chapter 44

I was pleasantly surprised that my plan had worked. I always attempted to stack as many variables in my favor as I could, but there was so much that could have gone wrong. The key in war, in business, and life was to make smart bets. Risk little on your moonshots, but be ready to exploit them when they occur.

Just like when I was kind to the serving staff in King's Landing – would it likely give some great advantage in the future? Probably not, but it cost me very little to do, and it could potentially save my life. Would the Vale stay neutral or even side with me when I released Lord Royce? Probably not, but releasing him carried little cost.

Assaulting Harrenhal was a similar calculated risk. At worst, I lost a few men and would have to take a potentially risky leap off the walls of Harrenhal, but with my magic stronger than ever in this life, it didn't see all that much of a chance I couldn't get away if I needed to. With that in mind, I had gathered the rope from Lum, indicated where the handpicked men would attempt to scale the wall, and gone on ahead, alone. I'd used my magic to push myself up, off the ground, completely vertical. I had overshot it a bit, but a slight change in the force propelling me allowed me to descend gracefully without a sound.

I had been clad completely in dark clothing, and my small frame made me extra hard to spot. The walls were so massive, the torchlight did not extend all the way to the bottom of the fortress. From there, it had been easy to tie the lengthy rope to the crenelations, quietly dispatch a few patrols, and wait for my men to make the climb up the knotted rope.

I could understand why they didn't have more than a few cursory patrols – in fact, I had even bet on it – without my magic, anyone climbing by hand would face severe difficulty. But, with the aid of a rope, strong and fit climbers had been able to ascend fairly swiftly. As the first group got to the top, they dropped the additional rope they themselves carried, and by dispatching the patrols myself, as quietly as I could, the defenders were not aware there was even an assault occurring until I had dozens of men on the wall.

From there, it had been a bloody matter of striking hard and fast on the gatehouse. I could have left it to my band of climbers, but they were lightly armored, and that was risky. So, I had sighed heavily and resigned myself to taking part in the surprise attack. My daggers had quickly killed a multitude of defenders, even as the rest of my group descended on the unsuspecting guards. Even so, it was good that only one man had been a knight in plate. Had there been more heavily-armored guards, we might not have been able to take the building and hold it long enough for the interior and outer gates to be raised to let my soldiers through. I feared that my combat prowess was even further out of the bag, as dozens of my men saw me slay over a score of the enemy in brutally quick fashion. Most fell to my daggers at range, but not all.

Once Ser Barristan rode through and pierced into the rallying defenders, there was no keeping us out of Harrenhal. My Stormguard led the way alongside the Holy Hundred and the prowess of my knights. Opposed by men who were shocked, some drunk, and many still trying to wake, it was a slaughter. I had a good vantage point, even if it was difficult to see in the torchlight. Far better to remain at the gatehouse and observe with solid rock above my head than to risk getting hit with a stray arrow at night. It wasn't like I could keep up my heightened reflexes after the magical energy I had expended earlier that night.

Where enemy formations were rallying, my Stormguard had orders to smash them in particular. Fighting continued throughout the night, and soon our foes were retreating into the towers. That stalled our advance as, despite being half melted ruins, they were strongholds themselves. Fighting a literal uphill battle was difficult, as the defenders had all the advantages.

I gave out orders, and my men soon blocked the path to those towers. As dawn peeked out, thousands of levies threw down their arms. The courtyard of Harrenhal was a charnel house. The close quarters had been brutal for the defenders, and thousands lay dead. This was an anomaly in Westeros warfare; normally this sort of slaughter would have led to armies breaking far sooner, but due to the darkness, just how hopelessly they'd been butchered had not been known.

I shook my head in disgust, once again reminded of how wasteful and horrible war was. The destruction of so much human capital was disheartening.

It must have shown on my face. Lord Alesander looked at me quizzically, his guard and some of the Holy Hundred with him.

"Lady Myrcella, this is a great victory – is something wrong?"

I was a bit startled; normally I had better control over my features. I quickly corrected my visage and looked at the dead bodies.

"These men may have fought against us, but they were merely following their oaths of loyalty and doing what was expected of them. I am pleased that we have won, but I cannot rejoice over so many deaths." I paused, realizing what I was saying. "Forgive me, I do not mean to sour the mood; we are victorious, and all of you should be proud of your actions this night!"

The battle was not fully won – thousands still held the towers – but it was only a matter of time, and hopefully storming them would not be necessary. Edmure was brought to me, a nasty gash across his forehead paired with a nasty limp showed that he had fought hard before his capture.

"Lord Edmure," I greeted, "I would like to speak with you about surrendering Harrenhal and avoid further butchery."

