Game of thrones: the Sunblode rise

Chapter 55: The Lion's Wrath

The echoes of the Tumblestone defeat reached Harrenhal with the urgency of a knife to the heart. The messengers who brought the news trembled as they stood before Tywin Lannister in the great hall, their voices faltering as they described the catastrophic losses suffered by his forces.

Tywin sat at the head of the long stone table, his golden lion sigil emblazoned on the banners behind him. His face was a mask of cold composure, but those who knew him well could see the fury simmering beneath. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the arm of his chair, each measured strike echoing in the oppressive silence of the hall.

"When did it happen?" Tywin asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

The lead messenger, a young knight with a bandaged arm, swallowed hard. "Two days ago, my lord. Sunblode's forces lured us into a trap at the Tumblestone crossings. They struck from the high ground and the woods, destroying our siege engines and scattering our infantry. We… we were overwhelmed."

Tywin's gaze was like a dagger, pinning the knight in place. "And what of the survivors?"

"Most of the vanguard is gone," the knight stammered. "The rear guard managed to retreat, but they're in disarray. Lord Marbrand is rallying them near the Red Fork."

Kevan Lannister, standing at Tywin's side, stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "This is the second defeat we've suffered at Sunblode's hands. His strategy is methodical—he's not just defending; he's dismantling our forces piece by piece."

"Because we allowed him to," Tywin said sharply, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Sunblode is clever, but he is not invincible. He exploits our overconfidence and turns it against us. That ends now."

Gregor Clegane, seated at the far end of the table, grunted. "Give me the men, and I'll burn Riverrun to the ground."

Tywin's gaze shifted to the Mountain, cold and calculating. "And what would that achieve, Gregor? More scorched fields, more dead peasants? Sunblode doesn't care about villages—he cares about the larger picture. We need to do more than destroy his land. We need to destroy his will."

Kevan nodded thoughtfully. "Then we must strike at the heart of his power. Riverrun itself."

"Exactly," Tywin said. He rose from his seat, his movements slow and deliberate, but the energy radiating from him was palpable. "We will gather our remaining forces and march on Riverrun. No more skirmishes, no more diversions. We will break the Riverlands in one decisive blow."

"And if he sets another trap?" Kevan asked cautiously.

"Then we crush him with overwhelming force," Tywin replied. "Sunblode has relied on his ability to outmaneuver us, but he cannot outfight us in open battle. We will give him no room to retreat, no opportunity to regroup. When Riverrun falls, the Riverlands will fall with it."

The messengers were dismissed, and the hall emptied as Tywin's commanders dispersed to prepare for the march. Only Kevan remained, his expression unreadable as he regarded his older brother.

"Do you think he'll stand and fight?" Kevan asked after a long silence.

"He will have no choice," Tywin said. "Sunblode's strength lies in his ability to inspire loyalty among the Riverland lords. If he retreats, he loses their support. And if he stays, he loses everything else."

Kevan hesitated. "And what of the Tyrells? They've sent reinforcements to Riverrun before. If they intervene again, it could complicate matters."

Tywin's expression darkened. "The Tyrells will not risk open war with the Westerlands. They may send supplies, even soldiers, but they will not commit fully. Highgarden is ruled by opportunists, not warriors."

Kevan nodded, though a flicker of doubt lingered in his eyes. "And if you're wrong?"

"I'm not," Tywin said coldly. "Prepare the men. We march at first light."

Back in Riverrun, the aftermath of the Tumblestone victory brought both celebration and unease. The Riverlands had won a decisive battle, but Ivar Sunblode knew the war was far from over.

In the great hall, Ivar met with his council to discuss their next move. The atmosphere was tense, the weight of the war pressing heavily on everyone present.

"Tywin won't let this defeat go unanswered," Roland Emberhill said, his voice steady but grim. "If we've learned anything about him, it's that he never strikes without purpose."

"Exactly," Lysa Blackthorne added. "He'll retaliate, and when he does, it will be devastating. We need to be prepared."

Ivar leaned forward, his hands resting on the table. "That's why we need to strengthen Riverrun's defenses. If Tywin is coming, we need to turn this castle into an impenetrable fortress."

Roland nodded. "The walls are strong, but the gates are vulnerable. We'll reinforce them with iron and place ballistae along the battlements. Every entrance must be defended to the last man."

"Timothy," Ivar said, turning to his lieutenant. "I want your enhanced soldiers ready for anything. Tywin won't rely solely on brute force—he'll use spies, saboteurs, anything to weaken us from within."

Timothy grinned, though his eyes were serious. "We'll be ready. Let's see how the lion likes being outmaneuvered again."

Lysa, ever the pragmatist, spoke next. "And what about the smaller houses? Some of them are still wavering. If Tywin applies enough pressure, they could defect."

"Then we remind them what's at stake," Ivar said firmly. "Visit them personally if you have to. Show them that we're not just defending Riverrun—we're fighting for the survival of the Riverlands."

Lysa nodded, though her expression remained cautious. "I'll do what I can. But if Tywin's march gains momentum, their fear might outweigh their loyalty."

"We can't let that happen," Ivar said. "If we stand together, we can win this war. But if we falter, everything we've built will crumble."

As Tywin's army began its march toward Riverrun, the Riverlands braced for the lion's wrath. Villages were evacuated, supplies were stockpiled, and every able-bodied soldier was called to defend the castle.

From the battlements of Riverrun, Ivar watched the horizon, his expression grim but determined. He knew the battle ahead would be unlike any other—a test not just of strength, but of will.

"The lion is coming," he said quietly, the words carried away by the wind. "Let him come."