Chapter 28

So, let's begin another chapter. I want to thank everyone for sticking with thisstory as long as you have.

"Defeated?!" Cersei said incredulously.

"Yes. Steffon lured Renly's vanguard up a single, narrow road into the Kingswood then fell on them from three different directions. Remarkably similar to the Whispering Wood, actually." Tyrion replied. He was more stunned that he let on himself. "Bear in mind he only engaged Renly's vanguard."

"That's still 30,000 men." Cersei replied. "Regardless, I say well done."

"That's not what Varys says." Tyrion cautioned. "When the fighting in the Stormlands is over, the victor will be marching on King's Landing." He poured himself some wine. "And the one who does win there will have the entire Royal Fleet at their back. Total superiority over us on sea. As it is, the raids that are being carried out by this . . . Onion Knight are damaging our supply lines. We have to keep sending troops to guard the coast, which mean less defenders here in King's Landing."

"We can outspend Steffon 3 to 1."

"And I say father raised you to have too much respect for money." Tyrion replied. "The war will reach us soon."

"Which is why the king has taken personal charge of siege preparations." Cersei said. That got Tyrion's attention.

"Siege preparations? We need only be ready for a raid from the sea, not a siege."

"Any attempt to attack the city will be met with all the force that can be mustered."

"May I ask what the King has in mind, at least?"

"You may ask specifically or vaguely. The answer will remain the same. It is the King's royal perogative to withhold sensitive information from his councillors." She said smugly. Tyrion, frustrated at the inability to get an answer, left. As soon as he did, she was interrupted again, this time by the Red Keep's master-at-arms, Ser Aron Santagar.

"Your Grace, the King still refuses to follow my instruction. By the time the war arrives, His Grace will barely know how to swing a sword." He said. Cersei sipped at her wine.

"Would you not say that a King is more valuable directing the battle than fighting in it, Ser Aron?"

"Well, yes, Your Grace. However-"

"However what?" She challenged. Santagar bit his tongue at that. "Ser Aron, do you believe that numbers count heavily in war?"

"Numbers matter, Your Grace. It's also important to know how to use those numbers. My father would say to Symon and I that while it mattered who held the biggest stick, it mattered more who was swinging it."

Cersei dismissed him, and looked out over King's Landing.

Sansa had woken that morning with the usual sense of dread that was her frequent companion now. Every day brought a new fear that Joffrey would put her through some fresh hell. At least she had the foreign girl to confide in. Shae, she thought. Her name is Shae. As if on cue, Shae entered the room. "It's time to dress, my lady." She said. Sansa nodded and over the course of the next five minutes, Sansa was dressed.

"Has . . . has there been any news of the war?" She asked tenatively.

"I don't hear much. What I did hear was that the King's brother had won a great victory over his uncle." Shae said. Sansa allowed herself a little smile, confident in the knowledge that Shae wouldn't tell anyone.

"That would mean Steffon has defeated Renly. At least once." Sansa said. "It must be true then. He must be a great leader." She continued. Looking back, she could see how awful she'd been to Arya, and how terribly she'd spoken of Steffon. If only Steffon had been the oldest, she thought. I wouldn't mind marrying him. He did have a look about him, she admitted. Boyish and thin, yes, but he was still a boy and not overly skinny. And certainly not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. If the singers were to be believed, he and Arya loved each other dearly.

She now knew just how rare that was in the world.

She made her way through the Red Keep, nodding hello at people as she walked by. Truth be told, she didn't know who half the people here were, and she doubted she ever would, even if she was able to pick up on the gossip that was making the rounds. They were all talking of the war. Robb's victory at Oxcross and Steffon's at the Kingswood seemed to be the favourite topics of discussion.

"Lady Sansa." A familiar voice said. She turned slightly to see Tyrion approaching her. "I trust you are feeling better?"

"Yes, my Lord Hand." She replied. "If I may be so bold, my Lord, I have heard that there was a great battle fought in the Kingswood."

"There was indeed my Lady. Steffon Baratheon lured Renly's vanguard into the Kingswood, then attacked from three different directions. Rather similar to your brother's victory at the Whispering Wood, actually."

"My brother is a traitor, my Lord Hand. Steffon is a traitor as well. I hope that the brave King will have them defeated in short order." She said, almost unconsciously.

"Indeed. Well, you must pardon me, my lady, but I have business in the city."

"Of course, my lord." She curtseyed politely before continuing to the throne room where Joffrey would be holding court for the day.

