Patrice looked at the prone form of his youngest son with nothing but sorrow in his heart. The silent sisters had cleaned the body from head to toe, but his son would never smile that'd make any maiden blush, his son would not jape with his friends, and his son wouldn't be there by his side in the hunts. He reached out and patted the boyish face of Gwayne one last time.
"You were brave, my son." Patrice muttered, adjusting the Oakheart cloak that covered his son's body.
His son was quite unlucky. The men had managed to storm the Lannister camp and chase them away, but his son had the misfortune of facing the Mountain all alone. His brave son had managed to hold on to his life for a while, but he bled out before the Maester could close his wound. The men sang about Gwayne's bravery, but words could not bring his son back to life.
He felt the wind rustle as another presence joined him by his side.
"My lord. The scouts have spotted enemy banners." Ser Alester Redmayne reported gravely.
"How far away?" he asked, not taking his eyes off his son's closed eyes.
"A mile and a half. The scouts just came back with the word. The Florents have finished digging the trenches. They are busy covering them. Ser Desmond has taken command of the archers and standing ready at the wall." Ser Alester reported.
"I see. Has the oil been prepared? What about the ballista and windlasses?" Patrice asked quietly.
"Everything is ready, my lord."
"Has there been any word from Highgarden?" Patrice asked.
"I'm afraid not, my lord." Ser Alester shook his head.
"So, we'll have to hold out for as long as we can while the Lannisters put Old Oak under a gruelling siege." he said grimly.
"Aye, my lord. It looks to be that way." Ser Alester looked pained in admitting that.
Letting out a sigh, Patrice removed himself from Gwayne's side.
"Do we know the numbers of the enemy?" Patrice asked, walking along a drawbridge that let him cross into one of the towers that overlooked the parts of the castle's north side.
"I'm afraid not, my lord. But some of the scouts claim they saw fires coming from further east. They suspect there is another Lannister army apart from the main host."
"It could be the Lannister army that was attacking Northmarch." Patrice said with a thoughtful frown.
"Could be." Ser Alester nodded, but he had his doubts.
"But why are they separated from the main force?" Patrice asked, looking thoughtful.
"It could be a distraction set up to confuse our scouts. Maybe Lord Tywin wants us to think he has a larger army than we think."
"Hmm. I suppose we'll know soon enough." Patrice muttered.
Then the wait began, and it was a long wait. The Lannister army seemed to be moving at a snail's pace, but Patrice was not complaining. The tardiness of the lions was an opportunity for him. He sent out a company of knights to hunt down any enemy scouts searching for traps while he had trusted men plant caltrops in select areas as a welcoming present for the Lannisters. They waited and waited and waited some more until finally, the lookouts planted on the towers signalled them sighting the enemy banners.
"Signal the men to open the canals." he ordered.
"Aye, my lord."
Ser Alester quickly managed to send the orders, and the signals were sent to the men stationed at the canals. The water from the lower Mander that flowed through the channels was directed into the fields surrounding Old Oak. The water would destroy the crops in the fields, but it'd also force the Lannisters to use the Ocean Road to transport the entirety of their army. It'd mean the Lannister army would have no other choice but to force Old Oak to surrender if they wanted to move further south. Of course, the Lannister army could march around them by sticking close to the shores, but he doubted Lord Tywin would wish for his forces to fall prey to the forces of House Hewett and Serry stationed along the shores.
He supposed it'd depend on who was commanding the Lannister army. He certainly hoped Gregor Clegane was among the Lannister army. It'd not do for his son's killer to go unpunished in this war. If he could not do the deed, then hopefully, a stray arrow or a spear could bring down the Mountain that rides. He didn't mind the way Clegane would grace the Stranger's halls, but so long as it happened, he'd be a happy man.
He took notice when red and gold banners began to emerge in the distance along Ocean Road. The Lannister army was dragging three wooden towers along, making their intentions clear for the day.
"So, that's what kept them back till now." Patrice muttered.
He supposed the Lannister army took its time to march to his castle to cover their retreat in the safety of darkness, making it difficult for his men to pursue. That was probably why they chose to siege in the evening.
"My lord, the watchers in the towers counted 60 banners among the Lannister army." Ser Alester reported once the knight returned to his side.
"So, they are six thousand strong."
"It can't be certain. If we assume a hundred men follow a banner, then…" Ser Alester trailed off, looking uncertainly at his liege lord.
"We'll make that assumption." said Patrice. "Send word to all commanders."
"Aye, my lord." Ser Alester once again left his side, leaving him with a few men keeping diligent watch over the curtain wall.
