The raven had arrived from Highgarden only hours ago requesting a meeting at the ruins of Summerhall the very next day between Renly and Steffon. Despite his uncle's borderline treason, Steffon knew he owed it to Renly to meet with him, even if he was certain the raven had been sent at least a day after Renly had departed Highgarden.
"You are planning on meeting with him then?" Arya asked as the two enjoyed what little downtime they had before leaving. Arya was practicing her water dancing with the training sword she had been given, while Steffon was reading through documents about the customs of the Reach.
"Arya, putting aside the family ties, Renly has gathered the Reach and half the Stormlands. That's nearly 120,000 men, not counting the sellswords or freeriders that join up with them. We had barely 8,000 men when we landed here, and we're going to lose men every second we're fighting."
"Well how many Stormlanders do you have?" She asked, setting down the training sword. Steffon sighed.
"15,000. The Stormlands are split almost exactly down the middle between me and Renly."
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that if we can get Renly to join us, then we'll have the numbers to take the fight to my grandfather. There'll be a price though, and knowing my uncle, it will be a hefty one." He said. Arya sat down next to him, taking his hand in hers.
"At least we'll be able to hear them out, I suppose." Arya said. She couldn't deny she was nervous about the prospect of meeting Renly and his allies.
"Nervous, Arya?" Steffon asked, turning to face her. It was like he could read her mind.
"I am." She responded. "Especially Margaery Tyrell. People say she's one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms and I'm . . . I'm definitely not."
"Arya, you are a stunning girl. Yes, Margaery may be beautiful, but she'll always be second to you. What I like about you is your fire, Arya. You may be from a land of ice and snow, but you burn with a thousand fires. That's the biggest thing I love about you, Arya."
Arya blushed and buried her face in his shoulder. "These little declarations of love are coming a lot." She said, laughing.
"What can I say? I'm a romantic." Steffon responded.
Mira Forrester didn't like to admit it, but she still wasn't used to the heat of the south. She longed for the cold climate of the North, to see Ironrath again, but if she was to find the prospect of a marriage one day, she had to know the ways of the Southern noblewomen, and who better to learn from than Margaery Tyrell?
After Robert's Rebellion had ended, her mother's house, House Branfield, had been all but destroyed. Her uncle Malcolm had fought valiantly, but alas, he had never married or fathered any children. It seemed then that House Branfield was doomed to extinction.
But her mother still had some influence in the Reach.
She had called in numerous favours and pulled a lot of strings to get Mira appointed as one of Margaery's handmaidens, the other being Sera Durwell, who apparently was a very distant relative of the Tyrells. She and Sera had become friends, but there was no doubt the girl was ambitious. Maybe too ambitious for her own good.
Currently, the two were sitting at a bench in a small tent that had been pitched at the side of the road while their little convoy halted for a few hours. Where they were headed to, neither of the handmaidens could say. All they knew was that the meeting was supposed to be one of vast importance to the ongoing war.
"What if we're going to meet King Steffon?" Sera said excitedly.
"It's unlikely Sera." Mira responded. "King Steffon will likely be too busy with the war."
"Oh come now, Mira. I'm certain we wouldn't have been brought along if it wasn't important." Sera said. Mira had to admit, she had a point. Still-
"Sera, Mira, it is good to see you." Margaery said, entering the tent. The two handmaidens stood.
"As it is you, my lady." Mira said.
"We are mere hours from Summerhall and will likely arrive first." Margaery told them.
"My lady, if I may, we were wondering as to what the nature of this meeting is; and who the opposite number will be." Sera said politely. Margaery's face morphed into her characteristic smirk.
"Lord Renly has arranged a meeting with King Steffon to discuss a potential alliance. We will be attending also." Margaery said. Mira sensed something else as well; there was something in her tone. Mira wasn't brilliant at picking up on all the subtle clues a person would give off, but she wasn't daft either.
"Do you hope to win the hand of His Grace, my Lady?" She asked, a little tentatively.
"Yes I do, Mira. I know he will be reluctant to break his betrothal, but he will be pragmatic in the end. The Rach and a united Stormlands can offer a far more stable base of support." Margaery replied.
Maybe, Mira thought, but would he risk Robb Stark abandoning him?
The tent assembled for the meeting was one that Renly had lavishly decorated with banners, though Mira noticed it was with the Baratheon stag and Tyrell rose, with no sign of the Stark direwolf anywhere. She wondered if Renly was trying to send a signal to Steffon with his choice of decoration.
She and Sera were standing in one corner; in another stood Ser Loras Tyrell, whom had become Renly's close protector since they left Highgarden. In the centre of the tent, a table had been set up. On one side, Renly sat, with Margaery and Lord Mace Tyrell sitting either side of him. It wasn't long after that Steffon arrived.
