I told Barristan I'd speak with him and Ser Arys after I spoke with Penrose. I took Brienne with me to the chat with the castellan. When we reached the solar, he sat heavily.
"You impress me with your wisdom, only to then make me think you as naïve as your age suggests. Why would you do this, Your Grace?"
"I understand where you are coming from, but had I not tipped the scales against me, many of those lords would have opted not to participate. I intend to control all the Stormlands and preferably avoid a bloody conflict to see it done."
"The very reason they will fight is the reason why you should not! They think they will win because the six will have to protect you against seven. Be reasonable; there is still time to back out of this."
His lips parted in a slight sigh as he looked to Brienne for aid. "Brienne, surely you see this is foolish as well; the battlefield is no place for a child."
My sworn shield looked at him levelly. "I would agree, and yet I have learned never to underestimate her. If she has chosen this course, our time is better spent preparing what to do than in futilely attempting to change her mind."
Ah, quality subordinates, was there anything better?
"Preparations should in fact be made. I'd like a list of names of any knights loyal to your house and of the other houses, who sided with me, who would be suitable to represent me. I only need three, but I'd like to get a dozen names and a brief summation of their skill set."
"Skill set?" Penrose queried; unsure he understood what was being asked of him.
"What they are good at. Preferred weaponry, strength, how quick they are, and in general how they would match up against prominent knights of the opposing houses. Please take no more than two hours to make your list and summon them so I can have Ser Barristan assess them."
He bowed his head. "I'll see it done, Your Grace. Ser Barristan, I saw his injury, was that a bit of mummery or is his leg that wounded?"
My eyes widened. "Ah, hah, what a brilliant ploy that would have been! Sadly, that is not the case. But worry not, ser, we will have this well in hand."
I hoped we would; though I wasn't as certain as I projected. Subordinates should typically see only confidence in their superior's bearing, and I made sure to play my role.
"I'll let you gather those names; in the meantime, I'd like to talk with my brother. If you could send him to my chambers at his earliest convenience."
The knight froze. "What are your intentions with the lad?"
"To renew bonds of kinship. I've only met him properly once and seen him but twice. While my father's indiscretions were shameful, they were not Edric's doing. I bear him no ill will."
Cortnay considered for a moment and nodded. "That is good to hear, Your Grace. If you will excuse me, I'll see to the tasks." He turned to Brienne. "Give your father my regards if you see him before I do."
A servant led Brienne and me to my quarters. Three perturbed knights awaited me as I got to my door. Before they could speak, I said, "Let's not discuss in the hallway; join me in the room."
Once inside, Ser Barristan led. "Myrcella! You tasked me with advising you, and yet you made no mention of this! You cannot possibly put yourself at risk in his way!"
Ser Arys chimed in as well, "Princess, my job is to protect you from harm. I cannot allow you to do this."
I looked at the Kingsguard. "Ser, you cannot prevent me either." I turned my face toward Barristan. "I was not sure whether it would be needed. It is not a matter of honor either. I understand that all of you are concerned, but I must prove myself as Robert's daughter, and I must unite the Stormlands."
Beric also threw in his opinion. "A battle like this is already fraught with peril, allowing an advantage to the other side is a grave mistake. It is not too late to negotiate. You can simply change your mind and say that the fight will take place ahorse after all; fourteen horses being saved for the upcoming war is a sham reason. Insist that it be mounted; when they object, compromise that you will then sit out and keep the battle afoot."
I chuckled. "Beric, how devious of you. No, I mustn't give them any wiggle room. I have my reputation to consider as well. Your concerns are noted, but the matter is decided. While I would love for Ser Barristan to fight by my side, his leg makes it impractical. Ser Arys, Ser Beric, and Brienne, I trust you will agree to fight with me?"
They all agreed, though none looked particularly pleased with fighting beside me as opposed to for me.
"Ser Barristan, I've asked Ser Cortnay to gather suitable knights to round out the last three of our… squad. I'd like your help in assessing which warriors should make the cut."
