Even more rewarding than all the lovely reviews that I am always grateful for was getting to watch the TERFS, LGB Alliance supporters, and other transphobic trash take themselves out after the last chapter :) Now – Onwards!
Renly Baratheon
Resplendent in their white cloaks Ser Balon Swann and Ser Corwin Mertyns escorted me down the corridors of Storm's End towards my solar. The noise of the feast celebrating my election fading behind me.
We entered to find that Ser Cortnay had successfully turned it into a war room as asked and had thankfully ensured it was well supplied with candles as well. Vital since it was well past midnight. Sadly, though my love of pretty things, history, and geography all demanded it, there was no giant carved and painted table to plan my conquest on. Money and time were killjoys like that.
Instead Ser Cortnay had spread the largest map of Westeros in Storm's End over the table with its edges held down by candles. Nine smaller maps were spread over additional tables that had been carried in, showing each of the Seven Kingdoms, the Crownlands, and the Iron Islands in more detail.
The room was filled with people I had commanded to stay sober at the feast and who had successfully slipped away from it before me.
My grandfather, Eldon Estermont of Greenstone, was the oldest person present by some margin at over seventy. He was hovering over the large map of Westeros, frowning and talking to the only man present to rival him in age, Lord Lyonel Whitehead of the Weeping Tower and Weeping Town. A new addition, brought in by the sheer necessity of keeping the closest thing I had to a city firmly in my camp rather than from any sudden bout of loyalty on his part. Both the carrot and the stick would be needed to ensure he stayed as loyal as the rest of this group.
Lord Steffon Mertyns of Mistwood and Lord Ralph Buckler of Bronzegate were standing by the window and talking with my uncle, Aemon Estermont, who was still merely the heir of Greenstone despite being in his forties like Steffon and Ralph.
My other uncle, Lomas Estermont, was sadly absent as he had already pledged his sword to Stannis and the Lord of Light. Thankfully his son Andrew had volunteered for the wall with Jacelyn Mertyns instead of joining his father in worshiping R'hllor as he had done the first time around. So this time it was clear to all who asked that my family was firmly behind me and the Seven. Not my brother and his Red God.
The Penrose brothers were pouring over one of the many books in my solar with Arstan Selmy. One that from Lord Selmy's rapidly paling looks I had a dreadful suspicion held my accounts, and thus the records of my rapidly disappearing gold. Corwin Mertyns would doubtless be with them if he weren't at my shoulder, taking his new Kingsguard duties seriously, as they were all in their thirties and he was well acquainted with the other three. Ser Cortnay hadn't hesitated for a moment when giving his seal of approval to the idea of Ser Corwin as one of my Kingsguard.
Brienne, Robar Royce, and Balon Swann were the only ones of an age with me, the four of us all being in our twenties. Balon stood at my other shoulder, fulfilling his duties as a Kingsguard, while Brienne and Robar both stood at the centre of the final cluster of men.
My cousin Alyn, Jon, and Edric Dayne, all teenagers of varying ages though all were now knighted, all stood in a cluster around Brienne and Robar, admiring their rainbow cloaks.
It was – in short – a council of the most loyal supporters I had. With the exception of Lyonel Whitehead.
"Well my lords, shall we begin?"
I addressed them while moving over to the main table and the map of the entirety of Westeros that showed only the major settlements and roads.
"The feelings on my election and my decision regarding the Rainbow Guard?" I asked calmly once I had their attention.
"No real protestations on your election Your Grace, beyond those highborn we already expected it from." Ser Cortnay reported with equal calm.
"Your punishment of Ser Humphry for his defiance was weak. I don't care for your idea of knighting women any more than he does, but he openly defied you. You should have taken his head." My grandfather grunted, interrupting before anyone else could report. "I think so anyway, and I heard more than one of your bannermen agree with me. Is that how you will deal with open defiance as king, Your Grace? A bit of humiliation? The Lords of Westeros are sheep, they'll only obey you as long as they fear you. Keep this up and you won't sit on the Iron Throne for very long."
"I hardly have the dragons to go with the early Targaryen 'obey or be eaten!' method of enforcing discipline Grandfather." I jested. "But rest assured I am not acting without cause. I have no intention of becoming Tytos Lannister. But I have no intention of ending up like the mad king either, surrounded by sycophants that praise my every decision as the lords turn against me and the realm burns. I wish for some level of challenge, for nothing is more certain to lead a king to ruin than for no one to be willing to tell him no. As such, the first challenge that I find to be unwarranted will often be met with simple humiliation. A punishment that the offender will not soon forget, but one that will not prevent those with wise counsel from sharing it with me for fear of my wrath."
