Chapter 36 – The 29th day of December, 298 years after Aegon's Conquest
Tyrion Lannister looked up in confusion when he heard the noise.
The past few months had been an adventure so strange and so terrifying he didn't think he could even have dreamed it. He had pissed off the edge of The Wall. He had been threatened by snarling direwolves. Then his supper at the Crossroad's Inn had been interrupted by a sudden bout of kidnapping. They had survived an attack by the mountain clansmen. He had spent weeks sleeping in a sky cell, where a moment of inattention would see you rolling six feet sideways and six hundred down.
Desperate, he had demanded his trial by combat and Bronn had stepped forward to bring down the captain of Lysa Arryn's guard. Tyrion had lingered at the Eyrie just long enough to hear queer tales of Flying Men and something called a 'Maidenring' to the south. Before any real details could surface they had been released back down the High Road. Within a day the clansmen had found them again, but he had won them to his cause with promises of gold and steel.
His escort had now swollen to a force of three hundred. Chella of the Black Ears, Shagga and the Stone Crows, Timett and his Burned Men, Ulf of the Moon Brothers. Yet this was just the seed of the army he hoped to grow. Others had gone off to rouse the remaining clans and bring them to his side.
The slopes were shallowing out now. He had caught a few glimpses of the flat Riverlands ahead, and maybe even the glint of the Trident at times, many leagues distant. They were walking through a high meadow, sparsely wooded, when he heard the noise. Looking up, there were cries of alarm from the clansmen. For a wild moment Tyrion thought dragons but quickly dismissed the thought. Dragons had wings and these apparitions did not.
There were three of them, brown and green in color, and looking oddly like giant fishes, hovering a few hundred yards overhead. Shagga was roaring at them, brandishing his club and axe. The other clan leaders seemed torn between fight or flight. Chella had dived behind a nearby boulder, an idea quickly taken up by several others. The Moon Brothers had scattered almost instinctively, headed for the nearest copse of trees. The Burned Men remained, clutching weapons and staring up at the strangers in stony silence.
Tyrion was torn too. Could he make a run for it? Only his little legs had never been good for that. Even if these things did not follow, the clansmen would be on him quickly. No, it seemed he would have to talk his way out of this one as well. He turned to Bronn, who was also looking up, dumbfounded.
"Might these be the flying men we heard of?"
"Seems that way" the sellsword replied, not taking his eyes off the sight.
The nearest of the machines flew lower, until it was barely a hundred feet over the meadow and some way in front of them. Tyrion studied it more closely. He counted three protrusions at the bottom of the craft, arranged in a triangle, with little black wheels attached to the ends. Could that be how it landed and came to rest like a carriage? The air above it was a blur, like smoky air above a fire. Curious. Other parts of the machine glinted like the surface of a river. Could it have been made of crystal or glass?
Just as Tyrion was trying to solve these mysteries, the machine changed shape. A part of its midsection appeared to slide to the side. A doorway, he realized, very much like a carriage. Inside he recognized the shapes of men. Most seemed dressed in a sort of drab green, but one wore garments all in white. An old, bearded face was looking out at him. It was instantly familiar.
Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, gave him an awkward sort of wave.
The conversation that followed was so bizarre it bordered on painful.
"So you cannot come with us?"
Tyrion sighed. He had thought the last half a year strange, but now realized his adventures had been almost mundane compared to the trouble brewing up around King's Landing. Ser Barristan stood in the meadow before him, a dozen of the green-clad flying warriors from 'Australia' arrayed in a crescent shape around him. Behind Tyrion, the better part of two hundred clansmen were similarly arrayed, looking at the newcomers with intense distrust. But at least the conversation had so far been murder-free.
"I'm afraid I have made promises to my new friends here, in return for their escorting me through the mountains" he waved at the clansmen. "It would be quite impossible for me to leave them now."
"How many are there?" Barristan asked, looking around as if to count himself.
