chapter 25

That morning, Lord Errol had agreed to the terms. The Trial of Seven would determine if Joffrey was a bastard or Robert's true heir, and all the lords and knights who had opposed me had agreed. If Lord Errol's seven were defeated, they would renew their oaths to the Iron Throne and accept me as the Paramount Lady of the Stormlands. If I should yield, I would be required to write to every major house that I believed I was a bastard as were my brothers. Yield or perish; the nobles that had sided with me would either remain true to their oaths to Stannis or those yet neutral would pledge their houses to Stannis.

"Will I see you on the field of battle, Sebastian?"

He shook his head. "That honor belongs to Ser Patrek, Ser Ronnet Connington, Ser Brus Buckler, Lord Caspar Wylde, Ser Gladden Wylde, Ser Jasper Storm, and Ser Arrec Lonmouth."

Ser Theo Redstone had correctly predicted at least two of our opponents; he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, one to consider for my personal bodyguard.

I returned to my champions and watched the squires assist with donning the plate armor. Penrose had supplied the squires for Ser Arys, Ser Beric, and Brienne. I spoke with them and kept a confident expression on my face. I also asked if Ser Beric would be interested in taking on Edric Storm as a squire.

He grimaced. "Is this a jest, Your Grace? If so, it is a poor one."

Was he upset about the possibility of having a bastard serve as a squire? That was surprising for him, though not surprising for nobility in general.

"No jest was intended, but I'll withdraw the request if you feel your honor was slighted."

Ser Barristan interjected, "Your Grace, I fear you misunderstand; Ser Beric already has a squire named Edric, though I know not his location."

Oh, oh, that's right. Edric Dayne had been his squire. "Thank you for the clarification. I regret I did not ask this earlier, but is he well?"

Ser Beric, seemingly understanding that there was no jape intended, explained. "As far as I know. When Ser Loras was gathering knights to confront the Queen on that day, I feared for his safety. I sent two of my men with him, and they sneaked out into the city itself with instructions to leave as soon as the gates were no longer barred. As far as I am aware, he is halfway to Dorne. And of course, Your Grace, I would allow Edric Storm to squire for me."

I gave Barristan a grateful nod, already glad to have him by my side advising me and preventing potential misunderstandings.

Unlike the knights, I wore leathers. I might have to take a tumble or two on the earth and would prefer to have some protection. Around my waist was a sturdy belt that held sheathes for four of my heavier throwing daggers and my Valyrian steel dagger. I kept two of my small throwing knives in their usual hiding spot and had small leather inserts added to my jerkin for the other four. My hair was tied back and out of the way.

We arrived at the tourney grounds and the hundreds of knights, men-at-arms and peasant levies arrayed around. Someone had set up some temporary stands so more people could watch. There was a festive mood as we took our positions. This was more exciting and momentous than any tourney, and they all wanted a chance to view it.

The Septon led a prayer, which I tolerated grudgingly, and then the positions of each side were publicly announced. The major lords all agreed to the terms that had been hashed out, so none could claim ignorance later. Looking over their arms, I was unsurprised but mildly disappointed to see all of them wearing full suits of plate and great helms. No easy knife to the eye for me.

Lord Wylde called out. "This is your last chance, girl. End this farce now, and we'll allow you to return to King's Landing. Battle is not a song and no place for children."

"Your concern is noted, my lord, but I am set on my course to prove my mother's innocence and my brother's parentage."

We stepped onto the grounds. A trumpet blew, an extra bit of ceremony, and the Trial of Seven began. Brienne and I moved as one toward one side and forward. The other five champions mirrored us in the other direction. We advanced at a steady pace, and we could see a quick discussion among our foes. It ended with Ser Brus Buckler and Ser Ronnet Connington advancing toward us and the other five meeting our five.

I separated myself from Brienne by about 20 feet as we let the two knights approach. As they neared, I pulled out one of my smaller knives and with slow deliberation threw it, center mass, at Ser Brus. Brus laughed at the plinking sound it made and advanced with his axe and shield. Ronnet went to fight Brienne with sword and shield.

I heard her battle cry, "Evenfall!"

