Chapter 456 - A trap?

Chapter 456: Chapter 456 - A trap?

[Chapter Size: 3100 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Reach, 300 AC.

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"Are they heading toward the heart of the Reach? Why?" That was the question on Kevan Lannister’s mind.

"I have my doubts... And they certainly know about us..." Kevan answered the man.

The past few weeks had been anything but pleasant. A week ago, commoners and soldiers from the Westerlands had begun arriving, reporting what the Arctican army had done there. And it was worse than he could have imagined.

If they had done what Tywin Lannister had done to the Riverlands, Kevan could have understood, with them devastating the lands and taking castles. But according to the reports, what had happened was something completely different.

An absurdity. Far worse than anything he had ever witnessed in his life. Men claimed they had seen entire castles destroyed simply because that Jon Arctic had decreed that the castles be destroyed, one by one.

Both he and everyone else listened to those reports with grim expressions. What kind of war was this, where your enemy destroyed all your lands in such a way that they might never recover? They had destroyed all of the Lannisters’ prestige in the Westerlands after that...

Kevan could not imagine Tywin’s reaction, unaware that his older brother already knew what had happened to Casterly Rock. But to Kevan, his brother would lose his mind upon hearing the knights report what was happening within the Westerlands.

As if it were not enough that the Lannisters’ mines had reached their limit and no longer produced gold. Now, a large number of the western houses’ castles had been completely destroyed. That would ruin all the trust the lords had in the Lannisters. That alone would already be a devastating blow against them.

Everyone in the Westerlands wanted revenge. Now, an entire army made up of people from that kingdom wanted revenge, while fear was also painfully obvious, knowing that someone capable of destroying entire castles at will existed.

Well, the army was restless and furious. That was the best summary of the troops. Even so, we still had one advantage: our numbers.

"We can catch up to them in a few days. A week at most," Jaime said confidently, standing before the war table where they were gathered at that moment.

"We’ll have to take a shortcut, assuming they’re heading south. We could be wrong as well," another man murmured.

It was Lord Philip Plumm, a lord who had also lost his castle, as his lands lay in the southern part of the Westerlands. He did not say it out of fear, but because he genuinely wanted to catch the Arcticans and take revenge.

Kevan had to admit that, even after receiving the news that his castle had been destroyed and being filled with hatred inside, the man still maintained his composure, remaining steady and rational.

He understood that hatred, as did many others. At least four lords among that small army were burning for vengeance. Even his son, Harwyn Plumm, was shouting it to anyone who would listen. The same was true for the knights serving those houses, who had lost everything after watching their stone strongholds be struck by wildfire.

"My lord, a messenger has just arrived," said a man who had just entered the tent.

Everyone turned their attention to the soldier who had delivered the news.

"Very well. Send him in," Kevan said with a nod.

Soon, a man approached cautiously. He was covered in dust. "Speak, lad. Tell us everything you saw."

"My lords. A knight departed from Durwell for King’s Landing. He passed through Red Lake and informed everyone about the Arcticans moving through House Durwell’s lands. He said that when he left, they would probably reach the house’s seat the following day, and Lady Durwell herself offered them the castle. Fearing they might blow it up, she surrendered." He explained after giving a respectful bow.

"So they’ve moved closer to the army. They must be more accurate than our scouts," Jaime said.

Kevan nodded silently before turning his attention back to the man. "Go on. Give me every number and every detail."

"We saw fifteen thousand men. There were at least a thousand giants, all armed, wagons carrying that explosive liquid in those iron barrels... those small men... And the king himself is leading the army." He reported, while everyone exchanged glances.

"Fifteen thousand men? This is our chance to slaughter every last one of them," one of the lords said with a malicious grin on his face.

Thirty thousand against half that number seemed like an easy victory, especially with everyone eager to avenge what the Arcticans had done in the Westerlands.

But things could not be that simple.

"Doesn’t that seem strange? Why are they letting such a force move so freely?" Kevan asked.

He was no fool. He was far too experienced not to question everything. Even having heard only rumors, he had already received confirmation that Casterly Rock had also been destroyed and that his daughter and his wife might be in the Arcticans’ hands... Or even dead.

It was a grim thought that sometimes crept into his mind, but he had to remain steadfast. He was the commander of that army. Otherwise, if they lost, perhaps the king would have no chance left against them.

Kevan had the instinct that those men had not yet committed all of their strength. Perhaps this was the only opportunity to capture their king. That would completely change the disadvantage they were facing. Or kill him once and for all, since he seemed to be the central figure behind those strange powers, capable of manipulating all the people of Westeros while controlling the war and doing whatever they pleased.

He had to remain resolute. If his wife, his daughter, and his sister were still alive, he still had a chance to rescue them. Otherwise, only revenge remained.

"Some of the scouts were eliminated," Jaime reminded his uncle.

