The parlay that day had been a resounding failure. Renly and Stannis seemed to prefer the idea of war with each other to war with the Lannisters, no matter the best efforts of people around them. Ross had been present herself; she and Loreon Storm, had tried to make the brothers see that by fighting together they had a chance, whilst even the winner of a fight between them both would be weakened and suffer defeat overall. Their efforts had been in vain; Stannis knew all this already, but was too stubborn to bow to his younger brother, whilst Renly seemed to think he could win against both Stannis and the Lannisters with ease and still be hailed a hero.

"They're fools. Complete and utter fools, stubborn and too proud for their own good, the both of them. They will doom us all if we let them, just to squabble over the ashes!" Loreon would no doubt have been pacing, had there been the room for it in Ross' tent. As it was, his presence filled the small space, blue eyes dark and angry as he loomed over her.

It had been nearly six weeks since Ross had arrived at Renly's camp. Loreon Storm had become her closest ally. The young man was playing the game constantly, so well that it wasn't obvious he was even doing it at all. He always wore an assured, warm smile, treated all men with friendliness and respect regardless of whether they were a common soldier or a lord, acting the charming but humble everyman. He had their respect as a formidable fighter, and proved his intelligence in the war councils, without presuming to challenge any of the lords directly. In all the time she had been in the camp, Ross had not found anyone who did not praise the young knight for being brave, honest and unambitious. Perhaps one of those is true.

This strategy wasn't so much an act, though, more like he was only displaying one side of himself, which could be why it worked so well. Even so, it must be exhausting. Loreon had displayed another side entirely on the occasions he had spoken to Ross alone; sharper, ambitious and pragmatic. Whether this was a conscious decision or not, it made her regard for him grow in a way that being everyone's darling did not.

Ross herself set aside the thin smiles and half-answers she gave to humour Renly, unwilling to commit Robb's allegiances one way or another, and spoke plainly to Loreon. She knew already that his loyalties lay with Stannis - in truth, she was surprised he hadn't defected to Renly entirely by now - but she suspected he was still been holding onto the naive hope that he might somehow be able to make the Baratheon brothers allies again. He was still young, after all.

Now, it was clear he was under no such delusion. Ross was seeing Loreon Storm live up to his Baratheon temper for the first time. Ours is the fury indeed.

"And the red woman, Melisandre, she's been filling his head with all kinds of horseshit, prophecies and magic. We're lucky she hasn't managed to get him to replace the stags on his banners with her god's fiery heart! Her influence was growing when I left, but it was always Selyse who listened to her, not Stannis. That's clearly changed - maybe he fucked her, Gods only know - and now he's even harder to reach than before. Would it have been any different had I been a trueborn son, and you a lord not a lady? Would they have listened to us then?"

"If you were Robert's eldest trueborn son, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place," Ross said. "And if I was a high lord - "

She broke off. What would I have done, in Brandon's place? She liked to think she wouldn't have marched straight into Aerys' court and demanded his son to come out and die. Perhaps slapped some sense into Catelyn.

"There's been no battle yet," She continued. "Why aren't you saying all this to Renly, instead of me?"

"You heard him today," Loreon said with no small amount of scorn. "There's no chance of him giving up his crown. Stannis even offered him Storm's End, and he refused. I've been working on Renly for months, and for what? Fucking nothing,"

"I wouldn't say nothing," Ross raised an eyebrow. "The Stormlords love you near as much as their beloved King, and the Reachmen like and respect you. You've spent months befriending everyone important, and even more who aren't. Our best hope for tomorrow is that someone kills one of your uncles quickly, so few men are lost. If it's Stannis who dies, the Narrow Sea lords are unlikely to join Renly over the Lannisters, but they're no big loss. And if it's Renly..." She trailed off, looking at him pointedly.

"If Renly dies, then I try to rally the Stormlands and the Reach to Stannis," Loreon finished for her without missing a beat. His anger was slowly leaving him, replaced with the fierce determination she had come to know well in the past weeks.

