"Bastard!" Robb swore, tearing the piece of paper to shreds. Rather than listen to his offer of an alliance, Balon Greyjoy chose to attack the North instead.
According to the latest reports, he was launching raids against the western shore, slaughtering villagers and carrying away their wives. In a few locations, the Ironborn were attempting to hold territory.
And with most of his troops in the Westerlands, there was little he could do about it. "Father should have executed him right there and then. . ." He muttered. When he marched to the Iron Islands, Robb refused to repeat that mistake. Balon spat on their mercy.
Terrible as it was, though, he had to focus on one war at a time. The Mormonts and others were already mobilizing their remaining forces in the North to deal with them. But we can't just leave our people to their fate. Even if it took time, Robb swore the Greyjoys would answer for their act of aggression.
Theon! He was Robb's brother no less than any other member of his family, but he was still a Greyjoy. Theon was a hostage for his father's good behavior, a decision that Balon had violated.
"Found the Kraken hiding with a pair of whores, Your Grace," the Greatjon announced, carrying Theon with one arm. He struggled, punching every part of the Greatjon he could hit, but the giant took no notice of his efforts.
"Thank you; I wish not to be disturbed," Robb ordered, uncertain of what he was going to do. Killing a man he considered a brother. . . How can this possibly be honorable?
Theon stood tall, trying to appear brave while trembling inside. "Are you going to kill me, Robb?" His voice lacked its usual sarcastic humor.
"Your father chose to stab me in the back," Robb spoke coldly, hand on his sword. "I offered an alliance, even additional territory, and he spat in my face."
"I thought I was your brother, Robb," Theon snapped, eyes wide with desperation. He knew there was no escape should Robb decide to execute him. "You swore that to me!"
"And you swore it to me, Theon," Robb reminded. "Evidently, your father doesn't care what happens to you so long as he harms our cause. You're his only son; I would have expected he would at least want an heir to the Seastone Chair."
"Doesn't work that way," Theon pointed out despite his fear. His mind was spinning, hardly daring to believe his father cared so little about what happened to him.
"There can be only one punishment for betrayal," Robb unsheathed his sword. Theon involuntarily took a step back, reaching for a weapon he no longer possessed. It would be easy: a single thrust to the heart and it would be over.
"All the time we spent together meant nothing, did it?" Theon screamed. "I saved Bran's life! I fought alongside you in the Whispering Wood!"
"You did," Robb conceded, forcing back his emotions. "The penalty for betrayal is death. . ." He held the sword against Theon's neck, who was trembling but made no move to retreat. ". . . but your father was the one who betrayed me, not you."
"You're going to let me live?" Theon hardly dared to believe it.
"I'm not a kinslayer, Theon," Robb decided. There was still a small part of him who wanted to take his life, especially knowing how his bannermen were likely to react to his actions. "I could no sooner kill you than I could Jon or Bran."
Theon smiled despite the situation. "You know, that still doesn't mean you should have interrupted my private time." He turned to his usual japes. "I was just about to talk a couple of village girls into a threesome."
"Yes, yes, they're falling all over you," Robb shook his head. Even after being threatened with death, he was the same old Theon.
"I really did think you were going to kill me for a moment," Theon admitted. "Even after everything."
"Balon will be executed, not you," Robb decided, then forcing a smile on his face. "Besides. . .when I take the Iron Throne, I'm going to need a Master of Ships."
"You mean to go through with this?" Theon was delighted at the idea of being given such a high position.
"I never wanted a throne, only my sisters returned to me," Robb paced around, feeling the burden placed on his shoulders. "But they crowned me and now there is no turning back. My father died in the Capital and Sansa is still held there. Thank the Gods Arya managed to escape." Looking back, his sister's flight didn't surprise him much.
"If anyone deserves the Iron Throne, it's you," Theon placed a hand on Robb's shoulder. "I swear, by the Old Gods and the New, that I will fight by your side until the end."
Robb knew his bannermen would be unhappy about him sparing Theon's life, but it didn't matter. He would not kill his brother.
Tywin's refusing to take the bait. Robb ran his fingers over the map. He didn't know if the man had been warned or was simply too smart to fall for the trap. Either way, he was forced to readjust.
