Ser Barristan Selmy

Jon Arryn had once told him that Robert Baratheon's anger was like a land-fallen storm; great in its intensity, but after time, would begin to fade into mere frustration or annoyance. And for the many years he had served Robert I Baratheon, this rang true. However, since the news of the Queen's and Ser Jaime's treason, he had been a spinning hurricane of fury. After the first few days, Lord Renly, Ser Cortnay, and the others learned to stop trying to raise his mood. There were only two people he seemed to calm at. The first was Eddard Stark; though he wasn't present, the occasional raven would always start the King muttering about 'true' friends and good lords.

The other person came from, curiously, Edric Storm. The King's only recognized bastard son. The King was never sated, but when in company of Edric, would take a kinder tone, and a more fatherly relationship. Barristan realized that Robert had never actually encountered a child that looked and acted like him.

The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms was not the only one taking the news roughly. He wasn't much better. Of the seven former brothers of the Kingsguard; two had been killed for treason, one had been arrested for treason, and the last was left as the only…'true' brother left in the capital. He never had a high opinion of either Ser Boros or Ser Meryn.

This left only himself, Ser Arys, Ser Preston, and Ser Mandon. Even then, the remaining knights weren't much better. Ser Mandon was colder than the very mountains from which he hails from. He once heard from a vale lord attending court many years back that even his own family had trouble interacting with him. He was capable and followed orders well enough, however. Ser Preston was the slimiest of the three in Storm's End. He was handy with a blade enough, but he always felt…wrong around him. In other words, he wouldn't be shocked if in another life, he had run into the man as a bandit.

Ser Arys was perhaps the only one left who Barristan had anything more than moderate things to say about. He was a brilliant warrior, and an honorable man. But if he had to say one thing of the man; in many ways he reminded him of Ser Arthur Dayne, not in swordsmanship, but in manners; as if he wanted to do the right thing but would never truly be able to.

All this led to an interesting conundrum. In the previous years, Cersei Lannister was the person who recommended the worm knights to the brotherhood. No more, he took it upon himself to draft a list of real knights, who practiced the art of courage and honor, more than simply playing at it.

He had started the list by writing the title at the top of a piece of parchment…and then stopped. He couldn't decide what to do next. There were a couple of ways he could approach this. His first thought was to recommend knights from those lands who often didn't have representation. His first thought was of the North. If he remembered his lessons correctly, only the Manderlys of White Harbor…and maybe the Ryswells of the Rills would have a strong band of knights. Other than that, the North would be empty of such men.

Currently, the four brothers of the Guard hailed from The Reach, the Westerlands, the Stormlands, and the Vale. So, he began to draw a list of candidates. He heart went out to the Dornish at first, to include them in affairs, though he finally concluded they may see it as an insult, to guard a man that had sanctioned the murders of Princess Elia's children. That left the North, and the Crownlands. For the North, he'd have to send a raven to Lord Stark, asking for possible men of such virtue, as he had no idea. For the Crownlands, he listed Ser Silas Brune, a grandson of Lord Eustace Brune and Ser Justin Massey, currently in service to Lord Stannis Baratheon.

Though he knew not, he did remember during the King's sojourn to Winterfell, a certain Ser Warrick Manderly. He was also aware that Lord Stark's guard captain, a one Ser Jory Cassel, he did realize he was currently the only heir to the main line of his House, so most likely he wouldn't fit either.

On the other hand, the Kingsguard was founded not to represent the kingdoms, but to protect the King and his secrets. As such, he had to ensure that any new candidates were actually somewhat capable with the blade. But that was a matter for a different time. Currently, he found himself in a meeting with the King, Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord Ralph Buckler, and Lord Gulian Swann, Lord Beric Dondarrion had been summoned, but he was traveling from Dorne, so he had yet to make it to Storm's End. Within the room were some of the most powerful Baratheon vassals within the Stormlands, minus House Caron, though they were still enroute too. Today's discussion was on raising the Stormlands' levy, to prepare to march.

"Currently, of the roughly thirty thousand strong host, only about five thousand are fully prepared to march. About four thousand of which are from House Baratheon's private demesne. Within a fortnight, it is expected that most of the men in the eastern part of the kingdom to be fully prepared." Ser Cortnay sent a look at Lord Buckler, perhaps the most influential of the eastern Stormlords.

"And how much longer until the full host is prepared?" Ser Barristan asked.

"An additional fortnight, if not double that. We can save time by sending word to have the western Stormlords send their hosts to the border, so they meet us as we march north."

"Speaking of marching, have we heard back from Lord Tyrell? Has he called his banners?" Lord Swann called out.

