A/N: Thanks for the support. I appreciated all your kind and reassuring words from the last chapter.

Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign

By Spectre4hire

Eleven

Myrcella:

Deep Den was the last important castle until they reached Casterly Rock.

The seat of House Lydden was impressively built into a mountain. The gate to enter the keep is carved from the rock, when the drawbridge opens it looks like a dark tongue flicking out of a large maw.

The corridors were dimly lit. The stones were dark. They were in the heart of a mountain.

Myrcella appreciated its beauty, but she didn't explore the castle. She kept to her chambers. Shame and guilt had her in its grip, trapping her in her room like a fly in a web. They're nice to her. They smiled at her, and bowed to her. Myrcella saw all of their kindness while thinking she didn't deserve a single whit of it.

The men in the castle are gone because of me. The truth never escaped her, prowling in the dark shadows of her mind. Lord Lewis isn't here with his family because of me. She had stayed with them at supper as long as etiquette demanded before apologizing, feigning a sickness, she retired to her room where she's since stayed. I didn't have to pretend to be sick. Her stomach felt like it was being wrung by icy fingers.

Will I be the reason Lady Lydden becomes a widow? The question besieged at her, again and again. She tried to keep it at-bay, but its barrage was insistent. One of many turbulent questions that kept her up at night, sick and dreary.

I don't deserve their hospitality. She would tell herself, only their scorn. She lay on her mattress staring up at the green canvas overhead. They should hate me. They should curse me. She continued to think what else she deserved because of her birth. A lie that will send how many to their deaths? She wiped at her eyes before turning on her side. She hugged herself, trying to brace for the sob that tore through her.

Tears dribbled down her cheeks when her heart painfully reminded her of Uncle Kevan who she left behind. He's going to die because of me. Myrcella thought she'd feel better when she left the capital. After what she said to them. Her mouth twisting in distaste at the stain they put on her. The humiliation, the ungodly blemish that she'll never be able to wipe away. I'm a bastard. I'm a monster. More tears came down which she wiped with the top bedsheet. The fabric was rough against her face.

No matter the distance I put between them I can never outrun what they did to me. That was the pain that lanced her insides like an icy dagger with each day only carving deeper and deeper into her soul.

She had tried to pray, but her prayers weren't answered. Why would they be? The cold voice of Lord Stark was unrelenting. The gods don't answer the prayers of abominations. She tried to bury her head into a pillow to escape the cold truths that pricked at her like needles. My life is a lie.

"Princess?"

"Yes?" She hiccuped, fresh guilt came to her at hearing Ser Arys' voice through the door. He's condemned to serve a lie, a bastard, knights should guard lords and princesses, ladies and kings not bastards born of incest. I'm dragging you down with me because I'm too selfish to let you go.

"Your Uncle is here to visit you."

She considered denying him, claiming to be sick. "Thank you," She said instead, "You can send him in." She lifted her head from the pillow when the door opened to show her Uncle walk in. She could tell he had encouraging words on his tongue and a smile on his lips until he saw her.

"Princess?" He moved over to her as fast as his stunted legs allowed. "A frown doesn't suit you, Princess." He smiled hoping to break her dark mood.

" Princess doesn't suit me either."

It was her uncle's turn to frown.

"Speechless, Uncle?" She smiled despite her sadness. The amusement made for a small reprieve

"I am," Tyrion found his voice and his footing even if he was sitting down on her bed. "You are too hard on yourself." He reached out a hand to pat hers. "Especially since the world will do that for you. It won't let you forget who you are. I'm a dwarf and you're a-"

"Bastard," She finished for him.

He winced. "If that is how you see yourself then use it as armor instead of making it a sword that you inflict upon yourself."

She didn't answer. A part of her was regretting letting him in. I should've just denied him. Even her uncle's intelligence couldn't solve this. She thought her rage had. That anger, that fury, but it proved a poor shelter. Uncle wants me to embrace this? Accept I'm an abomination? When just thinking of it makes her shutter and her stomach turn with revulsion. I was raised on a lie. I'm evidence of an ungodly, ugly union. This shame was a shadow that would hound her for the rest of her days.

