The raven reached the Wendwater on a gloomy afternoon.
Maester Loomis's hands were trembling when he handed Leon the letter.
The letter was short and had come from King's Landing. More precisely, it had come through Pudding Face's channels.
"Robert Baratheon has raised his banners at Storm's End. Ned Stark has summoned his bannermen and marched south.
Duke Arryn led the rebels of the Vale to capture Gulltown, defended by House Grafton, and killed Marq Grafton with his own hand.
The war has begun."
Leon set the letter alight over a candle and watched it curl, blacken, and turn to ash.
Tyrion sat across from him, his face grayer than winter in King's Landing.
"What are you going to do?"
Leon was silent for a few seconds.
"Head south."
"South?"
"To Highgarden," Leon said. "Robert is fighting in the Stormlands, King's Landing is in the middle, and the Riverlands are a battlefield.
The Wendwater is too close to King's Landing, and too close to the heart of the storm. We have to leave."
Tyrion frowned. "What about the people here? The farmers? Little Tom?"
Leon looked at him.
"We'll take anyone willing to follow. Those who aren't can stay. We can't force anyone."
Tyrion was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.
"All right. I'll tell them."
Three days later, a strange procession set out from the Wendwater.
Leon's carriage led the way, with Thea and Sandor riding guard on either side.
More than forty young, able-bodied farmers followed behind.
None had elderly relatives or children to tie them down, and all were willing to follow Leon away to "lie low for a while."
They pushed several handcarts loaded with grain, tools, and a few crude weapons.
Old Tom stood by the dock, watching them leave.
Little Tom tugged at his sleeve, wanting to run after them, but Old Tom held him firmly back.
"His lordship will return," Old Tom said. "He promised."
Inside the carriage, Tyrion watched the Wendwater recede through the window, then suddenly said:
"Do you think we'll ever come back?"
Leon did not answer.
He simply looked ahead, toward the Roseroad that led south.
The war had already begun.
He knew how long this war would last, knew he had plans for what came next, and knew he would surely return to this land he had developed with his own hands.
But... a week later.
He had never imagined he would meet Robert Baratheon again like this.
Their party was intercepted by a band of scouts near Grassy Vale.
The knight leading them looked them over. His gaze lingered for a moment on the twenty-odd bewildered gleaners carrying hoes, then settled on Leon and Tyrion.
"Lannisters?" He sounded somewhat surprised. "What are you doing here?"
Leon looked at him calmly.
"Passing through."
The knight snorted, then waved a hand.
"Come with us. You're going to see the duke."
Tyrion swore, but did not resist.
Under escort, the party turned onto a side road.
In the distance, the ruins of Summerhall loomed faintly in the dusk.
"Ah..."
Leon closed his eyes.
The storm had finally arrived.
Now they stood in the army camp on the edge of Summerhall's ruins, facing a rough wooden table covered with maps and surrounded by filthy knights.
Robert Baratheon sat behind the table, holding a half-roasted chicken leg. His eyes lit up when he saw Leon enter.
"Little Leon!" He tossed the chicken leg onto the table, wiped his greasy hands twice on his trousers, and strode over. "What are you doing here? That old fox Tywin actually let you out?"
Leon looked at him calmly. "Your Grace, we're merely passing through. If we've interfered with your military affairs..."
"Interfered, my arse!" Robert roared with laughter and slung an arm around Leon's shoulders.
The force made Leon stumble. "You've come at just the right time! I need someone with a working brain. See that?"
He pointed at the map. "Fucking enemies from three directions. Cafferen, Grandison, Fell, all closing in. I've only got five thousand men, and they've got nearly ten thousand between them. What do you say we do?"
Leon glanced at the map.
His [Eye of Insight] instinctively began to work, examining not the map, but Robert.
That mass of light was still a bright orange, leaping like flames, its edges sharp.
Anger, excitement, and a trace of... agitation.
Robert was not afraid of fighting, but he was afraid of losing.
"Your Grace, we're only stopping to rest. Afterward, you must let us leave," Leon said. "If you agree, I need to see the prisoners."
Robert paused, fell silent for a while, then grinned. "Fine! Give him the prisoners!"
There were three prisoners, captured in the previous night's skirmish.
A brutish-looking knight and two cowering soldiers.
When Leon entered the tent, the knight was cursing at the guards.
Seeing that the newcomer was a dwarf, he froze for a moment, then sneered.
"What? Has Robert run out of men? Sending a dwarf to question me?"
Leon ignored him.
He stood before the knight and fully activated his [Eye of Insight].
The mass of light was dark red, with black mist swirling around its edges.
Anger, but more than that, fear. He was concealing his fear.
And beneath that fear lay something deeper:
His unit's marching route, rendezvous time, supply situation...
He "saw" this information directly, images pieced together by the [Eye of Insight] from subtle fluctuations in the man's mind.
