A Death To Knighthood (Part III)

Brienne

"Feast, and make merry, my brothers," declared King Renly, loudly, raising a gilded goblet high, "for tomorrow, we put an end to this war and rejoice in the dawning of a new age for all the Realm!"

A raucous round of cheers and applause broke out, and echoed throughout the command tent. A plentiful spread had been laid out before the high lords of the Reach and Stormlands; entire hogs freshly slaughtered and spitted, quail's eggs, mutton chops, and a score of different beer breads, fresh from the camp's ovens. Even the vegetable stew was spiked with a dozen spices of Dornish and Essosi origin. Wine by the barrel was being rolled in and poured out, of every vintage from Arbor Golds to Highgarden's very own hippocras.

And at the center of it all sat their King and his beautiful Queen, surrounded by their ever vigilant and resplendent Rainbow Guard. Every night along the campaign trail had been a feast, but tonight's in particular was special and sentiments ran high. From her station right behind the King, Brienne kept a steady watch over the festivities. It was as such that she noted that not all who partook were as jubilant.

"Your Grace," began Lord Randall Tarly, well into the feast, from where he was seated a few chairs away. "Forgive my concern, but something is rather peculiar about this whole situation. If Lord Stannis were smart, and I have little doubt that he is, then he would have had his banners remain hidden in the Kingswood, and attempted to lay an ambuscade for us there. We have twice his number, but he marches to meet us out here, upon these grassy plains, regardless. I have fought him before, and I know he is not one to take a risk lightly. I think he intends to win."

"Or perhaps he let his honor get the better of him," offered Ser Garlan, the queen's brother. "He always was a stubborn one, if half the things I hear of him are true. Gods, I wager he would offer parley even if he did intend to ambush us."

"Or perhaps he is growing desperate?" suggested Lord Alestar Florent, "Every day we keep the Roseroad closed is another day King's Landing inches ever closer towards starvation. 'Twas the mob that overthrew Joffrey, opened the gates, and gave Stannis the Iron Throne; 'tis the mob that can take it away."

"Are you so sure about that?" asked Lord Estermont, "now with trade restored? Surely they must be once more receiving grain from the Riverlands? What about the Free Cities? And what of the Sky People? If I recall correctly, they have sky ships that can sail through the air, faster and carrying far more food than any ship of the sea ever could."

"The Riverlands are still reeling from Lord Tywin's rampage, the lions made certain of that," interjected Lord Mace Tyrell. "And even then, I can assure you that whatever grain the capital receives from either the Trident or from across the Narrow Sea is but a fraction of what they receive from Highgarden." He rubbed his fat hands together, greedily. Of course he would know; the revenues and taxation of the trade along the Roseroad were, of course, very near and dear to the fortunes of House Tyrell.

"Aye. The Sky-People have weapons and steel and other wonders aplenty, but it appears one thing they are lacking in is food," added King Renly, "I heard no less from Lord Kovacs himself. We were dining together once - him, myself, Lady Vaenya - and I remember him being rather complimentary of our cuisine. Their own fare, apparently, is quite terrible, and their colony relies on the North (the North, of all places!) just to meet their basic needs." He smiled as he took another bite into a roasted hog's leg, grease dripping from the ends of his mouth. "It seems even the Sky-People can not feed a half-million mouths."

Brienne thought carefully about all she was hearing. She had never seen King's Landing or Oldtown before, but she had heard enough to imagine what they were like. A half million people! Evenfall Hall, the largest castle on all of Tarth, had hardly a hundredth of that number. And she knew well enough from her lord father's daily dealings and managing of their house's affairs that even this number could be difficult to feed at times - the rugged cliffs and coves of the Sapphire Isle were beautiful, but not exactly the most productive for growing (at least not like the vast plantations and orchards she had seen in her time here in the Reach), and ofttimes the legendary tempests and squalls that gave Shipbreaker Bay its name made fishing difficult at best.

Thus, the army of the Reach had marshaled an incredible stockpile of food the likes of which she had never imagined before - the baggage train alone spanned miles from front to rear, and with more food arriving all the time from Highgarden. So much food gathered in one place so as to make even the most gluttonous sick thinking about it. Enough food not just to keep all eighty thousand men adequately provisioned for the length of this campaign and of the expected siege to come, but also to relieve the plight of the commonfolk once Renly, resplendent in his armor and cape, would come riding in through the gates to cheering multitudes and showers of flower petals. Just like the heroes in those old tales.

