Interlude: A Seafarer's Treachery

When they surrounded Storm's End, Aurane Waters never imagined they would take the castle but instead die storming the walls or be crushed beneath the ironshod hooves of Lord Renly's host. How could one expect victory when going against fortifications as formidable as those of Storm's End?

The ancestral home of the Stormlord's was a colossal keep, much greater than Dragonstone and Driftmark with its massive curtain walls rising a hundred feet high and standing forty feet thick at its weakest point, and peculiarly more than double that on its seaward side. Built on the white cliffs of Durran's Point that dropped a hundred feet into the chaotic grey waters with its dangerous outcrops of stone, there was only one way to assault the castle. Even the stone it was built of was marvellous to behold. The walls were so smooth and compact one would assume it was carved from a single piece. Then there was the keep in the form of a colossal drum tower crowned with formidable battlements forming a spiked fist thrusting defiantly towards the sky. The single tower was so large it could comfortably contain the granary, barracks, armoury, feasting hall and lord's chamber all in one.

Just the sight of it had been enough for the Bastard of Driftmark to question his decision of sailing with Stannis Baratheon.

Aurane hadn't been the only one. Few had any delusions of actually taking the castle upon investing it. Only the Queen's Men had any confidence and that was because of their fanatical belief in the Red God gifting Stannis the castle. Waters didn't believe such a thing before it happened.

Despite all the coin Robert granted his brother to ward off a possible invasion of the Golden Company, Stannis' army was only a meagre thing. While the royal fleet he commanded was second only to the Redwynes, the army itself wasn't the kind to take a continent. Dragonstone and its isles couldn't draft as many men as Storm's End or any of the holdings on the mainland so their seven-thousand strong host was predominantly made up of mercenaries, hedge knights and freeriders, with the majority of their retinues being made up of levies supported by a small backbone of professional household troops. Yet Stannis had been undeterred and set to work erecting earthworks and siege engines.

It had been an unpopular decision and Aurane Waters remembered his half-brother's ranting on Dragonstone. "We have the strength," Lord Monford had complained the night King Stannis Baratheon decided to set sail. "We should strike at King's Landing, overwhelm them with our superior fleet so once Lord Renly moves against us, we have the walls and the Crownlands and the Iron Throne. We should do that instead of waiting for Renly to strike our rear while we're marvelling at Storm's End's mighty walls. Lord Tywin lays at Harrenhal and his eyes stare at the Starks. If we attack, the Lannisters won't see us coming!"

But Stannis wasn't a man who was easily persuaded and set sail despite his lords' reluctance, and that might have been for the best, Waters admitted. Encircling the castle only drew the ire of Lord Renly who had decided to usurp his brother as the rightful king. Aurane was only a bastard and knew he had no right to Driftmark, but neither did Renly to the crown even if the rumours of Joffrey and his sibling's legitimacy were true. Stannis was the rightful king by all the laws of the land, not Renly.

Yet despite their promises of loyalty, only a few had any confidence Stannis would win outside the walls. It was regularly whispered around campfires that many of Stannis' captains were conspiring to turn their banners for the younger brother or even kill the king they swore to serve before the sun was up. Waters could imagine it even if his brother couldn't. Monford wasn't a man for cloak and dagger. He would use a sword and run straight towards whoever he wanted to kill. Simple and straightforward. But not all of Stannis' bannermen were like that. There were plenty who would smile and stab their lord in the back.

Stannis did not die nor did the two armies come to blows.

Aurane was thankful for that at least. He was a pirate and captain, not a soldier. He was not trained in arms as his trueborn brother was nor was he a knight. His youth was spent on the docks of High Tide, working in his mother's shop or his uncle on the ships. He didn't even touch a sword before he was eight when his lord father took him to Driftmark. It was said a bastard was craven, that they didn't have the courage of their trueborn kin, but Aurane believed courage was suicidal in certain circumstances especially when you looked at the two opposing armies. One host numbered twenty thousand, all armoured and mounted atop splendid chargers, knights in plate and mail flaunting the banners of the Stormlands and the flowers of Highgarden – men who were trained from birth with sword and lance. Against them were sailors and marines in leather jacks and kettle helms, Myrish crossbowmen from the Free Cities, levied spearmen who would rout before mounted lances, and a small number of fanatics who were like to break formation and charge the enemy. You didn't have to be an archmaester to imagine what would happen should the battle be fought.

Instead, the battle was won without a single arrow being let loose.

Through ways men claimed to be daemonic or blessed, His Grace's younger brother was struck down amid his formidable host at the height of his power. No one knew what happened that night. Some claimed Lady Catelyn Stark grew worth Lord Renly demanded her son bend the knee so she slew him and ran away. Others claimed foul sorcery killed Renly, but the most widespread was that some daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth was shunned when she declared her undying love to the man already married and loyal to his Lady Margaery. Lady Brienne was a cow, Red Ronnet Connington had declared, grew enraged like the bitch she was, and slew her king with a woman's madness before fleeing with Lady Stark. With Renly dead, much of the host changed allegiance and, with that, their numbers swelled with all the houses of the Stormlands swearing fealty to His Grace, as well as some from the southern Crownlands and Reach including Lord Alester Florent. Not all twenty thousand joined their host, however, for a fifth of Renly's knights returned to Bitterbridge with Ser Loras Tyrell.

