King's Landing.
The Tower of the Hand.
Inside his study, Tywin stood before his desk, looking down at the massive map spread across it.
One finger rested on Harrenhal, yet his gaze remained fixed on the Vale.
Only moments ago, a raven had arrived carrying a confidential letter from his son, Tyrion. It now lay unfolded across the desk.
[Robb Stark is dead. According to surviving Bolton soldiers, Bolton and Frey's conspiracy was foiled by Galon Glover, and Riverrun has fallen into Galon's hands.
At present, however, Edmure Tully commands the army gathered at the Crossing.
I suspect Galon has secretly traveled to the Vale to seek House Arryn's support.
Father, we must act immediately. We cannot allow their armies to unite!]
'Petyr...'
'No. I can't place all my hopes on Littlefinger.'
Wisdom and resolve flashed across Tywin's eyes.
'I'll crush the rabble at the Crossing while Galon is away and seize complete control of the Riverlands.'
'When that happens, even if Galon returns with the knights of the Vale, he'll be fighting alone.'
In that instant, Tywin made his decision.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A servant knocked on the study door.
"My lord Hand, Lady Olenna has arrived."
"Show her in."
The servant opened the door and stepped aside.
After the elegantly dressed Lady Olenna entered, he quietly closed the door behind her, leaving the room private for their discussion.
Tywin raised his head to meet her eyes.
Lady Olenna greeted him with a nod. Her gaze casually swept over the map and the letter lying on the desk before the smile on her lips deepened.
"King's Landing truly is unbearably warm.
The Citadel has already announced that winter has arrived, yet I don't feel the slightest chill.
Tell me, Lord Tywin.
Have the maesters buried their heads so deeply in books that they've forgotten how the seasons work?"
"Winter always begins in the north," Tywin answered calmly. "It will be some time before King's Landing grows cold."
"Though I imagine you won't be here long enough to experience it."
A glimmer flashed through Olenna's eyes.
Before she could respond, Tywin walked to a side table, poured two cups of wine, and returned.
"Lady Olenna."
He handed her one goblet and politely pulled out a chair.
She accepted it without haste, sat down, and took a measured sip.
"Excellent."
She smiled.
"Though I still prefer the wine of Highgarden."
Tywin seated himself across from her.
"Fine wine depends on abundant sunshine. That's why Lys produces richer vintages than most places.
I believe Highgarden is no exception. But what becomes of Highgarden if it loses its sun?"
"The sun?"
Olenna chuckled softly, fully understanding that Tywin was implying King's Landing was Highgarden's source of light.
"You are correct. Grapes do need sunshine.
But does yesterday's sun still shine upon tomorrow's vineyard? I rather think... it does not."
She gently placed her goblet on the table, her words carrying more than one meaning.
A trace of helplessness crossed Tywin's eyes.
The old woman was even harder to negotiate with than he'd anticipated.
"The sun remains the sun."
He stood, retrieved Tyrion's letter, and continued.
"Even a hundred years from now, it will still be the sun. It merely requires..."
Before he could finish, Olenna interrupted with a sly laugh.
"Just a little assistance."
She smiled knowingly.
"Isn't that right, my lord Hand?"
Tywin looked at her for a long moment before handing over the letter.
"Precisely."
"I need your army."
Olenna accepted the letter and read every line carefully.
"Poor Bolton and Frey. They schemed their entire lives, only to fail at the very end.
The Starks truly found themselves an exceptional future son-in-law.
I originally believed Bolton and Galon had worked together to wipe out Ser Kevan's army.
It seems the young man accomplished it all himself."
She mocked Bolton and Frey before offering genuine praise.
"A remarkable young hero. If I remember correctly... he now bears the title King's Protector."
Tywin's expression darkened.
Clearly, Olenna had been keeping a close watch on Galon's movements as well.
"Hmph."
"He's nothing more than a rebellious bannerman. Eventually, the winter of the North will consume him."
"Perhaps."
Olenna smiled faintly.
"After all, Galon comes from Deepwood Motte, a minor house deep in the forests.
How could such a family ever be worthy of House Stark?"
She lifted her eyes, fixing Tywin with an unusually sharp gaze.
"When the war is over... I believe the Stark girl deserves a far more suitable husband.
For example, my grandson, Willas Tyrell."
From the moment she received news of the Riverlands campaign, Olenna had known the Iron Throne would eventually need House Tyrell.
The battered Westerlands required Reach armies.
She had no intention of wasting such a perfect opportunity.
A queen's crown alone no longer satisfied House Tyrell. Now they sought the North itself.
Anger flickered across Tywin's face before vanishing.
