What if Renley Baratheon Survived? Let’s explore the depths of it in the video.

If this video gets 3,000 likes, we’ll make part 2!

Brienne of Tarth lunges forward, not at the shade, but at Renly Baratheon. She throws him to the ground as the shadowy figure lunges. The blade misses the king and grazes her side. The shadowy sword shears through her armor and slashes across her side.

The sound attracts Robar Royce and Emmon Cuy who rush forward with their swords drawn. The shadow snarls and rushes at them, its dark blade whirling as it forces the two knights back. Their blades flash and let out an ear-splitting shriek as it connect with the shadow. And then, the shadow slices through their steel as if it were butter.

Brienne gets to her feet and rushes into the fight. She stabs her sword directly at its back, but the blade strikes at nothing as the shadow turns into mist and reforms to face her.

When Brienne faces it down, her eyes widen as she sees the face of Stannis Baratheon. She can only stare for a moment as Emmon Cuy jabs a torch into its head. This time, the shadow recoils as it comes into contact with the light.

Seeing their success, Robar Royce rips a brazier from the corner of the room and hurls its contents at the shadow. This time, the sound is deafening as the shadow shrieks in agony. The others cover their ears and drop their weapons, but the shadow slowly dissipates, leaving them alone once more.

As the air calms down and the darkness seems to leave the room, Renly dusts himself off the ground and tries to smile at them.

Renly: Well done, it seems I chose my Rainbow Guard well. Ser Emmon, that was clever thinking with the fire, and Ser Robar, I saw you struck the final blow. But Lady Brienne…I owe you the greatest thanks. If you had not been so quick, I doubt I would be standing here now.

Brienne: Y-your grace. I live only to serve you. But you must know, that creature bore the face of your brother.

Renly: Indeed, I am thankful, but Lady Catelyn, surely you must see now what kind of man my brother is. If you think you would do well with him, I suggest you reconsider. Ask yourself, what would happen if your son were ever to displease Stannis?

Catelyn: I see the wisdom in your words…very well. My son will join his strength with yours.

The next morning, Cately and her small train of delegates stand atop a nearby hill, overlooking the plains below Storm’s End.

Stannis and his meager host hurry to erect defenses, raising earthworks and digging trenches. But it is hard to see how he can manage a win as Renly assembles his host, nearly four times as large and all cavalry.

At the head of this army is Ser Loras Tyrell, raising the king's banner as he prepares a charge with nearly four thousand men. Once the army finishes assembling and last-minute terms are declined, a horn is blown, signaling the charge.

The Tyrell rose banner snaps above his head as the knights of the Reach and Stormlands drop their lances, letting the light wink across their armor as they rush into the Dragonstone forces.

Archers and crossbowmen stand on a nearby hill and loose their arrows at the charging knights as others lower pikes behind their trenches and the few cavalry Stannis has prepares to attack.

But though not impressive at first, the defenses are more formidable than they seem as the trenches bog down knights, slowing their charge enough to allow pikemen to hold. Meanwhile, from the hill, the archers stop firing and begin rolling down logs to crash into the galloping cavalry, sowing chaos in their ranks.

Some manage to leap over them, but others are crushed or tripped up. Even those who aren’t hit are forced to break formation. Loras presses on, shouting for those around him to continue fighting, but the charge is now slowed to a trot that struggles to break the defenses of the enemy camp.

Stannis’ soldiers, grim-faced and disciplined, rise from their barricades, thrusting spears and pulling knights from their saddles. Horses rear and scream and the once-glorious charge slows into a brutal slog.

Loras finds himself unhorsed, scrambling in the mud as enemy footmen close in around him. He fights like a demon, trying to remount and hold off the attackers around him. Even from across the plains, Renly sees this and signals the rest of his army.

Thousands of cavalrymen spilled across the field like a great green wave. At their head rides Randyll Tarly, his sword drawn, shouting commands with the cold precision of a veteran. To his flank rides Rolland Storm, the Bastard of Nightsong, roaring like a lion as he drives his horse straight into the thick of the fray.

By now the battle turns into a melee and here men like Randyll and Rolland excel. Instead of the tourney knights and inexperienced youths that Loras fights with, these men are professional soldiers, dismounting and wadding through the chaos. There is no honor or chivalry in their fighting
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