This chapter was edited by Gladiusx.
The Vale
Runestone
"My Lord, a raven from the Eyrie."
Samwell Stone halted his swing, and Yohn Royce turned to the elderly Maester Helliweg, still spry and quickfooted for a man approaching his sixties. His hands were tucked inside his voluminous grey sleeves, and a placid smile adorned his face.
"Alright, men, back to training! Andrew, we will practice formations today. Eddard, with me, you can't just slack off just because your Lord Grandfather won't get to train you."
The Lord of Runestone nodded to his master-at-arms as his serjeants began their relentless drilling of the men, and Ser Samwell trained his grandson. They were in the middle of their morning spar, a ritual that Yohn had followed faithfully for over forty years, ever since he was a lad who held his first blade. He never missed his training; if he could help it, especially now with the kingdoms at war, he had a duty to maintain his martial ability despite already celebrating his fiftieth nameday last week.
His gaze paused on his grandson as the lad, barely six namedays old, struggled to keep his wooden sword steady and practiced his swings. Eddard was in good hands, but for now, duties of the realm called. Yohn followed the Maester to his solar, stopping to greet his good-daughter, daughters, and grandchildren in the lady's parlor. Henrietta Melcolm married his son Andar a decade ago, securing an alliance with House Melcolm, and has blessed him with three granddaughters and two grandsons, securing the Royce line for yet another generation.
His youngest grandson, Jon, who was only born a few moons ago, was strapped around his mother's chest, his older sisters fawning over him. Yohn couldn't help but laugh boisterously as his grandchildren ran to him in greeting when they saw him, with Henrietta curtsying politely in the back. His own daughters, Ysilla, Jeyne, Ursula, and Arwen, smiled gently before pulling away their goodsister for some discussion.
His granddaughters brightened Yohn's mood greatly, but duty called, and he made his way to the solar.
"So, what does Lady Lysa wish of me this time?" Yohn poured himself a cup of Arbor Gold from a decanter and sipped leisurely as the Maester produced the sealed scroll from within his sleeves. "Another demand that I cease my trade with Stannis Baratheon? Or perhaps to present my grandson to be fostered with Robert Arryn?"
"Neither, My Lord. She has called the banners and demands all lords to bring their forces to the Eyrie."
Yohn halted for a moment before continuing to sip from his cup; his previous good mood melted into scorn and irritation. "Did she explain whose side we are joining?"
"No, My Lord."
"Tell me, Helliweg. You have known how I longed to join the war, to help my good friend's son and my liege lord's uncle. How I raged against our dear Lady Arryn when she decreed the Lords of the Vale to become fence-sitters. Tell me, why do I not feel joy?"
Maester Helliweg sighed; they had known each since they were youths, ever since he was an acolyte sponsored by Yohn's grandfather in the Citadel. In public, the Maester knew how to conduct himself courteously, but in private, Yohn counted him as one of his closest and most trusted friends.
Helliweg produced two more scrolls that did not have any seals. "It may have to do with what you suspected, Yohn. Petyr Baelish was sighted in the Eyrie, and the next day, Lady Arryn sent the ravens."
Yohn strode towards the open windows overlooking the Rune Gulf and gazed at the open sea. He could see the outline of the island that hosted Old Anchor, and he was reminded it was Lord Melcolm who notified him Petyr Baelish had landed in his lands onboard one of his trade ships. Jason Melcolm was an honorable man, yet he was also pragmatic; the lowly Lord of the Finger had made many enemies in the Vale, purchasing debts and ensnaring their fellow lords. The copper counter thought himself smarter than everyone else, that they were blind to his plots and how close he was to his foster sister. While Yohn and the rest of his allies underestimated him and discovered his schemes too late to properly counter them, he was not the first, nor would he be the last, upstart to scheme against the Lords of the Vale.
Only his friendship with Lady Lysa and the trust Jon Arryn placed in Littlefinger had stayed their hands. And yet, Yohn wondered if he should not have accepted Jason's suggestion of quietly disposing of the Braavosi on his way to the Eyrie. It was dishonorable, since, for all his plots and schemes, Petyr Baelish was still a lord of the realm, and disposing of one of their own was not to be done lightly, even if he was an upstart dabbling in flesh trade.
