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CHAPTER EIGHT; THE WAR OF FIVE KINGS

"I feel that this isn't the most suitable of options for you to learn swordplay, my lady."

"Me being here isn't a suitable option," Rey held a borrowed sword in front of her body, eagerly awaiting the sparring match between herself and Brienne of Tarth, a member of Renly's Kingsguard. "A noblewoman learning to fight is not exactly encouraged in Westeros, Brienne. Yet here we are. The most talented warrior in Westeros and a tiny girl in a dress with hopes to protect herself."

Brienne smiled softly. The young lady before her was small in stature but big in heart, that was clear enough to see. From the moment they met, Rey had been utterly mesmerised with the sheer strength the soldier possessed. She was incredible, as well as starkly beautiful, though the men surrounding them didn't seem to agree.

It had been almost a year since they had left King's Landing, and the time had passed ever so quickly. Renly had pledged himself as the true king, while his brother, Stannis had done the same. Robb Stark of the North was moving south to rescue his captive sisters while Baelon Greyjoy was making his own silly claims from his seat in the Iron Islands. Rey had heard plenty about what they were calling the 'War of the Five Kings', but didn't really know what to think. It were her duty as a noblewoman to know what was happening, but in truth she had hardly any interest.

"Allow yourself to step back when your opponent strikes you, and retaliate with a counter-cut at their fighting arm," Brienne gave in once more. She hadn't been particularly keen on teaching the young girl, having experienced the harsh realities of being a female fighter. "It catches them off-guard."

Rey nodded and began to apply the technique, before swinging her sword violently towards the woman, who parried every single hit with ease.

"Don't use the stabbing motion," Brienne continued, not losing her breath for a second as she defended herself. Rey was already sweating, especially since she was wearing an uncomfortably tight dress Margaery had given her. The hem was covered in mud and there was a small tear in the underskirt, but that didn't stop the young Marigot girl from trying her best to improve her skills. "They'll just step out of the way and hit you from the side."

Rey grunted as she dove forward, using all her strength to raise the sword. Brienne blocked it and used her foot to push the girl onto the ground, winding her. Rey gasped for air as she lay in the damp field, glad it wasn't where the majority of foot traffic was. She hated how the mud squelched underneath her shoes, it made her feel like she was sinking into a puddle of quicksand.

"Looks like I'll have to recruit yet another member of my Kingsguard," Renly's voice was joyous and bright as it usually was. Brienne and Rey both turned their heads to see their King approaching in all his glory. He grinned as he marched in their direction, watching as Rey jumped up and brushed herself off. "Now, I hope that you aren't giving our dear Aurelia too many bruises, Brienne."

"She's definitely improving, your grace," Brienne nodded her head, though her cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment. She wanted to kick herself; she knew she wouldn't get in trouble with Renly, but the knowledge that he had a soft spot for Rey meant that she had to be careful when teaching her. Of course she was gentle, but she knew that the younger woman didn't want anything easy. "Perhaps one day she'll replace me."

Rey snorted. "I doubt it."

Renly laughed softly and clapped his hands together, before taking a step forward. "Brienne, we ride in an hour to meet my brother to discuss terms of his surrender. Ensure Aurelia's safety before you join us."

"Can I come?" Rey inquired, her confidence having grown as the year had passed. She cared about her king deeply, but wasn't as afraid to speak her mind. He didn't care, in fact, he encouraged it. He was glad that she was growing into herself instead of the mould her mother and father wanted for her.

He smiled softly, before shaking his head. "I'm afraid not, little bee."

"Oh, please?" she leaned against her sparring sword. Her eyes had regained a little bit of their old twinkle, which made the young King sway a little. "I won't get in your way."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes lightly, before chuckling. "You are to stay with Brienne and Lady Stark. You can't say anything unless you are spoken to, alright? As much as I don't mind you mouthing off, I doubt my older brother will share the same interest. He never was one for...joy."

"So I've heard," Rey smiled in response, before looking down at her mucky clothes. "I'll get changed before I join you, though I don't think there's much more that can disgrace my family name at the moment."

Renly didn't respond, but he did however share a glance of sadness with Brienne. They hadn't received any word from Symon Marigot for months now, and it had begun to worry them all. They knew he wasn't dead; Joffrey would have boasted and sent his body back in pieces for Rey to cry over. They didn't know where he was, they were only aware of the danger he was in.