But if Stannis could be defeated tomorrow, then such a siege would be unnecessary. For all of these reasons, Brienne concluded, Renly must win on the morrow, so that the suffering of the Realm could be relieved more quickly. If Renly would win, then all of the problems that have plagued the Seven Kingdoms throughout this wasteful war would surely be quickly absolved. The bounty of Highgarden would once more flow into the mouths of the wanting citizenry. The Realm would be united under a true king, youthful and energetic and ready to inspire and lead them all into the next century. The Sky-People would have no choice but to recognize Renly and Margaery as the rightful rulers of the Realm, and once they would, they would realize that they should have been behind them from the start.

Of all of these, she was certain. And still, however, at the same time, she could not help but think of all the people who would perish in the mean time. Men, women, and children too, slowly and painfully starving to death thanks to the Tyrells' embargo. This was certainly not a noble way to go - they were smallfolk, not knights, that much was true, but were they not equally as worthy of a dignified death? Was their suffering truly necessary to achieve their cause, or was there a better way of putting Renly on the Iron Throne?

"Something bothers you?" asked the King. Brienne snapped out of it to realize he was addressing her. He must have read the look of doubt on her face.

Brienne hesitated to answer immediately; she did not want to give the appearance of disloyalty. 'Twas true that, as a trusted knight of the Rainbow Guard, her counsel would always be invaluable to her King, and that might even entail questioning his choices from time to time (such as the necessity of inflicting such hardship upon a half-million people who had no real say in the matter of who sat the Iron Throne) - questions as these were not meant to undermine him, but to test him and ensure that he only ever acted with utmost wisdom and justice. However, to do so now, in front of all the other banners and on the eve of battle no less - it would surely denigrate herself in front of the others, perhaps bring shame unto House Tarth. Without doubt at least some of the banners might be tempted to view such a question as an attack on the fundamental righteousness of the cause for which they had pledged themselves - Brienne, sadly, had a long history of having everything she ever said or did receive undue scrutiny from all around her.

She looked again to Renly, and he looked back, expecting an answer; she decided to try and deflect the matter. "Your Grace," she began, "aye, there is a small matter that troubles me."

"Of course there is," muttered Lord Tarly, "she is a woman."

"Perhaps 'tis her time of the moon?" offered another of the gathered lords, mockingly.

"Brienne the Beaut!" she thought she heard another say, somewhere out there, though she could not be sure.

"Speak your mind," said Renly, ignoring the banter around him.

"I have been wondering," she began, cautiously, "as to how we shalt dispose of the pretender King once we emerge victorious on the morrow." She bowed slightly to reaffirm her loyalty. "It is Stannis's folly not to relinquish his claim to the throne, aye, 'tis true. But... he still is your blood, Your Grace. If... if perhaps you mean to offer him to take the black, then I would be honored to be the one to take him as my charge up to Castle Black. For you, Your Grace."

"She would be a perfect fit for Stannis," snickered one of the other lords.

"You would do well to hold your tongue, woman," sneered another.

"No, no, she speaks the truth," spoke Renly, calmly raising a hand for silence. "No amount of animus between us will ever absolve the fact that Stannis is my brother by blood." He paused, and made sure all were listening intently. "But... alas, sometimes a King's honor and duty, to his beloved banners and to the Realm, must take precedence over any and all bonds of fraternity. The Lannisters, vile creatures as they are, killed my brother and our beloved King Robert, and brought shame and ruin unto the Realm! But in doing as such, the Lannisters have taught all of us a vital lesson: that perhaps it is time for a necessary change. If Stannis rules the Realm, then nothing will change. He is unloved by any, scorned by all, and he rules not by love nor inspiring loyalty, but by force and fear alone. Surely by now you have all heard of the Red Woman he keeps? Of how he so callously burned the Seven we were raised to honor? His banners and the Sky People may not realize it, but he cannot ever hope to hold this Realm together; were he to keep it, why, I wager all will fall apart into chaos by winter's arrival! Tell me, my bannermen, is that what you desire?"

"NAY!" came the unanimous calls from around the table.

Once more Renly dramatically paused, taking a moment to savor the reactions of his followers, brethren and sworn swords alike, before continuing. "Lady Brienne," he declared loudly, "if you so wish to honor me by being the one to dispose Stannis, however that may came about, then I see no reason why you should not. Should he choose to take the black, then yes, you shall have the charge of taking him to Castle Black yourself! Should he choose otherwise, then, well, you know what to do, I am sure."

