chapter 58

In warfare, sports, and politics, timing was everything. Ser Bonifer's endless references to the Seven and my unique 'blessing' had been near impossible to curtail. I detested it, but now it was time to use it. Knighthood had always been for men, but there was nothing in the Seven-Pointed Star or any other religious text that explicitly stated as much. Tradition was a powerful and sometimes insurmountable institution, but now was the moment to chip at it.

I was winning battles, and the High Septon was in King's Landing. It would be hard to object to the action when it was done by the most honorable knight in the realm at the behest of the commander who had just won two great victories. The time was right for it, and as the saying went, strike while the iron is hot.

I planned to kill three birds with one stone. It was time for the investiture of two additional members into my Stormguard. There were several nominees to consider, and I had gone through the list and asked a variety of questions to those who knew them. What their skills were, their views on honor, loyalty, and even their cunning.

One was an easy choice. Ser Perwyn Frey, the firstborn son of Walder's sixth wife, Bethany Rosby. The man was respected by his peers and had been recommended by Ser Stevron Frey. Skill-wise, he was not up to the level of my Stormguard, but not all my Stormguard needed to be the best of the best. Perwyn was literate and knew his histories, which meant he at least had the potential to learn how to command.

I was a bit more hesitant about the second choice. The man had captured two knights after besting them in battle, was described as unflappable in combat, and had served as a sellsword for a decade. He was one of the Frey freeriders who had joined with the Frey host. He was tall and sure with his movements, but how far could I trust a sellsword? Only his high recommendation from Ser Theo, who had seen him fight, made me consider him.

I had him spar with Ser Arys. Bronn was good, very good. His fighting style was different from that of knights'. He used a sword in one hand and a long dirk in the other. While generally a poor idea for knightly combat, it was probably perfect for killing poorly-armored individuals. I wondered how much sellsword was in him compared to just an outright bandit.

"I've seen enough; thank you, Ser Arys. Bronn, you are to be congratulated; you are a fighter with few peers."

"Thank you, my lady. I am curious as to why you wished to see me fight."

"I am recruiting for my Stormguard. My protectors and commanders."

"I've done guard duty before, but I'd need the details before I agree. Such as what my pay would be."

I smiled; I could probably work with this.

"We can discuss that if I find you worthy. You are clearly skilled, but can you be loyal?"

"Aye, for the right price, I can be."

"What is this? No boast of your honor and loyalty?"

He gave a chuckle. "I don't have much use for honor. An awful lot of dead men have it, and didn't do them no good."

Ser Arys bristled at that response. I liked it though. The man had his priorities in order.

"If I admit you into the Stormguard, there will be certain expectations of you, but within five years, you'll have enough coin to rival most minor lords, a knighthood, and if you've performed well, you'll even be given lands in the Stormlands. Betray me, well, I'm sure you are aware of the dozen or so dead Lords of the Vale who conspired to throw me out the Moon Door."

Bronn paused. "How did you survive that, my lady, if you don't mind me asking."

"I'm quite light, and the winds blow queerly in the mountains."

He looked at me in disbelief, and I waved it aside. I went over how he would behave, how his actions would be a reflection on me, and how his rank would allow him to even command lords. He was surprised, though mostly eager for coin. In the end, he agreed to join, and my Stormguard now had two fresh members.

Their public induction ceremony was a festive affair with thousands of soldiers chanting and cheering, despite the fact that most couldn't see what was going on. After the two were inducted, I had Ser Barristan Selmy knight a dozen men who had performed feats of valor in the assault. Knighthoods were often granted after a battle and were important for morale. This one would be made special by the last two knighthoods to be granted.

"Lum, come forward and accept your reward."

Lum approached with surprise in his eyes. I gave him a smile, which did not make him any less nervous.

"Lum has served me since before the war even began. He is an expert tracker, an intelligent tactician, and hardier than one would expect!"

Laughter and cheers exploded at that; almost all knew of Lum's surviving a mortal wound.

"Most of all, he has been loyal and never shirked any of his duties. Ser Barristan, proceed."

