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Edmure Tully
"Notch, draw, loose!" Edmure bellowed as the Lannister foot smashed against the hastily erected fieldworks guarding his position for the third time.
With Riverrun and its walls to their backs, the deep and fast Tumblestone on their right, and the wide - if shallower and slower - Red Fork on their left, the Lannisters couldn't come at his men any way other than straight forward. Straight through his fieldworks. Something that made up for the fact that only half the embankments had the timber palisades he'd wanted to throw up atop them, and only two thirds of what should have been a single wall had been linked up. Leaving significant gaps for the Lannisters to attempt an assault through.
There were screams as the rain of arrows fell onto the Lannister foot attempting to climb up the embankments missing their palisades. Something that made the Heir of Riverrun allow himself a grim smile. Even if there weren't nearly enough Westerlands casualties from the volley for his liking.
"Damn plate." One of his leftenants growled, spitting on the floor in disgust as the majority of the arrows bounced off the Lannister men's steel helms and pauldrons. Paid for by Tywin Lannister to allow Westerlands troops to survive plunging arrow volleys that would cause poorer equipped troops to break.
"It could be worse, at least most of their armour's mail and leather." Edmure threw back, taking a moment to survey the battlefield.
The roar and clang of battle was constant as the Lannisters continued to try and break through the gaps between the embankments, clashing with his own Riverlands foot. Lymond Goodbrook and Jonos Braken were near the front, keeping the flanks steady in the face of such relentless aggression while the catapults on Riverrun's towers loosed boulders over the Tully men's heads constantly. Even though the chances of actually hitting anything at that range were dire as the Lannisters had no siege engines to aim for and men usually saw the boulders coming early enough to run out of their path. Still, it certainly encouraged his own men to see the constant rain of boulders pelting down into the mass of red cloaks regardless of their effectiveness.
The actual killing would simply have to be done by the archers that Edmure had concentrated around himself in the centre.
"Notch, draw, loose!" The auburn-haired Tully bellowed again as his men sent yet another volley of arrows over the fieldworks and into the mass of red and gold.
There was a cheer of satisfaction from the Riverlands men. Suddenly answered by a roar of a challenge from the Lannister centre as they surged forward and charged the bare embankments once again.
Again the crests became a battleground as the Riverlands men, holding back a few steps from the crest to avoid exposing themselves to Lannister archers, took the few steps up to the top as quickly as possible and locked shields. But this time several were falling back dead before they could make a decent shield wall.
A shudder ran through the Riverlands army as they saw the reason why.
Looking like a hero from one of the old songs, Ser Jamie Lannister stood atop the crest of the embankment. His gilded armour shining gold, contrasting with the silver gleam of his flashing blade as he fought three Tully men simultaneously. The dead men who'd already fallen foul of the Kingslayer's blade rolling lifelessly back down the slope.
Edmure felt fury fill him as the Kingslayer continued to slaughter the Tully men running to face him with gay abandon, the breach getting wider as more men of the Trident fell to his blade.
"Aim for the Kingslayer!" Edmure bellowed as he grabbed an arrow, vaguely registering one of the Riverlands trumpets calling a charge.
"Notch!" He tried to steady his breathing and focus only on his target.
"Draw!" The shimmering gold of the magnificent Lannister hero filled his vision.
"Loose!" Edmure cried, letting his arrow fly.
He cursed bitterly as the volley scattered around the breach, some even taking his own men in the back rather than the Lannisters. The few arrows that found their way to the Kingslayer were harmlessly caught on his shield or glanced off his heavy plate.
In his heart Edmure knew that none of them had been his and he burned with shame at the revelation. Tullys were supposed to be the best archers in the Seven Kingdoms. It was what his house was known for on the battlefield, what he'd been trained for. But Edmure had spent his time since coming of age drinking and whoring with his friends rather than in the yard. While he still had the strength of arm to loose arrows all day, his aim had suffered badly from his lack of practice.
"Ser Marq's riding out my lord!" his lieutenant called out hoarsely.
The cheers from Edmure's left along with the thunder of hooves finally registered properly as he whipped his head around to see for himself. He'd placed all his horse on his left under Marq Piper, the Heir of Pinkmaiden being the best horseman among them and the flat ground next to the Red Fork being much better for cavalry than the stony banks of the Tumblestone.
The dancing maiden on blue of House Piper flew at the front of the charge as Ser Marq stormed out of the Riverlands lines. Charging straight towards the shield wall the Lannister right was forming as they pulled back beneath the banners of House Banefort.
The combined Tully, Bracken, and Blackwood heavy cavalry fared much better than the light horse Marq had led at the Golden Tooth. They smashed through the left of the Lannister right flank, detaching it from the Kingslayer's centre.
Edmure didn't join in the frantic cheers from his own men. Unlike them he could recognise that while the Lannister line had been breached, it wasn't breaking.
Lord Banefort was holding his men steady, keeping the Lannister right in their solid shield wall even as Ser Marq led the entire force of Riverlands cavalry through the breach, completely separating them from the Lannister centre.
Three Lannisters in the shield wall were crushed and their shields reduced to splinters as one of Riverrun's tower catapults landed a perfect shot. But still the line didn't break. Holding firm beneath the black hooded man on grey banner, their fellow red cloaks simply stepping over their shattered corpses to take their place.
Ser Marq began to wheel the Riverlands horse around to take the Lannister centre in the rear, to charge into them and hammer Jamie Lannister against the anvil of the Riverlands foot he was currently fighting against.
It was a bold gamble, and one that Edmure franticly prayed would pay off as the mass of cavalry began its sweeping turn.
Westerlands trumpets blared out commands and the entire Westerlands army moved. It all happened so smoothly Edmure wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't happening before his eyes.
The Heir of Riverrun choked as the Lannister counter quickly became abundantly clear.
"Impossible, the discipline!" Edmure could almost see the cocky smirk on the Kingslayer's face at his disbelief, even as Lord Banefort directed his men in a manner he would have sworn was impossible.
