Highgarden was grey. Grey cloud, grey water, and grey gardens behind a pale of grey rain. Looking out from his bedchamber's balcony, Loren saw the army gathered around it, grey and gaunt and utterly insufficient for the task at hand.

He had arrived last night, pushing his men through the dark, past outriders and scouts who never questioned his intent or his motives in moving an army of five thousand men towards their capital. He had first been questioned at the very gate of the castle by Ser Vortimer Crane, the Master-at-Arms, and only allowed entry after Lord Willas himself had been roused to permit Loren entry, granting him Lord Mace's chambers to use as his own. They were comfortable rooms, the bed soft and welcome after a hard march south from Casterly Rock. Flowers hung from baskets on the bedposts, sweetening the air, four bowls of fruit stood on the desk and a plush recliner lay on the balcony, covered now to protect it from the rain. He bit into the peach he had taken from the bowl, it was as sweet as any fruit he had ever tasted, but did nothing to warm him about what he must soon do. He looked out over the army outside Highgarden. The men he had brought from Casterly Rock had doubled its size. He knew that Highgarden could call on more men, even with those taken to the capital, but this did not bode well.

A knock at the door made him turn as the Seneschal, Garth Tyrell opened the door and stepped in.

"Lord Marsh-"

"Shhh," Loren interrupted him, placing a finger to his lips. He pointed back at the bed where his squire Tyland lay, still asleep. He hadn't wanted to wake the boy, he would be busy enough in the days to come. Let him enjoy the soft bed a little while longer.

"Apologies, my lord," Garth continued more quietly, "but Lord Willas is ready for you whenever you are."

Loren nodded. "I'll be there now." Once the door was closed he changed out of his soft woolen night clothes and pulled on his breeches and scarlet gambeson, leaving his cloak where it lay over the back of a nearby chair. He looked in a mirror. His moustache was growing unruly already, and his hair was a mess, but there was no time for anything more right now. He opened the door. "Take me to Lord Willas," he commanded.

Garth led him down the halls of Highgarden, lined with hanging flowers and Tyrell banners. He noticed a distinct lack of guards here in the main keep, but had seen many on the walls, perhaps they were all there. Some serving staff were getting an early start, but they smoothly moved aside as Loren and Garth made their way to the Great Hall.

Lord Willas stood alone before the main table, maps and charts laid out in neat stacks around him. The hall was lined with great statues, alternating men and women, the men armed with all the finery of knighthood while the women were dressed as maidens and queens. At the feat of each was a selection of large potted plants, one of them was being tended to by a servant hefting a large watering can.

Willas himself was neat in all the ways that Loren was not. His clothes were smooth and refined, his left hand held a smooth wooden walking stick banded with gold and topped with the carved head of a horse with emeralds for eyes. He had a neat beard on his chin and a thin moustache, while his short hair set perfectly atop his crown. A heavy half cloak hung over his left shoulder. He looked up and Loren saw in his eyes all the uncertainty that he had hidden beneath his appearance. "Lord Marshall," Willas bowed his head and Loren bowed back. He had heard much of Willas. An intelligent young man, his crippling prevented him becoming a knight, but his mind more than made up for it. Loren's own warhorse had been bred in Willas' stables and was the best he had ever ridden. He would make a fine lord of Highgarden, and was the most eligible bachelor of the South. Perhaps… No, now was not the time to think of matches for his daughters, perhaps if they won what was to come. "Please sit," Willas said.

"Only if you'll join me."

Willas nodded and pulled out a chair for himself. "A drink?"

"Yes, and some food if possible."

"Garth, have breakfast sent, and some drinks that won't addle our minds."

When the Senechal was gone, Willas and Loren looked at each other. "How bad are things here?" Loren asked.

"In a word, bad," Willas replied. "Most of our army was sent to the capital, and they've been kept there since the Blackwater. I called up additional forces after the northern invasion, but I've only been able to raise fifteen thousand in all."

