What was surprising was that at The Twins, Edmure Tully freed several Northmen from the dungeons. The most notable among them was Greatjon Umber. In the wake of recent events, many had forgotten the man—but he proved to be alive after all. That opened a number of intriguing possibilities. The new Hand had ordered that all former Frey captives be brought to the capital.
For the time being, the North was left alone. A small force of subdued Freys remained to watch over Moat Cailin, while the main hosts of Tully and Tarly were now marching toward King's Landing.
***
The Martells had called their banners and marched out of Dorne, heading north along the Boneway. They passed Castle Wyl and were now encamped in the vicinity of Summerhall—the former Targaryen residence, now lying in ruins.
From there, two routes and two smaller roads led onward. One went east, toward Storm's End. The other ran straight north through the Kingswood, where it joined the Roseroad and ended at the River Gate of King's Landing.
We did not yet know which way the enemy would turn, but all signs pointed to one thing—they intended to give a decisive battle and attempt to settle everything with a single blow.
We received another piece of ill news—the House Greyjoy and the naval forces of House Martell had joined forces and struck at the Arbor. The island fell, and we lost everything there for a time—vineyards and wines, shipyards and ships. At least the Redwynes had abandoned their holdings in advance. Even so, it was a painful blow.It would have been far worse, had we not foreseen such a turn of events.
Still, the Greyjoys were a constant strain on everyone. They were a thorn in the ass—always there, always irritating, never letting you forget about them.
"Damn it, I'm sick to death of those fucking Greyjoys," Jaime swore when the ravens brought the news.
"Don't worry. Sooner or later, they'll get exactly what's coming to them," Tyrion said darkly.
I agreed with him. A Lannister always pays his debts.
We began sending letters across Westeros, speaking of the treachery of the Martells and of how Daenerys Targaryen had gone against both gods and conscience by bringing savage Dothraki and eunuch Unsullied to her side. We wrote that if the Targaryens were allowed to rise again, the days of Aerys the Mad would return, and the realm would once more drown in fire and blood.
Our enemies answered in kind. They wrote of restoring the rightful Targaryen dynasty, of Joffrey and Tommen as the products of Cersei and Jaime's incest, of how the rights of ancient houses had been trampled by the Lannisters and their allies, and of the many hostages we had taken from the Riverlands and the Vale—along with other unpleasant rumors and truths.
In those days, all of Westeros—save for the North—was split into two great factions.
Even so, ours was the larger one.
But the enemy still had two dragons.
For more than a month after the attack on the Red Keep, we licked our wounds and prepared.
And when the hosts of Tully and Tarly reached the capital, we gave them three days to rest—then marched south.
***
We came to see that our strategy against the dragons and the Martells had been flawed and ineffective. Or rather, our enemies had twisted matters so that we began to lose.
We had expected them to march straight on King's Landing, seeking to end it all with a single blow. But after the strike on the Red Keep, they did not trouble us again—not here in the capital. Instead, they shifted the war to the Reach and the Stormlands.
It had suited us to buy time and watch calmly as the horde of ravenous Dothraki, like a swarm of locusts, stripped the countryside bare.After all, their countless horses could not live on water alone.
We had also hoped that, if the enemy would not dare march on the capital, they would remain in their own lands and begin to strip Dorne bare.
Our opponent proved more intelligent than we had assumed. They did not remain in Dorne—such a strategy would eventually have led to disaster—and they did not march on the Red Keep. Instead, they set about, methodically and without haste, grinding down and breaking the castles and strongholds of the Reach and the Stormlands.
And we all understood—if we surrendered the initiative entirely and did nothing, they would simply strangle us one by one, like blind and helpless kittens. Some castles, watching their neighbors destroyed, had already bent the knee to the Martells and sworn them fealty. We were beginning to lose men…
***
They forced our hand in the end, driving us to a monstrous risk and out of King's Landing. I do not know which of our foes conceived such a stratagem, yet most of ours were certain it was Doran Martell's design, carried out by his younger brother, Oberyn. As for Daenerys Targaryen, the Small Council dismissed her as a simple girl, incapable of such decisions, whose chief virtues were that she was a Targaryen, had brought the Dothraki and the Unsullied, and possessed three dragons.
No—everyone understood she was worth something. But the mind behind the enemy army—that was attributed to the cunning and ruthless Martell brothers.
All this time, Martell hosts had been enjoying themselves thoroughly, plundering the Stormlands from Felwood to the Bronzegate, while Daenerys's dragons burned the castles of the Reach one after another.
Our lands burned and bled. Had the enemy turned west and taken Highgarden, it would have been a true catastrophe.
So we marched.
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The story is steadily approaching its conclusion. Over the coming weeks, the final chapters will be released on my P@treon at the usual pace, where you'll be able to read the entire story in full. Updates here, however, will slow down considerably.
P@treon: /SadRaven