Hugh Hammer (ASOIF/SI)

 Standing at the tall windows of her Solar, once the Solar of her late

 husband, Lord Jason Lannister, she looked out over the sunset sea

 and in the distance the hazy smudge that was Lannisport.

 Smoke from innumerable fires caused a pall to hang over the port,

 the fires of people trying to keep warm in the grip of a winter, with icy

 winds howling daily off the sunset seas, bringing with them heavy

 falls of snow more often than not.

 The city had been sacked most thoroughly by the Ironborn, much of

 the city was ash and ruins, its remaining inhabitants dwelling in tents

 or cobbled together hovels among the remnants of buildings.

 A sour pain in the pit of her stomach at the thoughts of the

 devastation wrought upon Lannisport was only slightly relieved by

 the knowledge that her husband's former mistress and all her

 daughters by Lord Jason had been carried off by the Ironborn, a

 rather fitting end for that cunt and her bastard get.

 "Ser Criston Cole refused the return of the men you have asked for

 my Lady" came the voice from behind her, Ser Garrel, an older

 Household Knight that had been judged too old to join her husband's

 armies and had been left behind in Casterly rock. And just as well

 her fool of a husband had passed over Ser Garrel, as the man was

 both possessed of a fine mind and an equally acceptable sword arm.

 Ser Garrel had ridden hard from Lannisport ahead of the Ironborn

 and had led the defense against the pitiful attempt by the Ironborn to

 storm the Rock.

 And even before then, the old Knight had been something of a

 confidant and advisor to her, the majority of the Lords and other

 highborn who would normally serve in the multitude of functions

necessary for the running of the Rock and the Westerlands had

 departed with Lord Jason. She had been left with the leavings and

 dross that would normally never rise so high, and she was suffering

 for it.

 Ser Garrel was one of the few competent men she felt she could

 trust and confide in, and she had elevated him to Castellan of

 Casterly Rock, its previous Castellan had been killed in Lannisport

 during the Sack, allegedly while in a brothel.

 "Of course he has, I did not expect him to agree to any of my

 requests, not even this latest one for only a small number of our

 forces to return."

 "Then why ask at all my Lady?" asked the Ser Garrel, she strongly

 suspected that he knew the real reason, and that he was only asking

 out of politeness and courtesy.

 "The messages have all been sent by raven, and the Maester of the

 Ravens is of course keeping a record of not only that they were sent,

 but also the contents of the messages. I want a record of this, if only

 for posterity, to show that our requests for assistance from our so

 called 'King' were rejected."

 "The King is in Kings Landing and a prisoner of Daemon

 Targaryen…"

 "He is, but his Hand acts in his name, and especially in this case

 when the King is unable to respond, the Hand is the King."

 "I see" came the reply, the slightest of smiles tugging at the corner of

 Ser Garrel's mouth.

 "The messages I have sent to Lord Corlys Velaryon have not been

 sent by raven and have been sent in code and no one but you and I

 know of them. I trust you see the difference?"

 "I do."

"Good. This war has gone on long enough, winter is here, and it is

 already proving to be a cruel one, war only adds to our burdens. I

 want this war ended as soon as possible and those fools Cole and

 Ormund are not the men to do it. They know that so long as Daemon

 Targaryen sits atop the Iron Throne their lives are worth nothing, and

 so they must win at all costs. But they lack the means to win this war,

 their superiority in numbers notwithstanding, and the Blacks are

 steadily pushing them out of the upper Reach. If the Westerlands

 turned its cloak and declared for King Aegon, 2nd of his name, that

 would further weaken the position of the Greens, certainly enough

 for anyone with an ounce of sense to know that Cole, Ormund and

 Prince Aemond would need to be, disposed of."

 "I assume you have extracted the necessary guarantees from Lord

 Corlys as Hand to make this work?"

 "Not yet, but the terms I have offered to Lord Corlys are generous to

 the Iron Throne, a return of their treasury and a million gold dragons

 as a pledge of loyalty from House Lannister to House Targaryen. I

 have also offered him the hand of either Tyshara or Cerelle to his

 legitimized bastard grandson. Though everyone knows the lad

 Addam and his brother are Corlys's own get. That should be more

 than enough to secure at least a consideration of our offer."

