Desecrated Remnants

299 AC, Lannisport…

The battle raged until the next day as the sun rose high in the sky. The city was enveloped by the cries of women and children.

The aftermath of the brutal invasion painted a harrowing scene, as the city that had once bustled with life and vitality now lay in ruins. The destruction was all-encompassing, with burnt buildings and debris littering the streets that were once teeming with activity. The once-vibrant cityscape now mirrored the desolation that had befallen the local people.

Echoes of despair reverberated through the air, carrying with them the weight of shattered dreams and broken lives. The survivors, their faces etched with grief and weariness, moved through the ruins with a sense of somber resignation. They had witnessed the horrors of war and suffered unimaginable losses, both in terms of physical structures and the lives of their loved ones.

The streets, once bustling with laughter and conversations, now stood as silent witnesses to the devastation. The remnants of shattered lives were scattered across the cityscape. Ruined homes stood as haunting reminders of the families torn apart, and the pained cries of the survivors mingled with the distant sounds of crumbling structures.

Rody passed through the grand gate of the biggest manor in the city, the only place that seemed to be untouched from the outside. He walked through the long corridors of the local Lannister lord's grand mansion. The stench of death and blood permeated the air, and his footsteps echoed eerily in the silence. The walls were adorned with extravagant goldworks, a display of the wealth and power the Lannisters had enjoyed for far too long.

Finally, Rody arrived at a grand room that seemed to outshine the rest. The opulence within was undeniable, each corner seemingly competing for attention with its extravagant display. The room exuded an air of magnificence, adorned with riches that dazzled the eye.

Golden hues enveloped the space, casting a warm glow upon every surface. The walls, resplendent in their grandeur, were adorned with intricate tapestries and ornate paintings that depicted scenes of wealth and power. The artwork seemed to come alive, capturing the essence of opulence and luxury.

The furniture, crafted with meticulous detail, gleamed with a lustrous golden finish. Elaborate chairs and plush sofas beckoned to be seated upon, their velvety cushions promising comfort fit for royalty. Tables adorned with delicate gold filigree showcased exquisite porcelain and jeweled trinkets, each item a testament to the room's extravagant nature.

Every inch of the room boasted golden accents, from the intricately carved pillars that supported the ceiling to the gilded moldings that adorned the edges of the room. Chandeliers, suspended from the ceiling like cascading waterfalls of crystals and gold, illuminated the space with a radiant glow.

The room was filled with a mixture of Northern and Riverlander nobles, their faces adorned with smiles of victory. However, amidst the joyous atmosphere, Rody's gaze fell upon the grim countenances of Jon and Robb Stark. They stood before a sprawling map, intricately detailed, which Rody guessed had been taken from the lord's manor. It depicted the city and the road leading to Casterly Rock.

Approaching Jon and Robb, Rody felt a mix of exhaustion and determination coursing through his veins. He joined them at the table, eyeing the map with a shrewd gaze. The room fell silent as the three leaders surveyed the territory before them, their minds calculating the next move in this intricate game of war.

"We have pushed them back, but we must not lose focus," Lord Rickard said, his voice resolute. "Casterly Rock remains the ultimate prize, and the Lannisters will defend it with everything they have. Their reign must end, and it is within our grasp."

A Riverlander noble spoke out. "We could lay a siege to Casterly Rock," he suggested, his eyes narrowing as he traced the castle's outline on the map. "Cut off their supply lines, starve them out. It's a formidable stronghold, but not impervious to a prolonged siege."

Robb Stark, ever the strategist, leaned forward and countered the noble's proposition. "Casterly Rock is no ordinary castle," he began, his voice tinged with caution. "Its defenses are legendary, carved into the very heart of the rock. The Lannisters have had centuries to fortify it, and Lannisters are not one to overlook any vulnerability. We must consider the challenges that a siege would present."

He gestured toward the map, his finger tracing the winding paths that led to Casterly Rock. "First, the castle's location is its greatest advantage. Perched upon a cliff overlooking the sea, it enjoys natural barriers that make a direct assault perilous. The sheer cliffs would be nearly impossible to scale, and any naval approach would be met with fierce resistance from their fleet."

