Chapter 90: The Tyrell King
28 AF
King Garlan Tyrell
He rode through the fields that had once been part of his proud kingdom. Fields that, if he had anything to say about it, would soon be part of his kingdom again. His father had been forced to give away these lands. It had been the only way to save their kingdom and their house. Now, as his father's heir, it was his duty to reclaim them and to erase that stain upon House Tyrell.
His father had ruled the Reach well. Their country had been devastated after the war. The Arbor and Shield Islands had been depopulated, hundreds of coastal villages, towns and keeps had been sacked. Millions of people had been killed through war, famine or sickness.
Under his grandfather Mace, the kingdom had boasted twelve million people, obscene amounts of wealth and an army over one hundred thousand strong. Those days were still far off, and he could only dream of an army that size. Nonetheless, his father had reclaimed all the lands from the Ironborn, and even conquered lands that the Reach had lost three hundred years ago to the dragons. Sadly, it had come at the cost of all the fertile lands north of the Goldroad.
Not anymore, soon those lands would be theirs again. The wolf king had been bled dry by the rebellion in his lands. He was in no shape to deny his demands, even his alliances were tenuous at best. How someone could put his trust in Ironborn he did not know, and what pious Seven believer would oppose him, knowing that his cause was justified by the High Septon?
Some of his advisors doubted whether Stark would even resist them. Nevertheless, his uncle, Dickon Tarly, said the wolf would fight for the lands, and he tended to agree with him.
Robb Stark was a man who fought for what he wanted. He would fight now too, but he was in no shape to fight. Half the Riverlords had betrayed his reign, and of the other half many had died. His spies told him that he had only taken seventeen thousand Northmen south with him. Thousands of them would have died and others were scattered in garrisons and the like.
No, Stark wouldn't be able to stand up against his majestic army. Throughout the winter he and his uncle had prepared for this. This is what he had been born for. What he was raised for.
His father had rebuilt their country and created a population boom worthy of praise. He had resettled the Shield Isles and the Arbor, and many other remote abandoned places too. He had rebuilt the Oldtown Harbor and its fleet, and restored trade. This had refilled the coffers of Highgarden and restored the authority of House Tyrell.
In his early days, he had had to do this with a small army less than twenty thousand strong. His father had never been a military man, having been crippled in his youth and preferring to spend his days hawking and caring for his horses instead of peering over battle maps.
For military matters he had had his maternal grandfather, the renowned Randyll Tarly. The only general which had ever beaten the almost mythical Robert Baratheon. The only general Robb Stark had never beaten. Through lowly scheming and infighting, both had never had the chance to see each other across the battlefield. He had no doubt that his grandfather would have won such a conflict if that hadn't happened.
His late grandfather, and following his death his Uncle Dickon, had taught him a lot about warfare. They had thought him even more about the North's and the Stark's fighting styles.
It was his destiny to defeat them and push those tree-huggers back north of Moat Cailin. However, his father had thought him that as much damage could be inflicted with his pen as with his sword. Therefore, he had secretly written to the High Septon to instigate a Holy War in the Riverlands. To devastate the region and find allies for Stark's idiotic cousin that wanted to usurp his elder brother.
He didn't understand how some revered Stark as a god amongst men, as he couldn't even control his own kin. He had supported Elmar with coin, men and the ear of the Faith. It hadn't been difficult. The Footlys and other smaller families had been waiting for decades to reclaim their lands back. Stark's Old God's believing policies in Blackwater Bay were a thorn in the High Septon's eyes and the Tully family was more disunified than an Essosi sellsword company. His plans had written themselves.
It was annoying that he had lost in the end, but it would not matter. The Riverlands were largely destroyed. Stark's Riverlander allies like the Mallisters, Blackwoods and Tullys had lost thousands of men and even his Northern veterans had lost many. He needn't even think of his colonists along the Blackwater, as half of those had been put to the sword together with their women and children.
Behind him, nearly sixty thousand proud men from the Reach were marching. An army armed, drilled and supplied in the ways of Randyll Tarly, with his son and grandson at its helm. It could have been even larger, if he had integrated Lord Footly's original troops and those of the Faith Militant, but he had needed those then to incite Elmar to rebel.
Besides, his Uncle Dickon had advised him to keep the Stars and Swords away from his forces. The High Septon might be in their pocket, and they might even have the same objectives, even then they were fickle and obsessed with their own autonomy. It was better for the unity of his army if they weren't here in number.
