TYRION
The tree was burned from root to the smallest branch, its bark blackened like a reversed parody of a weirwood, its leaves now a ring of ash at its base. Against its trunk, a pair of burned skeletons lay, the iron chains that had held them melted through into little puddles that still smoked slightly. Even the sky above was a fiery orange, as the sun peeked above the horizon.
Even without the strong scent of burned wood and man to help, Tyrion knew he should be inspecting the Stark defences across the river as best he could. He would soon be charging at them with his clansmen, Ser Gregor and the Clegane men alongside. But his eyes had been drawn again and again to the charred tree, from the time camp had been made on the south bank of the Trident and through to just before dawn.
Was this a warning from the Canadians? He wondered, Is one of these men what is left of Ser Addam Marbrand? The knight and friend of his brother Jaime had disappeared, and the sigil of the Marbrands was a burning tree. Had the foreigners tied the heir and most capable warrior of that family to a tree and burned it as a warning?
The night before, Bronn had brought a whore to his tent. A beautiful brown-haired, brown-eyed girl called Shae. She had flattered him and satisfied his need. She must have been warned of what to expect, as she did not flinch on seeing him.
But satisfaction could only come after Tyrion dispatched Bronn to comb the camp for rumours about the burned tree and the bodies. The matter would not leave his mind until he knew someone else was looking into it. Something about it bothered him, misremembered tales from a book he once read.
In the early morning, he left Shae snoozing gently in his tent, and went to the tree again. The chiefs of the mountain clans would never leave him alone, but they must have felt the thing an ill omen, so they kept their distance while keeping their eyes on him. The sun ignoring the preparations for battle in the camp just across the Kingsroad.
Eventually, Bronn swaggered up, yawning widely, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword and the other holding a bottle of something. Shae followed close behind him, fully clothed again. What possessed her to come out here? Tyrion thought, as the clansmen straightened up at her approach. Watch out, girl.
The yawn complete, Bronn took a swig from his bottle.
"Feeling refreshed?" Tyrion asked.
"Very," Bronn replied, smacking his lips.
Lucky I'm not the sort of man to punish a competent man for insolence. "And you?" Tyrion asked Shae.
"M'lord was gone when I woke," she said, as if that was explanation enough. Strangely, it was. I must have needed her. Tysha flashed into his mind, and he cloaked the memory as quickly as he could.
Tyrion looked to Bronn again. "Did you find out what this tree business is all about?"
"Aye."
Tyrion waited for the answer, but it didn't spring forth as expected. The impatience must've been visible on his face, as Shae let out a giggle. "M'lord has a battle to be fought soon, you should save your strength." Her mirth died a little when her gaze found the corpses a half-second later. Not a joking matter, m'lady.
"M'lord will fight better with his mind clear," Tyrion quipped back, though he found his tone was less cruel than he intended, "Bronn, what did you find out."
The sellsword pointedly took another swig before finally answering. "Your father ordered it all burned."
Tyrion felt his brow rise at that. So that is the reason for the hesitation. "Father ordered two men burned while tied to a tree? You're sure of that? But why?"
"Heard it from the messenger who relayed the command, one of Lorch's lot," Bronn said, "But that's not the strangest part. Those two weren't men."
Tyrion glanced at the bodies again. They looked like men to him, or what was left when you incinerated men. Even Shae seemed a little confused. "Then what were they?"
Bronn spat, clearing his palate for a chunk of smoked meat he produced from a pouch. "According to the messenger, they were living corpses, skin rotting off their bones and all. Took a pair of quarrels in the chest a piece, and they didn't even bleed. They were all calm before that, but as soon as the bolts hit, they began snapping their jaws and trying to get free of the chains."
Tyrion felt like that was familiar somehow, but memory refused to yield to inquiry. A disease perhaps? "So Lorch sent word back to my father and asked what to do?"
Bronn nodded. "Aye. All Lord Lannister said was to burn them. And to tell everyone to shut their mouths about it. Had to dice for the answer. Lucky for you, I have weighted dice. The question paid for itself."
Did the Canadians leave dying men to try and infect ours? Tyrion wondered. And my father knew what they were about and wants to avoid panic?
That made a great deal of sense to him. The foreigners seemed willing to do anything to even the odds against them. His apprehension at facing them later grew, but he had the salve for that nearby. "I suppose that answers that," he sighed loudly, "Let's get away from this place and rest while we still can. It's barely sunrise, after all." And we won't go into battle before noon.
Tyrion offered his hand to Shae. She took it, smiling again, filling him with warmth and expectation for the few hours left before he would have to gird on his armour. One last tumble before my father sends me to die.
