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Riding in the saddle with Jeyne behind her, Sansa Stark felt her heart beating up in her throat as they took a familiar path through the woods out into a clearing. The path was familiar only because they had traversed this same path not a few days past. After separating from Lady Nox, her sister Arya, and the Hound, the plan had been for them to head south a bit and let this Exalted Army pass them northwards before cutting west towards the Rose Road and later the Reach. But the day after they separated, Sansa felt something from the Force. Something…dark. It was the same feeling she'd had the day in King's Landing when everything had gone so wrong.
She'd hoped and prayed, to both the old gods and the Force, that what she was sensing was just nothing. But as they came into the clearing that held the small hamlet they'd stayed in for just a single night, her hopes and prayers were dashed. There were no children running about. No men working in the fields nor women tending the homesteads. There was just…silence. And even more noticeable was the fact that the Sept was gone.
"Shite," Osha growled, her sworn sword still trying to get use to controlling a horse beneath her, "somethin don't feel right about dis little lady."
"That's because it isn't right," Sansa replied tapping her horse with her heels and urging the beast forward as Jeyne whimpered and pressed her face into Sansa's back.
As they rounded the buildings, they caught sight of the Sept, or at least what was left of the Sept. But more than that, they found the Septon that'd been so nice to them. Dried blood covered his front and legs. His lifeless body swinging from the tree beside him by the rope around his neck. "By the gods!" Jeyne whimpered again, burying her face harder into Sansa's back even as Osha maneuvered her horse in front of them, her sword spear drawn and eyes searching the tree line.
But as disturbing a sight as the Septon was, his corpse was not what demanded her attention. No. That was the scorched ground and burnt remnants of the Sept that once was being erected in the center of the hamlet. Sliding off her horse, Sansa slowly approached the scorched ground on foot. With each step, she could almost hear…screaming? Yes. Screams. Screams of pain. Pleas for mercy. Yet…there were no mouths to utter them. These screams, these pleas… This pain… It was like a memory. An echo from the Force.
Arriving at the base of the Sept, a clear line of burnt and untouched soil, she knelt and gently brushed her fingertips across the soot-stained ground. Her head snapped back as the Force raced over her. Pain. Anguish. Fear. Despair. All rushed through her faster than Lady at a full run.
"By the gods old and new," Jeyne muttered from just behind her. She'd been so distracted that she hadn't even realized that Jeyne and Osha had drawn level with her, nor that the two had dismounted and tied off their horses. "Where…Where are the villagers?"
Sansa knew. Osha knew. And she was sure that Jeyne knew as well, though she was clearly in denial. Seeing something in the soot, Osha reached out with the tip of her sword-spear, flipping over a charred piece of wood. Beneath the wood was a pendant, a simple bronze Seven-star pendant. But it was one that she recognized. For she'd seen it being worn by one of the children of this hamlet just a few days before.
"And these kneelers call us Free Folks barbarians," Osha muttered, lowering her head and offering a quick prayer to the old gods. "Not even the worst of us would do…this."
Tears streaming down her face, something prickled at the back of Sansa's mind. Standing, she turned and stared down the path leading up to the hamlet. Walking towards them was a pack of men. A dozen men clad in golden cloaks. The Seven-pointed star displayed proudly on their chest.
"Shite," Osha growled as she saw that they were no longer alone. "You girls get behind me an – shite! Sansa!"
Sansa didn't hear Osha call out for her. Her eyes were fixed on the approaching dozen men in golden cloaks. Her ears filled with the screams of the Force. The men saw her and stopped. They all began looking at each other in astonishment. But the man in the lead didn't. He kept his eyes on her. Taking a few steps closer, Sansa stopped when there was less than a dozen paces separating her from the dozen armed men. No more than a year ago, standing like this would've frightened her. But now? Now she felt…nothing.
"You…You are gold cloaks. The guards of King's Landing… Yet you display the Seven-pointed star so proudly. Are you…part of the Exalted March?"
The leader's eyes passed over her from head to toe before shifting to over her shoulder towards where she knew Osha and Jeyne were standing. "Proudly," the lead man replied simply.
Unblinking, Sansa turned her head to look at the burnt remains behind her. "What…happened here?"
The leader's face didn't shift from the stoney look he'd been holding onto since spotting her. "They were punished accordingly on orders from the High Inquisitor."
