MLG: The Tyrells are mostly flying blind in regards to Dorne, notably by underestimating how popular Quentyn is, true, but their plan in regards to the 7K is still sound. They still hold the largest force in the 7K.

Testing: True. Although the Tyrells do have the men and coin to ensure that it can.

silent: Yes. Although they did anticipate some moves, their attention is firmly set on KL for the moment.

Jay: Probably. But also do remember that the Stormlands are a junior partner in this relationship. Not to mention the Stormlanders just have a habit of joining who is stronger, not who has the better claim (Robert, then Renly, then Stannis, then the Crown, then probably Aegon). Just like Stannis said in canon, the Stormlanders have little loyalty, just that to who they think is stronger. As long as the Tyrells stay strong, there's a good chance the Stormlands will stay loyal.

Guest: Stannis' battle was really a one-off. He knew the terrain he was fighting on, and he had an easily defensible position. Not to mention the Reach lost only a fraction of its forces and has a bunch of reserves ready to be called upon. The Stormlands will stay loyal as long as the Tyrells stay in a position of strength for the reasons given above. As for the Vale and Dorne, I doubt that the Tyrells have a plan to invade them just yet, and they certainly don't expect the North and Riverlands to just bow to them. They have a strategy for the northern parts of the realm, which will be explained later on.

Will Tywin just bend? No. He's too prideful to do that and he will try to curb Tyrell influence should the Tyrells indeed side with the Lannisters. Then, as you pointed out, there is the problem of Daenerys/Aegon/Euron which none can anticipate aside from Quentyn. As for Shireen and Edric, one is basically a pirate queen from an attainted line (remember that Stannis is seen as a fire-magic kin-slaying sorcerer) and that Edric, although Robert's bastard, is still a bastard. Margaery's child would have a lot more legitimacy than the both of them, especially with how the rapport de force favors the Tyrells.

As long as the Tyrells show a position of strength, the Stormlords will stay put. The question will now be how long can the Tyrells stay in this position, as war comes closer and closer to the Reach.

ATP The North is going to do its own thing for a while.

Kevan

Kevan Lannister sat silently as he watched his elder brother anxiously pace around his solar, just like a lion trapped in a cage. Kevan winced at these words. A cage…that was exactly what they were in at the moment. A gilded cage called King's Landing.

They held the capital, that was all well and good. But along with it came half a million people, and half a million mouths to feed. The Roseroad was still blocked, and although the Goldroad was still open, the Westerlands alone wouldn't be able to feed both Westerlanders and Kingslanders. As for the fertile lands of the Riverlands, those around the Trident, well they were unusable. Tywin's scourging of the whole region had made sure of it.

As such, being given the position of Hand of the King in these troubled times was more of a curse than a blessing. Not to mention that he had to go against his own family!
Cersei had been enraged ever since Jaime had died and her son had been uncontrollable. Only when Tywin came back from his disastrous campaign in the Eastern Riverlands did things truly calm down, but by then, things had already gone far out of control already.

Kevan did manage to send Myrcella away, though. The poor girl wouldn't have lasted much longer in King's Landing, and the only place where she could send her without needing to worry about her health was Dorne. Ironic, perhaps, but necessary. He had been given every assurance possible that Myrcella would be treated as befitting of her station, and Prince Trystane seemed like a nice enough lad.

With Dorne having made overtures to Renly, they needed to be countered immediately, lest the three southernmost kingdoms turn against them. Thankfully, this did not happen, and negotiations between the two parties failed, allowing him to settle for an alliance, one which would tie down many Reacher and Stormlander troops. However, the Dornish position seemed to be quite unreadable…

Nonetheless, Tywin did eventually come back from his unsuccessful campaign in the Riverlands. At least they had managed to secure Harrenhal and keep the Goldroad open, but these were meager victories. The Riverlanders had kept half of their territory, if not more, and although their assault on the Golden Tooth was repulsed, Stafford's host was thoroughly defeated, ending all hope of opening the River road.