"You'll have to deal with any further defiance harshly then. Very harshly." Eldon Estermont grunted again, staring angrily at me.
"If a highborn challenges and I find it to be unwarranted a second time then I will fine them such a vast amount of gold that they will be left with less coin than smallfolk." I shrugged uncaringly.
"Fines. That's your method of instilling fear?" My grandfather responded contemptuously as Lord Buckler and Lord Selmy also wore frowns of concern.
"That's my method of filling the gaping pit where the treasury should be Grandfather." I replied tartly. "My beloved brother Robert has left the realm 6 million dragons in debt. Sending defiant highborn to the headsman sees their gold go to their sons rather than to me. If they challenge me a third time, I will take their heads, have no fear of that. But before I take their heads I will squeeze every last coin from their traitorous houses."
"Well, you have a plan at least." Grandfather Eldon muttered dubiously, even as the more mercantile Lord Whitehead and the more stewardly Penrose brothers both suddenly wore pleased smiles.
I ignored my supporters that still didn't look convinced. Elizabeth I had used the same disciplinary methods to solidify her own very weak grip on power, and they'd given her a great dividend of both gold and fear over the course of her reign. I got the impression that many highborn would soon come to realise that they would actually prefer a quick death over a life of poverty and mockery in the years ahead.
I cleared my throat and returned to my original question. "The Rainbow Guard?"
"That has met considerably more opposition than your election, Your Grace." Ralph Buckler answered after a moment. "Most of the highborn are quite disturbed by it, despite Orys Swygert confirming all evening that there's no law against knighting women. Almost all think it foolish at best, with many taking your decision as a direct slight against their martial prowess. Thankfully for us, all know of Lord Stannis' reputation for harsh and unforgiving justice. Most who oppose you on this are willing to wait and hope you lose interest in a few years time, rather than defect to Stannis and suffer the loss of lands that will be the likely punishment he inflicts on them for choosing you over him in the first place."
"That was my impression as well." Owen Penrose spoke up. "The lure of obtaining a Valyrian steel blade is keeping many malcontents in line as it's something that even Tywin Lannister has never been able to obtain. The rest do indeed still remember how Robert took nine tenths of the Connington lands and reduced them from lords to landed knights for siding with Rhaegar over him. None are offended enough by this idea of yours to risk finding out if you will do the same to them if they defy you over it, or if Stannis will do the same to them for siding with you.
Inwardly I felt relief that I had calculated correctly. Stannis' shooting of himself in the foot combined with my own bribes and threats had ensured my security. The only other option for my lords to swear to was Joffrey, and that was not going to be an option for them for as long as Stannis and I were in the field.
Blood mattered in Westeros, in a way that someone with my modern mind-set found difficult to comprehend at times. Looking back, my willingness to leave Tommen on the Iron Throne despite knowing the truth – that he was a bastard cuckoo without a drop of the Baratheon blood he claimed to have...well…it was one of the biggest reasons why my recruitment pitch to Ned had failed. Right alongside suggesting that we murder Joffrey with no explanation as to why.
As the Lords of the Stormlands had accepted the truth of what Cersei had done, there was almost no way that they would willingly serve Joffrey now. Not as long as there was a legitimate Baratheon candidate to rally around who they believed had the slightest chance of success. Last time it had taken the death of Renly, the defeat of Stannis, and finding themselves trapped between an advancing Tyrell/Lannister relief force and a river that was literally on fire to force them to bend the knee to Joffrey.
"The truly pious lords are the ones most offended." Lyonel Whitehead spoke up hesitantly, breaking me from my drifting thoughts. As someone who wasn't one of my strongest supporters people had undoubtedly been freer with their words around him. "They're speaking of offences against the Seven and how the smallfolk will no doubt believe you to be consorting with witches when they see women in armour. But they'll not move against you either as they believe that the Faith will never stand for it and will, forgive me Your Grace, 'bring you to heel', without any action from them."
I allowed myself a promise laden smirk when I heard that. "Leave the Faith to me. They will not be an obstacle, and the smallfolk follow where they lead. Now, let us move on to other matters."
I ignored their curious looks at why I was so sure the Faith wouldn't interfere in my plans and instead opened several colourful boxes on the table. The others gathered round as I removed black stag figurines of various sizes, three of the second smallest black dragon pieces, and two of the largest grey wolves. I indicated that Alyn and Jon should pass me the boxes of golden lions and red trout as soon as my hands were free.
When I received them, I placed one medium sized golden lion piece on King's Landing.
Ser Courtney, ever the stickler for accuracy, frowned. "Your Grace there're only 4,000 goldcloaks in Kings Landing. You've given them an extra thousand men."
