Petyr VII

It was heartening to see eager volunteers lining up in the streets of Silverbridge. Words of prosperity and bounty of Gulltown have been heard by the people of Silverbridge. Many of their families have already moved to Gulltown, but recently the Silverbridge Lord has signed a decree restricting the people’s right to move out. The list of crimes seems to grow ever larger. The entitled lord disgusted Petyr. They thought they can lord over the smallfolk without expecting the responsibilities that came with it. Removing their most fundamental right – the right to move wherever they wish as if they were nothing but slaves.

No matter. I’ll find a suitable person to replace the lord. Petyr hummed and grabbed his chin. Maybe, I’ll think of installing a mayorship. Maximum ten years of service. Have the position be democratically elected… No. Democracy is too early. For a healthy and fully functioning democracy to take place the population needs to be well informed and literate. That won’t be the case for many years. For now, I’ll choose the one who gets to be mayor but relaying that back to Gerold will be difficult. He’s been growing too distant lately.

“Ye grabbed yer chin, lad. Lost in thought?”

“Yeah. Just thinking of a suitable replacement to rule over Silverbridge. I was thinking of elevating the mayor to have the same level of power as a lord.”

Rydan looked at Petyr as if he grew another head. “Ye’ll only encourage the nobles to fight ever harder. Seven hells! They may never even surrender if ye’ll rob them of their lands.”

“They shouldn’t have rebelled. The crimes they’ve done have violated many of Aegon the Fifth’s laws on the wellbeing of the smallfolk. This is grounds for the confiscation of their lands and property.”

“Lad… Ye may know about the laws and histories of the land more than me but ev’ryone knows most of his laws got repealed.”

Petyr grinned at him. “That’s where everyone is wrong, including you. His laws weren’t repealed. Not officially and formally. Just… Ignored. Since we’re the King’s loyal citizens, we’ll have to do our duty to uphold the law. No?”

The broad-shouldered man just rolled his eyes at him. “Ye have a funny way of seeing the world, lad.”

Petyr laughed at that. Watching the queue to the recruitment stands quickly got him serious. “So, how many are applying. How many can we take?” As the self-appointed quartermaster, the number of people swelling their ranks occasionally gave him cold sweats. Bloody primitives! The latrines he forced them to build had one purpose! To shit and piss in them! Dozens seem to think it’s okay to relieve themselves in the rivers – near their water source. Goddamn idiots! “I pray to the Seven that these recruits are potty trained.”

“Potty-what?”

“A term for knowing where to shit and piss. I swear to God, if I see anyone doing their business anywhere that’s not the latrines, I’m going to lash them till they die.”

Rydan heaved and held his laughter. “I swear, yer a stickler for hygiene.”

“Well, of course! I don’t want diseases killing a tenth of our ranks.”

“Fair enough.” Rydan grabbed his ledger. “So far 500 recruits. Nearly all of them are hunters and are good with the bow. Which is good cus we need more archers.” He looked at Petyr and shook his head. “Ye forgot about recruiting archers, Petyr.”

“Listen! It was stressful, ok?! I had to oversee the recruitment of thousands of people, plan my marriage with Maribelle and convince Gerold we’re not traitors! Cut me some slack!”

“All I hear are excuses. But we definitely need more archers.”

“The local ledgers I’ve combed through showed food shortages. Not enough to cause a famine but enough to tempt people poaching in the woods. Surely, there must be some of them in the dungeons?”

“Good thinking. The red-bricked building seems to be the cadet Grafton’s manse. They must’ve kept their prisoners there. Hopefully, these poachers know how to shoot a bow.”

“See to it. Where’s Gerold by the way? I haven’t seen him since we captured the town yesterday.”

“He’s playing with the knights. They should be encamped outside of Silverbridge.” The old man tensed and sighed. “He’s avoiding us.” He said grimly.

