The Witch-King of the Vale [GoT x LotR]

The Iron Plain. 299 AC.

The Lannister Command.

"TRAITOR!!!" Such a burst of fury sent the tactical table flying several feet. "What are your orders?"

While everyone else quailed before the Old Lion's rage, one man found the nerve to ask the sensible question. "Sound the full retreat," Tywin ordered, though it cost him dearly. "Tell the officers the general strategy is withdrawal. Have them disengage at once and head east!" "The key now is reaching King's Landing. Renly's forces have been badly weakened on this field. If we can make it back, we neutralize whatever victory the Reach won at the Iron Plain. In effect, we return to where we started. Yes, this defeat will cost me dearly in reputation, but preserving the army matters more right now. The one problem is that I won't be able to bring that foolish boy to heel anytime soon."

"A thousand men are cutting off our retreat!" Slow down, and we're finished. "Whatever the cost, we break through. Forward!"

…

The Tyrell Command.

"The Lannisters got away." Matthis made no effort to hide his displeasure. "What do you have to say, Ser Donnigerl?"

"My fault, my lord," the one armed, one eyed knight replied. "We did what we could, but the enemy proved stronger."

"Fine." Rowan had only himself to blame for setting an impossible task. But that didn't spare his subordinate a brief flash of anger. "This isn't over yet. Gather the men still fit to fight and send them in pursuit."

"At once."

Despite the Tyrells' factual victory over the Lannister-Arryn coalition, their army had suffered heavy losses and couldn't pursue the retreating lions at full strength. Once Lord Matthis Rowan confirmed that the Vale forces had indeed pulled back a considerable distance, he decided to split his army in two. One part, the least battered, would give chase to Tywin, while the other stayed behind to recover. Speed was the deciding factor. A significant portion of the army was wounded, and bringing them along would only slow them down. So seven thousand men set off after the Lannisters. A couple of hours after the battle's end, the first companies of roses caught up to the Lannister rearguard. Tywin understood that if he lingered too long, they would pin him down in battle and finish him off for good. So despite the harassment on the army's rear, he pressed on without pause. The march from the Iron Plain to King's Landing took six days at a moderate pace, but constant pursuit and skirmishes would stretch that time considerably. Though it cost him dearly, Tywin was forced to sacrifice his rearguard to hold off the pursuing forces. That desperate tactic bought them a day and a half. At dawn of the second day a couple of bold Tyrell companies managed to slip through and threaten the vulnerable center of the lion army. This forced Tywin into a response; he spread his vanguard and center to either side and, using his rearguard as bait, lured in and completely wiped out the overconfident knights. The maneuver didn't take long and cooled the pursuers' ardor considerably. Exchanges like this repeated several times between the two armies. On the evening of the third day the Lannisters attempted a night raid. With only a small force, the raiders reaped a rich harvest and sowed panic through the ranks of the Reach's knights, driving the Tyrells back a considerable distance. Meanwhile, the main Lannister force took no part in the night's slaughter and instead, under cover of darkness, pushed to widen the gap between the two armies. On the fourth day, just as the army reached the Gold Road, the unexpected happened. In a place that should have held nothing but empty wasteland and a couple of inns, the exhausted Lannister army found itself facing a three thousand strong army under Hightower banners.

...

For a long time Garth Hightower had languished in disfavor at King Renly's court. Early in the war, the army under his command had been crushed by the Old Lion. However sound his arguments, they found no real sympathy among the king's inner circle, and he had been, figuratively speaking, pushed to the back of the line. He kept his command over the army only because he was a Hightower, and because a substantial portion of the remaining forces belonged to his house. Such a state of affairs was unacceptable to him, but unfortunately there was nothing Garth could do about it. The remaining forces weren't fit for an assault on King's Landing, so instead he was kept in reserve against the army in King's Landing, ready to respond quickly to any unforeseen trouble. Yet the desire for vengeance had never faded from the celebrated knight's heart, and when his chance came, he did not let it slip. With Viserys Targaryen's return on the horizon, it had been decided to return King's Landing to its rightful ruler, King Renly. Lord Rowan had proposed a solid plan, one Garth accepted without objection, for he held Lord Matthis in high regard. As circumstances shifted unexpectedly, the plan changed as well. Instead of marching on the capital, Hightower's army turned to intercept the retreating Old Lion. The gods reward the patient, and now Garth would finally have what he'd long dreamed of: his revenge.

"Lord Rowan was right, these fools can barely stand," he said, feeling rather at peace, though one would never guess a bloody battle was about to unfold. "So we didn't drive the men here for nothing, racing like the Stranger himself was on our heels," his second in command, from a junior branch of the house, muttered. "Forward!" After all their setbacks, the Lannister army numbered little more than four thousand men. Under ordinary circumstances Hightower's army would have lost badly, but now the knights of Oldtown were steadily pushing back a numerically superior force. Exhaustion was to blame for it all. The battle at the Iron Plain, the four day forced march, the constant skirmishes with their pursuers, and finally the night march. The Lannister army had long since reached its limit. They had no hope of overcoming a relatively fresh force, even one commanded by the Old Lion himself. The first half hour made it clear the Lannisters had no hope of victory. They fell like pigs at the slaughterhouse, their numbers dwindling with every passing moment. It was only a matter of time before the lions fell entirely. The Old Lion attempted to flee, but Garth had no intention of losing his long awaited prize and had planned ahead for exactly this problem. The hundred cavalrymen of the Rock were a company handpicked by Tywin himself after a brutal selection process. Their opponents, the knights of Oldtown, were not the most elite soldiers the ancient house had at its disposal, but they had earned their renown honestly. Two hundred of Garth's riders clashed against Tywin's hundred. And in that fight, the Oldtown guard proved the stronger. The Old Lion of Casterly Rock found himself alone, surrounded by enemies. Tywin had no intention of surrendering; capture meant defeat and death for his house's name. The Old Lion had given his whole life to his family's fortunes, and now he meant to give his death to it as well. As long as Kevan lived, the Lannisters would not vanish from the pages of history, of that he was certain. For the first time in thirty years, Tywin drew his sword. The dawn of his strength may have long since passed, but the knowledge won across countless wars remained with him still. Before he was finally disarmed, two knights were sent to meet the Stranger. When the fallen lion was dragged before Garth, the triumphant look on Hightower's face changed sharply to shock.

During the War of the Ninepenny Kings, falling captive to Maelys the Monstrous and his band was considered a fate far worse than death, and so highborn men had always carried a vial of fast acting poison on their person. The war had long since ended, but the habit remained. Understanding his situation, Tywin swallowed the small vial without hesitation, and within seven seconds died without pain. The Lion of Casterly Rock, the man who had raised his house to unprecedented heights, Lord Tywin Lannister, was dead.

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