Casterly Rock's grandeur befits the wealth of House Lannister. Carved from a massive rock, the castle's walls and structures make its defenses all the more formidable.
Casterly Rock rises like a gray fist thrust into the sky, towering far above Storm's End.
The rock stands roughly three times as tall as the Wall or the Hightower of Oldtown, stretching nearly two leagues from east to west. Within it are tunnels, dungeons, cellars, barracks, halls, stables, stairways, courtyards, balconies, and gardens.
At dusk, the bustling Casterly Rock of the day falls quiet, leaving only the ceaseless sound of waves crashing against the shore.
The Great Lord Tywin walked alongside his younger brother Kevan through the Golden Corridor, while Ser Kevan kept half a step behind, like his brother's shadow. The Great Lord Tywin wore a red velvet tunic embroidered with golden lions, with a cloak to match.
"Kevan, I've made my decision. We march on the Riverlands at once," Tywin said.
"Yes."
The Great Lord Tywin was tall and lean, broad-shouldered, just past fifty. Since his hair began to thin, he had shaved his head completely, leaving only thick golden side-whiskers. His pale green eyes were flecked with gold.
Ser Kevan, by contrast, was somewhat stout, nearly bald, with a fleshy square jaw. His beard was trimmed short, his shoulders rounded, his waist thick, his skin smooth, his hair and beard golden. Kevan had always served as Tywin's right hand, dutifully supporting his elder brother.
Though brothers, they could not have looked more different. Tywin was stern and unyielding, while Kevan was more mild.
"But we won't deploy the main army. Our hounds will handle it well enough," Tywin said, his mind already made up.
"You must be wondering why Tyrion is safe and sound, yet I still intend to send troops to ravage the Riverlands."
"Tyrion is unharmed and has already returned to King's Landing." A flicker of unease crossed Ser Kevan's gentle expression. He knew what Tywin's "hounds" were like. They would burn homes, slaughter villagers, and violate women.
"Frankly, I don't care whether Tyrion lives or dies. But the arbitrary arrest and abduction of a Lannister is an insult to our house's honor. I will not allow anyone to trample on the honor of House Lannister. And what happened that day was mere chance. Without the wildlings' interference, that foolish Stark woman would have taken Tyrion," Tywin said coldly, his expression unmoved.
"Those suspicious wildlings..."
"Truth or lies don't matter. What matters is that House Tully owes us a debt."
"That may be so, but Sansa is still Joffrey's betrothed," Kevan said. The match had been arranged by King Robert to bind the great houses together: fish, stag, lion, eagle.
"I know what you're thinking, but it's not so simple. I will not tolerate any fool slighting the dignity of House Lannister. Strength is better than being mocked. That is what I learned from our father.
As for that Stark girl, don't be naive, Kevan. There is only one king, but queens can be replaced, especially when they are not yet wed. I want you to harden your heart and take part in this war."
"Very well." After a moment's thought, Kevan accepted his brother's decision. He had long recognized Tywin's exceptional ability, serving him faithfully and taking satisfaction in carrying out his will, even if it meant forever living in his shadow.
"I will have Ser Gregor disguise himself as a bandit. I intend to teach those fools of House Tully a harsh lesson. You need not concern yourself with this. I will give Gregor the order."
Kevan fell into step behind his brother as usual, following his lead.
The Great Lord Tywin strode ahead. "We must prepare. The situation is worsening. This will be a hard-fought war. Since they are eager to stir up trouble, I will show no mercy to that mad woman and her family."
"But our forces?" Kevan asked, concerned.
"It will not be a problem," the Great Lord Tywin said with certainty. "Hoster is at death's door, and his son is a fool. As for the Vale and the North, even if they send troops, they will be slow to act. Our forces, on the other hand, are ready for battle."
"We must win cleanly, Kevan." A trace of unease flickered across Tywin's face before disappearing. "What concerns me more is the future. Across the Narrow Sea, fleets may already be preparing to move. Robert's bastard and the remnants of the Targaryens will compete for the Iron Throne."
"It hasn't come to that yet, so long as things remain stable," Kevan said thoughtfully.
"We must seize the initiative. This opportunity is once in a lifetime."
What mattered even more, Tywin left unsaid. As the crossroads of the realm, anyone who wished to control King's Landing would first have to conquer the Riverlands.
Thanks to the wealth and population of the Westerlands, its armies were both large and well-trained, and Tywin's control over the region surpassed that of any other Great Lord.
"We have that late-coming Frey to thank for this good news," Tywin said with open disdain. In truth, House Frey was connected to him by marriage, his sister having wed the Freys' second son. Even so, Tywin had never thought much of such upstarts.
"That old fox," Kevan said with a faint smile. "Three letters, sent right on time. One to us, one to Riverrun, and one to King's Landing. That way, he offends no one."
"He's lived to eighty or ninety on nothing but that sort of caution," Tywin replied. "Though Tyrion's letter has yet to arrive. That is rather strange."
"Perhaps it's still on the road," Kevan said. Unlike Tywin and Cersei, the rest of the Lannister family treated Tyrion with a measure of kindness.
"More likely, he's simply afraid," Tywin snorted. "Afraid of war."
Outside, the crash of the waves suddenly swelled, like thunder breaking, as if heralding the coming of a new war.
The waves rolled in one after another, like the roar of a lion.
...
Across the Narrow Sea, Myr.
Ships of every kind moved ceaselessly across the waters of Myr Bay, among them warships flying the Four-Quarter flag, the fleet of the Twin Cities.
The Four-Quarter flag snapped and billowed in the wind. Yet the air of war grew heavier with each passing day. Khal Drogo was gathering a great army, advancing toward Myr. This was a war driven by the young.
With the white city of Myr at its heart, the land beyond the walls had already been reshaped for war.
A new line of fortifications had been completed outside the city. Earthen ramparts, trenches, and anti-cavalry barriers were all carefully prepared.
The defensive system envisioned by Gendry was three-dimensional in design. Myr itself formed the core, while the outer ring consisted of two layers of earthen mounds of differing heights. Trenches ran between them, and palisades reinforced the base of the slopes.
Atop the mounds, small catapults had already been set in place, along with various heavy crossbows, giving them a clear height advantage for devastating firepower.
Open-field battle was the Dothraki's greatest strength. To meet them head-on on the open plains would be madness. Instead, these man-made defenses would first bleed away their momentum.
An even harsher measure lay further ahead of the fortifications, facing the rolling sea. Gendry had also ordered a careful study of the terrain there.
Gendry worked alongside the common soldiers, helping shape the palisades. He had shed his cumbersome armor, wearing only a black shirt as he labored beside them.
The palisades were built from fine timber, each length sharpened at one end and bound together with rope. Behind them stood crossbowmen and longspearmen. The new crossbows developed in Myr could fire five bolts in rapid succession, making them terrifying at close range.
The Westerosi-style longbowmen were all foot archers. They were to be positioned beyond the trenches and palisades, using the earthen mounds as cover.
"The Second Sons hold the left flank, the Free Company the right, and the Wolf Pack takes the center," Gendry said, surveying the battlefield below. There were also the tall wheeled war machines, the axe-men of Norvos, and his own heavily armored knights, held in reserve as the force that would decide the battle.