Chương 372: Chapter 372: The Vale Sends No Troops
The Vale. The Bloody Gate.
The Bloody Gate is a formidable fortress built at a narrow mountain pass. Its twin watchtowers, perched on the cliffs, resemble the fangs of a great beast, and the entire gate looms like a blood-filled maw, ready to devour anyone who dares approach. In its long history, it has never fallen to an enemy, standing as the most impregnable shield protecting the Eyrie and the Vale.
For 10,000 years, countless armies have attempted to breach the Bloody Gate, only to leave behind fields of corpses. The only ones ever to pass it were the dragons of the Targaryens.
Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, the Knight of the Bloody Gate, now guards this ancient fortress. With war on the horizon, he has been tirelessly urging Lysa Arryn to send troops to support Jaime Lannister. But Lysa, as always, evades him, using concerns about Viserys's fleet as an excuse for delay.
The Trident may be swarming with Viserys's warships, but the Imp, ever cunning, has laid iron chains across the river, leaving just enough space for the Vale's army to cross if they are sent. Brynden has tried everything to make Lysa understand: if Viserys wins, they will all face a reckoning like none before. Even Robert's orders, delivered personally, have not spurred her to action.
Frustration gnaws at Brynden. He's stationed at the Bloody Gate, but without the Vale's cavalry, Jaime will be powerless to stop Viserys's advancing forces. And once Viserys's reinforcements arrive from across the Narrow Sea, Robert's chances will be dashed entirely. The steady drizzle outside the window only deepens his irritation.
Suddenly, a carriage appeared in the distance, winding its way toward the Bloody Gate. Brynden's eyes narrowed. He shouted from the towers, his voice echoing across the valley like thunder from the clouds.
"Who goes there, through the Bloody Gate?"
A familiar voice answered from below. It was Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, and he had passed through the Bloody Gate more than once, well-versed in its procedures.
"King Robert's envoy, Petyr Baelish."
"Robert sent someone!" Brynden's heart lifted. He had hoped Littlefinger's arrival might finally push Lysa to act. Robert's latest favorite wouldn't be here unless it was to urge Lysa to send troops. If Robert himself had sent Petyr, there would be no more room for delay. He almost wanted to drag Littlefinger through by his ear, but formalities had to be observed.
"In the name of the Eyrie, Lord of the Vale and true Warden of the East, I grant you passage. Keep the peace in his name."
Littlefinger was soon allowed through, and Brynden hurried down to meet him.
"Petyr," Brynden asked, "did His Grace send you to urge Lady Lysa to send troops?"
Littlefinger, of course, couldn't tell the truth—that he had received no orders from Robert and had come of his own accord. He smiled and lied smoothly, "The woman in the carriage is the Red Witch. His Grace actually sent me for a different matter."
Brynden's brow furrowed. "What about the troops?"
Littlefinger knew he couldn't outright forge the king's command. It would be too obvious, too easily exposed. "I... cannot speak for the troops," he replied carefully, "but there are other pressing matters. We'll have to speak with Lady Lysa."
Brynden nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced. Still, if Littlefinger was here, there was hope that something might shift. And for now, that would have to be enough.
"I've also come for that matter," Littlefinger said.
"Good. Go persuade Lysa," Brynden urged.
But Littlefinger's mind was already elsewhere. His only thought now was to shut the Bloody Gate and wait for Viserys to finish his war, then run to pledge his allegiance. No, not run—swearing loyalty would do just fine. Before that, though, he needed to stabilize, or better yet, control the pro-war faction in the Vale. Men like Brynden would be best kept under lock and key.
...
At Rook's Rest, Viserys found himself in a precarious position. Despite boasting an army of 40,000 to 50,000 men on paper, his forces were spread thin. Nearly half were tied up defending the North from the Umber forces, and another 20,000 had to guard the Vale and the Crownlands against further incursions. That left only 20,000 troops to face Jaime Lannister.
Jaime, bolstered by Harrenhal's reinforcements, now commanded close to 20,000 troops as well, and the stronghold of Harrenhal behind him gave him the upper hand in terms of maneuverability.
