"He fought his way out of battle."
"Any sword, only after being tested, will its effectiveness be known.
I don't think the Screaming Warriors can compare to our heavily armored warriors right now," Tywin said after some thought.
"But Ser Gregor reminds us that we must think twice."
"Oh, and," Tywin reminded Kevan.
"That Child is not a Baratheon; he is just a Bastard, a usurper."
... In the Stormlands, if one crosses the rain-soaked fields and rocky, rugged hills, one can see the massive Storms End standing against the sky, completely obscuring the vast ocean behind it.
Beneath those pale grey colossal stones, Renly Baratheon's army looked so small and helpless, like mice carrying banners, their encampment outside Storms End.
Renly's war banner flew at the highest point, a golden field embroidered with House Baratheon's black crowned stag, tall, leaping, and proud.
Storms End originally belonged to House Durrendon; House Baratheon inherited the bloodline, sigil, and seat of the Storm King through the female line.
Songs tell that Storms End was built by Durran, the first Storm King of ancient times, who won the love of the beautiful Ynys, a Child of the sea god and the goddess of wind.
Renly's hastily recruited troops were stationed outside Storms End, and Renly gazed up at the colossal city before him.
Mighty gales still constantly blew from the Narrow Sea.
Storms End endured storms day after day, decades and centuries passing in an instant, yet the castle remained unshaken.
"I hope my cause is as firm as Storms End," Renly prayed.
Renly wore a green velvet coat, with the Baratheon emblem embroidered on his chest in golden thread.
Storms End was a famous stronghold in the Seven Kingdoms.
Storms End's mighty outer wall was a hundred feet high, with no arrow slits or secret doors, its massive stones intricately fitted, everywhere rounded and seamless, smooth and curved, impervious to wind and rain.
The narrowest part of the outer wall was said to be forty feet thick, while the side facing the sea was nearly eighty feet, the wall consisting of two layers of massive stones sandwiching gravel and rubble.
Within Storms End's mighty walls, neither the kitchens, stables, nor courtyards were affected in the slightest by storms or waves.
As for towers, this city had only one unique one, a colossal bell tower.
Its seaward side had no windows, and the entire tower contained Storms End's granaries, barracks, banquet halls, and noble residences, astonishing in its sheer size.
Thick battlements encircled its top, looking from afar like countless fingers spread out from a colossal arm reaching for the sky.
"My Lord, I am very sorry," Ser Loras said apologetically, having received the letter from The Reach.
"So, The Reach will no longer send troops for me?" Renly guessed the unspoken words of Loras.
Renly's gaze swept across the banners in the camp: Caron's The Nightingale banner, Penrose's goose feather banner, and Lord Estermont's sea turtle banner—a green sea turtle floating on a green ocean.
But these were far from enough; Renly needed the banners of The Reach, for the people of The Reach were numerous, and their Lords were many.
the golden rose banner of The Reach, House Florent's fox and flower banner, the two Fossoway houses' green apple and red apple banners, Lord Tarly's knight of the flowers banner, House Oakheart's oak leaf banner, House Crane's goose banner, and House Mullendore's banner depicting swarms of black and orange butterflies.
"Damn it," Renly shook his head.
If The Reach refused to send troops, the Stormlands could at most gather twenty to thirty thousand troops, and few fleets.
But Renly was, after all, Renly; his demeanor still kept him from being sad or angry.
"Ser Cortnay, have all my letter ravens been sent?" Renly asked Ser Cortnay Penrose.
Ser Cortnay was bald, with a shovel-like red beard on his weather-beaten face.
When Renly served as master of laws in King's Landing, Ser Cortnay was appointed acting castellan of Storms End.
"Yes, Lord Renly," Ser Cortnay said.
"Then these Lords..." Renly was somewhat displeased.
Were the Lords of the Stormlands also so dilatory?
"That will caused quite a bit of damage, after all, the Stormlands are also by the sea," Ser Cortnay couldn't help but say.
"Damn it," Ser Loras said angrily.
"These cowardly people."
"But that letter..." Ser Cortnay couldn't help but say.
"Since the King's son is coming back for revenge, why don't we just wait it out?"
"Hmph," Renly snorted.
"These are all fence-sitters.
You go on, Ser Cortnay, and think about Edric; that Child is a bane to his brother."
Ser Cortnay remained silent, then turned and left.
"What do we do next?" Ser Loras asked.
"I cannot wait, not until my forces are so dispersed.
I will declare myself King, then make Stannis surrender.
As long as my momentum builds, everything will get better," Renly said through gritted teeth.
"What about Gendry?"
"Don't mind him; I don't recognize that will, but it does give a good reason to deny Joffrey," Renly said.
"He is not the heir, but a usurper, an ambitious man."
"And Lord Stannis, the world knows he is your brother."
"What right did Robert have to claim the iron throne?
Indeed, people say there's a blood relation between House Baratheon and House Targaryen, a marriage centuries ago, a Bastard second son and the old King's eldest daughter... who cares about that besides the Grand Maester?
No, Robert gained the throne by his warhammer," Renly answered with certainty.
"I will strike first; as long as I win, the world will naturally know who the King is."
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