The Blackwater sprawled in front of King's Landing like a moat and a wall at the same time.
From the point where the Gods Eye flowed in all the way to the sea, more than a hundred miles of river had no bridges. Everything crossed by ferry.
Right now those ferries sat chained together in the middle of the current, anchors dropped, rocking gently with the water.
Former boatmen were pushing cartloads of planks, laying a makeshift road from deck to deck that stretched farther every minute.
"My lord, we need ten more boats," the foreman in charge of the floating bridge jogged over and craned his neck up at the Imp standing on a wooden crate.
"The gaps are too wide. If the whole army steps on it, the middle section will sink for sure."
Tyrion wiped sweat from his forehead, narrowed his eyes, and stared across the river.
The south bank was empty. The Stormlanders had already run. When they saw how many troops were massing on the north side they never even considered hitting the crossing halfway.
Scouts had shown up a few days earlier, riding along the far shore just to be seen. Then they vanished completely.
Before they left they burned every landing on their side for good measure.
"Add them," Tyrion said, trying to sound confident. "Add as many as you need. The second the bridge is finished you'll get the rest of your gold."
The foreman's eyes lit up. He ran off grinning.
Bronn stood nearby with his arms folded, looking the Imp up and down before his gaze settled on the crate.
"No wonder the little shit made me haul a box out here."
"So the idiots would look up at him and actually believe what he says."
Tyrion rolled his eyes. "If you're just going to stand there doing nothing, go carry some planks."
"Extra pay?" Bronn asked.
Tyrion didn't have any extra pay. The promise of gold was pure bullshit for the workers.
They could fight about it later.
"Put your backs into it!" Tyrion shouted.
He turned and looked west.
On the plains outside King's Landing, tens of thousands of tents stretched across the grass, looking impressive as hell from a distance. Patrols of cavalry trotted the perimeter, kicking up dust.
It was all for show.
Most of the real army was already much farther away.
Hooves splashed into the river. Water soaked through boots and trousers, cold and clinging.
Joffrey tightened his reins.
Thousands of vanguard troops waded across in column, struggling through water up to their thighs and churning up muddy waves.
Upstream, hundreds of soldiers locked arms and shoulders, forming a living dam against the current.
Others sank sack after sack of stones, then laid planks on top to make a rougher, quicker crossing.
Wagon after wagon of supplies rolled over the improvised bridge.
Ahead lay the borderlands.
Riverlands, Westerlands, Reach—all three kingdoms met right here.
The Goldroad curved west and disappeared into the rolling hills.
Seventy thousand men spread out along the riverbank, crossing in a slow, quiet flood.
While the army crossed, Joffrey's mind drifted back to the war council a few days earlier.
Sound east, strike west.
"You all know Renly's character," Eddard had said.
"Greedy."
His finger traced an arc across the map from King's Landing all the way to Casterly Rock.
"He's making a big show of it because he wants us to send help. Then he can pick the ground and fight us on his terms."
"He also wants to split us apart. The crown can't sit and watch the Lannisters get wiped out, but the rest of you might."
Jaime glanced around the table. The lords from the Riverlands looked distinctly uncomfortable and suddenly found the ceiling very interesting.
"But Storm's End is the same," Eddard continued, finger sliding south.
"It's Renly's own seat—huge political symbol—but the Reach lords don't care about it. Convincing them to abandon Casterly Rock and Lannisport, march across the entire continent to save one castle… Renly will have to work for that."
"I split my army. He has to split his."
"Then we sit and wait, fresh and ready, while we chew up whatever he sends."
Someone muttered, "What if he ignores Storm's End, takes Deep Den, and just keeps pushing straight for Casterly Rock?"
Eddard's voice rang out. "Then he's marching to his own destruction!"
Joffrey had kept quiet at the time, just turning the plan over in his head.
Looking at it now, Eddard had been right.
Renly really had marched to his own destruction.
But Eddard had also been wrong.
Deep Den had been destroyed by its own side.
With the ravens cut off, the old lion Tywin had no idea when help was coming. So he simply sold the place.
He stripped every castle and village between Casterly Rock and Deep Den—grain, livestock, tools, everything. Wells were poisoned or filled in. Even the orchards were put to the torch.
No one else in the Seven Kingdoms would scorch their own lands that thoroughly. The only troops who would follow those orders were the ones Tywin had trained himself.
Still, it was the best possible outcome.
The Westerlands were all hills and mountains. The eastern border with the Riverlands formed a giant sack.
After beating Tywin, Renly had probably been too eager to chase the victory. He took the shortest road and marched straight into the mountains.
Now he held Deep Den, but he was trapped.
He could keep pushing forward along a lengthening supply line and try to crack Casterly Rock.
Or the allied army could simply advance slowly, seal the mouth of the sack, and crush him inside the hills.
He could also cut his losses, abandon the captured castles, and retreat back into the Reach.
That would ease pressure on the Westerlands and let the main army swing east, threaten Stoney Sept, and open the road along the south bank of the Blackwater.
If Renly tried to loop south through Bitterbridge, cross the Mander, and head back to Storm's End, Ser Barristan's detached force could lift the siege, link up with Red Ronnet, and gobble up a few outlying Stormlands castles to flip the fence-sitters.
Or…
Renly could simply bring his whole army here, skip all the clever maneuvers, and settle everything in one battle.
In that case the allied army would be the defender.
When Joffrey had laid all this out in the council, Eddard's eyes had actually brightened.
"If you weren't the king I'd swear someone stole my battle plan."
Heh. Turns out I really am a strategic genius.
Then the shouting started outside the tent.
"Your Grace! Urgent dispatch from the front!"
A scout burst through the flap.
"The attack on Deep Den was only a feint! That wasn't Renly's main army at all!"
"After he beat Lord Tywin, Renly marched straight back to Highgarden, then took the coastal road north along the sea!"
"He's heading straight for Tumbleton!"