NOTE: Everything you recognize belongs to George R. R. Martin, a simply wonderful author who is much better at writing than I am. I own nothing. I simply love his books so much I am constantly plagued by the question 'What if?' What if a character had made a different decision, and changed everything? This time, I just had to find out, and hopefully improve my writing a little too.

PROLOGUE

You have failed me, red woman.

He pulled himself onto the back of the destrier that his squire had saddled for him moments earlier. The sound of warhorns echoed through the mist, accompanied by the beat of thousands of hooves on the plain.

Charging me before the dawn? Dishonourable, Renly, even for you.

By the torchlight he observed his camp coming to life with violent frenzy, returning the call of the horns, hastily preparing frightened horses to face the advance. Squires were everywhere, searching for their masters, carrying swords and helmets and shields and spears and all manner of other things. Arming them for the battle. Shouting warnings. Soon the shouts would become screams.

She failed to see this in her flames. The Lord of Light did not grant her the foresight to see this. Stannis of the House Baratheon, the first of his name, rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm wheeled his horse around to face the assault, putting the great curtain wall of Storm's End to his back. One hand was on the reins, and the other rested on Lightbringer, the sword of heroes.
If I live through this day, Stannis thought to himself, I will burn whoever and whatever Melisandre tells me to. I will torch the Godswood at Storm's End and I will burn the Great Sept of Baelor the first day I set foot in King's Landing. I will take the red woman as my wife and she will give me as many sons as she wants, born in the light of the Lord. He thought these things, but he knew that he would never need to make good on the promises. Renly's vanguard was almost upon them, and no amount of nightfires or magic swords could change that.

Grim faced, Stannis began to issue orders to his men, but he knew it was pointless. They were trapped. He knew that the moment his men lost hope, they would break, and Ser Cortnay Penrose would sally forth from Storm's End and cut them off from the sea. The men on the ships would be safe, but for what purpose? Stannis was fully aware that the moment they saw Renly riding into battle under the Baratheon standard with twenty thousand knights at his back, the men of Dragonstone would quickly realise that Renly had a better claim to the Iron Throne after all. The very thought of it left a bitter taste in Stannis' mouth. The sheer injustice... these were the knights of the Stormlands that rode with Renly, against him.

I am their rightful lord. He is my younger brother, and I am their rightful lord. The sheer weight of the betrayal made him grind his teeth as he looked around at the meagre force that was rallying to him. Stannis Baratheon was not one for making long pre-battle speeches. He inspired no love or loyalty, as Renly was fond of mentioning. He shouted a single word, fully aware that it would probably be his last.

"CHARGE!"

And the world around him exploded with sound as House Baratheon of Dragonstone made its final stand.

He saw the enemy as he galloped furiously through the mud, a mess of colourful shields and pointed lances. It would another hour at least until dawn, so it was difficult to tell one man apart from another. But he thought it likely that Randyll Tarly would be leading Renly's van, or maybe that simpering fool Loras Tyrell. Stannis doubted that it was Renly himself. The youngest Baratheon was many things, but not stupid. If he had led the charge himself, his enemies could spread rumours that he was a kinslayer, cursed in the eyes of gods and men.

And I am going to my death now, aren't I? He thought grimly. At least they will never be able to say my resolve wavered. Perhaps I will even be remembered fondly. If I am going to die, I had better die well. Not at the hands of that damnable Knight of Flowers. I will not be part of that song.
The cavalry clashed, and its seemed there was a split second of complete silence and stillness in between the chaos, before the battle began for real. Stannis didn't even need to look to know that his force was already broken, his men dropping like flies - a combination of the surprise and the wavering moral. He was aware of a single voice cutting through the raging din of war, a shrill shout... no, almost a scream.

"Baratheon! Dragonstone! DRAGONSTONE! SEAWORTH!"

With a jolt, Stannis realised the voice belonged to Devan, his squire. Davos' boy... in the battle with him. The boy is too young. The son of one of my most trusted advisers and I have brought him to his death. He saved the lives of everyone in Storm's End, I repaid him by cutting off his fingers. He accepted the punishment and served me loyally ever since. I repaid him by dragging his eleven year old son into a suicidal charge.

Stannis wanted to yell, to tell the boy to go, tell him to run, but it was too late. He could feel the weight of the enemies closing in around them as he stabbed a knight bearing the fox and flowers of Florent through the neck. His fourth kill of the day, and not the last. The next was a green apple Fossoway, then a man sworn to the Hightowers of Oldtown. He wounded a man bearing... was it the Tarly huntsman or the Darry plowman? Renly didn't have support from the river lords, did he? It must have been Tarly. Finally, a man with the turtle of Estermont, green on green. That could have been my cousin, he thought impassively as his manic charge continued. That would make me a kinslayer, as Renly now is. He ordered this massacre, whether he took part or not. He could have just come to me. We could have had peace, and seized the Iron Throne together in my name. And where is the damned red woman?

And then he felt the world turn upside down and he knew he was defeated. Lightbringer tumbled from his hand, spiralling through the air and landing in the dirt. His horse was suddenly above him, neighing with frenzied panic. Stannis looked up to see who his killer would be. It wasn't Loras, he was thankful for that much, but the man seemed to be one of Renly's personal guard. He bore the arms of House Baratheon, a crowned stag, black on yellow. That is my sigil. Stannis tried to vocalise this thought but couldn't. He realised it was because there was a sword in his chest. You are my guard, he thought, but knew it wasn't true. There was no pain, just coldness sweeping over his body. He hoped Shireen would be okay.

You win, Renly, Stannis Baratheon thought as he died. The Iron Throne is yours. Enjoy it while you can... For yours are the knights of summer, and winter is coming.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just a few things. Firstly, hello everyone! Thank you kindly for taking the time to start reading my story. I hope you enjoyed our little prologue, I really hope it leaves you wanting more. For you shall have it! My aim is to release a chapter per week, hopefully each of them will be two or three times longer than this prologue. Of course, due to other constraints on my time I may not be able to keep this up. However, I will NOT let this story die, I intend to finish it no matter how long it takes... so please bear with me!
I am writing in the universe of the books, but I will be drawing little inspirations here and there from the HBO series, particularly about Loras and Renly's , a note to George R. R. Martin, in case he should read this... I am very sorry. I know you don't regard fanfiction very highly. If you ask me to take this down, I will do so immediately.
Last thing... I am mainly doing this to improve my writing, as I have a view to becoming a professional author one day. Reviews with criticism would be HUGELY appreciated, PARTICULARLY if you feel like one of George R. R. Martin's characters is acting... out of character. BUT, do please remember that I am British... so, I am using British English spellings.

Once again, huge thanks for reading!
Apple15, January 2013