48 War in the Westerlands

Lips curled into a scowl, Jon stared down at his advisor. "You are actually saying that they are angry over this?"

"I would not use the word angry, your Majesty," Hizdahr zo Loraq replied, voice that of a supplicant. He kept his eyes trained on the floor out of respect, and hope that the Emperor would lean more on his Stark blood and not the Targaryen. They were all in the throne room, Jon seated where Daenerys always did, Barristan and Podrick Payne flanking him on either side - the old knight acting as his interpreter if need be. "They are just upset that their property overlooking the market was damaged by your dragons several nights ago…"

"You mean when they were acting on my orders to defeat the mob of bloodthirsty insurgents raping and murdering their way through the city?!" Jon thundered, dragon awoken.

Loraq tried not to flinch. "That is what I told them, sire, but they feel that the situation could have been dealt with means other than violence."

Fists clenching, it took all of the self-control and honor that Ned Stark had taught him to prevent the dragon from awakening. "And who are these persons making these complaints to you?" As Loraq rattled off a list of many prominent individuals from some of the most noble families - the same ones that had caused Daenerys trouble in the past. It just never ended, the same people refusing to unite behind the Targaryen banner. "Leave me."

"Of course, sire," Loraq responded, scurrying out.

As soon as he was out of sight, Jon let out a deep sigh. He hunched over, pinching the bridge of his nose in pure fatigue. 'Gods…' A pulsing headache had taken residence behind his eyes. Much as a soldier or laborer would much rather be sitting on a throne and passing judgement, Jon vastly preferred the active lifestyle of fighting and straining - not the actual act of killing, which he detested, but more the fact that it lied dead center in his talents. 'Daenerys is a far better ruler than I.' Much as she told him how competent an Emperor he was, she was raised as a royal while he largely trained to be sent to the Wall all his childhood.

His insecurity would go away with time, he reasoned, but for now Jon would not feel comfortable without Daenerys by his side in matters like these.

"Missing, her Majesty, sire?" Jon looked up to see Podrick glancing at him. A hint of a grin marked the knight's face - Jon having awarded him the high honor following his performance in the fight.

"Yes." Stretching his arms, working the kinks out of them, a smile worked its way to his face as he imagined Dany's arms wrapped around him. "Odd, I spent all but a few weeks of my life alone, never thinking I would marry or sire children. Then, several months of being with her and now I can barely sleep alone unless exhausting myself in combat." The silver-haired goddess and his beautiful children had hit his life like a stampeding mammoth, submerging him totally. "Oh, how the brothers at the wall would laugh if they saw me now," he chuckled.

Podrick nodded. "I know what you feel, sire," he said before he thought. Eyes went wide as he realized what he said - his pining for the Emperor's sister was not something he felt the Emperor would look kindly upon.

Jon looked up at the knight, brow raised in interest. "Ahhh, so you have a reason back home to keep you chaste." Jon leaned on his elbow, this being far more interesting than any current pressing issue. Quite the amusing distraction. "You can consider me a friend, Podrick, and I owe you a debt for bringing my sister back safely from Ramsay Bolton, so it'll be between us." Behind him, Barristan smirked. The glint in Jon's eye was the splitting image of Rhaegar - his beloved friend.

Reddening further - face the color of rare beef - Podrick prayed to the Seven that the Emperor would reason it from his innate shyness rather than the much more troubling truth. "There is one, but I doubt she sees me that way. I haven't talked to her much." Technically true, since their letters weren't 'talking' and they barely spoke before he left for Essos.

"What's she like, if you don't mind my asking?"

Podrick could not refuse his Emperor. Even if it would be trying to sneak past a sleeping dragon. "Tall as I am, with fiery red hair. Quiet for the most part, quite cold but with the most brilliant smile." He had fallen hard, harder and faster every moment he had been around Sansa. She won his heart without even trying. "Met her at Winterfell."

