Renly's encampment rose barely ten feet above the surrounding plain.
Compared to Storm's End's towering battlements, it seemed as insignificant as a grain of sand beside a mountain. Yet at this moment, no shadow of defeat clouded Renly Baratheon's heart.
Standing upon the modest hill where his pavilion commanded the field, he gazed into the distance with something approaching satisfaction.
The flat, open terrain allowed his sight to stretch unimpeded toward the horizon's edge.
Endless campfires blazed in every direction.
No matter where he turned his eyes, only flames met his gaze—a constellation of fire covering the wilderness like fallen stars, forming an infinite sea of light upon the darkened earth.
What a magnificent nocturnal display.
Yet Renly found himself more captivated by the vast power such scenery represented than by its mere beauty.
Each flame marked a warrior ready to strike—men bearing gleaming steel and swift arrows, hearts burning with righteous fury.
The wrath of House Baratheon would be carried by these fires to the usurper Joffrey and his greedy Lannister lions!
The true stag would reclaim everything that was rightfully his!
"At first light, the entire host shall form ranks and assault the walls!" Renly declared, his gesture encompassing the sea of flames before them.
This war would end before the sun reached its zenith.
Lord Mace Tyrell responded with characteristic enthusiasm. "A righteous cause shall surely earn the gods' blessing, aided by so many loyal swords and steadfast hearts. Your Grace cannot fail to achieve his desires."
Renly's gaze fixed upon Storm's End, hidden now in darkness but soon to feel his wrath.
"Especially with Ser Cortnay Penrose's aid," Mace continued with obvious admiration. "Such a loyal knight's assistance proves that justice must ultimately prevail."
The Lord of Highgarden understood the plan well enough.
Once their man inside opened Storm's End's gates, what force could possibly deny them victory?
Lord Randyll Tarly observed his liege's continued complacency and, though many thoughts churned through his mind, ultimately restrained himself from speaking.
Though it would be impolitic to voice such concerns openly, Earl Randyll possessed knowledge that exceeded his lord's understanding.
The real battle plan for tomorrow involved far more than simply relying upon Ser Cortnay Penrose alone.
Even if the enemies within the castle grew negligent, would they truly grant Ser Cortnay opportunity to open the gates?
More likely, the knight now languished in Storm's End's dungeons.
If fortune had turned against them entirely...
Night wind swept across the hill's crest.
Renly sighed softly. "Ser Cortnay's loyalty stands beyond question. I shall remember his service, and Storm's End shall remember it as well."
Mace Tyrell nodded with smiling agreement. "Indeed, after this battle, Ser Cortnay will have earned great merit and should receive fitting reward—truly great reward."
Randyll Tarly's head shook almost imperceptibly.
He understood that Lord Mace had failed to grasp the deeper meaning behind those words.
No blame could be assigned for such oversight.
The truth could not be laid bare and explained plainly.
Renly had abandoned all thought of sharing the real plan with Duke Mace entirely.
Judging by the "puffed fish" lord's mental capacity, ignorance served him better than knowledge.
Speaking of which, why had Duke Mace insisted upon accompanying this expedition personally?
"Your Grace," Duke Mace could not contain himself, "when tomorrow's assault begins, please grant your most loyal servant the honor of commanding the vanguard."
Randyll Tarly understood that Lord Mace referred to himself.
Naturally, Renly possessed sufficient sense to refuse such madness. "Lord Mace, you and I should remain in camp to observe the battle. Should you suffer injury, how could I explain such failure to Lady Olenna? How would I face my dear Margaery?"
Without allowing Duke Mace opportunity to respond, Renly immediately turned toward Randyll Tarly. "Lord Tarly, you shall command the vanguard. Act according to our arrangements."
Randyll Tarly bowed respectfully in acceptance.
Duke Mace remained unsatisfied with this decision. "Lord Randyll proves an excellent lieutenant. However, after Storm's End falls, please permit me to reclaim King's Landing as reward for faithful service."
Mace Tyrell's greatest ambition involved achieving some truly commendable victory that history would remember.
