chapter 41

Garlan Tryell, second son of Mace Tyrell and commander of over 20,000 men, could not help but worry over his father. His father had been lost to grief and rage upon hearing of Loras's death. It was good that he had Lord Tarly to accompany him, a man whose acumen he trusted. Still, Garlan wondered if he should have gone with his father instead. Then again, there was no use worrying about it now; he had his own battles to deal with. Not the least of which was ensuring that the men under his command did not act like Lannisters. The horrors of what had taken place in the Riverlands were truly beyond the pale.

There were many within the Reach that wanted to see the Westerlands burn, its people put to the sword, and mass brutality enacted on them like they did unto others. Garlan refused to allow that to happen on his watch. He believed that knightly vows meant something. He would pursue this war to his full ability, but the goal was to defeat the Lannisters, not the small folk who happened to be on Lannister lands.

To that end, he had kept foraging down to a reasonable minimum. The smallfolk would lose their food, but he gave strict instructions not to rob them of their valuables or allow any rapes to take place. Livestock like chicken was also to be left so they could still produce food. Despite his orders, men would be men, and he had already seen five men hung for their misdeeds.

A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that he could afford to be generous because he had adequate supplies. Would he be making the same choices if he was not so close to the Reach? Would he make those same choices if by making them he doomed his family? These sorts of dilemmas were ones he liked to talk to his brother Willas about.

Lannisport, of course, would be different; that was the carrot for good behavior here. Lannisport would be looted, though again the small folk were not to be harmed. His men had reached Crakehall, and he had left a good 2,000 to lay siege to it. He could have stormed the keep, and with his overwhelming numbers, been successful. But there seemed little point. It was better this way, and the camp outside of Crakehall would function as a secondary supply point for his baggage train.

"Do you think that Lord Lefford will stir from the Tooth to challenge us?" Leo Blackbar asked. The tall man who spoke was acting as Garlan's second for the campaign. He was married to Olene Tyrell, a Tyrell who shared a pair of great-grandparents with Garlan. Bryan Fossoway, heir to Cider Hall, had been upset that he had not been named Garlan's second, no doubt believing that he was a likely candidate, given his kinship with Garlan's wife. Garlan wanted competent commanders, and while Ser Bryan wasn't completely useless, he was middling at best.

"He is a cautious sort; I suspect that he will await orders from the Old Lion. We'll have him well outnumbered, and the Riverlands still present a threat. Should Golden Tooth fall, all the Westerlands will be open from the east. No, I think he would prefer to sit, but Tywin may order him to march."

Ser Leo nodded. "There's been no word from the Ironborn and their intentions. Resupply would be much easier if we could use their fleet."

Garlan knew that his father had allowed the Redwyne fleet and the Redwyne knights and men-at-arms to remain within the Reach. This was out of care for his twin sons, still held hostage within King's Landing. Without that fleet, they couldn't challenge the Ironborn if they chose to attack more than just the Lannisters. Balon Greyjoy was a prickly and cruel man, who cared not who held the Iron Throne, only that he could pillage to his heart's content. Garlan particularly disliked the Ironborn, as they held not even the pretense of adhering to rules of honor or mercy. They gleefully took 'salt wives' as plunder. He almost wished that Balon would try something, so there would be an excuse to bring down the Greyjoys once and for all. Almost, though he did not want their efforts to subdue the Lannisters made more difficult.

"Any other news, Leo?"

"Nothing of note on the war. Sadly, we've received word that Leona Tyrell succumbed to her fever."

The girl was an even further distant cousin to Garlan than Olene had been, but death by sickness at a young age was always a tragedy.

"I'll write my condolences personally. See to the men, Leo."

Garlan felt deep pity for her mother, Alys. To lose a child was a wretched thing. Having watched his father grieve over Loras, he knew just how awful it was. Garlan also knew that before this war was done, he would kill many sons of parents and cause that same grief himself. He was at peace with it; it was necessary, but he would do his best to ensure that there was no wanton, revenge-driven slaughter of the people of the Westerlands.

***

I gave quite the scare to my Stormguard when I overdid it healing Lum. All told, I was out for little more than 24 hours and had worried Brienne and the others greatly. I would have to be more careful in the future, but the important thing was that I had accomplished my objective. Lum had survived. Of course, that created a different set of problems.

Lum woke before me, and the Maester, trying to dash everyone's hopes for his survival, only made his full and fairly swift recovery look even more like the supernatural at work. Ser Barlow, being one of the first to find me, immediately concluded that my 'fervent prayers' had moved even the Seven to hear my appeals and grant their mercy upon Lum of the Stormguard. Naturally, they thought, my sheer fervor and passionate supplication to the Seven had utterly exhausted my child body.

