Chapter 39

Arstan Selmy hastily made his way through the camp. It seemed every man was occupied with tending to the wounded, looting the dead, or setting up tents. Even with the Battle of Tarth being a resounding victory, the war was far from over. The Lannisters were still waging battles against their allies in the North, and it was clear that with no hopes of victory with Renly, the Tyrells would have no choice but to join the Lannisters. It was the only way they could come out of the war stronger and wealthier. Then of course, there was the most troubling bit of news.

King Steffon was badly injured. For the last few days, he had been in a deep sleep, being fed a mixture of water and honey to keep up his strength with two guards and Arya keeping watch over his body at all times. The only ones informed of Steffon's current predicament, were those within his inner circle: Stannis, Edric, Arya, Selwyn, Ronnet, and Arstan himself. While Selwyn and Stannis ordered their men to keep a watchful eye on their king, Ronnet had been oddly quiet, which raised concerns. The man had already been denied justice for the murder of his brother, and was already against their leader's plans and ideals. Any man would be suspicious of his intentions, and Arstan was more suspicious than most of them.

"Connington, a word." He said, approaching the Lord of Griffin's Roost.

"Of course, Lord Selmy." He replied, setting aside his drink and joining Arstan outside his tent. "Has there been any updates on the king's condition?" He asked.

"No, I'm afraid." Arstan replied.

"And Lady Arya?"

"The guards say that the She-Wolf hasn't left the room. She sleeps by our king's side and eats very little. Aside from our king, the only people she will have in her company are the king's inner circle." Arstan replied, noticing a slight change in Ronnet's brow.

"Then, she is being protected…?" He asked. "What for?"

"From anyone who may desire to sell her out to the Lannisters for gold and their good graces." Arstan then turned to face Ronnet with a glare. "I noticed you haven't been mobilizing your men to protect the queen at all cost. And then I remembered how our king had Jon Snow sent to the wall before you could have your 'justice'. So, I have to ask myself, who has the most cause of suspicion to give away the woman we swore to protect…?"

Ronnet was silent, like a rat caught in a corner. Finally, after formulating his defense in his head, began to speak. "The king is dying, Selmy-" He began.

"He hasn't died yet." Arstan interrupted. "So long as there's breath in his lungs, it is our duty to follow his orders."

"And end years of traditions and strip lords of their power?" Ronnet asked. "He is a child! And she is not our Queen! She is a Northerner!"

Arstan silenced Ronnet with a fist to his jaw, knocking him to the ground. Before Ronnet could react, or curse his name, Arstan grabbed the lord by the tunic and continued to beat him several more times before pulling a knife from his boot. "You will obey your orders and have your men protect Lady Arya with their lives," he growled, placing the edge of the dagger against Ronnet's adam's apple. "Or I'll slit your throat!"

"Everything aright here?" Came another voice. This time it was Lord Tarth, and no one dared argue with the man in his own home.

"Just talking." Arstan replied, sheathing his dagger and leaving the room.

He just hoped the King would be alright.

For the last week, Shireen had thrown herself into what work she was able to find at Storm's End. Whether this was because she was preparing herself to rule, trying to distract herself from Steffon's condition or both, she couldn't tell. Still, at least she had a steady grasp of most things. All her time reading books in Dragonstone had been good for something. Her daily duties involved ensuring that trade routes were free from attackers, and keeping the peace between the men. The news of their king having one foot in the grave had shaken morale considerably, with rumors of men willing to throw down their weapons and surrender to the Lannisters, much to the chagrin of loyalists who would stand by Steffon's side until victory or death. Balancing the loyalties of everyone wouldn't be easy, but she'd find a way. Baratheons always did.

"Lady Baratheon?" A familiar voice said. She looked up to see Ser Davos entering the room.

"Oh! Hello, Onion Knight." She smiled weakly before turning her attention back to the papers spread out in front of her.

"More reading?" He asked.

"Someone has to keep up with everything here when my father or Steffon can't." She replied.