I backed away as Brus advanced on me. I drew another knife and then began to run to the side. He went to cut me off and likely thought to trap me at the edge of the combat grounds. I dashed to try to get around him, but again he moved to cut me off. As he got close, he attempted to swing his axe at me, and that's when I dodged, tossed a knife at his helmet, and used a vector of force to give me an extra boost to push past him.

Wearing a great helm protected him of course, but a sharp object hurtling toward your face was going to cause someone to flinch. Between that, and my magically induced speed, I was easily on my way. He cursed and gave chase. My positioning was now ideal; we were in-between the Brienne / Ronnet fight and the five-on-five fight, with Connington facing away from me. I drew one of my heavy throwing daggers and launched it with all my 11-year-old might as well as a healthy boost from a vector of force.

With the aid of practice, some natural talent, and my reflexive enhancement, the dagger struck true in the popliteal. His knee gave, and that was all Briene needed. Forewarned of this exact strategy as one of the possible permutations of the trial, she acted instantly with a brutal overhand swing, even as his knee had barely touched the ground.

The war hammer crashed into Red Ronnet's helm with horrific force. The helmet itself was dented inward, and he dropped to the dirt. Brienne was already raising her weapon for a second strike and brought it crashing down right upon his visor, smashing the metalwork and sending its shards into the downed knight's face. He gave no cry of pain and lay there unnaturally still.

Ser Brus snarled, "Others take you!" He advanced on me, but I retreated toward Brienne, and he was forced to turn and deal with the Terror of Tarth.

This battle reminded me of the central principle of Zettour and Rudersdorf's plans. Obtain local superiority and ruthlessly exploit it. With one enemy down, Ser Brus had to deal with Brienne and me. They came together in a clash, Brienne's war hammer being deflected by his shield while his axe took a swipe at her head. She dodged back and then slammed her shield into Ser Brus, who was forced back a step. I came up upon him, and he had the battle instincts to notice the danger and to turn and take a swing at me again.

I easily dodged, and Ser Brus had to quickly turn back to face Brienne's continued assault. As the Buckler knight raised his axe again, I dashed in, drew my Valyrian steel dagger, and slammed it into the more thinly protected armpit region. Between the sharpness of the unique metal and the magical force I pushed into my hand, it punctured the chain-mail undercoat and found blood. The strike almost certainly cut into the artery, and his arm went limp. I ripped my blade back out and moved away while I turned to see how Ser Beric and the rest were doing.

The battle had barely begun, and there had not been any serious injuries. Ser Bonifer's helmet was slightly askew, and the massive Ser Jasper Storm was pounding away at Ser Beric, who was forced to deflect his blows rather than parry them out right, such was their strength. As Ser Brus collapsed, I saw Briene move forward with me.

Before we could arrive, Ser Gladden Wylde hooked the leg of Lord Alesander, and the man went down. As he went to capitalize, I saw Arys disengage from Ser Arrec and lash out with his great sword, forcing Gladden back, if only a moment. Arys's white cloak fluttered in the wind as he returned to his original opponent while Alesander got to his feet.

And then we were on them. I launched another heavy dagger, this one striking Lord Casper Wylde in the back of the head, ringing his skull. Ser Theo took advantage, and Casper's movements slowed, so Theo got in several devasting blows to the torso, gaining full control of the engagement. While I had helped tip the scales in that fight, Brienne upended them. Her war hammer cracked into Ser Patrek's shoulder pauldron, and the man gave a sharp cry of pain.

Broken clavicle.

I launched another dagger, this one at Ser Gladden. Somehow, he managed to tilt his head and avoid the speedy projectile. I had to admit, that was impressive. But it would avail him not. As Brienne helped take down another knight, that knight's opponent was also freed up, and the result was now a foregone conclusion. As Jasper struck out wildly while outnumbered, Arrec went down, and then there were but three.

"We yield!" Lord Caspar called out.

There was some jeering by the crowd, but more cheering as my champions raised their arms in triumph. None of them had been killed or incapacitated. All in all, it was a resounding and crushing victory. Precisely what was needed.

***

Lum knew who would win. Myrcella Baratheon simply did not lose. No one knew the depths of the danger lurking behind those bright, blue eyes. In every interaction he had with her, she was poised and utterly confident. So, what was Lum to do prior to the Trial of Seven? Make some coin. He put every bit of silver he had on bets with various knights.

