chapter 26

Sansa let out a heavy sigh. Dragonstone was nothing like King's Landing. There were no great feasts, no great knights, and not much to do. She still had lessons with her Septa and spent time with Princess Shireen. She was likeable enough, but she was a pale comparison to Myrcella. She lacked her poise, intelligence and… presence. Sansa knew that Shireen's grayscale was not her fault, yet it did make her hard to look upon. Sansa would never say that out loud; that would be very unladylike.

Her friend Jeyne Poole was even worse. She was frightened of Shireen's disfigurement; she was frightened by everything these days. Sansa could not blame Jeyne for her grief. If her own father had died, she would cry an ocean of tears. But the night terrors and constant fear at every sound was just childish. Arya had been there in the tower too and didn't act like that.

Sansa was bored and lonely enough to even seek out her sister for company. Arya, though, was constantly busying herself with her 'training' with the Braavosi. The whole thing was frivolous for a lady. While it was surely just awful to see so many of father's guards be slain, it wasn't like Arya would be expected to fight, and even with all her training, she wouldn't have made a difference.

Sansa finally managed to catch her sister before supper. "Arya, how are you?"

Arya looked at her puzzled. "What do you want?"

"Don't be rude; Septa Mordane says a lady should never be uncouth."

Arya just snorted. "I don't need you to lecture me. If that was all…"

Sansa sighed. Why must she always be so difficult! "I'm trying to spend time with you, Arya; we are sisters."

Arya gave her a look and then bobbed her head. "Alright, what do you want to do?"

"We can have the serving staff make some treats and chat about what we miss about King's Landing. We can brush each other's hair; we can sing some song or work on writing letters to mother."

Arya agreed to work on a letter and grab some sweet rolls. She warned her sister that she had another lesson with Syrio, so that would be all the time she had.

"Why, Arya? Why are you constantly training with that strange man. I don't know why father is humoring you, but a lady doesn't fight with a sword. It's just silly."

Arya scoffed. "Brienne fought with a sword; I remember you watched the melee, so do not deny it. If it wasn't for Myrcella and Brienne fighting that day, father and I would be dead. It isn't silly."

Sansa was in disbelief. "Are you responsible for all those odd rumors about Myrcella stabbing people? How childish, don't make up stories about the princess!"

Arya's look of disbelief mirrored her own. "Sansa, come with me."

Sansa did so; what else was there to do on this wretched island?

They found a Stark guardsman by the name of Heward.

"Heward," Arya asked, "who saved my father's life when he fell?"

"I'll never forget that moment. I saw your father go down when the bolt nicked 'em. I couldn't get to him. If it wasn't for Myrcella…" he trailed off. "Never saw anything like it before. She just jumped up on the Gold Cloak's back that was about to strike down Lord Stark and stabbed right into his neck."

Sansa froze. What was this? She couldn't imagine the poised and stately Princess Myrcella doing something like that. Yet, she recalled the bloody mess her dress had been when they had been exchanged by the docks. Her father's man wouldn't lie.

Arya looked smug, but then sad. "Thank you, Heward." They walked back toward their rooms to work on the letters. "Sansa, I have never been more scared in my life than that day. Every hour I put into training makes that fear a little smaller. Fear cuts deeper than swords, and I'm tired of being afraid. Father has said I can continue training, and I won't ever stop."

Sansa was shaken. So many things she had taken for granted had turned out to be false. The Queen was not kind. King's Landing was not safe. She wouldn't marry Joffrey. And the princess she had looked up to knew how to fight like Arya and had saved her father. If she was mistaken about so many things, what else was she wrong about? She had much to think about as she worked on her letter to her mother.

***

Melisandre peered into the flames, driven to find something she could use against Eddard Stark. The man stymied her, time and time again. He was honorable, dutiful, and fully loyal to Stannis. That was not the issue.

His council was being heeded and had prevented her from successfully swaying her lord to make the proper offerings to R'hllor. She needed to know more about this Wolf Lord. The flames danced, and she saw.

