Kevan I
"They have my son."
"They do, Lord Tywin." The man's voice was heavy with fatigue. On the breast of his torn surcoat, the brindled boar of Crakehall was half-obscured by dried blood.
His brother's lords bannermen and commanders had wisely chosen to abstain from making any noise by the time the messenger had finished his tale of defeat. The aberrant hissing and crackling of the wood in the hearth were the only sources of sound in the room. Even then, it was far quieter than usual, the noise it produced was barely audible, as though fire itself was afraid of drawing Tywin Lannister's wrath.
Even worse, all those forced marches in all but pitch night, and the relentless drive South had been to no avail. His brother had set a gruelling pace, and it had taken its toll. Men wounded in the battle kept up as best they could or were abandoned to fend for themselves. Every morning they left a few more by the roadside, men who went to sleep never to wake. Every afternoon a few more collapsed along the way. And every evening a few more deserted, stealing off into the dusk. Whatever horses they could've spared in hunting down those malcontent and craven men who had chosen to leave were instead used in a forward role. As such, many of those who couldn't keep up with the pace of the army chose to either desert or, as was unfortunately prevalent, died.
They had been camped at a tavern whose mistress was relieved of her position when a rider had arrived from Riverrun. And such, they found out the entire effort had all been for nothing. All those deserted, all those dead, mattered for naught. Robb Stark had taken Riverrun long before they had even reached the tavern.
"How could this happen?" Ser Harys Swyft moaned. "How? Even after the Whispering Wood, you had Riverrun ringed in iron, surrounded by a great host . . . what madness made Ser Jaime decide to split his men into three separate camps? Surely he knew how vulnerable that would leave them?"
Kevan Lannister just about managed to control his urge to break the other man's nose. After all, to strike his good-son would've served to real purpose except to relieve his own mounting irritation with the man. He would be better served to refute Swyft's alarming rhetoric.
"I would have done likewise," he leaned forward, talking in a steady tone. "You have never seen Riverrun, Ser Harys, or you would realize that Jaime had no real options. The castle is arranged toward the end of the mark of land where the Tumblestone opens into the Red Fork of the Trident. The streams form different parts of a triangle, and when peril is upon them, the Tully's open their conduit entryways upstream to make a wide channel on the third side, transforming Riverrun into an island. The walls rise from the water, and from their towers, the defenders have a telling perspective on the opposing shores for some miles. To remove every one of the entrances, a besieger needs to put one camp north of the Tumblestone, one south of the Red Fork, and a third between the streams, west of the moat. There could be no alternate way, none."
"Ser Kevan speaks the truth, my lords," the messenger said. "We'd constructed palisades of honed stakes around the camps, yet they were far from sufficient, not with no notice and the streams cutting us off from one another. They descended on the north camp first. Nobody was anticipating an assault. Marq Piper had been attacking our stock trains, with some fifty men. Ser Jaime had gone out to deal with them the prior night . . . all things considered, with what we thought was them. We were told the Stark host was east of the Green Fork, heading south . . . They were waiting for us."
"They came at night?" Came the question from Lord Lefford. A good man, if much too sour and niggardly.
The man gave an exhausted nod. "The Blackfish drove the van, chopping down our guards and gathering up the palisades for the main attack. By the men we had realized what was occurring, riders were pouring over the trench banks and screaming through the camp with steel and fire. I was in the west camp, between the streams. When we heard the sounds of battle and saw our men being slaughtered, Lord Brax drove us to the rafts and we attempted to cross, but the current pushed us downstream and the Tully's began hurling rocks at us with the catapults on their walls. I saw one raft crushed to stuffing and three others toppled. Men cleared into the stream and breathed water. . . and those who made it across discovered the Starks awaiting them on the riverbanks."
Ser Flement Brax wore a silver-and-purple tabard and the look of a man who cannot comprehend what he has just heard. "My lord father—"
"Sorry, my lord," the messenger said. "Lord Brax was clad in plate-and-mail when his raft overturned. He was very gallant."
"The camp between the streams was stormed as well," the man continued. "While we were attempting to cross, more Starks cleared in from the west, two divisions of heavy horse. I saw Lord Umber's chained giant and the Mallister eagle, but it was the young Stark who led them, with a huge wolf running next to him. I wasn't there to see it, but it's said the monster killed four men and tore apart twelve horses. Our spearmen shaped up a resistance of sorts and held against their first charge, yet when the Tully's saw them engaged, they opened the gates of Riverrun and Tytos Blackwood drove a foray across the drawbridge and took them in the back."
