Chapter 92: Revenge in the Reach
29 AC
Robb
The summer sun shone upon his head, as drops of sweat started to form. No Northmen would ever get used to the hotness of a summer day in the Reach. Nonetheless, he felt content. His campaign into his enemy's lands was going well and Tumbleton was nearing the end of its resistance. Courtesy of its forces being largely destroyed at Pinkmaiden, and the remnants accompanying King Garlan Tyrell throughout the Reach.
He had been sieging the town for a week now, while its countryside burned all around it. Forty thousand of his soldiers were camped around the town, while ten thousand of his riders burned the Northmarch and the Footly lands to the ground.
Hundreds of villages, towns and holdfast were being sacked. Their wealth, harvests and livestock carried off towards the Riverlands in endless streams of wagons bumping northwards. Some of it by the Roseroad through the Stormlands to Riverport, others by the road to Stoney Sept. Some of the loot was even put on barges and pushed upstream on the Blackwater Rush and the God's Eye River.
The regions they were plundering were wealthy, and its harvests seemed astronomically large. The food he would use for three purposes. Firstly, to feed his army on campaign. Secondly, to feed the population of the Riverlands, especially in those areas that were struck the worst by the civil war and the Tyrell offensive. This way, he could maybe win some of them over to his side once and for all. Thirdly, food would be shipped to Riverrun, Seaguard, Raventree and the North to feed their people and their population booms. This was seen as partial payment for services during the war.
The Northmarch and source of the Mander regions of the Reach would be methodically stripped of all their valuables. He had tried to control his men and temper their thirst for revenge, but it seemed an impossible task.
Half of his Northmen wanted heavy revenge for what happened at Blackwater Bay and the weirwood trees that had been burned. The other half wanted to bathe in the blood of as many Reachmen as they could every night. The Blackwood clan and the Tullys demanded vengeance for the destruction of their lands and the loss or corruption of their kinsmen, while the neutral lords whose lands Tyrell had burned were eager to collect coin and harvests to rebuild their lands. His sons and brothers wanted a show of force as well, even Bran who was usually cool and collected. The anger of almost losing his only son to Tyrell's scheming rebellion still ran deep.
He had managed to frequently stop them from committing the worst atrocities, but he doubted whether the result would be different in the end. In response to all the looting and destruction in the area, even if largely spared up until now, its population would likely die of starvation or be forced to move away.
No longer would the lords on his border be powerful and wealthy, strong enough to field armies inside his territories like the Footlys. Once he was done with it, the Northmarch would be more desolate than the Gift had been not long ago.
He wouldn't stop there. The Reach had done much damage to his kingdom, and he would pay this back exponentially. He would once again gather fortunes like he had done in the Westerlands thirty years ago. Coin that would fuel further development in the North and would provide the means to ensure better defenses and a revival for the Riverlands in the future.
Last war, the Reach had lost a significant part of its population but only a small portion of its lands. Ironically, the Tyrells had come out of the war in a better position than they had been coming in. They had pacified the Lords of the Reach and had disposed themselves of House Florent, even granting their ancestral lands to one of their own.
House Florent hadn't been destroyed though. Lord Alekyne had lost all his male kinsmen, but he himself had managed to escape. After the wars, he had sought refuse with his kinsmen in Storm's End, but they had kindly refused him. Queen Shireen hadn't wanted to anger the Reach, and the Stormlords felt great resentment towards her maternal kin for their part in Stannis' defeat.
Lord Alekyne had died as a bitter old man in Pentos, but not before fathering three sons on the daughter of one of his household knights that he had hurriedly married when she had fallen pregnant the first time. The oldest of these sons, Ryam, had suddenly arrived in his camp three days ago. The nineteen-year-old had brought with him two hundred Essosi sellswords, a sizeable war chest and a hatred of all things Tyrell that seemed to resonate from his skin.
His younger brothers remained in Pentos to ensure the family's survival, but he had come with one mission: to destroy House Tyrell and reclaim Brightwater Keep. He had gladly accepted the man into his service, as he gave him the perfect plan and justification to weaken House Tyrell for good. Ryam's large monetary gifts to fund his campaign also helped.
Whatever the case, he would first have to capture this town whose flags were still fluttering proudly in the soft summer breeze. Its walls were strong, its storages filled to the brim and its walls manned. The latter was mostly done by untrained townsmen and farmers that had fled inside the walls, as its main forces were largely destroyed and its remnants were with the main Reachmen army. His soldiers would surely be able to take it by force. Nonetheless, a stone thrown by an unarmored farmer could be as deadly from that height as an arrow from a trained marksman.
To limit casualties, he had been properly preparing the assault for a week now. Ladders had been constructed, grappling hooks assembled and weaknesses in the defense had been scouted.
