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Chapter 58: War Council and the Reach
🕑 Added 2024-09-08 09:58:44 +0000 UTCAuthor's note: Last chapter before the battle between Robb and Tywin! That will be chapter 59. I'm still not sure if I'll include the Edmure battle in the same chapter or something else, but rest assured, it will be a juicy chapter!
Riverrun
Robb Stark
I didn’t know how to feel about what happened in the hall. On one hand, another player in the game would make my enemies split their attention even more than before, but I couldn’t deny that having such a large force attacking the land was daunting.
The Golden Company was founded by Ser Aegor Rivers, a legitimized Targaryen bastard. He was also called Bittersteel, and he created the company after the defeat of the Blackfyre Rebellion. He mainly (according to the books I’d read in Winterfell) did so to continue the fight against the Targaryens in exile.
They were known as one of the most disciplined, loyal, and powerful sellsword companies in the Free Cities. Unlike other sellsword companies, they were famous for not breaking contracts and for being more honorable in their dealings than most, at least until now. If they were supporting Aegon in his conquest it must mean that they left their last contract uncompleted, and I didn't know how that made me feel.
It was a problem since the company typically numbered around ten thousand men, including cavalry, infantry, archers, and even war elephants. They were well-trained and heavily armored, making them a formidable force. But that wasn’t the main problem, at least for me, since I knew I could swarm them to death with some trouble.
What complicated things was that, as my great uncle said, some houses were Targaryen sympathizers even after Robert's Rebellion. So, it was adding chaos to an already sensitive political tightrope that Westeros had become. Now, I couldn't be so sure which houses would decide to support him while under my supposed rule, and that truly did piss me off. I didnt have the time to waste checking everyone at any time.
I knew from the series that some houses in the Riverlands were like that, including House Tarbeck, which were inside the castle right now. I would need to keep a close eye on them, but hopefully, with a significant show of force against the Lannisters, I could change their thoughts.
From what I inferred, the war elephants wouldn’t be of much use in Westeros' terrain, but if we fought on a plain, my normal insects would be incapable of doing much damage even if I attacked in droves. My only plan against them was to fill their mouths and trunks with my wildfire insects. The problem was that the number of them I had at my disposal was abysmal. Even with the added millions I had under my control, I couldn’t increase my biomass supply without affecting the environment.
Thankfully, I remembered something important—something disgusting that made me facepalm when I thought about it. The fastest way to increase my energy supply without affecting the environment was something I had never considered before, something that every single human being produced: poop. The answer was right in front of me all this time. In the Middle Ages, not many places had a plumbing method, and from what I knew about King’s Landing, there was an excess of excrement so monumental that it made the capital city reek of shit.
I began using that as fuel since I couldn’t consume the flora and fauna of the places I visited without affecting them for the future.
Shaking my head to clear those disgusting thoughts, I focused on the table, where a map of the Riverlands was spread out. The Northerners were already with me, besides Jon and Dacey who were bringing the Wight for the final part of the meeting, and my men filled a big part of the room. For now, I was just waiting for the riverlords to arrive so we could begin planning. I didn’t doubt that Tywin Lannister already knew about my arrival since we hadn’t been silent about it.
I wondered how they would react to the news. Would I be underestimated by him? Or would he see me as a threat? I didn’t know for sure, but the biggest possibilitywould be the former. As much as I disliked the man, I couldn’t deny that he had a good head on his shoulders.
Little by little, the riverlords began entering the room, and after ten minutes, it was brimming with people. There were over seven thousand soldiers from the Riverlands in the castle, all from different lords, plus my thirty thousand, of which twenty were from the North and the rest from the Twins, Brackens, Mallisters, and the lords who chose to follow me, not counting the small group led by Bronn, who was also present.
I could see some of my Northern brethren disliking the man, but even they couldn’t deny that he was good with a sword. Smalljon had tried to fight him, and Bronn had defeated him quickly. He’d been gaining popularity among the ranks, and that was fine by me. If he felt that wanted, it would be easier to keep him in line.
When Hoster Tully entered the room, everyone went silent. The old lord was helped by my uncle Edmure and his brother, Ser Brynden. His old age was plain for all to see, but the fact that he tried to keep himself involved despite his health raised morale.