"Punished?" she questioned.
The man gave her a curt nod. "A fate they deserved. They gave aid to heretics trying to flee. They were tainted and deserved their fate. It was my pleasure and honor to serve as the Seven's righteous hand and strike them down."
"Their fate?" The screaming of the Force grew louder and louder in Sansa's ears, her hands shaking by her sides. "They were women…children. Men seeing to their fields and their families. They did nothing but live their lives! And you…you all…did this?"
The man studied her closely. Then a small grin came over him as he rested his hand on the pummel of his sword. "Gladly, 'Lady' Sansa Stark." Upon having heard her name, the dozen men in gold all drew their blades. The leader, however, didn't. He just stared at her with a grin. "I thought I recognized you, girl. The little heretic slut strutting about the Red Keep like you belonged amongst us righteous followers of the Seven. I cheered when I heard your father was beaten near to death before being thrown in the Black Cells to rot. I gladly departed King's Landing with the Exalted March to have a chance to do the Seven's righteous work. And now, they have rewarded my faith and service to them by delivering you to me! It's a shame that you cannot be touched…but it will be my honor to watch as those two little sluts behind you are broken by the Inquisitors. Perhaps they will even allow me to join them in their education."
Sansa was near shaking. The screams of the Force. No. The screams of those who died here reaching a level that she almost couldn't hear her own voice speak. "Monster."
The man smirked. "No, I am not the monster. I am a faithful servant of the Seven. It is you, little heathen whore. You and your filth are the true monsters. And monsters deserve only one fate. To be hunted down and killed. Take the two whores through whatever means necessary. But the Stark girl is not to be touched."
The screaming ceased. Her shaking stopped. The world around her slowed. She could almost see the bits of mud splashing off the men's boots as they took a step towards her. Without thought, Sansa felt a warmth near her side. The distance between Sansa and the men disappeared as Sansa closed it in a blink of an eye. The world went green as her lightsaber cut through the air, through the man's armor and opening his gut before he was thrown backwards with a Force push from her outstretched hand.
She could hear the sound of men shouting and boots thumping on the ground. But it was strange. Like her ears were covered or she had her head under the water. Seeing one man charge at her with his blade tip pointed at her, she turned, her blade spinning around her body before slicing clean through the man. She wasn't her brothers nor her sister. She couldn't, and didn't, fight like them. Jon was agile and powerful. Robb was strong and skilled. Arya nimble and small. But, despite their differences, there was no doubting that all of them were incredibly skilled with a blade in their hands. But she was not. Even Master Nox told her that she would not be a swordsman, or rather swordswoman, like her sister and brothers. She could not fight like them. So, instead she danced.
Her blade was not a blade, it was an extension of her arm. Twisting and twirling through the air as she spun and moved around those near her as if she were in the midst of a ballroom dance. The men around her struck nothing but the air as she danced her dance. Her blade sung like a bard as she moved from one to the next, her feet daftly avoiding the slew of bodies she left in her wake.
Spinning one last time and stomping her foot to accentuate the end of her dance, Sansa breathed in short pants as she looked at the carnage around her. The dozen men were dead. Parts of their bodies; arms, legs, hands…even heads, laying a fair distance from the rest of them. And there was silence. No moans. No screams of pain. Nothing save for the sound of her breath entering and leaving her. She…She had killed these men. Killed them all. And she felt…nothing.
Hearing a single low moan, Sansa turned her eyes back towards where she started. The arrogant fool who'd led these men was clutching at his stomach while trying to push himself backwards away from the carnage. His eyes were wide with fear. Fear. He was scared. No, he was terrified. She could almost taste it.
Fully turning, she raised her hand, commanding the wounded man to rise off the ground and holding him in the air. She lifted him just high enough that his feet helplessly dangled merely a hands width from the ground. "Please…" the man groaned. "Wha…Wh… What are you…doing…to me?"
The man's plea did nothing more than to stoke the flames of fury within her. Curling her fingers in, the Force responded to her command and brought the man through the air towards her. "I'm merely doing as you said," she said, her voice like ice as she held up her lightsaber. "Killing monsters."
The man tried to fight, to scream. But it was useless. Her hold on him was too strong and he was powerless to do anything. He was pulled swiftly right onto the tip of her lightsaber. The green light sinking effortlessly into his chest and into his heart.
