[The Westerlands, nearing the Gold Tooth, 3rd Moon, 299AC]
They saw the Castle before they reached it.
Not all at once or in some grand reveal, but slowly, piece by piece as the land tightened and the hills drew closer together until the road became a funnel and the mountains rose on either side like walls that had been there long before any man thought to build one of his own. Then the stone showed itself through the rock, and what had first looked like part of the mountain took shape as battlements, towers, and curtain walls worked into the cliff itself.
The Golden Tooth.
Alaric reined in at the crest of the ridge and let the rest of the column bunch up behind him. No one spoke for a moment. There was nothing to say that at first glance would not sound like a complaint or an excuse.
The road ahead narrowed to a hard choke point. The castle sat over it like a fist, with only one clear way through unless a man meant to climb the rocks like a goat and hope he did not slip and break his neck for the trouble.
Cinder stopped at his right, ears pricked forward, her weight shifting as she watched the pass. Tempest came up on the other side, quieter, his pale eyes fixed on the walls, neither growled. That alone told Alaric enough. They were not seeing an immediate threat, but that did not mean there wasn't one to be had.
Dorren rode up beside him, pushing his horse through the line without waiting to be called. "That's worse than I expected," he said plainly.
"It always is when you finally see it," Alaric replied, half admitting the ingenuity that the builder of the Castle had when choosing a suitable place for his House's seat of power.
Behind them, the men had begun to murmur. Not loudly, and thankfully, not enough to break discipline, but enough that the unease carried.
Riding on his horse beside Alaric, Ser Harald also spoke his mind, "I was in awe too when I first laid eyes upon the castle, it's no wonder many armies through the millennia have failed to take the Golden Tooth."
Ser Desmond Manderly came up next, his heavy frame shifting in the saddle as he studied the pass. "You could spend a month battering that and not have much to show for it but bodies."
"Or longer for that matter," Ser Ellard Karstark added. "Especially if they're well supplied."
"They are, I can assure you of that," Lucion said. "They've had months to prepare. They know what we've done in the Riverlands. They know we're coming."
Alaric nodded once.
Of course they did.
That was the problem now. Surprise had carried them through the first stages of the war. Speed had done the rest. Now they were deep enough into Lannister lands that every move would be watched, measured, and answered if possible.
"Make camp," he said at last. "Out of sight range. I want lines set before dusk."
The orders moved down the line at once. Men broke off, Serjeants barking commands, tents going up where the ground allowed it, horses being watered and fed. The host spread as much as it could, though there was little room for it. The land did not favor them here.
Alaric did not move from the ridge for a time. He watched the pass, the walls, the narrow road that led straight into the jaws of the fortress.
Tempest shifted beside him, then sat. Cinder paced once, twice, then stopped, her gaze never leaving the castle.
"You don't like it either," Alaric muttered.
Cinder flicked her tail.
Although she couldn't voice her thoughts, their connection was strong, and a feeling of worry washed over him from her, and that was answer enough.
The war council was soon called before the sun had fully set.
They gathered in Alaric's command tent, though calling it a tent felt wrong when the ground itself pressed in from all sides. There was little space to spread out, and the air inside felt heavy with the heat of bodies and the smell of leather, sweat, and damp wool.
As they gathered, many gave greetings and nods, some looking to the ancient crown of winter that sat atop Alaric's head, fitting perfectly, as if it belonged there all along.
A rough map had been laid out across the central table. It was not perfect. It did not need to be. The shape of the land was clear enough.
The road. The pass. The castle.
Everything else was needless extra detail.
Dorren stood to Alaric's left, arms folded, his expression already sour. Desmond Manderly leaned over the table, one hand planted against the wood. Ellard Karstark stood opposite him, rigid, impatient. Lucion kept to the side, quiet, watching more than speaking.
Domeric Bolton had taken a place near the back, his eyes moving between the men, saying nothing for now, Rodrik standing with him, his mind elsewhere, it would seem.