I suppose it could be worse – no one suspected I had magical powers myself, just that I had served as a conduit for their Seven. It felt like a trap like the Type 95 computation orb, but so far neither Being X nor any of his minions had made an appearance. Which I did find odd, but that incompetent bumbling fool masquerading as a God was prone to make a mess of things. So maybe I should just count my… well, my good fortune at least that he hadn't announced himself. All that is to say, I hated being viewed as some sort of religious figure. But given the situation, being viewed as someone who could wield magic could be worse. And so, I did nothing to dissuade or encourage their beliefs.

Since the battle, things had gone swimmingly. Stannis seemed to be hesitant to use his outriders, and we had free rein to harass his army. I imagine that they were quite miserable. I continued to rotate my men so that they could be decently rested in between harassment duty. By now, I had ensured that, unless my grandfather dawdled, he would be able to fight the Tyrells without Stannis's interference.

Then things changed. The enemy split their forces and ceased traveling south. This was truly annoying, as if I'd had Lord Beric with me, I could have punished this bold move. As it was, it would be difficult for the main part of my army with Ser Barristan to turn back around if I desired to try to confront either the eastern or western group.

As best as my scouts could tell me, the bulk of the army, with most of the infantry, were moving west. The knights, free riders, and remaining outriders were heading east. I wasn't sure what the ones going west could realistically do. March all the way to the Westerlands? Try to go south later where my forces weren't in the way? The cavalry force, on the other hand, worried me. They could get places quickly if they so desired. Getting to the Duskendale road could give them a clear path to King's Landing.

I gathered my Stormguard to discuss the matter; this would be instructive and help develop them. Ah, but it was nice to have all the nobles a couple of days away with Ser Barristan – no need to feign being a little girl who was just repeating advice others had given me. All but Ser Barlow were with me as I discussed the news.

"Stannis has split his army," I began and then outlined the details on roughly how many were going in each direction. "What do we think his aims are?"

"He's given up trying to go through us," Ser Jaspar declared. "Now he is going to try to go around us, thinking we can only be in one place at once."

"Splitting our own force isn't ideal," Ser Theo replied. "In a way, he is right about that."

I waited to see if anyone else would chime in. I gestured toward Lum, "Lum, what are their goals, based on this?"

Lum frowned a bit and then ventured to say, "I don't think he wants to go around us and toward King's Landing. It wouldn't make any sense. He won't know 'bout where the rest of our men are without his outriders in the field, and splitting up like that could mean he gets beaten by numbers. It only makes sense if he isn't going south."

I smiled at him. "Good, you may be correct. He might be in coordination with Lord Tyrell, but the only path, at least on land, that could get him to King's Landing in time would be through the Duskendale road. He would still take an incredible risk."

Ser Lyle grunted a bit, "The fucking ships. Stannis was the Master of Ships before his treachery. He doesn't have to go through us – he can sail around us. He can't fit his entire army on his boats, so he's just taking his horse and leaving behind his foot."

"That is what I have surmised as well. What can we do to stop them?"

"I'm not sure, Lady Myrcella." Ser Gladden looked over the map. "We lack the ability to effectively get in front of the eastern force. If Lyle is correct, they will likely head north soon. I suggest we head south, with all haste."

That was tempting for a few reasons, but was that the best idea for the war? It wasn't enough to just fulfill our current mission objections; long term we needed something big.

"So, we just let them do what they will?" Ser Jaspar countered. "They fear us, we beat them – we should harry one of the two groups and make sure that they continue to fear us."

Ser Gladden eyed the big knight, "We will be outnumbered if we face either of those groups, and we will no longer have all the advantages we were enjoying. The mounted force in the east will be moving faster than we can. There's no point in chasing them futilely."

"The latest word from Lord Tywin is that he will be fighting with the Tyrells within a few days. We could just await the outcome of that battle. It could change much, and Lord Tywin may have a plan in mind for our force," Ser Lyle suggested.

"Bringing Lady Myrcella back to King's Landing would be safer for her, too," Brienne slowly replied.

I liked the way she thought, but sometimes you had to take short-term danger to reduce long-term risk. A plan had already formed, but I wanted to see what my Stormguard could do.

"I want each of you to come up with a plan; what I've heard so far can be roughly grouped into four ideas. – immediately ride south, hold our position, go after the eastern group, or go after the western group. Take 30 minutes to work on the details on your own, and then we'll discuss again. Consider objectives, how long it will take to have Ser Barristan change course, what the dangers are, and how the enemy will respond."

