Lord Rykker was much how Tyrion had described. Tall, well-muscled, with a confident stride of a man who knew his business. He was a capable man, of that there was no doubt. He was the kind of man Tywin would entrust to defend a castle or lead a part of the army during battle. But he had his limits, as most men did, and Tywin was well aware of those as well. He was not a thinker nor a strategist of any real skill. He could be told what to do, and he would do it, but he would never be able to see the full picture, unlike Tywin himself.
Sitting across from the Lord of Duskendale was a man that Tywin found extremely deadly, with the arrogance to match. The Red Viper of Dorne lived up to his reputations as soon as he swaggered through the door, plopped himself into a seat, propped his feet up on the table, and poured himself a goblet of wine all at the same time.
He was a lithe, slender man, with dark, tanned skin and lustrous black hair. He was a handsome man, with a roguish look that came from his sharp nose and dark eyes. A smirk played on the edges of his lips. Tywin saw intelligence in his eyes, though it was hidden behind the man's extreme confidence and swagger.
"My Lord Lannister." Oberyn Martell drawled casually, taking a drink of his wine. "It has been a long while. When we had last met, I was but a boy."
"Indeed," Tywin said crisply, glancing at the prince's boots before looking back at the man himself. "I understand you brought ten thousand men with you."
The Prince of Dorne shrugged. "Had to move fast, and nothing moves faster than a dornish stallion. Lord Yronwood is assembling the rest of the dornish host in Dorne, near Sunspear."
"So it would seem," Tywin replied in the same slightly annoyed tone. "My son says that he intends to sail his army into the Crownlands."
Oberyn nodded. "And avoid the Stormlands. It was my brother's idea," he explained. "Why waste time and energy marching through rain and mud when the men can enjoy a week of pleasant weather and wind, conserving their strength."
"I was unaware that Dorne had a fleet." Lord Rykker commented.
Oberyn gave the man a sly smile. "Perhaps not that of the Lannisters nor the royal fleet, but we have many merchant ships that had luckily been in the harbor for my brother to command."
"When will Lord Yronwood arrive?" Tywin asked, bringing the conversation back on topic.
Oberyn shrugged. "Twenty thousand men is a lot to load, Lord Lannister," he replied lazily, taking another drink of wine. "A week, maybe more. Another few days to march here."
Tywin glared at the prince, a look usually enough to wither any man, but Oberyn simply smiled back. The Red Viper and the Great Lion were by no means friends, simply allies pushed together in war. The dornishman's tone was already grating on Tywin's nerves, but he needed the man and the cavalry he commanded.
"Lord Rykker, you have brought your full host, yes?" Tywin asked, changing the subject.
The Lord of Duskendale nodded. "Yes, my lord. Fifteen thousand men, fresh and fit," he responded firmly.
Oberyn chuckled as he drank when Rykker said 'fresh and fit', but did not say anything other than that.
"Good, make sure they are ready for battle," Tywin ordered, ignoring the other man. "They are about to face the might of the stormlands, and there are no better levies than those."
Tywin was backed by an army of battle-hardened men, many of whom had fought under the great Lion during the Greyjoy Rebellion and at the Sacking of King's Landing. But the Lord of Casterly Rock was a realist and knew his history as well. He knew of how the stormlander host had carved through the loyalist host at the Battle of the Trident so that Robert Baratheon could face Rhaegar. They were hardy, rugged men who lived in harsh conditions in the Stormlands. They would be a worthy opponent to Tywin's army.
Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "What plan do you have in mind for dealing with the 'Young Wolf'?"
Tywin folded his hands behind his back, standing behind his chair. "Robb Stark marches south with the might of the Stormlands and a strong force of reachmen. But, he is without his best men. Tarly is in the Westerlands and the Blackfish has gone north to the Twins. The boy is alone, and I intend to crush him while he is."
Oberyn took another drink of wine, cradling the goblet in his hand. "Good speech, but that did not answer my question," he said. "What is your plan, my lord?"
Tywin raised an eyebrow, gazing at the prince. The message was clear; Oberyn would not speak to him in that tone, not in private and certainly not in front of another. Tywin was the commander of the army, and that now included Oberyn's men as well. He would be respected by the Red Viper, or there would be hell to pay.
"We will wait, and let the boy come to us," Tywin answered finally.
"Within the walls of Harrenhal?" Lord Rykker asked.
Tywin shook his head. "No, on the lake's edge," he explained, walking over to the window to look out over the ruins, the sunlight glinting off of the lake in the distance. "We must make ourselves look like a target worth attacking immediately, goad the glory-seeking Young Wolf into striking without thinking. Then, when he has thrown all his troops into the fight, Prince Oberyn and his cavalry shall arrive and sweep the boy and his army into the God's Eye."
"How do you plan to make the boy attack you head-on?" Oberyn asked. "What's to stop him from simply forcing you into the river himself?"
Tywin turned around, his eyes meeting those of the Red Viper. "My host will assemble some distance from the lake, giving the boy the belief that I do not want to be forced into the river. He will attack me head-on, strengthening his left flank in order to turn my own and force me into the river," he explained, the battle playing out in the older man's head as he spoke. "My force will draw back towards the river, not retreating, but luring the boy and his army closer to the lakeshore. At the sound of three horn blasts, the dornish will arrive and drive the weary and unprepared reachmen and stormlanders into the water."