Laughing, Jon smacked the young knight on the back. "Westerlands boy found himself a Northern girl! Looks like he has more sense than his pedigree suggested," Jon quipped to Barristan. Putting things together in a far more accurate manner than his charge, Barristan only nodded, eyeing Podrick wearily. The young knight averted his eyes - a gesture Jon took as shyness. "Don't beat yourself up for being too shy. Northern girls are… untamed and hard as ice. Very stubborn, but make the best wives once you woo their hearts. Look at Gendry. Arya isn't the easiest to deal with, but that poor fucking bastard has himself a woman devoted to him till death." He slapped his thigh at the accurate description of his beloved but strong-willed sister.

"Yes, he does," Podrick murmured. Sansa wouldn't hit him, if he were ever so lucky to grace her hearth and her bed, but one of her icy death stares could cripple a man. He'd sooner brave the Sons of the Harpy in a dark alley than an infuriated Sansa Stark.

"I'm sure Ser Podrick doesn't wish to divulge more of his love life, sire," Barristan interjected, rushing to the boy's defense. If there was some relationship between him and one icy northern girl with fiery red hair, his experience indicated that it would be best for all parties if she told his majesty herself. "A man of honor does not kiss and tell."

Jon, pursing his lips, nodded. "I suppose you are right." Podrick mouthed a quick 'thank you,' to the older man, who just smiled softly. To be young and in love was an amazing thing. Barristan saw it in Rhaegar and saw it in Jon - a love that would last if fate permitted it.

"Your Majesty," stated one of the northern guards, entering from outside the throne room. "You have another courtier calling on your reception. One from our homeland."

This was surprising, Jon sitting straight up despite the strain on his back. "A Westerosi? What business does he have? Merchant? Messenger from the Empress?" Why would Dany send a messenger rather than using a raven?

The guard shook his head. "Not just a Westerosi, your Majesty. A Northerner - a noblewoman from House Reed of Greywater Watch."

Now that was a name he did not expect. 'Howland Reed is still in the North,' he thought, musing upon this development. House Reed was a close relation to the Starks, especially when Jon and his heritage was involved. It was a bond beyond mere shared bonds of the homeland. 'He had two children, a son and a daughter.' "Please, send her in."

"Presenting for his Majesty, the Lady Meera of House Reed."

In walked the young girl, pale skin contrasting with the threadbare Essosi dress more often seen draped on the swarthy locals. She looked slightly uncomfortable in them, which Jon understood. Dany took a while to get used to the thick dresses of the North. Meera bowed low. "Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you at last."

"The honor is mine, to meet a lovely member of a house as honorable as House Reed." He gave Meera a small smile. "I am curious as to why you are in Essos. Your father, Howland, seemed to be in quite a melancholy mood due to his children not being at home."

A homesick sadness flashed on Meera's face for a moment, before a stronger determination returned. "I do feel a longing to return home, but someone important needed me in Essos." Eyes flickering to the entranceway, a slight creaking was heard. On a wheeled chair, pushed by a lone bannerman, was a seated figure. Expression flat, face thin, the form was older but to the shocked Emperor there was no doubt as to his identity.

Jon rose, unable to tear his eyes away from the newcomer. Slowly, he descended the stairs. "Bran? Is it…" He trailed off, unable to speak.

Bran met his brother's gaze. "Hello Jon. It has been a while." The younger Stark was suddenly swept into the Emperor's arms, the last of the Stark's reunited with the pack.

Scanning the small script upon the dispatch for the third time, Robb's face was an ashen pale. "So this is it, then?"

Catelyn nodded. "Aye. Tywin's on the move. The sigils and unit flags prove this to be his most combat-hardened Westerlands and Crownlands battalions." The ones that captured King's Landing. That defeated Renly. That made Dorne howl. "Shall I have the Dothraki shift from the west to reinforce you?"

Pondering it, Robb shook his head. "No. We need them to catch Tywin's relief force for Casterly Rock. I'll head to Harrenhal and take command personally. I haven't yet lost to any Lannister on the field of battle," he boasted, the grin on his face not reaching his eyes however.

Hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, Catelyn's heart broke for her son. The terror of that fateful night had left him indecisive. Unsure of himself. Fighting alongside Jon at Winterfell and Riverrun had helped, but it was still there at times. "You need to tell your betrothed," she finally said.

Robb sighed. "Yes, I will."

As he figured, he found his love was sitting atop her usual chair in the solar, a book propped open in her hands. Robb propped himself on the wall to watch her. Eyes focused on the words in front of her, Margaery's nose scrunched up ever so slightly every so often. It was a quirk that only happened when her guard was down in solitude, and Robb found it enchanting. Hells, she was always enchanting. 'When a Stark falls, he falls hard,' as his father would say.

"It is not polite to stare, Lord Stark."

Chuckling, Robb pushed himself off the wall and walked to her, kissing her hair. Still smiling, he sat on the table across from her. "I wasn't staring. Just… admiring the view."

Her gaze fell on him. "Taking compliment lessons from your brother, are you?" The faint blush on her cheeks belied her delight at it. However, she must have sensed the well-hidden tension. Her face fell, lowering the book to her lap. "You're going to Harrenhal." It wasn't phrased as a question.

Robb sighed - she could see right through him. "Yes." Reaching out, he took her hands in his. "Tywin is moving north to challenge us. I need to be with my command."

Highborn from a prominent, powerful family, Margaery knew the stakes of his duty. However, concern still marred her face. "He's advancing in the center, not on Casterly Rock?" They hadn't yet heard back from Grey Worm and Edmure since the raven announcing they had arrived at the walls, but even a siege would lure in a considerable relief force.

"Our scouts only have half the Lannister army advancing from their bases on the southern shore of the God's Eye, so the rest are either in transit from Dorne or advancing towards the Westerlands." He half-grinned. "We'll likely be outnumbered slightly, but our force is strong. Vale Knights, Northern men at arms, free folk, giants, Essosi auxiliaries. Plus two thousand light cavalry from the Second Sons sellswords pledged to Daenerys. Enough to take on Tywin's best."

Shaking her head, the mask began to crack as anguish bubbled forth. "That's what Loras told me before the assault on King's Landing, and hours later he was dead by Joffrey's hand."

Robb softly stroked the silky skin of her betrothed's hand. "I promise, I will be fine."

"You must have felt the same with the first Lady Stark." Tears began to cloud Margaery's vision - they were sudden, and she hated feeling weak, but she couldn't lose Robb. With all the loss her family had suffered, he was the only constant of happiness in it. "You almost died then. I couldn't bear the fates catching up to you this time."

Hating her sadness, hating Tywin and Joffrey for taking Talisa away and bringing the greatest pain to Margaery - his second chance - Robb closed the distance between them and kissed her. At first she didn't respond, but his obvious love melted her, melding into the chaste but passionate kiss. Robb could taste the salt of her tears, pulling away to gaze into her eyes. "I will come back, for you."

Blinking, Margaery looked over the man that had swept her off her feet since they met all those years ago. Without wasting a single moment, her lips met his once more. Tongues battled in a sensual dance. Feeling herself being pulled out of her chair, Margaery yelped against her future husband's mouth as he turned them around, jerked forward to straddle his now seated lap. "Mmmmm."

Hands yanked the collar of her dress to the side, exposing a slender neck and shoulder. Gazing upon this gorgeous southern beauty, Robb felt his possessive side come out. "You're mine Margaery." He heard the most satisfying gasp as his teeth sank into her shoulder, nibbling his way to her pulse.

"All yours," she gasped. "Don't stop."

"Not planning on it." His tongue laved at her throbbing pulse. "I can't wait, Marge. Please, I need to be inside you."

She let out a throaty moan. The dress found itself pulled off her body, revealing her nude form underneath. "I want you inside me." He looked down to see her hands shimmying his trousers down, exposing his length – Margaery ground her core against him, glistening with her juices. Heart stopping at the glorious sigh, he lined up with her entrance. Robb groaned as he pushed inside her.