Going beyond just 'not breaking', the detached Lannister right flank quickly marched in lockstep sideways. Even as arrows and boulders rained down on them and the Riverlands left flank was charging right at them. It broke their contact with the Red Fork, but closed the breach that Marq Piper's charge had opened in the Lannister line before any of Lymond Goodbrook's foot could exploit it. Reconnecting the Lannister right flank with their centre long before the charging Riverlands foot reached them. The men of the Trident had no weaknesses to exploit as they finally reached them and they began to be pushed backwards as soon as the battle was joined. Lured beyond the safety of the fieldworks the superior equipment and discipline of the Westerlands troops was clear.
Suddenly, rather than a victorious charge looking to take the Lannister centre in the rear, it became clear to everyone that Ser Marq had led the entire Riverlands horse into a trap. Now, with the Riverlands cavalry cut off from the rest of the Army of the Trident, the Lannister reserve began to move. The foot, under Crakehall banners, charged forwards and forced Marq to stop his turn towards the engaged Lannister centre and turn to charge directly at the Lannister reserve instead. It was the only way if he was to have any chance of escaping the trap his hot-headedness had caused him to blunder into and avoid being surrounded.
Ser Marq's cavalry crashed into Lord Crakehall's men at full gallop. But with many of their lances already broken smashing their way through Lord Banefort's men, the Riverlands charge lacked the power to punch through the Lannister reserves and bogged down on impact.
The Army of the Trident held its collective breath. Ser Marq was still a skilled horseman and cavalry commander. Though he hadn't been able to break the Lannister reserves, he was still slowly fighting his way clear. Refusing to be diverted from his task of cutting his way through the enemy foot with sword and mace and regaining his ability to manoeuvre before the hammer came down on his cavalry.
The brief hope that had entered the hearts of many Men of the Trident was brutally snatched away as the Lannister horse charged with another blast of the trumpets.
Executing a superb double envelopment of the still engaged Tully cavalry, the Lannister cavalry smashed into them from three sides as Ser Marq was still desperately trying to fight his way through Lord Crakehall's foot.
A mass shudder and groan went up from all the men of the Trident as they watched the dancing maiden of House Piper fall while the burning tree of House Marbrand charged in, and the black and white boar of House Crakehall still flew defiantly.
The Lannister left hadn't hesitated to take advantage of the crushing blow to his men's fighting spirit. While they - and Edmure himself - had been distracted by praying to the gods for Ser Marq to be able to fight his way free, the Lannister left had smashed into the fieldworks and Jonos Bracken's flank had begun to falter. The purple unicorn of House Brax drew closer to the Bracken red stallion as Lord Bracken attempted to rally his men and hold. But before Edmure could order even a single volley loosed to support them, a barrel-chested man with grey hair and a purple unicorn on his cloth of silver sash swung twin axes at Jonos Bracken.
The bitter old Lord of Stone Hedge lashed out with sword and shield, as did his sworn swords. Forcing the older man who could only be Andros Brax back and rallying his men with calls to kick the kittens in the balls.
"Notch, draw, Loose!" Edmure directed another volley into the Lannister left that were trying to reinforce their commander. Brax himself looked to be in trouble now, still fighting hard, but not unscathed. He was noticeably slower and had lost his helm. Lord Bracken managed to hook his swordtip into one of the axe head's decorative holes, pulling it out of Andros' hand and sending it flying. Seizing the advantage Jonos smashed his shield into Lord Brax's unprotected face before stabbing at the reeling lord's right shoulder, aiming for a gap in his plate.
Jonos' sword was deflected by a knight with a gilded helm and ringmail. Shaggy golden hair fluttered, brass lion pauldrons gleamed, and a red fox fur cloak flowed. It was as if the Lannister sigil itself had come to life to defend its wounded bannermen.
"Daven fucking Lannister you son of a whore!" Edmure screamed in frustration as the gilded knight fell upon Jonos Bracken with the fury of a man still fresh.
While his father Ser Stafford was a fool, Ser Daven Lannister was an altogether different kettle of fish. Jonos had been fighting since the start of the battle and was clearly tiring, having spent most of his remaining energy on almost killing Andros Brax.
Still, the Lord of Stone Hedge was holding his own against Daven Lannister's assault in spite of everything. Right up until his leg was taken off at the knee by Andros Brax's remaining battle axe. The mud-covered lord with blood pouring from his broken nose suddenly reappearing at Jonos' side while he was distracted fighting Ser Daven and taking his revenge with a powerful two-handed swing.
The Riverlands right flank collapsed as Jonos Bracken went down screaming.
Edmure could only watch as the men disintegrated into a panicking mass, their leftenants and captains unable to re-establish control. Red cloaks began pouring over the fieldworks, and not meeting any organised resistance they quickly pushed Lord Bracken's flank back towards Riverrun.
"It's time to get out of here my lord." His banner bearer muttered, despite never letting the Tully banner waver.
The auburn-haired Tully watched the panic spread throughout the entire Army of the Trident. On the right, men were stripping out of their armour and jumping into the Tumblestone. Trying to swim for it before the advancing Lannister troops pushed them into the river in their armour to drown, or just slaughtered them outright.
Despite the Lannister right's advance being more cautious, the left was no better. A small cohort was maintaining cohesion and still fighting under Lord Goodbrook's banner, and he was trying to rally more to stand firm. But behind him men were wading into the Red Fork, trying to make it across the neck deep ford that was the only crossing this close to Riverrun.
"We'll never make it." Edmure growled back, resigned. Looking at the chaos of panicking men between them and Riverrun's gates.
He was proven right as the Riverrun trumpets called the retreat. The Riverlands reserves under Lord Blackwood had been stationed along the moat and were the only units aside from his own and Lord Goodbrook's that still had discipline.
Tytos Blackwood led the reserves back over the drawbridge and into Riverrun as the sluice gate began to rise and water flooded into the moat. Rising quickly and drowning all the men who had run into it to try and avoid being crushed by their panicking fellow Riverlanders.
"My lord!"
"Stand fast." Edmure commanded firmly. There was no way they could reach the gatehouse before Lord Blackwood ordered the drawbridge raised. He wasn't going to dishonour himself by trying.
Riverrun wasn't prepared for a siege. With no sign of threats on the horizon and no changing of the seasons there'd been no need. It'd seemed more trouble than it was worth organising the maintenance of siege provisions even in times of peace. Now Edmure bitterly wished it was time he'd spent.
