The Lion and the Rose: South

[badgate]

Yohn Royce

The cold mists of late autumn drifted high among the ramparts of Runestone as the sun rose over sea and stone in the east. Bronze Yohn Royce, they called him. In this time of war, it comforted him to remember the origin of the name. His lord father was loath to part with the bronze armor of their house, even for a tourney. So at the tourney of the Eyrie, held on the green fields of the Vale at the foot of the Arryn's castle, he had worn brushed brass punched with the runes of his family's armor. The crowd had gasped when he entered the first tilt clad in the gleaming armor. No lance chanced to touch him that day; and a good thing, for it could easily have ruined the illusion of the cheap armor he wore.

It was a bit of insolence. He knew his lord father would be perturbed to have his heir riding in cheap brass. But there was pride in his folly: he was a Royce, and heir to Runestone, and loath to enter a tourney in the common unmarked armor of other houses. The disguise was never uncovered, though. Yohn fell nobly to Ser Lyonel Corbray in the final tilt. He made sure the lance hit his shield, and henceforth had been known as Bronze Yohn Royce.

For a year and two moon turns, Lord Royce had dreamt of a new kingdom independent of the Iron Throne. Ruled by Robb Stark, comprising the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands. Perhaps evan the Westerland lands that Stark had conquered. But that dream was dead, as dead as the King in the North. Yohn slid his feet into boots of supple leather and made way to his solar.

The breakfast was laid out in the high-arched solar, and when he entered Lord Grafton was already seated. "Try the sausage, it's both spicy and sweet and delicious all the same," the lord of Gulltown said as he took his seat at the table.

Gulltown. The largest city in the Vale, major port and source of income, and held by the least pliable house. When Jon Arryn had called the banners, House Grafton held alliance with the Mad King. Yohn himself had been given command of the siege units when they stormed the walls of the city. He'd always told his sons with pride how it was his command that destroyed the portcullis, allowing Lord Arryn and his men on horse to storm the streets while Robert Baratheon cut down every man to come upon his path on the city walls. And now they seem like to oppose another Baratheon.

"'It is my hope that you look favorably upon the continuation of the Targaryen dynasty,'" Lord Grafton read from the opened letter on the table. "My lord, is there a purpose for placing this letter atop the pile?" It was from the raven sent from Storm's End, signed and sealed by the boy king who claimed to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

"You yourself have counseled that we declare for Daenerys Targaryen. She is halfway across the world, and the Greyjoy fleet is on the other side of Westeros. But there is a Targaryen now in our back yard-or so he'd have us believe. So I'll have your reasoning: why one dragon and not another?"

The lord sipped his squeezed apple juice noisily at that. His ego was as large as Gulltown's food stores. Better to stroke it, and let him think I value his opinion, Yohn thought. After a pause Lord Grafton said, "this young man claims to be Aegon Targaryen, very well. What proof can he show us? Can he raise Summerhall from its ashes and hatch the dragon eggs that are said to be buried in the ruins? I hosted the commander of Cinnamon Wind in mine own hall. Summer Islanders, one of the richest merchants from the islands. He himself beheld Daenerys and her dragons in Qarth. And now she has conquered Slaver's Bay, and it is said her dragons grow greater by the day. You heard how she sacked Astapor, did you not?"

"I did." The Cinnamon Wind had quietly made port at Runestone as well, after departing Gulltown. Yohn had dispatched his son to find the captain before he left the port city, and bid him sail around the peninsula and be hosted by one of the oldest houses in the Seven Kingdoms. It was said Daenerys Targaryen had taught her dragons to breathe fire on command. The one described as black-and-red had burned and eaten the very Slave Master that held a chain about its neck. "The dragons are still across the world, while Stannis Baratheon himself will soon arrive in your city. Would you have us lower ourselves to the level of the Freys and murder him after he's made port?"

Lord Grafton flushed. "Of course not."

"So I say again, why one dragon and not the other?"

Yohn noticed the lord's jaw clench. "She has dragons."

That was true enough. One could not doubt or disprove Daenerys' claim, and if she really did get herself to Westeros her dragons were like to be primed for true battle. The Arryns of the Vale had bent the knee without a drop of blood being shed in Aegon's Conquest. Queen Regent Sharra Arryn had made the Kingdom of the Vale impossible to conquer by land: the garrisons of Stone, Snow, and Sky tower were tripled and a strong host held the Bloody Gate. Gulltown as well had been given additional aid and defenses. But Visenya Targaryen simply mounted her dragon Vhagar and landed it in the Eyrie's inner courtyard. Queen Regent Sharra had rushed with her guards to find her young son sitting on Visenya's knee, looking up in awe at the great dragon.

"Mother, can I go flying with the lady?" the boy king had asked. No threats were spoken, no angry words exchanged. The two queens smiled at one another and exchanged courtesies instead. Lady Sharra sent for the three crowns (her own regents coronet, her son's small crown and the Falcon Crown that had been worn by Arryn kings for a thousand years), and surrendered them to Queen Visenya, along with the swords of her garrison. It is said the little lord flew thrice around the Giant's Lance afterward.

Step one. "We had a raven from the Gates of the Moon," he said casually. "Young Gyles writes that he is eager to spend winter continuing to bond with Lord Robert. Mine own brother, Lord of Moon Gate, has promised that by spring both will be ready for knighthood. Unfortunately they also write that they lack the resources to grant Gyles safe travel to Gulltown, not that the boy wished to return. My brother tells me the boy sees this winter as his coming-of-age. He intends to leave the Moon Gate on the first day of spring a man grown. They also said they would be happy to host you under their roof should you like to visit your son." Demanding a ward (or, captive-in-all-but-name) from House Grafton had been one of many clever moves Peter Baelish had made before being deposed. Yohn was not going to give up that trump card unless he absolutely had to.

Lord Grafton flushed, and a bit of apple juice spilled from the side of his mouth onto his doublet. "I will write to Gyles when I return home. It is good to know he and our Lord Robert are becoming fast friends." It was said with a much icier courtesy than there had been minutes before.

Baelish's cleverness also helped Yohn keep the loyalty of House Lynderly in hand (though they were much more like to be of a similar mind as the Royces, it was good insurance all the same). Lord Jon Lynderly's son Terrance was at the Gates of the Moon as well for winter. Another ward.

Step two. Yohn reached to the letters, and glanced at each in turn as he spoke. "Euron Crowseye is likely a kinslayer, or hired a Faceless Man to kill his brother. This Daenerys may use him to return to Westeros, but he is a slippery ally to be sure. I do not think she will like the company she keeps when they meet. It is true we knelt to dragons once, but I fear the only dragon in our land is a mummer's farce. And yet his star is ascendent. He intends to restore the Tullys, but will the Tullys ally with him when the Starks side with Baratheon? What of Lord Tarly, who by virtue of strength currently governs the Riverlands in the Tullys stead? Will Tarly follow Tyrell again?" He picked at the letter with the red wax. "The Lannisters would sell us one of Cersei's bastards, and for what? To build an alliance of two forces separated by logic and geography?"

"The boy king brings nothing but chaos, and the Lannisters offer fool's gold. The Crowseye is no friend of ours, yet he promises to restore the Tullys in his letter, as have Stannis and the boy. I say, why ally with any of them when they do our bidding before a deal must needs be struck?" Yohn stood, feigning frustration. "I have half a mind to crown Robert and declare the Vale's independence!"

Grafton paled. "My lord, King Stannis loves us little, but he will value our alliance. It is said he comes to Gulltown with many men- enough for sure to storm the city. And our fleet is the smallest in the Realm. My hom-I mean, the Vale's greatest port would be put to the torch, and my sons and daughters to the sword, should Stannis arrive to an independent Vale!"

I know that, you f***ing fool. Step three. "Then what do you counsel? Be quick, our Lords Declarant await in the Rune Hall."

Lord Grafton rose to meet Yohn's eyeline. "We will pledge ourselves to the true heir to Robert. He slew my father, yes, but the Baratheon reign was a prosperous one for us all. And my own counselors tell me this is desire of much of the other Lords Declarant. And my own son...the closest friend Lord Robert knows...I'll be loath to have House Grafton abandon our fellow Valesmen again."

After years of lordship, Yohn had as much command over his face as he had the siege units in the Battle of Gulltown. He feigned a bit of resignation and hid his satisfaction. "Very well. It seems to me you are right after all. Stannis is our best option, of this haggard lot." He paused, and held the gaze of his fellow lord. "And if this Daenerys mounts one of her dragons and flies above our ramparts, we must pray she has read the history of her own kin's conquest."

"The Seven would guide us to peace and safety."

The Seven? Not anymore. Royces had always been conflicted between worship of the Old Gods of the First Men, of whom they were direct descendants, and worship of the Seven Gods brought to the Vale by the Andal invaders. It had been a Royce King who nearly beat back the Andals thousands of years ago. But that was old and done.

"No, my lord. The Seven have no place here now." He crossed the solar to the door, flung it open, revealing the sun in the eastern sky. The tower of Runestone was vividly lit. "We have a new God, and a new King. Come, the Lords Declarant await us. The night is dark and full of terrors, but the sun has rose again."

[badgate]

To All The Lords and Ladies of the Vale,

It is my duty as Lord Regent of the Vale of Arryn to duly appoint offices in the name of Lord Robert, and let it be known henceforth -

-- I hereby call on the houses and bannermen of Runestone, Gulltown, Redfort, Ironoaks, Old Anchor, Longbow Hall, Heart's Home, Snakewood, Coldwater, Wickenden, and Nightsong send 1,500 fighting men each to form a second Vale host. These men will make camp and form up on land west of Runestone, numbering some 16,500.
--- This force will be known as the Runestone Army, while the 10,000 strong at The Eyrie shall be referred to as the Eyrie Army.

Eyrie Army
-- I hereby appoint Lord Nestor Royce, Lord and Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, command of the Eyrie Army.

-- I hereby appoint Lord Royce Coldwater, as well as Ser Harlan Hunter and Ser Marwyn Belmore to the office of lieutenant commander of the Eyrie Army, to report to Lord Nestor Royce for duty.

-- I hereby appoint Ser Donnel Waynwood to the office of Knight of the Bloody Gate, responsible for command of the garrison of the Bloody Gate and naming new officers or castellans should a vacancy arise.

Runestone Army
-- I hereby appoint Ser Mychel Redfort to command of the foot host in the Runestone Army, tasking him with training the foot soldiers in swords. He will be able to name lieutenant officers under his command.

-- I hereby appoint Ser Lyn Corbray to command of the vanguard in the Runestone Army, tasking him with training the vanguard in all necessary arenas. He will be able to name lieutenant officers under his command.

-- I hereby appoint Lord Gilwood Hunter to command of the left cavalry in the Runestone Army, with like duties of my other officers.

-- I hereby appoint Ser Andar Royce to command the scouts in the Runestone Army, with like duties of my other officers.

-- I hereby appoint Ser Morton Waynwood to command the rear in the Runestone Army, with like duties of my other officers.

Gulltown Fleet
-- I hereby appoint Lord Gerold Grafton to command of the Gulltown Fleet, naming him Admiral of the Vale.

-- I hereby appoint Lord Uther Tollett and Ser Eustace Hunter to the office of lieutenant commanders of the Gulltown Fleet, naming them Vice Admiral of the Vale, to report to Lord Gerold Grafton for duty.

--

Signed,
Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone, Commander of the Runestone Army, and Lord Regent of the Vale of Arryn.

[badgate]

Yohn Royce

His hand was cramping. Yohn Royce set aside his quill and flexed the fingers in his right hand, to alleviate the stress. Before him was a small stack of letters.

I hereby name Lord Nestor Royce...Ser Donnel Waynwood...Lord Gilwood Hunter... the names went on and on. He had been careful to honor every house in the Vale in their own way, but it was the Hunters who'd been the true nightmare. All three had tried to decline their posts, for want to stay at Longbow Hall. Old Lord Hunter had kept his house for 60 years, but it was not yet a year ago that he had died suddenly and with questionable cause. The brothers had spent the next several moon turns fighting over Longbow Hall and its lands. Yohn had heard most of the castle's garrison split three ways. While Lord Gilwood was the obvious suspect for murder, being the heir, it was Ser Harlan that Yohn's sources pointed to.

Whomever it was who had done the kinslaying, it was well and good that the three brothers were split between two armies and a navy. With any luck two out of the three would die in the fighting, and the issue would solve itself. Yohn didn't think it likely.

He picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, and pulled the next piece of parchment from the pile. This one to the Redfort, where he would named one of the best swords of the Vale to command the infantry. He signed it and moved on.

Ten letters later, he gathered the papers and walked from his solar to the downward stairs. The Lord of Runestone's chambers were the top of a round tower. The top of the tower was a domed ceiling. The entire top floor was an open balcony, for the private leisure of the Lord and Lady of Runestone. Below, in the proper first floor were the bedchambers, with an open staircase that wrapped around the inside wall of the tower. Halfway to the next floor was the privy, then a door leading to a modest study. The study took up a third of the next floor, and the Lord's solar with its high arches in the corners the other two thirds. Off the solar was a balcony that wrapped around the entire tower, but had only the one entrance. And another wrapped staircase leading to a round ceremonial room. The Lord of Runestone would customarily descend to greet his guests here before bringing them up to the solar to eat or talk. From this floor was a covered bridge that crossed across the castle to the larger round tower that was Runestone's anchor. Here was the great hall, two kitchens (one near the covered bridge for when the Lord took his food in his own tower), bedchambers for guests and family, a basement with steaming baths, and at the top was a set of apartments that included a balcony lined with cages of ravens.

Lord Royce listened to the hard echo of his boots as he crossed the bridge. At the end he took a hallway to a stairwell. He found Maester Edmund in the study, sitting across from his younger daughter Rowena. Before Rowena was a large tome, illuminated in bright inks.

"What's the lesson today?"

"The lineages of the noble houses of the Vale," his daughter answered. "I have seen fit to teach our Rowena of the heirs to Lord Jon Arryn, such as they were," the maester said to him. Yohn took a seat, and set the letters to his side. "What did you learn?"

Rowena sat up. She was hopeless at sums, but loved histories and songs. "Lord Jon Arryn had three wives and was twice widowed. His first wife was a Lady Royce, named Jeyne. She died giving birth, but the baby died too. He was married to his second wife, Rowena, for thirty years but never had a child. She died one winter."

