The specks that were the smallfolk were racing along the plain. Stragglers were falling, all energy spent. They were the old, the weak, and the young who lacked a parent to carry them. They would be the first set upon, killed, most likely, unable to provide the backbreaking labour their hunters were after. Beyond them the mothers carrying children were just approaching the stream that curled around the base of one hill, they were flagging, failing, but possessed of the strength that surged through parents when their children were hurt... most parents. The few of strength had made it across the stream, some were holding back to help others cross, most only ran.

"Where are all the men?" Ser Gerold asked, almost curious. "Killed in the first attack?"

Loren shook his head. "No, the men able to fight will have already been drafted into the army. Either dead among the fields and rivers, back with the host we brought with us, or beneath the walls of King's Landing." The only soldiers left were the few remaining cousins and sons not killed or captured at Oxcross, and the men of castle garrisons that survived the Young Wolf's onslaught were holed up in their castles, not willing to take to the field.

They had raced as fast as he could march his army, camping at dusk, rising at dawn, travelling light, requisitioning food and supplies as they went to avoid a long baggage train, and forcing all camp followers, any who served no purpose, away from the army. But still, they were too late for too many. "How many have died while waiting for us to get here?"

"My lord?"

He shook his head. "Form up a lance, plenty of spacing, I'll take point."

"Lance formation, wide spacing!" Gerold roared at once, and the hundred knights at his back wheeled their horses into position.

Tyland brought his horse up beside him, sitting tall and unafraid. "You're ready?" His squire nodded. "Good, stay by my side, we watch each other's backs, clear?"

"Yes Lord."

Loren reached up and closed the visor of his helm, his vision narrowing to a thin sword of light cutting through the darkness. He drew his sword and raised it high before nudging his horse to begin his descent. He wanted to tear on ahead, but he needed the wedge to maintain formation, so he kept firm control of his mount as they approached the stream. The people that had crossed the stream startled and scattered, from fear or relief, they let them pass. One woman and her child nearly fell in her haste, but two older men caught her and guided her to the stream. He reigned up beside the gathering survivors, soaking, shivering and petrified, his lance gathering behind him. He looked down at them and saw the terror in their eyes. He raised his visor and turned in his saddle. "Last ten, dismount, gather the survivors, keep them safe. The rest of you, with me!" He slammed his visor shut with the pommel of his sword and kicked his horse on through the stream. The weaker survivors were sprinkled across the green grass, dew glistening like tears on the stems, the enemy were streaming after them, their lust for flesh and slaves driving them onward like rabid dogs, axes and swords wet with blood. He saw one warrior seize an old woman and open her throat, red water spraying into the air like a stream from a fountain. He spurred his horse onwards to full gallop, the hooves of his horse hammering the ground, and he could feel his men following suit behind him.

He raised his sword and brought it down, a silver slash birthing a red river in the air. The rest would fall just as easily. The raiders had been caught out, strung along the grass like scattered leaves, and his flying wedge took each of them in turn, lances spearing them like meat over a roast, swords crushing skulls and cleaving limbs, hooves trampling and crushing bones. The last few tried to turn and run, but they didn't stand a chance before the knights racing towards them.

"A fine victory my lord," Gerold said as he reigned up next to him.

Loren turned to him. "Not a victory yet," he said. "Knights to me!" The knights rode over. "The village isn't far, we're going to save what we can and avenge what we can't. Split into groups of ten riders, spread around, we'll take the village from every direction, slaughter any raiders left, save any westermen."

The tens of knights spread out, approaching the village, plumes of smoke rising from it, gutted and dark. When they were spread out, a trumpet sang into the air and the knots of knights plunged in like fingers.

The ironmen were caught unawares, raping, looting and pillaging. Loren took the arm off one, crushed the head off another and dismounted to pull a warrior off a young woman who was weeping and shaking beneath his thrusting villainy. Loren tore the man off her, turned him away from his victim and opened his throat. Raiders tried to put up resistance, but scattered and caught unawares, they died.

