Robar I

He somehow managed it. Turning an absolute disaster into an orderly retreat. Months of fording streams across the Riverlands during Robert’s rebellion paid off greatly. The knights his father commanded to charge managed to sue enough chaos at the enemy causing the Grafton boy to pull back. This gave them the much-needed breathing room to reorganise their lines.

Robar Arryn could’ve followed his father’s plan to ultimately reinforce the entire battlelines. It would’ve worked. They could’ve pushed back and snatched victory in the jaws of crushing defeat. But the gods weren’t on their side.

The enemy commander intentionally reared his lines back causing the entire right flank to bulge forward. Eventually causing it to be cut off. A third of their forces were being surrounded by the red mob with the river just behind them. Whereas the remaining two-thirds he commanded, many were injured and dying. Their levies who made up their anvil were poorly equipped. Whereas the enemy – everyone had chainmail and steel weapons. Their levies didn’t stand a chance.

So, he did what he could. Ordered the army in an orderly retreat. With the enemy cavalry gone, this allowed Robar to order his cavalry to harass the red mob. This covered their retreat, but he saw with anguish that many of their wounded and a third of their forces were being left behind.

He didn’t get a lot of time to breathe, behind the reassuring walls of Timberton, when he noticed his father wasn’t there. He personally interrogated every noble from the cadet Graftons to household knights and what he learned horrified him. His father was on the right flank! A portion of their army that he had to abandon to save half of his forces!

A dizzying migraine came over him but he managed to remain focused. He ordered for an impromptu War Council, to which Lord Efric recommended his solar as the place for the council to convene. Before that, he remained composed and went to the maester’s tower and ordered a missive for his Lady Mother in the Eyrie. Informing her of his father’s potential death.

He calmed down and started the council. “My lords. Listening to your stories showcasing your valour and honour despite the indomitable strength of the enemy has found me humbled. How our family deserved such loyalty and honour truly humbles me. I know not how my father bought your loyalty, but we have to assume he’s dead. I hope I can exceed the expectations you gave my esteemed father.” Robar was shocked the men in the solar did nothing but merely nod at him. He was expecting cries of denial, but it seems his father’s erratic eccentricity hasn’t endeared himself to them.

“My lords… The situation we find ourselves in is increasingly becoming untenable. Half of our levies are gone. Out of 760 of our brave knights, only 432 remain in fighting condition. And if we stay behind these walls then we may be forced to eat their horses. Forced to eat our horses.”

“That’s outrageous!”

“A man can’t be a knight without his horse!”

A group of knights roared their disapproval but were quickly ignored by the major lords.

“Surely, we have enough supplies to last for months! You’ve saved up for winter, right Lord Efric?”

“We have. However, feeding our fifteen hundred-strong army and ten thousand people will be a struggle. It won’t last us for a month. Without Lord Isembard’s prioritising supplies we would barely last a week! I’m afraid we’ll have to tighten our belts for the coming weeks, Marick.”

“Maybe we should surrender! Gerold is our cousin! Surely, he’ll show mercy!” The two Graftons sounded too hopeful.

Thunders of mutiny sounded across the room until a young man, with a seagull insignia displayed on his tabard, respectfully raised his voice. “If I may have your attention, my lords! You may not know who I am, but my name is Arwen Shett. For generations, my house has served the Graftons of Gulltown. Even now I feel ashamed for betraying my oath of fealty to Lord Gerold.” The man looked down at his feet as his shoulders slumped. “And it’s all thanks to that man. Littlefinger has infiltrated every facet of Gulltown’s society. He controls everything. From tax farmers, smithies, merchant companies and has the loyalty of the smallfolk. He’s a dangerous man. In just half a year he has managed to become the Lord of Gulltown in all but name.”

A gasp of shock rang out, with some banging their fists on the long table. Surprisingly, Arwen let out a bitter laugh. “The best part is, he has corrupted the young lord to do his bidding. Your cousin may not show you mercy, my lords. As he now listens to Littlefinger.”

Marick shook at this. “But my brother! Bryan!”

“We haven’t heard of him. No ravens asking for a ransom. He’s likely dead.” Arwen gave him a sorrowful look. “I hope I’m wrong, but If I’m right… You have my condolences.” He gave Lord Marick a reassuring gesture, but he didn’t respond. Marick just nodded and stared listlessly.