"Who was his heir, then?" Rowena frowned. "I wasn't finished. His heir right then...was his brother?" Yohn smiled.

"But his brother died too, and his heir was Ser Elbert Arryn. Ser Elbert was killed by the Mad King, and Jon Arryn joined Robert's Rebellion. Then he married Lady Lysa, who Myranda called the sour grape." Rowena giggled. "That cousin of yours is sour herself," Maester Edmund scoffed. "So now the heir is Lord Robin," she finished.

After a pause, "was I named after Jon Arryn's Rowena?" Yohn smiled. "Your sister was born before she passed, but your mother was close friends with Rowena Arryn. I do believe she meant to honor her friend when you were born." Rowena didn't seem too upset by that.

"Maester Edmund says Lord Robin's illness is perplexing. We were just trying to find out who was Robin's heir. The maester says Jon Arryn had a sister as well as a brother, and she married the younger brother of a Lord..." She paused. "House Waynwood, my lady." The maester offered. "They had many children but a lot of bad luck." At that Yohn laughed. Rowena always had a tendency to bluntness, which he enjoyed in contrast to the courtesies she tried so hard to remember. "Just so," he told his daughter. "So who is Lord Robin's heir?"

Rowena traced the tree on the page with her finger. "The only child to have boy was one of the daughters, who married the Waynwood bannerman house Hardyng. So their son Harr- uh...Harrold? Yes, it's him." Lord Royce smiled and tousled his daughter's hair like he always did when she made him proud. "Would you like to meet Harrold Hardyng, my lady?"

Rowena hesitated. "I think so."

"Perhaps you will. I've offered Lady Waynwood to take him as my squire when we march west." He stood, and so did his daughter and the maester. "Now my lady, go on to your chambers and prepare for dinner. And tell your older sister that she's been seated next to the King tonight. She'll want to look her best, I'm sure."

He turned to the maester as his daughter took her leave. "Maester Edmund, my seal and wax, if you would be so kind," he said as he sat again. We have ravens to send.

[badgate]

Further, with the Seven as my witness, Ser Hobber Redwyne shall be raised to the Kingsguard.

Further, with the Seven as my witness, Ser Horas Redwyne shall be raised to the Kingsguard.

Paxter Redwyne is dead, one of his sons is Lord.

Which one? They're twins so I don't know how inheritance would work.

OOC: Twins probably have to fight to the death or something lol

[badgate]

Serious suggestion: since we don't know in the books who is the heir, perhaps Lumine can flip a coin?

[badgate]

Yohn Royce

He descended the sharp stone steps of his castle. The first level below the ground floor were cells meant for highborn captives. Between a muffled layer of stone were these cells and the black cells, a dark level meant for common captives. Still, he went further down, to the final level of the castle. Normally it was pitch black, but he had told the household servants he would be descending today, so they lit sconces on their stair.

The steps ended in a wide, low-ceilinged chamber. Torches had been lit all along the walls. The Bronze Room. Deep below Runestone, you could hear the waves crash against rock. The ceiling of the Room was strongly fortified. There was a kitchen with vents for smoke and a freshwater spring down one of the secret passages the Room had. The walls were studded bronze plates on stone, with black runes punched into the bronze. The inlay of the runes were painted in black. For centuries House Royce had cherished this room above all others in their castle. The noble family could fortify themselves in it for half a year with proper provisions. Every Royce was born in this room, and every Royce buried in the sea cave crypts that a second hidden tunnel led to. Across the Room were plush furniture, a sitting area, a dining area, an empty floor for dancing, and at the far end were five modest featherbeds separated by screens made with obsidian and framed by cherry wood.

In Bronze Yohn Royce's arms were a brilliant rainbow cloak folded on top of a black cloak. The bones had been buried a fortnight ago, but with the fuss and distraction of the Great Council of the Vale, Bronze Yohn had been distracted. Here comes the hard part. The Royces who had carved the tunnels out of the Bronze Room were of the First Men, but it was said there were Children of the Forest blood in the family as well. Yohn was six feet and an odd inch or two, but the Royces who had carved these tunnels were probably five and three quarters, at best. Yohn crouched and walked down the narrow path. It was only enough room to go one way; groups had to walk single file.

Two sons had left Yohn forever. Waymar, his third son had been a bit spoiled, but skilled in many a field. Yohn had counseled him to reconsider taking the black cloak of the Night's Watch. He was highborn, a knight, and would surely rise quickly at The Wall; but not all third sons had to go to The Wall. He had said as much to Waymar. He'd even offered to carve land and grant gold to build a keep somewhere on the Gulltown peninsula. Waymar only smiled and said "no father, I am a man grown. And I have chosen. I will give my life and my sword to the noble order of the Night's Watch." They had gone together, from Runestone to The Eyrie, from the Bloody Gate to the Inn at the Crossroads. Waymar insisted on taking a Gulltown boat to Eastwatch-By-The-Sea, but Yohn refused. "If you're going to go, you're going on my terms. You're never going to leave the damned Wall, might as well see as much of Westeros as you can before you take your vows."

In the Riverlands they struck north, stopping at Seagard to call on Yohn's old friend Jason Mallister. Then to the Twins, where they only stayed a night out of courtesy. At Winterfell, Lord Eddard's beautiful little daughter had fallen madly in love with Waymar, declaring him brave and valiant and begging her father to get Waymar to forsake the Night's Watch. Yohn and Eddard had joked at how adorable it was, and the day they left Winterfell Waymar asked Lady Catelyn to take him to the glass gardens, where he plucked a beautiful white rose that he gave to Sansa when they said goodbye. The Umbers, close friends to the men at the Watch, feasted Waymar for his service. It served to inflate his hopes and expectations.

The Wall itself did not disappoint. They saw it one morning, an hour after sunrise when they climbed a sloping hill to its zenith. To the east it was bathed in red and yellow and orange. Due north, you could see the icy wall glistening like a crystal, and to the east there were still mists that floated as high as fifty feet above the wall. Waymar smiled, but it was a sad smile. His spirits lessened with their arrival at Castle Black. His shock at the men who would be his brothers: a man who'd raped, a three-fingered cook, an exile knight who'd served House Targaryen in King's Landing was the masters-at-arms. But Waymar made easy friends with many of the rangers, as well as a gruff and bawdy man named Yoren who traveled Westeros rounding up new recruits for the Watch. Lord Commander lent Yohn an escort of five men to return south; at Last Hearth the five brothers were exchanged for five Umber men; at Winterfell Lord Stark sent Yohn down the White Knife, where he caught a fast galley out of White Harbor and bound for Gulltown. The entire journey home he remembered Waymar's mixture of happiness and disappointment. It had been plain on his face when he spoke the words in the sept.

It was after King Robert's death that Bronze Yohn's second son left. Ser Robar Royce was good friends with Lord Renly Baratheon. Robar had been warded at Storm's End, and served as a squire there before being knighted. His was the rainbow cloak. It was said Loras Tyrell had killed Robar while mad with grief. He was there when Renly died, Yohn thought. He was his kingsguard, and he failed his vows. That wasn't reason to kill him. Renly was a fool for crowning himself in the first place, as far as Yohn was concerned. He had implored his son to return to Runestone with him and Andar the night Robert died, but that morning at sunrise, Robar was gone, and Renly Baratheon as well.

At the end the tunnel opened into a high-ceilinged cave with spikes of rock formation jutting from the ground and out of the roof. There were rows of windows that stretched the length of the far wall. They were slanted upwards, hidden to the eye below. There was a trap door in the corner that led to a cellar lined with boxes of ashes, the burned remains of older Royces.

The tide crashed against the rock as the sound echoed up, and up, and up. Yohn went and knelt before the two stones bearing Robar and Waymar's names. He murmured a few words. Below their names were the Royce house words engraved in runes. We Remember. Standing, he unfurled the rainbow cloak and laid it over the stone. Then the black cloak that his son had worn on his journey north. A nameday gift, Yohn reflected, Andar knew what Waymar intended, and got him this cloak. Of course when they got to The Wall it had proved inadequate even for the summer winds and snows.

He stood vigil for an hour, maybe more, looking down on his sons' graves. Waymar's remains were not truly there; Lord Commander Mormont had written with due courtesy and regrets that his life was lost beyond the Wall, and he had never been recovered. Lord Mace Tyrell had seen fit to turn over Robar's remains to the Silent Sisters of the Great Sept, who assembled the bones best they could and bore them through the war-torn Riverlands to arrive at Runestone for burial. The day he had received the bones he had saddled a horse and rode to the Eyrie, and forced Lady Lysa to give him audience. "You let this come to pass. You, who refused to rally the Vale to fight for your sister, for your king, for your lord husband's killers-"

"Bronze Yohn," she would say in that shrill and drawling voice. "You are not Lord of the Eyrie, no, you are not. And wee shall not go to war!" He'd not even stayed the night in the mountain castle, instead deferring to take a midnight descent with the bastard Mya Stone and staying with his cousin Lord Nestor at the Moon Gate.

"We remember," Lord Yohn murmured, and then said it again as his eyes drifted from the second son's tomb to the third son's tomb. "We remember."

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Part 1 of 2

Yohn Royce

The Riverlands stink of war. On the ground his destrier trotted was only the faintest hint that grass had once grown there. The air was humid, with salt hanging in the mists that floated from the mouth of the Trident. The sky above was grey slate, billowing with smoky clouds. Before and behind him, the Runestone army marched past the small port city of Saltpans. From his vantage point, Yohn Royce could see burn marks on the walls, and rubbles of stone strewn across the field.

All around the Lord Regent were the banners and chivalry of the Vale. Ahead where Ser Lyn Corbray led the van, Stannis' fiery heart banner rode above the three black crows clutching red hearts in their claws. Ser Lyn made for lousy company most times, so Yohn had taken to riding with a different group each day. Today he had chosen to ride at the head of the foot, so to his left rode Ser Mychel Redfort, and to his left was his standard bearer, bearing the great red castle of his House Redfort on its white field and bright red borders. Before Yohn rode his own bannerman, the Tollets who swore fealty to Runestone. It was Lord Uther's heir who bore the bronze banner stitched with runes in black velvet thread, below another fiery heart of House Baratheon. The young knight's helm bore a sash checkered in the Tollard colors of black and grey, though it was indistinguishable in the grey light of the day.

Lord Gilwood Hunter was farther ahead, with the left cavalry of horse. The middle-aged lord had grown much more personable once separated from his two brothers. He shared a jest with his squire as his horse trotted along the edge of the River Road. There were the banners of every house over there, mostly knights. Since Yohn had given Gilwood the command, his house's crest flew above the rest. The Hunters of Longbow Hall bore a brown coat of arms, where in the center five white arrows crossed. Perhaps I should have put him in charge of the archers, Yohn mused. Streaming from Lord Hunter's helm was a brown scarf of silk.

Yohn's squire rode to his right. Harrold Hardyng was tall and hardy, with butter-blonde hair and dark blue eyes. His mount snorted, and Harrold said, "this is not what I thought the Riverlands would be like."

"You've never been to war, good-son." The lad seemed to be taking a liking to Yohn since the army's departure from the Vale. He sat in on his councils and his eyes shone with envy when he polished the lord's bronze armor etched with runes. We remember. "The Trident was near worse than this after old King Robert crushed him. Aye, that was a feast for crows." He grunted. Harrold had been no more than five during Robert's Rebellion, Yohn knew.

"I asked Lyn Corbray to tell me the story of his part in that battle." His face was sullen. "He looked ready to pull his dirk to my throat, but in the end he just said 'f*** off.'" Yohn grunted again. "Ser Lyn is not one for stories. All the man cares for is killing. Aye, and when his lord father fell, the Dornish flank was more than obliged to give him the vengeance he desired." He paused. "Why do you think he leads the vanguard?"

His squire's brow creased a bit and he chewed the side of his tongue as he thought. "Is this another riddle?"

"Puzzle, more like. One a lord and commander must learn to solve." The teenager knew he might ascend from lowliness to lordliness, but he didn't seem to enjoy talking about it. "There is a tool for every task, and a task for every tool. So what do you think?"

Harrold mulled the question for a minute. Then, slowly, "The vanguard attacks without question. And I'm guessing so does Ser Lyn."

"You guess correct. A commander should know his men, know why they fight and why they'll die. A commander should not be afraid to ask his men to die. Some will and some won't, others will for reasons that have naught to do with you. It makes no difference. The vanguard attacks without question. Those who would hesitate when asked to die come next, in the foot." Harrold squinted at that. "No, not all men in the foot are craven. But they're more likely to keep face when they see the van smash the enemy's lines. Then comes those who die for honor." He pointed left to Lord Gilwood, and right to the other cavalry train that he himself would lead. "And finally the reserve."

"What does the reserve die for?"

"You grew up at Ironoak. You know Ser Morton more well than I. What do you believe he will die for?"

A minute creeped by as the lad thought on that. Finally, he said, "at Ironoak we take pride in our harvest. We cultivate the hunting trails that have stood the test of a hundred winters. When the time came to learn sword and lance and spear, I woke at the crack of dawn grinning in my bed and went to sleep sore and bruised, with the grin still in place. Ser Morton crossed wooden swords with me that first day. He went awfully easy, of course, but I'll never forget it. 'At Ironoak, we fight for family. We fight for love.' Does the reserve die for love?"

Yohn smiled at the boy and nodded his head. "The reserve holds back and dives where the fighting's thickest and our defenses weakest. They are as unafraid as the van with more caution than the foot. But they die for their countrymen. They'll die to save the valiant knights on horse, the bloody vanguard, and the fighting footmen. When it comes to it, they die that we may live."

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Part 2 of 2

Yohn Royce

By the end of the day they had reached the Kingsroad. Yohn's son Ser Andar had met two riders from the Eyrie Army that afternoon, and brought word that they had made camp in Lord Harroway's Town, where they seemed to have been well received. While camp fires sprung up across the vast dirt field, a well-trodden and well-blooded land, Yohn summoned his commanders to his tent.

