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"Mm? The Vale cavalry will not help us attack Riverrun? Lord Baelish, what do you mean by that?"
At the crossroads, inside the command tent of the bright red Lannister camp, Tywin sat in the main seat. His eyes fixed on the smiling Baelish, and his tone was unfriendly.
"Lord Tywin, you may not know the situation in the Vale. From the early stage of this war, some great nobles in the Vale strongly urged Lady Lysa to join Robb Stark's army.
"The only reason we were able to send troops this time is that Lord Tyrion and I designed a plan to capture Rodrik Cassel and Yohn Royce.
"But after that happened, Andar Royce of Runestone was the first to declare that House Arryn had already perished. He claims Robin Arryn is the bastard son of Lady Lysa and me, now being controlled and used by House Lannister.
"Furthermore, he has restored House Royce's ancient style and proclaimed himself the Bronze King. He is mustering troops and has openly declared he will eliminate me, Lady Lysa, and Lord Tyrion.
"I did not invent these matters myself. Lord Tyrion also knows of them."
Baelish, who had been standing respectfully, felt Tywin's tone and explained with a bitter smile.
"Yes, Father. I can prove these matters are true. In fact, the Vale is even more chaotic than you imagine. After Andar Royce proclaimed himself the Bronze King, Gerold Grafton of Gulltown also declared Robin Arryn a bastard and proclaimed himself King of Gulltown. Lyn Corbray of Heart's Home followed them and proclaimed himself King of the Fingers."
Tyrion nodded, confirming the truth in Baelish's words, then continued with what he knew.
"Heh. Westeros is full of kings now. I hear Dorne and the Reach also have many self-proclaimed kings.
"It seems crowns are no longer forged with iron and blood, but with mouths and thick skin.
"Hearing you two say this, needing to deal with only one King in the North does not seem so bad."
After listening to them, Tywin sneered and mocked the many kings recently appearing throughout Westeros.
"Yes, Lord Tywin. There is only one king we recognize, and that is His Grace Joffrey on the Iron Throne.
"As Lord Tyrion said, the internal situation in the Vale is chaotic. Otherwise, we would not have brought fewer than eight thousand men.
"So even if I ordered the Vale cavalry to attack Riverrun, their commanders would not agree."
Baelish smiled. He first offered loyalty to Joffrey from afar, then sincerely told Tywin that he could not help with the attack on Riverrun.
"Mm. I understand. Very well, let me think. Tyrion stays. Everyone else may leave."
After hearing Baelish's words, Tywin waved his hand from the main seat.
"Yes, Lord Tywin."
"Lord Tywin, I take my leave."
Kevan, Stevron, Baelish, and the others in the command tent saluted and withdrew, leaving Tyrion, who was pouring himself wine.
"Father, what did you keep me for?"
After filling his cup and taking a light sip, Tyrion looked up and asked Tywin.
"What do you think of Littlefinger?"
With only father and son left in the command tent, Tywin made no attempt to conceal his contempt for Baelish, a man who had risen from brothels.
"He is clever. For now, he truly is working for House Lannister.
"However, Baelish is not as simple as he appears. During my time in the Eyrie, I made quite a few friends, and they told me many of Baelish's little secrets.
"That includes the new kings rising in the Vale. His hand is involved in that as well. His birth is too low, entirely unworthy of Lady Lysa. Perhaps this rebellion in the Vale is his chance to rise."
Hearing Tywin's question, Tyrion swallowed the smooth, mild wine in his mouth and answered with his view and guesses regarding Baelish.
"A clever man? Clever men never truly belong to any one camp. They see only profit.
"But clever men like that often die fastest."
Tywin spoke with meaning, then turned to Tyrion and instructed him,
"I will have Stevron take one thousand Frey cavalry with you to the Vale. No matter what method you use, I want you to avoid Littlefinger as much as possible and win over Lady Lysa."