For once, he wished his ancestors had the foresight to build a second and third wall inside the curtain wall modelled after Highgarden. Perhaps, when the war was over, he could call for the builders and plan another wall outside the existing curtain wall of his castle.
"It's done, my lord." Ser Alester reported, and not a moment later, the Lannister army charged the walls.
Lannister men raised their shields and tentatively moved forward, mindful of the range of his archers. The archers on the wall under his son's command waited for the Lannister men to enter their range before releasing a volley of arrows. Patrice took up his Myrish far eyes to observe a few Lannister men go down in a shower of blood. Some had minor injuries but most managed to shield themselves from the barrage of arrows. More and more lines began to form among the Lannister side, and braved the barrage of arrows sent forth from the wall under Desmond's command.
Soon, the Lannister men began running across the field in a bid to evade the arrows of his archers and reach the base of the curtain wall as quickly as possible. The screams of men on the battlefield echoed loud and clear. Patrice looked back, seeing the reserve men under his command sweat not because of the heat but at the prospect of battle that lay ahead. The enemy down below at the base of the wall must have switched to crossbows because he saw a few archers on his wall fall.
"My lord, look! The siege towers are moving." Ser Alester pointed out.
Patrice stared into the distance, and sure enough, he could see two siege towers moving into the battlefield.
'Only two. One is kept back in reserve.' he noted.
"Pull the archers a few paces and have the men throw stones at the enemy below. The towers will give cover for the Lannister men. Have the archers switch to flaming arrows." Patrice ordered.
"Aye, my lord." Ser Alester went away with the orders.
Patrice continued to watch the progress of his men and the Lannister army. When he saw more Lannister men run into the field with ladders in hand ahead of their siege towers, he knew what the enemy was planning. He immediately ordered his reserve men to guard the towers along the curtain wall, thereby increasing the protection of ballistas and windlasses housed in the towers.
"Lord Oakheart."
Patrice found Lord Alekyne to be an easygoing man compared to Lord Alester Florent.
"Lord Florent."
"I suppose we ought to give the Lannisters a warm greeting with steel, eh?" the young Florent said.
"Once the siege towers are close, you may hunt the lions at your leisure Lord Florent. But I have one request."
"Oh, what is it, Lord Oakheart?" Alekyne asked curiously.
"If you happen to come across Gregor Clegane, try to bring me his head."
"Of course, my lord. I'll make sure Ser Gwayne is avenged." Alekyne promised.
Patrice watched the heir of Brightwater Keep leave with a gaggle of knights and sighed. The Florent knight reminded him too much of his dearly departed son. He shook his head and kept his eyes on the battlefield. His archers were peppering the siege towers with fiery arrows, but the wooden construct did not catch fire, making him frown. He once again took his far eyes and observed the siege towers more closely. The glare from the sun by accident showed him there was some sort of glazing on the wooden construct. His eyes widened as he belatedly realised the siege tower was drenched with water to resist catching flame.
"Very clever but foolish as well." he muttered as he saw a Lannister man slip on a wooden pole and fall on the ground from a height.
One of the siege towers went straight for the gatehouse, and he knew the enemy was looking to either burn the gate or use a ram under the safety of the siege tower.
"You boy. Go and order the garrison near the gatehouse to pour hot oil down those fuckers." He ordered.
He watched the boy scurry away with great speed to pass on his order. He patiently waited and watched as the two siege towers steadily gained ground. He began tapping his foot impatiently as his eyes turned to the brattices near the gatehouse. He let out a relieved sigh when he saw the garrison carry two pots along the wall-walk towards the gatehouse. The archers kept their barrage of arrows against the siege tower to give cover for the garrison. As per his order, the garrison successfully poured down a pot full of hot pitcher oil down through the holes in the brattices. The renewed screams of men begging for mercy from beyond the wall made him smile.
'That's right, you fuckin lions. We Reachmen know a thing or two of real war while you lot only know to kill babies and little girls.' he thought with some satisfaction.
"Give the order for the crossbowmen stationed near the arrowslits of the towers. They are free to engage the enemy." Patrice gave his men another order.
He had ordered the men inside all the towers to hold back their attack until they were given orders, as he wanted the Lannister men to feel a false sense of security. Now, his towers would have the advantage as the men down below would not expect the blots of death raining from the arrowslits.