Inside, Harrold poured him a bright and buttery ale into a bronze crested horn. He took a swig and let the men talk. Before him was a large wooden table bearing a map that stretched from Moat Cailin to Dorne. It had been repainted before their march. Upon it were figurines of various sizes. Nobody had been able to find any dragon figurines for Aegon the Pretender's forces, so they were making due with hardened horse dung from the field, so old it had lost its smell. A round piece of hard sh**t sat where King's Landing was. Their intelligence sources reported that Aegon the Pretender had near ten thousand men near Blackwater Bay. Roses representing the force led by Ser Garlan Tyrell were positioned on top of Bitterbridge, and another piece of sh**t resided over Felwood. A figurine of a knight was stationed over Riverrun, where Lord Randyll Tarly still held court.

His commanders filed in after their suppers. Harrold served Yohn a plate of roast foal with melted goat's cheese on top and steamed turnips on the side. Yohn bid his quire to go feed himself before the meeting. By the time they began, the ceiling of the tent bore a cloud of smoke and the Lord Regent's stomach was full. Ser Lyn Corbray sat to his left and Harrold to his right. Across the table were Lord Hunter and Morton Waynwood. On the left side were the two riders they'd received from the Eyrie Army: Ser Symond Templeton, the Knight of Ninestars, and his squire, a young grand-cousin of jowly Lord Belmore. On the right side of the table, Yohn's son Andar was sharing a jest with Mychel Redfort. "How many Dornishmen does it take to shoe a horse?" Yohn pounded the table once with a clenched fist, and their conversations halted. Mychel would have to wait to find out how many Dornishmen it takes.

Standing, he said "the time has come to make use of our swords. We have enemies all about us." He swept his arm over the map as his commanders studied it. He sat and bid them to voice their counsel.

The young and brave Mychel Redfort spoke first. "We should take the fight to this false king. We far outnumber him and his forces at Blackwater. I say march in full force south on the kingsroad and end his insurrection in one fell swoop." Lyn Corbray laughed at that. "The boy knight speaks valiantly, with all the foolishness of youth. I say we move swiftly and pluck the easy fruits before they can swell the little rebel's own numbers." He pointed at Harrenhall, then Antlers, then Bitterbridge. "That is the course I'd take, my lords and knights."

Lord Hunter was not known to be a strong strategist, and he lived up to his reputation just then. With a grunt he voiced agreement with Ser Lyn. Then spoke Yohn's son. "My lords, the scouts report weak garrisons all abouts the Riverlands. We should move swiftly to overwhelm Randyll Tarly. Riverrun will rise for us, and ther other river lords with it. Jason Mallister has already broke that dam."

Ser Symond cleared his throat. "My lord, your cousin Lord Nestor would have your commands as well. We are ten thousand strong, enough alone to take on Lord Tarly in the field but likely not enough to take Riverrun in battle. And we believe the Tarly forces will be replenished from either the north or the south very soon. Ser Garlan Tyrell has raised near five thousand men at Bitterbridge. While Lord Mallister has indeed acknowledged King Stannis as his liege, his castle is held by more Tyrells who could march south to Riverrun. We have numbers to win this war, but our positioning may soon be perilous. Our enemies are all around us here."

Then spoke Ser Morton. "We must go where our enemies least expect. Strike southwest around God's Eye, and sweep up on Bitterbridge from the south. Then we can wreak havoc on Aegon Pretender's forces in the Stormlands. He may even retreat to Storm's End in response, but if we go from Bitterbridge-" He pointed. "-to Felwood, we trap him in the Crownlands, and take out his two most likely sources for reinforcements."

Yohn emptied the last of his ale from the horn and laid it gently on the table. He sat forward and rested the back of his forearms against the edge of the table, his hands folded. On the map, a lion figurine sat in the middle of the waters of the Narrow Sea. He plucked it up. "My lords, the time has come for you to know. King Stannis has welcomed Tyrion Lannister into the king's peace. The details of the treaty are unknown to me, but we may fight together with the dwarf's men." He stamped the lion down again with a thud. "But I wouldn't trust their men as far as we can spit." He nodded to Ser Symond, "you'd best make sure Lord Nestor doesn't either, when you get back to Harroway Town."

The rest was planning and back-up planning. No commander seemed truly happy or dissatisfied, and perhaps that was the best. It was after all the the nature of a true compromise. Yohn rose, and so did the men around the table. "Get some sleep, Ser Symond. You should ride at first light to deliver these orders to Lord Nestor." He glared down at the map one more time. "Harrold, get this sh**t off my map."

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OOC: Where is Ser Balon Swann currently in this game?

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To All The Lords and Ladies of the Vale,

In the name of Yohn of House Royce, Lord of Runestone, Lord Regent of the Vale, Commander of the Runestone Army and Master of Laws, let it be known-

-- I hereby appoint Ser Symond Templeton to command of the left cavalry of the Runestone Army.

-- I hereby appoint Lord Nestor Royce to command of the reserve of the Runestone Army.

-- I hereby appoint Ser Morton Waynwood to command of an honor guard to return to Longbow Hall the bones of Lord Gilwood Hunter.

-- Upon the Second Battle at Harrenhall, Harrold Hardyng has been knighted. He is henceforth and forever named Ser Harrold Arryn, heir apparent to Lord Robert Arryn. His wife, Lady Rowena Hardyng, will henceforth be known as Lady Rowena Arryn.

-- All men in Gulltown seeking an honest day's work and feed can find it at Gull Tower. In perpetuity, one-quarter of Gull Tower's lands shall be used to construct barracks and a mess hall to house and feed the City Watch.

Signed,
Ser Damon of House Shett, Knight of the Gull Tower, representative of Lord Yohn Royce on the Gulltown Small Council.

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Yohn Royce

Smoke rose in columns from the walls of Lord Harroway Town. The tents were just now going up - the Runestone Army had not arrived until an hour past twilight. Lord Yohn Royce left his greathorse at the stable, and walked inside the town's sept. Inside Harrold was stirring a pot of mulled wine. "Two cups, I should think." He said to his squire.

The blonde teenager moved to obey, filling two silver goblets with the red wine. Yohn remembered Harrold's excitement after the first battle at Harrenhal. 'Ser Lyn says they're calling the battle The Submission of the Sparrows,' he had said.

'Battles have names, but the greatest name won't win a battle,' Yohn had replied. At times Harrold Hardyng showed his youth in foolish ways. But he was learning much and more as a squire. A shame he would ascend so fast. But Lord Robert still lived, so there was more time to learn him before his likely ascension. The name cannot wait. And after that display of swordsmanship against Tarly's van, neither can the knighthood. Maester Colemon had wrote to Darry and Lord Harroway's Town with slightly different messages. Robert Arryn is not getting better. Robert Arryn can not go outside, the cold gives him violent shakes. Robert Arryn suffered a very bad shake and bit his tongue near in half. The boy bled and slept four days, having lost so much blood. Sweetrobin is improving, but will never be hardy. His seizures become less frequent but more violent. But still he lived. Lysa Arryn had always chided the Lords of the Vale, "the seed is strong," she would quote. Jon Arryn's last words. Yohn had doubts it was said about Sweetrobin.

Yohn sipped the wine and looked down at the two skeletons wrapped tightly in cloaks. The left had been the body of Lady Tyene Sand, who was found dead after they took Harrenhal, dressed in the robes of a septa. Tyene Sand. I should return the lady's bones to her lord uncle, but how? She'd had a small face, milky-white like the Dornish of the mountains, and her golden hair flowed past her shoulders. Though she looked like an Andal queen, she bore Prince Oberyn Martell's distinct widow's peak. Yohn had failed to discover who killed her, whether it was a Valesman or a Sparrow, but perhaps that was the best. If it came to it, Yohn would tell Prince Doran that her disguise had been uncovered and the Sparrows had hung her. These foolish Sparrows and their hangings of sinners. They had heard of men being hung for lying with other men, and for that rumor Ser Lyn Corbray had bloodied his Valyrian sword to the hilt. Yohn finished the goblet and his squire refilled it, then he resolved to figure out how to return the lady's bones to Prince Doran Martell.

The larger cloak on the right was Lord Gilwood Hunter. He'd only been a lord for shy over a year. One brother gone, two remain. Now Lord Eustace Hunter would likely be able to hold Longbow Hall after the war. He would gain those who had supported his older brother, and Ser Harlan Hunter would be expelled. Perhaps Lady Waynwood can uncover evidence that Ser Harlan was his father's killer. As Master of Laws, Yohn would be able to arrest him, send him to the wall or execute him if need be. Yohn scribbled a letter on some parchment stained with mud on the other side, and sealed it with the orange wax of House Royce. On the morrow, the letter would leave along with the two skeletons, Ser Morton Waynwood on an honor guard back to the Vale. Rising, he beckoned to Harrold and the boy followed him outside.

The campfires were springing up across the field of brown and grey and green. Within the great castle's grounds about two hundred men who had honored themselves in the battles were making camp. Outside the thick wooden walls was the vast Runestone army, spread across the fields and the shores of the Red Fork on either side of the town. The two hundred men would soon be knights.

Harrold finished his goblet, and after slipping back inside to refill it, they walked through the walls out to the great camp. Ser Lyn Corbray was waiting to meet him outside the gates, as well as his cousin Lord Nestor Royce, Ser Symond Templeton, and Ser Morton Waynwood. Fifty yards away his son Andar was lighting the biggest of the campfires. Together the men walked as the flames licked the sky high above. Ser Lyn walked a few steps ahead, and for the best. Yohn was still wroth with him for his hasty moves against Randyl Tarly. His orders were to harry the scouts and draw Tarly closer to the castle.

Wine was being rolled out, and rabbits and squirrels crackled on every spitfire. His son clapped him on the shoulder when they met at the great fire. Yohn commended him on his work with the scouts. Ser Andar had been credited with opening the castle gates at Harrenhall, and they had retained many men in their retreat thanks to his scouts. In the bask of victory at Harrenhal they had laughed and drank in the night they took the castle. That was an easy win. The next was harder, and for the best. We have seen who was really made for battle. Yohn knew now that he could rebuild the left cavalry's strength with a better commander.

Yohn took a gulp of the wine that emptied the goblet, and bellowed, "MEN OF THE VALE!" A roar filled the night air. "You have bloodied your swords, lost brothers and friends, but we are still strong! Tonight we honor those we lost, and begin to turn the page in this war on the morrow. We are strong, we are King's men, and we will prevail, for the Vale, for the king, for Westeros!" The men shouted back to him "for the Vale! For the king! For Westeros!" Yohn took the second silver goblet from Harrold and handed them to his son, who emptied the contents into the fire and tucked them away. To Ser Lyn, Yohn commanded, "bring the men."

The men to be knighted made formation in rows of ten. Lord Yohn Royce, Lord Nestor Royce, Ser Lyn Corbray, Ser Andar Royce, Ser Mychel Redfort, Ser Morton Waynwood, Ser Symond Templeton, and three other Knights of the Vale stood in another row at the base of the greatfire. Each row of men came to them and knelt in their turn. They said the words and swore the vows, swearing knighthood vows of the Seven before the fire of the Red God. Each row would get their shoulders tapped with a sword, and then rise with a Ser before their names. Harrold was not in the rows; he stood behind Yohn. When finally all two hundred and sixteen men had been knighted, Lord Yohn Royce turned to his squire.

In the fighting that Yohn had encountered against Tarly's army, Harrold had been quick to jump before a charging spearman, cutting the wooden shaft as well as the knight's right hand. Yohn thought he had killed two others, and had seen him cross swords with another knight in gilded armor with the sigil of House Ashford of the Reach. Yohn knew that his men would go to battle again, but better they do it inspired. He remembered something his maester had told him when he became Lord of Runestone. Kill the boy within you. Kill the boy and let the man be born. "Harrold, you made me proud on the battlefield. You fought with honor and bravery. Kneel, my boy."

The young man's lake-blue eyes glittered from the flames. The corners of his mouth twitched, but he hid the smile well enough. Then he went to one knee. Yohn placed his longsword on either shoulder, bidding him to protect the weak and be the defender of honor. Harrold swore he would. "Then rise a man," said Yohn in a booming voice for all to hear, "Ser Harrold Arryn, the Young Falcon, Knight of the Vale."

Harrold snapped his head up and locked eyes with Yohn. The boy was clearly shocked. Slowly, he stood, and in the wake of the greatfire his shadow was cast looming and large across the castle walls. Yohn raised his sword high above his own head and shouted "The Young Falcon!" then hundreds, then thousands echoed, "The Young Falcon! The Young Falcon! The Young Falcon! Knight of the Vale!"

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BRIENNE

Part 1 of 3

The eastern sky was pink and pregnant with the coming dawn as Brienne of Tarth gathered her things to enter the town at Bronzegate. She exchanged her armor for clothing closer to that of a peasant; rough-spun wool that hid her breasts and made her look like a man. Her hair was short enough nobody would question it. The Maid of Tarth hid her valuable possessions inside the clothing, and made way to join the other line of farmers and workers waiting to enter the town.

Each step is a step further away from Aurane Velaryon. The marriage had been forced on her by her father. Don't think about that. The conflict that had flourished between Brienne and her father since her return from the War of the Five Kings was still raw. Lord Selwyn Tarth had little choice but to yield to Aegon when the Golden Company came knocking on the island's door. But Brienne was surprised by her lord father's devotion to the young king. Lord Selwyn had been very loyal to Robert Baratheon, and though Brienne still nursed dreams of revenge against King Stannis for the death of Renly, Brienne had expected to return home to the fiery stag flying above House Tarth's banners. Instead it was the three headed dragon of Targaryen, and her father was leading an army for the king in the Kingswood.

"Aurane is very comely. Many have said he looks like Rhaegar Targaryen," her father had said. "I will not endure another arranged marriage," Brienne had replied. For a week she had held her tongue, been curt toward the newly legitimized Aurane Velaryon, and allowed preparations for a hasty wedding begin. It had only been twelve hours since she had disappeared. After a few days, knowledge of her disappearance would be known at Bronzegate.

By the time the gates were opened, the sun had risen against the small-folk's backs. The guardsmen at the gates did not give her a second look as she passed, and inside the small town she found one large, busy courtyard below the castle. On the far end of the walls she gave two bronze stars to a stableboy to house her mount, and she found a small inn and breakfast on the west end of the town.

