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"Traditionally you're supposed to ask your betrothed to go riding with you, Your Grace." Willas commented with amusement as he finally joined me at Highgarden's gatehouse, his ever-present eagle on his arm, instead of the hawk most highborn used for hawking.

"Traditionally Tyrells plot and scheme while taking leisurely strolls through gardens, Lord Willas. Come, let us set out. I wish to see this unnatural level of control you have over hounds and horses for myself."

Willas joined in with my laughter as we spurred our horses forwards and began a gentle ride to the breeding stables and kennels he took such pride in running. He allowed his eagle to fly free as soon as we left the Roseroad, it immediately began circling. Searching for prey that hadn't been scared off by the columns of armoured men marching down the Roseroad and into the growing tent city that had begun to surround Highgarden's walls as the banners of the Reach began to gather.

I took a moment to admire the beautiful and deadly Arbor Queen, bannership of the Redwyne Fleet, slowly rowing up the Mander towards Highgarden. Her white and gold paint shining in the sun while her three burgundy sails stood out proudly amongst the greens and blues of the fields, river, and sky. Willas and I spoke amicably as we rode, the hunting dogs running round our horses' legs while we rode down dirt tracks and through fords. Five Tyrell guards ahead of us and five Baratheon guards behind.

The remaining four of our retinue were too close for us to speak privately. So I bid Ser Balon and Ser Corwin ride on ahead, their white cloaks picking up in the breeze as they increased speed to pull away from us. Robert Mertyns begged me with his eyes not to be asked to drop back, but I ordered him to do so anyway along with Raymund Tyrell, Willas' distant cousin and sworn sword. My young squire would simply have to deal with the incredibly dull man on his own for a while.

"Thank you for comforting Loras so skilfully." Willas spoke up after we were both sure we couldn't be overheard. "Had I known of Queen Cersei's actions and your own skill at the game, I would not have played such a blatant hand against you and left him in such a terrible position."

I acknowledged the point gracefully. "I should have sent an additional envoy, rather than relying on you to being able to read me through Loras' stories and know I would never let something so blatantly one-sided stand."

Willas' lips twitched into a small smile, clearly glad that I wasn't pushing all the blame onto him. "Pleasing as that is to hear you say, I doubt that ghastly mess and my brother's resulting distress is why you asked me to ride with you. What did you want to discuss?"

"Suggestions, for you to take to your father and grandmother, and one to your mother as well." I began, causing Willas to raise his eyebrow in surprise and motion for me to continue.

"For the moment, the alliance between the Stormlands and the Reach relies solely on my marriage to your sister. Assigning Criston Mertyns as Loras' squire barely rates as a tie worthy of the name. I would see the alliance between our kingdoms strengthened, so all the strain is not borne by a single thread."

"You have some betrothals in mind?" Willas asked curiously.

"Many," I answered truthfully, "but few that are immediate. I have no wish yet to announce my plans for after I sit on the Iron Throne, at least not beyond a select few. After all, I know not yet how many of those plans I will be able to actually accomplish when that time arrives. Added to the uncertainty is the risk that some houses I'm considering honouring may disgrace themselves in the coming conflict, and that some I'm considering attaining may earn themselves a reprieve. It leaves me unwilling to name names. I would announce neither rewards nor punishments now when events may force me to withdraw them. I have no wish to be seen as fickle or treacherous. Both are poor qualities in a king, and one known for them is unlikely to reign for long."

"I see why my grandmother actually respects you, trust me – that doesn't happen often." Willas stated evenly, giving me a very calculated look. "I suspect, then, that you wish me to make it known to my father's bannermen that they should not arrange any betrothals if they want to be considered for such honours when you sit on the Iron Throne? To prevent them from upending your plans by accident while you're in the field?"

"Please." I confirmed.

Willas nodded. "I'll do so. But I fail to see how such actions would involve my grandmother and Lord Father, or my Lady Mother."

"My marriage to Margaery is the culmination of 300 years of Tyrell plotting, scheming, blackmailing, and alliance building." I remarked pointedly. "You've been securing your lands diligently, going from holding the lord paramountcy of the Reach in name only in the reign of Aegon the Conqueror, to holding it at the Hightower's sufferance in the Dance of the Dragons, to finally having brought the Reach to heel. This is the first time in three centuries that House Tyrell's control of the Reach has been strong enough to make a bid to get your blood onto the Iron Throne."

"You judge us for being cautious?" Willas spat, offended and clearly believing I was looking down the only great house that were merely 'jumped up stewards'. An attitude that was still widespread, three centuries later.

"I admire it." I answered placatingly. "House Tully shows the folly of acting otherwise. They too were elevated by The Conqueror, for all that their existing lordly position shielded them from the scorn that was poured on your house for the same elevation. But that stronger start was squandered. The Tully's have repeatedly made bids for great marriages without securing their own position and suffered badly for it. Look at this generation; Tully blood may sit in Winterfell, and in the Eyrie, but in their own lands their authority is questioned at every turn, and many of their bannermen still can call upon far more men and coin than they can, nearly three centuries later. Hoster and all the Lords Tully before him have been carving a magnificent golden capstone with their grand alliances, tis true. But they've failed to build the pyramid to put it atop, and so are left wondering why it keeps falling over and sinking into the mud. House Tully is unable to stand on their own, even in their own lands. Forced to rely on at least the threat of their grand alliances to enforce what little authority they have. Despite the weaker start, House Tyrell has not made that mistake, instead building the pyramid before beginning to carve the capstone."