Lord Blackwood couldn't allow the army to retreat inside when they'd barely enough food for a few moons for the existing garrison, let alone the reserves Tytos brought with him. There'd be little point saving the extra men only for them all to be captured when the castle was forced to yield after only two or three weeks due to starvation.
Lord Blackwood would raise the drawbridge the moment the last of his men had crossed no matter the men left outside. He had to ensure that he had enough food to hold out and deny the Riverrun to the Lannisters until the Stark and Arryn armies arrived to relieve them.
Even as Riverrun's portcullis dropped and the drawbridge began to rise men still desperately scrambled across it, hanging onto the lip and sides as they were lifted higher and higher into the air. Still more were already at the gatehouse trying to lift the portcullis, demanding to be let in.
Edmure turned his back on the castle and looked towards the advancing Lannister army. Dropping his bow and drawing his sword. "We'll make our stand here."
Most of his archers obviously didn't agree as they broke and ran. Some towards the Red Fork, and others back towards Riverrun despite the drawbridge slamming into the stone of the gatehouse with an ominous crash as it was fully raised. The men still clinging to it fell screaming into the moat to drown in their armour.
Edmure was simply glad that his banner bearer wasn't among the ones who fled. Two of his fellows helped them to ram the banner pole into the soft red mud, then they drew their swords as well. His small cohort gathered under the Tully banner, ignoring the Men of the Trident running past them in a panicked search for a way of escape that didn't exist.
It didn't take long for the advancing Lannisters to reach them. The first were simple men-at-arms, having run ahead of the knights in the hope of capturing Edmure and his knights for ransom.
The redhead should have made short work of them. To his eternal embarrassment, he only killed one. The others all falling to the blades of his fellow knights and squires.
The derisive hoot of laughter cut across the field as Jamie Lannister pulled off his helmet a bare handful of paces away. His golden hair matching his armour as it fell free.
"A floppy fish indeed!" Ser Jamie laughed along with his fellow Westerlands knights at Edmure's performance.
Edmure flushed from both fury and embarrassment. He hadn't picked up his sword seriously for even longer than his bow, and Ser Jamie was right. He'd made a bloody fool of himself.
The auburn-haired Tully simply gritted his teeth and lashed out, covering the distance between them in a heartbeat. Hoping to land a blow on Ser Jamie while he was still distracted, laughing with his men.
It was a hope that was dashed as Ser Jamie disarmed him in three parries without even losing his lazy smile. Sending Edmure's sword spinning away into the red mud of the Trident while his own came to rest casually at the top of the Tully heir's gorget.
"Do you yield, Ser Edmure?" Jamie Lannister asked, cocky grin practically blinding.
Edmure Tully spat the words that would shame him until the end of his life. "I yield, Ser Jamie."
Behind him, the knights and squires of Edmure's small cohort dropped their blades. Disgust, shame, and self-loathing filling the air.
Around them, the slaughter of the Army of the Trident continued unabated.
Renly Baratheon
I groaned as I rested my forehead on the cool wood of the wardrobe, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep.
"It can't be that bad." Loras chirped from behind me, sliding his calloused hands underneath my hair to massage my shoulders and neck.
"Nine days," I muttered through my exhaustion. "I've only been here nine days, yet it feels like moons."
"That's because you've done moons worth of scheming in those nine days. I don't know why you keep pushing so hard." Loras muttered, put out at how little time we'd had together as I ran from one fire to the next.
"You know why. Scheming is like a cavalry charge, it takes a while to build up enough to be useful. I need to set these things in motion before we ride out to war or else we'll be woefully behind our enemies as things progress."
"And neither this scheming nor the war can wait. I know." Loras sighed. Stopping his massage as he parroted back my own words to me. "Just try and sleep more? Otherwise you're going to fall asleep during your own wedding ceremony and my sister will never forgive you."
"I have three days still." I muttered, more to reassure Loras than myself. I knew exactly how much there still was to be done. Something that I tried to think about as little as possible as the last time I'd allowed myself to look at the whole picture it made me feel so overwhelmed I'd had to go and find a dark hiding place to shut the world out and pretend it wasn't happening.
Arya had found me nestled between casks of wine in the cellar and staring at the wall and had refused to leave my side without an explanation. Sitting in silence with me for hours and showing a patience I didn't know she'd developed yet. I'd had to come up with a period and age-appropriate explanation of mental health and last-ditch coping mechanisms used to stave off total mental collapse.
I inhaled deeply before standing up straight and fixing my hair. "You remember your task?"
"Don't treat me like a fool." Loras snapped, his pride offended. "Making sure the sneaky little squirrel actually stays in her chamber while you and Margaery get on with your scheming is not difficult to remember. Nor is ensuring Ser Jon is there for proprietaries sake."
"I'm sorry beautiful. I'm used to dealing with people who need every step pointed out." I apologised.
Loras simply huffed, but he did at least stop frowning.
"Oh, don't forget to have a household guard watch her window from the courtyard." I commented as we left my chamber and started down the corridor. Accompanied only by Ser Balon as Ser Corwin was sleeping.
"Her chambers are half way up the great keep!" Loras protested.
I stopped and simply looked at him, raising an eyebrow silently.
Loras raised his hands in surrender. "All right. I'll have someone watch the window, just in case Lady Arya is as reckless as her brother."
"Thank you." I smiled, leaning in to give Loras a peck on the lips as we parted ways.
I climbed the great keep towards its summit, coming once again to Lady Olenna's solar.
Left and Right were either side of the door again. They opened it at my approach and Ser Balon joined them on guard duty. I entered to find Willas, Margaery, Garlan, and Olenna already inside.
Wordlessly, I slipped into the chair that had been left open between Margaery and Willas. The four of us on the opposite side of the small circular table to Lady Olenna, a united front of the future of House Tyrell against its current captain.
The Queen of Thorns was holding herself bolt upright, the tension leaking out even though she tried to hide it. "Not the four that usually face me down when they've gotten an idea into their heads. Tell me, is Lady Arya so determined to make a nuisance of herself that my youngest grandson must be absent again? Or is it by design?"
I allowed my self a small smirk. "Be warned my lady, those who underestimate Arya Stark will regret it for a very long time. Provided they live that long of course. But in this you are correct, Loras' absence is by design. It is best he is not here for this."
