BRIENNE
The waters of the Blackwater Rush were deep black, though the only light that shone was the light of the nearly-full moon. It did not look like it had a strong current, though testing that would have been unwise.
The village sat wide along the riverbank, a dock at each end having a twin across the water by the tow path. The southern bank was a flurry of activity, as the vanguard began bringing out the barges that the ferrymen had hidden from the Lannisters.
The distance between the docks told the tale well enough; the ferry barges were taken some distance downriver with each crossing, so the ferrymen built the docks accordingly.
Soon, we shall cross. Brienne looked to the other bank for any sign of an enemy. The Lannisters would be wise to stop us here. No Lannister ambush produced itself, though she felt eyes were watching from the north regardless.
Entering the village at sunset, Brienne had been first to arrive, as she had been the previous seven days. King Renly had proclaimed a race to the Blackwater at Bitterbridge. The host was to be split up into smaller ones and sent along the side roads, so that the Roseroad would not become clogged and was available for the vanguard. There were many drovers' ways running the same direction, paths the cattle drivers took to move their animals to the cattle market opposite King's Landing.
Two races ran at the same time. One between the various hosts on the side roads, and the other between the lordly individuals of the vanguard. Scouts would be sent a day ahead to assure there were no enemies waiting. The smiling king had proclaimed it a scheme to get his army to move faster, and it had worked more than anyone could have hoped.
Brienne was an excellent rider, as many from Tarth were; horse racing around their island was a pastime of many, and the triple races of horse, boat and foot were popular at festival time. She found horses less threatening than men by far, and spent much time with them. Her own horses were splendid beasts, gifts from her father, and her destrier was the finest in the host in her opinion.
Still, it had been a surprise when she had won the first day's race. Brienne had shot up the Roseroad, many others close by much of the way. The Reachmen had won the hosts' race that day too.
The same result repeated for all seven days; each evening she arrived first, the vanguard and its retinues behind her, and soon after the Reachers' host would come before the stormlords at sunset. While she was fighting for a prize and her pride, the hosts were fighting for which realm would lead the attack on King's Landing.
Many a noble proclaimed that it was only Brienne saving the honour of the Stormlands. That drew the ire of others. Brienne had caught squires attempting to cut her saddle straps two nights in a row. Reachers turned the praise for defending the honour of the Stormlands into an insult, saying loudly that such a thing should not be required of a woman, however large.
Yet as she stood on the bank of the Blackwater, Brienne had no small amount of satisfaction that they had not been able to beat her even once. Each night, the prize of gold and honours went to her. She sat on a dark red rock and dreamed of what might be possible when they attacked the capital. Royal reward, she hoped, for which she would be able to join the Rainbow Guard, and guard the one man who had treated her with respect despite herself. Such a prize was not on offer for mere horse races.
"Lady Brienne," called a deep but melodious voice. Brienne woke from her dreams of glory and found the man himself standing with his guard around him.
King Renly Baratheon smiled as she jumped to her feet, Ser Loras Tyrell laughing quietly at her panic. Their colourful cloaks did not shine in the moonlight, instead drenched drab, save for the yellow of Lord Caron's. Ser Robar's red cloak looked almost black. But the silver on Ser Loras Tyrell's breastplate gleamed brightly, polished to near mirror clarity.
Giving a bow, Brienne worried what they might want. It was not usual for the King to approach her like this. "Your Grace," she said, "Sorry, I did not hear you approach."
"It is quite alright, Lady Brienne," the King said with hand outstretched, "I merely wished to congratulate you. Seven victories in seven days. An auspicious thing, some might say."
"I do not know if it is so," Brienne answered, "I hope to prove more than my riding when we reach the capital."
"Indeed?" Ser Loras said, "You have martial ambitions? I thought you the representative of your father in this campaign."
Brienne could not detect any mockery in his tone, but bit down her suspicions to the contrary. Ser Loras was young, but Lord Commander of the Rainbow Guard nonetheless and formerly the King's squire to boot. The other members looked on in confusion and surprise, their gazes tying her tongue.
"Lady Brienne has trained since girlhood," King Renly explained, "She is formidable in battle, I am told. And not a bad dancer."
Brienne's heart leapt, though the look of doubt on Ser Loras' face tempered her. "You remember that, your Grace?"
The King laughed heartily. "Of course! It was during my coming-of-age progress. I make it my business to know all I can about my banners. That you came to support me in this time of need despite womanhood granting you an excuse to stay home shall not be forgotten, Lady Brienne, I assure you."
Chest swelling with pride, Brienne dropped to her knee at once and bowed her head. Her mind raced, telling her to ask for her desire in return for being in the vanguard against the walls. "My king, I…"
Before she could complete her sentence, a baleful red glow shone upon everything, like the last moments of sunset had returned unnaturally. Brienne raised her head and found the King and Rainbow Guards staring up at the sky. She craned her neck, tracking their gaze, and found a tiny burning red sun hovering in the air over the river, white smoke pouring off of it. The entire village was lit up,
"What is that?" she asked no one in particular, getting to her feet again. As if hearing it, two more such suns burst from the treeline behind the towpath across the water, revealing the source and drawing all eyes.
Two dozen men came out from behind the trees. They were dressed in dark colours, their faces painted dark too. They carried strange, short polearms and had many pouches hanging off their persons from straps over their armour. The strange men soon crossed to the towpath, forming a loose line along the northern bank.
Brienne found their presences inexplicable. "Who are these men?" she asked.
"The much talked-about Canadians, my lady," said Ser Guyurd Morrigen, "The bargemen have much to say on the subject. Rumours that they lead wildling warriors atop unicorns abound."
"That is no rumour," Ser Loras insisted, "Though the unicorns may be."
King Renly said nothing, but walked out a little to examine the newcomers. The guards crowded around her to follow, paying her little heed.
Canadians… Brienne had not believed the tales of sorcery defeating Lord Tywin Lannister at the Ruby Ford, they seemed too fantastical. Her insistence on that point seemed to melt away like the last winter snow before what emerged from the forest next.
