King's Landing – Stokeworth
Recently, nearly half the grain entering the Red Keep had come from the lands of House Stokeworth and House Rosby. Located north of King's Landing, both territories had escaped the devastation of war so far.
But tonight, that peace would come to an end.
Under the cover of darkness, Ser Boros led a cavalry force straight into Stokeworth village, while another detachment rode toward Rosby.
Neither castle was especially large. Both sat amidst fertile farmland, surrounded by forests where the nobles often hunted game.
The night was quiet.
Then chaos erupted.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
Men clad in dark armor rapidly climbed the low castle walls using hooked ropes. The moment they reached the top, crossbows fired in quick succession.
Several guards collapsed before they even understood what was happening.
The defenses of Stokeworth had grown lax after years of peace. Many soldiers had already been sent to reinforce King's Landing, leaving behind only a small and poorly motivated garrison.
Resistance crumbled almost immediately.
"Surrender or die!"
"Surrender or die!"
The soldiers shouted as they stormed through the castle.
The Crownlands had grown wealthy through trade, farming, and transport. Grain, vegetables, livestock, and harbor taxes brought immense prosperity.
But wealth did not always produce strong armies.
Most of these noble houses lacked experienced warriors and battle-hardened knights.
Inside the castle, Lady Falyse Stokeworth stared in horror at the flames outside her window.
"What is happening?!"
She wore a green gown embroidered with the white lamb of House Stokeworth.
"Stop them!" she screamed.
"Idiot! It's too late!" her husband, Ser Balman Byrch, shouted as he hurriedly tried to gather valuables.
Once, in his youth, Balman had been considered one of the most handsome knights in Westeros.
Now age and indulgence had ruined him.
His golden hair had receded badly, his stomach bulged beneath his heavy coat, and only his pale yellow beard retained traces of his former charm.
The couple scrambled desperately, but escape was impossible.
The castle gates had already been forced open.
Armed soldiers flooded into the courtyard.
The banners of House Stokeworth were ripped down and trampled beneath muddy boots. Nearby, another banner fluttered proudly—a crowned stag facing a lion.
Ser Balman was dragged into the square at spearpoint.
"What do you want?!" he cried fearfully.
"I am a loyal servant of the King!"
Ser Boros approached slowly, longsword in hand.
"Which king?" he asked mockingly.
"That brat Joffrey in King's Landing?"
Balman's face twisted with anger and humiliation.
Without another word, he raised his sword and charged.
Boros merely smiled.
Steel clashed.
The exchange lasted only moments.
Though Balman had once been a knight of some skill, years of luxury had dulled both his body and reflexes.
Boros struck aside his blade and knocked him heavily to the ground.
Before Balman could recover, spearmen pinned him down and bound his hands.
Lady Falyse stood frozen nearby, too terrified even to scream.
"Take all the grain and gold dragons," Boros ordered calmly.
"Bring the maester and every ledger in the castle."
"And take these two as prisoners."
"Yes, Ser!"
As the soldiers dispersed, Boros turned his attention back to Falyse.
"Where are your relatives?"
"My mother and sister are in King's Landing," she answered nervously.
"I had an aunt who married into House Rosby, but she died years ago."
Boros studied her for a moment.
"You don't seem particularly loyal to the Lannisters."
Falyse swallowed hard.
"My father once served as Commander of the City Watch."
"He later died during Tywin Lannister's sack of King's Landing."
Boros laughed softly.
"Good answer, my lady."
"Now show me where your true loyalties lie."
"You will accompany us and help gather everything of value—grain, livestock, horses, sheep, even hunting supplies."
"Leave nothing for the Red Keep."
Falyse's face turned pale.
Yet she nodded quickly.
"Yes…"
"Yes, of course."
"We support the Storm."
Her husband lowered his head in silence.
Fear had completely broken their resistance.
Yet deep inside, Falyse's thoughts had already begun to change.
If her mother and sister died during the coming chaos in King's Landing…
Then the inheritance of House Stokeworth would eventually belong to her.
And compared to the cruelty of the Lannisters, the Storm appeared almost merciful.
At least these soldiers were disciplined.
The Red Cloaks entered homes throughout the village carrying torches.
But they did not massacre civilians.
Nor did they assault women.
Instead, they distributed a few gold dragons to frightened villagers while confiscating excess grain and supplies.
Only enough food to keep the peasants alive was left behind.
Even so, panic spread rapidly.
The villagers stared helplessly as carts filled with grain rolled away into the night.
Others abandoned their homes entirely, fearing retaliation from King's Landing once the Lannisters discovered what had happened.
By sunrise, both Rosby and Stokeworth would be nearly empty.
The Crownlands' food supply had been gutted overnight.
Highgarden – The Reach
Far to the south, Highgarden stood peacefully upon its hill overlooking the Mander River.
The castle was magnificent.
Built from pale white marble, Highgarden was often described as the most beautiful castle in Westeros after the Eyrie—though unlike the isolated mountain fortress of the Vale, Highgarden possessed true grandeur.
Flowers bloomed everywhere.
Gardens, ponds, fountains, and waterfalls decorated the castle grounds like a paradise from song and legend.
Marble pillars lined elegant courtyards while roses and grapevines climbed ancient stone walls.
From the towers of Highgarden, one could see endless green fields stretching toward the horizon.
Golden roses swayed beneath the summer wind.
Inside one of the castle gardens, Lord Mace Tyrell sat within a marble pavilion beside a white fountain.
In his hands was a letter.
