"Father, are you surprised that I'm still alive? A little dwarf holding up a big shield really gave their archers a headache."
After the battle ended, Tyrion crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood and went to find his father, his mouth full of aimless, flippant banter.
His father was none other than the current Warden of the West, the head of House Lannister—Tywin Lannister.
Tywin was clad in splendid armor adorned with lions. Facing his son whose arm had nearly been chopped off, he showed not the slightest hint of emotion. He was busy savoring wine from a gem-studded goblet, indulging in the joy that victory had brought.
Seeing this, Tyrion deliberately put on a panicked look and said, "Oh dear, will my not dying ruin your plans? If that's really the case, then I truly deserve to die a thousand deaths."
Tywin swept him a glance. "The wildlings you brought out of the Vale of Arryn were at least somewhat useful. I did indeed place you in the undisciplined left flank. According to my thinking, once that green boy Robb saw the left wing collapse, he should have committed his entire army."
"Heh. Throwing me into a doomed unit, personally shoving your own son's neck onto the enemy's blade—and you still couldn't be bothered to tell me in advance, so I could at least die knowing why."
Tywin drained the wine in his cup in one go. "If everyone knew, would it still be a military secret? If you all knew you were going off to die, could you still have acted convincingly?"
Tyrion looked at this so-called father with disgust and said nothing.
Just because he was born a dwarf, this Warden of the West had never gone a single day without wanting him dead.
Just because of that pitiful sense of honor, Lord Tywin clearly wished for his death a thousand, ten thousand times over, yet still insisted on maintaining a façade of propriety—constant humiliation, discrimination everywhere, all for the sake of pushing him toward death.
But I refuse to let him have his way!
He wants me to disappear from his sight forever? Then I'll live openly and proudly, forever reminding this damned father: you still have a dwarf for a son!
Tywin, paying no attention to the little demon's expression, removed his armor under the servants' care.
"Given Robb Stark's age, his use of troops was unexpectedly cautious. It was already impressive that he didn't take the bait. But I was still one step ahead—victory is victory. In the end, he's still a green boy with more courage than wisdom."
Tyrion wanted to say something to mock him, but Tywin had just won a battle. No matter how much he sneered, it would be useless—Tywin simply didn't care.
At that moment, they heard an urgent shout: "Lord Tywin!"
Ser Addam Marbrand, one of Tywin's men, rode in at full speed. The moment he dismounted, the horse collapsed, foam at its mouth, blood spilling from its lips.
Duke Tywin stood to receive him. Ser Addam knelt on one knee before him. "Your Grace, we captured some of the enemy leaders, including Count Severn, Ser Wylis Manderly, and Harrion Karstark. We killed Count Hornwood. But most of the others escaped—their will to fight was not strong."
Duke Tywin did not hear the name he wanted. He asked, "What about that Stark brat?"
Ser Addam swallowed. "According to the prisoners, Robb Stark was not with them. He took three hundred heavy cavalry and went to Riverrun."
"What a fine green boy—more courage than wisdom indeed!" Tyrion recalled his father's earlier evaluation and couldn't help bursting into laughter.
Tywin felt a flicker of anger, but quickly regained his composure. "He has only three hundred men. Even if he goes to Riverrun, what can he do? Does he think he can defeat Jaime with just three hundred?"
Ser Addam reminded him, "There are still four thousand men at Twins, the numbers at Seagard are unknown, and the garrison at Riverrun is also unknown. Moreover, since Riverrun is surrounded by rivers on all sides, Lord Jaime will surely disperse his forces into three positions to encircle it. If that boy were to break them one by one…"
Tywin realized he had been played by a mere boy. He finally understood why the Northern army had collapsed at the first touch. Both sides had twenty thousand men, yet the victory had come far too easily—something that had never quite made sense.
So it had all been to cover for that boy Robb.
Unlike the little demon Tyrion, Tywin cared most about his son Jaime—the only one he acknowledged as his heir.
"Pass the order to all armies: march on Twins at all costs! Abandon any supplies and baggage that can be discarded. Advance at the fastest possible speed!"
"Yes!"
Ser Addam had followed Lord Tywin for many years, and this was the first time he had ever seen him so rattled.
...
After being defeated by Tywin's twenty thousand troops, the Northern army withdrew to rest near the Kingsroad.
Greatjon Umber's voice boomed like thunder. "Why didn't we take the initiative to attack?! Just let them slaughter so many of our men for nothing?"
The one he was questioning was naturally the current commander of this force—Roose Bolton.
"We have twenty thousand men. They have about the same. What's wrong with fighting them head-on?"
Roose Bolton ignored Greatjon's nonsense. "We are no match for Tywin. They have over six thousand cavalry; we have just over two thousand. Their archers are also better equipped than ours."
"Bullshit! One man from the North can fight ten of theirs!"
Roose Bolton couldn't be bothered to argue with this brute. "I am the commander appointed by Lord Robb. If you have any complaints, wait until this campaign is over and go whine to Lord Robb then. For now, you will obey my orders!"
Rickard Karstark was also anxious. His eldest son had been captured by Tywin, and he couldn't calmly think things through. "We can't just do nothing! Our people have been taken prisoner!"
Roose Bolton comforted him. "They have prisoners taken by us as well. Among nobles, they won't kill each other outright. We'll wait for a prisoner exchange—your son will appear before you safe and sound."
Although the Northern army was defeated, it preserved its core strength. Out of twenty thousand men, just over two thousand were lost.
But they had only beaten the wildlings and mercenaries that the little demon had tricked into fighting. Tywin's main force had barely suffered any damage.
After thinking for a moment, Roose Bolton said, "Since they've captured prisoners, they must already know that the Young Wolf has gone to Riverrun to give support. They will certainly try to reinforce Riverrun. We'll adopt guerrilla tactics—harass them and prevent them from joining forces with the Kingslayer!"
After pacifying the battered troops and formulating a new battle plan, Roose Bolton led the remaining Northern soldiers onward.
...
The news of Robb's victory over Jaime had yet to reach the battlefield across the river. King's Landing, meanwhile, knew nothing at all about the front-line situation. Everyone believed the war was about to end—that Jaime would sweep across the Riverlands, and the North would be next.
Early that morning, the people-loving Emperor Joffrey wore an excited expression. He was preparing to do the first great deed of his reign.
He was going to put the former Hand of the King on trial.
...
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Here are a few fan-fic titles that I've recently uploaded on my Patreon:
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(End Chapter)