The Battle of the Goldroad

Dust billowed along the Goldroad.

Suleiman reined in his horse. Beneath him, it pawed uneasily at the road.

Ahead, a ripple of unrest passed through the orderly marching column.

An army was coming toward them, its banners in disarray and its formation ragged. They were clearly routed troops.

Mud caked their armor, and fear and exhaustion showed on every face.

"That's Lord Ambrose Butterwell's banner."

Beside him, William Mooton wiped dust from his face and squinted at the drooping heraldic banner.

Suleiman said nothing. He watched in silence as the Riverlords of the Riverlands gathered behind him, their faces grave.

Before long, Ambrose Butterwell was brought before Suleiman.

The Riverlands nobleman, usually so particular about his appearance, had lost his helmet, and his hair hung in disarray.

"Lord Suleiman."

Ambrose Butterwell hurried to Suleiman's horse and dismounted, looking mortified.

"Lord He An has been surrounded by the Westerlands army under Tyrion Lannister."

"He sent Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, to lead a large force against my camp."

"I... I had no choice but to abandon the camp and retreat."

Arwood Halton rode forward, a black cloak over his shoulders and a riding crop in his hand.

His sharp eyes swept over the soldiers behind Ambrose Butterwell. They looked battered, but their units were still largely intact. Open scorn curled his lip.

"Lord Butterwell."

He spoke quietly, yet every noble heard him.

"Your army looks remarkably intact."

"If Gregor Clegane truly attacked you in force, how are they still so... orderly?"

"It looks more like you ran."

At once, the Riverlords of the Riverlands turned suspicious eyes on Ambrose Butterwell.

They had all led men into battle. They knew what a battlefield looked like.

There was only one way to bring back so many men with barely a scratch after facing a