Olenna I

The Tyrell matriarch waited patiently at the round table as she fidgeted and bit her nails. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she tried to sit upright. “Left and Right! I can’t have you two see me like this! Go wait out of my sight and berate my oaf of a son and nephew for being late, would you.” She ordered her twin guards, Erryk and Arryk, she couldn’t tell one from the other.

“At once, my lady.” One of them said ushering the court jester and other musicians from the garden leaving Olenna by herself. A month of chaos. A month of disorder. A month of unpredictability. She couldn’t handle it. Endless whispers stretching from Dorne to the Wall tell of war. Or at least the preparation of war. It didn’t matter. She knew once Jon Arryn died there would be war. A war that would isolate itself in the mountainous wasteland, people call the Vale. Not a continent-spanning conflict that would engulf Westeros in blood and smoke. She hoped the long summer being predicted by the tome-swallowers in the Citadel would usher in an era of unprecedented peace. The fatigue from Robert’s Rebellion should’ve also warranted a few more years of peace.

Perhaps she was getting more optimistic as she sadly accrued wrinkles on her face. Unfortunately, the woes kept stacking against Tyrell’s favour as baseless rumours started to spread about them marrying her granddaughter, Margaery, to Prince Viserys. It was a good plan. If the Baratheon dynasty were to fail the realm would have a spare. It was just so convenient that Margaery would become Queen as a result. Yet it was a lie. Someone, somewhere, was spreading dangerous slanders about them and she wanted to wring their neck for it. Right now, she contented on stabbing her spies’ ears with colourful words for doing a poor job. Those fools told her nothing but nonsense like random merchants spreading the rumour along with troubadours, minstrels, and singers. It was clear they were making up excuses not bothering to deduce the origin of the rumour which further outraged her.

House Tyrell did everything it can to ingratiate itself to the new Baratheon dynasty including lifting the siege of Storm’s End and having his son, Mace, surrender to Eddard Stark. They even disbanded their army and sent their levees to go back home. It was a mistake she realised. If they kept that army, they could’ve easily marched it to King’s Landing to aggressively argue their ‘loyalty’ and their ‘innocence’. As of now, no matter how much they had to chirp and placate, the new Hand of the King – Stannis Baratheon refused to listen. Perhaps he was still resentful about getting starved nearly to death by her son’s army, but they really should’ve surrendered a lot sooner. But the stubborn young man refused to do so and now he has a burning grudge against House Tyrell, further egged on by his Florent wife.

Olenna gripped her hands tightly as she cursed the Florents. The family of foxes both literally and figuratively. Always looking to replace her house as the Overlord of the Reach and their argument for doing so will always be nonsense. Who cares that they have the blood of Mern the Ninth, the Tyrells had complete control of Highgarden by the time he got immolated by Aegon the Conqueror! Their House were the High Stewards of Highgarden who grew their thorns and roots eventually ruling the Reach behind a shadow. A perfect epitome of her house’s words – ‘Growing Strong’. She was proud of her house, despite being a Redwyne at birth the constant remarrying between the two houses may as well qualify her as a Tyrell. It also helped she married a rather dashing Tyrell Lord that was both good in bed and in the mind however, a hawking incident led to him tragically falling off a cliff. ‘Twas a shame his intelligence wasn’t passed unto their oaf of a son.

“Mother! I’m pleased to see you. I’ve had a terribly busy month.” A man with a twirled moustache came into the garden.

“I’m sure you had, Mace. Now take a seat. I’m still waiting for your sluggish cousin. Why in the Seven hells is Paxter late? Does he live under the rock not noticing the entire realm is engulfed under the spectre of more war!?”

Her son gave her a placating gesture as he wiped his sweat from his forehead. “Now, now, mother. I’m sure he has his reasons. Going upstream of the Mander river is going to take time.”

Suddenly, shuffling and loud voices started to erupt outside the gate. Out came a haggard-looking man bearing the golden rose of House Tyrell being held by the two twins. “Sorry, my lady. We couldn’t keep him out.” One of the twins said.