Barristan gave me a stern look. "I will do that, Your Grace, and ensure they keep you safe."
I smiled, "You've seen me train with Brienne; the risk is smaller than you believe."
Beric looked perplexed, "You… train with your sworn shield?"
Ser Barristan explained, "I've seen them. It was not true fighting but exercise with guards. They would attempt to lay hands on the princess while Brienne protected her. Even multiple guards at once were not successful. Our princess is spry and swift, but a mite overconfident as well. These will be knights you face, not common guards."
"Who will be weighed down by plate and likely shield. I can lead them on a merry chase for some time."
Well, for at least five minutes. After that, it was going to get extremely dicey. The short period of time I could keep up my enchantments would be crucial. For propaganda purposes, I would also like a swift and brutal, one-sided match. I'd explain my plan to my protectors once we had the additional three together.
I dismissed them to return in a couple of hours. Edric Storm had arrived. I could see why some found it easy to believe that Joffrey wasn't Robert's child when comparing the two. The boy had jet-black hair, deep blue eyes, and carried the features of my father on his face – well, a thinner version of my father's face. Honestly, Edric looked more like Renly than what my father had looked like in the last few years.
"Your Grace, you wished to speak with me." We had talked once before, and it had been cordial; he was charismatic, quick to laugh, and well-mannered, if boisterous.
"I did; bonds of kinship are critical to form and maintain. Half-brother you may be, you are still my brother, and I would hear of how you have been in Storm's End."
Edric had few complaints; he was treated well, given training, plenty of food, and had been gifted many things. He respected Ser Cortnay and hoped to become a knight.
"What are you, three and ten? That is the right age to be squired."
Edric shrugged. "You are right; I just supposed it would one day just happen. Should I speak with Ser Cortnay about becoming his squire?"
"Ser Cortnay is certainly honorable enough and an accomplished knight. After the events on the morrow, I could see if Ser Barristan or Ser Beric would take you on as a squire."
Edric grinned. "Truly? Yes of course! What events on the morrow?"
It seemed he had not been invited to the main hall when we had our discussion.
"My mother was accused of infidelity and my brother called a bastard. I will be taking part in a Trial of Seven to defend his honor. Should I triumph, the Stormlords here will swear fealty to me, as I have been granted the paramountcy of the Stormlands."
Edric's jaw dropped. "I had heard about the letter from Stannis… but you, the Paramount Lord… err Lady? And you are going to fight in a trial?" He was quite flabbergasted.
I nodded in confirmation with a slight smile before launching into an explanation about the Trial of Seven. That led to a discussion on his studies and what he had learned from the Maesters, and he admitted he didn't pay much attention. I chided him on the importance of knowing history, sums, and more.
"I'm a bastard; why does it matter?"
"You could be legitimized, and even if not, you are the ward of Ser Cortnay and in prime position to be groomed for leadership. You are the son of two nobles, hardly a common bastard. Think over it, brother, I will have use for able kin."
What better way to show that I thought the accusations of Cersei's infidelity were beneath notice than to have Robert's only acknowledged bastard by my side? Plus, if he had any of his father's future size and strength, he would be a fantastic addition to my bodyguards. I was considering creating a quasi-Kingsguard, but for the Stormlands. Stormguards? The Furies? Storm Wardens? Westeros was full of knightly and martial orders throughout its history.
The Dragon Keepers, Kingsguard, Warrior's sons, and more were all examples of these institutions. Creating one would allow me to use it to bestow favor on a house, but more importantly, the creation of a specially crafted unit to keep me safe was appealing. One could never have too many shields. I'd run it by Ser Barristan and see what thoughts he had later.
I wrapped up my conversation by promising that I would broach the subject of his potential squire-ship after the Trial of Seven. He looked eager and excited; it was rather infectious, and I found myself whistling as I considered just how things could play out.
