Kingslanding, Crownsland
Cersei paced the Small Council chamber.
She stopped in front of Pycelle. "You'll draft the letters. One to each of the Great Houses—Tyrell, Tully, Arryn, Stark, Martell. Even the Greyjoys. They are to come to King's Landing and swear fealty to King Joffrey Baratheon."
Pycelle bobbed his head "At once, Your Grace."
Robert had told her about Targaryens stirring in the East.
Joffrey slouched in his chair. He scowled. "They should come and kneel without being asked. Father is dead. I'm the king now. Why do we need to ask for loyalty?"
"You are the king," Cersei said, placing her hands on his shoulders. "And they will kneel. But we have to summon them first."
He didn't argue. He rarely did when her tone was like this.
"And Dorne?" Ser Boros Blount asked.
Cersei's face hardened.
"I don't care what they're brooding over down there," she said, "Send a letter to Sunspear. Make it courteous. But firm. Let them know we expect their loyalty. There will be no exceptions."
Pycelle dipped his quill in ink.
By nightfall, the quills had scratched their last, the wax seals were cooling, and the ravens were sent fluttering into the dusk.
_____________________________________________________________________
Dragonstone
The sea winds howled outside the thick stone walls of Dragonstone. Inside, Stannis Baratheon stood over the Painted Table.
The table was carved in the shape of Westeros, every mountain and river was detailed. His fingers were hovering over Kingslanding.
"She sits her bastard on the Iron Throne," he said in a harsh voice. "And the realm bows. Even those who know the truth say nothing. Cowards. All of them."
Maester Cressen stood near the wall, his hands folded in his sleeves. He had known Stannis since he was a boy. He was proud, dutiful, severe. But the man before him now, with sleepless eyes and tight jaws, was becoming something else.
"The truth must be known," Stannis continued. "I am Robert's rightful heir. He had no trueborn children. Right now an incestuous bastard is sitting on the Iron Throne."
Cressen spoke in a soft voice "And so you would tell them? Every lord in the realm? You would name the Queen a whore, her children illegitimate?"
In the corner, Melisandre stood silent. She said nothing, but the air itself seemed to bend around her.
"They must know," she said at last, her voice was calm and smooth. "Truth burns away the lies. Let the letters fly."
Cressen turned his head toward her. "And what of alliances, my lady? Isolated truth wins no throne. King Stannis needs swords, not words. Acting too soon will only cost him dearly. You speak of fire as though it cleanses. But fire… fire only consumes."
Melisandre smiled. "Fire reveals everything."
Stannis turned on the maester. "Would you have me wait? Let Cersei keep the throne? Let my claim rot while my enemies plot?"
"I would have you win, your grace," Cressen said. "The truth alone is not enough. You are your brother's heir. No man here denies that. But you do not see who whispers this truth in your ear."
"She is my advisor," Stannis snapped. "As you once were. But where you are preaching patience, she offers clarity."
Cressen stepped forward. "She is poisoning your mind," he said, though she stood behind Stannis. "She feeds your anger and calls it prophecy. You were never meant to burn the world to claim it."
Silence.
Only the fire crackled now.
"I see clearer now than I ever did," Stannis said coldly.
Cressen lowered his head. "Then may the gods help us all."
Stannis turned to Ser Davos, who had watching it all.
"You will see to the ravens," he said. "Send letters to every great lord and minor house. They'll hear the truth that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are no children of Robert. That they are Jaime Lannister's bastards. The Iron Throne is mine, by law and blood."
Davos hesitated. "And those who do not believe it?"
"Then they are traitors," Melisandre said, before Stannis could reply. "And traitors burn."
Cressen closed his eyes.
______________________________________________________________________
Storm's End, the Stormland
Renly Baratheon stood by the window, with a parchment in his hand. The wax had already been broken, the words were read again and again, as though repetition would give him clarity.
Behind him, Ser Loras Tyrell leaned against the stone wall, with his arms folded.
"You've read it a dozen times," Loras said in a calm voice "The boy's a bastard. Looking back now, why did no one else saw it. It was all in front of our eyes."
Renly didn't turn. "But to put it to paper. Whoever sent it knew what they were doing. They've confirmed it. Joffrey. Tommen. Myrcella. All of them born of Jaime Lannister."
Loras stepped closer. "Then the throne is vacant. Robert had no trueborn heir. You are his brother. His blood."
Renly finally turned. "Stannis is my brother, too. And he is older than me."
