A War Already Won

Tywin Lannister sat in the grand hall of Harrenhal, the cold, blackened stone looming overhead like the burnt carcass of a dragon's corpse. The ruined towers cast long shadows over the table where he and his commanders gathered, their hushed voices echoing against the cavernous walls. Outside, the encamped banners of twenty thousand Lannister soldiers flickered in the dying light of dusk, the encircling host a stark contrast to the emptiness of the fortress itself.

Tywin took a measured glance around the table, his sharp golden eyes resting on each man in turn. To his right sat his brother, Kevan Lannister, the only man whose competence Tywin never questioned. Next was Harys Swyft, whose nervous hands wrung the goblet before him, ever the fool. Gregor Clegane, the monstrous brute, loomed silently at the end of the table, too large for the chair he sat in. Opposite him sat Addam Marbrand, his keen eyes watching Tywin with practiced ease. Leo Lefford, a stout, balding man with a shrewd mind for logistics, shifted slightly in his seat, waiting for the discussion to begin.

Harys Swyft was the first to speak, his voice high and reedy as he directed his frustration toward Jaime's handling of the Riverrun siege. "This splitting of his forces—dividing them into three! Madness! He weakens his own host for no reason."

Kevan sighed, his patience with Harys worn thin. "It is necessary. Riverrun sits at the confluence of the Red Fork and Tumblestone. To encircle it fully, Jaime must divide his men. Even if it thins his force, it ensures no supplies can enter the city."

Harys waved a hand dismissively. "That is assuming Lord Tully cannot hold long enough for relief. If Stark's host reaches Riverrun, it won't matter if they are surrounded. We will be the ones trapped."

Leo Lefford, the ever-practical voice of reason, shook his head. "So long as supplies continue flowing from the Golden Tooth and Stone Hedge, the siege will hold. Riverrun will be starved into submission before the Stark boy arrives."

"There is still the matter of the Riverlords." Addam Marbrand leaned forward, his tone cool and calculated. "Lord Jason Mallister and Lord Jonos Bracken are gathering what forces they can to harry Jaime's siege lines. Between them, they have perhaps a thousand men. Too few to truly lift the siege, but enough to harass and delay our forces."

Tywin tapped a single finger against the table, his face unreadable. Jason Mallister—of all the Riverlords, he was the most capable battlefield commander. Had he been given command of the Riverlands army at the outset, things might have played out differently. Tytos Blackwood, too, was a formidable strategist, but thankfully he had been pinned inside Riverrun alongside Edmure Tully. That left only Bracken, and Bracken was a man driven by personal rivalries as much as loyalty.

"Jaime has numbers on his side," Tywin said at last, his voice smooth and unhurried. "Mallister is a better commander, yes, but even the best general cannot conjure victory from a thousand men against fifteen thousand. If he tries to relieve Riverrun, he will fail."

A murmur of agreement passed through the room. Tywin did not look to see if Harys Swyft nodded along—he already knew the man would fall in line now that the discussion had turned against him.

"What of the Stark boy?" Tywin turned his attention to Addam Marbrand.

Addam reached for the stack of reports before him, flipping through them quickly before responding. "He departed from Winterfell with twelve thousand men. They should reach Moat Cailin within the next few days. Scouts are positioned at the Neck to monitor the situation, watching the Northmen already stationed there."

Tywin raised a brow. "How many?"

"We are still determining an exact number, but they estimate that Stark's total force could be equal to our own—twenty thousand at most, though likely short of that."

Kevan exhaled lightly, nodding in approval. "That is reassuring news. For all the talk of Northern might, Stark's army will not outmatch ours."

Tywin allowed himself the smallest flicker of satisfaction. The numbers were in their favor. While the North had long been feared for its hardy warriors, it had been generations since a Stark had led a true war host south. The young wolf was marching into the unknown, away from his cold and familiar home, while Tywin had waged war all his life. This was a battlefield the Starks did not understand.

"And the Northmen at Moat Cailin?" Tywin asked.

"No movement yet," Addam replied. "They are watching, waiting. The scouts will remain in position to gain a more accurate count of their numbers."

Tywin hummed in thought. If Stark lingered too long at the Neck, it would give the Lannisters more time to consolidate their position. Harrenhal was secure, Jaime's siege was underway, and the Riverlands were already divided. The Riverlords could not rally behind Stark without Riverrun, and if Stark delayed too long, the war could be over before he even reached the battlefield.

"The Riverlands remain fractured," Tywin said after a moment of silence. "Tytos Blackwood, Jonos Bracken, and Jason Mallister are all capable, but we have ensured they are spread too thin to be of consequence. Without them, the Stark boy has no allies to bolster his army."

