Not ten minutes later, the lead horse of the Frey caravan dismounted and knelt before the Lord of Casterly Rock.

"My Lord, I, Ser Aenys Frey, on behalf of my father, Lord Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing, pledge House Frey, its army, and its resources to His Grace, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, the First of His name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

"I, Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West, on behalf of His Grace do accept your vow."

After Lord Lannister finished, Ser Aenys stood, and gazed unflinchingly into the eyes of the Lord of Casterly Rock.

"So," began Edmure Tully, "where the fuck have you been?"

The Frey knight glared hatefully. "My family has honoured its vows to His Grace and yet still we face ridicule!"

"It took you long enough to decide to follow your duty, Ser Aenys!" Edmure shouted, before Lord Tywin glared sternly at the unruly Tully, silencing him immediately, though his glare did not dissipate.

"My Lord," Ser Aenys began, "I expected His Grace to greet us."

There was collective surprise amongst the gathered Lords of the royalist army.

"Have you not heard, Ser? His Grace was wounded at the Battle of Silver Hall." Lord Stark informed the commander of the Frey army.

"This is new to me, my Lord. We heard on our travels that His Grace was the victor in the battle-" Edmure snorted- "but we had no news of the King's wound. How severe is the injury?"

"The King will be fine." Lord Tywin interjected before the Warden of the North could reply. "Now, let me show you to the camp, you must be tired after the journey."


In the Capital, the remaining members of the Small Council had been summoned.

"My Lords, I summoned you here due to urgent news coming from the King's army." Tyrion began. "Lord Commander Selmy has written that the King has been seriously injured."

Looks of shock were visible from all of those present, the Hand of the King spoke up first.

"Will his Grace recover?" Spoke he.

"The condition of His Grace is not known, all Ser Barristan said was that he was seriously injured. He promised prompt updates." Replied Tyrion.

"My Lords, it may be prudent to prepare Prince Tommen, in case of any unfortunate news." Lord Wylde ventured.

"That would be unadvisable, my Lords. The Prince is surely too young to worry about such matters. He is a child of only seven. If His Grace does…" The Grand Maester pauses, seemingly uncertain as to what to say.

"Die." Stannis spoke, the faintest quiver in his voice.

The elderly man choked. "Yes. If His Grace dies, then a regent will be in place anyway. Why disrupt the Prince's childhood?"

"The fact that he could be king is not enough of a disruption? He is a prince of the realm. The heir apparent. Grand Maester, whether you like it or not, Prince Tommen will never have a normal childhood." Lord Wylde explained.

"Lord Wylde is correct." Stannis said simply. "Besides, it is best to prepare for the worst. It would be useful anyhow for the heir apparent to have some knowledge of affairs."

"By this time His Grace was already sitting in on Small Council meetings, mayhaps it would be good for the Prince to do the same?" Lord Varys spoke for the first time.

"I agree." Tyrion said, "going forward, Prince Tommen shall take part in these meetings, at lest until we hear news of an improvement in His Grace's condition. Now, Lord Wylde, how are the preparations of the fleet coming along? Is it ready?"

"The preparations are nearly complete, my Lord. Lord Stannis has been particularly helpful in these preparations, the newly delivered ships from the Iron Isles have also been assimilated."

"That is good to hear, Lord Wylde, prepare to take command of His Grace's Navy, and set sail for Lannisport, await further instructions from His Grace's army there." He ordered.

Tyrion had asked Stannis to assist the Lord of Rain House in preparing the Royal Fleet for war. Although the navy hadn't been neglected in the years of peace since the Greyjoy Rebellion, it was not fully ready for war. Moreover, though House Wylde had a respectfully sized fleet for a lesser house, its size and bureaucracy was no comparison to that of the Royal Fleet; hence Tyrion's desire for the previous Master of Ships to assist the new. It also provided an excuse for Tyrion to keep Stannis busy (outside of keeping an eye on Varys), he still wasn't entirely certain why Joffrey had made him Regent, and not the Hand of the King, as was custom.

"Now, is there anything else to report, my Lords?"

Silence met his question. "Good. Keep your offices ready for any potential changes." They knew what he meant by that.