Every knight gasped as a white direwolf appeared, padding up to two of the men in the middle of the line. It sat gently and raised its muzzle, before letting out a droning howl. The horses all around neighed in protest, knowing a predator was close and not understanding the river was defence enough. Or is it? Brienne wondered, realising that she was now witness to at least one creature of fable.
"The Starks are here too," Ser Robar Royce said, "News of Robb Stark's direwolf is everywhere in this village too. It tore down many of the Kingslayer's host at Whispering Wood."
"I believe it," said Brienne, the wolf staring directly at them now, as were the Canadians. She watched them closely, as one of the two the creature was sitting between began reaching for something in her many pouches.
"The so-called Prince Robb Stark sits across us with less than thirty men?" Ser Loras said, peering over the river, "I cannot fault his bravery." One of those across raised a strange device and shot yet another of the small red suns into the air.
"I do not believe that is Robb Stark," the King declared, "His host would be here too. And his bastard half-brother also has a direwolf, does he not?"
"The bargemen say so," Ser Robar confirmed, "Some have come from the God's Eye. Your Grace, if it pleases you, allow me to cross and parley with them. My lord father knows Lord Stark and speaks well of him."
Brienne finally realised what the man across the river was doing. "It seems they have a message for us," she said, "That one is writing something."
The Canadian finished and held a piece of paper over his head. It was a strange thing to do. Brienne wondered if they were inviting someone to come take it from him to bring back, until a huge white owl swung out of the air and grabbed up the message in its talons.
King Renly laughed and clapped his hands as the bird flew across the river. "They do have some sorcery after all! The ability to control birds no less."
"We must station bowmen to shoot down any that perch too close," Ser Loras said, "Lest they spy on us."
The owl came right towards them, swooped low and came to rest on the rock Brienne had sat on. The message was released upon it, and the owl remained, its big eyes watching intently. Is there truly a man's mind inside its head? She did not dwell on the thought, and quickly stooped to take the paper in hand, before rising again to present it to the King.
"Thank you, Lady Brienne," Renly smiled, before reading what was written. It evidently did not take long, as he handed it off to Ser Loras within a few breaths.
"We are being invited to a peace council in three days time," the Knight of Flowers said, brow raised, "At the request of the foreigners, it is to be hosted at the Stark camp north of the city."
"What interest do the Starks have in peace?" said Ser Parmen Crane, "Their liege-lord and his children are hostage to the Lord of Casterly Rock."
Ser Loras shook his head and lowered the message. "It is the foreigners' idea, no doubt. Let us reject these terms. The lords of Westeros need no assistance in making their own fate. I would no more listen to these Canadians than I would a Tyroshi slaver."
Renly pursed his lips in thought for a moment. "It is nonetheless an opportunity," the King said, "The same invite has been extended to Lord Stannis. My brother has landed on the beaches north of the city with his fleet. It was always going to come to pass that we would confront him. All the better to do so with witnesses, so that the lords may see his stubbornness and lack of fitness to reign."
The King looked to Brienne. "My lady, it is also rumoured that the Canadians have many women warriors in their ranks. Given it seems to be a night where many strange things are confirmed true, I would have you with me at this council to judge their mettle. You know what is required to make a woman ready for war. I would know if these women are something to worry about on the field."
Brienne bowed her head once more. "I would be happy to, your Grace."
Three days later and Brienne was draped in her plate and chainmail by her servants and. mounted her courser. It too was ready for battle, itself draped in its full barding patterned with her father's yellow suns on rise and white crescent moons on azure.
Alongside many knights and lords equally prepared to show the readiness of the true king's banners to fight, she rode with the escort to the Stark camp. She was one of the forty-nine warriors forming his escort, each led by one of the Rainbow Guard. She found herself in Ser Robar Royce's battalion, and rode directly alongside him.
By then, Mace Tyrell had caught up with the army with his son Ser Garlan. The middle son looked very much like the younger Ser Loras, but taller and broader. They too had an escort of forty-nine, the finest knights in the Reach.
The number was a compromise reached between the Starks and the King, as some in Renly's council thought it possible the Starks might attempt to hold him.
The King himself found this ridiculous, but had allowed Mace Tyrell to seek a larger escort than the ten originally proposed and expanded it to allow forty-nine for each delegation. This was accepted.
Brienne felt an itching trepidation over her participation. The scouts had reported the Stark-Tully host was at least as large as the King's own, though there were fewer mounted men-at-arms in it. Even so, a hundred was not enough to fight off what knights and free riders there were.
To say nothing of the men alien to the continent with powers no one would have believed possible only moons before.
It took from dawn until past noon to reach the Starks, by which time a pleasantly warm morning had given way to dark clouds threatening rain.
Brienne was impressed by what she saw. The camp was well laid out, with stakes and a ditch all around it, the Kingsroad forming one side of the perimeter.
Unlike the King's camp, the Starks and Tullys were not divided by kingdom. Bonds forged in war, she realised, In the last one, the Reach and Stormlands were fighting against one another, not shoulder to shoulder.
The place of the council was obvious; A huge tent, finely appointed and festooned with Stark direwolf and Tully trout banners. It had been placed well clear of the camp perimeter, with many horses and men waiting outside of it. It was clear that at least one other of the claimants had arrived; there were three escorts waiting outside, not two.
The Rainbow Guard rejoined the King's person, joined by Mace and Garlan Tyrell, and they led the way towards the waiting Starks. Ser Robar called for Brienne to move directly with him, so that she might do her duty and get the measure of the Canadian women-warriors, so she saw everything over his shoulder.
Lord Robb Stark and Lord Edmure Tully awaited them in front of their own bodyguards. Brienne would have thought them father and son, both being stout men with red hair and redder beards, if it was not for the direwolves waiting by the younger man.
One of them was the white one that had been seen across the river three days earlier, its eyes red as autumn leaves, another was even larger and the colour of smoke with golden eyes. Brienne's horse neighed on seeing, its head turning to keep the wolves in sight at all times before she pulled at the reins.
"King Renly!" called Robb Stark as they approached, "Well met."
The King laughed. "Prince Robb!" he called back, generous as ever, "I am glad you called for this council. To do battle when an arrangement can be made would be a folly. Particularly when tales of your wolves are all over the countryside."