“We’ll deliver on our promise. He’ll come around soon.” Petyr said with conviction but doubted what he said. He knew he spent all his political capital going behind Gerold’s back and he still hasn’t apologised for it. Saying sorry now is an admittance of fault. Circumstances, beyond me, lead to where I am now. This isn’t my fault and Gerold will have to see my perspective.

“I certainly hope so.”

Petyr watched the man gallop away and he took the time to take in the surroundings. The buildings were two storeys high and built with wood. The roofs were thatched. It was pathetic in a way. A town known for exporting silver should’ve been way wealthier than this. Bryan blamed this on him for imposing a meagre tax of five per cent. But that was just an excuse to cover for their incompetence and utter failure to rule Silverbridge.

So much potential wasted. He entered the town hall and nodded to the people who bowed to him. Hundreds were being outfitted with chainmail and a red tunic. He looked proud as he saw his soldiers. Rydan and Gerold were surprised by how much the foundries and smithies pumped the armour. Chainmail was cheap but labour intensive. Just hammering the things took a long while but due to Braavosi expertise and their gears - ‘clockwork’ engineering, and the implementation of the waterwheels allowed for mass production of chainmail. Not just that, swords, spears and pikes were being made at industrial levels. Okay… Maybe that was an over-exaggeration.

He climbed the flights of stairs to the top and gazed at the rest of the town. He looked over to the town’s harbour, it could’ve been much larger – so much wasted potential. The only thing he saw that impressed him was the bountiful fields of golden wheat. Petyr looked at it and was confused. They were growing so much food then why did the ledger say otherwise.

Something didn’t make sense. He combed through the report again and tried to hold his agitation at the disorganised mess. The input of food was way higher than the output. Meaning the food was being stored and kept. But the granaries were empty.

His heart beat faster as he clenched his stomach. “They were preparing for rebellion all this time… The stockpiling of grain… The secret tunnel out of the Falcon Castle.” He grumbled. Petyr gripped the ledger causing the parchment to crumple. He should’ve seen this coming. If he had known sooner he could’ve squashed the rebellion before it even began. Or repurposed the revolt to better suit him so that Gerold’s trust in him wasn’t destroyed.

Petyr could’ve redirected his spies to the cadet Grafton towns, instead he sent them to nearby ports to gauge prices and the supply and demand. Which was a major success, though the loans he gave the merchants were quickly paid back but the tariffs and the export tax netted him – the Civil Service a massive profit.

He was shaken from his revelry by a dust cloud forming on the horizon. Looks like Gerold is back with his pet knights. He went to the stables and climbed his horse to greet Gerold by the town’s gate. He was followed by his Redcoats all cladded in steel plate.

“Welcome back, Lord Grafton. I hope these gentlemen treated you well.” Petyr dismounted from his horse and gave them his rictus smile as he slightly gritted his teeth. He was not pleased the knights had gotten closer to Gerold.

“Well enough! They taught me how to parry then to go for the kill and they had me work on my footwork!” Gerold practically bounced on his horse not even bothering to dismount for Petyr.

“Mayhap we could work on your sword-playing as well, Littlefinger!” A man with high cheekbones, sea-blue eyes and blonde hair said mockingly.

Everything about the man, made Petyr want to rip his hair out. He was built like a bear but had an androgynous face that made him more handsome. “I’m afraid my duties take priority, Ser Deran. Though, I appreciate the gesture. Perhaps when we finish this sordid misadventure, we can have time for a friendly duel?” No thanks! I hope you die during the battle.

The blonde-haired man went to Petyr and clapped his back and laughed. “You speak like a maester as well. I’m surprised you’re here instead of reading a book. Fighting a war doesn’t suit you.”

Petyr smiled. His brain thought of a witty retort but slapped it away. “War is a terrible thing. It takes the wealth of the land and ruins it. I’m a man of peace. But peace without justice is no longer peace. That’s why, despite my obvious weakness, I’m here to fight for what is right. To fight for Gerold and correct the many faults that he has incurred.”

“Sounds like a copper counter to me!” He laughed then the knights surrounding them joined in.

