Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to G.R.R. Martin, and the Cover Picture belongs to Bethesda. I do not, nor do I pretend to own the aforementioned IPs. Anything else you recognise from anywhere else is also not mine to own.
~ The War of the Four Kings begins ~
Harry smirked as he took in the reactions of the lords. The previous night, he managed to sneak Jörmungandr into his quarters without anyone noticing. It was mostly so that he could spring the surprise the following morning.
"By the gods," Eddard whispered.
"That's a…That's a dragon," Karstark breathed.
Robb, however, grinned, "The Dragon in the North! None can challenge his claim."
The lords echoed the chant, while Harry stood listening. Arianne then approached him, them, with a tentative smile.
"Who might this be, Beloved?" she asked, nervously.
Harry gave a reassuring smile, "This is Jörmungandr. He hatched from the egg Maester Aemon gave me. Don't worry. He's pretty gentle."
"Gentle is not a word I would use to describe a dragon, Beloved," Arianne wryly stated.
Harry laughed slightly before conceding the point, "I suppose not."
Jon, who had moved past his initial surprise walked up to the pair, "How fast will it, he, grow?"
"I do not know," Harry confessed, "I will have to confer with a maester. It has been well over a century since the last dragon died.
"Moving on. After we have had breakfast. I wish to convene a War Council," Harry said, "It is time we planned our next move."
A few hours later, and a War Council met up, in the similar fashion as was the previous night. At one side of a broken triangle, sat the Warden of the North, with his bannermen beside him; Robb sitting to the immediate right of his father. On the left side of the northern contingent sat Ser Edmure Tully, who represented his father. Lord Hoster was severely ill, and was at deaths door. So much so that both his daughters were sent for, but only Catelyn had responded.
At the final side of the triangle, sat Harry. Arianne sat at his left, while Jon sat at his right. Jon position at Harry's right was effectively a statement that the former was the latter's most trusted. This wasn't too far a stretch from the truth, as Harry had the intention of naming Jon his Hand. Not to mention the newly anointed knight was being given Storm's End.
Harry then stood up, bring the idle conversation to a halt.
"My Lords, and ladies, it is time to decide where we will move from here," Harry began to speak, "As I understand it, the Riverlands took heavy casualties in the initial attacks at the Golden Tooth and Riverrun."
"Yes, Your Highness," Ser Edmure replied, "At most, we can field around forty-five to fifty thousand men. However, casualties from the two earlier battles total around ten thousand. Which puts the strength of the Riverlands at thirty-five thousand."
"I see. That puts us at in the range of sixty to seventy thousand men, all in all," Harry said. He then considered where to put those armies.
"Your Highness, what news do we have in the south?" one of the Riverlords asked.
"It seems that Stannis Baratheon has fallen prey to the teachings of the red god," Harry announced with disgust. The lords present matched Harry's distaste for the eastern religion, whether they be the northern lords who preferred the Old Gods, or the Riverlords who were brought up with the Seven.
"What of Renly?" another lord inquired.
"He is amassing a host, in the Reach," Harry revealed, "Reports are coming in that his army numbers close to hundred thousand."
All those in the hall exchanged looks of worry. House Tyrell had some of the best trained soldiers. Not to mention they could easily supply said army with enough food, given that the Reach supplied most of the grain in the Seven Kingdoms.
"However, before we decide where to attack next, I have another issue that must be dealt with," Harry went on, "As you may or may not be aware, I am not the last Targaryen. Aside from Maester Aemon of the Night's Watch, there is another; my aunt Daenerys.
"Ser Barristan. I am tasking you to go to her in Essos, and escort her back to Westeros," Harry commanded, "Take as many men as you need, but not so high a number that it would slow you down."
The old knight looked to argue, but Harry forestalled him.
"This is not a punishment," the Prince said, "More that I know I can trust you to do your utmost best to ensure my aunt's safety."
Ser Barristan looked mollified at the explanation, and bowed his head in deference, "As you will, Your Highness."
"Excellent. I would have Ser Arys accompany you," Harry said, "As I said, take a band of men, and escort her safely. I will warn you however, that she has a disgraced knight in her retinue; Ser Jorah Mormont. I understand he is an agent of the Spider. Be careful."
Both knights, formerly of the Kingsguard nodded, as Harry turned to face Theon.
"I believe it is time you took your seat, Theon," Harry decided.
"Your Highness," Theon raised his eyebrows in confusion.
"I need the Iron fleet, Theon," Harry explained, "If I'm to successfully invade the Westerlands, I need to do so by sea and land. The Lannister's have yet to properly rebuild their fleet following the Sacking of Lannisport."
"Ri…right," Theon stuttered out.
"Is something the matter?" Harry inquired, arching an eyebrow.
"No…just, bad memories, is all," Theon replied.
"Theon, I'm not about to ask you to permanently stay on Pyke," Harry gently stated, "In fact, I have a better idea."
Theon blinked, "Oh?"
"That's right. I have a challenge for you," Harry grinned, "One that might appease the Ironborn who might not take too kindly to me ordering them about.
