Chapter 33 – The 20th day of December, 298 years after Aegon's Conquest
The RAAF P-8 Poseidon hovered twenty thousand feet over the fortress of Riverrun.
The Lannister army was encamped twenty miles to the west, perhaps two days march away. Beneath the walls of the fortress the Tully host was massing, but it appeared Lord Edmure had rallied barely half the fighting men of his opponent.
Thirty miles to the east, the bulk of the second Lannister army still sat at Stone Hedge, the seat of House Bracken. Tywin's raiding parties were already plundering as far afield as Pennytree and Sallydance. The strategy had a cruel yet obvious efficiency about it. The pincer movement was just about complete. As soon as Jaime besieged Riverrun itself, Tywin would be free to ravage the entire region unmolested. Looking at the aerial images of the burnt-out fields and villages, the PM sighed.
"Alright, so today I want us to seriously consider the question of how to resolve this conflict in the Riverlands. General?"
General Campbell got up and went to the lectern at the end of the table. He brought up a new Powerpoint.
"Thank you, Prime Minister, now as you can see, there are several armies on the march across Westeros."
He brought up a map of the Seven Kingdoms, one that might have come out of an Atlas. The last few months had been a geographer's picnic as the data from their surveillance flights had come in. A million aerial photographs, stitched together and combined with radar returns to determine topography, had produced a more accurate map than anyone in Westeros could honestly be said to possess. They had given the local maps a close study as well of course. A number had been gifted to them during their time in King's Landing. They'd identified the main settlements and other points of interest and matched them up with what they'd seen from the air.
Five hundred kilometers south of King's Landing, Renly's host, close to thirty thousand strong, was nearing a place called 'Grassy Vale'. Another five hundred or so K's to the south-west, Lord Mace Tyrell was gathering his own host at Highgarden, though he had not yet had time to march it anywhere. Further north, a pair of Lannister armies sat menacingly either side of Riverrun. A thousand or so K's north of that, Robb Stark was marching down through the Barrowlands.
Other markers indicated other armies that had taken to the field. Robert's other brother, Stannis, seemed to be gathering men at Dragonstone. They weren't sure of his numbers yet, though they'd spotted hundreds of ships docked at harbor. Then of course, there was the bunch of fanatics parked right in front of the Ring, doing their best Berlin Wall impression. Their methods may have been primitive, but there was a certain frenetic energy to them. The long mound of rocks and dirt they'd raised immediately in front of the Ring was close to a hundred feet high already.
"Our most immediate concern should be the Lannister armies here and here, around Riverrun" the General went on, after pointing out the key players on the map. "Tywin Lannister has remained in place for several weeks, only sending out raiding parties of maybe a few hundred men each. Jaime however has almost finished his march on the castle however. In a couple of days we are like to see a battle, in which thousands more will be slaughtered. Given the numbers, the Lannisters seem likely to prevail. If Jaime Lannister takes Riverrun, or just lays siege to it, Tywin is free to move further east, perhaps marching on the Ring before long."
"Do we think these ones might be mad enough to actually invade this time?" asked the Deputy PM.
"From what we hear of him, Tywin is…ruthless, but not incompetent. I don't think he is some fanatic to be easily manipulated, like these Faith Militant" Dutton offered.
"Fools rush in where angels dare to tread" said Fifield, who was present in person for today's meeting. "That's why the queen has made use of the faith. Any lord with a sensible head on his shoulders will take one look at our flying machines and conclude its useless to try and fight us. I suspect that will be true of Tywin. He will have to sit down and listen to us if we go to him, as I have suggested."
"It's a fair suggestion Mitch" Dutton said. "I am curious though, exactly what do we tell him? That his daughter and son have been fornicating? That they tried to murder a seven-year-old to prevent the world finding out? That his grandson is a bastard with no claim to the throne? Even if he doesn't see us as just some demons…servants of the Stranger or whatever, do we really expect him to listen to a word we say?"
"What else can we do?" Fifield countered. "There's an actual war raging here. Thousands have already died in these Riverlands. Thousands more will die if we do nothing. We have the power to prevent this."