From Tumbleton, survivors of the Battle of Pinkmaiden and the rebellion had joined his army. To his surprise, Lord Footly had managed to reform five thousand men there. Three thousand infantry and two thousand cavalry, of which only five hundred belonged to the Faith Militant, he had managed to reform. Whereas before his vassal had been motivated to reclaim his family's ancestral lands, now he was motivated to avenge the death of his sons.
Funnily enough, fifteen hundred of the warriors were Riverlanders that had fled Robb Stark's wrath. One large group under Lord Rollingford seemed very motivated to fight under him. He had integrated the troops into his own army and put the remnants of the Faith Militant in the rear where they wouldn't bother him.
He looked around and had to admit that the new road from Bitterbridge to Stoney Sept had been a good addition. It cut travel times short and made it easier for him to supply his armies inside the Riverlands.
The walls of Stoney Sept rose up in front of him, and he could only smile. The town had initially fought for Stark, until a battle beneath it had made it switch sides early in the rebellion. Men from the town had died on both sides of the conflict, and now the running direwolf once again flew from its highest tower.
In front of it, he had expected an army, but nothing of the sort could be seen. Nonetheless, the royal standard was visible at a pavilion on the flat lands a mile in front of the town. He halted his vanguard, as it seemed that the Stark king wished to negotiate.
He looked over to his uncle besides him. "Make sure that the army is ready. I want no surprises and no tricks. I will parlay with Stark, but he will not ambush us. You control the army until a messenger arrives."
Lord Dickon Tarly agreed, and quickly turned his horse around. His shouting could be heard up and down the line, as the army switched from marching order to battle formations.
Not much later, a messenger arrived. Although young, he was clearly of noble birth. Yet, his bronze house colors didn't ring a bell. "King Garlan Tyrell, I carry a message from King Robb Stark." The man told him. He waved his hand. "Speak."
"His Grace invites you to parlay in the pavilion set up between the town and your army. You may take up to twenty guards with you, as well as five advisors." The messenger told him.
He frowned. "It is customary to have seven noble companions with us." He countered.
The noble shrugged. "In the South, maybe, but in these lands the Northern law is upheld. We don't care for your superstitions." From his beard, accent and tone it was clear that the man hailed from the North. He almost spat in front of his feet, as these Northmen's audacity seemed boundless. Nonetheless, he had to behave regally.
"Very well. We will join King Stark in half an hour." He replied, dismissing the messenger with his hand.
The choice for his companions hadn't been hard. His Uncle Dickon would accompany him, as well as his best friend Lord Gerold Hightower. Although he was of an age with him, the Lord of Oldtown was technically his late father's cousin.
Another one of his friends, Lord Humfrey Rowan would be his third companion. For the last two years, he could also call the man his goodbrother. The marriage of his sister to his friend had been a good one, organized by his late father.
His fourth companion was Lord Osgood Peake. Another childhood friend of his, and another goodbrother. His wife was Lord Osgood's sister. A thing he had not only done to officialize their bond, but also to get the very generous dowry that had come with the marriage. A dowry that he was now using to supply and feed this army.
His fifth companion was his cousin, Lord Leo Tyrell. Leo was the eldest son of his aunt Margeary and their late distant cousin Luthor Tyrell. His father had organized the marriage to ensure the continuation of House Tyrell before his birth. Afterwards, he had given them Brightwater Keep. After Luthor's unexpected early death, his cousin was its ruler now. Leo had a vested interest in being there, as his youngest brother Moryn had fought with the Faith Militant at the Battle of Pinkmaiden. Survivors had told them that Moryn had survived the battle, as they had seen him being taken captive by Northern swordsmen.
Four powerful lords of his generation would accompany him, together with his older maternal uncle. A clear message to Robb Stark: this is a new generation that comes with its own demands, but it doesn't lack experience either. Lord Hobber Redwyne, a distant relative of him and experienced older general, commanded the force in their absence.
The pavilion was big and luxurious. It was grey and white, and running direwolves were stitched upon the fabric on all sides.
In front of it, stood two older men with the two largest wolves he had ever seen next to them. One was white and had red eyes, the other was grey and had golden eyes. They looked like ungodly abominations, yet they sat there like mere dogs.
One of the two men was obviously Robb Stark. He wore a copper and iron crown upon his auburn locks, a rumor that he had thought baseless for how ridiculous it was. What kind of king crowned himself with such ordinary metals? He himself wore a splendid golden crown filled with green emeralds and yellow diamonds to show his wealth and house colors. This Northern king looked more like a beggar than a true ruler.
