Destruction and Plots

AN: I AM BACK!!!

******************************************

299 AC, Lannisport…

The next day dawned with a heavy weight upon Rody's heart. As he stepped out into the streets of Lannisport with his men, he witnessed the aftermath of their decision. Soldiers were forcing the city's inhabitants to leave, pushing them out without anything of value in their hands, only the clothes on their backs. The once bustling and vibrant city now resembled a ghost town, its streets emptying of life.

His eyes followed the procession of displaced people, their faces etched with sorrow and despair. It was a heart-wrenching sight, one that reminded Rody of the consequences of war. Lannisport, a city that had thrived for generations, was now reduced to an empty shell.

His gaze drifted towards the docks, where a faint plume of smoke rose in the distance. The soldiers had started a fire to raze the city to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes and ruin in their wake. Rody swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to reconcile the devastation before him with the purpose he had sworn to uphold.

As Rody walked through the streets of Lannisport, he witnessed the grim scene unfolding before him. Soldiers, their faces hardened with determination, moved from house to house, forcefully evicting the inhabitants. The once lively homes were now reduced to broken shells, their doors broken down, and their belongings scattered.

Rody saw families huddled together, clutching each other tightly as they were led away. Tears streaked down their cheeks, and the weight of uncertainty was etched in their eyes. Some resisted, refusing to abandon their homes and livelihoods, but the soldiers were unyielding.

In the face of resistance, the soldiers showed no mercy. They raised their swords and spears, brandishing them as a warning to those who dared to defy their orders. The crack of a whip echoed through the streets, the sound meant to instill fear and submission.

In one instance, he saw an elderly couple, their backs hunched with age, stubbornly refusing to leave. The soldiers threatened them, demanding that they comply, but the couple held their ground. Without hesitation, a soldier swung his sword, cleaving through the doorframe of their home. The loud thud of the blade against wood sent shivers down Rody's spine.

The elderly couple finally relented, their faces etched with defeat. They clung to each other, their eyes filled with sorrow, as they were led away from the only place they had called home for decades.

As Rody moved closer to the docks, he noticed a group of young men, their faces etched with anger and defiance. They shouted at the soldiers, challenging their authority and refusing to leave their city. The situation escalated quickly, and before Rody knew it, the clash turned violent.

The soldiers responded with brute force, swinging their weapons at the young men with deadly intent. A chaotic melee ensued, with the sound of steel clashing against steel filling the air. Rody's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the violence unfold, feeling a deep sense of helplessness.

In the end, the young men were overpowered and subdued. They were dragged away, their hands bound and their spirits broken. Rody could only imagine the fate that awaited them, likely to be imprisoned or worse.

The cries of those forced to leave their homes echoed through the streets, their anguish a haunting reminder of the price paid in the pursuit of justice.

As Rody continued to witness the forced exodus, he couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Their decision had set these events in motion, and he knew that they must remain steadfast in their purpose, even if it meant witnessing the suffering of innocent lives caught in the crossfire.

His heart weighed down by the reality of war, Rody knew that he had to accept this grim fate. Their decision had been made, and now they must face its consequences. The road to victory was paved with sacrifice, and it was a reality he had to embrace.

Amidst the somber scene, Rody's attention was drawn to the cries of a baby and a little girl passing by with their mother. Their innocent faces were a stark contrast to the destruction around them. They were the collateral damage, the price paid in the pursuit of justice. As he watched them disappear into the distance, Rody knew that their struggle was far from over. The path they had chosen was fraught with challenges, but he would stand steadfast by his prince's side, determined to see their cause through.

For justice to be served, sacrifices must be made. Rody understood that now more than ever. Their journey had just begun, and the road ahead would test their mettle and resolve.

…

The army marched forward, leaving the desolate city of Lannisport in their wake. Rody rode his horse behind Robb, their faces grim with the weight of their recent decision. He could hear snippets of conversation between Robb and Lord Rickard Karstark as they discussed the events of the previous day.

"It was the right decision to raze Lannisport," Lord Karstark said, his voice heavy with conviction. "We needed to send a clear message to the Lannisters about what they had done to the king."