"Thank you, Your Grace," replied Brienne, bowing. "I shall not fail you."

"Think nothing of it," smiled Renly, "the Sky People have great warrior women among their ranks. It is time we show them we do too. Whatever they do, we can too! Put me on that Iron Throne, Lady Brienne Of Tarth, and I will carry you and all the Realm forwards into the future. A bright future, one full of endless promise, and where we will be the equals of the Sky People, I promise you."

More cheers and applause erupted around the room. Brienne smiled; no matter what became of them tomorrow, she had never felt happier in her life than she did now, fighting for her King, for her ideals, and for the future.

"I insist, Your Grace, that we press for a nighttime attack," began Ser Loras, later that night as he and Brienne escorted their King to his tent. Sers Emmon and Robar, meanstwhile, had the charge of the Queen, in her separate quarters. Loras continued: "Why wait for daybreak? They won't know what hit them."

"And have it said that I won by treachery, with an unchivalrous attack?" replied Renly, "I gave them my word - the terms of the peace shall remain open until the morn. Then we attack, but not before. Besides, have you ever tried to move eighty thousand men around by torchlight? And I thought doing so in broad daylight was already a feat in and of itself!"

"And their camp is guarded by trench and palisade both," observed Brienne. "Our numbers and horses would be negated by such a defense."

"Aye, 'tis true," said Renly, "I do not believe it either what our scouts are saying, that this entire fortification was hastily erected in the span of a few hours, but regardless, a wall is a wall. No, we shall wait for them to be out on the field, bereft of any such defenses, and only then make our move. Is that all that troubles you?"

"No, Your Grace," replied Brienne, truthfully, especially now that they were by themselves and outside the presence of the other lords and their glaring looks. "I could not help but think again about these fabled 'fire-arms' these Northmen are said to have in their possession. Before he died, Lord Tywin commanded an army of such great size and power second only to Highgarden. He commanded in his service such names as Ser Jaime The Kingslayer, Ser Gregor The Mountain, the Crakehalls, and many others. And in spite of all this, he lost to a boy."

"A boy and his dog," corrected Renly. "No, you raise a valid concern, and I have been thinking on this. These fire-arms - they are powerful and deadly, certainly, but they are not invincible. Like arrows, they will run out eventually, they take time to nock and load each next shot, and their accuracy depends highly on the man wielding it."

Loras was adamant. "I have fought archers many a time before. Loose me upon them, I urge you, and the knights of Highgarden shall not fail you. If you so desire, I shall even bring you the head of the Stark boy's hairy monster!"

"You will do no such thing," said Renly, calmly, "I will not risk you lightly in battle." He paused, then quickly turned to Brienne. "Nor you, Lady Brienne. All of you, my Rainbow Knights, are each a brother, or sister, to me. Which is why we shall leave the bulk of the fighting to the foot. I have already discussed these stratagems with Lords Tarly and your father. You will stay with me, and we shall remain safely in the rear, with the reserve."

"Leave the glory to the footmen?" pressed Loras.

"I intend to let Lord Tarly handle them," continued the King. "He is, and I say this with some resignation, of greater aptitude and patience at commanding the foot than I." Renly turned to the table at the foot of his bed, where he kept his map, a handful of elegantly carved figurines splayed out across its surface, like pieces in a game of chess. "We will spread out across a wide front; Stannis cannot hope to match us for width, lest he stretch his lines dangerously thin. We shall divide our horses into three - at the right flank, at the left, and then our reserve at the center. But we shall not attack immediately, no. Only probing attacks here and there, we need to test their fire-arms, find out where they are and where they are at their weakest. Until then, our horses will hold theirs in place, and once our foot have theirs encircled, only then shall we commence the final attack and put an end to my brother's ambitions."

Brienne looked at the deployment the King was proposing, and playing it out in her head. Letting the foot do the bulk of the fighting tomorrow was not quite how she had expected the battles to unfurl when she had first answered Renly's call. All her life had she fought and trained, aspiring to live up to the ideals of knighthood, and now her first real battle and she would be sitting it out? But... "if that is as Your Grace wishes it, we shall obey."

"I know this is not quite what you might have imagined things to play out," said Renly, reproachfully. "But worry not, for surely simply to be by my side tomorrow is glory and honor enough for you, is it not? Now go, Lady Brienne, best get some rest. We have a Realm to be won on the 'morrow."