In his war tent, Viserys was huddled with Jorah Mormont and his other commanders around a sand table, conducting a military simulation. The table was set with chess pieces—lion heads for the Lannisters, dragon heads for the Targaryens—and seven dragon pieces of different colors to represent the seven dragons in his army.
"We're at a disadvantage when it comes to terrain," Jorah pointed out. "Maidenpool sits slightly higher than us."
Westeros's topography naturally favored the west, which was higher in elevation than the east.
"We do have an advantage in cavalry," Conwyra added eagerly, "and with the dragons holding them back, the key will be our frontline."
Viserys listened intently, but his mind was on the bigger picture. He wanted to wait for Connington to arrive with reinforcements, but time was not on his side. Robert Baratheon wasn't going to give him that luxury. Jaime's forces were already mobilizing and would strike before Viserys could fully consolidate his troops.
Transporting his entire army—100,000 men in total—across the sea in a single wave was impossible in this age. The logistics of such an operation were staggering, and the sea lanes wouldn't support it. Even the notion, as depicted in stories, of Daenerys returning to Westeros with 20,000 Unsullied and countless Dothraki warriors made little sense.
In reality, it would take half a year to journey from Slaver's Bay to Westeros, even Zheng He, a Chinese admiral, with a powerful empire at his back, couldn't have managed such a feat with warhorses in tow. Daenerys, on the other hand, had nothing behind her but her sellsword lover. The entire scenario was illogical.
Robert's camp had seized upon this very weakness, seeking to turn Viserys's offensive into a war of attrition. They wouldn't wait—they'd press the attack and force Viserys's hand.
Viserys knew he had no choice. He would have to engage Jaime head-on. Defeating Jaime was the only way forward, after which he could turn his attention to Harrenhal, besieging it to buy enough time for his reinforcements to arrive. Only then could he truly seal Robert's fate and drive the final nail into his coffin.
"Still no movement in the Vale?" Viserys asked the scout sent by Young Connington.
"Your Grace, there is no sign of any troop movements in the Vale."
The lack of action from the Vale made Viserys think of the War of the Five Kings from the original timeline. Back then, Brynden Tully had hoped the Vale would send troops, but Lysa Arryn had stayed put, unmoved by the conflict around her. Littlefinger had been behind that, manipulating events for his own gain.
At that time, Littlefinger wanted the Lannisters and Starks to tear each other apart. Now, Viserys suspected, the man knew Robert's defeat was inevitable. When one side grows too strong, the conditions for playing both sides vanish. Littlefinger wouldn't gamble by siding with Robert now.
Three paths were open to him: loyalty to Robert, neutrality, or loyalty to the winning side—Viserys. Two of those options had already been discarded. That left only one.
'Why doesn't he just march his army and defect to us?' Viserys mused. The answer, he thought, was prestige. Littlefinger didn't yet have the influence or power to claim the title of Warden of the Vale. He was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make his move. The man wanted to "advance," no doubt.
But if Viserys's dragon was stronger, he wouldn't have to wait. He could simply smash through the Vale's defenses and split it in two. For now, though, they had to focus on the immediate battle.
"Hold the town!" Viserys ordered. "Tell Ser Connington to recall 4,000... no, 7,000 troops and join me in laying siege to Maidenpool."
"Yes, my Lord."
He turned next to Jorah Mormont. "Ser Jorah."
"Your Grace!" Jorah responded, stepping forward.
"You'll command our left flank." Viserys then turned to an officer from the Golden Company. "Ser Mudd, you'll join Ser Jorah on the left."
"Yes, my Lord," Ser Mudd said with a nod.
As Viserys continued to give orders, Eustace Brune of Crackclaw Point grew anxious. He hadn't yet heard anything about the Knights of the Dragon's Wing, his order. Then Viserys called out:
"Ser Eustace Brune!"
Eustace stood up quickly, his excitement barely contained. With so many Brunes present, it was rare to hear his full name used.
"You and the Knights of the Dragon's Wing will charge head-on with me. I want Jaime Lannister's head on a spike!"
"Yes, Your Grace!" Eustace replied, his voice filled with determination.
Viserys had already proven, during the night raid on Summerhall, that dragons excelled in surprise attacks. He had decided to strike Jaime's camp with the dragons before the battle even began. A sudden aerial assault would demoralize the enemy and give them a critical advantage.
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