13 Ch. 13 Bandits

Twenty-Ninth Day of the Sixth Moon, of the year 293 A.C

This past fortnight has been a blessing. My days have not been micromanaged down to the minute, and I'm able to just take a step back and relax.

I have no doubt I could successfully run a castle and lands right now with all the lesson's Tywin and Maester Creylen have given me. To be honest. I do want a lordship if it involves a castle by the name of Casterly Rock.

At this point, I'm convinced Tywin is grooming me to be his heir. I don't like the thought of taking, what is Tyrion's birthright, but it would be for the best. The lords of Westerlands would be hostile to their liege lord being a dwarf, and Tyrion's reputation has declined after he returned to whoring and drinking.

Tyrion really took Uncle Gerion's assumed death really hard. All the work we poured into trying to save the fool man, ended in failure in Tyrion's eyes. Nothing has been confirmed, but it's been nearly a year since we received word of his ship departing Volantis the last time.

Uncle Gerion arrived at and departed from Volantis three times that first year. We assume he was making scouting trips around the Smoking Sea and returning to Volantis to resupply. Whatever the truth, we should have heard something by now, if he still lived.

Shortly after Uncle Gerion left, Tywin implemented my advancements to the current ships he owned, some twenty-five in total. The fleet has grown to an astounding sixty ships, capable of holding one-hundred men for a twenty-day voyage.

Hell, sailing has become the fastest way to travel from Lannisport to King's Landing! The new ships have shaved off several days from the standard travel time. I can't take full credit. The shipwrights took my ideas and designs and used their experience to improve them further.

Thoughts of Uncle Gerion and the fleet aside, I've been enjoying my time outside of Casterly Rock. Even if it took one-hundred and thirty-eight months to get to this point. But hey, who's counting?

Riding alongside my father and five-hundred soldiers and sworn swords, reminded me of my time in the Marine Corps. Moving in a somewhat military manner during the day and listening to gossip and stories at night.

By the Seven, that feels like a lifetime ago...

I didn't know how much I've missed gossiping with a bunch of foul-mouthed men until I started visiting the campfires at night. It's a form of companionship I've not been able to find at the Rock.

I'm fully aware of what the people at the Rock call me. I used to like hearing the hushed whispers about the 'Golden Cub'. It made me feel... like a celebrity, in away. But unlike celebrity status, I didn't have groups of adoring fans trying to form a connection with me. I didn't have anyone except my family... And Tywin.

While I never could befriend the boys 'my own age', I was never able to form a friendship with any of the older boys, not even Tyrion. It wasn't until I heard my other name, the 'Young Lion', that I began to understand the cause of my isolation.

The Young Lion isn't a bad name, but when the most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms, who you have had daily contact with for the past four years, is called the Old Lion... It's not hard to link the two together.

I think I have a better understanding of the loneliness Tyrion feels. Fortunately, I have a loving family for support, whereas he is shunned by nearly all.

Regardless of my social standing, it wasn't hard to figure out what Tywin was doing. He was giving me first-hand experience with the military. I'm sure he wants me to replicate my 'miracle' with the fleet. With what little I was able to give, Tywin was able to fully capitalize on it.

I'm sure Tywin has used this new fleet to increase trade and revenue for the Westerlands. He may be a ruthless bastard, but he has a thorough understanding of economics. But when you're the single wealthiest house in Westeros, he better have a damn good grasp on finance.

I'm almost afraid of giving the Old Lion military advancements. I still plan to try and modernize the army. It will help protect my family, and I should inherit the Westerlands anyway. Besides, we're gonna need the help in a few more years.

I guess I've just become victim to a side-effect of travel, a wandering mind.

We've been moving from village to village and combing the countryside east of the Golden Tooth for the past four days. Our hunt for the bandits has turned into a bit of a cat and mouse game.

When we talk to the landed knight in charge of the village, he reports the same thing as the previous knight. A group of forty to sixty bandits on horseback attacking travelers, taking any valuables and raping and murdering what few women that have had the misfortune to met them. Each time a force has been sent out to hunt them, the bandits have retreated into the Riverlands. The last attack was just the day before.

To be honest, I'm having my doubts these are true bandits. Traditionally, bandits are prior levies and sell-swords that were released from service after a war. The Westerlands did experience a bit of banditry shortly after the Greyjoy Rebellion, but that was nearly three years ago.

This is starting to sound like the men of a Riverlands' landed knight. It would explain how the 'bandits' have been able to hide for so long in an area lacking natural hiding places. At this point, I don't really care who the bandits are. After witnessing what was left of their victims, death is the only suitable punishment.

I assume we've spent the better part of today traveling in the Riverlands. There is nothing to really distinguish the border between Westerlands and the Riverlands, other than days of travel.

It was around noon when we came upon a small village. There was no wall, as is common, and there was no keep for a landed knight insight. What was in sight, were over forty horses tethered outside of the small inn.

