A/N: Please see lengthier Author's Note at the end of the chapter for more information about the story and moving forward. Thank you.

Part I: First Strike

Ravos had a sneaking suspicion about what was going on. In the back of his mind, alarm bells rang as loudly as they were rumored to in the heart of Oldtown. War was on the horizon, and the entire Riverlands seemed to know it. The weapons cache that he had stumbled upon near the training yard was no accident – assembled and geared for quick arming and dismissal.

He hardly slept the night after the last guests left. The bed beneath him seemed hard and unforgiving, the material lumpy and rough. The blanket seemed thatched like a roof, itchy and scratchy. The whistling of the wind seemed as though it were calling his name, calling out into the open air. It was funny to him, he knew his family felt as though they could command the waves, but the wind was another beast entirely.

It didn't help that he had downed quite a few drinks the night before – he wouldn't be surprised by any story that was told about him in the morning. He could handle his liquor, without any doubt, but he had pushed it, even for him. Sleep still refused to take him, however.

It wasn't even dawn when Ravos gave up. He tossed the blanket onto the floor in disgust, wrapping his bare arms around his chest. The floor was cold to the touch on his bare feet, toes curling as they collided with it. His heart leapt into his throat when he heard a knock on the door – three loud thuds.

"Who's there?" Ravos said, remarkably indecent with only his smallclothes clinging to his pale flesh.

"Your first mate," The deep baritone only confirmed it. He could pick that voice out of the most chaotic battle – he had known it now for years.

"Urras," Ravos sighed, knowing the man was nearly akin to the worst insomniac. Rarely would he come to disturb Ravos, however, who enjoyed his rest more than the Botley. The man's voice was a rather clever guise from the Drowned God, which hid his rather comely appearance. He would have been blessed in the Seven, but treated as a scourge in the Iron Isles. A man was not pretty there. The women weren't much better.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, my prince, but your father found me first and ordered me to bring you to him. It seemed…quite urgent." The man chose his words carefully.

The word first mate now hardly applied to the two of them, but it made for a clever guise. Urras Botley was more an ally and friend than a servant or mate. A jape it was, for Ravos Hoare rarely set sail anymore. His ship had long ago crashed onto the shores of the Shield Islands, and he had little urge to go back to the open ocean – a shock to other ironborn, but Urras knew and understood.

"I'm sure it was," Ravos said irritably as he grabbed a dark doublet – sure to anger his father, for it was a gift from a lord or lady of the Reach – which, he had no idea. It was handsome, though, all black with a longboat sewn into the breast. Whoever had designed it, though, deserved to sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Ravos cursed as he pulled it on, straining to get it over his arms and thighs, his chest feeling constrained. They made it for a Reachman, not an ironborn, he thought with a cold frown. Still, it looked good enough, and Ravos wasn't going to turn away a gift like that. When he finally got it on, he had no need for the simple black belt that lay on the floor. He kicked it under the sorry excuse for a bed and grabbed his boots. He hadn't had the time to either clean them himself or ask someone else to do it, so they were covered in mud on the bottoms.

"Ready," Ravos pushed open the door, shutting it quickly behind him.

Urras had his brown hair tied back into a low bun, near the nape of his neck. His green eyes were flickering with mirth as he raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Ravos snapped, a little harshly. The two fell into step easily as Ravos charted the path to the throne.

"It isn't often you dress as richly as I do," Urras said. "Decided that you'd make the King angry today, did we?" It was true, Urras frequently dressed in shimmering pale green armor, the like of which he was wearing as they spoke. Ravos had always wondered why, but felt he was overstepping if he went out and asked.

Ravos shifted a bit, rolling his shoulder. The fact had occurred to him, sure. It wasn't the sole purpose, no. He had never lived his life as to just antagonize his father, although it seemed the two were getting father apart with age rather than closer. His brother, whom he had once looked up to, was beginning to fall into the same category. A shame, that. He remembered fond times when they were younger, of dreaming of women and princesses they would marry, and the kingdom that they would share. It was never to be. For a kingdom was only one man's, and Darrick had forgotten long ago how to share.

He didn't bother to answer his Botley friend, as they were nearing the throne room itself. Some candles were lit in the passages towards it, though not as many as when the guests had been milling in the castle. A way to save the crown some expense, his father would claim. Ravos knew it was just lack of effort or care. A lack of care about anyone other than himself.

"Ah, my second son has decided to grace the hall with his presence," The King's voice chortled. Ravos bristled but stayed silent for now. His brother stood to his father's right, a handful of ironborn on his left. His brother's square face was lined with seriousness, armor adorning his powerful muscles and joints.

"Who is it to be, then?" Ravos guessed, taking long strides to make it to the middle of the hall. "Which of our lucky guests is to be run through with swords and pikes on their way back to their castles?"

His father didn't reply to that at first, his son and heir stepping forth and fixing his gaze upon his younger brother. His dark eyes glanced at him, not changing the look they had when he came in. "It is not a thing to jape about, Ravos." Darrick cautioned.

"Why not?" Ravos spread his arms, the hot fire of defiance spreading in his limbs. The desire that he'd had since a boy was flaring – and the Botley at his side knew it. "I have never seen you that serious in your life, my dear brother." Urras wondered if it was even possible if the alcohol from the previous night was affecting him. "Is it because you had to cut your wedding night short?"