"Indeed we do" piped up Arthur Culvahouse, back in his role as the American representative. "A few good airstrikes and we could shatter the Lannister armies in an afternoon. Stop all this mucking about."
The Australians shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
"I'd like to be clear for everyone present, there's really two distinct, if related, disputes which have started this current war" said the PM cautiously "You have the disputed succession over who sits the Iron Throne, between the Lannisters and the Baratheons. Then you have this other one. Tywin has supposedly invaded the Riverlands to try and get back his son, whom Catelyn Stark seized weeks ago, on suspicion of again trying to murder her own son."
"Has he not turned up by now?" the Deputy PM asked.
"No" answered General Campbell. "Not as far as we're aware. Again, she took him to the Eyrie, her sister's seat. They held a trial by combat. Supposedly his champion won and the two of them disappeared into the mountains. What's more concerning, there are meant to be these uh…mountain clans? They live up there. We were told they're a menace to anymore who goes down that road."
"So they might have killed him already" Dutton pointed out. "Then he'll never be found. Tywin can justify this war as long as he wants."
"But if he is alive, and we returned him to his father, that could compel Tywin to end the fighting, it removes his original casus belli" Fifield urged.
Dutton made a noise that was close to a snort. "I think we're past that now. His son being taken? That's just the pretense, like the archduke being shot. Unless I'm very much mistaken, Tywin is like the Kaiser. He has his excuse, now he'll have his war one way or another."
"Then what's his actual goal here?" asked the PM.
"Power" Dutton said immediately. "And survival, for himself and his whole family. Robert wants him dead, he wants all the Lannisters dead. He says it every time I talk to him. He'll never permit them to live, not Cersei, not her children, nor Tywin nor Jaime. He'll hunt them anywhere now, and can we really blame him? He'll never tolerate a peace, and Tywin must know this. Furthermore, I doubt Tywin will ever accept what his children have done. The humiliation would be well…unbearable. This is a feudal society remember. Reputation is everything. He can't accept it, that his whole legacy is a lie. For him, it's the end of everything."
"So we can't convince him to make a peace? Let the Lannisters keep Casterley Rock perhaps. They all go back to the Westerlands. Cersei and her children go into exile somewhere. Here if need be, I consider that offer remains standing. Renly marches on the capital, Robert gets back on his throne, marries this Tyrell girl, we forget all this ever happened."
"No, I don't believe that is possible" Dutton said dismissively. "Call me a cynic, but too much blood has been shed. Too much honor is at stake."
"I have to agree" Culvahouse added. "Its like telling us not to go after Bin Laden after 9/11. I mean what choice is there? Unless God himself came down and told us to stop, and even then we'd have to think about it."
"So all this about returning Tyrion is irrelevant. The bigger picture is that Robert and Tywin will not possibly make any sort of deal. Is that our conclusion here?" the PM asked.
"What exactly does that have to do with the Tullys? With this attack on Riverrun?" asked one of the other ministers.
"Well Robert Baratheon came to power at the head of a great alliance, with the Starks, Arryns and Tullys supporting him" Dutton explained. "In order to win, Tywin needs to dismantle that alliance. The Tullys are first in line. The bigger picture though is still Robert against Tywin, unless we intervene militarily, the two will continue to fight over the throne until one or the other is dead."
"That may be true, but unless we sit down and talk to the man, we won't know for sure" Fifield said. "Perhaps the entire truth wouldn't work, no, but if we're careful in our words…What's the harm in trying?"
"Who do you propose we send? Who would Tywin even listen to?"
Fifield hesitated. "I can think of one man."
######
It was only Barristan Selmy's second time on a helicopter, and he was far from getting used to the experience.
He had left the king's side only with great reluctance. He had never forsworn his kingsguard vows, and after forty years he wasn't about to start. Ser Mandon still remained by the king's side, and Barristan had made the flying men promise to return him within twelve hours to relieve his only comrade.
