Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones characters in the story or from the novel, A Song of Ice and Fire. Only the OCs included are mine and any original plots.
Chapter 9 : The Wolf and the Stag
It was early in the morning and storm clouds were uncharacteristically overhead as Cregan rode at the head of an arrow formation of northmen, trotting towards where King Renly was holding a melee tournament of some sort beneath the walls of Bitterbridge, the seat of House Caswell. One of Renly's men – a knight who referred to himself as Ser Colen of Greenpools – was guiding them. He was flanked on either side by Smalljon Umber, Harrion Karstark, and Dacey Mormont, the eldest daughter of the Lady Maege of Bear Island.
Harrion scowled, as his eyes swept over the massive camp they were walking through. The sheer size of it was truly a marvel to behold yet the Heir of Karhold didn't see it that way. "It's like the man doesn't realize we're at war."
"Well, if you moved a mere two miles in two weeks, and had tournaments and feasts every day, you'd forget about war too." Smalljon grumbled, just as angered as the Karstark man was and he had every right to be. Even Cregan was annoyed at the sight they had come across. For the North and the Riverlands, the war currently being waged was very personal. Renly, on the other hand, seemed to be treating it as if it were just a big game.
"They're not prepared for any sort of battle." Dacey Mormont noted as she eyed the southerners littering the camp. The Heir of Bear Island was a great northern beauty yet her ferocity was what she was most well known for. The Lady Maege had assigned her to Cregan's guard for his trip to Highgarden. "Some of these men look like they've never picked up a spear before in their lives."
The secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf grunted as he walked a step ahead of his companions with Sif falling in step next to him. "When you have a hundred thousand men, you can afford to have a few thousand untrained. Besides, this is not our problem. If Renly wishes to face his brother or Tywin with poorly trained soldiers, then let him be at fault."
As the small host of northmen approached a gathered crowd up ahead, a group of young stable hands ran out to offer their services. Cregan, looking down at the hopeful boy who was waiting patiently, dismounted and handed the reins to the boy, all the while ruffling his head and slipping him a few gold coins. His fellow northerners followed his lead, sliding off their horses and onto the muddy ground.
"Lord Cregan, if your men and…pet…would be so kind as to wait here, I shall present you to King Renly." Ser Colen informed while warily eyeing the black Direwolf at his side as if he worried the beast of winter who tear into him at any given moment.
"The sworn swords can wait." Cregan replied. "But my personal guard is as much part of this delegation as I am. As for my Direwolf…" The boy of sixteen namedays stroked Sif's head softly. "…he will remain by my side where he belongs."
Ser Colen didn't look happy, but he made no move to argue either. "We may have to wait for the melee to finish."
Cregan chuckled whilst shaking his head. "I would, Ser Colen, but I am a prince now. I don't feel like waiting. Besides, I want to watch this."
The boy of sixteen namedays looked around at the stiff crowd. He could try and push his way through, but there were other, more practical ways. He tapped Sif on the head and as his four legged companion looked up at him, he waved a hand at the crowd. Seemingly understanding his unspoken order, Sif stalked ahead and rapped his muzzle on the thighs of the men standing in the back. When they looked around and saw what was nuzzling them, the southerners jumped away in fright, grabbing their friends and pulling them away from the beast of hell that they likely saw. The Smalljon let out a booming laugh, Harrion smirked, and Dacey chuckled as they, along with Ser Colen, fell in line beside Cregan. More and more men moved aside to make way for them as they slowly but surely approached the barrier. The display they arrived at certainly was an entertaining one.
Two figures were in the midst of a melee, with the larger figure in cobalt blue armor clearly in control as they smashed their morningstar down upon a shield emblazoned with three golden roses. Ser Loras Tyrell's armor and shield were unmistakable, even to a group of northerners who had never been further south than the Neck – or in Cregan's case, the Riverlands.
It was not, however, Ser Loras who was winning this fight. It was the stranger in blue who smashed the Knight of Flowers with their shield so forcefully that Ser Loras stumbled back, dazed. This solicited a cry of support from the platform where Renly was seated. Cregan looked up to the platform for the first time, and almost immediately spotted the self-proclaimed Baratheon King. He was sat in the middle and dressed in vibrant green with a stag sewn on the front of his doublet in thick golden threat, the sigil of House Baratheon in the colours of Tyrell. Next to him, sat his Queen. Margaery Tyrell was dressed in the same colours as her husband, green and gold, her dress flowing around her feminine form, her curls falling about her shoulder, and her smile shy and sweet. She clapped her hands in excitement and support for her brother.
