The Battle of the Green Fork, or as the Westerosi would soon call it, the "Slaughter of the Trident", was a catastrophic defeat for King Robert Baratheon. His grand host, once the hopeful spearhead of Westeros's defiance, was shattered, its remnants scattered across the ravaged Riverlands. The smoke of the battlefield mingled with the lingering pall of countless burned villages, a grim testament to Loki Bloodaxe's chilling efficiency. Loki, wielding Stormbreaker, had not just defeated an army; he had broken the King's will and exposed the gaping fractures within the Seven Kingdoms.
From his mobile command center, a fortified barge that now served as a grim symbol of his dominion over the rivers, Loki surveyed the aftermath. The Westerosi dead lay strewn across the plains, their shining armor now dulled by blood and mud. His warriors, though weary, moved with the grim satisfaction of victors, stripping the fallen of their arms and armor, adding to the burgeoning wealth destined for Skardheim.
"They fled like frightened hares, Jarl," Kael the Silent reported, his massive axe, still stained, resting on his shoulder. "The King himself barely escaped, they say. His Kingsguard pulled him from the thickest fighting." Kael's eyes gleamed with the afterglow of battle. He had reveled in the direct clash, the raw power of the Skardheim shield wall.
Loki nodded, a faint, predatory smile playing on his lips. "Good. Let him live. Let him bear witness to the crumbling of his realm. A dead king is a martyr. A defeated king, a symbol of weakness." He ran a finger along the sharp edge of Stormbreaker, its Valyrian steel a cold comfort in his hand. The axe had sung for him, a symphony of destruction. Its power had been undeniable, cutting through plate and bone with ease, its very presence on the battlefield spreading fear.
"What now, Jarl?" Thora asked, her shield-maidens already reorganizing their ranks, their faces grim but unyielding. She understood Loki's deeper strategies.
"Now, we deepen the wound," Loki replied, his gaze fixed on the eastern horizon, towards King's Landing. "We press the advantage. The Riverlands are ours for the taking. And the capital… it awaits."
The Descent into Anarchy: The Riverlands Cries
Following the defeat at the Trident, the Riverlands plunged into an even deeper state of anarchy. Without a unified force to protect them, the remaining Riverlords were left to fend for themselves, a desperate, futile struggle against Loki's relentless campaign.
Unrelenting Harassment: Loki unleashed his drakkars across the entirety of the Trident and its tributaries. No castle along the riverbanks was safe. Small, isolated keeps were besieged and sacked, their lords put to the sword or forced to pay tribute. Larger strongholds like Riverrun, though still holding out, found their supply lines severed, their garrisons demoralized by constant raids and skirmishes. Loki's warriors, agile and unpredictable, would strike, burn, and vanish, leaving only fear and despair in their wake. The land was stripped bare, fields burned, livestock butchered or stolen, and the remaining populace driven from their homes. The few remaining towns, such as Saltpans and Fairmarket, became centers of desperation, choked with refugees, their resources dwindling.
Psychological Warfare and Disinformation: Loki doubled down on his psychological tactics. His spies, blending with the stream of refugees, spread terrifying tales of Loki's invincibility, of his dark magic, and of the futility of resistance. They whispered that the King had abandoned them, that the Lannisters were too busy protecting their gold, and that the North would never come. This sowed deep distrust among the smallfolk and further isolated the remaining lords. There were even deliberate acts of terror, such as leaving crucified Lannister soldiers along riverbanks for Westerosi patrols to find, their bodies bearing grim Nordic symbols carved into their flesh. This was not just about winning battles; it was about breaking the spirit of an entire region.
The Rise of Local Despair: With the collapse of central authority, local lords, already weakened, began to turn on each other in desperate grabs for resources or perceived slights. Banditry, always present, surged to unprecedented levels, as desperate smallfolk and rogue soldiers turned to looting to survive. The Riverlands became a free-for-all, a fractured mosaic of fear and violence, where Loki's Skardheimers were merely the most organized and terrifying of many predators. This internal strife further ensured that no coherent resistance could be formed against Loki.
King's Landing: The Serpent's Embrace Tightens
The defeated King Robert Baratheon limped back to King's Landing, a broken man, his pride shattered, his once-indomitable spirit crushed. He locked himself in his chambers, drowning his sorrows in wine, raging at his commanders and the very gods.
The atmosphere in the Red Keep was one of suffocating despair and simmering rebellion. The common folk, starved and terrified by the influx of refugees and the cessation of food supplies from the Riverlands, openly cursed the King and his council. Riots flared in Flea Bottom, quickly suppressed by the brutal Gold Cloaks, but signs of widespread discontent were undeniable.
The Small Council: A Den of Vipers
The Small Council meetings became battlegrounds of blame and accusation.