Ser Harald Stark stood close behind Alaric, as he always did now, one hand resting near the pommel of his sword. The man had returned from his long absence thinner than before, harder in the face, with a look about him that said he had seen more than he had yet shared.
That would change tonight.
Alaric let them look at the map for a moment before speaking.
"Well?" he said.
Desmond answered first. "You can storm it," he said. "But you'll pay for every step. That road will be a killing ground."
Ellard nodded. "Aye, we can take it… Eventually. But we'll lose men doing it, good men who would be needed for our future plans."
Dorren snorted. "That's the polite way of saying it's a bad idea."
"It's an honest way of saying it," Ellard shot back.
Lucion spoke then. "You could try to starve them out," he said. "Cut the road behind them, hold the pass, wait."
"And sit here for how long?" Dorren said. "Weeks, even months mayhaps? While Tywin breathes and rebuilds?"
"Long enough," Lucion replied.
"No, that won't do," Alaric said.
They all looked at him.
"No," he repeated. "We didn't come this far to sit and wait behind a wall."
Desmond straightened slightly. "Then we're back to storming it."
"Or going around it," Dorren said.
Ellard shook his head. "Around where? You see another road I don't?"
"Not exactly," Dorren said. "But that doesn't mean there isn't one."
"That's not a plan," Ellard said. "That's foolish hope, and im not in the game of placing weight on empty hope."
"Mayhaps I can be of assistance in this endeavor?" a voice said from behind them.
They all turned.
Oswald stood near the entrance to the tent, his expression as plain as ever, his clothes still carrying the smell of the woods. He did not wait to be invited further.
"I may have found something that could help," he said.
Alaric gestured him forward. "Well then, do speak."
Oswald stepped to the table and looked down at the map, gathering his thoughts.
"There are paths," he said. "Not for carts, and especially not for lines of men. But for small groups."
Ellard frowned. "How do you know that?"
Oswald did not look at him. "I've seen them."
"With your own eyes?" Dorren asked.
Oswald shook his head. "You could say that, yes."
That drew a pause.
The room shifted slightly. No one spoke for a heartbeat longer than usual.
Alaric watched him carefully. "Explain."
Oswald's gaze flicked briefly to Tempest and Cinder outside the tent, then back to the map.
"The woods speak clearer now," he said. "Since the comet. Since…" He shrugged slightly. "Since everything changed."
No one seemed willing to interrupt him, so Oswald continued.
"I can see farther," Oswald went on. "Through my various companions, birds, foxes. Even the smaller things. There are trails here." He pointed to the side of the map, where the drawn lines faded into rough guesses. "And here, narrow, and very dangerous. But real all the same."
Desmond leaned closer. "Enough for men?"
"Not an army," Oswald said. "But a sizable contingent."
Dorren looked at Alaric. "Based on that look, I assume we're of the same mind, brother?"
Alaric said nothing yet, still weighing the options.
Ser Harald stepped forward then, his voice cutting through the room with a quiet firmness that drew attention at once.
"He's right," Harald said.
All eyes turned to him.
"You've seen these paths?" Alaric asked.
"Aye," Harald said. "Weeks ago. When you sent me west."
That was not news to all of them. Some had known he had been gone. Fewer knew why.
"I didn't go through the Tooth," Harald continued. "No man with sense would. I went around. Not cleanly, and gods was it not easy. But it can be done."
Ellard frowned. "With how many men?"
"A few hundred," Harald said. "Maybe more, if you don't mind losing some along the way."
Desmond let out a breath. "That's not nothing."
"No," Alaric replied, agreeing with his assessment. "It's not."
Dorren leaned forward, resting both hands on the table, tracing a path with the other. "You send a force through those paths," he said slowly. "They come out behind the Tooth."
"Aye," Harald said.
"And then what?" Ellard asked. "They sit there and wait to be found?"
"No, not wait," Alaric said. "They move. They hit whatever lies behind the castle. Supply lines. Patrols. Anything that makes noise."