“How about directly negotiating with this Littlefinger? From the sound of him, he sounds like a traditional copper counter. A man with no morals, honour and faith. A man full of deception that we can surely bribe.”

“You’re grasping at dry sand, Lord Efric.” The Shett knight clicked his tongue. “He may hide it well but his disdain for the preordained status of nobility is notable. He doesn’t see the nobility as having the divine right to rule, to exact justice, and to demand taxes in return for protection. His Civil Service is indicative of this. It’s full of lowborn that have no right to rule.”

“How can they rule without the lands to do so?” Robar asked. He was genuinely confused. The only way to rule was to have land. Land gives you influence, and the people who reside in it give you manpower to exert your political will.

“Littlefinger and his cabal of copper counters don’t think as we do. We are men who’ve had our blood blessed by the Seven-who-are-one. They’re not as fortunate as us and have to resort to dishonourable means like deception and usury. By giving out these loans they ensure the people taking them are forever indebted to them. That’s how they exert and leverage their will. By giving out money to indenture our people. This is how Littlefinger is building his tyranny.”

“Preposterous! Usury is a sin!”

“Hear, hear! What are the Shepherds of Gulltown doing!?”

“Exactly! They’re doing nothing as their flock are being corrupted!”

Arwen sighed. “Septon Qarlton and Septa Dennise have been bribed. That’s the only explanation I can give. They’ve bargained their morality to be given exclusive rights to Littlefinger’s ‘preparatory schools’ and to have their representative take part in this Judiciary Tribune.”

Robar was increasingly getting disturbed by his curiousness. He noticed the minute trembling Arwen gave out that the others have yet to notice. “Surely, this is all rumours and hearsay. I’ve heard from acquaintances that Petyr is a capable and understanding fellow. He listens and juggles people’s interests to find a palatable compromise.” The soon-to-be Arryn patriarch played as the devil’s advocate.

“I haven’t gotten to the worst part yet. The Judiciary Tribune is part of the Civil Service that carries out justice. The ‘Supreme Court’ doesn’t have a single nobility. It’s all filled with Littlefinger’s sycophants! They’re perverting the ways of the world!” Arwen aggressively clasped his palms together as he quietly seethed.

“But what can we do?! They outnumber us two to one!” Marick shivered as he yelled.

“We can hold on to Timberton and fight to the bitter end!”

“Hear! Hear!”

Robar’s migraine got worse. “They’ll just starve us. We’ll not fight to the bitter end when we’re all skin and bones.”

“Bah! Robert’s brother managed with Storm’s End for a year! We have thrice more men than he had!” Arwen stood up. “We may die, but we shall die with honour! Let all the good people of Vale and Westeros know that we die as martyrs!”

“Aye! Aye!”

“Hear! Hear!”

The Arryn lord was about to rebuke but he was interrupted by waves of cheers as the knights pounded on the desks. Robar looked at the Grafton cousins and they glanced back. Robar leaned in so both can hear him. “I don’t fancy being martyrs… So, what’s the plan. Surely, you must have a tunnel leading out of the city?” He pleadingly looked at Efric.

Efric looked dejected. “There’s a tunnel leading to a cove. We have a galley hidden there just in case but we’ll have to escape the blockade. Which is impossible as they’re rumoured to be manned by experienced Braavosi sailors.”

The three of them sighed when suddenly the cheering stopped. A messenger pounded on the door and was quickly let in by the herald. That always bodes ill. What’s next? The town is being bombarded with wildfire?”

“Milords! Sorry for the interruption but the granary and the barracks have been engulfed in green flames! A-and th-the -”

“Let it out, damn you!”

“The gatehouse has been destroyed.”

The motley group immediately halted their rowdiness and processed the information whilst looking downcast. All except for Robar who just sighed. “Littlefinger has shown his ruthlessness, he is willing to burn ten-thousand people for his ambition. We’ll not give him the satisfaction! Timberton will not burn today! Have the smallfolk gather water and sand! Demolish the houses near the flames! Knights! Rally your men to the gate!”

“Yes, my lord!” A dozen knights ran out of the room eager to fulfil their duty.

“L-lord Robar… The People of Timberton… They’re the ones lobbing those green magics!”

