Reviews make me write faster! I use the quatermaester interactive game of thrones map when writing.
Apologies for the delay. I spent a lot of time in North Shropshire fighting under the black and gold 3
It may amuse you to know the writing/drafting title for this chapter was 'The War of the Three Queens'
Renly Baratheon
I saw stars briefly as my head smashed into the dirt of the training yard, yet again.
Laying there, coughing and cursing all the gods for agreeing to this, Garlan eventually took pity on me and helped me back to my feet. Even as Margaery's cries of 'Loras! Highgarden! Highgarden!' let me know that Jon was faring considerably better.
"Well…you lasted longer this time Your Grace." Garlan the Gallant managed to get out without releasing the laughter he was clearly struggling to contain.
"Don't patronise me Garlan. You could defeat me with your eyes shut." I grumbled picking up my training shield and mace. Rather than try again, as Garlan clearly expected me to do, I decided to release some frustration. Simply lifting a finger to my lips before moving as quietly as possible across the training yard. The sound of my movements thankfully covered by Loras and Jon continuing to hammer away at each other.
I stealthily approached the final training couple from behind.
Syrio clocked me immediately, but simply smirked and said nothing. Arya was completely unaware that I was creeping up behind her until Edric, still out of action due to the major soft tissue damage to his arm, gave the game away.
"Look out Arya!" The young Dornish boy called out, allowing the little she-wolf to turn, then frantically evade my mace strikes.
Arya's footwork was fantastic as she practically danced around my mace, leaning, ducking, diving, and rolling her way to safety each time even if she wasn't yet good enough to do so fast enough to get her own strike in.
"Arya! Winterfell! Winterfell!" Margaery called out, making Arya grin and actually land a blow that I only barely managed to catch on my training shield. Even as she avoided yet another mace strike.
"Stand still ya skinny little bitch!" I snarled, the childhood black country accent I'd long since lost reappearing from the stress.
Whether it was the strange new accent or the foul language I wasn't sure, but something made Arya laugh. That slowed her reactions just enough that I managed to land a solid blow to her midsection, sending her sprawling onto her back.
"And that is why age and treachery will always triumph over youth and skill." I exclaimed happily, placing my mace at Arya's throat as she yielded.
"Truly a remarkable victory Your Grace." Garlan choked out, no longer hiding his laughter. "Surely the minstrels will sing of your victory over a girl of two-and-ten for generations to come."
"Shut up Garlan." I smirked back as I helped Arya back to her feet. "You've knocked me into the dirt seventeen times this morning. Let me have this."
This time the laughter was shared by everyone, though Arya soon started pouting at Syrio.
"The girl relied on Syrio to watch her surroundings for her." The Braavosi waterdancer shrugged, entirely unconcerned. "So now she is a dead girl."
Arya's pout grew worse. As I had had quite enough of being knocked on my ass for one day, I decided it was time for us to make our excuses.
"Garlan, why don't you go and pick on someone who can actually challenge you before you fall asleep. Arya and I will go and join your sister."
Garlan's soft brown eyes lit up at the challenge as he began to try and replicate my tactic. Sneaking up on Loras from behind as the Knight of Flowers fought the Bastard of Winterfell.
Arya joined me as we ducked under the wooden barrier and walked out onto the grass of the courtyard that adjoined the training yard. Several of the pavilions for the ladies to watch the training from were full of Margery's handmaidens and other ladies of Highgarden's court, while one, set apart from the others, held Margaery herself and her family.
I led us over to the rich green and gold pavilion where Margaery was reclining on a chaise long. Edric soon joined us, taking up his now usual position at Arya's side.
It wasn't until we were closer that we realised that there had been an extra addition to the family pavilion.
Arya gulped and looked up at me imploringly, but it was too late.
"My word! Aren't you just marvellous!" Olenna Tyrell exclaimed when we came to a stop and bowed, her eyes fixed on Arya. In her training leathers and with her wooden training sword still at her hip she could easily have been mistaken for a squire. "Come here girl. Sit with a decrepit old woman and tell her where you learned to move like that."
Mace wandered in my direction with a plate while Arya was forcibly tugged down into the chair next to Olenna's. Edric stood at her shoulder protectively, expressionless and refusing to move. Even as Alarie and Leonette protested that Arya would surely prefer to speak of Winterfell, while Willas commented that he wanted to hear about her sister and brothers.
"Don't worry about your performance Your Grace, my son is very skilled." Mace whispered conspiratorially, trying not to draw attention as he took one of the parcels from the plate and passed the rest over to me. "Try these, they may lift your mood. I noticed you were particularly taken with the burrata yesterday, so I had the kitchens wrap chunks of it in thin cut salt beef with basil and balsamic vinegar. Let me tell you…"
"Not now Mace!" Olenna's despairing voice cracked like a whip across the pavilion, making me choke on the parcel I'd just slipped into my mouth. "You know Margaery wishes to take a walk with her betrothed."
"Oh yes." Mace muttered, disappointed. "Ah well. You can let me know what you think of them when you get back. I wanted to speak to you more about this 'coffee' that can supposedly be found on the Summer Islands anyway."
"Are you still searching for that?" Loras asked, slightly bitterly, as he walked up to the pavilion with Garlan and Jon. Given that my beautiful knight was pouting worse than Arya was, and that Garlan was grinning like a cheshire cat, my bet was that Loras had been successfully felled by a blow to the back before he even realised his brother was there. "When the traders tell you it was just a dream I hope you can control yourself better than when they told you chocolate wasn't real."