Since everyone of importance had arrived, I motioned to beggin the war council.
“My lords,” I stood up, “It’s been some hours since we arrived, so let me explain what has happened during our travels.”
“First of all, the Freys are no more,” I stated, and I saw some of the lords smile at my declaration, though there were some who didn’t.
“You had no right!” exclaimed Karyl Vance, the newly appointed lord of House Vance after the death of his father during the fight at the Golden Tooth.
With his shout, I saw some of the riverlords agreeing with him, and I also noticed that my grandfather was watching me closely to see how I would respond under pressure. Mentally rolling my eyes, I spoke before my men could become rowdy due to the perceived slight.
“Lord Vance?” I asked, just to buy time. I knew who he was, but he didnt know that. His house was so small that I could feign ignorance of who he was while using the time provided to formulate a response. “I had every right. The Freys, led by the late Walder Frey, decided not to join the defense of their liege. I don’t know how things are done here, but in the North, a house ignoring their land burning for petty reasons is considered treason.”
Before he could reply, I continued, “But that’s beside the point.” I shook my head. “If he didn’t wish to join the fight against the Lannisters, I wouldn’t have cared. But he denied my army passage, insulting the brave Northern men behind me who were coming to support you. He claimed it would take time and asked for outrageous things just for passage. The bastard even had the gall to ask for my sister’s hand in marriage.”
I was lying through my teeth, but they didnt know that and my men wouldn't tattle on me.
As I said this, I saw my grandfather nod in satisfaction. And with a little effort, he intervened. “The Freys have been a thorn in the Riverlands for a long time, and they won’t be missed,” he said curtly.
“I trust nothing of note happened in the castle?” he asked me seriously.
“Nothing at all. The women and children were spared, and my men will continue to protect them.” I assured him, raising my hands in defense. “I gave my word. For now, the Twins are under the command of Robin Flint of Widow’s Watch. He’ll use the lands across the Twins as farms with our inventions and equipment. That way, we’ll have even more supplies for the war.”
He nodded in satisfaction and took his seat once more.
“I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, Robb,” Edmure rose from his seat, “what different method does the North use for its lands? It’s been more than four years since the North started buying less and less food from the rest of the kingdoms, and I’m sure you would not let the smallfolk starve.”
“It’s something only the North can make, uncle,” I grunted. “But since it’s important for the future, I’ll answer what I can.”
Closing my eyes just for show, I called a small part of my swarm.
“This is the reason for the North’s success in recent years. I can control them,” I said, nodding toward the small cloud of insects flying inside the tent.
Gasps of surprise and a whimper of disgust could be heard, and I snorted. “This is what will help us win this war with little trouble.”
“Insects?” my great-uncle grunted, slightly dismissive.
“Ha!” I laughed. “Yes, Ser Brynden. Do you think they won’t be of help?”
He was silent for a few seconds before asking, “How many can you control?”
I gave a sadistic smile. “All of them. Right now, I have over twenty million insects under my control.”
No one scoffed or gasped this time, but I heard some lords whimper in their seats, and most of them fidgeted uncomfortably.
Ser Brynden stood up in alarm. “What the fuck do you mean, twenty million?” he asked in disbelief.
“Haha, I love seeing these reactions,” I smiled. “But that’s not all,” I ordered two specific insects to land on my side of the room, where there was some space.
“Look at this. An insignificant little insect, isn’t it?” I said softly. “Would any of you look at it differently before knowing my power?”
The lords with more willpower calmed down and scrutinized the beetle.
“It’s just a normal beetle,” said my uncle after examining it.
“Aye, a normal one,” I laughed. “Now look at this beauty.” With a thought, I ordered the beetle to crash at its maximum speed against the floor, which was thankfully made of stone.
As everyone observed the beetle fly faster than a normal one, I could barely hear the splat as it hit the floor. But what truly grabbed everyone’s attention was a flicker of green light.
“Fucking wildfire?” shouted some lords from the back, and everyone made space, backing up as fast as they could.
