Chapter 5: Lions vs Wolves
Stannis Baratheon had just finished receiving homage, bows, and formal acts of submission from all the Lords, great and small, who now made up his new army.
When the last one had exited the tent, while the King was still seated on his wooden bench, only Selise Florent, wife and Queen, remained with him, along with the young Shireen Baratheon, daughter and heir, half her face marred by Greyscale; Alistair Florent, the Queen's brother and Hand of the King; and, of course, Melisandre and Davos Seaworth.
But it was Melisandre herself who declared, "You all should leave. His Grace is very tired," to which Queen Selise, the most devout among those converted to the Red God, R'hllor, responded, "Of course, Melisandre. Until later, my Lord," while her brother asked, "Do you have any orders, Your Grace?"
"The usual. Place a ring of sentries all around the camp. And tomorrow, start a thorough inventory of weapons, provisions, horses, livestock, and fodder."
When the others had left, Melisandre looked at Davos with a questioning gaze.
"I want to speak with the King. Alone," the old smuggler declared.
"As I said, the King is very tired. Besides the day spent, he has recently and in close succession used the gift of the Red God twice… to be honest, I do not believe there's enough fire left in him to use it again… and in any case, he will need to rest for several days."
"Go on, Melisandre. Leave us alone."
When the woman had complied, the King turned to his Admiral.
"You don't seem satisfied, Davos. Today was a great day."
"No, I am not. A few days ago, I unknowingly became an accomplice to an abomination… black magic… murder… treason…"
"Courtney Penrose had betrayed me. I am his King," Stannis reminded him.
"And Renly Baratheon was your brother! And yet, will you deny that you used the same method… that THING brought forth by Melisandre, to kill him as well? When I saw it… Gods, I'll never forget it, even if I live a hundred years…"
"I offered Renly the chance to surrender peacefully, to join my council and be my heir. He refused. The penalty for treason is death, Ser Davos."
"And what is the penalty for witchcraft? Or for murder? That was no execution, nor a death in battle… you took his army, yes, but at what cost?"
The King remained impassive for a long moment.
"At what cost, you ask? Whatever it takes. I can bear it. This is my destiny, Davos. To sit on the Iron Throne and save the world from the threat that looms over it. Melisandre knows this, she has seen it. And as you have witnessed, her powers work. If they work, it means she speaks the truth, and we can trust her, no matter how distasteful it may be to you, ever since Maester Cressen died like a fool trying to poison her."
Davos lowered his gaze, recalling the scene. He was very fond of the old man.
"Melisandre saw a future," Stannis continued, "in which Renly defeated me in battle… he, in his antlered armor, sweeping away my troops… and yet now he is dead. This means the future can be changed, Davos. And my future is too important to stop here. Oh, surely, don't think I didn't love him. Or that I won't feel remorse for this for the rest of my life. It will be my burden. My condemnation. A King is destined to be alone."
At that moment, another King was enjoying unexpected but very pleasant company. Robb Stark was being lovingly tended to by Jeyne Westerling, a beautiful seventeen-year-old maiden whose castle on the Crag he had occupied a few days before.
It had finally happened: the Young Wolf had been wounded in battle. Not too seriously, but he needed care for a few days.
Lord Karstark was scouting, while Roose Bolton was with him at the Crag… and the impassive Lord of the Dreadfort did not miss the glances his King exchanged with his "prisoner"… glances that, moreover, were mutual.
"Be careful, Sire," he said when Robb was able to walk and was strolling through the castle. "A pair of sweet eyes may seem like just a distraction when one is young… but they are a danger, greater than ten thousand spears, when one is a King."
"Nothing happened with her, Lord Bolton… damn it… on one hand, this crown grows heavier every day… I feel like I'm not free to do what I want… but still, I remember my commitment to the Freys and the four thousand men they brought me… even though… I must say, the more I think about it, the more it seems my mother made a bad deal that time… marrying a daughter of Lord Walder, a minor lord, in exchange for passage, when the Riverlands were aflame, and their own Lord Paramount was besieged by the Lannisters… one could say old Walder bargained instead of doing his duty towards his liege…"
"Aye, indeed. Walder Frey's reputation is well known. But what's done is done. And still," he added, "it's not said that a King shouldn't be allowed some… enjoyments, that is… almost all Kings do as much… not just the late Robert Baratheon."
"Take her as my mistress, you mean? No, I couldn't do that. It would be… dishonorable. And then… what if I fathered a bastard with her? Not even worth considering."
Robb, at that moment, thought of Jon. He remembered well how hard his life had been because of his status. He would not give his own child the same fate.
Furthermore, he missed his brother and would have liked nothing more than to have him by his side, but after all, Jon was with the Night's Watch.
He made a vow, and he's keeping it. And I must do the same.
"There would be nothing unusual," Bolton continued. "Even your father fathered a child outside marriage. And so did I. My bastard, Ramsay, is a bit spirited, but very capable, in certain ways. I have only him left since my legitimate son, Domeric, died of illness."
"I had forgotten. I renew my condolences."
"Thank you, Sire. Speaking of my bastard, you could have informed me that you sent Rodrick Cassel to seek out this…Red Armor bandit. There was no need for the castellan and master-at-arms of Winterfell to trouble himself personally; I could have sent Ramsay to hunt him down… I assure you, he rarely fails."
Something in the way he said it unsettled Robb.
"You were… on a mission when the news arrived. Cassel oversees the North in my stead, it was only natural to send him. And then," he continued, "I assumed that not many able men were left in your lands; you brought nearly all of them here."
"As His Grace prefers."
"And now, let us waste no time. Healed or not, we must march south… towards Casterly Rock and Lannisport."
Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie had been walking for several days, and the provisions they'd stolen from Harrenhal were beginning to run low. Deciding which direction to take wasn't proving easy either: after all, they weren't so good at finding their way, especially when the sun was hidden and there was no moss on the trees. They also had to avoid being intercepted by any patrols from the numerous forces still present in the Riverlands.
And finally, even if they were to accept Arya's plan to seek out Robb's troops, where would they go? Southwest, in the same direction the Lannisters were pursuing the Starks (madness, Gendry declared), or Northwest, toward Riverrun?
And if so, which was the safest route? How much of a head start should they give the Lannisters to distance them enough?
But all these discussions proved idle: as they headed north, getting lost in the lands of the Smallwoods, half a dozen bandits emerged from the woods and surrounded them. Among them were an archer, a sort of fallen knight with a cloak of an incredible lemon-yellow color, and a kind of bard with a seven-stringed harp.
They called themselves the Brotherhood Without Banners and said that if they wanted to live, they'd have to join them.
Of all the groups that had set off after Renly's death, Catelyn Stark's had returned north first. And not only because they had fled at breakneck speed to avoid an accusation of murder.
After the first stop, twelve hours later (to avoid exhausting the horses), when Brienne had realized that her entire life had changed and sworn eternal loyalty to Lady Catelyn for saving her from certain execution, it had been decided, since the Tyrells might be on their heels and Stannis would undoubtedly take control of Renly's army, that they should return to Riverrun as soon as possible. Robb needed to be informed of developments, even though, for now, there was no way to do so by raven.
Lighter than any of the armies and therefore faster, they proceeded through the Reach with forced but cautious marches, finally arriving at Stoney Sept, the first fief of the Riverlands.
There, they discreetly gathered information and learned that Tywin had returned to the West, but had left Vargo Hoat's monstrous raiders to hold Harrenhal, and that the entire Riverlands were teeming with outlaws and deserters. Rumor had it that some of them even hanged soldiers of every faction they encountered: Lannister, Stark, Tully…
In this situation, they opted to proceed cautiously to the Vances at Wayfarer's Rest for more news, and from there, to Riverrun, to reach Brynden.
At that time, they couldn't know that they would find the fortress empty, as Brynden and Edmure had already left to aid Robb and that only two days after their passage, Greatjon Umber and his scouts would deliver a decisive defeat to Vargo Hoat (who would be slain by Greatjon's sword himself, his head cut horizontally at nose level), causing Harrenhal's surrender, which would then be taken by the wolves.
The second group to arrive, spurring their horses, was Petyr Baelish's.
The Master of Coin and "Lord of Harrenhal" had stayed three days longer than Catelyn in the Stormlands and had also had to divert through the Reach, climbing up to the fief of Hayford, right at the intersection between the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Reach, and the Riverlands.
It was also close enough to Harrenhal's territory, and one could go down the Blackwater River to King's Landing… or cross it, heading toward the lands of Stokeworth.
It was an excellent position to meet with sentries, spies, and messengers he had gathered from all over.
The first messenger came from near Harrenhal, his "own" castle, and told him the same thing: Tywin Lannister had returned to the West to protect his lands from the Wolves' incursions.
This news sent a chill down Baelish's spine.
But things worsened when he received the couriers he had sent south to check the King's Road coming up from Storm's End.
"We haven't yet sighted Stannis's troops, my lord. It's as if they haven't left the BronzeGate yet."
"But that doesn't make sense," Baelish declared. "I know Lord Stannis; the first thing he'll do is try to besiege King's Landing. And to do that, he has to move his troops; he can't exactly fly them in…"
At those words, Baelish swallowed. A thought had come to mind.
Stannis was Master of Ships. And he had about two hundred of them. And if instead…
…no, it's impossible, they'd never be numerous enough…
But if I remember correctly… among his followers is that old smuggler, Davos Seaworth… and the Stepstones aren't too far from Storm's End by sea… if he has connections among Sallador Sahan's pirates, maybe…
"We have to go!" he exclaimed to his men.
"Where to, my Lord?" one asked.
"Away from here, as far as possible."
He's tricked us all, that old fox… he won't lead his troops over land, but by sea! That's why he's delaying… he's waiting to gather enough transport ships… but when he does… in three days, he'll be at King's Landing…
…and the Tyrells may help Tywin defeat the Young Wolf, but they'd never make it in time to save the city… if Stannis lops off Joffrey's head, the Lannisters would have no claimant to the throne left to fight for…
…sure, I would have had my revenge on the Starks and the Tullys, but it wouldn't have profited me at all…
"Orders, sir. Where do you want us to go?"
Baelish thought for a moment. A new plan was forming in his mind, adapting to the circumstances. And then, there was another detail to consider…
Finally, he smiled.
"We'll cross the river toward the Northeast. Once we've landed, I want us to disguise ourselves as merchants or something like that. We're heading to Duskendale. But first, bring me a raven. I have a message to send."
The Tyrells were advancing as fast as possible: of course, they had the cavalry troops at the vanguard and sent scouts everywhere to avoid unpleasant surprises, but they also couldn't leave their infantry too far behind, risking being separated by potential enemies.
As they rode in the center of the column, the Tyrell siblings had different expressions. Loras was impatient, burning with the desire to act; Margaery was thoughtful and doubtful; and Garlan seemed, as usual, the balanced one, alternately observing the other two.
He then moved closer to his sister, pulling her away from their other brother, and asked, "A Silver Stag for your thoughts, my sweet sister."
The Dowager Queen snapped out of her thoughts. "Oh, it's nothing, Garlan, just... well, no, never mind, it's a silly thing."
"Allow me to insist. It's not often you're this pensive, but when it happens, it's something serious. You were like that even as a child."