Robb continued, his voice filled with conviction. "Moreover, Casterly Rock has been built to withstand a prolonged siege. Its granaries are vast, ensuring that the defenders could hold out for months, if not longer."

He locked eyes with Jon and Rody, determination shining through his gaze. "A siege would only prolong our campaign, draining our resources and wearing down our men. We cannot afford to engage in a war of attrition against an enemy as entrenched as the Lannisters. We need a bold and decisive approach if we are to have any chance of victory."

"Besides, we do not have time for a siege." Jon added, "The combined Northern and Riverlander army in Riverlands will need our support if Tywin Lannister continues to sit in Harrenhal, refusing to entertain our offers."

Rody nodded in agreement, acknowledging the wisdom in Jon and Robb's words. The prospect of a siege appeared increasingly daunting as Robb laid bare the challenges that lay ahead.

Lord Rickard Karstark cleared his throat, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. His voice carried the weight of experience and knowledge as he began to speak.

"You are right, my lords and my prince," Lord Rickard began, his tone measured and filled with wisdom. "Casterly Rock is a formidable fortress, one that has withstood countless sieges throughout history. Its defenses are not to be underestimated."

He walked closer to the map, his finger tracing the intricate pathways that led to Casterly Rock. "The Lannisters have had generations to fortify their stronghold, turning it into an impregnable bastion. They have built upon the natural advantages of its location, making it a nearly insurmountable obstacle."

Lord Rickard's gaze shifted to the gathered nobles, his eyes conveying a sense of urgency. "A prolonged siege would undoubtedly be costly, both in terms of resources and lives. Our forces would be stretched thin, and even if we managed to cut off their supply lines, we cannot discount the vast stores of provisions within Casterly Rock. The Lannisters can withstand a lengthy siege, while our own resources dwindle."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "Furthermore, we cannot afford to be bogged down by a stagnant siege when the fate of the Riverlands hangs in the balance. Tywin Lannister's forces still hold Harrenhal, and they continue to inflict suffering upon the innocent people of that land. They need our aid, our support, and we cannot forsake them."

Lord Rickard's voice grew impassioned as he spoke. "Lannisport is already ours and that is a feat that could not have been done so perfectly."

He locked eyes with Jon and Robb, his voice steady but filled with determination. "I propose a bold and audacious plan. We should raze the city to the ground and then return to the Golden Tooth. We already have done enough damage in Westerlands and with the Lannisport becoming a husk of its current shadow, the Westerlands will pay and the Lannister name will be in a gruesome ditch."

"Aye, let Tywin Lannister have a burnt city, we have done enough in Westerlands. One of the Riverlander lords chimed in, "We should return to Riverlands and help the other army before it becomes too late."

There were some young voices opposing Lord Rickard and instead, wanting to attack Casterly Rock in a direct assault. However, Lord Rickard's words hung in the air, the weight of his arguments resonating with those gathered veterans. The room fell silent as the leaders contemplated the strategic implications of his proposal.

Ultimately, it would be up to Robb to make the final decision, but Lord Rickard had presented a compelling case for an alternative approach. The fate of the war against the Lannisters and the liberation of the Riverlands now hung in the balance, awaiting the judgment of these leaders in this pivotal moment.

Robb Stark stood amidst the deliberation, his gaze shifting from face to face as the voices of his advisors filled the room. The arguments were strong on both sides, and the weight of the decision lay heavily upon his young shoulders.

Silencing the discussions with a raised hand, Robb called for attention. "My lords, I appreciate the passion and wisdom shared here today. The considerations brought forth by Lord Rickard Karstark are indeed compelling, but deciding the fate of our campaign against Casterly Rock requires careful deliberation."

He paused, his voice firm yet measured. "We cannot afford to make hasty decisions that may cost us dearly. The future of our cause and the lives of our men hang in the balance. I propose that we reconvene tomorrow, once we have had the opportunity to reflect upon the arguments presented today."