I'd be curious to see what they would come up with. I might even change my own plans if I heard a good enough argument. One of the reasons that the Imperial military won so often and on so many fronts despite being outnumbered was their commitment to open and direct debate. When time permitted, strategy and tactics on how to prosecute the war were heard by the General Staff. Now granted, some ideas were verboten – no one wanted to tolerate a defeatist – but by and large, it was a fantastic system that prevented yes-men mentality and groupthink.

The official raison d'être for the Stormguard was to be my bodyguards, but while that was important, it wasn't why I was building and training them this way. The Seven Kingdoms organized its militaries in such a haphazard way – it bothered me. Beyond the fact that most soldiers were just levies, the command structure was just awful. Technically, the Citadel in Oldtown had military and warfare learning, Maesters with iron in their chain were considered knowledgeable of battlefield tactics and war. But outside of being on hand for medical care, most Maesters simply instructed noble sons about war, not actively participating on the field as commanders.

With the forces arrayed against us, there was unlikely to be a quick victory in this conflict. Even if there was, there would always be another conflict on the horizon. Two bloody civil wars in under 20 years did not a stable kingdom make. Developing an officer corps and general staff were critical for long-term security of the Stormlands.

The other critical advantage for me was that I would no longer have to personally involve myself on the front lines once I had truly competent commanders. This would all take many years, but eventually I could pass the torch and kick back and relax in Storm's End. I could probably pawn most of my work off on able administrators as well. It was good to have goals on the horizon to fixate on to make the day-to-day efforts feel meaningful.

***

Jaime still found it hard to believe his strange niece, or maybe daughter, had trained herself to be a competent knife fighter. Women warriors weren't completely unheard of, the North had some as did Dorne, and apparently Balon's daughter also fought. But they didn't use knives. A spear like the Dornish used made sense, keep stronger opponents at bay was a good idea when you were weaker. Or if you had the freakish size like Brienne or a Mormont you could use a traditional weapon. But a knife? A dagger? They had their place on a battlefield, but not as a primary weapon.

Who had even trained her? His father, never one for generously giving praise, had said she acted and fought with skill that was extraordinary. Cersei's mouth had dropped open, her normal poise completely forgotten as Tywin explained his granddaughter and her Valyrian steel dagger had quite possibly saved his life.

That evening he was not given an opportunity to bed his sister. She was worked up in a frenzy demanding he do something about their father's plan to use Joffrey as bait to lure the Tyrells to battle. He had promised he would talk to Tywin about it, but he knew it was a lost cause. It would be easier to move Casterly Rock from the Westerlands than to move Tywin once his course had been set.

He would honestly claim to try, so he made his way to the Tower of the Hand. Despite the heavy guard, including the captain of Tywin's personal guard, Vylarr, Tywin was not there.

"Well, where is he then?"

"Lord Jaime, Tywin has explicit instructions not to be disturbed unless there is dire news, nor to share where he is actually taking his rest, with anyone."

"But why?"

"I do not question Lord Tywin's orders."

Jaime sighed, this wasn't urgent, it could wait for morning. Still, it was annoying. He eventually found sleep, and resolved to make the token gesture by asking Tywin to change his plans in the morning. As he suspected, there was no moving his father.

The ousting of Flea Bottom was quite the bloody affair. With brutal efficacy, the Gold Cloaks along with Lannister guardsman cordoned off the slums. They then forced by spearpoint thousands at a time toward the gates. Initially it had gone well, but Jaime had heard stories about how once word had spread people fought back. They hurled dung and rocks, a few even had bows. They stood no chance against armored men wielding spear and blade, but things grew messy. The dirty street ran with blood and not all of it were the poor wretches being expelled.

Even with all that, the entirety of the slums hadn't been completed vacated. There hundreds if not thousands hiding, but it was believed they got most of them out. Jaime was just glad he didn't have to participate, he lived for fighting but not like that. The real fight would begin soon and he was positively salivating for it.

He had shared one last private kiss with Cersei and then he and the full remaining Kingsguard had rode out. Jaime's sister had refused to hear of any of them remaining behind to protect her or Tommen. Tommen did still have Guyard Morrigan as his sworn shield. The Red Keep had also swelled with hundreds of Red Cloak guards. She would be safe, now he had to make sure Joffrey would be safe as well.

The Hound was the King's Champion and he would protect the King. As would Ser Preston, Ser Mandon, and Ser Meryn. They rode out with some pomp and circumstance, Joffrey waved to the crowd who watched in sullen silence, though here and there some called out well wishes. The mood of the city was grim, but victory meant the possibility of more food, so those shouts for victory and for the Seven to watch over him were likely genuine.