Loren sent one knight back to collect the fleeing survivors from the stream, and others to find survivors who'd fled in other directions and bring them safely back. The survivors gathered in the square, some looking in lament at buildings that he assumed were their houses. A few of them bowed and thanked, but most looked broken and empty. He reached up and pulled his helm. "It's alright, they're gone." He told the villagers. One or two looked up at him, but most didn't.

"Your lord just spoke to you!" One knight declared, stepping forward. "This is Loren Lannister, King's Marshall and heir to Lord Tywin Lannister, show respect or-"

"Enough," Loren cut across his knight. "They've suffered enough, no punishment will be given." He looked to the peasants again. "What I have done today. I know it won't rebuild your homes, or restore your dead to life, or reclaim the virtue that was stolen by these ironmen," he said to them. "I know that I am late, and that this land has already been abandoned to the northmen, and now to the ironmen. I know that what I offer is too little to restore what has been lost. But you have my word, I will exact justice for this, the ironmen will pay for their desecration of your lives. And as long as there is strength in my body and mind, I will defend you from this ever happening again."

"Thank you, m'lord," one of the old men said, his words scratching through the air. Others repeated the comment, bowing their heads.

Loren nodded and turned to Gerold. "Ensure word is sent back to the army, I want some supplies brought to the village under escort."

Gerold raised an eyebrow. "To these people? They weren't exactly grateful."

"They are our people, we are supposed to protect them, grateful or not."

"But you saved them."

He looked back to the people and the ruined village. "Did I?"


Loren had close to two thousand knights with him in his host, seven hundred from the westerlands, the rest from the men Mace Tyrell had provided, the rest of his nine thousand men were all footmen. When they had reached the border of the Westerlands, Loren had left his footmen to march up the ocean road and split his knights into groups of a hundred, ordering them to ride up the Westerlands, hunting down any raiders that they could find while the enemy were still unaware of them.

After scouring the coast south of Lannisport, Loren ordered his knights to make for Casterly Rock, from there they could range to the north and make preparations to deal with the remaining ironmen.

They passed Lannisport on their way to the Rock, Gerold had ridden ahead to alert the Rock to their coming, while Loren led the knights of his hundred, riding up the road and past the tall city walls. Lannisport had bloated since he had last seen it at the beginning of the war. Refugees and victims from the war had swollen it as thousands fled to the city for protection. Shanties and hovels had risen up around the city like ugly, clumsy feet, kicking through the earth. Another thing to make right, but the city could hold, and he had matters to settle in the Rock.

As they approached Casterly Rock, the gates to the mountain fortress swung open. An honour guard of red cloaked guardsmen lined the entrance courtyard, behind them the household had assembled to greet their return. The lion banner flew in the wind, snapping and proud, here at least, Lannister was strong. He rode up the courtyard to where the steps led up into the Rock itself. Waiting for him there were the Lannisters, those of blood, and those by marriage. He dismounted at the foot of the steps and handed his horse to two grooms that they might lead it away. He ascended the steps, his eyes fixed on the figure of his wife, standing, arms folded across her waist, smiling down at him, her hair as braided down her back and their children huddled around her. He ignored the others, they didn't matter, and he sank onto one knee before them. "My lady," he said, "my children, I have returned for you."

He hugged his children in turn, kissed his wife's hand when offered, and then dismissed the assembled household. His knights and squires took their horses to the stables and he turned to his wife. "Lady Alysanne."

"Lord Loren," she replied, bowing her head.

"My lady," his tongue was already getting thick, and he hadn't even started yet. "I feel we must speak, are you available tonight to do so?"

She nodded, if she was surprised by his request, it didn't show in her face or tone. "Of course my lord, I shall make myself available. Should the children be there as well?"

He shook his head. "No, this must just be us. Well... I do need to speak to them as well... but you first."

"Very well my lord," she said.

Tyland helped him disarm while servants ran him a bath so he could wash the stink and muck of the journey from him. His body was hardened for days and weeks in the saddle, but his bones still ached and he wanted to be clean for what was to come, perhaps that would make it a little easier.

When he was done, he tied a robe around his body and approached Tyland. "My lord," his squire looked up from where he was polishing Loren's helm.