It was then that he traded his Handship over for a position of Master of Laws. Quite frankly, he hoped to be sent back to the Westerlands to organize the defense of the area, but news of Robb Stark marching back home had ended these plans. He now had to sit at the Small Council and listen to the words of Pycelle, Baelish, Rosby, Varys, and other nuisances that sat on the Small Council. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't trust any of them. The Spider knew more than he was willing to say, Rosby was an old fool, just like Pycelle, and the upjumped Valeman annoyed him to no end.

But still, he had obeyed like the dutiful little brother he was, and he would continue to do so, so that house Lannister may still stand a chance in this war.

"Has the girl been found, yet?" Tywin finally stopped pacing around and sent him a cold stare.

"Our men have been doing their utmost, but the Riverlands are vast and resistance has been strong. Arya Stark remains nowhere to be found, and if I may be honest, she might as well be dead."

Tywin muttered a curse under his breath but continued.

"And what happened to Lorch?"

"The Brotherhood captured him, and sold him to the Dornish, according to the Spider."

"The Dornish have turned their backs on us once again…"

"Not necessarily. Lorch, just like Clegane, would have been the price needed to be paid for their support, and you know it. These actions will haunt us for a long time, brother."

Tywin stayed silent for a moment. Feeling as if he needed to speak again, Kevan tried to reason him.

"Lorch was unimportant. He was a mad dog, just like Clegane. I do not know why you keep these two with you, as they just bring heaps of problems with them. And that since the days of the Rebellion, if not before."

"They have their uses."

Their uses? Kevan would slap his brother if he could. These two had brought them nothing but problems as they pillaged and raped half of the Riverlands and more. And what did that bring them? Nothing. Only hate and more fires to put down. If it were up to him, he'd have them both hanged a long time ago. Knights? Hah. Any scum from Flea Bottom would make better knights than these two. But once more, his brother wouldn't budge.

"We cannot build on empty promises. Dorne will want something for their alliance, and I doubt a seat on the Small Council will appease them."

"They are getting a marriage into the royal family…"

"Something they already had and more during the Rebellion, if you remember…"

"Careful, Kevan."

"What I mean is that alone won't be enough. They will require blood."

"Promise them some justice, then. They've already had Lorch. I won't hand them Clegane when I still have use of him."

Kevan sighed. There would be no convincing his brother anymore. Ever since the young wolf had defeated him in pitched battle, he felt that something inside of Tywin had broken. As if he could not admit that he had been defeated and he still negotiated in a position of power.

Nonetheless, he pressed on.

"What of the Tyrells?" Kevan asked.

"It seems that the Tyrells could still be an option."

Kevan raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't their Queen with child?"

"Newborns are such delicate things at birth."

Kevan's eyes started to widen.

"The Tyrells have approached us for an alliance. A marriage between Joffrey and Margaery. Once the Tyrell girl's child will have been disposed of, of course."

"Do you think they would give it up willingly?"

"Well, we shall still need it to claim dominion over the Stormlands, but once the union between Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell has been celebrated, we shall have no use for it anymore. Better to have at Storm's End the blood of the lion rather than a bastard get."

"The Tyrells will hold much sway in this alliance, brother, do not forget it."

"We still have the entire wealth of the Westerlands at our disposal."

"Gold doesn't feed armies or the smallfolk. We cannot buy anything from the Free Cities due to the pirate's raids and the Riverlands are lost to us. We need that grain from the Reach, brother. You know it and they know it."

"But it is gold that will control the throne. The Reachmen would do well to remember that it is that which pays their men. As long as we have gold, we have the power. We may let them think they hold us on a leash, but as long as I am alive, I shall not let another house take precedent over ours."

"We should start by bringing the elements of our own house in line first."

"You mean my daughter?"

"Cersei and, by extension, the king. I cannot count the times where she asked to receive formal word of her being heir to Casterly Rock. And remember that she ordered the deaths of the few northern hostages we had and that poor Stark girl…"

"I know," Tywin said sternly. "Cersei's actions have been...unworthy. But at least she has been spared."

"Spared?" Kevan sighed. "I fear that if one day Robb Stark discovers what has befallen her, we will wish that we have died in battle long ago."