Maester Jurne, the maester of Storm's End stepped forward. "I've yet to receive a raven marked with the rose of House Tyrell, my lords." The man reported in a snobbish, but unarrogant voice. "It appears that he wishes to stay out of this conflict until one side or another has won."

"That damned coward!" The King roared before another person commented. "I should've taken that flowery fuck's head years ago! I will not stand by as those who swore to me, betray me! No, instead of marching for King's Landing, we'll march directly west, into the Reach!"

"But, Your Grace, is that wise? It may provoke the Tyrells to join the Lannisters out of fear of your victory?"

"Damn straight! It'll finally give me that damned excuse to attaint them of the flowery fucking seat of theirs!"

Many of the lords looked concerned at this. It seemed only he had the nerve to speak. "Your Grace, although they are not well liked, and can be replaced by any number of their bannermen, the issue is none of them get along with each other either. Should they be replaced with, well let's say the Florents, then many of their new vassals shall seek to overthrow them as well."

The lords, more confident that another countered the King's ranting, nodded in agreement. Ser Barristan pressed the point. "Though they are merely a figurehead, they are a useful one. I do not disagree to marching into the Reach, but let us march on Horn Hill first, if the most martially minded House of the Reach, hopefully, joins our forces, that can mollify the rest of the Reach, or at least those lords that are in the path to Highgarden. Once we reach the seat of House Tyrell; at this point with either many of their bannermen marching with us, or with their castles burned behind us, they will be forced to either join us, or defend against a siege. And knowing the true mind behind House Tyrell-" Many of the gathered lords murmured in understanding, everyone knew the Queen of Thorns actually led the family. "-they will most definitely not wish to risk a siege. If done rightly, you can hold the Reach in the palm of your hand."

"If I may?"

All the heads in the room turned to Lord Renly. The King silently nodded.

"I am…good friends with Ser Loras Tyrell. Allow me to send a message to him, pleading with him to convince his grandmother to call their banners for our cause."

"And you think she'll listen?" The King sneered in annoyance.

"Most likely not." Renly confessed shockingly quickly. "But is there any harm in trying? If successful, we need not lose any strength in trying to conquer the Reach, if not, we still have this plan to fall back on."

Even he had to admit, it was a solid point. Before the King had a chance to voice his opposition, he responded. "I concur with Lord Baratheon. If his word is true and successful, we can march our forces north, to defend the capital and meet up with Lord Stark's boy currently in the Riverlands. If not, we can march west. It will not assist the Stark front, but it will not hurt them."

Seeing many of the Stormlords agree seemed to mollify the King at the moment at least. "Very well, damn you. Send the damned raven brother." He turned and walked out the door. "And then join me in the yard!" He shouted, ordered, as he walked away. Ser Arys striding after him.


Tywin Lannister

Tywin was barely holding in his anger. He was in the middle of a meeting with some of his bannermen when a messenger was let through. They were still camped outside the walls of Riverrun. Normally, the castle would fall fairly easily, unfortunately, the command of Riverrun was apparently left with Lord Tytos Blackwood. A far better commander than Edmure Tully in every respect, and a better defensive commander than Hoster Tully.

His lords were just discussing possible plans for the Riverlands when the messenger entered and shared the news that his loyal dog had been defeated, by a boy who was greener grass…or so he had thought.

He had recently sent Lord Brax, Ser Forley Prestor, and Ser Addam Marbrand to occupy Harrenhal. Though he had many vassals with him, the most senior with him now were Lords Lewys Lydden, Damian Serrett, and Roland Crakehall, along with his son Ser Lyle Crakehall and Ser Harys Swyft.

"How could this have happened?" Ser Harys exclaimed in an annoyingly panicked tone.

He chose to ignore the man and instead, focus on questioning the footman.

"Who did you serve under?"

"I answered to a man named Chiswyck I did mi' lord." The man barely stuttered out.

"Tell me how the battle went…this Battle in the Blackwood Vale."

"Well mi' lord, we was outside that raven castle when we was called to mount and march. I don't know much I don't, but Ser Gregor ordered us to charge after a retreating group of River horsemen he did. I remember the man, Chiswyck, questioning Ser Gregor, but the Mountain just slapped him off his horse."

He let out an annoyed sigh. Ser Gregor was a powerful tool, but he was a mad dog at best. "What next?"

"The next thing I know, the rivermen broke, and we thought we was victorious we did. Until…"

"Until?"

"Then we heard them horns. All of a sudden, horse surrounded all of us. We watched as the Mountain was brought down and eventually killed. We broke soon after that."

"Who killed the Mountain?"

"I don't know mi' lord, truly. But I remember the banners clearly I did. I remember seeing a red man on dark pink, a bear on a green forest and a-"

"And a wolf on white."

