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Chapter 112
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 22:21:56 +0000 UTCAegor listened patiently as Earl Buckwell explained the situation, finally grasping the two main problems plaguing the army—morale and wages.
Simple issues on paper, but with complications that stretched far.
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When Robert ordered over thirty thousand soldiers from the allied forces to split into smaller groups of several thousand and besiege various castles and strongholds across the Vale, an odd situation began to unfold. At every castle, without exception, the moment the rebels arrived, banners of surrender would be raised before the troops could even fully settle in. However, upon cautiously entering these fortresses, Robert’s men would find themselves dumbfounded—only servants tasked with cleaning and maintenance remained. As for the noble families? Long gone. They had fled with their valuables long before, likely now hidden deep within the safety of the Vale.
The lack of plunder was tolerable since not all of the six kingdoms’ armies had come here for loot. But without noble captives, there could be no ransom demands or leverage to force the "rebels" into submission. Robert’s plan to pressure the Brotherhood of Justice into surrendering by systematically removing their strongholds was effectively foiled. The only remaining option now was a full-scale assault on the Bloody Gate.
However, an assault was no easy feat. As the saying goes, “Strike with all your might in the first blow; falter in the second, and collapse by the third.” The allied forces had been camped in the fertile plains outside the Bloody Gate for ten days to a month, depending on the contingent. Aside from the first two days, when Robert himself commanded several intense and proper offensives, discipline had steadily eroded. The nobles busied themselves with feasting, matchmaking, and marriage negotiations, while the soldiers passed their days reading novels, indulging in vulgar pamphlets, or sparring halfheartedly in tournaments. Actual assaults became a farce, conducted once every six days at best. Even then, they were little more than staged drills, where arrows were fired, a few casualties forced, and the order to retreat sounded almost immediately after.
This farce had exposed the deficiencies in the army’s structure and training. Robert’s reputation as a legendary warlord could only maintain morale for so long. Without pressing forward relentlessly, the soldiers’ fighting spirit drained away like water through a sieve. Had Robert launched a full-scale assault from the start, disregarding casualties and sacrificing thousands, he might already be in the Eyrie, celebrating with Vale maidens. But now? Even organizing an effective assault seemed almost impossible.
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Morale, however, was the lesser of the two issues. While it had dipped, it hadn’t collapsed entirely. With the six kingdoms’ best commanders present, they could potentially find a way to rally the troops. The real problem lay in the cold, hard reality of wages.
In Westeros, joining a lord’s army in response to a summons was considered part of one’s feudal duty, or “corvée.” The rewards for answering the call came primarily from plunder, the lord’s post-victory rewards, exemptions from that year’s taxes, or opportunities for promotion. Except for standing guards and household knights, most conscripted peasants didn’t receive wages. Some wealthier lords provided equipment, but poorer regions like the North often required conscripts to bring their own weapons. For the common folk, fighting in a war meant risking their lives for free—at least until victory was secured.
This seemingly irrational system worked because it was limited in scope: it applied only to defensive wars within a lord’s own domain and only for a set period. But this time, the armies of six kingdoms had marched out of their lands to aid King Robert and the Vale against their rebels. Travel expenses, provisions, and transport had to be borne by the lords, and once the time limit expired, wages had to be paid.
Depending on regional customs and traditions, this time limit varied between forty and sixty days. Aegor, preoccupied with promoting Night’s Watch enterprises, hadn’t noticed how time had flown by. But in truth, the campaign had already dragged on beyond these limits, and the lords were beginning to fret over the impending need to pay their soldiers.
This was why Robert had sent Littlefinger to Braavos to borrow from the Iron Bank—not only would Robert’s personal levies demand payment, but legally, the lords were also entitled to seek reimbursement from the crown for any wages they paid their soldiers beyond the time limit.
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“The Master of Coin fled?”
“Not fled, exactly. Petyr disappeared as soon as he arrived in Braavos, without taking any loans from the Iron Bank. At most, it’s an act of cowardly desertion.” The earl sighed. “This creates a mess, not just because we failed to secure the funds. I’ve heard the Iron Bank is preparing to send representatives to King’s Landing to audit the crown’s finances.”