"I want you, Theon Greyjoy, to lead the Iron fleet to Lannisport, and occupy it. Once done, you are to attack Casterly Rock, and take it for your own," Harry declared, "Should you succeed. I will name you Warden of the West and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, as Lord Theon Greyjoy of Casterly Rock."
Silence fell through the hall, at Harry's declaration. Planning on having Jon becoming the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands is one thing, as he would be marrying a daughter of the current ruling house, but giving the Westerlands to a house not even a blood relation to the Lannisters was another thing entirely.
"I…I'm sorry…could…could you repeat that," Theon said in a strangled whisper.
"The Old Lion has dreams of a Lannister dynasty that will last a thousand years," Harry explained with a savage grin, "I plan on preventing that. Rather, I will condemn House Lannister to become nothing more than a footnote in Westerosi history.
"I am folding the territories of the Iron lslands, and the Westerlands, into a single Kingdom, under the rule from Casterly Rock," the Prince went on, "The Iron Islands themselves will become the main naval construction yard for the western seaboard of the Seven Kingdoms."
"But what about the Lords of the Iron Islands?" Theon then asked, as he got over his initial shock.
"They will be given lands in the Westerlands," Harry replied, "Castamere and Tarbeck Hall still sit in ruins. And I'm quite certain not all of the Houses sworn to the Lannisters will bend the knee."
Before he could continue, Ser Edmure stood up, "On the topic of the Greyjoys, Your Highness I wish to bring up a matter."
Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "Go on."
"As you well know, Asha Greyjoy has been fostered at Riverrun, since the end of Euron Crow's Eye's rebellion," Ser Edmure began, "We grew up together, these past ten years. Eventually, we fell in love.
"I wished to marry her, but Asha was insistent I asked her brother for permission," the Heir to Riverrun paused and looked directly at Theon, "Lord Greyjoy, I hereby ask permission for your sister's hand in marriage."
"Ah…Erm, if Asha's willing, then who am I to stop her?" Theon replied, "Where is she anyway?"
"She isn't here," Ser Edmure answered back, "She's at the Iron Islands, visiting her uncle, Lord Regent Harlaw."
"Right, right. Probably a good thing," Theon muttered to himself.
Harry then clapped his hands together to bring back attention to himself.
"Excellent. Now that that's out of the way, we can focus on our next course of action," he began, "Now, some of you will not like this, but I think it would be best if we let the Baratheon's and Lannister's fight over King's Landing."
As predicted, many of the lords stood up in protest, but Harry raised a hand to prevent them from doing so.
"Please. Here me out first," he said, "We do not have the manpower, to successfully fight three enemies. Not when the Westerlands still have a sizeable number of levies that they can raise. If we time our attacks, then with the Northern men, I can conquer a sizeable portion of the north-western parts of the Westerlands, while Theon seizes Lannisport and Casterly Rock"
"A pincer attack," Eddard murmured.
"Just so," Harry nodded, "In the meanwhile, the Riverlords will strengthen their position, and hold the Kingsroad."
"Your Highness, what about the Vale?" one of the Northern lords inquired.
Harry frowned, "I have some of my men looking into it. The whole murder of Jon Arryn is suspicious to me."
"My good-sister informed my wife and I that the Lannisters were involved," Eddard said, confusion marring his face.
"No. That's not quite true," Harry said, "Whoever killed Jon Arryn knew that the late Hand had incriminating evidence on the Lannister, probably the parentage of Joffrey and Tommen, and used the opportunity to set the Lions and the Wolves against each other."
"Well, it worked," Robb quipped.
"Quite," Harry sighed. He rubbed his forehead, before continuing, "Hopefully, my man in the Vale will reveal the information soon. Otherwise, we might find ourselves with another enemy to contend with.
"You have your orders. See to it that they are disseminated appropriately," Harry ordered. "You are dismissed and may the Old Gods be with you."
"They have my son," came the deathly calm voice of Tywin Lannister.
What remained of his host was camped at Brindlewood. Thirteen thousand men of the twenty he commanded were all that was left. The Starks had close to thirty and had successfully pushed him down into the Crownlands. Not long after, the remains of his son, Jaime's host joined up; a mere four thousand, what with the Tyroshi sellsword leading the freeriders striking their banners and defecting. All in all, he had lost half his host, and Tywin's hold on the Riverlands was lost.
If Tywin thought the news of his only surviving brother's death was hard to take, the capture of his favoured son blew that thought out of the water.
"Yes, my lord," the messenger said, nervously.
Tywin's face remained expressionless, as he regarded the scout, "And Andros Brax?"
"Dead, my lord," the messenger replied.
"How could this have happened?" Ser Harys Swyft moaned, "How? Even after the Whispering Wood, Riverrun was surrounded. What possessed Ser Jaime to split his men into three camps? Surely he knew how vulnerable that would leave him?"
The skin around Tywin's eyes tightened when he heard the slander from the spineless worm that was his brother's good-father.
"And what would you have done? Ser Harys?" Lord Lefford snorted in derision, "You have never seen Riverrun in your life, or you would have known that Ser Jaime had no other choice. The castle is situated at the point where the Tumblestone flows into the Red Fork. The rivers form two sides of a triangle."
