Chapter Seventy-Six
…
The Golden Tooth, Westerlands
The Golden Tooth ever since time immemorial has always been the bulwark and staging grounds of the Westerland armies when they head out East. With its strategic positioning, the keep despite not as large as the rest of the castles of the West stands as a strong bulwark. It's walls are highly maintained, the parapets always repaired and the arrows and weapons are always kept well-stocked. House Lefford itself gets a daily stipend from Casterly Rock in the continuing productiveness of the Tooth. Never let it be said that Tywin is one of those Lords who does not recognize the importance of the castles on his land.
It would be hard for a large army to assault the tooth head on in its prime and ready state. Even with a force of five hundred men, one can hold thousands at bay if they are well-stocked and well-trained, which they are. Now with Ser Jaimie Lannister gathering the forces of the West behind it, the Tooth serves its purpose once more as a shield against any Riverland force that might pose a threat against the gathering Westerlanders. To attack the Tooth with a large number of men is folly in its ready state.
To infiltrate it with a few however is possible.
"Are you sure about this Lord Emdure?" asks a nervous Patrek Mallister looking nervously at the high walls.
"I am," answers the heir of Riverrun crouching over the brushwood, the night light barely making them visible underneath the looming stares of The Golden Tooth's walls. "I asked Lucas Blackwood to make a sortie against the front gate to distract the guards so that we may slip from the side,"
As if on cue, powerful explosions can be heard somewhere at the North, courtesy of the makeshift catapults made by House Blackwood that is right now making their planned attack. Edmure only beckons for his men to follow as he and the rest crossed the distance between them and the now empty parapets.
Between the six of them, they are carrying a long wooden pole with Edmure at the front. Reaching the bottom of the wall, instead of stopping, Edmure plants his feet on the stone before angling his body to be pushed forward as he runs vertical up the walls using the pole as a support with his men pushing it forward horizontally then slowly upward to keep him going. At the back however Robert Page and Marq Piper stands ready with the modified crossbows on loan from the armories of Rivendell. Unlike a regular Westerosi Crossbow, the bolt action of this weapon bites deep compared to its original counterpart.
Aiming for a second, Robert Page estimates the distance and timing of Emdure for a split second before firing. The bolt flies fast and true lodging itself like a nail in the wall. It is in perfect timing for Edmure to finally reach the limit of the pole and cling to the bolt's body in order not to fall. The next crossbowman also aims slightly higher than the first before also releasing his bolt for another handhold that the heir of Riverrun pulls himself into. Old Edmure might have fallen screeching to his doom already, but this new one is more nimble due to training and proceeded on where the next bolt would be…only for it to nearly skewer his hand as the crossbowman misfires and the bolt bounces off somewhere in the middle of his fingers.
"Have you been drinking?!" Edmure can hear Marq hissing at Robert Page before shaking his head as he fires his own crossbow bolt to the wall which Edmure wastes no time grabbing to haul himself up. Within a minute he is almost at the top before he turns back to his men who give off a signal of "Guard".
Nodding Edmure pauses as he waits for a sleepy eyed Lefford guard to walk past before hauling himself up the parapet, using the momentum to grab the guard's head and slam it to the stone. He is out cold immediately.
Rushing, Edmure ties the rope to one of the wall's indents before throwing it over the side. The rest of the Riverlanders are immediately over it in a minute.
"So where's the storehouse?" asks Edmure to Ellery Vance who points to a series of stone houses connected with another side by side.
With nary a word, the Tully raiding force rushes to their objective with Marq and Robert putting down the two guards to the entrance who barely registers the raiders. With the distraction at the gate, it is easy for the raiders to break in the wooden door. Upon entering the storehouses, Edmure can't help but whistle at what he's seeing. It seems that Tywin is more generous that he imagined. There are almost two years' worth of supply here for five hundred men. Salted meat, Wine, oil, bread, rum, beer, barley, beans, wheat, water, and of course, an ever present stash of Kevan Lannister's rice barrels.
"Tywin is not kidding about making sure that the Golden Tooth is well-supplied alright," whistles the Goldbrook heir. "How do we plan to do this Ed?"
"The oil," Edmure points kicking open one of the barrels spilling its precious contents on the straw floor. "Break them open and make sure to line them up to the stashes of beer and rum. We burn this entire place down,"
"Such a shame for good wine," sighs Robert taking one of the bottles with the label of Dornish vintage before Marq slapped some sense into him.
"Hustle people. We have no idea how long till they notice the absent guards!" hisses Edmure pulling his friends' heads out of the gutter as they each grab an oil barrel and start spreading the slimy stuff all over. For Edmure, it is almost an eternity when it is only twenty minutes before they're done. As it is, he signals for the rest of his retinue to make a run for it back through their entrance before lighting up the torch which he places in the line of oil at the ground. Within seconds I bursts aflame before crawling like an enraged lizard heading to the storage areas.
