with the sally too. And she had ordered it trying to save him-

"He died because you wanted to be King." Margaery said.

"I know!" Renly suddenly shouted, tne numbness gone, replaced with horror. "You did not love him as I did, you didn't watch him die! I know I bloody got him killed! Do you think me so stupid that I would not realize that?"

"Then why?"

"For one, I thought it safer for all of us if we waited for the greatest moment of advantage then charged as one. I didn't think Loras would charge-"

He had gotten Loras killed and already was trying to save face?

"You didn't think Loras would care about his sister, or his Kingsguard vows?" Margaery stood up, whirled to face Renly.

Rage flashed across Renly's face, the half that wasn't scar-stiffened. He lurched up to his full height. A jolt of fear hit Margaery as she saw his fists ball.

"Just shut up." Renly said. "Just shut the fuck up. I know all of that, I've lost him, I know it's my fault!"

"I know! It's my fault too, I ordered the sally, I gave them my banner…" Margaery said, and turned away and fell to her knees sobbing. Loras was dead in battle charging to save her. She remembered playing at Highgarden when they were children, Loras with his wooden flail running to save her from the dragon Garlan, and then leaving for Storm's End to serve as a page, and now he was dead a dozen years later trying to save her from the dragon banners outside Storm's End and Gods all of this had happened because when she was a little girl she had told Mace she wanted to be queen of all the seven kingdoms, and he had believed her.

Renly crouched down, and hugged her, and she realized she was sobbing into his chest, and he was crying too, thick and ragged sobs, and she felt guilty then for shouting at him.

He deserved it. He deserved it. He tried to save Loras but it was too late, it was his fault.

And hers too, and Stannis's, and the unknown men who had killed him in the thick of the fighting, and Aegon and Daenerys for once again bringing war down upon them.

So she just cried, because rage would do nothing, it would not bring him back, there were no killers to avenge herself against, nothing she could do.

*

She found Shireen walking the field, the day after the battle. A dozen soldiers rode in her escort, Storm's End household knights with long lances over their shoulders.

She trusts the garrison for her defence as much as the Dragonstone men who came south with us.

The field was aswarm with soldiers and camp followers, methodically stripping the dead of valuables and useable armour and dragging the bodies to the mass graves. The camp followers from the Targaryen camp were just as much in evidence as those from the Baratheon's camps. Soldiers helped in the stripping of equipment, or stood guard. They were all footmen, from the levies of the Westerosi lords. All the mounted men had gone to sack the Targaryen beach camp and ride down the fleeing Targaryens, and so had the Silvercloaks, disciplined well enough to move quickly and support the cavalry if they got into trouble.

Snow had fallen overnight, so the stench was merely unpleasant instead of unbearable. Margaery tried not to let the disgust show on her face. It was unbecoming.

A pity there are no fresh flowers about.

"I thought I should see the field up close." Shireen said, when she heard Margaery and her own escort, Tyrell highborn squires and lowborn varlets, approach. They watched the surrounding camp followers warily, fingers gripping lances and spears tightly. Many of the Targaryen camp women had not been stripped of their knives, and there were dropped weapons littering the field. The Targaryen siege camps were stuffed full of their lowborn prisoners(the highborn having been taken to the Baratheon camp), and there were still reported to be bands of marauding Dothraki and Dornish light horse in the area trying to turn back and pick off their pursuers.

"Ser Cortnay Penrose thinks it unsafe to walk the field, with things so unruly. He believes it best that you return to the castle."

"Remember when I showed you the dragon skulls?" Shireen said. She turned her pony, trotted over to Margaery.

"Quite well." Margaery said. "You probably saved us all when we blundered into that wildfire."

Not the city, gods be good.

"I thought to do the same here. I… last night, I could not sleep, I had nightmares about the Targaryens sacking the castle and putting it to the sword."

Margaery knew nightmares of that sort, from when her arm had been sliced open in the Great Sept of Baelor.

"So I thought to see the field myself."

"You saw our men sack their camp, and the Tyrell horse rout their army from the walls." Margaery said.

"I know, I… I thought that I should see it up close. See the faces of the men who died for me."

Loras-

"More of them died for Aegon." Margaery pointed out.

Shireen laughed nervously. "I hear most of them were slaves. They were running away from cruel masters."

"They were." Margaery said. "But they should have stood and fought against their masters in their own country, not come here in the service of pretenders. They tried to fight the Crown and they lost."

Shireen nodded slowly. There still seemed a look of guilt on her face.

Margaery felt it too, but she had long ago learnt to stamp it out. The dead did not matter until they had names and faces, and even then, if it was them or her, she would always pick herself and her family. She'd accepted that when she'd sent Ser Donnel Swann's men to descend on the peasantry of Griffon's Roost, when she had consented to marry Renly before he marched upon the Westerlands.

She remembered how eagerly Shireen had urged the troops to sally out, how fiercely she had told them to fight for Stannis.

"You did well, yesterday." Margaery said. "That letter almost had me tricked before you saw through it. You probably saved your fathers life."

"I got your brother killed. And Ser Edric Storm. He died in the sally too. And Ser Donnel Swann as well…"

"We both thought he was with the banner of Stannis Baratheon. You would have saved his life."

"But he wasn't. I heard he was with the army of Renly?" Shireen said, downcast. "If I'd known…"

"Stannis tried to order Loras to torture prisoners and Loras quit his service." Margaery said. "He died fighting for Renly. And Ser Edric and Ser Donnel and all the others, they were all anointed knights trained to arms. They knew that they might have to sacrifice their lives when they swore their swords to Storm's End. They didn't die for nothing, they held the castle and broke the siege."

Renly and Mace, who had let them charge piecemeal, Renly who had failed to surround and slaughter their enemy. "And it's not your fault anyway." Margaery said. "I had command of the castle, it was my decision to sally. And you had to help your father the King anyhow. You did nothing wrong that day. Ser Courtnay says the men praised you well. They saw your courage treating the wounded and urging on the men before they sallied, and your cunning in pointing out Varys's ploy."

Shireen smiled, nervously then.

"You aided the defence near as well as your father the King did in the last siege."

Shireen actually blushed, at that comment.

"I thought you did finely too, but those are not my words. Ask the longbowmen and the armed varlets and the maids we had serve as nurses, Ser Courtnay reckons they will say much the same."

*

Tane came up to Storm's End two days after the battle, with only a pair of her pages for escort, and Margaery received her in her solar. Tane looked even more haggard than usual, two of her fingers had been splinted together, and there were stitches across her cheek where she had taken a sword blow.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright." Tane said, as she sat down. "And tell you my men found Aegon's body. Or at least someone in his harness. No-one could recognize his face."

Rumours of that were already floating up through the ranks to her.

"He'd been beheaded?"

"No. He just lost his helmet and someone worked him over with an axe." Tane said. "I think he was trying to rally the Golden Company when he was killed." There were funeral pyres blazing outside, and work parties of prisoners and camp followers labouring into the night to dig mass graves.

"Where is Olenna?"

"North. White Harbour." Margaery said. "Davos's men had her taken north to safety before the siege began."

"Oh. Uh, I'm sorry about Loras…"

"Renly told me what happened. And Garlan too, last night. Renly told the truth, for once." Margaery said, quietly.

"I tried to ask Renly why his men hesitated. He told me he was trying to trick Aegon into thinking his army was siding with the Targaryens so they would move reserves away from that flank." Tane said. "Loras wouldn't stand for it, would he?"

"No."

She thought for a moment. Renly had admitted to treason, that he was trying to get the king killed in battle and his army routed.

Tane would move against Renly if she knew that, she was loyal to Stannis, she would have been fighting for her life and watching men she had trained and led for years die while Renly's reserves watched and did nothing…

She couldn't know. There had been enough slaughter, enough dead Tyrells, and Renly would drag her down with him if there was to be another civil war regardless of what Tane wanted.

"Are you…" Tane asked, concern in her voice, reaching out to touch Margaeries hand.

"I'm alright." Margaery said, hesitantly.

"You thought the rumours where true, that Mace had sided with the Targaryens? Is that why you attacked, to force his hand?"

"The Targaryens gave us a forged letter demanding our surrender. I had promised the Targaryens I would not sally against them if they did not attack us, but only yield to Renly himself. But Shireen insisted that we intervene and help her father, in front of all the garrison. And I saw Stannis's banner was in the melee, and I thought Loras was with them. I could not turn her down. I realized that if I let Mace betray Stannis but Stannis escaped, Olenna or Loras could be taken hostage or killed. I didn't have a choice."

"Shireen probably won us the battle, then." Tane said. "Her and Loras. We were holding the Company and Unsullied back but there's no way we could have broken them in a head-on fight, and by the end the right flank was collapsing. If we'd had to deal with cavalry attacks on our flanks we would have routed."

"I told Shireen as much, yesterday. It was the first time she has smiled, in a long time. But I think I did make a mistake. I gave Penrose my personal banner." Margaery said, then. "For the sally. Loras thought I was with the sally. That is why he charged so recklessly."

"It's not your fault." Tane said, leaning over, putting her hand on Margaeries shoulder. "You were the commander in charge of Storm's End. You made the correct decision to keep the pressure on the enemy and prevent them using the baggage guards as reserves, and anyway, you didn't know where Loras was. Loras also made the correct decision, to try and kill the enemy commander while he had the element of surprise and to force Mace to make a decision. It would have been better to charge as one mass, but that was Mace's fault, not his. I would have done the same, in either of your positions."

"And Mace?"

"If officers can't trust their general to make the right decisions and have to disobey orders to get anything done, well, look what fucking happens." Tane said. Venom suddenly dripped from her voice. "He panicked and hesitated on the Oceanroad too, he sowed nothing more than confusion with his secret letters, and he spent the last siege of Storm's End neither trying to support the other Targaryen forces nor making any real effort to assault the castle."

"I lost my brother." Margaery said. "You don't understand, if I hadn't sent my banner with the sally-"

"At the distance they were at, any Tyrell banner would look the same. Any green and gold banner, really. If you hadn't ordered a sally, then maybe Loras would have charged anyway. Maybe Mace really was going to charge but was waiting for the right moment, and Loras could have died in the melee anyway because that's war, people die, skill and courage have little to do with it. Or maybe he could have gotten just a little bit luckier and killed Aegon then withdrawn back to safety. And besides, you thought Loras was with Stannis's army. You were committing troops to relieve pressure from him. You made the right decision with what you had."

Tane hesitated, gulped a breath.

"And I do understand." Tane said. "At the battle on the Riverroad I saw Daenerys's dragon land, wounded, and I led my men to finish her off. The black dragon attacked and almost my entire company was wiped out in dragonfire. I had to leave men behind when we retreated and the Targaryens executed them or they died of their burns. I can count the remaining Grenadiers on one hand. I watched soldiers I've led for years torn apart by their own grenades and dragonfire and found the survivors head up on spikes. I still made the right decision. If we hadn't killed Daenerys she'd have been back up on the black dragon, and they'd have turned the retreat into a rout. Now I've lost good soldiers fighting while Mace watched and did nothing. Captain Brienne took a pike to the face and died. She killed a dragon with a bloody lance and got away clean, and now she's dead because we had to resort to charging pike squares with demi-lancers just to buy time for Mace to make his mind up."

"Gods, I'm sorry…" Margaery said, squeezing Tane's hand.

"My family isn't dead, I think, but I'll never see them again. No-one here follows my gods, speaks my native tongue. I'm a freak to every last one of these people too, a hermaphrodite only tolerated because I can fight and I'm foreign. Stannis had children who I took prisoner murdered when we retreated, I don't even have any honour. I have nothing left."

"You, you're the Master of Armies, you could be Hand of the King-" Margaery said, standing up, moving over to Tane.

"Do you want to be queen, if it means bearing children for a man who hates you and your brother dead?" Tane asked.

"If it means safety, yes." Margaery said.

She realized Tane was crying then, tears streaking down through the grime she had not fully washed off her face. She had never seen Tane cry before; she just seemed to channel it all into her constant anger with everyone around her and herself.

"I'm, I'm sorry, your brother is dead, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be." Margaery said. She leaned down to kiss Tane, at this point she just wanted to be held, but Tane turned her head away and stood up. "I shouldn't take advantage."

Someone knocked on the door behind them, and Tane turned and stood up.

"Captain-General? Stannis wants to talk to you. About the prisoners."

Tane got up and stumbled towards the door. A page opened it.

"Which ones?" Tane asked.

"The Lannisters. Davos's men seized them hiding out in a barn."

She heard Tane whisper "Fuck" from across the room.

 

[Yla]

Victory and yet it's all falling apart.

 

[Balaur]

"What in the name of the Seven Kingdoms do you mean you refuse to hand over the prisoner!" Stannis shouted, in the solar of Storm's End. "Do you deny the King's justice?"

Davos nodded, slowly. "I refuse to hand over the prisoner because it is too dangerous. Your Grace, we have well over ten thousand men, women and children taken prisoner here and on the beach camp, barely controlled by us. We cannot send them back to Essos and we cannot kill them. If we keep Tommen here and they find out where he is, he could become a figurehead for them to rally around, or be rescued and smuggled out. If he was executed before their eyes, we would be dealing with rioting in the camps. Either would be disastrous.

And, Your Grace, I know that you would execute Tommen for the crimes of his parents and his great-aunt, and ony my honour as a knight and a lord I cannot stand by and watch the execution of prisoners I have taken in battle for a crime they did not commit."

Christ-Horus, he's going there. He was actually going there. Davos was making good on what he'd asked her to do when the King suggested the murder of Tommen and Myrcella years ago. He was standing up to the king.

Tane tensed where she stood at the table, aware of the weight of sword and dagger. This was a man who people believed might use the threat of his baby niece's execution to ensure loyalty. Davos was playing a very dangerous game.

"The prisoners are irrelevant." Stannis said. "If they revolt we kill them. If they do not revolt, we feed them until such time as we can send them back to Essos whence they came. Tommen is one boy. To behead him would be cruel, but it is nothing compared to what a revolt in his name would unleash. You saw what our army did in the Riverlands. We starved and burnt the peasantry of every lord who rose up against us. If Tommen lives then there shall be no choice but to repeat that. It would be the death of one boy for the good of the realm."

"We can send him to the watch or the Maesters, or make him a Septon." Davos said. "That is as good as killing him, but with far less a stain on your honour."

"The Septons scheme against me." Stannis said. "You know what Arle and Ollius did in King's Landing. Giving them a claimant would be suicide."

They were disavowed renegades. And the Faith was weak. Both their biggest Septs had burned and they'd lost at least one High Septon in the last year. Enough to make them desperate.

"The Maesters or the Watch, then. I hear they turned Lancel Lannister from a kingslayer into a hero, and that Theon Greyjoy took the black." Davos said. "Genna Frey has agreed to confess to his bastardry, but only if you publicly give an oath that Tommen Baratheon is spared."

"I shall make the final judgement when I have the prisoners under my control. As your King I command you to turn him over."

Renly snorted where he sat besides Stannis. He was uncharacteristically quiet, after the shock of the battle and Loras's death.

"He's going to kill them if you do that, you know." Renly said. "And he's right. We cannot tolerate rival claimants. The realm is weak and we need to be united to rebuild after what has happened."

"Then we are at an impasse." Davos said. "Because I cannot turn over prisoners I took in battle to be unjustly killed, upon my honour as a knight and a lord."

"As your king I command you." Stannis repeated.

"Your Grace, is it not the right of the lord or knight who takes prisoners to profit from their ransom?" Davos asked. "Would that not extend to the right of life and death?"

"Mayhaps, in ordinary times." Stannis said. "These are not ordinary times. There are still thousands of Unsullied and other rebels loose in the Stormlands, and the Westerlands and Valeman revolts are not fully crushed. We must deny them anything to rally around."

"Watch. Citadel. Sept." Tane said. "We can't give them a martyr to rally around either. We could waste many moons and thousands of lives hunting the remaining rebels down, or we could set a clear example of mercy to bring them to the negotiating table now that their cause is lost. They know what you do to your captured enemies. If they believe their best chance of survival is to continue fighting and hope for a miracle, they will."

She knew the effect the executed grenadiers had on her men, and it was not an overwhelming desire to let themselves be taken alive.

"What of the others? Lady Lannister and Lady Merryweather?" Renly asked. "What shall be done with them?"

"Merryweather shall be attainted, I think, and his line demoted to landed knights." Stannis said. "He is a rebel and a traitor. His wife shall have to be killed. Such treason as selling our knowledge to the Myrish cannot be allowed to stand."

Tane expected that. She had warned Taena herself, that she would kill her if she ever saw her again. I should have done it before. Tane would not watch the execution, she knew she couldn't, but she would not stand against it either.

I gave her a chance and she did not take it.

"And I shall hand over over Ladies Frey and Merryweather." Davos Seaworth said. "Because they made war against the realm with full knowledge of the consequences. There is no dishonour in that."

"Good." Stannis said. "Very good."

"There is more good news." Davos continued. "One of the Crane captains reported that he found a man who is most likely Varys, the treasonous Master of Whispers. He was partway through disguising himself with false stubble and dressing in a freedman's clothes when we took him."

"I take it you are not keeping him from me?"

"He was killed trying to escape, Your Grace. Or that is what the Crane's Master of Archers tells me."

Trying to escape. I'm very sure.

"Give my congratulations to Lord Crane for his mens fine work. Have the men responsible given strong rounceys, shirts of fine mail and a good sword each." Stannis said.

"Of course." Davos said. "We are well to be rid of him."

"Your Grace, my apologies, but there is a very urgent letter from Winterfell." A servant called.

"Read it to us."

"Winterfell was attacked by a dragonrider wearing the armour of Euron Greyjoy. He was driven off but dozens dead Incl. Brandon Stark. He failed to seize Horn of Joramun. Add. Dozen ravens without messages, some with burns, arrived at Winterfell, we suspect attack on Wall by Ironborn. Whoever receives this, Targaryen or Baratheon, know that the entire realm is in danger and reinforcements needed on the Wall and in Winterfell urgently."

"How on earth is Euron Greyjoy alive?" Tane asked. "I blew his brains out, I saw a piece of his skull go flying then he fell into the ocean in full armour, he's dead. That's one of the Targaryens, that's where the third dragon went, seven hells…"

Stannis just sat there, thinking. Then: "Signal the fleet to land and begin taking on victuals. Captain-General Bayder, prepare a picked force of Silvercloak arquebusiers, crossbowmen and halberdiers. Tell your war-witch to prepare whatever sorcery she can for battle for we shall need it."

"it could be another ironborn who stole Euron's armour and is trying to finish what he started." Davos Seaworth said.

"His armour sunk." Tane pointed out.

"You saw how many corpses washed up after that battle. And there's more than one suit of scale harness in the world." Davos said.

"Then where the hell did the Ironborn get a dragon?"

"Some of Euron's men I interrogated said he had another magic horn from Old Valyria. Dragonbinder. It can bend the minds of men and dragons alike to the will of whoever blows it." Davos said. "Perhaps his heir blew it and that why the dragons went mad and King's Landing burned."

Tane almost wanted to laugh. The Targaryens conspiracy was right?

"Whoever it is, they must die." Stannis said. "Either the Targaryens still command a dragon or the Ironborn are still a threat."

Then he turned to Lord Davos. "Tommen shall come north with us, I think. I wish to keep a close guard on him and he can be delivered to the Watch. The other Lannisters there shall keep him good company."

"Of course, Your Grace." Davos said. "I shall order him kept by my men on one of my own galleys. Any eyes looking to locate him will be on your flagships."

Stannis looked displeased at that, but did not say as much.

*

"We've another war to fight." Tane said that night, sitting on the keep roof of Storm's End, watching the stars and the stern lanterns of the swarming warships in Shipbreaker bay.

"There was an attack on Winterfell, wasn't there?" Margaery asked. "With a dragon?"

"Yes. I don't know who rides it, it could be a Targaryen or an Ironborn or an Ironborn working for the Targaryens. The letter says he was coming for the horn of Joramun."

"The magic one Euron was chasing at Oldtown?"

"The very one."

"It's him then. Lady Hightower told me all about that, when she came to visit in King's Landing. His men where shouting "Find the horn! Find the horn!" as they sought them during the battle."

"Euron's dead. Extremely dead. He was shot with a bullet and an arrow through the head and then drowned. I saw bits of his brain in the air."

"He's a sorcerer. Stannis survived getting speared through the chest, didn't he? He died, but he's still walking about commanding armies."

"Two kings dead in the same battle, and both back for a second exchange." Tane laughed. "Christ-Horus, why did I have to be sent into such strange times."

The strangest explanation was always right in Westeros. The incest, the ice-fairies, the stolen dragon…

The god of this world was a writer of apocalypse pamphlets.

"You were sent by a miracle from another world, given full knowledge of our tongue and then overthrew a king less than six moons after your arrival. I would be very surprised if you were not sent into strange times."

You were sent, Maiden and Warrior in one, to throw down the enemies of the Seven.

Stannis had burnt that Septon. Or was it the other one who had told her that, Arle?

It didn't matter, she supposed. She'd been sent here for a reason, and if that reason was tyrannicide, then so be it.

"We'll need someone to keep control of the prisoners while we're gone." Tane said. "And to try and restore control of King's Landing and the Storm's End hinterlands. Is Renly up to the task?"

Margaery shook her head. "Loras was… not easy on him. He's drinking badly."

Loras's death hadn't been easy on Margaery either. She'd been crying, Tane could tell that much, and she'd been drinking more wine than usual.

"Alester Florent, then." Tane said. "Or you. We need stability in the south. The capital's gone, thousands of rebels are at large and Stannis needs to take the fleet north. You're good with smallfolk and I know you can lead soldiers."

Margaery put her arm around Tane's waist, leant into her. Tane was taken by how light she felt, how short and slender against her own height and muscle.

"I'm not a fighter." Margaery said.

"Yeah, you can't swing an axe." Tane said. "You're not a killer, but you can make people kill for you. And you're sensible enough to try and stop it getting to the point of killing in the first place. Something we need more of around these parts. If Renly's taken to wine, then you'll be well placed to run things."

Margaery rubbed her face. "I just want these wars to be over." Margaery said. "I want to go riding with my falcons and my handmaidens, or for you to teach me how to use an arquebus. I want summer again, and to see King's Landing rebuilt."

"And I want to go home." Tane said. "Christ-Horus I'm tired. But we have to keep going."

 

[ja.b.n.]

I only found this story last week, and while I have not (yet) read anything of your work with the orgin of Tane and the horse grenadiers, I am absolutely loving this story.
absolutely despise Euron Greyjoy, but that is just the mark of a good antagonist.
Reading between the lines: the king of living dead / living dead king needed to build the kind of wards that power the Wall. Stannis is an undead living king, as is Euron. Should Euron or the Others somehow break the wards on the Wall, would either / both be used to restore the wards?

 

[Balaur]

"Stannis intends for you to die tomorrow." Ser Davos Seaworth said. "You and Taena Merryweather both. He'll spare Tommen Waters. He wants him taken north to the Night's Watch."

Genna shut her eyes, opened them. It had all been leading here, everything since Tywin Lannister had stormed King's Landing and made the decision to marry Cersei to Robert Baratheon.

She was sitting on the captain's bed aboard the Black Betha. She had not seen the sun in days, though she had been fed well enough by the standards of a prisoner in the hull of a war galley.

We should never have joined the Targaryens. Littlefinger's plan to marry off Myrcella was an absurd trap. Even had they won, Tommen would have been a threat to Aegon, would have had to be isolated or eliminated lest he be used as a puppet for a Baratheon restoration.

"Can you guarantee Tommen's protection? Will the king not go back on his word?"

"He'll be taken north on mine own ship, under the protection of my men. Stannis will have a difficult time getting to him if he means to break his oaths. But you must confess publicly to Tommen's bastardry. Stannis will not keep his side of the deal if you do not keep yours."

She was struck by the feeling of utter powerless, near as bad as when she'd been married into the Freys as a child. Stannis could go back on his word the moment she made her confession and there would be nothing she could do to retaliate if he broke it, even if she were to be spared execution. She was friendless, a prisoner. She could only rely on the word of a city burning tyrant and a smuggler to secure Tommen's life.

She had to. There was no other option.

"I want Stannis to swear publicly to spare Tommen. In front of his lords and his soldiers." Genna said. "He cannot be allowed to go back on his word."

"I'll ensure it." Davos said. Then: "Back after the coup, Stannis wished to have Tommen and Myrcella killed. I was preparing men to smuggle them to a place under my control. Stannis is an old friend, but he can be harsh. I would not allow him to sully his honour with such an act. If he tries again to have Tommen killed, I swear on the old gods and the new that I shall do everything in my power to have Tommen spared or see him to safety. I have allies in this. Stannis's Captain-General grows tired of his ruthlessness and cruelty. I think she would act against Stannis to prevent the murder of children."

"Tane Bayder? The foreigner?"

"Yes. You'll just have to trust me." Davos said. "I know, the man who is holding you prisoner and shall duly turn you over for execution."

Genna bit her tongue.

"I suppose I must have faith." Tommen's life was at the mercy of fools and tyrants, now.

"You'll have the run of the ship." Davos said. "Meet with Tommen and the other prisoners, if you wish. I'll have my men prepare you a good meal."

"You have my thanks." Genna said.

If this Davos was truly as principled as he claimed, he should have let her slip off into the night, or cut Stannis's throat, but he was not. But he was still the closest thing to an ally she had left.

*

"They're going to kill us tomorrow." Taena Merryweather said, nervously running her fingers through her hair. They were up on the fighting castle of the Black Betha, between the great crossbows and racks of weapons there. Davos had ordered the crew away from the forecastle, to afford them some degree of privacy.

"I know-"

"Stannis is going to murder us! He's going to have us killed for the crime of defending our families!"

"At least you had a choice to spy for the Targaryens. I barely had a choice in this." Genna said, burying her head in her hands.

A Lannister, reduced to a mere playing piece in the hands of upjumped merchants and spies. How appropriate for the disaster Tywin had lead them into.

"I was fifteen when Varys came to Myr and convinced me to marry Orton and to serve as an agent at court! What choice did I have? My father could have sold me off as a slave or given me away as a gift if he wished, magisters who grow tired of a large family do that to their bastard daughters. Petyr Baelish dragged you all the way to Volantis! We had no say in any of this, Varys led us to this. Fuck all of them! Their heads should be on the block, not ours."

