Gerrion

A torrent of sweat dripped down his face and left a bitter taste on his lips. At long last his mount slowed from a full gallop to a trot and finally a halt. His squire, a young thirteen year old distant relative, hurried to help his Lord dismount. It was an easy task, the horse was even more exhausted than its rider was. Time was of the essence and the Lannister host had ridden hard for several days. It was a well-bred mount, but carrying a man in full cumbersome plate had well and truly expired its strength this day.

They had passed the southern branch of the Red Fork, and now Gerrion and his host of ten thousand men were coming closer and closer to the Golden Tooth, the gateway to the Westerlands. Where his mother, sisters, wife, and unborn child were secured in Casterly Rock. But under no such protection were the common people. The men who swore his father, and by extension himself, fealty. The innocent that he had sworn to defend as a Lord and a knight.

Another Lannister army had been assembled by Ser Stafford Lannister, but it was not the best crop of men. In fact they could hardly be called men, it mostly consisted of boys considered too young to ride to war when it began nearly a year ago. His family did not consider Ser Stafford Lannister much better than his inexperienced subordinates. Jaime had called him 'Uncle Dolt'. Even so, Gerrion had wanted Stafford garrisoned at the Golden Tooth to join the sentries that were already there. A good defensive position. Then if the Vale army of fifteen thousand men had been foolish enough to try to batter their way through the Golden Tooth, Gerrion and his men would take them in the rear.

The damned Ironborn had shot that plan to the seven hells. The assault on the Lannister naval fleet threatened Lannisport itself. If Ser Stafford had maintained his position, he would have returned with Gerrion to a sacked and razed Lannisport. The great House Lannister would have been unable to protect its own great city. That disgrace was far from the political and economic dominance Tywin Lannister had planned before the war.

As he walked briskly where his troops were to settle in for the night, men all around him began pitching tents. He joined the group of them that were preparing his personal tent. A tent with more space than most commoner's homes. When he began aiding the servants in raising the massive pavilion, he had never seen anyone as shocked as they were that the acting Lord of House Lannister was helping them.

Anything I can do to busy my mind. To put off what I will have to do. Common labor is a small price to pay for a calmed mind.

Unfortunately, no matter how busy he was, his mind still festered with fears and doubts. Of what awaited him at the Golden Tooth and beyond. He could hear his father's voice whispering in his ear.

'You are a warrior Gerrion. This is what you were born to do. Avenge my failings. Butcher these sons of bitches of the Vale, butcher the Iron Born like the dogs they are, then get back to Kings Landing before we lose the crown and all our power.'

He had been at his father's side when the plan to take Riverrun was formed nearly nine months ago. Edmure Tully had taken his host into a vulnerable position in response to Lord Lucien's provocation. Farms and villages had been put to the torch. Ser Amory Lorch had been unleashed and common folk were murdered without a hint of mercy. It was all that was required to draw Edmure Tully's army out from beyond Riverrun and towards their defeat.

"Edmure has always been weak, unwilling to do what is necessary. Sentimentality will damn the man. He will sacrifice his army and his family for lice-ridden peasants, drunkards, rapists, and scoundrels." Lucien had said of Edmure, his own brother in law on the eve of seizing Riverrun. His voice had been full of scorn.

Gerrion had answered "I never saw my Uncle as having the makings of a traitor. Nor have his peasants plotted to depose Joffrey, why punish the innocent?"

"I never saw Edmure as much of anything. Treason is treason, and if Edmure Tully truly loved his lands he would have convinced Lord Hoster against aiding this rebellion. Brother to your mother means little, he will pay the consequences, Lord Hoster more so. Their defeat is imminent, their lands are in my hands. For now his soldiers stay in Riverrun like a festering pimple. I will squeeze his villages until he pops out. Then the Tully forces will be discarded far before the Stark traitor arrives" Lord Lucien had spoken with cold confidence and everything he said had come to pass just as he had said.

Gerrion had grown bold. "You did not answer me father. If you squeeze, it will be the blood of men, women, and children that will come out, Father. If you plan to control Riverrun after the war, will you want the kin of those you massacred among your subjects?"