Two days ago, Lady Footly had insulted him by offering to pay off the siege. As if a modest sum of money could buy off the fact that Tumbleton was housing hundreds of Riverlanders fleeing for the consequences of their rebellion. Let alone that it would smoothen relations with him after House Footly's role and the presence of Lady Footly's pregnant daughter, Elmar's former wife, within the walls.
No, Tumbleton would be made an example off. Hopefully his show of strength here would temper his vassals in their search for vengeance in the future.
He looked over the lines of his soldiers, as he brushed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. A Northern serjeant looked expectingly at him, and after taking a few breaths he finally nodded.
The serjeant shouted his orders and the sound of Northern war horns filled the valley. Almost instantly, his army started to move. In front of him, his son Rickard assailed the walls together with Stark, Umber and Cerwyn men. On the Northside, the town's best defended side, the forces of Houses Vance and Lychester charged. This was the group expected to have the highest casualties, as such they were made up of those who had previously kept neutral.
On the southside, Hoster Tully attacked with Bracken and Mallister men. Lastly, on the eastside, Ryam Florent and his mercenaries attacked together with the Skagosi and Clansmen under his brother Jon.
He wore his battle armor, the running direwolf emblazoned on his chest, but today he would not enter the fray. His lords had insisted that he stayed back, to oversee and command, but the distance gnawed at him. His son had taken up the direct leadership of House Stark's men and protected its honor, yet it still burdened him.
Nonetheless, his vassals were right. A stray arrow could end his life and without him this army and its alliances would fall apart. He couldn't risk it for a tactically irrelevant town as Tumbleton.
True as this may be, he expected other motives were also in play. His men didn't want to be held back from taking their revenge anymore, not when the subject of their wrath was the seat of House Footly. Deep inside he knew this, yet he had relented anyway. If he wanted to remain in control of his army, he couldn't stand in their way now. Besides, Rickard was leading the forces now. His heir gaining experience and the respect of his vassals was not something he could object to.
He watched as his soldiers raised the ladders against the walls. Battering rams, their iron heads glinting, pounded relentlessly against the massive wooden gates of the town. The rhythmic thud echoed across the plain, a steady drumbeat of impending doom.
He looked on as he saw the defenders desperately trying to counter them with burning oil and flaming arrows. However, they had preemptively covered them with dampened hides to repel those.
Crossbowmen and archers lined the ramparts of the town, loosing volley after volley of arrows into the advancing troops. He saw some men fall, their bodies crumbling lifelessly to the ground, but the assault did not falter.
Rallying cries were heard in front of him and soon he could see the first of his men reaching the top of the walls. Not much later, parts of the enemy archer fire stopped as his soldiers engaged their archers in close combat on top of the walls.
"How long until the walls fall?" Galbart asked, the voice of his grandson betraying how overwhelmed the young boy was feeling.
"Not long now." He replied, his eyes never leaving the battlefield. "The breaches on top of the walls are widening. The barrages of arrows are lessening, which gives our men on the ground pause. Once the gates are down, our men will flood the streets."
His squire nodded, his young eyes wide as he concentrated on every little fight in front of him. Slowly time passed on the hill on the westside of the town from upon which they were watching. He saw more and more of his soldiers poor onto the walls, its fighting getting closer to the towers. After a while, one of the Footly banners unceremoniously fell down from the tower wall it was hanging. A clear sight that his men were inside.
The sounds of death cries, metal and commands was largely drowned out by the rhythmic echoes of the battering rams. As the sun passed its highest point a resounding crash echoed through the valley. The gates of Tumbleton finally gave way. With a roar, his troops surged forward, pouring through the breach like a tide unleashed. Similar sounds were heard from further away, on the other sides of the town.
He watched, a silent sentinel on the hill, as his direwolf banner was raised over the gatehouse. The town had fallen, yet it seemed that not all defenders had already realized this. The sound of fighting was still heard, although it seemed to get further and further away as time passed.
A second wave of reserves charged through the western gate, under the leadership of Lord Gawen Glover. His grandson looked proudly as his father rode inside the town at the head of five hundred riders and a thousand more foot soldiers.
"Can we go inside grandfather?" Galbart asked him. He shook his head. "Not yet, but soon." He knew this to be the most dangerous part of the capture of a town. Its defenders were fleeing. Some would have hidden inside of the houses or granaries. Once they saw his royal standard, the bold and bitter would come out to try and gain eternal glory by slaying him in the streets with a hidden projectile. He would not risk his grandson's life in such a manner.
On top of that, there would be scenes he didn't want his grandson to see. The Footlys had done too much damage to his lands and vassals. He couldn't have convinced them not to sack the town if he had tried. When his son Rickard and his friends had openly called for the utter destruction of Tumbleton, he had known what would happen when he gave him operational command. He had no intention to be a part of that. His grandson was too young for the horrors that would be taken place behind those walls at this very moment. It would be bad enough when he saw the aftermath.
Silently, he watched on as more men poured onto the walls and the sounds of violence died down. After a while, a lone rider rode out of the gatehouse towards his position. He wore the colors of House Cerwyn and bowed his head before talking to him.