"So dismissive of the man you claim to love." Olenna needled, her eyes flicking towards her other grandchildren, seeking out any signs of discord between us.
"Not dismissive, a simple recognition of his talents and where they lie." I shrugged in response, leaning back in my chair. "You'll have heard it from your own bannermen and spies by now, even if your spies in Storm's End hadn't ensured you've already heard it from mine. The gods granted the wrong son to both House Baratheon and House Tyrell. I've been gifted the beauty of the Tyrell rose, the charm, and the courtly manners. Loras has been gifted the strength of the Baratheon storm, the skill at arms, the physical power, the charisma. I have the hidden Tyrell thorns, scheming every waking moment. Loras has the Baratheon fury, unleashing his power at any insult to himself or his house. Despite our names, Loras is a true Baratheon, and I am a true Tyrell. He is absent because I leave the fighting to him, and he leaves the scheming to me."
"Loras is our brother no matter his skills grandmother." Garlan spoke up, his voice hard and resolute.
"But it cannot be denied that his ability to scheme is non-existent" Willas took over in strident tones. "Even Garlan, outmatched as he is by myself and Margaery, can still run rings around Loras."
Garlan's face soured, but Margaery cut across him before the brothers could start fighting. "It has always been easier for Loras to play his part when he doesn't know he's playing it grandmother. His absence is for the best."
Olenna pursed her lips, but remained silent. Staring all four of us down.
In the end I was the one to break the silence. "I assume, my lady, that Willas has proven his abilities to your satisfaction?"
That had been a change to the plan that Margaery had insisted on. That I leave the three of them alone to convince their grandmother of Willas' skin changing ability. Claiming that it would be far easier without my presence making their grandmother defensive.
"He has." The Queen of Thorns replied shortly. "Magic, given to my grandson before any other in the Reach. I don't know whether the gods are giving us a gift or a curse."
"It wasn't the gods. It was your marriage alliances. Though that is information that we must not share." I demurred, trying to explain without accidentally creating a Westeros eugenics movement. A Westerosi Heinrich Himmler was a butterfly I could do without.
"What?" The question was snapped out by Willas himself.
"Consider, magic is not natural to humans, as I explained to Willas and he has undoubtedly relayed to you all. So when it is introduced it must flow through bloodlines, that's the only way it can pass from generation to generation with the gifting…party…gone." I prevaricated, avoiding the naming of 'gods'. "Westeros has four possible sources of magic according to my research. Excluding the Ironborn, as their Drowned God has power only over the islands and the sea. And excluding the Rhoynar and Targaryens, as they arrived much later and their water and fire magic is noticeably different from Westerosi traditions."
I awaited their acceptance silently.
"Well?!" Olenna snapped after a moment. "Get on with it boy!"
"The first is…marriage alliances with the Children of the Forest." I began, choosing the innocuous turn of phrase I could find to describe a cross species mating that would make a furry blush. "Given the relative weakness of their power compared to that of the so-called gods that were the other gift givers, it would make sense that their gifts would fade fastest. That would explain the lack of magical ability found today in the Westerlands, Riverlands, and Vale. If that was the largest source of magic there."
Several calculating looks passed between the Tyrells at the mention of how three kingdoms were particularly weak on the magical battlefield.
"The second is the Old Gods of the First Men. Their powers, which I will explain in detail later, would have been erased in the southern kingdoms when the people turned to the new gods. But they're still present in the North. They're a very likely an explanation for the greater number of magical incidents my spies have reported there, and a partial one for the sheer power and prevalence of magic in the Stark bloodline. Again, this would account for the lack of magic in Westerlands, Riverlands, and Vale. Especially as the Vale is the most devout in their worship of the Seven."
Margaery spoke demurely but with a core of iron. "We will believe that you have a good reason for delaying the explanation of the powers that the Old Gods have given their chosen in the North. But you will give it."
I nodded in acknowledgement. "The third is the Elenei, daughter of the sea and wind 'gods'. Her marriage to Durran Godsgrief brought control of the storm, of air and lightning, to the Durrandon line and through them to the Stormlands. I think it was this power that enabled the Stormlands to expand so quickly soon afterwards, though again, this magic faded even before that of the rest of the world. Perhaps due to Elenei being the 'daughter' of the 'gods' rather than one of the 'gods' themselves. Regardless, House Baratheon has the strongest bloodlink to Elenei remaining and I can command neither air nor lightning. Nor can Stannis to my knowledge. The Power of the Storm is spent."
"As far as we've seen, you have no power at all." Olenna commented, a calculating gleam in her eyes.
"Grandmother." Willas admonished before gesturing for me to continue even as doubt flitted behind his eyes.
I did so before anyone gave voice to those doubts. "The last is the fertility 'god', Garth Greenhand. Founder of the Reach and credited with the ability to make anything bloom. From dead fields to the wombs of crones who's moonblood had long since stopped. With his inexhaustible bag of seed, the stories say everything Garth Greenhand touched became fertile, be it soil or women."
Olenna snorted. "Well I'm glad he's dead. I couldn't be doing with that nonsense again! Not at my age."
My dire tone wiped the answering smirks off the younger Tyrell's faces. "You should be glad. If you strip away the later flowery tales of the Andals and go back to the oldest sources, then you glimpse a considerably darker 'deity'. One who demanded blood sacrifice from his worshipers to ensure a bountiful harvest. Be that in grain or in strong sons and fertile daughters to continue a family line."
There was a tension that filled the air, broken eventually by Willas. "And you think that Garth Greenhand is the source of my power?"
I spread my hands, inviting questions. "It makes the most sense to me. Consider this; if you acknowledge that Garth Greenhand was a creature made of magic more than mortal flesh, giving them enough power that any who witnessed them using it would certainly consider them a 'god', then it is the remnants of their magic that keeps the Reach the most fertile area in Westeros or Essos. As to why that magic hasn't faded as it has everywhere else in Westeros except the North and Dorne? The answer lies in his children. Especially the number of them. The founding legends of many houses of the Reach claim a child of the Greenhand for their house. A child of a fully-fledged 'god' no less, rather than a daughter of one as Elenei was when she introduced magic to the Stormlands. That boost to their initial power and the fact that Garth Greenhand had so many children would explain why the Power of the Garden still lingers in the Reach, while the Power of the Storm is spent."