"I don't think I can."

Her Uncle sighed. He rubbed at his nose, face scrunched in thought. "Myrcella-"

"Lord Tyrion?" That was Ser Arys' voice. "The castle's maester is here to see you. He says its urgent."

"Send him in."

The door opened to show the maester of Deep Den. He was a young man, who couldn't be no older than ten and nine. He had short dark hair and an eager countenance. He bowed when he approached.

She didn't miss his furtive glances towards her or his shy smile. If only you knew what I really was, she thought sadly, Then you would know I don't deserve such smiles.

"I received a raven from Golden Tooth, my lord," The maester presented the opened letter to her uncle.

"The Golden Tooth?" His mismatched eyes couldn't hide his dismay.

"Yes, my lord," he bobbed his head, the few rings he had jangled loudly at the sudden movement. "Lord Robb Stark has passed the castle. His army has taken it and is marching on the Rock."

The handsome face of Winterfell's heir flashed before her. His blue eyes bright and his smile warm, but it curdled in her imagination. His conjured image turned away from her in disgust. My son is the heir to Winterfell, Lord Stark's cold voice would never leave her alone. He can't marry a bastard.

Myrcella's fingers dug into her arms trying to mask the pain that wracked her insides.

"Impossible," breathed her uncle. When he finished reading the letter, his mouth was set in a frown. "That castle is unassailable." He muttered more to himself then to them. "How?"

"It doesn't say, but he's at the head of an army in the thousands, my lord."

"We need to leave."

"My lord?" The maester blinked in confusion. "You don't mean to face him?" His bravery was revealed by how quickly the color left his cheeks at the thought.

Tyrion snorted, "I thought those chains were forged through intelligence." He turned to Ser Arys. "Inform our men, we need to ride at once."

"Where to?" Ser Arys' voice was respectful in its inquiry.

"I hope to meet him before he gets to the Rock," Her uncle answered, "but even more importantly I wish to meet him before he comes into contact with Uncle Stafford's army."

Myrcella remembered when she left the capital that her Uncle Stafford's army was in the Reach, but her Uncle Kevan gave them new orders to return to the Rock. "What would Uncle Stafford do?" She didn't finish the rest of her question, if he met Robb's forces?

"He'd try to fight him," Uncle Tyrion's voice showed that was the outcome he wanted to avoid the most.

"But what about Prince Tommen?" The young maester looked scandalized at what her uncle was suggesting. "You will not crown him?"

Uncle Tyrion gave a crooked smile. "I love my nephew far too much to make that mistake."

Myrcella thanked her uncle by squeezing his hand. He patted her hand with his other. "Uncle?" She hoped he wouldn't be mad at her, but she had to ask, "Please don't let me come with you." She tried to remain poised, but the thought of having to see Robb again hammered away at her like the tide against the crag. She could feel all their eyes on her, but she would not let them see the fear curled inside her.

He didn't answer her for a long second. His mismatched eyes searching her face but showed her nothing of his thoughts. "Very well," He relented, "Ser Arys, you will escort the Princess back to the Rock with a small contingent of our guards. As well as our other important hostages."

"It will be done, my lord," Ser Arys bowed his head and retreated out of the room to follow the order.

Myrcella thanked him with a hug.

"You mean to treat with Lord Robb Stark, but he's a rebel," The maester sounded disappointed.

"Everyone appears to be a rebel these days," Uncle Tyrion shrugged, "What would you have me do? Charge him on a noble steed?" He asked sarcastically, "And pray that his army will fall off their horses in laughter." His words were said dryly, but she could detect the underlying bitterness in his mocking description.

"He'll listen to you, Uncle," She wanted to sound confident. She wanted to be right. She couldn't lose Uncle Tyrion now too. It would be too much to bear.

"I agree," His smile didn't meet his eyes. "I just pray that he doesn't share his mother's taste for the dramatics."

