chapter 57

Lyn Corbray had gone to bed in his tent with some annoyance. Sleeping in the proximity of others prevented the satisfaction of his personal needs, especially with the uptight hypocrisy many of the Vale nobility displayed about such things. The Stormlands army was in retreat, but they were not making it easy to force battle. The ambushes after sunset had led to some long nights, though now Lyn just ignored the warning horns and rolled over on his cot.

He did so again – only, the horns multiplied and were accompanied by more cries and screams.

Seven Hells, is this an actual, real attack?

Getting up, he briskly splashed some water on his face and listened again. The horns sounded frantic. This wasn't a false alarm – it was an actual attack.

"Squire! Get in here!"

When no one came, Lyn strapped on his sword belt and took up Lady Forlorn. He went to see what was going on. As he stepped out of his tent, he saw bedlam in the camp. People were running in every which way. Some clearly fleeing, others running to get equipped or join their commanders.

"FURY"

"FURY"

"MYRCELLLLLA"

Roars came from the west as steel crashed into steel, and the screams of the dying added their own auditory accompaniment. Lyn was torn on what to do. He loved to fight, loved to see his opponent fall before his superior skill and might. He also did not like the idea of fighting without armor; that was a good way to get killed by some peasant with a bow. The whistle of arrow shafts was a clear sign of the danger's presence. He shouted again for his squire, but he got no response. No doubt the boy had been drinking with the others.

He grabbed at someone who was armored and fleeing away from the enemy.

"You, what is going on?"

"Demons, demons from the Seven Hells! They smashed through our defenses; we need to retreat!"

"Craven," Lyn snarled as he shoved the man to the side. He needed to get to his brother's tent and figure out what was going on. The thunder of hooves, the tell-tale sign of a massed cavalry charge, reached him and grew steadily louder.

By the time he got to his brother, the camp was in even further disarray. Knights still in small clothes were trying to get their horses saddled, while others were donning their armor as swiftly as they could with the assistance of squires. All the while, a massive stream of terrified, fleeing men were causing others to break. He quickly moved past Lyonel's guards and entered the spacious tent.

"Lyonel, what is going on?"

"It is a full assault; I've tasked Ser Aemon Melcolm to gather as many knights as he can to counter charge. Ser Creighton Redfort is rallying the foot, but it seems not to be going well. Can you assist?"

"I don't have my Gods-bedamned armor – my useless squire was out cavorting with his friends."

"And how many nights has he done that, Lyn? You let him do whatever he wished the last several evenings. Nothing is holding – you need to put some spine in them!"

"Me? You're the Lord of Corbray – go do it yourself."

As they argued, the hooves grew louder, and a bloodied Ser Creighton arrived, breathing heavily, and spoke in a rush, "They will be here in moments, my lord. The Bold is leading the charge – none can withstand him!"

Lyn itched to fight the man. Killing Ser Barristan would etch his name into legend. He had already slain two Kingsguard, but the second was done in the ambush against King Robert. But… Ser Barristan was a real challenge. And Lyn was without his armor.

"Get word to Ser Aemon; he needs to charge with what he has now – go!" Lyonel commanded with urgency, fear within his voice.

Ser Creighton opened the flap and left – and immediately gave a cry of alarm, followed by a scream as he collapsed back into the tent with half his face cleaved off. Then the tent walls were put to the torch, so Lyn slashed a hole in the opposite end – no doubt the enemy would be waiting to cut them down if they went through the obvious opening.

Stepping into the night air, he looked around. Chaos everywhere, tents on fire, and hundreds of torches being carried by angry Stormlanders seemed to be in all directions.

"FURY!"

"FURY!"

"FURY!"

They screamed as they killed. Lyn felt fear clutch his heart – this was madness. He saw an Arryn man-at-arms stab out with a spear and gut an opposing levy. The man, mortally wounded, but not done, impaled himself further, still screaming 'FURY,' and stabbed the spearman in the neck.

Lyonel called out, "Corbray! Arryn! Rally! To me!"

"No, you fool! You'll just make yourself a target!"

Sure enough, several of the enemy knights immediately rushed toward their position. Lyn shoved his brother down and fled east. All cohesion among the Arryn host was lost, while the enemy was still able to respond with alacrity to potential threats. It was clear to him that this battle was lost. He dodged around men and went around tents to prevent mounted pursuit.