The other was dressed in white and black and had brown hair. Upon his tunic a dragon and direwolf were stitched. This must be the infamous Lord Jon Whitefyre, a baseborn bastard of Robb's late father that wished for people to believe that he was the legitimate son of the Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. As if any true son of the dragons would set away his claims upon Westeros and be satisfied with a strip of frozen land at the end of civilization. Another baseless Northern lie, if you asked him.
Both men were flanked by guardsmen with grey cloaks. Men deeming themselves a kingsguard. Half of them weren't even knights. How could they ever think to come toe to toe with his guards?
He dismounted calmly, making sure to keep his chin high at all times. He was the king of the noble lands of the Reach, he ought to behave like it.
"Welcome, King Garlan." His Northern 'counterpart' told him, his arms spread open in a sign of hospitality. "Greetings, King Robb." He answered dryly. The man was behaving as if he had invited him here to leisurely talk about trade benefits. He was here with an army of sixty thousand of the best fighters in Westeros. The Northmen should cower before him, not welcome him as friends. Nonetheless, his face or tone betrayed nothing of his thoughts.
"I present you with my cousin in name, but brother in all else, Lord Jon Whitefyre." Stark introduced his companion. Humfrey scoffed, and rightfully so. Trying to maintain such baseless lies in front of royalty was beyond embarrassing.
He had to show he was above it all, so he nodded to the bastard that had gotten himself some worthless lordship in the cold north. "My other companions await us inside." Stark finished.
This was his cue to take over this meager reception. "Let me introduce you to my companions." He started. "To my left you have Lords Osgood Peake and Gerold Hightower. To my right Lords Dickon Tarly, Humfrey Rowan and Lord Leo Tyrell of Brightwater Keep."
"Pleased to meet you all." Robb Stark smiled. "May I invite you all inside?"
"Not before I check it. We will not fall into baseless traps like our fathers and grandfathers." Ser Humfrey growled. Rowan was the most antagonized of all against the Northerners. His family had lost their part of their lands north of the Goldroad, a slight they would not easily forget.
His goodbrother forced himself past the Stark king, as he marched into the tent with strong confident strides. Aggressively, he pulled the canvas of the tent back. Inside, stood only a table with four men already sitting calmly on the opposite side. His goodbrother and friend nodded at him that the coast was clear, so he entered calmly.
The Northern brothers shared a look but didn't say anything. More proof that these Northmen were no true men of the Gods. They lowered themselves to scheming and fighting dirty and unchivalrously. That was the only way they could have ever won against the flower of the Reachmen nobility. They would never do so again.
He sat himself in the middle, with Robb Stark sitting down in front of him. "Let me introduce my companions." The savage king spoke.
"To my right, you have as you know my brother Jon. Besides him you have Lord Smalljon Umber and Lord Domeric Bolton. To my left, you have Lord Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and Lord Brynden Blackwood." He nodded respectively to each of them but didn't give them the honor of addressing them.
He picked a few of the grapes from on the table and ate them silently with the bread and salt that was offered. He flushed it all through with a glass of wine, Arbor Gold apparently. It was a nice touch, some civilization among these savage Northerners.
His opponents seemed to be studying him closely. He let them be, but their silence was getting on his nerves. "Well, Stark? You called me here. I would expect that you wanted to speak with me, instead of having me drink some excellent Arbor Gold. It is a beautiful vintage, but I have more than enough of it at home."
Robb Stark smiled, but for some reason it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "I did call you here, 'Tyrell'." He emphasized the last words. Probably to notify him that he didn't like his earlier disrespect. Finally, he got some pushback from the big bad wolf. Nevertheless, it was stupid of him. No matter how big his lapdogs were, he had sixty thousand men here. This man was almost a beggar in front of him with his pathetic bronze crown.
"To speak about what happened here in the Riverlands." The Northern king finished his thought.
"What happened?" He asked nonchalantly, as he put another grape in his mouth. He could see the giant on his left almost fuming. It was comical to see how little self-control these Northerners truly had. He had been raised at the court of Highgarden. His body language only ever showed what he wanted it to show. These Northerners may call themselves nobles, but they had no more self-control than a peasant child.
Robb Stark motioned for his vassal to calm down. Interesting, it seemed like he had inherited more from his Tully mother than only his looks. "Your vassals attacked my lands. On top of that, the Faith Militant did too. I know the High Septon is a distant kinsman of you."
