Chapter 18: Deliver Me

Jon

The raven had come from Castle Black asking for aid against an impending Wildling attack. The northern lords who made up his council urged that they should march for Castle Black at once, for the Watch failed to hold from the north it would be their lands that would be swarmed by Wildlings who would rape and plunder to their heart's content. The southern lords, Lord Edmure prominent amongst them had argued that it would be more prudent to march back south, for with the Boltons dead and the Ironborn gone from the North, they were in a much better position to take on the Lannisters and the Tyrells. There was much arguing in the great hall of Deepwood Motte, neither northern nor southern lord led by Lord Umber and Lord Edmure would budge and an inch on their respective stance. Many cups of wine were consumed and many a meal consumed before Jon had had enough of the discussion, he did not have Ghost with him to show his frustration, for Ghost had remained in Riverrun to help protect Sansa alongside Ser Leyton Appleton, but he had heard enough.

"We shall march north my lords and that is final." Jon said in a tone that brooked no argument. He went on "If I wish to rule, then I must help my people, and the Night's Watch are part of the people I mean to rule. They have asked for aid, and what sort of King would I be if I did not give them it when there is so much to be had. Let the Lannisters ponder my next move, we march with haste to Castle Black my lords."

And so they had marched, Jon riding Serrax had kept a pace with the marching of his men who were led by Robb and Lord Edmure. The autumn had been a short one and the first snows of winter were beginning to fall, as they left Deepwood Motte, roughly 4,000 northmen and 6,000 rivermen with Lord Tarly and Lord Yronwood and their men having been left in Riverrun after the weddings at the Twins to defend Riverrun. The march took them three weeks through snow and hilly terrain. When they eventually reached Castle Black Jon found the remenants of a battle that had clearly been fought only that morning. He and his men had been allowed to room in Castle Black and the nearby land, and then Jon, and his lords had gone to speak with Lord Steward Bowen Marsh and Jon and Robb's uncle Benjen about the state of things at the Wall.

They met in what Jon was told was the smith Donal Noye's chambers. They were sparse but able to fit Jon, his lords plus Benjen Stark, Bowen Marsh and Donal Noye himself. What they had to say was grim indeed. "Lord Commander Mormont was killed in his sleep by two dead black brothers." Said Bowen Marsh.

Silence and then Robb asked "Dead black brothers? Are you sure it was not some living assassin?"

Bowen Marsh shook his head and said "I know it sounds mad my lord but that is what it was. Two dead black brothers we had found who had been part of your uncle's ranging group, woke in the middle of the night with eyes as blue as ice and made their way to Lord Commander Mormont's rooms and strangled him to death."

Their uncle Benjen nodded, "Aye what Bowen says is true. My ranging party was attacked by parties of these dead things on the way to and from the Fist of the First Men. And there are worse things approaching us. Things long thought dead. White Walkers."

Had any other man said that, Jon would have laughed and called that man mad, but the serious and weary expression on his uncle's face convinced him otherwise. "And you believe that the Wildlings led by this Mance Rayder are marching south in great numbers to get away from the White Walkers?"

Benjen nodded. "Aye, that is what I saw evidence of when I was trying to make my way back to Castle Black."

Jon sighed and asked "How many and when will they be here?"

Benjen was silent, but Bowen Marsh said "When we went scouting we found evidence courtesy of the Halfhand that Mance Rayder had managed to muster some 20,000 Wildlings together. The ruins of the fight you saw at your arrival, were the first 5,000 wildlings he had sent ahead to test our defences, Your Grace."

"20,000 wildlings and 5,000 dead today alone? When will they next attack?" Robb asked.

Benjen replied, "We are not sure. But we do believe that it will most likely be tonight and early tomorrow morning from what our scouts have told us, they still have a great number out there."

"Very well, we must prepare and have men standing guard on the walls ready for their assault." Jon stated. Benjen nodded and they made the necessary arrangements. Once the arrangements were made Bowen Marsh and the lords left Jon, Robb and Benjen alone. Benjen looked at them both and sighed, then said "So this it eh. Lord Robb and King Jon."

