Inside the camp at Storm's End stood a temporary sept. Calling it a true sept was generous; it contained nothing more than seven rough paintings of the gods hanging against the canvas walls.
"Our gods are one being with seven faces," Catelyn Stark murmured softly as she studied the crude images.
In great cities, each aspect of the Seven had magnificent statues and splendid altars. But this was only a wartime shelter, built in haste, stripped of grandeur and ceremony.
The Father wore a long beard.
The Mother smiled gently.
The Warrior carried a massive sword.
The Smith held his hammer.
The Maiden appeared youthful and graceful.
The Crone looked thin, ancient, and wise.
And the Stranger's face was nothing more than a black oval with two tiny stars for eyes.
The torchlight flickered across the paintings, making the shadows dance. For a moment, the crude sketches almost seemed alive.
"Holy Mother," Catelyn whispered in prayer, "look upon this battle with mercy. They are all your children. Bless them… and bless my sons. Watch over Robb, Bran, and Rickon as if I were beside them."
The flames shifted again, twisting the faces into strange shapes.
The Father reminded her of her own father, Lord Hoster Tully. Then her thoughts drifted to Eddard Stark, to Lysa, and even to Petyr Baelish.
The Warrior brought visions of men born for battle: Gendry, Renly, Stannis, Robb, Robert, Jaime Lannister, and even Jon Snow. In the wavering firelight, she thought she saw Arya's fierce expression hidden among the shadows.
Then a cold gust swept into the tent.
The torches crackled violently, and the visions vanished beneath a wash of orange-red firelight. Smoke stung Catelyn's eyes. Her hands, still marked by cuts from Valyrian steel, trembled slightly as she wiped away the tears.
Before the image of the Mother, she suddenly thought of her own mother, Lady Minisa Whent.
House Whent had once been among the strongest vassals of the Riverlands. Yet after Minisa's death during childbirth, the family slowly faded into decline. Her death had shattered Lord Hoster in ways no one truly understood. It had changed all of them.
Perhaps, Catelyn thought bitterly, Lysa would never have become who she was otherwise.
"Mother…"
The word itself carried unbearable weight.
All women eventually became mothers.
Catelyn longed desperately to see Sansa again. Robb, meanwhile, had embraced the Warrior completely. War had transformed him into something fierce and relentless, deaf to a mother's caution and consumed by vengeance and glory.
As for Bran and Rickon… they likely saw her as cruel.
Thinking of Eddard only deepened the ache in her heart. She had trusted Lysa and Petyr too easily. That trust had destroyed everything.
Her thoughts turned to other mothers.
Lysa Arryn was dead. What would happen now to young Sweetrobin? The sickly boy was surrounded by ambitious lords like wolves circling wounded prey.
Then there was Cersei Lannister.
Her children truly belonged to Jaime, though King Robert had never known the truth. Yet even if he had suspected it, Robert had never been much of a father. The king himself had remained a child in many ways, careless and reckless.
Had Robert discovered the truth, he would have executed both mother and children without hesitation.
Jon Arryn had known.
Eddard had known.
Stannis knew as well.
Catelyn knelt before each image in turn.
Before the Smith, she prayed for Bran, begging for broken things to be mended.
Before the Father, she prayed for justice.
Before the Maiden, she prayed for courage and innocence for Sansa and Arya.
Before the Warrior, she prayed for Robb and Gendry.
Before the Crone, she begged for wisdom and guidance.
"My lady," came a voice from outside the tent. "Please return to your chambers."
It was Ser Bryce Caron.
"The negotiations have failed," he continued politely. "Battle will come soon."
"Thank you, Ser Bryce," Catelyn replied quietly.
Outside, the camp was restless. Horses neighed nervously in the darkness. Soldiers moved like grey shadows beneath a sky not yet touched by dawn.
Renly Baratheon's pavilion stood apart from the rest, glowing brilliantly beneath countless candles. Silk walls shimmered in green and gold.
Two guards stood outside, clad in green cloaks and polished armor decorated with long feathered plumes.
Catelyn recognized Renly's chosen companions immediately: Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers; Brienne of Tarth; Ser Bryce Caron; Ser Guyard Morrigen; and Ser Parmen Crane.
Inside the pavilion, warmth from burning charcoal filled the air.
Loras Tyrell was helping Renly fasten his armor.
"I still believe you should reconsider this, Your Grace," Catelyn said carefully.
Renly ignored the warning.
His armor was a deep emerald green, polished so brightly that it almost gleamed black in the candlelight.
"We are ready," Ser Guyard announced.
"Then sound the horns," Renly replied. "Advance immediately. I've waited long enough."
Bryce Caron hesitated. "People may call this dishonorable, Your Grace. A surprise attack before dawn—"
Renly laughed.
"Knights and honor matter only after victory. First, we win the war."
He smirked faintly.
"My nephew is quite talented at ambushes himself."
Bryce fell silent.
"You will command the main camp," Renly ordered. "Storm's End remains under Ser Cortnay Penrose."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Loras tightened Renly's sword belt and adjusted the golden buckle.
"After Robert died," Renly said quietly, "I swore no one would ever desecrate his body. If Stannis falls today, I will show him the same respect."
Bryce nodded silently.