Aegor shrugged, unsurprised by Littlefinger’s lack of action. The rulers of Braavos had long emphasized the fearsome reputation of the Faceless Men, ensuring deterrents like these were widely known. “If I were the Iron Bank, I’d be nervous too, seeing such chaos in one of my clients’ households.”
“It’s worse than that. Littlefinger’s disappearance is essentially an admission of guilt. He’s confirmed to the world that Lysa Tully colluded with him to murder Jon Arryn. Now even our loyalist forces are in a precarious position.”
Aegor nodded thoughtfully. “This is indeed troublesome. If it were me, I’d negotiate with the Brotherhood of Justice and end this war on dignified terms.”
“But His Grace is not you,” Buckwell said with a bitter smile.
Aegor chuckled, already picturing Robert’s rage during the next war council. This blatant humiliation would likely drive the volatile king into an even greater frenzy. “But there’s no money. He can’t just force the lords to stay here indefinitely—it’s against the rules.”
“Indeed, he can’t. Robb Stark—do you know him, the Hand’s son?—has already proposed dismissing half the poorly trained peasant levies and continuing the campaign with knights and elite troops.”
It all came down to productivity. Even in a world with magic, fundamental economic laws couldn’t be ignored. A feudal society simply couldn’t support 1% of its population remaining idle for long.
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“The Starks have always been loyal to Robert, but they also didn’t take much for themselves after the rebellion. A family that’s done so much yet asked for so little can’t be coerced into overextending themselves,” Aegor mused, realizing the predicament Buckwell faced. Loyalists like the Starks would receive leniency, while those on shakier ground would be under much greater scrutiny.
“Exactly. The Tullys, for example, have Lysa trapped in the Eyrie. They’ll likely leave a token force of ten thousand men to save face. But the North? Five thousand soldiers staying behind would already be generous. That place can’t afford to miss its harvest season—people could starve.”
“Let me guess—the Stormlands will shrink by half, but the core forces will stay loyal since it’s Robert’s homeland. The Lannisters won’t budge either; they’re rich and related to the king, though Tywin will certainly add the expenses to the crown’s tab. The Dornish... they’re here out of obligation, and with no wages forthcoming, they’ll likely leave soon. The Tyrells? They’re clawing their way into King’s Landing’s power structure, so they’ll stick around to keep up appearances. No wonder they only brought five thousand elite troops—they get to show loyalty without overpaying.”
Aegor smirked at the strategy. “It’s all so blunt. If you stay past the limit, you’re loyal. If you leave, you’re just going home to farm—no hard feelings. Robert might hold a grudge, but he can’t use it against you.”
“That’s the truth, though you forgot us Crownlands lords.” Buckwell sighed. “We backed the wrong side during Robert’s Rebellion and are directly under the Iron Throne. This is our chance to prove our loyalty. We wouldn’t dare leave, nor would we dare demand wages.”
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Aegor resisted the urge to slap his own thigh in frustration. Only now did he realize that Robert’s chaotic campaign had spiraled out of control, and the war’s outcome was no longer something he could afford to ignore.
“How long can Horn Hill’s coffers hold out?”
“Thanks to the Tyrells providing grain, we’re managing. We can last a month, maybe two if we sell off some assets. Beyond that, forget investing in your Night’s Watch ventures—I’ll be borrowing just to feed my household.”
Troublesome. Truly troublesome. Many of Aegor’s potential investors were Crownlands and Reach lords. If they bled their coffers dry prolonging this war, the funds meant for his Night’s Watch enterprises would vanish into thin air. Money spent in war rarely returned.
Taking a deep breath, Aegor clenched his fists. Self-interest was a powerful motivator, and for the sake of his plans, he could no longer stand idly by.
“Earl Buckwell, I have an idea. Present it to the king at the next council meeting—it might just end this war quickly and minimize the losses.”