"In the name of the Warrior…"

After it was done, he rose as Ser Lum Weiss. I had picked out the name in homage to my old Vice commander. While Lum was not likely to ever be my second in command, almost everyone who likely would be would already have surnames.

"And last, but certainly not least, my sworn shield. Brienne, approach."

Brienne looked just as shocked as Lum had been.

"Myrcella… I don't think you…"

I gave her a look that silenced her. She was getting honored; she had done her duty perfectly and had the scars to prove it.

"Knighthood is an ancient tradition, and in all its long and storied history, never has a woman been granted the title of ser. That changes today!"

Ser Bonifer's voice roared out, "THE CHOSEN OF THE SEVEN HAS SPOKEN; RAISE YOUR VOICES IN HONOR OF HER DECISION!"

The Stormlords, instructed by me before I had even gathered them for the knighting, roared out in one. To my surprise, it wasn't just them – everyone within eyesight was doing the same. I had expected many to look around and gauge the mood before giving voice to their thoughts, but as one, they had all raised a cacophony of epic proportions.

Brienne had tears in her eyes as she made her oaths and Ser Barristan knighted her. A good business leader rewarded loyalty, not only to preserve the person being rewarded as a company asset, but to show to others why they should be loyal as well. This of course transferred to military and feudal leadership as well.

"Ser Brienne, you have not only earned your knighthood, you have also earned something else."

I had thought about using the term "dame" for Brienne, but since people didn't call each other 'sir' in Westeros, I didn't see a reason to mark Brienne as fundamentally different a knight by giving her an additional title.

"The Corbray family has long held the Valyrian Steel sword Lady Forlorn as a family heirloom. No longer. They have lost this honor when they violated sacred guest right."

The crowd was with me, the raucous Stormlords cheering and beating their shields. I raised my hands so I could speak further.

"Even the name of the steel offends me. It will have a new name and a new bearer. Ser Brienne, I would gift this to you, to be held by you and House Tarth in perpetuity."

Brienne's eyes had grown huge. "Wha… What is it named?"

"Tidebreaker. A fitting name for a blade of House Tarth."

She nodded and held the blade up high for all to see. I let her bask in the moment; in a few hours we would have to move. I hated breaking up my victorious force again, but it needed to be done. My fastest elements would travel with me to try to reach King's Landing with as much haste as possible. My slower foot would follow, and another portion of my force would need to stay in the Riverlands and ensure food continued to make its way to King's Landing.

My army had more than ample supplies, a nice change from my second life where the Empire was struggling to keep up with the bare essentials. Having taken the arms and armor from defeated armies, even my levies were outfitted well. We were rich in proper weaponry, mail, food, bandages, arrows, bolts, and more.

We punched far above what our size would suggest, but we weren't invincible. The Vale had taught me an important lesson. I would always be grateful. Lysa and Petyr would still have to die, of course, but they would live for another season at least.

***

​

Davos watched Robb and Bran Stark as they took up their private audience with him and King Stannis.

"I have wrestled with this for several days, Your Grace, but honor demands I speak up. What you do you with this information is up to you, but I do beseech you to keep what I say about my brother secret."

"That depends on what you say, but go on – time is precious."

That was the truth. In the aftermath of the battle, they had needed to reorganize everything from supplies to how and under who men were assigned. Casualties had been extremely high, especially among the North, given the sheer obstinacy of the Stormlanders. It was a clear victory, but an incredibly costly one.

Robb took a breath to steady himself. "My brother has peculiar abilities. He and his wolf share a bond that allows him to do many things. I would like to demonstrate this first so that you understand this is of magic and the old ways of the North."

Stannis frowned, and Davos knew the term 'magic' was not helpful to whatever Robb was wanting to share.

"Go on."

Robb gestured toward Bran. "He and I will leave now, and his wolf will come in. Speak to Duty, his direwolf, and upon our return, Bran will be able to recite what you said."

They arranged it quickly; Davos had the guards on the outside escort them 200 paces away, and then Duty entered the tent.