Willas struck a conciliatory tone now that he was certain that I was praising rather than mocking his ancestors. "I'm glad you recognise that. Many of the great houses seem determined to remain blind to how precarious their positions could quickly become."

"Quite." I noted, thinking of how the Tullys and Greyjoys especially refused to recognise just how easily the sand could shift beneath their feet. "Which brings me to my point. Aside from House Tyrell and House Hightower, the main powerbrokers of the Reach are houses Redwyne, Tarly, Oakheart, Crane, Florent, Caswell, Footly, Fossoway of Cider Hall, and Rowan. Of those, House Redwyne has become the lynchpin of your alliance network for the three currently living generations."

Willas didn't disagree, instead merely waiting for me to continue.

"You've bound House Redwyne to you through two marriages, your grandmothers to Luthor Tyrell, and your Aunt Mina's to Paxter Redwyne. Two marriages where one lord's sister marries the other lord? In successive generations? With three of the four participants still living? That's as close to an unbreakable alliance as it's possible to get, and it allows you to rely on Mathis Rowan's marriage to Bethany Redwyne to bind the Rowan's to you without concern at them being one house removed."

In my true opinion, allowing multiple continuous generations of first cousin marriage between the same two families was less an unbreakable alliance and more waving a black and red Targaryen banner at the bull of fate and daring it to charge. Thankfully, as Olenna and Paxter were both still alive, neither had felt the need to throw their heirs at each other for the third generation in a row. But such modern perspectives would not be welcome, so I continued without voicing them.

"Garlan then brings you the Red Apple Fossoways through his marriage to Leonette. With the Fossoways, the Redwynes, and the Rowans on your side, the Tarlys, Oakhearts, Cranes, Florents, Caswells, and Footly's are outmatched. Oh I've no doubt they could rally dozens of lords, petty lords, and landed knights to their banner should they rebel, but then so can you. Indeed, you would have the advantage over them as the incumbent lord paramount. In short, your advantage against any possible rebellion is unassailable provided the Hightowers don't take the field against you, and that's where the great masterpiece of your alliance network comes in.

Willas grinned. "I think I'm going to enjoy going on rides with you – do go on."

"I have to admit I was stunned when I first noticed it," I replied in awe, "quite how you managed to arrange a total of four marriage alliances with House Hightower I will never know. But you have. Alerie married your father, Denyse married Desmond Redwyne, the heir Baelor Brightsmile married Rhonda Rowan, and Gunthor married your cousin Jeyne of the Green Apple Fossoways of New Barrel, which suddenly makes your Aunt's marriage into a house of only landed knights make much more sense. Against this, the others have only the marriage of Rhea Florent to old Lord Leyton as his fourth wife. I don't care how persuasive she is, at a four to one disadvantage the Hightowers are never taking the field against you. If anything, with those links, you'll be able to pressure those notoriously independent fuckers into actually obeying Highgarden's commands for once."

Willas laughed outright. "Oh I'm definitely going to enjoy having you as a good brother Your Grace. But as pleasing as it is to listen to you praise the culmination of my ancestor's work, what is it you wanted? You've yet to make a point."

"My point is simple. I want in." I stated my demand bluntly. "The alliance between the Stormlands and Reach is still fragile while it relies solely on the Tyrell-Baratheon alliance. Especially with the Siege of Storm's End still within living memory for most of my lords. I want to turn your alliance network for locking down the Reach into our alliance network for locking the Reach and Stormlands together, firmly under our control. No matter what setbacks the gods throw at us."

"How? You've no children and Robert's bastard is not of high enough standing." Willas questioned in an aloof tone.

I let his arrogance slide. In truth it was deserved, I was banging on the door of a network decades in the creation, demanding to be let in at the final moment. But it was necessary. As long as the alliance was reliant solely on myself and Margaery, and the Rose of Highgarden wasn't with child, the Tyrells could still cut me loose at any moment. Provided it was in a permanent manner and Loras never found out my death wasn't natural or enemy action. I needed to bind them closer to me, to keep them onside through what might well be setbacks, disaster, and defeat. For all that I had a battle plan to win the War of the Five Kings, my inner general had not yet been tested. If my plans proved me to be more of a General Melchett than a General Montgomery, I'd have to rely on Garlan Tyrell, Mathis Rowan, and Randyll Tarly to drag us back out of the gaping pit I'd have led all of us right into.

"I may have no children, but I have a cousin. Estermont blood will sit on the Iron Throne through the line of my mother, and my cousin Alyn is unwed."

"Estermont is windswept, cold, and poor. Greenstone is both small and in need of repair, and I'm sure you've heard what your cousin said about both you and my sister. Hardly an enticing prospect." Willas commented with some heat.