His father had given him a cold look. His dead green eyes expressing disappointment in his son's supposedly naïve question. "War is no game. Evil is committed regardless of the consequences. So I will choose to win. If blood frightens you Gerrion, step aside and let true men shape the world. If you can give an alternative that will deliver Riverrun to me and put an end to the Tully host before Eddard Stark arrives I will gladly hear it. What will these illiterate farmers, shopkeepers, and fishermen do in the future? They can be replaced. By burning a handful of villages I will spare the lives of valuable Lannister men. I will shorten this war and keep your mother and sisters far from danger. By ending a hundred lives I will save thousands. Perhaps even your own. Perhaps the Tyrell girl you have grown so attached to, and any future children she bears."

"She is a Lannister father. As much as mother will ever be."

His father had shrugged. "Perhaps one day, but not in this short time I assure you. Her family's sigil suits her well. Pretty to look at, but become too careless and you will have your fingers pricked on her thorns." He countered casually before continuing his lecture. "You may swing that sword of yours around like Jaime one day. As natural a warrior as I have seen of your age, but a true leader wins battles before they even begin. Do not let idealism blind you to reality or you will meet the same fate as Edmure Tully one day."

There was a wine glass available in the tent they were conversing in. Gerrion drained the contents quickly to grant him additional courage. "Tell me father" he said slowly, though he already knew the answer he would receive. "If it fell to you to bloody your own sword on a weeping mother and her child. If you had to wash the innocent blood off your own sword. Would you carry out your own orders?"

Lucien was unfazed. "Cruelty for the sake of cruelty is vile, but my orders have a purpose. If it meant preserving your life or the lives of your sisters and mother, I would commit any act. Will you do the same for them?"

With that his father had abruptly left him.

Gerrion had been anointed with the seven oils when he was made a knight. It had been a proud moment, a validation of his talent and efforts. But he had to say many vows that day.

'Obey your father' had been one. He had not given it a single thought, he had never disobeyed his father in any material way.

The next vow had been 'Protect the innocent'

The next time he had seen his father they had ridden together into Riverrun with the corpses of villagers behind them.

Edmure Tully's decency had damned him. Edmure remained a prisoner, his seat of power taken from him, and even if he survived he would suffer permanent humiliation.

My father scorned Edmure for valuing his lands and common folk. If the roles had been reversed, would my father have been so callous? If his villages were at risk? If Lannisport were to come under siege? If Edmure was a fool, then I am twice the fool. I will not betray my lands, my mother, my sisters, Margery. Iron Throne be damned I will mitigate this suffering.

It was well and truly dark by the time he could sit down, and his wine glass was not even half empty before the War Council began.

Ten Commanders, one for each thousand men met with him. He grew tired of each and every one of them. Nearly every one of them was a bastard in character of some kind except for his Great-Uncle Kevan. Every meeting that he had been at for the past year consisted of war. Years ago, when he was young and brash and stupid he would have been excited. Now he would have liked nothing better than to hang up his swords and let them go to rust. To have nothing more to do than observe his father oversee his vessels in preparation of his responsibilities that would come many years from now. Even if his father was not dead yet, he doubted he would ever see him again.

Predictably, the council became one gigantic headache. "The Valemen outnumber us by nearly half again, our scouts say!" Ser Harys Swyft moaned. "A mere moon's turn ago we held Riverrun. We held the Trident. Now nowhere is safe! Kings Landing is under threat, Lord Tyrell has failed to destroy Stannis Baratheon, and now the Iron Born oppose us. This is a catastrophe."

His father had always held Ser Harys Swyft in low esteem. Gerrion had grown to understand why, the man was easily rattled and showed his fear too easily. He was only here because he was father to Ser Kevan's wife.

"Will you cease your braying? Every bloody person here knows that, we are not as stupid as you."

The speaker was Sandor Clegane 'The Hound'. He was technically now a Lord, though no one addressed him as such. The man was blunt and not one to suffer fools. Whenever Gerrion saw him, he could not help but think of Gregor Clegane, and how he had nearly cost him his betrothal. Gregor Clegane had been as close to a monster as a man could get. A monster that Tywin Lannister was quite fond of unleashing on those unfortunate enough to be labeled as his enemies. But Gregor Clegane was dead. Gerrion had heard stories about Gregor Clegane that made him thankful he would never have to give 'The Mountain That Rides' orders.

Gerrion had been in attendance for the Hand's Tourney back in Kings Landing with his future lady wife Margery of House Tyrell and her grandmother Olenna, also known as the 'Queen of Thorns'.