“W-What?”

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Naerys II

“Wisdom Laenera, are you sure this is safe?” The dragonseed addressed the female alchemist. “I don’t want my ship erupting into flames because of this.”

“Safe!?... Of course! It’s proven to be much more stable and much less volatile than normal liquid wildfire. This wildfire knockoff is made of solid powder! Therefore, it requires more heat to set it off. I must say, Lord Baelish, is a man of good ideas. He didn't give us much but we've managed to distil the animal fat and other volatile compounds off leaving us with this green powder! I call it viridis! When ignited it releases a huge amount of gas and pressure!”

“I really didn't need the explanation, I just want to know if it won't kill me. Now. How do you set it off?”

Laenera grinned and widened her eyes like a cat. “Now, this is the best part!” She grabbed the clay pot causing Naerys to shiver in fright. “This ‘grenade’, as Lord Baelish calls it, has a simple detonating mechanism. See this here,” she clumsily fondled the grenade causing Naerys to wince. She pointed at the rope protruding out of the clay pot. The furthest edge of the rope had a yellowish metallic stint. “This is a cord. As you may see, the ends, have this yellow stain which is made up of brimstone, charcoal, and glass powder! It took so much trial and error to find the exact recipe and the ratio in which to mix it –“

“Just get on with it. How do you set it off?”

“My! My! How impatient. The edge of the cord with the yellow colour can be rubbed on any surface and the friction will set it ablaze! The length of the cord gives the thrower four seconds before it explodes, like this – BAAAM!” Naerys rubbed her ears after that as a headache started to emerge only to disappear. “Want me to demonstrate?!! Please!”

“Absolutely not! You madwoman!” Naerys turned to her men. “You heard the insane bitch! Now use the smuggler’s route that Maribelle’s men found out to distribute these to the rebels.”

“Aye, milady!” Her sailors enthusiastically hollered as they packed the grenades into crates and carefully loaded them unto the lifeboat and paddled towards the land. They made sure to avoid the line of sight of the lighthouse.

Naerys checked her rapier and gave a tug to her ‘cuirass’ to check if it was properly equipped. She jumped on the small boat which made the sailors yelp. “You’re coming too, milady?”

“Of course. Now start paddling.”

Twenty-five minutes of paddling later they entered the inconspicuous cove and entered the tunnels. How such a tunnel wasn’t patrolled confused Naerys and instantly came to a conclusion that this was a trap. But she remained composed and trusted Maribelle’s intelligence. She led by example and entered the tunnel, sometimes going ahead to check for a potential ambush. Relieved she carried on, occasionally, looking back to her men.

Eventually, the tunnel exited at an alley that was close to Timberton Keep. She quickly put on a mummer’s act. “Now boys! Carry me stuff! I need ‘em for me tavern!” She roleplayed a tavern wench. “Hurry, you lot! Time’s ticking!”

Her men tried to hide their snigger as they carried the crates toward the meeting location. They arrived at a tavern and entered through the back entrance. Naerys recalled Maribelle’s instructions and knocked on the door and said, “The booze has come through. Dornish Red and Arbor Gold.”

“Those aren’t booze! They’re wine.” The man from the other side of the door nasally responded before opening the door. “Ye must be what Lord Baelish promised?”

“It depends on what he promised.” She intentionally showed a bit of cleavage. It may be shameful, but it makes negotiations… Run smoother.

The man wearing an eye patch to cover the scar on his left eye laughed. “Aye. Ye’ll do. Flirting in times of war, I can respect that.”

“Well, I’m already taken. But he sends his regards and sympathises with your plight.” Naerys was affronted that her charms weren’t working on the man nevertheless she did her duty.

“Fat lot that would give the people of Timberton. Months of stealin’ our food have forced us to tighten our belts. Frankly, we’re angry. Angry of bein’ forced to participate in a war we didn’t choose.”

“Well… Would you like to choose?”

The man glared owlishly. “We haven’t introduced each other, yet.”

“I’d rather not talk in the alley. Let me in.”

The scarred man clicked his tongue and motioned for her to come in but when her men tried to do the same, he pulled his knife and pointed it at them. “Not you. Just the lady.” The man said.

“Back down. I’ll be fine.” Naerys ordered.

