Tywin could feel the relief from his men when the Antlers came into view. The Lion of Lannister had only a few hundred men left after their disastrous defeat at High Heart. Many of which were injured. Many of Tywin's commanders had been lost or captured as well. Of the few riders who were able to escape the combined might of the riverlanders and reachmen, they said that Ser Kevan had been killed while trying to rally his men and retreat in an organized fashion.
Tywin had taken some small solace in that fact. His brother, his steady, faithful brother had died doing exactly what Tywin would have expected him to do. The old lord hoped, under his anger and humiliation, that Stark would do the honorable thing and allow Kevan to be sent home to Casterly Rock where he could be buried with their father and brothers.
As for Marband, Banefort, Westerling, they were all gone. Either dead or captured, not that Tywin cared. They had all failed him in the end. As had Rykker, which Tywin had left in control of Harrenhal with three thousand men. It would be his fall back option should he be unable to finish off Stark.
The Lord of Duskendale had sent a rider after the end of battle saying that the forces of the Vale had taken the castle and that he was retreating towards King's Landing.
They had all failed Tywin.
"My lord, the men need to rest." Ser Quinn, one of Tywin's retinue pleaded.
Tywin scowled and looked behind him at the ragged and pathetic column, a stark contrast to the mighty force he had marched out of Harrenhal with. Where were the knights, the disciplined infantry. Tywin's men now were no better than beggars and looked like they belonged in the sums of Flea Bottom instead of bearing the lion banner.
"Fine." Tywin growled. "Ten minutes."
The knight nodded gratefully and rode back to the others, his voice carrying to them all. Many of them cheered tiredly and simply sat down where they were on the road, re-applying bandages and passing around water skins.
"My lord, what will we do now?" One of his knights asked carefully, staying a sword's length from his liege lord.
"We will return to King's Landing and prepare for a siege." Tywin gritted out. "There's no other option."
The knight's next question was cut off when an arrow pierced his throat. The younger man slumped in his saddle before falling to the ground. There was a small wood just to Tywin's right that now erupted with horsemen.
They wore mismatched armor, but they all carried swords, shields, spears, and wore gold bands on their arms. One of them carried a banner that Tywin had not seen since he was a young man, fighting on the Step Stones with Kevan, Steffon Baratheon, and Aerys Targaryen.
A bloody spear surrounded by skulls on a field of gold. The banner of the Golden Company. Tywin's men didn't even have a chance as they were massacred by the sellswords, cut down where they sat. Even those who called out for mercy were killed.
Tywin's instincts kicked in and he slapped his heels into his mount, urging it forward and away from the deaths of his men. He had been hoping to make his getaway while his men were slaughtered, but he had no such luck. Three men had seen him run and were now chasing him, except their horses weren't as tired as his.
One man, armed with a spear, roared and urged his horse faster, gaining on Tywin. The old lord ripped his sword from his scabbard, ready to fight if he needed to. When the man was within reach, just behind him to the left, he swung.
The man cried out as the sword cut his face, but he managed to get in an attack of his own before falling from his horse. His spear missed Tywin entirely, insteading piercing the heart of the horse Tywin rode.
The old lord kicked his feet from the stirrups before the horse catapulted him from the saddle. He landed on his back, losing his sword as the air was taken from his lungs. He was no longer the Lion of Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, the richest and most feared man in all of Westeros.
When he was able to breath again, he felt the slight tickle of a blade under his throat. Standing above him were the two other men who had chased him. One was older, around forty or fifty, with red hair and beard that were starting to turn grey. He wore golden armor with a red wolf cloak over his shoulder. Under one arm was a helm that looked like it had an eagle motif on it.
The second person, the one holding his sword to Tywin's throat, was a young man who couldn't be older than twenty. He was dressed in black and red armor with bluish-silver hair. It was the emblem on his tarbard that caught Tywin's attention. It was black, with a red three-headed dragon on it.
House Targaryen.
"Who….Who are you?"
The young man smiled grimly. "You don't recognize me? You ordered the death of my mother, myself, and my sister nearly twenty years ago."
Tywin frowned before it clicked. "No. That's impossible! You're dead! I saw your body!"
"You saw the body of a boy from Flea Bottom who was bought for a jug of Arbor Gold." The older man replied. "You were duped, Tywin. You made a mistake."
"Now twenty years later it's come back to haunt you. Twenty years too late!" The young man practically roared.
"You're dead." Tywin said again.
"The Usurper called me dragonspawn." The young man said, kneeling next to Tywin, still keeping the tip of his blade at Tywin's throat. "I prefer Aegon Targaryen. And this is for my family."
Before Tywin could say another word, the young man thrusted into Tywin's throat. All the old lord saw was a large, winged shadow flying across the sky before his vision went black.