KEVAN

The Kingsroad was a sorry scene even in the pitch black. The defences raised during the last stay were still in place. It was a safe place to sleep for the night, harassed by wildlings or vengeful riverlords. The last stragglers of the battle at the great ford of the Trident were still making their way into the camp around Darry. To their credit, they all retained their arms, armour and colours… but their backs were hunched and their eyes sunken.

Defeat has made lesser men of them.

Kevan had only arrived an hour ahead of these last survivors. Commanding the host as it retreated in the face of a Stark counterattack, he had bought time for the army to retreat, to say nothing of the paychests, enough of the tents and food supplies. He had forced the camp followers to remain behind at spearpoint, so they wouldn't slow the retreat.

News on arrival back to Darry was not good either, but it was easy to keep quiet.

Seeing order restored and the men-at-arms settled was more difficult, and more so because Tywin was laying in the castle with three maesters trying to keep him alive. Kevan was forced to go about the camp, seeing to this and that personally. Things as small as who would sleep in what tent, and who would see to the horses now that the camp followers had been left behind.

Every man would know the cause of the King was alive and well, and Kevan discovered just how much of an army he had left to command. Greeting the stragglers was merely the latest in these tasks. Though he threatened to fall out of the saddle with fatigue, he persevered.

There is but one Gods-given grace from this day, he thought, The Canadians and their infernal machine have not been seen again. In fact, Kevan had not seen the foreigners since withdrew back into the forest, even as their wildlings picked through the thousands of corpses, robbing the deceased knights and riders of their possessions.

He was absolutely sure that if the foreigners attacked again, none but the remaining mounted knights would resist them. And we must find some manner of resisting, he noted, Lest we be undone completely.

"Ser Kevan, he's awake!"

A page in a lion tabard peered up at him, chest rising and falling hard as the boy sucked in breaths.

Kevan's felt some of the fatigue of the day lift from his shoulders. The Gods have not abandoned us completely. "Go inform the maesters I am coming."

"Yes, my lord." The boy bowed his head and then took off at full speed again, weaving through the last stragglers towards the castle.

Kevan turned his horse and nudged his horse into a slow trot. There was no use in rushing back, panicking those who don't know the reason. He passed by the crammed tents and men sitting around the campfires, getting as good a meal as they could expect. Delaying until enough supply wagons had got away was worth it, he decided. Lord Lefford always said that a good meal was just as good protection against desertion as the most terrible lordly reputation. A pity he shall aid us no more.

After travelling through the whole camp and the gate in the outer walls, Kevan reached the entrance to the castle, finding Tywin's bodyguard in front of it. "Upstairs," said one. He passed inside, through the small great hall and up the straight stairs through a door in one corner, to the lord's chamber.

It was a large space for a minor noble like Lord Darry, but it was simply the same size as the hall below, made into separate spaces by wooden dividers. Nonetheless, Kevan could see Tywin at the other end, illuminated by two hearths, surrounded by the grey-clothed maesters, their chains glinting in the light. He was indeed awake, but laying nearly flat on the lord's bed and covered in bandages. His neck was so heavily bandaged that turning his head would be impossible.

Kevan paced the length of the room, as fast as he could without running at first, but slowing as he saw more of his brother. His hand, he thought, Gods, he's lost his hand.

Tywin's right hand was missing, cut off at the wrist. Bowls of clear liquid stained pink with blood sat on the tables everywhere, leather gloves and all manner of cutting tools discarded near them.

One large table to the side of the bed had large dark stains. Where they sewed him up, Kevan realised. The air stank of alcohol, so much that it made his eyes water.

The maesters began showing Tywin his helmet, explaining what had happened. There was no interrupting it.

"You were struck four times with strange bolts, my lord," said Maester Carden, the only one Kevan recognised, "They glanced your helm, cleaved your wrist and entered your side. As you can see from the metal, you are lucky that the first did not enter your skull. One that entered your person remained inside. We have removed it from beside your hipbone."

The man held up a small, sharp piece of metal, its tip bent and flattened. Tywin's hand reached up towards it, shaking slightly. He grabbed the bolt, and his green eyes turned to the helm, before his fingers brushed against where another of the bolts had scored its skin deeply.

