The Gods Have Tossed the Coin into the Air

The rainy season in the Stormlands seemed never-ending, the damp air soaking through every inch of canvas in the tent.

Selwyn Tarth sat at the head of the table, the map before him marred by several blotches of candle wax.

The tent was packed with knights who had remained behind in the Stormlands.

A lord who had just returned from the front tore off his helmet, rainwater streaming down his weary face. "The Riverlands men have not entered King's Landing yet."

"They did not march on King's Landing. Instead, they are sweeping through the northern Crownlands, reaching as far as Duskendale. Every village and castle along the way has surrendered."

"Suleiman seems to be stabilizing the situation. He has not continued his advance."

The atmosphere in the tent immediately grew heavier.

A Stormlands lord voiced the question on everyone's mind.

"What do we do?"

"Most of these ten thousand men are farmers who only just put down their hoes and fishing nets. Are we really taking them to block the Riverlands men on the Kingsroad?"

Murmurs rose.

"Can we beat Suleiman?"

"Wouldn't that just be sending them to their deaths?"

"But what about King's Landing? The Hand is still in the Red Keep."

"The Red Keep has high walls, and escape tunnels besides. Hand Jon Arryn knows better than we do what to do."

A fat lord mumbled vaguely, as if that could shift the responsibility elsewhere.

No one spoke again.

No one dared mention rescuing the Red Keep.

They all knew that King's Landing was now a massive quagmire, one that would swallow anyone who tried to step into it.

"I heard,"

a knight with a grating voice said, trying to break the silence. There was a strange hint of gloating in his tone.

"During the Dance of the