"Oh Gods!" Her walls melded around him, Margaery biting his shoulder. "Faster!" She bucked into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. The pain of her teeth drawing blood only spurred him on. Sweat slicked bodies crashed together.

Feeling her drag her nails down his bare back, Robb's hips kicked into overdrive. "Fuck, I love you!" He could feel the climax coming – so soon.

"I. Lov… Luuuu… Love you too. Fuck me! Ahhh!" She literally shattered around him, her scream filling the air. He was not far behind

Soon, they were both completely spent, the Rose of Highgarden limp atop him. His betrothed heated skin flush against him, hot breath quick as her face buried itself in the crook of his neck, Robb gently swiped a strand of hair matted to her sweaty forehead. "Margaery," he breathed. "I'm coming back. I promise."

"Shhhh…" she murmured, kissing his neck. "Just hold me." He complied gladly

Dearest Dany,

I now firmly understand the memories of the greatest stress and frustration that you felt from your time in this great city. The beauty is deceptive, for underneath the polished marble is a den of snakes. Gods, it reminds me of how Joffrey or Ramsay would run things. The masters hate the freedmen, the freedmen hate the masters, and all but a small crust live in fear of the forces of Astapor, Yunkai, and Volantis like a deadly plague. Trouble is, the small crust happen to be the wealthiest and most powerful families within the Grand Senate.

Huffing angrily, Daenerys wasn't surprised that the same Masters so opposed to her rule were giving Jon headaches. 'Apparently crucifying those behind the murder of those slave children didn't do the trick.' She hoped Jon was letting Rhaegal and Edderon loose on them, all the while knowing her husband would never kill those not proven guilty of treason. Disciplined and honorable to a fault - part of why she loved him so. Lifting up the letter, she read on.

There has been a major uprising by the Sons of the Harpy…

A gasp left her lips, irrational fear filling her. 'Calm down, Dany. Jon wrote this letter. He is alive.' Gods, he had become the center of her life, a person whom she could not live without. Thinking about it, Dany could not feel ashamed for such weakness. To her, it was a strength.

Through their own hubris and skillful tactics, I lured them into a single location and our children wiped them out. Podrick distinguished himself in battle, and I have knighted him for it. Lady Brienne will probably be miffed at having to deal with him as an equal, though.

Wonderful news. Bran has returned from Qarth. Our family is united once again, every living Stark and Targaryen. It feels like I am complete again, but I know that it won't be true until you are in my arms again.

Thumb ghosting over the rough parchment, Dany felt the tears form as she smiled in as much joy as she could feel without him and their children beside her. Even in these royal reports his love shone through. He made her so happy, and she was grateful that the final Stark was back in the wolfpack. Her family, after so long without any family but Viserys - no love there, but enough love now to last lifetimes.

A brusque knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts. "Enter," she replied without looking, assuming Yara or Theon were bringing news about the enemy fleet.

Turns out, she was mistaken. "Empress." Startled, Daenerys rose from her chair and turned, face to face with Daario Naharis. Beard trimmed, disarming smile on his face, the weathered look from when they met upon her return to Dragonstone had left - she had not seen him in the week since. Aside from the cold-weather cloak and trousers he looked exactly like the dashing sellsword who offered his service outside of Yunkai.

She refused to be affected. "I thought I told you to head to the mainland." Dealing with the demands of her fleet had consumed her, but he had no excuse.

"The weather, as it turns out," he stated. "That and Lannister patrols have kept me land bound for the moment. But rest assured, my best lieutenants are commanding the Second Sons as well as I would have. Actually, that is why I am here." His smile widened, Daario producing a dispatch from his cloak, handing it to her. "My men have fully joined Robb Stark's army at Harrenhal, just in time for them to join in the coming battle with Tywin Lannister."

Quickly perusing the note, Dany felt both apprehension and relief. Things were proceeding as they had largely planned with Tywin's moves, and Daario at the very least had brought the needed manpower for Robb to use. "Good." Looking up at Daario, she hoped that she had misjudged him after making sure he knew his place. "You have done well, Captain Naharis. I am grateful for your faithful service."