With that he stood and left the chamber. His hands shaking by his side.


Back at the royalist camp, Lord Tywin Lannister stood over the unconscious King of the Seven Kingdoms, as the latter's chest slowly raised and fell. The Warden of the West stared at the pale face of his grandchild, his face impassive. Internally, his thoughts were a mess. Confusion and determination reigned supreme in his mind. Cersei had told him hundreds of times in her letters that Joffrey had been receiving lessons from both Jaime and Ser Barristan Selmy, two of the best swordsmen in the land. How the future king was a prodigy, meeting both of them as equals in combat. Yet now here he lay, unconscious, near death, after being bested in hand-to-hand combat by a flower of all people. It did not make sense. Tywin knew how mock duels were nothing in comparison to real battle, but if His Grace could beat Jaime in training, then he should have been able to beat Ser Loras in battle. It was just the two of them, in single combat, Joffrey was better than Loras fucking Tyrell. It did not make sense, Tywin knew something was afoot.

Alongside the confusion he was also determined. The King would live. He would make sure of it. Joffrey was a Lannister. There was finally a Lannister on the Iron Throne and he would not allow the first Lannister king to die so soon. Joffrey, as foolish as he could be, was not only a Lannister, but he was the best King the Seven Kingdoms for a long time. Tywin Lannister would not let him die. He had sent for maesters from the Citadel, from Casterly Rock, from the Stormlands, to come and tend to the King. Tywin stared, as if just by looking at his fallen grandson he could ensure his survival. The Stranger would not take this King, not now. Not if the Lord of Casterly Rock had anything to do with it.


Three days later the War Council met again. The King had not awoken, and certain members of not only the War Council, but the army, were getting anxious.

"My Lords, we cannot simply sit here twiddling our thumbs." Lord Bolton said. They had been going around in circles for over an hour, and quite frankly, the Lord of the Dreadfort was starting to become impatient, though he would not show it. "For now, we have a strategic advantage, but if we wait too long, it will no longer exist."

"I have to agree with Lord Bolton." Lord Tarly said. "If we give them too long to recuperate, then the gains made at the battle will be made redundant, it is time to press our advantage whilst we still can."

"Yet there is still the problem of who will be in charge." Interjected the Lord of Winterfell.

Tywin nearly groaned. Ever since His Grace was injured Eddard Stark had kept banging this drum.

"May I make a suggestion, Lord Stark?" Asked Ser Barristan.

"Go ahead, my Lord."

"His Grace appointed us to this Council did he not?"

"He appointed five of us, aye."

Ser Barristan nodded. "Well then it seems obvious to me that he considers the five of us to be those he would turn to in his time of need, if he needed counsel on matters related to this war, or if he were indisposed, so why not make decisions collectively?"

Lord Blackwood nodded. "A fine point, Ser Barristan."

The Lord Paramount of the North nodded also, "it makes sense, Ser."

"Well," began Ser Kevan, "on the issue of launching an assault on the rebels, I believe we all agree it is a good strategic manoeuvre?"

Everyone nodded in assent.

"Well. Lord Tarly, what would you suggest?"


Lord Mace Tyrell was worried, and distraught. Worried because His Grace had not been seen for over five days; and distraught because it was the loss of his son, Loras, that had caused this visceral reaction from the King.

Lord Mace was a fool, but he was not stupid. He knew the sort of relationship that his son and the King had was not a natural one. That it was closer than the sort two respectful men should have. But Loras was happy with the King, and the relationship was certainly no hindrance to the prospects of House Tyrell, so Mace didn't mind too much. He had an heir, who was himself soon to be married, so it wasn't as if the future of the House was in doubt.

But now Loras was gone. His son had been killed by Joffrey Baratheon, and now Loras was gone.

The pain had ripped through him when he had heard the news. His sweet Loras. Who had dreamed of nothing but being a knight since he was a child. Who was brave, and kind, and… gone. He had wept for hours. But what worried him was that his King had seemingly been weeping for days.