She broke her fast on cooked eggs, bacon fat and cider. The table she chose was near the innkeeper's bar. "When did the castle fall?" she asked the woman. "Three days past. They dragged poor Lord Buckler into that courtyard and chopped his head off. We're dragons here, now. Not that I got anything wrong with dragons, mind you. Lord Buckler was a good man, though. They had us sieged for months, you know. Every night he'd let all us small-folk into the castle, feed a hot supper and let us sleep in the barracks while the soldiers stood watch. Promised to feed us through winter, too. Even provision firewood for everyone to have a fire once in a while. Though I guess now that he's dead I could just go chop down a tree. No lord to be accused of stealing from." When the woman spoke you could see that she only had three good teeth, and a few rotted molars.

The cook brought out a tray of fresh lemon cakes and she tossed the inn-keep a bronze star in exchange for one. "You shouldn't talk, if you're going to be a man," the old woman said. Brienne felt her heart skip a beat. The crone continued, "you're ugly enough, don't get me wrong. Big and bulky, intimidating enough to ward off most robbers. But your voice gives you away. Anyway, room's all yours if you've got a couple pieces of silver to go with them bronze."

After walking the streets for an hour, she noticed the big courtyard was still. When she got to the crowd blocking the streets into the courtyard, she saw a makeshift stage raised against the castle's walls. Atop stood three guards, a steward, maester, and lordlings. The lordling was holding a large scroll, and the maester whispered something in his ear before passing the parchment to the steward. Stepping forward, the man announced, "In the name of Aegon of the House Targaryen, Sixth of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, we will hear and dispense your justice until such time as His Grace King Aegon awards lordship of Bronzegate. All who have business to bring before the court, assemble to the left side of the stage in an orderly line." The lordling coughed. "Lastly," said the steward, now opening the parchment, "from the hand of His Grace himself, 'It is my good and true will, with the Seven as my witness, that Sansa of House Stark and Tyrion of House Lannister are to no longer be considered wed - as the marriage was never consummated in the eyes of the Crown and the Seven.

Further, with the Seven as my witness, Sansa of House Stark will henceforth by styled the Lady of Winterfell and serve as the Warden of the North. Until her coming of age, she will remain in Storm's End as the ward of Queen Arianne.

Further, with the Seven as my witness, until Lady Sansa of House Stark comes of age and returns to Winterfell, justice for the North will be administered by the Crown, from the capital at Storm's End.'

Brienne felt her heart drop into her stomach. The pounding filled in her ears as the chattering of the smallfolk rose and many got in line to plead their cause. Lady Sansa. She had been with Jaime when Lady Catelyn Stark had died at The Twins, and blamed herself for that. I was taking him there on your orders, she thought. Lady Sansa had been in King's Landing when the city burned, and Brienne had thought her dead. I must go to her. I must be her shield.

The proclamation was transparent enough. It was plain to Birenne that Aegon meant prisoner when he said ward. He named her Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell, a ploy to win support from Northern houses. The memories of her failed betrothals came flooding back. While Brienne had accepted her father's first attempts to betroth her, she had never felt truly free until the day he gave up. Sansa deserved that agency. Storm's End is not far from here. I could be there in a few days. But word of her disappearance would reach the castle not soon after. Her father had told her with wide eyes the activity there, and the efforts to make it a new capital of the Seven Kingdoms; it would be hard to go unnoticed in King Aegon's new capital. I swore a vow. Lady Catelyn had taken her vows and taken Jaime's vows. There is too much risk.

She resolved to decide later. The onlookers were slowly dispersing as the nameless men on the dais dispensed their justice. Looking up, Brienne saw two Targaryen banners streaming from the walls of the castle. She returned to the inn and went up to the room she'd bought. Inside her armor and weaponry were set on the bed where she'd left them. After sharpening the sword and daggers on a whetstone, she laid back in the bed and closed her eyes...

The inn was bustling with noise hours later when Brienne awoke. Dinner was in full swing, so she locked her room's door and went down to eat in the common hall. The woman inn-keep gave her a shaded table in the corner of the hall and an extra codfish with her food. From her corner she overheard two men-at-arms a table over.

"They say them Lannisters joined with Stannis Baratheon now. Ye ask me, he's who we should be fightin' for. When even the Lannisters know, that's when you been left behind. Storm's End is his lands, after all!" The man's companion smacked him on the head. "You want to get your tongue cut out?! We're dragon men now." His friend gulped the ale. "Aye."

Brienne looked away. Survivors from the garrison, she thought. After dinner she went to the stables across the town and paid for the night. Stars were glittering in a cold clear sky by the time she got back to the inn. She fell asleep the second her head hit the straw pillow.

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BRIENNE
Part 2 of 3

As the days passed, Brienne of Tarth wandered aimlessly westward through the country of the Stormlands and the Reach. Each day she thought of a different course to set. On the first, she resolved to strike for Casterly Rock, and ask Ser Jaime to accept her sword in service. On the second, she spent six hours riding hard north to pledge her sword to Jon Stark, in honor of her oaths to Lady Catelyn. She changed her mind when the sun set. On the third, she rode east for two miles, intending to sneak into Storm's End and rescue Sansa Stark. When she stopped to eat all her original doubts about that plan came creeping back. For three more days, she rode west with no particular destination in mind.

On the seventh day, Brienne stopped mid-day to let the horse rest and eat the last of the jerky she'd purchased at Bronzegate. After the last bite, she was licking her lips as she stood and her heartbeat stopped. I've been here before. The woods suddenly came flooding in all around her, and again she saw Lady Catelyn before her. Brienne was kneeling, with her sword laid on the ground between them. My vow. They had been fleeing from the death of Renly Baratheon, and stopped here to sleep. Brienne had stood watch all night over Lady Stark. She had held her king in her arms, his neck gushing blood from a phantom cut. Stannis. Lady Catelyn had accepted Brienne's sword, and pledged to not stand in her way when the time came. I was his Rainbow Guard. The shadow should have killed me. I pledge my life to save the King's. She sat down on the tree stump and sobbed.

Hours later, Brienne's hair whipped in the wind as she pressed her horse south. The woods had told her, she knew it was only a day's ride. This is where I have to go. After an hour she let the horse slow, and stopped for a few minutes to give him water and her last onion. The sun had set on her seventh day in the wilderness when she stopped to sleep under a tree just two miles from Bitterbridge. She found her sleep fitful, and during the hour of the owl woke to the thundering of horse hooves, but the riders were on the far end of the hill and didn't seem to see her. The sunrise reminded her of the day she'd entered Bronzegate, a swollen pink light arching over the horizon like a pregnant belly. Again she donned her costume as a man, and rode her horse to Bitterbridge.

The tourney had been held on the side of the Mander, next to the old stone bridge where the castle stood. Across the bridge was a bustling town, grown in size since the start of the war. Fighting has not reached here, though armies have. And recently, it seemed. Where King Renly had held court over the melee, the ground bore the fresh markings of soldier tents. She stopped at the town well to refill her flask, and across the well she caught a flash of red hair. The man, bearing a green cloak and enamored steel, stood guard over the road that led toward the old stone bridge. He glanced at her, and looked again. Brienne froze, but the Red Ronnett looked away in an instant. I'm a man, she reminded herself. Nobody at Bronzegate had questioned her disguise unless she spoke, and Red Ronnett was yards away. But why is he here?

She ignored the echoes of Highgarden as she found an inn where she thought she could find some food and information. Inside the ceiling was choked with smoke, but Brienne was grateful for the food, her stores having run out the previous day. The inn-keep here seemed less informed, however. "Was Lord Garlan the Gallant, he had thousands of men here not so long ago. M'lord can go bugger himself, y'ask me. Profits have dropped by half since the army moved out." Brienne disguised her voice as best she could. "Where did they go?"

The inn-keep narrowed his eyes at that. He knows. "Didn't think to ask," he replied, and moved on to other customers whilst muttering to himself.

As she rounded the corner outside the inn, a dozen men-at-arms bearing the same green cloaks were waiting. Brienne stopped in her tracks, and saw two more Green Cloaks were now standing behind her. The dozen men parted and Ser Ronnet Connington stepped forth, grinning. "Brienne the Beauty. So good of our runaway bride to grace us with your magnificence." He approached her as if they were the best of friends, and linked his arm in hers, leading her down the street. "The singers have composed a dozen songs of our poor Aurane's heartbreak, his eternal wait for his beautiful bride's return." Brienne bristled, and he felt it. "Now now, my lady, don't fret. The game has been won, and Velaryon is the victor. And I am not the scorned contestant you must answer to."

She was led across the bridge and into the castle. It was a small and flat keep, with unremarkably tall walls but numerous turrets and flat land all around. In the great hall were three other knights drinking with a fourth man who had his back to her as Brienne approached. Red Ronnet coughed. "Ser, I have brought you Lady Brienne, the Beauty of Tarth for the pleasure of your company." The man turned and Brienne's heart felt like it was turning to stone.

Ser Hyle Hunt was not a particularly comely man. He stood nearly a foot shorter than Brienne, and had bland brown hair end eyes. His most interesting feature was the scar he bore near his left ear. At Highgarden, he had brought her apples and carrots for her horse and a blue silk plume for her helm. The silk had glimmered like sapphires. But that had all been a game, and before her stood a man who had been to war. "My lady. Welcome to Bitterbridge." He swept his arm over the table and took a seat, gesturing for Brienne to do so as well. The green cloaks left, but Ser Ronnet lingered, and a servant brought in a new flagon of ale and hot bread with beef broth. "In wartime even lords in castles eat plainly," Ser Hyle said with disdain between bites of bread. Brienne sat silent and still, refusing to eat or drink.

Frowning, Ser Hyle leaned forward. "My lady, please accept our hospitality." When she did not reply, he straightened up. "My men, lords, could you leave us? I must speak to Lady Brienne alone." The men got up quickly and left, but Ser Ronnet didn't move to leave. "Ser Ronnet, would you do me the honor? I seem to remember being the one left in charge here." The ginger knight muttered a curse and left the hall, the door closing hard behind him. And then she was alone with the knight. Smiling, Ser Hyle pushed the plate of bread toward her. "Go on. You must be hungry."

"I ate at the inn, before your men arrested me," she said.

"Well, what were they supposed to do? You're a wanted woman, you know. And Lord Garlan left me in charge of the garrison." He stroked his beard mockingly. "What am I to do?"

"Do what you will, but don't expect me not to fight back," Brienne spat. "Why are you here, anyway?" You lied to me, you mocked me. You all mocked me.

Ser Hyle frowned. "Lord Tarly grew tired for my service at Harrenhall. The Vale had amassed an army to match my lord's, but I led the van in a foolish clash against Ser Lyn Corbray. Both armies had to readjust and get reinforcements, and though it gave Lord Tarly the time to figure out their weak spots, I lost a thousand good men in my foolishness. He stripped me of the command after we took the castle and forced the Valemen back up to the Trident. I was sent here to coordinate with Lord Garlan's army. He's raised a few thousand reinforcements, I assume for the Riverlands."

As he finished his story, Brienne realized she was holding a heel of bread in her hand. Slowly, she bit a chunk and chewed. "Ale?" she asked, and Ser Hyle poured her a mug.

He continued, "so, Lord Garlan saw through my presence as a mere messenger enough to know I'd be seeking other service. He left me in command here and hinted at an appointment when he settles into his Lordship at Brightwater Keep. And to earn that, it seems we must escort you back east where your bridegroom awaits." Brienne froze, the ale halfway to her mouth. Ser Hyle smiled. "But perhaps not yet. You've been a fortnight on the road, it looks like. Please accept the hospitality of my garrison. We can find you a nice room here in the castle and a few days rest." After a moment, Brienne nodded, and drank the ale.

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BRIENNE
Part 3 of 3

Later she was escorted to a comfortable room on the first floor of the castle. The room had fresh rushes and an oversized bed, with a fire already roaring in the hearth when she entered. Servants brought her a bath and she stripped off her clothes and climbed into the tub. By the time she was done washing her hair and scrubbing her body, the dirt of a week in the saddle had turned the water dark brown. She rose and dried off with a fresh cloth left for her. From her room's small arrow slit window she saw the sun setting in the west, and could hear the end of day bustle in the town winding down. It was a long wait until the dead of night arrived, and the tallow candle in Brienne's room had burned down to the end of the wick. Silently, Brienne donned her armor and gathered all of her things. She was surprised to find there were no guards posted on her door, and in the castle's courtyard she found the stable stocked with saddles, and a large horse sure to get her well and away from Bitterbridge by sunrise.

Ser Hyle is not well suited to command a garrison, Brienne thought as she walked the horse out of the castle. The portcullis was drawn and there wasn't a single man standing watch. As she rode the first mile out of the city, Brienne's relief turned to unease. It was too easy to get out of there. Her new horse trod quickly through the valley on the Mander, but half a mile on it reared up and whinnied. "What is it?" Brienne asked the horse softly, stroking its neck and urging it to continue with her heels.

"He smells blood," came a voice in the darkness. A few sparks suddenly flew from a flint and Ser Hyle Hunt was standing there before her, sitting cross-legged and deboning a trout. "My lady. Would you join me for a midnight snack?"

Brienne's lips pushed together, hard. Her right hand moved to her sword hilt as she said, "I had not thought to find you fishing in the Mander so late."

"Well, life at Bitterbridge has been quite the disappointment, but we do not lack for fish. Did you not note the lack of guards on your way out? It's a quiet place, the war has yet to find us here. And did you really think me fool enough to exchange one stupid lord for another?" Ser Hyle stood, and Brienne's fingers tightened around her sword hilt. "My lady, let me join you. Let me run with you. I'm better company than your horse and your ghosts. The game is over, and I am haunted by guilt for my part. It was cruel and I was wrong." He took a step forward; she loosened her sword from the scabbard. "Take one more step, Hunt, and I'll remove your head."

The knight stopped. Sighing, he said, "so be it. I am sorry, Brienne." He drew his sword, but she was faster.

Leaping off her horse, Brienne landed full on Ser Hyle's chest and the knight fell to the ground with a hardy thud. She did not hesitate to swing her blade, but his came up quick enough to divert the blow. Somehow Ser Hyle got to his feet. They fought for what felt like hours, trading blows while he traded taunts as well. "Your father has half the kingdoms keeping their eyes peeled for you. Go back to Bitterbridge with me, Brienne, if you will not accept my company on the run." She almost had him against the river, but as she charged to push him in he stepped aside. They both had to readjust, but as Ser Hyle brought his sword back up, Brienne of Tarth knocked it from his fingers with a blow that flashed all the way up to his shoulder. "Why do you want to join me?" Brienne muttered. She raised the sword to plunge it into Ser Hyle's heart, and shouted again, "Why do you want to join me?"