"That's enough griping," Harrik waved it away, his eldest son's mouth moving and then closing into a thin line. "We have bigger matters to deal with. To answer your question, my spiteful child, is all of our important guests. Each one was conniving beneath our very noses. And they thought we wouldn't notice," He took a long swig from a tankard at his side. "Ironborn, slow and half-witted." He rolled his eyes. "With the way they all acted, it's surprising they think they have any wits about them."

Ravos didn't disagree, and kept his mouth shut this time. Wisely, in the opinion of many men in the hall. It wasn't uncommon for ironborn to needle each other and create problems. It was unlike them to create such a plan as one King Harrik had come up with, however.

"All of them? Do we have the men for that?" Ravos was surprised, folding his arms over his chest. "Some of them got good head starts, as well."

"There are some ironborn already on their way," Darrick cut in. Ravos was beginning to put it together – his brother had been the creator of this plan rather than his father. Simply greenlit by the King, it made more sense that his more worldly and conniving son had generated it.

"Ah." Ravos muttered and looked over at Urras, whose eyes and face were devoid of expression. That in itself was not surprising, but he knew in his heart that Urras felt the same way he did.

"It is only natural, that my sons go to strike against some of these groups. Kill or take prisoner, I do not care. Your discretion," Harrik said flippantly. "I wish I could go myself, but alas, it is too great a danger."

Ravos tensed. He himself didn't mind raids, owing to his ironborn upbringing, but he knew that Urras hated them. The Botley had only been on one in his entire life, and he didn't say much about it, but Ravos knew he would do anything he could not to go on another. It was partly why he had affixed himself to the prince, who wasn't overly fond of them either.

"How many men am I to lead?" Ravos asked, wishing he had grabbed his sword then.

"You are not going to lead any," King Harrik replied pointedly, sitting down in the throne. "You will be going under the leadership of Lord Harald Codd, who could show you a thing or two."

Ravos couldn't help it. He laughed. And laughed. And laughed. He put a hand on his stomach, where the tight doublet was constraining his breathing. Urras looked uncomfortable, shifting beside him from one foot to another. "Is there not a woman you could find?" Ravos asked when he got himself calmed down once more. "Better to follow a woman than a coward."

King Harrik got to his feet, calmer than what Ravos would've expected. He strode down towards his son and backhanded him hard across the face. He didn't even have time to react, as a stinging sensation filled his face. Urras took a step closer, but Ravos reached out in his agony and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. The move had been slight, but he didn't want his father to notice it.

"Lord Codd is more ironborn than you could ever hope to be," Harrik hissed at him. His breath stank just as most ironborn did. Ravos grabbed Urras' arm. He refused to reply, leading the Botley towards the doors.

The whole time he walked, he thought of what to say. Where he would go, if he ever left this place. He had thought of that often, moreso as he grew older. He always came to the same conclusion – nowhere was safe, and no one would want to protect him. The Hoare reach was long, and was growing. This war that was coming would only make it longer, if his father and brother were to be believed.

He took a breath and turned at the doorway. "Where are we going?" Ravos' voice was one of defeat, of resignation. That was all Harrik wanted, in the end.

"A scout saw Lord Darry and some of his kin head west rather than east." King Harrik was shaking out his hand as he stepped back to his eldest son. "In cahoots with Casterly Rock, if I had half a brain. And…Ser Urras can accompany you."

Ravos pushed the doors open and made his way from the hall. His strides lengthened, and Urras had to hurry to catch up. The chosen target was not incidental. Urras had spent a great deal of time at Castle Darry. He had become close with several of their children. It was one thing for his father to antagonize him – it was another to pry at his closest friend.

Then again, he had little choice. He would be dragging Urras to do something that he had told him years ago that he wouldn't make him do. If Urras wanted to go off and try his hand at somewhere else in life – join the court at Winterfell, or make east in a ship, Ravos would support him. In his heart of hearts, Ravos knew the man wouldn't leave his side willingly. At least, for now. The Botley's face was paler than usual, and Ravos had no words of comfort to offer. It was how things had to be done.

Part II: Far in Front

The night's sky stretched far over the land, but it was beginning to give way to day. The sky was a deep indigo blue, the last patches of stars beginning to sink back into the sky where it came from. Queen Elayna Lannister was laying on a hastily arranged cot with her husband, her slim back tucked against his chest. The Lannisters had left Harrenhal with speed, her husband having thought the quicker they made it to Casterly Rock, the better.

That had left them with a difficult decision to make – do they stop at a castle along the way, or do they go as fast as they can and stop somewhere on the road? Tybolt had wanted to stop at a castle, where Elayna would be more comfortable. She was pleased and loved him for it, but she had insisted she would be fine. She couldn't put her finger on it, but the castle had unnerved her beyond what she had imagined. The more distance between it and herself felt like a victory.

She was surprised to see that her husband was in a deep slumber at her side. She gave a gentle kiss to his cheek before wriggling from his grasp. She was still wearing the light gold and cream dress she had worn the day before. She grabbed a soft woolen sweater – really, a rag, in all honesty, but it fit over her shoulders nicely and kept her warm. Elayna slid her legs off the side of the cot and winced as white-hot pain laced through it.

