chapter 39

Brienne awoke early, her freshly-opened wound not making rest easy despite her exhaustion. The forward camp would be taken down and moved soon. They rarely stayed in one spot for longer than a day. After she had been stitched up, Ser Jasper had told her that Ser Gladden had taken his shift and was serving alongside Ser Barlow. Brienne knew that Myrcella would insist she get her rest, so instead of facing Myrcella with a freshly-stitched wound, she headed off the discussion and just went to bed. Now that it was morning, she would serve alongside Ser Theo in guard duty for the day.

She and Ser Theo were informed that Myrcella was holding vigil over Lum, who had been mortally wounded. Brienne had not spent much time with Lum; he had been very quiet when he was among the other Stormguard. Brienne suspected that he felt a bit out of place among Myrcella's chosen guardians, given his common birth and lack of knighthood. He would not have been her first choice as a Stormguard, but the man had been sharp-eyed and quick, and sometimes that mattered more than martial skill when it came to protecting someone.

She arrived at the tent, and Ser Barlow greeted her. "Lady Myrcella forbade us from breaking her vigil, barring an emergency."

Brienne started to frown, but the tug of the stitch stopped her. She slowly replied, "We will be moving today, and night has passed. I will take responsibility if she feels that the interruption was unwarranted."

Ser Gladden nodded, "Good enough, I'll pay my respects to Lum as well."

They entered the tent to see Myrcella lying on the floor unconscious. Brienne moved, faster than her peers, and was next to Lady Myrcella in an instant.

"She's breathing, no wounds," Brienne told the others. "Myrcella, Myrcella! Wake up"

The princess gave a soft groan but did not wake.

"I'll fetch the Maester," Ser Theo quickly announced and dashed out of the tent.

"Is she simply exhausted? None entered this tent – I swear it." Ser Gladden asked.

Brienne wasn't sure. Ser Barlow approached as well and looked around.

"Ser Gladden," Barlow began, "does Lum look different to you?"

The knight looked to the cot, and Brienne heard him inhale sharply.

"His color is better, his wound has been stitched – is this Myrcella's work?"

The two examined the wound, and shortly thereafter the Maester arrived. Brienne nervously waited for him to determine what was wrong. The Maester checked her over thoroughly and ordered for her to be taken to a tent. Ser Gladden though interjected and suggested it would be better to care for her here to avoid causing alarm in the camp. Brienne felt that she should have thought of that; it was that sort of thinking Myrcella expected of her Stormguard.

"I see nothing wrong with her; her breathing is steady, her heart beats strongly, and I can see no wound. It seems as if she has exhausted herself utterly. I believe that she will wake in time; when she does, we will want to give her water and ensure that she eats, but go slowly at first to make sure she does not purge."

As the Maester was leaving, Ser Barlow stopped him.

"Lum appears to be doing better – please check him over as well."

The Maester did, and he mouthed in surprise. "This… is extraordinary. Whoever stitched his wound knew their craft. Somehow, his vitality has been restored. I cannot explain this, but I do not wish to give you hope either. If the wounds to his insides were not closed, it matters not. Any food or drink he partakes in would not be retained where it should be, instead leaking to his innards."

"You could not fix the hole on the inside?" Ser Barlow asked.

"The flesh of what keeps your food contained is not like the flesh of your muscle or your skin. It cannot be so easily closed; the substance is not the same. Whoever closed his wounds was not a Maester and would not know these details. Perhaps it has made him more comfortable, but his fate is the same."

Ser Barlow shook his head. "No, I do not believe it is. None were in this room, save for Myrcella. I see color on Lum's cheeks, I see his chest rise and fall easily. Lady Myrcella did this. She prayed and stood vigil – I am sure that she besought the Seven to heal him, and now he has been healed."

Brienne saw the Maester give him a pitying look. "I hope you are right, but I have others I need to see to."

The Maester did not believe that Lum would recover. Ser Barlow did. Brienne did not believe that Myrcella ever spent time wastefully. If she sewed the wound close, she had to believe that she was accomplishing something. A slight shiver went down her spine. Myrcella's exhaustion, something Brienne had never seen before, combined with the potential of some miraculous healing of Lum… were they connected?

She didn't know, nor did she know when Myrcella would wake or if Lum would survive. Either way, her duty was to protect Myrcella and stand watch. And so, she did.

***

Eddard Stark struggled to hold his temper in check. It was not something he struggled with alone. Lack of sleep, slow progress, flies, and the summer heat all exacerbated everyone's frustrations. Since the 'Battle of the Maidens,' as the camp followers were now calling it, forward progress had been rife with delay.

Outriders feared to go far from camp. Robb had volunteered again, but this time, Eddard had refused. He was not about to have his heir die out there as a scout. Less than a third of those who had ridden with Marq Piper had returned. That evening, worry had gnawed at his guts, despite Bran's assurance that Robb was amongst the living. His son had not returned until well after nightfall, exhausted, but whole.

