Aka: Yeah Catelyn gets a lot of bad PR in the fandom because of her treatment of Jon, but she isn't so bad.

TMI: She's running on what she heard, not the best of ideas when you don't really know who you're talking to.

iacopo: Quentyn trusts Nymeria enough to let her know that he has a gut feeling Renly's not going to last long.

Svenion: Dacey for who? Robb? Unlikely.

Malguss: Thanks, that is the goal, I try to flesh out each character as closely to the book version as possible.

ATP: Even if he could, they probably wouldn't believe him.

Guest: Yep, a lot of stuff happening, and a lot of butterflies flying. I killed Jaime and Roose off because I didn't really need them in the story, and their storylines wouldn't really have mattered that much considering the wither of the Frey situation for Roose and future events for Jaime. Most likely thing that happens to the Dreadfort now is that Robb reviews who is heir and if he is worth legitimizing, he finds out about Ramsay's really horrible stuff and has him executed. He will probably hold on to the Dreadfort for a while until a worthy house comes along. Notice also that Daryn has lived, which means he will be able to marry Alys. Hornwood is very much alive. As for Jaime and the Lannister situation, it's a bit worse than canon but not terrible, and yes, Kevan will go serve as Hand (and save Sansa from Cersei's wrath in the process, although she's taken a beating in the meantime).

The main butterfly as well is that with half of the Northern host out of action, Robb relies much more on Edmure compared to canon, and won't really be able to invade the Westerlands unless Edmure throws his support on this endeavour (which he won't, too focused on getting his own bannermen's castles back). Won't stop Robb from trying, though.

ATP: You're assuming a lot of things. One of them being that Stannis' host has exactly the same numbers as in his canon attempt. The North has been dealt quite a blow, better to talk about North+Riverlands here.

Shuda (even though we're on chapter 4): Not uncommon to see twin siblings share a room if they're close enough and the room is spacious enough.

I love m4gic: I'd love to see your source on that unbreakable glass if you still have it, that sounds pretty neat.

Catelyn

The mood in Renly's camp had turned completely sour with news of Stannis besieging Storm's End. It had seemed that everyone except the Reachers and Stormlanders had seen this coming, yet Renly turned a blind eye to it, dismissing his brother's claim.

Stannis was not a man to let go so easily.

Yet Renly did react swiftly, riding forth with his cavalry while the rest of his infantry followed closely behind, with much of it staying at Bitterbridge. As such, she rode with her northern party along with Renly's cavalry, following the Roseroad, then to Fawnton, through the Kingswood towards Felwood, and finally to the south and Storm's End.

The mood had quickly fallen in Renly's camp, but it had stayed high with her traveling companions. Never in her wildest dreams did she think to ride with a Dornish host towards Storm's End, but neither did she think she would have to accompany her son to war or witness him be crowned king. And if she was honest, the Dornishmen were much better company than expected.

Although it was certainly hard to adjust to their bluntness and sometimes extreme straightforwardness, they weren't what she had been told about them, and never acted with a complete lack of respect or dignity towards her or her party.

She was surprised to discover that the Dornish did abide by the faith, when she had thought that they had forsaken it for the Rhoynish gods or Lyseni gods of love, and had written as much to Bran and Rickon in her last letter.

"Only a sizeable minority of the Dornish people still follow the Rhoynish gods." Ser Gulian Qorgyle had told her. "The Orphans of the Greenblood, namely. But while the Rhoynar brought their customs and pride with them, the Andals kept their gods, and slowly, the Rhoynar converted to the faith. Although the Dornish faith is much different from yours, my lady, for its laws were interpreted and changed in order to fit the traditions of the Rhoynar."

"Sunspear's sept is one of the largest in the kingdoms, and hundreds come to worship there." A knight from house Cassien, one of the small lower nobility houses along the Greenblood, told her. "It is true that the traditions dictated by the faith in the other kingdoms vary from ours, but it does not affect our belief in the seven heavens and the seven hells. Nearly all dornishmen swear by the seven-pointed-star, marriages are celebrated by a septon of the faith, and Sunspear's septon has a place at Sunspear's grand court along the nobility and a representative of the smallfolk or the Orphans."