Breathing hard, he managed to get away from immediate mortal danger. Taking stock of the situation, he heard hooves from the east; Ser Aemon must have finally rallied some knights together. Not bothering to see how successful they were, Lyn looked for a horse to get out of here. Unfortunately for him, many others had the same idea, and he found none.

He ran. He trained regularly; he could outpace others who did not. He wasn't in armor either, and surely the enemy would take time to loot; all armies did. Armor was expensive, as was wine, and hostages could be ransomed for larger sums of gold. Only, pursuit continued. Lyn found himself fleeing with levies and men-at-arms, those who couldn't get on a horse fast enough. Their pursuers were mounted; they looked to be outriders, going by their lighter armor.

"We must turn and provide at least a token resistance! Otherwise, they'll just ride us down. With me!" Lyn called out and waved his Valyrian Steel about him, catching and reflecting the torchlight. Some paused, but others kept running. Lyn dashed forward and then cut to the side, letting his blade slash the leg of a horse. His arm hurt from the clash, but the Valyrian steel bit deep into the bone, and the horse collapsed into the ground, throwing its rider.

"See? We can fight them!"

Some men cheered and attacked the enemy outriders. Lyn used that time to slip back into the crowd and then continued running. He knew there was no way this ragged band of cravens would be able to hold the enemy.

He ran, and ran some more. Suddenly, three horses were in front of him; one man held a torch, revealing the three riders, which included Ser Theo Redstone.

"Fancy meeting you here, Corbray."

Lyn was breathing hard; he couldn't take three of them, especially when they were mounted. He thought of a way out of this trap.

"You lot bellyached enough about Lady Arryn not allowing a trial. Here's your chance to show your valor. Get off that horse and duel me. If you win, you get Lady Forlorn. If I win, I go free upon your word of honor."

Theo laughed down at him. "You mistake me for my brother-in-arms, Ser Lyle. I have no need to prove myself. Drop your blade and surrender. Or you can die now."

Lyn wanted to scream in frustration. The Stormguard had seen their liege thrown from the Moon Door. Mercy would likely not be forthcoming.

Ser Barristan is leading this host. He has a reputation for honor – maybe I can cut a deal and throw my brother and Baelish under the wagon wheels. I could inherit House Corbray if they execute him… yes, there is still a chance.

Lyn knelt. "I surrender then, ser; I will make no attempt to escape. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

***

​

Robb was furious with the King for putting him in an untenable position: save his father, or behave as the honorable vassal to Stannis Baratheon. This was a burden he would not put on Bran; he had to make the choice. Theon urged him to go after his father and defy the King. What would Stannis do after they succeeded? Punish his own Hand's son, offend the North and the Riverlands that made the bulk of the host he rode with?

A part of him yearned to do just that, but what would his father think? He needed a more pragmatic perspective. His father had always warned him that Roose Bolton was a cunning and dangerous man. So he sought out the pale eyed lord for advice.

"My lord, how may I serve?" Roose greeted politely.

"I wish to hear your counsel. Grey Wind can track my father's scent. I know they've retreated into the Kingswood and are heading back to the capital. I want to rescue him, but our King has refused to allow me to go."

Bolton eyed him carefully. "The act would be treason – a young man whose father has recently been made captive could be forgiven by the crown, but not one such as me. I cannot provide that sort of counsel to you, my lord." Roose was silent as he let his words linger. "There is no guarantee you would be able to free your father; he would be securely guarded, given his station."

Robb sighed; he knew Bolton was right. Robb knew that disobeying a direct order from the King was dishonorable and something his father would never condone.

"Thank you for your counsel, Lord Bolton; it was freely and wisely given."

Bolton inclined his head. "One other thought, my lord. Loyalty cuts both ways. The North has given much of its blood for the cause of this southern King. At what point is your duty to your people greater than your duty to him?"

Robb frowned. "What are you suggesting?"

"If King Stannis ordered you to cut your brother's throat, would you do it?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"If King Stannis ordered you to hand him a cup, would you do it?"

"Yes, I would, what of it?"

"Only this, my lord – loyalty to the Crown is not all consuming. If your father does not survive, you must decide for the North how far that loyalty should extend. Winter is Coming."

