Cedric Payne

War had come to the Westerlands, it'd been decades since the lands of the Lannisters had come under attack, long before Lord Tywin's reign as Hand under the Mad King. Yet, while it did cause suffering for some, war was an opportunity for others. War would bring glory, fame and wealth, should Cedric manage to capture a lord or knight and ransom them back to their house. A member of House Payne he may be, with one of their very own as the King's Justice, but that didn't mean Cedric has much coin to his name. Still, at least he was richer than Rod.

"Are we almost there yet, Coz?" Rodrick, Cedric's cousin and squire, complained. Rod was a few years younger than Cedric, slower and poorer too. Cedric already told him it would take a few days to reach Lannisport a few hours ago. Rod swayed back and forth as he rode Nut, Cedric's steed that carried their supplies.

"No." Cedric sighed. He rode Lemonhead, a mare palfrey that was gentle and kind. Trotting beside him was Cheese, his war horse that he only rode into battle or when he could afford to enter a tourney. He didn't trust Rod to not startle the well-trained beast, which could lead to him having to explain to his family why Rod was being buried with a horseshoe embedded in his face. "We are at least two days from Lannisport, same as when you asked me last time."

He could tell due to all of the visitors they started having when they made camp every night. Outriders, sellwords and hedge knights were all making their way to Lannisport and Casterly Rock for the war, hoping to catch the eye of a well-to-do lord and enter their service, even if it was temporary. If they fought well enough, perhaps they could even be invited to join a household, and finally have a roof over their head and not worry about what they were to eat every day. And with the knights and sellswords came the camp followers and supporters. Blacksmiths, minstrels, seamstresses, 'seamstresses', you name it, they'd follow the coin.

Rod nodded slowly. Their progress was slowed with the roads being full, though the two of them were able to slip ahead since they didn't carry much aside from their tent, food, and arms. Cedric's longsword was attached to his side, and wore boiled leather. He'd wear the heavy chain and his half-helm once he was in a proper battle. The boiled leather, sword and shield with the sigil of House Payne should be enough to ward off any bandits or thieves.

"I'd like to buy a house there soon." Rod said slowly. Neither of them would ever be able to claim Payne's Peak; that honor would belong to Ser Ilyn's older brother, Ser Rover Payne. Still, there was something to be said about making your own path as opposed to trying to claim something with great expectations.

The only way for the two of them to ever have a home would be as household knights, or being gifted a keep by a generous lord. Both were unlikely to ever happen, and homes in Lannisport were expensive. Though they might be a bit less expensive given some of them were burned to the ground and looted by now.

"I told you not to get that whore with a babe." Cedric muttered under his breath. Rod had gotten married to a chandler's daughter, and now had a son that had already seen a name day or three. The least he could've done was marry a rich daughter, not one that had less coin than them and would be gaining more with a match.

The Payne's may have been a knightly house, but they were still well-known through the Westerlands thanks to Cousin Ilyn getting his tongue pulled out by Mad King Aerys. Still, there were worse ways to be famous, look at House Frey. Cedric refused to do business with them, Lord Walder already had enough bastards to form his own army, and was notoriously skinflint as well.

"She's not a whore." Rod mumbled under his breath. "She loves me."

"She loves your name more." Cedric snarked. Podrick Payne was Cedric's newest cousin, straight from Rod's loins. "Now quiet, your nattering has me wishing we could afford milk of the poppy to ease the pain of having to hear your voice."

They continued the rest of the trot in silence and in hunger. Cedric wouldn't be able to eat until they made camp for the night, and he refused to buy any food from the traveling merchants, the coin gougers that they were, taking advantage of a hungry knight and his squire. Rationing their limited food supply would allow them to save enough coin for a real hot meal in Lannisport, and a night or two in an inn before they struck their tent in the outskirts. Cedric was going to have to find previous lords he had served, or get lucky enough to get chosen to be out on a warship for the Iron Islands.

The sun eventually started to kiss the horizon when Cedric and Rod started to make camp. The duo moved off of the Goldroad and into the bush. Picking out a decent campsite that wasn't claimed already was tricky, but they found one in a thicket that would suffice. Even if there were more than a few bugs around.

"Get the tent set up." Cedric ordered as he dismounted Lemonhead, tying the mare to a nearby tree. "I'll get the fire started." The last time Cedric had Rod start the fire the dumb sod burned an entire field of wheat, ready to harvest. The two were forced to flee in the night as the smallfolk attempted to put out the fire. It was probably a good idea that they'd left so fast, if they'd found out who lit the fire, they would've strung them up or tossed them into the fire to roast.

"Aye." Rod grumbled as he grabbed the tent with the sigil of House Payne from Nut's saddlebags. The cloth still held traces of ash, and was tinted with soot. Still, it was better than sleeping under the stars, a lesson he had learned in the Stormlands the hard way.

Grabbing several old and dry branches that laid on the ground, Cedric threw them into the old fire pit. Soon they would have dried meat and hard bread for supper, along with watered-down beer to wash it down. Cedric grabbed his flint from his knapsack and got to work on the fire.

"If we ride hard early in the morrow we can make for Lannisport faster." Cedric said, thinking out loud. He didn't need Rodrick's opinion to make any decisions. Nor would he trust Rodrick's judgment in this case, or almost any others.

"Weather is too nice to wake up early." Rod sighed, struggling to put up their tent. Lemonhead, Nut and Cheese neighed, appearing to be laughing at him Great, being laughed at by his steeds would teach him a lesson ideally.

"Then shut your mouth and stop complaining about how long it'll take us to arrive." Cedric's flints managed to light a small fire that eventually engulfed the dry twigs and leaves. He'd have to gather more if he didn't want it to die out soon. "You'll take first watch, and don't let me catch you eating all of our food again."

