Leading Five Thousand Cavalry, Southward to the Riverlands

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Following the final banquet held at the Water Tower, the Northern army split into two forces. Under the command of two remarkably young commanders—Clay Manderly and Robb Stark—they divided their troops and began the march southward to confront their enemies.

Clay took command of nearly all the cavalry units of the Northern army. Including the additional equipment and horses captured at the Twins, the number of men riding under his banner had swelled to more than five thousand and three hundred.

This was a powerful and highly mobile force. However, how effectively it could be used, and how far its strength could be stretched, depended entirely on Clay's capabilities as a commander.

The cavalry was the first to depart from the western bank of the Twins. Their first destination on the southern route lay southwest of the castle: Seagard, the stronghold of House Mallister.

According to the intelligence they had previously received, Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard had promised to send a force of nearly one thousand men to join Robb Stark's host. However, after the army had been divided, the situation had changed.

Clay saw no reason to bring all one thousand of them along. Most of those men were infantry, and their slow pace would severely hinder the mobility of his cavalry force. With the number of horses they had, there was simply no way to afford waiting for sluggish foot soldiers to catch up to the battlefield.

Thus, Clay only intended to accept the cavalry among them—however many that turned out to be. As for the rest, they could remain behind to defend Seagard, or perhaps follow at a slower pace and eventually help garrison Riverrun once his battles were over.

It made little difference to Clay now. He had no way to properly assign the several hundred foot soldiers from Seagard at this stage.

It took only half a day. They had set out in the morning, and before the sun had dipped below the horizon, Clay's vanguard was already at the gates of Seagard.

Ser Brynden Tully, known throughout the Riverlands as the "Blackfish," led the vanguard and arrived ahead of the main host. Upon his arrival, he met with Lord Jason Mallister, the Lord of Seagard, to oversee the formal handover.

Ser Brynden's name still held considerable weight in the Riverlands. Once Lord Mallister understood the purpose and strength of Clay's army, he readily agreed to send all of his cavalry. In a further gesture of commitment, he dispatched his heir, Patrek Mallister, to march alongside Clay's forces.

By nightfall, Clay's entire host had reached Seagard. They would camp here for the night, resting for the first time since leaving the Twins, beneath the shadow of the Mallisters' ancestral stronghold.

As commander, Clay declined Lord Mallister's invitation to attend a feast within the castle. He insisted on remaining with his men.

To lead such a large army, he believed it was essential to understand the nature of his troops. Without that knowledge, he could not hope to win a single battle.

He was not Robb Stark. The Stark name carried a natural authority over the Northern lords that Clay, as a Manderly, did not possess.

Although he had won the right to command the cavalry through his own efforts in the battle at the Twins—earning the respect and agreement of the Northern nobles through a wager he had emerged victorious in—Clay was well aware of the truth.

The nobles who had marched south with him remained unconvinced of his leadership. At the heart of their doubt lay a single, inescapable truth—the original sin, as it were—he was simply too young, no matter how they measured it.

Yet the achievement of taking the Twins was undeniable. The nobility of the North could not openly challenge his authority for now, as he had earned it with blood and strategy.

Clay sent a few noblemen under his command as his representatives to greet Lord Mallister. Meanwhile, he, accompanied by Ser Brynden, walked the length of his camp again and again, inspecting the tents and fires of his soldiers.

He kept his armor on, a thick cloak wrapped around him against the evening chill. After these past weeks of harsh training and relentless campaigning, he had begun to look more and more like a true commander of a great host.

The passing soldiers all recognized their young commander. Some even dared to joke with him—sometimes appropriately, sometimes not. But no matter the tone of their words, Clay never put on the airs of a nobleman.

A commander must know his soldiers, and his soldiers must know him. That was the principle he demanded of himself and of the five thousand horsemen who rode under his banner.

Although in this era, warfare was, at its core, often little more than blowing a horn and charging into battle with one's men, Clay believed that efficient command could make a world of difference.

After trading a few lighthearted and spirited remarks with an eager Northern soldier, Clay climbed to the top of a gentle hill that rose above the camp.

From there, he could see the entire plain east of Seagard, blanketed with the tents of his army. Countless campfires flickered in the growing darkness, stretching far into the distance.

"What are you looking at, Lord Clay?"

The voice behind him was unmistakable. Ser Brynden's gruff but familiar tone suggested the old knight was in the mood for conversation.

"My chips, Ser Brynden. I am looking at my chips."

Clay was silent for a moment before answering, and the reply clearly caught the elder knight off guard. He blinked, then repeated the word as if uncertain he had heard correctly.

"Your chips, my lord?"

Clay turned his head slightly to glance at the old man standing beside him and gave a small nod, confirming that Ser Brynden had heard him correctly.