***
Bran and Tyrek had both started off as guests to Lord Cafferen. They had been checked for injuries by the Maester, given warm food, baths, and soft beds. The next day, they'd dined with Lord Cafferen, his wife, and their son, Mark Cafferen. The boy was friendly and had reached the age of 8. Bran was older by only a year, but the boy seemed like such a child… especially now.
That first night, and several nights later too, Bran had had horrid dreams. Full of death, people dying, men hunting him from every direction. Not all his dreams had to do with being ambushed. He also dreamed of his family. Robb with his face covered in blood and Jon wielding a sword afire felt so real that they hardly seemed to be dreams. Myrcella also showed in his dreams; she looked tiny but had a massive shadow behind her, too large to belong to the slip of a girl. But those weren't even the oddest dreams. He dreamt of running through the Kingswood, but not as prey, but as a predator. So fast, he could easily chase down a deer, and had done so in the eerie, too-real dream.
Two days into their stay, things changed. Tyrek was no longer allowed to roam free and was instead confined to his rooms with an armed guard. Bran thought this was dreadfully unfair, even after he learned why. Lord Cafferen had told him that the King was dead and that Lord Stark was the prime suspect. He had fled King's Landing with his daughters. Only Lord Cafferen did not believe the words from the Small Council and the Queen.
"Your father is an honorable man and would never have betrayed King Robert. You were also on the hunt and nearly perished; whoever believes these lies is a fool. The Lannisters are going too far! I know not if the King's death was at their hands, but attacking Lord Stark is foul beyond words."
Then came the letters from Stannis Baratheon. He claimed Joffrey was a bastard borne of incest not of Robert's seed. Instead, Stannis declared himself King of the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrek's absence grew painful, until Bran finally confronted Lord Cafferen.
"Tyrek was also on that hunt. You have treated me kindly, now do the same for Tyrek. He nearly died while getting a spear into the King's hands. My father taught me that, even though Balon Greyjoy was a traitor, we should not treat his son Theon as a traitor. Let me at least speak with him and dine with him."
Lord Cafferen's visage was stern, but then softened. He relented, and Tyrek was free to join them for the family meals. A guard was posted right by his chair, but outside that discomfort, he was allowed to dine.
A week after the letters had arrived, Tyrek finally mustered the courage to ask, "What is to become of me?"
"It is… undecided. Your family has done great ill, though the proximity to King's Landing gives me pause from declaring with my fellow Stormlords. It is my hope that Joffrey will be deposed quickly and Lord Tywin relent, though I find it unlikely. The Old Lion is prideful. Should he win some early victories and capture hostages, you may be used for an exchange. If he does not capture hostages and loses early, you will be ransomed for coin."
Tyrek understood; it was the way of nobility.
"May we continue our training as squires? Practice with your master-at-arms and knights?" Bran asked.
Lord Cafferen glanced at Bran and then at Tyrek. "I'll allow it. Tyrek Lannister must not try to escape; any attempt will see you confined in the gaol and subsist upon bread and water. You will always have your minder with you; this is also for your own safety, as some of my men may not look kindly on a Lannister during these times."
Bran and Tyrek thanked him. Mark wished to participate too, and Lord Cafferen allowed him to watch and train with padding. Things were beginning to look up, and Bran felt pride in his actions. It was his duty as a friend to Tyrek to make things better for him. More news trickled in, and he learned that both his sisters had made it safely away with his father. Some of father's men were slain, and rumor had it that their heads had been put on spikes in the Red Keep. That upset him greatly.
More queer tidings arrived from King's Landing as well, Ser Barristan had been stripped of his white cloak. While it angered him greatly to hear his ser disrespected, he held onto fond hope that Ser Barristan would join King Stannis's cause and would continue his squire-ship. He also heard disturbing rumors that Princess Myrcella had been mauled by direwolves and was on the brink of death. One man who had ridden from King's Landing said those rumors were false and that the princess had been exchanged for Sansa Stark, no mauling having occurred.