Edmure looked worn down, but a spark of angry defiance in his blue eyes was still present.

"You'll lose as much taking those towers. They are well supplied, and you will have to fight room by room, staircase by staircase – Harrenhall has not fallen as long as one defender still draws breath."

I considered how to best play this. I didn't want to lose any more of my soldiers; we had dominated, but there were still losses. More battles had yet to be fought against my uncle, the Tyrells, the North, and more. I despised the atrocities that Tywin had committed; however, waste not, want not.

"My lord, I begged you to have this decided by the Trial of Seven; had you accepted, thousands would still be among the living. Do not compound your error by insisting that your people die for your pride."

He barked out a laugh, "Pride? You think I have any pride left in me? I have failed my family and my people."

"Then why? Why insist that they die? I have no desire to set the Riverlands further ablaze. I have no desire to see more men dead. Surrender Harrenhal, order the men defending those towers to lay down their arms, and I will provide generous terms. I am not my grandfather; if we can strike terms before Lord Tywin knows of my victory… then he will have no choice but to honor the agreement we make. If I receive specific orders to the contrary, well, I must obey the Lord Regent and Hand of the King. My hands will be tied if we delay."

Edmure shuddered. His head sagged in defeat. The day was won.

Upon their surrender, we took stock. Several lords were slain, notably Lord Piper, Lord Karstark, and Lord Bracken. It was a pity that Rickard Karstark was slain and his second son, Eddard Karstark, was captured; that meant his eldest, Harrion Karstark, was now lord of Karhold. Still, a valuable hostage. I had no intention of releasing hostages without concessions. Harrenhal, when properly defended, was a mighty bastion, it was perfect for keeping hostages tucked away.

I had promised – no executions or mistreatment of the prisoners. I had also further promised, and Ser Barristan had agreed, that my prisoners would not be handed over to Tywin Lannister or King's Landing. Edmure had wanted the levies of smallfolk to be released, and I had agreed that, within a week, they would be, but without any of their weapons, horses, and other supplies. I intended to butter them up and assigned Lum, Ser Barlow, and Ser Jaspar to see what levies could potentially be of use as an addition to my army.

That was a risk, of course, but in the strata of Westeros society, the peasantry did not have a nationalistic fervor like the Empire or even Japan. They cared about their families, food, and security. Being fed well, treated well, and regaled with tales of an ever-victorious host… I had some hope that it would go well and replace some of my losses.

I had several letters to write. The old Maester had already sent out ravens while the fighting was still ongoing; soon, Uncle Stannis would know of the loss of half of his fighting force. Granted, it was the weaker half, but still a significant blow to his war efforts. We should also be expecting news from the Tyrell front, and how that had gone would determine my next move.

It was also time to see if I could win more allies to our cause. The Freys had not yet declared for anyone. The extremely elderly head of the house was infamous for being late to the battlefield during Robert's Rebellion. Hoster Tully had given him the moniker of "the Late Lord Frey," a term that the man was rumored to loathe.

I also knew that he frequently sought marriages for his endless supply of offspring. Could he be tempted to align with us given suitable enticements? It was worth attempting. I would offer some suitable marriages to tie his house to the Stormlands. I would also hint about backing him for Paramountcy of the Riverlands at the war's end without making any guarantees. The Tullys' ties with Arryn and Stark made things difficult for an eventual peace to see House Tully supplanted, but there were outcomes that could lead to that.

A letter to Walder Frey offering marriage alliances. Staedmon had an unmarried son, Eleyna Westerling; my handmaiden back in King's Landing could be good to offer to a grandson, and while Mark Cafferen was only 8 or 9, a lengthy betrothal wasn't unheard of. I would also include some polite flattery, the Paramountcy talk, and even put in a word for even more marriage prospects with Westerlands houses once I spoke with my grandfather. All for swearing allegiance to the throne and half of his muster. He could keep the remaining half to guard the Crossing.

More letters to write – unfortunately we had lost Lord Arrec Lonmouth. One of the few notable casualties of the night, his horse had been stabbed by Bolton spearmen, and they had slain him when he fell. His young daughter was his only offspring, and I wrote my condolences to his widow and asked what arrangements we should make for his body. Some of the Stormlords desired to be buried at or near the field of battle they fell; others preferred the body returned to their ancestral lands.

It had been an exhausting night, and it was well into the afternoon before I could rest. Before that could happen, Brienne and Ser Theo reported in as my protective detail. Brienne gave me a look, "Lady Myrcella, we need to talk."

***

Kevan had never seen his brother this close to losing his composure. Always, Tywin's fury had been restrained; only from the set of his jaw and the blaze in his eyes could one tell how upset he was. Now there was a spasm and twitch and raw rage radiating from him.