Robb let out a slow breath. What the pale lord was saying was dangerous talk. The North was unhappy if cautious Roose Bolton was speaking of open defiance against the King. He thought of the tactical complications his defection would lead to. The Riverlands could well leave with him, but that would still leave Stannis with enough to defeat the Lannisters. The Vale was fresh, Dorne was fresh, and the Reach still had two hosts. Stannis was not a forgiving man; if at some point he abandoned the King's cause and went home, Stannis would come for him.

Robb shook his head. "I thank you for your perspective, but my father is not dead. Any concerns of that nature are best handled by the current Warden of the North, and not his son. If that dark day comes soon that I am the new Warden of the North, we can discuss it."

"As you say, my lord, perhaps the wisest course."

Robb passed the day keeping busy, and soon the host was on the march. The damn Tyrells had proven to be sluggards and had only now started moving. They would not be in time to cut off Lord Tywin, but they would be able to join the siege of King's Landing. The path was now clear. Once King's Landing fell, the war should be over. All of Cersei's children would be dead. Robb hated the idea of killing a child like Tommen, but it was the King's choice.

That night, he sat with Bran, and they told stories of their favorite moments with their father. That night, he fought to obtain sleep, but Bran was dead to the world. Until he woke in a panic.

"Robb, you must tell the King – the Reach and Dorne intend to betray us!"

"Bran, it is late; go back to bed."

"No! I see things in my dreams and they come true. You must believe me. I saw it – they are going to crown someone else. I saw the sun and flower standards attack us while we tried to storm the walls. It was a massacre. Robb, you must listen to me."

Robb knew the stories of people who could see into the future. He felt a chill run through his body. He himself had dreamed through Grey Wind's eyes. He had seen moments of battle a split second before they occurred. If he could do that, did that mean that Bran's dreams were true? If they were, and it was ignored, he would doom not only Stannis but the Northern and Riverlands host.

Father… what would you do?

***

​

As far as battles went, this one had gone extremely well. The amusing part of it all was that now, with a reputation for nighttime harassment leading to an actual nighttime assault, I would never have to do another nighttime assault again while still reaping all the benefits. Every time I executed a simple raid, the enemy would almost certainly fear a full-scale assault. People talk, strategies that get overused get countered. But their attempts to counter would simply play into my hands.

Of course, none of this would be possible if not for the groundwork laid by the morale discrepancy between our forces. Additionally, my extremely disciplined officers, my vaunted Stormguard, had played their part. They had once again proven to be exceptional fighters and battlefield commanders.

The butcher's bill was relatively light, despite the chaos of the prior night. No battle of this scale had no losses, but they were altogether minor. The enemy had thousands dead, thousands captured, though I suspected at least half of the host had managed to scatter and flee. Not all those who fled would be fighting again, either. Some would be too unnerved, and others would be easy prey to the Mountain Clans my scouts had seen lurking near the edges of the battle. The enemies who did not flee straight east would succumb to other dangers.

Several Lords of the Vale were slain, but we also managed to capture some. The Lord of House Corbray and his brother were important. Others of note included Ser Lothor Brune, Lord Jon Ruthermont, Ser Harlan Hunter, and Lord Waxley Wickenden. We also recaptured some of the Riverlands nobles, chief among them Edmure Tully. Eddard Karstark was not among them, and after some gentle questioning, I learned that he was headed to Gulltown to take a boat back North.

None of my Stormguard had any serious injuries, and I knew it was time to add some additional members. Bringing in someone from House Frey would be important, and possibly a Riverlands levy or free rider if any had distinguished themselves. A balance needed to be struck, but I wanted to ensure my Stormguard were all trustworthy and competent. I wanted a full complement of 30 eventually, but it would take time. Sacrificing quality would be counterproductive.

Ser Barristan approached with a slight limp. "Lady Myrcella, Ser Lyn Corbray has begged for leniency. He states that he is ready to share the story of his brother's treachery and the schemes Petyr Baelish involved himself with."

"That's hardly necessary; both were there in the Eyrie. I intend to see them executed for their participation in the knavish farce of a trial. I don't see a point."

Barristan nodded. "Probably for the best, but perhaps you should hear him out. He seemed quite certain that the realm would benefit from hearing him out in full."

I had many things that required my attention, but it wouldn't hurt to take a few minutes. I walked with Ser Barristan to where we had secured the prisoners. Those highborn were isolated in small tents actively guarded. I gave a nod of recognition to the guardsman of the tent that Ser Barristan entered with purposeful step as I followed his lead. Inside, I was met with Lyn Corbray, whose eyes widened in shock.

