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I hadn't had such an enjoyable public lunch in a while. Entertaining people that were genuinely Renly's friends and supporters had been wonderfully recharging.
It had certainly been more enjoyable than the lecture that Ser Cortnay had given me on the state of the Stormlands treasury. Many of my projects had been very cost intensive and I had burned through gold at a prodigious rate. Not a good thing when the Vale was the only kingdom that was cash poorer than the Stormlands.
I might have still gotten away with it if I hadn't called the banners, but now there was no hiding from the situation. I had enough gold to fund a campaign of a few months, maybe eight if I hired no sellswords, suffered no raids into my own lands, used the winter stores to feed my armies, and pushed as many of the costs as I could onto my bannermen. If things lasted longer than that my coffers would be empty, and I would be reliant on Tyrell gold to keep my own levies in the field. Something that would badly hurt my prestige and authority with everyone and would give Olenna Tyrell far too much leverage over me.
Still, that was a problem for the future and I had enough problems in the here and now to concern myself with. Namely how to get the Stormlands to place a crown on my head in the first place.
I was brought out of my plotting by the entry of Jon, Arya, and both Edrics into my solar. Nymeria and Ghost with them.
Nymeria was still wary of me, but Ghost came straight over when I offered him mutton from the table. Cautiously, Nymeria did the same after seeing I had Ghost's seal of approval.
"You never told me how she survived the Crossroads Inn." I muttered, scratching behind her ears, keeping my hammering heart and fear of being so close to such a deadly animal out of my voice.
"I was going to throw stones at her to make her leave, but Jon said he could take her away and no one would look for him 'cause he was just a bastard." Arya muttered guiltily, shooting Jon a look of apology.
"I just wish I'd thought to take Lady as well." Jon grunted guiltily.
Arya hugged him, then looked mutinously at me, crossing her arms. "Jon says you want me to wear a dress."
I fought down a smile. "I need your help tomorrow Arya, and I need to look like a Lady of House Stark when you do it. Can you do that for me?"
"No." She replied shortly. "That's not me. That's Sansa."
I nodded sagely. "I know it isn't you little wolf. But sometimes we have to pretend to be something we aren't in order to get something we need."
Arya frowned, clearly thinking that statement was wrong but having trouble articulating why.
I turned to Jon.
"Do you remember what you asked Loras when we were riding from Kings Landing Jon?"
He blushed terribly. "I didn't think you heard that my lord."
"I didn't, Loras told me. Never expect lovers to keep secrets from each other Jon, then you will never be surprised."
In actuality Loras and I were keeping several secrets from each other, as did most couples. But it was still a good life lesson for Jon to learn.
Arya looked startled for a moment as she realised what I'd admitted, but after some thought she just shrugged. At that age romance of any sort was gross, and as she'd run away from the teachings of the Seven to worship the Old Gods like her father there was nothing else weighing against the thought of me and Loras together.
Jon answered, still blushing from embarrassment. "I asked how he could be with you when you wore so many faces. How he could tell which was the real you and which was fake."
My squire didn't react beyond a soft, amused, smile, but my nephew looked ready to punch Jon for the implied insult to me.
"Are you calling my uncle two faced?!" Edric exploded, once again showing he'd inherited more from his Baratheon side than just his looks.
It was honestly quite endearing as Jon was nearly twice his size and had far more muscle despite Edric's warhammer training. I raised a hand to put a lid on any further outbursts, but he was clearly still fuming when I turned back to Jon.
"And…?" I queried.
"He said he trusted you, and that let him see the…" Jon glanced at Arya, but continued when I merely raised an eyebrow. "…let him see the man he loved beneath each face you wore."
"Your father wears different faces as well, doesn't he Jon?" I asked the teenager, though I had locked eyes with Arya instead of him. "The face he wears when dispensing justice is different to the one he wears when he holds court. Or the one when wears when he talks to your household, and all of them are different to his true face when he's alone with his children."
Jon struggled for a moment, but he grudgingly admitted it was true. "There is truth to that my lord."
Arya's face cleared at the conformation that I was just like Ned. Sometimes the logic of a child was truly useful. "So why do I have to wear a dress?"
