The Merryweather boy trembled from head to toe as if he'd been thrown into a river and pulled back out.

"Well?" Olenna barked at him again. She impatiently tapped the table with her fingers. "Don't barge in here and shake! Speak, boy! Speak!"

"The battle's over," the Merryweather boy squeaked a second time. "The Stag King has won. Our king has fled. Lord Tarly says he is on his way back with Lord – I mean Prince – Oberyn Martell and the remnants of the army. Duskendale is in Baratheon hands once more."

The Queen of Thorns cursed under her breath. A great loss indeed. She dared to glance in the direction of the Usurper's wife, Lady Lyarra. The Stark girl was a clever wolf – she had maintained a cool expression when the Merryweather boy piped out the news. She was good, but not good enough. Olenna caught sight of a tiny spark of hope in the Stark girl's violet eyes. What of the older Tully woman? A swift, covert look was all Olenna needed. Yes, the icy blue eyes had changed to a shade brighter.

"What of the rest of the Crownlands?" the Stark girl inquired.

"All of the Crownlands north of King's Landing is in Baratheon hands milady," came the terrified response.

Again, Olenna muttered a curse only she could hear. The defeat at Duskendale was disheartening; the loss of the Crownlands was an utter disaster. Perhaps it'd been a mistake to keep Lord Tarly at King's Landing. It was a foolish mistake that might have tipped the war to the Usurper's advantage. At least Dragonstone was safe in Targaryen hands.

For the first time in many years, Olenna felt deep roots of uncertainty grow in her mind. She was so confident in the Targaryen restoration. The true Targaryen king would sit on the Iron Throne and Margaery beside him as his queen consort. Their future children and their children's children would have Tyrell blood flow in their veins as well as Targaryen. That dream was so close to fruition – all that was needed was a raven from Margaery.

But now…

"Is something amiss, Lady Tyrell?" asked Lady Lyarra innocently. Olenna gave her a withering look which she regretted the instant the Stark girl smiled back at her knowingly. She is more Dayne than Stark, thought Olenna grudgingly, getting to her feet. All those Starks are wild, hot-headed or as honourable as Arryns – with the exception of this one. It would have been better for the Usurper to have married an infertile, silly-minded girl.

"The luncheon is cancelled," Olenna announced, reaching out for her cane held by a silent servant. She tottered out of her chamber, her twin guardsmen Left and Right automatically falling into step behind her. She walked to the council room, ignoring the whispers and glances of passing courtiers. By now, word of Aegon's defeat would have spread. Everyone at court would have heard the disappointing news. Olenna was no fool; she knew not every lord present was loyal to the king despite their claims of fealty. Words were wind after all.

Expecting the richly furnished council chamber to be empty with solely Lord Tarly present, Olenna was taken back when she saw Lord Tarly conversing softly with another man – one she had not seen in quite some time.

"Well, well," said Olenna, dismissing Left and Right with a wave of her hand. "I haven't seen you in quite some time, Lord Connington."

The former Lord of Griffin's Roost looked over at her. His hair was grey and he no longer looked proud and reckless as he once did when he was a younger man. Though he still held his head up high, his pale blue eyes told a different tale – one of exhaustion and concern with a speck of fear.

"Lady Tyrell," Lord Connington acknowledged. His brown travelling cloak was stained with mud and dust as were his brown leather boots. His calloused fingers were wrapped around a goblet filled with liquid. Olenna studied him. His greying hair was untidy and there were still droplets of sweat running down his forehead to his cheeks. In times of war, only messengers would be accepted into the small council chamber in such a state.

Something terrible has happened.

"What is it?" said the Queen of Thorns sharply.

"I heard very little from the king," said Lord Connington, taking a sip from his goblet. "Naturally, I grew concerned. To my knowledge, the king was secure here, solidifying his position as King of the Seven Kingdoms. As a loyal advisor and the Hand of the King, I decided to set sail to King's Landing. Your grandson Ser Loras was reappointed Castellan of Dragonstone," he added, looking directly at Olenna. "I caught wind of a most curious tale." He paused, to Olenna's chagrin. "Stannis is alive," he stated, "according to a few sailors from the Stormlands. He rallied up a host of troops and convinced a number of lords to give him their ships. One such lord who gave Stannis Baratheon ships was Lord Duram Bar Emmon. I know for a fact that he swore fealty to the king at Dragonstone."

Olenna took a deep breath. She suspected the scowling Stannis Baratheon had survived, yet hoped he'd died from his wounds on one of the roads outside King's Landing. Clearly the Seven had other plans for Stannis.