 "A, a consideration is, it's, it would be less than ideal…" came the

 careful response form Ser Garrel, a frown creasing his already lined

 and care worn face.

 "It would, but if we get no response, or a negative response, so be it.

 I have the good of the Westerlands to consider before anything else,

 and this bloody war is turning into a disaster of the highest order!"

 After a minute's or so silence the old knight continued "on that note

 and apologies for more bad news but the winter planting has yet to

 commence in the lands of House's Crakehall, Myatt, Plumm, Sywft,

 Ferren, Foote and Bettly. The snows and the fact that the soil is too

 hard has delayed this once again. We are thus still dependent on our

storehouses and the last of the autumn crops, which look like

 yielding significantly less than expected."

 "How bad is it?" she asked, dreading the answer, but having to ask it

 anyway.

 "Bad, a 1/5th shortfall in food starting in six moons time, rising to a

 1/3rd shortfall in twelve moons time."

 "Dorne, Essos?" she asked, her stomach twisting and tensing from

 the news.

 "Little prospects from Dorne, merchants from the Stromlands and the

 Crownlands have apparently bought up the majority of this years and

 next year's harvests. Essos is better, our factors have reported that

 there are significant surpluses available in Pentos, but that the

 outbreak of the Daughters war, coupled with the

 Ironborn's….activities, make it less than advisable to purchase the

 necessary supplies. In short we could buy the grain we need but we

 could not be certain it could be shipped to us safely."

 "Godsdammit!" she swore, her anger and frustration getting the

 better of her. How many smallfolk would starve this winter, how many

 laborer's and craftsmen would they lose, how much would their tax

 revenue and their power shrink due to this, this insufferable situation!

 "Could, could we" she thought out loud "ship the grain to Oldtown, up

 the Honneywine as far as it is navigable, overland to the Mander,

 then up the Mander and up the Goldwater1 to Goldengrove, then up

 the Redwater2 , overland to the Trent3 and hence onwards?"

 "It's a possibility my Lady, but again the sea journey is the most

 vulnerable part of the voyage, we could contract with Dornish houses

 for their naval strength to protect our ships, run convoys along their

 shore…." At this the Knight paused and was obviously thinking hard,

 his lips moving silently every now and again.

"Erh….I'm afraid I've just remembered something my Lady, and

 apologies for not remembering it sooner…"

 "Go on Ser Garrel, I take no slight nor will I rebuke you…"

 "The, the number of barges and boats available on the Mander is, it,

 it has been severely reduced by the needs of the Army in the

 northern portions of the Reach and by the actions of the Blacks and

 their dragons. The Blacks have been targeting river traffic and

 burning shipping for the last few moons, there is a severe shortage

 of boats on the Mander and its tributaries as a result."

 "Well, can't we order more built Ser Garrel?"

 "Much of the labor available is either in the army as levies, or still

 working their fields, the Reach has been able to plant winter crops

 apparently."

 "And could we expect to be able to buy food from the Reach then?"

 she asked, hope tinging her voice.

 "Maybe, our factors have already made enquiries, we may be able to

 purchase food from next year's crops, but we have only been offered

 options to buy and not any concrete contracts for purchasing grains."

 "Any other bad news for me Ser Garrel" she barked out with an

 ironic laugh.

 "Apparently the bastard dragon rider Ser Hugh has been legitimized

 as a son of Daemon Targaryen and married to Princess Rhaena."

 "Well, that binds a powerful dragon to Daemon's cause, all the more

 reason for the war to be brought to a swift conclusion. Let's hope the

 men who have the power to end all of this have an ounce of sense

 between them."

 Ser Garrel did not offer any reply to this.

The unnamed river that runs from the Mander via Goldengrove up

 into the Westerlands. A proposed river, not shown on the map, that

 runs from Goldengrove to the Red Lake. A proposed river, not shown

 on the map, that rises in the mountains near Cornfield and empties

 into the Sunset Sea near Crakehall.