It was Robb Stark's turn to smile, and his uncle joined in. Renly's generosity was always appreciated.
"The wolves are ferocious," Lord Edmure said, "And I owe them my life, in part." The grey direwolf looked up at him, as if to say saving him was no great task. Curious.
The King gave a nod of acknowledgement. "You have a fine tent," he said, "Almost as if you knew such a council would be needed. Is it yours, Lord Edmure?"
"It was Rhaegar Targaryen's own," Prince Robb explained, "A gift from your brother to my father. You have my condolences on his death, your Grace."
"King Robert will be missed," said Mace Tyrell, "I see more men here. Are these the escort of the Canadians?"
Robb Stark shook his head, and hesitated for a few moments. "They are the escort of Stannis Baratheon," he said, "He is within, in the company of my mother."
The King looked to Ser Loras and smirked. "Then we must wait," he said.
"If it so pleases you," Prince Robb said, "It shall not be long now. My brother rides with them."
Renly looked back at him. "Was it he with the Canadians some nights ago, watching our preparations to cross the Blackwater?"
"It was."
Lord Renly said nothing more. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, before it was interrupted by a long droning blast from a horn in the distance.
Coming down the Kingsroad, riders were moving at a fast, steady trot led by what appeared to be a brother of the Night's Watch… their beasts they were riding were not horses.
Brienne took the mounts for cattle, or would have, but each had two long horns twisted into a long spear-like one. But it was hard to tell, as the creatures were covered from head to hoof in chainmail layers, and the riders were armoured similarly. Only the watchman was riding a horse.
Most of the riders held long lances, and atop the foremost pair were two banners; a weirwood tree with a red smile on black, and a weirwood or maple leaf in red on white flanked by red vertical bars.
The King's delegation watched in stunned silence. Brienne felt like her tongue had swollen up. She feared these riders. Their lances were longer than her own, and the unicorns could clearly gore a horse's face and eyes with their own natural weapon.
"Unicorns," Prince Robb explained, "They are ferocious in battle, but less troublesome than horses. When this war is over, I shall seek to breed them in the North for our use."
"I can see why," King Renly smiled, his voice still friendly, "We had heard of them too."
"No doubt," Lord Edmure said with amusement, "They are wildlings sworn to Canada. You would do well to call them Free Folk, however. That is what they call themselves."
The way the heir to Riverrun had spoken those words, it was clear he was warning the King and Lord Tyrell not to offend the Canadians or their wildlings.
"Duly noted," said Ser Garlan, glancing at his father.
Most of the hundred or so unicorns broke off, moving to a place north of the tent. Brienne saw that for what it was; the best place to charge from. In the meantime, a small group moved directly towards the gathering.
Half of the riders were dressed exactly as the strange men on the river had been; round helms, straps with pouches over their armour, strange polearms now bereft of blades.
The light of day revealed their clothes and armour to be covered in fabric in a strange mottled green with small streaks of brown and black all over them, and their faces were not painted this time.
The other half were wildlings, obvious from their bearing, strange jewellery and mix of Canadian armour and weapons. Brienne was struck by how young they all seemed to be.
There were a number of women. One wore very fine white furs, her long blonde hair tied up in a single long braid to her waist. Another, smaller woman had her red hair tied in multiple braids over her ears, to keep it all out of her face no doubt.
But it was the dark-eyed woman from YiTi that drew Brienne's attention. She had the look of a warrior more than some of the men, her gaze evaluating the King's escort one by one. When it turned to Brienne herself, the woman stared and raised an eyebrow.
"King Renly," said Prince Robb, "May I introduce my brother, Jon Stark of Moat Cailin, and his wife, Princess Val Umber of the Kingdom of Wall and Gift?" The wildling frowned slightly, as if something that had been said was wrong, but did not raise an objection herself.
Even the King could not resist glancing at his goodfather and goodbrother in confusion at that. "The… Free Folk have a kingdom?"
"Aye," said Princess Val, "Ruled by King Mance Rayder, husband to my sister."
"The price of peace," Prince Robb explained with a smile, "There have been only minor attempts to raid thusfar. The peace in the North holds. Our house's words are truer now than any time in the last thousand years; Winter is coming."
One man on a unicorn nudged his mount forward, the woman from YiTi doing the same with another young man with a large scar on his cheek in a hooded red doublet.
"Well said," the first man said, "We all have an interest in peace… But we'll get to that."
Prince Robb gave a nod. "King Renly, this is Captain Michael Duquesne, ambassador of Canada and Elector of Calgary. With him is Leanne Zheng, Princess of Taipei and Elector of Vancouver, and Louis Sayer, Elector of Yellowknife."
So, the dark-eyed one has a name, Brienne thought, And is a Princess? She could not conceive of what sort of kingdom would allow its princesses to go to battle… save those princesses that rode dragons.
Ser Loras trotted his horse forward, until it stopped and neighed. It misliked unicorns and direwolves both. He got it under control quickly, though the horse shook its head.
"Well met, my lords and ladies," the Lord-Commander of the Rainbow Guard said, "You are in the presence of Renly Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men…"
There were some noises from the throats of the Stark banners behind Prince Robb, objection to the 'First Men' being included obvious to all.
"And my lord father, Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach and Warden of the South."
Brienne felt her brow rise as Princess Zheng bared her teeth ever so slightly in annoyance, looking away towards her again. Their eyes met, forcing Brienne to look away towards the Canadian ambassador.
"I look forward to coming to an agreement with you," Lord Duquense said, "Shall we?" He gestured to the tent.
"After you," said the King.
Brienne was called to join the council by the King himself, after it was clear that the princesses from Canada and the Wall were going to be present too. "They have sent their women," he said, "I must have mine, and my lady wife remains behind."
The inside of the tent had curved series of very comfortable chairs, covered in leather and padded, though Brienne noticed that many of them bore the carved sigils of Crownlander houses rather than northern ones.
Scattered around the room were a number of maesters with small writing desks, two for each delegation to record the words. They ranged from old to young, fat to thin, and again must have been purloined from the castles of the Crownlander lords.
