Chapter 192

Renly Baratheon.

Outside King's Landing.

"What do you mean, don't attack?!" Renly's fury knew no bounds, but Lord Rowan, speaking as it were for a number of noble lords behind him, didn't so much as flinch.

"The Lannisters almost certainly still have wildfire, and they'll use it again if we storm the walls a second time. Far wiser to let starvation do our work for us. The people will open the gates themselves eventually."

"The Dothraki are running wild across my own lands, burning, looting, dragging my own people off into slavery. If I can't even protect my own home, how long before my lords start murmuring that Viserys is their true king instead?" The muttering in his own ranks had already started, and it set his nerves on edge. "No. We need this city in our hands, and quickly."

"Your Grace, we've fought this war for more than two years now. The Lannisters are exhausted, cut off entirely from the west. They've nowhere left to draw supplies from. Give it a few more weeks, and we'll have the city without losing more good men in a fool's errand, and we'll keep our strength in reserve for the Essos savages after."

"...Three weeks. No more than that." There was real wisdom buried in his advisor's words, and Renly would be a fool to ignore it.

"That's all I ask of you."

...

A week had passed since the first assault, and everything had settled into a tense, waiting stillness. No more mass attacks, and the defenders had made no further use of wildfire either. The Lannisters tried to seal King's Landing off entirely, keep any word of what was happening inside from leaking out, but could a mere couple thousand men truly manage that, in a city of half a million? No. Reports came daily, and in remarkable detail, detailed enough that they left Renly deeply unsettled.

Having lived through the siege of Storm's End himself, he understood the horrors a siege could bring. The diminishing of living stock in the city didn't surprise him. Riots springing up and being crushed without mercy, expected too. But cannibalism... Stannis might have been willing to stomach that for victory's sake, but Renly had always thought himself above such things. Now human flesh was being sold openly in the market square. The Lannisters hunted down the cannibals without pity, yet their numbers never seemed to shrink, if anything they grew, since hunger spares no one. Lawlessness, repression, endless executions, burnings, every manner of torture, the lions used it all to keep the city's population cowed. Unfortunately, it was working. But a people terrorized that thoroughly couldn't be kept down forever. Eventually they would rise, and when they did, victory would belong to whoever stood outside the gates.

"And what brings you here, Lord Baelish?" Renly made no effort to hide his contempt for the Master of Coin.

"A proposal beneficial to everyone involved, Your Grace." Littlefinger, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered by the king's opinion of him.

"And what exactly are you prepared to offer?" Rats abandon a sinking ship first, and the Lannisters were exactly that.

"I've learned you're under some urgency to return home. Several Stormlands lords have already voiced support for House Targaryen, and it won't be long before that... trend spreads to some of your more essential bannermen as well." That a man as slippery as this kept spies everywhere came as no surprise.

"True enough." Renly felt his own strength and saw no reason to deny it. "Once I take King's Landing, the cursed Dothraki will be next on my list."

"Savages ravaging our homeland, a terrible thing indeed. I'm glad to hear you have a plan to be rid of them." The endless flattery made Renly's jaw ache, but he bore it. "I'd like to propose accelerating those plans of yours."

"I take it you intend to help with that." A short nod answered him. "I'll be blunt with you: I don't like you. I don't like your face, I don't like the words that come dripping out of your mouth, and I have no wish to spend a moment longer in your presence than necessary. You want to keep your position... and your head. But I already know exactly what's happening inside King's Landing. Which means I don't need you at all."

"The second matters rather more to me, admittedly. I understand you don't care for me, but I didn't come here seeking your affection." Something shifted, subtly, in Littlefinger's tone. "The Lannisters aren't nearly as weak as you seem to think. You can expect either a long siege ahead of you, or the gates standing open by this very evening."

"...We'll talk once I've taken the city." Renly made it clear the conversation was over. "Don't fret, I won't be taking your head. Not immediately, at least."

"Well, that's rather disheartening to hear." Baelish was far too experienced a courtier to miss the implication. "Good luck to you in the wars ahead."

...

The Red Keep.

Petyr Baelish.

"Thanks to you, King's Landing won't fall to the usurper's assault," Cersei said, pleased with herself. "The crown won't forget your service, Lord Baelish. Neither will I."

"Think nothing of it, Your Grace." Renly hadn't been willing to bend, but other options remained. "In a dark hour like this, everyone must offer what modest part they can toward King Joffrey's victory."

If the Sword Swallower Renly wouldn't compromise, it would suit Petyr just fine if the man failed at every venture he tried afterward. Without false modesty, Petyr counted himself a genuinely wealthy man. Not on the scale of the great lords, no, but he'd long since outstripped most middling bannermen. What he'd understood long ago, though, was that gold should never be an end in itself, only a tool toward one. Baelish had always been a clever man, and when the war began, several of his quiet enterprises tucked away in discreet corners had built up sizable stores of food, very sizable indeed. He'd meant to use them after the war, come winter, when prices would climb to absurd heights. Circumstances had forced his hand instead, and he'd handed them over to the crown for free, in exchange for a few small "privileges."

Used wisely, those stores would keep the city from starving for another month at least. In time, Renly would understand exactly what the problem was, and find himself torn between finishing the siege and racing home to save what remained of his own lands. With every village the Dothraki burned, the patience of the Stormlands lords would wear thinner, and before long they'd start deserting openly.

Greater chaos would follow. And chaos, after all, is a ladder.