"My lord I can confirm that conflict is raging on the Iron Islands," Loren sat back in his father's chair and smiled. "It seems that on almost all the isles, fighting has broken out over whether to follow King Balon to continue the war or to try and submit."

"Is there any indication who is winning?"

"Anyone and everyone, depending on who you ask."

"Excellent." The longer the civil strife among the ironmen continued, the less he had to worry about them unifying again. Even so, with the new additions to the Lannister fleet, he felt confident his coastline was secure. They rested in the harbour of Lannisport even now. Fifty three heavy longships of the iron fleet had been left behind on Fair Isle for want of men to sail them. Loren had them brought back and now new, crimson flags flew from the tops of the masts. They may not have been the equal of the war drommonds of the Lannister and Redwyne navies, but they were three times the size of most ironman longships, more than enough to deter raiders and what remained of the iron fleet. When the war was over they would likely be broken down for materials or sold off, warships were a considerable expense, and the original Lannister fleet of drommonds was more than sufficient to defend their shores.

"Is there any other news?" He asked.

"No, my lord."

"Not from the Reach?"

"I fear not."

Loren nodded. All they heard from the Reach was hearsay and rumour. Robb Stark was marching on Highgarden. Robb Stark was retreating north. Robb Stark had defeated the Tyrells in a single great battle, slaying Lord Tyrell and his son in personal combat, an army of wolves feasting on the slain. All of these and more were what they'd heard. The last confirmed news was that the two Tyrell hosts were marching into the Reach to drive off Robb Stark. It worried him that he didn't know what had happened since. It could be anything, but he couldn't act on what he didn't know. "Very well, thank you Maester." He turned to Ser Benedict Broom, Casterly Rock's Master-at-arms, who stood to attention beside the maester. "And what of my… new recruits."

"They are… a handful," Benedict replied unhelpfully.

"How so?"

"There's still a little too much of the sea in them, makes them almost unsteady on land, but they think they're just as skilled as they were on a boat."

"But they obey, is there a hint of dissent?"

"Only the gripes of any warrior," Benedict said.

"Can you forge them into a useful weapon, or must I find them a new purpose?"

"I believe so, my lord," he said.

"Good, then keep at it, we need every soldier." They needed them so much that he had been forced to recruit ironmen, captured in the Westerlands and on the sunset sea, into their army.

Gerold had wanted to press every captive into the army, as a shield of flesh before their own lines if nothing else. But that presented its own problems, how to corral so many and keep them in line, so instead he'd made them an offer. A stipend of silver and the right to settle in the villages of the ravaged Westerlands, to replace the men lost to the war and till the land. In return they would convert to the Faith of the Seven, swear to renounce their ironmen ways, and fight in the Lannister army until the war was over. None of the ironman captains had consented, and so they languished in dungeons, but even Loren was surprised at how many had agreed, and how readily. Nine hundred warriors had taken his offer, now divided into three groups of three hundred, captained by trusted Lannister officers and equipped with lannister spears and helms, though most retained their old round shields and axes for close fighting. Even more surprisingly, about half of those warriors came from forces formerly sailing on House Greyjoy ships. Perhaps with Victarion dead, his corpse staked on a cliff on Fair Isle, and Balon languishing in Pyke, the number of captains remaining to him shrinking by the day, they saw no cause worth fighting for. Or perhaps it was something different. After the Ironmen had conquered the Riverlands from the Storm Kings, the most notable and powerful ironmen remained in the conquered territories, even their kings barely set foot in the homelands any more. Perhaps it was the same thing. Perhaps the same reason that all of Harren's line had died with him at Harrenhal was the reason why these warriors now wanted to stay. The iron islands may be a hard land, breeding hard people, but the call for a more easy life lay in every man's heart as much as the call for adventure, the two were in constant battle. For these men, perhaps a new, easy life was worth more than rowing hard, sailing far and reaving for meagre pickings, only to be whipped back to their dens when they caught the attention of a greater power. So now he had another nine hundred warriors, and he would likely need them soon.

"Do you know when you will march, my lord?" Benedict asked.

"Soon, I expect, unless there are major delays, by the end of the week." Lord Willas' letter had come first, then Lady Margaery's, both calling on his aid. He couldn't delay much longer, or everything would be lost.

"I'll have them as ready as I can by then."

Loren nodded. "Good, best see to it, that will be all."

