In the camp at Storm's End, there was also a temporary sept. Though called a sept, it held only seven portraits of the gods.
"Our god is one, yet he has seven forms." Catelyn Stark looked at the seven rough sketches. In great cities, each of the Seven had a splendid statue, each with its own altar. But this was only temporary, and everything was simple.
The Father had a beard. The Mother's smile never faded. The Warrior held a greatsword. The Smith carried a hammer. The Maiden was young and lovely. The Crone was gaunt and wise. The Stranger's face had been drawn as a black oval, with two specks of starlight for eyes.
"Holy Mother above, please look with mercy on those who stand here. They are your children, every one of them. Watch over them, I beg you. Watch over my sons. Watch over Robb, Bran, and Rickon, as if I stood beside them."
Torchlight wavered and danced above the pictures, twisting and changing them. The drawings were crude, but in the firelight, the faces seemed to come alive.
The Father made her think of her own father, of Eddard, of Lysa and Petyr, both now dead. The Warrior made her think of Gendry, Renly, Stannis, Robb, Robert, the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister, and Jon Snow. In a daze, she even saw Arya's expression hidden in those lines.
A gust of wind swept into the tent. The torches crackled, and all those images vanished into the orange-red glow. Under the harsh smoke of the firelight, her eyes began to ache. Catelyn's hand was still damaged from the sharp, bloodthirsty Valyrian steel dagger. She wiped her eyes.
Beneath the Mother's portrait, Catelyn seemed to see her own mother, Lady Minisa, the great lady of House Whent, who had died in childbirth. House Whent had slowly faded and dwindled, but when Minisa married into House Tully, the Whents had been the strongest of their vassals. Her death had taken a piece of Great Lord Hoster with her forever, and had changed all of them. Perhaps Lysa and Petyr would never have come to this otherwise.
"Mother, yes." Catelyn thought of the identity the Mother had given them. They were all mothers. She desperately wanted to see Sansa, while Robb had already thrown himself into the Warrior's embrace, driven by the Storm, unwilling to heed his mother's warnings, hungry for vengeance and greater honor in war. As for the younger children, Bran and Rickon, they would surely think her cold and heartless. And Eddard. When she thought of the truth, her heart hurt even more. She had trusted Lysa and Petyr too much...
Catelyn thought of other women, mothers as well. Lysa and Cersei. Lysa was dead, so what of Sweetrobin? His body had always been frail, and now he was surrounded by lords as fierce as wolves and tigers.
As for Cersei Lannister, those children were indeed the Kingslayer's, though Robert had never known. Yet from what Catelyn had seen, the king had never given Joffrey much warmth either. In truth, the king himself had been a great child, never one to discipline children. If the king had known the truth, he would have executed the child together with his mother. Lord Jon had known the truth. So had Eddard. And Stannis.
Catelyn began praying to the Seven, casting herself into the gods' embrace. Eddard's god was the cold tree, the ancient godswood, while her gods were the warm Seven. She knelt before the Smith for Bran. The Smith represented work and could mend broken things. She prayed to the Father for justice. Before the Maiden, she prayed for courage, for Sansa's and Arya's innocence. Before the Warrior, Catelyn prayed for Robb and Gendry. She prayed to the Crone, praying for the light of wisdom to shine...
"My lady, please return to your tent." Ser Bryce Caron spoke outside the tent, then politely invited her back. The peace talks had failed today, and war would soon come.
"Thank you, Ser."
Inside the tent, she could also hear the nervous whinnying of horses. Gray warriors, gray warhorses, with sigils and colors impossible to make out.
Renly's tent was bright with candlelight, the silk seeming almost to glow. Two green-robed guards stood outside the great tent. Long silk plumes streamed from their helms, green cloaks hung from their shoulders, and their armor was glazed with enamel.
Catelyn knew Renly Baratheon's guards: the Knight of Flowers, the Maiden of Tarth, Ser Bryce Caron, Ser Guyard Morrigen, and Ser Parmen Crane.