Loras rolled his eyes. "Stannis is older. But who will follow him? Who loves him? The Stormlands barely tolerate him. The Reach has never warmed to him. You, though... you're charming, Renly. You're Robert's brother in more than blood. You're the king people want."
"And what of the law?" Renly asked. "The law says it's his."
"The law didn't write that letter," Loras said, nodding toward the parchment. "And the law didn't win Robert his crown. He took it. You can do the same."
Renly hesitated. He looked down at the painted stag on his doublet, then back at the parchment in his hand.
"This was sent to me anonymously," he murmured.
"Then someone in this realm still has a mind," Loras replied. "Let others tear each other apart. While they bleed, we take the throne and save the realm from war."
Renly looked at him for a long moment, his jaw tense. Then he nodded.
"Send word to Lord Tyrell," he said. "And to my bannermen. If Stannis wants a crown, he can come and try to take it. But I won't let him."
He looked again at the letter and set it into the fire.
_______________________________________________________________________
Winterfell, The North
It had been a fortnight since Aryan told his mother the truth about Lysa Arryn's role in his father's death. The matter was already handled—he had sent a body that looked exactly like Lysa. He had also ordered his Faceless Men in Vale, to be spotted after 'killing' Lysa and escape without getting caught, to make sure nobody doubts that she was assassinated. As for Robyn Arryn, he has not decided what to do with him—yet. He would deal with him in time.
For now, he sat at breakfast with his mother, his wife, and the rest of the Martells who had taken up residence in Winterfell. Arianne was pregnant, so Aryan doubted that they would return to Dorne anytime soon. They never meddle in Northern affairs from the beginning, so no one minds their presence. It's like they are on a vacation.
Marwyn entered with three letters. He handed them over without any comment. Aryan took them and tucked them aside. He would read them later. He trusted his mother and his wife. The rest? They were allies—yes. They have one shared goal. But not others.
Later, in his solar, Aryan broke the seals one by one. He was seated with Ashara, Arianne, Marwyn, Jaqen, and Kinvara.
Arianne was curious. "What is it, Aryan?"
He held up the first letter. "From Kingslanding. The little cub wants me to come, kneel, and swear fealty."
Arianne smirked. "How long do you think until the war begins?"
"That depends," Aryan said, breaking the seal on the second letter. "On when Renly or Stannis decides to make the first move."
His eyes skimmed the parchment. Halfway through, he chuckled. "Oh. We won't have to wait long."
He passed the letter to Arianne. She read it, then passed it to Ashara. It was sent by Stannis Baratheon.
To the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms,
The Iron Throne of Westeros rightfully belongs to the true heir of King Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, by the laws of gods and men. I, Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the throne, declare upon the honor of my House that the children of Queen Cersei Lannister are not of King Robert's blood, but bastards born of incest between the queen and her brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.
By right of birth and blood, I claim the throne as Stannis, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. I call upon all loyal lords to rise in support of their true king and to cast down the usurper, Joffrey, and the corrupt Lannister regime.
Those who swear fealty to me shall be rewarded. Those who deny me shall be dealt with as traitors.
Signed,Stannis Baratheon
Aryan chuckled. "Melisandre's doing her work well—sinking her claws into a man like Stannis Baratheon. It was said, that Stannis was like Iron, he would break before he bends. But even iron bends when you heat it enough."
Ashara shook her head in amusement. Arianne let out a short laugh.
Aryan broke the seal on the third letter. Halfway through, a smile tugged at his lips. He handed it to Arianne and Ashara.
Ashara was the first to speak. "These are Olenna's words. Not Renly's."
Arianne raised a brow. "In future, she'll try to renegotiate the Reach's arrangement with the North."
"She can try," Aryan said. "By the time the war with the dead is over, the Reach will probably be half burnt. Let her scheme while she still has something left to scheme over. I won't reply to any of them."
He turned to Jaqen. "Any news?"
"Yes," Jaqen replied. "And you will find it interesting. Prince Aegon, Princess Daenerys, and Queen Rhaella have succeeded in hatching the dragon eggs."
"How?" Aryan asked curiously. "You told me those eggs had turned to stone."
Jaqen inclined his head. "One human sacrifice for each egg. Along with their own blood. Bennero guided the ritual."
Aryan thought That makes sense. A life for a life. A trade. Ritualistic magic always demands an equal sacrifice. I'll also see to it that the North is filled with scorpions. Just to be on safe side for my descendants.
He looked out the window briefly toward the direction of the wall "When the war against the dead begins, I hope those dragons are ready."
