Chapter 144

The Westerlands. Casterly Rock. 299 AC.

Robb Stark.

Paradoxical as it sounded, the enormous influx of plunder had forced a delay in the assault on Casterly Rock. A great portion of the treasure was destined for the North, as King Stannis's most indispensable ally. The money would help restore the prosperity of the northern lords and allow them to prepare more seriously for the coming winter. What remained was the most difficult part: getting the vast wealth safely to the North. Beyond the sheer distances involved, there were roving bands of looters, raids by lion or rose, the temptation of their own soldiers, and the problem of moving the gold out of the Westerlands in the first place.

Tywin Lannister could be many things, but a fool was not among them. He understood a simple truth: soldiers in a castle are a far greater problem than soldiers in an open field. Guided by that thought, the Old Lion had allowed Stafford Lannister to empty the garrisons of the border castles only halfway. There were not many of these holdouts, but they caused the campaign serious trouble. Their remnants struck at any small detachment or supply column while refusing to give battle in the open. This drove up the need for large escorts and sharply limited how much could be moved at once.

The castles themselves were small, and eight hundred men could take any one of them without difficulty, but casualties were inevitable. The original nineteen thousand swords were the last that could be assembled on short notice, no reserves remained, and the king considered it wasteful to spend soldiers' lives in petty skirmishes over worthless keeps. Robb shared that view entirely. You did not scatter your strength on the eve of an assault against an impregnable fortress.

Given all these difficulties, the assault had stretched into a month-long siege accompanied by the systematic ravaging of the lands surrounding the Rock. The results satisfied everyone and made the siege easier to accept. Robb had never seen so much gold in his life, though his father had once shown him Winterfell's treasury. It had even come to the point where the northerners had arranged with Lord Harlaw, who held a reputation as the most reasonable and honest of the ironborn, to use his ships for transporting the wealth to the North. That arrangement would have continued, but a letter arrived from Castle Black.

"'The dead are rising north of the Wall'..." "'All the wildling tribes are driving south, seeking refuge beyond the Wall.' Is this some kind of northern cipher?" The king put the question to his Hand.

"It doesn't look like one," Lord Stark said, with evident uncertainty.

Robb kept his silence. In the letter, Jon had stated plainly that the dead were real and that a horde of a hundred thousand was marching on the Wall because of them. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and several noble knights had added their names beneath every word the bastard of Winterfell had written, yet it was still difficult to believe. Even the men who knew Jon and understood that he would not lie found it hard to credit fairy tales given flesh. That was saying nothing of others, though for the moment they were only three.

"And this bastard is calling on me to accelerate the siege and then send men to guard the Wall?" Stannis said, studying the letter with a thoughtful expression. "If I retreat now I lose everything I have gained and will never be able to repeat what we did in the West. There are no reserves left."

"Your Grace, I understand your concerns, but I know my brother and I know he will not lie."

"I agree with Robb," Ned Stark said with a nod. "Jon carries my blood. He would not stoop to falsehood. Our forces are spread too thin across the West. I would suggest gathering everyone and falling back to the Riverlands."

"The Rock has not yet fallen." The capture of the Lannister stronghold was one of the campaign's central objectives.

"We have taken Lannisport and ravaged the Lannister domain. That alone is an excellent result, and a withdrawal would not diminish any of our victories," Ned said, trying to encourage the king.

"We do not necessarily have to withdraw," Robb said, stepping in. "We can take the Rock with the forces we have."

"The garrison is still at reasonable strength and reasonable numbers. The same cannot be said of ours." On that point Robb agreed with his father, yet he still believed it could be done.

Constant raids by the lannisters, the splitting of forces between guarding the plunder and hunting the bandit columns, the earlier assault on Lannisport, and losses to disease and attrition had all taken their toll. At this moment, only twelve thousand swords were ready to storm the Rock.

"We have our advantage," Robb said. Everyone present understood at once that he meant the secret passage.

To the Starks' astonishment, the visions in the flames had proven true, and they had found the hidden passages into the fortress. The only difficulty was that no one knew where they led, and the passage itself was very low, as was the chamber that opened into the castle. By their reckoning, twenty to twenty-five men could be sent through at a time, but against a garrison of roughly six hundred Lannisters, that would not be enough.

"Suicide, and we lose the advantage entirely," the elder Stark said, dismissing the idea. "Your Grace, the priority now is not to take the castle but to preserve the army. We have victories, reputation, and resources, and we must use those advantages. Regroup, rebuild the army, replenish the reserves."

"And who will give us the time to do any of that?" Robb asked, the question answering itself. "The moment we ease off, they will come at us."

"On the contrary. Time will work in our favor now. The Lannisters are exhausted and cannot recover quickly, especially after our campaign through the West. Those who support Renly have troubles enough of their own. They have been struck from every direction at once, by northerners, westerners, Dornishmen, and ironborn, and they have not won a single major engagement. Renly is a colossus bleeding from a dozen wounds. We need only wait for him to run dry," Ned replied. "And Ser Stafford Lannister commands the garrison of the Rock. He is an experienced commander and will not make foolish mistakes."

Robb gave a quiet snort at his father's assessment but held his tongue. No one knew it, but if Ser Stafford had commanded real soldiers rather than green peasant levies, they would very likely never have made it past Ashmark. But history had no patience for "if," and here the three of them were, trying to find the best path forward for their cause. The Young Wolf had no shortage of disagreements with the king and his father the Hand, yet somehow they had formed a workable team, each able to cover the other's weaknesses with his own strengths. The king fell into deep thought, and twice something like distaste or reluctance crossed his face. After a few minutes Stannis spoke.

"Ser Stafford Lannister will not be a problem. If the Rock is left untaken, the Lannisters will recover. We attack the Rock and we use our advantage." Stannis had developed a professional habit of speaking obliquely after so many years in King's Landing. "We will send our best fighters in. If they succeed, we press the assault to the end. If not, we fall back to the Riverlands and deal with the problem of the dead and the wildlings."

Neither Stark objected. The plan suited them both. Robb would have been content, but the moment they stepped out of the royal tent they came face to face with the red priestess, who was making her way to see the king. Her satisfied smile was not a good sign.

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