It was tense this day at this family council, for the defeat at Storm's End seemed to hung over all as if a dark cloud, manifested differently in each of those present.
In young Margaery Tyrell, it appeared as if sleeplessness had ravaged her quite fair features. The young maiden was hardly the vision of beauty she had been weeks prior, when she had wed Renly Baratheon at Highgarden.
Next to her sat her grandmother Olenna Redwyne. If her dear granddaughter seemed overly wearied, the elderly matriarch seemed to be looking for a conflict, as her expression went back and forth between concern for Margaery and looks of disappointment and loathing for the two men in the pavilion with them.
The first man, and younger of them was her grandson Garlan Tyrell. A young knight and a source of pride for his family, he seemed to be holding back, restraining himself in some way so as not to express the thoughts that seemed to plague his mind. A moment here and a moment there a frown would cross his lips, and he would look to say something, before thinking better of it and remaining silent.
The second man was the current lord of Highgarden. Lord Paramount of the Mander, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South, all these titles and more were the honorifics bestowed upon the corpulent fellow who seemed utterly defeated and exhausted. This man, called Mace Tyrell, seemed like nothing so much but catatonic, lost in his thoughts and ignoring the world around him.
This state of affairs proceeded on for a while, until young Garlan at long last spoke.
"Father," he said to the very man as softly as he could manage "We cannot simply ignore what has happened."
"I should wonder not," said his grandmother in as prickly a voice as she could manage "I would find it the height of ridiculousness, to somehow ignore the utter collapse of this farce."
"Mother," said Mace Tyrell slowly "I do not wish to hear it."
"And yet hear it you shall."
"Grandmother-"
"No my dear," said the Queen of Thorns as she tutted her granddaughter's effort "No. I said my piece before all this began, did I not? I said that this would only end in tears, and now look at what a splendid mess we find ourselves in. Stannis has taken Storm's End and won himself as great a battle as any fought in the Riverlands, and has neatly seen to his brother's usurpation. Meanwhile, we have Margaery as a virgin widow, and Loras-"
"Do not." said her son hoarsely "Do not."
"He is dead Mace," said Olenna scornfully "He is dead, him and Renly. And of a plan of their own making, no less. He is dead Mace, and we are yet living to deal with the burden of his plotting-"
"That is enough grandmother," said Garlan at long last, the tone of his voice brooking no dissent "You have said your piece."
"And yet I should like to say quite a bit more-"
"And you will not. You may wish to castigate father until summer fades into winter's coming, but I for one have no inclination to hear your haranguing. Not when more important matters are at stake."
"More important? The matter is settled, my boy. We made our play and failed. Renly is dead and Margaery is a widow without child to follow him. What is there left to do, than to disperse the army and return to Highgarden?"
"We have options," said Garlan steadily, sighing as he looked to his sister "Or so the Queen Regent's messenger would have us think."
"I'm sure he would, considering the Starks and Tullys have done their best to bankrupt the Lannisters of fighting men. As I'm equally sure the Lannisters would appreciate Reach foodstuffs to feed the capital, and for our coin to spent as well!"
"It is an option, grandmother."
"It is an option that bleeds House Tyrell and the Reach for the sake of others."
"It is an option that makes Margaery queen."
"And leaves us tied to the hip to the Lannisters, after this utter farce of a rebellion!" Olenna all but shouted as she stood up from her chair "Your father's ambition has already cost you one sibling, Garlan! Loras, your own brother! Cut down at Storm's End by Stannis Baratheon's men! For what? So that Margaery could bedeck herself with a diadem, and that Renly might play at being king?"
"And your suggestion is better, to simply return to Highgarden as meekly as we dare? House Florent would be the first to declare for Stannis, and if there is any man in the realm who does not bear our family any good will, then it is him! Him, with a Florent wife and a half-Florent daughter! What do you think his court shall be, his small council shall be, if not Florents? Estermonts? His own grandfather and uncles and cousins swore to Renly rather than him! Stormlanders? Again, they swore for Renly!"
"Let the Lannisters bleed for that monstrosity of a throne," came his grandmother's response "Let Stannis Baratheon bleed for it. Let the Starks and Tullys bleed in Eddard Stark's memory. I would not have us bleed, Garlan. Not one more Tyrell life, to see this king or that king enthroned."
"And in doing so, you might hand over Highgarden to the Florents!"