"Two hundred I think, maybe closer to three."
Ser Barristan turned to one of the green men, who shook his head. The kingsguard knight turned back.
"We could take a handful, half a score maybe, not three hundred."
"Well then, I thank you for the offer of a ride. I always dreamed of having a dragon of my own, but I'm afraid I must decline. I will have to finish this journey on foot."
Ser Barristan frowned, looking over at the clansmen.
"I do not quite understand. Are you their leader or their prisoner?"
"A bit of both I suppose" Tyrion said apologetically.
Finally Ser Barristan seemed to relent. "Very well, we will inform your father of your approach at least. I am sure he will be glad to hear of it."
"I admire your optimism ser. Might I ask how far away my father is encamped?"
"His host has just arrived near the Ruby Ford. You might reach them the day after next."
"Very well, I thank you again Ser Barristan for your help, but it seems I'm doing rather well on my own" Tyrion said sweetly.
With some reluctance, the old knight and the green men had once again boarded their 'Black Hawk' and soared high into the sky. When the roar of the engines had faded, the clansmen slowly resumed their march. The questioning that followed was rather intense.
"Were these the golden men, halfman? Your father sent them?"
"If you can fly, why do you ever need to walk?"
"Shagga wants these flying machines."
Two days later, they came to the first strongpoint at a bend in the road, a dozen crossbowmen behind a chest-high earthen wall. They were soon given an escort, and a few hours later he was standing before the judgmental eyes of his father and uncle at the Crossroads Inn.
"Kind of you to go to war for me, father".
"I had no choice but to ride. The honor of our house was at stake. But we have even greater problems now."
Tywin explained at some length the appearance of the Maidenring and the flying men who had come through it, of their previous visit and the alliance forming up in Robert's name. By the time he was done, Tyrion had finished three cups of ale.
"So my sweet sister has somehow managed to anger these flying men?"
"They accuse her of trying murder Robert and usurping the throne in favor of Joffrey."
"Did she?" Tyrion asked innocently.
"Does it matter?" Tywin said with a glare. "Whatever transpired, Robert apparently survived and believes in this conspiracy to kill him, at least if we believe Ser Barristan's word. Robert's brothers have taken up arms against us. Mace Tyrell wants to give his daughter to that drunken oaf as a bride, and the Stark boy wants revenge for his father."
"If Robert does survive, then how can Joffrey…"
"The Iron Throne cannot remain vacant" Ser Kevan declared. "After a time, a king's absence must be tantamount to abdication."
Tyrion frowned at this logic, but dropped the subject. "Very well, so we're fighting against the Baratheons, Tyrells, Tullys and Starks. The Arryns probably won't be showing up, so for that we can be thankful. Who else is on our side?"
His father and uncle exchanged a glance.
"The High Septon has denounced the flying men. Cersei approved the formation of a new Faith Militant."
Now that was interesting. "Did she?" Tyrion said, surprised. "How many swords do we think the faith can rally?"
"We are told that the faith already sent an army to the Ring, led by a Lord Bonifer Hasty, in an attempt to close it off. They number…some thousands. More Warrior's Sons are arriving in King's Landing by the day. Our reports are that the Great Sept of Baelor has been turned into a fortress."
"To close it off?" Tyrion repeated dumbly, as if he had misheard. "Lord Bonifer does not seem to have had much success, judging by Ser Barristan's ability to come and go as he pleases."
Tywin frowned. "It may have been a desperate move on your sister's part, to try and keep Robert at bay. We do not know the full capabilities of these men who dwell beyond the Ring, but I have no reason to doubt they are considerable. It may be folly to try and fight them."
"They can clearly fly higher than any arrow or scorpion bolt" his uncle pointed out. "But even a dragon must swoop low to reign fire, and then it becomes vulnerable."
