Tywin stood where he was, gazing in the direction his son had disappeared, his crimson cloak stirring endlessly in the wind atop the slope.
Behind his back, his fingers tightened slightly, then slowly relaxed as he forced the surging anger and more complicated emotions back into that bottomless pool of cold.
He turned back, his face restored to its usual stony chill, and looked at the messenger beside him, who stood in fearful silence. His voice was cold and stern, without a trace of emotion:
"Order the entire army to halt. The river valley ahead is level. We will make camp there and rest for the night."
"Set double sentries and send mounted patrols twenty miles out. Keep Riverlands scouts from learning our strength or movements. No camp is to move a single soldier without my written order."
After a full day's march and the tense standoff during the hostage exchange, men and horses alike were exhausted. The order was perfectly reasonable, and no one questioned it.
The command swiftly spread through the marching ranks. The well-trained Westerlands Army began changing formation and choosing ground for its camp.
They worked with remarkable efficiency. Before long, an orderly, heavily guarded Lannister camp rose from the ground. The largest and most conspicuous command tent at its center was soon erected as well.
Tywin entered the command tent and dismissed every attendant and guard, leaving only emptiness and silence.
He sat behind the long table spread with maps. After a moment's silence, he called toward the entrance in a low voice, "Have Ser Addam Marbrand come to see me alone. Everyone else is to withdraw fifty paces from the tent. No one may approach without being announced."
The guards outside left to carry out his orders.
Before long, the tent flap was gently