"Because I need you to prove to my bannermen that something is written in your father's hand, and for that to work you have to look like they expect you to. No one who knows you would expect you to be in a dress, but my bannermen don't know you. If they see you in your riding leathers in my court, they're as likely to think I grabbed a femboy out of the local brothel and stuck them in riding leathers as they are to believe that I rescued Ned Stark's daughter."
"What's a femboy?" Arya frowned.
"A boy who likes dresses and courtesies, just as you like leathers and swordplay. It's not important. What is important is that when my bannermen are introduced to the daughter of a great house they expect them to look a certain way. I need you to look like that for me tomorrow, no matter how much you hate it."
Arya's frown deepened, but in the end her regard for me won out. "I'll do it. But just for tomorrow! I'm not wearing stupid dresses all the time!"
"I don't expect you too." I smiled, getting a wolfish grin in return. "Now, Arya, I have something for you."
"Why didn't you give it to me before asking me to wear a dress?" She asked, puzzled. Clearly Catelyn had tried bribes as well as threats.
"Because I don't bribe people into doing my bidding Arya, but I do reward my friends. Especially when they help me." That sort of blatant manipulation wouldn't have flown with an adult. But Jon was the only one over sixteen, and he wasn't the most observant when it came to intrigue in the first place. Though with how much I was working on changing that I would have to start being more careful before too long.
Regardless, I reached into one of the draws of my desk and withdrew a scabbard done in white leather with snarling direwolf heads in grey at its mouth.
Jon nearly collapsed as he recognised the sword in it, glancing franticly from it to Arya and back again.
"I know you lost Needle when we fled Kings Landing Arya, and that it was a gift from Jon, but perhaps you'll do me the honour of naming this blade Needle as well. I have the feeling it will be a lucky name."
Arya barely heard me, squeaking with excitement she practically snatched the scabbard and grabbed the white leather hilt of the shortsword it held and pulled. The dark ripples in the abnormally thin blade were unmistakable, especially when compared to the plain steel crossguard and pommel.
"This…this is Valyrian steel." She whispered, awed.
"It's yours. On one condition."
"What's that?" Arya asked, too entranced to be wary.
"That it belongs to House Stark. House Dayne already has Dawn. On your death this is to return to Winterfell rather than go to your children, there will be many she-wolves after you who will need it."
That was enough to break both Arya and Jon from their trances.
"You still want me to marry Edric." Arya noted. This time she wasn't hostile, rather she was looking over at him in contemplation.
Edric blushed from his collar to his ash blonde hair and stared at his feet. I had to be the one to break the silence.
"I do, and I know your father spoke to you about it. He was going to make things official with Edric if you agreed, and I think that if you do, we should…pretend…he had the chance to do that before we left Kings Landing."
"You want me to lie?" The little she-wolf yelled.
"I want you to exaggerate." I clarified. "All of us know that if you had said yes before we left, your father would have betrothed you to Edric in an instant. Now the realm is at war, and with Sansa a prisoner many people will by vying for the hand of Ned Stark's only available daughter. Maybe they won't send their full muster of men unless you're betrothed one of their sons. Maybe they won't let Robb march through their lands. If you're betrothed to Edric they can't do that to him."
"None of my father's bannermen would do that!" Arya declared hotly.
"Not even Lord Bolton?"
It was amazing how she suddenly went from angry to frightened at the thought of the man when he was still the length of a continent away.
"He doesn't have any sons. Domeric Bolton died of a bad belly. Maester Luwin said so." She whispered quietly.
"He has a bastard son, and with his house nearly extinct and him marching off to war he needs that son legitimised and married as soon as possible."
I didn't think Arya could pale any further, but she managed it.
"I won't marry a Bolton, I won't." She declared, shaking her head rapidly.
"Robb may have no choice but to agree if he wants the Dreadfort's levies." I explained gently, substituting pretty much the only fate that would be worse for her than the one Catelyn was likely to arrange.
Arya looked franticly at Jon, who had the vaguely constipated look of someone who wanted to deny what you were saying but was completely unable to do so.
Edric shyly reached out and took Arya's wrist. "I don't want you to marry a Bolton either. I don't want you to marry anyone else. I want a wife I can train with, and fight with, and who pushes me over if I'm not paying attention in my dancing lessons and shouts at me if I'm being stupid. Not one who sits in windows and does nothing but titter and embroider."