I raised my hands in acknowledgement. "I raked him over the coals for that, have no fear. Alyn is now well aware of the difference between an open secret and shouting something from the rooftops, and of the dangers of disrespecting a lady in her own keep. I would simply point out that most horny young men are thinking the same, even if they have the wits to never speak those thoughts aloud. If we only had moral and appropriate thoughts, what would the poor septons find to do?"

I was actually quite amused at how mild an incident everyone had gotten themselves worked up over. I remembered worse from my school field trips and university boathouse changing rooms.

Willas' anger had cooled, but he was still far from convinced. "I'm glad to hear it. Besides the disrespect shown to my sister, a man that has an ill name is half hanged, and I would not see my brother join you on the gallows. But even if I were to accept that your cousin has been appropriately chastised and learned discretion, my other concerns remain unaddressed."

The icy fist of fear suddenly gripped my heart at the memory of Loras, battered and broken, in a cell below the Great Sept. I managed to stop it from showing as I forged ahead, but the reminder to be more careful was a timely one. "House Estermont is the house of the mother of the king. Poorer prospects have been overlooked for less prestige. But regardless, Estermont won't stay poor for long. I intend to greatly expand the Stormlands fleet and bring it up to be the near equal of the Westerlands and Vale. Though small squadrons will still be left at Tarth, Weeping Town, and Stonehelm for coastal defence and patrol, the majority of this new fleet, some thirty war galleys if all goes to plan, will be stationed at Estermont. From there they'll easily be able to close the Narrow Sea or the Sea of Dorne to any who earn the Iron Throne's ire, intercept any fleet that may come from Tyrosh, Lys, or Myr and delay them long enough for the Royal and Redwyne fleets to arrive, and project Stormlands power into the Stepstones. The better to smack down the pirates that infest those islands whenever they become too bold in their attacks."

"You want Desmera Redwyne." Willas realised. "My cousin is well dowried, giving yours the coin to repair and expand Greenstone and expand the harbours of Estermont. And the family link to the shipyards of the Arbor will ensure you get the best prices for the construction of your new Stormlands fleet."

"It also gives me a blood tie directly into the lynchpin of your alliance network." I concluded. Willas had seen where I was aiming right away, it was clear why Olenna was confident that House Tyrell would continue to survive when she was gone.

"It could work." Willas contemplated. "Uncle Paxter was talking about a betrothal to Daven Lannister, but as we're taking the field against them he's been left twisting in the wind."

"So you'll raise it with your father and Lady Olenna?"

"I will, though why you don't wish to do so yourself puzzles me." Willas admitted.

"To give you the opportunity to claim credit for my other proposal, if you wish it." I smirked.

"Now you certainly have gotten my attention." Willas smirked back. "Trying to play my family off against each other? You don't lack for ambition."

"You call it deception; I call it massaging the truth into a more helpful shape." I grinned. "What would you say if I admitted that I intend to grant a city charger to Weeping Town?"

"I'd say that as the first new city since the founding of White Harbour, House Whitehead has just risen significantly in status. Stormlands timber, wool, truffles, salted mutton, copper, tin, and charcoal will soon be filling the shipping lanes, bringing much needed coin to your kingdom, and the Whiteheads will take their cut. I also now see why you wanted a powerful new fleet at Estermont; to protect the city and ensure safer passage for its trade through the Stepstones."

"The three Whiteheads of our generation are all unwed." I observed idly.

Willas' gaze sharpened. "And you have suggestions for betrothals you're willing to let me take credit for. Admitting only that you mentioned the city charter in passing and acting as if the rest of your proposal is a surprise when you 'learn' of it."

I nodded in recognition of Willa's conclusions. "Your cousin Elinor would be a good match for Ser Addam. The eldest Whitehead girl, Janna, is of an age with the Redwyne twins, and both are unwed. Joy is the youngest of the three, but she is only three years older than Humfrey Hightower, Lord Lyonel's youngest son. There's a pleasing symmetry there, and your mother could help smooth the way."

Willas stroked his designer stubble as he contemplated my proposal aloud. "Great rewards indeed for a house that sat on the fence till the last moment. But then such a shower of gifts would ensure they go from being reluctant allies to one of your strongest supporters. Essential if you intend to grant them a city charter. Elinor's a good choice, far enough from the main Tyrell branch to avoid giving the Whiteheads ideas above their station, but close enough to make it clear we'll be willing to lend a helping hand. Horas is Uncle Paxter's heir, so he was aiming for a more prestigious match. But he'd certainly consider it if he learned it would mean waving the docking fees for Redwyne ships at a new and growing city. Letting him corner the market ahead of those damn Manderlys, Lannisport Lannisters, and Gulltown Arryns. As for Humfrey; you're right, there is a pleasing symmetry in placing the youngest with the youngest, and the support of House Hightower and Oldtown in growing Weeping Town into a true city would be invaluable for the Whiteheads. All while costing my grandfather little compared to the resources he commands and giving us a fifth marriage alliance to keep him onside with."