Ser Hyle was on his back. He raised his left hand up as if it could protect him. "I-I-I dreamed of you."

Brienne's sword arm went limp, and she lowered the blade. Her mind was swimming with confusion and shame. 'I dreamed of you,' Ser Jaime said when she asked why he came back for her. The bear had been about to kill her, but Jaime had plunged into the pit despite his right stump where his hand was gone, and saved her life. Looking down, she saw relief on Ser Hyle's face. "I dreamed of you," he repeated.

She stepped back and said curtly, "I will accept you as my companion." She sheathed her sword and mounted the horse. Ser Hyle sheathed his and Brienne saw for the first time a horse tethered to a tree mere yards away. When all was said and done, the two outlaws set their horses down the road. Ser Hyle turned. "So, my lady, where shall we go?"

Jaime...Sansa...Jon...or none at all, she thought. Half an hour later, the two riders reached the peak of a particularly large hill. Brienne paused and looked to her back. Far off behind them was Bitterbridge, bathed in another rising son. But this one was not pregnant. This morning, the sky was red, drenched with the blood of childbearing. She turned, and the companions set off with the rising sun at their back.

[badgate]

To All The Lords and Ladies of the Vale,

In the name of Yohn of House Royce, Lord of Runestone, Lord Regent of the Vale, Commander of the Runestone Army and Master of Laws, let it be known-

-- I hereby appoint Ser Targon the Halfwild to command of the reserve of the Runestone Army.

-- Ser Albar Royce, son of my cousin Lord Nestor Royce, is hereby raised to his father's lordship of the Gate of the Moon.

-- I hereby appoint Ser Sam Stone to command for the new Runestone garrison, and task him with restoring the castle, harbor, and town.

-- I hereby appoint Ser Damon Shett to Lord Commander of the Gulltown City Watch.
--- I hereby raise House Shett of Gull Tower to the office of lordship in perpetuity.
--- I hereby appoint command of the Gulltown City Watch to the Lord of Gull Tower in perpetuity.

Signed,
Ser Damon of House Shett, Knight of the Gull Tower, representative of Lord Yohn Royce on the Gulltown Small Council.

[badgate]

Yohn Royce

The greatfires roared about the castle of Duskendale after twilight set in. Though Yohn could count the Vale men he knew personally who had converted to the red god on one hand, it seemed enough of his soldiers had joined the faith to justify a greatfire in their camp on the south side of the castle. On the western side of the castle were the men under Ser Rolland Storm. More fire worshipers over there, Yohn noted. Their fire was bigger too. However the biggest fire was on the north side, where the sellswords from Essos made camp. There were so many followers of R'holler over there that their nightchant echoed all the way to the southern camp.

"Lord cast your light upon us," Ser Symond Templeton intoned. "Lord cast your light upon us," the mass responded. Ser Symond was one of the earliest and most fervent converts in the Vale. Across the flames Yohn saw his son Andar and Harrold Arryn sharing a flagon of wine, chatting quietly and laughing. He noted with some sort of pride that neither joined in the prayers. Across the camp the murmers from the other two fires could be heard.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors," Ser Symond finished. This time, Andar and Harrold raised their goblets and joined in: "for the night is dark and full of terrors."

The camp broke into its normal rhythm of dinner and the Lord of Runestone turned to his companion. "My lord, shall we?" Lord Jon Lynderly nodded, the whiskers on his second chin quivering. Yohn had yet to find another squire, so they joined the camp line to receive a bowl of brown beef stew and hard bread to soften in the broth.

Inside his command tent a fire was not far from the table, so they were kept warm from the winter winds. "Lord Tyrion has made demands that the Vale and the West cement our alliance in the name of our King," Yohn began. Lord Jon looked up. "The Lannisters," he sneered. "What were King Stannis' terms?"

"His Grace is merciful. He has pardoned the west, and Tommen and Myrcella have forsaken any claim to the Iron Throne. The Imp, on the other hand, is his father's son. He writes that two betrothals and wardships shall suffice. Myrcella Baratheon shall be legitimized as Myrcella Lannister...as will her younger brother."

"Betrothals..." Jon began.

"Two," Yohn repeated. "Your son Terrance will marry Myrcella Lannister when they have both turned fourteen. Terrance will ward at Casterly Rock until he comes of age."

Lord Jon's face betrayed no pleasure, but Yohn knew his men. The former Baratheon princess may be seen as tainted in the eyes of some, but she was the best option Lord Lynderly would ever hope to find for his heir. Now the bait. His coffers are as broke as any of ours. "Lord Tyrion has offered a generous dowery. Here." He slid a letter across the table. This time Lord Jon smiled. "This will do, my lord."

Yohn stood, and so did Lord Lynderly. "Good," said Yohn. "Terrance will depart for Casterly Rock as soon as the Riverlands are safe to travel."

"Forgive me, my lord," Jon paused. "You said two betrothals and wards. The others..."

"Will be known soon enough," Yohn finished. "Do me a kindness and send me my son."

The Lord Regent had finished another goblet of Dornish white by the time his son joined him. "Do you remember this?" he asked him, holding out the goblet.

Andar sniffed it and rolled his eyes. "Your drunk wine." Yohn laughed.

Five years after Robert's Rebellion, House Swann of Stone Helm had held a tourney to celebrate Ser Balon's appointment to the Kingsguard. Yohn had supped the second night of the tourney with Lord Toland from Dorne, and gotten so drunk on the tart Dornish white that he had purchased forty barrels. It had been a pricey vintage, but worth every copper. The grapes were a special green breed from the lands of Ghost Hill. Years later, fifteen barrels still remained in the cellars of Runestone.

"Sit, sit," he said to his son as he poured him a goblet. Andar sat across the table and immediately picked up the letter where Jon Lynderly had left it. Yohn watched as his son read the terms.

"A bastard?" he asked incredulously. "A highborn bastard, said to be beautiful," Yohn replied. "And she will be Lady Joy Royce once you drape the runestone cloak about her."

"Joy Royce..." his son let the name hang in the air.

"Lord Tyrion says she has been a sad girl since her father disappeared in Essos. I have no doubt you can bring joy to her once more, my son." Andar put the letter down. "When will this happen?"

Yohn sipped the wine. "In a moon's turn, in two, half a year, when summer returns. We are not sure. Once the Riverlands are liberated and under Stannis' rule, Lady Joy and her cousin will come to the Vale. The boy will ward at Runestone."

"That's fair enough. Was Lord Jon happy?" his son asked. "More than he should be. But his house is as impoverished as Lady Waynwood before your sister wed Ser Harrold. His son will be smitten, I am sure. Myrcella was a beautiful girl at court, and they are of an age."

Andar rose. "I should set the scouts. The boy king may be desperate enough to try and attack us in the night. With your leave, father." Yohn stood and his son exited the tent.

Again taking his seat, Lord Royce looked over the other letters. There was the proclamation he'd sent to Lord Damon Shett. He should be happy. And it's all well and good. House Grafton were Targaryen loyalists, running back to before the Queen Regent of the Vale had yielded to Aegon the Conquerer's sister. With the Small Council set in Gulltown, Yohn thought it better to play the game than let the game play him. Soon Gulltown will be equal parts Royce and Grafton. The Shetts were a knightly house, at least until recently, and sworn directly to House Royce of Runestone. In raising Ser Damon to lordship, he'd put his bannerman in charge of the City Watch as well. His thumb ran over the sentence he'd thought over for three nights. 'I hereby appoint command of the Gulltown City Watch to the Lord of Gull Tower in perpetuity.' If House Shett was ever extinguished of all its male members, Yohn supposed a Lady Shett would take command...or appoint someone, if she chose.

On the marriage proposal, he noted that Terrance was not promised to squire for anyone until after he got to Casterly Rock. Perhaps he should already be a squire. Lord Grafton's eldest son had been left to castellan in Gulltown. Surely he couldn't turn down such honorable appointment as being Terrance's sworn shield in the west. And one less Grafton in Gulltown. Lord Grafton was at Dragonstone, his younger son Gyles a squire at the Bloody Gate. Lady Anya may try to work against my machinations, he thought. But that can be changed. She has daughters, and my cousin's son needs a wife. But that would have to wait for the nonce.

Yohn found his flagon empty and strode across the tent to refill it from the last of the barrels he'd brought with him to war. He was just pouring into his goblet when a breathless rider burst into the tent. Yohn's instinct was to draw his sword, but he dropped it when he recognized Ser Targon the Halfwild and his squire. "My...lord..." he muttered through heavy breaths, half bent over.

Yohn filled two more goblets and handed them to the knight and boy. Ser Targon's entrance had drawn many eyes, and behind him came in Ser Harrold, Lord Jon, Andar, Albar, and a few of his other knights and commanders with curious ears. Ser Targon gulped the wine and belched. "My lord...we received word...your orders..."

"Take a seat," Yohn commanded him. "Breathe and drink."

A few minutes later, twenty or so men lined around the table as Yohn sat on one end with Ser Targan and the boy on the other. "So," Yohn began.

"You sent us to coordinate with Lancel Lannister at Maidenpool as you went south. Before we left, we heard news. We rode hard, surprised the horses aren't dead." Targan produced a small, rolled up parchment with a broken wax seal of House Waynwood. He handed it to Lord Royce, who unrolled it and read.

Lord Royce,

I regret to write to you from Gulltown devastating news of your home. It seems this false King Aegon the Pretender sent his sellswords to take Runestone unawares. Nearly a dozen of your garrison survived long enough to reach Gulltown and tell the tale, but most have since died of their wounds. The castle walls stand, but the town and harbor were put to the torch. Most all of your garrison is dead. Even Maester Edmund's corpse was found by our scouts. We have dispatched part of the Gulltown City Watch to fully assess the damage. The ships that we had begun construction on are gone, as are the workers with the talent to raise them. I will pray that you avenge this heinous crime, my friend.

Signed in the name of the True King,
Lady Anya of House Waynwood, Lady of Iron Oaks, Mistress of Whisperers to the Gulltown Small Council.

Yohn's blood had run cold, and he felt his face paling before the men. "Father, what is it?" Andar asked.

Wordless, Yohn handed the scroll to his son. Andar read quickly, and looked up. "Aegon has sacked my home," he told the room.

An uproar followed that was more than he would expect. The lords and knights shouted that the boy would pay, and others voiced concern for their own holdfasts on the coast. The voices made a cacophony that prevented anyone from truly being heard.

Yohn picked up his goblet and emptied the contents on the floor. Rising, he banged it hard on the table, one, two, three, four. By the fourth the tent had quieted down.

"That whelp of a king is one day's ride from us at Rosby. My home is in ruins. The castle of Royce kings, blessed with runes of protection, is gone. All of our homes are at risk." He felt the blood flush his face. Again he drew his sword, slicing the air. "My lords, join me or leave me, but I will not turn back until this c**t boy's blood fills the fullers of my blade. It is time to end his farce of a reign. I swear it by the Old Gods and the Seven..." he turned to the fire in his tent. "And by the Lord of Light." When he said that, Ser Tymond almost looked relieved. Yohn raised his blade, and the men did the same.

"This boy's reign will end with my blade." The tent roared in agreement, and the commanders sat down to make their plans. The rest left, and soon word crept across the garrisons until the night was full of the hum of voices, like three greatfires joined into one.

[badgate]

Myrcella
Part 1 of 2

The queen had been in labor since dawn. Myrcella had looked out the arrow slit window in her tower cell and seen a sunrise bathed in blood, as it had been for weeks. Now the blood has begun to flow, she thought. Her mother had told her once of the pains and horrors of childbirth. Myrcella briefly said a silent prayer that she would not have to wait upon the queen today.

For lunch she was marched to eat with the other highborn captives: Trystane Martell, her former betrothed, was hardly a captive; however she was not naive enough to miss that he remained at Storm's End to ensure Prince Doran's loyalty. Lady Sansa was sad and quiet, but when a plate of lemon cakes were placed before them after lunch she smiled. "I love lemon cakes," she said as she nibbled on one.

Myrcella had taken to the spices of Dornish food quickly, and lemons were a common ingredient. She plucked a round cake off the plate and ate as well. On the door to the chamber, she saw that Ser Franklyn Fossoway had returned. My shadow. The legitimized bastard followed her wherever she went, except for twice a day when he retired to the privy to move his bowels. The grizzled knight who had come across the Narrow Sea with King Aegon was nothing if not predictable. We all must have our traditions, she thought tartly to herself.

"I hope my sister is okay," Trystane said. "My lady, would you join me in visiting her?" he asked Myrcella. Seven save me. How can I refuse him? Though their betrothal was broken, she still felt butterflies when her prince spoke to her in those sweet tones. His beautiful chin and cheekbones, perfectly sculpted like Arianne's... "Allow me to bathe, and then perhaps," she responded.

After lunch Ser Franklyn escorted her up the keep to her tower cell. She waited by the window for the bath water to be brought up. Two servants poured the steaming water and took their leave. Myrcella took off her dress and climbed in, relaxing in the hot water.

As she enjoyed the steam, her thoughts turned to her family. Uncle Tyrion bent the knee to Uncle Stannis- but her thoughts stopped. Was he Uncle Stannis? Is Jaime my uncle? Or...my... Despite the heat she shivered. She had done her best to avoid those thoughts, but the War of the Five Kings had taken her to Dorne as a peace offering, and now her father's former castle as a prisoner. I must be brave. Like my father...both of them. I may be a lioness, but I am not Joffrey.

Her shadow referred to her as "the princess," or sometimes "bastard."  I have no family name. I'm Myrcella Hill, like the bastards of the Westerlands. But she was born in King's Landing, the largest city in the Crownlands. So am I Myrcella Waters?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door to her chamber opening and hitting the wall with a slam. Ser Franklyn stood there, stealing far too long a glance at her budding teats. "My knight?" she asked as sweetly as she could muster. She sunk deeper into the water to cover herself, and the man scowled. "Her Grace's childbirth is near an end, the servants say. Get up, bastard. Get dressed. You and the other wards ought to be there for the unveiling of our prince." The knight slammed the door shut.

Quickly, Myrcella dried herself on a thick cloth and left it to dry over her bedpost. She pinned her hair back in a golden clasp, and donned a red velvet dress. The dress had a stripe of satin gold at the end of either sleeve and across her diaphragm. If the Queen wants to see her lion cub, I will be her lion cub, she resolved.