"My reaction was entirely proportionate with the scale of my loss." I protested as the powerful chocolate craving overcame me again. I'd make someone a lord if they could bring me a bar of dairy milk right now.
"You wailed for three days!" Loras cried out in exasperation.
"Loras," I growled out, lowering my voice so it could only be heard by his family, "do you want to warm my bed again? Ever?"
Quite a few jaws dropped at how blatant I was being, and even those familiar with us were not unaffected.
Jon and Edric were both blushing bright red. Their awkward gazes bouncing between my crotch and Loras' face as they tried, and failed, to stop their minds from filling in the blanks.
Garlan was also red, but his colour clearly had a very different cause as his shoulders were violently shaking from repressed laughter. Arya had no such inhibition and was openly cackling like a woods witch, making it even more difficult for Lady Alerie sitting next to her. Who already been struggling to supress her amusement at her son's predicament.
Even Olenna was affected, a small smirk clearly tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Loras ignored his family and simply rolled his lively brown eyes. "Fine. Your reaction was entirely in keeping with the scale of the tragedy that had befallen you. Happy?"
"Very." I snarked, quickly bolting down the remaining meat and cheese parcels Mace had had made. "Those were exquisite Mace, thank you. I will have to discuss more of your ideas for the wedding food when I get back. But right now, the most beautiful lady in Highgarden desires to go walking, and who am I to deny her?"
"The king?" Willas jested, amusement dancing in his dark green eyes.
"And she is to be the queen Willas," I laughed. "Never forget the old smallfolk saying; he who would thrive must first ask his wife."
"Ha! One of the few things the smallfolk say that's worth the breath to repeat!" Olenna cackled as Margaery got to her feet and slipped her arm through mine.
The voices of the rest of the Tyrells faded behind us as we walked down beautiful white stone colonnades. Margaery's handmaidens fell in behind us, the three Tyrell cousins and one Northerner hanging out of earshot but keeping us in sight.
"Master Lomys gave me this for you." The Rose of Highgarden spoke casually as she passed me a raven scroll, its turtle seal unbroken.
I broke the green wax and read the scroll.
"Is the news expected?"
"My grandfather writes that he marches from Storm's End in my name." I answered, a weight settling in my stomach as the first stone of the avalanche finally began to roll. "My banners make for Bronzegate. From there they'll turn west; first to Fawnton, and then on to Bitterbridge. There they'll encamp and await my arrival."
"You don't seem appropriately happy Your Grace." Margaery observed.
I gave The Rose of Highgarden a very pointed look and spoke harshly. "22,000 men march on my orders my lady, many of them to their deaths. Anyone who's happy that things have come to this is either a callous bastard or a fool. I will admit to being both proud and grimly satisfied that so many believe my claim worth fighting for, but no more than that."
Margaery adopted a look that combined both surprise and contrition. "You surprise me, Your Grace, King Robert was known to love nothing more than war."
"I am not Robert." I spat, shutting down the conversation.
We walked in silence for some time, Margaery waiting for me to break it as she was far less likely to make another misstep if she reacted to my choice of topic rather than choosing one herself.
"Asking Mira Forrester to be your handmaiden was a bold move my lady. It's fortunate that Eddard Stark wasn't cunning enough to see its implications, and that the rest of the Reach doesn't care what happens in the North since they were on the opposing side of the rebellion."
"I don't know what you mean Your Grace?" Margaery demurred. "I simply wanted to understand more of the North. We see so few Northerners here in the south, but I've been fascinated it ever since I heard about the exploits of Lord Stark when I was just a child. Asking the daughter of a Northern house to be one of my handmaidens seemed a simple way to solve the issue."
I snorted. "You wanted an understanding of Northern culture so you could throw Willas or Loras at Sansa Stark and have a decent chance of meeting with success. Not that I blame you. Linking House Tyrell with House Stark would finally have given you a route back into Robert's court after being banished for seventeen years. It would also have removed your only real competition for the position of Joffrey's queen."
Margaery stopped looking demure and instead gave be a knowing look as she sighed. "I would say that events unfortunately overtook us. But as things have turned out, being tied to Joffrey in this situation would have been…less than ideal. So unfortunately is no longer the word I would use."
I graced Margaery Tyrell with a genuine smile. "Finally. Thank you for no longer treating me like a simpleton. Is there somewhere we can talk alone?"
"Oh? Do I need to fear for my virtue?" Margaery giggled, hanging on my arm more forcefully as she began to use her doe eyes again.
"I explicitly told Loras to explain my preferences to you when asking if you would consent to be my wife, so in truth I'm at a loss as to why you keep doing that." I asked in genuine confusion.
The Rose of Highgarden immediately stopped, but the patronising smirk that replaced the doe eyes wasn't an improvement in my opinion. "Oh my sweet summer child. Do you truly believe that preferring one gender eliminates all desire for the other?"
Well, that settled if Natalie Dormer's portrayal of Margaery Tyrell was accurate or not.
"It does for me my lady."
"Truly? How interesting." Margaery replied, allowing me to see her trademark smirk for the first time. "Let us walk to the godswood. There're no windows on the lower floors of the great keep on that side, and the walls prevent any from entering unobserved. Provided those you trust guard the four entrances you can speak completely freely there."
"And you trust your handmaidens?" I questioned as our pace slowed to allow them to catch up.
"Mira, be a dear and run and attend Lady Arya will you? She'll welcome a Northern face."
