Garlan the Gallant

Servers delivered drinks throughout the night as the war council droned on, becoming more akin to a grand feast. It's hair pulling. Willas was busy soothing egos and prides of bannerman as they bartered over the tiniest of titles and offices. They have already reached a consensus on Lord Tarly's plan. Lord Tarly would have command of the sixty thousand man host they had assembled. They would smash the Lannisters on the opposing side of the Mander. Afterwards, the host would be split with him given the command to retake the Goldengrove while Lord Tarly advanced up the Searoad, retaking the castles of Old Oak and Red Lake before pressing into the Westerlands. Highgarden would assemble a third host, fifteen thousand strong, and would link up with Lord Renly and his host of thirty thousand. Together, they would all join up for the invasion of the Westerlands and the ultimate target of Casterly Rock. They had sent word to the Lord of Storms End to refrain from his advance on Bitterbridge. Lord Tywin would have to retreat soon enough. If father had wished they could have marched weeks ago, but he always found some flaw in it and boasted, his plan would put it to shame. One of the few things he did was agree to send the Redwyne fleet on a retaliation attack against Lannisport to repay them for their dead. "That shall show the Old Lion. Burn the golden jewel of the west!" Father had said. Lord Tarly stood stiff necked wearing mail and boiled leather with a grey chest plate. A grizzled man with a hard look unlike most of the lords in these halls who sported smiles or japed. Garlan spotted none on his face. Lord Tarly was a soldier and a proven battle commander. Though he knew they had to be wary of him and his success. Grandmother's influence. Garlan mused. His son, Dickon, was a good lad. They had gone on many hunts together. Now he is my squire. A concession Willas had wrangled from the man. He was tying their wagons together. The politics made it soiled, but Garlan understood that's how the game was played.

His brother, dressed in a splendid doublet of green with a golden cape draped around his shoulders, looked every inch a Lord of Highgarden. But he's not. A little voice reminded him. It was shameful what they had done to father, placing him under house arrest. Drugging him every day to keep him asleep. A man who lived with a deep grief whose only crime was he loved them.

Words that it had to be done felt hollow. None of them saw the look of betrayal in his eyes. Guilt gnawed at him.

"What a fine jape, my lord." Ser Thadeus Rowan said.

"I try ser, but I'm no fool." Willas said cheerfully.

Jon Fossoway tried to recover from his fit of laughter. "Please, my lord. Mercy." His hands grasped his belly.

Willas offered an amicable smile. "Refill this good man's wine! He seems to have misplaced it."

The nephew of the late Lord Rowan seemed more worried over the castle than his cousins who were taken back to the Rock. Three girls who watched their father beheaded. It made them all clamor for vengeance. All had felt the execution of Lord Mathis deeply. He had been well liked and a good friend of House Tyrell. Vows had been sworn to see the Goldengrove avenged. If only Thadeus was of a similar character. "He's a sycophant without honor," Garlan recalled telling Willas when they were alone. Willas only smiled and told him. "The king of sycophants, but a sycophant whom holds great sway over Lord Ashford to whom he squired. I need him to betroth his youngest daughter to Lord Caswell's son and heir in order to secure his support in pressuring Lord Fossoway to give up his desire to lead the van." The web of alliances and favors made his head hurt. Garlan would never understand how Willas understood any of it. Though maybe only grandmother really understood all of it. She was the architect behind it all.

Garlan took another swig of ale as the candles were fading. "My lords." Willas declared. "I think we have come to an arrangement. We've counted our roses and smelled them. You've enjoyed my wine." He chuckled. "Almost all of it, but now is not the time for feasts. Tomorrow is the time to pick up the sword and drive off the lions from our lands. Unwelcomed guests all of them. Lord Tarly," his brother said cordially. "House Tyrell trusts, you shall see them driven back into the sea."

Lord Tarly gave a stiff nod. "As you command, my lord. We shall be in the Rock by Maidens Day."

"By Maidens Day!"

"By Maidens Day!"