It had an aura of the past. A strange vision, a wolf striking down a star, a bull, and a bat. The wolf howling at the loss of a member of its pack and… nuzzling a tiny dragon? What was this?

Melisandre drew her mind away from the flames. A bull, there wasn't any house sigils with one, but there was a Gerold Hightower, who had the moniker of "the White Bull." He had been slain during Robert's Rebellion, along with several others of the Kingsguard.

Her mouth fell open as she put the pieces together. The wolves were the Starks. Eddard Stark and Lyanna Stark. The rebellion started with the abduction of Lyanna Stark by Rhaegar Targaryen. The wolf nuzzling a tiny dragon, a tiny dragon could be a babe. Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark had a bastard child together, and Eddard Stark had taken him.

Her red lips curled into a smile. This was exactly what she was looking for. The Lord of Light had blessed her on this day. She made ready to leave her quarters when a knock came at the door.

"Lady Melisandre, the King has demanded your presence immediately."

She opened the door and followed the knight. The King sat in the main hall of Duskendale. Eddard Stark was to his right, Ser Axell Florent on his left, and Ser Davos was standing by the entryway as she walked in.

"Why did you not warn me of this?" Stannis demanded as he threw down a piece of parchment.

She picked it up and read. Storm's End and a host of Stormland houses reneging on their oaths to their King? And Myrcella Baratheon being declared the Paramount Lady? Was this the earlier vision coming back to haunt her? The demon picking up a quill – the Penrose sigil had two quills. That explained her vision in the flames, but not how this came to pass.

"Your Grace, I see visions that the Lord of Light sends me. I am but human and cannot always discern them. This is a setback, but not one that will prevent you from ruling the Seven Kingdoms."

Stannis clenched his jaw. "Our position is now untenable in the Crownlands. Both the Lannisters and now my own people can reinforce King's Landing before the North arrives."

Eddard agreed. "Your Grace, we should retreat to the North. We have the ships to take the army you've gathered here and make for White Harbor. We then join with my son Robb as he marches south."

"We leave your good father in a precarious position. The Riverlands will have to hold out against the Lannisters without hope of aid for two months," he replied.

Eddard replied, "The other option is to make for Saltpans; from there we can make for the High Road and see why Lady Arryn has not stirred. A direct answer from the knight of the Bloody Gate will put my mind at ease. Ser Bryden Tully will answer honestly if nothing else."

Stannis turned to Melisandre. "Do your flames speak of anything at all?"

"They speak, but not for which port we should make for."

The King's body radiated with tension. "I have half a mind to depart for Storm's End and determine what led a man like Ser Cortnay to treachery."

"That may not be wise, Your Grace," Ser Axell said. "We wouldn't have the numbers to take Storm's End, and after a Trial of Seven, they will be set in their course."

The King was angry. "How could they even think to hold the trial when I wasn't there? I am the accuser of Cersei and Jaime's incest."

Eddard answered, "Would you have even agreed to a trial? You no longer follow the Seven."

Stannis had no answer to that, and Melisandre filled the silence. "My King, this is a setback, but it will not stop your eventual victory. I have seen it in the flames." This was more or less true; she hadn't seen the direct victory in the flames, but there was no way that Azor Ahai could be defeated when his destiny was to unite the realm and stand against the Great Other.

Ser Axell nodded his head fervently, "Yes, we must put our trust in the Lord of Light!"

Stannis ground his teeth and then dismissed them all.

"Leave me; I will announce my decision on the morrow."

Melisandre caught Eddard as he left. "Lord Stark, a moment of your time."

He titled his head, "What do you need, Lady Melisandre."

"You impede the King's destiny. What is necessary may not always be pleasant, but it needs to be done. Do not provide counsel to the King that contradicts mine."

The Lord of Winterfell bristled, "I will speak my piece as is necessary; it will be King Stannis who makes the decision after hearing it."

"Lord Stark, I have no wish to be your enemy. I have no wish to reveal that precious secret that your sister entrusted to you."