They would move towards Harrenhal and besiege it. Robb didn't have a hope of storming such a massive castle despite the damage it had taken centuries prior, but it didn't matter. With Tywin trapped, Renly was free to take King's Landing. Both sides would weaken each other enough for him to take the Capital later.
And with the Vale soon to join his cause, he would possess an army almost equivalent to Renly's full strength. Robb let out a heavy sigh. He hadn't asked to be crowned, but the idea didn't bother him as it once did. He gave a silent prayer to the Old Gods that he would rule with wisdom when the Iron Throne was taken.
XXXXXXXXXX
"I think we'll be able to pull this off," Matthew announced with increasing confidence in their defenses. He was heavily outnumbered, but city walls provided an enormous defensive advantage. Renly would have to storm King's Landing if he wished to seize the Iron Throne.
"And you're not in the least concerned about the message preparing for battle inside the city sends to our troops?" Tyrion worried, riding beside him. Joffrey's reflexes, at least, allowed him to swiftly adjust to the realities of horseback riding.
"I fought in my share of cities," Matthew responded, making sure his Kingsguard didn't overhear them. He never went anywhere without his procession now, or his set of plate armor. "They can be death traps for attacking forces if you know how to use them."
On each of the seven gates of King's Landing, Matthew fortified both sides with wooden spikes. With multiple layers, it would force Renly's forces into a narrow corridor, rushing into a prepared formation of pikemen.
Archers would pepper enemy troops from both sides, with rocks being dropped from the city walls. Smallfolk near the gates had been instructed accordingly. Matthew found it took little effort to convince them, as everyone knew they would be corpses should the gates be breached.
Building such fortifications took only a couple of days, with the final portion to be added once Renly arrived. Until that time, Matthew intended to allow food to enter the city as long as feasible. It was entirely possible that unlike Stannis, he'd opt for a simple siege instead.
"I trust you're smart enough to stay out of the fighting, at least unless there's no other option," Tyrion remarked as they toured the city. "Unfortunately, it doesn't appear as if we'll be able to finish the chain in time."
"We'll have to manage without it. Renly's charming, but he's much more flash than substance. Anything can go wrong, of course. However, I've still got a few surprises in store for him."
Matthew ordered some of the wildfire to be used above the city gates, although only by the most experienced Gold Cloaks. He was counting on the psychological effect of wildfire more than its physical properties. If those using the battering rams were burned, it would have a severe effect on enemy morale.
It'd be nice if I had more cannons, Matthew sighed. Only seven were completed and the last one was built in such haste he wasn't sure if it could stand up to battlefield conditions. The four brought over from Braavos were set up behind two of the gates. As he considered them more likely to blow up than be of any battlefield use, Matthew kept them as a last resort.
"His ships don't outnumber ours by that much," Matthew pointed out. "If they're occupied or crippled, he'll have to cross the river the hard way. We can cut them to pieces."
"Have you spoken to Cersei about these plans?"
"Would you want her in charge of them?" Matthew had already been forced to intervene, saving King's Landing from her stupidity. "We've got something like 11,000 jars of wildfire, so as long as we don't burn our own city down, we should be able to weather the storm."
The smallfolk watched Matthew with dread. After his punishment for the rioters, none of them had any intention of defying him again. Once food shipments return to the city, then perhaps my efforts for good publicity will prove more fruitful.
Matthew only had a day, perhaps two, before Renly's host was upon him. At least according to Varys, they were overconfident of victory. He knew better than to trust the Spider's words, but it did fit with what he knew of Renly's character.
Amphibious landings are among the most difficult to accomplish. The nearest crossing is dozens of leagues away. Some of their arrows may cross the river, but they don't possess any siege engines. Only battering rams, which never ceases to astonish me.
"Are your men ready?" Matthew asked of Jacelyn Bywater when he was spotted.
"As ready as they're going to be," Bywater responded. "With all due respect, Your Grace, I'm not sure how effective your plans for fighting within the city are going to be. Some worry you're expecting to lose."
"Best to prepare for everything," Matthew reminded. "Remind the troops that they aren't just fighting for me. If those gates are breached, their wives and children will be in danger as well."
"Yes, Your Grace. I have heard rumors about new weapons, ones that can fire iron balls hundreds of meters."
"I'd best not say anything about that," Matthew knew the rumors, but wasn't about to confirm them. Let Renly think victory was certain.