War was coming from two sides. On the west coast there are Ironborns. On the north there is the Night King.
"Jaqen. Kinvara," Aryan said. "Keep me informed. I want a list of who sides with Renly and who sides with Stannis."
Things will move fast now.
_____________________________________________________________________
The Vale
"Lady Lysa was right," Lord Yohn Royce said grimly "It was the Lannisters who killed our Lord, and now they've killed her too. That assassin killed her by smashing her face by a rock beyond recognition, in her own chambers. Like they did with that Targaryen babe. And I would wager she meant to kill young Lord Robyn as well. He only survived because she was spotted before she could finish young Lord Robyn as well."
He slammed a fist down on the arm of his chair. "This is unacceptable. We cannot let them walk away from this without consequence. That assassin also escaped without a single scratch."
Lord Belmore nodded. "First Lord Jon, now Lady Lysa. What's next? The whole Arryn line? Will they kill the boy in his sleep and then kill Harrold too?"
The hall murmured in anger. The Lords of the Vale sat in a half circle. Every man there had once followed Jon Arryn to war.
"We all read that letter from Stannis Baratheon," said Lord Redfort. "Joffrey. Myrcella. Tommen. They are bastards—all of them. I bet this was the reason why Lord Jon was killed, because he knew the truth about those bastards. The throne belongs to Stannis by law and blood. Yet the Lannisters wear the crown and spit on justice."
Lord Corbray said "With the Lannisters on the Iron Throne, there is no justice."
The room fell quiet.
Lord Redfort said "I say we raise our banners, as we once did before. Declare for Stannis Baratheon, and make the Lannisters pay for their crimes against the Vale."
"AYE," shouted a dozen voices at once.
They agreed to have their forces ready within a fortnight.
Lady Anya Waynwood, was given the charge of Lord Robyn Arryn's protection and upbringing. He and Harold were the last of Arryn line.
______________________________________________________________________
Winterfell, The North
Jaqen spoke in a calm tone as always. "My lord, the task in the Vale is done. Lysa Arryn is being brought here, just as you ordered."
Aryan's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Good. Soon, I'll peel back her mind like an onion and see what truth lies beneath."
He leaned back "Anything else, Jaqen?"
"Yes," Jaqen said. "The Vale has declared for Stannis Baratheon. They believe the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn for uncovering the truth about Cersei Lannister's children. And now, they believe the Lannisters killed Lysa as well, to silence her, and that young Robyn is next."
Aryan chuckled. Then laughed outright.
When the laughter faded, he spoke with amusement. "If only they knew the truth. Let them bleed for Stannis if they wish."
Aryan pinched the bridge of his nose and said. "Now it's Aunt Catelyn I'll have to deal with. No doubt she'll come asking for me to ride south. To fight the Lannisters or save Riverlands. Riverlands had always been fucked like two copper whore, in every war in Westeros."
His voice hardened. "But I won't lift a sword until I choose to. And only when it servers my ends."
_____________________________________________________________________
Kingslanding, Crownsland
Petyr Baelish stood amidst the wreckage of his chambers. A shattered wine goblet lay at his feet. Shelves were overturned, ledgers ripped apart, parchments were scattered. He had destroyed the room in a fit of rage.
Lysa is dead.
He didn't know who had done it. That was the worst part. No whisper had reached him beforehand. One moment, she was his pawn, and the next she was gone. Dead.
And with her death, everything unraveled.
He had planned to rule the Vale through her. Now, the Lords Declarant had taken control, and worse still, they had declared for Stannis Baratheon. The Vale was lost.
Petyr clenched his jaw. "No. No, no, no…"
Someone had dared to cross him.
"I will find them," he whispered to the empty air. "And when I do… I will give them a death so slow, so vile, their screams will echo through the Seven Hells."
______________________________________________________________________
The doors slammed open with a crash, making the councilmen jump in their seats.
"I am the king!" Joffrey Baratheon screamed as he stormed into the chamber, "They dare call themselves kings? I'll have their heads! I'll put them on spikes above the gates!"
Cersei Lannister rose from her seat and placed a hand on her son's shoulder, "Joffrey, we will deal with both Stannis and Renly," she said. "Don't worry."
"They declared war on me!" he spat. "Renly! Stannis! Both are traitors!"
"And traitors," Cersei said smoothly, "will be dealt with in time."
Her eyes turned to Varys. "Lord Varys. Tell us what is happening in the realm?"
Varys bowed his head "Your Grace," he began, "my little birds have brought troubling songs. After Stannis Baratheon's letters, he has begun gathering forces. Dragonstone is his base, of course, and he now has the backing of several houses along the Narrow Sea coast."