That brought them a large army but not Storm's End. Ser Cortney Penrose was stubborn in his refusal to surrender the castle, fearing for the life of Edric Storm, and had even offered single combat to a champion of Stannis' choosing despite being an old man. Still, Stannis had refused, and several ideas were proposed to take the castle such as storming the walls which was supported by Lord Monford Velaryon who always had more courage than sense. Mayhaps it was due to being born on opposing sides of the bedsheets. Aurane's bastardry made him more cautious than his true-born brother, more willing to use underhanded tricks and deception to further his own interests rather than rely on honour as most trueborn tended to do. Regardless, all planning was for nought when Ser Penrose threw himself out the tower. Lord Alester Florent declared Penrose was lost to despair, that he was terrified of Stannis' wroth and would rather throw himself into the sea than admit what a foolish fool he had been. Aurane disagreed for he did not seem a man lost to despair and instead believed the garrison threw the ancient castellan off the walls instead. What mattered was what Lord Elwood Meadows became castellan shortly thereafter and swiftly surrendered the castle.

Now they were celebrating their 'victory' in the great hall.

It was larger than what Aurane expected. The walls were lined with fading tapestries of hunting and black-haired Baratheons and war that stretched back to the Durrandon kings of old. Looking at the ancient kings and lords, Aurane couldn't help but think of the Lannisters in King's Landing. He was sworn to House Velaryon so it mattered not whether Joffrey was golden-haired or not, or whether they were Baratheons or inbred Lannisters. Yet as he looked up at the vivid and moth-eaten tapestries, he couldn't help but wonder.

His musings were disrupted when Ser Maelys Drake rushed towards their table in a doublet of black and grey silk, leaned over and in a hushed voice said, "I've heard from the maester we've received a raven from Dragonstone. The castle's been taken."

Aurane put his wine down and turned to the household knight. Like many from Dragonstone, Maelys had the colours of Old Valyria though his eyes were blue instead of purple just like how Aurane's own were grey-green.

"What are you saying, ser?" Lord Monford asked cautiously. "Who took it? How's it been taken?" The Lord of Driftmark was tall and slender and handsome, with long hair he took much pride in, every inch a Valyrian lord in his sea-green silken doublet and white gold seahorse brooch. Aurane wasn't a lord so it would be improper for him to dress above his station so, instead, he wore drab green woollens stained from sea salt. But at least the sailors knew he was one of them, unlike Monford who unhappily sat beneath the salt because King Stannis had seated his newly acquired and more powerful lords. No doubt Monford took that as a slight.

Ser Maelys squeezed between two knights to seat himself on the long table. "You know the Targaryens?"

"Aye, King Aerys' children," said one knight with oily black hair, a beak of a nose and pox-marks on his narrow face. "Prince Viserys and Princess Daenys. They fled across the Narrow Sea when King Stannis fought the royal fleet beneath the walls of Dragonstone. They'd been in exile all these years."

Maelys nodded awkwardly, looking in the direction of Melisandre. "It's Daenerys, not Daenys, ser. She's also a queen, or at least calling herself as much, and has gotten herself the Golden Company and a Blackfyre husband."

"I heard about that," Aurane mused. "I thought the black dragons ceased to be. Our grandfather fought against them on the Stepstones atop the Pride of Driftmark against the might of the Tyroshi navy, capturing several ships and ransoming countless captains. We were told the Blackfyres are all dead."

"Not this one."

Aurane glanced at his half-brother who didn't look like he knew what to make of it. Ever since childhood, both brothers looked up to the Targaryens. Their father told them stories of the dragonlords who ruled before the rebellion. That is perhaps why he is so rash. My brother wants to emulate our ancestors and Colys Velaryon's as Master of Ships. Monford wanted his dead father's approval more than anything else. Lord Aethan Velaryon had been a strict man, unlike Lord Lucerys who was a lickspittle, and would always push both his sons into a rivalry in the hopes that would push the other to be stronger.

Waters remembered when he was little before being taken into his lord's service. His mother was a simple sailor's wife who had attracted Lord Velaryon's attention when she was young and lovely, and he would visit her whenever her husband was away. The only thing keeping the husband from beating her to death were threats and gifts of gold to raise the child. One day, Lord Aethan visited and through some miracle, had asked his baseborn son to join him to the castle. His mother had gone on her hands and knees and begged for his lordship not to, that him going would kill her, that she begged to keep her son close and cried profusely and endlessly, saying how Aurane would get nought but spite and hatred in the castle. Father only rose her to her feet and said his son would be better placed in a castle than a hovel. "You will be my son," he told Aurane after he lifted his bastard son atop a pony. "You are my blood, the blood of an ancient and honourable house. Living among smallfolk is no place for you." Then they rode up the dirt road and climbed the hills into the light of the world.