“Erryk, please unhand that man. I’m sure he’s got something important to say.” Mace said surprising Olenna. How her son managed to tell them apart behoves her.

“Thank you, my lord.” The messenger cleared his throat. “Lord Paxter Redwyne has been ambushed at the mouth of the Mander.”

“By whom?” Olenna said with a growing lump on her throat.

“They were attacked by ships flying the kraken, my lady. They’re led by Quellon Greyjoy.”

“Looks like the old squid has finally stopped his abstinence and chosen to deflower us all.”

“Mother! That’s highly inapprop-.”

“Not now, Mace. In fact, organise ten of our galleys to sail down the river. If we’re lucky we can drive those squids off our lands before they reave and pillage.” She could feel her heart beating as she gave the order. Olenna didn’t know what finally pushed Quellon and his vicious Ironborn off their neutrality, but it bodes ill for House Tyrell. The woes kept stacking on but it was her duty to prevent it from wilting the golden rose.

Robert II

A clang of blunted steel rang across the yard as Robert sparred with his Kingsguard. “Is that all you got, kingslayer!” He pointed his sword at the blonde knight and laughed furiously. “Too busy killing those defenceless alchemists? You know they’re not the most reliable sparring partners.”

The knight huffed at that. “Of course, your grace. Tis an honour to spar against the Demon of the Trident.”

Robert held his hands down and helped him up. “So, Lannister… What’s with you killing ‘em? I understand they’re nothing but scum, burning innocent people in wildfire but what’s got you riled up, eh?”

Jaime Lannister’s eyes widened then his body froze on the spot for a full minute then replied, “Nothing, your grace. I feel it is my duty to snuff out any trace of dragon sympathisers. It’s for the good of the realm.”

“The same way I’m going to marry your sister? ‘For the good of the realm’.” Robert spat with apathy. “Jon would always remind me of that. The Lannisters shit gold. We need that gold. ‘For the good of the realm’. Now… Tell me, are the rumours of Cersei’s beauty true?” Robert noticed him wincing as he turned his face away from him. He managed to spy the Kingslayer’s reddening cheeks. In the end, Robert ignored it.

“They’re true,” Jaime grumbled. “You’re a very lucky man to have him as a wife, your grace.”

“Bah! Wife! Lucky you say?!” The King picked up his training sword and started to swing at Jaime prompting him to frantically dodge away. “You know nothing about luck! Luck is when Lyanna fucking Stark survives. Survived to become my Lady wife…” Something deep inside him gushed out and all he could feel is nothing but anger. He struck and struck till he heard a vague voice at the back of his head that reminded him of someone. Jon?! Is that you?! ‘C-a-lm’ What is it? What are you trying to tell me!?

“Your grace! Ser Jaime has had enough! Please CALM down!”

Robert looked at the ground and noticed the young man sprawled on the dirt. A dizzying headache washed over him causing him to drop his sword and collapse to the ground. “I apologise, Ser Barristan. I didn’t know what overcame me.” He spared a glance at the young lion and gave him a playful kick. “Sorry for that. But you should’ve blocked those attacks, Your footwork and parrying are decent, no wonder why Ser Arthur Dayne took you as a squire. But you fight too honourably. Typical. You haven’t fought in a real war because your father sat in Casterly Rock waiting for the right moment.”

Jaime twitched then took a huge gulp of breath. “I still got a long way to go.”

“Indeed, you do. Well… You’re better than Ned, that’s for sure.” Even to this day, Robert couldn’t fathom how Ned managed to defeat Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. A legendary swordsman highly skilled at the art of dual-wielding, capable of cutting down dozens of men without breaking a sweat. He’s known Ned for many years. The Quiet Wolf was many things a decent swordsman he may be but he’s certainly not a legendary one.

Robert helped him up again ready for another bout only to see someone that quickly fouled his mood. His new Hand of the King, a replacement for Jon, stepped into the training yard with a permanent scowl. “What do you want, Stannis? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

He ground his teeth at that. You’re going to eventually break your teeth, boy. He mischievously thought. Stannis looked around and frowned harder. “Matters of the state that’s only for your ears and your Small Council. I’m not discussing it here.”

