Chapter 34

The raven had arrived early in the morning, while the family were having breakfast. Almost immediately, it had sent everyone into a frenzy of activity. Cersei had vowed in between loud sobs to kill every last Greyjoy in existence. Tommen was inconsolable; he had always been close with Myrcella and the news had utterly destroyed him. Even Joffrey loudly (and angrily) declared that the Ironborn would have their towns and villages burnt to the ground and their fields sown with salt in retribution.

Tyrion, meanwhile, had been scurrying back and forth trying to confirm the news. By the time the second raven had arrived, there was no doubt left in his mind. This one came from Storm's End and was signed by Steffon. Theon Greyjoy had murdered not only the Stark boys, but Myrcella as well. Tyrion felt his body overflowing with righteous fury, but knew to keep it doused. Acting in rage has always led a clear path to disaster.

Currently, he was reading over the message from Storm's End once more. It felt odd to see his favoured nephew's handwriting again. Still, if the rage that had taken over the household in King's Landing was any indicator, then he expected the news to have affected Steffon in an even worse manner. The Baratheon temper was a volatile one after all, and Steffon had always worked hard to control his.

"Your sister is wailing, the king is raving, and the third one won't stop crying." Bronn remarked. It had been Bronn who had delivered the message to Tyrion, and even he knew he had to treat the news with some degree of sensitivity. Still, much as Tyrion wished it would, it would not erase Bronn's sellsword demeanor.

"Myrcella is dead at the hands of Theon Greyjoy, and you expect us to react calmly?" Tyrion questioned, looking up from the piece of parchment. "She was already a hostage at Winterfell when the war started."

"I seem to recall you tellin' me she wanted to stay there." Bronn pointed out, taking a seat and crossing his legs. "She was sweet on one of the Stark boys."

"It took all of Steffon's persuasive acumen for Cersei to allow her to stay there." He replied. "Either way, this rules out any possibility of alliance with the Greyjoys for good."

"Steffon this, Steffon that." Bronn grumbled. "You make it sound like he's one of the Gods."

Tyrion snorted. It was hard not to paint Steffon as extremely gifted given the events to the south of them. The situation in the Stormlands was growing worrying to say the least. Renly had been unable to force Steffon to fight another major battle, which of course favoured Steffon's penchant for raiding and mobility over smashing his enemies in an open field. It was smart of him too; Renly's numerical advantage would prove decisive in such an encounter, but couldn't grasp that Steffon was simply not interested in following traditional customs of warfare. It was exactly that skill that had caught the eye of Lord Tywin Lannister several years ago.

Tyrion remembered it well. Steffon, no older than seven, had grown tired of reading Battles and Sieges of the Century of Blood, and somehow managed to weedle his way into his grandfather's personal library and began reading through old texts regarding his various battles and victories over the years. It wasn't long until Tywin entered the room and found his grandson surrounded by a disorganized pile of books scattered across the floor. But, much to everyone's joint surprise, Tywin did not have Steffon punished or even share any harsh words. He calmly asked the Baratheon boy to sit down and had him recount the events leading to the fall of House Reyne. Steffon managed to answer the question to near perfection, to which Tywin gave a nod of approval before mentoring him in the ways of war.

"Didn't your sister want him to be that royal shit's general?" Bronn asked.

"That was Cersei's plan, yes." Tyrion replied, reaching for a pitcher sitting comfortably on the desk and pouring himself a chalice. "She would have Steffon defend the continent, and Joffrey would keep it working. Though I think everyone except her knew that Steffon would invariably end up running everything." This time it was Bronn's turn to snort. "What have we done as far as siege preparations? Any news of the Antler Men?" Tyrion asked.

"Those buggers are hard to root out." Bronn sighed, rising from his seat and pouring himself a drink of wine before slumping back in his seat. "We can't stop them from recruiting unless we lock up all the smallfolk. They really like him."

"Yes, that is very problematic." Tyrion muttered, before opening a book that lay on his desk and began to read the pages. Bronn, in the meantime, began to pick at his nails with the needle point of a compass. After a few moments of silence, Tyrion asked, "How much longer do I have to wait for you to wear the gold cloak?"