Deran. Hothier, Gabrin, Julian, Calrin. Petyr mentally filed the names of the knights who laughed at him. But he continued to smile, though the edges of his grin started to quiver. Out of what I said, he focused on that! Come on! I can’t wait till you’ll get buried by my revolution! “The Seven gives each and every one of us unique talents. I was given wisdom by the Crone and the desire for seeking knowledge by the Smith.” He pointed at every knight who joined in mocking him. “It looks like the Warrior has given you the strength and the Father has given you honour.” But deprived you of intelligence, you damn meat heads. “Important traits to protect the innocent and to see justice done whenever there’s injustice.”

The knights puffed their chests and preened like peacocks at that. Deran looked impressed but quickly schooled a neutral expression. “A guile tongue too. I can see why you’ve chosen him as your right hand, Gerry.”

Petyr panicked. He called him ‘Gerry’! Are they close?

“Petyr is a good friend and a capable administrator. He’s the reason why Gulltown keeps flourishing.”

Deran scowled at that. “Then why’s he here? He’ll only slow us down.”

“It’s because I gathered this army. I financed this army. And my betrothal to the Vanterys allows me to feed this army.”

The knight’s smug expression immediately dropped as his face turned ashen white. “Capable indeed.”

“It looks like we’ve started on the wrong foot, Ser Deran. I’m sure you and Gerold go way back. His friends are my friends. We both want what’s best for him and that is to ensure justice is done.” Petyr reached out, palms open, and gave an olive branch only for Deran to break it by crushing his hand. Petyr hid his grimace. Yea… He’ll have to go. I don’t know where, but he’ll have to go.

“It’s good both of you finally agreed on something.” Gerold, unaware of the standoff, said as he slapped both men’s shoulders. “Come! Rydan bid for us to start marching.” The boy lord looked gratefully at Petyr. “It seems your reputation has spread to Silverbridge as well. I heard from Rydan that you’ve managed to inspire more than half a thousand to rally to my cause. All archers too.”

Deran waited for Gerold to turn his back and walked out of sight and then addressed Petyr. “You better not come close to him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the ideas you represent are a danger to society. And the laws you’ve put have makes it harder for nobility to dispense justice! Do you desire chaos and criminality?! You’ve also corrupted Gerry to heresy. Something that will doom him and his family to damnation!”

“Looks like you’ve listened to Isermbard’s lies. And you believe in it.” Petyr excessively waved his arms around then settled to cover his mouth. “It’s almost treason.”

Deran’s face twisted and grabbed Petyr’s collar and lifted him up. “Are you accusing me of something, Littlefinger?” He snarled.

The Redcoats saw the commotion and quickly drew their swords and pointed it at Deran. This prompted the knights to do the same. An awkward silence grew as the two groups stared at each other waiting for each other’s attack. The attack never came as Deran dropped Petyr to the ground.

Petyr sputtered and desperately vacuumed oxygen into his lungs. “Drawing steel at nobility is grounds for death by hanging,” Deran said and then stared at Petyr’s guards.

“Choking Lord Petyr is grounds for court-martial. You’ll all be charged with insubordination. If you come quietly now and sheath your weapons perhaps the Judicial Tribune may give you a lighter sentence.” The guards helped Petyr up and advanced toward the knights

The Redcoat saw their assailants giving him a determined look as they refused to disarm. “Not surrendering… I’ll give you a final warning. Drop your swords, surrender yourselves and you’ll be granted leniency. To refuse now will merit your death.”

“You dare talk to me like that! You lowborn scum!” A knight was about to charge but was stopped dead in his tracks by Deran.

The Redcoats seeing their opportunity, advanced. But Petyr stopped them as he placed his hand on the shoulder of the leading Redcoat. “That’s enough, Derrick. I appreciate the support, but we have to march soon.” He dusted himself as he readjusted his red and golden sash. “I’ll not forget this, Ser Deran. If you continue this, you’ll be buried.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. Just a simple statement of fact. Now if you’ll excuse me. Duties relating to logistics are never-ending.” Petyr picked up his ledger and put his hands to his mouth for the second time. “Oops! It states the wagon’s axle, carrying your rations, has broken down. Expect to miss supper tonight.” Petyr and his Redcoats mounted their horse and galloped away as the knights hurled abuse at them.