Taena kicked over a stool. Her usual poise, her cultivated mask of exoticism and sensuality, was gone. All that remained was anger and fear and desperation.

"None of that ever mattered." Genna said. "Stannis won, so he does what he will. We can't fight." Genna said. "Davos is trying to have Tommen and Russell spared in exchange for our confessions, we have to cooperate to protect the children."

"Why would confessing protect him?" Taena asked. "Stannis murders children for no reason. He hacked the fingers off the man who saved his life. We are in the power of tyrants and brutes. I shall plead my innocence in front of the whole court and pray that some will speak in my favour."

Genna took a deep breath. "Do that. But I shall confess Tommen's illegitimacy. It is best chance I have of protecting him."

Taena glared at her as she left.

"I have to tell you something." Genna said, when she came belowdecks to where Tommen had been put up in a cabin.

Tommen was staring at the wall when she entered, sullen and angry.

"What is it?"

"They're going to execute me." Genna said. "And before I do, I am going to have to confess that you are a bastard with no true claim to the throne."

"You're going to say that the rumours about Uncle Jaime are true? That's disgusting."

"I know. But I don't have a choice. I have to destroy your claim to the throne so that no one will think you a threat. Stannis will publicly swear to spare you, and have you sent to the wall instead. You must take this opportunity. Lancel and Tyrion are at the wall, I hear Lancel is a senior Ranger, they can help take care of you. You must not try to flee or rebel, Stannis will have no mercy then. You have to take this chance. It's the only one we have."

She'd never had much of a choice in anything, she supposed. Marrying Emmon Frey, Tywin's wars, Littlefingers schemes, she'd been dragged along in all of it against her protests, and now it had led her here, to her death hundreds of miles from home.

"I… I will." Tears were welling up in Tommen's eyes.

"You have to be brave. You have to be." Genna said. She could feel herself choking up, the wave of fear rising up from her stomach. She was going to die. There was no escape, no way out, not even any way to ensure Stannis kept his promise.

"I only have a few more decades ahead of me. You have a whole life ahead of you. You have to make the best of it."

He nodded, slowly, then: "Is it true that there are demons attacking the wall?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But they'll need brave people to defend it, and wise people to lead them."

'I'll do it. If I have no choice."Tommen said.

He was sobbing, now. She knelt down, hugged him, just as much for her own benefit as Tommens. She was scared, scared of death, of the cold of the Seven Hells or the nothingness that the impious said awaited. More than that, she was scared of what happened afterwards, that Stannis could go back on his word, that Tommen could be dragged to the block and beheaded the moment she was dead, strangled in a dungeon, killed in one of the black magic rituals Stannis was said to practise.

*

They took Genna Frey and Taena Merryweather out onto the cliffs near Storm's End to face the King's Justice. It was a bright morning, leaving the spackled snow sludgy and half-melted. They were carrying out the executions far from the view of any of the mass of prisoners and camp followers. There could be no riot.

She was unsteady on land after several days on the Black Betha. She did her best not to look drunk. If she was going to die at least she could die like a Lannister, with dignity.

More dignity than Tywin got, shot in the back by his own men.

Stannis stood at the head of his assembled court, clad from head to toe in dull grey plate harness, dour and grim, flanked by mailed spearmen in white livery coats and a pair of Kingsguard knights. His officers and small council surrounded him: Renly Baratheon, the spitting image of a young Robert Baratheon but for the scar splitting his face. Margaery Tyrell, his wife, and the Princess Shireen Baratheon recognizable by her greyscale scarred face. Half a dozen young women hung back behind them. Another dozen lords and officers, Alester Florent and Davos Seaworth chief amongst them. And then the Captain-General, in odd looking blacked harness with outlandishly large pauldrons and lobstered steel tassets, her hand resting on her sword.

The butcher of the Red Keep, the one who had brought her family to ruin, the one who Davos now depended on to make the King keep his promises.

She looked down, almost ashamed, when Taena looked her way.

"You hereby stand accused of the grand treason of making war against your king and giving information to the enemies of the realm. How do you plead?"

"Guilty, your grace, but I had no choice. I was born the bastard daughter of a slave in Myr, your grace. I married my lord husband to escape, but only then found out that he and Varys the master of whispers meant to use me as a spy. Your Grace, he used my child as a hostage, pimped me out to those he wished to influence, forced me to spy on the Targaryens… your grace, I beg of you, I was a victim in all of this."

Stannis grunted. "You could have secured protection for yourself by turning on your husband, or feeding the Targaryens bad information. You did neither. Once again, you are still a traitor. To the block with you."

"Your Grace, I beg of you, Captain-General Tane Bayder can speak in my favour." Taena said.

The Captain-General kept silent, stared at her feet.

So that is the coward Davos is relying on, to defend Tommen's rights.

"Lady Margaery! I served you loyally as a handmaiden-"

"She is a spy and a traitor who betrayed my confidence, made war against my father and lord husband and has greatly wounded several of my friends." Margaery said. "I would remind you all that Lieutenant Sace Cale saved my life during the massacre of the great sept, and Taena Merryweather helped put her to death."

"None of the witnesses you have called up speak in your favour." Stannis said. "Ser Illyn Payne. Bring me her head."

Taena began to scream and beg and fight as she was dragged to the block, but she was not a soldier or a killer and she was soon forced down. "You are a tyrant! A butcher of those seeking freedom and a murderer of women and children! Justice will come for you sooner or later, Barathe-"

Genna's hands balled and she shut her eyes as she heard the sword blows. It took three or four to take Taena's head.

She would not fight. There was no sense in it, and it would make the killing quicker.

The guard behind her nudged her. "Let's go."

She walked forwards to the block they had set, where Taena's body was being wrapped in a shroud. Tommen would not witness her death; he was still on Davos's ship. There was that much.

Stannis's herald read the charges: "You hereby stand accused of the grand treason of making war against your king and the petty treason of making war against your husband. How do you plead?"

"I did what I did to protect the lives of Tommen and Myrcella Waters." Genna said. "They are bastards born of incest, and I knew that, known since Cersei and Jaime Lannister were young, but I did what I could to defend them because no child should die for the crimes of their parents. I ask only that you spare Tommen Waters from execution. He has done no wrong but defending himself, and wanted little to do with the Targaryen revolt. His involvement is entirely my fault. He would make a fine Maester or Watchman."

"Noted." Stannis said. "However, you have come to this realm as a rebel, in the service of a king who would be an usurper even had Tommen been legitimate. The sentence is death."

"Please, your Grace, promise me that you shall spare the life of Tommen Waters. He is no threat to the throne, the Lannister revolts are twice crushed, and should he join any order his line to the throne shall not continue."

Stannis turned to Davos, and she could hear hushed, angry words.

He was going to go back on it. The tyrant, the heartless brute, the monster-

"I shall ensure that Tommen Waters is brought to the Watch and takes the Black. It is a fitting place for those who are bastards and rebels, but proven brave." Stannis said. "He will sail with the fleet on the morrow. Do you have any final words?" Stannis asked.

"I thank His Grace for his mercy." She forced herself to spit out.

"Ser Illyn Payne, bring me her head."

She knelt down on the block, felt the wetness where Taena had died, smelt the tang of blood.

A dark shape moved in the corners of her eyes. Her heart was hammering. Her body was screaming to run, to fight, but even if that would do her any good she was paralyzed by fear.

Then the rush of a blade through air, and the explosion of white-hot pain, and staring at the glow of sunlight behind the dark winter clouds.

 

[Balaur]

The riders came out of the snowstorm buried under heavy woollen cloaks, a dozen Winterfell household guards and another dozen survivors of the Silvercloak mounted crossbowmen, all that Winterfell could spare. They rode towards Last Hearth, the old wood-and-stone stronghold of House Umber.

If Euron was loose north of the wall, then they needed to dislodge him as soon as possible, and that meant rallying the forces of the northern lords. Umber was the closest of the major houses to the wall, so it was there that Maester Luwin advised Alleras to ride.

Horns blew on the wall, and the gates were cast open. The men rode in. Orders were barked to prepare the stables to take their horses, to prepare a warm meal, to find the Greatjon and arrange for a meeting.

Alleras and Ser Rodrick Cassel dismounted, Alleras slinging his Goldenheart bow on the saddle. One of Euron's swords hung from his belt, a Valyrian Steel blade. He'd dropped it in the chaos of the attack, and Rodrik had given it to Alleras. If they were going to seek out battle with a dragon rider, they needed a dragon killing sword.

The Greatjon came stomping out of the keep, hulking under his woollen tunic and fur cloak.

"Winterfell was attacked by a dragon riding Ironborn. Dozens of my men, Lord Brandon Stark and the Lady Hightower are dead." Ser Rodrik Cassel explained. "They were trying to seize the Horn of Joramun. There were ravens without messages, dozens of them, arriving too. Like they'd been let loose in the middle of an attack."

"The Ironborn hit the wall too." The Greatjon said. "They have control of Eastwatch-On-The-Sea. Lord Stark is probably dead. We've received men from Eastwatch who fought their way out of the attack and went south to rally reinforcements for the Wall."

"Can I meet with them?" Alleras asked. "We have to understand what is going on."

"Whoever succeeded Euron's in league with the fucking Others." The Greatjon said. "I thought the Others had done us a favour by wiping out the bloody Wildlings, but apparently they've got themselves a new Night's King to let them in through the wall, and their leaders got himself a bleeding dragon. No idea how he swindled it out of the Targaryens, maybe he blew up King's Landing."

"Seven Hells." Alleras said.

The Greatjon grunted. "It gets worse than that. Follow me."

He gave the order for Lancel and Theon to be found and led Alleras and Cassel through the gates of his keep. They shrugged off their cloaks and their heavy outer surcoats in the warmth of the great hall, lit by roaring fireplaces. Then they sat down to wait.

The Greatjon paced angrily. Alleras sat and stared at his hands. Rodrick sipped from a cup of ale a servant brought them.

Finally, the watchmen came. Both were in heavy black surcoats, with the hilts of swords and daggers poking through slits. The first of them, probably Lancel Lannister, had pale skin and shoulder length blonde hair. The other, Theon Greyjoy, had short black hair and a woollen cloak.

"These men came up from Winterfell." Umber explained. "The Summer Islander's the one who helped kill Euron and Ser Rodrick Cassel's captain of the Winterfell Guard. Tell them everything."

Lancel's story began the night the wildlings were surrounded and slaughtered in the night by the Others, three or four years ago now. He continued on with a skirmish on the thornwater against the Others and being forced to flee underground, his meeting with the Greenseer Bloodraven in the high north, his escape to the south, finding the wights on the top of the wall and then the attack on Eastwatch where a dragonrider in the armour of Euron Greyjoy had set fire to the wall and the Ironborn had overrun the castle.

"Lord Stark ordered my men to break out and bring warnings." Lancel finished. "I led men to Last Hearth as the closest castle and others headed to the castles on the wall to warn them."

"Do you think Lord Stark survived the battle?" Alleras asked.

"He'd have sent a raven or some kind of communication by now." Lancel said. "And his men where being lit up by a dragon last I saw of him. Most likely he's dead, captured, or in the wilderness where ravens cannot reach him."

"Ah."

"What of you? What brought you all the way north."

Alleras gave his side of the story, then, the botched attempt at using the glass candle and the conservation with Lord Hightower, the fall of Oldtown and their escape, the battle at Grey Gallows and the visit to the Green Men. And then finally the burning of Winterfell, and the flight north.

"Euron Greyjoy wants that horn." Alleras finally explained. "And he's willing to take extreme risks to seize it. But we got it away from him. His dragon might have died from it's wounds or it might have recovered. We don't know what he's capable of."

"That's not Euron." Lancel said. "It's someone wearing his armour. An heir maybe."

"The Green Men told me Euron lives still. He is a skinchanger and possessed the body of one of his captains."

"Fuck me-"

"Then how do we kill him?" Theon asked, his voice panic tinged. "Won't he just skinchange into another body and another?"

"Kill or imprison the lot of them." The Greatjon said. "Anyone starts acting funny then we hack his head off."

"Yeah." Lancel said. "We cannot take any chances."

"Morgan, The witch with Stannis's grenadiers can see souls." Alleras said. "She helped break Euron's control over his kraken at the Grey Gallows. If Stannis comes north he'll bring Tane and her. Anyway, it doesn't matter. We need to kill this lot now before they find out some other way to let the Others through the Wall. I think the Horn of Joramun was just the quickest and easiest way through. There would be others. In the letter you sent to Winterfell, you said a Greenseer you thought to be Bloodraven showed you a battle against the Nights King."

"Aye. It was in the dawn age when men fought with bronze and bone. Northern kings attacked a fortress on the south of the wall that was defended by both wights and Night's Watchmen. They struggled to overrun them, so they blew a horn that collapsed part of the Wall on the defenders. Afterwards, they spoke to a Child of the Forest, who promised to perform sorceries to repair the wall."

Ser Rodrick Cassel laughed darkly. "A pity you threw the horn down the well, otherwise we could have blown it and dropped the wall on the Ironborn."

"I think that was a different time." Alleras said. "it was colder and sorcery was stronger, so the wall would be less fragile. Maybe it only opened a small hole because of that. And there were few men north of the wall, back then. There's a whole army worth of Wights waiting north of the Wall, now. If we opened up a hole to kill the Ironborn, there'd be thousands of wights swarming through before we could stop them."

"Then how the hell do we overrun them?" The Greatjon asked. "Lord Stark ordered me to hold my best men back and not send them south, for I was the first line of defence if the wall fell. I have already called my levies, those that are not already at the wall or in the south, but that is a few thousand men at most, many without armour. They'll know we're coming for them and have built barricades. And they have a dragon. They could just burn us on the march."

"We'd have to move at night and avoid lighting fires to give away our position." Lancel said. "Sleep in forests in the daytime. Then during the attack, approach as closely as possible with stealth and try to get into hand to hand fighting amongst the buildings. If they cannot tell from the sky who is who, they would have to risk burning their own men to kill us."

"I do not think Euron's heir cares overly about burning his own men." Theon said.

"Then what?" The Greatjon asked. "We must kill him before he lays the whole north open to invasion, and I will have no man say that I am a coward."

"I think I can kill the dragon." Alleras said.

"How?" Lancel asked. "It barely felt longbow arrows at the Battle of Eastwatch!"

"I had weirwood arrows in my quiver." Alleras explained. "They always seemed the most accurate. I always figured they must be very finely made arrows, not that they were magic. But there's old stories of what a sorcerer with weirwood can do with such arrows, like Bloodraven at the Redgrass fields. And I've seen it done, and done it."

"Where?"

"At the Battle of Grey Gallows." Alleras said. "Euron Greyjoy killed Stannis's kingsguard with scorpion bolts with unnatural accuracy. Then he managed to throw a spear straight through three layers of armour and near-mortally wound His Grace Stannis Baratheon. All of them had weirwood shafts. Then at Winterfell I threw a spear with a weirwood haft right through his dragon's neck. I'm not nearly as good a throw as I am a shot, but I got it right where I wanted it, through the windpipe so the dragon couldn't breath fire, and into a scar where the armoured scales had been torn away. And the head was ordinary steel. It punched right through the dragon's flesh while crossbow bolts and longbow shafts bounced off."

"Bloody hell." The Greatjon laughed. "You can just feather the bastard? Maybe Southrons are good for something after all!"

"The only problem is I left most of my weirwood arrows behind in Oldtown and shot off the ones I did bring at Grey Gallows. And the spear was broken and burnt during the fight at Winterfell."

"So?" Greatjon laughed. "We have weirwoods here in the Godswood. Gods, make me a weirwood spear too, so I can have a go at killing the bastard!"

"You'd need to be a sorcerer or a skinchanger to do that, I think." Alleras said. "I have a little experience projecting my mind out of my body, with the glass candles, so I can nudge them to where I want them to go, give them just a little more force. I did it without even thinking about it. Euron was much stronger, I suspect."

"Besides the spear was bigger than an arrow." Alleras said. "So maybe the magic was stronger, and easier to use. And it was Euron's, perhaps he worked more sorcery on it."

"Wait, what is a glass candle? Can you skinchange?" Theon suddenly asked.

"It's a kind of… sorcerous device made by the Valyrians. It lets you see things from a great distance away."

"Then we can use it to spy on Euron Greyjoy?" Lancel Lannister asked.

"He has a glass candle as well. Or he has enough power to project his consciousness without one." Alleras explained. "Last time I tried to spy on him with one at Oldtown, he attacked me with sorcery while I used it."

"Oh." Theon said.

"But you could use it to see other things? What about the Three-Eyed Crow or the Green Men? Could you use it to talk to them and ask them what the hells we do now?"

"Maybe." Alleras said. "But sending my mind north of the wall could be even more dangerous than spying on Euron. I don't know what the Others are capable of, but to command armies of dead men they must be powerful sorcerors."

The ritual. He still had no idea how to carry out the ritual to repair the wall, if that became necessary. Lancel had said there were still Children of the Forest living in those caves, and Bloodraven had used weirwood arrows in battle. They could help them. They had to try.

*

They took the glass candle out to the nearest woods, as nondescript as possible so that if Euron saw through his eyes he would not know exactly where to strike. He took the candle out of its thick leather wrapping. It was long and sharp and razor edged. A sword of glass.

"If I go into a seizure, that means I'm being attacked by sorcery." Alleras explained. "Put the candle out to try and cut off the connection and don't let me brain myself."

Lancel nodded slowly. Alleras would have preferred to have Mallora aid him in this, she'd been with him for over a year at this point and was learned in sorcery, but she was dead, so it came to strange watchmen who'd been north of the wall to watch him in his trance.

Then Alleras took his glove off, sliced his hand on the side of the candle, struck sparks from his flint and steel and watched the candle. Light flooded out, eye-searing, casting the shadows solid black and the snow glowing bright as the sun. Lancel squinted against the sunlight. Alleras stared into the awful glow, letting it fill his consciousness, pull him into it.

His mind drifted up into the sky, peering down at the Summer Dornishman and the Night's Watchmen standing amidst the trees. He pulled himself up, higher, higher, northwards, flowing across the colossal expanse of the Gift. He paused over Castle Black, saw a column of armoured watchmen and northern soldiers riding forth, and then he went further north to the immensity of the Wall.

His mind hit the edge like a lunging dog having its leash snap taunt, like a bird flying into glass. He jolted back, twisted, tried to move forwards again. Nothing. It was the same invisible force, the same sorceries keeping him back.

The Glass candles were Valyrian sorceries, fuelled by fire and blood. The wards on the wall-

Seek the weirwoods, a voice told him. Seek the weirwoods, not the Wall.

He did. He turned back south, drifting over the barrens and forests of the Gift, fluttering through the air to the Godswood of Castle Umber a mile outside the walls. Three weirwoods stood clustered together amidst the trees, the whole Godswood ringed by a low stone wall.

"They killed my body of flesh." A crow sitting in the tree cawed. It turning to look down at Alleras, and he saw that it had a third eye, unblinking, in the middle of it's head. "But they could not kill my body of weirwood."

"Who are you?"

"The three-eyed Crow. Men called me Bloodraven, and Targaryen, once. I knew you would come seeking me."

"I need to know things. Things that you might know. About how to defeat Euron Greyjoy."

"My apprentice." The crow laughed, or as near as a bird could. "I offered him power, power to avert the catastrophe that it coming for all of us. He decided he would rather ride the storm than stand against it. I taught him not enough to be wise, but enough to be dangerous. And now he has killed my second apprentice Brandon Stark, I take it."

They'd found his corpse and Hodor's. He'd been killed by a jet of dragonfire blown through the roof of the keep, and his corpse crushed under rubble. Catelyn Stark had been inconsolable.

"Aye. He attacked Winterfell. He has a bloody dragon and he came back from the dead once already." Alleras said. "We need to know how to kill him before he brings down the Wall and unleashes the Others on us."

"If it were easy to kill a dragon, my family would never have conquered Westeros." The Three-Eyed Crow croaked. "A dragon is like a knight in harness. It is very hard to kill. But it can be killed. A dragon can be blinded by shots to the eyes, have a spear cast into its mouth. If you can get close a blade of Valyrian Steel can cut dragon hide. Arrows of weirwood can be poisoned, then guided by sorcery into weak spots in the armour. Weirwood is a powerful substance. Even dead it remains connected to thought and to sorcery."

"I know." Alleras. "I wounded Euron's dragon with his own spear of weirwood. Right after I threw it I saw there was a weak spot, where the scales had been torn away, and the spear seemed to curve in flight right into that point as soon as I noticed it. It maimed the dragon badly."

"Then you have your answer." Bloodraven said.

"But how do you prepare arrows of weirwood, like you did upon the Redgrass field-"

"The same as any other arrow. It's the archer, not the arrow, that matters." The crow said. "Poison them, so even a minor wound can slow a dragon."

"What poisons do you need to kill a dragon?"

"No idea. You're the maester, you know more knowledge of poisoning dragons than me."

Well, at least one of Marwyn's theories had another adherent.

"And then if we are too late to the wall and Euron has let the Others through?"

"Then everything shall die and the world shall turn to ice." The Three-Eyed Crow said.

"There had to be a way. If they get past the wall but it is still intact, could we turn it against them, cut them off by restoring the wards while they are in the south?"

"Maybe." The crow said. "It has never been tried."

"I know the wall has been repaired before. After the battle against the Night's King. How did they do it then?"

"They cut out the heart of a living dead king atop the wall, and burnt his body afterwards. The Night's King half turned into a wight, but anyone else acclaimed a king and who has died would suffice. An Other too." Bloodraven croaked. "You would not even have to get atop the wall. The roots of the wall go wide and deep, like a tree. They can be watered with blood all the same. These are simple, old sorceries. The intent and the sacrifice of blood are what matters, not what you chant. You just have to will it to happen. Like the Weirwood spear."

"What about killing Euron?" Alleras asked. "I shot him in the head once but he simply skipped to the body of one of his captains."

"Triston Farwynd." The crow said. "His family are selkies, skinchangers who possess seals. And Euron himself is a powerful Greenseer. Combined, that makes it easier for Euron, to leap out and possess others or project his mind's eye without fully abandoning Triston's body. He'll try to jump into another skinchanger when Triston dies, but in the heat of battle, he could make a mistake and trap himself in another body he cannot leave. Just keep killing his bodies until he traps himself, then kill that body and you've disembodied him."

"Disembodied? A ghost-"

"Harmless. Mostly." The crow said. "He could probably be killed with the usual methods. Valyrian Steel or a weirwood stake, if you can find them. But better than him running about commanding an army of Ironborn."

"Now" the Three-Eyed Crow said, "I must go. The longer I stay in communication with you the more time Euron has to track me down. He already helped the Others besiege and starve out my cave and kill my mortal body. So begone."

The crow laughed darkly. "And if you meet those foreign soldier-witches, tell them this mess is all their fault and I had everything well in hand before that."

Then a spear came flicking down from the sky, and impaled the three-eyed crow, and he screamed and fluttered pitifully as the spear's ice shaft glimmered and Alleras tried to draw a sword that was not there.

He turned wildly, looking for the threat, and saw a monster come striding down out of the sky. It had the body of a man, but two long kraken tentacles, coiling and club-tipped, in place of legs. It had eight pairs of forelimbs: Two pairs of human limbs, the immense skin-and-bone wings of a dragon, and the smaller though still unnaturally vast feathered wings of a crow. His face was that of a human, but for the third eye that stood unblinking in the middle of his forehead. All three eyes glowed blue, and had the figure-of-eight black pupils of a squid.

In two of his hands were spears, and each spear was thrust through the face of a man.

Alleras tried to pull himself back into consciousness, but the monster swooped down at him. Alleras sidestepped the dive and the monster seized the spear through the Three-Eyed Crow as he spun up into the sky once more, now trailing three corpses on three spears.

"Is that what you are since I killed you?" Alleras shouted. "A formless monster?"

The monster that was Euron's wings flared as it began to circle.

It only laughed. It raised the spear the crow was impaled on up to it's mouth, and ate the bird, razor edged dragon's teeth sliding the corpse off the ice shaft and crunching down on the crow, a wing sticking out of his mouth and flailing spasmodically. He was eating a man's soul, Alleras realized with horror.

Then Alleras understood his mistake, that he had left his body empty to be filled by a hostile skinchanger, that he had only opened his soul up to be killed like the Three-Eyed Crow. Euron could possess his body and massacre his men in his sleep, could leave him trapped as a ghost, could simply kill him and he would never wake up.

Alleras saw his body lying still, Lancel glancing about and fingering the blade of his falchion. A dead crow lay upon the snow, spasming like it had been poisoned, it's human soul torn away leaving only a dying bird.

Euron extended his empty hands, and meltwater congealed around them like steam turning into water upon a pot lid, and then four spears hung in his hands. He dived at Alleras again. Alleras leapt off the ground and evaded Euron's first spear thrust. Euron did not change course, did not even reach out with a spear, just kept flying straight for his sleeping body.

Alleras kicked off a tree and came tumbling down through the sky. He felt like he was drunk, like he was moving in water, but somehow he willed himself to catch up to Euron and slammed into him from behind and got his arms around his neck, a moment before Euron could reach his body. He dug his forearm in, tried to compress the arteries in the neck. He had no idea if it would work on the spirit of a monster. Euron jerked up and lanced into the sky, exploding through the canopy, conifer branches bending themselves out of the way, bursting through the low dark clouds and out into the cold blue winter sky where the sun shone so bright it stung Alleras's eyes. Euron hung in the air, then, his wings beating in a hover, and for a moment Alleras thought he had strangled the monster.

Tentacles reached up, sliding over his skin, hooks tearing into his face. Alleras screamed as Euron pulled him back, tried to peel him off his back, even as Alleras squeezed harder against his neck.

He had to wake up, but to do that, he had to get to his body of flesh.

Two of Euron's arms reached up over his head, seized Alleras by the hair then wrenched forwards just as it released with the tentacles. Alleras was flung forwards over Euron's shoulders, went tumbling towards the clouds, and saw Euron diving after him, hands outstretched. One caught him by the throat and a spear formed in the other, sweat or mucus flowing down Euron's arm and freezing into his long needle pointed spear.

He reached back to impale Alleras. Alleras flailed, but Euron's grip on his throat was unbreakable.

