For once, it had been a slow day in the Red Keep. Sansa had heard that her brother's campaign in the Westerlands and Riverlands had stalled. With most of the Riverlands liberated, It seemed that the heavy fighting that had characterised the last few weeks had subsided for now. The rumour around the Keep was that Renly was soon planning some large offensive against Steffon. Of what, no one was sure; only that it would be massive.
Steffon…
She couldn't help herself from imagining how everything would have been different if they had been betrothed. She'd been imagining that for most of the day as she idled in her chambers. Joffrey was cruel to her, often by having her publicly humiliated, other times having Meryn Trant beat her. Many times the reason would be for things that she had no control over.
Steffon isn't like that. She thought, laughing humourlessly at the dramatic reversal in thought. Not long ago she was convinced Steffon was the bad brother of the two. He's wise, thoughtful, kind, and certainly not ugly. If only she had been betrothed to him. She would have been a good queen to him, and she had no doubt he'd be a fine king. Their black and auburn-haired children running around the Red Keep while he tried to keep Joffrey from causing another diplomatic incident. Him slipping off his tunic night to reveal his muscular-
Stop it! She thought. That's just inappropriate! She brought her hands to her cheeks in an attempt to hide her blush. She was a lady, not some back-alley sally, as her mother would say. Not to mention Arya would be likely to gut her if she knew Sansa was having such thoughts. Still, her mind wandered. She wished he were the eldest. Or Tommen. She could have enjoyed a happy life with them. Instead, she nearly ended up betrothed to Joffrey, and was effectively his prisoner, despite the pretensions made by Cersei and the others.
She shook herself from her reverie as Shae entered the room. She had actually grown attached to the foreign woman. She was a close confidant, and Sansa could count on her discretion. She already knew that Shae hadn't breathed a word of their conversations to anyone.
"What do they say? Of Steffon?" Sansa asked. She also knew that Shae did frequently spend time with the other handmaidens.
"They say that he is a handsome, dashing young man." Shae replied, closing the door. "And that he cares greatly for the people below him. Other say that he is a monster, bent on destroying the social order."
"I'm surprised any of them know what the term 'social order' means." Sansa said, eliciting a chuckle from Shae.
"That makes two of us, My Lady." She said. "People will form their own opinions, but often the ones we hear are formed from gossip or song. You will only learn what he is like if you meet him yourself."
"I hope to. One day." Sansa replied. Hopefully he would be able to crush Renly's offensive then march on King's Landing, coordinate with Robb to keep Lord Tywin in the Riverlands.
"You will. I can tell."
Tywin had decided he couldn't bear to see Amory Lorch or any of the other imbeciles that were supposedly his subordinates again when he'd heard one stupid idea too many. They'd been underestimating their enemies and it had cost them dearly. Jaime's army had been smashed and he was now a prisoner of Robb Stark. As for Steffon . . .
It was no real secret he'd always viewed his second grandson as the most competent member of the family. He was intelligent, possessing a good amount of strategic skill. No real politician, but that would be learnt with time. It still amazed the Old Lion how Steffon had managed to coordinate a continent-spanning war. It was unnatural, unheard of.
Of course, he had also seen the issues. His spy in the Northern camp had reported that Robb was more or less acting autonomously; independent of Steffon's commands. Out of necessity, Tywin thought, tight coordination is impossible on a scale of that size. Then there was the Greyjoy invasion of the North. Evidently the Young Wolf was not the strategist the Young Stag was. He could only imagine Steffon's reaction when he had learnt what the Stark boy had done.
"Tywin?" A vice asked. Kevan. Perhaps the only one of Tywin's lieutenants who could lead properly.
"Yes, Kevan?"
"We were discussing the next troop movements." His brother reminded him.
"We keep to the plan. The Northerners in Stark's host will want to return North to fight off the Greyjoys."
"And what of Steffon? If he delivers another blow to Renly like the Kingswood, the war in the south will be over in a few weeks." He said. Tywin found it not hard to deny that The Battle of the Kingswood had been a masterful deception. Though at the same time, there was no doubt that much of it was down to Renly's inexperience in command and his unwillingness to learn.