As the Lannister banner man paused to take a sip his win, Ser Addam Marbrand took over, "When Riverrun is under threat the Tullys open two gates at each river to form a deep canal. It effectively turns Riverrun into an island. To properly surround the castle, the sieging host must place camps north of the Tumblestone, south of the Red Fork, and between the rivers to the west of the canal."
"They speak truly, my Lords," the messenger said, "We'd built palisades around each camp. However, with the rivers cutting us off from each other, no word was able to be spread for a warning. Nor did any warning come from our scouts.
"The north side camp was hit first. By the time anyone knew what was happening, the palisades were destroyed, and riders poured into the camp, cutting down anyone in their path," the messenger went on, "I was in the west camp, sleeping. When we heard the north camp was under attack, Lord Brax led us to the rafts to aid them. The current was too strong though, and we were pulled down stream. The Tullys then threw rocks at us, breaking the rafts. Most broke, and the men drowned."
"My lord father-"Ser Flement Brax struggled to ask the question.
"I am sorry, ser," the messenger apologised, "Lord Brax was clad in full plate armour when his raft was overturned. He was…very gallant."
'He was a fool,' Tywin thought. Crossing a river at night on a crude raft, wearing armour. That was the height of stupidity. It was a pity Brax's son Ser Tytos wasn't here. Irrespective of the name, the young knight had potential. Far more than Tywin's useless other son, at any rate.
"The western camp was overrun too," the messenger went on, "As we crossed, more north men swept in on armoured horses. I saw the white sun of Lord Karstark and the Mallister eagle.
"I saw a banner I didn't recognise though. It was a black banner with a white direwolf and a falling star," the man continued, "The man leading the charge had a white direwolf beside him. The monster ripped our horses apart, and killed four men by itself. When our spearmen formed up a shield wall and held against their first charge, Tytos Blackwood led a sortie across the drawbridge and took them in the rear."
"Gods save us," one of the other lords swore.
"A knight I didn't recognise set fire to the siege towers we were building. Another knight, Ser Lucion Lannister I think it was, then found Ser Edmure Tully in chains among the other captives, and made off with them," the messenger then finished.
Tywin rested his chin upon his interlocked fingers. Only his eyes moved as he listened. His bristling golden side-whiskers framed a face so still that, to an observer, it would have appeared to be a mask.
"A Lannister knight?" Marbrand asked, in confusion, "With the northern men?
"I seem to recall that the Stark's nephew had a Lannister in his service," Lefford commented, "Could we not use him to assassinate the boy?"
"It wouldn't work," Brax told them, his face pale, "Lucion has a deep sense of honour. He would sooner fall on his own sword than sully it."
"How could it happen?" Swyft wailed, "Ser Jaime taken. The siege on Riverrun broken. This is a disaster!"
"Rather than stating the obvious, why not offer a solution, Ser Harys?" Marbrand scathingly bit out.
"What can we do? Ser Jaime's host is all but slaughtered. The Starks and the Tullys have successfully pushed us out. Marching west would put us too close to the Reach! Casterly Rock is vulnerable to the enemy, and what's to stop them from marching? My lords, we are beaten. We must sue for peace."
"Peace? How? We have nothing to negotiate with?" Marbrand fired back, "We're losing, if you haven't noticed. Granted two battles doesn't win a war, but we're definitely on the defensive!"
"We have Stark's eldest daughter, do we not? We could offer her in exchange for Ser Jaime" Lefford suggested.
Marbrand snorted disdainfully, "As much as I want Jaime back, my Lord, that would not be a fair exchange."
"At least I'm offering ideas!"
"Gentlemen, now isn't the time to argument amongst ourselves," Serrett chided.
"We must ransom Ser Jaime, whatever it costs," Lefford argued.
"We ask for a truce, they will laugh at us, and deny us," Marbrand furiously retorted, "We ought to march on them at once!"
"Perhaps our friends at court could supply with more troops," Swyft suggested, "And someone might return to Casterly Rock, to raise a new host of fresh levies."
Tywin had enough. He abruptly stood up, and slammed his palms on the table where they held their conference.
"THEY HAVE MY SON!" he repeated once more, in a voice that cut through the endless chatter like a sharp sword through flesh, "Leave me. All of you."
As the men scurried out of the hall, lest they feel the Old Lion's fury, Tywin allowed himself the luxury of visibly showing weakness and slumped back into his chair. He cursed the foolishness of his daughter. He would certainly be having words with her, over her stunt in imprisoning Eddard Stark. He wasn't so blind as to realise Cersei's 'evidence' was worth little more than the paper it was written on.
Closing his eyes, he offered a small prayer for his brother. While Tywin wasn't religious by any means, he knew Kevan was fairly devout, and for his sake Tywin prayed.
"The best we can hope for, is to return to the capital, and bring my errant grandson to heel," the Old Lion mumbled, before getting up from his seat.
Smoke filled the air as Ser Davos Seaworth regarded the scene before him. They were all aflame; Mother, Father, Maid, Warrior, Crone, Smith and even the Stranger. All Seven were burning, in a great bonfire, the layers of paint upon the old and dry wood providing the fuel. Even the heart tree of the godswood was part of the fire.
