Chapter 11: Blackwater Approaches
POV: Geralt
The war council chamber in Harrenhal's great hall buzzed with the controlled tension of predators scenting blood in the water. From my position serving wine to assembled lords, I had a perfect view of the most dangerous collection of men in Westeros as they planned the destruction of a kingdom.
Tywin Lannister dominated the room without effort, his presence so commanding that even hardened killers unconsciously straightened when he spoke. The great table was covered with maps of the Crownlands, marked with colored pins showing troop positions, supply lines, and the strategic chokepoints that would determine the outcome of the coming battle.
"Stannis has four hundred ships," Ser Kevan was saying, his finger tracing a path up the Blackwater Rush. "Our intelligence suggests he's landed twenty thousand men on the south bank and means to assault the city from both land and sea."
"Four hundred ships," I thought with grim satisfaction. "My little editing job is working perfectly."
The false intelligence I'd planted was rippling through Tywin's strategic thinking exactly as intended. He was seeing a threat twice as large as reality, which would make him more cautious about dividing his forces.
"Twenty thousand men," Tywin mused, his green eyes fixed on the map like a cat studying a mouse hole. "Against what defenders?"
"The City Watch. Some gold cloaks. Joffrey's household guard." Ser Kevan's tone made it clear what he thought of King's Landing's defensive capabilities. "Perhaps eight thousand men total, and most of them green as summer grass."
"The wildfire?"
Ser Kevan consulted another message, one I'd carefully modified the night before. "The alchemists claim they have only forty barrels ready for use. They blame transportation difficulties and storage instabilities for the low production numbers."
The actual number was closer to eight hundred barrels, but Tywin didn't need to know that. Let him underestimate Tyrion's preparations while overestimating Stannis's strength. The resulting strategic paralysis would serve my purposes perfectly.
[Intelligence Manipulation: Ongoing Success]
[Enemy Decision Matrix: Paranoia level optimal]
[Strategic Misdirection: Multi-vector deception active]
[Outcome Probability: Timeline preservation enhanced]
"We march for King's Landing," Tywin decided after a long moment. "But slowly. Let Stannis exhaust himself against the city's defenses before we arrive to finish what remains."
Perfect. The delay would give Tyrion time to execute his wildfire trap, and ensure that Tywin arrived too late to prevent the devastation that would reshape the political landscape.
But as I refilled wine goblets and pretended invisibility, I caught something in Tywin's tone that made my blood chill. A subtle emphasis on certain words, a way of watching the room that suggested he was testing his subordinates.
He suspected he was being fed false information. Maybe not the specific details, but the pattern was making him paranoid. And a paranoid Tywin Lannister was infinitely more dangerous than a confident one.
"Leave us," Tywin commanded, and the room began to empty. Lords and knights filed out in order of precedence, their boots clicking against stone as they departed to prepare for war.
I began gathering empty goblets, moving with the unremarkable efficiency of a good servant. But as I reached for Tywin's cup, his hand closed around my wrist with startling speed.
"You," he said quietly, those ice-green eyes boring into mine. "What is your name?"
My throat went dry, but I forced my voice to remain steady. "Tom, m'lord. Tom of King's Landing."
"Tom of King's Landing." Tywin's grip was like iron, and I could feel him taking my measure with the intensity of a man who had spent decades reading people like scrolls. "How long have you served at Harrenhal?"
"Three weeks, m'lord. Came looking for work when the war started."
"Indeed." His gaze never wavered, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see straight through my carefully constructed persona. "And before that? What work did you do in King's Landing?"
"Careful," I thought. "He's probing. One wrong answer and I'm dead."
"Worked the docks, m'lord. Loading ships, moving cargo. Hard work, but honest."
"The docks." Tywin released my wrist and leaned back in his chair, but his attention remained fixed on me like a blade held to my throat. "Then you would know ships. Cargo capacities. The difference between a war galley and a trading cog."
Where was he going with this? "Aye, m'lord. Worked around ships most of my life."
"How many ships do you think it would take to transport twenty thousand men?"
The question was a trap, but I couldn't see its edges. "Depends on the ships, m'lord. War galleys might carry fifty men each. Transport ships maybe a hundred. So... two hundred ships? Maybe three hundred with supplies and horses?"
