chapter 32

Kevan felt satisfaction at seeing the Valemen retreat. The counter charge by Ser Lyle Crakehall had blunted their advance. He had just received a report that Lord Nestor was gravely wounded and their captive now. The dead littered the field in front of the Lannister camp; the dying were put out of their misery, and the knights and lords given care.

With the center secure, he received orders from Tywin to secure the western flank and reinforce Ser Gregor. The North was proving to be a fearsome foe, mauling their levies, and Lord Brax had not been able to rally them properly. Those near Tywin were always quick to arrange a proper camp with proper defenses; however, the further you set up camp from Lord Tywin, the laxer the preparations became. No doubt that weakness had been exploited by the Starks.

His brother committed the rest of the reserves as Kevan moved his foot to aid the Mountain while allowing Ser Lyle to push across the Trident. By the time Kevan's forces arrived, the men under Ser Gregor's command were fleeing and the howling of wolves seemed to echo over the rushing waters.

Ser Kevan's foot was trained well and did not break with them and instead formed orderly ranks. Word still spread that the Mountain had fallen. Fortunately, the Starks did not press their advantage; instead, they were slowly retreating back over the Trident. Kevan gave the order to push forward, but the Stark line was unyielding. Karstark and Bolton banners held firm, and little traction could be gained. The fighting was bloody, and the damn wolves continued to sap the morale of his men.

Kevan tended not to fight right up at the front rank himself, but he was near enough to danger. A stray arrow struck his pauldron, and he cursed. Once the Stark forces had crossed the Trident, they made no further retreat. Instead, they rained arrows and death onto the advancing Lannisters, fighting at the river banks, to stymie any potential advance.

The sun was creeping over the sky, nearing midday. Kevan was not sure of the overall shape of the battle until a messenger found him. His brother was ordering him to leave a strong force to prevent any further Stark incursion while crossing the river where Ser Lyle Crakehall had. Kevan frowned; this marching, fighting and more for hours had sapped the energy of his men, but he hastily gave the orders, and the forces entrusted to him were moved east and then north across the river.

As he crossed with his men, he saw the Crakehall standard fall under a charge by Lord Stark.

"Advance – quickly before they can regroup for another charge!" Kevan bellowed out.

Ser Lyle managed to extricate himself with a handful of knights, while Kevan's soldiers tried to rush in to engage with the Starks. The Northern cavalry was too quick, however, and they regrouped back into the defensive works set by Stannis. Kevan could feel the mood shift among the Westerlands soldiers. The North was a terrifying foe, bringing down famed knights and filling the air with howls, both from the mouths of direwolves and humans.

Kevan ordered his men to halt and present shields while his archers tried to soften the entrenched foe. He turned to Tyrek, "Squire, find my brother and let him know we won't be successful in attacking Stannis. The men are worn down and demoralized. Tell him I will remain here and await further instructions."

Tyrek hastened to obey. With the brief lull in the fighting, Kevan's mind drifted back to what he'd seen in the command tent. That shadow creature had nearly won the war for Stannis, had it not been for his grandniece…

That was another shocking moment. Her obvious agility and skill were surprising. Her speed reminded him of seeing his nephew, Jaime, fight. Kevan knew that Cersei had been upset about not being able to take lessons in swords like her twin; had she lived vicariously through her daughter and had Jaime teach her the blade? Even with personalized training, her ability was astonishing – never mind the fact that she spotted the assassin first and hurled herself out of her chair, saving Tywin.

Kevan had never seen his brother so shocked – by anything. Tywin would no doubt demand that Kevan find a way to counter this sort of creature in the future. Valyrian Steel had been the only thing that seemed to hurt it; not even Ser Barristan's blade had slowed it. And Valyrian Steel was incredibly rare. With an effort of will, he dragged himself back to the present. Before he could work on that problem, he had a battle to survive, and hopefully win.