In fact he had ridden in the tournament. Jousting had never been his forte, but he would have looked weak in front of his betrothed had he not participated. At fourteen he had been the youngest participant.

He had taken down one opponent after another, his youthful confidence growing and growing. His own arrogance and hubris swelling…until he had gone up against Margery's own brother, Loras.

Gerrion had rode a half dozen tilts until Loras Tyrell finally knocked him to the dirt. The audience had applauded the impressive match, and Loras had made an effort to shake his hand with grace.

"Well ridden, brother." The Knight of Flowers had said with a smile.

He had lost, but Margery had welcomed him like a champion with a kiss on the cheek.

"You were incredible." She had told him with a voice that had been incredibly seductive. The way she told him made him feel as if he was the greatest jouster in the history of the seven kingdoms, and not a boy who minutes ago had crashed into the dirt.

It was better that he had lost actually, he had pleased the crowd with a good effort and he could spend the rest of the tournament in the company of his betrothed.

She made the whole experience better. In fact, he found that she made everything better. He had always been drawn to pretty girls and pretty girls had been drawn to him. For his looks and his father's gold. But after he saw his betrothed for the first time he never gave another girl a second glance.

The tournament had all been in good fun, in truth it was his last time to experience the care free nature of being a boy.

If only we could have more time together, Margery. I need to get back for you, and to our child. Perhaps the child has even been born.

The end of the tournament had been an omen for things to come.

Loras Tyrell had actually defeated Ser Gregor, and 'The Mountain' had responded by first killing his horse and then attacking Loras Tyrell.

If there had been a sword nearby, Gerrion would have jumped into the fray. But there was not, and he could only shout commands to his father's bannerman that were drowned out by the rest of the audience's shouting.

He had never been so angry, seeing his future nearly torn away from him by a mad dog.

"Kill that rabid bastard." He had screamed at his father in private after the fact. "Attempting to murder the son of a Lord Paramount at a tourney! He is out of control! Put him down!"

His father had been even angrier than he had been. He had not even wanted a tournament in the first place, and now his negotiations with House Tyrell were in jeopardy. Perhaps he could talk his way out of it if he had been treating with Mace Tyrell. But the cleverest person in the world could not have changed Olenna Tyrell's ultimatum. Gerrion had been present when his marital future had hung on the precipice.

"I will give you a choice Lannister, you can either keep your brute. That rabid mindless beast of a man, or your son can have Margery's hand. Along with the treaty and trade agreements that comes with it." The Queen of Thorns said bluntly.

Lucien had relented through gritted teeth. "You will have his head." His father had told her. The next morning he gave it to her personally, holding the monstrously large head by the hair. This of course shocked the poor unfortunate ladies and younger girls that had been by Olenna Tyrell's side. Gerrion heard at least one had fainted.

"A unique wedding gift Lannister." The Queen of Thornes had mocked with a full crooked smile.

"I would recommend having it stuffed, and displayed among the hunting trophies." His father had shot back. And with that, Gerrion's marriage had been salvaged.

Gerrion's musings were broken as Ser Harys Swyft continued his braying. "If the Greyjoy boy had been taken rather than slain, we could have leveraged him to attack Lord Stark's lands instead, perhaps even sent them around and engaged Lord Stannis from the sea."

Pointing out the obvious that was in the past was no good to anyone. Theon Greyjoy could not have been captured, retreat from the disaster on the Trident was difficult enough. But Gerrion had not known of the imminent Vale army at the time. Theon had been aggressive and was not a poor swordsmen. His father had rebuked him harshly when he had toyed around with Greyjoy on the practice yard at Winterfell. In a real battle, he had not held back and Greyjoy lay dead at the end of their duel.

"Enough!" Gerrion shouted, rising to his feet.

Dead silence followed. Every one of them was silent and staring at him, even the Hound.

Gerrion ground his teeth.

"This is not the time for pointless prattle." In the back of his mind, he did not recognize his own voice. He could charm his men well enough. He could be likeable, make others want to fight with him. But he was not an authoritative speaker like Tywin Lannister and his father. Yet he was speaking that way now. Because he absolutely had to.

"We know what is ahead. We know we cannot attempt to cross the Golden Tooth without the enemy force coming down on us. And now that their scouts have seen us, they will not cross themselves until we make a move."

He brought a section of the map of the eventual battlefield forth from the side of the table.