"I've no doubt that by the time anyone can move against the city they will have recruited those extra thousand men Ser Cortnay, if not an another thousand besides." I remarked calmly, remembering how many men Tyrion had recruited by the time of the Battle of the Blackwater. I didn't even mention the couple of thousand more hedge knights, sellswords, and Crownland's men he'd managed to scrape up as well.
I placed three of the largest golden lions and one of the mediums at Sarsfield, making many around the table wince. "From reports I looked over before Robert died, I am certain that Lord Lannister is mustering some 35,000 men on the Riverroad in the passes below the Golden Tooth."
"Even blind smallfolk could see where he intends to strike then. Passed the Golden Tooth and into the Riverlands, likely right towards Riverrun." Cousin Alyn spoke up irreverently.
"Indeed." I commented, pulling out several small and medium red trout figurines, placing a medium and four small ones on Riverrun. "My information on the Riverlands is far hazier, but from what I have been able to gather, Ser Edmure's general muster at Riverrun numbers some 9,000 men."
"But the Riverlands can muster 24,000! 28,000 if the late Lord Frey decides to show his face this time. Where are the rest?" Steffon Mertyns exclaimed.
I winced. "Lord Hoster is at the Stranger's door. Ser Edmure commands the defence of the Trident; he's a gallant and caring man that wishes to protect every single person who calls him lord."
There were several grimaces. "He's dispersed his strength hasn't he? To try and protect against the raiders." Ralph Buckler groaned.
I nodded grimly, placing a medium and small counter down near the Golden Tooth. "The largest contingent is some 6,000 men under Lord Vance, mustering at Wayfarer's Rest and ordered to block the entry of the Lannisters into the Riverlands."
"With only 6,000 men?" Lyonel Whitehead deadpanned.
"Quite." I remarked. "The remaining strength of the Trident is either spread out in piecemeal garrisons of a hundred or so at dozens of villages trying to stop Gregor Clegane's and Armory Lorch's raiding parties, or it's still on its way to the general muster at Riverrun. As of yet there's been no indication that the late Lord Frey will be any faster to this battle than he was to the last."
"This time I don't blame him." My Uncle Aemon muttered. "Tywin's going to crush that gallant, bleeding hearted, young fool."
I said nothing and simply placing two large wolf heads on Winterfell. "By now word of the events in King's Landing is sure to have reached Winterfell. Based on his character and the thoughts of Ser Jon Snow, I am certain that Robb Stark will call the banners in response. I expect he will be able to muster some 20,000 men before time forces him to march south with what he has, though we will have to confirm this number when we can.
Several people shot looks at Jon, but he simply stared at the map. Refusing to meet their gazes despite the blush climbing up his neck from their scrutiny.
I ignored them as well and reached for the black dragon pieces.
"My agents report that Stannis is mustering his forces at Dragonstone." I placed the three small pieces down on Dragonstone. "But as yet he has only gathered some 3,000 men beyond the number needed to man his admittedly impressive fleet. I expect this number to grow, but not by more than an additional 2,000 men before he decides to make his move."
"Blackfyre tokens Your Grace?" My grandfather spoke up, amused.
"Well I can hardly use my own Baratheon stags can I?" I harrumphed good naturedly. "That would be far too confusing."
Speaking of which, I moved my hands over my black stag pieces, separating the ones I needed.
Officially the Stormlands were the smallest kingdom by population in the Seven Kingdoms, the Vale pushing us into last place by the slimmest of margins. The Crownlands and Iron Islands were excluded as they weren't kingdoms – at least not in my view. The Crownlands weren't a kingdom in anyone's view, but I'd be stripping the kingdom status from the Iron Islands and giving it to the Riverlands as soon as I smacked Baelon Greyjoy into the sea he was so fond of. So help me Seven, I would make the structure of the Seven Kingdoms make more administrative sense.
On that basis, I knew that the Stormlands were last kingdom but one in population size, not the last as the widely known figures for Dorne were inflated. Talked up by The Young Dragon during his conquest, the myth had been perpetuated by every Prince of Dorne since. Paying higher per capita taxes than the Iron Throne required to cover the phantom population was something that they felt was wort it to keep the overestimation of Dorne's military power alive.
Every kingdom and region had a normal muster that would be called up when they called the banners, and an emergency muster that would assemble if the lords called up every green boy, every greybeard, and stripped every garrison to critical levels. As Tywin Lannister had when he had ordered the army at Oxcross assembled following Ser Jamie's defeat at the Battle of the Camps.
