chapter 28

Brienne was warm in her armor. Summer still reigned over Westeros, but she had long since gotten used to the heat. Ser Theo still grumbled about always having to wear his helm while on protective duty. The others were less vocal, even if they likely thought the same.

With Stannis's army outnumbering their current forces and Northern reinforcements on the way, Myrcella had them halt their advance. Riders were sent west, and communication was established with the Old Lion. Tywin was marching this way with all haste, and the Stormland army was now moving west to meet him. The stories, which she knew could be exaggerated, she had heard of what Lord Lannister had done in the Riverlands revolted her. Still, it was not her place to speak ill of her lady's grandfather. Likely, Ser Barristan or Myrcella herself would handle that.

Myrcella always sat easy on her horse, as if she had not a care in the world. From beside her, Brienne could tell that some of it was an act. The girl's eyes seemed to see everything, and any movement caused those eyes to focus instantly on that location. A noise from behind caused Brienne to look, and she saw Ser Bonifer Hasty, who was riding up on his tall gray gelding. Ser Bonifer had been summoned to have a word with Myrcella away from the rest as they rode.

"Lady Baratheon," he bowed his head deeply in greeting.

"Ser Bonifer, thank you for coming. I wished to speak with you on certain stories that have made their way to my ear."

"Stories?"

"You have been loudly proclaiming me to be chosen by the Seven, that I am uniquely blessed and that no fire of the hells can harm me. This is a bit excessive, ser; I claim no special blessing or protection beyond what any have from the Seven who are One."

Brienne glanced at Myrcella; it was unlikely the knight picked up the slight change in Myrcella's tone, but after several months with the princess, Brienne could see the subtle differences. The princess was annoyed.

"Ah, but you are blessed by the Seven. The Father has judged your cause righteous; not even unholy flames can harm you."

"Ser Bonifer, I assure you, any young girl would have felt the flames from that sword no more than I did. The Maiden has not singled me out. In fact, does not the Seven-Pointed Star proclaim that pride goes before a fall?"

The knight cocked his head. "Yes, but it also says that we should…"

Brienne listened to both Myrcella and Ser Bonifer quote a few different passages from the holy text. Brienne had not found great joy in reading, but she had been a dutiful child of nobility and had read it. She certainly could not recall many of the lesser-known passages or directly quote them like those two could. It appeared Myrcella's argument was centered on the idea that the Seven granted favor to all who are faithful and not merely one or two unique individuals.

Ser Bonifer finally relented. "Lady Baratheon, I can but yield. You have clearly been blessed with the Crone's wisdom. As you will, I shall cease sharing stories of your personal participation in the Trial of Seven and make no mention of how you touched your uncle's blade. I will pray for additional guidance on ways I can extol the Seven more appropriately."

When Ser Bonifer left, Brienne asked what the purpose of that had been.

"I am uncomfortable being a prop for his religious ardor. It was also simply untrue. The sword Stannis wielded was some sort of false image; it did not have any heat to it. The air did not shimmer, it gave off no smoke, and neither Stannis nor his mount seemed bothered. I appreciate Ser Bonifer's personal loyalty to me, yet the man does cause me some irritation."

Brienne could understand that. She preferred to follow the Seven with deeds, not endless prayer and words. In fairness to Ser Bonifer the Good, he did both, but he was excessive in the latter. As it was, Myrcella had to command the Holy Hundred not to fast for seven days after the parley. Still, it made her feel guilty that she had forgotten so much from the holy text. She always acted dutifully; did she also have a duty to understand the will of the Seven as well?

"It was impressive how much you have memorized from the Seven-Pointed Star," Brienne complimented.

"Hmm," Myrcella looked almost chagrined, "well I do have a good memory, but I also recently refreshed my knowledge when I was planning to issue the Trial of Seven challenge and again in preparation for my conversation with him."

"Couldn't you have just ordered him to be silent?"