Lucion's eyes narrowed slightly. "Draw their attention west."
"Aye, draw their eyes away from where the obvious place of assault would be" Alaric said.
"And while they're looking away…" Dorren said.
"We hit them from the front," Alaric finished.
Silence followed.
The various men, lords, and officers in the tent began to weigh the option, not really finding any other alternatives.
Desmond spoke first. "That's a risk."
"Aye," Alaric said.
"You'd be splitting your force," Ellard added.
"A small force," Alaric said. "The bulk of the host will remain here, just out of sight of the castle's walls, outriders and rangers will ensure no patrols find them as well."
Dorren looked at him. "And who would you have lead this… advance force?"
Alaric met his gaze, a small smile spreading. "You hoped I'd send someone else, dear brother?"
Dorren's mouth twitched. "I'd be lying if I told you otherwise."
Harald shook his head. "He shouldn't go himself. Not through those paths. Not when the main force will need him here."
Alaric considered that.
He did not answer right away.
Instead, he looked around the table, at each of them in turn.
"This castle exists to stop armies," he said. "So we stop being an army. For a time."
Lucion nodded slowly. "Small, fast, hard to track."
Desmond added, "And loud enough to matter."
Ellard crossed his arms. "If it fails, we're back where we started. Only with fewer men."
"If it fails," Alaric said, "we adapt."
That was all.
No grand speech. No promises.
Just the beginnings of a plan cementing themselves.
Dorren let out a breath. "Then we need to choose the force carefully."
"We will," Alaric said.
He looked to Harald. "You'll guide them."
Harald inclined his head. "Aye, although I've been away from your side too much for my liking lately, I shall follow your word, your grace."
Alaric nodded toward the man, the last of his two most trusted sworn shields, "And Oswald will watch the path ahead," Alaric added.
Oswald nodded once.
Tempest shifted from his rest spot, and for a moment, Alaric felt it, the quiet, steady presence of the wolf, not just beside him, but with him. Not words or thoughts, something simpler, more primal, a familiar feeling from his first life.
Awareness.
Cinder let out a low breath.
The others did not notice.
Or if they did, they did not speak of it.
"Then it's settled," Alaric said.
He straightened, and the others followed.
"At first light tomorrow, we begin preparations. The advance force moves within two days. The rest of us…" He glanced toward the pass. "Well, we make sure they have no reason to look our way, we need their attention drawn west at all costs."
Dorren grinned faintly. "I can do that."
"I know you can, Dorren, that's why I trust you with this more than anyone else," Alaric said.
He looked around the tent one last time.
No one argued.
Good.
"Get some rest," he said. "We'll need it."
They filed out slowly, each man already turning the plan over in his head, measuring it, testing it, finding where it might break.
Alaric stayed a moment longer.
Harald remained with him.
"You're taking quite a risk with this plan," the older man said.
"I'm well aware, Harald."
"And you're still doing it."
"Aye, it's not as if we have much choice."
Harald studied him. "Aye," he said at last. "From what I saw, there truly is no other way through that doesn't cost more than this."
Alaric nodded.
When Harald left, he stepped outside.
The night had settled over the camp. Fires burned low. Men spoke in quiet voices. The Golden Tooth loomed in the distance, dark against a darker sky.
Tempest came to him first, silent as ever.
Cinder followed, her steps heavier, her gaze still fixed on the pass.
Alaric rested a hand on each of them in turn.
"We'll break it," he said quietly, not to assure the wolves, but more so himself, they could not afford to lose more men than needed, for his plans to come to fruition in the west, he would need all the swords he could retain.
No matter what, they will break this formidable fortress of a castle, not with numbers or brute force.
But by making the defenders do what they shouldn't, turn the wrong direction.
And when their eyes are looking west, toward what they have always thought of as impregnable lands, that's when they would strike, and take their bounty, officially kicking off the assault into the west.