As the battle began, he watched intently. Ser Jasper Storm towered over the others; the only two people he'd ever seen that were larger were the Clegane brothers. It was the Marcher Lord, Ser Beric, who fought with him, and each time the man lashed out with his prodigious strength, Ser Beric was able to redirect, force a glancing blow off his shield, or even outright dodge. Despite his skill, Beric was forced to retreat regularly, but Jaspar could not put him down.

Lord Alesander looked out of place. Oh, he was competent enough and likely better than average as far as knights went. Lum enjoyed watching tourneys and as a guard in King's Landing he'd seen more than most, and he knew Staedmon was not in that upper echelon. It looked dicey for him against the quick and graceful Ser Gladden. Had it not been for the Kingsguard, the noble might well have suffered serious injury or death at the hands of the Wylde knight.

That part of the fight was a sideshow; the real action had just begun. The princess had somehow darted past Ser Brus Buckler. Her swiftness and grace was surreal to watch. Her thrown dagger streaked forward and took Red Ronnet behind the knee. The crowd oohed, and the Stannis loyalist side cried foul, but their bellyaching was soon replaced by cheers as Lady Brienne pulped Connington.

Ser Brus was forced to fight the Terror of Tarth, but in less than 30 seconds the princess, quick as a whip, had rammed her Valyrian steel dagger under his armpit. Lum winced; that didn't necessarily kill a man every time, but with the length of that blade, it probably would here.

In a startlingly short amount of time, the princess had effortlessly taken two opposing knights down, and Brienne was able to run rampant through the rest of the knights still locked in their battles.

"Gods be good, that is King Robert's daughter!" He heard someone cry out.

"Those daggers are like bolts of lightning – by the time you see it, it's already struck!"

"Baratheon! Baratheon!"

Lum felt gooseflesh cover his skin. The story of what happened here would shock people; many would think it would be a tall tale, that the truth was that her knights had kept her safe. Princess Myrcella probably would even prefer it that way. In any case, Lum was grateful that he was on her side, and that he had doubled… hmm, what was it called? Net worth. Yes, he had doubled his net worth, and moved up his retirement goals considerably!

***

Brienne was conflicted. There had been a savage satisfaction in smashing Ronnet with her war hammer; yet afterward, she felt a sense of shame well within her. She had done her duty, went for the killing strike, just as Myrcella had planned as one of the likely fight scenarios. That wasn't it. Killing in the service of the princess didn't bother her, that was her duty. It was the joy she had felt in killing that was wrong. The man had been cruel with his words, but he had not ever caused harm beyond a mocking tongue.

Troubled, she tried to stay focused as she watched Lord and knight make their obeisance to their new Paramount Lady. Some did so grudgingly. Others with fervor. Brienne made a mental note to be on watch for those whose declarations were forced, like Lord Ralph Buckler.

Myrcella was giving a brief speech. She wanted a united Stormlands. She wanted no shame to be cast on the defeated and the dead in the Trial of Seven. All had believed they were doing right and had put their lives on the line with valor.

"We will protect the Seven Kingdoms from usurpers and traitors. Your will to fight, your bravery, and renewed loyalty to the Baratheon line goes without saying. We will show my treacherous uncle that OURS IS THE FURY!"

Brienne felt herself shouting and repeating the phrase along with everyone else. After, they met with Ser Cortnay. The man had always been a good friend of her father's. He had visited Tarth a few times and had even voiced encouragement for her path.

They were joined by Ser Beric and Ser Barristan.

"Your Grace, that was… extraordinary and not at all how I thought this would play out. My heart was in my throat when he swung for you. Did your uncle help train you?"

Brienne knew the Kingslayer had not.

"I am his favorite niece," Myrcella replied. Brienne stifled the instinct to shake her head. Her statement was true – it had to be, since Jaime only had one niece – but it also conveyed her skill at arms had come from her uncle. She saw Cortnay nod and wondered just how many half-truths her charge bandied about.

"Ser Cortnay, it was your defense of Brienne and your rapid allegiance to my cause that made this possible. I will be direct with you; I intend to rule the Stormlands." Myrcella paused, looking at the castellan for a moment before continuing. "However, it may be an easier morsel for the rest of the Stormlands to swallow if they believe there is an acting Regent. I am not unaware that those Lords who were not present here today may have qualms about following an 11-year-old girl who looks like a diminutive Cersei Lannister."