You are needed now. Become a Lion of Lannister. Be the man you need to be. His mother had given him those words the day he had ridden off, and now they began to settle his racing heart. To change his desperation into determination.

"The Lord Arryn's host remains encamped just to the northeast. Our haste has paid off and we have cut them off. Gods help us had they smashed through the Tooth before us. Based upon the severity of his escort, our scouts surmise that he has come personally to this battle. The boy has been feeding off the rich land along the way and hoping we come to him tired and weary. We spend one day to gather and muster our strength, we will be routed if we enter battle haggard."

"And if they attack on the morrow?" Kevan Lannister replied.

"Various attack parties have been raiding nearby towns and a force of around one thousand men trail behind. They will not attack until they have consolidated their strength, but we will assemble a defensive position on the morrow to be sure." Gerrion answered back. Slowly but surely he felt less like a helpless boy with his family and power at risk. He felt like he was transforming into a man that House Lannister needed desperately.

"Lannisport may be burning at this very moment. Time may not be a luxury we can afford." One of the commanders responded.

"It will have to be. They have held thus far, and they must hold a bit more. Pray to the Seven to give our comrades strength to hold off the Iron Fleet."

He had never given his dwarf Uncle much consideration, but he needed him now more than ever.

He continued "Lord Tyrion will have to defend Lannisport for as long as he can. If Lord Arryn is stupid enough to push through the Golden Tooth with an army on his back then we must take advantage. But if he has half a brain between his ears he will ensure he engages us alone out in the field. He shall go no further. His army dies here, and now my Lords, we will design how!"

They talked for hours into the early morning. Gerrion kept a stern look until the last man was gone, then he collapsed into sleep almost immediately.

His bed was empty, even when the Lannister army was at full strength he had refused a bed warmer from the many camp followers that had been present. His bed was reserved for only one women, he had sworn. No common whore could divert his attention away from the beautiful Margery Lannister.

He dreamed of her that night, and it was bliss for the few hours that it lasted. Something as simple as a smile had been a relief to him. It had seemed real for that short amount of time, and real enough was more than adequate.

Two Days Later

The weather could not have been more perfect. Clear blue skies with nearly no clouds to be seen. It was beautiful really, and he spared it a glance to appreciate it before turning to the task at hand.

"You should be proud, Gerrion."

He pivoted around to face Kevan Lannister who stood behind him.

"Thank you, but I am unsure that I am deserving of it. The songs about this day may very well sing of the foolish boy who led House Lannister to a sudden end."

Kevan gave a small smile. "I am absolutely sure that no young man in the seven kingdoms could have bore the responsibility that rests on you half as well. I say it again, you should be proud my Lord. I believe in you, even when the days are darkest."

Gerrion did not know what to say in the moment. He stood there in full golden armor. A spectacularly crafted set worthy of the heir of Casterly Rock. Two statues of lionesses were perched on his shoulders, he held his helm in the shape of a roaring lion under his arm, and at his side was an immaculate sword from a master blacksmith. It had been a virgin sword at the start of the war, and had drunk the blood of many since.

"Lord Tywin and my father may disagree, but I cannot look back. We have a battle before us, and it requires every speck of strength we can muster."

"You are not my brother or my nephew, Gerrion. You are your own man, and they will respect that. I love them both and I have served them both, as is the duty of a second brother. As I serve you now my Lord. The battle lines are drawn and the men await."

The men awaited their positions in uniform formation. Instilled by strict discipline and Lannister army was ready and able. Their faces were brave and stern. But like all men, Gerrion knew that they must have their doubts. Tywin Lannister was many leagues away, Lucien Lannister was beaten and imprisoned, possibly dead. While Gerrion had fought for a year and his personal skill were well known, he had yet to be responsible for a large scale battle. Fear, or at least doubt, surely crept into their hearts.

Gerrion would have to confront those fears and conquer them as much as he would need to conquer the army of the Vale.

Gerrion was mounted on his well-bred horse that was as black as night. All who saw him that day spoke of how the young Lord looked larger than life.

"Men of the West!" Gerrion shouted. His loud authoritative voice carried throughout the ranks of his soldiers.

"The fight has been long and bloody. Every man here has earned scars, every man here has undergone a coronation in a trial by fire. There are no novices here. Every man here has fought valiantly and with courage. We will need the same today. The army on the other side owes their victories to trickery and deceit. They have yet to meet the true teeth of the Lannister army. They are led by a boy who through selfishness and greed has used this war as an opportunity to sow chaos and destruction. The gods condemn such scoundrels"

Gerrion could tell that the men were listening. They were eager for hope.