"It's just that... oh, I know, it's absurd. I was the one who proposed this plan. Or rather, it was suggested to me by Lord Baelish, actually. But... I'm not sure about what we're doing. It doesn't feel like the right course of action."
"You have doubts about attacking the Starks? Don't you think it was Lady Catelyn who assassinated Renly?"
"Why, do YOU believe that? Don't try to fool me. Loras might fall for it because he's anxious to avenge him, and that clouds his judgment, but... it's obvious things went differently."
"And that's the only thing troubling you? The remorse? You fear you're attacking the wrong people?"
"Don't misunderstand me. I want to be Queen, I want our family to be the most important in the Seven Kingdoms... and to do so, I would do anything. But... at first, to achieve that, we wanted to oust the Lannisters from their position. If we now ally with them, we'll forever remain second. And then..."
"And then Joffrey himself is a full-blooded Lannister, according to Stannis. And it seems he has a tendency towards sadism and cruelty. And you're supposed to marry him, my dear sister," continued her older brother, pleased with where the conversation was heading.
"I'm not afraid of him. He wouldn't be foolish enough to harm me once we're married. And besides, I have you all to protect me.
But, I was thinking... if it really wasn't Lady Stark, WHO would have assassinated Renly? The obvious answer would be Stannis... but it could also have been the Lannisters... they obviously would have had every reason to do so, and then, we'd be allying with our enemy, with the very people Loras wants to destroy at any cost. In that case, Baelish would have used me to get what he wants, our help against the Tullys and the Starks.
"On the other hand, if it was Stannis, we're going off course, wasting precious time and sacrificing men by meddling in a war that isn't ours, instead of facing the real enemy. And then…"
"…and then it bothers you to attack that poor widow and her valiant son, tell the truth. As much as you pretend to be impassive and ready to do anything for power, deep down you find their cause just."
"Don't put words in my mouth!" she replied, jokingly. "But yes, you're right, as much as I'm no longer a child reading stories of heroes and maidens, in the end, if I weren't involved, I could even cheer for them. But if I must trample over their wishes to become Queen... you can be sure I'll do it."
Margaery said nothing more, and Garlan refrained from insisting, letting her mull it over on her own.
When did I start thinking like this? Since I saw Catelyn Stark's eyes? She too had an arranged marriage, yet she was so sad to have lost her husband... she had truly fallen in love with him... for a time, she was happy...
I, on the other hand, had accepted to marry a man who didn't even like women... my father wanted all his children to be happy, and I have my goals to achieve, but... when did it happen?
When did I accept to sacrifice my personal happiness in exchange for my ambition?
Some time later, having reached the lands of the Roxtons, the scouts sent ahead into the Riverlands informed Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly of what everyone else already knew. The column was therefore ordered to turn westward, to enter the Westerlands through Sarwyck, from where, proceeding in a straight line for two hundred miles, they would reach Casterly Rock.
The campaign in the Westerlands was not immediate. Marching at forced pace, Tywin Lannister, along with his brother Kevan, Addam Marbrand, and all his generals, arrived in the lands of the Liddens, in a border area, but central in height: from there, they could head north, west, or south with equal ease, depending on the need.
The problem was that the Young Wolf had split his troops and was raiding various territories: for the moment, Rickard Karstark with his cavalry was still ravaging the lands above them, belonging to the Braxes and Leffords, while Roose Bolton seemed to have moved south, toward the Swyfts, and it was said that Robb Stark was personally threatening Casterly Rock and laying siege to Lannisport.
In such circumstances, maintaining discipline among his bannermen was not easy: Daven Lannister, Jaime's cousin and the late Ser Stafford's son, was difficult to restrain, and he would have liked to throw himself at Lord Karstark to avenge his father personally. He was eventually stopped, but with difficulty. It is said that the man vowed to grow his beard and hair until he had avenged his father.
Even Kevan, Tywin's brother and trusted advisor, was somewhat hesitant, as the Young Wolf had taken his two younger sons prisoner (the eldest, Lancel, was instead with Tyrion and Cersei in King's Landing).
It took all of the Old Lion's experience to convince his bannermen that splitting up would not be wise and that they would probably be playing into their enemies' hands, eager to lure them into a trap.
The Westerlands had the best infantry in the Seven Kingdoms, he reasoned—numerous and splendidly equipped with plate armor, so the best tactic was to keep them together, using a "Fist of Iron" that would break through their enemies' lines with the greatest possible force.
They chose to resume the march toward Lannisport, convinced that the Young Wolf didn't have enough forces to besiege it alone and was wasting time, but at the same time they had to fall upon him from behind before he could move from there. They sent cavalry and scouts to the sides of the column to avoid being surprised by any raiders.
The idea was to keep moving and destroy the North's forces separately with numerically superior troops, rather than allowing them to reunite.
In all that chaos, Tywin fortunately received word that Renly had been assassinated and that Stannis Lannister had taken control of most of the troops that had declared for him, save for the Tyrells, who had separated from him.
Immediately an idea sparked in his mind: to ally with them.
He knew well the Tyrells' reputation as social climbers, and after all, his nephew Joffrey wouldn't have to marry Sansa, the daughter of a traitor and the sister of another who was about to be killed.
He therefore sent two ravens: one to Highgarden (where it seemed logical that the Tyrells had retreated while awaiting further developments) and one to King's Landing, to Tyrion, to inform him of Stannis's troops approaching, presumably from the south… ordering him to prepare for a siege.
He also suggested doing anything to delay the arrival of the last Baratheon: if necessary, even to burn the King's Wood.