Rod flinched, remembering the beating that Cedric had given him, and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Ser."

Who was Cedrc kidding, Rod likely only remembered that the two starved for a week until a septon took pity on them and gifted them each a silver stag. They found the septon hanged a week later down the same road, done in by robber knights and wandering bandits. The Knight grabbed a few more pieces of wood, and gently placed them into the fire.

Cedric stared into the flames for a few seconds, taking a seat on the ground, when he was pulled away by the tent collapsing on top of Rodrick.

"Help! Coz!" Rod yelled, caught in the tent's cloth. It sounded like the horses laughed again at the younger Payne's misfortune. Cedric sighed and slowly stood back up. Out of all the possible squires he could've gotten, he got this one. Obviously the Gods were laughing at him, all Seven of them.

He likely wouldn't end up with too much sleep that night.

Stannis Baratheon

It was easier to sleep at sea than it was at Dragonstone. The very presence of the ancient Targaryen stronghold reminded Stannis everyday of what had been stripped away from him. While he could feel the history in the stones and furnishings, it felt tainted. It was the site of his greatest humiliation. Nevermind that the storm had literally ripped gargoyles off of the walls and sunk ships at anchor, and tossed him and his fleet around like a bucking warhorse, all Robert was concerned with was a dragonspawn and his mewling welp of a sister had somehow escaped. Storm's End was his by right as the second oldest of the Baratheon brothers, and Robert stripped Stannis' home away from him. The site of his greatest victory, a deed that should be immortalized in ballads and stories, handed off to Renly. Who didn't even live there, or rarely visit more than once in a moon, and even then just to collect the tax revenues.

Stannis ground his teeth as he slowly sat up from the bed in his quarters. His flagship, Fury, was the pride of the Royal Fleet, if a bit big for his taste. Ser Davos bemoaned how it handled akin to a three legged cow. Fury was a triple decked war galley, with scorpions on all sides and catapults at the fore and aft. The Lord of Dragonstone started to dress himself, changing into clothes better meant for land.

If his predictions were correct, they would reach Oldtown by midday after being delayed in the Arbor. Paxter Redwyne was a stingy man, only providing Stannis with an additional thirty war galleys and dromonds, all undermanned, and some of them barely seaworthy. The Redwynes only provided enough men to fill the rowers, with the knights and men-at-arms at half strength. The mere remembrance made Stannis grind his teeth even harder. Of all the times for him to be stingy, this was when he chose to do so? When his ancestral foe stood a chance of being slain to the last?

Paxter Redwyne's ships were at full strength when he blockaded Storm's End and tried starving Stannis and the garrison to death. Apparently he only risked his full strength against foes who stood no chance of winning. Damn Robert for forcing him to come on bended knee to plead for aid from his old foes. Stannis pulled on his gloves made out of black leather and made his way to exit his cabin.

Ser Edmund Ambrose held command of the Redwyne ships, though in the end, they would all answer to Stannis as dictated by his position on Robert's Small Council. At least that was the theory at least.

"M'lord." Ser Davos was already waiting for him, his dark beard already starting to turn a shade of gray. His well-weathered face looked down, to avoid Stannis' eyes. It was hardly his fault, the man had been rapidly promoted and was feeling a bit out of his depth.

"My Lord." Stannis corrected, continuing onwards onto the deck with Ser Davos following closely behind. "What's the status of the fleet?"

"The Redwyne's ships have been able to match our speed." Ser Davos staring ahead. Off in the distance, a figure could be spotted, shooting upwards into the sky, the Hightower, from which the ancient Reach House claimed its name. "We shall reach Oldtown by midday should the winds favor us, my Lord."

Good, he's learning. Already that puts him a step above some of the other Knights he's had to deal with.

"Good." Stannis turned away to head towards the top deck near the rear of the Fury, where he normally broke his fast with hard bread and water with a squeeze of lemon. Ser Davos followed, grabbing the pouch that was wrapped around his neck. Stannis briefly gave his fleet a glance.

Velayron, Celtigar, Arryn, and Redwyne banners flew in the seawind, yet the one that towered over all of them was the black stag on a yellow field with a crown over its antlers, the sigil of House Baratheon. Each war galley and dromond would answer to him as Master-of-Ships, unless they wished to suffer the consequences.

"Shall I send for Aurane Waters?" Ser Davos asked as Stannis stood his position beside the helmsman. Aurane Waters, a bastard, was Stannis' squire, and chosen to help quell the murmurings of the lords of the Narrow Sea. He wouldn't have been the first bastard to seek freedom as a sailor, nor will he be the last.

"No, the boy knows his duties." Stannis knew the whispers, that he would fail in his mission, that Victorian Greyjoy and his Iron Fleet would smash him. He would prove those whispers wrong, not with words, but by deeds. The Ironborn were raiders, plain and simple, not suited for straight battle. Worse, they were sloppy, arrogant, assuming that they and they alone were the masters of the sea. Stannis would prove them wrong, and break their arrogance, one longship at a time, with his bare hands if he had too.

Stannis stopped his teeth from grinding, it was a habit that his daughter was trying to stop, she wanted him to stop before his return and his lady-wife's birth. By the time he returned from war, he would have another child, hopefully a boy.

"Aye, my Lord." Ser Davos bowed his head, yet Stannis paid him no mind, his gaze focused on the growing vision of the Hightower. Ravens would start to fly once he arrived, he needed men to fill the Redwyne ships, and to inform Robert of his progress. Time to see how generous his good-father was feeling on this tedious day. Stannis started grinding his teeth once more.

His daughter was going to be disappointed, it seemed.

A/N

Shorter than the last few, but still longer than what I usually write.

We've been really happy to see all of the support, I never expected to write this much in such little time. If you've read my other stories, you'll know that I rarely write over 2k chapters.