"Your Grace, if it please you, I wish to remain here, on guard duty tonight with Ser Loras." As she spoke, Brienne cast a side glance at the shadows around them, cast upon silken walls by the scented candles burning throughout the King's spacious tent, as if half-expecting one of them to suddenly come alive and strike at them. "What if Lord Stannis means to send an assassin at this hour?"

"If my brother ever intended to send one, surely he would have done so by now," remarked Renly, "why drag forty thousand men halfway 'cross the continent, when he could have sent just one, and months ago! Stannis's sin is one of stubbornness, and not stupidity." His gaze turned to Ser Loras, and Ser Loras looked back. "Worry not, for Loras shall have the honor of guarding my bedside tonight. Lady Brienne Of Tarth; you are a credit to your sex, a true knight if I have ever met one. And for that you have earned a good rest. Good night and sleep well."

Brienne bowed, and left. Though as she pulled the tent flap closed behind her, she could not help but wonder if she heard a fluttering of wings and the cry of a bird above her.

Melisandre

A lowly raven swooped low over the camp, the innumerable tents of the faithless stretching seemingly to the horizon, looking more a city of houses in the moonlight. With darkly feathered wings, the raven flapped and pulled up again, and cawed.

Melisandre withdrew her head from the hearth. The flames crackled fiercely there, spitting cinders and embers, though she herself was unburnt, pale skin and auburn hair as smooth and perfect as ever. The fire bothered her far less than the visions she had beheld.

Melisandre, spoke a voice in her head, deep but firm and even calming. Something troubles you?

My Lord, she thought, in response, it is just that I worry for our Champion. I should be with him right now, by his side. Such bloodshed as that which is surely to come tomorrow could be avoided if only I were there with him, if only I could use my gifts for his aid, if only, if only...

I understand your trepidation. But worry not, for he is my chosen Champion. Have faith in him, and Azor Ahai shall triumph over any enemy that fate will throw in his path. No Melisandre, you belong here. Your work here, in this city of despair and desolation, to help bring these lost and damned people to the Light, is of far greater import than any assist you could possibly be upon the battlefield tomorrow.

Melisandre frowned, though she saw and understood the truth in her Lord's words. This wretched city, this King's Landing, was as large as any she had ever encountered in Essos, but more unruly, filthier, crawling with hunger and disease and stink at every turn. The treachery of Highgarden had exacted a terrible toll on the welfare of the people. Since taking the Iron Throne, the King had ceased his naval blockade and reopened the docks, and whatever food now flowed into the capital was a small and welcome relief, though still far from sufficient to fill every crying mouth and belly. Every day, more reports came to the Red Keep and to the Queen, of more deaths, more despair and discontentment brewing in Flea Bottom.

But it was precisely at times like this that the people, at their lowest points, became willing to open their hearts and souls to the Light. And sure enough, the Queen's Men had been out and about in the streets, preaching their gospel and lending their charity out to the people in any way they could. And their efforts were now being repaid in kind by the presence of a small handful of the faithful to be found among the people - not many, but growing steadily as each day brought more who were willing to see the truth in the Lord Of Light's ways.

Who knows, give them a few years time... she gazed out of her window, upon the retched expanses of King's Landing. In the distance, the Great Sept Of Baelor towered over the homes of the common people, a monument to false gods. Oh, how she would love nothing better than to one day lead the faithful in a march up those steps, throw out the High Septon, put a flame to the idols that resided within, and rededicate the whole structure instead to the glory of the One True Lord. But that would have to wait. All in good time.

If it helps, said the voice again, reading her every thought, perhaps you should try and remain focused on the next task. These men of the Vale profess loyalty for my chosen champion only because their matriarch professes it. And she, in turn, professes loyalty only because... well, you know why, I am sure.

Melisandre nodded.

When Lady Arryn arrives in the capital, I foresee that Azor Ahai will still be out in the Reach on campaign. Therefore, it shall fall to you to see to her, accommodate her and attend to her needs... and, of course, see to it that her loyalty is never in question again.

As you wish, My Lord.

Writer's Notes: here's just a brief recap for those who forgot the events of Book1, since it was years ago (though if you don't need the recap, then just ignore this next bit).

At the end of Book1, Melisandre noticed that her powers were growing stronger, and she was also contacted by an entity claiming to be the Lord Of Light. At his command, she disposed of Baelish, and her next target is Lysa Arryn (who appears to believe Baelish is still alive, as that's how she was coaxed into declaring the Vale's support for Stannis).