It had been Irvin's fault, in all honesty. Just after the army had arrived in the Stormlands did they hear about the eldest son's declaration; banishing Symon from the noble family. He was no longer welcome at Dewacreage due to the fact that he had remained in King's Landing, still pledged to Joffrey when the Marigots aligned themselves with Renly.

"What a wonderful attitude," Renly hummed sarcastically, watching as Rey walked towards the camp, her sparring sword trailing behind her. 

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"Ah, Lady Aurelia," the unfortunately familiar voice hit Rey as she wandered towards her tent. She was alone, but she didn't mind. She knew she wouldn't be bothered, considering how important Renly and Margaery had made her out to be. The men who served her king were far kinder than those in King's Landing. They didn't shout obscenities at her when she ran about in boys clothes with a sparring sword, nor did they blame her for her father's cowardice. She knew they thought about, but no one would dare mention it after seeing how tenderly their King and Queen cared for her. 

"Lord Baelish," she had to force herself into a professional composure. "My apologies for my appearance, I was just-"

"It's quite alright, my lady," he chuckled. The sound didn't bring her comfort; in fact, quite the opposite. She wasn't sure what it was about the thin, polished man before her that rubbed her the wrong way, she just...didn't trust him. It seemed she wasn't the only one, as she had heard Renly curse him plenty over the last few days. "I wanted to speak with you...privately."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Rey glanced over her shoulder, not seeing anyone who could stand by her. She didn't want to be alone with Lord Baelish, that much she knew. 

"I promise I don't bite, my dear," he assured her, holding his arm out for her to take. Rey chewed the inside of her cheek, before obliging and allowing him to lead her into her tent. The makeshift chambers were empty of handmaidens, and that only made her feel more ill. After discarding her sparring sword, she took a seat on the small chair by her dresser and placed her hands on her lap. 

"What did you want to speak about?" she inquired, trying to sound like a grown-up. She was sixteen now, and more than capable of handling other lords and ladies; that was, after all, what she had been raised to do. The only problem was that she'd spent the last year with a group who didn't force such formal ideals on her. "My lord?"

Lord Baelish hummed softly and took his time in looking around the tent. He ran his hands across the dresses in her cupboard, the silks on her bed and the family crests on her unworn jewellery. "I'm glad to see you are being treated well."

"I am very happy here. Have you any news from my father?" Rey tried to disregard what he last said, instead shifting the subject from small talk to a possible important topic. 

Lord Baelish smiled. It set her on edge. "Ah, Symon Marigot. I have not heard much from him recently, I must confess. He is not the favourite of King Joffrey's council. Not since he sent you away in the hands of the traitor, Renly."

"Don't speak of Renly in that way," Rey's tone hardened slightly. Baelish raised a curved eyebrow, not having heard the little bee like this in his time knowing her. "Will my father be able to return to Dewacreage soon?"

"That is what I wanted to speak with you about," Baelish took a step towards her. Rey tried not to react. "I wanted to propose an idea."

Rey stared at him. "Go on."

Lord Baelish lowered his voice, as if someone else was listening. "A letter. If you wrote one to your brother, urging him to act on the withholding of your father, the road to freedom would be far smoother. Is it not what you want, for your family to be united once more?"

Rey pursed her lips. They were chapped from being outside so long. She did think, however. She thought about how perhaps that would get her father out of King's Landing quicker, and how she didn't have to spend days and nights worrying about whether or not he'd be imprisoned or killed. She tried to study Lord Baelish's figure and face, but she had never been very good at that. All she knew was that she had been told not to trust him. "What is in this for you, Lord Baelish?"

Baelish didn't hesitate for a moment. "Nothing but the assurance that the noble House Marigot is safe in this time of war."

Rey went to respond, but before she could, Elise stepped into the tent with freshly washed undergarments in a basket. The handmaiden, who was fiercely protective over her lady, stared at Baelish with daggers. "Pardon me, m'lord, but Lady Aurelia must get ready for the ride to meet Stannis Baratheon."

Lord Baelish's jaw clenched, but he didn't act out in the slightest. Instead, he bowed his head in Rey's direction. "I shall speak with you soon, my lady."

Then, he promptly left. 

Elise placed the basket on the bed, and went to secure the entrance to the tent. "What did that nasty man want?"

Rey thought for a moment, and then forced a smile. 

"Nothing important."

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