Mira noted that Lord Tyrell looked distinctly unimpressed for a bare second. She recognised the King and Lady Arya, as well as the stone-faced Stannis Baratheon and Jon Snow, but didn't recognise the two men with them. Steffon sat don opposite Renly with Stannis and Lady Arya taking seats next to him. She could see why Lord Tyrell had an unimpressed look on his face for a second; Steffon had neglected most decoration and was wearing the typical armour of a Stormlands noble with a half-cape bearing the stag-and-direwolf sigil he had chosen fixed to his left shoulder armour the only sign of his rank.
Jon Snow stood off to one corner, a blank expression on his face as he and Loras stared each other down. The other corner was occupied by the two other men; one young, around her age, and the other far older(she guessed a similar age to her own father). The young man winked at her and she blushed a little. This is unbecoming of a lady! She scolded herself.
"Uncle." Steffon said coolly.
"Nephew! It is wonderful to see you once more." Renly said, pouring himself a cup of wine.
"I wish I could say the same, uncle. But you have gathered an armed host and I believe you want to crown yourself King." Steffon replied. Renly laughed.
"Is that what you heard? Nephew, I thought you would have learnt not to trust rumours by now."
"You are speaking to your King, Renly. Address him appropriately." Stannis chimed in.
"Of course, Stannis. Your Grace," Renly said, almost mockingly. "This war will likely result in hundreds of thousands of deaths and millions without homes. It will devastate the country unless ended quickly."
"What do you propose?" Steffon asked.
"An alliance with the Tyrells. The Stormlands and Reach will be behind you then; you'll have enough manpower to end the war fast."
"And how do you propose we secure this alliance."
"A marriage to my daughter of course!" Lord Tyrell said. Margaery leaned forward provocatively then. Arya's face began turning red with anger
"Absolutely not." Steffon said. He seemed to be almost horrified by the idea. "The Northerners would string me up by my thumbs if I broke my betrothal."
"I certainly would not object to marrying one as handsome as yourself, Your Grace." Margaery purred. "Your intellect is said to be greater than most grown men." She continued. Arya's face turned redder.
"Lady Margaery, I am flattered, but I must reject this."
"Why?" Lord Tyrell blustered.
"Well, other than the honour of myself and the Northerners, there are pragmatic reasons. An army in the Riverlands and Stormlands means we can attack my grandfather from two directions at once. Any breaking of my betrothal would mean that the North turns against me and thus, an invasion of the North would be necessary. Disregarding the fact that it is far too large, the only viable locations for large scale assaults are Moat Cailin and White Harbor. The problem with both is that Moat Cailin is a chokepoint and White Harbor would be beyond difficult to take by landing troops by boat." He explained. Now Lord Tyrell turned red.
"Your Grace, numbers are the decisive factor in war!" He said.
"Have care how you speak, my Lord." The older man snarled.
"Lord Tarth, please." Steffon held up a hand. "Perhaps we could ask Rhaegar Targaryen how decisive numbers are. After all, he did outnumber my father at the Trident and we all know what a decisive victory that was for him." Steffon replied, rolling his eyes. "Give me 10,000 experienced, well-led troops over 100,000 inexperienced men with poor commanders."
"Your Grace, I-"
"Enough, uncle. I am prepared to negotiate, but no alliance will ever involve me breaking my betrothal to Arya. One thing I will be willing to compromise on are some of my reforms."
"Reforms, Your Grace?" Margaery asked.
"Upon taking the Iron Throne I intend to fully use my position to introduce reforms related to the dispensation of justice, taxes, army and so on." He explained.
"Please enlighten us as to the nature of these reforms, Your Grace." Renly replied. Mira listened intently; her father had always said that commoners had to be listened to and treated well regardless of motives.
"I intend to strip Lords of their right to judge those under them without evidence; if a man is accused of a crime but no evidence is presented, then it is not truly fair for the lord to punish them. I intend to reduce the tax burdens on the smallfolk as well and transfer them to the nobility; those with the money should be able to shoulder heavier taxes. I want to create a royal army loyal to the King, trained by experienced soldiers and paid for their service." He said. A moment of silence passed over the tent before Renly and Lord Tyrell burst into laughter. Steffon and his side of the tent were silent. Margaery and Loras let out small chuckles of laughter as well.
"Oh, you were serious, were you, Your Grace?" Renly asked rhetorically. "If you give the Smallfolk all of that, they will continue to make demands. They don't have the intelligence for these high-minded principles of yours; most of them cannot even read!"
"Then we teach them! The cost-." Steffon was cut off by his uncle.
"Would be ruinous, and put us even further in debt to the Iron Bank? Your Grace, what you are proposing will upend the social order-"
"When men like Tywin Lannister are at the upper end of that social order, I would argue it needs to be shifted."
"You cannot seriously support this, Stannis?" Renly asked.
"My closest advisor is a former smuggler whom I knighted for saving us from starvation during our brother's rebellion. Take that for what you will." Stannis replied.
"I was prepared to negotiate these points, my lords, but it seems you will dismiss them out of hand. My people and I will ride in the morning. Good day, uncle." Steffon said before standing up. Stannis and Arya followed suit.