"So, let me get this straight," Tywin Lannister said, his voice as smooth and terrifying as a silk-wrapped blade. "In less than an hour, I lost two thousand infantry, a thousand cavalry, and a thousand of my most elite knights. Meanwhile, the enemy lost a few hundred riders."
Tywin's pale green eyes didn't show fear. They didn't show anger. They just flickered with a cold, golden light as he calculated the cost of the disaster.
"My Lord," Lyness Lydden of Deep Den ventured, "the Starks have the Golden Tooth. We're blocked. Our scouts say they've got thousands dug in. We can't take it quickly. Maybe we should retreat?"
"Retreat where?" Ser Kevan snapped, his face pale with shame. "To the west, we have mountains and forests too thick for an army. To the east, we have the Red Fork and twenty thousand Northern infantry waiting to swallow us. Retreating is just choosing a different way to die."
Kevan looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. He knew it was his fault. If he hadn't let his lazy father-in-law handle the scouting, they would have seen this coming.
"Duke Tywin," Adam Marbrand said, kneeling and offering his sword. "Let me lead the vanguard. I'll break through the infantry behind us or die trying."
Tywin ignored him. His mind was elsewhere. "Has Gregor returned?"
A heavy silence followed. Finally, Tybolt Crakehall spoke up, and he didn't even try to hide the smirk on his face. "He hasn't. Word from the scouts is that some Karstark kid took his head off and hauled the body away like a trophy."
The Crakehalls hated the Mountain. Gregor had spent years ravaging their vassals' lands just because he could. Seeing the "Mad Dog" dead was probably the highlight of Tybolt's year.
"What about his men?" Tywin asked, his tone flat.
"Only one made it back alive," Kevan replied.
"Bring him to me. Now."
A few minutes later, Raff the Sweet was dragged in. The guy was a shell of his former self. He'd seen the Mountain, a man he thought was a god of slaughter get systematically dismantled by a teenager with a glowing axe. He was shaking like a leaf.
"Raff," Tywin said, and the majestic lion-like quality of his voice seemed to calm the man's panic. "You raided with Gregor yesterday near Pinkmaiden, correct?"
"Y-yes, My Lord."
"Good. You know the back trails. You're our guide now. Do your job well, and I might just make you a knight. Fail me, and you'll wish the Karstark had found you instead."
While Tywin was digging for a way out, I was walking through the Northern camp with a giant's head in my hand.
Lord Tytos Blackwood stopped me near the inner keep, staring at the bloody, oversized skull. "Did you actually kill that thing?"
"Yeah," I said, lifting it up so the surrounding soldiers could get a good look. "Turns out he bleeds just like everyone else. He was just harder to kill."
The Riverrun soldiers nearby were whispering. To them, Gregor Clegane wasn't just a knight; he was a nightmare. They started recounting his "greatest hits" the babies he'd murdered, the princesses he'd raped. Hearing them talk made me realize just how much of a psychological win this was. I wasn't just a lord's son anymore; I was the guy who killed the Boogeyman.
I kept walking until I found Robb. He was in the castle's infirmary, helping the maester with the wounded. I did a quick scan of the room, no pretty nurses from Volantis, no noble girls looking to "tend to his wounds." Good. I was still on track to prevent that disaster.
"Eddard? Is something wrong?" Robb asked, dropping a bloody rag into a bucket.
"I need a word, Your Majesty," I said, holding up the head.
Robb's eyes widened. "Is that... Gregor?"
"The one and only," I said. "I know your dad stood on the same side as him during the Rebellion, but Ned hated what this guy did to Princess Elia and her kids. Killing him was an act of justice."
"Well killed," Robb said, a look of disgust crossing his face. "He was a monster."
"He was," I agreed. "But he's more useful dead than he ever was alive. Robb, the Martells have been screaming for this head for fifteen years. Tywin wouldn't give it to them because he's a Lannister. But we aren't Lannisters."
Robb's expression shifted. He was getting faster at the game. "You want to use this to bring Dorne into the war."
"Exactly. We don't need them to march. We just need them to lean on the Reach. If Dorne looks like they're about to attack the Tyrells, the Tyrells won't be so quick to help Tywin."
Robb nodded, his mind racing. "What if I offer a trade? Sansa for Jaime, and we throw the head in as a bonus? Maybe a marriage contract between Sansa and Trystane Martell?"
I stared at him, genuinely impressed. Where did this kid learn to haggle? "The trade for Sansa is a solid move," I said, "but back off on the marriage contract for now. Prince Doran is playing a long game, he's waiting for a Targaryen return. If we push him to pick a side too early, he'll just close his gates. Let's start with the head and the hostage. One step at a time."
Robb sighed but nodded. "Fine. I'll leave the Martell negotiations to House Karstark. You handled the head, you handle the ravens."
"I'm on it."
Just as I was about to head to the maester's tower, a shout echoed through the courtyard. It was Olivar Frey, one of Robb's personal guards.
"YOUR MAJESTY! THEY'RE ON THE MOVE!"
The smile vanished from Robb's face. The cold, steel-eyed King was back. "The Lannisters?"
"Yes, sir! The whole army. They've broken camp and they're heading straight for the Red Fork!"
The ambush was over. The real battle was about to begin.