"How bad is Jaime's injury?"
"It shouldn't be serious. But his hand... never mind. Let's keep talking about the war."
The Imp listened closely and realized his father had no intention of saying anything more about his brother.
Great Lord Tywin frowned, and a sharp gleen flashed through his green eyes. "From the very beginning, I believed Stannis was more dangerous than all the others put together, yet he has done nothing at all. As for Little Blacksmith, I assumed he would move slowly. I thought he would wait across the Narrow Sea for the right moment. I never expected Little Blacksmith to act faster than either Renly or Stannis, saving the Riverlands and crushing the Freys, every move as vicious as the last. I suspect they may have come out of the Vale, but that madwoman Lysa has shown no sign of movement, and the Eyrie is beyond our control, so we do not know the exact situation."
Stannis gave people the impression that he would never retreat and never yield. Most thought him stubborn, inflexible, and rigid in his sense of justice, while many also found him joyless and lacking in warmth. He was a famous commander, sailor, and warrior, and he held most of the royal fleet. Dragonstone was indeed far too close to King's Landing. It was only natural to regard Stannis as a grave threat. Even Cersei feared the two brothers so close at hand most of all.
"Now it seems you were wrong. That boy is going to give us a great deal of trouble," Tyrion said. His head was absurdly large, and his features were ugly.
"We can't take all the blame for this," Ser Kevan said. "Most of the reports the Spider sends from across the Narrow Sea are vague at best, scraps here and shadows there. Sometimes I truly doubt his competence. The news about the dragon and the wild stag came only in bits and pieces. We didn't even know about something as major as the enemy landing."
"No matter what, the three Storms have already begun to move," Tywin said. "I always thought highly of Stannis, but it seems that delayed our efforts to gather intelligence on the others. Stannis really is the closest to King's Landing. Varys did have some information on him, that Stannis was building ships, recruiting sellswords, and had even brought in a shadowbinder from Asshai. But what exactly does any of that mean? And how much of it is true?" He gave an irritated shrug. "Kevan, bring the map."
Ser Kevan obeyed at once. Great Lord Tywin unfolded the leather map and spread it flat.
"Jaime has left us a mess. To the north, a bastard holds The Twins. That useless Jared Frey had no clear idea of the enemy's strength, but to seize the crossing, they must have had at least five or six thousand men, most of them reportedly elite cavalry, which happens to make up for the North's lack of horse. Worse still, the road south is now open to the Northerners. If those two forces join as one, that will be a tremendous problem. On the other side, Edmure Tully and Tytos Blackwood are holding the west. Unless we force a battle, we cannot withdraw to Lannisport or Casterly Rock. Edmure is a fool, but Lord Tytos has some ability. Jaime is still badly wounded, and with that his army might as well no longer exist. Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion will go on harassing our grain convoys. Farther afield, to the east we have House Arryn and Stannis Baratheon entrenched on Dragonstone, while to the south Storm's End has already assembled its forces and stands ready. As for Highgarden, I would wager they are choosing a better master. And farther east still, across the Narrow Sea, the great fleet of the Twin Cities Alliance and its so-called hundreds of thousands of troops have yet to appear."
Tyrion smiled slyly. "Father, don't worry. At least Rhaegar Targaryen hasn't come back from the dead."
"Tyrion, I hope you can offer something useful, not merely wag your tongue," Tywin said.
"Then let me give you my view." Tyrion cleared his throat. "The urgent thing is to throw our enemies into confusion. We cannot allow another grand alliance of eagle, fish, wolf, and stag to form, or we won't be able to move at all."
"And how do we throw them into confusion?" Great Lord Tywin said. "Everyone knows an alliance is the natural course."
"Cooperation is difficult, but chaos is much easier. There is only one cold iron chair, but we have kings to spare," Tyrion said. "Besides, Robb is not Eddard, and Gendry is not Robert. There is no real bond between them. They are not like Robert and Lord Eddard, who were as close as brothers, and now Eddard is gone. On top of that, Stannis and Renly already distrust each other. As for House Arryn, that madwoman Lady Lysa is even less likely to send troops. It is more likely that only some Vale lords are acting on their own. So this alliance of wolf, fish, eagle, and stag is nowhere near as solid as it was decades ago."
"Go on."
Tyrion continued, "We have three valuable hostages in King's Landing. The old wolf and his two daughters. And would young Robb willingly kneel to someone else?"
"In fact, it is two," Tywin corrected his son. "Eddard's younger daughter ran off at the time. We still haven't found her, and we do not know whether she is dead or alive."
"Then we can pretend we hold both little girls." The Imp blinked.