Randyll Tarly sighed inwardly.
Lord Mace displayed excessive impatience and should not pressure the king thus—even unintentionally, even though the Reach's strength remained indispensable to Renly's cause.
Renly fell silent for long moments before finally agreeing. "No arrangement could prove more suitable. I trust you shall return an intact King's Landing to the realm."
It was said the capital had undergone mysterious transformations.
Duke Mace finally bowed his thanks and withdrew with evident satisfaction.
Randyll Tarly remained standing silently at his king's side.
Renly's expression relaxed slightly. "Lord Randyll, tomorrow's success depends upon your leadership. After this battle, you shall receive credit for our greatest achievement."
Randyll Tarly nodded with steady assurance.
The plan possessed reasonable chances of success.
Fifty thousand men against five thousand enemies—provided they could circumvent Storm's End's defenses and force decisive battle quickly, even mysterious sorcery would likely prove insufficient to reverse such overwhelming odds.
But could they truly avoid those formidable walls?
Ser Cortnay represented their only hope for such a miracle.
Did such an opportunity actually exist?
Randyll Tarly preferred not to entertain doubts, yet he knew precious little about Ser Cortnay personally and dared not stake life and honor upon blind faith.
Regardless, King Renly held ultimate authority over such decisions.
And the king appeared convinced of success.
"Go and rest, Lord Randyll."
Renly spoke with casual dismissal. "Gather at dawn for one final feast, then comes the moment that shall determine the Seven Kingdoms' fate."
Randyll Tarly withdrew in silence.
He desperately needed proper rest this night.
These past days had brought endless arguments, countless mask-wearing courtesies, and entirely too much troublesome thought.
Yet the gods rarely granted men their simple wishes.
"Lord Randyll," Ser Hugh Grandison, Earl of Grandview, intercepted him along the path. "Have you heard the news? The Royal Fleet has reached the Arbor, and the Redwynes have joined their cause!"
Randyll Tarly halted immediately. "When did this occur?"
Earl Grandison lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Just now, a messenger arrived from Bitterbridge. Lord Meadows learned the details first, then..."
"When did this occur?" Randyll Tarly repeated his question with pointed emphasis.
Earl Grandison appeared momentarily confused before finally grasping Tarly's meaning. "August twenty-ninth. The Royal Fleet reached the Arbor ten days past."
Randyll Tarly nodded slightly.
Calculating timing carefully, such developments would bear no impact upon tomorrow's engagement.
Earl Grandison displayed far less composure. "This leaves us without hope upon the seas. What if the war fails to end quickly?"
Randyll Tarly fixed him with a steady look. "What—do you suddenly find the usurper's rule acceptable again?"
Previously, King Joffrey's harsh policies had united the lords firmly behind Renly, making reconciliation unthinkable.
At least publicly.
Earl Grandison's face flushed crimson. "Hmph! I merely voice legitimate concerns!"
"Good intentions receive poor reward," Earl Grandison muttered as he departed in irritation, wandering off either toward his own pavilion or to spread his anxieties among other commanders.
Randyll Tarly stood motionless for long moments, ultimately releasing a weary sigh.
Victory's hope seemed to dim with each passing hour.
"Sam," Randyll Tarly whispered softly to the empty landscape.
Perhaps father and son would meet again soon.
"We take Storm's End this day! Without Joffrey's sorcery to aid them, what matter if enemy fleets number ten times their current strength? We represent the justice that all people desire!" Renly raised morale during the pre-dawn feast.
The sky had begun to lighten with approaching day.
King Renly's golden pavilion blazed with warmth amid the surrounding sea of campfires—a perfect blend of cold and heat, silence and celebration.
"Victory!" Renly raised his golden cup toward the heavens.
"Long live the King!" The assembled lords responded with thunderous acclaim, displaying all possible confidence and determination.
"Your Grace..." Melisandre lay naked upon silken sheets, her face pale as mountain snow.
She stretched trembling hands toward the king, her eyes burning with desperate hunger.
The time for blood magic had arrived.
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