Robb nodded, his expression grave. "Deciding the course of action was one thing, but watching it unfold in reality was different," he admitted. "I have made my peace with the decision, but it still weighs heavily on me."

Lord Karstark placed a reassuring hand on Robb's shoulder. "You were born to lead, Robb," he said firmly. "Your father, King Eddard, made you the commander of the army for a reason. Hard decisions come with the territory, and you have the strength and wisdom to see us through."

Robb's face softened as he looked at Lord Karstark. "Thank you, my lord," he replied, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Your counsel and support mean a great deal to me."

As they rode on, Lord Karstark shifted the topic of their conversation, turning his attention to the strategic considerations that lay ahead. "Once we reach the Riverlands, what will be our next move?" Lord Karstark inquired, his voice measured. "Do we first head to Riverrun to fortify our position, or do we march directly to stand beside the king's army?"

Robb pondered the question for a moment before responding. "I believe it's best to do both," he said thoughtfully. "I will send a thousand men with the loots back to Riverrun to ensure we have a secure base of operations in the region. Meanwhile, the main army will march to join forces with the king's army."

Lord Karstark nodded approvingly. "A wise plan," he said. "We need a strong foothold in the Riverlands to reinforce our position and establish a supply line. But we must also stand beside the king's army to show our unity and strength to our enemies."

Their conversation turned to the details of the march and the logistics of their operations. They discussed the various challenges they might face, from scarce resources to potential encounters with enemy forces. Rody listened in silence, absorbing the wisdom and experience shared between the crown prince and Lord Karstark.

As the sun began its descent behind the mountains in the distance, Rody found himself engaged in a conversation with Jon Snow. They spoke about their experiences during the campaign, reminiscing about their training days in Winterfell and the battles they had fought together. But as time passed, Jon's attention was drawn to the discussion between Robb and Lord Karstark.

"You are right, we could place some additional men to Golden Tooth," Jon interjected, his curiosity piqued. "But wouldn't that stretch our supply lines too much?"

Robb and Lord Karstark exchanged knowing glances, appreciating Jon's inquisitive nature. They delved into the details, discussing the various ways they would handle provisions, scouting, and communication within the army. Rody found himself listening intently, trying to absorb every bit of information.

However, as the conversation between Robb and Lord Karstark delved deeper into the military strategy, Rody found himself becoming somewhat bored. His mind wandered, and he couldn't help but daydream about the coming battles in the Riverlands. He imagined the clash of swords, the cacophony of battle cries, and the smell of blood and sweat filling the air. The thought of facing their enemies, side by side with the Northern and Riverland forces, sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins.

Just as his daydreaming reached its peak, Rody was startled back to reality by Robb's voice calling out to him. "Rody, ride up here," Robb beckoned.

Rody brought his horse beside Robb's, his attention fully back on the crown prince. "Yes, your highness?" he responded.

"I have a task for you," Robb said, his expression serious. "I want you to take some Greycloaks and go past the scouts in advance. Inform the king's army about our march and our plan to join forces. They need to be prepared accordingly."

Rody glanced at Jon, who nodded his approval. Rody's heart swelled with pride at being entrusted with such an important mission. "Consider it done, your highness," Rody replied firmly.

With a determined nod from Robb, Rody turned his horse and rode towards the left column of the marching army, where the Greycloaks were stationed. He called for a few of them, as well as his loyal companion, Hunter, to join him.

As Rody gathered the Greycloaks and Hunter to explain their mission, his face took on a serious demeanor. He knew the importance of their task and the weight it carried. "Listen up," he began, his voice firm and commanding. "We have been given a crucial mission by the crown prince himself. We are to ride ahead of the main army and pass the scouts, informing the king's forces about our march and the plan to join them. It is imperative that we deliver this information accurately and swiftly."

The Greycloaks and Hunter listened attentively, understanding the gravity of the assignment. Rody continued, "Our success could mean the difference between victory and defeat. We must ensure that our allies are prepared for our arrival, and we cannot afford any delays."

Hunter, ever the jester of the group, interjected with a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "It's a pity we won't be the ones going back to Riverrun," he said with a sigh. "I miss my wife and sister."