"Hm, perhaps we can offer the young man something bright and glittering. A position, a marriage alliance, or something else. A crown," Tywin mused. "But Eddard would never be released so easily. We would need Robb to declare himself for us."
"The crown of the King in the North?" Tyrion said in surprise. "That price is far too high, Father."
"Only temporarily. This is my worst, absolute worst consideration, and you should understand that. So long as they obey, Renly is far more generous than we are. Besides, what can we squeeze out of the North, poor as it is? The Northerners have always gone their own way and have little dealings with the green lands." Tywin cleared his throat. The North and Dorne, because of their distinct climates and beliefs, had always stood far apart from the other kingdoms.
Tyrion said nothing. In truth, throughout the history of Westeros, unity had been the rare exception, while division had been the rule. But if the throne had to be secured by ceding territory, that king would be shamed beyond measure. Even Joffrey would never agree to such a thing.
"We really do have too few allies," Tyrion said bluntly.
In truth, the Imp felt much of the blame lay with Tywin's ruthless methods and his refusal ever to bow his head. Decades earlier, he had already alienated Dorne. And now the lion had come out of the Westerlands and trampled the Riverlands, striking hard even at in-laws like the Freys. Not to mention the marriage alliance Robert had once arranged with the Starks, which had turned into a complete disaster in practice. By now, everyone already despised one another.
"The opening cannot be salvaged now. What matters is what comes next," Tywin said heavily. The Westerlands were strong, but even Tywin felt more and more like an isolated man.
"Between great houses, it always comes down to marriage alliances and offices. And when it comes to marriage, my sister has three children," the Imp pointed out. "A pity we're facing four houses watching us like hawks. Stark, Arryn, Martell, and Tyrell."
"We'll discuss that later. The urgent matter is stabilizing the situation first," Tywin replied.
The Imp argued no further. He had plenty of thoughts about marriages and alliances. The Westerlands were powerful, but not powerful enough to fight several enemies at once.
"There is a great difference between collapsing in name and collapsing in fact. The Iron Throne may already have split into several pieces, but until the very last moment, we must not make such a rotten move. Let us think of other gifts first," Tywin said.
"The alliance between Renly and Stannis still hasn't been settled. It seems Renly is about to make his move," Kevan added. "Renly lacks a great fleet, while Stannis lacks a land army."
Most men believed that if civil war broke out, Renly would almost certainly win. Stannis's weakness lay in his lack of troops and the fact that no one was moving for him. In times like these, who would think of something as strange as magic?
"Let them fight each other," Tywin said. "Tyrion sees it clearly enough. Kevan, how do you think we should move now?"
Ser Kevan studied the map and frowned, the lines on his brow deepening. "At present, Gendry has the support of Edmure Tully and the Riverlands lords, so his total strength is not weak. And we still have the Northerners behind us, not yet on the move... Tywin, if we remain here, I fear we'll be struck from three sides."
The Imp looked at the map. Even if House Arryn sent no troops, if the Riverlands forces cut off their line of retreat, the Direwolf raided the Westerlands, and the stag advanced along the kingsroad, then they truly would be under attack from three directions.
"In truth, it's not only three," Tywin said. "If the Arryns and the Crackclaws move as well, we will have no road left at all. Fortunately, things have not worsened to that point yet. We can still fall back."
The Imp understood what his father meant. There would be no more attempt to besiege The Twins. The front was too long and too dangerous.
"Then are we still blocking the river?"
"That is not realistic."
"I do not intend to stay here any longer. Before Storm's End sends out its army, we need to settle the matter of our retreat. Whether through peace or war, I cannot allow Little Blacksmith and the Direwolf to join forces. I am not too worried about Little Blacksmith. He may be bold, but after days of bitter fighting, he will not send troops to pursue us. Across the Narrow Sea, I have given gifts to those cheese mongers and butter merchants. Those fools ought to stir themselves a little. Once he leaves, the pressure on us will ease greatly. So at first light tomorrow, we march for Harrenhal. Kevan, order Adam's scouts to conceal our army's movements. Give him as many men as he wants. Four men to a squad. I will not have more disappearances..."
"At once, my lord. But... why Harrenhal? It's a grim and ill-omened place. They say it's cursed."
"Let them talk," Great Lord Tywin said. "Find Ser Gregor, Ser Amory... no, forget that. Pick two savage but clever knights and have them lead butchers who enjoy killing to ravage the countryside. Send out our sellsword captains as well, and that fool Jared too. Three hundred cavalry each. Tell them this. From the Gods Eye to the Red Fork, I want the Riverlands turned into a wasteland."
