Word had been sent to the city that casualties were high but the Tyrell army was fleeing. The news of the King and his uncle's passing would first be given to Cersei before being announced to the city. Tywin and Kevan would break the news to her alone, as it was certain that she would not take it well, and the less of a scene caused, the better.
As soon as they arrived in her chambers in the Royal Apartments, she asked, "Where's Joffrey? Is he injured?"
Tywin looked at his daughter levelly. "The King died valiantly in battle."
Cersei blinked several times and shook her head in disbelief.
"No, no, tell me this is some cruel jape at my expense. No!"
"Comport yourself like a Lannister; the boy is dead," Tywin replied.
Cersei made a sound of despair as she turned her face away from the two of them. She took great gasping breaths as she tried to gain some semblance of control. She whirled on them and her eyes found Kevan's.
"You. You did this. You snake, you scheming traitor! All because your precious Lancel died; you filled my father's ear with poison. You didn't think I saw? How much you rejoiced when father told me I had to remarry? At the thought of putting Joffrey in danger! Are you happy now? I'll see you and your entire brood cut down, you…"
"Enough!" Tywin thundered. "You will not speak of harming the family anymore."
"Father! He killed your grandson! It was him; it was all him. He's jealous of your position, he'll kill you next, why can't you see what he is?"
"Cersei, you have proven to be nothing but an utter disappointment. Myrcella was right about you. I had thought to allow you some time with Tommen to help him with his grief, but I can see that you would do naught but poison his ear. You will be confined to your quarters, until I have found someone foolish enough to accept your hand in marriage."
Kevan watched Cersei morph from anger, to shock, to incandescent rage. With a scream of out-of-control fury, she threw herself at Tywin and tried to claw at his face with her nails. Tywin grabbed her by the wrists and then tossed her to the ground.
He shook his head in disgust. "There is more. Your brother sought to save the King and ultimately perished for his bravery. You will be allowed to see their bodies before they are buried."
With those words, Tywin turned and left the room as Cersei gave out a mournful cry. Kevan drank in her suffering. She deserved it; she got his eldest killed. Turning to leave as well, he gave her one last contemptuous glance over his shoulder, before joining Tywin, who was giving strict instructions to the guards.
"No one is to see her except by my expressed permission. She is mad with grief, and if I hear any shameful rumors, I will flay the lot of you."
As they turned to leave, they heard Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers, approach. Kevan was surprised; they had a Small Council meeting scheduled in the next few hours, what could not wait for then?
"Ah, my lords of Lannister, I have news from Lady Myrcella."
Tywin just gave him a look, a silent but unequivocal command to hasten his words.
"A great victory – they have taken Harrenhal and captured Edmure Tully, and over 15,000 of the enemy are dead or captured."
Kevan's jaw opened in surprise. Taking Harrenhal – that was just absurd. How could it have happened?
Tywin's slight shift in posture was the only sign of his surprise. He took the missive from the eunuch's hand and read it over himself. He made a satisfied humming sound and then handed over the slim bit of parchment. Kevan recognized his grandniece's handwriting and the tiny lettering she had that allowed her to provide more information than could normally travel by raven. He had to squint a bit to read it.
"This changes everything, brother. The Riverlands is completely open. She could even march to the Westerlands' aid, or just reeve through the Riverlands and ship food and supplies by land and river."
Tywin pursed his lips, clearly considering something.
"Summon Grand Maester Pycelle; we will convene early. We will want to hold Joffrey's funeral and see Tommen crowned swiftly. We must be ready for Stannis."
Kevan knew that they would have to move fast to reorganize. The casualties inflicted on the Tyrells were monstrous, but they had still managed to rally on the road back to Bitterbridge. Lord Beric numbered them at at least 15,000 and potentially more. Due to the raging inferno, Tywin had not been able to truly scatter their foes. They fled, but they all fled away from the raging fire and onto the roseroad. It likely helped that Tarly had made sure that their wagon train was heavily guarded, which created a strong core group for those fleeing to rally around.
With another front opened by the Dornish, their position was still precarious. Kevan knew Tywin's mind on these things, and there were now four separate and distinct groups they needed to worry about. Stannis, the Tyrell host who was fleeing on the roseroad, the Tyrell host in the Westerlands, and the Dornish. To combat them, they had the army, which included Lord Beric, Myrcella's force, and Lord Lefford's. Lefford's garrison at Golden Tooth could defend the castle but could not defend the whole of the Westerlands.