Garlan:

"H-Has R-Renly come to s-see m-me?" The voice was raw sounding as each word painfully clawed out of his throat.

Ser Loras Tyrell lay in his chambers in constant agony. His left arm was broken and burned. It scorched along his skin, red and ugly, slithering up his shoulder and onto his face, claiming his chin with its blustery touch before spreading upwards from his left cheek to his ear. Clumps of his curly brown hair were gone, burned off. Part of his hair remained still smelling of smoke and ash, while the other half exposed pale skin which was riddled with cuts and more burns. His left eye was covered by a damp cloth, but the maester believed he wouldn't lose the sight.

"He has," Garlan lied. He couldn't look in his brother's direction or of his wife, who was tending to him. "He came while you were," his voice trailed off… suffering… dying… "While you were sleeping."

"Oh," The disappointment seemed to suck the wind out of his brother's lungs. "I-I f-failed h-him."

"No," Garlan wouldn't let his brother talk in such a way. He would not let him try to excuse their king's absence.

"I-I d-did," He tried to move, but his body convulsed. The cry of pain felt like glass being scraped against Garlan's heart.

"Loras, please," He rushed to help his wife in trying to calm Loras. "You must rest." He carefully put his hand on his brother's unburnt shoulder.

Loras didn't seem to be listening. He let out a faint wail when he tried again to move.

Garlan carefully applied some pressure to his brother's shoulder not wanting to hurt him, but trying to get him to stop. "Renly wants you to rest," he said desperately, "It was an order."

Loras stilled. "I-t was?" His one brown eye glistened. His lips puckered. "T-truly?"

"Yes," How many times must I lie to him?

His brother finally calmed. He sighed before grimacing. "T-tell h-him I-I am."

"He will," Leonette assured him. Her touch was tender and her voice soothing. It was a few more minutes before she got him to sleep.

He embraced her as soon as she stepped away from his brother. Whatever anger he may have felt upon discovering she had to come to the city lasted as long as a lit taper in a storm. He had wanted her to be away. He had wanted to keep her safe. He had wanted her to remain untouched by these horrors, but she proved her strength was as great as his at how she was handling herself since she arrived in the city. At all that she was doing for him, for his family, for the city. He kissed her hair, the flowery scent had his mind spinning to that secluded spot in the Godswood in Highgarden that they always went to. The memory made him smile and kiss her again.

Her hands were running down his back. It took him a long heartbeat to realize his cheeks were wet. The ensuing sob made him shake. Cold pain lodged suddenly in his chest, like a dagger of ice. He sniffed, but this time to try to regain control of himself.

"They speak of Loras like he's already dead." They speak as if they're glad he's suffering.

Loras' folly, that was what they were calling it. The enemies of our family. Renly had picked Loras to lead his vanguard and his brother did. Loras charged unknowing of the terrible danger that the Lannisters had waiting for them. Wildfire! None of them thought the Lannisters had such quantities at their fingertips. Luckily Loras' burns were not from the wildfire, but of the regular fires that had been born amidst the ensuing carnage of the wildfire explosions. It was a poor man's luck, he thought, but they were still grateful. Wildfire would've consumed their brother into ash and bone in a few agonizing blinks.

Garlan was with another part of the army, but he wouldn't forget the blinding flash. The blink of silence as if the wildfire consumed flesh and noise in one long harrowing second before sound returned with an explosion of screams and shouts. The memory made him shudder.

"Loras is strong," she consoled him. "Don't listen to the gossip," her hands were on his shoulders. "I didn't take you for a fisherman's wife."

He chuckled. His wife's teasing and her ensuing smile provided a needed reprieve. "I know," he said, "It's just," He tried to find the words, the sentiment to try to explain it, but he failed to properly grasp it and give it a name.

"I know," she said softly, "The army is angry and restless and scared. The city itself is half starved and exhausted. It will pass," she told him with such strong confidence that it made him believe her.

They had won the city less than a fortnight ago, but the capital was still recovering. Renly had been crowned in Highgarden, but he was going to have another coronation in the Sept of Baelor. He was putting it off because he wanted a spectacle to dazzle the denizens of the city, and that would take time with making repairs and preparations.