Cregan tore his attention away from the platform and back down to the field where the two knights were still exchanging blows. Despite the size difference between the two fighters, Loras Tyrell seemed to be handling himself well. His footwork and skill with a blade were undeniable. Each strike was fast and perfectly timed, never leaving him out of position.
He watched as the Knight of Flowers managed to disarm the fighter dressed in cobalt armor by striking their gauntlet and making them drop the morningstar in their hand. That did little to deter the big warrior, who simply dropped their shield and tackled the Ser Loras, bringing them both crashing down into the mud. The cobalt fighter, for how big they were, moved with deceptive agility. Quickly climbing on top of the silver-clad swordsman, they drew their dagger and opened their opponent's visor, placing the tip of the blade just under the man's nose.
"I yield." The Knight of Flowers said bitterly, loud enough for all to hear. The cobalt warrior grunted and pushed himself up off the ground, stretching a hand out to help the silver swordsman off the ground. Loras ignored the hand and scrambled awkwardly to his feet, ripping off his helmet and clambering away to regroup. The cobalt knight hesitated for a moment before they came before Renly and knelt.
"Rise and remove your helm." The youngest brother of Robert Baratheon commanded.
The cobalt warrior rose to their feet and then proceeded to remove their helm. The crowd let out a collective gasp upon seeing that the knight who had bested Ser Loras was not a man but a woman. Not an attractive woman under any means, but a woman, nonetheless. She had a plain face, with startling blue eyes and short, hay-colored hair. Her nose was a little crooked as well as if it had been broken and badly reset. The only good thing that could be said about her was that she looked like she had been born to wear her armor.
Renly seemed unfazed by the revelation that the warrior was female. "You are everything your father promised and more." He remarked with a chuckle. "I have seen Ser Loras bested a few times, but never quite in that fashion."
"Come now, Your Grace, my brother fought valiantly for you." His Queen argued lightly in defense of the silver-clad knight.
Renly nodded in agreement. "That he did, my love. But there can only be one champion. Brienne of Tarth, you may ask anything of me you desire. If it is within my power to grant, then it is yours."
The cobalt knight knelt before Renly once more, bowing her head. "Your Grace, I ask the honour of a place in your Kingsguard. I will be one of your seven, pledge my life to yours, and keep you safe from all harm."
The crowd began to mutter, interested to see what their king would say. Ignoring the chatter, Renly smiled warmly and clapped his hands along with his wife. "If that is your desire then it shall be done. Rise, Brienne the Blue!"
The warrior in blue nodded once with great pride in her eyes before she took her place just in front of the raised platform that Renly sat on. It was then that Ser Colen vaulted the barrier and dropped to a knee before the self-proclaimed Baratheon King.
"Your Grace," The knight from Greenpools called. "I have the honour of presenting Lord Cregan Stark, an envoy from his brother, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell."
"Prince Cregan Stark." The secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf corrected the knight as he followed Ser Colen's example and stepped over the barrier. "And my brother is Lord of Winterfell and King in the North and the Trident."
Sif drew gasps from the surrounding men as he slunk under the barrier and his fellow lordlings joined him as well. Cregan and each of his companions were dressed for war in leather and steel, their weapons hanging by their sides under their cloaks. They truly fit the image of the fearsome northerners that they were.
Renly smiled warmly, though there was a slight look of surprise on his face. "Of course, King Robb. Titles are rather unimportant, what with the present war at hand. There will be time for all that later. Nevertheless, we are most pleased to have you in our company. May I present my beloved wife, the Lady Margaery of House Tyrell."
Queen Margaery leaned forward. "You are most welcome here, Prince Cregan. Allow me to extend my sorrow for the loss of your father. I hear he was a good man and I know his death was unjust."
"You are most kind, My Lady." Cregan replied whilst nodding his head in thanks.
"I swear to you that I will see the Lannisters answer for your father's murder." Renly spoke up in announcement, his tone slightly higher and more commanding. "When I take King's Landing, I'll bring you Joffrey's and Cersei's heads!"
The Lords and knights around him roared in approval but Cregan merely grinned wolfishly. "Thank you, Lord Renly, but I would much rather remove them myself."
"Your Grace." The newly proclaimed member of Renly's Kingsguard presumed to correct him. "And it is customary to before your King."
The secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf raised an eyebrow as he looked into the direction of monstrosity. "He's not my grace, and he's not my King. Those titles can be claimed only by my brother, the man who sent me here."
"King Renly is the one true King…" Brienne started to say with fierce burning eyes, before being interrupted by Renly.
"There's no need for that. Prince Cregan is an honored guests." The youngest of Robert Baratheon's brothers chided with a jovial tone of voice before he turned his attention back on the young Stark. "Tell me, Prince Cregan, when does your brother plan to march against Harrenhal?"
"When do you mean to fight a battle instead of playing at war in the safety of your own lands?" Cregan fired back. He was not foolish enough to divulge any war plans with Renly. "My Lord, I think we can both agree that neither of us mean to tell the other our plans of battle."
"Fair enough." Renly replied. "But what of the Kingslayer?"
"Locked in a dungeon at Riverrun." The secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf gave a curt reply. Renly hummed, looking as if he didn't need the Kingslayer. With an army this size, no one could blame him for thinking so.
"The Direwolf is gentler than the Lion, it would seem." A Lord with a sigil of a golden tree on his tunic remarked mockingly.
"Careful." Cregan warned with a wolfish grin as Sif snarled at the man who dared to speak. "You don't want my four legged companion here to hear that. While he is the calmest of the litter me and my siblings found, he can become a very prickly beast when the situation calls for it."
The Reach Lords bristled slightly at his words but Renly simply laughed and rose to his feet. "Come, Prince Cregan. I believe we have much to discuss."
Cregan nodded before he turned to his fellow northerners. "Harrion, you're with me." The Heir of Karhold bowed his head at the command. "Smalljon, Dacey, the two of you can go make camp. Try not to get into a fight with anyone."
"I make no promises." The Smalljon replied gruffly.
The secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf chuckled at his words before he followed Renly away from the camp. Harrion, and Brienne walked closely behind them as the Baratheon and Stark conversed with one another.
"I know I said this before but I truly am sorry about your father." Renly said with a solemn tone of voice. "He was probably the least treacherous man I knew. I warned him about Cersei and Joffrey, I offered him men to help take them into custody when Robert was dying but…"
"He wouldn't have thought it honorable." Cregan replied, his voice filled with bitterness. It seemed that while Joffrey Baratheon was the one to order his Lord Father's death, honour also had a large role to play. Sif nudged his snout against his master's leg as if sensing his grief and the boy of sixteen namedays absentmindedly scratched his head.
"Yes." Renly agreed. "I am sorry I left him at the Capital, but there was no more I could do for him. If I had not fled when I did then I would not be here now. I would be languishing in the cells, or more likely, have met the same cruel fate as Lord Eddard."
"My brother and I are not blind. We know that the blame of our father's death rests solely in the hands of the boyking Joffrey." The secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf reassured the Baratheon King as he clenched his fists tightly. "He had no allies. No friends. No one to help him. He died alone. He died a traitor to the realm. He died without honour. My father deserved better."
Renly nodded in agreement before an inquisitive look appeared on his face. "Why have you come here, may I ask?"
"I think you and I both know the answer to that." Cregan replied to him, and Renly halted in his step.
"Your brother wants an alliance, and I'm your best option." Renly stated astutely. "Who can blame you? I have one hundred thousand men behind me, and the might and wealth of Highgarden."
"Exactly, who could blame us?" Cregan remarked sarcastically, and Renly grinned.
"I like you already." The youngest of Robert Baratheon's brothers chuckled. "And I liked your father, very much. He was a good friend to me, and he did his best to be a good and just Hand – Robert didn't make it easy for him, but he did what he could. I was being truthful when I said that I want to avenge his death, though, not as much as you and your brother of course."
"I want my sisters back, and I want my father buried with dignity." The boy of sixteen namedays said.
"And you want the North." Renly said, meeting his eyes.
"The Lords of the North crowned Robb King in the North, and he accepted the title." Cregan stated calmly.
"And the Riverlands have declared him their King too, haven't they?" Renly raised a brow. "It seems you Starks are quickly collecting Kingdoms like toys. I will have nothing left to fight for at this rate."
"We won't give up the North." Cregan growled, his voice defiant and fierce.
"But we can put the Riverlands back on the table?" Renly asked.
"We shall see once the war has been ended." Cregan answered cryptically. The River Lords had only followed Robb because of his uncle Edmure, and he knew Edmure would happily bend the knee to Renly if Cregan and Robb assured him it was the right thing to do. What he needed was time to see if it was indeed the right thing. Then he would speak to Robb about it.
