A Struggle of Stags (ASOIAF AU)

[HypoSoc]

Willas I​

The royal court at Highgarden was garden of opulence and arrogance. The high nobility of the Reach had gathered at his father's seat to feast and frolic, to congratulate one another for the victory that had not yet come, yet they all unthinkingly assumed was guaranteed.

Mere months ago, the greatest debate dividing the court was whether the capital of the kingdom would remain in King's Landing, or if it would be relocated to somewhere more pleasant. Months ago, the only concern whose daughter among them would marry the king and become the new queen. Matters of war and of trade were barely on the agenda, except when it served to glorify one house or another. But martial glory was treated the same as any other source of esteem, as though the war hardly mattered at all.

It was sickening how the nobles of the Reach, how his own father, seemed incapable of realizing just how fragile their position truly was. They saw the winds of fortune in their sails and never considered that it might ever be otherwise. They did not recognize how perilous their victories were, how close they had been at times to the momentum shifting, how deadly each encounter might have been. They had been self-assured in the gallantry of the Reach's chivalry, backed by the power of the Stormlords and the spears of Dorne. They did not consider any other kingdom worthy of consideration.

They did not even consider what would happen after the war. It did not matter how one dressed it up. It did not matter how nobly they presented themselves. It did not matter if the Faith supported them, even with King Joffrey's own brother. His family, his father, had made a naked power grab for the throne, and all would recognize it.

The court at Highgarden did not seem capable of considering the consequences of such an action, but for the immediate power and prestige their victory would bring. They did not consider the deep grudges of the other kingdoms, or how the realm would remain divided in hate for their actions. Nor did they seem to notice just how many second and third sons of the Reach flocked for the Highgarden Court.

If they won, if they made a mockery of primogeniture and inheritance, just how many families would fall into infighting? How many of the Reach would become as miserable as the Frey? His father didn't recognize how much he endangered the stability of his own family. Even if Garlan had no personal designs on Highgarden, how many of their vassals would prefer the younger, gallant knight to the older, crippled heir? House Fossoway would certainly enjoy having him deposed so that Garlan and his children stood in line for Highgarden.

Even victory would bring great strife to the Lord of the Reach, and yet they had feasted and drank and danced and gossiped in joy, and Willas had few clear-eyed companions to share his concerns. Certainly not his father, who delighted in the attention. And not his sister who had so many weights upon her pitiable shoulders.

But they were not certain to win. The fragility of the Reach had been revealed in the worst way. Sitting upon the throne, beside his sister Magaery, was Borros, their newly crowned king. And he was simply a boy.

Steffon had been a boy as well. Anyone with eyes could see. But the Reach had only seen the heroic knight they wished to believe in. Borros was younger, and his age was all the more obvious for it. And the haze of Arbor Red was absent from the court's eyes now.

The court reacted as if it were the first time they even conceived of failure. All the problems that had been lurking under the surface now rose so that even the greatest dullard could not delude themselves anymore. Like wildfire, the terror spread through the court.

"You have to do something about this Bloody Flux!" Lord Florent demanded. He was a puffed up man, who had scorned Steffon when the battles first started, but had raced to Highgarden to curry favor as soon as the first battle was won. Duplicitous and greedy, Willas had little respect for the man. "My maester tells me the damned disease has reached the towns outside Brightwater Keep! My heir had to institute a quarantine! My smallfolk are battering down my doors!"

"We understand, your concerns, Lord Florent," Renly said, a smile plastered to his face. His brother's lover was perhaps the worst example of the lot. Though a Stormlord by blood, the Hand of the King was a Reacher by choice, and had picked up the worst examples of their kingdom. Pageantry and prestige appealed to him. The cold, hard facts of war mattered little. More than once Willas had attempted to sway his course, but the Hand had ignored him. "Know that the disease is of the greatest concern of the crown. We are consulting with the Citadel of Oldtown, and following all their directions. The best minds in the Seven Kingdoms are working to end this plague. And the Faith assures us that this trial will end shortly."

It was a lie. Willas knew it well. The Hand and his father only implemented the measures that they did not consider onerous. They had scoffed at the initial concerns of the maesters and had let the matter grow worse. Only now, too late, did they deign to look up from their cups. And asking the setpons for prayer against the epidemic did nothing but reduce panic.

"Your Majesty!" the heir of Costayne interrupted. He was a portly fellow, with a sharp mind for court politics, but little attention for matters outside of it. "We demand an accounting for Peake! My father reports he has been commandeering the levies and knights of other households, and sending them into wasteful engagements. He has taken the raven of the maester to send only news which glorifies him and silences all facts which show the truth!"

"The king understands your concerns." The hand smiled his bitter smile. "This is not the first time we have heard reports to this effect. We will launch an inquiry into the matter."

"What of Garlan's failures?" a second son of Beesbury, more brave than prudent, demanded. "Why were the Riverlanders able to retreat so many times? Why were they in a position to recover after each victory we extracted. Why did Ser Garlan Tyrell never demand pursuit as prudence demanded? Will the king permit House Tyrell to be called to account, or does the Queen Mother's family avoid such scrutiny?"