“Fine!” He huffed then marched away with his younger brother at his trail. He opened the door to the Small Council Chambers and noticed everyone was there including his grandfather

“Robert… Good of you to finally join us.” Eldon Estermont said.

“Grandfather. How goes your duties as the Master of Law?”

“Well enough. Now. Stannis should’ve briefed you on what happened?”

Robert stared at Stannis who rolled his eyes. Greatly irritated by his younger brother he slowly walked to his chair and pulled it back causing it to screech as much as possible before sitting down. “The little shit refuses to talk about it unless we’re in this chamber.”

“That’s not the right way to address your Lord Brother.” Robert was about to retort but was waved to silence. “The death of your foster father at the hands of the cursed Dornish has complicated things. The succession crisis in the Vale resulted in a civil war. Though it is most fortunate that the majority of houses remained neutral, and that the crisis was settled after one major battle at Ironoaks.”

“So, who’s the new Lord Paramount? Who’s going to be my Warden of the East?”

“His name is Robar Arryn. He’s a cadet member of the Gulltown Arryns. I haven’t personally met him but he’s fought for us.” Robert nodded at Eldon.

“It’s good news that he assimilated his enemy’s force. He managed to retake Eyrie without bloodshed and is marching from the Bloody Gate. They should be in King’s Landing within a month. They number 20,000 strong.” A feminine voice of Varys happily chipped in. “Another good news – Quellon Greyjoy has finally joined the war. On our side.” ‘Our side’, now is it? Last I remembered you served Aerys the Mad.

Stannis gravely grunted. “The Ironborn have the propensity of committing illegal and downright heinous actions of reaving and pillaging. Some of our fellow Westerosi may sadly fall to their predations… But I hope Lord Greyjoy heeds my order of linking up with the Florents of Brightwater Keep. They should be sailing up the river Mander.” Stannis levelled a withering glare at Varys mentally commanding him to speak.

“A most wise order, my Lord Hand. Lord Quellon managed to capture Paxter Redwyne and is holding him as a hostage.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Is that going to knock the Redwyne Fleet out of the war?” Ser Barristan questioned.

“I wouldn’t be too confident on that. The Queen of Thornes has her roots all over the Redwynes for that to happen. The same is true for the Hightowers of Oldtown too. A dreadful coalition of Tyrells, Hightowers and Redwynes that are able to muster 60,000 men.” Eldon said.

Stannis shuffled in his seat as he took out a scroll. “A message from my wife’s cousin. Melessa Tarly nee Florent has convinced her husband to betray the Tyrells and side with us.” Robert saw his younger brother puffing his chest in response to Varys’ look of surprise. The fact that Stannis can feel other emotions other than bitterness and boresome duty took Robert back. “Brightwater Keep and the Tarly’s Horn Hill cuts Highgarden from Oldtown. It’ll disrupt Tyrell’s mustering allowing us to defeat their isolated armies in detail.”

Robert was astonished by Stannis’ strategic analysis. It seems starving for an entire year in Storm’s End hasn’t dulled his wits. Furthermore, he felt slightly relieved that Randyll Tarly was now on their side. Robert could still remember how he was soundly defeated in Ashford. He was outplayed and outflanked by the Tarly patriarch.

“That’s the Reach front sorted.” Eldon nodded then stared at Robert. “Your betrothal to Cersei Lannister should prompt the Lannisters to muster in our favour and assist our allies in the Reach if they come across any difficulty. But… The news is dire for the Stormlands.” His grandfather gestured for the Spider to continue.

Varys obliged, “Prince Oberyn has gathered up a highly mobile cavalry group, all mounted atop Dornish steeds. They are mostly comprised of the Wyls. A Dornish house whose expertise in raiding and other debauchery is unparalleled, as you might know. However, that was generations ago and houses often don’t have long memories to hold a grudge.” The effeminate man said with a drawl that Robert thought he was being sarcastic.

“That’s not true, Lord Varys. My house, Selmy, is situated in the marches that had to deal with Dornish raiders for thousands of years. My father often told me horrifying tales of their pillaging.” Ser Barristan said.