"An ill thing," Allard Seaworth murmured, "The gods won't like this."
"Silence yourself," Davos hushed, "Remember where you are."
Allard closed his mouth, but maintained his sullen expression. Hundreds had come to view the burning of the Seven. Already, the sept of Storm's End had been sacked. It was not a pleasant sight to bear witness, Davos was certain. The Septon was put to the sword for protesting. Several of the queen's men, who were devout followers of the red god had killed a few knights who had attempted to defend the Sept.
The red woman then walked around the bonfire three times. As she did so, she prayed; once in the speech of Asshai, once in High Valyrian, and finally in the Common Tongue. Of the three, Davos only understood the last.
"R'hllor, come to us in our darkness," she invoked, "Lord of Light, we offer you these false gods, these seven who are one, and him the enemy. Take them and cast your light upon us, for the night is dark and full of terrors."
The words spoken by the red woman were echoed by Queen Selyse, while beside her Stannis watched with an impassive face. The king was dressed finer than he was wont to do, as though he were at a sept. Though given the circumstances, one could argue this was a similar event.
Davos wasn't the most devout of men, being a smuggler and all. However, he did make offerings to the appropriate god, depending on the situation. Before going into battle, he would pray to the Warrior. Before launching his ship, he would offer a small prayer to the Smith. Finally, whenever his wife had been close to birthing one of his children, he prayed to the Mother for their safety. Even he felt uneasy as he watched them burn.
Davos once more mourned the passing of Maester Cressen. The elderly man was a friend, and did not deserve his death. According to the gossips, the old man had challenged the Lord of Light and been struck down for his impiety, but Davos knew the truth. He had seen the maester slipping poison into the wine cup, intent on sacrificing himself to kill the red woman. Unfortunately, he had failed, and through some sorcery, the woman survived, while Cressen died. All the incident did was serve as proof to Stannis that the red god held power.
Melisandre spoke up once more, "In the ancient texts, it is written that there will come a day when an eternal dark winter shall fall down on a long summer. In this dreaded hour, a warrior shall come forth and draw a sword of fire. And that sword shall be name the Lightbringer; the Red Sword of Heroes. He who wield the blade is Azor Ahai reborn, and the darkness shall flee before him."
She lifted her voice, so it carried out over the gathered host, "Azor Ahai! The Warrior of Light, and the Son of Fire! Come forth, for your sword awaits you!"
Stannis strode forward and plunged his hand into the fire with his teeth clenched. He grasped the sword with his gloved hand, and wrenched it free of the bonfire with a single hard jerk. Then he took a few steps backwards, the sword held high. Eldritch-green flames licked around the cherry-red blade. Guards rushed forward to beat out the cinders that clung to the king's clothing.
"A sword of fire!" Queen Selyse cried out in joy. Ser Axell Florent and the rest queen's men took up the chant;
"A sword of fire!"
"A sword of fire!"
"A sword of fire!"
Melisandre lifted her hands above her head, "Behold! For the sign that was foretold has been revealed! Behold the wielder of Lightbringer has come forth! Behold! Azhor Azhai is reborn! All hail the Warrior of Light! All hail the Son of Fire!"
The chanting grew louder and louder, as more of the spectators to the event echoed the queen's men.
"Lord of Light, cast your magnificence upon us!" Melisandre shouted, as the flames of the bonfire spiraled upwards into the sky.
"For the night is dark and full of terrors," Selyse and her queen's men replied.
Unable to see anymore, Davos turned away, intent on finding a tavern. He headed towards a weathered little inn that he frequented the most. It sat at on the end of the stone pier where Black Betha, Wraith, and Lady Marya shared mooring space with a half-dozen other galleys of one hundred oars or less. A gargoyle squatted on the front of the inn. Its features were eroded by rain and salt to the point that they were close to obliterated.
The tavern was full of noisy patrons; sailors from various ships, merchant captains attempting a few under-the-table deals, even a couple of sellsail captains were present. One man however, immediately caught the eye of Davos. Salladhor Saan was a Lyseni pirate. He was a sleek, smiling man whose flamboyance was known in both Westeros and Essos. His fame was such that he styled himself as the Prince of the Narrow Sea, a title none disputed. During Davos' smuggling days, he would often purchase cargo from the pirate.
Catching eye of the smuggler turned knight, Saan gestured for Davos to come over.
"You didn't come to see the gods burn, did you? Davos asked, as he strode over and sat down.
"The red priests in Lys have a grand temple. They are always burning this or that, crying out to their R'hllor," Saan began to reply, "It became woefully boring."
"Mn. Do you have news perchance?" Davos then asked.
"I do, indeed. My Bird of Thousand Colours came in yesterday. Called into port at King's Landing," Saan said, "The Lord of Casterly Rock has been forced to retreat to the capital. It would seem that the Starks and the Tullys pushed him out."
"How many men does Tywin Lannister have left, then?"
"Better part of seventeen thousand, I'm told."
"What about King's Landing? How strong are the goldcloaks?"