Normally the Stormlands could call up 26,000 men. I had ordered Ser Cortnay to call up everyone right from the start, scraping every last part of the barrel, and giving me the full emergency muster of 36,000 men. The Stormlands had the strongest martial traditions and made sure even the green boys had some training, especially in the Dornish Marches. So at least the emergency muster wouldn't be as raw as the other kingdoms would be. But even so, calling up my emergency muster right away was a gamble. It left me with no reserves to call up at all if I suffered reverses, left most of my castles very vulnerable to being taken by storm, and the damage to the harvest would be felt across the entire Stormlands. But my plans made it essential, and I refused to second guess myself now.
Inwardly I looked over the map as I toyed with a stag piece in my hands, remembering the numbers.
The Reach could raise 80,000 men in their normal muster and 110,000 total if they called up everyone and stripped every garrison.
The Westerlands could raise 35,000 men, which Tywin was already mustering at Sarsfield. I knew that if pushed that figure could rise to 50,000 total, though thankfully I'd never have to face that many at once. The supremely confident Tywin would never order his reserves mustered and trained until someone had already smashed a significant portion of his existing host.
Though the Riverlands could in theory raise a larger emergency muster of 60,000 men, but House Tully's weak grip on the fractious Lords of the Trident meant that their general muster would consist of 24,000 men at most. 28,000 if the Freys deigned to show up, which they certainly wouldn't. Given the fertility and size of the Riverlands they should in theory have a much larger musters, closer to the Reach than any of the other kingdoms. But as many a Riverlord had remarked, they were the battleground of the Seven Kingdoms. Having every single war in the country fought in their territory to one extent or another had seriously curtailed their population growth as tens of thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands, of Riverlands smallfolk were killed in each war by the sword, starvation, exposure, or disease. Every time their population recovered and looked like it would begin to climb to numbers closer to the Reach than the other five kingdoms, another war inevitably broke out and knocked them right back down again. The losses the Riverlands were reported to have suffered in the War of the Five Kings would have taken generations to recover from.
Surprisingly the North had the next largest emergency muster, being able to call up 45,000 men if they stripped everything and called up even the mountain clans. Though less densely populated than any other kingdom except Dorne, the sheer size of the North made up for it. That same size affected the size of the North's normal muster however, causing it to relate entirely to how long it had to gather.
If given enough time the North could raise 30,000 men as a standard general muster, as Torrhen Stark had done to confront Aegon Targaryen. But if the Lord of Winterfell needed to move quickly, as Robb did, then only 20,000 or less could be called up. It simply took too long to muster the rest across the sheer vastness of the North.
The Vale could raise 22,000 men in their normal muster and 42,000 total if they called up everyone and stripped every garrison. Though any Lord Arryn that did that would have to be totally insane as the mountain clans would immediately run riot across the suddenly unpatrolled mountain passes and storm the weakest keeps for supplies.
Dorne was the great mystery. Everyone knew that its normal muster was 20,000 men. But everyone, including most of the Dornish themselves, believed that the Martell of Sunspear could call on 50,000 men if they called up everyone and stripped every garrison. In actual fact I was privy to the secret that Prince Doran had admitted to. That the Martells had never corrected Daeron Targaryen's inflation of their numbers, using the privileges granted to them on their willing entry into the Seven Kingdoms to alter the census and yearly tax numbers to hide the fact that Sunspear could call up, at most, 35,000 men.
The mainland Crownlands had the same problems as the Riverlands – their smallfolk dying by the tens of thousands in the wars of Westeros and repeatedly crippling their population growth as a result. As such they could only raise a general muster of 10,000 men. 15,000 if they stripped everything except the gold cloaks of Kings Landing.
The parts of the Crownlands that stuck out into the narrow sea; namely the peninsulas of Crackclaw Point and Massey's Hook, along with Claw Isle and the big two – Dragonstone and Driftmark, could raise between them some 3,000 men. 5,000 if they stripped everything except their ships. The impressive fleets of Dragonstone and Driftmark ate up large amounts of their available manpower.
The Iron Islands could call upon 3,000 men. It was a shockingly small muster until you took account of the sheer number of men it took to sail the ships of the massive Iron Fleet. Fielding the largest fleet in Westeros sucked the small islands dry of all their manpower as well as all their coin. To mount any campaign on land with more than 3,000 men would mean beaching the Iron Fleet. The Lord Reaper could then field a force of 23,000 foot, but would have sacrificed his biggest asset to do it and left it vulnerable on the shores of the area they invaded. Which was why Ironborn always raided but never conquered, not since the days of Harren the Black anyway. Though If the Lord Reaper was willing to beach all his longships and leave only his war galleys with crews, he could field some 14,000 men while still retaining the core of the Iron Fleet to fight with at sea. Something I had to keep in mind.
The naval forces the different kingdoms could field were also a huge concern to me, I had…
"Stop daydreaming Your Grace." Grandfather Eldon snapped gruffly.