Both boys looked slightly uncomfortable but Benjen continued, "I may have been gone a long time beyond the wall, but when I returned Maester Aemon spent a good while filling me in on what you two had been up to. Declaring war on the Lannisters, capturing the Kingslayer, declaring Jon King, marriages, hatching a dragon eh. Been up to quite a bit then."

Jon and Robb smiled sheepishly and said nothing, Benjen continued "Well so long as you both live and survive this war and the one to come, then I suppose I should wish you well."

They both nodded and then rose to leave, but before they could Benjen whispered something so softly they both almost didn't hear it "Your parents would be proud of you both, I know they would." They left Benjen to think on events and to brood on the past.

The moon was not even half way risen when the sentinels on the wall spotted the advancing Wildling host. From up high on the wall, they looked like ants, a huge swarm of ants advancing towards the Wall at a quick pace. Jon strained to see but then gasped "Are those mammoths? And giants I see?"

His uncle Benjen chuckled "Aye they are Your Grace. Your big dragon should take care of them though." Jon nodded still slightly in shock about seeing giants and mammoths. Though as he had to quickly put those thoughts from his mind as he went down the winch cage and got up onto Serrax's back. He waited for the first signs of battle to reach him where he was, when he heard the horn blowing and the trumpeting coming from the Wildlings on the other side of the wall, he felt Serrax tense underneath him, though he did not move from his position. It was only when he heard the orders coming from the wall to pour the boiling oil down onto the wildlings that he urged Serrax to move on the ground.

He heard the screaming of the wildlings as the boiling oil came pouring down onto them, and they were burnt alive. He saw from up high on Serrax's back as the wildlings made room for the giants riding on their mammoths to batter the Wall, and the gates. He watched as one of the gates to the east nearly gave way, but then the giants were felled by multiple arrows, and as they fell, he felt the ground shake. He remained stationery as was the plan, and watched as the men of the watch and the northmen and rivermen poured boiling oil onto the wildlings and those that avoided the oil were felled by arrows and spears, none of the wildlings made too close to the wall but the giants and their mammoths were a different story. They advanced toward the wall, and managed to knock several of the men on the wall off and send them plummeting to their deaths, they were also battering the doors down with their rams and the mammoths bulk. Jon saw a few of the doors beginning to groan under the weight and pressure of the attacks, and shouted for some of his men to be prepared to deal with giants.

Just as he had shouted for his men to be ready, he heard bellowing and turned and watched as a giant stumbled into the main yard of Castle Black, a gaping hole left where there had once been a double door. The giant swung its club blindly and took down several men, behind it wildlings poured into the yard, swinging and hacking at whoever they came across. Jon could feel Serrax tensing underneath him could hear him crying out for blood, but Jon kept a hold of him, restrained him, barely. He was needed to wait until the last possible moment before unleashing Serrax on the Wildlings. As he waited he saw the giant that had broken one of the doors fall down to the ground dead, felled by a dozen arrows and spears to the chest and head. But there were still dozens of wildlings flooding in through the hole the giant had left. To his left he heard yet another loud crack as yet another doorway was broken open and two giants burst into the yard swinging and killing men at will, just as the wildlings continued to pour through.

Jon could not see Robb or Edmure, or Ser Barristan or Ser Perwyn, they had all been taken in by the tide of battle and were busy fighting the wildlings, whilst he their king sat rooted on top of his dragon unable to move because of a battle plan they had all agreed upon. The plan had been simple when spoken, the men of the watch and the men Jon had brought would engage the wildlings and their giants, and then when it seemed like they were about to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers Jon would appear on Serrax. The wildlings would likely either flee, or be killed by the flames Serrax would unleash. Serrax was mainly there to deal with the giants and the mammoths. Looking at the battle unfolding before him now though, Jon wondered if their plan had been a wise one, it seemed as if they were about to be overwhelmed very soon, sooner than anticipated, and then they would be lost for Serrax would not be able to burn all those who came into the yard without risking damage to some of their own.