"Understood, Your Grace," Bywater gave a knowing smile.
"Have all the Gold Cloaks and smallfolk been made aware of the additional rewards?" Matthew had offered one silver stag for each enemy head or scalp his forces took. It'd likely prove to be expensive, not to mention the danger of fraud, but winning the battle took priority.
"My men are eager to collect."
"Good; I'm hoping their greed can override their fear. This bonus is available to any resident of this city who can collect it. Should the gates be breached, I'm hoping for hordes of greedy men and women to face the enemy. Have those who live closest to the gates been made aware of my orders?"
"Yes, Your Grace, and I took the liberty of supplying them with rocks and knives."
"Make it clear to them defying my orders will result in execution. I'm done being soft. This city will be a death trap for Renly, even under the unlikely scenario the gates are breached."
"I already have, Your Grace. Everyone inside the city knows the stakes. Many still remember the Sack of King's Landing your grandfather was responsible for."
"All the more reason to worry about traitors. If there is anything else I need to concern myself with, let me know." Matthew walked off alongside Tyrion and his Kingsguard.
Both the insides and outsides of the gates were barricaded by wooden spikes. Matthew didn't expect it to hold indefinitely, but Renly's host would be forced to try and tear through it while being pummeled by rocks, arrows, and wildfire.
He galloped towards the harbor, knowing that one last tactic was necessary to hinder the enemy. King's Landing's harbor was bustling, with most smallfolk kept away from the premises. Half the Royal Navy had already departed, ready to meet Renly the instant he arrived.
"I trust everyone is taking the necessary precautions," Matthew instructed, seeing wildfire carefully loaded into the rowboats and skiffs. "Wildfire is not a pleasant way to die."
"I have made sure of this, Your Grace," the man bowed, showing Matthew respect but not fear.
"Have some decoys out as well," Matthew pointed to the barrels. Several were being carefully loaded with wildfire, the intent being to send them downriver, crashing into Renly's fire. Wildfire was volatile enough to where even a small amount could cause an enormous inferno. "I want to make Renly so paranoid that nobody's willing to cross that river."
We've got ten thousand jars of wildfire; best make use of them. Work proceeded slowly, as mere rumors of wildfire's capability were enough to strike fear into the hearts of the bravest men.
Bravest of all were those in Blackwater Bay rowing up the river. He kept the second half of his fleet well away from the barrels, intending to lure Renly into a trap. "Your Grace. . . some fear handling the wildfire," the man admitted, looking around. "They say any punishment is preferable to the substance touching them."
"Tell them you'll bathe their wives and children in it if they don't obey!" Matthew heard a voice scream, making him jump. It came from his brain, but it didn't have his voice. Out loud, he spoke: "Remind them their families and comrades are counting on them. Renly's men will slaughter them all if the walls are breached."
"Yes, Your Grace," the man bowed. Matthew looked out over the river, where he could just barely see the part of his fleet waiting for his orders. He expected the commander of Renly's naval forces to be an experienced sailor.
If the ships are destroyed, it won't matter how many troops he has. The nearest bridge was a dozen leagues from the city, delaying his enemy by at least a week should they be forced to use it. And it'll be another method of stalling Renly; sort of like Thermopylae.
"Renly will send his forces to the mud gate; I'm certain of it," Tyrion informed. "It's the weakest gate of the seven."
"I know Stannis realizes that, but does Renly? I never got the impression he took his duties very seriously."
"If not him, then one of his subordinates. Randall Tarly will definitely know. He's the best commander Renly has following him."
"Point taken," Matthew conceded. Renly wasn't very competent, but some of those following him were. "We also have to make sure they don't bribe any of the guards to open the gates for him." It wasn't mentioned in the books, but Matthew knew it was a historical danger during a siege. There were greedy men and starving men, both of whom were a danger to him.
He's going to have to storm the castle. Matthew hadn't heard too much about Tyrion's Hill Tribes raiding their supply lines, but knew there were confirmed reports of it. Such a massive army was intimidating but also a major drain on logistics, particularly medieval logistics.
Matthew, Tyrion, and Bronn entered the Small Council chambers to discuss their final preparations. "Your Grace, the Gold Cloaks and my fellow cutthroats have rounded up all the known thieves in the city," Bronn announced, giving a mock bow.