I blushed bright red, then started placing the smallest tokens down on Storm's End, Bronzegate, Stonehelm, Blackhaven, Nightsong, Evenfall Hall, Greenstone, and Weeping Town.
"Only Storm's End's garrison has 500 men Your Grace." Ser Cortnay observed.
"I think we can all be relied on to understand that these represent the only castles in the Stormlands that have full garrisons, rather than the specific number of men." I replied tartly, making Alyn, Jon, and Cortnay's brother Owen grin even as Ser Cortnay himself blushed, abashed.
I placed three more tokens in the Kingswood. "1,500 men will spread out across the Kingswood and cross into the Crownlands. They're to prevent any hunting, timber cutting or firewood gathering by the Lannisters. King's Landing will soon have no more shipments of food down the Roseroad and I don't intend for them to be able to replace any of it with game from the Kingswood. Nor do I intend to let them shore up their defences or cook what food they do have."
I saw many gruff nods of approval, so I moved on, placing one of the largest stags and a small one on Blackhaven. "The greybeards and green boys were sent to Lord Dondarrion as I commanded?"
"Yes Your Grace," Ser Cortnay confirmed, "Lord Dondarrion has 10,000 men. Though as you ordered 9,000 are foot and only 1,000 are horse, all of them light cavalry rather than heavy."
"No matter." I waved dismissively. "They're there to train so that they can learn how to actually use their weapons and be useful on the field, as well as learning to not break and run at the first sign of battle. Blocking the Boneway while they do it is an excellent bonus that prevents Doran Martell from stabbing us in the back, which thankfully requires no more than a token force of skirmishing cavalry. Foot alone can hold the pass as it nullifies the numbers and horse of anyone marching through it no matter which way they're going. Dorne's greatest strength on the defence is its greatest weakness on the offence, it's quite egalitarian really."
There were several shifted eyes, but it was Ser Owen Penrose that had the courage to speak their collective thoughts.
"Your Grace, combined with the manpower of the garrisons and the Kingswood outriders you will be leaving nearly than 14,000 men behind. Over a third of our entire muster."
"I am aware of that Ser Owen," I replied calmly, "but I do not intend to be caught with my breeches down."
"Your Grace." Grandfather Eldon tried instead. "I understand the need to protect against surprises, but I fear this is a waste of manpower. I fear that you're making a similar mistake to Edmure Tully, for all that you are keeping most of the men left behind concentrated under Lord Dondarrion. I understand that it can be…frightening to fully commit. But being too cautious will see you defeated anyway."
I nodded carefully, ensuring that all saw that I was taking my grandfather's words on board.
"Lady Brienne. How many ships do we have?" I asked, calmly, meeting my grandfather's eyes.
"We have 16 war galleys which you have commanded to muster at Tarth and 20 longships spread across various parts of our coastline." Brienne answered promptly.
"Sounds impressive, doesn't it?" I smiled at Jon, Edric and Alyn. "And Dorne, my lady?"
"20 war galleys and around 40 longships Your Grace, not a great deal larger than our own fleet."
"The Westerlands?"
"Some 50 war galleys and over 80 longships Your Grace, with the longships constantly patrolling all parts of the coast even in times of peace. Lord Lannister does not intend to be caught by surprise and have his war galleys burned at anchor a second time."
"Your Grace, Tywin Lannister cannot send the Westerlands fleet against us without opening himself to potential attack from the Ironborn, and we have only slightly less numbers than Dorne. I fail to see what this is in aid of." Lyonel Whitehead questioned nervously.
"Did you know that the Royal Fleet at Kings Landing currently numbers only 44 war galleys Lord Whitehead?" I asked calmly. "56 if they've summoned the Ryker's war galleys from Duskendale and got the ones under construction and repair seaworthy.
He paled. "But the Royal Fleet should number nearly 200 war galleys!"
"And there you have hit it with a knifepoint." I commented seriously. "More than 140 war galleys of the Royal Fleet have declared for Stannis and joined him on Dragonstone. Added to the 20 war galleys of Dragonstone and the 30 war galleys of Driftmark, he likely has over 200 war galleys and over a hundred longships anchored at that accursed isle. This is to say nothing of any merchant cogs or galleys that he has pressed into service."
"You think he'll strike at you and not the bastard Joffrey Waters." Ser Cortnay commented, immediately seeing my plan. "That's why you've left full garrisons on both major islands, at the only real seaport, at the entrance to the river Slayne, and on the Kingsroad, as well as here."
