At that moment, deep within the woods, Hall remained silent, his eyes fixed on the Prince Regent.
Aemond spoke with a faint smile.
"Once Jason Lannister is dead, the entire Westerland army will be left leaderless."
"When that time comes, I'll step in and save them. Then I'll temporarily bring those Westerland elites under my command."
Aemond continued.
"I also intend to use this war to ensure his death."
"After he dies, those elite Westerland troops shouldn't be thrown away to feed the fish."
He paused, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"I heard Jason's eldest son is only a year old?"
Hall nodded.
"I believe so."
"Then after Jason dies, I'll take his eldest son as my ward," Aemond said.
Hall swallowed.
Take Jason's son as his ward?
Wouldn't that be the same as holding the future of House Lannister in his hands?
Aemond had no objection to personally raising these infant lords.
If they were brought up at his side from childhood, he could cultivate their loyalty to House Targaryen.
Hall immediately lowered his head.
"Prince Regent, your wisdom is unmatched."
Aemond nodded and turned toward Harrenhal.
"Make the preparations. Once the royal guards arrive tomorrow, we'll have much to do."
"Yes, Your Grace."
...
The Riverlands, near the Red Fork.
The sun shone brightly as banners fluttered in the wind.
Lord Jason Lannister sat atop his horse, overlooking the battlefield below.
In the center of the field, more than a thousand Northmen were in full retreat.
They wore worn leather armor and carried crude weapons, completely outmatched by the well-equipped Westerland army.
They had held for barely a quarter of an hour before the charge of the Westerland knights shattered their formation, sending them fleeing in all directions.
"After them!" Jason shouted from horseback, raising his sword high. "Don't let them escape!"
The Westerland cavalry surged forward, hunting down the fleeing Northmen.
Screams, pleas for mercy, and the sound of steel cutting flesh blended together into a single cacophony.
Watching the scene, Jason smiled smugly.
"Lefford," he said, turning toward Lord Lefford Reyne beside him, "do you see this? This is supposed to be the North's main force?"
"A mob of rabble."
Lord Lefford frowned as he watched the fleeing Northmen.
Something about it felt wrong.
"My lord..."
"Could this be a trap?"
"A trap?" Jason burst out laughing.
"Lefford, you're far too cautious."
"We've slaughtered more than a thousand of them. How could this possibly be a trap?"
He pointed toward the fleeing Northmen in the distance.
"Look at those northern savages. They're running like rabbits."
"What kind of trap could a bunch of rabble like that possibly set?"
Lefford shook his head.
"My lord, that's not what I mean."
"It's just... I can't shake the feeling that something is off."
Jason's smile faded slightly, but his confidence quickly returned.
"Relax. Those northern savages are only capable of this much."
Lord Jason urged his horse forward, riding toward the center of the battlefield.
Lefford hurried after him.
Across the field, Westerland soldiers were clearing the battlefield and gathering spoils.
The bodies of the Northmen were being piled together to be burned later. Wounded northern prisoners were being held off to one side, awaiting their fate.
Jason rode up to one of the captives and looked down at him from horseback.
The prisoner was a young Northman, barely in his twenties. His face was covered in blood and dirt. One of his arms had been hacked off, hanging by nothing more than a strip of flesh.
The pain made his entire body tremble, but he clenched his teeth and didn't make a sound.
"Where is that wolf pup Cregan?" Jason asked.
The prisoner glared at him without answering.
Lord Jason elegantly drew his sword and rested it against the man's throat.
"Speak."
The prisoner's lips moved slightly, then he suddenly spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at Jason.
Jason tilted his head and avoided it. His expression darkened, and the next moment, he drove his sword through the prisoner's throat.
The captive collapsed to the ground, twitched twice, and died.
Taking a piece of deerskin from an attendant, Jason wiped the blood from his blade clean. Looking around at the soldiers, he raised his voice.
"Kill all these prisoners. We don't need burdens."
The Lannister soldiers obeyed at once. Swords rose, and screams filled the air.
Jason swung himself back into the saddle and looked toward the distant horizon.
There, the direction in which the Northmen had fled could still be vaguely seen.
"Pass down the order," the lord commanded. "The army will continue the pursuit."
Lefford hurried forward.
"My lord, shouldn't we regroup with the main force first?"
"The Prince Regent is waiting for us at Harrenhal. If we—"
"Aemond?" Jason interrupted with a cold laugh. "Let that child wait."
"Once I've cleaned up these Riverlands peasants and northern savages, it won't be too late to see him."
"But my lord—"
"Lefford." Jason turned to look at him, a trace of displeasure in his eyes. "Are you my bannerman, or Aemond's?"
Lefford fell silent.
Although Jason looked annoyed, he still offered an explanation.
"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
"The Northmen are only capable of this much. If we keep sweeping forward, it won't take more than a few days to wipe them out completely."
"Then we'll march to Harrenhal with that wolf pup and a train of prisoners. Even that boy will have to look at me differently."
The lord paused, excitement gleaming in his eyes.
"Just imagine it. Eight thousand elite Westerland troops sweeping across the entire Riverlands, slaughtering the Northmen until not one is left standing."
Lefford looked at the excessively confident lord before him.
He knew there was no point saying anything else.
Lord Jason had become completely carried away.
And so, under Lord Jason Lannister's orders, the entire Westerland host continued its pursuit.
In the distance, Cregan Stark sat atop his horse and looked back at the celebrating Westerland army.
A faint smile rested on his face.
"My lord," Rylly Karstark rode forward and pointed into the distance. "That fool is still chasing us."
Cregan nodded.
"Let him chase."
Rylly grinned.
"We've already lost four battles and nearly a thousand men."
Mounted on horseback, Cregan smiled.
"Then let him win another one."
"We're going to lose again?" Rylly blinked in surprise.
Cregan looked at him calmly.
"Rylly, what do you think is the most important thing in war?"
Rylly thought for a moment.
"Courage? Numbers? Equipment?"
Cregan shook his head.
"Patience."
Looking into the distance, he spoke slowly.
"Jason Lannister does know how to conduct a campaign."
"If he fought methodically, we might not be able to beat him."
"But he has a fatal weakness."
"He's far too proud."
Rylly nodded thoughtfully.
Cregan continued.
"Once his head is completely clouded by success, he'll chase after us without a second thought."
"By then, the hidden Riverlands forces will cut off his supply lines..."
A cold smile appeared on Cregan's lips.
"And we'll lead the Lannister army into the ambush site."
"Those eight thousand elite Westerlanders..."
"When the time comes, I intend to feed every last one of them to the fish."
Beside him, Rylly rubbed his hands together excitedly.
"I've been sick of those Westerland girls for a long time."
Cregan replied seriously.
"But don't celebrate too early. We still have a few more performances left to give."
Turning his horse around, Cregan started riding down the mountain.
"Pass down the order."
"Lose another battle."
"And make it look convincing."
Rylly flashed a grin.
"Yes, my lord."
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