"Yes, My Lady." Mira Forrester acknowledged as she strode confidently away.
The rest of us passed through the great keep where a pair of guards were stationed either side of the door to the godswood.
"See to it that we aren't disturbed." Margaery ordered as we walked through.
"But...my lady..." one of them protested, causing Margaery to gently place her free hand on his arm.
"I thank you for your concern, but it's quite unnecessary." Margaery said softly while flashing her most disarming smile. "I have my handmaidens, my virtue is quite safe. My betrothed and I simply wish to talk without being the gossip of the kitchens and washhouse."
"My lady." The guards acknowledged, sealing the double doors behind us with a resounding thunk.
We walked into the centre of the godswood, stopping beneath the three wierwood trees known as the Three Singers. The dense foliage of the extensive godswood made sure that there was no way to see anyone who wasn't in the clearing you were in yourself. Not even from the high windows of the great keep as the canopy of oaks, beeches, and ashes protected you from being spied on from above. The trees and bushes also absorbed the sound of people speaking exceptionally well, preventing your voice from carrying.
Margaery faced down the three cousins of varying distances that were her remaining handmaidens. "Megga, Elinor, Alla, go to one of the other entrances and make sure we aren't disturbed. You know the signal to ensure that the other two return to me before discovery if you can't stop someone from entering."
The three junior branch Tyrells disappeared without a word, clearly used to the command if not the location.
As they disappeared Margaery simply looked at me and raised an eyebrow. Daring me to challenge her.
"If you're expecting condemnation from me, you'll be waiting some considerable time my lady. In fact, I'm impressed."
The mask slipped for a moment, allowing surprise to slip through. "Not the answer I was expecting Your Grace."
"I'm not most men." I countered.
"I see that." Margery replied, coming over to my side and taking my arm. "Now, what did you wish to speak of?"
"Your unrivalled skill at manipulation, and our future together."
"Unrivalled Your Grace?" Margaery demurred again.
"Unrivalled. In a single day with Arya Stark, you managed to build a rapport that took me weeks to accomplish. And if I hadn't already observed your techniques closely the ones you're using on me right now would be far more effective."
"But…I'm not…?" Margaery stammered in a near picture perfect presentation of innocent confusion.
"Yes, just like that. That's absolutely perfect, just how do you do that?" I exclaimed in exasperation. "I can't manage it even half as well. You've no idea how difficult it's been manipulating those two Starks without your level of control."
"Have you considered not manipulating them?" Margaery smirked.
"They have the survival instincts of a squirrel on crack cocaine!" I cried out in exasperation. "If I stopped manipulating them they'd be dead by weeks end. And I need them alive."
"And the fact you've come to care for them doesn't matter in the least." Margaery commented with a pointed look, clearly able to understand my implication even if she had no idea what cocaine was.
"Manipulation doesn't have to benefit only the person doing it. Indeed, the best manipulation helps the person you're manipulating just as much as it does you. It makes it far more likely that your relationship with them will survive the target discovering your actions if that ever comes to pass, a factor I'm sure you're well aware of."
Margaery sighed and flicked her soft brown eyes skywards, though she didn't argue my point or call out that I'd sidestepped my feelings for Jon and Arya.
"You were speaking of our future together?" She questioned, tightening her grip on my arm slightly.
"Yes, but I will not continue to do so until you stop trying to manipulate me and speak to me as an equal." I commented harshly.
"How do you believe I'm still trying to manipulate you?!" Margaery cried in exasperation.
"What makes you so dangerous isn't just that you use the mental manipulations perfectly. It's true your ability to get people talking about what they care about is unmatched, your ability to project that you care about the same things, falsely or not, is unrivalled. You understand how to make someone who's been burned open up to you by showing vulnerability in yourself to them, so they reciprocate, and you're not afraid to do so no matter where it takes you in your past. When you finally have enough information to understand someone, your ability to empathise with them and see the world through their eyes is so complete that you can lead them to the conclusions you want them to reach with an ease that is truly astounding."
"You seem to be immune, so I can hardly be as dangerous as you describe. And you can clearly see I'm not using any of those techniques on you at the moment." Margaery interrupted disarmingly as she hugged my arm.
I looked down at the connection between us. "But as I was saying, it isn't just your skill with the mental manipulations that make you dangerous. The most subtle trick you have is physical and available only to women in this world. You place yourself at your targets side, for people will tolerate someone far closer at their side than they will standing before them. Literally putting yourself on your targets side with your body rather than confronting them transfers the same implication into your target's mental assessment of you. Then, using as much physical contact as you believe you can get away with to signal your affection and regard for them without having to say a word lowers what defences they have left. Leaving them wide open to your mental attacks."
Margaery let go of my arm and moved to stand in front of me, crossing her arms and allowing a hint of anger onto her face.
"Loras has never seen your true face has he." She remarked bitterly, angry at being disarmed so thoroughly.
"He's seen my true face far more than most my lady. He's just never seen my ability at mental combat used to its maximum, so he couldn't warn you of it."
"Well, Your Grace, if you're so immune to my weapons. Why did you want to speak to me?" Margaery snarled.
"Because you're better at it than me." I replied truthfully. "I can defend myself from you, but it takes my full concentration, and I have no hope of manipulating you in turn. You're too skilled. So I wanted to make a proposal."
Margaery's arms dropped to her side as shock registered on her face. Whatever she had been expecting me to say, it clearly wasn't that.
"I'm listening, Your Grace."
