Flashman and the Throne of Swords

Chapter 09

by Technomad

A few days later, we came riding over a ridge and saw an army encamped below us. Tyrion smiled. "The banners are red, with a gold lion rampant! That means my brother or father's here!" We had known of its existence for some time, since Chella daughter of Cheyk had reported it. The Black Ears she-chief had said that there were as many as 20,000 men. However, she did not know Westerosi heraldry, and the banners meant nothing to her.

That was excellent news. Lord Tywin Lannister was high in the government, and would almost certainly expedite my return to Kings Landing without delay. That would mean an end to sleeping on the ground, an end to cold boiled mutton for every meal, and, most importantly, an end to being surrounded by hairy barbarians that made the Pathans of my former acquaintance seem proper gentlemen.

Oh, they hadn't offered me any harm. My saving Conn from the boar we'd inadvertently happened upon had cemented my reputation as a desperate fellow and a fine companion, but just the same, their roaring friendliness wore on my nerves. At least we didn't have any more strongwine with us! They reminded me of the Red Indians I had seen in the West when they were in their cups.(1)

The wild men growled uneasily; they weren't used to being so close to lowland soldiers. Ulf son of Umar said: "Why should we let you go down there without us, little halfman? Lowland lords have lied to the clans before!"" I had to admit, I could see his point. If I could have won free of the clansmen, I'd've done so in a heartbeat. I wanted civilised company, or at least people who didn't remind me so of the many terrifying savages who've tried to end me over the years.

Conn son of Coratt spoke up. "Where Ser Harry goes, there go I! Conn son of Coratt owes Ser Harry his life!" Since I'd inadvertently saved him by skewering that awful pig, Conn had adopted me, all but treating me as his brother. I'd been here before, with Ilderim Khan, my Pathan blood brother, so this was Old Home Week for me. Conn wasn't as good company as Ilderim had been, but poor Ilderim was gone, and I had to make do with what was in front of me, like Rugby on one of the frequent fast days that Arnold would proclaim to help us mortify our flesh.(2)

"You wound me, Ulf," said Tyrion, with his crooked smile. "And here I thought we had become such friends. But very well. You may ride on in with me. And Shagga and Conn, for the Stone Crows. Timett son of Timett, for the Burned Men." The clansmen gave each other suspicious looks. "The rest of you, wait here. Try not to slaughter each other while I am gone." Wish for the moon, while you're at it, why don't you? I thought, but a lifetime's practice kept my thoughts from my face.

As we rode down toward the Lannister encampment, I unobtrusively positioned my mount so as to be as distant as possible from Shagga, whose smell was as strong as everything else about him. Timett son of Timett gave me the shuddering creeps. His particular tribe, the Burned Men, required boys to burn off a body part…a finger, usually, or something like that…to become a full adult and member of the tribe. That madman had burned out one eye; they'd taken one look at that and made him a war chief when he was barely old enough to shave. The Burned Men scared even the other mountain clansmen, and Timett son of Timett scared everybody. I think even the toughest Afghans and Pathans I'd known in my time in India would have walked wide of him.

Beside me, Bronn gave me a wink. I had had a few chances to speak with him privately, and we found that we shared some opinions. Neither of us was too impressed with what we'd seen of the great lords of this land, and both of us thought that the laws and customs of Westeros could do with some revision. Normally, I could not give a fig for oppressive laws, but my recent experiences at the hands of Catelyn Stark and Lysa Arryn had changed my attitude. Cutting these nobles' combs and introducing some good old British law sounded an excellent idea.

As we rode up, the guards on the outposts stood-to; they were well-trained and looked to be well-equipped and –armed. But I'd have expected nothing less from Lord Tywin Lannister. He was rolling in the readies. There were jokes about him actually shitting gold, although I had heard that wise folk did not even think about such jokes in his presence. He was also famously vengeful; a song that had made it even as far as Britain, "The Rains of Castermere," celebrated his revenge on a noble family that had tried to break their allegiance to his House.(3)

Some armored men rode out to challenge us before we could go much further. Their leader lifted his visor, wonder on his face. "Lord Tyrion!" he said. "Your pardon, my lord, but we all thought you were…" He trailed off, clearly unsure what to make of me, much less the mountain clansmen.

