They had been deliberating for nearly three hours and still hadn't reached a decision. Randyll Tarly exasperatedly wiped his brow as he once again was forced to listen to the bleating of Mace Tyrell. If this war had proven anything, it was how little the Warden of the South knew about war. Not that it needed proving, of course. More disturbing was Renly. He'd failed to coordinate the retreat from the Kingswood properly, and now the war was turning against them. Their numbers were being more hindrance than help, as they were forced to move slowly or else become strung out.
"One more battle and they'll be wiped out!" Tyrell insisted.
"He crushed us at the last one." Ser Baelor Hightower grumbled. "I don't believe he will give us what we want. This war of movement suits him, so let us use our advantage: land. Make him come to us."
"What are you suggesting, Baelor?" Tyrell asked.
"That we retreat into the Reach itself. Then we force him to fight on our ground of choice." Hightower explained. "Harass his supply lines-which are already overstretched-and force him to attack us on our own land." This brought a howl of protest from the Reachlords present.
"You would have us adopt these disgraceful tactics?!" Loras fumed. 'You should be ashamed, Ser Baelor!"
"He's right." Randyll admitted, causing silence to fall over the rest of the council. "So long as Steffon keeps winning, his army will hold together. If we can't beat him on a tactical level, we must try to face him on a strategic level. We can lure him into the Reach, where he will be forced to overextend himself. That gives us the opportunity to hit him hard."
"We would be surrendering the initiative, Lord Tarly." Renly replied.
"With all due respect, Your Grace, I believe we've lost the initiative some time ago." Randyll responded. "Instead of seizing it back, I say we let him have it, and work it to our advantage. Lord Hightower is right. We can trade land for time and attack his supply lines to delay him. If we are able to choose the battleground, then we'll have already won."
"Then we must fight them! Fight them until they are destroyed!" Tyrell boomed, rising from his seat and shaking his fists, earning a few mumbles of agreement.
"Or until we are destroyed." Garlan Tyrell chimed in.
Loras looked at him, stunned. "Do you doubt the honour and courage of our soldiers?" He asked indignantly.
"These are the facts, Loras. The Kingswood cost us 6,000 lives. We've lost a further 9,000 men and even part of our war chest in the raiding and skirmishing since. We are losing this war, brother." Garlan explained calmly, his brother growing redder by the minute.
"And if we continue along the path of direct confrontation, we will be destroyed." Hightower added. Again, the Reachmen erupted in protest.
" I concur with Ser Garlan and Ser Baelor." Randyll spoke out. "Battle is what he thrives on. Starve him of it, and his men's confidence in him will falter. We need to redevelop our strategy and beat him at what he is good at: irregular warfare. In short, we need to kick him in the stomach."
Again, the entire tent erupted in protest. Shouts of "Cowards!" and "Traitors!" were hurled freely at the three. Lesser men would have wilted under the harsh criticisms, but not them; they knew they were right with their convictions. Randyll had learnt from a young age that war was not strictly about how many were lost; it was about breaking your enemy's will to fight. Strip the enemy of their will, and they would quit the field and the battle would be won. They were also keenly aware that Steffon had proven frighteningly skilled at breaking their soldiers' will to fight.
Renly raised his hand for silence. "My lords, remain calm. Lord Tarly, Ser Baelor, Ser Garlan, I understand your hesitancy, but it is still possible for us to take the offensive." He said. "Our target will be Tarth. If we take that, we can destroy his fleet, and without his fleet Steffon will be in an untenable position."
"Taking Tarth requires an amphibious assault, Your Grace." Randyll said. "They are extremely difficult to coordinate at the best of times, and that is assuming the invading army is not attacked the second it comes ashore. Forming up infantry alone would take-"
"There will be no more discussion on the matter. My decision is made. See to your soldiers, my lords." Renly said. The nobles began to file out the room, Garlan shaking his head.
"Attacking Tarth will be the end of this host." He muttered. Randyll didn't reply.
She had been kindly furnished with armour, sword, dagger and horse, but this didn't stop many of the soldiers in the camp from looking at her strangely. Was it so unusual to see a woman fighting? Their king's own betrothed had saved his life. Shouldn't that have changed some minds, or was the fact that Lady Arya was a woman overlooked because she was to marry their king one day?
"Brienne." The voice of her father shook her thoughts away. "You are being charged with a very important task here. This is the mother of Robb Stark you're escorting."
"I know, father." She replied. "What is to stop the rest of the escort from plunging a sword into my back at the first opportunity?" It had been a question playing on her mind a lot lately. She was still seen as an enemy by most of these Stormlanders, and they were her own. Why would the Northerners be any better?
