The bounty of the fertile river plains ended abruptly here, giving way to the rugged, rolling gold-bearing mountains to the west.
Along the border between the Riverlands and the Westerlands, banners bearing a golden lion on red covered the camp walls.
Wind swept through the Lannister camp, setting its banners snapping.
Inside the command tent, a rough map of Westeros lay spread across a long table.
Tywin Lannister set down the plea for aid from Stokeworth, the edge of the paper rasping softly beneath his fingertips.
The tent was quiet, save for the wind moaning through its seams.
The knights stood with their hands at their sides, while the maester who tended the ravens waited nearby. No one spoke.
"That dwarf Tyrion," Tywin began, his voice as flat and cold as iron, "at least hasn't proved a complete fool. He knows not to put all his eggs in one basket."
The letter was brief.
Before leaving for Duskendale, Tyrion had hidden Tommen at Stokeworth.
The boy had thus escaped when King's Landing fell.
But Aegon's army had soon sealed off the Crownlands. They could not get out, and now they were surrounded.
Tommen was alive. That was Tywin's only consolation at the moment, but it was nowhere near enough. A drop in the ocean.
As long as Tommen lived, the Lannister claim to the Iron Throne had not ended. But that was all.
Tywin raised his eyes to the knight below the dais who commanded his spies and scouts.
"The families of the Riverlands lords," he asked, his tone betraying no emotion, "are they all in custody?"
The knight stepped forward, his armor clinking softly.
"My lord, in accordance with your earlier orders, when King's Landing fell and the situation first changed, I seized the families of every Riverlands noble