17 Chapter 15: Unexpected Developments

"Well … Pycelle, How fares the old lion?" Robert asked the old Grand Maester, who just walked out of Tywin Lannister's bedchamber. It had been nearly a day since the murder of Jaime Lannister, and the situation in the Red Keep was teetering on a knife's edge.

At the door were the entirety of the small council, who were now joined by Ser Tygett Lannister who was acting as the representative of the Westerlands in Kings Landing, due to the incapacitation of his elder brother.

"He lives for now, but his body has undergone a severe shock. It is all now dependent upon his will to survive," the old man spoke as gently as possible while everyone absorbed the news.

"You underestimate Tywin's resolve, Grand Maester," Tygett growled, "My brother will not die, not before he has razed those who are responsible for murdering my nephew to the ground," the general of the Lannister army retorted harshly, while others remained silent.

"Let us remove ourselves to the small council chambers to further discuss these matters," Hoster Tully interjected and everyone nodded their assent. Robert invited Tygett to attend in lieu of his brother considering the circumstances, which the acting Lord of the West accepted. Unseen by the others, Varys and Pycelle slowed down their gait deliberately so that they fell behind the others and began to rapidly converse in soft tones.

Once they reached the chambers, everyone seated themselves and Robert immediately took charge.

"Rosby, what have you found out?"

"Your Grace, we have the prisoner in custody," the master of coin, who also doubled as the leader of the city watch replied quickly.

"The old man has not replied to any of our questions despite the most rigorous of tortures. He has repeatedly said that he will explain why he did it, only in open court and only when Tywin Lannister is well enough to attend and hear what he has to say. And he will not budge from it, no matter what. I fear that if we try to force the issue, the old man may not survive any further attempts at questioning. I will leave it to your grace's decision as to how we are to proceed further," the master of coin concluded his report and sat down, while the small council members digested the details given.

"Hmm …," Robert paused, even as he stroked his chin as he was wont to do, whenever he was deep in thought.

"Varys, what about you? Have you any inclinations as to why this old man murdered the young lion?" Robert asked, at which the master of whispers lowered his eyes and tried to avert looking at the King. This did not go unnoticed, which was his intention in the first place.

"So … you do know something! Out with it, eunuch! What has gotten you so flustered?" the King glared at the eunuch who sighed almost theatrically and got up.

"Your grace, whilst most of the small council were busy in tending to the Lord of the West, I received further dire news of the most regrettable sort. However, I could not bring it upon myself to disturb your good self when you were so preoccupied," the eunuch replied softly.

"Dire news … you say?" Hoster asked with a sharp look thrown at the eunuch, who shrugged as if to indicate that he just received the news, he did not create it.

"All the indications are that we are now under assault by a very dangerous enemy, who is waging a deadly assault at us, and has been successful so far in his initial strikes. The overall situation has changed somewhat, but the situation is by no means lost," the eunuch concluded. He'd chosen those words deliberately.

By no means lost, everyone around the table knew, was a delicate way of saying that a disaster had occurred. As in any society, if you knew the maxims, you could break the code. Success was always proclaimed loudly and with great fanfare. Setbacks were usually dismissed as something less than a stunning success. Failure was always attributed to a scapegoat much to said individual's misfortune. But a real disaster was always explained as a situation that could yet be restored.

Hoster Tully, arguably the greatest politician in Westeros of the era, was the first to grasp the implications. He did not waste any time.

"What exactly has happened, Varys?" he asked urgently in a tone which brooked no opposition.

"The news just reached me yesterday night, although the event it mentions has occurred three days ago. It was sheer coincidence that this news reached us on the same day that young Ser Jaime met his unfortunate end," Varys simpered, while Robert banged his fist on the table, "Enough prevaricating, Varys! What has happened?"

"Hunh …," Varys sighed, "I am sorry to inform this august gathering that Ser Kevan Lannister is dead."

As one, everyone at the table froze as they looked at him in shock.

Then, with a roar, Tygett Lannister stood up, "WHAT!?" just a second ahead of the others who echoed his words. His face red, his jowls quivering and his eyes bloodshot, it appeared as if he was a hair trigger away from going berserk.

"Explain! Now!" Hoster barked, while Varys nodded.

"From what Lord Marbrand, who has now assumed command of the Lannister forces heading into the West to deal with the Ironborn writes, Lord Kevan lost his life when his horse went berserk when he mounted it, and it threw him down and crushed his skull," here everyone winced, while tears sprung out of Tygett Lannister's eyes.

"Once the beast was put down," Varys paused, and here his voice took a sinister turn, "it was found that someone had stuck a small piece of sharpened steel underneath Lord Kevan's saddle. As soon as he sat on it though," he did not need to complete as everyone grasped the implications.