“Since we’re at a state of war, they’ll most likely pillage. Burning granaries, killing livestock and placing uprooted trees on the King’s Road. It’ll delay our army from taking the Boneway Pass and catching up on the Red Viper’s raiders.” Eldon aggressively tapped on the table as he shuddered.

“We won’t be able to win a land battle against the Dornish. They’ll just retreat and hide in their deserts. Our armies will die of thirst and hunger before they’ll be able to brandish their weapons against the Dornish.” Stannis said then paused. He surveyed the table and gave Robert a menacing look as if warning him of something. “The only way is to win at the sea. The Dornish don’t have a navy ever since Nymeria Nymeros-Martell burnt her Rhoynish ships a millennia ago.

Robert suddenly understood the look his brother gave him. It was hard not to add in a jibe and mean jest in his way but he refrained. Stannis was now his Hand. It would make Jon unhappy that he was undermining his own brother. He also realised he was being unreasonably critical of Stannis. The sea had a mind of its own and that was evident when he saw his parent’s ship crash on the coast of Storm’s End. He shook the trauma away from his head. “Speaking of ships, who’s going to replace you as my Master of Ships?”

“It’ll be Ser Davos.”

“The Onion Knight? The one whose fingers you’ve lobbed off?” Robert burst out laughing. “That was pretty unnecessary by the way. The man saves you and Renly from the brink of starvation and you reward him by chopping his fingers off!?”

“He was a smuggler. The good act does not wash away the bad. It was simple justice.” Stannis shrugged.

“Whatever. Bring him here next time. I haven’t seen him yet. Anyone who saved my brothers deserves a kingly reward!”

Lyman Chelsted vigorously shook his head. “But your grace, he’s a commoner.”

“Former commoner. I’ve knighted him and given him lands to rule under my name.” Stannis quickly retorted.

“Even so, my lord. A position in the Small Council is meant to be given to major lords of the realm to solidify his grace’s position. I fear installing a former smallfolk will only insult those lords, further undermining your reign.” The thin man halted his staring competition with Stannis settling instead on Robert.

“Doesn’t matter. Ser Davos is unparalleled in terms of sailing and command. He was a leader of a smuggler ring in King’s Landing. Do not underestimate him.” Stannis chuffed and waved his arms. “As for the lords, let them be insulted because, in the end, they shall obey. Or else.”

“That’s what King Aerys thought.” Lyman silently whispered but Robert was able to hear it. He looked at the ground and gripped his hand. Looks like I’m not the only one suffering from a loss. Qarlton Chelsted was a brave man for standing up against Aerys. Too bad he got burnt in the end.

“So, one month for the Valemen to arrive. The Crownlands have already answered and are mustering here with numbers around 6,000. When are the Riverlanders and Northmen going to arrive?” Robert asked.

“A month for the Riverlanders and two months for the Northmen,” Varys said.

Two more months till I get to see you again, Ned. Hopefully, you’ll forget about my bloodlust. Robert cringed and jerked his legs. I shouldn’t have been smiling at their dead bodies. That was wrong of me. I’m disgusted at myself for that.

Tywin I

In his solar sat the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Tywin, along with his brothers and sister. He turned to his second youngest brother and frowned as he placed his foot on his table. “Tygett… How goes the progress of rallying my troops?”

Tygett swept his long blonde hair back and sighed. “Well enough. Your Red cloaks have been gathered, 20,000 strong. Nearly all the levies have been equipped and trained to the standards of the red cloaks. My sergeants are running around like a bunch of snarks to train the rest of them.”

Tywin nodded and prompted his most trusted brother to reply. “Our vassals are responding well to our summons. Houses Marbrands, Lefford, Brax, Crakehall and Banefort are mustering south at Silverhill. They number around 25,000 strong.”

