AUTHORS NOTE: It's been a while. But I suddenly got a flash for this Renly chapter. It takes place on the same day as the battle (which I'm still struggling on, but its close now!) I'm certain a great many have lost interest in the story, but I still enjoy thinking about it, and have even essentially blown up the Character TvTropes section for this story with a shitton of pictures and future character/events that are born or transpire after the "Fury and Flame" saga ends.
(King's Landing: 4/28/299) Renly IV
The air in the chamber grew heavier as Renly continued to wrestle with the uncertainties that plagued his mind. Disgusted, he cast another letter into the fire, having lost track of what he had been writing, its soft crackle sounding like a war drum banging in his ears. The dimly lit chamber flickered with the dancing flames as Renly pondered the unsettling developments that had encroached upon his world. The urgency in his mind battled against the weariness that clung to him like a shroud. The crumpled mass of letters, discarded in frustration, spoke volumes about the burdens he now bore, both from the ominous missives and the weight of his own apprehensions.
"What has that damned woman roped us into?!" Renly grumbled, watching the burning missive with shadowed eyes. All the talk of mannish sea creatures had made his stomach turn, simultaneously at how right he had been, and at how supernatural incidents seemed inured to follow his accursed goodsister and bring them all misfortune. He barely had the energy to even construct any type of poetry or even flowery flatteries for the Stark girl still in King's Landing. She served as nothing more than a momentary diversion, a fleeting thought amidst the sea of concerns. However, the lack of sleep and the exhaustion from attempting to plant the seed of a possible match within the girl's vapid idiotic little brain revealed the toll that the recent events had taken on Renly's well-being. His strength was sapped and the swirl of supernatural threats, from the fall of Azula's Mercy to the assault on Silverhill, haunted his thoughts and did nothing to help ease his mind.
Ever since the Greyjoy girl had spoken of the "fishmen" his mind wrestled with their seemingly enigmatic threat and the possibility that their malevolence might extend beyond the tales spun by the supposed girl from Pyke. The haunting nature of the merciless attack on Azula's Mercy lingered in his thoughts, of how the creatures had swarmed over the outpost's walls like insects, a grim reminder of the vulnerability that lurked along coastlines and near the sea. He worried, and for good reason, to say nothing of Silverhill. It was a nightmare to even imagine, and once he did he quickly deduced it to be a massive threat to their cause. A small part of him had wanted to believe the Greyjoy woman had been a simple beggar girl from Flea Bottom, chosen to act as some sort of decoy for whatever scheme had struck his goodsister's fancy. However, with the whirlwind of near mythical events transpiring all around them, he found it unlikely. Prior to the turmoil they found themselves in, Azula's penchant for elaborate schemes had seemed almost commonplace, but Renly suspected instigating such wide scale madness was not a strategy his goodsister favored. While her resilience was admirable, he begrudgingly acknowledged that even the most cunning plans could unravel in the face of unforeseen threats."You'd best not fuck things up, woman,"his mind grumbled.
He lifted the half-full goblet of wine sitting at the edge of his desk and swished it around before drinking deeply. Renly shut his eyes a moment, attempting to forget the dread coursing through his veins, and enjoying the feeling of the warm liquid rushing down his parched throat. The warmth of the Dornish Red provided a passing comfort, a small reprieve from the relentless storm in his mind. Yet, as the taste faded, reality asserted itself, and Renly found himself confronting the harsh truths that awaited outside the realm of intoxication. It demanded his attention, and he felt the weight of his responsibilities as the Lord of Storm's End. He opened his eyes and frowned, setting down the cup, and feeling very much older than he appeared.
"King's Landing, Dragonstone, Storm's End, Riverrrun?"he wondered on the last, each of them a vital cog in the machinations of the war with the Lannisters and the greater war he knew was brewing."If even one of them fell to the purported fishmen, the war would grind down to a halt. Especially King's Landing…but why had no attack been forthcoming?"Renly, exhausted and worn, contemplated the significance the absence of attacks on these crucial locations meant, fueling his restless mind with doubts and suspicions.
