(King's Landing: 1/9/299) Renly I
"I think it reeks of desperation," Baelish chuckled, as rays of dusty bright light filled the room. At the entrance, stood four sentinels armoured all in black steel and full skull helms.
Turning away from the Dragonstone guard, he gazed upon the diminutive man from the Vale, and could only ask, "Indeed, what could the old lion even hope to accomplish with this? Lord Tywin is not a man who I would consider ever being desperate, even with the odds stacked against him, as they are," Renly cast the note upon the small council table and watched behind steepled fingers as the two most senior members of the small council whispered amongst themselves. The Master of Ships, his brother Stannis Baratheon, and his goodsister, the acting Hand of the King, Azula Baratheon. 'What are you discussing, that must be spoken of in such low tones?' Renly wondered, quirking a brow. 'Are you of ill health, goodsister?' he asked himself, the suspicion quietly growing like a weed in the back of his mind. 'You have grown pale. Worn,' he observed. Heavy charrish bags, stained lusterless sunken eyes, and in the weeks following the banishment of the Lannisters from the capital, the Lord of Storm's End had noticed a gradual change in the Lady Baratheon's attire. Where once Azula Baratheon had been the epitome of what a Queen should be; elegant, graceful, beautiful, and intelligent, now he watched as her usually impeccably pressed uniform of black leathers with golden trim, and crimson cloths, was seemingly replaced by a thick woolen cloak and thin leather gloves, over a layer of dull red clothing. Her beauty, which had always seemed to hold a painted look, was now hidden beneath drawn hoods when they held council. In public, Renly knew such things were not for prying eyes and Azula would always resort to the glamours of the red priests, more so than ever before. At first, it had puzzled him, but now with rumors of the Others, and the ravenscrolls from Casterly Rock, he began to wonder if there was indeed a connection. 'Gossipers will gossip,' he idled.
"Chaos, most likely," Baelish replied with a smirk, in his disquietingly serene voice, seemingly unperturbed by the change in look of the Lady Baratheon. The silver mockingbird, clipping the neck of his gray tunic, flapped a wing as the man's slight movement caused the shadows to shift around the mundane little pin.
"Possibly," he replied, sparing the man a glance. 'Utterly oblivious to the true nature of my goodsister, are you? Or do you see what I do?' The thoughts chilled him more than he had expected, for no longer was there a suffocating warmth and the smell of cherry blossom following Azula Baratheon. Now there was only the stench of death and a lingering coldness that bit at his bones. 'I am not blind to your machinations, woman. Those old crones you left me with taught me just enough to know your mind, but not enough for me to kiss your boots when age finally took them. However, this…weakness that you choose to display now? In front of Baelish, no less? Could this perhaps be an elaborate ruse, on your part, to lure out the disloyal?' he continued his ruminations on the state of his abrasive, competent, and exceedingly dangerous goodsister. 'Your flames no longer burn with azure fury, Azula. I've noticed that much, at least. I've noticed that as your belly grows, your fires dim. Could it be, that the titan of Dragonstone, the fucking Butcher of Shipbreaker Bay, is destined to be felled by mere childbirth? How ironic,' he wanted to laugh. Yet even as the thoughts came to him, he felt the eyes of Cyvia, the priestess of Dragonstone and acting Mistress of Whisperers, piercing the corners of his soul.
"You seem troubled, Lord Renly," the woman said beneath mesmerizing crimson eyes, her delicate hands hidden from view within her billowy red robes. "Have you something to add?" she smiled at him, an innocent smile that he knew was anything but.
"Why yes," Renly deflected and watched as the woman's smile turned saccharine, knowing answering otherwise would only bring suspicion. "Perhaps if you two could pull yourselves apart, for the moment, we could find the time to address our current vacancy?" he nodded towards the empty chair of the Grand Maester, and found the conversation between Stannis and Azula suddenly reach cessation.
"The Citadel has yet to name a replacement," Azula turned, retorting in a hoarse and scratchy voice. "And I am in no rush to see the position filled with whatever apple-polisher those doddering old fools should find. This court is in no need of outsiders at this time. Only those that I have personally scrutinized shall be permitted, or even considered," he caught the cold stare she had cast towards the Valelord in their midst, and to his amusement he saw laughing gray-green eyes recoil in fear. "Besides, Pycelle is still providing me quite the treasure trove of information," Azula coughed several times into her sleeve, with the last bearing the sound of cracking ice. "And when it finally runs out," she continued, clearing her throat, "we shall hold his trial. The people can wait for his judgement. They have other concerns to fill their little lives with."
"The war?" he questioned, absently tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves, before flicking away a stray bit of silver fiber that had found its way upon it. 'Though that is not what the peasantry speak of in hushed whispers,' he wished to add, but held his tongue.
"Yes, the war, amongst other things," she waved her hand in dismissal of the last.
"It is the 'other things,' which distress him, my lady," the priestess said, her eyes having evidently never left his form.
