Ser Brynden Tully didn't break his charge. Frey guards sliced open the throats of the three, unarmed Gulltown Arryns commanding the boat. They were shocked that the Blackfish didn't yield. He put the point of his dragon-forged longsword in the closest Frey's gaping mouth. The force of it pierced through the back of his neck. He dropped to the deck, crumpling over the hostage he'd just slain.
The Blackfish engaged the next man, deflecting a cut with his sword. He pushed the guard backwards with his shield.
His men thundered up the steps. They shouted as they filled the flanks on either side of Brynden.
Suddenly, an arrow skidded off the Blackfish's shoulder. He smirked. Plate wasn't foolish after all. I'll have to thank Yohn.
He pulled back his shield and prepared for a counter from the guard he'd just shoved.
Where did. . ?
Brynden looked down to see the guardsman felled by three arrows from his fellows, the crossbowmen on the wall above.
His eyes finished adjusting to the sunlight, and Brynden could see the chaotic trap they'd run into. The Water Gate's guard had allowed them to coast through the entrance and lowered the gate behind them. The other boats cannot help use if we cannot raise the portcullis.
Another of the Freys' men engaged Brynden. He was smaller than the Blackfish and without a shield. Ser Brynden pulled his sword back and hacked at his enemy. Again. Again. The next landed on a wrist, reddening the edge of Brynden's blade. The guard surrendered ground against his battering. With one more swing, Brynden backed him over an edge, and he fell from view.
The oarsmen rowed in an open oarwhal, three feet below the rest of the deck. Brynden saw four rowers yank off the fallen guard's half-helm; they bludgeoned him with it and with their fists. Brynden looked around and understood why. Many of the oarsmen were feathered with at least one arrow and several of them lay dead or dying. Others swung their oars indiscriminately at any man above them.
The gate.
"Get to the gate!" Brynden yelled. He ran to the prow of the boat and jumped onto solid ground. The Vale knights had already moved the fight from the barge to the sandstone steps leading up to the wallwalk of the Water Gate. They held their shields above their heads and collected arrow after arrow. Pikemen stabbed down at them, thwarting their ascent.
Brynden looked about for another way. To get to the next stairway, I'd have to run up to the courtyard, then back around. There's no other way up. He glanced from the stairs that lead to the main keep of Riverrun, then to the array of dead on the ship, and then back to the fighting on the steps to the top of the gate. The image of the battle froze him for a long moment. For all that Brynden Tully had seen Riverrun twice besieged, this was the first time the fighting had occurred inside the castle. The sight of bloody corpses and writhing wounded was out of place in the Blackfish's boyhood home.
Suddenly, he remembered another route to the top of the Water Gate. "The minnows!" he shouted, inside his helm.
"The what?" the knight at his side shot back.
Without wasting time with an explanation, Brynden leapt back onto the boat. He stepped over and around the dead men on the deck boards to reach the stern. He sliced the line holding the back of the barge flush against the landing. Brynden put his boot against the stone edge and pushed off as hard as he could. With the bow of the barge still tied on, the back of the flat-bellied boat swung out. He sheathed his sword and used an oar to push off further.
The back-left corner of the riverboat bumped the wall on the opposite side.
Ser Brynden slung his shield across his back. He slipped off his gauntlets, bent over to unfasten his armored boots from his greaves, and then lifted off his helm. He stepped to the edge of the barge and reached out with his bare, right foot. His toes slid into a smooth hole in the mortar between the squared-off stones of the castle wall.
The minnows.
Brynden felt the boat begin to drift away and flung himself against the rock. He scrambled for a moment, his hands searching for purchase in the wall. He teetered back, but his left hand caught the corner of a protruding stone.
That was close. I'm like to drown in my armor if I fall.
His head uncovered and unprotected, Brynden Tully looked up at the once-familiar climb.
On hot summer days, the guards manning the wall would clear away the boats, and the children of Riverrun would clamor up the side of the Water Gate and see who dared to dive off the highest perch. For over a thousand years, the children of House Tully had maneuvered up those handholds in the stone; and for a thousand years, their mothers had told them to cease doing so. Where once there were only the corners of the stone slabs for small hands and feet to grip, the generations had worn smooth footprints between the sandstones. The scattered line of them up the wall vaguely resembled a trail of small fish, giving rise to their name.
Fitting only his fingers and toes into the holds, Brynden carefully pulled himself up. Summoning the same daring it had once taken to match a brother five years his elder at climbing, he ascended up to the wallwalk.
Ser Brynden clutched the edge of the parapet and peered over. The nearby bowmen hadn't noticed the Tully knight climbing where there was no stairway. The Blackfish threw his leg over the battlements and crept up while their backs were turned. To the first one, Brynden ran him through with the tip of his blade. The next was leaning too far over the crenels; Brynden jarred him off the ledge with strike to his shoulder. He turned to a third man winding a crossbow.
