GETHIN ANTHONY SAVES WESTEROS
Part 2 - A MAID OVER THE RAINBOW
Her one true secret love did that which she never thought he would do. From beside the platform constructed out of the rebels' recently removed ditch spikes, she sadly watched him bare-headed bend the knee before his magnificent loyal army, in the giant shadow cast by the looming drum tower of his house's mighty castle, and for all Westeros to bitterly witness.
"I, Renly Baratheon, do swear before the Seven, and the gallant chivalry gathered on this happy field, my life long allegiance to the one true sovereign Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, my elder brother, Stannis Baratheon."
A low moan from the gathered host, or perhaps simply a cold wind whipping off Shipbreaker Bay, sent a chill down Brienne's back; no longer blessed by the warming presence of a rainbow cloak.
"I faithfully promise to defend him to the utmost of my power against all conspiracies and attempts against his person, thrown, or dignity. And I do further declare to maintain, support, and enforce the primacy of his Grace's laws and customs over the full breadth of my lands and those of the banner lords beholden to me. May the Warrior strike me down, the Father judge me, and the Stranger deny me entrance to SevenHeavens should I break this most solemn and holy of oaths."
An awed, hushed "Amen" issued from the mouths of the faithful. Though not from the red clad priestess standing near her and Lady Stark. Nor, she supposed, from many of the flaming heart emblazoned supporters of … the … king.
The other, less regal, figure atop the platform stepped forward to place the flat of his blade across one of her master's broad shoulders. In a harsher, less polished voice, he proclaimed, "Renly Baratheon. Brother. I do acknowledge you and your rights as Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and my heir to the Iron Throne. Arise and stand beside me."
And arise he did, like the dawn overwhelming the glow of the night's moon, he towered in beauty and size over his lesser and also bare-headed brother.
"All hail King Stannis!" he cried with a grin, as if giving up his crown had been as easy as changing cloaks. Though it has taken two days of his persuasive arguing, and assurances of a river of Lannnister gold, to convince all but the most recalcitrant Reacher lords to shift their allegiance from him … to …
"King Stannis!" over twenty thousand voices either muttered, spoke plainly, or shouted with fervent enthusiasm.
And again Renly knelt. "Your Grace, this humble token is a symbol of the fealty of the Stormlands and the Reach to your royal person."
From within his cloak, her love pulled out the crown that he had once worn in offering.
"I accept," her new Grace announced; taking it out of those powerful, kindly hands that once swaddled her despondent face to place it awkwardly on his bald pate.
Brienne could not stop the tears that began silently falling down her cheeks.
A far smaller, yet still kindly hand gently touched her side, "It's for the best," whispered Lady Stark; who had not been forced to bend the knee.
"Please place your mark, Lady Stark," the maester asked as soon as the hot wax sealed the rolled parchment bound for Riverrun.
She pressed down with her wolf embossed ring. "I make no commitment as to how soon my son will receive word of our alliance." At least she did not openly refer to him as 'King Robb'.
"He is harrowing the Westerlands, so that is understood, Lady Catelyn," growled his Grace.
"Nor can I guess what he will do when he does receive it," she commented for the third or fourth time once the royal council meeting began within the walls of Storm's End.
"By his victories so far, no dullard your eldest," her Renly quipped. "Once Varys whispers in Cersei's ear of our … united front, and never fear that the sorcerer's little birds will learn of this soon …"
"Sorcerer," scoffed the Lady Melisandre quietly.
"... Then the ravens will fly in swarms to Harrenhal demanding Tywin come defend her precious golden haired bastard. The Old Lion will either come to King's Landing with scant hope of defeating us … or … scurry back to the Westerlands with his tail between his legs in hopes of somehow saving a smidgen of his house's vile legacy."
"The last thing Lord Lannister will do is wait in Harrenhal to be crushed between the weight of my army and … your son's," the King concurred. "Robb Stark will realize this and return to the Riverlands to chivy him one way or the other."
All the lords and knights in the solar nodded in agreement at the King repeating her master's clever insight.
"Your Grace, Lord Renly, Ser Loras, your sigils please," the maester requested, three blobs closing the missif bound for Highgarden with the offer to make Lord Tyrell the Hand.
Each in the order of the new precedence applied their symbol. The only difference between the brothers being the position and number of tines of the stag's antlers.
"Lastly, the message for Bitterbridge," the maester concluded. This time two drips of wax. The King again went first and her Renly followed. "With your permission your Grace, I shall go to the Rookery." And received the royal nod.
"As Lady Catelyn said about her son's movements, I make no promise, Stannis, of how many will abide my choice and resume the march to King's Landing."
"Our loyal Stormlanders," The King grunted without irony.
"Assuredly," her master agreed.
The question was how many from the Reach would come, following Lady Margaery to the Kingswood and sweet reunion with the man whom they both loved.
"Any laggards will be brought to heel when my lord father arrives," Ser Loras pronounced.
"If he moves quickly enough," his Grace, unable to keep the vinegar from his tone, doubted.
"He shall!" Ser Emmon and Ser Parmen, her former brothers under the rainbow, echoed each other vigorously.
"You could persuade them to march, Renly."
"And delay our attack at King's Landing for three or more months? No, dear brother, I warned you that will only give the damned Imp more time to brew his demon potions of wildfire and force honest blacksmiths to forge a giant chain to block the mouth of the Blackwater Rush. Isn't that correct, Lady Melisandre?"
"I have seen it in the flames, your Grace's mighty fleet on fire and lions feasting on the flesh of the stag. Strike soonest with R'hllor's light to guide you and the Seven Kingdoms are yours," the deep, melodic voice of the royal enchantress filled the room as her red eyes blazed.
Thin lips pursed as much as possible for a moment as calculations worked across the tight face that resembled not at all that of his truly royal looking younger brother.
"Very well. On the morrow you will depart with our mounted host up the Kingsroad and I shall load the men-at-arms on to my ships. With good winds, perhaps we can start blockade the incest spawned false king before Lord Varys hears even a whisper of their coming doom."