Rody placed a reassuring hand on Hunter's shoulder. "I understand how you feel, my friend," he said. "But the time will come for us to return to Riverrun. Right now, our duty lies in this mission, and we must do it properly."

Hunter nodded, the seriousness of the situation settling upon him. "You're right," he replied. "We have a task to fulfill, and we will do it well."

Rody looked at the rest of the Greycloaks, making sure they were all focused and ready. "Let's not waste any time," he said.

The Greycloaks straightened their backs, a sense of purpose gleaming in their eyes. "We won't let you down, captain!" one of them replied, speaking for the rest.

Rody smiled, appreciating their determination. "Good. Now let's ride," he said, urging his horse forward. The small group of Greycloaks and Hunter followed suit, their horses' hooves pounding against the ground as they rode with a sense of urgency.

As they rode ahead of the main army, Rody's mind was focused solely on the mission at hand. He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, knowing that the information they carried would impact the course of the war. But he also felt a surge of determination, fueled by the trust Robb had placed in him.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the landscape, Rody and the Greycloaks pressed on. The road stretched before them, and the fate of the realm hung in the balance. They rode with a sense of purpose, knowing that their actions would play a part in shaping the future of the Seven Kingdoms.

…

It only took a few days for Rody and others to pass scouts and make their way into Riverlands. As heavy rain poured down, turning the roads into muddy tracks and making the journey treacherous, Rody and the Greycloaks found themselves facing one of the most challenging scenarios they had ever encountered. The continuous downpour showed no sign of abating, and the group's progress slowed to a crawl. Each step was a struggle, and the horses were becoming increasingly fatigued.

Rody knew that time was of the essence, yet he also understood the importance of ensuring the safety of his men and the information they carried. With the weather against them, Rody decided to seek shelter in a nearby abandoned farmhouse. The Greycloaks gratefully dismounted and huddled inside, seeking respite from the relentless rain.

Inside the cramped space, Rody gathered his companions around him and hunched over a tattered map, its ink beginning to bleed from the rainwater. "We're still a long way from the king's army," Rody said, his voice barely audible over the sound of raindrops beating against the roof. "But we cannot afford to lose any more time. We must find a way to push forward."

Hunter, usually the light-hearted one, looked visibly concerned. "Captain, this rain isn't letting up. Our horses can't go on like this, and the roads ahead are likely to be even worse. We may risk losing them if we continue."

Rody sighed, realizing the weight of Hunter's words. The fate of their horses was intertwined with their own, and abandoning them was not an option. "You're right, Hunter," Rody replied. "We cannot push our horses beyond their limits. We'll give them some rest and see if the rain eases up. In the meantime, we must also consider alternative routes that might be less affected by the weather."

As the hours passed, the rain showed no mercy, but the Greycloaks remained hopeful for a break in the weather. Rody took this opportunity to distribute rations among the men, urging them to conserve their energy and stay vigilant.

Inside the cramped farmhouse, the Greycloaks shared tales of past battles and adventures to pass the time. The sound of rain tapping against the windows provided a steady backdrop to their conversation. Rody listened to their banter with a mix of amusement and concern, his thoughts often drifting back to the mission at hand.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere in the farmhouse grew more relaxed. The Greycloaks had taken to exchanging stories of their time in the service of House Stark, and their camaraderie was evident. Rody was grateful for the bond they shared, knowing that trust and unity among his men were crucial for everything.

At that moment, one of the Greycloaks leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. "You know," he said with a sly grin, "I overheard some Freys talking back at Lannisport. They were boasting that one of their own would soon become the new man-at-arms for the Starks."

A murmur of disapproval spread among the Greycloaks. Ser Rodrik Cassel, the man-at-arms of Winterfell, was highly regarded by all who served House Stark. The idea of a Frey replacing him did not sit well with them.

Another Greycloak scoffed at the notion. "Ser Rodrik would bury any Frey man before he'd allow that to happen," he retorted, the fire in his voice reflecting the loyalty they all held for Winterfell's seasoned warrior.

Rody raised an eyebrow, cautioning his men with a stern expression. "Enough of that talk," he said firmly. "We are not here to entertain rumors about the Freys. We have a mission to focus on."

