Chapter 286

He stepped out of the tent, letting the cold drizzle soak his face to invigorate himself.

Tommen is dead.

He still feels the news is too bizarre, as if he's trapped in a dream he can't wake from, yet enough time has passed that he can now be certain it's true.

Not long after Qyburn's message arrived, the knight left to hold King's Landing, Ser Adam Marbrand, sent his personal guard captain, Greg, to deliver the same word in person, and then the commander of the city watch, Humphrey Waters, sent the gold cloaks.

These men brought more details.

After the foolish Hand left, he summoned many men into the Red Keep to rebuild the Hand's Tower that Cersei had burned, hoping to restore its rightful place, but he was remiss—Adam Marbrand was certain that spies hidden among the workmen, a few of them, slipped into the Red Keep, slit the throat of the newly promoted City Watch sergeant Ser Daven, then sneaked into the king's bedchamber and killed the king in the same way.

It's infuriating that, to this day, they still haven't caught the true culprit…

Thinking of the parting hug Tommen gave him, he felt a heartache he could hardly restrain. Tommen was unlike Joffrey; he was a good boy, he did not deserve this treatment.

He admitted it took him a long time to recover from the news, yet he still had to face King's Landing, the Tyrells, and the Iron Throne after Tommen's loss.

The Tyrells in King's Landing have yet to notify him, in the name of the Iron Throne, of the king's death.

Even if he were foolish, he wouldn't be foolish this long; he's been waiting here for days.

He truly wanted to return to King's Landing at once after hearing the news, but Taytos earnestly dissuaded him. The Tyrell army still lay encamped around King's Landing, which was already theirs; a rash return would only put him at a disadvantage, achieving nothing.

He found himself caught in this dilemma.

His head ached; he truly wished for a clear-headed person at his side to help him parse the problem, for he really wanted to know what the Tyrells would consider and arrange after the king's death and Margaery's return to widowhood.

He communicated with the officers beside him about this for nearly a whole day; most of the time they were silent, and when they spoke he found it only made his head hurt more.

Damn it, the fear of the rose and lion splitting had completely overwhelmed them; occasional suggestions and decisions they uttered were hard to accept.

Ser Florent Bax suggested he abandon Storm's End and King's Landing, take the army straight back to Casterly Rock—damn, he seemed to have forgotten that the officers' and soldiers' kin, as well as other Lannister loyalists, still remained in King's Landing, and moreover his daughter was still in the Red Keep.

Fat Reginald Crakehall then suggested he strip Ser Loras of his City Watch title in the regent's name—according to him, the Tyrells would surely welcome that—and have him marry Princess Myrcella to continue the Tyrell-Lannister alliance.

However, he seemed to have forgotten that Princess Myrcella was still in Dorne.

James nearly wanted to stab the table before him with his hook‑hand. If Prince Doran knew King Tommen was dead, he would leap for joy, forgetting all his pains. He could not imagine what revenge against the Lannisters could be sweeter than arriving with Queen Myrcella's order to command the Lannisters, or what could be more damaging to the riverlands than waging war on the Tyrells in the Iron Throne's name.

Ah, damn Tyrion! He must have deliberately sent Myrcella to Dorne; perhaps he is now hiding in some corner of Dorne, smirking at him.

And his older sister, just as damned—what's wrong with her head that she insisted on burning the Hand's Tower, destroying an asset that rightly belonged to her son, just to vent her impotent rage or her hatred of Tyrion?

It was he who let Tyrion go, damn it.

And Mace Tyrell—he deserves death even more; vanity will one day be the death of you.

"Good ser, I've heard that Princess Myrcella—or Queen Myrcella—has already been betrothed to Prince Doran's son," Mervyn Flowers said calmly, putting into words what James wanted to say.

"I recall Sansa Stark was likewise betrothed to King Joffrey, yet she still ended up marrying Tyrion," Fat Reginald said dismissively. "As long as we bring Myrcella back, what betrothal can't be undone? Damn, the only thing to consider is that our Flower Knight has strange tastes and appetites," he leered, pausing, "but as long as he still has that, he can always deflower a girl, right?"

He might have found it funny before, but now there is only shame and sorrow.

"Enough!" James bellowed. His voice caused the few officers present to cut off their aimless chatter, "I don't need to hear this pointless drivel!"

"Your Grace, what do you intend to do?" After a long silence, Mervyn asked.

"King's Landing still has Adam and Humphrey; if Adam controls the gold cloaks and the Red Keep guards, he will have the power to resist the Tyrells,"—provided the Tyrells are cowardly enough not to attack the weak gold cloaks, miserly enough not to spend money buying off Humphrey's bastard and other greedy gold cloaks. —"Either way, as long as Princess Myrcella lives, they ought not to desert the Iron Throne." Even though the rose‑lion alliance has utterly collapsed.

"Your Grace, I must say, this is optimistic… or perhaps self‑deluding speculation," Ser Merlon Crakehall sighed, "Perhaps the Tyrells are already sitting on the Iron Throne."

"Maybe, maybe," he spat, pounding the table, "I've heard too many 'maybes' today; if we keep weighing every maybe, we'll never leave this place, even if we stayed a lifetime."

He felt his whole life had been a struggle against "maybe." Maybe he could be a good son, maybe a good brother, maybe a good knight, maybe a good City Watchman, maybe he could earn others' respect…

"If Myrcella is being held in Dorne, we need to marshal the stormlands' power to press on Dorne, and there is no better place than Storm's End."

"You?"

"Damn it, if the Tyrells hold King's Landing, we also need a foothold." James glared at the table, "I won't leave without taking Storm's End." He saw the bewildered looks on the officers beside him.

"Princess Myrcella wasn't placed by Prince Doran,"—if her true backers fear Doran's retaliation, they'd best send her back—"if they had sense, sending her to Doran might be worthwhile." "Storm's End is far from the sea; if the princess wishes to return, it's the place they ought to pass through." He tapped the map with his hook, "Damn it, I'll wait here for her and counter those traitors!"

He wanted to try his last argument to convince his officers; if that failed, he could only resort to brute force.

He also had only a little resolve left for brute force.

Tywin once commanded him to block and annihilate Robb, yet he lost repeatedly, was horribly captured, leaving the duke worried; King Tommen ordered him to march to the Riverlands to retake Riverrun, but he suffered a worse defeat, escaping only with his life, leaving the young king full of doubts.

Now his son has entrusted him with retaking Storm's End; his resolve is set, and he no longer wishes to disappoint his kin.

"Your Grace, I agree this time," Taytos said firmly.

James looked at him doubtfully, and all the officers likewise turned their gaze to Taytos.

"Your Grace, if you wish to reconcile Tyrell and Lannister…" Taytos sighed, "King Tommen is dead, Queen Margaery is once again a widow. She needs a new husband, and the West also needs a… new duchess. To seal this deal, Your Grace, the Tyrell duke has battered Storm's End time and again—you had best first prove your martial prowess and take this castle."

"Is the Regent not worthy of a widow? Damn it, she's still a fourth‑hand widow."

"No matter how many‑handed a widow, she still wants a husband with two hands," he said, leaning forward. "There aren't many soldiers in Storm's End; I think we have ample chance to show that your right hand is just as strong. Of course, Storm's End can also spare us from rain and sun."

"Ah, it also means my hastily built siege engines won't go to waste," Mervyn spread his hands.