Is he truly going to live? Kevan wondered, barely able to watch.

"Why can I not turn my head?" Tywin's voice rang out, clear as a bell.

Kevan smiled, feeling his hope rewarded. It sounds like he shall live, at any rate.

"You sprained your neck when the bolt hit your helm," said the second maester, "You must not attempt to turn it, or the damage may be permanent."

"Nor must you attempt to stand yet," the third added, "We must be sure that your hip has not been damaged. That will require a thorough inspection, a man of your age…"

Kevan's attention was drawn away, Maester Carden stepping away from the bed and coming to him. "Lord Kevan, it is good that you are here."

"Enough of that. How is he?"

Carden's lips moved for a moment in thought, and a hand carved through his greying short-cut hair. "He is not well. We have administered milk of the poppy, but he refuses high doses. Without it he would be screaming in pain."

The maester gestured with his head to Tywin. "The wounds he received are almost certain to become infected. Any maester with a silver link in their chain can see to it, but given his age and the severity of the wounds, nothing is certain. He needs bed rest. Ideally, he should not move from that bed at all until I am certain the infection is in retreat."

Kevan levelled a glare at the man. Carden was not one of the westermen maesters that had been brought along with the host. He was maester of Darry. "You understand why that is impossible?" he said, "And why the merest suggestion of it makes it appear that you wish my lord brother to be captured?"

"I do not care," Carden replied, not intimidated in the slightest, "I am a maester of the Citadel, and I have three silver links in my chain. Healing is my calling, my lord. I have no motivation here except the saving of men's lives, and I tell you truly, if Lord Lannister takes to horse or foot, he is in danger of death."

Kevan stared at the man, but he did not break his gaze or reveal any hidden motivation. Gods, he is telling the truth. "Could he be moved by cart?"

Carden's lips moved over his teeth again, before flattening into a thin line. "I do not recommend it, but as I'm sure you will insist… He won't die immediately from movement of that sort. Provided there is enough furs and straw beneath him, to pad against shocks on the road. He would need regular infusions of milk of the poppy, and still, it would be very uncomfortable…"

Glad the man acquiesced to that much at least, Kevan nodded.

"Kevan."

The voice had all the tone of command that Tywin seemed to naturally have. Kevan turned and found his brother looking up at him. He put on a smile and the pair reached out to clasp one another's hands. It was awkward, Kevan offered his right hand before remembering that it was Tywin's left that remained.

"Brother."

"I am glad to see you survived."

"That is what I should say, my lord."

Tywin nodded, and released his hand. Kevan took his back with reluctance. "I take it our situation is dire."

Kevan inclined his head. "It is, my lord. You have been gravely wounded, and may not survive the fevers that are coming. I am informed that moving you may kill you, though we were just discussing how to do so safely."

Tywin glared, though relented after only a few seconds. "It is not my situation I wish to discuss," he said, slurring his speech slightly. He looked to the maesters, and centred his gaze on Carden. "Leave us."

The maesters bowed, and departed down the corridor to the other side of the room without a word. They were all old enough to know when arguing would not work, even where a man's health was concerned.

Tywin watched them go, raising himself up slightly to do so and wincing from the pain. When he thought they couldn't hear, he looked again to Kevan. "How badly did we lose?"

"Tyrion and Ser Gregor captured. Among the dead are Lord Lefford, Lord Serrett, Ser Flement Brax, Ser Harys Swyft, and Ser Amory Lorch. Scores of other lords and knights are wounded, some badly. Only the Strongboar and I seem to have escaped unharmed among the marshals."

Tywin nodded, his lips spread in a grim parody of a smile. "Our strength?"

"Three thousand five hundred cavalry, nine thousand foot."

"We've lost almost half our number," Tywin noted, "Are they any veins of gold in this news?"

Not many. Kevan decided against such phrasing. "The knights under our own banners fared the best. The heavy cavalry of Casterly Rock and Lannisport remains largely intact, and I managed to get their spare horses and vittles away in time. We still outnumber the Stark host in cavalry as a result."

Tywin's head moved slightly up and down, before he grimaced sharply. He was sweating hard now. He's exerting himself simply to have this conversation.

