Lord Roboute Tyrell

- 261 AC - 

On the coast of the Disputed Lands, a large area full of tents had been set up, located near a smaller-scale fortress, belonging to one of the Band of Nine. The tents were a mixture of green and blue, belonging to the Reach forces. The seventh month of the war had arrived, and with it, the defeat of another of Ninepenny Kings' members. The war was going well for the Reach, which was at this point doing its separate thing, not concerned about Maelys the Monstrous and the Golden Company. 

Bloodstone had turned into a terrible guerrilla battle zone. Hundreds of caves and hidden areas in the jungle and rocky parts made it almost impossible to make any substantial advances. Tywin Lannister devised various strategies that allowed their forces to occupy space, but it was not worth the number of bodies it cost. So, they used cruel tactics and sent out smallfolk soldiers, who were deemed as least useful and expendable. 

This had terrible consequences as the smallfolk died like flies. They didn't understand what was happening, but were used as cannon fodder nonetheless. The Reach, on the other hand, didn't do this. And why would they? They had the most insane leader, and Roboute disliked waste. 

A tall and strong man with nut brown skin was brought before Roboute. He was bleeding and had several broken bones, looking defeated. His facial muscles gave off a different image, though. He was angry beyond compare. Two Ultramarines made the Summer Islander kneel before Roboute and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to look up. 

"You Westeros scum... do you think you can take what you want? This is our land... our kingdoms..."

The man spoke the Summer Tongue, the native language of the Summer Islanders. Roboute had learned it a while ago, since the Summer Isles were rather close, and it never hurt to know something. He stared at the exiled prince. 

"Are you Xhobar Qhoqua, also known as the Ebon Prince?"

"You... speak the Summer Tongue? Ah, I see, you enjoy our culture, don't you? Hehehe, we aren't ashamed of lovemaking. Prostitution is a respectable profession, practised even by the high-born... but you know that already, don't you? Hahaha, you probably--"

Roboute's sword slashes through the air and is sheathed again, before Qhoqua's head falls off his shoulders. Roboute turns around and walks away, leaving the men to get rid of the body. He makes his way to his war tent and has a look at the different maps, which he either created himself or had others create while they were here. A moment later, his closest advisors and generals entered the tent and settled around the long table. 

"Are you changing another minor detail, my Lord?" Garth Crane asked. 

"There is no such thing as a minor detail. Information is victory. One cannot and should not dismiss any data until one is in a position to evaluate its significance, and that only comes with hindsight. So, all details are important until circumstances render them redundant," Roboute answered. 

"I apologise, my Lord, I didn't--"

"I know."

The tent was only for the top of the Reach army; no one was allowed in who Roboute hadn't agreed to beforehand. Roboute looked around the war table at his generals: Randyll Tarly, arms folded and pensive, waiting for Roboute to give commands and tell them where the next fight was; Mathis Rowan, studying the changes Roboute had just made to the maps and nodding his head; Paxter Redwyne, halfway through a biting comment, but stopped midway; and Achilles, the newest member, but after having proven himself, he was allowed to slowly rise in the ranks. He had the required skill, and since it was Roboute who had welcomed him to the Ultramarines, the others trusted him. And over time, he started to see himself as one of them as well. Now he was silent and observant from the back.

Garth Crane was also present, having demonstrated loyalty and skills during their time on Macragge, but being rather young, he had only recently arrived.

"How far are we?" Roboute asked. 

"We've secured the fortress, emptied their vaults, and sent the gold back home to the Reach," Mathis reported.

"Fourteen crates of gems are still untouched. Plus their ledgers, if we care to study their trade routes and business partners," Paxter added.

Roboute stood quietly, eyes on the Disputed Lands map, his expression unreadable. He tapped his finger once on the river Rhoyne crossing to the east.

"We don't care for the gems," he said. "They serve better to pay masons than to line pockets. We hold the eastern ford within the week. It will be useful against Volantis charges, should they grow desperate enough in a few months. Then we rotate our south-western supply line. Begin construction of an encampment three hundred miles south/south-east from, right here, to hold 1'000 soldiers and sailors and 100 workers."

"It will be done, my Lord."

Suddenly, a guard appeared at the tent flap, bowing low and waiting to be noticed. Randyll turned to the guard. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"My Lords... the girl is back," the man reported.

The tent fell silent. Even Achilles raised a brow at the news. Paxter exhaled slowly, unsure what to think of the situation. They all knew who the guard was talking about. Roboute's expression didn't change.

"She returned alone?" he asked.

"Yes, my Lord. Just now. From the northern campsite."

"Did she speak?"

"Not a word. We tried to make her move again, but then thought better of it."

They knew who the guard meant. No name had been given to her. None was needed. She had been found, or rather saved, if one could call it that, when the Reach forces destroyed Xhobar Qhoqua's sellswords. Many different types of slaves had been freed. As for the girl, she was a gaunt, filthy child of perhaps five name days, with blond hair cropped short and dead eyes. From the moment she was freed, the girl began to follow Roboute. She didn't speak, she didn't expect anything, she only followed him.

They had tried, gently at first, to give her to the older women of the camp. To feed her, clothe her, civilise her and get her to talk. Nothing worked. She would leave them all behind and always return, staying as close to Roboute as possible. 

Roboute moved before anyone could speak further. He stepped out into the open, the breeze carrying a trace of salt and ash from the nearby ruins. That's where he found her. She stood exactly where expected, at the entrance to his tent. Mud-smeared legs, a too-large tunic, barefoot, hair ragged and eyes looking at him. She didn't flinch when Roboute approached and studied her. She never had.

He towered above her, looking into her eyes, without saying anything. She stared back, unmoving. Her eyes were large, seemingly too large for her thin face, and held something that many had experienced in this world: the edge. Roboute saw it in her eyes, reading her like a book and coming to realise that there was only one thing holding her from falling over that very edge. A single tether, a lifeline...