Tywin stepped towards the two men, both silent as Tywin explained his plan. Neither had fought with him, but many of his commanders would say that what Tywin was explaining was likely to happen during the actual battle. His mind was amazing, even at his advanced age. He was able to play out an entire battle, from start to finish, and had the confidence to know that he would always end up victorious.
Always.
"The Stark Boy and his army will be routed and destroyed." Tywin went on. "Tarly and his host of reachmen will return to their fields in the south while their fat overlord pledges fealty to my grandson. The stormlords, those that remain, will soon follow suit as they realize the northern cause is lost."
"And the Lords of the Riverlands and the North?" Lord Rykker asked.
"The Lords of the Riverlands shall be taken care of swiftly and harshly. Lands removed, titles taken, and the Freys shall take over as Lord Paramounts, just as King Joffrey had declared." Tywin answered. "As for the North, Lord Bolton should have that well in hand, especially since Winterfell has been burned to the ground. Currently, the northern force is besieging the Twins, a folly if there ever was one. When we are done with the Young Wolf, we will deal with his allies in one sweep. The northern lords will return to the North, beaten and bruised, and will swear their fealty to the new Lord Paramount of the North."
Oberyn drained the rest of his wine. "Your reputation is well deserved, my lord Lannister." He praised casually. "I have a good feeling that Dorne has chosen the right side of this fight."
"Lannisters pay their debts, Prince Oberyn," Tywin answered simply. "Lannisters always pay their debts."
Prince Oberyn
The dornishman found his two men at the top of the highest tower, glaring daggers at each other. Both men were knights, dressed in bronze scale armor and plate armor with longswords at their sides. One man had shoulder-length silver hair divided with a streak of midnight. He was clean-shaven, with an aquiline nose and a strong jaw. His most prominent feature was his purple-ish eyes. The second man had light, sandy brown hair, sky blue eyes, and a close-cropped beard.
Both men were tall and handsome, with physiques that proved their warrior status.
They bowed when Oberyn entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
"How was the meeting with the Lion, my prince?" The brown-haired man asked respectfully.
"Dreadfully boring." Oberyn sighed, rolling his eyes. "He will have us ambush the Stark boy during the battle, sweep their men into the battle."
"That'll wipe out the boy's host." The silver-and-black haired man growled. "We're supposed to ensure that the war keeps going."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow, glaring at the man. Gerold Dayne was an annoying man to work with. Prideful, quick to anger, and cruel, the man was also extremely skilled with a blade and was quite loyal to Oberyn's niece.
The Red Viper much preferred the other man. Daemon Sand had squired for Oberyn when he had been but a boy and had earned his knightship as a reward for many years of good service. He was quietly intelligent, deathly loyal to the Martell family, and is one of the premier knights in all of Dorne.
"Do not forget that Stark has plenty of hosts still out in the field," Oberyn answered. "Tywin seems to think that the lords of the Reach and Stormlands will abandon the boy should he lose a battle. I think differently."
"Tywin will need to fight two more battles before the 'war' is over," Daemon said, catching on to what his old mentor was saying.
"Possibly more than two. Tarly and the Blackfish won't be easy to fight." Oberyn agreed. "More than enough time for our friends to take the city."
"Have they reached the island yet?" The man known as 'Darkstar' grumbled.
Daemon shook his head. "We would have received a messenger from the Company if they had."
Darkstar slammed his hand against the wall. "So we fight for the lannister! Waste more dornish lives for a man who slaughtered one of our own doing the Fat King's rebellion?"
That had been a question many had wondered when Oberyn's brother had called the banners; why are we fighting for the Lannisters. In a closed-door discussion involving many of the strongest lords in Dorne, Doran and Oberyn had explained their plan that had been more than twenty years in the making with only one goal in mind: to bring House Lannister to its knees and to drown the golden lions in blood.
"You know as well as I why we're doing this," Daemon said calmly. "We need to weaken both Starks and Lannisters. The longer this fight goes on, the more the common folk will be looking for someone to end it. The queen and king can do that."
"But not with the forces we have now," Oberyn continued. "Stark still has a hundred thousand men spread out across Westeros. The less he has, the better." The Red Viper turned his attention to his old squire. "Have you spoken with our other allies?"
Daemon and others had been on the road for much longer than others had known, traveling to certain castles all across the Riverlands, Stormlands, and the Reach. Houses that had once been favored by the true rulers of Westeros.
The young knight shook his head. "I have, but it yielded little fruit. They are scared to rise against Stark."
"Have they not heard what our queen possesses?" Gerold growled.
Daemon shrugged. "They have, but it did little."
Oberyn crossed his arms. "What's done is done. We must only rely on those loyal to the king and queen."
"What of the raiders at Driftmark?" Gerold asked.
"We'll leave them for the lannisters to deal with," Oberyn answered. "The more they have to deal with, the less likely they will see the true threat."