Sansa

Sansa Stark looked at the horizon, seeing the endless sea beyond King's Landing's harbor. Once, she would have thought it to be a wonderful sight, but now? She was a broken girl. A foolish, broken girl.

Every night, she cried herself to sleep, thinking about her father. Had she not done everything that was needed for him to live? And Arya? Little Arya, where had she gone? The Lannisters said nothing of her, and she hadn't seen her since the day of father's arrest. Was she dead? Was she held somewhere else?

She couldn't believe that her little sister would have just let the Lannisters take her without a fight. Yet if she indeed had fought, wouldn't the guards speak of her? For now, hope remained that she had made it out of the city, but it was a fickle one.

Hope.

What a trivial thing it was.

She once hoped that Robb would come to liberate her. But as the days went by, she had to face the terrible truth: Robb wouldn't come. So she prayed that Stannis or Renly would come to save her instead. Anyone would be better than the Lannisters. But these proved to be fickle hopes too. The Baratheons were dead, and she was now alone.

Alone to face the wrath of the Lannisters. Alone to face the Queen's wrath as she heard of her brother's death.

There were the jeers, the insults. Sansa had taken them. She could be strong. She would endure.

Then came the beatings. Every Kingsguard took turns in beating her in front of Joffrey, and in front of Cersei. She saw their grins as she cried in pain, but she stood strong every time. If she was lucky and either Ser Arys or Ser Balon were beating her, they would do their best not to hurt her too much, and even treated her wounds afterwards. But Ser Arys was gone, and Ser Balon was cast aside.

Only the Hound gave her some respite when he wasn't drunk. And even then, there weren't many occasions when it was the case.

After the beatings, though…well the Queen clearly hadn't had enough. After she had the Northmen executed after the Battle at Riverrun, there was only one person to turn to. Her.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was now a complete mess. Half of her face bore the scars of the two sword cuts Joffrey had made. Across her forehead were smaller scars, made by daggers and knives, while her lip was nearly split in two by another knife wound. Finally, under her scars, her skin had been burnt as the Queen, during one of her fits of rage, had plunged her face into a hearth, burning her left cheek and some of her hair.

The scars didn't hurt anymore. Nothing did.

Sansa got used to the pain. Now, when she was beaten. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. The Queen made threats to have her executed but she didn't care. Death was now an embrace that she would welcome with open arms if it promised to take her away from this place.

Only when Ser Kevan came to the capital did the public beatings stop, and even then, Joffrey or the Queen sent the Kingsguard to beat her in her chambers once in a while. At least, she had been freed from the betrothal to Joffrey, but what would happen now?

Would she be forced to marry Tommen? Would she be executed or raped? Her virtue had so far been left intact, but for how long?

Sansa made her way to a cupboard. There laid a small, well-decorated knife. Gifted to her by none other than Petyr Baelish, the master of coin, who was one of the only ones kind enough to her during her torture. The cutlery was innocent enough to think it was just a small comb or piece of jewelry, but not large enough to identify it as a knife. She kept it under one of the planks in the cupboard, where no one would ever look. This wouldn't be enough to make her escape, but just sharp enough to take her own life should Joffrey find that her virtue would now be fine for the taking.

She cleansed those thoughts away as she looked at herself in the mirror once more, trailing the scars of her whippings on her back, legs, and chest. Her face was sullied, far from the pretty face everyone was so fond of only a year ago.

She had never been in a battle, but it certainly felt like Sansa Stark was a veteran of a hundred campaigns.

Turning away from the mirror, she made her way to her bed. She thought of mother. Of Arya and Bran. Of Rickon and Jon. Of Jeyne and Maester Luwin. Of the simpler, happier life they had in Winterfell, and how she longed for it once more.

A lone tear fell down her burnt cheek.

And with these memories, she drifted off to sleep, hoping that one day, someone would rescue her from this nightmare, else she would try to rescue herself, one way or another…

Davos

Davos Seaworth, Regent for Queen Shireen Baratheon, looked at the carved map of Westeros in front of him and tapped his hands where the island of Dragonstone was marked.

