"Shella Rivers has yielded Harrenhal to us. Now that Harrenhal is taken, I'll lead our men there."
"There's little point in staying here any longer."
After a moment of thought, Tywin Lannister finally decided not to linger in this place.
From now on, remaining here would be nothing but a waste of time, serving no purpose at all.
If not to draw the Stark host of the North toward this region, he would never have bothered to stay this long.
But for the sake of the greater plan, he had to stand at the center—conspicuous, and "indispensable."
"Are we truly just abandoning Riverrun like this?" At the command, Stafford Lannister, who had been encamped here for two or three months, could not help but feel a trace of unwillingness.
The war in the Riverlands was turning in their favor. Not a single house had been able to stand before the Lannister host.
Yet Riverrun, a keystone in their original design, had seen no progress at all.
To sever it so abruptly left Stafford with lingering reluctance and grievance.
All the more so with more than 3,000 men still stranded across the Red Fork—sent there only to be consumed.
Until now, all they had done was crush petty riverland lords. They had yet to face the Stark host of the North in open battle even once.
"Of course not!" Tywin's voice cut through his cousin's discontent. Stepping away from his desk, he strode to the window, lifting his gaze toward Riverrun beyond. "But neither need you worry."
At that, Stafford Lannister looked at him with puzzlement.
"Others will help us seize this place—but not now, and not by our hand."
"Sometimes, Stafford, stepping back does not mean you have failed to advance. On the contrary, it is often the shortest path to the final goal."
He turned his head slightly, his pale green eyes flecked with gold glinting deep.
"Very well, Lord Tywin," Stafford could only nod, then asked, "I'll see to the military arrangements. Will you be departing first?"
"Tomorrow at dawn. Bring the prisoners as well—Harrenhal has space enough for our host."
Tywin spoke, then turned back toward the view of Riverrun. His voice shifted, suddenly drifting, elusive.
"Daven Lannister's mission in Essos was carried out perfectly. With this piece completed, our plan can finally be set fully in motion."
"Renly has left King's Landing. House Martell of Dorne stirs restlessly."
"This will be our only chance!"
At the mention of his son, Stafford recalled the far-reaching game his cousin had laid out. Realizing the whole situation had already come to such a pivotal point, he could not help but feel unease tightening in his chest.
He looked at Tywin Lannister and asked: "Tywin… are we truly giving up the Westerlands entirely?"
"Nearly all the military strength of the Westerlands has been pulled out at your order. If the Starks choose to strike straight into the Westerlands while this passage lies open, then the whole of the Westerlands will be laid bare, helpless before them."
At the thought that the Lannisters had staked everything, plunging headlong into a gamble filled with risk and uncertainty, Stafford Lannister could not help but feel uneasy.
Yet for all of Stafford's worry, within Lord Tywin Lannister there was nothing but confidence.
"If Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark truly choose to do so, then they will gain nothing," Tywin said, his gaze toward Riverrun flashing with a cold gleam. "And besides—Genna knows what must be done."
At those words, Stafford fell silent.
This carriage had chosen its course from the very beginning. Now it sped faster and faster, and there was no longer any chance of braking or turning back.
Either they reached their destination, or else the carriage would shatter and all within perish.
When that moment came, what use would further doubts be?
And if all truly unfolded as Tywin had planned, then what awaited House Lannister would be an age of unprecedented glory.
A thousand-year dynasty—an immortal golden lion.
Yes, the stakes of this gamble were immense. But so long as they emerged as victors, everything they had risked would be repaid tenfold with ease.
With this thought, Stafford's gaze upon Tywin grew ever more resolute.
...
Raventree Hall.
As the eldest son of House Blackwood, serving as acting lord in his father's absence, Hoster Blackwood now stood with solemn bearing on the great road outside Blackwood Vale.
Behind him, not only the household servants of Raventree Hall had gathered—his younger brothers and sisters too had been called forth to stand and wait.
All were dressed in their finest attire, faces weary but eyes alight with expectation, gazing down the road into the distance.
The rumbling sound of countless men and horses drew closer from afar, banners bearing the sigils of many houses rippling in the wind.
At the head rode the king upon the Iron Throne—the crowned stag on a field of gold of House Baratheon of King's Landing. Beside it flew the gray-and-white direwolf.
And there were many more, heraldry he had seen only in the heraldry and chronicles taught by the maesters.
These were the nobles of the North.
"I greet His Grace, King Robert Baratheon the First. House Blackwood stands ready to serve."