She often told Tybolt that the pain was getting better, more manageable, but she knew he saw through the lie. Elayna had just learned to keep her face straight when feeling pain. That was what had gotten her through so far, and she wasn't turning her back on that. She pushed her hands against the cot's edge and helped her to her feet.

Her movements were slow, but purposeful as she walked to the edge of the tent. The sun wouldn't be out yet for another hour or so, but she knew the men would be beginning to awake soon. She didn't try to stride out much anymore, and was more about making it to a destination at all rather than quickly. The Queen had long since learned not to push it – wisdom came with age, after all.

Elayna stared off into the distance, letting her mind wander. It seemed like only yesterday when she had been taken to Casterly Rock to marry Tybolt. How fast those years had passed, how the gods had let them pass so fast, she wasn't sure. Now, she watched her children set off on their own paths, ones more dangerous and rugged than the one she had been on.

In the distance, she could see her son Torek maneuvering through camp. Blonde haired and broad, he looked just like Tybolt did when he was younger. Their personalities were different enough, but he looked so much like his father. Unfortunately, his story was beginning to sound similar to his father's as well. She had seen him talking to a lady back in Harrenhal – a sweet, kind girl from Lannisport.

They didn't need to shore up alliances in Lannisport – Elayna herself had done that when she married Tybolt. Still, she steeled herself to help him when he settled his mind on something. Her husband hadn't let Cerelle choose, so she would make sure her other children could do so. To be honest, if she had told hi that in the beginning, maybe he would've let Cerelle choose. A Tully would do them more help than another marriage with Lannisport could and it wasn't close.

She was surprised when she felt someone sit down on her other side. "Mind if I sit?" The voice was deep and calm.

Elayna turned and smiled. "You may." She patted a spot on the ground beside her. Lord Ryman Bracken was a charming boy, but what she had gleaned from a few of his attendants, he could be too charming at times.

In her youth, she imagined she would've fallen for a boy much like him, if she hadn't met Tybolt. In some ways, they were alike. Handsome, youthful, proud, and strong. Tybolt, however, had always been steady. Never once had she ever felt like he didn't have everything under control. Ryman was like much of the other knights and young men of Westeros – flashy, passionate, and not quite as full of wits as they would have you think.

"This place looks a lot like home," Ryman told her. The Queen turned to look at him, and smiled a little when she saw the wistful look on his face – homesick. She knew that feeling well enough. She was beginning to feel it too. His auburn-brown hair was curly towards the edges, as though it were beginning to grow just a bit too long. The horse on his chest symbolized both him and his house quite well.

"It does?" Elayna inquired. The ceremony was to be held at Casterly Rock, so she wouldn't know Stone Hedge until later in life.

"The little stream that runs down there looks like home." He pointed ahead of them. "It's not this wooded, but if you clear out some of them, I can see it beginning to take shape."

"I'd love to see it someday," Elayna told him truthfully. She was only being polite about his home, but if she got to visit Stone Hedge one day it would mean her daughter was safe and well inside the castle's walls. And, well, if Ryman Bracken could accomplish that much, she would accept him with open arms.

"I'm sure you would love it," Ryman informed her, smiling. "It's not as great a castle as Casterly Rock, but it does have a sense of homeliness to it that I think most would find enchanting."

Elayna smiled and put her hand on his knee, giving it a little squeeze as she looked at him. "If only men loved home as much as they loved war, and much would be solved." A jest it was, but truth hid inside it.

Lord Bracken just nodded. She supposed there was no good answer to her words. To him, she was probably just some woman who didn't want her boys to go off to war. "I'm needed back at the council shortly," Elayna smiled, excusing herself as she got herself to her feet. She could feel Ryman's hands like ghosts behind her back, waiting to see if she would need the support. Oh child, Elayna thought to herself, if I needed help getting up, I wouldn't be getting up.

She turned to him once she was on her feet. Even though she was twenty years his senior, he dwarfed her in size. Elayna gave him a polite smile when he gave her a bow. Yes, she could see what her daughter would see in him. No doubt their children would be beautiful, just as they were. He was no Tybolt, but perhaps he could give her daughter the best version of Ryman he could.

"My daughter…" Elayna began in a slow voice, not sure where she was taking it yet. If she said it too nicely, he wouldn't get the point. Too harshly, and he may distrust her. "My husband cares for her very much. A father's love, you know." A smile crossed her features before she became serious again. "He would do anything to make her happy. If you make her happy, he will do anything for you." She left the last part unsaid: and if you make her unhappy, he will undo you.

"I will treat her as warmly as my halls can." Ryman promised, a hand over his heart. Elayna gave a nod, and she began the slow trek to the main camp.

It laid down deeper in the valley, where the weeds and flowers were beginning to overrun the grass. The Lannister standard fluttered in the wind, the golden lion pouncing atop red. She wasn't sure if it was years of dedication, pride, or something else, but it always made her back stand a little straighter when she saw it.

Her husband was already at the council, her son having made his way to his left side. The seat at his right was unoccupied. Some kings would not seat their wives at a de facto war council, but Tybolt was different. On the other side of the table sat Lords Marbrand, Crakehall, and Lannister of Lannisport. Six, they numbered.

