It was a moonless night.
For Randyll Tarly, Earl of Horn Hill, it was just another ordinary evening, urging his soldiers to march with precision and speed. He rode at the front of the column atop a sturdy black steed, clad only in grey padded chainmail. His resolute face was a mask of cold severity, eyes sharp and unwavering, his feet encased in polished steel boots and chainmail breeches. Every movement exuded discipline.
In front of him, twenty to thirty cavalrymen formed five orderly rows, leading the way along the narrow, winding road. An equal number of mounted soldiers followed closely behind. Two additional rows flanked the column, protecting its sides against ambush.
To his left, a young-faced squire rode dutifully, carrying the House Tarly hunter's banner—it was Dickon Tarly, his son and heir. To his right rode a burly veteran with a weathered face and fierce eyes, Ser Yohn Gullen, captain of the Earl's personal guard, seasoned from decades of warfare.
Farther back, the long, intermittent column stretched along the King's Road. Infantry marched in the center, while small cavalry units patrolled the flanks, ensuring the column's security.
Earl Randyll, though in the prime of life, was already a renowned general. During the Usurper's War, he had defeated the forces of the previous king, Robert Baratheon, in one decisive engagement. Leading a vanguard of three thousand against twelve thousand, he had achieved a resounding victory, cementing his reputation.
His eldest son, Sam, had just come of age at sixteen and now served the Night's Watch at the Wall. His younger son, though only twelve, was already tall and robust, following his father into battle with the determination of a seasoned youth. For House Tarly, weakness was a sin, and bravery the highest virtue—the origin of their motto, "First in Battle."
When King Renly died at Storm's End, Earl Randyll was stationed at Bitterbridge. Upon receiving the news, the cold general used thunderous and bloody measures to secure the Reach army, preventing defections to Stannis. House Florent of Brightwater Keep had been a particular concern, as Stannis Baratheon's wife hailed from that house. Eventually, Highgarden chose to support the Iron Throne, solidifying Randyll's authority in the Reach.
Shortly after, while in King's Landing, he received urgent orders from Lord Tywin. He was to lead two thousand cavalry and five thousand infantry to Twin River City as quickly as possible, where Roose Bolton awaited him at Ruby Ford. The Iron Islands were preparing to attack the North, and Robb Stark would undoubtedly march his army back to Winterfell. In Lord Tywin's eyes, the time was ripe to exploit the Young Wolf's preoccupation with the North.
"Lord Roose Bolton, how much longer until we reach Twin River City?" Randyll asked, his tone terse and unyielding.
He harbored a deep disgust for those who betrayed their masters for personal glory, yet orders were orders, and war demanded obedience. Too much personal feeling could spell disaster.
"Lord Tarly, at our current pace, it should take another two days," replied Roose Bolton, riding beside him. His pale eyes blinked steadily, his expression polite yet fatigued. Unlike Randyll, he was not built for forced marches and wore only ordinary clothing. Yet he maintained composure.
During their conversation, Roose sensed the Earl's aloofness but made no comment. Both men were merely instruments of their lords. The Iron Throne needed Bolton to contain the North and disrupt Stannis's plans. Bolton, in turn, needed Tywin's support to seize this opportunity and elevate House Bolton, potentially to the Warden of the North. Interests aligned; personal sentiment had no place.
Earl Randyll narrowed his eyes. "Are you certain Robb Stark will take this route? If he chooses the King's Road, it would be fatal for us."
Experienced hunters understood that even the slightest misjudgment could doom the entire pursuit. This was a game of precision, requiring accurate foresight.
"Rest assured, Lord Tarly," Roose said with calm certainty. "Returning from Riverrun to the North via Twin River City is faster than the King's Road. Furthermore, Robb Stark has a marriage pact with House Frey. To bring Twin River City's forces north against the Iron Islands, he must follow the path we anticipate."
Randyll nodded, conceding the point, and turned his attention to the march. "Tell the men to rest in place after another hour. All stragglers must return to their ranks before dawn or face strict military law."
The squire rode off, the House Tarly banner fluttering in the wind.
Suddenly, a faint rustling sound came from above. Earl Randyll's instincts jolted him; he reached for the weapon strapped to his horse—a two-handed Valyrian steel greatsword known as Heartbreaker, a House Tarly heirloom for over five centuries.
Roose glanced upward and saw only a black speck soaring into the distance. "My Lord, it's merely a raven. Judging by its course, it flies from Twin River City to King's Landing. Likely, Lord Walder has news for Lord Tywin."
Randyll said nothing, tugging the reins to urge his horse forward.
---
Twin River City
Eddard Karstark opened his eyes in surprise. The enemy's rapid advance was alarming; the distance from King's Landing to Twin River City—over a thousand kilometers along the King's Road—made their speed extraordinary.
Eddard had been in the city for just over a month. Could Old Frey already have been turned against him in such a short time? The battle at Red Fork had been only three months ago. The old lion had dug a trap with paper and ravens, waiting for Robb Stark to stumble in.
Young Wolf, your death is not unjust, he thought grimly.
Rising, Eddard strode from his tent into the camp square, Matthew and Paine following closely. Despite the late hour, the city was alive with activity, torches and oil lamps illuminating streets like daylight.
In the square, townspeople and hired laborers moved timber of all sizes, hammering nails with a constant clink-clink.
"Make way! Make way!" called overseers as women, children, and the elderly shuffled along streets carrying burdens. Dense crowds jammed thoroughfares as squads of cavalry directed them from the East Gate to the West Bank.
Eddard had spent the past two days mobilizing as many residents as possible to prepare the city's defense. Mud from the moat was smeared across wooden rooftops to prevent flaming arrows or pitch pots from setting fires. Fields near the East Bank were cleared, and livestock, wine, and grain were driven west—or destroyed if too cumbersome to transport.
Trees outside the city were processed into obstacles: thin branches became cheval de frise at gates, and larger trunks transformed into battering rams. Sixteen ballistas from the West Wall were moved to the East Bank, protected by wooden shelters coated with mud to shield defenders from enemy archers.
Even with all these preparations, Eddard knew it was not enough. Twin River City's riverside location meant dense trees could not all be cleared, allowing attackers potential cover to build siege engines.
He estimated he would need to hold out for at least a week. From Riverrun, even fast cavalry would take seven to eight days to arrive. Factoring in delays and House Frey's unpredictable loyalties, it might be ten days or more.
Eddard's mind raced. Waiting passively might be unwise. Perhaps he could take the initiative and strike Earl Tarly by surprise.
"Matthew," he said finally, "find Lord Beric Dondarrion and bring him here. I have something to discuss."
"Understood, my lord," Matthew replied, galloping off into the night.
As Twin River City hummed with preparation, the stakes were clear: the coming days would determine its fate, and Eddard intended to seize every advantage before the enemy's arrival.
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