His desk was covered in scrunched up balls of paper and dotted with dark ink stains. He was onto his third pot of the dark liquid and would probably need another one before he was done. Sighing he dipped his quill into the ink and scratched out the opening of his message on the paper.

Dearest Alysanne

I hope this letter finds you and the children in good health. How are-

He scrunched the paper again and brushed it aside, pulling a fresh sheet from his pile and smoothing it out of the desk. He picked up the quill, spun it in his fingers and dropped it back in the ink. Why was this so hard? Why was it that now he had actual things to say to his family that he couldn't find the words?

He sat back and rubbed his temples fiercely, trying to work some of the empty buzzing from his skull. It didn't help, so he got up to pace, something he was doing a lot these days. He paused at the window and glanced out at the city, he could just about see the riverside gates from here, where work was already being carried out on repairing the gates. He should be out there, helping to direct it he knew, but his men could be trusted with that, he needed to write this letter to his family.

A hard hammering on the door drew him from the window. "What is it?" He demanded. No one answered. "What is it?" He repeated. No one answered, so he went over to the door and pulled it open. No one waited on the other side, so he stuck his head out and looked down the corridor either way. No one. He shook his head and was about to close the door when he saw the letter waiting for him on the floor. He crouched and scooped it up. It had only his name on it, scrawled in a loopy, styled hand. Who'd delivered this, and why not slide it under his door? The letter was sealed with a button of honey coloured wax, plain and unadorned. He broke it open and scanned the letter. The words looped across the paper, a request for a meeting, though it didn't say with who or what for. He tossed the letter on the desk and sat down again, picking up his quill and holding it over the paper, waiting for the words, but they never came, instead, his eyes were drawn to the letter. Cursing, he snatched it up and made for the door.

Of course it was a prank, obviously it was a prank, only teenagers left secret notes to arrange a meeting. He'd come to the chapel of the red keep only to find it empty, not even the septon was here, though that was far from uncommon for him. Loren was about to turn and leave when a voice called out to him. "I wasn't sure you would come, my lord."

He turned and saw the curtain to the confessional booth get pulled back. "Lady Margaery?" It had been a week since Margaery's arrival in the city, with a full fanfare and a caravan of food and sustenance for the people of the city. He hadn't been there for her arrival, but he'd heard all about it when he'd been drinking in the taverns of the city. Joffrey had been at the King's Gate to welcome her to the city, and they rode side by side through cheering crowds, Joff glittering in gilded armour and the Tyrell girl splendid in green with a cloak of autumn flowers blowing from her shoulders. She was sixteen, brown-haired and brown-eyed, slender and beautiful. The people called out her name as she passed, held up their children for her blessing, and scattered flowers under the hooves of her horse. Her mother and grandmother followed close behind, riding in a tall wheelhouse whose sides were carved into the shape of a hundred twining roses, every one gilded and shining. She'd sent him a letter requesting him to dine with her that very night, and again three days ago. She'd even sent him one before he arrived in the city, telling him it would be her greatest honour to ride into the city alongside the saviour of King's Landing. He'd declined every time, he had work to do.

The future queen stepped out of the booth. She was dressed in a flowing dress of green and gold, her brown curls tumbled around her shoulders and she greeted him with a soft, sweet smile. "So, the direct invitations didn't work, so you left the letter outside my door?"

She smiled shyly, "And I think you will have to agree, my lord, it worked."

"That it did," he sighed, he should have made the connection with the letter, this was the last thing he needed. "How can I help you, my lady?"

Margaery seemed to glide over to him. "Is it wrong to want to get to know my future in laws better?"

"I don't believe that it is, no," Loren replied, folding his arms across his chest. "But I do have to wonder if that's all you're doing here."

"Why, Lord Loren, what could I possibly be doing, I am but a maiden of sixteen years."

Sixteen years yes, but maiden, I have my doubts. Renly knew what marriage meant. "Sixteen is not such a young age, my brother killed a king at sixteen, the Young Wolf is smashing armies in battle at sixteen. And you, I suspect, are more than a piece moved by your father."

Margaery smiled. "Well it seems I must speak to you on behalf of my family, and I can only apologise that no one has yet done so."

"I don't understand, I have spoken with your father many times."