***

Eddard Stark had run himself ragged battling the Lannisters. He had replaced his mount twice in the fury of the fighting. The battle had started out well – the Lannisters on the western flank had not put up much of a fight. He and the Greatjon had torn into them with savage delight. But whatever scheme Lady Melisandre had come up with had not worked. The Lannister response was precise and had very nearly cut them off from the rest of the King's forces. Only his son's heroics had held the crossing – and against such a foe as the Mountain!

News had reached them that everywhere else the battle was going far worse. Fearing being cut off, Ned had ordered his men to beat a fighting retreat and then bottle up the pursuing forces on the north side of the Trident. At the same time, he hurried to relieve the center that had been pushed in. The main camp had already fallen under assault by the Stormlords.

Ned cut through the advancing Lannisters with his mounted force, and then extricated himself from the Lannister reinforcements still crossing over the river. The Lannisters seemed to be wary of charging forward, and he found a moment to take stock.

News was grim. The King was unconscious but unwounded in his tent, and it had nearly been overtaken. Cat's uncle had tricked the Stormlords into chasing after him when he took up the King's banner and men, shouting, 'Protect the King' as he rode away. Word was that Ser Barristan the Bold had fought and slain him personally after finally catching up.

Some of the Vale knights had rallied, and then the horns blew; the Lannisters were retreating south across the Trident.

"Thank the Gods," he spoke softly. The Greatjon was near him, out of breath and sporting a nasty spear wound to his cheek. Ned couldn't remember if the giant of a man had lost his helm at some point or had not bothered wearing one in the first place.

"You think we should go after them, my lord?"

"No, we've been fighting non-stop for hours, and any charge we made with these exhausted steeds would be a sorry sight." Ned paused, considering things. "I know we bled the Lannisters more than they bled us on our part of the battlefield. Our allies, from the Vale, Riverlands, and Narrow Sea, look to have had less success. Our numbers were roughly equal before this; I suspect the situation has not changed much. Time is on our side."

"Damn southerners, wrong Gods, wrong weather, and can't even fight for shit," the Greatjon groused.

Ned turned to the King's tent. He needed to see for himself in what condition Stannis was. He passed the two Florent guards without a word, lifted the flap, and entered. Inside were Ser Davos Seaworth, the Maester Pylos, the King's squires, Bryen Farring and Devan Seaworth, and Melisandre.

Ned looked at the King and frowned. The man seemed to have aged a decade or two since the night prior. His face was covered in sweat, but unlike a man in the throes of fever, he was unnaturally still.

"Maester, what ails the King?"

The young Maester looked lost. "My lord, I know not. He has taken no wound, has not even had an enemy lay eyes on him, thanks to the valor of Ser Brynden. If this is an illness, then it is one I know not."

Melisandre met Ned's eyes. "Azor Ahai battles not just in the physical realm, but the spiritual."

He narrowed his eyes. "Lady Melisandre, pray tell me, when will his battle in the spiritual realm be completed?"

"Only the Lord of Light can say for certain."

"It was your counsel that led to our failure on the field today. What can you tell me?"

Melisandre never lost her look of poise, but there was a hesitancy. She glanced down at Stannis and then met Ned's eyes.

"The King will likely not wake today, but I am hopeful for the morrow. Can you hold this position against the enemy?"

"Given the current forces against us? I believe so; our defenses give us an advantage where they will have to assault us uphill. However, this is only part of the strength of the Stormlands. We don't have eyes on the other side of the Trident. If the Stormlands bring up another 10,000 men before the Tullys can reach us, we will lose."

Melisandre pursed her lips. "Azor Ahai must survive to fulfill his destiny. Tonight, prepare a strong guard to take the King west toward the Tully army. You will hold, and should you fall, know that it will have been for a higher purpose."

The Lord of Winterfell had only met one other woman with such an absurd level of audacity. He shook his head in disgust.

"When the King awakes, I will have words with him. You nearly led us to ruin, and your visions cannot be trusted."

"The visions can be trusted; my interpretation of them – well, I am merely human. I am fallible; R'hllor is not," she replied.