Not that he had wished for it to be so, but Renly Baratheon preferred facing something he could defend against rather than a series of unknown enemies whose motivations he could only guess at."Hmph, knowing our luck they are allies with the Lannisters,"a bitter laugh escaped his lips, an unpleasant acknowledgment of the capricious nature of fate and the futility of trying to predict its twists. "Let Azula worry about it," he finally muttered under his breath, too tired to breathe more life into the vexing string of ideas. The mere mention of his goodsister, once again brought forth a mix of exasperation and resigned acceptance. Renly could scarcely think about the woman his brother called wife, and not instantly become weary with her antics.
With a sigh, Renly refocused on his writing, the scratch of quill against parchment accompanying the somber thoughts that continued to swirl in his mind. In the face of the unknown, he grappled with the role of his eldest brother's protector, hoping against hope that the horrors of the deep would not unravel the delicate tapestry of the realm he sought to safeguard. As his quill moved across parchment, the ink tracing the contours of his concerns, Renly sought solace in the mundane act of writing. Yet, even the rhythmic strokes of his quill could not entirely banish the shadow that loomed over his contemplations. His gaze shifted to the weapons arranged nearby, a silent testament to the unnerving precautions he had taken. The swords, daggers, armor, and other assorted weaponry stood at the ready, a stark reflection of the pervasive fear that had taken root in his thoughts. Renly, despite his fatigue, refused to be caught unprepared, each piece of armament a manifestation of his determination to face the unknown with a semblance of control. In the dimly lit chamber, Renly's weary eyes scanned the words or rather the single word he had written,"The…"He laughed at the elegance of his lettering, realizing that the ink on parchment could only capture a fraction of the turmoil within his mind. "To the seven-hells with this," he muttered, glancing up towards his window and seeing the passing light, before setting down his quill, pushing away from his desk, and strolling towards his bed and satin covers. Forgoing the removal of his clothes, save his boots, he let himself fall onto the sheets, where a dreamless sleep quickly greeted him the moment his head had hit the pillows.
Hours passed before Renly found himself rudely awoken by a fevered knocking at his door.
"My lord!? My lord!?!" A frantic and familiar sounding man shouted.
"What is it?" he slurred, still half asleep, his pillow wet from drool. A fraction of a second later, Renly's senses jolted awake, the fog of sleep dissipating like morning mist. He rolled out of bed to grasp at a dagger hidden by his bedside and crouched behind the darkness of his desk. The candles which had illuminated his room had died out sometime during his sudden bout of sleep. Brandishing the blade towards the reinforced Cherrywood door, he asked once more. "What is it?!" he ordered, the steel readily evident in his normally genteel voice.
"Begging your pardon, my lord," the man answered with labored breath, before taking in a sudden gulp of air. "Lord Baelish has been murdered in his quarters!"
"Wh..what are you on about, Rondel?" He finally recalled the name of the man stationed at his door, before flinching at the news, unsure of what he had just heard. The matter-of-fact nature of its delivery having caught him off-guard.
"Lord Baelish has been murdered, Lord Renly," Rondel said again. "Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula request your presence within the Tower of the Hand!" The air in the room seemed to tighten, suffocating him as he processed the weight of the words. Lord Baelish, flesh peddler, and a former key player in the game, now lay dead, and Renly felt the tremors of uncertainty reverberate throughout the inner corridors of his mind."Why now? He should have been dead ages ago,"the thought pressed upon him unbidden."Azula would not have been so obvious as to have him killed anywhere near her person as that would risk the ire of Lysa Arryn. An assassin upon the road, after letting him ride to the Eyrie, perhaps? Though some would question why Littlefinger was forced to travel by horse and not ship."Renly tried reassuring himself, allowing different theories to flitter through his mind, and meeting with only partial success. While Renly's own spies had thus far remained untouched, he knew full well that so had Baelish's, until Azula had given him her full attention and near completed gelded his network and scooped up nearly half of his brothels in the span of a few months. The idle thought of Renly being next on the chopping block, if he had miscalculated, was not lost to him."No, Stannis would not allow it."He had to believe in his brother. Had to believe he was not her creature and that the maw of her womanhood had not entrapped him so.