Lord Stannis and the lords of the Narrow Sea sat to one side. Stannis Baratheon himself wore a crown of red metal over his thinning black hair, but Brienne could not work out if the metal was shaped as antlers or something else.
He wore no other extravagances, his chainmail covered in a simple tabard with the Baratheon stag on it and his trousers roughspun and brown, tucked into black riding boots. It was the opposite of Renly entirely, who wore green velvet and satin, his crown a wreath of golden roses topped by a stag's head in jade.
Brienne found the simplicity of the elder Baratheon oddly in his merit. She also recognised most of the lords sworn to Lord Stannis by their sigils, their clothes reflecting their wealth as trading houses. Velaryon, Celtigar, Sunglass… They were like a living maester's test about the houses of the Narrow Sea.
A man with a sea-weathered face, brown hair and beard, and no fingers caught her eye. He wore an unadorned blue tunic and old boots, not looking an inch the lord... Yet he sat directly beside Lord Stannis.
But the person to the other side was still yet more interesting. A red priestess from the east stood behind and to the left of Lord Stannis, her own red hood over her head.
Brienne was shocked, forcing her mouth to remain closed. Has Lord Stannis made the red god his own? she wondered, His crown is flames! The merit she saw in his unadorned clothing burned away at once. She also wondered with horror if the red-hooded Lord Sayer was also a red priest, worrying that some kind of alliance could be forged on the back of that common faith.
The Canadians, wildlings, northern and rivermen lords sat as a single block in the centre of the curved line of chairs, the Canadians closest to Stannis, the Tullys closest to the empty seats for Renly's lords. As Lady Catelyn saw the King enter, she got up and left for her own seat with her son.
"Brother!" King Renly said, "You look sour."
Lord Stannis indeed looked like he had just bitten into a lemon. "Lord Renly," he replied shortly, "My kingdoms have been usurped one-by-one. First you take the Reach and Stormlands from me, then I receive word that the northern lords have declared independence and brought the riverlords along with them."
"You should take that as a hint, brother," said King Renly, moving towards his seat. Mace Tyrell and the others moved too, and began sitting, allowing the King to be the last man to sit. "Your claim is weak."
"My claim is the only rightful one under the law of succession," Stannis replied at once, "King Robert's children are bastards. The proof is in their colouring, and that every one who has investigated Robert's own bastards for theirs has been killed, imprisoned or forced to flee for their lives. The Lannisters killed one Hand of the King, imprisoned another and started a war to prevent my coronation."
Lord Duquesne cleared his throat. "For the purposes of this council," he said, "Let's say that everyone is what they claim to be, until we all say otherwise as a whole. The Baratheon brothers are both kings, Robb Stark is a prince, Catelyn Stark is a queen-consort. Agreed?"
"No," said Stannis at once, "The Iron Throne is mine by rights. All those who deny that are my foes." Brienne could not believe her ears. Lord Stannis did not have the banners for such defiance, even if he had many ships and sailors. Lord Duquesne simply looked back at Princess Zheng with exasperation.
"We do not care who sits the Iron Throne," said Robb Stark, "The North is ours. The Trident is ours. The Iron Throne can have the rest."
"The Seven Kingdoms are mine," Stannis clarified, annoyance dripping from his voice, "And while your lord father is no friend of mine, I doubt he would accept such a usurpation. He fought for my brother's right. I have no doubt he discovered what I had about Cersei's bastards. He would support my claim, as I have been saying to your lady mother."
Prince Robb narrowed his eyes, and the Stark direwolves howled outside. Brienne's hair stood on end. Can the Starks control their wolves by magic too?
"My father is not here, King Stannis. If you wanted the loyalty of the North, you should've sailed for White Harbour the moment my father was imprisoned. Instead you did nothing while the Lannisters reaved my grandfather's lands and burned his vassals' keeps. Even your brother went immediately to raise a host to tear down the Lannisters for their crimes."
King Renly beamed a smile at his lords at those words, Brienne sharing it. Lord Stannis was indeed not suitable for the crown. Men spoke of his sense of duty, yet Robb Stark, barely a man himself, had revealed that to be false with ease.
'King' Stannis' face turned red, a sharp contrast with his blue eyes. The same eyes as the true king's. Brienne could not imagine such behaviour from Renly, yet they were born of the same womb. The seaman sitting beside him leaned in and spoke quietly, which seemed to calm the lord.
Lord Duquesne stood with a sigh. "This is a peace council," he said, "If anyone here wants to declare Canada their foe, you should've gone to ask Tywin Lannister what it means to face Canada in battle. There is nothing on this continent to challenge us."
The stormlords and Reachers began murmuring to each other to either side of Brienne. She did not catch all of it, but the word 'foreigner' was on all their lips.
"King Stannis, you say you are the rightful monarch, but you do not have the immediate capability to defeat all those that disagree. You came to this council, I would hope you had something in mind other than a demand that we all bow. This is an opportunity for you."
Lord Stannis' face began to turn red again as he ground his teeth. The whole tent watched as the red priestess leaned over and placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering gently into an ear. The woman's touch was soft, and the man's anger released at once. Brienne's own face burned red as she understood the true relationship of the two.
The lord of Dragonstone released a breath loudly, then shook his head. "I shall not give up the throne, Lord Duquesne."
"Then propose something that lets you keep it," Princess Zheng retorted, her accent absolutely unidentifiable. Something about the way she said it sent a chill up Brienne's spine, like she had used the words 'or else' without actually saying them. She has killed many.
The elder Baratheon closed his eyes for a moment, while his priestess whispered in his ear. The red woman glanced at the Canadians all the while. When he opened them again, he seemed resolved.
"Very well," Lord Stannis said, "In the name of good faith… I have no sons. If Lord Renly and Lord Tyrell kneel to me, I would name Lord Renly my heir, so long as a son is not born to me. I also demand a marriage for my daughter into a prominent Reach house, and she is to retain Dragonstone for herself."
"Your daughter agree to that?" said Princess Zheng, "Wouldn't she be queen if you died?"
The lords in the room collectively scoffed, causing the Canadians to glare and whisper to one another.
"Princess Zheng, you are correct," Lord Stannis responded said, "But the history of the Seven Kingdoms has proven that women are less respected by the lords. Though I am loathe to cede my daughter's right to the Iron Throne after I am gone, it is within my right as King to define the succession."