Deactivating her blade, she let the man's corpse drop to the ground. Just behind him were Jeyne and Osha. Her eldest friend was looking at her in wide-eyed astonishment and even a slight bit of fear. But Osha, her loyal shield, she was looking at Sansa with respect. Something that Sansa had honestly never seen from the former spear wife. At least not pointed in her direction.
"We have to search the bodies… They should have some silver or gold on them and it will help us," she said, calling back on the quick lessons on survival Lady Nox had given her before parting ways. "And they should have horses nearby. We'll remove any Lannister or King's Landing markers and use them. They're bound to be far better than our horses right now. We'll take them to the Reach."
Without waiting, Sansa slipped her lightsaber into its holster on her belt and went about scanning the bodies for their purses. Only half the men had one and while they were only able to collect a single gold dragon, a few pieces of silver, and nearly double in copper coins, it was more than what they'd had before.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Sansa turned and saw Osha standing just behind her. "You did good, girl," the former spearwife said, making Sansa feel proud.
Despite her pride though, she felt something…wrong. She'd killed these men. Looted their corpses. Yet… "I feel…nothing. I killed these men like they were nothing. Father said his first kill was hard. Jon and Robb said the same. Yet I feel…nothing."
"That's okay, Sansa." Her name drew a look from Sansa. Osha had never called her by her name before. It was always 'little lady'. "It's when you start enjoyin the killin, Sansa, that is when you should stop. But when doin somethin like this? These men deserved to die for what they did. Don't be feelin guilty for that, girl. You did a good thing here today. And showed that you are a true warrior. Just like yer brothers and sister."
Giving her one last pat on the shoulder, Osha went about checking the men's boots, seeing if any would fit any of them. Another tip from Lady Nox…and something Osha no doubt learned during her time as a spearwife. A good pair of boots were almost worth their weight in gold while on the road. Looking around, she saw a small pair of feet. They wouldn't fit her…at least not well. But given the current situation, she knew she couldn't be picky, so she took the boots off the dead man.
Jeyne looked more than slightly pale as she tried to pull a still fully intact traveling cloak off a man, only to cause his severed limb to roll away from his body and away from them. Moving away from her task, Sansa went over to her oldest, and quite frankly only, friend and put an arm around her shoulder. "We're going to be okay, Jeyne," she said quietly, pulling her friend in close. "I won't let anything happen to you. I swear."
Riding with his head held high at the head of over ten thousand men at arms, Lord Tywin Lannister stared down in contempt and disappointment at the display laid out before him. Riverrun was surrounded. That was perhaps the only good thing he could note. But the attacking army was a mess.
The gates cutting the flow of the Tumblestone and the Red Fork had been raised, flooding the moat and making Riverrun all but inaccessible to an attacking army. Just beyond the rivers, he could see the army's tents were unorganized. Men milling about without seeming a care. Corpses strung up and swaying in the wind. Some had even started to rot which would no doubt soon lead to disease spreading amongst the camp. No one was pressuring Riverrun. No boats being constructed nor walkways or bridges to try and reach the castle. The attacking army was standing around with their dicks in their hands and doing nothing. And worse yet, at a quick count he estimated the attacking numbers to be around ten thousand. Which was nearly two-thirds what he estimated the army should have numbered.
He had only managed to collect ten thousand himself from the Westerlands before crossing into the Riverlands. But he knew that there were another ten thousand a fortnight behind him, with perhaps another twenty thousand that would be ready to march within the moon's turn.
"No proper organization. No attacks at the gates. No calls for talks. No outriders to greet an advancing army," his brother, Ser Kevan, noted. Making Tywin's jaw tighten.
"Raise the banners," he called out, only just able to keep the anger out of his voice. It would not due for a commander to lose his composure. "Clegane. Get the men situated into camps. Then do what you must to bring structure and discipline to that rabble. But keep the deaths at no more than five."
Clegane grunted before wheeling his massive warhorse around and ordering the men to make for the camp. As he did, Tywin dug his heels into his own horse's flanks, urging the beast forward with his own honor guard close behind.