The reasoning of the elder Lannister was that King's Landing could withstand a siege for a long time, and perhaps, once Robb was dealt with, he would be able to come to their aid in time (fortunately for King's Landing, Tyrion also had his spies, and some decoy fishing boats he had dispatched throughout the Blackwater Bay and was therefore able to learn of Stannis's imminent arrival by sea, discarding the absurd plan of setting a fire altogether).
The Lannister columns set off once more toward their homeland.
Arya Stark couldn't tell if they had been lucky or unlucky. Sure, on one hand, they were still alive. On the other, that strange Brotherhood who had captured them seemed to be hiding many secrets.
She was surprised to recognize Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr as their leaders. Beric had once served King Robert, and her father himself had sent him to chase down the Mountain in the Riverlands, but it was said he had died since then. In fact, rumors constantly circulated about the various ways he had supposedly died, killed by different people: by Ser Amory Lorch, no, by Vargo Hoat, no, by the Mountain, once, twice, and in various manners: with a sword to the belly, an arrow to the eye, no, hanged, no, with an axe that shattered his skull…
But what shocked Arya was…that Beric's body actually bore marks of these events. His neck had rope scars, a nasty cut on his forehead, and an eye patch.
Thoros of Myr seemed much the same as the man who had served at Robert's court, his drinking companion…the same red robe of the Priests of R'hllor, the same bald head, the same belly…yet something about him was different…a certain liveliness in his blue eyes, a sly smile…as if he knew something no one else did.
Their men said that Beric had INDEED died six times and that Thoros had revived him six times, giving him the "kiss" of the Lord of Light…a god in whom he himself hadn't really believed until he had seen proof.
Gendry seemed very struck by the fact that the bandits were all knights: Dondarrion was one, and a knight can dub another, which he had done generously.
The Brotherhood, he explained, was born to protect common folk from the abuses of the powerful—of any faction. Even among the Starks and Tullys, there were common soldiers and minor lords who committed atrocities against the people.
Arya angrily rejected that claim. But for the moment, she would play along.
The two men had already seen her at King's Landing, but they did not recognize her, and she did nothing to reveal her identity…because she didn't know whom they would choose to sell her to, if they decided to: to the Tullys or the Lannisters? To her brother or to Vargo Hoat?
Better to stay with them for a while. They would protect her, give her food…and at the first chance…
Tywin's plan might have worked…if it hadn't been exactly what Robb had predicted.
Warned of the Lannister contingent's arrival by swift scouts placed along the entire Gold Road, Robb's infantry got moving again, dismantling the fake siege they had imposed on Lannisport and rapidly advancing to meet the enemy.
In the meantime, he used the siege weapons seized from their own enemies to set so many fires around the city and nearby woods that he prevented any messengers from warning the incoming reinforcements of their departure.
At the same time, other scouts went north and south to notify Rickard Karstark and Roose Bolton to end their raids and bring their cavalry to flank the column from right and left.
In theory, the horse scouts traveling at a certain distance from the column should have prevented this…yet they too had to rest, and one by one, they were eliminated by small patrols of scouts and archers who had been scouting the woods for longer.
One of those patrols was accompanied by Grey Wind, who approached the horses from downwind to avoid being detected (while he could easily locate them by scent), leaping to bite the animals' throats while they were tied for the night, creating chaos as the Lannister scouts were slaughtered. Even when far from Robb, his direwolf seemed to follow his master's orders as if he were there, fueling legends about them.
Finally, the rivals clashed directly in battle.
It happened on a day when the weather was mild and dry, with a cloudy sky.
The Lannister army had to cross a narrow gorge, about three miles long, surrounded by low plateaus wide enough on both sides to allow horses and soldiers but impossible for wagons with supplies. Traversing the gorge would prevent them from being seen from miles away, which would definitely happen if they traveled across the rocky plains around it, making it more likely to catch the enemy by surprise; on the other hand, crossing it risked falling into a trap.
"I don't like it," observed Addam Marbrand, "it looks perfect for an ambush."
"And it almost certainly is," his Lord replied, "but the Young Wolf is currently besieging Lannisport with his infantry; that's what the last ravens told us, so he couldn't have left many men here to stop any reinforcements."
"Then, brother, do you think this was his plan all along? Take Lannisport for wealth and to capture valuable hostages?" Kevan asked.
"Lannisport…and maybe even Casterly Rock itself. Who can tell where boldness ends and arrogance begins in a man like Robb Stark?" Tywin pondered. "I must admit he has great strategic skills, which have already dealt us much damage; in fact, even this is a well-designed plan. Remember the obstacles the Riverlands lords set before us? They wanted to keep us there, prevent us from saving our lands…while the Starks repaid us in kind for what we did down there.
The Young Wolf probably thought that, once he took Lannisport, he could trade the lives of our cadet house cousins, plus Jaime, for those of his sisters, plus a peace treaty ending the war, our withdrawal from the Riverlands, and the independence of the North."
"He's an arrogant bastard," said Daven Lannister, "but I recognize it was well thought out."
"Indeed. But his plan is falling apart: the Riverlords couldn't stop us, we made it here, he can't have more than five or six thousand men with him, and we outnumber him fivefold. We'll swoop down on him and crush him once and for all."
"But," Kevan objected, ever cautious, "it could also be a trap—Roose Bolton and Rickard Karstark seem to be devastating the south and north with cavalry and infantry reserves, so if they intervened…"
"Should that happen, our scouts would warn us in time," Tywin dismissed it, "Now, let's focus on how to avoid ambushes during the crossing."
"Do you think this is the type of battle they want to wage? A guerrilla war?" asked Daven. "Trying to weaken us so that we're less effective when we meet them on the field… and also slowing down our advance?"
"Hmm… it's likely. Just like in the Riverlands."
