Arianne VII
Arianne regretted having left Highgarden behind. Despite autumn having already arrived, it was still hot in the Reach, although the humidity made the sweltering heat feel even more intense, almost like summer. It wasn't like the dry and harsh climate of Dorne. But the climate in the Riverlands was worse, much worse. The humidity hadn't decreased, on the contrary, and what had previously resulted in constant sweating every day now brought incessant rain.
This was the first day since they had entered the lands bathed by the Trident that it hadn't rained, but seeing the dark clouds swirling on the horizon, Arianne didn't harbor any illusions. Furthermore, the summer heat seemed to be gradually dissipating, causing Arianne to arrive at her tent drenched and shivering after each day. And on top of that, Stannis wouldn't allow her to have a hot bath. It took too much time, he said, and the tent had to be packed up quickly to continue the march the next day. If she hadn't kicked him out of the tent to sleep in the mud and rain, it was because she hadn't yet come up with a better way to warm the bed at night. But time would tell.
By the Seven, we better arrive at Riverrun as soon as possible, or I don't think my marriage will survive another downpour. She was soaked, cold, and her thighs were sore from riding day after day. She couldn't understand how her cousins Obara and Nymeria could endure it. It must be practice, or maybe they knew some trick; she would have to ask them. And on top of all the rain and mud, it had delayed the army by at least a week.
Luckily, the next morning they woke up with guests. A scout from House Frey must have spotted them during the night, and shortly after dawn, a whole battalion of scouts from Riverrun had come to meet them, led by none other than the Blackfish himself. Rumor had it that he was an unparalleled warrior and that thanks to him, the Young Wolf had successfully eluded the Lannister sentinels to break the siege of Riverrun in the early stages of the war. To her, he seemed nothing more than an old curmudgeon, but appearances could be deceiving.
"We expected you to have arrived a couple of weeks ago," said the Blackfish when Stannis and she welcomed him into their tent. The only other people present were her uncle, the Red Viper, and Ser Garth Tyrell, Lord Willas's great-uncle, representing the interests of Highgarden on their council until the war was over. Neither she nor Stannis were particularly thrilled about the idea of including a Tyrell on the Small Council, but that was the price they had to pay for the loyalty of the new Lord of the Reach. She didn't trust him one bit, of course, and had a couple of informants who told her about every move of the former Castellan of Highgarden, although she suspected that her uncle and cousins had their own as well. However, for now, the Tyrell hadn't done anything to prove that he might be considering betraying them for Renly.
"The rains delayed us," Stannis replied to Brynden Tully. "The rivers have overflowed, and the bridges crossing them are now impassable. At least the ones still standing. We have witnessed the devastation caused by the Lannisters in the area."
"More crimes for which the old lion will pay with blood," said her uncle Oberyn. "Is he still hiding behind the walls of Harrenhal?"
"Don't you know?" the Blackfish asked incredulously. "I expected the news to have spread to the Reach by now, but as always, in war, not everything moves as quickly as it should. Lord Tywin abandoned Harrenhal over two weeks ago. We ambushed him on the Kingsroad. He was captured, and both Joffrey and his brother died."
"What? How?" Arianne didn't even know where to begin. It didn't make sense; it was too good to be true.
It's over. The Lannisters have been defeated. But it wasn't as simple as that, it couldn't be. Tommen is dead, a voice in her head that never knew when to be silent told her. Joffrey was a monster, but Tommen was an adorable boy, and you killed him. That isn't true; she tried reminding herself. The Starks and the Tullys killed him, not me. Besides, Tywin Lannister was no saint. He had ordered the killing of many children and babies; it was time he experienced the same fate within his own family.
"Lord Tywin intended to make a deal with us, but it was all a farce. Once he had secured passage to the west, he would have attacked our troops from behind and resumed his campaign to conquer these lands. So we gave him a taste of his own medicine," Brynden Tully said.
"And the Young Wolf found out," Ser Garth said. He was just as startled as the rest, and Arianne thanked the gods that he hadn't let out one of his constant farts.
"Not entirely. Tyrion Lannister warned us."
"The Imp?" her husband asked.