Hands came up to seize Euron's spear. One of the impaled men, Alleras realized with a start. Euron tried to thrust, but snarled in pain as the mans hands clung to the spear. Flesh began to grow out of his hands and across the spear, and Alleras realized with a start had already happened to the first spear thrust through him: It was grown over with sickly pale flesh, seamlessly linking the impaled man's body, the spear and Euron's arm. It was grown over like that on the other impaled man too-

That man was Euron, he realized, the same purple lips, the same eye of stone. The spear had gone through where his arrow had hit him. The other man must be the man Euron had possessed to survive, fighting for control of the monstrous man-dragon that their souls had turned into.

"Fuck you, Euron. If you think you'll just steal someone else's body and leave mine for the sacrifice, then fuck you." The possessed captain shouted.

Alleras flailed, trying to win free of Euron's grip.

"Know your place, cripple-" The man-dragon snarled, twisting to face the man who was now laughing hysterically.

"Know yours, hagfish." The man answered.

Then Euron screamed as the features of his face shifted, and those of the possessed Captain appeared on the man-dragons face, and those of Euron's on the impaled man's face.

"I am Captain Triston Farwynd." The man-dragon said. "Euron Greyjoy has stolen my body. He has forced me to crown myself king, a king of the living, and means to sacrifice my body upon the wall to give it over to the power of the Others. He waits only for the next full moon, when his sorceries are the strongest."

"Why are you telling me this-"

"Because Euron treats me as a thrall even as he makes me a king, and a Farwynd is no man's thrall. He has taken what is left of my life, so I shall drag him to the grave with me. I do not care if he dies upon the spears of the Night's Watch or your arrows or the axes of the Ironborn, only that he dies for what he has done to me." The man-dragon laughed, razor edged teeth glinting in the sunlight.

Then impaled Euron tore himself free of the flesh coated spear in a spray of blood and shredded flaps of skin, and leapt at the body of the man-dragon, and seized it and forced the soul of Triston back into the impaled body and his own mind restored control, but as he was forced out Triston made him release his grip and Alleras was tumbling back to earth, and as he came down through the clouds he saw his body and flew for that.

Euron dived after him, wings narrowing like a striking falcon. Alleras reached out for body, touched it, tried to flow back into it, tried to wake up. Something seized his leg and he was wrenched with the whiplash, snarling in pain. He kicked at Euron, punched him. Tentacles pinned his left arm to his body. He jammed a thumb into Euron's middle eye, wrenched himself towards his body, could touch it. He was nearly awake, nearly conscious, the tentacles were gripping him, trying to reel him away, kill his soul and leave his body empty.

Valyrian steel-

He flailed for his sword, realized he had control of his physical body, slow and clumsy though it was. Half in and half out of his body, he watched himself as if controlled a puppet as his soul commanded itself to get up, draw his sword, and hurled a cut at Euron.

Black ichor sprayed, half-severing one of Euron's tentacles. He screamed in pain, and loosened his grip, and then Alleras wrenched himself away and into his body and he he was standing there in guard, sword in hand but unbloodied, sweat running from his body. Lancel stood staring at him, his falchion drawn.

"What just happened?"

"I… I found bloodraven. And Euron found me."

 

[GhostStalker]

I think your threadmark is misnamed, because Genna got beheaded at the end of the previous section. Reading, it should probably be Alleras IX.

 

[Balaur]

"His Grace Stannis Baratheon wishes for your presence in his solar."

Renly ground his teeth and stood up, his head pounding. He didn't know what had caused it; bad sleep, the number of blows he'd taken to the head during the battle, spending the whole morning on his feet as they killed the Lannister woman and Lady Merryweather, the immense quantity of wine he had drunk last night to try and forget.

It's her fault, she ordered them out with her banner, if she hadn't done that Loras would never have charged-

He smashed the thought down, tried to force himself to focus on the matter at hand.

She was moving to support Loras.

"Of course. I shall meet with my brother as soon as possible."

"I will inform His Grace that you are coming." The steward said.

Renly groaned as he stood up, wincing as the pain in his leg flared. The maesters insisted that if he just used a cane regularly, then that would put less stress on the leg and the pain would disappear, but Renly could not afford to look like a cripple. Not now, with the Targaryens smashed and Stannis holding his daughter hostage and about to go to war with the ironborn again.

He pulled his doublet on and buttoned it up, let his manservant check the fit(fine by all accounts) then strode up the spiral staircase, ignoring the flare of pain. A trio of mailed guardsman trailed after him, and his manservant. Soldiers swarmed through the passageways of Storm's End, Silvercloaks and Dragonstone men outnumbering his own household knights and castle guards. He fully trusted only the men of his own mounted banner. Not even the Storm's End garrison was reliable any more.

Focus. Resentment would get him nowhere.

His own solar-Stannis had the temerity to take it over for his own use even in Renly's own seat-was guarded by a pair of knights with crowned stags upon their shields. Drawn swords rested on their shoulders. They had white surcoats, but that was the only piece of Kingsguard heraldry he could see; Stannis had gotten the men of his kingsguard killed off so frequently he had simply resorted to using knights of his old Dragonstone household as guards. Only Ser Balon Swann was left after the battle.

Stannis should have died in their place. That would be more just and fitting.

"The king requested my presence." Renly said, and the knights waved him through.

Stannis sat hunched behind the table of the solar, papers and inkpots spread out like the gore around a vulture's carcass. He motioned for Renly to sit-giving him permission to sit, in his own castle!-and Renly did, trying not to let his relief at taking pressure off his leg show.

"You have command in the Stormlands while I am gone." Stannis began. "I do not know how long I shall be gone, but I will be taking only a small force north with me. All of the Silvercloaks and the narrow sea men who know how to fight from ships. You'll have command of the rest. You are to hunt down and kill, capture or force into exile all remnants of the Targaryen Army. No mercy is to be shown to anyone who resists. Lord Florent shall take men north to subdue Cracklaw Point and the Crownlands and Mace Tyrell will clean out the Reach. The men of the Vale, North and Riverlands will finish off any rebels left in the Riverlands on their way home. There are still rebels active in the Westerlands, but Lord Rolland Stormsong has them well in hand."

"And who has the handship?"

"Lord Alester Florent shall retain it."

If Stannis died in battle, then if Shireen was taken north with Florent she could be crowned Stannis's heir before Renly could. He could not allow that.

"Your Grace, I saved your life in battle and crushed the Targaryen flank." Renly said. "Before that I broke the Golden Company in open battle. Surely if anyone has earned the handship it is I."

"You let your men remain in place while my forces fought for their lives. My own daughter showed more initiative than you did-"

"I was waiting for the right moment to strike! We could have tricked them into thinking my force had taken their side and completely overrun them instead of having survivors scattered through the Stormlands! The attack only failed because of confusion about who was with which force. No ones fault but the fortunes of war."

It was his fault, at least in part, his and Maces, he knew that, but he could not show weakness before Stannis.

"True." Stannis said. "Unfortunately you had such an overwhelming advantage that any such ploy was unnecessary and you could have simply surrounded and massacred them at any time, if not for your piecemeal charge."

The muscles in Stannis's jaw visibly worked. "You will not have the handship, my brother, because you have ably demonstrated yourself to be reckless and thoughtless in battle and at court. You are a competent commander when you apply yourself, which is why I have trusted you with finishing off the Targaryen remnants, but quite frankly you are poorly suited to as delicate a task as trying to hold the seven kingdoms together from a burnt out capital."

I defeated three Targaryen armies for you, I relieved Oldtown, I chased down Euron, and this is how you repay me?

Renly grimaced. "You said Shireen showed more initiative than I did during the battle. What did she do but hide behind Margaeries skirts?"

"She tells me that Margaery Tyrell received a letter claiming to be from Mace Tyrell, suggesting that she maintain her neutrality and keep her options open. In fact, there were two letters, contradicting each other, and it was impossible to tell which one was real and which was a ploy by Varys."

"Shireen pointed out both letters could be fake, so the poorer fake would make the better look more convincing in comparison. She convinced Margaery to rally her men and sally out." Stannis said. "She said she could not watch as as her fathers men died in her defence and did nothing, and Margaery agreed. So they sallied forth."

He'd told Margaery to delay sallying and hold her position, he was lord of the castle she was defending, and she'd ignored him to listen to an ugly little girl?

He understood her trying to defend Loras, even if it meant disobeying Mace's orders, but the way Stannis put it…

He needed even more wine. Or milk of the poppy. Or both.

I can't let wine ruin me like it did Robert.

"Shireen shall head north with me to the Wall." Stannis said. It pained him to say it, Renly could tell that much.

"Why? Surely it would be best if she remain in Storm's End?"

He fears he shall die in the north, and he wants Shireen under the defence of his loyalest men so she can be crowned before I can.

"I can only tell you that the Lady Melisandre told me Shireen would be present at the moment that decided the fate of the realm, and I do not mean to meddle with prophecy."

Stannis always seemed to have an as yet unheard of prophecy ready, to justify his latest bit of madness.

"I also think it might be wise to send Margaery north, to arrange for the relief of King's Landing."

"I believe that Margaery shall remain at Storm's End." Renly said. "She is tired and besides herself with grief."

"Very well." Stannis said. "Though I might suggest that arranging for the relief of King's Landing would be wise. Now." Stannis continued. "I aim to set sail tomorrow morning, and need to finish the preparations for victualling the fleet. If it is as I suspect and Euron Greyjoy has returned, then we need to move swiftly to defeat him. There can be no more tarrying."

"You had my daughter stolen out from under me and had me deceived about her whereabouts." Renly suddenly said.

"I took her to safety so she would not be caught in a siege." Stannis said.

"You took her hostage without my knowledge or consent."

"I effectively placed Shireen under your control. A daughter for a daughter, so neither of us could turn upon the other. And Margaery knew." Stannis said. "She agreed it was for the best. In fact, it was she who first raised the idea of getting Olenna away from the siege."

He knew from Loras that Margaery had lied to him about it, and she had claimed it was because she feared him being interrogated and Olenna's location being discovered, but to actually conceive the idea behind his back…

"Margaery is not the lord of Storm's End, and the heir to the King. She has no authority in the matter." Renly said. "I demand to have her returned to me."

"White Harbour." Stannis said. "She is with the Manderlies, and under guard by men handpicked by Ser Davos Seaworth. Lady Elinor Tyrell and Ser Alyn Ambrose are taking care of Olenna."

"You have entrusted the safety of your heir's heir to a band of smugglers?"

He already knew all that from Loras, but he feigned surprise.

"Yes. Who better to get her to safety if the Targaryens won?" Stannis asked. "I do not like the way you speak to your king, brother."

"You're in my castle. A guest should speak to the host with more respect-"

"I think we are done for today." Stannis said, tersely.

Renly suppressed a smile. That wounded him. Deeply.

"Yes, I know, hunt stragglers while Alester takes control of the capital and you save the world." Renly said, turning for the door. "And no choice but to obey because you have taken my child hostage and turned my wife against me."

"More or less. Now get out."

"Gladly."

*

He rode down to the beach the next morning, to watch Stannis put to sea. The rest of the force had already taken to ship in the days before, Silvercloaks and Dragonstone men mostly.

Stannis and his household men climbed into their longboats, armour glistening, and were rowed out to sea, to the dozens of galleys that would be heading north into the teeth of the Ironborn. He was glad to see them gone. And may they never come back. Tane was gone too.

They rode back up the paths from the beach to Storm's End. They meant to lay Loras's body to rest, today.

Mace had wanted to boil his bones and bury them at Highgarden, but Renly wished to bury them here, in the Storm's End crypt. The Lords of Storms End where buried there, alongside their wives and children, and the finest of their household knights. Loras had been knighted here, had died in battle in it's defence. It was only just that he be buried here.

In the end, they had split the difference. Loras Tyrell's heart and his other salted and boiled flesh would be laid to rest in the Storm's End lichyard, alongside the other highborn who had died in service to Storm's End; his bones would be taken to Highgarden.

They rode up off the beach. It was a few hours ride to the lichyard, where already the Silent Sisters would have finished the preparation of Loras's body.

He is gone. The finest knight of his generation, of immense prowess and loyalty and beauty, gone, cut down by common soldiers and a chance change in the tides of battle. The grief tore through him when not numbed by milk of the poppy, like a barbed arrow buried into flesh. But he had to focus. Loras would not want him to give himself to grief like Robert had over Lyanna. He would have wanted him to seize the iron throne. Loras had told him that, once, after he'd been unhorsed in a tournament.

"I am by far the better lance, but I would have no clue how to wield the sceptre. You, my lord, are the other way round. No fine lance, but if they were to make you king, you would be the best of them."

He could not wallow in despair; he had to finish securing his birthright. Loras was right; if given a chance Stannis would finish his ruin of the realm. He had to finish the path Loras had set him down, all those years ago.

Mace rode alongside him. Mace's clothes were dark and somber, mourning colors. He should be in mourning. He got his finest son killed in battle with his indecision and his letter trick.

Renly lowered his voice.

"Alester Florent means to go north to Cracklaw Point, while Shireen Baratheon will go with Stannis to the defence of the wall. Should Stannis perish in the north, his fleet could head south with Shireen to crown her in a city under the control of Florent troops. We must send troops of our own, so the people of King's Landing do not think the house of Tyrell has abandoned them."

He did not trust Mace Tyrell, not after his display of indecision and cowardice when he had seen his son charge alone. But he was a strong ally, he had to be kept on side.

"Margaery has already proposed that." Mace said. "She suggested she go north with a thousand men to help control the city. She suggested it as a matter of trying to feed the city and secure their loyalty for good, but I think we should go further. Her troops would be able to delay a Florent coronation long enough for our men to arrive and crown you should Stannis fall. Margaery wins the trust of people easily and the soldiers like her. But I do not wish her to risk her life in the north. I shall not lose any more of my children to recklessness."

Margaery peeled his allies off and took them for herself. She could not be trusted.

"You are right. The Florents are snakes. If Stannis dies in the north they'll try to eliminate Margaery. And I do not think she is… reliable."

"You do not trust Margaery?" Mace asked.

"Stannis's entourage, Shireen Baratheon and Captain-General Bayder chief amongst them, are a bad influence upon her.."

Mace snorted. "Yes, I know. Something of a harridan but she can fight. I do not see the issue."

"Margaery disobeyed your orders not to sally against the Targaryens, and Shireen helped convince her to do it."

She was moving to defend Loras. She would have thought he was with Stannis's army, thought she was moving to protect him. The King's banner had clearly been in combat.

And I didn't know of Selyse's innocence, and yet Stannis punished me for moving against her anyway.

Ignorance was no defence.

That is the grief talking.

Margaery betrayed you twice over, Stannis told you as much. She was acting at the behest of Shireen Baratheon of all people.

He ground his teeth. He would have to have a talk with Margaery about such matters. But not until Loras was laid to rest. He could not sully his memory like that.

"She thought Loras was with Stannis and that she was coming to his defence. It is not her fault that I forgot to tell her that in the letter. It I who should be blamed, if anyone. I meant to confuse the Targaryens as to my intentions, but it would seem it did little enough."

Renly nodded.

"We have to move carefully, now." Renly said. "No more harm can be done to our families."

"I know." Mace said. "That is why I mean to tread carefully and keep Margaery under the guard of Tyrell soldiers of proven loyalty."

Renly gritted his teeth. "Then I assent to your plan."

They came to the lichyard, then, where Loras's bones had been placed in a casket in the wagon, and the separated flesh in a smaller box, borne by silent sisters. They had been working furiously; almost a hundred lords, their family and knights-bannermen had died in the battle. All the other soldiers, even the knights and the household officers, had been stripped of their armour and thrown into the mass graves if their family or servants could not claim the bodies in time.

Renly had ordered a vigil held for Loras's body, in the sept of Storm's End. Lowborn soldiers prayed for him, alongside household knights who had squired with him, servants of the castle, and well-wishers. Renly had spent hours down there, hoping it would help with the grief. It had not, nor had it stopped his urge to dull the pain with milk of the poppy and with wine.

He turned to the gathered people, Mace and Tyrell, Tyrell and Baratheon household knights, the lords of the Reach and Stormlands, Margaery and her handmaidens in mourning clothes, the Silvercloak officers who had not been picked to go north.

"Loras was the finest of knights. He unhorsed the Kingslayer and killed the brute Gregor Clegane. I myself saw him bring down an elephant, and only the cowardice of the pretender Aegon stopped Loras from slaying a pretender king. Even when he forsook his Kingsguard vows, it was in the defence of his family. His star may not have burnt long, but it burnt brightly. He will stand with the likes of the dragonknight and Ser Ducan the Tall, as pillars of everything a knight should be."

He could not tell them of the rest; of Loras's beauty and his steadfast loyalty, of how he forsook his vows to avoid becoming part of Stannis's tyranny, of that last mad, furious, battle winning charge in defence of his sister, because that would mean admitting to his own and Mace's attempts to let Stannis die.

Mace Tyrell made his speech then, and Margaery and Garlan too, and they spoke circles around the truth of why he had died. And they laid Loras to rest, his flesh at Storm's End and his bones off to Highgarden, and they held the funeral feast. Margaery was weeping besides him, and he put his arm around her, and realized he was crying as well. He thought to hide it, then: Your squire and your wife's brother died in battle at your side, the only thing anyone will think is that unlike Stannis, you do not have a heart of stone. He let himself cry, then, openly, as the Silent Sisters covered Loras's grave with earth, and the fool who had led him to his death cried into his side.

*

"Lord Alester's setting the stage to usurp you, you know." Margaery said when they went to bed after the funeral feast.

Renly took a sip of strongwine, laced with milk of the poppy. Officially, it was for his leg, after the strain put on it by campaigning. Unofficially…

He's dead, and you took him from me. Because you disobeyed Mace's orders, because you listened to Shireen, because you let Stannis take your child hostage.

Because I sided with Mace, because Mace did not warn her about Loras's defection, because Mace did not commit to the attack and forced Loras's hand…

"I know." Renly said. "Mace and I agree with your plan. Lord Florent is little loved amongst the smallfolk. We can pull any support he might gain by helping out from under him. But I do not wish for you to ride north. Mace thinks it too much risk to send you north."

He could consolidate the Stormlands as fast as possible, leave the cleaning up to Tarly, then ride north with as much grain as he could gather. And hope Lord Florent is not quicker to do the same from Cracklaw Point.

"Why not? I held Storm's End." Margaery said. "I have distributed food to the orphanages and poor in King's Landing, many times. My presence would be taken very well by the smallfolk. And I would have a strong escort under Ser Garlan, of course, to secure the Red Keep against any attempt to sieze the throne. I would be quite safe, I think."

"And Olenna?" Margaery continued. "Stannis still has control of her. I could travel north, relieve King's Landing, then go to White Harbour to retrieve her."

"No. You will remain safe in Storm's End while we consolidate the rebel situation. Olenna can be retrieved."

Margaery looked annoyed by that, looked to retort, then changed her mind.

"Garlan could do it." Margaery said. "I trust him with so sensitive a task. Why not both? We can ride together to lead our troops up, then if it is secure he can take a galley north to White Harbour and retrieve her."

"That would work. Now the North is at war we need to retrieve Olenna quickly." Renly took another sip of the wine. His head still felt like it had split. He's gone and you took him.

"I do not wish you to ride north to King's Landing, and as your lord husband that is final. I cannot risk you-"

"You shouldn't drink so much." Margaery said. "You know better than me what it did to Robert."

"Robert didn't know when to stop. I do."

"Prove it."

His head was pounding.

"I have no need to prove anything to you." Renly said. "You lured your brother to his death with your recklessness, at the behest of Shireen Baratheon of all people. You have cuckolded me with a hermaphrodite foreigner. You have gone behind my back and aided Stannis in stealing my daughter. Why should I listen to a thing you say!"

He could feel the rage building, now. She sided against me in the matter of Selyse too, she cannot be trusted, even her noble intentions of saving Loras were a lie…

"Shireen begged you to send soldiers to the relief of her father, didn't she?" Renly snarled. "And you agreed because you couldn't bear to watch Tane die but didn't care about your father and husband and brothers?"

"I didn't know what you where planning! I thought Loras was with Stannis and being overrun, I had to do something! I sallied against the Targaryens because it was my duty as commander of the garrison to ensure our relief!" Margaery said. "I did not know what you and Mace were planning, only that the relieving army was at risk of being overrun and I had reserves to spare!"

"You talk like Tane does, when she speaks of arms. Did she tell you that?" Renly said. He stood up, strode towards Margaery. She flinched back, stood up. She was scared. He could tell that much.

Good. She should be.

"Ignorance was held as no defence when I moved against Selyse for what I thought was your attempted murder. I don't care why you did it, only that you got Loras killed and stole my daughter."

"I didn't steal Olenna, I tried to protect her by keeping her away from the siege. Shireen was with me so Stannis wouldn't try anything-"

"Why did you lie to me, then? Why did Stannis say you conceived of the plan in the first place?"

"Because I don't trust you! I was scared you would just let me die in Storm's End if you thought Olenna was safe. You're a snake, you know that, and you think everyone else is a snake too. You thought Tane wouldn't care who really tried to kill us, or that Loras would watch knights he squired alongside and his own sister die in a sally unsupported, or that I'd be happy to watch what I thought was my brothers banner overrun or to be the mistress of a lecher over twice my age. You just scheme away, and assume no-one else would have their own plans, that or you just decide to throw reason to the wind, and every time everyone around you has to pick up the pieces. That's why I lied to you about Olenna, I could not trust you to look for her safety or mine! Even Loras who loved you helped in that deception! Even he could see that!"

"And now Stannis has Shireen and I still don't have Olenna." Renly said. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, forced her to look him in the eyes. Her hands were shaking. "Captain Bayder has poisoned you against me. Or maybe you poisoned her. I don't know. It doesn't matter, you've turned me into a laughing stock."

"Ba- Barely anyone knows outside our household, and even then, most of them thought us close friends. More knew of you and Loras-"

"I don't care." Renly said. "That was a risk I chose to undertake. You whoring yourself out to Stannis's hunting dog is not."

The fury was in him now, fury at everything that had led to Loras's death. But the soldiers who had felled him with their axes where dead, Stannis gone north. Only Margaery was left, for him to direct his rage at. He was just as much at fault as she was for Loras, but everything else, the pent up rage of her going behind his back for years…

"Do you think Loras would have wanted this? For you to threaten his sister?"

"Shut up!" Renly bellowed. "Do not invoke his name, as if you did not get him killed!"

She screamed, and he jerked back. Her hands went up on reflex, covering her face.

She had stolen Loras, had stolen his daughter, might help Shireen steal his throne.

"Please, don't hurt me, please-"

"My lord?" Someone asked from the doorway, and Renly turned and saw a guardsman standing there, stunned, his spear hefted as if he expected assassins. Garlan Tyrell strode past, letting his sword slide back into its sheath.

Then, "Lady Margaery, are you hurt?"

Margaery turned to them, weeping openly now.

"There was an argument." Renly said. "About Loras. She is grieving, and the strongwine for my leg has clouded my judgement. "My apologies, my lady. Summon Lady Crane if you would, and the Maester." He said to the guardsman.

He rubbed his head. His leg was screaming, and his jaw too. He needed more milk of the poppy. To soothe him, not to provoke him like the wine had.

Gods, Loras would kill me if he saw that.

Loras was dead because of her.

Margaery didn't know that, she was trying to defend him.

Behind him, Margaery was sobbing.

Garlan ignored him, strode over to Margaery. He crouched down over her her, talking quietly and hurriedly. He turned back to Renly.

"You are very lucky I survived the battle and not Loras, because otherwise you would be fortunate to keep your head." He turned back to Margaery, helped her to her feet and escorted her out of the dining room. She was still sobbing.

Renly sat down alone, his head pounding.

He couldn't do this. Garlan was right, Loras would have despised him for what he had done, Loras who had nearly severed their bond in outrage at how Renly had treated his sister, Loras who had charged to his death in his families defence, Loras who's hand had been forced by Renly's own indecision.

Loras who Margaery had ordered the sally to try and save.

That was an act of madness. He was not Stannis and he was not Robert, if he could not even provide justice for his own family he could not provide justice for the realm.

He waited an hour, drinking only cold water. He took himself up the steps to Margaeries chambers. Household knights in Tyrell colours stood watch over them.

"The Lady Margaery does not wish to be disturbed, My lord."

He nodded, slowly. He could pull rank, barge in. He doubted that would endear him. "Tell her it is Lord Baratheon and that he wishes to apologize."

He waited. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. His leg stung agonizingly. Then the door was opened, and he was invited in. Margaery sat on her bed, her hair undone and down to her waist. Dried tears lined her cheeks. Merry Crane sat at her side.

He took a knee in front of Margaery.

"I acted in an unjust and unlordly manner. I am truly sorry, for blaming you for what you could not have forseen, and for making you fear me when I should comfort you. I cannot do down the road King Robert took, and I shall not. I swear upon my honour as a Baratheon I shall leave off all wine for the next year, and treat you with the honour a lady of Highgarden deserves."

Margaeries hands were shaking with fear, and she looked down at him with pity and hatred. She hesitated for a moment, then: "I accept your apology, my lord. Perhaps it is best if we were to… separate for a time, until such time as the realm is mended and the wars are done, and Loras's bones have been laid to rest at Highgarden."

He nodded slowly, then: "I agree. I shall grant you whatever troops and supplies you think necessary for the relief of King's Landing, and I shall convince Lord Tyrell to provide his own support."

 

[Balaur]

The force that marched against Eastwatch had a little over a thousand men, in all. His own small band of Watchmen, the silvercloak crossbowmen and the Winterfell guardsmen, two dozen in all and a thousand Umber soldiers, a third archers, a third spears and the last third cavalry.

That was before they met the Watchmen. They were marching at night, moving slowly and carefully, their horses fitted with bearpaws so they would not sink in the snow. There were campfires up ahead, and Lancel led the scouts out to investigate.

The sentries stumbled up, half-frozen hands reaching for spears and longbows.

"Show yourselves!" the sentry shouted.

Lancel stood up, relaxing the tension on his bow and lowered it.

"We're Watchmen!" Lancel shouted. "Up from the south! We're with the Umbers!"

"Who's in charge?" Lancel asked.

"Uh…"

Half an hour later, and the Umbers were warming themselves by the fire while Lancel tried to get a consistent story out of the dozen or so Watchmen who'd gathered around him.