"You mentioned trying to prove yourself invaluable to the man," Ross said. "I imagine that bringing him as many as a hundred thousand men might do just that. You'd have more respect there than you'd ever have with Renly alive,"

"I'm not certain I could turn the whole host to him," He admitted. "And that's only if Stannis wins, which is unlikely. Renly's still got significantly more men,"

"Either way, the matter is settled one way or another," She shrugged. "Yes, your uncles are both fools. Yes, they'll waste men and resources fighting each other. But by this time next week, one of them will be dead, and you'll be in favour with the victor," And Robb's choice will be that much easier.

"That's true," Loreon said, then smiled humourlessly. "I don't particularly want either of them to die. I suppose that's the problem,"

"That's war," Ross said. "That's life. You did what you could, and it didn't work. They didn't listen, and now we all deal with the consequences,"

He stared at her for a moment, then his lips twitched in a way that reminded her of Jaime. The Lannister in him wasn't ever particularly visible - from the honest, everyman knight he played, to his Baratheon features - but small things got through.

"I can see where your son gets his charming personality, my lady,"

She gave a sharp laugh at that. "You don't know the half of it. I'm not sure where you get yours. You got Robert's face, and skill at making friends, and Giana's warmth - sometimes, at least - but looks aside, I don't see much of either of your parents in you,"

"You say that like it's a good thing," He didn't look offended.

"With the way things are headed, it might well be," She gave him a shrewd look. "Now, the battle's meant to start at dawn. Only a matter of hours away. Will you be getting a good night's sleep, Ser Loreon?"

He grinned, catching her meaning. "If only," He said. "You know full well it's a night of politics for me. Or rather, drinking with the knights and soldiers, smarmying up to the lords and winning a few fights,"

"With an attitude like that," Ross said. "You might just make it through this alive,"

*

Loreon Storm was not the only one to stay awake that night. Few of Ross' companions and guards slept well, and she herself spent the night staring into the fire, listening to Wendel Manderly's snoring. As the grey dawn rose, soldiers and knights starting to stir, and she could sit there no longer.

"I'm going to see Renly again," She announced to anyone who was awake. "He won't listen, but I won't have it said that I didn't try. Anyone who wants to see me tear my hair out in sheer frustration is welcome to join,"

In the end, Dacey joined her, as did Ser Perwyn - who was surprisingly bearable, for a Frey - and one of the Winterfell guards, Derrick. They approached Renly's tent, still lit with candles in the relative darkness, to find it guarded by two of his rainbow guard - Ross had scoffed the first time she heard that name, at both the imagery and the pandering to the Faith - the purple one and the yellow. At least I don't have to bother learning their names with those daft cloaks.

She entered the tent to find Renly wasn't alone. Brienne of Tarth was armouring him, whilst he finished speaking to two of his lords. Rowan and Tarly.

"No men were hurled from the walls," Mathis Rowan was saying. "I would surely remember that,"

"Did I come at a bad time?" Ross spoke, raising an eyebrow.

Renly laughed. "Lady Rosennis, I was just telling the lords why Stannis will never yield. Four men-at-arms tried to sneak out and surrender during the siege of Storm's End. Stannis strapped them to a catapult," He turned to Rowan. "He would've flung them too, had Maester Cressen not told him that we might be forced to eat our dead, and there was no gain in flinging away good meat," Renly pushed back his hair, and Brienne bound it with a velvet tie. "Thanks to the Onion Knight, we were never reduced to dining on corpses, but it was a close thing,"

And why should I care? Ross hadn't come to make smalltalk or share old war stories.

"Your Grace," She ground out through gritted teeth, earning several surprised looks, but her pride was worth less than this. Anything to make you listen, even an unearned title. "I need a word,"

Renly smiled, and nodded. "See to your battles, my lords,"

"Your Grace," The lords bowed deeply and departed.

"Say your say, Lady Bolton," Renly said, as Brienne swept his cloak over his broad shoulders.