"We are the line of defense. A defense of our homeland. These are your lands as much as mine. Your homes they come to burn. Your wives and daughters they seek to defile. Now more than ever, our people need a liberator. That liberator is not one man, it is all of us. Every man today who holds a sword and axe! These Vale Lords come from leagues away on the whim of a boy Lord. They have higher numbers, but they do not have our courage, motivation or resolve! We stand as one, and through that, none shall oppose us."

The hardened soldiers began to cheer. A sound that began to swell and rise. A sound that began to eat away and banish the fear that had been infested in Gerrion's heart. It emboldened him all the more, it caused him to believe everything he was saying himself.

"At the end of this day all Houses of our great lands will be stronger. Every farmer, every fisherman, shopkeeper, miner, and smith. All future descendants will sing of this day. They will sing of the heroics of their ancestors as they enjoy prosperity and luxury. That is the stake and scale today. Let us bring our people deliverance and a future worth singing of! THAT WILL BE OUR LEGACY!"

The roar of the men was deafening. Gerrion felt like a giant, and when he looked across the field the fearsome Vale Army looked like ants, insignificant. And obstacle to be trodden upon. He could almost taste it, he was drunk on anticipation, yet he felt as if he were the veteran of a thousand battles.

He decided to believe absolutely in his success. He decided to win

He drew his longsword with an ornate lion pommel studied with rubies and prayed to the Warrior to guide his hand to strike well today. He raised the sword to the sky.

"Casterly Rock! House Lannister! Lady Margery! HEAR ME ROAR!" He roared with the strength of a true lion.

His men followed suit. Some shouted for their House if they had one: Lannister, Algood, Broom, Prester, Serrett, Westerling, Swyft, Payne, Marbrand, Lydden, Lorch, Lefford, Kenning, Farman, Estren, Brax, Banefort, and Crakehall. A few added shouts for Lord Tywin, Lord Lucien, and even King Joffrey. But all of them prioritized what was most important to them. The names of their children, wives, and paramours. The pious ones shouted the names of the gods.

The noise seemed to propel him forward as he and the army advanced at a full gallop.

The two armies crashed together and the battlefield became chaotic. However, for Gerrion everything seemed to move slowly.

Every time a sword was swung at him, the thought of Margery with a babe at her breast whispering 'I knew you would come back to me my lion' sent the opponent's weapon skidding away. Whenever he imagined his weak brother Brynden feebly grabbing at his finger, struggling to maintain his delicate life, Gerrion's opponent lost a hand, arm, leg, or head.

The battle felt so simple and straightforward for Gerrion. It was one opponent, then another, then another and none could withstand him.

Battle rage was what Uncle Jaime called it. Gerrion had not truly felt it in the other battles, but now he could feel its potency. It was far more potent than intoxication. Mere hours before he had been fearful, stressed, perhaps even terrified. Now at the moment of truth he felt nothing but certainty. He was no longer repulsed in the moment by geysers of blood, screams, severed heads, and grievous irreversible injuries. It was simply what he had to do, and he then moved onto his next unfortunate opponent. It would bother him later, but not now.

He was caught up in his own personal battles, but he was not so engrossed in himself to not be aware of the larger battle. The Vale army was breaking. Not all at once, but piece by piece, man by man. Their will and resolve waning more and more until it would eventually extinguish. They were in a foreign land with a flimsy objective. While a Lannister would fight to the better end to preserve his way of life, the same Vale soldier would yield or retreat to save themselves.

Gerrion's force was outnumbered by five thousand men, but he had never felt as strong when Lord Lucien's full force was together. That was his father's army, but he realized that this one was his.

Lord Arryn kicked the hornet's nest. All my men needed was a little courage and then they did the rest. Bloody fool, he should have never come here.

"Calm down boy, leave some for the dog!" He heard a gruff voice behind him after he sent a mounted knight tumbling off his horse to break his neck.

Sandor Clegane was riding a giant black beast of a horse himself, and both horse and dog were covered with gore. "And pull that fucking arrow out. You want to die of infection during your moment of triumph? After the enemy is good and plowed? That's bloody insulting!"

Gerrion glanced at his breastplate and noticed for the first time the arrow lodged in his side, its tip shallowly piercing his skin.