"Your Grace, the Crown Prince has sent me to inform you that the keep has fallen. Our soldiers followed some routing peasants inside and managed to get control of the gate. After that, it was child's play. The town and keep are being cleared as we speak, but your royal entrance will be secure."
"Thank you." He told the soldier. "Give this man some wine and let him rest if he wants to." He called out to one of his serjeants. "We prepare to march inside!" He then shouted to the rest of the group.
A hundred Winterfell soldiers snapped to attention, as he mounted his horse. With Torr and Galbart next to him, he rode through the gates of Tumbleton. Half-mangled and bled-out corpses from both sides were scattered along the gate, but that was nothing in comparison to what awaited him. He took the main road from the gate towards the keep and the bodies of slaughtered civilians lay alongside those of defenders.
As they passed an alley, he saw a soldier carrying of a naked, screaming woman on his shoulder. The wailing of multiple women could be heard from inside the buildings they passed, as recently orphaned children cried alongside the roads trying to wake their dead fathers from their eternal slumber.
The situation didn't sit well with him, but he knew this would happen. Most of the perpetrators of Sow's Horn had fled here and many sons and husbands of these women had happily murdered and raped inside the Riverlands just months ago. His army would have never accepted lenient terms for this town. It had to be destroyed in the most brutal of ways. He had always known that.
The further they got along the road, the fewer defenders and the more civilian bodies they saw. Only the children seemed to have been spared somewhat, a curtesy those Reachmen hadn't given to the children of the Riverlands. Still, occasional smaller bodies were found amidst the slaughter as well.
Three times looting bands of soldiers passed them. They always bowed to him, before scurrying away in their search for more loot.
He hated Garlan Tyrell for forcing him to do this. In his mind, he knew well-enough that this was only the beginning. Even after destroying every village, hamlet and town fifty leagues south of the border and making the border lands unlivable, the Reach would not stop.
Tyrell still commanded well-over fifty thousand men, and he wasn't giving up. He had raged when he had heard about the Battle of the Blueburn. A few weeks ago, Garlan Tyrell had divided his army after reaching Bitterbridge. Twenty thousand men under Lords Redwyne, Hightower, Rowan, Crane and Oakheart had moved west to confront the Lannisters, while he had taken the remaining thirty-five thousand men and force-marched them south.
He had surprised the Stormlanders on the banks of the Blueburn river. The Baratheons, having split their army, were outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Garlan had defeated King Consort Edric, killing and capturing over five thousand of his men. Edric and his son Stannis had survived, but many important nobles had been taken captive.
The main Baratheon force had retreated back to the border with the Stormlands, allowing Garlan to score additional victories by recapturing the lost towns and castles along the Blueburn.
He had planned to link up his forces with Edric now that the Royces had arrived in Riverport. However, that plan needed to be reconsidered now. All of this went through his head, in an attempt to block out the horrors around him.
When they finally reached the castle, he was greeted by Medgar Cerwyn and a handful of nobles from the Mountain Clans. He greeted Arya's son warmly, and the Cerwyn heir brought him inside to the Great Hall. There he found his eldest son talking with Hoster Tully, in front of the highest-ranking noble captives taken today.
The women and children cried fearfully at the sight of him entering the hall. The few men, all greybeards, looked resigned.
He embraced Ricky, his cousin, and some of his nephews. "Can you introduce me, son?" He asked his heir.
Rickard smiled. "Of course, father." He stretched out his arms, nonchalantly pointing at the people he was naming.
"This is Lord Footly's uncle. Next to him stand the elder cousins of Lord Rollingford, the local maester, septon and man-at arms. The latter is a distant relative of the Footlys as well." He started.
"This is Lady Footly with her two widowed gooddaughters and her three grandchildren. This is her goodsister, with her own daughter and gooddaughter and her two grandchildren. Behind them stands the Rollingford family. Lady Rollingford, her three daughters and her youngest son on the left, and the wives of Lord Rollingford's brothers on the right with their children. The elder lady is Lord Rollingford's mother."
He looked them all over. These were the wives and children of the men responsible for the rape and murder of Lyanne Cassel, and that of her children. He had personally received a letter from her mother Jonelle demanding vengeance in her name. Jonelle's brother Cley, his Cerwyn nephews and Rickon had received similar letters. These Rollingfords were also responsible for the deaths of Jon Slate and six of his seven children and thousands of others.
"I think you left someone out." He remarked, and his son nodded. Nonetheless, it was not Rickard but Hoster who replied. Grinding his teeth, the Lord of Riverrun stepped forward. "This here is Elinor Tully, Elmar's former wife." He scoffed, clearly having difficulty with naming her a Tully.
Elinor had brown chestnut hair. She looked rather plain but had a haughty demeanor, nonetheless. She was unmistakenly pregnant, if he had to guess she was some five months along.
