ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

09

Tywin I

Harrenhal was everything the tales said it was. Dizzyingly tall towers, thick curtains walls that not even giants could break down, rooms that could fit thousands comfortably. It was one man's massive ambitious mind brought to life. Harren the Black was many things, and history would not remember him as any sort of hero, but it could not be said that he did not do things by half measure.

Even in the state of decay that the fortress was in, it was still one of the most, if not the most, fortified castle in all of Westeros. Casterly Rock was unassailable, and Winterfell was said to be impenetrable, but Harrenhal was one of a kind.

As Tywin looked out over the ruins, his men like specks of red down below, Ser Harys Swift explained to the rest of the council what had happened at Riverrun. The Knight of Cornfield looked ragged in his foolish-looking yellow and blue armor. He looked more like a rooster than the one of his sigil.

"It was a catastrophe," the old knight said wearily. "Ser Jaime captured at the Whispering Wood, Lord Brax drowned crossing the Tumblestone. They seemed to be everywhere."

"What happened to Ser Forley Prester?" Ser Kevan, Tywin's younger brother, asked.

"Last I saw, he was retreating west," Ser Harys responded. "If he was caught, of that I have no clue. Once I saw the drawbridge open and the garrison sally out, I knew the battle was lost."

"You ran." Tyrion, Tywin's youngest, commented.

"I brought word to my liege lord." Ser Harys retorted angrily.

Tywin resisted the urge to scoff. He would have heard of Jaime's defeat soon enough. The only safe place for the remainder of Jaime's host was here at Harrenhal or at the Golden Tooth which separated the Riverlands from the Westerlands.

"Your service is appreciated, ser," Kevan said, calming the tension between Tywin's son and the knight. "Go, find a bed and food."

Tywin did not see the man leave, but heard his boots and the closing of the door.

"This does not bode well for us, brother," Kevan said gravely.

Kevan wasn't wrong. The Stark boy had proven to be smarter than Tywin anticipated. Ambushing Jaime while luring Tywin's own army away from Harrenhal had been annoyingly clever and extremely successful for the boy. Most of Jaime's host of fifteen thousand had been wiped out by the northern army, with the likes of Addam Marbrand and other Westerland nobles now in Stark's hands.

Not to mention Jaime.

Now the 'Young Wolf' was in the perfect position to bring the lords of the Riverlands under his banner. It put Tywin in a precarious position. He stood between the Starks and King's Landing, but barely anything stood between the northern army and the gold-rich Westerlands. Tywin had left a strong garrison at the Golden Tooth when he had first entered the Riverlands, but against a host the size of Starks, it wouldn't hold for long.

Thankfully, the Stark boy wouldn't dare attack west, not when his precious father was still imprisoned in King's Landing.

"We should go after them now." Ser Raynald Westerling urged. "They're still gathering their forces. We should attack them before they are at full strength."