"You ask many questions, Ser knight," Saan sighed, "Seven thousand, maybe eight. I do not know, precisely. They are green though. Easily beaten."
"I see. Thank you," Davos said.
"No thanks are necessary," Saan waved him off, "When do you think the king will bid us to sail?"
"Soon. I would imagine," Davos replied, "I will send word as soon as I know myself."
"My gratitude, Ser knight. I must excuse myself. I hunger, and a meal awaits on my Valyrian," Saan got to his feet, and swaggered away from the table and out of the inn.
Davos lingered over his tankard of ale, for a while more, mulling over the information he had just received. The Stormlords loyal to King Stannis numbered close to thirty thousand. It would have been closer to forty-five, if the Marcher Lords had not sworn loyalty to Renly, who now had over a hundred thousand at his beck. Davos hoped a peaceful resolution would come about between the surviving sons of Lord Steffon. It would give them a distinct advantage over the Lannisters. However, for the life of the ex-smuggler, Davos couldn't figure out why his Grace was turning against Prince Haraldr. He didn't for one moment think that Cersei Lannister was truthful in declaring the Crown Prince as a northern bastard. No. There was something Davos was missing, and for the life of him, he needed to find out.
"Ahem. My lord father," the voice of his son Devan interrupted his thoughts, "His Grace commands you to attend him in his War Room. You are to come at once."
"Thank you Devan," Davos rose from his chair, and left the inn. Outside, stood a saddled horse. Realising that the horse was for him, Davos swiftly mounted, and headed for the main keep. A short horse ride later, and Davos was soon at the main castle of Storm's End.
He entered the War Room, finding the new maester, Pylos, with the King.
"Ser Davos," Stannis said he caught sight of Davos entering, "Come have a look at this letter."
"It looks well enough, Your Grace, but I'm afraid I do not know how to read," Davos could read maps and sea charts well enough, but he had never taken the time to learn his letters. Something he ought to have remedied by now, he supposed.
"I had forgotten," A flash of irritation went across the King's face, "Pylos, read it to him."
"Yes, Your Grace," The maester then picked up one of the parchments and cleared his throat.
"All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honor of my House that my beloved brother-"
"He wasn't my beloved brother," Stannis interrupted, "I did not love him, nor did he love me."
"A harmless courtesy, Your Grace," Davos supplied.
"A lie. Take it out," Stannis ordered.
Pylos made a note of it, and continued, "That Robert, our late king, left only one daughter as his trueborn issue, my niece, Princess Myrcella Baratheon. The boy Joffrey, and the boy Tommen being born of incest between Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister, by right of bi-"
"Jaime Lannister, The Kingslayer, call him what he is," Stannis once more ordered.
"And her brother, Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer," Before Pylos could continue, Stannis once again cut in.
"Make it Ser Jaime Lannister, the man is still a knight, even if he is one of ill repute," Stannis told the maester.
"Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer," Pylos recited, "And, the boy, Haraldr, being born of Rhaeg-"
"Lord Haraldr Targaryen. The boy is, after all, the last of the House Targaryen," Stannis interrupted him with his eyes narrowed.
And there is was. The final piece of the puzzle. Eddard Stark's nephew was not the son of Robert Baratheon. Now it all made sense why Stannis was rebelling. Renly was seduced by Tyrell ambition, but His Grace would always do his duty. Right now, that duty was to take a throne that was rightfully, by conquest and law, his. Deciding to withhold his questions until Maester Pylos was finished, he silently waited.
"And Lord Haraldr Targaryen, being born of Rhaegar Targaryen and-" once again, Stannis had something to say.
"Prince Rhaegar Targaryen," Stannis corrected, "The man was a prince prior to his death."
"Being born of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."
"Lady Lyanna Stark, she was the daughter Lord Rickard Stark. Better yet, Princess Lyanna Stark. She most likely married the Prince."
Pylos nodded and made the appropriate corrections and the continued, "I do so by right of birth and blood declare on this day my right to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty. Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."
Stannis nodded in satisfaction.
"Make enough copies for each raven we possess," Stannis ordered, "Then I want more made for men to directly post across the Stormlands."
Pylos bowed, and left the room to follow the instructions he was given.
"Your Grace, how is you found out the true parentage of Eddard Stark's nephew?" Davos almost immediately asked.
"My advisor of course. She informed me," Stannis revealed.
"Your Grace, how do we know if this is not supposition?"
"You doubt her power, Ser Davos?" Stannis raised an eyebrow, "You saw her survive the poison."
"Maester Cressen did not deserve such a death, you Grace," Davos quietly argued.
"No. I never wanted Cressen at that feast. He'd angered me, yes, he'd given me bad counsel, but I did not want him dead," Stannis conceded.
Davos decided to drop that line of argument. Whatever proof the King had it must have been enough to convince him. Stannis Baratheon was not a fool. Instead Davos tried another approach.
"Your Grace, I cannot but caution a phrase in the tail end of your letter," Davos said.
"Oh? Which phrase would that be?"
"'Done in the Light of the Lord', your Grace."
"Continue."
"The smallfolk will dislike those words."
"As you did?" Stannis said sharply.