"You're going to work yourself stupid, my lady." Davos said standing by her side. "There are other duties that must be attended to."

"I have to do something, or else I'm going to go mad." Shireen said, looking up at him. Davos was the one person outside her family who'd ignored her greyscale. She did remember how once there had been talk of marrying her to Robin Arryn, only for the Lady Arryn to write a letter deriding her as a granite-faced abomination who would be better off living with the Stone Men. Her father had been quietly enraged by that letter, but Shireen herself had mostly ignored it. She knew that her greyscale didn't make her very physically appealing and that she'd have to rely mainly on her family name to secure a marriage. Even being Steffon's heir until a child was born to him was not enough to gain interest; matrilineal marriages were rare in Westeros.

"You'll drive yourself mad anyway if you continue to stare at those pages like that."

"I find them oddly comforting, Ser Davos." She said, turning to him. "Numbers can't lie to people."

"I suppose that much is true." Davos replied. She could see the look of concern in his eyes; that a girl her age was trying to run a kingdom (or as much of a kingdom as it could be while four kings were at war) was an unusual thing. Still, someone had to see to their problems behind the front line. If one could even define a front line.

"What's worrying me is this." She said, showing a page to Davos. He still couldn't read, and his eyes squinted as he tried to make out the letters. "It says that food stores on Dragonstone are beginning to run low. Are any supplies getting through?"

"Some, but we're facing a problem unique to long-term food storage, that being lack of fresh food. It's something that's affecting us on the ships as well." Davos replied. "The simple matter is we're starting to see scurvy more and more. In peacetime, we'd be able to rely on citrus fruit from the Reach, but-"

"That's not an option now." Shireen finished. "I remember reading that meat from some animals can prevent it, but that creates the problem of keeping fresh meat stored long enough to be eaten." She said, before trying to think back to something. "Wait . . . the fruit normally used to prevent it, what is it?"

"Ordinarily we'd use limes or lemons, but-"

"Right, so would pickling some fruits or vegetables in lemon juice help prevent it?" She asked. It was something she'd read that the Free Cities had used while trading with each other. Plus, pickling had the side effect of preserving the food for longer.

"I suppose it wouldn't do any harm." Davos said. "The captains in the Free Cities do it often."

"I read it in a book about the Free Cities." Shireen replied, smiling. If this idea worked, they'd at least have a half-solution to their problems. She could see the impressed look on Davos' face and took a small amount of pride from it. If she could impress this hardened sailor, then she could surely impress her father and Steffon. It turned out reading all those books while locked in her room had worked out well for her after all.

"You're performing more than brilliantly, your grace." Davos remarked. "Our king chose well to name you his successor."

"I'm not his successor yet." Shireen corrected him, this time with a hint of authority in her voice. "I am simply keeping order until he recovers."

"Yes, of course, my lady." Davos replied. "Forgive me. I too share your concern for your cousin's health, and pray for his recovery."

"We all do, Ser Davos. We all do."

Edric had been standing guard outside the room where Steffon was being treated as much as he could, especially since Arya had refused to leave his side. And since the fight between Selmy and Connington, he and the rest of the guards had decided to double their efforts. With things like that happening, he had to make sure of the people he could trust and quickly came to the the rank and file soldiers could be trusted well enough. The nobles less so.

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy, The few hours of rest he'd managed since the battle were hardly sufficient, and even then his sleep was fitful at best. Though he'd never admit it, part of him was afraid that someone might try to slip into the room and kill Steffon and Arya if he wasn't guarding it. Of course, he managed to remind himself that Arya wasn't in much need of protection herself.

The sound of approaching footsteps freed him from the temptation to sleep as he stood up straight with a hand on his sword, only to rest his grip when he saw that the person approaching him was Mira. "M'lady." He said.

"Still standing guard, ser?" She asked

"I'm not a knight, M'lady." Edric chuckled. "I thought I told you."

"Regardless, you're still standing guard?" Mira asked.