A silence descended upon the room as the Greycloaks nodded, understanding the gravity of their task. Rody knew that the Freys' ambitions were a delicate subject, and while their alliance was essential for the war effort, there were underlying tensions between their houses.

"Let us remain vigilant and stay united," Rody continued. "We have a duty to the crown prince and to House Stark. The fate of the coming battle rests on our actions, and we cannot afford distractions."

His words resonated with the Greycloaks, and a sense of renewed purpose filled the room. They knew that the Freys extended their claws to places they shouldn't, and it wouldn't be long before they were taken down a peg or two. Rody was determined to ensure that House Stark's interests were protected and that their mission was accomplished without any hindrance.

As dawn approached, the rain finally began to subside. The Greycloaks readied themselves to continue their journey, hoping that the weather would hold up long enough for them to reach the king's army.

With the rain finally easing, Rody and his men continued their relentless journey, riding day and night to reach the king's camp. The urgency of their mission pushed them to the limits of their endurance, as they pressed on through fatigue and weariness.

As the hours turned into days, they found themselves traversing through the Riverlands, passing by small villages along the way. One such village, weathered and forlorn, caught their attention. Rody decided to seek shelter there and rest their horses, hoping to find fresh mounts for their tiring journey.

The village appeared deserted as they entered, except for a few elderly villagers going about their daily tasks. The signs of war were evident, as the villagers had likely sent their able-bodied kin to join the armies.

Approaching an old man who seemed to be the village elder, Rody greeted him with respect. "Greetings, my men and I are in need of fresh horses to continue our journey. Can you assist us?"

The elder looked at the Greycloaks with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "Fresh horses, you say? We don't have many to spare, but I reckon we can help. It's been quiet around here, but we've had to cope with the absence of our younger folk who went off to war."

Rody nodded, understanding the burden the village had to bear. "We are grateful for any assistance you can provide. We will make sure to compensate you for the horses and any trouble caused."

As Rody's men purchased several sturdy horses from the villagers, he took the opportunity to talk with some of the other elders, listening to their stories and concerns. They spoke of the toll the war had taken on their village, of the young men and sent off to fight, and the struggles they faced in their absence.

"We've managed to keep our village safe so far, but skirmishes are a common sight in the surrounding areas," one of the elders said with a grave expression. "We live with the constant fear that the battles might reach our doorstep."

Rody nodded, empathizing with the villagers' plight. He understood that the war affected not only the soldiers on the frontlines but also the innocent civilians caught in the crossfire.

As they bid farewell to the villagers and continued their journey with their fresh horses, Rody couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of responsibility. Their mission wasn't just about delivering a message; it was about ending the strife in Riverlands in a quick motion.

As they rode towards the east for a few more days, the landscape shifted, and the surrounding of Harrenhall unfolded before them. The noon sun hung high in the sky when they heard the sounds of screams and sword clashes ahead. Urgency gripped them, and Rody exchanged glances with his men before they kicked their horses into a faster pace.

Cresting a hill, they beheld a chaotic scene below. At least two dozen men clashed against each other. Rody recognized the colors of one side, resembling Lannister sigils, while the other donned leather armor in a style privy to the Northerners. His heart raced as he realized that they had stumbled upon a skirmish between Lannister forces and Northern scouts.

Without hesitation, Rody and the Greycloaks charged down the hill, their battle cries joining the cacophony of conflict. Drawing his sword, Rody swung with precision as his horse thundered forward. His blade found the back of a Lannister soldier's neck, ending his suffering in one swift motion.

The skirmish intensified, and the clash of steel echoed through the air. Rody's mind focused solely on the fight before him, his instincts guiding each move. He parried a Lannister's strike, countering with a swift riposte that found its mark. Another enemy closed in, but Rody's horse danced nimbly, allowing him to evade the attack.

The Greycloaks fought with valor, their training evident in each move. They rallied around Rody, forming a cohesive unit in the midst of chaos. With every swing of their swords, they defended their Northern kinsmen and pushed back the Lannister forces.

