Hers Is The Fury

Dream... Or Nightmare Come True

[The Kingswood]

Robert, Lancel, Renly, and Selmy walked through the forest. Robert in front, holding a spear, Lancel just behind him, holding wine, Renly behind Lancel, also holding a spear, and Selmy behind Renly.

Lancel Lannister approached Robert. "More wine, your Grace?" They all stopped walking as Robert took the wineskin from Lancel, taking a chug. He gave it back and they resumed walking, Lancel stepping back to be between Renly and Selmy.

"Now, what was I saying?"

"A simpler time." Renly reminded.

"It was. It was. You're too young to remember. Wasn't it simpler, Selmy?"

"It was, your Grace."

"The enemy was right in the open, vicious as you like, all but sending you a bloody invitation. Nothing like today."

"It sounds exhilarating." Renly said.

"Exhilarating, yes. Not as exhilarating as those balls and masquerades you like to throw." He teased his younger brother, letting out a hearty laugh as Renly swallowed his irritation. They continued to walk deeper in the woods. "You evrr fսck a Riverlands girl?"

"Once. I think." Renly replied.

"You think? I think you'd remember. Back in our day, you weren't a real man until you'd fսckеd one girl from each of the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands. We used to call it "making the eight."

Ser Selmy moved up to be in front of Lancel.

"Those were some lucky girls."

"You ever make the eight, Barristan?"

"I don't believe so, your Grace."

"Those were the days." Robert reminisced.

"Which days, exactly?" Renly stopped walking and Robert turned to him. "The ones where half of Westeros fought the other half and millions died?" The rest of the party stopped as well. "Or before that, when the Mad King slaughtered women and babies because the voices in his head told him they deserved it? Or way before that, when dragons burned whole cities to the ground?!"

"Easy, boy. You might be my brother, but you're speaking to the King."

"I suppose it was all rather heroic... If you were drunk enough and had some poor Riverlands whοre to shove your prick inside and make the eight." He slapped his spear to his other hand and walking off in anger, Robert looking after him.

Lancel walked up to Robert. "More wine, your Grace?"

Robert grabs the wine and took a long swig from it. He shoved it at Lancel's chest and walked away. Lancel looked back at Selmy before following after Robert. Selmy looked on at Lancel as he resumed walking.

[Red Keep - Throne Room]

Ned Stark was seated on the Iron Chair, with grand maester Pycelle seated on a chair to his left and Petyr Baelish to his right, sitting on a chair with a feather and papers on his lap.

He was currently listening to the report of a farmer.

"They burned most everything in the Riverlands. Our fields, our granaries." Some farmers behind him look down, sullenly. "Our homes. They took our women, then they took 'em again. When they was done, they butchered them as if they was animals. They covered our children in pitch, and lit them on fire " His voice croaked as he tries not to cry.

"Brigands, most likely." Pycelle suggested.

"They weren't thieves. They didn't steal nothing." One of the other farmers shook his head. "They even left something behind, your Grace."