"Heh, Father, you are sending Stevron with me because he is too noisy, always shouting about retaking the Twins, yes?
"Avoid Baelish and win over Lady Lysa? Impossible.
"Father, you did not see the lust in Lady Lysa's eyes when she looks at Baelish. Even I suspect Robin Arryn is Baelish's bastard."
Hearing Tywin's words, Tyrion rolled his eyes, his tone filled with disbelief.
"Lust? Then is that not exactly where you can show your talent? Have you not been quite experienced in that field over the years?
"Compared with lowborn whores, a noble lady of high blood and great power should be the best possible wife for you, should she not?"
Tywin's pale green eyes, glinting gold-red in the brazier light, fixed on Tyrion. His face wore a faint, unreadable smile.
Lowborn?
One word from Tywin's mouth lodged in Tyrion's heart. His face remained normal as he asked, "Father, you said I can use any method as long as I win over Lady Lysa, correct?"
"Yes. I said it."
"For example, having Myrcella marry Robin Arryn?"
Hearing Tywin's confirmation, Tyrion tested carefully.
"Mm. That suggestion is not bad. Their status would be fairly matched. But the premise is that House Arryn resolves the rebellion in the Vale and joins House Lannister's camp."
Tywin seriously analyzed Tyrion's suggestion and nodded.
"For example... having Jaime marry Lady Lysa?"
Tyrion nodded after hearing the answer, quietly watching Tywin while pretending to say it casually.
"Jaime? No. Though that was my arrangement when he was sixteen, their statuses no longer suit."
Tywin rejected it without hesitation.
"Status? I heard Jaime has already left the Kingsguard and become Joffrey's Hand. He can marry now."
Tyrion thought Tywin meant Jaime's Kingsguard status and answered.
"Mm. Precisely because he has left the Kingsguard. As the sole heir of House Lannister now, he cannot marry such a woman."
"I understand, Father. Tomorrow I will follow Baelish to the Vale.
"I take my leave."
Hearing Tywin's answer without the slightest hesitation, Tyrion felt deeply uncomfortable. After answering, he jumped down from the bench and walked out of the command tent.
Tywin did not care at all as he watched Tyrion leave. He had already begun thinking about the situation, murmuring,
"That little trout must be used well. Moat Cailin, the Twins, and Riverrun have already been linked together. This is not good.
"With the northern army assisting it, Riverrun cannot be taken for now. Better to digest all the territory already occupied in the Riverlands first. Grain... I wonder how much Clegane has collected."
Harrenhal had once been the grandest and most enormous fortress in the Seven Kingdoms. It had five colossal towers and equally massive walls. Its defensive walls were built with unbelievable thickness, and the rooms inside were tall enough even for giants.
But that was once.
After the baptism of Aegon the Conqueror and Balerion the Black Dread, the largest dragon in Westerosi history, most of Harrenhal had become ruins, scarred everywhere with scorched and cracked stones.
Only a small part remained habitable.
Still, because it had once been the greatest fortress, even that small habitable part was already comparable to Winterfell in size.
At Harrenhal, the corner connecting the old armory to the yard had been transformed by the Mountain's men into an open-air torture chamber.
A young man, stripped to the waist, was tied to a torture chair. A wooden bucket full of rats was strapped to his chest. A Lannister soldier held a torch and kept heating the back of the bucket.
As the bucket heated, the rats inside squealed wildly and desperately fled toward the other side. But a soft body of flesh blocked them, leaving no path forward.
As the temperature behind the bucket rose, they began tearing at the flesh that blocked them with claws and teeth, seeking a path to survive.
"Ah! I will talk! I will talk!"
The young man, who had been strong at first, finally collapsed under this torture of both body and spirit and screamed.
"Notebook, he is ready to confess."
The Lannister soldier holding the torch turned to another ordinary-looking soldier sitting nearby and chewing an apple.
"Crunch, crunch. Ready so soon? Fine, stop for now. Let me hear whether what he says interests us."