The king's moods had only grown dourer as his stay in the 'hospital' had dragged on into its second month. After several rounds of surgery he was back on solid foods and had even been able to take a few hesitant steps around the hospital ward. He was still expelling waste into a pouch provided by the flying men however, until his 'colon' recovered. Robert had wanted to leave the moment he could get back up on his feet, but the 'doctors' insisted he had further operations to complete. The 'stoma reversal' might be another month on. The king had raged, and cursed the gods, the boar, Cersei, every Lannister living and a dozen other things.
In the end, it was probably only Ser Barristan himself who got his sovereign to calm down. The king would be no use to anyone if he left this place still weak, he had argued, unable to ride and fight. Eddard Stark had rushed into King's Landing and died for him. Others were working to counter the Lannisters in his stead. He could afford to wait, until he was at full strength, and no longer shitting into a bag. Patience had never been in Robert Baratheon's nature, but in the end the king had relented.
It was curious then how Ser Barristan himself had been convinced into doing something rash. The Australian representatives, Dutton or one of the others, visited most days to update them on goings on in Westeros. Barristan had been told of Tywin's march on the Riverlands, and now he had joined Dutton, Fifield and their delegation in an attempt to stop it.
Their huge 'Chinook' was just one flying machine among many. Ser Barristan looked out the window, counting at least eight or nine others in different sizes. It seemed a formation meant to intimidate. They would need it. In forty years, Barristan Selmy had never known Tywin Lannister to be intimidated.
The formation flew from an Australian night into a pre-dawn Westeros. The craft shuddered a little as it traversed the Ring. Ser Barristan looked down as they did so, but the landscape remained in darkness. He couldn't make out the constructions of the Faith Militant, only a line of flicking fires marked out their barricade. He pitied the fools. What did the queen hope to achieve?
A couple of hours later the craft descended to land, but only to refuel, using black barrels that had been dropped and scattered by an even larger machine. Ser Barristan wasn't sure exactly where they were, only that they had flown over a huge expanse of water shortly before that must have been the God's Eye. They took off again, the sun just poking its head up to the east. Shortly afterward, they again started to descend. Ser Barristan craned his neck to look out the window.
Below there was a broad expanse of red and gold, like a Myrish carpet in Lannister colors. As they approached it resolved itself into thousands of tents. In its center poked out a sturdy-looking stone castle, surrounded by the burnt remains of a village. A brook ran along its western side, flowing north in the direction of the Red Fork. Flying closer, he started to make out the banners that flew from the tents – the burning tree of House Marbrand, the white badger of Lydden, the green arrow of Sarsfield, the rooster of House Swyft.
And everywhere he looked, the rearing golden lion of house Lannister.
######
As had long been his habit, Tywin Lannister did not sleep until after midnight, but was nonetheless awake before dawn. He dunked a cloth in the bowl of water beside his bed, wiping down his face, armpits and crotch, before proceeding to dress. Outside the tent, he could smell bacon cooking. His steward, a squire and nephew of Lord Banefort who hadn't yet seen his twelfth nameday, soon entered, bringing him a breakfast of bread slices dipped in bacon grease. The boy was helping him tie up the straps on his armor when he heard a noise. Tywin just had time to cock his head upwards in curiosity.
BOOM.
The tent shook. Candlesticks and knives on the nearby table rattled. Outside could be heard the shrieks of horses and the hardly less panicked cries of men. His squire flinched, dropping the pauldron he had been about to strap onto his liege's shoulder, cursing. Tywin remained seated, his expression turning into a slight frown. Moments later, his brother Kevan pulled back a partition, half-leaping inside.
"Tywin!" he gasped. "They're here! The flying men, it must be!"
"Indeed" Tywin replied evenly, as if his brother had been commenting on the weather. He glanced at the fallen piece of armor. "Pick it up" he commanded. The Banefort boy hastened to obey. A minute later, Tywin strode from the tent, looking east in the direction of the rising sun. A dozen-odd dark shapes were advancing in a line, though as yet little detail could be gleaned. As he was observing this approach, Tywin noticed his brother's eyes widen.