"But he has yet to extend our thanks to you."

"Thanks?"

She nodded, placing her hands on his folded arms. "Yes my lord, thanks. Had you not been so tenacious in your defence of the capital, we Tyrells wouldn't be at the side of your family in power, but huddling back in Highgarden again. Without you holding the capital, I would not be set on path to becoming queen."

His lip curled. "So, someone did notice what I did."

"I noticed, and I will be forever grateful."

"Because my victory opened the way for what you want?"

"Yes... partly."

Loren raised an eyebrow as Margaery approached the altar of the Father and knelt before it. "What else is it you want?"

"I am to be a queen, but I want to be the queen." Not since the time of Aegon the Conqueror has there been more than one queen in Westeros. I don't want to share a title with one of Lord Frey's daughters, or a lady of House Caron."

Loren did not join her on his knees. "Why do you think this will be the case?" He asked. "Our fathers want that to be the case as much as you, your father for the same reasons as you, I suspect, my father because if there is more than one queen then there is more than one king. Perhaps it is my father you should speak with, since you share the same goals."

As he turned away, hoping the conversation ended, Margaery spoke up. "I know you are unhappy with our soldiers."

"What?"

Margaery stood up, turned to him and walked over. "I know that our soldiers claiming credit for this victory has driven a wedge between you and my family before us two ever met. But I hope to mend that rift, Lord Loren, I think you are the best chance I have of seeing my ambitions realised."

"What do you mean?"

"Let us speak candidly, Lord Loren, our position is still precarious, Stannis Baratheon is hobbled, but still strong, and as you say, Robb Stark smashes any army in his path, and you are the only leader to have won a victory of note in this war."

"What are you saying?"

"I believe you are a man to have on side, and that to drive you away with the crude lies of our soldiers would be a mistake my family would come to regret." She looked at him with a certain gaze. "And if I become the one Queen in westeros, I will also become a person to have on side."

Loren met and held her gaze. "I'm sure that's true."

She walked towards the door, lightly brushing him with her hip. "It's just something to consider Lord Loren," she said. "Perhaps you'll think on it the next time I invite you to dinner."

He twisted his head around and caught the impish grin on her face before she disappeared through the door.

He sighed and followed her out, wondering what she thought she was going to offer him? That would come next though, this meeting was just to pique his interest, next she would come and offer him something he wanted, free of charge, but something she felt he would oblige him to her. Margaery Tyrell was certainly someone to have on side, he would just have to be careful how close on side if he chose to accept.

He left the chapel and returned to his quarters.

From there he left immediately for the small council chambers, apparently something urgent had happened. With luck it would be something that would let him march.

"Ironmen," his sister hissed. "Of all the nerve of Balon Greyjoy, first he crowns himself, then he demands an alliance after attacking the north, now he sends his longships against us!

"Is it confirmed?" Tyrion asked their father.

Lord Tywin said nothing, so Grand Maester Pycelle spoke instead, his voice soft and fluffy. "Yes, my lord, not only do we have word from Casterly Rock itself, but included with his own message, Ser Damon sent the letters he has received at Casterly Rock. Lord Banefort, Lady Farman and Master Kenning all request aid.

"And Casterly Rock can do nothing to stop it," Lord Varys commented sorrowfully. "It would seem that the young wolf's invasion has left them a little short handed."

"That's king number three who's set himself against us," Littlefinger said, his eyes gleaming. "Soon we'll have a handful."

"We can't allow it," Lord Mace said. "These pesky ironmen, they never no when to give up, I say we raze the isles to teach them a lesson."

"The islanders are far away, Stannis and Robb Stark are closer, they are a greater threat and must be dealt with first," his father said, though Loren could hear the subtle undertones of anger lacing his father's voice.

Lord Mace was the one stupid enough to challenge him. "Lord Tywin, we surely cannot permit the ironmen to raid our shores with abandon. We rely on the food of the Reach to feed our armies and the capital, if the ironmen raid our shores they can raid our farms, and if they can raid our farms, they can do us great harm. And without armies, they could threaten Highgarden itself."

"And we may yet have need of the gold in Casterly Rock," Tyrion mentioned. "I wouldn't trust it to transport if the Ironmen are there."

