They reigned up along the ridge overlooking the road. Unlike the paved Roseroad, this half dirt track looped to the south, winding through woods and meadows, passing through fords instead of over bridges, they'd hoped to swing south east, slip through the gap between the army of King Stannis in the south of the Stormlands and his own invasion force burning across the Reach then come up towards King's Landing. But they'd reckoned without his scouts, who had found the convoy crossing the Cockleswhent just east of Cider Hall. After catching two convoys traversing the Roseroad openly, it was natural that the next one would either turn back to Highgarden or try to slip around them and into the Crownlands. But such this convoy, even though it was far smaller than the others, was still two dozen wagons large, overlade with wheat, barley and oats; a ripe, juicy prize and far too large to slip by his army.
"They seem to have picked up some more guards Prince Tristan," Lord Bolton said from beside him, his blood red plate seeming to draw in light.
"Good, they'll provide a little more sport," he replied, smiling.
"Riders are breaking out, Prince," Ser Marq Piper added, indicating the little insects scattering away from the convoy.
He waved the concern aside. "Let them go, they news was always going to reach the capital and Highgarden. The fact that they're taking another route other than the Roseroad tells me that there won't be any more convoys. Let the Lannisters and Tyrells know full well that their road is under our control."
"Understood my lord," the knight of the riverlands nodded.
Tristan smiled, was this what Robb felt as he led the men across the Westerlands? He hoped so, but something in the back of his mind told him not. He'd felt it since the beginning of the invasion.
He'd hoped that his message to the capital would distract the Lannisters and Tyrells while he prepared to strike. Some among his camp had suggested moving again on the Westerlands, to take more loot from the ravaged territory, other suggested moving towards the capital, clearing strongholds while they waited for Robb to recover, keep their movements small so the Lannisters might focus instead on Stannis. But he had another idea. Word had reached them that Joffrey's court was being supplied by the Reach, and their army was still around the capital, securing the crownlands and teasing their way south. So, Tristan's eyes alighted on the Reach, the source of the capital's food, take the road, take the food, their people feed and the capital starves. His mother had led a few lords in cautioning about aggression against the Tyrells, perhaps the Tyrells could broker the final peace, there was no conflict yet between Winterfell and Highgarden. But he knew them, they were fickle, first they'd sided with Renly and closed the Roseroad, then they'd sided with Joffrey and opened it again. "They're in bed with Lannisters, and they're going to learn that that means opposing us."
So the army had gathered, more than twenty thousand men, Robb's Northmen and their new Rivermen brothers and poured into the Reach from the north. No one had expected it, no one was ready, and they swept all before them. Leaving other lords to invest any town or castle they came across, Tristan had led riders south to the Roseroad, aiming to capture the caravan wagons that were supplying the capital. The first they came across shortly after arriving in the vicinity of the road. After seizing the goods and turning the wagons north to feed the Riverlands they had waited in ambush for the next one, taking it as it passed through a meadow. Knowing that they were unlikely to fall for another ambush, Tristan had sent his riders out to look for the third. And that led them to where they were now.
"How do we do this Tris?" Daryn asked, nudging his horse in between him and Ser Marq. "They're getting ready for a fight."
"So they are," the wagons had halted and a thin line of spearmen was forming in front of it. "As before, close in from both flanks, push up the middle, ride them down, if they break, let them run, if they don't kill them."
It would have been better for the guards had they brought the wagons together and tethered them up, using them as cover, forcing Tristan's men to dismount, then they might have made a fight of it, but there were perhaps two hundred guards for this small caravan against almost a thousand knights and northern riders, all out for blood. It didn't last long.
Lord Bolton approached, his armour bloody and blade bloodier still. Tristan was wiping the blood from his own sword as he sat on the back of one of the captured carts. Since they'd come to the Reach he'd mastered using a washcloth with his claw. "My prince, another victory."
"For it to be a victory it has to be a fight," Tristan pointed out. "But this food will be very welcome in the Riverlands."
"I agree," Lord Bolton nodded. "But I must also ask my lord, we are approaching the end of our reach here. We don't have the men to conquer more of this land."
Tristan shrugged, "so be it, we'll deal with the towns and castles already encountered, they should provide plenty of steel and silver to continue the war for us."
"Of course," Lord Bolton bowed his head. "But my prince, if I may, keeping the path to the capital closed will be difficult if you want to attack the towns and castles."
"We've done enough so far," he replied.
Lord Bolton fixed him with those freakish eyes, the same eyes he'd locked him with when he'd served at the Dreadfort. "My Prince, the strength of the Reach should not be underestimated, if they gathered their full force remaining here, they likely have enough to push through with larger armed escorts, especially with our forces attacking on so many fronts."
