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"Silence!"
Tywin Lannister was furious. Whatever faint trace of goodwill he had begun to feel toward the young man before him, owing to the lad's dazzling performance on the battlefield that had indeed displayed a certain charm and prowess in war, was now completely extinguished by his words.
This Clay Manderly, not only did he lack the dignity and bearing expected of a nobleman in both speech and conduct, but his character was also utterly vile and petty. Tywin had merely applied a bit of pressure, used a slight ploy, and the boy had retaliated without hesitation.
Just one sentence—"Lord Kevan"—was enough to fill Tywin with revulsion. Though he was certain that his brother harbored no improper ambitions, he still found the remark deeply unsettling and offensive.
He had not expected, however, that his lion's roar would backfire. Clay was even more aggressive than he had anticipated. The poor table bore the brunt of his fury once again, groaning beneath a violent slap as Clay suddenly stood up.
"Lord Tywin, you are the one who ought to shut your mouth! Keep pushing me and I just might gift your beloved son, Jaime Lannister, to Stannis Baratheon on Dragonstone. Let us see if he takes a liking to such a present."
"You impudent brat! How dare you!"
This was not part of the prearranged dialogue between Clay and Robb. It was a spontaneous response from Clay, an improvisation born of instinct. For such is the art of negotiation: if one cannot suppress the opposing party's momentum, one has no hope of securing favorable terms.
And this move of Clay's was, in truth, exceedingly ruthless. Handing Jaime Lannister over to Stannis Baratheon as a gift? A man of Stannis's unyielding and ironclad disposition, faced with a figure like Jaime—known across the realm as the Kingslayer—might very well decide to behead him outright.
Tywin, meanwhile, could never depose Joffrey from the Iron Throne and invite Stannis to King's Landing to rule in his place. So then, what means, what cost, would Tywin have to bear to retrieve Jaime Lannister from such a fate?
Furthermore, should this truly come to pass, Stannis's first target of attack would likely not be his younger brother, who also proclaimed himself king. After all, if someone presents you the Kingslayer as a token of goodwill, how could you not be inclined to make a move against the one who lost him?
In that case, caught between two hostile forces advancing from either side, House Lannister would be doomed. Tywin would then have no choice but to turn to Renly for aid. Yet what could he offer Renly in exchange?
The truth remained that these three self-proclaimed kings could never coexist. There was room for only one monarch in all of Westeros. Reaching a compromise was impossible, and Renly was no fool. His army remained stationed in the Reach, still a fair distance from King's Landing.
Why would he risk a pincer attack from two sides to come to Tywin's rescue? Did he appear so idle and glutted that he would welcome such risk for nothing in return?
The most probable outcome was that Renly would seize the chaos as an opportunity, marching forth with a host of one hundred thousand men to lay claim to King's Landing for himself.
And this, precisely, was what Tywin had sworn he could never allow.
Tywin Lannister was fighting with all he had to preserve the crown upon his family's brow. Renly, in contrast, desired nothing more than for that crown to be his and his alone. Their goals were inherently opposed and fundamentally irreconcilable.
"What do I not dare? And don't even think of invoking Lord Eddard's name here. You and I both know full well the only reason you agreed to this negotiation is because you have reached your limits. The Ironborn are plundering your lands, burning and killing at will within your own borders. Let us see who has more time to waste."
"As long as we hold Riverrun and the Neck, blocking your path back to the Westerlands, let us see whose men are faster. My seven thousand riders, or your army of over twenty thousand. Perhaps our next negotiation will be held in the grand hall of Casterly Rock, beneath a banner bearing the direwolf of House Stark."
Clay was not in the mood for pleasantries. Since Tywin refused to speak with courtesy or respect, then he saw no need to maintain a polite tone either. The present situation, carefully orchestrated by Clay's own hand, granted the North complete superiority over the Westerlands. Why should such an advantage go unused?
To miss such an opportunity would be an insult to all the painstaking effort he had invested thus far.
Were it not for Eddard Stark's imprisonment, Clay would have had every reason to be even more arrogant now. But circumstances were what they were. The North held the advantage and therefore the initiative, yet, for now at least, the two sides still stood as equals.
As Tywin's eyes burned with fury, Kevan could not help but marvel in silence. To provoke his elder brother, who was so famously composed and calculating, into such a loss of control was a rare feat. It had not happened in many years.
If memory served, the last person to accomplish such a thing had been none other than the Mad King of House Targaryen, back when he appointed Jaime to the Kingsguard. Tywin had worn the same expression then as he did now.
"Enough, Lord Clay. I believe it is time we ceased this fruitless exchange of barbs. After all, the reason both parties are here is to discuss peace and the future, is it not?"
Kevan spoke to ease the tension in the air, attempting to pull both sides back from the brink. Any further "friendly" exchanges and blades would be drawn for certain.
"Then let me hear your terms, Lannister."
It was only now, after a long silence, that Robb Stark finally spoke. Earlier, before the meeting began, Clay had asked him to remain silent for the time being, insisting that he needed to handle the initial conversation with the Lannisters himself.
