coming to a head

The tales of the Golden Tooth spoke of a mighty castle that had thrown back hosts led by riverlander kings of old back into their domains. With tales like that, Roche had the mind to think that the Tooth was some great and mighty castle that cast a long shadow in the pass that it protected and held command over. 

Therefore, he couldn't help but be somewhat disappointed with what he saw. 

"I thought it would be bigger." He noted simply in the black of the night as he edged along a small path with a group of armed men in toll. "You can fit that castle into Harrenhal a hundred times over." 

Kimble let out a small curse as a foot slipped on the rock that he had stepped on. "You can fit a lot of castles into Harrenhal a hundred times over. Once you see Harrenhal, no other castle will impress you ever again. Not in size. Nothing." 

Roche agreed with that. Him and Kimble had grown up in the shadow of Harrenhal, he could remember seeing it for the first time with his eyes, over the years slowly but surely rising up into the great heights that it was. It dominated the landscape and obtusely reminded the people that it lorded over who was their king and lord. 

Harren had built himself a castle worthy of hundred kings with the blood and sweat of thousands. It was a shame that the man didn't burn in his castle. It would have been a sweet thing to see. 

Roche stopped thinking about the past for a moment and looking to the task at hand. Taking the Tooth for king and kingdom. It was a difficult task to be sure, but one that they could very well accomplish with everything they had done to prepare for this moment in time. 

"You know, if we pull this off, do you think we'll able to keep the gold we have been stealing from the Leffords?" Pate asked in the quiet as they edged over closer to the walls of the small keep. 

"That's for the king to decide." Kimble grumbled as he shifted the rope and hook knotted around his shoulder. His tone took a turn for the worst as he continued to speak."But the orders did say that we got to keep whatever we took as long as it didn't impede our orders." 

What they could get to keep whilst continuing to carry out their orders to burn and pillage the Westerlands was little and far in-between. Their force was small in numbers, perhaps a couple hundred men in total in the Westerlands in its entirety. 

The advantage they had was their small number and the different cells that they operated in allowed them to strike with impunity wherever they wished though most of the cells operated in the more agriculturally rich southern westerlands, burning the fields and granaries that were located there. 

The rest operated in the north, burning this farmstead there, another farmstead here. Sometimes, they would come together to even launch daring assaults on some of the smaller keeps and castles, quick raids to knock the westermen of balance.  

They seemed to be doing quite well considering everything else. Although the successes they had seen would be rightly attributed to the fact that the Lannisters had sent fighting men to the Iron Isles. Not every fight men of age, but enough to make it noticeable that they didn't have the numbers they could call upon normally. 

Though that didn't mean they had it easy. Many lordships still held command over knights and mounted men alike, enough of them to give them trouble. And boy, did they give them enough trouble as it is. 

He didn't know how many or which ones, but he was sure a couple of the other cells had been rounded up and destroyed by knights and men-at-arms sent to hunt them down. Which meant that they were working on limited time until the westermen were able to overcome them with the sheer weight of numbers they would be able to call upon. 

"I hope Quinn is in position." Kimble grunted as they came to finally reach the wall, leaning hard against it to avoid any detection in the dead of night.  

Roche looked up the curtain wall of the keep and squinted in the night, looking for shadows and signs of movement. They had been watching the keep, taking minute notes of where the guards patrolled on the walls. From there, they knew where to strike. 

Like here. After the third day and night of watching the place, they had noticed the guards seemed to never patrol this part of the curtain walls that nestled into the mountains with as much frequency as the other parts. He didn't blame them really.  

The only way an attack would come from this direction would be made by mad men willing to traverse the unstable and rocky goat path. Paths that he and the men that followed him had taken before in the West Mountains to cross over into the Westerlands. 

He shook his head at the laziness of it all. 

Proper guardsmen should make it a point to patrol all of their designated routes. One could never know where daring enemies might try to take advantage of the laziness of such men. 

"He will be." Roche muttered as he motioned for Kimble to come forward. They shuffled some awkwardly to let one pass the other over the narrow path. "If not, then we are in a bit of trouble." 