The room was silent, adding a sick miasma to the messenger's account.
"Greatjon Umber burned the siege towers we were building, and Lord Blackwood found Ser Edmure Tully in chains among different hostages, and took them. Our south camp was under the command of Ser Forley Prester. He withdrew in good form the moment he saw that the camps were lost, with two thousand lances and as many bowmen, yet the Tyroshi sellsword who drove his riders turned his banners and went over to the enemy."
Sellsword! What else was to be expected from a man who men who peddled his service much like a Lannisport whore?
Ser Kevan looked over at his brother, who had his fingers woven under his chin. Only his eyes moved as he listened. His bristling golden side-whiskers framed a face so still, it might have been a bust, but Kevan could see tiny beads of sweat kissing his brother's forehead.
"How could it happen?" Ser Harys Swyft wailed again. "Ser Jaime taken, the siege broken, our forces depleted . . . this is a catastrophe!"
Ser Addam Marbrand uttered dryly, "I am sure we are all grateful to you for pointing out the obvious, Ser Harys. The question is, what shall we do about it?"
"Do not speak to me in that manner! It was your cavalry that could not break a lesser force of spearmen lead by a green boy. Spearmen! And what can we do, Ser? Jaime's host is all slaughtered or taken or put to flight, and the Starks and the Tully's sit squarely upon our line of supply. The foremost mounted command in the Westerlands broken! The Mountain broken and killed! Two separate battles, my lords. And we have come off worse in one and have been utterly slaughtered in the other. To raise another host prepared for active warfare would take months. Time, we do not have. As such, the Northerns can easily march on Casterly Rock, with little to no opposition. My lords, the only option available to us is peace."
Kevan saw that Marbrand was about to viciously retort and knew that he had to step in.
"There will be no peace, Ser Swyft." Kevan looked up from his wine and into his good-son's eyes. "Those in King's Landing shattered it for good when they... took Eddard Stark's head. And with the Robb Stark's victories over our forces, he will believe himself to be in a position of unassailable strength."
And what that had been! What had possessed Cersei to allow Joffrey to take Stark's head. And Tyrion! For all his deficiencies, Kevan had thought he had better sense than to condone Lord Stark's execution. The sheer stupidity of the decision had led Kevan to initially think it a hoax or a poor jape. To find out it was true...had not been pleasant. And the timing of it could not be worse, for it came off of the back of two victories, and the capture of Jaime. While an exchange between the two could've been negotiated, the boy king, the imp and his niece's foolishness had closed off that route.
"Perhaps they would consent to a truce, and allow us to trade our prisoners for theirs. I had heard that Queen Cersei holds the former Hand's daughters. If we were to give the Stark boy his sisters back..."
Ser Addam snorted disdainfully. "He would have to be an utter fool to trade Jaime Lannister's life for two girls."
"Then we must ransom Ser Jaime, whatever it costs," Lord Lefford said.
"Two battles do not make a war," Ser Addam insisted. "We are far from lost. I should welcome the chance to try my steel against this Stark boy."
Ser Swyft snorted disdainfully, "You did, Marbrand. And that was against the younger. I shudder to think about the state of your men if you were to face him the field again."
Lord Tywin Lannister rose to his feet. "They have my son," he said once more, in a voice that cut through the babble with a Valyrian edge. "Leave me. All but Marbrand and Kevan."
Ser Kevan rose from his seat and headed for the wine casks to the back of the room. Selecting a dry Dornish, he poured himself a generous measure and sat back in his seat. Opposite him, Ser Addam was visibly sweating but he admirably managed to keep himself from further betraying his nervousness. As suspected, Lord Tywin turned to Marband first.
"Your cavalry charge against the Stark boy at the Greek Fork. Have you ascertained as to why your men were ever so effortlessly turned back?"
Ser Addam swallowed but met his liege lord's gaze and answered in as steady a tone he was capable of producing.
"No, my lord. As far as we know, it was simply the extended length of their pikes that managed to deal the amount of damage we received. Beyond that, we can say that the formation was extremely well trained in that they did not flinch while facing our charge. "
Kevan interjected, "Are they essentially an exceptionally well-formed formation of pikes?"
Marbrand despondently shook his head.
"I'm afraid not, Ser Kevan. We only have to look at their counter-charge to get a sense of their capabilities. Using their advance as an example of their wider fighting competence. This is not simply a group of well-trained men. Their training is not merely good, it is abnormally thorough. As such, I find myself suspecting that even flanking such a force would not be a viable method to achieve victory."
