The city gates closed behind Orys with a slow creak. Orys glanced back. At the very last second, he glimpsed the determined expression on the Targaryen man's face. He wished the Targaryen bore a smug grin instead.

It would've been much easier to hate Aegon Targaryen if he was pompous and arrogant. So much easier…

"What now Your Grace?" inquired Arthur Estermont.

"We wait," said Orys simply. He glanced at Lord Mallister who nodded. "There should be enough time for the Buckwell and Chyttering men to join us and all the Rivermen that are summoned will serve as the reserved army which I wager will eventually fight on the battlefield."

"How will we lure the mad dragon out?" asked Cley Cerwyn.

"We should attack the Crownlands," said Lord Horton Redfort, a Vale lord with a dangerous glimmer in his normally mild eyes. "The Crownlands lords are in the fold of the mad dragon and if we attack and take their lands, the false Targaryen would be obliged to send aid or come out and fight himself. Your Grace, the false Aegon knows the lords of the Crownlands are imperative to his success. Without them, the mummer's dragon will be trapped in King's Landing, unable to reach to his supporters in Dorne."

"I doubt Lady Ermesande Hayford yielded on her own accord," Orys remarked, crossing his arms against his chest as he frowned. "Would you attack the Hayford lands, Lord Redfort? Would you strip the lands away from a child?"

"It's a good plan Your Grace," said Lord Royce uncertainly. "I am not one eager in seizing lands for sheer pleasure, but the lords of the Crownlands are traitors – it is a war, Your Grace, and in war, the enemy's lands can be taken."

"I'd be no better than a bloodthirsty conqueror!"

"This is war, Your Grace," said Lord Mallister quietly. "Once it is over, you have the opportunity to return the lands to the Crownlands lords. I believe those lords will be very grateful and there will be no chance of rebellion. If there are indeed a few lords who wholeheartedly support the false Aegon, you can always give their lands to a more loyal house."

"It will take too long to ride to the Riverlands." Orys frowned in thought. "The loyalty of Hayford Castle is still…questionable." It was unfair to blame the head of House Hayford as Lady Ermesande was a child. The Hayford servants could work for the false dragon – stamping letters with the Hayford seal in the possession of a little girl would not be very difficult, especially if it was done by a castellan who was well-educated and probably from a noble family. He scratched his chin. "The only castle that is without a lord is Rosby Castle."

"There are plenty of claimants," Arthur pointed out.

"Now is not the best time to discuss the Rosby inheritance," said Orys tiredly. He looked around and spotted Ser Perwyn Frey talking to Ser Hendry Bracken a good distance away. Ser Perwyn was a favoured claimant but he was a Frey…

"Declare Ser Perwyn Lord of Rosby," suggested Edmund Blackwood as if he'd read Orys's thoughts. "He's loyal to you Your Grace."

"The Freys aren't the most trustworthy," Orys said, with an air of carefulness. "When the Tullys call their bannermen, the Freys are said to always be the last to respond – if they respond at all. Perhaps the future Freys of Rosby are of a better, more reliable stock, but I rather wait and find out. I do not wish to bestow Rosby Castle and the Rosby lands onto Ser Perwyn only to discover him of similar stock to his um, wary father."

Edmund nodded. "Fair enough. What are your intentions, Your Grace?"

"We will settle in Rosby Castle," Orys decided. "It is empty and lordless but the Rosbys had always been loyal in my father's reign. Surely the Rosby household is still loyal to me. We will stay there and wait for the false dragon's response. If the false dragon refuses to agree to my terms, we'll raze the Crownlands." He wasn't particularly keen on it, but it was better than a long, arduous siege outside King's Landing at the brink of winter.

"We can take hostages, Your Grace," recommended Arthur. "We do not have to burn every keep to the ground. We can take perhaps a son or daughter from each noble family in the Crownlands and send them to a loyal lord's keep, maybe Lord Tully's castle. I would offer Greenstone myself Your Grace, but it's rather far from here." He gave Orys a sheepish grin.

"Thank you for your offer Arthur," said Orys, smiling at his cousin. "I will think about sending potential hostages to Riverrun. I will need to ask Lord Tully if he is willing to watch the hostages as well. I rather not surprise him by sending a small number of hostages to Riverrun without his knowledge or consent. However, I'm quite certain that Lord Tully will wish to fight rather than linger in Riverrun at ah, the current stage." He looked at Lord Royce. "Let us ride for Rosby Castle."

Lord Royce nodded. "Rosby Castle it is." He turned to the other lords and men, who had not been paying much attention earlier and shouted, "We ride for Rosby Castle! If we leave now, we will reach the castle by nightfall!"