"As much as Loras is the other half of my heart, he's not the other half of my mind, nor my crown. You are. We're soon to be married, and then as king and queen, we will rule. Together. If we spend our energies on each other, if you constantly try to manipulate me and I constantly have to defend myself, we will surely fail. Our energies expended on each other rather than our opponents."
"So, what, you want us too always be honest with each other?" Margaery smirked in contempt.
"Well, we could at least try. Tell me truthfully, why do you want to be queen?" I ignored her contempt and searched for an opening in her defences.
"Truthfully? I want to be remembered. I want to be The Queen." Margaery admitted, seemingly surprising herself by being willing to answer. "Alysanne Targaryen has been dead nearly two centuries, and still everyone in the kingdom refers to her as the best queen there ever was. Even the children of the smallfolk know her name when they've never heard of Visenya and Rhaenys. A thousand years from now I want Alysanne to be as forgotten as them. For all in the realm to speak of Good Queen Margaery, and how their current queen is but a pale shadow compared to her."
"And you don't think I'd be willing to help you with that?" I queried, raising an eyebrow.
"You're already damaging the Crown's relationship with the Faith and the smallfolk with that ridiculous decision to knight Brienne of Tarth and assign her as the commander of my queensguard." Margaery fenced back. "It's degraded the effect of my piety and charity work before the crown has even been placed on my head."
"I'd have thought you'd have enjoyed the comparison with Queen Alysanne?" I questioned in confusion. "Afterall, Jonquil Darke was the best woman warrior the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen that didn't carry the name Targaryen, and she was Queen Alysanne's personal guard. How is imitating her position with Brienne and giving you an entire Rainbow Guard instead of one sworn sword damaging you?"
Margaery looked ready to scream. "Jaehaerys never courted the Faith's anger and the smallfolk's' superstition by knighting Jonquil. Which. You. Are. Doing!"
"Jaehaerys didn't give a flying fuck about the Faith's anger or the smallfolk's superstition. He had dragons to enforce compliance, just as Maegor the Cruel did." I snapped angrily. "Jaehaerys didn't knight Jonquil Darke because he didn't want women stepping outside what he thought was their role, despite relying so heavily on Queen Alysanne."
"Really, the queen with the most power in the history of Westeros and you say the king who gave her that power didn't like women having it?" Margaery's voice practically dripped with contempt.
I shrugged angrily. "Actions speak louder than words. As much power as Queen Alysanne was given, it was always clear that she was utterly subordinate to King Jaehaerys. When they quarrelled, it was always Alysanne that had to back down and the king usually made her do so in public. Jaehaerys never knighted Jonquil Darke, despite the length and loyalty of her service and skill at arms, and he twice denied Princess Rhaenys her rightful place in the succession. Going as far as to call the Great Council of 101AC to deny the Queen Who Never Was her rights for the second time. A decision that led directly to the Dance of the Dragons, and the current situation that the daughter of the king not only must not only have no brothers to inherit as is the case for all other highborn. But that she must also have no uncles or male cousins as well. If that law ever spreads beyond the Iron Throne, ladies like Arwyn Oakheart and Anya Waynwood will no longer be able to rule in their own right. Indeed, I suspect it won't be long before men finish the job Jaehaerys began and insist that a line ends when it has no male heirs rather than allow women to rule."
"That will never happen." Margaery growled, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Won't it?" I countered lightly. "Before the coming of the Andals men and women were much closer, male preference in succession and a much smaller number of women warriors being the only true difference from what we know of the First Men. Yet with the creation of the Citadel, women were cast from the roles of elite education. With the coming of the Faith, women were cast from the top levels of the priesthood, as they cannot serve as High Septon. With the coming of knights, the women who wished to serve on the battlefield were cast from there, and with the coming of Jaehaerys, women were cast from their rightful place in the succession for the Iron Throne. What makes you think it's going to stop?"
"Why do you care?" Margaery had the calculating glint back in her eyes. "You're no woman, and you're no gallant and shining knight doing things because the gods command it."
I couldn't give the true answer of my modern sensibilities demanded that I start to push back, before that final step of removing women from the line of succession entirely was taken. As it had been in England's history for every aristocratic family eventually. Except the Royal Family as changing royal dynasties was a pain in the ass to be avoided whenever possible. So, I picked a reason that Margaery would be able to understand.
"Mathis Rowan has three children. All are daughters. House Mormont also has only daughters, and Houses Waynwood and Oakheart in were the same position in our parents' generation. There're more I'm surely forgetting as well. If, my lady, the gods bless us only with daughters, or with only granddaughters if we have a son, I will not see the Iron Throne wrested away from our line due to the actions of a king two hundred years dead. It's time to start pushing back. Knighting women is but the first arrow volley I'm loosing, to soften up resistance before I tackle the succession."
Now Margaery was looking at me far more calculatingly, the threat to her children something she could clearly get behind removing. "And you wish for my help in this matter."
"I wish for your help in every matter." I answered truthfully. "We are to be king and queen, husband and wife, we are to be a team. If we work together rather than wasting our energies on each other, we could be the greatest monarchs in history. But we can't do it unless we're honest with each other. No manipulations. If you need something to enhance your power or make it seem as if you can influence me to your supporters, ask and I shall give it to you without the need for you to manipulate me into it. I will happily look the other way if you wish to take a female lover, as I have taken Loras, and ensure that she has a position at court that allows you to be together as much as Loras and I are. Though I'm afraid given Cersei's actions a male lover is out of the question, even after we have children. The scrutiny will be to intense for us to take the risk with our children's safety. To the entire kingdom I will declare that you act in my name, with power equal to my Hand. Two weeks hence, when Garlan and I are in the field, it will be you that holds court in my name, passing judgement from the Iron Throne itself when we take King's Landing. If, with that power, you make a decision that is inconvenient or embarrassing to me I will swallow it. If it is critically damaging to my plans and we must walk it back, I will tell you in private and in public we will find a way to do it that casts no blame on you. Even if it casts me as a merciless tyrant. We can do this my lady, we can bury the memory of Jaehaerys and Alysanne for all time, but only if we trust each other and act as a team."