"Your Grace, this religion is foreign to the people of Westeros. You would sooner see a second Faith Militant Uprising, that an acceptance to this Lord of Light."
"Have you gone devout on me, smuggler?" the King then demanded.
"No Your Grace," Davos denied, "While I may pray to the Seven on the occasion, I have no quarrel with your choice in religion. However, I cannot help but wonder if a repeat of what happened in the Sept will occur across the Seven Kingdoms."
Stannis' features hardened, "What would you counsel then, Ser Davos?"
"Let your people worship whoever they desire," Davos said, "Do not publically favour one religion over another. The smallfolk will love you more for it."
Stannis' face was unreadable, as he appeared to mull over the ex-smuggler's words.
"So be it. We will do as your suggest," Stannis finally said, "Now, I want you to lead the men who will publically read the letters I have stated."
"Of course, Your Grace," Davos acquiesced, and left the room.
Renly sat high on his seat, as he watched the combatants spar. The impromptu tourney before him, was to decide who would become a part of his Rainbow Guard, alongside his good-brother, and secret lover, Ser Loras Tyrell.
Currently, his host of one hundred thousand was camped at Bitterbridge. He had decided to march slowly, so as to wait on his dear older brother. Together, they would succeed in taking the throne, and usher in an age of peace and prosperity. Of course, that was assuming that he could persuade Stannis to be the power behind the throne, while he would be the actual King. It was a fool proof plan! He hoped Stannis would agree, for Renly had no desire to be labelled as 'Kinslayer'.
As the fights before him weren't particularly enthralling, his thoughts soon wavered to when he first heard the shocking news regarding the children of his oldest brother.
Several days earlier
"The Starks have liberated the Riverlands…and pushed Tywin Lannister in the Crownlands," Mace Tyrell announced, walking into solar, "Under the leadership of Prince Haraldr, they've captured the Kingslayer, and killed Kevan Lannister."
The Lord of Highgarden, his three sons and Renly were gathered in a meeting to decide their course of action.
"You can't be serious!?" his youngest son, Loras, hissed.
"My nephew always had a talent for warfare tactics and strategy," Renly offhandedly commented, as he paced the solar. In his haste to leave the capital, he missed out on hearing a lot of key information. Like the accusation that Haraldr wasn't in actual fact his nephew.
"Talented enough to bring down the Lannister's?" the Lord Tyrell's eldest, Willas, inquired.
"One would think so," Olenna Redwyne drily said. She was sat outside on the terrace, and couldn't help but overhear the topic of the discussion, "Tywin Lannister is not one for being easily defeated."
"Mother…this is supposed to be a private meeting," Tyrell sighed in consternation.
"Then perhaps you should have closed the door," she fired back at her son, "In any case, you could use my input. It would seem you have precious little facts of your own to go on."
"And what facts do you possess, mother?" Tyrell pointedly asked.
The Queen of Thorns gratefully rose to her feet, and approached her son and grandsons.
"I know that Eddard Stark has escaped King's Landing and joined with his sons and nephew," Olenna revealed. A half smile played upon her lips as the five men looked at her in surprise. She then continued, "I also know that Stannis is marshalling troops in the Stormlands as fast as he can."
"And what does that have to do with us?" the second born son, Ser Garlan Tyrell, asked, perplexed.
"What indeed? I take it you haven't heard what the smallfolk are wittering on about?" she asked. She then sighed in irritation when they none of them answered, "I think this might explain everything."
The elderly woman the passed a piece of parchment to Renly.
He took it with a slight frown, his curiosity superseding his caution. Renly's eyes widened in surprise. Bringing the parchment closer to his eyes, he reread the words, this time more carefully. Narrowing his eyes in thought, he considered what he read. That Joffrey and Tommen weren't Robert's sons wasn't all that earth-shattering. He had seen enough of Robert's bastards to know that the Baratheon seed bred true and strong. By the Gods, how had anyone missed that? Maybe Myrcella having the typical features of Baratheons threw observers off.
'Was this the reason why Jon Arryn died?' Renly wondered.
However, this wasn't the most shocking revelation. The fact that his favourite nephew, Haraldr was not in fact in nephew was enough to blow his mind into oblivion. Renly then look up at the others, his face deathly pale. With Robert having no trueborn son as an heir, Stannis had declared himself the rightful King, which, objectively, he was in the right to do. All the same, he couldn't help but wonder what the true ruler of Highgarden wanted.
"You need to think quickly," said queen told him.
"What do you mean?" Renly asked feigning ignorance. As he did so, Loras tugged the declaration from Renly's grasp.
Olenna Redwyne looked unamused at the attempted deflection, "I mean, do you want to bow before another brother, one who is quite possibly more unpopular than Robert? Will you swear fealty to a King who is likely to burn his enemies, in a similar fashion to Aerys II? Or, will do you neither, and declare for yourself?"
"Mother!" Mace gasped, taking the declaration from Loras, who was holding it out to him.
"Wait a damn moment. Are we really considering this?" Willas then demanded, "We were loyal to the Targaryens in the Rebellion. We should be swearing loyalty to them now!"