Notebook chewed the apple in his mouth, stopped the soldier with the torch, then said to the tortured young man, "Speak. I am listening."
"Take it off. Take it off first. Take it off, and I will speak!"
The young man had clearly been driven mad by the rats in the bucket and kept shouting.
The Lannister soldier looked to Notebook. Notebook nodded, so the soldier set down the torch, picked up an iron cage, stepped forward, and untied the leather straps binding the bucket.
Squeak, squeak!
Five or six large rats, their claws and heads covered in blood, fell from the bucket into the iron cage. The Lannister soldier shut them inside.
With the bucket removed, the miserable state of the young man's chest could be seen.
His bare chest had been gnawed and scratched by the rats until it was a bloody mess. Even specks of white rib could be seen within the bright red flesh, making it chilling to look at.
With such a serious wound on his chest, the young man still let out a long breath of relief. Clearly this punishment tortured the mind even more than the body.
"Do not waste time. Speak!"
"The ones who have been attacking your grain collection and prisoner convoys are the Brotherhood Without Banners."
"Continue."
"Their leader is nicknamed the Lightning Lord. His name, I heard them call him... Beric. Important people in their group include a red priest from Essos called Thoros, and a healer who claims to have once been a maester, called Qyburn..."
As Notebook heard him truly begin, he took out a sheet of parchment and a pen and started recording.
"Done? Nothing else?"
When the young man finished, Notebook confirmed.
"Yes. I promise there is nothing else. I told you everything I know!"
"Mm. I believe you."
Notebook nodded, put away the parchment, and said to the nearby Lannister soldier,
"Continue. The little darlings have not eaten organs today."
"Heh heh."
The Lannister soldier chuckled, then lifted the bucket and the cage of rats again.
"No, no! Kill me! Kill me quickly!"
"That will not do. The good show has only just begun."
The modified torture chamber happened to face the cells where prisoners were held. At this moment, the common prisoners inside squeezed their eyes shut, covered their ears, and trembled.
"The Brotherhood Without Banners. The Lightning Lord Beric. Thoros. Qyburn."
Rarely without his full plate, the Mountain sat in a high-backed chair and repeated the names in his deep voice. In his mind flashed a man he had personally killed, a man also named Beric.
'It cannot be him. I confirmed it myself.'
Shaking his head and throwing away that ridiculous thought, the Mountain asked Notebook, "Can the Brotherhood Without Banners' location be confirmed?"
Notebook looked down at the parchment in his hand, then answered, "Lord Clegane, the Brotherhood Without Banners seems to have been roaming near Harrenhal. According to the criminal's confession, their most recent appearance was west of the Gods Eye."
"West of the Gods Eye? I remember Amory Lorch went to collect grain from Acorn Hall's lands in that direction this time."
"Yes, Lord Clegane."
Tap, tap.
In the Riverlands, in the lands around Acorn Hall, a traveler with a strong build and a hooded cloak rode slowly along a dusty road.
Tap, tap, tap!
Suddenly, from behind her came the faint but rapid sound of hooves. The traveler turned and looked back. Smoke and dust rose high in the distance, showing that the number of riders was definitely not small.
This traveler was Brienne, who had lost Renly and felt as if she had lost the whole world. After coming to the Riverlands, she had wandered aimlessly, avoiding the kingsroad and choosing small paths so she could meet as few people as possible.
Who could have known she would encounter a large group of riders here as well? She roughly surveyed the road and saw that only a small hill ahead could provide cover.
Not wanting trouble, Brienne shook the reins and rode toward the hill. When she guided her horse around to the back of the hill beside the road, she discovered more than a hundred soldiers in ill-fitting armor, holding various weapons, already lying in ambush there. More than a hundred pairs of eyes were fixed tightly on her.
One soldier wore a faded red robe beneath chainmail and had his hair tied in a bun. He raised a hand in a gesture for silence, then pointed toward the direction from which she had ridden.
