Ser Kevan Lannister

This was not Kevan Lannister's first war and, Seven willing, it wouldn't be his last. War might not be present for awhile, but after living for fifty three years on this earth, he knew it's prolonged absence meant you were no longer part of it's living inhabitants. Even still the smoke rising over from the west over in the Riverlands gave a sinking feeling in his stomach.

How many wars had he fought in at this point? The War of the Ninepenny Kings, the whole foolishness of the Reynes, Robert's Rebellion, Greyjoy's Rebellion, a dozen of other much smaller incidents that usually centered around the Stepstones, and now this bloody embarrassment. The War of Five Kings they called it. Too many to count, and through it all he proved to Tywin and later by extension the Crown his reliability, his iron clad commitment to duty, hell with it his whole damned worth. Yes he could be his brother's right hand plucking, petting, or swatting down whomever he needed done so. And Kevan had done it well up to this point. For sixteen years the Seven Kingdoms knew not only war, but prosperity and yes even periods of peace.

Now though he feared for the future of House Lannister. Westeros was split into four, each rebel claiming a crown for himself. Kevan had no idea who had coined the term War of the Four Kings first, the singers or the Maesters, it was somehow both flowery and forward to the point either would have stood behind it. More ever the title fit the war as smugly as silk glove. The Riverlands were on fire, an army contained it that wished to spread it to both to the Westerlands and down to King's Landing. The Reach, the Stormlands, and Dragonstone aimed to just raze and seize the later.

Rob Stark had been named King of the North, positioning the Riverlands, and possibly the Vale and the Iron Isles, with him. Kevan could only pray it remained that way. Not only had Stark proven to be extremely cunning, but both Jamie and Tywin had both managed to underestimate him. His nephew had always proved to be a hot head, a brilliant and flashy one whose blade almost burn away all those who stood before him behind you, but always blazing ahead without forethought. Tywin had always been so cold though, so removed from what faced their House, that he could see what lay before them so clearly and so accurately. He was a Maester chronically the journey of the stars through Myrish glass telescopes but with people and the world. Yet even he was blind to the threat young Rob Stark possessed.

Now Jamie's host was utterly smashed, he himself taken prisoner, and Tywin's own armies wounded and shattered mostly to the peripheries of the Riverlands. 'Where once we held, we now hold back' Kevan thought to himself, chuckling a bit dryly. Aye the Lannister earlier victories had proven to be very doubled edged once had tasted defeat and where routed. Rob held a large buffer between his primary holdings, plenty of defensive positions, even more targets he could possibly strike at in a relatively short period of time that could possibly end there if he seized or destroyed just one. Now it was almost all they could do right now but stop him from marching west to Lannisport or just Casterly Rock and burn it all to ashes, or head south and repay Joffery in kind for what he did to Eddard Stark. Cersei and her children would be snuffed out in the blink of an eye if they were lucky.

Worse the boy had at least thirty thousand swords with him now. That number could have been an even more fearsome forty, maybe even forty five thousand had the Mountain and his men not been doing such a good job pillaging and disrupting the river lords before the Battle of the Camps. But Kevan knew, and by extension Kevan was sure Tywin surely knew, the Stark boy forces swelled as he waited in the Riverlands. Refugees with a score to settle, poor boys looking for a trade and food, and an extremely motivated nobility now gathering them all.

By the end of the year the Starks' and the Tullys' forces might end up with as many fifty and a half after all, though personally he doubted it. Even if the Mountain dropped dead this moment, along with all his men, the sheer number of peasants displaced and traveling around would spread enough disease, famine, and crime that much of the potential populace would be to disorganized or dead to participate.

Though to be honest he feared the same of Stefford as well. He was a capable ruler and a good man, much like Kevan and Tywin's father has been, but he was as useful as a mummer armed with those bells on a stick they wave in a war. A head for numbers but a body and spine of weak, ploddy snow that one. Still as useless as he proved on a battlefield or even a meeting room shoveling around papers, Tywin was probably right that he might prove capable or at least passable enough to muster and train a new host of men.