He bowed. "It is my pleasure to serve you, your Majesty… In any capacity you require."

Her skin bristled, catching a hint of innuendo that angered her. "Watch yourself, Captain," she hissed.

"I bear no disrespect, your Majesty. I only seek to serve the rightful Empress of Westeros, and her Emperor according to the traditions of her House and of Westeros."

"And what traditions do you refer to?" Dany wasn't stupid. She had an inkling of where he was going and wished to behead him for it. But she couldn't, not only due to the needed soldiers. He never said it directly, clothing it in riddles. That fact he hadn't outwardly made any improper requests or demands only angered her more. But she and Jon weren't going to be Joffrey. Death and punishment awaited only those guilty of actions, not words.

"All I say is that the Emperor is your husband, and I respect him and follow him as many a noblewoman or knight followed the Targaryen Kings and Queens of old." He bowed once more. "I shall leave you to your thoughts, Empress."

Watching as the door closed behind him, Daenerys trembled with rage. Targaryen incest and polygamy was infamous, but a less known fact were the strings of affairs and concubines kept by both the sons and daughters of her House, even as recently as her own father. Dragonfire coursed through her veins, fists clenching at Daario's insolence, as if she would betray her beloved by taking him as a lover. Hissing, she slammed one on the table - flesh of her palm gracing a decorative ornament and slicing an inch-long cut. "Ahhhh." 'Damn.' Blood dripping, Dany clutched the throbbing hand with the other. "Seven Hells."

"Your majesty!" A servant rushed in, pleated skirt fluttering as she dashed over to the Empress. "Here." She drew a strip of cloth from her pocket and laid it gently over the bloody appendage. "Keep this tight against the cut. The bleeding looks worse than it is, your Majesty, but better safe than sorry."

Dany looked curiously upon the servant, never having seen her before. Most of the staff brought with her were Essosi, but this girl was a pale white - Vale complexion? Perhaps the Ironborn had… secured extra help from the mainland. Such a thought abhorred her, but she had much more to worry about. "Thank you."

The servant girl nodded, suddenly different. "Shall I fetch a Maester?"

Crimson soaked the spot on the cloth pressed directly to the wound. "Yes, please do."

"At once, your Majesty." Turning, Arya's face hardened beneath her mask. Her brother hadn't gone for a month and already things were falling apart in a maze of internal squabbling. A beast that began with the Faceless men now had a maze of tentacles reaching everywhere, and by the Many Faced God she would get to the bottom of it.

The bushes rustled further, and the Lannister bannerman cringed, waiting for the killer in service of the dragon bitch to emerge. 'Northern wildman?' he thought, trembling. 'Or one of those horse savages.' When nothing happened after nearly ten seconds, he edged warily closer to the bush. A flash of movement nearly sent his sword lunging at the leaves, until he discovered the intruder. Suppressing a chortle, the soldier yelled, causing the frightened hare to scamper off. Still laughing, he went back on his way to the camp.

Tyene Martell, waiting for the Westerlands street urchin to disappear from view, laid motionless in the brush. Clad in drab browns in the land still free from snow, she was almost indistinguishable from the twigs and dead leaves that littered the floor of the wooded thicket. It was only through divine intervention that the hare had been in the same clump of scrub as her, or she would have certainly been caught - her two daggers would have dispatched him easily, but he had friends. This mission required stealth.

After several minutes, the only sounds resonating in the highland hills just outside Harrenhal were the caw of the crows and rustle of the trees. Movements slow yet focused, Tyene raised her head out of the brush, peering across the landscape. Judging that she was completely alone, she rose and resumed her trek.