Arya grinned at the memories before becoming serious. "You promise you'll let me keep my sword and fight?"
"I want you to keep your sword and fight. And poke holes in any of my bannermen who don't listen to you when you tell them what to do." Edric blushed. Looking at her shyly.
Arya grabbed him by the collar, pulled him to her, and hugged him fiercely.
I nodded discretely to my nephew and we left my solar quietly. Leaving Edric and the Starks to their moment.
"You wanted to see me too uncle?" My nephew asked respectfully as we walked towards the curtain wall.
"I did, though I'm afraid I don't have a Valyrian steel warhammer for you." I grinned.
Edric laughed. Much more comfortable with his bastard status than Jon had ever been. Something that the original Renly and Ser Cortnay had both gotten right.
"What need do you have of me?"
"We will be fighting Jon together tomorrow, before the council. Don't worry, I'll ask him to go easy on us."
Erick looked positively eager. "I'll be able to hit him in the face for daring to insult your honour!"
I rolled my eyes but still ruffled his hair at his eagerness. "We won't be wearing helmets so there will definitely not be any hitting of anyone in the face. Besides, Jon could wipe the floor with both of us."
We walked a little further before I noticed the look on my nephew's face. "Don't pout Edric; it makes you look adorable – not intimidating."
Edric quickly stopped. "Why will we be fighting him?"
"Because my bannermen think I don't know how to fight. They think I'm a prissy courtier with no idea how to swing a warhammer. We're going to show them that they're wrong right before they walk into the council, so it's still fresh in their memories when I talk to them."
"That's clever!" Edric looked up in adoration.
"Given how much we both look like your father, they're likely to have visions of Robert and Eddard Stark when they were younger when they see me and Jon fighting. With you there, it will insert a younger version of Renly into their memories of those two together as well, which should also help me."
"Why do you do that?" My nephew asked, confused.
"Do what?"
"Sometimes you say 'Renly' instead of 'me'. I don't like it." The adorable pout was back.
"Well then, I'll endeavour to stop doing it. Now, if you would take your leave I'd be most appreciative. I need to think."
"Are you sure you aren't going to brood? Because Ser Cortnay said I should stop you if you start doing that." Edric grinned.
I aimed a teasing swipe at his head and grinned back. "Cheeky brat! Be off with you!"
Edric laughed as he ran off, leaving me alone on the battlements of the curtain wall, staring out across the cliffs as the waves pounded into them. My thoughts turned back to the council I had called, with all the Stormlands lords and landed knights to assemble in the Round Hall at mid-day tomorrow.
Having had little to do but think on the ride to Storm's End I had come up with a working theory as to how Renly had gotten himself crowned. He had gone with the kingmaker method, getting a lord so powerful to declare him king that if he just showed up and acted like one no one would dare to disagree. Mace Tyrell and the Reach's hundred thousand swords certainly fit that bill, and it neatly explained why Renly had fled directly to Highgarden with Loras originally, rather than going to his own seat. It likely hadn't been an insignificant factor in the Stormlands falling into line either, if Renly had only called his own banners after Mace's ravens had gone out.
It was certainly a viable method, as Renly had proven. But it was not one that I was going to go with. Firstly, it made you almost totally reliant on your sponsor. Quite frankly I found the power imbalance due to the vast disparity in the swords and gold that the Reach could bring to bear compared to the Stormlands enough of a challenge on that front without offering myself up as a puppet to boot.
Secondly, it undermined your authority and the loyalty of your people. They weren't fools. They knew you would never have declared yourself king without the kingmaker's support, which meant they would show more respect and loyalty to the kingmaker than to you.
Thirdly, it gave them an easy out if you suffered reverses. They had no buy-in, no loyalty to your cause. If things went wrong, they could abandon you easily, comforting themselves and whoever they ran to that they had never actually declared you king, they had just not opposed the kingmaker saying you were. I suspected this was a big factor in allowing the Stormlands to switch to Stannis so completely when Renly died.
All three of them were huge red flags for the authority I needed to ensure the Seven Kingdoms survived the Second Long Night and won the Battle for the Dawn.
