Yohn Royce stood there, staring hard at the towering stone walls of Stone Hedge. His eyes darkened with resentment as he gave the fortress one last glare, then turned and walked away, sullen and grim.
His son, of course, was important. But compared to the honor of House Royce… no, the boy had to take a step back. After all, Yohn Royce had more than just one son. Even if the worst happened, his bloodline wouldn't die out completely.
So Andar Royce would have to endure a little longer, trapped inside Stone Hedge. As for whether he would survive and walk out alive… well, that wasn't something the Lord of Runestone could decide anymore.
If luck was on their side, and Tywin Lannister succeeded in the south, then perhaps he could use the capture of a great Northern lord to trade for his son. Aside from that faint hope, there seemed only one other possibility: seeing his boy again when Stone Hedge finally surrendered.
In the end, reason won out.
Even though his fury was burning hot, enough to make his face flush and fists tremble, Yohn Royce didn't give the order to storm the fortress. Not when the defenses were this tight, not when the odds were so poor.
This round between him and Clay? No one came out on top.
But then again, maybe that wasn't entirely true. Because whether Royce attacked or not, there was a benefit waiting on Clay's end either way.
If Yohn Royce really let Garlan Manderly rile him up and ordered a full assault in the heat of the moment, then Clay would finally get the chance to see what kind of infantry the men of the Vale really were.
As long as he could bleed Royce dry right here — drain every last drop of willpower, crush every last bit of pride — and send the old lord limping home with nothing but battered troops and regret, then Yohn Royce would never again pose a threat to him.
Sometimes, when a man lost the fire in his heart, he lost everything else too.
And if — just if — Yohn Royce had finally grown a little wiser and chosen not to take the bait this time, that was fine too. It really didn't matter. The only path left to him now was heading south toward Acorn Hall and Stonehelm.
As for Clay, he couldn't care less which option the old lord chose.
Go or don't. Just get out of his sight!
After all, Royce had camped beneath Stone Hedge with ten thousand men and still failed to take it. Now that his army was worn thin, tired, and bruised from the cold, what on earth could he possibly hope to achieve?
If Royce wanted to freeze his old bones marching south, Clay had no objections. Time was on his side now. As soon as the two thousand cavalry brought by Christen arrived, the tide would begin to turn.
Looking over the map, the choice was clear. South of Stone Mill and Acorn Hall lay the vast, open plains of the Reach — a seemingly endless stretch of land that belonged to the Reachmen. And with the situation being what it was, there was simply no chance the men of the Vale would dare stir up trouble in Reach territory now.
To the west was the place where the Red Fork met the mountains, but that region held no value at all from a military standpoint. The terrain was harsh, the roads practically unusable, and there was nothing to be gained from setting foot there.
And as for the east? Oh, what, was Yohn Royce going to drag himself through the dirt, shame-faced and battered, just to beg milk from Tywin Lannister?
If Yohn Royce really had the nerve to head east, then Clay wouldn't hesitate… not for a second. He would rally his forces and head north at once, swallowing the two thousand men he had sent after Lord Mallister as easily as snapping up crumbs from the floor.
And besides, even if Royce managed to regroup with the southern forces stationed at the two castles, Clay doubted the man could muster more than six thousand troops, especially after the heavy toll of the long siege. And even that estimate was likely too generous.
Once those weary, beaten-down soldiers finally dragged themselves to the gates of Harrenhal, what use would Tywin Lannister have for them?
They'd already lost their courage. Their spirit was broken. And it wasn't like Vale infantry had ever been any good at storming castles to begin with. As long as Robb Stark didn't charge out of his walls, those troops wouldn't make a difference… not even a little. All they'd do was eat Tywin's food and stretch his supply lines even thinner.
That was why Clay had already come to his conclusion. Even if Yohn Royce left Stone Hedge and made his way south to join the rest of his men, he still wasn't going anywhere.
After everything that had happened… if Clay were him, he wouldn't even have the nerve to go back to the Vale.