"H-how?"

I fixed my eyes on his. "I landed in a bush. Now, give me a good reason why I shouldn't execute you here and now."

He swallowed thickly and broke eye contact, looking around nervously.

"I have information on what Littlefinger is planning. His treachery to your family runs deep; I will tell you all I know if you will grant me leniency. Allow me to keep my sword and to go free, and you will learn things that will make your toes curl."

Hmm, I was good at reading people, rarely ever misunderstanding their words or actions. He was telling the truth, of that much I was sure. Whether or not the information was of use was another matter.

"I'll be keeping your blade; Valyrian Steel is useful when dealing with my uncle."

His eyes flashed with rage, but he held his tongue.

"As far as leniency, that depends on what information you share with me. Littlefinger is already one who needs to die, so learning of further misdeeds does little to aid me."

"I can tell you about how he helped plan your father's death."

I went still. That could be interesting, and very problematic.

"Ser Barristan, leave us. His hands are bound, and I am armed. I don't have anything to fear."

My knight stiffened, but he knew the protocol. He would no doubt harangue me later, but in front of an enemy, he would obey crisply.

"As you will, Lady Myrcella," he replied and left the tent.

Lyn looked at him go in confusion, then looked back at me.

"Speak, and if I believe you are telling the truth and the information has value, you will live. If it does not or I detect falsehood, you will die."

The knight was nervous – good. I remembered how he'd smirked in the High Hall when Lady Arryn was carrying out her vileness.

"Lady Myrcella, I am not the head of my house. I serve my brother; while I regularly disagreed with him on what was being done, I could not gainsay him."

He was lying.

"I have much to do – get to what you know about my father's assassination."

"Cersei Lannister worked with Petyr Baelish. It was soldiers and free riders from the Vale who carried out the ambush."

That was interesting information. I had figured Cersei would have used Westerlands men or local Crownlands mercenaries to do the deed, but it sounded like Petyr had planned ahead if it was men from the Vale who were the primary participants. Just another reason he needed to die sooner rather than later.

"You knew of the assassination plot before it occurred or after?"

"After, Lady Myrcella. By then it was too late."

"Stand up, ser."

He did so, and I shouted, "GUARDS!"

At the same time, I threw my knife with magically enhanced speed and force. The dagger punctured his neck, ruining his throat, and piercing a vital artery.

"I told you I would kill you if you lied."

Lyn looked up at me in disbelief and terror as his lifeblood ran out.

Ser Barristan and Ser Barlow burst in.

"Are you all right?" Barristan asked.

"I am. As I said, there was no cause for concern, and yes, we can talk about the decision later."

He nodded.

"Execute any of the lords and knights who were in the room that day at the Eyrie. The others, we will arrange for transport to Harrenhal and keep as hostages. I will meet with the full Stormguard in a few hours to discuss our next step. My grandfather is on the eve of a major battle, one that may have already been fought, but we may not have time to wait for word when deciding our next move."

I looked at Ser Barristan. "We'll give Brienne the Corbray sword of Valyrian Steel. She's been my sworn shield for longer than anyone else."

"I have no objections, my lady. Brienne will be a fine wielder."

I felt a bit naked without my old dagger. Perhaps we could ransom some of the nobility to have it returned. My uncle was quite far away, and there had been no second appearance of the shadow creature. This made me think that it required tremendous resources, or maybe danger for the summoner. Either way, I placed the probability of being attacked again by one as low. And if one did, I could likely get away until I found Brienne and her shiny new blade.

More troubling was what to do next. Freeing the Westerlands made strategic sense, but if grandfather failed to win a victory, King's Landing would be laid bare. I would not let my enemies have Tommen; he was an innocent in all of this. I was aware of my hypocrisy; many innocents had died in the course of this war. But I would happily admit that I was biased toward my family and would gladly place Tommen and Tyrion's security over a thousand strangers. Cersei on the other hand…

It would be important to inform all the important players that I lived as well. Ravens would go out, not only of my survival, but of the perfidy of Lysa Arryn. I didn't have time to properly deal with the Vale right now, but their time would come.