"So, this is a co-ordinated attack," Hoster mused, while stroking his beard. "Clearly, this is an attempt at forcing the Lannister's to crack," the old Lord of the Riverlands mused, while Tygett struggled to get himself under control.

"What do you make of this, Hoster?" Robert asked with a sombre tone as he looked at the old lord.

"The Lannister army was on its way back to deal with the Ironborn threat that was reported, this much we are all aware of," Hoster paused, as he tried to organize his thoughts. "With Kevan's death, there is no one of enough stature left to command that army, leaving it in a precarious position. Simultaneously, at the same time Jaime Lannister is murdered, thereby putting Tywin in an impossible situation. He has to choose between taking charge of that army to secure the West, or stay back to avenge his son, and leave the West under the mercy of the Ironborn, thereby risking a real chance of mutiny from his bannermen. Regardless of how much they fear him, they fear for their families and their well being more. And if that is threatened, then there is a risk of them collectively standing up in revolt if Tywin prioritizes revenge before reason. Unfortunately, in this situation, I cannot see how he can afford not to. Either choice spells doom for his house," Hoster groused, while the others became silent.

"Only a deeply twisted mind can devise such a dastardly scenario, the amount of planning that has gone into devising this is phenomenal," Hoster growled, "Do not mistake this, My Lords, this is the work of a fiendishly clever mind, which has put all its efforts into taking down House Lannister while maximizing their suffering. This is the work of an enemy who wishes to bring ruin to House Lannister by any means necessary. The question is who?"

"That is a hell of a long list! The old lion has a mountain sized number of enemies," Lyn Corbray snarked, at which Tygett growled. Corbray instantly raised his hands in surrender indicating that he was just making a point and meant no insult.

Robert was silent for a long time. Then he looked at Varys, "Is this all? Or is there more dire news?"

Varys nodded curtly. Jaime Lannister's death had given him a great opportunity to blame all the bad news on a third party and absolve himself from the rage that would be directed at him as a result. The irony was that Varys believed all of them to be various incidents loosely tied together by circumstances, and he was painting them as one singular conspiracy and blaming a third party for it to avoid punishment for his failure in detecting it in advance. He would never realize that his conjecture was in fact, the truth.

"I do, My Lord, however, I fear for my life, if I were to speak it out loud," the eunuch replied with a fearful look adorning his face. As one, the entire council turned around to look at Varys. In a sense, it was akin to a group of sharks sensing blood in water. Uncannily so.

"You just relay the news, you are not the one responsible for originating it," Robert waved it off, "Not unless you are telling me that you had a hand in the events you are reporting!"

"No, My Lord! I would never dare!" Varys replied with a frantic tone.

"Out with it, Varys! We are all pressed for time," Hoster Tully, who was acting as Hand of the King in Jon Arryn's absence in all but name, growled.

"Lady Lyanna Stark is dead! I have received word that Arthur Dayne has killed her and his fellow Kingsguard's, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent, as well as five of Lord Stark's men. Reports are sketchy but it appears that only Lord Howland Reed and Lord Eddard himself, thankfully, were able to survive the mad rampage of the Sword of the Morning," Varys quickly concluded and stepped back.

He was not the only one. Everybody at the table had jerked back as if struck by lightning. All faces turned towards Robert Baratheon with fear rife in their eyes. They were not disappointed.

Robert Baratheon was close to having what could loosely be called an identity crisis at the moment. He had started the Rebellion with the express wish of freeing the woman he had loved from the clutches of a mad prince. After losing his parents, the only thing that had kept him going was his desire to be with the woman he loved. Lyanna Stark, regardless of her true feelings towards him, had become the sole crutch of his existence. All that he had done to date, all the deaths, the suffering, the war, the life and death battles, Robert had waged in her name and for her. To find out that the sole reason for his continued existence itself had ceased to exist, it was chilling to think about it. Even if Robert was not weak minded, such an event would be enough to crack him. Anyone with any sort of drive and dedication would crack, and to be a king, one needed to have these qualities in abundance.

"…What?"

It was the most senseless thing that Robert had heard till date. It was impossible. She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. They had fought the fucking war to free her for god's sake!

And she was dead … no … murdered?

He let that information sink into his brain. He could hear the laughter of Rhaegar Targaryen from beyond the grave. Mocking him, jeering him, and taunting him that his victory was now naught but ashes. He could see Mad Aerys cackling; he could see Elia Martell laughing at him with a savage delight in her eyes, he could see his parent's dying in front his eyes. Again and again, he could see all those who he loved, leaving him one by one, all because of the fucking Targaryen's.

It stuck in his craw, to accept the news for what it was. But that was they way that the pawns on the board had fallen.

He had won the battle, but lost the war. Rhaegar had lost the battle and his life, but now, from beyond the grave it seemed that he had won the war.