To his further annoyance, no one rode out to greet him and his host until he was nearly upon the general perimeter of the camp. To his even further disappointment, it wasn't his son who rode out to greet him. But a minor Lord he had no intention of knowing. "My Lord Lannister," the Lord called out to him from atop his horse as the man, and four others bearing sigils of the Faith of the Seven and a yellow banner with three small creatures scattered about, "I am Lord—"
"Where is my son, Ser Jamie Lannister?" Tywin cut in, not caring nor wanting the man's name or platitudes. "Why has he not led outriders to greet me properly as commander of this army?"
The Lord bristled, but wisely kept his rebuke to himself. "Ser Jamie is…resting in his tent, my lord. I can have my men escort you—"
"No need," Tywin cut in again, urging his horse forward as he scanned the sea of tents, looking for a command tent.
It wasn't hard to find. The large red canvas which had golden trim and with the sigils of the Kingsguard and the Lannister Lion standing tall beside one another, almost begging for an assassin with a sharp blade to come and take his son's life. Even worse yet, as he approached the tent, he saw only two guards standing watch near the entrance. Two guards that hadn't even noticed him until he was nearly on top of them.
"Lord Lannister!" one of the guards shouted, finally recognizing him as he swung down from his horse but a few paces from them.
Fixing the two would-be guards a glare, he motioned a few of his men forward with his hand. "Take these two and have them publicly flogged for dereliction of duty. Then find my son a set of proper guards."
The two men yelled in protest, but Tywin did not care. Stepping around the screaming men and entering the tent alongside Kevan. If he was disappointed at the sight of and shape of the war camp…then he had no words for his level of anger at what he saw within his son's tent. Nearly half a dozen bottles of wine…all empty and none of any decent vintage lay scattered about the tent. And his son, his golden son, his pride, was sleeping in a wine induced stupor on the far side of the tent.
Not making a sound, Tywin grabbed the still half-full bottle from his sleeping son's hand and proceeded to empty the remaining half over his son's face.
"What in the hells?!" Jamie shouted, flailing about and falling off his bed as a result. "I will have you flogged for…for…"
His son's words failed him as his eyes finally cleared enough to see his father standing before him. At that moment, he looked more like a pathetic fish fresh out of water gasping for air than the proud lion that he should be. Holding up the empty bottle, Tywin inspected it, not wanting to look at his son out of a deep sense of shame. "I have come to expect such behavior from Tyrion. Not from you."
Finally managing to close his mouth, Jamie scrambled drunkenly to his feet. Despite being in the midst of a siege, his son was without armor or even chainmail. Just a simple woolen shirt and breeches. How easy would it be for a Riverlander with a sharp blade and enough courage to end him? "Father…I –"
Tywin didn't give him time to make excuses. Without warning he buried his gauntleted fist into his son's gut, forcing the air from his lungs and dropping him to the ground. The sight was…pathetic. Though he wasn't sure which was more pathetic. The fact that his son was heaving up wine onto his boots. Or the fact that he, a man well into his later years, had managed to land a blow on perhaps the greatest swordsman in all the Seven Kingdoms.
Unable to take the sight any longer, he turned back to the entrance and called for his guards to enter. Two men entered, and Tywin fixed them both with a look that made it clear that neither would be speaking of the sight before them. "You two will take my son to the river and throw him in to sober him. Then after you pull him out, throw him in again to cleanse the smell of wine from him. Then throw him in again to make sure the message is sent. After that, see to it that he is properly dressed, armed, and armored as befitting his status as a Commander of this army. And not a word of this shall ever leave your lips."
Turning his back on his son, Tywin paid him no mind as Jamie was dragged unceremoniously from the tent by his arms. Either because there was no fight in him, or he had indulged to the point where he could not properly fight back. Regardless, he would be having more than a few words with his son. He had raised Jamie far better than…this. Walking back over to the table in the center of the tent, he looked down at the blank map of Westeros that was laid out on its surface. A map that was being held down with empty wine bottles.
"Send the word for any Lord with sufficient rank that I am holding a war council. Now." Tywin called out to his brother Kevan as he began picking up and tossing the empty wine bottles off the table.
Kevan, knowing him better than perhaps any other, said not a word as he gave him a curt nod before leaving the tent and barking out orders to the guards to begin collecting the Lords of note.