"At least we won't have to worry about them trying to steal the food doing a siege," Matthew responded. Killing wasn't something he enjoyed, but it was too big of a risk to ignore. "So how many unknown thieves do we have left?"
"A fair number, but the message has been sent,"
"Without the chain, it's going to be difficult to defeat Renly's fleet," Tyrion expressed concern.
"He has only moderate naval superiority, one easily thrown away when taking into account our wildfire," Matthew grinned. "If it comes to a siege, we need to keep the sea lanes open. We'll last long enough for a relief force. . . or for famine to start hitting Renly's army."
They continued to debate on whether to attempt hindering their crossing on the river, or stay behind the city walls and force Renly's host to attack them. Matthew argued hard for the latter, recognizing the limited training of the Gold Cloaks.
"If we don't stop them at the river, we won't stop them at all," Bronn argued. "They get a foothold, everyone inside the city will start shitting themselves. You don't have many real soldiers, which means they'll panic, flee, maybe even turn on you."
"All right, but if they get a secure toehold, I'm giving the order to retreat," Matthew agreed. If I had a few more real fighters, this would be easier, but I don't. "I'm not going to waste my men's lives, especially since we don't have that many to waste. Uncle, how long do you expect them to last if indeed they choose a siege?"
"Difficult to say; it depends on how successful the Vale tribes are at destroying their food supplies."
"60,000 men aren't easy to supply, so he won't be able to keep them in the field for long."
"Neither is half a million, as I'm sure you found out," Bronn reminded him.
"Of course. . . maybe there's a way to avoid the battle entirely."
"I hope you're not planning on surrendering," Tyrion warned. "Renly's liable to kill us all anyway."
"No, I was thinking a surgical strike. Bronn, how would you like a lordship, a castle, and more gold than you've ever seen in your lifetime?"
"If you're asking me to kill your Uncle, you'd better offer a damned big castle," Bronn realized the implication. "Lordship ain't enough for that kind of risk."
"How about a three thousand gold dragon down payment, with an additional seven thousand upon completing the task. As for a castle, that will depend on which enemy lord I choose to strip it from."
"Long as it's not fucking Harrenhal. I know better than to try and claim the place."
Matthew gave a small smile, knowing Bronn was at least intrigued by the idea. "There are many sellswords in Renly's army. Far as they're concerned, you're one of them; you'll blend in. However, I will require proof that Renly Baratheon is dead."
"You're more ruthless than I gave you credit for," Tyrion complimented. They shared a meaningful look, with Tyrion appreciating that his lessons were beginning to stick.
"I ain't exactly going to have time to stick around once I do it," Bronn pointed out.
"True, but I didn't get my position by being trusting. You have a chance to make your fortune and retire. And I'm still waiting for an answer."
Bronn stayed silent for close to a minute before he made up his mind. "Fine, but you better not double-cross me on this."
"The Iron Bank wouldn't be working with me if I was treacherous," With Bronn agreeing to Matthew's terms, he pulled out a hidden box of gold. Grunting from the effort, Matthew unfastened and opened it, revealing three thousand gold dragons. "Is that enough to prove my word is good?"
"You have yourself a deal," Bronn chuckled.
"Now this conversation never happened. Once you return, you will receive a Lordship for your bravery and valor in battle."
"Your Grace, on my honor, I don't have the slightest idea what you're referring to," Bronn raised his arm. Matthew chuckled in response, watching the sellsword get to his feet.
When he returns, I'm going to make sure he's closely watched in case Bronn is turned. The man had no loyalty, willing to serve whoever offered a larger paycheck. "Do you think he'll pull it off?" Tyrion questioned once Bronn departed.
"If anybody can do it, he can. I'm hoping Renly's death will at least demoralize their forces, even if it doesn't convince them to stop the attack." Or provoke Loras into something stupid.
Tyrion and Matthew went over the final plans before Varys cut in on their discussion, bowing to the guards outside. "I trust everything is in place, Your Grace?"
"Renly won't know what hit him. Damn fool fancies himself a King."
"I must say, quite an excellent stroke on your part to have him killed before the battle even commences," Varys smiled. "Killing one man to save thousands."
Matthew sighed to himself. Varys' real message was telling him he knew everything. "Not my preferred tactic, but it's the needs of the many I need to concern myself with."