"Yes. Lord Tywin sent him to negotiate peace between us, but instead, he revealed his father's true plans to us. Lord Stark and my nephew reached an agreement with him on your behalf, Your Grace. We didn't inform you for fear that the raven might be intercepted, as you can understand."
"An agreement? What kind of agreement have you reached on my behalf?" her husband asked. Stannis was stubborn, and Arianne knew he wasn't liking this one bit. However, the Stark boy had achieved a great victory, and any prize agreed upon was well worth it.
"Pardon for Lord Tyrion and his men, including Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella, although... only Princess Myrcella given the circumstances. In addition to his appointment as Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, and his troops being exempted from further participation in this war," the Blackfish replied, holding her husband's gaze. If Stannis complained, that man wouldn't budge. They couldn't afford friction among their allies, not now that they were so close to the end.
"These are acceptable conditions, Ser Brynden," Arianne replied with a smile before her husband had a chance to respond. He gave her a stern look and clenched his jaw tightly, indicating that they would surely have a serious discussion when they were alone. But he didn't say a word, luckily. He could be quite temperamental when he wanted to be. "Of course, Myrcella must be publicly declared as Cersei's illegitimate daughter. We cannot allow her to attempt to claim her right to the throne as Robert's daughter in the future, as you can understand. And the former members of the Small Council must be judged." And executed.
"I understand, although I am but a simple knight. I suppose that is a matter you should discuss with Lord Tyrion and Lord Stark at Riverrun. However, I can tell you that only Grand Maester Pycelle is under our custody. Lord Baelish is apparently in the Vale, and there is no trace of Lord Varys."
"Eddard Stark is with you at least. Last we heard, he was still a prisoner in the Red Keep. I thought he would be in the hands of Lord Renly now," Ser Garth mentioned.
"The Lannisters took him with them when they evacuated the city, but he is no longer among us. Tywin Lannister ordered his execution during the ambush, and our troops were not fast enough to save him. Robb Stark is now the Lord of Winterfell and the North."
It was an expected development, but no less sad for the boy. From the moment she learned that Eddard Stark had been captured by the Lannisters, Arianne knew it was unlikely she would see the former Hand of the King alive again. In the improbable event that he confessed his treason and swore loyalty to Joffrey, the best he could have hoped for was the Wall. My hands are as stained with his blood as Tywin Lannister's, but no one will ever know. The old lion will pay for his sins and mine as well.
The truth was that Ned Stark's death had affected her less than she expected. In fact, she hardly cared at all, especially now that his son had proven to be more astute than his father, as demonstrated by his continued victories against the Lannisters. That, and the fact that he didn't seem to be driven by that stupid honor that had ultimately led his father to the grave. Eddard Stark had been nothing but a pawn in her plan to bring Stannis and herself to the Iron Throne. He had been of no use to her in life, but in his capture and subsequent death, he had provided her with the support of the Starks and the Tullys, so he had compensated in some way.
"The only thing I regret is not having been there in person. I would have given anything to see the look on Lord Tywin's face as my spear pierced his belly," her uncle Oberyn said. He had a furrowed brow and could barely contain his anger and frustration. Not because of the Lannisters' defeat, far from it, but because he wasn't the one responsible. Her uncle and father had wanted to avenge her aunt Elia for years, and now they had what they wanted, even if they couldn't do it personally. Tywin Lannister would die defeated, and Arianne's family would survive. That was the only thing that mattered to her at this point.
The next morning, they forded the Red Fork near Riverrun, where, according to Ser Brynden, the waters were lower and muddier, allowing the passage of troops, albeit slowly. Before sighting the Tully castle, they encountered several groups of villagers returning to their lands, many of them pulling animals and carts. The war had ended in the waters of the Trident, at least in the western part, and the population was returning home with hopes of planting one last harvest before winter arrived. In many cases, that would be highly unlikely. From what she had heard and seen, the Lannisters had looted every village they encountered once the war began to drag on, and what they couldn't take, they burned, including houses and crops. Many of those villagers would not find a place to return to. There were no cheers as they passed, and the only looks directed at them were ones of indifference and even fear, perhaps fearing that this army of outsiders would take away what little they had.