Shae led the way back towards his tent, offering a tantalising view as she moved. Bronn and the mountain clansmen followed slowly behind until they broke off for their own business. By the time they reached his part of the camp, Tyrion's enthusiasm began to grow dangerously beneath his britches. He opened the tent's flap for Shae, eliciting a wider smile, a bow and the whore brushing against his front as she entered; a promise of pleasure.
Tyrion took a single step inside the tent.
"Lord Tyrion!" came a call from outside. Flinching, Tyrion's enthusiasm died immediately. He stepped back out of the tent, and found his 'squire' Podrick Payne standing there, the boy dressed in his house's colours of purple, white and gold, barely able to meet Tyrion's eyes. Gods, he is young.
"What is it, Podrick?"
"Your father requests your presence, my lord," the squire squeaked, "I have been looking for you."
Tyrion felt like the earth had opened up to swallow him. Gods, is Father contemplating attacking now? At high tide? The thought of being shot off his horse and drowning now displaced all thought of Shae, even as she stuck her head out of the tent again to see what was going on. With an apologetic glance to her, he joined his squire. "Lead on."
It was not far to his father's pavilion, though it was atop a lonely hill that overlooked the ford and so Tyrion was forced to waddle with more difficulty than he would have preferred. The structure was so well appointed that it was almost like a proper manse in miniature, with wooden walls and floors inside the red canvass creating room-like spaces within.
This time however, an entire side of the canvas and wood was open to the morning air, and a great many of the marshals of the West were assembled in a line facing the north. Tyrion bade Podrick to wait behind and took a breath, before rounding the end of the line by Ser Harys Swyft.
Lord Tywin stood ahead of the others, closer to the river on the downward slope of the hill, speaking quietly to Ser Kevan and a number of what Tyrion presumed were scouts by their peasantly attire. Have we discovered some great problem with our coming assault? wondered and hoped, as he exchanged perfunctory greetings with the lords assembled.
All Tyrion's aspirations of avoiding a battle disappeared as Ser Gregor Clegane rode up and dismounted.
The man was easily seven foot tall, and not in the mythical way that tall warriors often were described as. He was covered in rough looking but excellently made plate armour, each section having interlocking parts to allow better movement and embossed with the three hounds of House Clegane. Only his armpits and groin were less protected, with chainmail and padding alone.
The man carried a colossal sword and shield, both of the sort it might require two hands for an ordinary man to carry for any length of time. Equally ferocious was the man's reputation; murderous on and off the battlefield, and rumoured to be a serial rapist.
Tyrion had it on good authority that the man drank milk of the poppy daily, though for what ailment he did not know. His jaw clenched of its own accord at the sight of the knight. If Ser Gregor was already in full harness, then a battle was inevitable. Which meant Tyrion would be beside the man right into the midst of the Stark defences. I suppose I can avoid notice if I simply stay nearby, he joked to himself, though the lump in his throat threatened to choke him.
Lord Tywin soon turned around and rejoined the lords, both Ser Kevan and the Mountain hovering behind. The two hands of the Hand.
"My lords," he said, not paying any special heed to Tyrion, "We have received compelling information from our scout upon the hills above the ford. The Stark forces have split once more and left behind their baggage train, most likely to bring the biggest host to bear here before we could cross the river."
Lord Tywin's eyes gleamed in the way they always did when he thought he was in the right about this or that. Ser Kevan's smile was equally irrepressible but far more obvious to the audience. They must be very sure of this, Tyrion thought.
"The banners of the Dreadfort and the Hornwood have not been seen among those on the fortifications, though the sigil of House Frey has. By my reckoning, we face thirteen thousand men at most."
An encouraged murmur rose from the throats of the lords. "We have almost double their number!" declared Ser Lyle Lefford, a man almost as strong as Ser Gregor but less vicious. We have to march and ride across a river, Tyrion thought with annoyance, The river and the defences beyond are worth ten thousand men.
"Though I daresay our cavalry will be useless," complained Ser Harys, "We shall have to dismount."
"We shall not," Lord Tywin announced, "We have found a weakness in the fortifications. They were built to the high tide so the river wouldn't sweep them away. If you look to the eastern end of the palisade, it is incomplete there. Behind is a light woodland through which riders can pass."
Tyrion traced the Stark defences to the place indicated. The woods were not dense; the trees were well spaced apart and sat on very flat ground that no doubt flooded when the Trident did. Probably a managed forest for use by the inn and village. But too obvious.
He looked to the defences in front of the area. They were mostly just upright wooden logs driven into the mud, with some rope tied between some of the sections. Easily parted by a blade from the saddle. What game is being played here?
"It is not a very wide gap," Tyrion commented, "I doubt Lord Umber or Jon Snow were kind enough to give us a way to bypass the palisade. It's a trap."