Now, Robb was grateful he had taken Clay's advice to heart. He had witnessed Clay's sharp tongue and ruthless rhetoric firsthand. The things Clay had said were beyond anything he could have imagined himself. It was not merely a matter of delivery; those thoughts had never even occurred to him.
In his own mind, the idea of telling Tywin directly, "I will return your son if you return my father," had seemed like a fair and reasonable exchange. He intended to save his father first, and only then decide whether to pursue peace or continue the war.
"Besides the prisoner exchange just mentioned, the Riverlands and the North shall no longer lend any support to the rule of the two false kings, Stannis and Renly," Tywin said in a cold, measured tone, having quickly regained his composure. "In return, the Iron Throne shall not interfere in your territories in any way."
Clay interrupted the old lion. "So what you're saying is, we stay out of your business, and you stay out of ours?" he asked calmly, stripping away the layers of formality.
"If that is how you insist on interpreting it," Tywin Lannister responded, expressionless, his voice devoid of warmth.
Inwardly, Clay gave a cold smile. The old lion still clung stubbornly to his pride. It seemed the provocations so far had not struck deeply enough. Not yet.
"Alright then. Robb, when we return tonight, I'll have a crown forged for you out of gold. And tonight, we shall proclaim you King in the North. After all, Lord Tywin said he won't be meddling in our affairs."
The moment those words left Clay's mouth, Robb was stunned. This was a turn of events he had never anticipated. Clay had told him beforehand that he might improvise a bit during the negotiations, but to declare him King in the North? That was something entirely different.
The entire field fell into silence. No one knew what to say. If the North were truly to crown a king of their own, this conflict would only grow more chaotic and far more serious.
Tywin Lannister's gaze remained fixed on Clay, whose face held a smile that never reached his eyes. Those eyes were cold, utterly devoid of warmth. Tywin stared in silence, caught in a moment of contemplation.
By now, he had fully understood that Clay was deliberately targeting him. This young man had no tolerance for arrogance. Even the slightest display of superiority would provoke a fierce counterattack.
"What is it that you really want?" Tywin asked at last. There was a faint weariness in his tone, the kind that came from recognizing an adversary one could not easily move.
"I just want you to speak like a man, not waste everyone's time with hollow words that are not even worth discussing," Clay replied with a smile. Backed by seven thousand cavalrymen and fresh off a major victory over the Lannisters, with a dragon still lurking in the shadows, Clay had no fear of Tywin. Not even the slightest pressure weighed on him.
"To be perfectly clear, we have three terms. First, Lord Eddard will be exchanged for your precious son. As for the remaining prisoners, they may be ransomed by their families or bought back with gold from the Westerlands. Second, no Lannister forces, neither yours nor those of your Lannister king, are permitted to set foot in the Riverlands. Should you do so, it will be taken as a declaration of war. Third, we are no longer vassals of the Iron Throne. In exchange, we will not offer support to Stannis or Renly."
Clay had barely finished when Robb leaned over and whispered, "But what about my father? Everyone knows he supports Stannis."
"It's fine," Clay whispered back, his tone unconcerned. "Treaties are made to be broken. And as for who we truly support, do the Lannisters really have any right to question that?"
In truth, the final clause did not have much real impact. The North and the Riverlands had already broken free from the Iron Throne in all but name. However, it was important that Tywin be forced to acknowledge that break, to admit it outright.
"So these are your final terms?" Tywin asked.
The truth was, these conditions were not particularly harsh for the Lannisters. Clay had not once mentioned the ironborn, who were at that very moment pillaging the western coast of the Westerlands. If the North had insisted on shielding the ironborn as part of the treaty, that would have been a real headache for Tywin.
Robb had raised this concern with Clay before they set out. After all, it had been Clay alone who had reached out to the ironborn and planned everything with them. Clay's response had been rather memorable. Robb could still recall it clearly.
"Why should we help those ironborn?" Clay had said with a laugh. "If they bleed each other dry with the Lannisters, isn't that better for us?"
"But they're helping us fight the Lannisters. If we just abandon them, isn't that... dishonorable?" Robb had asked, struggling with his sense of honor.
"Give it a rest. That overflowing sense of honor will get you killed. The ironborn aren't fighting for us. They attacked Lannisport because it profits them. The only reason they're not raiding the North is because we have Balon Greyjoy's son in our hands."
"You cannot expect pirates to follow rules. Think about why your father made Theon his ward in the first place."
"If we did not have Theon, would you have dared to march south with your full army? What would you do if the ironborn accepted a mountain of Tywin's gold and struck our western coast while we were away? What then?"
"So from the very beginning, you never saw them as real allies? But if they get defeated by the Lannisters, they'll surely blame us. And then we'll have no one left to keep the Lannisters in check."
"Stop overthinking it. This was always going to be a one-time deal. Balon Greyjoy has ambitions too. With Westeros in chaos, do you really think he'll be content to live under Northern rule forever?"