"Exactly so Ser Cortnay." I praised happily. "Stannis is obsessed with Storm's End. If he moves against me rather than bend the knee to me, which I am sure he will, he will certainly lay siege to this castle. With Evenfall Hall and Greenstone fully garrisoned he will be unable to take either island to gather supplies or dock his fleet, and Bronzegate will prevent him supplying his siege army from the Kingsroad or the river Wendwater. He'll be surrounded and with his supply lines cut in every direction his fleet will be forced to brave Shipbreaker Bay in all weathers to supply him as soon as he can no longer live off the land. If we're lucky a storm will smash them and he'll starve outside these walls instead of starving you within them. Though given his small numbers I believe that to be unlikely as he can live off the land for quite some time. More likely is that Lord Dondarrion will finish training his army and move up from Blackhaven to Storm's End, crushing Stannis against the walls of this castle or against Bronzegate if he tries to retreat. Beric should have more than double Stannis' numbers, so even if my brother proves the better commander his defeat is assured. Especially if Ser Cortnay sallies out into his rear once the battle is joined."
I looked my grandfather in the eye again. "An overabundance of caution can get you killed; it is true. But a lack of caution can get you killed just as much as an overabundance of it. I may well be leaving over a third of my men on what is effectively garrison duty, but it is far from a waste of manpower. Stannis is highly likely to attack, and if anyone claims to know the mind of Doran Martell I will call them a liar. Evenfall Hall, Greenstone, Storm's End, and Bronzegate will defend from an attack from Stannis. Nightsong, Blackhaven, Stonehelm, and Weeping Town from Doran. Lord Dondarrion will march his men to crush any army that invades against the walls of one of these castles. I will not march out with everything I have and leave nothing to protect me from a knife in the back. I will not."
Lord Estermont bowed his head, granting the point. Likely they all still all thought me overly cautious, but I was certain that I was showing just the right amount of caution. I wouldn't make the same mistakes that Renly Baratheon Robb Stark, Rodrik Cassel, and Tywin Lannister had made. Assuming a raiding or seaborne force would never dare to strike at you or be a serious threat. When four of the major military players were mauled or even defeated due to leaving their homelands under guarded in the belief that they were safe, the message was clear. Guarding your rear was never a waste of manpower.
As none of the men present knew of that lesson I elaborated a little further. "These garrisons and Beric Dondarrion's army are made all the more important by the fact that Lady Brienne will be taking our war galleys to Braavos my lords. We will be completely exposed to attack from the sea. Lord Selmy, as you're a fellow marcher lord, you're to travel to Blackhaven and assist Lord Dondarrion with training his army. He will have the command, but you will support him and help him chose the two other commanders for when you give battle."
"I understand Your Grace." Arstan Selmy replied calmly. The virtual guarantee of battle making him acquiesce to the appointment to the strategic rearguard without fuss.
I placed the remaining tokens in my hand on Storm's End. 22,000 men.
This was my army – These 17,000 foot and 5,000 horse were the cream of the Stormlands' fighting men supported by virtually all our cavalry. They were what would start the avalanche that would see me sit on the Iron Throne.
"Ser Cortnay will rule the Stormlands in my stead from Storm's End, as he always does. Lord Buckler; should Storm's End be besieged you will command the northern and western Stormlands from Bronzegate. Lord Whitehead; you will do the same for the southern and eastern Stormlands from Weeping Town. Your son will attend me as a sworn sword, to ensure that you have no distractions from your duties."
Lord Lyonel locked eyes with me and nodded, indicating that he clearly understood the threat that I hadn't even attempted to veil. Ser Addam Whitehead would receive the great honour being allowed to serve as the sworn sword of the king, and he would have the chance to win a lot of glory at my side in battle. He would also be right at hand to execute if his father's loyalty wavered. Ser Cortany, Lord Buckler, and Lord Selmy also indicated that they understood their roles, so I turned to the rest of the room.
"The general muster is not yet complete, for though they march towards us not all of the 22,000 men called up have yet reached Storm's End. Most of you will remain here until the full muster has arrived, but when it has done so, the assembled army is to march into the Reach to Bitterbridge. Lord Estermont; you will have the command and command of the reserve. Uncle Aemon: you will command the right flank, Lord Mertyns the left, and Ser Owen the centre."
"You'll not be with us Your Grace?" My grandfather frowned.
"No I have other matters to attend to, so I leave this in your capable hands Lord Estermont. When marching the men to Bitterbridge do not delay and do not deviate. Even if Stannis lands the moment you depart from Storm's End you are to continue to Bitterbridge and let Beric Dondarrion deal with him in due time. Once at Bitterbridge you're to remain encamped in a defensive manner, awaiting my arrival no matter what news reaches you. I'll join you there and take command as soon as I am able."