"Wait!" the bowman shouted.
The Blackfish swung at the guard's bare neck. The fine edge of his sterling sword cleaved halfway into it. He needed to kick the man in the chest to free his blade.
He looked across the archway to the stairs on the left side of the Water Gate and saw that his men were at a stalemate, held at bay by pikes and arrows. Ser Brynden's first instinct was to charge at the guardsmen assembled at the top of the stone steps, to do all he could to disrupt their spearwall.
The gate.
The Blackfish remembered his duty and ran to the nearby winch-house. It was an enclosed guardpost atop the right side of the gateway. When he ducked inside, Brynden Tully threw off his shield and fell to one knee. He struggled to catch his wind. His legs ached and his chest felt as if it might cave in.
The gate, old man.
He reached up and grabbed one of the hand-spokes of the round winch. Brynden hung from the hold and used his weight to turn it. The winch still smelled of rust and the boiled-down pig fat used to keep its joints from binding. The chain rattled as it began to wind around the spool. The Freys should have known this castle well enough to protect the bloody winch-house. Hand over hand, he turned the spool. Without a second man to help him hoist the portcullis, he had to heave for every inch. When finally it rattled against the top of its housing within the Water Gate, Brynden secured the huge spindle with the latch, then drew his dagger and jammed it through the chain-links on the underside of the winch.
Picking up his shield and sword, he waited several, invaluable minutes for his strength to return. When Ser Brynden stepped out of the guardhouse, he found that the fight was over and the Water Gate was theirs. Although, the price of taking it was heavy.
All of the other men from his boat were dead, down to the last knight and oarsman. With a rough count of the dead guards, each of his knights must have killed one or more Frey men-at-arms, archers, or pikes.
But, I raised the gate, and the other ships made it to the archway. The knights from the second ship had finished the brave work of the first.
With Brynden's boat still blocking the waterway, the Valemen from the barges behind it had climbed onto the second boat then onto the first, stepping over dead bodies to reach the landing.
This battle is far from over. They still look to you to lead them.
The Blackfish yelled down to the first twenty, unbloodied soldiers, "Protect the gate until the men of third boat are through, then you are to lower it. See that no Freys enter from outside the castle. You ten, watch the wallwalk from that direction and the stairs. The other ten of you, the other direction and the winch."
From atop the gateway, the weathered and weary knight directed the men from Ironoaks and Ninestars into columns.
Where is the rest of the castle's garrison?
Fearing a trap, but hoping for Frey incompetence, Brynden gave each soldiery its orders before any squad made for Riverrun's main keep and courtyard. He apportioned thirty men to take the stables, "See that no Frey mounts a horse."
"Seal off the barracks," Tully commanded to the next twenty soldiers. "See that any off-duty guards do not leave the tower." He told them where they would be going by gesturing with his outstretched arm and his sword. But, the Blackfish had to retract those orders. I don't know if Emmon Frey chose the same tower for his men. Might just as well be the servants' tower, or the guest housing.
The main keep, however, would not be used for anything but for what it was intended.
Brynden waited for the rest of his men to disembark. To start, we had three hundred soldiers in five ships, he tallied. But now we've sixty dead from the capturing of this gate. He split the knights and men-at-arms available to him, "One half will follow me to the keep, the other is to circle around the opposite side. Take cover and await the sound of fighting from my side before forming up to break down the rear doors."
The men hesitated and stared at the Blackfish as he marched down the steps. They look to you, old man. You proved your metal first on the Stepstones as a foolhardy lad of nine-and-ten, eager for glory against Maelys Blackfyre and the Ninepenny Kings. Just shy of your sixtieth nameday, this is no more than another battle and another chance to earn some scars and the respect of these mere boys.
It was not until he was halfway down the stairway that Brynden Tully realized why the Valemen were staring so oddly.
"Seven hells!" he shouted, more to himself than anyone else. You're barefoot you ol' fool. "You there, fetch me my boots from the stern of the lead boat! My gauntlets and helm, as well. On the hop!"
The keep was shut tight, but at least on Brynden's side, no one within fired any arrows.
A voice called down, "I am Lord Emmon Frey! What do you want?"
What do we want? Who is this craven?
Ser Brynden looked up and spotted the man waving out a high window. He lifted the visor of his helm and shouted, "My lord! We cannot hear you! Open your doors and I shall discuss the matter!"
"Only you may enter," Lord Emmon Frey returned. "What assurances do you make that your men will not charge the doors?"
The Blackfish yelled back, "On my honor as a knight, we are not here to pillage! I swear it by the old gods and the new!"
He turned to the men around him and quietly instructed, "Be ready to charge the doors."
"But, ser."
