"My Lord, we estimate slightly more than 2,000 Northmen and their allies," A scout informed Addam Marbrand.
"Good, we'll be able to overwhelm them shortly." Marbrand nodded.
"My Lord, it appears as if the King has not been idle. I spotted many burned tents and considerable disruption."
"We'll give them something new to think about soon." Marbrand would have preferred to allow his men to rest after marching them at such a quick pace. King's Landing to Duskendale in ten days was a feat almost unheard. However, Tywin was adamant, and he knew better than to disobey the old lion.
If there were only 2,000 left, Joffrey's forces inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy. What was to be done about Stannis, Marbrand did not know, but that would be a concern only after the battle was won.
Out of the eleven scouts Marbrand sent out, eight returned to camp. The other three were likely caught and killed; scouts had short life expectancies. "If they've caught scouts, they know we're here, so we need to act quickly." Marbrand assembled the pikemen and longbowmen. Cavalry would be responsible for the breaking the enemy flank.
Despite being in dire need of rest himself, Marbrand galloped to the center of the line. While many leaders fought on the front because they believed they needed to display courage to their men, he was a more pragmatic sort.
The remaining Northmen assembled their forces, forming a line of pikes and archers. With few natural defenses they could use, most moved out of range of Duskendale's defenses to avoid being attacked on two fronts.
Longbowmen rained down arrows on the enemy formation. Lannister and Stark cavalry engaged one another, preventing the other from hitting their flanks. "Hold firm!" Marbrand ordered. Superior numbers were no guarantee of victory.
The Starks possessed fewer longbowmen, but those not lucky enough to possess plate armor were hideously vulnerable to them. Arrows penetrated mail and less-covered limbs, those who were wounded ignored by their comrades. Few gave a thought to the fate of peasants.
Marband moved his horse to the back, not intending to become a target for the enemy. He kept his eyes on the rear. However unlikely it was that they would be ambushed, he intended to be ready for every possibility.
Screams echoed through the battlefield, the clashing of swords of flesh audible to every man who stood and fought. Barrier troops moved forward to ensure the line did not break. Lannister longbowmen turned their arrows toward the horses, shots to the legs forcibly dismounting Stark cavalry. Those who lost their horse seldom lived long.
Infantry pushed their shields together and crouched down, with only a handful of arrows able to penetrate the wood. Marbrand rode back and forth, searching for an opening in the enemy defenses.
When the arrow storm lightened, the Lannister marched forward to engage the Starks, who chose to hold position. Marbrand kept his reserves back, not wanting to use them until the time was right.
Small gaps appeared in the Stark lines, although their horsemen prevented it from being exploited. Their enemy had only thin fortifications, yet even these could present a formidable barrier. Marbrand galloped, ordering those in the rear: "Break and surround the enemy lines! We outnumber them two to one!" Those in front, so long as they hold, would prevent the Starks from countering them.
Stark archers changed targets from the infantry to their counterpoints. Most Lannister were a shade too slow to notice as much, many suffering wounds before they readjusted. Marbrand didn't expect the enemy to win, but they could inflict crippling damage if they didn't break.
"Have the heavy cavalry fall back to our lines!" He ordered his squares. It was a risk and could be a disaster if the Starks overwhelmed them, but if done correctly, it would ensure victory.
The gates of Duskendale opened, unknown to all but a handful. Joffrey galloped forward, Warhammer in hand, pointing at the rear of the Stark lines. Their enemy had neglected to post pickets at the rear.
Marbrand had just reformed the cavalry when he spotted new fighters in the distance. For a moment, he feared Stark reinforcements until it became apparent their lines were breaking. "Now! Now! Hit them!" He joined the assault on their flanks, trading his sword for a lance.
Marbrand skewered a Stark bannermen who broke from the main line, losing his lance in the process. Joffrey's men cut them nearly in half, enduring only a handful of casualties. The pike line shattered, men fleeing in all directions. Eager for blood, the Lannisters pursued them. With no natural defenses, the terrified men found themselves with nowhere to retreat to.