Robb's words were met with nods of agreement and murmurs of approval. He continued, "I want each of you to take the time to gather your thoughts, study the maps, and consider the implications of the different strategies proposed. We shall meet again tomorrow, and I will hear each of your perspectives once more."

With that, Robb allowed the nobles to leave the room, their minds abuzz with the weight of the decision before them. As the room cleared, he noticed Rody lingering at the back, his eyes filled with anticipation.

"Rody," Robb called, motioning for the warrior to approach him. "Stay a moment. I would hear your thoughts on this matter."

Rody stepped forward, his expression a mix of determination and respect. "Your Highness, I believe that the words of Lord Rickard Karstark hold merit. Casterly Rock is a daunting challenge, and a direct assault may prove costly and ineffective. By returning our position in Golden Tooth, we could leave a strong garrison to prevent it being taken back. Then, we could move our remaining forces to Riverlands to support His Grace."

Robb nodded, acknowledging Rody's perspective. "Your insights are valuable, Rody. I appreciate your dedication and the loyalty you have shown throughout our campaigns. We must consider every angle, weighing the risks and rewards."

He placed a reassuring hand on Rody's shoulder. "I will make sure you are rewarded for your service in this city. Rest for now, my friend. Tomorrow, we shall gather again, and I shall listen to your counsel along with that of the others. Together, we shall determine our next move and shape the destiny of our cause."

Rody nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Thank you, your highness. I shall be ready to offer my thoughts and support when the time comes."

Just as Rody was going to turn around, Jon stopped him. "Harren's brother fell when we were attacking the city, make sure he stays with others tonight."

Rody nodded his head and with a nod of dismissal from Robb, Rody exited the room, his mind already swirling with possibilities. Harren and his brother were one of the Greycloaks with a fiery temper. Rody grimaced at another loss, this war was already taking its toll on him.

His mind was consumed by the weight of the losses they had suffered thus far. The fallen Greycloaks, Harren and his brother, had been more than comrades; they were like brothers to him. Their fiery spirits and unwavering loyalty with other Greycloaks had been a source of strength in these darkest of times.

The grim reality of war had etched itself onto Rody's face, lines of weariness and sorrow forming around his eyes. Each loss was a painful reminder of the cost they paid in pursuit of victory. The faces of fallen friends haunted his thoughts, their laughter and camaraderie now silenced forever.

The war had taken much from them, but it had also kindled a fierce determination within Rody's heart. He vowed to honor the fallen by continuing the fight, by seeking victory against all odds. Their memories would serve as a constant reminder of the stakes at hand, propelling him forward with an unyielding resolve.

Leaving the mansion, Rody made his way through the streets of the captured city. The once bustling thoroughfares were now filled with the chaos and aftermath of war. Most of the Greycloaks had dispersed, some could be seen out in the streets, looting whatever they could find from the defeated Lannister soldiers.

As he walked, Rody passed groups of men carrying the dead bodies of their fallen comrades, their faces etched with grief and exhaustion. The cries of women echoed from some houses, the painful wails of pain and loss. Rody turned a blind eye to these actions, knowing that the ugliness of war often brought out the worst in people.

Reaching the square where the Greycloaks had established their outpost, Rody found only a handful of soldiers remaining. Their faces were weary, their eyes haunted by the horrors they had witnessed. Rody greeted them with a nod, silently acknowledging their sacrifices.

"Men," Rody addressed them, his voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and determination. "You have fought bravely and served with honor. The decision of our next move is still being deliberated, but I want you to know that your actions have not gone unnoticed. We have achieved a great victory today, and it is because of your unwavering commitment."

Rody looked at Hunter and the Greycloak who made out alive from the gatehouse, "Especially you two, the crown prince is aware of your service. When this war ends, your merits won't be forgotten."

The men looked at Rody with a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. They had fought alongside him, trusting in his leadership and following his orders without question. Rody knew the weight of their trust and the responsibility it placed upon him.