I needed to be my own king, not a puppet of the Tyrells. More importantly, I needed people to actually see that that was true. Most important of all, I needed buy-in. What I was asking for wasn't a normal succession to the throne. I was asking the Lords of the Stormlands to bypass Stannis and choose me as their king when the law was clearly on his side. I needed the Lords of the Stormlands commit to me so that if – when – things went wrong, they would stick with the horse they had chosen themselves rather than the one that was seemingly pulling ahead.
In short, I needed them to elect me.
Thankfully this wasn't without, precedent. Two of the Targaryen kings had been selected by a Great Council, so all of them would be familiar with the principle.
Renly had already done much of the groundwork, making friends and connections, being regarded as a good and competent lord overall despite not being as martial or serious as many of them would like. Now it was my job to take that baton and get it over the finish line. Thankfully I had an advantage.
I had stood for election four times. Each time going down in a blaze of glory, flying the gold and black Liberal Democrat banner in the bluest of the Conservative heartlands. That combined with my experience in Richmond, Brecon, and Chesham, where I'd help snatch victory, meant I knew how to campaign, and I knew how to win. I was going to bring every single one of those skills and psychological tricks to bear on medieval lords who would have no idea what was going to hit them.
The first step, public image, was pretty much already handed to me on a plate. With the steps I'd taken months ago to improve my martial training and reputation there was little else I could do short of already having a wife and a list of won battles. That hadn't stopped me arranging the little trick with Edric and Jon right before the council tomorrow, to absolutely ensure that the message I was a new man and a true Stormlander when it came to my martial skills was truly hammered home.
The second step, crowd management, was well in hand. People tended to clump together with those that thought like them, it was the natural way a crowd formed if it had the space to do so. At my urging over lunch, as well as shoring up my core support, I had ensured that my closest supporters would not be doing that.
Rather, on my orders, they would be spread out evenly throughout the entire crowd. More, they had been told to be vocally in support of me, no matter how uncouth they thought such behaviour was or how quiet they were normally were. People in a crowd defined themselves by the people near them. With my most vocal opponents almost guaranteed to be clumped in one area, I had already made sure that they would appear isolated and in the minority before the council had even begun.
With my opponents visibly isolated, the rest would subconsciously discredit them as they weren't part of their group. A reaction that would only be enhanced by all the undecideds being near at least one of my supporters who would be echoing my own words.
Momentum towards crowning me should naturally flow from the results of that crowd manipulation. Perfect for my purposes as people always wanted to be on the winning side, meaning that those wavering will often come off the fence when a crowd's direction of travel becomes obvious even if they aren't truly convinced.
'Should' was not a word I was willing to gamble on though. So this evening I would be putting my thumb on the scales even harder. Satin had already informed every lord and knight that Renly had something over to expect a visit. When I arrived, I would be informing them I was calling in my hold over them, and that they were to spread themselves throughout the crowd as well. Then, after what they felt was a believable amount of wavering, they were to come down vocally on my side. Putting rocket boosters on what should already be naturally gathering momentum and ensuring my election.
If they didn't, then their loans would be called in, their secrets exposed, their positions rescinded. I was emptying Renly's blackmail resources for this, but it was a worthwhile sacrifice. Nothing was more important than securing a core group of supporters you could build the rest of your coalition around. The Stormlands, not the Reach, would be that for me. Just as the Westerlands were for Tywin and the North was for Robb.
That was something Stannis never understood. Even when they were fighting for him, he was openly talking to Davos about how he would punish lords who had supported Renly first when the war was over. As if turning on your own governing coalition when you've used them to just barely win a civil war and are still surrounded by barely controlled enemies was a good idea.
That sort of complete political ignorance was why I was certain I could win the Stormlands over. I had to be, otherwise no one else would ever believe I could either.
Lord after lord, knight after knight, filed passed us and into the Drum Tower and the Round Hall as Edric Storm and I did our best to hammer Jon Snow into submission. We were failing utterly, but making a good show of it.
As planned, none of us were wearing helmets and from the double takes many of the older highborn made it appeared my little PR stunt was working as intended. When the last of them filed passed us the three of us stopped and ran damp cloths over our faces, even from outside we heard Ser Cortnay call the council to order.
