The argument had been going on for hours. Every noble in the room thought they were a tactical genius, and none of them were willing to back down.
Robb Stark sat at the head of the table, his eyes darting from one lord to the next. He was trying to be the "Good King," listening to every piece of advice, but I could see the weight of the crown starting to give him a headache. Being the boss meant the final choice and the blame if it went south was all on him.
Just as the shouting hit a fever pitch, Abel walked in. He wasn't alone. He'd "convinced" some of the captive servants to help out, and they were carrying trays of food that smelled like heaven.
The bickering stopped instantly.
We're talking fried eggs with centers as yellow as Lannister gold, crispy bacon that filled the room with a smoky haze, freshly baked whole wheat bread so soft it practically melted, and a vegetable salad that actually looked fresh. When the bowls of thick, creamy fish soup hit the table, the only sound left in the room was the rhythmic slurping of hungry men.
Abel, Konn, and McKen had handled the "catering" personally. They'd literally held a sword to Byron Lannizes's throat and told him that if the food wasn't perfect or if it was poisoned, everyone in his house was going to have a very short, very bad day. Konn even made the poor guy taste everything first.
It worked. The lords were happy, and for ten minutes, we weren't a war council; we were just a bunch of guys at a buffet.
Robb finished a mouthful of bacon and looked over at me. I'd been quiet the whole time, which I guess was unusual for the "Hand of the King."
"Eddard," Robb said, wiping his mouth. "You've been awfully quiet. You're my Hand, what's your take on the next move?"
The room went quiet again. Even the Greatjon stopped chewing. He was still pissed that a "kid" from House Karstark had a fancy title while he was just "another lord." He was waiting for me to say something stupid.
"Suggestions?" I said, putting my bread down and giving the room a small smile. "Well, Lady Maege's plan to round up the livestock is solid. It hits their productivity where it hurts."
Maege gave a small, satisfied nod.
"But," I added, "we need to move fast. We can't be driving ten thousand cows through the mountains. I say we keep the horses and slaughter the rest to feed the men. If the soldiers are eating steak every night, they're going to fight like demons."
Maege frowned, but Robb nodded. He liked that one.
"As for the gold mines and the castles?" I continued. "They're distractions. They don't help us win the war."
The Greatjon snorted, and even the Blackfish looked confused.
"Think about it," I said, leaning forward. "We've got the Kingslayer in a cage. We've killed Stafford and Martyn. Tywin has to know by now. Has he moved? Has he panicked? No. He's sitting in Harrenhal like a stone. He doesn't even care about his own son enough to abandon his position. You think he's going to rush home because we're digging in a gold mine or burning a few peasant villages?"
The murmurs started up again. Nobody had a comeback for that.
I knew I had to speed this up. I couldn't wait for the Tyrells to join the Lannisters and turn this into a 70,000-man nightmare. I needed Tywin out of Harrenhal now, while we still had the numerical advantage in a 30,000-vs-20,000 matchup.
"We need a move that he can't ignore," I said, tapping the table for silence. "We need to hit the one thing he loves more than his kids. We need to besiege Lannisport."
The room stayed silent for a heartbeat, then it exploded.
"Are you out of your mind?!" the Blackfish yelled. "We have eight thousand riders, Eddard! You can't besiege a major city with just cavalry. The commander will look at our 'army' and laugh his head off!"
The Greatjon laughed. "Why not Casterly Rock? Maybe we can just fly over the walls while we're at it?"
Robb looked at me, his expression worried. "Eddard, we don't have the numbers. How do you plan to pull that off?"
I signaled for quiet, and once the lords settled down, I stood up.
"Our goal isn't to take Lannisport," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Our goal is to make Tywin think we're taking it. The enemy doesn't know how many of us there are. They just saw their recruits get slaughtered in the middle of the night by a 'pack of wolves.' They're terrified."
I leaned in close to Robb's ear and whispered the actual plan the psychological play I'd been cooking up.
Robb's eyes widened. He sat there for a long time, thinking. "Will that actually work?"
"Trust me," I whispered back. "If it doesn't, we've lost a couple of days and we go back to the Blackfish's plan. But if it does? Tywin will be on the road to the Golden Tooth before the sun sets."
Robb stood up, his face set. "Alright. Everyone, get your men ready. We move out for Lannisport in two days. At dawn."
Three days later.
Lannisport was the heart of the West. It was the crossroads for the River Road, the Golden Road, and the Coast Road. In peace, it was a gold mine of trade. In war, it was the Lannisters' primary recruitment hub.
Ser Davos Lannister, Stafford's surviving son stood on the high white walls, looking out at the Northern camp. He was wearing polished plate armor, his golden hair catching the light, but his eyes were full of grief.
He'd just found out his dad was dead. His cousin Martyn, too. Both killed by the Karstarks.
He watched as a column of infantry emerged from the forest. They were carrying the black-and-white sunburst banner of House Karstark. There were about a thousand of them. Then another unit in green with a bear followed.
Davos gripped his greatsword, his knuckles white. He didn't believe the stories about "direwolves" and "thousands of Northmen." But seeing the Karstark colors made his blood boil.
"Come on," he hissed, staring at the camp. "Try and hit these walls. I'll make you pay for my father."