"Yes, chips, my good ser. You see, I'm currently engaged in quite an interesting wager with Jaime Lannister. The only problem is that the Lannisters have always been wealthy, so he has twelve thousand chips in hand, while I've barely managed to gather a little over five thousand."

"That's quite a peculiar way to put it. I can't say I've heard anyone phrase it like that before."

The old knight chuckled softly, but he understood exactly what the young commander meant. It was indeed a vivid metaphor: two gamblers sitting at a table, placing their bets in the form of soldiers and armies, each ready to risk everything for a chance at victory.

And the prize for the winner, naturally, would be the wealth, the people, and the control over this land.

"Well then, Lord Clay, are you prepared to accept the stakes of this wager?"

Though the old knight still spoke with a smile, Clay was sharp enough to detect the weight and gravity hidden beneath his tone.

Indeed, leading five thousand men to confront a force of twelve thousand, against the well-equipped armies of the Lannisters, was no small matter. A confrontation with a troop ratio of one to 2.4 was never an easy battle to win.

One misstep, and all his capital would be lost entirely. On the battlefield, where chaos reigned, blades and arrows showed no mercy. He had to plan with precision, leaving no gaps in his defenses and offering the enemy no opportunity to exploit even the slightest weakness..

"The wager has already begun. Whether I'm ready or not no longer matters. What does matter is that we're more pressed for time than the Lannisters."

Clay's tone remained flat, almost indifferent, for he was merely stating a fact. The world around him had changed because of his presence. Events he remembered were shifting, and the knowledge he once relied on could no longer be trusted.

"Ser Brynden, let me ask you this. Riverrun is your ancestral seat. Based on your judgment, how long do you think the castle can hold out against a siege by Jaime Lannister and his ten thousand men, especially with only a few thousand beaten and retreating soldiers inside its walls?"

This was a crucial question Clay needed to answer. If Riverrun was truly in immediate danger of falling, then he would have to command his army to march faster, pushing them southward across the Green Fork with all haste.

Although he clearly remembered that Riverrun held out to the end and only surrendered under circumstances beyond its control, never having been breached by force, he knew better than to rely solely on his memory. That kind of thinking would only lead to disaster.

To Clay's question, the old knight responded without a moment's hesitation.

"Riverrun will hold. Even if the Lannisters brought another ten thousand men, it would still hold."

Ser Brynden drew the longsword from his waist and knelt down, using the blade to trace lines across the soft earth beneath their feet.

"Riverrun is surrounded on three sides by rivers. I have never even set foot inside the castle, yet I could still tell you, with my eyes closed, how the Kingslayer would deploy his troops."

"These twelve thousand soldiers must be stationed separately. It's the only way to encircle Riverrun. Otherwise, there's no way they could keep it surrounded."

"That means no single wall of Riverrun will face the brunt of all twelve thousand men. At most, there will be four thousand on each side. And remember, both the Tumblestone and the Red Fork rivers meet at Riverrun, forming two natural moats that can't be dug through or bypassed."

Clay frowned slightly, deep in thought for a moment, then asked, "Pardon me, ser, but are you saying we don't need to be in such a hurry to lift the siege of Riverrun?"

The moment he said this, Ser Brynden looked somewhat displeased. After all, as a Tully, it was only natural that he would be anxious about his family's stronghold being under siege. But even so, he didn't quite understand. Had they not crossed the Green Fork with over five thousand troops precisely to look for a chance to strike at the Kingslayer?

"Lord Clay, what are you planning?"

Recalling the remarkable actions this young commander had taken in the Twins, the old knight quickly realized that Clay likely had a different plan in mind.

"If Riverrun is not in immediate danger, I would like to wait for someone before launching an attack on the Lannisters."

"And who might that be?"

"Asha Greyjoy."

…

The day before setting out from the Twins, Clay had received a message. It had been brought back by a northern noble who had been sent to negotiate with the Iron Islands.

Though enraged beyond measure, the ruler of the Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy, had remained silent for a long while after receiving Robb Stark's request for him to launch an attack on the Westerlands. In the end, he agreed to the North's proposal.

Robb Stark's original message, sent in his father's name, had been a humble and almost pleading request. But that cunning northern noble had twisted the message, turning it into a veiled threat: if the Ironborn refused to board the train, their prince would pay with his life.

The old arrangement, where Eddard Stark had taken Theon Greyjoy as a ward, had finally proven its value.

That noble had also understood that pirates like these would never lend their strength to a war without being offered a share of the spoils. Thus, the wealthy Lannisport became the bait. With a few clever words, the entire port was promised to Balon Greyjoy as his reward.