"Rest for now, my brothers," Rody said, his voice carrying a note of reassurance. "Tomorrow, we will gather again, and we will decide our next course of action. But for now, take this time to tend to your wounds, mourn our fallen comrades, and find solace in the strength and unity we have shown."

"Hunter," Rody looked at the middle-aged man who joined them recently. "Did you take care of Hullen, Darren and Brunn's bodies?"

"I forgot about it!" Hunter slapped his forehead and made an ugly face, "I will go now."

"No need," Rody shook his head. "You rest, I will handle it."

With those words, Rody bid the remaining Greycloaks farewell, knowing that their spirits were as weary as his own.

As he made his way through the streets, Rody knew that the decision they would reach the following day would shape the destiny of their cause. The liberation of the Riverlands and the defeat of the Lannisters hung in the balance, and it was up to them to navigate the treacherous path that lay ahead.

Continuing his journey through the streets, Rody's footsteps led him to the gatehouse where everything related to the city's current state had begun.

On his way there, Rody spotted a figure amidst the debris. It was Harren, one of the Greycloaks with a fiery spirit, looting some enemy corpses and attempting to break into a nearby house. Rody's eyes narrowed with concern, knowing that Harren needed guidance in this moment of grief.

"Harren!" Rody called out, his voice firm but filled with understanding. "Leave those corpses be. We have a task at hand."

Harren paused, his eyes meeting Rody's, a mixture of anger and sorrow evident on his face. Rody approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of support.

"We need to gather the bodies of our fallen comrades," Rody continued, his voice softening. "Hullen, Darren, and Brunn are still here. They deserve to be honored properly."

Harren's gaze softened, the anger subsiding as he nodded in agreement. Without a word, he followed Rody, their footsteps echoing through the streets. The fallen Greycloaks had fought alongside them, their loyalty unwavering until the very end.

Turning his head to Harren, Rody spoke with determination, his voice tinged with vengeance. "I know the pain you carry, Harren. The loss of a brother is a wound that cuts deep. But I promise you this, there will be many blond-haired cunts in the battles to come, and I will make sure they pay with blood."

Harren's eyes met Rody's, a glimmer of hope emerging within them. Though the words were few, the bond of brotherhood and shared grief passed between them, unspoken but understood.

Together, Rody and Harren arrived before the gatehouse's door, the weight of their fallen comrades heavy on their hearts. But before they could proceed, Rody's keen senses caught a faint sound, a whisper carried on the wind. He held out his hand, signaling Harren to halt, and extended his ear, listening intently.

The whispering grew clearer, voices barely audible, yet distinct. Rody strained to decipher the words, his brows furrowing in concentration. It was a man's voice, speaking in hushed tones to another, and the subject of their conversation caught Rody's attention.

"Do you see these Greycloaks?" the first man whispered, a note of curiosity in his voice. "They must be rich, considering they're the elite warriors of the North."

The second man chuckled softly in agreement, his voice carrying a touch of greed. "Aye, I heard they've got treasures from their lord and all. Must be a fortune hidden somewhere."

"Check that one's teeth, maybe he got some golden or silver tooth." said the first man.

With a surge of anger coursing through his veins, Rody pushed open the gatehouse door, the force of his entry causing the two men inside to startle and drop their ill-gotten spoils. They turned their heads towards Rody and Harren, their eyes widening in shock as they were caught red-handed.

Rody's voice was filled with a seething rage, barely contained but laced with a chilling calmness. "You dare desecrate the fallen? How dare you defile the bodies of our comrades who fought with honor and sacrificed everything for a righteous cause?"

Harren stood by Rody's side, his eyes burning with a fiery intensity, mirroring the fury that consumed Rody's being. The two men, now fully aware of the gravity of their actions, stammered incoherently, their faces pale and filled with remorse.

"Tell me your name, whom do you serve?!" Rody asked with a raised voice.

The older man straightened himself, his gaze filled with a mix of defiance and trepidation. He took a deep breath and announced, "I am Ser Edmund Rivers, a knight of House Frey."