Dozens of throats screamed and banged their goblets against the tables.

"The Lannisters can't hope to withstand us!" a young knight in the employ of Lord Crane declared.

Garlan didn't join them as he watched Willas bask in the spotlight and attention. He enjoys this too much. It made him bitter. Did he do this for the sake of family? Or the sake of his own ambition? Garlan had no answer, but he had made his choice. I chose my family over my father. I chose the Reach over him. It made him a terrible son.

Later that night, after he made love with his beloved Leonette, she lay curled on top of him with his arms around her frame. He thought of Loras and what he would say to all of this. Would he have made the same choice? Would he have agreed with this coup they had carried out? Garlan thought not.

"Oh, Garlan, something troubles you." His wife chimed.

Garlan sighed and turned to her. "Only my brother, darling. I disliked the look he gave today. I think he enjoys this too much." He spoke freely with his dear wife.

"I'm sure that isn't true. He loves your father the same as you."

It was true he loved father. All of them did. Even if he could be oafish, he cared and loved them. But Willas was just as ambitious as father. He's always craved Highgarden, even if he tried to master it. Willas was a good man, despite his desires. A rotten rose wouldn't have helped them with small, trivial things. When grandmother got too demanding, he soothed Margaery. He saved him from becoming Garlan the Gross; he helped father find Loras the most talented tourney knights to come to Highgarden to instruct him. He helped him achieve his dream of becoming the Knight of Flowers. Willas may not wield a sword, but he was just as protective as an older brother should always be. It pained him to think of him so lowly. He's only done this for our family. For the good of the Reach. When father was better, he would give it up. I'll make him give it up. Garlan vowed.

"Your right, love." He kissed her on the brow. "Forgive me for my thoughts."

Leonette chuckled. "All is well husband and yes, I'll visit Loras for you and I shall keep you mother company."

She was a good woman. This time, he kissed her on the lips as they disappeared underneath the sheets.

As dawn broke, they rode out of the main gate with all the banners of Highgarden behind them as his family watched from the battlements. He gave a salute with his sword and Willas gave a light nod of acknowledgement and he rode off with Highgarden, growing smaller until it disappeared entirely.

Ned

The estate was quiet without the direwolves running amok with his children right after them. His lips always twirled upward at the sight. Instead of his family, he heard the steady footsteps of Canard and Halyn walking behind him. Beer on their breath as they returned from their meal. He took his sup with his men. It reminded him of the days when he and Robert were on the campaign, gathered around the campfire with the crass humor of soldiers. I was trained to be a solider. Not the Lord of Winterfell. Not a Hand of the King. Certainly not a Lord Regent. Ned rubbed the symbol of his office. Hours passed quickly in the throne room and the Small Council chambers as he ran the city as if he wore a golden crown. Thousands of fires and only one man to put them out. His men served admirably throughout the city from the Commanders of the Gate Houses to the Wardens of the Game. The Small Council chambers had improved without Littlefinger and his grating voice. His end had been ill done, but it was for the best Lord Nestor Royce was more worthy of the office. Together under his authority the Small Council had restored integrity to the City Watch, prepared the city for hosting the Crowns forces, and restored the Iron Throne to a symbol of justice it should have always been. The cells were finally free of the Lannister men who had met their end with Ice or departed by ship to the Wall in chains. Most chose the Wall. More would join the Wall before this conflict was done.

Three kingdoms in open conflict.

Tyrells. Lannisters. Two sides of the same coin.

Lord Renly had proved a great disappointment by ignoring his commands. Folly. Pure folly.