It was past noon when they caught sight of the walls of the fortress, and more importantly, the armies gathered beneath it. A multitude of camps of various sizes crowded beneath the walls of Riverrun, each displaying the banners of the lord they represented. There was no physical separation between them; instead, they were integrated, forming a large camp. However, it was evident that the levies of the lords did not mingle with one another. This was not unexpected, as something similar happened in their own camp, not so much among the Dornish but with the lords of the Reach who had joined them throughout the war. The eagle of House Mallister, the twin towers of House Frey, the trident of House Manderly... Arianne recognized a few, although the names of the minor houses eluded her. In the midst of the other camps, surrounded by them, stood numerous makeshift tents without any banners.
The tents of the prisoners. Hundreds of men crammed together, who until just a few days ago had belonged to Lord Tywin's proud army. They were constantly watched by guards of House Tully and possessed nothing more than ragged clothes and the little food their captors deemed fit to give them.
While their troops dispersed and began to pitch their tents alongside those of the Stark and Tully men, her retinue approached the castle. Besides Ser Brynden and a couple of his scouts, only Ser Garth, her uncle Oberyn, Stannis, and herself were present. And her Kingsguard, of course, or what was of it. Three positions still needed to be filled, and Arianne had serious doubts that they would be before the conflict ended. In addition to Ser Richard and Arch, Stannis had eventually accepted her suggestion to incorporate Ser Deziel Dalt, the knight of Lemonwood, who had repeatedly requested to join the brotherhood, even if it meant relinquishing his lands to his brother. Ser Deziel had always been loyal to her father, and Arianne suspected that this could be Doran Martell's way of keeping an eye on her. If that was the case, it was better to know which of her Kingsguard was a spy so she could keep him under control and filter the information that suited her best. The fourth member, the gray-haired Ser Vortimer Crane, the former master-at-arms of Highgarden, was a more delicate matter. It had been almost an imposition by Lord Willas and his grandmother, that crone, but just like with Deziel, Arianne believed she could keep him under control. Unfortunately, he had a nephew, Ser Parmen, who was part of Renly's Rainbow Guard. Ser Vortimer had sworn and insisted that his hand would not tremble when facing Parmen the Purple, but Arianne didn't entirely trust him.
Ser Brynden's scouts must have delivered news of their arrival some time ago because as they approached, they found the drawbridge lowered, the portcullis raised, and what appeared to be half the castle waiting for them in the courtyard. Knights, servants, and lords from both the North and the Riverlands were lined up in front of the gates to receive them. Standing at the front, a young redhead wearing a blue and red cloak over an embroidered tunic with a silver fish awaited them.
By his side stood two other men. The first was much younger, still a teenager, though he tried to appear otherwise, with hair of a similar color but with a more brownish hue. His cloak was the color of ash, just like his doublet, and only a brooch in the shape of a direwolf identified him as the Lord of Winterfell. Well, that and the actual wolf standing right behind him, almost as large as the steed she was riding. The other man she knew all too well from the amount of time she had spent at court before this conflict. Tyrion Lannister looked worse than usual, and it had nothing to do with his height. His hair was unkempt, and he had prominent dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't asked for his clothes to be washed after rolling around in the mud. Adding to that was several days' worth of untended facial hair, he definitely didn't have the lordly appearance expected of the new Warden of the West.
However, the one who surprised her the most was the first of the three. Hoster Tully was sixty years old; she expected to see an elderly man, not a young one who must be his heir, Ser Edmure, if she remembered correctly. The Lord of Riverrun was old, true, but she didn't recall that he was afflicted with any known illness. His absence was a lack of respect, or worse. Perhaps the old man had preferred to swear allegiance to Renly rather than to them, but she could tolerate the slight. She trusted that Stannis could as well, although that might be more difficult.
"Your Grace," Edmure Tully said as he knelt, "I welcome you to Riverrun. House Tully and the Riverlands are yours."
"Your Grace," Robb Stark said, kneeling as well, "The North is at your disposal."
Tyrion Lannister said nothing and merely inclined his head, without even bending his knees.
Stannis lowered his head slightly and gestured for them to rise, as protocol dictated. Then, both Ser Edmure and Robb Stark knelt before her, complimentin her beauty and expressing their honor to be in her presence before kissing her hand. Such gestures could become tiresome, but she couldn't deny that she greatly enjoyed all those charades. Not like Stannis, who already wore a look as if he wanted to leave as soon as possible, just like the Imp.