Taking to the streets of King's Landing, Tyrion and Bronn were greeted by the hustle and bustle of the smallfolk, moving from peddler-to-peddler and attempting to haggle whatever goods they had. But Tyrion had no time to worry about the smallfolk. What he needed was time to think. Clearly, he had chosen poorly by taking a walk through the stink-infested streets on a particularly hot and humid day, but he needed to find out what Cersei had panned for the city's defence, especially if wildfire was involved. "Renly and Steffon have more ships, more infantry and more horses than we do." Tyrion said "And he's studied the art of warfare under my father and Stannis. What advantages do we have?"

"Well there's that mind of yours you keep talking about." Bron replied with a shrug.

"I've never actually been able to kill people with it."

"Good thing too, or I'd be out of a job. What about your father?"

"He hasn't sent a raven in weeks. It appears that being repeatedly humiliated by Robb Stark is time-consuming." Tyrion noted sardonically. "We can't hold the city if either Renly or Steffon attack in force, so it's a relief they have to focus on each other for now."

"You're scared of losing the war?"

"I'm more scared for Steffon. I care far more for him than I do for Joffrey." Tyrion admitted. Usually he'd be guarded about making statements like that, but he sensed that Bronn wouldn't spill.

As the two continued their walk, they came upon a small crowd gathered near the steps of one of the cities towers. Standing elevated above the gathering, stood a single man, wearing nothing but a simple robe that seemed like a curtain that had been ripped straight from a window. "Corruption, the city reeks of it." The man proclaimed, staring out into the crowd. "Our home has become swollen, bloated and foul. Brother fornicates with sister in the bed of kings, and are we to be surprised that the fruit of their incest is rotten?" Everyone cheered, waving their angry fists and cursing their king's name. "Yes, a rotten king!"

"It's hard to argue with him, to be honest." Tyrion said.

"Well, after what he did to your birthday present, I'm agreeing with him." Bron replied. Tyrion's idea to hire two whores for Joffrey had not gone that well, even though he still maintained it was Bronn's idea.

"A dancing king, parading down his bloodstained halls to the tune of a twisted monkey." Everyone laughed at the protestor's words. Even Tyrion.

"You have to admire his imagination." He grinned.

"He's talking about you." Bronn said, making Tyrion look up in disbelief. "They all think you're the one pulling the strings. They blame you for the city's ills."

"What?! Demon monkey?!" Tyrion said in a voice that was simultaneously indignant and perplexed before looking back up at the rabble-rouser. "I'm trying to save them."

"You don't need to convince me of that." Bron said as they continued walking. "They're believing Steffon's the one who'll save them."

"Yes, his unabashed support of the smallfolk can be quite a problem. Especially with these Antler Men lurking about." Tyrion replied. The Antler Men were a group of wealthy merchants who had seen their profits tumble with Steffon's blockade of the city taking full effect and the Onion Knight's shore raids damaging tade caravans heading into the city. Apparently they had already armed several hundred men already. Finding out who they were was Tyrion's second priority.

The visit to the Alchemists' Guild did confirm that Cersei had ordered the creation of several thousand charge of wildfire, though at least some of the wildfire was left over from the areas where Mad King Aerys had planted it. Wildfire only grew in volatility as the years passed as well, and 17 year old widlfire was going to be very, very dangerous indeed. They would have to be careful.

The Night's Watch were currently entrenching themselves at the Fist of the First Men, far north of the Wall. The idea, Gendry thought, was to use the Fist as a temporary camp and range out from there to try and find Mance Rayder. Hopefully they'd be able to disrupt him before he culd reach the Wall. Though if he really did have an army of Wildlings . . .

"The First Men sootd here. Thousands of years ago, before the Targaryens defeated the Andals, before the Andals took it from the First Men. They stood right here." Sam rambled. Gendry smiled a little at his friend. "What do you think they were like, the First Men?"

"Stupid." Edd replied succinctly. "Smart people don't find themselves in a place like this."

Okay, he had to agree with Edd there. "I think that they were afraid of something." He said. "Came up here to get away . . . and I don't think it worked." After a single horn blast (and a short discussion on what two and three horn blasts meant), Gendy noticed something "Is that Qhorin Halfhand?"

"Aye, it is." Came a rough voice. Mors Westford, most like.

'We might live to see another day, then." Edd added as Qhorin walked up to the Old Bear and Westford. Any man of the Watch knew who they were. Qhorin Halfhand was a legend within their ranks, as was Ser Mors Westford. Rumours abounded that the knight had dishonoured himself recently, but anyone who asked about it only received a stern glare from the veteran.