"I don't want to wear the gold cloak." Bronn remarked, acting like a petulant child as he kicked his feet up onto the table next to him and reclining in his seat.

"You're commander of the city watch." Tyrion remarked. "You shouldn't be waltzing around dressed up like a common sellsword."

"A cloak slows you down in a fight, makes it hard to move quietly, and the gold catches the light, making it easy for someone to see you at night."

"Well, you aren't skulking around in alleyways anymore. You're supposed to stand out, so people know who you are."

"We had an agreement." Bronn stated. "I don't remember a gold cloak being a part of it."

"Fine, fine. No gold cloak." Tyrion sighed, forfeiting the debate as he resumed his reading. After another moment or two of peace, he found it difficult to concentrate with Bronn watching him. "What is it now?" He asked.

"Why am I here?" Bronn asked, in his usual blunt fashion.

"To help me plan the defense for King's Landing!" Tyrion exclaimed. "Steffon could be at our doors any day with an armed Stormlander fleet!"

"And how do these help you beat him, I wonder." Bronn remarked, picking up one of Tyrion's books. "You plan on throwing them at the little Prince's feet and distracting him?"

Tyrion sighed, saving his page before reading the cover of the book aloud. "A History of the Great Sieges of Westeros by Archmaester . . .Shevelathin." Tyrion paused, squinting at the author's name. Clearly the years had worn out the writing, and the blocky font made some letter difficult to decipher. "Sheveletesh." He said, trying to pronounce the name properly.

"Chevalteesh." Bronn corrected him, before tossing his book back onto the desk. "I'd trade all these bleeding books for a couple of good archers any day."

"A fair trade, I would say." A third voice said. Varys. Who else? "I must commend you on the performance of the Goldcloaks, Lord Commander. There has been a marked drop in thievery."

"I had the lads round up the known thieves. Now we only need to worry about the unknown ones." Bronn said, a twinge of pride in his voice. Tyrion sighed.

"We talked about this. If Steffon is insisting everyone faces a trial and we do not, then that will lead to more sympathising with him." he said.

"Didn't hear you say that when we were dealing with your Antler Men." Bronn replied. That much was true at least. What Antler men that had been rounded up had been flung from the Three Whores; the trebuchets on top of the city walls. Tyrion had merely wanted them beheaded, but Joffrey had insisted they be flung and Bronn was only too happy to comply. "And maybe this part's not in your books, but do you know what happens in a city under siege? It's not the fighting that kills most people. Food becomes worth more than gold. Noble ladies sell their diamonds for a sack of potatoes. Things get bad enough, the poor start eating each other. Thieves love a siege because of that."

"I would say extreme measures are warranted, given the circumstances." Varys admitted. "Ah, A History of the Great Sieges of Westeros. A pity Archmaester Ch'Vyalthan wasn't a better writer."

"I thought it might give some insight into how Renly or Steffon might attack us." Tyrion replied. "Though, that may be of little help."

"The boy's not even 20." Bronn said.

"And yet he managed to defeat a force that outnumbered him many times over at the Kingswood." Tyrion said. "During one visit to Casterly Rock, my father found him in the castle library, books strewn around him. He was reading an account of the Reyne Rebellion against my grandfather.. Instead of slapping him and sending him away crying, my father sat him down and asked every question he could think of about the Reynes. Steffon answered them all correctly. It was a few weeks after his 7th nameday" He added. Bronn and Varys shared a look. Both of them knew that Steffon was obviously above average intelligence for anyone; Varys through firsthand experience and Bronn from hearing reports of the fighting in the Stormlands, but this was on a whole different level.

"Sounds like he'd be a better ruler than the cunt across the Keep." Bronn mused. Tyrion's face instantly flashed to Varys, who gave him a reassuring look. If you tell anyone, Spider, I'll have you packed off to the Wall.