Those who could not flee surrendered in hopes of saving their lives. Weapons were thrown down, men falling to their knees. A few were killed, with the Lannister's blood up, but Marbrand and Joffrey took control of their men before a massacre broke out.
"Your Grace, good to see you safe," Marbrand bowed his head.
"Glad to see our relief force has arrived at last, although there was little else to do." Joffrey smirked. "I believe my men have learned a great deal from the experience, however."
"Good to see you alive, Your Grace." Marbrand nodded. He hid his surprise of seeing Stannis and his red witch riding alongside Joffrey. He was most interested to know how the King had accomplished it.
"Stark's getting overconfident if he thought he could pull this off," Joffrey announced. "Speaking of which, we have a new ally: my Uncle, Stannis Baratheon!" Stannis visibly ground his teeth, Melisandre whispering in his ear.
"I am grateful for your mercy. . . Your Grace." Stannis choked out the words.
"We'll accomplish quite a bit together." Joffrey clapped his hands. "Before we return to King's Landing, I suggest we rest for a brief period. All of us need it after such an experience." His eyes looked over the Lannister bannermen. "I don't think anyone will object."
"Of course not, Your Grace." Marbrand agreed at once. The trip back would be slower, but Stark had suffered enough of a setback to where another offensive in the short-term was unlikely.
XXXXXXXXXX
That should convince Tywin I'm sincere in my attempt. Throwing so many Northern forces away meant there was no coming back for Roose Bolton. Tywin would see what the battle meant, even if no one else did.
Bolton wasn't overly concerned about Stark finding out. The boy was too honorable for his own good, a flaw he shared with his departed father. Ramsey was already assembling troops to slaughter the wildlings. . . and perhaps more, should it prove necessary.
Ramsey would be the only real complication to becoming Warden of the North. Roose cared nothing if he chose to entertain himself, but that he did it so blatantly and for no reason could cause many problems in the future. He's young, and can still learn. Were Ramsey not his son, Roose would gladly avenge Domeric by putting him under his blade.
His son had perhaps been the only one Roose truly cared for beyond a certain fondness for their company. Ramsey would serve his purpose, however, at least for now. Once he was Warden of the North, Bolton knew he would no longer require Tywin's backing. The bastard was at the Wall for life, too honorable to break his vows, however much he might wish to. After so many years, the Boltons would once again rule the North.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Do try and take care of yourself, brother," Tyrion commented at Jaime's bedside. "Surely as the Kingslayer, you'd prefer a more dignified end."
"There's nothing dignified about this." Jaime moaned. For a couple days, Tyrion feared his brother would die of pneumonia. He had hardly left him alone, having neglected his previous duties as Master of Coin. "Give me a sword in my hand and a battle any day."
"So regale me: how did you manage to escape?" Tyrion wanted to know the details. He'd always envied Jaime: he possessed looks the likes of which made whores fantasize about him, his skill with a sword was legendary, and Jaime possessed Tywin's favor. Yet Tyrion could not find it within himself to hate him.
"I'll tell you about it later." Jaime coughed. "Thought for a while there, they were going to cut my sword hand off." He shuddered at such a fate, wondering how he would have taken losing his fighting ability.
"What would you have done with yourself? Perhaps you could have taken up drinking alongside me." Tyrion poured himself another glass of wine. Jaime glared at him in response. "It was a jest, brother, nothing more."
"I'd rather die than losing my fighting ability." Jaime snapped.
"Don't be so morose. Life is full of possibilities, so long as you don't exhaust yourself. I trust you've been listening to Grand Maester Pycelle's instructions."
"On father's orders, yes." Jaime felt ready to resume his duties, but their father wasn't convinced. He sniffled, wiping away the snot dribbling down his nose. "Need to get back into the training field. I'm not about to let my talent atrophy."
"Think of it this way: you get to spend some time with your family." Tyrion did say "Cersei" but the implication was there. He'd known of their relationship since he was fifteen, though Jaime wasn't yet aware of this.