Orys and his party of lords and knights did manage to arrive at Rosby Castle a little before nightfall. Rosby Castle was almost as isolated as the great Harrenhal Castle, and still an impressive sight.

Rosby Castle was one of the biggest castles in the Crownlands. Surrounding it were fields of lush green with bushes and trees scattered over it. The castle had a large, round, squat tower in the middle – most likely the inner keep – and at least two other shorter, round towers. Upon each turret waved the banners of the now extinct House Rosby.

"It's quite a castle," remarked Arthur, who was at Orys's side. "You can claim it as your own, Your Grace. Give it to your second son."

"I never knew you for a greedy man, Cousin," said Orys dryly. "You know that I cannot claim this castle for my own. I have no Rosby blood." He waited for one of the Rosby retainers and household members to greet them. After what felt like a day, the maester came to welcome Orys and his party in. Orys almost groaned. I'd forgotten who the maester of Rosby is…

The maester was a Frey and he looked so much like Lord Walder Frey with his loose chin and cloudy eyes that for a moment, Orys believed him to be the prickly Lord of the Crossing.

"Melwys," said Ser Perwyn Frey warmly, smiling at the maester. "Fancy seeing you here at a time like this."

Maester Melwys gave him a nod that seemed more like one a friend or even an acquaintance would give rather than a brother to a brother. Then again, Maester Melwys looked a great deal older than Ser Perwyn.

"Your Grace," Maester Melwys said to Orys in a nasally voice with a polite bow. "Welcome to Rosby Castle. If you don't mind me being blunt Your Grace, you and your party were not expected here in Rosby. The household thought you'd be on your way to King's Landing. If we were alerted to your journey here, appropriate chambers and nourishment would've been readied for you." He spread his hands. "Alas, we heard no news."

Orys nodded and said dryly, "Surely a king's movement would be news spread around faster than a raven." Maester Melwys seemed to be as slippery as his sire! That was not good news.

"Not here in Rosby," answered the maester. He stepped aside and gestured for Orys to dismount his horse. "I'll have the master of horse take your horses to the stables. Rooms will be prepared for you at once Your Grace. There is no steward or castellan," he added. "The late Lord Rosby liked to order everything himself. A rather strenuous task for a man of his…health."

Orys frowned as an old man hobbled out and took the reins of his horse. Were all the servants in Rosby Castle as ancient as the late Lord Rosby? How could the late Lord Rosby not have appointed a steward or castellan? He recalled that Lord Rosby had married twice, but was a widower when he died.

"I will be using Rosby Castle as a base for the war," said Orys promptly, having decided there was no more time to waste. "You must have heard the man calling himself Aegon Targaryen had sacked King's Landing with the help of his Dornish allies. Many of the Crownlands lords have declared for him."

"Rosby had not," Maester Melwys revealed. "There's no lord; no surrender to a dragon pretender." He gave Orys a weaselly smile. "Rosby is loyal to you, my king. The castle is at your disposal."

"Thank you Maester."

The doors to the main keep were opened and Orys walked in warily. Maesters were loyal to the castle they serviced – they had no right to swear allegiance to a pretender. Or could they? Orys truly hoped not. Orys waited for the other knights, lords and men to enter the main keep. Once everyone settled, he spoke clearly. "I have chosen to leave Hoster Blackwood and my cousin Ser Alyn Estermont back at King's Landing with the peace banner. They will wait for the false Targaryen's response and deliver the news to us. If the false dragon refuses to yield, it'll leave us no choice but to attack the Crownlands."

"When will we convene for war?" inquired Lord Royce. Orys paused. "Once the word of the false dragon's response arrives," he said at last. Earlier he'd told both Ser Alyn Estermont and Hoster Blackwood to immediately send word of the false dragon's response before riding to Stag Inn (a tavern located between Rosby and King's Landing) where they would meet a disguised Ser Herbert Bolling (a cousin of Orys's) who would take them to Rosby Castle.

"It will not be long," said Lord Redfort darkly. "I assure you Your Grace, it will not be long before there is bloodshed and open war…"


With Rosby Castle now a base for war, it brought more life into the castle. The servants hurriedly cleaned and prepared the unused rooms and the cooks had to think up new recipes that had flavour. Apparently in the last few years of his life, Lord Gyles Rosby could only consume the blandest of dishes.

If it was in any ordinary circumstances, Orys would think it was restoration of Rosby Castle for the arrival of the new Lord Rosby. With all the preparations who would believe it was for a war council?