Bran didn't know what to think. He knew the wolves wouldn't have harmed Myrcella - despite the initial Nymeria incident, they'd gotten along swimmingly in the months since. But the idea that his father would capture her as a hostage also sounded wrong. With no way to get more information, he focused on practicing the moves Ser Barristan had taught him. He was able to beat Tyrek about half the time, despite their size and strength difference. Duty scared a few denizens of the keep, but he was always well-behaved and getting larger by the day. Already, his size was greater than any of Lord Cafferen's elk hounds.
Duty was given free rein to leave the keep as he saw fit, and Bran knew he would always return. The ease with which they could reunite was a stark contrast to his family. He missed them dearly, but all he could do was wait until more word arrived. He hoped they were all well and that he could be reunited with them soon.
***
Ned's thoughts drifted to his girls. Sansa was deeply depressed, and there seemed little, save for her wolf's company, that brought a smile to her. Arya wasn't sad, she was angry. She had seen guards who she had known all her life cut down. And smallfolk too. She threw herself into her lessons with the Braavosi instructor with a single-minded devotion. On a positive note, both girls treated Shireen well, and the poor grayscale-afflicted girl was fond of his daughters.
He had left Desmond and what remained of his guard in charge of keeping the girls safe while he and Jory went with their new King toward Duskendale by sea. Robb was already gathering his men, and once the Northern houses had assembled, he would march down the King's Road. The Manderly foot would be sailing on every available vessel in White Harbor for Dragonstone. At least 1,000 Northern soldiers could make the trip and provide reinforcements far sooner than Robb could gather them. Between that and Stannis's own forces, the Crownland holdings should be easy to besiege.
Only when they drew close, Melisandre predicted they could take the port and the castle with minimal effort. Ned thought this was foolish and would cost lives. The squat castle was formidable, and it would not fall easily. There was no dissuading Stannis, and soon Eddard found himself commanding some of Stannis's men as they sailed into the port.
In the dead of night, they drifted through the waters; a dozen seacraft were docked, and Stannis's men quickly boarded and forced the crew to surrender. The noise alerted the castle and soon arrows flew down on the disembarking men.
Eddard charged with Jory by his side, and the hastily-summoned opposition could not deny their advance into the town. Eddard stabbed and cut his way through, and in minutes the defenders were in a headlong flight. Ropes and ladders were brought and used to scale the walls. The defender continued firing arrows, but now they were countered by opposing archers.
Something was wrong; there weren't near enough men opposing them. Despite the height and cover advantage, the weight of arrows was greater coming from the attackers. The defenders drew back from the walls as more men swarmed them. Within two hours, the keep had surrendered.
Eddard rejoined Stannis, who walked through Duskendale with Ser Davos and Melisandre beside him.
"I do not care," Stannis was telling a knight. "If any take liberties, they will be executed. The smallfolk are not to be molested."
The knight bowed and left.
"Your Grace, I hope you see that R'hllor has blessed this victory," Melisandre stated.
Stannis seemed on the verge of saying something when several of his knights pulled Lord Renfred Rykker forward and pushed him to his knees.
"Lords Baratheon and Stark, it feels a bit much just for me." Rykker quipped, though his voice sounded resigned.
"Where are the rest of your men? Duskendale can raise 50 knights and 400 men. You had a quarter of that here."
"Even fewer." He grimaced. "The Queen ordered them to King's Landing. All but half a dozen of my knights and 50 men-at-arms. Her orders stated that you were likely making for King's Landing immediately."
Eddard was puzzled. Did the Queen overestimate the size of Stannis's force?
"Still a great victory, Your Grace." Melisandre's melodious voice reverberated throughout the room. "And you shall have more. Allow me to give this one to the fires; R'hllor will be pleased with the sacrifice."
Eddard had to speak. "No! This cannot be allowed, Your Grace."
Stannis looked at him. "Cannot? Who is King here, Stark?"
"You are King, but recall what happened to the last King who gave men to the fire."
