"Why do you suggest I walk out into the field against an enemy who has yet to lose a battle?" Matthew asked of Stannis. "Surely it would be a greater advantage to fight behind city walls, and the news of Lady Sansa's supposed death means he isn't in top condition.
"You can't feed half a million people," Stannis scoffed. "I know this city far better than you. The Tyrells will make no attempt to help you, and Stark will seize control over both sides of the river. How many bannermen from the Stormlands have arrived?"
"Not many," Matthew conceded. They were waiting to see who the winner would be, no doubt.
"So do not count on food from them, or from your Braavosi allies," Stannis advised. "With only your fleet to supply you, the city will starve in weeks. Renly attacked from the South, which would have left some of your sources intact, but Stark moves from the North."
"I already know not to trust anyone," Matthew raised an eyebrow. "And that still includes you. All my other advisors tell me to prepare for a siege. What would you suggest instead?"
"Make your stand here," Stannis pointed at a small river ten leagues north of King's Landing.
"It barely looks like a river," Matthew squinted at the map. "River doesn't even have a name, which tells me it can't be very important. A narrow ford isn't a substitute for city walls."
"The river is narrow, but it is swift," Stannis informed. "Few who dare to swim in it walk out again. Smallfolk who reside near it have learned as much. Destroy the bridges, and you can attack Stark with impunity."
"Interesting strategy, but this carries just as many risks," Matthew rubbed his chin. "Do you know the width of it, by any chance?" Considering Stannis' memory, he expected he would.
"Fifty to one hundred meters at most points," Stannis pointed to two locations. "The bridges are there, and with no other method of crossing, Stark will have to either advance into a torrent, or retreat. My brother would have lost at the Trident had Rheagar not been foolish enough to attempt crossing it."
"I still intend to make sure we have a place to retreat to," Matthew had never heard of the river, but considering the size of Westeros, there were certainly hundreds of them, maybe thousands, throughout the continent. "And I intend to win the Tyrells over, make sure I can tip the balance." Matthew worried about their reported mobilization. They'd explain it by bringing troops to assist him, but he doubted Highgarden would be so forgiving.
Stannis snorted. "They will do nothing for you, even with two children hostage. The Tyrells appear kind on the surface, but they are no less duplicitous than Lannisters. If you are losing, expect them to put a knife in your back."
"Ever consider your view is tainted by your own personal dislike of Mace Tyrell?" Matthew questioned.
"Robert ignored me as well," Stannis ground his teeth. "I warned him the Tyrells should be severely punished for fighting alongside the Mad King, but he dismissed me. He'd assumed his gift for turning enemies into friends would work on them as well, and settled for them paying for the damage they caused. I recommend he hold Mace Tyrell as a hostage, and he refused. In return for that kindness, they supported my brother Renly in his attempt to usurp the throne."
"I'm aware of the story," Matthew intervened to halt the coming rant. "I get the point. I've got to win or lose based on what I currently have. He hasn't sent many of his men north to fight the wildlings, so that hope is shot."
"Stop trying to be merciful, you fool!" Joffrey screamed at him. "Kill them all! Show them no mercy!" Matthew scowled in response.
"Robb has yet to face a competent opponent," Stannis reminded. "Stafford Lannister was a fool, as is the Kingslayer. Do not give him command of anything significant."
"He's a member of the Kingsguard, so his duty is to me," Matthew remarked. Where I can make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. "I don't intend to charge brainlessly at my enemy. First, however, I want to make sure this river is as swift as you say, else I've no intention of making my stand. Do you know anyone who resides in the area?"
"It's a day's ride away, and Stark will not arrive for at least a week," Stannis stated. "Send out scouts, have them report back to you."
"I'm still a bit concerned about locations he can cross that aren't on the map," Matthew muttered. "Maps aren't perfect and if I remember correctly, Robb won against Stafford by just that sort of tactic."
"The alternative is to have the city rise against you. Vipers in King's Landing will turn as well, if they think it'll save their own skin. Even Tywin's reputation may not matter if things get desperate enough."
Matthew still leaned toward retreating into King's Landing and would have done so if Robb was the only enemy he had to consider. The Tyrells complicated things, as did Dorne's procession marching toward the Capital. My fleet could probably keep us fed for a few months, at least my soldiers. Matthew knew some still questioned him, thought him weak because of his earlier actions.
Both strategies carried heavy risks, even if Stannis' information was accurate. A small part of Matthew wondered if Stannis was intending to lure him into a trap. He didn't entirely trust the man, for all his efforts to win him over.
