Sorry, I thought it was just a common cold, but it's gotten worse over the past two days, and I can't write much. Please bear with me. I'll try to catch up by the end of the month. Thank you.
"My son is in their hands," Tywin Lannister said.
"Yes, my lord," the Messenger's voice was dull with fatigue. On the chest of his torn surcoat, dried bloodstains covered the spotted boar of the Crakehall family.
One of your two sons, Tyrion thought. He took a sip of wine, saying nothing, his mind on Jaime. As he raised his hand, a sharp pain shot from his elbow to his brain, reminding him of the taste of battle. Though he loved his brother, he wouldn't want to be in the Whispering Wood with him, not even for all the gold in Casterly Rock.
The Lords and Generals his father had summoned fell silent, listening as the Messenger recounted the events. In the spacious, airy Great Hall of the inn, only the firewood in the hearth crackled.
After the long, forced march south, the thought of resting at an inn, even if only for one night, greatly heartened Tyrion... though he secretly hoped it wouldn't be this particular inn, full of memories. His father had ordered them to march at an exhausting pace, resulting in heavy losses. Wounded soldiers who couldn't keep up were left behind to fend for themselves. Every morning when they set off, some people lay by the roadside, having fallen asleep never to wake; in the afternoon, others collapsed by the path from exhaustion; and by evening, even more had deserted, vanishing into the night, and Tyrion himself had been tempted to join them.
A moment ago, he had been upstairs, lying on a soft, comfortable feather bed, holding Shae's warm body. But his Attendant had rushed in to shake him awake, reporting that someone had arrived on horseback with important news from Riverrun. He immediately understood that they had marched in vain. The hurried dash south, the endless forced marches, and the bodies left by the roadside... all for nothing. Robb Stark had lifted the siege of Riverrun days ago.
"How is this possible?" Ser Harys Swyft groaned. "How is this possible? Even after the battle in the Whispering Wood, Riverrun was still completely surrounded by a large army... What was Ser Jaime thinking, to quarter the troops in three separate locations? Surely he must have known the risks?"
He knew far better than you, you chinless coward, Tyrion thought. Even though Jaime had lost Riverrun, hearing his brother slandered by someone like Swyft still filled him with rage. Swyft was a shameless sycophant whose greatest achievement in life was marrying his equally chinless daughter to Ser Kevan, thereby becoming related to the Lannister family.
"I would have done the same," his uncle replied, not with the calmness Tyrion would have shown had he spoken. "Ser Harys, you haven't seen Riverrun, otherwise you would understand that Jaime had no choice. Riverrun is situated at the tip of the delta where the Tumblestone River flows into the Red Fork, a tributary of the Trident River. The rivers form two sides of a triangle, and when in danger, the Tullys open the upstream sluices, creating a wide moat on the third side, turning Riverrun into an island in the river. The City Walls rise high from the water, and the defenders from the Towers can see everything within several Leagues on the opposite bank. To cut off all support, the besieging force must place an Army on the north bank of the Tumblestone, the south bank of the Red Fork, and the west bank of the moat, that is, between the two rivers. There is no other way.
"My lords, Ser Kevan is right," the Messenger said. "Our Army had sharpened wooden stakes placed densely around the camps, but without any warning, and with the river cutting our camps off from each other, such preparations were far from enough. They first attacked the northern camp, at a time completely unexpected by us. Previously, Malkor Piper had been constantly harassing our supply wagons, but he only had fifty or sixty men under his command. The night before the attack, Ser Jaime personally led troops to deal with them... Alas, at the time we thought the target was Piper's group. We heard the Stark Army was still on the East Bank of the Green Fork, heading south..."
"Where were your Scouts?" Ser Gregor Clegane's face was like a stone carving, the firelight casting an eerie orange glow on his skin and deep shadows beneath his Eyes. "Did they see nothing? Give you no warning?"
The blood-stained Messenger shook his head. "Our reconnaissance units had been disappearing recently, and we thought it was Malkor Piper's doing. And those who occasionally returned said they found nothing."
"Finding nothing means he doesn't need Eyes," The Mountain declared. "Dig out their Eyes and give them to the replacement Scouts, and tell him: hope four Eyes can see more clearly than two... If he still can't, then the next person will have six Eyes."
Lord Tywin Lannister turned to examine Ser Gregor. Tyrion saw a flash of Golden Light in his father's pupils, but he couldn't tell if it was approval or disgust. Lord Tywin usually remained silent during meetings, preferring to listen to others' opinions before speaking. Tyrion had always wanted to emulate this habit. However, even for his father, such silence was unusual; he hadn't even touched his wine.
"You said they launched a Night Raid?" Ser Kevan asked.
The tired man nodded. "The vanguard, led by the Blackfish, cut down our Guards and cleared the palisades to allow the main attack. By the time our men realized what was happening, the enemy Cavalry had leaped over the ditches and were charging into the camp with Swords and torches. I was sleeping in the western camp, between the two rivers. Our men here heard the fighting and saw the tents on Fire, so Lord Brax led everyone onto rafts, trying to paddle to the other side to provide support. However, the current was swift and carried us downstream. When the Tully defenders discovered us, they began bombarding us with Trebuchets from the City Walls. I personally saw one raft smashed to pieces and three others capsize, the people on them swept into the river and drowned... And those who managed to cross the river found the Stark Army waiting for them on the other side."
Ser Flement Brax, wearing a silver and purple surcoat, had an expression of disbelief on his face. "My father, my lord father he—"
"My lord, I am sorry," the Messenger said. "Lord Brax was wearing full plate and Chainmail when his raft overturned. He was a Warrior."
"Subsequently, the camp between the two rivers was also captured by the enemy," the Messenger continued. "While we were busy crossing the river, the Stark Army's heavy Cavalry, formed into two columns, charged out from the west. I saw Lord Greatjon Umber's Crannogman Giant banner and the Mallister family's Eagle Sigil, but the most terrifying was the boy leading them, accompanied by a monstrous wolf. I didn't engage them, but I heard that monster killed four people and bit to death over a dozen horses. Later, our Spearman formed a shield wall and blocked their first charge, but unexpectedly, when the Tullys saw we were preoccupied, they opened the gates of Riverrun and, led by Tytos Blackwood, charged across the Drawbridge, attacking our rear."
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