The Vale of Arryn. 298 AC.
Ser Brynden Tully.
"We need to retreat." The tent drowned in shouting the mont those words left his mouth.
Nine n were gathered here in total, each carrying real weight in the army raised in Robert Arryn's na. Brynden was glad his niece and grandson had such support behind them, but with every new high-born guest that arrived the noise and the contradictions doubled. Nearly every man fancied himself no less than Aegon the Conqueror and regarded the rest as fools incapable of thought. Those seated here were: himself, Ser Brynden Tully, commander of this host; Lord Uthor Tollett, lord of Grey Glen; Ser Morton Waynwood, heir to the Ironoaks; Harold Hardyng, third in the line of succession for the Vale, with enormous support among the knights; Ser Lyn Corbray, celebrated duelist and younger brother to Lord Corbray; Lord Gerion Grafton, who had formally beco lord of Gulltown after his father's suicide, news of which had not yet reached him; Lord Gilwood Hunter, who had beco lord after the sudden death of Lord Eon Hunter and imdiately backed the right side; Ser Harlan Hunter, the lord's younger brother; and Otto Flowers, captain of the rcenaries.
Each man gathered here pursued his own ends, and those ends rarely aligned with his allies'. The one thing they all agreed on was the destruction of Axel Arryn. Only the motives and the scale of each man's willingness to contribute differed. Tollett, Grafton, and Brynden himself were ready to give everything for the madman's head. The rest were not so selfless. The most vocal protesters were the ones who had already lost everything: Tollett and Grafton.
"Ser Brynden, explain yourself," Lord Uthor demanded.
"Bad news has co." He had no desire to explain himself to n with nothing in their heads but revenge, so he laid the note on the table and waited in silence while they read it.
Dark wings, Dark words. Robar Royce had taken Gulltown. Lord Gerold Grafton was dead, whether by his own hand or soone else's was beside the point. At least several hundred knights were now unreliable, the lesser houses having surrendered to Robar the Red's rcy. The Seven be thanked, King Stannis had arrived and engaged the attackers. Exact numbers were unavailable, but the battle for Gulltown had been a bloody one.
"And what does this change? We need to finish off the Falcon's Eye while King Stannis's army deals with Robar the Red." Uthor had absolutely no desire to go anywhere. Arryn's head was in his castle and simply waiting to be separated from its body.
"It is not so simple, Lord Uthor." Ser Lyn Corbray spoke up. "King Stannis stord Gulltown and managed to drive out the Royce force. That is a victory, no one disputes it. But, my lords, defending is easier than attacking. King Stannis must have many wounded and many dead by now, and he has no food for his army. The nearest lands have been stripped bare by Royce, and if His Grace does nothing about it, starvation will follow." Corbray was a bastard, but he knew tactics, and he had grasped the central problem at once.
"Why can we not send provisions to King Stannis?" Ser Harlan Hunter knew the least of anyone here about warfare, which was why he asked foolish questions.
"Seven hundred of Arryn's horsen are roaming my lands." Lord Uthor was reminded of the small problem. "No. If the falcon bastard planned this as thoroughly as he appears to have, his cavalry will prevent us from sending anything to King Stannis."
"Then what are we to do?" Hardyng gave voice to what everyone was thinking.
For a full half hour the lords argued about what to do next. Every suggestion fell into one of three categories: sensible, fantastical, or religious. The sensible ones proposed actions that might actually get them out of this ss. The fantastical ones ca from n who could not tell a dream from reality. And then there were the religious ones: let the Warrior guide our hand and the Father give the enemy what he deserves.
"My lords, I have heard all your proposals and I have made my decision." The room fell quiet and waited on his words. "Lord Uthor, Lord Gerion, Lord Gilwood, and Ser Flowers, you will remain here with two thousand n and continue the siege. The rest of us will march to King Stannis with provisions. We will join His Grace, and together we will strip the Royce domain bare. Once Royce falls, our victory becos a matter of ti." Seeing the renewed energy in those around him, he knew he had done the right thing.
"That is all. Prepare your n to march."
Those assembled rose to carry out what had been asked of them. They felt like donkeys with Arryn's head dangled in front of them like a carrot, with no way of actually reaching the prize. Filing out of the tent, they fell eagerly to talking about their coming victory, for nearly a month of standing outside the sa castle had worn on anyone. They all left except one. Lyn Corbray.
The owner of the Valyrian blade was a cutting, self-assured, reckless, hot-tempered bastard, but a capable enough commander. For reasons Brynden could not quite explain, Lyn had been an unwavering supporter of Lysa's and had sohow talked his elder brother, Lord Corbray, into joining the war on the right side. He had never liked this bastard, but he was prepared to live with it.
"Ser Brynden, would you care to share with the reason for such a poor tactical decision?" The hells. A clever bastard.
"I do not know what you are referring to, Ser Lyn." Deny everything was the approach.
"Drop the act. Playing a part does not suit you." Corbray said it with contempt. "You can keep your thoughts from and plant seeds of discord in my heart, or you can reveal your true reasons and gain a reliable ally."
As already noted, a clever bastard. But turning his argunt over in his head, Brynden arrived at the unexpected conclusion that he would not mind sharing his reasoning with him. Corbray was a bastard, but he was their bastard. And Lyn himself understood warfare better than the overwhelming majority of the high lords Brynden had to deal with every day.
"The entire situation with Grey Glen and Gulltown is one large trap. We cannot retake Grey Glen. To take the castle you need to attack at full strength, but Morgan Sand and his horsen show up at the worst possible mont every ti. That is how we lost half our cavalry. Our departure rendered all our effort worthless, and we kept the siege up regardless. In the end we stood there and watched Robar Royce's army pick the Grafton domain clean." He did not like any of what had happened, and even the hope placed in the king had not borne out. "If nothing is done, the enemy will destroy King Stannis's army without lifting a finger."
"Admit it. Strategically speaking, the Falcon's Eye has bent you over completely." And there was nothing to argue with there.
Tactically they were level, which had been proven when Brynden saved the Graftons and the Tolletts from an ambush and washed away one of Arryn's flanks. Strategically, he had been outplayed entirely. Who could have believed that a re four thousand n, a third of what should have been needed, could take the Vale's chief port by turning common people against their own lord. Nothing like it had ever happened in the history of Westeros.
"Yes. But there is a chance now. If we join the king's army, we save them from starvation and together we can take Runestone in short order. No Royces ans the Falcon's Eye loses half his strength."
"Why are you leaving two thousand n to die?"
"Lord Uthor and Lord Gerion will not leave here willingly. A few days ago the bastard threw the entire Tollett family off the wall, making old Uthor the last of his line. Grafton will not surrender either, not after the storming of Gulltown. Those two do not care about anything. They want Arryn's head. Flowers is a sellsword. I do not trust him. Sa goes for Hunter. Too many convenient coincidences in that family."
"You are leaving the unreliable elents as a screen in front of Arryn, so the Falcon does not interfere with our march to King Stannis. I can only admire your cold-bloodedness, Ser Brynden."
His words did nothing to make it easier.
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