With the dagger now securely tucked away, Renly quickly gained his composure, wiping off the drool at his collar, before emerging from his chamber and seeing his guard held at knifepoint. A quick spray of blood splashed upon Renly's face, followed by an unsettling gurgling sound, and the heavy thud of a slab of meat hitting stone. With swift reflexes, Renly retreated back into his chamber, narrowly avoiding the assailant's blade as it sought to strike at his belly. The adrenaline surged through him as he slammed the door shut with all his strength, the force crushing the man's exposed arm and causing his weapon to fall to the ground with a clatter. Locking the door, he pressed an ear towards the wall by handle, not wishing to press it upon the door itself for fear of being stabbed through the ear by a sharpened blade.
"Fuck!!!" his attacker screamed, followed by the panicked shouts of what sounded like three others.
"Shut the fuck up, ya bastard! You'll rile the guards!" a second raspier voice replied, before Renly heard the same sounds he had heard only moments ago; a soft gurgle, followed by a thud. A puddle of dark red began to form at the bottom gap of his door.
"What did you do?!?" a third voice demanded, his footfalls and voice sounding much lighter than the rest.
"He was dead weight, boy! Now hurry, and help me move his arse and get this fucking door open," the second man shouted. "We need the sword swallower dead before the firebitch catches wind of this, before she catchesus!" Renly's mind raced, contemplating the nature of the words and whether they had been an act of deception or if the men truly did fear capture by his goodsister because they were not under her employ? Renly heard the men grunt and heave, before hearing the thud again. Then, the lock to his door begin to turn.
"What the fuck?!?!" he could not help but blurt out in surprise as his hand shot out in a futile attempt to prevent its turn. If he lived through this, he would have questions. However, right now he knew the thoughts of how a copy of his key had ended up in the hands of the aspirant assassins now trying to breach his door would have to wait. Survival took precedence over curiosity. He did not know how long it would take the guards to arrive and holding the door shut on his own against three or more men was not a feasible tactic. He grabbed at the chair by his door and nestled it just below the handle.
"Push!!" the raspy voice ordered.
"I'm trying!" the young voice replied.
"The bastard, must have jammed something against the door!" a different voice shouted.
Renly knew it would not be enough to stop a determined foe, but it would buy him time. He bolted for his table of weaponry and withdrew a light war hammer. Nowhere near as large as his brother's, but he was not as deft with daggers as he would like, and if the men were armoured he did not wager himself good enough with a blade to strike at their joints."A hammer will do well enough to disorient them, even through plate,"he steeled himself, noting the spikes at the back and top of the head, and getting used to its weight. Bells began to toll, and he frowned."They would have been useful five minutes ago!"
"Guards!" he roared at the top of his lungs, his knuckles turning bone white around the leather grip of his hammer. "Guards!" he yelled once more, his fear quickly turning into fury as the door inched open. He took in a gulp of air just as the chair buckled and broke, allowing three aspiring killers into his room. His fortress. They would die.