"Might, Garlan. Might. Even if Stannis should sit himself atop the Iron Throne, I would like him march down the Mander and see it so! Florents? Oversized and overly loud, but that is all. For every ally the Florents might call, we have five more! Hightowers of Oldtown, Fossoways of Cider Hall and New Barrel, Redwynes of the Arbor and Tyrells of Longthorn Hall! And the same can go for the Lannisters, as far as I'm concerned!"
Her fill had, Olenna looked to sit back down, even as her grandson made to retort-
Only for a young boy to stumble through the pavilion's flaps, the green and gold colours of his doublet identifying him as a scion of House Tyrell.
"Raymund," said Garlan as he redirected his attention to his squire "What ever's the matter?"
"My apologies for intruding," said Raymund Tyrell, hesitating slightly as he took in the obvious tension in the tent "But there's riders come from the east. Riders and wagons, bearing a banner with a flaming stag."
"A flaming stag?" murmured Margaery softly "There is no house that bears that sigil in the Stormlands."
"Perhaps it is our would-be king's," said her grandmother scornfully "It is said that he has taken up with a priestess from the east, after all."
"Begging your pardon, Lady Olenna but it's not the only sigil being carried. There's others, Stormlander ones. And..."
"And what, boy? What other sigils could there be?"
"There's a Riverlander one, my lady. House Tully."
--
"Lady Catelyn," said Garlan Tyrell politely as the Stormlander party entered through the pavilion "Be welcome among us."
Her arrival and that of the Stormlanders with her had not gone unnoticed by many in the great camps around Bitterbridge. In the days and weeks that had followed the battle of Storm's End, there had been chaos in the army, as Stormlanders one and all had quickly shed their opportunistic loyalties to Renly, and looked to declare themselves for Stannis.
There had even been those among the Reachmen so inclined, led by the Florents who counted Stannis's wife as their own and his daughter as kin. A unsteady coalition of the two groups had formed in opposition to those uncertain Reachmen who looked to the paralyzed Tyrells for leadership. Finding little and none from Mace Tyrell, several of the lesser lords and knights had elected to dip their banners and return home of their own accord, abandoning any future conflict.
The recent arrival of Petyr Baelish from King's Landing had not helped matters, as he sought to gain audience with the Tyrells, only to find the matter stymied by the Florents and their confederates, who threatened to hang him and his retinue if they so much and dared to speak in Joffrey's favour. Had it not been for the fearsome Randyll Tarly, who held ties to both the Florents and the Tyrells, then blood would have been shed quickly and greatly between those who not a month prior counted all present as friends. Indeed, Tarly himself had taken Baelish under his protection, an act some suspected to have been made to prolong the uneasy truce at Bitterbridge, where the tensions had left him in a position of esteemed neutrality between both sides and in a position to benefit well as mediator.
Until now, however.
Now... now, came the moment of truth.
The arrival of envoys by way of Stannis Baratheon had riled up much of if not most of the army's divided leadership, resulting in a great deal of arguing and contention as to who would be present to receive them. The Tyrells had desired as small a audience as possible, whereas the Florents had all but demanded that every knight and lord of repute available would be present. In the end, Tarly had managed to enforce a comprise, with only the greatest knights and lords yet remaining allowed a place.
Consequently, all were left displeased.
"I thank Ser Garlan," said the Tully born matron as she nodded to the young Tyrell knight "I thank you, and offer my condolences. I was not personally a witness to your good brother's passing, but he led Lord Renly's van bravely and fought fiercely at the front. I-"
"Who killed him, my lady?"
At that Catelyn Tully hesitated.
"Ser-"
"Please, my lady. I would know."
"Your brother was very brave, Ser. He cut down half a dozen knights I am told, fierce fighters all. Knights hailing from House Follard, House Penny, House Scales, House Suggs, House Whitewater, even the lord of House Sweet-"
"My lady," said Garlan again, his voice a little colder "I would have answer."
"... Ser Richard Horpe was the man, I was told. He fought him when both were afoot and cut him down amidst the entrenchments. Him and Renly as well, when Renly waded into the melee himself after Ser Loras's death reached him."
At that murmurs broke out amongst those assembled, as Mace Tyrell drew inward to himself and Garlan Tyrell's lips tightened into a frown.