Edmure can feel the heat of the explosion even as the entire castle shakes as he crawls down the wall and back to the safety provided by the dark.
….
Dragonstone
The harbors of Dragonstone have always been large. Seeing that it almost becomes a relic for the Targaryen kings of old as a remembrance of their history and family, it has always been maintained and flourished to the best of their ability. It is the place where Aegon the Conqueror and his wives had lived before they decided that the rest of Westeros would be ripe for glory and unity.
In the more practical side of things however, Dragonstone is a darkened unsustainable fortress. Almost nothing grows on the barren place and there are no large pasture grounds. Thus to sustain the place and the people that garrison it, the only way to deliver to them supplies by fair number is by the sea, thus the reason for the rather large harbor. Dragonstone can contain thousands if needs be after all.
Now in its current setting, the fleet of Stannis Baratheon (formerly the Royal Fleet) docks on its many harbors intertwined to one another by beams of wood and thick chains to protect them from bashing against one another by the tempest of the open seas. Now almost two hundred ships are moored there with many more acting as supply ships for almost twenty thousand Stormlanders gathered on Dragonstone in preparation for the attack on King's Landing.
For Jon Stark, it is a daunting force looming over him. Of course he has already made it. Currently the longships of Dol Amroth are anchored in a small inlet only opposite of Dragonstone, it's shallow waters low enough where ships can take cover from the ocean's bite. The inlet is also uninhabited with small wild game and enough land that the marines of Dol Amroth can disembark unto and stretch out their sea legs.
There is also the unsaid fact that almost fifty Dornish ships made from repurposed merchant ships have joined with them under the command of Prince Oberyn Martell. Together with him are five thousand Dornishmen, all experienced and bloodied. Doran apparently is not willing to commit Dorne to the fight but The Mandalorian would like to pay his debts to the Lady of Rivendell for the opportunity to skewer the Mountain himself. Thus he is here with his kin.
Other than that though, Jon is stuck as he sits on his personal ship looking over the very detailed clay map of the battle zone at the table inside his personal ship, The Snow. It has been delivered to him by one of the Hidden Ones that popped out of nowhere. Now here he is racking his brains as he tries to put together a plan that might defeat his enemies.
The information dropped off by the Hidden Ones has a warning there that tells of the plans of Stannis to attack them tomorrow afternoon when the Sea would be calm. There is no parley after all between him and the Dour Stag. Stannis had made it absolutely clear that the Baratheon Children, Myrcella included were products of incest and not Robert's children. He also stated that anyone who supported their claim would be considered enemies of his and be offered no mercy, thus the lack of need of messengers. Rivendell made it clear that they would be fighting alongside the Crown Princess Myrcella.
This puts Jon in a quandary of facing an enemy with a much superior number than his and with better experience. He of course knows that his objective is to slow Stannis down for his invasion in King's Landing. Jon however knows that it is easier said than done. How do you slow down two hundred ships with a much lesser attacking force? He can't help but kick himself for not listening to Maester Luwin's long winded talks about the histories of the War of Westeros. He does not expect that he would be a Custodian of a castle after all. That is more of Robb's forte, not his.
The sound of a door creaking open makes Jon looks up to the familiar lithe form of Yggrite entering with two plates of seasoned beef covered with pickles and onions. He sighs as she jabs one plate to his hands nearly bowling him over from the force.
"I do not like it when you are late for food Jon Stark. You have been cooped up in this room for two days. Eat!" barks the fiery woman.
"Yggrite there's no time. I really need to-,"
"Eat!"
"Yes ma'am," Jon half-salutes before taking a knife and fork and eating his offered dinner.
"Two days Jon. Two days. I know you are stressed, but I don't understand why you are having so much problem with this. Our enemy is in front of us, we should just rush at them head on," comments his wife fiddling with the windows of his room. "You're not stuffy in here? The room is too hot,"
Jon resists the urge to sigh. Despite everyone's best efforts. Yggrite cannot fully let go of her wildling attitude of simplicity. Gods he loved her but she is always one who prefers simplicity than long twisting plans.
"Why is this window so shutly TIGHT!" and with a powerful heave, the hinge broke without warning under Yggrite's ministrations sending the powerful sea wind outside spiraling inside.
Jon is totally caught off guard as scrolls, quills, papers start flying around like a mini tornado inside. Immediately the doors of his cabin are thrown open as guards pour inside in alarm of the sudden ruckus they must have heard outside. As everyone tries to make a sense of the chaos, Jon sees it, his candle has fallen on the clay map, more importantly near the mini ship replicas of wood being burned as the strong wind drives the flames forward, engulfing ship after ship.
