Renly 2

293AC

"Lord Stark?" Renly straightened in his saddle, turning from his men and the bridge below to the other side of the hill, where other riders and apparently footmen were already descending.

"Aye milord, should I bring him to you?"

Renly turned for a moment before nodding. "Yes, and quickly too, I imagine that King Robert has finally decided to move then."

The knight nodded, turning his horse back around to face the approaching northerners. At their head was the king's chosen Brother.

Renly didn't like Lord Eddard.

It wasn't any sort of particular hatred, just a clash of personalities, the man brought the temperature of the room down wherever he went, and Robert was overly fond of him to boot, putting him even above his own brother in terms of the armies command.

Certainly, the man had more experience than Renly did, but such men were for strategy meetings and leading at the back, not for the charismatic face of high-command. Honestly, Renly couldn't imagine how the Northern Lord could inspire loyalty in anyone.

But then perhaps Northerners were just a different breed in general.

Still, far be it from Renly to be impolite. He rode up to meet the Lord Paramount as decorum dictated.

"Lord Eddard," he greeted, approaching. "I take it this means that my eldest brother has finally chosen a strategy?"

The Northern Lord came to a halt next to him, gently nodding. "Yes. Robert has chosen our course." The man's eyes glanced across the slowly assembling Camp, and down towards the river. "I'll have my men camp on the backside of the hill. Avoid the eyes of Maegor's army."

"Is it to be an ambush then?" Renly asked, chuckling, inside he was quite happy that the stalemate might finally be over soon, the faster the war was over the faster he could return to Storm's End.

Lord Eddard grimaced, before turning towards Renly's camp. "I don't suppose you have a tent set up yet to discuss such things?"

"Ah," Renly said, a little embarrassed at his mistake, but unwilling to show it, "Yes we do, right down the hill here, please, follow me."

Once they had handed their horses off to the squires and gotten inside of the quickly erected command Tent, Lord Eddard nodded, turning to face him.

"Your brother intends to ford the river upstream, south of the Sorrows, then make his way south on the opposite bank with the rest of the cavalry, about thirteen-thousand all told. He intends to use it to hit Maegor's flank during the crossing."

Renly nodded, that was sensible, only…

"How will he time it properly, Maegor's will likely try forcing it by this afternoon?"

"That's why I'm here with the footmen." Lord Eddard said coolly, "we are to hold until he arrives."

Renly grimaced, he had feared it was something like that, and against Elephants too. "We will need to hold the bridge then."

"Yes." Lord Eddard said.

And that was it, he said no more, no reassurance of success, no confident words or bravado. It would be refreshing if such things were not necessary for the leadership of men.

Renly stood from the table.

"Well then." He said, trying to fill his words with a bold voice. "I shall Rally the men, I don't know how you what you northerners do before the battle, but the Knights at least should be reminded of their oaths."

Lord Eddard nodded at that, but said nothing, just watching him Go.

It took near half an hour to rally the knights, along with what footmen would come, so that they could all see him, sat on the backside of the hill, he was dressed in full regalia, his helmet adorned in four-pronged antlers and his banner hoisted beside him by Ser Loras, who held the Golden Stag of Baratheon flapping proudly in the wind.

"Men of Westeros." Renly projected his voice. "I know we'll that we have spent long now, marching and parading in a foreign land, you miss your wives, your lands, your children."

There was a great deal of affirmative mumbling at that, the army had indeed been moving for a long time, though the consistent food supply had eased much of the traditional woes of such a force.

"But today, or perhaps tomorrow, for the first time in this war, you will face battle. Thus I, as the Kings Brother, as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and more importantly as a knight Sworn to the Seven, have come forward today to remind you of your oaths, of your duties to your lords, of the reason you came forth from Westeros with the blessing of the High-Septon himself, in the light of the Seven who are one. Do you hear me men of Westeros? Will you answer the call?"

There was a cheer at that, and Renly raised his Lance in the air to match it, footmen stomping lances clattering against shields. Even the Northerners, what few had come to attend, we're cheering only a bit less loudly. "We are here to smash asunder the ranks of Godless monsters, villains who burn men alive, and worthless dogs who fight only for money, what are they to you? What are they to the Seven, or to the Old Gods, what are they to the brave men of Westeros, the Men of the Andale and the First Men, the Men who fight and die with Red blood in their veins. You are not some Essosi cowards, hiding behind High Walls and bought Swords. You ARE MEN."

There was a great sound of reply at that, even from the Northerners, and he smiled as he saw the proud and vicious faces, full of chivalry and righteousness.

"And As Men, true men of Westeros, I know that you will not falter, for though the enemy brings monsters forth against us, we will not fall, like the Mirror Shield, or the Last Hero of the North, we will slay these beasts. They will die on the bridge and their corpses shall block Maegor's host from ever trying his luck again. We shall send these dogs of Volantis scurrying back to their walls in fear, and once we have smashed their other army likewise, we will tear their walls down and free every Slave inside them as the High-Septon commands. Who will follow me in this?"

The riotous cry that his proclamation drew shook the very hill, and Renly smiled, he might not be suited to campaigning, but this? This was a battle he understood.

"Rest now, Men of Westeros, Rest now and Sharpen Your spears, sharpen your axes, sharpen your swords. For when that fool across the river tries to play his hand, we shall cast him fully back into the Rhoyne, and when they speak of you in taverns or in castles, when they mention your names in hushed tones as the men who slew a Triarch of Volantis and your chest puffs wire pride, you will know that you have earned it, that in your own honor, your own Chivalry, you have claimed your place beside the other knights of yore, the heroes who slew their own monsters. Rest, but be ready to rise at the call of battle, Rest, but pray for victory. Rest, but join me soon in casting this overgrown cat into the River where he belongs."

As he finished his speech and the thundering cheers began to die down, he turned to Loras, who was wearing a smile he was sure matched his own.

"Think that'll do it for a speech?" He asked, chuckling to his knight.

Loras just smiled. "I have never heard tell of better my lord."

And that was enough.