Eddard froze, every muscle quivered with tension under Melisandre's eye. "I can see the future, the present, and the past. The Lord of Light knows all and has revealed much about you to me. See that you hold your tongue when you disagree with what guidance I provide the King, and this will remain a cherished secret."

With that, Melisandre left a deeply troubled Eddard Stark.

***

I smiled as I accepted the oath of fealty from Lord Eldon Estermont. The Lord of Greenstone was an aged man, but his house was powerful. He was also the great-uncle of Stannis Baratheon. If even he bowed to the outcome of the Trial of Seven, I was reasonably confident that the rest of the Stormlands would fall under my sway. I had also received word from Lord Hugh Grandison and Lord Robin Peasebury via raven, acknowledging me as the Paramount Lady of the Stormlands and Ser Cortnay Penrose as my Regent.

Those were just some of many letters I'd been receiving. A terse letter addressed to Ser Cortnay from my Uncle Stannis demanding to know the reason for the treachery. The response I had Ser Cortnay send was simple and just pointed to the Trial of Seven as the reason. It also had Penrose urge Stannis to relinquish his claim to the Iron Throne and allow Penrose to intercede with the Lannisters and try to make peace. I knew it wouldn't work, but it didn't hurt to try.

I wrote to Robb Stark and Catelyn Stark and urged them to plead with Lord Stark to withdraw his support from my treacherous Uncle. I also formally apologized for any deaths that my mother's ill-timed and fear-driven actions had caused among their household guard. I offered gold equivalent to the wages they would have earned for their remaining lifetime to the families. To be quite truthful, it was not a grand sum; the wages soldiers made in comparison to the wealth of nobles were a stark contrast.

Once more, I realized this was unlikely to work. However, this type of groundwork would be important if our enemies won on the battlefield. Positioning myself as the eager princess seeking to make amends and handle things without further bloodshed could go a long way in not ending up short a head.

I also received letters from my family. My Uncle Jaime told me that Cersei was most upset that I had risked my life, and she intended to keep me well-protected inside the Maidenvault until I was married. Speaking of Cersei, she also sent a letter chastising me for jeopardizing the war with my childishness. She did say I acted bravely like a true lioness, but that I was still too young to be making decisions, and urged me to return to King's Landing where I would be safe.

That certainly would not be happening. Cersei had proven herself less than capable, and I would not be putting my safety in her hands. Instead, I intended to lead the Stormlands and aid my grandfather. I had zero intention to fight on the battlefield, but I could certainly command the Stormland contingent from the rear and do it well. Orders could be filtered through the Stormguard or taken upon the advice of Ser Barristan; that should limit the complaints about a young girl trying to run a military.

House Baratheon could call to war 5,000 soldiers all on its own. However, that number was somewhat dubious. It had around 500 men-at-arms and semi-professional soldiery afoot. It also had 400 knights and about 500 mounted warriors who weren't knights and could best be described as light cavalry. The rest of the 3,600 would be conscripted farmers, huntsmen, and able-bodied unskilled laborers. The number could be pushed higher, but smiths, carpenters, shoemakers, and other skilled craftsmen had other roles in war. And of course, we had to leave some to carry out harvest duties.

House Baratheon was the most powerful house of the Stormlands; all other houses had considerably fewer, and some ancient and noble houses could barely scrap together a dozen knights and a few hundred levies. There was also no standardized equipment, training, or even uniforms beyond wearing the colors of your house on tabards and standards with the house sigil.

The saving grace of this lack of proper military organization was that it was not unique to the Stormlands. Every one of the Seven Kingdoms was like this. Tactics in war were rudimentary, and the most important skill was getting your soldiers mustered and organized with enough food and weaponry to fight effectively. The kings of the battlefield were the disciplined men-at-arms and the knights. Each knight had years of martial training, well maintained arms and armor of the half-plate or plate variety, and a warhorse that could be a weapon all of its own.

I had studied the conflicts of the past in this world. The knight was the tank of the battlefield, and there was little that could stop a charge of 12-foot steel lances and an entire fist of plate and horse slamming into a formation.