"I need you to fetch something for my Tyland." He said. His squire wasn't an errand runner, but he didn't want rumours spreading by asking a servant, he trusted Tyland's confidence. "When you have it, bring it to me in my lady wife's chambers. I will be there."

Alysanne's gentle reply asking him to enter was soft and sweet. She was dressed in a gown of blue and gold, her hair loose and falling past her shoulders. Even though his clothes were fresh, the scarlet and gold seemed tarnished in comparison. She smiled kindly and he felt it pull at his guts. She curtsied to him with all the grace of a noble lady. Gods what have I done?

"My lord, there was something you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Y-yes," he said, his throat tight. He placed his sword on the table, the jewels in the scabbard winking in the firelight.

A knocking at the door made him turn. He opened the handle. Tyland was standing there. "I have it my lord, holding out his riding crop."

"Very good Tyland, and the guards?"

"All dispersed until you call them back as ordered," he said. He glanced at Lady Alysanne. "My lord, will everything be okay."

He smiled, reaching out to pat Tyland's shoulder. "Everything will be fine Tyland, but I need you to leave as well."

Tyland paused, then nodded and retreated.

He turned back to Alysanne.

"My lord?" His wife had paled, retreating back against the table as he approached. What was she doing. "My lord, I- whatever I've done to displease you, I didn't intend it, I swear."

"What?" He asked.

"Please my lord there's no need for that, only tell me what I've done and I'll see it put right." Her back pressed against the wall. She was staring, eyes wide and fearful at the crop nestled in his fingers.

"Oh gods," he gasped. He strode over to Aly and dropped to one knee. He took her hand and pressed the crop into her hand. "I'm not going to hit you my lady, I swear, you've done nothing wrong."

"My lord, what is it?"

He looked up at her. The fear was gone from her eyes, replaced by alarm and bewilderment. "Lady Alysanne. You have been a better wife than most men could ever hope for, and I never realised that I was never close to being a husband of equal worth."

"My lord are you well?"

"Well yes, good, far from it. I am so sorry for everything I put you through." He bowed his head again, staring at the floor. "After we married, after we started having children, I should have looked to you then, I heard the screams as you gave birth and looked to see if my father finally thought I was worthy of Casterly Rock. Then he saw you had birthed daughters and he spoke about how Jaime would have fathered a son by then. So I got you pregnant again, so we could have that son. I ignored you to try and force my way into the light of the Seven Kingdoms, so that people would know who I was. But no, everyone spoke of the queen, my sister the radiant light of Westeros, of Jaime, the Kingslayer, of my brother, the monster born to Tywin Lannister, but not me... or the wife who stayed silent through all the pain I put her through. We had three more children, and not once did anyone look to me. I was still the other Lannister, that one no-one knew about. Then you gave birth to Tion, my own son, and my father muttered that it was about time... But still, no Casterly Rock, no recognition that I was his heir, no matter how much time I devoted to the Rock, no matter how much I ignored you, I was nothing, they all loomed over me. I had a family, a wife and children, but I couldn't escape the shadow cast by my father so I ran away. I left you and the children in his shadow so I could escape it alone, leaving you to deal with the laughter, the comments about how I left because I was ashamed, that I hated you. I hadn't even considered what would happen to you when I left, and still I never looked at you."

"My lord, I am your wife, it is my duty to support you no matter-"

"Please, my lady, let me finish." He wanted to let her speak, he knew he had spent too long not doing that, but he needed to finish, just once more. She nodded. "I won't lie, I loved my time with the company. I was free, I was respected, I was rewarded. I could forget my father, and in doing so, I forgot everything I had ever done to you." He took a breath, a pause, to make sure he was saying it right. "Then I came back, because I was called, not because I remembered you, because I was called. Then, on the day I came back... tell me, my lady, did you want me to come to you that night?"

"I... what?"

"I came straight to your bed, did you want me there?"

She paused, struggling to find the words. When she did, they landed with a hammer blow. "It was your right, my lord."

"My own wife," he whispered, falling forward and catching himself on his hands. "I held myself above the rest of the company, I didn't take women captive women as my right after our victories, I just came home and raped my wife."

