Reviews make me write faster! I use the quatermaester interracive game of thrones map when writing.
I used Denis Maznev's utterly amazing House Tyrell artwork to decide how to describe Willas and Garlan – a copy can be found on my tumblr theprancingstag
Renly Baratheon
My retinue halted just passed the Oceanroad-Roseroad crossroads. The coin from all the land trade from Lannisport to Oldtown and Oldtown to King's Landing passing through had long since caused a bustling town to grow up centred on the crossroads. Extensive docks had also been built at this transport nexus to service the river trade sailing up and down every branch of the Mander, disembark goods bound for Highgarden, and transfer any cargo or passengers that had overland destinations. It'd taken a while to get through such semi organised chaos.
I filed away how lucrative levying taxes on the trade passing through the town would be for House Tyrell. To say nothing on the entire town consisting of services that supported those land and river trade caravans, which could be taxed in turn. Clearly Martyn Tyrell had leveraged his position as Jaehaerys I's Master of Coin to the maximum when he got The Conciliator to reroute the Oceanroad to join the new Roseroad at Highgarden, rather than continue to hug the coast all the way to Oldtown. He'd ensured the most accomplished Targaryen king's constructing or remaking of the six major roads of Westeros secured a lucrative third income stream for House Tyrell. Joining the income streams from their own lands and the taxes levied on their vassals.
Another sign that House Tyrell understood the daily grind of ruling far better than many of the more prestigious houses that looked down on them as nothing more than jumped up stewards.
A few quick commands and our dust-stained cloaks were swapped out for fresh ones, while Addam Whitehead and Alyn Estermont both attached banner poles to their saddles and unfurled two rampant black stag on gold Baratheon banners.
"I don't see why you're making all this fuss. She's going to marry you anyway." Arya gripped as she wiped down her dusty riding leathers with a damp cloth, doubtless thinking of the dreaded dress awaiting her in one of the saddlebags.
"Do you remember why I wanted you to wear a dress for the Stormlands Great Council?" I asked calmly, pulling on my full black steel and brass plate armour with the help of Robert Mertyns, my new squire.
"People expect certain kinds of people to look a certain way, if you don't look like they expect you to you have to work harder to make them respect and obey you." She parroted perfectly. "It's stupid, I hate it."
"You'd hate the ass kissing you have to do to make up for a bad first impression far more." I replied with a shiver.
"I'd stick 'em with the pointy end instead." Arya muttered, fingering Needle's hilt.
"Maegor the Cruel tried that. How'd it work out for him?" I asked with a rueful smirk as I tried to impose some order on my hair and thanked the gods it wasn't a windy day.
Arya subsided mutinously.
Soon we were mostly prepared. Leather cleaned, armour glittering, and cloaks – especially the white cloaks of my Kingsguard – unblemished.
It was an hour's ride from the town to the castle to give House Tyrell privacy, and to prevent Highgarden from being enveloped by its urban area as Sunspear and the Red Keep had been. I re-arranged the column for the final part of the journey.
"Guardsmen, three of you join with Ser Addam and Ser Alyn and lead the column in a wedge formation. Alyn, Addam, you're on the flanks of the wedge to ensure the banners prominence."
"We'll take up almost the entire road riding five abreast! What are the smallfolk wagons supposed to do?" Jon Snow protested.
I raised an eyebrow. "Get out of the way. Now, Ser Balon, Ser Corwin, ride behind the wedge, I'll follow behind you. Arya and Jon, if you could convince Ghost and Nymeria to walk either side of me that would be spectacular. Arya you'll ride beside Nymeria to my left, Edric beside Ghost to my right."
The direwolves promptly did as their Stark's bid them as the rest of the column began to rearrange itself. Her leathers cleaned, Arya tugged a Stark tabard hastily stitched for her in Storms End over her head and took her place beside myself and Nymeria. Edric finished polishing the Dayne sigil stamped into his armour's breastplate before fanning out his purple cloak to better display the white sword and star, then taking up his position on my right.