"Dead?" Tyrion gave a bitter smile. "Terribly sorry to disappoint you, but it takes more than that to kill a Lannister. Where is my lord father?"

"He is at the inn at the crossroads, m'lord. But, m'lord…who are these people?"

Tyrion waved a hand. "Well…for starters, this is Ser Harry Flashman, the envoy from the British. He was taken prisoner along with me, and is a stalwart warrior without peer. And this is Bronn, a sellsword I've taken into my employ. The others are leaders of the mountain clans from the Mountains of the Moon. If you'll pardon me, Ser Flement, I do need to see my lord father, as soon as may be. Will you detail an escort?"

"Of course, my lord!" Soon we were cantering along the road toward the inn. I noticed a good few carrion-birds about, but no corpses, thank God. I suspected there had been some fighting, but whoever had won had apparently cleaned up the battlefield. I was glad of that. I've been on enough stricken battlefields and never smelling another one in my entire life would suit me right to the ground.

Sure enough, the Lannisters' family banner was flying over the same inn where we'd been taken prisoner. Outside, a gibbet held the corpse of the innkeeper, along with some hungry crows and ravens. As I rode by, I looked up at it, reminding myself that nobles in this place had the right of high and low justice over anybody not noble. God knows, I'd been in enough places where that was the rule to feel right at home. Still and all, I thought the Lannisters' reaction a trifle excessive. Yes, we'd been taken at the inn. What did they expect the innkeep to do? Call out her troops to protect us? Hide us securely in her fortress-home? I sighed, thinking of the lovely beer she had brewed, and followed Tyrion on in.

After some going-'round with the stableboys (those mountain madmen were suspicious of their intentions as regarded their horses, and it took some diplomacy from Tyrion to quiet them down) Tyrion and I walked on in to the main room of the inn, and found ourselves confronted by Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lannisport and the Westlands. He was seated by another nobleman whom I couldn't place, but who bore Lord Tywin a clear family resemblance. The way they, and particularly Lord Tywin, looked at us made me wonder if my fly was undone. I did look a right fright, but what would anybody expect? Those madwomen had not been kind enough to let me pack my traps, and I'd been wearing the same clothes for nearly two weeks, including a stint in those never-to-be-sufficiently-accursed sky cells! Did they think we would look like the latest fashion plates out of London or Kings Landing?

Lord Tywin looked like an unpleasant cross between the Duke of Wellington and Dr. Arnold, a combination not to my taste.(4) Even sitting down, he was tall, with a head shaven bald but for golden side-whiskers. He was wearing golden plate armor, with his House sigil of a lion worked into it in various ways. He finally raised an eyebrow.

The man beside him stood up. "Lord Tyrion! We thought you were lost!"

"Terribly sorry to disappoint you, Father, Uncle Kevan. May I present Ser Harry Flashman? He is the English envoy who was taken along with me, and he's been a leal companion to me. I owe him my life." Well, if Tyrion had forgotten that they were planning to throw me out the Moon Door as well, who was I to gainsay the son of such a great lord? "He fought doughtily in my defense. If all Englishmen are like him, we would do well to gain their alliance." If all Englishmen were like me, we'd barely have got as far as the Isle of Wight, but, again, who was I to gainsay him? Once again, luck and happenstance had served me in place of the courage I lack. "Ser Harry, may I present my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, etcetara, and my uncle Ser Kevan Lannister."

Lord Tywin gave me what he probably thought was an approving look. It looked as out of place on his face as a Turk at a christening, but I bowed politely to him and his companion nonetheless. "Sir Harry Flashman, of the British embassy at Kings Landing, very much at your services, my lords. Please, could I beg the use of a horse and an escort back to Kings Landing? My ambassador will want to know that I'm still alive."