The second beetle I had called earlier flew toward the small spark of wildfire, splatting against the ground and dousing the flames. Since I had an instinctual understanding of my creations, I was able to craft insects that could extinguish the fire. Using them was no longer a risk, at least not as much since it still was one of the worst concoctions made in Planetos.
“Now imagine,” I intoned as I saw them inch closer to inspect the now empty spot, the only evidence a burn mark on the stone. “The Lannister army attacking with their full force, wanting to execute the newly crowned King in the North and erase the threat against his grandson. Now, a sizable part of their army can't advance more because the path is burning green, and they get attacked from behind.” I smiled deviously. “He’ll try to run, maybe he’ll manage, but I’m sure he’ll lose many men, possibly even important ones.”
I could see my plan dawning on them, and my grandfather burst out laughing. “It’s a damn good plan, even just the outline makes my heart race, grandson,” he said, nodding with respect. “I’m sure we could bounce some ideas around to improve it.”
My great-uncle nodded. “Aye, we can work with this. But how do we move a sizable part of the army behind their back without being seen?”
“Anyone willing to let me use them as an example?” I asked aloud, receiving deadpan stares in response.
Snorting, I added, “I promise nothing bad will happen to you. You have my word.”
“What do you need me to do, nephew?” asked Edmure seriously. I gave him a happy smile. I knew that if none of the Riverlords stood up, my men would. But his willingness to show complete support with this action paved the way for the Riverlords to bend the knee to a Stark rule in the future.
“Just sit down and press your back against the seat,” I said calmly, as everyone followed the mosquito flying through the air. When it finally reached Edmure, it bit him, and everyone leaned in to see what would happen.
“I barely felt that,” he said loudly, just as the mosquito’s prick pierced his skin.
As soon as he spoke, his entire demeanor shifted. His eyes darted around, glassy as though he was seeing things the rest of us couldn’t. He blinked rapidly, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“What’s… happening?” he slurred, the words coming out slowly, as though he’d drunk like Lord Umber in a wild night.
His body buckled, and he swayed in his seat, reaching out to the table in front of him for support, but his world was already fading. From what my studies suggested, the colors were blending together under my psychedelic concoction.
A murmur passed through the small crowd of Riverlords, some exchanging worried glances, others watching with fascination. Thankfully, everyone knew I wouldn’t cause lasting harm to my kin, so no one reached for their swords.
Edmure’s eyes, wide and full of panic, searched the room one last time, but I knew he could no longer form words. This was my most potent drug to induce unconsciousness, and nothing more. It wouldn’t harm him, and he would wake up when I injected the antidote.
Finally, his body gave in, crumpling into his seat in slow motion. His breathing slowed, and a deep, dreamless sleep claimed him. The room fell silent, save for the quiet exhale as his body relaxed completely.
Giving it a moment, I continued, “What do you think scouts will report to Tywin Lannister if they fall asleep during their work? They wouldn't say a thing, afraid of what he would do to them. His ruthlessness will work against him.” I chuckled.
After injecting the antidote with another mosquito, everyone relaxed as soon as Edmure woke up, looking around in confusion. “Thank you for your trust, Uncle,” I said with a smile.
“What happened?” he asked grogilly as he finally gathered himself.
“You fell asleep,” I snorted.
“Now, what do you all think?” I addressed the assembled lords.
“If we could lead ten thousand men behind the Lannister army without being seen, as you said before, they would not see it coming at all and we could inflict significant damage,” nodded Ser Brynden, a cold glint in his eyes.
“It would take hours to do that,” I continued, “since I need to be present to knock out the scouts. If they find out while I’m not with you, we could suffer significant losses.”
A buff man stood up. I wondered why the master-at-arms of Riverrun decided to interject.
“My lord,” he said to me, “You may not know who I am, but my family has lived near the Tumblestone for over a thousand years. I’ve been the master-at-arms of this castle for the last forty years, but I remember some caves that we could use to hide the army led by Ser Brynden.” He nodded at my great-uncle. “The Lannisters burned my family’s lands, forcing them to leave. But I’m certain we know the terrain better than Tywin and his generals.”
Thinking for a moment, I looked at Ser Brynden. “What do you think?”
