At the crossroads where the Blackwater Rush, flowing southeast from the Gods Eye, meets the Gold Road stretching from Casterly Rock to King's Landing, a roadside inn was operating at full capacity. Merchants, mercenaries, sellswords, and scouts gathered to drink, barter, and trade news.
It was here that Arthur Bracken finally received the information he had been waiting for—though, with it, came even more troubling rumors.
By comparing his own memory of Game of Thrones plotlines with reports from mercenaries flocking to the Westerlands, Arthur was able to sketch out a rough outline of movements in the Riverlands and the growing threat of Tywin Lannister's army.
Word had it that after Tyrion Lannister was seized by Lady Catelyn Stark at the Inn at the Crossroads, Ser Jaime Lannister had tried to force Lord Eddard Stark into releasing his brother. The confrontation turned violent, and Stark's men were cut down in the streets of King's Landing, with Ned himself injured and carried back to the Tower of the Hand. Jaime, fearing arrest or reprisal, fled the capital and rode west.
Enraged, Lord Tywin began rallying banners at Casterly Rock and splitting his army into two distinct hosts.
The first, numbering around 20,000 Lannister soldiers, consisted of the main household guard, bannermen, and elite troops from houses like Lefford, Payne, and Marbrand. Tywin led them personally eastward along the Gold Road, then angled north around Deep Den, setting up camp near Oxcross, close to Hornvale—the seat of House Brax—positioned between the Gold Road and the headwaters of the Red Fork. From there, Tywin had a clear path through the valley beneath the Golden Tooth Mountains, allowing him to strike into the Riverlands and threaten Harrenhal, the region's strategic stronghold.
The second host, about 15,000 strong, was composed of vassal troops, hedge knights, property knights, and a considerable number of sellswords, including men from Sarsfield, Crakehall, and Serrett lands. This force was led by Jaime, traveling northeast from Casterly Rock along the River Road, through Sarsfield, Golden Tooth, and toward the Tumblestone.
Though Lady Stark had moved first by abducting Tyrion, the Lannisters had seized the military initiative.
The Riverlands, meanwhile, were caught flat-footed.
Ser Edmure Tully, acting in his father's name, scrambled to respond. He initially dispatched around 4,000 troops from the Vance family of Wayfarer's Rest and the Pypers of Pinkmaiden to contest the Golden Tooth and slow Jaime's advance. But this defensive line left the mountain passes between Hornvale and Pinkmaiden lightly defended—an oversight that could prove fatal. It meant that Tywin's main force had an open road into the Riverlands' heart.
Next, Edmure summoned nearly every able-bodied man loyal to House Tully to Riverrun. These included 3,000 Blackwoods from Raventree Hall, 3,000 Brackens from Stone Hedge, 1,500 Mallisters from Seagard, over 1,000 from House Vance of Atranta, 1,000 more from House Ryger of Willowwood, and scores of knights and levies from dozens of smaller houses.
Aside from House Frey, which remained stubbornly neutral at the Twins, and the Mootons of Maidenpool, whose distance delayed their arrival, virtually every Riverland banner had answered the call.
Property knights, landed squires, barons, and hedge knights poured in by the hundreds. According to Ange's latest count, Edmure now commanded a host between 25,000 and 30,000 men, camped around Riverrun, ready to defend the western Riverlands.
However, their focus on the western approach left the eastern Red Fork dangerously exposed.
Lord Tywin, recognizing this vulnerability, dispatched Ser Gregor Clegane, the infamous Mountain That Rides, with a fast-moving force of just over one hundred men—mainly mounted killers and plunderers—to raid the eastern Riverlands. His goal wasn't conquest—it was terror.
By looting and burning towns and villages near the Gods Eye, Tywin hoped to force Riverland lords to abandon the unified defense at Riverrun and rush back to protect their homes, thus scattering their strength.
Panic now gripped the common folk of the Riverlands. With rumors spreading faster than steel, few knew what to believe, or where to flee.
In King's Landing, King Robert Baratheon had departed for a royal hunt in the Kingswood, leaving court matters in the hands of Lord Eddard. But Ned, with only fifty Northmen at his side, could do little to influence the rising tensions between Lannister and Tully.
The Vale, still quiet under Lady Lysa's isolationist rule, and the Reach, divided by politics and distance, had made no official moves. The great lords of Westeros were watching and waiting.
Back at the inn, Arthur flipped a silver stag to a sharp-eyed stable boy and asked where the Mountain's men had last been seen.
The lad answered promptly: "I swear it, m'lord. The Mountain's near the Gods Eye, they say. Been riding hard for days now."
The Gods Eye, largest lake in Westeros, spanned a vast area—miles across in all directions, stretching beyond the horizon in some places. With Harrenhal looming on its northern shore and ancient forests encircling it, locating Clegane's force would be like chasing shadows.