"Yes, m'lady." He replied bashfully. "Someone has to."

"There are others who can take over. You won't do anyone any good if you exhaust yourself." She said. Edric realised there was a lot of truth to what she was saying, but he was still nervous about a potential assassin. "You must look after yourself."

Thinking things over again, Edric signalled to two soldiers down the hallways to take position at the door he was guarding. As they assumed position, spear on the ground and shield held at their sides, he and Mira left.

"I must ask you, Edric. If I am a prisoner, why have I been granted so much freedom?" She asked. Edric had been expecting a question like this for a while.

"Our Queen-to-be is a Northerner. The Houses of the North are our most valued allies. So, while you may be the handmaiden to Lady Margaery, you are still the daughter of Gregor Forrester, a loyal Northerner."

"But, couldn't I be a spy? Sending messages to Lady Tyrell and Renly Baratheon?"

Edric snorted. "You could, but I doubt it. You people are far too honourable for that." He explained. Mira silently nodded. Seeing the faith and trust put in her from Edric filled her with relief. "So, what did you have in mind, m'lady?" He asked.

"I was thinking the two of us could go for a walk." She offered, almost sheepishly.

Edric thought it over. While he did want to sleep above everything else right now, perhaps a walk would do him some good. At the very least, it would get him out of the keep for a while. The entire castle of Evenfall Hall had stank with the smell of the dead and dying; it stank even more than King's Landing, Edric had thought.

They made their way out of the castle and through the camp outside. Many soldiers were on their way back to the mainland, to prepare for a response that might come. Stannis's orders of course. It was a sensible move, Edric supposed. There were still tens of thousands of Tyrell troops out there waiting to be rallied.

They left the camp and began walking along the shoreline. Not long ago, the shoreline had turned red with blood from the battle, but now is was the cleanest blue that he had ever seen. He had never been to Tarth before; his time in the Stormlands had been spent at Storm's End, and what little he'd seen of the ocean there had been Shipbreaker Bay. Not exactly his idea of a welcoming ocean. Turning to his left, he could see the spine of mountains that ran down the middle of Tarth. He had been told stories of the Sapphire Isle's beauty, but seeing it up close was a whole different story.

Mira herself wasn't too bad-looking either, especially with the backdrop of the Isle. She was a graceful girl, but she still had some of the grit that typified Northerners. She may not have been a warrior like Arya, but she was still very courageous. She was tall for her age as well. Looking her over, her hair fell effortlessly down her back to the curve of her-

Stop it! He thought, scolding himself. She's not some tavern girl down for a roll in the hay! She's a lady!

"Are you alright, Edric?" She asked, snapping him from his thoughts.

"Yes, m'lady. I'm fine." He smiled.

"I must say, it is different down here." Mira said. "In the North, we'd be trying to stay as warm as possible."

"How so?"

"Mostly fires and scalding-hot baths." Mira supplied. Edric nodded as they made their way further down the coastline. "Here, it's far warmer. I've actually grown used to it."

"How did you end up as handmaiden to Margaery Tyrell?" He asked after a second before realising how bluntly he'd asked the question. "Forgive me, m'lady, I-"

"It's alright, Edric." She laughed a little. "My mother was from House Branfield. They fought for the Targaryens in Robert's Rebellion and fell because of it. My mother still had some influence in the Reach though, and used it to send me to Highgarden."

Edric nodded. "Quite a story."

"Not as much as yours. Half-brother to one fighting to sit on the Iron Throne…" She trailed off, letting the sentence hang in the air. Edric only realised they'd lost track of time when he could see the southern tip of the Isle in the distance. "What . . . what did happen that night, exactly? When you went ashore with Lady Arya?"

"It was a bloody mess." Edric sighed. "We only kept things together because of Lady Arya. Garlan Tyrell went through our shieldwall and I left it to fight him. Bloody fool I am, I let out a war cry and he knocked me into the dirt. I'd have been killed if not for Lady Arya."

"And she would not have been able to land the killing blow if he wasn't focusing on you."