"Bowen Marsh led us out with seven or eight hundred men gathered from along the wall, to retake Eastwatch." A Shadow Tower man said. "The Ironborn knew we were coming."

"They had a dragon." Satin explained. Lancel had been relieved to see that his friend had survived. "It didn't breathe fire, but it came down on us as we lined up to charge and savaged us with its teeth and claws and tails. We fought back, we threw spears into its wings and forced it to retreat, but by then the Ironborn foot were upon us. There was a weak spot in the middle of our lines the dragon had made, and they wedged into that and broke our line open like ice cracking masonry. And there were ironborn prisoners with Bowen's force. They ran towards the Ironborn line and surrendered, and some of them turned on us."

"That's good news, then." Lancel had said.

"What good news? That they have a dragon, that they routed our army?"

"That it can't breath fire anymore. One of the Winterfell men, the Dornishman Alleras, managed to spear it in the throat. He said during the attack on Winterfell it hurt itself every time it breathed fire."

"There was an attack on Winterfell? Seven Hells!" Satin said.

"The Ironborn dragonrider was trying to seize the horn of Joramun to collapse the wall but Alleras threw it down a well and wounded his dragon with a weirwood spear. He's made more weirwood arrows, he reckons he can kill the dragon if he can get close enough."
"At least you survived."

"You too." Lancel said, laughing. He'd hugged Satin and then turned to the rest of the watchmen. "Who's in charge? How are they on supplies?"

"Allister Thorne was" another of the Watchmen, a Winterfell man who'd taken service, said. "He died of his wounds a few days ago. Bowen Marsh was killed during the battle."

"Shit."

"What are you doing heading north with such a small force? There's at least a thousand Ironborn, you can't take them with such numbers."

"We mean to lure out and kill their dragon and their leader." Lancel said. "And link up with the rest of the Watch to move in for the kill. And we have a thousand and however many you have men, now. We outnumber them."

"You're going to kill the dragon?"

Lancel shrugged. "Alleras is. He's a Dornishman up from the south, he killed Euron in the battle off Grey Gallows. He reckons he can put a weirwood arrow through the things eye."

Another watchman stepped forwards. He had the beard and heavy cloak of a shadow tower man, though Lancel did not recognize him.

"So what would you have us do? Attack the Ironborn again, getting what's left of our forces wrecked and leaving Castle Black and the lesser garrisons open?"

"Aye, we're underarmed, undersupplied, half our horses are lost, we've got dozens of wounded men…"

"It doesn't matter if we have the advantage in numbers, they have a palisade and a bloody dragon! How the fuck are we going to overrun that? I don't care if you brought Umber levies too weak for the Wall or a journey south-"

"We have to stop the Ironborn because they want to bring down the Wall!" Lancel suddenly shouted. "I don't know what sorcery Euron is working, but he's doing to do something, he's a new Night's King. And Alleras reckons he'll do it on the next full moon only a week away. We have to move fast."

"If he's trying to bring down the wall and let the Others through then we need to retreat south and help the Dreadfort and Last Hearth levies prepare to fight Wights." The Shadow Tower man said.

"Have any of you ever fought wights in open battle?" Lancel asked.

Heads shook.

"I have. They are utterly relentless. They do not hesitate or recoil facing a shieldwall, they will impale themselves on the spears and rip the shield out of your hands. They'll die, but that doesn't matter if it makes it easier for those coming up behind. Even burning they continue to attack. They can march day and night, without rest. You can outrun them, but you cannot outlast them. They need no supplies, they need no sleep, they just keep coming. They do not rout, to destroy a force of them you must kill every last one of them face to face. And their masters are worse.

The moment they get south of the Wall, they'll begin replacing the years old corpses of wildlings with mailed soldiers and fresh, strong peasants. Trying to beat them in open battle is madness. They can outlast us in any siege. They can outpace us in any retreat. They will keep growing stronger and stronger, and us weaker and weaker. We cannot let them get south no matter the cost. I don't care how much it costs us in blood to overrun that castle, we have to do it. We either kill Euron ourselves, or at least weaken him enough that whoever has victory in the south can bring their guns and dragons to bear against him. We don't have a choice."

"We'll need every man we have left alive, then, if they break through-"

"A few hundred extra spears won't matter if they get through the Wall!" Satin shouted, turning on the other watchmen. "Traitors have seized our gatehouse and you propose to fight the enemy in the courtyard instead of trying to retake and bar the gates before the main body arrives. We'll lose hundreds of men in the assault, I don't care, that's less than what we'll lose fighting the Others in the open, and we are the Night's Watch. We are the Watchers on the Wall. Not the Hiders in the South. Seven hells, I was a bloody whore and I'm braver than the lot of you!"

"One way or another, the Greatjon's men are going to assault Eastwatch." Lancel said. "Do you want to be known as the men who killed the second Night's King, or the men who fled south after one defeat?"

Dozens more men had gathered around, to listen to the argument.

"Eastwatch is warmer than Castle Black." Someone suggested. "And closer."

Then, finally, the Greatjon came riding through the press, greatsword slung over his saddle, flecks of snow clinging to his saddle.

"I don't want cowards coming north with me when I storm Eastwatch and put the Ironborn bastards down once and for all!" he yelled. "So I'll have only volunteers. Any man who thinks it better to go south, you'll go to all the castles of the North and warn them of the threat that we face. You'll tell their levies how to fight wights, and when the Wights come you'll stand with them against the threat. And everyone else, you are free to join my column."

*

In the end, two hundred Watchmen joined Umber's column. They'd be enough. They'd had to march through the day yesterday, and they'd only just made it to Eastwatch on the day of the full moon. Even so, Lancel and the Greatjon had had to force their men to advance through snowstorms and leave frostbitten men behind in peasant hovels to make it this far.

Eastwatch was lit by the distant glow of cookfires as their men advanced in columns under the full moon. The columns where tight packed, each man keeping the one ahead clear in view, snaking their way in.

They would use the same rough plan of attack as Euron had used to seize Eastwatch in the first place.

The Umber men would hit the perimeter first, in the west, hopefully drawing the Ironborn that way, then the Night's Watch columns would punch in to the right, trying to get between the Ironborn and their boats. They'd dispatched a small force to Long Barrow to rally what was left of the garrison there. They would hopefully be able to march along the top of the Wall, seize control of the heights and rain rocks and arrows down upon the defenders. Finally, Alleras had the reserve element, the Silvercloak crossbowmen, Winterfell longbowmen, and Theon.

They had the most dangerous task of all. When the dragon appeared, they were going to blind and down it with weirwood arrows, and finish it with the Valyrian steel sword that Euron had left behind in the chaos of the battle at Winterfell.

They could only hope that Euron wouldn't just take another form, or that he had not already laid open the defences of the wall.

Lancel led the Night's Watch centre column, a hundred men, archers mostly. They had heavy infantry too, originally fully armed spearmen, but many had lost their spears or shields or both in the pursuit so they were no better armed for the melee than the archers in most cases. They'd tried to concentrate the remaining spears and shields on a few dozen men, so they could put together a proper frontline to screen the archers. Lancel was unsure if it would be enough.

Lancel had armed himself to the teeth for this: A spear and shield in his hands, a mail coat, leather jack and padded chausses on his body and a half-helm with a nose guard and mail coif for his head, and his falchion and two daggers on his belt. He even had an unlit firebrand tucked through the back of his belt, in case they were too late and he had to fight wights. Even if they didn't, it would be helpful for burning out defenders.

He tested the ground in front of him with his spear butt, felt the ground drop. "Ditch. Be careful."

Every knock of a spear shaft against shield rim or rustle of mail make him wince as the column crept forwards. They were two or three hundred yards out from the perimeter, now. Figures moved on the crude palisades between half-ruined buildings.

They had grapnels and ladders for the purpose of getting through those, and felling axes and mauls for smashing their way through walls if that became necessary.

Lancel hoped they didn't have to resort to that.

Off to his left, shouts of alarm in thick Ironborn accents, "To arms! To arms! Greenlanders, hundreds of them!"

The Umbers shouted back "A giant! A giant unchained!" and there was the distant, barely perceptible rustle and clatter of swift movement in armour.

Lancel raised his spear and dropped into a crouch, signalling a halt. "Hold, hold, hold. Get ready. Get ready."

His hands weren't shaking, like they'd been in his first few battles. He was a veteran, now.

The hiss and thrum of archers loosing, more yelling. Someone shouting for grapnels and ladders to be brought up.

He peered at the top of the Wall, the icy immensity on the horizon. He thought he could see movement, struggling figures around the watchfires the Ironborn had lit. Long Barrow men. Give them time and they'd be showering the Ironborn defenders with arrows.

He wondered for a moment how the Ironborn had gotten sentries up there; he thought the stairs had burned during the attack. Maybe they had time to repair them, or managed to climb up onto the wall with grapnels. The wildlings did it.

Or maybe the burning was not as thorough as he'd hoped.

Silhouettes moving on the palisades facing them, sentries being reinforced. But not by many men, only a slight handful.

He could not tell if they knew they were there.

The noise from the Umber attack was reaching a crescendo, the rolling half-wood half-metal clatter of infantry in close combat, hundreds of voices merging together into one cacophony.

This is it. Come on. If they were mounting the palisades then the Ironborn would be commiting reserves, meaning they couldn't reinforce the palisade his own men were facing…

…And if he attacked at the same time, that would create confusion and force them to try and split their reserves, giving the Umbers an even better chance of mounting the walls.

"Let's go. Lyl, Sedge, go tell the other columns we're moving." The messengers moved out, and Lancel stood and their men began to advance once again.

The Ironborn began to shout in alarm "They're here! They're here! Hey, reserves up!" and then the archers were shooting, showering them with wood and steel, and with a yell Lancel led the spearmen forwards at a run, those with the mauls and grapnels and rough-hewn siege ladders struggling to keep up. Arrows flew back, only a handful, the men on the wall suppressed by the shooting of over a hundred archers, their night vision ruined by the fires they had lit for warmth. The Ironborn had the high ground and cover, but they were backlit-

An arrow smashed into his shield. Lancel jerked his shield up, kept it over his head. A second arrow buzzed in, punching halfway through his shield, the head quivering an inch from his face.

"Move move move!" Lancel yelled. "Come on, come on come on!"

He pulled up as he came to the palisade, raised his shield over his head. A rock came flying down and he snarled in pain as it bounced off his shield. The laddermen came running, but one of them caught an arrow to the throat and fell and his arm got caught between the rungs. "Come on! Lyle! On the ladder!" Lancel shouted. "Clear a space! Clear a space!"

He ran over to the ladders, raised his shield, put himself between the bearers and the Ironborn. A spear came flying at him and he deflected it on the shaft of his own spear. It spun and went clattering down sideways around his legs and he kicked it out of the way. The ladder team got the wounded man untangled and were pushing forwards, raising it up onto the wall.

"Ladders! They're got ladders on the wall! Where the fuck are the reserves!" an Ironborn voice screamed in panic, and then Lancel threw his spear at a man leaning over the palisade with a rock in hand, drew his falchion, passed it point down into his shield hand, ran at the ladder and began to climb with his shield raised over his head. Spears jabbed down wildly over the palisade rim. One jammed into his shield. Lancel pushed back, tried to shove up against it, felt resistance as the spearman tried to keep him down. It suddenly slackened and he was up over the top of the ladder and an archer dropped his longbow and went for his axe at the same time as Lancel grabbed his falchion out of his shield hand.

The archer got the first swing. Lancel twisted and brought his shield around, heavy and clumsy with the weight of the spear stuck into it, leaning his body forwards into the lip of the wall so he would not be knocked off the ladder. The axe blow hit at an angle, skimming off his shield and into the spear and breaking the shaft off, and the archer had overstepped with his momentum-

Lancel pommeled him in the face and send him stumbling back. That brought him the moments he needed, to clamber over the top of the palisade and onto the crude platform they'd built behind it. The archer came in again, blood running down his face, and Lancel caught his blow on his shield, chopped his knee out from under him and broke his wrist with a second chop. Something hit him across the back and he spun, turning a sword cut on his shield, slamming his falchion into his attackers mailed collarbone, kicking the man's knee out. He fell, and Lancel stepped away, turning, fearful than someone was coming up behind him, but more Watchmen were on the palisade now, covering his back, and Lancel turned back and finished the swordsman he'd downed and advanced over his body. There was only room for one man to fight at a time on the palisade, and his next opponent had a spear and shield and a heavy padded jack.

Ironborn were running up the street towards the palisade, some of them with bows, flickers of movements in the shadows and clearly visible in the moonlight, and he realized they had to get archers up onto the palisade and into the buildings. It would be like the Ironborn assault, they could use the defences against the defenders if they could seize them…

He charged the spearman. He held his spear underarm, for reach. Lancel didn't like that grip, and he punished the Ironborn for it. He parried the thrust off to his left, caught it on his shield, rushed in. The ironborn tried to back up, slid his spear back in his hand to shorten his grip, but Lancel slammed his falchion down into the haft just as he began to change his grip and the spear came out of his hands. The man began to scramble back, going for his war-knife, but there was a wounded Ironborn on the ground behind him and he tripped.

Lancel slashed the wounded man across the face, chopped at the spearman's legs as he tried to rise, stomped on his shield to pin the hand trying to draw his knife against his chest then hacked at his head until the screaming turned to moaning.

He leant over the palisade.

"It's clear! It's clear! The archers can come up now, come on, come on!"

"I'm with you!" someone yelled behind him, and then he turned and charged the building off to their right, maybe the granary. It had been loopholed and Ironborn archers were sweeping the ranks of his men from there.

A lone axeman guarded the hole in the wall they'd bashed to let men move between the buildings and the palisade. Lancel charged him, ducking and raising his shield at the last moment. The man's swing sparked into the stones as he forgot about the ceiling, their shields clashed together and Lancel got his falchion around the side of his knee and sliced.

The man screamed and fell, and Lancel stepped through the hole they'd smashed, kicking the axeman in the head and leaving him for his follow-ups to finish. An archer spun and tried to shoot him, and Lancel cut into his bow so it snapped as he tried to draw. He dropped it and went for his sword; Lancel chopped through his wrist and face and charged the next archer who turned and ran for the stairs. In the dark of the building, they were little more than shapes and flutters of movement. The Ironborn were falling back, abandoning the structure, now; Lancel finished off one of them as he fled and paused and turned back and saw the amount of arrows flying at the men on the palisades.

They sure as hell aren't letting us fight them in their courtyard. Smarter than the men that retreated-

"Get off the wall! Into the buildings!" Lancel shouted. "Come on! Come on!" When half a dozen men had gathered around him, he led them down the stairs, slow and careful so he did not trip and break his neck.

"Don't fucking shoot they're watchmen!" someone yelled, and he saw Night's Watchmen gathered on the floor of the granary between the grain siloes. They'd smashed a hole in one of the walls, he realized. More men were flowing through. Bodies littered the floor; they'd caught the retreating Ironborn archers and killed them.

"We need to clear them off the street!" Lancel yelled. "Stay close and don't get sucked into a pursuit. If they rout, they'll try and run us onto their second line of defence piecemeal then counterattack." That's what they'd done to the Ironborn attackers in the first battle, after all. If not for the dragon Eddard might have gotten into the Ironborn's rear and saved the castle. He passed his falchion to his shield hand and picked up a spear off a dead ironborn, tested the weight. Only six foot long and forward weighted, with a long thin metal shank for piercing mail and sticking into shields.

It'll do.

Then they kicked open the door and came out onto the street. Watchmen were already there, climbing down the palisade or heading out of the leftwards building. They were half crouched under shields, archers peeking around to shoot at the Ironborn shieldwall formed further down the lane.

They formed up to oppose them, shields not quite touching, bristling with spears. He could see the glow of flames, off in the direction of Umber's attack, rising like a false dawn above the rooves.

He's on the walls at least, probably clearing the buildings by now.

"On me!" Lancel yelled. "Everyone with a spear or a shield, to the front!". They attacked. The Ironborn facing them were spearmen too, mostly. They threw axes and javelins as they approached, and the Night's Watch archers shot back.

The Ironborn braced, preparing to receive their attack. Lancel thought he saw the faces of men who'd taken Night's Watch oaths amongst them.

No prisoners. Oldtown quarter.

His own men hesitated as they came just within spear-fencing distance, shrank back a little. Many of them didn't have spears, they'd have to close in aggressively if they wanted to do damage to the Ironborn.

"We are the Watchers on the Wall!" Lancel shouted. "We fight through them! To the Wall!" And then he stepped forwards, turned a spear thrust on his shield and stabbed at his opponents face and the fight was on.

They fought like that for what could have been hours, the lines rallying, breaking apart, cycling wounded men to the back and unbroken spears to the front. Thrice the fighting came to a close press, shield against shield, dealing raking sword and axe cuts to the legs and frantically stabbing over shield rims with choked up spears and daggers. They were driving the Ironborn in, forcing them towards Eastwatch's courtyard where he guessed the reserves would be gathered.

Burning pitch arrows whipped overhead, sticking into snow-spattered rooves. Most failed to take, but some did, flying in through a warehouse's windows and turning whatever was inside into a bonfire.

All the while, skirmishing raged through the buildings around them, archers clambering across rooves to shoot into each other's men in the street, vicious skirmishes in alleyways as they tried to stop each other being flanked. They could not see through to the central square; between the darkness and the smoke blowing from the burning warehouse it was obscured.

Lancel was cycled to the back, taking a break from the fighting and organizing detachments to go clear the smaller buildings and walkways to secure them from being flanked, when he saw something dark flutter against the stars.

Dragon. His chest froze.

And then Euron Greyjoy, or the Night's King or whatever he was, came down on his scar-throated monster, landing on the roof of the naval armoury and leaping down onto the street in the midst of a group of running archers. It pinned one with a wing claw, caught another in it's jaws and sent him flying before it reached down, seizing the man it had pinned and tore him in half-

The third archer turned and shot at the dragon, and it screamed and lunged and flung him away.

Some ancient instinct made him want to run, made him want to curl up into a ball and weep and hide until the monster from the age of heroes, from the furnaces of Old Valyria, had passed him by.

I've killed wildlings, I've killed wights, I've killed Others. I can kill a dragon.

Then he saw it had no rider. Euron's still out there, we have to break through to him.

"Rear ranks about face, form on me, stand and fucking fight!" Lancel bellowed. Yells of panic as the men around him saw what had happened, saw the dragon blocking their line of retreat.

"It can't breath fire and it can't take off and escape if we wound it!" Lancel yelled. "It's just an animal! When it attacks, spear it in the eyes and the wound in the throat. Slash the skin of its wings! We are the watchers on the wall! We are the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men! Stand and fight!"

 

[Balaur]

His archers had just climbed the palisade and where moving out into the street when the dragon struck. It came down out of the sky, silvery gray in the moonlight, tearing through three archers in as many seconds.

This is it. This is what we came to kill.

He nocked his weirwood arrow, and shouted for the other archers to move up, and ahead of them the rear of the Night's Watch shieldwall turned around and prepared to face the brute.

No shot. They had to get it to face them, or flank it, before they could go for the weak points: the wound in it's throat, the eyes, the mouth-

The dragon hurled itself into the shieldwall, and everything descended into carnage. Spears flashed, men screamed, the Ironborn fighting them on the other side charged, and Alleras broke out into a sprint, leaping the corpses that littered the pathway up to the central drill ground, wincing against the heat and smoke as he passed a building that had turned into an inferno. Thirty yards out, he pulled up and shouted for archers to loose against the monster. The men with them, Silvercloak crossbowmen mostly and Theon Greyjoy, raised their weapons and showered it with shafts. It screamed and reared, wings beating frantically, and for a moment Alleras thought he had wounded it even without the weirwood arrows, until he saw the spears stuck through its wings. A flailing man was still gripped in it's jaws as it leapt up onto the side of a tower with a burning roof, stones tumbling down under the weight of its claws. Moonlight and fire glinted against its eyes.

Nock, draw, loose. Alleras shot it, imagining the point of the arrow ripping into the jelly of its eyes, feeling it, guiding the weirwood into the target.

The dragon's head jerked down as it killed the flailing man in it's mouth, and the arrow went skimming off the armoured scales where only eyes had been a moment before.

It flicked the corpse down, onto the ground, and then the Night's Watch shieldwall was collapsing, the Ironborn crashing in with longaxes and swords as the watchmen were thrown into disorder by the attack of the dragon. With the anvil of the dragon gone, the hammer of the Ironborn sent them recoiling.

Men came fleeing down the street, some keeping their faces to the Ironborn and defending themselves, others turning and running. Lancel was screaming "Rally on me! Rally on me!". The dragon stayed where it was, bellowing in rage and fear as the Ironborn flowed past beneath it.

Fleeing men reached him, and Alleras stepped into the way of one, yelled "Stand and fight! Stand and fucking fight!"

The man hesitated, shamefaced.

"All of you! Get back in the line!" Ser Rodrik Cassel was shouting. "Men of Winterfell! Draw swords and advance to support them!"

"We've beaten them before, we can beat them again. Get back in the line!" We wasn't a commander, he was just an archer and a half-maester, but he did his best impression of Lancel up ahead in the fighting.

The man turned back to the line. Other archers were doing the same, blocking the fleeing men, yelling for them to stay in the fight. Lancel was rallying the shieldwall, but with so many men dead or fled it could not hold for long.

The dragon. It was still up there. If it attacked again, their line would not hold.

He remembered the kraken turning against Euron. He remembered the rumours of how this very dragon had been turned feral at King's Landing.

Focus. Calm. Stay calm.

He took a deep breath, held it.

He shot the dragon again, guiding the shaft with his mind's eye into the dragon's eye of flesh, and this time it hit. He could almost feel the night air hot with fire rustling through his fletchings.

The dragon shrieked in agony. It thrashed it's head, lashed it's tail, tried to claw at it's eyes and only drove the shaft deeper… then the side of the building it was clinging to, already burnt and decayed, collapsed in a shower of rubble and masonry, sending it tumbling down into the snow and carrion and running Ironborn. A shower of burning debris from the crude hoardings the Ironborn had built atop the tower came with it.

Its tail spasmed, and struck an Ironborn with enough force to send him flying. Alleras could not quite see what happened next, with the Night's Watch in the way, Lancel screaming for them to hold the line, but it involved a raised axe and then the dragon was back on its feet with a flailing, screaming Ironborn in it's jaws. It flicked him skyward, tilted it's head to bring it's good eye around, saw Alleras, and then it charged.

He loosed a third weirwood arrow but it was too late, it ducked it's head down and the arrow went spinning off. It tore through the Ironborn, seizing them and flinging them away, lashing them down with it's tail, pinning them under hooked, armoured wing claws. Axes and spears flailed against it, glancing off armoured scales, tearing rents in its wing-flesh.

The Ironborn where driven up into the blades of the rallying Night's Watch as they surged away from the attacking monster, and Lancel's men cut them down too with cries of "Oldtown quarter! Oldtown quarter!" and the monster loomed over them like a heron over a frog. The dragon opened it's mouth, and Alleras shot it again, this time through the roof of it's mouth, and the crossbowmen and Theon loosed too and the dragon shrieked and jerked and slammed it's head against the wall. Some brave watchman lunged forwards and slashed it across the wound in its throat and leapt back as it snapped at him. It tried to seize him, only to be struck across the snout with a longaxe that made it recoil.

Alleras almost felt pity for it then, grounded, wounded, half-blind, surrounded by enemies.

The faster it dies the better.

He nocked another arrow, and the dragon screamed and leapt. It flung itself up onto the side of a building, scrambled forwards, and then jumped down upon the archers.

Alleras barely twisted out of the way as armoured jaws snapped shut inches from his body. Someone was pinned under its foot and could not even scream as his chest collapsed. Alleras scrambled back, realized he was facing the dragon's good eye, raised his bow and drew. It slammed its head into him snout first hard enough to send Alleras flying. He went tumbling, hit something, saw white. His limbs were cold and numb. He scrambled to his feet, saw the dark walls of an alley either side.

The dragon scrambled in, elongated neck reaching out to seize him. Alleras tried to raise his bow, realized he'd dropped it. He stumbled away as the dragon lunged, the hollow clap of it's jaws snapping shut inches from his body. He drew his sword, held it back ready to stab.

Jaws lashed shut again. He had to jerk his left hand back to avoid being bitten as he slashed the dragon across the snout. Valyrian steel shore through the armoured scales, but he felt it hit the bone and turn. He slashed again and again, and the dragon shrieked and hissed and pulled back. It's neck was coiling over its shoulder, biting at someone who had climbed up onto it's back. The neck scar was stretched open, half-healed scales and infection-inflamed flesh glistening in the light of a building set aflame to flush out defenders.

He began to drag himself forwards through the snow. One deep thrust through the neck and he could put the thing down for good. Then they just had to find and kill Euron and it was done.

He was almost knee deep in the snow. His limbs were too cold and his body too hot. His ribs ached and his brigandine and helmet weighed him down. He forced himself to move, out of the snowdrift and onto pavement. He raised his sword as he almost came out onto the street-

Something smashed into his brigandine, sending pain shooting through his ribs. Alleras spun, saw an Ironborn who had come out of an open doorway, caught a second axe blow to the chest. He was driven back into the alley wall and only barely managed to get his sword up to block the third blow. He saw the Ironborn had no shield and he drove in, drawing his loop-hilt dagger in his left hand, stabbing at the face-

He got the Ironborn through the face just as a dagger slammed into his thigh.

The Ironborn stumbled back through the doorway, screaming, blood running from just under his eye. Alleras pressed the attack but agony shot through his leg and he collapsed. He looked down, saw the blood running over his breeches, the bloodied dagger lying in the moonlight. Out on the street, the dragon was still fighting, thrashing and screaming, men shooting it and hurling spears from every direction.

Dagger thrust, outside upper thigh. It can't have fully severed the muscles or cut the femoral. I can still move.

So he forced himself to. Everything hurt. He came out onto the street, stepped over a dying Ironborn. The dragon had moved further down the street, toward the courtyard at the centre of Eastwatch, trying to get away from the archers pelting it with arrows, but in it's wounded state, it could not flee, nor fight it's way through the reforming ironborn shieldwall. The monster was trapped.

