Not original

Margaery rarely witnessed Lord Varys, typically the embodiment of poise, appear so deeply troubled.

"Your Grace, we must take Lady Myrcella back to the Sept of Baelor. Without delay!"

Aegon looked perplexed. "But why? Ser Barristan says she will likely wake up within the next day or two."

"He cannot know for certain," Varys replied quickly, "and we must consider what would happen if her condition worsens and she dies within the Red Keep."

Margaery saw the problem at once. If Myrcella died here, the fragile peace forged through the Trial of Seven would be shattered.

""If we do move her," she said slowly, "and she dies in the Sept of Baelor, is that truly any better?"

"Your Grace, of course it is," Varys said, his tone urgent, almost pleading. "Care for her should remain with her Stormguard, but let the people see she is not being mistreated. Let her most faithful hear it from the lips of the Stormguard while they are with her. It is the only way to mitigate the disaster that will follow should she perish."

The gathered council was small, consisting only of Lord Anders Yronwood, the King, her brother, Connington, and Ser Leo Blackbar. Ser Leo, once her brother's second-in-command, had been deemed an excellent choice to lead the City Watch, tasked with ensuring that the old corruption under King Robert would not take hold again.

"You jump at shadows," Connington scoffed. "If her own Stormguard do not appear concerned, why do you?"

"You haven't… done something, have you?" Garlan asked with a pointed look at the Master of Whisperers.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Varys replied, frustration on his features. "We are this close to uniting the realm – why would I risk turning her into a martyr?"

"One would hope," Margaery said softly, "your reason would be that you would not harm a young girl who is now our guest."

Varys bowed. "You are as right as you are radiant, my Queen, but I must insist we act quickly on this subject."

Her husband was about to speak when the guards opened the door and indicated a raven had arrived bearing an urgent message.

No… how?

Oldtown taken by the Ironborn. The Hightower, the building itself, literally destroyed. The Starry Sept burned to the ground. A living dragon roaring above the city.

Surely these must be mad tales.

Only, the note was penned by her eldest brother, someone she trusted to make good assessments of a situation. The accounts from those who fled from the destruction and capture were too alike to be a mad fancy; Oldtown was destroyed, and the Ironborn had a dragon.

"Is there yet another Targaryen?" Yronwood's tone was a shade mocking.

Her husband tensed. "My uncle was reported dead by the hands of the Dothraki, but perhaps it was a ruse. In any case, my claim is still stronger, as the line of rulership would pass from Aerys to my father and then to me; a son inherits before an uncle."

"My sources were quite certain that Prince Viserys was slain – it is not he," Varys said firmly. "Your brother writes that the dragon is not so large. We can consult the old Targaryen texts to determine how long it takes for a dragon to mature, but this is not the threat it appears to be, save for the panic it may cause, Your Grace."

Margaery felt her heart quicken painfully, and the babe in her womb stirred. She steadied a trembling hand. "My family in Highgarden is vulnerable; aid must be sent!"

The Hand agreed. "Yes, we must deal with the Ironborn. But if they have their sights set on Highgarden with the means to destroy the walls as they did Hightower, aid would come too late."

Ser Leo, not one for much conversation beyond reporting on the Gold Cloaks, spoke up, "We must examine the accounts carefully to understand how Hightower fell. The letter speaks of lightning and green energies they attribute to magic. But does not wildfire burn green? Imagine, if you will, a dragon soaring higher than any arrow or scorpion could reach, dropping barrels of the substance onto the tower. It would be a massive target and could weaken the integrity of such a large structure. Combine that with the storm that coincided with the Ironborn attack, and we account for everything."

Garlan cursed. "If that is true: the walls of Highgarden will prove no defense if they have more wildfire."

"I thought only the Alchemists' Guild could make it?" Aegon asked.

Varys nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. But the members of that Guild were never all accounted for after the fall of the city during Robert's Rebellion. Nor was it ever impossible to purchase the substance outright. Thoros of Myr was known to use it to ignite his blade in tournaments and battle. He even employed it during the siege of Pyke. If Ser Leo is correct, that could explain where the Ironborn conceived this idea."

"Do we command Lord Willas to flee from Highgarden? His ancestral home?" Aegon asked questioningly.

Yronwood snorted. "We don't even know if they are coming for Highgarden. They might as easily set sail for the Arbor, which is quite wealthy and not nearly so well defended."