"Ready yourself," he growled. "Have I named myself an envoy of peace and waived a rainbow flag? Did I even lie?! The Freys exhausted any goodwill of mine at my nephew's wedding."
They waited for the doors to open.
A squire rode to Ser Brynden, leading a second horse. "Ser, we took the stables. Only some grooms and stableboys was there. They yielded and they's now locked in a loft."
"No one else?" he asked. "Anywhere?"
"No, Ser Brynden. Not that I's seen."
Did that fool pull all his men into the keep at the first sign of battle?
He climbed up on the second horse and looked back at the keep. "It seems someone thought better of welcoming me inside."
Brynden turned to the men around him. "Back away from the keep and take cover from arrow fire," he commanded. "If they open the doors, all men are hereby ordered to attack. If they remain barred, do not move until I return."
The Blackfish rode to the stables and ordered some of the men to follow him to the armory. It was empty of any guards. Swords, helms, and other bits of steel and wood lay hastily strewn about on the floor. Ser Brynden stepped over a shield and found the kettle-ram leaning against a dusty corner. The waves of rust-stain colored the black battering ram.
Has this kludge of cast iron moved in my lifetime?
He told his men to drag it back to the main keep.
Once he rejoined his soldiers waiting outside the keep, one of them explained, "They have yet to move, or to do anything at all."
The Blackfish ordered six men on the ram and two rows of eight to guard them. "Raise your shields over your heads and interlock them!"
The first crash of the ram woke the castle. Arrows began to fall. The shields held and the barred doors rocked looser with every contact.
Between two of the blows, Brynden heard a shrill voice echo down, ". . . protect me! Do your duty!"
One of the soldiers at the doors called to the Blackfish, "Nearly breached!"
From his safe vantage point, Ser Brynden Tully saw the doors smash open in a flurry of wood chips and iron studs. Inside, a line of swords and spears looked to be trembling. The six flung the ram at the guardsmen in the same motion they'd used to batter their way in. Their sixteen shield-bearers stepped together and, in unison, pushed through.
Smoother than any levy has a right to be on its first day in this buggering war.
The Blackfish raised his sword and kicked his heels into his mount's sides. He yelled a wordless shout and the men followed his charge. His horse trampled a path through the melee in Riverrun's main feasting hall.
The Frey guards who survived both the men's shield charge and then the wave of steel trailing Brynden, had little interest in fighting to the last. One man, backed against tan colored stone, dropped his blade and pleaded for mercy. Others soon followed his example. Three yielded too slowly and found swords in their bellies. The men-at-arms who'd killed them looked up at Brynden. You won't hear me chastise you for a dead Frey.
Brynden swung off his horse, landing harshly on a tender ankle. He picked out one of the surrendered guards and peered into the man's dung-brown eyes. "You! Where are Emmon and the rest of the Freys?"
"Upstairs, m'lord."
"Show me."
The Blackfish aligned his men into rows, and the rows into a column. He knew that fighting their way up flights of stairs was a dangerous gambit.
Moments after ordering their attack, instead of the sound of swords clashing, he heard the first of his soldiers call out, "Ser Brynden! They've done it!"
He sprinted through his lines and up to the second story of the keep. Splayed out on the floor, five-and-twenty Frey guards had been trampled. Most looked likely to heal from their wounds and bruises.
"What happened?" Brynden asked.
One of the Vale knights said, "It was her! She's the one who did it!" A familiar, plump woman stepped out from the group of soldiers.
The Blackfish's mouth dropped open. "Mylessa?"
"Yes, Ser Brynden."
He didn't understand. "How did you fell these men?"
She chuckled at him and held up her hands. "These seamstress's fingers, ser. Deft from half a lifetime of sewing and weaving."
One of the men-at-arms explained, "She threw two lines out the windows for us stationed at the rear of the keep. One of rope and the other of knotted bed sheets. We climbed into the sewing room on the third floor. Then, we charged down and took these guards unawares, ser."
Knowing a further stand was useless, Emmon Frey opened removed the barricade from the door. The bent-back weasel sat beside Hoster's desk in Hoster's solar. His thin lips were bloody at first glance. No, only sour leaf. He's chewing on a bundle that could choke a cow. His wife, fleshy and stern-faced, glared at Brynden. She edged her seat in front of her husband's.
"Genna Lannister and your lady husband," the Blackfish said, by way of greeting. "How fares my brother's castle?"
"Who do you think you are to come here?! I am Lord Emmon Frey! Lord of Riverrun! You are a traitor to the realm. You are-"
Genna put her hand to his chest and pushed him back in his chair. She said, "Ser, I now find that my lord husband did not, as it happens, retain enough men in his castle. What terms do you offer?"
"You both will be confined," he said and a smirk crossed his face. "Separately or together, whichever should you choose. You'll be held in rooms, not dungeon cells." His serious expression returned. "I require you and what's left of your men to yield with no further combat. When the time comes, you will be ransomed or executed, depending upon how your Houses react."