There was no deeper reason. It was just too humiliating.
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"My lord Clay… we're really just letting them leave like that?"
Harry Rivers stood beside him, speaking with a furrowed brow. "Once those three thousand cavalry ride south, Stone Mill and Acorn Hall are going to be under a lot of pressure."
He had been by Clay's side these past several days, personally witnessing how he commanded in battle.
From start to finish, Clay had been outnumbered and outmatched. Yet not once had he panicked. With calm precision, he arranged his defenses, slowly peeling away Yohn Royce's footholds around Stone Hedge until the old lord had no room left to breathe.
Halley had seen it all with his own eyes.
As one of Stone Hedge's own, born bastard, he couldn't help but admire Clay's grace in commanding armies… how easily he seemed to advance or retreat, never flustered, never reckless. He envied that presence, that confidence. But he also understood something else just as clearly.
Given his own family's status and his own birth, someone like him would always be taking orders. Never giving them.
In this rigid, immovable world, a man's entire future was sealed the moment he was born. Whether he would command or obey wasn't something effort could change. A well-known name… that alone decided almost everything.
Clay stood atop the walls, his eyes quietly following the distant movement in the south where Yohn Royce's forces were retreating. Without even turning fully toward Harry, he cast a brief glance at the boy beside him — handsome, with a sharp gaze, then replied lightly,
"Trust the people of Acorn Hall and Stone Mill. They can hold their castles. And if they can't… then one day I'll lead my men and take revenge for them. Do you understand?"
Harry Rivers said nothing.
Clay had told him long ago that the three eastern castles were not worth sacrificing his own interests for. If it ever came to that, he would let them fall without the slightest hesitation.
Even now, with Clay's army camped right here in Stone Hedge and Harry serving as its appointed warden, there was no real threat to Clay's position.
But still… hearing Clay speak so casually, so effortlessly, as if deciding the fate of two castles was no more than a passing remark, Harry felt a knot tighten deep in his chest.
He'd forgotten something important. Clay Manderly wasn't even from the Riverlands. He had no obligation — none whatsoever — to defend their lands or hold their ground.
And Clay didn't bother to ask what Harry thought, nor did he care.
"Harry Rivers," Clay said, his voice steady and direct, "go now. Use your name to send word to Riverrun. Tell Edmure Tully the siege on Stone Hedge has been lifted. He can feel free to send his men here to take over the defense."
"And tell him this too: Clay Manderly is waiting for him at Stone Hedge. Invite him, Lord of Riverrun, Warden of the Trident, to come and discuss plans for a full-scale counterattack."
When Clay spoke, Harry knew there was only one thing to do: obey.
At this point, every Riverlands noble understood what kind of weight Clay Manderly carried here, even though he was not one of their own.
The first time, their armies were crushed beneath the walls of Golden Tooth. The Kingslayer had driven them back, and Lannister troops had all but surrounded Riverrun. It was Clay who led the charge that shattered Jaime's forces, broke the siege, and pulled Edmure Tully, now the Lord of Riverrun, back from the jaws of death.
Now, after the crushing defeat of the North, with every Riverlord hiding beneath Riverrun's walls too afraid to advance, it was Clay Manderly again who turned the tide. With nothing but a small force and his grasp of war, he pulled the entire battlefield back into balance.
If you were to compare, the Tullys and Vances in the Riverlands commanded far more men than Clay's mere thousand, yet none of them dared defy him.
They wouldn't dare.
In fact, they needed Clay. They clung to him, relied on his command to shield them from the storm. If Clay ever threw down the reins and walked away, who among them could stand against Tywin… or Littlefinger?
That, right there, was the real reason Clay could borrow two thousand cavalry from the Riverlords without resistance. It wasn't about favors. Both sides were getting what they needed.
Though the skies had finally cleared, the chill near Stone Hedge still bit deep into the bones. The white ravens from the Citadel hadn't arrived yet, which meant those old maesters were still willing to say it: winter is coming.