If Robb wished to ride against him, he would be crushed. The Northerners might have been skilled fighters, but they were resource-poor, with internal divisions he could exploit. He didn't intend to show mercy unless there was an immediate surrender, which he doubted. I'm not going to waste my time on negotiation. All of Westeros is going to watch for what I do next.
XXXXXXXXXX
"We are long overdue for a discussion, Cersei." Tyrion glared after making sure they were alone. He'd been tempted to have her guards slain and force the issue, but that wasn't necessary. Not yet, at least.
"I have nothing I want to say to you, dwarf," Cersei sneered but her eyes darted around the room. She was afraid. As she should be. "Get out!"
"I'm afraid that's not an option, sister," Tyrion approached her. "You see, a few days ago, I found Shae dead in her room. Cut open, as a matter of fact. Being that you threatened to kill her if I didn't obey you, you can imagine who's at the top of my suspect list."
"You always did spend too much time with whores," Cersei dismissed. "No wonder Father thinks so little of you."
"I would recommend you not call Shae a whore if you want any hope of getting out of this discussion intact," Tyrion warned. "The only reason I've held back as long as I have is that, for reasons I've never understood, Jaime loves you. Now I ask you again: convince me you weren't the one to kill her."
"Oh, I'm sure father will be delighted to hear this: threatening your family over a whore!" Cersei laughed but it did not reach her eyes.
"Running to father whenever you encounter trouble?" Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "You always were a coward, Cersei. Now I want an answer."
"I didn't touch your whore!" Cersei spat. "Why would I sacrifice a hold on you because you were weak enough to care about her? Who was the whore you first fell in love with. . . what was her name? Tysha, I think."
"If you want any hope of leaving this room intact, you will not mention her name again," Tyrion spoke with cold fury. Cersei swung her hand to slap him. Tyrion grabbed it in mid-air and twisted, throwing her onto the ground. "Is that understood, Cersei?"
"You're going to pay for this!" Cersei snarled. "Gu. . ." Tyrion placed a hand over her mouth.
"My cutthroats are quite capable of killing yours," Tyrion scoffed. "Is that understood? If it is, nod." Eyes glaring daggers, Cersei did so. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"I didn't kill your whore!"
"I'm done playing games, sister," Tyrion sneered. "You always did think yourself more clever than you actually are. From now on, you're going to obey my orders, the orders of a brother you despise." Tyrion couldn't believe he once tried to get his older sister to love him. She'd followed in her father's footsteps and treated him no less poorly.
"If you think you can threaten the Queen. . ." Cersei spat.
"Oh, but I can," Tyrion laughed. After so many years of enduring her torment, he delighted in the reversal. "I've known for a long time about you and Jaime, long before Stannis tried to inform the realm. . . though I do believe he has retracted it for now. You haven't been as discreet as you think, Cersei. I've had people watching you, and on at least two occasions, you've slept with our dear brother. I wonder how Father would take the blow to our family legacy."
"You'd never be so foolish," Cersei got to her feet and backed away. She cursed and searched her cabinets.
"I had your dagger removed days ago. You really should pay more attention to your belongings." Tyrion folded his hands behind his back. "And what would our dear Jaime say if you killed me?"
"He'll kill you once he finds out you intend to spread lies!" Cersei kept herself as far away from Tyrion as possible.
"Oh, Cersei; there's no need for falsehoods between us now." Tyrion shook his head. "You couldn't hide the truth from me. I have several informants who will testify to its truthfulness should you ever defy me again." A lie; they hadn't been necessary. Let her lash out at whoever she thinks is responsible, lose the few allies she still has. Cersei's paranoia was all too easy to spark.
"You won't find me obedient for long, dwarf," Cersei threatened. Tyrion punched her in the stomach, making her double over. He'd fantasized about doing that for a long time, but it couldn't compare to the real thing.
"And you're never going to call me that again," Tyrion smirked. "If I hear a single word of plots against me, Father will find out his entire legacy is a lie. You know, I'm tempted to do it anyway, just to see his reaction." If not for Jaime, Tyrion would have done so. Much as he loathed Cersei, Jaime still mattered to him.
"Get out! Now!" Cersei snarled, all fight leaving her.
"I'm glad we have an understanding," Tyrion gave a sarcastic wave. I wonder what he'd say if he discovered his grandson's been taken over by some otherworldly. . . person, I think. There were times he had trouble believing it himself, so he decided to use a more potent threat. He had no guarantee Tywin wouldn't dismiss him, but the prospect would be enough to keep her in line.
At one time, he would never have dared put Tommen and Myrcella in danger. Now, though, Tyrion couldn't bring himself to care. Cersei wouldn't put her children at risk, however much she might want revenge in the future. His sister was broken for the moment. He sighed as he walked through the halls of the Red Keep alongside Bronn. Tyrion knew the possibility he was endangering his friendship with Jaime.
