Reviews make me write faster! - I use the quatermaester interactive game of thrones map when writing.

The three months I spent at Storm's End were the most exhausting of my life; almost every waking moment was spent in the practice yard or in my solar. The exhaustion was the good kind though, it reminded me that I was making progress. Staying alive in Westeros took serious effort.

Renly had never put that effort in, and it showed in his fate. I wasn't going to make the same mistake.

One of the first things that I'd done on arriving had been to search the books on the genealogy of each major house and write down the ages of the people where the one to three years discrepancy between the books and show would actually matter. Namely the heirs of the great houses. That list was safely locked in my desk draw, lest Ser Cortnay get any ideas that I was searching for a wife and make discrete enquiries I would have to deny.

Life, however, had rumbled on at Storm's End, no matter how much time I spent plotting.

Edric Storm and Edric Dayne had become fast friends. Storm's charm and confidence helping to pull polite, shy, Dayne out of his shell a little. My nephew was thrilled to be constantly battling with me in the practice yard, but sadly my squire had hated my lordship lessons so much that I had had to stop commanding his attendance after the first week.

He just couldn't do it. His head for figures was so bad he might actually be worse than Sansa Stark, his shyness was still bad despite my nephew's best efforts, and his complete inability to deal with verbal anger and confrontation was crippling. I hadn't realised how he was using his perfect politeness to keep people calm and at arm's length until I saw what happened when Ser Cortnay screamed at him, despite his perfect manners, during roleplay as part of our 'dealing with unreasonable bannermen' lessons.

He totally shut down while stammering repeated apologies to make the yelling stop. Something any bannerman was certainly going to take brutal advantage of.

I had to pull him out of the lessons before whatever self-confidence he had left was absolutely shattered and the kid was left a traumatised wreck.

Thankfully, Edric's natural good nature meant his issues with verbal confrontation would likely never be a real problem for him on a personal level, especially not with his impeccable manners. But when it game to his lordly duties….it seemed that his aunt would have to select the next steward of House Dayne's household carefully, as they would need to rule in all but name if the Dayne's were to survive.

But when my squire had fled the lordship lessons, he had run right into Ser Loras' arms – metaphorically speaking – and the change had been incredible.

The shy boy had been convinced he was bad at fighting, despite already being better than most his age according to my master-at-arms. In actuality, it seemed that Beric Dondarrion had simply been a bad fit as a teacher when it came to swordplay and training.

As well as spending a lot more time than I expected strutting around the royal court in his starry cloak, when he did give Edric swordplay lessons Beric had used the 'sink or swim' approach. The Stormlands lord smashed the Dornish boy by going all out against him, then spent the rest of the lesson pointing out all of Edric's mistakes so he could work on them in his own time. Then he would smash Edric again in the next lesson, expecting to see some improvement, and would deliver a scathing new assessment if it wasn't as much as he expected.

While this would work for someone with as much inner fire and desperate desire to prove themselves as Jon Snow, Robb Stark, or Theon Greyjoy, Edric Dayne had not found this teaching method effective.

Ser Loras had a very different teaching style. He preferred to fight at the same skill level as his trainee until the trainee could reliably beat him, where upon he kicked it up to the next level.

I was paraphrasing a lot, but that was what I had managed to extract from Loras' gushing verbal treatise on weapons training when I'd asked. Apparently, it made it a lot more interesting for him as a trainer than just going all out, or teaching individual strikes, blocks, and footwork steps. Both of which were deathly boring for him despite being at opposite ends of the scale.

Loras actually found it harder to train someone by fighting at their level rather than his own, as it meant he had to constantly read his opponent rather than rely on his own skill. He also had to be mindful of exactly what blade skills and footwork he was using himself to restrict himself to his opponent's level; which meant he could spend a lot of time focusing on making the moves he was using absolutely perfect while still training someone else.

Edric Dayne had taken to this training method like a fish to water.

In fact, the self-belief that had suddenly appeared after his first few lessons with Ser Loras had had the Dornish boy driving himself to train until he literally collapsed from exhaustion.

Ser Courtnay, Edric Storm, Ser Loras, and I, had all beamed when Edric started babbling ecstatically about finally making progress and beginning to believe he could live up to house Dayne's reputation.

Ser Loras had promptly pounced on this, and the hero worship Edric was giving him, and now spent practically every daylight hour in the practice yard with the young Dornish boy.

It was actually adorable how much Ser Loras had learned to love teaching the young Lord Dayne. Even if a lot of that was likely due to the hero worship he was receiving.

