Snippet #1504948

"Bother the siege," Lionel said, sliding an arm around Leliana's shoulders. "It takes too bloody long anyways. No, only an idiot with a very large army would contemplate doing something like that. I'm thinking of something else…after all, Winterfell is nothing more than a very well fortified egg. Once we break the shell, the insides will spill out. And there are numerous ways for us to crack that shell, all of which are being put into action as we speak."

Jans and the Mummers, who were nimble with their feet, would be scaling the walls and invading the castle in the earliest hours of the morning, when the patrols were still bleary-eyed and unaware. Once inside, they would open the gates for Lionel's main force to pour into the keep. But if that didn't work, several individual Braavosi had been charged to find other passageways into the castle. Lionel wasn't exactly sure how they'd do it, but he'd told them that the first to accomplish the task would be paid more than the others when Winterfell was taken. The Braavosi had been quite eager to start on preparations after that little conversation. Men were all the same- you needed only to know what controlled them, and they would be dancing in the palm of your hand.

And there were quite a few pieces under Lionel's control now. First, there was House Thorneir. They might have decided to betray House Greyhardt by their own will, but regardless, they were Lionel's allies now, and he was going to take full advantage of their help. Second, there were the Mummers, men who were bound to a man who was, in turn, bound to his pride. Jans would never betray Lionel, not when he was alive. That was simply the sort of man Jan was. It saved Lionel the trouble of winning the hearts of his men himself, because they all knew that would never happen. He was still mocked as "Catboy" and the "Bastard King", although he laughed openly at the taunts when they were hurled at him. In a way, it was humorous. His ironic fall from power and his subsequent quest to reclaim it were all quite funny when one thought about it. Third, the Myrrmen and the Braavosi were bound to Lionel, united by their common hatred towards the crown of Westeros.

And fourth…Lionel had Jamie Winsler doing exactly what he wanted.

He himself had not planned on dealing with the Winslers any time in the near future, but the opportunity to manipulate them was handily plunked onto his lap when Jon Tyrell entered his tent several minutes after Leliana did, carrying a message sent from a rider from down south. Lionel had read it for several minutes, and then stared at Jon Tyrell carefully to see his reaction. When the man's expression was unfathomable, Lionel spoke. "So Jamie Winsler's marched on Highgarden."

To his great surprise, Jon Tyrell laughed. "And the craven can march all he likes. My ships and supplies are all over here- if the rest of the fleet hasn't left already, it will. My children are safe at camp, and I don't have a living wife for him to take hostage."

Lionel raised his eyebrows, curious at Jon Tyrell's apparent lack of concern for his principle seat. "You do realize that means you're stuck with us for the meantime, Jon?"

Tyrell shrugged. "I'd rather be in the thick of action than to stay locked away safely in some castle. Anyhow, I believe poor little Jamie's in for an unpleasant surprise. I had never expected to keep Highgarden, not once I threw in my lot with you. As soon as we decided to sail for Winterfell, I had my men pack all the supplies that they could and to destroy the rest. The only soldiers remaining are the ones I wanted dead. When you've lived as long as I have, you know how to turn things to your advantage when you move your troops. On the other hand, the Winsler brat will find that not all victories are as sweet as he thinks they are- particularly when it's a victory too easily won."

Gynna shot him a mischievous smile. "The Roses are good as acting as bait. Pointless battle after pointless battle, his men will tire, and he will have been distracted."

Lionel grinned. The thought of Jamie Winsler, marching across the Seven Kingdoms in all of his valiant glory only to find that his enemy had already for the most part deserted was rather amusing. Then again, it was what to be expected. Winsler was only a brute of a man who could wield a sword; the finer aspects of strategizing and plotting would be lost on that thick head of his. There was a difference between calculated warfare and mindless destruction, but Jamie didn't seem to know what it was, what with all of his seemingly random conquests. He'd met with success so far, Lionel had to admit, but it really didn't matter. For all his promises of vengeance and glorious victory, Jamie hadn't won a single battle yet that really threw King Damian out of the loop. And he'd been at it for…what, three months? Pathetic. Really, quite pathetic. "In that case, it's because of you that Jamie's been too preoccupied in the Summerlands to come up here and interfere with our plans. I must thank you for your sacrifices, Lord Tyrell."

"Oh, anything for the rightful king of Westeros," Jon Tyrell responded sarcastically. "Although I do expect you'll pay us back soon enough when the Iron Throne is in your hands."

Lionel nodded at him as if to say indeed. In reality, he was already wondering how he was going to get rid of the Tyrells. The House had a notorious history of being a parasite, gradually wrapping its vines around the royalty until they were chocked by the thorns. They were always demanding you to pay them back, and when you granted their wishes, they requested even more. As much as he enjoyed Jon Tyrell's biting wit and sarcasm, Lionel was not eager to share the crown with him. A hunting accident, perhaps? Maybe he was heroically slain by the enemy…but only when the war is over. I need him around for some time yet.

The tent flap opened again. It was one of the Mummers, and he looked quite drunk, but managed to spill out his message without vomiting. "It's Ser Quinny-long face, your bastardly grace. He's left camp."

Lionel rolled his eyes, feeling rather annoyed. He had predicted that he'd have to deal with this for a while; it was obvious that Quincel didn't want to be there. But he couldn't kill the man, he was Leliana's uncle and his savior besides. But he couldn't exactly let him go either, then all of his plans would be revealed….

"Find him and bring him to me," he said carefully. "And be sure not to hurt him."