Chapter 104: Otto - "Your Grace, My Task Is Complete"

"The lions have left their den, Lord Piper, Lord Frey." Red Robb, panting heavily, pushed aside the tent flap and entered the command tent at the Red Fork defensive line. This master archer, elevated by Draezell's strong recommendation and his victory at the Summerfield Tourney, had earned respect from both nobles and commoners alike. Even young Benjicot Blackwood, who greatly admired him, had tried multiple times to legitimize him, only to be refused by Red Robb.

Robb had always hoped his surname could one day come from Draezell, the benefactor who had made his success possible.

Inside the tent, Lord Petyr Piper, Lord Tristan Vypren, Lord Forrester Frey, Lord Humfrey Bracken, the youthful Lord Benjicot Blackwood, and Alyssanne were gathered around a map, discussing the next phase of the campaign. Alyssanne, with her exceptional archery, had earned a place among these powerful nobles as an equal warrior. The most unique figure, however, was Benjicot—a lanky 12-year-old who, though tall for his age, was still clearly a child among the adults.

"Should we strike first?" Benjicot suddenly looked up from the map and asked.

"Robb, how many men do the Lannisters have?" Lord Forrester Frey stroked his small mustache as he posed the question.

"About thirteen thousand," Red Robb said as he stepped up to the map. "More than we anticipated. Nearly nine thousand of them are armored. My scouts even spotted wagons carrying lions and at least seven thousand horses. Damn it." The bastard archer spat on the ground. "Seven hells, where does the Westerlands get so much gold?"

"At least three thousand cavalry," Forrest Frey immediately surmised. "What else? What banners did you see?"

"The golden lion of House Lannister, the red lion of House Reyne, the black and white boar of House Crakehall, the blue rooster of House Swyft, the seven-pointed star of House Tarbeck, and the seashell of House Westerling," Robb reported. Though a bastard, his education under House Blackwood, including that of the late Lord Samwell Blackwood, meant he was literate and familiar with the banners of noble houses. "The major houses of the Westerlands are all here."

"The lion's cavalry is too numerous," Lord Petyr Piper observed, pinpointing the problem. "They're better equipped, and their numbers outmatch ours. Forrester, how are our reinforcements coming along?"

"They're still on the way," Lord Frey replied, scratching his head. "But my wife sent a raven saying Lord Stark's two thousand cavalry vanguard is racing toward the Red Fork. They'll rendezvous with Lord Mallister's riders at Seagard and should reach the battlefield in a few days."

"Then we hold until the Northmen arrive," Lord Piper concluded decisively. "Benjicot, you'll lead our main forces here. Tristan and I will take the first defensive line. Lord Frey and Lord Bracken will man the second. No matter what, we must stop the lions from crossing the river."

"Why should I be the one to stay behind?" Benjicot leapt onto the table, his frustration boiling over. "The Blackwood forces are stronger than the Brackens! Why shouldn't we take the field?"

"Because we're Brackens!" Lord Humfrey shouted in reply, his voice echoing through the tent.

"Precisely because the Blackwood forces are larger, you must stay back, Ben," Lord Frey explained patiently. "If we can't hold the Westerlands advance, it'll be up to you to support us and the Northmen when they arrive. You'll need to provide reinforcements if we falter."

Reluctantly, Benjicot climbed down from the table. "Fine, but as soon as the Northern cavalry gets here, my sister and I will ride out immediately. You all better hold the line. If you don't, I'll carve through their ranks myself."

"Yes, yes, of course," Lord Frey said, tousling the boy's hair. Sharing a knowing glance with the other lords, he exited the tent to prepare for the battle ahead.

---

The Westerlands' army continued its steady march forward. The Riverlands nobles had already consolidated their defenses, relocating villagers into fortified castles and keeps. Lord Jason Lannister, however, had no interest in besieging these strongholds. His real concerns lay elsewhere—news had reached him of Sunfyre and Tessarion's deaths, King Aegon's uncertain fate, Prince Aemond's disappearance, and Prince Daeron's death. Adding to his worries was a cryptic letter from Tyland Lannister, further unsettling the Westerlands commander.

Still, with the army already mobilized, there was no turning back. The campaign would continue.

---

Far to the east, Otto Hightower, dusty and worn from his long journey, but still clad in fine green silk, finally arrived at his destination: the Kingdom of the Three Daughters.

The official name of the "Kingdom of thw three daughters" is the "Triarchy", a free trade confederation formed by Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. Awaiting Otto Hightower was a delegation of governors representing the three cities.

The negotiations took place in an opulent palace. Dwarf elephants roamed leisurely in the artificial forest outside, while a massive fountain stood at the center of the courtyard. Beneath a grand dome, the participants were seated amidst walls adorned with intricate murals and countless silk tapestries draped in vibrant display. Even Otto, no stranger to grandeur, couldn't help but twitch his eyelids at the sight.

"Lord Hand, have you not received any letters from Westeros?" The governor from Lys asked, his tone tinged with wry amusement as he reviewed the parchment Otto handed over. "The king you serve has fallen. His dragon's corpse still lies, well..."

"At Rook's Rest," the Tyroshi governor interjected, his voice gruff and booming.

Otto, who had indeed received the ravens from Westeros, dismissed the news with a sneer. If King Aegon were truly dead, Westeros would have been thrown into even greater chaos by now. "The rightful king has suffered only a temporary setback. That is why the support of the Triarchy is all the more critical," Otto declared. "I have already hired thirty thousand mercenaries. All we need are the ships to carry them across the Narrow Sea. With their strength, we can turn the tide of war. The rightful king still commands two true dragons, while the pretender queen... well, she merely disperses her dragons, leaving us an opening."

The three governors exchanged glances. It was clear that thirty thousand mercenaries held more sway than dragons far removed from the field of battle. Of course, even more persuasive than men or dragons was gold.

"Lord Hand, I can tell you this much," the Myrish governor began. "We are merchants, not warriors. We can lease you ships, but lease them—each warship will cost you fifty golden dragons per man aboard. Ordinary vessels? Fifty golden dragons per ship." He named an astronomical sum.

To transport thirty thousand mercenaries and break through the Velaryon blockade, Otto would need at least 150 warships. That meant millions of golden dragons.

"One hundred golden dragons per warship," Otto countered. "In exchange, I will grant the Stepstones to your alliance and halve the taxes on all Triarchy ships docking at Westerosi ports."

The governors exchanged another look. The terms were undeniably lucrative. Moreover, since they were merely leasing the ships, they could argue they weren't directly waging war, mitigating the risk of reprisal from the Blacks.

"Agreed. But what of the Vaelarys silver fleet?"

"I will lease an additional fifty warships," Otto replied. "Each of these ships will be paid three thousand golden dragons on the condition that they conduct constant raids along the Dornish coast. I do not care how many they kill or how much they pillage—just strike and retreat."

Inwardly, Otto let out a long, weary sigh.