"Wake up too early?" Elayna sank down into a chair while Tybolt murmured to her. His hand squeezed hers gently beneath the table.

"Just in time, I would say." Elayna kissed his cheek.

"Well," Tybolt said in a louder voice, gathering the attention of the small, assembled group. "I don't wish to pollute the wedding with talk of violence and war, so consider this a precursor to what is to come. Torek, please."

His son laid out a map of the Riverlands, with markings of which roads led to which kingdoms out of the land. She could see little markings with the letter I on them, where ironborn were known to frequent. Others were marked with R, raiders and rebels that were common in the northern areas of the Riverlands, particularly near Oldstones and Seagard. Every house in the Riverlands was marked. For a spare bit of a map, her husband traveled with the best that was allowed under the circumstances.

"Stone Hedge is quite a distance from Casterly Rock," Tybolt noted, pointing to it himself and looking at the other lords. "We need to create a safe route from the Bracken lands to our own."

They were silent for a moment before Lord Marbrand spoke, looking at the map carefully. "There are ways…it requires houses to at least accede to our request to send our forces through their lands. Well, willingly or otherwise. Piper, Vance, and…Tully, it would look like. Two of the three at least."

Elayna was quiet, but she knew that the talk between him and Lord Florian hadn't gone as well as he had hoped. Still, there was something to be salvaged there. The right price, support or food, and maybe Riverrun could be bought. A high price, though, would be demanded.

"We cannot leave Riverrun in the hands of the ironborn," Lord Lannister threw up his hands, settling back in his chair. Her own brother, he appealed to Elayna first. "Lord Tully is an honest man; he can be reasoned with."

"We should hope," Torek said. "Most routes to Stone Hedge lead right through Riverrun. Most routes through the Riverlands lead through Riverrun, if we're being honest."

Tybolt gave a wary nod. It was their first error – not even an error yet, Elayna could note, if they could turn things around. If it was the worst one they would make, they would be able to win the war handily. Even though she liked the boy, he would have to see reason as well. There were two ways they would get access to Stone Hedge – willingly or unwillingly. He wouldn't want to see the latter option.

"Your Grace!" A guard pushed open the flap of the tent, holding a piece of parchment in his hand. "A raven came with this. Unsealed." He noted.

It was small, hardly more than a ripped off edge of a page. The guard passed it to Tybolt, who unfurled it. Elayna sat at his side, gazing upon the words herself. She grew tense, cold in her stomach as she read it. They are coming. The handwriting was scrawled as if in a hurry. Who it was, Elayna didn't know. All her husband knew was they needed to leave.

"Get my daughter on a horse," He ordered the guard. "Elayna, you too." He pushed back his chair, lifting her with one of his arms in what she thought was a rather un-queenly way, but she didn't protest. "Leave anything we cannot pack within an hour. We ride then."

Part III: Matrons

The Gardeners' journey south was becoming much more pleasant than some of the other lords and ladies'. The sun had blossomed over the southern portion of the Riverlands, giving them a humid but enjoyable ride. Princess Kathryn Gardener herself felt as though she was going to stick to her horse, grumbling how the sweat would chafe her skin under her breath.

Her eldest sibling rode next to her, his back straight and tall. Dantis was their father's favorite, his heir and everything the Reach had to offer. Their mother treasured him almost as much, though Kathryn knew her mother saw little to enjoy of the boy's wits. Dantis wasn't slow but wasn't the most perceptive either.

Kathryn had grown up knowing her time in the Reach was numbered. The closer that Dantis rode to wedding bells the shorter the time would become. As a girl, she had dreamed of ruling the Reach herself. She would make a better queen than her brother would ever make a king. He could charm them into forgetting his lapses, but in time, they would all see what she saw.

Not to mention that once the Durrandon whore got her hooks into him, she would use him like a puppet. The mouth moving would be his, but the words would be hers. At least her mother seemed to get that bit of it.

To the relief of all, the Gardeners stopped just shortly before Stony Sept. Melessa had convinced her husband not to stop in any major areas, only to pass through. No one knew what kinds of people could be lurking in the shadows of every inn and tavern. Kathryn had to pry herself off the horse's back, cursing a bit under her breath as she attempted to navigate her way down to the ground.

She pushed her dress from her thighs, trying to air herself out. The wind was light and rather unhelpful. Kathryn gathered up the hem of the dress, heading towards a large tree that cast a shadow over a stretch of grass. Princess Gardener refused to sit down, not wanting to add grass into the conundrum.

The area was pretty. Off in the distance, cattle lowed in a farmer's field. Colored black and red and spotted, the animals shuffled along. A small smile passed her lips, the tall green grass barely moving in the slightest of breezes. A clear blue sky had opened above them, with the only clouds off in the distance.

Men, women, and children that had traveled to Harrenhal were all taking pleasure in the break. Even from a distance, Kathryn could see Dantis' tanned skin, laying down in the grass. Beside him was an old crush (and eventual tryst) of hers. Ser Alyn Tyrell, the steward's boy. They fit together well, in Kathryn's opinion. Alyn was very handsome, and was certainly gifted in the right places, but he had been awkward and frankly disappointing in bed. That crush had evaporated soon enough.