Damn them, damn them, damn them all… … Tywin killed those fucking dragonspawn too quickly … … if only … …

"Your grace," it took the voice of Hoster Tully, his last remaining friend in Kings Landing, to bring him back.

By the time he came to and composed himself, the entire small council chamber had been destroyed by his bare hands. How long had it been?

All the members of the small council had run out of the chamber and were standing at the door looking at him apprehensively, and in some cases, with fear rife in their eyes.

"Hoster, I will raze Starfall to the ground. And I will shove Dawn up Arthur Dayne's arse so hard that its point will come out of his mouth. This I swear on everything that is holy in this world," Robert said, in a cold and callous tone, a stark departure from his usual bluster and bearing.

STARPIKE CASTLE, AT THE SAME TIME,

As he stood atop the castle's battlements observing the withdrawal of the Hightower Army, Quentyn was joined by Oberyn Martell, as well as William Dayne.

"Gives you the chills, does it not," William Dayne observed, as he looked at the horde of Tyrell soldiers working hard in digging mass graves to bury their dead.

"It does indeed," Oberyn agreed. It was indeed a chilling sight to see so many men dead. As much battle-lust as he possessed, the scale of the carnage had shocked even the famously ill-tempered younger son of Myriah Martell.

"I am surprised that they are leaving so quickly," Oberyn observed, even as he watched columns of wounded men, slowly making their way back to the Reach.

"It is only natural," his nephew replied back. "My truce has given them a chance to retreat peacefully. Even more importantly, they are perilously close to depleting their supplies, especially the medicinal kind. And they cannot expect any more reinforcements. It is only natural to leave in these circumstances. Besides, I am a man of my word. I said as much to Leyton Hightower that I would allow him to leave with his remaining men unmolested."

"Mountains surround them, their enemies, namely us, are on higher ground. They were quite literally facing a dead zone, with no chance of advancing; in hindsight, they had no choice but to retreat," William Dayne observed, to which Quentyn nodded in agreement.

"You made good time from Braavos, I did not expect you back for another three days," Quentyn observed wanly, abruptly changing the point of discussion after a moment's silence.

"I hired a fast ship. The captain was a smuggler, quite well known, took to the water better than the fish, and we made surprisingly good time," Oberyn shrugged in response. His uncle was in an extraordinarily cheerful mode, it appeared.

"Oh, must have been quite a sailor, that man," Quentyn quipped back with a smile happy to have someone to banter with after the past few days.

"Uh-huh, an enterprising fellow named Saan, quite useful in the right situation," Oberyn observed, to which Quentyn snorted, "I will keep that name in mind."

Suddenly, they were disturbed by the appearance of Areo Hotah, Quentyn's sworn sword.

"Young master, our scouts report a large group of people making their way into the borders between Starpike and Dorne," the man reported, while everyone in the hallway froze.

"A large group, you say?" Quentyn asked, even as his brows narrowed down in thought.

"Are they armed? What are their numbers?" Oberyn asked after a pause.

"They are not soldiers, My Prince," Areo replied, with the signs of confusion appearing in his eyes.

"Not Soldiers?" William Dayne asked perplexed.

"No, Lord Dayne, they appear to be refugees from the Crownlands, making their way to the Dornish part of the pass," the bearded priest replied, at which Quentyn's eyes widened.

"Areo, assemble a company of horsemen, immediately. I will see this myself," the young prince made a quick decision then and there much to the confusion of everyone present.

After two hours of hard riding, their party came upon the plains between the Red Mountains and the Dornish Marches. As soon as they reached the cliffs, they stopped as they took in the sight before them. In front of them was a long column of people. Men, Women, Children, of all ages, in various states, with one underlying theme. All of them were completely destitute, and it seemed bereft of hope as well, as they looked at their faces.

"What is this?" Oberyn whispered as he looked at the human train that slowly was making its way forward.

"Refugees," Quentyn observed, "running away from the depredations of war. Looks like Robert Baratheon's hatred for the Targaryen's runs very deep indeed. Almost all of them are from the Crownlands by their looks."

"To establish power and influence takes decades of work," Quentyn continued, "but, to tear it down, a second is sufficient. All of them have lost everything that they and their forefathers had ever worked for, because they were vassals of House Targaryen. Robert is punishing them for being associated with Rhaegar and his family."

"Hmm," Oberyn mused, as he took in the scene before him.

Meanwhile, the refugees had also noticed their presence, and a group was making their way towards them.

"They are coming here, it seems they have noticed our presence," William Dayne groused, as everyone paused.

"They must be coming to beg for food," Oberyn realized. "Areo, arrange for some provisions to be handed over to those poor souls," Oberyn ordered, even as the bearded priest nodded and began to move.

"Hold, Areo," Quentyn stopped the man, as everyone turned to look at the young prince.

"Tell them," Quentyn hardened his tone, "that our provisions are reserved for fighting men. Tell them to go home!"