He grunted thoughtfully. “Doable. If they don’t find us before we hide, we’ll be at an advantage. But we can only take infantry to move silently.”
“That won't be a problem, great-uncle. I can make most horses sleep when the conflict starts, don’t worry about that,” I assured him. “Maybe I can time it right so some soldiers suffer injuries from their falls.”
“There’s another topic we must discuss,” rasped my grandfather. “Jaime’s army is at the Mummer’s Ford, and I’m sure Tywin will use them to split our attention.”
“I have failed in protecting my people, but now that you are here, I ask for your help,” he said, bowing his head.
“You are family, Grandfather,” I smiled. “Of course, I will help against them. It will also sell my inexperience, which we can use to our advantage.”
“What do you mean, Robb?” asked Edmure.
“Think about it. I’m the son of one of the most honorable men in the realm. What am I expected to do if Jaime is causing destruction in the Riverlands while his father remains idle in his camp?”
“You would send a sizable part of your army and overcommit,” whispered Edmure. “That’s what your father would do; he wouldn’t stomach leaving people to suffer for the sake of victory.”
“Aye, but I don’t need such a large army,” I smirked, pointing to my insects. “We’ll send twenty thousand soldiers to confront Jaime and bring him to justice. Among them will be the green men of the Isle of Faces. They aren’t many, but their magic will help you win, or at least force Jaime to retreat to his father.”
“I won’t knock out the scouts on that side of the Riverlands, so Tywin will know I’ve overcommitted and will attack us when he sees I have fewer men than he does.”
“So, ten thousand men will follow my great-uncle to attack the Lannisters from behind. Another seven thousand will stay with me on the front line, and the rest will confront Jaime,” I concluded.
“What do you all think?” I asked with a smile.
“I like it,” grunted my great-uncle.
“I can see it working,” said Jason Mallister, shaking his head. “You truly had an ace up your sleeve, King Robb.”
“But who will lead the army against Jaime?” asked Hoster. “I’m afraid I can’t do it,” he chuckled.
“Leave that to me, Father,” said Edmure seriously. “I’ll lead the fight against him and make him pay for his sins against the Riverlands.”
“There is one more thing we must discuss before we execute our plans,” I interjected. “Some of the lords who came with me already know, but we’ll need to keep many soldiers alive.”
“After everything they’ve done, you come here and ask us to spare them?” spat the Lord of Pinkmaiden.
“Aye,” I nodded. “I know it will be hard, but there is a threat beyond the Wall, and we will need everyone on board to defeat it.”
At that moment, Jon entered the room, accompanied by Dacey and some soldiers carrying the Wight. “As you can see,” I began, ignoring the shouts of shock, “the Long Night is approaching, and we need the kingdoms to unite.”
“Their army could number over a hundred thousand of these creatures. They don’t tire, they don’t hunger, and you can’t harm them without fire, Valyrian steel, or dragonglass. Every person who falls to them joins them in death,” I continued gravely.
“Do you know how many people live in the North?” I asked, and when no one answered, I said, “Over three million.”
“Think about it. If we fail, the South will have to fight over three million undead soldiers.”
Those who understood the threat of the White Walkers were aghast, and even the slow ones began to pale in fright.
“The Lannisters will pay for what they’ve done, I assure you, but they will do so by giving their lives for the living,” Jon declared firmly, and I nodded. “You lords must understand the gravity of the situation. The reason I’m pushing for the throne is to unite the Seven Kingdoms, and maybe even beyond, to fight the Long Night.”
Highgarden
Renly Baratheon reclined comfortably on a cushioned bench. The atmosphere inside the great hall of Highgarden was harmonious, even as they prepared for his bid for the Iron Throne. It was a feast worthy of the Reach, with platters full of fruit, more meat than the people in the room could eat, and the finest wines from the Arbor. Around him, the lords and ladies of the south laughed, drank, and celebrated, despite the war looming on the horizon.
Renly chuckled; this was the reason he acted the way he did. People loved him, even going against the line of succession to support him. He was the better of the two living Baratheon brothers. Stannis never understood the importance of the smallfolk, with his grumpy demeanor that did nothing to endear him to the masses. There was no way in the seven hells that he would be a good king, and most people realized that.