"I'll go."

There was silence as everyone turned to Loren.

"What?" Tywin asked.

Loren took a breath. "I'll go. I'll take part of the army, Lannister and Tyrell, and go west to secure the coast against the ironmen."

"Do you think that is wise, Lord Marshall?" Lord Mace asked, "we may have need of you here."

"It's as we've said, the gold of Casterly Rock and the food supplies of the Reach are both now under grave threat. We've won a temporary victory at the Blackwater, but our legitimacy hangs by a thread, and will be easily cut by either Stark or Stannis if we allow the lands sworn to us to be ravaged by the ironmen as well. They say that kings without kingdoms are no kings at all, then lords without lordships are no lords at all, and without us, Joffrey has nothing, and the next blow to fall on King's Landing will shatter us both.

I'll go west, secure the coast and deal with the ironmen, and when I'm done we'll have an army in east and west, ready to act against either of our remaining foes."

There was another pause. "How many men would you need?"

"I would take no more than ten thousand, I need to be able to move as quickly as possible if I am to arrest this development, and more than ten thousand would move too slowly."

"I cannot spare half my army," Lord Tywin said.

Loren looked Lord Mace in the eye, staring at him intently until the Lord of Highgarden understood what was meant of him. "There is no need, Lord Tywin, I will match every soldier you send with two of my own."

"Then, father, if you can provide three thousand men, I will be able to defeat the ironmen."

Everyone looked at Lord Tywin. "Three thousand?" His father asked.

"Three thousand," he assured his father.

Lord Tywin nodded. "I'll see them assembled."

Tyrion came to him as he was in his quarters, packing his things into boxes and chests. Most of it would be staying here, there was no room for niceties on the march, and he had to keep the supply train as light as possible. Thankfully Lord Mace still had caravans trundling towards the city, he could take what food he needed from them on the march.

"You really think you can win with ten thousand men?" His brother asked.

"I do," Loren said. "But if needed I believe I can scrounge up a few more from the west and the Reach." He turned to Tyrion. "I more worry about what's going to happen here in my absence."

"Why are you going?" Tyrion asked.

"Was what I said not enough for you?" He asked. "If I am to rule the Rock I must protect it."

Tyrion shook his head. "No, there's more than that."

Loren shut the last of his trunks. "What if I said it was the chance to finally march against our enemies?"

"I still wouldn't believe you," Tyrion replied. "The ironmen are raiders, they cannot hold the west any more than they could hold the north, you know no challenge awaits you there, save perhaps catching them when their main strength is at sea."

Loren sighed. "You read men well brother, too well. In truth, the fault is yours."

"Mine?" Tyrion asked in surprise.

Loren pointed at the fireplace where the scrunched up attempts at letters to his wife lay, ready to be lit. "Since you spoke to me here last, I've been trying to write to Alysanne, to my children. I can't, no matter how long I stare at the paper, I can't find the words. I think perhaps it's because I'm staring at paper. No, I need to see them, Alysanne, Tion, Joanna, Myrielle and Lelia, I need to look them in the eye, and say what I need to say, and ask their forgiveness."

Tyrion smiled. "You're actually going to speak to them, I wondered if my words would get through that thick skull of yours."

"They did," he replied. "And I owe you my thanks for them, Tyrion. And I owe you an apology as well. I have mistreated you, out of resentment of our father, and the fact that I had no name to call my own. And yet, you looked out for my family when I chose to run away. It will take time to pay that debt, my brother. Is there anything I can do for you at the Rock?"

Tyrion looked alarmed at what Loren was saying, but to Loren, a weight was lifting from his chest. "I... nothing comes to mind, are you alright brother."

He shook his head. "Not yet, not until I've spoken to Alysanne."

"Well, nothing comes to mind at the moment brother."

He nodded. "Very well, but if you need anything, let me know, I owe you a debt Tyrion, and you know what they say about our family."

"A Lannister always pays his debts."

Loren nodded. "I have accrued a great many debts, I'll deal with the ironmen, and start paying them off."

"Whatever you're drinking, keep drinking it, this is a new side to you Loren, a good side." He turned and made to leave. "When you get to the Rock, give your family my regards."

"I will," Loren promised.