Not that I would ever tell him. Even when they were both red faced and panting, smiling as if there was no better place in the world as they were finally forced to leave the practice yard by the setting sun. The sullen and devastated Tyrell who had had so much difficulty adjusting to the new Renly at the start of our stay at Storm's End was long gone. I had no desire to bring him back by pointing out the change.

My own training with Loras had fallen by the wayside as a result of him suddenly having such a promising protégé and warhammers being one of the few weapons Loras didn't fight with. The Tyrell knight had instead left me and Edric Storm to the master-at-arms for the most part. He only gave us occasional practice matches with mace and shield now, mainly to provide some polish to the master-at-arms' mace training and to keep Edric Storm's sprits up.

Not that I minded. My nephew and I were both at such a basic level that there wasn't anything Loras could teach us that the master-at-arms couldn't. So neither of us minded him spending his time training someone who could really benefit from his tutelage. Or rather Edric had stopped minding it once I had explained Loras' sudden shift attention in those terms.

The few moments I had after sunset that weren't spent learning or training were spent in my solar with Loras. Who, dare I think it, not only seemed to have finally accepted my version of Renly, but was even starting to show signs that he might prefer me over the original.

My willingness to take swordsmanship seriously – and be far less squeamish than the original Renly was – was obviously making up for my increased love of books. Though I had managed to tempt Loras into reading with me by using several military histories of the Storm Kings, so maybe he was overcoming is own aversion to them too. My increased ambition also made Loras' intelligent eyes darken with desire whenever I let him get a glimpse of some of my plans. It seemed it wasn't just his own glory and prestige he was hungry for; Loras wanted his loved ones exalted, praised and showered with glory as well.

The messages announcing Joffrey and Sansa's betrothal and Bran's fall had been bitter blows, but not unexpected ones. I had had Maester Jurne commission various designs of saddle for Bran from the acolytes at the Citadel and send the best ones to Winterfell with one of my messengers. If Ned did take my offer and bring Jon Snow south, no one would be with Tyrion to request he design one. And the prideful dwarf certainly wouldn't do it on his own given the welcome Robb would give him when he returned to Winterfell after his visit to the Wall.

I had also had a branch cut from the wierwood in the Storm's End godswood and had two shortbows made from it, sending them with the next messenger. Maester Luwin might well have told Bran he could still fight and hunt from horseback, but he had never done anything about it, causing Bran to lose faith. I would not make the same mistake.

But my time in the idyllic haven that was Storm's End in a realm at peace had finally come to an end.

The first of my major plans had finally been enacted a few weeks before, to Ser Cortnay's disbelief, and not before time as it wouldn't begin to provide benefits for weeks. But all good things come to an end, and the end of my time in this idyllic retreat came when word reached me that the royal court had finally reached the Crossroads Inn.

That meant I needed to get back to Kings Landing to welcome them back to the capital, especially as I couldn't count on them being delayed by the search for Arya due to the butterfly effect and all that in entailed. If I had convinced Ned Stark to bring Jon Snow south would he still have planned to bring Arya and Bran south with Sansa as he had originally?

On the other hand, I still marvelled at the size of Westeros and the general speed of travel, as the Kingsroad's 'just under 2,000 miles' canon length was actually 1870 miles according to Westerosi maps, Westeros was about the length of South America. After figuring that out, I had gone over the speed that the King's party was making with Ser Cortnay and been shocked.

Generally speaking, the fastest messengers, sticking to the roads and changing horses 4 times a day at dedicated courier posts, could cover 100 miles per day. The average rider, such as most lords and mounted men-at-arms, could cover 35 miles per day on good roads and 25 miles per day on tracks and across open ground. Provided any luggage was on packhorses rather than being carried on carts or by servants on foot.

On foot, a man used to walking, and who had a packhorse to carry everything while he walked, could cover 22 miles per day. But he couldn't be expected to do anything strenuous at the end of it, such as make camp. That speed was reliant on roads and inns.

The foot of a great lord's army could be expected to cover 18 miles per day on the road and 14 miles per day on tracks and across open ground. Though in both cases it was unwise to push them so hard if you expected to have to do battle immediately upon reaching your destination.

Normal travelling smallfolk, refugees burdened with belongings, or people trying to avoid notice, could all be expected to cover about 10 miles per day on foot.

Unfortunately for King Robert, instead of the just over 3 weeks it was possible to reach Winterfell in, if you were riding unencumbered with your baggage on packhorses, carts could only cover 12 miles per day on the roads and 8 miles per day off them. In winter those speeds halved.