"Greetings to you all." He politely commented to all of them. This wasn't to their liking. "How can you stand there like that when your men are butchering the city?" Lady Footly shouted. "How you can you stand there after what you did to my sons and my husband's nephews?"
He looked her calmly in the eyes, but inside him cold anger threatened to boil over. How dare she have the audacity to accuse him of starting this useless circle of bloodshed?
"What my men are doing in your town is nothing compared to what your men did in the Riverlands. Tumbleton's population is around fifteen thousand people. At least forty times that amount of people lost their lives in the Riverlands to your soldiers and their allies. Have you heard the reports of what your guests here did to my people? Women were raped by the hundreds in the blood of their murdered children. Babies were pulled from their cribs and thrown out of windows. Men were shackled in Weirwood trees and then burned alive together with their holy sites."
He then looked over the other women of House Footly. "Your sons died while invading my lands, butchering my people and destroying my religion's holy places. You are lucky that I don't throw you on the streets to join in the fate you chose for your people. After today, Tumbleton will be no more. I will have its buildings burned to the ground and its walls pulled down. Tumbleton will serve as a reminder why you don't cross me or my kingdom ever again."
He saw the shock and anger take hold in the eyes of the women and elderly in front of him. "Besides, you dare to accuse me of the fate of your nephew? Your nephew tried to kill the only son of my brother Brandon. He nearly succeeded, if not for my other brother Rickon. His direwolf feasted upon your nephew's corpse that night after he had mauled him to death."
The older woman behind Lady Footly and the two younger women next to her started crying uncontrollably. They were the nephew's mother, wife and sister, if he had to guess. Lady Footly just looked at him with undisguised hatred.
"As if that wasn't enough, we could point out your treatment of Houses Menning and Parrell." Ricky interjected. He looked questioningly at his eldest son, who explained himself. "We found them in the dungeons, or what's left of them. They killed all adult males when taking the castles. They captured all the women and children, even those from the female lines that they could find, and brought them overhere. In total from both families, twenty-one people were captured. All of them were either descendants of Lords Harry Parrell or Corlys Menning, or Lord Corlys two nieces, or their spouses. Only twelve of them survived captivity."
"Coincidentally," his heir emphasized the word sarcastically, "all male descendants from both the male and female lines of Lord Parrell died in captivity. Only one male-line grandson from Lord Menning is alive, but he is sick. A month longer and he too would have died. Luckily, the Maester tells me that the boy will live. You deserve to be thrown out there. If it were up to me, I would do it. Luckily for you, my father won't allow it. Pray on your knees to your gods for his existence, as he is the only one ensuring you a fair trial."
The fates of Houses Menning and Parrell angered him to his core. Lord Corlys had been a loyal vassal, and before that a trusted guard. He had done a lot to help achieve his vision from the Riverlands and had proven a capable vassal in the Southern Riverlands. Lord Parrell had been a trusted councillor of Edmure and Hoster. After hearing what happened to their descendants, even he was tempted to have them all drowned in the Mander. He had to keep his cool, and for that to happen they needed to get out of his sight. He looked to a handful of Tully soldiers who were standing in the back of the hall. "You, accompany the women and children to one of the servants' quarters. Get the servants out of there and lock them inside. Bring them water and food when that is done, but keep a permanent guard. Your Mallister companions may guide the men towards the cells."
"King Stark, I implore you to show mercy. I am but a humble septon. I serve the Gods, nothing more." The old septon tried to negotiate his freedom.
He stepped forward, until he was right in front of the septon. "You only serve your gods? Did your gods tell you to advise Lord Footly to behead the Old Gods believing elderly that had remained on the Goodwood and Tully lands after we had retreated for the Tyrell army? Did they advise Footly's youngest son during the civil war to burn a Weirwood Tree and have his men chant religious songs around it to celebrate?"
He looked hard into the eyes of the elderly man. "I have nothing against your gods, they are the gods of my mother after all. I do have something against certain wrong interpretations made by some of their followers wishing to use your religion to expand their power and influence. I have executed many a septon in the Riverlands who had been trialed and convicted for doing such a thing. You will face trial with the rest of the men and face the consequences of your actions."
He nodded to a Mallister guardsman to take him with him. The septon started whining, but he paid him no mind.
He looked around at his lords and vassals. "We will burn down this godsforsaken keep to ground." He told them. "Loot everything beforehand and bring it back to the camp so it can be transported northwards to Riverport. By nightfall, we burn it all down."
(Ten days later)
Rickard
He was standing in his tent overlooking the maps of the Reach spread out on the table in front of him. He had seen his father do this all throughout his childhood and it had always fascinated him. It seemed that he had now picked up his father's habbit.
They found themselves a hundred miles southwest of Tumbleton on the northside of the Mander. His father had ordered the army, except for scouts and outriders, to remain on the northside. He knew that he feared an attack from the main Tyrell host, as they didn't know its exact location.