Lord Tywin nodded, seemingly lost in his thoughts before he flicked his hand and dismissed Marbrand, who left with a relieved breath escaping him. Then, his brother turned to Kevan.
Tywin seated himself. "You had the right of it about Stark. Alive, we might have used Lord Eddard to forge a peace with Winterfell and Riverrun, a peace that would have given us the time we need to deal with Robert's brothers. Dead . . ." His hand curled into a fist. "Madness. Rank madness."
Ser Kevan found himself agreeing as he took a sip of his wine, even as his brother continued.
"Our position is worse than you know," his brother went on. "It would seem we have a new king."
"A new—who? What have they done to Joffrey?"
The faintest flicker of distaste played across Lord Tywin's thin lips. "Nothing . . . yet. My grandson still sits on the Iron Throne, but the eunuch has heard whispers from the south. Renly Baratheon wed Margaery Tyrell at Highgarden this fortnight past, and now he has claimed the crown. The bride's father and brothers have bent the knee and sworn him their swords."
"Those are grave tidings."
To have Highgarden and Storm's End allied against them could prove devastating. And with Robb Stark's victories...
"My daughter commands us to ride for King's Landing at once, to defend the Red Keep against King Renly and the Knight of Flowers." His mouth tightened. "Commands us, mind you. In the name of the king and council."
"And how does our King take the news?"
"Cersei has not seen fit to tell him yet," Lord Tywin said. "She fears he might insist on marching against Renly himself."
"With what army?" Kevan asked.
"He talks of leading the City Watch," Lord Tywin said. "If he takes the Watch, he'll leave the city undefended,"
Kevan frowned. "And with Lord Stannis on Dragonstone . . ."
His brother frowned. "I have felt from the beginning that Stannis was a greater danger than all the others combined. Yet he does nothing. Oh, Varys hears his whispers. Stannis is building ships, Stannis is hiring sellswords, Stannis is bringing a sorceress from Asshai. What does it mean? Is any of it true?" He gave an irritated shrug.
"Kevan, bring the map." Ser Kevan did as he was commanded. Tywin unrolled the calfskin, setting it smooth over the table. "Jaime has left us in a poor position. Roose Bolton and his host are north of us, potentially encouraged. Our foes hold the Twins and Moat Cailin. Robb Stark sits toward the west, so we can't withdraw to Lannisport and the Rock unless we decide to fight. Jaime is taken, and his host for all purposes has stopped to exist. Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion keep on plaguing our parties. To our east we have the Arryn's, Stannis Baratheon sits on Dragonstone, and in the south Highgarden and Storm's End are calling their banners."
Kevan grimaced over the map, brow wrinkling. "Robb Stark will have Edmure Tully and the rulers of the Trident with him now. Their consolidated force might surpass our own. What's more, with Roose Bolton behind us . . . Tywin, should we stay here, I dread our being surrounded by three hosts."
"I have no aim of staying here. We should complete our business with youthful Lord Stark before Renly Baratheon can march from Highgarden. Bolton concerns me. He is a careful and smart man. He will have observed our diminished numbers. So . . . on the morrow, we make for Harrenhal. Kevan, I need what remains Ser Addam's riders to screen our development. Recruit what horses we need from whomever you wish and offer them to proficient men. Give him however many men as he requires, and send them out in gatherings of six. I will have no vanishings."
"As you say, my lord, but . . . why Harrenhal? That is a grim, unlucky place. Some call it cursed."
"Let them," Lord Tywin jeered. "With Ser Gregor killed and taken by the Northerners, send Amory Lorch in his place. Release Vargo Hoat with 300 mounts. I need to see the Riverlands ablaze from the Gods Eye to the Red Fork."
Ser Kevan left the room, to do as he was bid. His lord had given his orders, and it was now up to him to see them done.
THIS CHAPTER IS BASICALLY FILLER. IT'S AN UPDATE ON THE LANNISTER SITUATION. NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED FROM CANON EXCEPT TYRION IS NOW IN KING'S LANDING AND LORD EDDARD IS DEAD. SORRY FOR THE RUBBISH UPDATE CONSISTENCY, BUT CRACKED RIBS WILL DO THAT TO YOU. I'LL UPDATE WHEN I CAN, HOPEFULLY IN UNDER 48 HOURS, BUT NO PROMISES. CHEERS!