"There were no more than five thousand outside Highgarden when I arrived," Loren pointed out.

"Most are a day's march north of here, at Mernton, near where the Silvergold meets the Mander that's the closest major crossing between us and the northern host." The silvergold was the river that flowed south past Silverhill and Goldengrove, hence the name. "Ser Garth Hightower, the Greysteel, commands them, he reports their numbers have been swelled with survivors from my father's defeat."

"I doubt there are that many of them," Loren muttered. Men tend to run back the way they came, which in this case would mean towards King's Landing, and most of the levies who had been able to cut their way south would probably have cast aside their colours and their weapons by now. Then he frowned. "Did you say a Hightower commands them?"

"I was surprised too," Willas said. "House Hightower committed words to the start of this war, as they often do, but ever since the ironmen attacks, they've been fighting with vigour. Ser Garth has four thousand Hightower men at Mernton, and three thousand more are coming our way from the city, led by his brother Ser Humphrey."

"Who else has sent men to join us?"

"None as many as the Hightowers," Willas admitted. "I've pulled up two thousand men from our own lands, most a little too old or a little too young. Four hundred men have been sent by Ser Colin Florent, the Castellan of Brightwater Keep. A hundred men from each of the Shield Islands, now the ironmen threat has been largely dealt with, led by Ser Talbert Serry, the heir to Southshield, a brave young knight who slew many ironmen during their attack. Other than that we've got some two hundred hedge knights and some recruited refugees from the original northern attack. If you can convince the lords who fled here for sanctuary to commit you their household guards you could probably scrounge out another few hundred, but I doubt they're willing to commit these last forces."

"I'm not surprised, if I had a choice I wouldn't commit resources to this. But I'm the King's Marshall, I must command the king's armies against his enemies." Even if that king is Joffrey.

"I only wish I could get you more," Willas said. "I never thought I'd see the day where House Tyrell runs out of soldiers."

"You've done more for my efforts than many others have, lord Willas," Loren assured him, trying to smile but not entirely sure if he'd done it right. "But time is running out, in her letter, your sister told me the capital was running out of food again. I have to confront the brilliant Young Wolf head on and defeat his unbeaten army if I want to re-open the supply route to the capital. I know our chances are slim, but I have to try."

"Thank you, my lord," Willas said, genuine. "I'll do whatever I can to help you save King's Landing, and my family."

Loren nodded.

"Just be careful when you face Robb Stark, after you defeat him you'll have to confront Stannis Baratheon."

"What?"

Willas looked as though he'd just blabbered that Loren's wife was having an affair. "Didn't you know, Lord Marshall?"

"Know what? What's happened with Stannis?"

"He's invaded the Reach south of the Mander, his forces have clashed with Robb Stark's in several minor skirmishes and a larger engagement outside Cider Hall."

Loren slumped back in his chair. "Stannis Baratheon is here as well?"

Willas nodded. "With his army from Storm's End."

He wanted to laugh almost as much as he wanted to cry. "So I'm facing two armies instead of one, both led by hardened war leaders. Maybe the gods really have ruled against us."

"Do you know how you'll proceed?"

Loren pressed his fingers into his temples. "The only hope this gives us is that it means Stannis and Robb are no longer safe behind their walls. If I can engage them in the field, I might be able to capture or kill them." If all the gods and whoever they worship are on my side.

"Lord Marshall, do you honestly believe you can?"

Loren looked Willas in the eyes, emerald matching gold. "No. But I have to try."

Willas drummed his fingers on the table in thought. "What would it take for you to be able to defeat Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon?"

"Ideally?"

"Yes."

"There are still armies outside King's Landing, tens of thousands of men. If I had command of them, full command, without the leash of the council, I believe I could defeat them. But of course they're probably suffering from the supply shortage as well, and starving men don't fight well."

There was no way that Stannis or Robb would let him sneak around their lines to get to King's Landing. Maybe he could take the ships with the Redwyne Fleet who were due to sail shortly. No, that risked him being caught by the Baratheon Fleet. Those ships had their objective, and he had his.