Tywin's smile was thinner than a blade's edge. "Yet our intelligence reports claim Stannis has four hundred ships. Nearly twice what would be needed for his army. Why do you think that might be?"
"Shit." He'd done the math and realized the numbers didn't add up. My careful alterations had been too successful—the inflated ship count was now so large it was triggering his suspicions about the reliability of his intelligence network.
"Don't know, m'lord. Maybe he's planning something else? Or maybe the counters got it wrong?"
"Perhaps." Tywin stood, moving to the window that overlooked Harrenhal's courtyard. "Or perhaps someone wants me to believe Stannis is stronger than he actually is. Someone who benefits from my caution."
The accusation hung in the air like a poisoned blade. He knew. Maybe not the specifics, but he knew someone was manipulating his intelligence, and he was testing me to see if I was involved.
"Wouldn't know about such things, m'lord," I said carefully. "Just serve wine and try to stay out of the way."
"Wise policy." Tywin turned back toward me, and for a moment I thought I saw something almost like approval in those cold eyes. "Continue with your duties, Tom of King's Landing. But remember—I notice everything that happens in my domain. Every cup of wine, every whispered conversation, every pattern that emerges from chaos."
The threat was clear. I was being watched, tested, evaluated. One mistake would be my last.
"Aye, m'lord. Just want to do good work and stay alive."
"Survival is an admirable goal," Tywin agreed. "But in my experience, those who survive longest are those who serve their true purposes with absolute loyalty. Remember that, Tom."
I bowed and began backing toward the door, but Tywin's voice stopped me.
"One more thing. I want you to personally attend the young cupbearer who serves at my table. See that she has everything she needs to perform her duties properly. I would hate for anything to... interfere... with her service."
Arya. He was putting me in direct contact with Arya, which was either an incredible opportunity or an elaborate trap designed to expose my true loyalties.
Knowing Tywin, it was probably both.
[Mission Escalation: Direct Arya Contact Authorized]
[Cover Status: Compromised but functional]
[Threat Level: Critical - Under active surveillance]
[Opportunity Matrix: High risk, high reward scenario]
I found Arya in the kitchens, scrubbing pots with the grim determination of someone trying to wash away memories that would never come clean. She looked up as I approached, her gray eyes holding depths that no child should possess.
"You're the new cupbearer," I said, pitching my voice to carry the authority of someone delivering orders from above. "Lord Tywin wants me to make sure you have what you need."
"I have what I need," she replied curtly, returning to her scrubbing.
"Do you?" I moved closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear. "Because I know where you can find better supplies. Hidden places. Safer routes. Information about people who've wronged your family."
Her hands stilled on the pot, and I saw her shoulders tense. When she looked up again, there was something dangerous in her eyes.
"What do you know about my family?"
"I know a wolf pup when I see one. I know what it means when someone whispers names in their sleep. And I know there are people who remember the North, even here in this cursed place."
For a long moment, we stared at each other across the kitchen workspace. Around us, the usual chaos continued—servants chopping vegetables, cooks shouting orders, the constant bustle of feeding a castle full of killers.
But in our small bubble of conversation, I could see Arya weighing options, calculating risks, deciding whether to trust someone who claimed to be an ally.
"The wolf carving," she said finally. "That was you."
"That was the beginning. There's more, if you want it. Maps of the castle. Information about your enemies. Weapons that look like kitchen tools but can cut through more than vegetables."
"Why?" The question was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of someone who had learned that help always came with a price.
"Because some people deserve to survive. Because some debts can never be paid. Because winter is coming, and when it arrives, the North needs to remember who its friends were."
Arya studied my face with uncomfortable intensity, as if she was trying to memorize every detail. Finally, she nodded.
"What do you need me to do?"
[Alliance Established: Arya Stark]
[Trust Level: Cautious cooperation]
[Operational Security: Shared responsibility protocol]
[Mission Expansion: Direct mentorship authorized]
"Tonight, after the castle sleeps, check the cache behind the loose stone in the old maester's tower. You'll find supplies and information. But more importantly, you'll find suggestions about how to use the gifts that certain people owe you."
I was referring to Jaqen's three deaths, though I couldn't say that directly. But Arya was clever enough to understand the reference.
"The gifts," she repeated slowly. "You know about those too."
"I know a man who gives gifts carefully, and expects them to be used wisely. Names from your prayers would be appropriate choices, but timing matters. Wait for the right moments, when their deaths will serve larger purposes."