How do you recover from this? He had been outside the city walls after the battle. The sights and smells that were seared into his mind. The puddles of flesh, the piles of bone. The land was black and charred, plumes of smoke still drifting up to the skies. As far as the eye could see it was death and ash, barren and burnt. The Lannister's legacy would be this desolation. While they worked to accomplish their king's goals, the army mourned. They won the battle, but thousands were killed including lords and knights which threw several families into disarray.

Their own family was dealt a blow when they discovered that their cousins, Horas and Hobber weren't in the Red Keep. The Lannisters must have taken them before the city fell under siege. The Redwyne Fleet remains unable to help us, it was a bitter truth to swallow because they were sorely needed. Stannis commanded the Royal Fleet and was putting them to use in blockading King's Landing.

Garlan wasn't sure how they could secure their cousins' release. Leonette had thought they could exchange them for the hostages they had in the city before she learned of their dwindling options to trade with. They had found the Kingslayer and the Queen the great hall. The latter had a broken neck, lying sprawled out on the floor, battered and bloody. She was a grotesque discovery. Her twin was sitting atop the throne, hunched over and dead. Lord Tywin had been killed, but Garlan didn't know when or where. Kevan Lannister's head had been delivered sometime after the battle for a hefty bounty. Kevan's son, Lancel had been identified amongst the dead Lannister soldiers inside the Red Keep by one of the surviving castle servants.

The only one they had should've been their most valuable, but he proved to be the worst. Garlan wouldn't forget the snickering and jeering when he heard the news that King Joffrey had been caught trying to flee the city. It wasn't his capture that sent the soldiers into such fits of amusement, but the discovery. He had been caught wearing a dress, trying to pass off as a woman to make his escape. The ruse failed when the dress attracted some soldiers who wanted to have their fun and enjoy the spoils of their victory. Only for them to discover they hadn't taken some lady to entertain them but King Joffrey. Who was promptly delivered to Renly and his court in the Great Hall still wearing the dress.

Robert always said you would hide behind your mother's skirts, Renly had quipped to his adoring crowd. After a few more japes amidst the laughter and heckling, he then ordered his nephew to be taken to the Black Cells. Joffrey may have been crowned king, but Renly revealed that Tyrion held no love for him and wouldn't be inclined to give up his valuable hostages in exchange for his nephew. It was difficult to understand, but that appeared to be the nature of the Lannisters. He couldn't imagine a situation where he'd rebuff trying to help and save his family.

"You should rest," His wife's encouraging words pulling him out of his black thoughts to see the concern in her eyes, "I can tend to him for now." She was the rock they desperately needed to help his mother and sister who were the main overseers of Loras' care. Father would visit, but he threw himself into his duties as Hand of the King trying to distract himself from Loras' horrible wounds.

"I can stay," His argument was weak. The words falling flat out of his mouth.

"You can rest."

He nodded, he headed for the door after sharing with her a brief kiss. "Don't exhaust yourself," He warned her, he admired all that she was doing, but he still worried about the strain it could have on her.

"Your mother will be coming soon."

Satisfied, Garlan bid his wife farewell, but instead of seeking rest he sought out the king.

Why am I doing this?

This question brought him to a stop.

Wasn't this what he had wanted? He had told Loras the importance of Margaery and Renly consummating their marriage. His brother had even agreed, saying that he'd leave the capital if he needed to to help his sister.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wanted them separated, but the more he watched his brother suffer, calling out to the king, he felt his resolve cracking. Loras who had done so much for their king including loving him was forgotten. My brother fought and sacrificed for you, he thought bitterly, he's suffering because of you and Renly was nowhere in sight. That anger fueled his decision and he resumed his trip to the king's chambers.

It was not a long walk. He recognized the guard on duty outside the king's rooms. It was Brienne of Tarth. A towering woman whom Garlan had rarely spoken to, but he had seen her fight. She had been given a coveted cape of Renly's rainbow guard in a tournament before the siege of King's Landing.