'How did it come to this?' he thought with despair, as he threw the last bottle off the table. 'For decades I have worked to restore House Lannister to its rightful place as the premier noble House of Westeros. And I succeeded. My daughter became the Queen. My grandson the heir to the Iron Throne. My niece is now knowledgeable enough of the magic that has resurfaced with the Sorcerer's arrival that she had been gifted one of his weapons that puts even Valyrian steel to shame. A new source of wealth for the Westerlands outside of our goldmines with the production of fine paper and the printing presses. And now? It all stands on a knife's edge. My grandson declaring a holy war against a man that should not be trifled with and a land that was only cowed by the strength of dragons. My daughter doing nothing to control her son. My heir acting more like a drunkard rather than a Commander of a large host. It's…shameful…that the only one of my children and grandchildren that have proven their worth thus far is…Tyrion.'
Hearing the tent flap shifting, Tywin broke from his musing to see the Lord who'd greeted him at the edge of the camp make his way into the tent. The man made some passing pleasantry towards him, but Tywin said nothing. As time passed, a few more Lords began to arrive, each of whom offered some platitude towards him. And each of which was subsequently ignored as Tywin kept his gaze on the map laid out before him. The last to arrive in the tent was his son, now properly dressed and his hair still wet, with Kevan. Though with the two of them was a third. A Septon judging by the man's robes and the Seven-pointed-star emblem on his chest.
His son wisely, perhaps the first wise decision he'd made since leaving King's Landing, did not say a word to him. Turning his attention away from the Lords, Tywin grabbed a nearby chair, the only chair in the tent, and pulled it up to the table and sat down so that he was on one side of the table and the various Lords under his command were on the other. He did not have more chairs brought in. No, these fools had not yet earned the right to sit down with him.
"Let us begin with your failures," he stated stonily, leveling his gaze at each Lord in turn. "This camp is pathetic. No organization. No guards. No sanitation. No outriders to greet an approaching force. Nothing. Disease and disorder will kill us long before the Northmen get a chance to. Clegane is out right now setting the camp to rights. And he will set it to rights no matter who he must kill or maim. Am I understood?"
He didn't give the Lords a chance to protest or answer before pressing on. "Riverrun is home to House Tully, kin to the Starks. Yet Riverrun is not under siege. No talks are being held. You lot are standing around with your dicks in your hands, puffing out your chests and polishing those Seven-pointed emblems you are all so proud of. And with each day you waste, our enemies are given another day to prepare. An enemy that cannot be taken lightly."
Again, he paused to stare at each Lord in turn. "I estimated that after leaving King's Landing and traveling through the Crownlands and the Riverlands that this army would easily number at least fifteen thousand. A number which would swell to well over twenty-five thousand once I had arrived with my advance force. Yet as I arrived, I saw less than ten thousand. I will ask this once. Where are the other five thousand men?"
His eyes first sought out his son for answers, but Jamie refused to meet his eyes.
"They were zealous and eager to take the fight to the Northern heathens," the Septon answered, a smile on his face. "They continued up the Kingsroad and have by now reached Moat Cailin. By the time we join them, we will have a foothold in the North and our conquest of the heathens will be no issue."
Tywin looked closely at the Septon. There was something…off about the man. It took him some time, but he saw it. The slight tightening around his eyes. The way he held himself. The way he spoke. He knew it. This man—no, this beast—was a monster. Perhaps not a battering ram of a monster like Clegane. But he was a monster. Sure, there were many that called Tywin himself a monster. But he wasn't. No, he merely held the leashes of monsters and used them to do what needed to be done. And as the one who held the leash, he could tell that this monster before him in the clothes of a Septon needed to be dealt with immediately before he caused any damage. Or repair any damage that he had already caused.
Resting his elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers and leaned forward, staring at the Septon. "And who are you, a mere Septon, to speak with such confidence on matters of war?"
The Septon seemed taken aback. Apparently, none here had bothered to put him in his place yet. So, it was of no surprise to Tywin that the man puffed out his chest proudly as he announced himself. "I am High Inquisitor Ramsey Rivers. Appointed by his grace, King Joffrey Baratheon the Blessed to oversee the Exalted March, and act as his eyes and ears. And to educate the heathens and bring them into the light of the Seven through any means necessary."
Tywin said not a word as he slowly rose to his feet. "Your hand, High Inquisitor."