"Fuck you fuck you fuck you!" someone screamed, and he turned and saw the Ironborn he had stabbed running at him with his axe. His leg nearly gave out as he turned to face him, he stumbled, eyes watering. The axe blow slammed into his sword, the force of the blow driving him down to his knees. Then an arrow ripped through the side of the man's face. He fell twitching and gurgling. "I'm with you!" Theon yelled, and the dragon twisted around and charged. It moved on all fours, rendered awkward by the spears in its wings. Alleras forced himself to stand his ground, ready his sword to thrust. He's stab it to death as it tore him in half, if it came to that.

It's head came lashing down, mouth open-

A thrown spear slammed into it's open mouth and the jaws jerked sideways, trying to close, and then he saw the throat wound and lunged and thrust his sword into it, but his wounded leg gave out just as the blade bit flesh. He fell, but managed to keep a grip on the sword, and his body weight dragged the Valyrian steel down through the flesh and the dragon jerked up and he was lying on the snow with hot blood pouring over him, and the dragon fell onto it's side, and someone took the Valyrian Steel out of his hand and hacked at the monster's throat until the Valyrian Steel fully parted the flesh and the dragon's head was severed.

Lancel turned back to him, Euron's sword in his hand. Gore sprayed his black cloak, though it barely showed up in the firelight.

"Are you alright?"

"My leg is fucked up." Alleras said, trying to get to his feet. "Finish Euron, don't worry about me-"

"If Euron's already ruined the Wall, you're the only one who knows how to fix it. Hey! Theon!" Lancel shouted. "Help Alleras, then he can help the wounded, he's a half-Maester. Everyone else, rally on me!"

The Night Watchmen, what was left of them, advanced past them. Someone picked up the dragon's head and dragged it along behind him. Lancel stuck the Valyrian Steel back into the ground point first next to Alleras, and took his falchion back from his shield hand.

Theon crouched down. "Get a piece of cloak. Tie it around my left thigh. Tightly." Alleras said. Theon nodded and went off to find one, then returned. Alleras stretched his leg out and Theon tied the rag in place. It would slow the bleeding down, at least.

"Good shot on that Ironborn." Alleras said.

"It was nothing."

Alleras winced as he stood up. "I couldn't get an arrow off that fast, and aiming around his armour, in the middle of a melee, in the dark. Good shot, and that's coming from someone who just killed a dragon."

Theon laughed, darkly.

They came up through the eye-stinging smoke and the heat rushing off the burning buildings. Up ahead, the Night's Watchmen were charging the Ironborn shieldwall, rallying before their barricades in the central square. They surged in, breaking them, pinning some against the barricade and slaughtering them. Others managed to climb to safety and joined the archers on the barricade, pelting the watch with axes and arrows. The Watchmen pushed the attack, trying to climb up after them. Both sides were exhausted and badly bloodied, but the Night's Watch had the euphoria of butchering a dragon on their side, and the desperation of knowing every moment longer was more time for Euron to work some awful sorcery.

"We should get up into those towers." Theon said, pointing at the burnt out ruins of the ravenry. "Get archers up there and we can control the courtyard."

Alleras nodded. "Yeah. I need to see if we can find Euron."

They stood up and moved towards the fighting, Alleras leaning on Theon to spare his wounded leg. There were wounded Watchmen on the ground, but Lancel had already arranged for the walking wounded to pull them off the street and see what could be done for their wounds. Every instinct of his as a Maester said to stop and help, but they had to find and kill Euron. Alleras knew what his armour looked like well enough to pick him out in a night battle, and Theon still had his bow.

The Ironborn were cornered now, and fighting savagely, but Lancel's men had pushed them past the base of the ravenry tower and there were already arrows and bolts flying from it's loopholes at the Ironborn. The Watch must have seized and cleared it. They came up the stairs, onto the top floor now covered in fallen, scorched timbers and open to the sky from where Euron had set it alight, and found Ser Rodrick Cassel leading the Silvercloaks and Winterfell men.

"There's galleys coming in out at sea, I think it's the royal fleet, or the Targaryens, they're coming to our aid." Rodrick added. "They'll crush them from the east too."

"Can you see Euron?" Alleras asked.

"Aye. Take a look for yourself." Rodrick said, and Alleras limped over to one of the loopholes. The Ironborn were fighting on three sides now, defending the courtyard from barricades they had built around the square. They were attacked from the west by Umber men and from the south by Watchmen. Umber had done his part well; his levies and retainers were holding the Ironborn in the trap of the square while longbowmen who had climbed up into the surrounding buildings showered them with arrows. They'd have to surrender or die, soon.

In the centre of the courtyard, though, was an executioner's scaffold, and a man tied to a frame in the middle of it. And blooming out of his back was a stretched thin layer of flesh, being pulled out by men in robes in the torchlight, Ironborn warriors trying to cover them with their shields. Corpses shot through with arrows littered the scaffold where Rodrik's archers had tried to stop the ritual. "Don't let any man approach him and survive!" Alleras yelled. "Don't let them finish the ritual!"

Theon had already stepped up to a loophole, was busy shooting at the men on the scaffolding.

Euron sacrificed himself. His mind is probably still out there in some other Ironborn. The icy immensity of the Wall was still there, solid, with the silhouettes of torchlit archers shooting at things below on it's top-

Then he realized they were not shooting at the Ironborn, but at something on the other side of the Wall. Swords were drawn and flaming brands taken up atop the Wall. Three horn blasts rang out.

They're climbing the wall. Seven Hells.

"Everyone, Euron's done the wards on the Wall in, there's fucking wights climbing the Wall, we need to be ready to repel an attack! Check for dragonglass and fire arrows! Theon, you got your dragonglass? If there's Others coming up we have to kill them as fast as possible. Fuck, someone needs to get around and warn Lancel and the Greatjon!"

And find us a king of the Living Dead.

Theon checked his arrows. "Twelve dragonglass and they're not broken. You got anything?"

Alleras shook his head. "Arrows broke when the dragon threw me."

"Everyone, shoot off every bodkin we have into the Ironborn then get flaming arrows ready!" Ser Rodrik Cassel shouted. "We need to break the Ironborn and get to the gate, we can hold any Others coming through there."

"There's ships burning off to sea!" an archer shouted. "And I see ships docking! The fleet's coming in!"

The Royal Navy was coming, or Manderly galleys out of White Harbour. If they brought fire and dragonglass, they had a chance.

There was the sound of chanting below:

"We are the Watchers on the Wall, we are the shield that guards the realms of men…"

Theon's eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled, but not before he managed to scream "Get out of my head!".

Euron. Euron got him. "Bind him. Bind him!" Alleras yelled. "Euron's trying to possess him. Fuck!"

 

[Yla]

Lancel is an utter badass and I love it.

 

[Balaur]

Tane stood on the fighting castle of Stannis's old war galley the Fury, Morgan on one side of her and Stannis on the other. Shireen had been taken north by Stannis, claiming that she had to be kept close lest Renly have her eliminated or the Florents try to crown her, though she was thankfully below deck.

Tane did not believe that for a minute. Stannis thought himself Azor Ahai, who would plunge his sword into his beloved Nissa Nissa's heart and cast the Others back the darkness with his burning blade. And there was nothing in the prophecies that said the new Nissa Nissa had to be his wife. It was the same as why he'd brought Tommen north as a prisoner, supposedly to serve in the Night's Watch. Stannis wanted kingsblood, he wanted to fulfil his prophecies, he would sacrifice his family and his armies and his whole realm to defend the world if it came to it.

There was only way to stop it coming to that, and that was to smash the Ironborn before they could bring down the Wall.

At least she had the comfort that Tommen was still on Davos's ship the Black Betha, screening the landing party out at sea. If Stannis called for Tommen, he had the protection of time and distance. Shireen had no such luxury.

Fire was all around them, along the shore of Eastwatch. Flames from the assault on Eastwatch that had started just as they came up the coast, flames from the fleeing Ironborn galleys whose rigging they had showered with pitch arrows, flames from ships the Ironborn had themselves scuttled.

She'd counselled Stannis the night before that an amphibious attack at night was madness, that they'd be at more risk from each other and the piers as they would be from the enemy. Stannis had told her, with his brand of utterly rational madness, that Melisandre had told him the final battle, the triumph of Azor Ahai, would come on the night of the full moon, and that is when they would fight him.

And somehow he had been right. There was no fireships cast loose from the docks, no showers of arrows from barricaded archers. The Ironborn where too busy dealing with the attack on land to try and do anything about Stannis's landing, so gingerly the ships came up onto the piers, dodging between abandoned and burning Eastwatch and Ironborn ships, or landed on the nearby shore, cast lines, threw down gangplanks, and began the assault.

Tane took up her sword, shield and pistols-she did not bring her pole-axe because she feared they might have to clear buildings- and Stannis a pole-axe. He lead the Dragonstone marines and she led a picked body of Silvercloak crossbowmen, arquebusiers and halberdiers. They'd rearmed the pikemen with spare bills, spears and halberds or given them shields to go with their swords: they'd be no good in a boarding action or a chaotic assault otherwise.

Morgan pointed at the top of the Wall. "Something's wrong with it. It feels… different in the third eye. Aether's flowing differently around it."

"Meaning?"

"Maybe Euron did something to it."

"Well then." Tane said. "The faster we kill him, the better."

Yells from the ship's officers shouting orders down to the oarsmen, then oars pulled in and up as if to ram and the ship thudded into the pier. "Throw grapnels! Get planks down!" Stannis shouted. Other galleys, smaller and faster, where already in position, but the Fury had taken its time to get into place. The gangplanks where thrown into place, and Tane came down onto the pier with a yell of "On me!"

Decking thudded under her feet as she led the Silvercloaks down the pier. Streams of men from other ships and other piers flowed in, merging together like the strands of a river. Officers yelled in the dark, trying to get themselves sorted out into columns in the full moon gloom. Torches and lanterns fluttered and the sounds of fighting a hundred yards distant and the crackle of burning buildings echoed off the face of the Wall.

Towers and warehouses loomed over the docks, outlines silhouetted by fires further inland. Half-collapsed blackened ruins were mixed in with them. Dragonfire. Or pitch arrows and flaming brands used to flush out the defenders during the first assault.

She expected attack from them any moment. Bodies of picked arquebusiers raced ahead of the main body, smashing the doors of the nearest buildings with axes and mauls and storming them. No gunshots, no screaming, no swordplay.

An officer leaned out of the window of the nearest storehouse. "All clear! It's loopholed and they had a scorpion set up in here, but it's abandoned!"

They must have pulled the defenders here back, probably to a final line of defence further into the stronghold. The Night's Watch or the Northern lords must have already cornered them.

Then, suddenly, Morgan pointed at the top of the wall. "Euron did it. He let the wights through."

There was fighting up there, and bodies struggling, slashing, burning. Blue pinpricks like stars glowed in the eyes of some of the fighters. Three horn blasts rang out. She'd heard another round of horn blasts, as the ships came in, but she'd figured those were the sounds of fighting-

"That's the Night's Watch signal for White Walkers." Morgan said. "Fuck!"

The walking dead. Not just slaves with their minds broken by witchcraft, but the living dead, walking corpses. Margaery had seen the disembodied moving hand of one, and now she would have to fight them, have to fight what was already dead-

No time for panic.

Tane turned, pointed to two Silvercloaks. "You! You! Warn Stannis, there's wights climbing the wall! Tell Colonel Bywater to direct the follow-ups under the wall, secure the gatehouse!"

She turned back to her men, masses of Silvercloaks and narrow sea men gathering in their companies on the waterfront. "These fuckers are trying to set the living dead on all of us! We finish this, and then we put the ice fairies back in the dirt? Do you understand!"

"Aye!"

They advanced at a double quick time, then, leading her column across the front of the other units until they reached the base of the wall. She could almost feel the cold radiating off it as they came up underneath it. Then they turned and began to march along the base, heading for the gate. They had to secure that, stop the Ironborn letting wights through. There was a narrow lane between the wall and the nearest buildings.

A party of Ironborn came stumbling out of one of the barracks. They dropped their weapons and raised their hands. "Get down on your knees!" Tane shouted. "Get down on your knees! Drop your weapons and undo your sword belts!"

They did.

"Where's Euron! What sorcery has he used!" Tane yelled at the nearest men.

"Euron died long ago!"

"Triston Farwynd leads us now. He says he is Euron's heir…"

"He bade us cut his lungs out." Another Ironborn said. "He's dead." Said yet another. "He went mad. We yield, we yield, he threatened to kill any who went against him-"

No time to try and control prisoners.

"Pick two men, they'll guard the prisoners." Tane shouted to the nearest sergeant. "Everyone else, on me."

She'd leave them for the follow ups.

They kept advancing. There was gunfire coming from their left; the arquebusiers must have come up against resistance. She couldn't see what was happening on top of the wall-

Something thudded down onto the ground ahead of her with a sound like a trebuchet hit. Tane startled. The black lump lay there for a moment. Then it tried to move, jerking and flailing, trying to stand but failing-

It's eyes were blue.

Someone shot it and it kept flailing.

"Burn it!" Tane yelled, half remembering something Stannis had told her about how to fight wights, and there was a moment of confusion as soldiers shouted for torches to be lit before someone ran up and shot it with an arquebus so close the muzzle blast set the corpse alight. It kept flailing, burning like dry kindling, it's muscles spasming but its bones too hopelessly fractured to support it's weight.

What in the Mother's name-

It contradicted every law of nature in a way than no other sorcery did. Sorcery could stop death but not reverse it.

She wanted to order them to burn every building in Eastwatch to the ground then fall back to the ships. She clamped the fear down, tried to channel it into the desire to kill the other bastard first. They had to try and stop the ice fairies getting so much as a foothold in the south.

This was a war, even if the enemy could defy the laws of nature, and she had to fight them like she would any other enemy.

She waited a moment, then they advanced past it. She wished she'd brought a dragonglass dagger.

"If we run into more of them, hold fire till the last moment!" Tane yelled back at her men. "Burn them with the muzzle blast! I don't care if they're an abomination against nature! Burn and they die all the same!"

They kept moving, but her men were more cautious, more hesitant. They were dealing with worse than pirates now. What could be the gatehouse was up ahead, a pile of ice and rubble, and burnt timbers. Ironborn were fighting in a shieldwall with their backs to it, archers shooting at unseen opponents in the moonlight.

A volley into their flanks, a quick charge and they'd have control of the gates-

Another impact behind her, and screaming and yelling.

Tane turned, saw halberds flailing at something, blue pinpricks in the middle of the mass, then an arquebusier shouldered his way in and shot something on the ground.

"Check Lyle!"

"He's dead. Fucking thing smashed him like a trebuchet stone."

"I think Rick got stabbed too."

"Is it dead?" Tane asked.

"It's burning." Someone said.

"It's soul's gone too." Morgan said. "Lifted out of it's body and flew back across the wall."

"Good. We hold the wall, and every one of them will come down smashed like this. We can beat them. They get through the gates or down the staircase, we'll be dealing with a whole army of them, and they'll be coming south. They won't stop until they hit Dorne. We cannot let that happen, do you understand?"

"Aye!" the men shouted, though she could tell they were scared, hear the edge of false bravado in their voices.

"Right, we're killing the bastards who let it through. Arquebusiers to the front, on me." Tane said. "Morgan, get ready to tilt the Ironborn. We're going to put a three-rank volley into their flank then charge them to clear them away from the gate. Ready?"

She turned to the front, led them to within twenty yards. Some of the Ironborn turned to face them.

"Three rank volley! Make ready! Present! Fire!" Tane yelled.

Their shields and mailcoats gave the Ironborn no protection, probably made it worse when the splinters and broken links were blown back into their flesh, and then she lead her arquebusiers with swords drawn and shields unslung out of the smoke haze, and Morgan threw her sorcery in so men were flung off their feet by the change in gravity.

The Ironborn broke before contact. Wounded and fallen men screamed for mercy, or tried to fight from the ground and were cut down. Arquebusiers raced out ahead and hamstrung fleeing men, running towards an execution stand built in the middle of the square "Rally! Rally up!" Tane bellowed as they reached the gates. She turned, saw a mass of Ironborn in the square turning to face them and preparing to countercharge. The rest of them were fighting on three sides of the square that sat before the gate, arrows whistling and hissing from the surrounding buildings into them.

"Halberds to the front!" Tane yelled. "Rally on me! Rally on me!"

There was no need.

One side of the Ironborn defence collapsed as Stannis's fresh men appeared, pushing them off the barricades they had built in a hail of arquebus fire then sending waves of Narrow Sea marines and Silvercloak halberdiers to press the attack. Fleeing Ironborn were driven in to the side of the reserve who looked to be making to charge, and masses of infantry charged into them while longbowmen and crossbowmen who had climbed up onto the barricades shot over their heads.

The Ironborn began to throw down their weapons, screaming for quarter. The men on the other sides were collapsing and being driven in too, Northern foot boiling over the barricades, herding the surviving Ironborn into a singular mass at the center of the square, around a great execution stand that had been constructed. A single corpse, his back cut open, his skin half-flayed and stretched open, hung from it. More men, shot through with arrows, lay around it.

"I think that's Euron. He sacrificed himself." Morgan said. "Christ-Horus."

"Throw down your weapons!" Stannis barked, marching to the head of his men around the trapped mass of Ironborn. Night's Watchmen with black cloaks and black shields were coming into the square too.

"All of you! Throw down your steel, take off your sword belts and helmets!"

"Morgan!" Tane shouted. "Can you see Euron's soul possessing any of these men?"

"There's too many to know. We'd have to check them all."

Tane turned back to the pile of rubble. Closer, she could see that the piles of rubble were to either side of the open gate. The Night's Watch must have sealed it, and Euron's men tried to open it. The black mouth of the tunnel was empty. The staircase up onto the wall was badly damaged too, with gaps where parts of it had collapsed.

We need to finish destroying that, as fast as possible.

"Get men into the tunnel. Arquebusiers, and men with torches." Tane said. "Get ready to defend it, to the death if need be. I'll warn Stannis it's not blocked, we need to barricade it. Lieutenant Storm, have men watch the staircase. Send a runner to the ships for felling axes and saws."

The wights coming over the wall were few in number and falling down broken and useless. Any wights coming through the gate or down the staircase would not be. Torches were brought up and they went into the tunnel, levelled arquebus muzzles on either side of her. She expected to see onrushing wights at any moment.

They came up to a dead end. Nothing but ice and frozen stone-

The Night's Watch must have sealed the tunnel before they were overrun, and the Ironborn hadn't managed to fully clear the tunnel yet.

"Kept watch on it." Tane said. "The wights might try to tunnel through. I need to talk to Stannis."

She turned back to the courtyard, barked orders for her men to get out from directly under the wall. An escort of halberdiers marched with her as she crossed the courtyard towards Stannis, warily watching the mass of Ironborn.

The fighting on top of the wall seemed to have died down, the top littered with burning wights. The remaining fighters up there-she couldn't tell if they were Ironborn or Watchmen- were rallied around the cookfires, flaming brands in their hands.

The Ironborn were busy disarming themselves as Stannis watched, surrounded by dismounted household knights, the crowned stag banner fluttering above his head. Dead, dying or stunned Ironborn shot through with arrows or speared when they routed littered the ground, little more than black lumps in the half-darkness.

"The wards on the wall are down." Tane said. "Wights have climbed over it and managed to attack us on our side. But the Ironborn did not manage to tunnel through the gate. That is sealed. Is the dragon dead yet?"

Stannis turned to face her.

"Good. The Watchmen and Alleras killed the dragon. Euron tried to possess the Watchman Theon Greyjoy, he has been restrained. But the other Night's Watch forts are vulnerable now. They must have been stripped of men for this attack and they cannot know the wights can enter through their gates and climb their walls until it is too late. We must repel them, at all costs."

"How?" Tane asked.

"We kill a king of the living dead." Someone else said. It was Alleras, the Summer Dornish half-maester who'd killed Euron off Grey Gallows. He was leaning on a spear, and his leg was heavily bandaged. "Euron had his puppet acclaimed by the Ironborn as a king, then sacrificed himself to let the Others through."

"We have to take an ice fairy king prisoner?" Tane asked.

"Perhaps." Alleras said. "Or maybe someone who came back from the dead."

"I have already sent for Shireen and Tommen to be brought ashore." Stannis said.

Oh fuck me, Stannis was going to do it, the wall was not even fully fallen and he already planned to burn his own daughter to save the world. Or Tommen Baratheon, who she had promised to try to protect all those years ago.

"The princess is no king, and not living dead." Alleras said. "Listen, the sacrifice, I think it tells the wall what kind of magic it should ward against. We need to give it something living dead, something animated by sorcery. And someone acclaimed a king, to give the sacrifice the required strength."

"How do you propose that we capture an Other, then?" Stannis growled. "We have mere hours to repel this attack before every fort on the Wall is overrun and the undead begin to move south."

"Your Grace, I believe that the sorcery that Melisandre used to save your life, is a fiery version of that which sustains the wights. You are both dead and alive. And you are most certainly a king." Alleras said.

"Hey, Captain-General?" one of the halberdiers asked.

"Yeah?"

He pointed at the top of the wall. The watchfires had gone out, and there was no movement.

"Fuck." Tane turned to Stannis. "We need to prepare a defence, I think they took the top of the wall. Destroy the stairs so they can't just march intact wights down."

There was a scream, and she turned and saw a soldier impaled by a thrust from a fallen Ironborn lying on the ground, and other downed men clambering to their feet with steel in their hands. One of them had half his head gone and his remaining eye glowing blue. Her heart stopped. These weren't Ironborn playing dead, they were living dead animated by sorcery.

"Get away from the dead bodies, they're fucking wights!" one man shouted, and another yelled "Perfidy! Give the Ironborn Oldtown quarter!"

"Every dead Ironborn is another wight! Keep them alive!" Alleras screamed, but already the courtyard was exploding into carnage, wights leaping to their feet and attacking Ironborn and kingsmen alike, the dead rising again to join the fight, panicked men trying to kill Ironborn prisoners. The carnage spread like a snowball rolling down a hill. With the chaos and darkness, it was impossible to tell who was who.

"STAND AND FIGHT!" Tane bellowed. "STAND AND FIGHT! RALLY ON THE KING!"

If she was going to die in this forsaken world, then at least she would die bravely, trying to stop another Feylaw.

A wight ran at her. She caught the blow on her shield, chopped its head open, kept hacking at its head till it hung down open like a smashed melon. It kept coming, forcing her to turn brutally strong blows, until someone jammed a flaming torch into what was left of it's face and it fell back screaming and burning. She passed her sword to her shield hand, drew and cocked a pistol as another wight ran at her. She killed it the way she'd trained to kill cuirassiers in shotproof armour, in another world years ago: She waited for the last possible moment, then shoved the pistol up against it and shot it in the unprotected face, blowing it's face apart and setting it alight. It kept attacking as it burned, raining blows against her shield and armour before a halberdier cut it's legs out from under it and left the corpse to burn away.

Stannis's guard and her own rallied, fighting with cornered ferocity. A party of Winterfell archers and some of the Silvercloak crossbowmen she'd sent to guard Alleras were with them, their weapons loaded with dragonglass or incendiaries. Another half dozen wights ran at them and the archers shot them down, aiming for unarmoured faces and legs, burning the survivors with torches.

We can kill them, as long as they only come at as a few at a time. But if there's a whole mass of them-

She glanced at the carnage in the center of the square, the wights and kingsmen butchering the half-surrendered Ironborn and each other in an orgy of slaughter, men running for their lives amidst the chaos. There was fighting up on the barricades too, The dead come back to life all through the corpse strewn castle and now attacking them from all directions.

"Fuck the square! Get back to the barricades, trap them in the square!" someone was yelling. "We need to control the stairs and stop them just climbing their army over the wall!" Tane shouted back. "Fuck! Alleras! Do you have a clue what to do-"

She saw the faintest glimmer of movement in the full moon's light, then, coming over the remaining unburnt rooves of Eastwatch and fluttering down from the wall. She thought it was just a heat shimmer from the burning buildings or a trick of the eyes, until one of the shimmers leapt down into the square, amongst a group of surrendered Ironborn. It cut them down pitilessly, and they rose again as wights. Flaming arrows showered them, setting some wights alight, bouncing off mail coats and brigandines on others. The Other, the ice fairy, slashed the arrows coming at it out of the air, and Tane realized it's armour was mirrorlike, shifting in colour to match the surroundings.

They just flew over the wall.

"Stannis! Alleras!" Tane bellowed. "There's ice fairies over the fucking wall! What do we do?"

"Fight our way back to Shireen." Stannis barked. "I must set Lightbringer aflame. Then we must burn Tommen Waters. The sacrifice of such an abomination born of incest will please Rhllor, and aid him to stand against the Great Other."

"That won't work!" Alleras yelled back, panicked. "We know how to restore the walls upon the ward, and it doesn't involve burning children!"

"Morgan? What do you think?" Tane asked.

"Fuck if I know." Morgan said. "The idea of kingsblood or virgin seventh sons or whatever, that's all superstition. But this is Westeros, and I always held the dead walking to be superstition." She laughed darkly. "So fuck if I know."

She had drawn her rapier and a pistol. The square around them was carnage, the swarming wights overrunning every other pocket of resistance or driving them to the barricades, slaughtering the Ironborn who had let them through to add to their own ranks. Others danced through the butchery, moving with weightless precision. Arquebusiers on the barricades lit one up; she saw sparks go flying off it's armour, shards of ice tumbling away, and the thing unharmed as it spun away behind a mass of wights. The bodyguard would be under attack again any moment . Gunfire was flashing out from the direction of the wall. Her Silvercloaks there were under attack but holding.

"What do we do, Your Grace?" Tane asked. "The square is being overrun, they are only not attacking us because they seek to surround us, we need to organize a counterattack! What do we do?"

"I am Azor Ahai." Stannis said, drawing his sword. "Melisandre sacrificed herself to give me the strength to fight the darkness and to survive until Lightbringer can be lit. We stand and fight against the Others and by the power of Rh'llor we shall prevail."

That's not a plan, Tane thought, but then she saw three Others come leaping at them with long handled two-handed swords. Her hands were shaking but she settled herself into guard, waiting, waiting like she was watching furshanks and clan gentry with their sparth axes and greatswords bear down on her.