Play nice, sister. For all our sakes.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Is there any change?" Matthew bit his lip at the sight of Sansa. Her stab wounds had been cleaned, but they still practically glowed red. He checked her pulse to check if she was still alive.
"She has begun to stir a little," Pycelle answered. "One of the stab wounds missed her heart by an inch." He knelt with a groan and placed maggots on the two ugliest wounds. Matthew winced, despite knowing they might be the only thing that kept her alive.
"Yeah, well, a lot's going to depend on whether she pulls through," Matthew sighed. Even if she did, he doubted it would be in time to prevent a massacre. Robb Stark wasn't the kind of enemy he wanted to face in the field, but life didn't give a damn what he wanted.
And Varys knew this; wants to weaken us for his precious Aegon. In the process, he was likely to damn them all. At least most of the corridors had been found, hindering Varys' ability to spy on them in the future. Sixteen of his spies had been eliminated. Eliminated; right. None of them had been older than twelve, yet they'd been killed all the same. Or so Matthew assumed. Tywin had taken charge, likely knowing that he might not have to stomach to do it himself. And he's probably right.
He'd gone back and forth, trying to decide which approach to face Robb would be best. Already Tyrell shipments of food had slowed, just as Stannis predicted. They hadn't stopped entirely, for three members of their family were still hostage, but slowdowns could be explained away. Prices of food had gone up, although not nearly to the point they had before the Battle of the Blackwater.
"Your Grace, may I speak freely?" Pycelle mumbled.
"I expect nothing less," Matthew snapped.
"Well, uh. . . the poor girl's chances are. . . that is to say. . ." Pycelle turned away, fearing his wrath.
"As I said, do everything in your power to save her," Matthew ordered a second time. "I know the odds, just as you do." Part of him wondered why he bothered. Saving her would do nothing to stop Robb, and once it was over, Sansa would want revenge.
I could order him to give Sansa a little poison, have her die painlessly. No one expects her to live, anyway. Sansa was more dangerous than most gave her credit for and when her family was dead, she'd want revenge. Baelish was no longer an issue, but Matthew doubted her infatuation would remain after the battle. Easier to deal with the problem now. Every time I've shown mercy, it's blown up in my face.
Matthew shook his head, hoping it wouldn't be another disaster for him. Having Sansa either as an ally or hostage would prove useful for future conflicts. Should things change. . . people died all the time in King's Landing. He couldn't be ruled by sentiment when he was King of the Seven Kingdoms.
We'll meet Robb at the river, cut him to pieces if he's foolish enough to try and cross it. Even if he doesn't, he won't be able to threaten the Capital. Matthew had almost sixty cannons now, although there were no longer enough resources to produce them, not being cut off from the Westerlands. Braavos was playing him, yes, but their partnership was mutually beneficial for the time being.
His men were coming along nicely. Out of the nearly 4,000 he started with, 3,500 troops remained. A few had died of disease or injury, some had quit, and two had been executed for murder. Matthew turned his attention to his crossbowmen, who could not fire bolts four times a minute. He still did not possess the musketmen he wanted, nor would he for some time, but his position grew stronger every day. Of course, not many of them have experience in real combat. Those who did were responsible for instructing the others.
Matthew marched down the Red Keep, Jaime smiling at him. He wondered if it was to make him nervous or just to hide his true feelings. "Uncle, get your men ready. We meet Robb at the river, teach him not to defy the Iron Throne."
"Just what I wanted to hear, Your Grace," Jaime laughed. "Wonder how Stark will react to that."
"With luck, he'll never get anywhere near us," Matthew responded. "But I've learned better than to count on luck alone. Robb might be on a winning streak so far, but he hasn't met me yet."
"You mean. . . to go out there yourself?" Jaime bit his lip.
"I can hardly ask my men to go where I refuse to," Matthew reminded. Right, I'm technically his son. Course, I don't remember him showing any parental instincts. "Is that river as swift as I've been told?"
"It depends on the year, Your Grace," Barristan responded. "But even in dry years, it is an excellent defensive position."
"Well, we don't have a lot of time," Matthew announced, clapping his hands. "It's the greatest obstacle we have to hinder Robb and I don't intend to waste the opportunity."
"If you intend to use this strategy, I would suggest leaving immediately," Barristan commented. "No disrespect, Your Grace, but Robb Stark has won most of his battles so far. I personally recommend using King's Landing to its best advantage."