"They aren't armoured! Good! Then this will kill them,"he noted with a snarl, his eyes more adjusted to the darkness than their own. The soft glow of torchlight that filtered into his room from the hall outside was not nearly enough to illuminate the entirety of his spacious quarters. A look of surprise came upon the men's faces as he charged forward, no doubt having expected the Lord of Storm's End to give them no trouble. No doubt expecting him to cower. Renly swung, catching the front man in the middle of the skull with a bone-shattering squelch, killing him instantly. The surprise remained plastered upon his ruined face as he collapsed into a heap, the blood and brain matter running down his face like tears. As he withdrew his weapon, the second man, the youngest of the three, tripped backwards in wide-eyed fear. A larger and much uglier man pushed him aside and lunged at him with a short sword. Redirecting the blade with the shaft of his hammer, he then struck out with his left fist, shattering the man's nose and drawing blood. Before the assassin had the chance to recover, Renly brought his hammer about and lodged the spike into the bleeding man's ear. Pivoting sharply on his heels, he fixated his gaze on the solitary figure who remained upright—or rather, kneeling in a posture of submission as soon as his eyes met with the Baratheon's piercing azure stare.
"I yield, milord!" the young man cried out in surrender, desperation evident in his voice. He hastily threw up his hands, the stench of fear mingling with the acrid odor of urine staining his dirty breeches.
"This way!" He heard the distant shouts of Lormys, followed by the clanging of heavy plate running down the corridors of his apartments.
"Better late than never," he muttered, wondering where they had been while he slept. "And you!" Renly snapped, leveling his hammer towards his new prisoner, his eyes having never left his attacker's pitiful form. "You will be answering many of my questions, over avery longinterrogation…"
"My lord!" Lormys shouted in panic, likely having witnessed the bodies of Rondel and the other fallen man in the hallway before entering Renly's room. He rounded the door, his youthful voice trailing off in amazement and worry as he surveyed the shattered chair and the corpses at his lord's feet. Sixteen more members of his household guard poured into the room, each sharing expressions of astonishment mirroring Lormys, with what sounded like another twenty loitering about outside and poking their heads in at regular intervals to ensure their lord's safety.
"Where in the seven-blazes were all of you?! I should have you all scourged!!" Renly growled, his glare as sharp for his men as it had been for his assailants. While only five had been posted at his door, he knew the others should not have been that far away.
"Apologies, my lord!" the youngest of his guard replied. "But we heard a commotion in the kitchens."
"It takes forty of you to investigate a disturbance in the kitchens," he asked in furious bewilderment, the vein at his head pulsing with every word.
"Aye, my lord," another guard supplied. "A fire in the kitchens and all of the cooks dead."
"We put it out before a messenger came with news of Lord Baelish's murder," Lormys continued. "After that, we rushed back as soon as the words had left the messengers lips!"
"So heisdead?" Renly's anger dissipated with the news.
"Yes, my lord," Lormys said, the puzzlement readily evident within his dark brown eyes. "But, how is it you knew?"
"Rondel," he said simply, before looking towards his would-be slayer. "The cutthroats must have ambushed him right as he was delivering word of the assassination."
"But, my lord," the handsome knight interjected, "no one came to inform Rondel. He was alone here; we were the first to receive the message as we were closest to the main entrance of the royal apartments."
"A traitor? Or perhaps a hidden messenger? What is your name and who hired you," Renly questioned, looking to the man restrained before him, and lifting his chin with the top spike of his hammer. "Are there more of you? I find it difficult to believe you quartet of dead men could set a fire in the kitchens, murder my cooks, and then make your way here unseen. Not to mention, knowing exactly what room I resided in!"
"Edwin, milord," he squeaked. "Yarnel hired us, said a man at the docks offered him a chest-full of pirate's treasure for your death. Gave us rubies the size of apples as proof, then promised more if the job was done. Yarnel did not know who he was, said he was deathly pale and had black eyes. He hired no others."
"My death, and not Baelish's? Pirate's treasure? Deathly pale and black eyes? Hmmm," he stroked his bearded chin. "The Crow's Eye, perhaps?" he recalled the description of the man, by his supposed niece, but imagined him as more monstrous than simply a pale man. "But why assassins?" he said the last quietly, expecting fishmen and not something as mundane as random killers plucked off the street and enticed with a pirate's treasure. Not only was it sloppy, but Renly thought it downright insulting. Narrowing his eyes, he pressed the man further.