"He is." He waved it away, as he leaned back. The Northerner still didn't seem to notice that they weren't equals here. If he wanted, he could have all their heads on pikes and the town behind them in flames before nightfall. Their ignorance amused him. Was this the 'Great Robb Stark'?
"Well, then I guess you could help me with a few things." The Northerner spoke. For the sake of argument, he engaged him. "Things such as?"
"This attack on my lands will not stand." Stark declared, his voice suddenly turning to ice. This surprised him, many of his friends had expected the man to beg.
"We have received information that Lord Footly is amongst your host. He led the Reach forces into the Riverlands. We want his head. As well as those of all Riverlanders you are harboring. I want you to release my vassals that were captured, especially the families Parrel and Menning. Afterwards, I want all your forces to move south of the Goldroad within the week." The man continued in his icy tone.
He had difficulty to keep his composure. Some of his friends didn't have the same restraint. Humfrey and Osgood burst out laughing. He simply smiled. "Anything else that you would want from me?"
"Aye," the Northerner voiced in his rough accent. "I want you to go to Oldtown and arrest the High Septon. I want you to deliver him to me so I can execute him here in the Riverlands for his crimes against its people."
This shocked all his companions. "You want to execute the head of the Faith?" He asked, not knowing if he heard that right.
"No, I want to execute a mass murderer who has given the order to murder women and children by the tens of thousands because he can't control them under his septons. I want to execute the leader of a warband that entered my lands with four thousand men. He needs to die. I will respect your sovereignty and allow you to get him, otherwise I would need to march on Oldtown." Stark replied, icy cold dripping from his voice and face.
This angered him beyond reason. His eyes turned to slits. "I think you are mistaken which kind of meeting this is, 'Stark'." I have sixty thousand men at my back, you have no one. Even if you were to gather the rest of the Riverlands and North, my army would still outnumber and outclass you."
"What will happen is this. You will release all prisoners from the Reach that you captured in the battle, first and foremost my cousin Moryn. Then you will sign a treaty with me that reconfirms House Tyrell's ownership of its rightful lands north of the Goldroad, which you unjustly stole from us. Thirdly, you will allow the Riverlords in my company to return to their possessions without penalties. If you don't agree with these commands, I will burn the Riverlands."
Robb Stark didn't even flinch. "Go ahead, try and burn the Riverlands then." He replied with a smile. "Your uncle and grandfather held similar ideas once, before I destroyed their armies here in the Riverlands."
"You never defeated my grandfather. Lord Randyll Tarly was never beaten!" He spat back.
The Stark king threw his head back and laughed loudly, his companions joining him. Stark suddenly got up and looked him in the eyes. What he saw were the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. "Oh, you think yourself to be Randyll Tarly come again? No, boy. I meant your other grandfather. Lord Mace Tyrell and his favorite son Loras Tyrell died here in these lands on different fields. Their armies outnumbered me greatly, but I beat every one of them except for Lord Tarly's who fled back to the Reach to deal with rebels."
"Rebels you sent to our homeland to destroy us!" Dickon Tarly threw back.
Robb Stark shrugged. "It seems that you have learned a thing or two from me. It is the same thing you did here in the Riverlands. Well, you failed. The only difference is that I won't let it stand, whereas your father had to. Besides, I couldn't even meet your demands if I wanted to do so."
This got his attention. "Why is that?"
"Joining a religious military order is punishable by death in my kingdom, as it is in most of Westeros. A law that has been as old as the kingdom itself. All those fighting under the banner of the Faith Militant have been executed. Those Reachmen that freely joined Lord Footly have been sent to the Wall. There is no one to release." The savage smiled.
"You executed my brother?!" His cousin Leo screamed, as he threw his chair back. Now the giant lord stood up as well. The Umber giant smiled cruelly.
"No, I did." The smiling giant confessed. "After joining that wretched order, he foreswore all his lands and titles. He was no Tyrell anymore. He was a crazy fanatic, and his head rots on one of Riverrun's gates now where it should. If you have any problems with that. You can join him there." Umber threatened his cousin, as guards of all sides ran into the room.
Before any of them could reach him, two giant direwolves jumped upon the table. The grey one growled loudly, the other one silently bared its teeth. "I would propose that it is time to go, King Tyrell. You know my demands. If your army marches any further, this will be interpreted as an attack on my kingdom. I have destroyed and humbled many houses that are more prestigious than House Tyrell, don't make me do it to you too."