"I'm surprised not to see your father here, Ser Edmure," Arianne said courteously, preempting Stannis. "I trust that age is treating him well."
"Unfortunately, that's not the case. A terrible illness has confined him to bed for years, and it has worsened considerably in recent months. He no longer even distinguishes what is real from what is not. Maester Vyman stated that his time in this world is running out," Edmure said, sorrowful.
"My deepest condolences, Ser Edmure. I've always heard he was a great man," Arianne said.
"You're making this sound like a funeral, Tully," the Imp remarked. "And you buried the dead several days ago. Cheer up a bit." Arianne glanced at her uncle, who struggled to hold back laughter while, beside him, Ser Garth paled, unsure of what to say or do.
"It's not your father who's delirious in bed, dwarf," Edmure said, visibly angered. It was a bad sign that two of the most important lords of her reign were already at odds. They could still disregard the deal Stark had made with the Imp, but that would only lead to the West rising in arms once again. One of the many members of House Lannister might come up with the idea of crowning Myrcella or, worse, allying with Renly. For now, Tyrion Lannister seemed like the safest bet.
"No, my father awaits the gallows, and personally, I'm eager for that moment to arrive. When do you plan to sentence him, Your Grace? I hope it's soon," Tyrion Lannister said, turning his back to the future Lord of Riverrun.
"Something much worse than the gallows should await your father. If it were up to me, I would throw him into a pit filled with scorpions or something worse. Perhaps I would even give him to one of your vassals, Stark. I've heard the Boltons are experts at flaying their prisoners alive," commented her uncle Oberyn.
"Flaying has been forbidden in the North for centuries, Prince Oberyn. And no matter how many crimes Lord Tywin has committed, we should not stoop to his level," Robb Stark replied.
"That's enough! I won't start my reign by torturing a prisoner to death, even if he was my enemy, Prince Oberyn. I promised you and your brother justice for the death of your sister, and you shall have it," Stannis declared, putting an end to the discussion. "We have much to discuss, my lords, and little time. Ser Brynden has informed me somewhat on the way, but I would like to hear the recent developments on the front in detail. I understand that my brother and his armies are still unmoved in the Crownlands."
"Rather, I would say they are consolidating their position," Robb Stark replied. "Rosby and Stokeworth opened their doors to Randyll Tarly without any opposition as soon as he appeared, just like Duskendale a few days later. Then he headed towards Maidenpool. Lord Mooton locked himself behind the walls of his castle, but it did him little good. From the latest reports, both the city and the castle were sacked."
"Saltpans will be their next target, undoubtedly," Edmure Tully added. "Perhaps we should postpone this conversation. You must be tired, and the queen may not be particularly interested in these matters."
"Her Grace finds this conversation quite pleasing, thank you. Let us not forget that I am also the Hand of the King, Ser Edmure," Arianne replied, casting a disdainful glance that the young man failed to perceive. "We will have time to rest tonight."
"I agree. And I also believe you are mistaken about the objective of our enemies. I think it will be in Harrenhal where Lord Tarly will unleash his fury," Stannis said thoughtfully as the group made their way slowly toward the great hall of the castle. "Whom did Tywin Lannister leave in charge of the fortress?"
"Ser Amory Lorch and a despicable group of mercenaries, the Bloody Mummers. But it no longer matters. Roose Bolton fell upon them during the night and took the fortress," Robb Stark said. "Lord Bolton is a cautious man; the fortress will not fall so easily again, but he doesn't have enough men to withstand a siege."
"It is not my intention for him to do so," Stannis said, without elaborating further. "I believe we have other matters to attend to today that have waited for far too long."
"Yes," Tyrion Lannister said, his voice barely a whisper. "It is time to end this."
The executions were scheduled for later in the day. Until then, Arianne chose to retire to the rooms assigned to them. From what she had heard, they were Lady Catelyn's former chambers, as she had moved to another location in the castle. She hadn't had much opportunity to speak with the woman, and what little interaction they had wasn't particularly pleasant.
"I would have prefered my husband to be alive with me and our children in Winterfell, even if Joffrey were sitting on the Iron Throne. I hope you never have the chance to experience the little warmth one gets from embracing bones at night," the woman had told her when she had come to offer her condolences for the death of Lord Eddard.