"I could, but a good leader must not explain just what to do, but why. Connecting the dots for your… followers is important."

"Connecting the dots?" Brienne was sometimes confused by the phrasing that Myrcella used. The education of a royal princess far outstripped that of a noble from Tarth, and sometimes she didn't quite understand. At first, she had remained silent, but Myrcella had instructed her to ask questions when she didn't understand, assuming they weren't at some formal function.

"Oh, sorry Brienne, I'm a bit distracted. Connecting the dots is a phrase used in Essos, based on some children's puzzles. You use it when you take multiple pieces of information and bring them together toward a larger conclusion."

Brienne nodded in gratitude. What an elegant phrase. "Myrcella, I don't have a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star with me; since you were just reading it, may I borrow it?"

"You may keep it; I don't believe I'll have need for it again anytime soon."

Brienne also heard her mutter something, but due to the low volume and the helm on Brienne's head, she couldn't quite make it out.

As night fell, they made camp and Ser Jaspar relieved her of protective duties over Myrcella for the evening. She took the opportunity to take the book and found a spot close to the fire. Just a short couple of pages in, she heard footsteps on the ground near her. It was Ser Bonifer and a handful of his Holy Hundred.

"Lady Brienne, it warms the heart to see that one of the Stormguard carries a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star."

Brienne felt her cheeks color. "Forgive me, ser, but I cannot accept that praise. Lady Baratheon just gave this to me today."

Bonnier smiled broadly, the first time that Brienne had seen him do that. "The Father will bless you for your honesty. Ah, but it is a joyous thing to serve Lady Baratheon; she cares not just for her people's physical well-being but also their souls!" The other knights murmured agreement.

He departed shortly after. Brienne felt an odd sense of disquiet as if she had done something wrong. As if she knew through some sixth sense that Myrcella would have found something disapproving about the exchange. With a sigh, she went back to the text.

It took them another few days, but they finally reached the Lannister army proper. Myrcella, Ser Barristan, and Brienne were escorted to the tent that had been constructed for Tywin to command from. Inside were Tywin and Ser Kevan, and no one else. Both were seated at a large table that could seat dozens; Brienne idly wondered how heavy it was and how much trouble it may have caused during the march.

"Myrcella, Ser Barristan," Tywin said in greeting and gestured toward two chairs. The Warden of the West looked at Brienne directly, "You may leave us."

Those eyes had a weight behind them. They expected obedience, and there was almost an instinctual desire to follow through with the command. Brienne though did not move, save to glance at Myrcella.

"Grandfather, Ser Kevan, I am pleased to see you both well. Brienne of Tarth is my sworn shield and guards my secrets as well as my life. She will stay."

If Tywin was surprised at the response, Brienne could not see it. Instead, the Lannister patriarch addressed Ser Barristan.

"Ser Barristan, how many men have you brought with you?"

"4,000 mounted and 8,000 foot. Lord Beric is marching up from the border of Dorne with a secondary force. We stand ready to assist against Stannis." Ser Barristan frowned, "I warn you though, Lord Lannister, our support has some conditions. Ser Cortnay gave me command, and I will not allow you to sully my name or the noble lords of the Stormlands with further depravity."

Tywin gave a sharp nod. "My men will continue to forage, but there will be no more impaling or needless crippling. There is no further point in rousing the Riverlands' ire; they never took the field."

Ser Barristan settled into his chair beside Myrcella. "We are agreed, then; see to it that your foraging is not needlessly cruel. If your men step out of line, I will speak with you if you are nearby. If not, I will hang them myself." Ser Barristan's tone had a hard edge to it.

The Old Lion's brother spoke, "Infighting only serves the cause of Stannis. My brother has already agreed to limit the worst excesses of his men; now our focus must be on winning this war. By now, the North will have reinforced our foes. Have you word if the Vale has set forth?"