"As I've said before," She started. "The North does not care who sits that ugly iron chair so long as it is not Joffrey Waters. If you're an intelligent man, you would join your forces to your brother's, to help him defeat the Lannisters. Bow at his feet, call him Your Grace and care not for your own pride or impatience. War is a dangerous game, and men die easily, even Kings. If Stannis was to fall in battle, who would be his natural successor? A sickly girl of ten, or his grown brother? Who would have the support of not only the Reach and Stormlands, but the North and Riverlands too,"

Renly stared at her for a moment, shocked at the explicit offer of a possible alliance, but then gave an incredulous laugh. "Are you sure you're a Stark, my lady?" He sounded impressed, though not in a way that was of any use to her. "And there was me thinking you were just like dear old Ned. You're suggesting I arrange the death of my own brother in battle?"

"How is that any different to what you are planning on doing today?" Ross asked sharply. "The only difference is, in the chaos of battle against the Lannisters, no one will know he died by your order. There would be no stain of kinslaying, no mutters of usurper, like there will be if you kill him in the field. And if you win that battle, you will have won the throne. What do you win today, my lord, aside from Stannis' corpse?"

"My lords would not agree with that plan," Renly shook his head, still seeming amused, which irritated her beyond belief. "Whether I told them the truth of the intended kinslaying, or lied and said that I was giving up my crown,"

"You are the King," Ross said mockingly. "Make them agree with it," She had been polite up to this point, had humoured him long enough.

"Perhaps if that had been my plan from the start, I would consider it," He shrugged. "But it's too late for that now,"

How can you be so careless? This is war.

"It's not too late until you deplete your men and resources fighting a foe you don't have to fight. Is a pissing contest between two brothers worth you losing the throne? Set down your crown now, and do as I say, and you will be sat on the Iron Throne before the year's end,"

Renly just laughed. "Tell me, my lady, do direwolves bite their pack in the back when they expect it least?"

Brienne brought the King's gauntlets and helm, crowned with ridiculously large golden antlers, and Ross met her blue eyes briefly, seeing judging disapproval in the girl's stare, no doubt for her suggested plan.

"The time for talk and plotting is done. Now we see who is stronger," Renly pulled a gauntlet over his left hand, while Brienne knelt to buckle on his belt, heavy with the weight of longsword and dagger.

Ross's eyes narrowed and she stepped forward, fists clenched.

"You foolish, stubborn boy - " She began viciously, but broke off as a sudden gust of wind flung open the door of the tent, and for whatever reason, chilled her to the bone.

Ross had weathered some of the worst cold the North had to offer. A gust of summer wind in the south should hardly perturb her so. The hairs on the back of her neck were stood on end, as though some old instinct had recognised the presence of something other.

Movement, on the other side of the tent, where no one stood. She turned her head sharply, chasing a glimpse of it, but it was only Renly's shadow shifting against the silken walls. The man was still talking, beginning a jest as though their previous topic of conversation was inconsequential, but, for whatever reason, she could not take her eyes off his shadow.

"My lady?" Dacey frowned, noting her distraction.

"You don't feel it?" She interrupted Renly's story, making everyone in the room pause and look at her, bemused. Even her own companions, Dacey, Derrick and Perwyn, did not understand. "It's - "

The candles guttered, shivered, and a sense of extreme wrongness overcame her, so terrible that her voice caught in her throat. Renly's shadow drew his sword, and Ross, alarmed, spun back around to look at him. But the would-be-king's sword was still in its scabbard.

"Cold," Renly said in a small, puzzled voice.

The steel of his gorget parted like cheesecloth beneath the shadow of a blade that was not there. He had time to gasp, and Ross moved back swiftly, horrified. Then the blood came gushing out of his throat, splashing her face and clothes despite the distance she had tried to put between them.

"Your Gr—no!" Brienne cried, sounding as scared as any little girl.

All three of Ross' companions let out exclamations of shock, drawing their swords. The King stumbled into Brienne's arms, blood pouring down his armour. More candles guttered out. Renly tried to speak, but he was choking. His legs collapsed, and only Brienne's strength held him up, even as the girl screamed in anguish, but Ross' eyes were frozen on the shadow Renly never cast. It was a malevolent presence, something dark, unnatural and evil, something she didn't understand, which that terrified her more than anything. She had seen men die like this before, but never like this. Blood ran down her face, her neck and wrists, still hot.