Dragonstone was once more on the warpath. If the castle itself was gloomy as usual, the ramparts were teeming with men while Queen Shireen's fleet had docked everywhere along the island.

However, the inner castle itself was quite empty. A lot of men left after news of Stannis' defeat, and only half of the men garrisoning the fortress now remained.

There were only three people with him in the room where Aegon planned his Conquest. These were his son, Allard, along with the Queen, Shireen Baratheon, the Bastard of Driftmark and now Master of Ships, Aurane Waters.

Davos had spent the past weeks following the disaster at Storm's End reorganizing his forces, purging the remaining Red Priests, which included sending Melisandre to the bottom of the Narrow Sea, and limiting the influence of the Queen's Men.

The last task was helped with the worsening condition of Queen Dowager Selyse. With Stannis killed, the Red priests purged and most of her family either killed, attainted or on the run, there wasn't much she was doing. Still, though, the Queen's men now composed a sizable part of his remaining army, and he could not afford to alienate them.

The same thing went for the sellswords. These were loyal only to coin and plunder, so Davos made sure that they had both aplenty. From the coffers of Dragonstone, he paid them handsomely for their loyalty and ensured that there was much to gain from plundering the coast of the Narrow Sea.

Indeed, the first raid on Duskendale and the pillage of the city had brought the sellswords a lot of loot and gold, and was a great tactical success for Davos, since he had managed to set fire to much of the Crownlander fleet stationed there. Queen Shireen had lamented the great loss of life, something that Davos agreed upon, but the sellswords counted for much of their numbers, and with the dwindling coin in their coffers, such actions were needed to ensure their loyalty.

"Did we manage to capture some ships?" Davos asked the Velaryon bastard.

"Only two, I am afraid." the silver-haired man replied swiftly. "The rest have been set afire and could not be boarded."

Davos sighed. Two ships were a meager prize.

"Lord Davos." Aurane Waters raised his voice. "Did you know if my brother…"

Ah yes. The case of Monford Velaryon. Something odd had occurred there. A few days ago, they had received a letter saying that the ransom for lord Velaryon had been paid in full, and therefore the lord would be released to their custody.

However, Davos made no such payment. Ransoms could not be paid when he needed the coin for the fleet's upkeep, the pay of the sailors, and the pay of the sellswords.

"Lord Velaryon has reached Driftmark this morning," Davos replied.

"Then I shall relinquish my seat on the council."

"Nonsense."

Davos liked the bastard. He had quite a good skill in the ways of hit and run tactics, and could have made an excellent pirate or corsair. He needed men like him if they even had a chance of placing the rightful Queen on the throne

"You will continue to sit in the council as Master of Ships." Queen Shireen said, as regal as ever. "Your services are invaluable to the crown. Lord Monford will take the position of Master of…"

"Of Laws, your grace." Davos pointed out.

"Of Laws." Shireen nodded in thanks. "When this is over, I shall have you legitimized and give you a keep as a reward."

"Your grace is too kind." Aurane's eyes twitched, his expression quite bewildered. "I shall serve to the best of my ability."

"Now, Ser Aurane." Davos interrupted. "Is the fleet ready to act?"

"Yes, your grace." Aurane happily nodded. "We have restocked and are ready to attack Tarth and Parchments in two coordinated strikes. These spots are lightly defended and the Tyrells have yet to bring their fleet into the Narrow Sea. Tarth only has a small flotilla of ships, and we will remind both Tarth and Penrose what it means to turn their backs on the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"May I suggest that you do be careful?" a voice rose up from the shadows.

Davos looked around and saw a hooded figure approach slowly.

"Who let you in?" Allard immediately asked, going for his sword.

"Peace. I am unarmed." the hooded figure came closer.

"Who let you in?" Queen Shireen immediately straightened up. "This is a private meeting."

"Oh, I have my entries here." the figure chuckled and removed its hood.

It was him. The Spider.

"Varys." Davos growled.

"Good day, Lord Davos. Or should I say, Lord Regent?" Varys smiled. "Congratulations on your promotion. It is not every day that we see a smuggler become regent for a Queen, as small as that kingdom may be."

