The news that a Lannister lord was hiring guards spread quickly through the sellsword camps. Though Tyrion was a dwarf, his name still carried the weight of gold, and mercenaries flocked to offer their swords. Tyrion had them fight each other in pairs, promising to hire only the twenty most skilled.
During the brawls, one man stood out: a lean, black-haired sellsword with agile movements and a deadly proficiency with his longsword. He defeated several opponents in a row without breaking a sweat. Tyrion had him brought over.
"You're a skilled fighter," Tyrion noted, looking up at the man's shrewd face. "What's your name?"
The sellsword, breathing lightly, looked down at the dwarf. "Bronn, my lord."
"Well, Bronn," Tyrion said directly. "You're the best I've seen. I'm hiring you as the captain of my personal guard."
Bronn wasn't surprised. He knew his own worth. He simply nodded. "And the pay, my lord?"
Tyrion chuckled, appreciating the man's directness. "One gold dragon a month to start. Do your job well, keep me alive, and I might make it ten. What do you say?"
Bronn's eyes widened slightly. He immediately bent a knee and offered the hilt of his sword in both hands. "I'm your man, my lord."
Tyrion gave him too much to refuse. Compared to the uncertain life of a sellsword, a steady post with a highborn lord was a prize. Tyrion smiled, confident as ever in the power of his coin. After selecting the remaining nineteen guards, he led them back to his tent.
Later that evening, Tyrion found himself in need of female company. He summoned his new captain and tossed him a heavy purse of silver. Bronn weighed it in his hand, a knowing smirk on his face, and disappeared into the sprawling camp. He returned a short time later with a girl. She was beautiful, with fair skin and a delicate face that seemed out of place in the grim reality of a war camp.
"Well done, Bronn," Tyrion said with genuine admiration. "The rest of the coin is yours."
Bronn pocketed the purse, smiled, and left the tent without another word.
Tyrion giggled and sidled up to the girl, who looked at him with wide, seemingly timid eyes. "You're lovely," he said. "What's your name?"
"Shae, Lord Tyrion," she replied softly.
"A beautiful name," Tyrion murmured, already completely captivated.
The next morning, Bronn shook him awake. "My lord, it's time to leave for King's Landing. Your family's soldiers are waiting."
Tyrion's head was foggy from wine. Beside him, Shae stirred, looking at him like a frightened lamb. He thought back on the wonderful night they had shared and found he was reluctant to leave her behind. On impulse, he decided he wouldn't. He found some men's clothes for her to wear, and she boarded his carriage disguised as an attendant.
Under the escort of three hundred Lannister soldiers, Tyrion's carriage began the long journey toward the capital.
Outside the walls of Riverrun, Edmure Tully watched the Lannister siege camp and sighed in frustration. After his defeat at the hands of the Kingslayer, he and his remaining forces had retreated behind the castle walls, where they had been trapped ever since. His father, Lord Hoster Tully, lay dying in his bed, leaving Edmure to command the defense of his home and the Riverlands. He was an inexperienced commander, and he knew it. His only hope was the northern army. Thankfully, a raven had arrived from his nephew, Robb, promising that help was on its way.
Jaime Lannister, for his part, was supremely confident. He had swept through the Riverlands, shattered Edmure's army, and now had the lord of Riverrun trapped in his own castle. His daily taunts and demands for surrender went unanswered, and his initial attempts to storm the walls had been costly failures. So, he had settled in for a siege, content to wait. If the northern wolf pups dared to come, he and his army would be ready to put them down.
Two days later, they came. Robb's northern cavalry, reinforced by three thousand Frey infantrymen, were spotted thirty miles from Riverrun. Jaime was overjoyed. He immediately ordered his army to prepare for battle, eager to personally defeat the son of the traitor Eddard Stark.
Robb and his commanders had hoped to launch a surprise attack on Jaime's camp, but their scouts reported it was heavily fortified. For the moment, there was no good opening. The northern army made camp on a high slope overlooking Riverrun, planning to rest their men and horses for a night before launching their attack.
That evening, the northern lords gathered in Robb's tent to plan the next day's battle. The strategy was straightforward: Robb would lead the main body of the army in a direct charge to engage Jaime's center. Jason's cavalry was assigned to the left flank, while the Greatjon Umber would command the right. Once Robb had the Kingslayer's attention, the two cavalry wings would slam into the enemy's flanks.
No one objected. Jason, knowing little of ancient battle tactics, readily agreed to follow Robb's command.
At dawn, after a hasty breakfast, the northern army advanced toward the Lannister host. Jaime Lannister was ready for them. His army was arrayed in a classic formation: a solid center of armored spearmen, with cavalry on both wings. To prevent the garrison of Riverrun from sallying out during the battle, he had constructed a fortified wall facing the castle, manned by over a thousand soldiers.
The two armies faced each other across a mile of open ground. Jason watched from the rear of his own cavalry, taking in the spectacular sight of tens of thousands of soldiers preparing for war.
Jaime Lannister, a magnificent figure in his golden armor, rode forward with his personal guard. He reined in his horse and shouted across the field, his voice ringing with arrogance. "Robb Stark! Dismount and surrender, and I may yet spare your men! Defy me, and I will crush your army, capture you, and send you to the King to be beheaded for treason, just like your father!"
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