The Westerlands could not be sacrificed. Casterly Rock and many other keeps and fortresses could hold out, but the mines, their herds, and the harvest were in dire jeopardy. When Autumn finally came, the Westerlands needed to have the Reach repelled. Kevan knew that the army in King's Landing was simply too far away; the only one who could save the Lannister lands was the army with Myrcella.
Meanwhile, the Stormlords with her would demand that they defend their own lands. It was a prickly mess of a situation; they could only hope that Tywin's granddaughter could still do her part, over her vassal's objections. Ironically, Kevan noted with mild amusement, had she not been so successful, she would have been closer to the Stormlands, and she would also be too far to provide timely aid to the Westerlands.
***
Eddard Stark was still aboard the King's ship when the news of the lost battles arrived. Their fleet had not been hugging the coastline, but they regularly sent vessels to gather news. They had only been expecting to hear about the battle of King's Landing; the word of Harrenhall falling had come like a sudden winter storm.
"I should not have given command to someone untried in battle. Your advice, Lord Stark, was not unsound, but it has proven ill. I would not have thought even an incompetent could have lost Harrenhal," Stannis was wroth with visible anger. The grinding of teeth would likely go on for days.
It was nothing short of a disaster. The majority of their foot was now captured, and the Riverlands were quite vulnerable. They still held strong garrisons at Maidenpool, Castle Darry, and the Saltpans. Even with all their vessels, horses took up significant space, so they had opted to leave some strong points in the event that Tywin turned north. Riverrun and Seagard still held strength as well, but if even Harrenhal could fall to Robert's daughter…
"Worse," Stannis continued, "Lord Tyrell is dead or captured along with more than half of his host. Orton Merryweather of all people has command, and they are retreating toward Bitterbridge."
Eddard knew that the Merryweather house had once been quite prominent, but they had been stripped of their lands and treasure by the Mad King. Robert had graced them with a return of some of their lands but left them with empty coffers. Lord Merryweather in charge meant that the number of high lords of the Reach had been curtailed significantly.
"It was a loss, Your Grace, but not all news was bad. The Kingslayer and his whelp were slain in the battle," Ser Davos pointed out.
"With one King dead, will they dip their banners, ser? No, they will hand off the crown to Tommen Waters. And should he perish, they would find another, and another." It seemed Stannis was in a foul mood with no patience for any attempts to mollify him.
Ned looked at his son, Robb, whose back was ramrod straight and face completely impassive. Eddard knew that his heir blamed himself for the setback of Harrenhall.
"What is done is done," Ned began, "we must now determine our next steps. The situation has changed. Dorne has also launched an attack on the Stormlands. While we have lost much of the Riverlands manpower, we have gained the Dornish. Your Grace, attempting to take King's Landing at this juncture is too risky. We must strike elsewhere."
"Agreed," Roose Bolton said in a soft voice. "Ser Garlan is unchecked in the Westerlands; we must do the same in the Stormlands."
Stannis continued to grind his teeth but nodded.
"You have the right of it. Not even my thrice-damned niece can hope to maintain the loyalty of her lords if she does not deign to defend their lands. I will not have them despoiled; we will forage, but these are my people and my ancestral lands we will be treading upon."
They hashed out a plan. They would make for the straights of Tarth. There, they could take Parchments and consequently threaten Haystack Hall, Bronzegate, and House Fell. If they had time and desire, they could also take Tarth itself, though that would likely be a waste of time. Stannis could also threaten Storm's End or King's Landing from Bronzegate, with easy lines of retreat to the coast if necessary. With most of their force being mounted, it would be near impossible to catch them. Better yet, they could hopefully combine forces with the Dornish spears who were also invading the Stormlands and once more have a numerical advantage against the Old Lion.
Plans made, the others filed out of the cramped cabin; Eddard remained behind to speak with the King.
"Your Grace, given that we are going to be transporting troops further south and are still attempting to maintain the blockade on King's Landing, I believe it may be time to put our families in a more secure location than Dragonstone."
Stannis narrowed his eyes, "Who would attack it? The remains of the fleet in King's Landing would not be able to break the blockade. The Stormlands do not boast a strong navy – Dragonstone is as secure as any place."
Eddard was not about to give Bran's dreams as his motivation to move his daughters, yet he needed a reason.
"We only have a light garrison there; ships can slip through. Tywin's reach is long; his gold could hire mercenaries and pirates. I do not think that the Vale will intercede or attack Dragonstone, but Gulltown does have some warships. I propose that we move your wife, your daughter and heir, as well as my daughters to Winterfell. None of the fighting will be anywhere near it."