When the main entrance way to Castle Black from beyond the wall began to creek though, Jon decided to act. Spurring Serrax on, Jon gripped the reins as Serrax unleashed a terrifying roar and surged into the air. As Serrax spread his wings, Jon saw from where he was that the Wildlings were already beginning to break at the sight of Serrax and his massive frame. Tightening his hold on the dragon with his legs, Jon mentally urged Serrax on and when he saw the black flames being unleashed from his dragon and heard the anguished cries of the wildlings, their giants and the mammoths he knew that the tide was beginning to turn in their favour.

When he was sure that the immediate danger to Castle Black was through, he spurred Serrax on and past the Wall and onto the fields beyond it. There his heart nearly dropped there were thousands more wildlings and giants approaching, there was no way that they could kill all of them, though they could try. He urged Serrax to fly higher into the air, and when the dragon did Jon mentally nudged him and Serrax gave another roar, and then began unleashing jet upon jet of black flame. Jon watched transfixed at the scene that was unfurling beneath him, it was like a primal ritual come to life, the ground beneath him which had previously been occupied by wildlings and giants and mammoths, was now bathed in fire, black fire. It made him feel strangely powerful, god like even.

The trance was broken though when the flames stopped, and Jon blinked hard and saw that the ground was now littered with ash, the ash that had once been Wildlings and giants and their animals. There was nothing left on the ground now but ash, and the ground was stained black from Serrax's flames. Jon felt something strange filling him, it was almost like a sense of horror that he had caused that, that destruction had been caused by him. He was still in shock as Serrax turned round and flew back into the courtyard of Castle Black, where he was greeted with the scene of the brothers of the Night's Watch and the North and Rivermen dragging their dead from the battlements or from the ground, and lighting funeral pyres and saying their prayers, he saw injured men being helped to the maesters. As he dismounted from Serrax, he spied Robb and Smalljon helping a big man who seemed unconscious toward one of the army's maesters. Jon jumped down and made to run toward them but found his way blocked by two giants laid flat on the ground pierced by multiple arrows and spears, and burning. Jon stood there for a moment feeling sick and horrified at the amount of death he had witnessed and caused today and wondering why after nearly two years of war, he still was so badly affected by it.

Much later after the bodies had been burnt and repairs had begun on the doors and the gateways, Jon found himself sat in the Lord Commander's solar with his main commanders and his uncle Benjen and the man he assumed would be Maester Aemon one of his last remaining relatives from his father's side. Their losses had been heavy, many thousands of men had died and the men Jon had brought from the south were the main casualties, along with the wildlings and giants. His uncle Benjen spoke of how once the wildlings realised that the thing burning their fellows to dust was a dragon they turned tail and fled. "But they will be back. Perhaps it not so great a number as this time, but they shall be back and we will need to be ready."

Jon promised to send what aid he could, and then talk turned to what they should do now. Stay at the Wall and wait for yet another Wildling attack or march south. "Why not sail south, you could take ships from Eastwatch and to Maidenpool or to the bite."

Jon grimaced, "Would that we could. But the Lannisters control much of the sea, and besides the Vale is of uncertain loyalty true Lord Royce brought 20,000 swords to our cause but Lady Lysa is still capable of demanding he bring them back. Plus we heard that Lord Baelish had been sent by the Lannisters to bring the Vale into their cause. No we shall march south once the men are rested."

Davos

He had heard the roaring of dragons but it seemed that he was the only one who took this as a bad sign. Lady Melisandre said that the roaring was the approval from her red god for Stannis, and that he was showing that he approved of Stannis's move to take Maidenpool from the would be usurper. Stannis's men took heart from that and cheered loudly when she said what she said and Stannis drew his sword from its sheath and they saw the unnatural glow that emanated from it. Lord Stannis though did not seem happy with the taking of the city, and seemed to withdraw further into himself. Davos was concerned, surely if he felt like the victory was justified he would have been celebrating, not in the extroverted way his men were, but he would have celebrated all the same. Now though he simply seemed not register the cheering of his men, the chants that they shouted calling him Azor Azahi and the Prince who was promised.