"Melisandre knew magic, and listening to her did me ill," Stannis spoke at the wolf.

The wolf nodded its head in response, and then a short while later, Robb and a slightly shaky Bran returned. Bran repeated what Stannis had said, word for word.

"They would call him a warg, skinchangers, or beastling in the North, and many would think ill of him for being one," Robb explained.

Stannis looked at Bran consideringly. "The uses of such an ability in scouting is a boon to our cause. I see no reason to share what he can do; in fact, it benefits us if our enemies do not know he can see through a wolf's eyes."

"Thank you, Your Grace, but there is more," Robb replied.

Bran fidgeted and then sighed, "I can dream of the future. Things I have seen have already come to pass. In one of my dreams, I see the Martells and the Tyrells betraying your cause."

Stannis grew rigid. Davos knew that with the now-open path to King's Landing, the war near won. The Lannister force was nearly spent, as were the Stormlords still in the Stormlands. They were already discussing whether they would storm the walls or besiege the city; either way, victory was near, and now the possibility of fresh treacheries would be haunting them.

"These visions," Stannis spat, "are they as reliable as hers."

"I know not," Bran replied. "I can change them, however. It saved my brother's life at least once. It is beyond me what course of action should be taken, but I begged my brother to bring it to you. If we had not spoken, you and much of this army would have been killed."

Robb picked up where Bran left off. "We should move quickly and disarm the mercenaries and Dornish soldiers. Put Prince Oberyn in fetters and find out what he knows."

Davos frowned. "Prince Oberyn has fought valiantly for our cause. He nearly killed the Old Butcher, and you wish for loyalty to be repaid in this manner?"

"The risk is too great to have him walk free about the camp," Robb rebutted. "The man is known for his use of poison. Imagine, if you will, if the King, you, me, and the other commanding lords dropped dead on the day of battle?"

Stannis was grinding his teeth. Davos knew his King was playing out several different scenarios in his head. The inside of the tent descended into a semi-silence until Stannis spoke up.

"It makes little sense for Dorne and the Reach to betray us. They have no love for the Lannisters. Yet, that is a flimsy shield, because with the Lannister host so damaged, they may be plotting for what happens after the Lannisters are defeated. I cannot change our entire strategy based on a premonition, a dream." He paused. "But I can make it more difficult for treachery to take place, if it is their aim."

Robb looked at Stannis, eager to see what the King had planned.

"There will be no more dawdling for the Tyrell host. I will be sending ravens to both Lord Tyrell and Lord Merryweather with explicating instructions. Merryweather's host is to travel north and cross the Blackwater Rush, west of King's Landing. Our two forces will not be side by side. When the time comes to storm King's Landing, we will have the Tyrell host strike first. While this will delay the assault on the city while they get into position, it will only grant our foes a short reprieve."

"If they refuse or continue to be laggardly?" Davos asked.

"Then we know they are traitors, and I will explain in my communication that delay is an act of cowardly treason that will see Lord Merryweather executed if he does not obey my explicit commands. If they still refuse, then we will turn and deal with the traitors first, before pressing on to King's Landing.

"As for Prince Oberyn, we will set watchers on him and double the guard around our supplies. Ensure your own food and drink is handled by men who are wholly loyal. Robb, I know not if you can dissemble effectively, but I wish for you to loudly complain to Oberyn about my decision to hold you back from trying to rescue your father. See if you can ease out of him where his loyalties lie."

Davos was rather surprised by the King's chosen approach. This sort of cloak and dagger activity did not come natural to him. Davos made a note to practice a few smugglers' tricks with Robb. Convincing a dockmaster of falsehoods was an experience that would translate well to this situation.

"I will try, Your Grace. Thank you for listening."

Stannis scowled. "Do you think me my brother? I will always listen to counsel made with good intent. The path I choose to chart with that counsel, you will obey, but never fear to speak your thoughts, Stark. I will chide you when you fall short, when necessary, but I will not punish you for counsel I find poor."