Seeing that these soldiers meant her no harm, Brienne nodded to the man with the bun, released the hand she had put on her sword, and dismounted.
She did not want to meddle. She planned to watch quietly and slip away once they fought the people being ambushed.
Tap, tap, tap!
"Ah!"
Along with the approaching hooves came a series of miserable screams.
Hearing the sound, Brienne tilted her head slightly and looked past the hill.
She saw dozens of riders under Lannister banners moving quickly on horseback. Behind the first seven horses, ropes dragged a prisoner each.
Farther behind them was a Lannister wagon convoy clearly transporting heavy goods.
Most of the seven prisoners dragged by the Lannister riders had been torn into bloody ruin and were already dead.
The remaining three had their hands tied and were being dragged along. They struggled to stand and run with the horses, but under the swift dragging, it was impossible.
"Haha! Get up and run with us like before!"
The leading Lannister rider, a tall and powerful man, was smiling as he encouraged the prisoners being dragged behind the horses.
"Later we should let those beasts taste the same thing."
Brienne heard the man with the bun whisper to a one-eyed soldier beside him whose right eye was covered with cloth.
"Do not worry. My lord will soon judge their crimes. They are here. Prepare."
Just as the one-eyed soldier said, the dozens of riders soon came along the small road before the hill.
"Pull!"
The one-eyed soldier gave the order. A thick trip rope buried in the dirt, with the other end tied to a stone, was yanked taut across the road.
Ah!
The front Lannister riders were instantly tripped, horses and men falling into chaos. Horses neighed and riders cried out.
"Brothers, charge! Kill these Lannister bastards!"
Seeing the Lannister riders fall for it, the one-eyed soldier raised his arm and shouted, rushing out from behind the hill first.
"Ah, Beric, do not be so eager! I have not yet given you the blessing of the Lord of Light."
The man with the bun was Thoros. Seeing Beric charge out rashly, he shouted in exasperation, cut his left hand with the sword in his right, and quickly spoke a few prayers.
Thoros's sword immediately ignited. Flames clung to the steel blade as if some unknown substance helped them burn.
This...!
Standing beside Thoros, Brienne was stunned by the miraculous scene. She had clearly seen that the red priest had used nothing to assist him. With only blood, he had made his sword burn.
Then she thought of the shadow killer with Stannis's face, and suddenly felt that the world had become so strange.
While Brienne was stunned, the Lannister riders and the Brotherhood Without Banners had already clashed.
The burly Amory quickly struggled up from the ground, shook his dizzy head, drew the sword at his waist, and entered battle.
Most members of the Brotherhood Without Banners were still commoners of the Riverlands, numerous and long suffering.
But after Beric's daily training and several attacks on Lannister soldiers, their mindset and actual combat strength were several times better than at the beginning.
Although their individual fighting ability was worse than that of Lannister soldiers, they used numbers to suppress them. For a time, the two sides fought evenly.
Rip!
Beric, who had already been resurrected twice, was unstoppable on the battlefield. Facing a Lannister rider chopping down from horseback, he showed no fear.
After lightly stepping aside to avoid the blow, he stretched out his gloved left hand, grabbed the enemy's sword, and forcibly pulled the rider down. At the same time, he turned and drove the sword in his right hand into the back of the rider's neck.
"Beric Dondarrion!"
After killing the enemy, Beric was about to deal with his bleeding left hand, cut from grabbing the sword, when he heard someone call his name.
Beric turned and saw Amory pull a sword from the chest of a Brotherhood member, his expression vicious as he headed straight for him.
Amory had once protected Cersei in King's Landing and served Jaime. So he knew Beric.
He had heard the Mountain say Beric had already been killed by him. Clearly, that news was false. But it did not matter. Amory was confident and prepared to make the news true.
Clang, clang, clang!
Beric and Amory were both fairly skilled with swords, enough to rank among the second-rate fighters of Westeros. They exchanged several quick blows, but neither could wound the other.