…
The Vale, Road to the Bloody Gate
Delianah watches in no small amount of amusement at the line of dust below her that is the entirety of the gathered armies of the Knights of the Vale and their supply train. The Eastlanders under the command of Lysa Tully have ridden hard here after the news that a host of Rivendell is almost there at the Bloody Gate. They have after all taken their sweet time gathering and armoring themselves for the war to come. Thus they have been caught almost off with their pants down by the appearance of their foe at their entrance door. Now here they are rushing as if the very hounds of hell are after them as they try to make up for lost time.
Not one of them suspects that they have been all duped by the well-mastered laid plan of the Lady of Rivendell and they are all dancing at her fingertips.
Right now Delianah smiles as Godric hovers over the clouds giving her the best view of the terrain down below. The morons do not even glance once up top. If they do however, all they would see is a speck of dust at the sky. Delianah after all would not endanger the entirety of this operation simply by being careless
"It seems my suspicions are right," Delianah thinks as she observes the men of the Vale down below. Almost all that she sees are either knights or light cavalry. The Vale when marshaled all in all, including levies can number almost fifty thousand. However when it is lords, knights and their men-at-arms only, almost twenty-thousand. In a way it is wise. The different castles of the Vale are connected through the mountain passes by rocky terrain. It would be hard to gather the levies in time with those levies composed usually of the sickly and underfed peasant who would not be up for the trek.
Either way, twenty thousand is still a fair large enough number, especially against the five thousand that Delianah is bringing to bear against it. Thus the reason why she is here flying high in the air. To be able to grab a victory against the well-armored knights and heavy cavalry, she would need to be the one to force them in a battlefield of her choosing else they would simply steamroll over her forces.
None of her soldiers, especially the Death Dealers have been pleased with her decision to fly ahead and giving them standing orders to march to the stream of Erech, somewhere near the Bloody Gate. She has overruled them though and here she is, eyeing her prey, which is the big wagons and carriages that is the supply train for the Valemen. They, like the knights and their cavalrymen are riding quite hard due to the haste towards the Bloody Gate in a snake like pattern over the treacherous mountain side roads.
Twenty-Thousand men and their horses are no easy number to feed. Especially with the fact that said twenty-thousand have stuffy lords and self-important knights in them. Add the horses and you would need to prepare a lot of provender for them to remain in an able condition to fight. She would bet her Valyrian spear that the lords would not be willing to conduct a long campaign with their sensitive tummies crying out in hunger.
The plan is simple for Delianah, destroy the supply train, force the army of the Vale in the battlefield of her choice, win the battle and revel in her new achievement of glory and fame.
Raising her hand high in the air, she immediately can feel the strain as her magic reaches out to the powers of nature around her. Nature magic is sensitive, like pulling piece s of concrete with your fingers. You have to exert effort to channel it. Once her magic gathers enough. Delianah mutters her incantation: "Proxima Bombarda! Maxa!" and points her pointing finger at the mountain side above the hurrying Valemen.
With a powerful crack of thunder, the lightning strikes powerfully like a judgment of the gods. A mighty explosion occurs upon impact ripping stone, asphalt, sand and dirt. Of course gravity did the rest as the pieces roll downward, a death trap of a landslide.
The Valemen simply has no chance. Those unlucky enough to be caught in the landslide are brought down screaming and crying, as they are swept down the mountain, The others result to pandemonium. With their fast acceleration and the narrow road, the sudden break of the others at the back of the lines catches off guard the others following them. Immediately they are like dominoes bouncing over one another, crashing and slipping with many falling to their doom at the sides. A large number also have been thrown off their horses all over the line via impact and collision. Those at front also suffer as many attempted to look back to check the sudden chaos. Some fell off the path to their doom due to lack of attention, others also tried to put the brakes and thus repeated the doom of those at the center and back lines.
As for the supply train that Delianah has been aiming for. None of it survived. Too fast and caught off guard by the sudden chaos, they crash to one another as many at the front attempted to put their wagons to a stop. Horse-Drawn transportation apparently does not do well in sudden stops of acceleration. Whatsoever that remain of the supply train are broken pottery, spilled water and food on the muddy ground and of course dead bodes. Now as the dust fells followed by the groaning and crying of dying and wounded men, none can hear the maniacal laughter of victory by a certain Lady of Rivendell up high in the sky.
….
Riverlands, Riverrun
Myrcella resists the urge to slap her neck for the umpteenth time, courtesy of the mosquitoes currently buzzing all around. Around her, the entirety of the Black Guard Legions is setting up temporary camp before they make their final trek tomorrow heading for the Golden Tooth. They are not alone of course, at her right flank is the Tully forces with nearly Seven Thousand Men. Apparently the ten thousand is less than expected with the three thousand making a run for it. At her right is also another ten thousand Northeners. Suffice it to say Robb hasn't taken the news well of Ironborn planning to raid the North. Thus under the command of the Karstarks, nearly ten thousand Northeners are sent running back the way they came from to defend their shores against the Reavers.
As for Myrcella, here she sits in her own personal tent watching the soldiers run back and forth as they go off to follow their orders She has been a tad bit concerned when Delianah assigned the entirety of the army to her. She has been expecting after all to be the one in charge of everything. Color her surprised when all she has been doing is sitting her pretty arse while everyone brings to her final decisions which she simply has to say yes to. In a way Myrcella knows she's lucky. Not every lord or lady has advisors as competent as the ones Rivendell have.
This march also reminds Myrcella once more of the lands of Westeros all in all. While Rivendell is paradise incarnate and King's Landing is well the den of vipers despite bathed in opulent riches, the rest of the lands are mud, dust, and sweat. It is a jolt to Myrcella about the full extent of control she would have. She would not be ruling over the lords only but to these teeming masses who live and die under the lords and ladies of the realm.
The sound of shouting suddenly erupts from the camp of the Starks making Myrcella pop her head out the entrance of her tent to see the reason of the ruckus. Immediately Rhaenys is at her side, swords drawn. Her best friend has been not more than ten feet away from her most of the time ever since they left Rivendell.
Looking at her questioningly, Rhaenys simply shrugs at the silent question. "I don't know what's going on Cella,"
Myrcella is just ready to call out one of the Black Guards coming from that direction for information but a scowling Amelia soon stomps towards her. "Cella, you need to talk some sense to those idiots. The Riverlanders and many of the Northmen want to chop the Greyjoy boy's head off for Balon Greyjoy's invasion at the North!"
Myrcella simply grimaces at that. It can be easily forgotten that the Greyjoy boy is a hostage due to how well the late Lord Stark treated him. Now however it seems that the faults of the Old Kraken is putting the younger in peril.
"Come, attend me please you two," Myrcella says to Amelia and Rhaenys who nods before they follow her as they head to the Stark Camp. Ten Black Guard members immediately follow them also as an honor guard as they march on the muddy road.
The scene that greets them suffice it to say is not pretty. Many Riverlords and some Northeners apparently took it to themselves to serve the King's Justice to the Squid with their bare hands. Said Squid looks like he has been pummeled all the way to kingdom come with how many bruises he has collecting in his face. Beside him at the mud also and covered in grime is Robb Stark currently fending off the attackers off his brother.
"ENOUGH OF THIS!" Myrcella barks with a raised voice making everyone turn to her direction, taking a few seconds or so before realizing who is speaking before they are all bowing to her.
"What is this that you are all doing? We are all going to war tomorrow and this is the kind of attitude you all get?!" she reprimands before raising a hand as someone tries to protest silencing him.
"I know the circumstances as to why you are hitting the North's ward here. Right now however we have bigger fish to fry. We focus on that, then we deal with this problem. Understood?!"
"Yes, your highness!" the chorus of voices replies.
"Good, and you, Greyjoy," Myrcella levels her stare at Theon who wobbly gets to his feet despite his state before bowing.
"Yurzz Hehnez!" he muffles out due to his swollen face.
"The only reason I am giving you this reprieve and not lopping off your head myself is because the Lord Eddard Stark deem you worthy of time and effort to raise. Plus, Robb Stark here seems ready to fight to the death for you. Make the mistake however of siding with any of your traitorous people Greyjoy, and the Lords punching you to death would be the least of your worries, am I understood?"
"Yez meh Ledy," the squid nods his head quickly making Myrcella look at the other lords one more time for good measure before walking off with Amelia and Rhaenys in tow.
"Good work Cella, that would remind them who is at the very top of the command," comments Amelia.
"Thank you," Myrcella honestly replies. All this command overlord thingy is still a little bit new to her. "Did I do the right thing? Sparing the Greyjoy kid?"
"Maybe yes, maybe no Cella. It is one of those things you leave up to fate. Sometimes the coin will get heads and you'll be lucky for your choice. On the other hand it could be the exact opposite,"
"I see,"
Amelia only grins. "Cheer up Cella. He's not a major player and sparing him probably earned you some brownie points with the young Lord Stark. I don't think he'll be pleased if you decided to lop off the head of his best friend,"
Myrcella can't find anything to reply to that, so she only snorts.
Tomorrow would certainly be interesting.
…..
Author's Note: So the preparations are done, the battle lines are drawn and the war is about to start on three fronts. Which would you like to start off? Jon vs Stannis? Myrcella vs Jaimie? Or Delianah vs Knights of the Vale?
As usual, thank you for the support readers. Sorry for long updates. I broke one of my fingers so typing is kinda hard and painful.