Rody spotted a scout in dire straits, surrounded by multiple Lannister soldiers. With a surge of determination, he charged towards them, deflecting blows and striking back with deadly accuracy. Together with the Greycloaks, they managed to create a breach in the enemy's lines, allowing the Northern scouts to regroup and gain a foothold in the battle.

The skirmish wore on, the fighting fierce and unrelenting. The cries of the wounded and the clash of steel filled the air, as the Greycloaks fought with valor. Rody's heart pounded in his chest, his every movement a dance of survival.

At long last, the Lannister forces began to waver. Overwhelmed by the ferocity and determination of the Northern scouts and the Greycloaks, they fell back in disarray. Rody and his men pressed the advantage, driving the enemy further away until they were no longer a threat.

As the dust settled, Rody surveyed the aftermath of the skirmish. The Northern scouts, bloodied but victorious, gathered around him with grateful nods and expressions of thanks. The camaraderie between them was palpable, a bond forged in the heat of battle.

Continuing their journey towards the king's camp, Rody found himself riding alongside the Northern scouts they had just aided. Conversation flowed between the two groups, and Rody's curiosity about the situation surrounding Harrenhal led him to ask one of the scouts for more information.

"What can you tell us about the state of the army?" Rody inquired, his voice carrying a note of concern. "I heard there are skirmishes around."

The scout nodded, his expression grave. "Aye, it's been a tumultuous time around Harrenhal," he began. "A few days after the attempted ambush on the king's party, news came from the enemy side. They claimed that some sellswords had also tried to ambush Tywin Lannister's party."

Rody's brow furrowed at the information. It seemed like a pattern was emerging, one that aimed to disrupt any attempts at parley between the Lannisters and the Starks. "So, they tried to break the parley not just from our side, but from the Lannister's as well?" Rody mused aloud. "It's almost as if someone is deliberately sowing chaos, not wanting the two sides to find common ground."

The scout nodded solemnly. "Aye, that's the talk among the men. Ever since then, skirmishes have been breaking out all around the lands surrounding Harrenhal. Both sides seem reluctant to meet for negotiations again, with tensions running high."

Rody's mind spun with possibilities. It was a dangerous game being played, one that not only affected the armies but also the common folk caught in the middle. He couldn't shake the feeling that there were forces at play beyond the battlefield, manipulating events to their advantage.

Nevertheless, there was nothing he could do other than to achieve success in his mission.

As the conversation continued, Rody's curiosity extended to the king's condition and the current state of affairs within the camp.

"How fares the king?" Rody asked, his tone cautious. "Is he recovering well from the ambush?"

The scout nodded, a glimmer of relief in his eyes. "Aye, word around the camp is that the king has already healed and is back in his usual spirits. The commanders of the combined Northern and Riverlander army are suggesting a storming of Harrenhal, but the king insists on a more cautious approach, at least for now."

Rody nodded in understanding. The king's decision was a prudent one, considering the delicate situation they were in. "The king is right. It's wise to hold back for a few more days. The army led by the crown prince is on its way here, and we'll be joining forces soon."

The scout's brows furrowed, a surprised expression crossing his face. "Crown prince's army? I thought they were to hold Golden Tooth after returning from Lannisport."

Rody's eyes widened slightly. "We never received such orders, as far as I know."

The scout's expression turned grim. "It's possible that the messengers were intercepted by the enemy. But in a way, we're fortunate they never reached you."

Rody frowned, puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

The scout's gaze turned to the south, where the distant outline of Harrenhal could be seen. "Since the death of Renly Baratheon, there's talk of the Tyrells aligning with the Lannisters. Rumor has it, the army of the Reach numbers around a hundred thousand men."

Rody's eyes widened in realization. Such a massive force would indeed be a threat, especially if they caught the king's army alone. "A hundred thousand... if that's true, they could easily outnumber and overpower us."

The scout nodded somberly. "Indeed. If we had chanced upon them without the crown prince's army, we might have walked right into a trap."

Rody's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his mind churning with the implications of this new information. The political landscape was shifting, alliances forming and breaking, and they were mere pawns caught in the midst of it. As he looked toward the south, uncertainty about the future weighed heavily on his mind. The path ahead was fraught with challenges, and Rody knew that each decision they made would have far-reaching consequences.