The Septon's face faltered only slightly, unsure of just what was going on. Slowly, the Septon brought his hand towards Tywin over the table that separated them. Grabbing the younger man's wrist in his left hand, Tywin slammed the Septon's hand against the flat of the table before drawing his dagger with his right hand and stabbing through the Septon's hand and into the table beneath. More than a few men gave of cries of alarm, and the Septon's eyes widened in pain and as his jaw flapped up and down as the man tried to hold back yelling in pain.
"You think you are in command of this army," Tywin said, slowly twisting the blade back and forth, spreading the bones in the man's hand with the flat of his blade, bringing enough pain to the Septon that cries of pain finally broke free from his lips. "You are not. I am Commander of this Exalted March. And when I am not here, then Ser Kevan is in command. When neither of us are here, then my son, Ser Jamie, is in command. Further chain of command will be determined before we march again. But know that you and your 'Inquisitors' will have no say in command, or any decisions made by this army. You will preach to the men. You will question traitors, prisoners, or heathens that are found. But only when you are given approval to do so. If you and your Inquisitors so much as try and command the placement of a latrine, I will have the lot of you whipped for your insolence. Do I make myself clear?"
Twisting the blade once more, Tywin roughly ripped the blade free from the Septon's hand, causing even more damage before wiping the blood off on the panting Septon's clothes. "Leave. And have a Maester see to your hand," Tywin stated coldly, sheathing his dagger and taking his seat once more.
The Inquisitor grasped his hand, trying to stem the bleeding and rose to his full height. Clearly, the man wished to press what just transpired, but Tywin kept his face stoney and unyielding. Unfortunately, the man seemed to possess some semblance of a mind and instead of pressing the issue, which would give Tywin cause to have the man killed outright here and now, he instead turned and fled from the command tent, leaving more than a few confused and fearful men behind.
"Lord Tywin," one of the Lords in the tent said slowly after the Inquisitor left them. "Forgive my saying and I mean no ill towards you…but I do not believe that was wise. High Inquisitor Ramsey is a man of the Faith. One chosen by the Seven to educate the heathens and bring them salvation. It is not proper to treat one chosen by the Seven so."
Folding his hands once more, Tywin met the eyes of each man in the tent. "Tell me. How long have the Seven tried to claim the North? How long have the Andal's tried to eradicate the faith of the Old Gods? How many times have armies that've marched against the North claimed that they were chosen by the Seven to do their work? And how many times have the Andals failed? Don't bother trying to answer. The answer is the same regardless. Each time the South has brought war to the North, either to claim the North or to eradicate the last bastion of the old gods, it has failed. Despite weakening during the reign of the Targaryen's, the strength of the North and the faith in the old gods is now greater than perhaps at any point in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. Do not deceive yourselves. The Seven do not care about this war. If they truly cared about the eradication of the old gods and the conversion of the North to the Faith, then it would've happened centuries ago."
He let that thought sink into their feeble minds for a moment before pressing his point. "Make no mistake. Even without the powers of the Sorcerer and his Apprentices, none of whom should be underestimated, the power of the North has never been greater. They are united fully and wholly behind House Stark. And each foot we step into the North will need to be paid for with blood. We have two advantages that we must make use of. Our superior numbers. And the fact that the North was wisely not initially informed of the Exalted March. Though make no mistake. They do know. They may not fully believe it, but they do know. That slight advantage though is now lost to us thanks to those five thousand fools rushing headlong for Moat Cailin."
"But, if the North is not organized, then those five thousand should be able to easily take the Moat and give us a clear route North." Another lord spoke up.
Tywin wanted to roll his eyes. Surely, he was not cursed so to be forced to suffer such idiocy? "The Moat has stood since before recorded history you fool." Tywin countered, narrowing his eyes at the fool who dared to speak. "Even in disrepair, which is no longer entirely true as the Starks have been pouring coin and manpower into the Moat for years now, a small garrison could easily hold back a force of five thousand to allow for reinforcements to arrive. All those fools have done is make true the reality of the Exalted March to the North and cost us five thousand in the process."
The same Lord who'd spoken looked uneasy. "We…We could send a raven to the Twins? Perhaps Lord Walder could send a runner to the men and prevent them from reaching Moat Cailin."