"Renly will fall before Highgarden does." He replied. "When that happens, we can look to ally with the Tyrells." Tywin said. "Joffrey will marry Margaery."
"And what if Steffon manages to get the support of the Tyrells?" Kevan asked. This was part of the reason he was kept around; to question Tywin's plans for potential holes. Tywin appreciated that. He couldn't stand lickspittles.
"How?" He asked. "Steffon was given the chance to marry Margaery Tyrell and could've had the Reach and a united Stormlands on his side. Instead, he kept his betrothal to the Stark girl."
"The Starks are proud, Tywin. If he broke his betrothal to her-"
"Then they would have severed their oath to him." Tywin finished. "Any man who can defeat an army the size of Renly's with a force of less than 20,000 would warrant attention."
"And Steffon is but a boy." Kevan added. "The Kingswood and after, his command of strategy has been brilliant."
"They would be brilliant for a man fully grown, Kevan. For a boy Steffon's age it is unnatural." He said. Kevan noticed the somewhat admiring tone in his older brother's voice, and was able to read his thoughts.
"If I didn't know any better, you seem to be proud of him."
"He is a talented strategist. And my grandson." Tywin replied. "He has a brilliant grasp of strategy and it seems as though he listens to his advisors. It seems what little I taught him, I taught him well"
"It helps that he has men like Stannis Baratheon and Barristan Selmy advising him." Kevan observed. Tywin grunted his agreement. "If that is the case, why are you fighting this war for Joffrey?"
"My circumstances necessitated that." He said. "There was Tyrion's arrest by Catelyn Stark and then my daughter arresting Eddard Stark. If things had turned out anther way, I might have supported Steffon. However, the reputation of our family, one that commands fear and respect all over Westeros, depends on Joffrey sitting on the Iron Throne at the end of the war."
With Steffon remaining isolated in his tent for the past few days, Stannis had assumed what was effectively a temporary command of the host. His top priority was deciphering Renly's next plan of attack, not that he was able to. His brother had been able to keep his plans under lock and key, no doubt helped by the fact he rarely shared them with the rank-and-file.
He had begun considering a major raid when someone had burst into his tent with some truly astonishing news: they had discovered Renly was to attack Tarth. When asked how they had discovered it, the soldier had handed Stannis written orders in Renly's handwriting detailing plans for the invasion. It turned out the soldier had discovered a piece of paper tossed carelessly into the grass at a camp that Renly's soldiers had just left and passed it up the chain of command.
The whole thing was one massive farce. They'd discovered it completely by accident, and there was no doubting that it was real, given that it was Renly's handwriting. Stannis was not a man who believed in luck, but perhaps for just a moment, fortune had fallen their way.
He'd ordered the letter be copied straight away, which led to him and Lord Tarth reconvening with Steffon in his tent. Stannis did not fail to notice that the jug of wine Steffon had was basically empty. It was only given to him last night.
"This cannot be allowed to stand, Your Grace!" Tarth said angrily. "This man would violate my home!"
"Yes, but it is our chance to kill his soldiers on our terms, so shut up and listen." Steffon grumbled. His appearance was beyond disheveled. Heavy bags under his eyes implied he had next to no sleep the other night, his hair was a matted mess, and he wore only a simple white shirt that was untucked and wrinkled. Tarth bristled at his words, but dared not say anything. "You will head for the isle immediately with 5,000 men. We trap their fleet between the isle and the mainland and crush them. Meanwhile, I will land another force on the flank of their landing force and drive into them as they try to advance. We can destroy his army for good right here if things go as planned."
"But if they don't, Your Grace-"
"Are you questioning me, Lord Tarth?"
"No, Your Grace, but-"
"Then you have your orders. Go." Steffon said. Tarth nodded curtly and left.
"Lord Tarth has been your ally from the start, Your Grace. You owe him a modicum of respect." Stannis said.
"I cannot afford to have my subordinates question every order I give." Steffon replied. "If I start doubting myself, we're finished."
"A wise leader leaves room for doubt."