That was when his life had changed. If his lord father hadn't come and take him, Aurane would have expected a life unloading ships for petty pennies and going to sleep in a novel sick and hungry rather than the life of nobility. Aurane was made a page, given bed and boarding and duties. Duties he was sworn to uphold. The Lady Velaryon was a polite woman if distant. The maesters said she was unable to bear any more children after the birth of Monford. Though she was formal, she was never unkind, nor did she seem displeased to have another boy run around the castle with her son. It was only when he was eleven did Aurane learn he was his father's spare to be legitimised should anything happen to Monford. Such a plan never came to be after their father's passing, Monford getting married and getting his own son by the name of Monterys.

It might be the bastard blood in him, but Aurane couldn't help but feel jealous of his trueborn brother. He loved him. They had bonded as children and had seldom been out of each other's sights. But there were days Aurane imagined being legitimised over his trueborn kin and handed the lordship of Driftmark. He felt like he deserved it.

But those childish dreams never came to be and unfitting for one who had a peasant for a mother.

It was Monford, the trueborn son, who got to become Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, who got the pretty highborn wife and the instant love of everyone around him. Aurane got distrust and a ship of his own but said ship and crew were second to that of his trueborn brother. Yet I did what he failed to do and make it my own. Monford got things that were destined for him while Aurane had to make them his. Knowing that he could ill afford to live on his brother's coin despite Monford's promises, Aurane went his own way. Aurane might have had a mother of common birth, but he was a seahorse of House Velaryon and his realm was the sea just as the Targaryens owned the sky. The sea didn't bow to creatures of the land and Aurane had never done so. The Old, the True, the Brave, were the words of his father's house. With his gifts Aurane sailed the Narrow Sea, going pirate and operating in the Stepstones or being hired by the feuding daughters of Old Valyria. In those years he amassed a squadron of ships manned by hardened pirates all loyal to him from around the world. Only upon hearing of Westeros and the war did he return to provide counsel and his ships to Monford's cause and, in return, he was made his brother's closest adviser.

The lord let out a curse beneath his breath. "Are all the isles lost? Dragonstone . . . Driftmark?"

Maelys nodded. "The Targaryens sailed with their entire fleet. They stormed Dragonstone and will no doubt take the other islands as well."

"Fortunate King Stannis only left a small garrison there," Aurane commented with a wry smile. Since taking Storm's End, Stannis had moved his entire court to the mainland. He didn't trust the isles to remain secure during a Targaryen invasion, concluding they were like to rise in support of the invaders. While Queen Selyse and Crown Princess Shireen were yet to arrive, they would no doubt be happier to retire to the safety of Storm's End with its high walls and plush comforts.

"My son . . ." Monford trailed off, his face clinching with uncharacteristic tightness more like that of Stannis Baratheon than the smiling and hot-headed Lord Velaryon. "They'll take Driftmark. They'll have my son as a prisoner. They will, no, I cannot think that. He is only six and gentle besides."

Aurane thought for a moment and glanced at the lords of the Narrow Sea who looked shocked and were talking amongst themselves. Aurane held no delusions of them listening to a bastard even if he was a bastard of a lord as prestigious as one of House Velaryon, but an idea did creep into his mind. Stannis wasn't well-loved by the lords nor their smallfolk. He was respected but commanded neither love nor loyalty from those recently taken into his service. Near half his force had been Renly's once and they bent the knee so fast it should have snapped in their haste.

"Then let us hope His Grace can regain them," commented Celtigar over his cup of mulled wine, grimacing. "I will not have heathen Essosi in my castle."

Afraid of them stealing your rug, old man? Mayhaps they are not the true enemy you should fear.

He studied the lords of the Narrow Sea who sat amongst each other in a sea of Stormlanders and treacherous Reachmen, an island of seafarers in a sea of mainland lordlings. None of the Houses had any cause to be loyal to King Stannis. Lord Ardrian Celtigar was one such man. He was a sour old lord known as the Red Crab who only stirred after many ravens. His greatest contribution to the campaign was an ornate ship Aurane believed would be better served if all the gilding was melted down and used to pay Salladhor Saan. Then there was Lord Guncer of House Sunglass whose piousness was much evident from all the moonstones around his throat, wrists and fingers. He prayed three times a day and maybe even more. He'd been thrown in the dungeons after going against his liege destroying Dragonstone's sept. No doubt if the Targaryens retook Dragonstone, they'll liberate his lordship who'll bend the knee easily enough provided the Targaryen Queen make faithful enough sounds.