"Garth the Gardener, the greatest of Garth Greenhand's children to whom all his other children paid homage." Willas muttered in realisation. "Much magic was attributed to the early Gardener Kings, especially unbelievably long life."
"As it was to the early Storm Kings of House Durrandon." I allowed. "And House Tyrell is a direct descended of House Gardener, and thus Garth the Gardener, through the maternal line."
All the Tyrells stiffened in realisation as they tried to recall the old founding legends.
"Gilbert of the Vines." Olenna commented in disbelief. "The Greenhand's child who gave the knowledge of how to grow grapes and make wine to the people of the Arbor. House Redwyne claims him as their founder, I had to sit through that dammed mummers play every harvest festival till I wed your grandfather."
"Maris the Maid." Margery spoke up. "Mother often told me how she married King Uthor of the Hightower, of how proud of that Uthor and his line were before the Gardener Kings forced them to submit to Highgarden."
"Leonette often tells the story of Foss the Archer shooting apples off the head of any maiden who took his fancy." Garlan whispered, his voice wavering. "Until Foss found the maiden he could never leave and married her. It's the Red Apple Fossoway's founding legend and they're present several times in our family tree."
"So are Rowans and Beesburys." Olenna proclaimed. "And we've all heard the stories of Rowan Gold Tree and Ellyn Ever Sweet every time one of them has been seated next to us at a feast."
"You see why I'm unsurprised by magic showing first in the Tyrell line now it's returning to the world?" I elaborated. "Through luck and design Lady Olenna, from their parents and grandparents your grandchildren carry the blood of three of Garth Greenhand's children, including the greatest. The blood of three more children of the Greenhand is present in the Tyrell family tree but one more generation back, and that's just from the legends and family marriages we remember. If we were to seek Maester Lomys' counsel about all the children of Garth Greenhand and the houses they founded, I have little doubt we would find more. The only thing I am surprised by is that only one of your grandchildren has been gifted with magic. Not all four."
Olenna's eyes sharpened. "Indeed. Especially as the Stark children all have magic. With one equal to Willas, and the Stark bastard even being more powerful than him? Does your silver tongue have an answer for that boy? Why a distant house from that frozen wasteland of the North are so blessed? While three of my grandchildren were pronounced unworthy in the very heart of the Greenhand's garden?"
I smirked knowingly as I began to edge out further on the branch of speculation. "House Stark worships the Old Gods, and I'm sure they carry the blood of the Children of the Forest and the Giants too, due to their repeated marriages to House Reed and House Umbar. But that likely only maintained the magic already present in their blood. In truth, their power likely comes from my belief that they descend from the only children of Garth Greenhand to marry each other."
"They did such a thing?" Margery scoffed, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the idea of half sibling incest.
"I believe so, though there are no records." I answered, being sure to qualify that much of this was theory, and more than that, theory that there were no Westerosi sources for. Significant amounts of it was based on the subtle relationship of the world of ice and fire to home and the meanings and legends there. "Brandon of the Bloody blade, the child of Garth Greenhand, is how House Stark traces their descent back to him. Claiming him to be the father of Bran the Builder, the founder of House Stark. This is common knowledge to all who know the Stark founding myth."
Judging by the poleaxed looks on all but Olenna, none of them had known that. Legends from the Dawn Age and the Age of Heroes not being something that any of them had been interested in. Save perhaps Willas, but even then, legends of the gods weren't what he'd have read about those ages.
I continued with my explanation. "Brandon of the Bloody Blade became a legend because of his heroics against the Giants and the Children of the Forest at Red Lake, and at Red Lake we find another child of Garth Greenhand. Rose of Red Lake, founder of House Crane and a very powerful skin changer. So powerful she was said to be able to actually transform rather than just cast her mind into those of animals as modern skin changers do. Interestingly she was known as Rose of Blue Lake before Brandon's battle there changed the name, and she was always depicted with a blue rose, even after the name of the lake changed. Today, the only blue roses in the entire world are blue winter roses. Found only in the glass gardens of Winterfell."
I didn't insult the intelligence of my audience by spelling it out any further.
Olenna Tyrell snorted. "Well it seems even the daughters of gods can't resist opening their legs for a muscular hero fresh from battle. No matter how unsuitable."
"Grandmother!" Burst from more than one throat as the withered old matriarch cackled.
"It makes sense." Willas mused after they'd calmed down. "It certainly explains why Bran the Builder would have been in the south to build the base of the Hightower, Storm's End, and Runestone. He was learning his trade here, rather than coming down from the North late in life to build poor imitations of his masterpieces at the Wall and Winterfell."
"Plying his trade, building his reputation beyond that of a bastard knight, traveling north looking for adventure and respectability, eventually finding enough of it there to found House Stark. Yes, it does tie up all the loose ends nicely." Margery completed her brother's theory.
I simply nodded, remaining silent. It would do little good to explain how I believed Brandon of the Bloody Blade was the original Azor Ahai. The bloody blade he was famous for receiving its name not for his actions at Red Lake, but because the blood of his lover was used to quench it. Her soul and magic giving it the power needed to face the White Walkers in a time when dragons were uncontrolled and Valyrian steel unknown. The blood, soul, and magic of Rose of Red Lake, given the name Nissa Nissa in the eastern prophecy, had been their solution to the power of the Others.
It was a theory that made sense to me, especially as it would make Bran's building activity at Oldtown, Storm's End, and Runestone, take on different connotations. Namely him building magically defended mustering positions in the extreme southwest, southeast, and east for an army his father was gathering. The army of heroes that would fight the Others back across the Riverlands, the Neck, and the North, until the final Battle for the Dawn was fought at the place where winter fell. Finally ending the Long Night.
Lightbringer being Bloody Blade, the original Ice, certainly explained the presence of what seemed to be a Valyrian steel sword in Westeros long before Valyria was founded and dragons were somewhat controlled. If Bloody Blade, the original Ice, the original Lady Forlorn, the Just Maid, and the lost name sword of Florian the Fool were all the same blade, simply changing name each time it changed owners, it would explain all the pre-Valyria mentions of Valyrian steel like swords in Westeros. Especially as none of those blades were known to exist at the same time. And how, despite their notoriety and power on the battlefield, there was no mass commissioning of such blades despite the legends surrounding those four. Whereas as soon as Valyrian steel became accessible to the highborn of Westeros everyone with the gold was commissioning Valyrian steel blades. The contrast was notable.