Several people speak up at once, and Varys slammed the table with his palm.

"Please! This is an important and weighty matter to discuss, but may we first arrange for Lady Myrcella to be moved back to Baelor's Sept?" he again besought the council.

"Any objections?" Aegon asked.

Connington looked as if he were about to speak but decided against it, and no one else raised spoke up. While lord Varys left to make the arrangements, the council continued their discussion. Margaery favored evacuation; to her, the safety of her family was paramount. However, her brother and Ser Leo discussed counterstrategy and made valid points – wildfire was not infallible. Sand and dirt could smother the flames, and if Hightower had indeed fallen that way, much of its destruction could be attributed to the freak storm that had coincided with the attack.

"Your Grace," Garlan began, "my counsel is to have Highgarden hold. Send some of the smallfolk, and perhaps Lady Sanda and my own grandmother, away with an adequate guard, but Highgarden should be held. It has ample food for a siege, the men there are steadfast, and it has three layers of high walls. It can hold." He took a breath. "Additionally, give me command of a mounted force. Instead of going to the Crossroads, let me take much of our cavalry, along with that of the Stormlanders, Dorne, and the Golden Company."

Yronwood disagreed. "Didn't we want to curtail any Arryn action? We know Stannis Baratheon was severely wounded, but if the man survives, he is not one to surrender his claim. Should an Arryn army appear in the Riverlands and go uncontested, those houses could rally to him."

"Ifs while the Reach burns?" Margaery snapped, immediately regretting it. She struggled to keep her emotions in check. "Forgive me, my lord. I am still in great fear for my family. We have endured a great many tragedies of late."

Aegon patted her hand. "I believe Ser Garlan has the wisest plan. Prepare to ride out within the next three days. Let us pray to the Seven that Lady Myrcella awakes by then. It would be ill-fated to send away our best if an uprising is imminent."

Margaery let out a deep breath she had been holding. Help would soon be on the way. Her brother, the Gallant, would set things to right.

***

"Jon, you need to see this," a very shaken Eddard Stark said as he handed his King the raven from Last Hearth.

He watched as Jon took the letter, whose face – so like his own despite their relation being only uncle and nephew – took on a look of horror.

"This cannot be. The Wall has stood for thousands of years!"

"The source is some of the surviving members of the Night's Watch. Qhorin Halfhand has visited the Umbers before. This is no trick, Your Grace. What's more, an army of wildlings is coming. Their numbers are beyond true reckoning, and they have giants." Ned looked down. "The Watch believes that most of the wildlings are women and children. Mance Rayder has no choice but to pillage our lands; otherwise, they will starve."

"The real threat," Melisandre said softly, "is not the wildlings, but what they flee from. The Great Other stirs, his wretched progeny come south, and unless Jon can unite Westeros, the realms of men are doomed."

Jon laughed; it had a raw edge to it.

"How?" he asked. "How can I unite them? Aegon does not have to lift a finger to see us vanquished, and why would he stir to aid us? Bran has been returned to the North, but no sooner had he arrived than we received the raven that Myrcella has bent the knee to my brother."

"He is not your brother," Melisandre spoke firmly; "he is but a whelp with the proper hair and eyes. Such traits are not overly rare in Essos. The true Aegon perished by the hand of the Mountain. I have seen it."

"You've seen a lot," Eddard said with disdain, "and much ruin has it wrought."

"We have gone 'round and 'round on this, Lord Stark," Melisandre said, her tone still melodious even while exasperated. "I am but human, but did not your son slay the Great Other's creation? What man alive can say they have slain an Other? Azor Ahai is the only one who can lead the realms of men; should Jon support this false Targaryen, I see only an endless night – still, and lifeless."

Jon ran his hands through his hair. "We must deal with the wildlings first. We do not have the numbers to meet them in the field, but we can hold here in Winterfell, Karhold, and the Dreadfort. We must summon all the smallfolk and have them bring all they can carry with them. There isn't room enough in every fortress for them all, so they should be divided, as should our own forces."

Eddard did not wish to speak the words he knew he must.

"Jon, that would be a disaster. If we diminish our strength, we could be overwhelmed."