"This comes from our contact in the Eyrie?" Helliweg nodded. "And Nestor? What does he say?"
His relationship with the cadet branch of House Royce was not particularly cordial; envy and jealousy turned even the most honorable man into a rogue. Nestor Royce had ruled the Vale for nearly two decades while Jon Arryn was serving as Hand of the King, yet his gormless cousin failed to profit from it. His attempt to seize unclaimed lands from the Mountain Clans failed miserably, nor was he capable of securing a good marriage to his son, while his daughter's marriage prospects were even worse. Nevertheless, despite all of this, Nestor was loyal to the Arryns, and he was not blind to Lysa Tully's erratic behavior. Robert Arryn was already eight namedays and should have started his martial training more than two years prior, yet his mother was loath to place him in any perceived danger.
If Yohn was to wager a guess, the spineless woman thought her own son to be a danger for himself, unable to even swing a sword properly. And they were supposed to follow such a liege who never experienced a single moment of adversity?
Preposterous.
"Following the crushing defeat of the Northern army outside Harrenhal, Lady Lysa decided to join the winning side, especially as the Lannisters had allied with the Tyrells. Whether she would attack Robb Stark or Stannis Baratheon remains to be seen, but Nestor firmly believes that while the orders came from her mouth, it was Petyr Baelish speaking. And Petyr Baelish is Joffrey's master of coin still."
Yohn gripped his cup tightly, causing it to crack. He drained it before angrily throwing it into the sea. He watched it as it flew a long distance before crashing in the waves. Bronze Yohn seethed as he tried to control his rage. There could only be one reason why Lady Arryn did not explain whose side they were joining. If Yohn and his allies falsely believed they were joining Robb Stark or even Stannis Baratheon, they would have mustered their full forces, only to be confronted with treason if they refused to march or send a portion of it after their true target was revealed. It was an insidious scheme, truly worthy of that honorless cur, Baelish. Perhaps Yohn should have killed him publicly over some backhanded insult and dealt with the repercussions later; it was far more agreeable to kill a lord over a matter of honor than have him assassinated.
Yet the dice was cast, and there was nothing to be done.
When the war broke out, he and his allies had called their banners, fully expecting Lysa Tully to march to the aid of her brother and sister, only to be shocked when she commanded them to stand down. It was inconceivable, utter madness, for the Vale to declare their neutrality in a war that was partially started by Lysa Arryn accusing the Lannisters of murdering her husband. Jon Arryn was well-liked by all in the Vale, Eddard Stark just as much, if not more. For their kin to abandon them so coldly had many of the lords questioning Lady Arryn's sanity.
Nevertheless, honor and duty dictated he followed his liege's commands, and Yohn Royce bid his time. He watched as the Riverlands were run roughshod by Tywin Lannister, then rejoiced when Robb Stark came down like a hammer from the North to smash Jaime Lannister's host. His fellow lords had ridden to the Eyrie then and loudly called for Lady Lysa to join the war on her nephew's side, only for her to callously refuse and order them back to their holdings or be declared traitors.
Honor and duty dictated they comply, regardless of how unwilling Yohn and his allies were. As the war raged on, he kept his ears out for any information; his son Robar had kept him up to date with Renly's side, while his goodson, Lord Jason Melcolm's ships fed him information from Gulltown, Driftmark, and Dragonstone in their trade runs.
Until Yohn learned of his son's death. Oh, he felt grief and sadness at the loss of yet another of his sons, for the Night's Watch had notified him of how Waymar died, despite how ludicrous the claims of the Others returning were, but the world had long gone mad. Yet his grief did not last long, for it quickly transformed into a black rage that nearly consumed him. How dare that flowery cunt murder his son in cold blood?! His own sworn brother?! For those wretched upstart stewards to brush Robar's murder aside like he was some peasant? They did not even return his bones or armor; they merely buried him in a ditch as a traitor!
Then came even more dire news from the North of the Ironborn invading and laying waste to all they touched. They even took Moat Cailin, and since then, there had been silence from the North. Until, curiously, Manderly ships arrived, purchasing all sorts of supplies from steel and copper to tar and ropes. Yohn had managed to learn from them about Sansa Stark's escape and her wedding to some foreign sorcerer.
Even more madness!