Willas studied me hard, searching for the answer to a question that was causing him much disquiet. "It would help Weeping Town and Estermont achieve your aims far quicker than relying on your own patronage alone, tis true. But your proposal allows Reacher roots to penetrate deeply into the Stormlands economy and fleet. My grandmother will be ecstatic. But why would you even allow it? Let alone suggest it! For all that you wish to give me the credit, this will give us immense influence in your own lands at your expense, and it's at your own urging."

"I'm marrying Margaery in law and Loras in truth, while in rebellion against both the king currently on the Iron Throne and the lord who has the legal claim to it. There's no turning back for us now, rise or fall. We're in this together Willas, and that means sharing the rewards as well as the risks."

My answer was to be true and guileless, but there was also a hidden layer to it, otherwise I could have just proposed this myself and claimed the added speed of my plan's culmination the sole reason.

The truth was I needed Willas' trust. And I needed it fast.

Giving him credit for a proposal that increased House Tyrell's influence so much so far from their own lands was the only way I could think to get it. Or at least make him see how serious I was even if he saw through me.

"There's more to it than that, Your Grace." Willas stated suspiciously, seeing right through me as I'd feared. There was a reason why he and Margaery were their grandmother's favourites.

"There is." I admitted, deciding to retreat and regroup rather than double down when my mask had been found wanting. "But let us discuss that another day."

Edmure Tully

Edmure tried not to sulk as he looked forlornly at the map in his command tent outside Riverrun.

As soon as the exhausted rider had staggered into camp bearing news of the disastrous Battle Beneath the Golden Tooth, Edmure had realised his mistake and set the men to digging fieldworks between the Tumblestone and the Red Fork.

By enclosing the wedge of land his banners were encamped on, it was his hope to break the Lannister forces on the fieldworks. As unlikely as that was. Still, Edmure took strength from his uncle's voice, which he could hear in his ears even if the Blackfish was still at the Bloody Gate, protecting his sister that hadn't gone mad and started a war.

'Alright boy, you've buggered this up. No point pretending otherwise. But that's no reason to make it too easy for those golden-haired shits! Riverlanders have always been the best at building fieldworks, so jump to it!'

As he snorted at the thought, the tent flap opened and his dear friend Marq Piper staggered in. Armoured, exhausted, and covered in mud and blood.

Edmure waved off all assistance and sat Marq in one of the chairs, pouring him water himself.

Marq gulped it down greedily as Edmure gripped his shoulder. "I am so glad to see you alive my friend. How many are with you?"

Marq Piper's eyes were haunted and he refused to look at Edmure as he answered. "It was a disaster Ed. I only managed to save 1,500 men. Two thirds of them horse. Most of the foot that managed to flee were ridden down by the Lannister horse, no matter how many times I charged Addam Marbrand's cavalry trying to cover them. Lord Vance is dead for sure, I don't know about Roland and Karl. If they aren't dead, they're captured."

"Gods be good." Edmure whispered horrified by the news of so many dead men, and two of his closest friends dead or captured. Roland and Karl Vance, Marq Piper, Patrek Mallister, and Lymond Goodbrook had been his closest companions since childhood. The idea that nearly half of them had met the stranger before their thirtieth year was madness.

"Gods be good indeed Ed, where are the rest of the men? I only saw Tully, Bracken, and Blackwood banners when I rode in!"

The heir of Riverrun winced. "No more will reach us in time. The Frey's are staying put, and I had Patrek keep the Mallister men at Seaguard in case the Old Lion makes Walder an offer that brings him over to their side. We can't fight another Lannister army from the north if the Frey's take Seaguard and open it to the Westerlands Fleet."

"We can't face the armies they do have! Let alone fantom ones!" Marq exploded hotly. "Where are the Mootons?"

"Still mustering." Edmure muttered.

Marq closed his eyes. "And the minor houses?"

"I used the ones that have reached us to send ten horse and fifty foot apiece to all thirty villages within a days ride of the border, to try and defend them against Gregor Clegane's raiders." Edmure admitted.

"Ed…" Marq muttered, holding his head in his hands, "..that's nearly 2,000 men."

"I know!" Edmure exploded sulkily. "But I couldn't just leave the smallfolk to that monster! He burns them alive in their holdfasts, or rapes them to death, or…or…Seven only knows what! I'm their lord! They trust me to defend them! I couldn't just do nothing and leave them to their fate!"

Marq stood up and pulled Edmure into an embrace, resting their foreheads together. Red and blonde hair mixing. "You're a gallant, bleeding hearted fool Ed. It makes you a good man, but a shit strategist."

Edmure winced. "I considered retreating. But Tytos Blackwood says that we'll never make it across the Red Fork with all our supplies before the Lannisters are upon us."

"And if we abandon the supplies we'll have to break up the army into smaller groups and the Lannister will destroy us piecemeal." Marq finished the thought. Releasing Edmure and striding over to look at the map. "It looks like we're making our stand here then."

"I'm sorry." Edmure muttered.

"Don't be." Marq snorted. "If I'm going to die, I'd prefer it be because my liege lord has a heart. Rather than some proud, cold-eyed twat blathering about 'the insult to his house' and getting us all killed to make a point."