No the Stannis Baratheon that Davos saw before him was a pale shadow of the man who had held Storm's End for a whole year against the Tyrell Siege, who had led the royal fleet against the Ironborn, who had fought nobly and proudly at the Battle of the Blackwater. No the man that Davos saw before him looked like Stannis Baratheon, had the same build, same balding hair, but there was no fire in his eyes, no hunger for what was right, for what was honourable. There was only a blank, glazed look to his eyes now, and he had become so gaunt that you could see the bones in his shoulders peeking through even when he wore armour. Stannis did not stay for long during the celebrations and instead withdrew, to gods alone knew where, for it would not certainly be the Sept. Not with the red woman present and whispering poison into his and the men's ears.

Davos was surprised then when a few hours later, his son Devan who was a squire for Stannis came to his room and said that the man wanted to see him. Davos followed his son through the hallways of Castle Mooton, until he found himself standing in the doorway of the room Stannis had chosen for himself, which Davos noted was not the Lord's room.

He announced himself and heard Stannis bid him enter. What he saw when he entered horrified him. Stannis was spread eagled on the bed, bleeding profusely from several- were those wounds or gashes? - to the chest and arms and face. But it was not blood that was coming out of his skin; no it was some sort of pus like substance. It hit him then, Stannis Baratheon was dying. That must be why he seemed so withdrawn and looked to be wasting away since the Blackwater, because he was. He was wasting away right before their very eyes and no one else knew it. He quickly wondered if the red woman knew and if this was her work. But then Stannis spoke, and Davos could not do anything except listen to his liege speak.

His voice sounded horse with disuse, his lips were chapped but still he spoke with a commanding tone. "Ah Ser Davos, you came. Come pull that chair closer, I must needs speak with you."

Davos pulled the chair next to Stannis's bed closer and sat down waiting to hear what his liege would say. Stannis coughed deeply and Davos saw that when his chest contracted the pus oozed out in a deathly blue colour. Stannis spoke once more "I see that you have noticed the wounds on my skin Ser Davos. But I wonder if you can tell where I got them from."

Davos hesitated for a moment, wondering if Stannis wanted him to tell him what he actually thought or tell him some sweet little lie, but then discounted the thought, Stannis Baratheon may have lost much of what had made him who he was but he still despised being lied to. Davos took a deep breath before saying "The Lady Melisandre, I presume?"

Stannis made a noise that sounded somewhere between a chuckle and a cough, but his whole body shook with the effort and more pus oozed out of the cracks in his skin, painting the sheets around him blue and grey. Once Stannis had stopped he shuddered then began talking once more, though this time his voice barely audible so Davos had to lean in to hear him speak. "Yes right you are Ser. She tells me that to become her chosen one, that I must needs suffer first before I can claim the throne. But now I know she lies. I am dying Ser Davos, whether I die now or in battle makes no matter, for I will die either way. The question is why have I got these wounds. The answer, the gods, those same gods I burnt at Dragonstone have seen fit to curse me for breaking a vow, a solemn vow to my wife, and to the king, the rightful king. I slept with Melisandre to create the baby that killed my brother. I meant to burn my brother's bastard. But for what a throne of iron. No I will die, but I will not die a oathbreaker."

Before Davos could reply to Stannis however, Devan burst into the room panting and sweating. It was obvious that he had run here. "Sorry Your Grace, father. But you must come urgently. The Lady Melisandre has asked both of you."

Davos helped a grumbling Stannis up and out of the bed, and helped him as he buttoned his shirt and as they both followed Devan out onto the battlements, Davos began smelling something that smelled awfully like burning, he wondered at that. "My lady, you wished to see us." Davos said when he saw Melisandre waiting for them next to one of the battlements. The ruby at her throat was pulsing, and thrumming and it still unnerved him.

She turned around when he spoke, and smiled at him and said "Ah Ser Davos, Your Grace. Look at this city full of its traitors and false gods who would deny their rightful king and saviour. Look how it burns, R'Hllor in his wisdom has seen fit to reward His Grace with the dragons needed to destroy the darkness."

"Dragons? What madness do you speak of woman. The dragons are all dead." Stannis snapped, that he was still able to speak was a wonder to Davos.

Melisandre smiled, and spoke once more in a loud and clear voice, "Why Your Grace, the dragons in the sky, the white and green that fly high above us, burning this traitorous city to the ground. They have come for you Your Grace, for they are yours to claim as the chosen one."