"Few in your position would consider the needs of the many, Your Grace," Varys complimented.
"I think you've seen I don't resemble either my father or the Mad King. We've had enough monsters sitting the Iron Throne." Matthew didn't want to spend any more time than he had to talking to Varys. Sadly, I don't have the kind of spy network I'd need to replace him.
"Are you confident that such a tactic would work, Your Grace? Renly will be well protected."
"I'll do whatever I need to win. We've already had a riot due to the food prices and it's likely to get a lot worse. Do you have any useful information for me?"
"You might be interested in knowing that a handful of men have been caught planning to open the gates upon Lord Renly's arrival," Varys handed him a sheet of paper. "All of them Gold Cloaks."
Damn! Matthew looked it over, wondering why neither his nor Tyrion's spies located them. "Are these legitimate traitors?" He didn't put it past Varys to make things up.
"Your Grace, you wound me," Varys placed his hand against his heart in a mock-hurt gesture. "My only interest is to serve the realm. Yes, letters were found with detailed instructions."
"Give them to my mother; I'm sure she can come up with suitable punishment," Matthew instructed. "If Renly's commanders think the gates will be open for them when they arrive, they'll be overconfident. So I'm going to let them think the scheme is going as planned."
He knew what Cersei was likely to do. She was little loved, so Matthew hoped to balance being seen as benevolent with the necessary ruthlessness behind the scene. Even Aegon V needed Bloodraven, or he would have been fighting and possibly being killed by Blackfyres. Matthew would simply restrain Cersei when she moved too far out of line.
"So you don't intend to execute them, Your Grace?"
"Not yet; when the time is right, they will pay a price for their actions. Rumors will fly all over the city if something happens and Renly doubtless has spies in King's Landing, else this arrangement would not have been made."
"You are proving most capable, Your Grace. Your father's death was a tragedy, I know."
"Sad as it sounds, he would have wanted to die fighting," Matthew sighed. With the likes of Robert Baratheon, he didn't doubt that was true. "I can't behave like a brat anymore."
"Your Grace, there are those at court who remain unconvinced that your change in demeanor is the result of maturity," Varys admitted, taking a step back. Matthew scanned his face, seeing only artificial fear.
"They'll gossip about anything, since they've got nothing better to do. You'd think they would focus on the coming battle." Matthew suspected the only reason more hadn't figured out his secret was it being too impossible to believe.
"Thinking about trivial matters can be preferable to thinking about death, Your Grace."
"True, which is why I can't help but ask the question: what do you want?"
"Your Grace, what an unexpected. . ."
"Since we're playing games here, answer my question. What do you want?"
"There's nothing more I want, Your Grace." Varys shook his head with a small smile. "I am Master of Whispers, on the Small Council, with a roof over my head, and with the luxury of regular meals. What more could I ask for?"
"Everyone in King's Landing wants something," Matthew refuted. "Whether it be gold, glory, prestige, women. . . there's something we all want. Including the Iron Throne. You're no exception to the rule, Lord Varys. Now I ask you again: what do you want?"
"I wish to serve the realm," Varys stared at Matthew in a way that made him think he was looking into his very soul. "I came from nothing and I rose to the top. But I have not forgotten where I came from, those men and women forgotten by those above them."
"But it isn't easy to change things, is it?" Matthew knew it was unlikely to persuade Varys to be loyal. But it would take a long time before he could rival, let alone supplant, his spy network. His knowledge of the books and show could no longer be relied upon. "I expect you understand this more than most."
"I am most impressed that you do, Your Grace. You've treated being King as a burden, not a license to do what you please."
If only you knew. . . On some days, Matthew found it difficult to constrain his impulses. He could understand the smallfolk's riot despite his anger. When people were suffering, they wanted someone to blame. "Mercy will always be spat upon, a lesson I learned nearly too late. I don't intend to make that mistake again."
"When hungry and desperate, people want someone to blame. You can improve things, if that is your goal. But it will require patience. . . and the knowledge of when to use your ruthlessness."
"You say you serve the realm, but your job is to serve me," Matthew lowered his voice, testing Varys to see his response.
"By serving one, I serve the other, Your Grace. If I may ask, since, by your admission, we're playing a game, what do you want?"
