chapter 50

Lum had never been busier; sometimes he longed for the days of being a simple guard. His duties at the moment were to oversee the scouting and protection from any potential raids from the clansmen of the mountains. In addition to that, he also had to ensure his scouts ranged far enough that if Stannis double backed to the Saltpans, they would know as soon as possible.

It was an odd thing to have knights and nobles obey his commands. Part of it was that he was now a known part of the Stormguard, and many assumed he spoke with Ser Barristan's voice, but that wasn't the whole of it. The story of how he had been healed by Myrcella, or 'The Maiden' as some whispered, had lent a certain air to him that made things strange. People assumed he was particularly favored or blessed for being the recipient of such a divine blessing.

A scout reported to him, "Captain Lum." He had not been officially given a position outside that of a Stormguard, but some of the men had taken up the title and it worked. He was doing the type of work that Captain Tregar used to do in King's landing.

"Rider from the Bloody Gate, says Ser Donnel Waynwood wishes to meet for a parley with Ser Barristan – says it's important."

Lum figured the Knight of the Gate wouldn't waste their time. He gave instructions for word to be sent to Ser Barristan, and they would both, along with a small company of guards, see what the message was about. Lum knew Lady Myrcella had gone to fight the Trial of the Seven, so it was likely good news. There was always the possibility that one of his comrades in arms had been killed or wounded – he hoped that wasn't the case. They were all knights or nobles, but they treated him as one of their own. Of course, the thought that Myrcella Baratheon had been harmed did not cross his mind.

Ser Barristan gave Lum a nod, and they met with the knights of the Vale.

"What news do you have, Ser Donnel?" Ser Barristan asked as they got within three or four meters of each other.

Lum thought the Waynwood knight looked nervous. That in turn made him nervous, but they were a bit away from the Bloody Gate. Ser Donnel advanced and handed Ser Barristan some parchment before backing away.

"There is a letter, written in Myrcella's own hand, agreeing to an exchange of her party that will be delivered here to the Bloody Gate, in exchange for the hostages you have in Harrenhal." The man licked his lips. "I am also to tell you that Lord Nestor Royce and Myrcella Waters were both executed for conspiring to overthrow House Arryn as rulers of the Vale."

Lum's entire body froze while Ser Donnel flinched from Ser Barristan's gaze.

"What did you say?" Ser Barristan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ser Donnel was pale, "I'm just the messenger, ser; both Royce and Lady Myrcella were executed two days ago. A copy of the same letter you hold is being sent to Harrenhal as well."

"Why do you cower? Do you think that I am so shameful as to break parley? Do you think that I am so honorless as to violate my given word? Do you think me so low that you believe I would take after your masters?"

Ser Donnel wilted and shifted uneasily on his mount. Lum couldn't take it anymore.

"What happened? Who fought in the trial by combat? Who fell among her Stormguard?"

"There was no trial by combat; my understanding is that Lady Arryn has sworn to King Stannis. He follows the Lord of Fire and not the Seven, so trial by combat is no longer an option in the Vale."

Lum saw Barristan practically quiver with rage. As for Lum, he was still in shock. He could not imagine a world where Myrcella Baratheon meekly went to her execution. The Eyrie would sooner be torn down than the Stranger made flesh go gently to her death.

"How do we know this isn't a lie?" Lum asked directly. "She could be feasting in the Eyrie, and we would never know the difference."

Ser Donnel only shrugged helplessly, "I have delivered the message. We expect your captives here as soon as possible; once the exchange has been made, you would do well to lay down your arms or leave these lands as swiftly as you can. Your cause is done; the Old Lion cannot hope to win now."

"I want to speak with Brienne of Tarth," Ser Barristan said. "Bring her here, and we will know the truth from her lips."

Ser Donnel nodded, "I will make the request. I… I will not speak ill of my betters, but I am sorry – this was not proper, ser."

"The Arryn house will burn for this, Ser Donnel; in one stroke, Lysa has destroyed for all time the notion that the Arryn name stands for honor. She has dragged it through the mud, and be it next year or in a hundred, the house will be torn down. Ask the Targaryens what happened when they denied the Starks a trial by combat and had them executed."