She stepped into the way of the first one, catching it's blow on her shield and thrusting up into the armpit. The blow hit with inhuman force, nearly driving her shield back into her face, leaving her arm half-numb even as her thrust went sliding off armour. The Other flowed into an elegant looping cut at her head, and Tane parried it double, with both the edge of her round shield and her sword before she drove in, trying to trap and stifle it's arms with her shield, thrusting over into its face. Her blade bit flesh, sliding through the milky white meat with a feeling like driving it through snow, and she wrenched it free and drove her full weight forwards behind her shield, made to thrust again and the thing laughed, with a sound like cracking ice, and spun away and she was off balance-

A sword blow smashed into the side of her head, and she fell onto the ground. Her face felt cold, and wet. She raised her visor, felt a chunk of it come away in her hand, brittle with cold. She fumbled for her sword, felt her hand close around the hilt.

The Other, the ice fairy, leapt over her. Morgan pistolled it in the face, did nothing, parried it's cut on her rapier. The blade shattered then the Other fell, stumbling, under attack by witchcraft and Tane was on her feet and tackled the Other down.

She slammed the rim of her shield into the back of it's neck, dropped her sword, drew and cocked her second pistol, worked the muzzle underneath it's mail coif, made of what looked almost like woven snowflakes, and shot it.

It did nothing. It would have lit a wight on fire, blown the spine and throat of anything living apart, but it did nothing to the Other.

The Other rolled with inhuman strength, somehow got out from underneath her. "Kill them with dragongla-" an archer screamed before he fell gurgling with a wight's blade in his throat. The Other leapt to it's feet as a Silvercloak, one of Alleras's, raised his crossbow and shot it.

The Other cut the bolt out of the air and half leapt, half flew into the Silvercloak, beheading him with a single blow. Tane saw the bolt fall. She scrambled over, gripped the nub of wood left attached to the dragonglass like a dagger, and hurled herself with a scream at the Other.

It saw her coming. Tane charged in under the cover of her shield, the sword blow smashing against the steel and wood, and stabbed at it's face where the sword wound she had left had already knitted closed. It shrieked as Tane stabbed again and again, ice steaming and curling away from the wounds, it's sword flailing against her shield. Something grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back, and Tane realized she'd gotten separated from the rest of her men-

She flailed about, stabbing wildly at a Wight that bounced ineffectual cuts off her armour, until it stumbled sideways shrieking and burning as flaming arrows lashed in, one spinning off her breastplate with a feeling like being punched, and she saw the Other she had stabbed on it's knees, face melting, steam rising from it's flesh, and charging Night's Watchmen with flaming torches and dragonglass daggers shoving through the chaos of the square. She stumbled through to the mass of men who now surrounded the King. She could not see him standing amongst them.

"Where is the king!" Tane shouted.

"He's wounded-"

"Fuck."

She bulled her way through them, saw Stannis lying on the ground, blood pooling around his stomach, deathly pale and shivering. "An Other got him." Alleras said, sword drawn. "I killed it, but it got him first."

"Fuck." Tane murmured. "Fuck."

"Get out of the square!" a blonde watchman in a mail coat was yelling. "We can't hold them here, we need to contain them on the barricades!"

"Get ready to carry the king and the wounded out!" Tane yelled. The king isn't dead quite yet, we still have our sorcerers, we are not yet routed, we can still win this.

Or at least die bravely. Better to die trying to save the world, than die in the name of a tyrant.

 

[Balaur]

"Get word back to your Silvercloaks, we need to burn every body we can find!" Lancel yelled at the Captain-General. Her helmet was gone, her face covered in blood, her strange foreign harness battered and dented.

"Already done that, there's wights crawling all over the place now, I'm sending marines to secure our rear."

By some miracle they'd managed to drag the wounded king out of the square, and the archers on the barricade were holding the Others back for now.

"We're out of pitch arrows!" A watchman yelled from the captured Ironborn barricades.

Fuck. Fuck fuck-

"Hold them back with dragonglass, aim for the face so they don't shatter against mail!" Lancel yelled. "Pace your shots, I'll send for more!"

He turned to Tane. "Do you have incendiaries?"

"Crossbow bolts and longbow arrows. Fire pots too. Listen, we have fresh archers with the marines, we can send them up onto the barricades and give your archers a break."

"Do it." Lancel said.

Then there was a yell of "They're pushing again!" and the wights were swarming up the barricade once more. Lancel scrambled up onto the piles of furniture and half-burnt timber, where the archers were dropping their longbows and grabbing flaming brands. Two dozen wights came surging towards them, mailed and shielded, out of the mass at the center of the square.

There were ladders and a kind of crude shooting platform on the squareward side of the barricade, but that was covered with burning bodies from the last attack. Those burning bodies were the only thing stopping the Others from simply picking a direction and attacking relentlessly until the defenders were overrun. Those corpses were guttering out now, though, and the Wights were making a new attempt.

The dark mass, pinpricked like the night sky with blue dots, came at them scrambling up with shields raised over their heads. Lancel made ready to thrust his torch into the first to attack him.

It clambered up over the barricade, shield ready, and in the moment between it's head coming over the barricade and lowering its shield, Lancel thrust his flaming torch into its face. It shrieked as the flames caught it's face, slammed its shield down onto the shaft of his torch, and the sheer force of the blow knocked it out of Lancel's hand. Even as flames consumed it's face, it swung its axe at Lancel, who caught it on his shield-

The blow shore into the wood and the wight hurled its entire weight back, nearly throwing itself off the barricade. Lancel was wrenched forwards by the axe stuck into his shield. Someone caught him by the belt, and he managed to grab his falchion out of his shield hand. With a grunt, he managed to pull his shield arm just close enough to bring the wight's wrist within reach, and with three awkward cuts he chopped its hand away just as the flames licked down its arm and up onto its wrist. A spear thrust slammed into his mail as he tugged himself back, doubling him over in pain, but someone caught him before he could fall back off the barricade. He threw his shield and guige off, picked up a dropped flaming torch in his off hand, saw a wight standing on top. It swung a sword blow down at him that he caught on his falchion, the sheer force nearly driving his own sword back into his helmet, right as he set fire to it's legs through torn hose.

It leapt down at him. Lancel tried to sidestep and a piece of burnt wood gave way under his feet. He tumbled down, slammed to the ground, gasped in pain. The wights had gained the top of the barricade, where raining blows down on the archers beneath them, burning wights were running forwards to make their corpses the enemies problem-

A wight was standing over him, legs on fire, the flames creeping higher and higher. It raised its sword and Lancel parried, but it drove the flat of his falchion back into him. He snarled in pain, drew his dragonglass dagger, thrust the wight right in the burning flesh.

It crumpled, the unlife the Others had granted it dispelled.

Lancel ignored the pain in his left hand as he got up, running back to the barricade. "Hold them! Hold them!" Burning wights came on, attacking relentlessly in the moments before they fell, other wights scrambling after them to exploit the gaps they had made.

Then: "Clear off! Clear off!" and he realized it was the Captain-General. Firepots came flying over their heads, ceramic pots with burning rags and filled with oil. They burst against the top of the barricade, mostly, wights screaming and dying, Silvercloak crossbowmen counterattacking with a hail of point-blank burning bolts into the wights. "Regroup on me! Regroup on me!" Lancel shouted, pulling his own men back, helping drag the wounded out.

"I'll take control of the barricades." Tane said. He would have killed her and Stannis, a year or three ago. They had butchered his family, had imprisoned him, were probably responsible for what had happened at King's Landing. It didn't matter now, though, what with the Wall breached and the dead coming. He only had the Watch left, and if defending the realm meant serving the usurpers, then so be it.

"Lancel?" Alleras asked. He'd taken up a spare longbow and a quiver of arrows, but he could barely walk with his maimed leg.

"Yeah?"

"The King. We need to talk sense into the king. The princess has come up from the galleys, he's going to kill her, he's trying to bring Tommen ashore to burn him…"

"I need to lead my troops."

Tommen. He's going to burn Tommen. He could not let Stannis burn one of his few remaining family.

He could, if it meant serving his vows, keeping the Others at bay, saving the entire world.

"Tane can." Alleras said. "It doesn't matter how well you lead them, if we don't restore the wall before we run out of incendiaries and dragonglass, the Others overrun us and turn the lot of us into wights. We need to restore the wards upon the wall."

Lancel swore under his breath. There was sense to it. They were running out of fire faster than the Others were running out of corpses to throw at them. And anyway, no matter how well they fought here, the other castles would be under attack, all along the wall.

"Rodrik Cassel! You have all the picked archers! Strip the dead and wounded of spare arrows! Tane! Me and Alleras are with the king!"

*

They'd laid Stannis out on the deck of one of the Ironborn longships, out on the piers. Men rushed back and forth to their left, as they ferried the galleys stocks of fire arrows up to the defenders on the barricades. There was not just fighting on the barricades, now: dead men were rising all through the castle, and so bands of oarsmen with flaming brands had been sent ashore to try and hunt them down. The rest of their men had been commited to the barricades, so now they had come to sending oarsmen ashore as their only reserves.

Cannons thundered; one of the galleys had backed out to sea and was firing at the stream of blue pinpricks climbing and leaping down the half-ruined staircase. He never thought he would be glad to hear that sound.

Only Ser Balon Swann could be spared to keep watch on the king, armed with a flaming torch and ready to hold the gangplank. Shireen crouched over Stannis, shaking and pale with fear. The princess wore an ill-fitting brigandine over her dress. Stannis had ordered the men who'd brought her here off to support the defence of the barricades and to try and keep a clear route between the defences and the fleet.

A maester and a ship's barber surgeon where busy cutting away the King's armour so they could get at his wound. He'd been stabbed through the gut, the Other's sorcerous blade piercing straight through plate and mail.

He'd live for a day or two, if he was unlucky. Less if he was lucky.

A runner approached the King, a flaming torch in one hand and a sword in the other. "Ser Davos Seaworth refuses to send Tommen Baratheon ashore. He says he will consent only if directly ordered by His Grace himself."

Lancel wanted to hide a smile. He had no clue who this "Seaworth" was, but it seemed there was at least one good man amongst Stannis's command.

What if it is necessary? What if he just doomed us all?

Stannis jerked to his feet. "What do you mean the direct order of the King? That was a direct order! Ser Davos betrays me even at this hour! Find any galley fit to take to sea, tell them to seize, sink or burn the Black Betha and kill Tommen with it."

"The oarsmen are ashore, by your orders." The runner said.

"Your grace, I fear having our galleys turn upon each other would have a terrible effect on our men's spirit." Ser Balon Swann said.

"Watch the gangplank, Ser." Stannis spat. "Shireen?"

She came over to him, pale with fear, hands clasped nervously.

"You have to do this." Stannis gasped at Shireen. "It is the only way, to save the realms of humanity. Davos Seaworth has betrayed me; he turned away the men I have sent to seize Tommen Waters. Only lighting the sword of Azor Ahai will suffice now."

Shireen was pale, and did not respond. He wants to kill her, run her through his sword. Some mad sacrifice to the red god the king was said to worship.

"I… don't know." Shireen said.

"You have to do it." Stannis croaked. "It is the only way for me to save the realms of the living. To set lightbringer aflame, I must sacrifice what I love most and that is you."

"That won't work, Your Grace." Alleras said, leaning heavily on his spear. "Thrice before the wards on the wall were altered by sacrifice, and none of those sacrifices involved stabbing a princess. Or burning a false prince, for that matter. Tommen shall not work either. He does not even have kingsblood; he has never sat a throne, is not legitimate."

"They may have sacrificed to restore the Wall." Stannis answered. "I mean to sacrifice to light my sword aflame and rout the Others in battle, to destroy the threat they pose once and for all."

The Maester unclasped Stannis's breastplate and began to work at removing his mail coat.

"It has to be a king of the living dead to restore the walls." Lancel said. "Why are we talking of killing children and Essosi prophecies? We should be preparing to seize an Other alive and cut his heart out."

"I see no crowns amongst them." Stannis said.

The war-witch Morgan spoke up. "Your Grace. I saw your soul upon the Salt & Smoke. You died there, and were restored to life. There is a living dead king amongst us now. His sacrifice would stop up the Others, halt their attack."

"I was raised by the power of the Red God R'hllor, not the Great Other. You saw it yourself, I was reborn amidst the Smoke & Salt! I am Azor Ahai, champion of the Lord of Light, no fit substitute for an Other as a sacrifice."

"Every source from the tales of the first men to the spirit of the sorcerer bloodraven is clear, it has to be a king who is living dead." Alleras said. "The contradiction of such a being, raised by fire, would give strength to the sacrifice." He sounded oddly calm, for someone who had just butchered a dragon and was now arguing with a mad king about how to save the world.

"I shall not be sacrificed to the Old Gods, I am Azor Ahai's champion, raised to give battle to the Others and defeat them!" Stannis bellowed, pulling himself bolt upright. The maester had pulled off his mail and the wound on his stomach looked almost frostbitten. Shireen shrank back in fear. "I shall set lightbringer aflame! Ser Balon Swann, send word to board and seize the Black Betha, kill the traitor Davos Seaworth and burn Tommen Waters. The death of such an abomination shall give the Lord of Light the strength to prevail over the Great Other!"

"I do not propose sacrificing to any god, I propose we give a bloodhound the scent!" Alleras shouted back at him. "You would be like the old Night's King, living dead sacrificed to restore the wall. Every tale of the wall from the wildlings to Dorne agrees on the importance of such a sacrifice. Yet you are also a being of fire, animated by the light of Melisandre. You would hold immense power as a willing sacrifice. The Green Men of the Isle of Faces and the ghost of the sorcerer Bloodraven have both told me this! It is old, simple sorcery. The intent is what matters, there is no need for hidden rituals!"

"A Targaryen, a Dornishman and a Lannister wants a Baratheon to kill himself?" Stannis spat. "A clever trick that would be. Melisandre told me that my Nissa Nissa need not be my wife, or even a woman. She must simply be anyone dearer to me than to my own heart."

"This is madness!" Lancel shouted. "Give me the word and I will seize an Other alive or die trying. Morgan, I saw you stupefy the wights, you can aid us-"

He turned to look for her and she was gone.

"Cease arguing, my lords." The barber-surgeon said. "Moving the king about is making the wound run."

It doesn't matter if the wound runs, if we're overrun by the Others first. The noise of the fighting reached a fever pitch, the roar of flames loudest of all. They were following his orders to light fires to kill the wights or at least hold them back, but it could only slow the wights for so long. And the Others themselves did not fear fire, only dragonglass.

He could see fighting on the shore, oarsmen with their torches fighting against a pack of wights. They were killing them off well enough, but they were being driven in too, burning wights charging in and forcing them back.

Nonetheless, silence reigned on the ship for a few minutes as the barber-surgeon and the master began the work of dressing Stannis's wound. Lancel paced angrily. Alleras sat down on a barrel, trying to give his maimed leg some rest.

This is useless, I should be with the Watch.

Then Captain-General Tane-Bayder came striding onto the deck, Morgan at her side. There was no other escort with her; she mustn't have been able to spare any arquebusiers. She had taken up a flaming brand in one hand and a pistol in the other.

"What is your proposal, Your Grace?" she asked.

"Shireen Baratheon must die though it grieves me greatly, to set Lightbringer aflame, and give me the strength to throw back the Others-"

"Funny, because Morgan and Alleras and yourself all agree you are a king, and you are living dead, and you are destined to defeat the Others. And yet you fail to see the obvious." Tane said. "Instead you command everyone else slaughtered in your name, from peasants to Melisandre to your own daughter."

"I am Azor Ahai. If I perish, then there will be a thousand years of darkness before another takes up my sword!" Stannis yelled. "What is one life against that, against the millions who would die if I do not do this terrible thing?"

"What? You refuse to sacrifice yourself? You, who has sacrified so many others to get so far?"

Tane spat and laughed hysterically, her face torn and streaked with gore. "Fuck you, if you think that. You're nothing but a coward, a butcher and a tyrant who will throw others to the wolves to save your own skin. You speak of sacrifice and of destiny. Well, it's staring you in the face. Do you want to be remembered as the fool who murdered his daughter, got us all killed by ice fairies then shat himself to death with a stomach wound or the martyr who saved humanity?"

"Everything from the histories of the first men to the words of bloodraven to your own Rhllorite prophecies point to this." Alleras said. "And look at that wound. It looks frostbitten. You're dead anyway-"

"I came back once before."

"And you are a king. A living dead king. Which is why your sacrifice will work according to every sorcerer on this ship!" Tane shouted.

"You razed half the riverlands and burned holy men alive to get this far! You hacked the heads off old women and young boys, to keep the realm together long enough to get here! You are utterly without remorse, utterly focused, and now cowardice seizes you and you insist that your destiny is to slaughter everyone but yourself, even your own family! Do your duty as a commander, Stannis. Die for the men you lead."

On land, yells, someone calling for a fighting retreat, yells of "Reserves up!" and "They're in the rear! About face! About face!" and men with crownlander accents shouting "Coming through! Coming through!"

He could see the backs of the masses of spearmen and archers now, fighting, driven off the barricades and back to the ships. They were down to torches, mostly. Out of arrows. He shut his eyes. We cannot do this with fire and dragonglass. Stannis and the foreigners are right; this has to be done with sorcery.

Ser Balon Swann hefted the burning brand he had taken up in lieu of a sword and moved to defend the gangplank.

"Sers, what do you want me to do?" Shireen said, getting to her feet. The girl was crying now, crying with fear. 'I… I'll do it if we must."

He heard Morgan muttering to Alleras about whether the sacrifice had to be willing.

Alleras turned to Lancel. "Shame him. Please. Anything to convince him before we lose the wall…"

"Get me a sword." Stannis said. The barber-surgeon drew his, handed it to the king hilt first. He was wordless and pale.

Stannis struggled to pull himself to his feet. Shireen shrank back from him, her face full of fear. Tane came over to her, pulled her back and behind her. Shireen did not resist.

"Unhand the princess!" Ser Balon Swann barked, without much conviction.

He doesn't want to see her dead either.

Tane ignored him.

"Do you wish to die? Truly?" he heard Tane ask her.

"If I have to…"

We have to stop this.

Lancel stamped across to the dying king.

"I am a kingslayer and a kinslayer." Lancel said. "I was utterly without honour, and was forced to take Night's Watch vows at swordspoint. And yet I still held those vows, and defended the realms of men against my own kin. I volunteered for what I thought was certain death. I have seen the old enemy and survived, and seen visions of the sorceries Alleras describes from sorcerors beyond the wall. What he wants to do shall work; it had worked before when the Night's King brought low the wards upon the wall.

I have never flinched from my duty even though it was forced upon me by people who slaughtered my family and held me prisoner. I cannot watch you refuse to do your duty for the people who raised you to the throne and acclaimed you king. Do you think yourself less brave than a kinslayer?"

He glanced at Tane and Morgan, saw them drawing their weapons. Tane had a sword, Morgan had an axe; both had pistols. They'd moved into the blind spots of Stannis and Ser Balon. Ser Balon was keeping his eyes on the gangway, on the battle outside. Shireen had been pulled back behind them.

Shireen screamed out "Father!" as she realized what was about to happen.

Ser Balon Swann turned, rushing to put himself between them and the King.

Tane and Morgan began to stride forwards, raised their pistols. They'd shoot Ser Balon Swann before he could react, hold off anyone else long enough to do the ritual, Lancel realized.

"I shall do it. Put down your steel. I shall do it." Stannis rasped out. Tane and Morgan stopped, pointed their pistols to the sky, lowered their blades. Ser Balon Swann hesitated to intervene.

Alleras limped over to where the King's swordbelt was. He picked it up, drew the dragonglass dagger the King had worn next to his steel dagger in case of wights.

Ser Balon Swann stepped into the path of them. "My duty is to protect the king even from himself. I shall not watch him be intimidated into killing himself-"

"Out of the way, Ser." Stannis said. His voice was sagging, defeated, the fanaticism of a moment before gone. "The Great Other clouded my judgement. They are right. I am dead anyway. I must do my duty."

Gods, he'll do it, we have a chance, we have a chance.

A surge in the fighting outside, screams, and men in Narrow Sea colours, many of them wounded, were running down the gangway to their ships.

"HOLD! HOLD!" Lancel shouted, pounding down the gangway and out onto the pier. "Rally on me! The king means to sacrifice himself and stop the Others!" He was shouting, pacing like a dog trying to control sheep, bellowing for them to get into a shieldwall. Tane had grabbed Shireen, who was screaming and struggling and shouting to her father.

He turned back, saw Stannis pulling himself up to his feet.

"Tie me to the mast." Stannis gasped. "There. I would die from fire. That is the strongest sacrifice."

He remembered then the vision he had seen of Bloodraven's Cave, of the Other burned atop the Wall and killed with dragonglass.

"Do we need to move him atop the wall? For the sorcery to work?" Lancel asked.

"Bloodraven told me it's like the roots of a tree." Alleras said. "You water a tree just as well by wetting its roots."

Lancel realized that bales of pitched arrows and barrels of oil had already been piled up around the mast as a sort of crude pyre. He must have had his men do it when they delivered Shireen.

Morgan scrambled to grab a coil of ropes, Ser Balon helping to heave it over to the mast.

A household knight tried to push his way to the gangplank as the ropes were tied around the King's neck. "What in the Red God's name is happening here! Do you mean to kill the king!"

"He means to sacrifice himself to stop the Others!" Lancel shouted. "Keep the Others away from the ship and we shall throw them back!"

"Lancel!" Someone shouted. He turned, it was Satin. "I got cut off, I think the rest of the Watch are retreating south, we burned and shot everything we could before we had to fall back-"

"Good! How many with you!"

"Not many, I fell in with the dragonstone men."

"Here, help us pile up the pyre!" Lancel shouted.

Lancel climbed back onto the ship, helping to heave everything flammable they could find down beneath the king.

Then the king was tied in place, and more pitch arrows set beneath him and firepots and oars and even some woollen cloaks doused with a tub of seal fat that they also splashed across the King's body.

Alleras began to chant something and was about to set a flaming torch to the bales when Shireen tore herself away from Tane and ran over to her father.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you-" she sobbed, trying to hug him though he was bound.

"I know." Stannis said, and he turned to Tane.

"Get her an inheritance." Stannis gasped at Tane. "Renly is my heir according to Targaryen law, Shireen mine according to Andal law. Secure her what Robert should have given me."

He twisted in the ropes, saw what was coming down the pier: Men fighting as a wave of wights came tearing out of the flaming ruins of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

"I'm sorry, we don't have any time." Tane said, and pulled Shireen back as the girl screamed, and Alleras touched his flaming torch to the King's pyre.

Alleras was chanting something as the flames began to lick at the king, and then Satin pointed at something in the sky, at the glimmers of movement above and Others came drifting across the towers and rooftops, coming out onto the piers and leaping from mast to mast, and Lancel was shouting "Rally on me! Dragonglass! Dragonglass! Fire doesn't work on them! Dragonglass!" as he came back out onto the pier.

Satin raised his crossbow only to be struck through the chest by a spear of ice. The Other that had killed Satin came fluttering down from the fighting tops like a snowflake upon the wind with a second spear in hand, and Lancel drew his dragonglass dagger in one hand and his now notched and battered falchion in the other, the weapons catching in their sheathes as he drew them bloody.

I'll need to replace those sheathes, he thought, absurdly, for he doubted he would live long enough to sheathe them.

Dragonglass arrows flew at it, and it dodged some, cut others out of the air, had more shatter against its glassy armour as it cut down a pair of Silvercloaks and leapt across from the pier onto the longship. Morgan hit it with what had to be witchcraft and it fell spasming and twitching, then suddenly Morgan was down instead, and it was getting to it's feet. Ser Balon Swann charged it, and Lancel scrambled back over the gangplank and came after it too.

It held them both back, spear lashing and flicking with both ends like a biting ourobourous, focusing on Swann, each blow shattering and chipping away parts of his armour. It shattered his plate gorget then impaled Swann through the throat, parting mail like it wasn't there, just as Lancel charged at the Other from behind. It hit him in the chest with the butt hard enough to send him staggering, leapt at the king, grabbed Alleras and flung him out of the way. Stannis was bellowing with pain, fear and instinct making him struggle against the bonds he had ordered set upon himself. The fires that were lit were too weak, too small to kill him quickly. The Other's spear flicked out, half-severed the bonds of Stannis's ropes.

It'll work, it'll work, they're trying to stop it-

Lancel hurled himself at the Other with a scream, tackled it down, tried to stab it in the throat but his dragonglass dagger went sliding off armour. It managed to roll out from under him, punched Lancel in the face with a glassy gauntlet, raised a dagger of ice to kill him.

Alleras came up behind the Other and smashed his Valyrian steel sword, the one he had taken off Euron, into the side of its head. The blow sent chunks of glassy armour flying, exposed the Others head. A second blow shore it's head in half and the corpse fell melting at the same time as Alleras's leg gave out again and he fell. Stannis was struggling against his bonds, driven more by pain than anything else as the flames rose across his clothes, and Shireen was on her knees screaming in terror. Tane and Morgan stood over the melting body of a second Other, Shireen pulled back behind them.

Alleras crawled over to Stannis, got to his feet, and tried to say something.

Alleras thrust his dragonglass dagger through Stannis's dying, burning body, the flames licking his bloodied hose, sawed back and forth into his chest, and lurched to his feet with his hands bloody, gore running down his leg.

"To the Old Gods who watch over the wall! This king of the living dead who I am offering is the enemy! This is who cannot pass! May the living dead leave the realms of the true living unbothered! The cold and dead have no place here! This is not their realm! This is the realm of the living! Let them return to the realm of the dead and you shall be unbothered!"

Lancel saw three more Others leap down onto the deck with spears in their hands.

They were too late.

Stannis was still gurgling and twitching, somehow not fully dead, so Tane raised her pistol, her sword arm wrapped around Shireen, and shot him in the head.

And then the Others were stumbling back, shouting prayers in their awful crackling languages, hands raised to shield themselves and they were leaping away, scrambling up masts and leaping between them and he could see Others doing the same amidst the columns of fire and smoke in Eastwatch.

"Seven hells, the wights dropped!" someone was shouting outside, and Lancel turned to Alleras and saw the bloodied dagger in his hand.

"What just happened-" Lancel asked.

"It worked." Alleras said. "Bloodraven was right, seven hells, it worked."

Tane let go of Shireen, and she ran to Stannis, his chest carved open, his head holed. She shrank back from the flames consuming him, his burnt and maimed corpse, sobbing in fear and relief and horror.