The Rose of Highgarden cocked her head and studied me intensely.
"You're serious!" She exclaimed in shock.
"Deadly."
"Hmph. Fine. I need two Rainbow Guard positions for junior Tyrells." Margaery stated bluntly, challenging me with her eyes.
"Done." I replied instantly.
The Rose of Highgarden looked like she couldn't believe what she'd heard. "Just like that? After all the grief you caused making sure that the small council was as balanced as you could make it?"
"I can hardly declare my intention to back you to the hilt, then balk at your very first request, can I?" I grinned.
"You aren't even going to ask why I need them?"
"I'd like to know, but the fact you say you need them is all I need to know." My response was calm and casual, causing Margaery to cock her head again.
"Megga and Alla both have multiple brothers. They both want their second born brother to be a Kingsguard." Margery admitted.
"I take it their skills aren't up to the Kingsguard?"
"Nowhere near." Margaery snorted. "Only Megga's brother is even out of his teens. But they'll be guarding me, and I'll accept the risk of having them in the Rainbow Guard and ensure they receive more training. I need to fulfil the favours my handmaidens ask of me if they're to keep carrying out the favours I ask of them. Such as lying before the Old Gods and the New that they never left our side today."
I nodded in understanding. "Elinor didn't want a slot for her brother?"
"She only has one. She wants a good marriage that comes with significant lands for him as her branch of the family has no lands of their own. Something else I'll need from you." Margaery smirked.
"I'll see to it. I already have some ideas I can adapt." I promised.
Margaery's smirk widened as she took my arm again and leaned in conspiratorially as we began to walk to the entrance being guarded by Elinor. "Do you know, I believe being your wife is going to be much more interesting than I thought.
Robb Stark
Robb was angry.
Actually, he was furious.
The banners of the North were gathering, marching dutifully to answer the call of The Stark in Winterfell. Only this morning had the Umbers marched into Winter Town, steel glittering in the cold morning light as the drummer beat time and the roaring giant of their sigil flew defiantly on the red banners they held high overhead.
They'd all come. The Cerwyns had been the first, but one by one columns of men had marched through Winterfell's gates. The mailed fist of the Glovers, the white tree and black sword of the Forresters, the white peak and arch of stars of the Whitehills, the flayed man of the Boltons, the three sentinel trees of the Tallharts, the bull moose of the Hornwoods. All had answered Winterfell's call.
His scouts reported that the Mormonts were barely a week away, and the Karstarks not far behind them. When Lord Karstark arrived Robb would have little choice but to march. Already the food stores of the region were draining quickly and his southern bannermen were mustering at Moat Cailin, waiting to join his host there. Like as not the fighting had already begun in the Riverlands and he had many leagues to march to aid his Uncle Edmure and punish the Lannisters for their treachery.
Even so, the thought of departing Winterfell, departing home, filled Robb's heart with dread. Something he despised himself for.
He was seven-and-ten, a man grown for all that he couldn't yet grow a full beard. He was duty bound to lead the men who'd answered his call to war. Yet he wanted nothing more than to gather Bran and Rickon into his arms, flee to his chambers, and bar the door. Telling them stories until Father rode back through the gates of Winterfell.
The anger had settled into his stomach as soon as Sansa's letter had arrived, marked with Father's own seal, and it hadn't left him since. The sight of the words claiming that Father had attempted treason with King Robert's brothers, written in his sister's own hand, had nearly made him throw it into the fire. Only the lack of runes made him stay his hand, letting him know that his sister hadn't lost her wolf. That this may be her hand, but the words were the Lannister queen's.
There was no firm news of Father beyond the queen's words, each traveller north brought a different story. That he was imprisoned as Queen Cersei claimed, a fugitive in the crownlands, fled to Highgarden with Lord Renly, or, worst of all, dead.
Even that was better than Arya, of whom they had had no news at all and of whom Sansa made no mention.
Yet Robb had no time to consider any of it. From the moment Lord Cerwyn had ridden into Winterfell with his daughter in tow there had been no respite.
Each lord brought their own challenges. Lord Glover had demanded battle command jovially and Lord Bolton had demanded the same. Though the Lord of the Dreadfort had been by far the worse of the two. Making his demand in a manner that turned Robb's bowels to water and left him sliding down the wall to the floor, pale and shaking, as soon as he'd closed the door to his father's solar after somehow managing to refuse the leach lord. He'd slept poorly for days afterwards, able to think of nothing else but the room in the Dreadfort where the Boltons of old had flayed more than one Stark alive and worn their skin as a cloak.
Lord Hornwood showered Robb with gifts, while making constant suggestions about changes he wanted to make to his lands. Lord Cerwyn constantly tried to arrange for Robb to spend time with his daughter, and while Lord Tallhart had at least had the courtesy not to bring his to Winterfell, that hadn't stopped him speaking loudly of her virtues and beauty at every opportunity.