"I'd love to see the look on Stark's face when he sees me again." Jaime grinned. "What do you think he'll say?"
"Who wouldn't want a second meeting with the Kingslayer?" Tyrion laughed.
"That's all I am to people. Aerys. . . always comes back to the Mad King." Jaime spat. Tyrion had asked many times what his real reason was, but his brother always refused to speak. The brothers made small talk for a while before Tyrion left to visit Shae. Having Jaime back in King's Landing made the rest of his burden easier. He'd distract Cersei, allowing Tyrion to proceed with his own plans.
Jaime said nothing about it, but he feared for his supposed nephew and secret son. Tyrion chuckled back when he demanded to command the relief force despite his illness. Soon enough, the man would be back in King's Landing, where he'd be forced to confront him again.
Perhaps I did react a little too rashly, Tyrion considered. His worry for Shae had overwhelmed his good since and he had made a threat it would be unwise to carry out. Even assuming his mother and sister believed him, whoever controlled Joffrey's body now was one of the few allies in King's Landing.
Soothe his ego, apologize, and do what he could to mend fences. The man was lonely and away from everything familiar, leaving him an easy mark for someone willing to provide what he wanted. Sending him to the wall wasn't an idle threat and Tyrion doubted his father would interfere with it. He shuddered at the idea of having to face wildlings.
And the man still needs my help. Tyrion doubted whoever replaced Joffrey would survive long without his guidance. Too out of his depth when it came to court intrigue. He couldn't afford to alienate him.
Bronn moved to his side, face nearly impossible to read. He'd recently dealt with a singer who became too bold in making demands of Tyrion. See how fast I learn my lesson, Father?
Four guards stood at the door to Shae's chambers; Tyrion refused to call it a prison. Unknown to Cersei, all were now on his payroll, loosening her hold. His sister was steadily losing support and his father's presence meant her ability to fight back was limited.
"If you would, I have a friend to visit," Tyrion requested the door to be opened. Even if they turned on him, he was certain Bronn could kill all four Gold Cloaks. He felt his cock stiffening at the very thought of Shae. Tyrion pushed the door open, anticipating an afternoon of passionate sex.
"By the Gods. . ." Tyrion whispered. Shae lay dead on the bed, sheets soaked with blood. Blood pools formed around the floor, dripping down Shae's opened wrist. All her clothes had been cut off, eyes still open wide. Gashes throughout her body marred her corpse, including one between her legs. Tyrion did not dare look down and could only pray Shae was already dead by the time this mutilation took place.
Tyrion approached his dead lover, intent on discovering who was responsible for this. It took all his self-restraint not to order Bronn to kill the Gold Cloaks where they stood. All four stood there, open-mouthed, helping to convince him they were not responsible for the murder.
Several blonde hairs on the floor caught Tyrion's attention. Cersei. . . his teeth grit together with the promise of retribution. He hadn't expected his father to destroy the hold she still had on him, but yet again, Tyrion realized he underestimated what Cersei was capable of. You're going to pay for this! No, Shae wasn't Tysha, but to him, it felt almost like his childhood love lost all over again.
His plans would have to be accelerated. Tywin wouldn't be able to protect Cersei from his wrath now. And I know something you don't, dear sister. I promised I'd hurt you for this. Tyrion kept his face free of expression, but there would be a reckoning.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Just have to wait for an opportunity," Theon remarked. He'd caught only two glimpses of Sansa during his time at King's Landing. There was at least no obvious sign of mistreatment, but with Jaime having escaped and returned to his family, she could no longer count on such protection.
"We should enter the Red Keep," One suggested. "It's said Maegor built a series of passageways that allowed him access to every room inside."
"And how do you propose we find them?" Theon snapped. He hated King's Landing: the stink, the filth, the desperation. No Ironborn would have been content to live in such a fashion. Not that I'd ever be welcomed back there anyway. Despite Balon being willing to throw his life aside for revenge, part of Theon still missed him.