It would also explain why Melisandre was convinced she would find both Azor Ahai and Lightbringer in Westeros. Given that the eastern names Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa proved the eastern source of the prophecy. The pride of those who wrote it would have meant that they would never claim both hero and sword lay in the 'barbarian sunset kingdoms' of Westeros rather than in their own eastern homeland. Not unless it was true that both Azor Ahai, Nissa Nissa, and the sword that defeated the Others were Westerosi, and the success of the living in the battle to come that the prophecy foretold made it essential to relay that.
"Boy! Pay attention when a Lady is speaking!" Olenna Tyrell's voice cut right through my thoughts and brought me back to the present so fast I had whiplash.
"My deepest apologies my lady." I grovelled.
The Queen of Thorns simply harumphed and stared for a moment. "Now that you've remembered we exist, I was saying that with all your knowledge of magic, it's strange that none of us have ever seen you use it."
The question was idle, but all present heard 'suspicious' instead of 'strange' even though the word never passed the old woman's lips. The expressions of her three grandchildren showed that the seeds of doubt she'd been sewing had taken root. There was no way out for me.
I withdrew the broken glass candle and placed the two pieces on the table.
"Is that what's supposed to convince us, some broken glass?" The Queen of Thorn's scoffed.
"Douse the candles." I ordered Garlan, my tone conveying considerably more confidence than I actually felt.
Garlan bristled at being ordered so. But I needed to remind the Tyrells gathered that I was their king. Their doubt was understandable. But the disrespect from Olenna was a challenge to my authority that I couldn't let pass without pushing back.
As a second son used to taking orders, habit soon overcame insult and Garlan did as he was bid. With the heavy cloud cover and rain outside there was no moonlight and the solar was plunged into darkness as soon as the last candle went out.
Garlan cursed as he fell over Willas in an attempt to make it back to his seat in the pitch black.
I ignored the fighting brothers and took several steadying breaths. Deep and slow.
Renly had magical blood. Whatever scraps were left from the Durrandons, and the far more recent influx of the remnants of Valyrian power from the Targaryens. Stannis had enough power for Melisandre to use his blood to make her shadow baby assassin. So Renly had enough power for this.
"Are we to wait all night boy?" Olenna sniped into the darkness.
I considered strangling her. But instead I turned my focus inward.
It was mostly as I said to Willas. Innate magic opened the door to ritual magic, which a magically gifted person of any strength could then cast because rituals were fed from other sources of power. But the casting of spells themselves required a certain level of innate magic that was directly related to the power of the spell the practitioner was trying to cast. If the practitioner didn't have enough innate magic, they couldn't cast it no matter how well they knew the theory and the spells effects.
Like Stannis, Renly had only the very dregs of magic left in his veins. Enough to open the door, but little else.
But I had left out a secret. A secret that underpinned magical theory time and time again at home, especially in Terry Pratchett's books. There was no reason to think it wouldn't underpin it here.
The magic of belief.
To those with the gift of magic belief was a booster, an afterburner, an adrenaline shot. The red priests could all cast the same spells despite having differing levels of innate magic because they and their followers believed they could. All that belief from thousands of worshipers gave the weaker red priests a boost.
I believed Renly had enough power for this.
I. Believed.
"Ōños ñuha ñuhoso."
I only whispered the words in high valyrian, but the bright silver light that filled the pieces of the candle and lit my way was anything but subtle.
All of the Tyrells looked at each other, astonished. Lit up as if the light of a full moon was streaming through the windows.
"Well, there goes that bit of leverage." The Queen of Thorns muttered in disappointment as she slumped back. "I take it if it was whole you could do more than this fancy party trick?"
"I could indeed do far more when it was whole." I lied blatantly. "You're looking at the reason why you could never find the messengers brining me the information from my network Lady Olenna. My traditional spy network is pitiful compared to yours. But with the glass candle I could scry and predict things you can't even imagine."
The only ones who knew that this candle was already broken when it was stolen from the Citadel's vaults, along with the Archmaester of Magic's rod and mask, were a well-paid thief already on his way to Essos and the ever-loyal Ser Cortnay Penrose. I had no worry of being contradicted as I spun the lie that would explain a great deal of the knowledge I had to impart.
"'Predict'. Are you telling me you could see the future Your Grace?" The Queen of Thorn's mocked.
"Yes." I responded simply, receiving only incredulity in turn.
"You can't be that foolish." Margaery whispered in disbelief.
"Don't be ridiculous dear. He's a man, of course he can be that foolish." Lady Olenna spat waspishly.
"I promised an explanation as to what feats beyond skin changing the Old Gods granted those they gifted magic to."
"Don't try to change the subject." Willas interrupted.
"My information. My method of distribution." I issued the ultimatum and dared anyone to defy me.
None of them did.
Though Olenna seemed to be seriously considering it, so I spoke up before she decided to act on that impluse. "The Old Gods grant their most powerful practitioners, the greenseers, the ability to see anything in the present or the past that happens within sight of a tree. A wierwood tree is needed for most greenseers, but for the very powerful or the exceptionally well trained any tree will do."
All of them paled dramatically.
"Any tree?" Garlan gasped, clutching the table hard in the silver light of the glass candle pieces. Being the one who rode out the most he knew more than any of them just how rare it was to be unable to see any tree at all.
"Any tree, but we'll discus that and the minor other powers the Old Gods grant later." I attempted to move the conversation on but was cut off again.
"We'll discus it later?!" Garlan didn't shriek, but only because his voice didn't go that high.
"Quiet boy. The king has important information to share with us." The Queen of Thorns snapped at Garlan. Leaning forward and studying me intensely. "The Old Gods let their chosen see the present and the past through their wierwoods. The Gods of Valyria let their chosen see the present and the future through their glass candles. Probable futures of those you know well enough to find I assume?"
"What makes you think the glass candle doesn't show certainties?" I fenced.