Already tales of Lannister savagery had reached his ears. Mad dogs Tywin Lannister had let off the man had much to answer for and Robert would not save him this time from judgement. A judgment earned from a lifetime of monstrous deeds. Ned thought of the babe smashed against the wall and the girl stabbed dozens of times with cold castle steel. A city sacked without mercy and the innocents slain. Little Aegon and Rhaenys died for Lannister ambition. They had wrapped them around in crimson cloaks to hide the savagery. As if it could hide the work of butchers. Lord Tywin was guilty of many crimes and he would not skirt away from justice. Not this time. The tall carved doors were opened and Ned stepped through with a heavy heart. It was not an easy message he carried with him. The Maidenvault was spacious and comfortable, filled with all the amenities a queen could desire: sweet summerwine, plates of fruit and sweets, and soft cushions to rest upon. It was too good for Queen Cersei, but her rank deserved that much comfort. "Come to gloat Lord Stark?" She asked him when her green Lannister eyes caught sight of him. Cersei Lannister was lying on the couch wearing a green dress with a glass of wine in hand.

"Nay your grace."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't." Cersei murmured. "Why have you come, then? Has my father defeated Lord Tyrell yet?"

Lord Tywin, according to Varys, was besieging the castle of Bitterbridge while Lord Tarly had slumbered from Highgarden and was on the march to retake the Castles of Old Oak and Goldengrove. The strategy was obvious to him: Lord Tywin hoped to intercept and defeat Lord Renly's host before retiring back to the Westerlands. His position that far east was untenable, while the Tyrells were trying to sever his line of retreat by retaking Goldengrove. It would force Lord Tywin to withdraw less he risk get cut off from his supply lines. Though he said nothing, Queen Cersei didn't need to know any of this.

"You wear the office better than your friend Robert, you know. Yes," she gave a thin smile. "Far better than Robert. He would have told me what my father was doing." Her slender figure rose with the grace of a cat and her eyes bore into him. "I can help you, my lord. We can be friends you and I." She grasped his hand. A gentle promise from a beautiful woman. "With my help, I could bring my father to the table. I could deliver you a peaceful realm for my son."

"This is where you shall remain, your grace." Ned replied.

Queen Cersei frowned. "That would be a mistake, my lord." Her hand fell from his own.

"It wouldn't." Ned sighed. "I did not come to speak of the realm, nor have I come to set you free. You shall remain here until wars end. This has not changed."

She raised her slender brow. "The honorable Eddard Stark speaking in riddles. How this city is changing you already?"

"You may wish to sit-"

"I'll stand." She voiced with all the pride and arrogance of a Lannister.

Ned nodded. "I'm sorry, your grace, but your boy Prince Joffrey and your brother Ser Jaime are dead." He expected her to wail or shake with fury. Instead, she let out a loud laugh.

"Is such a lie supposed to impress me, my lord?"

"Believe what you will, your grace." Ned said solemnly. He had little liking for the boy prince or the Kingslayer, but they were dead. It was ill to speak of the dead in callous terms, and she had a right to know about the death of her family. Varys had confirmed it to him. He had sent word to Robert as the boy's father. He had a right to know. A new man of the Kingsguard could also be chosen. Another sword to protect Robert on his quest. "If you wish me to send a septon to lead you in prayer, inform the servants and I shall see it done." A flicker of doubt formed on her face before she shook her head in denial.

"My brother isn't dead. We came into this world together. I would know if my twin was dead."

"I'm sorry, your grace. You have my sympathy."

The glass of wine flew wide to the right, colliding with the red wall. "GET OUT! OUT!" She roared like the lion on her sigil. Hands coiled into fists and managed one step before stumbling onto the soft carpet drunk. He offered another dip of his head before doing as she asked. Maybe I should allow her to have some company? The death of a child and sibling was a hard thing. How would Cat have acted? If she was told, her brother was dead and her eldest boy. Not well. Ned thought. But he didn't trust her, not while her father was engaged in open warfare. No. She must remain in isolation. He bade Jory and his men filed behind him as he exited through the tall curved door.

He returned to his solar in the Tower of the Hand and a stack of letters lay on his desk. One bore the seal of House Stark, another bore the seal of House Tully.

Cat.

A letter from his wife lessened the burden on his chest. What words did she speak to him? Last he heard from them, they had arrived in Gulltown. Ned opened that one first.