King Renly had ordered no one to enter the Royal tent five days ago and had not left it since. The Rainbow Guard who had been stationed outside had refused to let him in every time he had tried, and now Mace was very concerned. He had loved he son, he still did, but he was aware that there was still a war to be won. And for Loras' death to not be in vain; for this war to be winnable, the soldiers needed to see their King was still up for a fight. Because if they didn't, then they would lose hope. Mace was starting to lose hope.

"My Lady, I beg of you, I need to see the King!" Lord Tyrell begged the Rainbow Guard to let him into the tent.

"The King does not wish to be disturbed Lord Tyrell, I have told you this!"

"My Lady, if you will not give me leave to enter, I will have to force my way through!" He blustered. In all honesty, he didn't know how he would do that, but most people would have let him through by now, and he was desperate to see the King.

Just as the Rainbow Guard was about to reply, the screams started. Mace's head spun around to the direction of the sound's origin. The screams grew louder, and then he saw flames. He stood still, rooted to the spot, and he stared.

"My Lord!" He looked to his left and saw a man in Reach uniform sprinting towards him. "My Lord!" He gasped, it was obvious he had run as fast as he could to reach him. "We are under attack! Frey men!" He gasped again. "They came from nowhere! I came as soon as we saw them!"

"Retreat." He ordered.

"My Lord?" The man questioned. "We outnumber them. What about the other armies? Where is the King?"

"Retreat." He said again. Louder this time, panic seeping into his voice.

Mace Tyrell was not stupid. He knew it wouldn't just be Frey forces, this was a coordinated attack, and he knew they only had so much time.

"My Lord?" The man questioned again.

"Ser. I am ordering you, and everybody else to retreat!" He shouted, before turning to the Rainbow Guard.

"My Lady. The King must retreat, before it is too late!"

The Rainbow Guard finally allowed him to enter. Inside, the King was sat on the edge of his bed, holding a rose.

"Your Grace! We are under attack, the Frey's have betrayed us, we must go!"

Renly sat, staring at the rose.

"Your Grace!" The Lord of Highgarden begged, shaking the King; a crime punishable by death, but at his most desperate moment Mace Tyrell couldn't bring himself to care.

He shook, and he cried out but Renly would not move. He simply sat, staring.

"He told me to do this. I did this for him." He muttered so quietly that Mace struggled to hear. "He told me I should be King. That I would be a good King. I did this for him, and now he is gone."

"Your Grace. Believe me, I understand. But if we do not go now, everything you have done will be in vain. Loras' death will be in vain!" Mace pleaded.

The reaction was not one he expected however. "How dare you! Renly yelled, jumping to his feet. "How could you!? Your own son! You would use your own son's memory to manipulate me!?"

"Your Grace!" Mace spluttered, "I did not mean-"

"Enough!" Renly roared. His face turning redder than the ripest tomato in the Reach. "I have had enough Lord Tyrell, of you, of your mother, of everyone using me for their own ends. I did not do this for you, or for Margaery or for anyone, apart from Loras." His voice broke. "I did it for Loras, and no one else." A tear slipped down his cheek. "And without him, I cannot do it."

He shoved the Lord Paramount of the Mander to one side and left the Royal tent. He walked towards the fire, towards the screaming. His armour glistened in the sunlight, not yet worn in battle, as he stalked forward. Men gathered behind him as he walked, emboldened by his presence; their King was amongst them, willing to fight for them. But he did not charge. He simply walked, towards the cries of anguish, of pain, and the smell of death. He approached the oncoming army without a sound, without fear. Soon he saw them, and their leader, atop a horse, decked out in golden armour; a roaring lion emblazoned on the chest plate saw him.

"Lord Renly!" He yelled. The fighting stopped. The man approached, sword in hand.

"Lord Tywin." He acknowledged, unsheathing his sword.

A knight rushed forward from behind his liege lord, but Lord Tywin stopped him with a raised hand.

Renly held the sword aloft and dropped it, before he dropped to his knees.

The Pretender's War was over.

Renly Baratheon had surrendered.

A/N:

A new chapter at last! Sorry if you got a notification before about a new chapter, I messed up and published a half old chapter, half new chapter mess. Sorry about that, I'm not entirely sure how I did it either.

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, as always let me know what you think!