CATELYN
From time to time, King Renly would feed Margaery some choice morsel off the point of his dagger, or lean over to plant the lightest of kisses on her cheek, but it was Ser Loras who shared most of his jests and confidences. The king enjoyed his food and drink, that was plain to see, yet he seemed neither glutton nor drunkard. He laughed often, and well, and spoke amiably to highborn lords and lowly serving wenches alike.
Some of his guests were less moderate. They drank too much and boasted too loudly, to her mind. Lord Willum's sons Josua and Elyas disputed heatedly about who would be first over the walls of King's Landing. Lord Varner dandled a serving girl on his lap, nuzzling at her neck while one hand went exploring down her bodice. Guyard the Green, who fancied himself a singer, diddled a harp and gave them a verse about tying lions' tails in knots, parts of which rhymed. Ser Mark Mullendore brought a black-and-white monkey and fed him morsels from his own plate, while Ser Tanton of the red apple Fossoways climbed on the table and swore to slay Sandor Clegane in single combat. The vow might have been taken more solemnly if Ser Tanton had not had one foot in a gravy boat when he made it.
The height of folly was reached when a plump fool came capering out in gold-painted tin with a cloth lion's head, and chased a dwarf around the tables, whacking him over the head with a bladder. Finally King Renly demanded to know why he was beating his brother. "Why, Your Grace, I'm the Kinslayer," the fool said.
"It's Kingslayer, fool of a fool," Renly said, and the hall rang with laughter.
Lord Rowan beside her did not join the merriment. "They are all so young," he said.
It was true. The Knight of Flowers could not have reached his second name day when Robert slew Prince Rhaegar on the Trident. Few of the others were very much older. They had been babes during the Sack of King's Landing, and no more than boys when Balon Greyjoy raised the iron islands in rebellion. They are still unblooded, Catelyn thought as she watched Lord Bryce goad Ser Robar into juggling a brace of daggers. It is all a game to them still, a tourney writ large, and all they see is the chance for glory and honour and spoils. They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal.
"War will make them old," Catelyn said, "as it did us." She had been a girl when Robert and Ned and Jon Arryn raised their banners against Aerys Targaryen, a woman by the time the fighting was done. "I pity them."
"Why?" Lord Rowan asked her. "Look at them. They're young and strong, full of life and laughter. And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. Why pity?"
"Because it will not last," Catelyn answered sadly. "Because they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming."
"Lady Catelyn, you are wrong." Brienne regarded her with eyes as blue as her armour. "Winter will never come for the likes of us. Should we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it's always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maidens are beautiful, and the sun is always shining."
Winter will come for all of us, Catelyn thought. For me, it came when Ned died. It will come for you too, child, and sooner than you like. She did not have the heart to say it.
The king saved her. "Lady Catelyn," Renly called down. "I feel the need of some air. Will you walk with me?"
Catelyn stood at once. "I should be honoured."
Brienne was on her feet as well. "Your Grace, give me but a moment to don my mail. You should not be without protection."
King Renly smiled. "If I am not safe in the heart of Lord Caswell's castle, with my own host around me, one sword will make no matter—not even your sword, Brienne. Sit and eat. If I have need of you, I'll send for you."
His words seemed to strike the girl harder than any blow she had taken that afternoon. "As you will, Your Grace." Brienne sat, eyes downcast. Renly took Catelyn's arm and led her from the hall, past a slouching guardsman who straightened so hurriedly that he near dropped his spear. Renly clapped the man on the shoulder and made a jest of it.
"This way, my lady." The king took her through a low door into a stair tower. As they started up, he said, "Perchance, is Ser Barristan Selmy with your son at Riverrun?"
"No," she answered, puzzled. "Is he no longer with Joffrey? He was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."
Renly shook his head. "The Lannisters told him he was too old and gave his cloak to the Hound. I'm told he left King's Landing vowing to take up service with the true king. That cloak Brienne claimed today was the one I was keeping for Selmy, in hopes that he might offer me his sword. When he did not turn up at Highgarden, I thought perhaps he had gone to Riverrun instead."
"We have not seen him."
"He was old, yes, but a good man still. I hope he has not come to harm. The Lannisters are great fools." They climbed a few more steps. "On the night of Robert's death, I offered your husband a hundred swords and urged him to take Joffrey into his power. Had he listened, he would be regent today, and there would have been no need for me to claim the throne."
"Ned refused you." She did not have to be told.
"He had sworn to protect Robert's children," Renly said. "I lacked the strength to act alone, so when Lord Eddard turned me away, I had no choice but to flee. Had I stayed, I knew the queen would see to it that I did not long outlive my brother."
Had you stayed, and lent your support to Ned, he might still be alive, Catelyn thought bitterly.
"I liked your husband well enough, my lady. He was a loyal friend to Robert, I know… but he would not listen and he would not bend. Here, I wish to show you something." They had reached the top of the stairwell. Renly pushed open a wooden door, and they stepped out onto the roof.