Leon spoke, his voice very quiet:
"You came from the northeast, marching along the Blueburn, didn't you?"
The knight's smile froze.
"You marched south along the Blueburn," Leon said, his voice very quiet. "You left Stonehelm three days ago and planned to reach Summerhall today."
The knight's smile froze.
"Your supply train is slow and still behind you," Leon continued. "Half of Earl Cafferen's troops are newly levied farmers. They've never fought before, and morale is very low."
The knight's mouth opened, then closed again.
Leon turned to the two soldiers. Their fear was more obvious, and their information more direct.
Young minds could not keep secrets.
A quarter of an hour later, Leon left the tent.
Robert was waiting outside, another chicken leg having somehow appeared in his hand.
"Well?"
"Three enemy forces," Leon said. "Cafferen is the fastest. He'll arrive this afternoon. Grandison is a little slower, tomorrow at noon. Fell is the slowest. He won't arrive until the evening after tomorrow."
Robert's eyes lit up.
"You mean-!"
"You have a window of opportunity." Leon pointed at the map. "Launch a surprise attack on Cafferen this afternoon. His force is the weakest, his morale the lowest, and he's isolated. Defeat him, and you can wait, rested and ready, for Grandison."
"And after Grandison?"
"Once Grandison learns Cafferen has been crushed, he'll hesitate," Leon said. "That hesitation will slow him down. By the time he finally decides whether to fight or retreat, Fell still won't have arrived. You'll have time to deal with them one by one."
Robert stared at him for three seconds, then threw back his head and laughed.
"Good! Good lad!" He slapped Leon hard on the back, nearly knocking him flat. "We'll fight just as you say!"
The ruins of Summerhall gleamed pale beneath the autumn sun.
Leon stood on a rise, with Thea and Sandor behind him.
In the distance, Robert's cavalry had finished forming ranks and were advancing toward Crow's Nest. That was where Earl Cafferen's army was stationed.
The [Eye of Insight] reached out.
He could see that the orange light charging at the very front was Robert, his fighting spirit almost fierce enough to burn through the sky.
Behind him, the Baratheon knights surged down like a black tide.
Cafferen's army was caught off guard.
The battle lasted only two hours.
Leon watched with his own eyes as the orange light scattered that dark-red glow, swallowed it, and finally extinguished it.
When Earl Cafferen's battle standard fell, the newly levied farmers under his command scattered. Of the knights, some died and others surrendered.
"We won," Thea said softly beside him.
Leon nodded.
But he did not smile.
He simply watched the bodies strewn across the battlefield, the wounded soldiers still groaning, and Robert riding back and forth across the field, shouting his victory.
This is only the first battle, he thought.
In the distance, Robert seemed to spot him and waved vigorously. The gesture was like someone beckoning to a useful tool.
Leon inclined his head slightly, then turned and walked down the slope.
"Let's go," he told Thea. "Let's see which way Grandison has run." Leon rubbed his brow. "Let's end all this as soon as possible. Hopefully, he'll let us leave."
That night, Robert held a victory feast in Summerhall's ruins.
The bonfires blazed, and the smell of whole roasting sheep drifted everywhere.
The knights sat around the fires, drinking deeply and loudly boasting of their exploits that day.
Robert sat in the middle, his face flushed with drink. When he saw Leon approach, he immediately beckoned.
"Little Leon! Come here! Have a drink!"
Leon accepted the cup he offered and merely wet his lips.
Robert did not mind and turned back to boast to the others.
Tyrion appeared from somewhere and sat down beside him.
"I heard about today's results," Tyrion said in a low voice. "Cafferen captured, Grandison hesitating and retreating, and Earl Fell still hasn't arrived. Was this your strategy?"
"He did it." Leon gestured toward Robert with his chin.
"Him?" Tyrion scoffed. "All he knows is how to charge. Who told him when to charge and where?"
Leon said nothing.
Tyrion looked at him, his mismatched eyes flickering in the firelight.
"Leon, sometimes I think you're frightening."
"Frightening?"
"When you look at people with those eyes," Tyrion said, "it's like you're looking at a pile of numbers. Where they're strong, where they're weak, where you can stick a knife... you calculate it all perfectly."
Leon was silent for a few seconds.
"It's how I survive," he said.
"Will he let us leave?"
"Robert isn't a petty man."
Tyrion nodded and said nothing more.
In the distance, Robert's booming laughter rang out again.
He was showing a knight how he had cut down Cafferen's standard that day.
Leon looked away and lowered his gaze to the cup in his hand.
The wine reflected the firelight, like blood.
Three days later, Lord Grandison's army was caught beside the Blueburn.
Once again, Leon had provided their marching route.
From afar, they saw the Baratheon banners flying over Crow's Nest and the captive Cafferen soldiers held before the battle lines. They hesitated, not daring to move.