Edmure stood next to his friend. Watching the nearly 8,000 men at Riverrun swell to just over 9,000 as Marq added tokens representing the survivors that had escaped with him. He let out a long sigh when his friend only removed two of the smallest lion tokens, leaving over 14,000 Lannister men advancing on Riverrun. "How long do we have?"

"The Kingslayer's outriders were right behind me. By my reckoning the rest of his army will be on us in two days."

Brienne

Brienne stood on the deck of her father's bannership, Sapphire Isle, as Tarth receded in the distance, the fifteen other war galleys spread out around them as they plunged through the sea. Sending up white spray as their banners snapped in the strong winds.

"My Lady," The captain approached cautiously, "I'd like to say again that we should make for the Sea of Myrth before turning north to Pentos. Sailing out of sight of land is always dangerous. I know it may look simple to sail direct for Pentos, but the truth of it is that the wind and currents could send us miles off course with no landmarks. We're as like to end up a hundred leagues up or down the coast as to actually reach Pentos trying to sail northeast. The sun only allows us to head directly east or west with any accuracy, and that's when it decides to show its face!"

"I have given you your commands captain. We sail directly for Pentos." Brienne replied calmly. Even with her brand new cobalt armour from Tobho Mott stored in her cabin, she still wore her rainbow cloak. The fluttering fabric reminding everyone that she spoke with King Renly's authority as well as her father's."

"My Lady." The captain growled out before turning to leave.

"Captain."

"Yes, my lady." The captain, turned back grudgingly.

"Every day, at mid-day, every ship will use both oars and sail to go as fast as possible for two hours. The fastest ship is to be recorded each day. Tell the other captains to take note of any particularly exceptional rowers as well." Brienne ordered simply.

"May I ask why, my lady?"

"When we reach Pentos the ship that has been consistently fastest will be named the bannership and I will command the squadron from her. When we reach Braavos we will have great need of speed." Brienne replied curtly, turning her back on the captain as he stomped off muttering about bloody women who were bad luck and going to get them all killed.

Brienne ignored him in favour of opening the little box King Renly had pressed into her hands after visiting one of the metalworkers and glassworkers in Storm's End.

To her utter disbelief, the needle still unerringly pointed north.

Renly Baratheon

After his successful pitching of my proposed betrothals to his family, Paxter Redwyne, and Baelor Hightower, Willas and I had gone riding again. Making meaningless small talk until we were well clear of the Roseroad as it was now almost permanently filled with traffic. Columns of fighting men mixed with the retinues of lords and ladies that had ridden ahead of their levies so they could attend my wedding.

I thought of my own banners and of the raven that had arrived from Bronzegate that morning, letting me know that they had left Bronzegate and now marched for Fawnton.

We reached the low hill that the Tyrell's often used for picnics when the mood took them, and Willas and I signalled for our retinues to remain at its base.

"I must say again how impressed I was at the level of control you have over your hounds and horses. I can see why some would call it unnatural. Only one group of people I know can reproduce something similar." I mentioned casually to Willas as our horses climbed the low hill alone, stopping at its summit.

"When injury leaves you none of your previous outlets, you end up exploring many things Your Grace. Though I'm glad you know of others that can reproduce the effects; the whispers of unnatural bonds do get tiresome after a while." The heir to Highgarden responded equally casually as I dismounted and walked over to his horse.

"Besides, talking of unnatural skill, I you certainly seem to have it. Given that you got Uncle Paxter to agree to end his agreements in the Reach and use Stormlands timber from Weeping town for all ship construction on the Arbor. On top of Desmera's dowry."

Willas dismounted with my assistance and we stood for a moment, taking in the view. Highgarden a brilliant white beacon amongst the green, gold, and glittering blue. The smudges of Arbor Queen's burgundy sails were still visible as Paxter Redwyne ecstatically sailed out to test his new compass. The navigation advantage it would give the Redwyne Fleet was unparalleled, allowing them to safely sail out of sight of the shore. The value of which was shown by Paxter agreeing to use Stormlands timber to repair, maintain, and replace not only the 200 warships of the Redwyne Fleet, but also the 1,000 caracks, wine cogs, trading galleys, and whalers also owned by House Redwyne. As long as I supplied as many compasses as he needed for his captains.

Not giving out the method of producing compasses had been a very profitable decision. The timber trade with the Arbor would give a good base to ensure Weeping Town became an economically viable city. I'd issue other decrees to increase the value of other Stormlands exports as soon as I sat on the Iron Throne, but this base investment had been essential.

I gave Willas a confident smirk as I laid out the blanket and we both sat "You flatter me my lord. So allow me to flatter you in turn, you manage your injury very well. So much so that one might be forgiven for thinking you could escape it when you wish."

Willas frowned at my comment, rubbing his bad leg inside its brace. "Would that that be so. This leg will never walk properly again Your Grace, let alone run. My acceptance of reality should not be praiseworthy."