Kevan had time to mumble to himself and let out yet another sigh before two guards in red and gold burst into the room, and Kevan put back on his mask of stoicism and indifference. He was free only to engage in self pity when no one was watching, wars were lost over between much less than men's morale being ruined by a commanding officer. Strength needed to be presented, especially when it was nonexistent.

"Ser, we know for sure now, another patrol is missing." One man said, almost yelling as he faced the wall in front of him and not managing to set his eyes on Kevan.

He was far from bosom buddies with the low ranking officers and the rank and file, but how and why they would punish them for delivering news, poor as it was. It seemed reprimanding and possible chastising might be necessary for the ranking knights and noble officers if they had created that impression.

"Another ambush then? That would be the seventh in just two weeks." Kevan said, grabbing and crunching up a piece of parchment detailing accounts of food, weapons, and other provisions. It was now out of date after all and useless to Tywin outside of proving just how inept he was becoming. "The time to write this off as the work of bandits has long past."

"So it's the Brotherhood Without Banners then?" The taller of the two guards asked, his voice dropping suddenly as he realized he was speaking aloud. A large creep of red spread across his face, complimenting his crimson and gold armor well.

"No, that is quite impossible. Currently Lord Dondarrion and his men are harassing the Mountain's vanguard and raiding Tywin's supply lines over near Harrenhal. They've been spotted a mere three days ago, far too many miles for them too move through so quickly, for a rather small target. If I had to bet it would be the Tyroshi sellsword company whom we hired who turned coat or some other mercenary group. Mayhaps a shrewd river lordling."

Kevan had heard some of the Tully's vassals were breaking off from the main forces to try and drive out their forces occupying their lands, quite foolish though he suspected the Stark lad would be putting an end to it. Breaking up the main forces to appease their lords reeked of Edmure's foolishness. A thousand tiny victory and defeats that serve only to drain your strength for the battles that truly matter. But that only cast doubt over this being the work of the Mootons or some other nearby local lord. This was ruthless, cold and calculating work being done not the work of a flaming hot head out for revenge. A shadowcat playing with it's food, but an angry wolf striking out to protect it's pack. Dispatching entire squads and spiriting away the bodies and any survivors to either cells or, more likely, into the hands of trained interrogators, while they sat and waited patiently while his men ransacked, looted, and sometimes outright killed the people of Maidenpool. William was definitely craven enough to lay back and watch his subjects die and his lands burn. But boldly and quietly killing knights whom he could ransom for a bag of golden dragons? Whose families would forever hold a grudge being butchered by the dozens at the time, no doubt on their hands and knees begging for their lives?

No, either a Stark man or agent was behind this or a sellsword. No doubt waiting for the moment the Lannister forces moved on from gathering provisions and either hitting the supply lines hard to mark this entire endeavor a farce or even slaughter them all unawares, except for Kevan himself, and then retake what was left of the town. Depriving Tywin main host of resources, completely an encirclement of Lannister forces at Harrenhal, and getting another high level hostage to gain leverage with. If that wasn't possible a light siege would be in order, would be a great way to tie up a thousand men from the larger war at the very least.

"Well there is little that we can do about it now. Go check on the tax collectors, no doubt there perhaps we can wrangle some more provisions from some very unfortunate and foolish refugees." Kevan said dryly, the enthusiasm bothering him even now after years of doing it. Tax collectors, more like brute squad of state sanctioned knee breaking bandits. "It's best we finish and then leave soon as possible. We're going to have a long and hard march to Harrenhal in front of us. You two are dismissed."

"Milord" Both men shouted, quickly shambling back out into the hall.

Kevan snorted and then after shuffling around papers and ledgers around for a short while followed them out of the room. He couldn't work or even think in there any more. His mind would turn to feelings of impotence and failure whenever he put ink to his letters or look over accounts. The raids. and foresight of Lord Mooton, had ensured that the legitimatized robbery he authorized against the local smallfolk lead to only a tickle food or gold tickling in. Stealing from poverty stricken commoners had little profit as it was, having all their crops seized or burn by their own lords before he could drained it even more; and then having his mean get robbed by sellswords during this process ensured he had only a minuscule amount. Kevan had went through the numbers and went to the storerooms himself to know what he was left with barely enough to feed his own men, with next to nothing left to bring back to Harrenhal.