Just as she finished speaking Davos heard a shrill cry come from up on high, and watched horrified but unable to move as a massive white dragon ridden by a girl with pale blonde hair and violet eyes, dove towards them breathing fire, and with blood in its eyes. The last thing Davos Seaworth saw before the fire engulfed him was the ruby at Melisandre's throat pulse and thrum madly.

Catelyn

Let the kings of winter have their cold crypt under the earth, Catelyn thought. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course.

They laid Lord Hoster in a slender wooden boat, clad in shining silver armour, plate and mail. His cloak was spread beneath him, rippling blue and red. His surcoat was divided blue and red as well. A trout, scaled in silver and bronze, crowned the crest of the greathelm they placed beside his head. On his chest they placed a painted wooden sword, his fingers curled about its hilt. Mail gauntlets hid his wasted hands, and made him look almost strong again. His massive oak and iron shield was left by his left side, his hunting horn to his right. The rest of the boat was filled with driftwood and kindling and scraps of parchment and stones to make it heavy in the water. His banner flew from the prow, the leaping trout of Riverrun.

Seven were chosen to push the funereal boat to the water in honour of the seven faces of god. Jon was one, Lord Hoster's liege Lord. With him were, Robb, the lords Blackwood, Bracken, Vance and Mallister, Ser Marq Piper and Ser Raynald Westerling who had arrived that morning from the Crag to bring Lady Jeyne back to her home.

The seven launched Lord Hoster from the water stair, wading down the steps as the portcullis was winched upward. Jason Mallister and Tytos Blackwood, at the prow stood chest deep in the river to guide it on its way.

Catelyn and her daughters watched from the battlements, waiting and watching as they had waited and watched so many times before. Beneath her, the swift wild Tumblestone plunged like a spear into the side of the broad Red Fork, its blue- white current churning like the muddy red-brown flow of the greater river. A morning mist hung over the water, as thin as gossamer and the wisps of memory.

Bran and Mother will be waiting for him, Catelyn thought sadly, as once I used to wait. Jon and Robb had come back from the north a few days past bringing with them news of Roose Bolton and his bastard's deaths for attempted treasons. They had also brought with them her little babe, Rickon whom she had thought lost to her forever, had hidden with Osha the wildling and Bran and the Reed Children when the battle for Winterfell had raged outside, and when Bolton's bastard had betrayed them they had hidden in the crypts and the split up in the Wolfswood, Rickon and Osha going north to Last Hearth, Bran and the Reeds were still unfound, though there was some small part of her that hoped, desperately that her Bran was still alive.

The slim boat drifted out from under the red stone arch of the Water Gate, picking up speed as it was caught in the headlong rush of the Tumblestone and pushed out into the tumult where the waters met. As the boat emerged from beneath the high sheltering walls of the castle, its square sail filled with wind, and Catelyn saw sunlight flashing on her father's helm. Lord Hoster Tully's rudder held true, and he sailed serenely down the centre of the channel, into the rising sun.

"Now," her uncle urged. Beside him her brother Edmure- Lord Edmure now in truth, and how long would that take to grow used to?- knocked an arrow to his bowstring. His squire held a brand to its point. Edmure waited until the flame caught, then lifted the great bow, drew the string to his ear, and let fly. With a deep thrum, the arrow sped upward. Catelyn followed its flight with her eyes and heart, until it plunged into the water with a soft hiss, well astern of Lord Hoster's boat.

Edmure cursed softly. "The wind," he said pulling a second arrow. "Again." The brand kissed the oil-soaked rag behind the arrowhead, the flames went licking up, Edmure lifted, pulled, and released. High and far the arrow flew. Too far. It vanished in the river a dozen yards beyond the boat, its fire winking out in an instant. A flush was creeping up Edmure's neck, red as his beard. "Once more," he commanded, taking a third arrow from the quiver. He is as tight as a bowstring, Catelyn thought.

Ser Brynden must have thought the same thing. "Let me, my lord," he offered.

"I can do it," Edmure insisted. He let them light the arrow, jerked the bow up, took a deep breath, and drew back the arrow. For a long moment he seemed to hesitate while the fire crept up the shaft, crackling. Finally he released. The arrow flashed up and up and finally curved down again falling, falling... and hissing past the billowing sail.