Before Ned could respond, he heard the Greatjon let out a mournful cry. Quickly exiting the tent, Eddard looked to see what had happened. He saw the Umber Lord cradling another massive man, his son, who was unnaturally still. Eddard felt sorrow, but he knew this was what happened in war. All he could do was thank the Gods that his son was still among the living.

***

I was disappointed that Ser Barristan hadn't killed my uncle, but it had always been a bit of a long shot. I was even more disappointed with the effectiveness of the Westerlands in their battle against the Starks. My grandfather had taken more casualties than his foes, and their morale was shaken so much that he called a halt on counter attacking across the river into my uncle's camp.

I didn't want to leave Brienne, but I needed to get a better understanding of why we were halting the attack. The essential calculus shouldn't have changed. We needed to win big here, or we were in trouble. My idiotic sibling had roused a massive army against us. We couldn't attack with just the Stormlander forces, so I took Ser Barristan with me to see my grandfather. The sun had not yet started to set, so there was still time if we pushed soon. Though I would also accept a night assault.

Ser Arys shadowed us as we sought out my grandfather. Tywin was not at his command tent, and it was somewhat of a chore to find him. I ended up finally catching up with him in a much smaller tent without adornments.

Inside were Tywin, Kevan, and six Lannister guards. "Ser Barristan, have a seat; we have much to discuss." He turned to me. "A Lannister always pays his debts; you saved my life, Myrcella – I will not forget it."

I inclined my head while Ser Barristan limped slightly as he took a chair at a small table. I opted to stand. Tywin gestured, and the guards left the tent, leaving just us five.

"I will not pretend that it was appropriate for my son to give you martial training, but sometimes foolishness bears unexpected fruit," Tywin told me.

Kevan gave me a slight smile. "Ser Barristan has more experience and maybe even skill than my nephew, but no one moves faster than Jaime. Or at least that is what I would have said, until I saw what happened this morning."

I blinked. They thought Jaime trained me?

"Thank you for the compliments, but I fear my stalwart protector insisted on much haste in finding you two," I redirected the conversation.

"Lord Tywin," Ser Barristan began, "you ordered your men not to advance. This is our opportunity to take Stannis."

My grandfather met Ser Barristan's gaze cooly, "It was impossible. Our men were disorganized after the assault. With many of our great knights captured or laid low, morale was also a factor. We cannot afford to risk our field army and fail."

"If we do not act now, they will be reinforced by the Riverlands. The Tullys are marching with a host of perhaps 15,000. Once they join, it will be too late, and our odds of victory diminish," Selmy countered.

Ser Kevan responded this time, "That is true, but we have the Tyrells to consider as well. The enemy has attempted an assault and will be reluctant to try again anytime soon. We can take that time to travel south with haste and take Mace before he can assault King's Landing."

This… was stupid. The Tyrells were a fresh force, and we would have to march hard. They also outnumbered Stannis's army, especially without the Tullys. Why head south for a potentially harder battle? My grandfather was no fool, there had to be a reason.

Ah. I couldn't tell by looking at him. His poise was commendable; no outward sign of his fear showed. It was clear – the assassination attempt had spooked him. He wanted to get as far away as possible from any further summoned shadow creatures. He had even attempted to hide his physical location.

Ser Barristan looked uneasy; this wasn't one of the scenarios we had talked about. "You want us to go south and try to fight the Tyrells before fighting Stannis again?"

"No," Tywin responded, "I will go south. I will rendezvous with Lord Beric. You will remain here and slow down their advance. I do not expect you to halt it, but your name and the Stormlords' performance will give Stannis pause. Raid their supplies, slay their outriders, make them believe you plan to give them battle and then slip away. I do not need long, just enough time to lure Mace and deal with the Tullys.

Ser Barristan was stalling, surreptitiously glancing at me. I had enough of these games.

"Grandfather, there will never be a better opportunity. If we are successful here and capture or kill my Uncle Stannis, their alliance will fray and even crumble. Shireen is a sweet girl, but a grayscale-disfigured child kept from court is hardly someone they can rally around. If disorganization and morale is the concern, then let us take the afternoon and evening to rally our men, reorganize them and be ready for a night assault. Their defenses will be less effective…"

"Myrcella!" Tywin's voice was sharp. "War is not a game; allow the adults to speak on matters of strategy. Ser Barristan wishes you to learn, but you can learn in silence."