"A large part of why Dorne decided to stand against the invaders despite the devastation the dragons inflicted during the conquest was, in part, indirectly due to the faith." Ser Cletus Yronwood had told her as well. "When Aegon Targaryen came to Dorne for the second time, after the Widow-lover's stupid stunt with Orys and his host, he burnt down Yronwood. Many of the smallfolk sought refuge in Yronwood's sept, which at the time was located in the upper parts of the city, nowhere near any troops. With Aegon crowned by the faith, they had thought that he would spare the sept. Unfortunately, the dragon had no concern with the faith, and Yronwood's sept was burned along with the hundreds of men, women and children in it. After that, every single able-bodied person in Yronwood's lands promised to fight to the death against the Targaryens, lest the dragons rule over a pile of corpses."

And indeed, many knights of the Dornish party held faith-like trinkets and held evening prayers where they would ask for the well-being of their families in Dorne. She would sometimes join them, but did still feel as an outsider, as the prayers were short, never lasting long.

There were still many things that she could not understand or fully adapt to, though. The women in their camp for one. Catelyn knew that women of certain professions would often follow army hosts, but the Dornish had several warrior women in their party. Although, there too, she was surprised to see that the tales were not true. Not all Dornishwomen fought. She only counted twenty in the two-hundred strong host.

That was something she would have to ask about, as well, with the Dornish welcoming her and those of her party who wished to join to their supper, just like tonight.

She found a few dornishmen around a large fire, and, seeing her, beckoned her to come and sit down with them. It seemed like the prince was in discussion with his squire, Lord Dayne.

"Do I have to marry one of them?" the Dayne boy asked his audience, seemingly afraid.

It didn't take long for her to know what they were talking about. The young Dayne had been found abed with two of Lord Rowan's daughters, in quite an obscene position too, if the rumors of the Reachers were to be believed. The Dornish didn't deny it, and of course played it off as Lord Rowan overreacting.

"Not unless you want to." The prince shrugged. "Do you want to?"

"I don't think so." The Dayne boy shuddered. "I'm too young to marry."

"Shame." The prince chuckled. "An alliance with the Rowans would have been beneficial and…"

"Quentyn!" Ser Gulian Qorgyle hissed while the other laughed. "You're scaring the lad."

"Sorry." Was the prince's answer, but his sly smile made it clear that he wasn't sincere.

It was during these few days that she got increasingly confused the man in front of her, the heir to Dorne. She had heard tales, one more unbelievable than the other, which made him seem like a boy who didn't truly exist.

Yet the scarred man was standing there, in front of her, listening to one of the big Yronwood's knight's stories. He was certainly shorter than she imagined, and had some intriguing features. His close relationship with his bastard cousin aside, he was always polite and respectful to her or anyone in her party, and had apparently ordered everyone in the Dornish host to treat them with the utmost respect.

He was smart and well-versed in the history of Westeros too, knowing houses of the North even she didn't know in such detail despite living there for five-and-ten years, and he kept a book of drawing he had made about their travels which he was keen to show her.

"How else can I remember the ruins of Summerhall, the walls of Stonehelm or the birds flying above us on the Roseroad? He had mused. The young prince had a thing for wild animals, and many had told him that he had paid a hefty sum for specimens reaching from as far away as Sothoryos.

She hadn't had a chance to see his skill at arms, but the whispers she had gathered pointed to the prince having slain at least another knight already. Perhaps, that is where he got the scar that cracked along his face? It certainly made him look menacing.

There was something more to him, though. A dark side to the "little prince" as the Dornishmen called him. The scar that rippled across his face was a testament to that, but the prince had a few other scars on his face, neck and arms. Bruises for the most part, but also slight cuts, deeper scars and even bite marks. She very much knew where these were coming from. Lucas Blackwood had accidentally stumbled into their tent and caught them in the act. It turns out that instead of being incensed, the prince asked him if he wanted to join them. Added to that, every night during their trip through the Kingswood, the prince would disappear with a few knights into the darkness, and right out of her sight, would apparently talk with men coming and going out of the darkness. His maester was just was mysterious, an old man with a mischievous eye, who didn't answer to the name of maester, and was apparently kicked from the Citadel for having dealt with magic. And finally, there was his little frog that he kept around as much as he could. A good luck token from the Rhoynar, his companions had told her, but she felt uneasy every time that she looked into its eyes. It was as if the animal was observing her, judging her.

Yet the man sitting in front of her, near the fire, although not joyful, had set aside this dark aura for tonight.

"Tea, my lady?" the prince asked.

"If you please, my prince, with thanks."

"Lemon or mint?"

"Lemon, if you will."

This was another advantage of staying with the Dornishmen. The food that they'd brought was much better than the daily rations of oats, bread, and the odd game that they'd find in the woods.