"What are the chances these are our bandits?" I ask aloud.

My father ignored my comment and turned to Captain Trevor Slate. "Captain, surround the inn and remove those horses from the area. Arrest everyone that steps out of the inn, and kill any that resist." Ser Kevan Lannister ordered.

As the Lannister soldiers swiftly fulfilled their orders, I stayed beside my father's side and observed everything I could. It didn't take long for things to become bloody.

The sound of their horses being stolen caused men to come pouring out of the inn. Unfortunately, for the bandits, they were too focused on the men with their horses to see the other Lannister soldiers surrounding the building. The battle was gruesome but quick. It was the first time I've witnessed such carnage. It was unsettling.

When it finished, twenty-three bodies lay in the mud. Not one of those bodies belonged to a Lannister soldier. Included the men that tried to escape through the back of the inn, nineteen bandits were arrested.

Of course, we have no proof these men were the bandits. A confession from one of them would seal the fate of all of them.

My father began issuing orders to have the captives restrained and separated. Another order sent several soldiers to removing the dead bodies and securing the area.

Within an hour, the Lannister camp was set up, and campfires were lit. It was obvious the soldiers were preparing to gain confessions by force. Metal pokers were placed in flames, and sturdy chairs and restraints were brought from somewhere.

Unsure if there was some bit of humanity left-over from my previous life, or if I was still unsettled from the recent slaughter. But I did not want to witness a bloody torturer session.

'Seven forgive me for what I'm about to do,' was my plea before stepping forward.

"Bring me two pales of water and the youngest captive," I ordered with as much authority as I could muster.

The soldiers present only hesitated a second before they quickly moved to fulfill my order. I caught the arrival of my father from the corner of my eye but remained standing silently. I was too afraid my resolve would shatter if I talked right now.

All too soon, I dark-haired young man was drug over and securing strapped into the chair in front of me. He was slim and of a similar height as myself. His brown eyes were filled with fear. After securing the presumed bandit, the soldiers took up positions behind him.

"You stand accused of murder, rape, and banditry. Of which, the penalty is death." I stated to the nameless captive in a hollow voice. I didn't want to know his name, it would make this harder.

"Please," the bound man begged. "It... it wasn't me," he whined.

Looking at the soldier directly behind the captive. "Use his tunic to wrap around his face and hold his head back."

The broad Lannister man didn't hesitate to reach over the man's shoulder and grab the bottom of his tunic. I catch a glimpse of panic-filled eyes before the fabric is pulled over his head. With a few twists, the soldier has the cloth balled up at the back of the bandits head and jerks his head back.

I step forward and pick up a pale of water. I ignore the whimpered pleas as I position the bucket over the outline of his nose and mouth. As I begin to slowly pour the water over the man's mouth and nose, his body tenses and struggles against the restraints. I block out the wet sounding gargles and coughing.

'This is Westeros. This is Westeros,' I continue to chant to myself.

When I used a third of the water, I ceased pouring and stepped back from the chair. With a nod of my head, the soldier released the tunic and pushed the man's head forward.

My face remains expressionless as I stare at the bandit. His eyes are now bloodshot, and mucus is freely running from his nose. He looks completely terrified and desperate.

"For your confession and witness statement against the other bandits, you will be shown leniency. I give you my word as a Lannister, you will walk out of this camp, within the hour, unharmed." I said as coaxing as I could.

My man desperately latched onto the small amount of salvation offered to him. "I confess," He cried with tears in his eyes.

"I need proof," I quietly said. "Where and when was your last attack?"

My resolve hardened as the dark-haired bandit began to describe the last attack we found. He even described the cart before it was burned. I was forced to ask, but he claimed the rest of the captives were present for the attack as well.

When the bandit finished speaking, he hangs his head low. After hearing the details of his crimes, I no longer felt sick to my stomach. Looking towards my father, he stands there with an unreadable expression. I'm not surprised to see Captain Slate standing beside him with a look of curiosity on his face.

"I judge his confession true. Captain Slate, I charge you with carrying out the king's justice, in the execution of those guilty of banditry." I state with as calm a voice as I can muster.

I have no authority over any of the soldiers, and they know it but, Captain Slate only hesitates a moment before nodding his head in acceptance.

"Release this man, he is free to go," I order the confessed bandit. Once free of the restraints, the man cautiously stands before slowly stepping away.

I stared at the back of the bandit as he staggered towards the edge of the camp. With a tone of authority, I speak to the soldiers in the area. "The moment he steps out of our camp, fulfill the king's justice."

"But you gave your word," Captain Slate spoke from the side.

I look into Captain Slate's grey eyes. "I gave no promise of pardon, Captain. I only promised him safe passage out of our camp. He is still a bandit, of which the penalty is death."

A weary look came over the captain's face. Without a word, Captain Slate turned towards a group of soldiers standing near and jerked his head towards the confessed bandit.

With that, I turned and walked away. I needed to be alone right now.