After splitting his force, Garlan Tyrell had defeated Edric Baratheon and forced him to retreat back towards the Stormlands. A smaller Stormlander force of around ten thousand men had still found itself in the Reach under Edric's heir Robert. Robert Baratheon had managed to sack Ashford, the only place where his famous grandfather and namesake had ever lost a battle, before also retreating to his homeland to unite his forces with those of his father.
This gave breathing room to Tyrell, not something they had wanted to give him. King Garlan had taken control of the situation and was retaking his lost lands in quick succession.
Nonetheless, the damage had been great. The Baratheon campaign would greatly weaken the kingdom in the future, and the Stormlanders weren't out of the fighting yet. His father had written them many letters, promising them supplies and logistical support if they launched another incursion into the Reach after reforming their armies.
The situation was now tense. They only knew that Tyrell was somewhere between Ashford and Bitterbridge, a huge area which would cost dozens of days to traverse with his army of at least thirty thousand men. This meant that the Reach forces could only be a few days away, or they could be weeks away.
Their outriders had found nothing as far south as Bitterbridge and they knew that the other army found itself on the southside of the Mander. That was the reason that they had chosen to avoid the Roseroad, even if it would have made their march quicker and supply situation easier.
Their main objective was Bitterbridge, which was only some fifty miles away from them by now. By securing that castle, they would deny Tyrell his supply point in the north and effectively destroy any hopes of him returning to the Riverlands. They would also secure the most important crossing over the Mander this far north.
His father seemed on edge and had sent dozens of outriders to the southern bank of the river. They were ordered to scout as far as the Blueburn river to locate the enemy and ensure their army's safety.
The Tyrell host hadn't been the only thing that made his father nervous. News continued to trickle in from the west, and not all of it was good. Lord Hobber Redwyne had routed a force of eight thousand Westerlanders under Ser Martyn Lannister east of Old Oak, which had resulted in the death of the Lannister King's twin brother.
King Willem had taken Red Lake and had planned to move on Goldengrove next, but these plans would now be discarded. His army remained at the seat of House Crane. When they had discussed this, his uncles had told him that they believed that he would stay there to reform his army before moving further into the Reach.
This created a situation where the Reach had managed to stabilize the land war on all fronts except their own. The Baratheons had been thrown back and the Lannisters halted in their tracks.
Luckily, they weren't the only allies they had been able to call in. The Ironborn had by now taken control of all the Shield Islands and had turned them into forward operating bases for their navy. Reports came in that they were raiding the western coast from Old Oak all the way down to Bandallon.
In a huge frontal assault, they had managed to take one of the new forts at the Mouth of the Mander. If they managed to take the other one, the expensive and elaborate defenses that Willas Tyrell had built would all be for naught and raiders would once again freely sail upstream on the Mander.
Willas' son Garlan had emptied the forts of over half their defenders to bolster his forces when invading the Riverlands. This had given the Iron Islands a unique opportunity, one which Lord Harras Harlaw seemed keen on taking. For now, the second fort had beaten back his assaults, but without help it wouldn't survive for much longer. This would at least continue to serve as a serious distraction for the men of the Reach.
For now, they continued on with their own strategy. They were methodically raiding the Northmarch. Everything of value was being taken, while fortifications and walled towns were demolished.
His father, on the insistence of many of their lords, had decreed that a hundred-and-fifty-mile-long demilitarized zone would span south from their border, namely the Goldroad or Blackwater. In this area, no walled-population centers or castles would remain. He himself, with the backing of many powerful lords like Karstark, Umber, Ryswell, Tully and Blackwood, was pushing to extend that zone ever further.
This served three-fold. Firstly, it would cripple the Reach and make it impossible for the Tyrells to ever stage a campaign into the Riverlands again, as their logistical situation would never allow it. Secondly, it would satisfy their need for revenge and spoils. Thirdly, it would render them incapable of ever resisting a second campaign into the Reach. Whenever the Southern kingdom angered the North in the future, raiding incursions could be launched without impunity. This would forever put them in a weak diplomatic position.
The more spoils they got from this operation, the larger the projects they could afterwards achieve. His father's reign had been financed by Lannister gold, if he wanted his own future reign to be as successful, he would need coin and food. The Reach had both in abundance.
Already over fifteen thousand livestock had been herded into the Riverlands, with hundreds of tons of grains, fruits and vegetables being carted behind them. Its rich villages and towns had been diligently stripped of their wealth and resources with the recent sack of Tumbleton being their crowning achievement.
He knew that his father and some of the Riverlords had been disgusted by the brutal scenes there, but his father was too clever to oppose the will of the lords on this. Most of the Riverlords were easy to convince with the sight of hundreds of carts of loot leaving on the Roseroad towards Riverport.
Uncle Rickon, who had just rejoined the main force, had burned the area between the Blackwater, the Stormlands and Tumbleton and ensured the protection of those carts. The local border lords, namely Houses Sumber, Rosby, Hayford and Mossbridge, had eagerly joined him in this endeavor. This had managed to satiate their thirst for revenge and in this, they had been joined by Houses Karstark and Slate.