Kevan grunted to himself as he walked down through the castle's keep to the wall walk of the chemise. The hallways and corridors of low cut stones of various dyes of grey, white, or tan; either furnished with quality woven rugs, artifacts, or laid bare, faded by continued use and pragmatic, careless cleanings and maintenance blended together to him like most castles' decor did. It was in working order and would not offend if honied or frantic talks began here, that was all that matter to him. It was one of Tywin's qualities that Kevan tried and succeeded at emulating well. The only thing that mattered in war, or in peace for that matter, was it's practicality and the most basic message that it sent.

It took only one look outside to see the message was one that he didn't want to send. The gates where smashed like confetti at a feast or mummer show, spewed across various points throughout the town. Kevan had extra footmen and had tried to get groups to clean up the streets, if only to give them something to do and keep discipline from atrophying, but it continued to stain paved roads near the former gates. Likewise the hastily assembled placements looked shabby enough that they would blow away into twigs with a heavy enough gust. Inns, taverns, and even the tailors where either barred shut or carved in. All the huts and houses dotted near some of the gates themselves were burned or smashed to oblivion utter oblivion. Outside of his sentries and a few select servants drawn from the towns people, the town looked almost deserted. Smallfolk squirreled away in fear and hope a continued presence outside might mean death, but remaining inside might prevent the Stranger from paying them a visit.

It was the legendary, namesake pool of Maidenpool that always drew Kevan's eye know when he saw it. He remembered from when he was a lad all the songs and tales of Florian the Fool and Florian the Brave. How the fool had spied the beautiful Jonquil bathing the waters with her sisters and his tragic, one sided romance of the maiden, or of the valiant child warrior and king who died gazing the reflection of the burning ruins of lands through the reflection of it's waters. Now it seemed the increasingly harrowing tales of the pool would grow. Though there would be no romance tint to the new songs it seemed, where once the waters where a clean, translucent blue one could stare at contemplatively and ponder at their leisure, now turned to a shade of brown and attracted pests from the dead bodies laying down at the bottom of the pool.

'At least they had stayed down' Kevan thought he gazed down. His men could at least be counted on to follow orders and do unpleasant tasks half heartily. No single bloated corpse had floated to the surface of the pool to attract ravens or other scavengers to pick at direct. This meant his men took the time to stack the bodies bodies four by four like he requested; tying them up with rope of hemp; or roll them together with straw, and then weigh each stack down with heavy stones. Bugs and flying insects were now drawn to the thick, soupy waters that now more closely resembled the brown pots served in Flea's Bottom at King's Landing then the blue tinted pristine waters of Maidenpool.

As he looked down from the high walls more and more as he moved throughout the walkway, it seemed the men down below just look like tiny ants from up here in tops of the sky, but moves around frantically like them as well. Men darted in between structures, either as if they hoped to reach there as quickly as their feet would allow them or that they where scurrying away from someone or something as fast as they could. Something that didn't sit with Kevan well as soon as he noticed it. Soldiers were orderly by both need and nature. While there were definitely civilians about even now in Maidenpool even now, most of were holed up inside their homes or a sept for protection. Smallfolk and traders wouldn't deal with possibly being harassed by guards or mayhaps even being thrown into the stockades or dungeon unless it was for something import. While the arcade and marketplace had been shutdown for a while now, the town center's merchants selling solely to his quartermasters and the like, food stalls where still open...on the other side of town and away from where he was looking. Those tiny figures below had to be either his men or someone else's.

Kevan had already begun bolting towards the nearest group of sentries, voice loud and blaring warning, when he heard the loud contentiousness note of a horn blare and hang into the air as easily as a cloud. His men didn't even wait to hear his orders and he didn't bother to continue them, they all knew their stations in a battle. The small duos or trios of men ran off and clumped together into columns of men darting around the walls now, like clay on statue. Kevan moved past them and to where he needed to go. There is a tool for every task, and a task for every tool as Tywin as apt to say. His task was elsewhere.

