Renly 1

293AC

"They're moving again, Lord Renly?"

The Lord of the storm lands sighed heavily into his dinner. The messengers were fresh-faced and cheerful, but they always brought such obnoxious news.

"And where are they going this time?"

"South, it looks like, down towards Selhorys, it might just be another feint, or they could be trying to cross the bridge there."

"I know that. This is only the fourth time." Renly drew a hand over his face, turning to the best general of his forces. "Lord Tarly, can you lead the advanced force? I'll get the rest of the men moving shortly."

"Certainly Lord Renly, they can't match our pace anyhow." The martial lord stood from the table. "I'll be gone in minutes. Though the men and I both grow tired of Maegor's games."

"Don't we all?" Renly said, sighing into his wine. "It is not that I don't understand why Robert wants us here, only I wish somebody else would do it instead."

"Aye," Tarly chuckled, stepping from the command tent, as he pulled his gauntlets on. "but then, that's the way of war."

War, Renly found, did not agree with him.

Oh, he could fight certainly, he had earned his knighthood fighting, and he imagined battle would not be overly complex, at least not where he stood in the armies hierarchy.

No, it was the campaign life that bothered him, the constant marching, the movement, the sweat and smelly armor, the lack of decent latrines, and the perpetual smell of Horse-Dung. All of it irked him like mud sticking to his armor, armor that he needed to wear all day long so as to be ready should Maegor try to force a crossing.

Robert, he knew, loved it, but it was not his way, and even Ser Lora ministrations he found could not relieve the soreness of his spine from wearing his plate-harness through the day.

At the very least he could take Solas in the fact that Maegor's horde of smallfolk levies was likely suffusing his camp with an even worse scent, and his elephants probably even more so.

The massive creatures were terrifying in all honesty and scared the horses greatly, but even they would die if caught trying to cross a river under enemy fire. The simplicity of Robert's strategy was as sensible as it was proactive. Forcing Maegor to take a poor engagement, especially since the news had begun to filter back of Stannis' victory at Lys.

He was sure his brother would be insufferable as a result. Not only had he won the first real battle of the war, but with his miraculously survived son's weapons knocking down a city's walls.

That particular bit of news gave Renly a little pause, and he had moved young Arthur a few notches upward in his regard. Sieges were long and brutal affairs, and siege weapons traditionally were more about terror or fire. The idea of just brutalizing one's way through a castle was both absurd and interesting.

He would have to see about purchasing some of his nephew's weapons.

But, that was all for later, and his brother's good fortune was at least better than a defeat since it meant the siege at Myr would likely be broken, and that meant Maegor didn't have time to waste faffing about the Riverside anymore.

He would make his move soon. Renly thought at least, and Lord Tarly agreed, so that counted for something.

He sighed, sipping some more of his wine and closing his eyes for a moment, just taking a second to enjoy the bliss of the drink, a small pleasure, but a previous one here on the campaign he found.

"Are you feeling alright my Lord?" Ser Lora asked, and wasn't he a dear, but Renly shook his head, standing from the table.

"No, but that isn't an excuse, we need to pack up camp quickly and I can't keep sitting here supping at wine for eternity."

Loras nodded, helping him from his seat. "Shall I bring your horse around My Lord?"

"Yes," Renly said, marching over to where his sword and helmet sat, strapping one to his waist and pulling up his coif to place the other over his head. The heavy, Antlered thing was beautiful in its intricacies, but mostly he just liked it because it let the men know who he was. He gingerly placed it over his head, raising the visor. "That would be sensible."

Maegor was going to break one of these days damn-it.

Renly would not let it get to him. He would not break first.

He would not shame himself in his first real battle.

As he rode out of the temporary encampment at the head of nearly four-thousand cavalrymen, mostly knights, and squires, he couldn't help but frown.

The doubt was there, niggling at him that he wasn't the warrior his brothers were. That he would fail and be remembered forever with mockery.

He crushed his doubts inside himself. He would not lose, not to some fat old man from Volantis.

'At least I hope I will not.'