Though delivered from the Vale, its true sender was the Storm.
Seated beside Mace were his two sons.
Ser Willas Tyrell, the heir of Highgarden.
And Ser Garlan Tyrell, known throughout the Reach as Garlan the Gallant.
All three wore rich green velvet robes lined with sable fur.
Only the youngest son, Ser Loras Tyrell, was absent. He remained in the Stormlands.
Across from them sat Lady Olenna Tyrell—the infamous Queen of Thorns—and beside her was Margaery Tyrell.
Behind Olenna stood two towering guards wearing gilded half-helms and green cloaks embroidered with golden roses.
The twins looked nearly identical.
Broad shoulders.
Powerful physiques.
Thick red beards.
Cold blue eyes.
Mace cleared his throat awkwardly.
"We've received letters from every king and every faction."
"But the message from the Storm requires special caution."
House Tyrell's position was complicated.
They had little love for Stannis Baratheon, whose wife's family—the Florents—had long challenged Tyrell influence in the Reach.
Nor were they satisfied with the current regime in King's Landing.
Under the Lannisters, House Tyrell would never truly dominate the realm.
They had originally intended to back Renly Baratheon instead.
But the rise of the Storm had changed everything.
"He moves too aggressively," Olenna said sharply.
Mace frowned.
"He claims to command more than a hundred thousand men and even invites me hunting in the Kingswood."
"What arrogance."
Olenna rolled her eyes.
"He's threatening you, you fool."
The old woman's words immediately silenced him.
Garlan leaned forward thoughtfully.
"The Storm advances too quickly."
"He rescued the Riverlands, entered the Mander, used the northern army as bait, and then suddenly broke through the Bloody Gate from an entirely unexpected direction."
"If the Vale had remained closed, the lions and the North would still be locked in war."
Willas nodded slowly.
"And now he's cutting off King's Landing's food supply."
"The capital already suffered riots before due to shortages."
"It will become much worse soon."
Mace sighed deeply.
"We once prepared one hundred thousand men to support Renly."
"We believed victory was guaranteed."
"We intended to crown Margaery as queen…"
He shook his head bitterly.
"Who could have expected everything to change so quickly?"
Margaery smiled gently.
"Father, perhaps it was fortunate we didn't commit ourselves too early."
"Renly's followers loved him because he looked like a king."
"But now…"
"They've found someone stronger."
Olenna snorted.
"Renly was handsome, charming, and knew how to smile for crowds."
"He thought that made him fit to rule."
"The Baratheons have always inherited ridiculous ideas from their Targaryen blood."
She waved her hand dismissively.
"The Stormlords supported him only because they hated both lions and Stannis."
Garlan spoke again.
"The Storm's battlefield record is terrifying."
"He has never lost."
"Every tactic he uses is precise—raids, ambushes, encirclements, decisive battles…"
"I fought beside him once."
"Even then, his speed, strength, and endurance were unbelievable."
"In shield combat, stamina determines victory."
"But I never imagined Jaime Lannister himself would lose so badly."
"It's said the Kingslayer barely escaped alive."
Mace shivered slightly.
"The Old Lion must be furious."
Olenna smirked.
"He should be."
"But remember this…"
"The Storm still needs us."
"If King's Landing starves, who will feed the city?"
Willas nodded.
"We should begin moving part of our army north while continuing preparations."
"What about Loras?" Mace asked suddenly.
"He's still in the Stormlands."
Olenna scoffed.
"The Storm won't punish us over one foolish boy."
"Loras is still young."
"He's good at knocking knights off horses with tourney lances, but war is different."
Then her expression became serious.
"Still, we must remain cautious."
"It's easy to climb onto a stag…"
"But difficult to climb back down."
Margaery's eyes sparkled brightly.
"I want to go north as well."
Garlan laughed softly.
"Then I'll escort you personally."
Olenna immediately frowned.
Beautiful heroes and invincible warriors were every maiden's dream.
But for Margaery, emotions could never outweigh politics.
Power required reason.
Mace rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
"Could Tywin seek aid from Lys or Volantis?"
"After all, slavery supports much of the eastern economy. The Storm's liberation policies threaten their interests."
Willas shook his head calmly.
"If they intended to intervene, they would've acted already."
"The Free Cities move slowly."
"Their magisters debate endlessly before committing to war."
"By the time they reach Westeros, the war may already be over."
"That's good," Mace muttered.
Garlan crossed his arms.
"We must also watch the Iron Islands and Dorne."
"I'll handle Dorne," Willas said.
"I can write to Prince Oberyn."
"As for the Ironborn, we'll reinforce defenses around the Shield Islands."
Olenna chuckled dryly.
"The kraken already lost two sons."
"He won't be eager to lose a third."
"And the Dornish would gladly watch the lions embarrass themselves."
At the mention of Dorne, Mace's face darkened.
The Reach and Dorne had been enemies for centuries.
Raids, border wars, and bloodshed between them stretched back generations.
Worse still, Oberyn Martell had once crippled Willas during a tourney.
Yet despite that incident, Willas and Oberyn had strangely become close correspondents over the years.
Finally, Mace straightened in his chair.
"Send messages to Randyll Tarly, Mathis Rowan, Paxter Redwyne, and House Hightower."
Olenna snorted again.
"Your father-in-law won't listen to you."
"Redwyne won't risk his fleet while his son remains hostage."
"But Rowan and Tarly?"
She smiled faintly.
"They're probably eager for war already."
Mace sighed.
"I suppose that will have to do."
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