"If I were in their place, that's what I'd do," Marbrand suggested. "I'd put someone on the rocks and then, not immediately but waiting until the enemy has reached the middle of the pass—it's narrow enough for only ten men across, or eight if you want to maneuver—I'd drop rocks on the vanguard, which is usually made up of cavalry. Then I'd send someone rushing to the other side, to the entrance… to set the supply carts on fire, which are in the rear… and perhaps even block the entrance with another landslide, trapping the entire army."
"Thank goodness you're on our side," Daven chuckled. Tywin silenced him with an irritated glance.
"And with a couple hundred archers, I'd play a game of turning the prisoners into pincushions," the redhead finished. "If I remember correctly, the Dornish did something very similar when Aegon the Conqueror tried to take their lands."
"It's likely they'll do just that," Kevan agreed. "It's a plan that could be executed by just a few hundred men; and to prevent it, we should reorganize our troops in this way…"
When he was done explaining, he asked what they thought of his modifications.
"It will take time," Tywin observed, "but it's better to lose a few hours than several days or half our cavalry. Let's do as my brother suggests."
The new formation that crossed the gorge was arranged as follows: it was longer, with only four rows of light infantry for most of its length and a single row of carts at the center, passing through the army like the spine passes through a body.
At the center of the column was the cavalry, protecting the officers, while the heavier infantry was divided into two solid divisions, positioned at the vanguard and the rearguard, to face any unforeseen circumstances. If necessary, the cavalry could intervene, reaching them quickly from the front or back. If the enemy attempted to set the carts on fire, they would only destroy some of them, not the entire section, as they were not all together.
Thus reassured, the Lannisters advanced through the canyon, keeping their eyes wide open: confident they could handle any challenge, yet still wary.
And it was at that moment that Robb's trap started.
The alteration of the enemy's formation—observed by many loyal eyes and quickly reported—while having a certain solid logic, didn't create significant obstacles to the plan and even simplified it in certain respects. Nevertheless, the attack plan was adjusted to better respond.
First, the Lannister vanguard was attacked… from three different sides, with projectiles from scorpions that had been stolen from their own lands.
The giant arrows, four meters long, cut through the compact armored formation as if it were butter, sweeping men away like straw.
Then came the frontal charge. It was a terrifying sight: seven hundred Northmen, all chosen from the best veterans, protected by mail and armed with double-edged axes, iron maces, and greatswords, charging like demons, backed by a dense volley of arrows from behind and even stones from slingers positioned above on the canyon sides.
To their credit, the renowned infantry of the West recovered quickly from the damage and shock, reorganizing to respond, even though the initial impact of the charge was devastating, and the attackers managed to push them back, slaughtering everything that moved.
From the center, the generals saw what was happening, and it was more or less the surprise they expected… just a little more violent. They quickly ordered the cavalry to intervene, but it was difficult to move them forward through the infantry and the carts.
Then, at a prearranged signal, a horn sounded. The riders turned back, the other troops moved aside to let them pass, and they galloped… in the opposite direction, toward the entrance from which they had entered the gorge.
"Tsk! They thought they could surprise us, but we'll surprise them instead. Well thought out, brother," the Lord of Casterly Rock praised him.
Kevan's plan was for the cavalry to exit the gorge, split into two wings, one to the right and one to the left, and climb as quickly as possible to the high ground on either side to reach the enemy on the opposite side and encircle them, leaving them no escape.
This would have been feasible, Tywin assured them, because there could be no one behind them, and if there were enemies on the northern and southern highlands, their scouts would have already warned them.
Instead, as we know, that was not the case: a few minutes after the enemy cavalry was seen moving in the opposite direction, another horn sounded, this time from the attackers' ranks.
Navigating the sloping highlands to the side on horseback was possible but required careful speed to avoid breaking the horses' legs; also, isolated rocks rose here and there, making it impossible to advance in compact formations.
Climbing these same highlands from below was much easier, and when both columns were about halfway between the two entrances to the gorge, Lannister cavalry was attacked on the flanks by compact units of Northmen cavalry.
Commanded by Rickard Karstark and Roose Bolton respectively, these units struck the flanks of the Rock's soldiers, clashing with them with a roar and generating confusion and disarray, as well as the loss of many men and horses.
Practically cut in half, the reinforcement units halted, their commanders shouting orders and curses, realizing they were caught in a trap, and instructed their riders to stop, turn back, and face the threat as best they could.
The northern cavalry maneuvered with as much agility as possible, attempting to divide and disperse the enemy units and inflict damage. Then, risking being overwhelmed by their numbers, they themselves turned back and made a strategic retreat, drawing the enemy troops into pursuit.
It wasn't that the Lannister commanders were foolish; they suspected the purpose of this retreat was to lure them away from their mission, but they couldn't simply ignore them and resume marching only to be attacked from behind again. They trusted in their chance to catch the enemy and annihilate them entirely before coming back to complete their assigned task.
As soon as the retreating units got far enough from the canyon, they received cover from units of archers, slingers, and even more scorpions, which began targeting the Lannister cavalry with flaming arrows. These set small fires in the sparse, dry grass of the area, frightening the horses and reducing the likelihood that they would turn back. With the canyon's top ridges now cleared, dozens of quick-moving troops took positions along it.
Just as the Western generals began wondering where their cavalry had gone, large rocks began raining down on the orderly troops, causing panic among the men and pack animals—especially the oxen pulling the supply carts.
But that was just the beginning.
After an initial volley of regular arrows to increase the confusion, a second round of flaming arrows hit the transport carts—not all of them, but roughly one in seven along the entire column, causing many small fires instead of one large one that might have been easier to extinguish. This added to the terror among the beasts pulling the remaining carts, leading to several overturned carts and forcing many drivers to unyoke and calm their animals. Columns of smoke began to rise along the entire length of the canyon, obscuring visibility.