The Imp studied his father's expression. He was clearly most vexed by the loss of his two good dogs. This slaughter would once have belonged to the Mountain and Ser Amory.
"My lord, you shall have it," Ser Kevan said as he rose. "I'll go issue the orders at once." He bowed and withdrew.
Once only father and son remained, Great Lord Tywin glanced at Tyrion. "Your savages may have a taste for plunder as well. Go and inform them. They may ride out and pillage as they please. Whatever they fancy, goods, livestock, or women, they may seize. Whatever they do not want, they may burn."
"Teaching Shagga and Timett how to loot would be as pointless as teaching a rooster how to crow," the Imp said. "But I would rather keep them by my side." They were rough and hard to control, but they were still his men. The Imp understood the difference clearly. Great Lord Tywin's forces and his own were worlds apart.
"Then you had best learn how to keep them in hand. I do not want to see them robbing and plundering inside the city."
"In the city?" the Imp said, confused. "What city?"
"King's Landing. I'm sending you to court."
That was the last thing the Imp had expected. He raised his cup and drank as he thought. "Sending me to court to do what?"
"To govern," Tywin said bluntly.
Tyrion burst out laughing. "My dear sister is not likely to approve."
"She can say what she likes. Someone has to keep her son in hand before he ruins us all. I believe this is the work of those slippery great lords around him. Our friend Petyr, the venerable Grand Maester, and that gelded fool Lord Varys. What were they doing while Joffrey committed one idiocy after another? ..."
The Imp listened carefully. Joffrey's antics truly were outrageous.
Little Joff had raised that butcher's boy to be Great Lord of Harrenhal, which was absurd enough already. Harrenhal. That was a king's castle. With so many other holdings available, why choose that one? Then came the public killing of "Eddard" in the Great Sept. Killing him was bad enough, let alone doing it in the Great Sept, and from the look of it Joff seemed to have decided it on a whim. Then there was the Hound. How could a dog possibly take the place of a white cloak? One outrage after another, all of it unbelievable.
As for the Small Council and the machinery of the realm in King's Landing, it was truly a case of every sort of specimen gathered in one place: the widowed queen mother, the boy king, the eunuch master of whisperers, the half-buried old scholar, the fool Littlefinger, the butcher-born commander of the Gold Cloaks, and now a dwarf Hand to round it all out.
The Imp could not help feeling pleased. He wanted very badly to see the look on his sister's face when he appeared.
He straightened his chest. Whatever else he was, he was still a lion.
The Imp felt he was worth something after all. Even if it was only a little light, he was willing to burn for the Lannisters.
...
In the early morning, through the thin mist.
Ser Brynden Tully rode forward himself, surveying The Twins tree by tree and wall by wall. The Blackfish had already shed the heavy armor and helm of a Bloody Gate knight and changed into the lighter leather gear of a scout, though the obsidian fish still clasped his cloak.
House Frey might be sworn to House Tully, but they had always been defiant and unruly. The Blackfish knew that well enough. The Freys' habit of arriving late had made them notorious, yet their strength was undeniably first-rate, especially now that House Whent had long since fallen into decline.
"What is this?" The Blackfish rubbed his eyes. The twin-tower banners of House Frey were already gone. Flying highest above the battlements was a quartered banner on a golden field, followed by the banner of Seagard, then the banner of Runestone.
A group of cavalry came thundering out through a side gate as well. Most of them were knights in blue-purple cloaks and plate armor, all looking fresh and full of spirit. They were Seagard men.
"Ser Brynden," Lord Jason Mallister greeted him. He looked in excellent spirits, which was only natural, given how much he had gained in real terms.
"Lord Jason." The Blackfish was startled. "Weren't you supposed to be relieving Riverrun? Why are you attacking The Twins instead?"
"It's a long story, but under Prince Gendry's leadership we have already dealt the Kingslayer a crushing blow, saved the Riverlands, and butchered the Freys," Lord Jason said proudly. That was what victory did. It set the whole army aflame with confidence. "Prince Gendry, Ser Barristan, and Lord Yohn crossed the Green Fork first, then marched north to join us. We first smashed the Kingslayer in the Whispering Wood and cut off his sword hand, then struck three camps, relieved Riverrun... After that, we marched north all the way in a forced march, launched a night attack on The Twins, and imprisoned the Freys."
"This..." The Blackfish had never imagined events would move so quickly. The latest news they had gotten from captured Lannister prisoners was that the Kingslayer had routed Edmure, divided his forces to besiege Riverrun, and left the castle in grave danger. Yohn had gone off on his own, and that woman Lysa would surely have to face even more blame from the Vale lords.