"Both branches of Royce have ridden forth," Selmy replied. "It is believed that the rest of the Vale will remain neutral for now. They have brought about 5,000 to join Stannis, who has at least 10,000. The North will likely not have more than 20,000. We suspect 35,000 to at most 40,000 for Stannis. The Freys have yet to declare, which would be another 4,000. Do you know how many men Hoster Tully has mustered?"

"15,000 to 20,000 is our estimate," Tywin replied.

Ser Barristan considered, as if he was thinking something over. Brienne knew this was a bit of mummery. Myrcella and her commander of the Stormguard had already discussed this.

"In that case, we should confront Stannis as soon as we can. Once Lord Hoster sees you've marched east, he will surely try to follow or rendezvous with Stannis. Their numbers are larger than Lord Beric's; there is no point in tarrying."

"Agreed, we will continue marching east and seek to force them to battle. Make the necessary preparations with the Stormlords, Ser Barristan. We would like a word in private with our kin."

Ser Barristan rose and left the tent.

Tywin turned to Brienne, and Myrcella spoke before he could. "Brienne would prefer to stand; she's very dedicated to her duty, so no need to invite her to sit."

Kevan blinked and shook his head a bit while Tywin just reoriented his gaze on Myrcella.

"What are you doing here, child? You should be safely behind the walls of Storm's End."

"Grandfather, I've become a bit of a symbol for the Stormlords after the Trial of Seven. Ser Cortnay believes that they will fight better knowing their liege lady is watching them, and yes, it will be at a safe distance, and I will have my Stormguard about me."

Tywin stared at her for a dozen seconds, and Myrcella just returned the look.

Lord Tywin broke the stare to look briefly back at Brienne. "You are certain that you can trust your sworn shield to keep quiet?"

"Yes, grandfather, she is utterly loyal and takes her oaths as seriously as Ser Barristan."

Brienne felt a flutter in her chest, a stirring of pride that made her want to stand up even straighter.

"Very well. Tell me what you know of what your mother has done in King's Landing. The attack on the Tower, the attack on Robert. What do you know?"

Ser Kevan leaned forward eagerly.

"I am sorry to say, but my mother was behind all of it. She intended to murder Lord Stark and my father. She succeeded with my father, but not with Lord Stark."

Kevan's face tightened with anger.

Tywin though was quick to clarify, "You know this for certain?"

"Yes, I do. Cersei told me and then blamed me for visiting the Starks when she ordered the Gold Cloaks to murder everyone in the tower. Had it not been for Brienne, I would have died by a city watchman's spear."

Kevan cursed. "Damnation, I will see her pay for this!"

Tywin looked at his brother. "After the war is done. She's recently widowed, and her hand could be a powerful bargaining chip to win the peace."

Ser Kevan was wroth, and Brienne understood. She was just as angry at Cersei Lannister as he was. Renly had deserved so much better than a savage death in the woods. Had she not sworn her oaths to Myrcella… she didn't allow herself to think that thought further; she had sworn, and naught else mattered.

Tywin turned back to Myrcella. "A war camp is no place for a child; make sure you always have your 'Stormguard' and more with you at all times. If the battle appears to go ill, you will ride away swiftly. It would be best if you stayed with the Baratheon soldiers."

Myrcella smiled, "I will do that, grandfather. Well, mostly. Ser Barristan has told me that I am to observe how he conducts himself during war councils. He wants to make sure that I understand what will be expected of me when I reach my maturity."

"When you reach your maturity, your Lord Husband will handle war councils; they are no place for a child, let alone a girl," Tywin replied.

Myrcella shrugged. "I saw men cut down not 15 feet from me. The Stormlords won't tolerate the appearance of being a junior partner. But I've no wish to argue with family; take it up with Ser Barristan if you feel strongly, but the old knight can be quite stubborn."

Kevan nodded, "Yes, there's truth to that. But still, Myrcella, be careful. Not all the men here are Lannister soldiers; we have a number of free riders and sell swords alongside the peasant levies and our men-at-arms."