Cersei's jaw tightened.
Varys continued, "More troubling still, however, is news from the Vale. The lords there have declared for Stannis."
"The Vale?" Cersei repeated, incredulous. "Why?"
"They believe that the Lannisters murdered both Jon and Lysa Arryn," Varys replied. "They claim to be avenging their late Warden of the East, and now seek to guard young Lord Robyn from a similar fate. They blame the Lannister, and with the support of the Vale's knights, Stannis gains a strong ally."
"Lies!" Joffrey roared. "All lies! That weak little boy should kneel to me, or be dragged here in chains!"
Cersei ignored him. "What of Renly?"
"Renly Baratheon," Varys said, "has secured the support of the Reach and the Stormlands. House Tyrell backs him, and now he rides with more than a hundred thousand swords."
The council fell into silence.
Cersei asked "And the Riverlands?"
Varys nodded slowly. "For now, House Tully has not declared for any side. But with the Vale lords claiming Lady Lysa was murdered by Lannister hands… they may be swayed."
Cersei exhaled slowly, forcing herself to remain composed. "What of the North? And Dorne?"
Varys answered. "Aryan Stark has barred the Neck to all. As for Dorne… Prince Doran has closed the Prince's Pass."
The doors opened again, slower this time.
Tyrion Lannister stepped inside with a sealed letter in hand, his eyes looking around the council chamber. "You've all been busy, I see."
Joffrey glared. "What are you doing here?"
Tyrion ignored the question. "Your Grace," he said with a half bow, "dearest sister." His smile widened. "You're looking radiant as ever."
Cersei rose from her chair, her eyes already burning. "Why are you here, Tyrion?"
He held up the sealed parchment. "A gift. From Father."
He handed it to Varys, who opened it. He read it, and then he passed it down the table. When it reached Cersei, she snatched it from the table.
Her eyes scanned the lines.
And then she froze.
"You—" she whispered.
Tyrion smiled sweetly. "Yes."
"You're not Hand! You can't be Hand!"
Tyrion gave a little shrug. "The seal says otherwise. And you know how father is about his seals."
Cersei's breath caught, and then her voice rose to a shriek. "He sent you to rule in his place? Over me? Over his own daughter?"
"I was surprised too," Tyrion said. "But after Stannis' letter, father seems to think someone in this city should have a brain."
"You've never ruled anything in your life!"
"If you have forgotten, then I must to remind you, that I was the Mayor of Lannisport." he said, "And now, I am here."
"You worm! You'll ruin everything!" Cersei screamed.
"Do something!" she shouted, looking at other small council memebers. "He is here to take everything from me!"
Tyrion raised a brow. "You know, I expected some resistance, but this is quite the performance."
"You smug little freak!" she screamed. "This was my city to rule! My son's kingdom!"
"And I'm here to help ensure it remains intact," Tyrion said, now serious. "We are already in quite the mess, Cersei. Let's not make it worse by throwing a tantrum."
"No one will obey you!"
"Then they will disobey father. I'll write to him and let him know."
Cersei looked ready to claw his face off, but the silence of the others crushed the fight from her.
Cersei and Joffery stormed out of the chamber.
Tyrion sighed. "Well. Now that the shouting is over, shall we begin?"
______________________________________________________________________
Dragonstone
A crowd had gathered—smallfolk, knights, lords, servants—they were all silent, uncertain, some were even clutching their seven pointed stars as if that alone might protect them from what they were witnessing.
The sept no longer stood tall. Its doors had been torn down. The statues of the seven had been dragged into the courtyard by Lady Selyse's household guard, one by one, and were laid out.
And now, they were burning.
Melisandre stood before them, her hands raised towards the sky. Her voice was almost like a song, as she called out in the tongue of Asshai.
"R'hllor, Lord of Light, come to us in our darkness, we offer you these false gods. Take them and cast your light upon us for the night is dark and full of terrors."
Stannis Baratheon was standing beside her silently.
Maester Cressen pushed through the gathered lords. He caught the sight of Stannis's face.
"Your Grace," he said, breathless. "Please. You must stop this. This is madness. You were raised beneath the eyes of the Seven."
Stannis did not look at him.
Cressen turned to Ser Davos, standing farther off.
"Ser Davos! You are his friend tell him! The people will not follow this… this foreign god. This red woman will poison everything!" Cressen pleaded.
"Stannis is our king. We follow where he lead, even if we don't like the path." Davos said.
