REWRITE!
It's been a long time since I've visited this story, and although I've tried to move on with Black Lion, it just doesn't have the same feel as High as Honor does. Wtih that said, I have made mistakes in my writing, which many of you have graciously, or venomously, have pointed out on occasion. To those who did so in hopes of improving me as a writer, I thank you. To the others, well the unfollow/unfavorite buttons are a few clicks away.
I decided on the rewrite because I think the possibilities that come with this new perspective are much more intriguing than what my original plan is, and I chose this chapter because this is, to me, the defining chapter that changes the original story of ASOIAF. I am hopeful that this new direction will inspire me to continue working on this fanfic, and that you will enjoy the new direction I am going. As always, much love for the support you've shown me. I'm hopeful this meets, and exceeds, your expectations. The ASOS parts, and the back half of the ACOK chapters will be removed. I thank you for the feedback on those, but in order to not confuse new readers or old, those will be deleted a day after this is posted. Thank you for understanding.
"You're sure you want to do this, my lord?" Lord Redfort commented as the party rode north. According to the charts, they were nearly to Bitterbridge, where the Tyrells and the reminance of Renly's loyalists had made camp.
"Lord Redfort, if you can find any other way, I would be welcome to hear it." Olyvar's patience with the Lord of the Redfort was diminishing every day he found himself around the man. From the snide comments about his former betrothal to now questioning the wisdom of his next decision, the man was becoming unbearable.
"Ignore him, my lord." It was now Lord Belmore's turn to speak. Olyvar enjoyed his words much more; the fat man had a talent for humor. "Lord Redfort simply wants to try getting you to marry that daughter of his. Although I don't see why you would, the girl certainly isn't a beauty as he claims."
"You would do well to watch your words, Belmore!" Lord Redfort spat back.
"Enough!" Lord Royce commanded, which Olyvar gave a sly smile at. He had done well in choosing Bronze Yohn as the commander of his army, only answering to Olyvar himself. Many of his lords had seemed peeved with his decision, but all grew to respect it after a week had passed. Bronze Yohn was, after all, the most proven of them, his accomplishments dating back to the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Such experience commanded such respect. "We must be united before reaching Bitterbridge, else the Tyrells will take advantage!"
"Agreed." Olyvar said. "My lords, go to your men. Tell them to harden themselves for battle. Though this may be a diplomatic mission, we should still prepare for the worst." All of his lords bowed on their horses and gave him leave, save Lord Royce, who rode on his right. "Are you sure you want to go with me? After what Loras did to your son?" Olyvar asked without looking at his most trusted commander. He had a feeling he knew Lord Royce's answer before the words escaped the man's lips.
"Robar made his choice in abandoning his family and his rightful lord. His death, unfortunate as it is, is attributed to his own choices. I hold no ill will towards the Tyrells." Despite his words, Olyvar suspected that Yohn Royce held some sort of venom underneath his skin. Robar, a traitor he might be, was still the son of the Lord of Runestone. That had to count for something.
"Very well." Olyvar opted to not push further on the subject. "You need to speak with me about the Tyrells again. I know of Loras, but Garlan and Margaery are other subjects."
"Ser Garlan is the second son of Lord Mace. If I remember correctly, the boy is said to be built much broader than his younger brother. They also say he's an excellent swordsman, better than Loras. Wiser as well."
"At least that bodes well for us. Hopefully, we are negotiating with him." Olyvar said sarcastically. He didn't like the odds that were presented to him, especially with the stories of Stannis paying off one of Renly's Rainbow Guard, Brienne of Tarth, to assassinate her king swirling around the camp. But if Garlan was the one he spoke to, perhaps there was a chance he could convince him that Stannis had no involvement. "And Renly's former queen?"
"I have only heard the tales of Margaery Tyrell's beauty, but considering they have made their way into the Vale, then it's likely they are closer to truth than fiction." Olyvar considered this for a moment. He, too, had heard from Renly how beautiful Margaery was, but had never seen the girl, neither in portrait nor in person. "It is said she looks like her brother, Loras."
"Hopefully she doesn't have his personality." Lord Royce chuckled at Olyvar's comment. "Are the majority of our men prepared?"