Stannis looked mulish but then sighed. "I should not doubt your honor, Lord Stark; many will say that I would be foolish to send my heir to the heart of your power, but had you not sworn your fealty to me, I would have long since lost this war. I agree, make the necessary preparations."
"Thank you, Your Grace, I do want to make it clear that what Melisandre did with the sept did not go over well with my lords. She will not be welcome in the north."
"Her." He said curtly. "The Others can take her; she can stay rotting in Dragonstone until I have the patience to deal with her. It will not be sorcery and magic that wins this war but men of duty."
Eddard left the King to his stewing, pleased with the outcome. Bran had been a ball of worry; this would be good news for him as well. The Lord of Winterfell knew that Winter Was Coming; summer had gone on far too long. The war seemed to have no end in sight; even more than losing, he feared the consequences of this war extending for months or even years on end. Men were needed to bring in the harvest; if winter came soon, the realm would starve.
***
Tyrion Lannister had arrived at Storm's End safely. At first, Ser Cortnay had not welcomed him with much enthusiasm. He had been given a quality room and was allowed to feast with the other knights and nobles, but he was politely ignored or given the cold shoulder. That had changed when Ser Cortnay had received a letter from his niece, and then Tyrion was treated more warmly.
They regaled him with some rather unbelievable tales. Myrcella had cut down Ser Brus Buckler, a knight with a formidable reputation, during the Trial of Seven? That was rather preposterous, and yet they swore it was true. Tyrion was fast coming to the realization that even when he had given credit to Myrcella's intellect and oratory prowess, he had badly underestimated what she was capable of.
Tyrion had been curious and sought out all the details of how the Trial of Seven had even come to pass. Laughter had overcome him, so much so that tears had streamed down his face, when he learned that one of her chief arguments had been that Cersei was too stupid for it to be believable that she could have hidden cuckolding Robert for all these years.
The dwarf was curious, and after the letter from Myrcella, Ser Cortnay had answered any and all questions he'd had. Tyrion took interest in the non-standard way of waging war she seemed to be employing. Not calling a full muster? Focusing on footwear over weaponry? Shovels? But as he learned more, the pieces began making sense. She was creating a highly mobile force that could restrict the mobility of her enemies. The question that tickled his curiosity most was, where had she come up with it?
The books in the Red Keep, Casterly Rock, and now Storm's End had some treatises on war, but none matched the tactics Myrcella had employed. As someone who prided himself on his keen intellect, it was a bit troubling to realize that his niece was proving herself leagues ahead of him. He could see the concepts, now that the elements were laid out before him, but to come up with them seemingly out of nowhere. Remarkable.
Beyond just feasting and speaking with Ser Cortnay and the others, he did find a few interesting tomes in the Storm's End library that the Maester kept. It was a bit threadbare, which was expected given the general view on literacy in the Stormlands. He was growing a bit bored as well as worried about his niece on the frontline and Jaime back in the city. Was there something more he could be doing to help?
Warfare was not his forte, and he did not really have any contributions he could think of. He did have a strong memory, exceptional math skills, and more than a passing knowledge of a variety of subjects. It dawned on him that he could likely review records better than a Maester and see if things were properly adding up.
Ser Cortnay agreed that he could review the records and books of House Baratheon's accounts. What he found was an orderly set of ledgers and very few discrepancies. There were some, and Tyrion pointed them out. They looked to be oversights or minor instances of under declaring crop yields and goods. Ser Cortnay made a note and would reach out to those houses and ask for a polite explanation, at least for now.
Tyrion recalled asking Ser Cortnay what exactly Myrcella had written him to be so… open about details that would rightly not be subject to an outsider's scrutiny.
"My Lord Tyrion, Lady Myrcella rules the Stormlands and told me to trust you completely, and while I should use my best judgment, I should also listen keenly and intently to all suggestions you had. She called you the most brilliant man in the Seven Kingdoms."
Tyrion recalled feeling a warmth spread through him and his eyes suddenly feeling warm and wet. Men had called him clever at times, but never such high praise. Those blue, implacable eyes of Myrcella's had judged him and not found him wanting. It was a surreal experience to care so much about the opinion of a child, but there he was.