The river upstream of Silverbridge was too narrow to fit the carracks, instead, they had to march by land. The march took four days till Timberton was barely in sight.

Rydan’s scouts came to them bearing… Bad news. The news caused Gerold to hold an impromptu War Council.

The War Council had a new member. “Your mistress’ spies were wrong, Petyr. It seems they’ve waited to encamp at Timberton instead of marching towards Gulltown. How we all trusted the words of a woman, whose place is not the matters of war, behoves me.” Deran rolled his eyes. “At least she was right about the numbers. The scouts report the enemy’s levies to be around 2500 whereas the knights numbered around 700. She probably got it right due to the amount of copper-counting she had to do.” The blonde knight laughed.

The Redcoats standing as guards gripped their weapons in frustration. Petyr stared at them and mentally ordered them to stand down. “No plan survives contact with the enemy. But we’re still in a better strategic position. We block the routes to Runestone and Naerys should’ve blockaded Timberton by now.”

“Aye. I seen her. The spyglass you gave me proved far better than the Myrish ones. I thank you for that, Petyr.” Rydan chipped in as he looked at Petyr and sagged in relief. Did he really expect me to rise up to that juvenile insult? The insult was sexist as hell but wasn’t directly aimed at me. Perhaps, indirectly. But that sounds like Maribelle’s problem. Also, the possibility of battle staved Petyr’s temper though he was worried that he may be on his last straw.

“How does this mean we have the upper hand?” Gerold looked confused.

“We’ve cut off two of their supply routes. One through the sea and one through neutral Runestone. The only routes they can rely on are the mountain roads leading out of this peninsula. Which can be raided by the mountain clans. We can encamp here and watch as that army starves. They may even come to us and if we start to build fortifications now, we’ll have an advantage.”

“A coward’s solution. I say we attack. Their army is split by the river Gull.” Deran pointed at the map. “We can attack now and fight it on our side of the river. We can easily rebuff their counterattack by attacking them as they ford the river!”

“I agree with Ser Deran. Let’s attack now.” Rydan grunted his approval.

“But… What if this is a trap?”

“Come now, Gerry! Is Littlefinger’s cowardness seeping into you? I hope not.” Deran guffawed. “Master Porter’s scouts even said they haven’t spotted any signs of the enemy. No foragers, no scouts. Nothing! They’re not expecting us!” He turned to Rydan who only grunted affirmatively.

“Fine. We’ll attack. What’ll be the plan, Oldman?” Gerold ordered.

“The skirmishers will charge through their camps to focus on killing their horses. Fewer horses mean fewer cavalry. Other than that, they’ll ensure as much chaos as possible. Then the Redcoats will –“

Isembard II

The Arryn patriarch sat at his command tent as he held a council. “What does Jon have to say?”

The entire tent remained silent. The maester of Falcon castle, Valymar, shivered as he gave the missive to a young man. The young man opened the scroll and started to read. “To my beloved cousin,

“As you may know, my duties pertaining to the Hand of the King have made me busy. The disappearance of my wife leaves me saddened and I must devote considerable manpower to find her and bring justice to anyone who kidnapped her. By the time you’re reading this, I have departed to Sunspear to negotiate peace with the Dornish. Please pray for my dear Lysa. I hope Doran Martell proves reasonable so I can return in haste to direct efforts to help find her. I am sorry I cannot currently send much in support, but you have my sympathies. I pray that you prevail.

“From Jon Arryn, Warden of the East, Lord Paramount of the Vale, Hand of the King to his grace King Robert.” The silence was deafening. “F-father what do we do?”