"He does have the love of the people. There was a similar conflict in Braavos many centuries ago between those who supported the upper class and the lower class. The Radicals and the Patricians. A conflict that is ever ongoing." Varys said.

"So he has the people, the best commanders and the biggest navy." Bronn summed up. "What do we have?"

"Pig shit." Tyrion replied brusquely.

Edric let out a heavy sigh as he swung and blocked with his sword. He decided to forgo the next raid on one of Renly's camps, and had spent the last hour practicing swordplay and hone his craft. He did so, by repeating the same striking and blocking motion with a dulled training sword, despite the absence of a sparring partner. Even though he had changed out of his armor in favor of a loose fitting tunic, he was coated in sweat and his arms ached. "Ninety-eight… ninety-nine… one hundred." He sighed, before finally setting his sword on the ground and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Is there something you need, Lady Forrester?" He asked, finally acknowledging Mira's presence. Unbeknownst to her, he had caught a glimpse of her watching him a while ago, but chose not to say anything. He enjoyed keeping a girl's attention.

Mira blushed before stepping forward. "Forgive me, my ser- I mean, Edric. It's just that I've never seen training like that before."

"You've never heard of Shadow Fencing, milady?" Edric asked, taking a seat on a fallen log behind him. Mira shook her head. "It's a muscle memory exercise. If you can make a move second nature, you perform it better and faster. Penrose taught me this when I was younger."

"Strange. I was never taught such things." Mira remarked, something that caught Edric's attention.

"You were taught how to fight?" Edric asked, with a slight hint of amazement in his voice.

"Not a lot." Mira admitted. "Only enough to defend myself."

"Then… would you care to show me?" Edric asked. "I'm interested in how people from the North fight."

"I… I couldn't." Mira replied, sheepishly rubbing her arm. "It would be improper for a lady to wield a sword."

"That's nonsense." Edric scoffed. "Look at our future Queen. She carries that fancy toothpick with her everywhere she goes. The only reason why people believe it to be improper is because society wishes it to be that way." He retrieved his sword from the ground before grabbing a spare from a nearby weapon rack and presenting the grip to Mira. "I insist, Lady Mira."

Mira hesitated weighing the decision in her head before finally accepting the blade. It wasn't heavy, certainly heavier than the blades she was trained with in her youth, but it certainly wasn't light. She had to hold with both hands, keeping her right hand higher on the hilt of the blade compared to her left one, and assumed an offensive stance.

Edric, however, kept a firm grip on his own blade, assuming a confident stance with a suave look in his eye. It was no surprise to Mira that the boy was trying to show off. "Feel free to take the first move." Edric grinned.

Mira hesitated, seemingly lost in thought. No doubt trying to recall the lessons she had been given. After a moment of silent preparation, Mira tightened her grip before making a downward swing with her blade. Almost instinctively, Edric performed a hard block, putting his sword in the direct path of Mira's attack. The metallic clang of their swords rang through Mira's hands, causing her to wince and step back, dropping her guard in the process. Instead of taking advantage of the situation, Edric held his ground, choosing to stay on the offensive rather than advance and attack at the earliest possible opening. He couldn't help but let chivalry get the best of him.

"Ready when you are, milady." Edric grinned.

Mira nodded, tightening her grip on her handle, before loosening it only slightly. Right, that's too tight. Edric thought to himself. It was impressive to see someone who knew the proper way to grip a sword. Sort of like her holding a… Edric stopped himself before shaking the thought from his head. Stop that, Edric. She's a lady from a noble house. You're just a bastard. Things can never be like that. It's just not–

He cut himself short as he realized he had been getting lost in thought, giving him less than a moment to realize Mira had made the first move with a slash aiming for his right side. Edric quickly jumped back, narrowly avoiding her attack.

"You need to keep your head in the fight." Mira smirked, carrying herself with more confidence after that last display. "That's what makes the difference at a time like this."

"Thank you for the reminder, milady." Edric chuckled, before getting back into position. "I'm ready now." Edric then lunged forward with his blade.

