It had taken less than a day to secure Tarth, and left only old lord Selwyn in his castle, a rock of defiance on an island that had fallen.

Tarth had begun reinforcing their beaches, but not nearly enough to oppose his landing. He'd had the fleet circle around Tarth and attack from the east, out to the narrow sea, swinging around in a great arc that led the fleet into the eastern side. The fleetmasters had timed it to perfection, the wind and tide carrying them in a great wave towards the lightly monitored beaches. By the time a force of Tarth knights had ridden to oppose the landing, nearly five hundred spearmen had swept ashore on longships, forming a tight shield wall as more and more waves of boats carried in the rest of his army to shore. The knights attempted one charge that nearly smashed through his wall but they were thrown back and they hurried away to alert the rest of the island. Within hours his entire army had formed up in lines and columns on the beaches, by the end of the day, three columns were marching inland.

One column was send straight towards the spine of islands cutting down the middle of the island, they were to hold the mountain passes and keep his landing safe. He sent knights and outriders out to the south to threaten the wide meadows on that part of the island and divert some of Tarth's strength from his main assault, a large column of two thousand men he led to the north, to circle the mountains and put Evenfall Hall to siege. After the initial display of strength and speed he was expecting to find Tarth's force gathered around Evenfall to hold the castle.

They met him at the northern tip of the mountain spine, on a road that passed next to the foothills on the left and the meadows on the right. With a war cry and trumpets, Tarth men had poured down the hilltop, smashing into his infantry squares and engaging in rough combat. The fighting was fierce, but his infantry held fast. The enemy attempted to ambush him, soldiers rising from the meadows and fields and charging his rear, but a flight of arrows cut them down. The bowmen, a full half of his force, poured arrows into the enemy and drove them back up the hill. When their arrows were spent, it was they who led the charge up the hill to break the Tarth attack.

He'd lost a hundred men, Tarth had lost five hundred, and that was all the resistance that was mustered to his advance and he reconvened with his knights around Evenfall Hall where the rest of Tarth's defenders were gathering to make their final stand.

He stood on a the edge of the ditch as workmen churned up the earth to form a ditch he hoped he would never need, but would keep building until he knew he didn't. "My Prince." He looked away from the battlements, where the banners of Tarth still hung heavy against the white brick stone, to the man who had called his name.

"What is it captain?" He asked. Captain Rennic got up from where he was knelt and hurried over, his yew longbow clutched tightly in his hand.

Rennic was the commander of the archers at the hill battle, a sturdy hunter of forty years, with greying brown hair and hands calloused from a lifetime of pulling bowstrings. "The watch is set up, if there are enemies hidden nearby, we'll be ready for them."

"Good, thank you captain."

He turned back to the castle, looking at the men moving about on the walls and mourned that they would all have to die. How else could he proceed, he had come here to make a clear demonstration of what happens to those who betrayed their cause. If they weren't punished hard, how many others would follow their example. They had to be punished, they were criminals.

A crunching sound made him look back at Rennic. His archer captain was chewing on a bright red apple. He frowned. "Where did you get that?" He hadn't packed any apples in his supply ships.

"Bought it, my prince," he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "One of the nearby villages had a harvest. They normally sell to the castle but now," he gestured at the drawbridge over the castle gate, "they've gotta sell to someone."

He nodded, that made sense, even in a war people had to live, and some lived by selling apples.

"My prince," he turned to see Lord Sunglass approaching with his men. Lord Sunglass had come to him when he was nearly ready to depart, offering his men to Lyonel's mission. Something his sister had said had convinced him, but it was clear that, even now, he had doubts. "The weapon is being assembled, but it will take a few days to get it set up properly." Lord Sunglass hadn't even acknowledged Rennic, who stood there awkwardly, like he wanted to eat his apple but not draw attention to himself.

"Good, with the gods' will, we'll be tearing that castle down before long." The ruins of Evenfall Hall would be a strong message to all potential dissenters. "Is the war council assembled?"

"They are my lord, though it is a siege, is a council truly needed?"

"Yes. I'll be there soon." He had to have the council, make sure that he was doing this right.

He followed Lord Sunglass towards the command tent. After a few steps he paused and turned back to Rennic. "Come Captain Rennic."

"Me?" Rennic asked, surprised.

"I did make you captain of my archers, you have a place at my command council." Even Rennic likely had something to contribute.

Around a great flagpole at the rear of the camp he'd designated as the meeting point were the senior knights and lords of his expedition, who all looked at him with low expectation and little patience. "My prince, with respect, why have you called us here?" Lord Celtigar asked. His mother would've chastised Lord Celtigar, but then, he had been at the Blackwater, the battle Lyonel had lost before they'd even fought it, of course he had little reason to show respect. "This is a siege, we all here know how to manage a siege."

"I know, my lord, and your expertise is appreciated. But I called you here to make sure we are doing everything correctly, and to decide the fate of Lord Tarth."

Several looked around, confused. "That depends, my prince," Ser Bowen Classen said. "If he doesn't surrender, then he dies with his castle, if not, an honourable surrender must be met with honour."