"Believe there is an acting Regent?" He questioned my phrasing.

"Formally, I would offer you the regency; only, I will be making all decisions. You would act in my absence just like you did when Uncle Renly was in King's Landing serving as Master of Laws, but all authority and decision-making comes from me."

Penrose gave her an appraising look. "In for a groat, in for a stag. Aye, I can serve in this bit of mummery. What exactly do you need me to do?"

Brienne listened in as Myrcella explained what communication needed to be sent out. She wanted the rest of the Stormlands to know of the Trial of Seven, the fealty of the houses here, and their support of Joffrey Baratheon as the true King of Westeros. The details of the trial should not be formally communicated; Myrcella would prefer rumor and word of mouth to spread.

Myrcella then confessed that she likely did not have the King's nor the Queen Regent's blessing for taking over the paramountcy of the Stormlands. Penrose stared at her in disbelief and then started to laugh from deep within his belly.

"You…you… I don't know whether to condemn you as a duplicitous knave or applaud you for the audacity. So, you had the Hand's blessing but not the Regent's; what happens if that becomes an issue?"

"I've left Cersei no choice; what can she possibly do now that I have won the Stormlands for Joffrey's cause?"

Ser Beric pointed out she hadn't won all the Stormlands yet.

"No, you are correct, but when I send you down to the Dornish Marches, I have faith you will secure the loyalty of the other Marcher lords. Morrigan and Selmy already have reason, and with the outcome of the Trial and the other houses swearing their fealty, I shouldn't think it too hard for you, ser."

Beric nodded to her logic. "As you say, Your Grace. I will not let you down."

From there, Myrcella interrogated Penrose on the current state of the Stormlands. The number of knights, men-at-arms, peasant levies each house could and how much they likely would bring. The amount of surplus food available, what sort of trade the Stormlands did with Essos, how the treasury stood, and more.

Ser Cortnay had been an able steward. Lord Renly had spent much of his time in King's Landing, so there were few lavish feasts and events in Storm's End, save for when the King had visited. He had left the treasury decently full; the Stormlands weren't a wealthy or highly populated land like the Westerlands or the Reach, but it was a serviceable sum.

"You've done exceptional work, Ser Cortnay. There are a few ways I'd like to put that coin to use. I realize the smiths are hard at work forging mail, spears, and swords, but I also need them to begin crafting shovels." Everyone in the room was confused.

"Shovels?"

The princess smiled. "Yes, we'll likely be fighting in the Riverlands and the Crownlands. The shovel has the ability to shape the battlefield to our liking. Additionally, we need to stockpile more food. I don't want us to drive game to extinction, but I want as much pork and venison hunted and preserved as possible. I also want us to trade for more food with the Reach, Essos, and even Dorne, as much as we possibly can. Pay a premium, if necessary. My hope is that we can convince the Tyrell's to side with us. If they do not, we may have to help feed King's Landing."

Penrose had taken out a quill and began making notes.

"I've talked with Ser Barristan, and I'd like to create a new warrior order, my Stormguard. I don't wish to draw direct comparison to the Kingsguard, so we won't stick with the number seven nor require oaths to forsake hereditary titles, lands, or spouses. Ideally, I would like 20 of the best to serve as my protectors, but also as extensions of my will and commanders of the Baratheon house troops. I'd like to get your opinion on who would be suited, starting with Ser Theo Redstone, Ser Jasper Storm, and Ser Gladden Wylde."

Penrose looked surprised at those names. "Theo would enjoy the honor, but the other two just fought against you… and you want them to be your sworn protectors?"

She nodded. "Of course, they were fantastic on the battlefield. If they can be trusted – and I am asking your counsel on that matter."

"Ser Jasper, yes. As long as you give him an opportunity to fight, he will serve loyally. He's had to prove himself, given his low birth, and will serve loyally. Ser Gladden… I cannot be sure. The man is loyal to his house but is unreadable."

Myrcella chose to table that name.

"The first two to be named to my Stormguard will be Ser Barristan Selmy as Lord Commander and my steadfast sworn shield, Brienne of Tarth. I do not intend any head of house to join, as they will have their own lands to see to, otherwise Ser Beric, you would be invited."