The two Kingsguard from outside, Robar Royce and Emmon Cuy, came bursting in. When they saw Renly in Brienne's arms, and her drenched with the King's blood, Ser Robar gave a cry of horror.

"Wicked woman!" Ser Emmon screamed. "Away from him, you vile creature!"

"Gods be good, Brienne, why?" Ser Robar asked.

Brienne looked up from her King's body, her blue cloak soaked in his blood. "I... I..."

"It wasn't her," Ross stepped forward, ignoring her shaking hands. Her voice, to her relief, was strong as it ever was and cut through the tent, through the rising blood madness.

She hesitated for a split second, fear and panic rising up inside her; what on earth could she even say? A shadow killed him, yes, they'll believe that for sure. Even if they did, they'd just as likely proclaim her as the witch who did the murder.

"An assassin, sers, he came under the tent from outside," It was easier to pretend that was the actual truth. She waved a hand at the silk walls. "You're the King's guards. For Gods sakes catch the man, before he runs off back to whoever sent him,"

Stannis. She didn't say the name on her lips, intended as a lie, but Ross realised, somehow, that it was true.

Ser Emmon looked half-blind in fury and grief - almost as ready to run her through as he was Brienne, spattered with Renly's blood as they both were - but Ser Robar hesitated to listen to her, glancing at her companions for confirmation.

"The man was... was like a shadow, we barely saw him ourselves," Perwyn Frey agreed.

Ross was grateful he caught on so fast. Her mind was struggling to accept what she had seen, and her body was catching up, she couldn't have sustained the lie alone for much longer.

"Lady Brienne tried to stop him, but he was too quick," Dacey hastily added, the genuine shock and shakiness in her voice making it sound very real indeed. "Look at her, she clearly grieves for Lord Renly as much as you do,"

More so - the girl loved him.

"On my honour as a Stark, on my father's grave, she did not do it. Nor did any of us," Ross added with a pointed look at the wild-eyed Ser Emmon.

To her silent relief, Ser Robar nodded grimly, hollering over his shoulder at the men-at-arms who had entered to find a fleeing man covered in blood. Ser Emmon was still breathing heavily, and Robar clapped an arm around his shoulder, leading him away.

"We must help them, brother," He said. Emmon nodded shakily. "Brienne, guard the - guard the King,"

Guard the corpse.

The two men left. Ross heard the shouts picking up outside the tent, the sounds of unfolding chaos, but she ignored them, for now. Her hands were still shaking, her face must be as grey as everyone else's was, and she wanted nothing more than to run from the scene of this vile murder, but running would make them look guilty. And all of the others were looking to her now.

"There was no shadow," Ross looked at each of them in turn, knowing her stare was much less steady than usual, though the blood spattered on her face must have made up for that. "It was a man that killed Renly - a strong but quick man, dark-haired and fair skinned, but we didn't get a good look at him. Any mention of a shadow - of - of sorcery, or witchcraft, or magic, and I will personally strangle the person that said it. Understood?" The blood smeared on her face, staining her dress, may have helped emphasise her threat.

Her three companions nodded.

Ross looked down at Brienne, who was still cradling Renly's body. "You too, my lady,"

Brienne barely glanced up at her.

"Come on, set him down," Dacey moved to the girl's side with a sympathetic expression before Ross could say anything too cutting.

"I never held him but as he died," Brienne said. Her voice sounded as if she might break at any moment. "He was laughing one moment, and suddenly the blood was everywhere..." She looked up at Ross. "My lady, I do not understand. Did you not see, did you..?"

"Of course I saw," Ross said coldly. "I saw what we all did. The shadow of Stannis killed Renly with a sword that wasn't there. It makes no sense, not to me, not to you, and most importantly, not to anyone else. If we start spilling tales of dark magic, we will either look impossibly guilty, or be locked up for madness,"

"I will kill him," Brienne declared. "With my lord's own sword, I will kill him,"

She set the body down on the ground, getting to her feet. Renly's head rolled sickeningly to one side, blood still slowly pulsing from his open throat.