"We'll need to be patient. . . maybe a few bribes," Another suggested. "Joffrey's not here right now and from what I've heard, he'll be dead soon."
"He's not, but Tywin Lannister is, and I'd much rather deal with the bastard than him," A third pointed out.
"Nobody said this was going to be easy," Theon considered. The direct route into the Red Keep was suicide. Perhaps an indirect one. . .
Theon's eyes wandered over the local brothels. He had more than enough money to afford them, but Robb gave strict orders that all gold received was to be used for freeing Sansa only. Despite that, a few times Theon had very nearly broken.
Theon tightened the hood around his head. The Imp at least would remember him, and if they were spotted, they'd be executed. . . quickly, if they were lucky. Theon refused to depend on luck.
They didn't have much time. The King would soon be returning and once Joffrey came back, any chance they had of getting Sansa out of the city would be gone. Each time Theon turned a corner, he feared the guards would seize them all. Every other person was a spy for some noble or another. At least that's what he had been told about King's Landing.
"My Lord, if we attempt to rescue Lady Sansa. . . we could end up getting her killed," Someone declared.
"I know the risk, but how long will it be before they kill her anyway?" Or worse, married to a Lannister. The North would never accept a Lannister as warden, which was the only reason they would keep Sansa alive. And Joffrey's a monster; he'd kill her just for the fun of it.
The Red Keep had some of the few honest Gold Cloaks in the city, but perhaps there was another way. Having an idea, Theon led his men outside of the city. "Hold, state your business." Two of the Gold Cloaks extended their hands.
"Very well, we are going on a hunting trip." The lie was weak, but four gold dragon proved sufficient to allow them to pass. That was how things worked in King's Landing.
"What are you intending?" One of his men asked. Theon did not answer right away, walking along the city walls. He privately admitted that he was acting mostly on instinct, but it was the only way he could see that Sansa would be rescued.
Theon marched down to the beach, where no other individuals were in sight. "We can't fight our way into the Red Keep, but every city has hidden entrances." He took a deep breath, staring out at the sea. "All we need to do is find a cavern."
"And fuck them in the ass," His second-in-command chuckled.
"Exactly. Lady Sansa's counting on all of us!" Theon prayed to the Drowned God for success. It would still be a massive risk, but was no longer an impossibility.
Theon stayed to the coast, diving behind the rocks to avoid being spotted by passing ships. He made out a handful in the distance, sailing East. For a moment, he almost felt like he was back home. Theon pulled out his bow and prepared an arrow. If anyone was spotted, he could put an arrow through their throat at a hundred yards. "No witness," Theon ordered. They couldn't risk being spotted.
After marching for close to an hour with no sign of human life, Theon spotted a cave. "Bows up," The closer they moved to King's Landing, the more dangerous it became. Theon climbed over the rocks, nearly slipping on the broken concrete.
Each of his party stepped with great care, with the catacombs rarely occupied by human souls. Theon felt his muscles grew weak, his eyes unable to see more than a few feet in front of them. Even in this direction, finding Sansa was far from a guarantee.
You can turn back, tell Robb that there's no sign of Sansa. A voice whispered in his ear. Theon turned to his men, terrified faces visible in the dim light. If he gave even a suggestion to retreat, nobody would look back. Why am I doing this? I'd just be throwing my life anyway in a futile gesture. What would Ned Stark do?
And no one would ever know if he retreated. Sansa would be well-protected with the best guards Joffrey could afford. Whatever the decision was, Theon knew he had to make it soon. There would be no turning back.
"All right, stop." Theon raised his hand. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. "Here's what we're going to do. . ."
XXXXXXXXXX
"She's still in love with him." Catelyn sighed as she set down Sansa's latest letter. "She thinks she can marry Joffrey to end the war."
"If him killing our father wasn't enough to change her mind, nothing will be." Much as Robb wanted to believe she was being forced to write such letters, he couldn't convince himself of it. Sansa had written of how he rescued Jeyne Poole, fed the hungry, fought in the vanguard. . . all of it sounded like nonsense. "That will make it harder to get her out of King's Landing, however."
