Loras helped Renly into his armor, a suit of deep green steel the color of a dense forest.
To tint steel itself was a master's craft. In King's Landing, only Gendry's master smith, Tobho, possessed the skill. The armor had cost a fortune. Few in the capital would pay such a price, but Renly had always favored splendor.
Renly stood before a mirror, admiring his reflection. He was famed throughout King's Landing for his looks, tall and broad-shouldered, shoulder-length hair dark as polished jet framing a clean, handsome face. His smiling blue eyes echoed the shade of his armor. Upon his head rested a stag-antlered helm, the gilded horns gleaming brilliantly.
"Thank you, Loras," Renly said, lifting Loras's hand and brushing a kiss across his fingers.
Ser Loras was also counted among the most handsome men in the Seven Kingdoms, with long flowing brown hair and striking golden eyes.
Loras smiled shyly but did not pull away. To him, Renly was like the sun.
When Loras was younger, he had been fostered at Storm's End as Renly's squire. Their forbidden relationship was no secret to many within the court.
"How do I look?" Renly asked.
"Unmatched," Loras replied without hesitation. The two were rarely apart.
"The King will return soon. The Small Council intends to send a party to greet them. Myself, Ser Barristan, and Payne."
"Is it only Your Grace's procession?" Loras asked.
"No." Renly shook his head. "There is also a distinguished guest. Lord Eddard. He comes to serve as Hand of the King."
"Lord Eddard? That is hardly surprising. They say the King rode all the way to Winterfell just to invite him."
"Eddard Stark. A new player in King's Landing's game," Renly said thoughtfully.
"Will Lord Eddard be our friend?" Loras asked.
"I believe so. House Stark and House Lannister have not been on good terms for years." Renly smiled faintly. "In any case, his arrival is far better than Great Lord Tywin returning to King's Landing. My royal brother has not entirely lost his wits."
"Compared to old Jon, Lord Eddard may be more flexible. Old Jon's devotion to honor was almost excessive," Loras said.
"He is worth courting. Old Jon is dead, but Eddard can still draw support from the Vale and the Riverlands. He has ties in both places," Renly replied. Eddard was a son-in-law of the Riverlands and had once been fostered in the Vale.
"We have too few men in King's Landing. Thirty guards at most. Even if I gather a few loyal nobles and friends, we might reach a hundred. That is nothing compared to the Lannisters. We must test this new Hand, see whether he stands with us."
"If you require it, I can bring more men from the Reach," Loras offered.
"Not yet. The Eunuch has too many eyes. He smiles at everyone, yet I cannot tell whose side he truly favors. We move men today, and tomorrow the Spider may whisper it into the Queen's ear." Renly shook his head.
"And Littlefinger?"
"He tells me jokes every day, but he is no more trustworthy."
"Lannister men in crimson cloaks and full armor are everywhere. The King places too much trust in House Lannister," Loras said quietly.
"Not only them. Aside from the Kingslayer, several of the Kingsguard lean toward the Lannisters as well. We are isolated within the Red Keep, Loras." Renly smiled, though there was little warmth in it. "Only the old knight Barristan stands apart from the Kingslayer, and he despises betrayal above all."
"Then what should we do?" Loras asked.
"We follow our original plan. Margaery would make a far better Queen. And I will try to win over an ally. Our new Hand, Eddard." Renly's tone was calm but deliberate. "My royal brother has never remained devoted to any one woman. And the Lannister woman grows more arrogant by the year."
"Very well." Loras nodded. "I will write to my father. Highgarden will prepare."
"Storm's End and Highgarden are our true homes. If King's Landing turns against us, we must withdraw at once, just as my brother Stannis did, and return to our own lands."
A flicker burned in Renly's eyes. Ambition.
If the realm shifted, he believed the warriors of the Stormlands and the wealth of the Reach would give him a decisive advantage.