Tywin Lannister cursed, realizing the trap they'd fallen into was far more complex than anticipated, that their precautions had been wasted, and that their cavalry was now scattered. He began shouting orders left and right, but his voice was difficult to hear.
Meanwhile, the heavy infantry at the front, which had borne the brunt of the enemy attack, had managed to regroup, absorb the shock of the assault, and organized themselves to counterattack. Now the Lannister infantry advanced, relentless, pushing back the rugged attackers who retreated in good order, giving ground meter by meter at the cost of their own and their enemies' blood.
At a certain point, however, the Northern soldiers stopped fighting at close range and picked up long spears that had been prepared in advance, trying to use them to keep their attackers at a distance as they retreated without being massacred. Ever-efficient, the Lannister infantry was joined by crossbowmen who filled the gaps in their well-drilled ranks and started a steady, precise barrage of bolts against the retreating enemies, killing many.
Kevan Lannister attempted to warn the vanguard to cease pursuing the enemy, but it was impossible for them to hear him.
At a predetermined signal, a massive rockslide fell on the heavily armored Lannister troops, crushing and burying a good number of them (along with a few Northern soldiers who hadn't retreated fast enough) and cutting off the rest from the chase, blocking the canyon's exit.
"Damn Robb Stark! He'll pay for this!" Daven Lannister roared.
Addam Marbrand was more practical. "Lord Tywin! We must…"
"Yes, I know! Bugler! Signal an about-face, at a quick but orderly pace. We must get out of this cursed canyon before they repeat the trick on the other side and trap us inside."
It wasn't a retreat thanks to the troops' discipline, but it was certainly a faster and less orderly turnaround than the Lannister commanders would have liked.
Additionally, the men, blinded by smoke, confused by the situation, and fearful of being trampled by the frightened beasts, broke ranks as they scrambled toward the opening from which they had entered, abandoning carts and animals and dreading more rocks falling on their heads.
Reaching the entrance, it was very difficult to maintain order, and the light infantry fanned out, spreading over a wide area to get away from the entrance and breathe freely, far from the smoke.
And it was at that moment that the final part of the plan began.
When most of the troops had exited, but before they had reorganized in any effective way, they saw about twenty thousand enemy soldiers advancing to form battle lines on the wide plain.
They were the troops of the Riverlands.
Following Robb's plan, Edmure and Brynden, accompanied by Jason Mallister, Lothar Frey, Marq Piper, Myles Smallwood, Jonos Bracken, Tytos Blackwood, and all the other lords, had moved in silence, keeping a prudent distance from their enemies.
They gathered in Piper lands and then entered the Westerlands through the territories of Lyden, Sarwyck, Serret, and Clegane (not staying in one place too long to limit the risk of being noticed), hanging anyone who attempted to ride off to warn the returning Lannister column, and coordinating through fast lookout riders stationed around the area where Robb assumed Tywin Lannister would try to ambush him—at the only place suitable to "surprise" him while he would supposedly be busy besieging Lannisport.
Upon seeing the enemy troops, the Lannister commanders were as disheartened as their soldiers.
"They got us," Kevan Lannister admitted. "The Young Wolf is even more capable than we expected."
"What? They followed… us all the way here?" Daven blinked in shock.
Tywin Lannister's eyes burned with fury. He couldn't bear the thought of those filthy peasants from the Riverlands and those hairy Northern savages defeating his house. It was simply unacceptable.
He began barking orders with a calm determination.
"Command the men to close ranks and prepare to withstand a frontal assault. Don't let the heavy infantry scatter—position them in the center to drive a wedge into the enemy lines. Put the spearmen in the front row, the crossbowmen in the second, and the sword troops in the third, ready to move up as soon as they've finished their bolts.
Kevan, you command the right flank. Addam, you take the left. Daven, stay with me in the center.
Pass word to the officers: I want the men in the central rows to run through any of our soldiers who dare turn their backs to flee.
Stay calm and don't make rash moves. We can still win this."
But it was easier said than done: the morale of the men had plummeted. At the sudden sight of the enemy troops lined up on the vast plain, ready and determined to make them pay for what they had done to their lands, a chill descended over the troops of the Westerlands.
They were soon shaken by lower-ranking officers who passed from man to man, shouting orders, breaking the men from their surprise, and forcing them to close ranks.
Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, grinned. He had waited his whole life for a moment like this.
He began by giving orders to units on the right and left flanks of the formation: some Mallister troops on the right and Roote troops on the left moved away from the rest of the army, though positioned too far forward to try encircling the enemy.
Indeed, the purpose was different. The Lannister cavalry units on both sides of the gorge were pursuing those led by Bolton and Karstark, only to be trapped between these forces and the Northern infantry trailing behind, left as a rearguard. The combined units blocked them from two sides, starting to aim at the horses with long spears, then massacring the dismounted riders with axes when they fell to the ground.
Without consulting each other, the cavalry commanders on both sides of the gorge did the same thing, the only option: they retreated toward the entrance of the gorge, unaware that their dismounted comrades had just exited.
And they fell right into the Blackfish's trap. Mallister from the north and Roote from the south blocked the retreat of the two groups, encircling them along with the Northern troops, who had shifted from pursued to pursuers, surrounding and utterly slaughtering them.
Meanwhile, the two large armies advanced towards each other. The Lannisters tried to advance in an orderly manner and at a slow pace to better control the situation, but Brynden, eager to exploit his advantage, ordered a charge.
The clash between the two armies was tremendous. The Riverlands forces initially gained the upper hand, being fresher and more motivated, and drove the enemies back, leaving many dead on the field.