Jon pulled on the tabard Sansa had made for his nameday, ensuring he wasn't as overshadowed by Robar Royce's rainbow cloak as he had been a moment before while reinforcing the Stark presence in my retinue.
"Ser Robar, Ser Jon, ride behind me, Robert and Criston, ride either side of them. Satin, I want you and the servants four abreast behind them. Syrio, ride between the last two guardsmen at the rear."
Happy I had arranged my retinue into as dramatic and impressive a formation as was possible given its tiny size, I gave the order to start out as soon as everyone was in position.
Our destination was unmissable and more details became visible as we got closer.
Highgarden was beautiful, there was no other way to describe it.
Sitting on a low hill that the Mander curved around, the wide river formed a natural moat on two sides of Highgarden, as only a thin strip of grass separated the castle from the river's banks. The other two sides were surrounded by nothing but farms, the white stone of the castle standing out beautifully against the soft green and gold of the fields. Enhancing the castle's beauty even as the fields of grass and wheat deprived attackers of trees for siege engines and gave the defending archers and trebuchets clear fields of fire.
For all of its huge size, Highgarden didn't completely encompass the broad, flat hill it was built on, unlike the truly monstrous Winterfell did. The outer of the three curtain walls began a third of the way up the hill, the centre one halfway up, and the inner curtain wall that formed the perimeter of the castle proper was two thirds of the way to the hills summit.
Highgarden also wasn't like Winterfell or Storm's End in style. Where those castles thrust brutally out of the landscape in defiance of the elements, Highgarden seemed to grow naturally out of the landscape.
Highgarden was something unique to the Reach, the grand and imposing castle sat like a work of art, hiding its formidable strength behind its dazzling appearance. It was the crowning glory of the surrounding landscape, proclaiming to one and all that being deadly and being beautiful weren't mutually exclusive and that the Reach was both.
Behind the three curtain walls, the last third of the broad flat hill was filled with white stone buildings. Squat square towers dating from the age of heroes stood next to slender circular ones from after the coming of the Andals. Other buildings that would undoubtedly be stunning in person stood lower, but still clearly visible over the walls. The square great keep dominated all of them, covered in ivy and thrusting higher into the sky than any tower, while the white branches and red leaves of three weirwoods could be seen near its base. Balancing the great keep was the sept, its flying buttresses and domed roof soaring above the walls at the other end of the castle. Every inch of the sept was covered in golden climbing roses, creating a sight reminiscent of the night sky as the yellow flowers contrasted with the green of the leaves.
Eventually we reached the gatehouse, which had rows of Tyrell guards in their verdant green cloaks on either side of the road, on the parapets, and still more on the walls.
A fat man who bore some similarities to Loras waited ahorse beneath the portcullis. I called a halt, and he rode down the side of my small column until he pulled level with me, bowing his head.
"Lord Baratheon, welcome to Highgarden. As Steward, my nephew has sent me to escort you to him." Garth the Gross introduced himself.
Each word from Garth's mouth emphasised that I was a mere lord coming to the Lord of Highgarden cap in hand. As Mace Tyrell wasn't capable of such a power play this was clearly Lady Olenna's work.
Relieved that I had made sure that Ser Balon and Ser Corwin's cloaks were snow white, I simply sent a disarming smile at Garth Tyrell. "Of course. Lead the way."
Garth the Gross frowned, perturbed that I hadn't left my place in the column to ride at his side. Nevertheless, he returned to the front and led us through the gatehouse and into the famous briar labyrinth that filled the space between the outer and centre curtain walls.
The path split in a T and we turned hard right, for no one with any sense aligned their gatehouses in a straight line, and began to ride around the circumference of Highgarden.
The part of me that remembered my English garden winced. Pruning a briar labyrinth of this size to keep the paths clear must take an army of gardeners, second richest house in Westeros indeed.