Though perhaps not as mad as Stannis Baratheon being seduced by a woman of great beauty into abandoning the Seven for some heathen god, then reverting back to the Seven and declaring himself the chosen of the Warrior. By the gods, old and new, Yohn was far too old and confused to follow along with all the madness, so he sent Andar to Dragonstone along with one of their trade ships in order to ascertain the truth. Stannis' massive fleet needed plenty of supplies that Yohn and many of the lords along the coast were eager to trade. He paid more than the fair price for all produce, Even if most payments were in promissory notes. When Lysa Arryn demanded they cease the trades, Yohn could not very well control the merchants and craftsmen of his lands like he could a train dog.
Needless to say, if Lysa Arryn wanted to enforce her embargo against Stannis, she required a fleet…and if she thought she could order the Graftons to take on Stannis' fleet, then her wits were truly scrambled.
"My Lord? How should we reply?"
"Send ravens to all our allies and vassals." Despite being sorely tempted to rise in rebellion, seize the young Lord Arryn, declare himself regent, and join Robb Stark, he was simply not powerful enough. "We shall follow Lady Arryn's command but notify them that they are to keep their finest in reserve should pirates attack from the Narrow Sea."
Helliweg smiled, "No pirate or slaver had dared attack Westeros since Stannis Baratheon was made Master of Ships."
"Why, my dear maester, have you not heard?" Yohn grinned. "Stannis is busy in the Crownlands, and corsairs and pirates from the Stepstones have used this opportunity to raid our shores!"
The Maester chortled as he nodded and excused himself to send the ravens. While Yohn had learned of plenty of activity in Essos, particularly from Tyrosh and Myr, none had dared attack them yet, with Stannis still ruling supreme in the Narrow Sea. Yet Lysa Arryn had no way of confirming the truth, and even if that rat Baelish used his own connections in Essos to confront them, it would be his word against their own. Yohn would dearly enjoy breaking the bastard with his bare hands as such an accusation would be the best excuse for him to demand an honor duel.
It was two days later when Yohn waved farewell to Ser Robert Shett, the young recently knighted third son of Lord Damon Shett, commanding one hundred men from Runestone, Gull Tower, and Grey Glen as they sailed west to take the river to Iron Oaks then march to the Eyrie. Just as their ship disappeared behind the horizon, and Yohn was busy dealing with another trade ship from the North, another ship sailed into the harbor, one he recognized as his son's.
"Andar, you have returned." Yohn hugged his heir as he disembarked; Andar Royce was just as tall as Yohn, tawny-haired and grey-eyed, talented with the blade, and loved the sea. Sadly, while he could ride well enough, he was simply not blessed with the lance and rarely participated in tourneys. "What news from Dragonstone? I expected a raven, at least."
"It is good to see you again, Father." Andar looked around warily at the busy docks of Runestone's harbor, and Yohn realized something was wrong. All the men on the boat were solemn, and Andar's knights and men at arms gripped their weapons tightly — some of them were bloodied and their armor battered, even the ship had a few rails missing, and there were holes in the sails. "We need to talk away from prying eyes and ears."
"In the solar, then," Yohn nodded and had his castellan take over, dealing with the Northmen trying to sell parts of some kind of sea monster that had begun plaguing their shores. Yohn scoffed at the tales — as if some warrior could truly breathe underwater and fight a hundred-foot-long sea dragon. The scales and massive fangs they sell could have easily come from whales or sharks, though Yohn would admit to never being a fan of boats and the sea as it made him too dizzy. Nevertheless, Yohn allowed them to trade, and if his people were willing to trade their goods for some trinkets, then, as long as they were satisfied, so be it.
In less than an hour, Yohn was in his solar with his son, receiving the greatest shock in his life.
"Dragons!"
"Just the one dragon, but Princess Shireen might as well be another dragon herself." Andar drank deeply from the offered cup of Arbor Gold before withdrawing a beautiful amethyst from his pocket. "I swear by the gods, old and new, that the girl's greyscale had transformed into the most beautiful scales of purple. She shed a piece of it as a gift and hoped we would continue to support her father in the war."
Yohn accepted the stone and was surprised to find it warm to the touch. It was a pleasant warmth that reminded him of the hearth during the coldest days of winter. "Tell me everything that happened there."