"Robb. . . perhaps you should consider the idea." Catelyn hesitated.
"Allow her to marry that monster?! Never!" Robb stood up and slammed his fists on the table. "Let her spend her life around Lannisters? They burned our homes, ravaged our women, destroyed our food, murdered our prisoners, and you suggest I make peace with them?!"
"Do you see any way to win this war?" Catelyn asked. "And is it your desire to become King?"
"They're the ones who declared me King, not I!" Robb exclaimed. "All I wanted was to free my father and sisters! Yet what will they say if I abandon the effort and submit?"
"You would let your pride led us to destruction?"
"Do you think so little of my capabilities?" Robb snapped. "I've won every battle I've fought! I have the Vale fighting alongside me, and if I can form an alliance with the Reach, this war is won!"
"And have you heard back for the Queen of Thorns?" Robb was forced to admit he hadn't. "Even Torrhen Stark bent the knee when Aegon the Conqueror arrived. Winter is nearly here and if this war doesn't end soon, far more are going to die."
"I will not abandon Sansa." Robb groaned. "I'll come up with something." Even he was forced to concede how unlikely that was. If he won at all, the effort would take many years, and they would have to halt their campaigns during the winter years. Such efforts were rare and always ended in disaster, even when the Targaryens were at the height of their power.
"I've already lost Ned. I don't wish to lose you and Sansa as well."
"I knew the risks when this war began. A short war would serve the interests of the Lannisters. Southerners are soft and unused to hardship. A long war would be better for us. Even in winter years, some crops grow, although the harvests are smaller." Retreating doesn't mean we've lost the war. The Lannisters could not follow, even with a Tyrell alliance. If they tried, their troops would perish from the elements.
"No matter what you decide, I will assist you," Catelyn decided. "I only ask you to carefully consider the ramifications of continuing this war."
"Even if we can't yet take King's Landing, that doesn't mean we've lost this war. Theon will get Sansa out, and we'll be able to defeat both the Ironborn and wildlings. They will stand little chance against our bannermen. Winter will be hard, but we will survive. Once it's over, we'll be ready to resume." He knew the risk. Once his men returned home, many would not wish to march South again. Perhaps they would settle for Northern independence if taking the Iron Throne was beyond their capabilities.
"I'm going to have you depart for Riverrun, have you see your father one last time before the end."
"Robb, I'm certain he will last a while longer." Catelyn didn't believe that at all, but Robb still needed her support.
After writing down ideas and possible methods of winning the war against the odds, Bolton marched in with a letter. "My Lord, you have received a letter from the Iron Throne. I believe they may be offering terms."
"Hand it here," Bolton handed a box to him with the Lannister seal on it as well. Provided they weren't too vicious and gave Sansa back, Robb would be willing to accept. His men would accept a face-saving exit, which would allow them to keep their pride. Winter was coming and almost everyone was predicting a nasty one.
Stark:
I have a special gift enclosed for you. No doubt you've been missing your precious Sansa and wondering how she's fared in my care. Robb opened the box, fearing the worst. "By the Gods. . ." Catelyn whispered.
Inside the box were two pale fingers. They had decayed on the journey, but Sansa's ring and necklace were unmistakable. Forcing his rage down, Robb read the rest of the letter.
I found your Ironborn brother in King's Landing. It took little persuasion to get him to speak. He soon begged me to torture Sansa instead of him.
Your sister proved to be a coward. At first, when I strapped her to the table, she pleaded with me to live. Eventually, she begged me for death. Bone by bone, I removed her hands and feet, giving her to each of my men to enjoy as they wished. Sansa eventually stopped fighting; perhaps she grew to enjoy it.
When I get my hands on you, your mother, the wolf bitch who savaged me, and all your unwashed northern brutes will receive the same treatment. Sansa suffered a traitor's death, a warning to any that dare to defy me.