They had brought dornish tea, which had different flavors from Dorne: Lemons from Lemonwood, Mint from Bloodgrove and Strawberries from Ghost Hill. In addition, they had things called "Sand Witches", which consisted of meat and cheese slapped between two pieces of bread.

"Easier to carry, easier to eat, even while on horseback." A Dornish knight had told her.

Added to that, the dried fruit, of which you could only eat a couple lest you empty your guts on the side of the road, rice from Yi-Ti, although this one was apparently grown in Dorne, honey, spices, milk, cereal, potatoes and nuts. It was quite a change from the diet they'd endured for the past few weeks, riding from Riverrun and avoiding the Lannister forces along the Goldroad.

Catelyn relaxed as she brought the small cup to her mouth, her body allowing itself to enjoy the warmth and taste for a brief moment. It was then that she finally brought herself to ask the question that had been hanging on her lips for the past few days.

"Tell me, my prince." She cleared her throat. "Dorne is renowned for their warrior women, is it not? Yet since I have been here, I have only seen ten or twenty, why is that?"

The prince made to speak, but it was the Viper's daughter that beat him to it.

"While it is true that Rhoynish law dictates that women, if born before men, will inherit, and that women in Dorne are treated much better in Dorne than in the kingdoms north of the Marches, Dornish warrior women are a rarity, my lady." The bastard said with a sly smile. "Dornishwomen will know how to defend themselves, that you can be sure of. I do not know of a woman in Dorne who does not know how to use a dagger or know of poisons, but few and far between are those like I and my elder sister who choose to wield arms. Only the bravest do, for they know what their fate will be if they are captured, and as such always carry poison on their person."

Catelyn felt slightly light-headed at that. She knew what men were capable of doing in war, and there was sense to what the prince's cousin was saying.

"The myth of dornish warrior women was likely propagated by the Reachers, to show how cruel the men were, to let their women fight." Ser Gulian added. "Dorne, as with every insult they have been thrown, turned it from an insult to something to be proud about."

"Dornishwomen, although they do not fight, do have critical roles in the Dornish host." The bastard added. "Women are usually the ones to train and breed the famed Dornish sand steeds, like the ones we have here. It is also they who take charge of much of the logistics, and finances of such an endeavor. Lady Alyse Ladybright, for example, is one of my father's most trusted friends, and serves as lady treasurer to Sunspear. It is not uncommon in Dorne for women to hold such practices, but it is indeed very much less common to see them fight. Only one woman in twenty will choose to bear arms, if that."

"I thank you for your…in-depth explanation, my lady."

"The pleasure is all mine, but…" the dornish bastard trailed off. "…don't you have warrior women in the North too? Quent told me of House Mormont and their shieldmaidens."

"True." It was Wendel Manderly that spoke up, his mouth half-filled with a dried apricot. "The Mormont women are usually the ones doing the fighting. The men would go out at sea and fish, or go inland to get timber. The women though, they would have to stay in their homes, but their homes were usually the target of ironborn or wildling raids. And so, they took up arms, and to this day, every man or woman in house Mormont knows how to wield a weapon, for their lives depend on it."

"It sounds as these Mormont women would make fine dornish spears." The dornish bastard smirked at her princely cousin.

"I doubt they are half as beautiful as ours." The prince smiled at her, earning him a little punch in the shoulder.

"Tell me, my prince." Catelyn coughed. "I have told you of my home, be it the North or the Riverlands. I told you of our customs, our traditions our pride and our tales, and you have done the same, but I have yet to hear a Dornish tale. I cannot imagine that they are the same as ours, and we have not gotten word of any tales when I was a young girl, in Riverrun."

"That is an odd request, my lady." The prince's eye twitched. "I fear Dornish tales are quite the same as yours. They talk about beautiful maidens and young knights, of glory, of battles and of deception. That, or the tales go on and on, and seem to never end."

"Still, my prince, it is not every day you get to hear a Dornish tale." She insisted.

The prince thought for a few moments, and turned to his companions asking for advice. There was mumbling, but in the end, his lover ended up speaking up:

"What about the story of the false prince?"

"The prince and the tailor?" he asked.

Ser Gulian nodded.

"Very well, then." The prince nodded. "There once was a tailor from Lemonwood whose name was Olyvar. Olyvar was dissatisfied with his work of being a tailor, and dreamt of more than just that. One day, he received an order from the Princess of Dorne to make a set of princely garbs for the heir to Dorne who was due to come back from fosterage. Olyvar made the sets, but kept the most expensive one for himself, and left Lemonwood.