"Northern honour." Her father replied simply. "They're more devoted to the Starks than anyone is to anyone. If Catelyn Stark tells them not to harm anyone, they won't. Besides, I know you can defend yourself if one of them gets overly ambitious." He continued, letting a wry smile spread across his face. "I am proud of you, Brienne. Despite everything, I am proud of you. You've turned into a fine warrior, and more than that, a good person." Suddenly, he embraced her. Brienne did the same to him, the father and daughter sharing one last moment before being separated once more. "Off you go." He said as they broke apart. Brienne nodded, donning her helmet and climbing the horse.
"Farewell father, and good luck." She said before kicking in her heels to get the horse moving. She had been told to join the escort at the north end of the camp. How appropriate, she thought. She was in for a slight shock however, as the Stark guardsmen who were also escorting Lady Stark simply shrugged as she joined them.
"You must be Lady Brienne of Tarth." She heard a woman's voice say.
"I'm no Lady." Brinne replied instinctively. "Lady Catelyn?"
"Indeed." The woman nodded before turning to the man who Brienne assumed commanded the escort. "Robard, let's go."
The man in question, Robard, nodded and signalled for the party to begin. "Move out!" He called. Soon enough, the camp was out of sight as they headed along the back roads to Robb Stark's camp. That had been a unanimous decision; with the war raging all around, the main road would likely be infested with bandits, raiders and other marauders all after loot or a quick ransom. In the case of Catelyn Stark, everyone knew that it wouldn't be that simple or painless though. That was not the burning question Brienne had though.
"My Lady, may I ask a question?" She asked as she rode alongside Eddard Stark's widow.
"Regarding what?" She answered in a gentle, almost motherly tone.
"The Stormlanders view it as unusual when a woman fights; more than once I've had people disapprove of my decision to fight. Why is it that no one in your escort gave me a second glance?" She asked. Catelyn looked at her thoughtfully.
"Are you familiar with the Mormonts of Bear Island, Lady Brienne?" She asked. Brienne bit back her instinctive reply as she tried to recall her childhood lessons, but none of them were coming to mind.
"Not really, my Lady." She admitted.
"Several years ago, Ser Jorah Mormont-if he can even be called a knight anymore-brought shame upon his house when he sold poachers into slavery." Lady Stark explained. Brienne was horrified.
"He sold men into slavery?!" She said incredulously. The other woman nodded gravely.
"He fled before my late husband could punish him. After he did, Bear Island fell to Maege Mormont. Old and short, yes, but also stout and a fine warrior. Her eldest daughter Dacey fights as part of my son's personal guard, and was given a morningstar at an age where most girls would be given dolls." She added. "They won much respect at the Whispering Wood."
"I should very much like to meet them." Brienne replied. The idea of finding kindred spirits in fellow women warriors appealed to her.
"I imagine they would like to meet you as well. I will introduce you to them when we arrive."
"Three children?!" Theon fumed. He had woken to find the Wildling girl missing from his bed and immediately assumed something had happened. He was proven right, and his bad day had gotten worse now that he'd found out Bran, Rickon and Myrcella had escaped along with Hodor. He couldn't afford to lose any of them; they were his bargaining chips with Rob and Steffon. Of course, it had been Black Lorren who'd been on duty when they bolted."You let three children escape?! They're no taller than my waist and they somehow got past you?!"
"Along with the Wildling woman you were fucking." Lorren shot back. Theon's face twisted into a snarl, and he punched Lorren hard in the jaw, sending him to the ground.
"Gather the horses and hounds!" He ordered as he mounted his own horse. "And bring the Maester too. He might be useful."
Minutes later, they were in the woods outside Winterfell, with hounds attempting to track the scent of the escapees. Theon was getting frustrated, and he knew that Luwin would be able to tell that. The old man had no clue when to shut up. "Enjoying your first hunt, Maester?" He asked.
"So far it seems much like riding, my Lord." Luwin replied.
"With hunting there's blood at the end."
"They're children. One of them's a little girl."
"I was a child when I was snatched from my home and brought here." Theon snapped. His patience with the Maester was wearing thin. "But I kept my word; I never ran away. If I find them soon enough, I won't hurt them." He thought on that for a moment. "Well, I'll hurt them, but I won't kill them."
"They are far more valuable to you alive than dead." Came the reply. Theon rolled his eyes. That had become Luwin's standard response to everything he said.
"They're of no value to me missing, are they, old man?" He snapped.
"Robb will have sent a force to retake Winterfell by now, likely with King Steffon's support."
"Robb's in the Riverlands and Steffon's in the Stormlands; both fighting a war they can't win." He said. "My sister on the other hand is at Deepwood Motte, she'll get here before they will. Besides, Ned Stark always said that 500 men could hold Winterfell against 10,000."
"We have a scent!" One of the Ironborn shouted.