He was sure he'd be a better king than ten Stannises. It wouldn’t even be that difficult—he had the support of the Stormlands and the Reach, giving him the largest army in the conflict. All Renly needed were a few victories to sway other kingdoms to his side.
However, despite his relaxed appearance, he wasn’t entirely at ease. His eyes flickered occasionally toward the entrance, hoping for news from his scouts. The war was ongoing, and every moment wasted in Highgarden, waiting for the Tyrell armies to assemble, grated on him. Yet, he understood that patience was necessary. The Reach had promised him their strength—over eighty thousand strong—but mobilizing such a force and setting up supply lines to support them took time.
“More wine, my king?” Loras Tyrell offered from his side with a warm smile. Renly's lover truly knew how to soothe his nerves, but he shook his head lightly.
“No, thank you, Loras. I've had enough for now,” Renly replied, scanning the room once more. The lords of the Reach feasted around him—Randyll Tarly, Lord Hightower, and several others. Their voices were raised in conversations about alliances, harvests, and other matters. Yet none spoke of the most important issue—the conflict between the Lannisters, led by Tywin himself, and the Riverlands.
“What of the war, Lord Tarly?” Renly asked, raising his voice just enough to cut through the conversation. His tone was casual, but it carried weight. There was a need to discuss the less pleasant happenings in the realm.
Randyll Tarly, one of the finest commanders in Westeros, looked up from his cup. “The Riverlands burn, my king, as they have since the beginning of this mess,” he said gruffly. “The Lannisters have the upper hand, no surprise there. Tywin knows how to wage war. But the appearance of the Blackfish has them advancing slowly. Even with one-third the number of men Tywin has, he was able to stop them at Riverrun.”
“It’s a shame it wasn’t enough,” Lord Hightower commented lightly. “For now, the Riverlords are besieged by Tywin while the Kingslayer razes multiple keeps unopposed. Riverrun will fall before long if they don’t receive assistance, obviously.”
Renly hummed thoughtfully. “Who could assist the Riverlands, my lords?”
Most kingdoms already supported one contender or another, but there hadn't been any news from Dorne, the North, or Vale.
“Only the Vale or the North, my king,” replied Randyll Tarly. “But there has been no word of Eddard Stark since he escaped from the Red Keep, and the Vale has remained silent since all this began.”
Just as Renly went to reply, the great doors of the hall creaked open, and Maester Alwyn entered in haste, clutching a message.
Renly stood from his seat, his lazy countenance vanishing. “You have news, Maester Alwyn?” he asked sharply.
“Indeed, King Renly,” the maester replied. “Several ravens arrived today, and most of them are of great importance.”
“Get on with it,” Renly smiled genially.
“First of all,” the maester began, “Lord Stannis has suffered a resounding defeat at the hands of the Golden Company.”
“The Golden Company should be in Essos, Maester Alwyn,” grunted Lord Hightower. Known for his thirst for knowledge, he knew the Golden Company had a contract in Essos and was famed for their loyalty.
“I’m afraid not anymore, my lord,” the maester replied. “They are supporting a supposed Aegon Targaryen. Some say he is the son of the late Rhaegar Targaryen, who was spirited away during the sacking of King's Landing by Tywin’s forces. Others say he is a mummer or another Blackfyre.”
“That shouldn’t be possible,” Lord Hightower shook his head. “Would the Golden Company break a contract for this?” he muttered under his breath.
Randyll Tarly snorted. “If they have more to gain from this, I don’t see why not. As honorable as they claim to be, I wouldn’t be surprised. They are just sellswords, after all.”
“What about my brother, Maester?” Renly asked, only somewhat concerned for him—after all, Stannis was family, even if he was on the wrong side of the war.
“He has been utterly defeated, my king,” the maester replied. “The Golden Company arrived at Griffin's Roost unexpectedly and attacked when Lord Stannis was least prepared. He lost a quarter of his army—almost two thousand men, according to the messenger.”
Renly snorted. “Perhaps now he will bend the knee and support my claim. I don’t see how he thinks he can win this war with a tenth of my army.”
Mace Tyrell laughed boisterously. “Indeed, my king. My grandsons will sit on the Iron Throne in the future.”