Men-at-arms trained with pikes could sometimes hold against a charge, but it was dicey. The knights were rarely stupid either. Pike formations would be the target of archers and infantry, whereas knights could ride around and flank or attack groups that did not have pikes. But even when everything aligned perfectly, it was still a coin toss. Horses were trained to charge into pikes, and the frontline of a pike formation was almost certainly going to die. That sort of reality combined with the ground literally shaking from the pounding of so many hooves was enough to cause even trained pikemen to break.

No, the main deterrents against the heavy cavalry just smashing everything was terrain and of course the enemy knights.

Terrain was what made infantry stand a chance. Trees prevent a full-speed charge of tightly-packed death. Charging uphill was also significantly more difficult. Rivers and even wet, muddy ground had their own problems. The second danger was posed by the other knights. If you sent your mailed fist into the enemy and got bogged down, those other knights could in turn slam into you.

One of the very few things that could pierce plate armor was a charge with a steel lance; that would pierce even the thickest of plate. In short, a battle between two armies involved a small dance of trying to best position and use your key unit to break the enemy line and force a rout. As the majority of any army would be non-professional soldiers, a true slug fest with a high death toll on either side was rare. The death tolls after a rout though… much higher. Your peasant levies also tended to try to sneak off after a bad battle. An army of 10,000 that lost a battle likely lost fewer than a 1,000 to death and injury, but if they were truly routed, many more would have surrendered, and those that fled successfully would keep running all the way back home.

Needless to say, the situation was aggravating, and trying to reform the military during a war was quite improbable. There were things I could do, however.

First, I wanted to focus on quality, not quantity. The Stormlands could field 25,000-30,000 men at approximately the same ratios as House Baratheon. Since knightly houses and landed knights were common in Westeros, the knight ratio was a bit higher. This put us at about 30% with some training and 70% conscripted levies who aren't harvesting food, hunting, fishing, and trading. I disliked that ratio immensely and would prefer a higher numerical disadvantage in return for better troops. Still, I could not just rely on 9,000 soldiers to win a war, so I needed to compromise.

I explained what I aimed to do to Brienne, Ser Cortnay, and Ser Barristan. I wanted them and as many other trusted and seasoned fighters as possible to cull the herd. Find the best of the conscripts. Those who already knew how to use a bow. Those who were exceptionally big or strong. Those who were physically fit and seemed adept at handling a weapon. The remaining conscripts, they would go home and continue doing the necessary work to keep the economy humming.

A leaner and meaner military meant fewer supplies needed, and the equipment created by the smithies could be concentrated on the men who could best make use of it. It would also throw the enemy commander's estimate of our prowess off. They could see an army and think of it as a normal one, when in reality it was man per man more deadly, at least to some degree. Logistics were always a challenge, and supply lines could only be stretched so far. The common tactic was to 'pillage' or 'forage' for food in whatever land you were fighting in, something that was less than reliable and would create angry, wronged groups of enemies in your rear. Hopefully we could avoid that.

The second goal was ensuring proper supplies, gear, food, and medical care for my soldiers. Some armies faced utter annihilation, not from the enemy butchering them, but from the bloody flux. Maesters tended to travel with important lords to battle, but their care was largely limited to the nobles. I intended to have ample poultices, fire-milk, bandages, and disinfectants. My soldiers would learn barebones basic field medicine before we marched.

Soldiers fighting better because they were healthier was always a win on its own, but morale was another critical factor oft overlooked. I'd also be insisting on strict camp discipline, latrine ditches far enough away, wounds quickly inspected and handled, and those sick quickly quarantined. Ser Barristan shared stories of how bad the bloody flux was, and he was all aboard. This made things simple because I could always point to "Ser Barristan advised…" as the reason I was demanding such things from my lords and knights. It wasn't as if these armies did not already know much of these things, but the will and insistence to enforce would often be lacking.