He knew perfectly well he was being blackmailed. But this was not the time to argue.
"Ser Willas is intelligent, refined, and well educated. He would indeed make an excellent match for a Stark.
Once the war is won, I shall present the proposal to King Joffrey."
He paused before changing the subject.
"By the way, Lady Olenna... Lady Margaery's illness should be gone by now?"
Though he appeared to accept Olenna's demand, Tywin had already begun considering how to counter it later.
Satisfied, Olenna smiled.
"Naturally."
"When you return victorious, my lord Hand, I believe it will be time for the wedding. What do you think?"
Tywin rose immediately.
"Agreed."
The two shared smiles, each hiding very different intentions.
"Lady Olenna, is the Redwyne Fleet still at Dragonstone?"
"It is. Lord Redwyne has captured Dragonstone and is currently reorganizing his forces there."
"Then I need Lord Redwyne to sail for Saltpans immediately.
I want his fleet coordinating with the army to destroy the northern coalition in a single decisive blow."
"I'll send word to him at once."
The discussion continued a little longer.
Soon afterward, Tywin personally marched out at the head of more than fifty thousand men from the Westerlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, and several mercenary companies, advancing toward Harrenhal.
.....
The Redwyne Strait.
Longships bearing the banners of countless Ironborn captains blanketed the sea.
Behind them, Arbor Island burned in a sea of flames.
Standing at the prow of the Black Wind, Asha stared toward the nearby Reach, lost in thought.
Ever since the raven from her uncle Harlaw had reached Pyke, the impatient Asha had immediately sailed with more than ten thousand Ironborn.
Following Galon's orders, she rode the winds and currents at full speed to strike the Arbor.
Unfortunately, most of House Redwyne's fleet had already departed.
They were aiding the Iron Throne in its campaign against Dragonstone.
Asha had arrived too late.
Her men burned what ships remained before returning to sea to decide their next move.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Turning around, she saw Tris Botley of Lordsport.
"Queen Asha. The captains are asking what we do next."
"Do we attack Oldtown?"
Blood still stained Tris's face, and his expression was eager.
He could hardly wait to put House Hightower to the sword.
Asha shook her head.
"No."
"We're sailing to Dragonstone."
Her answer stunned him.
"Dragonstone? My queen, we'd have to pass through the Narrow Sea.
If we're spotted, our entire fleet could be destroyed.
Galon's orders were only to attack the Arbor and tie down the Reach's forces. There's no reason to take such a risk."
But Asha had her own reasons.
"My uncle's letter described everything Galon has done... and everything he's planning.
The war is unfolding exactly as he predicted back in the Sea Tower.
If I don't give everything I have now, then when Galon wins, the Iron Islands will receive nothing but scraps."
She knew her position as Sea Queen depended entirely upon Galon.
If he fell, countless captains would challenge her rule.
For her own sake and for the Iron Islands, she had no choice but to bet on Galon's victory.
She looked at Tris coldly.
"What are you afraid of?
I know exactly what Galon ordered. But this is an opportunity that may never come again.
The royal fleet was crippled at the Battle of the Blackwater. The only real enemy left is the Redwyne Fleet."
She turned toward the gathering captains and raised her voice.
"Captains!"
"If we destroy the Redwyne Fleet, these seas will belong to the Iron Islands!"
"Lannister or Tyrell, they'll all pay us the iron price!"
"For Galon the White Staff!"
The captains erupted in deafening cheers.
"For the Drowned God!"
"For Galon the White Staff!"
"Kill the Redwynes!"
At Asha's command, hundreds of longships wheeled together.
Like gigantic sea monsters stretching out their tentacles, they turned toward Dragonstone.
.....
Crackclaw Point.
On the sea route leading toward Braavos.
Stannis fled aboard his final surviving warship.
Fewer than a hundred people remained.
The shadow of defeat weighed heavily upon them all.
Standing at the bow, Stannis stared silently across the glittering sea, his heart consumed by despair.
Not long ago, after his defeat at Saltpans, he had intended to regroup at Dragonstone.
Instead, even worse news had reached him.
Dragonstone had already fallen to House Redwyne.
Worse still, as his fleet approached the island, they had been discovered.
A desperate pursuit across the sea followed.
After several days, Stannis finally escaped near Crackclaw Point.
The price had been terrible.
To break pursuit, Melisandre had unleashed fire magic against the Redwyne fleet.
One blazing ship had drifted directly into the vessel carrying Stannis's wife and daughter.
They sank together into the sea.
Stannis had lost everything.
At Davos's urging, he now fled toward Braavos, hoping to hire sellswords and someday rebuild his strength.