The castle was humming louder than she'd ever heard it as Ser Franklyn pushed her faster down the corridors with the butt of his sword hilt. "Faster, little princess," he said mockingly. They walked past two sparrows, one a freakishly tall woman with a plain face and bright blue eyes. She wore a brown hood to hide her hair, and if Myrcella weren't as sharp she could have easily thought the sparrow was a man. The other sparrow glanced at her before looking down at his feet as he passed. This one was shorter, with brown hair and eyes, and a scar that ran from his left ear to jaw. "Out of the way, sparrows," Ser Franklyn said gruffly as he pushed them past.

On the way up one flight of crooked stairs a washerwoman coming down bore the bloody sheets of childbirth. "Is it done?" Ser Franklyn asked the woman. Given his stature and manner of dress as a kingsguard, she had no choice but to stop and answer him. "Yes, m'lord. The queen's had a beautiful baby girl. I beheld the little thing myself. She don't got the king's hair, though, 'least not what I saw." Ser Franklyn frowned at that. A girl! thought Myrcella. He has no heir, not yet. But come to think of it, neither did her uncle-who-wasn't-her-uncle. "Off with you," the knight said gruffly to the women. He kicked at Myrcella's ankle, one of his ways of telling her to move.

In the gallery outside the Queen's chambers were all present members of King Aegon's Small Council. She didn't know many of the faces, but recognized quick enough that of Lord Varys. The Spider. Mother said never to trust him, and anyone I spoke to could be bought and paid for by his hand. Varys glanced over as she was marched in, but looked away disinterested.

Sansa was already waiting when Myrcella joined her side. "I could hear the queen from my cell," the Stark girl whispered. She would have replied, but it was just then that Trystane came running up, out of breath from the climb down from his sister's chambers. "How fares our queen?" Myrcella asked. "She's good. Tired, but good," Trystane answered breathlessly.

The voices in the gallery grew until it sounded like a fly buzzing in Myrcella's ear. Too much noise, she thought, rubbing her left temple.

The black stained weirwood doors opened and Queen Arianne was pushed out on a carved chair with wheels, a precious baby girl sucking at her breast. Myrcella couldn't help but smile at the sight of the child. Trystane ran forward to get a closer look, and then the members of the Small Council, then Myrcella and Sansa had to come forward and congratulate the queen and compliment the child. "We shall have a feast tonight, to celebrate. Lord Varys tells me my royal husband's banners will return before the morrow. If the gods are good, he will join us by dinner to see his daughter." Myrcella was dismissed and Ser Franklyn herded her back to her chamber.

In her tower cell, she looked down over Shipbreaker Bay. Her cell had a slightly larger window than an arrow slit, but still smaller than her head, so she'd never squeeze through. The sea was blanketed in layers of mist. Uncle Tyrion could be right out there, she thought, with a hundred galleys. They'd never see him coming. But that was a girl's fairy tale. Myrcella had never put much stock in the fantasies of the songs bards sang. They were just nice stories to her.

The mists had hung like this the last time she'd seen Storm's End. It had been years before the war, when Tommen was still a baby. Her uncle Renly was Lord of Storm's End then, and the castle had been a splendid sight. The household was lively and the decor beautiful. Her uncle and his squire Loras Tyrell had both danced with her. I was just a little girl then, she thought. She remembered how her heart pounded a mile a minute when Loras Tyrell smiled at her.

Storm's End had been a busy castle back then; but now, it was chaotic in a way she'd never seen. There were so many faces she did not recognized.

That night, Ser Franklyn left her at the table reserved for wards. Myrcella ate alongside Sansa, but Trystane had been moved above the salt. Her formerly betrothed sat to his sister's left, with an empty seat to the queen's right to symbolize Aegon's absence. The feast was modest but lively, with loud drunken ballads being sung over and over. He's going to move his bowels again, Myrcella thought as she watched her sworn stalker disappear into the crowd. She turned to her goblet and gulped down the Dornish red faster than she should.

After the third rendition of the Bear and the Maiden Fair, Myrcella felt her stomach rumbling in response to the drink. I should lay down. If the queen excuses me. She stood and the room spun around and around. Quickly, she grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. I've drunk far too much, she thought. "My lady, I'm not feeling well. I'll see you on the morrow," she said to Sansa before making off to excuse herself from the feast. She approached Queen Arianne on the dais and Prince Trystane tapped his sister's arm to make the queen look up from her babe at the breast. "Your Grace, pray excuse me, but I ought to retire to my cell." Sh*t, I should not have said 'cell,' she thought, and the queen's eyes narrowed as if to confirm her folly.

"You are excused, Myrcella. See that you find your chambers quickly," she said in a cold voice, devoid of love or kindness.

Myrcella looked around the hall but did not see her shadow. Where would I go? she thought. Escape had come to her mind weeks ago when she first arrived, but she figured it was impossible with the Spider in the castle. Not to mention the recent addition of Ser Franklyn escorting her wherever she'd go after word came of the Tyrells bending the knee to Stannis. There was no way she'd get out alive.

[badgate]

Myrcella
Part 2 of 2

Her head was still pounding as she made her way up the stairs. She rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyelids together to relieve the pain. Drums were pounding down below in the feast hall, and up above in her skull. She heard the scrape of leather on stone and looked over her shoulder to see two shadows following her down the corridor. The spider's spiders, she thought immediately. He's sent them after me.

Turning a corner, Myrcella picked up her pace. She got to a final flight of stairs and looked back to see only one of the men was following her now. She threw herself up the stairs and down the hall to her cell. How will I get in without Ser Franklyn? What if the door is locked? That proved to not be an issue, as she turned the final corner to see the second man had cut her off from the other side. Behind her the shorter, fatter one was jogging lightly to catch up.

The tall man knelt. "My lady," he said, pulling back the hood to reveal his face. His head was topped with a mop of grey hair, and his square jaw kept the face from being handsome. But he wasn't ugly, no...the squished nose was distinctive too. I know this face, she realized. "You..." she began.

"I am Ser Lothor Brune, my lady. You may remember me from your father and brother's court." He stood.

"Yes!" said Myrcella. She found herself smiling. Finally a face I know.

"You rode in Joffrey's name-day tourney, the first name-day after he was crowned." "Just so," the knight said, smiling. He reached a hand over her shoulder to his companion. "And this is Ser Shadrich, a hedge knight in service to your uncle." Myrcella was confused. "Which uncle? The true, or false?"

Lothor didn't look like he wanted to answer that. "The false, I suppose. King Stannis. Though Lord Tyrion was the one who paid us to save you. My lady, do you know that your uncle swore House Lannister to Stannis?"

Myrcella pulled back the sleeves to reveal scars and half-way healed cuts from a whip, all up and down her forearms. "They whipped me until blood ran down my fingers," she explained. "Of course I know." Ser Shadrich made a noise that sounded like a frightened mouse, but Ser Lothor's face darkened so much she thought he was about to draw his sword and cut down the garrison man for man. Instead, he went down to his knees again and took her hands in his.

"Your uncle has won this war. Aegon the Pretender lost it the day the Great Council of the Vale declared for the True King. The stormlands will be the final battlefield, and you a captive in the middle of it." He ran his finger over one of the fresher scabs on her arm. "No one will ever do this to you again, not while I still breathe. You have my word." Myrcella felt tears rising into her eyes.

Abruptly, Ser Shadrich grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. "The feast," he said, and Myrcella realized why. The drums had stopped, and been replaced...with screams. "We have to go."

She had come to Storm's End a child, full of dreams and excited to behold the wonders of her father's home. Joffrey only cared about jousting and practicing with blunted swords in the yard, but Myrcella had taken note of another guest the night they arrived: Ser Davos Seaworth. The Onion Knight was known to be in her uncle Stannis' service, but it so happened he was traveling from Dragonstone to his own lands and wife and children in the Rainwood. "Ser Davos," Myrcella had begun meekly. "I was wondering...if you would do me the kindness..." finally she'd just blurted it out: "I want to see how you saved my uncle!"

The Onion Knight laughed and clapped the little princess on her shoulder. "Of course, my little lady."

As her saviors led her down into the chambers below the castle the memory came flooding back.

"Down here," Ser Davos had said as he led her down a dark and wet corridor into the bowels of the castle itself. The lower they got, the louder was the sea.

Suddenly Ser Lothor and Ser Shadrich came to a stop, and Myrcella ran into Lothor's back. "F***," exclaimed the smaller knight. "The Onion Knight told us how to get in, not how to get out!" They were at a fork with three different corridors they could run down.

Honestly, are all men useless? Myrcella thought. She remembered the way. Pointing to the left corridor, she said, "it's this way." The knights did not question her knowledge, and again they were off.

In peace time, Ser Davos had showed her the murder holes that starving men had looked through as he rowed his boat full of onions and fish into the lower chamber. She had giggled and removed her shoes to splash in the waters that washed in from Shipbreaker Bay. Now, she felt no cause to giggle. There was a voice shouting behind her. "Sansa," the voice shouted, "Sansa!" I am not Sansa, she thought, and ran faster.

Ser Lothor helped her into a rowboat while Ser Shadrich climbed in the front and untied the rope binding the boat to the little harbor under the castle. Lothor used the oar to push them off, and out they went into the mist. Past the first few layers of mist they came on a ship. Myrcella went up the ladder first, then her saviors.  On the deck of the ship Ser Lothor finally smiled. "It is good to see you again, my lady."

The ship was already making off into the knight seas. Myrcella looked back at the castle wistfully, wishing she could have brought Sansa and even Trystane with her. "I'm no longer a lady. I'm no longer a princess. I'm the waters. Myrcella Waters."

"No, my lady," Ser Lothor insisted. He cupped her chin in his hand and made her look up into his eyes. Green, and sad, she thought. "King Stannis has signed the papers. You are the Lady Myrcella Lannister, and you're going home."

[badgate]

Varys
Part 1 of 2

The queen sounded just like Elia Martell in childbirth. She's almost bleeding as much too. Varys had waited upon Princess Elia when she gave birth to the king. Afterward, his birds reported that Grand Maester Pycelle had told the crown prince she would not survive another child. "What did the Prince say?" he'd asked the little bird. "The dragon must have three heads," the child answered. Varys wondered if Arianne would be able to have three children as he tried in vain to ignore her crying.

"You should take some milk of the poppy, Your Grace, or a small cup of sweetsleep. It will ease the process," Varys offered. "No," the queen insisted. "It could hurt the baby."

An hour later Varys excused himself. The sight of blood was making his stomach roil, and it would be a great offense to retch in front of the queen. Down in the yard, squires were practicing with blunted swords. He saw one of his birds polishing armor in the armory. Never more than a stone's throw away from Ser Rolly Duckfield, he thought.

"Lord Varys!" a voice called across the yard. Varys smiled thinly as his old friend rode in from the growing town outside the castle. Palanquins were not loved in Westeros, so Illyrio Mopatis had taken to riding the largest horse he had ever seen. That thing could pass for Sandor Clegane's horse, he thought as his friend awkwardly climbed off the beast, one hand holding his stomach in. Behind him rode a retinue of five knights, and about twenty dirty sparrows followed on foot. Some were even barefoot.

Varys noticed one curious one, a big tall sparrow. And ugly, he thought. The man had striking blue eyes though, and short cropped hair like corn.

"Our Deputy Master of Coin," he answered his friend. Illyrio blanched. "Our kingly friend insists on honoring the Westerosi before me. I do not complain." He noticed Varys eyeing the sparrows that had followed him into the yard. "Oh yes. Insistent buggers, these fanatics. They promised to perform the blessings of the seven on the prince once it is done."

"Of course, my friend," Varys said.

"How goes the queen's labor?"

"A trial by battle. But she is strong. She will make it through this one, at the least."

From the tower above, a scream echoed down from the Queen's chamber window into the yard. One of Varys' birds walked by carrying a stack of shields. He dropped one next to Varys, and said as he picked it up, "it is done. She is born." The lads jousting had stopped to look up at the tower.

She, he thought with mounting dread. We may all soon be dead. One of the queen's handmaidens then found them. "The baby is coming. Her Grace wishes all Small Council members to be present for an unveiling." Just what I wanted, he thought. Instead he answered, "of course, my lady. We shall ascend at once."

Being a spider was Varys' trade, and he had already spun a web throughout Storm's End. He saw the former princess Myrcella being led through a hall by her shadow; ever since Willas Tyrell's turn of cloak had reached the eunuch's ears the girl was followed everywhere by one of the kingsguard remaining here. He slipped into a little-noticed stairwell and ascended before the main procession of ladies and lords.

When Myrcella was walked in by her shadow Varys glanced before looking away. He heard the faint creak of the wheeled chair they were pushing the queen in. The doors open and out came a bathed and redressed Queen Arianne Martell, glowing with a tiny baby in her arms. A tiny girl baby. When it was his turn, Varys stepped forward to praise the girl's beauty and compliment the Queen. Then he leaned forward. "Your Grace, my birds tell me the king's banners are not far from Storm's End. He should be here by morning at the latest." Arianne smiled.

Addressing the gallery, she said, "We shall have a feast tonight, to celebrate. Lord Varys tells me my royal husband's banners will return before the morrow. If the gods are good, he will join us by dinner to see his daughter." Lady Sansa and Myrcella were ushered out, but the Queen's brother was allowed to stay. "What's her name?" little Trystane asked his sister eagerly. Arianne smiled, but only answered "that's for the king to decide."

Varys remembered a story he'd heard about wildling customs. Typically the free folk did not name a child until it was two years old, for fear of cursing the babe. The queen would do well to do the same, he thought.

After the unveiling the Master of Whisperers slipped to his own chambers, where he found another of his little birds waiting. "Is it done?" he asked the little girl. "Yes, m'lord," she answered. "I saw them off myself." "Good."

His birds had flown into the Reach in reaction to Willas Tyrell's about face in support of Stannis Baratheon. Always a step ahead. It had not been a week after the Highgarden Council's decision came down that Varys had heard and dispatched word into the Crownlands to inform Aegon. He'll have to beat back to Storm's End now, and wait for his aunt and her dragons. They are our only hope now. He dismissed the girl and changed into an opulent purple robe for the new princess' feast.