Andar then proceeded to enlighten him about the situation in Dragonstone: the discovery of the dragon eggs, the horrors of the Red Witch and her zealots, and how she and Selyse Baratheon died in some heathen ritual the former attempted that resulted in a dead kraken and Shireen Baratheon's rebirth.
"What should we do with this information, Father?" Andar asked as Yohn remained silent for several minutes, trying to come to terms with the fact that magic and madness had become the norm in this world.
"Who else knows about this?"
"Everyone who visits Dragonstone meets with the Princess who had taken control of the island. She seemed far healthier and more decisive than the little girl I met a few years ago in King's Landing."
"This changes things greatly." Yohn paced around his solar before realizing something. "Your ship. It looked like it suffered an attack."
"Aye, pirates and slavers. Tyroshi, judging by their colorful beards, yet they sailed without a flag."
Yohn groaned as he realized the Essosi scum had finally grown restless enough to start raiding. He did not expect his excuse to turn out to be truthful so fast, even if he was confident they would attack sooner or later. The more Stannis Baratheon was invested in the siege of King's Landing, the less he could focus on defending Westeros' coasts.
"I'm glad you are well, son." Yohn gazed out of the window, his thoughts rushing in his mind. "Things have also changed here."
He brought his heir up to speed with Baelish in the Eyrie and the banners being called. Andar frowned, "The lords will not attack the Northmen or the Rivermen. Too many of them married from the Riverlands, and there is no enmity between us. Even Lysa Arryn is not mad enough to order her lords to attack them, especially as Robb Stark is not by any means defeated."
"True, the battle at Harrenhal, while a severe blow to the Northmen, does not cripple Robb Stark's capability to wage war. However, many believe the young king will abandon the Rivermen to return home and beat back the Ironborn, especially after news arrived of his brother's demise when Winterfell nearly fell." Yohn was still in shock as he received the news just this morning — how young Brandon Stark, a cripple, had still held his ground and beat back the invading reavers yet died from his wounds. Truly, a tale of valor worthy of the greatest knights in history. "The Valemen will depart from the Bloody Gate in a moon and are under the impression the Rivermen will flock to their banners without their king protecting them."
"You don't believe that will happen?"
"Certainly not," Yohn scoffed. "News from the North tell that Princess Sansa had mustered an army of her own and had placed her husband in command. While I have heard far too many fanciful tales about the man, this Perseus character must be a formidable warrior for the Northmen to follow him. Regardless, Robb Stark is by no means beaten, and the Rivermen are still beholden to him and his uncle, Ser Edmure Tully."
"I still cannot comprehend how Baelish managed to convince Lysa Arryn to lay in bed with those she accused of murdering her husband. Tywin Lannister is not one to forgive such insults, but I can see him swallowing his pride in return for ten thousand of the finest knights in the realm. He's too pragmatic, from what you've told me about him."
"Tywin hasn't the power to complain, considering he was on the brink of losing control of his bannermen if not for Jaime Lannister beating the Northmen. Now, with Jaime controlling nearly twenty thousand men, along with Tywin's own twenty thousand, the Lannisters are, once more, a formidable power. As for why Lysa joined the Lannisters…I honestly could not tell you, but I truly suspect she had long gone mad."
An uncomfortable silence fell upon them. There was nothing more terrible than a mad liege. Honor and duty demanded they follow their liege, at least unless the oaths of fealty were broken. Despite Lysa Arryn's senseless demands, she had not broken her oath to her subjects. Yet, should they wait the same way the realm waited until Aerys Targaryen had the bright idea of burning the heirs of the Eyrie, Winterfell, and many other nobles and expecting no retaliation? How many times would tragedy have to repeat itself before they learned that bitter lesson?
"Father? What course should we take?"
"The war is far from over, with no clear victor in sight. What are your thoughts?"
Before Andar could respond, a knock on the door, and Yohn frowned. He had warned the guards not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency, yet he trusted their competence enough to reply. "Enter."
Maester Helliweg rushed in hurriedly as he gripped a scroll and handed it to him. Yohn read the short letter, only a single sentence, yet the contents were enough for his bushy eyebrows to rise so high they nearly reached his balding head.
"What is it, Father?"
"Catelyn Stark had somehow slayed Gregor Clegane and was later seen in Stannis Baratheon's camp."