"There, on that hill. They're up there." Qhorin said.

"A fire, but only a small one. Probably a scouting party." Westford offered.

"Likely. And they've got better eyes than you or me."

"How many Wildlings have joined him?" Mormont asked.

"Almost all of them, from what we can tell." Qhorin said. "They're nearly ready to make their move."

"Where?" Gendry asked.

"Somewhere south. Somewhere safe." Qhorin replied.

"If we just go marching in swords drawn, we'll be cut down in seconds." Westford said. "And this position's too exposed to wait for them."

"Exactly. "

"You're saying we should fall back to the Wall?" Mormont asked.

"Mance was one of us, now he's one of them, and he'll be teaching them our way of doing things. They'll hit the Wall in force, and aren;t going to run away when we hit back. They're more oganised and disciplined than they were. Which means we need to do thing their way. Sneak in and kill Mance. Without him, they'll break up." Qhorin said. "To do that we'll need to get rid of the lookouts."

"You can't do it with 400 men. We'd be spotted instantly and have no fallback position." Westford warned.

"Which is why I need to move fast. I'll take Harker, Stonesnake and Borba."

"If possible, Lord Commander, I'd like to join Lord Qhorin." Gendry said, a hand on his sword belt.

"Been called a lot of things, but never Lord Qhorin. I thought you were a steward, not a ranger." Qhorin replied.

"A steward who killed a wight." Gendry shot back. He knew he could get in trouble for that, but . . .

"I could take over Gendry's duties while he's gone Lord Commander. Wouldn't be a problem." Sam offered. Mormont looked at Westford, who nodded.

"Well, I hope you make a better ranger than you do a steward. Off you go." The Old Bear said. Gendry nodded, thumbing his sword to loosen it in the scabbard and making it easier to draw.

"You're more comfortable swinging a hammer at the forge than swinging a sword, aren't you?" Grenn asked.

"We all have to adapt sometime." Gendry replied, but the thought stuck in his mind. A hammer could come in handy . . .

Life travelling with an army on the march was beginning to take a toll on Mira. She prided herself on being one of the few in Highgarden who was more used to basic amenities than most, owing to the fact that her family was a lesser one. It was one of the first things she had learned as a child, the Forresters were sworn to the Glovers of Deepwood Motte, who were in turn sworn to the Starks. Still, the ironwood of House Forrester made them a special case.

Of course, her mind was on other things. The stunning defeat Renly had suffered at the Kingswood had sent shockwaves through the camp, and some Stormlanders were already defecting to Steffon. Then there was the matter of what was happening now. Renly had ordered his army to regroup and form a new attack plan after the debacle at the Kingswood, and Mira had offered to stay behind after Maragery and Sera had left to make sure nothing valuable had been left behind. Bloody southerners and all their jewellery she thought.

Suddenly, the cry of "To arms! To arms!" went up. Mira peered past the rushing soldiers to see at least a hundred horsemen charging at them. They were light cavalry, she could see that. No sign of heavy armour or lances, just swords, shields and brigandines. Not that it mattered much. The Reachmen in the camp were struggling to form up properly, and were only able to form a ragged line when all of a sudden, the horsemen rode around them. The line now flanked, the Reachmen tried to turn about face, but were unable to bring their spears to bear when the horsemen charged.

Mira had no idea what to do. Panicking, she hoisted a bag over her shoulder and made for the few horses still tethered when she felt herself being grabbed. She screamed and turned around, dropping the bag and coming face-to-face with a man bearing the colours of House Caron. The man snarled, and tried to cut open a part of her dress. He would have too, if he hadn't been pulled away from her at the last second. Her saviour was wearing a surcoat with the Baratheon crowned stag over what looked to be chainmail, and as he removed his helmet, she could see that he was the same young man who had been part of Steffon's entourage when he and Renly attempted a negotiation.

"King's orders. We do not rape anyone." He said to the soldier, who glared angrily for a few seconds before walking off. "Apologies, m'lady."

"And thank you for saving me, my lord."

"I'm not a lord, m'lady. I'm a bastard. Edric Storm." He said.

"We've met before; at the negotiation between the Baratheons. I am Mira Forrester." She said, curtseying.

"Ah, now I remember. However, given that we seem to have sent the men here packing, it would appear you are our prisoner." Edric said. Mira went white. "Not to worry, m'lady. You're from the North, and our King has a certain soft spot for Northerners. Alyn, see if we can find a wagon or something for Lady Forrester!"

Chapter finished. Hopefully I can post another one before season 8 begins.