The battle raged on, and more men died on both sides. From the looks of it, Patrice was sure more dead was mounting on the Lannister side. It was to be expected as castles often tend to have the upper hand in a siege, initially. He supposed it all depended on the resolve of the enemy trying to get inside the walls of his home. If the Lannisters could persist and throw more men for a long time against his castle's defences, then there'd be cause to fear defeat.
'It won't come to that. Old Oak shall defy the lions as it has always done.' Patrice thought firmly, assured of his men's ability to hold the castle.
"My lord. The tower!" Ser Alester pointed at the siege tower, which swung open at the top and the men atop through a makeshift wooden bridge to the wall-walk.
"Bring that tower down, Ser Alester. Use the ballista and bring it down now." he shouted.
Patrice also sent word to Lord Alekyne and his men to be ready near a secret passage.
He watched the garrison along the wall-walk stand their ground bravely and fight tooth and nail to deny the enemy any ground on the wall. Archers were being quickly replaced by crossbowmen, spearmen and swordsmen as the fighting was fast turning into a close-quarter fight. His attention was shifted promptly as a ballista was fired from one of the towers. The bolt with a thick rope tied at its one end punched through the siege tower with force. The men in the tower surrounding him shouted elatedly as they watched this happen, but Patrice was not ready to celebrate.
"Bring it down. Bring it down. Bring it down." he kept muttering through gritted teeth as he looked on the battle most eagerly.
The weights were thrown down, and the windlass worked its magic by giving a fast tug on the bolt pulling the siege tower on its side. He let out a shout of joy, watching the siege tower fall with a thundering crash, hopefully killing and entrapping hundreds of Lannister men.
"Burn it down. Bring whale oil to the walls." Patrice shouted at his men. "Go, you lazy bums, go! Burn those fucking lions down!"
It didn't take long for Patrice to see a yellow glow from the other side of the curtain wall, making him grin from ear to ear. He could smell victory, but he wanted maximum damage to be dealt to the Lannister army so that he could trim down the enemy numbers.
"Send word to Lord Alekyne that he is free to hunt down the lions." he ordered with some satisfaction.
The renewed screams coming from the Lannister army were quite enjoyable to his ears. His men at the wall let out a collective whoop of joy as they brought down the second siege tower as well, making the Lannisters abandon the field. The fleeing Lannister men were jeered and mocked by the garrison manning the wall while archers took positions behind the crenellated walls and began shooting down the fleeing enemy. Cheers of victory rang out in the castle when Lord Alekyne and his company of men returned with bloodied swords and a few blonde-haired prisoners.
Only time would tell whether they managed to capture someone important from the Lannister army. After all, Patrice was quite curious to learn all about the disposition of the Lannister armies that had crossed into the borders of the Reach and what plans were made by the Old Lion.
"Should we send an emissary to the Lannister camp to give them leave to collect their dead?" Ser Alester asked tentatively after seeing the Lannister army retreating well beyond the range of their archers.
"No." Patrice immediately answered, shaking his head furiously. "Throw their dead into the remains of those siege towers and have them burned. These butchers do not deserve a proper burial. Let the flames take them to the seven hells for what they've done to our lands and people."
For good measure, he ordered the archers on the wall to kill anything that moves that comes into their range, even if there was someone under the white flag. That night the men had every reason to be merry, but Patrice could not afford to join in the merriment. He was, after all, a father who lost his son to the ravages of the war. Therefore, Patrice stood alone at the encampment on the castle wall where leal men sworn to his house were keeping watch. Down below, he could see the flames turn the last of the dead from the Lannister army turn to ash and smoke.
'Young men die while old men live to bury them.' Patrice thought grimly, his eyes straying to the sept where his son's body was interned, as were the braves who lost their lives defending the castle.
Letting out a sigh, he went back to staring ahead into the black abyss that was the night sky. It was cloudy, and he could see flashes of light in the distance, signs of rainclouds gathering in the night sky. He hoped there was no rain tonight as his men were busy building siege engines inside the castle. If he looked north, he could see tiny lights in the distance coming from the Lannister camp. He wondered what was going through the commanders of the Lannister army and what sort of plans they were concocting in their tents. It was a shame he had no spies in the Lannister camp.
"My lord."
His musings were cut short with the arrival of Ser Alester Redmayne.
"Alester. Has the interrogation borne fruit?" he asked, rubbing his grey beard tiredly.
"It has my lord. We captured some distant cousins of the Kingslayer, but the real haul was from the prisoners of Lord Alekyne. He captured Ser Damon Lannister."
Patrice could only frown as the name didn't particularly mean much to him. "Who?"
"Ser Damon is the older half-brother of Stafford Lannister and the late Lady Joanna Lannister."