"What are you suggesting?"
Lord Bolton's lips curled, not much, but just enough that it might almost be mistaken for a smile. "I have found that fear can guard a hundred doors as effectively as a hundred swords."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Go on?"
"Let me remain behind here for a little while my Prince, I'll make it so that no one will dare try to travel the Roseroad for the foreseeable future."
"And what will you need to see this done?"
"Not much my lord, just these," he nudged the corpse of a fallen guardsman with his foot.
Well, few knew better how to incite fear than Roose Bolton, if he said he could do it, then he could do it. "Take your men, do what you need."
"Yes, Prince Tristan," Lord Bolton bowed before turning to leave, gathering his men to him as he left.
He chuckled and went back to wiping his sword clean of Reacher blood. But he wasn't left in the quiet for long as his friends came over. "No way you got three of them," Daryn said flatly.
"I did," Cley insisted, holding up his sword, dripping with gore, wiggling the tip in Daryn's face. "Three of them, you're just angry because you were too slow to get even one." Tristan glanced at Daryn's clean sword.
"Just because your sword's red doesn't mean that you're a soldier," Daryn replied.
"No," piped up, drawing his eyes away from his retreating father's form. "But you can't claim a kill from this battle Daryn, Cley can, you can't deny that."
"I never did deny that, I'm just saying boasting is bad for you, or you'll end up on your rump and won't know how."
"No I won't," Cley replied, so Daryn gave him a shove and sent him sprawling to the laughter of Dom and Elmar, who was following on behind, guiding Tristan's horse.
"Hey," Tristan called, making them all look over. "No fighting, I'm in the middle of cleaning my sword and I'd hate it to be a wasted effort." He slid off the wagon and strode over to them. "Any news."
"Beside Cley still boasting about losing his virginity of steel?" Daryn said, holding out a hand to haul the Lord of Cerwyn to his feet, "not much, the teamsters were huddled inside their wagons, so they're able to work, very happy to do so to hear them say it."
"Points are persuasive," Dom replied.
"We also have a few prisoners, not many survived, but we have perhaps two dozen bound and ready."
"Anyone worth anything?"
"None with lordly names, or anything like that," Daryn said.
Tristan nodded. "Take their weapons and give them to Lord Roose," he said.
"My father?" Dom asked, taken aback, a frown on his features. "Why?"
"He says he has a way to close the roseroad without needing an army to straddle it constantly," Tristan replied, shrugging. "That way we can keep plucking the ripe fruits of the undefended Reach."
"Is that wise Triss," Domeric asked. "You know what my father is like."
"Their nobodies, and the enemy would do no better to our men if they fell into their hands. As I did with Jaime Lannister, I'm going to make sure they know that I can hurt them for every pain, every deception."
"You think that they'd do what my father is going to do?" Domeric asked, unbelieving.
"No, but I need them to know that I am willing to let your father do what he does to their people, they will learn to be afraid."
"Tris," Daryn said, cautiously, "it takes more than fear to win a war. And if Lord Bolton is going to do what I think he's going to do, no offence Dom, they may get scared or they may get angry."
"Angry is good, angry we can defeat without trouble."
"Tris," before Cley could continue, Tristan cut him off.
"Enough, the decision has been made, I shouldn't have to remind you that I am Robb's regent until he recovers, and we have decided what is to be done."
Cley, Dom and Daryn glanced at each other, not used to him giving them a direct order. "Yes, Prince-Regent," Cley said awkwardly, the words unfamiliar.
"Thank you, now it's a shame we had to do that, isn't it." The smiles weren't quite as gleeful as normal. "Let's finish up here," he continued, eager to leave the moment with the dead of the Reach. "Get the wagons ready to roll back north, then we can get back to stripping the Reach for all it's worth."
Tristan led the column back north, Cley, Daryn and Dom falling in behind him, the riders flanking the wagons. Behind them, Lord Bolton remained with two hundred riders to set fear into the hearts of the south as Tristan moved north to continue directing the war.
()()()
He'd made his base at the castle of Darkdell, the seat of House Vyrwell. It was situated two days north of the Roseroad, not as close as he'd like, but with his army spread out attacking towns, castles and villages between the Goldengrove River and the Mander, he needed to be centrally located to react to any changing circumstance. It would be up to the soldiers ranging south and Lord Bolton's methods to keep a close watch on the roseroad, but he was close enough to react if any more juicy targets showed themselves. In truth he didn't expect that they would, three missing caravans were probably all that would be risked.