"Fath–" he stopped himself. "Uncle, what would you have me do? Consign the smallfolk to their deaths and have them not flee to the nearest stronghold? For some it would become a death march to make it to Winterfell, nor could we hold the entire North in our walls. Our defenders would grow weak from hunger. Or would you have me split them apart, but then leave all but the portion headed to Winterfell to the mercy of the wildlings?"

Melisandre began to speak, but Jon stayed her with an upraised hand. "No, listen. The tales I've heard my brothers tell of the wildlings… they have cannibals among them! I will not leave my people defenseless."

Seeing that he had finished, Melisandre spoke, "Your Grace, their numbers are great, but these wildlings lack discipline and are already driven by fear. It would not take much to break them, despite their numbers. Their King, this Mance Rayder, is their vulnerability. Should he fall, they will crumble. I can ensure it happens, Your Grace."

"As you ensured Lord Tywin fell?" Eddard said, letting a little of his long-departed brother, Brandon, enter his voice. The man had often mocked with tone and expression, not something Eddard was ever skilled at – nor something that came natural to him – but here it fit.

Melisandre's face twisted. "I can guarantee success this time. Stannis was a poor vessel, a pale imitation. A fool with delusions of grandeur."

Eddard's eyes widened. "No. No, I forbid this. I saw how Stannis aged a decade within a single day after your unholy ritual. You will not do this to Jon."

"Forbid? Are you intending to forsake another oath, Lord Stark?" Melisandre now matched his earlier dry tone.

"ENOUGH!" Jon swept his cup from the table, and it clanged loudly against the wall.

"Both of you spend more effort on hounding each other than on being productive. Uncle, you advise me to gather my strength in Winterfell and defend it while our people are left to fend for themselves. Melisandre, you suggest I take part in some dishonorable assassination. Neither is acceptable."

Melisandre breathed in deeply. "Jon, you know the threat we face. You fought them. The wildlings are nothing compared to your destined battle against the God of Night and Terror. This may be your chance to demonstrate your prowess to Westeros. A King who leads from the front like The Demon of the Trident or Aegon the Conqueror. A King who bests a force many times his size. The telling and retelling will make you a legend among the Seven Kingdoms, and people will flock to your banner!"

Eddard merely looked at her with disgust. The people of Westeros would not believe such tales, and no one would dare cross into the North during its brutal winters. The Red Priestess would ruin and destroy Jon, just as she did Stannis.

"I'm going to the Godswood; I am not to be disturbed unless there is more news. I must think on what is best."

Ned wanted to go with him, but he had been given a command. He turned to Melisandre.

"What will you do if Jon falls? Will you find another King to seduce with your honeyed lies? Will you go to King's Landing and proclaim Aegon the true Azor Ahai?"

Melisandre shook her head. "No, for if Jon falls, the Soul of Ice will have won. Pray that does not happen, guard your nephew with your life. The Great Enemy stirs, and his march south has disrupted my ability to glean the future from the flames. Remember what I did see: a false friend is Jon's greatest threat, not the wildlings. Be wary and wise to the true dangers that face your King, Lord Stark, lest you fail him."

***

I woke to the sound of loud prayers.

Curse you, Being X.

The prayers probably weren't directly his fault, even though the whole situation, in its entirety, was. I had been the one to embrace the awful fanaticism of the Faith of the Seven. Of course, these semi-illiterate, faith-obsessed fanatics would be loudly praying in an attempt to heal me.

And now that I've awoken, they'll tell themselves their prayers made the difference. I want to hurl.

Given the uncertainties surrounding what had happened since I lost consciousness, I couldn't afford the luxury of feigning more sleep and pretending everything was a nightmare. As I rose from my bed, I saw Brienne kneel at my side.

"Are you well, my lady?"

"Yes, something to drink and then a hearty breakfast… or lunch?" The light from the windows looked brighter than morning. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Just shy of four days."

"I don't smell burning, other than candles, so the city has not torn itself apart at least."

Brienne nodded. "The city is… well, it isn't calm, but the High Sparrow has exhorted his followers to continue their fasting. He claims the Seven will reward the faithful with your awakening if everyone does their part in holy submission."

I hate you, Being X.

As I fully stood up, cries rang out.

"SHE WAKES!"

"PRAISE THE SEVEN!"

Most of the responses were of a pious variety, though I also heard a couple of "Stormqueen" shouts.

Please stop, the last thing I need is the King to think I'm trying to supplant him!

