[The Westerlands, 5th Moon, 299 AC]
Oxcross was several miles behind them before Lucion stopped smelling the dead.
The army had spent two days clearing the field, tending to wounded men, separating prisoners, gathering any weapons they could salvage, and burying those who would not be marching again. Alaric allowed one night of celebration and no more. By the following morning, the Winter Guard were back to work, northern losses had been counted, captured grain and horses were sorted, and the surviving westermen divided between those fit to march and those who needed wagons.
Then the host began its move further west.
Lucion rode near the front of the column with Roland Crakehall beside him. Roland had been permitted his own horse and wore no chains, though two Winter Guards rode close enough behind to remind him that he was formally under parole and not freedom.
Alaric rode farther ahead with Tempest keeping pace beside his horse. Cinder wandered between the road and the fields, disappearing behind hedges only to return a short while later. Ser Harald held his place at Alaric's right shoulder, with Ser Daven Blackwood on the other side, while Robb, Jon and Dorren drifted in and out around them with Grey Wind, Ghost and Shadow.
Smalljon and Derrick Umber were arguing loudly enough to be heard twenty riders back.
"You missed him," Smalljon said.
"I did not."
"You loosed after he was already behind the wagon."
"And yet I still hit him."
"You hit the wagon."
Derrick looked offended. "The arrow went through the wagon."
"That is not the same thing, and you know it!" Smalljon boomed as several riders around him laughed at the exchange
Behind them, Roddy Dustin laughed while Osric Stark nearly choked on a piece of dried meat from his laughing. Harlon Stark said something Lucion did not catch, and Torrhen Karstark answered with a shove that almost knocked him sideways in the saddle. Edric and Elric Snow were riding with them as well, both contributing whatever they could to keep the argument alive.
Dorren looked over his shoulder as he added more fuel to the fire, "The arrow did hit the man."
Derrick pointed at him. "There, I have a witness now, brother."
"It hit the man after it hit the wagon." Smalljon asserted
Derrick spread both hands. "Still counts."
Robb shook his head. "Only an Umber could miss and still have the audacity to claim victory."
Smalljon grinned. "Worked at Oxcross."
Lucion gave a light chuckle as he turned toward Roland, seeing him still silently staring ahead. "You have been quiet all morning, my lord."
Roland glanced at him. "I lost a battle along with two thousand men, my freedom, and perhaps my house's future. Forgive me if I have not found much to say."
"That would be a good reason, I suppose," Lucion answered
Roland looked ahead again. "Your king treats prisoners strangely. I have never seen a man who allows a high lord to remain without chains around him, much less riding in his column near him."
"Aye, well, King Alaric treats those he deems as useful much better than those he sees as nothing more than burdens, if Ser Stafford had lived long enough to be captured, unlikely, mind you, he would likely have been given the chained humiliation treatment."
"I suppose I should take that as a comfort," Roland replied
"Take it how you wish," Lucion said with a shrug, earning a slight chuckle as Roland gave him a tired look. "You sound just like your mother."
Lucion turned slightly in the saddle as he asked Roland a question, "You remember her well?"
"Well enough. Shiera was older than I was and took great pleasure in reminding me whenever I behaved like an idiot. I once tried climbing the south wall at Crakehall after hearing some song about Lann the Clever climbing into the Rock. It wasn't long before she found me halfway up and informed me that Lann had possessed both dexterity and wits, while I seemed to possess neither."
Lucion laughed. "Did she help you down?"
"Aye, eventually. But only after making certain I understood how stupid I looked."
"That sounds more like her." Lucion said, a nostalgic smile on his face
Roland's face changed again, the faint humor fading as he changed the subject.
"Did you know?"
Lucion knew what he meant.
"About Lord Tywin?"
"About all of it."
"I knew before Oxcross that Tywin's host had been broken and he had been taken alive. I only learned the rest afterward." his eyes trailed slightly
Roland's eyes stayed on the road as he posed the question that mattered most to him, "And what of my sons?"