"Bah, I doubt that its true," the elderly woman snorted, "The Starks can pretend all they want."
"On your heads, then," Willas warned, "I will have nothing to do with this."
The heir to Highgarden stormed out. Ser Garlan looked uncertainly at his father and grandmother, before following his older brother out of the solar.
The Knight of Flowers ignored the actions of his two brothers, and looked directly at his lover.
"You are more popular than Stannis," he said.
"But he's older than me," Renly said.
"There are some in the Stormlands who would support you. Particularly if Stannis is burning Septs," Olenna Redwyne said, "Those who wish to keep with the Seven will declare for you."
"The Reach will support you," Tyrell offered, "If we can come to…an arrangement."
"What kind of arrangement?" Renly asked him, looking at the Lord of Highgarden in askance.
"You would marry my daughter and make her your Queen. Also, either myself or one of my bannermen will be named your Hand," Tyrell requested. Renly stiffened, but managed to not look as Loras.
"Margaery is the most beautiful woman in the Reach, nay in the Seven Kingdoms. She would make the perfect Queen and she would be popular with the smallfolk," Olenna persuaded.
"If you agree, then you would have the wealth of Highgarden and the armies of the Reach behind you," Tyrell promised.
"If I take Margaery as my Queen?" Renly asked for clarification, as he glanced towards Loras.
"The sooner wed my granddaughter, the sooner you can rally your own loyal troops, and the sooner you can take the Iron Throne for yourself," the Queen of Thorns told him.
Renly finally met the eyes of his secret lover.
"You were born to be King," Loras insisted, his eyes not leaving Renly's.
In that one moment, Renly made up his mind and set in motion his own plans for the Game of Thrones.
Renly was the brought out of his musings by a soft hand resting on his own. Turning to the owner of the hand, Renly found himself looking into the curious eyes of his newly wedded wife and Queen, Margaery Tyrell.
"Is something wrong, my Queen?" Renly asked.
"I was just about to ask the same of you, my love," Maraerys replied.
Renly blinked in slight surprise, before smiling, "I'm fine, my Queen. Merely considering the events of the last few days."
Margaerys returned his smile, with an uncertain one of her own. Renly knew why. He had yet to properly consummate the wedding, and as such sire an heir. Part of his mind was well aware that he should, but that part was small in size, and suppressed by the larger part that was furious he was betraying Loras.
As soft thump of a body hitting the ground brought Renly's attention to the duelling circle. One of the knights held a knife to the neck of the other. The defeated knight held out his arms in surrender. Renly stood up and applauded the victor. A polite smile adorned his face, but inwardly he frowned, for he knew it was Loras who was the defeated knight.
"Yield. I yield," the Knight of Flowers gritted out.
The opposing knight was silent for a scant few seconds, before getting up, allowing Ser Loras to rise.
"Well fought," Renly congratulated, clapping his hands, "Approach."
The victor did so, proudly striding forward and then kneeling.
"Rise," Renly softly commanded, "Remove your helm."
The knight got up, and did so. Removing the helm revealed a woman's face. Renly was surprised to see the face of Brienne of Tarth. He was aware that the woman desired to be trained in arms, and that Lord Selywn Tarth promised that she was capable. However, her beating Loras was unexpected.
"You are everything your father promised and more, my lady," Renly smiled. "I've only ever seen Ser Loras bested once or twice, but…never quite in that fashion."
"Now, now, my love. My brother fought valiantly," Margaery chided.
Renly's smile tightened somewhat, at his wife's interjection, but continued on, "That he did my Queen. But there can only be one champion. Brienne of Tarth. You may ask of me anything you desire, with reason. If it is within my power, it is yours."
The warrior woman knelt once more, "Your Grace. I ask the honour of a place in your Rainbow Guard."
Murmurs spread through the crowd, as Loras whispered a quiet 'What?' as Brienne continued, "I will be one of your Seven, and pledge my life to yours, and keep you safe from all harm."
Renly regarded the Maid of Tarth for a few moments, before speaking;
"Done," he declared, "Rise, Brienne the Blue. Shield-maiden of the Rainbow Guard."
As the woman rose, Renly knew one thing. If his dear older brother wasn't going to ally with him, then at least Renly had the loyalty of the commoners and smallfolk. His thoughts were vindicated by the words of chants the soldiers were shouting out in pride; his name.
Tywin Lannister burst into the Small Council chambers. What little of the council that was left were currently in session, no doubt discussing the topic of a letter. It was a letter Tywin himself had received from a runner from Stokeworth. He didn't believe the words pertaining to his children; Lannister are not fool. Except for maybe Tyrion. However, the words regarding the son of Lyanna Stark were more interesting. He cared little if he were a Targaryen or not, but it serve a purpose in supporting his daughter's reckless claim.
Now, however, he needed to bring his underlings to heel.
"Father," Cersei said, surprised, "I was not expecting you."
"I rode ahead with the cavalry," Tywin curtly replied.
Cersei hesitantly nodded. She then handed her father the Pin of the Hand. Tywin pinned the symbol of his position onto his lapel, and promptly sat down at the head of the table. Cersei made to move a chair, to sit beside him, but a fierce glare from the Old Lion stalled that action. The remaining members of the council hastily sat down, so as to not incur Tywin's wrath.