As Robert Baratheon was travelling with untold carts and wheelhouses, due to the presence of the Queen and 300 lords, ladies, knights, and highborn servants of the royal court, it had taken him almost 10 weeks to reach Winterfell.

Unfortunately, the same constraints were also imposed on me. The Crossroads Inn was just over 3 weeks from Kings landing if you had the carts of a baggage train slowing your progress, but it was only 8 days by horse if you were riding unencumbered. The same distance as Storm's End.

I had no intention of not being in Kings Landing to welcome Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark if the King decided to leave the column and ride on ahead of the Queen and ladies of the court in their wheelhouses. So I had to get moving.

Outside, the party I was leading to return to Kings Landing was mounting up, and it was considerably larger than the one I had arrived in Storm's End with.

The original Renly had been content to keep only on 30 household guards in the city, relying mainly on Robert's 400 or so Royal household guards, and the 4,000 gold cloaks of the city watch that were nominally under his command as the Master of Laws.

The fact that the Commander of the City Watch, Janos Slynt, was so corrupt that even the lazy twat that was the original Renly had enlisted Jon Arryn's support to try and have him replaced; only to have Littlefinger convince King Robert to keep him on with the argument his successor might be worse, showed exactly who they would be loyal to if it came to a conflict between the Master of Laws and the Master of Coin. No matter what I offered him.

Renly had made exactly the right call fleeing the city when things went to hell. His own 30 guards, along with the 20 house Tyrell guards that Ser Loras commanded, would have been overwhelmed instantly. Just as Eddard Stark's remaining 20-30 Stark household guards were when he made his move in the throne room.

I had arrived in Storm's End with 20 guards, leaving 10 behind in Kings Landing. I was returning to the capital with 190. It was no doubt the height of discourtesy to equal the number that I could argue I had believed Ned Stark was bringing south as Hand of the King. 200 was, after all, the number of household guards Lord Rickard Stark had brought south when the Mad King summoned him to answer for Brandon Stark's 'crimes'. Not that it had helped him.

But as discourteous and disrespectful as it was, legally I hadn't actually exceeded the limit for a lord paramount at court, which was half the strength of the Royal household guard. And I wanted those extra men for whichever of the half-formed plans running around my mind I decided to use.

The number of Lannister household guards described in the books and the show as being constantly in the Red Keep left me in no doubt that they were already well in excess of the permitted numbers. Possibly equalling the 400 guards of the Royal household that were present to stop the third of the gold cloaks assigned to the Red Keep barracks from getting any ideas.

At least the Kings of Westeros had insisted on that so as not replicate the mistake with their City Watch that the Roman Emperors had made with their Praetorian Guard. Unfortunately, they had come up with several other ways to set up a merry-go-round of royal murder and insanity.

Ser Cortnay was only informed of my plan once the raven telling of the King's location arrived. He was still in shock even as we walked towards the gatehouse for me to mount up.

"My lord, I feel I have to ask again if you're sure about taking so many guards back with you. It will undoubtedly create trouble with your brother."

"Which one?" I questioned. I knew that Stannis had fled to Dragonstone the moment that Jon Arryn died and that he wouldn't be returning. But his absence was not yet concerning to anyone who had not sent ravens requesting his return. I had used the absence of the King from Kings Landing to return to my own seat after all. I was curious to see which brother Ser Cortnay felt was the bigger threat to me.

"Stannis." Ser Cortnay answered without a moment's hesitation. "Forgive me my lord, but King Robert doesn't seem to take you seriously from the stories the guards you brought tell. He will rant and rave and think you're trying to make yourself Ned Stark's equal in his eyes, but in the end, he will do nothing. Stannis will view this as a calculated insult, as given the pitiful numbers and resources that Dragonstone provides him; he could never hope to bring two hundred household guards to Kings Landing himself."

I smirked. Both at the fact that Ser Cortnay had become far freer with his words around me over the last month, trusting that I meant it when I said I needed truthful counsel, not hedged platitudes, but also at the fact that he agreed with my assessment.

Stannis was a far greater threat to me than Robert.

Robert didn't respect me; but Stannis' resentment of me went well past the point of sanity. He saw me as the walking embodiment of every slight he had suffered ever since Robert gave Storm's End to Renly over him. It would take him murdering Renly via shadow demon, several years of nightmares, and several years of watching the horror of the Seven Kingdoms on fire for him to acknowledge he did love his younger brother under everything after all.

Which was yet another thing I was refusing to face in the hope that it would go away.

Because that never led to any problems.