A bit to their right, Lady Mina Tarly had a rare smile on her face as she herded a few of Lord Peake's children towards where attendants were handing out water. Lord Hightower stood beside her, along with her own half-brother Harlen Flowers. Scruffy-looking and colored in a bit of an off-Gardener green, he seemed to stick close to the Hightowers lately.

Her people-watching was interrupted when her mother stepped into her view. Her golden hair fell down in curls of its own making. In another life, she could've been mistaken for a Lannister, but she was a Rowan through and through. Seeing her mother reminded her to watch for her garden – the ones that Melessa had charmed, backstabbed or otherwise got them into her service.

There were two men, both knights from Lord Hightower's household, mixing with the lord himself. Her father was surrounded by a few women close to Melessa, and her brother was patrolled by a Fossoway of Cider Hall, another one of Melessa's thorns. None for her, oddly.

"Mother," Kathryn lifted the hem of her dress and stepped out from under the cool reprieve that was the tree's hulking shadow. She took after her mother so much in both appearance and disposition, it was uncanny. The daughter liked to imagine she had bigger sights in her own life than what Melessa had achieved.

It was one thing to be a queen, a wife of a king. It was another to be the queen in your own right. That was what Kathryn had always wanted. Her mother could've had it, too, if she had found a way to get rid of their father years ago. She could've reigned while her children grew up and passed it on when she wanted to. Some lords may have asked questions, but surely the garden could've cleaned it up.

"My dear daughter," The Queen turned and smiled, giving her daughter a warm embrace. She could see a bit of sweat on her mother's brow, a byproduct of the heat they were suffering through.

"Come under the tree, it's cooler," Kathryn held her arm and led her to her sanctuary. The tree's soft fluttering leaves seemed to provide a shield against the morning sun.

"I've been meaning to talk with you," Melessa squeezed her arm, folding her legs beneath her as she sat down on the cold grass below. Her dark green dress fanned out around her, Kathryn politely sitting as well and taking pains that her own dress wouldn't stick to her once again. She knew it would be odd if she continued standing while her mother sat.

"You have?" Kathryn inquired, but it was only formality. Her mother had been trying to get to her all day, but she hadn't been ready to talk yet. The morning was her time to plan how she wanted her day to go – how she wanted everything to go.

"Yes, yes," Melessa waved with her hand, fanning herself to some degree. "Out of all my children, I trust you found something useful of this whole trip?"

Kathryn nodded. She had met a few lords, lords with royal backgrounds, men with lordly ambitions, men with too much ambition. She had seen them all. The second-best thing after being Queen of the Reach would be being Queen of anywhere else. As such, she knew that one of the men she conversed with would more than likely be her king. Assuming, of course, she couldn't change her own trajectory.

"And?" Her mother pressed, lounging back against the bark of the tree.

Kathryn began slowly, working her way through the conversation. "I met many lords. Many Riverlanders I spoke with were rather fond of Lord Blackwood. Long ties run between Raventree Hall and several of them. Unfortunately, it seems the Starks got to them first. After them, the Brackens, Vances, and Mallisters have the best name. From how the Lannister girl was clinging to the Bracken, I'd say they're matched. That left Vance and Mallister. Lady Mallister is an enigma – intelligent, for sure, but still a woman. A strong woman, but a woman nonetheless. She didn't seem to trust me anyway."

Kathryn sighed. Truth be told, she liked the Lady Mallister, but the way the world worked wouldn't fit what they had in mind. "Lord Vance…" She wasn't sure how to put it politely. "A fair man, but unwed at twenty-and-eight? Rumors abounded he preferred the company of men. Getting an heir out of him would be difficult. You told me to talk to all of these venerable houses, and at first, I thought I had come up short. Then, shortly before the wedding, I met another man."

Melessa sat up a bit straighter, leaning forward to listen. "Yes?" She prompted.

"He dressed as fine as a lord, but he wasn't one. By the way he moved, the way his eyes seemed to watch everyone, I knew he wasn't one. He was waiting for someone to make a fuss. Of course, no one paid attention, but that's beside the point. I asked his name, and he said he was Manfryd Teague."

Queen Gardener chuckled a little to herself, putting her hand over her heart. Kathryn didn't make a move, but she felt her mouth trying to frown. She had tried that hard, done a lot of work that her mother didn't even do, and now she was belittling what she had come up with?

"The Teagues have been gone longer than some of these houses have even been around," Melessa told her. "The odds that he is an actual Teague is quite slim."

"No one has to know that," Kathryn said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "We need a house with the right name, and the Teagues are an old house. Bringing them back from nearly the dead could awaken something we didn't know was there."

"I'll think on it, dear." Melessa got up, putting her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "There's no need for us to act rashly now. There will be others seeking glory and renown who will do our work for us." With that, the elder Gardener made her way back to the horses. Many were doing so, getting ready to try and make it to the Reach within the day.

Kathryn got to her own feet, brushing off some grass that had attached to her dress. Her mother was wise in her own ways, but too careful. You needed to be rasher to win more glory than what the world simply gave to you. It was something that Kathryn understood that her family would never.