Ser Marq had not been as lucky; two days later, they found his corpse along with many other men who had been killed in battle. Edmure had been distraught and blamed himself for supporting Ser Marq's plan. The entire mood of the camp had turned sour, and still the nightly incursions continued.

They took steps to minimize the harm caused; they pushed the outer perimeter out further, but that also required more soldiers to stand guard at night. Sickness had also found its way into the camps; fortunately, it wasn't serious, but basic cleanliness and appropriate distance before relieving one's self became less frequent when men were sleep-deprived, sore, grieving, and frustrated. All in all, it was a miserable experience.

Bran had shared some of his dreams, but Eddard could make little sense of them. A crown made of fire that elicited screams? Was this a reference to Stannis and R'hllor? Then there was Bran's dream of an endless snow burying Winterfell, until only the tallest tower could be seen. Winter was coming; the talk of an endless summer was folly. For once, Ned would not mind the season hastening – the damnable heat only added to their misery.

Bran shared other dreams. Dreams of tentacled sea creatures warring with each other. Of a giant manticore, and more, like a streak of red across the horizon that seemed to hold no clear meaning. The Greyjoys going to war with each other? Amory Lorch doing something of importance? It was all useless, and he began to doubt the value of Bran's presence.

He entered Stannis's tent. Each evening, Ned, Robb, Davos, Edmure, King Stannis, and half a dozen other nobles discussed the day's events, their progress, and if there were any other news. This time, Edmure asked for a more private audience first, and the other nobles were not in attendance.

Edmure cleared his throat. "There is little to forage; it is good that we are offering money to the local smallfolk in return for food, but the people have already lost so much. They do not have easy means of gaining food without their able-bodied men, and there was an incident that may require the King's justice."

Stannis looked weary. "On with it then, what happened."

"Some of the men sworn to Lord Mallister went to acquire food. They offered the coin, but the villagers refused. They insisted, and rocks were hurled at them. Two of the villagers were slain. The villagers want justice and wish an audience with you."

Eddard frowned; this was not good, but hardly something to bring to the King.

"Why not stand in judgment in place of your Lord Father, Edmure?" Ned asked.

Edmure looked uncomfortable. "House Mallister is a loyal vassal to the Tullys'; I think the men overacted to small rocks thrown their way. They should be punished, but Lord Mallister is at Seagard, and it would strain relations."

Ser Davos quirked an eyebrow, "Yet your King already has a reputation for being a hard man, so you would have him decide their fate."

Edmure nodded, and Stannis looked irritated. "We have little time for this, but fine. Bring forward who speaks for the village and who speaks for the Mallister men."

What followed next was a quick summation of the facts. The villagers had refused the lawful order to turn over their food. They explained how the wicked Old Lion had taken everything. Every chicken, hen, cow, and pig, as well as any grain, vegetable, fruit, and meat. They had nothing left at all – what little they had had been given to them by the princess when her men passed and what they could hunt and gather. Which was not much.

The boys who threw the rocks were too young to be conscripted, but the frustrated Mallister men had cornered and slain them. The village had given over their food, then, and now wished for the King's justice.

The Mallister men said that they were merely doing their duty. That they had been accosted with rocks; one rock had felled a mounted man, striking him in the face. He had only been injured, but it could have killed him if the fall had gone wrong. They stated that they were merely planning to arrest the perpetrators to hold them for Edmure's justice, but they fought back with knives. Eddard sensed a falsehood there, but it was up to the discretion of the King.

"Boys or no, using rocks and knives against men following the King's command is a crime. The men-at-arms of House Mallister are blameless."

Edmure's mouth opened in surprise.

"Your Grace! There was no need to kill boys over justifiable anger, and…"

"You came to me for judgment; you had no need to. Now you wish to challenge my decision? My Kingdom will be one of order, laws will be followed, and disobedience will not be tolerated."

Edmure quieted down, and Eddard felt a larger solution was needed.

"These villages and towns have little food for our army. Yes, the additional food helps once our supply lines get longer, but there is little to gain and much animosity to incur. The opinion of the smallfolk will not sway lords or decide battles, but it should not be disregarded. Half of our fighting men are smallfolk levies. More importantly, this has Lady Myrcella's hands all over it – provide a pittance after Tywin has stolen everything, and her own reputation is strengthened."

Stannis considered it. "With our slow march, our supply lines are not as stretched, but eventually they will be. For now, we can forgo foraging, but as we get closer to King's Landing, we may not have that option."

Robb stirred. "Your Grace, I believe we need to reconsider how we are conducting this war altogether." Ned's son moved to the figures on the map laid on the table.

"If I may?"

The King nodded.

"Lady Myrcella's forces are so successful because they've had time to prepare the ground to their liking. They know that we will take the quickest path south. If our intent was to arrive in time to help the Tyrells, it will likely already be too late, unless Tywin Lannister decides to allow himself to be besieged in King's Landing."

Edmure frowned. "What are you suggesting?"