"This is stupid." Arya muttered, looking scornfully at the chest high wild rose bushes that formed the labyrinth as we followed the wide zigzagging main path, ignoring the smaller ones that branched from it where people using it as a public parked stopped and stared at us. "It's not a proper maze. You can see over it. And the route to the castle is easy to follow, it doesn't even try to get you lost!"
"Yes Arya. You can see over it." I replied quietly. "Which means that the archers on the walls can see you while all these turns stop you being able to run."
Her head snapped up to look calculatingly at the top of the white walls on either side, green cloaks clearly visible.
"Why couldn't you just run through the bushes Your Grace?" Robert Mertyns asked, my new squire gaining confidence.
There were several hisses of remembered pain from the men around me who'd encountered thorns at speed before.
"Try it unarmoured and your flesh will be ripped to shreds. Try it in a gambeson and ringmail and you'll tangle in the branches, and if you try running and climbing through the bushes in full plate you'll collapse from exhaustion before you're halfway round. Forcing your way through something so dense and tough is no small task, and there are so many even the fittest man will fall long before they make it through them all."
"Winterfell's still better," Arya declared, "the moat stops anyone getting between the walls even better than these bushes do."
"Quite right little wolf," I conceded, "but the moat is a passive defence. It won't kill any of the attackers. Unless they're stupid enough to try to swim in armour."
"Aren't these bushes a passive defence as well Your Grace?" Jon asked curiously.
"No. Because once enough of an attacking army has made their way into the labyrinth the Tyrells will set it on fire."
Jon blanched. "What."
"Fire, Jon, fire. Winterfell defends itself with water, Highgarden does the same with fire. The stone of the walls will prevent it from spreading to the castle while the attacking army will be unable to run back to the breach they poured into the labyrinth through, because you can't run through the bushes. Any who try will be caught on the briar bushes until they burn alive, the rest will burn alive anyway as the walls form a wind tunnel which will spread the flames faster than a man can walk."
I smiled coldly at the now ashen pale Bastard of Winterfell as I cut one of the wild roses and passed it to him. "Remember Jon, the most dangerous hidden dagger is the one that hides in plain sight."
We rode in silence until we reached the centre wall's gatehouse, on completely the opposite side of Highgarden from the outer one. We passed through and turned hard right at the T junction again, though this time we were riding down a wide central road with timber buildings holding stables, servants housing, potshops, bakers, carpenters, and everything else needed to run a castle in peacetime on either side of the thoroughfare.
We rode for some time before Jon spoke up sickly. "Everything apart from the castle walls is made of wood. Fire?"
"Fire." I confirmed grimly.
Jon shuddered, gripping the wild rose I had given him till blood appeared between his fingers. Silence engulphed my column again until we reached the inner wall's gatehouse, on the same line as the outer one which we could see peaking over top of the solid centre wall.
We rode through into the grand main courtyard of Highgarden, the head of my column breaking apart and fanning out as Garth Tyrell led us towards his family, though Lady Olenna was strangely absent.
Shrieks and cries of alarm filled the air as the guards behind the Tyrell family drew their swords.
To be fair the sight of me riding towards them fully armoured and flanked by direwolves the size of ponies likely wasn't what they were expecting. Olenna Tyrell wasn't the only one who knew how to wage psychological warfare.
Loras quickly left his place in the receiving line and strode up to me, bowing with one hand behind his back before taking the reins of my horse. "Do you always have to be so dramatic?"
The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away.
"I had a good teacher." I smirked, dismounting.
Loras scoffed and lightly pushed me away even as he laughed.
I pulled him to me in what hopefully passed for a friendly embrace.
Loras smirked and took the chance to whisper in my ear while our heads were next to each other. "Kingsguard already? My, you are confident…Your Grace."
"Do you fault me for having absolute faith in my envoy?" I replied, fighting the incredible urge to bite his ear, tangle my fingers in his long curly hair, and drag him into the stables.