There was a ripple of approval from the table. Even Gregor Clegane grunted in what might have been agreement, though with that beast, it was hard to tell.

Tywin leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled before him. The war was progressing as he had predicted. The Northmen would come, as he had expected, but they would come alone. That was their fatal mistake.

The discussion in the hall shifted toward the Freys, and Tywin Lannister listened as his commanders dissected the latest reports with methodical precision. The mood was one of cool calculation, each lord offering their assessment of how the self-serving House Frey might tip the scales of the war.

"The Freys have locked their gates and gathered their full strength south of the Green Fork," Kevan Lannister reported, his voice level but firm. "Five thousand men under their banners, all positioned on the southern banks. They won't allow the Stark boy to cross without exacting a steep toll."

Harys Swyft scoffed. "A toll the boy will have no choice but to pay. If he wants to free Riverrun, he'll have to cross the Green Fork. And the only safe way to do that is through the Twins."

"The Starks are trapped," Leo Lefford added, leaning forward. "They won't risk sending their entire force to the Ruby Ford and exposing their flank. They need the Freys to open the gates."

"The boy can try," Addam Marbrand cut in. "But Walder Frey is an old weasel, and one who smells opportunity better than most. He'll make them crawl before he gives them what they want."

There were murmurs of agreement around the table. The Freys were hardly known for their valor or honor, but they had one thing in abundance—opportunism.

Kevan placed his goblet down with a soft clink. "We should send a raven to the Twins. If the Freys keep their gates closed, Riverrun falls. If Riverrun falls, then the Riverlords will abandon Stark completely."

Harys Swyft nodded eagerly. "If Edmure Tully surrenders, it will break what little backbone remains in the Riverlands. Tytos Blackwood, Jonos Bracken, Jason Mallister—they're only holding on because Riverrun still stands. If Riverrun falls, they'll have no reason to fight." He turned to Tywin. "Some of them may even bend the knee to us."

"The Riverlords are weak," Addam agreed. "Their loyalty is shaky at best. They hesitate now, unwilling to risk their own lands for a war that may already be lost. If Riverrun is taken, they'll see the writing on the wall. They'll submit."

Kevan drummed his fingers against the table, his brow furrowed. "Which means we must ensure that the Freys keep Stark from crossing."

"We cannot rely on the Freys," Addam countered. "They will always choose the side that benefits them most. If Stark offers them a better bargain than we do, they'll take it."

Lefford tapped his chin in thought. "Then we plan for both possibilities. If the Freys refuse them passage, Stark will have only two choices—besiege the Twins or march east to cross at the Ruby Ford."

There was a silence as the gathered lords considered this. It was a perfect scenario for the Lannisters. If Stark chose to lay siege to the Twins, he would be delayed, perhaps indefinitely, while his forces were whittled away by time and attrition. If he attempted to cross at the Ruby Ford, he would walk into an ambush.

"We should move our host from Harrenhal and station ourselves at the Ruby Ford," Addam suggested. "That way, if the Freys hold firm, the Starks will have no choice but to face us in battle."

Lefford nodded in agreement. "And if they lay siege to the Twins, we march north along the Kingsroad. Stark will be caught between our army and the Freys, forced to fight on two fronts or retreat back to the North with nothing to show for it."

Tywin had been silent throughout the discussion, listening. Now he spoke, his voice cutting through the air with the finality of a blade. "The Freys will do whatever gives them the most in return. It is their nature. And the Starks are desperate. Desperate men make foolish bargains."

Kevan frowned. "Then you believe the Freys will open the gates?"

"In time," Tywin said smoothly. "But not immediately. The Starks will argue among themselves, debating whether they should accept whatever terms the Freys set. Walder Frey knows this. The longer the negotiations stretch on, the more desperate the Starks will become. And the more the Freys can demand."

Harys Swyft pursed his lips. "So what do we do?"

"We wait," Tywin declared. "Jaime will take Riverrun, even with Tytos Blackwood inside the walls. Edmure's forces are too few to hold out for long. Once Riverrun falls, the Riverlords will have no choice but to submit. Then we march for the Ruby Ford."

"How soon?" Kevan asked.

"Five days."

The room fell into silence. Five days. The Lannister host would be on the move again, positioning themselves to cut the Stark host off from the Riverlands entirely.

Tywin let his gaze sweep over the gathered men. Robb Stark was a green boy playing at war, and war was no game. He would fail to listen to his more experienced commanders, his shortcomings would be exposed, and when he met the might of the Lannister army, he would be crushed.

The war was already won.

Everything else was a mere mummer's farce.