Andar gawked, and Yohn gave him the letter before turning to the maester. "This just arrived?"
"Yes, My Lord. From Hayford, which had surrendered to Stannis Baratheon earlier last moon."
If Yohn remembered right, House Hayford was practically extinct when their lord died in a tourney accident last year, leaving a babe as his heir. Yet her widowed mother was a Waxley, the sister of the current lord who, in turn, married a Coldwater, one of Yohn's vassals and, thus, one of the few contacts Yohn Royce had in the Crownlands.
Still, this was not enough. With a dragon and his healthy daughter, as well as his formidable navy, Stannis Baratheon suddenly became one of the most powerful claimants to the throne. Especially as he now has the Queen Dowager of the North as his guest. Yohn needed more eyes there.
"Andar, I'm sorry to send you off after you had just returned, but I need you in the Crownlands again."
His heir did not blink as he stood straight and placed his fist on his mailed chest, he did not even have the chance to change out of his armor. "I'm at your command, My Lord Father."
"Gather a hundred of your best men and sail to Stannis' camp. I need you there as my representative."
"This might place me in direct conflict with our Valemen when they arrive."
"And it would also place you close when the damned Reachmen arrive."
Andar's eyes narrowed dangerously before he grinned wickedly. "A chance to avenge my brother?"
"Aye, if you get the chance, I want that flowery bastard's head on a spike." Yohn's anger was mirrored in his son's eyes, and he smiled as Andar nodded resolutely. "None will fault a man for seeking justice for his dead brother, regardless of what your own father ordered. Now, here is what I need you to do once you arrive there…"
Andar listened as they discussed what to plan for when he arrived in Stannis' camp. What their priorities would be like, contingencies, and acceptable compromises, yet Andar's presence would first and foremost be that of a neutral observer…for now.
Three days later, Yohn watched as his son sailed away, commanding several warships in case pirates attacked. One hundred knights, with their squires and manservants, as befitting of a high lord of the Vale, accompanied him, along with gifts for King Stannis. The future was still foggy, yet Yohn would be ready wherever the winds of war shifted.
A*H*M
A fortnight ago
A few miles away from Stannis' camp.
"How are you doing, Brienne?"
They had been traveling for nearly a fortnight to cross a distance of less than a hundred miles. There were too many injured in Ser Balon's army and he could not risk rushing the men and what little horse he had. Catelyn was riding her horse, the same filly she had taken from Winterfell to White Harbor, then joined her by boat to King's Landing. It's been so long the filly has grown into an impressive mare worthy of the Stark stock she came from. Catelyn patted the horse's neck affectionately before turning to the Tarth Maid as she awkwardly rode her horse; the tall and lumbering girl was not the finest rider, but that perhaps had more to do with her horse being a skinny rouncey she commandeered from a bandit moons ago.
"Fine." The Tarth Maid muttered as they steadily rode down the road towards King's Landing. Catelyn raised an eyebrow at the girl's short response, and the female knight looked away awkwardly. "Really, Lady Stark, I'm well."
"You are still worried about the king accusing you of murdering his brother?"
Brienne gripped her reins tightly, "It is what is being said."
True enough, the Tyrells had spread the word everywhere that Renly Baratheon's killers were Brienne and Catelyn herself. Apparently, news of the Mountain's demise had spread all over the lands, and Mace Tyrell hurried to distance himself from Tywin Lannister's hunt, yet he still appeased his ally by blaming her for Renly's death. Catelyn could see the twisted logic as she and Brienne were the last to see Renly alive, yet she could only huff in amusement at the Rose Lord's desperation; claiming they were responsible for Kingslaying, yet allowing her to leave their camp made even the biggest lackwit aware there was foul play.
"Has the king not sent a runner back to us, assuring our safety?"
"Yes, but kings tend to change their minds when it suits them best."
"Oh? Have you known too many kings, my dear?" Brienne turned to her with a glare, only to bow her head sheepishly at her smile. "You are too nervous. Your father serves the king, and Stannis would not alienate your house on the word of his enemies. Especially since the Island of Tarth is a major supply port for his fleets."
"Perhaps so," Brienne still looked torn and hesitantly glanced at Ser Balon conversing with one of his knights before riders approached from the vanguard.