Lucion did not soften it, owing his kinsmen the dignity of knowing the truth, "Both are dead now, I'm sorry."
Roland's jaw tightened, and for several moments there was only the sound of horses, wagons, and thousands of boots moving over the road.
"Where did they die? Were they together?" Roland asked at last.
"Lyle died near Sherrer. Tywin used his force as a diversion while the main host shifted elsewhere. Ser Raymun Snow of the Greycloaks caught them and crushed the diversion force upon the ford."
Roland's fingers tightened around his reins. "And what of Tybolt?"
"He was slain later on, in the fighting around the western approaches. Ser Raymun was there again." He replied, the last part quieter as he noticed Roland's change in expression
"The same man killed both?" he asked, with a hint of disbelief
"That is what I was told, aye."
"They were both killed by a northern bastard."
Lucion simply nodded his head.
Roland looked forward again. "A bastard killed both my sons while Tywin fucking Lannister managed to lose the army."
Lucion said nothing, simply looking ahead now as they shared a moment of silence before Roland asked his next question.
"Do you know how they died?"
"I've heard the retellings, but im not sure how much is embellishment of victorious soldiers."
Roland looked back at him, his eyes all but prompting him to continue.
"I know Lyle fought. Everything I heard says Tybolt did too. I could tell you they died with swords in their hands and curses on their lips, but I was not there. I will not give you words someone invented, but take heart in the fact they died with swords in hand."
Roland's face hardened for a moment, then eased.
"I'm sorry I do not know more, I do not wish to lie to you, my lord," Lucion said, scratching his head
Roland simply shook his head. "No need to apologize. I'm sure Shiera would have approved of that too."
"Aye, my mother did hate comforting lies."
"She hated most lies in truth."
"She was a Lannister by marriage. It sure made family gatherings quite difficult at times," he said sheepishly
Roland let out a low laugh, though it lasted only a heartbeat.
"She used to disappear into the godswood whenever she visited Crakehall. Constantly complaining about 'lordly politics and lies' as she did."
"I remember, she kept that habit after she married my father and had me."
"We all thought it strange. My father tolerated it because she was kin, though he used to say she could spend half the day talking to trees and still return with stronger opinions than when she left."
"She prayed quite often, comforted by the tranquility that comes from the godswood."
Roland nodded as he watched Tempest moving beside Alaric.
"She told me once that the old gods had not vanished simply because men stopped listening. I told her if her trees wished to be taken seriously, they might try answering someone for once."
"What did she say?"
"That I was arrogant to think a god owed Roland Crakehall an answer simply because he asked."
Lucion smiled. "She told me much the same."
Roland's eyes shifted from Tempest to Ghost and Grey Wind, then finally to Shadow.
"These last few weeks have made some of her beliefs harder to laugh at."
Ahead, Shadow suddenly stopped.
Dorren's horse took several more steps before he pulled it around.
The black direwolf stood rigid beside the road, nose turned south toward a low rise covered in scrub and trees. Ghost joined him a moment later.
Alaric raised one hand as the entire column slowed.
"What is it?" Jon asked.
Dorren stared toward the rise, not quite being able to make out anything. "I don't know."
Roland frowned as Dorren narrowed his eyes, finally catching sight of the movement that captured the direwolves attention. "Two riders. Maybe three."
Lucion looked south, but no matter how hard he looked around, he saw nothing. It was much the same for Roland, who asked. "How can you tell?"
Dorren glanced at him, then back toward Shadow. "I saw movement." He said, about to continue when a moment later, Jon pointed.
"There, I see them coming within view now."
Three mounted scouts appeared along the distant ridge. Alaric studied Dorren for several seconds before ordering the column forward again.
[Later that day]
The first surrender came before sunset as a white banner appeared above a small stone keep surrounded by vineyards, and its castellan rode out before the northern van even reached the gate.
Ser Lewys Alster bowed deeply when brought before Alaric.
"Your Grace, I come on behalf of Lord Alster to ask your terms. My lord was wounded at Oxcross and is believed to be among your prisoners."