An old bitter woman, that's what she is. If her son hadn't sworn allegiance to us, it would be her daughter's bones she'd be embracing. The Queen of Thorns had lost a son and a grandson in that war, and yet she seemed less icy than that red-haired harpy. True, every word Lady Olenna uttered was like a dagger, but she had the bitterness of lady Stark.
That conversation, albeit brief, had given her food for thought. Was she on the path to becoming like Catelyn Stark? She hoped not, but she had seen parts of her recent behavior mirrored in that woman. She had to toughen up even more if she didn't want to end up just as bitter.
"Your Grace," Ser Richard's voice came from the door. "It is time."
The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, and the rain fell steadily, yet the godswood was crowded with people. Lords from the Riverlands, the North, the Reach, Dorne, and even some of the imprisoned Western lords were present. There were also knights, mercenaries, servants, and more than a few villagers who didn't want to miss the opportunity to witness it. As Stannis had ordered, a gallows had been set up for the execution, close to one of those strange trees with a face carved into its trunk. The body of Grand Maester Pycelle hung from one of the two ropes, completely still. The other rope was still unoccupied, but it wouldn't be for long.
Rain fell on her uncle's shoulders as he led Tywin Lannister there, his hands bound, escorted by a dozen Dornishmen, Northerners, and Riverlanders. He was not the only one to be executed that day. Gregor Clegane, known as the Mountain That Rides and one of the most dangerous men on the continent, dangled exposed to the elements, enclosed in an iron cage suspended from the castle walls, so narrow that it prevented him from sitting or moving. Not even the crows had the courage to approach him, even though he was naked and defeated. They contented themselves with feasting on his men, who swung from long ropes alongside the cage.
He would have killed them all, Arianne thought as she observed the swinging cage that contained the giant. Obara and Nymeria were fierce warriors, but that man, no, that monster, was in a league of his own. It had taken more than a dozen men just to subdue him, from what she had been told. Rumors also said that they would have needed more if his brother, Sandor Clegane, believed to be dead or turned into a bandit, hadn't intervened in that fight. Nothing but a childish fantasy, in her opinion. The Greatjon Umber, of imposing size, had also aided in capturing the Mountain and had lost a leg and nearly died in the process. Perhaps her uncle would have had a slight chance against that monster of a man, but even then, victory would have been far from guaranteed. It's better that he ended up like this, no matter who may be displeased.
Her uncle led Tywin Lannister to the wooden scaffold. If the man who had been the target of her family's wrath for decades felt any humiliation, he didn't show any bit. Despite being stripped of his wealth and dressed in sad rags befitting a vagabond, the former Lord of the West kept his gaze forward and maintained an air of pride. There was no fear in his eyes, only a cold and unsettling look of tranquility that didn't waver even when her uncle tied the noose around his neck.
"Tywin Lannister, you have been found guilty of crimes including ordering the rape and murder of Princess Elia Martell and her children, the sacking of King's Landing and the Riverlands, pillaging, vandalism, torture, and high treason, among many others. For all these offenses, you are stripped of your titles and lands and sentenced to death. If you have anything to say in your defense, now is the time," proclaimed Stannis with the same impassivity as one reading the expenses of a banquet.
"I deny all those crimes, and I deny your authority, traitor," Tywin Lannister said, locking eyes with Stannis. The rain ran down his face, but it didn't make him blink. "You are not the king, and this is nothing but a farce, but if you insist, then-"
Whatever he was about to say never made it out of his mouth. With a powerful kick, Oberyn Martell had just struck the box holding the weight of the patriarch of House Lannister.
The rope tightened around his neck as Tywin Lannister convulsed, suspended in the air, his feet futilely reaching for the wooden floor of the platform. The guttural and unintelligible groans he uttered gradually faded as his face turned black. His death was not immediate, far from it. Minutes passed, and the condemned man's weak groans still echoed among the trees of the forest. More than one of those present eventually looked away, but Arianne forced herself to keep watching until the last breath of life escaped the corpse of the man who had caused her family so much harm.
There, hanging with damp and wrinkled skin, a vacant gaze, bloodshot eyes, and a face contorted in a permanent expression of pain, Tywin Lannister didn't seem like much to her.