“Good. Kevan, you’ll command that army and lay siege to Goldengrove. Best to knock House Rowan out of this war. But do try to negotiate with them, though I won’t fault you for failing. They’re known to be Tyrell loyalists.” Tywin said as he looked back at the map of Westeros. With 25,000 Westerlanders threatening Highgarden from the north, the Florents threatening it from the west and the Tarlys threatening it from the south. The only way the Tyrells can realistically win is by holding on until reinforcements from the east arrives. The Lannister Patriarch pointed at the map of the reach, “Fossoways of Ciderhall, Caswells of Bitterbridge, Merryweather of Longtable and House Ashford. All lie to the east of Highgarden. Genna, what do your sources say about the number of men they can muster together?” Tywin turned to his only sister. A sister that was foolishly wed to a Frey by none other than his father.

She twirled her hair and before responding to Tywin, she levelled Tygett a menacing glare. “Tygett! Put your foot down from the table. We’re talking about something important!” She huffed in glee noticing her brother immediately doing as she says and then straightening his back. “Good. Now as for you, Tywin. They can realistically muster around 20,000. Combined with House Tyrell’s 20,000 troops, they’ll have a combined might of 40,000. With Highgarden cut-off from Oldtown, by the Tarlys and Florents, I’m confident in a swift victory. Dorne is the issue though.” Tywin was used to dealing with looks of hatred, scorn and jealousy but nothing could’ve prepared him from Genna shaking her head at him and clicking her tongue. Her disappointment and disgust were immeasurable. “I could barely tolerate drowning the Castameres in their own Keep. But what you’ve done to Elia and her children was monstrous. Completely diabolical.”

The air seemed to thicken and freeze. Everyone else at the table jolted up and sewed their mouths shut. A long minute descended on them prompting Tywin to rebuke Genna. “You know damn well why I did that. I did that to secure everlasting peace.”

“Does this look like everlasting peace?”

“No… I misjudged Doran. I’ve always thought he was more rational and careful. Him killing Jon Arryn… Was unthinkable.”

“Unthinkable? Yet he did.” Genna abruptly pointed at him. “What did you think was going to happen? You ordering the deaths of his sister, niece and nephew in such a grotesque manner, of course, he’s bound to do something… Irrational. Who wouldn’t?”

“Jon Arryn was a poor target for their vengeance.” Kevan interdicted on Tywin’s behalf.

Genna nodded at that but sighed soon after. “Yes… And no… The Falcon may not have ordered their deaths but he certainly rewarded the ones who have.” She went back to staring at Tywin. “How could you? They were Joanna’s friends!”

Tywin trembled as he struggled not to get up. “You leave my dead wife out of this!”

Genna ignored him. “Remember when Joanna wanted to betroth Elia with Jaime? You spat on her friendship –.“

“Enough!” Tywin raised his voice causing his sister to quieten down. “Perhaps you’re right, Genna. But there’s no point talking about it now. What’s done is done. We’ll have to look to the future.”

“The future? The Reach may no longer have a golden rose as its overlord.” Tywin’s youngest sibling, Gerion, said.

“The Florents will replace them. The new Hand of the King and his Florent wife will push for that.” Genna picked her nails as she looked at the scroll in Tywin’s hands. “You’ve been furiously gripping that scroll for a long time. Care to share it?”

Tywin reluctantly opened the scroll and chuffed. He calmed himself and then started to read.

To Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West,

In my capacity as the Hand of the King, I’m ordering you to sail your personal army to meet up with the Florents at Brightwater Keep. Fear not, the Greyjoys have secured the sea from the Redwynes and should be safe to traverse. Failure to heed this order shall incur the wrath of the King.

Regards,

Stannis Baratheon, Hand of the King.

He didn’t bother reading it aloud as he seethed and passed the scroll around for his siblings to see. “How dare he command me like this.”

Tygett and Gerion burst into laughter but were quickly silenced by Tywin’s frown. “I must say, I’m starting to like this new Hand of the King. Very direct. I like it.” Tygett said. “But this has the hand of Selyse Florent… I mean Selyse Baratheon written all over it.”

Kevan noticed Tywin’s anger bubbling and immediately stepped in and placated him. “If it makes you feel better, brother, this is a good plan. Highgarden won’t fall even with the combined might of our vassals, Florents and Tarlys before reinforcements from the east arrives to their rescue. It’ll be good to combine our might with the Florents and Greyjoys and hem the Hightowers into Oldtown. The Tarlys and our vassals can deal with the Tyrells and their allies in the north. Starving Oldtown is much easier considering it’s a city with 500,000 souls living inside it. Starving people tend to riot a lot making the city ripe for the taking.”