"Breathing gives me problems with Stannis, Cortnay." I flashed him my winning smile to lighten the mood. "Until I surrender Storm's End to him and submit to his idea of 'justice' for every perceived slight he's ever received from Robert and I, it always will. As I don't have enough fingerbones to be confident of surviving submitting to his judgement, I might as well give him an actual slight to complain about."

Ser Cortnay decided to change tack, despite fighting down a smile. "Very well my lord, but are you still certain that you want to make Elwood Meadows your guard captain?"

"Missing your lieutenant already Cortnay?" I laughed, the distaste appearing on my castellan's face showing he was far more concerned about lumbering me with such a useless fop as guard captain than any effect my decision had on him.

"My lord, there are many…better suited…candidates." The dutiful man practically begged.

"I know there are. That's why I'm taking the spineless shit with me where I can personally counteract his craven nature. I want you to pick the best one of those 'better suited candidates' to be your new leftenant. Don't worry about rank either, whoever you pick, I'll protect you from the consequences." I was glad that Ser Cortnay had recognised how much of a useless coward his leftenant was, given that the untrustworthy shit had turned over the castle, and Edric Storm, to Stannis the moment Ser Cortnay's body hit the ground.

The fact that Elwood Meadows' position was due entirely to him being too important to fire, rather than to any poor judgement on Ser Cortnay's part, meant the situation was easy to solve. I had decided to simply promote him and take him with me to Kings Landing, where I'd be standing right behind him to force some steel into his jelly spine, and have Ser Cortnay pick his replacement as lieutenant himself.

I had surprised the loyal knight so much he'd actually stopped walking and I had to pause for a moment for him to catch up.

"My lord, you don't need to….that is….I can handle…." My poor castellan was stammering, something so out of character for his usually composed and confident self that I decided to put him out of his misery.

"This is to my benefit Ser Cortnay. This castle would not have stood the test of time if its builders had accepted weak stones when building it, I will not suffer weak men among its garrison any more than those builders accepted weak stone. Jon Arryn is dead, Eddard Stark's boy was pushed from a window, the Vale has gone silent, and Stannis sits at Dragonstone refusing all summons to return to the capital. A storm is coming, I can feel it, and I will not have a man such as Elwood Meadows one heartbeat away from control of the great stronghold of the Stormlands, and my own nephew besides, when a storm is bearing down on us. I will not."

A nephew who, it had to be said, I was already coming to love. Perhaps it was in place of my true nephews at home in Britain, but that didn't mean that my protectiveness was any less real. He was currently hiding in his chambers, having said goodbye privately. Having his new best friend, his newly beloved Uncle, and his new hero knight all ride out together on the same day was incredibly tough for the boy of twelve. He didn't want to risk breaking down in front of the household.

I hadn't thought that Ser Cortnay could look at me with more respect or loyalty than he had been over this last month. But I was wrong as he stood taller and nodded in acceptance.

"I won't let you down my lord. I will pick a man who will stand strong and do you proud. No matter what storm you think is coming, we will ensure people remember the name of this castle."

I gripped Ser Cortnay's shoulder tightly in acknowledgement. "I have no doubt of it, my friend. Now, one last thing."

"My lord?" Ser Cortnay was understandably wary given my orders so far.

"The cavern under the castle that Ser Davos used to resupply us in the siege. I want a new portcullis installed at the entrance to the tunnel, and I want both it and the existing portcullis made permanent guard stations."

Ser Cortnay frowned, remembering the layout of the cavern that was the only possible way to resupply Storm's End by sea, given the violence of the sea and sheer rocks of the cliffs all across this part of the Stormlands. It was called Shipbreaker Bay for a reason after all.

"My lord, the gate from the castle to the cavern docks is well secured, and the tunnel through the cliff to the cavern is both treacherous and only navigable at high tide. The portcullis prevents ships from leaving the tunnel and entering the cavern in any case, and the men in the passage above the tunnel can use the murder holes to deal with anyone trapped against it. Forgive me, but I see little value in what you suggest."

I stopped again and simply raised an eyebrow at Ser Cortnay. "So the passage above the tunnel is regularly patrolled?"

"No, my lord."

"And the portcullis, it can be heard above the waves if a traitor raises it to allow an elite group of enemy knights to reach the cavern docks?"

"No, my lord."

"And the stone of the tunnel, it's strong enough that if an enemy were to sail a boat of the wildfire King Ayres was so fond of into it and set it off well short of the portcullis, it wouldn't blow a hole straight through the roof of the tunnel into the passage? Allowing boatloads of men with climbing ropes to enter the castle with neither portcullis nor gate in their way?"