Part IV: The Spark and Hammer

Rogar had been frustrated ever since they had stepped foot outside of Harrenhal. The Stormland lords and ladies moved as though they were on a stroll through some gardens in Essos rather than trying to make it back to the safety of their castles. Rogar was especially hoping to make it back in good time, worried about what had happened to their rather small force that had been defending the Dornish Marches.

He wasn't for certain, but Rogar felt like he had a good sense of reading people. The ironborn on the last day seemed much different than the other days. Throughout the week they had been partying, drinking, and festive. The last day, they were quiet and watchful as the wedding drew to a close. He was sure other kingdoms were worried as well, but he knew none had more cause to be worried than their own. The ironborn hated the Stormlands, moreso than they did any other kingdom. They were weaker than they had been in generations and were only beginning to turn things around.

Rogar was staying towards the end of the group, watching the three Valyrians from a distance as they rode with them. It was a better vantage point for him personally. They had been going through a rather small village when suddenly, the people in front of him were stopping.

"What's going on?" Rogar demanded, turning towards the nearest knight riding on the outside to protect the lords and ladies.

"Your brother has come upon a sept. He asked your father leave to go and meet the septon, and your father granted it." The knight said plainly, gathering up the reins of his horse and continuing his ride further to the back of the van.

"Seven fucking hells," Rogar swore, turning his own horse to the edge of the riders. He got out into an open path and galloped towards where the village's small sept was located. Indeed, Arthur's horse was saddled up by the front of the rather rough-looking sept. Clearly, the Seven haven't blessed them with money, Rogar thought darkly.

The doors creaked horribly when Rogar pushed them, and for a moment he thought he was going to nearly rip them clean off. He coughed, dust coating every inch of the floor. It seemed the village didn't care much for their sept either.

The septon was on older man, standing at the dais with Arthur standing across from him. The air smelled thick with oils and incense. The septon himself was wearing a rough set of robes of an off-white, grey coloring. His brother's head was bent and he held his own small personal copy of the Seven Pointed Star.

"Arthur," Rogar said firmly as he strode towards them. The boards creaked underneath him, and he had half a mind to cover his nose because of the stench and the dust.

"Good morning, brother," he said, not looking up from where he was gazing at the religious text. "I'm glad you found your way to the sept."

Rogar folded his arms over his chest, the yellow material emblazoned with the Durrandon black stag. They had no time for diversions like this, and his father indulging him would only make him want to stop more along the way. Rogar needed to figure out other problems – like what to do with the trio of Valyrians that were coming south with them. Would they be sent on a ship back to Essos? Or would he have to do something…else with them. He didn't know, and hadn't had the time to figure it out.

"There are plenty of septs along the way. I had hoped we would make it to Rosby or Duskendale within the day, but that seems like a faint and fading hope. Meaningless diversions are not what we need," Rogar told him, grabbing his brother by the arm.

"The light of the Seven is always a good way to begin the day," The septon said in a gravelly tone, fixing Rogar with a blank stare. "You should let it fill your heart, Prince Durrandon."

I don't have time for this, Rogar thought to himself as he put his arm around his brother's shoulders. "We have to keep moving. You've spent your time, now we go." He began to tug him with, but he resisted and stayed put as best he could.

"We haven't even said a prayer," Arthur protested, clutching his book to his chest as though Rogar had mortally wounded him.

"And what can this…this…peddler offer you?" Rogar snapped, tugging Arthur a bit more insistently and making him come with him at that point.

"He's a septon," Arthur was shocked that his own brother would say such a thing. "He serves the Seven, just as all septons do. You would be wise to listen to some of them, and you would be protected by the Warrior and the Smith."

Rogar sighed and just tugged him from the sept, refusing to listen or reply. There was no reason to argue with him, his little brother would never see reason even though it would dramatically affect his health in the future. The two princes made their way from the sept, the one resolved and the other frustrated. "Get on your horse." He barked and let go of him, jogging to his own and lifting himself up onto the horse's back.

With a swift kick, the two were racing towards the front of the Stormlands formation. The King sat atop his horse, his eyes focused back on Rogar where he was galloping towards him, no doubt waiting to see when Arthur was done. To his side was his Hand, Lord Bryce Fell. The two made for an interesting pair – not two you would guess would be close friends and allies.

Erich was broad and bulky where Bryce was slim and proper. Erich had the rich dark hair of the Durrandons, and Lord Fell had taken for Essosi customs and dyed his hair a smooth dark blue. This, of course, wouldn't bother the eastern-focused King, but Rogar knew some of the other lords talked. Quietly, of course, for while Rogar didn't necessarily trust Lord Fell, he was a sharp man.

Rogar knew that the Fell had offered many years of service to his father, and as such he should have little reason to distrust him. But he wasn't his father, after all.

"Father, Lord Hand," He gave an inclination of his head to each of them out of courtesy, staying astride his horse. "We need to increase our pace, we will never make it to Rosby or anywhere near Blackwater Bay if we go at this pace. Arthur's indulgences will only slow us down. Let him read his text on horseback with some of the women if he must, but we cannot stop."

King Erich didn't react one way or another, turning to his Hand first. His voice was measured and calmer than what Rogar felt. "Your brother has chosen a difficult, but pious path. He knows his duty."