"Honour how," he asked. "He rebelled once, what's to stop him again?"

"My Prince, the code of chivalry is all we have, if we forsake it, then there is nothing protecting us in this war, nothing protecting you or your family."

Almost all of those around the table were nodding, several more voiced their agreement for leniency and a part of Lyonel instantly regretted his decision to call them here. Of course they would argue for leniency, they may well wish to turn cloak again someday and mercy would suit them well in case treason didn't. But they were here now, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter he'd received just after arriving. "In that case, would I be safe in saying you all want me to accept this?" He held up the letter. "Lord Selwyn has offered his surrender and his levies for the war effort."

"A fine offer, my prince," said Lord Celtigar, "you get his army, his surrender and we can start planning the next act of the war in earnest."

"I agree, my prince, the Lannisters deserve our blades more than misguided Old Tarth."

"Let's be done with this island."

It sounded tempting, to be done with this, have a quick and clean victory. But would it be victory? Yes he'd get men and Tarth's surrender, but he came here to punish Lord Tarth, would it be a victory with such a meak and reasonable surrender? His eyes alighted on Captain Rennic's face, which grew darker and harder with every call for mercy. "Captain, what do you think?"

Suddenly it softened and Rennic looked in alarm at Lyonel, he clearly was not expecting to be asked anything. "I think... if it please my prince... that umm... that Lord Tarth has offended you greatly, has said openly that he sides with your enemies when he used to fight with you. I've seen men in peacetime suffer more for less."

Lyonel nodded. That was true, the peasants Rennic was likely referring to didn't have the protection of chivalry, but none of the benefits either, if Rennic had the fortune to defeat a knight, he would claim no ransoms for it. But Lord Tarth was a nobleman, he couldn't treat a nobleman the same way as he would a peasant could he? He needed the nobles, for it was they who knew war and they needed them to win the throne.

Extend that to everyone, great and small within your land, and you will be a great king.

Shireen.

His fingers clenched and unclenched. "I will think on this, we'll reconvene tomorrow. Captain Rennic, with me."

He turned and swept away, leaving the lords and knights stunned by his departure, and leaving Rennic to hurry a good ten paces after him.

"My prince I-"

"You said there was a local village where you got your apple from?"

"Y-yes," Rennic said, struggling to keep up.

"Did it have a sept?"

Rennic thought. "Yes, I believe so."

"Take me there, I need to speak to the gods." And hope they reply.

()()()

Nothing, the candles he had lit at the altar of the Crone were burned down stubs now, and still he didn't have the answer. What was he to do? He needed those lords, and after the losses at the Blackwater, every man that Tarth could provide would be a boon in the wars to come. But Tarth had betrayed them, he shouldn't let that stand. His mother wouldn't, but Shireen probably would if it ended things peacefully. Or would she? She'd told him to treat everyone equally, should he punish Lord Tarth as they both hoped to punish the Lannisters?

"My prince," a timid voice called from behind him. He looked around at the septon of this humble wooden sept. Fit for a village of this size, though nothing to boast of, with only carvings behind the altars.

"Yes?"

"Forgive me, my prince, but the hour is late, I was wondering... were you planning on staying the night?"

He closed his eyes for a few more seconds, to see if the gods were going to answer his prayers this evening. It seemed they weren't. "No, I won't, I'm sorry for taking your time."

"It's no trouble my prince." He handed the septon a gold dragon. "My donation for the sept."

"Thank you kindly, my prince."

He nodded, even if the gods weren't answering him, they were the gods and deserved his respect in their house of worship. "Good night, septon."

"Good night, my prince."

Lyonel opened the door and stepped into the cool night air. He took a long breath before stepping out, looking up the path towards the swimming light of his war camp, the flickering light showing the first frames of the trebuchet under construction. He started towards the camp but, the door to the sept closing behind him, casting him in shadow.

He followed the path back to the outskirts of the village, he'd left his horse at the camp, preferring to think on foot than on horseback, and it was on the outskirts of the village that he was accosted. A man stepped into the path, hooded and cloaked, holding a flaming torch in their hand. He stopped twenty feet from them and saw the sword at his waist and the tint of armour under his cloak. "Who are you?" He asked.

Their only answer was to draw his sword in his free hand. He paled and stepped backwards, he'd left his weapons in his tent, apart from his hunting knife, which was little more than a sharpened stick compared to the castle forged steel sword opposing him. So this is it, this is the answer the gods have given me? No I will not go to the end quivering. "If you're to kill me, do I not at least get to see the faces of those who would do the deed?"

The attacker paused and used the point of his sword to lower his hood. Lyonel froze, "Ser Bowen?"

"Yes, my prince." He said regretfully.

"You had a place at my war council, why, what has Tarth offered you?"

"Nothing," Bowen replied, stepping forward. "But you cannot be allowed to lead us to kill him when he has offered peace and surrender, that goes against all the laws of chivalry, and once those are gone we have nothing left."

"That's it, that's all I had to do?"

"Yes, someone as weak as you cannot be allowed to destroy the root of chivalry."