"So, we have Tywin Lannister's goodbrother. And you think that's something to boast about?" Patrice asked angrily, making Ser Alester take a step back.
"Do you think Tywin Lannister cares for some unknown half-brother of his dead wife while his son and grandson languish in the cells of Storm's End?" Patrice snarled.
"No...no, my lord." Ser Alester stuttered out.
"Then don't pretend to think we have somehow won today. The battle is just starting." Patrice said, looking out into the night, knowing that the peace of the night would be broken by dawn when the killing started anew.
XXXXXXX
"I'm sure you'll not be bored to tears in Winterfell Harrion. After all, you have the most prestigious position as the Stark of Winterfell." Garlan patted him on the shoulder while Theon and Robb chuckled at his expense.
"Sure. Don't do a shoddy job of polishing armours and filling wine cups, you three. Wouldn't want the Northern army to be thrown into disarray thanks to you lot." Harry snarked back, leaving Jon to guffaw and Sansa to giggle.
"When I return, I'll see you in the training yard Stark. We'll see whether you are funny then." Garlan had the last word as he climbed aboard his horse and rode away with Ser Rodrik.
Robb hugged him for nearly five minutes, after which his twin was forced to climb on his horse and slowly trot away.
"Harrion." Eddard knelt so that he was level with his son. "You're the Stark of Winterfell now. Listen to Maester Luwin's advice, and do not cause trouble for your mother."
"When have I caused trouble?" Harry squinted his eyes at his father.
Eddard just looked at him and then looked at the army that was marching out of Winterfell, making his point quite clear.
"Hey, the Lannister woman is the reason why…"
"I know. Just watch over your brothers and sisters while I'm gone. You're the man of the house now." Eddard muttered, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead.
"I've enchanted as many weapons and armours as I could. It should give the men an edge in battle." Harry muttered.
Eddard smiled but said nothing before moving to Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Bran to say his goodbyes.
The entirety of Winterfell and Wintertown was assembled outside to see off the men marching off to war. There was strong dissent among the Northern lords in participating in a war that had nothing to do with them. Harry had managed to glean that many of the Northern lords were all for turning a blind eye to the happenings of the south. But his father had persisted in his attempts to woo the Northern lords to follow him once again to the south. The whole issue with Jorah Mormont seems to have taken all the air from the sails of the Northern lords, and his father, being a loyal friend of King Robert, used the incident to guilt trip the lords of the North to fight the Dance of Stags and Lions as the Maesters were calling it.
"I'm surprised father managed to bring those troublesome lot to his way of thinking. All the shouting, huffing, and puffing inside the castle made me think a fight was going to break out in the last couple of days." Harry said to Maester Luwin once they were safely back inside his father's solar.
"Lord Stark convinced his fellow lords it'd blemish the North's prestige if they were to ignore the king's call to arms, especially after Mormont brought shame to the North by engaging in slavery." Said Maester Luwin, collapsing into a chair opposite Harry.
"Has there been any word on the absconding Lord Mormont and his Hightower wife?" Harry asked curiously.
"Most likely, they are on a ship trying to sail around Dorne without getting caught by the Redwyne fleet. The most likely destination is one of the Free Cities of Essos."
"Hmm." Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "All right. Send a raven to Hightower and Arbor about the absconding couple. With the war in the south, the Redwyne fleet would be patrolling the sunset seas to the best of their abilities. They could come across the couple if they are lucky."
"I shall draft the letter immediately." Maester Luwin nodded before fishing out sever sheets of parchment and placing them on the table for Harry's attention. "Now, there are some petitioners from House Tallhart about possibly lowering the tariffs on lumber. I've prepared a list of tariffs we currently impose on certain trees…"
Harry sat up straight and kept his ears on full alert as he listened to Maester Luwin. The downside of his stellar performance in managing Avalon was that he was saddled with some of the administrative work by a mutual agreement between his father, Vayon Poole and Maester Luwin. The three men called it preparing him for the lordship of Avalon and as the future advisor to Robb. He suspected his father purposefully left him a mountain of work to keep him buried under a mountain of paperwork and grievances of the Northern lords, merchants, and smallfolk.
Harry prided himself on being a demigod of bureaucracy. He was all too happy to wade into the muddy waters and make something out of it, come heaven or hell. If he could clean up the astronomically incompetent British Ministry of Magic within a few years, then the North was a piece of Sansa's favourite lemon cake. Speaking of which, he was getting quite hungry, and Harry supposed he wouldn't say no to one lemon cake.