Kevan made it back through the curtain wall and into the castle proper at what even at a younger age most would consider breakneck speed. His back and legs had a dull but constant ache from the run, but it was vastly better than the eternal sleep that might await if he failed to back it back to his officers. Hell, it might already be too late this attack had come fast and they might not to have to even bother with a siege.

"Milord." A small man in gold and shiny crimson said as Kevan made into the man hallways of the castle's interior, bowing ever so slightly with twelve other, either somewhat or much taller men in almost the same exact armor, lacking only a tunic with the Lannister arms on it and a more ornate helmet.

"Sergeant. Follow me." Kevan said, perhaps needlessly, as the short Sergeants men had already flanked him from both sides and even formed a wall in front of him just has he finished addressing the Sergeant.

"Have you received word from the officers or lord here? Is it a siege or a raid? Is it Tully's men. Walder Rivers?" Kevan asked as they strolled the war room. If now one could make it there, he'd move closer to the castle gate and just begin his command there, he'd have to depart there shortly anyway. Battles were one in the board room to be sure, but they where fought on the fields and woe be to the fool who forgets that.

"No. It's the Band of the Hawk. They just hoisted their flags. They haven't set up any siege equipment but they're behind the wall and even in the castle now Ser." The Sergeant said, calmly in his guttural voice. A lower Lannisport accent if Kevan had ever heard one.

"The who?" Kevan asked, half to himself for answers. The name was vaguely familiar. The Riverlords had been using more than their own men to harass the Lannister van. Moreover when Tywin had been raising his host to meet Jamie's own to both crush Riverrun and then crush Rob Stark, he could have sworn there was in offer there for some mercenary company with a name like that. He could have sworn to the Seven themselves it was the Band of the Falcon though.

"Mercenaries from Andal country in Essos." The sergeant answered. "They pushed us out of Castle Darry and then scattered the Mountain's forces when he tried to seize it later. "

Ah yes that debacle. Though he wondered if they truly counted as a mercenary company anymore. Their leader, Griffith, was now lord of Darry from what Lord Vary's had relayed to them through the ravens. During Gregor Clegane's second attempt to siege the castle he make through into Castle's Darry's gates and slay the child lord who attempted to rally the defenders. Though that turned out to be a clever trap that just made his men arrow fodder until the Hawk's heavy foot smashed their rear and shattered Clegane's army. Very fortunate for Griffth, just how much was coincidence and how much was foresight left Kevan wondering.

They continued to march towards, as they did noise finally erupted throughout the castle, though especially so in the direction they where heading. Loud low and high pitches screams of pain, preceded by heavy meaty thuds or the soft whish of liquid. The clangs and screeches of steel upon steel rang throughout the hallways, the scratches and slashes of blade and armor, bending and ripping each other sending shivers of pain in his own ears. The song of pain and misery of war was at full crescendo now.

"Forget the war room, the time for that has passed, it's too late for talk the fighting has begun." Kevan said, turning and his routine walking completely lockstep with him as they headed towards the stairs and another source of the sounds of battle. He could hear their metal gauntlets flexing and grip their weapons tightly as they did so, the clangs almost comforting to him. 'The men's weapons where already ready,' Kevan noted, 'but now they where as well.'

The sounds sure enough grew louder, though Kevan knew they would have been nearly as bad or even worse had they continued to the war room. The enemy would send men their in the hopes of catching officers or possibly just slaying them. Heading towards the gate was just a question of how quickly and efficiently they were infiltrated at this point, as it was becoming increasingly obvious this was no mere raid or a charge preceding or part of a larger siege attempt. There was more than a handful of saboteurs or spies, the defenses had been utterly penetrated and now the Band of the Hawk had moved onto to seizing objectives and assets of Maidenpool.

Outside of a wall, Kevan's men were worth more ten times there number, his seven hundred and fifty foot enough to hold out and grieve force of ten thousand men. Now that was worthless and he'd it would be very bloody and costly to repel them until he could slip away with what resources and men he could. Damn it all, he should have been back to Harrenhal a week ago.