I was familiar with permanent injuries and chronic pain from my previous life. I'd never been able to make it through a year without raging at least once at the unfairness of the constant pain and restricted movement. Neither had anyone I'd met suffering from the same, and all of our injuries had been less restricting than Willas Tyrell's. But Willas somehow managed what we had not, in in an era where his injury should be even more devastating than normal due to increased expectations and decreased medical care.

"As you say my lord. I'm sure that leg will indeed never walk again. But even the most stoic man would be forgiven for raging or clinging to blind hope from time to time. You do neither." Before I could continue to press on the coping mechanism I believed he'd discovered, Willas shut down the topic and changed the subject.

"I…"

"Given that you banished everyone else to the foot of the hill, I take it we're to discuss why you attempted to try and bribe me now?" The heir of Highgarden asked, his frown replaced with an arched eyebrow. Wrestling for control of our conversation.

"Bribe is such an ugly word. Besides, you accepted. You didn't tell your grandmother that the betrothals were my idea."

"Something that can be very swiftly remedied if I find your reason for purchasing my time and good opinion lacking, Your Grace." Willas noted deliberately.

I gave him an easy smile and conceded the point before making my own. "What do you know of magic Willas?"

The Wilted Rose's expression didn't change. "Only what everyone else knows, that it is gone from the world. Actually, nearly gone would probably be a better description, given the reports from some reliable assets in the Free Cities. But here in Westeros magic disappeared with death of the last dragon.

"Did it really? I wonder." I deadpanned looking Willas in the eyes.

He didn't give anything away.

"Are you aware of the different types?" I asked after a minute or two of silence.

"You mean like the fire magic of the Valyrians and the water magic of the Rhoynar? Doesn't every boy who pretends to ride a dragon? While making his little brother pretend to sit atop a giant turtle of course." Willas let a small smile slip onto his face at the memories.

I was so going to use 'turtle knights' against Garlan and Loras in future, but in the here and now I refused to be diverted.

"Those are subtypes. Much like the death magic of the Faceless Men, the blood magic of the Ghiscari, the mind magic of the Warlocks, and the shadow magic of Asshai. No, I was referring to the three categories of magic. Natural, Ritual, and Innate."

Willas' reputation as scholarly was well earned, for all that he tried, he couldn't keep his intrigued look hidden.

"I haven't heard those categories at all. Not even from Maester Lomys, and he has his Valyrian steel link."

"I have studied a great deal of the history of the higher mysteries Willas. It is a categorisation of my own design."

"Many would consider such study to be unnatural." The Wilted Rose remarked coldly. "Loras made no mention of it."

"Loras would rather beat someone about the head with a book than open it. Are you truly surprised he had no idea what I was studying?"

Willas let out a little huff of involuntary laughter. "Does my brother know you disparage him so?"

"Yes." I grinned. "Our love is fierce and true, it's not, however, blind. Loras has his flaws, as I have mine. I'm sure he's regaled you with many of them."

The heir of Highgarden smiled in remembrance before turning serious again. "He has. But back to the matter at hand. How were you able study the higher mysteries in more depth than a maester with a link of Valyrian steel?"

"As you mentioned yourself my lord, magic is the pathway to many abilities. Some that most would consider to be unnatural. The maesters do not teach it, not truly. They teach just enough to convince their more curious students that it has gone from the world. Only the Archmaester of Magic and their handpicked apprentices know the full extent of the Citadel's knowledge of magic, and they have always been disparaged and despised by the others. Viewed as a necessary evil to be dispensed with along with all records on the subject as soon as magic is truly gone."

I steeled myself as I prepared to deliver what I hoped would be a believable lie. I could hardly tell Willas that my knowledge and theories came from studying every shred of writing on magic in Westeros before my arrival due to my love of worldbuilding.

"Loras has told you of my collection of books that would make a septon go blind?"

"He has, gathered from all over the world I understand."

"And used as a cover for the collection of other texts and scraps of knowledge. A collection that would make a maester go blind."

This time Willas didn't see through me. His question was simple and direct. "Why?"

Now it was my turn to deflect. "A matter for later. I believed you wished to know my three categories of magic?"

Willas nodded, hunger for knowledge overcoming his hesitance.

"The first is natural magic, the magic present in the world itself. The magic of life present in every living thing. The magic of the gods. The fire magic of the bowels of the world frozen inside obsidian is one of the most obvious examples we have of this."

"That sounds very vague." Willas commented, trying, and failing, to keep the smug superiority out of his voice.

I let it wash over me and shrugged. "In truth this category was a catch all term, one intended for the shards of knowledge that didn't fit into the other two."

"Do, please, tell me of the other two." Willas' laugh had turned derisive, and it was clear that he was only humouring me.

"The second is ritual magic. A little of the third type, innate magic, is required for the caster to unlock the door to this one. But they have it, even the weakest person can perform almost anything. The limit is not their own magic you see, but rather their skill at ritual design and the amount of fuel they can feed the ritual. That fuel being natural magic."

"In what form? Chunks of obsidian?" Willas smirked, still far from convinced.

I simply continued on, describing blood magic and human sacrifice as calmly as if I were discussing the weather.

