Randyll Tarly surveyed the disciplined soldiers and the serious knights arrayed around him, a faint hint of relief flickering across his otherwise stern face. Ever since his capture at Twin River City, his reputation in the Reach had suffered a dramatic blow. His honor and influence had waned, and whispers of doubt had followed him like shadows.
But in the following months, he had clawed his way back, restoring respect through his resolute actions against the Stormlands invaders. Though his victories against Stannis Baratheon had been limited, recovering the majority of the plundered spoils and repelling the invaders had been enough to restore his standing among the Reach lords.
"My Lord!"
A sharp, urgent shout cut through Randyll Tarly's thoughts. Ser Bisbury, leading the vanguard, galloped toward him at full speed, his mount kicking up dust and leaves along the Golden Road.
"Ser Bisbury," Tarly called, his voice carrying over the clatter of hooves.
As the knight neared, he spoke without pausing for breath. "Our scouts have engaged with Harrenhal's outriders about ten miles ahead, my lord."
Randyll raised an eyebrow. Ten miles? So far from their current position? The man leading the Riverlands' scouts must have exceptional skill to push out so far. Rumors spoke well of Ser Brynden's ability to deploy reconnaissance effectively—perhaps they had underestimated him.
"Did you capture any prisoners?" Tarly asked, his eyes narrowing. The scouts' swift movements had been noted, but intelligence was only useful if it included concrete information.
"No, my lord," Ser Bisbury replied. "Four of their wounded fled north. I didn't pursue them, fearing an ambush."
"Understood," Tarly said curtly, nodding. He considered the next steps. "Ser Bisbury, I will send two additional scout teams. Expand the reconnaissance range. Drive away their outriders, deafen the enemy, and blind them. I want them to be aware of every movement, yet unable to discern our true intentions."
Lowering his head, Tarly allowed his thoughts to wander briefly. The main objective of this campaign was simple yet delicate: draw Brynden Tully's attention, tie down the Riverlands lords, and pull their forces toward Harrenhal, relieving pressure from the impending offensive at Golden Tooth.
If the enemy ignored the bait, small cavalry units would strike west along the River Road, while the main army would advance on Maidenpool. A direct confrontation was inevitable, and Tarly had contingency plans. If outnumbered, he would retreat along the Golden Road toward King's Landing—or, failing that, encamp near Duskendale. If numerically superior, he would confront the enemy near Harrenhal directly.
Besieging Harrenhal itself was never under consideration. Even on a plain by the lake, its immense walls and formidable fortifications could dissuade the most audacious generals.
"My lord, one more thing," Ser Bisbury said hesitantly. "The scouts' insignia wasn't the black trout of Brynden Tully. It was… the black castle and golden sun of Twin River City."
Tarly stiffened, pulling his reins sharply. Could Eddard Karstark have garrisoned Harrenhal? The Riverlands Regent's presence in such a strategic fortress would complicate plans considerably. Images of past encounters flashed through his mind—the weight of his ancestral sword heavy in his hand, his heir recently returned to King's Landing. He forced himself to focus. The forest around him was calm, the sunlight streaming through yellowed leaves, the occasional small animal scuttling harmlessly across the path.
"Quite possible," Tarly admitted aloud.
He turned to Bisbury, voice now firm and commanding. "I've faced Eddard Karstark before. He's an exceptional commander, dangerous in his cunning and highly skilled at ambushes. As my vanguard, you must maintain a safe distance. Increase reconnaissance efforts, and report any unusual activity immediately."
"Yes, my lord." Bisbury nodded and rode off with the two cavalry units, hooves thundering against the earth.
Tarly's gaze shifted to a young man beside him—Count Titus Rowan. Silver plate armor gleamed on his shoulders, a white cloak adorned with a golden tree draped across his back. Since the drowning of Count Matthus at Ruby Ford, Titus had become the new Count of Goldengrove.
"Count," Tarly said. "Do you have orders?"
Titus bowed slightly, eagerness and respect in his eyes. "My lord, I am ready."
"I need you to return to King's Landing immediately," Tarly replied. "Inform Lord Tywin that Harrenhal's garrison has changed."
The message was clear: intelligence had revealed that Eddard Karstark now commanded Harrenhal. With Brynden Tully's usual post uncertain, Tyrion Lannister's forces might be caught off guard. Titus accepted the orders, disappointment barely masked, and rode off toward the capital.
Under the bright sun, the Reach army moved like a tortoise along the Golden Road. Infantry advanced in disciplined rows, cavalry circled around the flanks, archers and supply wagons protected at the center. Tarly's personal guard rode in the heart of the formation. A deliberate, methodical march—the very image of military precision.
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Far to the north, Eddard Karstark observed the situation from Harrenhal's walls. He held a parchment in hand, bearing reports sent by Ser Brynden via raven. The Lannisters had concentrated twenty thousand soldiers at Lannisport, likely intending to strike at Golden Tooth, the former gateway to the Westerlands. Eddard's lips curved into a wry smile.
"The Lannisters are truly rich," he muttered. "Soldiers like autumn leeks—cut one batch down, another grows immediately."
His gaze swept the courtyard. Fifty armored giants, led by Marga, stood in formation, bellowing laughter and powerful roars that rattled the air. Other giants, unarmored, carried large shields, guided by nearly a thousand Free Folk attendants. From behind, nearly ten thousand Free Folk marched in ten winding phalanxes, weapons now upgraded with steel and armor replacing old hides.
Styr rode at the front on a tall horse, his son Segon beside him, holding a white banner marked with a black sun. Around them, two hundred elite warriors and even more soldiers in bronze scale armor moved with surprising order.
The Thenn tribe, now settled north of Harrenhal, had found a suitable home. Their black castle, surrounded by barren lands and a small wooded hill, offered grazing, farming, and potential orchards. Under Eddard's careful oversight, they would become a formidable force.
As he watched the procession depart, Eddard nodded. The Free Folk had adapted to the Southern style of training; their march was orderly, their discipline improving. At the forefront, Styr would act as bait, drawing Randyll Tarly's attention eastward while Eddard prepared the real strike.
Twilight descended, casting sharp rays over Harrenhal's thick walls. House Mooton's banner approached—the white flag and red salmon bordered with gold. Count Willem Mooton had become a compliant subject after Eddard arranged a marriage alliance with his daughter. Along with Mooton, nearby families like House Cosky, House Ryger, and House Harroway brought a mix of cavalry and knights, their discipline varied but sufficient for the plan.
Eddard rode out to greet them personally, noting the arrival of Count Tytos with five hundred cavalry. Soon, all intended vassals had gathered. Others would rendezvous at Riverrun, led by Edmure Tully, and join the attack on Golden Tooth under Brynden Tully's command.
In his study, Eddard spread out a detailed map of the Riverlands. "Tywin's true target is Golden Tooth, not Harrenhal," he explained. "Randyll Tarly's army is advancing slowly, only twenty kilometers a day, setting camp each evening. This caution will be his undoing."
Count Tytos nodded, smiling wryly. "He's cautious, yes. His dungeon experience has left him wary."
Eddard chuckled. "Caution is useless against us. Ten thousand Free Folk under Styr are already moving to intercept him, a feigned threat to lure him in. The real strike will be delivered by our two thousand cavalry and the Sun Giant Legion."
The plan was set. Golden Tooth would soon face the wrath of a carefully orchestrated counterattack, and Eddard Karstark's strategic foresight would determine the course of the coming battle.
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