The two of them left and he sat back, rubbing his eyes briefly, wanting to shut his eyes and relax, but he couldn't, he had so little time before he had to leave again, he wanted to spend as much time as he could with his children. He knew that Tion would be in his classes with the septon right now, Lelia and Joanna would be with the young girls of the Westerlands, making friends and future allies, but Myrielle would likely be in her room. She wasn't a social creature, much preferring being shut in her room than engaging with others. Still, he worried about her. With the others otherwise engaged, he decided to pay her a visit.

He knocked sharply on her door and waited. "I'm coming," he heard her call. She was particular about this, she didn't want anyone just entering and disturbing her space, or seeing what she was doing. If she was older he might be suspicious, but some children were strange, she'd probably grow out of it. Myrielle opened the door and poked her head out. "Father!" She stepped out with a broad smile, shutting the door behind her. "How are you?"

"I'm well," he said, opening his arms and wrapping them around her when she hugged him. "But I should be asking you that question, how are you?"

"I'm well," she parroted him, then added "busy."

"I see," he said, "can I come in?"

Her shoulders tightened, her hands wringing in front of her and her bright green eyes looking anywhere but at him. "I… that is… I'm busy with something… We can go somewhere else…"

He frowned. "Then you're not busy?"

"I… I am, and everything's messy."

"Then I can help you tidy it."

"No!" She moved in front of the door, blocking any attempt he had to make past. "Please, it's a mess, I'll clean it."

A sudden thought struck him. "Is it… that time of the month." Had she had her first bleeding yet? He didn't know.

"Time of the month?"

"Are you bleeding? Is that the mess."

"No?" She said. "I haven't… started yet."

"Oh." An awkward moment between father and daughter if there ever was one. "Then it's just a mess, I could help you clean up."

"No, father!" She said. "Please, can we just, go somewhere else? Just not my room, please."

"Is everything okay?" Why was she acting so strange, what didn't she want him to see?

"Yes it's fine." She still didn't move. "Please, just not my room."

"Okay," he said, stepping back, hands raised. "Not your room. The mountaintop gardens?" He knew she liked it up there.

She smiled, all nervousness forgotten. "Yes please! One second!" She stepped back into her room. He half wanted to follow her, but knew he shouldn't. She emerged a second later, a small bag around her shoulder.

"Got everything?" He asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

He placed his arm around her shoulder, leading her away, stealing a glance back at the door, curious what kind of mess she didn't want him to see.

The garden on a plateau protruding from the mountain to the east were sparse, not much grew at the highest points of the rock, trees and scrub bushes mainly, with a soft blanket of moss between the wind dried rocks. Myrielle skipped along the rough stone path, out of the shadow cast by the rest of the mountain. The garden was mostly deserted, apart from a garden hand pruning one of the trees, but he knew to give a Lannister a wide berth. Myrielle skipped up onto a low stone wall, holding her arms out to either side for balance as she walked steadily along the rough stone. "Careful," he said, holding his arms out, ready to catch her if she fell.

"I can do it," she said. She jumped off at the end of the small wall and they carried on along the path. "Can you tell me the next story?"

He smiled. "Of course I can, what story would you like?"

"Last time you'd just saved the Captain-General's life and he made you one of his lieutenants."

He frowned. "That didn't happen?"

"I know, but what really happened wasn't a good story."

"Why do you ask for my life story if you just keep changing it."

"Only when what really happened is boring," she chimed in, grinning up at him.

"Do you want to hear that one again? I can make it better if you like."

"No, I know that one now, tell me what happened next, when you were one of the leaders of the Golden Company."

He nodded and started to tell his story. "Hang on!" She stopped him. They sat down by a gazebo and Myrielle pulled a small notebook, a quill and a bottle of ink from the bag. She balanced the book on her lap, at the next blank page, dipped the quill in the ink and looked up at him expectantly.

She always liked to copy down his story, said it helped her with her letters, and it probably did, practice made perfect. Still, what children copied down stories as they were being told them, wasn't the point that they could concentrate on listening.

"My first task as commander of scouts was in the desert not far from where we were based, our employer hadn't yet provided our payment, so we were watchful for betrayal…"

He'd gotten as engrossed in the telling as she had in the listening. Alysanne had come to them, accompanied by servants, with a plate of food for each. "I was told you were here," she said, smiling at the sight of the pair of them. THey both looked at her sheepishly, but she hadn't berated them, only told them to eat their dinner, sitting down to join them. When they were done, he told her he would come to her once he'd seen Myrielle to bed. Alysanne agreed and left them.

At her door, she turned to him. "Thank you for the story father," she said, bowing politely.

"It was my pleasure," he smiled down at her, cupping her cheek. "I'll tell you one more before I go, I promise."

She nodded. "And more when you come back?"