Rody's eyes narrowed as he processed the man's words, his anger simmering beneath the surface. Ser Edmund continued, his voice laced with a warning, "And let me advise you, lad, it would be in your best interest not to let anyone know of what you witnessed here today. Speak a word, and you will face a most gruesome death."

A mocking laugh burst forth from Harren's lips, echoing through the chamber. "You dare threaten us, knight? Do you even know who stands before you?" Harren's voice was filled with a dangerous amusement.

Ser Edmund's face contorted with confusion. "No, I do not," he admitted, his tone hesitant.

Harren stepped forward, his stance commanding and his voice dripping with authority. "This," Harren pointed at Rody, "is Rody Greyguard, captain of the Greycloaks. And you, Ser Edmund Rivers, are defiling the corpse of one of his dear friends." Harren's words cut through the air, his proclamation carrying the weight of Rody's title and the honor he bore.

Ser Edmund's expression shifted from defiance to a mixture of fear and realization. He glanced at Rody, his eyes widening with a newfound understanding of the severity of his actions. The other man beside him, visibly shaken, remained silent, his guilt apparent.

Rody's voice, cold and filled with simmering anger, pierced the tense atmosphere. "You both deserve nothing less than death for desecrating the fallen." His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, his grip tightening.

However, a flicker of restraint crossed Rody's face. He knew that he couldn't pass judgment on them alone. The gravity of their crimes required a higher authority to decide their fate.

"But," Rody continued, his voice measured, "I will not be the judge of your actions. I will bring you before the crown prince, and he shall decide your punishment."

Ser Edmund and his companion exchanged anxious glances. The older knight shook his head vehemently. "Surely, we can handle this on our own."

Rody's eyes hardened, his resolve unwavering. "You have committed a crime, and you will be held accountable for it. Whether you face the crown prince's judgment or the consequences of your actions in this life, justice will be served."

Just as the tension in the gatehouse reached its peak, the heavy wooden door swung open, revealing a group of men entering the chamber. Rody turned his head to see the sigil of House Frey emblazoned on their plates, just like the men they had caught looting. The group was led by a wiry man with a black beard, his eyes sharp and calculating.

The leading man paid no heed to Rody and Harren, his attention solely focused on Ser Edmund and his companion. He approached them, his voice laced with authority. "Are you two done here?"

Ser Edmund and his companion paled, their guilty expressions deepening. They pointed to Rody with their eyes, their fear apparent.

The wiry man's gaze shifted to Rody, finally acknowledging his presence. His lips curled into a sneer. "So, you're the one interfering with my men, are you?"

Rody's grip on his sword tightened, his anger resurfacing at the sight of the Frey men. "These men were caught desecrating the corpses of fallen comrades," he replied, his voice carrying a steely resolve. "They will face the judgment of the crown prince for their crimes."

The Frey leader's sneer deepened, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is that so? Well, it seems you're mistaken, boy. These men answer to me, and their actions are none of your concern."

Rody's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with defiance. "They committed a crime within the city we've taken, under the watch of the Greycloaks. They will face justice."

"Greycloaks? Aaahh, you must be the one they talk about these days, the upstart peasant." The Frey leader chuckled, his voice laced with condescension. "I don't think you understand the situation here, lad. In these parts, we define justice according to our own terms. We do not belong to the North, we are of Riverlands."

Harren stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension. "And what terms would those be? Looting the dead and defying Gods?"

The wiry man's amusement faded, replaced by a glimmer of annoyance. "You dare speak to me in such a manner? You will regret crossing House Frey."

Rody's resolve hardened, his hand now gripping the hilt of his sword with unwavering determination. "We answer to the crown prince, not to House Frey. And justice will prevail, regardless of your threats."

As the tension in the room grew, the wiry man with the black beard, whom Rody now recognized as Black Walder Frey, stepped forward, his eyes locked with Rody's. He saw an opportunity to make them back away, confident in the numerical advantage of his men.

Black Walder's voice dripped with contempt as he taunted Rody. "You think you can defy House Frey? You and your ragtag band of peasants are no match for us. Back down now, and perhaps we'll let you walk away with your lives."