"And where will you be while we're marching to war?" Uncle Aemon asked tartly.
I looked over the remaining people. "Alyn, Jon, Edric. You'll all be acting as my sworn swords along with Addam. Robar, you'll come to. On the morrow we ride hard for Highgarden."
"You're securing the Reach." Aemon Estermont concluded sharply. "We all expected it, but it's good to see it actually happening."
"A matter that will be helped by the task the rest of you will perform here while my banners finish mustering." I responded with a confident grin. "The news of Cersei's treachery must be spread far and wide, but I don't want it to be spread by a proclamation from Storm's End – too many will simply dismiss it as a convenient lie to clear the way for my own ascension to the Iron Throne."
"How do you want the news to spread then Your Grace?" Ralph Buckler questioned in confusion.
"Through friends." I replied, patiently explaining the working of a grassroots messaging campaign. "A lord will trust a letter from his friend when he may dismiss a proclamation from Storm's End. All highborn who elected me are to write ravens and letters to their friends in the other kingdoms explaining what Lord Stark and I discovered, and why they all picked me as their king over Stannis. Such letters from people they know and trust will be far more effective than any proclamation from me would be. That will stay true when those that receive such letters send letters of their own to their friends within their own kingdom, seeking each other's opinion, asking if they believe it and what they intend to do. The honour, reputation, and trust between each highborn in the chain will bolster that of myself and Lord Stark and bring many more to my side than the traditional method could ever do."
Several sets of eyebrows had disappeared into hairlines at my explanation, but my expression allowed no argument.
"What of the Smallfolk?" Cousin Alyn asked cautiously. "If you don't intend to make a proclamation how will they know?"
I countered him respectfully but firmly. "Do you think that the smallfolk pay attention to any proclamation? Most are functionally illiterate, I could send a copy of Lord Stark's scroll to every village in the realm and most would simply walk past it. Even if the local lord had it verbally proclaimed in the village square most would dismiss it as more highborn nonsense. No, there's only one way to truly spread the message of Cersei Lannister's treason to the smallfolk. Leave the matter in my hands and I will see it done my lords – all of you are to focus on ensuring the rest of the highborn here spread my message far and wide through their bonds of friendship."
There were some more pleasantries as Ser Cortnay removed the tokens from the map, so that no spy would see my dispositions, but thankfully for all of us the meeting didn't last much longer.
We all had our roles, now it was time to carry them out.
The sun was barely over the horizon as the retinue that was to accompany me to Highgarden assembled. Or I assumed so anyway, there was no trace of it behind the heavy clouds that were dropping torrential rain on us. Again.
My retinue was tiny, owing to my decision to change horses at various keeps each day to maximise our speed. Which meant I couldn't ride with a thousand heavy cavalry as escort. Many of the lords and landed knights keeps that I intended to stop off at would have difficulty changing even a score of horses, so I'd had to decide which I valued more. Speed, or the security, glamour, and political soft power that came from riding into Highgarden at the head of a gloriously armed and armoured column.
Given my plans, speed had won out.
Ser Robar was already mounted and had joined Syrio Forel in watching over a mounted Edric Dayne and Arya, who were both talking excitedly about what promised to be a lighting ride.
Ser Balon and Ser Corwin were at my shoulders and wouldn't mount up until I did. About the only thing I liked about the morning since the noise the torrential rain was making as it bounced off their armour was distracting me from my growing anxiety.
My cousin Alyn was harrying two younger teenagers onto their horses in the rain. At seven-and-ten Robert Mertyns was Ser Jacelyn's younger brother and now the heir of Mistwood. He was my new squire now that Edric had been knighted. His six-and-ten cousin Criston Mertyns was to be Loras' new squire, to replace the now knighted Jon. The first tentative strand of a web I intended to build tying the Reach to the Stormlands far more thoroughly than just my own marriage to Margery Tyrell would.
The five guardsmen I was taking as an escort were already mounted and Ser Addam Whitehead was sulking among them, well aware of his role as a hostage. Three of the four servants accompanying us were attaching the last of the saddlebags as I wandered out of the courtyard and towards the stables. There I finally found the three people I was looking for, all talking with each other. Which explained why it had taken so long to find any of them.
"Satin, Jon, Edric, there you are!" I exclaimed, glad to be out of the rain for the moment.
"Your Grace! I was just making sure that Satin was seated properly, so he doesn't destroy his thighs again as we'll be riding so hard." Jon stammered, Edric Storm nodding furiously in support.
"Good man." I replied, pleased to see Jon taking care of his friends no matter their station. "I'm putting you in charge of making sure that Satin continues to apply the ointment Maester Jurne has given him on our ride. Watch him do it, and if he refuses due to exhaustion, apply it yourself. I will not have one of my household suffer such an easily preventable injury again."