Uncle Brandon and his cousin Brynden were still burning the Nortmarch with a force of three thousand men consisting of the Crannogmen, the Blackwood clan and House Mooton, with the addition of the detachment from Moat Cailin. His little brother Jon was roaming another part of the Northmarch with the forces of Houses Dustin, Tallhart and Mormont.
Streams of thousands of refugees fled in front of them towards Bitterbridge and Highgarden, but he would not have it any other way. Let Highgarden know what was coming. It would also keep them busy, as they would need to feed those people and keep them pacified, which would drain resources they desperately needed for their war effort.
He looked over one of his detailed maps of the Northmarch with his quill in his hand. He had forced the maester of Tumbleton to copy it for him, so now he could scratch out the names of all villages and towns that had already been sacked. Since then, he did this every time new reports came in from his brother or uncle.
While striking through the name of a village called Pig's Ditch, someone walked into his tent. He looked up, surprised to see his father standing there alone, with only Grey Wind next to him. His jaw looked tense, and lines of worry were etched upon his forehead.
He immediately put down the quill. "What is it father?"
"News has come from Winterfell." He replied, clearly with a heavy heart.
An icy cold took hold of him. "My children? Did something happen?" He immediately stumbled out.
Robb shook his head. "No, your family is well Rickard. It concerns Lyessa." Although the first sentence calmed him, the last one made his eyes grow wide. Lyessa was his younger brother's young wife. Although the marriage was arranged, the two had quickly fallen in love. She was pregnant with Jon's first child too.
His father looked at him with a pained look. "She has died in childbirth. The midwives and maester did all they could, but she bled out regardless."
He took in the news. This would devastate his young brother. "What about the child?" He asked fearfully.
"A son. They managed to save him, at least. Her last wish was to call him Artos, after her ancestor Artos the Implacable. Your mother specifically mentions in her letter that the name is meant to symbolize the reconciliation between his line and those of his brothers William and Rodrik, whom House Stark both descents from." His father explained.
"A good name." He voiced. "Hopefully this Artos will be as close and useful to the reign of my son Edwyle as the old Artos was for our ancestor, and his nephew, with the same name."
His father nodded approvingly. "Jon will not take the news well."
"No, he has been anxious about her health and that of the child ever since he left Winterfell. This will come as a devastating blow to him." He agreed sadly.
"How do we break the news to him? Do we wait until he returns?" His father asked him.
He sighed. "Jon is with Lyessa's brothers in the Northmarch now. The chance is that Lord Roderick will have sent word to them himself. I think that this is too big a news to hide from him. Besides, it might be a good thing if he receives the news now."
His father frowned. "How so?"
He sighed. "It gives him a way to get the anger, pain and resentment out of his mind. Let him rave a bit in the Northmarch."
His father's jaw tightened. "You mean to let him terrorize the local populace. To commit massacres in her name."
He shrugged. He knew that he and his father had completely different views on the use of terror tactics and the treatment of the local smallfolk. "Father, do you deny that Jon will be screaming and raving when he hears this news?"
The King in the North shook his head. "I know it better than you, Ricky. I will never forget the moment that I received the news about my father's dead while leading the Northern army to Riverrun. I know the pain of losing someone you love better than I hope you ever will."
He nodded. "Aye, and both me and my brother are very much like you. Nonetheless, you can't deny that we have more of the Wolfsblood in us than you do."
His father agreed with a scoff. "Especially you, my boy. It still surprises me to this day. Although it has to be said that you have learned well to keep it in check at times and I find it clouds your judgement much less than when you were younger."
He nodded. The rashness he had had in his youth had disappeared. Ironically, it was the advice of his wilder uncles that had helped with that, not that of his father. Uncle Rickon, but also Uncles Harry and Torr, had told him to keep it in and to only let it out in times that were opportune. Uncle Harry had told him that his wild anger could be a force to be reckoned with, but only if he knew when to let it out and when to hold it in. It was this he was trying to tell his father.
"Jon is more like me in this. He will need an outlet for his anger, sooner or later. I would rather have him murder a few hundred peasants who will die of starvation anyway, then have him charge headfirst into battle like a berserker only for me to lose my younger brother." He explained his reasoning.
"I was thinking of recalling him, so he wouldn't do anything stupid." His father countered.
"No, you can't do that." He responded firmly. "He will see it as a slight. He will think that you see him as a little princeling that needs coddling when life hits. This feeling, and the feelings of loss, anger and resentment he will feel about the loss of his wife, will make him careless. He needs an outlet for his feelings and he needs it quickly."
"You would have the people of the Northmarch bare his anger?" His father asked him.