"Of course," Tywin stated, "The Canadian unicorns are in the woods. Their intention is twofold; if we attack the gap, the Canadians will loose arrows and bolts until they counterattack with their beasts. And if we ignore the gap, they'll use it to allow an attack on our flank by the same."
Tyrion felt like a spider had just crawled down his back and into his breeches. He knew exactly who would face the threat either way. Oh no. "So which shall we do?" he asked, as cheerfully as possible, "Neither, perhaps. Attack at the opposite end of the line, where they least expect?" Where none of us can face the unicorns and the lancers riding them.
"The Freys are there," Ser Kevan replied, "Their loyalty to the Starks is likely fractious, which is most like why they are on the honourable right of the host. But they will defend themselves if we take the battle to them. No, leaving them alone is the wiser course."
Keeping the banners that will accept a bribe alive… "How clever," Tyrion remarked honestly, "But that leaves the question of the gap open."
Lord Tywin stroked his whiskers for a moment, and looked to the other lords. Here comes the answer in long form, Tyrion thought, And people say I like to talk.
"The plan of battle is this: We shall form the foot into four battles, armsmen in front, bowmen behind."
He gestured to the west. Leaving the gap to last. "Lord Lefford, you shall command the left and attack at the wagon fort with the banner of the Mormonts and Glovers. Ser Harys shall command a small cavalry force on the far left to screen you along the bank."
Lord Lefford's face was sour, but he bowed his intent to do as he was told. Clearly not much was expected of him, but then Tyrion knew he was more suited to seeing to the host's supplies than actual command. His vassal lords were competent enough to handle things. Not where I'll be, then.
Lord Tywin looked to the north. "Ser Kevan shall command the centre, taking Casterly Rock and Lannisport foot to attack the Umber wagon fort where the Kingsroad resumes."
No acknowledgement of that was required from Tyrion's uncle. The man rarely had a thought that didn't originate in Lord Tywin's head first. But Tyrion knew that his father would put his uncle at the place that needed to maintain the attack long enough for something else to happen.
Tywin gestured to the east at last. "The main attack will happen on the right. Aside from the woods, it is also where the most ground opens up when the tide is low. The foot under Ser Lyle will ride with the cavalry, two men to a saddle, and dismount to attack the wagon fort of the Manderlys."
Smart, Tyrion thought, The men-at-arms will be fresh and their boots will be dry. And Ser Lyle is more aggressive than the other lords who might command the attack. They don't call him the Strongboar for nought.
"Ser Gregor, the vanguard will attack the gap once the foot begin their own advance. You have two goals. Drive the wildlings back to clear the way for the main body of cavalry, and if you can, take Jon Snow as a prisoner. The white wolf banner is placed at the very far left of the Stark line, he will be there. Robb Stark is said to love his brother as dearly as his trueborn family, or so Lord Varys reports."
The Mountain made no gesture or sound of acknowledgement.
Lord Tywin gave Tyrion a look, and its message was clear. You're going too, Tyrion said to himself in his father's voice, And you will do your duty.
"Ser Flement, you shall command the bulk of the cavalry. Follow the vanguard to the right directly and form up once you are past the defences. Ser Gregor's attack should overextend the line regardless of whether or not these unicorns become involved. Ride around them once you are past the defences and take them from the rear, or smash the remnants if the vanguard has done its job."
Ser Flement had the good sense to grimace on hearing the plan, making Tyrion feel a great deal better about the man. Flement Brax had already proven his valour against the unicorns in the rearguard. A good sense of danger only added to the man's virtue in that regard. I can survive this if Ser Flement isn't tardy, Tyrion decided, I'll just stand upon the Mountain like a parrot on a Tyroshi sailor's shoulder. Or behind him, being that far up might make me a better target for Stark's archers.
"It shall be done, my lord," Ser Flement said with a bow of the head.
Still, there is no defying Father.
"I shall command a reserve of both cavalry and foot," Lord Tywin continued, "Either we shall break them on the palisade or break them in the woods. Victory is assured."
"AYE!" shouted the lords, raising their fists. Lord Tywin did not share in their pleasure at the idea.
So enthused. Tyrion bit his tongue. It pained him that he didn't know enough to second guess the plan beyond what he already had. But he had no intention of being told to guard the camp. Better to die than be humiliated like that.
"The attack shall begin at noon," Tywin concluded, "The almanacs say the tide shall be very low. My lords, do not be lax or tardy. The river's waters will not remain so low for long." And he'll drown you in the rising flow if you ruin his plan.
Knowing a warning when they heard one, the lords began promising they would prepare and be ready at the appointed hour.
Tyrion had other ideas, smiling to himself.
It's a long way to noon, Shae.