"And what do I get in return?" Renly asked.
"You have the Stormlands and the Reach behind you already. My brother can give you the support of the North and the Riverlands. Dorne has no love for the Lannisters, they will keep out of this. The Vale will not march, believe me, my mother and brother have already tried to persuade my aunt Lysa Arryn. In short, we combined can easily best the Lannisters." Cregan concluded.
"And my brother?" Renly raised a brow.
"You cannot deny he has the better claim." Cregan told him honestly.
"You cannot deny my numbers will crush him." Renly said, and Cregan smiled wryly
"I suppose not." The secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf conceded.
"You have heard what he's done, haven't you? On Dragonstone?" Renly asked seriously.
"My attentions have been rather focused elsewhere." Cregan answered.
"Of course," Renly nodded. "But you ought to know this, all the Seven Kingdoms ought to know this. Stannis cannot take the throne – better claim or not – not when he would destroy the Gods themselves."
"What are you talking about?" The boy of sixteen namedays asked, a frown creasing his brows.
"In here." Renly gestured towards the tent they had come to a stop beside. Cregan entered ahead of him at his insistence, assuming it to be Renly's own tent given how finely it was decorated. "Wine?" Renly asked from behind him, and Cregan turned.
"Aye, thank you." The secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf replied.
Renly poured them both a cup and handed Cregan his before raising his own. "To friendship!" He declared, and Cregan knocked his cup against Renly's, repeating the sentiment before taking a long sip. He was beginning to feel the ride here now, but he sensed Renly wanted to tell him something important, and he also sensed that he may be closer to an alliance than he had dared to hope he would be on the way here.
"You wanted to tell me something about Stannis?" Cregan prompted after a moment.
"Yes." Renly nodded, looking troubled. "I have spies on Dragonstone, of course, and their latest reports have been disturbing to say the least."
"What..?" Cregan began but was interrupted by the self-proclaimed Baratheon King.
"Stannis has taken up with a priestess, or witch, may be a more appropriate term for her. She had effigies of the Seven burned on the beaches, and has been preaching against them – claiming her own God, R'hllor, is the one true God. She has named Stannis a prophet reborn and he is allowing her to conduct this madness. If he takes the throne, Cregan, worship of the Seven will be outlawed. How can we allow that to happen? How can we expect the people to forsake their Gods? Stannis must not be allowed to take the Iron Throne – better claim or not."
"Fucking hell…" Cregan wasn't sure what else to say, so he took another long gulp of wine.
"I know, it is madness." Renly shook his head. "Stannis was never pious, but I never thought he would turn his back on the Seven like this. This witch must have bewitched him well. But what worries me most is where it will lead. Do you suppose this woman will be content with burning effigies? How long before it is Septons and Septas on her pyre? Or merely those who refuse to renounce their faith?"
"If that is truly where it will lead, then I agree it must be stopped." Cregan said though he feared more for his home region. After hearing the new information, he was worried about what would happen when Stannis turned his sights on the North who worshipped the Old Gods of the Forest. If he tried to force them to forego their religion, another war would sprout and then House Stark would be fighting a battle on two fronts. The North would be overwhelmed.
"Precisely!" Renly drained his cup and set it aside, clapping his hands together. "Just look at you and I, negotiating in complete civility and harmony despite you worshipping the Old Gods, and I keeping the faith of the Seven."
"So, we are negotiating?" Cregan asked with a hint of a smirk.
"I do not think there is much left to say." Renly returned the smile with a brilliant one of his own. "I want the Iron Throne, you and your brother will help me win it in return for the North. You know, I have never been to the barren and frozen lands; I never wanted to. The cold does not agree with me. Allowing Robb Stark to keep the title of King would not stop us remaining allies, would it?"
"I do not see how it would. The Lannisters are the ones who started this war and when this one is done, I doubt we will be seeking another." Cregan informed.
"Nor will I." Renly chuckled. "I much prefer the joyousness of peacetime, and the food is much better. Not to mention the wine. That does not mean I will shy away from this battle. The Iron Throne must be won, and I must do my part to show the people that I am their best candidate." Laughing, the youngest brother of Robert Baratheon turned back to look at him. "I will hold you up no longer, Prince Cregan. Doubtless you will want to rest and bathe beforehand. Your tent is opposite mine, I trust you will find it comfortable."
"Thank you, I'm sure that I will, King Renly."