Kimble removed the rope and hook from his shoulder and rolled out his shoulders some, looking up to the ramparts. "I'd say a bit more than that me."  

"Shut your trap and just throw the damn hook would you?" 

Kimble grumbled some as he tied the rope and hook together before swinging it might close to the wall that for a moment, Roche thought that his old friend might give their position off if the hook made contact with the wall. With baited breath, he watched for a few tense moments before Kimble threw the hook upwards. 

It made contact with a sound that made everyone stand on their tip of their toes. Roche was sure that his eyes weren't the only ones nervously watching the walls for any sign of movement and even more when the hook made scrapping noises as it was tugged into position. 

"It's done." Kimble breathed out heavily as he tugged at the rope to make sure the hook was secure. "Fuck me, thought I was going to shit myself there for a few moments." 

"You aren't the only one," He waved him onwards. "Come on, move it." 

They climbed to the top and over the battlements and onto the walls themselves. Kimble had already taken out his crossbow, scanning around them for anybody that had been unlucky enough to see them make their way up the walls.  

A nod from him told him all he needed to know that they had made it unseen. Roche nodded as he made for the warhammer strapped to his side. "Alright, you all know what to do." 

The Leffords had not seen to raising the garrison any more than it had been. From what they could learn from the villagers and the peoples of the surrounding area, Lord Lefford had taken some of the fighting men along with his knights and men-at-arms with him with the host a Lannister prince was commanding. 

He had taken quite the men with him, but he didn't leave his hearth and home undefended. There was still a noticeable number of guardsmen and knights around that would have caused trouble for them.  

That is why they had been raiding Lefford lands, attacking their mines and intercepting cargos of gold that had been bound for the keep. That had been enough to see groups of guardsmen led by knights sent to stop the harassing Roche had been leading his men to do. 

All of that was preparation that led to this very moment. 

A swift movement of the head was enough to tell the men to carry on with their orders. He led five men into the depths of the keep. They had to make for the rookery to stop any messages from being sent out. They could probably hold the castle with the men they had but it was frankly better for that option to not even be taken into account. 

"Who the-." 

Two guardsmen had the luck of running into Roche and his men. One of them had blinked at them and made to speak was stopped by Roche rushing forward and planting the axe of his warhammer into his head. The other blinked as he fumbled for the halberd he carried, but Pate put a quarrel through his neck and Roche finished him off as he choked on his blood. 

He looked back at the young man, a fellow boy who had grown up in Harrenhal's shadow. "Good shot." 

The boy blinked before he beamed as he loaded another quarrel into his crossbow. "At your service, ser." 

"I ain't a ser..." Roche grumbled some as they made to move the bodies into a side room. 

"What about the blood?" Pate asked, glancing back at the droplets of blood that had pooled together. 

Roche thought about it for a moment. He wanted to live it, but they didn't know how long until another patrol came through this part of the keep. "Clean it up, no need to make it fancy. Just enough to hide it." 

They nodded and made to work quickly, scrubbing the blood at the floor with the clothes of their own clothing. It wasn't clean, it didn't need to be. It just needed to be out of sight and out of mind. 

They carried on their journey upwards, Roche recalling what one of the Lefford knights had told him about the keep. About how they organised their patrols. About the layout of the keep. About where they kept the all-important rookery. 

It was when they passed one of the windows that overlooked the courtyard that they noticed something. Outside, in the pale light the half-moon gave, Roche let out a curse as he saw one of the men, his or Quinn's make a mess of taking care of one of the guardsman. 

The guardsman rammed his halberd into the soldier's gut as he cried out. "Intruders! We have intruders!" Another man leapt from the shoulders and grabbed him in a headlock before sharply twisting the head and the guardsman went limp. 

By then it was too late as the alarm was quickly being raised. 

"We have to move, now!" Roche was already bolting down the corridor, his warhammer held ready to end the life of anyone who came into his path. "Move it!" 

Behind him, he could hear the scurry of feet as his men quickly ran after him, doing well to keep up with him. By then, a horn had been sounded and the sounds of men fighting could now clearly be heard by every window he passed. 