My dearest Ned,

The children are well. Bran has found a friend in Prince Tommen and has enjoyed his time in the Eyrie. Sansa is eager for the wedding and Arya desires to leave as quickly as possible. You know the hearts of our children well, Ned. But I've spoken with my uncle Ser Brynden and I fear we don't know our nephew nearly as well. He is keeping a secret from you, Ned, something relating to Princess Myrcella, his betrothed. He fears you shall blame her for some crime. I can't say what crime, for he refused to divulge such to my uncle, but it must be serious. Our handling of Lysa and Lord Baelish have driven a divide between us. I know you don't see it. But I swear to you, Ned, it's there. Our nephew believes you mean his family ill and wish to shame Jon Arryn's memory. He took great offense to our attempt at a public trial. Don't be fooled by his public declarations of duty to yourself. The boy is bitter. I beg of you when you see him next to treat him gingerly. He is our nephew and is only trying to protect his family.

Ned read the letter two more times until his eyes grew tired from glaring at the parchment. What have you done, nephew? Ned wondered. Why would he think I meant Princess Myrcella harm? What could she have possibly done? She was Roberts blood. Though even more vexing, what harm could a public trial have caused save uncovering the truth and ensuring justice was done for Jon Arryn? Didn't the boy want justice for his father? He forgot just how unlike Jon he was. Ned leaned back in his chair as he pondered this information. He would have to hold off judgement until he spoke with the lad, but he needed more information. Yet, where was he to look? His investigation into Ser Kevans murder had stalled. He couldn't connect it to anyone. No one Jory discovered knew anything. The poison was foreign and hard to get. Grand Maester Pycelle had confirmed that much, but the who and the why eluded him. I must try. He would start with whatever remained of the royal household that didn't depart with Princess Myrcella to the Vale. Jory would question them and would report back to him.

The next day he chaired a Small Council meeting. Three others stood with him: Lord Nestor, Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle. Of these men, only Nestor Royce inspired him with any great deal of confidence. As always, they started the meeting going over the daily tasks of each office and the running of the capital before turning to the important task of the war.

"My little birds tell me the Iron Islands is a storm of activity, Lord Stark." Varys chimed. "You are a martial man. What do you think it means?"

"It means Lord Greyjoy may be a thrice damned fool." He replied. They had sent missives warning the Lord of Pyke about the price of defiance, but the man, it seemed, had not learned his lesson. If he meant to interfere in the quarrel between Lannister-Tyrell, he would be wise to strike the Westerlands over the Reach. The Lannister fleet was smaller and less capable than the Redwyne fleet in ships and sailors. It was also closer to in proximity to the Iron Islands and, with most of the Lannister banners in the Reach, it was ripe for the plunder.

Lord Nestor scoffed. "Lord Stark, surely you don't think the Iron Born will widen the conflict?"

"I mean to be prepared for it." Ned said and turned to Grand Maester Pycelle, whom was struggling to stay awake. "Grand Maester," He snapped up as if struck.

"Lord Regent." Pycelle dipped his head as he continued. "Write to Lord Stannis and command him by the will of the Iron throne to sail the Royal Fleet to Seaguard and prepare to ferry troops for an invasion of the Iron Islands." They had already sent word to Seaguard to prepare her defenses. He had hoped that would have been enough to discourage the Greyjoys from involving themselves. Maybe they could still avoid it? Varys could be wrong.

"Don't you have Lord Greyjoy's heir as ward Lord Stark?" Lord Nestor asked.

"If Lord Balon seeks to break the peace of the realm," Grand Pycelle droned on. "Then for the good of all Lord Stark must carry out the kings justice as promised when you agreed to take the boy." Theon. Ned thought. His name is Theon. And he bore no responsibility for the folly of his father.