The gall on that man. As if this fucking savage could even be worthy of walking Highgarden's prestigious halls bound as a prisoner. Nevertheless, this was not the setting. With those beasts, they could all be killed before their army got here.
He calmed himself and called to his men. "This meeting is over. Men, we return to the camp."
All strode outside, flanked by guards. He himself looked back at Stark. "I'll see you on the battlefield, Stark. I hope that you are half as good as they say that you are. I want you to give the singers something to sing about after you are dead." The Northerner never replied, as he turned around towards his horse. Immediately, they all rode back to their forces, while cursing the bunch of savages they had just met.
(The next day)
"What is the meaning of this?" He shouted loudly, as the representatives of Stoney Sept kneeled in front of him. He had been urgently called to the front of their vanguard. Why he did not know. He couldn't even see any of the enemy soldiers yet. Had they gathered on the plains behind the town?
The men at his feet looked frightened. One spoke up. "We are surrendering the town to you without a fight, King Tyrell. In return, we hope that you spare it. It has already seen too much strife these past fifty years."
"How can you be surrendering the town? Where is Robb Stark? He and his army were at Stoney Sept yesterday. He is camped just behind it? How did you get here to surrender it without him catching you?" He fired off his questions.
Now the man looked equally confused. "Your Highness, most of the Stark and Tully army had left the town days before your arrival. Only a thousand men and most of their camp remained by the time you came. At night, they retreated north under the leadership of King Robb. I do not know where, but I would presume Riverrun."
He let that information sink in. "We have been betrayed!" Lord Gerold Hightower exclaimed, as his lords began discussing loudly amongst themselves. He grinded his teeth. He had waited for a day to do battle, as was common chivalry. In hindsight, he shouldn't have expected it from these heathens.
"Who are you?" He finally asked the man in front of him. He looked like one of the smallfolk. Why was he here?
"I am the head of the smithy's guild of Stoney Sept, Your Highness." The man replied, anxious to keep his head down.
He frowned. Why was a commoner bringing him this news? He asked the man, but his answer frustrated him even more. "All nobles and many esteemed citizens fled the town long before your arrival on the orders of King Robb, Your Highness."
Stark had prepared this long before his coming. He had never intended to do battle with him here. He had given up the entire area long before his arrival. The question was why would he do that?
His spies had told him about the second mobilization of the North. Thousands more men would be joining him from Moat Cailin. The most obvious answer was that he would retreat and wait for these reinforcements. Nonetheless, this would leave the Riverlands open for him to plunder. He couldn't wrap his head around it.
"Please, Your Highness. Our town has lost people on both sides of the civil war already. We just want peace." The smith told him. He turned his head sharply towards him and looked at him, as the thoughts flooded his head. That savage wouldn't have … would he?
"I need a map of all houses of the Riverlands immediately!" He ordered loudly to no one in particular.
Squires scrambled around him to find him a map, as his Uncle Dickon walked up to him. "What do we do with this lot?" He asked him, as he pointed to the group of smallfolk on their knees.
"Let them be." He waved. "They have to pay … let's say a thousand gold coins worth of food and accept our garrison in their town. In return, we won't hurt their people."
"You are more than kind, Your Highness!" Another one of the smallfolk spoke. "However, King Robb took all the extra food that we had in the town with him. We only have enough to feed ourselves for a few months. Please, allow us to pay you the sum in other means."
He grew angrier and angrier. Stark had seen to it that he couldn't use the town's supplies to feed his army. He waved the man away. "You can pay me in other means, now get out of here." All men bowed multiple more times while thanking him for his generosity and running away.
"Stark had planned all of this." He growled and his Uncle Dickon nodded. "I told you not to underestimate him, Garlan. I know that most of your friends and court deem him a savage, and it may be true, but he remains a talented military general. We can beat him, but not if we let him surprise us at every turn. That is how he managed to beat the Lannisters."
To his own dismay, he had to agree with the Lord of Horn Hill. "This will be the last time that he surprises me, uncle. I won't fall for it this easily anymore." Uncle Dickon nodded approvingly.
At that point, a Rowan squire brought him a map of all the houses of the Riverlands and their territories. He scanned those between Stoney Sept and Riverrun and cursed aloud. "Damn that savage to the Seven Hells!"
"What is it?" His uncle asked him, as many of his lords and friends gathered around him.
"Nearly all of the houses between here and Riverrun have either supported Elmar or stayed neutral in the civil war in the Riverlands. Which one of the two doesn't matter, they all betrayed Stark. In return, he is giving up their lands to us. I wouldn't be surprised to find villages deserted, food stocks emptied, and wells poisoned for the next hundred miles." He growled.