Alaric looked at Lucion as he gave a simple order. "Answer him."
Lucion blinked. "Me?"
"You know the house and the lands better then I do, Lucion."
"That does not make me king."
"No. But it does make you as good a man as any to answer this kind Castellan who rode out to seek terms."
Behind Alaric, Harald folded his arms and looked away, badly hiding his amusement as Lucion turned back to Ser Lewys.
"If House Alster accepts the king's peace, the lands remain with Lord Alster. Your garrison keeps enough arms to maintain order, while surplus weapons, horses and military stores are surrendered until the campaign is finished. You shall raise no more men against us, send no more grain or supplies to Casterly Rock or Lannisport without leave, and provide a thorough accounting of your stores."
Ser Lewys hesitated.
"And what of the keep and our grain, Ser?"
"Both shall stay yours. What can be bought will be bought and what must be taken will be recorded."
The castellan glanced toward the army, taking a second to mull over the terms as he spoke again. "And what of our prisoners?"
"If Lord Alster is truly among them, then he will be treated according to his rank and released under terms once his condition allows."
Ser Lewys looked surprised. "You mean to allow his release if terms are given, and also leave him his lands?"
Lucion leaned slightly forward, asking the one question that now truly mattered. "Tell me Ser, do you intend to rebel again tomorrow?"
"No, of course not, Ser, we haven't the men, nor the drive to do so."
"Then why would we strip your house of everything and create another staunch enemy?"
Ser Lewys looked toward Alaric.
Alaric gave him nothing as he simply patted Cinder, who was standing next to him. The massive she-wolf caused Ser Lewys to pause for a second, but after a moment, the castellan finally bowed.
"House Alster accepts your terms, Ser."
"Then raise your banner again," Lucion said. "Keep the white beside it until the army passes, and send a list of every man from your house missing after Oxcross."
When the castellan rode away, Lucion turned toward Alaric, striding toward him with intent. "You could have answered him, your grace," he said, making the proper courtesies when in public. "So why did you wish for me to do it? Pardon my rudeness."
"I could have, yes, but I just didn't feel like it," he said with a cheeky shrug, scratching Cinder behind her ears, causing her large tail to begin aggressively swinging and knocking the helm off a nearby guard, much to the other's amusement.
"You… didn't feel like it?" He asked, now downright confused
"Interesting," Roland spoke from behind them.
Lucion looked back.
Roland nodded toward the keep.
"I know House Alster as well as you do. Better, perhaps."
Alaric met his eyes, a brief hint of interest passing through his eyes. "Aye, that you do."
"And still you chose Lucion, instead of having the defeated and captured former commander of the second largest western host do so, as a show of dominance." Roland studied him for another moment and then nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied with whatever answer he came up with in his mind.
Lucion looked between them, not utterly confused. "What exactly am I missing here?"
"Nothing, Lucion. I'm sure you will figure it out in due time," Roland said with a light chuckle.
"That answer is quite irritating, you're aware of that, yes?" He said, only fueling more chuckles.
Harald finally laughed as Lucion turned and pointed at him. "You have been much too pleased with yourself since returning to your position as His Grace's sworn shadow."
"I was pleased with myself long before that, young lion."
"Unfortunately, that is all too true," Alaric said.
Harald feigned hurt. "Your Grace, how so greatly you wound me. I thought we were closer than that, I helped raise you after all."
Daven Blackwood smiled beside him, and with that, it wasn't long before the army moved on.
[a handful of days later]
Three more keeps surrendered within two days, and by the fourth, riders were reaching the northern column before the scouts reached their walls.
The first men had come frightened. Later, others began to arrive with ledgers, names of missing sons, estimates of grain stores, and carefully rehearsed explanations for why their service under Stafford had never been particularly enthusiastic.
One lord claimed illness while another blamed his heir shamelessly. A third insisted he had only marched because Stafford threatened him. Roland listened to that last story and waited until the man was gone before saying, "He volunteered before Stafford finished asking."