The sounds of the camp began to register in her ears for every bramble and thicket she passed - a large one, likely over three hundred if her senses were still sharp. With the hoofbeats of mounted knights approaching on the nearby Kingsroad, Tyene hit the deck. On her belly, she inched her way forward through piles of dead leaves and brown grass winter had left upon the ground. Observing, waiting, planning…

A column of knights roared past only several yards away. A virtual hornet's nest of enemies for which Tyene was facing alone. 'Damn Caryn.' The smug general wanted something to one up the Imp. Tyene figured the whole thing was smart, but petty revenge that brought her into harm's way annoyed her to no end.

Suddenly, a new noise stunned him out of her reverie. "I'm just gonna take a piss away from you cunts." Tyene's eyes widened. Could it have been that easy? Sure enough, there was Ser Bronn, the gruff sellsword with a chip on his shoulder strolling through the trees, separating himself from the encampment. A smile crossed her face - she didn't even have to infiltrate the camp.

Kicking a rock into a clump of leaves, Bronn found a nice, stout oak tree to his liking. Certainly smelled better than the camp latrines, already overflowing with flies and the stench of nearly a hundred soldiers with diarrhea - while the smell was common on the battlefield, at least then there was the smell of blood and smoke to mask it. Hands moving to the drawstring of his trousers, they stopped as a sharp blade made ever so slight contact with his neck.

"Keep quiet or I'll kill you," Tyene hissed, guiding him behind a grove of thick brambles. Her captor did not seem to resist. "Where is the main Lannister army?"

Bronn smirked at the voice. "Well hello." If it weren't for the blade to his throat, Bronn would have found this highly arousing. "And why should I tell you this, lass?"

The knife pressed into his skin, just weak enough not to nick his skin. "I won't ask again." Tyene put all her malice in her voice, but the vast majority of her resisted having to kill this man.

"You're not going to kill me, darlin'," Bronn chuckled, seeing right through her. A choking gulp left him as she shifted her arm to hold him in a lock. She may not have wanted to kill him, but she was angry.

"I don't want to kill you, sellsword. I owe you a great debt." Among other reasons. "But do not hesitate to tell yourself that I will give you great pain."

Holding his hands up in surrender, Bronn fell onto the ground as Tyene released him. Coughing, he sucked in breaths to his aching lungs. "Damn, you are stronger than you fucking look." The lithe, sensual Dornishwoman had a power that rivaled some Kingsguards he knew.

Tyene rolled her eyes, but felt inwardly pleased at the complement. "I don't have all day - and bear in mind I still haven't decided what to do with you afterwards."

"Don't trust me, do ya?"

"About as far as I can through you, Ser Bronn," she scowled. "But I think you would prove more trustworthy than most think."

"Oh?" Resting his back against a tree trunk, Bronn folded his arms. "Why is that?"

Smirking, Tyene looked him over. "You don't cross my mind as the blindly loyal type, or the obsequious fortune hunter. You're an independent fortune hunter, and in Joffrey's Kingdom such independence is a liability - am I wrong?"

Damn, her smug smirk was sexy. As she knelt before him, he grabbed her neck and pulled her in for a lustful, short kiss. "Perhaps you're right." Bronn grinned at her momentary satisfied look before the haughty derision returned. "Seeing a that I don't have a choice… they're not sending any relief force to Casterly Rock despite knowing you cunts are going after it."

Her suspicions - or rather Caryn's - were confirmed. "Why? That's where their gold is."

Bronn chuckled. "Lass, all the gold is stamped with the seal of the Iron Bank. The Westerlands haven't shit gold since before this shitshow started." Getting Jaime Lannister drunk one night months past spilled plenty of secrets.

That surprised her a bit. 'So the great Tywin Lannister hasn't an ingot to his name.' Delightful to her families' ego, but still provoking more questions than answers. "So where are the additional troops being sent." Bronn answered by extending his arms wide to the land around him. 'Oh fuck.'

The shrill ringing of the bell pierced the early morning silence. Lion banners fluttering in the sea breeze, dozens of archer, crossbowmen, and men at arms scrambled on the cobblestone and wood floors for their positions. It had rained overnight, a cold, biting rain that left a humid chill in the air and puddled dampness on the ground. Boots squelched as the men hurried, the barking of officers the only noise loud enough to match the warning bells.