"We should arrest Lord Bar Emmon," said Lord Tarly curtly. He'd been silently listening to Lord Connington's tale the whole time. "He betrayed King Aegon and assisted a known traitor. In helping Stannis Baratheon, Lord Bar Emmon is now a traitor and guilty of high treason. Traitors are executed for their crimes. If you so desire, Lord Connington, Lady Tyrell, I can send a raven to Sharp Point, ordering Lord Bar Emmon to come to King's Landing where he will be executed."

"We don't have the time to execute the lords we suspect are guilty," the King's Hand argued. "There are too many of them. If the rumours are true, Stannis will be in charge of a fleet – a small one, but a fleet nonetheless."

"It'll be an attack on either Dragonstone or King's Landing." Lord Tarly looked at Olenna expectedly.

"We have the royal fleet," said Olenna calmly, "and Lord Redwyne's fleet. Even with a fleet of his own, Stannis won't win against our fleets. Stannis is most likely sailing to Dragonstone – he wouldn't need a fleet to come here. He'll need armies for that. When do you think Stannis will arrive at Dragonstone?"

Lord Connington shrugged. "Any day. If the Seven are against us, he'll be there by tonight at the earliest."

"How are you so certain he is not already there, my lord Connington?"

Lord Connington hesitated. "That is also a possibility," he admitted with a sigh. "Do you know where the king is at the present, my lady?"

"Returning to King's Landing I suppose." Olenna stroked her chin with a gaunt, thin finger. "You've heard the news? Our king lost most of the Crownlands. All he has is virtually Crackclaw Point, Dragonstone, King's Landing and the Kingswood. The Usurper holds the other parts of the Crownlands now. I'll send a raven to the commanders marching with my oaf son. Half will continue marching here whilst the other half will attack the Riverlands. A long journey, but the Young Stag won't dare alienate his mother's family by leaving them without aid. Do you approve of the plan, Lord Tarly?"

The Lord of Horn Hill frowned in thought. "It is a gamble," he said at last. "And a long journey to the Riverlands. If the army can cross through the Westerlands it will take a shorter time. If I am honest with you my lady, it is a risk I will not take, especially with the king's grasp on the Iron Throne so…tenuous."

"I heard not every House in Dorne and the Reach swore fealty to King Aegon," remarked Lord Connington, looking accusingly at Olenna. "Is that true?"

"Yes," said Olenna bluntly. There was no point lying. "House Dayne of Starfall and House Hightower of Oldtown." It was beyond disgraceful that her own good-daughter's family refused to bend the knee to Aegon Targaryen. Utterly shameful. Even the Florents had sworn fealty to the king!

"House Hightower has a good deal of troops," commented Lord Connington. "I think they would be very helpful to the king's cause."

"Lord Tarly." Olenna turned to the Master of War. "What do you suggest we do in the current circumstances? Prepare for a siege or send a fleet to Dragonstone? You are the temporary Master of War."

"Strengthen city defences," decided Lord Tarly. "There's been word of an army marching closer. An army consisting of rivermen and northmen. The northerners will not rest until the Lady Lyarra Stark is returned to them."

"And what of Dragonstone, my lord?"

"Send Lord Redwyne as captain of the royal fleet. His heir Ser Horas, can be in charge of the Redwyne fleet."

Olenna nodded briskly. She didn't view either of the Redwyne boys favourably – every time she dined with them, all they did was argue and bicker. Their sister was no better. Meek as a mouse, Desmera Redwyne.

"Will we use the hostages?" asked Lord Tarly. "We have quite a number to use at our disposal."

"That will be up to the king," said Olenna curtly. House Tyrell's reputation will not be sullied by the memory of ordering the deaths of hostages. If the king saw a need to kill his hostages one by one, history would remember him, and him alone, for it. House Tyrell would supply him soldiers, support and advice, but not when it came to killing hostages. No, Olenna would have naught to do with it. No Reach lord would – she would make certain of it.


The young king returned in a sorry state. If he'd expected a royal welcome, he hid it well. He arrived late in the afternoon with the Red Viper and the remnants of their army, their cloaks stained with mud, blood and dirt.

Only Olenna was there to receive them.

"Your Grace," Olenna said, tottering towards them, her cane tapping in time on the stone ground of the deserted courtyard. "Prince Oberyn." She gave the prince of Dorne a wary nod. "Forgive me if I cannot bow. My body is not as robust as it'd been in my youth."

"Of course my lady good-grandmother," said the king, exhaustion seeping into his polite tone. His weak smile disappeared. "You heard the news?"

Olenna nodded grimly. "How did it happen?"

"They tricked us," said the king miserably. "They knew we would send help to Duskendale. They expected it. Not only has Duskendale fallen, but so did most of the Crownlands." He bowed his head. "So many of our men were struck down or captured. A great loss."