Brienne felt pride swell in her chest. It was not the Kingsguard, but she had no doubt Myrcella would make it an even more elite institution. Brienne was… ambivalent about her own Ladyship as heir to the Sapphire Isle. She had always wanted to live her life as a knight, not as a noble lady. Her father would be gladdened to know that she could effectively do both. Serve in the Stormguard and then still inherit his lands afterward.

"I will accept additional names if any here have recommendations. If they are loyal and can be trusted, I have no qualms about looking outside of the nobility and knights. I want the best." Myrcella paused to let Penrose finish his notes. "I want to secure Lord Cafferen's allegiance and collect Bran Stark to return him safely to the Starks."

Brienne sometimes questioned Myrcella's honor; she had played false with more than a few people, and yet it was times like these that showed her virtue.

Penrose frowned. "He could be a valuable hostage; I would never suggest mistreating the boy, but if Stark were to win some battles and take captives, well they could be traded."

The princess gave a shrug. "I gave my word to Lord Stark, and I know his honor will require me to be repaid in kind."

That decided, they went over what non-Marcher Lords had not been present and the likelihood they would need to be forcibly convinced to bend the knee to Myrcella's rule.

***

Jaime Lannister was in a foul mood when the Small Council convened. Cersei hadn't let him fuck her since Myrcella had left. Robert was dead, allowing them more opportunity and time to enjoy each other's flesh, and she was wasting it!

That was but one reason for his irritation. After a certain incident, he'd had to arrange for Elena Westerling and Rosamond Lannister a place to stay within the city and outside the Red Keep. The whole affair had been… messy, and worst of all, Cersei didn't seem to care at all.

News of Duskendale being sacked had put a palpable aura of fear over the city that hung heavy. Stannis and the dreadful 'Wolf Lord,' who had laid low their princess, were about to attack the city any day now, or so the rumors went. The small folk were convinced that Myrcella was still at death's door and only their fervent prayers to the Seven could save her. It was amusing, yet not being able to produce Myrcella just made Cersei angrier.

On a brighter note, his one-time childhood friend Ser Addam Marbrand had just arrived with 3,000 fighting men. A good number of knights were with him: Yew, Peckledon, Jast, Estren, Garner, and Stackspear knights. The rest were mounted men-at-arms and some free riders. A welcome force that restored a proper balance of power in the city. He'd be meeting with Janos Slynt that evening to replace him. Likely a temporary position for Ser Addam, but it would give him time to sniff out who among the Gold Cloaks was loyal or at least somewhat competent.

His sister looked strikingly beautiful as ever in her low-cut gown of deep green velvet. Her golden necklace held an emerald nestled in her cleavage, and it constantly drew his eye.

"Where is Pycelle?" She demanded to know when everyone else was seated.

"Shall I go fetch him?" Jaime asked.

Cersei shook her head. "No, let us begin. Varys, what do you have to report?"

The eunuch smiled graciously, "My little birds are singing. I have a list of names of those who have given voice to the foul lies of Stannis Baratheon. A distressing number of wealthy merchants, and even some highly placed servants."

Jaime watched Cersei's expression tighten. "I want them made an example of… let Joffrey deal with them in open court on the morrow."

Littlefinger grinned, "Those names – might I add a few more that I suspect of treason as well? My whores have encountered a talkative bunch, and the coffers could use the coin of those traitors."

Jaime wondered if any treason had been committed by the names Littlefinger would provide. It would matter naught; it wouldn't be anyone truly important, and if it helped keep the city standing, Cersei would not mind.

Varys continued, "Dorne has not responded, yet it also has not called its banners. Doran Martell seems content to let things play out for good or ill."

Cersei nodded; she had to know that was likely for the best, as the Martells still held their grudge over what had happened to Princess Elia.

Varys went to continue, but at that moment, the Grand Maester finally found his way into the room, several bits of parchment bound together in his hands.

"Forgive the, ahem, lateness, Your Grace, and ah, my Lords. Important news has arrived. Momentous news. I needed to check old correspondence to see if, ahem, the lettering matched. The news is, well, it is unexpected."