"You imbeciles should have at least asked for an entire hold of treasure and not simple rubies, especially when tasked to end the life of a Lord Paramount. And what of the fire?" he probed, the spark of suspicion landing uncomfortably close to his goodsister or one of her people.
"That was not our doing! Yarnel considered it good fortune, as it lured away your guards!" the man sputtered hurriedly.
"Hmph," he glared at his guards again, all of whom looked away in embarrassment. "So, am I to believe you or one of your curs did not have a hand in informing Rondel of Baelish's fate before killing him? You say you were not hired to kill him, and yet he, is dead."
"No..nnoo, milord," the man quivered. "Yarnel put a blade to your guard's throat while he had been telling you of the man you speak of. We shared no words with him before then."
"Really?" he raised a brow, unconvinced. "Then who in the seven hells killed Lord Baelish? Another troupe of assassins doing their knife work on members of the Small Council on the same night? Tis quite the brazen attack, don't you think? Why would the man who hired you not inform you of another contract? It would not do well if one alerts the guards before the other is done, as is readily apparent now. Someone informed Rondel of Baelish's death, before the rest of my guards knew of it, then disappeared, while yet another person set fire to my kitchens, then also disappeared, all before you lot showed up. You say you were hired by a man at the docks to kill me, then someone else just happens to kill Baelish?"
The man remained quiet, unsure of what to say.
Sighing, Renly rubbed at his temple as the bells tolled. "We'll bring him with us."
"To where, my lord?" Lormys asked.
"To the Tower of the Hand," he added, turning to them. The dim light of flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the tense faces surrounding him. The air held a sense of urgency and confusion as Renly's steely words cut through the atmosphere. "Before the Stranger took him, Rondel said I was summoned. Something is amiss, and I would break words with my brother and goodsister to help me clarify its meaning. Be on guard," Renly shared looks with his men, his eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and suspicion, before staring at their prisoner. "I will not have him suffer a mysterious death on this short journey."
"What of the bodies?" another man asked, looking towards the corpses of the assassins, but truly meaning that of Rondel.
"For the moment, leave them be," he grunted, while slipping into a chainmail shirt, greaves and bracers. "At least until we are certain there are no more roving bands of assassins, arsonists, phantom messengers, and cook-killers, stalking these halls."
As they stepped out of the apartments, Renly found the area awash with activity. Several of his servants lay dead in pools of their own blood, while others cried out for help. Nearly a hundred of his guardsmen were clearing out rooms or assisting the wounded.
"My lord!" several of his servants and assorted guards cried at his entrance.
Renly's authoritative voice echoed through the chaotic halls, commanding the attention of guardsmen and loyal servants alike. The flickering torchlight revealed the tension etched on their faces as they gathered in the dimly lit corridors.
"Attention guardsmen and all loyal servants of House Baratheon of Storm's End! I command half of my guard to flush out any more unwelcome visitors from these halls, and the other half to guard the healers as they continue tending to the wounded! I will be heading to the Tower of the Hand, and I want this place having been brought to order upon my return!"
"As you command, my lord!" his guardsmen and servants all bowed, each scattering or breaking off into groups to accomplish their ordered tasks.
He turned his gaze toward Edwin, scrutinizing the man after addressing the members of his household. "Your work, I assume? Or yet some other player?"
"Yarnel's, milord," the man whimpered, his eyes fixated on the bodies of the dead, dying, and wounded.
"Good, this is already far too complicated as it is," Renly furrowed his brow, his thoughts racing. As the words left his lips, he contemplated the messengers responsible for informing Rondel and the rest of his men in the kitchens about Littlefinger's murder.
"Lormys, who was the messenger that told you of Baelish? What did they look like?"
"Twas a man wearing the colors of Dragonstone. Had more than a drop of Yitish blood in him, my lord," the brown-eyed man replied. Detecting an unspoken piece of information, Renly probed further.