He knows not where he will end up, but he ends up crossing the Greenblood, visiting Planky Town and roaming up the river towards Godsgrace. While at Godsgrace, he meets a young man by the name of Qoren. Qoren is on his way to see his mother in Sunspear, and the two quickly become friends.

Olyvar follows Qoren back to the Planky Town, and while on their way there, Qoren reveals that he is the heir to Dorne, having been fostered since he was two namedays old in Skyreach. And as they talk, Olyvar becomes disenchanted with who he thought was his friend. He sees too much first man blood in him, and does not see the true blood of the Rhoynar. He thinks Qoren to be weak, incapable and unworthy, and decides to take the prince's seat for himself, for he shares Qoren's dark hair and skin tone.

One night, Olyvar leaves his companion in the night, and rides forth to the Sun's gate of Sunspear, where he presents himself as Prince Qoren. He answers the questions from the guards, and gives them a dagger with the sun and spear of House Martell that was given to his foster father as a gift to return once his fosterage had ended, on his twentieth nameday.

The whole court is enchanted by Olyvar, and he quickly grows into his role. He is just and merciful, and his talents are admired by everyone. However, Qoren eventually makes his way to Sunspear too, to Olyvar's horror. Qoren asks to see Olyvar, but the tailor refuses and dismisses him as an insane pretender.

However, Qoren's arrival has caused a stir in court, and Princess Sylva's husband, prince-consort Vincent has grown suspicious. To ease his suspicions, Princess Sylva organizes a test. Since one is supposedly a tailor, she tasks them both to make the most beautiful Martell doublet possible. Olyvar, of course, makes a sumptuous garb, but Qoren fails miserably."

It should end there, then.

"Princess Sylva is now completely taken aback. She does not know which one is really her son, and fears that the fake prince would've failed the task on purpose. Therefore, she seeks advice from the Old Lady of the Rhoyne, the ancient of the Orphans. The Old Lady tells her not to worry, and has the princes sent to her on the banks of the Greenblood.

On the banks of the Greenblood, she takes the prince each on their own and makes them pick between two boxes, with inscriptions made of pure diamonds. On one of them there is the inscription Honor and Glory while the other reads Happiness and Wealth. Qoren chooses the former, while Olyvar chooses the latter.

The Old Lady then brings them before the court at Sunspear, and has them open the boxes. Qoren's box contains a crown of suns and spears with a sceptre, while Olyvar's contains a needle and a thread. Horrified, Olyvar begs Qoren for mercy, but Qoren takes him aside.

He tells him that Olyvar is his uncle's bastard son, and they share the same blood. Qoren became enamored with the Fowler heir, Jennelyn, and had decided to marry her. Should he have accepted his first offer, they would have swapped places. But Olyvar was arrogant, and now Qoren is sad because although he thinks Jennelyn will accept to become his wife, that she will have to leave her place as heir and her family that she loves too. As such, Qoren does not punish Olyvar, and instead exiles him to Myr.

Olyvar is devastated, of course, and considers jumping off of the ship to make things right. However, once in Myr, he decides to start anew and sells the diamond box to open his own shop, using the needle and thread he received from the Old Lady. To his surprise, he discovers that the needle and thread are magical, and that the needle never breaks and even sews whenever he sleeps, and the thread never ends. Thanks to the Old Lady, Olyvar achieves the wealth and happiness he always craved, even if he did not become a prince."

"A touching tale, but the princess should have punished Olyvar harder." Catelyn frowned. "No mother who just saw her child spurned by another would have let him get out with no consequences."

"I dislike the tale, too, but for other reasons." The prince replied. "I dislike it because of the boxes. The choice Olyvar made wasn't wrong. Why would happiness and wealth be the wrong choice? Admittedly, honor and glory are fine, but what is the point when you cannot share it with someone you love? When you cannot bring yourself to live a happy life, sharing your wealth with the ones you need? There was no wrong choice in what the Old Lady proposed them."

"It's but a tale." The dornish bastard smile. "Tales don't need to make sense."

"I agree." Ser Gulian also nodded. "And in my opinion, the choice reflected what both of them desired, not necessarily what a prince of Dorne would want to uphold as their own values. Because the real prince chose Honor and Glory, it was under it that the crown lay. Not because it was the wrong choice, but that's because of who the real prince was."