A narrow miss, no more than a handspan, and yet a miss. "The others take it!" He swore. The boat was almost out of range, drifting in and out among the river mists. Wordless, Edmure thrust the bow at his uncle.

"Swiftly," Ser Brynden said. He knocked an arrow, held it steady for the brand, drew and released before Catelyn was quite sure that the fire had caught... but as the shot rose, she saw the flames trailing through the air, a pale orange pennon. The boat had vanished in the mists. Falling, the flaming arrow was swallowed up as well... but only for a heartbeat. Then, sudden as a hope, they saw the red bloom flower. The sails took fire, and the fog glowed pink and orange. For a moment Catelyn saw the outline of the boat clearly, wreathed in leaping flames.

Watch for me, little cat, she could hear him whisper.

Catelyn reached out blindly, groping for her brother's hand, but Edmure had moved away, to stand alone on the highest point of the battlements. Her uncle Brynden took her hand instead, twining his strong fingers through hers. Together they watched the little fire grow smaller as the burning boat receded into the distance.

And then it was gone...drifting downriver still, perhaps, or broken up and sinking. The weight of his armour would carry Lord Hoster down to rest in the soft mud of the riverbed, in the watery halls where the Tullys held eternal court, with schools of fish their last attendants.

No sooner had the burning boat vanished from their sight than Edmure walked off. Catelyn would have liked to embrace him, if only for a moment to sit for an hour or a night or the turn of the moon to speak of the dead and mourn. Yet she knew as well as he that this was not the time; he was the Lord of Riverrun now, and his knights were falling in around him, murmuring condolences and promises of fealty, walling him off from something as small as a sister's grief.

Her uncle escorted her and her daughters down from the battlements, to where Jon and Robb stood waiting. Jon embraced her first then it was Robb who embraced her. Rickon stood shyly to the side with the wildling woman Osha, that he was still so hesitant around his family broke her heart, but eventually after some prompting from Osha he ran and buried his face in her skirts, mumbling "I'm sorry for your loss mama."

Catelyn brushed a stray curl from his hair and said "So am I sweetling, so am I." When Rickon ran back to Osha, she tried to keep the feelings of jealousy aside, it was only natural that he feel more comfortable with her than with his own mother, for she had been gone for two years now, and Osha had always been there whilst she had not.

Catelyn turned round to see Jon and Sansa walking together holding hands but not talking, the two she knew had had an argument about something or the other when Jon had come back. She watched long enough to see Ser Raynald approach Jon and Sansa, and say something that caused Jon to lean forward, and suddenly Jon was lying on the floor clutching his stomach whilst blood poured out of it, and Ser Raynald had fled from the scene like a man on the run. And in the ensuing chaos, swords were drawn as Ser Barristan, Ser Perwyn and Ser Leyton all advanced forward to chase Ser Raynald, and then arrows were flying through the air and some of the men who had come to pay their respects to her father were lying bleeding on the ground, Catelyn took hold of Arya's hand and led her as quickly back to the castle as possible whilst she saw Robb and Edmure carrying Jon back inside. When they entered the main courtyard she looked around for Sansa. But could not see her.

She heard screaming and turned to look out of one of the peepholes in the portcullis to see a giant of a man, riding away from them, Sansa held in front of him, crimson red banners of House Lannister flapping alongside him.

Tyrion

King's Landing grew more and more into a sense of despair each day. The common people were gathering in the streets proclaiming that the day of judgement would soon be upon them and that the Seven would descend to Earth and slay all those who had wronged them. This surprisingly enough included Tyrion and most of the Lannisters, not that there were many of those left now. The Tyrells strangely enough seemed not to be subject to any of the ridicule in the streets that seemed to follow Tyrion and his family around everywhere.