Ned stood up. "We shall not discuss the fate of my ward. No peace has been broken." His voice made the Grand Maester shiver. "This is the last I wish to hear of it." He made his will known and all of them nodded along. They discussed other matters Robb was departing down the Neck with a host of twenty thousand Northman and would join under the overall command of Edmure Tully. It was not his first choice, but he was the only that could gather consensus amongst the River Lords, and him being Robbs' elder made him the only choice. Still, Robb would command the Northern contingent. The Lords of the Vale were nearly assembled and would be on the march soon after the wedding under the nominal command of Lord Arryn until he arrived in the capital and would fall under his command. Once we get our forces in place, we shall have to determine which way we march. It depends on who is winning.

"My lords." Ned rose. "thank you for your service. You are dismissed."

Lord Royce gave a vigorous nod and the Grand Maester mumbled incoherently as he tittered out of the small council chambers until only two remained.

Ned raised a brow in puzzlement. "Varys? Did you not hear me?"

"I have words I wish to say to you, my lord." Varys chimed with a soft voice. "Words best said alone."

The riddles gave him a migraine. Her Grace is wrong. This place hasn't influenced me. He motioned for him to go on.

Varys giggled. "I noticed your man, Jory, isn't? Out interviewing maids and servants in the former employ of Princess Myrcella and so soon after a letter arrived from the Vale." It made his heart freeze and his eyes narrowed tight as arrow slits. "Peace my lord." Varys placed his hand over his breast. "I hardly mean to pry."

Ned tried to discern the eunuch motivations, but he was an enigma. "What do you mean? Of course you mean to pry." He asked. "Don't dance around with flowery words."

"Lord Stark, I'm the Keeper of Secrets and master of whispers. It's my trade. My craft as war is to you, lords. If there is a secret, it is my duty to the Crown to know." Varys smiled. "Mayhaps I could even help? You need only ask. Have I not provided you with accurate information?" It was true Ned couldn't begrudge the man that. He had proved himself useful. No other man was as skilled at uncovering secrets. Though his motivations remained suspect.

"Why do you want to help Varys?"

"For the realm Lord Stark." His eyes brightened with conviction, but the man was an actor, and his true face was hard to see. But he needed him if the secret was important to Robert's realm. He needed to know. He told him of the letter and the supposed crime being buried by his nephew.

"How shocking." Varys said. "The son is so unlike the father. Who would have thought the son of Jon Arryn capable of such deception, but the heart makes men weak. A sweet princess in peril could make a boy do foolish things. Even break his honor."

Ned understood that well as Lyanna's voice echoed from the grave. It had grown louder since Jon had left for the east. Promises kept, and promises broken.

"Worry not, my lord." Varys said. "I'll see what I can find."

Tywin Lannister

The dagger cut through the soft underbelly of the stag with ease as he reached in and grabbed the organs, tossing them into the bucket. "You look green? Guts bother you, boy?"

Willem shook his head quickly.

"When you lie, nephew, have the wits to lie well."

He whitened and Tywin ignored him as he went to work peeling back the skin. "Lannisters are not afraid of guts of lesser beasts. Come here." His nephew paused briefly before obeying.

"My lord-"

Tywin shoved the stags guts into his hands. "Go on. Squeeze it." The boy's face turned green as he stuck his hands into the intestines. "Every living thing has this inside of them. Do you know what that means?"

"Anyone can be killed." He whispered.

It almost made him smile. Almost. He had some Lannister cunning to him. Lancel never had his fathers talents. Nor the boys other twin. But he gave no sign he was correct. "Did your father ever teach you how to skin an animal?"

"No, Lord Tywin. Mother thought it unclean for a boy my age said I was too young." Kevan spoiled his children, but he would remedy that failing. They needed to toughen up. The future of House Lannister may rest on their shoulders. Legacy was the only thing they would remember you for. All of his children lay dead or imprisoned and they stood on the precipice of annihilation. One wrong move and my legacy comes tumbling down around me. He needed to make a calculated risk to safeguard the Lannister name. Not a gamble. Gambles were for reckless fools and Lannisters were not fools.

"Twelve name days is old enough. Watch. Learn. Don't turn away. I'll know if you do."

His nephew watched him the entire time. "Good." He said as he turned around and place his bloody hand on the boy's shoulder. "You'll do the next one."