With those words, Ser Barristan furiously galloped back to camp, and Lum followed. He still couldn't believe it. Myrcella, dead? It was impossible.

***

​

Much had happened within King's Landing in a very short amount of time. The twin funerals had been hasty things. Jaime's body was whole and intact, but Joffrey… much less so. Fire had eaten at his legs, but those could be covered. The bigger problem was that at some point multiple horses must have trod on his face and head, as he was utterly unrecognizable. Only the style of his armor let them even identify his body.

Tywin had granted Cersei some time with each body, but not while others, save the guards assigned to her, were around. He did not trust her, and Kevan thought that wise. She had tried to seduce two separate guards like a common whore. When that didn't work, she had tried to escape and scratched a guard so badly that he would likely wear a scar on his cheek for the rest of his days. She went from cold dignity to raving madness. Kevan was pleased to see how far she had fallen; it was deserved after what she had done to his boy.

Changes were made to the Small Council. His good father-father Lord Harys Swyft was made Master of Coin in Baelish's absence. Captain Vylarr acted in place of a proper Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and was given the responsibilities of protecting the King's family. His birth was too low to make him a Kingsguard – he wasn't even a knight – but he was loyal and competent. The matter of the Kingsguard was something Tywin had no desire to address; surrounding Tommen with loyal Lannister guards was sufficient for the moment.

Ser Addam was made the temporary Master of Laws and once again put in command of the Gold Cloaks, with instructions to begin recruiting again. The man had designs on making them a more effective force than they had been in the past, and to expand their role in policing not just King's Landing but the surrounding area that had become full of would-be bandits. The first trickle of food was now coming in from the Riverlands on the Blackwater Rush and by land; however, bands of the desperate and hungry were regularly attempting to rob them in the night.

The wretches from Flea Bottom still haunt us.

Despite their efforts, the city still teetered on the edge of hunger. Myrcella's bold capture of Harrenhal had helped greatly in pacifying the Riverlands and allowing goods to flow south again. Still, the constant food insecurity did make it easy for Ser Addam to find volunteers for the Gold Cloaks, as three meals a day was a powerful enticement.

The Tyrell host had retreated but had not gone all the way back to Bitterbridge; instead, they were near Tumbleton. This was likely due to the accessibility of reinforcements and supplies shipped up the Mander. It was still worryingly close to King's Landing, but far enough away that any move in opposition would leave the city virtually undefended for weeks.

The Small Council met regularly; technically, Kevan was not a part of it as Tywin held the role of Regent and Hand, but of course no one said a word. They met every other day and worked through the whispers Varys brought as well as information received by raven. Most days passed with little news, but on some, they felt like they couldn't keep up. This was one of those days.

Fresh word from Casterly Rock, a strong host was still besieging it after the sack of Lannisport. However, the Tyrells had moved several thousand men north. To pillage and forage? To sack other towns or lay siege to their vassals? Unknown. Stannis had made landfall at Parchments; it was unclear yet if they would bother to besiege the Penrose ancestral home, storm it, or just bypass it.

The white raven had arrived from the Citadel. Summer was over, and autumn had begun. Maester Pycelle explained the importance of it.

"My lords, we have had a summer for the ages; this will likely mean that the winter will be all the fiercer. Ahem, but that is not all. Due to the steady leadership of Lord Lannister as the Hand during the Targaryen dynasty, the realm prospered. His, ahem, Grace, King Robert, had the fortune to reign over such a lengthy summer."

Ser Addam sighed, "Yes, everything was wonderful – what is your point, Pycelle."

"We have more mouths than normal. Nearly every part of the Seven Kingdoms has more people than ever before. Winter will be harder because it will be longer and colder than normal, but 'twill also have many more hungry stomachs to see to."

Kevan frowned. The armies that strode the realm were larger than they had been in the times of his youth. This population boom from good stewardship and an extremely long summer had been seen as a boon that had vastly increased wealth, yet now came the bite. Should the war not end soon, there would be starvation on a grand scale.

"What can we actually do about it?" Kevan asked him.

"Mmhmm, not much can be done until the war ends. I, ahem, am just explaining the import of the Citadel's message."

