Brandon's Demands

Kingslanding

"The North to be taken away from the Seven Kingdoms, after which we shall live as we once had lived, as Kings in the North – from this day for the rest of our days. Meet this demand and I will call off my men," Tywin readout.

Rhaegar looked down from the city's battlements into the dark forest in front of them. They were awaiting Brandon's arrival, and judging by the sounds of shouts and chants that neared them – they were close. He held on the rampart, his hands growing sweaty and heart beating fast.

It suddenly dawned on him, watching as the archer's readied their crossbows, some with a bow and arrows strapped to their backs, that he held the weight of many Houses on his shoulders. Brandon hadn't laid siege to many castles, there wasn't any to take a hold of that were important, but there would need to be some grovelling done in the form of gold and titles, this Rhaegar knew.

What if I don't win? He repeated in his head, his helm making him feel as if the world was closing in on him. He had many people to answer to if he made it out alive, many people he did not want to answer.

His mind began to race. What would happen should anyone find out of his killing his father? He was not a murderer and wished to dispose of him after the war. He wanted to bring him from the Throne slowly. He was a Kinslayer, something taught to every child as being a vile act. And here he stood, his father's blood on his hands–

Rhaegar couldn't take it anymore, he lifted his helm and bent over the ramp to retch what little dinner he had eaten a few hours ago.

"Ignore it," Tywin said, unsure why the young King was feeling so sickly. Sure, he was never one to fight or lust for war but there was no reason to worry. "They will not make it past these gates, they will not last a moon waiting for them to open either."

Rhaegar squinted his eyes, looking down at the men who had run out in front of the trees. Their dark clothing making their numbers hard to count, but it had to be below five thousand. Some marched, ladders on top of their heads as they slowly made their way to the gate. What was Brandon up to? Their party had been spotted making its way to Kingslanding, this couldn't be it. There were thousands of them. "If it is a butchering, he wants I can give it to him." He pushed past Tywin and those who had surrounded him to watch those below them fight. He was their King for god's sake, what was cowering on the walls going to do for him.

"Your grace," Tywin called after him.

Rhaegar ignored him, jumping from the steps and onto the sandy muddy floors of Kingslanding. He struggled passed those awaiting by the gates quietly and tapped who he knew was Julian on the back. The Tyrell, in his golden armour, turned and was surprised to see his friend, who wore his signature black armour, behind him.

"What are you doing!?"

Julian turned back around, the cries of the Northern rebels had come right at their doorsteps, with hammers and swords hacking into the gates and the thuds of ladders being lifted.

...

Arianne could not bear the stress and worry anymore. She stood from the prayer circle that had she had formed, breaking away from Alyse's hands, and went to sit by a secluded area of the cellar room.

It was quiet, so very quiet for hours and she had taken up to pacing the room as a way to manage her nerves. Without Nymella nor Penelope there, she had no one to lean-to, other than Olenna, who seemed to drown herself in wine.

There was two Kingsguard in the room, Ser Barristan and Ser Darry, who looked as bored as children in a Sept. Arianne had spoken to them both for some time to try and forget about the fact that Rhaegar was outside, meaning to fight Brandon.

What if Brandon is sacking the city and he finds us?

What if Rhaegar has died?

What if Brandon has managed to get over the gates.

"Your grace," it was Olenna. She called her from the pillows she was sitting on. "Come sit, you are tiring your babe." Arianne went to sit down on a chair and huffed uncomfortably. "Lemon cake?"

She looked down to her thighs, she had gained a considerable amount of weight thanks to twins and now Baelor. Arianne shrugged, her last thought was not going to be whether or not she could eat a lemon cake. She took one from the tray in front of Olenna. "Thank you."

Olenna waved her arm and laughed, "the last time I offered you lemon cakes you are a scrawny little girl in a ridiculous coat. Do you ever wish you had come to ward with me?"

Arianne did sometimes wonder what would have happened had she never been introduced to Aerys. What if she had accepted Olenna's proposal? Well ... Rickard would never have let her; she'd have been back in Winterfell and with the gates closed behind her. She'd have had to make friends with Catelyn Tully now Stark. She'd have had to live without Lyanna or Ned. Would she have become a Septa? "My father would have never let me, he wanted me to stay in Winter-," she stopped, her quick words getting the best of her. Arianne blinked down, feeling her eyes water.

Olenna nodded in understanding, holding her cup out for more wine. "Yes. He took something from us all before he died. I prayed he died a brutal death when he killed my niece – but no ... the gods saw fit to take him peacefully."

If only you knew, Arianne thought to herself.

There was thumping at the door, and the two Kingsguard tasked with protecting the women and children in the cellar stood up and drew their swords.

"Name yourself!" Barristan shouted, scaring a babe, it began to cry.

"Prince Oberyn," the thick accent of Oberyn was muffled by the steel door.

Ser Barristan opened it, revealing Oberyn. His hair was matted, clothes were brown, and his face was covered in dirt and blood. Arianne stood from her seat in the corner, moving past the two knights and nodded to Oberyn.

"We have won. There was only five thousand of them, Rhaegar was expecting more, but the Northern King is playing tricks on him," Oberyn panted, looking down at Arianne.

Her purple eyes blinked up at him, "he is okay?" Oberyn nodded once, and she felt herself breathe properly for the first time that entire day.

She took Oberyn's hand. "My lady's. We are safe, thanks to our courageous warriors," she touched his cheek. He felt the blood rushing around his body grow hot at her touch and wanted to kiss her – but knew not to be so outright around others. The women behind her sighed and exclaimed in joy. Arianne moved Oberyn from the door and watched as they rushed from it. "Thank you Oberyn. For everything."

Thank you. It would have to do.

Arianne let his hand go and followed after them. They had walked into the Throne Room, where Rhaegar, who looked very similar to Oberyn, stood in the middle of. At the sight of his wife, he left his conversation with Tywin and Mace, bringing her into a tight hug and kissing her. She did not care that he smelt of sweat and blood, that his own skin rubbed off dirt onto hers, that his armour was painted red with the blood of others, she just cared that he was back right where he should be – in her arms.

...

Northern Camp

"And our loses?" Brandon asked Ned, his younger brother had come back from their attempt to break down one of the gates into the city.

"Some one thousand. The gate doesn't come down Brandon," Ned said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "They expected more of us, that or they wanted to show off how many men they had. They are good fighters but tire easily and some are very young."

"So, they have numbers, we have strength," Brandon nodded, smiling to himself. "And Rhaegar. Did he fight?"

His brother sighed, "yes. I didn't get to see him, but he was there."

Robert huffed, "I told you, you should've gone."

"No, he was right to stay," Jon Arryn said. "We can keep sending men to tire them out."

"We lost a thousand to a hundred," Ned said, shocked that Jon would even suggest such a thing. "There is no tiring them. We have to get them from the Keep."

They all looked to Brandon, expecting him to add an answer. Brandon stood from his seat, patted Ned on the back fixed his pelt coat. "I have a solution, go rest brother. It has been a long day for you I'm sure." Ned left the tent, wanting to wash and sleep, just as Brandon had suggested.

"We can send in a few hundred men, bring the gates down from inside," Hoster chimed.

"Lord Tully you are just going to have to trust I have it sorted," Brandon repeated, following his brother from the tent.

"We have been waiting for moons, your grace!" Hoster's voice followed him.

He did have it sorted. They were well hidden, having decided to send a small garrison of men in their name as a way to throw the Crown from their seats. They were a day's ride away from Kingslanding, well behind the Kingswood's and ready to take on what Brandon knew would be Rhaegar at his angriest.

...