Lucion sighed. "Aye, I suspected as much."
"He also brought nearly twice the men required."
"Wonderful." He sighed
Alaric accepted their surrender anyway.
No castles were burned. No families were stripped of their holdings. Men accused of murder, rape, or looting during the earlier campaigns were held for judgment, but most were simply disarmed, bound by terms, and sent home. Their pride was all but trampled upon, but they kept their lands and their house's futures intact nonetheless.
The northern army hardly needed to draw steel now, as the Battle of Oxcross had done the fighting for them.
By the fifth day, Lucion was carrying petitions inside his coat and had spent most of the morning arguing with a knight over horses.
"Twenty-seven is not enough," Lucion said.
"They are of breeding stock, Ser. The stallions are worth almost three times as much."
"That is precisely why the army wants them," Lucion replied, running his hand down his face
The knight appealed to Alaric, who was seated farther down the table with Robb, Jon and Dorren while Smalljon, Derrick, Harlon and Osric played dice nearby. Roddy Dustin had taken money from all of them and was being accused of cheating. Ser Desmond Manderly and Ser Ellard Karstark were going over supply rolls, while Harald stood behind Alaric with Daven Blackwood.
"Your Grace, I heed you, please reconsider," he pleaded, rather unbecomingly at that
Alaric looked up and, with a surprisingly lazy demeanor, rendered his judgment. "Ser Lucion Lannister gave you the terms, good Ser."
"Aye, your grace he did, but I hoped that you might reconsider—"
"He gave you the terms," Alaric said again, this time far more sternly
The knight bowed stiffly and left, wishing to escape the stares of the two direwolves who now looked upon him as if he were their next meal.
As the knight cowered away, Lucion sighed and dropped into the nearest chair.
"You are doing this deliberately, aren't you?"
Alaric tore a piece from a heel of bread.
"Hmm, and what if I said I was?" Alaric inquired, biting into the piece of bread. The nonchalance of his answer caught Lucion off guard. Roland, standing near the pavilion entrance, almost smiled.
"At least he admits it now," he said with thinly veiled amusement.
Lucion looked at him. "Admits what?"
Roland stepped closer, pausing a moment before answering, "Have you noticed that western lords no longer ask him questions?"
"They still ask him whenever they do not like my answers."
"Aye, and every time he defers them right back to you." Roland glanced toward Alaric, who was now listening to Smalljon swear that four consecutive winning throws were the work of the gods. "He's purposely appearing overwhelmed."
Smalljon slapped a hand over his heart, engaged in another dumb exchange, so the usual. "I am favored," he said triumphantly
"And pray tell, by which god exactly?" Daven asked.
"Whichever one cares about dice the most, of course."
Derrick snorted as they went back to their game.
Roland waited for the laughter to settle before he continued. "I know these men. I know their fathers, their rivalries, their marriages and their grudges. Yet when a western lord asks what happens to his castle, the king looks at you."
Lucion folded his arms. "Because they recognize me." He said, not entirely confident in his answer
Roland shook his head. "No. They defer to you because he wants them to."
Lucion laughed, thinking the notion absurd, what need would the renowned King Alaric Stark have to defer these matters to him?
Roland simply looked at him, not sharing in his laugh.
"What are you suggesting?" Lucion finally asked, his laughter faltering
"Well, if you need me to spell it out so plainly, his grace is teaching them where to look toward for answers and actions."
Lucion turned toward Alaric and noticed that the king was already watching him.
"Outside, your grace," he all but ordered, thankful there weren't any of the other officers around and only their close friends, or else he would have truly been in a world of hurt for speaking to the king in such a way among company outside their inner circle.
Roland, of course, being an exception as a prisoner of war, Lucion hoped at least, now regretting his tone.
Alaric simply raised an eyebrow as he leaned forward. "Was that an order, Lucion?" he asked, thankfully more amused than mad.
"Aye." He said, trying to stand up straighter and appear larger than possible under Alaric's scrutiny
Harald straightened, making to follow them.