"And?" he prompted; his pace steady as they marched towards the Tower of the Hand. The echoing bells continued to sound in the night, and the guards moved about like angry bees, adding to the pandemonium.
"He spoke in the oddest way," Lormys continued, his voice rising above the clamor. The orders to search every room rang out, merging with the tolling bells and assorted cacophony of different voices in the suddenly awakened castle.
"How so?" he questioned, the air thick with uncertainty as Renly Baratheon and his entourage pressed forward.
"Well, my lord," Lormys glanced towards the others in their group, before opening his mouth. "When he brought news of Lord Baelish, he spoke as such, 'A man brings news of the death of Lord Petyr Baelish.'"
His blood ran cold.'Azula will not be pleased.'
And indeed, she was not, as he came to realize, once he had come upon her study and informed her of the possible connection this chaotic night had with the House of Black and White. Renly glanced at the broken mess of a table that had once been the centerpiece of the study within the Tower of the Hand and the quivering form of the failed assassin Edwin. His guards had remained at the bottom of the spiral steps leading up towards the Hand's study, and very far away from earshot.
"Again!?! They dare to interfere, again!?!" she seethed, her knuckles audibly cracking beneath the long sleeves of her crimson robe.
"Take care that your…guardians do not kill him. I wish him alive for questioning," he warned, aware of the tension in the air, and uncaring of the scornful look Azula had cast towards him before brushing it away.
"Oh, I wish him to remain alive as well," she retorted, narrowing her eyes at the cowardly assassin. The moment passed, and she turned her fiery gaze to Renly.
"And in what way do they interfere,sister?" Renly inquired, having recently set aside some doubts about his goodsister's intentions towards him after witnessing the trail of bodies leading up to the Hand's study. "If they had wanted either of us dead, we would have been. Evidently, they only cared to end Baelish, unless his death was caused by the same collection of alleyway cutthroats that attacked us," he continued, his gaze shifting towards the entryway to the Hand's study, where the barely covered corpse of a man lay, his body recently bisected by one of Azula's silent Flameguard. Stannis, Renly's brother, loomed over the corpse with a flat expression.
"How can you be so sure?!" Azula's voice rang out with panic and fiery anger, her eyes ablaze as she shot back. "Why would they even bother to inform you first, of all people, of Littlefinger's death? What purpose would it even serve? 'Tis a poor assassin that claims responsibility for a kill."
"True," Renly admitted, his voice laced with a hint of skepticism, fully aware that the faceless men were not known for their verbosity. Their efficiency in silence and subtlety was legendary, after all. But to be so forthright would suggest a reconsideration of their strategies, a departure from their customary enigmatic approach. Amidst his goodsister's tantrum, Renly was certain of one thing: she had no hand in Baelish's murder. Her vehement refusal to directly engage with Braavos, after the death of the Ty Lee girl several years earlier by another faceless man, had closed off that avenue permanently.
Renly's gaze focused upon Azula, searching for any hint of deception or ulterior motives, her own steely gaze distracted and twitching with uncertainty. Their attentions seemed focused inward, and for only a fleeting moment she appeared vulnerable, before the unnerving shimmer of molten gold took hold once more.
"What," she snapped at him, catching his gaze. His goodsister's rage hung heavy in the air like an impending storm, the braziers burning a bright blue as her fiery temperament threatened to engulf them all.
Before he could reply, Stannis spoke first.
"Judging by the number of corpses laid bare before us, perhaps they were unable to breach the security we had in place, wife?" Stannis's voice carried quietly from beyond the doorway. "We've long suspected Baelish of financial trickery with the royal treasury. Perhaps the Iron Bank grew tired of his antics?"
"Hmmm. You may be on to something, brother," Renly supplied waging his finger, intrigued by the direction the conversation was taking. "Maybe the Iron Bank did not see continued growth with Baelish at the helm of the crown's finances? Particularly with the gold mines of the Rock now within our grasp? Perhaps they thought you taking too long in eliminating him, sister, as we all urged you to do?"