Jaime could not wait for the old man to expire. His agonizingly slow and ponderous manner made these meetings even more excruciating. With a sullen thought, he realized that even if he relinquished his Handship, he'd still be expected to attend as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

His sister looked impatient. "Well? What news?"

Pycelle pulled out the parchment. "Word from Storm's End. Ser Cortnay Penrose writes that a Trial of Seven was held on the topic of Joffrey's lineage. Those supporting Joffrey won the trial, and Penrose lists several noble houses of the Stormlands that have sworn to oppose Stannis and support good King Joffrey."

Varys and Baelish both looked surprised as Cersei grabbed the letter from Pycelle. Jaime just laughed.

"Your little lioness did it."

Cersei looked bewildered for a moment. Then she read the signature at the bottom. 'Ser Cortnay Penrose, Regent of Storm's End and the Stormlands for Princess Myrcella Baratheon.'

"What? What is this?" Cersei hissed out.

Jaime grinned. "A little plan your daughter convinced me of. I granted her paramountcy of the Stormlands; she felt that she could convince them better in person."

Varys looked thoughtful. "A Trial of Seven, how imaginative. I imagine it did indeed appeal to the martial fervor of our Stormlords. The last one was some time ago."

The Master of Coin stroked his chin. "Which houses have agreed to come to our side?"

Cersei was staring at the letter, incredulity still in her eyes.

Maester Pycelle listed the houses, "Staedmon, Fell, Dondarrian, Wylde, Lonmouth, Errol, and Buckler, as well as some other landed knightly houses."

Jaime had been worried, but it seemed all had ended well. He looked forward to enjoying his sister's sweet embrace again.

"Get out, all of you," she looked at Jaime, "except you."

Strange, she didn't sound pleased.

***

The news reached Kevan as the Lannister host marched along the Gold Road. After confirming the surprising and welcome news, he rode to his brother's side.

"We've received word from a rider. Storm's End and much of the Stormlands has declared their support for Joffrey."

Tywin's gold-flecked green eyes widened slightly, "They renounced Stannis after swearing to him? That seems far-fetched. Are we sure this is accurate?"

Kevan wasn't certain, but the message was from King's Landing. "So the message states. Apparently, Ser Cortnay agreed to a Trial of Seven, and Joffrey's side won." He handed Tywin the missive.

Tywin looked both annoyed and pleased at the same time. It intrigued Kevan how so much was visible in a face that moved so little if you knew the man well enough.

"That sounds like Jaime; he was made the Hand, and the first thing he does is ride for Storm's End to involve himself with a duel." Tywin gave a sharp shake of his head. "I'll teach that boy some sense, but I cannot fault the results."

Kevan nodded. "Surprising they even agreed to it, but there were few great swords left in King's Landing. Mayhap they thought to defeat his fellow champions swiftly before drowning him with the weight of numbers."

Tywin inclined his head a fraction. "Myrcella was a wise choice; it shows he knew, without my speaking it, that I had intended for Tommen to inherit the Rock. Yet he errs in thinking that after Ser Barristan's dismissal we wouldn't have him leave the Kingsguard as well. It will be Jaime who will inherit after me; Tommen will just have to be satisfied with Dragonstone once we kill Stannis."

Tyrion would not be happy; Kevan felt for his nephew, but he had to realize the situation. Tywin had struggled to find a wife for his dwarf son, and had that not galled him? The Lord of Casterly Rock denied, time and time again.

"New plans will be made. Send riders quickly and ensure the Stormlands are with us. Should we receive additional confirmation, we turn north instead of continuing along the Gold Road. We will burn before us the Riverlands. I want a spectacle that will make the sacking of King's Landing look like a fond memory. We cannot effectively take Riverrun quickly, and besieging it will be risky. I wish to incite the River Lords to meet me in the field before the North and the Vale arrive."

Kevan understood. He idly wondered if the small folk of the Riverlands who raised their prayers to the Seven would ever realize that the faith of the Seven which allowed for the Trial of Seven was what had doomed them. With the Stormlands no longer threatening from the south, Tywin did not have to keep his army near King's Landing. It was free to pillage, and in a barbarous manner in order to draw out the Tullys. The scale of death and suffering would be worse for the small folk of the Riverlands than anything it had faced during Robert's Rebellion.