Chapter 288 273: Tywin's Schemes

Outside Castamere, at the junction of plains and hills, military tents stretched on, endless to the eye.

Countless banners flapped in the wind.

The most numerous and eye-catching were the roaring lions... Lannister.

The air was thick with the scent of leather, steel, horse manure, sweat, and a nameless, indescribable fear.

Nearly all the might of the Westerlands was gathered here.

Over a hundred thousand troops, clad in armor and bearing sharp weapons, the cold glint of blades flashing under sunlight that occasionally pierced the leaden grey clouds.

But if one looked closely, one could see that the foundation of this army was not entirely composed of elites.

In the ranks, many Soldiers, though wearing uniform armor and holding standard-issue weapons, wore faces filled with panic, confusion, and even numbness.

Not long ago, they might have been hunters in the wild, merchants in the market, innkeepers, or farmers in the fields.

Lord Tywin's mandatory conscription order had been like an iron plow, tilling every inch of land in the Westerlands.

The countryside and villages had been nearly swept clean of able-bodied men; even grey-haired, stooped old men had been driven to join the ranks to serve as laborers transporting grain and supplies.

Fear, like an invisible plague, spread through the seemingly orderly ranks.

They did not know why they were fighting.

They only knew that their lord's commands could not be disobeyed.

They only knew that perhaps their families could pay fewer taxes because they had been conscripted.

Or, perhaps, it was simply to survive.

The central command tent.

The atmosphere was starkly different from the noise and panic outside.

Solemn and cold.

Tywin Lannister sat upright behind a massive oak desk.

He had just set down the letter in his hand.

It had come from The Twins, sent by Walder Frey.

The content of the letter was detailed to the point of cruelty.

How Robb Stark had once held the advantage in The Riverlands, how he had divided his forces, how he had encountered the main force of the Targaryen, and that battle at The Trident.

How the combined Northern and Riverlands forces had crumbled in an instant under the shadow of the dragon.

At the end of the letter, Frey had thoughtfully mentioned the whereabouts of the remnants of the Northern army, and that Lord Roose Bolton, who had "fortunately" preserved a significant portion of his strength.

Tywin placed the letter back on the table.

His movements were steady, without a tremor.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight in the corner of the tent.

His voice was low and cold:

"The arrogant little wolf pup has, in the end, paid the price for his own stupidity."

He had once attempted to form an alliance with Robb.

Although the two houses had a blood feud, in the face of Aegon Targaryen, this true dragon, those old grievances could have been temporarily set aside.

He had even been willing, in their cooperation—at least on the surface—to grant Stark sufficient respect and authority.

However, that young King in the North had been intoxicated by a few lucky victories, his eyes blinded by so-called honor and the fires of vengeance.

He had marched south on his own to fight a decisive battle against Aegon Targaryen.

As a result, he had wasted valuable resistance forces and nearly exhausted the last of the North's main strength.

Tywin's gaze turned to another letter on the table, from The Eyrie.

Deep within those cold eyes, a faint, almost cruel assessment flashed.

Very well.

This foolish little wolf was not entirely useless.

At the very least, with his own blood and the destruction of his followers, he had measured out the true strength of Aegon Targaryen and the terror of that dragon for all of Westeros.

The price was heavy.

But it had made everyone see the reality: relying on any single house, or even a coalition of several, would hardly be enough to contend with that Dragonrider.

Tywin picked up the letter from The Eyrie.

The letter was from the former Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, the "intimate advisor" to Lady Lysa Arryn.

In the letter, Littlefinger, with his customary tone—humble yet seductive—described the current chaos in The Eyrie:

The nominal Lord of The Eyrie, Robert Arryn, was young, and real power lay in the hands of Lysa, who was clearly not a competent ruler.

The lords of The Eyrie were each harboring their own agendas, restless and stirring.

He stated that he was deeply trusted by Lady Lysa and was willing to mediate on her behalf, or even assist in managing The Eyrie.

But he needed a legitimate title to suppress those unruly lords of The Eyrie.

He requested that Tywin, in the name of the Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and King Tommen, formally appoint him as the new Warden of the East.

In return, he and the forces of The Eyrie he could influence would be "willing to heed Lord Tywin's commands."

The corners of Tywin's mouth twitched downward, almost imperceptibly.

Petyr Baelish.

A schemer of low birth who had climbed extremely high.

Full of tricks, slippery as an eel.

But at this moment, what he said in the letter played right into Tywin's hands.

Although this Littlefinger was accustomed to playing games of intrigue and betrayal, at least for now, he knew how to read the situation.

He understood that in the face of Aegon Targaryen, the invader who rode a dragon and had returned with a foreign army, Westeros must unite, at least temporarily.