Rody's gaze remained unwavering, his voice steady as he responded. "I have faced worse than you, Black Walder. I have survived swords that would make your blood run cold. Your threats mean nothing to me."

Harren stood by Rody's side, his fiery spirit burning brightly. "Captain, I heard House Frey has many numbers, surely no one would remember if we cut these pussies."

"Enough of this," Black Walder's eyes narrowed, his face contorted with anger. He growled, his voice filled with frustration. "Take them down!"

Just as the tension reached its breaking point, the heavy silence was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps echoing through the gatehouse. Several Greycloaks burst into the chamber, led by a familiar face - Hunter, a loyal member of Rody's company.

"Captain, we couldn't leave you to handle the bodies of our brothers alone so we came," Hunter declared.

However, as Hunter and the other Greycloaks took in the scene before them, their expressions hardened. They drew their swords, ready to join the fray and fight alongside their captain without any reservation. The atmosphere crackled with the imminent clash of steel.

However, before the situation could escalate further, Rody raised his hand, signaling for his men to halt. He locked eyes with Black Walder, his gaze unwavering.

"Black Walder, you were planning to take advantage of your numbers but now, you lost that advantage as well," Rody stated firmly, his voice carrying a commanding presence. "I offer you a chance to surrender peacefully and face the judgment of the crown prince. It is your only way out."

Black Walder's sneer turned into a scowl, his arrogance waning slightly as he assessed the determination in Rody's eyes. He glanced at the Greycloaks behind him, realizing that his victory might not be as assured as he had initially thought.

"I will not be dictated to by a lowly peasant like you," Black Walder spat, his voice laced with defiance. "We answer to House Frey, not to some upstart captain."

Rody's gaze remained steady, his tone filled with conviction. "The crown prince's judgment will be the ultimate justice, and you would be wise to accept it."

Harren stepped forward, his voice dripping with contempt. "These men died for our cause, and your men choose to defile their sacrifice. Surrender now, or face the consequences."

The room grew tense once again, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. Black Walder's expression flickered, a mix of anger and uncertainty battling within him. Ultimately, he knew that a prolonged conflict with the Greycloaks would only bring further scrutiny and potential retribution.

With a grudging nod, Black Walder reluctantly raised his hands, signaling his surrender. "Fine. We will see this so-called judgment. However, know this, your prince does not have any authority over us. It will be Riverlanders who will judge us." he conceded, his voice laced with sneer.

Rody's gaze held Black Walder's for a moment longer, a flicker of satisfaction and bitterness passing across his face. "Wise choice," he replied, his tone firm. "Now, drop your weapons and prepare to face the consequences of your actions."

As the Frey men reluctantly obeyed, the tension in the room gradually eased. The Greycloaks remained on guard, their swords still at the ready, ensuring that no further trouble would arise.

With the immediate threat diffused, Rody's gaze shifted to Hunter and the other Greycloaks. He acknowledged their arrival and the support they had shown him in this critical moment.

"Thank you, all of you," Rody said, his voice filled with gratitude.

Hunter nodded, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. "We stand together, Captain. Always."

Rody's attention then turned to the Frey prisoners, his voice stern and commanding. "You will be escorted to for judgment. Any further resistance or attempts to escape will be met with severe consequences."

The Frey men, their pride dented and their bravado replaced with resignation, nodded in silent acquiescence, albeit with an arrogance that never left their faces. They understood the gravity of their actions and the impending reckoning that awaited them.

As they prepared to depart the gatehouse, Rody took one last look at the fallen comrades whose bodies had been desecrated. A solemn determination filled his heart, fueling his resolve to ensure that their sacrifices would never be forgotten.

He turned to Harren and another Greycloak, "Make sure their bodies are properly taken care of. We shouldn't allow another greedy person to defile our dead."

With heads held high, Rody and his loyal comrades marched out of the gatehouse, following between them were men of House Frey.

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AN: Hi Guys, I want your advice on what the army's decision should be tomorrow? Attack Casterly Rock or abandon that idea and retreat to Golden Tooth, or ...(what would you do)?