I gave my grandfather a smile. "Do not resort to attacks on my lack of knowledge; you can strike at my argument itself. I know what I am talking about, Ser Barristan, Maesters, and dozens of books, and more have taught me about warcraft. I am Robert Baratheon's daughter; do you think he never spoke to me of battles? Speak, grandfather, why the insistence on going south?"

I saw Tywin's jaw clench with anger, though he mastered it, partially. "I do not have confidence that we can win. It is as simple as that. They have a prepared position, they have captured my most fearsome knight, and Lord Robin Moreland and Lord Andros Brax are both slain. Attacking now would be folly."

Damn it! I could tell he was set on this course. I didn't have the numbers to take Stannis with just those under my command. The North would outnumber me alone, let alone with the Narrow Sea houses, the few Riverland houses, and the Royce contingent. I could sit here arguing, poison our working relationship, or I could gain something from it.

"You mean to use the Marcher Lords for your war with Lord Tyrell, leaving me with but half of the Stormlands' strength to face an army that will soon triple my size. I can slow them down, but I have conditions."

Kevan sucked in a bit of air. I assumed not many people placed conditions on Lord Tywin Lannister.

Tywin just stared at me with his green-gold-flecked eyes.

"First, I am told that Nestor Royce was gravely wounded and your captive – I want him."

Kevan interjected, "It was Lannister men who captured him; by rights…"

"Secondly, I need some of your men."

Again, Kevan spoke, "We need every man available; even with Lord Beric and the Crownlands, we will be outnumbered by the Tyrells."

"I am telling you what I need to be successful. If I don't get what I need, I won't follow your plan."

Kevan shook his head, "Ser Barristan, she is your liege lady, but not yet of age. Ser Cortnay gave you command."

Ser Barristan gave him an amused smile. "I have sworn myself to the Lady Myrcella Baratheon. My sword and honor are hers."

"She's just a child!"

"Is she?"

I tried not to side eye the head of my bodyguard detail, but I wondered what he meant by that.

Kevan scowled but relented his badgering.

I continued, "And third, my brother Joffrey must not be King upon his maturity."

Silence reigned in the tent. Even my grandfather widened his eyes at my last demand. After several heartbeats, Kevan looked again to Ser Barristan, who only looked back placidly.

Tywin simply asked, "Why?"

"He hasn't the temperament. For some time, I had hoped he would grow out of his childish sadism, but it never happened. Now he's been allowed power and has nearly destroyed our cause. He despises me on a personal level and delighted in tormenting Tommen until I put a stop to it. Arrange an accident, put him on the front lines of your war with Tyrell, make him take the Black, or even just lock him in Casterly Rock, I don't really care."

Kevan had a look of shock, but Tywin, he eyed me differently. He was a hard man to read, but if I had to take a guess, something I had said resonated with him.

"Which men do you want?"

***

Arya deflected, spun, and then danced back. She was breathing heavily, trying her all to keep Syrio's own practice blade from striking her. Arya knew that Syrio wasn't pressing her as hard as he could, but he was pressing her hard. She focused and ignored the clapping from Princess Shireen.

Shireen had come to enjoy watching her dancing lessons and made it a point to attend every one of them. Arya wasn't sure how to feel about that; she didn't like other eyes on her, but she knew that Shireen was often alone. The other children and even some of the adults avoided her. They were stupid – her disfigurement wasn't catching; it was just scars!

Syrio came on and raised the speed of their spar. She couldn't keep up, and soon her wrist was rapped with some force, making her drop her weapon. Her instructor clicked his tongue.

"Good, again."

Arya took a deep breath and went to pick her sparring weapon when Nymeria let out a howl. It was echoed by Lady from a distance.

"Nymeria, what's wrong?" Arya felt a thrill of worry and fear. Her wolf was pacing, just like it had been on the day the Tower of the Hand had been attacked. Arya's heart began to race. Were they safe here?