"It is safe to say that my niece's claim would be even weaker than my brother's," King Renly agreed, "It would invite rebellion."
Princess Zheng clicked her tongue and crossed her arms, her face curled with a strange contempt. Brienne was fascinated. Is she angry because Lord Stannis' daughter is being set aside? Lord Duquesne and Lord Sayer did not look pleased either.
"All of this is useless as you could have a son," Lord Tyrell sniffed, "Or you could legitimise a bastard at a whim. If not your own, then one of King Robert's many."
There was some quiet laughter at the very notion of Lord Stannis having bastards at all.
The man ground his teeth again. "If I did gain a son, we could marry him to a daughter by my brother. This usurpation is madness. All that you want, Lord Renly and Lord Tyrell, can be accomplished without the taint of rebellion and treason. Kneel and I shall make it so."
Mace Tyrell made a noise from his throat like he was clearing it, and began speaking to the King again quietly. Brienne was still too far to hear.
"And what of the North and Trident?" Lord Edmure asked, "Uniting the Stormlands and Reach under your rule is a threat, not a promise of recognition." The man looked to Lord Duquesne.
"We won't tolerate an attack on the Riverlands," the Canadian ambassador said, "It is where we will be staying for the foreseeable future."
More whispers from the lords of the Reach. It seemed every such declaration by the foreigners needled them. King Renly turned his head, taking note of the chatter, before speaking quietly with his goodfather. What is brewing between them?
"I shall require no attack on the Riverlands," Lord Stannis replied to the Canadian, before addressing the Starks and Tullys, "Neither you nor Lord Robb are the lords paramount of your lands yet. With the support of this council, I will take King's Landing and free your father, Lord Robb. Then we shall see if he and Lord Hoster will hold to your independence. They are both lawful men. I am sure they will see reason."
"And if they do not?" King Renly intervened, "So much for the peace."
Lord Duquesne frowned. "You have been quite quiet, your Grace," he said, "Do you have a proposal?"
"I will tell what shall be, happily," said Renly, standing up and walking to the centre of the space. He towered over them all even if they had not been sitting, save for his own brother and Brienne herself.
"Prince Robb," he said, addressing the young red-haired Stark, "If you and your father wish to call yourself kings, that does not displease me. All I require from the Starks is that you swear an oath to defend Westeros from its enemies."
The young prince leaned back in his seat, and conferred with his mother quietly. Brienne was once again pleased that her king was a generous man. It was clear that both the Queen in the North and her son were considering the proposal seriously.
The King continued. "All I require from the Tullys is that they swear the same oath, and continue to send food downriver to King's Landing without hindrance or tax."
Lord Edmure was less quiet about his approval. "An acceptable cost," he thought aloud, before adding, "So long as my King and Prince agree."
The King looked to his lords, and found them very pleased indeed. He had just won back two kingdoms without the swing of a single sword. "And for my brother, I offer that which our elder did not," he said, "Though I like you not, I would give Storm's End to you Stannis."
"It is not yours to give," said Stannis.
The King made a loud sigh, and turned to the others. "You see what I must contend with? My brother refuses my castle, my peace and has not even given his congratulations on my marriage!" The Reach lords laughed openly at this. They and Brienne saw it for what it was, a reminder that the full might of the kingdom stood behind him.
"A wedding without meaning," Stannis countered, "If the girl is still a maid, she shall die as one."
Lord Duquesne stood up quickly again. "Enough," he said, "We're not here to trade insults. We're here to make a peace."
King Renly said nothing, but went back to his seat. His meaning had been made clear to all.
"Captain Duquesne, this is your peace council," Lord Stannis said, "You insist on peace, craft one here and now, or I shall be gone."
"On that, I agree with my brother," the King added, "I can make my peace with the Starks without aid."
Lord Duquesne grimaced, and for quite some time, said nothing. The only thing that could be heard at first was the scratching of the maester's quills as they caught up with events, and that gave way to murmurs as the lords began to decide they had wasted their time. But the Canadian did speak before they declared this.
"We split the difference," Lord Duquesne declared, turning on the spot, "Stannis Baratheon, you have said Renly can be your heir but you cannot accept total northern independence… What if you granted the same concession your brother has just offered? Allow the North their freedom, provided they swear an oath to you to defend Westeros and place no taxes on food going to your capital."
Lord Stannis grit his teeth. "No," he said, "I am King of Westeros. There cannot be a King in the North."
Duquesne blew out a breath through his teeth in frustration. "Then grant yourself a higher title," he quickly countered, "Where I'm from, king is not the highest title a ruler can have. Emperor, Caesar, King of Kings…"
The lords broke out in a cacophony of noise about that. The northmen and riverlords seemed to be questioning what that meant for their independence, but it was the King's reaction that Brienne heard clearly. "Emperor?" Renly said to his goodfather, "I like the sound of that."
This time Stannis consulted not with the red priestess, but the seaman sitting to his side. They spoke for some minutes as the chatter continued around them, before the Lord of Dragonstone raised his hand for silence. To Brienne's surprise, he got it. Even the Reacher lords wanted to hear his response.
"If Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully swear the same oath they swore to Robert and call me King of Kings, I shall allow the Starks to call themselves a royal house."
The lords' voices cried out in shock. None thought Stannis capable of bending in such a way. To Brienne, it seemed that Lord Stannis did not care for what his title was. He had already abandoned the traditional string of titles the King usually had. What mattered to him was that he was the ultimate authority.
King Renly was silent.
"Prince Robb, Lord Edmure," Duquesne continued, "On behalf of your fathers, would you accept such a compromise?"
Nephew and uncle looked at each other, and then at Queen Catelyn. Her eyes urged them to accept. "We have at least two conditions," Robb said, "We shall not send taxes to King's Landing, and we shall not be summoned south ever again." Brienne's jaw set. The young Stark has spoken like he had expected a demand like this. He meant to offer the compromise to Renly…
The heir to Riverrun stood up. "Twice in twenty years," Lord Edmure said, "We have had our lands invaded, our smallfolk attacked, our keeps burned. Twice have kings killed nobles in the capital after calling them to duty or refusing their petitions. No more."