He'd thought the words so many times since Tyrion had spoken to him. He's spent hours in the saddle as he crossed the Reach hoping for some voice to come in and tell him that he was wrong. "My lady," he looked at the riding crop, held in her fingers like a delicate flower. "Was I... did I ever hit you?" He didn't think he did, but the level of neglect he had given her... was a strike really too far to believe?

Alysanne shook her head firmly. "No my lord, never."

"Did I make you hate me?"

"What?"

"All my actions, all I did to you that I shouldn't, all I asked of you that I shouldn't, all that I should have done but didn't, did you hate me? Please, be honest with me." The pain was throbbing through his knees, but he stayed supplicant before her.

"My lord, I fell to anger many times, in the moment of hurt, yes, I could have hated you. But never for more than a moment, I was and am your wife, and I did and do know my place."

"You hated me," he whispered, the cold knife of her words carving into his chest. "I would have done, I hated my father for more and less, you were right to hate me, my lady. I hope this goes some way to repaying you."

He reached out and brushed his fingers along the crop nestled in her fingers. "The guards have left this area of the castle, there is no one nearby to hear and I will not stop you."

Alysanne looked down at the crop and realised what he meant. "My lord I-"

"Please, Alysanne, I will not resist, you have my word of honour, any anger, any rage, any hate, unleash it, I have earned every blow."

She reached out, brushed her fingers along his brow, and raised the crop closer to her face, looking at it closely. She glanced down at him, ready to strike. But then she lowered it again.

"My lady I-" She pressed her fingers to his lips.

"You've spoken enough my lord, now let me." He nodded against the pads of her fingers. "Yes, I felt anger, yes I felt rage, yes, I wish you had been a better husband, when you left, for the first weeks and months I cursed your name every night, as I tried to make your daughters understand, told them that you would be coming home, even if I didn't know it myself, I hated what you had done. Your father is a terrible human, a man who deserves nothing but scorn in my eyes, but that was no excuse for you to treat me and our children that way. But for every moment I wanted to hate you, I spent another ten wishing you would be better. I have seen the good in your heart my lord, it is there where it isn't in your father. I just wished that you would let it shine and bring this man to me. I was angry that you left but hoped you would find this heart in you. I don't know if it was in the east or in King's Landing, but as I see it, you have found that part of you. So my lord I have but one question for you to answer. Will you change?"

He looked into her eyes, fierce, strong, earnest and hopeful. "Yes," he said. "On my life I will change."

Alysanne nodded. "Then I am not going to hit you." She threw the crop away, it clattered on the floor, skittering into the corner. "I will not beat the new you down so the old you comes back. I will not embrace the hate and rage and bitterness you left me with. I will not hit you."

He felt his breath leave his lungs in a slow, rattling gasp. "My lady." He got to his feet, his knees crying out in relief. "You have my word." He retrieved his sword and drew it from the scabbard. He returned to Alysanne and knelt again before her, the joy of his knees subdued by the duty of his heart. He placed the sword on the stone, tip down, placed one hand over his heart, stared hard into his wife's eyes and gave her his oath.

"I will never be what I was again. I swear on my life and soul I will never come to you against your will. If you tell me to leave, I will leave. On my honour and word, I will no longer live with you by the resentment I bear my father. I will not escape him by leaving you. If you or our children need me I will act for them. I will never act to make them think of me as I think of my own father. I will have no heart of stone for them. I will carry myself in the manner befitting the good man you see in me and should I err from that path, should I begin to forget, I will always listen to you, and follow you back. This is my word to you, Lady Alysanne of houses Lefford and Lannister. I Loren of House Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock and the Westerlands, the King's Marshall and commander of his armies, give you this pledge, if you will only accept it."

She smiled, leant in and brushed her lips across his brow. "I take your oath and give my own in return. If I ever find you straying from the path again I will bring you back. If you ever cause me hurt I will speak so that you know, so that you can change. I will support you with or against your father for as long as you support me with our children. I, Alysanne of houses Lefford and Lannister, give you this pledge, if you will only accept it."

Loren looked her in the eye, peering through the windows of her soul. "I accept. Your oath... and mine."