"Form at the mantlets!" yelled the officers.

"Fucking hells," one archer said.

"There has to be millions," murmured another, urine soaking his trousers.

"Gods be with us, gods be with us," a crossbowman mumbled over and over under his breath.

"Shut your fucking mouths and form up! Hold the tar!" screamed an officer at his trembling men, holding back his own fear. Before him - assembled across the vast expanse of the Plains of Tytos nestled between the coastal cliffs and forested peaks - were the fifteen thousand men of the Imperial Army of the West. Tight ranks of Unsullied formations, shock still in their menacing black leather armor. Glinting steel armor and enraged snarls from the Riverlands men at arms, ready to avenge the rape and pillage of their land by the Lannisters and their Frey running dogs. Forms of massive trebuchets, catapults, and the giant belfry wheeling slowly towards them.

The booming of a horn resonated across the landscape. In a mere split second, the Imperial line surged forward. Unsullied by silent command shifted their shields up in a uniform tortoise formation, protecting themselves from the inevitable streams of arrows as they clustered around their ladders. The men at arms by contrast sacrificed formation for speed, charging at a sprint towards the whitewashed walls of the picturesque Casterly Rock. Catapults and trebuchets let loose, showering projectiles upon the walls and innards of the castle.

"LOOSE!" A ragged wave rippled into the air, black shapes arcing upward before plummeting towards their targets below. Many riverlanders fell, screams of the wounded joining with the utter silence of the dead, blood staining the impossibly green grass. Arrows buried themselves in the shields of the Unsullied, few falling unless a lucky arrow sailed through the gaps in the impromptu armor. Still the formation plodded forward.

Crossbowmen began to individually target the onrushing imperials between the longbow volleys, aimed shots taking down men in screaming flashes of crimson. Ladders heaved up into place, bannermen and Unsullied using their shields as cover to scramble up. Rocks and metal shards fell from the mantlets, striking dozens. Dodging one, Edmure Tully urged his men to continue. "Come on! Don't stop! Get up there!"

Screams and snarls from atop found several bannermen falling, blood spurting from their broken bodies. Piercing cries from yards away found an entire detachment of Unsullied doused in boiling tar, Edmure covering his nose from the stench of cooking flesh. Looking back up, he made up his mind and the Lord of Riverrun mounted a ladder.

Aching pain stabbing through his limbs, Edmure felt his shield arm jerk down as rocks slammed into it. A crossbow bolt, followed by another, shallowly pierced the wood - avoiding his arm thanks be to the gods. Cries from beside him found another Tully bannerman fall, blood gushing from the bolt in his neck and taking three others on the ladder down with him. "Fuck!" Their own archers suddenly joined in the fray, several arrows smacking off the walls. A Lannister soldier collapsed to the ground below as some hit their mark. "Remember the Red Wedding!" he snarled, pushing through the pain as he scrambled up the rungs faster.

"REMEMBER THE RED WEDDING!" screamed those under his command. The Unsullied were silent, continuing forward nevertheless.

Reaching the top rung, Edmure bent his knees and leapt onto the top of the mantlet. Legs searing in pain, he slammed his shield into the waiting Lannister bannerman, red cloak and shield both careening into the outer courtyard below. Unsheathing his sword, steel clashed against flesh as he sent a crossbowman to the ground in a bloody mess.

Unsullied poured through the innards of the belfry, protected from the hail of boulders and arrows slamming into the sides. Lannister archers dipped their wicks in flaming pitch and sent them hurling towards the siege tower, but Imperial engineers under the direction of Sam Tarly had planned for this. Rain-soaked hides were nailed to the wooden walls. The heavy fur and skin contained the flaming projectiles, dampening their blow as the hooked ramp slammed onto the mantlets. Dozens of Unsullied, Grey Worm at the van, charged into the Lannister men at arms with spears and short swords - a ferocious melee erupted, troops struggling to gain the advantage in such a narrow space.