Syrio must have sensed her panic.

"Remember, Arya child, fear cuts deeper than swords."

His admonishment was like a dash of cold water. She steadied herself. Dragonstone was an island; there were no ships on the horizon. She would still be wary; she focused on Nymeria and felt the fear coming from her wolf. It wasn't immediate; it was… distant. With dawning comprehension, she realized that it was not a fear of an imminent attack by a predator, but a fear for someone else in danger. Somehow, Nymeria, and herself, could sense that one of the other wolves was in trouble.

How could that be happening? More importantly, were her brothers safe?

Shireen looked pale, "Is Nymeria injured?"

"She's just spooked; she's not hurt."

Shireen pressed her hands to her chest. "Thank goodness, she's a really nice wolf."

Arya wondered if the princess would use the word 'nice' to describe Nymeria if she had seen her rip out a Gold Cloak's throat. Probably not, Shireen was nice but quite shy. It wasn't fair to compare the young princess, – or anyone, really – to someone like Myrcella, but her mind couldn't help it. Shireen was weak.

Arya ended the practice session and took Nymeria to her room. She pet the wolf and stayed close to her. Nymeria howled a few more times and suddenly growled, but after a few minutes stopped and licked Arya's face. And then simply lay down! Arya took that as a good sign.

She left Nymeria in peace and went to dinner. Dining with the Queen was annoying. Queen Selyse always pushed for their attendance to prayer time with the other fire worshipers. There had been no order given, but it was annoying. Of course, Sansa accepted, making it even more awkward not to attend.

It wasn't something to fight with her sister over. The two had become more cordial of late, and Arya even enjoyed talking with Sansa over the meal.

"Any word about the fighting?" Arya asked.

The Queen pursed her lips, "We have been told only that some of the Vale lords have come to view my husband as the rightful King. Rest assured, R'hllor wills Azor Ahai to be successful; you need not worry."

She thought that that was stupid. Even if she believed in R'hllor and thought all that was true, it didn't mean that her family would necessarily be safe. She wanted to know that Robb, Bran, and her father were well.

One of the Florents, she forgot his name, did have some news. "A raven arrived. The Tyrells have sided with us, praise the Lord of Light! All will come to kneel before good King Stannis."

That was news, and it buoyed everyone's spirits. The Florent noble went on to talk about how the cruel Lannisters had dug their own grave by brutally murdering Ser Loras. There was even a rumor that they had tortured him to death! Arya saw Sansa stiffen in shock. Her eyes grew watery, and then she abruptly stood up and bowed to the queen.

"Your pardon, Your Grace, I seem to have fallen ill, please excuse me." She then dashed out of the room and toward her chambers.

The Knight of Flowers, murdered by the Queen. Sansa and Jeyne's fawning over him had made her look at him in a negative light, but she was still saddened by his death. A knight should die fighting, not be tortured to death; it seemed wrong. It just further deepened her understanding of how cruel and wicked Cersei was. Not that another reminder was needed after what happened to so many of her father's men that day.

After the meal, she let Nymeria out to make water and then let her climb into bed with her. She was thankful that it seemed that whatever calamity her wolf had sensed had ended positively. It allowed her to almost instantly fall asleep. And yet, awareness did not cease as she left the waking world.

She dreamed, yet it was more than just a dream. It felt vivid, real. She saw a black wolf accosted by a blizzard. The whipping winds, and snow piled high around it. The black wolf collapsed; it didn't look like any of the direwolves she and her siblings had, yet a sense of sadness dwelled in her mind.

The dream shifted. It was fuzzy and hazy; she thought she saw a lion and more wolves, and blooming flowers. Before she could focus and clear the haze, she saw a mighty creature slash through the hazy images. It was enormous and colored in black, red, and yellow. Powerfully massive silver wings flapped, and with each flap, half-seen visions were torn asunder. Scales covered the body, making Arya think that it was like some sort of dragon.