The withered old matriarch gave me a knowing smile. "No one, not even those sister fuckers of Valyria, wants to know the future if it can't be changed. There's little point knowing you're going to die horribly if it's a certainty you can't avoid rather than a probability you can."
Of all the people in Westeros I should have expected that it would be Olenna Tyrell who'd intuitively grasp the nature of divination the moment they accepted it was real.
"Quite right. The glass candle can show a person's future, though the probability of that future being correct diminishes the further into the future you look. The clearer the vision, the more likely it is to happen."
"And what did you see when you looked into our futures that caused such a change in your behaviour Your Grace?" Lady Olenna asked, placing her hand under her chin and adopting a curious expression.
"Grandmother, you don't believe he has already changed things?" Margaery hissed.
"Of course he has girl. It's how he always seemed to be one step ahead of me. He actually was." The old matriarch replied, barely sparing her granddaughter a glance. "What did you see, Your Grace?"
"I saw the full might of Highgarden and Storm's End marching on King's Landing with myself, Loras, and Margaery at it's head." I began, holding them all enthralled. "I saw my brother Stannis lay siege to Storm's End and myself and Loras ride to break him against the walls. I saw my brother's pet sorcerer bind a shadow and use it as an assassin to kill me in my tent on the even of battle, while my Kingsguard and Lady Stark looked on. Helpless to save me."
Margery wasn't the only one to gasp in shock, but I continued.
"I saw the Lords of the Stormlands defect to Stannis along with the Florents and the Fossoways and other minor houses of the Reach. I saw my brother use these men to march on King's Landing, and I saw Lord Tyrion lead a valiant and effective defence. Charging out in person in a last stand when my brother seemed certain to take the city."
"I didn't think the Imp had it in him."
"Neither did I."
"Do you think…."
"Quiet!" The Queen of Thorns snapped at her grandchildren. "Please continue, Your Grace."
I nodded and granted her request. "I saw Tywin Lannister arrive to relieve the city with the Tyrell host marching alongside his own. Loras and Garlan were fighting back-to-back in the vanguard as my brother's men were scattered and bent the knee or burned. I saw Loras take the white cloak of the Kingsguard and Margaery anointed queen to Joffrey's king. For the few moments of life allowed him before the strangler placed in his wedding cup by the Queen of Thorns took him out of the world. Before dear Margaery's control of Aerys III slipped."
Olenna Tyrell grunted in approval.
"Grandmother!" Margery gasped.
"What?" The Queen of Thorns deadpanned. "You don't think I'd let you marry that beast do you? Besides, young Tommen is supposedly much more malleable."
"And he was." I confirmed. "Margaery had him eating out of the palm of her hand. But the Queen Mother couldn't stand losing control of her baby boy. Unable to match Margaery's skilled manipulations, she took drastic action."
"What action?" Willas asked fearfully.
"I couldn't see well." I shook my head.
"'Couldn't see well' means you could see something." Olenna pounced. Please tell us what you saw Your Grace. We understand it is more unreliable information than that you have given us so far."
I acquiesced, feigning reluctance. "Willas' and Garlan's fates were always clear until the last moment. Willas was trapped in Highgarden when the Ironborn used the chaos to capture the Shield Islands and raid up the Mander river, setting Highgarden Town ablaze. Margaery had convinced King Tommen to grant Brightwater Keep to Garlan. For him to use as the holdfast of the new cadet branch of House Tyrell he would found there in place of House Florent. The foxes' had stayed loyal to my brother despite his defeat at King's Landing and been attained for it. Garlan was leading a Tyrell force to take the keep and was left trapped in the field between the Florent garrison in front of him, the Ironborn raiders behind him, and Dornish troops reported massing in the Prince's Pass. More than that I could not see for either of them. I believe you and Alerie were trapped in Highgarden with Willas, Lady Olenna, as I could not see you elsewhere."
The lie about Olenna's fate worked as everyone expected her to be either in Highgarden or King's Landing. I certainly wasn't going to complicate things by letting her know she'd once again pledged loyalty to House Targaryen.
"What of myself and Loras?" Margaery asked, her hands shaking a little.
"I saw two possibilities." I hedged. "In the fuzzier possibility, Loras was sent to capture Dragonstone. To allow the Redwyne fleet to stop blockading it and return to the Reach to defeat the Ironborn. He was doused boiling oil in the assault and not expected to survive.
"That stupid, stupid boy!" Olenna snapped, worry pouring off her. "No doubt he was fighting bravely in the vanguard?"
I nodded in conformation.
"Well, he won't be going to that island if I have to lock him in a cell myself! What of my granddaughter?"
"She was accused of adultery by Cersei Lannister and thrown into the cells of the Great Sept by the new fanatic leader of the faith, known as the 'High Sparrow'. He only let her out when your son marched the Army of the Reach right up to the steps of the Great Sept and threatened to slaughter all inside if she was not released. At her trial you all lied through your teeth that she was a maiden true, and with the Tyrell swords waiting outside as added incentive the High Sparrow declared her innocent. This was the better future."
"Well done Mace!" Olenna muttered fiercely; her wizened hands curled into tight fists.
Garlan had a very different reaction.
"The better future!" The gallant knight roared. "My baby brother, your lover, was burned and likely to die and you call it 'the better future'?!"
"Yes." I replied simply.
"The other future was clearer. That means it was more likely." Willas noted, pulling a still seething Garlan back down into his seat.
The younger brother threw off Willas' hand, but he did sit down.
"What could be worse than that?" Margaery muttered, crossing her arms and sinking into her chair, despondent at the thought of losing Loras.
"Never tempt fate dear." The Queen of Thorns muttered, looking very pale as she locked eyes with me. "Put us out of our misery Your Grace."
"The clearer future I could see saw Margaery and Loras both arrested and taken to the Great Sept by the High Sparrow due to Cersei Lannister's scheming. Though it soon blew up in her face and the Queen Mother joined them there after walking into the High Sparrow's trap without help from anyone else. Cersei and Margaery were held on charges of adultery, Loras of crimes against nature and the Seven."
"His sword swallowing." Willas explained at Garlan's confused look.
I nodded in conformation before continuing. "Margaery and Cersei were given simple homespun to wear and tortured through sleep deprivation, starvation, and dehydration."