Melisandre turned, her red eyes glowing with firelight.
"The flames do not lie, Maester. The truth is here, and he has seen it."
Stannis finally spoke. "The Seven never answered my prayers. Never gave me a sign. R'hllor has."
"Through her?" Cressen demanded. "Through blood and fire and death? This is not your way!"
"My way," Stannis said coldly, "has brought me nothing. No banners. No victories. No crown. If this is what it takes to win, then so be it."
Cressen looked horrified. "You would abandon the gods of your fathers? Turn your back on the realm's faith?"
Selyse smiled from behind Melisandre, she looked fanatically. "He has chosen. R'hllor has shown him the path."
And the statues burned.
The eyes of the crowd wavered—some looked away, others dropped to their knees in fear or confusion. But none dared speak.
That night Cressen, alone in his chambers, prepared the poison.
___________________________________________________________________
Davos stood near the stone table.
"Your Grace," he said, "the Lannisters are the true enemy. If, for the time being, you could make peace with your brother—"
"I will not make peace with Renly while he calls himself king," Stannis cut him off.
"He has the Reach behind him," Davos said gently. "And much of the Stormlands as well. He has no claims, but he has supporters."
Stannis's jaw clenched, but before he could reply, Melisandre's smooth voice filled the chamber.
"Stannis does not need to beg this lord or that for support," she said as she stepped closer to the fire. "The Lord of Light stands behind Azor Ahai."
Davos turned to her "And how many ships does the Lord of Light have in his fleet?"
Melisandre met his gaze. "He has no need for ships."
"I'm sure he doesn't," Davos said. "But we do. If we're going to war, we need men, ships, and allies. The Vale has declared for us, but they don't have war fleets."
Stannis grunted. "Renly is a usurper and a fool. I'll not grovel for his aid."
"If not him, Your Grace," Davos said quietly, "then send a raven to Aryan Stark. Ask for a meeting. He is a very powerful man."
Stannis stopped "None of the Northerners mining Dragonstone's cliffs bend the knee. They have said 'We follow the Stark of Winterfell' And Aryan Stark... does nothing that does not serve his own ends."
Melisandre whispered reverently, but Stannis and Davos were not able to listen to her. "He walks a difficult path. One set by flames unseen to ordinary men and women. The Lord of Light will never forsake him. I will never forsake him."
Davos said "If he doesn't side with the Lannisters, and he doesn't side with Renly, then—"
"Then let him stay where he is," Stannis said. "The Vale stands with me. That will be enough for now."
He turned back to the map. "Send word to the Riverlands. Let them choose their side. Tully's can be swayed."
"And the Lannisters?" Davos asked.
Stannis's eyes burned. "Joffrey is no king. He and Renly are both thieves. They will bend the knee… or I will destroy them."
___________________________________________________________________
Maester Cressen sat hunched at his desk. The vial before him was small. It contained a clear and scentless liquid—Strangler.
He opened it carefully, and poured the contents into the twin cup of Arbor gold he had prepared. The second cup he left untouched.
He remembered Stannis as a boy. Stubborn, but fair. Loyal to a fault. That man was slipping away—now devoured by that Red Priestess.
If no one else would stop her, then he would.
He took the tray in both hands and carried it. The guards let him pass without question, he was still the maester of Dragonstone.
He found them in the solar of the Lord of Dragonstone. Stannis stood near the fire, staring into the flames. Melisandre sat calmly beside him, her red eyes half-lidded as if she were in prayer.
She looked up as he entered.
"Maester," she said in a smooth voice. "You bring us wine?"
"I do," Cressen said.
Stannis turned, eyeing the cups but saying nothing.
Cressen approached Melisandre directly, his gaze steady. "Shall we drink together, my lady?"
Melisandre smiled. "As you wish."
He handed her the poisoned cup. She did not hesitate. She took it from his wrinkled hands as though it were a blessing.
He raised the untainted cup. She mirrored the motion.
"To truth," he said.
"To light," she answered.
They drank.
The wine burned his throat, but he swallowed every drop.
Cressen gasped. The poison was already working. But poison was in the other cup. How?
He collapsed onto the stone floor, mouth foaming, vision spinning. Thrashing in pain.
But Melisandre… she sat perfectly still. How?
Her face was not pale. Her lips did not tremble.
She looked down at him as he writhed, her red eyes was glowing brighter.
"The night is dark and full of terrors," she whispered, "but the fire burns them away."
Cressen's last sight was her smile. Unharmed. Unafraid.