I was rewarded with a small blush as our embrace ended, while Tyrell swords were returned to their sheathes behind us.
Loras led me towards a short, fat, balding, man, with brown eyes, a goatee beard, and a curling moustache. "May I introduce my father; Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden."
Mace Tyrell's eyes were darting between the direwolves at my sides, my Kingsguard knights, and at Edric and Arya and their sigils, unsure where to look. Eventually he recovered himself and turned his gaze to me and bowed. "Highgarden is yours, Your Grace."
I clenched my fist in victory, resisting the urge to punch the air. It had worked. Despite only having twenty men I'd still managed to overawe Mace enough to make him forget all the instructions his mother had certainly given him. He'd just declared to everyone assembled that I had arrived in Highgarden a king securing another kingdom, not a Lord come begging, to be made a king only at House Tyrell's pleasure. The benefits that had to my legitimacy and political authority were immense.
Something that the third in the receiving line certainly knew, based on the loving, but despairing, eyeroll of exasperation I caught him making out the corner of my eye.
"I thank you for a warm welcome Lord Tyrell. Loras has spoken of your kindness often. I'm glad to see he spoke the truth." I gave him a genuine smile.
Mace preened while I turned to the second in the receiving line.
"Your Grace." Tall, with her long silver hair pulled into a single plait Alerie Hightower of House Tyrell remained silent and dignified as she looked me over with a soft smile that actually reached her soft brown eyes. "I hope your stay at Highgarden is pleasant."
"I am sure it will be Lady Tyrell. I offer my thanks for the effort you have gone to in accommodating myself and my retinue." I replied warmly, before turning to the third in the receiving line.
Resplendent in a rich green and gold brocade doublet and with an actual eagle perched ferociously on his shoulder, Willas Tyrell was a slender man, the same age as me, but shorter than his younger brothers. His brown hair was a mess of curls, but unlike his youngest brother, he cut it short. It only came to the tops of his ears, rather than tumbling down to his shoulders in a mass of ringlets, as Loras' did.
Willas shared Loras' long, pretty, face and high cheekbones. But contrasting with Loras' love of being clean shaven, Willas had designer stubble. With his short hair it gave him a slightly more masculine look than his youngest brother.
I kept my eyes rock steady on his face, focusing on his dark green eyes and refusing to even glance at the mahogany and gold walking stick he used to help himself stand and walk.
It wasn't a difficult task, If I hadn't been in love with Loras – who was somehow even more beautiful than his brother – Willas would have had my undivided attention.
"Your Grace…It does indeed seem that Highgarden is yours." Loras' oldest brother said wryly, bowing from the waist so as to not disturb his damaged leg.
"It does, Lord Willas." I commented mildly, trying to keep as much smugness out of my voice as possible. "Have no fear, I will honour the terms that Loras has agreed to on my behalf."
Willas' dark green eyes flashed calculatingly. "Bold of you Your Grace, to agree to terms without knowing what they are."
"I have absolute faith in my envoy."
"Then let us hope that my little brother has not overstepped himself." Willas remarked casually, his tone not matching the intense search he was making of my face – looking for any visible crack in my trust for Loras.
"If he has, then the fault is mine for not making my limits clear enough to him." I returned sharply, not giving the heir to Highgarden room to slide even a playing card of discord between myself and Loras.
The small, pleased, smirk that played around Willas' lips suggested I'd passed his first test.
"It is a strong man indeed who takes ownership of his mistakes, rather than blaming others Your Grace." He acknowledged, bowing his head as I moved down the receiving line.
Garlan Tyrell was different to his brothers in style as well as body. Rather than the doublets of his brothers, he wore an embroidered green and gold open fronted coat over a more refined version of riding leathers. He was the tallest of all three brothers, and broadest across the shoulders as well.