The isles will fall soon enough, trapping us between the Lannisters to the North, Tyrells to the west and Dornishmen to the south. None of whom had any love for Stannis, nor did Stannis have any for them. Queen Selyse was making noises through her moustache that House Florent should be made Lord Paramount's to the Reach and be given Highgarden for they were loyal servants and not House Tyrell who first sided with a traitor. Aurane doubted Tyrell would remain natural if Stannis agreed to that. And besides, Mace wanted to have his daughter plant seeds on the Iron Throne. Why else would he marry her to Lord Renly? They wouldn't touch Stannis with a pole, couldn't have a marriage alliance to Daenerys who was already married, nor would they desire to join their house with Robb Stark who'd no claim to the Iron Throne. Joffrey could be married but he was in the worst position of all. They'll bend the knee to whoever wins the war. Shame we can't. House Velaryon would need to fight, and Aurane Waters would make sure they fought for the winning side. No captain in his right mind would seek to sail a sinking ship. Not even for all the Gold in Casterly Rock.

They retired to their quarters as soon as socially acceptable. Monford cursed under his breath when the door closed behind them. "If only I didn't bring my entire garrison. I only left . . . what is it? A handful of men to defend my holding against some sellswords?"

"Golden Company," Aurane corrected. "They are not some sellswords, as you put it. They are the most disciplined, well-trained free company in the world. They might fight for coin, yes, but that makes them no less deadly."

"Others curse them, and me. I shouldn't have been so foolish. I never thought . . ."

"None of us did, brother." Aurane went to the table and filled two empty cups with Arbor Red. "I do not desire to speak of treason, but mayhaps we should pull out of Stannis' rebellion."

Monford gave him a reproachful look. "The king—"

"One of many," Aurane interrupted.

"Those are dangerous words you speak, brother," Monford grimaced, looking at the door despite it being closed and Velaryon household guards standing on the other side. "Mayhaps exile has loosened your tongue a bit too much."

Aurane brushed his silver beard. "We will not win this war. During my time in Essos, I saw how the Golden Company operated. Much has been said of the Battle of the Burning River. They didn't defeat the Dothraki, they destroyed them. That's not to mention them mastering wildfire and I have no desire to face that when I'm standing on the deck of a ship. Then there's the Triarchy who side with them, providing a fleet that dwarfs ours and has near as many men. They even have dragons if half the tales are true. We cannot win this war. With your son and wife in their hands . . ."

The realisation seemed to be sinking into his hot-blooded half-brother unlike before. "They will threaten if not kill them outright. Sellswords have no honour and the death of—I won't even think of it."

"We leave, take our fleet and sail for Dragonstone where we bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen. She'll need ships and experienced captains to lead them. The Houses Targaryen and Velaryon are close, the bloodlines mixed through multiple marriages. She'll accept you and the others."

"Others?"

Aurane smiled his most friendly smile. "You are not the only one who desires to return home. The Sunglass men, Celtigar and the lesser lords and household knights want the same thing."

"Do you—"

"Would I ever lie to you, brother of mine? If you don't believe me, ask to speak to Lord Celtigar in the godswood tonight and tell him. He'll seek to return home and will no doubt bring that abomination of a galley with him as well. Be careful though, else the woman may hear and hand us to the flames. Even your birth won't save you, I fear, as we discovered on Dragonstone."

His trueborn brother nodded. "Mayhaps you are right, Aurane. I will get Joss to hand him a message, the captain of Sunglass's host as well. No doubt they'll seek to return to their keeps. May the Crone guide us and pray it is the right choice."

Yes, Aurane thought. We should all pray, and pray it's the Seven who hear us and not the Red God.

...

Sitting at his desk in the Tower of the Hand, Tyrion of House Lannister stared down at the latest reports of the war and felt like throwing everything onto the floor.

Their position in King's Landing had gone from bad to worse, though he was wroth to admit they were never really in a good position to begin with. King's Landing was a sprawling city with a population of a million mouths that had only grown with long lines of refugees fleeing the war. Starving refugees who were always at the cusp of rioting. Under normal circumstances Tyrion could import food but the two kingdoms where grain was plentiful had stopped supplying the city – the Reach due to Renly deciding he looked pretty with a golden crown, and the Riverlands because much of it had been set alight by his lord father. With Stannis in the south with a much greater army and the Golden Company to the north, Tyrion found himself sandwiched between two armies with enough strength to take the city.

And my bloody father's going west instead of east to protect his own lands from Robb Stark. The hope had been that Lord Tywin Lannister would remain at Harrenhal, using his strategic position to harass either of the two armies while being able to supply himself by foraging the Riverlands. Should either the Golden Company or Stannis make a move to strike the city itself, his father would sweep upon their rear and serve as the hammer to King's Landing's anvil. But that was not to be, and Tyrion was furious. It felt like his father was abandoning him to be left to the dragons and stags while he retreated to the safety of Casterly Rock. It was made even worse with Tommen now in Aegon Blackfyre's hands.