Lord Duquesne looked back to Stannis. "Is that acceptable?"
Stannis curled his lip and inhaled a breath deeply. "We can create a place of meeting in the Riverlands, so that you may need not set foot in the capital. Maidenpool or Harrenhal mayhaps. Taxes you do not give me, I shall take back from imports brought from the North, save for food of course. And if some threat from Essos comes, I demand that the North do its duty in defence of the realm. Its full duty."
"Agreed," Robb said at once.
The Reacher lords all seemed to lean forward towards their king as one, whispering their objections through their teeth. The Stormlords were quieter. Baratheon fighting Baratheon was not something they truly desired, though they loved Renly far more than the stern and distant Stannis. Brienne could not imagine serving the King's elder brother.
As Lord Edmure sat again, Lord Duquesne turned to King Renly.
"Renly of House Baratheon. Everything depends on you now. The choice between war and peace is yours. With everyone in this tent united against him, Tywin Lannister will have to accept terms. You don't even need to give up the title of King." The Canadian looked over at the scribes. "And if you choose peace, your maesters should call it Renly's Peace."
It was flattery… but the King was not above flattery. It was the other side of the coin of his generosity. Brienne watched as he rose, her heart torn. On the one hand, he had come so far and many great lords rightly hailed him over Lord Stannis. On the other, he was not his brother Robert. Would he choose war or peace?
"Captain Duquesne," King Renly said, "We all desire peace, but sometimes the cost is too high."
"What cost is that?" Lord Duquesne asked.
"You suggest we make terms with Tywin Lannister," King Renly said, "I can forgive your ignorance of his ways and those of his children, but his crimes are many. He must die."
There was a shout of agreement from Brienne and the lords around her, with the riverlords joining in.
"And what's more, you ask me to kneel to my brother," the King continued, "A man that no one wants for their king save those that lost favour when the Targaryens lost the throne. I command the strongest host, the most productive lands and the men of culture and learning. I ask myself why you would not instead ask Stannis to kneel to me?"
Lord Duquesne's lips thinned, the response of the King not expected. Brienne noted his hands gently went to the protruding grips of his polearm, though he did not brandish it. "For peace," he said, "Your brother's goals and yours don't conflict, not really."
"But they do," said Renly, "I am king, crowned and proclaimed. I have the trust of many lords, and I am willing to be grant many things to gain the trust of more, as I have proved. My brother has proved he's willing to pretend to be generous for an even greater title, nothing more. He will find some reason or another to set aside the peace, however small it is."
"Peace between you is not a small idea," Duquesne responded, "Without it, huge numbers of people are going to die. Is that what you want your legacy to be? That you killed thousands and sentenced many more to death so you could rule earlier?"
"You speak of peace," Lord Tyrell said from his seat, "But you haven't said what good peace does you? Why does Canada value peace so highly, if you are so mighty?"
"Our darion values it," Princess Zheng answered, her arms crossed in front of her, "Trust me when I say, we are soldiers. We value it less than our Queen does."
"And it has nothing to do with the dead men walking?" the King asked.
The entire tent went as quiet as a crypt, even the maesters failing to continue their recordings.
"You thought we had not heard those rumours, Lord Duquesne?" the King continued, "You are spreading the tidings that the Long Night is coming again, that demons are raising the dead beyond the Wall and that we must give up our claims to fight them."
The Reachers let out some laughs at that, the stormlords around Brienne smiling and mutterly about snarks. Brienne had heard these tales too, but had dismissed them as even more ridiculous than the rumour of whole battles of Lannister men being destroyed by fire.
Lord Duquesne smirked back in reply. "I must congratulate you on your intelligence network," he said, many not understanding his meaning at once, "I didn't mention it because the proof I had didn't survive the heat. But I have seen dead men walking and the White Walkers with my own eyes."
"So have I," said Jon Stark, "The wights, at least."
"And I," said Prince Robb, "Many of my lords saw them, when Lord Duquesne brought captured wights to Winterfell."
"We even sent one to the Lannister prick," Princess Zheng added with a huff, "This is not some storybook tale you should ignore. The threat is real."
"Indeed not," said Stannis' red priestess, "The Great Other stirs, his servants move to bring ice and dark death to us all. The Night is dark and full of terrors, Lord Renly. You should kneel before your brother. He can save us."
Brienne recoiled a little in disgust. Who is she to declare Stannis a saviour? Worse, it seemed the Lord of Dragonstone did not reject the woman's words.
King Renly smiled widely, and looked back at his outraged lords. "As likely a tale as Stannis' claim that Cersei's children are bastards by her brother," he said, "And just as convenient for your purposes, Lord Duquesne."
"War is what is inconvenient for us," the Canadian ambassador replied, "If the lords of Westeros are too busy killing each other, the Others will find invading this continent easy. Since I'm one of the people living in it right now, that's very inconvenient."
"The Wall has not been broken, has it?" asked Ser Garlan, "I must admit, it takes moons for tidings from there. Or did your attack destroy it in some place, Lord Duquesne?"
"No," Lord Duquesne admitted, "No permanent damage was done."
"So what threat is there?" Ser Loras joined in, "You yourselves placed hundreds of thousands of wildlings behind the Wall, or so the tales say. It is now better defended than it ever has been. Why should we fear these Others?"
"They're an ancient magical evil that have had a long time to plan," Duquesne replied, "The Wall is not impregnable, we breached it ourselves. I could show you, but…" He looked at the red woman. "The person who would've helped me to do that would not come."
Lord Stannis looked up at his fire-worshipping companion. "I apologise if my presence has caused alarm," she said, "It was not my intention."
Duquesne frowned at her. "It was unavoidable," he said, before turning back to King Renly, "But we are not lying; what we want is for the lords of Westeros to make peace so you can fight the Others."
"I do not believe your stated intentions," said Lord Tyrell, "We have heard of your sorcery. How do we know these wights the northmen saw are not raised by your magicks?"
That caused the northerners disquiet enough that they shifted in their seats, whispering to each other. They had not considered they might have been tricked?