Then the droning tones of Maester Jurne filled the hall and filtered out into the yard, though we couldn't understand what he was saying. I'd asked him to read the House Baratheon section of the Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms to the gathered lords and knights. Stopping only when he came to my great grandfather. That would keep them occupied until I arrived.
A few moments later we all looked presentable, though we were all still armoured. I made sure to hang my morningstar on my armoured belt before turning to the Drum Tower.
"I suppose it's fifth time lucky." I muttered.
"You've done this before my lord?" Jon asked, confused.
"Four times, though then I was fighting blue trees and red roses."
"I don't recognise those sigils." Edric frowned.
"You wouldn't. I was fighting under the bird of liberty then. Not the rampant stag. It just amuses me that whenever I fight it seems I always do so under the black and gold banner. It's comforting."
"I…don't understand uncle." Edric looked downcast.
"Nor should you, it was a lifetime ago and a world away. Ignore me."
The droning tones of Maester Jurne continued, he had quite a lot of Baratheon's to get through.
"Well Jon, we are about to learn if I share your father's last two flaws." I commented, needing to do something to keep my nerves under control.
Jon looked away and we stood in silence for a few moments before he spoke. "You aren't going to tell me?"
"There is little point if you don't want to know."
"I do…its just, hard." Jon swallowed, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.
"It always is." I nodded sympathetically. It took Jon a few more moments to be ready, but he nodded for me to continue.
"Your father's third flaw is that he doesn't always align his bannermen's interests with his own. Once you know what your bannermen want, and remember your father's second flaw means he often doesn't, you have to work your strategy so that them following you and doing as you command will give them what they want. It may take time, it may mean a lot of actions they dislike along the way, but if you do it right, they will put up with both of those thing sand stay loyal to you. Failing to do so will see them seek out someone who will give them what they want, and that is unlikely to be good for you."
Jon thankfully didn't call me out on my lack of examples, for this was far more Robb's flaw than Ned's. Ned had given the North what they wanted in Robert's Rebellion – revenge. It was why he was considered such a good lord as the rebellion had played to all his strengths. He hadn't lived long enough for it to be an issue in the War of the Five Kings. By contrast the only time Robb had gotten it right was when he offered the Frey's the position of Lady of Winterfell, later Queen in the North. Every other time he made the wrong call, cutting the Frey's ambition off at the knees by marrying Jeyne Westerling, offering a hand of friendship to Ironborn who respected only a clenched fist. Leaving glory hunting Edmure Tully sitting in a castle, leaving an increasingly frantic Catelyn Stark next to the person she saw as the solution to her problems while offering her no alternative way of solving them them. And finally, failing to appease Rickard Karstark's anger. In every case he had failed to align his interests with those of his bannermen, and the price had ultimately been his life.
Jon swallowed and clenched his jaw as we walked up the steps and into the Drum Tower, stopping outside the closed doors of the Round Hall. "What's the last one?"
"Communication." I answered. Truthfully, though this one had been far more Jon's flaw than Ned's. "When you have found out what your followers want, and found a way to align your interests with them, you must then explain the mission, the end goal. Most importantly, you can't just say it once as your father does. You have to repeat it, over and over, and make sure people understand why it has to be done, because it doesn't matter if you have aligned your interests with your bannermen if you never tell them how following you will get them what they want."
Jon closed his eyes, heartbroken, as he clearly recognised his father's habit of announcing his intentions once, before leaving everyone to figure out what it meant for them personally on their own. Jon had at least improved on that, explaining when elected Lord Commander what was coming for his brothers from beyond the Wall. But he still only did it once, he never truly explained it again, trusting people to remember his words. Not realising that their memories would have faded by the time he rescued Wildlings from Hardhome and brought them south he never said a word as mutterings grew to discontent, disloyalty, and mutiny. A mistake that got him killed, just like Robb's had.
I continued when I had his attention again. "When someone wavers despite your constant repetition, you need to paint a vivid picture of what they stand to lose. People aren't logical, they don't respond to a dry list of facts. Listen to what they are telling you and use it to paint a picture of heaven if they follow your plan, and hell if they don't."
I turned from Jon as Maester Jurne's voice finally faded. I nodded to the two guards and the herald, who promptly moved to open the doors.
"Which, Jon, is what I intend to do right now."
"Announcing Lord Renly, of the House Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Lord of Storm's End!"