Lord Grandison sent an envoy to negotiate.
Robert received the envoy beneath a ruined wall at Summerhall.
He sat on a stone, surrounded by several knights, with wine and meat laid out before him.
Leon stood at the edge of the crowd, watching coldly.
After the envoy returned, Grandison surrendered.
That evening, Lord Grandison was brought into Robert's camp.
He was not bound, merely "accompanied" by several knights.
Robert went to meet him, clapped him on the shoulder, and handed him a cup of wine.
"What are we fighting for?" Robert's voice was loud enough for everyone there to hear. "You're men of the Stormlands, and so am I. That madman sits on the Iron Throne burning people for fun, and you're willing to die for him?"
Lord Grandison was silent for a few seconds, then accepted the cup and drained it.
Leon saw the gray mass of light-hesitation, fear, wavering-slowly changing. A pale gold began to appear along its edges.
Was that... the first budding of loyalty?
Seven days later, Earl Fell died in battle in a small village thirty li west of Summerhall.
The attack route Leon had drawn on the map was dubbed "the dwarf's line" by Robert's knights.
He had not been as lucky as Grandison.
Robert personally led his army to meet him and fought Earl Fell in single combat on the battlefield.
When the warhammer came down, Leon heard cheers erupt across the field.
Earl Fell's son, Silveraxe, was taken prisoner.
That night, Robert held another grand victory feast in camp.
Earl Cafferen, Lord Grandison, and young Silveraxe all sat drinking with Robert.
The bonfire blazed, and laughter shook the air.
Leon stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the prisoners who had been enemies only moments before now throwing their arms around Robert and drinking merrily with him.
Tyrion climbed out of the carriage and sat down beside him.
"That's Robert," Tyrion said softly. "He can turn enemies into friends."
Leon nodded.
The Eye of Insight told him that those men's emotions were indeed changing.
Fear was receding, hostility was melting away, and something new was taking their place: acceptance of Robert himself.
"It's a gift," Leon said. "We can't do that."
Tyrion looked at him.
"You can do other things," he said. "You tell him when to fight, whom to fight, and how to fight. Without you, he might still be under attack from three sides today."
Leon did not answer.
In the distance, Robert was calling his name again.
"Little Leon! Come have a drink!"
Leon stood up and walked over.
Robert was blind drunk. He pulled Leon to his side and slapped his shoulder hard as he said:
"You're a useful little fellow!"
Leon did not argue.
He merely nodded, then quietly withdrew to the edge of the crowd.
Tyrion followed and said into his ear, "Useful. Hear that? You're just a tool."
Leon looked at him.
"Tools break," Tyrion said. "You need to let him know you're not the kind he can just replace."
Leon was silent for a few seconds.
"He knows," he said. "He just won't admit it."
Tyrion froze for a moment, then laughed.
"All right. As long as you know where you stand."
In the distance, Robert was calling Leon's name again, asking him to come explain how he had discovered Earl Fell's hiding place.
Leon shrugged helplessly at Tyrion, stood up, brushed the dust off himself, and walked over.
Thea and Sandor followed silently behind him.
There were no stars in the night sky, only the bonfire burning in the distance.
Leon glanced up at the pitch-black sky and thought of the egg hidden in the carriage, of how it felt to the touch.
The day after the victory feast, Robert announced that they would return to Storm's End.
"What are we going back for?" Leon asked.
Robert gave him a look, unusually serious.
"To take these prisoners... no, these friends back to Storm's End, where everyone can see them.
"Once those fence-sitters still waiting to see what happens see that Cafferen and Grandison have joined me, they'll follow too."
Leon understood.
This was not a retreat. This was politics.
"And then?" he asked.
"Then we head west." Robert pointed at the map. "Those Highgarden lapdogs in the Reach will be coming to bite my arse soon. I have to keep them out of the Stormlands first."
Leon looked at the map.
Ashford.
It was the eastern gateway to the Reach. If he were Mace Tyrell, he would send troops to attack from there.
"Do you intend to go yourself?"
"Of course." Robert grinned. "If I don't go, who will?"
"What about Storm's End, then?"
Robert fell silent for a second.
"Stannis will stay behind," he said. "My brother may always look as though someone owes him money, but he's good at holding a castle."
Leon thought of Stannis Baratheon, the young man who had worn a stern face throughout his time at Harrenhal without saying a word.
"Does he know how to wage war?"
"He does," Robert said. "He's steadier than I am."
He paused, then suddenly laughed.
"Renly will stay too. The boy's only three. I can't exactly take him to war."
Leon did not laugh.
He merely recalled in silence that Stannis had held Storm's End for half a year, with the young Renly inside the castle too.
While Mace Tyrell's army besieged Storm's End, he had feasted outside day and night.
Inside the castle, Stannis Baratheon had run out of ammunition and provisions.