She shied away from the creature and fled from its presence. It was a dream, she wasn't physically there, so Arya knew she was in no danger, and yet she fled. Away from the monstrous creature, she saw more. Cities burning, a barren wasteland flooded with black blood, and an endless stream of people in chains.

With a start, she awoke to Nymeria's weight on her chest. Her direwolf gave her a lick and then lowered her head. Arya knew this was no normal dream, and she also knew that she had absolutely no idea what any of it meant.

***

Tyrion woke to a knock at the door. His mouth was dry, and his head pained him, though the lovely figure curled against him did much to soothe his dismay at being woken.

"Tyrion, wake up," he heard his brother's voice from the hall.

He wasn't sure why he was being woken up at this hour – by the lack of light from the window, it was still dark. The whore was also awake and looked slightly concerned.

"All right, give me a moment," Tyrion replied as he put on some trousers and opened the door.

Jaime's face looked serious as he looked past his sibling and then ordered the whore out. She didn't object and hastily left the room.

"It isn't even dawn yet, brother."

"I know, and you need to leave. Tregar has a squad to go with you."

"Wait, you aren't making sense. Where am I going? And why?"

Jaime sighed. "The plan to remove Joffrey, well, it won't be happening. I talked to our sister, and I kept your name out of it. But she suspects you."

Tyrion was bewildered. "Why did you tell Cersei before Ser Addam was ready to move? If you didn't want to take part, then we could have all remained silent. What was the purpose of talking with Cersei?"

Jaime looked troubled. Tyrion loved his brother, but right now all he could do was marvel at the older man's foolishness.

"I… I wanted to work out a solution everyone could be happy with. I was hoping to convince her to allow Joffrey to be set aside."

"And she refused; you should know her better than that," Tyrion looked at his brother closely. "You know, it isn't too late. With Ser Addam, we have the numbers, almost everyone will follow him and you."

Jaime looked miserable. "I can't. Cersei… Cersei is everything to me."

Tyrion laughed mirthlessly. "This really is pathetic, Jaime. She got to you; she… well, I prefer not to think about it." The dwarf looked down at the floor and then looked back up. "Where are you sending me? It can't be Casterly Rock as the way there is unlikely to be safe."

"Storm's End. Myrcella likes you, and aren't you always telling her that she is your favorite niece?"

Tyrion tilted his head. "Jaime, she's my only niece, but yes we get along and share an interest in reading."

Jaime gave a wry chuckle. "See? It won't be so bad then." In a more serious tone, he continued, "And Tyrion, I have no intention of losing this war. But even I can do sums. We are outnumbered badly. If the city were to fall… well, you could live on in Storm's End. Maybe sneak away before it comes under siege, if the worst should befall us here."

Tyrion swallowed. He knew about the Tyrell army, and the combined army in the north, and the Greyjoy raiding fleet. He wondered if even Dorne would join in. He was no warrior, but he had some ideas on how the city could fend off a larger army… Well, it looked like that didn't matter now.

"I'll go, of course. Be careful Jaime, I want to see you again."

Jaime smirked, "I'm still the best swordsman in the world. Maybe we'll hear word that father has defeated Stannis, and he'll be able to watch me put the Tyrells to flight." Tyrion hoped that was the case, for Jaime's sake.

"I do need you to hurry. Littlefinger will be leaving with quite a few Gold Cloaks tomorrow, and I trust him not. I halfway suspect that he means to betray us and just hide in the Eyrie until the war's end. Adding a Lannister hostage would be quite the feather in his cap."

Tyrion gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Petyr was a snake, and one that Cersei trusted. Depriving the city of its Master of Coin to go off on a harebrained scheme to try to convince Lysa Arryn to side with the Lannisters she hated against her own family was a farce. The rat was bailing the sinking ship.

Tyrion gathered his few belongings and joined the captain of the Lannister guard. They rode out of King's Landing before dawn broke. It was a bit of a journey to Storm's End, but it also felt good to be out of the city that would likely soon be under siege. He wondered if Storm's End had a library; they weren't known for their learning, but surely someone had collected some books over the years.