"Ser Balon. We are approaching the encamped army."
"Very good." Balon Swann turned to the column and directed commands to his captains and serjeants. "We will rest here for a few moments. I want us all to be presentable and fit to be in the presence of the King. Hoist the banners and…"
As the knight barked out several orders, the entire column came alive. Men quickly formed into lines, horses in the rear, infantry in the center, while the nobles, including her retinue, led from the front. Normally, marching behind horses was a dirty affair, yet for this short strip, the men were willing to endure as Ser Balon urged her to follow along. The rest of her men joined her on their steeds, and only those who were too injured remained in the rear. Meanwhile, Catelyn did her best to comb her short hair that barely reached her ears and ensured her cloak with the Stark direwolf sewn on was present. Hallis Mollen approached her and unfurled a large Stark banner he carried as he rode close by, sending a clear message; they might be guests, yet they still had their pride.
Finally, after twenty minutes, they were marching once more past fields, homesteads, farms, and ranches. Surprisingly, there were farmers working the fields, harvesting wheat, barley, rye, and many other crops. Freshly dug irrigation canals lined the road and fed the fertile grounds while she spied teams of men digging for wells. Sheep and cattle grazed over the lush grasslands as if the war had not come to the Crownlands. Catelyn watched in disbelief as they waved at the troops, many peasant girls rushing with vegetable baskets as they tried to sell their wares or flirt with the soldiers, who reciprocated easily until one of the serjeants barked for order. The peasant girls giggled at the redfaced serjeant yet still frolicked away back to their fields and milk cows, while Catelyn turned to Ser Balon, who must have seen the confusion on her face.
"When the king landed with his fleet, he was tempted to assault the city from the already destroyed River Gate, yet the Imp had already blocked the wall completely. So much rubble and debris; there was no longer a gate, no way to enter or leave, and the small strip of land between the walls and the river had been turned into a veritable killing field of traps and pits. It did not help that Tyrion Lannister, or rather the Alchemist Guild, had somehow managed to find a way to stabilize Wildfire enough that it could be used as ammunition for the catapults — only exploding early half the time instead of constantly."
They paused for a moment as they climbed a short hill. Something reminiscent of a hammer striking stone sounded out, and Catelyn gawked once they crested over and beheld the scene before her, while Ser Balon continued.
"Realizing that he could not take the city by storm when the men refused to charge the wildfire-filled pits and catapults throwing their load at them, King Stannis settled in for a long siege. His Grace was saddened by the thousands of refugees who were kicked out of the city and roamed the lands blindly, so he ordered them all rounded up and settled temporarily near the siege camps."
Catelyn could barely hear Balon Swann's prideful commentary over Stannis' greatness as she stared at the city–no, at two cities! King's Landing looked more like a large, sprawling graveyard from their vantage point in the distance, about a dozen miles to the south and east. Many of the buildings inside the city were reduced to rubble, green fire blazed underneath its walls, and the entire city was surrounded by a moat that she did not recall the last time she visited nearly a year ago. Thirty monstrous trebuchets bombarded the city's walls relentlessly while teams of miners and sappers dug underground — the remains of two burned husks showed that a sortie must have destroyed the siege engines at some point. Catelyn noticed just as many war camps all along the city's walls, each of them holding at least five hundred men, yet her gaze did not linger, for something else had caught her attention.
Another city had seemingly sprung up from nothing a few miles to the north of King's Landing, close to where an abandoned holdfast should have been if Catelyn recalled correctly. Long wooden walls surrounded many buildings and even a large harbor with docks and piers where Catelyn could see the full might of the Royal Fleet sprawled across the Blackwater Bay as far as her eyes could see. In the center was a tall stone tower that doubled as a lighthouse yet had a large banner of the Crowned Stag with a sword of lightning under its hooves.
What surprised her the most was how busy and lively the wooden city was. There were countless people, smallfolk, traders, craftsmen, and guards working and eating and simply living! Outside the wooden ramparts, more farmers tended to fields and thrashed the harvest, millers ground grain to flour, and herders took care of the cattle.
"By the gods!" Hallis gawked at the sight before him. "Did Stannis Baratheon truly build a city instead of storming King's Landing?"