Clay guessed that after this snowfall, the temperature might rise a little, but it would never go back to the mild days they had known before.
This time, when he sent Christen to meet with Ser Maron, he gave him a quiet, private message as well.
He was to send word immediately to the old man at the Twins, and to Clay's own uncle Wylis Manderly who now held White Harbor. They were to begin emergency production or immediate redistribution of no less than thirty thousand sets of winter clothing, all to be gathered at the Twins and kept ready for the southern army to re-equip at a moment's notice.
As for why they needed so many?
It was simple… over in Dorne there was a very real possibility they might be put to use, and rather than relying on those fellows who, with the heat of day making it nearly impossible for them to dress properly, would never be inclined to stockpile proper winter clothing, it was far better to prepare the gear oneself.
Every time moments like these arose, Clay couldn't help but reflect with a touch of awe on the sheer privilege of having the backing of such a powerful family, for if he were just a minor member of some obscure house, he wouldn't even dare entertain the thought of orchestrating something of this magnitude; he simply wouldn't have the financial clout to do it.
"Very well, Lord Clay. Is there anything else you wish me to convey for you?" Harry Rivers positioned himself perfectly to carry out Clay's orders without question.
"There isn't anything else for now. You've done well, Harry Rivers. Although I don't want to interfere in your family's personal affairs, I do know that if both the king and your father are willing, even a bastard may someday be legitimized," Clay said with a wry smile, glancing briefly at the somewhat uneasy expression of the Stone Hedge warden before departing from the battlements.
Now that he had ascended to a position of leadership, he recognized that even the art of promising and persuading required careful study and refinement.
————————————————————
It wasn't long before Edmure Tully received the joyous news of Stone Hedge's siege being lifted.
At that moment, a deep sigh of relief passed through every corner of Riverrun, for ever since Clay had led his two thousand cavalry eastward, there had been an air of trepidation hanging over the entire castle.
It wasn't that Clay Manderly himself was particularly indispensable; rather, it was precisely because this man now served as the very face of the battlefield across both the North and the Riverlands that he dared to continue leading troops straight into confrontation with the men of the Vale.
None of the others possessed that same psychological advantage… after all, they had never achieved the feat of crushing the Lannisters in open battle.
For more than a month, the entirety of Riverrun's citizens had feasted on sumptuous meals, poring over maps with bold, decisive strokes and loudly debating what Clay Manderly's next move might be.
It was during the initial crisis, when Clay had successfully lured away five thousand of Yohn Royce's men, that the Riverlands nobles, led by the Lord of Raventree Hall, urged an immediate eastern offensive to crush the besieging forces at Stone Hedge with overwhelming might.
However, that proposal was ultimately overruled by Edmure Tully, whose reasoning was both cautious and ironically insightful. He feared that if they failed to swiftly subdue the Vale forces, Yohn Royce might pretend to suffer defeat in his pursuit of Clay's cavalry and then double back unexpectedly, leaving their own armies at a dangerous disadvantage.
In truth, Edmure Tully had, for once, applied deliberate thought to the matter — but still failed to arrive at the correct conclusion. It was not until Clay decisively routed those forces himself that Riverrun finally realized they had been engaging in a battle of wits against nothing but empty air.
Yet in the end it didn't much matter; Edmure Tully's reputation as a commander was already rather tarnished, and this misstep only deepened the stain upon it.
Now, with Clay's triumphant report arriving alongside a letter that unmistakably bore his voice — though signed under the name of Harry Rivers, the bastard son of Lord Bracken of Stone Hedge — the entire castle at Riverrun seemed to awaken with renewed vigor.
Even a fool could see that although the battle had not resulted in many casualties, the men of the Vale now found themselves in a position of complete disadvantage. Their posture had become entirely passive, and with just one more determined push, those Vale forces might very well be finished for good.
And who, after such a feat, wouldn't be tempted? After all, the armor and warhorses of the Vale were prized possessions indeed.
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[Chapter End's]
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