"Try not to nod," Kevan said. He picked up a clean cloth and dipped it in some cool water, careful that the bowl was not filled with alcohol first. He put the cloth to his brother's brow and wiped it.

"Sage advice," Tywin replied flatly, "I take it the other lords of the West are not so rich in cavalry."

Kevan nodded. "Or foot, for that matter. Lefford's battle was particularly bloody in the retreat. Much of the strength of your lords-vassal has been sapped this day."

"There are gold veins after all," Tywin said, swatting the wet cloth away now, "As long as our strength overmatches theirs, we have little to worry about from the lords of the West."

His jaw setting, Kevan was flabbergasted. What is he saying? "Your vassals would not dare rise against you, my lord."

Tywin inhaled deeply through his nose. "I have suffered the most calamitous defeat in our house's history since Aegon's Conquest," he said, "We cannot be so naive as to dismiss the perception that I cannot defend the lords and their interests. The legitimacy of our rule is now very much at stake. That of my grandson too. I have yet to hear of the other great houses rallying to their rightful king, though they are most like waiting to be courted."

Kevan felt a shiver move through him. Gods, he's right.

Tywin held up the bolt that had been removed from his body to the light, looking at it. "That this defeat was at the hands of something equally as terrifying as a dragon is the one thing that may save us. Others will no doubt challenge these Canadians, should they remain in Westeros, and I am sure they will be found equally as wanting in the face of such sorcery."

Kevan leaned over to get a better look at the piece of metal. Such a small thing. How could it be made to pierce plate steel across a battlefield?

"What losses did we inflict on the Starks?" Tywin asked.

Kevan straightened up. "We cannot be sure. Possibly as many as three thousand. Lord Bolton led a cavalry charge that cut its way through many of our retreating men-at-arms and secured a foothold on the south bank, but Lord Lydden cut him down in a countercharge. Lord Umber likely has very little cavalry at all now."

Tywin ran the forefinger and thumb of his single hand through his golden whiskers, still holding the bolt. "Lord Bolton has no legitimate heir… There may be opportunity for us in that. The Starks will gain more cavalry soon. By now, the riverlords of Saltpans, Maidenpool and between the rivers will be riding to rally to the host. We must march west at once to join with Jaime's host."

Kevan cleared his throat, not sure how to put it. "My lord, there is more bad news. Though for the sake of your life, I fear to speak it."

Tywin finally looked away from the bolt and straight at Kevan, a spark of anger flaring brightly as his brows came together. "Speak it or never speak to me again. I must know everything if we are to get out of this grave the Canadians have dug for us."

Kevan sighed, and consented. "Jaime has been defeated by Robb Stark and captured. The raven brought the message after we left for the ford."

Fists clenching, Tywin's breathing became heavy. His arms shook and shuddered. His lips tore back, revealing teeth straining against each other. His face turned as crimson red as the family banners.

Kevan goggled at him with alarm. "Maesters! Return at once!"

Maester Carden led the way as the men began running back.

"No!" Tywin commanded, his voice ragged. He repeated himself with his usual firmness a second later, "No. Send them back."

It's taking everything he has to control himself. Kevan considered ignoring the command, but Tywin's shaking stopped and his face began slowly returning to a normal colour. The maesters searched for what to do and what was wrong, but Kevan waved them off. All three went back the way they had come.

"How was Jaime captured?" Tywin asked.

"Lord Brax reports that their outriders' ravens were not flying back to the siege camp at Riverrun. Jaime led most of the knights and riders north to deal with what he thought was raiders or riverlords refusing to bend the knee. Jaime never came back."

Tywin closed his eyes. "Foolish boy. He ran straight into the wolf's jaws… I take it Lord Brax was then defeated by the wolves in turn."

"The host was split in three. The camp north of the rivers was annihilated as it slept. The noise woke the other camps, and Lord Brax began to prepare to cross the river. But a scout returned in time and warned of Robb Stark himself approaching the camp between the two rivers with a strong cavalry battle."

Tywin let out a single loud cough and wheezed for a moment. Kevan almost jumped out of his skin and glanced at the maesters to see if they heard it. They did, but did not return at once either.

"How did Lord Brax escape trapped between the two rivers?"

"Lord Brax instead moved the rafts to the other river to withdraw, fighting off Stark until they could be launched."

"His host got away successfully?"

"Yes, but it was bloody. The cavalry attack was held off at the first charge, but the garrison of Riverrun sortied and the catapults on the walls showered the rafts as they began to cross."

"Riverrun…" Tywin growled, "What a pity we did not take it. It is a formidable castle."

Kevan could not help but agree. "Lord Brax himself was dumped into the river, but the gods were with him and the water was shallow. Ser Forley Prester was already preparing a retreat. They saved eight thousand foot."

"Eight thousand from fifteen thousand," Tywin mused, "At least in defeat, my son betters me. Though he lost his cavalry entirely. Lord Brax faces an opponent with a vast superiority in horse, and the riverlords will not be laggardly in rallying plenty of foot to go with it."

Kevan shook his head. "I should think not. If it was not for Lord Stark and his daughters, I would say the West itself could be in danger. The riverlords are no doubt vengeful in feeling at this moment."

"The West itself is in danger," Tywin asserted, "Because King's Landing is. And we must continue to hold both to win. This war will last far longer than we had planned."

I hope that means you have ideas, brother. Kevan knew they would only be revealed in due course. "Robb Stark shall march on King's Landing. What shall we do?"

"Go to Harrenhal, retrieve everything we can. You will move southwest to the Gold Road. Send word to Lord Brax with the command to join you between the bridges over the Blackwater and the God's Tear."

He wants us to sit west of the capital? Kevan blinked. "The Gold Road?"

Tywin pulled himself up straighter with some difficulty. "Lord Brax could use the road to the Golden Tooth to escape, but that would leave us exposed. Should he join us, we have a host worthy of the name again. The Starks shall think you are fleeing by the safest route, but you can wait at the bridges for them to besiege King's Landing. And if they see through the ruse, they must deal with you first and the rivers are to your advantage."

Kevan smiled, liking the tone of that plan and glad his brother was not addled with the poppy. He bowed his head. "I shall send the commands. But what shall you do, my lord?"

"What measures did you discuss with Maester Carden about my movement?"

"We discussed that you could be moved by wagon. Carefully."

Tywin closed his eyes. "Maester Carden!" he half-shouted.

The healer returned quickly, so much so that his fellows almost tripped on their robes trying to keep up with him. Carden bowed to both Kevan and Tywin, though it was perfunctory. His healing might be for everyone, but his manners are not. "How may I be of assistance?"

Tywin shifted onto his back again, laying flat. "You say I can be moved by wagon. Would a river boat be acceptable?"

The maester scowled at Kevan. "I said you would not die immediately if you had appropriate care, my lord. You will not survive a rigorous journey by wagon. But yes, a riverboat would in fact be preferable, provided it goes somewhere you can rest and with the best possible healers."

Tywin's tongue shifted in his mouth. Without a word, Maester Carden moved to his bedside and filled a cup of water from a jug. The cup was brought to Lord Lannister's mouth and he drank.

"Thank you, maester," Tywin said as the cup was withdrawn, "Go and prepare such a wagon for me, quietly, and then return to instruct the maesters of our host what will be required of them. I will see you well rewarded for what you have done here this night."

Carden's face remained blank as he bowed his head and departed, leaving his fellows behind. He cares little for a reward from a Lannister.

"Where do you plan to go by river?" Kevan asked Tywin.

"King's Landing. We can float boats down the God's Tear, into the Blackwater and to the Red Keep. The Grand Maester can attend to me with Maester Hill. We have a number of riverboats at Harrenhal. I plan to depart ahead of the host, as soon as preparations are made. I shall bring a thousand men-at-arms with me to reinforce the capital. And I can prepare it for siege."

Kevan frowned. Is he mad? "You need rest, my lord. Not the heavy burden of the Hand of the King."

Tywin closed his eyes once more. "Should the capital fall, I shall be the Hand of the King no more. There is no one I trust to command it, save you. You must command the host. And I want my son back. I cannot do that from anywhere else." His words trailed off, and his chest gently rose and fell.

You have two sons, Tywin, Kevan wished to say.

But it was too late. Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the West was fast asleep.