Drip, drip.
Blood kept dripping from Beric's left hand. Only now did he remember that he had forgotten to have Thoros add the Lord of Light's blessing to his sword.
As the thought flashed through his mind, he suddenly smeared his bleeding left hand across the blade and prayed, "My Lord of Light, your faithful servant prays here, asking you to grant me the strength to defeat my enemy!"
As soon as Beric finished praying, the sword in his hand burst into flames, startling Amory.
"Hmph. Beric, you have also learned Thoros of Myr's wildfire tricks?"
Amory quickly steadied himself, mocked Beric, and came at him again with his sword.
The two swords collided once more, but the heat of Beric's flaming blade kept roasting Amory, making him instinctively draw back.
Beric, having gained the advantage, pressed forward with alternating steps. His flaming sword traced X shapes as he chopped at Amory again and again.
Clang, clang, clang!
When the flaming sword collided with steel, sparks drifted down, beautiful and deadly.
Clatter!
After defending for too long, Amory finally made a mistake. During one block, Beric's flaming sword knocked his weapon away, and death seemed about to claim him.
Rip!
The sound of a sword entering flesh rang out. A Lannister rider attacked from behind, stabbing his sword into the right side of Beric's lower back.
Rip!
Sizzle!
Enduring the intense pain of being stabbed, Beric flipped his wrist. The flaming sword thrust backward from under his arm and went straight into the chest of the Lannister rider who had ambushed him.
The high flames did not go out even inside flesh. They roasted the rider's meat until it sizzled, and the smell of cooked meat drifted from his body.
Beric pulled the flaming sword back, and the corpse of the rider behind him fell to the ground. But because of that interruption, Amory in front of him had already recovered his sword and stood again.
"Heh, Beric, it seems the god you believe in cannot protect you.
"To preserve a noble's dignity, do you have any last words?"
Amory looked at Beric, who still had a sword lodged in his waist, and smiled like a victor.
'Am I going to die again? I truly dislike this feeling.'
Feeling his strength constantly drain away through the wound in his right lower back, Beric's thoughts flashed, and a helpless bitter smile appeared on his face.
"Lord Beric, if you meet a certain-death situation, drink this potion. It may help you kill your enemy."
Beric suddenly remembered the instruction from Qyburn, the Brotherhood's member with remarkable medical skill, before he had set out.
His left hand reached into his chest and took out a wooden tube as thick as a thumb and as long as a middle finger.
He flicked open the stopper with one hand, brought it to his mouth, and drank it without hesitation.
Amory quietly watched Beric's movements. With his battle experience, he saw the large amount of blood flowing from the man's right waist and knew Beric could no longer fight.
That was why, as a landed knight of the lowest noble rank, he had deliberately spoken of noble dignity to toy with the former Lord Beric.
Thump, thump, thump!
After Beric drank the potion, his heart began beating violently. The sound was so strong that even Amory seemed to vaguely hear it.
Beric felt his whole body heat up, as if all his blood began boiling and turning violent. He could not see his own appearance at that moment, but Amory's eyes widened in shock.
Thick blood vessels, like little red snakes, writhed constantly, gradually covering the exposed skin of Beric's body. His entire face was the same. He no longer looked human, but terrifying beyond words.
Feeling his condition to be excellent, the berserk Beric held the flaming sword in his left hand and pulled the sword from his back waist with his right.
During that process, he felt no pain at all.
"You... what are you?"
Amory asked in a trembling voice, no longer certain whether Beric counted as human.
"Die!"
The berserk Beric had no desire to waste more words. He pushed off hard with both feet and crossed the distance to Amory in a few swift steps, raising both swords to chop.
Rip!
By the time Amory reacted, Beric had already reached him. He could only barely raise his sword to block.
But irresistible strength came from the two blades in Beric's hands. It pressed down on Amory's own sword and, starting from both shoulders, split him from head to foot into three pieces.
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