"Nothing that would leave a mark." Willas noted.
Margaery stared at the table, anger pouring from her eyes. "I believe I could hold out under such torture through pure spite until Father's army arrived. No one inflicts such indignities on me and keeps their head!"
Margaery growled in her fury. Her brothers looked on with proud smiles at her strength.
"I'm sure you would have held out, if Loras hadn't broken." I stated calmly, explaining what had gone wrong.
"Loras is even more able to survive such tortures than I." Margery dismissed my claim with a wave of her hand. "There's no way he would break before I did."
"They raped him." I said quietly.
In the utter silence that descended the only sound was the rain falling quietly against the walls of the great keep.
"What?" Margaery was the one to voice the question.
"They said since he was a pillow biting whore and so willing to take a traitor's cock up his ass the least he could do was give true servants of the Seven the same relief. They raped him, repeatedly, every day." I whispered, unable to look anyone in the eye. There was no direct evidence for it, but it was the only way I could see Loras breaking as quickly and as thoroughly as he had in the cells of the Great Sept. I was certain I was right, no matter how much I didn't want to be.
Garlan got up so quickly his chair fell to the floor as he stalked to a shadowed corner of the solar.
"I would never have allowed it." Margaery roared in denial.
I could barely hear her over the sound of splintering wood as Garlan punched one of the cabinets repeatedly and screamed from pain that had nothing do with his now lacerated knuckles.
Willas and Olenna simply stared at their hands, both making fists so tight blood was dripping onto the floor where their nails had punctured their skin.
"You didn't." I tried to comfort Margaery, laying my hands over hers. "As soon as you found out what was happening you capitulated. You gave the High Sparrow everything he wanted and delivered King Tommen into his clutches. Your performance was masterful. He believed it and moved Loras to a cell with Tyrell guards until the trial, but it was too late."
"Loras is stronger than you give him credit for. He would be traumatised, but he would survive to take revenge. As I would." Margaery choked, as if she was trying to convince herself.
"Raping a man is…different…to raping a woman." I stammered, trying to find the right words. "Not in the trauma inflicted on the mind of course, both suffer equally in that. But in body, a woman's cunt is designed to be penetrated, an asshole is not. To penetrate an asshole without adequate preparation and lubrication is not only intensely painful, it causes damage to the recipient. A lot of damage, and it is cumulative. If enough damage is caused then the victim loses the ability to hold their waste inside themselves, like a newborn babe. At that point the damage is irreversible. Loras had suffered too much damage by the time you rescued him. He would never be able to have a full life again because he was no longer able to retain his waste. The only reason he didn't throw himself on his sword from the shame is that he wasn't allowed one. Nor was there anything else he could use in his cell."
Margaery vomited in the middle of my explanation. As I held her hair back, Garlan slid down the remains of the cabinet and started sobbing into his knees.
"What happened at the trial?" Olenna spoke just loudly enough to be heard over Garlan's sobs.
I rubbed soothing circles onto Margaery's back with my free hand as I answered. "Margaery was acquitted as her mask fooled the High Sparrow perfectly. She'd negotiated Loras' release as she refused to give up on him while his body still drew breath, even though I think she knew his spirit had already departed. Loras was acquitted, though Margaery had to hold Mace back when he tried to fight everyone at the trial with his bare hands when the High Sparrow inflicted one more humiliation by carving the seven pointed star into Loras' forehead before releasing him to them."
Once again Lady Olenna nodded fiercely in approval at her son's actions. "And then?"
"Cersei refused to attend her own trial. Margaery realised something was wrong and tried to escape with Loras, but the High Sparrow wouldn't let her or Loras leave until the trial of all three of the accused was over. Mace refused to leave without them. Even as the rest of the witnesses tried to escape, he was fighting against the tide to try and reach them both. Then the wildfire the Mad King had placed under the Great Sept was detonated by one of Cersei's agents. Mace, Margaery, and Loras all died in the explosion along with half the highborn in King's Landing and a significant portion of the city."
The silence was broken only by Garlan's sobbing and the continued gentle trickling of the rain.
"You were right, Your Grace. I did lack the imagination to see this coming. Even if I had found little pieces, I would never have suspected the lengths that Cersei and this High Sparrow would go to." The Queen of Thorns spoke up, gathering her strength around her like a shield. "You were also right about splitting the information up, this was quite enough for one night. We should all retire and meet again tomorrow night. But you will tell me of this 'High Sparrow' in the morning when we break our fast. I want to ensure he's dealt with as soon as possible."
"No!" Margaery's exclamation cracked like a whip across the solar. Despite her dress being covered in vomit, her ruined makeup, and her bird nest hair, she looked deadly enough to make even Tywin Lannister cower. "You can find him grandmother. But that 'High Sparrow'? That monster that broke Loras? He is mine!"
The Order of The Green Hand on youtube has been a major resource for lore mining for this story. Their lore explanation videos are unrivalled, and though I disagree with many of their theories, some of them have convinced me. Now I share their theories that I believe with you through Renly's beliefs and assumptions. The specific resources used in the research for this chapter are listed below.
Much of the lore that is used in this chapter for the history of Garth Greenhand and his children is taken from their video - The Old Powers are Waking: Garth Greenhand
The lore and theories used in the explanation of the parentage and history of Bran the Builder and some of the information on Durran Godsgrief and the Power of the Storm is taken from their video – The Old Powers are Waking: Bran the Builder
The lore, theories, and real world legend/meaning connections used in the explanation of how I was convinced that Brandon of the Bloody Blade was Azor Ahai, Rose of Red Lake was Nissa Nissa, and Lightbringer was the Bloody Blade / original Ice / original Lady Forlorn / The Just Maid etc… is taken from their video – The Old Powers are Waking: The Bloody Blade
Obviously people with severe faecal incontinence can still lead full and fulfilling lives. But in medieval times, when the only resources would be cloth nappies that would do nothing for the odour and leak if you attempted to ride, dance, or fight, most would likely have fallen on their swords rather than live with the shame.
I think it's telling that in ASOIAF Martin often shows some of the Magisters of Essos have urinary incontinence (likely due to diabetes given their morbidly obese weight) but we never see anyone with faecal incontinence.