"This is it!" Roche shouted as he rammed his shoulder into a dark wooden door, knocking it off its hinges and sending it clattering to the floor along with himself as he landed atop it. What he had just done was certainly going to hurt come the morn, but as he was now, he didn't care. "Secure the room! The maester as well!" 

Pate quickly took position by the door, his crossbow aimed down the corridor they had come and the others quickly took to securing the other room that was most likely the maester's sleeping quarters. He was more than surprised a little when two voices could be heard from the maester's rooms as they were dragged out. 

Roche raised an eyebrow at the sight of a naked maester and an equally naked young woman were forced to their knees in front of him. Pate couldn't help but make an observation at the sight. "I thought the maesters had their cocks cut off when they made their vows?" 

"Mayhaps he has magic fingers," Yorrick, one of the soldiers grinned as he stood over the two. "Though beggars the question as to why he needs be naked. Or the lass as well." 

The maester tried to save his dignity by trying to hide his cock between his legs and so did the girl try to hide her nakedness with her hands, though she had something of a mighty glare on her as she looked up at him. "We only make vows." The old man whimpered some quietly. 

Roche shook his head at his words. Vows were supposed to mean something if you took them. He took vows as well, underneath the gaze of his king. He wouldn't forsake them for a bit of pussy. He could pay for that easily enough any day. 

Instead of he motioned for two of his men to help him as he made to barricade the room with the great oaken table of the maester. They left the door open, useless as it was and laid the table sideways, with its great height and frame more than enough to cover half of the doors height and all across its width. 

He turned towards the maester, leaving the others to watch out for any potential enemies. "How many men do you have in the keep?" He asked, idly twirling the warhammer in his hand about. He made it a point to show them the part that was covered in blood. 

The old man balked at the sight and his mouth made some sounds, sounds that were not words and thus useless to him. He pointed the warhammer at the man. "How. Many. Men. Are. In. The. Keep?" He asked once more, losing all manners of pleasantry his voice had held. 

This time, the girl that had been glaring at them all this time made to speak. "More than enough! You scoundrels won't be able to take it!" She spat at him. Literally.  

Roche took a step to the side to avoid the bodily object spat at him and he shook his head. "Bold words, if it comes to that then, we'll just kill you before they kill us." 

The maester paled. "You wouldn't." 

Pate looked back, a large grin on his face. "He so would." 

The maester's mouth did that thing again where sounds were made but no words formed. It was beginning to be annoying and Roche wasn't much for patience when things needed to be done. Then the words next spoken were of true interest to him. 

"But you shouldn't!" The maester made a motion to the girl beside him who looked at him with a fire in her eyes. "She's Arabella!" 

"Coleman!" She hissed at him. "Be quiet!" 

Roche raised an eyebrow. "That means nothing to me." 

"She's Lord-." The maester, Coleman was stopped from speaking as the woman, Arabella threw herself at him, scratching and it was all the old man could do to keep her off him with his hands. "She's Arabella Lefford. Lord Lefford's daughter!" He cried out in between shouts and curses at him. "You shouldn't kill us, she's valuable!" 

Roche blinked once more at the scene in front of him as he took in this new information. He then ordered for Yorrick. "Separate them." The soldier nodded as he did so, dragging the kicking girl away as she screamed and cursed at the older man. "You've been fucking your lord's daughter? Brave." It truly took a brave man to do such a thing, especially in his own lord's castle as well. He kneeled in front of the maester who spotted some bloody scratches on his face and body. "Now, about the keep, how many men? Tell me now and I'll be nice about it." 

He blinked at Roche, his mouth hanging open. "But you have the lord's daughter!" 

Roche held up a finger. "He also has a wife and two sons. And one of those sons is the one who trully commands this castle. The daughter is useless to me." Well, a certain value of useless. She still had a use. 

"A boy," the maester licked his lips. "It's the mother who is truly in command." 

Roche sighed. "It seems I have a long night ahead of me." And he hoped that Quinn didn't fuck things up already as they were. 

***​

The wagon was barely filled with several bags of hay along with a cage of chickens that cried and cried. Ser Morgan Pommingham kicked at the wheel of the wagon and spat to the ground. "Bah! There's barely enough to feed fifty men here!" 