The Stark family promised to keep the main Lannister army occupied in the east, ensuring they would be unable to return in time to protect the western coastline. In turn, the Iron Fleet under House Greyjoy was tasked with destroying the Lannister navy.

Whether or not they could conquer cities inland, or how much they could pillage, would depend entirely on the Ironborn's own abilities. The North would not interfere.

Once both parties had reached an agreement, Balon Greyjoy made his decision. His younger brother, Victarion Greyjoy, would lead the Iron Fleet in a surprise assault on Lannisport. As for his daughter, Asha Greyjoy, she volunteered to join Clay's forces and assist in coordinating the timing and rhythm of their joint offensive.

And it was precisely this Asha Greyjoy that Clay had been waiting for.

At present, Tywin Lannister had mobilized all of his main forces out of the Westerlands to confront the Stark family, leaving the Westerlands virtually unguarded.

"If someone could set a fire in the Westerlands—right in the Lannisters' backyard—burning it all the way up to Lord Tywin's ass, it would force him to turn back and defend his homeland."

By that time, the initiative on the battlefield would shift back into their own hands.

Given the current situation, Tywin Lannister was stationed near the town of Lord Harroway's, farther to the east. The nearest force to the Westerlands was the twelve thousand men led by Jaime Lannister.

Should danger erupt in the Westerlands, this army would be the first to respond.

Therefore, Cray considered it absolutely essential to establish communication with Asha Greyjoy. He also wished to use this opportunity to probe just how much chips the Greyjoys were truly willing to stake in this high-risk gamble.

…

As he savored the name, Ser Brynden quickly realized who it referred to.

"Balon Greyjoy's daughter?" the old knight asked, frowning. His expression darkened noticeably. In the Riverlands, no one held a favorable view of the Iron Islands.

Throughout history, the ironborn had raided, plundered, and set fire to the Riverlands countless times. Even when they ruled the region, they had built the grandest castle in all the Seven Kingdoms—Harrenhal—using the blood and flesh of the Riverlands' people.

Although centuries had passed, such deep-rooted prejudice was not easily erased.

"Lord Cray, why are we waiting for her?" the old knight asked. He had no knowledge of the North's secret dealings with the Iron Islands. This arrangement had been made before he joined the Northern host, and it was likely that Lady Stark and her son had chosen not to inform him.

"The ironborn of the Iron Islands, apart from us, will help by setting fire to the lion's den behind the Lannisters," Cray explained plainly.

Speaking with someone like Ser Brynden required little effort, for he needed no elaborate explanation. Just a few words, and he understood everything.

Upon hearing this, the old knight's eyes widened with sudden intensity. This was a force that could tip the balance of the entire war. They could cut off the Starks' retreat in the North, or strike deep into the Lannisters' heartland in the South.

Thanks be to the Cerwyn, these fish-stinking ironborn were, for once, standing on their side.

The old knight looked at Cray, a burning curiosity in his gaze. He wanted to know—how had the North managed to accomplish such a feat?

Cray understood the silent inquiry written all over the old knight's face. He responded with just a single sentence.

"Theon Greyjoy is currently serving as an officer under Lord Robb Stark's command."

The image of that young man, always wearing an infuriating smirk while standing beside Robb, rose in Ser Brynden's mind. Suddenly, everything became clear.

So that was it. The Stark family had the heir to House Greyjoy in their grasp. No wonder Balon Greyjoy had agreed to launch a surprise attack on the Lannisters from behind.

Little did he know that, in another timeline, this highly valuable hostage had actually been sent back to the Iron Islands by the clever Robb Stark—foolishly relinquishing the last deterrent that had kept Balon Greyjoy from turning his sword against the North.

The old knight could not help but think of his dear, foolish nephew Edmure. The very thought made his head ache.

"When will this Asha Greyjoy arrive?" the old knight asked. He could already see the possibility of dealing a heavy blow to the Westerlands through this unexpected development. After all, the alliance between the Starks and the Greyjoys was a secret treaty—completely unknown to the Lannisters.

Perhaps, with a single strike, they could inflict a pain so sharp that Lord Tywin would find it hard to breathe.

"I will wait for her in Seagard for a day," Cray said calmly. "If Asha Greyjoy doesn't show up, I'll have no choice but to continue southward. We must be prepared for the possibility that we won't have their assistance after all."

"We've divided our forces. Neither Lord Tywin nor the Kingslayer knows this. That makes us a surprise force. But the longer we delay, even the dullest minds will realize we are coming. And if the Kingslayer prepares in time, things will become far more difficult."

Cray shook his head slowly, his voice tinged with regret as he sighed softly.

"Damn it. If only I had twelve thousand men too, I would make sure not a single Lannister ever makes it back to the Westerlands."

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