He led her to a private room situated at the very top of the inn. They sat on a chair lined comfortably with blue-dyed wool. “Now. Let’s introduce ourselves my name is Braeden. Former mayor of Timberton.”

Naerys hummed at that. “I’m pretty sure there’s a fascinating story behind that, but I digress. My name is Naerys Aenorh. Secretary of the Department of Welfare. A part-time sailor and currently the ambassador for Lord Petyr.”

“Quite a handful that. Well, bugger me, I guess. Ye sound official. Now… My past dealings with Petyr made me think he didn’t just send his sympathies.”

“You’ll be right with that Master Braeden. He sends steel weapons and… Special weaponry.”

Braeden raised his eyebrow. “Now, ye got me curious, lass. What’s so special about it.”

“It’s like wildfire – “

“By the gods! You’re planning to destroy Timberton?! Imitating the mad king, are ye?!” He got up and drew his sword but it was quickly parried away by Naerys.

“Let me finish. The Wisdoms he rescued from King’s Landing proved to be genius researchers though rather… Eccentric. They’ve made the stuff less likely to burn and kill you horribly.” Naerys motioned him to sit back down and continued. “He wants you and your people, I’ll loan my men as well, to use them and destroy the barracks and granary.”

“Do ye want the people of Timberton to starve! We could easily loot the granary! Why burn it?!”

“It’s heavily guarded and don’t take this the wrong way but your men won’t be able to overpower them. And the van behind Petyr’s army can easily resupply Timberton with food, just like what he did in Silverbridge. He’s a master administrator and logistician.”

Braeden adjusted his eye patch and sighed in relief. “Aye, he is. There’s more to the plan isn’t there?”

Naerys grinned like a fox. “I don’t know your history with Petyr but you know him too well. The explosions would act as a signal for Petyr to order his troops to storm the town. Of course, the Redcoats are disciplined and well-paid. There’ll be no pillaging.” The valyrian beauty tensed causing the man opposite to flinch. “There’ll be no rape. Anyone who does so will be castrated and left to bleed.”

Braeden nervously chuckled as he closed his legs together. “Very assurin’. Very well. Do you want my men to destroy the gates too?”

“Yes. Now distribute the weapons.” She slowly opened her cloak and brought out a clay pot. “These are the special weaponry I was talking about. It’s easy to set up, all you need to do is rub the yellow bit, really fast and it should ignite. Tell your men that they have four seconds to throw it before it explodes. I wouldn’t want your men to lose their hands.”

The man winced at that. “Sounds very dangerous. But that should give us an edge against those knights! What time should we attack?”

“Ideally… Now.”

“N-now?...”

“You heard me for the first time. But I’ll be reasonable. By the time the sunglass empties. An hour. We attack.”

Braeden scratched his nape. “What a tight timing schedule. Lord Petyr must be desperate for a quick victory. I wonder what riled him so?”

“Nothing he cannot handle. Now, chop, chop.” Naerys tried to brusque him away but the man just stared at her.

“Chop, chop?”

“It means hurry up.” This caused the man to run down his tavern and conspiratorially looked left and right before shutting the blinders. He lit some candles to bring light to his pub. He signalled for runners to be sent and ten minutes later the pub was bustling. Strangely, despite their numbers, they stayed silent.

Braeden climbed atop his counter and coughed to get their attention. “My friends! People of Timberton! For many months, Lord Efric –, “ he was interrupted by jeers. “Has taken our food! He lied to us. He said the stockpiled food was for winter! But no! The food was for the war against the man who showed us a future! A future that didn’t involve us toiling away till we die. Instead, he has given us a bright example of what we are capable of doing! We are capable of grasping our own future to rise above our station! You know him as Lord Petyr Baelish!”

Naerys was impressed. The man with a thick smallfolk accent, just a second ago, proved to be an eloquent speaker. However, she was concerned about the crowd breaking out in cheers and applause, forgoing all sense of stealth.

“He has listened to our concerns and has sent help! Now, his army is outside the town’s walls, but it is up to us to make their lives just a bit easier! You can do that right?!”

“Aye!”