Robb nodded again, and soon the two Stark nobles left them alone. Stannis sat wearily in his chair.

"What say you, Seaworth?"

"Your Grace, I cannot say if the dreams are true or no. I do believe that both have been honest; I sense no treachery within them. They are their father's sons."

"That they are. It is a bitter thought that I can depend on so few of the great houses to back my cause without betrayal. Not even my house."

Davos did not have a reply to that. But once again, he hardened his heart with resolution.

That it is, my King. But you are the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms; in time, they will all see it.

***

​

Eddard Stark was once again within the walls of King's Landing. The journey had been difficult. The first night, his wounds had been seen to, but a broken rib was not something that could be fixed on the road. Nor could the pain be lessened to a bearable degree without milk of the poppy. If the Lannisters had the substance, they weren't 'wasting' it on a prisoner.

His captors had also not shared with him the overall state of the battle. He worried over Robb and Bran the most. Emotional and physical agony were the hallmarks of his days as the Lannister host retreated back to the city.

To Ned's surprise, he was not taken directly to the Black Cells. Instead, he was taken back to the Tower of the Hand and locked in a room. There was a heavy guard on the other side of his door. He was also fed bread, cheese, and dried meats.

When he had a visitor, it was Grand Maester Pycelle.

"Ah, my Lord Stark, it is a pity we must meet under such, ahem, circumstances."

"I too regret it, Grand Maester. Have you news of the battle? About my sons?"

"Your, ahem, sons? I am here just to address your wound; it is my understanding that Lord Lannister will summon you after I've given my, ahem… my… ah, yes, my report."

Ned frowned but saw no use in being antagonistic over the issue. The Grand Maester was honor-bound to provide objective advice to the King. That he viewed Tommen as the rightful King meant that he would obey Tommen and his Regent's commands. Asking him to do otherwise was asking the man to break his oath.

Pycelle reviewed the wound, made some noises, and had an assistant provide a proper binding of his ribs. They also gave him a tea to promote healing and a small dollop of milk of the poppy to dull the pain. Ned then went to sleep, praying to the Old Gods that his family was safe.

When next he woke, he was summoned to speak with Lord Tywin. He was escorted in and manacled at the wrist. Then, upon entering a study clearly designed to command respect, he got his first look at the man in some time.

Tywin was as formidable and as stern as ever, yet there was also an uncertainty in his posture. His face was more lined, and his eyes tended to jump at any noise.

This war has not treated him kindly. One son and two grandchildren dead.

"Lord Stark, I will be brief. The North has been a thorn in my side and a key backer of Stannis Baratheon. I am prepared to offer generous terms for your freedom and return to the North, on the condition of your departure from the war. You and your family will be pardoned of all treason; there will be no lands lost or tribute demanded for your part in the war."

Ned stared into those green, gold-flecked eyes for several moments.

"You must be desperate then."

A muscle in Tywin's jaw jumped, but there was no other reaction. A tense silence descended until Ned spoke again.

"I swore an oath to King Stannis. I will not break it."

"An oath to a King that has his loyal servants break guest right. An oath to a King who claimed to have known that the foul slanders against my children were the truth but never acted until acting won him a crown. Have I the right of it, Stark?"

"It must be hard for you to know what Jaime and Cersei did. To know that the Lannister name is mired in even more filth. For the King's actions, that Is not my place to speculate, least of all in front of you. I will tell you that we had no part in what the Vale has done. For what little you might feel it is worth to you, I deeply regret Lady Myrcella's death. I owed her much, and I regret being unable to balance the scales."

Tywin did not smile, but there was a shift in his features.

"No one has told you then. The Paramount Lady of the Stormlands lives. Myrcella has written to me that not only has she survived the 'craven violation of our most sacred cultural mores,' she has also put the Arryn host to flight and recaptured Edmure Tully, your good-brother."

Bran was right.

"A mix of welcome news and ill; may I ask about the outcome of our recent battle and if you know of the health of my son?"