Willem didn't gulp and held firm like his father with a solemn bow of his head. "When I return, I expect you to be done." He passed through the pavilion flaps. Squires were out running morning errands for their knights, as the morning dew was still fresh on the field. In the distance, men were busy preparing the siege works. The castle was small, made of stone and timber, but on this flat ground it seemed looming as if mocking him. Bitterbridge was situated where the Mander met the Roseroad. Tywin recalled his maester telling him a battle had been fought here during the wars of the Faith Militant Uprising. It'll be associated with my name where the Lion met the Prancing Stag.

Men bowed as he walked, but he paid them no mind. A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinion of sheep. Two Lannister guardsmen opened the tent flaps as his war council lay assembled. His commanders all rose at his entrance: Ser Forley Prester, Ser Harys Swift, Lord Andros Brax with a ridiculous purple unicorn on his surcoat, and Lord Lydden. Only Ser Addam Marbrand was absent out with his outriders keeping watch for Lord Renly and his host. Kevan should be with him. His place was by his side. Not dead in the ground, with maggots eating his flesh.

Murdered by poison.

Why did I send him to Kings Landing? It was his duty. His duty to me and the Lannister name. Tywin knew.

He was a Lannister of the Rock! It should have meant something, but it would again when they wept in their halls.

The lords prattled on about the castle and its defenses and the progress on the siege towers. Tywin listened, but said nothing. It was unimportant the castle garrison was small, led by an old master of arms. The levies of Lord Caswell had answered the summons of Highgarden, but it was unimportant. The army that would arrive to meet them was where his thoughts lay. He had been out with Ser Marbrand, scouting the perfect place to meet the Storm Lords. They outnumbered them, but he calculated it wouldn't come to battle. Tywin almost chuckled. No, it certainly won't. Wars weren't won on the field, but secured with cunning and the pen. Lord Renly would be the instrument of his own downfall.

"We need to deploy the siege works on the eastern section of the walls." Lord Andros said.

"Nay, the western sections are better suited. They are weaker."

"But the eastern section is wider!"

Tywin cleared his throat, and everyone quieted, but he said nothing.

The voices picked up again as they debated what section of the walls they should target with siege towers and catapults. "Couldn't we just starve them out?" The shaking voice of Harys Swift asked. "Why must we storm the walls at all?"

"Craven!" Ser Prester declared.

"Their stores are too great. It would be a long siege, and a long siege is one we can't afford." Lord Lynden said, rubbing his chin as if he were wise for pointing out the obvious. Most of these men were incompetent.

The tent flaps opened and Ser Marbrand entered, his cheeks red from hard riding as he went to his knees. "Lord Tywin," He said dutifully. "Lord Renly is a days march away. A host of thirty thousand follow him." The room quieted and even the brash Prester seemed sobered. He read them like a book. They wished to withdrawal, but wouldn't voice such thoughts with him. "What are your commands?"

"Ser Prester, I grant you command of the left flank, Lord Andros the center, Ser Marbrand the right, and we shall deploy here as we planned." He pointed to the map. The terrain would permit them to withdrawal in good order. All of them bobbed their heads and declared it a fine plan and he permitted them all to leave to attend to their levies, save Ser Marbrand. "You ser, I have a special mission."

"I'm yours to command Lord Tywin."

"Good." He nodded. "Send a rider under the flag of true and inform Lord Renly I wish to parlay."

"As you wish, Lord Tywin."

A parlay. Tywin mused. King Roberts' brother was a vain man and would accept. It gave him a few options. All of them benefited him, but it depended on Lord Renly and how he reacted. What road would the Lord of Storms End take?

The Parlay of Bitterbridge. Tywin thought. What a nice song it could make.

A fine song indeed. He smiled at the thought.

The Wounded Lord

"You get that milk of the poppy away from me before I have you flogged!" He coughed as he weakened against the pillows. Dozens of his men surrounded him. Good, fine men whom he had sailed with his entire life. The moonlight danced against his skin as the Queen Arbor rode the waves. Big Ben raised his brow, unimpressed, his steely gaze undaunted by his harsh commands. He has taken legs off men without flinching as they screamed. "Tell me the status of the fleet." He commanded.