"But then why use those alleyway cretins to distract us," Azula jabbed her manicured finger towards Edwin with snarl, ignoring his last barb. "The murder of Lord Baelish was not a mere coincidence; of that we can be certain. It was a calculated strike, executed with precision and purpose. But who stood to gain from such a brazen act of treachery? And why now, when the realm teetered on the brink of chaos? Why did they not approach directly?"
At the question, Renly remained composed, his mind racing as he sifted through the labyrinth of possibilities.
"Would you have welcomed them, wife?" Stannis asked plainly, striding into the room after the bisected corpse had been taken away by a nearby Flameguard. "Renly is right. We should have executed Lord Baelish the moment the former Queen and her incest spawn were chased out of the city. You played your games with the man for too long, and the Iron Bank does not care for games," his brother's cold blue stare matched Azula's burning orbs with equal intensity.
For what seemed like an eternity, they stared at one another, unmoving, a silent challenge on who commanded the room. To Renly's surprise, his goodsister backed down with a huff, and rubbed at her belly.
"Whatever," she finally replied, waving off the tension like one would errant smoke.
"Perhaps the chaos was the reason? Astragicas Littlefinger's death is," he allowed the sarcasm to flow freely at that, "I believe no one here considered him a force for order? Him and his stupid little speeches about chaos and ladders could attest to that. The Iron Bank likely saw little long-term gain if such a man continued breathing. He was always a reaching little worm, Littlefinger.Ifthe Iron Bank commissioned a Faceless man to murder Baelish, then the big question would be why that one's supposed paymaster met with a man assuming a less than human guise?" Renly tilted his head towards the blubbering killer now freshly wet with more urine. "While neither of us have borne witness to the purported creatures at Silverhill and the Iron Islands, the description the man gave did sound suspiciously similar to reports by the Greyjoy and the Jun girl."
"How do you know he was not lying,brother?" the Lady of Dragonstone countered with more than a hint of venom.
"The smell should be enough," he pinched his nose to emphasize his point. "Besides, you are the supposed 'people person.' Do you think he was lying?"
Azula pouted as she stared at the craven, likely replaying the confessions of the trembling assassin, as he had squeaked out his confession the moment he had entered the door and seen a less than happy butcher staring him down. "No," she frowned, before tearing her gaze away from the piss-soaked catspaw.
"Do you believetheyknow of the fishmen, brother?" Stannis questioned, the interest twinkling in his normally stern eyes.
"It is possible," his fingers traced absent patterns upon his bearded chin as he absorbed the information. "Although not enough time has passed since Silverhill to allow for word to spread across the Narrow Sea, the Crow's Eye did sail to places along the Essosi coast, before your smuggler picked up his trail. Perhaps he had some in his company?"
"Unlikely," Azula snorted. "It does not do one well to travel with so readily identifiable a crew as fish monsters from the deep. He kept well to himself until the Stepstones without much fuss. Sailing with a crew of monsters and parading them around in civilized company would have caused more waves than necessary."
Renly rolled his eyes at the pun, unintended though it seemed as Azula paid it no mind.
"What of Azula's Mercy?" Stannis posited, turning to them mid-pace in front of the man in the corner.
"What of it, husband?" his goodsister asked, her annoyance gradually coming to mar her otherwise perfect features.
"More than enough time has passed sinceitsfall. Perhaps a faceless man was there and bore witness to the slaughter before retreating back to Braavos? If the Greyjoy girl could, then I see no reason one of them would be incapable of accomplishing the same."
Both he and Azula stared at his brother as if he had grown a second head.
"Hmm. A vested interest in seeing Greyjoy fail at whatever schemes he has planned? And Baelish being a mere piece in seeing it done," Azula surmised, thinking along the same lines as he. "However, this does beg the question on what a faceless was doing there in the first place!?" she hissed, as she absently mindedly scratched at her left forearm.