Oswell, one of the men-at-arms of House Pommingham made his way towards him. "Barely less than that, m'lord." The pox-marked soldier remarked as he looked at the wagon. He turned his head towards one of the riverlander lot that had come with them. "I thought your lands were supposed to be bountiful." 

The riverlander shrugged his shoulders as he leaned on the wagon. "I don't quite understand it myself. We've had more grain than we know what to do with these past years." 

Ser Morgan frowned some at the poor excuse of a soldier. "Then where the fuck is this grain? All the villages we acquired supplies from barely have enough food to feed themselves!" 

The riverlander had the gall to frown at him. "Fuck knows. All I do know is that winter passed some moons ago and the people are just now beginning to plant once more." 

"Then where are the winter crops?" Ser Morgan marched onto the riverlander, bringing the full breadth of his weight onto him. "The summer crops that had been put into the granaries? Where are they? They certainly are not here!" 

The riverlander shirked some but did enough not to soil himself at having a true knight bare down on him. "The storehouses mayhaps? The royal ones. I don't know. I'm just a guarsman. I guard and kill whoever m'lord tells me to. I ain't no fucking farmer." 

The ser rolled his eyes as he moved away from the man, leaving him be.  

What a disaster.  

This entire campaign was beginning to look nothing more than a true and utter disaster just waiting for one that blow that would come and see them all to ruin. Where was the glory that they were supposed to win? 

The cowards of these lands that dared to call themselves lords had all run away and rather than face them in the field, had resorted to attacking their rear guard, their stragglers, foragers and outriders. It had gotten as bad as to have knights of the reach be sent out with the foragers to secure them supplies as they marched north to Pinkmaiden and join the rest of the Lannister host. 

All with the ever-present threat of the riverlanders gnawing at their heels. 

The sight of those headless bodies stacked to the side of the sides of the road they were marching through had been enough to dread any man, but had more than done enough to light a flame in his heart and middle to bring an end to the savages that would defile a body so. 

"Ser Morgan." The knight turned his head to face the man who had called him, a Ser Virgil Sarsfield of Sarsfield. "I see your own party had no better luck than mine." The Sarsfield knight motioned towards his own party of wagons. Most were empty and less than some had food in them. 

Ser Morgan took to his horse. "This doesn't bode well for the host." 

Ser Virgil shook his head as they joined in their journey back to where the host was camped. "No, it does not. I have heard some grumblings from the ranks about men going hungry and eating anything they can get their hands upon. We have to lower the rations once more." 

Ser Morgan grimaced. "They won't like that." 

"No, they won't." Ser Virgil shook his head. "But it won't be for long. Until we reach Pinkmaiden at the very least. Then with the Tooth to the west, we can have more supplies sent to us." 

"Enough supplies to feed an army?" 

The good ser couldn't help but shrug. "More than enough to curtail any hungry stomachs." 

They made their way down the winding road, making sure to be aware of their surroundings. It was at time like this that the riverlanders took to unchivalrous battle and struck from the shadows of the woods around them. 

Ser Morgan and Ser Virgil were at the front of their little company and thus they were the first to notice the felled tree that blocked their path. Two bodies stood at attention on either side of the tree, a bloody message wrote on a wooden placard that laid upon bare skin. 

WELCOME TO THE RIVERLANDS! I HOPE YOUR STAY HAS BEEN MOST WELCOME! 

Ser Virgil grimaced at the sight or the tree that was surely going to inconvenience them. "We should turn back, find another way to join up with the rest of the host." His eyes roamed the woods around them. "This is a favored tactic of theirs I hear from some of the survivors." 

"We'll be delayed." He pointed out. 

"Better that, than dead." Ser Virgil turned his horse round. "And we have to bring these supplies as well. No need for us to die so foolishly at such a blatant taunt and trap." 

"If you say so." Ser Morgan said as he nodded at the knight. Still though, a shiver went down his spine as if he was being watched. 

He was beginning to think these lands were cursed. 

Cursed and filled with cowards.