Uncle Dickon took the map from him, as he contemplated his words. Lords Hightower, Oakheart, Redwyne and Ashford looking over his shoulder to do the same. Rowan, his cousin Leo and many others just started cursing as well.
"What do we do know?" Lord Hobber Redwyne asked him. "He wants us to march into the Riverlands. He wants us to fight him where he knows the terrain."
"We will give him what he wants, but we will do it on our terms." He answered grimly.
"Lord Ashford, Lord Risley." He called out, until both men stood in front of him. "Take a thousand men. Ashford will march to the keep that belonged to the Parrels, Risley to the Mennings. The only good thing those Riverlanders did to these lands was fortify those two keeps. I expect you to fix up their defenses and leave a garrison and supplies to withhold a siege for months. Our supply lines need to be protected at all costs. We need to hold both in our possession. Leave your brothers in command of the castles. They are both capable."
"Yes, Your Grace." Both men bowed, before running away to prepare their departure.
"Hightower?" He called over his cousin.
"Yes, Your Grace." His friend immediately responded, as he walked to his side. "Make arrangements to do the same with Stoney Sept. Its storages may be empty, but we can still use them to bring our supplies much closer to our forces. I want the town to be armed to the teeth. Give one of your vassals command over the garrison, whoever you see fit."
"It will be done, Your Grace." Lord Gerold Hightower bowed, before walking off with long strides.
"All the others, set up camp around Stoney Sept. Use the place of the enemy encampment. Turn it over first, but I would imagine it to be useful. We will stay here for a few days, while we decide our supply situation and battle plans. Afterwards, we march deeper into the Riverlands. We will force Robb Stark to do battle, even if we must burn everything between here and Riverrun to achieve this." He declared, and all men around him scattered to take personal command of their men.
This is it for this chapter.
A totally new POV, which gives you insights in the Reach's army. King Garlan Tyrell is capable and well-thought, as seen at the end, but he is incredibly haughty and proud.
He thinks Robb's case futile. In his mind, the Riverlands are devastated in troop numbers, demographically and economically. Robb's allies there are weakened, and many of his followers have dubious loyalties as they remained neutral against Elmar. He doesn't believe in the power of his alliances either, as he can't believe anyone could ever count on an Ironborn. Let alone that pious Seven believers like Houses Lannister, Arryn and Baratheon would ever follow 'this savage' against the High Septon's orders. Whether these assumptions are true or concoctions of his pride will be shown next chapter.
Robb surprises him by fleeing in the night. For this humiliation and unchivalrous act, Garlan will burn the Riverlands to the ground.
Thank you for supporting this story.
Fannic
Reviews:
- Rebfan90: Thank you!
- Force Smuggler: Glad you like it!
- Scifiromance: Thank you so much. Glad that you agreed with the plan.
- Foxy-Floof: Robb will have to. War has officially begun with the Reach.
- House Awesome: Interesting idea! Stay tuned, something might happen soon. Ricky will play a major role in the upcoming conflict, as will other Starks like both Jons, Rickon, Bran and Bryn.
Thank you so much for the kind words. Glad you like the story so much.
I thought about breaking the story in two. However, stories broken in two do significantly worse on this site I have noticed. That's why I didn't.
- MasterOfDragonsGod: Thanks!
- Yogurt9928: Thanks man. No, Robb is done with Oscar's antics. Leaving him be would be encouraging a new conflict next summer. Aye, he will be remembered. Nevertheless, he could still become the next Tristifer IV Mudd: winning 99 battles and losing the hundredth one thereby dooming his house. This war with the Reach could destroy his hold over the Riverlands.
- Iacopo Passerini: No problem mate! Glad to see that you are still enjoying the story. The mind behind all of this is Garlan Tyrell. The High Septon is a relative of him that his father (Willas) and their Hightower cousins got elected. He uses this connection to his benefit and of course the High Septon is ideologically on board as he wants all Old Gods believers south of the Neck to be eliminated.
It is worrying. However, Robb had had militant religious movements outlawed in all kingdoms except for the Reach and Dorne. Because of this, it is very difficult for them to organize and recruit fighters in other kingdoms. More importantly, Tyrell will try to use the piety of many lords in the Vale, Westerlands and Stormlands to his benefit to keep them from helping Robb. Next chapter you will see what successes this may have had.
The gauntlet has been thrown. War with the Reach is now upon us.