As food was brought to me, I found myself ravenous with hunger. Was it due to my prolonged rest, or had the usage of magic drained my bodily reserves? Could that be why I remained so short despite my tall parentage? It wasn't as if tall parents couldn't produce short children, but still… It was odd that I was so diminutive, given Cersei was tall, at least for a woman, and both Jaime and Robert were also of elevated stature.

A thought for another time.

The High Sparrow was pleased to see me awake; he again reminded me that he and the faithful stood ready. For anything.

I thanked him graciously and informed him that I would need to return to the Red Keep to consult with the King.

"Yes, their armies are gathering. As eager as we are to stay in your presence, I believe you'll soon show the Warrior side of yours to avenge the Starry Sept."

Starry Sept? That's in Oldtown – what happened?

Brienne supplied the additional information. "The Greyjoys, this King Euron, assaulted Oldtown and destroyed it completely. It is said that even the crypts, the resting places of the former High Septons, were desecrated."

I frowned. This could get ugly. The idea of leaving King's Landing had a certain appeal, but I would rather not spend the winter trying to pin down and fight the Ironborn. It was unlikely they had a sizable land army, so they would likely just hit the coastal regions. Highgarden would be vulnerable, as would the Arbor, Sunflower Hall, and maybe even Starfall. Really, anything within a day or two of the coast could fall to their predations.

"I am sure that the King will see to avenging the Faith. As to how, that remains to be seen," I gave a vague non-answer. I looked into his disturbingly cunning and fanatical eyes; those two traits should not go together. "I must of course advise him, and will make for the Red Keep now."

Getting to the Red Keep was difficult. The city's mood had turned joyous after my 'miraculous' arrival. Throngs of smallfolk gave voice to their joy, and it took over an hour to finally push through.

At least my battle maniacs aren't this obsessed.

The King and Queen were waiting for me. My arrival gave Aegon the opportunity to deliver a short speech thanking the smallfolk for their faith and prayers. I nodded to Margaery; it was most likely her doing. Her instincts for managing the favor of the public were sharp.

In my first life, she would have done well as the head of a PR firm.

"I am glad you have recovered," Margaery said while embracing me, her belly slightly getting in the way of a proper hug.

I could feel Connington's gaze on me the entire time. As a bodyguard, he was right to be wary of someone like me, but did he realize how that looked? We were turning back toward the Red Keep, but putting a hand on his hilt in front of a crowd as I had approached wasn't going to do him any favors moving forward.

"What is the situation with Oldtown, Your Grace?" I asked.

"We have questions of our own, first," Connington interjected.

Aegon looked at his Hand and shook his head. "That can wait; it is clear the fate of the Starry Sept is important to her. Sadly, the Sept of Oldtown was desecrated and destroyed by Euron Greyjoy. As you can imagine, tales have grown surrounding his attack, but there are some disturbing truths."

We were headed to the Royal Apartments and I looked at him curiously, "Disturbing truths?"

"My good-brother is certain that reports are true that Euron has a dragon. It is an adolescent, but a dragon nonetheless. We also believe it is likely he has access to wildfire."

A dragon? Oh, that must really make things difficult for Aegon now. The symbol of his house being ridden by someone who shouldn't have any Targaryen blood.

My mind was already considering ways to deal with it. Scorpions could fell a dragon. For larger specimens, it would require a lucky strike to the eye, but a younger dragon's scales might not be hard enough to deflect it. If it swooped low enough, I could probably launch myself up with a vertical vector and kill the rider. A thrown dagger at the eye could work too, if it was close enough.

"What do you intend to do about Euron and his dragon?" I asked in a neutral tone.

Aegon looked pensive for a moment. "I'd rather not kill the dragon. If I could claim it after Euron is slain…" He looked away. "I've been advised by all not to take that sort of risk, but it still is my birthright, and the existence of one dragon suggests there may be more. There have been tales, ones that Lord Varys feels were likely true, that Daenerys Targaryen saw to the hatching of three dragons before she perished. Less reliable reports describe sightings of dragons in various parts of Essos, but nothing firm."

I simply waited for more, and he continued.

"I will be sending Garlan with most of my knights and outriders to ensure Highgarden's security. The peril of a dragon on open water concerns me, especially with the possibility of Lord Paxter Redwyne attempting a naval battle. We had originally thought to send part of your forces with him to the Crossroads, but the threat in the south is more significant."