Instinctively, she jumped to the side, but quickly regained her stance. "Not bad." Edric remarked, making sure to keep his guard up this time and not get distracted. "So far I'm impressed. And you say you were only taught the essentials?"

"Yes." Mira replied, as the two began to circle one another, sizing each other up. "From Ser Royland, our Master-at-Arms. He had a temper, but was always loyal to our house and was respected by our men."

"As for me," Edric replied, quickly blocking another swing from Mira's blade. "I was trained by Ser Cortnay Penrose; the Castellan of Storm's End. He and Lord Renly were always good to me."

Edric made a right swing that Mira just barely managed to block, this time managing to keep her balance and not be thrown off guard. In retaliation, she made a swing at Edric's other side. Thankfully, he was able to predict her attack, deflecting her swing with a quick parry, knocking Mira's attack away before forcing the tip of her blade to kiss the ground. This brought them closer together, with Mira's bare shoulder touching Edric's. The two spared a quick glance at one another, with Mira feeling herself getting lost in Edric's dark brown eyes, while he caught himself admiring the smooth paleness of Mira's skin. Before either of them could make their next move, their spar was interrupted.

"Edric!" A loud voice called. The two pulled away to see Waldron approaching them at a hurried pace. "You'd best clean yourself up. Jon is about to receive his sentencing from Steffon."

Edric sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Right. I'll be there."

Waldron nodded before turning his attention to Mira. "And, Lady Forrester, I'd advise you to stay in your tent. You have little business carrying a sword, much less with a bastard." Having said his piece, Waldron left to inform the rest of the camp.

Mira frowned at the condescending tone in the young Frey's voice, only to see that Edric's glare was deeper. "You don't seem to like Waldron Frey very much, do you, Edric?" She asked, putting away the practice sword.

Edric scoffed. "Please, milady. That's just not true. I don't like Waldron Frey at all. He thinks too highly of himself." Edric replied, discarding his tunic and wiping the sweat from his bare chest. "He's a cocky little shit with little reason to be cocky."

"I… I see." The very sight of Edric shirtless sent a blush straight to Mira's cheeks as she struggled to avert her gaze.

"In any case, thank you for the spar." Edric said, slinging his shirt over his shoulder. "I apologize if it was a bit embarrassing to be caught with a sword in your hands."

"Please, think nothing of it." Mira replied. "If anything, I should thank you. It's the most fun I've had this week."

Edric chucked and said, "Happy to have been of help, Lady Forrester." Before taking his leave.

"Mira." She said, causing Edric to stop and look back at the Northern girl. Her blush deepened, anxiously twiddling with her thumbs before speaking up again. "You can call me, Mira."

Edric grinned at the girl's disposition before nodding politely. "I'll try to keep that in mind, Mira." He said, before making his way to the sentencing.

He did not want any of this. Jon was his friend, his Sworn Shield, and Arya's brother. Not to mention that he understood beyond any reasonable doubt that Jon was telling the truth with regards to the incident and had the right of it. He had given his followers strict orders: no raping, pillaging or looting. He made sure all his commanders and their troops knew that; but none of that mattered if it meant losing soldiers. He was outnumbered already, and simply couldn't risk anyone defecting. The Conningtons, Bucklers and Estermonts combined brought over 5,000 men to his cause. If they struck their banner and joined Renly's forces, there would be a very real chance of them taking more houses with them, then he'd have a civil war to deal with in the Stormlands as well.

Steffon sighed, before looking Jon in the eye. He had been brought before Steffon and the other Stormlords, with Selmy, Tarth, Stannis, Ralph Buckler, Eldon Estermont and Ronnet Connington gathered in his tent, along with Edric and Waldron. He had wanted to keep Jon's trial as quiet as possible. His armor and weapons had been taken from him, leaving him in nothing but a grey pair of simple clothes and his hands tied behind his back. He had not bathed in a while, leaving his clothes, hair and skin caked with mud from sitting in the stockades.

"Jon Snow," Steffon began, as he called the trial to order. "You stand accused of the murder of Raymund Connington and a guardsmen in service of House Buckler. Have you anything to say in your defence?"