"Thank you for your concern; I'll make sure my Stormguard is aware of the dangers. If there's nothing else…"

The muscles around Tywin's eyes tightened for a moment. Then he raised a hand and waved her off. "Nothing else, you may go."

Brienne turned and raised the tent flap, making sure it was safe, and then opened it further for Myrcella to walk out. As they returned, Brienne asked, "Why are we doing things this way? Ser Barristan has agreed to follow your commands; I don't understand the need for the deception."

"When others see me, they see a young girl, who looks even younger than my age. If I came across as the one in command, they would endlessly second guess my choices, and I'd have to argue every step of the way. This way, we skip all the pointless arguments. While I am somewhat limited as to what I can contribute during war councils, I can always play the part of the precocious child eager to learn and ask a question that steers the discussion the way I wish it to."

Brienne nodded; as always, what Myrcella did made sense. She still didn't like the deceptions Myrcella employed, but she didn't need to. Whatever came, Brienne would be ready to lay down her life to protect Myrcella.

***

Melisandre had rarely been caught flat-footed in the last hundred years. Her visions from R'hllor, her many, many years of life, and her own talented tongue meant that she was easily able to manipulate conversations to her desired end. And yet, that one encounter with the demon child, Myrcella Baratheon, had jarred her.

The girl of one and ten had effortlessly dominated the conversation and had come in like a storm. Many had seen her touch Lightbringer, and her battle of wits with Azor Ahai reborn had been effective. The vision of the demon breaking out of a cage of gold had proven true. The visions she now saw in the flames were fuzzy and ill-defined, visions of what could be, not, what would be.

Her visions were still useful; in truth, they could be considered even more powerful. They could be changed; they could be prevented. And she needed to prevent one vision in particular. Tywin Lannister, the old great-maned lion, triumphant on the field of battle. Banners of wolf and fiery heart laid low before him. That vision had to be stopped, and Melisandre just knew how to ensure that.

Stannis had to be convinced that his duty went above his marital vows, to create the servant of shadow, but she was confident that he could be swayed. For that one it would be his duty, not her appearance that convinced him.

Slaying Tywin Lannister could very well win the war itself; his army would be demoralized and weakened by the event. However, the demon child had a seasoned commander, and the Westerlands had able lords among them. The maned lion was Tywin, but with the vision being uncertain, it could mean that his brother could take the lead instead. King Stannis would need to capitalize on the confusion as much as possible, and perhaps there would be energy enough to kill Kevan Lannister and the other commanders as well within the one shadow. Timing would be crucial; if the combined army attacked right as the enemy lost their best commanders, their foes would disintegrate.

So many things would be easier if Azor Ahai reborn would but allow her to make a proper offering to R'hllor. There was power in blood sacrifices. If this worked, if her shadow could destroy the biggest impediment to his rule, she knew he could bring himself to do it. While the Stark lord had stubbornly refused to be bent, even with her threats, he would be overruled. After the acts Lord Lannister had committed, most of the Riverland lords would even welcome the burning of the Lannisters.

***

Margaery had been inconsolable for days. Her brother, her sweet, brave, brash, and valiant brother was dead. They had tried to spare her the details, but she had learned. How he had been maimed and tortured by the vicious Lannisters. But while she still had many more tears inside her, the family was meeting, and her place was with them.

She took her seat beside Olenna Tyrell; her grandmother looked much the same, but she was the only one. Her mother was pale with puffy red eyes, seemingly aged a decade in less than a week. Her father had a permanent scowl on his face, and his hands would open and close randomly. Willas tried to keep up a positive visage, but his eyes were downcast. Her brother Garlan's normally kind face full of easy smiles was now a stern mien.

"We are here. It is time to decide the family's next move," her father began.

"We must declare for Stannis," Willas announced.

There was no disagreement.

"Yes, and I have no intention to wait for Stannis," contempt rang as Mace used the King's name, "to give me orders. We will march, and soon."