"A problem for another time then," Tywin remarked before moving to the next missive. Varys had his eyes and ears, or 'little birds', in many places, not just King's Landing. The Tyrells had not yet sent reinforcements, the Vale was gathering banners, and there was word that Lord Hoster was deathly ill. There were also rumors in the Riverlands of strange occurrences.

"The smallfolk are ever eager to see signs of the Seven's blessings or other beliefs. It started with rumors of the Seven sending down the Maiden to heal the wounded who fought for King Joffrey, but then word rose of Red Priests bringing life back to the fallen. None of my birds have heard first-hand accounts, but the rumors are rife and persistent."

Grand Maester Pycelle took in a breath, but Tywin cut him off.

"I want no more of your lectures on the impossibility of magic. These rumors may be nothing but foolish superstitions, but we have no time to discuss matters of little importance. Nightsong has written that the Dornish had not yet moved from the Prince's Pass. Doran remains cautious. Lady Mertyns of Mistwood wrote a few days ago that Oberyn has raided some of the surrounding villages but has not moved in force from Weeping Town. How we deal with them, and the Tyrells, and Stannis are what we will focus on."

Ser Addam scowled, "Well, we now have three large armies and a small one to deal with in the Stormlands. How do we play this, my lord?"

As they began to consider their next move, Kevan heard a knock on the doors. A guard opened it and said, "A letter from the Eyrie."

It was handed to Kevan, who read it and grew pale. He blinked and re-read it; Tywin took note and looked at him pointedly.

"News… from the Vale. Lady Arryn writes that she has executed Myrcella and declared for Stannis Baratheon."

Tywin's face remained even, but his eyes widened. He took the letter from Kevan's hands and scanned it. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He looked around the room and ordered everyone save for Kevan to leave.

"I will see the Vale burn for this before this is over," Tywin promised.

Kevan looked at his brother in bewilderment.

"Before this is over? Brother, it is over. We cannot fight the Vale as well. We only held on to the Stormlands because of Lady Myrcella, and with her gone…"

"You expect them to ignore the murder of my granddaughter? By all of Vary's accounts, the lords are fanatically loyal to her. They will want blood as much as I do."

Kevan almost never argued with Tywin, but his brother had to be made to see reason. There was no winning for them now.

"Tywin, the Vale will outnumber the Stormlands army that Ser Barristan has. We wanted that army to go to the Westerlands! The treasury is empty; we have gold in Casterly Rock, but it is besieged. Littlefinger left nothing but silver here and… oh Gods, it was him. He left to bring the Vale with all the remaining gold in the royal coffers, and then he betrayed us."

Tywin's gold-flecked green eyes burned with hate. "Yes, yet another idiocy that can be laid at the feet of my daughter. That up-jumped snake will be dealt with too; a Lannister always pays his debts."

"HOW? HOW?" Kevan never raised his voice to Tywin – no one did. "What can we possibly do now? We are surrounded by enemies, the Westerlands cannot be saved, and we will be lucky if the full might of the Vale does not destroy Ser Barristan's host. We are utterly outnumbered against Dorne, Tyrell, Stark and Stannis. We can barely keep the city fed, no currency save for palace finery we can melt down, and a city that hates us. We must sue for peace."

"Peace? With Stannis Baratheon? He will not rest until our heads are all on pikes. Not that I would even consider it, but we do not even have Edmure Tully as a hostage any longer – my granddaughter's last act was to agree to trade second sons and bastards for the heir of one of the Seven Kingdoms! She had potential, but such a soft- hearted and soft-headed decision just shows why a woman cannot rule. There is no reason for Stannis to accept anything other than an unconditional surrender or our deaths."

Kevan felt a sharp anger over that comment. Myrcella had saved his brother's life. Soft was far from any description that seemed appropriate for her. But now that she was dead, it seemed that Tywin's opinion of her had soured. Kevan understood the frustration of losing such a valuable hostage, but if he himself were about to be executed, he too would do what he could for those most loyal to him. And Lord Fell was a prominent noble himself, so the trade was not that lopsided. He did not challenge his brother on that point, however.

"We must try. Offer gold, my own children can be used as hostages, Tommen can take the Black – Seven Hells, Tywin – I'll take the Black, if need be, or serve as a hostage. We can offer the carrot and the stick here – this city, the seat of power, can be burned by us. Threaten to destroy the Iron Throne and the entire city of King's Landing if we cannot come to terms. Lord Stark, the cripple in High Garden, and the Tullys will bend Stannis's ear, and a peace can be hammered out."