"Canada has no magic," Duquesne said, "And what good what that do for us?"
The King tilted his head in mock confusion. "We saw your men here fly a message to us using an owl," he said, "Was that not magic? Skinchanging, I believe it is called?"
"That's not our magic," Zheng replied, though she regretted doing so at once. It was a weak answer and Brienne saw she knew it.
"What I believe," Lord Tyrell continued, "Is that you are here to establish yourselves in Westeros for your own ends. To chip away at our kingdoms, a piece at a time, until they crumble and you take them all. As our Andal ancestors did."
Lord Duquesne's face curled up with a strange smiling, confused look. "If I wanted to do that, why would I call for unity?" he said.
"As you are the only ones who can keep the peace between us," said the King, "Stannis and I are destined to be at odds, we both claim the same throne. None of us will accept peace with the Lord of Casterly Rock. And I have no doubt you would find some means to provoke conflict between the North and I if it profits you."
Captain Duquesne shook his head. "This is ridiculous," he said, "I have no intention of taking your lands, and if I'm an invader, I'm a pretty bad one. I only have a hundred soldiers."
"You have the wildlings," Lord Tyrell said, pointing at the man, "They are your smallfolk."
Both Lord Duquesne and Princess Zheng grimaced, looking to Princess Val. Brienne saw why. She was practically glowing with anger, eyes flashing and her hand on her dagger restrained by that of her husband Lord Stark.
"I have some Free Folk following me," he said, "But most follow their own king. Not me."
"Or so you say," said the King, arms held out to either side of him, "How can we trust your word? You are a foreigner, meddling in affairs that are none of your business. That is what we cannot truly tolerate, that you would establish yourselves as arbiters of our disputes."
The lords grumbled aloud again, even some of the riverlords, though Lord Edmure quickly quieted them.
Princess Zheng waved Lord Duquesne back to her, and he sat down beside her so they could confer. The King went back to Lord Tyrell, Ser Garlan and Ser Loras to do the same with them. Brienne tried to hear what they were saying, but they were careful to guard themselves against that.
It was the Lady Zheng who spoke aloud a few minutes later. "So what do you propose?" she asked, "Your brother has rejected your peace terms."
"I do not require peace with my brother," the King said, "While he commands the Royal Fleet, I command a larger fleet. He is no great threat to my rule. So long as the North and Riverlands agree to my terms, almost all of the realm will be at peace."
Lord Stannis stared at his brother with fiery hatred, jaw clenched so tight Brienne thought his teeth might break. But he said nothing, and watched the Canadians. What does he expect?
"What about us?" Lord Duquesne asked, "Are we just going to be ignored? Will you send aid to the Wall?"
The King stood up straight again at the question, smiling. "If it is true that dead men are walking and the cause is the return of the Others, I will do my duty. I am Protector of the Realm after all. But you will not be ignored, Lord Duquesne."
The Canadian ambassador clutched his chin below his mouth and scratched it with his forefinger in thought. Brienne thought that quite impertinent an action for the occasion. "And I suppose you want us to provide proof of the Others?" he asked, "Why do I get the feeling you just want us out of the way."
"You are misunderstanding me," King Renly said, "I'm afraid I must insist that you submit to the Iron Throne and share your secrets, or leave Westeros at once."
"I can't do that," Duquesne replied without hesitation, "I swore an oath to our Queen, our 'secrets' aren't mine to give you, and I can't return to Canada. My orders are to build a defence against the Others, and I have made treaties promising both the Starks and the Kingdom of Wall and Gift that we would fight."
"The willdings need not concern you any longer," Lord Tyrell said, "And if you cannot return home, then go to Essos or parts unknown. I'm sure passage can be arranged to take you and your reward for defeating the Lannister host at your earliest convenience."
Lord Duquesne shook with a single, silent laugh.
"My goodfather is right," Renly said, "While we owe you a debt of gratitude for defeating Lord Tywin, who knows who you may turn your sorcery against next? You shall be rewarded for your actions if you leave. And I will not forbid you in joining the battle against the dead, should such a battle be required."
"How kind of you," Princess Zheng muttered.
The King ignored her. "But if you will not kneel and swear fealty, your time in our realm is over. We Westerosi nobles shall defend our own people and land. As is our duty and the price of our blood. As we have always done."
A lump in her throat, Brienne felt a strange pride swell in her, and saw the same in many of the other lords regardless of their allegiance. They sat up straighter, their eyes stern but some tearful. This is why he is the true King.
The Canadians thought very differently. Lord Duquesne, Princess Zheng and Lord Sayer wore thunderous brows, eyes aimed at the King predatory. Brienne's pride went to anger, like someone lighting an oil. Her fists closed hard and hurtful, the chainmail palms of her gauntlets digging in through the leather they were over.
"And if we do not leave?" Duquesne asked, "If we cannot?"
The King's face fell to a steely anger of its own. "Would you accept a foreign army on your lands?" he said, "You would be our foes. And we shall defeat you. "
The pride returned to Brienne and the other supporters of the King… but when she looked to the northmen, their faces were pale with fear.
Princess Zheng snorted in the most unladylike fashion. "You wouldn't be the first to try."
"We are not the Lannisters," Renly replied, "We have many more men-at-arms, and we know what you are capable of."
"We could make ourselves very hard to find," Lord Duquesne said sternly, "We can move more quickly than you know."
"It matters not," the King said, "It's a small world. There is nowhere in Westeros we cannot find you. Neither the Isle of Faces nor the Wall can shelter you."
Brienne found herself sharing the fear of the northmen when Lord Duquesne smiled in response to the King.
"A small world," he agreed, "And very very bad."
There was a moment of uncomfortable quiet, as the King knew not what to say to such a thing. Nor did anyone else.
"What I want to know," said Princess Zheng, interrupting the moment, "Is what happens if you defeat us?"
The King seemed to shake out of a daydream and looked to her. "We do not tolerate invasion, these men would be executed for their acts," he said, "But you need not fear, your Grace. You would be spared. No doubt a good marriage could be found for you too."
Princess Zheng jumped to her feet, hands grabbing up her polearm. Brienne and many lords began to rise, starting to pull their blades from sheaths, Ser Loras darting to put himself in front of the King.