"At least your men will be well fed, with the supply roads cut they've all been gathering around here with nowhere to go."

"How much do you have exactly?" Loren asked. The road had been cut months ago, how much had just been gathering around Highgarden.

Willas picked up the top sheet from one of the stacks and read off it. "From the convoys that we had to halt: A million bushels of wheat, half a million of oats and rye, seven hundred and fifty thousand of barley. Four hundred thousand turnips, two hundred thousand each of apples, oranges and pears. Fifty thousand pumpkins. In terms of flesh we have ten thousand carcasses of deer, now stored in salt, twenty thousand cattle and thirty thousand head of sheep, both live. On top of that we have had more supplies come in that have not been added to this register.

Loren tried to work out how much food that actually was, but gave up when his head started to spin. "How long would that last?"

"If managed and rationed properly, it could be years, but it requires an open supply line, we don't have enough wagons to take it all through in one go."

Loren stroked his chin. Perhaps… no, could he? "Do you have a map?"

Willas produced one and laid it on the table. They both stood over it. "Stannis' army, you say it's south of the Mander?"

Willas nodded. "Yes, for the most part, but they have taken several bridges along it's length and are ranging north, that's how they're skirmishing with the northmen."

"And where are the northmen?"

"Our scouts put them around here," Willas said, drawing a line with his finger between Goldengrove and Longtable.

"And their clashes, are they decisive or mere small engagements?"

"Only the clashing of scouts I believe, for the most part they are staying well away from each other. They both know that we are their main foes."

"And they are too clever to fall into battle with each other right now."

There was another option. It was probably their best chance of victory, certainly better than taking an army that had already tasted catastrophe against the legend of the Young Wolf and the cold talent of Stannis Baratheon where only total victory would achieve his aims.

"I'm going to sound mad," Loren said warily, "but how many wagons do you have that are ready to go?"

"Around four hundred, I believe, not much more than three hundred."

"And if we got them through to the capital, how long could they supply the city for?"

Willas did some quick calculations. "Six months, seven with strict rationing."

"And if we added the cattle and sheep?"

"How many of them?"

"A third of them."

"Another couple of months." Willas cocked his head to one side. "Lord Marshall, what are you planning?"

"Stannis Baratheon is in the south, Robb Stark is in the north," he said, indicating the map again, "I'm going to take four hundred wagons and thousands of head of cattle right up the middle, along the roseroad."

Willas' eyebrows almost vanished into his hairline. "You're going to what?"

"You heard me," Loren said. "I'm going to force a convoy of supplies through to the city. When I'm there I'll take command of the full army and return to confront Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon."

Willas' mouth opened, closed and opened again. "There are a hundred things that could go wrong with that."

"Things will always go wrong," Loren pointed out. "But I do not believe I can defeat Stannis or Robb with the forces I have at my disposal here. I need the army at King's Landing, and since no one can bring the army to me, I must go to it, and I must go to it with the supplies necessary to feed it."

"Both Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon will try to stop you," Willas said.

"And I will maintain a tight defence around the convoy. If they want to attack me, I'll bleed them white and that will leave them exposed to the other. That will give me the space I need to push right through to Bitterbridge and from there cross the Mander and move on to the capital."

"What if they don't hold back."

"Then I lose," Loren said simply. "But both Stannis and Robb will know what I just told you, they are both war savvy and will know the risks of attacking me."

"I'll trust your judgement on matters of war, but I don't know if the teamsters and soldiers will march up the roseroad," Willas confessed, "they say a stretch of it has been haunted by the slain in the war."

"They will go, or I will make them," Loren said simply, there was no more time to coddle these people, they would march or face the consequences. "As for a haunted road," he glanced back at the map, imagining soldiers moving along it like lines of ants, "the odds are already so stacked against us, ghosts won't tip them any further."

"Is this the best option?" Willas asked.

