The Last Stag • Game of Thrones

5.

Chapter Five.
House Baratheon

One thing that Renfri had not entirely thought out was that they would be sleeping in tents in the woods. 

And while Renfri had always enjoyed camping, the Reach was known for its sticky, humid climate that burgeoned in the ends of summer. The first few nights had been just fine, but now, between the blistering humidity and the sweltering body heat that radiated off of Goji in waves, Renfri found herself longing for the drafty winds of her chambers at the Red Keep. 

Renfri flung the duvet off of herself, unsticking her sweat-soaked hair from the cotton sheets. She startled upon seeing Margaery Tyrell staring at her.

"Gods be damned." Renfri gasped in surprise, her hand flying to Goji's soft fur. The bear looked up, black eyes wide. "How long have you been standing there?"

Margaery laughed, moving further into the tent and coming to a stop at the end of Renfri's bed. 

"I apologize, dear niece, I did not mean to startle you. We ride east for Storm's End today, your uncle sent me to see that you were up and ready."

Renfri slid out of the bed, kicking off her night shift, leaving her naked in the sweltering humidity. Margaery did not avert her eyes, instead staring Ren directly in the face.

"We're already halfway to Summerhall." Ren pulled on her undergarments, ignoring the disgusting sensation of her sweaty skin meeting hot leather. "No more than a weeks ride from Storm's End. Obviously we're not in too much of a hurry, if Renly took the sweet time to have a marriage ceremony and an official coronation."

"Both were necessary." Margaery drifted her hands over the posts of Ren's bed. "It is important for a King to show his face to his subjects. And our marriage solidified his alliance with the Reach. With more and more pretenders claiming the throne, alliances are more important than ever."

"Stannis is a fool. He's got half the men that Renly has and twice the age." Ren shrugged on her padded shirt, ignoring the stench of unwashed leather. "He's been married to the Florent woman longer than I've been alive, they've got no sons, and he's faded into obscurity at Dragonstone."

"You have strong opinions." Margaery mused. "Tell me, niece, what do you think of the Young Wolf?"

"I'm not your niece." Ren pointed out as she tied the strings of her riding cape. "But Robb's got a more solid claim than any other King in this damned war. He's not fighting for the Iron Throne, he's fighting for justice for his father and independence from the Seven Kingdoms. The North has been an independent party before, I don't see why it can't be one again."

"So you admire him." Margaery stated, her eyes filled with mischief. "Your uncle's enemy, you admire him."

"I respect his cause." Ren pointed out. "You haven't met the Starks, but I have. They're Northmen through and through, and they shouldn't be obligated to fight in the war of southerners."

Margaery, satisfied with this answer, dropped her hand from the bed post and turned towards the exit of the tent. 

"Have a pleasant ride, niece." 

"I'm not your-" Ren turned, brow furrowed in frustration, but Margaery was already gone. 

Ren groaned, turning and settling back down on the bed. Goji whined, dropping his heavy head into her lap.

"My, my, Goji Berry," Ren sighed, scratching his ears. "What have we done?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

"So you have no desire?" Renly look at his niece, whose head was lulled back in annoyance. "Whatsoever?"

"I have told you, uncle," His niece sighed. "Many times now."

"It's just...odd." Renly frowned. The duo rode at a casual pace at the front of the large party, Margaery and Loras immediately behind them. He tried not to think about the large bear that trotted between himself and his niece, a rapidly growing beast that his niece had the strangest attachment to. "I mean, I have a hundred thousand men, Renny. The Iron Throne will be mine. And you just want-"

"I just want to be with my siblings. And Goji. Not married to some snot-nose Lord who uses me as a broodmare for his heirs." Ren gave Renly a pointed look. "And not an heir to the Iron Throne."

"It's a very generous offer." Loras chimed in behind them. "I mean, until a son is born to Renly and Margaery, you'd be the second most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Queen Renfri of House Baratheon, First of Her Name, Lady of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Margaery mused, resulting in a pointed look from Renly. "Only in the event of a tragedy, of course."

"I'd make an awful queen." Renfri rolled her eyes. "I have no desire to partake in the game of thrones. I'm here to strengthen my uncle's claim and keep a Baratheon on the throne, as my father would have wanted. That's it."

"And by refusing to be my successor or marry one of my vassals, you're no more than a centerpiece." Renly groaned. "And by bearing children with Baratheon blood, you carry on your fathers line."

"Not if they bear the last name Musgood or Dondarrion or Connington." Renfri argued back. Renly turned to his niece, but was surprised to see her staring at him with a narrowed gaze. "Do not speak to me of my father's line if you cannot even remember his wishes clearly."

"Lady of Storm's End, then." Renly looked to his niece. "At least accept that title."

"Maybe." Renfri snapped back. "Only if I don't have to marry a damned Estermont."

Renly was not quite sure just how his niece had gotten so argumentative. She was raised in a castle, as a Princess, but did not possess the good graces of other noble ladies. While she may have had the face of a Princess, she sure as hells did not have the attitude of one. 

It was her fathers influence, Renly was sure. Robert had always supported Renfri's ridiculous notions of leisure and a life without marriage. Renly loved his niece, but in his eyes, she was no more than a spoiled brat who needed to be harshly shown just exactly how the world really worked.

The fact of the matter was, Renly needed Renfri. He needed her claim, her fathers' bloodline. Renly himself was making slow work of conceiving an heir by Margaery, but if he could get Renfri to bear sons, his claim would be stronger than ever. Her children could solidify his claim, so long as he kept her backing. 

But Renly was kind. He would find her a young Lord, one with many vassals and a large hold. Theon Greyjoy, perhaps, and he could acquire the support of the Iron Islands. Or Robb Stark, and they could again unite the North and South. 

She will be married before her eighteenth nameday, Renly decided. 

They rode on in silence, Storm's End looming in the distance.