"Ahhh!!"
In the merchant homes of Tumblestone, shops were smashed to splinters and every valuable thing was stripped clean.
A squad of Lannister soldiers roared with laughter while they beat the shopkeeper who'd tried to stop them.
Someone had given the order: the two thousand Lannister troops inside the town could loot freely for three full days.
Suddenly a towering figure stepped into the doorway.
The soldiers froze mid-swing and scattered like rats spotting a cat.
The bloodied shopkeeper looked up at the armored giant, thinking rescue had finally arrived.
"Ser Gregor, this place is already cleaned out," one soldier stammered. "We'll move on to the next."
"Hmm?"
The giant lifted his visor, revealing a brutal, scarred face that made even the grunt from his nose sound like pure violence.
The soldiers went dead quiet.
If they were the scum robbing honest folk, this man was the monster who'd done every evil under the sun.
Gregor Clegane said nothing. His dark eyes swept the shop and locked on a hidden side door.
Bang. Bang.
Nearly eight feet tall and built like a bull in full plate, every step shook the floorboards.
Gregor ripped the little door off its hinges, dragged the shopkeeper's wife and daughter out of the cramped storage space, and ignored their screams while he did what monsters do.
The soldiers watched in terrified silence, then slipped away to the next house while Ser Gregor took his pleasure.
The same nightmare played out in every corner of Tumblestone.
Tywin Lannister sat calmly outside the walls, watching cart after cart of grain roll in. Not a flicker of guilt crossed his face.
"Brother, House Foote supports the Iron Throne," Kevan said, still marching with the army and still clinging to a shred of decency. "Robbing them blind like this isn't the way."
Tywin glanced at him coldly. "We have five thousand men total. Two thousand are Lannisters. The other lords' troops brought their own supplies. Our men have to feed themselves."
"The Lannisters can afford it!"
Kevan's voice rose.
Tywin snorted. "An army is a blade. No house can feed one forever. You squeeze the weak."
The richer a man, the tighter his fist.
He had zero intention of marching a great host, burning through Lannister gold every single day, just to fight for the Iron Throne for free.
Tumblestone had the bad luck to cross his path.
Afterward he could simply brand House Foote traitors and whitewash the whole thing.
And once Robert's rebels were crushed, it would add another victory to his record.
"I'll go quiet the Crownlands troops," Kevan muttered and stalked off.
Two thousand Lannisters looted inside the walls while the other three thousand Crownlands men camped outside.
If he didn't keep them calm, trouble would boil over.
A tall, disfigured youth followed Kevan out of the tent.
Late that night, while Lord Cafferen of Deerfield walked the walls urging his men to stay alert for Robert's host…
A single black raven flew out of Tumblestone and winged straight for Storm's End.
Storm's End
Maester Cressen burst into the chamber where Stannis still couldn't sleep.
"A letter from Lord Foote?" Stannis asked, exhausted.
"Yes. He's decided to join the rebellion."
Cressen looked thrilled.
Stannis took the parchment. The first line made him frown. "House Foote is sworn to the Tyrells, yet they want to join us? Fickle as a weathervane."
Cressen had no reply.
After reading the rest, Stannis's face hardened. "Maester, we must warn Robert at once. There's a trap waiting at Deerfield. The rebel army is in danger."
Lord Foote had laid it out plainly.
The loyalist army now held Tumblestone.
No detailed plans were given, but Stannis's sharp military mind saw the trap instantly: lure Robert to attack Deerfield, then strike from the rear out of Tumblestone.
Caught between two forces, Robert would be slaughtered.
Losing the opening battle would ruin any chance of stopping the Reach host from marching north. The entire southern campaign would collapse.
"I'll write it now," Cressen said, already pulling out paper and ink.
Stannis thought for a second. "Tell Robert to change route and hit Tumblestone directly. The Hand, Tywin Lannister, is there."
Take the king and you take the traitors.
Since Lord Foote could sell out the loyalists, he could also open the gates from inside and help trap Tywin's five thousand men.
Without reinforcements, the three loyalist houses at Deerfield would never stand against Robert's fury.
"Done."
Cressen's old hands moved fast. Two letters were sealed and two ravens launched into the night.
The moment Robert read the message he reversed course.
Out of the Kingswood, down the Roseroad, then swinging north straight for Tumblestone.
At the same time, Tywin sat in his command tent outside the walls, studying maps of the Riverlands.
The Riverlands lords were tearing each other apart.
Kevan's ten-thousand-strong Westerlands force had traded light blows with Riverrun's troops and were locked in a stalemate.
Once Robert was crushed they could march north, support the loyalists, and wipe House Tully and its allies from the map.
"Riverrun is a fine castle," Tywin murmured. "A shame to leave it to the Tullys."
He was already drawing grand plans and had marked House Tully for extinction.