Tywin scoffed. "There is no point. Those men are already dead. Or soon will be. No messages will be sent. Now, what is the situation with Riverrun. Have demands been made?"
All eyes turned towards Jamie, so Tywin turned his attention to his son. To his credit, Jamie did keep his back straight and his head up, but he could easily see the unease rolling off his son. "Calls were made upon our arrival. But Lord Tully had already flooded the rivers and raised the bridges leading into Riverrun before we arrived. All calls and…demonstrations have been met with silence."
Apparently, the lessons he had tried to impart upon his son and heir never took hold. "I see," he said calmly, rising from his chair. "Jamie, with me. The rest of you see to it that this camp is in order before nightfall. We will be leaving in the morning to continue onwards to the North."
He ignored the men nodding and bowing to him as he swept his way out of the tent, Kevan and Jamie on his heels as he walked towards the main draw bridge that would lead into Riverrun. Arriving at the river's edge, Tywin carefully examined the ramparts of Riverrun. He easily noted the dozens of defenders that were manning the walls. None of them had weapons in hand that he could see. Nor did there seem to be any urgency or panic amongst the men of Riverrun.
"Should we…announce you, father?" Jamie asked hesitantly.
Tywin didn't answer him. Instead, he just stood silent, watching the gates of Riverrun. He knew Hoster Tully. He'd originally planned on having Jamie marry Lysa once upon a time, so he'd had more than a few correspondences with the man. Through those ravens, and the few times they had met in person, he had a good measure of the man. So, he was unsurprised when the gate shook, and the chains rattled as the draw bridge slowly lowered and extended, forming the bridge over the Trident.
"Stay here and stay silent," Tywin commanded as he saw none other than Hoster Tully waiting on the other side of the gate. "Perhaps you will finally learn something."
Hand resting on the hilt of Brightroar, Tywin walked forward, uncaring of the Tully men at arms that were pointing arrows at him as he walked. As he reached the midway point, he stopped and waited.
Hoster was not nearly as quick in coming forward. Apparently, the news of the man's fading health held true as he required aid to start moving forward and could only apparently walk with the aid of a cane. Foolish. The man was showing just how weak he was in coming out in such a manner. He should have ridden out on a horse, at least then he would've been able to hide his weakness better.
"Lord Tully," he greeted the man as he finally came just outside of arms reach.
"Lord Lannister," Hoster greeted him back. "I trust that you are here to take this rabble off of my castle's doorstep?"
Tywin didn't bother to answer. They both knew the answer to that question. "King Joffrey Baratheon has called the banners against the North. You are sworn to the King. Yet your banners remain behind your walls. Ignoring the orders of your King is treason, Lord Tully. Are you a traitor? Or has this armies hasty march merely left you in such a state that you have been unable to properly assemble your banners for the march north?"
"Treason?" Lord Tully responded lowly. "Family, Duty, Honor. Lord Tywin. Family is first because it is the most important thing we have in this wretched world. And the commands of the King call for me to march against my family."
"Your grandsons only. Your granddaughters are still in the south. And your daughter, the former Lady of Winterfell, is dead and already replaced with a foreign woman," Tywin countered quickly. "Can they truly be called your family, Lord Tully? Last they visited, both Eddard Stark and Robb Stark bloodied and insulted you and your heir before leaving. And during the Tourney of Harrenhal, the Starks seemed perfectly content to ignore House Tully. You may consider them 'family', but it is clear that they do not return the sentiment."
Taking a single step forward, Tywin purposefully put the two of them within arm's reach of one another. "And here you are. You have known about the King's decree for some time, yet you have done nothing. No riders have been sent North. Nor have any of your men gone north either. It is clear that you no longer consider the Starks family. Understandable, as they clearly do not consider you family."
Hoster growled, a low sound in his throat that sounded almost like a cough. "They are still my blood."
Tywin could see the man teetering on the edge. He just needed a final push. "And with your help, you can save them," he said calmly. "Sansa is betrothed to Willias Tyrell, that union will go forward. Arya will be put into your care, so that you may educate her as to a woman's proper role as a Lady of the Realm. I will not lie and say that Robb can remain as Warden of the North, he cannot. But he can live in exile in Essos with his wife, who is daughter to a Triarch of Volantis so he will not go wanting. Bran will inherit Winterfell after he swears his allegiance to his King, King Joffrey Baratheon. And I will even convince the King to permit you to foster Bran for a year to teach him what he needs to learn in order to rule as a proper Lord of Westeros."