"Marching north is all well and good, but you are coordinating with and announcing your support for King Stannis, yes?" Olenna asked pointedly.

Mace glared at his mother. "I've sent messages to where we think he may be. Duskendale, the Eyrie, Dragonstone, and Darry. As for coordination, that isn't my concern. We will drown the Lannisters in blood, with or without Stannis."

Alerie, his wife, replied with a sharp "Good."

"Yes," Olenna replied, "the Lannisters must be punished. Do not let it distract you from your duties as head of this house. You must still think of how to secure your children's future for when the fighting is done."

"Cease your badgering! I heeded your council before, and it cost me my son!"

"Father…" Willas tried to cut in, but Olenna rode roughshod.

"Oh? Is that how you see it? You would have sent Margaery to wed the mad boy King; our family would have been yoked to the lions and their incestuous madness. Would you have traded Loras for Margaery? I grieve as you do, Mace. Loras was a knight who made us all proud. We will have our due and maintain our strength under a Stannis kingship."

Mace continued to scowl. "I've sent the letters, words are sent, now is the time for deeds. I will take 50,000 and march up the Rose Road and make for King's Landing." He turned to Garlan, "You will take 25,000 and march up the Ocean Road, sack Lannisport, and put Casterly Rock under siege."

"Willas, you will act in my stead here in Highgarden. You'll have men to guard against any Dornish opportunism. Are there any objections?"

Margaery stayed silent. Garlan and Mace spent some time discussing which houses would accompany each of them. Garlan stressed the importance of having Randyll Tarly accompany his father.

"He's a fine commander; are you sure you don't want him with you, son?"

"He is our finest commander, father," Garlan corrected. "That is why he should be with the bulk of our forces. He is a hard man, but he will see to the array of battle with cold logic as opposed to righteous wrath. You are furious – and justly so. I would see the perfidious Lannisters not take advantage."

Her father didn't like that, but he acquiesced as Willas also lent weight to his brother's concerns.

"Now that you've discussed your warring, what then is our aim with Stannis and marriages for Margaery and Willas?" Olenna asked.

Mace rubbed his chin. "Best to wait to see what's left after the war."

"No, it is not. These alliances made now could shape Westeros for the next 100 years. The Florents were early supporters of the King; they will have his ear, and when they whisper that maybe some other house should have the Paramountcy, it would be useful to have strong alliances with other houses that supported him early on."

Willas asked, "Whom do you have in mind, grandmother?"

"Edmure Tully or Robb Stark for Margaery. Willas, I know she's young, but a lengthy betrothal to Shireen would ensure our future best. That may be a tall order, given the King's distaste for us. If Shireen is not an option, we should consider Sansa Stark."

Margaery would do her duty to whichever match could be made. She had met Edmure before; he wasn't ugly or cruel, though she did find him a bit foppish. She knew less of the Wolf Lord's son and did not necessarily like the idea of living so far away from her family.

There was no firm agreement other than for her father to start feeling out Stannis, Hoster, and Eddard for those potential matches. Margaery knew it was important, but right now, what she most hoped for was that her father and Garlan would stay safe.

***

Jaime had done everything that Tyrion had advised him to do. Order the City Watch to shoot down any ravens leaving the city. Seal the gates. Forbid the nobles from speaking of what had transpired. His brother had warned him that it would slow the spread of Ser Loras's death, yet it was crucial that their father learned before the Tyrells.

Riders had been dispatched with remounts and orders to deliver sealed letters to Kevan or Tywin Lannister only. Despite his efforts, it took only a day before the city itself knew what had happened. The small folk had not taken it well. The Knight of Flowers had been an extraordinarily popular knight. He was young, handsome, and the Tyrells were in general well liked. They hadn't sacked King's Landing during Robert's Rebellion – that had been the Lannisters.

The mercantile class had immediately sought to leave and were making a nuisance about having the gates reopened. They knew what would likely come of this: hardship, food shortages, and possibly a siege or another sacking.