"King Stannis cares about his people. It was both generous and strategically prudent of him to accept them all under his protection. Soon, King's Landing shall fall, yet what kind of king would abandon his people? A king's city that is devoid of people is worthless," Ser Balon insisted as they continued marching towards the wooden city, Catelyn gazing at the utterly massive trebuchets bombarded King's Landing with rocks that had to be collected or cut from the cliffs. "Now, in addition to his experienced army and navy, he has more than a hundred thousand citizens in manpower who eagerly worked the fields, built walls, dug mines and tunnels. All the while, his soldiers could fully focus on war and the siege."
"How could he feed so many people? I understand the necessity of farming the lands and collecting the harvest, but surely when he first gathered the people, he needed to offer something of value at first."
"Indeed, most of the grain came from the Stormlands and trading with neutral houses of the Vale. Some even from Pentos and its minor cities. While the king lacks in coin, his word is worth gold. It helps to have such a versatile fleet, don't you think?"
"Clearly. It has barely been two or three moons since the siege began, yet in the time when siege lines would be drawn, your king managed to build a city instead!"
Before Balon could reply with a witty remark, riders approached them, led by a red-haired knight she recognized as Ser Ronnet Connington. "Ser Balon! I am glad to see you are well."
"Ser Ronnet, has the king been notified?" The knight of Griffin's Roost did not reply immediately, his gaze falling on her and the Stark banner before inspecting the rest of the troop. His eyes settled on Brienne for a moment before dismissing her and continued to search until he smiled widely as he found Ser Balon's squire. "Ser Ronnet? You may speak to your son later, but for now, I need to meet with King Stannis urgently."
Red Ronnet blinked before nodding seriously. "Aye, he awaits you in King's Haven, though I suggest being on your best behavior. The king is in a foul mood."
"Did something happen?" Ser Balon urged them all to move, and Ser Connington joined them as he talked in a low voice.
"Aye, terrible news from Dragonstone. None are aware of the details, but the Red Witch and Queen Selyse perished in dubious circumstances. The princess is in good health," He hurried to add as they looked at him in shock, "better than fine, in fact. The rumors are wild, yet the King refuses to acknowledge any of them until he sees them in person. Since he cannot leave the siege, King Stannis simply grieved for the loss of his wife yet allowed his daughter to rule Dragonstone in his name."
"What do the rumors say, Ser Connington?"
The red knight looked around warily before muttering lowly, "Hearsay is getting wilder by the day, Ser Balon. But they all agree that the witch had prepared some sort of heathen ritual with human sacrifices. The queen was present but it is unknown if it was willingly or not, yet what is certain is that Princess Shireen had gathered the knights and disrupted the vile ritual. Boats on patrol reported a massive lightning strike and one of the captains swears on his mother's grave he saw the corpse of a giant kraken on the shore when he arrived to offer aid."
"But what about the princess?" Balon asked in worry. "Is she truly safe?"
"Aye, she is, yet she is changed. Did you know that the miners unearthed two dragon eggs from the Dragonmont, but the queen kept it a secret?" Catelyn felt her veins chilling as many oaths and curses sounded around them. "Aye, such a thing, as if we need dragons at a time like this. Yet, it appears that the gods disagree."
"What do you mean, Ser Ronnet?"
"I mean that one of the eggs hatched, and the drake had bonded with the Princess, Lady Stark."
Silence as everyone processed what the knight had said, yet by the time any of them recovered and demanded more answers, they arrived in the city that the refugees called King's Haven. Ser Ronnet dismounted, urging them all to do the same before leading them to the town's square. Within moments, Lucas Blackwood and Robin Flint stood beside her while the rest of her retinue surrounded her as honor guards. Now that she was inside the walls, Catelyn could see that there weren't as many buildings as she thought; while many were under construction, the vast majority of the residents lived in tents. Those same residents watched them in interest as they traveled down roads to reach the square surrounded by both troops and smallfolk and stopped before a massive pavilion.
Even the king slept in a tent, it seemed, though she could now see Stannis Baratheon standing in the middle of the square, surrounded by his knights and lords. A sheathed sword was held in his hands, tip down, as he watched them like a hawk as they approached.
"King Stannis!"