"An excellent point. Ser Richard has been raising the roof, asking our government what became of you. Misplacing an envoy is not a good thing to do." Oh, if he only knew! Wars had been started over smaller affronts than had been offered to Britain by my kidnapping! "In the meantime, we are marching on the North."

What was this? A great deal had been going on behind my oblivious back, if I was any judge. "How is that, my lord? Doesn't the King's Hand hold the North for the King?"

"No more. Robert is dead, and now my grandson Joffrey sits the Iron Throne. Eddard Stark is accused of treason, and now holds nothing but a dungeon cell in the Red Keep." This did not sound good, not at all. Robert, for all his drunkenness and folly, was a person who could be dealt with. A boy barely old enough to shave, sitting a throne, was a recipe for disaster, if my experience and readings of history were any indication. And that was without the sinister rumours we had gathered about Joffrey's character. "The Young Wolf, Lord Stark's eldest son, has called his banners and is on the march."

This did not sound good, not at all. Civil wars are deadly dangerous…no one knows that better than I do. I spent several years navigating my terrified way through both sides of the Yankees' stupid, murderous civil war, and had had more than enough of such things to last me all my days.

I wondered how Robert Baratheon had died, and why. When I had seen him last, he was fat, to be sure, but he looked strong and healthy. He could still have drunk a Scotch sergeants' mess straight under the table without breathing hard, and I knew that he spent every hour he could out in pursuit of game, a-horseback. Could someone had slipped something into his drink? Or had it been an honest accident? I needed to get back to Kings Landing, to know.

Tyrion said: "That sounds all very interesting, Father, but I have some needs of my own. I'll be needing two thousand coats of mail, two thousand swords…" Just then the door crashed open and the Lannister soldier who'd been on guard outside came flying in to crash against the wall. Shagga had got impatient and come in to find out what was going on. Behind him came Conn, Chella, and the rest of our mountain chiefs.

"Little man," snarled Shagga, "the next time you bare steel on Shagga son of Dolf, I will cut off your manhood and roast it in the fire!" I had to respect that guard; I'd not have defied that man-mountain for a pension and a title, myself, but he'd done so because his lord had ordered him to.

For all his forbidding aspect, Lord Tywin had style, damn him. He did not seem to be at all taken aback by this sudden apparition. "Tyrion, have you forgotten your courtesies? Please introduce me to your new friends!"

Tyrion was irrepressible. "They followed me home, Father! Can I keep them? They don't eat much!" He went down the line. "This is Conn, son of Coratt. And the one who looks like Casterly Rock with hair is Shagga, son of Dolf. They are Stone Crows. The one with one eye missing is Timett son of Timett, of the Burned Men. And this fair lady is Chella daughter of Cheyk, of the Black Ears." Chella gave Lord Tywin a smile that would have frightened the Devil. "They are the heads of clans from the Mountains of the Moon, and they have a small bone to pick with the Arryns."

"As do we. We could use their services in the upcoming battle," Lord Tywin said. This did not sit well with them; the clansmen muttered among themselves. Lord Tywin raised one blond brow. "Of course, the position we intended to assign them to is a position of great danger, where only the bravest warriors would be able to withstand the enemy attacks. If they don't wish to do that, we can find something else for them to do."

"The Stone Crows never ran from battle in all their lives!" snarled Conn. "The Stone Crows will lead your attack, and show you soft lowlanders how these things are done!" Beside him, Shagga nodded, for once, thank God, not talking about cutting off manhoods.

"And where the Stone Crows go, the Black Ears have been before them!" snapped Chella. "Bring on your enemies, and we will show you what we can do!"

"Nobody at all surpasses the Burned Men in valor!" growled Timett. I looked at Lord Tywin, and for a second, he had an expression on his face like a cat that had got the canary. "Your son, the halfman, will lead us! He has bought his breath with promises, and until we hold the steel he said he would give, his life is ours!"