Hoster licked his lips. Tywin knew he had the man already. The idea of having a direct hold on the Stark children, two of whom were set to be or be married to future Wardens of Westeros, was enough. Giving him the chance to hold and use Arya as a bargaining piece to further his own influence, and the chance to impress himself upon Bran was enough to push him over the ledge he'd been holding out on.
"The Princess, Myrcella," Hoster said, looking at him. "She will be betrothed to my son, Edmure."
"No," Tywin countered easily. "It will not be easy to truly quell the North, even after they surrender. A direct line to the throne by blood will be needed. Myrcella will wed Bran once he bends the knee. Though through this marriage, your blood will be tied to the royal family."
Hoster, though clearly not pleased with losing the chance to have a direct marriage to the royal family, nodded. "Then Arianne Martell for my son."
This was not an offer Tywin had foreseen. And though he managed to keep himself indifferent, he was silent long enough for Hoster to push his point on the matter. "Her betrothal to that bastard is a sham and you know it, Lord Tywin. The Martells, if they haven't already, will join with the North in their own attempt for vengeance for what happened to Elia and her children. When this March ends and the North is properly taken to task, Dorne will still need to be handled as well. What better way than to have my son, uncle to the Warden of the North, take the would-be Princess of Dorne as his wife? And…I will not let my daughter's memory be tarnished so by letting that bastard draw breath a day longer. The bastard dies, and Arianne is presented to my son. Those, along with the conditions you presented, and the Riverlands will faithfully bend the knee to the King."
Tywin was not completely pleased with these demands, though he could concede the death of Jon Stark was a necessity. He still held out hope that he could sway the bastard to the cause of House Lannister. But with recent events and the Exalted March, he knew that gaining control of the boy would now be nearly impossible. It was regrettable losing such a valuable piece in the game. But he would much rather have a piece removed from the board entirely instead of risking the chance of him turning against House Lannister in the future.
"Very well," Tywin agreed, reaching his hand out. "Ready your troops, and I will have an official decree ready by nightfall. Come morning, I will march to the North with the Exalted Army while our sons ready the Riverlands as reserves to gather at the Twins."
Hoster grinned and took the offered hand. "We have an accord, Lord Tywin."
Not bothering to waste any more time, Tywin turned and marched off the bridge. On land, Kevan was staring at him completely at ease while Jamie was looking at him in surprise and a slight amount of awe. "Remove that look from your face, Jamie," he said as he stepped off the bridge, a bridge which didn't rise as soon as he was off it. "A commander cannot afford to look surprised to the men he commands."
"Lord Tully has agreed to our terms then, brother?" Kevan asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," Tywin nodded as the three marched back to the camp with an opened Riverrun behind them. "There were two additional terms. The death of Jon Stark. And the Crown's endorsement of Princess Arianne Martell to Edmure Tully once the North has been brought to heel."
Making their way back into the command tent his son had previously occupied, he was pleased to see that the camp hands had made the tent somewhat presentable and had removed all wine and ale from the tent. Walking over to the bed, his son's bed, Tywin sat down and began unlacing his boots. "Come morning, Ser Kevan and I will lead the remaining ten thousand of the Exalted Army, as well as five thousand of our own men north along the King's Road," he explained, taking off his boots and tucking them under the bed. "Jamie, you will lead this army like you are truly my son and not some simpering drunkard. You will march alongside Edmure Tully and the remaining five thousand I have brought from the Westerlands. Together, you two will bring the hold outs in the Riverlands to heel and swell your numbers with those from the Riverlands and the second wave of men from the Westerlands. By the time I reach the Moat, I expect you to have the Riverlands well in hand and have the additional fifteen thousand from the Westerlands added to a force of Riverland men at arms and heading towards the Twins, ready to reinforce our assault of the Moat. Do you understand these expectations, Jamie?"
Jamie swallowed and nodded. "I do, father."
"Good," Tywin nodded, laying down on the bed. "My son or not, I will not tolerate a second failure on your part. Now ready the army to march at first light. We have lost far too much time and manpower here. We will need to move with all haste to make up for it. Now go. And make sure I am not disturbed for the rest of the night."