"Then they might come for us next. I could have Bran send men to strengthen our western defenses."
"That's a matter for the House of Stark. As long as you keep Theon with you, they'll behave. That's what you need to understand…"
Robb never wished to make use of his brother Theon in this way, to manipulate him for political ends, but he could not refute what Clay had said. Clearly, Clay saw the situation far more clearly than he did.
"These are our final terms," Robb said, returning to the matter at hand and answering Tywin's question. "If you agree, then once we receive my father and hand over the Kingslayer, I expect your forces to withdraw from Harrenhal at once. After all, this castle stands upon the lands of the Riverlands."
Although Clay had taken charge during the negotiations and delivered the most forceful arguments, the final decision still rested with him, the young lord of the North who bore the Stark name.
Harrenhal was a position they absolutely had to secure. Though it now stood as a vast heap of crumbling stone ruins, it remained the southern gateway to the Riverlands. More than that, the lands surrounding the God's Eye were fertile and populous, making the castle a prize well worth taking.
The lordship centered on Harrenhal was already an expansive stretch of territory, for there were no other major noble keeps nearby. That too had been arranged deliberately. Despite its size, Harrenhal had long been ruled by the feeble House Whent. When Tywin marched his armies into the region, he had not hesitated to drive them into the wilds. The Whents had no surviving male heirs of their main bloodline.
As for whether they were still alive, Clay had no idea. Although he had taken similar action in the Twins, the manner in which the Lannisters had done it was far filthier.
The Whent family had offered no resistance at all. With only a few people huddled together in the tower, shivering under the overwhelming might of Tywin's army, they had cowered without a fight. Even so, Tywin had shown them no courtesy as fellow nobles. He had stripped them of everything and cast them out of the castle without so much as a gesture of pity.
In this war-torn Riverlands, a noble family stripped of its lands and power faced a future darker than death. What fate awaited such weakened nobility was anyone's guess.
When peasants saw well-bred, soft-handed nobles fall from grace, they were unlikely to lend any aid. Especially in the case of House Whent, whose surviving members were mostly women. Clay could only scoff. The strapping farm boys were already eager to get their hands on noble maidens. They could hardly wait to taste the so-called delicacies of the upper class.
For the sake of the Riverlands' defense, Robb had no choice but to take control of Harrenhal. He would have to begin restoring it in part and turn it into a stronghold, a bastion against future invasions from the south. There was no alternative. The Riverlands had always been a battlefield caught between greater powers.
So long as war existed in the Seven Kingdoms, the Riverlands would bleed. That was the cruel truth.
"To be precise, this is our most important condition. As for the rest, we will send people to discuss the details with you. Supplies, personnel, land arrangements, and other such matters need not be addressed here and now."
Clay took over the conversation again. He glanced at the two men across from him, who had remained silent, and frowned slightly before asking,
"What's wrong, Lord Tywin? Do you have something else to say?"
Really now, we're in the middle of a negotiation. You two haven't been gagged, have you? You're allowed to speak, you know.
To Tywin, this was not an unreasonable demand. In fact, it struck right at the boundary of what he was willing to accept. And yet, he had no intention of agreeing to the deal so quickly.
That was because the implementation of this draft agreement rested on one very critical condition: Eddard Stark had to be alive. If he gave his assent now, what would happen if the Starks demanded he hand over the prisoner immediately?
What would he do then? Present them with a dying old wolf on the brink of death?
Knowing the blunt tempers of those Northern brutes, if they insisted on enforcing the ceasefire regardless of what state Eddard was in, then when Jaime returned, he too would be barely clinging to life, perhaps even missing certain vital parts of his body.
To put it harshly, the only reason Tywin wanted Jaime back was for what hung between his legs, to ensure the Lannister line continued through healthy, legitimate offspring. As for his second son, Tyrion, every time Tywin imagined the future Lord of Casterly Rock being a dwarf, and possibly generations of dwarfs to follow, he felt sick to his stomach.
In Westeros, it had always been said that every dwarf was a bastard in his father's eyes. Tywin believed that saying to be entirely true.
Pycelle would be arriving soon. Once he was here, they needed to heal Eddard Stark quickly and send him on his way.
"Let's leave it at this for today. We've reached some degree of understanding. As for your other demands, especially the ransom arrangements for the Western Lords—if each family must pay for their own, then Manderly boy, I suggest you rein in your Greyjoy hounds. Tell them to stop biting people."
"Oh come on, the Ironborn have to pay the iron price. What do you expect me to do?"
Clay absolutely refused to admit any involvement. Throwing up his hands in a show of innocence, he painted himself as the picture of virtue. How could a pure-hearted Northern youth like him possibly have orchestrated a home invasion? Absolutely not his doing.
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Hey guys, just a quick heads up. I messed up and accidentally uploaded Chapter 132 instead of 131. It's all fixed now and the correct chapter is up. Sorry about the mix up and thanks for bearing with me. I will make sure it does not happen again.
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