(Third-person perspective)
Every piece of intelligence Jon Arryn possessed reached the Old Lion a few days later. Tywin was out fishing with his nobles. The stream originated from the top of Ashemark and flowed along Sarsfield all the way to the north of Casterly Rock. This was the stream he used to flood Castamere.
He sat by the stream, holding a fishing rod that looked fragile. Everyone else stood silently behind him. He asked.
"Does Gerion have anything to say?"
One advisor said.
"Yes, sir, he's still waiting for the Druid at the temple, but as you know, the Druid is with the Three Sisters. So he hasn't been able to contact the Druid himself, but he quickly became friends with one of the Druid's followers, a Warg named Jorah Glover."
Tywin sneered.
"A simple farmer from the mountains of Deepwood Motte? Isn't there anyone more influential?"
The advisor shook his head and said.
"My lord, his family isn't the issue here. Right now, even commoners, after becoming Warg in the Temple of the Old Gods, are considered close to nobles."
The advisor explained the dynamics in the North to Tywin and provided information on all the Warg under the Druid' command. He gave Tywin the information Gerion had sent, and after reading Tywin's understanding and feelings changed; he looked down on poor people like Glover because they were of no use other than as tools, but Jorah was one of the most influential figures among the Druid' followers, second only to Drasil and Mormont.
In his letter, Gerion wrote that he was beginning to be accepted by the Warg if he couldn't establish connections with the Druid here. He planned to go with Lord Delacor to Moat Cailin to try his luck after Lord Drasil returned from his campaign.
Tywin took the secret report about what had happened in the Vale, and sighed after reading it. Jon had been too arrogant; he had the numerical advantage, but the enemy possessed magic, and he had underestimated its power. After reading about what he had done at Stonehold, he became even more certain of himself. He shouldn't become an enemy until he was certain he could kill them with a single blow.
He muttered to himself, "So he came here just to bluff."
Just as he had thought, the Druid's strength was insufficient to raze a Citadel, but it was enough to demoralize the enemy in a siege.
But that wasn't the most intriguing part. It was about how he could lead his army to Pebble undetected. In that moment, he remembered the two black birds he'd summoned at Casterly Rock, the things he called Blessed Beasts. What if he had underestimated himself? What if he could control more than just one or two birds? What if he was different from the other Warg?
After witnessing the power of the Druid, Tywin read all the books about the Age of Heroes and the Warg. He remembered the parts about the Warg King and how he could command thousands of animals. That explained everything; it meant he could create an information blockade anytime, anywhere. If his guess was correct, it was as terrifying as his spells, if not more so.
The Temple of the Old Gods stood majestically against the backdrop of the sky, a testament to the recent revival of the Old Gods' faith. In the North, people had always worshipped the Old Gods, but it was merely a culture, not a true faith. Now, they fervently worshipped the gods. Gerion Lannister, always drawn to mysterious places, found himself stepping into the sacred halls of the temple.
As Gerion explored the temple's architecture, he encountered Jorah Glover, a man with ambition gleaming in his eyes. In their drunken conversations, Jorah repeatedly told Gerion that he harbored a dream of wielding Druid Magic. Gerion believed that nothing could be more persuasive than alcohol and a friendly smile.
He's been here for several months now, but he learns something new every day. At first, they tolerated him out of duty because of the Druid ' orders, but after a while, Gerion's infectious personality broke the deadlock between them.
" Jorah," Gerion began, "How's your magical journey going? Any progress?"
Jorah's eyes gleamed with determination and longing. " Gerion, I have delved deeply into the mysteries of Druid Magic, hoping one day to unleash spells comparable to our leader's..."
He looked somewhat tired.
"But I didn't succeed."
Then he laughed.
"But his teachings changed my fragile Warg Magic. I used to be unable to control even a single beast, but now I have five. I will continue to fail until one day I succeed."
Jorah could control three wolves, a brown bear, and an eagle. Gerion nodded, affirming Jorah's wish. "Mastering such power is a noble pursuit. Tell me, has your experience as Warg and priest given you any insight into Druid behavior?" Jorah wasn't a fool. He knew Gerion had been trying to find snippets of information about their lord, but what he'd given him was nothing more than useless banter and praise of their lord; he knew Gerion's purpose, but the man was too interesting for him to bear, especially since his lord had ordered him to stay by his side.
Jorah might be an ambitious man, but one thing surpassed his lust for power: his loyalty to his lord; his goal was to become the lord's most important vassal, ruling the temple in his absence. Jorah's gaze became thoughtful. "As a Warg, I can communicate with the souls of animals and understand the intricate balance of nature. As a priest, I strive to guide Druid magic, becoming a vessel of energy that shapes our world."
Their conversation continued, with Jorah recounting the story of his magical discoveries and his dream of uncovering the temple's deepest secrets.
On Paps, nestled against towering peaks, an army of ten thousand men had gathered in the Vale to strengthen defenses in preparation for the impending Druid invasion. The air was thick with the chill of the mountain winds and the anxiety of the waiting soldiers; the atmosphere was tense. They had brought all their soldiers into the Citadel and conscripted almost all able-bodied civilians, forming an army of eighteen thousand.
Experienced commander Gerold Grafton examined the strategic locations chosen for defensive preparations. The rugged terrain of Paps provided them with a natural advantage, and the Vale Lords diligently ensured that fortifications were built at every advantageous position.
Two weeks had passed since the initial warnings of the impending Druid invasion. Gerold Grafton gathered his advisors in a makeshift war tent, an unspoken anxiety hanging in the air.
"I thought the North army had arrived by now," Lord Grafton muttered, his brow furrowed with worry. "Our defenses are in place, but their absence is unsettling."
One of his advisors, a weathered veteran, spoke up, "My lord, perhaps it's an unforeseen circumstance, or a challenging sea route, that has delayed their arrival. We must remain vigilant and prepare for their impending arrival."
Lord Grafton nodded, his eyes fixed on the map spread out before him. "Indeed, delays are not uncommon under these circumstances. We will remain vigilant and prepared to face any challenge that may arise. We have over eighteen thousand men, while they only have five or six thousand. This must be our slide to victory. I cannot accept any other outcome."
Outside, a fierce wind howled, carrying with it the distant murmur of the rushing rivers surrounding Paps. The Vale lords exchanged uneasy glances, their thoughts mirroring the uncertainty that permeated the air.
Day turned to night, and soldiers stood guard, their eyes scanning the horizon for any movement. Many Crow circled overhead, their presence eerie and terrifying, a harbinger of impending war.