Loren looked at him. "If I'm going to do this, I'm going to need most of the men you've gathered. Once I start to march, all the eyes in the Reach will be drawn to my column, but I suggest you pull all the men you have left back here, in case one of them makes an attempt for the castle."

"And if they do?"

"I won't lie to you, Lord Willas, I can't divert the march to come to your aid, I will use that opening to get the supplies through to the capital. But once I have command of the armies there, I will return to battle our foes."

Willas nodded. "Highgarden is strong, we can hold it," Willas said. He may not have been a knight, but his gaze was unyielding, and Loren knew he would hold, as long as he was able.

"Are you sure?" Loren asked, he still needed to confirm, he was taking this man's defences away from him.

"You're the one facing difficulty here," Willas reminded him.

Loren's lip twitched at the corner. "All I'm doing is taking enough supplies to last half a million people half a year across half a continent up a haunted road with half our enemies just to the north and the other half just to the south."

"Well then," Willas said, tapping his cane on the ground. "We should make preparations."

He nodded. "First we should inspect the roads, if you're able."

"I've damaged my leg, not lost it, Lord Marshall."

"Of course, my apologies."

Together they made their way out of Highgarden's main keep. The courtyard was mostly deserted, but some activity remained. Servants were pulling mail shirts from barrels of sand, cleaning them from last night's exertions. One brought a bundle of swords to the armoury, no doubt ready to be repaired. All gave them a wide berth. At the gate the guards made them wait before opening the portcullis for them to cross the first of the concentric walls.

The heavy gardens that filled the area between the first and second walls were draped in misery. The air was filled with rain so light that it was almost impossible to see, but still showered coldness on their faces. They moved straight down a path of picked apple and pear trees, the branches not yet budding the next pickings. As they walked Willas spoke to clear the silence. "This garden used to be filled with thick hedges, laid out in a maze to disorient any enemies that made it this far. But after Daeron the Good brought Dorne into the realm, our enemies were gone, so we turned it from defence to leisure." He reached up and brushed his fingers along a branch softly. "It seems perhaps we were wrong to do so."

"It shouldn't have been," Loren told him. "It should have been a time of peace. But perhaps it is true, a wise man in times of peace prepares for war."

Willas shot him a look. "I didn't know you read Archmaester Malleus?"

Loren smiled. "They had a copy with the Golden Company, I perused in my spare time."

"Perhaps you should write an account of your time with them."

"I'm not a writer," Loren replied.

"Have you ever tried?"

"No."

"Maybe you should." Willas smiled at him. "A writer lives as long as there are people to read of him. In that way the archmaesters of the citadel have outlasted Aegon the Dragon, possibly they'll even outlast his realm. Of all the great men of our day, Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, your father, none of them have put their thoughts to paper."

"You think I should?"

"I think someone should record these darkest of times. From what my sister tells me the Grand Maester is more likely to sleep on a book than write one. And you have been there at the lowest and the highest. Why not you?"

"Besides the fact that I'm likely to be dead in the next few weeks?"

"Dead, or living in the greatest glory."

As they reached the heavy stone gatehouse, the guards opened the first portcullis, allowing them in. When they crossed the threshold of the barbican, Loren couldn't help but look up at the dark murderholes and wonder how many arrows, stones and bolts were up there. Probably many, Willas didn't seem to have neglected the defences of Highgarden one bit. The guards closed the first portcullis behind them before they opened the second one and they walked out into the grey fields beyond the white walls.

They skirted around the camp with it's sagging tents and fragile palisades, around the southern edge of the castle, where the black ink trail of the mander was drawn through the hills and meadows. Tied up along the banks of the great river were a small fleet of perhaps a dozen pleasure barges, dragged onto the dirt and covered by thick tarpaulins, unused, unneeded. To the south east of the castle was a great field, scythed flat and stretching far. Waiting in that field was row after row of wagons, piled high with casks of wine, ale and cider, crates of apples, pears, oranges and peaches and barrels and chests filled with all the wheat, barley and rye harvested from the bountiful Reach.