Lancel turned, and stumbled off the ship, and he saw the bodies lining the docks, dozens and dozens of them, men cut down fleeing the barricades, corpses still burning, wights with their sorcery gone. Buildings were burning, hurling columns of smoke up into the sky, spewing out embers that had killed wights that drew too close. He began yelling orders: Burn the dead, treat the wounded, start searching for any remaining wights and Ironborn. And he went down the part of the pier that the wights had once been attacking down, and saw no movement but for the wounded living, and hundreds and hundreds of lifeless wights, and on the face of the wall shimmers of movement as Others went scuttling back to the true north.

We won, he realized, we saw off the second long night before it even truly began.

We won, over the piles of corpses, of his dead family and the two kings he had helped kill, of the burning ruins of the Night's Watch and his dead friends. But we won.

 

[Balaur]

King's Landing was a shattered ruin beneath them, as they rode out onto the south shore of the Blackwater rush. Half the gatehouses were gone, the dockyards were covered in collapsed and burnt timbers, and she could see a hole in the Red Keep's throne room. The houses were spackled black and white, between the solid rooves covered in snow and the gaping black pits where they had collapsed from fires and the debris cast skywards by wildfire.

"Seven hells" Merry Crane murmured besides her, reining in her palfrey.

They did this. The Targaryens she had brought the hammer of Tyrell down on, the Ironborn Tane was hunting in the high north. They did this, the monsters, they killed tens of thousands…

They had brought a little excess food, what could be spared from the reserves in Storm's End. Renly, Mace and Alester were planning on seizing the food stocks of the surrendered rebels and sending them to King's Landing as reparations. She would distribute the food. Even if Alester seized the food, she would be the one who received the credit.

Any attempt to move against her would be met by the outrage of the smallfolk.

A small number of ferries were moored on their side of the Blackwater, waiting to take them in. An escort of knights rode around them, watchful. Another five hundred or so picked Tyrell soldiers rode around them. There could be a Targaryen garrison here. There could be bandits, driven to desperation. And Lord Alester Florent's force was marching this way too, bypassing the city to seize the castles of Cracklaw Point.

If Stannis fell, he could be in the city much faster than Renly or Mace could be.

400,000 people called King's Landing home, and with grain shipments disrupted by the war and the cities own stockpiles burned, hunger would set in quickly. It had been nearly half a year since the explosion, but even so…

There were hovels on the south side of the blackwater, hundreds of them. As she watched, she saw men returning with a dead deer slung over their shoulders. They must have resorted to hunting in the Kingswood.

She made a note to order her men to not enforce any laws against poaching, and to ask Lord Alester Florent or King Stannis Baratheon to give a blanket pardon to all men who had done it.

They rode down through the buildings, some well-made, most poorly built out of whatever winter timbers could be found. Smallfolk stared at them, hollow cheeked, numb with shock. A few had what looked like badly healed burns.

"There are wagonfuls of food coming up after us." Margaery said. "There is not much that could be spared from the stormlands, but it can keep the worst off fed until my lord husband can bring his shipments. He is taking back the last of the rebel castles in the Stormlands, and they will be forced to send all of their shipments here as payment for what they did. And my father shall send more supplies from the reach!"

A few cheered. Most were silent. They glared at the well fed, powerful warhorses of her knights, at the spare coursers being led by pages and squires.

"Do you know what became of the Targaryen garrison?" Garlan asked them, then. Her brother rode with the van of the force, in full harness and with his shield slung in case of sudden attack.

"They fled." A septon said. "The freedmen and the sellswords tried to flee to Essos when they heard the news, but the sellswords wanted to take some of us as slaves since they figured the Targaryens wouldn't pay them. Most of the Freedmen sided with us and we chased the sellswords out of the city. The Freedmen will put down their arms and yield, most likely, or run to Essos. Do not harm them, my lady, they fought in our defence."

They came to the ferry. The archers and spearmen dismounted and crossed first, to secure a bridgehead, then their knights and Garlan, and finally Margaery and the other ladies and servants.

Lord Guncer Sunglass, the Master of Coin, awaited them, backed by a ragged band of Goldcloaks.

"I stayed behind to seal the treasury." He explained. "I surrendered to the Targaryens at the gates but it was only by sheer good fortune I survived the fires when the dragons went mad. I have done what I can to help the city, but there is little enough food stored here, or gold to buy it…"

"You did well, my lord." Margaery said. "Do you have safe lodgings?"

He nodded. "There are abandoned manses in the suburbs men of my household are using for quarters. You can have them for yourself, and pitch tents for your men around them. I would not sleep in the city, my lady.The Red Keep is damaged and much of the city stinks of death."

He wasn't wrong about the smell. There was something wrong with the air. The slow decay of thousands of corpses, trapped under collapsed buildings, rot drawn out by the snow.

"I shall inspect the Red Keep and Great Sept." Margaery said. "And then we should hold a council to decide how best to help the city."

Lord Guncer nodded. "I'll have my men prepare a field for you to make camp on."

Then a shout of warning from one of her knights. Margaery turned.

A band of a few hundred Essosi came marching out over a pile of rubble where a gatehouse had been, spears and shields in their hands. The soldiers tensed, officers shouting for knights to form to charge and the archers to dismount and string their bows, but a messenger came out ahead of the Essosi foot.

"We wish only for passage back to Essos, Baratheons." The messenger called. "Give us galleys and we shall leave here without a fight. Tyrosh and Lys threaten the free republic of Myr and we have need to defend our families."

"I have already agreed to such." Lord Guncer Sunglass said, to Margaery.

"I shall have it arranged, then." Margaery shouted to the messenger.

Less mouths to feed, fewer threats for her army to worry about. They marched off, and she ordered a watch put on them but for no-one to interfere.

She repeated the same speech she had made before, about how supplies were coming, and they rode on into the city proper. Some parts of the city looked untouched, the fires contained by pulling down houses and the thick snow. Others, directly hit by dragonfire and wildfire, had been devastated. Rubble had spilled out onto the roads and been only half pulled away, whole rows of houses had been collapsed one after the other, buildings that had the fires go off under them were just gone, reduced to craters from the force of the detonation. Then they came up to the Red Keep. Dismounted men moved ahead, picking their way over piles of rubble. Parts of the crennelations had been torn away, like claw gouges, and there were scorch marks atop the walls. She dismounted and walked through the gates. The throne room was gone. Not completely gone; there were still the four corners standing. But the roof and much of the wall had vanished, and as she drew closer and peered in through the door, she saw there was no floor, just a gaping hole filling with rubble. There was no sign of the iron throne-

It was there, tipped back by the force of the blast, smashed through the nearest wall. The tunnels beneath had half-collapsed under its weight, leaving it buried in the earth. It had been too solid to blow apart and too heavy to fling skyward.

Margaery turned away from the ruin. "Maegor's is not much better, is it?"

Garlan shook his head. "One of the smallfolk came up and warned us Maegor's was not safe. He said the rubble had collapsed part of the roof. There's a dragon skull that ended up in the moat."

"We must see what became of the Great Sept, then." Margaery said.

The Great Sept of Baelor was worse. When news came that the city would soon fall, thousands had taken refuge in the Great Sept. When the fires raged around them and dragons battled in the sky, they had fled into the undercrofts.

Most of the Wildfire had been removed. But not all of it, Lord Sunglass explained. Someone must have gotten too close to a wildfire barrel with a candle, or maybe the dragonfire spread through a tunnel, but in any case, the Great Sept had exploded.

The smaller number of barrels meant it didn't simply collapse the building and kill everyone inside it instantly. What had happened had been much worse. Jets of burning Wildfire had sprayed out of the corridors and tunnels moments before parts of the floor collapsed, setting people packed shoulder to shoulder aflame. As many had died of being trampled, crushed against the walls and doors, or pushed into holes in the floor, as had been killed by the blasts.

"It took us over a week to as remove every body." Guncer Sunglass finished, as they rode out of the ruined city and towards the suburb his men had garisoned. Sunglass had called his levies from Sweetport Sound to try and help the Targaryen garrison and what was left of the Goldcloaks keep order, but many of them had been killed in the fighting when the sellswords mutinied and tried to carry off slaves. More had been sent home to reduce the burden of feeding the city.

The streets leading into the suburb were barricaded with wagons. Soldiers in Sunglass livery watched nervously as the wagons were dragged out of the way and their horses were led through.

Garlan ordered the soldiers to pitch camp in the surrounding fields, Margaery told her servants to prepare travelling pavilions for the night(she did not trust buildings that had been abandoned for months to be particularly safe or comfortable to sleep in), and the council of war was called.

*

Herself, Ser Garlan Tyrell, Lord Guncer Sunglass and Ser Janos Slynt sat in the solar of a merchant fled or dead. Lord Guncer seemed both honourable and competent from how he had handled the situation in the city, but from what little she knew of the Goldcloaks Ser Janos Slynt had a questionable reputation.

"How much food is available?" Margaery asked. "Lords Florent and Baratheon shall soon bring seized supplies of grain here, but until then, I must know how long your stocks can last."

"Not enough for everyone." Lord Sunglass said. "I've been rationing the stocks my men control, from the granaries that did not burn and the surplus from the winter harvests on my own lands. Children, and widows with no means of support are the priority. The situation is very bad. There are merchants importing grain here, but demands outstrips supply. Most cannot afford it, and even if they could, there is still not enough, not with the ruined winter harvests in the riverlands and Reach. Most of the horses here have already been slaughtered for meat. The fishing fleet burned during the attack, when that warehouse full of wildfire blew up near the docks."

"Some families sold their children to an Essosi slave ship. They left before my men could get to grips with them." Janos Slynt said. "If Lord Baratheon had not taken all the best officers and men for the Silvercloaks, and cut our pay to fund them, mayhaps we would have been able to stop them."

"Now, now." Lord Guncer said. "We must focus on what is at hand."

"Our men being here means more mouths to feed." Garlan said.

"We could tell the knights that they may only have one horse each. Their remounts should be sent home, or sold to help fund food supplies and other charitable works." Guncer said.

"The men won't like that." Garlan said.

"The smallfolk won't like the warhorses eating forage that could have gone to their livestock." Margaery said.

Garlan nodded. "My sister is right. I'll think on how to convince the men of it. We don't need destriers, do we? We might have to chase down bandits or put down riots, but we won't need to face formed infantry or enemy knights. We can make do with a single courser or rouncey for each man." "

"The Blackwater bay is full of fish." Lord Guncer said. "If we can convince the Narrow Sea fishermen to sell their catches here, and begin rebuilding the King's Landing fishing fleet, that would go a long way to feeding the city."

"I'll write to Highgarden and request monies." Margaery said. "I already have money from the Storm's End treasury. How many shipwrights survived the fire?"

"Enough." Ser Guncer said.

"Thank the seven." Margaery said. "Issue whatever money you need to get the fleet rebuilt. I'll ensure Highgarden covers any debts incurred."

"Do you have the authority for that?"

"Mace Tyrell will understand." Garlan said. "What about the royal treasury? Did the Targaryens loot it?"

"My men sealed the entrance before the Targaryens took the city." Lord Guncer Sunglass said. "Then the explosions further collapsed it. I did not want to dig it out until the Targaryens were gone, otherwise they would simply loot it to fund their war."

"Good."Garlan said. "Dig it out. I'll send my men to help."

*

Garlan came to her pavilion that night. He did not wear his harness, but he still had an arming doublet with mail sewn to the arms and skirts, and he was tailed by a pair of harnessed knights.

"We need to talk about matters of defence." He said. Margaery nodded, and told her servants to prepare the camp chairs and table.

"We're exposed here." Garlan said, unfurling a map. "If Stannis dies in the north, Lord Florent's men or the Royal Fleet can descend on us before Mace and Renly can march their troops here. They'll have Shireen with them and crown her, and we'll probably be cut down in the process."

"Florent isn't foolish enough to try that. If he crowns Shireen he gets smashed by the full might of the Reach and Stormlands behind Renly and Mace."

"it won't do us a lot of good." Garlan said. "I have less than a thousand men and I have no idea who's side the Sunglass men and Goldcloaks would take. If we can't cut our way out, we'll be taken hostage. That's the only way Florent can stop Renly smashing him."

"I don't think that would stop Renly." Margaery said. "Most likely he would let me be killed then use it as all the more excuse to kill Florent in battle. And the Royal Fleet would most likely back me. Tane is a, uh, close friend."

After that night in Storm's End, she could not trust Renly's judgement. Perhaps he was sincere in his apology and promise. Perhaps he was not. In any case, she could not take the risk.

"Oh. Well then." Garlan snorted. "How trustworthy is Tane, though?"

"She's saved my life before." Margaery said. "She would not turn against me."

Shireen would object too, she had a kind heart and Margaery was the closest thing she had to a friend. But that wouldn't stop the Florents.

"Look." Garlan said. "I'm done with Renly as well, and I'm done with Mace. Mace refused to charge to support you and Loras until it was too late, he got Willas's leg smashed, he got us mixed up in this Baratheon disaster. But right now I need to keep you alive with a relatively small force not suited for heavy fighting. We're a target for the Florents. We need to secure ourselves against an attack."

"The Red Keep." Margaery said. "It's half collapsed but we can clear it…"

"I'd pick a gatehouse." Garlan said. "Secure the buildings around it, barricade the streets, loophole the houses. We can hold against an attack from the inside and the outside both."

"Gods." He rubbed his face. "What a mess…"

"That would work." Margaery agreed. "But the Red Keep would have a certain advantage in legitimacy. What about Olenna? There is a dragon rampaging about in the north, it could attack White Harbour. And say this heir of Euron figures out how to bring down the Wall, then the Others could come south! We must get her away from the north-"

"White Harbour is a big city." Garlan said. "And a port. There are many ships moored there, and many young noblewomen amongst the court there. A young woman with a bastard daughter, and a moored galley ready to spirit her away at the first sign of danger, would not be noticed."

"Still, the Others!"

Garlan put his hand on her arm. "If anything happens in the North, Davos's men can have them running to Storm's End before anyone else can escape."

"But it's Davos's men. He's loyal to Stannis."

"And to that I have no answer." Garlan said. He ran his hands through his hair. "If they have taken Olenna hostage, then to come north for her with drawn swords would put her as at much risk as leaving her in their hands."

"Then what do we do?"

"We wait. And hope. You trust the Captain-General. And Ser Davos has stood up to Stannis before in the name of defending children. Between the two of them, they should be able to bring her back south once they are done in the north."

He tried to sound confident, but she could hear the uncertainty in his voice. They were up against enemies who stole dragons, and whose dead flesh could live for weeks after being hacked from their body. There was no certainty to be had, here.

"And another thing." Garlan finally said. "The situation with Renly…"

"I shall see when he comes back from campaign, if he has kept his promise to lay off all wine." Margaery said.

If he kept it, perhaps there was hope for him yet. If there was not… she would have to resort to Cersei's methods, she suspected. She would not endure being beaten and dishonoured if she could avoid it.

"I do not know if he can." Garlan said. "Loras had been refusing to lay with him all campaign over his treatment of you, and you saw how Renly acted in the battle. He is a Baratheon at heart. I fear it could be Robert, Lyanna and Cersei, all over again."

"We saw how that turned out for Robert." Margaery said.

"We saw how it turned out for Cersei!" Garlan answered. "I would not have you dishonoured for fifteen years before losing your head, if it comes to that. The death of Loras was hard enough on our family, I cannot risk us being brought to ruin like the Lannisters were."

 

[Balaur]

"We can't stay here long." Lord Davos Seaworth said, at the council of war they had made in the ruins of Eastwatch's Great Hall. "There is not enough food for all of our men to last more than a month." They had brought thousands of men with the galleys, oarsmen and sailors and marines alike.

"I know." Lancel said. He had taken charge of the Night's Watch at Eastwatch, or what was left of them. They'd lost hundreds dead or wounded in the assault and the attack of the wights. Ravens were beginning to arrive from the rest of the wall, and mounted messengers. Surprise attacks by Others gliding down from the Wall, cutting down men in their sleep and raising them as wights. Hundreds were dead. The attacks had only been stopped by the Others suddenly retreating and their wights dropping dead, less than an hour after the beginning of the attack. They were pleading for reinforcements in case of another attack.

"We could spread our forces out along the wall." Lancel suggested. "Send your reinforcements to the other castles, ensure they can hold against another attack."

"Only the crossbowmen have the equipment to fight wights." Tane said. "The arquebusiers and heavy foot are just more bodies for the wights to turn. Even given torches and dragonglass daggers they'd be at a disadvantage. If the Wall fails again… we can't restore it with another living dead king, unless I'm missing something."

The Greatjon Umber shook his head. "I'll have my own armouries and those of every lord that'll listen filled with pitch brands and dragonglass arrows. If they come south again, we'll fight them. And at least burn more bodies than they gain."

Alleras sighed. That was the problem with wights. You had to kill every last one of them to win. They just had to break the living's nerves, chase them down in rout and add the dead to their ranks. The living couldn't beat them with fire and glass, not if they got past the wall.

"It took thousands of years for them to make another attempt on the wall after the Night's King failed." Alleras said. "We may be safe. Except that Euron Greyjoy still lives in the body of Theon. We need to destroy his soul to stop him for good."

Stannis had ordered him killed in the chaos, but the messenger must have failed to get through or been killed by a wight, because they'd found Theon tied up in the Tower of the Ravens just as Alleras had ordered him after the battle was done. Alleras was pleased enough by that; Theon had fought bravely against his uncle and had saved Alleras's life in battle. It would have been a cruel thing for him to have executed only to turn Euron's soul loose on the rest of them.

"Hack his head off with the rest of the Ironborn prisoners." The Greatjon Umber said. "You don't have the food to keep useless mouths fed and most of them are oathbreakers, they cannot be trusted."

They had only a hundred or so Ironborn prisoners left, the rest having died fighting, received Oldtown quarter, or killed and been turned by the wights and Others.

After Alleras had found out what happened to the remains of the garrison, he was inclined to agree with Umber's judgement.

Euron had ordered dozens of Watchmen prisoners killed and fed to his dragon and sent hundreds more north of the wall in their armour so the Others could turn them and use them as troops. He'd kept some alive to use as slaves to try and clear the tunnel in the wall, but when the assault came, most of them had been put to the sword before the last dozen managed to strangle their executioners with their chains and barricade the dungeons. They'd managed to burn the corpses with the sconces when they had started to get back up.

"Most of them, aye. But Theon stayed loyal even when the Ironborn attacking us were shouting "Theon King!". Lancel said. "He is one of the few who do not deserve death, even with Euron trapped in his body."

"If Euron possessed him, then killing him would be a mercy." The Greatjon said.

"Unless Euron's soul escapes." Alleras said. "Triston Farwynd, the Ironborn captain Euron possessed, spoke to me through the glass candle and warned me of Euron's plans. He still had his mind, even if he had no control of his body. And Euron clearly managed to escape his body when he had him sacrificed. But if we kill Theon, Euron might simply possess another body."

"What's stopping him from doing that now?"

"Nothing, in theory." Alleras said. "But he doesn't seem to have tried. Maybe the victim has to be a skinchanger for him to hop from body to body. Maybe Farwynd was but Theon isn't, so he's trapped himself in a dead-end body, perhaps because his intended host died in the battle before Euron could skinchange him. Maybe if Theon dies he dies with him. Maybe that lets his soul escape and we'll end up with an incorporeal ghost Euron doing seven knows what."

Lancel nodded, grimly. "You mean to kill Euron's soul, not Theon's body?"

"Well, the war-witch Morgan tells me Euron's soul is latched onto Theon's like a vine growing over a tree." Alleras said. "And I wounded Euron with the glass candle and the Valyrian steel last time we fought. So in theory, I could cut Euron away and save Theon. It would be immensely dangerous, though. I would have to be half-in and half-out of my body with the glass candle, to both see Euron's soul and wield my sword. He could pull my soul away from my body and possess my empty body. It nearly happened last time we fought."

"Do it." Tane said. "The longer Euron stays around the more threat he poses. And if we just shoot him then we might end up with Euron jumping into the body of someone we haven't imprisoned. I'm done with this. We kill Euron once and for all."

"Then we're in agreement." Lancel said. "But your wounded leg…"

"it hurts, but I can still walk. We need to do this soon. I'll talk to Morgan and plan the attack. Tonight." Alleras said.

"Tonight." Lancel agreed.

*

"What news is there of the south?" Alleras asked of Tane, as he belted on his Valyrian Steel in preparation for the killing.

"We won." Tane said. "Put them to flight beneath Storm's End."

"Where any any Dornish nobles amongst the dead?"

"Dozens, probably." Tane said. "I know some of the dead. One of the Daynes, Quentyn Martell, a Yronwood… the Dornish cavalry were in heavy fighting on both flanks and were hit hard by Renly's charge. Thousands of them got away, though."

"Ah."

"You're half-Dornish, aren't you? Worried about family?" Tane asked.

"All Dornish. Mother's a Summer Islander but I was raised in Dorne." Alleras said. He did not mention his father Oberyn Martell. Sarella Sand was dead, vanished without a trace. Alleras the Dornishman had taken her place.

Oberyn had been a cruel man to many, Alleras knew that well enough, but he had been a good father. He had no wish to see him dead.

And no ill-will if Tane had killed him in battle. The defeat of the Others came before any such concern of war between families. And the Others were not defeated until Euron was fully dead and they knew what had happened to their armies beyond the Wall.

"And yes, I am worried enough. But if you killed any of my kin, they died in open battle. I would not seek vengeance."

The kin of his who had not died in open battle of course… well, Tane had done more to avenge them than Lord Doran had so far, so Alleras could not complain.

He picked up his Goldenheart longbow, retrieved after the battle. The wood had been scorched, the string snapped, and it was waterlogged with snow melted by a burning building. Even so, he'd still managed to restring it. Hopefully it would still shoot well. The bow had saved his life many times before, had killed a king and mortally wounded a dragon, and was virtually all he had left of his mother. He'd broken all his weirwood arrows, though, and he did not know if they could kill a ghost anyhow. He put it down. Better to do this with Valyrian Steel. He knew that would work for the task at hand.

"Let's do this." he said, and they came down to the dungeons, dug into the earth and then half into the wall itself. They were under heavy guard, Silvercloak halberdiers and arquebusiers. They shouted their challenge to Tane as she came up; Tane shouted her watchword back: "Thistle."

They walked through the dungeon, the earth thick and musty and freezing hold. Tane held up a lantern. Alleras took the stairs slowly, leaning on an ironborn axe just long enough to serve as a walking stick. There was a long gallery, stretching off to left and right. The sides of the tunnel were of brick and stone, but he could feel the cold radiating through them. This was dug up into the wall itself. Tane led the way. There were blood splatters on the walls from where the prisoners had fought their guards and the wights, and he thought he saw broken teeth lying upon the floor. They came to the final cell.

Morgan stood guard over the ghost of Euron Greyjoy, the war-witch sagging against the wall in exhaustion. She'd been on guard all morning, after the nights fighting. Tane had tried to relieve her but she had refused. Euron was simply too dangerous to be left unguarded, she'd said. Half a dozen silvercloaks stood guard too, with strict orders to restrain or kill anyone who began to fall into a seizure. They were standing around a barricaded door. Through that door was a cell carved into the very wall itself, and inside that cell, chained up and freezing cold, was the loyal watchman Theon Greyjoy and the traitor King Euron.

Tane waved Morgan over to her, out of earshot of anyone listening inside the cell.

"Alleras thinks he can cut Euron to pieces with the Valyrian steel and that will kill him." Tane said. "Only problem is, he took a dagger to the leg during the battle and he needs a cane to walk."

Morgan eyed his walking axe.

"I can't make any guarantees. But I think I can stun and restrain Euron, once the exorcism starts. Then hopefully Alleras can close in and kill him even with the bad leg."

"Could we wait until your leg heals?" Lancel asked from behind them. He'd come down for the execution, too.

"Too dangerous." Alleras said. "It's only a matter of time until Euron tries something to escape. Even with Theon being no skinchanger and the wards on the wall trapping him, he'll find a way out sooner or later. Morgan can't stand watch over him forever. Morgan, If I fall, get the sword and cut at Euron's soul. It wounded him before. If he bleeds…"

"Then we can kill him." Tane said.

"Then let's do it." Alleras said. "Unlock the cell so I can get in with the steel."

The guards did their bidding, and Alleras drew the glass candle, cut his hand on it, and lit it. He stared in, into the black and green flame, let it envelope his consciousness until his mind was moving out of his body and he saw himself in his borrowed furs crouching in the cramped tunnel. Morgan and Tane strode into the cell, the guards unlocking it, Morgan's soul shimmering and pulsing.

Alleras forced his soul half back into his body. He bade his body stand, and it, and he took up his axe in one hand and drew his sword with the other and made himself walk into the cell like a puppet.

Theon had been bound in chains. There were cuts and bruises on his face where the watchmen had beaten him down and restrained him, and mail still poked out from under his outer coat. The walls of the cell were covered in thick wood, but it was carved into the very roots of the wall. It was barely six feet high in the roof, but twenty feet by twenty feet, enough to chain up the whole crew of a smuggling galley.

"If you have any last words, Euron, I'd say them now." Tane said. Morgan tailed behind her, and Alleras, limping on his staff.

Theon looked up at them. "If you're here to kill me, make it quick."

"We aren't here to kill Theon." Tane said.

"Then what are you here for?" Theon asked.

"Under martial law as the commanding officer present I hereby summarily declare Euron Greyjoy guilty of treason, murder, rape, enslavement, human sacrifice, black magic, piracy, theft, ignoring a lawful summons and every other crime in the laws of gods and men. The sentence is death and good fucking riddance. Alleras here will be the headsman." Tane said.

Euron laughed, darkly. "Pity."

Then he came spilling out of Theon's body, the immense twelve limbed monster. He had long tentacles for legs, and six arms, three of them holding spears. His face was still three eyed, with squid pupils, and he had the wings of both a dragon and a raven.

Added to his wings were pieces of carved-out, stretched lungs, like he had done to his sacrificed body before they burnt it. Theon's body was impaled on and grown over his spears, next to the corpses of Farwynd and the original Euron. One of his arms had been hacked away where Alleras struck him in their last fight.