Tyrion had told him that they needed to quickly gather all the food they could, as the Crownlands could not support the population of King's Landing. They would need aid and support from other sources; food from the Westerlands would be tricky with the Ironborn's raiding and the decreasing safety of the roads. The Stormlands had never been a great agrarian power, but they were their only realistic hope. Trade by sea into King's Landing was a hopeless prospect with the fleet Stannis had under his command.

Jaime finally told Tyrion that he had given enough advice personally; it was time he join in the Small Council discussions. If their sister had any objections, at this point, Jaime just didn't care. Jaime also brought in Ser Addam to report on the status of the Gold Cloaks. They came a few minutes early and took their seats; soon the rest filed in. Cersei, Pycelle, Petyr, and Varys took their seats. Cersei instantly locked onto Tyrion's small form at the table.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him harshly.

"Good morning, my sweet sister; it is wonderful to see you too."

"We are short members of the council, and I would have his and Ser Addam's council for the upcoming problems," Jaime told her.

Cersei glared, and miraculously enough, she did no more than that.

Instead, she began the meeting. "My lords, we all know the treasonous contempt that Ser Loras demonstrated. His death will cause problems for our war effort, but it was justly done. To insult the King in open court and declare for a traitor warrants a traitor's death. We make no apologies and will instead spread the news far and wide. This will cow the still neutral houses and may rob the fat flower of his bannermen."

"Your Grace, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not tell you, this will not work," Varys countered.

Cersei seemed taken aback at the firm response.

"What do you mean? Between Joffrey's killing Ser Loras and what my father is doing to the Riverlands, these other houses will be too afraid to dare challenge us."

Maester Pycelle shuffled his papers, "I can only agree with our Master of Whispers; we will, ahem, hmm, excuse me, ahem, we will not be able to cow the Reach with threats. They can raise many more swords than we can."

Cersei looked around for any ally, but none thought her approach would work.

"Then what do you suggest? Shall we order father to turn south and deal with the Tyrells?"

Ser Addam spoke up vigorously, "No, Your Grace, the opposite. He needs to win a powerful victory against Stannis – and quickly. If only he manages to slay Lord Baratheon, that could change everything."

"Lord Tywin is a great man," Pety Baelish's smooth voice spoke, "but to expect him to defeat a numerically superior foe on a short time table is a tall order. We need to even the odds."

"How?" Cersei demanded.

"The Vale. I know House Royce has called their banners and joined Stannis, but that is the only house of the Vale to do so. Lady Lysa is a childhood friend; what many do not know is that she always resented her father for having to marry such an elderly man as our late Hand. She also frequently quarreled with her sister. I can make no promises, but if I were to go to her and argue our case in person, it could dramatically change the odds in our favor."

Jaime thought that very unlikely. Lysa was a shrew of a woman; it was true she didn't like Stannis, but she didn't like anyone except her mewling brat. The Vale lords would likely be in open rebellion if she declared for Joffrey. He glanced around the room and saw similar looks of disbelief on Tyrion's and Pycelle's faces.

"I would need some enticements. A royal marriage, perhaps with an important vassal? Coin enough to bribe some of the reluctant lords not to openly oppose such a decision. Perhaps even a promise of additional lands once the war is won."

Cersei looked at the Master of Coin, "What royal marriage?"

"Tommen could be married to one of the ladies of the Vale; that would sate their hunger for honor. We still have open positions in the Kingsguard – another valuable bargaining chip," Petyr explained.

Varys raised his voice a bit, "Your Grace, I do not think this is likely to work. I have no doubt that Lady Arryn would welcome her onetime friend and keep him nice and safe in the Eyrie for the duration of the war, but my little birds whisper that the Vale will not rise for us. It is all Lysa can do to hold back the other houses from supporting Royce."