Lord Caswell's keep was scarcely tall enough to call a tower, but the country was low and flat and Catelyn could see for leagues in all directions. Wherever she looked, she saw fires. They covered the earth like fallen stars, and like the stars there was no end to them. "Count them if you like, my lady," Renly said quietly. "You will still be counting when dawn breaks in the east. How many fires burn around Riverrun tonight, I wonder?"
Catelyn could hear faint music drifting from the great hall, seeping out into the night. She dare not count the stars.
"I'm told your son crossed the Trident with twenty thousand swords at his back," Renly went on. "Now that the lords of the Trident are with him, perhaps he commands forty thousand."
No, she thought, not near so many, we have lost men in battle, and others to the harvest.
"I have twice that number here," Renly said, "and this is only part of my strength. Mace Tyrell remains at Highgarden with another ten thousand, I have a strong garrison holding Storm's End, and soon enough the Dornishmen will join me with all their power. And never forget my brother Stannis, who holds Dragonstone and commands the lords of the Narrow Sea."
"It would seem that you are the one who has forgotten Stannis," Catelyn said, more sharply than she'd intended.
"His claim, you mean?" Renly laughed. "Let us be blunt, my lady. Stannis would make an appalling king. Nor is he like to become one. Men respect Stannis, even fear him, but precious few have ever loved him."
"He is still your elder brother. If either of you can be said to have a right to the Iron Throne, it is Lord Stannis."
Renly shrugged. "Tell me, what right did my brother Robert ever have to the Iron Throne?" He did not wait for an answer. "Oh, there was talk of the blood ties between Baratheon and Targaryen, of marriages a hundred years past, of second sons and elder daughters. None but the maesters care about any of it. Robert won the throne with his warhammer." He swept a hand across the campfires that burnt from horizon to horizon. "Well, there is my claim, as good as Robert's ever was. If your son supports me as his father supported Robert, he'll not find me ungenerous. I will gladly confirm him in all his lands, titles and honours. He can rule in Winterfell as he pleases. He can even go on calling himself King in the North if he likes, so long as he bends the knee and does me homage as his overlord. King is only a word, but fealty, loyalty, service… those I must have."
"And if he will not give them to you, my lord?"
"I mean to be king, my lady, and not of a broken kingdom. I cannot say it plainer than that. Three hundred years ago, a Stark king knelt to Aegon the Dragon, when he saw he could not hope to prevail. That was wisdom. Your son must be wise as well. Once he joins me, this war is as good as done. We will take King's Landing, where we will avenge your husband with fire and sword, and restore the crownlands to my authority; then we will march northward, into the riverlands, to bring a reckoning to Tywin Lannister. Your son and your father together have not the strength to take Harrenhal. I do. With the threat of Lannisters marching from the crownlands into the lands of the Trident eliminated, we can safely lay siege to Harrenhal and our combined force will outnumber Lord Tywin by half a dozen to one. We need not storm the castle; given time, they'll run out of rats and be reduced to eating each other."
Catelyn felt ill. "You think the manhood of Westeros—"
"In Storm's End we had to hang eleven men after a sentry saw them burying the bones in the shadows at the side of the courtyard." The king said it so calmly, in a manner so devoid of horror or shock, that Catelyn scarcely registered what had been said until a few moments afterward. "Tywin Lannister is a dead man walking, though he may not know it yet."
She had to force herself to say the words. "And my son?"
"If he does me homage, as his lord father did to the last Baratheon king and as Stark lords have done to the Iron Throne for the last three-hundred years? A heroic and successful warrior. He will live to sixty name days and die in his bed in Winterfell surrounded by grandchildren. If not? Like Lord Tywin. I would regret it, but make no mistake, my lady; I can be patient. All it would take is for me to wait while your son and the Lannisters slaughter each other's men by the thousands, as is already occurring now, and then step in to put an end to this war once and for all. No matter who wins the war in the south, your son's two kingdoms together, one of them ravaged by war, have a fraction of the strength of the other five. Treason has no future. The future king will be myself or Joffrey, and no matter who, he or his successor will ensure he rules a united Westeros."
Catelyn bowed stiffly. "I believe I take your meaning, Your Grace."
"I believe you do," Renly said cheerfully. "Think well on what I have said. Meantime, there is a feast that will not eat itself. Mead and meat and music beckon!"
The king offered her an arm. She made no move. With a shrug, he bounded down the stairs, light on his feet, bold, fit, young and handsome. He was that certain he was the future. But the velvet veil of courtesy did not obliterate the underlying steel.
Author's Note: I don't expect all readers to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of ACoK, so I'll tell you the crucial point here. Most of this chapter is taken from canon. The difference is that, in canon, Catelyn's conversation with Renly was interrupted by a messenger arriving at Bitterbridge, bringing Renly news that Stannis had besieged Storm's End… and in Knees Falling this did not happen.