“We’ll just have to hope our navy along with our vassal, Farman, and the Greyjoys can defeat the Redwyne Fleet if we can ever hope of blockading Oldtown.” Gerion chipped in.

Tywin knew Gerion was a respectable sailor with sound judgement and so he sought his opinion. “Can we win?”

“The Redwynes have 200 warships with the ability to requisition 600 merchant ships around the Arbor island. Whereas, we have 24 carracks and 8 galleys for war. Mayhaps we can convince our Lannisport cousins to lend us 150 ships. The Farmans of Faircastle have 80 warships with the ability to take 100 merchant ships. The Greyjoys have 600 longships.” Gerion worked his brain and he used the Yi-tish abacus to calculate their strength at the sea. “This leaves us with 960 ships against their 800. We may outnumber them but the Ironborn longships are well renowned for their speed. Speed to raid and reave. It’s not necessarily that good in terms of naval warfare. They can easily be outshot by the carracks which can house more archers. Their speed doesn’t matter as ships tend to clump up when battling in the sea.”

“You haven’t answered my question. Can we win?”

“Win enough to blockade Oldtown. But I’m afraid it’ll be a pyrrhic victory.”

Tywin was satisfied with that. “Good. I’ll give you the command of the ‘Golden Lion’ and the overall command of the Lannister-Farman fleet. I understand, Lord Quellon, may take direct command of our fleet and that’s fine. I want you to learn from him.”

Gerion smirked. “It’s fine when a kraken orders a lion around but not a stag?”

“Shut up. That kraken is Quellon. A man who reformed his people’s barbaric culture of reaving and raiding to something more civilised. He deserves that much respect, at the very least.”

“The stag is Stannis. A much younger man that held out against 70,000 Reachman with 500 men. Rumours said that he was eating leather armour and rats to stay alive inside Storm’s End. Surely, that also deserves respect.” Tygett cheekily added.

“Alright. Has anyone got anything more sensible to add?” Tywin said whilst glaring at Tygett and Gerion.

Genna coughed then opened a waxed letter with a knife. “My agents report that the Vale’s succession crisis has ended.”

Gerion whistled at that. “That was fast. In just a month too. So, who won?”

“It was Robar Arryn. A member of a cadet Arryn branch in Gulltown. Apparently, he’s come to employ Hoster’s former foster son to assemble his army.” She smiled at Tywin. “He may have copied you since the army he has assembled is eerily similar to your red cloaks.”

“That may be so. But who’s Hoster’s ward again?”

“His name is Petyr Baelish. A man who we thought got killed by Brandon Stark.” She started to hum a tune. “The more I look more into him, the more interesting he gets. He has managed to increase Gulltown’s tax revenues by ten-folds! Then played an important role in suppressing a rebellion against House Grafton. Now, he fights for his former enemy to get him into the Moon Throne. A very interesting man indeed.” Genna said.

“See that you learn more of this young man for me,” Tywin ordered. “I need to know if he’ll be an asset or a threat.”

“Now, now, Tywin! He’s going to fight for us. Surely, he’s an asset.”

“An asset that could become a future threat. From the way you describe him, he seems to be good with coins. If the Crown appoints him in the Small Council, my plan of giving loans to Robert Baratheon and indebting him and the Iron Throne to house Lannister may fail. That I cannot allow.”

Gerion came over and patted Tywin’s back. “Brother! Surely his marriage with Cersei is enough.”

“Don’t pat me in the back.” He pushed Gerion’s hands off his shoulders. “As for Cersei’s marriage, it’s not enough. We’ll have to control the Iron Throne in every aspect so that future generations may remember the importance of House Lannister. We have a duty to uphold our House’s legacy, all of you better remember that.” Tywin said then gave them a stern look.

“Yes, brother.” They all said.

The legacy of the Lannisters is important. Especially after the damage that my father has done to it.