Tywin Lannister surveyed the victorious battlefield, which was a mess, with hardly any survivors from the Northern Army.
In the gradually congealing blood, bodies lay everywhere, and the battlefield had become a field of blood.
The warden of the west, the lord of casterly rock's armor shone brightly, appearing intricate and luxurious.
Tywin's red steel armor, repeatedly polished, gleamed like fire in the morning sun.
Tywin's large cloak was woven from countless golden threads, so heavy that it rarely fluttered even during a charge, almost completely covering the mount's hind legs once he was on horseback.
In exchange, the Southern Army also suffered heavy casualties; the left flank, used as cannon fodder, goes without saying, but even Ser Kevan's central army suffered many losses due to Rickard's desperate charge.
Rickard's army advanced recklessly, braving the spear formation, which was completely unlike the pace of normal soldiers.
"The enemy is a group of old men, or homeless middle-aged and elderly people; younger ones are rarely seen," Kevan said to Tywin, surveying the tragic state of the battlefield.
After removing their helmets, many white-haired Northerners could be seen—old and infirm, middle-aged vagrants, and some very young second sons.
Some had nothing but the black scale plate armor given by Gendry and the blue steel ring mail taken from Frey.
"winter wolf?" Tywin looked coldly at the embers of the battlefield, with crows circling above and landing to peck at the corpses.
Old men, young children, unmarried individuals, those without heirs, the homeless, and others who could not be supported were a burden to the North in winter, but also the best suicide squad.
"I think so," Ser Kevan nodded.
"The goal of this Direwolf Army was to cross the Trident River ford, find an opportunity to disperse into the Riverlands, in short, to try their luck and find a position to engage in a protracted fight.
Although we urgently stockpiled at the ford and had superior numbers, the Northerners still wanted to try their luck and did not want to retreat easily.
The Direwolf Army cavalry was not particularly numerous, and their movement speed was not fast, so a head-on collision meant a fight to the death."
Tywin's squire began to unfasten the buckles of his armor.
Ordinary cloak clasps could not bear the weight of the gold-threaded cloak, replaced by a pair of small lionesses resting on his shoulders, facing each other, as if ready to leap out at any moment.
Their mate was a lion with a magnificent mane, its head held high on the crest of Tywin's great helmet, one paw extended into the air, its mouth open in a roar.
All three lions were crafted from pure gold, with ruby eyes.
His armor was heavy steel plate, covered in dark red enamel, with intricate golden spiral decorations on both his kneecaps and gauntlets.
The rondels were golden sunbursts, and every buckle was gilded.
"The Boy Blacksmith didn't provide support; The Boy Blacksmith and the little wolf cubs sent these Old Man south to their deaths, drawing our attention.
What exactly are they doing?" Tywin still felt some irritation.
"Once The Twins is controlled, the enemy's entire situation will become much more active."
Tywin's original plan was to control both banks of the great river, blocking the North's southward advance, and he hoped for a decisive battle with the proud young men.
But his opponent's division of forces and adaptability confused him somewhat; the battle at the ford could only be considered a costly victory, when he should have achieved greater success against at least ten thousand Northern soldiers.
"The Boy Blacksmith, this ambitious Bastard and wildling." Tywin stepped on the soft, dark ground; it seemed this storm was more troublesome than he had imagined.
"We won the battle," Kevan said to Tywin.
"An active challenge is not the same as a passive ambush.
If this happens a few more times, my army will be completely wiped out; this is a victory not worth the cost.
Foolish Frey." Tywin's face was expressionless, but his mind was racing.
The scouts focused their attention on this slow, old, disguised winter wolf, but the elite part of the enemy was nowhere to be found, and he did not know where the war was brewing.
"Lord Tywin!" Ser Adam Marbrand dismounted, and Tywin turned to greet him.
The horse was frothing at the mouth, blood dripping from its lips.
Ser Adam was tall and thin, with dark bronze hair that reached his shoulders, wearing shining copper-plated steel armor, with a burning tree, symbolizing his house sigil, on the center of his breastplate.
Ser Adam knelt on one knee before Tywin, "My lord, we have taken Rickard Karstark's head.
As for Maege Mormont, I'm afraid she has escaped."
"What about the prisoners?" Tywin asked Addam.
Addam looked troubled, "They are all worthless; apart from the deceased lord, there are very few captured lords, and no heirs."
"What about the two little ones?" Tywin asked.
Ser Adam lowered his head, "The two little ones were not among them at all; the House Stark's little ones might have already crossed The Twins, leading the Northern Army cavalry to reinforce Riverrun.
As for the ambitious Gendry, the prisoners say that after escorting the Direwolf Army for a while, he returned to The Twins at night.
Gendry told Rickard to be clever and seize opportunities to advance and retreat, but it seems it was of no use.
However, the Northern Army is reorganizing and streamlining its main infantry, and Gendry will lead them south again."
"This..." Tywin was utterly disgusted; young men who could combine courage and wisdom were truly formidable.
He could not capture the main force of these two little ones, nor did he dare to extend his front line to The Twins; it was safer to keep them on the other side of the river at Harrenhal.
"Retreat, return to Harrenhal.
It seems we need to form a new army in the west," Tywin commanded.
"Also, inform King's Landing that we have won the battle, and the Northern Army suffered heavy casualties."
"As you command," Ser Kevan said.
The gods shaped him to be a follower, not a commander... King's Landing, The Red Keep.
Sansa watched the long tail of the great comet, clearly visible through the scudding clouds, like a blood-stained longsword.
The sycophants called it 'King Joffrey's Comet,' but the servants simply called it the dragon-tailed star.
"Hurry up, Little Birds, if you keep him waiting too long, he'll hit you harder," Sandor Clegane warned Sansa Stark.
The Hound wore the Kingsguard's snowy white cloak, fastened at his broad shoulders with a jeweled pin.
The snowy white cloak was somewhat mismatched with his brown coarse tunic and studded leather vest.
The Hound had become very despondent, like a dog with its spine removed, and Sansa knew why: The Hound had always deeply hated and wanted to kill The Mountain, but unfortunately, even that hope was gone.
Sansa wore a blue dress; she had grown accustomed to The Hound's rough voice, and his gaze was always frightening.
Sansa was dressed beautifully, as Joffrey wished, so she would be beaten less.
"Tell me, what happened?" Sansa asked The Hound, walking on his right, trying to stay away from his burned face.
"Not you, it's your traitors brother, he's changed masters, Blackheart Gendry."
"Robb is a traitors, I have nothing to do with him.
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