The Riverlands. 299 AC.
Axel Arryn.
"Ow, careful!" I complained at such disregard for my body. "I still have a council to hold."
"With wounds like these, I strongly advise against exerting yourself for at least two more weeks," the maester said as he stitched up the tears in my flesh. "I'm astonished you're even conscious, let alone not at death's door."
After the battle I made for a rather pitiful sight. Magic let me push past the limits of what a man's body could do, but it couldn't erase the one flaw that remained: I was still made of flesh and blood. A killing blade parted my meat just as easily as anyone else's. Skill I had no shortage of, but throughout the battle I'd stayed at the very tip of the spear, in the most dangerous ground there was. Six puncture wounds and four cuts, that's what I'd taken over the course of the battle. Of those, only two of the punctures posed any real danger to me; the rest were little more than unpleasant scratches. On top of that, when the fighting ended I still had four arrows lodged in me: two in the right shoulder, one in the chest, and the last in my back. An ordinary man with wounds like that would bleed out and die quickly. I not only survived, I was recovering at a remarkable pace, though I had spent the first six days chained to my bed all the same.
"My thanks, you may go." I could have used my wounds as an excuse to keep resting, but I needed to sort out a few matters quickly, before my men started inventing problems of their own. They'd already spent an unforgivably long stretch of time alone with nothing but their own thoughts.
"Send word that all commanders, or their deputies, are to gather in the main tent within the half hour." Nearly six days had passed, and there was plenty piled up in camp by now; I'd give them time to finish their most pressing business first, and take a walk myself besides. I'd been outplayed. Unpleasant, but true. Between the string of setbacks and Renly's general passivity, I'd let myself forget that he did, in fact, have talented men serving under him. I'd known about Lord Rowan, but I had counted on him joining forces with the Hightowers to march on the capital. Seizing King's Landing strategically outweighed any advantage to be gained from confronting us. And as the situation stood, Garth Hightower was marching toward the capital, Rowan was moving to link up with him, and we were busy crushing Tyrell. That had been another reason behind splitting the army and putting our weakness on display. I knew of Rowan, though not personally, but his reputation and record were solid, not the kind of inflated fame some men carry. Matthis Rowan had genuinely earned every ode of praise heaped upon him, which was why I'd used the "profit method," putting myself in a man's shoes, dialing down my own cleverness, and working out the most advantageous outcomes from my enemy's point of view. The method rarely failed me, especially for understanding clever men, and Rowan was certainly one of those. As it turned out, though, I hadn't accounted for Olenna Tyrell. The old woman loved her grandson far too much, and had managed to push a celebrated commander into riding to a crippled rose's rescue. The Tyrells had been a thorn in my side for a long time now, and this near defeat stung my pride rather badly. Well, no use dwelling on it now, I needed to fix the situation. Walking into the tent, I noted with a pang of sorrow the two empty seats: Tybor, killed at the hands of some knight of Rowan's, and Arthur, who, despite all my efforts, had recently died of his wounds. It wasn't the first time I'd lost brothers in arms, and it wouldn't be the last, but it still left a bitter taste all the same. Still, every cloud has its silver lining, and Elena had told me about that particular lining, which eased the sour taste of near defeat somewhat. All that remained was to set the right tone for everyone else.
"What are our losses?" I asked Stanford, who handled the rear of our army during our retreat. "As it stands, we have around three thousand confirmed dead, and another two thousand with injuries of varying severity. Of those, six hundred died the first night or are no longer fit for duty. The rest will need anywhere from a few days to several months to recover." No exact figures, but brief, clear, to the point, just how I like it.
"I see." It could have been worse. "Double the range of our scouting and the frequency of watch rotations, I won't have us caught with our breeches down. Send a letter to Harrenhal, have them prepare to take in the wounded. Ser Jasper, Ser Harlan, and Ser Laymon, draft up a rough plan for our advance through the Riverlands. We'll have sixteen thousand swords at our disposal and set out within the week, before reaching the castle. Questions?"
"Should we make use of the men we have now, or rotate in forces that weren't part of the fighting?"
"Rotate, but only half of them." A good question. "We'll leave the wounded behind at the castle with a garrison of three thousand swords."
"What makes you so confident the Tyrells won't be coming after us... 'my lord'?" I wasn't surprised Luceon Templeton was the first to boil over; the man had a fiery temper, and his men had held the right flank, the bloodiest of the lot. "Last time you were confident Rowan would march on King's Landing, and as we've seen, you miscalculated. The Reach has the numerical advantage now, and the river lords' support besides. It's in their interest to finish us off while we're at our weakest." Templeton tried to keep a civil tone, but he wasn't managing it well at all. "I don't agree with everything, but I'll side with Ser Luceon on this," Marcus Melcolm said, backing up his friend. "We're weakened, that much is fact. Right now the Tyrells outnumber us, and we could well become Mathis Rowan's next target. All of us here know that nearly five thousand swords are still up in the Mountains of the Moon. No doubt they're doing good work culling the mountain clans, but right now they'd serve us better here, in the Riverlands. Wouldn't it be wiser to catch our breath, wait for reinforcements, and then take our revenge?"
"You know the reasons for our haste, and the full weight of responsibility resting on the shoulders of those cleansing our Vale," Jasper countered. "If we pull them out now, all that blood, sweat, and lives spent will have been for nothing. We can't stop halfway, the job needs finishing."
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