Arthur recalled real-world geography: only the Five Great Lakes of North America or Lake Dongting in old maps of Asia could rival the sheer scale of the Gods Eye.
Whether the Mountain was rampaging along the eastern or western shore made all the difference. Go the wrong direction, and Arthur might waste a full week—valuable time he couldn't afford to lose.
So he stood up, turned to the rowdy main hall of the inn, and shouted: "One silver stag for one reliable rumor—who's seen the Mountain, and where?"
Gold—or silver, in this case—had its own kind of magic. Rough-looking sellswords, caravan guards, and even timid farmers suddenly found their tongues.
A grizzled man stood up. "Ser, I hail from the Legg family's lands in Willow Wood," he said grimly. "The Mountain came through five days past—burned half our villages to the ground. Took the coin, killed everyone. Men, women, babes. Even the animals."
Arthur's jaw tightened. The rumors were true—Ser Gregor Clegane had already begun his terror campaign.
And the Riverlands were bleeding.
I'm from Allansmill," a young man said, voice shaking. "The Mountain looted my village two days ago. My family… my friends… they didn't get out. I think they—"
He choked up before finishing, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Others around the inn erupted with grief and fury. "What are the Riverlords doing?" a grizzled man demanded. "A lord's first duty is to protect his people! Are they asleep in their bloody castles?"
Another man called out, "I'm from Pinkmaiden. The Mountain was there nine days ago. Burned half the town and rode off like a storm!"
"Curse the Mountain!" someone spat. "Why are we suffering over some highborn feud between Lannisters and Starks?"
The room swelled with voices, each with their own tale of loss. Farmers, tradesmen, and travelers alike—all victims of war. Amid their cries, Arthur Bracken listened and pieced together the Mountain's brutal trail.
From their accounts, it was clear: Ser Gregor Clegane had ridden east from Lord Tywin's camp, likely near Oxcross or Hornvale, using the mountain passes beside the Red Fork to descend into the Riverlands. He'd struck north through Pinkmaiden, leaving a wake of death, before sweeping south through the lands of Willow Wood and Allansmill. Now, it seemed, he had circled around the southern shores of the Gods Eye and was pressing eastward.
Arthur tossed a pouch heavy with silver stags to the crowd. "You've done well. Your information is invaluable. I ride now to hunt the Mountain. And spread the word: Arthur Bracken, Lord of the Red Mill, offers protection to any smallfolk who seek refuge on his lands."
Then he stepped outside, summoning his men. The flickering torchlight caught the hard glint in his eye as he gathered the key members of his caravan.
"Dickon," he ordered, "lead the caravan due north, to my seat at Red Mill. Meidan knows the way. The 161 new recruits we gathered along the Redbend will serve under you. Train them day and night. Speed is everything."
"Anguy," Arthur continued, turning to the archer, "take your thirteen Dornish spearmen and go with Dickon. You'll oversee the militia archers' training. Your spearmen will drill the others in formation combat."
Then he faced Wag Huot, the mercenary captain. "Select thirty or forty elite from the Blood Troupe. You'll ride with me to the east side of the Gods Eye. As for the rest—split into small squads of three or four. Visit every hamlet and riverside village between the Blackwater Rush and the Red Fork. Spread the word: Arthur of the Red Mill defends the innocent. Tell the farmers to head north."
With most of the Blood Troupe mounted, Arthur knew they could carry his message faster than any raven. If all went according to plan, he would soon gather tens of thousands of displaced smallfolk and gain a massive influx of manpower.
He recalled the history of another warlord: in 192 AD, Cao Cao seized Yanzhou, recruited 300,000 surrendered Yellow Turban rebels and housed millions of refugees, rising swiftly to become the master of the Central Plains.
"War is upon us," Arthur declared, his voice like steel. "From now on, everyone follows orders to the letter. Go."
Neither Wag nor Dickon objected—Wag had been paid well, and Dickon was too caught up in the thrill of escaping his old life. Anguy, however, stepped forward—followed by all thirteen of his spearmen.
They knelt before Arthur, heads bowed. "My lord," Anguy said, voice heavy with fire, "the Mountain murdered Princess Elia Martell and her children. He shattered our honor. Every Dornishman carries that shame. Let us ride with you to take his head."
Arthur hadn't expected that. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he nodded slowly.
"Then rise. You fourteen ride with me. Gregor Clegane is a curse upon this land. We will bring justice not only for Elia and her babes, but for the countless farmers he's slaughtered."
He looked up at the stars and murmured, "The gods are watching, and what the Mountain did cannot go unanswered. I'll be their sword."
There were no further questions. Dickon departed with the caravan for the Red Mill, while the Blood Troupe scattered across the region to spread Arthur's word. Arthur himself rode east with the Dornish spearmen and Blood Troupe elites.
For four days, they trailed the signs—burned villages, shallow graves, and fleeing peasants. Each step confirmed the Mountain's path. And finally, they caught up with him.
Clegane was near.
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