"No, your Grace." Jon replied. He already knew what was coming, and was prepared to face his fate.

"Very well." Steffon said. "Seeing as you have nothing to say in your defence, I sentence you to service in the Night's Watch. From this point on, you are no longer a free man, but bound to the Wall."

Connington's face turned redder than his hair. "This is an outrage!" He shouted. "He should be executed for his crime!"

"Ser Ronnet, if your brother was indeed violating my orders not to rape-and the girl said he was-then this is the punishment I will settle on. He's as good as dead up there anyway." Steffon reasoned. Ronnet opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut when he met Stannis' ice cold glare. He could see that Buckler wanted to argue the point, but a hand on the shoulder from Estermont caused him to keep quiet. Satisfied with the outcome, Steffon turned to face one of his soldiers. "See to it that Jon is given a horse and some supplies before sending him North from there." Jon said nothing, simply giving Steffon one last solemn look as he was escorted from the tent. I didn't want things to come to this, Jon. Steffon thought, keeping his personal feelings hidden from the others in his tent. I didn't want any of this. I hope you'll understand one day.

"There is another matter, Your Grace." Stannis said. "One of our raiding parties intercepted a messenger. They had plans for Renly's next offensive with them–"

"Not now, uncle!" Steffon snapped. "Just… leave me alone." He said quietly.

"Your Grace-"

"OUT, DAMN YOU! EVERYONE OUT!" He shouted. The lords filed out almost immediately, none of them wanting to deal with Steffon's temper.

"Your Grace?" Waldron said cautiously. He didn't exactly want to be here when Steffon's anger took over.

"You too." He replied. Waldron nodded before hurrying out the tent, only to be stopped by Arya, who came marching into the tent with her face red with anger.

"You sent Jon to the Wall?!" She demanded.

Steffon sighed, sinking back in his seat and rubbing his weary eyelids. "It was the lesser of the two evils, Arya." Steffon replied, avoiding her gaze. He had no interest in dealing with Arya right now. Their relationship was already on the ropes, and this could very likely be the final nail in the coffin. "It was either to send Jon to the Wall, or have him executed by Connington. I chose the one that would spare his life."

"You had another choice!" Arya shot back. "You could have pardoned him!"

"If I did that, Connington and the others would have more than enough reason to return to Renly's banner!"

"Shut up!" She shouted, storming forward and slamming her hands on the table in front of him. Steffon said nothing, simply glaring back at Arya before turning to his squire.

"Waldron, escort my betrothed out."

Waldron nodded, before stepping forward and putting a hand on Arya's shoulder. "Lady Stark, if you would–"

"Fuck off, Waldron." She muttered coldly, shaking his hand off from her and grabbing Needle's handle. Waldron gulped hard, stepping back and raising his hands in surrender before excusing himself from the tent.

"Waldron's done nothing." Steffon said angrily. "Leave him be."

"Well then you two have a lot in common, don't you?" She growled back. "Just stop being the King for just one minute and go back to being Steffon!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Steffon asked, raising his voice as he rose from his chair.

"You know what I mean." She replied, not flinching as she glared up at him. "The Steffon I knew always tried to do the right thing. It's one of the reasons I loved him and chose to marry him. He…" She hesitated, taking a moment to compose herself before looking up again with tears building up in her eyes. "He's not the one standing in front of me right now. What happened to him?"

Steffon was silent. Had he changed that much? No. No, he was still here, and standing right in front of Arya; she just couldn't see it. Or, more likely didn't want to see it. He was trapped into making this choice, and she was so blinded by her loyalty to her family that she wasn't even considering his position. "I didn't have a choice, Arya." Steffon said, feeling his temper rise. "Don't you understand what was at stake? Can't you just put your family aside and see the bigger picture for a change?!" He yelled.

"'Bigger picture'?!" Arya asked. "They're my family! Don't you remember when my father died trying to protect you?! Can you even imagine what that was like losing him?"

"Of course I do!" Steffon argued, as his fists began to clench. "My father's dead, too, Arya! My sister, also!"