"I would trade a million millers and farmers from the Reach if it meant keeping my brother safe in future battles. It is my job, as the eldest son, to take care of my siblings, father. That is what you thought me. Let me do that. Trust me on this. Tell him that he can come back to the army if he needs the pack, but that he can continue raiding the Northmarch if he feels his task isn't done. He will come to us when he is ready." He replied.
"He can get hurt in the Northmarch too." His father voiced, clearly unsure on what to do.
"Father, we are at war. He can get hurt at any time. Nonetheless, I would prefer his odds now. He has thousands of armed and trained riders against a handful of farmers with pitch forks or a knightly house in a tower with a dozen retainers. Soon, we will be storming Bitterbridge and other well-fortified castles. We might be fighting large, pitched battles like Pinkmaiden again against Tyrell. The result of him doing something stupid out of grief there will be exponential compared to him doing something now."
His father looked at him. His clear blue eyes looked dull and tired. They locked eyes for a little while, before he nodded. "I will send the letter on to your brother."
He walked over to his father, grabbing him in a bearhug. "You are doing the right thing father. For him, for the pack and for the North. Soon, this war will be over, and we will be able to return to Winterfell."
His father chuckled at that, but his eyes didn't join in his laughter. "That's what I thought during the last wars. It took years for me to get home to your mother and sister. The war will take how long it must take. Nonetheless, we will see it to an end."
He knew that their treatment of the local populace was taking a toll on his father, two things especially bothered him.
Firstly, the fate of Elinor Tully, Elmar's late wife. She had been killed, and understandably so. She had been pregnant and had been telling everyone that her future son would avenge both sides of his family and destroy Hos' line. Officially, a footman that had had lost almost his entire family to Elmar's forces in the civil war had eliminated her, but his father and many others suspected Hoster.
Even if Hos had had a hand in it, could anyone blame him? Nevertheless, the thought of killing the unborn child inside of her hadn't sat well with his father. He saw it as a kind of kinslaying, even though no one had had a way of knowing for certain if he had done it. What was sure is that he would watch Oscar's children's progress in Riverrun with eagle eyes in the future.
The second thing that weighted heavily on his father's mind was what had happened at Tumbleton. Why his father cared so much about these enemy peasants, he would never know or understand. Their own people, yes, but not these Southern flowers.
These people were the ones that had helped Elmar to rebel. These men had joined his army, fletched his arrows and provided his provisions. He had no mercy for them, but it seemed his father did. Maybe he was a better man than he was, or maybe Osric was right about his father.
His friend and goodbrother had told him a few weeks ago that the reason why his father was so good at warfare was that he wasn't made for it. He was the greatest general the North had seen in hundreds of years, but he didn't enjoy any of it. While fighting or commanding, all his father thought about was how to get home as quickly and efficiently as possible. To get home, he needed to get an edge on their opponent and that is what he was after, almost obsessively.
Every soldier or peasant that he had to kill to achieve this pained him, although he would never hesitate to do so if it was necessary for the war effort. His father was a great man, an even better king and the best army commander he had ever seen. Nevertheless, Osric's words could ring true. Maybe he wasn't made for war. Maybe he just excelled at it, without always having the stomach for it.
All the while, his father hugged him back in the privacy of his tent. When he finally let him go, his father looked over the maps on his table. "What villages have been hit now?" He asked him, and he pointed out the latest areas raided by their forces in response. Afterwards, he poured two glasses of wine from a nearby pitcher.
His father seemed deep in thought. "Those areas are almost completely covered by our raiders. Soon, our men will have to move more south or west." The King in the North voiced his thoughts aloud. Gone was the vulnerable father. In front of him was the man who had ended kingdoms, and houses spanning back to the Age of Heroes.
When you looked at him, with the streaks of grey hair coming through his red curls, you could see why their men revered him. This was the man that forced Umbers, Boltons and Skagosi to do his bidding with the single movement of an eyebrow.
Many epithets he had been given: 'Lannister's Bane', 'the Golden Company's Ruin', 'the Last Dragonslayer', 'Greyjoy's Doom' or the more recent 'Faith's Terror'. However, as he looked now, hunched over his maps with his face an icy cold mask absently scratching Grey Wind next to him, the 'Wolf King' seemed to cover it all.
They had their disagreements, now more than ever, but there was no man he trusted more than the father who stood in front of him. He dreaded the moment he would have to fill his large boots, but cherished all the wisdom he could learn from him until then. In the end, he simply walked back to his side to discuss the state of the war.
This is it for this chapter.
The war has come to the Reach, and it is brutal. Tumbleton is viciously sacked, its lands and those of the Northmarch meticulously plundered. The Starks want to make the lands bordering their kingdom a poor desolate wasteland, hindering the rulers of the Reach for decades or even centuries to come. At the same time, they will use the coin they looted to better their own kingdom, just like they had done with the Lannisters three decades ago.
Many of Robb's forces see red, and their revenge is cruel and ruthless. This doesn't always sit well with Robb, but Rickard doesn't have that same problem. More and more, the heir positions himself as the leader of those calling for harsher measures. Nonetheless, the relationship between father and son remains very well.