"We need to stop doing what is expected. Ser Marq had a good plan; it was an admirable strategy, and it worked to an extent. The difficulty was that his opponents adjusted their tactics quickly and effectively, and he insisted on playing the game our foe offered. We need to stop reacting, stop doing what is expected, stop seizing opportunities they dangle before us. No, we need a different plan."

"Out with it, then," Stannis demanded.

"If the Tyrells win, the war is as good as over. However, if they lose, we would then face the surviving Lannister army and the rest of the Stormlands forces. We know from the battle at the Trident that less than half of the Stormlands mustered. Our army will arrive sickly, drained, exhausted, and with low morale. We could win, yes, but defeat is also plausible."

Davos frowned. "If we don't keep pursuing, Ser Barristan's force could ride to Tywin's aid, and they could move faster than us, so they may be able to arrive in time."

Robb nodded. "True, but here is what I propose – we move west with some of our horse and much of our foot. We send our remaining horse rapidly to the east. Our southern progress is halted, and they have a difficult choice as to what to do. I suspect that they will remain mostly in place. This will freeze them for a few days, and then both groups head north. The foot will garrison Harrenhall with a sizeable force – we could easily stock the place for an extended siege. A force of 20,000 is too large to ignore but nearly impossible to dislodge even with the full Lannister and Stormlands army. It would have to be sieged."

Stannis's lips had thinned. "You want us to retreat from a foe we outnumber as much as four-to-one?"

"Yes," Robb could sense that he was on thin ice, so he pressed on. "Our horse has sufficient speed to make for the Duskendale road or Maidenpool. This creates uncertainty in our aim – should they send a force to break up the Duskendale road as well?"

"What is our actual aim for our knights?" Edmure asked.

"Sea. We have the overwhelming advantage on the waters; we should use it. The closer we are to the sea, the easier we can supply our men. We also have our choice of targets. We could land at Duskendale and be at the outskirts of King's Landing. We could sail and deposit our men into the King's Wood, or take Parchments, or Evenfall Hall, or if we wish to risk it, Storm's End itself. Garlan Tyrell has written that he is marching up the Ocean Road, threatening the Westerlands. We threaten the Stormlands. What do our foes do then?"

Edmure furrowed his brow. "But how does that win us the war? We must fight their main force eventually."

"Yes, but on our terms, not theirs. I ask again – what would Tywin Lannister do? Abandon King's Landing? Abandon the Stormlands? Abandon the Westerlands? The capital cannot feed itself if we have them blockaded. They must march – now they are the ones who come to us, and we are the ones who can prepare the ground as we like."

Eddard saw the sense in his son's thoughts. There were problems, however. If Mace Tyrell was defeated, it was possible that his less martial heir would sue for peace. It would also drastically increase the length of the war – summer could not last forever, and men were needed for the harvest.

"I see wisdom in this, my son, but the longer this war goes on, the more the people will suffer. There are other possibilities aside from Tywin's crushing victory over Mace or Mace's defeat of Tywin. What if they fight to a stalemate, one where the Tyrells still have their army and retreat in good order?"

Robb looked surprised at his father, but he gamely went on. "It is possible, but we cannot keep dancing to their tune. It will do us no good to arrive battered and unfit to fight when we could do so much more to ensure our eventual victory over the Lannisters."

Ser Davos looked at the map. "Your Grace, I know more about the sea than land battles. Young Stark speaks true about King's Landing. Our ships have pinned their fleet in Blackwater Bay, and we outnumber them greatly. They cannot bring in food; they will starve, and I can ensure that no smugglers can bring in food to the port."

Edmure again looked over the map. "I don't think Lord Tyrell will lose – he has the numbers, and we put down Tywin's mad dog. They will also be weary from their battle and their march."

Ned saw Robb grimace. "Uncle, if Lord Tyrell wins, we've lost nothing. We'll have won. We should prepare for the outcomes where they haven't won."

Edmure looked over the map and then made an affirmative sound while nodding his head.

Stannis, though, still looked angry; the sound of grinding teeth was just audible.

"Men will say that I feared to face my niece."

Davos shook his head, "They will say that you made a wise choice, or if anything, that Ser Barristan, as the greatest living knight, was your superior in battle. There would be no shame in that, Your Grace."

"No, they will say that it was Myrcella. Her presence at the so-called "Battle of the Maidens" ensures it. Men have always sought to make japes at my expense. They will find their prattle of a small girl humbling me far more titillating than if it were Ser Barristan.

Eddard was still not sure in his own mind what the better course was.

Stannis looked over the map and then at his advisors. "I will consider the best course of action and make my decision by the morn." He looked at Robb. "You have a good head on your shoulders; should I not take your advice, do not forgo giving me more in the future. I value honest disagreement more than empty flatterers and lickspittles."

Robb nodded, and they left the tent to see to their own men. Eddard spoke with Robb a bit more about his concerns of a more prolonged war. The two talked well into the night; Eddard was quite pleased with the man Robb had become. His heir had a grasp for strategy and logistics that outstripped his own, with the exception of some blind spots that Eddard helped him consider. The choice was now out of their hands; it was up for King Stannis to decide.

***