Rogar snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out in front of them where a messy path lay ahead. Was he insinuating he didn't know his duty? He had offered years of his life to fighting the Dornish in the Marches, he had come away from aiding his men at a moment's notice to get his father's summons back to Storm's End. He had gone to Harrenhal when he had asked, without question.

"Your father speaks justly," Lord Fell's light voice trailed like a whisper upon the wind. "There are many routes in life, and one is not more important than another. The King has followed a path of trade and commerce to enrich our nation, one that is beginning to bear fruit. King Harrik Hoare uses blood and terror to bend his nation into submission. I think we all agree which one we prefer, but does one work better than another?" Lord Fell shrugged and spread his arms. "Only the future will tell us."

Rogar was tired of men preaching to him, whether it was Arthur and his ilk, or Lord Fell and his lessons covered in silhouettes. "Let's get on with it." He waved his hand, turning on his horse to return to the end of the van where he could keep a careful watch on the Valyrians that he had let slip from his view.

"King Hoare showed another way, as well," His father told him before he had left. "Weddings bind kingdoms."

A shadow crossed over the heir's face, and he whipped his horse out of the group. A little stream bent down to their right, and some of the women had been at it before gathering water for some of the more parched members. The horse galloped its way to the crystal water, and Rogar tossed himself from its neck. Half the ladies in the realm are insane, and the other half are only in it for the crown, he thought to himself. Rogar didn't detest the idea of getting married, per se, but he did detest the options he was often presented with.

He thought himself stupid for not realizing why his father may have called him away from the battles with Dorne. It wouldn't be long before he was expected to marry, and he was beginning to think his father wouldn't even wait for his opinion any longer. People whispering ideas in his ear, more like, Rogar thought and snorted as he kicked a rock into the water. People like Lord Fell. And his mother.

The rock bounced on another towards the shallow surface, and he saw it land near another knight that sat further downstream. Rogar muttered an apology to the green-clad knight, only then realizing it wasn't a knight at all. The lady was clad in green, and the silver crescent on her leather only confirmed what he had been dreading – another Fell.

Lady Elia, the first of Lord Bryce's many daughters, was thought of as a bit of an outsider in all of the Stormlands. She enjoyed fighting as much as any man, and could drink many under the table. She was slim and angular, but tall and strong as well. Her hair was black, but it seemed lighter than Rogar's own.

"Prince Durrandon," Elia said in a clear voice, sitting back against the wet grass along the stream. "I hope you can recognize me."

"Of course." Rogar replied. The two had known each other in childhood, especially being the eldest children of the two most powerful men in the kingdom, it was only natural they would know one another well.

"Got tired of everyone else?" She guessed, folding her arms in her lap. When Rogar nodded, she chuckled a little bit to herself. "Always the same." She told him.

Rogar frowned, looking at the company of Stormlanders who were only now just beginning to move. He was trying his best to stay calm, but he was getting antsier by the minute. "War is coming, Lady Fell. Plain as day, I can see it, but so few others can."

"They can see it," Elia told him. "They only react differently. Not everything in war is as we would have it – hitting people with hammers and swords. An important part, of course." She gave him a wry smile. "But a lot of it is statesmanship, diplomacy, making allies. That is what they are trying to do."

"If we don't have swords and hammers, we lose. And then our so-called friends from Highgarden will pick upon our corpse just as much as they devour the Hoares'." Rogar said irritably.

"The Gardeners are not my favored choice of ally," Elia agreed, leaning back against the grass. "Shifty and tricky folk, I grant you. But we won't be attached with them, for our aims are entirely different. House Gardener has never held the Riverlands, they do not know the pain it takes to keep it. Put a house in charge, no matter who it is, they will turn on you eventually for more power of their own. They will prop up some house or another, and we will not. The Riverlands can only be ruled by one house, not two."

Rogar listened to her speak, and as she did so, he could hear some noises coming from the main group on the road. First, it sounded like a man was shouting at another, then a couple more. Soon, he turned and saw what it truly was.

Dark-armored men were punching a hole straight through the group's center. He could hear the screams of ladies as they took off, trying to lead their horses away from their pursuers. Angry and scared faces filled his vision, and he could see knights of the Stormlands trying to pull their weapons in time before arrows caught them.

He turned to Elia, and she was already up with a sword in hand. Rogar ran with her back, only a short distance but they had no time to waste. Rogar cursed himself for leaving his hammer with some of his other belongings, leaving his horse behind and racing at the nearest man. A lady was on the ground, her dress torn and bloodied beneath the man. She had her mouth open, but no sound was coming out. The Durrandon prince pushed him off of her, and the two tumbled to the ground.

Rogar lacked a weapon, and he kicked at the man's wrist. The sword came loose and clattered to the ground a few feet from the both of them, rendering it useless to either one. Rogar took a punch to the gut, but he was more focused on wrenching the man's helm off. It was a crude sort of metal, and it wasn't hard to do so. He tossed it aside and was unsurprised to see the cold face of an ironborn beneath it. Not an important one, to Rogar at least, so he pushed him away and leapt for the man's sword, turning around and swinging it in an arc that split the man's head open in a red rain. All around them, he could see Stormlanders beginning to get the upper hand. Some were running the men literally into the ground with their horses, others swinging swords to defend their wives and daughters as well as children.