Oh, how Cersei had fumed when the message was brought to court. Tyrion had seen Cersei angry on many occasions. She was all fire and fury like a tempest smashing against a fishing village and tearing all the hovels down, but even that paled in comparison to what she'd been that day. Despite being the one to send Tommen to Rosby in the first place, she had blamed Tyrion and everyone else despite Tyrion being the only person who knew and having sent Bywater to take control of the castle with specific instructions should the Red Keep fall to Stannis. Tyrion knew the Golden Company was going south and Rosby would be a stopgap measure, but he never imagined Aegon Blackfyre would move so quickly or even know where Tommen was being held.

That was only the top of the pyramid of problems they were now facing. Thanks to Robert Baratheon emptying the royal coffers and Littlefinger trying to woo the Tyrells, they'd only a limited amount of coin so Tyrion had to resort to drastic measures to ensure payment for much-needed food from the few places in the Crownlands still able to supply the city. It made him even more reviled with much anger being placed at what the smallfolk called 'the dreaded dwarf's penny.' But it was either that or having the city starve, even if the food coming in was only a trickle that was enough to supply the garrison and keep.

As a side effect of those problems, crime had grown to the point many of the gold cloaks were unable to combat it even if they weren't active participants themselves. Rioting was commonplace with the granaries and shops needing the crown's protection in the form of armed guards. It was further inflamed with certain characters taking advantage of the anger by pointing the blame of the city's woes at the Red Keep and proclaiming Joffrey's rule as illegitimate and that Daenerys or Stannis were the rightful rulers. Cersei hadn't taken kindly to that and had them strung up from the castle walls. There was even an assault on the keep itself, or that was what his sweet sister claimed happened when a crowd of smallfolk stood outside the castle gates and demanded bread. Joffrey, in his own charming way, had sent them away with a shower of arrows. His Grace certainly knows how to earn his people's love, Tyrion mused sardonically.

Such things limited his options as Hand to rule in Joffrey's name. He tried writing to the lords of the Crownlands to send men and much-needed supplies, but they seldom replied or made excuses. It was clear they were waiting for whoever would be sitting the Iron Throne and, in some ways, Tyrion couldn't blame them. He hated them for it. He had cursed and shouted but if he were in the same position, he would be doing the same thing. Yet despite all his attempts at keeping the city together, Tyrion doubted King's Landing would hold. The only good thing was that their forces had swelled from when the war started. Shagga and his clansmen had left for the Kingswood to slow Stannis down and strike at his scouts and supplies. Though he was missing them, and a large part of him hated seeing them go, Tyrion had his own sellswords who were all Bronn's hirelings. He was more uncertain of them though. Despite numbering a thousand, sellswords were notoriously fickle. It didn't help they were costing him a fortune to buy their continued loyalty, promising Bronn and a dozen of his best lands and knighthoods when the battle was done, and much gold in the meantime. They drank his wine, laughed at his jests, and called each other ser until they were staggering . . . all but for Bronn who only smiled that dark smile of his and said, "They'll kill for that knighthood, but don't ever think they'll die for it. Sellswords who take risks don't remain sellswords for long."

Tyrion was under no delusion.

He wasn't going to fully rely on sellswords even if they were better killers than most. The core of King's Landing's defences belonged to the Gold Cloaks of the City Watch who now numbered six thousand men, but not even a quarter of them could be relied upon. Ser Bywater had gone deep into the details of the men under his command. Two thousand were seasoned watchmen who'd gotten their cloaks from Robert, and there were capable officers who served during the time of Aerys. But even a skilled watchman was not truly a soldier, as Lord Tywin Lannister was fond of saying. The gold cloaks were infamously corrupt and not at all like the professional watchmen of Lannisport. Of the rest, well, Tyrion had to make do. Though Bywater had been quick to say there were a few who showed promise, nearly all were greener than summer grass and joined the gold cloaks not out of loyalty to their king, but to escape the hordes of starving peasants and be guaranteed bread and board. Such men could be relied upon to keep order with King's Landing and crush the riots whenever they erupted, but he could scarcely rely on them for when Stannis or the Golden Company started battering down the gates. As soon as the battle started going sour, they would break. All it required was one man throwing down his spear for the rest to follow.

We just need to keep the walls between us and them . . .

The rest of the army was small but they were the best he had. Of knights and men-at-arms, Tyrion had a scarce few. No more than three hundred and that was after demanding all the surrounding holdfasts send whatever men they had. If he hadn't sent Cersei's red cloaks to either escort Cleos Frey or join with the desperate detachment of Crownlanders to slow the Golden Company, he would have more, but they were men who would have empowered Cersei and that wasn't something he could have tolerated.

There was a knock on the door and Bronn poked his head in to say Lord Varys was here to see him. Rubbing his forehead, Tyrion permitted the Master of Whispers inside, and Lord Varys came gliding into the chamber wearing sickening lavender robes that matched his smell and a fresh layer of white makeup that looked like he'd stuck his head in a sack of flour. "Greetings, my Lord Hand, how busy you have been the last few days."