Tywin considered him. "Stannis won the day. There is no mention of Robb Stark among the dead, but if he were dead, I doubt they would let that news out with you captive. The boy fights well, and that is why I would have you both removed from the battlefield. Go back North; 'Winter is Coming', are your house's words. Go and collect the harvest; autumn is upon us, and soon we will be in winter truly."

"My lord, when a Stark gives their word, they keep it. We will not turn away from King Stannis."

Tywin sat back. "Remarkable, you place the safety of your family, your legacy, and your people below words and your honor. Tell me, Stark, if your honor led to the annihilation of your family, would it seem so precious then?"

Ned felt a spike of rage, but controlled his temper.

"Is that a threat?"

"Please, if I thought threats could move you, I would have you in the dungeons. My granddaughter suggested I reason with you. We will speak again; perhaps if your son lives, he will be inclined to barter something of value for your freedom."

Ned's eyebrows rose. "No torture and gristly death?"

Tywin gave him a sharp glance. "If I thought putting on a public spectacle of skinning you alive would provide even the slightest advantage to me, I would gladly do it. Unlike you, Stark, I care about my family more than I care about getting my hands dirty. But it provides none; the harsher I treat with you, the more your lords will hunger for war."

Ned sat back at the insult. It was a troubling question. Would he do unthinkable things if they were the only way to save his family? He would like to think he would not, but he had not yet been placed in such a position. He recalled the discussion on sending assassins to kill the Targaryen princess. Even if killing her would save lives, it was still abominable to murder a child. No, he could never be like this creature opposite of him. There were lines that men should never cross.

"It appears we are at an impasse then."

"So it appears; I will speak with you in the next few days in the unlikely event you have changed your mind. Should Lady Myrcella get here before Stannis does, I'm sure she will want to try to convince you as well."

***

​

Margaery was to be wed twice. Once before a trusted septon, her mother, Lord Connington, Prince Doran, and but a few others. The marriage would be documented and sealed with Prince Martell's seal, and she and Aegon Targaryen would be one. The second marriage would be after Aegon was crowned and would take place in King's Landing.

Her brother had consented to the match and promised the Tyrell armies to Aegon. Margaery was knowledgeable about many things, but the details of warfare were not among them. Though, her fiancé did compliment her on her strategical mind after more games of Cyvasse and said she would be quite good at it. She was no warrior queen reminiscent of Visenya; her tenure as Aegon's queen after the wars were done would see to it that no more wars need be fought within Westeros. Her grandmother had always said that if things came to war, you'd already made a muck of things.

The wedding was a simple affair, but one of great importance. In place of her father or brother, Doran's eldest son removed her maiden cloak. Aegon carefully replaced it with another, bearing the three-headed dragon symbol of his house, the House Targaryen. The septon said some words, and vows were exchanged. Then and there, Margaery was now wed to the man who would be King of the Seven Kingdoms.

The night was a joyous one. Aegon was chivalrous and ensured she was comfortable as they consummated their marriage. It had long been an expectation for her as a noble lady to marry and bear heirs for her husband. Her grandmother had given her some… practical advice on the matter, and it seemed she pleased her new husband well.

The next day, she and Aegon met with Prince Doran and Lord Connington. Her husband included her despite her lack of knowledge on the matter of war. She admitted to herself that she was growing fond of Aegon. He was clever, kind, and courteous. Their union would finally bring peace to Westeros. Too many had fallen already, her father and her brother Loras chief among them, but her extended family had also experienced much loss.

"It seems Stannis Baratheon has grown wroth over Lord Merryweather's delays," Doran began.

"What has happened?" Jon asked.

"Stannis has sent ravens to Lord Tyrell and Merryweather accusing him of cowardice and that if he delays any further, he will be marched on and executed first. What worries me is that the orders specifically advise him against joining his army with Stannis but to march north and attack King's Landing from the opposite side."

"You think he suspects treachery? How is that possible?" Aegon asked.

