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WMK 134
🕑 Added 2025-10-24 18:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter 134: The Pinkmaiden
An eagle circled high above, looking down upon the massive army camp below.
Countless campfires sent up thin streams of smoke, shrouding the camp in a light haze. Neat rows of tents stretched along the riverbank, and tall poles bearing banners dotted the landscape. On crimson fields, golden lions roared defiantly.
As he approached Tywin's tent, Kevan looked up at the sky and saw the eagle soaring freely among the clouds. For some reason, it reminded him of his own carefree youth, a time as untethered as the eagle in the sky.
He lifted the tent flap and entered.
Several of the principal bannermen were already present. A scout bowed to the lords and then withdrew.
Tywin was his usual imperturbable self. His gaze rested on Kevan for a moment. "The scouts have found Ser Pate. He and his men were all killed, their bodies dumped at the village entrance."
The Lord of the Golden Tooth seemed indignant. "This is the fourth time. Four knights, over a hundred soldiers. Outrageous."
"And the common folk have all fled again?" Kevan looked towards the more reliable Addam Marbrand among the lords.
"Just like the previous three times. Some of the soldiers were killed after being captured. Judging by the wounds, it was likely the work of those peasants." Addam's expression was severe. "Having committed such crimes, of course they would run. Otherwise, hmph!"
Kevan stroked his golden beard. "To easily wipe out fifty fully armed soldiers, which noble house in this area has such strength? The Lychester of the Lord Lychester's keep?"
Addam shook his head. "Those four villages are not close to the Lord Lychester's keep."
Kevan and Addam exchanged a look. "It seems," Kevan said slowly, "it can only be that Whent cavalry."
"They didn't flee back to Harrenhal?" Harys Swyft's surprise made his white beard quiver. "But our scouts have found no trace of them these past few days."
"This so-called 'Magic Knight,' I think he's more of a 'Rat Knight'," the Lord of the Golden Tooth said with disdain. "He only dares to ambush small groups of a few dozen men. No chivalry at all."
The usually dull Lord of the Golden Tooth had managed a rare moment of humor, drawing a slight smile from Tywin.
Tywin looked down at the report on the table, a note of appreciation in his voice. "Rats don't dare to bite. He's at least a young fox. To think of forcing peasants to kill prisoners and then flee... formidable indeed for one so young."
"His courage is actually considerable," Addam said. "He's operating back and forth right under the nose of our main army. He might be a vicious wolf."
'Is it important what kind of animal the Magic Knight is?' Kevan steered the conversation back on track. "We must admit the Whent cavalry is excellent at concealing their tracks. Right now, we have no clues whatsoever. We can't catch them. What should we do, my lord?"
"Flies are annoying, but they don't affect the overall situation," Tywin said, a hint of sternness in his tone. "Tighten military discipline. No one is to leave the camp without authorization. Foraging parties must be at least five hundred strong. Once we take the inn, if this Magic Knight still hasn't left, then even if he were a bat, he wouldn't be able to fly away."
"Understood," Kevan nodded gravely.
Suddenly, the tent flap was thrown open violently, and the massive Mountain That Rides strode in.
The looks the Westerland lords gave him were complex, but the Mountain couldn't be bothered with them. He walked straight to Tywin. "My lord, the matter at the Lord Lychester's keep is settled."
Tywin's gaze was calm as water as he listened to the Mountain recount his visit to the Lord Lychester's keep with fifteen hundred men. He found the old Lord Lefford was too aged to manage affairs, and the heir, Ser Leggen Lefford, was smart enough not to resist.
"During the meal, that Leggen was deliberately disrespectful," the Mountain rumbled. "Served nothing but piss-poor, weak wine and coarse. But for your sake, I endured it. When it came to gathering supplies, they still tried to cheat and be lazy. I cut him down with one stroke and went to the warehouses to take what we needed myself."
Kevan and Addam both looked at the Mountain with disgust.
Tywin nodded impassively. "Well done. Rest now. Tomorrow, take your men to Pinkmaiden."
"Yes, my lord!" After bowing to Tywin, the Mountain swaggered out of the tent.
Kevan couldn't help but voice his concern. "My lord, sending Ser Gregor to the Pinkmaiden... is that wise? House Piper is a major house of the Riverlands, their influence far greater than the Lychester's."
"Some things," Tywin said indifferently, "only Ser Gregor can accomplish."
"With Jaime capturing Edmure, we've already half-won this war," Kevan said. "Once we defeat that Stark boy, Lord Hoster will have no choice but to seek peace."