They at the imposing front row, stretching from the Mander to the castle walls and going back gods knew how far. "It's… a lot."

"There were a lot of convoys," Willas replied.

"Where are all the horses, the cattle, the sheep?"

"Spread out in the fields," Willas replied, "we can bring them back very quickly, but we can't feed them all here."

"I see," Loren looked them over, taking in the wagons, this was looking like a more and more terrible idea, would he be able to protect so many? "I need to see the road."

Willas took him to the Roseroad, a snaking route of smooth stones, many feet across. He dropped to ground level and looked along it, mostly flat, good. He remembered the Valyrian roads of essos, stones fused by dragonbreath into great arteries carrying goods and gold across the known road. This road was not their equal. Valyrian roads bowed up slightly in the middle to let rain slide off it, keeping the road safe for boots and wheels. Already he saw water trickling along the veins between the stones, and pooling in small puddles. He got up and inspected the width of the road. It was narrower than the Valyrian roads as well. In Essos you could drive three wagons up a road with plenty of room for a pair of riders between each one. Not so here. They would be wheel to wheel. "We'll need to go three abreast," he said, walking across the road, measuring the distance.

"They won't fit," Willas said immediately.

"The outer wheels may edge onto the grass a bit," Loren admitted. "But I don't have the men to be able to protect the entire column of wagons spread out one by one. Especially not if I need to leave room for troops to move from one side to the other. No Willas, I'll have to go three abreast, it's the only way."

"The roads narrow at the bridges," Willas pointed out to him, "You'll have to go single file there."

"I only plan to cross two bridges, one at Mernton, one at Bitterbridge. One going into danger, one going out."

"Why don't you just take fewer wagons, go two abreast?"

"I've only got one convoy, I need to fit as much in it as I can," he turned to Willas. "It'll have to feed the army and the city for long enough for me to return and do battle with our foes." He looked back down at the road, scuffing at the stones with his boot. "We'll have to take care around the bends, but other than that we'll have to manage."

Willas rested on his cane, looking back at the wagons, down at the road, ahead to the army, then his eyes returned to Highgarden. At last he looked at Loren. "Now I understand why my sister believes you to be the only one left who can lead us against both Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon." He sighed. "I'll gather as many men as can be found for you, you'll have as many swords as I can give you."

Loren bowed his head. "I'm glad to see Highgarden is in safe hands," Loren said. "You have my oath that I'll return with the army as soon as I can."

Willas held out his hand and Loren took it firmly. "I believe it."

He squeezed. "I believe I am correct in thinking that you are unmarried, and not currently promised to anyone?"

Willas chuckled. "No, not yet."

"My eldest is reaching the age of marriage. Maybe, once this war ends, we can discuss it further?"

Willas nodded slowly. "If we're not dead by then, certainly."

Loren laughed. "Indeed."

Willas joined in the laughter, it was all they had left at this point. "When do you leave?"

Loren set his jaw. "As soon as I can."

"I'll get the cattle and wagons ready."

"Thank you, I'll see to the men. Dinner tonight?"

He nodded. "Yes indeed. I'll have the cooks prepare the best for you and your top men." Loren nodded, but as he turned towards the camp, Willas called out to him. "Lord Loren." He turned back. "With regards to your daughter… perhaps we keep this between us, no need to involve our fathers."

"Indeed," Loren replied, the thought of his father deciding Lelia's future making his fingers curl. "They've fucked up enough for the pair of us already."

"They rather have, haven't they."

"And now we've got to put it all right."

"If it matters, Lord Loren, I can't think of a finer man for the task."

Loren flashed as smile at Willas. "Then I'll try not to let you down."

The rain continued to fall on the grey ground as he trudged back to the army camp, silently cursing the war and all it demanded of them. But it was right. He had to keep fighting, he couldn't be a traitor, not on top of everything else.