The footman looked up in surprise. "Aye…aye mi' lord, how-"

"That's enough, get out. I don't want to see you again." The man practically tripped over himself trying to get out of the tent. Lord Crakehall was the first to speak.

"So…House Stark has officially joined in."

"Of course they did. Only I expected Ser Gregor to not fall for the clear trap of a green boy."

Lord Lydden spoke next. "What do we know of this boy? Only that he's Lord Stark's heir. What is his name?"

"Robb Stark. His name is Robb Stark, named after that buffoon who was stupid enough to believe those rumors." Even then, some in the tent gave scared glances to one another. Despite his best efforts, the entire realm knew of what happened to the Lannisters in the capital.

"If he's destroyed the Mountain's host…that means that the path to us is clear! We must retreat quickly, before we are trapped between them and these walls!"

"Control yourself Ser Harys or remove yourself from my presence."

"But my lord!-"

"Out. Now." He grew silent and gazed into the eyes of Ser Harys Swyft, who quickly stumbled out of the tent.

"Finally, some peace." Ser Lyle Crakehall japed before being jabbed in the side by his father.

"The loss of Ser Gregor changes nothing. With Harrenhal under our control, the North and the few Riverlords with them cannot afford to attack us without first securing the rest of the Kingdom, thereby giving us time to complete the damnable siege."

"My Lord if I may…perhaps we shouldn't be too quick to dismiss this…this Robb Stark." Lord Crakehall commented.

He waved him off. "Do not speak to me as if I am a lordling in training my lord…Robb Stark has won a victory, aye. I shan't deny him this. Yet he defeated a force he was far more numerically superior to, with the help of many experienced and bloodied military commanders. It did not help that he faced Ser Gregor…never the most intelligent of people. For now, he is but a figurehead for the Northern host and their Riverlands allies, nothing more."

"But my lord, if the Northerners somehow break through the Riverlands…they'll be able to unify with the forces in the capital, and Eddard Stark can assume command."

He let out a growl. Because he agreed with them. Holding Harrenhal was a vital part of his overall plan. If the Northerners could take Harrenhal, they could establish control over the eastern portion of the Riverlands…and hook up with Eddard Stark and Stannis Baratheon in the capital. Made worse, they could take control of Saltpans and Maidenpool, both strategic locations that they could use to resupply.

But what really made him annoyed…was those lords in the capital. Stannis Baratheon and Eddard Stark were both very good tactical commanders. Though he never faced them during the Rebellion, he worked alongside them during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Perhaps only Stannis Baratheon could've routed the Ironborn at sea. And Eddard Stark…he had made the mistake that he was nothing more than an Arryn puppet. A man so interested in honor, that he couldn't see the blades that would inevitably aim for his back. Until…until the Greyjoy Rebellion. The fury and brutality of the Northerners' campaign of the Iron Islands surprised even him. At the time, he actually respected it, after all, there was a song named for his own brutality.

Stannis Baratheon was among the best naval commanders of contemporary Westeros, and Eddard Stark was the other side of that coin, only his ability laid in the warfare waged on the fields and forests of the land.

He, himself, was a good commander if he could excuse the vanity. But as he once admitted to his late Joanna, and only her, he was a better politician than commander. The reason he conducted himself the way he did against House Reyne and House Tarbeck, was so as to not need to constantly raise his host. He was not a fool, he knew how to lead an army, but he was reserved against facing the likes of Stannis Baratheon at sea, or especially, Eddard Stark on the open field.

He needed to hold Harrenhal, needed to.

"Ser Lyle."

The man snapped to his attention. "My lord?"

"You father makes a good point. I want you to command an additional two thousand men and march for Harrenhal, your orders are to reinforce the garrison. At your arrival you will submit yourself to Lord Andros Brax, and answer to him. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, my lord. When do I depart?"

"At sunrise."

"My lord…" Lord Serrett spoke. "…have we any news on the present state of your other son? Lord Tyrion?"

Why…why did he have to bring up that demon, that little…that demon…that…

Well, it wouldn't do to dwell on it. "No. The last raven from the Pycelle mentioned his appointment as Master of Coin…I know not if he still holds such a position. Perhaps they hold him for the wish to use as a hostage."

"And shall we pay for his ransom?"

He gave all the gathered lords a hardened look. "Dis-missed."


*I always hate fanfics that paint Tywin Lannister as some rage-induced man. He is ruthless, he is ambitious, he is brutal, no doubt. But he is incredibly intelligent. Pycelle mentions that after Joanna died, his duty stayed. I am trying not to paint him in a favorable light, but a more rounded light. Please let me know if it comes off differently. I am not trying to nerf Tywin.