Without hesitation.

Tywin took a fresh sheet of parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and began to write.

His handwriting was strong and swift.

In the name of King Tommen, he appointed Petyr Baelish as Warden of the East and Regent of The Eyrie, authorizing him to handle all military and political affairs in The Eyrie with full authority.

After finishing, he had no intention of consulting Tommen; the boy was in Casterly Rock, under tight protection.

He would not, and did not need, a child's permission.

He picked up the seal representing the King's authority directly from the desk, pressed it into the ink, and stamped it at the bottom.

The heavy seal fell with a dull thud.

A political deal was struck.

He handed the appointment document to the maester standing by: "Use a raven, and send it to The Eyrie with all speed. To be opened personally by Lady Lysa Arryn and Lord Petyr Baelish."

The chips had been placed.

As for whether that Littlefinger had the ability to truly control The Eyrie, to maneuver among the Arryn family and those arrogant lords, and ultimately commit the forces of The Eyrie to the war against the Targaryen.

That would depend on his own methods.

Tywin did not need an incompetent ally.

If Petyr could not even manage this, this piece would not be a loss if discarded.

His gaze returned to the desk.

Back to Walder Frey's secret letter.

Tywin's gaze fell on the last few lines describing Roose Bolton.

The letter portrayed Bolton as a heroic figure, both wise and brave, who had skillfully maneuvered in desperate straits and successfully preserved the North's living strength.

It described in detail how he had "cleverly" disengaged from the main battlefield and how he had "orderly" retreated to the vicinity of The Twins.

Tywin's gaze fell on the last few lines describing Roose Bolton.

The corners of Tywin's mouth twitched.

That could hardly be called a smile.

It was more like a cold rock cracking open.

With his vision and cunning, how could he not see the truth hidden between the lines?

"Wise and brave," "skillfully maneuvered"? It was clearly desertion in the face of battle to preserve his own strength.

Perhaps even... intentionally selling Robb Stark's main force to Aegon Targaryen.

This was a routed army.

A traitor who had abandoned his liege lord at the most critical moment.

But it was precisely this traitor, this "leader of the routed army," who had now, by a twist of fate, become the nobleman with the most intact strength in the North.

The little wolf of House Stark and his loyal dogs had mostly perished in The Riverlands.

Roose Bolton and his House Bolton forces had instead become the strongest military power in the North at present.

Cold calculations, like a viper, wound through the depths of Tywin's green eyes.

Very well.

Since this flayer had jumped out himself, becoming the largest chip in the endgame of the North, he did not mind giving this insidious ally a push.

Presumably, to consolidate his position and to truly replace the Starks as the Lord of the North, Roose Bolton would be very happy to accept the friendship and support of the Lion of Casterly Rock.

Robb Stark.

Tywin felt no ripples in his heart.

That boy who had acted willfully, disregarded the big picture, and pointlessly exhausted the strength to oppose Aegon Targaryen, had already become a dead piece.

A useless waste.

He had not acted against him before to preserve the big picture, not to start infighting while surrounded by strong enemies.

But now, Robb had played himself to death, his main force lost.

A waste had no value in existing.

Since you are disobedient and do not understand the rules of survival in a pride of lions, then I will replace you with... a more grateful, and more obedient, Warden of the North.

Although the main strength of the North had been buried in The Riverlands, the vast lands of the North had not disintegrated.

The houses there were still numerous, and the population still existed.

As long as the methods were appropriate, one could always squeeze out some more troops.

Uniting all of Westeros to oppose Aegon Targaryen was imminent.

Then, it would start with integrating and controlling the North.

Tywin pulled out another sheet of parchment.

The nib paused in the inkwell, then descended.

This time, the letter was addressed to Roose Bolton.

The wording was equally direct, without unnecessary pleasantries.

The letter stated directly that he knew Bolton held the last intact military force of the North.

It expressed regret over Robb's defeat and destruction.

Now that the great trend was before them, both sides should prioritize the safety of the North and join forces to contend with the Targaryen.

Lannister could confirm the title of Warden of the North for Bolton and help him secure his position.

Finished.

Sealed with wax. He called for a trusted guard.

"Take this letter to The Twins with the utmost speed, secretly. It must be delivered personally into the hands of Lord Roose Bolton."

The guard acknowledged the order and left.

Tywin leaned back in his chair.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the tent, looking toward the gloomy eastern sky, and also toward that land further north.

Two ravens, carrying different messages but both pointing toward deeper whirlpools, successively took flight from the sprawling Lannister encampment.

One flew toward the towering Mountains of the Moon.

One flew toward The Twins on the upper reaches of the Green Fork.