Garlan Tyrell has achieved significant victories against the Baratheons and Lannisters and seems to be winning the conflicts against both of them. Nevertheless, the Starks and Ironborn destroy parts of the Reach without impunity. For now, the main forces of the Reach elude Robb, but how long will this continue?
Notably, Elinor Tully is killed, as Lyessa Stark has died in childbirth. These deaths will have a significant impact on Houses Stark and Tully. A silver lining is the birth of a new Stark, named Artos after his maternal Stark ancestor.
Quick note that future chapters may be a little delayed. I have had a few crazy weeks and it will only get crazier the next 4-6 weeks.
Thank you for your support.
Fannic
Reviews:
- Blanketman13: Thank you so much. Great to hear that I am improving, it is one of my personal goals with this story. They found two female dire wolves. This means the survival of the direwolves to future generations and ensured that people like Rickard, (Little)Jon and Brynden got direwolves. Wolves don't mate with litter mates, meaning they would have died out otherwise. From now on, there are two direwolf lines in the North, one descendent from Grey Wind, and the other from Summer.
Maybe in the future, Shaggydog could procreate with one of their 'daughters' as well. However, wolves will mate with their cousins, meaning that the wolves will continue for generations. Of course, genetically, it would be best to import 'fresh genes' into the bloodline, and that could happen in the future, but this feat ensured Stark warging with direwolves. They will remain a very powerful symbol of their power, and House Stark will forbid any non-Stark for having them. Meaning that if you want a direwolf, you need to marry a Stark princess and your children will never receive any even if their mother is a Stark.
- Scifiromance: It is. Robb tries to balance between the wishes of the North and Riverlands for marriages, and the old shrewd tactics of his late grandfather Rickard Stark in marrying of your family for alliances in the South.
Bryn could marry any number of those, but would that bring additional allies? Robb and Alys want a full Northern Stark generation (Rickard and Jon married an Umber and Dustin). He could just as well marry a Northern woman to ensure that all mothers (and ladies!) of the new generation of Starks are Northern.
I won't spoil any fates, but anyone can die. This is war.
Good call with the Florents! You get an idea here of how good Garlan is militarily. Is it what you expected.
Thank you. The books idea I got from Farroljgk. Forever thankful for that.
Thank you so much!
- Farroljgk: I could have written it like that, but it would have broken the flow of the story and wouldn't have brought any additional benefits except for tension. You will see enough fighting in the next chapters. GRRM skipped much of Robb's campaign in the Wastelands too.
Thank you very much. Interesting ideas for the books. Depends on how this campaign goes and if/how long Robb remains alive.
Here, you get a taste of their military prowess, albeit indirectly. Soon, more direct battles will occur.
Thank you so much! I totally understand! Good luck with your studies.
- Poly19hum: It definitely won't. Thank you!
- Yogurt9928: As you can read, it's not all bad. Major deaths are always possible in war. You will have to wait and see.
- Galwidanatitud: Well, ... if you thought last chapter was brutal, what do you think of this one? Thanks!
- Force Smuggler: Thanks!
- MasterOfDragonsGod: More on Dorne later.
- Rebfan90: Thank you!
- Supremus85: The Reach is being attacked from all sides but, as shown here, it is still strong. However, they cannot raise another 30k. They aren't as strong anymore as in cannon. Their population remains much lower, although it has been recovering quickly. Garlan used/raised 60k men. Those, and the garrisons left behind, are all there is. Garlan did take advantage of his numbers against the Baratheons and Lannisters, just as you predicted. For the rest, you will have to continued reading.
- ShadowArxxy: Yes, he is. However it needs to be nuanced. 1) The Reach (and before that its zealous allies) committed horrible crimes in the Riverlands. 2) He is under immense pressure from his lords and his own family to take a much harsher stance than the last war. 3) He is is older and feels that his peaceful negotiations with the Reach last time may have been a mistake and the reason why his sons are now in danger.
- Iacopo Passerini: Myrcella was handed over to Robb by Doran Martell. Myrcella was send to the Septs, taking a vow of chastity so that Tywin's line ends. Doran's death led to a peaceful transfer of power to his daughter Arianne. Dorne has mostly recovered from the past wars, but they remain isolated. They won't easily concern themselves with fighting away from the mountains.
- Chris: Thank you! I will continue until it's finished.
- Guest1: You're back! Wow to you too!
- Guest2: Your analysis of both House Stark's past and Garlan's character is spot on. However, it remains to be seen whether those qualities will result in his undoing or just a big setback.
Your analysis of Robb is true, but he doesn't like doing it. He loathes killing so many people, but he understands that it needs to be done. Rickard doesn't enjoy it either, but he is completely apathetic. He doesn't care whether they live or die. Robb does care, and finds it horrible, but he will do it anyway to protect his family and his kingdom.