Rather than sharing his brothers' long, pretty, faces, Garlan's face was more rounded and handsome, which he emphasised by allowing his wavey brown hair to grow to the base of his ears before sweeping it back, so it flowed seamlessly into his close-cut beard. Overall, the effect was to give him a distinctly masculine look that clearly set him apart from the mostly androgynous Willas, and feminine Loras.
"Your Grace." Garlan bowed, before daringly stepping forward and pulling me into a familiar embrace. With back slapping.
While I was recovering from the shock, I reflected that every part of Garlan, from his handsome face to his booming voice and his extensive muscles, all screamed that he belonged on a national rugby team and on posters gracing the walls of men loving teenagers' bedrooms.
"Welcome to Highgarden! Loras has spoken of you often. He says you've taken up the warhammer like your late brother Robert."
"I have indeed Ser Garlan." I replied, putting up a completely unflustered front to Garlan's greeting. "I take it you'd like to spar to see how my skills are coming along."
"There's nothing quite like a spar to get the measure of a man Your Grace." Garlan answered with certainty.
"Indeed not, provided that the man is capable of martial activities." I qualified challengingly, with a glance at Willas.
Garlan's smile growing wider as a deliberately hidden intelligence flickered into view behind his brown eyes, letting me know I'd passed another test. "That's what drinking contests are for Your Grace! To enable us to get the measure of men who aren't as martial."
"I suppose scholarly debate provides no insight at all?" Willas interjected, amused at his younger brother's antics.
"Boooooring!" Garlan replied with a laugh and a look of brotherly affection.
I turned to the last member of the receiving line. There was no sign of intelligence in the soft brown doe eyes Margaery Tyrell was sending at me, which just showed what an amazing actress she was.
Something had slipped through all her brothers' expressions in one way or another, but hers was a perfect mask of the supposedly ideal highborn lady. Waiting to be told what her opinions were and serve her husband in all things. Evidently that was the line of attack she had decided to go with until she could get a better read on me and tailor her mask to my personal ideal woman.
Margaery was absolutely deadly – more so than her grandmother because unlike the Queen of Thorns, no one saw her coming. I knew for a fact what a devious and skilled manipulator she was, and I could still only barely believe it when faced with her in the flesh.
Ironically, Margaery physically had more in common with Garlan than with her more feminine brothers, sharing his rounded face and wavy hair over their long faces and curls. As beautiful and skilled as Natalie Dormer was, the true Margaery was even more impressive despite looking mostly the same.
To greet me she had gone with her signature style, braids from her temples held her hair away from her face while the rest of her waves and tresses cascaded down her body. Her satin green and gold dress revealed a great deal without ever crossing the line of acceptability, and a gold collar piece of roses and vines drew attention to her slender neck and the top of her chest.
Were I interested in women I would have been rendered a brainless fool. As it was, while I was bowled over in an art appreciation sort of way, my most distracting thought was that I absolutely wanted the beautiful golden vine bracelets wrapping around her wrists in spirals for my own.
"Your Grace, my grandmother begs your forgiveness for being unable to greet you. I hope you would allow myself and Loras to show you to your chambers, so that you may rest before joining my family for cheese and wine." Margaery smiled demurely, somehow managing to be the very picture of chaste courteous lady and tempting seductress at the same time.
I made a show of being tongue tied, as would be expected of any man faced with such an objectively beautiful woman turning her charm to maximum.
"Of course…not…I mean yes! That is!...Forgive me. Your grandmother's presence is, of course, excused, and I would like it very much if you would escort me my lady."
Arya made gagging noises as Margaery took my offered arm and led me and the rest of my retinue towards the great keep. I prepared myself for battle.
Addam Marbrand
The sound of battle filled the air, but for once Addam wasn't in the thick of it.
It wasn't false vanity for Addam to call himself an excellent horseman and fighter, as well as a daring commander. So when he'd been told by Jamie Lannister, his friend since childhood, that he wouldn't command the vanguard he'd been shocked.