"What!?" Oberyn whirled around in shock, as did everyone else in the company.

"Be … Be careful! They can hear you!" William Dayne warned, but he was too late. Most of the advance party of the refugees who had come to them had already heard the prince's words.

The mood of most of the people who had come forward changed, even as their faces fell.

One of the men, who appeared to be their leaders threw down his bag on the ground dejectedly.

"Why do we need to beg?" he mused in a harsh tone, laced with bitterness.

"Since the fall of Kings Landing," the man continued, "we had hoped that the fighting would be quelled quickly, and that we could go back to rebuilding our lives. But, Robert Baratheon fell upon us just like a wolf that falls upon a new-born calf of a sheep," the man growled, as his face reddened up in anger.

"As if we had a chance," the man roared, "the small folk do not get to choose who their rulers are in this world! Was it our fault for being born in the lands that belonged to the Targaryen's? What did that stag expect? That we would refuse the mad king for his sake? He did not live every single moment of his life under that mad man's thumb! We did! And look what that got us! We thought the silver prince would save us, but the fool damned us more than his father ever did!" he sank to his foot in anguish, while glaring at Quentyn and his men.

"But, you," he glared at Quentyn, "You have the power and ability to stand against the demon stag! If you had been at the trident, we all would not be in this state today!"

"You have reason to be angry," Quentyn observed, "but this does not concern us in Dorne."

"You all have suffered, terribly, I admit," he continued, "but helping you now, will only hinder our war! Those precious rations are reserved for men who chose to stand against the tyranny of Robert Baratheon! For men who are willing to sacrifice everything to fight! We cannot share them with you! So, I bid you to go home!" he concluded, and made to turn back, when the leader of the refugees chuckled.

"Home!? You speak as if we have a home! As long as Robert Baratheon lives, no man, woman or child in the Crownlands who once served the Targaryen's are safe!" he concluded.

After a moment, he paused, and then turned to look at his fellow companions, and as if coming to an unspoken agreement, they all knelt down as one.

"Prince Quentyn!" the leader spoke out, "The world as we know it is in chaos! In this turbulent time, a bowl of brown and a loaf of bread is not enough to save ourselves and to live a peaceful life! Rather than starve to death in wartime … we would pledge our very last strength to an able man capable of ending this turmoil! Prince Quentyn! Please take us in! We are willing to fight for Dorne! If the Crownlands are lost to us, then we ask Dorne to take us in and shelter us, and in return, we will fight for her and die for her!" he roared out, even as his companions shouted in agreement.

Soon, the entire column of refugees was clamouring for Quentyn to take them in. Quentyn's company were dumbfounded and amazed as they watched the young prince of Dorne dismount from his horse and make his way through the column, as people fell over themselves to kneel before him and pledge fealty.

"Those who respond to changing times will prosper and those who do not, perish. The prince anticipates the most advantageous time to act. He even knows how to gauge people's minds. During this dire time, when our kingdom is fighting for its existence, we were able to recruit so many men, and that too without conscription, rations, or money! An entire regiment's worth of men like that without any effort! He really lives up to his name as an unparalleled genius," William Dayne spoke out in wonder.

"What's more amazing, is that these men do not need to be trained," Oberyn replied softly. "I recognize the leader of that refugee column. His name is Alliser Thorne. He is a knight of some renown in the Crownlands. These people are not your usual refugees, Lord Dayne. They say that after Rhaegar Targaryen died at the Trident, his army dismembered and its members fled to the four winds. To date, most of them have been unaccounted for. And that is because they have disguised themselves as refugees and are roaming around trying to find a safe haven from Robert Baratheon's wrath. And now, they have found it," he concluded, while his fellows looked around at the column of people before them in shock.

"Quentyn's battle at Starpike was not just a message to the Lords and Ladies of Westeros, but also to the remnants of Rhaegar Targaryen's army. It was a message to them all, stating that there is now a great general present in Westeros who is capable of defeating the Rebellion's forces," Oberyn whispered softly as everyone turned to look at him in shock.

"Of course," Oberyn smirked, "this little faction has now joined us. The remaining remnants of Rhaegar's army will also soon flock to us as well. That will add up to a truly astounding number!" his face glowed with a feral look in his eyes.

"He used just a few words to further change our fortunes," William Dayne observed in wonder. "In the end, Robert Baratheon is fighting to claim the throne, our prince on the other hand, is claiming the hearts and minds of the people. In the end, the people will choose who cares for them over the one who sits on the throne as their ruler. Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! He understands truly well that not all battles are fought on the battlefield!"

"Things are coming to a boil, William," Oberyn observed, "The battle of Starpike brought him worldwide acclaim. His next, will cement it forever. I for one, cannot wait for the next battle. It will be a sight to see."

Author's note:

One more chapter of developments left, and then we move on to the next battle.