"Ser Garlan," she greeted him stiffly.

"Brienne," He replied, uncertain what title to give her. She wasn't a knight, and he knew she didn't like being called Lady Brienne. "I need to speak with the King."

"The King is busy," She answered him with an awkwardness that conveyed more than her vague answer.

He understood what busy meant. Loras is suffering and he's passing the time with some other fellow! It was too much to bear and too much to ignore, disregarding Brienne's presence he moved to the door before she could stop him and knocked hard against it.

"Ser Garlan," She chided, trying to put herself between him and the door. A difficult task given her size, "I must ask you to leave."

"Not until I speak to the king," Garlan would stand out here all day if he had to.

Brienne's response died on her lips when the door clicked and it slowly opened. She backed away, but kept herself in an alert position, ready to intervene with her sword if needed. Garlan too had to back up, ready to face the king or one of his lovers who he was determined to push past if needed to get to Renly.

"Margaery?" Garlan gaped.

There standing just outside the doorway looking beyond the door was his sister. Her hair fell around her face in a messy tumble of brown curls. She wore a green robe with the cord hastily cinched around it. She looked flushed, but it disappeared in an instant when her eyes found him.

"Garlan?" She looked surprised and scandalized at her brother's appearance in her state of dress. Margaery was about to press further before realizing Brienne's tall shadow was falling over both of them. "Brienne," Margaery made herself smile, "I need a private moment with my brother."

Brienne pursed her lips looking as if she wanted to deny that request. "Very well, Your Grace" She gave a terse nod, not liking it, but still needing to obey it. She stepped away from them to give them some privacy.

"What are you doing here?" Margaery asked in a near hiss.

"I thought you were resting," He said instead, remembering the excuse she gave when she left Loras' chambers more than an hour ago.

"I was," She straightened up after hunching behind the door, "But the king summoned me."

Garlan sighed. This wasn't going at all as he thought it would. "I need to speak with the king."

"We're busy," Margaery made a face that had Garlan remembering when they were younger. It was ladylike in appearance, but he saw the words lurking behind it. Go away. Now!

"Clearly," His tone didn't amuse her. He wasn't sure why he didn't feel relief at seeing the blatant evidence that Margaery was with her husband. All those weeks I worried about her well being and reputation, he remembered, but he felt little because all he could think about was how miserable Loras was. It was all so confusing. What a bloody mess, he felt the small creep of headache beginning to take root.

By this point their conversation had gone on long and loud enough that it got Renly's attention. The King made his appearance by standing behind Margaery. He towered over his wife. He was wearing a rich green and bright gold colored robe that looked expensive and exotic. His hands were on Margaery's shoulders while his eyes were on him.

"Ser Garlan," He greeted him with the warm and cheery demeanor like they were meeting at a banquet hall in front of a table of nobility and not the king's bedchamber in front of Garlan's barely dressed sister.

"Your Grace," He bowed his head.

"Your Grace," Brienne hastily came over, "I'm sorry," she began almost at once, "I told him that he couldn't-" The rest of her answer was silenced when Renly raised his hand.

"That's alright, Brienne," His smile at his guard seemed to have made her blush.

"Your Grace," she murmured, keeping her head down.

"I suppose you wish to speak with me," Renly surmised, "since judging by the shock in your eyes you clearly weren't expecting your sister," he said dryly.

"I was looking to speak with you."

"I was just telling him to leave, darling," Margaery had her hands wrapped around the edge of the door and was even beginning to move it to close on him.

"I always have time for your family, dear," Renly stopped her, "Give me a minute." He kissed the top of her head. The orders were meant for both his wife and his guard.

"Of course," Margaery smiled sweetly, before sending Garlan a clear message with a glare that Renly couldn't see with his back to her.

"Your Grace," Brienne for the second time backed away to give them privacy.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Renly laughed, stepping out of his room and closing the door behind him.

I don't know what I'm seeing, That was what Garlan wanted to say. I don't know... He found he had so many ways to finish that sentence. The confusion of discovering his sister muddled the anger that had spurred him here, like the guttering of a fire from a sudden gust of wind.