Down in the great hall the drums were pounding the beat to "The Dornishman's Wife." Varys took his seat on the dais, a few seats to the right of Queen Arianne. She kept an empty chair next to her in case Aegon arrived during the feast. He noticed the same tall and ugly sparrow walking to the corridor that led to the privy just as Ser Franklyn and Myrcella walked in. The Kingsguard sat his charge down next to Lady Sansa and left her there. To use the privy, so my birds say. Twice a day, like a broken sun clock. The knight disappeared down the same corridor as that sparrow.

After seven courses, the eunuch couldn't take another bite. He considered excusing himself, but knew that the Queen liked to have him close. Suddenly a flash of golden hair moved before him as the final chords of The Bear and the Maiden Fair faded in the air. The little princess had stepped up to the dais to ask Queen Arianne if she could take her leave. Varys saw the Queen reply, but couldn't hear it over the drums that announced a parody of The Rains of Castamere that a singer in Storm's End had written. As Myrcella left the hall, Varys suddenly realized her shadow wasn't following her. Where is he? he thought. Before he could find the knight in the crowded hall, servants wheeled out a giant pigeon pie that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't as opulent or large as Joffrey's pie, but just as fragrant. The music died as Arianne rose to cut the pie.

"Oh, this smells simply amazing!" she exclaimed to the servants, hugging each in turn. The cooks stepped back in shock and took their leave. "With this cut," Arianne said in a ringing voice that filled the hall, "we honor the birth of our dear princess, my daughter." All in attendance applauded. Just then Varys saw Ser Franklyn, standing against the wall in the shadows, no less than ten feet from Lady Sansa's table.

Arianne brought down a large knife and the crust of the pie burst open. The top half halved, Varys could have sworn he saw something move. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, he saw Ser Franklyn stepping forward. No. That can't be him. It was the ugly sparrow's blonde hair sticking from the back of the helm that betrayed it. How did he get the knight's armor? Varys asked. He rose to find Areoh Hotah, but before he could a shrill scream filled the hall. He looked to the pie and saw steam rising in the air as the head of Ser Franklyn Fossoway, half-cooked with his hair singed to the scalp, rolled out and landed with a thud at Her Grace's feet.

[badgate]

Varys
Part 2 of 2

The entire hall had gone mad with chaos. There was shouting and pushing, the Queen and half her ladies sobbing and screaming hysterically. Nearly every man with a blade had drawn it, adding to the danger. A few servants doubled over to vomit, and Prince Trystane Martell dove under the dais to do the same. Varys moved swiftly, faster than anyone would have expected from a man his size. He plucked up the newborn girl from where Arianne had left her in a bassinet on the dais. Turning, he found the Kingsguard's lord commander before him. "Ser Areo," he said, "you should see the little princess safely to the Queen's chambers."

The big knight nodded and took the bassinet from him. "Find the captives, Spider. The Lannister girl and the Stark girl." Then he turned and swept through the crowd.

Lord Varys had saved Sansa Stark from the fires of King's Landing. She knows she is safer within the castle than without. So he first climbed the stairs to Myrcella Baratheon's tower cell. When he got there he found the door barred, with no sign of breakage. Quickly, he slipped a key into the door and it opened almost immediately. Within, the chamber was empty. That was when his heart began to beat faster.

Out in the corridor, he found one of his little birds waiting. "Find Myrcella," he ordered tersely, and the boy moved to obey. Turning, Varys bent his knees and ran. He ran faster than he had in years, since he'd been a young man in the slums of Lys and Pentos and Myr. His belly slapped against his thighs with every step but still he ran. Sansa had been staying below ground, in a wide chamber one level above the castle's prisoner cells. He found this door locked as well, and empty within. Now his heart was in his throat. He forced a gulp, then saw a flash of three people running at the end of the corridor. "It's this way," he heard a young girl's voice say. Sansa! How the Stark girl knew of Storm's End's entrance by sea deep below the castle he did not know, but it had to be her.

Running, he chased their shaddows and footsteps deeper into the castle. "Sansa!" he cried as he heard the faint sound of feet splashing where the tide rolled in. "Sansa!" he shouted again.

By the time he'd gotten to the lower chamber, all he could see was a rowboat disappearing into the mists on Shipbreaker Bay. His head was swimming with thoughts. How? How?! With Sansa gone, and possibly Myrcella as well, they'd just lost the only reason Stannis had avoided storming the castle.

Above in the yard there was still chaos. He found Illyrio, who told him the queen was up in her chambers, in shock. Hundreds of men and women moved about. More were leaving the castle than coming in. Fleeing, more like, he thought. He was about to ascend to the Queen's chambers to inform her that the two girls had disappeared when he heard the beating of horse hooves. A horn was blown as about fifty dirty riders charged into the yard. They rode with such fury that they would have stampeded the eunuch had he not jumped back. He saw at the head of the party a kingsguard cloak and moved to meet the knight.

"Lord Varys," the kingsguard said as he dismounted his lathered horse. He was paler than parchment. "Ser Vortimer. What-" he stopped. Behind Ser Vortimer two corpses being laid on the ground. "Hightower?" he asked, almost to himself. "Allyrion?" "The king went mad," Ser Vortimer said in answer. "The Vale crushed us, pushed us down to Rosby, and when your letter came with news of the Tyrells..." the words hung in the air.

Varys fixed the knight in the eyes. "Where is the king?" he asked. Ser Vortimer began to cough. Varys gripped his shoulders and shook him. "Where is the king?!" he shouted. Ser Vortimer coughed. "He's...he's...dead," he managed to choke out, before falling down to sob next to his fallen brothers' bodies.

The other knights had dismounted and the word was falling from every lip across the yard. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, the word was ringing in Varys' ears. He looked over to where Illyrio stood, and saw tears streaming down his friend's face. Everything we worked for. Everything we did is turned to ashes. There were no bells to toll at Storm's End to mourn the king's death, but as word spread across the castle he could hear trumpets and horns being blown in a desolate tone.

[badgate]

Yohn Royce

The Wendwater River chugged slowly toward Blackwater Bay, completely unaware of the warfare surrounding it. Yohn had called a halt for the day's march when they met the river; on the morrow they would be fording it. Just now, however, Yohn had a promise to fulfill.

He found his good-son sparring with blunted swords against Ser Mychel Redfort. Their feet splashed in the shallow edge of the river water as the steel echoed down its current. Mychel saw Yohn watching, and in that split second his hesitation allowed Harrold to land a swing flat against the young man's left shoulder. "Yield," Ser Mychel said as he rubbed his shoulder and rotated his arm in the socket. The young man grinned and they clasped hands. "Well fought," the Redfort boy said. Then Ser Harrold saw Yohn as well. "Good-father!" he called, followed by Ser Mychel asking, "how fares Runestone?"

Yohn grimaced. Aegon the Pretender's sellswords had sacked the castle and taken the five-hundred man garrison unawares. As he spoke, Yohn knew that Ser Samwell Stone was raising seven-hundred fifty men to both garrison and rebuild the seat of House Royce. "Repairs are underway as we speak, thank the lord of light," he said in response. Turning to Harrold, "good-son, did you still wish to hunt with me today? We've four good hours before sunset."

Harrold grinned and said goodbye to his friend. Together, the Lord Regent and the Heir Apparent walked deeper into the Kingswood until they were a mile from the Runestone army's camp. They set up a canvas blind over a solid tree trunk and settled down on the trunk to wait. "Is this what it was like to hunt with King Robert?" the young man asked.

"No. Robert preferred to hunt with spears, and he was much more interested in boars. Today we are hunting a different game." He handed Harrold an ornate crossbow the young man had unearthed from the army's stores, keeping a weirwood longbow for himself. "I was with him on his final hunt," he heard himself saying. "The king was roaring drunk. I suspect his squire was pushing the wine harder than normal, and when that great boar broke past his spear and gored him..." his voice trailed off.

"When he died," he continued, "I had hoped Lord Stark would come to me. Jon Arryn had left me enough clues to discover the secrets that got him killed. I didn't put it together until that same night. When dawn came, and Lord Stark had not, however..." his voice trailed off again. Harrold was listening raptly. "What happened?"

"We fled. It shames me, but myself and Andar fled back to the Vale that very morning. We hadn't the numbers to defy Cersei Lannister on our own, and Eddard Stark had put his trust in the wrong men. Robar, though...he'd gone south during the dark of night with Renly Baratheon. I never saw him again."

Just then a fawn walked past the hunting blind. Harrold loosed a bolt from his crossbow, which missed. The fawn ran off in a flash. "Damn," the young man muttered.

"You struck too soon," Yohn told him. "Let it be complacent. Wait until it's grazing." Harrold scowled but didn't argue. Instead, the young man said, "Stannis was Robert's true heir, but..."

"Yes?" Yohn asked.

Harrold sighed. "You are the Lord Regent. Your daughter is our queen, and my sister as well through marriage." He let the words hang in the air.

"And?"

"And, we've just won a war to find ourselves facing a greater foe than before. This Targaryen woman...she has dragons." His voice grew hushed when he said the word. "In Aegon's conquest, the dragons burned the fleet of Gulltown in a single night. They scorched the Reach to ash. If we have to face her..." He didn't seem to want to finish, so Yohn spoke instead. "When a Targaryen was born, son, the Lords of Westeros used to flip a coin. On one side is greatness: the strength of Aegon the Conquerer. On the other is-"

"-madness," Harrold finished. "Like the Mad King Aerys."

"Just so. This Targaryen queen's father, in fact. The Targaryens were of Old Valyria, where it was customary to wed brother and sister. Aegon the Unlikely tried to end that, but he was succeeded by the wrong son. Jaeherys wed his sister, and their children Aerys and Rhaella wed as well." "So you think Daenerys Stormborn could be mad as well?" Harrold asked. Yohn massaged his jaw, thinking. "To be honest," he said, "I don't know."

After that, they sat in silence for nearly an hour. Eventually, Yohn said, "do you know the story of the Vale's submission?" Harrold shook his head. "We knelt like the other six kingdoms, do I really need to know how?" Yohn sighed. "Really, son, if you're going to lead, you should know your history.

"After the battle at Gulltown, Aegon and his sisters turned to the other kingdoms of Westeros. They conquered the Stormlands, the Reach, the Riverlands, and the West in short order. Then Torrhen Stark saw that the North could never beat back Aegon's might, and bent the knee. At the time, the King in the Vale was a young boy named Ronnel Arryn. His mother, Sharra, was the Queen Regent. While Aegon and his sisters were conquering the rest of the South, Queen Sharra fortified the Vale. She moved the strongest host the Bloody Gate had ever seen to its garrison. She tripled the three castles leading to the Eyrie: Stone, Snow, and Sky. Aegon would have had to let a hundred thousand, maybe more, die before his army reached into the Vale.

"So instead, his sister Visenya mounted her dragon Vhagar. Oh, we tried to loose some arrows at the beast, but it was for nonce. When Queen Sharra was told, she came running out to the Eyrie's inner courtyard. There she found Visenya Targaryen and her dragon, with little King Ronnel sitting on her knee. The boy asked his mother, 'mother, can I go fly with the lady?'"

Harrold frowned. "But Ronnel Arryn lived, didn't he? She didn't kill a little boy. She wouldn't." "No," Yohn assured him.

"So what happened to Ronnel Arryn?"

"Well, Queen Sharra knew then and there that Vale's throne was lost. She and Visenya exchanged pleasantries. One account, that I read once in Oldtown, says they spoke as if they were old friends. Sharra had the men of her garrison turn over their swords to the new queen, and they were among the hundreds that form the iron throne. She surrendered the crowns of the Arryn nobility as well. After all that was done, Queen Visenya took Ronnel Arryn riding three times around the Giant's Lance."

The end of the story brought Yohn's mind back to the present. He heard the chirping and hooting of animals hidden in the woods. A breeze rustled the leaves above them. Harrold's quiet voice broke the trance. "I'd like to fly a dragon."

Yohn smiled, and patted the young man on the shoulder. "I'd imagine every Arryn has wanted to fly. Your sigil is a falcon, after all."

Before Harrold could reply, a stag of impressive size came into view. The beast's antlers stretched four feet above its head. Regally, the stag bent down to graze the forest floor. Harrold slowly and quietly began to load his crossbow, but Yohn touched his wrist to stop him. The stag raised his head. In one swift movement, Yohn stood, and the weirwood longbow loosed an arrow with impressive speed. The stag's rear leg muscle twitched, but before it could move, the arrow struck through one eye and shot out the other end of its head. It collapsed on the grass, and after a single twitch ran through the body, it died.

[badgate]

An Open Letter To The Order of Maesters of Westeros,

In the name of Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm --

I, Lord Yohn Royce, Lord Regent of the Vale, hereby open the Vale's borders to the Maesters and Archmaesters of the Citadel. In this time of peril for Oldtown, with the death of many men who served in your order, I offer the hospitality, safety, sustenance, and support of the Vale.

I declare an open call for any Maester or Archmaester of the realm to seek refuge in House Royce's lands at Runestone. Those with knowledge that will help the garrison in rebuilding a more formidable seat for House Royce shall be rewarded accordingly, and the judgement on that matter is deferred to the garrison's commander, Ser Sam Stone.

I also declare the forfeiture of 1/20th of Royce land, adjoining the castle and town, for the purposes of a new Citadel of the Vale. The order of maesters is granted this in perpetuity, unless they forfeit it of their own accord. If the order forfeits the land, it can only be returned back to the senior branch of House Royce.

So signed,
Yohn of House Royce, Lord of Runestone, Commander of the Runestone Army, Lord Regent of the Vale and Master of Laws

[badgate]

Sansa

The Maid of Tarth was twelve days dying. Her rescuer had been struck by four arrows as they galloped away from Storm's End, but one had struck true and left a wound that had soon begun to fester. Ser Hyle tried to treat it, but he couldn't stop the rot. Stinking, and looking extremely grim, Brienne sat rigid in her horse as they made their way through the war-torn Riverlands.

They had passed the setting of a recent battle the day before. Royce, Coldwater, Arryn, Tarly, Oakheart...this must have been a battle when the Vale and Reach were on different sides. Sansa had heard of the battles between Stannis Baratheon's forces and Aegon Targaryen's, but couldn't really remember the details of when and where...