"And how did the Lord Stannis honour him for these daring feats? A promise of a lordship? A highborn bride? Truly, I am curious. What was the gift given for my brother's life?"
Again Catelyn Tully hesitated, but answered without a second prompting.
"He has given him nothing yet, Ser Garlan. His Grace has indicated that all accounts and matters will be resolved when the war is ended. Ser Richard has chosen to abide by that."
At that more murmurs broke out, and Garlan Tyrell could see the greedy looks on the faces of the Florents, the looks of concerns among those Stormlanders who had declared for Renly first.
"Nothing," murmured Garlan nothing, as a bitter laugh escaped him "He gave him nothing."
"Ser-"
"No, my lady Catelyn!" said the Tyrell knight with a wave of his hand to cut her off "You have said it clearly, and I would make those present understand it. Ser Richard Horpe, a knight of Lord Stannis Baratheon. A man who can be named his champion, if the Lady Stark's words are true. A man who felled my brother, a man who felled Stannis's own brother! And what reward has he received for his great efforts? A highborn bride, and perhaps a lordship as well? Brienne of Tarth went east with Renly, did she not? A would be knight rather than a blushing bride, but if she lived she might have made a fitting bride for a loyal man. But we do not hear such from the lady, do we? We hear nothing at all, nothing but promises that accounts will be settled, that problems will be resolved."
He let his words linger in the air, a silence following in their wake until he chose to continue.
"Tell me, you knights and lords of the realm. Does that seem a lord to follow? A king to serve? One who does not even reward his most leal servants? How will you then fare, you who raised your banners against him? Do you think he will forget your actions? Do you think he will let you slink away to your homes, as some have already done? That you can but hide in your holdfasts, and pretend all will be forgiven?"
"We have not erred so greatly as you speak," said Alester Florent, the lord of Brightwater Keep standing up to draw attention to himself "Every man of the Stormlands who pledged to Renly was by right fulfilling his oaths to the Lord of Storm's End, and already we have heard tales of those who fought for Renly having been granted clemency by King Stannis. They have seen the light and flocked to his side, as is their place. And we of the Reach had likewise cause, did we not? House Tyrell summoned us, and so we came."
Murmurs of agreement began to filter throughout the tent, and Garlan's frown only deepened.
"In fact," said the Lord Florent daringly "I see no knight or lord here who need fear King Stannis's displeasure bar your lordly father."
At that Garlan's hand dipped to his sword hilt, a fact that did not escape the notice of any present.
"Have a care Florent," said the Tyrell knight quietly "Else I might mistake that for a threat."
"I but speak the truth," thundered the older man even as he took a step back "Of all present, only your father was not bound by any preceding oaths. Were it not for his decision to crown Renly, a decision clearly tied into making your sister a false queen-"
"I will not repeat myself."
"Your father and brother are to blame!" continued on Alester Florent, even as Garlan's self-control continued to fray "Had they not whispered in the Lord Renly's ear, perhaps he might have remembered his filial duties, and not condemned himself as a usurper!"
"Alester-"
"No!" said the lord of Brightwater as he waved off his Tarly good-son "No! I will say it plainly! The Tyrells grasped greedily, and in doing so stained the honour of every family and man whose oaths they were owed! And for what? A false crown, a false king, and a false Kingsguard? All so that Mace Tyrell might make royal bedwarmers of both his daughter and-"
And what else would not be known, as Garlan Tyrell's sword came swinging out of his scabbard and made for Alester Florent's neck.
In another time and another place, the sword's edge might have landed true and cut clean through flesh and sinew.
In another time and another place, Garlan might ended House Florent's ambitions before they ever truly began, or perhaps set in motion a conflict that would ravage every corner of the Reach whole.
In this time and in this place however...
Randyll Tarly caught the blade, stopping it from claiming it's intended target with his own gauntleted hand.
Even as his good-father stumbled back and away from his would-be assailant, the Lord of Horn Hill first gripped the blade strongly, before pulling it away from himself, even as crimson tears began to slick through the cut made into the guantlet itself, trickling down the weapon's length in turn. He did not break his attention from Garlan Tyrell however, each man staring the other down.
Eventually Garlan relented, offering a fraction of a nod the older man.
Tarly offered his own nod in turn, releasing his bloody grip and stepping away.
The two stood motionless for a moment, before Tarly looked around him to those assembled, and said his last.
"I think we've had enough talking for today."