"Tales are open to interpretation, that's what makes them so fond to read and hear, no?" Catelyn asked, handing her empty tea cup to the Qorgyle heir. "I am thankful for your company tonight, but we will be riding hard tomorrow, and I fear that I need to rest. My bones are not that young anymore."

"Goodnight, my lady." The Dornishmen waved, staying a bit longer in the cold.

They reached Storm's End two days later, and soon a parlay was organized between Renly and Stannis.

She of course arrived first, direwolf banner floating in the air near Durran's massive keep. The Dornish were soon to follow, with the sun and spear of the Martells being quite an odd sight in these regions.

Of course, Renly and Stannis waited a little longer, with Stannis arriving first and Renly arriving last. And while she was practiced in waiting, she could see that the Dornish were much less willing to partake in this little game, and many of them were already fidgeting or uneasy. Their prince though, was more focused on looking at the impressive battlements of Storm's End, no doubt looking to draw them at a more opportune moment. Unless, that is, he already did so.

Lord Stannis greeted her, and offered condolences for her husband, yet added that he was no friend of his, which slightly angered her.

"He was never your enemy, my lord. It was Lord Eddard who broke the siege here, when you were besieged by the Tyrells."

"At my brother's command." Lord Stannis pointed out. "He did his duty; I will not deny it. Have I ever done less? I should have been Robert's hand."

"That was your brother's doing. Ned never wanted it."

"Yet he took it all the same. Still, I give you my word that there will be justice for his murder."

"Another king that is quick to promise heads he does not possess." Prince Quentyn chuckled loudly besides her, resuming her thoughts quite well.

"Prince Quentyn, I did not expect you to find you here, either." Lord Stannis turned his head ever so slightly.

"Just doing my duty for my house, your grace." The prince shrugged. "I'm sure you can understand."

"Duty to what, Prince Quentyn?" he asked. "Dorne is part of the Seven Kingdoms yet I find you with my traitor brother. Shouldn't you be at my side, instead of his?"

"I am no less at his side than I am on yours, your grace." The prince answered simply. "I was tasked to seek which king would give us justice, and it so happens that your brother was the first one I met."

He had a way with words, this one. He called Lord Stannis, "your grace", just like he did Renly. The Dornish were truly on no one's side yet, and it seemed like they would only be on whose side gave them their vengeance.

"What happened to your kin was a terrible crime, one that shames House Baratheon." Lord Stannis admitted. "I shall rectify that mistake when I bring the traitorous, incestuous Lannisters to heel."

Catelyn remembered the letter that prince Quentyn had shown her, signed by Stannis Baratheon, which revealed that Robert's supposed children by the Queen were actually bastards born from a relation between Cersei Lannister and her brother, Jaime, the kingsguard, who now lay on the fields of Riverrun. Would Cersei even have been so mad? But it had made sense, with all that happened…

She didn't make out what Prince Quentyn answered to Lord Stannis, too deep in her thoughts, but she did make out what Prince Quentyn whispered.

"And you, Stannis Baratheon, stood as Master of Ships for longer than Renly was Master of Laws and you stood aside and did nothing when we asked for justice. Like the others."

"Your brother promised us both the same you offered." She finally spoke again. "But truth be told, and speaking only for myself, I wish to have my daughters back."

"If I find your children when I take the city, I shall send them to you." Stannis' tone implied nothing good.

And so, they bickered, about why Stannis hadn't taken the capital, and went here instead. About how Robb had been crowned King in the North, and was looking to make friends, not enemies.

"King have no friends." Stannis had answered bluntly. "Only subjects and enemies."

It was Renly in his shining armor that saved her, taking to the field himself, with Brienne of Tarth to carry his banner. The two traded words, while she helplessly looked on at the two who were once brothers, being ready to kill each other for a crown.

At her side, she could see the scarred prince was growing uneasy, and reached for his pouch, bringing out the frog that had been hiding there.

"Listen Achilles, I know the red woman looks scary." He spoke to him, as if it understood him. "And she scares me too, but you are going to have to stop moving around your pouch all the time, otherwise I am going to go mad with you pushing around my chest all the time."

The frog croaked once before pouncing back into the prince's cloak. By then, the two were already talking about battle. Catelyn tried to calm them down and make them see reason. There was a common foe to be beaten.

"The whole realm denies your claim, brother." Renly laughed openly. "Old men, unborn children in their mother's wombs. They deny it in Dorne, and they deny it at the Wall. No one wants you for their king. Sorry."