But the monster was cramped, constrained. Not even an immaterial horror such as Euron could flow through something as well-fortified with magic as the newly restored wards upon the wall. Alleras positioned himself between Euron and the door, the only way out.

Morgan moved calmly to the other side of the cell, waiting for him to attack, bracketing him on both sides. Euron struck first. He lunged at her spear first, and Morgan stood her ground as something shimmered in the air and Euron flinched back, snarling. Alleras lurched towards him, Valyrian Steel raised.

Theon was screaming and spasming in his chains. Euron pulsed towards Alleras, then, but Alleras slashed and Morgan lashed out with sorcery of some kind. Alleras's swords drew black blood from the flailing wings of Euron, too cramped to fully unfurl, before Euron lunged and slammed into his soul. With his soul half-in his body, Euron drove him to the ground, ignoring the Valyrian Steel Alleras had rammed into his chest. He flowed over him, his body twisting and warping to fit through the doorway like a cat flowing through a broken door.

He could escape, they could not risk it. Morgan was lashing at him with her witchcraft, Alleras dragged his body to its feet and tried to chase Euron out into the hallway. One of Euron's arms was still outstretched, the spear in it stuck into Theon. He was wrenched, tugging, trying to pull it free but neither the spear nor Theon's body would budge.

And then Alleras realized what had happened. Theon was no Greenseer, he was no skinchanger, he did not even use glass candles. Even a sorcerer of Euron's power could not so easily leave Theon's body, or drag Theon's soul out of his body along with the rest of the rat-king of souls that now comprised Euron.

Euron had trapped himself. The chaos of the battle must have stymied his choice of hosts, after he sacrificed himself. Perhaps he had some greenseer picked out, who took a crossbow bolt during the attack. Perhaps he had wished to possess an Other, but they had not come swiftly enough.

Morgan was doing something to him, more of those shimmering lances of witchcraft. Euron surged back into the cell.

"You trapped yourself." Morgan shouted at him. "Should have tried me, or Alleras, or one of the fairies. Then you wouldn't be leashed like a baited bear."

The monster twisted and lunged and Alleras, spear first. Alleras parried it, slow and clumsy as he tried to control his body from the outside. Alleras turned Euron's spear, cut at his wrist. Ichor sprayed from his wrist and he jerked back, screaming. He lunged again, tentacles reaching out-

They were going for Alleras's soul above his body. He barely had time to scream before he was seized, wrenched upwards and away and slammed into the roof. His soul could no more move through the wall than Euron's could. His body flailed with his sword, trying to cut Euron and missing. More of Morgan's witchcraft lanced into Euron's soul and he shrieked. Alleras saw his body on the ground, mirroring his flailing in the grip of the monster, and he tried to compose himself-

The corpse of Triston Farwynd tore himself away from Euron's spear, skin and entrails trailing off the wound. He turned on Euron, seizing pieces of his dragon-soul, tearing at them, biting into them. The soul of Theon was beginning to struggle, beginning to do the same, grasping at the spear Euron had impaled into his soul, trying to wrench it out of him. Even the dragon's wings and the kraken's tentacles were flailing and beating at Euron, and the tentacles grip loosened and slackened around Alleras.

It was what Alleras needed. He tore his soul free of Euron's grip, brought himself down close to his body. He tumbled it to his feet. Euron was on the ground now, his monstrous amalglamation, his rat-king formed of men and monsters, flailing and gouging at itself, eating itself alive. There was blood running down Alleras's hose from where he had torn his stitches, but he did not feel it, any more than he felt the strain he put his bow through every time he drew it. His physical body was simply a weapon he was wielding. His soul hung back behind it, using it as a shield, as his body hacked away a flailing tentacle. He parried one of Euron's spears, hacked a third arm off, sliced away a dragon's wing Euron raised to defend himself. The cell was too small for Euron to dodge, to use his greater speed and reach. He severed the hand holding the spear impaled into Theon's soul, and then Theon tore it out, shouting and gasping in shock.

Farwynd was laughing, snarling, as he tore chunks of meat out of Euron's soul, yelling "I told you I would kill you! Madman! No true Ironborn! Traitor to your loyalest men!"

Then Alleras brought his sword down two-handed on Euron's face, and it came apart in a spray of blood and brains and flying teeth, and his whole body was melting, rotting, sinking down into sludge, becoming part of the ground. Farwynd was dying too, his soul rotting with Euron's, his physical body gone and nothing but Euron's soul left to keep his soul from the seven hells.

Alleras did the same, back towards his own body, and then he was standing there holding an unbloodied sword in the shadow of the wall, and his leg was screaming in pain and he was running with sweat and Theon was lying screaming on the floor, wildly tearing at something in his chest, tangling his chains further.

"We got him." Morgan said, turning to Tane, and the Captain-General laughed as she came striding into the cell and hugged Morgan, their breastplates clinking together, and she turned to Alleras and smiled. "Well struck!" Alleras was laughing too, with shock and triumph, and then another wave of pain hit him and there was something wet running down his leg and he fell to the half-frozen floorboards. He was staring at the roof, the cold blue-black roots of the wall, as Lancel stood over him, suddenly worried. "Are you alright?"

"It's the leg." Alleras said. "The barber-surgeon is going to kill me." He laughed with shock, then. He wasn't hunted for the first time since Oldtown. He'd avenged Oldtown. He'd saved the world, after a sorts.

"Look on the bright side." Lancel said. "You managed to kill a dragon and a demon with a fucked up leg. Both in two days!"

Alleras laughed again, even as he realized the cell smelt of rotting meat from what the Ironborn had done here. Gods, we did it. We ended it all. They lie dead now, beaten.

 

[Balaur]

They killed the Ironborn that night after they finished off Euron. They were taken out into the fields around Eastwatch a dozen at a time, read their charges-oathbreaking, murder, rape, slavery, treason against the crown-and put to the sword. There were no clean beheadings, but rather they were hacked to death and the bodies thrown into pits. Those that tried to run where shot down with crossbows. Tane watched from horseback, silently. After her latest check on their defensive stores-A decent amount of weapons and munitions in the remaining buildings, not enough men to use them once the army went south, barely any food and stocks of fire arrows and dragonglass almost entirely expended-she had nothing better to do.

Killing prisoners who had surrendered honourably was a terrible thing, but many of the Ironborn here had taken and broken Night's Watch vows and the rest had chosen to take up Euron's cause even after he was "dead." They were too dangerous and too treasonous to be left alive, and so she took it upon herself to oversee the killings. That was allowed under martial law.

She had ordered them killed; she would see it through to the end.

Her whole face stung bitterly in the cold, pock-marked with cuts from where the Other's sword had shattered her visor. She was lucky none of the splinters had been driven in to her eyes.

"Captain-General Tane Bayder?" someone asked. The Lannister watchman, Ser Lancel Lannister.

"Ser Lancel." Tane acknowledged. Her face hurt when she spoke, from all the splinters of her helmet. They had dozens of wounded who'd had shards of shattered steel driven back into their flesh by the blades of the Others.

"I'm not knighted." Lancel said. "The King mentioned Tommen Lannister, before he died. Where is he and what is to be done with him?"

"Tommen Lannister was taken prisoner in battle, outside Storm's End. Stannis took him north and resolved to send him to the Watch. Ostensibly."

"Ostensibly?"

"He meant to sacrifice him all along." Tane said. "Even before the situation with the Others."

"Oh." Anger flashed across Lancel's face, before he calmed himself.

"What happened to Myrcella, then?" Lancel asked. "They went into exile together, didn't they?"

"They went with the Targaryens, to try and claim Casterley Rock if they could not claim the throne. Myrcella died in King's Landing, when Euron drove the dragons mad. And Genna Lannister died to the headman's sword for treason in bringing them back to Westeros." Tane said.

There was a moment of silence, then:

"You killed most of my family, you know. Shot boys I'd squired with."

"You probably killed the King." Tane said.

"Robert deserved it."

"So did the Targaryens, and Stannis, and Euron. Most kings do."

She'd been ready to do it, then. Her and Morgan had been moments away; they would have shot Balon, ordered Alleras to do the sacrifice at gunpoint, struck anyone who tried to interfere down with witchcraft. Her and Morgan could have held the gangplank well enough. She almost wished she had. It would have so satisfying, to do to Stannis what he had ordered done to so many others; ruthlessly cut down and sacrificed for the good of humanity.

Lancel had likely saved her life, when he had shamed Stannis into being a willing sacrifice.

Out in the darkness, screams and shouts and struggling shapes as an oathbreaker tried to fight and was cut down by Silvercloaks. Tane reached for her sword to head out and help them, but someone shouted "All clear! We got him!"

"On that, I shall agree." Lancel said.

Lancel gulped, did not speak for a moment.

"What about those who witnessed us convince the king to die? Would we not be held as Kingslayers?" Lancel asked.

"There are few enough witnesses." Tane said, "And Stannis was well known as a fanatic. He commanded Alleras to perform the deed. There are far more witnesses to the army of the dead rising, and them being thrown back at the same moment the king died. All us kingslayers will be safe enough, I think."

Shireen had seemed horrified by what happened, even if Tane had done it in her name. If she ascended the throne, she might seek vengeance-

Tane would let it happen, if it came to that. If she would not face justice for the slaughter she had done in Stannis and Renly's names, then she would let herself face justice for killing Stannis and saving the world.

"Anyhow, there is no crowned king and every man will rush to crown his preferred heir. I don't want Tommen caught up in that. From what I've heard, he's brave. He killed men on the riverroad in defence of Lady Genna and he surrendered to Davos to spare the lives of his bodyguard. Give him training and he'd be a good watchman."

"You want him off the line of succession."

"He already is." Tane said. "Genna Lannister confessed to his bastardy. The revolt in the Westerlands was put down before it even truly started. The Lannisters are a spent force. I don't want to have to kill him."

"He's not a fighter, unless something changed from last I saw him." Lancel said.

"You need scribes and clerks, septons and maesters too." Tane said. "I want him away from politics before someone gets him killed, and a thousand score smallfolk with him. Please. I've already got enough blood on my hands. Stopping Renly killing Shireen is already going to be hard enough without the Lannister loyalists trying anything."

Lancel bit his tongue.

"I'll take him. Bring him in on off the ships."

"Ah. Good."

Someone, out in the dark, spat and swore at his killers. "Murderers! Oathbreakers! The Drowned God will have his vengeance!"

"Oldtown quarter." A Silvercloak said. "You didn't want to end up like this, should have made like Theon or those men in the dungeon and honoured your oaths."

"Traitors! Not true ironb-"

The wet thack of swords impacting flesh, moments later, screaming in pain suddenly cut off, then the thud of another body thrown atop the mass pyres. "That's the last of them, I think."

"Aye."

"Light the pyres, then."

The only Ironborn left alive were the thralls who had only served as oarsmen under compulsion, and an honourable handful who'd been found locked up with the rest of the Watch prisoners after refusing to renege on their vows or objecting to Euron's plan to end the world. Most of Euron's prisoners hadn't survived the battle, or been fed to Euron's dragon beforehand.

"We'll bring Tommen ashore tomorrow." Tane said, turning to walk back into Eastwatch as the pyres were lit behind them. The air already stank of burning bodies, from where they had been busy disposing of all the corpses dead in battle. She motioned at the burnt out buildings around them. Little had survived the battles of Eastwatch, with the amount of pitch arrows that had been shot into the castle when they realized they could not hold it. Most of her men were sleeping on the warships, and the Watchmen had been put up under tents and biouvacs.

"It'll be hard holding Eastwatch."

"We'll probably have to pull most of our men back to Castle Black, consolidate there. Just keep patrols and pickets out here." Lancel said.

"Will that be enough?"

"Probably not. But if we try to keep a large body of men out here, they'll freeze or starve. We can't even send patrols up onto the wall from here. The wall just makes defending harder, if the Others can get up on top of it and we can't."

"Aye. Good point." Tane glanced at the immensity of the wall, shining with moonlight. Nothing moved up there; the men the Watch had sent to take control of the top of the Wall had been killed. The cannon fire had collapsed the rickety half-repaired stairs the Ironborn had used to send their own sentries up.

"Alleras said he'll stay north with us. He's got a glass candle, he reckons he can probe the walls defences that way and warn us if something should go wrong."

Some sort of projecting device, for pushing the soul out of the body. People claimed to be able to do that back home, though Tane had her doubts of if it worked.

But this was Westeros where the dead walked and dynasties lasted as long as the civilizations that raised them up. And Alleras had killed Euron twice, his body first and then his soul. He had managed to figure out how to restore the wards on the wall and stop the invasion of the Others.

"I'd keep him up here as long as possible." Tane said. "He did manage to save all of humanity based off a quirk of translation."

Lancel laughed, then stopped himself as he remembered who he was laughing with. Her men had killed his friends and imprisoned him in a tower for the better part of a year, before shipping him off to the end of the world.

"Tell me if there is anything else you need of my men." Tane said.

She said her goodbyes to Lancel, then turned for the docks, where Davos's war galley Black Betha was moored. They had to discuss the succession. They had been studiously ignoring it, put out orders that no ravens were to fly on the matter of the King's death. They needed time to figure out what to do.

Tommen is aboard that ship too, I should meet with him-

And then what? Beg his forgiveness for engineering the killing of his family? Beg his gratitude for trying to save his life? No, she doubted seeing the butcher of the Red Keep would do the boy any good.

Soldiers, Silvercloaks and the Narrow Sea levies who had been serving for almost a year now, cheered when they saw her pass. She had been on the ship when the King had died, and the invasion of the Others had been turned back; so clearly she had some part in saving all their lives. Tane did not like where this was going. The Septons in King's Landing where bad enough.

"The sword of the stranger!" someone shouted. She did not respond.

She came out to the piers, found one of the small ship's boats and asked the oarsmen to sail her out to the Black Betha. Davos had kept the ship moored, ostensibly to protect Shireen and Tommen.

Davos met her in the ship's captain's quarters, with a small folding table laid out.

"You wished to see me on the matter of the King's succession?"

"Aye."

Tane took a deep breath, sat down. "Do you know what Stannis said to me, before he died?"

"No. I've heard rumours. But nothing from anyone within earshot of the king, who could tell it true."

"He said "Get her an inheritance. Renly is my heir according to Targaryen law, Shireen is mine according to Andal law. Secure her what Robert should have given me." And then he was cut off, because the Others attacked and we were fighting hand to hand. Did he tell you anything that would clarify what he meant? Did Stannis say anything that changed his wishes? He still wanted Renly for the throne?"

"He believed that to match the precedent." Davos said. "And I think he expected that Shireen would die before him anyhow, as his Nissa Nissa. So there was no need to secure her a major inheritance. He must have changed his mind at the last minute, when he realized he would die before her."

"Christ-Horus." Tane said. All this time, at least since his death on the Smoke & Salt, he'd been planning to kill his own daughter to save humanity. No wonder he had seemed so cold-blooded about every other slaughter he had commanded, when he thought that was where it was all leading.

"Under Andal law, a daughter comes before an uncle. Under Targaryen law, an uncle comes before a daughter." Tane said. "Traditionally Crown law applies to the throne, Andal law to lordships."

"So he could mean that Shireen gets his lordly holding of Dragonstone, and Renly gets the Iron Throne."

"Or he could mean that he wishes for the Iron Throne to be inherited according to Andal law. Shireen against Renly." Tane said. "And he wanted her to get what Robert should have given him."

"Storm's End."

"If Shireen tries to claim for Storm's End, Dragonstone and the throne all at once, Renly will fight to the death to stop her. And most of the great lords will follow him. That much land, all of it's taxes flowing directly to the throne without a lord in-between to take a cut, funding a standing army… and that standing army under the control of a young girl under regency. It would be a slaughterhouse. Anyone who got themselves onto a regency council could be a tyrant, and they know it, so they'll back Renly to the hilt to stop it. And they wouldn't even be wrong."

The Commonwealth had it's standing army, of course, but the last time a king had tried to seize control of it directly they had fought yet another civil war over it.

She rubbed her splinted fingers. They couldn't fight another war, not now, with the realm shattered. Why did Stannis have to make this complicated? Why could he not have told them who he wished to sit the Iron Throne, clearly and unambiguously?

"It can't happen. Not all three of them." Davos said. "But with Dragonstone she'd be safe. An island defended by Florent men loyal to Stannis's memory. A hard place to assault."

Tane nodded.

"We'll have to be careful if Renly sits the throne. He mislikes both of us for ruining his attempt on Selyse's life. And he may blame us for Stannis's death."

"If we try to deny Renly his accession, he will turn upon and crush both of us. Shireen would likely die with us."

"I do not mean to turn against Renly. The realm has had enough of slaughter."

She did not mean to turn against Margaery, more like.

"Only that we must watch our backs at court, when we raise him to the throne. I have the backing of the Royal Guards. Many of the officers are bitter at Renly, for the losses we took while his troops waited to intervene. More were personally loyal to Stannis. You'll have to watch yourself, though. Stannis was ranting about you turning traitor when he died. Someone could make good on those threats."

"I have my own backers. Worked all through the city and the navy." Davos shrugged. "Smugglers I had given clemency in return for information. Men I knew as a smuggler who I have blackmailed into allies. Men given coin. And I still have a galley and lands. If worst comes to worst I can flee to the Free Cities with my wife and the younger of my children."

"Then we are agreed." Tane said. "We raise Renly up to the throne. We retrieve Olenna from White Harbour. We secure the protection of Shireen and an inheritance of Dragonstone. We forget that you are a traitor, I am a kingslayer and that Stannis's last wish was for Shireen to have Storm's End. And we keep all of this a secret till we can swoop in on King's Landing. The ravens on the Fury are under my control, and so are those on the Smoke & Salt."

"The Stag of the Sea has ravens onboard from when he used it as a flagship, and Ser Imry Florent has form for taking foolish risks."

Tane swore under her breath. "Do whatever you see fit to ensure our orders are obeyed."

She had unilateral command here, she realized: Not a second in command to Mace or Renly or Stannis, but total control over dozens of warships and thousands of men. The decisions she made now would determine who sat the Iron Throne.

Best hope they are good ones.

Then: "Stannis was saying you betrayed him, when you would not turn over Tommen. Is that true?"

"Aye. Tommen was promised a place in the watch and I meant to keep that. I told the messenger to come back with the King himself if he wished to seize Tommen, and when he tried to come up onto the ship my men drew steel on him."

Tane looked at Davos, the small, quiet man, his only commands in battle being of the baggage train and single galleys. She had fought in the front ranks against the Golden Company, had killed an Other in hand to hand combat. He is braver than me. She had only turned on Stannis at the last extremity, he had defied the king twice over on mere principle and won both times. She had blanched at doing anything to save Taena or speak against her for betraying her, too paralyzed by shame, had turned down Davos the first time he had tried to save the Lannister children, had failed to secure the lives of her prisoners.

She had caused the slaughter in the Riverlands and King's Landing in the first place, by persuading Stannis to retreat from King's Landing. Perhaps it would have better, then, if they had done as Stannis wished and all burnt on the field or beaten the Targaryens at a blow.

It doesn't matter. She had done what she had done, killed thousands, tens of thousands, lost her honour, and somehow she had won anyway, and saved the lives of millions. Perhaps the Septons were right after all, and there was some kind of divine purpose to her presence. Arthur had been little more than the chief of a warband in the Old World, probably a reiver with hundreds of dead, raped and enslaved to his name, and yet the Father had seen fit to send him to the new world, throw down the Feylaw and reward him with immortality before he vanished into the mists of history. Perhaps she was the same; a dog of war unleased by the Father in the direction it would be most just and useful.

"Anyhow." He smiled faintly. "I hear you shot the king through the head. So I think both of us are united in treason against the King."

"Only after he was already stabbed and burned." Tane said, laughing though she did not think it funny. That had been her one act of real courage, that and defending Shireen. The rest of it had been more self-discipline, ferocity, the will to win overcoming the will to survive.

"How widespread are the rumours?"

"Only one amongst many." Davos said. "In the dark and the chaos, it is hard to tell what was happening. And do not worry, I think both of us have more than enough to ruin the other at this point."

"What is to be done with Stannis's body?"

"We'll boil his bones and take him south to Storm's End. Bury him besides Robert." Davos said. "No-one in the south shall know until we sail down upon King's Landing. Shireen is with us, she will be safe from any attempt by Renly to have her eliminated and any attempt by the Florents to have her crowned."

"One more thing." Tane said. "We should both have statements from Alleras the Dornishman and Lancel the Watchman about Stannis's last words. Written down and sealed, and we both take them separately. It will add weight to my words, if it comes to a dispute over the inheritance."

"Aye. I'll have it done." Davos. "Though I doubt many will trust us, or their word."

He stood up and shook her hand. Her own fingers ached in their splints; she'd dislocated one in the battle under Storm's End, had it mostly healed, then sprained it again in the fighting around Castle Black.

"As well. Princess Shireen wishes to see you. About the matter of her father's death."

There. There it is. There were certain drawbacks to killing a king. One of them being awkward questions from the witnesses, especially when those witnesses were princesses.

Shireen stood on the forecastle, hooded and cloaked against the cold. Davos trusted his crew, but he had ordered his men away anyway, as the matters that could be discussed where so sensitive. Kingslaying, human sacrifice, the matter of the succession.

"You were going to kill my father." Shireen said, quietly.

"I was." Tane agreed. No point hiding it; she had seen the swords drawn, the pistols cocked. "But he was going to kill you first. And you told me you did not want to die."

She remembered the battle, then, the awful sense of helplessness, that she should be commanding her troops even in the face of an invincible foe, not arguing about sorcery. She did not know then if Alleras had been talking sense, but she'd sided with him anyhow out of desperation and some feeling that she could not stand by and watch Stannis kill another child, destroy her honour all over again. Either ritual might work or might not, she'd had no idea, but if she survived she would sleep easier with the death of Stannis and that was the path she had taken.

It didn't matter anyhow, Lancel had shamed the King into accepting his death-

But it did, as long as Shireen had seen that Tane had full well intended to kill the king.

"If you so choose, I will let myself be put on trial for his death and enter a guilty plea." Tane said. "By the King's will, Renly will sit the Iron Throne, and he shall wish for me to be eliminated as well. If you push for it he would likely not object."

"Do you still mean to crown Renly?"

"That was Stannis's wish, and Renly has so many loyal swords that to try to crown you would be to kill you."

"Why did Stannis not give me an inheritance besides Dragonstone?" Shireen asked. "Before the ship, I mean."

"I think you know already." Tane said.

"He meant to protect me from Renly, by making me less of a threat?"

"That would not stop Renly. Stannis did not mean for you or himself to survive the war with the Others, I think." Tane said. "He must have been planning it for years. He believed you would die to light his sword aflame, and then he would put the Others to flight and die himself and Renly would ascend the throne to heal the Seven Kingdoms. Or that was the plan, anyhow."

"Except that I survived, even though I was supposed to die."

"Aye. Which is why he only gave you an inheritance greater than Dragonstone at the last moment."

"Then what should be done with me?" Shireen said. "My mother is dead, my father is dead, the new King shall think me a threat, I have few friends, I have little in the way of lands… I have the friendship of the queen but that would count for little if the king hates me, I think."

Her voice was thick with fear and anxiety. Maybe that was why she consented to be sacrificed; she saw no future for herself.

"Stannis said you should inherit according to Andal Law. That means as Stannis's daughter, you are entitled to his lordly holding of Dragonstone. If Renly tries to inherit Dragonstone as well as the throne and Storm's End, that would be seen as overreach by many lords. The King's word was unambigious about Dragonstone. You would have the Royal Fleet, loyal to the memory of your father, for protection, and good incomes and a fine dowry, when you are of age."

If Renly could be persuaded. He could overreach, try to consolidate royal power, inspire another revolt… or simply crush all who stood against him.

She had no way of knowing.

"I think that would be a good castle to hold." Shireen said, glum. "What about what he said Robert should have given him?"

"Storm's End. Renly would never consent to give it to you." Tane said. "And I am not even sure if Stannis had the right to take it away."

"Oh. Well then." Shireen said. "I guess I shall be the lady of the stone dragons, then."

"We'll sail south soon." Tane said. "Take Olenna from White Harbour, acclaim Renly king, try to secure Dragonstone for you."

"That would be good." Shireen said. "Margaery misses her daughter."

"Aye."

Christ-Horus. Margaery. That was going to make things complicated. She could not bear to repeat what had happened to Taena, whether as betrayer or betrayed.

Tane turned, climbed down from the forecastle, and was heading for the boats when a boy stepped into her path.

He was short and blonde, and wearing nobleman's clothes in an Essosi style that had not been washed in far too long. He looked a little like Lancel, if he was half a dozen years younger and had not been spending the last five years fighting monsters on the edge of the world.

He glared at her. She froze, stunned. Tommen Waters. The only survivor of the royal bastards she had brought down. Joffrey had died to the headsman's sword, Myrcella in the burning of King's Landing.

"Who are you? Why did you do it?" he asked. "Where did you come from? Yi Ti?"

"I am Captain-General Tane Bayder, in service to the Crown of Westeros and the Genian Commonwealth. And I stormed the Red Keep because-"

She hesitated. The truth was that the plan had been to break Cersei and Joffrey's power, bring them under control. Joffrey hated and feared her, and so did Cersei after she had threatened Joffrey when he once drew a sharp sword on her at the Tourney of the Hand.

The plan had never been to kill Joffrey, crown Stannis, throw down the House of Lannister. But that is what had happened, and she'd gone along with every step up to the beheading of Joffrey Waters by command of the King she had raised up.

"I stormed the Red Keep because Joffrey had threatened to kill me and I knew Cersei would support him in that." Tane said. "The plan was never to kill Joffrey."

"You shot my father's soldiers down! You put me and Myrcella in a room with a man who'd had his brains dashed out! You made Myrcella cry with fear when your soldiers pointed guns at her! Not even Joffrey deserved that!"

"I had a company of my own to protect." Tane said. "But know this: If I had known what I had known now, I would have made a different choice that night."

Men would have died one way or whatever. Tywin had already risen up in revolt and attacked the Riverlands, Jaime Lannister had killed Stannis's men on the streets of King's Landing. She wondered what siding with the Lannisters might have led to; Shireen confronting her for the killing of Renly and the arrest and execution of Stannis in Lord Tywin's name?

"I am sorry for what has happened to you and to your family. Truly."

Tommen did not look convinced. Not truly.