I never felt it.

His men surrounded and protected him as he pulled it out.

"My Lord, do you need an escort to a medic." A soldier inquired of him.

Gerrion tossed the arrow aside. "I am not finished. Forward men! Victory awaits!"

The Vale army seemed to commence into a frantic and full retreat, any resolve they possessed crumbled. They were frantic and stumbling over one another.

Then Gerrion saw a truly pleasurable sight. A group of Vale knights. Their armor proved they were wealthy or members of an elite guard. They were dismounted but not attempting to flee. They were in a defensive position, as if protecting someone.

His heart soared, he could hardly believe his good fortune. He prayed that his speculation was accurate, and when he arrived his prayers were answered.

Lord Robert Arryn was slumped against a rock formation that provided cover from three sides. It was clear that he had been thrown from his mount in some way and he had been dragged here and protected by his personal guard.

Arryn was Gerrion's senior in age, but certainly not in experience. He looked green, out of his element, terrified, and in terrible pain. His helm was nowhere to be seen and he favored his left side. Despite himself Gerrion could not help but be pleased to hear his enemy in agony. There was no reason to pity a man who had planned to take everything from him. Gerrion believed the accusation against Joffrey, he sympathized with the other rebels call to arms. Arryn had attacked out of self-interest and went out of his way to attack Gerrion's lands. He may well have had his father killed. That could not be forgiven.

In front of Arryn, only three knights remained standing. Over twenty lay dead. When Gerrion approached, he commanded his men to disengage.

"Robert Arryn, your army seems to have left without you."

Arryn moved his head slightly and moaned "F…F…Fuu…Fuck you Lannister."

"Charming as ever." Gerrion recognized one of the men defending the fallen Lord. "Ser Vardis Eagen, you trained with me in Kings Landing when Jon Arryn was Hand. A good swordsmen and an even better man. Yield, and you will be treated with honor."

Ser Vardis was clearly injured, yet he stood tall. "It is my duty to defend my Lord. We will not yield, we would rather suffer the seven hells then violate our honor and hand our Lord over to you."

Gerrion sighed "Lord Arryn, spare your men. Surrender yourself willingly to captivity."

Robert Arryn was silent.

Despicable Gerrion thought with revulsion.

He sighed "Ser Vardis, a pity your spineless Lord does not value your lives. Know that you die with honor, which is more than can be said of most."

He sighed aloud again and signaled his men. Ser Vardis and his fellow knights died with honor.

Robert Arryn lay crumpled and broken and Gerrion summoned a medic to ensure that his new hostage remained alive. He had multiple injuries and in no way could he move on his own. Most notable of all, his face was as white as a bedsheet. He looked petrified, and it betrayed the false bravado in his words.

"Your power is over Lannister. You followed me here and are far from Kings Landing. Lord Tywin and the Kingslayer will die, and the rest of your bloody family will be executed for treason soon enough. Your victory is empty, your ruin is neigh. You will all suffer as your father did. He is in the Eyrie far beyond your reach. You cannot do anything to me."

Gerrion felt a deep a sudden urge to throttle the wounded man. To kill him slowly. His father was imprisoned because of this brat, he had threatened his lands and his home. What would he have done if he had gotten his hands on his mother and sisters? Margery and his unborn child? Was this how it began, the ruthlessness that his father and Grandfather where infamous for?

But perhaps justice could be cruel as well, and that would have to suffice.

"On the contrary, the pitch black dungeons of Casterly Rock await you, they make your sky cells seem like a paradise, a fate worse than death. The bowels of the Rock frightened me as a child whenever I felt brave enough to explore them. They will frighten you as well."

You could have had my sister as a wife you bloody idiot. Instead you choose to attack my lands. You choose poorly.

When Lannisport was relieved, Lord Arryn would be tucked away into the bowls of Casterly Rock to rot. A terrible sentence as anyone who had been imprisoned there would agree. Still, it would be a kinder fate by far then what would befall him should Lucien Lannister ever get his hands on him.

Gerrion returned to camp triumphant, his men seeing him as a true Lord and a worthy successor in the making to Lord Tywin. But of course the battles were far from over and there was no true celebration. For as soon as possible, they marched to Lannisport.

For Gerrion, celebration was furthest from his mind as he paid his sincere respects to the body of Ser Kevan Lannister.