Game of Thrones: The Stag's Storm

In the courtyard of Wolf's Den, Gendry and Daenerys watched Brienne bid them farewell.

"Are you really leaving?" Daenerys asked Brienne.

Brienne's eyes were large and blue, a maiden's eyes, innocent and forthright, but beyond that... her face was broad and rough, her teeth protruded in an uneven row, her mouth was frightfully wide, and her thick lips resembled caterpillars. Countless freckles crowded her forehead and cheeks, and her nose looked as though it had been broken many times. A formidable warrior, and an ugly maiden.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, Princess. I truly appreciate your generosity and courtesy, but I am Brienne of Tarth," Brienne said apologetically.

"I hope we'll meet again and ride into battle together." Gendry smiled, making no attempt to stop Brienne from leaving. Some people could not be forced to stay.

Brienne was the heir to Tarth, and Renly had shown her kindness before. She would certainly repay him first.

"You have my word. I still have duties of my own in the Stormlands, and I must return there first." Brienne looked at them both. She liked it here. The soldiers here did not call her a freak or make those vicious jokes. And both the prince and the princess were sincere, more so than Renly with his courtesy.

Brienne thought Renly and Gendry looked alike, but a closer look made it impossible to mistake them. The differences were obvious.

Gendry had Renly's eyes and hair, but a different build. The feelings in their eyes differed, too. Lord Renly's eyes were warm and welcoming, full of laughter, while Gendry's gaze held much more of a warrior's resolve and confidence.

Lord Renly was tall and slender, not nearly so strong or solidly built. Gendry had a broader chin and thicker brows. Renly was slim and elegant, while Gendry had broad shoulders and the powerful arms of a warrior and a smith. He was a stronger version of Renly, more like Robert, who was renowned for his strength.

"Take this. Gen and I will be waiting for you." Daenerys handed Brienne an exquisite badge bearing a quartered banner.

Brienne turned and left, her movements brisk and decisive.

"What an unfortunate woman!" Anguy said quietly. "Just look at that build, that face."

"Enough, Anguy." Gendry patted his squire, telling him to hold his tongue. "Not every woman has to live the way men think she should."

"She has such charm, doesn't she?" Daenerys watched the departing woman with envy, a female knight who could protect herself.

Chapter 112: Kindness and hatred

"Lord Renly is a great man in some respects," Gendry said. He did not regret Brienne's departure. She was someone who kept her promises. Even if she intended to serve him, she would have to repay Renly first.

Gendry acknowledged that Renly had plenty of good qualities. Everyone had their own battlefield. Renly merely chose fine clothes and aristocratic airs as his, fussing over finery while others fought in the training yard.

Still, Renly was personable and handsome, very much like the king in his youth. That certainly worked on the disgruntled people of the Reach and the Stormlands.

"If you mean dancing and aristocratic manners, Lord Renly is indeed unrivaled in those respects." Qyburn pursed his lips.

"Charm cannot win a real war. Sooner or later, Lord Renly will understand that," Jorah said dismissively. Jorah also had extensive experience in war, and he had nothing but contempt for empty showmen like Renly.

"But charm and friendliness have won Lord Renly many allies and much affection," Handsome Man said solemnly.

That was undeniably true. Brienne was one example. At the welcoming feast on Tarth years ago, the graceful, composed Renly had treated Brienne courteously, as though she were an ordinary, beautiful maiden. He had even danced with her. In his arms, Brienne had felt elegant and noble, her feet moving smoothly through the steps. Following the lord's example, others had invited her to dance as well. From that day onward, Brienne had remembered Renly's kindness.

"Renly is one of our great enemies. He has his own designs on the Iron Throne," Qyburn analyzed coldly. "Renly rules the Stormlands, and he has also courted the wealthy Reach. The Reach used to be loosely united, but the old grandmother of House Tyrell has brought together an alliance of Tyrell, Redwyne, and Hightower, making House Tyrell stronger than ever."

"Indeed. Hightower, Rowan, Redwyne, and Tyrell are the four wealthiest houses, with the most manpower. Florent, Tarly, and the others rank somewhat below them, but they can still be called wealthy."