"I never noticed it's been a few days. It just seems like one long one," Tyrion mused, sitting back in his chair as Lord Varys sat before him smelling of rich perfume and flowers that did little to hide the sharper horrid smell underneath. "You can blame the Blackfyre for that little problem of mine. I have seldom had enough sleep since Tommen was stolen away. I have only a limited number of options now, and it seems many of them are slipping from my fingers."

"I too would be uncertain if I were you," Varys said soberly. "Might I trouble you for some wine?"

Tyrion waved at the flagon, frowning, his mismatched eyes looking down at the replies from the crownlords. "Depending on who gets here first, I fear King's Landing may be lost. I've been preparing for Stannis and should he attack through land and sea, we'll be prepared. But I don't think anyone knew about the timely invasion of the Golden Company, and whoever will take the city first will have to fight the other for I don't think they'll join hands and start singing hymns together."

"I don't imagine they would do such a thing either."

"It was my fault," Tyrion admitted. It had been Cersei's plan to have Tommen go to Rosby with Lord Gyles and that blundering fool that was Blount. If he ever imagined Aegon Blackfyre would discover Tommen and steal him away, Tyrion would have sent his nephew somewhere else. But where to? That only led to questions of how this Blackfyre could have known. Some claimed the boy had a witch who whispered secrets into his ear and controlled him, but Tyrion doubted that. Instead, he suspected the Blackfyre had agents inside King's Landing like how Bittersteel still had loyalists within the Targaryen court even after being exiled. But who could it be?

Varys filled himself a cup and sighed unhappily after taking a sip. "A sad thing all the wine left in the keep is a poor vintage."

"Don't tell my sister. We're having dinner later and she doesn't tolerate anything but the best."

"A true Lannister. But no doubt she's grief-stricken with what's happened to her son. With Tommen in the dragon's claws, I can only imagine she fears something similar happening to Princess Myrcella. The Dornishmen have little love for your house, I fear."

They didn't. He'd been confident but now Tyrion was worrying about Prince Doran Martell. It was unlikely he would hurt the girl himself, but there was always the possibility of selling her to Daenerys. "Tell me why you came here, Lord Varys."

The Spider made a soft humming sound then pulled out a paper scroll from beneath his hanging sleeve and spread it open. Holding it down with a weight, the eunuch smiled though his eyes glittered with something that wasn't happiness. "Due to what's happening in the city, rebels are growing thicker than Myrcella's pretty garden. We have a multitude of treasons to discuss."

"How quickly would it pass if I ask you to give them to my nephew and let him do as he sees fit?"

"It would go quickly, but the king will become little loved, I fear. There are a few captains in the gold cloaks who are suspected of holding certain loyalties to either Lord Stannis or Daenerys. The Lannisters are little loved in the city and there are many wanting a return of House Targaryen."

Tyrion looked at the names and not one of them was familiar. "Put these men in with a dose of Joffrey's justice." The last thing Tyrion needed was an enemy inside the gates. It would also keep his nephew occupied as well. He'd been very rowdy as of late.

"Lady Teana Stokeworth has been growing worried and wants to return to her holdfast. After Her Grace refused, she'd been heard speaking of sneaking out with her garrison."

"If she leaves we'll have no more swan. She will remain and be given a stern warning. If Lady Taena wants to feel safe, she can provide further men to protect herself and the king."

"As she will. The plague of holy men has grown further. A large crowd now resides outside the doors of the Sept of Baelor and refuses to move. His High Holiness has been growing worried, even more so as preachers say he is filled with sin and needs to be punished for being a dwarf's pet. Others are operating in the winesinks, pot shops and marketplaces, foretelling of doom and destruction to everyone who cares to listen, and the crowds are growing larger by the day."

"Make sure these preachers know Lord Stannis has abandoned the Seven and is more than like to destroy the Sept of Baelor."

"They don't pray for Stannis, but Daenerys. There seems to be many yearning for her sweet return."

Return? "Westeros never had a ruling queen, and it won't have any time soon if we can help it. Make sure they are removed so they don't continue spreading treason, but make sure they disappear silently. I'll not have the city watch causing another riot. Seven only know we've had enough already."

Varys made a mark on the parchment and it continued a while longer, with the Master of Whispers listing the names of traitors both proven and suspected and Tyrion choosing what happened to them. When it was done, Varys smiled slyly, and Tyrion half suspected he had removed many of Littlefinger's men and replaced them with Varys'.

With duties to perform, the Spider left and Tyrion climbed off his seat, feeling his sore limbs tense up from where he'd been sitting all morning. Looking into the mirror, Tyrion brushed his black-and-white hair back, straightened his plush velvet clothes and the chain of golden interlocking hands around his neck, then took his leave for Cersei's solar.