Joffrey Baratheon,
King of the Seven Kingdoms
Robb set the letter down, trembling with rage. The idea that he would never see his sister again, and for a monster like Joffrey to treat her so brutally beforehand. . .
"He's going to die for this," Robb promised. Forgotten were all the logistical difficulties of taking King's Landing, as was the imminent threat of winter. It didn't matter that the Lannister army took the field, nor the loss of so many soldiers at Duskendale.
"I'll gut him while you watch!" The Greatjon offered. "Southerners have always been a bunch of traitorous brutes! The North'd be better rid of them."
"I'm going to kill him myself." Robb's voice went quiet. Perhaps he could give Joffrey to Roose Bolton first, have him beg for death the way Sansa supposedly had.
"Is there any way this could be untrue?" Catelyn grasped for a way not to believe her daughter was dead.
"It could be attempting to lure us into a trap," Yohn Royce suggested. "The Lannisters cannot take Harrenhal, nor can they control the Riverlands in any meaningful way. But outside Harrenhal, we would be vulnerable to attack."
"If he thinks I'm going to run. . ." Robb considered his words. He would rather have believed the letter was a lie, but Joffrey possessed Sansa's ring, her finger, and knowledge of Theon.
"Perhaps you can lure him in with a trap of his own," Bolton suggested. Robb wasn't inclined to take any of his advice, not when it had led to a disaster at Duskendale.
Robb thought it over, knowing he could not look weak. Such a blatant act of provocation could not go unpunished and Jaime was no longer around to punish. Tywin wouldn't care if he took out his frustrations on Lannister prisoners.
He and his advisors argued over military strategy long into the night. The Greatjon and Karstark pushed for an immediate attack, slaughtering all Lannisters in King's Landing. Royce and Maege Mormont argued for a more cautious strategy, living off the Crownlands and placing the city under siege. "They won't be able to feed half a million people if we control the roads." She argued. "Give a few weeks, the people will rise up against their Lannister overlords."
"You think the Lannisters bastards will care if they starve?" Greatjon scoffed. "They have the swords, and the equipment, so it will not matter. Their gates are weak and the reports of new weapons won't matter against Northern grit!" He turned to Catelyn and said in a softer voice: "I'll avenge your daughter, My Lady. On that, you have my vow."
"I thank you for that, My Lord." Catelyn gave a heartbroken smile.
"Your Grace, we have also received letters from the Night's Watch requesting assistance." Bolton spoke up. "I believe your bastard brother still resides at Castle Black."
"I've already sent as many men North as I can spare." Robb sighed. "More, even. We cannot fight against the Lannisters and Mance Rayder at the same time." At the pace the wildlings were moving, he considered it unlikely any further men-at-arms would arrive in time to make any difference. The Night's Watch would have to win or lose on what they currently possessed.
"You would let those savages ravage your lands?" Karstark accused.
"I have already ordered my bastard to assemble men to deal with them." Bolton promised. "None will survive on our side of the Wall."
"You have given me much to consider, My Lords." Robb politely dismissed them. He looked over the logistical reports. They could subsist on Crownland farms, assuming they weren't burned. While some of his men would want to do so, he couldn't allow it. Send a message to the smallfolk that so long as they provide us with sufficient food, they are not to be harmed. Burned farmland would do no good, not when their supplies were already marginal.
"I'd love nothing more than to wrap my hands around Cersei's throat." Catelyn tore the letter to pieces. In the presence of just her son, she allowed her to shed a few tears.
"I'm going to kill Joffrey myself and Tywin." Robb knew killing his sister was a ploy to get him to overextend his lines, but he had his own ways of countering it. "Or perhaps I'll give him to Lord Bolton. Flaying's outlawed in the North, but we're not in the North."
"Would you do the same to Tommen and Myrcella?" Catelyn wondered.
"No," Robb denied immediately. Abominations of incest they might be, but among them, only Joffrey had earned such wrath. "I'll send Tommen to the Wall, Myrcella to the Silent Sisters." You've made a fatal mistake, Joffrey. You think to send me into a trap, but you've just guaranteed no mercy.