"How's Loras?"

The question and the gall in which he asked brought back the anger that burned in his gut. "He's in constant pain," He said tersely, taking all of his effort not to snap or sound belligerent to the man in front of him, who was still his king, a reminder that he had to keep giving himself.

Renly was leaning against the door. It wasn't a dignified look, but the king was still able to make it look presentable. "You must hate me."

"I don't, Your Grace."

"You're lying," Renly wagged a finger at him, a wan smile on his lips. "You're the only one of your siblings who I can read," He chuckled, "Even Loras can hide some of his moods better than you're doing now."

Garlan didn't refute Renly's accusation nor did he try to defend it. "He asks after you."

Renly's happiness proved fragile with those words. "I-" He began before stopping himself, clearly unhappy with whatever it was he was going to say. "I will try to visit him." His tone hardened. His expression made Garlan think of the king's older brother, Stannis. An odd observation given their differences but in how Renly was frowning and his blue eyes darkening made for a rare occurrence of him resembling his older brother.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Garlan didn't press. He knew he wouldn't go any further. He bowed his head. "Thank you for your time." He heard Brienne's armored footsteps returning and the door opening and then closing without Renly uttering another word.

He left under Brienne's frowning stare quietly wondering if he had done the right thing or if he had just made a big mistake.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was packed to the brim. The crowd was loud and ecstatic. They were cheering and clapping, whistling and shouting their excitement believing the loudest meant the most sincerest in their support. They had all returned after having just witnessed Renly's coronation at the Sept of the Baelor. Now, they were here to watch their king ascend to his throne.

Garlan clapped, but didn't join the chorus of voices. Leonette stood beside him clapping as well. They were standing at a spot of respect and envy. He felt plenty of stares and no doubt it was accompanied by whispering against his family from those who wanted to be where his family was.

The Tyrell rose banners flapped above the heads of the crowd. It was a garden of golden roses. Other banners of the Reach and Stormlands were also put up, but his family had the most after the king. Renly's golden stag on a green background was proudly displayed behind the Iron Throne and in other positions where it could be seen above the rest.

Renly looked like a king walking between the parted crowd. Tall and handsome, smiling and dressed in the finest and richest garment. He handled the people around him as if they were old friends. He joked and laughed, talked and shook hands while his guard watched on, showing none of the king's excitement or enthusiasm.

Margaery was waiting patiently in the shadow of the Iron Throne. She had already greeted the adoring crowd, treating them with all the grace expected from their Queen. His father stood on the other side of the Iron Throne with the rest of Renly's chosen Small Council. His father's badge that showed he was the hand of the king, was large and gaudy, and pinned to his chest.

"All hail, King Renly!" The chants began.

Renly greeted Margaery with a kiss that looked more sincere than rehearsed. He then began to climb the steps.

"All hail, King Renly!"

Their voices got louder.

"All hail, KING RENLY!"

And louder.

"ALL HAIL, KING RENLY!"

They had won the city, Garlan thought amidst the triumphant tumult watching Renly settle himself on the Iron Throne, and now we must fight to keep it.

A/N:

Myrcella's in a rough spot so I don't think its crazy of her to still be in this state. I don't think that's something someone can adjust to quickly. Or I should say that's how I've decided to interpret the character and events for this story.

I'm not trying to bash Renly's character I'm just going with my interpretation of his character that would fit this story. In canon, he publicly remarks about his niece's ugliness and privately mocks Brienne's appearance/behavior. This isn't the end of this and more will be said/revealed.

Not to mention characters aren't static so just because they think/do something one chapter doesn't mean its a permanent part of their identity. They can improve as time goes by or relapse and become worse. That's part of the run in reading is seeing where these journeys will take them.

In regards to Renly and Margaery I'm just drawing on the countless examples throughout history of men and women being forced to marry and have children from the external pressure of their families and the society they lived in.

Thank you for your kind words and encouragement. They mean more than you know.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire