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In this chapter and going forward maps I have made myself are referenced on my tumblr theprancingstag
Renly Baratheon
Mud clung to the boots of my riding leathers and a cacophony of noise assaulted my ears as chaos raged all around me. Servants, smallfolk, and squires franticly ran to and fro as knights, quatermasters, and leftenants bellowed orders. Preparing over 3,000 heavy cavalry to ride out with me by sunset.
Not that we actually would be riding out this evening, as much as I desperately wanted to, as riding out before my coronation-wedding was impossible. But there would be no time nor inclination to prepare tomorrow, not with the ceremony and the associated festivities taking up the entire day. While I recognised the futility of expecting people to work on the day itself I still refused to lose any time of the day after preparing to ride out. So when Garlan had looked over my battle plans and suggested reinforcing my Stormlands troops with a Tyrell vanguard, I'd given orders that that vanguard was to be prepared to ride out today. With everything prepared, organised, and loaded today, we should be able to ride out by mid-morning two days hence instead of late afternoon. I would have preferred to ride out at first light, but it would take longer than that to dispatch the last of my agents and drag a critical mass of the highborn out of bed despite their hangovers.
"Eeek!"
Loras snarled at the squire who had spun around after picking up a crate of gambesons and had nearly walked straight into me.
"Carry on." I simply smiled at the now terrified squire as Ser Balon guided him around the royal party and sent him on his way. I was drinking in the chaos of the preparations like a man dying of thirst who had finally been given some water.
Normally such chaos would have had me twitching at the lack of organisation, but right now it thrilled me as it meant that the end was finally in sight. The politicking, the scheming, the constant changing of masks, and the eternal doublespeak were almost at an end. Soon I would finally be able to rest.
Granted leading an army in a cross-country dash and into battle was not what most would define as 'rest'. But then most people hadn't been having their will to live slowly crushed by trying to keep a hundred balls in the air – letting the audience only see three of them – while holding a perfect charming smile throughout in one of the most intense periods of scheming and plotting Highgarden had ever seen.
Next to that, making smalltalk with whatever lords were with me as we rode through the beautiful rolling hills and plains of the Reach would indeed be the perfect rest.
Even if bloody battle was awaiting us at the end.
"No." I grabbed one of the smallfolk racing passed with a bag of apples over their shoulder.
"Y-y-your Grace?" The poor man stammered, terrified.
I turned him around and pointed him towards one of the temporary stable paddocks. "The food carts are for crates only. All food in bags is for the pack horses over there."
"Yes Your Grace!" the terrified smallfolk fled towards the packhorses as fast as his legs would carry him.
"I wish I understood your obsession with speed." Margaery muttered quietly as she walked beside me through the camp, her perfect smile never wavering. Despite her riding leathers and her pinned up hair giving her a far more androgynous look than usual, more than one blushing squire still dropped their load or tripped over their own feet as she directed her attention at them. All of them were mocked soundly by their fellows as soon as we'd passed.
"You're about to find out." I grinned, the bustling energy of the camp and the anticipation of riding out making me positively giddy.
We climbed the hill that the rising sun had only just peaked over, entering the verdant green pavilion as we passed the remaining Kingsguard and Rainbowguard who had taken up positions around its perimeter. Ser Balon took his place at the entrance with the others, with Loras the only White or Rainbow cloak following us inside.
Once inside, a much less pleasant cacophony of noise assaulted my ears as the great lords of the Reach milled around the central table.
"Good morning my lords!" I spoke with a fixed smile as I made my way to the head of the table and took my seat.
Mace was already seated on my right in the place of honour, and Garlan had taken the seat to my left. But the young Tyrell knight quickly moved down a space to make way for his sister as soon as he registered her presence.
"A war council is no place for a woman, Your Grace." Randyll Tarly growled; disapproval etched deeply onto his face as he stared at Margaery.
"If we were about to go into battle you would be entirely correct Lord Tarly." I allowed. The man was prickly, if I was going to overrule him, I had to at least attempt to help him save face else his wounded pride could become a problem.
A cloak turning problem if it was left to fester rather than handled carefully.
I locked eyes with one of three top tier battle commanders Westeros had. "But there will need to be a great deal of supplies dispatched from Highgarden to keep our forces in the field. The Queen is present so that she may help Lord Willas organise and dispatch them in the most efficient manner possible. Carts are already the slowest form of travel, slowed even further by traveling in a baggage train. Any speed that can be recouped in any way will be of great benefit to us."
Lord Tarly pressed his lips together till they turned white, but he acknowledged the point. "It is as you say, Your Grace. And a woman would know about organising and dispatching foodstuffs. Tis not too different to running a household, I suppose."
"I'm glad you see the benefit my lord." I replied with an ingratiating smile. When Stannis had been attempting to get Ser Cortany to surrender Storm's End, the castellan had named Loras Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, Mathis Rowan, and Arwyn Oakheart as Renly's most loyal supporters outside the Stormlands. I wasn't going to throw that loyalty away because I couldn't be bothered to do a little ego stroking.
I signalled to Loras and as the other score and a half of lords, heirs, and two ladies representing the most powerful Houses of the Reach took their seats, My Lord Commander ushered the cupbearers out of the tent.
Frowns broke out among the assembled lords as I stood.
"Thank you for attending me this morning my lords. Those of you who rode through the night to make it are noted as having done me a particular service. A note for you, if you feel the pull of sleep as the result of your ride, is to try the new drink – coffee – that your liege lord has procured for me. Cream and sugar will help with the bitterness, and it will banish sleep with ruthless efficiency. But it will also make you piss like a racehorse so make note that the chamber pots are behind that screen as there are ladies present."
"Are we to serve ourselves Your Grace? Where have the cupbearers gone?" Lord Ashford asked, looking around in confusion.
"Sent away Lord Robert. I have learned of Lord Lannister's battle plans from a cupbearer who turned their cloak, and I have no intention of making the same mistake." I grinned. It had been immensely frustrating to be so passive when it came to military matters, but now my patience would pay off. Whether the lords believed my excuse or not, I knew Tywin's initial battle plan. Which meant that for the next handful of weeks before my butterflies changed things I could answer precisely the three questions that decided wars.
Where is my enemy?
What are their numbers?
What are they doing?
I grabbed a jug of coffee as the disbelieving muttering continued unabated. "We all have the use of our limbs my lords; I think we can handle pouring our own drinks for one council. Unless you all intend to have your squires swing your swords and hold your shields for you in battle as well!"
The joke took the sting out of the order and there was a little mummer of laughter as the lords reached for the various jugs of coffee, pots of tea, and jugs of barley water according to their taste.
I had made sure no alcohol was present.
"If someone could serve Lady Oakheart? Some propriety must be maintained after all." I winked, pouring Margaery a cup of coffee as well as my own.
Mathis Rowan leaned across with a pot of tea and Arwyn Oakheart passed him her cup with an indulgent smile. The two grey haired friends whispering while looking around at the rest of the highborn.
I cleared my throat and Lord Crane froze with his glass of barely water about to touch his lips.
I made eye contact and simply raised an eyebrow.
The old man flushed and quickly put his glass down on the table, a series of resounding clunks indicating he wasn't the only one.
"My most sincere apologies Your Grace." He croaked, his red face contrasting sharply with his sky-blue doublet.
"Quite alright Lord Crane." I smiled, magnanimous in victory. I took a sip of my coffee, allowing all present to do the same. "It can happen to the best of us. After so long in our own keeps, when we convene it can take a moment for us to remember that we are no longer the one on which all others must wait."
I let my gaze roam around the tent. "You will find me more lenient of such mistakes than the Lords Lannister, Tully, and Arryn. As long as it does not become a habit."
Robert had never had either the patience or inclination for such subtle power plays.
Robert had also been 15 years my senior and thus old enough to be the assembled lord's sons if not their equals. He'd also been able to bludgeon all of them into submission with his warhammer even in his later days.
By contrast I was young enough to be the grandson of more than half present. Which combined with my lack of battlefield prowess, prissy nature, and shaky legitimacy, was a dangerous situation if these old powerful men got ideas. So I couldn't afford to let even the smallest of court powerplays slide. Not until deferring to me had become an ingrained habit.
The moment passed and I stood, waving everyone back to their seats as they attempted to stand with me. I threw a rolled-up scroll to Ser Jon Fossoway, Knight of New Barrel. As the only landed knight present, invited to the council only because his wife was Mace's sister and the soft-hearted oaf had agreed to his goodbrother's request to be included before I could stop him. He was the lowest rank present and seated at the tail of the table.
Ser Jon unrolled the scroll and positioned it in a mirror image of the one I unrolled before me at the table head, so all assembled could see one or the other as we used jugs and teapots to hold them open.
"If any present cannot read, speak up now and we shall say no more about it. Pretend otherwise and counsel me based purely on bluffing and we shall have issues." My tone was harsh despite Margaery's exasperated warning glare.
Lord Franklyn Fossoway of Cider Hall raised his hand reluctantly, as did Lord Osbery Serry of Southshield. Stannis Meadows, a boy of two-and-ten, slowly let his own hand rise to join them as I stared at him.
Given that if all had gone according to plan I'd gotten the boy's father killed by sending him mountain hunting with Ser Ronnet and Ser Bonifer, I simply sighed and tossed my head to lord Ashford seated next to him, who nodded at the insinuated order.
"You two." I turned my ire on the two adult lords. "Either learn to read or pass off your commands to your sons or others who can. When I give orders they are for your eyes alone, just because you trust your maesters or whoever else reads to you aloud does not mean I do. Do not let this situation continue if you intend to find my favour."
There was a lot of uncomfortable shuffling. Despite not being the target of my ire, young Stannis Meadows looked ready to cry, while Osbery Serry was staring blankly at his glass of barley water, face flushed with embarrassment. Franklyn Fossoway, by contrast, was staring at Garlan with hatred. Turning his anger at his humiliation on his goodson for failing to defend him as he dared not turn it on me.
I didn't care. I was not having my plans thwarted because one of the few people that had the time, money, and tutors to learn to read were too lazy to do so. If Satin could manage it, then barring dyslexia there was no possible excuse for them beyond a sheer lack of effort and care to the duties of their station. Not men I wanted to count on as allies if I could help it.
"Now. I said we'd say no more about it, and I'm a man of my word. So those of you who can't do it yourself are to find someone to read the text to you and we'll move on."
Shifting awkwardly the lords and ladies present read the tables that I had written, and Garlan had copied out.
Dragonstone, Driftmark, and the Narrow Sea: General Muster – 3,000 men / Emergency Muster – 5,000 men / War Galleys – 210 including defected Royal Fleet / Longships – 120
Crownlands: General Muster – 10,000 men / Emergency Muster – 15,000 men / War Galleys – 56 including remaining loyal war galleys of the Royal Fleet afloat or under construction / Longships - 18 / King's Landing City Watch – 5,000 men
Iron Islands: General Muster – 20,000 men / Emergency Muster – 23,000 men / Iron Fleet War Galleys – 100 / Other Lords War Galleys – 40 / Longships – 360 / All levies are sailors and cannot man the fleet and assemble on land at the same time. Max deployable if longships are beached and War Galleys only are manned – 14,000 men
Dorne: General Muster – 20,000 men / Emergency Muster – 35,000 men (actual) 50,000 men (believed) / War Galleys – 20 / Longships - 40
Stormlands: General Muster – 26,000 men / Emergency Muster – 36,000 men / War Galleys – 16 / Longships – 20
Vale: General Muster – 32,000 men / Emergency Muster – 42,000 men / War Galleys – 38 / Longships – 56 / Gulltown city watch 1,000 men
North: General Muster – 30,000 men / Emergency Muster – 45,000 men / War Galleys – 4 / Longships – 12 / White Harbour City Watch – 600 men. Only 20,000 men can be mustered if the North needs to march quickly after calling the banners.
Riverlands: General Muster – 28,000 men / Emergency Muster – 60,000 men / War Galleys – 18 / River Galleys 24 / Longships – 14 Full emergency muster reliant on the Iron Throne specifically reinforcing Tully authority.
General muster contribution breakdown is as follows:
Vance: (combined): 4,000 men
Frey: 4,000 men
Blackwood: 3,000 men
Bracken: 3,000 men
Mallister: 3,000 men / War Galleys – 12 / Longships – 6
Mooton: 2,800 men / War Galleys – 8 / Could be raised higher without requiring emergency measures if Tully control was strong enough to force a similar % of Mooton coin to be spent on arms and men as the Mallisters.
Piper: 2,000 men
Tully: 1,600 men / 24 River Galleys
Minor houses: 4,600 men / Longships – 8 / Could be raised higher without requiring emergency measures if Tully control was stronger or reinforced.
Westerlands: General Muster – 35,000 men / Emergency Muster – 50,000 men / War Galleys – 50 / Longships – 80 / Lannisport City watch – 3,000 men
Reach: General Muster – 80,000 men / Emergency Muster – 110,000 men / Redwyne Fleet War Galleys – 200 / Other Lords War Galleys - 60 / Longships – 60 / Oldtown City watch – 4,000 men
"Does anyone, have any reason, any reason at all, to doubt the numbers written down?" I asked into the silence.
"The King's Landing city watch has only 4,000 men Your Grace, but your numbers say they have 5,000." Mace spoke up pompously.
"Indeed goodfather, well spotted." I smiled indulgently, raising my coffee in salute. "I made that change as the Lannisters are certain to be recruiting extra guardsmen now war is upon us. I thought the extra thousand the most reasonable figure, though I admit they could recruit an extra two. What do you think?"
"Oh no, I think an extra thousand to be a most reasonable estimate Your Grace." Mace beamed, sitting back proudly as Margaery shot me a fond smile.
"The figures for Dorne Your Grace." Randyll Tarly poked imperiously at the table. "You say that when the strip every garrison and recruit every green boy and old man that they can still only muster 35,000 men? Not the 50,000 that we have all been told for decades is true?"