A full minute passed. The wind picked up slightly, but still, neither spoke. 

Then, in a quiet movement, Roboute reached out his hand for her to grab. He didn't say anything and only waited for her to take it. After looking at it, she did so very slowly. No orders were barked, or words exchanged. Roboute guided her into the tent, past the stunned guards, past his generals, through the ranks of maps, calculations, and symbols of conquest until they reached another table. He stopped next to a chair and placed her on it. He sat down in the chair next to hers and pushed food in front of her. 

He looked at her and then picked up a piece of bread and placed a piece in his mouth. Then, he placed the piece in front of the girl and nodded. He wanted to see how intelligent she was and whether she could do as he did. He sat at his war table, observing her. The girl looked at the food and then at him. Then she climbed off the chair and onto his lap. As she did so, she took a piece of bread into her mouth and started chewing. 

...

The tent was quiet again. When someone wanted to take her away from Roboute, he held up his hand, allowing her to do this. For the first time since she'd been found, she ate. The room didn't dare breathe. With a gesture, Roboute told everyone to sit down and start eating instead of staring at her the way they had been. And while it seemed awkward for everyone, they complied as instructed. 

"Any news from Rowena?" Roboute broke the silence. 

"Yes. She reported that she has established a small operation base and has gained the trust of several people. But it seems to be going slowly," Androw Ashford said. 

"My sister knows what she's doing. She wouldn't waste time," Randyll said. 

"I wasn't insinuating that, Randyll. Apologies if that's how it came across. But by the time we have set up the necessary fortifications here to the east, we'll be ready to move westward towards Tyrosh."

"We could take our time, surely," Paxter said between bites. 

"During a war? Take our time? That my friend is bound to lead to talk, and it wouldn't look good for us," Mathis Rowan said. 

"What do we care what others think. The Reach has accomplished more than the rest of the Westerosi host combined," Randyll scoffed. 

"You mean, Roboute has accomplished more than they all combined?" Paxter grinned. 

"...True," Randyll agreed. 

"Incorrect."

They all looked at Roboute. Roboute has told them to use his first name, especially during wartime, when they are alone. It was hard for them to get used to, but they were making progress. The loyalty they felt towards him and camaraderie grew daily to unimaginable heights, so naturally, they saw him as the reason they had already achieved all they had. 

"I am not conducting this war on my own. Do not sell your accomplishments short. Without you and each of our men and women, this would not have been possible."

"Yes, my Lord."

"As for Rowena. She knows what she is doing. When you do what she has been tasked with, you need to know who to trust, and those people need to be intelligent. Stupidity, combined with desperation, leads to the most disastrous consequences. And while we have some leeway, there is no need to 'waste time' or stall in any way. We will move westwards either way," Roboute said. 

"You wish to move against Tyrosh then?" Androw asked. 

"No. There are some skilled fighters and strategists among the Westeros host. But they are incapable of ending the threat Maelys and his Golden Company pose. We shall show them how it's done."

"But, my Lord, why did we stay out of it until now? We took care of everything for them, while they accomplished nothing. Can't we leave them to their fate?" 

"To conduct battle on two fronts is an act of either desperation or utter foolishness. In such an arena it is neither skill nor manpower that brings victory, but the ability to manipulate that of your enemy," Roboute said. 

"You mean, the other Ninepenny Kings?"

"I mean all our enemies."

...

"You're talking about the Targaryens," Randyll noted. 

"You should know me well enough to understand that pettiness is not part of my character. The Targaryens rule will come to an end, but not yet. I am talking about all those who will have ways to stand in our way. Most notably, Tywin Lannister. The future Lord of Casterly Rock has the right mind to conduct warfare and use the political currents to his advantage. If he weren't suffering from the foolishness of his father, then the Westerlands would be my major target."

"Ahhhhh... I understand now. Hahaha, quite devious, my Lord. Quite devious indeed," Mathis laughed. 

"What are you laughing about, Mathis?"

Mathis looked at Roboute, who nodded. 

"As our Lo-- I mean, Roboute has said, we stayed out of the fighting on Bloodstone to avoid a war on two fronts. The other members of the Band of Nine would have also been involved. This way, we not only gained more land and trade routes, which will only increase in value and become more lucrative, but also amassed massive profits. And at the same time, by allowing the rest of Westeros to deal with Maelys on Bloodstone, we effectively reduced their armies, thereby lessening the threat they will pose to us in the next few years and decades."

"You mean... we wanted Westeros to suffer such losses?" Paxter asked. 

"Indeed, we did. This war has cost the Crown and each of the other kingdoms a lot. Gold, food and men. All of which they will lack, should Jaehaerys think that he would like to go against us in the near future. Not only have we not lost any men or women, but we have also greatly increased our numbers and amassed a fortune."

They looked at Roboute with more respect than they did a moment before. Anyone else would be called petty, but Roboute was just calculating. And in hindsight, it looked so simple. 

"Establishing a military presence here on the Stepstones was the most important part of this war," Roboute explained. "The Stepstones might appear as useless rocks, but their placement is valuable if you know how to make use of them."

The little girl had finished and lay her head against Roboute's chest. She had said nothing the entire time and closed her eyes. Roboute carried her to the other end of the tent and laid her in the rather uncomfortable bed. The others watched this with confusion, not understanding what the sudden show of 'affection' or the closest thing to it was all about. 

"So why are we moving to Bloodstone now, then?" Randyll asked. "Why not have them bleed themselves dry?"

"Because the Golden Company will lose. And should Westeros lose too much, they will want to pillage and plunder the Free Cities, which were involved in this war. But I can't allow that. Tyrosh will be ours," Roboute declared.