Isembard threw his chalice into the air and then slammed his hands down on the table causing numerous plates to jump up. “What do we do?! Robar?! You tell me what to do!? That damn snake is sending his red mob and the second most powerful man in Westeros sends his sympathies!” Isembard screamed and started to incoherently mumble.

Robar steadied himself as he tried to duck from plates thrown by his father. He spoke whilst ignoring his father’s tantrum. “Any news of Silverbridge? The last time they sent a raven was four days ago. Has it fallen?”

“I’m trying to contact my brother, but Bryan hasn’t responded. I’m worried about him. I may have only left a three-hundred-strong garrison for Silverbridge, but they were all hardened knights that were worth twenty of Littlefinger’s peasant levies. The fortifications should’ve at least delayed the fall of Silverbridge by two weeks. Enough time for us to march there and spring the trap!” The Lord looked sternly. “I’ve evacuated my wife and children from the town, but I’m worried about Bryan.”

The Arryn heir moved to comfort him. “Don’t worry Lord Marick, we’ll get there and save him.”

Isembard finally calmed down. “They’re shooting the ravens down. I know Littlefinger. I know how he operates. He thinks knowledge is power and by depriving us of information he thinks he can blindside us. I say nay! Ready up the men. We march to relieve Lord Marick’s besieged garrison!”

Suddenly a commotion outside the camp caught the lords’ attention. Then a messenger ran in. “Milords! We’re under attack from the north!”

Robar, a veteran of the rebellion, stood up and ran. Isembard and the rest of the lords ran after him. Sheer muscle memory caused them to run for the makeshift stables and mounted their armoured horses. Robar kicked his horse to a gallop towards a nearby hill. Isembard eventually caught up.

Robar released his frustration and yelled at his father. “How come we don’t have scouts!”

Isembard slapped his son. “Don’t talk to me like that! The scouts weren’t doing anything, so I sent them and their horses to escort our caravans. We needed the supply for the march! I didn’t expect Littlefinger’s army to go to Silverbridge that fast!”

Robar nursed his reddening face and calmed down. “This attack seems to keep us distracted. Expect the main force to soon arrive. Get the lords on that side of the river to organise their men in a shield wall. I’ll organise the other side to ford the river. This river is nothing like the Trident. I can do this.” He sped off towards half the army.

Isembard ignored the slight and went to the camp. “They’re killing the horses!” He heard someone say.

He saw a group of squires and trotted towards them. “You there! Boys! Lead the horses away from the encampment. Now!” He pointed to the west. The squires quickly obeyed him.

Lightly armoured horsemen came to him and he quickly made short work of them. He struck their neck causing a gush of blood to stain his breastplate. He rallied the men as they scrambled from their tents and hastily ordered them to make a shield wall. The archers crowded towards him as he ordered them to fire against the incoming horsemen.

A few minutes of fighting the skirmishers proved fruitful as dozens of their bodies littered the camp causing them to withdraw. Though he looked worried about the amount of horses he has lost.

A group of blood-stained mountless knights approached him. “I’ve ordered your squires to direct the horses to the west! Find them and form up on the left flank! And charge when you think it’s appropriate! Quickly now!”

The knights nodded and ran as fast as they can.

A distant rumbling echoed across the land as the red army marched in sync. They came closer and closer which only increased the angst and urgency of Isembard’s lords as they frantically organised the men. “My lords! We’ll hold our men like an anvil. Whilst our knights in the west charges through them like the hammer! We may not defeat them now, but we’ll have to delay them till Robar crosses the river! From then on victory will be ours! Hurrah!”

“Hurrah!”

The enemy formed opposite them as both sides hurled insults. Then a trumpet rang out prompting the red wall to advance.

He watched with trepidation as his lines were pushed back. He carefully looked at the composition of the enemy soldiers and was stupefied. Castle-grade steel weapons were equipped by everyone in the red army. He squinted his eyes and noticed they were wearing chainmail underneath their red tunics. How? Did they loot all the armour from Silverbridge?