"We've taken a position in the east that is relatively safe. Archers on a hill, infantry surrounding them, the cavalry prepared to charge out from both angles. If the Tyrells do attack, we will be able to keep them from crossing."
"Good." Olyvar was satisfied with the preparations that his commanders had made. Even if they were outnumbered, he knew the battle could be won if they used the right tactics. Still, he missed the other ten thousand he had left in the Vale. "Now, go throughout the ranks and ask who wants to volunteer their aid in protecting me."
"Of course, Lord Arryn." It did not take long for Yohn Royce to find volunteers, and soon enough the company made their way west to Bitterbridge, where Renly's remaining forces were. It was strange to Olyvar, still calling them Renly's men, yet that was exactly what they were. Men loyal to a corpse. If all went well, hopefully he could persuade them to his side. Just don't let Loras be there. He knew failure awaited if Loras Tyrell headed the negotiations.
As they made their way to Bitterbridge, Olyvar had given specific instructions on how to approach; two of his men held flags in the air. One was his sigil, to identify him as the Lord of the Eyrie. The other white so as to inform the Tyrells of his intentions for a peaceful negotiation. And as they approached, there was no hostile movement from the camp, only an alert had been shouted by one of the Tyrell men.
"YOU!" Seven hells, why do the gods curse me? Olyvar could recognize the voice from his time back in King's Landing, and sure enough, he spotted Loras Tyrell riding out to meet him. But Olyvar knew something was wrong. Loras was riding out far too fast, and the men behind him were calling out his name. He wouldn't. But Olyvar immediately knew his own thoughts to be a denial. Loras Tyrell was coming for his head, daring to challenge a hundred men for the chance to clip a falcon's wings, and destroy any chance at a peaceful negotiation.
"Do not attack him! I will handle it!" Olyvar called out in panic.
"But, my lord-" There was no time to explain to Lord Belmore, as Olyvar donned his falcon helm and drew his sword and shield, riding out to meet Loras. Any of his men were likely to kill the young Tyrell for daring to kill him. But if the negotiations were to succeed, he would need Loras alive. He only hoped that the men of the Reach would ride out and recover their lord before the clash drew blood.
As he rode out, an excitement took over. Olyvar had not fought in quite some time, not since the sparring sessions in the north had he swung his sword seriously at an opponent, and even then, it was blunt. But the refreshing feeling to have steel clash with steel came over him once more as his sword, Crescent, struck Loras' sword as the two rode past one another.
"Care to dismount and settle this on foot, Loras?" Olyvar called out as his horse turned, attempting to bait Loras into doing as he wanted. He might have been near Loras' equal with sword and shield, but riding was not Olyvar's specialty. For his plan to succeed, he needed to keep Loras distracted without hurting him, as well as avoid being split open by the Flower Knight's sword.
"Gladly!" Fool, you took the bait. Olyvar dismounted simultaneously with Loras, who charged wildly at him once more. He was fast, but Olyvar was his equal physically, being able to see where the strikes from Loras' longsword would come from. He would have to block one with his shield, Silvermoon, every now and again, but for the most part he simply continued to dodge.
"LORAS!" A large shout came from somewhere behind them, but Loras had not paid it any attention, and continued hacking at Olyvar Arryn. But soon enough, three men were on Olyvar's opponent, restraining him to the ground as he shouted curses. Eventually, another man came into sight. "Take him back to the camp!"
Olyvar removed his helm and ran a hand through his hair as he watched Loras be dragged back to his camp by the three men, another man guiding his horse behind him. Then, Olyvar took in the man that stood before him. He was rather large, built of muscle with long hair and a similar face to that of Loras', even though this one wore a beard. Garlan the Gallant. Feeling he was safe, Olyvar sheathed his sword. "Ser Garlan. I thank you for saving me from your brother."
"You know well that my brother is not in the right state of mind." Garlan responded back, with mock courtesy. "If you wanted to, you could have struck him down."
"Perhaps. But that would impede any hope at having a diplomatic conversation with you about the current state of affairs."
"Would it?" Olyvar could see the interested expression on Ser Garlan's face. "Pray, tell me how you expect to have a diplomatic conversation when your King had mine murdered?"