Inside the tent, the Knight of Flowers was helping the king don his armor. The tent was warm, with coal burning in a small iron brazier.
"I think you should consider this carefully, Your Grace, Great Lord Renly," Catelyn said, looking at Renly. Words were like wind. Why must he crave that crown so desperately?
"Good." The Knight of Flowers finished fitting Renly's armor, fastening the backplate and breastplate over the padded undercoat. Renly's armor was deep green, so dark it seemed heavy.
"We are ready," Ser Guyard said. He was Renly's vanguard commander.
"Then begin," Renly said. "Sound the horns and march. I cannot wait any longer."
"But men will say we broke faith and acted without chivalry," Bryce Caron objected.
"Chivalry?" Renly smiled. "I must win the war first before I speak of chivalry. Speaking of surprise attacks, my nephew is very skilled at ambushes and flanking tactics."
"You will be responsible for our main camp, Caron. As for Storm's End, Ser Cortnay is inside."
"Yes."
The Knight of Flowers tightened Renly's green leather belt and fastened the golden buckle. "After my brother dies, his corpse is not to be desecrated. If my nephew is defeated in the future, I will do the same for him. I will never let anyone mount their heads on spears for display."
"Yes." Bryce glanced at the king and said nothing more.
"I never thought we would come to this. When Lord Mace and Lord Rowan besieged us at Storm's End, we nearly ate human flesh in the end, but he never surrendered." Renly sighed.
Next came the king's hair. Brienne assisted from the side, tying it with a velvet ribbon and fitting a small padded cap near his ears to ease the weight of the helm.
"To battle."
"You can still stop and keep your place at Storm's End," Catelyn said.
Renly shook his head. "All my life, I have lived in my brother's shadow. But I will prove that I am a better king. I can be a greater king, strong and generous, wise, just, and diligent. I am loyal to my friends, and I show no mercy to my enemies. I have a broad heart, patience..."
"What if you fail?" Catelyn could bear it no longer. "I think you should be more humble. Everything you have was granted by the king."
"Fail?" Renly smiled. "It is too late."
Renly finished preparing, gleaming with gold. His cloak was woven with golden thread and bore the crowned stag. He put on his helm, with golden antlers about a foot and a half long. His gauntlets were shaped like lobsters, alternating blue and green. As for his belt, it hung heavy with sword and dagger.
"Let us go." Renly glanced at Catelyn. "Please rest a while and wait for my victory."
Catelyn watched Renly's back and could not help shaking her head.
A moment later, Bryce Caron entered the tent again. "My lady, I wish to ask you something about the Storm."
Catelyn looked at Bryce's cold face and felt that perhaps something new had changed.
In the predawn gloom, the sound of galloping horses suddenly rolled across the earth.
Renly, dazzling in green armor, his golden antlers seeming to shine with fire, led his cavalry toward Stannis's camp. The Knight of Flowers and his Highgarden guards served as a strike force, supporting from the other side.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
"Long live Storm's End!" Renly's soldiers shouted, charging straight for Stannis's camp.
The thunder of hooves echoed through every corner. In the firelight, warriors' faces suddenly seemed alive, and so did the banners: Baratheon banners, Caron banners, Estermont banners...
Stannis's camp was silent as death, then a greater crashing wave suddenly sounded.
"Thump!"
"Thump!"
Horses were overturned and thrown to the ground, followed by the shouts of soldiers. The soldiers had nearly taken the first palisade, only to discover newly dug trenches behind it. Many men and horses fell together.
Instead, Stannis's army surged out of the camp, brightly dressed, their armor gleaming. They had few cavalry, but the infantry formed long spear ranks, while Stannis and the red priestess stood in the middle of the formation, watching Renly's men.
"I could have done more for you," the red priestess said to Stannis. "If those ancient idols had been burned, my power could have surged. A little shadow would have been enough to kill Renly."
"We will speak of that later." Stannis cut off the red priestess.
"Ambush!"