"If we had a proper alliance, I would agree with you, but right now, we're on our own," Matthew mused. However much he disliked it, he would have to kiss up to the Tyrells, perhaps even allow Margaery to marry him. It could send the wrong message, but Highgarden was still too powerful to ignore. There was no way to negotiate except from weakness, and with no guarantee he wouldn't be stabbed in the back again. "And Stark hasn't met me yet."
Matthew marched into the armory and ordered: "Get all the cannons ready. I'm going to give Stark the welcome he's been asking for!" His subordinates rushed to carry out his orders.
He prepared all his cannons, with those operating them comprising most of his trained personnel. Matthew heard nothing from those he'd sent to the Westerlands, whether they'd begun to produce his blueprints or if they'd been killed on the way. Bandits, enemy troops, disease. . . the dangers were endless.
"You two are coming with me," Matthew pointed to Stannis and Melisandre. "This was your idea in the first place and I require your assistance, given that no plan survives first contact with the enemy." It also ties your fate to mine. Both were still dangerous, but Stark was a mutual enemy, at least for now.
"I expected nothing less." Stannis nodded. "You will not win this battle without my assistance." He ground his teeth. "Is Tywin Lannister joining you as well?"
"No, he's assigned Addam Marbrand in his place," Matthew rolled his eyes. He had the strong suspicion Tywin intended to undo his actions. He wasn't a man who would risk his life in battle unless there was no other choice. Melisandre could see Robb through the flames, or so Matthew hoped. If nothing else, bringing them along allowed him to keep an eye on the pair. "You can leave Davos behind. No need to risk his life, as we're not fighting a sea battle."
The remainder of the day was spent preparing as much food as possible. His trip was only a couple days, but Matthew knew the battle could last weeks. He couldn't count on Robb making foolish mistakes, even in his current state. "Do you mean to. . . use the wildfire, Your Grace?" Balon worried.
"No, the idiots would probably end up burning themselves alive," Matthew decided with some reluctance.
In total, thirty thousand men were assembled, nearly everything that the Westerlands still had. Only the Gold Cloaks and a handful of Tywin's bannermen were left behind. With no natural obstacles, if his retreat became a rout, there would be nowhere to hide. If I lose this battle, we're all finished. But if I win. . . my rule is secure. I'm not about to engage in pointless cruelty, nor will I let Cersei destroy all my hard work.
XXXXXXXXXX
"What can I do for you, nephew?" Tyrion disliked the smirk on the boy's face.
"It just occurred to me; I'm going to need your help if I want to win this battle," Matthew informed him. "As you've served me well in the Battle of the Blackwater, I intend to have you at my side when Robb's threat is ended once and for all."
"You flatter me, Your Grace, but there are still duties as Master of Coin I need to attend to," Tyrion refused to let Cersei undo all his hard work. He'd had enough of combat to last him a lifetime.
"I'm afraid this is an order, Tyrion," Matthew crossed his arms. "A lot's riding on the outcome of this battle and I intend to use every advantage I can. Therefore, you're coming with me. Food and wine have already been prepared for you, as has your carriage."
What are you up to? Tyrion doubted this was for the use of his mind, however clever he might have been. No, the man inhabiting Joffrey's body was up to something; he was positive of it. Probably hoping I end up dead on the battlefield. The boy no longer trusted him and probably never would again, after his actions.
But there was no refusing a direct order from the King. "You truly must value my counsel if you're entrusting this to me," Tyrion quipped to hide how worried he was. Bronn couldn't be relied on, as the man was quite capable of outbidding him.
"I do; I wouldn't have won the Blackwater battle without you." Matthew smiled. Tyrion told himself not to shrink away. He couldn't sneak away, but he wasn't about to passively die the way he hoped. No, he'd come too far to be killed so easily.
XXXXXXXXXX
Arya creeped around the catacombs, looking upon her ancestors. Since arriving at Winterfell, there had been little effort to enforce her going to her classes, especially needlework. She shuddered at the very idea. It was something she felt hopeless at, and the other girls stared at her with either pity or derision. Arya wasn't sure which was worse.
Fear cuts deeper than swords, Arya swung Needle around. She'd killed a boy who tried to turn her in to the Queen, and two others when they were assaulted by bandits. Little frightened her after such experiences, which Maester Lewin didn't care to understand.
Until she encountered an ugly man in pink garb. Arya shuddered at the smile he'd flashed her when they met. "He's Roose Bolton's bastard," Lewin had informed her. "He's been tasked with assisting our fight against the wildlings."
"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark," Ramsey had bowed, but there was something about him Arya didn't like. If she'd had her way, he would have been beheaded. . . along with that companion of his who smelled from halfway across the courtyard. Reek. The man wore perfume, but stunk regardless. He'd stared at Ramsey, ready to do whatever he asked, whatever it was.