"Not you, you stay here, Ser Harald."
The older Stark simply laughed at the notion. "I go where he goes."
"Of course you do," Lucion grumbled as they walked beyond the pavilion, with Harald following anyway. Tempest followed and lay down nearby, while Cinder left to watch men butcher an ox farther across camp.
Lucion stopped and turned. "Why do you keep putting me in front of them?"
Alaric answered without hesitation. "Because they listen," he said, crossing his arms, the crown of winter sitting upon his brow, making Lucion slightly more unsure as he continued.
"So would Lord Roland, he knows all of these men far better than I do, hells, I'm practically more northern than a westerman these days."
"Aye, that is true."
"Then why not use him, why me?"
"Because like the others, Lord Roland is watching."
"Watching what exactly?" Lucion said, some of the fire dying down and giving way to more confusion, as if he refused to come to the conclusion he knew Alaric was moving toward
"You, Lucion, they're watching you."
Lucion stared at him, and Harald suddenly became very interested in the horizon, whistling as he took a few steps away.
"I am growing tired of half-answers, Alaric. Please, just tell me what you mean."
Alaric's expression became more serious as he answered. "The West cannot be held forever by northern soldiers. When this ends, western men will have to govern western lands, settle western disputes, and convince western lords that another war accomplishes absolutely nothing. I need men who can do that without turning the kingdom into the same mess we found."
"And you are testing me, I assume, but in what capacity?"
"For whether you can do what you have already been doing," Alaric replied, his voice softer now.
"That still sounds like half an answer, Alaric." He grumbled
"Well, my friend, whether you like it or not, that is the only answer you are getting tonight." he laughed, walking back into the pavilion
Lucion swore quietly, and Harald glanced at him.
"What?" he asked, slightly irritated at Alaric's usual game of half-answers and vague replies. Would it kill the man to simply give him a straight answer for once?
"How does this game of his never bother you?"
"Oh, don't get me wrong, Lucion, his Grace's aloofness constantly gets on my nerves."
"Yet you swore your life to him." Harald shrugged. "I was younger then."
Alaric looked back at him, seemingly outside of earshot, but his face showed he heard every word.
Harald simply bowed his head deeply in an exaggerated showing, "Your Grace."
Lucion laughed despite himself, and it wasn't long before Dorren emerged from the pavilion a moment later with Shadow beside him.
"I did not tell anyone what you were discussing, I promise."
Lucion stared at him. "I did not ask."
"I thought you might think I had." Dorren shrugged
"Well now I do, Dorren."
Dorren frowned. "That seems unfair," he said while patting Shadow's head
"Welcome to politics; we Westermen practically revolutionized it."
After a moment of the two sharing a laugh, Lucion asked a question that had been bugging him for a while. "So, what did Shadow find earlier?"
Dorren's expression changed. "Nothing. I think. All I know is Shadow keeps looking west, as if there's something far off he can see that we can't"
Dorren looked at Shadow, and for a moment his face went distant again.
Then Smalljon shouted from inside the pavilion that Robb was cheating.
Dorren sighed. "I should probably stop them."
"Take your time," Alaric said, patting his brother's shoulder and scratching Shadow in passing, having come back and stopping next to Lucion.
"You know what is happening with him, don't you?" Lucion inquired
Alaric did not answer, which in his experience meant only one thing.
"That means yes, because of course it does," he said, throwing his hands up in exaggeration.
"No, all it means is we have enough problems to deal with for one night," he said, a wry smile on his face as he made his way back to the pavilion again, motioning for him to follow along with Harald, who had been standing off to the side.
Lucion rubbed at his face. "I hate Starks," he said with a deep groan.
Harald clapped him on the shoulder. "Seems you are finally learning, little lion."
[A few more days later, nearing Lannisport]
The land grew busier as they neared Lannisport, with the roads having finally widened. Villages stood closer together as wagons carrying grain, wine, wool, and even iron became common enough that northern scouts began directing traffic rather than simply watching it.