Not all of the scouts had been allowed to leave. Some had been killed. But judging by the Arcticans’ lethal efficiency, it was practically one hundred percent. There was no way they would simply let something slip by.

Something was very wrong.

"Do you think they’re luring us into a trap?" Lord Plumm asked with a grim expression.

"It’s a possibility. There are ships at sea, aren’t there? What if they’re hiding another army aboard them? No one has any information about that. All the men we’ve seen are traveling over land..." Kevan said.

"What are you suggesting, Uncle? That we let them go?" Jaime muttered mockingly, while Kevan simply stared at him with a stern expression.

"If you think that’s what I’m suggesting, then you don’t know me, nephew. And that disappoints me." Kevan growled, pausing before continuing.

"We can’t simply let them wander wherever they please. Not after what they did to the West. Now they’re advancing toward the heart of the Reach, while the Reach’s army is in King’s Landing defending your nephew, the king. Do you want to throw it in their faces that, on top of being cowards, we’re going to abandon them? What kind of message would that send to our allies?" Kevan explained.

They were in a difficult position. The enemy king certainly seemed determined to draw them farther and farther south, forcing them to follow. For them, retreating would have an even worse outcome than losing thirty thousand men.

"It’s a gamble. And now that we’re here, we’re going to take it." He pointed to a location farther south on the map.

"We’ll engage them at Oakheart." Everyone nodded.

That would be where they would face the Arctican army. And they had thirty thousand men! Not even his sorcery could stop them. After all, even if he had the reputation of a sorcerer, he was still only a man... wasn’t he?

"Very well. Now continue the report. I want to hear every detail the knight provided. I want to know more about those other races that aren’t human," Kevan said bitterly.

Even though, by that point, it was no longer so strange to learn that things other than humans existed, all of it came from that kingdom.

Giant men and smaller men, who apparently were not human, and perhaps differed in more ways than just their physical build, although most of their characteristics were still similar, according to the maesters, who were doing everything they could to unravel the mysteries of the people of Arctic.

The meeting continued until dawn, with the commanders finally going off to rest, though most of them felt uneasy about the coming battle.

As for the Arcticans, their army began moving south the following day, after a brief farewell to the people of House Durwell.

In any case, two days later, they finally left the territory and continued their advance.

They came across only one abandoned village, though they had already passed at least four others. Everyone had fled when they heard the army was approaching. Surely, some people had escaped from the Westerlands and spread stories about what the Arcticans had done there, probably exaggerating greatly and claiming they killed everyone in their path.

So it was no surprise to occasionally find an abandoned village ahead of them. The army had no intention of passing through it. They would simply continue along the road beside it, since it was the only route through the region.

"Tell the army to keep advancing. I intend to enter the village..." Jon suddenly said after looking at the village for some time, as if he had found something interesting there.

"Are you sure, Your Grace? Apparently there’s nothing there. Did you notice something? Should we bring a group of men?" Lancelot approached Jon with concern.

Even under Jon’s keen observation, there was nothing but abandoned houses.

"In fact, there’s only one person there. That’s why I’m interested in getting closer," Jon said. "Don’t worry, my commander, you’ll come with me and bring some men, but no more than a few Kingsguard."

He simply shrugged. Lancelot exchanged a few glances with the other Kingsguard, and Jon moved forward. They soon followed him. Arya and Barristan Selmy were not with them, so they did not accompany them.

Jon entered the place and, just as he had expected—or rather, as he had already seen through the animals—it was completely deserted. Houses stood closed, some even left open by people who had fled in a hurry. A few belongings were scattered across the ground, but only one man caught his attention.

His horse continued through the village until he heard the sound of wood being sanded at the end of the street, in front of an open house with wooden chairs displayed outside in a corner.

The man was there. An elderly gentleman working with his hands, crafting chairs.

Jon approached as the man raised his eyes toward them. However, the old man simply lowered his gaze again and continued sanding the wood.

His men exchanged puzzled looks as they approached.

"Hello, my good sir," Jon began, approaching the man on horseback.

"Nice armor," the man said simply. "Tell me, do you also go around shouting, full of glory, just because you wear fine armor?" the old man asked.

Jon seemed slightly surprised. "Not necessarily. It’s only meant to attract attention. Otherwise, I would’ve covered it in emeralds, rubies, and other precious stones. What matters here is the metal."

"So you know about precious stones. You must be rich as well. How about buying one of my chairs?" the man asked.

"Why not?" Jon replied. He seemed to recognize that kind of personality. "How much does one cost?"

"Fifty silver coins," the old man answered.

"I’ll pay what’s fair, no more and no less. I’m not the type to throw money around, and I wouldn’t want to pay more than a fair price."

"I have the right to set whatever price I want, don’t I?" the old man shot back.