Yet, the unyielding discipline of the Westerlands made a difference. After a few minutes of fierce fighting, with the troops in the rear pushing the ones in front, and due to the superior armor of the central infantry, the Lannisters managed to break through the enemy lines.
But even this possibility had been anticipated. Seeing the heavy infantry advance, Brynden ordered the struggling troops to retreat in an orderly fashion, allowing the enemy to advance and replacing those men with reserve divisions left at the rear, like the Freys and Smallwoods, attempting at the same time to sever the advancing columns from the rest of the army.
Soon, there was no longer a single front but four or five separate fronts with variously sized units nearly surrounded by enemies but simultaneously wedged among them, fighting fiercely to break the front.
The clashes were brutal. The Lannisters held strong by lowering long spears in the fourth and fifth rows to keep enemies from advancing, utilizing crossbowmen, while officers reorganized larger, more compact infantry units to attack later.
The Riverlands, however, also used their famed archers, divided into many smaller units scattered across the battlefield and protected by infantry, turning the isolated Lannister columns into pincushions.
Another division, led by Theon Greyjoy, formed a long horizontal line and used the greater reach of their bows to rain down arrows on the central enemy lines, targeting crossbowmen in particular.
The Lannisters had expanded the front into a fan shape to avoid being encircled at the flanks, transforming their army into a very compact and wide front, though not too deep.
And at that moment, Northern troops finished slaughtering the enemy cavalry and joined their allies to finish the job.
On the northern side, Rickard Karstark descended, yelling like a madman and wielding his battle axe, charging with mixed infantry and cavalry, backed by the Mallisters led by Lord Jason himself.
From the south came Roose Bolton, with similar divisions supported by the Rootes.
The Lannisters were attacked from the flanks at the same time, and the impact was devastating. The soldiers tried to hold, but it proved physically impossible: the troops on the receiving end were slaughtered disastrously, and the ones immediately behind them fled, trampling over their own comrades in the center.
The battle dissolved into a multitude of individual clashes, with such confusion that those at the center of the melee could barely distinguish friend from foe.
Daven Lannister, upon seeing Rickard Karstark, the man he had sworn to kill to avenge his father, was tempted to face him personally, given the dire situation. He turned his horse in that direction, but a spear pierced the animal, and he fell to the ground in the midst of the chaos.
Brynden Tully continued methodically to pull the exhausted troops back from the center of the melee, replacing them with fresher units, with the dual purpose of giving all houses their share of glory and preventing a single house from depleting more resources than the others.
Edmure was buzzing with excitement and began gathering armored knights around him for the final assault.
The Lannisters could no longer win, but they could still save the bulk of their army and maybe counterattack somehow.
Tywin Lannister ordered an orderly retreat, abandoning the now-surrounded comrades if necessary, regrouping to try and break free of the enemy front.
Seeing the Lord of Casterly Rock exerting so much effort, turning his horse left and right to shout orders, seeking out minor officers who had been scattered or killed, Brynden Tully, not a sentimental man, had a moment of déjà vu.
He and that man had once been friends, he thought.
When they were twenty years old, still just cadets of their respective houses, and they had fought for the Targaryens in the War of the Ninepenny Kings against the last of the Blackfyre pretenders. Alongside the future King Aerys II and Steffon Baratheon, Robert's father, they had been a close-knit quartet. Tywin had even knighted the future Mad King.
When they were twenty. Now they were sixty and slaughtering each other.
Back then, Tywin Lannister had seemed like an ordinary man. He could even laugh once in a while. What happened to him?
Kevan, the younger brother, directed as well his thoughts towards his elder, whom he had always admired and supported. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, Kevan gathered a wedge of his best men and attempted a breakout, smashing through the Roote lines and managing to avoid being cut off from behind by Roose Bolton. But there were enemies on all sides, and now…
Then, a swift, furry shadow flashed beside him. One of his most trusted men, named Raff Sweetling, turned to him, stunned, with his throat slit and blood pouring out. He tried to speak but didn't make a sound. Then he collapsed to the ground. Despite the chaos, Kevan Lannister spotted the cause. It was a wolf. As large as a calf, it fixed him with intelligent yet merciless eyes, its jaws dripping with blood.
At the sound of other horns, the six thousand infantry led by Robb Stark himself rushed into the rear lines of the Lannisters, screaming like the possessed now that they could make their presence known.
They had been positioned on the opposite side of the gorge and had to sprint the nearly four miles while the battle raged, but now they could satisfy their desire to make up for lost time.
The men seemed galvanized by the presence of their King, who, for his part, appeared to be animated by a sacred fury like never before and was literally flying from one side to the other on his horse, coordinating with Grey Wind in attacking the enemies.
Surrounded on all sides, overwhelmed by fresher forces, and in such confusion that it was impossible to understand what was happening (and those who could were gripped by the darkest despair), the Lannisters had no way out.
The clash continued fiercely for another hour and a half, but there was no possibility of salvation left. At best, the most desperate had managed to carve a path through the overwhelming enemy forces, but only to breathe clearly in the open field, away from the oppressive sensation of bodies crushed against each other, only to be caught up and massacred in turn.
Tywin Lannister, grazed on the face, had lost his helmet. He found himself, he didn't know how, pushed back by his own fleeing men toward the entrance of the gorge from which they had just emerged. In the end, the pressure from those cowards had knocked him off his horse. The steed somehow got back up, neighed, and vanished.
All around him, the fumes of long-extinguished fires hovered white against the dark of the evening, mixing with the recently fallen mist.
The Lord got back up, realizing that the gorget of his armor had crushed down upon his shoulder when he fell, so, cursing, he angrily tore it off, leaving his face and neck exposed.