Lord Duquesne beat them to the quick and burst to his own feet, snatching the front of the polearm as its bladeless length was being pointed at the King. He pulled it up so it turned towards the canvas overhead and held it away from him like it was a snake.
The Ambassador began arguing with the Princess in their own language loudly, his hand still wrapped around the weapon. He did not seem to care that his back was turned towards the King, Ser Loras and a great many swords.
Heart jumping with alarm, Brienne stood with the rest, waiting with her own blade at the ready. It was only as she did that she realised that it was truly strange that Lord Duquesne and Princess Zheng should share a language. They were clearly from different places, Duquesne looking like a riverman, westerman or northerner, Zheng very much like the YiTi-ish did in the books on the subject of the races of the world. How is it they speak our Common tongue too?
The argument ended, and Zheng hissed what anyone would recognise as curses in a third language at Lord Duquesne, before storming off out of the tent with her weapon. He turned to watch her go, shaking his head. "I apologise for that," he said, "That was against all diplomatic protocol. She will be dealt with appropriately."
Swords were put away and lords returned to their seats, the Northern and Dragonstone parties looking on in astonishment. Even the red woman was not beyond a stare.
"What an uncouth woman," said Lord Tyrell, "I find it hard to believe she is a princess at all."
Lord Duquesne sat down again. "She is an exiled princess and has no desire to marry. What you said was the worst thing you could have."
"A princess has no choice," Lord Tyrell objected, "Their duty is to the realm. Even in exile."
The Ambassador looked at him like one might look at a diseased beggar, which had Lord Tyrell puffing up in outrage. "If you say so," Lord Duquesne said, before turning to the King, "Are you completely unwilling to accept the compromise I suggested earlier?"
"I am," the King said.
"And if we do not leave or submit, you will declare war and attack us?" Duquesne said, "Even if we go to the Wall?"
The King gave a firm nod. "You cannot hide behind the wildlings' skirts," he said, "As I said, we cannot have foreign men putting themselves in the middle of our disputes, whether that is before the gates of King's Landing or the gates of Castle Black."
"What happens in Castle Black would be our business," Prince Robb interrupted with sternness, "We have a treaty."
The King held up his hands in reassurance. "And I am not unwilling to recognise the peace you Starks have made with the wildlings, but any future matters in the Gift I would not have the Canadians involved with. They are not from here."
Lord Duquesne sighed, rubbing his face. "King Renly," he said, "We don't need to waste any more time. I'll say right now that we will not leave Westeros and we will not pledge fealty to you. One last time, I ask you to withdraw your demand that we do so."
The lords chuckled, and Brienne was not surprised. The words were spoken like asking nicely ought to be enough to have such request granted.
"I refuse," the King said, "And as you have refused my terms, I shall consider us to be at war."
Lord Duquesne smirked, and immediately turned to give an order to Lord Sayer in their own tongue. The younger man blinked, but went over and picked up a pair of strange objects sitting on tripods that Brienne hadn't noticed before then. He balanced each on one of his shoulders and strode out of the place.
"What are you doing, Lord Duquesne?" Lord Stannis asked.
"Leaving," the Canadian said.
"But this is your peace council?" Ser Garlan asked.
The Ambassador smirked again at King Renly. "And what I got for calling it was a declaration of war." With that, Lord Duquesne left the tent. The lords whispered in confusion.
Lord Stannis exchanged a glance with his red woman, and stood up himself. "It seems I have no more need of it either," he said, as his lords began to follow him out.
Brienne watched the lord of Dragonstone and his banners leave, and could not help but feel they were more pleased than they had been before. Considering Stannis had won no new lords to his cause, that was bizarre. There could be only one explanation. They feel the king has erred. Somehow, she felt so too.
"Well, that is that," Renly stated, sitting back down and gesturing to Prince Robb, "Now we can discuss our alliance without noise. I offer the same terms as before."
The prince of Winterfell bit his lip. The Queen of the same even less so, regarding the King and his goodfather as if they had just slapped her. Even Lord Edmure looked ill-at-ease.
"King Renly," Prince Robb replied, "I must consult with my lords."
The stormlords breathed out in shock.
"Come now!" said Lord Tyrell, "You are not hesitating over the Canadians, I hope? Our forces are more than enough to compensate for such a loss."
"I would not be so sure, my lord," said Queen Catelyn, "There are many among my husband's banners who would have reason to question your need to alienate the foreigners here today. And we Starks owe them a debt. They rescued my daughter and her handmaids from King's Landing simply by demanding their return from Lord Tywin."
Brienne could not believe that. Such a thing was entirely against the Old Lion of the Rock's reputation. He would rather die than be dishonoured so.
"Nonsense!" Lord Tyrell shouted.
The King was not so sure. "Truly?" Renly asked, "They are that powerful?"
"I would hesitate to provoke them even with every single man the North and Riverlands could muster at my back," Lord Edmure said, "We must consider carefully… the implications…."
"It matters not," Lord Tyrell said, "We are in no rush. In the mean time, we have siege preparations to begin. Towers and rams to build."
"My goodfather speaks truly once more," the King added, "I shall leave the Canadians alone, since you say they are not to be trifled with. I'll give you three days to have your considerations with your lords. On the fourth, I would hear your answer. We shall take our leave now."
With that, all the lords rose to their feet. Prince Robb and the King both bowed to each other respectfully, before the stormlords led the way out. Brienne joined them. She shielded her eyes, looking for the Canadians and their unicorns, but they were gone. Only the sprawling camp of the Starks greeted them.
She found the King himself walking alongside her as she moved towards her horse, the Rainbow Guard moving to either side of them.
"Lady Brienne," King Renly said to her, "I would ask your advice. What did you think of these Canadians? Their Princess seemed determined to knock some sense into me with that … steel stick of hers."
There was only word Brienne could summon that would do. "Dangerous, your Grace," she said, "That may be obvious, but they are killers. That much, I know."
The King nodded. "Yes," he said, "I got that impression too."
"And we know what to do with killers," Ser Loras added from the side, "Foreign invaders too."
"Kill them," Brienne said, "In the name of the Seven."