"No you won't," Ross said shortly, not in the mood for fits of knightly valour. "If Stannis dies, who will claim his throne? Killing him will simply prolong the fighting,"

Brienne's jaw clenched at that. "I swore to protect Renly. I must avenge his death with the head of his murderer. Honour only dictates - "

"Honour?" Ross scornfully cut her off. "Try telling yourself that Stannis' death is honourable when it plunges the realm into a longer, more bloody war. Try telling the widows and orphans of the men that die fighting in it, the children starving in winter, because war ruined their harvest and soldiers plundered their stores. All for one selfish woman's vows to a dead man. How is any of that honourable?"

She was being cruel, Ross thought, as Brienne's face crumpled, but didn't take any of it back. Time to grow up, girl.

A heavy silence.

"Forgive me, my lady," Perwyn said. "But we don't know it was Stannis. It was a shadow,"

"Stannis' shadow," Both Brienne and Ross insisted.

She turned to look at the girl, relenting slightly. "Most of this camp will go over to Stannis now," She anticipated Brienne's protest and held up a hand. "Frey is right. None of these lords can prove Stannis sent an assassin - easier to blame the Lannisters - and for most here, he's a better choice than turning to the boy King. My point is, if you don't wish to serve Renly's killer, you could serve with us instead,"

I care not what you do, so long as you don't go tearing off to murder the best chance at a King we've got left.

"You'd likely fit in better with the Northern troops than with this lot, besides," Dacey said with a smile. "My mother taught me and all my sisters to fight. She leads her troops into battle, and I was part of Lord Robb's battle guard,"

"You're forgetting Lady Rosennis," Perwyn Frey shot a weakly amused smile Ross' way. "You're rather handy with a blade yourself, my lady,"

She had spent many of the evenings on the journey south sparring with Dacey; the woman had finally convinced Ross, where Jaime had never succeeded, to pick up a sword and learn to use it, rather than simply fighting with her long dagger. She was no great swordsman, and never would be, but it was better than nothing, she supposed.

"Only with the element of surprise," She muttered, turning back to Brienne. "What do you say, then? Where else are you going to go, crawl back home to Tarth?"

The girl was a formidable fighter it was true, and loyal, but the biggest reason Ross wanted her was so she could keep a watchful eye on her.

"I - " Brienne blinked, seeming taken aback by the sudden near-kindness, after the previous sharp telling-off. Then she seemed to deflate. "I - yes, my lady. I'll join you. Thank you,"

The thanks was hollow. She disliked having no option but to join the woman who had tried to turn Renly to such a dishonourable path as killing his own brother as they fought on the same side. Never mind that he was trying to achieve the same goal in battle.

"Lady Stark? They said you were here," The door to the tent was pushed open, revealing Loreon. His grim faced turned even grimmer when he saw the bloody body of his uncle on the ground, and he stopped dead. "Gods," He paused for a moment, grief flashing across his expression for a moment, before turning back to her. "Ser Robar said it was an assassin that did it, my lady," He gave her a hard look.

"He said it right," Ross said, taking the waterskin that Dacey wordlessly passed her and using it to scrub the blood off her face. "I can't say who sent the man, though. He wore no sigil," Loreon was still looking at her like she'd done the deed herself - she didn't blame him after some of their previous conversations - and she gritted her teeth, addressing her companions. "You four, stay here. Storm, walk with me," Best get this sorted now.

A moment's silence, then he nodded curtly.

They left the tent, walking swiftly side by side into the chill of dawn, into the chaos gradually unfolding in the morning gloom. Ser Emmon and Ser Robar had not kept the news of Renly's assassination quiet. Men were rushing past them, shouting, others were muttering in small groups and a few were praying. Despite Loreon's size clearing them a decent path, Ross was almost swept by in the tide of moving people.

"My lady - " Loreon began, but she spoke over him, long fingers gripping his offered arm so they weren't separated, ignoring the stains that her bloody sleeve left on his shirt.