"Look!" Kevan said, pointing north. Tywin turned, just in time to see four more objects, moving so fast they were back overhead in an eyeblink.
BOOM.
Again the whole world shook. Tent canvasses flapped. Dishes rattled. The quartet of flying machines passed by a thousand feet overhead with a deafening roar that echoed for many seconds. Tywin only caught a glimpse of the geometric, roughly triangular craft, shining silver in the early morning light. A part of his mind, drawing on long atrophied arithmetic lessons from his childhood, tried to work out how fast they were going, but it was impossible. Faster than a raven, faster than any arrow surely. Could even the dragons of Valyria match such speed?
Tywin kept these troubling thoughts to himself however. The craft kept flying south, and this time did not return. He turned back to the other craft approaching from the east, in the rough direction of King's Landing. He turned to his brother.
"Find Ser Addam, tell him to put every man with a bow along the perimeter. All other senior commanders back to my tent."
His brother began barking orders to his own underlings. Tywin watched the flying machines for a while. They paused just a few hundred yards short of the edge of the sprawling encampment, beyond the outer barrier with its ditch of stakes. Groups of crossbowmen were already rushing to it. Untethered horses were rushing about, startled by the unnatural noise. Grown men were cowering in places. A few had dropped to their knees, murmuring prayers to the seven. Sergeants stomped about however, grabbing these soft-hearted fools and threatening them with whatever violence was necessary for them to get up and resume their duties. Quite quickly, order and discipline returned. Tywin returned to his tent and issued some further instructions to his brother.
######
The 'Chinook' descended maybe a hundred yards short of the ditch that marked the edge of the Lannister encampment. Two dozen green men filed out through the rear door, forming a wedge shape around the other occupants. Ser Barristan, along with Fifield, Dutton and a small group of other diplomats, emerged in turn. One of them carried an Australian flag on a long metal pole. There had been some argument earlier. The Americans had wanted to attend, but other groups, the 'Chi-nese' and the 'Yoo-en', had demanded a presence as well. Eventually the Australians had decided to end the bickering by inviting none of them and attending to this themselves.
Dutton gestured him forward. Ser Barristan soon took the lead, his white cloak trailing beside him. In one arm he held his helmet. In the other he grasped a pole on which hung the banner of the kingsguard - a gold crown from which radiated seven white swords. The Australians had crafted it for him at his request. Ahead, the line of Lannister crossbowmen eyed them warily. Behind, twelve other helicopters hovered in place, buzzing like the world's largest swarm of bees. Or merely the angriest he thought.
Standing on the mound of dirt that had been raised inside the ditch was Kevan Lannister, a man he had known since the War of the Ninepenny Kings forty years earlier, when he had been a newly anointed knight and Kevan a mere squire. When they were twenty yards apart Kevan raised a hand in greeting.
"Ser Barristan. I did not think to see you here."
"I did not think to be here Ser Kevan."
"May I ask where you have come from?"
"I have come from King Robert's side, where he recovers in Melbourne, on the far side of the Maidenring."
Kevan nodded curtly. "We have heard much of this place. That is the banner of…Australia, is it not?" he said, gesturing at the flagbearer.
"It is ser, they seek to talk with Lord Tywin. Is he present?"
"What do they wish to talk about?" Kevan countered, dodging the previous question.
"They wish for peace in the seven kingdoms ser, so that a profitable exchange between our two peoples can resume."
Kevan seemed to consider this a moment. "Very well. Lord Tywin is present. I can take you to him."
"I must ask Ser Kevan, even in these troubled times, that you can extend to us guest rite?"
The Westerlands knight seemed surprised by the question. "Of course ser. House Lannister will always uphold the most sacred of duties. We are not savages."
"Then I thank you ser."
Kevan stood aside. He barked some orders at the Lannister men nearby. A sturdy wooden plank was deposited across the ditch, allowing a man to cross it. Ser Barristan lowered his banner and proceeded up the offered pathway. Behind him he noticed Dutton and Fifield exchange a glance, then follow him in turn. A dozen green men brought up the rear, bringing the Australian's banner.