The morning sun was a pale, cold eye peering through a veil of autumn mist as Randyll Tarly surveyed his host.
Ever since his humiliating capture at the Twins, the Lord of Horn Hill had moved with a severe, almost paranoid deliberation. His prestige in the Reach had plummeted after he was dragged across a Karstark saddle like a sack of grain, but he had begun the slow process of rebuilding his reputation by repelling Stannis Baratheon's incursions into the Mander. He hadn't broken the King of Storm's End, but he had recovered the spoils and stabilized the lines. Now, Tywin Lannister had given him a new mission: clear the Riverlands and pressure Harrenhal.
"My Lord!"
A shout cut through Tarly's reverie. Ser Bisbury, commander of the vanguard, galloped toward him, his horse's hooves kicking up plumes of damp earth.
"Our scouts engaged outriders ten miles to the north," Bisbury reported, his breath coming in heavy huffs.
Tarly's brow furrowed. "Outriders? Here? We are still nearly two hundred kilometers from Harrenhal."
The "Blackfish," Brynden Tully, was known for his mastery of reconnaissance, but pushing outriders this far into the southern Riverlands was aggressive even for him.
"Did you take prisoners?" Tarly asked.
"No, My Lord. Four of their wounded fled north. I forbade a pursuit, fearing a trap in the dense forest," Bisbury replied.
Tarly nodded curtly. The memory of the "rope trick" in the forest near the Twins still burned in his mind. "Give Ser Bisbury two hundred more in cavalry. Expand our screen. I want the enemy deafened and blinded. Drive their outriders back to the walls of Harrenhal, but do not, under any circumstances, overextend."
Tarly's primary goal was distraction. He was the anvil upon which Tywin intended to break the Riverlands' resistance while the Westerlands host struck at the Golden Tooth. If the Riverlords ignored him, he would burn his way to Maidenpool. If they gathered to face him, he would lead them on a slow, frustrating dance back toward the Crownlands.
"My Lord, there is one more thing," Bisbury added, his expression hesitant. "The insignia on the outriders... it wasn't the Tully trout. It was a black tower and a golden sun."
The name hit Tarly like a physical blow. He instinctively tightened his grip on the reins, his black stallion shifting restlessly beneath him. He scanned the yellowing forest surrounding the King's Road, half-expecting to see a bolt of lightning descend from the clouds.
The Winter Wizard.
"Eddard Karstark," Tarly whispered, his voice a low growl. "If he is at Harrenhal, then where is the Blackfish?"
He looked at Titus Rowan, the young heir to Goldengrove who had recently succeeded his father. Titus wore gleaming silver plate and a milk-white cloak, his eyes full of a youthful, dangerous eagerness for glory.
"Lord Titus," Tarly commanded. "Ride for King's Landing. Immediately. Inform Lord Tywin that the garrison at Harrenhal has shifted. If Karstark is here, the Blackfish is likely at the Golden Tooth. Tell him Ser Davos Lannister is in grave danger."
As Titus departed in a thunder of hooves, Tarly ordered his army to tighten its formation. The ten-thousand-man host slowed its pace, forming a "tortoise shell" of steel and pikes that crawled along the Golden Road with agonizing caution.
Harrenhal.
The view from the top of the Kingspyre Tower was a panoramic display of a Northman's ambition. Eddard Karstark stood on the battlements, a battle report from Ser Brynden Tully in his hand.
"Twenty thousand Westerlands veterans gathering at Lannisport," Eddard mused, a cold smile touching his lips. "Tywin is truly rich. His soldiers are like autumn leeks, you cut a row, and another batch grows back immediately."
He looked down into the courtyards. The "Sun-Glow Giant Corps" was ready. Fifty giants stood in full plate-and-chain armor around Marga, their powerful roars vibrating the very stones of the castle. Beside them, another fifty unarmored giants carried massive iron-shod shields, acting as mobile barricades.
Surrounding the behemoths were a thousand Free Folk youths, the giants' "attendants." They served as translators and guides, ensuring the giants didn't lose their way in the unfamiliar southern terrain.
Further out, ten phalanxes of Free Folk infantry, ten thousand strong, were marching out of the outer camp. They were a black snake winding across the withered grass, guided by Karstark knights. They still wore their animal-hide armor, but their bone-spears had been replaced by steel points that shimmered in the midday sun.
Styr, the Magnar of Thenn, rode at the head of the vanguard. Beside him, his son Segon carried the white-and-black sunburst. The Thenns were no longer just a tribe; they were a landed house, settled in the black ruins north of the castle, a territory once razed by Gregor Clegane.
"Styr will be the bait," Eddard told the gathered vassals in his study.
The room was filled with the scents of wine and military planning. Matthew, now a knight-consort of House Mooton, stood at the table with three hundred Maidenpool cavalry. Beside him were the lords of Saltpans, Harrold, and Fairmarket, contributing another three hundred riders between them.
Finally, Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall arrived as the sun touched the horizon, leading five hundred elite Riverlands cavalry.
"All the pieces are on the board," Eddard said, pointing to the map of the God's Eye.
"Randyll Tarly is moving like a man walking on thin ice, twenty kilometers a day, camp at dusk, sentries everywhere. He thinks he can avoid a surprise attack by being slow."
Eddard chuckled, his grey-blue eyes glowing with a faint, magical aura. "He's wrong. Slow only works if your enemy is human. We have the Sun Giant Legion, and we have two thousand heavy cavalry. We let Styr lead the Free Folk into Tarly's path. When the 'Hunter' stops to deal with the 'Savages,' we hit him from the flanks with the Hammer of Winter."
Eddard looked at Count Tytos. "Lord Tytos, your men know these woods. You will lead the right wing. I will lead the giants in the center. We don't just want to repel Tarly this time. We want to end the Reach's ability to wage war."
The vassals nodded, the weight of the plan settling over the room. The "Winter Wizard" wasn't just defending a castle; he was preparing a grave for the Reach's finest commander.
[System Notification: Tactical Pincer 'The Sun and the Hammer' initiated.]
[Target: Randyll Tarly's Punitive Host.]
[Unit Deployed: 50 Armored Giants (Elite Rank).]
[Soul Power Potential: Critical Threshold.]
"Let's go," Eddard said, standing up. "The Sun is rising over the Mander, and I want to see it set in blood."
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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