"The blood of animals or human blood is the most common fuel my lord. Though the blood of magical animals, such as the dragons of Valyria or the giant turtles of the Rhoyne, is far more powerful than that of normal animals and men, even men that carry the gift of magic themselves, the sacrifice of animals or men entirely, not just their blood, is usually used instead if you need more power than normal blood can provide. As hunting down legendary magical beasts is a trifle more trouble than just finding animals or men you don't mind killing. Besides, in a horrifying quirk, though normal men's blood is barely more powerful than normal animals, and while even the blood of men with the gift of magic is still less powerful than that of dragons and the like, the most powerful sacrifice of all is the human soul. For unlike even dragons, direwolves, and their ilk, we men have the spark of divinity that allows us to think and reason and sets us above all animals. Even magical ones."

Willas' amusement had vanished. He had gone completely pale and was regarding me in horror. I carefully kept my own face blank.

"To snuff out that spark and transfer the potential it contains into the ritual is immensely powerful. Though I suppose the sacrifice of a race that held both magic and the spark of divinity, such as the Children of the Forest, would be more powerful still. That is purely my own speculation though, if there ever were any records of the power that sacrificing Children of the Forest unleashed, they've long since been lost. But I suspect that it would have to be true for them to have been able to perform such rituals as the Hammer of the Waters, as even with an ocean of human blood it would be near impossible to recreate such a ritual. Still, I shudder to think how much human blood Bran the Builder and the Royce of Runestone must have spilt to create the spells of protection that are woven into the very stones of their great works."

I finally let my face show my utter disgust at the thought of human sacrifice. Especially as my deepest fear was, that with the wave of almost unstoppable ice zombies coming towards us, that I may have to resort to it before the end.

Willas was coking on his words, clearly trying to stop me but having so many thoughts that he couldn't decide which to voice first. Something I took ruthless advantage of by pretending not to notice.

"The third category is innate magic." I continued unperturbed. "The magic that some creatures and men have within them and can cast with. Dragons should not be able to breath fire, nor fly when they are so heavy. But magic lets them breath fire that is unmatched by any other in the world, even wildfire, and stay aloft when every law of nature the Citadel knows says they should fall. Many other magical creatures of the world exist due to their innate magic too, direwolves, fyrewyrms, wyverns, sea dragons, and basilisks being the ones which I'm certain are real, one of which you have two of in your keep right now. But the Children of the Forest and Giants are the only two races I know of that have both innate magic and the divine spark of intelligence. This magic has varying levels of strength in each individual, and that strength decides what level of magic they can cast. But interestingly, though some men have innate magic, men as whole should not be placed in this category, for we have no innate magic of our own. Only a few of us have the gift, which when all of the Giants and Children do to some degree, can only mean that it has not come naturally to us."

"How…" Willas choked, still trying to overcome the shock, disgust, and horror that were rolling within him. I continued to ignore his attempts to interrupt and bulldozed ahead.

"How did I know that? You ask an interesting question. I surmise that the very breadth of subtypes that those few men with the gift of magic command prove that that it can't be our magic, especially not when its practice and strength is so affected by where it's from. The shadows and necromancy of Asshai are strongest there, the blood magic of Ghis strongest in slavers bay, fire magic is the strongest in the free cities as they are the children of Valyria, and here in Westeros? Here it is the magic of nature that is most powerful. Wierwood magic, skinchanging, and greensight are the powers attributed to men with the gift in these lands. The magic of the Children of the Forest. It can't be just down to what is taught where, else it would all have evened out in the hundred thousand years or so that men have walked planetos. Such variation can only mean that access to the magic is not innate to man, but rather something we have introduced to our bloodlines by mating with, or bonding to, the gods."

Willas scoffed in derision, finally seizing on a single line of attack and regaining some of his confidence. "Gods?! This talk of magic is foolish enough, but I thought you too intelligent to believe in such fables!"

I gave him a moment to compose himself before I began to explain my thoughts again. Calmly and clearly, refusing to rise to the anger being projected at me. An angry and defensive response would allow Willas to dismiss my words instead of being forced to consider them.

"I believe in magic Willas, I believe that just as a dragon is a creature of magic, so too are the gods. Though 'were' might be more accurate than 'are'. Like as not the 'gods' were simply something above even the Children and Giants, beings that were made of more magic than earth. Which also explains their absence today, they starved when magic left the world. Or most of them at any rate. But while they were here? There's little evidence of course, but I believe that the water god of the Rhoyne created the old men of the river and gave their people water magic. The Harpy of Ghis thrived on suffering and taught her most devout priests the power of blood magic to better feed her thirst. Whatever horrors still linger in Asshai gifted their people the power of shadow and necromancy, and so on and so forth."

"Why are you speaking to me of this?" Willas asked, sidestepping my thoughts on the nature of the gods, and how they had caused magic to enter certain bloodlines of men. Either by imbuing their priests with it, or by fucking mortal women who birthed children from the union. The calculating Wilted Rose, grandson of the Queen of Thorns, was back and searching for my angle. Focusing on what he knew rather than on the discussion of magical theory, for all that he was still pale and vaguely horrified.

