- 283 AC. One week after the battle of the Trident. Western Riverland -
Ser Hale Fastrider crouched low in the brush, his eyes scanning the horizon. His mission was difficult and dangerous: scout the border to the Westerlands and harass any Lannister forces. It was a task he was well-suited for, but he was not alone. With him were a hundred veteran scouts, men personally trained by Ser Brynden Tully himself. They knew these lands better than anyone.
With their help, Hale had been systematically eliminating Lannister scouts. Dozens had been killed, and a handful captured. But it was not a perfect operation. Some had escaped back to the Westerlands. It was a fatal mistake, a great blunder. Those men would report on the defeat at the Trident, and they would report on Hale's presence. The Lannisters now knew they were being watched.
It confirmed what Hale already suspected: the Lannisters were prepared and waiting for the right opportunity to strike.
He was sharing a meager lunch with his men when the youngest of their group, a boy named Edmyn, came rushing in, breathless.
"S-Ser Hale! Enemies spotted... they are coming..."
Hale stood calmly. "Breathe, Edmyn. Here, drink some water. Then report."
The boy gratefully took the waterskin, drank deeply, and tried again. "Sorry for the interruption, Sers. But the enemies are coming. At least a thousand of them. And at their head... it's the Mountain That Rides."
A wave of palpable fear went through the seasoned scouts. To face Gregor Clegane was a death sentence.
One of the officers looked to Hale, his face grim. "We are outnumbered ten to one. And the Mountain... What are your orders, Ser Hale?"
Hale did not hesitate. "Do not worry, good men. We have done our part. It is time to retreat and report this to our superiors."
- 283 AC. A month after the Battle of the Trident. HQ of the Rebel Alliance -
- Ser Julius Harlane POV -
We were having a less-than-wonderful time after the battle. The aftermath was the most gruesome work imaginable. Cleaning the dead, sorting the nobles from the smallfolk, sending bones back to families, and burying the rest. Tending to the wounded and compensating those who had lost limbs. Building a new prison for our thousands of captives and persuading some to join our cause.
Many lords refused, but the peasant soldiers did not need to be asked twice. We recruited nearly twenty thousand fresh levies.
It took me and the other lords a great deal of time to reorganize. But with me overseeing the logistics, everything moved faster. It was only possible because Robert was absent. If he were in charge instead of Ned and Jon Arryn, all we would have is a non-stop victory party. Sigh...
Robert Baratheon was still "recovering" from his wounds, thus he could not attend another important meeting.
Or so he claimed.
Myself, Eddard, and Jon Arryn knew it was just another excuse. We were all aware that Robert's wounds did not stop him from fucking whores every night. So, it fell to Lords Arryn, Stark, and Tully and their bannermen to handle all the work.
The battle had devastated our army. We lost ten thousand men at the Trident, with another five thousand gravely wounded. That left us with twenty-five thousand effectives, plus the twenty thousand former captives who joined us. Forty-five thousand men in total.
The ten thousand Vale cavalry that charged the Dornish spears were brutally mauled; only forty-five hundred survived. Lord Corbray himself had died. My presence had changed the flow of the battle, and the cost was high. Thankfully, I had convinced Lord Arryn to keep three thousand in reserve beforehand.
In this medieval world, cavalry was the trump card. I knew Tywin Lannister would make a dash for King's Landing now that Rhaegar was dead. I had sent my trusted subordinate, Hale, to delay him as much as possible. He had done his job effectively, buying us precious time to recover.
Most lords in the rebel force believed Tywin would support the Targaryens. I couldn't blame them; he was the king's old friend and Hand. But I knew better. Tywin Lannister was going to have his revenge for the humiliations Aerys had heaped upon him. But unlike Walder Frey, he was too prideful to shamelessly come over after our victory. He would do something that gave him a powerful bargaining chip. He would sack King's Landing.
In the timeline I remembered, Eddard Stark was sent to stop him but was too slow, burdened by infantry. I devised a different plan. I organized only our cavalry. The distance from our position to the capital was shorter than from the Westerlands. With our mounted strength, I was confident we could intercept the Lannisters.
Hale reported that the Lannisters were taking a different route, believing the Riverlands to be well-guarded thanks to his harassment. I just wanted to prevent the sack of the city and the slaughter of its people.
