I'd seen enough historical documentaries and played enough strategy games to know that if you can't win with numbers, you win with smoke and mirrors.
The trick wasn't even that clever. If anyone actually managed to walk into our camp and look around, they'd realize within five minutes that the whole thing was a set. But this was a siege or at least, a fake one. I had three thousand Stark riders patrolling the perimeter day and night, turning any Lannister scout who got too close into a human pincushion.
To keep the illusion alive, I told Dita Calandre to triple the number of cooking fires. "Every time we add a fake banner, I want ten more fires," I told her. "Details win wars. From the city walls, the Lannisters can't count heads, but they can definitely count the smoke from breakfast."
I spent my days with the prisoners and archers, pretending to prep for a massive assault. I had the captives digging trenches that got closer to the walls every day and piling up mounds of dirt to hide our "infantry." I even had the local Oxcross carpenters build these massive, terrifying-looking siege towers and battering rams based on stuff I'd seen on TV. Half of them probably would've fallen over if we actually tried to use them, but they looked menacing as hell from a distance.
The lords were baffled by the "engineering," but I didn't bother explaining. Instead, I suggested that Robb let my dad and Lord Blackwood lead raiding parties around Lannisport.
Robb was a bit squeamish about the "banditry," but I leaned in. "Your Majesty, as your Hand, I'm telling you: you need to keep these lords happy. They aren't just here for honor; they're losing money and men every day they're away from home. A little loot goes a long way. There's an old saying: 'People don't mind a struggle as long as the rewards are split fairly.' If we let them get paid, they'll follow you to the Wall and back."
That did the trick. My dad and Tytos Blackwood hit the countryside with a vengeance. They took Flashgold, a little town nearby to use as a relay station for ravens and sent back enough livestock and coin to keep the whole army grinning.
The plan worked perfectly. Ser Davos Lannister, who was running the show in Lannisport, was losing his mind. He watched from the walls as "reinforcements" poured into our camp every morning. He tried sending scouts, but they all ended up with their heads thrown over the city walls by our small trebuchets.
Davos wasn't a coward, but he wasn't a gambler either. He knew he could hold off eight thousand guys, but twenty thousand with siege engines? No way. He started spamming ravens to Harrenhal and King's Landing, begging for help.
Our archers intercepted a few of them. When we read the panic in Davos's handwriting, the whole command tent felt a wave of relief. The lords started looking at me like I was a wizard or maybe a Bolton. I just kept my eyes on the map, waiting for the Big Lion to move.
Outside Harrenhal, the Big Lion was definitely moving.
Tywin Lannister looked like a god of war in his golden plate armor. Even his horse was draped in red-and-gold scale mail. Behind him, the banners of the West fluttered in the dawn breeze.
Kevan Lannister rode up, looking like he'd aged ten years in a week. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot. He'd just found out his son Martyn was dead, and the grief was clearly eating him alive.
"Tywin, the men are ready," Kevan rasped. "Do we move?"
"We move," Tywin said, his voice as cold as ice.
Tywin had known about Stafford and Martyn for weeks, but he hadn't budged. He was waiting for the right moment. But the news from Lannisport changed everything. Davos was swearing that the North had twenty thousand men at the gates and the city was about to fall.
Tywin couldn't let his home burn. He sent a raven to King's Landing, signing off on Tyrion's plan to sell Myrcella to the Martells, he didn't care about Cersei's tears; he cared about the war. Then he led his twenty thousand veterans out of Harrenhal, heading west along the River Road.
Inside Harrenhal, Arya watched the army leave from the shadows of the Crying Tower. Her eyes were fixed on the lords at the back of the line guys like Harys Swyft and her heart was heavy with hatred.
"I'm such an idiot," she whispered to herself. "I should've given Jaqen Tywin's name. Why didn't I say his name?"
She ran down the stairs, desperate to find the mysterious man with the red hair, when she ran right into Weese. He was the under-overlord of the tower, a cruel prick who loved kicking the slaves.
Weese didn't even let her speak. He kicked her into the corner and slapped her three times, his hand stinging like a whip. "You little brat! Stop slacking! Take this letter to Vargo Hoat. Now, or I'll break your legs."
Arya took the letter, her face burning, her heart full of a new, dark resolve. I've got two names left, she thought. One of them is definitely for Weese.
A week later, Tywin's army successfully crossed the Red Fork. He looked at the garrison on the walls of Riverrun and felt a surge of confidence. The fact that the Tullys weren't attacking him in the open field confirmed his theory: Robb had taken everyone to the West.
"Kevan, tell the men to pick up the pace!" Tywin ordered. "We need to hit Lannisport before the month is out!"
High up in Riverrun, Edmure Tully watched the Lannister army pass, his knuckles white as he gripped the stone railing. He wanted to charge. He wanted to crush them right there. But he had orders.
Beside him stood Roose Bolton, the "Leach Lord." He'd just arrived with ten thousand Northmen after marrying one of old Walda Frey's granddaughters. He looked as calm and creepy as ever.
"Patience, Lord Edmure," Roose whispered. "We let them get a few miles further. Then we close the trap."
In a dark corner below the walls, Karas Snow and Dita Calandre were whispering.
"This is boring, Dita," Karas complained, scratching his head. "I want to be out there with the boss, not babysitting the Kingslayer."
"Shut up, Karas," Dita hissed. "Eddard told us to stay put. As long as Catelyn doesn't let Jaime out, we're the most important guys in this castle. Just wait. Our payday is coming."
Miles away, the "boss" they were talking about was standing on a ridge overlooking the Golden Tooth.
I looked at the archers lined up behind me, their bows taut. Tywin was coming home, and I was about to give him the warmest welcome he'd ever had.
"Everyone, get ready!" I shouted. "Aim for the wall! FIRE!"