"King Stannis had nothing to do with Lord Renly's death." Lying was not his favorite thing to do, but in war it did not matter what he liked to do. If it assured Stannis' victory, Olyvar would lie to the Tyrells through his teeth. "You only need to blame the treachery of Renly's own guard."
"Unlikely. Even I could see that Brienne of Tarth is innocent of any crimes, even if my brother sees guilt everywhere." Garlan gave a look back at the camp, the distant echo of Loras' screams still ringing out. "Speaking of guilt, I myself must apologize for the death of Lord Royce's son. Loras did the deed before I could interfere."
"I thank you for you kindness. But we cannot focus on the dead, not while we are still alive at least. I come here to offer you an alliance. Join King Stannis, and he shall forgive the treason of supporting his brother Renly's claim as the King on the Iron Throne."
"Interesting choice of words from your king. Tell me, did he threaten to destroy us as well should we refuse?" Garlan said mockingly. "Or are you omitting that from your offer, Lord Arryn?"
"I do not wish to fight, Ser Garlan. I only come to offer what I can."
"Oh? And tell me, what can you offer? Other than Stannis' idle threats?" Olyvar took a deep breath. The time had finally come to do what he had known he must do. For the good of the realm, Olyvar. For Stannis. Exhaling, he looked the second son of Mace Tyrell in the eyes.
"I offer myself as a match to Margaery Tyrell, as well as a spot on the Small Council to whomever your father feels worthy of it." The proposal had done what it was intended to do. Garlan was taken aback, seemingly unable to comprehend what was being offered. Knowing he had the advantage, Olyvar pressed forward. "I would have liked to speak to your lord father on the matter, but I felt it better to come to you directly. There is little time to waste on this issue."
"Yes, yes….of course…." Garlan the Galliant continued considering the offer, stroking his beard as he did so. Finally, it seemed that he had come to a decision. "Come, we will allow our queen to decide this matter."
"Your Queen? Lady Margaery?" This Olyvar had not expected of Garlan. He was prepared to be presented to Margaery should all go well, but he did not expect to have to convince her that the marriage was a good fit.
"My sister will decide whether you are a worthy match. Should she accept, we will support you and your king." Garlan said, with almost a grin on his face. Does he know she will refuse? Or is he testing me? Olyvar now recognized that Garlan was in control of the negotiations. Thinking quickly, he came up with a solution.
"Agreed. But only on the condition that before I am brought into your camp, I am given something to eat and drink. I am parched, it has been a long journey." Garlan nodded and gave a look of understanding after Olyvar spoke. Both men know that with this, the guest right would be secured, and no harm would come to the other, nor to the Arryn guard, so long as they stayed in the camp.
After a piece of bread and a glass of water had been brought to him, Olyvar entered the camp, Yohn Royce and Lord Belmore at his side. Both men had warned him of the dangers, but Olyvar knew that a level of trust needed to be built up between their forces and those of the Tyrells. But, even Olyvar could not deny that the eyes of the Reachmen that watched made him uncomfortable, even with the guest right secured. They were three, in the middle of fifty thousand, and even with orders to attack the camp should they not return by daybreak, Olyvar felt that it would not matter much.
Garlan led them into the tent, which was finely decorated. Olyvar thought it appropriate, considering how Renly did love the finer things that life offered. But his attention to the tent was destroyed when his eyes fell upon a woman who was sitting in the corner. She possessed soft, brown curls with matching eyes, garbed in green with a golden trim on her dress. It took no second guessing when it came to identifying her. "Lady Margaery, I am Olyvar Arryn. A pleasure." He bowed low as he introduced himself.
"Lord Arryn. I hear you've come to offer your hand to me." Margaery Tyrell came from her seat, taking his hands into hers. He felt himself blush as she looked into her doe eyes, quite nervous for reasons other than attempting to secure an alliance for Stannis. The tales were as true as Lord Royce had said, she was perhaps one of the most beautiful women Olyvar had ever laid eyes upon. Her hands were soft, her voice sweet, and her eyes captivating.
"I do, my lady." He said, attempting to mask any apprehensiveness he might have had. He forced himself to drive the memory of his last meeting with Myrcella from his mind. For Stannis. He repeated in his head, over and over. "I hope that you will accept my proposal."