"Weak?" He struggled to find defiance to spit at Ser Bowen.

"Yes. You have the army here, and yet you still hold a council, consulting with your lords before deciding what to do with Lord Tarth, King Robert would never have done that, nor would Lord Stannis."

"King Stannis, if you're to kill me, at least treat my father with respect."

Bowen continued as though Lyonel hadn't said anything advancing on him slowly. "I heard rumours about you since the Blackwater, everyone has, hiding in your room like a child, shitting the bed because you were too scared to go to the privy, and it took your mother smacking you about the head to get you to do even this, and you still have no authority here. You have nothing here."

"You think you'll get away with this?"

"I will, because no one will care to look for the cause of it. They'll be deep in condolences when speaking to your mother, but they won't care not truly, and if they ever learn that it was me, they'll thank me." Bowen stepped forward.

Lyonel drew his dagger and held it up. Bowen sighed and his sword flashed. Lyonel gasped in pain and dropped the dagger, the back of his hand smarting where Bowen had smacked it with the flat of the blade. "Even weak in defence." Bowen stepped forward and raised his blade. Lyonel stepped back but Bowen jerked forward, grunting in pain. He stumbled for a few steps, then fell flat on his face, sword clattering to the ground, torch guttering out, and three arrows protruding from his back.

"Sorry we didn't get here sooner my prince." Lyonel looked up to see Rennic and two of his men approaching, notching fresh arrows to their bows. "But I thought I'd better get help if I was going to fight a knight."

"Rennic? What... how?"

"I was just coming back from buying another apple when I saw this one skulk out of camp, all cloaked as he was. Followed him to where he was hidden, in that copse of trees there, where he could see the sept and wait. Thought something fishy was happening, so I went to get some of the boys here and see what was what."

"Well," he said, stepping over Ser Bowen's body. "I owe you my life, Rennic, and you as well, sers, may I have your names?"

"I'm Torne," said they younger of the two, sandy haired and bright eyed.

"And I'm Albrech, my prince," said the older, darker one.

"Yes, my prince, begging your pardon and mercies, my prince."

"All is forgiven," he replied, he could forgive them for forgetting his title since they had saved his life.

He knelt next to Ser Bowen. "Why did you come anyway? You didn't have to save me."

"You asked my advice, no other lord has ever done that," said Rennic.

"That's it?"

Rennic shrugged. "Sure as," he said. "Besides, I was at that meeting. I saw them there, this knightling was right, none of them would've shed a tear if you'd died. But you're the prince, it was our duty to protect you, it should've been his as well." He jerked his head at the body in the road.

"I'm not the only prince these days."

"You're our prince now, our only prince." He paused. "You don't have a brother do you?"

Lyonel laughed, a bursting laugh that made him shake with relief. "No, captain Rennic, no I do not."

It felt like hours before he stopped laughing, and it was Albrech who broke the awkward silence that followed. "So... what do we do with him?"

Lyonel looked down at the body of Ser Bowen and his face turned dark. "Bring him with us, I think there are some people who should see him in the morning. In the meantime, I'm going to need your help."

The next morning, Lyonel approached the flagpole where his lords and knights were gathered. He was dressed in his mail, with his mace at his side and two dozen of Rennic's archers at his back. The lords and knights approached, mostly in their finery, not bothering with armour this far from the siege lines.

"So, my prince," Lord Celtigar said, folding his arms across his chest, clearly not happy about the early start. "What do you have to speak about this morning, shall we discuss a new latrine trench?"

Lyonel didn't reply at first, looking around, none of them seemed surprised to see him, so perhaps Ser Bowen had acted alone. "Last night," he said, looking at them all, arms folded behind his back, "there was an attempt on my life." The gathered nobles looked at each other in alarm. "I believe you know the culprit." He beckoned and Rennic gestured two of his men forward. They dumped the corpse of Ser Bowen at the feet of the nobles who stepped back aghast. "Thankfully, due to the intervention of the new captain of my personal guard," he patter Rennic's shoulder, "he was slain, but not before he spoke a few words to me." He left a pause, let them think he had named names, if there were any to name. "I know what you think of me. You think me weak, indecisive, unworthy of loyalty or leadership. And I admit, I have given you reason to do so. But no longer. The attempt on my life has shown me what I need to do. What this man did, was treason, a full capital crime, with a death sentence attached. There is another man who has commited treason, but whose sentence had not yet been carried out. So I am here to inform you that we will not be lax in our siege lines, construction of the trebuchet will continue as planned. Lord Tarth is a traitor to our cause. And for that he will die. No negotiation, no peace. Is that clear?" The lord nodded and bowed their heads. "So, go get changed out of this finery, this is a siege, and you will attire yourselves accordingly, Lord Celtigar, I leave the digging of the trenches to you, Lord Sunglass, oversee construction of the trebuchet, I want it ready to fire as soon as the gods allow, the rest of you see to your men. Whether by sword, storm or his fortress crashing down around him, Lord Tarth will die."

"Yes, Prince Lyonel."