Melisandre's voice rose again, "Have care over your words, wolfing. Do not compare Azor Ahai to a broken madman of a failed dynasty."
Stannis's jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. "Lord Rykker has surrendered and will be held for ransom. I'll not have him burned."
Eddard bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Melisandre's face showed no sign of her displeasure, and yet the air became heavier and pregnant with tension.
"The Lord of Light should be exalted; instead of burning this one, will you consent to executing rapers in a way pleasing to R'hllor?"
Stannis considered, and Eddard held his breath. "Dead is dead; those who let base desires violate their allegiance to the law and my cause have but one sentence. Hanging, beheading, or the fires is all the same to me. Any who commit that crime, you have my leave to burn."
The Lord of Winterfell felt sick. He had no compassion for the kind of wretch who would so violate a woman's honor. He would gladly take their heads with Ice, but to burn someone alive – it galled him.
"Do they have to be alive while they burn?" Ser Davos asked.
Stannis frowned. "What do you mean?"
"She," he gestured toward her, "wants them burned. Do they have to be alive when they burn?"
Melisandre seemed a bit surprised at the question. "Dying in honor of the Lord of Light is what draws his favor."
Eddard Stark gave a nod toward Davos and then picked up the idea. "Killing them cleanly and then burning them isn't enough?"
"I would not take that chance; you would cheat the one who shields and protects us all."
"Does your R'hllor revel in pain then?" Eddard queried.
Melisandre's red eyes stared at him implacably, but it was Stannis who spoke. "Enough, none of my men have raped anyone. We have more important tasks at hand. With Duskendale so ill-defended, we can only assume Rosby and Stokeworth are in a similar situation. They seem ripe for the plucking, but the Old Lion is devious."
"You suspect a trap, Your Grace?" Ser Davos asked.
"I do; if we get too far from the ships, we could be cut off if they bring enough horse. I have few outriders; the Lords of the Narrow Sea are limited in the number of mounts available."
Ned knew the North would likely not even have begun to march south.
"We haven't heard word from Lady Arryn, nor do we know where the Lannisters' main force is. If you suspect a trap, I'd caution wariness. Duskendale is a strong seat, with the castle overlooking the sea. If Tywin comes with his full force, we can make an orderly retreat to the ships."
Stannis turned to Melisandre. "Look into your flames, if you see nothing useful, we will remain here until the North, Riverlands, and Stormlands finish mustering."
***
The sword was a staple on the battlefield in Westeros. It was a versatile tool; it could cut and slash as well as pierce. It could be used from a horse or on foot. Nearly every would-be knight and noble practiced with the blade first before all other weapons. It, however, was not the best tool for every battle.
Part of the reason for its popularity is that on the battlefield you didn't have just one type of opponent. Peasants conscripted into battle typically had no better than leather or gambeson. Regular men-at-arms whose profession was guard duty typically would have chainmail, and of course knights had plate armor. With all that variance, you wanted access to a weapon that offered versatility.
The other neat thing about swords is that they were relatively easy to carry. They could be easily sheathed, and their weight wouldn't much hamper you. It was annoying to carry a spear around on a march. A sword is also a weapon you could wield for quite some time; other weaponry like heavy axes or war hammers would tire you out.
For the Trial of Seven, no one would have to march, and hopefully it would be decided sooner rather than later. That meant I didn't want my squad to use swords. I wanted war hammers, morning stars, and maybe a halberd or two. Something designed to work well against the plate armor everyone would be using.
The war hammer was one of those ideal tools against plate. The pure power of the hammer head could dent steel, give deadly concussions when striking a helmet, and the concussive force could travel through the armor and bruise tissue and organs inside the shell. The reverse side of most war hammers typically had a spike that when wielded with enough strength on a downward blow could potentially pierce plate.
All this was in my mind when I joined Ser Cortany, Ser Barristan, and the gathered knights. Penrose had proven himself an efficient and productive worker and had gathered a dozen knights who might fit the bill. The fly in the ointment was that Alesander Staedmon was insisting on participating. The Lord of Broad Arch was pushing 40 and was a bit on the slight side.