"Of course, why not?" Jon shrugged. "But it’s up to me whether I buy it or not. After all, I could offer a single copper coin as well. If you don’t accept it, I can’t buy it. Likewise, if I don’t accept your price, I won’t pay either. Neither of us will make a deal. I’ll only pay what’s fair," Jon said simply.

"But I’m the only man who makes chairs in this region. You won’t find anyone else willing to sell one to you," the old man said, staring at him.

"But what if chairs weren’t something that interested me? After all, there’s an abandoned village here to loot your chairs from..."

"You could, but you haven’t done it so far. Even your army is going around the village without stopping..."

"From what I can see, you know who I am," Jon said.

The man nodded. "Who doesn’t? Some call you the Wild King," he said, sanding the wood between each sentence. "Others say you’re a sorcerer. I heard about what you did in Oldtown many years ago. A lot of people in these lands have spoken about you."

"Well, I can’t say my life hasn’t been eventful," Jon replied.

"Lately they say you’re a demon. The demon who destroys castles and slaughters people. I heard you killed half the population of the Westerlands and destroyed their castles."

Jon remained silent. "And do you believe those horrors?" he asked.

The man shook his head. "No. I don’t believe you can destroy castles as though it were nothing. And I don’t believe you slaughter people without good reason. People do certain things for certain reasons, driven by actions and incentives, and I don’t see any scenario where you would gain from doing that..." he said.

Jon could see a certain wisdom in the old man. Even so, he had no idea what Jon had planned for the Westerlands, nor of his plans to place every lord in debt to him and his family. That was why he also did not believe in the destruction of the castles, even though, ironically, that part was true.

In any case, Jon turned his attention back to the man.

"It’s still strange. Why are you here? There’s no one else left in this village. Everyone fled because they were afraid of us, but you stayed. Weren’t you afraid we might kill you, as those rumors about the demon claim?" Jon asked.

"As I said, it’s a bit exaggerated. But yes, you could kill me. You’ve had that possibility all along. But honestly, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m at the end of my life. My only occupation now is making chairs." He said, wiping the sweat from his forehead before continuing.

"I was a soldier once. I traveled through the Hightowers’ lands, saw the Tarlys and other great houses. Then I retired after injuring my leg and learned this trade from a man who helped me when I had nothing. This is how I make my living... The people of the village and a few nobles from the region buy these chairs."

The man appeared to be around seventy years old, an age somewhat uncommon in Westeros, especially among the common folk.

"I see. So you’ve stopped being afraid," Jon said with a friendly smile as he looked over the chairs.

"I’ll buy all of these finished chairs, provided you give me a fair price."

The man stared at him for a moment. He even stopped sanding the piece he was working on, one of the chair’s legs.

"Twenty silver stags for all the chairs. That’s everything I have at the moment," he said.

"Very well. Men, it’s a good thing you came with me. Load up the chairs."

The Kingsguard merely exchanged glances, but they had no choice but to obey. Jon also asked someone to pay the man. The bag of coins was handed to the old man, who simply watched those men wearing armor capable of making any knight in Westeros feel ashamed merely by its presence.

The soldiers picked up the chairs and began stacking them to carry away. Each man carried two chairs.

"Good luck with your endeavor, my good man," Jon said in farewell before returning to the army.

"My king, why this?" Lancelot asked as he watched the Kingsguard carrying the chairs while trying to control their horses.

"Well, I was curious to understand the man. And, honestly, I enjoy talking to the common folk. I also like to understand what they think of us. This is one of the few times I can have a conversation without pretending to be someone else and without the other person trembling in fear," Jon said.

It was actually refreshing.

The conversation was not the most important part. He had not expected the man to give him military or political advice about Westeros. However, he had managed to see many things through the old man’s eyes. If he wanted to rule those lands, he also needed to understand those people.

The journey continued for some time until the moment finally arrived.

The scouts were being sent closer and closer to the enemy army, and as they returned, they reported that the Lannister forces were drawing nearer.

While the Arcticans continued marching south, the Lannisters were advancing diagonally, taking a faster route than theirs. Besides that, the Arcticans carried heavier loads, and the giants marched at a slower pace, even though they maintained a good rhythm.

Then Jon finally came upon a vast open field.

"This will be the place," he declared.

"What will be here?" Arya, who was beside him, asked curiously.

"This is where our battle against the Lannister army will take place."

He said it while looking over the immense open field, with plains wide enough to execute the kind of strategy he intended to use against the Lannisters.

Ever since arriving in the Westerlands, Jon had been planning which regions could serve as a battlefield against the thirty thousand men. And he had found this place, farther to the south.

He understood the implications very well. The Lannisters would suffer if they withdrew. Even if this turned out to be a trap, it was better for them to sacrifice all thirty thousand men and die fighting in the Reach than to simply let the enemy army do as it pleased.

"Let’s begin our little game," Jon said with a malicious smile.

Then he moved forward. The others followed him, while the army came behind them, advancing slowly.

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