"Then let us assure you, brother," it was Stannis who spoke now, his voice calm, yet commanding, "that the High Septon has made us promises that he knows are to be kept, in regards to the lies the Lannisters have decided to spew out from behind their forked tongues."
"Promises? Really? You should know better than that, Stannis," Renly scoffed, before placing his elbows upon the table. "I don't know how Cersei and her brood escaped your little net, Azula, but now that they are back within the Westerlands, they will make shepherding the sheep far more difficult than you think," he snorted, watching as the Butcher frowned beneath her hood at his brother's insistence.
"Perhaps I cannot control everything, Renly, but what's done is done," Azula clasped her hands across the table. "The lions are free, and now it falls upon us to see them put down."
"You'll find that especially difficult when the peasants are traveling upon the Kingsroad in gilded wagons gifted to them by the righteous golden lions of the rock. Gods forbid the Tyrells throw their lot in with them, then they'd all be living in castles and keeps of their own, with strength-of-arms to match!"
"Yes, 'gods forbid,'" Azula laughed.
"And what exactly do we offer the smallfolk and the faith that can match literal mountains of gold?" he paused. "Dying for a noble cause with no reward?"
"Is that all faith is to you, my lord? A cause that only serves a purpose when backed by gold?" the priestess questioned, her red eyes twinkling in the light like twin flames. "The faithful follow Azor Ahai because we believe in her. She needn't ply us with coin, or any form of material wealth. We came of our own volition. R'hllor guides us all, even those without faith."
"I'm sure he does," he countered, crossing his arms, "but I'm afraid on this side of the Narrow Sea, faith in the Seven is not as immaterial in nature as you lot on Essos would like to believe. Had Cersei, in her schemes, succeeded in sending Robert to the Stranger, your humble savior would had far more insurmountable a task laid out before her."
"You make it sound as if your loyalty would have been in question, my Lord," the red-eyed woman said, as the flames flickered. For a brief instant his eyes caught sight of the torches lining the wall turning a pale white, almost whispering in his ear, before returning to their usual reddish-yellow hue.
"Never," he growled, noting that none had reacted to the pale flare. "My loyalty is to this family, my family, and it will always be above reproach," he said truthfully, knowing full well that had the worst come to pass, he would have fared far better fighting against the whole of Westeros than betraying the Lady of Dragonstone. 'If she was dead, however…' the thought whispered to him. 'Damn you Steffon, for writing to me too soon.' "This is why I returned to the capital, to support you lot. I did not need your summons, or your son's counsel." Renly waved his hands toward brother and goodsister alike. "I could've been leading the Stormlords in battle, but now that honor lies with our brother, the King, and your son."
"So you say, though I must admit it is a pity that my ears will be bereft of what I'm sure would have been many tales praising your bravery upon the battlefield," lusterless golden eyes narrowed, as she looked at him, hinting that in spite of whatever weakness she was choosing to display to others, her mind had certainly suffered no such handicap. Within the shadows cast by her blood-red hood, he saw the pale skin of her chin and the yawning scowl lingering just above.
"Really? Then what is it you see in my eyes, goodsister? Doubt? There will always be doubt within them so long as this war endures,"he exclaimed, watching as the frown twitched up for a moment before coming to rest in a tight line.'I know you and Steffon both wish to lessen my standing with Stormlords, and perhaps this little plot of yours to keep me here will see it done?' he thought. 'But should my gallant nephew fall, then what do you have left? No sons? Should Robert choose not to remarry, then who would be next in line? Me. I will not be swept up in the storm of your schemes, Azula. I will secure my position now, and in my own way, just as you did yours. The Stark girl remains in King's Landing because of me, and in time she will make me untouchable, even by you.'
"Eyes are windows to the soul, goodbrother, and I see everything now," the whitish lips beneath the hood curved upward, and he flinched. "But I digress. Your plans, and the peasants, and the Lannisters, do not interest me at the moment. Right now, I have only two concerns, the positions of my firebenders, most importantly Ursa, and the state of the Vale. I need my benders as close to the Westerlands as possible, and the Valemen marching, before the month is out. Preferably within the fortnight."
"No care for Dorne or the Reach?" he couldn't help but point out.
"Dorne is irrelevant, for now. As for the Reach, they are as of yet uncommitted, and are thus far spared the fate that will befall the Westerlands," she answered, and withdrew from her forward position upon the Hand's chair.
"Of course they are," he muttered, "and why are you so eager to risk the life of your own daughter, and your people besides?" Renly questioned, hearing the squeak of Baelish's chair. "Force marching an army is not an ideal way to conduct war, particularly if you wish to minimalize casualties when finally engaging the enemy. An army of exhausted troops does not bring triumph," he continued, recalling his lessons at the feet of the elderly Fire Nation twins, and his own study of their people's books on the art of war. "I may not have experienced battle yet, but neither am I ignorant of it costs."