Right before the foyer that would have lead his men and him to the staircase and a chance to reign in the chaos, they approached four men in dark armor in the midst of a bloody hallway. Beneath and to the side of them lay men, sliced or bashed into pieces. The walls themselves almost seemed caked in gore and viscera seemed purposeful, the lines of blood and stripped flesh extremely symmetrical to where it landed. It was more like a mad detector had taken upon himself to brighten up the room and they had just walked upon he and his men in the middle of their work.

Kevan could recognize one of them, if not from his face but the arms on tunic of his armor. The trout jumping from the waves into the air, but instead of the Tully silver it was a streak of dark black. Brynden Tully, Brynden Blackfish. His hair was all an iron gray, from scalp to mane and his whiskers, instead of the fiery hair of his younger days, from which Kevan recognized him, but the worn leather boot the man had for a face was still there and hadn't changed. Two others seemed to only grunts, and from the marks on the others heavy steel plate, mercenaries of the Hawk. The simple blue hawk on white more than enough to tip him off. The last one of the mercenaries stood apart however and not by his height and powerful build. Sure there were few tall as the man, who stood well over six feet but so what? Sandor would tower him, let alone the man's brother, and if he had time and inclination he could find a handful how matched him in height. Mayhaps it was because he was comely, his features masculine, not only strong but proud. His cheek bones and chin somewhat prominent and you glad they where. Or maybe it was because the man was blood crazed enough to not wear a helmet and let his face be free to be seen or struck unprotected in battle. That and his large greatsword that seemed more suited to the Mountian then even a man of his height

Even his eyes looked crazy, wide and gladly drinking in what was in front of him,

"Ser Brynden, well played. I would have guessed your hand in this if I had the time to think it through. Though you managed to wander a bit much ahead. Yield and drop your weapons please, we can all walk out of this away." Kevan said, firm and easily holding down the fear in his belly. He easily had the advantage here.

"I'm afraid those were the terms I was going to offer you Ser Kevan." Blackfish said with a smile. "I'm guessing you can use those eyes and ears planted on your head. What you can't see or hear is even worse. The day is won for us and lost for you. Taking me prisoner exactly is going to be impossible and lopsided. Don't waste your men's lives, Ser Guts could cut them down while taking a piss with one hand and in a heartbeat to boot. With me, the Stranger will take them before their bodies could hit the floor. Yield." The Blackfish said with a smile that now matched his friend.

"Guts? Odd name. You foreigners are an odd bunch" Kevan asked gazing over the barefaced man with the giant blade. Didn't take a genius to figure out who he was referring to. "Forgive me but I'm not familiar you 'Ser'. Seems like an idle threat to make sure you don't spend the rest of the war in a dungeon."

His men all now formed a three pronged wave in front of him, in each lined by shoulder to shoulder four by four, completely separating and protecting Kevan with the four armed intruders. Guts just smiled wickedly, his teeth looking like the fangs of a wolf or attack hound thanks to the position of his blade and gums. The sinking feeling in his stomach rose to his throat despite every reassurance of his brain telling him otherwise. Deep down now Kevan thought them as much protect from the man as his cape if he decided to drape it out in front his outstretched arms. Maybe it was just him knowing the probable result of the battle surrounding him or the man's supreme self confidence but Guts clearly thought they where nothing going by the look of the man's eyes.

"I'm warning you, once I start swinging I can't guarantee his life. I never received a lot of lessons in sparring an enemy or learning to hold back." Guts said, his deep growl lingering in the air.

"I prefer him alive but that's the battlefield for you." The Blackfish said. "Surrender now fool. You'll be treated well and you won't make those men's wives widowers. Don't throw away your life because you fear shame and a cell with three hot square meals a day."

Kevan brought up his hand quickly, pointing at the four quickly unleashing hell in this little corner of Maidenpool. His men rushed forward, but in the unison of one whole body. Eight spears found themselves in front of the unit of men, each man knowing where he belong and where the men in front and back of him where, allowing four men to wave their weapons and fight in conjunction with the men in front of them. In return Guts alone pounced forward, winding up his blade in back of him reading for a clawed swipe towards the line of men.