Ser Balon saluted as he marched forward and knelt in front of his king; all of his men did the same, but not Catelyn, nor did any of her retinue. Stannis might be a king, but she owed him no loyalty. That did not mean he deserved respect, and thus, she lowered her head with a curtsy when his gaze found hers; the rest of her men followed her lead and lowered their heads.
"Rise, Ser Balon. I have received your report, and judging by the enormous tarred head on that spike, I see that you truly have brought the Mountain down."
People rejoiced and cheered loudly, throwing insults at the Lannisters and the Roses.
"Thank you, Your Grace, but it was not I who killed that monster." Balon Swann raised his head and looked straight at her, causing Catelyn to curse inwardly at the overly noble knight. "It was Lady Catelyn Stark who finished off Gregor Clegane."
The words echoed, abruptly halting the cheer as she felt thousands of gazes upon her. Catelyn easily endured the eyes of thousands of men, women, and children, yet it was Stannis Baratheon's shocked gaze that quickly morphed into calculative that caused her to shiver.
Nevertheless, she approached, Hallis on her heels, proudly waving the Stark banner.
"King Stannis, I must commend you on your leal and valorous knight. If not for Ser Balon and his men, I would surely be dragged in humiliation to Tywin Lannister."
"Indeed, and now you are here, under my mercy."
"That is true. Your mercy." Catelyn nodded as she stood straight and stared at the Baratheon king. "Will you not give me and my men bread and salt?"
Several mutters and jeers sounded from the crowd, some accusing her of insulting the king, but were quickly silenced once the king spoke.
"I will give you guest rights, My Lady, and you shall remain here as my guest. But not your companions, though they will have my mercy and generosity. They will be allowed three days of rest, given supplies, placed on a ship, and returned to your son with a message." Stannis' hard eyes turned even hardier, if possible, reminding her of when Renly insulted him with his peach. "Surrender to the one true king, or suffer the consequences."
Catelyn glared at the stubborn man yet accepted the offered bread and salt. The king has already spoken, declaring her fate so openly did not allow her any chance to negotiate in private. She did not know if it was a cunning move from him or if he was just that blunt. Knowing him, Stannis was more stubborn than a mule, and arguing with him now would only put her men in danger.
Just as she finished eating, Stannis nodded to her but frowned as one of his lords whispered urgently in his ear. Catelyn recognized Lord Selwyn Tarth, and King Stannis finally nodded before turning to a figure standing in the back.
"Brienne of Tarth, come forth." Brienne lumbered past the men, her mismatched armor jingling like a cow's bell until she stood across from the king. "The Tyrells claim you are responsible for the death of my brother Renly. The words of the Rose Lord mean nothing to me, yet I must still ask: what say you to these accusations?"
Judging by the relaxed smile on Selwyn Tarth, Catelyn could tell that he had already reached an agreement with the king about pardoning his daughter of any perceived crime. Catelyn turned to whisper urgently to Hallis, plans forming in her mind on what to tell Robb and how to deal with the war–
"I call the Tyrells and the Lannisters liars, for I know who slew King Renly, the one true king!" Catelyn froze and turned her head so fast she nearly cricked her neck as the foolish girl unsheathed her sword and pointed it at Stannis Baratheon. "It was you who slayed King Renly. Stannis Baratheon, I challenge you to a trial by battle, and with the Seven as my witness, the truth shall be revealed!"
Silence. The entire square seemed to fall as silent as the grave from the sheer audacity of the Tarth Maid. Selwyn Tarth's face paled considerably, and Catelyn groaned as she rubbed her brow in frustration. That damned foolish girl! Catelyn Stark turned to Stannis Baratheon, ready to plead innocence from whatever madness possessed the girl, only to freeze.
Surprisingly, the king looked, if anything, amused. He simply unsheathed his sword…which immediately ignited into a blade of lightning! Arcs of power licked the ground, digging holes as the king, only dressed in a simple doublet, stepped forward and brandished his blade.
"So be it. Only the gods can judge over such a matter. On your guard, Brienne Tarth!"
We get an update on the Vale and Stannis…you guys seriously did not expect Brienne to be able to hold her tongue, did you?
The Vale has joined the Lannisters. How the hell did that happen? Baelish magic, that's how.
Yet, for all his smarts, Baelish is incredibly arrogant and believes himself to be smarter than all the lords of the realm.
Want to read five chapters ahead? You know where to find me.