They also passed a good number of refugees, though fewer than Lucion expected. Some fled toward the city. Others had already begun returning east after hearing that surrendered villages were being left alone.
The rumors had outpaced the army, it would seem.
By the seventh day, people knew Alaric's terms before his men even arrived. At one village, an old woman stood beside the road with bread for the soldiers. Smalljon took three loaves and offered her a silver stag.
No battle had been fought since Oxcross thanfully. At this point, the West simply opened for them in ways unseen before.
White banners appeared before the northern vanguard. Gates opened. Lords surrendered weapons, sons and horses, then went back to worrying about harvests.
Lucion signed more documents than he had ever imagined possible. By then even he understood what Roland had meant. Western lords were learning his face.
When two houses disputed cattle taken before Oxcross, they came to Lucion. When a captured heir asked leave to bury his father, Ser Desmond sent the matter to Lucion. When Ser Ellard needed to know how many armed men could remain inside a surrendered keep without making its lord feel dishonored, he asked Lucion, and when a merchant complained that northern quartermasters had undercounted fourteen barrels of wine, Lucion somehow ended up hearing that too.
He began to suspect ruling anything involved far less swordplay than songs suggested.
Then Casterly Rock appeared on the horizon, with the first sight of it silencing even Smalljon, a truly impressive feat that was.
The Rock rose above the coast with Lannisport spread beneath it, the city packed close behind its walls, harbor masts filling the water beyond. Smoke drifted upward from thousands of hearths, smithies and workshops.
The army slowed as they came upon the view.
Harlon Stark whistled next to him, sitting atop his mount. "Bigger than White Harbor."
"Don't let Ser Desmond hear you," Osric said, causing the aforementioned Ser Desmond to turn in his saddle from twenty paces ahead.
"I heard him," he grunted, though the look on his face showed his awe at the Rock as well.
"You were meant to," Harlon called, earning another grunt as he went back to staring at the Rock and Lannisport.
Robb laughed as Jon only stared toward the city, while Dorren rode beside him with Shadow close to his horse. Torrhen Karstark, Roddy Dustin, Edric and Elric Snow moved nearer as well, all of them looking west.
Alaric halted on the crest of the rise and the column stopped behind him.
Tempest stood beside his horse, while Cinder came up from the fields and settled near the other wolf.
Lucion rode forward. For him, Lannisport was not some prize at the end of a campaign. He knew those streets. He had eaten in those halls and drunk in its taverns. He knew merchants there by name and remembered hearing the harbor bells as a boy.
Now he had arrived with thousands of Northmen.
Roland came beside him. "Home, I presume?"
"Close enough, but not truly."
"You do not sound happy to see it." Roland inquired
"Well, I have never approached it beneath a Stark banner," he said with a curt laugh
"First time for everything, I suppose."
Alaric did not order the army forward. No horns sounded, and no messenger rode toward the gates. They simply waited the city out.
It wasn't long before Dorren, along with several more keen-eyed men, pointed. "Riders, straight ahead," he called
A small party had left the city and was moving toward them, perhaps eight men beneath two banners. One was white while the other was red and gold.
Lucion narrowed his eyes as he recognized the banner, it wasn't the main line's standard from Casterly Rock.
Roland recognized it at the same moment and spoke. "The Lannisport Lannisters."
Lucion nodded.
The Lannisters of Lannisport were coming themselves.
Not Tywin's castellan nor merchants hiding behind hired envoys.
Lannisters, not of the main line, but masters of the city no less.
Roland looked from the approaching riders to Alaric, then back to Lucion. "Well," he said, "it seems they know who to ask for now."
Lucion turned toward Alaric.
Harald stood beside him, Daven Blackwood a step behind, while Robb, Jon and Dorren gathered closer with the wolves. Smalljon and Derrick moved up as well, followed by the rest of the young men who had ridden south with Alaric and somehow survived long enough to see the walls of Lannisport.
Alaric said nothing. He only looked at Lucion and nodded toward the road.
The envoys rode closer and came to a stop before them, no doubt in search of favorable terms.