"No. I will have no more of this talk. Our name has been sullied and dragged in the mud; there will be no scenario where my blood does not sit on the Iron Throne, no scenario where I bend knee to Stannis."

Kevan knew that once Tywin had made up his mind, it was hopeless. It would be easier to hold back the tide.

"Seven Hells, then what do we do?"

"The same plan as before. We move – we go after Stannis and see him dead. After his death, they will have no one to truly rally around. Then we carve the rest up one by one as need be. We move with haste down the King's Road and then make for his host at Parchments; he likely will have already started to move toward Haystack Hall or Bronzegate. The Tyrell host cannot arrive before us even if it began marching now, and Dorne is dawdling. One decisive victory, and we can still win."

Kevan shook his head. It was foolish. Even if their exhausted force managed to win a clear victory with Stannis dead, the odds were still stacked against them. With Ser Barristan unable to secure the Westerlands, there would be no gold and additional reinforcements. Dorne's entire Kingdom was fresh. The enemy controlled both coasts. Kevan could not see a path to victory. And that was if they beat Stannis and the deadliest part of the North and the Riverlands at his side. Yet, he would do as he had always done, what Tywin told him to do.

"What would you have me do?"

"Prepare our host; we march in two days. Go tell my useless daughter of Myrcella's passing. Be sure that she understands that it was likely her action with Baelish that got her killed."

Kevan nodded grimly and left Tywin alone.

It was not a long walk to the Royal Apartments, and Kevan nodded at the guards.

"Has she given you any problems today?"

The guard shook his head.

"Good, I will not be bringing welcome news. Join me, and be ready to restrain her if necessary."

They went into his niece's room. Today, she had chosen to look regal, dressing all in red with golden lions embroidered in her dress.

"I asked to see my father, not you."

"He has no time for you, but I have been bidden to give you news of your daughter."

"Myrcella? Where has she run off to now? She should be back in the Red Keep, not trying to be something she is not."

Kevan looked down. "I have no love for you, Cersei, but I am sorry to tell you this. She is dead, thrown from the Moon Door in the Eyrie."

Cersei was stunned. "W-what? Executed? W-why? If that senile Barristan lost a battle, we would have paid a ransom – this makes no sense. You are lying to me; this is an act of malice, you wretch – the Eyrie has not even chosen a side! Others take you – I believed you at first."

"It's true, Cersei. She's dead."

Cersei looked ready to argue, but then, like a puppet with its strings cut, she collapsed into a chair and cradled her head in her hands.

"Oh, my lioness… you were always so willful, so sure of yourself, but you were just a child. I tried to protect you – I warned you what this world would do to you. Yet all those around you wouldn't listen; not father or even Jaime, none would help me protect you. Why couldn't you just let your mother protect you?"

Kevan almost felt guilty for what he would say next, but then he saw Lancel's face in his mind, and he hardened his heart.

"Protect her? You? Cersei, she went to the Eyrie. The place you sent our Master of Coin. He was supposed to bring the Vale to our side. Instead, his childhood friend had your daughter thrown out the Moon Door. Can you imagine the sheer terror in her heart as she was physically thrown hundreds of meters down a mountain? Can you? Do you think that Lysa Arryn would have done so if her precious childhood friend was still in King's Landing?"

Kevan had no idea if Littlefinger had been honest about his closeness to Lysa. It may very well have been another lie. But the barb had struck, and Cersei, proud Cersei, began to sob in genuine sorrow. Kevan drank in the scene a moment more and then turned to walk.

"No…" a quiet voice rose from his niece. "It wasn't my fault; it was fate. Three children I was to have and three golden shrouds. Joffrey was the first, then Myrcella, and finally, it will be Tommen. You can't fight prophecy; no matter what I did or didn't do, she was destined to die."

Kevan shook his head. What rubbish. He left his niece to her tears and went to go see a nephew. A nephew who would not deserve the tears he would shed. That was a conversation he was dreading, but he would have to make it a short one if he was to prepare the Lannister and Stormlands host to march.

***