"What are you doing here?" Queen Shireen asked. "We refuse to treat with the Lannisters."

"Oh, my." Varys' eyes widened slightly. "All of the determination of her father at such a young age. You could make a fine Queen, Lady Shireen."

"Why are you here?" Davos snarled. "I will not repeat it."

"First of all, to warn you that Lord Selwyn had sent a small flotilla to guard the Sapphire Straits. It will be positioned in a way that could annihilate your attacks should you go with your plan, but it could also prove an opportunity to capture the flotilla if you know where to strike from. Such information does have a price, though."

Davos restrained himself from killing the Spider right then and there. If it were only up to him, he'd have cut down the eunuch right then and there.

However, this information could prove itself useful, should it be true.

"Is it gold you wish? We have none to offer." Davos replied instead.

"On the contrary, should our partnership prove fruitful, I would be delighted to fund your navy and your sellswords."

"Partnership?" Queen Shireen asked. "Explain yourself."

"Bend the knee to the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his name, and he shall grant you Storm's End, the paramountship of the Stormlands, the gold you need and more.

Refuse and you may continue waging your little doomed rebellion on your own.

In short, Lady Shireen, I am here to discuss the terms of your loyalty."

The words fell out of the Spider's mouth, and everything went silent. All eyes darted to the young Queen. Davos himself couldn't bring himself to speak for a brief moment. As he made to finally answer the Spider, though, Queen Shireen stopped him with a small hand gesture.

"Talk." the young queen answered, her voice filled with her father's grim determination. "Who is this Aegon that you speak of?"

Victarion

Victarion Greyjoy laughed as he took another swig of ale and threw out another curse.

The captain of the Iron Victory could've been plundering the Basilisk Isles and the Jade Sea, or perhaps even reaving the coasts of the Reach and the Westerlands. But no. His dear brother Balon had wanted to claim a bunch of rocks and stones, with a lot of trees and a few sheep and cattle in them.

Victarion cursed his brother once more.

He had been sent to take one of the biggest fortresses in the known world. Moat Cailin.

Hah! What a fortress!

A bunch of ruined towers, defended by only a handful of men. And what glories and riches had awaited them? None!

No women, no gold, and no plunder. Not even a few minor lordlings to ransom off. All they had were a few stone towers and the constant raids from Crannogmen, which thinned his host with every passing day.

Another curse left his mouth as he downed another cup of the piss they'd found in Moat Cailin's cellars. He did take solace in the fact that his kin weren't faring a lot better.

Balon was still at Pyke with Aeron, and Euron, that fucker, the Drowned God could take him for all that he cared. His niece and nephew were likely trapped in shit halls, too. Although Theon had grown some balls and taken Winterfell! Victarion could only hope that his nephew had paid the iron price and actually plundered something that wasn't made out of sheep wool.

Victarion stood up slightly from the chair he'd slumped himself in. They would need to launch another small raiding party into the Neck to try and find these damn Crannogmen. They couldn't just strike from nowhere, they didn't live underground, the small fuckers.

Day after day, they had been harassed and his men mowed down one after another. They had become so frequent that Victarion had taken for habit to wear his mail at all times lest he be surprised by one of the small fuckers.

He needed another cup of ale to forget this too.

Oh, how he wished to be elsewhere right about now. How he wished for Balon to kick the bucket so that he may leave to gather support for his claim on the Seastone Chair.

But the old fucker was still alive and had asked Victarion to hold Moat Cailin. And as the dutiful little brother he was, he did as told.

Fuck that, he should just go back to Pyke and tell Balon what he thought about this little invasion of his, right to his face. Maybe he could…

But the Ironborn captain was soon interrupted by a lickspittle running into his improvised solar.

"Milord, milord!" he cried out.

"This better be fuckin' important for you to interrupt me like this…" Victarion growled.

"M-m-m-milord…" the boy trembled. "T-t-t-t-the ships…"

"Well, what about the ships?"

"T-t-t-t-they've burnt milord. They've all burnt down. We're trapped."