Tywin fixed his sharp eyes on his brother. "And yet, Lord Hoster has not seek for peace."
House Piper's Pinkmaiden Castle, situated on the banks of the Red Fork, was a rather beautiful castle with cylindrical towers, semi-circular arches, and low domes.
The banners fluttering in the wind atop the towers were also quite striking: a maiden dancing, clad in a flowing white gown, upon a field of blue.
William halted his five hundred cavalry a bowshot away from the castle and sent Bennard to request entry and rest from the castellan.
Soon, Bennard returned with a knight of House Piper, bearing Lord Clement's reply.
The Lord invited William and the other knights to enter the castle for a feast. However, due to the castle's limited space, it could not accommodate the entire army.
House Piper was one of the major noble houses of the Riverlands, so their castle was quite large and seemed more than capable of housing five hundred cavalry. However, considering it was wartime, a degree of caution was understandable. After all, if these five hundred men entered and suddenly turned hostile, they could very well seize the castle.
After finding a suitable spot by the river to make camp, two of the five cavalry captains, Rosso and the heavily bearded Hasley Trick, volunteered to remain and oversee the camp.
Thus, William, along with the other three captains, their guards, and squires—a party of over twenty riders—headed for Pinkmaiden. The steward, Avery, accompanied them into the city, taking a few men and a cart to purchase supplies.
The feast, though modest in scale as it was primarily in honor of William's party, was quite lavish.
There was a saddle of mutton, using only the ribs of a seven-finger rack, served with herb, mint, and mustard sauces, making the meat exceptionally tender; a rich soup of mushrooms and buttered snails, white, plump, and delicious; along with cured ham, bacon, fried fish, and more, covering the long table. The flagons were filled with Dornish summer red, fragrant and mellow, intoxicating even before the first sip.
William and his companions, who hadn't enjoyed a proper feast in a long time, found their appetites thoroughly whetted and drank heartily.
On the dais, William was seated between Lord Clement and his son. The Lord was short, portly, and bow-legged, with a thick, unruly mop of red hair. His courtesy towards William, while correct, carried a subtle sense of detachment.
His eldest son, Marq Piper, was entirely different. With his sun-tanned skin, deep, expressive eyes, and a tall, straight nose, he had the air of a vibrant young man.
He seemed to be a genuine admirer of William, looking at him with respect and admiration from the moment they met. He was also remarkably knowledgeable about William's exploits: the Scourge of the Ironborn at Ten Towers, the double champion of the tourney at Highgarden, and so on.
A fan deserved to be treated well, so William chatted with him warmly, even discussing topics beyond the Wall and the giants, inviting Marq to visit Harrenhal and see the giants for himself.
"William, are the Others truly fearsome?" Marq's eyes shone with intensity.
"The Other I killed, in terms of personal combat prowess, was at best equivalent to a supremely skilled knight. But its ability to raise the dead... when enough wights are gathered, they become an army that never tires and knows no fear. Most ordinary armies would struggle to withstand their assault."
"You've defeated Ser Barristan, Prince Oberyn, and even killed a legendary Other. William, you must be the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms now. The Kingslayer would be no match for you."
William didn't disagree with the assessment, but he modestly replied, "One would have to face him in combat to know for sure."
Marq said excitedly, "The Kingslayer is right there at Riverrun's gates. Why don't we together—"
Thump!
Lord Clement slammed his goblet heavily onto the table. "Do you have any idea how terrifying the Kingslayer is? At the Golden Tooth, he just charged forward. Swords couldn't cut him, spears couldn't pierce him. No one could stop him. Lord Vance was killed by him just like that"
Speaking of his friend's death, Lord Clement's voice caught. He clenched his fist on the table tightly, then released it after a moment and continued, "And how was Ser Edmure captured at Riverrun? You have no idea how terrifying the Kingslayer truly is!"
But Marq lifted his chin. "Lord Vance died on the battlefield, which is the very essence of knighthood. Even though Edmure was captured, Lord Hoster hasn't given up the fight! So we must keep fighting too!"
Lord Clement looked as if he wanted to say more but stopped himself. His face was stern, his eyes filled with a deep fear.
Seeing the tension between father and son, William quickly raised his cup and said loudly, "Let us raise a toast to Lord Clement, in thanks for his generous hospitality!"
The knights in the hall roared their agreement, raising their goblets high. The red wine within seemed dim in the firelight, almost like blood.