His heir was dead.

In the eyes of the realm, Jaime was not considered the heir to Casterly Rock due to being in the Kingsguard. That was not something that had mattered to Tywin; in fact the battle in the Kingswood would have seen Joffrey dead and the Kingsguard destroyed, save for Jaime. It would have been the perfect time to create a new tradition. They had talked of it, the idea that once a King died, the surviving Kingsguard would be free of their vows, and the new King would appoint seven new guardians.

Only now, the Kingsguard, save for Ser Arys, had been destroyed in truth. Their Lord Commander lay dead, as did Ser Preston, Ser Meryn, and Ser Mandon.

"How could he have been such a fool?" Tywin asked with barely restrained frustration.

"The boy always had more valor than sense; I suspect he was trying to protect his King."

Kevan hadn't wanted this result. Joffrey dying, so that Cersei could feel the pain he felt, was what he had wanted. But not Jaime, not Tywin's eldest son. Now all three of them would share the same grief. It was a dark day for House Lannister.

Beyond certain unfortunate events, the battle had more or less gone as they had planned. The Alchemist Guild had shared details of how the wildfire worked. How older jars were more potent, but newly created wildfire had less potential. Yet… it had not felt that way. The wildfire had swiftly run out of control. Casualties had been atrocious for both sides.

On the positive side, they had decisively won the battle. Thousands upon thousands of Tyrell loyalists died from flames and smoke. After the fires began, they had lost much of their cohesion. As they ran, they met the spears and pikes of the Westerlands. On the flanks, both Jaime's group and Lord Beric's had proven their mettle.

It wasn't a complete victory, or even the precise victory they had in mind. The initial goal had been to destroy the vanguard and leave areas to flee the fire toward Kevan's waiting entrenched positions. Kevan had thought that Mace would not be in the van, but he was wrong. Mace ended up dying as well; the flames grew out of control, and many of the Tyrells were fully trapped. The Tyrell lord's death was an acceptable outcome, but far from ideal. Capturing him could have been used as leverage to get the Tyrells out of the war, or at least get Garlan to leave the Westerlands.

Due to the out-of-control inferno, they had lost most of their Gold Cloaks, and when the fire had spread, Kevan's own forces had fled while they were still trying to reassemble properly. The Tyrell host had faced a greater slaughter than Westeros had seen since the Dance. Yet still some had managed to escape the flames, and outriders reported that there was still a sizeable host to contend with, one that was retreating down the roseroad.

Tywin had yet to announce if they would be pursued. The latest message from Myrcella was that Stannis had split his force, and a large host would either be traveling to King's Landing from the Duskendale road, or they were boarding ships to sail to King's Landing or possibly somewhere in the Stormlands. It would be good to finish off the main Tyrell host, but the troops were exhausted. They had marched all the way from the Westerlands, fought Stannis, marched to King's Landing, then fought a brutal battle that saw many of their fellow soldiers die in the most horrific manner. Even the highly trained Westerlands men-at-arms and knights had a limit, and they were fast approaching it.

"What of Tarly and Heartsbane?"

"Tarly is dead, and we have Heartsbane; the hilt is partially melted, but the Valyrian steel is unmarred."

Tywin was relieved, though even if all the Seven Kingdoms had been able to see Tywin at the moment, likely only Kevan, and possibly Genna could tell.

"Hopefully the smith in King's Landing remains; there is little need for such a large weapon. We will reforge it into two smaller blades, or perhaps one sword and several daggers – I will have to ponder on it."

Kevan could see the benefits of either option. It would make eventual reconciliation with the Reach more difficult, but with Mace and Loras dead, what was a single sword of a vassal house? Or maybe not – Willas was not his father. With a father dead and a younger brother, he may be sick of war and desire to not lose any more of his family.

Tywin was silent for several minutes.

"Order Lord Beric to harry the Reach host. We are returning to King's Landing to crown a new King. We must be ready for when and where Stannis descends. Duskendale will be placed under siege again as well."

Kevan left his brother to his anger and began issuing orders. It would not do to bring it up now, but Tywin would never let Tyrion be his heir. That meant that someone else would inherit, and there were few options. Tommen would be King, and that left only four other nephews to inherit. Kevan could see no reason why it wouldn't be his second eldest, now eldest with Lancel's death. It only made sense that Willem inherit Casterly Rock and House Lannister. Kevan desired that it be formalized sooner rather than later. Many foes wished Tywin dead, and should he pass without making official that Tyrion was not in the line of succession, it could cause strife when the house least needed it.

***