"And who's fault was that?!" Arya challenged.

Steffon froze on the spot, as Arya's accusation rang through his head. Was she implying that Myrcella's execution… was his fault? He took a heavy breath as his temper started to reach its boiling point. "Choose your next words… very carefully, Arya."

"Why? What for!?" Arya demanded. "What are you going to do? She was in danger, Steffon! She called to you for help, and what did you do? Cut off their supplies giving her no choice but to flee with my brothers!"

"Arya…" Steffon growled. "You're making me angry."

"And now they're all dead, thanks to you!"

"Shut up!" He whirled around. "I have to make these decisions, so this war actually fucking ends one day!"

"The Conningtons have about 1000 soldiers at best-"

"And they're about a day's ride from Storm's End, not to mention Buckler and Estermont. If they turn on me, I-"

"You what, huh?!" She yelled. "You are…"

"I'm what?"

"You're so fucking selfish!" She shouted. "You're putting that bloody chair above the promises you made to me and Jon!"

"In case you haven't noticed, we're fighting a fucking war over that bloody chair! I wouldn't expect you to understand that though, you stupid little girl! You know, you like to crack your sister over the head about those stories she likes, but you think the world should work in the exact same fucking way!"

"You are so much like your father-"

"Don't you dare compare me to him!" He roared, taking a water pitcher and slamming it into the table, cracking it slightly.

"Why not?! You're both selfish, you both pay no attention to the person you're supposed to care about-"

"Stop being such a fucking lady, will you?!"

"I am not a lady!"

"Yes! Yes, you fucking are! You've grown up in a sheltered castle! You're the daughter of the bloody Warden of the North! You're the next Queen of this country!"

"I was sheltered?!" She scoffed. "You grew up in King's fucking Landing! How's that for sheltered!?"

"With a mother and father who didn't care about me-"

"Oh that's your problem?! Your mama and papa didn't love you enough as a child?! Get the fuck over yourself!"

"JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He roared. Arya stood there, completely unfazed.

"You know what? I changed my mind. I'll still marry you, but to honour my father and nothing else!" She shouted. "This entire fucking betrothal was a mistake!"

"You know what, I agree!" Steffon didn't hesitate as he stormed out of the tent to be greeted by Edric, Waldron, and almost every other troop who was close enough to listen in on his little conversation with Arya. Steffon shook away his feelings before addressing his men. "The fuck are you all looking at?" He asked, before shooing them all away. "Go on! Get back to your positions!" The soldiers and Waldron all went back along their way, the only one staying behind being Edric.

"Steffon, what happened?" He asked.

"Not now, Edric." Steffon sighed, pushing past Edric and making his way back to the war tent. "We have work to do."

"After a fight like that?" Edric challenged, putting a hand on Steffon's shoulder. "No. Tell me what happened in there."

"I said not now!" Steffon shouted, shaking himself free and marching back to the tent. "We can talk about this later." He grumbled. Once he got back to the tent, he stepped forward and began to survey the map and their next move to attack. But as he began to read the map, memories of previous events began to haunt him.

Had they ever been a good match in the first place? Had they been lying to themselves about growing to love each other? Was this just political?

He shook the doubts out of his head. All marriages were political in this world.

This one was no different.

Valord-19: Aaaand scene! Sorry everyone for the delay. As many of you guessed, the COVID-19 pandemic played a huge role in us not being able to upload or write for a while, mainly because of how much it's been impacting our lives, much like with everyone else.

Kornerbrandon: Yes it has. On the bright side, we now have an official Discord server thanks to my co-author. However, owing to . . . past experiences, we'd prefer not to flood it with everyone all at once. So instead, we're going to ask a series of three questions each chapter. The first person to answer all questions correctly on the chapter will receive an invite. The questions this chapter are:

1) Who was Steffon named after?

2) Which historical battle was the inspiration for the Battle of the Kingswood?

3) What is the collective name for Steffon's supporters inside King's Landing?

That's all from us! Hope you enjoyed the chapter and have fun with the questions!