Kicking down the door to a tower, Grey Worm rammed his spear into a waiting redcloak, blood oozing from his mouth as his lungs began to shut down. Battle cry resonating in his ears, the commander barely managed to draw his short sword to parry the axe aimed for his head. A diagonal slash sent the second redcloak back in a boneless heap. Racing up the staircase, running through another with his sword, Grey Worm burst into the sunlight with the Targaryen flag removed from the satchel tied to his waist. "NOW!" he yelled, High Valyrian joined by the fluttering banner to signal to Caryn's trained gunners.

Set up in the heat of the fight, the two cast-iron siege cannon boomed at Grey Worm's signal. Propelled forward by the explosive force of the black powder, the two hundred pound balls crashed through the thick wooden gate, denting the iron porculus within. Two further vollies sent the entire structure crashing through the ground. Gate open - all Lannister forces redirected to the site of the assault - Unsullied swarmed into Casterly Rock castle, sweeping aside all who opposed them.

Two hours later, the sounds of fighting had all but morphed into an eerie silence. Death hung in the air, prisoners marched around piles of bodies while gleeful bannermen looted everything not nailed down. Grey Worm's mind was on the next fight. "I wonder how long Iron Islands fleet take to here."

"Our scouts didn't see any in Lannisport harbor," Edmure remarked, wiping the sweat and dried blood from his face with a rag. "Either they're at sea or in Pyke." Called over by one of his knights, he dashed off.

"Commander," said one of the Unsullied lieutenants, running up to Grey Worm. "I inspected the vaults. All of them are empty of the enemy treasury."

Face a mask, inwardly Grey Worm seemed shocked. "Absolutely none? No bullion prepared for storage in wagons or carts?" The dismay and confusion increased when his lieutenant shook his head. His scouts may have been wrong or been the victim of deception, but the reported haul of precious metals out of the Westerlands couldn't have been cleared out of Casterly Rock in the time it took for them to march there. It was just impossible.

Grey Worm's musings were interrupted by Edmure Tully, face contorted in rage. The man looked to be someone normally placid and friendly - Grey Worm knew the type, for Missandei was another once used to being out of bondage. Anger looked out of place on him, but considering what he'd been through, what other emotion could one have felt against House Lannister. "Fucking asshole!" He threw a trembling man to the ground. He wore the dark grey shift and chains of a maester. "Tell me where the gold is!" Sword sheathed, he had his knife out. It was also covered in blood. "There is none in the vaults!"

The maester shook with terror. "Please, my Lord, don't kill me…" He was cut off when Edmure kicked him in the chest.

Sputtering coughs, he looked up to see Grey Worm kneeling beside him. "Lord Tully was at Red Wedding," he said in his common tongue, more fluent through every lesson of Missandei's and interactions with his Westerosi comrades. "Watched as friends and family died. Separated from wife and baby. Tywin Lannister no here, so he have no trouble to kill you. Understand?" The maester of Casterly Rock nodded. "Where is gold?"

"There…" He wheezed. "There is none."

"Lies," Grey Worm spat, causing the maester to squirm.

"The famed mines of the Westerlands," Edmure stated, arms spread wide. "All the fucking gold in Westeros, enriching the Lannisters for centuries."

"Yes, they did." The maester shakingly climbed to his feet, legs wobbling. "But the mines ran dry. Have been for nearly a decade. There hasn't been gold in our vaults for two years." Flinching as if expecting a sword to his back, all he received were two Tully bannermen dragging him away with the rest of the prisoners.

Words ringing in his head, Grey Worm gazed at the expanse of dead. For every Lannister, there were two or three Unsullied or Tully bannermen, lost to the meatgrinder of fortress assault. "Dear Gods!" screamed Edmure, kicking at a dead redcloak in anger. The realization came upon Grey Worm. 'No gold. No point.' Casterly Rock turned out to be nothing but a speck of insignificant land. There would be no relief armies coming after them.

So much death and loss - all for nothing.