Each feast was a challenge as Lord Whitehill constantly pressed him to expand his land at the expense of House Forrester, each moment snatched in the training yard a chore as Lord Forrester's heir sought to make a name for himself by beating Robb.
Robb had managed each of them with a cool courtesy, as his Lord Father would have, and somehow, gods be good, he'd managed to bend them to his will. None of them seemed to have noticed that he felt like a boy playing at being lord, always uncertain behind his cold mask.
Robb felt the strain of being pulled in a hundred different directions at once, leaving no time to help his brothers in their distress. He wouldn't have spoken to Bran in days if it were not for him holding feasts to welcome each lord as they arrived. Feasts where he always ensured his little brother was sat at his right hand, despite his more powerful bannermen muttering that a cripple being given the place of honour over them was a severe insult.
Robb hadn't even seen Rickon in weeks. His baby brother had been as wild as a winter storm ever since he learned Robb was marching to war. Screaming and refusing to eat, or even to be found for all that Robb had set half the castle to searching for him. Whenever he was found, Rickon escaped and disappeared again into the crypts or the nooks and crannies of the old keep before Robb could make time to see him.
Robb hated himself for being relieved. If he had to face his baby brother's screaming panic that he would never return his will might break. He might give Lord Bolton the command he craved and send him south to aid the Tullys instead. Remaining behind in Winterfell with Bran and Rickon, for all that it would be craven and leave him facing Father's righteous scorn when he returned.
And now, instead of helping, Bran had caused him more trouble.
Carpenters had been taken away from making wagons, weavers from making sacks, and worst of all, his brother had gone around their bannermen's encampments on Dancer, claiming men and horses in Robb's name and doing gods only knew what with them.
Robb rode angrily out the gate, Theon and Grey Wind at his side.
"Even crippled he still causes trouble." The Ironborn needled, laughing.
Robb simply ground his teeth and ignored Theon's cutting comments. He didn't have the energy to step between his brother by blood and his brother by choice at the moment.
It wasn't long before they saw four large archery targets, some three times the size of normal ones, set up in one of the flat grazing fields on the outskirts of Winter Town. A large group of smallfolk had gathered to watch.
Robb headed over as soon as he saw the missing men and horses were also present. As he approached, he clearly saw Bran and Dancer set off across the field. But to his shock, Bran didn't stop, instead letting go of the reins, lifting his wierwood shortbow, and loosing an arrow at the first target while Dancer still galloped ahead.
The first arrow hit the target in one of its outer rings, but still Bran didn't stop. Instead, he pulled another arrow from the quiver on his back and loosed it at the second target, going on to do the same for the third and fourth as well.
All three arrows missed entirely. But it wasn't until he had loosed the last that Bran picked up the reins again and stopped Dancer's gallop.
Theon hooted with laughter. "By the Drowned God, have you gotten worse Bran? Only one target out of three?"
Robb was still angry with his brother, so he didn't contradict Theon even as an embarrassed flush spread over Bran's cheeks as he rode up to them and brought Dancer to a stop.
"Did you see me Robb?" He asked, excitement quickly overcoming his embarrassment.
"I saw." Robb growled as the next horseman lined up and made the same attempt as Bran. "What I also see is a lot of men, horses, craftsmen, and materials, all of which you've taken in my name without informing me."
Bran hung his head in shame. "I wanted it to be a surprise." He whispered.
"Well, it certainly is that." Robb commented callously as the archer's horse bucked and fought. Forcing the rider to abandon the run after loosing his second arrow and grab the reigns to bring his mount back under control. "What happened there?"
"I asked for the best horsemen from each house that could also shoot a bow." Bran answered earnestly. "But the horses still don't like the sound of the bowstring, nor the sight of the arrows if they catch sight of them. And none of them have been trained to be ridden without reins like Dancer has."
"That's because it's a fucking stupid idea." Theon laughed.
Bran growled at him. "Dothraki boys shoot from horseback! Some while standing in the saddle! And they're the most feared warriors in Essos apart from the Unsullied. Maester Luwin and Lord Renly said so!
"Well that rules you out then doesn't it." Theon's laugh clearly cut Bran deeply as the Ironborn poked the second Stark son's unfeeling foot with the tip of his bow.
"Theon, enough!" Robb cut in sharply before Theon could reduce Bran to tears. "Bran, I know you think this is helping but…"
"It is! Bryden Rivers and his Raven's Teeth were really important in helping put down the Blackfyre Rebellion. Maester Luwin said so! I can help give you your own archers to kill Lannisters!" Bran exclaimed earnestly.
Robb gripped his brothers' shoulder, trying to soften the blow. "Bran, you can't even reliably hit a target three times the normal size. Nor can good archers you've taken from my bannermen's ranks."
Bran stared at the ground as a blush rose in his cheeks again. "It's really difficult, you can't aim like you can in the yard, you have to aim before you even draw. You have to loose the arrow so quickly too and…I keep getting it wrong. But I can get better! I know I can!"
Robb ignored Theon's snort and tried to break the news to his brother that he wasn't helping as gently as he could.
"Bran…"
"BOY!" a great voice boomed across the field as a giant of a man stomped forward in the colours of House Umber. "I knew you were so green you piss grass, but I never thought a son of Eddard Stark would give such insult! To not greet his banners when they answer his call! I've half a mind to march my men back to Last Hearth for this!"
Robb was terrified at what had to be Greatjon Umber's approach, but he couldn't afford to show weakness before all these people. So despite the block of ice in his guts, the young lord reached for the only other emotion he was feeling. Anger.