Every other man among the infantry would have a shovel; hopefully enough could be made in time by the woodworkers and smiths. I also wanted proper footwear for all, but that was also stretching it. Sometimes, you had to march your army a lot of miles quickly; having shoddy sandals, clogs or worn-out boots was a good way to cripple your infantry before any battle was even fought!

Time was not a luxury; I wanted to quickly complete the muster for all but the Marcher Lords and begin the move north, and along the way I'd pick up Bran. Lord Cafferen had sent multiple ravens in disbelief at the news, and I had written to him that Bran Stark was to be returned to his father and that I would see to it personally. That had mollified him, and he would give up Bran when I arrived.

I met with the various lords in small groups; the feasts were large, raucous affairs, full of boasting and drunken overindulgence. The more intimate late breakfasts and lunches allowed me to get a feel for the lords and their concerns. I found Lord Caspar Wylde and his cousin Ser Gladden Wylde likeable enough. Caspar shared with boldness that he did not believe me about Cersei; he still insisted that she was guilty. His bluntness was to his credit; he also said that House Wylde would stand fully behind me and let the Gods judge Cersei.

I accepted Ser Gladden into the Stormguard; between him and Jaspar, this went a long way to reassuring the nobles that I held no ill will towards those who had sided against me in the Trial of Seven and the debate. They brought the number up to five: Ser Barristan, Brienne, Ser Jaspar, Ser Theo, and Ser Gladden. I would need more, but this was a start of my protective detail. I left it to Brienne to instruct them on proper guard duty, the importance of always being fully prepared while at post, and on always keeping an active eye out. Ser Jaspar was not literate, and his task was also to learn his letters.

Not all news was positive. The Ironborn had declared their independence and were ravaging the coast of the Westerlands. Fair Island had been partially sacked and Fair Castle put to siege. I wasn't sure how grandfather would respond, but it could only hinder our war effort.

I already had several more members in mind. The Bastard of Nightsong, Roland Storm, was rumored to be a ferocious fighter. There were a few other knights with reputations of martial capability, but I also wanted to wait to see who distinguished themselves in battle. Lastly, I would be keeping a spot open for Edric Storm, both for the PR value with the Stormlords and because of his potential.

It wouldn't be long now before we moved. I intended to go north along the King's Road as soon as Lord Beric informed me of the fealty of the rest of the Marcher Lords. He'd have to catch up when he could. The first stop would be Fawnton, and then it was into the Riverlands and to the Old Lion's army.

***

Robb was truly starting to despise Greatjon Umber. The man was loud and obnoxious. Once, he even said that Robb was so green, he pissed grass, and that Lord Ned would soon set him right, once they joined up with King Stannis's army.

It was annoying, and he oft wondered if he should have allowed his mother to talk him into staying in Winterfell. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, it was said, and now it was just Rickon and his mother. Everyone else was gone.

The muster had not yet fully finished, but the Lords were anxious to begin their march. Robb had agreed, it was time to head south. The rest could reinforce the Neck and come when they could. In total, he had around 16,000 under his command, and as they travelled, it would hopefully balloon to 20,000.

Theon was at his side throughout it all, bragging about all the lions they would kill.

"You can take the Kingslayer, and I'll take the Imp," he quipped. Catelyn had not found that amusing, but Robb had laughed. He had reassured his mother that he would not be fighting any duels with the Kingsguard. His mother had even tried to come with him, but a letter from his father told her to stay in Winterfell.

"Promise me, Robb, promise me that you won't be rash. Listen to the Lords, many have experience, but don't let them overwhelm you. You are Eddard Stark's son."

They embraced, and Theon swore to Catelyn that he would look over her son. It wouldn't just be Theon looking after him, it would also be Grey Wind. The direwolf was still growing, but already disturbingly large. Horses feared him, but they tended to grow used to his presence in time.

The army moved out and made good time. They passed through the Barrowlands and stayed at a small holdfast. There, news had arrived by rider and raven. Lord Bolton, Lord Glover, Lord Umber, Lord Ryswell, and Lady Mormont were with him along with Theon that evening.