"That's right, and let me tell you ferreting out that little secret cost me a lot of agents and a lot of gold." I grimaced, covering my wiki knowledge. "The Dornish never corrected The Young Dragon's overestimation of their numbers during his invasion. It allows them to wield far more power and influence then their true numbers deserve if the rest of Westeros puts their upper levy numbers ahead of all but the Westerlands and Reach."
"Surely someone would have noticed?" Lady Oakheart asked as the table frowned.
I shrugged lightly. "As part of their treaty of accession to the Seven Kingdoms the Dornish retain the right to take their own census and gather the taxes the crown demands themselves. As long as they deliver the extra tax gold to King's Landing to match their inflated census numbers no one would know the numbers had been inflated. Not even the Dornish themselves as the Martell bannermen only know their own numbers and possibly their neighbours. Only House Martell has all the true numbers for all of Dorne."
"A discussion for another time perhaps." Willas spoke up gently at my hand signals, moving the conversation on. "For now it merely means that when speaking of Dorne we need only concern ourselves with a maximum of 35,000 men. Unless any wish to argue with His Grace?"
Several looked like they did, Randyll chief among them, but no one actually opened their mouth to speak.
"I ask again. Does anyone present have any reason to doubt the other numbers?" I stated calmly.
The pavilion remained silent.
I emptied the containers of tokens onto the map of Westeros that took up much of the table. "Right, help me set these out."
Everyone scrambled until the tokens were all in place at their regional capitals. I moved the Stormlands ones around to show the full garrisons left at Storm's End, Bronzegate, Stonehelm, Blackhaven, Nightsong, Evenfall Hall, Greenstone, and Weeping town.
I then put one of the largest black stags down on Blackhaven to represent the 10,000 men of Beric Dondarrion's army. Explaining to the highborn present that they were to act as the hammer to the garrison's anvil against Stannis' forces when he landed.
"A foolhardy course of action on your brother's part Your Grace." Alester Florent muttered, staring at the single medium sized Blackfyre piece on Dragonstone. "You're certain he'll commit to it? And that he'll find no welcome in the Stormlands?"
"The man's married to your nice Alester, what say you?" Paxter Redwyne needled with a smug grin.
"I am well aware of the unfortunate family ties of some around this table thank you Lord Redwyne." I barked, cutting the grinning redhead off at the knees much to Lord Florent's relief.
It was in my own interest to keep the man onside. With their marriage to the Cranes and Tarlys, a Florent/Crane axis of Stannis support could sway other Florent allied houses and turncloaks like the Fossoways both if I lost a couple of battles. Which would be the last thing I needed in that situation.
Given that Stannis had burned him alive it was the last thing Alester Florent himself needed either, but if I didn't keep him onside he wouldn't realise that until it was far too late.
"I do believe that my brother will attack Storm's End Alester, yes. Has Lady Selyse given you reason to think otherwise?" I asked calmly, making the Florent lord's eyes dart around like the fox of his sigil as he stroked his pointed black and silver beard.
"From what she writes about his obsession with the place I would agree with you in principle Your Grace. But it seems strange that such a capable commander would make a move so guaranteed to fail." The Lord of Brightwater Keep replied, bravely sticking to his objection.
I put my coffee down and nodded in respect.
"I thank you for voicing your thoughts Lord Florent. Counsel I do not want to hear is perhaps the most vital of all. However, I must ask that you simply trust me on this matter. I know my brother's mind; Stannis will attack Storms End my lords. Despite all good sense saying he will not."
Warryn Beesbury shifted slightly away from Alester, unwilling to be caught in the staring match I'd initiated with the Lord of Brightwater Keep.
"As you say Your Grace." Alester Florent choked, hiding his long face behind his mug of coffee.
I sighed. "Believe me I wish he would be as sensible as you believe Alester. Already an army sworn to me killing my brother sails too close to kinslaying for my soul to be at peace. To compound it further by my brother falling beneath the walls of our childhood home…it leaves a bitter taste when I contemplate it. Despite all that has passed between us. But 'tis Stannis that will choose the battlefield Lord Dondarrion will crush him on, and I know he will accept no other target than Storm's End while the castle flies my banner. My only hope is that dying there will bring him the peace he has never felt in life since he left."
"If he prizes the castle so highly Your Grace, could not an accommodation be made with Lord Stannis?" Lady Oakheart asked hesitantly. "A mother never cares to see her sons fight, 'twould do your mother's ghost a service if Lord Stannis would bend the knee to you in return for Storm's End and the Stormlands' lord paramountcy."
"A sensible solution that for all its dangers would be my preference, Lady Arwen." I didn't have to fake the bitter smile that overtook my face. "But the only thing Stannis loves more than Storm's End is the order of things. He is dogmatic to his core and will make no peace with me while I wear a crown. The offer will be made, I assure you, but he will never accept it. He cannot. No more than the sun can rise in the west. It is simply not in his nature."
There was silence for a few moments before Baelor Hightower broke it, pointing at the three small stag tokens on the south of the Blackwater Rush. "The 1,500 men you have set to raiding the Kingswood Crownlands will cause the Lannisters headaches for certain Your Grace. I'm intimately familiar with supplying a city and can confirm that they'll do exactly what you intend to the capital's timber and game supply. The city will be much weakened when facing siege or assault because of it."
"Thank you, Ser Baelor." I granted Leyton Hightower's heir a nod of appreciation. Excepting his help in deescalating and moving on.
"So, to the other kingdom's deployments." I placed two large wolf tokens on Moat Calin. "Reports indicate that Robb Stark has almost finished mustering his banners and will march out of Winterfell within the week, gathering his southwestern banners as he goes. By the time he reaches Moat Calin, I expect him to be at the head of a host 20,000 strong as waiting for the extra 10,000 men he could call upon would take weeks better spent campaigning.
There were a lot of nods of acceptance at this. Those disappeared as I removed the Vale tokens from the map except for the garrison of the Bloody Gate.
"Your Grace?" Robert Ashford asked, stunned.
"Lysa Arryn has gone mad with fear for her child." I glanced at Margaery, going with the line of explanation she had devised to explain Littlefinger's plot's effects without exposing our knowledge of it. "She refuses to call house Arryn's banners as she sees danger in every shadow, and none moreso than in picking the losing side. She intends to cower behind the Bloody Gate and declare for the winner once the scales have tipped decisively. Just as Lord Lannister did when my brother rebelled against the Mad King."
Now shock spread around the table. "Y-you're certain, Your Grace?" Warryn Beesbury stammered out. "She would refuse to come to the aid of her own blood?"
"As certain as one can be in these matters Lord Beesbury." I remarked grimly with a significant look to Garlan, Willas, and Margaery. "As it stands Lysa Arryn will be no help to anyone. We must go forward under that assumption, as even if she regained her sanity and called the Arryn banners today it would still be weeks before they can march. Fear not my lord, will know in plenty of time if she regains her wits and adapt our strategy accordingly. No one can hide a lord paramount calling their banners for long after all, but I fear the gods will not favour us in this."
I'd been ideally placed to intercept all the messages trying to reach Robert informing him of the gathering Stormlands muster and I'd still only managed to hide calling my banners for nigh on three weeks. Of any butterflies that may emerge from the Eyrie, this was one of the few I was certain I'd be able to see coming.
The muttering got deeper as I moved my hands to the Riverlands and placed three small trout each at Seaguard and at Maidenpool, then four at the Twins.
The table exploded as I removed all the other trouts from the map.
"Impossible!"
"You can't know that!"
"Hoster would never allow it!"
"You're mad!"
"This is insane! Sit down boy and let…"
"SILENCE!" Randyll Tarly's battlefield bellow could likely have been heard back in Highgarden. Here in the pavilion, it was deafening and made more than one of the old and powerful lords rear back in fear.
"Your Grace." The grim commander bowed his head in respect.
"Thank you, Lord Tarly." I snarked with a venomous glare at the worst offenders before returning to the map, pointing just west of Wayfaer's Rest. "The combined forces of both branches of House Vance mustered in the passes below the Golden tooth where they linked up with the forces of House Piper. These 6,000 men were routed by a Lannister army of 15,000 men under the Kingslayer. Word of this defeat has made it back to us, it is certain."
"With…respect… Y-Your Grace." Mathis Rowan stammered, continuing on despite suffering the combined glares of Randyll, Willas, Garlan, and Margaery. "Lord Hoster would never have allowed such a thing to happen. He's a cunning commander with a lifetime of experience."
"Indeed, he is Mathis." I granted the Lord of Goldengrove. "He's also dying. Ser Edmure Tully commands the Army of the Trident. And while his heart is pure, he has neither the head nor the stomach for battle."
I was actually being rather hard on Edmure. He was a very good commander even if he was an appalling strategist and poor warrior. But as that wouldn't help the direction I wanted the conversation to go I stayed silent and pointed at Riverrun. "I cannot be certain of the outcome, but last my agents reported to me the Kingslayer's army had taken a thousand casualties at most and were advancing on Riverrun at speed. Ser Edmure was braced to meet them commanding only 9,000 men of the Trident, as he had dispersed the rest of his strength to cover the border villages from raiders and been unable to call them back in time. Does anyone disagree with my view of the likely outcome of such a battle?"
"The Kingslayer against that Floppy Fish?" Emmon Cuy, heir of Sunflower Hall, scoffed in contempt. "It's like a warhammer against a walnut. Even without the disparity in numbers."
"There's nowhere for Tully to run. Not with the Red Fork and the Tumblestone hemming him in. It won't be a rout; it will be a massacre." Randyll muttered, lending my interpretation his support.
"It likely was. Either way, we'll hear word of it soon." I declared putting a large and medium lion down at Riverrun. "Though not from Riverrun itself for some time. Despite their success on the field, I don't believe that the Lannisters could take the castle by storm. They'll have to lay siege to it. Which will fix the Kingslayer's army in place for some weeks at least."
Looks of agreement were exchanged over tea as Lady Oakheart massaged her forehead. "Where is the rest of Lord Lannister's army Your Grace?"
I put down two large lions on Pinkmaiden. "Tywin commands the bulk of his army in person and he has crossed the Red Fork. From what I learned from the turncloak he intends to march along the south bank of the Red Fork to the Ruby Ford, taking the holdfasts along the way before crossing the Trident and marching north to meet the advancing Stark and Arryn armies."
"But you said there aren't any Arryn armies!" Stannis Meadows piped up adorably.
"Lord Lannister doesn't know that." Robert Ashford gently reminded the boy.
"Oh."
The lords looked at the map and considered my words.
"A Sound Strategy." Randyll Tarly delivered his verdict slowly and grudgingly. "It's not ideal, but then Tywin's position isn't ideal. If his opponents link up, he'll be overwhelmed. So his only option is to deal with each in turn. With the Riverlands defeated he needs to advance and smash the Stark and Arryn armies back behind Moat Cailin and the Bloody Gate before they can link up and outnumber him more than two to one. His advance would also open up supply lines from the Westerlands down the Riverroad to King's Landing to stop the city starving if Maidenpool capitulates at his approach. Which with their liege lord defeated and time to receive word of Tywin's advance is a reasonable expectation given Mooton's cowardice. Once Riverrun bends the knee, the Kingslayer's army can redeploy and effectively block the Stark and Arryn armies in their own kingdoms as the chokepoints at Moat Calin and the Bloody Gate work both ways. Especially if the Frey's and Mooton's turn their cloaks and join him. Tywin will then be free to turn south and deal with us. We'll still outnumber his southern army by over five to one, but it's the only chance he has."
"Tywin doesn't actually have to defeat us in the field, just keep his grandson on the throne. As the challenger tis your legitimacy that wanes the longer the war drags on Your Grace, no matter if your claim is the true one." Garlan interjected to the shocked hisses of many.
Despite their expectations, I simply acknowledged Garlan's point with a quick nod and waited for Willas to give his thoughts.
"Tywin also has more men available to him than just the Westerlands and a couple of turncloaks, with the right incentives." Willas remarked ominously. "Hostages from battles and conquered holdfasts, blackmail, bribery, and assassination. All can make Houses we are counting amongst our number declare neutrality, or worse turn their cloaks. If Lord Eddard is allowed to take the black and peace can be made with the Starks after suitably humbling defeat, the Kingslayer's army won't need to block Moat Calin from the south which would free up half their number. If Lady Arryn is truly mad and doesn't intend to declare, then Kingslayer's army won't need to block the Bloody Gate either and could join Lord Lannister's army in its entirety. Worse, if Lady Arryn is either replaced by, or comes under the influence of, someone who Tywin controls, then the Kingslayer's army could arrive with the full might of the Vale accompanying them. Add in a few thousand sellswords that will have had time to arrive by then, and our numbers would suddenly be worryingly equal without Tywin even having to call up his reserves. And Dorne would have a dagger pointed at our back toboot."
Where Randyll's analysis had removed a lot of the smiles that had grown looking at the small number of lions on the map, Willas' thoughts removed the rest
"Quite." I nodded decisively in Willas' direction. "Tywin Lannister is not as brilliant as he portrays himself, nor as undefeatable. But anyone who thinks he's a fool is going to get a lot of their men killed, and probably their entire House too."
I locked eyes with each of the Reach's most powerful lords in turn. "As long as the Old Lion is in the field, our victory is far from certain. No matter how large our advantage looks on parchment."
"Well then, we must simply gather our full force and march on King's Landing! No army can stand against a 100,000 men." Mace smiled, pleased as punch with himself.
Many of his lord's smiles had become rather fixed.
"My goodfather makes an excellent point." I smiled indulgently. "With its infrastructure the Roseroad is indeed only route we can take with our entire force. No other route can provide enough food to supply an army of such size if we march together."
The Roseroad was unique in that respect, the villages surrounding it were all dedicated to sending their harvest to the road's waystations to feed the people and draft animals of the wagon trains. A regular feature of the road as they transported the bounty of the southern Reach destined for King's Landing to the city by land instead of by sea.
It was horrifically inefficient and required immense subsidies from the Iron Throne to function. But when they had built King's Landing, the Targaryen's had decided that sending all the food for King's Landing grown south of Tumbleton down the Mander and on to King's Landing by ship was a terrible idea. Granted it was the most economically viable method. The shipping lanes were vastly cheaper than the Roseroad without the infrastructure the Iron Throne had ordered built, and still cheaper even with that infrastructure, forcing the Iron Throne to provide subsidies to eliminate the remaining difference.
But the shipping lanes all passed through the Stepstones. Which meant that Dorne, Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys would all have been able to cut the food supply to the new capital in half whenever they wished.
A starving capital would have done much to undermine the legitimacy of the new Iron Throne, even if the blockade was soon broken with dragonfire. Depending on the city stores it might not have even taken a full blockade, a particularly active period of piracy might have been enough to force rationing or devastating price inflation in a time of already low supplies.
Neither option would have added to the chance of a unified continent under a Targaryen dynasty lasting. Especially as pirates were much more difficult to root out with dragonfire than proper fleets.
"Is that your plan then Your Grace? To march our full force up the Roseroad to King's Landing?" Baelor Hightower deadpanned, frowning. "Forgive me, but, meaning no disrespect, perhaps we might hear Lord Tarly's thoughts on the matter?"
Mace blustered but I ignored him and put down my coffee.
"It is not my plan Ser Baelor. While it has its merit, it treats King's Landing as a prize rather than the millstone around the Lannister's neck that it actually is. Taking the capital would be politically expedient, but it would also take away the requirement for the Lannister armies to deploy east to west to support and defend both their homes and the city. They would be able to consolidate their armies and take more effective action without their commitment to the capital."
"Your own deployments of the Stormlands levies are highly defensive Your Grace. I do not question your intention, nor your strength. But I fear your caution will see us cede the initiative to Lord Lannister. Which is a very dangerous proposition. I ask only that you listen to the counsel of those more experienced…in matters of war." Baelor replied, his expression darkening.
At more than twice my age he was experienced, respected, and the one that would be commanding the 12,000 men of the Hightower banners. Many of the lords were looking to him with a wary respect as he walked the tightrope of defiance without tipping over into blatant disrespect.
I put my hands on the table and leaned forward, dominating the sitting lords as I stared at the heir of the Hightower. "The Warrior blessed all the sons of Steffon Baratheon with gifts Ser Baelor. But he gave a different aspect to all three of us. My brother Robert was a beast on the battlefield. A warrior unparalleled, be it with sword, axe, or warhammer, none could defeat him. Yet he had no head for command, nor strategy. Leaving such matters to the Lords Tully, Arryn, and Stark. My brother Stannis is merely a competent warrior and a poor strategist. But his ability to command can only by rivalled by Lord Tarly and Lord Stark, no one else in all Seven Kingdoms comes close. As for myself…many believe that the Warrior gave me no gift at all, but they only think that because the realm has been at peace."
I trailed off and stood tall, hands clasped behind my back, the very picture of dignified command. "For to me the Warrior gave the gift of strategy. I may not be the Kingslayer's rival in a fight, nor the Old Lion's rival in battlefield command, but when it comes to strategy, I can and I will run rings around both of them, my brother, and anyone else who defies me!"
I looked down imperiously at my seated lords and more than one turned away rather than meet my gaze. The rest wore carefully blank expressions, though Ser Baelor was gripping his mug so hard it was in danger of shattering.
"Perhaps then, Your Grace, you would share your strategy with us?" Mathis Rowan spoke up placatingly. Trying to lower the tension that could suddenly be cut with a knife.
"Thank you, Lord Rowan." I acknowledged stiffly. "My strategy is simple in principle. We guard our backs. Then we strike fast, strike hard, and strike on multiple fronts. We leave Tywin facing so many fires he cannot possibly put them all out. We have the numbers my lords, we need but the aggression to use them to our best advantage and we can crush the Old Lion."
I picked up a medium rose and four small ones, placing them on Ashford, and then looking over to Robert Ashford. "Lord Robert, you will gather the eastern Reach banners at Ashford. With your 9,000 men you will prepare to march east into the Stormlands and take up Lord Dondarrion's current position at Blackhaven as soon as he sends word that he is marching out to meet my brother in battle. Seal the Boneway. I will not show our back to Doran Martell and gamble he won't stick a knife in it."
"Your Grace." The Lord of Ashford responded, looking as surprised as Franklyn Fossoway did angry. I intended to leave the soothing of the Lord of Cider Hall's ego to Garlan. But even if he failed, I wasn't going to change my mind. Alester Florent had at least had the excuse of a marriage alliance with Stannis when he turned his cloak and abandoned House Tyrell. Both Fossoways had had marriage alliances with House Tyrell, and yet abandoned them at the first sniff of opportunity despite that boon. I wouldn't trust them with a kitchen knife let alone an army, no matter that the rank of the Red Apple Fossoway's would traditionally demand that they be given a command.
I was still bitter about being unable to exclude both branches from the war council entirely.
Speaking of the Lord of Brightwater keep, I turned to him next. Picking up a large and two small roses and placing them at Nightsong in the Stormlands. "Lord Florent, you will gather the central Reach banners, with the 12,000 men that grants you you will march southeast to Nightsong, where you will take up position to block the Prince's Pass."
The twitch of Alester Florent's lips showed he saw exactly what I'd done. He was too powerful a lord to pass over for command as I had Franklyn Fossoway, so I'd instead placed him right in the centre of the Reach, surrounded by my allies, and with no way to link his army up with my brother if he did decide to try and make Selyse queen. "I understand Your Grace. Upon the honour of House Florent, no Dornishman will force their way past us."
"This hardly seems like an aggressive deployment Your Grace." Ser Baelor mocked.
"I'm sorry Ser Baelor, would you prefer open passes so that a Dornish army may advance on Highgarden unopposed if the decide to side against us? Or perhaps you would prefer Dornish raiders spread unchallenged across the entire Reach while the harvest is still being gathered? I spat, waving my hand across the entire Reach. "The bounty of the Reach will mean little if that bounty has all been turned to ash in the fields. The Riverlands are already aflame, the Stormlands harvest will be compromised, this summer is already the longest on record, and the situation is sure to get worse before the war is won.
The Baratheon fury burned in my voice for the first time as I pounded my fist repeatedly on the table for emphasis and roared. "I. Will. Not. Gamble! Not with our food supply! Not in such circumstances!"
I seethed in the shocked mind drifting as the lords swallowed awkwardly, unused to the Baratheon fury making itself known in me.
When I was team captain at gaming tournaments, many people thought my commitment to defending my core territory was overly cautious. A waste of manpower. They'd also often been the sorest losers when my team managed to pull off my signature move and get forces into their undefended home territory, wreaking havoc with their production and supply and often causing the collapse of their industry or front lines as a result.
Overcommitting to the assault, believing your home territory was safe as long as you were on the offensive, it was a mistake I'd seen many make. But this wasn't a tournament. Making that mistake hadn't cost Robb Stark a game.
It had cost him his home.
Then it had cost him is family.
Then it had cost him his life.
And even it hadn't, if he'd been able to pull of a miracle, half his Kingdom of the North and the Trident would still have starved from the combined damage of the Lannister and Ironborn raiders. A tactical genius the boy may be, but he couldn't turn the burned and rotting fields and slaughtered livestock back into food.
The last passages of A Dance with Dragons burned in my head, the gathering of the Dornish muster in the passes of the Red Mountains as the Reach banners were all in the east, committed to rescuing Margaery from the Great Sept or fighting the Golden Company, fuelled my nightmares. The logistician in me cowered from the thought of what would happen to Westeros' already utterly wrecked food production if George had them sweep into the Reach unopposed.
I picked up a large, medium, and small rose and slammed them down on Oldtown so hard one of the petals broke off. "Baelor, you will gather the Hightower banners and those lords sworn directly to you and gather them at Oldtown. I want the 4,000 men of the city watch trained and drilled to within an inch of their lives. Sacking a city is the dream of many a soldier at war and I will not see Oldtown taken by surprise if you're forced to march out. Train them and expand them if you can. Meanwhile the 12,000 Hightower bannermen will form our strategic reserve. Should Lord Ashford or Lord Florent fall under assault you will march immediately to reinforce them. Should one of our aggressive forces meet with disaster, you will march to stabilise the situation. Do not allow raiders into the Reach. Do you understand your task?"
"I do, Your Grace." The heir of the Hightower spat, but I was beyond caring for his opinion at this point. That was likely very unwise of me, but at the moment I didn't care.
Regardless, it was the best use of the Hightower banners anyway no matter what strategy I decided upon. The House had been steadfastly neutral since the Dance of the Dragons, and they hadn't marched for anyone in the original War of the Five Kings despite their Tyrell liege lord's commitments.
Letting them stay out of it preserved my political capital with Lord Leyton for another day.
The seething silence descended again until Margaery coughed delicately, breaking it.
I grabbed one of the ship models and slammed it down on the Shield Islands.
"Lord Serry. All war galleys of Reach houses that are not part of the Redwyne Fleet will assemble at the Shield Islands and guard the Mander against attack. With the fighting men away the core of the Reach will be vulnerable if raiders make it up the river." The old man shrank back at my barked orders, so I made an effort to reign in my temper. "I've heard that your son is an excellent warrior, skilled and brave, and that he knows his letters too. If he's as at skilled at fleet command as he is at arms then the command shall be his, if not then I leave it to you both to jointly suggest a Shield Islander to command. Either way, take your suggestion to Paxter. As Master of Ships and Lord Admiral it is he who will have the final approval of who commands."
Beyond reputation I knew Talbert Serry was indeed highly skilled and brave. Victarion Greyjoy had thought as much when the young knight had cost the Captain of the Iron Fleet his hand in battle. But I had no idea about his ability command a fleet and I refused to make Stannis' mistake of making a highborn with no naval experience one of my admirals.
My admirals had to be highborn obviously, but I was dammed if I wasn't going to get a highborn who knew what they were fucking doing at sea!
"Lord Redwyne, I will support any decision you make in this regard. The admiral you choose may well have to do battle with the Iron Fleet if Tywin tempts them to his side with tales of an undefended Highgarden awaiting them just up the Mander. Choose well."
Paxter stopped preening and promptly took on a more serious countenance at my dual statement of support and warning. "And what of the Redwyne Fleet itself Your Grace?"
I took up four ship models with a lot more care than I had the last and placed them down around Lannisport. "You will sail north and put Lannisport under blockade, Lord Admiral. The Westerlands do not import basic foodstuffs, nor war material, so in truth I expect the blockade to have little practical effect. As such it need not be tight. Indeed, I would suggest that it not be, lest the Ironborn trap you between their ships and the coast if they declare for Joffrey Waters. In reality your mission is one of propaganda, not siege. I want the Lannister fleet trapped in port and unable to molest us, and I want my banners flying within sight of Casterly Rock. A message to the Rock, to Lannisport, and to everyone who knows anyone in either that Tywin has overreached himself this time. That I am coming for the Old Lion, and for them."
Paxter smirked as smiles spread around the table. Willas' was positively feral.
"Goodfather." I smiled indulgently turning to Mace. "None can doubt your ability to command a siege after the Rebellion. As such it is you that will make good my promise to the people of Lannisport. You are to take the Oakheart, Crane, and part of the Tyrell banners and march north along the Ocean Road to Crakehall. With your 13,000 men you are to lay siege to the castle and open the way into the Westerlands for us. When it falls you are to ignore the rest of the Westerlands and march up the Ocean Road to Lannisport and Casterly rock. Put them under siege in the name of your king. Show them the price of rebellion."
"It shall be my greatest honour Your Grace!" Mace exclaimed, practically bouncing out of his seat. I flicked my eyes to Lady Oakheart and Lord Crane and tried to convey that it would be one of their sons that would actually be doing the commanding.
Both settled back among the excited whispering, so it seemed that I had done the trick.
I picked up two large stags, two small ones, and three small roses, and placed them on Bitterbridge.
"I had wondered where the majority of your men were." Mathis Rowan muttered. The short man tapping his fingers against his clean-shaven cheek.
"You have called your emergency muster already Your Grace." Randyll Tarly spoke clearly instead of muttering, even as he glanced at the tables to ensure that he had remembered the term I had given for the desperate action correctly. "Bold of you. It leaves you nowhere to go and will severely impact the ability of the Stormlands to gather the harvest."
"And here everyone was complaining I'm too cautious Lord Tarly." I smiled lightly, glaring at Baelor Hightower. "But it is as you say, the Stormlands harvest will suffer for this. That is why only the Reach's general muster has been called. We will need your support for this growing season."
I turned back to the table at large. "My main force will reach Bitterbridge within the week. The old men and green boys called up were left with Lord Dondarrion to train, so these are 17,000 of the strongest Stormlands foot, accompanied by 5,000 light and heavy horse. The cream of my bannermen. Though Ser Garlan has convinced me that a reinforcement of 3,000 of the best Reach heavy cavalry would not go amiss. I will ride out the day after next with Ser Garlan and these reinforcements to meet my banners at Bitterbridge. It is those 25,000 men I will lead into battle myself."
I tried to keep the dread out of my tone at the thought of battle, even if Garlan would be the one doing the actual commanding, and focused instead on the relief and excitement of riding out.
It seemed to work, if the approving looks my excited flush were getting were any indication.
"What do you plan to do Your Grace?" Emmon Cuy asked.
"As soon as I arrive my banners will march north, crossing the Blackwater into the Riverlands at Stony Sept and receiving the fealty of the town." I explained, tracing the route on the map with my finger. "From there we will proceed northwest to the Mummer's Ford. A small detachment will break off to put Pinkmaiden under siege and prevent any ravens being sent from that holdfast that would give away our position. The rest of my banners will split in two, one on each side of the Red Fork. We shall march along the river, keeping each other in sight when possible and using boats to communicate when not as we advance on Riverrun. Or scouts will be sent on ahead to kill the Kingslayer's patrols and blind the Lannister force, if siege complacency hasn't already done it for us. When we are but two days ride away the horse will advance ahead of the foot and conduct a night attack on the Lannister siege camps on the southeastern and southwestern sides of the Tumblestone. There's little to be done about the northern camp, galling as that is. But despite that the attack should be just as effective a massacre as the one the Kingslayer inflicted upon Ser Edmure. I will, of course, graciously receive Hoster Tully's oath of fealty for lifting the siege of his castle."
I smirked as jaws dropped at my adaption of Robb Stark's battle strategy.
"There are many ways such an attack could go wrong Your Grace." Randyll spoke bluntly over the resulting commotion. "Firstly, a night attack is foolhardy. The men will be unable to tell friend from foe."
"One reason the foot will be left behind my lord. It makes identification simpler. If they're not ahorse; kill them. Even the simplest man among our banners should be able to manage that distinction, even at night."
"The Lannisters will see you coming."
"That would be the other reason to leave the foot behind, so that the attack may overtake any warning except that given by the Lannister mounted scouts, which should have already been eliminated."
"Should is not a word to rely on in war Your Grace. If they see you coming you may find yourself overwhelmed with only the horse to give battle with." The Lord of Horn Hill growled.
I acknowledged the point graciously. "I do take your point Lord Tarly, and that is why if there is any sign that the Lannisters have seen us coming the attack will be called off. We'll wait for the foot to catch up and give battle to the Lannisters in daylight and in the traditional manner."
"Won't that let them escape?" Lord Ashford frowned.
"No." Randyll admitted. "The king will be too close. The crossings of the Tumblestone and Red Fork are too few and too deep that close to Riverrun to cross quickly save for the Riverroad itself, and that will be too close to the king's army to use. The Kingslayer may get his warchest and his best commanders across the Tumblestone to safety, but his men in the southeastern and southwestern camps will have to stand and fight. They cannot cross the Tumblestone to safety, they cannot cross the Red Fork and consolidate, and they cannot flee to the Golden Tooth or to Lord Tywin without being intercepted and brought to battle. Some would get away, far more than a surprise night attack would allow certainly, but it would be a heavy blow nonetheless."
"It will also cut the Lannister supply lines." Garlan remarked mildly. "Both the Lannister armies and King's Landing itself will be cut off from the food, gold, and men in the Westerlands. And the Kingslayer's rump army on the north bank of the Tumblestone will be in a particularly precarious position. They'll be left cut off from Tywin by the Green Fork as well as your army blocking them from the Westerlands. If Lord Frey doesn't turn his cloak, then the only option they have is to advance east, hope they can turn south and cross the Red Fork before we catch up and block their passage, then continue east down the Riverroad. Leaving it at Lord Harroway's Town and continuing on to pick up the Kingsroad at the Ruby Ford. There they can cross the Trident after the confluence of the Red and Green Forks and march north on the right side of the Green Fork to link up with Lord Tywin."
"Not entirely true, they would have a couple of other options." I mused, stroking my chin.
"They can't cross the Trident on the Riverroad Your Grace." Mathis Rowan cautioned. "There is neither bridge nor ford where it crosses the Trident, the river runs too fast and deep at Lord Harroway's Town because of the confluence just upstream. Travellers on the Riverroad cross by ferry, and even if the Kingslayer's army is much reduced they will still be far too numerous to cross by that method."
"Entirely right Lord Rowan, but that wasn't one of the other options I had in mind." I stared at the map, trying to imagine the white water that occur at the confluence of such mighty rivers. "But in any case it matters not as Tywin will be of no help to them by the time they could reach him."
"How so?" Lady Oakheart asked, exchanging narrow eyed glances with her friend.
"Lord Rowan will lead his own and the remainder of the Tyrell levies from Highgarden once they have finished gathering." I explained, looking the Lord of Goldengrove in the eye as I placed two large, a medium, and two small roses at Highgarden. "Mathis will follow my route to Bitterbridge and Stony Sept to ensure that we only have to set up a single supply line. But from Stony Sept he is to turn northeast and advance on Harrenhal with all speed."
I pointed at the ruined fortress on the map. "Harrenhal is the primary granary for the Riverlands, over two thirds of the harvest that isn't exported by river and sea ends up there. If I cut the Riverroad and the Lannister supply lines along with it, Tywin must take Harrenhal and its larders if he intends to feed King's Landing and keep his armies in the field for more than a few weeks."
"He could keep his armies in the field for moons with supplies from the smaller holdfasts Your Grace." Ser Baelor challenged, glaring at the map as his lip curled.
"To do so would be to sacrifice the capital." I countered gleefully. "King's Landing is already nearly starving given half their food came from us, either up the Roseroad on carts or down the Blackwater on barges. To deprive them of the quarter of their food that comes from the Riverlands as well would finish them, especially with no prospect of relief from the Westerlands granaries. The Crownlands cannot support the city alone, especially not if traders from Essos are unwilling to run the blockade of the Gullet that my brother has surely instigated from Dragonstone."
More than one highborn suddenly glanced at the mass of ships surrounding that island with a lot more respect.
"The Lannisters can't leave the city to its fate either. Just as I must take the city to be legitimate, Tywin must hold it for the same reason. If King Joffrey flees the city support for the Lannisters will melt like snow in Dorne. It's one thing to not march on it immediately as a challenger, or for the supposed King on the Iron Throne to ride out at the head of an army. It's quite another for the supposed king to flee his throne and his city in the face of starvation and riots. If we take Riverrun and Harrenhal both, Tywin will have but weeks to salvage his position. Not time enough for fancy plots and manoeuvres. He will be forced to either surrender or give battle with what he has; either way we'll crush him."
Grins spread slowly around the table before a high voice cut into the air.
"More than that. Once at Harrenhal, Mathis would also effectively control the Ruby Ford." Arwyn remarked, grinning like a hungry wolf. "With scouts on the north bank of the Trident to send word of his approach, Tywin could not hope to cross before Mathis could deploy to stop him. Not unless he wanted to recreate the Battle of the Trident, and he would know that Mathis is far to skilled to repeat Rhaegar Targaryen's insane blunder of abandoning the ideal defensive position the south bank of the ford gives its holder. So the Old Lion would be left stuck on the eastern side the Green Fork. If he marches north to try and entice Lord Frey to turn his cloak, Mathis will cross the Ruby Ford behind him and trap him betwixt his own men and the banners of the Stark boy. If Tywin stays on the north bank of the Ruby Ford, hoping to goad Mathis into throwing away every advantage his army has and attack across the Ford as Rhaegar did, all Mathis has to do is hold firm. Eventually the Stark boy will arrive and smash the Lannisters against the river as long as Mathis prevents their crossing. North or south, any choice Tywin makes he's trapped. All while his cause starves itself to death on the other side of our battle lines."
"And if Lady Arryn decides that that is the moment to declare for the winner, the Knights of the Vale my even charge out of the Bloody Gate and sweep the Lannisters into the Trident themselves before either Stark or Tyrell banners reach them." Alester Florent grinned.
I spread my arms wide and smiled. "And there you have it my lords. The Lannister fleet bottled up, Lannisport and Casterly Rock under siege, the Lannister armies routed or reduced to rumps awaiting destruction at our leisure, the Vale on side, and the capital wide open to attack. With its garrison like to bend the knee and hand over any Lannisters within to save their own necks if the smallfolk don't do it first for bread and cheese."
"And if Tywin escapes and tries to raise another army? If Cersei and Joffrey refuse to yield the capital? What then?" Lord Serry asked, curious.
"Assuming Eddard or Robb Stark has bent the knee, we redeploy." I shrugged casually. "Garlan will lead my men from Riverrun on the Golden Tooth and attempt to force the Riverroad pass, or at least put the castle under siege. The Stark army will cross the Trident, march to Stony Sept, and from there attempt to force the Goldroad pass, and put the holdfast of Deeping Den under siege if they cannot. Meanwhile Mathis will also turn south and advance down the Kingsroad from wherever he fought Tywin. If Lady Arryn has deigned to declare for us, the Knights of the Vale will do the same down the Rosby Road. Likewise, Beric will have seen off my brother's attack and will advance north up the Kingsroad from Storm's End. The three of them will thus converge on Kings Landing from northwest, northeast, and south, cutting the city off from whatever food the Crownlands will still be able to provide. I will ride to meet them and take command of all armies present when I arrive. We will then take the city by storm if it still refuses to bend the knee."
An unbridled sense of optimism filled the tent as I took a peach from the fruit bowl and started eating it. "If the Lannisters really wish to be hammered to their knees rather than bend willingly after I defeat them in the field, I will oblige them. But I don't think it will be necessary. Tywin, Joffrey, and Cersei are not ones to inspire loyalty through love, only through fear. Once we break that spell their supporters will abandon them once it's clear there is no hope for their cause."
It was Mathis Rowan that broke the mood after a few moments of good-natured chattering. The glittering golden tree on his white doublet a stark contrast to the grim countenance on his face.
"This will not go to plan Your Grace." He warned. "Something will go wrong. The Lannisters will do something unexpected, we will make mistakes, or just suffer from bad luck. This. Is. War. It's not as simple as moving pieces on a map."
"No. It isn't." Randyll Tarly spat. Fury and betrayal written across his face, though the betrayal was stronger.
To be honest I didn't blame him. To be one of my strongest supporters, to have defended me throughout the war council, and to have been denied command of any of the seven armies I intended to deploy. It would have been an utter betrayal even if he wasn't the best commander I had."
I placed my peach down carefully. "I am aware my lords, that I cannot even dare hope for such a clean victory as this. But I thought it essential that you understand my strategy so that you may adapt without awaiting orders from me when things go wrong."
That had been Robb's biggest mistake. He hadn't let his commanders in on his strategy.
So when circumstances changed and Tywin marched west towards the Golden Tooth and Robb's trap awaiting him in the Westerlands, Edmure had been left with no idea that Tywin was doing exactly what Robb wanted. Instead, he saw the entire Lannister host advancing towards his position and was left to deploy on his own initiative with no idea of Robb's overall plan. Panicking about his force being pinned against the walls of Riverrun once more, Edmure had deployed to stop Tywin crossing the southern Red Fork at all. The result had been the Battle of the Fords. An impressive victory for Edmure as a commander, and for the Stark/Tully cause, but one that stopped Tywin's march west. Leaving Robb's strategy of luring the Old Lion into the west then running rings round him with his own far more mobile force in tatters. It also left Tywin able to turn around and relieve King's Landing when word arrived of Stannis approaching the city barely days later.
The lack of trust and respect Robb had shown Edmure in not explaining his strategy to him had cost the young man the war, just as thoroughly as his decision to break his betrothal had.
I would have seven armies in the field once all my forces deployed. All at the end of communication lines that took days to relay messages between us at a minimum, and weeks was more likely given the state of the king's messenger network. And that was if the messages even made it through at all with all the obstacles war would put in their path. My commanders had to know my basic strategy.
To leave them in the dark would result in total chaos the first time anything unexpected happened, each army commander changing their goals and redeploying with no frame of reference to what the others would be likely to do. Or worse, staying frozen in place and being defeated in detail, awaiting orders that didn't arrive in time. Or at all.
As the mood in the tent dipped, I took a single small rose and placed it on Horn Hill. "Lord Tarly, you are the best battlefield commander I have and…"
"Words are wind!" The taciturn man spat furiously.
The missing honorific made more than one lord wince. Especially when Loras' hand drifted towards the hilt of his sword at the dire insult.
I simply smiled sadly. "Indeed, they are. Which is why I have a task for you that is far more than words."
"A task that requires I command only a thousand men out of what, a hundred and twenty thousand?" Tarly spat, contemptuously gesturing at the small rose at Horn Hill.
"Anyone who's seen a knight fight a peasant levy has seen clear as day that superior training and superior weaponry have an immense effect on military effectiveness." I countered, making the Lord of Horn Hill's glare lessen slightly. "Well-trained, well-equipped troops can destroy many times their lesser brethren than simple arithmetic would seem to indicate. That's what I need from you my Lord Tarly, a thousand of your most battle hardened, best trained, best equipped troops with my best commander at their head."
The shrewd commander sat forward in spite of himself. Intrigued and calculating. "What for…?"
Again I let the missing horrific pass, dismissing the whispers from the lords and giving Loras a harsh stare until he released his sword hilt. "A task that has the potential to end the war in a way that none of the other armies can, or at least significantly increase the odds and speed of victory." I replied with a shark's smile. "Had you not declared for me I wouldn't have even considered it. But with your men, and your skill at command, you may be able to pull it off. I know Stannis couldn't. But you, you just might."
"What…exactly…did you have in mind…Your Grace?" Randyll asked, his temper cooling as he considered my offer of a chance to put himself above one of the only other commanders acknowledged to be his equal.
I turned to the rest of the war council. "Thank you for your attendance my lords and ladies, the war council is at an end. You are given leave to depart. Randyll, Garlan, and Loras. Remain."
Clearly acknowledging the polite command to get the fuck out, the rest of the highborn dispersed as I leaned back on the table next to Randyll Tarly's seat. Spinning the small rose token between my fingers as I grinned.
"Now, my dear Randyll, let me tell you about this marvellous idea I've had!"
A great project for me after I finish this story will be rewriting it from this point after the Winds of Winter has been released. In The Prancing Stag: the Winds of Winter it will be a lot of fun and stress to write about how Renly's assumptions, plots and plans fair when they run into what canon actually ends up being rather than the post ADWD plot I've come up with.
So don't worry if you don't agree with my choices so far, as soon as this is finished GRRM gets the book out you'll get to see Renly run face first into problems he was never plotted to face…getting him out of that will be interesting to write.
If its even possible….