The right flank, facing the river, started to buckle - forcing him to rally the men there. He dismounted his horse and gave the reins to a random squire. “Take care of her!” He charged through the lines of men, telling them not to give up and offering rewards if they won the battle. This emboldened his men as they pushed back. His men armed with pitchforks, scythes and looted steel swords fought back with ferocity. However, the difference in materiel proved decisive as they were, once again, slowly forced back with their numbers dwindling.

He looked back across the battle lines and was surprised his group was furthest to the north. Not good. I have to realign with the main force. We’ll get cut off at this rate. “Men! On me!” He shoved his men and forced himself to go to the frontline. The Arryn patriarch dodged the stabs and momentarily parried causing him to smile as he heard the scream behind the shield. Quickly, he grabbed the enemy’s shield and used it to block the retaliatory strikes. “Men!” He raised his arms and signalled to go further back. “On me!”

His soldiers understood and his lines started to fall back. This encouraged the red army to surge forward. As if a twig has been snapped – his soldiers started to peel away and started to route. Isembard gritted his teeth and fought a fighting retreat and rallying men wherever he could.

He ran to his horse and mounted it. He surveyed the situation. The knights he ordered to reform in the west were being engaged with Grafton household knights. Fuck! If only those horses didn’t die! He looked south and was relieved to see his son fording the river. He saw the pathetic attempts by Littlefinger’s archers to stop it but was chased away by his knights who were not engaged against Gerold’s banners.

But it managed to delay the fording so that half of Robar’s forces were still on the other side. But the other half reinforced the left flank and the middle line.

Isembard harrumphed in triumph. It’s just a matter of time then victory will be ours.

He managed to use his horse to corral dozens of his routing men and managed to form a battleline out of them. “My son finished crossing the river! Reinforcements will come soon! So, stand fast! Victory will be ours!”

“Hurrah!”

They continued to fight for minutes more but felt like hours. Isembard and his men started to panic as the reinforcements he promised weren’t coming. They were increasingly getting isolated.

He looked back at the sight that made him rage. His son betrayed him. The left flank and the middle lines were retreating. Gerold’s knights disengaged as they were slowly getting outnumbered. The army started an organised retreat heading south - towards Timberton.

His men looked distraught as their only escape route was being flooded by red-coated men. There was nothing they could do but drop their weapons to the ground causing Isembard to give out a sigh of resignation. They fought bravely. I cannot fault them for that. He directed a glare toward the retreating army. They did much better than my cowardly son.

He was about to drop his sword but what he saw next made his blood boil.

“Oh, what a price. I’ll rub this on Deran’s face later.” A man adorning a black tunic with a red and golden sash across his left shoulder. Steel plate seemed to be underneath his attire. “Lord Isembard.” The snake pointed at his disarmed men. “Care to drop your sword. Your men already drop theirs. You have no hope of winning.”

He gave a roar of anger and galloped towards the smug prick. “Before I die, I’ll take you with me!” His eyes honed in on Petyr that he didn’t notice one of the redcoats approaching. He swung his sword at Petyr and was confused when he saw the infernal man smirking. Why’s he smirking?

Suddenly, an armoured fist connected with his face as he felt the cartilage in his nose crack. Causing him to fall off his horse. Only through muscle memory did he disconnect both his legs on the stirrups and rolled as he landed. He felt a ringing in his head that refused to go away. “Not fighting your own battles, are you? So much for Honour.”

Petyr shrugged at that. “I’m a strategist. I bring three people to defeat one. The time I fight one on one then something must’ve gone wrong. Now surrender.” The snake signalled his men to surround him. “Fortunately for you, Gerold asked for you to be captured alive. It’s fortunate my wisdom and healers can treat and nurse, amputees back to health.” He dusted himself. “Now. Do I hand you to him without hands and legs or are you going to surrender yourself quietly?”

Isembard’s heart raced as he felt every strand of hair in his body standing up. Eventually, he dropped his sword. “I surrender.”