Surrounding the Kingslayer, striking by night to save the Riverlands, striking by night again to butcher the Freys. The Blackfish's head was spinning. Every one of those battles sounded like something out of legend, yet they had been won so cleanly. The Kingslayer was a warrior famous throughout the realm, the Lannister soldiers were seasoned elite troops, and The Twins was a famously strong castle. The Blackfish had originally meant to join the northern soldiers in relieving Riverrun. He had never expected someone to shatter both the Lannisters and the Freys before he arrived.
"So, Prince, you have sworn yourselves to Gendry?" the Blackfish asked.
"You've heard of him. Lord Gendry the Breaker, King Robert's rightful heir. Great Lord Hoster has already sworn allegiance to him," Lord Jason said proudly.
The Blackfish understood at once. It seemed the Riverlands had already cast their lot. After help like this, the Riverlands could only bend the knee. But the Northmen were another matter. They would not be so easy to call.
"Butchering the Freys really was my brother's command?" the Blackfish asked.
"Yes." Lord Jason nodded. "Great Lord Hoster is certain the Freys are traitors."
The Blackfish understood that too. His brother Hoster would never have possessed that kind of resolve. This was clearly done to show loyalty to a new master. Still, for this young knight to act with such decisiveness and ferocity was truly a stunning debut.
"Young Lord Jon should already have informed you about the king's will. Has Young Lord Robb decided whether he means to swear fealty?" Lord Jason asked in a low voice.
The Blackfish shook his head bitterly. "He is still young. He is probably still making his preparations."
The castle gates opened again. Golden-cloaked guards emerged first, carrying quartered banners on a gold field: the charging black warhammer and crowned stag, the roaring three-headed dragon, the charging wolf pack, and the freed slave of Breaker. Then, with Barristan at his side, a tall knight in a golden cloak and black scale plate rode forward beneath a great horned helm.
The Blackfish found the banner and the giant horned helmet strangely unreal, like a jumble of things thrown together, nothing like the life-and-death struggle between dragon and stag years ago.
"Ser Barristan. Lord Gendry." The Blackfish dismounted and bowed. He naturally recognized the two knights before him. One was the most legendary white knight of all, the other a handsome, hard-featured wild stag, as though a storm itself had taken mortal form. One was white-haired with age, the other like the rising sun. "Thank you for coming to Riverrun's aid."
"Riverrun has already sworn allegiance to the heir, Lord Gendry. Naturally, we came to save it," Ser Barristan said.
"And your purpose? To cross the river, Ser Brynden?" Gendry asked.
"My lords, Jon reached White Harbor first with the will and the letters, so Robb was delayed for some time because of that. Only the vanguard has reached this place so far. Robb does indeed intend to cross the river," the Blackfish said.
"Forgive my bluntness, but is Young Lord Robb ready to swear already? And you, my lord?" Lord Jason asked directly.
"Never mind. I had better go back myself," the Blackfish said sincerely. "If Robb still wishes to cross the river, then he ought to come in person and make his intentions clear."
"Give him this." Gendry took out a badge and handed it to the Blackfish. Then he drew out a letter and passed that over as well. "Of course, you may read Great Lord Hoster's letter first."
The Blackfish unfolded the letter and drew in a sharp breath. It severed ties with Lysa, declared the Riverlands' allegiance, and named the Freys traitors. If it had not been written in Hoster's own hand, the Blackfish would have thought he was dreaming.
"This is a matter of great importance. You must keep the matter of Lady Lysa strictly secret."
"I understand." The Blackfish nodded, suppressing the storm raging inside him.
The Blackfish mounted and rode off, heading for the northern vanguard. He had left the Vale intending to fight for Riverrun and House Tully.
"They moved too slowly," Anguy said, curling his lip as he watched the Blackfish ride away.
"There was no helping it. The Northmen are ordinary folk, and Jon had to go back first to announce the contents of the letter, which delayed them further," the white knight said. "Marching south is a war of enormous expense."
"Robb can't easily control his own men either." Ser Barristan watched the Blackfish's departing figure. Robb seemed to be about the same age as Gendry, but the men under his command were the fiercest and roughest of the Northmen. That was no easy burden.
Gendry nodded. The North had its own realities. If not for the need to save his father, Robb's army ought to have been in the fields, preparing for winter.
The army Stark had gathered was neither the standing force of a free trading city nor a salaried guard. Most of them were common people: tenant farmers, field hands, fishermen, shepherds, innkeepers' sons, merchants, and tanners, along with a handful of free riders, hedge knights, and wandering swords eager for plunder. When their lord called the banners, they came to serve.
But not forever.