Yet both men knew how little hope remained.
'How... did it come to this?'
Stannis gripped the railing so tightly that splinters pierced his palms.
'I am the king. The true king of House Baratheon.'
'I am Robert's lawful heir.'
'So why? Why has everyone betrayed me?'
'Robert! Renly! The Tyrells! The Tullys! And that cursed Stark!'
Having lost his lands, his army, and his family, Stannis finally broke.
Like so many defeated men before him, he could do nothing but rage against the world.
Behind him, the Onion Knight Davos watched in silence.
Unless the gods themselves intervened, Stannis would likely spend the rest of his life wandering Essos, never setting foot in Westeros again.
Melisandre disagreed.
As a devoted priestess of the Lord of Light, she trusted the visions she had seen in the flames.
She remained convinced Stannis was Azor Ahai reborn.
Walking calmly to his side, she spoke gently.
"Your Grace... There is still hope.
These defeats are merely the Lord of Light testing your resolve.
So long as you endure without surrendering, His divine power will not abandon you."
Stannis's bloodshot eyes burned with anger.
"Hope? What hope is left?
I followed your advice, I killed Robb Stark. And what happened?"
He turned toward her, raising his bloodied hand.
"That treacherous Bolton had soldiers waiting in ambush.
They killed Rickon Stark.
My remaining army was slaughtered. Then your magic caused the deaths of my wife and daughter.
I have nothing left.
And you still tell me there's hope?"
Melisandre smiled serenely.
"There is...
Rickon's death was Bolton's doing.
Now Galon commands the northern and riverland armies. If he kneels before you, every problem will solve itself."
Davos could hold back no longer.
"Kneel?
Galon calls himself the King's Protector. He was House Stark's most loyal bannerman.
He wants us dead. Why would he ever submit?"
He stepped toward Stannis.
"Your Grace... This red priestess has led you deeper into ruin with every step.
Ever since she came to Dragonstone, every plan she proposed has ended in failure. You must stop trusting her."
Melisandre merely glanced at him.
"If you follow Ser Davos to Braavos, Your Grace, that truly will end all hope.
But if you trust me...
I will show you genuine hope.
I have already received the Lord of Light's command through the flames."
"What command?" Davos demanded. "Can your god truly make Galon kneel before His Grace?"
"Certainly."
Her answer rekindled the light in Stannis's eyes.
"What would you have me do?"
"Return to the Riverlands. There, you shall witness the Lord of Light's true power... And Galon's loyalty."
Stannis hesitated.
He looked across the stormy sea, then back at the handful of followers who remained.
For the first time in his life, he felt like a fallen hero standing at the end of the road.
"I would rather gamble once more... than drift endlessly across the sea or live as a beggar in a foreign land."
Having made up his mind, he looked toward Davos.
"Change course."
"We're sailing for Saltpans."
...
Castle Black.
An endless tide of wildlings poured through the tunnel beneath the Wall.
Their battle cries filled the air, driving Lord Commander Jeor Mormont to despair.
Ever since his failed meeting with Mance Rayder, he had repeatedly sent pleas for aid to King's Landing and Winterfell.
No reinforcements had come.
Instead, wildlings slipped through hidden gaps along the Wall and succeeded in opening one of the tunnel gates from within.
The result stood before him now.
After days of siege and desperate fighting, Mance Rayder's army had finally broken the fortress that had guarded the realm for thousands of years.
The Night's Watch had been all but annihilated.
"Samwell! Hurry!"
"You must leave!"
"You... protect Samwell and ride to Winterfell. Tell them... The Wall has fallen!"
Lord Commander Mormont lay dying.
One of his legs had been left forever upon the battlefield.
Trembling uncontrollably, tears streamed down Samwell's face.
"But Lord Commander... What about you?"
"Forget me!"
"Go!"
The surviving black brothers dragged the sobbing Samwell toward the stables.
Moments later, they mounted the few horses still alive and galloped south toward Winterfell with everything they had.
Behind them, Castle Black was reduced to ruins.
One hundred thousand wildlings surged into the North like a flood bursting through a broken dam.
Yet an even greater terror followed behind them.
Far beyond, in the frozen reaches of the Lands of Always Winter, a silent blue storm slowly advanced toward the Wall.
A raven flew over the heads of the White Walkers.
'They've come.'
'They truly have.'
'The song of ice and fire is entering its final movement.'
'Galon... the time left to you is running out...'
Within the great heart tree, Bran rested quietly against Brynden Rivers as he continued learning what it meant to become the Three-Eyed Raven.
Far to the south, Galon led the knights of the Vale onward.
At last, they were about to reach the Riverlands.
__________
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