Our cavalry force was a mixed host of eleven thousand five hundred mounted warriors, drawn from the levies of loyal houses. We had five hundred horsemen from House Ryswell under Lord Mark, and another five hundred knights from House Manderly led by Ser Wylis. They were joined by contingents from Houses Mallister, Bracken, and Frey, which together added a few thousand more. The bulk of the force, however, was still made up of the seasoned knights of the Vale.
I was to command this force. Why would these proud lords follow me? Because the high lords—Tully, Stark, Arryn, and even Robert—had all agreed I was the best man for the job. I had refused, of course, suggesting others, but I knew it was true. This favoritism, however, bred nasty rumors.
Some said I was a secret bastard of Jon Arryn, raised in secret. What the hell...?
I complained to the senior lords about the rumors. They all laughed. Jon Arryn even told me he didn't mind people thinking I was his relative.
'That old bastard... I'm sure if Lysa doesn't kill him, I might just poison him for this...'
I snapped out of my thoughts and focused on the council meeting.
Lord Roose Bolton spoke in his quiet voice. "The prisoners are becoming troublesome, my lords. Especially the highborns. They demand better treatment and comforts we cannot afford. I propose we only keep the important ones. It would be good for our supplies and free up the men guarding them."
Was he suggesting we kill the others? For some reason, the room fell silent, listening to the young Northern lord. He had a point, but execution was out of the question. It would destroy our reputation. Thankfully, Lord Arryn firmly declined the implied suggestion. We would not commit such a war crime.
The meeting continued, dealing with the myriad problems of the camp.
Finally, Lord Arryn stood. "My lords and sers, Tywin Lannister has made his move. Our brave scouts report he marches for King's Landing. It is time we made ours." He turned to me. "Julius, are the preparations complete?"
I stood and bowed respectfully. "Yes, my lord. The mounted troops are ready. The horses and supplies are in good condition. With your permission, we can ride out at first light."
He looked satisfied. "Good." His gaze swept the tent. "Does anyone else have any questions?"
No one spoke.
"Then I take your silence as a no. This meeting is adjourned."
As the lords filed out, I stayed behind. Lord Arryn noticed. "Is there something else, my boy?"
'Is he truly treating me as his son now? Damn you, old man...'
"Uh, yes, my lord," I began. "As you know, Tywin Lannister marches for King's Landing. I am confident we can intercept him. But I would like to avoid a fight if possible. If we can solve this with words, bloodshed is unnecessary."
Lord Arryn looked confused. "You think you can persuade the Lion to our cause? If he intended to join us, he would have done so long ago."
"No, my lord. I know he won't join for my words. But he might for yours. Just think, the Targaryens are finished. Supporting them now is not a profitable move for a man like him."
His expression turned disappointed. "But the Tyrells still have a massive army at Storm's End. And you don't know Tywin Lannister as I do. His son Jaime is in King's Landing. If he joins us, his son is as good as dead. He won't risk that."
I had to make him see. I explained the possibility of a sack, of the city burning, of the atrocities that would follow. As I spoke, his face shifted from shock to horror.
"I do not know what goes on in your head, or why you believe this war is already won," he said finally. "But if what you say is true... then we cannot let Tywin Lannister reach the capital. Yet fighting him is also a terrible option." He looked at me with pleading eyes. "You have never failed me, Julius. What do you think is best?"
"I suggest you and Lord Hoster ride with us, my lord. We will parley with Lord Lannister. We will negotiate him joining us, with the condition that his troops do not sack the city. If a fight breaks out and negotiations fail, I swear I will protect you with my last breath."
The old man laughed, a sound of genuine warmth. "I never doubted you, Julius. I know what you are capable of. But what can we offer Tywin Lannister that would make him switch sides and risk his son?"
"Well, my lord, he ruled the city for twenty years. He likely still has men loyal to him inside who will open the gates. We need only negotiate that his troops take the city for us without sacking it. His pride remains intact, he gets his revenge, and he gains a place at the new king's table."
"Alright," Jon Arryn said, resolve hardening his features. "I will discuss this with Lord Hoster."
We spoke a while longer, sharing a cup of wine. He began to speak of his young wife. "I wish my lady wife could give me a son. I would not mind a daughter, but... if it is a son, I hope he grows to be as strong as you, Julius." His voice was heavy with a sorrow I understood.
"Alright," he conceded with a smile.
After finishing the wine, I took my leave. Tomorrow would be a long ride.