Eddard had learned this strategy from observing the campaigns of Dong Zhuo in Romance of the Three Kingdoms. It wasn't particularly clever—any careful observer approaching the Northern camp would notice discrepancies. Yet this was not a matter of outwitting the enemy with pure cunning; it was an exercise in deception, blending offense and defense in one seamless ruse.
The three thousand Northern cavalry were divided into three groups, patrolling tirelessly around the camp day and night to prevent enemy scouts from discovering the truth. Every patrol was meticulous. Every movement calculated. The goal was clear: conceal the real strength of Robb Stark's army and maintain the illusion of a larger force.
Eddard also directed Daisy Mormont, who oversaw logistics, to increase the number of cooking fires in proportion to the purported number of troops. Every fire, every smoke plume had to align perfectly with the illusion. From a distance, the defenders on Lannisport's walls could easily count the smoke from meal fires, even if the soldiers themselves were invisible. A single error could reveal the truth; details determined the success or failure of the plan.
Meanwhile, Eddard feigned preparation for an actual siege. Captives and archers dug trenches beneath the walls, piling earth strategically to both conceal the Northern forces and protect against arrows, ballistae, and even trebuchet attacks. Craftsmen from Ox Town were put to work constructing massive siege devices—siege towers, battering rams, and even rudimentary trebuchets. Whether these machines could actually breach walls was irrelevant; their intimidating appearance alone added to the illusion.
Many were astonished by these preparations. The knowledge required to design and execute such constructions was normally the domain of trained engineers. Nobles rarely, if ever, took the time to study such matters. Eddard, however, offered no explanations; instead, he concentrated on the larger strategy and passed recommendations to Robb Stark.
He advised assigning trusted yet ruthless nobles, like Count Tai Tuo Si, to lead raiding parties around Lannisport. Each party would operate independently, gathering intelligence, capturing livestock, and sowing fear, all while projecting the image of a massive, coordinated army. The young King of the North accepted these suggestions, though with some hesitation.
"Your Majesty," Eddard said patiently, "the lords following you into battle require more than loyalty and courage. Their service carries risk, and every warrior lost represents a loss of wealth and resources. They must be rewarded fairly, lest discontent spreads. In faraway lands, this is known as 'not fearing scarcity, but fearing uneven distribution.' It is an ancient truth, and one you should heed."
Robb agreed reluctantly, understanding the practical necessity, even if his youthful pride bristled at the idea of material reward. The distribution of spoils was handled meticulously. Flashgold Town, near Lannisport, served as a communications hub for ravens, while raiding parties herded captives and livestock back to the main camp. The soldiers returned with treasure and rations, which Robb distributed equitably, ensuring morale remained high.
Eddard could not participate personally in the raids, but he ensured his subordinates accompanied the teams. A leader must not allow his own men to feel left out while others prospered. The remaining four thousand cavalry, directly under Robb's command, staged the central camp. Some rode, others drilled on foot, and all created a lively, bustling impression to convince the enemy that the army numbered far more than it actually did.
The deception worked perfectly. Davos Lannister, commanding Lannisport's defenses, observed the camp daily from the walls. Attempts to send scouts out were disastrous; those few who ventured beyond the walls were captured, executed, and their heads catapulted back into the city as a warning. Small provocation became psychological warfare. Officers within the city clamored for a sortie to break the siege, but Ser Daven, commander of the city's defenses, refused. Three thousand men could not hope to challenge twenty thousand—especially against an army that appeared fully prepared with siege equipment.
Ravens carried urgent pleas for reinforcements to Harrenhal and King's Landing. Another raven flew out to request naval support from other Westerland ports. Eight thousand men might be held at bay by the city's defenses, but twenty thousand? That was beyond even the most confident strategist. Ser Daven's pride prevented him from acting recklessly, but his sense of duty demanded he seek aid.
Meanwhile, Northern archers, trained to a high level, ambushed two of the enemy's ravens, ensuring that only selective messages reached the intended recipients. To the untrained observer, it seemed as though the North possessed overwhelming numbers, and the defenders could do nothing but watch in awe and apprehension.