Edric pondered that for a second. It was true that Arya's minimal armour meant she would not have been able to take a direct his from Garlan's longsword, but then again, neither could most common soldiers. He'd have to rethink his attack tactics a little, maybe not let out the giant war cry next time. Suddenly, his thoughts were again cut by Mira; not by her voice, but by the feeling of her lips pressing against his cheek.

"W-w-w-what?" He asked, being all he could muster.

Mira simply laughed, a slight blush. "That was for being a brave man."

"For nearly getting myself killed…?" He asked, feeling his own blush.

"Not just that. But I never truly got to thank you for saving me. When we first met properly." Mira replied. "Had it not been for you, I'd have been-"

"Think nothing of it." Edric said.

"I simply can't." Mira insisted. "I had never been in that kind of danger before. And if you hadn't…" Mira's words trailed off as her hands began to tremble. Sensing her grief, Edric gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore." He assured her. "You're safe, and you'll stay safe."

Mira smiled, only to throw her arms around Edric's neck, enveloping him in a warm embrace. Edric was frozen in a state of shock, only blinking once or twice. Edric moved to return the gesture, but stopped himself.

It was unfit for a bastard to show affection to a noblewoman.

There had been no change in Steffon's condition for some time. Nonetheless, she'd refused to leave his side even as the Maester operated on him. She'd eaten little, and she had been feeling waker as a result. She'd only eaten what she had to live until Steffon woke up. If he woke up. The Maester had said every passing hour made it less likely for Steffon to wake from his unconsciousness.

Her last words to him had been in anger. Yes, she had been angry that Steffon had sent Jon to the Night's Watch, but she'd had a chance to think about and realised that her husband-to-be could scarcely have acted otherwise. He was obviously tortured by the decision as well; it had shown in his increasingly haggard appearance and his increasingly aggressive behaviour. Particularly the way he'd brushed off Lord Tarth's concerns over the battle plan. In a way, it had slowly torn her apart to see him like that. She longed to see the boy she'd fallen in love with again, the kind, shy boy with the bright, welcoming blue eyes and easy smile. Hopefully she would if we woke up.

Stop thinking like that, she thought, he will wake up. She knew he would. He had to. Then she'd be able to tell him how much she loved him and-Gods, she really was sounding like her sister now. Not that marrying Steffon would be totally awful; she would still get to be like Nymeria, the Rhoynar Warrior-Queen she'd idolised all her life. She had her doubts that any other noble she might've married would afford her the same freedom. The amount of prejudice she'd encountered from the Stormlanders wasn't something that would be said to her face, but she could still sense that it was there. She'd often found herself briefly wondering about Dacey Mormont, currently fighting with Robb's army in the Riverlands. What communication they'd received from the Northern-Riverlander army was minimal on Robb's immediate subordinate who weren't operating independently of the main force, but Arya had heard stories. Namely that Dacey was as comfortable in a dress as she was in chainmail.

Arya didn't know if she'd ever be comfortable in a dress, if she was honest with herself. Though she did suppose she'd have to wear one on formal occasions if they won the war. Honestly, she didn't know how her sister could bear wearing them. They were so hard to move around him. How in the Seven Hells was she supposed to fight while wearing a bloody dress?

"Well," she heard the Maester say, "There has been some change in His Grace's condition. I think he may recover just yet."

"Well… I'm glad to hear it." She replied, a sigh of relief tinging her words. The Maester nodded.

"I had best prepare Milk of the Poppy for when he wakes; he may still have some pain from the wound. I would suggest you eat something, My Lady. It is not healthy to starve yourself." He said, repeating the instructions he had been telling her for days. Arya mumbled an answer he couldn't hear and he left.

She supposed she should have something to eat. The Maester was right that avoiding food hadn't been doing her any good. She stood to leave, but as she made it to the dor, she heard a cough behind her.

"S-Steffon?" She asked. Turning around, she saw Steffon's eyes snap open with a gasp. "Steffon!"