"Alright!" Theon called back. "Don't worry Maester. It's all just a game." He added as they began riding again.
They soon arrived at a small mill, with a woman hurrying her three children inside.
"They've lost the scent." The dog handler reported.
"Try again." Theon ordered.
"We've been around the farm twice and found no trace of them." The man responded before Theon ordered him off.
"We should start fresh in the morning, my Lord." Luwin said. Theon seized him by his shoulder.
"I do that, and I'll be treated like a fool and eunuch by my own people for the rest of my life. Ask yourself is there anything I wouldn't do to stop that happening? The hounds will find the scent again, I'll beat them until they do. I'll whip every man here until I have those boys in hand." e said. "It's better to be cruel than to be weak."
"Prince Theon." One Ironborn said, bringing a shepherd to Theon.
"The Stark boys and the Baratheon girl. Where are they?!"
"I-I don't know. I seen no one."
Theon punched him hard in the gut. "Think harder."
"I swear, m'lord, I seen no one."
"Over here, my Lord. Think we found what we're looking for." Dagmer said. Theon headed over and was shown a large pile of walnut shells. "Send the old man home."
Theon nodded and turned to two Ironborn. "Take him back to Winterfell."
"Don't do this Theon." Luwin pleaded as he was forced away.
What followed was a quick, bloody affair. Two of the shepherd's farmhands, orphan boys, along with their sister, had their throats cut by Dagmer and their bodies burnt. The thinking was that seeing the three children dead would break the spirit of the people living in Winterfell and its surrounds. A sound plan to be sure, but Theon's stomach still turned over at the idea of murdering children. He couldn't make any noise about that though. If he did, that was it for his command of these men. So he kept his mouth shut and did his best to keep his breakfast in his stomach as they returned to Winterfell as his men gathered a crowd. Dagmer had gone off to find the Maester and drag him to the front of the crowd.
"I told you what would happen. All of you." Theon began. "I told you what would happen if you served me loyally, and what would happen if you did not. There are many who question if your new lord means what he says. Here is your answer." he gestured to two Ironborn who raised the bodies of the three children, their bodies burnt beyond recognition.
Luwin's scream of anguish was all that Theon could hear.
He and Arya had not spoken for several days now. He had thought about trying to explain things to her, to say that he had been forced into it, but had just as quickly realised that she would only try to push back on his reasoning and that would inevitably devolve into another shouting match, which was not something he needed right now. He lay on his bed, deep in thought until he heard Waldron's voice calling out to him. "Your Grace?"
Steffon sighed, rubbing the weariness from his eyes as he got up and sat on the edge of the bed as his squire entered the tent. "Yes, Waldron?" he asked wearily. The last few days had exhausted him, and a combination of lack of sleep and the alcohol he had taken to drink lately had begun to take its toll.
"A raven arrived at Storm's End this morning. They sent a rider with the message; he arrived not that long ago and said to pass this to you directly." He said, passing the slip of paper to Steffon. Must be urgent then. Steffon thought as he unrolled it.
'Beware, Greenlander King. Your sister and the Stark children attempted to defy our rule at Winterfell. They paid the Iron Price for their attempt to escape, and should you attempt to seek revenge, you shall join them'
Steffon read over it several times, not quite believing it. He blinked several times, as if making sure that he was in fact reading the message properly. Then his eyes widened as he realised there was no error in the inscription. He blinked, feeling several tears trickle down the sides of his face, before crushing the paper into a ball with his hands as he grit his teeth. "Leave, Waldron." He snarled.
"Your… Grace?"
"I said LEAVE ME!" He yelled, turning to face him as Waldron quickly turned heel and fled the tent.
Not five seconds after his squire had left the tent, Steffon let out a roar and drew his sword. He smashed it down on the map table again and again, not caring that the blade was chipping and weakening. He brought it down one more time and the table broke clean in half, tearing several maps up in the process. Not that Steffon cared; the rage had taken over. "YOU WILL FUCKING DIE FOR THIS, GREYJOY!" He screamed at the heavens above, not caring who heard him. "I'LL RIP YOUR FUCKING BALLS OFF AND SHOVE THME DOWN YOUR THROAT!"
It was several minutes before the anger subsided, and several minutes more before Waldorn stuck his back into the tent with Stannis, Tarth and Edric close behind him. Before Waldron had a chance to speak, Edric stepped forward to approach his brother. "Steffon? Are you alright?" He asked. Steffon didn't have the energy to make a snarky reply, but instead gave one that chilled him to the bone.
"Send a message to whoever is leading the force to retake Winterfell," He snarled. "Tell them to kill every fucking Ironborn they see. And send one of my banners with them."
"Your Grace," Stannis spoke up, "Sending your banner would-"
"I gave you an order." Steffon growled. "And you will carry it out. You're all dismissed."