Leading his younger brothers and sisters, Hoster bowed deeply to the bearded, broad-bellied man Kal had already described to him.
At his side, with dark brown hair, a long face, gray eyes, and a beard touched with gray, stood the Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark.
Never before had Hoster seen such great lords and so many men. The thought left his small face pale.
"Up, lad. Kal has spoken of you—I hear you've done well!"
The king did not dismount, but he laughed heartily as he praised Hoster.
Hoster, understanding this was the king's courtesy to Raventree Hall, quickly turned his gaze toward the knight riding behind the king and Lord Stark, a man who kept to the shadows.
"Ser Kal is the brave knight. He is the true hero!"
Hoster's voice carried genuine feeling.
"Hahahahaha—perhaps so!" Robert laughed all the louder. "But what you ought to do now, boy, is take me to my rest. I've been too busy cleaning up this mess to snatch even a moment's sleep."
"As you command, Your Grace. Raventree Hall has long prepared comfortable chambers for you."
...
"Tywin is a lion. He's never been a cat that shirks from battle. So what in the hell is he playing at?!"
"Kal, you've been dealing with him most recently. Do you have any thoughts?"
Inside a wide stone chamber of Raventree Hall, Robert had claimed the space for a war council.
That bit outside the walls earlier, when he told Hoster to find him a place to rest—nothing more than a jest.
The moment he entered the castle, Robert dragged the relevant lords and retainers into council, demanding to know why Tywin Lannister would suddenly abandon the advantage he had seized, pulling his entire host back into the Riverlands' interior.
According to reports, Tywin had already marched all his forces a week ago toward the direction of the God's Eye.
Even those Westerlands hosts that had been ravaging every corner of the Riverlands now withdrew in line with this unexpected decision of his.
No one could make sense of what exactly he meant to do.
Riverrun had been under siege—yet never fully surrounded.
When they struck, it was like thunder rolling, and when they encircled, it was with absolute resolve. They even seized minor lords loyal to House Tully, one after another, to threaten Hoster Tully into opening his gates and surrendering. Yet now, just as Robert's host marched south to meet him in a decisive clash, this proud old lion did the unthinkable—he chose to avoid battle, slipping away as though playing a game of hide-and-seek.
He even abandoned the passage that led straight back into the Westerlands' heart.
It was as if, before the fight began, he lay down on the ground and bared his soft belly to his foe.
Such behavior ran utterly contrary to the nature of this old lion, and it left everyone guessing at his true intent.
And among those present, the one Robert had to press for answers was naturally Kal Stone—who had recently been carving a bloody swath across the smaller battlefields north of the Red Fork, and who had even made a stop at Riverrun before the great tide of the war turned.
But faced with the king's question, Kal too could only shake his head, just as lost. He could not read what this old fox of a man was really up to.
After clearing out the several thousand Lannister troops lingering around Raventree Hall and awaiting Robert's arrival with his main host, Kal had decided to ride to Riverrun and see for himself.
But when he arrived, what he found left him utterly dumbfounded.
The siege of Riverrun had been lifted for no clear reason. Tywin Lannister not only gave up holding the line to guard the Westerlands' approaches, he marched his army further east.
Inside Riverrun, Kal met with Lord Hoster Tully, bedridden, and also held a detailed discussion with Lord Tytos Blackwood, who had borne the brunt of the defense during the siege.
Yet from both men, he gained nothing more than the same bewilderment that clouded his own mind.
In the original course of events, Tywin's rash decision to ignite war had many factors behind it. Chief among them was Catelyn Tully's capture of his son, Tyrion Lannister.
Every move Tywin made then had a traceable cause, and behind it all, his driving ambition made clear enough what his ultimate goal was.
But now the tale had already gone completely off the rails. King Robert Baratheon had not only survived, but because of Cersei and Jaime, he had even launched a bold war against the Westerlands.
And facing such a turn of events, Tywin Lannister was not the kind of man to meekly await the butcher's knife.
Yet if Tywin had already decided upon war, then his present conduct—avoiding battle, even abandoning his own homeland—truly left everyone baffled.
What was he doing?
Fleeing?
Was he preparing to give up the foundations of House Lannister—centuries upon centuries of wealth and power built by his forebears—only to plunder the riches of the Riverlands in this last desperate campaign, then flee across the Narrow Sea to Essos?
But no, it didn't seem so.
If that were the case, then all his earlier actions had been nothing but wasted effort.
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