"Your Grace, I was one of the few houses who stood by you; I insist on the honor of participating. My house has a proud tradition of piousness."
I looked to Ser Barristan. He looked at Alesander carefully and asked, "I've not seen you at many tournaments; have you defeated any great knights?"
The proud lord shrugged his shoulders. "I've tilted at a tourney here or there, but nothing worth noting."
I suppressed a sigh and advised him I would certainly consider him as one of the seven but would have to consult with those more knowledgeable than myself. He was content with that, for the moment, and I looked through what Ser Cortnay had provided.
They were all solid knights. The two that stood out were Ser Theo Redstone and Ser Bonifer Hasty. Ser Theo's preferred weapon was the war hammer, and he regularly bested near everyone in spars. He stood nearly as tall as the Hound, though his strength was not nearly as prodigious. Ser Bonifer preferred the sword but was amenable to using a morning star, being quite familiar with the weapon.
Ser Cortnay Penrose offered to stand in as well, though he admitted he had slowed with age.
"I can't say I've seen Alesander fight, yet he'd draw the ire and attention of any Wylde knight on the field. The Staedmon and Wylde families have been feuding since before the Dance."
I considered it and ultimately allowed him to join alongside Ser Theo and Ser Bonifer. My plan was basic, but having one of my other knights serve as a target would be ideal. I advised of my decisions and then discussed my plan with my champions.
The tourney grounds were large, and so there would be ample room to maneuver. My intent was to break Brienne off with me while the other five stayed as a group.
"Brienne will protect me and will move forward and to the left. You five will move forward and to the right. I suspect they will see an opportunity to fight Brienne two-on-one and follow. Should they instead send more than two, we will both retreat backward and move toward each other."
Ser Arys expressed his discontent. "Your Grace, you are of the King's blood; I should be by your side."
"Brienne and I are used to each other's movements; I do not doubt your valor, Ser Arys, but this will work best."
"How will it work best?" Lord Alesander asked. "I know she's won a grand melee, but that's not the same as being able to win a two-on-one battle. It is near impossible to win those odds; the moment you focus on one, the other will be able to strike."
I showed my teeth. "My lord, I'll be there to help. I suspect they will not be able to resist having one knight go for me. I have supreme confidence that in the time I distract whoever they send, Brienne will have crushed her foe."
Ser Barristan wasn't a champion but was in the room helping advise. He frowned, "You place great faith in Lady Brienne, but even the best combatant cannot always force a quick victory."
I bowed my head to his wisdom. "And yet, I have faith in her. If she cannot win quickly, then I leave my fate in the hands of you five to win against your foes and then come to my aid."
"I will be as swift as possible, Your Grace." Ser Arys spoke with conviction.
"It matters not what tactics we use," Ser Bonifer spoke, "so long as we have the Seven's blessing. The Warrior will guide us to victory!"
I inwardly cringed but replied with reverence, "You speak true, ser, we have not to fear the eventual outcome, though I do feel wise stratagems can lessen the risk of injury and death during the trial."
Ser Theo just shrugged. "We will win. We aren't facing the Marcher Lords; we even have one at our side!" I knew what he meant; the best of the Stormlands wasn't here. Lord Caron, Ser Guyard, and the Bastard of Nightsong weren't among the champions arrayed. All the Stormlords had a reputation for might, but it was the Dornish Marches that did most of the heavy lifting of earning that reputation.
Theo went on, "Ser Gladden Wylde will be tricky, and Ser Jasper Storm is a beast, but the rest of them won't get the best 'o me."
My unit was set. I had my daggers and throwing knifes. Brienne, Beric, and Theo would all be wielding war hammers and carrying shields. Bonifer would wield a morning star with a shield. Ser Arys intended to use a two-handed longsword, while Lord Alesander would use a one-handed sword with a shield. We were ready.