Tywin's frown deepened. "Perhaps, fortunately your sister did not attempt any sort of invasion. That would only have provoked them further. Still, they have professed their neutrality to us. They say they want peace, and for free passage through the Ring once more, but they will not fight for it themselves." His father's voice was thick with contempt. "If we can show our superiority over Robert's supporters, before long they must conclude his rule in untenable and accept Joffrey as the new king. I then intend to see this Ring for myself and see what is to be done about it. Once we are in a position of strength, we will be in a position to negotiate."
Tyrion poured another cup of ale. "So the Lion and the Swords and Stars. Together can we fight off all of Westeros?"
Tywin was looking daggers at him. "Robb Stark is a green boy, Renly too. Stannis Baratheon is a more formidable sort, but little loved."
"If Mace Tyrell has truly rallied the Reach. Robert could have a hundred thousand swords by now."
Tywin paused, as if deep in thought. "A concern, to be sure, but what makes him think Robert's second marriage will be any more successful than his first? Like as not Margaery will try and murder him in his sleep after a few years."
So you do believe my sister guilty Tyrion thought, but he held his tongue. He was surprised at what his father said next.
"Nonetheless, I acknowledge your point. If the flying men believe our cause doomed, they may lend increasing aid to our enemies in the hope of shortening the war. Perhaps they do not have the disposition to fight themselves, but clearly they have not been completely idle either. I have little doubt they are reporting our movements and our strength. They appear to have given Renly one of their machines as well, or let him purchase it at least. Accounts differ. Who knows what else they will do? Still, we do need allies. How many clansmen have you rallied?"
"Three hundred with me, but there are other clans. Men went off to rally them. That number could be ten times higher."
Tywin gave him a searching look. "Good. I want them."
"How many?"
"All of them. Three thousand swords would replace the men I lent to Jaime, even if they are not quite of the same quality."
"Lent to Jaime?" Tyrion repeated.
Tywin pulled out a map and unfurled it over the table. "My original plan was to have Jaime besiege Riverrun while I moved here to deal with the Stark host. The only other crossing point for hundreds of miles is at the Twins. Walder Frey doesn't take to the field unless victory is in the air, and all he would taste now is ruin."
Tywin locked eyes with him for a moment. "But things have changed. Stark will be nearing the Twins even now. Scouts have reported a flying machine ranging south along the Green Fork. I don't know if the flying men actually gave it to the Starks. Maybe it is just for the use of their envoys. Regardless, the appearance is that the two are in league."
"They promised they would not be interfering militarily" Tyrion pointed out.
"Yes" Tywin replied "but Lord Frey doesn't know that does he? A flying machine hovering over his castle? The man will open his gates, and may join his levies to the Starks as well. Robb can then ride for Riverrun."
"How do you know that is his target?"
"If his father were still alive, beleaguered in King's Landing, no doubt the Stark boy would be headed there, but that isn't the case any longer. Riverrun is his grandfather's castle. Chances are he will ride to save his kin."
Tyrion was nodding along slowly. He could not fault his father's reasoning. "Then why do we dawdle here? Riverrun is near forty leagues to the west. Ten days hard marching, at least."
"The cavalry could do it in a week" his father pointed out "but it matters not. I already reinforced Jaime. Before we left Stone Hedge, I sent two thousand spears under Flement Brax, to join his father. Gregor Clegane is with him with a thousand riders. Jaime now has, to a small degree, the larger army. I told him to send out double the scouts, particularly to the north, in case the Starks approach. I strongly recommended Ser Gregor for the command."
"A bold move father" Tyrion observed, not entirely japing "but if you are wrong, if the Starks march south with their full strength, especially with Frey's levies, won't we be outnumbered here?"
"To a small degree" Tywin said, unconcerned. "Though we have more heavy horse, and your mountain clansmen arrive at an opportune moment. Besides, it is my intention to remain on the defensive for now. We will soon be well encamped, and can fall back on the fords if need be. Whichever way the Stark boy tries to move south, we will be well prepared to meet him."