Lord Tywin looked at Tyrion, who gave him a rueful shrug. "Oh, joy," said Tyrion. "I guess I finally get to horn in on my big brother's glory!" He sounded about as enthusiastic as I would have felt, in his shoes. I wondered if his father was doing this as a way to get rid of a son who embarassed him but whom he couldn't disown or just kill.

Then Lord Tywin turned those cold eyes on me. "And what of you, Ser Harry? What role would you play in the upcoming battle?"

Just the sort of question I hate! Luckily, however, this time I had an unimpeachable excuse, and it was even true! "None whatsoever, m'lord," I said. "Under ordinary circumstances, I'd beg the privilege of leading your charge…I'm rather known for that at home; if you get the chance, ask any Englishman about Balaklava…but I'm a diplomat this time, not the soldier I've always been."(5) I gave a very realistic sigh. "If I get involved in your civil war, it'll be seen as Britain taking sides, and my ambassador and queen will both skin me alive!"

"True, that. A pity," said Lord Tywin. "As it happens, I have heard of some of your exploits back in your home world, Ser Harry. Maybe sometime if the political situation changes, we can look for you on the field. I'm sure you'll do your Queen and country great honour." Only if I couldn't find some way out of it, I thought.

A messenger came in and handed Lord Tywin a message, which he took and unsealed as the messenger bowed himself out with a nervous look at the mountain clansmen. "So," murmured Lord Tywin, "the young wolf comes out to play with the lion, does he?" He turned to Ser Kevan. "Prepare to march! Jaime has already covered himself in glory, and we shall exceed it!"

With that, I found myself dismissed. I was quickly assigned a squadron of Lannister riders to get me safe back to Kings Landing, as I should have been two weeks previous. It's always a nice thing, watching soldiers preparing to go to battle, when you aren't expected (or allowed, ha-ha!) to go with 'em.

I noticed that nobody seemed to be carrying muskets; all the weapons I saw were the old familiar medieval standbys: swords, maces, lances, bows, warhammers, polearms and the like. That told me that this quarrel, at least ostensibly, was between Lannister and Stark, not a full-scale war of the Crown against a rebel.

Soon, I was back on the road, eating up the miles to Kings Landing, my lovely featherbrained Elspeth, and the nice, quiet, safe embassy, where nothing awaited me but a pile of paperwork. Like a fool, I thought I was well out of trouble. Had I only realised what awaited me, I'd have gone galloping straight back to Lord Tywin and begged him to let me lead his vanguard.

[1] Flashman had extensive experience of the American West, and Native Americans had a bad reputation for being dangerous when in liquor.

[2] Arnold, in his time as Headmaster of Rugby, introduced greater piety than had been the norm in English public schools. Many parents, not being in tune with the new fashion for ostantious religiosity, disliked him for this, and the boys themselves generally did not take it very seriously. This was a source of great sorrow to Arnold, who was quite sincere in his beliefs.

[3] At the beginning of Lord Tywin's time as head of House Lannister, the House's fortunes were in a parlous state due to his father's lax rule. Tywin was the new broom that swept very clean, and he nailed down a reputation as a person not to be trifled with when he extirpated the Reyne family of Castamere for insubordinate behavior unbefitting vassals of Casterly Rock.

[4] Flashman met the Duke of Wellington right after returning from the First Afghan War. His time at Rugby school had been under the famous, or notorious, Dr. Thomas Arnold, and the experience had left a notable mark on him. Arnold had expelled him for drunkenness, having long awaited the opportunity to rid the school of Flashman's presence. See Flashman.

[5] Despite being on very bad terms with the commander of the Light Brigade, Lord Cardigan (see Flashman for the details) Flashman had ended up charging with the Light Brigade, as well as charging earlier with the Heavy Brigade and then standing with the Thin Red Line at the Battle of Balaklava in the Crimean War. Of course, his reputation for heroic courage had started earlier in the First Afghan War.