"A wise leader knows when to shut his lieutenants up." He said. "I will be at the head of our landing force."
That got Stannis' attention. "Let me lead them. Having you do it in person would be an unacceptable risk."
"There are times when the life of a king does not count. You may take your leave, uncle." He said. Stannis didn't say another word as he left the tent. It was an unacceptable risk. Steffon was the king; he couldn't throw himself onto the front line for no reason. If he were killed, there was a chance that the whole war effort could fall apart fast.
Someone would have to ensure Steffon's safety, but it was not likely that he would accept a personal guard. He hadn't been the same since he sent Jon Snow on his way to the Wall. "Very well, your Grace." Stannis replied, reluctantly exiting the tent.
"This… this can't be true…" Robb said, his hands trembling as he read the message in his hands. The messenger raven had arrived this morning, with word of Bran, Rickon and Myrcella's deaths at the hands of Theon Greyjoy. Theon had been his best friend for years; he loved him like a brother.
"I'm afraid it is, my lord." Bolton replied. "Word is that the King received the same message not too long ago. My condolences."
Robb sat down at his chair, battling with denial, depression and anger. After a moment, anger had won it's claim for him. "Theon will answer for this." Robb said, quietly. "I'll have him executed myself for this travesty."
"Ramsay is only a few days from Winterfell." He heard the Lord of the Dreadfort say. "When he retakes the castle-"
"When he retakes the castle, he will hold Theon prisoner until I arrive there to take his head."
"And does the old offer still stand?" Bolton asked. The standing orders were to show mercy to the Ironborn if they turned Theon over to Ramsay. He just looked straight up at Bolton.
"No. They all die on the spot except Theon."
"Wise thinking, my lord. The Ironborn can't be allowed to commit this sort of heinous crime without retribution." Bolton replied as Jeyne Westerling entered.
"Begging your pardon, my lord." Jeyne said, nodding her head at Lord Bolton before turning to Robb. "My lord."
"My lady." Bolton said, before excusing himself from the tent, leaving the two of them alone.
"I wanted to see how you fare." Jeyne spoke.
"How I fare?" Robb asked. "My home has been taken over by a man I trusted, and has killed my brothers. One of my sisters is with another army, and the other is a captive in King's Landing. I've got one enemy to my west and south and another to my north. Then there's the fact that my King is losing trust in me every day. And you ask me how I fare?" He said, more than a little angrily. To her credit, Jeyne didn't flinch.
"I'm sorry. It was a stupid question. I won't pretend to know how you feel, because I don't know how you feel." She said.
"I shouldn't have snapped like that." He replied as the flap of the tent was quickly flung open. A lightly armoured soldier burst in; evidently he hadn't slept for some time. Robb noticed he had the Baratheon crowned stag stitched across the chest of his gambeson.
"My Lord, a message from the King." The soldier handed Robb a hastily folded sheet of paper. The seal was unbroken; a stag and direwolf. At least I know it's from the rightful king, he thought as he broke the seal.
"Thank you, soldier. You may go." He said as he began to read.
Robb,
I understand that you are aware Theon Greyjoy has seized Winterfell. Days ago, he sent a Raven to Storm's End with some terrible news.
Theon the Betrayer has murdered your brothers and my sister.
The letter continued, but it didn't tell Robb anything he didn't t already know. Somehowe, without Bolton's presence, it just made things worse for and Rickon . . . dead . . .
He collapsed into a chair, prompting Jeyne to rush over. "My brothers . . . Theon . . ." He couldn't even bring himself to say the words. Somehow though, he could tell that Jeyne was able to guess. The look in her eye, perhaps.
"I'm so sorry . . ." She said, looking at him. Suddenly, Robb leaned forward and kissed her.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" He began to say before Jeyne kissed him, cutting him off. It was wrong, and Robb knew it. He was betrothed to a Frey girl, and would also be dishonouring Jeyne, but at that moment, he didn't care. He needed something, anything, to take his mind off of the sorrow.
They both sighed in pleasure when he entered her, lost in their own world as they each chased their high.