Renly sighed heavily.
"When Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne besieged Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion, Stannis nearly starved defending it. We were close to eating rats… perhaps worse. Yet he never surrendered."
Brienne stepped forward and tied Renly's dark hair neatly beneath a padded cap.
"To battle," she said firmly.
Catelyn stepped closer.
"If you stop now," she pleaded, "you could still keep Storm's End. You do not need this crown."
Renly shook his head slowly.
"All my life I lived in Robert's shadow," he said. "But I know I would make the better king. Strong, generous, just, patient… beloved."
He smiled confidently.
"I reward loyalty and crush my enemies."
"And if you fail?" Catelyn asked.
Renly laughed softly.
"It's too late for doubt."
Fully armored now, he looked magnificent.
A golden stag crowned his green cloak. Massive antlers rose from his helmet. At his waist hung a longsword and dagger.
"Rest well, Lady Stark," he said. "By sunrise, victory will be mine."
Then he left.
Catelyn watched him disappear into the darkness and could only shake her head sadly.
Moments later, Bryce Caron returned.
"My lady," he said carefully, "there is something important we must discuss."
Something in his expression made Catelyn uneasy.
Before dawn broke, the thunder of galloping horses shook the earth.
Renly Baratheon rode at the front of his cavalry, brilliant in green and gold. The antlers on his helmet seemed ablaze beneath the torchlight.
Beside him rode the Knight of Flowers with his Reach knights.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
"Long live the storm!"
Thousands of voices roared into the darkness as Renly's forces charged toward Stannis's camp.
The ground trembled beneath pounding hooves.
Banners whipped violently in the wind: Baratheon banners, Caron banners, Estermont banners.
At first, Stannis's camp seemed silent.
Too silent.
Then chaos erupted.
"Ambush!"
The first line of Renly's cavalry smashed through an outer palisade—only to discover trenches hidden behind it.
Horses screamed as they toppled forward. Riders crashed into sharpened stakes and mud.
At the same moment, Stannis's soldiers surged out of the darkness.
Their infantry formed disciplined spear walls while archers unleashed volleys of arrows from behind them.
Unlike Renly's glittering host, Stannis's army moved with cold precision.
At the center stood Stannis himself beside the Red Priestess, Melisandre.
"I could have spared you this battle," Melisandre whispered. "A shadow assassin would have been enough to kill Renly."
"We will discuss that later," Stannis replied coldly.
Steel clashed.
Arrows darkened the sky.
The battlefield dissolved into screaming men and collapsing horses.
Loras Tyrell led the Reach cavalry forward in a furious assault, cutting through the outer barricades.
But behind them waited another spear formation.
"Well prepared…" Loras muttered grimly.
Suddenly, boiling oil poured from nearby towers.
"Move, my lord!" one of his guards shouted.
Loras shoved the man aside just as scalding oil splashed across his armor.
He screamed in agony.
His horse reared wildly while green-cloaked knights rushed to pull him away from the fighting.
"Loras!" Renly shouted in horror as he saw the Knight of Flowers retreating.
Ser Guyard immediately blocked his path.
"Your Grace, focus on the attack!"
"I need to reach him!"
"This is war, not a tournament!"
Brienne nodded firmly beside them.
Reluctantly, Renly continued the assault.
But the battle was already turning against him.
Stannis's lines held firm like iron walls. Renly's soldiers attacked repeatedly, yet their morale began to crack.
These were Stormlanders fighting fellow Stormlanders.
Many lacked the will to slaughter their own countrymen.
"Usurper!" Stannis's men shouted.
"Rebel!"
Renly's frustration grew with every failed charge.
He personally led attack after attack, but the spear walls refused to break.
At one point, a spear nearly pierced Renly through the back. Only Brienne's quick intervention saved him.
"We should retreat," Ser Guyard urged.
Before Renly could answer, horns suddenly sounded behind them.
Another army had appeared.
Bryce Caron and Ser Cortnay Penrose had arrived with fresh troops from the rear, forming a massive crescent that sealed off Renly's retreat.
Renly stared in disbelief.
His army was trapped.
The soldiers behind him did not lower their banners in support.
Instead, they demanded surrender.
"Long live the true king!" they shouted.
Panic spread rapidly through Renly's exhausted forces.
Many soldiers immediately dropped their weapons.
Only a shrinking circle of loyal guards remained around Renly.
"You swore loyalty to me!" Renly shouted furiously at Bryce and Cortnay.
Cortnay Penrose met his gaze without fear.
"I once did," he replied. "But you crossed a line, Your Grace. I will not allow Edric Storm to become a sacrifice for your ambition."
"This was never sacrifice!" Renly snapped. "It was his future!"
Cortnay snorted coldly.
"You speak beautifully, but I know better. And I will never allow Shireen Baratheon and her greyscale to be forced upon the boy."
Bryce Caron stepped forward.
"It is over, Lord Renly," he said quietly. "Why continue this madness?"
Renly's face darkened.
Bryce continued.
"You hid the truth from us. Gendry Baratheon has already secured the Vale. The war is lost."
The Reach knights tightened their shrinking defensive circle around Renly as enemy soldiers closed in from every direction.
The battle was over.
And so, perhaps, was Renly Baratheon's dream.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)