Becoming lord of the Stormlands had already been a windfall for a younger son. Yet the King's generosity had only sharpened Renly's appetite. The human heart was never easily satisfied.
"Do your best. I'm right behind you," Loras said.
"Yes. We have to seize the initiative as quickly as we can. And it is not only the Lannisters. The Baratheon traitors are sharpening their claws as well."
"The sellsword king across the Narrow Sea?" Loras asked.
"Gendry." Renly's voice tightened with worry. "Compared to Stannis, that bastard commands greater strength and a larger fleet. And he holds the remnants of the Targaryens. He will surely take advantage of the chaos and invade, claiming power for himself."
Renly had never taken Stannis seriously. He knew his brother lacked support and ruled a narrow, poor holding. But the Baratheon traitor across the Narrow Sea was different. Myr and Tyrosh alone had populations not much smaller than King's Landing.
"Then should we speak with that bastard?" Loras asked.
"I have always been generous, Loras. Land, gold, I can reward my men freely." Renly gave a small smile. "But some people have appetites too large, far too large to ever fill. We cannot bargain with a bastard like that. What he wants is the throne."
"We have a hundred thousand men," Loras said with confidence.
"And how many of those hundred thousand are farmers and servants?" Renly countered. "They are no match for a standing army. I need allies, and I need greater authority."
...
On the outskirts of Wolf's Den, the sky was high and clear.
Standard-bearers thundered ahead with their banners, and behind them marched soldiers whose spears rose like a forest aimed at the heavens. Gendry watched his army pass.
Most wore plate armor and carried longswords and greatspears. The most elite were the Wolf Pack, his fist and vanguard, followed by the Free Company and the Second Sons, who had also been outfitted with plate in large numbers.
The Unsullied formation was one way of fighting. Ser Jorah's formation was another. Gendry wanted more men. Only with enough soldiers could such varied tactics truly shine.
Now only a handful of Unsullied still favored spiked helms and light armor. Even the poorest soldier wore chainmail.
Ramsay Snow, now released, stood off to the side, shrinking into himself and not daring to speak. He was all flesh and fear, with lips like a fat worm.
Standing on the ground beneath the horses, Ramsay stared at the soldiers, strong-bodied and well-fed.
It was as if the wind had turned and carried him into a different world. Ramsay had once been cunning and cold, capable of plotting and manipulation, drawn to cruelty and sick pleasures. Under Gendry's relentless beatings and that cruel little game, he had become a dog that only knew how to whine and wag his tail, no different from how he had once behaved before Lord Bolton.
"How are my soldiers, Ramsay?" Gendry asked.
"Very strong, my lord. Good supplies, good equipment, high morale. In the green lands, they would be unbeatable."
"The green lands," Gendry repeated. "And the North?"
Ramsay shrank, tongue-tied. He was the sort who bullied the weak and feared the strong, small at his core.
"Speak, Ramsay."
"Lord Commander… your army is a summer army." Ramsay forced himself to answer. "The North is different. Ours is a winter army. Only Northerners can endure that bitter cold."
"A summer army." Gendry considered it. Winter was the North's finest armor, and these men could not march far into those wastes and remain whole. For what came later, he truly did need a piece on the board in the North.
Of course, Ramsay was a piece he could discard at any time. His name stank, and his brutality had never known restraint.
"Do you want to return to the Dreadfort?" Gendry asked.
Ramsay shook his head at once. "I am your loyal servant, Lord Commander. Ramsay is willing to serve you."
"Tell me the truth, Ramsay." Gendry's gaze pinned him in place, and the light in those blue eyes pressed down until Ramsay could barely breathe.
"Truly… truly," Ramsay stammered. He was terrified of Gendry's probing questions now. One wrong answer, and he would be dragged outside to be beaten senseless by those savage Dothraki.
"I hope you mean that." Gendry's voice stayed calm. "If you could return to the Dreadfort, how would you repay me?"
The question hit Ramsay like a hand around the throat. Cold sweat ran down his back.
...
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