"Before you ask anything of me," Ross said in a low voice. "All this," She waved a hand at their surroundings. "Must be dealt with, fast. You're the only one with a hope of salvaging the majority of Renly's army," Which was already coming apart as word of their King's death spread to every corner of the camp. "I swear I did not order his murder, and I'll give you more answers later, Ser, but now is the time to act,"

The young man surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes, then looked back down at her. She knew what he was thinking. He suspected her. But she also knew he was half a Lannister, perhaps more than half, and though he might rage at her later, he would not pass up this chance now, no matter how distasteful it might be.

"You're right," Well he listened better than both his uncles, at least. Why couldn't Robert have just married Giana? "I trust you can make it back to your men?"

"Of course. I'll hope to see you later, with at least half an army at your back,"

His lips twitched at that, but the look in his eyes was determined. Ross slipped away into the crowd, heading back towards Renly's tent, but taking more time than she could have done. She managed to find a patch of high ground, emptier than the rest, and stare east as the sun rose, the immense walls of Storm's End becoming visible in the growing light.

Wisps of pale mist raced across the field; Ross knew them as morning ghosts, from Old Nan's stories, spirits returning to their graves. Then she caught a glimpse of a shadow carrying a sword, and started backwards in fright, only to realise that it was simply that of a nearby soldier. Her hands were still shaking slightly, and if she closed her eyes, she could hear her own racing heartbeat.

Her entire childhood, Ross was unbothered by the eerieness of the ancient Godswood, whereas it disturbed many southerners. She played games amongst the statues of dead kings in the Winterfell crypts, eagerly listened to Old Nan's ghost stories, and had watched men be burned alive in wildfire. Yet the shadow Ross had seen today had truly disturbed her, and she still felt the taint of that unnatural wrongness in the air.

Trying to pull herself together, she returned to the tent. More guards had joined her three and Brienne, and were in the process of lifting the corpse onto the bed. The girl was watching with glassy eyes, but did not cry.

"Ser Loreon is attempting to restore order," Ross addressed them. "The Stormlords will likely listen to him. I'm not sure about the Reach, now their dear Margaery won't be Queen. All we can do for now is stay out of the way,"

They returned to the camp the Northern escort had made, Brienne wandering off to collect her own horse and armour; Dacey had gone with her, at a sharp look from Ross, not willing to risk any misguided attempts at vengeance. It did not take long to explain to the rest of their men what had happened - the assassin version of events, not the one with the shadow (the less people knew of that, the better) - and what would happen next. There were a few grumbles about staying put and doing nothing, but for the most part the news was met with shrugs and grim faces, as the men began to discuss the events in low voices amongst themselves.

"You should probably get changed, my lady," Dacey, returned with Brienne, said with a wry smile. "The amount of blood on your gown is scaring people,"

Loreon sent a messenger later in the day, inviting her to a council in Renly's former tent in an hours time. From where the Northmen were watching from their position on higher ground, it looked like the camp had indeed calmed down, although no one could have missed the multitude of Reachmen packing up and leaving. Not one Stormlord was amongst them, however, and many Reach houses were not gone yet, several prominent ones included.

Having gone into her tent, just for a moment to collect herself, Ross suddenly felt very alone in this place, despite being surrounded by loyal men, and companions she trusted, even liked. She missed Ren's flat looks, Edrick's wide grins, Aileen's quiet understanding and Morganna's mischievous smirks. She missed Ned, though her brother was gone forever. She wanted her family.

It didn't help knowing that Ren and Robb were at war, that Edrick and Aileen were far off in the North, that Sansa, Arya and Morganna were all prisoners in King's Landing, at the mercy of the Lannisters... Just as Jaime was at the mercy of the Starks. Images of the small tower cell, where he had held her as she cried, came to mind. Perhaps that was what she was missing. There was no one here she could be so soft in front of.

Nothing to be done about that. Ross gathered herself together, face sliding into her usual hard expression, and left the tent.

*

Edited November 2024

A long wait for this update, I know. This part of the story is much harder to write now the plot is beginning to diverge more significantly from canon. I hope you enjoyed this chapter - as always, constructive criticism is welcome - and thanks for reading.