He knew it grated on Cersei's nerves, for it also grated on his. He did not know how his father put up with it, for he knew that he was still half tempted to light the wildfire and throw it into the streets of King's Landing and give the people the apocalypse they seemed so desperate for. Things within the Red Keep itself seemed to be no better, Joffrey was growing more and more unpredictable and even Tyrion's father was having difficulty reigning him in, thankfully the boy had done nothing to harm Lady Margaery, otherwise they would surely have been screwed for Lord Tyrell may be as thick as a tool box and have no political or common sense what so ever, but even he would feel outraged if Joffrey did anything to his precious daughter. And if the Tyrells withdrew their support from the city and ordered Lord Rowan to do the same, the King's Landing would fall and the Lannisters would all be adorning spikes in the Red Keep.

The only relatively good news to have come in the past few weeks was from the Eyrie. It seemed that Lord Baelish had been successful in his bid to win the Lady Lysa to the Lannister cause. For he had wedded and bedded her some two weeks past, and had started working on her to get her to persuade Lord Royce and the men he had in Harrenhal to retreat back to the Vale and be pardoned. When Littlefinger had sent that raven, he had written that he had sent a raven to Lord Royce in the name of Robert Arryn ordering him to come back to the Vale. Tyrion's father had made no comment about the news from the Vale, but then again Lord Tywin seemed to be oddly distant these days, as if his mind was elsewhere. Tyrion had noticed that whenever he had paid a visit to his lord father, he always seemed to be writing letters to one lord or the other. Of course when they had received news that Jeyne Westerling had ridden for Riverrun with the Greyjoy boy, Lord Tywin had threatened to actually smile, and Tyrion had never seen such an unnerving sight before. It did make him wonder what his Lord father was plotting and whether or not it would actually work this time around.

He supposed the only way to find out was to see what his Lord father said in today's small council session. As he entered the room he was surprised to see Joffrey seated in the high chair, usually his nephew never bothered with attending the meetings something Tyrion knew his Lord Father found very useful. But here he was looking rather smug in Lannister Crimson with the crown atop his head. Tyrion sat himself down next to Varys and waited for his father to begin speaking. When Lord Tywin did eventually speak he spoke in a slow tone as if trying to make sure they all understood what he was saying. "We shall start with news from the north. Lord Bolton and his bastard had been working for us plotting to overthrow the Starks and the Targaryen boy. But it seems the Targaryen boy caught wind of it for he has burnt Lord Bolton to dust and his bastard was killed by the Stark boy. Winterfell belongs to the Starks, as does Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte to."

Lord Tywin paused, Joffrey looked like he was about to make a comment but one look from his grandfather and he closed his mouth abruptly. Lord Tywin continued, "Lord Rowan reports that Lord Yronwood and Lord Tarly have been harrying his supply lines, and that a scout he captured reported that Lord Royce was beginning to move from Harrenhal. Also Maidenpool has fallen to Stannis Baratheon, though the man himself is reportedly dying from wound he took whilst taking the city."

Lord Tywin paused again then continued, "I have spoken with Lord Tyrell and we have agreed that until Stannis Baratheon is dead, or Jon Targaryen is dead, Joffrey's wedding shall not take place, cannot take place." Tyrion saw Lord Tyrell nod in agreement though he did not look particularly happy about it. Lord Tywin went on, "Too make sure of this, myself and Lord Tyrell shall be marching with all of our strength to meet up with Lord Rowan on the Trident, there we shall give battle to whomever so chooses to face us."

Joffrey was about to say something, but Cersei spoke before he could. "You would leave us undefended and without a chance of survival father? Who is to protect Joffrey should you fail or fall in battle?"

Lord Tywin gave his daughter a cold look and then in an ominous tone said "You shall have the city watch there to protect you. Plus if Littlefinger is successful the knights of the vale shall come to your aid. Though I do not expect us to fail."

Tyrion finally asked "How though father, surely you now believe that the Targaryen boy does have a dragon and that it was that same dragon that allowed him to find out about the Bolton betrayal because the dragon caused Lord Frey to shit himself. How can you be so comfortable in assuming victory when you could so easily die, and get us all killed?"

Lord Tywin turned his gaze onto Tyrion, and he instantly regretted speaking for the look his father gave him was one of pure loathing, and hatred. Though when he spoke he spoke calmly and said "Because we have something the Targaryen boy holds dear. We have his wife, and should he take the field we shall kill her."