"You should've expected it." The Queen of Thorns was in no mood to play the sympathetic grandmother. "This is a war, Your Grace, not a game of cyvasse." She glowered at the Red Viper. "You should've at least been aware of it. You are not a green boy. Do you know how many men died? If you were victorious, your place on the Iron Throne would be more secure! The Rykkers would be your loyalist of allies! They would not think to change sides! They would die fighting for you! Do you think the lords of the Crownlands will follow a defeated king?

"As we speak, minor lords are slipping to the Young Stag's side. They'd sworn allegiance to you out of fear, not love. How do you think they feel at the moment? You failed in chasing the enemies away." She took a deep breath, her sharp eyes never leaving the king's face. "Did you run away like a craven?"

"No!" Shock broke in the king's expression. "I would never run!" He hesitated. "We initially had the upper hand. My uncle chased the Young Stag's men through the woods for half a day. If we had more reinforcements, we could've pushed his army towards King's Landing. If there were soldiers ready, they could've met us and destroyed the Young Stag's army. Whilst my uncle chased them through the woods, I led the rest of the army to Duskendale where we were engaged in battle with the rest of the Young Stag's men. It was a stalemate. That was when more of his men joined – the rivermen and northmen. We stood no chance, my lady. Even if my uncle and his men were with us, we'd still be outnumbered. It seemed that Lord Stark raised his banners faster than we expected."

Olenna could not resist a scoff. "What do you expect, Your Grace? His daughter is one of our hostages. Wouldn't you tear the earth to shreds to rescue your own daughter if you had one?"

"What is done, is done," said the Dornish prince hotly. "Anymore news, or will you be berating us for another hour?"

"We are preparing for a siege," said Olenna shortly. "There's rumours Stannis Baratheon will be attacking soon. We cannot take the risk. Lord Jon Connington's here," she added, glancing at the young king.

"What?" The king looked startled. "He's supposed to be at Dragonstone!"

Olenna's lips curled. "Well, he is here, Your Grace. He left Loras in charge. You wish to see Lord Connington, I suppose?"

The king nodded. "Yes, thank you my lady."

"One other matter." Olenna began to slowly walk beside the king as he headed inside the keep. "The hostages. Lord Tarly wishes to know if you desire to…use a few of them in case the Young Stag comes. Perhaps you wish to trade one or two for a few of your captured commanders? The Usurper has no lust for blood – he'll be eager for a trade."

"He won't agree to trade a few of our finest for his mother. His generals won't allow him to make the trade. For the Lady Lyarra, maybe. Lady Lyarra Stark's our most valuable prisoner. She is heavy with child – a child who is as much a threat to my claim as his father. I will not release her."

"What of the Lannisters, Your Grace? Are you aware they haven't declared for either you or the Usurper?" It was almost like history repeating itself.

The king closed his eyes for a second. "Offer them assurance their past actions is forgiven," he said, grinding his teeth in a manner similar to Stannis Baratheon. "They can keep Casterly Rock. I will hold naught against them. I'm willing to have peace with House Lannister on the condition they send me Amory Lorch and that Gregor Clegane, for justice against my family. I fear my lady, that those terms are the best I can give. If my sister or any other relatives were still alive, a betrothal, or a marriage might've been arranged. However, that's not possible."

"Marriage is too good for them," sniffed Olenna. The mere idea of a Lannister-Targaryen alliance would crumble the Tyrell-Targaryen-Martell alliance that had been in place for years. "Will you declare a council meeting soon, Your Grace?"

The king nodded. "It'll be in an hour."

"Prince Oberyn," said Olenna, moving towards the unusually silent Red Viper. "May I have a word?" She waited until the king, his lone Kingsguard Ser Rolly and the other exhausted soldiers head into the Great Hall, before snapping, "What in the name of the Seven were you thinking? If you were not certain in victory, you should've left your nephew here! He would have saved face at least! We look like the laughing stock of Westeros, Prince Oberyn! Two Great Houses supporting the king who cannot even win a single battle!"

"It was Reachmen that ran like dogs with tails between their legs," the prince of Dorne retorted, crossing his arms. "They refused to fight with the spears that I offered them. Poison is a woman's weapon," he mocked. "They insisted on fighting with their swords in suits of heavy armour. We chased the Young Stag's first host of men and then he sent another wave followed by another. Each wave consisted of a small number of men, but they were strong and ready to fight. It was a losing battle. I don't think even the great Lord Tarly could turn the tide."

Olenna sighed. There was always a chance Stannis would attack Dragonstone and be defeated by Loras and his forces. Rather than sharply responding as she'd usually do, Olenna said quietly, "We gambled on that battle and lost. We roll that dice again and hope for a more…fortunate result."