He caught his breath and looked around. He saw no one. Only, as far as the eye could see, corpses, broken pieces of wagons, weapons abandoned on the ground, and in the distance, the lowing of pack oxen, the neighing of fleeing horses, the moans of the wounded or the dying.
He turned, hearing the sound of hooves moving calmly. A dark figure projected on the wall of white smoke. Then there were two.
Robb Stark emerged from the fog, mounted on his horse, while at his side trotted his direwolf, emitting a low growl.
The young man had a serious expression, and Tywin noticed that he was wearing his iron crown with sword-shaped points on his head.
"Tywin Lannister," he declared with disdain, "this is the first time we meet in person. And it will also be the last. You have lost. At this point, it should be evident, but I wanted you to know it. From me."
The old man's eyes turned bloodshot.
"You…YOU!"
"For your whole life, you thought your house was rightfully superior to others," continued the King in the North, "and that, therefore, to give it power and influence, you could do whatever you wanted. Crush anyone you met on your path. Well, I have come to tell you that those days are over. Today."
"Cursed boy! You have ruined everything! EVERYTHING!"
"And do you know what your greatest mistake was? You underestimate your opponents. You truly believed that I wouldn't try to defeat you in open field and that the Riverlands wouldn't seek to make you pay.
You fell into a trap so obvious because you thought you were too clever to fail.
You have always been accustomed to ordering your lackeys to do the work for you while you pondered your grand political strategies. Instead, this son of the North, this boy you certainly didn't consider your equal, had to work personally to face forces superior to his and devise a solution."
Tywin was foaming with rage. He had lost his usual control and was hurling curses.
"You and your ragged house! You are nothing but filthy ragtag Northerners! I was so close! I would have created a dynasty that would last A THOUSAND YEARS! I would have…"
"You, however, will do nothing. Your family, your house, your legacy… it all ends here. I want you to know that everything you care about so much… everything you have worked for, killed for, lied for, betrayed for, deceived for… will disappear completely. There will be no songs to remember the Lannisters in a thousand years.
You have gone too far, and now it will all end.
You assassinated Jon Arryn. You caused the death of Robert Baratheon to usurp his throne. You had my father executed, passing him off as a traitor. You set the Riverlands ablaze, causing suffering for thousands of innocent people…"
"Damn you! DAMN YOU! Do you think you can do better? Do you think anyone will ever care about you…"
"…essentially, you have racked up a pile of debts. And I have come to collect.
If it is true that The Lannisters Always Pay Their Debts, then you must also know that The North Remembers…"
"DAMN YOU! I will kill you with my own hands…"
Tywin began to advance in desperation.
Robb merely nodded.
Grey Wind, who had been frothing for a while, made a single leap at the old man.
He bit down on his exposed throat. Tywin had only time to let out a strangled cry before falling backward, the direwolf above him tearing at his jugular, in a river of blood that spread across the ground.
And even more than that spread. As often happens to the dead, his intestines released, lettng off a nauseating smell from his insides.
"After all, it seems you didn't shit gold, Tywin Lannister."
Robb felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He heard a horn sound. He turned back and heard, in response, tens of thousands of shouts of joy.
He called his direwolf and turned his horse.
"Come, Grey Wind. Let's go celebrate with the others."
Near the end of the Sarwyck lands, at the border with the Serret lands, the vanguard of the Tyrell armies advanced.
Mace was only in the third row, along with his sons and Randyll Tarly.
They had sent patrols ahead, but they had not yet returned.
Instead, they saw a messenger pass by at great speed with different banners.
Randyll Tarly growled at him to stop.
"Hey, messenger. Why are you running so fast? What news do you bring?" asked the Lord of the Reach.
"I'm in a hurry. I have to let everyone know. The battle is over."
"The battle? Which battle?"
"The one between Robb Stark and Tywin Lannister. The Young Wolf has won. The Starks have won, the war is over!" and he galloped off again.
The expression of astonishment on Mace Tyrell's face could have filled a canvas.
Author's Note:
And here we are at the first and most significant event that changes, as a consequence of all the others.
As it would have happened in the original if Edmure hadn't acted on his own, and as some of you had predicted (it was too late for the Tyrells to reach them), the Lannisters have been defeated by Robb, and Tywin himself has paid the price.
A big change, and I know that Tywin is considered a prestigious and almost "untouchable" character, one who cannot be stopped by his enemies using conventional means, but let's be honest: Robb has always outclassed him in military strategy, and it would have gone that way this time as well.
However, I made sure that the troops from the Westerlands didn't look bad just for the sake of it, and that the combat tactics (which I had a lot of fun writing, after all, it's a fanfiction about war) made logical sense.
In particular, for readers, it may seem contrived that Tywin and the others think Robb only wants to capture loot and hostages, but let's not forget that this way of thinking is perfectly consistent with their mindset: as I had Robb say, they tend to underestimate their opponents.
This major change will lead to further significant changes as a consequence, and some are easily imaginable.
Be patient, because in the next chapter there's a necessary passage about an event that will change quite predictably, and then we will see a new beginning.
It was also fun to show the reasoning of the various groups as they arrived in the Riverlands and the strategies they developed to react to the situation.
After all, A Game of Thrones has always been a story about "what if," about situations that change based on a detail, and about the various choices that can be made.
Moreover, I wanted to highlight, both with Arya in the last chapter and with Catelyn in this one, the cruel irony that moving away from a potential danger—a reasonable choice—leads to a disadvantage, referring to the fact that Harrenhal is being re-occupied by Greatjon.
Regarding Arya, it may seem strange that she does not reveal her identity as soon as it's known that the Lannisters have left the Riverlands, but she has become naturally wary, and she has good reasons not to consider the Brotherhood a friend of the Starks and Tullys…so she may have acted wisely, or not…we will see.
Stay tuned!