Outside her chambers, Ser Osmund Kettleblack stood guard. Once a sellsword, this knight had been raised to replace the late Ser Boros Blount. Tyrion decided it was no great loss but nor was it much improvement when it came to his nephew's protectors. Kettleblack looked intimidating enough. Standing six foot and six inches tall and made of sinew muscle, his hook nose, dark triangular beard and narrow cheeks lent him a fearsome aspect. But appearances were deceiving and all the Kettleblacks were as intimidating as they were ambitious. Cersei thought they were hers, but it seemed the three amiable rogues that were the Kettleblack brothers were more skilled at deceit than bloodletting. They would charm Cersei, take her coin and do everything she asked, then turn around and supply Bronn with all her secrets so long as he was matching every copper of hers coin for coin. They were drums. Hollow drums that would make all the fierce booming sounds Cersei liked, but little else. It amused Tyrion to no end.

The knight muttered a "milord," before stepping to the side.

Inside, Cersei was staring at herself through the mirror, looking like she hadn't slept since she'd gotten the news of what happened to Tommen. She was dressed as a queen should in her crimson and golden samite that caught the shimmering light of the candles, with a low-cut collar that highlighted her breasts and gold jewellery with emeralds that matched her eyes. But the dark circles underneath and the hollowness of her cheeks detracted from that. His sister had scarcely eaten but more than happily indulged herself on wine. Seldom was she seen of late without a glass in hand.

Tyrion had scarcely seen his sister in such a state. She was meant to be the lioness of Casterly Rock, all fierce and proud. He would expect her to have been angry, to shout at the courtiers and lambaste everyone around her, not remain in her chambers and form herself a shell. Spinning around, Cersei stared as Ser Osmund closed the door behind Tyrion. "I assume you got the news," she said, a ghost of a smirk touching her lips for just a moment.

He knew what she was referring to. Theon Greyjoy, former ward of Lord Eddard Stark, had invaded the North with his Ironborn. Victarion Greyjoy had launched an attack against Moat Calin which Lord Stark had fortified shortly before his execution at the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. It seemed that had been enough to spur Theon to strike Winterfell, but he had proven himself a fool. Winterfell had always been a formidable keep with its two sets of hard granite walls and all-seeing defensive towers. Tyrion didn't know how large Theon's host had been, but they were caught sight of and, after failing to scale the walls, was forced to beat a hasty retreat.

"Varys gave me the message," Tyrion admitted. "I assume you are pleased."

"Of course," she stood up straighter, the dismay that filled her face when he entered was gone and it was the face of his sister once more. "House Greyjoy joining the war might be the very thing that will hand us victory. Not your chain nor your wildlings. We should make an alliance with the Ironborn and Lord Balon. Give him the North in return for ships and his brutes."

"The Ironborn are on the other side of Westeros." While thankful Lord Balon was controlled by his need for revenge against House Stark rather than striking the richer Westerlands, Tyrion knew the Ironmen weren't allies. Even if they allied in common cause against Robb Stark, they'd be of little use. "It will take too long for their longships to sail around Westeros."

Cersei quickly dismissed that minor obstacle. "We need their ships, but they'll do us no good, Imp. We just need them to keep Stark busy and allow our lord father to do whatever he needs to do so he can reinforce us here. Tis a shame Theon Greyjoy didn't take Winterfell. He could have cut the head off the pup."

"And clean up after your mess, sweet sister?" Tyrion asked, getting himself a spare glass and filling it up with Arbor Gold. Cersei blinked at him innocently and the dwarf rolled his eyes. "You want the Stark boy dead."

Cersei made a sour face. "It was Jaime who threw him out the window, not I. For love, he said, as if that would please me. It was a stupid thing to do, and dangerous besides. But when did our sweet brother ever stop to think?"

"The boy saw you."

"He was only a child. We could have said he was lying, and I could have frightened him into silence. Why must I suffer accusations every time some Stark stubs his toe? It was Greyjoy who decided to attack the North and Winterfell. He didn't take it, unfortunately, but I had nothing to do with his betrayal."

"Then let's hope Lady Catelyn believes that. It would be bad for us should she believe we allied with the Ironmen. She might be fuelled with a mother's anger, and that will be especially risky with Jaime at her mercy."

"She wouldn't dare."

"Would she? Lady Catelyn is not you, I admit, but what would you do if Joffrey and Tommen were murdered?"

"I still hold Sansa," she declared angrily.

"We still hold Sansa, and the dragons hold Arya who was sneaked out of King's Landing right from under your nose," Tyrion interrupted. "To ensure the Starks treat Jaime well, we best treat Sansa well, and that means better than how Joffrey's treating her. Now, where is that supper you promised me?"

Despite the famine striking the city and being the cause of all the riots, Cersei had set a tasty table. They started with a hearty creamy chestnut soup, crusty hot bread, eggs and pepper, and greens with cooked apples and pine nuts. When they had finished, the serving girls brought out lamprey pie, roasted cod and crab with garlic and honey, hare, buttered carrots, white beans and bacon, and a handsome roast swan stuffed with mushrooms and oysters. Tyrion was exceedingly polite, allowing his sister the choice portions of every dish and made certain he ate only what she did. Not that he truly thought she would poison him, but it never hurt to be careful.