That had all fallen away when his old friend had explained his plan.
Lord Tywin had split off some 15,000 men from his main force, giving his son the command and ordering him to clear the way to Riverrun while Tywin himself turned south with the remaining 20,000 of their forces.
Addam had been pleased when Jamie had selected him as one of the commanders as they marched down the Riverroad. Descending from the mountainous peaks around the Golden Tooth and into the hills of the western Riverlands approaching Wayfarers Rest.
There they'd found some 6,000 men beneath the banners of House Vance and House Piper blocking their path. Just as Lord Tywin had told them to expect.
Andros Brax had suggested an immediate assault, but thankfully Quentin Banefort had joined Addam himself in counselling caution. Caution that Ser Jamie had thankfully listened to.
Fearful that the dispersal of the Riverland's strength was just a ruse, and that Hoster Tully would appear from behind one of the hills with his full muster to take them in the rear as soon as they were fully committed, Ser Jamie had given Addam command of most of their 4,000 horse and bid him hold back as the reserve.
Hoster Tully was a wily old fish. If he did have some devious trap planned, then it was up to Addam to charge and delay his vanguard long enough for Ser Jamie to disengage and retreat in good order.
Addam stared at the hill the Riverlanders had decided to make their stand on. It was a good choice, and they'd thrown up as many fieldworks as they could in the time they had. But they were still outnumbered more than two to one and it was showing.
Ser Jamie's centre was advancing relentlessly up the hill, shields held over their heads as they moved quickly, protecting them from the worst of the Riverlanders' arrow barrage. On the left Andros Brax had abandoned caution entirely, charging up the hill as fast as his men could run and damming the consequences.
The gamble had paid off as the archer heavy Riverlanders had immediately buckled once Brax's men had smashed into their lines. Lord Vance being forced to commit his reserve of knights and heavy foot and to order Lord Piper to lead their horse in a charge on the Lannister right flank, to try and take the pressure off.
Unfortunately for Lord Piper he had only light cavalry under his command, and Quenten Banefort commanded the Lannister right.
Quenten was a more cautious commander than Addam preferred, but it was times like this that proved the value of always having such a commander at your disposal.
No sooner had Lord Piper charged out from behind the hill the battle was taking place on, then Quenten had immediately whirled the entire Lannister right around to face him, trusting Ser Jamie to protect his now exposed flank from any charge down the hill from the Riverlands foot.
Rather than taking a scrambling attacking force in the flank as they expected, Lord Piper's light cavalry had instead slammed head on into Quenten Banefort's well prepared shield wall.
Heavy cavalry would likely have broken through, but Quenten successfully repulsed the light cavalry's charge with few losses. Turning and resuming his slow march up the hill as soon as Lord Piper retreated. His men held their shields in turtle formation so they moved at a crawl, but they contemptuously shrugged off the volleys of Vance and Piper arrows as reward.
Addam patted the side of his red courser as the stallion shifted under him, disturbed by the blood on the air as Lord Piper disappeared behind the hill again. It seemed like Hoster Tully truly wasn't coming, as if the cunning old veteran had truly expected this tiny force to be able to halt the Lannister advance. Addam wouldn't have believed it if he weren't witnessing the near slaughter with his own eyes.
A roar of triumph suddenly drew his attention back to the Lannister left. With Ser Jamie's centre now engaged and Lord Vance out of reserves, Lord Brax had taken the chance to push hard into the Riverlander's formation, and the banner of Lord Vance had fallen.
Immediately the battle turned into a rout, with men of the Trident fleeing their positions and those that remained being overwhelmed as they were surrounded. Lannister soldiers poured through the gaps opening in their lines.
Ser Addam sighed with resignation. Riding down fleeing men always felt unsporting. But it was war, and needs must. He signalled the Lannister reserve to aim for the running Riverlands men. And then he called the charge.