"You can certainly do so Lord Umber." Robb snarled, even as the reins shook a little in his grip. "And when we're done beating the Lannisters I'll march to Last Hearth and drag you from your keep before hanging you like the oathbreaker you are."
The Greatjon bellowed and looked as if he wanted to throw something, but with nothing in reach, he drew his sword.
Robb felt his bowels turn to water, he opened his mouth to order Grey Wind to attack, for there was no other way for him to defeat such a legendary warrior. But before he could do so an arrow appeared in the Greatjon's arm, making him bellow and drop his sword as everyone else froze in place.
Wordlessly Robb, Theon, and all others turned to face the archer.
Bran sat imperiously on Dancer, an angry look on his face and a second arrow notched and ready to draw.
"Our father taught us it was death to draw steel against your liege lord." Bran growled out, still managing to sound intimidating despite his voice remaining high as his balls were yet to drop.
"Doubtless you intended only to taper some arrows for my brother." Robb cut in.
"Your brother…" the Greatjon growled, climbing back to his feet and noticing Bran's special saddle for the first time, …is bloody tough! And not a bad shot besides."
"Not really, I was aiming for your head." Bran admitted, dropping his bow before the Greatjon and the others around him could see how badly the ten-year-old's hands were shaking now the danger had passed.
The Greatjon roared with laughter even as Maester Luwin arrived and cajoled him back into Winterfell to have Bran's arrow removed.
Bran hugged Robb tightly as soon as the Lord of Last Hearth was out of sight.
"I was so scared." Bran admitted quietly.
"So was I. Thank you for defending me, brother." Robb whispered back so not even Theon could hear.
When they separated, Robb cupped his brother's cheek tenderly. "I think I'll leave these hundred men with you, so you can continue training them while I'm in the south. They can be your honour guard while you act as the Stark in Winterfell."
"But the Raven's Teeth were three hundred strong!" Bran piped up hopefully.
"And Bryden Rivers was brother to the king. Don't push your luck." Robb rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop the fond and delighted smile from appearing on his face at Bran's lust for life. Something that had been missing ever since he fell from the broken tower. "You're going to need to name your special archers though."
"I already did." Bran smirked cheekily.
"Go on then, what are they called." Robb asked, preparing himself for the worst from a boy that had named his direwolf 'Summer'.
"The Wolf's Claws."
The hungry smile on his little brother's innocent face sent a shiver down Robb's spine.
Renly Baratheon
I strode purposefully through the staircases and corridors of the great keep of Highgarden as the sun set outside. I was grateful that tea was grown in the foothills of the mountains between Sellhorys and Valysar and imported to Highgarden from Volantis by the shipload. I needed my wits about me for the coming confrontation and that meant I needed my caffeine fix.
I'd rather have rested my brain after my confrontation with Margaery earlier in the day, but sadly I had no choice in the timing.
I nodded to the two guards on either side of the door and slipped inside.
Olenna Tyrell regarded me coolly as I entered her solar. We stared at each other in silence until she finally accepted that I wasn't going to be the one to break it and spoke up herself. "I sent for the Bastard."
"You did, and I told him not to come." I replied steadily meeting her gaze.
"Now, why might that be I wonder?" Olenna remarked, resting her chin on one hand, still engaging in our little staring contest.
"May I sit?" I asked indicating the single other chair present at her round table.
"No."
The reply was short and gleeful. I fought a grin at the conformation that somethings never changed.
"You've taken an interest in my retinue." I fenced.
"And why shouldn't I take an interest? They're interesting people!" The Queen of Thorns parried.
"Are they?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Surprisingly, yes. The ones closest to you at any rate." Olenna remarked appraisingly. "That scribe you acquired would throw himself from the battlements rather than betray you and he has the skills to make himself very useful. Ned Stark's daughter treats you like family as you indulge her, all the while bolstering your reputation with his supposed seal of approval and burying the memory that he declared for your brother. The Dornish boylord is enamoured with the Stark girl and so with you for making their betrothal happen. Something that leaves the entire Torrentine valley open to attack if Sunspear can't rely on Starfall to stop dear Paxter sailing up the river and landing troops wherever he pleases."
The appraising look was back.
"Normally with men I find good sense slides off them like rain of a wing. But you…you've been busy."
"You see a great deal my lady." I responded admiringly.
Olenna snorted. "Don't try that trick with me. I can see right through you."
"Oh I doubt that my lady…I doubt that very much." I gave my own version of Margaery's patented smirk, making Olenna's eyes narrow and the tension increase.
I broke some of the tension by walking over to the balcony and leaning backwards on the balustrade, the cool evening air blowing through my hair as the sun slid below the horizon. "Where is it you have Satin disappearing to? I have tasks that I will trust to no other, yet he is missing from dawn till dusk."
Olenna laughed. "Oh you'll get the pretty boy back eventually, I have him learning some new tricks. Every jewel needs to be cut and polished before it can show its full potential."
She did have a point, so I let her win the round. "Just make sure he's back with me as fast as possible. Our enemies are moving quickly, so we must as well if we wish to survive."
"And what enemy does the Bastard help you fight?" The Queen of Thorns asked, cutting back to her original question with a sharp and penetrating gaze. "Your use for all the others is clear, but he brings you nothing. Nothing that the little she-wolf hasn't brought you already anyway. Yet when I try to find out your use for him, here you are, blocking my attempt. How thrilling."