"They do not seem to deny it in Dorne considering they funded quite a bit of my fleet." Stannis scoffed. "Did you not, Prince Quentyn?"

Renly's face turned towards the prince, whose face had turned quite red.

"Well, we had trade agreements, your grace. I hardly consider that funding your fleet." He tried to defend himself, albeit not very convincingly. "What you do with our gold is not of our concern."

It looked as if Renly was slapped in the face, but prince Quentyn quickly regained his composure.

"However, you are a bit too quick in thinking Dorne would bend the knee to you, your grace." The prince straightened up. "The last time we bent the knee to a king who burned his enemies alive, it did not go very well. Especially since you went after the faith."

Catelyn's face went white.

"What?" she looked to Lord Stannis, whose face concealed any emotion.

"It was necessary." Stannis shrugged.

"Burning a sept was necessary?" Quentyn scoffed. "The last time someone tried to do that in Dorne, it did not go over very well. And these men had dragons. Tell me, your grace, why in the seven hells did you decide to burn down the sept of the Conqueror?"

"So that Lightbringer might be forged and Azor Ahai may be reborn in salt and smoke." The red priestess answered for him. "He will be the light that brings the dawn, and the false gods burned so that R'hllor could forge the hero that will save the realms of men."

"If only you knew…" Prince Quentyn whispered. She did not hear the rest as she stood there, horrified.

Stannis had burned a sept. And the statues of the gods. He would find no friends in the Riverlands, that he could be sure of.

"You…you burned your gods?" Catelyn finally made out.

"I stopped worshipping these gods then they sank the Windproud in the bay and made me watch helplessly as my parents drowned beneath my feet. They have done nothing for me. The Red god however, he has shown me signs. Of my destiny, of my fate. He has given me power." Lord Stannis continued, stoic as ever as he just shrugged one of the greatest abominable acts he could have committed. "You can bend the knee or be destroyed. I will not burn your septs, for they are not mine to burn, but I shall give you the torches should you want them."

Catelyn stood dumbfounded, while it seemed Renly's escort was seething with rage. Despite this, Renly remained calm and continued his tirade about how Stannis should bend the knee to him.

Too shocked by what she had heard, she collected her emotions and her wits for a moment. But did she really want to, anymore? She was sent here to negotiate an alliance between her son and Renly, not between the Baratheon brothers. And although she desperately wanted them to form a common front against the Lannisters for the time being, did she really want an alliance with a man who burned the sacred house of the gods?

It turns out that she didn't have to make that choice. Ser Archibald inquired of her wellbeing, and noticed that Lord Stannis had left the field.

It had all been for naught. The Baratheon brothers would kill each other and soak the Stormlands with blood, while Robb and Edmure, and their broken host, tried to face the lions alone. And even though the Dornish seemed quite eager to wet their swords with Lannister blood, there were still the Red Mountains and Dornish Marches between them and any road to King's Landing.

She felt very tired as they headed back towards camp, where she took part in Renly's war council. Of course, Rowan advised caution and Tarly advised to finish Renly as soon as possible. It had seemed like Renly had chosen the Huntsman's option.

"My lord." She said aloud. "If you are set on battle, my purpose here is done, I ask you leave to return to Riverrun."

"You do not have it." Renly replied swiftly.

"I came to help you make a peace. I will not help you make a war."

"I daresay we shall prevail without your five-and-twenty, but I wish to see what befalls rebels with your own eyes so that your son hears it from your own lips. You shall not be put into danger, do not fear."

Catelyn's heart sank and she didn't hear any of the lords bickering about the upcoming dispositions of battle.

"Prince Quentyn." Renly frowned, looking at the young dornishman, who unlike her, seemed to very much enjoy what was going on.

"Your grace?" he asked.

"We have things to discuss. I expect you to be in my tent tomorrow at dawn whilst I prepare with Ser Brienne."

The young prince's face went completely pale.

"Erm…very well your grace. May I have a few of my men for protection?" he asked.

"Fine." Renly growled. "Ser Loras. Ser Robar. You will stay with the Dornish at all times until the battle starts. I do not wish to end up with a dornish dagger or sword in my back."

The two knights acknowledged their liege's order, and looked at the Dornish with disdain.

She spared another look at prince Quentyn, whose blood had seemed to drain from his face. What had scared him so? Did he really plan on killing Renly? It made little sense if he did.

She saw him turn to his lover and whisper in her ear, right beside her.

"We are so screwed."