Jaime rode to the main camp of his father, among the Westerlands banners he also saw the standards of the Marcher Lords. The field of black nightingales on yellow for House Caron. The purple lightning of Dondarrion. Selmy as well as Swann were also represented. Tywin went to the command pavilion, easily 80 Lannister guards standing at the ready, eyes roving and watchful.

A bit excessive.

Lord Beric was with Lord Bryce Caron. Caron was an able jouster, he had never won a tournament in King's Landing or Lannisport, but whenever they had clashed, Jaime had to work for his eventual win against him. He was also with Lord Arstan Selmy, the Lord of Harvest Hall. The man was shorter than Ser Barristan, and Jaime thought he didn't look very impressive. Jaime also couldn't remember the exact relation between the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the current head of the house. Finally, there was Ser Donnel Swann, heir to House Swann who represented his house while his father had remained behind.

The Westerlands contingent was similarly sized, it was just Tywin, Kevan, Swyft, and Serrett. Greetings were exchanged and nodded heads repeating, "Your Grace" as Joffrey walked in were made.

"Grandfather, I was disappointed you had not brought me my uncle's treacherous head. You'll have to do better than that against the Tyrells."

Jaime saw idle amusement in Beric's eyes. The man had no love for the Lannisters after his brief captivity.

Tywin looked at the King, "Mace will be in our hands soon, Your Grace. You will play an important part. We will meet him right before he enters the Kingswood. You will attend the parley and demand his surrender."

"Will he?" Joffrey asked. "Surrender?"

Tywin shook his head. "No, Your Grace, but it is proper to give him the opportunity. When he inevitably declines, he will come for us. Our forces will be ready for him in the Kingswood. Clegane, see to the King's comfort, he will be using my personal tent, as only befits the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

Joffrey scowled. "Should I not be here to plan our strategy?"

"You will be needed in battle, Your Grace, so please rest."

Jaime didn't consider Joffrey particularly observant, but even he must have realized he was being dismissed. Brief outrage flashed across his face, but Tywin's steady implacable gaze prevented him from saying more. Joffrey turned and left.

"The Tyrells must fall here. My grandson will no doubt enrage the oaf of Highgarden. This is how we will be arrayed," Tywin gestured at the map.

Jaime saw that the Joffrey would be placed in the center with Lannister soldiers. They were literally the vanguard. Jaime was told he would be given command on one flank, and Lord Beric on the other with most of the knights.

"I should be with the King," Jaime protested.

"No, you have larger role than guard duty. Clegane and the other three Kingsguard will be ample protection."

"I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, father."

"Out," Tywin commanded the rest. Everyone left, save for Kevan and Jaime.

"You have an opportunity here to cover yourself and our house in glory. Be willful about this and I will have you sent back to King's Landing to guard your sister, weather you will it or no."

Jaime clenched his fist. He knew that was well within Tywin's power. "Very well, but then why is he placed where the fighting will be thickest."

"I need the Tyrells to commit. Our center will collapse and it will retreat deeper in the wood. The Tyrells will think victory is upon them and will want to ensure the King does not escape. That is where you and Lord Beric on opposite flanks will strike. They outnumber us, so this will not be easy for either of you to succeed, but as you do, our reserves led by me will strike as well. In the woods their numbers will matter for less, and their hope of quick victory will be replaced by enemies around them at all sides."

Jaime saw what could go wrong, but if the individual commanders knew the plan, they could avoid panic after hearing the center fall back in retreat. Something was off though. His father wasn't telling him something.

Jaime turned to Kevan. "Is this the whole plan?" Jaime's uncle was easier to read than his father.

Kevan narrowed his eyes. "You should trust your father in this Jaime, this battle will not be easy, but this is the best option available. Much hinges on the power of your charge. You are the Lion of Lannister, let them hear your roar."

Jaime wasn't going to get additional answers. Was it because they feared he would speak to others and increase the chance their schemes would be revealed? Was it because they feared he would object and refuse to be part of them? He did not know, and he had no patience for it. He would fight and he would kill the knights of the Reach. Finally, it was time for him to do something he was good at.

Jaime knew he was a singular warrior in Westeros. His height and strength were outstripped by a bare handful. Clegane had a strength that didn't seem human, the Strongboar might outstrip him in strength as well and certainly the gigantic Umbers. But beyond that he nearly always had a reach and strength advantage. While some could outmatch him in strength, none could outmatch him in speed. The speed of his blade had even been commented on by Ser Arthur Dayne himself. Speed and strength were also accompanied by a skill that he doubted anyone living could match, save for Ser Barristan. Jaime knew age and injury had slowed the old knight, he could take him now, he could take anyone.