The overly dramatic gasp the withered old matriarch gave as she put her hand to her heart made me snort.
"Surely that indicates you should let sleeping wolves lie my lady? After all, at your age you must ration your excitement."
Olenna Tyrell cackled but refused to give up. "If you're to be my good grandson, surely you can tell a harmless old woman some of your secrets?"
"Oh please, you're about as harmless as Balerion the Black Dread."
"Away with you!" Olenna laughed. "Any more of that and people will think you're trying to seduce me."
I laughed along with her for a moment before turning serious. "I will tell you my secrets before the end my lady. You're right, we do need to face them together. But it is hardly appropriate to reveal all during the first dance of the evening. Each group of secrets must be revealed in stages, so as not to cause you to panic."
"Panic? My my, am I but a simple old woman, easily flustered then?" Olenna Tyrell smirked in amusement.
"Far from it. But whatever you believe necessary to ensure the safety of House Tyrell, you will do. And you do not yet know how securely our enemies have ensnared us. If I tell you everything now. You may strike at our immediate enemies in a way that simply tightens the noose that the ones with more patience have placed around our necks."
Pretence dropped away, leaving the Queen of Thorns in all her glory. "How many?"
"How many what?"
"How many move against House Tyrell."
"Too many." I replied with a calm that I didn't truly feel. "So many that I can see only one path to safety, and it's filled with such danger that you may well wish to abandon it and hunker down instead. Trying to survive by staying behind these walls and defeating each threat as it comes."
"And you don't believe that will work?" Olenna Tyrell eyed me seriously.
"I know it won't." I replied, putting every ounce of emotion into the statement I could.
"You have a very high opinion of yourself do think that." Olenna remarked, giving nothing away.
"I have an extensive source of information."
"Your network that hasn't spoken to you since your arrival in Highgarden. Don't try to pretend otherwise boy, I've been doing this far longer than you." Olenna fenced.
"I don't doubt it. Your skill in the execution of the game of shadows is unmatched. Your failure is one of imagination." I parried.
"My failure!" Olenna mocked, touching her hand to her heart again.
"If our enemies plans succeed, they will see myself, Loras, and Margaery all dead, Willas under siege at Highgarden, and Garlan trapped in the field."
"I would know of it." Olenna growled out angrily.
"You lack the imagination to come up with the plan, so you don't know where to look for the pieces." I countered.
"Tell me." The Queen of Thorns demanded.
"Not yet." I refused. "I will tell you everything before I leave after wedding in less than a fortnight. But I won't tell you everything at once. You need a day or two to think on each set of revelations before I dump another load of stone on your shoulders."
"Listen you prissy little boy! Don't presume to tell me what I need!" Olenna Tyrell raised her voice for the first time.
"Someone has to, or else you'll get us killed by acting on only half the information." I refused, pushing off the balcony balustrade and standing over the old woman, using my body language in a very domineering and combative manner.
The Queen of Thorns breathed deeply, swallowing her anger, frustration, and, if I read it right, a little hatred too.
"Before you leave you say?" Olenna asked, once she'd gotten herself back under control.
"I plan to inform you along with Willas and Margaery. It will take time to explain everything, which is why I insist on doing so in stages. So none of you miss information due to being overloaded. But yes, over the next two weeks I will reveal almost everything to you."
Olenna simply nodded, anger still twisting her features. "You do realise I'm still going to look into the Bastard? I assume he's the almost?"
I smirked. "He is, and you're welcome too. I would expect nothing less from you even if you weren't my mistress of whispers. I'm already moving to secure all the information I know of, so if you find anything else, especially if it convinces you, it can only help us."
"You're not even going to throw an old bitch a bone?" Olenna snarked bitterly.
I laughed a little and decided to do just that, to ease the way for later. "It's a curious truth that when you get enough men together, they're just like horses. Indistinguishable from each other and moving as a herd rather than individuals. But there's always one or two that stand out. True stallions that retain their individuality and can never be mistaken for lesser men. Jon Snow is the biggest and strongest stallion in the herd, though even he doesn't realise it yet. What you see between us is the result of months of very careful manipulation on my part, taking him to where I need him to go. Now, when the end goal is in sight and I've almost got the bridle on him, you will not make him bolt at the last moment!"
"Hmph. I might almost think you're fucking him, not my grandson." Olenna muttered callously. "You do know paying such close attention and favour to a bastard is costing you significant support? I hope this 'stallion' of yours is all you claim he is."
"I'd sacrifice the Hightowers and all their 16,000 men rather than give up the chance to get the bridle on Jon Snow before he or anyone else realises what he's capable of."
The solar descended into stunned silence at my declaration.
"Who is he?" The Queen of Thorns asked harshly, all pretence gone. "You wouldn't be willing to sacrifice so much for Ned Stark's bastard, no matter who his mother was."
I simple shrugged and picked a peach out of the fruit bowl, eating it casually as I strode towards the door, shutting down the conversation. "He's the dragon on the cyvasse board my lady. And I intend to make sure that it's our hands that move him, not anyone else's."
The excellent in-depth analysis of Margaery's methods of manipulation is taken from Charisma on Command's youtube video 'Influence, Power, and Getting What you Want.'
For those not from Britain – The black country is an area of the West Midlands that are northwest of the city of Birmingham. So named for the immense coal reserves mined there during the industrial revolution and the near constant black soot produced in its burning in the heavy industry of the towns of Wolverhampton, Dudley, and others. The accent is very similar too, but distinct from, the brummie accent of Birmingham.