He knelt, looking into her bright green eyes. "If I come back, yes."

She sucked in a breath, puffing herself out bravely. "I hope you'll come back," he could hear that she was trying to be strong for him.

"I hope so too," he pulled her into a tight hug. "Now, to bed, or else your mother will have strong words for both of us."

She giggled. "Yes father." She backed inside her room, blowing him a kiss before the door closed behind her.

He took a breath, got to his feet, and went to his wife's chambers.

She was looking out the window into the sunset sea when he entered, a glass of wine nestled in her hand. She turned to him and smiled. "I trust you left out the most gruesome bits?"

"No," he replied, closing the door behind him. "I thought I'd give her all the details, guts to glory. Of course I Ieft most of it out."

"Good," she said, walking to the desk. "Some wine?"

"No thank you," he said. She nodded and refilled her own cup.

As she did he sat down and leant back in his chair. "Will you be ready to march in time?"

He chuckled, looking at her. "I'll only know that when I arrive," he said. "If King's Landing is strewn with starved corpses, I'll know I was too late."

"You know what I mean."

"I do," he said, "and yes, we should be ready to march by the end of the week."

She raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you don't want to."

"Of course I don't want to," he said. "I want to stay here, I want to put my feet up and not fight for a little while, but now it seems I have no choice. My father stays tightly in King's Landing, Lord Tyrell now enjoys the Young Wolf's hospitality along with my dear brother. Randyll Tarly may be captured, may be dead or may be retreating and Ser Garlan has tasted defeat. I am all that's left."

"And when you bring them their food, they'll be forced to recognise it." She drank deeply from her glass.

"Long day?"

She nodded. "Very. But what can I say, my husband is about to put himself in incredible danger for the sake of a boy king who's brought this kingdom to its knees faster than Aegon did."

His brow furrowed. She was right, but there was more to it than that. "It's not just for Joffrey that I have to go, he's not the only one who will die if I don't go" he said. "The people of King's Landing don't deserve to die. Tyrion doesn't deserve to die. Tommen and Myrcella don't deserve to die. Joffrey deserves to die, but he's still the Gods' anointed King, and if I let him die when I could have tried to stop it, then I'm a traitor."

"So you'll go."

"Yes, I'll go. If I die, my father will be vindicated, and if I don't I'll be patted on the back like a good little dog again. But I'll go, because I must."

Alysanne put down her glass and held out her hands. "Come."

He took them and she pulled him to his feet. "You will go because you are a good man," she said. "You'll go and save the city, again, and this time, you'll be recognised for it."

"How? You know my father, he'll say a few words, sign a few documents, and then I'll be left in a side room while he continues fucking everything up."

"Don't let him," she took his face between her hands and forced him to look her in the eye. "Not again. Do not let him hide away from truths and facts any more, don't let anyone in that viper's next ignore what you have done. Force them to acknowledge the truth they already know."

"They're so deep in their lies, I don't think they know truth anymore," he said. He reached up and took her shoulders, looking at the line of her neck, the fierceness in her soft eyes.

"Then show them, show them the truth I know."

"The truth you know? And what truth is that?"

"I know you are the only commander on our side who can claim victory, and yet that has been squandered. You've been given outriders to lead, defences to prepare, pitiful side shows to deal with, but never a true army to command. You are the only one amongst us who stands a chance of defeating Robb Stark or Stannis Baratheon. You know it, I know it, they all know it. Use that at last. Go to Highgarden with the men, lead the supplies past Robb Stark's army, get it to King's Landing, then take your due as King's Marshall, command the King's armies and defeat our enemies and earn the respect you have been denied, do not let your father hold you back any longer."

"My father-"

"Fuck your father!" She hissed, clutching him tightly, her breath coming hard, fast. "Fuck him and his opinion of you." She pulled his head down so their foreheads touched. "Go to Highgarden, get the supplies, taken them to King's Landing and they will give you what you deserve. They made you King's Marshall, if they wish to stand in your way, make them regret that decision."

He kissed her, pulling her in tight. She froze for a second, but before he could pull back she'd wrapped herself around him in return and pushed her tongue into his mouth. He picked her up, the skirts of her dress riding up her waist and carried her to the bed. He lay her on the mattress and pulled off his shirt. "I say fuck your father and you want to sleep with me," she said coyly, unlacing her dress and shimmying it off.

He crawled over to her and kissed her again. "You want me to stop?" He kissed her mouth again.

"I don't know," she said slowly, kissing his cheek, his jaw and his neck. She leant up, her mouth by his ear, her breath warm and sweet and whispered, "fuck your father."