Chapter 104: Otto — Your Majesty, My Mission Is Complete
"The lion has come out of its den, Lord Piper, Lord Frey."
Red Robb, panting, pushed open the tent flap and entered the command tent of the Red Fork defensive line. The archer had earned the respect of both nobles and commoners through Dragonzel's strong recommendation and his championship at the Summerhall tourney.
Benjicot Blackwood, who had always admired this illegitimate elder, had even tried several times to legitimize him, but Red Robb refused every time.
He had always hoped that one day, his surname would be granted by Dragonzel—his benefactor.
Lord Petyr Piper, Lord Tristan Vance, Lord Forrest Frey, Lord Humphrey Bracken, young Lord Benjicot Blackwood, and Alysanne Blackwood sat around a map, discussing tactics.
Alysanne had also earned her place here through her archery, attending as a warrior. Of course, the most striking presence was still Benjicot—though tall and thin, the twelve-year-old stood out clearly among grown men.
"Are we going to take the initiative?" Benjicot suddenly looked up from the map and asked.
"Robb, how many men does Lannister have?" Lord Frey stroked his beard.
"Around thirteen thousand." Red Robb stepped forward. "More than we expected. Nearly nine thousand are armored. My scouts also saw caged lions—and no fewer than seven thousand horses. Seven hells… where did the Westerlands get so much gold?"
"At least three thousand cavalry," Frey judged immediately. "What banners?"
"The golden lion of House Lannister, the red lion of House Reyne, the boar of House Crakehall, the rooster of House Swyft, the seven-pointed star of House Tarbeck, and the seashell of House Westerling," Robb replied fluently.
Though baseborn, he was well educated and knew the great houses well.
"Nearly all the great lords of the West are here."
"Their cavalry is the real problem," said Petyr Piper. "Better equipped, more numerous. Forrest, what about reinforcements?"
"Still on the way," Frey scratched his head. "But my lady wife sent word—Lord Cregan Stark's vanguard of two thousand cavalry is riding hard for the Red Fork. They'll link up with Lord Mallister at Seagard and should reach us within days."
"Then we delay," Piper decided firmly. "We hold until the Northmen arrive.
Benjicot—you hold the main force here. Tristan and I take the front line. Frey and Bracken take the second line. We cannot let the lions cross the river."
"Why should I stay behind?!" Benjicot leapt onto the table. "House Blackwood has more men and fights harder than Bracken—why don't we take the front?"
"Because we are Brackens!" Humphrey snapped.
"Because your force is stronger," Frey said patiently. "If we fail, you must reinforce us—or support the Northmen when they arrive."
Benjicot climbed down reluctantly.
"Fine. Once the Northmen arrive, my sister and I ride out. Just don't die before then."
"Good, good," Frey chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. He exchanged glances with the others before stepping out of the tent.
The Westerlands host continued its march.
The Riverlords had already withdrawn civilians into castles and fortified positions. Lord Jason Lannister had no interest in grinding down strongholds.
But troubling news had reached him—Sunfyre and Tessarion slain, King Aegon II missing, Aemond Targaryen vanished, and Prince Daeron Targaryen dead.
Combined with a secret letter from Tyland Lannister, the Lord of the Rock felt deeply uneasy.
But the army had already marched.
War could not be avoided.
The Free Cities — The Triarchy
Far across the Narrow Sea, Ser Otto Hightower, dusty from travel yet still clad in rich green silk, arrived at the final stop of his eastern mission—
The Triarchy, the alliance of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh.
The negotiations took place in a lavish palace.
Dwarf elephants wandered an artificial forest outside. A grand fountain stood in the courtyard. Beneath a vast dome, the walls were covered in frescoes and silk tapestries.
Even Otto's composure faltered slightly at the excess.
"Hand of the King," said the Lysene governor with a faint smile after reading Otto's letter, "have you not received word? The king you serve is dead. His dragon's corpse still lies at—"
"Rook's Rest," the Tyroshi governor interrupted in his harsh voice.
Otto had indeed received ravens—but he dismissed the claim.
If Aegon were truly dead, Westeros would already be in utter chaos.
"The rightful king has suffered only a temporary setback," Otto replied calmly. "Which is precisely why your support is now more valuable than ever.
I have recruited thirty thousand sellswords. I require only ships to transport them across the Narrow Sea, and the war can yet be turned.
The rightful king still has dragons. The pretender queen—she will squander hers. We still have a chance."
The three governors exchanged glances.
Thirty thousand sellswords—and gold—spoke louder than distant dragons.
"We are merchants, not warriors," said the Myrish governor. "We will lease you ships. Warships—fifty gold dragons per man. Transports—fifty per ship."
An outrageous price.
To move thirty thousand men past the Velaryon fleet, Otto would need at least one hundred and fifty warships—costing millions.
"Warships—one hundred gold dragons per ship," Otto countered. "In return, I grant you the Stepstones, and all Triarchy merchants shall pay half tariffs in Westerosi ports."
The governors exchanged another look.
A tempting offer—and since they were leasing ships, they could deny direct involvement.
"Agreed," they said. "But what of the Velaryon fleet?"
"I will hire an additional fifty warships," Otto replied. "For three thousand gold dragons each. They are not to seek decisive battle—only raid the coasts of the Narrow Sea. Strike and withdraw."
Otto sighed inwardly.
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