The youngest child of Tywin Lannister longed to do more, to demonstrate that his niece's faith in him was not misplaced, but he was struggling to find something of use to do. As news from the war trickled in, the keep was on edge. The Tyrells had amassed a seemingly insurmountable army and were nearing King's Landing; meanwhile, the Stormlands forces had been split in two, one part aiding Tywin in the defense of King's Landing and the other dealing with Stannis. Myrcella was hopelessly outnumbered by Stannis and was merely delaying his advance.
Word came first from Harrenhal. Beyond anyone's wildest dreams, word reached them that Ser Barristan had taken the colossal fortress from Edmure Tully. The Tully and Northern army had split from Stannis but still outnumbered the Stormlands force, and yet they had had still lost. Ser Cortany had confided that it was Myrcella who truly led the army, but the fiction to soothe worried nobility in the Stormlands was that the Bold was commanding them.
Storm's End threw a mighty victory feast, celebrating a critical victory. Tyrion drank along with them, partially because he enjoyed drinking and wished to revel, but also to take his mind off of what may be happening in King's Landing.
At the height of the feast, the Maester pulled Ser Cortnay aside and whispered something to him and handed him a small rolled up parchment. Tyrion watched and saw surprise, a smile, a frown, and then a glance toward him. The bald master of Storm's End looked toward Tyrion with some sorrow and motioned for him to follow to the lord's solar.
Dark Wings, Dark Words
Tyrion took a healthy gulp of wine and followed Ser Cortnay up the stairs. The man gestured for him to sit as they entered the room and looked upon him gravely.
"Lord Tywin has won the battle in the Kingswood, but there were losses. I am sorry, Tyrion, but your nephew and your brother are dead."
Tyrion felt his world tremble as his stomach dropped.
No… no…
He didn't care about Joffrey – the world was better off without that shit breathing – but Jaime, his brother, that was a blow crueler than any he had faced before. Jaime, the only one in Casterly Rock who gave a damn about him. Jaime, the only one who had made life even tolerable, the only one who had comforted him after what happened with Tysha.
He hurled the contents of his stomach onto the floor and sagged down in despair. Dimly aware of what a wretched and embarrassing sight he must be, he could not stop the raw emotion and tears. Penrose stood and moved to give him some privacy, but before he left, Tyrion coarsely stopped to ask for more information.
"How?"
"Details weren't shared, other than that wildfire that was used in the battle burned out of control and slew friend and foe alike. Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly are also among the slain."
Wildfire? Just how desperate were you, father?
Ser Cortnay left him to his grief, as Tyrion wept bitter tears for his lost brother.
***
The Vale knight had just finished his rendezvous with Lord Nestor Royce, a ponderous individual, who had prattled on for far too long. Nestor had explained again and again how this would all be done for little Lord Robert's sake, and that it was the only way to properly honor Lord Jon's legacy. The phrase 'a widow's madness' and 'for her own good' had been oft repeated, and Lyn Corbray was altogether sick of it. Lord Royce wanted control over the Vale, and this was his avenue of achieving it.
Corbray's tongue found the gap where his missing teeth were – or weren't, as it were – and felt a familiar bubble of frustration rise within him. Nearly dying to that overweight fool had been galling; the fact that his features had been permanently marred by that drunken oaf made him want to kill the brute all over again.
Lord Royce wanted House Corbray's assistance in securing the Eyrie. The older man's goal would be to do it completely bloodlessly to avoid offending the Gods, old or new. Lyn knew that Royce was no doubt speaking with several nobles, which was a risk itself, in more ways than Nestor knew. After leaving the still on-the-mend noble, he sought his employer, who had recently returned to the Vale.
Lyn enjoyed working with Baelish; the man was wealthy and ambitious and always knew how to land on his feet. The Master of Coin was from low lineage compared to the other nobles of the Vale, yet he had managed to amass wealth, connections, and power that outstripped his heritage. Corbray knew better than to cross a man like that. And the rewards, well, they had been and would be incredible. Gold, bedmates, soon a marriage, perhaps control of a house or two…
It was two days after his meeting with Nestor that he met up with Petyr. He explained what Royce had wanted and eyed the man to see how he would react.
"You and your brother can agree to do as he bids. Tell me once he installs himself as the ruler of the Vale in Robert's name; did he share what he intended to do about the war?"
Lyn shook his head. "He talked little of it, only saying that Lysa's failure to support her family was a sign of her instability. Surely, he would be siding with Stannis?"
Petyr stroked the small, pointed beard on his chin, his grey-green eyes sparkling with interest. "Perhaps, the little princess has proven to be persuasive; I wonder if her charms have infected Lord Royce."