The Red Viper hesitated, his black viper eyes alert. "There will be more battles to come," he said darkly. "Many more. What will happen if the king falls in battle? He is eager to test his fighting skills on the battlefield like all green boys. As of the moment, he is still childless. It is the truth," he added pointedly when Olenna was about to protest. "We haven't yet received news from the queen. No matter how fertile you claim she is, her womb has not quickened. If it has, she had not told us for some odd reason. Who will be the king's heir? There are no Targaryens of the sane mind left. If our king is slain in battle – Seven forbid – then that is the end of House Targaryen. Targaryen bastards cannot succeed and the closest relation to the king with Targaryen blood is…the Young Stag."

That was quite the dilemma. One Olenna had considered, but preferred not to think much about. Her granddaughter was as fertile as the fields of the Reach – it would be impossible if she didn't fall pregnant. Once Margaery returns, I'll ensure her womb quickens with child, Olenna promised. Once Stannis Baratheon and the Stag's supporters were dealt with, nothing could possibly prevent the young king from sleeping with Margaery every night.

"We'll ensure the king doesn't die," said Olenna crisply. "I'll appoint the best of Reach knights to protect him." Her lips pursed. "A couple of your finest spearmen will be useful too, do you not agree?"

The Red Viper nodded shortly. "Any news about the Young Stag?"

"Prepare the castle for siege. You are the Master of War after all."


Against the advice of almost every man in the council chamber, Olenna slowly walked around the empty streets, examining the defence Prince Oberyn and Lord Tarly had set up as swiftly as possible. The simpering eunuch Lord Varys voiced his concerns earlier. "The city streets is no place for a lady in your position," he'd murmured, rubbing his soft hands together, "especially in the evening." After the new curfew was imposed a few days ago, the streets were oft deserted, according to Littlefinger, who'd uttered a complaint of the lack of customers in some of his finest brothels. Olenna had ignored his minor grievance; now was not the time to encourage men to sate their lusty desires in whorehouses.

Standing silently in front the River Gate – or Mud Gate, as the people called it – was a host of soldiers consisting of a mix of gold cloaks and Reachmen. Though it had been assured that there was six thousand gold cloaks in the City Watch, all of them equipped with mail armour, iron spears and cudgels and dirks, Olenna was not convinced of their loyalty or their battle prowess.

The king's victory was largely thanks to Lord Baelish's…useful skills in bribing the City Watch to betray Stannis Baratheon. If the gold cloaks could accept such a bribe from Lord Baelish, they might accept a bribe from any of the Usurper's men. They are much too honourable to do such a thing. Still, a risk was a risk, hence the presence of Reach soldiers in the Mud Gate garrison.

"Wait." Olenna's voice rang out, breaking the silence, as Ser Parmen Crane, the recently appointed Captain of the Mud Gate garrison, was about to close the Mud Gate. "I wish to see the defences."

Surprised, Ser Parmen obliged, stepping aside. Olenna slowly walked towards the Mud Gate, Left and Right behind her. Inside was the market square. Usually it was cluttered with little stalls and bustling with smallfolk and merchants; now it housed three colossal trebuchets, that stoically stood side by side, peering over the battlements like three huge birds.

"Are they enough?" Olenna questioned.

Ser Parmen nodded. "Yes my lady. Made from the finest of old oaks and iron. It will throw stones as far as the eye can see and crush the traitors."

"Good." Olenna looked around. The cold wind nipped at her cheeks. For a good minute, the wind's haunting murmur was all that was heard at the Mud Gate. The gold cloaks present were sober and silent as were the Reach men. No one was in the mood to speak. The Queen of Thorns herself did not feel talkative. "Well," she said finally. "Everything seems to be in order."

With a slightly puzzled look, Ser Parmen dipped his head courteously. "Well of course, my lady. Our defence is strong. We will cut down every foe in sight. Don't fear my lady, you and the other women will be safe."

Olenna's temper flared. "I'm not afraid in the slightest, ser!" she snapped.

"My apologies then my lady," said Ser Parmen, with a slight bow.

Shooting him a scathing look, Olenna turned and headed back where another one of her oaf son's knightly cousins waited patiently, holding the reins of an old yet able palfrey – her horse. Olenna wasn't as fond of horse riding as she was as a young lady, but sitting on a litter or in a wheelhouse did not show Tyrell strength. It showed weakness.

We will be ready, Olenna vowed. This time it will be the Usurper and his troops coming to us. We will be ready to fight and destroy them. As she reached the Tyrell knight, her mind was already abuzz with a new plan – a security policy of sorts.


The chapter didn't actually fully save on my laptop and I had to write about half of it again, which partially explains the delay. I've also been busy with travelling plans - plane tickets, accomodation etc - as I will be travelling to Japan in December :) Hopefully The Dance of Spring will be completed by then!