Few wars in Westeros ever erased an entire house, but the old lion had done it once and remembered exactly how.
In his eyes the four rebel houses needed new owners. The Starks of the North could maybe stay. The other three would not.
Destroying the Tullys and seizing Riverrun would be the perfect prize for House Lannister.
The title of Lord Paramount of the Trident could go to House Darry or House Ryger later.
With the Riverlands' fractured geography, no one could truly rule the whole region anyway.
Kevan stepped into the tent. "Brother, Lord Foote sent a man. He invites you to a feast to discuss fighting the rebels."
"Oh?"
Tywin gave a thin smile. "So our Lord Foote has finally bent the knee."
Too late.
He was still furious about the terms his prized student Daeron had negotiated with the Tyrells. The roses had answered the Iron Throne's call and dared demand part of the Stormlands as blood price.
The Lannisters hadn't even asked yet.
While the war was messy, he would start cracking a few Tyrell vassals open.
"Bring Gregor. We're going."
Tywin fastened his crimson cloak over his shining bronze lion plate.
Kevan obeyed without question.
At that exact moment Robert's host slipped past the scouts between Tumblestone and Deerfield and appeared ten miles from the town walls.
Inside the castle Lord Foote bowed and scraped like a servant, practically licking Tywin's boots.
"My lord, you serve the crown faithfully and so do I. We are equals."
Tywin looked down from on high, his words dripping with sarcasm. "You are a loyal servant of the crown, and so am I. We are equals."
Lord Foote smiled weakly. "You are the Hand of the King and commander of the great army. How could I presume otherwise?"
Tywin said nothing. That was answer enough.
The feast was excellent—fine dishes, even finer wines.
Tywin sipped a summer red and noticed no women of House Foote were present.
"Afraid to face me?"
His sharp mind sensed danger.
Lord Foote leaned close. "My lord, are the dishes to your liking?"
"Very good."
Tywin's wariness rose. Casually he asked, "Where is Lady Foote? It would be rude to visit a lord's castle without paying respects to the lady of the house."
"My lady is ill," Lord Foote said quickly. "She suffered quite a fright."
A few more pleasantries and Lord Foote excused himself.
"Something's wrong."
Tywin's eyelids twitched. He called Kevan and Gregor closer for protection.
Bang!
The great doors slammed shut. Footsteps thundered across the balcony above.
Tywin looked up to see more than twenty "servants" aiming loaded crossbows straight at him.
"My lord, down!" Gregor roared, throwing his massive body over Tywin and shielding him with steel and flesh.
The bolts hammered his thick plate and bounced off.
Kevan wasn't as lucky. He parried two but took two more in the chest.
"Run!" Tywin shouted, disbelief flooding him. Someone had just shattered guest right in front of him.
The hall was full of invited minor lords, knights, and Lannister officers.
In an instant the "servants" dropped their crossbows, drew daggers, and began slaughtering everyone.
Lord Foote watched from the shadows, face flushed with excitement.
He had broken guest right.
Kill every witness and no one would ever know.
"Out of my way!"
Gregor kept one arm around Tywin, lowered his shoulder like a battering ram, and charged through the assassins. He slammed into the locked doors with a thunderous crash. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Gregor's eyes flashed crimson. He drew on every ounce of his Gem-enhanced strength and smashed again.
The bar snapped. The doors flew open.
Tywin's face lit with triumph. "Everyone, follow me!"
But almost everyone else was already dead or dying. Only a few still fought desperately.
Tywin didn't look back. He cared only about his own skin.
"Damn House Foote! I will wipe your entire line from the earth!"
The moment he burst into the courtyard he heard it—thunderous hoofbeats.
Robert's army had appeared outside the walls. Two thousand Stormlands vanguard slammed into the loyalist camp before anyone could react.
Without officers the camp disintegrated instantly. Men ran in every direction.
"Follow me into the town! We take Tywin Lannister alive!"
Robert roared with laughter. He ignored the fleeing soldiers and rode straight for the open gates.
Lord Foote had made sure they stayed open.
Robert sat tall on his giant elk, warhammer raised, charging into the streets and scattering the terrified Lannister troops.
Tywin had just escaped the castle and ran straight into the living legend.
"Wait… that's Tywin?"
Robert's sharp young eyes picked out the disheveled Hand at once. Then he frowned.
The man had just come running from Lord Foote's castle. Clearly something had gone sour between them.
But there was no time to wonder.
Robert spurred his elk. "The man in the red cloak is Tywin Lannister! Whoever brings him to me gets five thousand gold dragons!"
Then he charged first.
Tywin's face went white. He grabbed the nearest horse and fled for his life.
"After him! Don't let Tywin Lannister escape!"
Robert didn't even need to shout twice. His men went mad, eyes shining with visions of gold.
They chased the old lion like hounds after the fattest prize in Westeros.