Lyn gave a wry chuckle. "Myrcella? Ridiculous tales proliferate around her, but she's just a soft-hearted child. Aye, she's persuasive enough to convince Ser Barristan to release captives at risk of getting the Lannister treatment, but she's no schemer like you."
"You've not heard the news yet, then. She's being credited for the taking of Harrenhal, while outnumbered."
"Surely that is Ser Barristan's work."
"My eyes and ears, they say no. Ser Barristan has command, but the Stormlords are saying it is their Maiden who brought victory," Petry replied. He paused for a few heartbeats and then went on. "She managed to convince the Stormlands to back her to the hilt. I did not foresee that, nor did I foresee the Stormlands being so apt at a fighting retreat. I dislike disruptions to my schemes. I believe that it is time we use Lord Royce's little plot to remove Lady Myrcella from the board."
Corbray thought that Baelish was clever, certainly cleverer than himself. His skills lay in fighting, not plotting. But still, he couldn't see the need with this. The girl was just a girl; her strings were being pulled by other people. Yet, the outlined plan could very well work. Who knew, he may even be able to try himself against a Kingsguard in a real fight after all.
"The other lords won't gainsay the idea; they have felt shame over not participating in the war. Are you sure that Ser Barristan, or Ser Cortnay, or" he made a waving gesture with his hand, "Myrcella will agree?"
Petyr smirked. "If they do not, I have other plans in motion. This will be too tempting a plum to resist. Despite their recent victories, they are still on the back foot. The Westerlands and the Stormlands are beset by numerically superior foes. The potential to bring the Vale to their cause will seem like a Seven sent beacon of hope."
"Victories? There is another?"
"Oh yes, the Tyrell host was rebuffed by Lord Lannister; Mace Tyrell is believed dead. The King and his beloved Uncle Jaime also perished," Petyr spoke and allowed a note of vicious satisfaction to enter his voice.
Had there been bad blood there with Joffrey or Jaime? Lyn shrugged; it didn't matter. Jaime was one of the few knights who had the potential to withstand him; with this death, he was one step closer to being acknowledged as the greatest swordsman in Westeros. He now hoped that they would take the bait; he didn't like being idle. Lady Forlorn thirsted.
***
The news from my grandfather was mixed. He still lived, as did my younger brother, and they had defeated Lord Tyrell's host… but little else was good. I had given Tywin a whole list of potential options, and he went with kinslaying. Obviously, the Seven, R'hllor, the Old Gods, the Drowned God, and all the rest didn't exist – at best they were frauds like Being X. So, of course I did not fear some curse would be visited upon Tywin or even myself for adding it to the list of suggested ways to remove Joffrey from the Kingship, but still, did he have to be so… blatant? A knife in the back would have been far better than exploding him with wildfire for thousands to see.
Tywin did have plausible deniability, but using wildfire near the King – you would have to be a fool to do this if you wished the King a long and healthy life. And my grandfather was many things, but a fool was not one of them.
My uncle's, or possibly father's, death was always a possibility. He was a puissant warrior who relished battle. I was saddened by his passing, but in all honesty, his death in a war he'd caused had a poetic flair about it. He may not have been in on Cersei's schemes, but he had still bedded his sister and had given Robert horns. The idea of putting so much at risk for fleeting physical pleasure was truly despicable. So much death, so much destruction, because of his obscene desires.
The past cannot be changed, and I had to continue to soldier on. Shortly after the first news from the battle in the Kingswood came to us, a secondary letter arrived, requesting me to help the beleaguered Westerlands. I had no real connection to them, but as the wealthiest house in the Seven Kingdoms, keeping them whole was important. Our hold on the Riverlands was tenuous, despite the victory at Harrenhal. It was a large territory, with garrisons of some size in important areas. Uncle Stannis was no doubt intending to strike King's Landing or the Stormlands, but there was nothing that prevented him from turning around with his force of knights to confront me again. Marching clear across the Riverlands to get to the Westerlands would not be pleasant.
I also had to ensure that food could be shipped to King's Landing, or the city would starve. The many rivers, including the Blackwater Rush, would aid in the transport of the food. I still had to take it from their owners – something that could harm the reputation that I had painstakingly been building. I suppose if worst came to worst, I could pin it on Ser Lyle's Westerlands contingent… or perhaps the Freys.
