Tytos Blackwood watched the Reach cavalry galloping across the plains until they became a thin black line vanishing under the midday sun. He turned to Eddard, a hint of regret in his dark eyes. "My Lord, are we truly not pursuing them? We could end the Tarly line here and now."
"No," Eddard replied, shaking his head. He watched the dust settle on the horizon. "I promised Lord Randyll that I would let him take his men back to the Reach. A promise made to a man like Tarly is a contract that must be kept if we ever want the South to stop fighting."
He turned to the Lord of Raventree Hall with a sharp, commanding look. "However, I made no such promise to the common rabble he left behind. Lord Tytos, take your light cavalry and sweep the plains. Pursue those routed infantry; don't let them cluster into bandit gangs. The Riverlands have enough problems without ten thousand 'broken men' roaming the woods."
"Understood, My Lord. We'll hunt them until the sun sets," Tytos Blackwood said. He gave a sharp whistle, calling his squad of fierce-looking riders, and galloped down the hillside toward the scattered forests.
The parley with Randyll Tarly had been a success, but the reality was far messier than a simple surrender. Tarly was too proud to simply disarm and walk home in shame. He had fulfilled the letter of his "defeat" by ordering a thousand Highgarden pikes to launch a suicidal charge against Eddard's giants, sacrificing them as a shield for his retreat. While the giants smashed the infantry and Blackwood's riders scattered the rearguard cavalry, Tarly had slipped away with his core household knights and the noble heirs of the Reach.
Four legs always ran faster than two.
Eddard watched the Free Folk soldiers herding the thousands of surrendered captives. He noted with satisfaction that his "Winter Guards" were maintaining order without the usual Northern penchant for looting. He waved his hand, beckoning his most trusted knight.
"Dita, over here."
Dita Calandre rode over on a tall grey stallion. Since returning from her successful mission to Braavos, Dita looked every bit the high lord she was becoming. She wore cream-colored scale armor with a thick black wool cloak, her new family crest, a golden wheel with red flames shining in the sun.
"Your Majesty, do you have orders?"
"Return to Harrenhal," Eddard commanded. "Bring as many blacksmiths and apprentices as the castle can spare. Tell Sansa to prepare another half-month of provisions. We're staying here for a few days. The armor we seized from the Reachmen is too fine for the scrap heap, but it's too small for our giants and too Southern for our tribes. I want it modified and distributed. If the Free Folk are to fight for the North, they will do it in steel."
Eddard was taking a massive step: arming the "savages." Based on their obedience during the march and the battle, he was satisfied. Discipline didn't come from a book; it was forged in the shadow of giants and the crackle of a wizard's lightning.
The Golden Road was a ribbon of dust and stone cutting through the northern Reach toward the Westerlands.
A magnificent procession of gold, crimson, and silver moved slowly across the ancient stone bridge spanning the Blackwater Rush. At its center was a massive "wheeled palace", a double-decked carriage of carved oak and gold-trimmed steel that usually required forty horses to move. However, the carriage was too wide for the bridge's ancient arches.
King Tommen I, Queen Regent Cersei, and the newlywed Queen Margaery were forced to transfer to a smaller, more practical Lannister coach.
"I cannot believe Father would send us to Casterly Rock like naughty children!" Cersei hissed, her face flushed with a fury that made the silk of her scarlet gown rustle. She glared at Margaery Tyrell. "And your father, the 'Master of Laws,' actually agreed to this farce?"
Margaery lowered her head, her soft brown curls veiling her face. Her voice was a soft, wounded murmur. "Your Majesty, Lord Tywin is the Hand. My father is merely the Master of Laws. He has no right to interfere with the Hand's arrangements for the King's safety."
Cersei missed the glint of calculated grievance in Margaery's eyes, but Tommen did not. The nine-year-old King looked at his bride and felt a surge of protective instinct.
"Mother, Grandfather said King's Landing is too dangerous," Tommen said in his high, soft voice. "He said the Red Keep has too many ears. I think Casterly Rock sounds nice. It's the home of our ancestors, isn't it?"
Cersei looked at her son, her emerald eyes trembling with molten gold. She was losing control. Her daughter was in Dorne, her favorite brother was a prisoner in the North, and now her father was effectively exiling her from the seat of power. Worse, she was being sent away under the supervision of Ser Ilyn Payne, the silent, tongueless executioner whose pale eyes watched her every move from the shadows of the guards.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the front of the column. Lancel Lannister, looking pale and shaken, galloped back to the royal carriage.
"Your Majesty! Queen Regent! Something has happened!"
"Speak, you idiot!" Cersei snapped, yanking the curtain back.
"Ser Lynster of House Lydden has arrived from the West," Lancel gasped. "He says the Golden Road is blocked. Deep Den is under siege!"
Cersei's heart nearly stopped. "Deep Den? That's Lannister territory! Where is Davos and the fifteen thousand men from Lannisport?"
Ser Lynster himself appeared a moment later, kneeling in the mud. He was a wreck of a man, haggard, sunken-cheeked, and covered in the filth of a forced ride.
"Your Majesty," Lynster wheezed. "Ser Davos was ambushed at the Golden Tooth. The Blackfish... Brynden Tully... he didn't stay at Harrenhal. He led five thousand men through the mountains and crushed our host. Half are dead, the rest are in chains. Silverhall has fallen. The Riverlords have invaded the Westerlands!"
"The Blackfish?" Cersei whispered, her mind spinning. "Where was Varys? Why wasn't I told?"
"I saw the banners, My Lady," Lynster continued, his voice full of terror. "The Trout of Tully, the Mallister Eagle, the Piper Stallion... and the Black Castle with the Golden Sun of the Karstarks. They are everywhere."
"We must go back to King's Landing!" Cersei cried, panic finally taking hold. "We cannot go into an invasion!"
"No," Margaery Tyrell said, stepping forward with a calm, fawning smile that didn't reach her calculating eyes. "Queen Regent, a carriage cannot outrun cavalry. If the Riverrun riders are chasing Ser Lynster, they will catch us before we reach the Lion Gate. We should take the southern road. We go to Bitterbridge or Goldengrove. My father's army is there. We will be safe among the Roses until Lord Tywin clears the West."
Cersei, her composure shattered by the news of the Karstark sunburst in her homeland, nodded frantically. "Yes... the Reach. We go south. Turn the horses! Now!"
Margaery smiled, a gentle, victorious curve of her lips. She had just secured the King. As long as Tommen was in Tyrell lands, the Rose would finally have the thorns to deal with the Lion.
[Narrative Shift: The Royal Family diverted to the Reach.]
[Strategic Event: The Blackfish's Western Invasion confirmed.]
[Status: Cersei Lannister entering Tyrell custody.]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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