"On the contrary," she tapped her fingertips upon the table, "risk implies that I do not know the outcome of what will happen the moment my benders enter the Westerlands. Assuming, of course, they do so in the time allotted. Otherwise? I may need to reassess."
"And what will happen when they do?" he asked, curious on what Azula was on about.
"Victory," the priestess declared. "The Red Sword will cleave through the sky before month's end, bringing with it the power of R'hllor. It will be the prelude. The beginning of the end for all of our enemies, both living and dead."
"The Red Sword?" both he and Baelish questioned.
"I'd prefer to think of it more as…Azula's Comet," his goodsister said, as a broad smile lined with impossibly white teeth, crept her face.
Baelish face only seemed to grow in confusion, but his did not. He realized what the words had meant, for he had read the altered books the Lady of Dragonstone had provided to him so long ago when he had been in his youth. He recalled the word 'comet' mentioned within the pages of Fire Nation history, when the Air Nomads and their barbarous hordes had been destroyed. Renly had assumed some form of trickery, but now that he knew of the woman and her people's firebending, he understood. "And how do you know it will have the same effect as Sozin's Comet?"
"I don't, but I also have no reason to suspect it will not," came the smile and simple reply. "That is why I will need to test it before they engage. I merely need them all to be close enough to ride out and destroy the enemy at a moment's notice should the effect be the same. If it is not, as I said, then I will reassess. But such an opportunity cannot be missed. It helped end a war before it began, and it will help end this one just the same. Only this time, if the Temple's words are true, then I will have weeks, instead of hours, to capitalize on this boon."
"Pardon me, my lady," Littlefinger cleared his throat, "but what is this conversation of?"
"Don't concern yourself with it, Baelish," Azula retorted. "You just need to worry about sending word to the Lady Arryn about calling her banners and making the Vale ready to march when I say. The King will need them, when the time comes. Which will be soon. So don't waste his time, and most importantly, don't waste my time. I don't care much for delays."
"Of course, my lady," the Master of Coin responded. "But…" he was about to add, before Azula reached out over the table and lifted the small man from his seat, slamming him upon the table with a loud crack.
He pulled back at the sudden onslaught, and almost fell out of his chair. "Are you mad?!" he stood up as the table groaned beneath the flailing movements of the Master of Coin.
"What did I just say?" she hissed, ignoring Renly protests, and dragging the Valeman across the wooden surface of the small council table. Quills and parchment scattered all about in their struggle, before Azula pulled the entirety of Baelish's body off of the table and lifted him with one hand by the scruff of his neck. "I repeat, what did I just say?"
"No…delays…" Littlefinger choked out, as a trickle of blood dripped off his sharply-bearded chin.
"That's a good little mockingbird," the Butcher said, then let the man go on his arse. Lowering her hands, Azula merely glared at the fallen Master of Coin. "Don't play games with me Littlefinger. Only players can play, and I play much too hard for amateurs like you."
He sat upon his chair speechless, watching as Azula motioned to two of the guards she had stationed at the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ghost of a smile form upon his brother's normally stony face.
"Cyvia!" Azula barked, holding out her hand.
"Yes, my lady?" the woman stood up from her chair, seemingly reveling in Azula's display. Noting the proffered hand, the priestess reached up into her sleeves and procured a small satchel, tied with a thin bit of string.
"Would you kindly take these two," she took the bag before pointing to the guards, "and escort Lord Baelish to his chambers? I'm sure he has much to write, and so very little time to see it done. I trust you will notify me if the letter is less than adequate?"
"Of course, my lady!" Cyvia nodded, then turned to Baelish who had just now begun getting to his feet. "Come, we should hurry, my lord," the priestess's voice flowed sweetly out, from in-between her full lips, as she helped the man up and out of the council chambers. Baelish turned back only once, bearing an unreadable expression.
Renly stared at his goodsister, observing as she opened the small bag out of view. He heard a faint click, then saw the hood and cloak drop, revealing a top-knot of obsidian-black hair interlaced with patches of wintery-white. Purplish-black veins ran up the base of Azula's pale neck, before she lifted her hands and set a golden five-pronged flame within the previously unadorned hair. Pale skin, and blotchy hair, melted away, reverting back to their own healthy hues. The woman stumbled at the change, causing Stannis to rise up from his seat and act as her brace.
"This taxes you more and more each day," his brother said, lifting her arm over his shoulder, in a voice far softer than he had ever heard.
"Yes it does," her voice came out in shallow breaths. "I only hope the comet will give me the strength to purge whatever curse that creature has cast upon me. I cannot afford otherwise. We cannot afford otherwise," Azula touched her slightly protruding belly. After a moment, golden eyes stared at him. "Apologies for the theatrics, Renly. But we must maintain a divisive candor between us to weed out any traitor still lurking within the city. Baelish is only one of many."
"Of course," he answered, all the while thinking, 'Another ruse? Most likely.'