"No, my lord."

Ser Cortnay was now looking at the floor in shame for questioning me, so I decided to take pity on him.

"I have read of many exploits and feats of daring in the library of Kings Landing, Ser Cortnay. Feats that I too would have thought utterly ridiculous were the records not there before my eyes. There is no dishonour in falling to an enemy that takes advantage of a weakness in your castle that you did not know of. But if you did know of it and failed to address it…."

In actual fact all of those attacks were exceedingly unlikely. Especially the wildfire one as I wasn't even sure wildfire would act as an explosive if it wasn't contained on ignition or used in large enough amounts to make it form a fuel-air explosive. But I couldn't exactly come right out and say that the magic woven into the walls of Storm's End, magic no one believed in no less, protected the garrison from magical attacks. Attacks such as the shadow demon assassins that could be summoned by the shadowbinders of Asshai.

Shadowbinders like Melisandre.

Ser Davos had rowed Melisandre along the tunnel to the portcullis. While it prevented entry to the cavern, it was still inside the castle walls. Once Ser Davos had got her there she was inside the magical protections, and not being able to enter the cavern itself had meant nothing in the end.

Ser Cortnay had died, and the castle had fallen in the books because of that design oversight. I would not let it happen here.

A look of grim determination settled over my castellan. "I will have the murder hole passage extended the full length of the tunnel and install a new portcullis at its new end near the tunnel mouth my lord."

"As long as it's outside the walls and made a permanent guard post, along with the existing one and the dock gates, I'm sure it will be fine." I nodded in approval.

We reached my horse and I swung myself confidently into the saddle "Stannis had five hundred men when he held this castle in the rebellion Ser Cortnay. There's a reason the garrison is that size, since I'm only leaving you with three hundred, you're to recruit and train new men-at-arms to replace the ones I've taken. Make sure the granaries are full as well, I won't have us caught off guard with our food stores if war comes to the Stormlands again. We should have learned that lesson from last time."

"My lord, the expense…it will be significant." The old knight warned, though with the tone of one who knew that it had to be done.

It seemed I wasn't the only one who could feel a storm coming.

"Can my treasury bear it?" I asked bluntly. I knew calling the banners would be utterly ruinous and unsustainable, but I had thought expanding the household guard would be something I could sustain for a long time even if it would certainly send my yearly accounts into the red.

"For some time. But you will lose coin each year you maintain the expansion, the treasury cannot absorb that forever." Ser Cortnay explained, Renly's previous frivolity and lack of seriousness clearly still colouring his perceptions.

His loyalty had been beyond doubt. But it clearly hadn't been blind loyalty.

"I doubt that the coming storm will hold off to allow even a single year to pass Ser. Recruit the men."

"My lord." My castellan answered, bowing his head before he strode off purposefully back towards the drum tower while I rode passed Edric as he yanked irritably at his ash blonde hair. The warm rain was causing his fine straight hair to plaster all over his face, unlike my own heavy waves or Loras' tumbles of curls, which had the weight to stick to our necks and shoulders instead. Edric scowled and drew his light purple cloak around himself more closely as we prepared to set off. It seemed the Dornish boy truly wasn't fond of rain.

Loras simply smiled at me as I took position slightly in front of him. Then the trumpet sounded, and I spurred my horse forwards. Black and gold stag banners streaming behind in the rain as I led my small army back to Kings Landing.

Renly's List

Age of the great houses heirs as of the first week of April, 298 AC

House Stark: Robb – 16, turning 17 later this year / Jon Snow – 16 turning 17 / Sansa – 13 turning 14 / Arya – 12 / Bran – 10 / Rickon – 6 turning 7

House 'Baratheon': Joffrey – 14 turning 15 / Myrcella – 11 turning 12 / Tommen – 8 turning 9.

House Baratheon: Renly – 23 / Edric Storm – 12, turning 13 / Shireen – 9 turning 10

House Tyrell: Willas – 23 turning 24 / Garlan 21 turning 22 / Loras – 19 / Margery – 17, turning 18

House Targaryen: Viserys – 22 turning 23 / Aegon – 17 turning 18 / Daenerys – 15 turning 16 /

House Martell: Arianne – 24 / Quentyn – 19 turning 20 / Trystane – 13

House Dayne: Edric – 14

House Arryn: Robin – 8 / Harrold – 17 turning 18

House Reed: Meera – 16 turning 17 / Jojen – 12 turning 13