"Ambush!" Renly's soldiers shouted, and the dance of steel began to flow. Longbowmen, protected by infantry, started loosing arrows. The spear formation stood like rock, while Stannis kept his cavalry as a reserve.
When Renly heard his soldiers shouting, anxiety burned through him. He had planned to rely on superior numbers and cavalry to launch a surprise attack. How had the enemy foreseen him instead?
The longbowmen loosed a rain of arrows, and quite a few unlucky soldiers fell. Few were killed outright, but their fighting spirit had never been especially high to begin with.
The Knight of Flowers drew his longsword and led his green-robed men into the enemy line. They tore down the palisade, only to find a spear formation waiting behind it. This Highgarden force was well equipped, but for speed and ease of movement, they wore light armor.
"Move, Young Lord!" one of the green-robed men shouted urgently. The enemy had also prepared boiling oil, and it came pouring down from the watchposts. They had been ready all along.
"You go first." The Knight of Flowers pushed his man aside with true chivalry, but the scalding oil came down at once. The Knight of Flowers dodged in haste. The oil missed his face, but still splashed across much of his body.
"Ah!" The Knight of Flowers let out a piercing scream. The scalding oil made his frightened horse turn savage as well. The green-robed men scrambled to calm the horse, then pulled the Knight of Flowers back.
"Loras." Seeing the Highgarden guards who had broken into the enemy lines retreating, Renly could not help wanting to go over.
But Ser Guyard stopped him. "Your Grace, we are in the middle of a charge. The best choice now is to break fully into the enemy camp and defeat Stannis."
"No. I need to see Loras. And you saw it too. Stannis's army laid an ambush. I will call up Caron's men and the forces from Storm's End. All of them."
"This is a battle, Your Grace, not a game!" Ser Guyard shouted.
Brienne also nodded. On the battlefield, Lady Tarth stood beside Renly like a wall.
Renly waved helplessly, and the knights began to push forward again. There was no way to tend to Loras's wounds now. But Stannis's formation was firm and steady. Renly's own forces, by contrast, had never had strong morale, and at the very start they had already lost the Knight of Flowers.
"Usurper!"
"Traitor!" Stannis's soldiers cursed.
Renly could see with his own eyes that his soldiers had little will to fight. They were all sons of the Stormlands, and now they were locked in a clumsy civil war.
Renly's eyes went red. He roared loudly, but Stannis's formation stood like solid rock, unmoving. He could not even reach the enemy's center. Renly personally led charge after charge, yet the shield wall and spear ranks did not retreat.
A spear even came close to piercing Renly through the back. It was Brienne who helped him avoid the killing blow.
"Fall back," Ser Guyard advised. Some of these Stormlands soldiers were completely unwilling to fight. Forcing them would do no good.
Then an even greater shout came from the rear. Caron, who had been guarding the back, and Ser Cortnay, who had been defending Storm's End, suddenly appeared behind Renly's soldiers. Their men formed a huge letter C, blocking the vanguard's road of retreat.
These soldiers were not reinforcements. They had come to demand Renly's surrender. Renly's army had become the filling caught in the middle.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!" Ser Caron had his soldiers shout. Catelyn looked at the frustrated Renly with complicated eyes. Was this war? It looked more like child's play.
"You swore loyalty to me. Caron, Ser Cortnay." Renly watched the soldiers closing in from behind. Seeing that things had gone badly, the Stormlands men in his vanguard had little desire to resist. One by one, they dropped their weapons, leaving only a few lonely guards still following Renly.
"I did swear loyalty to you once, but you went too far, my lord. You should not have sacrificed Edric for your own ambition," Ser Cortnay said, looking at Renly.
"This is not a sacrifice. This is his future."
"Oh, you say that very well. I pity Lady Shireen, but I will never allow you to force her on Edric, not with her greyscale." Ser Cortnay snorted coldly.
"The game is over, Great Lord Renly. Why keep holding on? You knew Gendry had taken the Vale, did you not? Yet you hid it from us." Brune looked at Renly, and at the Highgarden men who had been pressed into a small circle.