How do I play this…

My thoughts were interrupted by a courier rounding the corner in haste, only to be intercepted by a Kingsguard before he could get close to the King.

"Your Grace! Lord Varys says you should make all haste to the small council chamber – news from the North!"

Aegon rubbed his eyes. "We'll speak more later this evening, Lady Myrcella."

I blinked. Was I being dismissed?

"Your Grace, as Paramount Lady of the Stormlands and someone with men in the North, I would like to be included in this discussion."

Aegon paused and looked to Connington, whose face hardened. The Hand shook his head, but Margaery placed her arm within mine and said, "We don't have a formal seat for you, Myrcella, but I could use another feminine face to balance all the men in that room."

Connington protested, "Your Grace, we have discussed…"

Aegon laughed. "It seems my wife has wish for company; as she carries my heir, I think discretion is the better part of valor in this instance, Jon."

Jon's craggy face looked like a thunderhead, but he lowered it and argued no further.

This seems genuine, but could it still be part of their good cop/bad cop routine from earlier? Margaery being the good cop to Connington's bad. Hmm, if that's the case, all the better, since they find value in my loyalty. Still, I wish I knew for certain. Is this how Eddard felt when I was manipulating him?

***

Garlan had been busy preparing to march south. Ravens had already been sent to various lords to arrange the resupply of provisions for man and horse along the route to Highgarden. It was fortunate that his path would take him through the most fertile lands of the Seven Kingdoms. The reopening of the sea routes to King's Landing had reduced the need for additional food from the Reach.

His tasks were interrupted by an urgent courier's news, and he found himself once more in the small council chamber. The others had already arrived; he and Ser Leo were the last to enter. He noticed Myrcella there as well, seated next to his sister. The young Lady of Storm's End did not appear ill from whatever malady had kept her abed these past few days. As always, he felt a tinge of concern when she was near Margaery, but his sister would rather be shielded by the soft petals of diplomacy and friendship than by the thorns of a knot of knights.

"We are all here; let us begin," Aegon commanded in a stately voice.

Garlan had mixed feelings about the King. He treated Margaery well and was clearly intelligent. Yet, he was hesitant at times and still finding his footing. The Lord Hand cast a long shadow, with views often at odds with Margaery's.

Lord Varys looked solemn. "The reports from the North are dire. The Wall has fallen. Outlandish claims suggest that its entirety has collapsed, though this is not yet fully confirmed. What is certain is that parts of it have crumbled into ice and ruin. A vast migration of wildlings is fleeing the onset of an unusually harsh winter."

Lord Yronwood smiled. "Why so grim, Lord Varys? This is excellent news. We have the favor of the Seven, for one of our last remaining foes is now sorely beset. The winter will fare even worse for them, and when spring comes, they will have no choice but to bend the knee to our King's claim."

"My lord, the Wall has stood for years beyond counting," Ser Leo spoke gravely. "Its destruction is ominous. What is more, this creates difficulties concerning Tommen Baratheon. Without the Wall, does the Night's Watch still exist?"

"As a legal concept," Lady Baratheon spoke, "the Night's Watch is not strictly tied to the Wall, though for obvious reasons, they are linked in people's minds. Many of the black brothers travel south of the Wall to recruit. There is no reason Tommen cannot swear the oaths, even if the Wall does not presently stand."

Margaery was nodding. "I agree with Lady Baratheon; this need not interfere with our prior arrangement."

Garlan found himself only listening with half an ear. He felt disquieted. Two great structures of Westeros fallen within days of each other? Then there was the return of a dragon to the skies of the Seven Kingdoms. The world felt as if it were on the precipice of a cliff.

Aegon was frowning. "Tommen at the Wall, far from any place of power, is a far better situation than having him south of the Neck. A solution for the future is needed, but as we now have the word of Tommen, his grandfather, and other Westerlands nobles, proclaiming me as King, affixed with their seal, I feel the issue can be considered more carefully later. For now, what should be done? Any word from my potential brother? I am prepared to offer generous terms if he will travel here and swear allegiance. The North cannot possibly sustain its own population and all the wildlings in the heart of a harsh winter."

Connington shook his head. "Your Grace, now is not the time for mercy. This pretender has cast doubt upon your claim. We should instead write to the lords of the North, have them put this Jon Snow in chains and prove their loyalty to you. If Stark won't do it, perhaps it is time for a new family to take charge of the North."