Ahead, their horses led them into a clearing, and Sansa saw with a gasp the tallest hill she had ever seen just a mile to the west. "High Heart," Ser Hyle said from the horse next to Sansa. "I led Lord Tarly's van up that hill, against the Knights of the Vale. 'Tis hard land to fight on." Sansa squinted, and saw for sure the distinct image of smoke spiraling into the sky. "There's a fire up there," she said to the knight. Ahead of them, Brienne was silent.

Ser Hyle squinted too. "Aye," he said. He trotted up to Brienne, saying, "my lady, we should take to covered paths, anybody up there can see us down here." Sansa could not see the lady knight's face, but heard a grunt. A few minutes later they had relocated to a thick forest. "We should be fine here," Ser Hyle said, but it wasn't even an hour later when they heard the rustling of leaves and shadowed figures appeared all around them. Ahead, Brienne drew her sword, as did Ser Hyle to Sansa's right.

"Who goes there?" a voice called from somewhere above them. Brienne must have tried to speak, for Sansa heard a strange noise from the big woman in front of her. After a moment of silence, Sansa clutched the reins of her horse and galloped forward. Gazing up into the forest, she said back, "We mean no harm. We are just passing." The sound of steel and hooves came from all around them as the shadowy figures came closer. The leader, a strong man who looked old and tired, completely in black with a giant black fish on his surcoat, stepped forward, his sword drawn.

"No harm, eh?" he said, looking from Brienne to Ser Hyle. "You don't mean any harm, that much is true," he said to Sansa. Suddenly Brienne charged forward on her horse, but the man was quick. He slashed at her side and reopened a wound Ser Hyle had sewn shut a week ago, somewhere in the Reach. Brienne fell from her horse and collapsed, unconcious. Sansa looked over and saw that Ser Hyle was dismounting, having already thrown down his dirk and sword. Four bowmen held taut arrows mere inches from his face and heart.

The man came forward and held out his hand to help Sansa dismount. Her feet now on the forest floor, she looked up at the man's sigil. "Are you...the Blackfish? My- I mean, Catelyn Tully's uncle?" He looked down on her, not unkindly, and answered, "I am. You look so much like her, Sansa."

Sansa gave a little gasp, and her great-uncle smiled. "You really don't think I would recognize my niece? You should have dyed your hair."

The other men tied up Ser Hyle and Brienne (who was still unconsious), to a horse and together they all began the ascent to High Heart. Brynden Tully rode next to Sansa, and after a long silence, said, "my lady...I should warn you...what you will see atop the hill." Sansa looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Brynden looked uncomfortable, and shifted a little in his saddle. "I...well, it's better to explain once you have seen...but I guess, first...have you heard of the Brotherhood Without Banners?"

"Yes," Sansa said immediately. "I still remember how my friend Jeyne swooned when Beric Dondarrion rode in the tourney. He's dead now, though, isn't he?"

"Yes," her uncle answered. "But one of the other members of the brotherhood, a man named Thoros, was a red priest. Years ago, when Lord Beric first died, Thoros brought him back to life using magic from the fire god King Stannis worships." Sansa shuddered. Her uncle continued, "Thoros brought Beric back many times. Then one night, the brotherhood came upon a body...mind you, this was a week after the Red Wedding, whereas Beric had always been brought back quickly..."

They were at the top of the hill now. Sansa saw a camp, many haphazard tents of various hues, and a modest fire still dwindling in the center, smoke climbing up to the sky. A hooded figure, a woman, turned to look at them. Brynden held out his hand to Sansa, helped her dismount again, and led her forward. Sansa could hear her heart beating in her ears like a drum when the woman pulled back her hood.

She gasped again. "Mother?"

This was not the woman she remembered, who had brushed her beautiful auburn hair, had loved to sing in the sept, who loved her children and her husband, the Lady of Winterfell... this was a corpse come back to life. Hardened features, ghastly cuts, exposed bone... Is this better than death, mother? Sansa asked in her head.

The woman smiled ghoulishly, and bent down and kissed Sansa on the cheek. As the woman pulled back, Sansa saw some of the rot blurring. The wrinkles smoothed...the gash in the cheeks filled in...her exposed throat transformed to a very ugly scar. Catelyn Stark now stood before her daughter. "Sansa. My sweet, sweet Sansa, it is so good to see you one more time."

Sansa felt a rush of emotion in this moment. Everything she had suffered: Joffrey, her father's death, Tyrion the Imp, captivity at Storm's End. In some way her heart and mind released the pain and despair she had been building up inside, ever since the day she and Joffrey encountered Arya and a butcher's boy playing swords with sticks. Her eyes welled with tears, but so had Lady Catelyn's, and they were hugging, crying, even laughing a little. After a few minutes the men of the brotherhood changed their attention to Sansa's two companions. I almost forgot about them, Sansa thought, as they were brought forward.

Brienne was awake now, but could barely speak. "Won't make it through the night," said an archer with an impressive Dornish drawl as he looked down on her. Lady Catelyn knelt low, and Brienne's eyes opened and found her face, widening in shock.

"Brienne," Catelyn said softly, "you brought her back to me." Brienne opened her mouth but only made a feeble sound. Rising, Catelyn turned to Ser Hyle. "And you?"

"He helped, mother," Sansa put in. "Brienne smuggled me out of the castle, but he was the one waiting at the gates with three strong horses. He patched up Brienne's wounds well enough, but..." her voice trailed off. Brienne had groaned, and was now staring lifelessly at the clear blue sky. For an absurd moment, Sansa gazed all around and realized how high the hill was. She is closer to the gods, at least, Sansa thought.

She looked at her mother, and the happiness she had been feeling seemed to subdue. Catelyn's face was dark, and sad. "Mother?" Sansa asked hopefully. Catelyn seemed to be drawn from her trance then, and smiled softly at Sansa. "My daughter, would you mind fetching some more wood for the fire?" she asked, gesturing to a pile on the edge of the hilltop. Sansa moved to obey, the Dornish archer falling in behind her to help. Across the flat top of the hill, her arms full of logs, Sansa heard her mother's faint voice. "Thoros, I need you."

A haggard, red-haired man in dirty robes came to where Catelyn was standing over Brienne's dead body. They both knelt before her, and Sansa saw the man's lips moving in soundless incantation. "No!" she cried, throwing down the logs and running forward. Catelyn looked up and said, "it was good to see you one more time, Sansa. I know you will make me proud." Her mother then bent over the Maid of Tarth, and a heavenly wind seemed to blow all around them. Catelyn pressed her lips against Brienne's, then pulled back with a dazed look on her face. She exhaled a puff of smoke and fell over, dead.

Sansa cried every morning until they reached the flowing current of the Red Fork a week later. Brienne was whole and alive. The morning that Sansa awoke without crying, the big woman came to her and knelt, placing her sword at her feet. Sansa accepted the lady's protection.

The next few days proved to lift Sansa's spirits immensely. I am free, finally, truly free, she thought. I can go back to Winterfell, I can see Arya and Jon! As the company of riders came to the top of the final hill, Sansa resolved to do just that, nudging her horse forward toward the welcoming castle of Riverrun.

[badgate]

Royce Coldwater

The river was chugging steadily out the window of Lord Tully's chambers. They sat on the balcony well past sunset, discussing the issue at hand. Their weekly dinners were more and more strained as the weeks rode by. Now Edmure Tully was making the same speech he'd made every time.

"Jon Snow is not a Stark," Edmure Tully insisted for the nineteenth time. Royce said nothing. "I don't know why your Lord Regent-"

"Lord Yohn agrees with you," Royce interrupted him. Edmure looked shocked. "We've discussed this issue countless times. Why didn't you say so?"

"He told me not to unless I must," Royce explained, "and I'm well and truly tired of listening to you say the same thing every time we sit down to sup." Royce refilled his goblet and continued imperviously, "Yohn has respected King Stannis' choice and declarations, but he is merely doing his duty as Master of Laws. But if the betrothal with your niece were confirmed..." Royce looked up at Edmure and let the words hang in the air.

Edmure pondered this, and finally said, "Yes, well, as I've told Lord Royce, nothing can be done on that front until her wedding to Tyrion Lannister is dissolved. She says they never consummated it, but the High Septon depends on the Lannisters' protection, and last I checked, Lord Royce and Lord Lannister serve different regents." He left the final two words unsaid: for now.

Edmure Tully wasn't stupid. He knew that Yohn Royce wouldn't try to obtain this betrothal with Sansa Stark unless the biggest obstacle could possibly be cleared. The atmosphere around Riverrun had become palpable in the last two months. Lord Edmure had thought that once the matter of The Twins and House Frey were settled, Royce Coldwater would march his men away. Royce had continued to claim he was giving his scouts more time to find Robb Stark's secret trail into the Westerlands, but after two months it had become clear something else was afoot. Word crept slowly from the Stormlands with news that the Vale had miraculously survived a crushing blow at Storm's End, and being one of Yohn Royce's most loyal and trusted bannermen, Lord Coldwater had known why from the start.

They sat in silence as the last strands of sunlight left the world. Royce emptied his goblet and said, "Daenerys Targaryen agrees with you as well, you know...she would make Sansa the Lady of Winterfell." He saw a glimmer of hope flash in Lord Tully's eyes, and Royce looked casually down the balcony, where his thirteen-thousand plus army was camped outside the castle. To protect...and intimidate, Royce thought. Edmure followed Royce's gaze and his expression abruptly turned much less hopeful.

After drinks with Lord Tully ended, Royce ventured down to the great hall where many of his commanders, including Ser Morton Waynwood, were eating. Royce was full, but enjoyed the company of his fellow Valemen after supping with a River Lord. Just as he sat to join them, Riverrun's maester tapped his shoulder, his hand held out, extending a scroll with an unbroken seal, burn orange with a rune in the center.

Royce studied the words, and Ser Morton asked, "What is it, my lord?"

"Word from Lord Yohn. The negotiations have proceeded. He will send word soon..." Royce frowned at the words on the letter, "word of who is our ally," he finished.

Ser Morton didn't look happy about that. Royce was the lord of Coldwater Burn, and House Coldwater had been a direct bannerman of the Royces of Runestone dating back centuries before Aegon's Conquest. Ser Morton's mother was Yohn's chief rival in the Vale, though Royce felt that Anya Waynwood had assumed a rivalry where Yohn had hoped for a partnership. Either way, she will need to be appeased for the plan to work. If the plan proceeds.

Royce then noticed, across the hall, Lady Sansa dining with a few old crones who had become her ladies. She was guarded, as always, by Brienne of Tarth. Royce had never seen a woman so freakish big, except perhaps in the mountain clans of the Vale. The Maid of Tarth did remind him of a Burned Ear Chieftainess he'd killed, though...

Having drunk plenty enough wine sounding out Lord Tully, Royce switched to water mixed with lemon juice, strained through a cloth to remove the pulp. It was a specialty from the kitchens at Coldwater Burn, but every member of the household from lord to smallfolk knew how to make it. Royce had shown the cooks at Riverrun the recipe less than a week after arriving at the castle.

"Lord Tully ready for us to leave him alone?" Ser Marwyn Belmore asked sardonically, interrupting Royce's thoughts. Indeed, Edmure Tully seemed anxious to be rid of the army surrounding his castle, despite the fact that they were much more friend than foe. Royce nodded in response, then added, "it won't be long now. I can feel it."

Royce bid the men his leave, and as he passed the hearth he threw the letter from Yohn Royce into its flames. He watched to make sure it was naught but ashes before he retired to his suite of rooms in the castle.

Three days later, he was leading a training session in the yard when the maester found him again. The seal was again unbroken, but this letter was much smaller, the message couldn't be more than a few words...

His heart pounding in his ears, Royce Coldwater opened the letter there in the yard, and saw in Yohn Royce's dignified handwriting: Dragons.

Royce looked up at the maester, his hand becoming a fist with the crumpled letter inside it. "Maester, let Lord Tully know I should speak with him again today. We will be leaving on the morrow, and I have a new banner to gift him."

He marched quickly to his chambers, ordered his squire to fetch Ser Morton and the other commanders, and sat in the tallest chair as he waited. It was over half an hour later before all of them had assembled: Ser Morton Waynwood, Ser Marwyn Belmore, and Lord Harlan Hunter. His squire poured them all a warm ale that pushed away the cold of the new winter winds. After a few minutes of silence, Royce took out the letter and handed it to Ser Morton without a word.

Ser Morton read it, his eyes widening, and he silently passed it to Lord Harlan. Harlan had a nearly identical reaction, and passed it to Ser Marwyn, who glanced at the parchment. Marwyn swore and threw down his goblet, storming out of the solar. "Don't worry," Royce said to the others. "He'll come around."

"I agree, my lord," said Lord Harlan sycophantically. Morton nodded, wordless. Royce had the feeling the man was itching to run to the maester's chambers and dispatch a raven to his mother immediately. Nevertheless, Royce proceeded confidently.

"Lord Harlan, you should see to it that we have ample provisions and supplies. Ser Morton, prepare the men. We march at daybreak." Royce stood and turned his back on them, crossing to the table against the wall to refill his goblet. "And where shall I tell the men we'll march?" Morton Waynwood asked from across the room.

Royce frowned, his back still to the two men. Slowly, he turned, and locked eyes with the knight. "West, ser. I believe we all have unfinished business with the Lord of Horn Hill."

[badgate]

To All The Noble Houses of the Seven Kingdoms,

Our brave king, His Grace Stannis Baratheon, has fallen in the battle against the Army of Winter. In the name of the royal House of Baratheon, by the power granted me in His Grace's will as Protector of the Realm, I hereby proclaim the coronation of Her Grace Queen Shireen of House Baratheon.

The armies united in the name of Shireen Baratheon stand with all of Westeros. We will protect all of our land's people during this winter, and not rest until every man, woman, and child are free from the threat of the Army of the Dead that engulfed Winterfell. However, there remain those who stand against your health and happiness. The lords of the west and even some lords who once claimed to be loyal to House Baratheon have sided with the Mad Queen Daenerys. There may be a place for Daenerys in Westeros, but it is certainly not on the throne of the realm.

However, today is a day of celebration. Westeros has a new queen, and her future is as warm as the first sunlight of Spring. All hail Her Grace, Queen Shireen of House Baratheon, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men!

Signed,
--Lady Anya of House Waynwood, Lady of Ironoaks and Protector of the Realm

--Lord Davos Seaworth, Lord of the Rainwood and Hand of the King

--Lord Damon Shett, Lord of Gulltower and Lord Commander of the Gulltown City Watch