There is none that can best me now.

He was not so foolish to believe that made him invincible in battle. Battle involved some amount of luck, and lesser men often attacked in concert against most skilled foes. No, he was the absolute best, but he could still be killed. Jaime wasn't going to let that happen, he was going to ensure victory, and bring back Joffrey. He had sworn to Cersei, and he could not wait for his lover to show her gratitude to him upon his success.

***

Lum was happy to be alive, but more than just a bit disconcerted about the how. He knew how bad gut wounds could be. You had to be incredibly lucky and hope none of the important bits of your insides got hit to have any hope. And yet, somehow, despite the Maester's claims that he had the inside of his stomach punctured, he was alive and well.

It was troubling. Now that he had much time to think of it; the latest assignment from Lady Myrcella was not one he was fully suited for. He wasn't trained to do these things. He knew how to stand guard and how to hunt. Not about battle tactics and strategy. He knew that whatever plan he came up with did not truly matter; someone would have something better. His concern was in not failing Myrcella; she seemed to have the power over even life and death. Would she have cared to save him if he had not proved useful a time or two?

Not wanting to be completely useless, he sought out Ser Gladden.

"Ser, if you have a moment, I'd like to ask if you had advice on how I should go about creating a plan for Lady Myrcella."

Ser Gladden looked up at him and nodded. "I think she wants each of us to come up with our own ideas, but I can tell you what she is probably looking for."

He took a deep breath before beginning. "She likely wants to know our command of details and how well we can predict the consequences of our actions and how to deal with them. If we decided to go south, how quickly would we arrive in King's Landing? If we went west, is the goal to overtake the enemy or just to harry them? If, after we went west, we heard news from King's Landing, what would we do?"

Lum could only give the occasional nod in agreement as Ser Gladden expanded on his perspective. It would make sense for her to test their thinking on these subjects if she intended for them to manage the small stuff so she could take care of the greater picture and the truly important bits. He gave Ser Gladden his thanks. He didn't want to replicate Ser Gladden's views and thoughts exactly, he suspected Lady Myrcella wanted each of her Stormguard to work alone. Before turning to leave, he had to ask one more thing.

"The Lady Myrcella… what is she?"

The knight of house Wylde cocked his head, "What do you mean?"

"She's a child, yet knows more about battlefield tactics and log… logistics, I think the word is, than any of you. Let alone me, of course. She fights shadow demons, heals folk like me, and is utterly fearless. What is she?"

Ser Gladded straightened up. "She's Robert Baratheon's trueborn daughter. She has an immense intellect that is frightening, and the boldness to act on it. Your healing, well, I cannot explain it, but it may be the favor of the Seven. Or it may be some secret art she found in an old text. I've heard that our Lady Myrcella is a voracious reader. Or perhaps the Maester was overworked and misjudged your wound. Who can say, but we owe her our loyalty."

"Of course! I would never suggest anything but absolute loyalty."

That was certainly true. He had once likened her to the Stranger, and that feeling had only grown stronger after the latest events. The thought of ever betraying her would paralyze him with terror before he could ever act on it. Accidentally giving the appearance of potential disloyalty sent a shiver across his body and a chill down his spine, despite the sweltering heat.

"Then why the concern, Lum?" Ser Gladden asked. "I do not know why the sun rises every morn, but it does, and I am glad for it. Why should we question our good fortune to serve a lady that may be blessed by the Seven? It is enough that she is capable and honorable."

Lum wasn't used to thinking beyond his immediate needs, but what the knight said made sense. He did not question his good luck if he found a coin on the ground; he was merely happy that he saw it. It didn't matter how or why Lady Myrcella was what she was – what mattered was that it aided their cause and provided Lum benefits like coin and a reprieve from death.

"Thank you, ser, your words helped quite 'o bit in sorting out my thoughts."

Ser Gladden clapped his shoulder, "Think nothing of it. You are my brother in arms and a fellow member of the Stormguard. I know you will repay Lady Myrcella for what she has done for you, and I know you will continue to serve well."

Lum nodded and went to take a short walk and think about what sort of scheme Lady Myrcella would come up with based on what Stannis was doing. He couldn't hope to discern the mind of one such as her, but he also knew that she wouldn't be doing anything as simple as just retreating with all haste back to King's Landing. No, she would prefer bolder action. But what?