The town that wrapped around one side of the castle was still smouldering beneath the grey banners of the direwolf of Stark. When they'd ridden out of the castle they'd gone through the town, passed the hateful eyes and pitiful peasants who crawled away from him and his column of riders. Having passed them three times out and twice in he made his way to the castle directly, where some Lord Vyrwell had put in a postern gate to allow himself to slip out of the castle when he wanted to avoid the people he was meant to protect, but in this moment he was thankful for that man's cowardice and slipped into Darkdell.
As he dismounted and accepted the bows of the castle staff now bent to serving their occupiers, and the men of his brother's Kingdom he now commanded, he wanted to go right to the courtyard to train with his blade, it would take months and years to get used to having one useful hand again. But that wasn't possible. He had to be the strong head of the North while his brother was convalescing, and being the head of the north meant eyes were on him always, and he couldn't let them see his weaknesses in training. But it also meant that he was supposed to speak and listen as much as fight, hear complaints and concerns and give out assurances and orders.
So, after stripping from his armour and pulling on a silk doublet and a cloak, with thick fur lined gloves so that he could hide his claw as much as possible, he made his way to the main hall to deal with the minutiae of war, his friends at his shoulder.
"Only one today, Prince-Regent," Elmar said to him as he turned and sat on Lord Vrywell's carved oaken seat. Shield sat down at his feet, looking at the door like he was expecting a deer to come through for him to feast upon.
"That's a mercy at least," he muttered, "who is it?"
"Lord Bracken."
"Bracken," he murmured, thinking back to the orders given out shortly after the invasion had begun. "I sent him to take the town of Dunstonbury and the castle of Bassen? Has he failed?"
Dom shook his head. "Unlikely, he hasn't returned with an army, only a small guard of knights. So either his entire army has been destroyed, or he's left them to continue the sieges."
"If he's lost his entire army we're in trouble," Daryn said.
"It's unlikely," Dom agreed.
"Send him in," Tristan cut across them, "let's get this done."
The door at the end of the hall was opened and Lord Bracken entered. A broad man, heavy and strong, wrapped in steel grey plate, under one arm was a grey greathelm with a magnificent crest of horsehair. Behind him came seven knights bearing his arms. He approached smartly, stopping a respectful distance from Tristan and bowing at the waist. "Prince-Regent," he said.
"Lord Bracken," Tristan beckoned for Lord Bracken to stand tall, which he did immediately. "I must confess I was surprised to find you waiting for me upon my return. I thought I had given you your tasks to complete, the taking of Dunstonbury and Bassen. And now you come before me in full plate as though ready to leave."
Jonos Bracken wasn't fazed by the comment. "Of course, Prince-Regent, I only came to you because I had a request to ask of you in regards to the war, I thought it best to come personally."
"The war?" Tristan's interest was piqued, had Lord Bracken got a target in mind for him.
"Yes, it concerns Dunstonbury, the town has approached my army with an offer, they wish to pay us to leave them alone. They are offering a significant amount of silver to lift the siege."
Tristan shrugged. "And?"
Lord Bracken wasn't sure how to respond to that. So Tristan continued. "It won't be anything like what we'd find when we prised open the town ourselves."
"My prince, I believe that the men and time that we'd sacrifice for that is not worth the difference, we'd be better off taking the town's wealth now. We're not here to conquer after all."
"No we're here to close the road to the capital and spread fear among the men of the southlands. That is achieved through taking and sacking towns, not letting them pay their way out of trouble," he said. Fear was the weapon he would employ first, as time passed fear would abate, so he had to spread as much as possible as fast as possible, it might cost them some men, but it would be worth it."
But Jonos was not done, "I disagree, Prince Regent," he said.
"You... disagree... with an order, from me, the representative of the King?"
Jonos stiffened, but held his ground. "I do," he said calmly. "Eventually my prince, there will be a response to this attack, either from Highgarden or, more likely, from the army around King's Landing. Dunstonbury and Bassen are at the far east of our invasion effort and therefore, the first to be attacked from that direction. Neither show signs of falling soon, an attack would cost us too dear to assault until they are weakened from starvation and disease, which will take many months, especially with my limited numbers."
"You have three thousand men, Lord Bracken," Domeric replied.
"Split between the two sieges, and maintaining communication between them, I don't have the strength to assault either the town or the castle," Lord Bracken countered. "But if I could accept the coin of the town it would allow me to take the castle and keep our eastern front more secure."
Tristan didn't like it, he wasn't here to fight the army of King's Landing, he was here to starve it and to take as much from the Reach as possible while doing so. But Daryn leant down. "Tris, is this really such a bad idea? The town provides their silver and Lord Bracken takes the castle?"
He raised his hand to his face, subtly covering his mouth with his fist. "And what happens when other towns start offering their coin, we need to be feared, not someone to negotiate with. That's my brother."