In the distance, he could see Arthur dueling with an ironborn twice his size, defending their mother who was backed up against a tree with her horse. It was a small wonder the stallion hadn't bolted yet, but Rogar wasn't going to allow it the chance. He raced in that direction, pulling one of his sisters from her horse on the way. "Get to father!" He yelled at Luxinia, pointing to where the King had a defensive circle that was growing with each moment.

Prince Rogar dashed down the column, making it just in time to thrust his sword into the ironborn's side to stop him from gaining the advantage over his sibling. He bent down and lifted his mother up, turning back to see the remnants of ironborn were scampering back into the woods. We need to hurry. Rogar thought to himself.

The ground was littered with bodies. Ladies with dresses stained with blood, lords in their fine tunics crushed by their own horses, ironborn ran through with pikes and swords. Faces looked up at them, but each and every one was dead or dying. The remnants huddled in small groups, making sure what family they had left was safe and accounted for.

"There is no time," His father stepped out, his own sword bloody at his side. His eyes were a bit dazed. "We make for the nearest keep that will suit us. Get the remaining horses together, we ride at once." His voice was sturdy enough for the men and women remaining, they shuffled in their shock to do as he had bid. The opening shot had been fired. It was time to rally what they could and make it back.

Author's Note: First of all, I would like to thank all of you for your support and nice notes as I tried to navigate this chapter. I didn't want to stretch this break beyond two weeks since I know that can get dangerous with apathy filling in. I just wanted to take this opportunity to fill you guys in on my process, what I'm thinking, and maybe just some clarifications.

The first thing is directly to do with most of you – using characters in the story. I do my best, but in the end, I try to use the most relevant characters to push the plot as I can. That's why you will see more of the Royal houses than any other. However, that doesn't mean that other characters won't be central to the story. Haven't seen your character in a few chapters (a character)? It is not personal, I promise.

A good way to remind me is to send me a quick PM just letting me know what you thought of the chapter, or any thoughts you had on the story. Another good way is reviewing. If I see someone has reviewed, it immediately lets me know that people are still paying attention. If those people are paying attention, I want to reward them with character interaction in the chapters. The fact of SYOCs are that sometimes people submit a character, but then drop off the face of the Earth after chapter 1 ;) most of you know that! Reviewing and PMing me are good ways to remind me to include your characters. Most of you who review, I include your characters a lot as it is (both due to the reviewing and due to the types of characters submitted). Doesn't apply to everybody. Does not have to be every chapter either, just a quick note every now and then (every three chapters maybe) works just as well as a long review.

The second thing is just a general update with posting from now on. It's August, and its officially time for me to go to university. My schedule right now seems light to me, but who knows. It is my first year after all! I move in August 19th, so posting that week (due the 21st), the next week (28th), and the week after (September 4th), may not be every week. There won't be a three-week hiatus, but there's a chance of just one update, or two, depending on my schedule.

I also am going to transition to Saturday updates. My schedule during the week, predictably, is changing a lot. I still have Fridays off, by some grace of God, but that is probably the day where I need to plan chapters out, and Saturday will be the posting day. I hope not to change from a weekly posting schedule to every two weeks, but I'll keep you all in the know on that as well.

The last thing is a more personal/reader update. As many of you probably noticed, this chapter took me a bit longer than I anticipated. Generally, there are a couple reasons for me personally how this could happen: time, apathy, or another interest. Time wasn't a factor as much this time but could in the future with school. Apathy is another, where I get tired and just can't get in the mood to write. Again, this wasn't exactly it but could have played a slight factor.

This time it was another interest. I've been in a Lord of the Rings discord server (LotR) now for about four months. It is the only other interest I have besides Game of Thrones that can hook me for that long. Out of the blue last week, I was in a very extreme Lord of the Rings mood. It coincided with one of my friends had never watched the series, and we had a marathon. I got a very strong inkling to write a story for Lord of the Rings.

Now, when I get in one of these moods, I generally have two options: wait for it to pass or put something on the page. Some things (like Harry Potter, Hunger Games, etc.) I know won't last long, so I wait for it to pass within a few days. Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones, like I said, are the fandoms that can hook me hardest. So, I decided to put something on the page. I'm rather happy with it, and think it is a good exercise for my setting writing.

I've learned through my time on that writing two stories (especially SYOCs) usually is not a good idea. Right now, none of this changes the current schedule: Summer's Squall will continue to have weekly updates. When I get these LotR ideas, I'll write them privately and maybe release the story later when this one has gotten deeper in (15-20 chapters at least). If you're curious about what it might be about (it is also intended as an SYOC if it goes up), feel free to reach out. I'm happy to share.

What does this change for this story? In essence, nothing. I just wanted to make you all aware of what I was thinking and doing these last few weeks (not nothing! ;) ). This has been a lengthy author's note, so I just want to cap it all off by thanking all of you for the attention this story has received. It has truly blown me away. Almost 70 reviews, over 5300 views, 27 favorites and 20 follows. I didn't expect that when we started in my wildest dreams. So thank you, and I hope you enjoyed this lengthy chapter (and author's note!).

I hope you enjoyed this latest, longest chapter. The next chapter will be just as pivotal as this one, so I hope you're looking forward to it!