Frey still fumed, but the Lannister woman surrendered the castle on his behalf. The wry look on her face told the Blackfish that she, at a minimum, considered the offer of residing in quarters of her own. What woman would want a Frey in her chambers, let alone between her thighs? Brynden's knights lead the pair to their new bedroom, at the top level of the servants' tower.
Later, he found Maester Vyman in his chambers below the rookery. Here is one place in the castle unchanged by war and Freys.
"Maester, I had thought we might send forth several greetings."
Vyman smiled, his teeth were brown and his expression warm. "The disinherited Lord Emmon had thought to do the same. . . some hours ago."
"Might you have refused a lord's command?"
"As if I would ever do such a thing, Brynden Tully!" answered the maester, with a snort. "And yet, gods be good, I do find myself moving slower than I once did. I fear I have yet to climb to the Raven's Nest. Would the new lord wish to amend my commanded duty?"
"Castellan," Brynden corrected. "I only hold it in trust for my lord nephew."
To make room on the maester's writing table, the Blackfish lifted a stack of books and scrolls to set them aside. Annoyed, Vyman put his grey-skinned hand on top and brusquely instructed the Blackfish where he wanted them set. The maester was prickly about anyone moving his documents, and provoking a reaction was half the reason why he picked them up.
With the corner of the desk uncluttered, they set about writing letters. Brynden dictated, and Vyman put ink to parchment. The first was to the Gates of the Moon, intended for Lady Waynwood and Sansa Stark, though not bearing their names. It told them of the results of the day in an unflowery note.
"We'll need write to Riverrun's bannermen," Tully said. "Have you any knowledge of who will swear their loyalty?"
"Lord Blackwood kept faith longer than anyone," the maester replied, and Brynden nodded to show he already knew it. "But, the Lannisters hold one of his sons as a hostage. They took hostages from most of the Riverlords, ser. If I might offer you council, I believe it wise to delay any ravens to them. Word of your return and your victory will spread quickly, regardless. It would not do to put the sons and daughters of Lord Edmure's bannermen in peril. If the lords receive no ravens from us, the Lannisters will have no just-cause to punish the hostages."
"When has just-cause been necessary for Lannister reprisal?"
Maester Vyman offered no direct answer. Instead, he said, "The Lannisters and the Freys are unlikely to trust the vassals traditionally sworn to your House, if they opt to mount an attack. I have not forgotten that Lords Piper, Lychester, Roote, Smallwood, and both Lords Vance laid siege when last you held the castle. Nevertheless, Emmon Frey and Lady Lannister only grew increasingly distrustful in the months since, even sending out thrice daily patrols. That distrust is most like shared by the others of their families."
Brynden said in reply, "Telling me that the kin of Emmon Frey and Genna Lannister will not trust the Riverlords is not the same as saying that those Riverlords are, at present, trustworthy."
Though he knew that they'd had little choice in the incursion against Riverrun, the siege that ended three moon turns ago still felt like a betrayal to Ser Brynden. "So you think that my nephew's bannermen might be unwilling to send aid to us," he posed, "but also unlikely to march against their true liege lord's stronghold a second time."
"Yes, my lord."
They held off scribing any other notes.
The Blackfish walked to the courtyard in front of the main hall of Riverrun. He wished to see that his orders for the defense of the castle and for the prisoners were being followed. Signs of the approaching winter were evident. Though no snow lay on the yard that day, the ground was cold and hard under his feet. The green of summer was nearly faded and the brown of autumn had descended.
Thank the gods that arrogant Frey did not squander my provisions.
The Blackfish watched as some of his men, with the broken wheel of House Waynwood on their surcoats, led the bridge-and-towers soldiers from the downriver guardhouse across the yard.
More mouths to feed. Would that I could throw them down the river.
Brynden Tully then recalled something Ser Jon had mentioned on the road from Riverrun to Blackwood Vale. The lad's Stark uncle had lamented the failure of all the so-called kings to send their prisoners to the Night's Watch. The Gulltown barges might do for the lowborn soldiers. If not for the need I may have of him in the exchanging of hostages, Brynden thought, red-lipped Emmon might have found himself packing his smallclothes for the Wall. . . If not for my honor, he might already be short a head.
Brynden went to the armory and set the smith to crafting chains and shackles.
Feeling the castle secure and the men set to task, the Blackfish allowed himself to retire to his old quarters. The room was poorly arranged and sun still streaked in the window. But, when he undressed and crawled beneath the sheets, Brynden Tully felt eager for sleep.
I restored your son's castle, my lord. I brought us one step closer to justice from House Frey, a step closer to justice for your girl, your little Cat. Mayhaps now, brother, I've earned your respect.