Lady Olenna remained silent in her seat, as she often did when important matters arose, her sharp eyes calculating the repercussions of this new player in the Game of Thrones.
“What do we know of this supposed Aegon’s forces, Maester?” she asked lightly, tapping her fingers on the table. Margaery sat beside her with a soft frown on her admittedly pretty face.
“The entire company has come to Westeros, my lady,” the maester replied. “Their commanders are this supposed Aegon, the exiled Jon Connington, and Harry Strickland.”
“How old is he, Maester?” Renly asked, trying to determine if his age matched his claim.
“We don’t know for certain, my king,” he replied. “Some say he’s less than twenty-name days old.”
“Bah, a Blackfyre pretender,” snorted Mace Tyrell. “Trying to take the throne away from our family.”
Renly’s eyes tightened at this, but he quickly relaxed his demeanor. “It’s a possibility, my lords.”
“You mentioned multiple urgent messages, Maester. What are the others?” Renly asked lightly, changing the topic before anyone could get ideas. He knew the Tyrells only supported him because he was a candidate for the throne and unwed, with Margaery’s hand as the price. But if there were better options, he wasnt sure they wouldnt betray him.
“The other message is that the North is finally moving, my king,” said the maester, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
“Oh?” asked Lord Tarly. “Did Eddard Stark make a move? I didn’t have the honor of fighting him during Robert’s Rebellion, but I’ve heard he is a magnificent general.”
“There is no news of Lord Eddard Stark's whereabouts, my lord,” the maester shook his head. “I’m afraid the one leading the Northern army is his son, Lord Robb Stark.”
"The Ghost of the North?" asked Margaery in a soft voice, her dainty hand covering her mouth as she laughed.
"Indeed, my lady," Maester Alwyn nodded seriously. "I wouldn’t underestimate him. He took control of the Twins without any losses and killed every male Frey older than fifteen name days. He is capable and ruthless, according to the message."
Lord Tarly raised his eyebrows. "He is leading the army?"
"Yes, my lord. From what our informants in the Riverlands were able to see, there is no lord of the North in the army. Only the heirs. It appears everyone trusts him with their lives. But that’s not all," the maester said with a complicated expression.
"What else could it be?" asked Mace Tyrell impatiently.
"They call him the King in the North, and he is moving to support the Tullys against the Lannisters," said the maester. "This message must have taken some time to arrive, so it’s possible he’s already reached Riverrun."
"What of it? Just another thorn in our side. He’s young and stupid if he thinks he’s going to win," Mace waved his hand dismissively.
"Shut up, Mace," Lady Olenna snapped. "He may be young, but he has the North behind him. And if he shows promise, the Riverlands will follow. They might not have an army comparable to ours, but whenever the North joins a conflict, they make a massive impact."
"I remember reading about Cregan Stark during the Dance of the Dragons," said Margaery softly. "The Hour of the Wolf was one of the most important parts of the conflict, even if it came near the end."
"Indeed, silly girl," Lady Olenna smiled softly at her before frowning. "We cannot underestimate this Robb Stark. We know nothing about him besides the songs of the past few years."
Renly stood up. "There will be hardships for all of us during this war for the throne, my lords. But I must say this: everyone here is my friend, my ally, and my future subject," he began his speech. "We stand on the brink of a new era. Our cause is just, and our resolve is unshakable. Here in this magnificent hall, surrounded by the finest of the Reach, I see the strength and determination that will lead us to victory!"
He paused before continuing, "The false kings who sit upon their thrones—Joffrey with his incestuous parents and polluted blood, Robb Stark with his wild ambitions, my brother Stannis with his rigid fanaticism, and this supposed Aegon—will either bend the knee or meet their ends at our hands!"
"But they won't matter," he declared, raising his cup of wine, with the lords following his lead. "We will be victorious. We will bring justice and lead the Seven Kingdoms to a brighter future for everyone!"
The hall erupted in applause and cheers from the ladies, and solemn nods from the lords, each of them promising to do their best in the coming conflict for their just cause.
"As soon as the army is ready, we march! The Seven Kingdoms await our leadership!"