"The situation isn't as frightening as you make it sound. Renly's potential strength does seem considerable, but his allies aren't united. The Reach has always had many powerful lords, and its greater vassals may not necessarily obey Tyrell orders. Even House Hightower, though bound to Tyrell by marriage, is now wealthy and discreet, with little desire to take part in wars," Jorah replied. He had once married a woman of House Hightower and knew the Reach's circumstances very well.

"Even so, if we land from the sea, Renly can ask the Redwyne Fleet to resist us, and Storm's End is a fortress almost impossible to overcome."

"Leaving aside the alliance between the Reach and the Stormlands, I've also prepared a new landing route for the future," Gendry said mysteriously.

A little later, Anguy knocked on the door of the Map Hall.

"My lord, your guest will be arriving shortly."

"Very well. Please excuse me." Gendry rose, and everyone understood that a guest who required the Archon's personal welcome must be someone of considerable importance.

Gendry and Daenerys met their guest in the quiet garden: a weather-beaten, middle-aged man, a brown-haired knight already beginning to grow old. His leather armor looked shabby, and only his sword appeared to receive regular care.

"I'm glad to know that even far away, there are still people willing to fight for Dany." Gendry looked at the down-and-out knight before him, Ser Mortimer Boggs, head of House Boggs of Crackclaw Point.

"I fight for you as well, my lord, for the honor you share with the True Dragon," Mortimer replied cautiously. He knew that fool Viserys was not included in the plan, but he was happy to accept that. The brave men, the bold men, had already died on the battlefield, while he still lived.

"I'm very glad to meet you, ser. I hear you fought alongside my brother at the Trident," Dany said.

Good living conditions and a cheerful mood had allowed Daenerys to develop a little more. At last, she was no longer quite so small and slight as before.

Ser Mortimer Boggs saw the four-colored badge Daenerys wore on her breast. This girl was a proud heir to the True Dragon, but all her hopes rested on her lover. Even if she returned one day, it would only mark the birth of an entirely new dynasty, dragon and stag. But that was enough. At least he had not utterly betrayed the prince's friendship.

"Yes. Not just me. At the Trident, Clebbe, Brune, and Boggs fought alongside Prince Rhaegar. There have been Clebbes in the Kingsguard as well, including one Hardy, one Cafferen, one Payne, and three Clebbes-Ser Clement, Ser Rupert, and Ser Clarence the Short," Mortimer Boggs answered softly, his memories returning to the Ruby Ford.

The death knell at the Trident had tolled for everyone, for Prince Rhaegar and for the Royalists who had fought there.

Mortimer Boggs said no more about the War of the Usurper. Fate had a strange power, bringing a bastard of House Baratheon together with the surviving blood of House Targaryen to launch a new vengeance against that damned Iron Throne.

"I'm very glad to meet you. You are a loyal man, just like Ser Darry," Daenerys recalled. In truth, Dany's ties to Westeros were not especially deep. Ser Darry was one of her few happy memories.

Dany asked only a few questions before stopping, though she remained fascinated by the stories of her brother Rhaegar. But she had to look ahead. She was destined to gain a new crown and could not linger in the hatred of the past.

"I've waited many years. At last, there's a glimmer of dawn," Mortimer Boggs said.

"After the new dynasty was established, the punishments imposed on you were quite severe, weren't they?" Gendry asked Mortimer.

"Yes, my lord. They crippled us," Mortimer sighed. "Some were exiled. Others lost their titles, lands, and tax revenues. Those of us on Crackclaw Point were fortunate enough to keep our titles, but we all paid astronomical ransoms in gold dragons. That wasn't because Duke Jon was kindhearted. It was because outsiders couldn't gain a foothold on Crackclaw Point."

"Lord Gendry, Princess Daenerys, if you raise your banners on Crackclaw Point, we will fight for you again. I represent more than House Boggs. I represent the countless people of Crackclaw Point. We wait, we remember, we remain loyal." Mortimer Boggs decided to reveal his greatest attraction: the loyalty of Crackclaw Point. "Crackclaw Point may be poor, and the people of King's Landing call us half-savages and country bumpkins, but its good men have never feared death. And we are close to King's Landing."

"Very good." Gendry smiled. "Loyal hearts beyond King's Landing. Now is not the best time to act, but I promise you won't have to wait much longer."