"So, how far has the contents of this declaration reached?" the newly instated Hand of the King asked.
"The entire of the Crownlands are aware, my Lord Hand," the Spider answered, "My birds sing that the whole of the Stormlands, and parts of the Reach are also aware. It is only the fighting in the Riverlands that has prevented the declaration from spreading."
"And in Dorne?"
"I suspect that they don't care, considering the hatred House Martell has for your own, my Lord."
Cersei snorted, "That isn't new information Spider."
Tywin glared at this daughter, cowing her into silence. He then turned to the Small Council.
"How is the news of Eddard Stark's nephew not a legitimate heir being taken by people?" Tywin then inquired.
"It is difficult to say," Varys replied, "The North and the Riverlands are obviously in support. The Vale is adopting an isolationist policy. The Reach and the Stormlands are divided between the Baratheon brothers, and Dorne is strangely quiet."
"That's not answering the question, eunuch, that was merely listing the fact that we do not have any allies," Tywin barked, "What do the people think?"
"Prince Haraldr was much loved by the smallfolk," the Mockingbird took over, "He was a champion of the people, whenever he visited, but he never stayed in the capital long enough to foster any support by those that mattered. He won't find any allies here."
"Finally, someone with the intelligence to answer," Tywin groused. He ignored the obvious disgruntled look from Varys and the smugness radiating off of Baelish.
"Are we just going to ignore the remaining contents of this…this filth?" Cersei interjected with a shriek, "Treason is well enough, but this is another thing in its entirety!"
The other councillors, Pycelle in particular, jumped the sudden upturn in the tone of the Queen Regent, yet Tywin remained resolute.
"Why should we?" he calmed asked.
"Because it's an insult! It insults me. It insults Joffrey. It insults Jaime!"
"It is words on paper. Stannis' arguments are hyperbole," Tywin calmly retorted.
"He called me a whore!" Cersei raged, "I want those letters burned!"
"If we respond in such a manner, we are all but admitting that the contents are the truth," Tywin narrowed his eyes in anger. His voice deathly quiet, he continued, "Are they?"
Cersei face paled, and immediate began to backpedal, "No. No, of course not. But we cannot leave this slight go answered."
"Of course not," Tywin admitted, "Suggestions?"
"Nothing? Let them whisper, they'll grow bored if nothing else comes of it," Baelish suggested, "Anyone with an ounce of sense will see this as nothing more than clumsy attempt to justify usurping the throne. Not to mention, this declaration offers no proof of Stannis' claims."
"Hm, Anyone else?"
"Sow rumours of our own, my Lord Hand?" Varys supplied.
"What sort of rumours?" Tywin asked, intrigued. He found this kind of battle distasteful, but knew that it had its uses.
"Perhaps something of a similar topic, but more easily believed? Lord Stannis has spent most of his marriage apart from his wife. If we made it so that my birds sang that her daughter is baseborn and Stannis a cuckold, well...the smallfolk are always eager to believe the worst of their lords," the Spider tittered.
Tywin nodded in approval, "Doable. Any more suggestions?"
"There was a curious line at the end of the letter. 'Done in the Light of the Lord'. What does that mean?" Littlefinger asked.
Pycelle cleared his throat, "It is a phrase used by those who worship the red god. It is akin to saying 'Written in the sight of the old gods and new'."
"I do recall that Lady Selyse had taken up with a red priestess," Varys reminded them.
Tywin steepled his fingers beneath his chin, "And now it would seem Stannis has done the same. We can use that against him. Have word sent to the High Septon to reveal how Stannis has turned away from the Faith of the Seven. Stannis will have no support there."
Nods of acquiesces came from the others.
"Good, then the next topic of discussion is Sansa Stark," Tywin went on, "Does she know anything?"
"It was thanks to her, that we knew Eddard Stark was planning to escape," Cersei answered, "It helped in tracking his movements."
"And after that?"
"…Nothing," the Queen Regent grudgingly admitted.
"I see. Very well, she will be kept alive. Once we win this, we can have her married off, and install a more sympathetic person as Warden of the North," Tywin decided, "If there is nothing else, you are dismissed."
"But what about Jaim-"
"I said, you are dismissed," Tywin repeated, glaring at his daughter.
As Cersei fled, Twyin sat back in his chair and groaned.
'Spare me the idiocy of my foolish children.'
Author's Notes: Straightforward enough chapter, in my opinion. The sides have been drawn, and the men are rallying to their chosen king. As you can see, the first of the differences is taking effect, with the Iron fleet's choice of target. I hope I haven't gone too OOC for some of the characters. Tywin Lannister is particularly tricky to write for. With regards to Harry's magic. I'm trying ever so hard to not making him overpowered. Magic in itself is a game-breaker, particularly when he has no suitable opponents. Next chapter, Harry will begin to express some of the more typical powers skinchangers and greenseers have.
Next update: I am taking a holiday from the 15th of March to the 1st of April. It is unlikely that I will be able to update before April 10th. Apologies to those who want a sooner update.