She gave him a smile, soft and sweet. She truly was breathtaking. But before she could speak her mind, a man barged into the tent. "My lords. Lord Petyr Baelish comes from the capital. He requests an immediate audience."
Damnit. Olyvar attempted to hide his scowl, but his displeasure was unable to be hidden. Baelish was the final man whom he wanted to be sent by the Lannisters. "Send him in then." Ser Garlan's command was not one he wanted to hear. He steeled himself as he watched his supposed bannerman enter the tent.
"Well, this is a surprise." Baelish said with the same mocking voice Olyvar remembered. "I would have expected to beat you here, Lord Arryn. I figured you would be slowed by the large army you have stationed on an eastern hill."
"I would have expect you to join me back in the Vale after I declared for Stannis, Lord Baelish." The grey-green eyes of Littlefinger looked into Olyvar's brown as a mocking smile did not fade from his face. "Yet I find that you have stayed by the side of Joffrey. Have you thrown your lot in with him?"
"My lord, forgive me for not joining you immediately." Baelish went to a knee before Olyvar, bringing bewilderment to the mind of the Lord of the Eyrie. "I have had important work to do in the capital."
"Traitor's work, I'm sure." Bronze Yohn had barged into the tent as well, spitting furiously. "You should have joined your lord as soon as you were called, Littlefinger!"
"I suppose you could say it was traitor's work, although it was not Lord Arryn that I betrayed. I determined that my current situation required more tact, Lord Royce. I ask for your forgiveness as well." Olyvar did not like this. He had always been weary of Baelish in the capital, and his mistrust of the minor lord had not faded over their time apart. "The Lannisters trusted me to important positions in the Small Council. I figured that my efforts be better served there, destroying them from the inside."
"Lord Petyr," Olyvar started slowly, keeping his voice calm. "Do you mean to tell me that I have your loyalty? That your absence was to play the Lannisters all for fools?"
"I bring proof, as well." From outside of the tent came three more men, two carrying a rather large chest while another had a number of books in his hands. "These are the gifts that I give you, my lord. Gold, notes of the crown's finances, but more valuable than all, the correspondence between Lord Tywin and Kings Landing, intercepted and written down."
"Boy! Hand me that!" Lord Royce snatched the book that was presented to him and began to read it, his sharp eyes as focused as Olyvar had ever seen them. A look of disgust came to the Lord of Runestone's face. "He speaks a truth. These seem to be Lannister battle plans, although it could just as easily be a fake."
"I assure you, I would have brought the original letters if I could." Baelish looked back to Olyvar with a sympathetic face. "But in order to not arouse suspicion, I could only have my servants write them down in this book." Olyvar remained speechless. Was Baelish telling the truth? Had he been on his side from the very beginning?
"Lord Baelish, I applaud your efforts." Garlan now spoke. "Such gifts are generous indeed, but forgive me if I have you publically state whom you are giving them too, and in whose name are they from?" The knight too had a suspicious look about him, made more evident by his questioning.
"Of course." Baelish's smirk made Olyvar's stomache queezy. "I present these gifts to the House Tyrell, in the name of Lord Olyvar Arryn of the Vale, in hopes that this gesture of good faith will be enough to broker not only the trust of my lord, but the trust of the Reach as well."
"And it is accepted, Lord Petyr." Margaery's voice now spoke up, and when Olyvar looked back to her, he found himself met with her radiant smile. "The Vale speaks true. Lord Olyvar, should my father approve it, I would be quite happy to have you as my husband." Olyvar smiled, although worry still clawed at his mind. This was the answer he had wanted, but he had not gotten it in the way he had expected.
"Very well then. Lord Arryn," Garlan said with a stern voice but polite face. "I ask you to travel with us to Highgarden, so that we may finalize this agreement with my father. I would send a raven, but these things are better done in person."
Olyvar gave an unsure look to his general and advisor, who nodded to him, although Lord Royce himself looked just as rattled. "Agreed." Olyvar said, nodded to Garlan. He did not buy Littlefinger's new loyalty, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. "To Highgarden, Ser Garlan. And with haste."