"I'm willing to kill the traitors of House Lannister to prove my loyalty. King Robert won his throne through his warhammer and courage, while the Lannisters gained their position through gold and deceit alone. I hate the Lannisters. Crackclaw Point hates the Lannisters," Mortimer Boggs said. He hated that war, in which the rightful king had died. But he hated House Lannister even more: Lannister the liar, Lannister the Kingslayer.

Daenerys was very pleased with Mortimer Boggs's answer. The Lannisters were also the enemies who had hurt her most deeply. Her brother had repeated those stories again and again, making it impossible for her to forget.

That was broadly the way of Westeros as a whole. If someone won through open battle, people generally had little objection. But if victory came through deceit and betrayal, it would be bitter and infamous.

And the Lannisters' conduct during the war had been truly hideous: betrayal, regicide, children battered to death, women violated, and the sack of King's Landing.

"Wait for my orders. I'll send people to deliver food, armor, and weapons to you. I know Crackclaw Point has a coastline well suited to smuggling," Gendry said. Moloz was also an expert smuggler and could find the routes.

"Yes, my lord. I'll make preparations in secret." Mortimer Boggs nodded.

"My love, there's House Darry as well. Don't forget them," Daenerys reminded him.

"I won't." Gendry clasped Dany's hand, sensing her unsettled emotions. "They took care of you. I'll repay them."

From Crackclaw Point to Maidenpool and Darry, a Targaryen Royalist stronghold existed beyond King's Landing: an arc of loyalists. This stretch northeast of King's Landing would be a wedge driven into the chaos of Westeros, but it was also close to the Royal Fleet at Dragonstone, making careful planning all the more necessary.

Chapter 113: The Hand and the ministers

Ever since the quarrel at the Trident, House Stark and its retainers had ridden at the very front of the procession, keeping their distance from House Lannister and avoiding the mounting tension between the two factions. The king had scarcely appeared. It was said that he stayed in the Wheelhouse, drinking himself senseless all day.

Robert, has that crown truly corrupted you so much? Eddard thought. The king was no longer the companion of his youth. Something seemed to stand between them now. Lannister soldiers, a Lannister woman, a Lannister Kingslayer.

The quarrel had also left cracks within House Stark. Arya blamed Sansa, while Sansa complained about her sister's wild temper. Even Jon could not reconcile the two girls.

Sore all over, tired, hungry, and in a foul mood, Eddard rode through the Red Keep's towering Bronze Gate. Jon followed close behind. Though scars remained on his face and body, his wounds had fortunately not worsened and were healing well.

Jon and Mycah looked at the imposing Red Keep. Jon instinctively felt uneasy: unfamiliar surroundings, a dreadful situation. He knew why House Stark's party had hurried ahead. Their enmity with the Lannisters seemed to be growing ever deeper.

"Lord Hand, Grand Maester Pycelle has called an emergency meeting of the Small Council. He hopes the new Hand will attend, if convenient." The Master of the Household's first piece of news greatly displeased Eddard. All he wanted was a hot bath and a roast duck or chicken.

"If it's a matter of convenience, make it tomorrow," Eddard said irritably as he dismounted.

The steward replied respectfully, "Lord Hand, I shall inform the ministers that you are unable to attend."

"Never mind. Damn it," Eddard replied. This was King's Landing, not Winterfell. If he did everything as he pleased, he might offend every minister before even taking office. "I'll go now. But give me a few minutes first to change into something more formal."

"Yes, my lord," the steward said. "We've prepared Lord Arryn's former rooms in the Tower of the Hand for you."

"Sorry for the trouble," Eddard said, adding quietly, "Remember to arrange a room for my son as well." Winter was coming. Only family could truly be trusted. Behind Eddard, his family and retainers filed through the gate.

"Jon." Eddard called his son over.

"That woman has always been arrogant. You've offended her, so you must be careful in King's Landing. Especially that butcher's boy with you. They would have no qualms about killing a butcher's boy."

"I understand, Father." Jon nodded gravely.

"My lord, you must be careful too. This is King's Landing," Jon said slowly. It was not that he was particularly adept at reading people. A bastard simply lived at the mercy of others, and he had always watched Catelyn's expression.