Old Walder Frey had responded with interest to my suggested alliance. He had not agreed, but he was open to the matches, though his price was steep. He wanted the Paramountcy of the Riverlands. Should we win the war and place the Freys over the rest of the Riverlands, we sowed the seeds of the next rebellion. Still, tomorrow's woes could only exist if we got to tomorrow. I would reach out to Tywin and see if that was a promise we could make. An additional 500 knights and 1,500 foot would be quite useful.
I met with Ser Barristan to discuss our next steps.
"Lady Myrcella," he greeted as he inclined his head.
"Ser Barristan, my grandfather has asked us to help remove the Reach from the Westerlands. Thoughts?"
My commander of the Stormguard considered it for a few moments and then replied, "It will not be a popular decision. Taking us further from the Stormlands is dangerous. We do not yet know if the Vale will provide additional reinforcements or if Stannis will return to the Riverlands. If we are cut off, we would have to secure ourselves within the Westerlands – not something many of your lords would be pleased with."
He continued, "on the other hand, we would for once have parity of numbers with our foes, if the reports from Tywin are to be believed. Then again, the Stormlands themselves are under attack by the Dornish, a foe they will always be eager to fight."
I saw the dilemma, but there were also other advantages for acquiescing to grandfather's request.
"The gold of the Westerlands is important; with it, we can pay the smallfolk for when we take their harvest. With it, we can entice the levies and men-at-arms of the Riverlands to join us. Then there is the reality that Tywin is now Regent. His letter is worded as advice, with room to discuss further, but I believe this is the correct path forward," I replied.
Ser Barristan dipped his head in acknowledgment to my point. "What of Lord Beric and the Marcher Lords?"
"Lord Tywin will continue to make use of them. As much as I desire to increase the size of the Stormguard and get to know the Marcher Lords better, I suspect that my grandfather will need all the help he can get. As a bonus, they may be called upon to face the spears of Dorne, which would alleviate some of the qualms the Stormlords here have with marching all the way to the Westerlands."
"Soundly reasoned, Myrcella. When shall I have the men ready to march?"
I gave the old knight a smile. "Let us aim for a week. We will know more, and it will also give time for our men to rest. I've seen to the quarantine of the ill among the Riverlands levies; hopefully we can avoid contagion. Sometimes, the best medicine is rest, ample food, water, and less fear of imminent violence."
"What path will we take?" Barristan asked.
"The riverroad will be easiest; we can go north, inspect the defenses of Darry and see if it is worth storming, then travel west. I do not believe that the Riverlands will have the ability to contest our crossing of the fords; from there, we meet up with Lord Leo Lefford at Golden Tooth."
Barristan had no objections, and so the course was set. As we were wrapping up, I stopped him.
"Ser, I convinced you to join me by asking you to teach me the ways of honor. How have I done as Paramount Lady of the Stormlands?"
"You have brought honor to the name Baratheon. You have kept your promises, you have freed captives, honored truces, cared for the wounded, and conducted yourself with the highest levels of integrity. I am proud to serve you and have no regrets agreeing to do so."
"Thank you, ser, I feel that we have been apart frequently due to my need for someone I can trust to care for the bulk of my host as I slowed down my uncle. If anything ever changes in your view of me or my actions, I welcome your council."
Hearing how serious I was, Barristan locked eyes with me. He must have found what he was looking for, because after a moment, he gave me a resolute nod in return. "Aye, my lady. I will do my best to help you stay true to yourself."
That taken care of, it was time to consider whom to leave in charge of Harrenhal while we moved north. I ended up choosing Ser Gladden Wylde. An able and intelligent member of my Stormguard, I could also leave a good helping of Wylde men-at-arms, so there would be little question of loyalty. He would likely object, but my Stormguard were not just my protectors, they were my captains. This nonsensical idea of appointing commanders based on their family heritage was foolish; I needed people loyal and competent.
I had a hundred things to do in the week before we marched, but I took a moment to myself to enjoy the day. I felt quite invigorated, filled with a strange sense of energy. I'd felt like this often before battle, but rarely at times of rest. Contentment, sure, but I was practically bouncing on my feet. My meeting with Ser Barristan went well, but that was hardly unexpected. What was this?
I went outside to burn off some of that energy, and then I saw it in the sky. A bright, red comet, visible even in the daylight, with a long tail of the same hue. More and more people had seen it, and many were already claiming it a portent or sign. I had always been more focused on the study of economics and warfare, not astronomy, but this comet did not look normal. Based on what I could see, it did not look to be on course to crash into the ground like a meteor – so while interesting, not that important, and I had enough things I needed to attend to.