Daryn leant down, turning his head away from Lord Bracken to hide his words. "Tris, I'm worried about your obsession with fear, it is a weapon, but not your only one, silver, steel and honour are weapons as well."
"He's right Tris," Dom said, "you know what happens when you rely on one weapon too much."
"What?" Dom's eyes flicked down to his claw. He wanted to throttle Dom in that moment, but Shield dug his claws into his foot, sharp and deadly through his boot. "Careful," he hissed back at Dom before turning back to Lord Bracken.
He wanted to send Jonos back to the two and command him to sack them, but he knew his friends weren't entirely wrong. "Lord Bracken, the town may survive in exchange for silver, but there is no negotiation with Bassen, you understand, this is my order, that castle will surrender or fall to arms, there are no other options."
Jonos bowed, down to one knee this time. "By your word, Prince-Regent." With that he turned on his heel and exited the room, his knights following on behind.
"You did good Tris," Daryn said.
"Shut up," he muttered. "Why couldn't a northern lord have been sent to that place, they wouldn't have complained, they'd have sacked both and I wouldn't be in this mess."
"Careful, my prince," Daryn continued, tone suddenly serious. "Lord Bracken and I are both your brother's lords, the only difference is that I am your friend."
"Hardly the only difference," Cley said. "I am a lord as well, but we are of the North, Lord Bracken is not."
"But we are all of the North and Trident," Daryn said. "We are both lords of equal rank in this kingdom."
"Where is this coming from?" Tristan asked.
Daryn sighed. "I was just saying you did well not to treat him more harshly because he doesn't bow to a heart tree, or because he is of the Riverlands."
"I never intended too!" He protested.
"You just complained about a northman doing the job better than he would," Daryn pointed out. "Tris, this kingdom, this future your brother is trying to build for us, it is still new, fragile and unstable. While you are acting in his stead you mustn't dig up the seeds he is planting, and that means treating northern lords and riverlords evenly. You did."
"And you worried that I wouldn't?"
Daryn stiffened. "I... did, but I was wrong."
Tristan wanted to strike out, but again, Shield dug his claws in and he didn't. "Well, I'm glad you think so," he said, it didn't sound completely right, but it was better than an awkward silence."
"I'm going out to train," Cley said after a moment. "Join me Dom?"
"Gladly," Dom said, relieved, "coming Daryn?"
"On my way," Daryn replied. "Tris?"
Tris waved them out. "I'll be there shortly, Elmar, go have a drink sent then prepare my sword."
"Prince-Regent," Elmar bowed and followed the other three out.
Alone and in silence, Tristan looked down at Shield who was glaring at him with penetrative eyes. "Are you satisfied?" He demanded, nudging the wolf off his legs and stretching them. Shield settled down and stared at him, silent. "They wanted to go to war, I take them to war, and now they complain, my friends think I'm going to mess up Robb's Kingdom and I can't fight properly, don't you sit there in judgement of me too." Shield still stared as he always did, Shield was the perfect being to rant at, he never replied and never got hurt by the words. "Gods, they asked me to serve as Robb's Regent, I would have been fine if mother had been giving the orders, or Ser Brynden, but they chose me to lead them, for some reason they thought it would be a good idea. I sometimes think I'm the only one who thought it was a bad idea, now it seems I'm wrong, even my closest friends thought it was a bad idea. And Lord Bracken," he shook his head, scoffing. "If Robb had given that order, it would have been obeyed, if Robb had commanded Dunstonbury to be sacked it already would have been." Shield looked up at him, he may not have spoken, but he could see the words in the wolf's eyes. Robb never would have given that order.
He growled but was cut off by the sound of a door opening. A willowy servant girl with honey blonde hair entered in a brown dress. Pretty by any measure, he could see why Lord Vyrwell had her on his staff. The corner of his lip turned up at the sight of her approaching him, a tray in her hand, with a silver cup and a brass jug on it. She bowed low as she approached the lord's seat he'd taken for his own.
"My Lord," she whispered in a shuddering breath. "y-you wanted a drink, I have brought wine."
"So you have," he replied, beckoning her forward. "Bring it here then."
She approached, setting the tray on the table and filling the cup before holding it out to him. "What's your name?" He asked, not unkindly, or so he thought, but her reaction said different.
"Alienor, if it please my lord." She shook in fear and terror
"You're a pretty one, Alienor," he said, smiling.
She shrank back from him, holding the cup at the far reach of her arm. "Please my lord, your wine."
He growled again and snatched the wine from her fingers. "Alienor."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Get out."
She all but sprinted from the room, leaving him alone with the only Shield and his eternal quiet judgement for company.
