Chapter 361: Lord Puff Fish’s Troubles

Bitterbridge spans the Mander River, connecting its two banks. Crossing it leads travelers all the way to King's Landing via the Roseroad. More than just a bridge, it is also a fortress, held by House Caswell.

The Reach held a strategic advantage until Ned led his troops to capture Bitterbridge early on. Now, he is stationed on the far side of the river with forces from the Crownlands and some of the northern army. The Reach's army remains trapped on the western bank of the Mander, unable to cross, much to the frustration of Lord Mace Tyrell.

For ten years, Mace had been the subject of ridicule among the Seven Kingdoms' nobles for his inaction during the Siege of Storm's End. Now, once again, he found himself leading a large army, only to be blocked by the same river. 'Am I doomed to lead a grand force and achieve nothing, just as I did a decade ago?' he thought bitterly.

Accompanied by his guards, Mace rode to the riverbank. The Mander was vast, over 300 feet wide at its narrowest. Highgarden lay downstream, but Mace had never hated the dark waters of the river as much as he did now. The sight of the sparkling Mander was beautiful, with fish occasionally leaping from its depths, but his mood was far from serene.

He had considered summoning Randyll Tarly, the only man whose victories had ever brought him any glory. Yet Tarly remained at Brightwater Keep, and Mace was at a loss.

"What are your suggestions? Speak!" Mace demanded of his lords.

A man dressed in a tight white shirt with a golden tree emblazoned on his chest stepped forward. It was Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove, a noble house whose lineage is said to stretch back to Garth Greenhand himself.

"My lord," Mathis began, "perhaps we could cross the river at night in small groups. If we succeed, it will create an opportunity for a direct assault."

Mace frowned. "But the men from Castle Longtable patrol that area. It will be difficult for our forces to slip by."

Castle Longtable was under the rule of House Merryweather. Ser Owen Merryweather had once been named Hand of the King, appointed to replace Jon Connington. At the time, Owen had underestimated Robert's Rebellion, dismissing it as a minor threat. When the rebellion gained strength, Aerys, in his fury, stripped Owen of his title and confiscated House Merryweather lands and castle.

But after Robert seized the Iron Throne, he restored House Merryweather lands and titles. Now, Castle Longtable, which once served The Reach, had sided with Robert in opposing Viserys. In their eyes, a Targaryen victory would spell the end for their house once again.

After considering Mathis's suggestion, Mace shook his head. "No, we cannot risk it," he said, rejecting the proposal.

"Maybe we can bluff or just charge head-on!" a middle-aged lord suggested, stuffing a snack into his black-and-white monkey's mouth.

Mace, normally fond of such antics, was in no mood for games. His frustration boiled over as he snapped, "Ser Mark! We're at war—stop playing with your monkey!"

Ser Mark sulked, tucking the monkey into his arms, but inwardly cursed, 'You were the one fussing over it the most when we first arrived.'

Suddenly, the monkey let out a high-pitched squeal, squirming in terror and burrowing into Mark's armpit as though it had sensed an imminent threat. Mace was ready to scold the creature when he noticed his own warhorse growing agitated. At first, it merely snorted, but soon it began stomping its hooves wildly. The other horses reacted the same way, fidgeting and refusing to stand still.

With some effort, the men managed to calm the horses, but they could feel the muscles in the animals' necks trembling with fear.

"What could be frightening a warhorse like this?" one of the lords asked, scanning the area.

"My lord! Look—a dragon!" another lord, draped in a black and yellow cloak, shouted.

The group turned to where he was pointing. High in the sky, several dragons were soaring towards them. The creatures' colors were hard to distinguish against the blue backdrop, but the unmistakable silhouette of their massive wings—large enough to seem as if they could envelop the earth—left no doubt. The nobles of the Seven Kingdoms had seen the image of dragons countless times in books. There was no mistaking it now.

"A dragon! Margaery wrote to me that Daenerys rode one with her. Could it be the silver one?" Mace's expression softened as the dragon approached. There was no mistaking it—either Viserys or Daenerys must be riding its back. If he couldn't win with a dragon on his side, he might as well throw himself into the river.

"Hurry! Come with me to greet His Grace, Viserys!" Mace exclaimed, excitement overtaking him as seven dragons landed gracefully on the flat riverbank.

Meanwhile, it wasn't just the army of The Reach witnessing this spectacle—the forces across the Mander, blocking their advance, saw the dragons clearly as well. What had been a secure position for Ned's troops quickly turned uncertain with the dragons' arrival.

Ned and his lords hurried up the watchtower for a better view. Holding a single-lens telescope he had acquired from Myr—an expensive investment thanks to Viserys' embargo policies—Ned scanned the scene. Through the glass, he could see the banners of the Golden Rose fluttering near the dragons.

The seven creatures crouched by the river, drinking water. The largest, a yellow dragon, lifted its head after just a couple of sips to keep watch. Ned estimated it to be over twelve meters long, with the others slightly smaller, around ten meters each. He tried to spot Viserys among them, but the telescope's magnification wasn't powerful enough to distinguish anyone clearly.

He did, however, recognize Mace Tyrell, even at this distance. His distinct green robe and slightly plump figure were unmistakable.

"Huh? Who is Mace fighting?" Ned wondered aloud, trying to make sense of the situation.

Just as he was pondering this, Rickard Karstark, standing nearby, spoke up. "My lord, I'll prepare the dragon shooter."

Though many northern lords were hesitant about fighting Viserys, Rickard had arrived with his forces as per Ned's command. Ned nodded grimly. The scorpions was their only hope of defense against the terrifying creatures.

As Rickard descended the watchtower, he encountered Jon Umber. "What's the news? You saw the dragons? Was Viserys with them?"

Rickard, clearly unimpressed, responded flatly, "Ugh."

He was frustrated with Jon, who had only brought fewer than 500 men. Though Jon had a valid excuse—Viserys had let so many wildlings past the Wall that he needed to keep men behind to defend against them—it was still a disappointment.

At least it was better than Roose Bolton, who had feigned illness after Viserys retook Dragonstone, sending his bastard with 1,000 men in his stead. In fact, one-third of the northern lords had refused to send troops, while another third had only brought a portion of their strength. Ned's army totaled just 15,000 men. Mace Tyrell commanded over 40,000, though he had only brought a little over 20,000 to the field.

Ned's strategy had been to delay and outmaneuver them, but now, with dragons looming on the horizon, that plan seemed doomed.