'Madness' Kevan thought. Guts could have used the confined hallways to his advantage, have all four of them line up and make the Lannister men fight them all one at time, prevent the most advantageous aspects of the numbers game to take effect. Now only did he leave himself to be attacked at multiple angles simultaneously by more than four men at once. Gut's giant sword possible blows were itself now limited by the constraints of the castle's narrow corridors. The work of a suicidal or overconfident lunatic, not a skilled knight or swordsman.

And then the a storm of red rain and thunder from steel started in the hallway. A glop of flesh and gore from one of his own men flew into Kevan's face blinding him for three seconds that each felt like a lifetime. Kevan knew though just from that blur of motion that at least three of his men were already dead, carved easily in half like they were made of paper not even straw. They all had worn at least ring mail, one had worn half plate. Two more where wounded, one in the back row blinded from a slash from both eyes and another missing a nose and most of his upper teeth on the bottom. From what he guessed at least six of those spears had been sundered as well, either the tips breaking off or down to the shaft.

Before he could finish wiping his eyes, Kevan heard his men rush forward both valiantly and utterly foolishly. Kevan heard a few clangs of steel, a few more loud thuds, and then brief but terrible screams of agony. He heard the short, scared sergeant bark a few orders nervously and his own men vainly attempt to shuffle themselves to meet it and other round of the song of steel followed by another chorus of death.

By the time he had opened his eyes, he say only three of his men still standing, only two of them unwounded. On the floor, missing half his head split almost evenly don the middle, lay the sergeant the remainder of his head looking it was in the middle of screaming another command. The others were in a similar shape, not merely corpses merely soaked with blood and with holes in them but missing enough limbs or large sections if their body…if they weren't cut in two. While Guts himself was drenched in the other men's blood, his smile wide, fangs now bared completely.

He was still right, he was no master swordsman or legendary knight in the making, the man was the Stranger in the flesh. A great beast in the far north, past the wall and out of a wet nurse's ridiculous yarns and fables.

"Stop." Kevan tried to say, "Flee now while you still have a chance."

Maybe they tried too, it looked like they had at the least. They shuffled back a tiny bit, all three where still in formation, blocking off Guts from the rest of the hallway and him with their shields lined up perfectly with each other and stuck out perfectly, spears ready to take advantage of a charge. Guts did not give them time enough for Kevan to figure that out however.

Guts didn't even bother to move at first. Somehow he used the size of the sword and tiny hallways to his advantage, striking the side of castle wall and knocking off a loose slab of stone clean off and right into the center guard's head, crushing the helm, given the dent Kevan could see, and the man's skull give the sounds Kevan heard. As the man fell down hard on his companion to the right, Guts raced to that side, vaulting on the side of that wall to get into perfect position to strike both remaining guards low and aiming to their sides away from the protection of the shield.

The moans of dying metal pounded into Kevan's ears, a rush of fiery pain spreading quickly to the center of his skull driving him to his knees as his men's bodies flopped to the floor, the crashes of their heavy armor not even registering with him. He even felt an icy heat sweep down from the top of head. Odd.

Both Guts and Brynden Tully quickly ran towards him. The good, sardonic humor off of the Tully's face and regret completely replacing glee off Guts. But why, they had won completely. The icy ache spread further and it started to feel wet, as if winter snow had just begun right over him. Kevan reached up with his fingers feeling only wetness, as Guts babbled something as concern continued to show itself on his face. He brought down his fingers and then quickly saw way. Red.

Even his knees seemed to be giving out now, but before he could fall Guts was there kneeling and hoisting him up easily and gently with only most of the fingers of one hand, as if he were merely a sick puppy. As darkness came down on him and his vision failed him, he took what might perhaps be his last look period at Guts, only his face and his black armor now visible.

More than regret over a mistake or an incomplete success in a mission, it looked like the foreign knight was sad over his injury and he suddenly feared might be his death. 'He looks like he might cry over failing to take me alive, but seemed so joyous when he was fighting and killing my men. How odd' Kevan thought, before his vision completely faded and the black finally overtook him.