To go home, If it was possible, Matthew would have happily returned home, and the plight of Westeros be damned. "My enemies defeated and begging for mercy; what else?" He flashed a grin. "My power secure, and my subjects obedient. What more would any King want?"
"Yet you risked feeding the people, an act no King has done since the days of Baelor the Blessed. Is that truly all you want, Your Grace?"
"Prosperity will benefit us all, lords and commoners. I am aware few give a thought to them, a reality I expect you encountered as a boy. But I'm curious: those who rise high in the world usually pretend their past never existed. If you put a common peasant on the Iron Throne, within a year, he would be more terrible than the rulers before him. How are you an exception?"
"You speak correctly, Your Grace. Most men I've seen from humble beginnings toss it aside when opportunity is spotted. Perhaps it's easier not to remember where they came from. I don't suppose I've ever told you how I was cut."
"No, you haven't," Matthew knew the story, but wasn't going to reveal that to him. He listened to Varys speak, learning a few details he had forgotten from the books.
"It would all too easy to forget my origins, Your Grace," Varys concluded. "But I swore to myself on the day I was cast out that I would not. The wheel turns, one tyrant is replaced by another, and nothing truly changes. I wish to serve the realm, even the lowest amongst them, not merely seize power for myself."
"Times like this, I wonder whether you're going to be my best friend or my worst enemy," Matthew chuckled, the conversation proving productive despite his dismal expectations.
"I thought the same of you when you first took the throne, I confess. But I have been pleasantly surprised." Matthew noted Varys did not claim to be loyal to him. "In many ways, in fact. Now I believe we have a battle to win." He departed without another word.
The man's a zealot, Matthew realized. The eunuch revealed a little more to him than he likely intended, the conversation proving fruitful. Varys was no schemer for the sake of power. He believed in his cause, and by extension, the likely fake Aegon Targaryen. He wanted to improve the lives of the common folk.
Which made him perhaps Matthew's most dangerous enemy of all. I might just have to remove him, and the consequences be damned. Varys is just too dangerous to have alive, even if I do lose his spy network. Killing him out of hand would have drastic repercussions and undo everything I'm trying to accomplish. But Varys is likely to do that regardless.
"Kill him now, or he'll betray you! Make him beg for death before you finish him! Traitor!" Now Matthew was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the voice, but decided to focus on winning the battle against Renly before he dealt with it.
Trying to kill him discreetly would be suicide; Varys had spies everywhere and could hide in the tunnels of the Red Keep. Despite Matthew's best efforts, he had yet to find a way inside them.
And I have a war to win. I think it unlikely I'm going to survive this, but then, I thought that during my last war too. Matthew headed to his chambers for perhaps the final time, making preparations for the battle.
His first action was reading Stannis' latest letter. Matthew looked through it carefully, muttering under his breath. It was little different than the previous ones. Well, he only threatened to execute me once this time, so I think I'm making progress.
That Stannis was still speaking with him, for all his bluster, told Matthew he was winning the man over. He wrote a quick response back, recommending that they begin mining dragonglass for the war to come. It likely wouldn't be for years, but as they were busy slaughtering each other, that wasn't much time.
Best of all, he didn't have to deal with Stannis' fleet in addition to Renly's. That would have doomed them all, no matter what he attempted.
Outnumbered as he was, Matthew felt confident that he would make it through the Blackwater at least. If Bronn succeeded in killing him, the battle would be his. If he didn't. . . well, he knew better than to put all his faith in a single plan.
Matthew left his chambers for what he knew might be the final time, intent on participating in the battle. Any order of Cersei's to bring him back to the Red Keep would be ignored. Within a day or two, he would know whether his efforts to change Westeros were possible or if it was a mere pipe dream.
Those inside the Red Keep skittered around, nobody vocalizing their fear, but it was there regardless. Ladies hugged and kissed their husbands, not knowing if they would ever see them again.
Outside the Red Keep, Gold Cloaks and mercenaries spent their last hours boozing and whoring, not knowing if they would have another chance. Is there anything I overlooked in the city's defense? Anything at all?
Matthew spent hours traveling through King's Landing, offering words of encouragement to the defenders as well as pointing out any weak spots he observed. King's Landing was as prepared as it was going to be.
The next afternoon, the bells throughout the city rang.
Renly had arrived.