"The Stark children have the gift of magic, all of them, and the most powerful of the six is in your keep." I deadpanned.

"Impossible." Willas whispered in shock.

"Far from it." I returned, withdrawing a peach I'd kept from breakfast and proceeding to eat it as I talked. "The Starks have one of the most magic rich bloodlines in Westeros. Now that magic is returning to the world, that power is showing. All of the Stark children are wargs, they have the power to skin change into their dire wolves, which are, according to legend, the hardest animals to skinchange into. Harder even than dogs or normal wolves."

"We have to…." Willas trailed off before saying what almost all in the Seven Kingdoms would. The Faith of the Seven condemned all forms of magic and had hunted all magic users that didn't carry the name Targaryen to extinction. They'd tried to end the Targaryen line too, but the House of the Dragon had proved remarkably resilient. Especially when the Faith made their most concerted effort against Aenys I, then suddenly found themselves facing Maegor the Cruel.

"Think carefully Willas, those children are under my protection. I will not see them harmed. Especially not due to the decrees of gods you don't even believe in." The warning in my tone made The Wilted Rose bristle.

"And how do you intend to stop us if we decided it needs to be done?" Willas asked archly.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to." I replied, colder than an Other's blade as I locked eyes with Willas.

It took over a minute, but he was the one to look away first.

"How do you even know they're wargs? Let alone that that Lady Arya is the most powerful." The heir of Highgarden muttered mutinously.

"The signs are easy to spot. Especially if they trust you enough to tell you of their dreams. Which both Arya and Jon do." I shrugged. "As for power…well here in Westeros, its well known among those with magic that those with the gift have golden eyes. Except in two circumstances. Those who are exceptionally powerful and have the potential to be greenseers have green eyes, a dark green it must be noted. Not the emerald of the Westerlands. But most powerful of all, the titans of magic, they have red eyes."

Willas immediately seized on what he thought to be my mistake. "Lady Arya has brown eyes, and its well known that the rest of the Starks have the Tully look. Red haired and blue eyed, all four of them!"

"Quite. But it seems that wargs that bond with direwolves are the exception to the rule. In a way that normal skinchangers, green dreamers, and even wargs that bond with dogs or normal wolves aren't. It seems that their eye colour is held by their direwolves, not by them. You've seen Nymeria's golden eyes yourself, and Arya tells me that Grey Wind's and Summer's eyes are the same, as were Lady's. But that Shaggydog's eyes are green."

"But Lord Rickon is in Winterfell. You said the most powerful of the Stark children were here in Highgarden." Willas stated, confused.

"Jon Snow may not carry the name, but what colour are the eyes of his direwolf?" I asked, smug.

Willas closed is eyes in pained realisation. "Red. Ghost's eyes are red. That's why you're so invested in keeping the bastard on side. He's more powerful than any of his trueborn siblings."

"More powerful than any in Westeros save one. My brother Stannis's red priestess also has red eyes. Something that has little to do with her aesthetic and everything to do with her power I think." I offered up a diversion that Willas would believe, as I was certain that talk of the Others at this point would make him snap.

"The gods laugh at us." Willas groaned. "The only piece of ours with the same strength as Lord Stannis' is a bastard. One who's strength we cannot reveal even though we need it, giving us no way to stop the bleeding of support that having a bastard so close to you causes us."

I gave the young man time to gather his thoughts as he pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply with his eyes shut.

"Snow. And the trueborn Stark children. Are they trained?" The heir of Highgarden asked, scrambling to regain some control.

"No, but I have a teacher in mind." I smiled.

"You think you can someone who can teach them magic in Highgarden?" Willas asked, suddenly tensing as he tried to hide his fear. His horse stamped its feet as it reacted to the sudden change, in a way it hadn't to his earlier horror, anger, or frustration. It seemed that even the dogs at the base of the hill sensed the change as one began to bark despite all attempts of the Mertyns cousins to silence it.

"Magic in general? No. But skinchanging? Yes, I'm almost certain that there's a powerful warg here, because when I first rode into Highgarden, I noticed something. Something that piqued my curiosity and that I've only found more evidence for since."

Or rather, something that gave me evidence for what had previously just been a fantasy of a lonely thirty something, falling in love with House Tyrell as I turned page after page.

"And what was that Your Grace?" Willas whispered, looking as if wanted nothing more than to take flight. Just like his eagle, circling and crying overhead.

I tried to recreate the expression I'd worn more than once. The look of brotherhood shared by two men who were different, clinging to each other for support as the words or fists of a cruel world rained down.

"Isn't it strange Willas? Robert, Stannis, Edric. Garlan, Loras, Margaery. Our parents, our grandparents, our aunts, our uncles, our cousins."

I took out the two halves of a broken glass candle and silently placed them on the rug between us. Locking eyes with Willas Tyrell as soon as he realised what they were and looked up at me in shock.

"Of all of them, only we two have green eyes."

A visual representation of the Tyrell alliance network and Renly's additions to it can be fould on my deviant art. My username is K-V-koren