"He has that Red Priestess with him; it is said they can see the future in the flames," Jon replied. Margaery thought that sort of things was foolish; however, it was said that Essos was home to a number of powers that some would consider unnatural. Perhaps there was some truth to the stories if a man like Lord Connington believed them.

Doran shook his head. "My spies claim she is no longer with him, though I suppose those visions could have come from some time ago or the knowledge written and sent by raven. Who can say? But I also have two additional difficulties to report. Myrcella Baratheon lives, and her host that should number only about 15,000 has shattered the Vale's muster. It is hard to discern fact from fiction as to how she survived, as the stories reported are each wilder than the last. I suspect a body-double was used."

"Before or after?" Margaery asked.

Aegon grinned. "Now that is a good question. Are the Stormlords using a body-double after the real Myrcella was executed? Or did the foolish Arryns execute a fake?"

"I know not, Your Grace." Doran used the title even though Aegon had not yet been formally crowned. "The second matter is that my brother neglected to inform me he was moving from Weeping Town. He took part in the battle near Bronzegate and is currently still with Stannis," Doran explained.

Lord Connington gave a grunt. "Well, this is a fine mess. If Baratheon knows, then your brother may even be under confinement if not worse. If he knows, then we lose the element of surprise, and this does not go cleanly. The bulk of the Golden Company is in Pentos, ready for word to take Dragonstone and then make for King's Landing. Now the question is – do we give up our subterfuge or do we press on?"

Margaery looked at the map closely. Carved wooden figures showed the estimated naval strength on the waters. It looked as if there were was a mass of ships around Parchments and King's Landing.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, my lords, but is not sailing into King's Landing dreadfully risky?"

"There is some risk, but the bulk of the fleet should still be near Parchments. The ones blockading King's Landing are spread out, more focused on preventing goods from breaking through the blockade than on fighting off an opposing fleet. The vessels we've hired are well equipped for boarding action, and on-deck combat will see my men easily defeat enemy sailors. We even have Summer Island archers among our company that can shoot as well on sea as on land. The battle could be bloody, aye, but we expect to win and be able to land soldiers to assist with the assault on King's Landing."

Margaery looked at the map again. "If we believe that Lord Stannis knows of our pending treachery, why not be open – once Prince Doran's brother has been able to leave the host, of course. My brother Garlan can leave the Westerlands and take the Gold Road toward King's Landing. The Dornish can leave the Stormlands and simply travel north to rendezvous with Lord Merryweather. Such a host would greatly outnumber our foes, and that is even before the Golden Company joins. If the Golden Company takes Dragonstone, we have Shireen, the only heir Lord Stannis has. All that matters is King's Landing. Slaying Stannis, Tywin and Tommen will end the war. The lesser battles become of no importance."

Aegon grasped her hand. "And you say you have no head for warfare. An apt strategy, and one I've considered as well. Though that path will be dreadfully bloody. We are so close to victory, it seems a shame to forgo our initial plan. Could it not be possible that Stannis is just wroth over Merryweather's failure to cut off the Lannisters?"

Doran nodded. "Yes, that is possible. I urge caution here; if Stannis knows of the treachery, he can arrange things so the Tyrell host bleeds itself on the walls of King's Landing. Imagine a scenario where the Tyrell host is spent, the city has surrendered, and now we must dislodge Stannis from King's Landing and have our loyal forces assault the city and soak up the losses, twice."

Connington's lined, leathery face looked frustrated.

"It is impossible to know for certain. But being too cautious has its own risks. Ser Barristan has taken Harrenhal and smashed the Vale's muster. All with only half of the Stormlands' muster. If Garlan leaves the Westerlands upon the Gold Road, the army around Golden Tooth is free to march on the River Road and join with Barristan. A host of over twenty thousand led by the Bold is dangerous. If we follow you and Lady Margaery's cautious approach and forgo the surprise attack, what could happen? Say Stannis loses badly in assaulting the city? Now Barristan arrives with numbers before we can position all our pieces. We would outmatch them numerically, but they would have the defensive ground. I say we go forward as planned."

Doran looked at Margery's husband. "The choice is yours, Your Grace."