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Game of Thrones: House of Black Dragon
Game of Thrones: BLOODTHIRSTY BASTARD
Game of Thrones: Dragon Knight of Harrenhal
Game of Thrones: Archer's Ordinary Life
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Compared to the victor, Arthur, who effortlessly solved internal issues in the Starfall domains with a few orders amidst a massive million-gold-dragon construction boom, the loser's situation was bleak.
As the primary battleground of the war, Oldtown's hill country—specifically the domain of House Rogers of Amberly—had suffered terribly.
When Earl Quentyn Rogers returned from his captivity in Starfall, even though he had anticipated destruction, he still felt suffocated when he truly faced the current state of his lands.
The villages near the eastern Red Mountains and around Amberly had been systematically burned to the ground. The western areas fared slightly better, but only in comparison to total ruin.
Amberly had been sacked, its storehouses emptied. Delin's Hold, which guarded the Pebble Path through the Red Mountains, had been destroyed.
The levies raised by House Rogers' vassals had been utterly routed and annihilated while attempting to reinforce Amberly. Quentyn's rule and control over the hill country had essentially collapsed.
Villagers who had lost their homes and soldiers from defeated units had turned into bandits, gathering in the forests to pillage the surrounding areas.
He had even received reports from several septs that they had been looted by bandits, begging him to send troops to suppress them.
But he had no ability to suppress anything. Amberly was empty; the warehouses held no supplies. The guards maintaining order in the castle were armed with crude wooden weapons.
Furthermore...
"Bread... please, my Lord..."
"My child is starving to death..."
"Seven... mercy."
Quentyn stood on the battlements, looking down. Below, refugees in ragged clothes swarmed like ants.
Amberly was completely surrounded by a massive number of refugees. Just maintaining order among them to prevent a riot was already overwhelming him.
Bread. Mercy. Starving.
He heard these words from morning till night. If not for the continuous arrival of grain shipments from Highgarden, and the hundred soldiers Highgarden had left to garrison Amberly, Quentyn felt his family would have been eaten alive by the starving masses outside the walls.
After instructing the guards to ensure order while the kitchen distributed porridge, Quentyn returned to the small hall of the keep.
"My Lord!" Not long after he sat down, Maester Hicks hurried in, holding a letter.
"Lord Mace demands to know why you are allowing bandits to loot septs without response. He orders you to restore order to the hill country and punish the bandits immediately."
Bang!
Quentyn slammed his fist onto the oak table in front of him.
If the Arbor hadn't provoked Starfall for no reason and committed acts that drew divine punishment, would his lands be in such a miserable state?
Would his eldest son, Meredith, the heir he had so carefully groomed, have died so tragically?
"No weapons! No food! Even the guards are holding sticks!" Quentyn's suppressed rage exploded.
"What am I supposed to suppress bandits with? Drown them with the tears of refugees?"
After venting, Quentyn let out a long sigh.
He knew he had to swallow his anger, for he still relied on Highgarden's grain and soldiers to survive.
"This is our situation. Waiting like a dog for scraps from Highgarden." Quentyn's eyes were bloodshot. "Maester Hicks, do you have any counsel?"
"We should organize the refugees outside the city to reclaim farmland and resume production," Maester Hicks suggested. "Continuously handing out relief like this has no end."
"At the very least, it would stop them from continuously besieging Amberly and causing an incident."
"If we give them grain to farm, the bandits will just steal it. Highgarden's soldiers are only ordered to defend Amberly; they refuse to go with me to clear out bandits." Quentyn looked grim.
"And even if everything goes smoothly and production is restored in the hill country..."
"What if one day the Arbor, or some other Reach lord, conflicts with the Sword of the Morning, and Starfall invades again?"
"Delin's Hold, which guarded the Pebble Path, is destroyed. And that Mountain Corps that annihilated my cavalry has expanded fivefold. They have a thousand men now. We have no power to resist."
Maester Hicks frowned. "Ser Arthur is now the Governor of the Dornish Marches. After this war, surely no lord in the Reach would dare provoke him?"
Quentyn smiled bitterly. "Precisely because he is the Governor of the Dornish Marches, he can now legitimately provoke the lords of the Reach. House Tarly of Horn Hill and House Peake of Starpike are both within the Marches."
Maester Hicks opened his mouth but found no words to refute him. Suddenly, he remembered something. "To appease us, Earl Paxter betrothed his son, the current Earl Horas of the Arbor, to Lady Lyanna..."
Quentyn sneered. "That betrothal has been annulled. The High Septon has already granted permission. Paxter deserves to rot in the Seven Hells, and House Redwyne deserves this retribution."
Seeing Hicks about to argue, Quentyn waved his hand.
"I know what you want to say. The Arbor's situation is better than mine, but not by much. Divine punishment, betraying the captains and soldiers who followed orders to pay for their crimes, plus that massive compensation... The people of the Arbor are disheartened and scattered."
"If Garlan Tyrell hadn't been suppressing dissent and calming the populace on the Arbor with Highgarden soldiers, they would be even worse off than us."
As Quentyn chatted with Maester Hicks, he found his sluggish thoughts becoming clearer.
"My Lord, it seems we have only one path left." Maester Hicks sighed.
"When I was at the Citadel, I studied the history of House Peake. During the time of the Gardener Kings, House Peake held immense power in the Reach. They once squeezed out House Manderly to take Dunstonbury, holding three castles."
"Under the Targaryen dynasty, they even had the honor of serving as Hand of the King."
"Later, they wrongly fought for the Black Dragon, rebelling against the Iron Throne three times. Now they are left with only Starpike. Sometimes, choice is more important than effort."
Quentyn's eyes suddenly lit up. "Good Maester, what are you suggesting?"
Maester Hicks looked around, then lowered his voice. "The hill country is also located near the Red Mountains. Although it's a bit of a stretch, it could be considered part of the Dornish Marches, subject to the jurisdiction of the Governor."
"Since we cannot resist, why not actively befriend him? Form a marriage alliance, or even... swear allegiance?"
Quentyn was silent for a long time. "How would we explain this to Highgarden?"
"Amberly is already a ruin, the castle an empty shell," Maester Hicks replied.
"Ser Arthur's position as Governor exists in name only right now. If you are the first to defect to him, you will surely be treated as an honored guest. Besides, staying in Starfall is better than staying here."
Quentyn said, "Good Maester, thank you for your counsel. Let me consider it."
That afternoon, Amberly was suddenly ablaze with lights.
Quentyn personally supervised the distribution of the remaining grain stores. The grateful cries of the refugees drowned out the captain of the guard's protests.
Before dawn, a lightly loaded convoy quietly slipped out of the city gates. The wheels were wrapped in burlap, the horses' hooves padded with cotton. They sped toward Oldtown.
Lifting a corner of the carriage curtain, Quentyn took one last look at Amberly in the morning mist.
Flying from the battlements were the golden rose of Tyrell and the golden ring of Rogers.
"Father, where are we going?" his daughter Lyanna asked softly, her voice filled with unease.
Quentyn draped a cloak over her shoulders. "To find a new future for Amberly."