While she took large enough portions, it didn't seem Cersei was in the mood to eat, instead, staring at the food and moving it around her plate. "Have we received any word from Bitterbridge?" she asked anxiously as she cut her bacon for the sake of cutting it.

"None. You should eat, sister. Food is worth more than its weight in gold. Best make sure you eat should there be none on the morrow."

She ignored his advice. "I never trusted Littlefinger. He's little more than a commoner. For enough coin he'll go over to Stannis in a heartbeat."

"Stannis Baratheon is too proud and bloody righteous to buy men. Nor would he make a comfortable lord for the likes of Littlefinger. Stannis would be more like to hang him from a tree if Baelish offered him the crown. This war has made some queer bedfellows, but those two, never." It seemed no progress was happening though. Littlefinger could wrap others around his finger and Tyrion had gifted him everything he would need to sway the Tyrells to their cause, but it seemed the Reachmen were unwilling to actually do anything. With King's Landing surrounded, Joffrey wasn't looking to be in a good position. And if I were Lord Tyrell, I wouldn't be wanting Joffrey to stick his prick in my daughter.

Putting his knife down, Tyrion Lannister straightened in his seat. He feared the Tyrells would be unwilling to get involved. Despite Lord Tyrell claiming to be a general and flaunted his so-called achievements during Robert's Rebellion, he was no fool. He was the kind of lord to only involve himself if he was certain of victory. The fat flower sat his arse outside Storm's End waiting for when the war was decided at the Trident and wouldn't make a move before then. Tyrion doubted he would be any different here, and unless the Reach got involved, King's Landing would surely be lost.

"I won't waste time with pleasantries, sweet sister. I fear for you and I fear our position in King's Landing is hanging by a thread and around us are people more than happy to cut the string and watch with smiles as we tumble into the fires below." Even if Cersei was too arrogant, she wasn't foolish. Far from it. Cersei was cunning when she put her mind to it. It was just unfortunate she lacked the patience to do anything productive and was easily blinded. It has benefited me a few times since becoming hand, but it's now becoming burdensome. "As soon as possible, we should sneak out of King's Landing and let both our enemies fight over the city."

Cersei bolted to her feet, emerald green eyes boring into him like the wildfire they were going to greet Stannis and the Targaryens with. "How dare you. I will not flee with my tail between my legs like some kicked mutt. I'll not flee when Joffrey is king. I'll not have my son be looked upon as a craven and forced to relinquish his legitimacy to some wannabe usurpers."

Oh, sister, you don't understand. "I didn't mean for Joffrey to flee and never return. We are undermanned and undersupplied with two armies ready to besiege King's Landing as soon as possible. Father even left his position at Harrenhal, deciding it better to relieve the Westerlands of Robb Stark."

"You were wrong then. About father. You said as he's positioned at Harrenhal he would strike upon Stannis in the rear. But he can't do that if he goes west, now can he?"

"I never expected him to turn west and leave us isolated. We knew of the Golden Company, but we didn't know they had dragons with them and would invade. The most we can hope is that Stannis and the dragons fight each other just as Stannis and Renly had done, but I fear that will not come to pass. They're on opposing sides and will wait for whoever takes the city first before making their move. Either way, we'll be caught in the middle of their feud and I don't believe we'll win either confrontation." Even if both failed to take King's Landing, the smallfolk would only rise up like during the Dance. Cersei's face tightened and Tyrion added, "Our hold of the smallfolk is growing weaker by the day. Only recently did we have to deal with the Antler Men. They were arming a force of two hundred for Stannis, and then there are the Queen's Men who were doing the same for Daenerys. A day doesn't go by without us stringing up someone preaching before crowds of overthrowing Joffrey in place of someone else, or a wandering septon sprouting follies of your children being bastards." Which they are, but the smallfolk don't need to know that. "It would be foolhardy of us to waste resources holding King's Landing when we can move our strength to the Westerlands, join up with father and plan our war from Casterly Rock. When Aegon and Stannis fight each other for control of the city, they'll be weakened for our father to take them with his own army. That's not to mention we'll be in a safer position in the Westerlands, with your son safe in Casterly Rock and surrounded by loyal servants to our house."

A crease appeared on Cersei's pale white brow between those lovely eyes of hers. "I will not relinquish my son's throne and kingship and flee before some pretenders. He is the king and will rule over Westeros as his due. We are lions and not deer. I am the daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister and will not run and hide under a rock. I will not. We will stand and fight and you will make sure we will win. I know you are only half a man, but that should be enough to deal with Lord Stannis. Or do you want to relinquish your position as Hand?"

So you can replace me with Moonboy? Tyrion couldn't stop himself from frowning at her. You fool. You blind, bloody fool. He studied her face for a moment and knew she wouldn't back down. She never would. If she would, she was not Cersei. "Then pray we hold the Red Keep long enough for our lord father to march to our relief. The gods only know what other way your son will retain that crown on his pretty head."