"Like when?"
"Like when great lords are distracted by wars they think they understand. Like when castles change hands and confusion provides cover. Like when justice and revenge can walk hand in hand toward the same destination."
Arya's smile was sharp enough to cut steel. "I understand."
"Good. But remember—you're not alone in this. Others are working to protect you, guide you, and ensure you survive to see your family again. Trust in that, even when everything seems hopeless."
I was preparing to leave when a commotion erupted from the castle's main courtyard. Shouts, running feet, the sound of many voices raised in excitement or alarm.
"What's happening?" Arya asked, moving toward the kitchen's main entrance.
I followed, my enhanced reflexes already processing the sounds and identifying their meaning. Multiple ravens arriving simultaneously. Urgent messages. News that would change everything.
In the courtyard, a crowd was gathering around a cluster of riding hard messengers, their horses lathered with sweat and their faces grim with exhaustion. At the center of the group, a man in Lannister colors was shouting news that made the assembled soldiers cheer and curse in equal measure.
"Stannis Baratheon sails for King's Landing! His fleet was spotted entering Blackwater Bay at dawn! The battle will begin within days!"
The news hit me like a physical blow. I'd been so focused on local preparations that I'd lost track of the larger timeline. Stannis was already moving, which meant the Battle of Blackwater was imminent.
Which meant it was time for me to be somewhere else entirely.
[Critical Timeline Event: Blackwater Bay Engagement Imminent]
[Deployment Window: 48-72 hours maximum]
[Appa Summoning: Immediate authorization required]
[Mission Parameters: Maximum impact intervention]
I caught Arya's attention and gestured toward a quiet corner of the courtyard. When we were safely away from the crowd, I leaned close and spoke quickly.
"The war is escalating faster than expected. I may need to be absent for several days, but the caches I've prepared will keep you supplied. Use the information I've given you, trust the man who gives gifts, and remember—survive first, revenge second."
"Where are you going?"
"To make sure the right people win the right battles at the right times." I pulled a small cloth bundle from my sleeve and pressed it into her hands. "Emergency supplies. Money, a good knife, and a map showing three different routes out of Harrenhal if everything goes wrong."
"You think everything will go wrong?"
"I think everything always goes wrong. The trick is being prepared for it."
That night, as Harrenhal settled into uneasy sleep, I made my final preparations.
I'd already planted the illness excuse—claiming symptoms of a fever that would require several days of isolation. The story would hold long enough for me to be absent without triggering immediate searches.
More importantly, I'd completed my sabotage of the Mountain's pursuit capabilities. His remaining horses had been given subtle doses of herbs that would make them lethargic and unreliable. His armor had been further weakened with additional applications of the corrosive oil. His men's weapons had been treated with substances that would cause them to fail at critical moments.
If Gregor tried to pursue anyone in the next few days, he would find his effectiveness severely compromised.
[Sabotage Protocol: Complete]
[Enemy Pursuit Capability: Reduced by 70%]
[Cover Story: Medical isolation excuse deployed]
[Operational Window: 5-7 days estimated]
I slipped out of the castle through the same postern gate I'd used weeks earlier, moving like a ghost through the darkness. The night was clear and cold, with stars bright enough to navigate by as I made my way toward the grove where Appa waited.
My massive companion was exactly where I'd left him, patient as stone among the heart trees. He made a soft questioning sound as I approached, as if asking whether it was finally time for real adventure.
"It's time, buddy," I told him, climbing onto his broad back. "Time to see if we can change history without breaking it completely."
Appa launched into the night sky with silent grace, his massive form becoming invisible against the star-filled darkness. Below us, the Riverlands spread out like a map marked with the lights of settlements and military camps—a landscape preparing for war.
But our destination lay south and east, where two great fleets were converging on Blackwater Bay for a battle that would reshape the Seven Kingdoms.
A battle where a man with a flying bison and a talent for chaos might be able to tip the scales in ways that no one would ever expect.
[Departure Sequence: Complete]
[Destination: Blackwater Bay Combat Zone]
[Mission Objective: Selective intervention for optimal outcomes]
[Historical Impact: Maximum potential achieved]
The War of Five Kings was about to discover that it had one more player than anyone expected.
And that player was about to make his presence known in the most spectacular way possible.
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