Jaime enjoyed the look of annoyance on Littlefinger's face. However, Cersei was shaking her head. "Littlefinger has proven to be a loyal friend to the crown. If he believes that there is a chance to bring the knights of the Vale to our side, we should give it to him."

Tyrion caught Jaime's eye and gave a firm shake of his head.

Jaime sighed. "I'm opposed; we need our Master of Coin here."

"The decision is made; make all preparations necessary to ensure Baelish makes it to the Vale safely," Cersei commanded.

Jaime's brother spoke up, "There is a war going on, and a ship is too risky with Stannis's fleet. Over land presents its own problems with…"

"You aren't even on this council!" Cersei lashed out. "This decision is not up for further discussion, especially from you."

That ended that line of inquiry, and they moved on to a report by Ser Addam that he had successfully brought the number of Gold Cloaks to 4,500 and that their training was proceeding.

"They won't hold on an open field, but they can man a wall. Give me a year and I can turn them into men-at-arms equal to the Red Cloaks," Ser Addam proclaimed. Jaime recalled his childhood friend often boasted of feats he would do, many so outlandish that he failed, but to his credit, he succeeded more often than not despite the odds.

"The next topic," Cersei began, "is Joffrey. He is the King, and he cannot remain locked in his room. He will become a laughingstock; the realm needs to see its King."

Petyr nodded, "Perhaps he could be seen by the people, but not heard? A parade about the city, where all he needs to do is wave, could lift the people's spirits."

Ser Addam frowned, "The city has little love for Joffrey; security would be difficult, and he may be pelted with rocks. We could arrest or kill any who try, but that would just cause a bloody scene."

"No," the Queen said, "he needs to be safe. I don't want him outside of the Red Keep."

"My nephew is not fit to interact with the public. I've visited, like you have, and he still has the gall to threaten me and refuses to see how he erred. Until he can at least passably fake atonement and cease his childish threats, he is a hindrance."

Cersei would hear nothing of it. She wanted Joffrey back in the public eye, in a controlled manner, and she would not see reason. They had a day to come up with some possibilities and would reconvene then.

As the others departed, Jaime was left with Tyrion and Ser Addam. Tyrion looked at the knight and then back to his brother. "I don't trust Littlefinger at all, and Joffrey even less. Petyr will at least act out of his own selfish interest, so he is somewhat predictable. Joffrey? The boy has damned us to an almost unwinnable war, and even should we win, it will lead us all to ruin."

"What can we do?" Jaime asked, spreading his hands wide. "I've tried to reason with Cersei, but it's hopeless."

Ser Addam looked at the two brothers. "I heard queer rumors even in the Westerlands. That the late Lord Renly had suggested Joffrey take the Black. Was there any truth to that?"

Jaime answered, "Yes, Lord Renly believed that Joffrey sent the Hound to murder a butcher's boy. But that was months ago – what does it matter?"

Tyrion jumped off his chair, "I like the way you think, ser; removing Joffrey from the kingship would solve a number of our problems."

Jaime was taken back. "He won't take the Black, and Cersei won't allow us to make him."

"My dear brother, why do we have to do what Cersei wills? She named herself the Regent and has bungled it. We have Westerlands knights here now, who are loyal to Ser Addam and to you. Remove Joffrey from the line of succession and declare yourself as the Regent. You can sit on the Iron Throne until Tommen reaches maturity."

Jaime barked a laugh. "Me? Fuck that. I can barely stand being the Hand."

Ser Addam weighed in again, "I've only been here for a short time, but Tywin would never approve of Cersei's decisions. If you are uncomfortable with forcing Joffrey to take the Black, then lock up your sister with him. Tell the people she's fallen ill, or whatever other mummery you wish, and rule."

This was not what Jaime was meant for. He was meant to fight, not to take part in this skullduggery. His brother was eager for Jaime to act. His friend was eager for Jaime to act. Jaime did not want to act. But maybe he needed to.

"I," he paused, "will consider your words." Rev