Both Jon and Satin blushed bright red while my nephew simply looked pleased that his friend would be looked after.
"My lor...I mean Your Grace!" Satin hurriedly corrected himself, blushing even harder. "I assure you I will apply the ointment myself, there's no need to involve Ser Jon."
I sent my stunningly pretty scribe a lazy smile. "You'll soon find Satin, that when you're exhausted from riding and want nothing more than to sleep it's very easy to just abandon task that only has consequences for you. Jon will ensure you apply the ointment because if you arrive at Highgarden with bleeding thighs, it will be him that bares the punishment for disobeying my commands. That should be sufficient motivation for both of you to ensure that you reach Highgarden in good health despite your lack of experience with riding. I cannot not ask the Lords of the Reach to name me king after riding through their gates with one of my retinue bleeding all over their stables. It's hardly a ringing endorsement of my ability to look after those who follow me is it?"
"No, Your Grace" They both muttered, looking anywhere but at each other, which was odd, but I dismissed it. Instead I handed over the saddlebag I was carrying for Jon to attach to Satin's horse.
"Take great care of that Satin, it's the bride's cloak for my wedding. That amount of the highest quality silk is enough to tempt any servant and I don't trust the other three even half as much as I trust you. Don't let it out of your sight. It's embarrassing enough traveling to meet my future goodfather with only a single score as a retinue and so little baggage. I cannot face the shame of arriving without a cloak for my bride as well!"
"I will guard it Your Grace! I swear it!" The pretty man replied breathlessly, seemingly on the verge of a panic attack at the responsibility of carrying the bride cloak for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
I turned my back so Satin had some time to gather himself while Jon attached the saddlebag.
While Jon was busy, I pulled my nephew close to me and crouched down to his level. Face to face I ensured I had his full attention. "Edric; I want you to swear to me that you won't leave Storm's End for any reason."
Edric immediately looked mutinous. "But what if Ser Cortnay asks me to? What if I have to fight?"
"I've already made it clear to Ser Cortnay that you won't." I explained, gripping his shoulder tightly as I stared into his childish face with all the paternal love I could muster. Which was actually quite a lot as Edric was nearly impossible not to love. "Edric, you're precious to me, and too many people will seek to use you against me. Don't leave Storm's End, no matter what happens. Don't leave if Ser Cortnay leads the garrison out to attack a besieging army, don't leave if krakens or leviathans appear in Shipbreaker Bay, don't even leave if dragons appear overhead. You stay here, safe behind these walls, alright? Don't force me to watch as my enemies cut your throat because you wanted to be a hero."
Something got through because the boy of three-and-ten abandoned propriety and hugged me fiercely. "I'll stay here if you promise to come back Uncle. Deal?"
"I will do my very best. I swear it." I replied, hugging Edric tightly and meaning every word. "Now go, if you run you should make it to the top of the gatehouse before I ride through it."
Edric gave me a watery smile as he turned and ran.
"If someone drops something on my head I'll know it was you!" I called out laughingly as he disappeared into the rain.
When Edric was out of sight, I turned to face Jon and Satin. Who were pointedly looking anywhere but at me.
"Jon, come here." I commanded.
"Your Grace?" The newly knighted Bastard of Winterfell asked cautiously.
I surreptitiously removed a very special sword from under my travel cloak and passed it to Jon, who secured it under his own even as he looked stunned.
"I meant what I said Jon." I explained, the strength in my voice returning now I knew my nephew would be safe. "I don't know those other three servants Ser Cortnay has assigned and if I don't trust them around the bride cloak you should certainly understand why I don't trust them around that. Look after Satin and look after that sword. It will likely be safer with you than in the crate it's supposedly in, and it will certainly be of more use with you if we're accosted on the road."
"If we are, Your Grace, what do you think Ser Loras will say to me bloodying his new blade before he even gets the chance to hold it?" Jon asked, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
I shuddered overly dramatically and all three of us shared a moment of pure laughter.
The moment passed, sadly, and Jon mounted up before leading Satin out into the rain to join the rest of my retinue.
I headed back to my own horse, barely feeling the torrential rain as I left the stables. Wishing instead that I was still joking with Jon as my anxiety about the future took hold of me once again.
The Queen of Thorns was at Highgarden after all, and I didn't look good in purple.
New Non-Canon Characters
House Whitehead – Canon Lordly house, but with only the 'young' heir Ser Addam named. I have placed Addam at 21 as he is a knight, given his 'old' father the name Lyonel and placed him at 53, and given Addam two sisters, Janna (19), and Joy (17) as the house is not stated to be in danger.