“That’s good! That’s what I want to hear! Petyr has sent us weapons so we may help in the liberation of our town!” He gestured to the crates full of materiel. “I’m excited to introduce you to this devastating weapon – “

Naerys zoned out everything out of the meeting. More like a gathering of an army. Their reaction was the same as hers as the madwoman explained how they worked. But their reluctance was quickly replaced with feral courage as they were given a brief and explosive demonstration. Even she was surprised. Surprised at the sheer power of the ‘grenade’ and the stupidity of Braeden’s sergeants. Now they’ll have to attack now or else the guards loyal to Efric may catch on. Hearing that loud blast was not hard.

“Now! Men! People of Timberton! Today is the day we fight! Today is the day we overthrow Efric! To arms!”

“To arms!”

Like organised chaos, the armed mass of people streamed out of the enormous tavern and fanned towards three directions: the gatehouse, granary, and the barracks. “A lot of people are going to die.” She mumbled beneath her breath.

She directed her sailors towards her and decided to assist the men who would storm the barracks. The soldiers were confused. They didn’t expect the people to riot so soon. She and four dozen men surrounded the building then scratched the yellow tips and waited for the cord to ignite before throwing it above their heads, towards the barracks. A three-storey building instantly erupted in a series of small green explosions. Stone and timber were ripped apart causing them to seek cover. A momentary green hue appeared in their sight before disappearing away. Looks like it's not flammable. Just very explosive.

The surviving men-at-arms stumbled as they tried to fight the hazy fog and mind-cracking ringing in their ears. Naerys saw the opportunity. “At me!” She shouted in a low-pitched tone that would be confused for a man. Despite Petyr’s tendency to uphold gender equality to which he has her everlasting loyalty but society cannot adapt that fast.

She charged and stabbed her rapier towards a man’s throat causing him to gurgle as he fell down. Dozens followed her and what happened next was a massacre. The knights, covered in steel plate, were bludgeoned by makeshift hammers and the occasional morning star. The locals leapt at their oppressors with sheer brutality that surprised her.

Surveying the damage, she imagined Laenera’s reaction to it. She shuddered and asked for an update on the other fronts.

“Master Braeden has succeeded in destroying the gatehouse. The Redcoats are streaming through the city. It looks like, my lady, this is a victory. A rather decisive one.”

Naerys looked and squinted at the man who reported. Aquiline nose and bright blue eyes covered with long bangs of black hair. She bit her lips – Looks just like a younger Aleqqo. “Wait… I know you. You look familiar. Your one of Petyr’s guards? What are you doing here? Your Arrick, right?”

The young man shook his head. “No, my lady. You’re thinking of Derrick. My name’s Edgar. Lord Petyr sent me here cus I’m a former smuggler. He thought I would be useful here.”

“And… Do you resent him?” She had to ask. Resentful subordinates were often more trouble than they were worth.

“Heavens no. This is the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“Is that a subtle way of asking for a job in my department?”

“I thought the Marketing department would be more fun.” Edgar cheekily drawled causing Naerys to softly punch him in his shoulder.

“I can assure you; the Welfare department can have its fun moments.”

“Like today?”

“Hmm. No. Today was a collaboration between me and Maribelle. You’re welcome to apply any time.” Naerys intentionally bent down and was pleased to see Edgar blush.

“I’ll consider it, my lady.”

“I sure hope you do. Now, we must do our duty.” Ever since they came out of the tunnel, she’s been having a gut feeling about the true purpose of that tunnel. Especially, with how close it is to the Town’s Keep. “Assemble all my sailors and the locals, Edgar. Have them follow me.”

“At once, my lady!”

They jogged towards the tunnel, and she was pleasantly surprised at what she saw. Lord Efric, Marick and Robar along with a dozen guards carrying boxes of gold and jewellery. It seems my hunch was correct. She looked back and mentally counted her men – just above four dozens strong.

She walked to them making the group draw their swords in return.

“I’m afraid that’s not the escape you’re looking for, my lords.” She taunted

“Wh-who are you!? Don’t you know who we are!? Don’t impede o-on our business any longer and we may consider leaving you untouched!” A gangly-looking man shouted then leered at her in a way that revolted her.

“My name is Naerys Aenorh. Secretary of the Department of Welfare working under the head of the Civil Service – Lord Petyr Baelish. And he cordially invites you to the negotiation table.”

“You wench! Are you asking for us to surren-“

He was cut off by a blonde-haired man that resembled Isembard. “We accept.”