"My lords, our King and my father have taken Duskendale."

Greatjon stood up and bellowed. "First blood to us then! Lord Eddard doesn't waste no time."

Robb allowed the news to settle. "The Ironborn have declared independence and have begun raiding the Westerlands."

That news was mixed. The pale Lord Bolton commented, "King Stannis is not like to let the Ironborn rebel."

Lady Mormont agreed, "Let them lay waste to the Lannisters all they like, but never trust an Ironborn. They are all…" she looked at Theon, "they are mostly all pillaging curs. I'll be happy to beat them into submission again, once we deal with the lions."

Theon looked discomforted. "My father will come around; we have enemies enough."

Robb gave Theon a firm nod. "A concern for the future, not today. We've also received word from the Stormlands; most of the houses have foresworn King Stannis and have pledged their loyalty to Joffrey as the true King."

Lord Galbart Glover frowned. "I fought beside Robert Baratheon and his Stormlords during the rebellion and again on Pyke; what has made them betray the King? They are an honorable sort and courageous."

"A Trial of Seven was held on the validity of Joffrey's lineage, some sort of southern duel," Robb replied.

Roose Bolton nodded, "The Trial of Seven is a contest with seven warriors on each side. The dominant religion in the south is the Seven. It is thought that if their seven gods were honored that way, they would ensure justice occurred."

Greatjon laughed. "Piss on those southern gods." He took a long draught from his flagon and then wiped his chin. "A fight like that would have been a sight to see. Maybe we'll make the pricks fight it again against proper Northern warriors!"

Lord Ryswell sighed. "Regardless, this means it will be a proper fight. The Lannisters will have a strong ally, and unless there's another bit of news, the Vale has yet to rally to the King's cause."

Theon snorted. "Good, we wouldn't want this to be too easy."

Greatjon slapped him on the back, hard. "Good 'fer you, lad. Show 'em that Ned beat the squid out of you."

Robb watched Theon's face, which grew red with anger, but he did not respond to the massive man looming over him. The man towered over everyone in the room at near seven feet. He directed the conversation away from the awkward topic for his brother in all but blood.

"My question to you, my lords, does this change anything for our march? We will reach the Neck soon."

Lord Glover shrugged. "Not that I can see. We continue south until we receive orders from King Stannis or Lord Eddard."

Robb had known that answer, but mother had said it was wise to ask Lords for counsel you knew you could heed. None of the assembled lords disagreed, and the night went on with more talk. Greatjon boldly boasted about how he would in fact lead the van and smash both Lannister and Baratheon armies. Lord Glover mocked him for saying they were on the side of the last living true Baratheon.

"You know what I mean, Glover!" The big man groused, though he accepted that Galbart got the better of him in that exchange.

Robb frowned. "King Stannis has only proclaimed Joffrey and Tommen to be bastards; Myrcella is also a living Baratheon."

"An oversight, perhaps, since she is a girl. After the Dance, a brother would inherit the Iron Throne before a daughter. I hear she resembles her mother. Why would she not be a bastard?" Roose Bolton challenged.

Robb steeled himself; Roose had an unnerving air about him. "She is nothing like her siblings, not a stupid prick like her older brother, nor a clumsy pillow like the younger. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as King Robert's, and Stannis made no mention of her being a product of incest."

Umber took another gulp of wine. "Who cares, we are going to smash the Lannisters and anyone who sides with them. The King can figure out what to do with the whelps."

Yes, it would be King Stannis who made that decision. It troubled him. Myrcella was poised beyond her years and had shown kindness to his family; the letters from Sansa were full of nothing but praise. Though they had nothing but praise for Cersei as well, so perhaps they were not the most reliable evidence.

Robb would need to dine with other Lords of the North on the morrow and seek the advice of Karstark, Holt, and others. So far, leading an army had been about making sure the distinct personalities of the North did not quarrel overmuch. A nervous anticipation had started to grow within him the further they marched. He was good in the practice yard, but would he be on the actual field of battle? Would he bring honor to his house? He hoped he would.