---
Far away, outside Harrenhal, Duke Tywin Lannister prepared his army for movement. Clad in a heavy sable cloak, his golden armor gleaming in the dawn, his warhorse adorned with gilded scale armor, Tywin looked every bit the embodiment of martial discipline. Behind him, the lords and officers of the Westerlands followed, their banners fluttering proudly in the wind.
Kevan Lannister, Tywin's younger brother and most trusted deputy, rode alongside, his pale green eyes filled with sorrow and restrained rage. The letter from Davos had arrived: Tywin's son Martin was dead, one casualty among many in the conflict with Robb Stark. Grief and fury warred within Kevan, yet he remained disciplined, ready to follow his brother to the ends of the battlefield.
"Everything is ready, Tywin. Shall we depart?" Kevan asked, breathless from urgency.
"Hmm, depart," Tywin replied, expressionless. His mind weighed the losses: Stafford and Martin, the hastily raised ten thousand new recruits decimated within days. Robb Stark had struck again, delivering an 'unexpected' blow. Tywin had restrained himself before, observing and gathering intelligence, but now the threat to his family and holdings demanded immediate action.
Careful as always, Tywin chose the River Road through Golden Tooth to return to the Westerlands and relieve Lannisport. The plan was precise; he would act decisively while still maintaining caution. Before departing, he sent a raven to King's Landing, affirming agreement with Tyrion's earlier strategy. Even Cersei's tearful letters could not sway him. Loyalty and vengeance, tempered by strategy, guided every move.
---
Inside Harrenhal, Arya Stark watched from the shadows of the Crying Tower. Her sharp eyes followed the Lannister army's slow march toward Riverrun. Among them, Ser Harys Swyft of Corn City rode cautiously, his eyes reflecting both nostalgia and trepidation. Arya's mind raced with regret—she should have acted sooner, should have used the names of the Faceless Men to thwart Tywin.
Her opportunity seemed limited, yet she clung to hope. She ran down the winding stairs, colliding with Weese, head of the Crying Tower slaves. He seized her hair and struck her three times, barking orders. "Take this letter to Vargo Hoat of the Brave Companions. Now!"
Arya's resolve hardened. "Two names," she reminded herself, "one for Weese, one for the rest. I must save one." She sprinted, tears streaking her cheeks, her hatred and sorrow fueling every step. Outside, she watched the Lannister army fade into the distance, heading west with their banners high.
---
The crossing of the Red Fork by Tywin's army was executed with meticulous precision. Soldiers maintained disciplined ranks, scouts ensured security, and the river was carefully navigated. Tywin observed from a distance, confirming suspicions: the Tully vassals had moved to the Westerlands with Robb Stark. Without their cooperation, the Northern army could not have advanced so smoothly.
"Kevan, accelerate the march. We must reach Lannisport swiftly," Tywin commanded. Orders were relayed in stages, allowing the army to move in a coordinated, disciplined manner despite its size. Riverrun's defenders, including Edmure Tully and Roose Bolton, recognized the threat but were strategically constrained. Waiting for the opportune moment, they planned to intercept Tywin and trap him between Robb Stark and their own forces, setting the stage for a decisive confrontation.
Meanwhile, two young men, Karas Snow and Dita Kalander, observed the retreating Lannisters from a deserted corner outside Riverrun. Karas's green eyes sparkled with eagerness, dreaming of battlefield glory. Dita, ever cautious, reminded him, "We were ordered to guard Jaime Lannister. No more, no less. Do not leave Riverrun."
The young men watched as Eddard Stark, standing outside the western wall of Golden Tooth, commanded archers with authority. "Everyone, prepare!" he shouted. "Aim at the city wall—fire!" The stones of the distant battlements trembled under the volley, signaling that the game of deception and counter-deception had only just begun..
In the changing times of Westeros, where loyalty, cunning, and brutality intertwined, every move was critical. A single misstep could bring ruin, while the right combination of strategy and bravery could tip the scales of history. And in this delicate balance, the young and old, the noble and the wily, all played their parts on the dangerous chessboard of war.
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