Willas frowned. Beesbury would not be confident enough to speak unless Hightower gave him the message to deliver. He eyed Hightower, who seemed to be observing silently among the ruckus.

The question went unanswered as another lord spoke up. "We have bigger issues! The Stormlords are refusing orders in the field." A knight representing House Tarly proclaimed. "Lord Dondarion has been rejecting the chain of command, refusing to meet with Lord Dickon, and keeping his forces separate. Your majesty, you must take these uppity Stormlords to account! If the Stormlanders won't obey the chain of command the crown has set forth, then the damned Dornish might follow suit!"

Renly seemed to have lost control of the lot as grievances were being spewed left and right.

"Your Majesty!" the lady of House Meadows screeched. "You must do something about the grain! Our storehouses were picked clean to feed the army. Payment was delivered, yes, but no one is selling. Our people are starving in our keep!"

"Your Majesty, you must do something about the damned Dornish!" The Lord of Ashford demanded. "They have raided deep into our lands, burned our supplies and stolen countless flocks and herds! Why are we fighting in the Riverlands when raiders encroach on our borders?!"

"Our fleet is in disarray!" the brother of Lord Redwyne exclaimed. "The Royal Fleet has smashed us against the rocks! The Ironborn reave our shores with impunity! The Lady Chester has been taken as a salt wife, damn it all!" The cry shook through the court. "Your majesty, we must defend our shores. Can we not spare the men?!"

Willas could see the fervor of the crowd. He could see the quiet panic of their boy king, as he sat in silence under the barrage of the requests, barely holding himself together. He would not dare speak. He had been instructed to never speak unless specifically coached. He could see his sister, holding herself stoically, as though she were holding the weight of the Seven Heavens on her shoulders.

And he could see Renly growing more and more agitated as he lost control of the court.

"Quiet!" He yelled. "Order, I say! Or I will have the Rainbow Guard enforce it!" And the chosen champions of the king, Loras at their head, stepped forth in silent threat.

So quickly had these men and women gone from thinking that it was impossible to lose to thinking it impossible to win. The truth was where it had always been, somewhere in between. Forward thinking men were needed to steer their rebellion from disaster. But that had been true from the start. An able hand on the reigns may yet deliver victory.

"Are we calm? Good. All your grievances are heard. Lady Meadows, Lord Ashford, House Tyrell will offer food from our larders to aid you at this time. The king will send a contingent of knights led by one of our very own Rainbow guard to throw off Dornish invaders. Lord Redwyne, we will send money for the construction of additional ships. We will trust you to see to our defense at sea. You will be permitted to recall your levies from the front in order to defend against the traitorous Ironborn."

"Money is nothing if we don't have time!" Redwyne exclaimed. "Where do you think the ships will come from? From where will we source timber when our ports are blockaded? We are not the Braavosi Arsenal to simply shit out ships! We have nothing to defend ourself with anymore!"

"Sellsails will be hired then." Renly seemed to ignore the man's distress, but Willas knew the man well enough to see the subtle signs of aggravation. "Lords. Ladies. This is a troubling time, to be sure, but this is a trial we will overcome. The Seven are on our side. So long as we strive for righteousness, to strike against the Tyrant who unjustly sits on the Iron Throne, we will see victory in the end. Trust the king, who has been ordained by the Seven, to see us to victory. Have our gallant knights not proven our valor on the field? Does this not prove how our success is ordained by the Seven above?" Renly clasped his hand over his heart. "Patience, my good Lords and Ladies. Patience! Our discomfort is temporary, our triumph is imminent!"

His words seemed to weave a blanket of calm over the crowd. But a lone voice stepped forth.

"It is strange to me, Lord Hand, how we can win every battle yet still be worse off for it." Baelor Hightower spoke with calm gentleness, but it put Willas all the more on edge than any panicking noble. "You claim these are temporary setbacks. That may be true. You claim victory will come, and you may be correct. But victory cannot truly replace the ashes of what was lost. I find myself wondering if the kingdom you promise will be better than the kingdom we had before you Tyrells launched this war." The words were not outright seditious, but they were near enough. "Lord Redwyne, as my troops do little but sit idle, threatening the Lannisters, I will have some diverted to guard the coasts. Lady Meadows, Lord Ashford, I will offer my own aid as I can, that which is not required to combat the plague in our lands. Lords and Ladies of the Reach, I implore you to not simply ask what may be done, but to act, and see that the losses we suffer in this… temporary downturn… are not as grave as inaction would have them be. We, as the whole of the Reach, must come together in these trying times."

The subtext was blatant. The Tyrells are unable to solve everything themselves, the noble houses needed to take charge. It was a refutation of the crown and the Tyrells in specific, without outright stating such.

Renly could see the same. He stepped forward to speak, but a panicked voice cried out before he could.

"Gods! The Bloody Flux is here! The Red Death is in Highgarden!"

And then there was chaos.

 

[Crouchinghiddenwriter]

the spears fo Dorne.

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