Yronwood was nodding. "Aye, I agree with the Hand. Too much mercy will make you appear weak."

Garlan saw Aegon's eyes harden.

"And should I dismiss the suffering of the smallfolk while we play these games? I intend to be King of all of Westeros and make things better for its people, not worse. Eddard Stark has a reputation for honor; at the very least, he believes Jon is a Targaryen. Why should I mistreat my wayward younger brother when reconciliation may be possible?" Aegon countered.

"Aegon," Connington began tiredly, "appearing weak matters more than some starved peasants who are more a drain on Westeros than anything else. The Ironborn are still a threat. The Vale is still a threat. The North is still a threat."

"Your Grace," Varys emphasized, "you would strengthen the realm if the North swears its allegiance. I believe a wiser course would be to pursue both ends. Be open with our intentions: promise an open hand and a closed fist in the same letter to Jon and the lords of the North."

The honey and lash approach – it may work, but the North is stubborn and insular. It could also work against our ends.

"I will lend my voice," Myrcella spoke up, "to having Jon Targaryen bend the knee to you. You are the elder brother, so it is only fitting that he relinquishes his claim. Part of that agreement can be the return of Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell, who was raised with Jon. It is also my hope that the knights I sent to the North to investigate claims of the dead coming to life will send a raven soon."

Garlan saw Varys shift. It was slight, but to one such as Garlan, who had always been keen at reading his opponents in the practice yard and on the battlefield, it was noticeable.

"Good, let us hope he sees reason," Aegon said. "Lord Varys, work with the Hand to draft messages, but I will review them before they are sent. Now, should we take any other action, or alter our course regarding the Ironborn threat?"

Garlan shook his head. "We must secure the Reach at all costs, Your Grace. Perhaps we can send food to White Harbor as a gesture of goodwill, but sending more men into an area with limited food would be dire. The Riverlands' harvest has been greatly impacted by the war, and with the Vale not yet yielding to your reign, supply lines would be stretched impossibly far."

Ser Leo nodded in agreement. "It should come as no surprise, but I agree with Ser Garlan. This will be a good opportunity to help bind our disparate forces together through a shared enemy. The Stormlands and the Reach working together against the Ironborn will do much to unite us. The people rage at the destruction of the Starry Sept; perhaps Ser Garlan should take Lady Myrcella?"

"No," Connington said forcefully. "She remains here."

"Let us not be so hasty, my Lord Hand," Yronwood said slowly. "Ser Barristan assisting Lord Garlan with taking down a dragon-led army has its benefits."

Garlan saw the look of surprise on Connington's face. Yronwood had nearly always taken Jon's side during their tenure on the small council. The Hand's face grew mottled, and Garlan saw Yronwood tilt his head and shift his eyes meaningfully.

These schemes within schemes are why I never envied my brother Willas.

"And deprive me of Lady Myrcella's company?" his sister asked, her voice light. "That would be dreadful, and she has only now awakened after the wretchedness of Clegane's assault." Margaery took Myrcella's hand in her own. "I have complete faith in my brother. While the Bold would always be welcome in any effort of steel and violence, it should not be necessary."

Aegon's brow was furrowed, as Garlan saw him walk through the unusual alignment amongst his advisors.

"Lady Myrcella," Aegon motioned, "you are well-protected by the Kingsguard and the City Watch, as well as the rest of your Stormguard. Do you feel unsafe without Ser Barristan's presence within the city? It would put my mind at ease to know my good-brother is advised and aided by the realm's greatest knight."

Ser Barristan would be of use. I also cannot believe he would take the Stormlands horse and betray us; the man is too honorable for that.

Myrcella smiled. "I would be glad to lend his aid in securing the Reach. His valor and skill with the blade are justifiably praised, but his wisdom in the ways of war has served us greatly against my Uncle Stannis. I can think of no one more qualified to second Ser Garlan in the task in the south."

Garlan smiled, admiring the way she turned that phrase. He could object, of course, on several grounds, such as a prior promise to have someone else as his second or that he needed a second who would not directly participate in the battle so he could better direct it. Garlan saw no reason to, and to head off Connington from creating tension where there need be none, he spoke.

"Thank you, Lady Myrcella, I will be well-served to have him as my second-in-command."