***

​

Garlan did not relish seeing men die. The bodies twitched on the ropes as one by one they expired. There had been no sense in building proper gallows, and the stand of trees was large enough to have several suitable branches. He supposed it was cruel to have no drop for a quick breaking of a neck, but he had little patience for rapers and murderers.

"Those were my uncle's men; he won't be happy."

Garlan glanced to Asha Greyjoy, the only daughter of Balon Greyjoy. Her short, dark hair, height, and black breeches could be considered manly, but the way she moved made it clear she was a woman. Garlan had the distinct impression that she wished to lie with him. That would not happen, as he was loyal to his wife.

"All of you were warned. There would be no butchery of the smallfolk and no rapes. There would be no 'salt wives' taken either. A dozen women were despoiled, including two who had not yet had their moon's blood. Make sure your men spread the tale of what I did here."

Asha laughed. "Oh, they will, and you might regret that. You have to understand that this is our way. We have a long tradition of carrying off wives from you greenlanders."

"Aye, and we have a long tradition of executing rapers and kidnappers. What of it?"

"Oh, I like you. You seem all stern and dense, but you got quite the lip. I've seen you fight with your sword and 'ow you broke a raider's shield in two. Tell me, lordling, what prospects does a second son have here in the greenlands?"

"My brother will give me lands, perhaps some of the Westerlands, depending on how the war ends."

"Aye, 'tis rich land, even the islands seem to have it by the bucketload. Fair Castle had a fair amount of gold hidden in its vaults!" She sauntered forward toward Garlan. "But how'd you like to be a King Consort? Have your children inherit a crown."

He put his hand out and grasped her shoulder, preventing her from advancing further.

"Is this a jape? I am married, and you have a brother."

"My brother is a wolf, not a kraken, and I don't care about your wife. The Ironborn won't care. You could even bring her 'long if you'd like."

"I happen to cherish my wife, but even were I unwed, the last place I can see myself living is the Iron Islands."

She smirked. "Ya know, I can be persuasive, show you what life would be like with me. Lying with me is not an agreement that we'll wed, but you'll still forget all about your precious oaths."

"Asha, you as well confessed to not being unspoiled – why would you think that would entice me to take you as a potential match?" He shook his head. "No, do not bother answering. I am not interested. The Ironborn do not worship the Seven, they do not follow to knightly codes of honor, and once more I will remind you, I am already wed."

Her smile never left her face. "Oh I do relish a challenge – do watch your back, my flower; I'd hate for you to die before I can conclude this hunt."

With that, she sashayed off, back to her own men. As she left, Ser Leo Blackbar, his second in command, approached.

"Do you think there will be trouble? These men served Victarion Greyjoy. The man has a fearsome temper."

"Hard to say. The Ironborn don't have the numbers to challenge us in the field, but Asha warned me to watch my back. In battle, accidents can happen, but even they seem hard to engineer with any sort of plausibility. I will be wary and assign a few guards to watch from a distance."

Leo nodded. "I don't wish to question your brother's decisions…"

"It is all right, go ahead."

"But why are we dealing with these wretches? We don't need them to raid and take cattle, gold, and silver. The Westerlands still shelter at Golden Tooth; if they haven't dared to venture out before, they won't be apt to do it now."

"I share your frustration, ser; the issue is that the Iron Fleet is deadly dangerous. It surpasses even the Redwyne fleet, and they could do much damage to the Reach. My brother believes that so long as we dangle plunder from the Westerlands, they will continue to work with us."

"You trust them in this?" Ser Leo asked.

"It isn't a matter of trust. If word reached us that they raided the Reach, what do you think we will do with the Ironborn here?"

"Ah, so… they are our hostages?"

"Of sorts, it isn't as clean as that, but the risk is there. Unless they could reach the shore before we catch them, we will destroy them in the field; they have not the numbers."

Ser Leo bowed his head. "I should have known better than to doubt Lord Willas."

Garlan let out a wry chuckle. "My brother is clever, but sometimes I fear he is too clever. In battle, the man who predicts his opponent's next thirty moves ahead should win, yes? Only, sometimes his opponent does not do what he 'should' do in a duel, and the clever man gets defeated by a gauntlet to the jaw. It is always wise to question, at least in private, decisions and seek clarification. I chose you as my second for a reason; I value your voice."

Garlan clapped him on the shoulder and left back to his own tent; the last of the Ironborn had stopped twitching.