As Lord Redfort had predicted earlier, it did not take very long for the pretend Targaryen to send a reply. By the time the moon started its ascent to the sky, Ser Alyn Estermont and Hoster Blackwood had arrived at Rosby's gates with old Ser Herbert Bolling, all caked in dirt, sweat and exhaustion.

"Is it to be war?" said Orys, once the three tired men caught their breaths.

Ser Alyn nodded. "Here is the false dragon's response, Your Grace." He handed Orys a scroll of parchment.

"The others will no doubt wish to hear it," said Orys, staring at the scroll as if it was an arrow coated in lethal poison. He looked up at the three men. "You will all want to rest, I believe-"

"No," Ser Alyn cut in. "Your Grace," he added sheepishly. "You must know what had happened. What the false dragon said."

"Very well," said Orys, not wasting anymore time. He turned to Ser Alyn's own brother Arthur, who lingered beside him. "Arthur, please tell the other lords that our war council will begin." Never mind that it was the brink of nightfall and at a time like this, a meeting may last all night. Orys looked back at Sers Alyn, Herbert and Hoster Blackwood. "Once you tell us everything that has happened, I want all three of you to rest," he instructed quietly. He held up his hand as old Ser Herbert opened his mouth to protest. "You have served me well," Orys assured them. "For the sake of your health – especially yours, Ser Herbert – I want you to rest. We'll not march off to battle without you." He smiled as Hoster Blackwood looked a tad bit more mollified. He is eager to draw enemy blood, Orys thought, as he led them into the Great Hall. I want this pretender dead and my mother and my people safe yet I am not excited to kill my first enemy. Am I a craven for disliking the spilling of blood for the sake of it or to prove I am a man? Uncle Stannis was a general in time of war yet he told him that leaving a field of dead bodies was a waste. Keeping an army of prisoners would be of better use.

Where was Uncle Stannis? Orys wished his grim-faced uncle was here. Maybe Ser Alyn or Hoster would bring news about him now.

"Lords and knights," Orys began once the last knight settled down. "I'm aware it is late and most unfit time for a council to convene, but Ser Alyn Estermont, Ser Herbert Bolling and Hoster Blackwood are here and they bring news of the most importance." He looked at the three men. His eyes met his Estermont cousin's. "It will be best for you to inform us what happened, Ser Alyn."

Ser Alyn nodded and cleared his throat. "Upon His Grace's orders, Hoster here, and I, remained back in King's Landing. As we were under the peace banners, we were invited to rest in the Red Keep. Naturally suspecting a trap, we declined and waited outside the Red Keep's walls. It wasn't long before the mummer's dragon came out himself – surrounded by a dozen or so sellswords and Dornishmen – to give his reply. He said that he did not want Westeros plunged into an endless war right before winter and he is um, open to further negotiations."

Lord Redfort snorted. "What more is there to negotiate?"

Lord Royce nodded, agreeing with Lord Redfort. "Your Grace," he said to Orys, "the false dragon made it quite clear that he has no more patience for negotiating when you spoke to him. Perhaps he only told Ser Alyn and Hoster that he is open for further negotiations to gain time."

"That sounds plausible." Orys paused. Time was a valuable commodity – it had seemed the false dragon was desperately needing it too. "What is he waiting for? More sellsword troops?" As the other lords started offering suggestions, each one louder than the other, Orys pondered. Further negotiations would probably go in circles and end miserably. He had no desire to give up the Iron Throne; the false dragon had no wish to give up his claim on it either. It would take weeks – maybe even months – for Lord Stark to gather soldiers and come south. It might even be longer if they faced resistance from the late Lord Walder Frey. Thanks to Father's sudden death and the Usurper's timely arrival, Orys did not have the time to hold court and not every lord had sworn fealty to him yet. Though Lord Frey was one of Uncle Edmure's bannermen, Orys did not trust him one bit.

"YOUR GRACE!"

Orys snapped out of his thoughts as the doors of the Great Hall flung open and two brawny knights dragged in a dishevelled man.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Lord Yohn Royce's booming voice echoed in the Great Hall as he rose, his fingers curled around the hilt of his sword.

"My apologies my lord," spoke one of the knights. "Apologies Your Grace. We'd found this man lurking outside the gates. Thought he might be a spy."

Curiously, Orys bade the man to rise. He recognised him at once.

"Gendry?"

The two knights looked confused. "You…you know this man, Your Grace?" one of the knights said hesitantly.

"He…he is my brother." Orys stared at Gendry. It wasn't unusual to see Gendry in plain clothes marred with soot and dirt, his black hair stuck to his forehead by beads of sweat. Gendry spent most of his free time in the forge, away from him or the rest of their family. Gendry would have been safe in the forge – no one would think to look for a Baratheon-blooded man there. What was he doing here?