Fear cuts deeper than swords, Arya wished her brother Jon was there. He'd listen to her warnings. Bran and Lewin had refused to, but Arya was certain there was something up. She had no evidence, only a feeling. She'd tried to keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn't going to try anything. Most of the Stark bannermen had been sent to reinforce the Wall under siege, with Ramsey's men behind.
Arya stared at her ancestors, the old Kings of Winter back when the North was an independent Kingdom. She stood proud, confident that Robb would be able to live up to their accomplish. He'd defeat King Joffrey, and come home to Winterfell, where he belonged.
She no longer needed torches to find her way around. Arya crouched down, looking behind her. No one knew where she was, which was just how she preferred it. They won't listen to me just because I'm a girl! Arya stopped in front of Lyanna's grave. She rubbed her chin and wondered how her late Aunt would have responded to such treatment. Father had always told her Lyanna resembled her in many ways.
Arya looked up at the statue and snarled. Lyanna's life had been cut short by Rheagar, who had kidnapped and raped the woman. Arya wondered how to live up to her Aunt, what to do when facing what she considered imminent danger. She bit her lip, tempted to literally smack some sense into her brother.
She pressed her hand on the statue, feeling herself sink in. Arya withdrew her hand, heart racing. She stared down to see a stone on the ground disappear, revealing a wooden box. What. . . how. . . Arya kneeled down to check it out, ignoring the voice that told her it was an unwise idea.
"I. . . I don't understand," Arya pulled the box out of its hiding place. Why would it be placed here, hidden for what she assumed were years? The box was covered in dust, the wood partially rotted. She lifted it into her arms, something moving from side to side within it.
Arya grunted, adjusting to the box's weight. Whatever it was, it had to be important, or it wouldn't have been hidden for so long. She kept her eyes on the torches, nearly dancing with eagerness. It had to be something good, perhaps the details about her aunt that Ned Stark always refused to share, however many times Arya had asked.
It would be difficult to hide, but so long as no one saw what was inside, it wouldn't matter. Arya marched up the catacombs, keeping her steps quiet so no one would hear. She breathed hard going up the steps, tightening her grip on the box. Arya grumbled and balanced it between her arms, exiting the catacombs.
Where Ramsey Bolton waited for her. "Good to see you again, Lady Stark," Ramsey grinned, Reek by his side. He ran his eyes up and down her body, licking his lips.
"Excuse me; I've got something to do," Arya stumbled with the box in her hand, not wanting to waste time on politeness. She'd never cared much for courtesies.
"Lady Stark, I was hoping we'd have some time to talk," Ramsey smiled. "After all, my father's sent me all this way to assist our Liege Lords."
"I have nothing to say to you," Arya dropped the box and pulled out Needle. There was a dark flash in Ramsey's eyes. Reek stepped forward, but Ramsey held him back.
"Lady Stark, what have I done to offend you so?" Ramsey was all but laughing. His stare made Arya shudder. "We've come to help you. I thought the Starks would treat their guests with more courtesy." His lower lip turned into a smirk. Arya could not bring herself to make eye contact with him. She debated killing him where he stood, guest-right or not.
"Is there some problem here?" Four of Winterfell's household guard arrived to intervene.
"I'm confused; what's going on?" Ramsey frowned. Arya wasn't fooled for a moment.
"He's threatening me!" Arya accused. He hadn't said anything explicit, but Arya knew. Ramsey and Reek had to be dealt with. They frightened her far more than the wildlings did. Ramsey snarled, his body moving to a combat position. Reek whispered in his ear, his expression turning into a smile.
"I was merely concerned because nobody's seen any sign of her," Ramsey lay on the charm.
"Lord Snow, it would be best if you and your. . . friend went somewhere else," One of the guards warned, hand on his sword.
"Bolton. My name is Bolton," Ramsey's face turned purple.
"Lord Bolton," the guard corrected. All four surrounded her, sensing the same danger she did. Arya picked the wooden box back up, confident Ramsey wouldn't try anything so openly.
Arya carried the wooden box into her room, unmolested by anyone else in the castle. She made a mental promise to thank the household guard who intervened on her behalf. Arya locked the door behind her, face breaking out into a massive grin. She'd found something that hadn't been noticed for years. I wonder what it is! Perhaps something that would tell her more about Lyanna, whom her father rarely spoke out.
The box opened with a single strong pull, dust and cobwebs making her cough. Arya waved her hands to clear the air, eyes alight with anticipation. She could just make out something red within the box.
A dragon egg.