Taking note of the gesture, both the Lord of Storm's End and the Lord of Dragonstone shared a knowing look between themselves but said nothing.
"Taking in the sights," he offered in jest, trying to somewhat lessen the sense of dread that had slowly been creeping up his spine since he awoke in his chambers.
"More like waiting for me," the Lady of Dragonstone clenched her fists and the flames of the candles and torches littered in the halls and the study flared a bright blue.
"You have not visited that place in years, and you had no intention of doing so for a few more," Stannis added, arms crossed over his broad chest. "That order of assassins does not indulge in such things as waiting for an indeterminate amount of time for their prey at a place they no longer frequent. They would have had better success simply doing as they did now, only with us as their targets. If there was one present on Azula's Mercy, it was there to kill someone who was present at that moment or would have been soon."
"Who?" his goodsister seemingly could not help but ask.
"Who indeed," Renly answered cryptically, earning him a nod from Stannis, while Azula frowned and turned upon her heel.
"See the man to the Black Cells, Lord Renly, he is under your purview," she ordered, her voice now regaining its usual velveteen quality. "Wring out what you can, and report back to me. Husband, we should see about Baelish's useless carcass and have it given the proper funerary preparations. Cyvia and Chang should still be with his corpse. I will write to the Lady Lysa, about the manner of his death and of how we narrowly escaped our own."
"Speaking of useless, why did your acting Mistress of Whisperers and her little fire visions not warn you of this?" Renly waved his fingers in the air in an attempt at mimicking flames, before lowering his hands and scowling at the thought of the red bitch.
"That is a question I will most definitely be asking her, in private," Azula retorted, her tone near flat but with a hint of seething rage simmering just beneath the surface.
"Enough! Who will be taking the blame this time, wife?" his brother interjected, his hard frown etched upon an equally stern visage.
Azula's voice cut through the tense air of the room like a sharp blade. "Varys," she said simply, her voice tinged with a hint of disdain, her robe swishing softly as she turned towards the desk at the rear of the chamber.
"Varys?" Renly scrunched his brow in confusion, the unexpected suggestion catching him off guard, the eunuch having been far from his mind in the midst of the confusion of the night's events.
"Yes, Varys. Let us try and keep up, please?" Azula's mocking grin twisted her features as she seated herself at the desk, unfurling an unmarked square of parchment with deliberate grace.
Renly's clenched teeth betrayed his simmering anger as he seethed, "Do not patronize me, my Lady."
Azula's response was measured and deliberate, her gaze focused on the parchment before her as she continued to explain her reasoning. "Because blaming the Lannisters might risk putting too much wind back into their sails, and no one knows about the Tyrells, nor of Greyjoy and his fishbeasts," she elaborated, her words cutting through the tension like a razor. "Besides, no one trusts the Spider anyway, and of all three possibilities, he makes the most sense out of them all. Barring further information, of course."
With a graceful motion, Azula took up a quill, dipping it into the inkwell with practiced precision. The soft scratching of the quill against the parchment filled the silence as she began to write, her expression betraying no hint of emotion despite the gravity of her words.
Azula's gaze lingered thoughtfully on the parchment spread across the desk, her mind likely racing with strategic considerations. "Also, the lie is the most sensible one for Lysa Arryn to accept. No doubt Baelish spoke to her of the Spider using less than endearing words, so the seed of acceptance is likely to have already been planted. And as all the others are too wild or seemingly self-serving, this will serve us best. So, it will be the one we will be using. Now if you please, brother," she said, her voice devoid of sentiment as she addressed him. "Go and leave me to write this letter full of heartfelt words and assorted condolences for a man I detested."
With that, Azula focused her attention entirely on the task at hand, her thoughts near certainly swirling with schemes and strategies as she meticulously crafted her message.