"Brother?" Lord Mallister questioned. "This is not Prince Ormund-"

"Half-brother, Lord Mallister," said Orys, gritting his teeth. He motioned again for Gendry to rise as Gendry had not yet moved from his kneeling position. "How did you get here?" Orys asked Gendry. He felt a pang of guilt. He had not thought much about Gendry or Edric at all.

What kind of man forgets his own brothers in a time of crisis?

"I…I followed Ser Alyn, Your Grace," mumbled Gendry, not meeting Orys's eye. "When the false dragon's men came to the Red Keep, I stayed in the forge. No one thought I was your half-brother, Your Grace. I snuck out when there was word of your arrival to negotiate." He hesitated. "When you are used to hiding away from lords and ladies, you really know how to hide from them. Anyway, you soon left. I noticed Ser Alyn remained." He faltered again. "I don't know the other man. After the false dragon sent them off, I followed Ser Alyn."

"How did you get out from the Red Keep?" asked Lord Royce.

"I told the guards I needed more scraps of metal milord – I mean my lord."

Orys frowned. "The guards believed that?"

Gendry nodded. "Very strange, Your Grace. I thought they would follow me. I'd checked," he added hastily as Lord Royce frowned. "I checked and looked around every few minutes and no one was following me. I followed Ser Alyn to the inn, to the gates…that was when I was caught by the guards."

"You are welcome to stay here."

"I came here to warn you, Your Grace." The tone of faint confusion in Gendry's voice had vanished. "That was why I followed Ser Alyn."

"Why did you not begin with that?" exploded Lord Redfort.

"Lord Redfort," said Orys warningly on instinct. "I understand your anger, but you are still speaking to my brother."

"Apologies Your Grace," said Lord Redfort shortly. He did not sound sorry.

"I overheard a conversation when I was sneaking out of the forge Your Grace," said Gendry, his eyes darting hesitantly from Lord Redfort to Orys. "I recognised both the speakers. One was Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne and the other was uh, the Lady Tyrell. I do not remember fully what they were saying, but it sounded a bit odd. They were having a civil conversation."

"A civil conversation," repeated Orys. "Is that all?"

"No! Not at all Your Grace! It's just…Lady Tyrell sounded very calm. They were negotiating something. Something about the end of Reach and Dornish hostilities as they will be bonded by blood soon enough."

"Is that all?" said Lord Mallister with a tiny frown etched on his face. "Perhaps it would have been wiser-"

"They are allies!" said Gendry, strong with conviction. "The Dornish and Reach men are allies! They both helped the false dragon capture King's Landing!"

Almost instantly, arguments broke out in the Great Hall.

Staring at the lords and knights bicker in a haze of vagueness, Orys pondered, inwardly cursing his late father. Why did Father ignore all the warnings? Why in the Seven did he marry Lyanna off to Willas Tyrell? Now the false Aegon had two – if not more – extremely valuable hostages. For the first time ever, Orys loathed his already dead father. Both the marriages he had brokered seemed to be more disastrous – Lyanna and Lyarra were both in the false dragon's clutches.

I am a fool, thought Orys, repressing a sigh. I sent Lord Tyrell to take troops to fight against the Dornish. All I did was send the Tyrell men to join their allies. I'm a fool. An utter idiot. Grinding his teeth, he took a deep breath and bellowed, "Quiet, please! QUIET!" Slowly, all the lords ceased arguing and looked at him.

"We have been betrayed by the Tyrells," said Orys darkly. "Despite Lord Mace Tyrell claiming loyalty to House Baratheon, House Tyrell had sided with the false dragon and House Martell. From this moment forth, the Dornishmen and men of the Reach are our enemies. Tomorrow, we will begin our Crownlands campaign." He felt his face harden. "At dawn, we will convene here again to discuss plans. At noon, we will march off to war."

"What if there isn't enough men?" questioned a Vale knight.

"Men will join us," said Orys, clinging onto that beam of hope. The outlines of a plan slowly formed in his mind. He smiled as the lords and knights began to nod, murmuring in agreement. "There will be no more dragons or false dragons in the Seven Kingdoms!" Orys declared on impulse. "My father ended House Targaryen; we will rid the Seven Kingdoms of all remaining traces of House Targaryen – and all the pretenders and false claimants – and we will win."


I didn't want the southron arc to jump straight into a battle scene as it would seem a little out of place. Next southron chapter will definitely include a battle scene though - haven't planned if it would be a little bit or the whole chapter yet.