Eddard also told the steward to settle his two daughters in. Then he borrowed a set of clothes from the Master of the Household to attend the meeting. His carriage was still halfway through the city.

The Red Keep's Council Chamber was lavishly furnished. Myr carpets covered the floor instead of rush mats. In one corner stood a wooden screen from the Summer Isles, carved with hundreds of vivid, colorful birds and beasts. Fine tapestries from Norvos, Qohor, and Lys hung on the walls. A pair of Valyrian Sphinx Statues flanked the door, their round garnet eyes gleaming in black marble faces.

But none of this luxury could dispel Eddard's foul mood. The moment he entered, Varys, the man he disliked most, approached him.

"Lord Stark, I heard of your troubles on the Kingsroad. Truly regrettable. We have all been concerned about young Lord Jon's injuries and prayed for his swift recovery." Varys's hand left traces of powder on Ned's sleeve. He exuded a cloying sweetness tinged with decay, smelling like flowers growing on a grave.

"My son is fine and recovering well. The king also said that everyone was to forget the matter," Eddard replied with cool courtesy.

Varys merely smiled and said no more. Stark had responded so coldly to his friendliness, neither trying to win him over nor offering goodwill. Very much a Stark, indeed. A shame he's a fool.

Eddard withdrew his hand from the eunuch's grasp and crossed the room toward Lord Renly. Renly stood beside the screen, talking to a small man who had to be Littlefinger.

When Robert had first seized the throne, Renly had been a boy of seven. Now he was a grown man, so like his elder brother in looks and manner that Eddard found it deeply unsettling. Every time he saw Renly, it was as though time turned backward, and the dashing Robert stood before him, newly victorious at the Trident.

"Lord Stark, I see you've arrived safely," Renly said.

"As have you," Eddard replied.

"If I may say so, at times you and your brother Robert look as though you were cast from the same mold," Eddard complimented him.

A closer look, however, allowed Eddard to distinguish the differences. The young king had been stronger, carrying the scent of blood and war. Renly was more splendid and slender, a graceful young nobleman.

"I could never compare to him." Renly shrugged. "Though we do have someone who looks even more like the king. Unfortunately, that bastard isn't on our side. Instead, he's become a great worry for my brother, and he keeps our queen awake at night too."

"A little less talk, Lord Renly," Varys said, coming over. "That is something we mustn't discuss."

"At least you dress better than the king," Littlefinger said playfully. "Few ladies at court can match what Lord Renly spends on clothes."

That was certainly true. Lord Renly wore a dark green velvet tunic embroidered with twelve golden stags. A half-cape of cloth of gold draped elegantly over one shoulder, fastened with an emerald brooch.

"Surely that isn't such a terrible crime," Renly said with a laugh. "Look at what you're wearing. Now that is an offense."

Littlefinger ignored his mockery. With an almost insolent smile on his lips, he looked at Eddard. "Lord Stark, I've wanted to meet you for years. I trust Lady Catelyn has mentioned me?"

"She has." Eddard looked at Littlefinger. He felt that Littlefinger's arrogance and sly humor were an affront, and the attitude angered him. Perhaps he was not truly a wolf, or that remark alone would have made him take Littlefinger's head. "If I remember correctly, you also knew my brother Brandon."

Renly laughed heartily, while Varys edged a little closer.

"I knew him well," Littlefinger said. "I still carry a keepsake from Brandon on my body. Did Brandon mention me too?"

"Often, usually when he was furious." Eddard wanted to end the conversation. These word games were not to his taste.

"I thought you Starks had cooler tempers. In the South, everyone says you're made of ice and melt once you cross the Neck." Littlefinger laughed.

Littlefinger truly had a tongue for stirring up trouble. Unfortunately for him, Eddard had no intention of becoming entangled in it.

"Lord Baelish, rest assured that I have no intention of melting too quickly." Eddard moved toward the council table and saw Maester Pycelle. "Maester Pycelle, I see you're still in good health."

"My lord, for a man of my age, my health is quite good. I simply tire easily." The Grand Maester was something of a living fossil on the Small Council. Eddard thought he might be the longest-serving Grand Maester. He looked up from his bench at the far end of the long table and smiled. His face was kindly, with a few wisps of white hair hanging on either side of his long-bald forehead.