Tears were striking his chest from his dolt of an heir. "Please, father that can wait. You're in pain-"

"Of course, I'm in pain!" He snapped. "I have a bolt in my shoulder. You think this is pleasant?!" The pain throbbed, but not as much as the pain and humiliation this defeat had afflicted against the reputation of the Redwyne fleet. Two hundred warships, and over one thousand trade cogs, followed his command. They should have smashed the Lannister fleet and set Lannisport ablaze and they would have too, if it wasn't for the scourge of any honest sailor.

The Krackens.

The Iron fleet fell upon them like the crafty, mythical beast of legend. One of them got a lucky shot it pierced through his chain mail.

"Mi lord," Big Ben's voice was as rough as sand. "You've already led us out of the fire despite your wounds." None of that matters. Paxter thought. A defeat was a defeat, no matter how skillfully managed.

Lord Tyrell had given him a command, and he had failed to see it done. How badly have I failed? "Ships. Tell me our losses." He said through clenched teeth as he shuddered.

Jacien was a stalwart man with a square face. "Twenty warships and fifty cogs, but we retreated in good order. We gave the Ironborn a bloody nose as well, milord."

It was a sobering loss, but manageable. They had to return to the Arbor or the Shield Isles. The Greyjoys had entered the war and would start her raids. We have a duty to defend the shores of the Reach. His vision blurred as he checked his pulse. It remained steady. "Continue our course." He mumbled. "Set sail for home." Men hustled to obey him, scurrying to fulfill his commands. His son still wept. A soft boy, just like his mother. "Stop your tears, lad." His voice softened. "Look at the moon. It's a beautiful one tonight." His father, and his father had navigated the seas under the watch of the moon and the stars. They watch over generations of Redwynes as they sailed the known seas

"It is father," His son whispered.

"Alright Ben, give me the damn medicine."

His vision darkened, and he collapsed in his boy's arms.

Authors Note: Well, next up Tarly faces off against the Strongboar, the Prancing Stag, and the Old Lion have a parley, and Neds investigation uncovers a secret. I'll admit I'm not fond of battles I think it's very much a weak point for myself, but I'll try my best to make it enjoyable. As always thank you for the reviews/comments. I enjoy reading and responding to them. It gives me some ideas on where to take this. And yes, the Greyjoys in true Balon fashion chose the absolute worse option, but I think that is par on course.

Tohka123: Glad you enjoy it! I try my best!

Guest: Well, I know it can be a tad confusing, but Robert is still king. think Richard the Lionheart going on the crusades. He appointed a regent for the throne while he was away. Pretty much Ned just got a fancier title to give him more authority. Robert is still king. It's why the KG is with him and not say Tommen in the Eyrie.

Freedmoon: As always it's nice to see your reviews!

Yes, thats sort of what I was going for with Mya. she sees Jasper as like an irksome little brother and Jasper knows that she knows him the best of almost anyone. And the reason Mya dislikes Harry is because she saw the aftermath of the duel between Jasper/Harry when they were kids. It gave her an eternal dislike for him. Now, as to what most people think of Harry it's okay, but everyone knows Harry/Jasper hate eachother. And Jasper is the Lord of the Eyrie so Harry does get a bit shunned. I want to do a Harry POV, it'll proably be the third act. His problem is the fact Ayna Waynwood is trying to keep his head on his neck so she isn't letting him go to the Eyrie or join up on the campaign. Pretty much after Jon A funeral/burial and the final duel between them. He pretty much unofficially gets exiled from the Eyrie.

Jon A I think did have weak seed given how many stillborns he had and how many marriages with no children.

The Late Lord Walder Frey is the monicker Hoster T gave him for showing up late to the Battle of the Trident! Guy is still alive! Walder is too spiteful and bitter old man to die off page. Guy will outlive them all!