"The King's army is shattered, Your Grace!" Grand Maester Pycelle wailed, his voice a pathetic whimper. "The Riverlands are lost! We face famine! The Crown is bankrupt!" He presented scroll after scroll, each detailing escalating costs, dwindling supplies, and the utter breakdown of order.
Robert, red-faced and trembling, slammed his fist on the table. "This is Tywin Lannister's fault! He refused to march! He abandoned his King!"
Cersei Lannister, pale but outwardly composed, seized the moment. "My father, Your Grace, was defending his own lands against the initial barbarian assault. He believed, as did many, that a concentrated defense was paramount. It was your grand host, Your Grace, that was too slow, too disorganized, too… predictable." Her words were venom, striking at Robert's deepest insecurities. She then turned her venom towards Varys and Littlefinger. "And where were your whispers, Master of Whisperers? Where were your plots, Master of Coin? Did neither of you foresee this? This 'Loki Bloodaxe' has outplayed us all!"
Varys, ever the chameleon, merely sighed, his eyes mournful. "Alas, my Queen, some storms rage beyond the reach of even the keenest eye. This foe… he is unlike any we have faced. He uses sorcery, they say. He defies the very laws of war. His movements are unpredictable, his attacks merciless. He is a demon, not a man." He subtly deflected blame, implying Loki was an unstoppable force of nature, beyond mortal planning. He then began to sow seeds of doubt about the loyalty of various lords, suggesting they were pulling back their forces, hoarding resources, and looking to their own interests.
Littlefinger, however, was in his element. The chaos was magnificent. He had subtly used his agents to exacerbate the supply issues, diverting shipments, inflating prices, creating further panic in the capital. He fanned the flames of discontent among the smaller lords and merchants, encouraging them to question Robert's leadership. "Your Grace," he began, his voice sympathetic yet laced with subtle cunning, "the realm faces an unprecedented crisis. Perhaps a more… decisive hand is needed. Someone who can rally the disparate forces, someone with a clear vision." He subtly hinted at Stannis, knowing Robert's deep-seated resentment for his brother, hoping to push Robert into an even more desperate, flawed decision. He also began to discreetly offer loans to struggling lords, binding them to him with chains of gold.
Robert, in his drunken despair, began to listen to Littlefinger's insidious counsel, viewing it as sound advice born of desperation. He ordered Pycelle to send ravens to all the Great Houses, demanding immediate, full commitment of their armies. He sent increasingly frantic and contradictory orders to Tywin Lannister, alternating between threats and pleas for aid.
Winterfell: Eddard's Stark Choices
In Winterfell, Eddard Stark received the news of Robert's defeat with a heavy heart, but no surprise. He had foreseen it. The reports from the Riverlands confirmed the brutal efficiency of Loki and his Stormbreaker.
"They have broken the King's army," Eddard stated grimly to Robb and Maester Luwin. "The Riverlands are consumed. This Loki… he is a force of nature." He clenched his fist. "Robert demands we march. He demands we abandon the North to rescue a collapsing south."
Robb, his jaw set, looked at his father. "Will we go, Lord Father? For the realm?"
Eddard paced his solar, his decision weighing heavily. "To march south now, into a land already ravaged, to join a King who is clearly broken, would be suicide. The North would bleed itself dry for nothing. And if this Loki turns his gaze north, who would protect us?" He thought of the long, vulnerable coast, the vast, open plains, and the thin line of defenses at the Neck. "No. Our duty is to the North. We will remain here. We will fortify Moat Cailin. We will train every man, woman, and child who can hold a weapon. We will build our own ships. If this Loki wishes to conquer the North, he will pay a price in blood that will dwarf all his victories." He sent a formal, but firm, raven to King's Landing, stating that the North would defend its own borders, seeing it as their primary duty, and offering no direct aid to Robert's floundering cause. This was a direct defiance of the King, but Eddard saw it as the only way to preserve his people.
Casterly Rock: Tywin's Patient Vengeance
Tywin Lannister received the news of Robert's defeat with a grim satisfaction that bordered on contempt. "The fool. He rushed in, unprepared, and now the realm pays the price." He looked at the reports from the Golden Tooth, where his forces were holding, but at a steady trickle of losses.
"The King demands our aid, Lord," Kevan Lannister said, reading a frantic raven.
Tywin scoffed. "Let him demand. My concern is the Westerlands. This 'Loki Bloodaxe' has offended House Lannister deeply. He has taken our gold, destroyed our city, and now he holds our very gateway to the Riverlands. He will pay. But not on Robert's terms." Tywin knew that to march his army now, into the chaos of the Riverlands, would be to risk its destruction for a lost cause. He would consolidate his strength, protect what remained, and wait for Loki to make a mistake.
He began planning a counter-offensive, not aimed at retaking the Riverlands, but at seizing back the Golden Tooth, then launching a calculated strike at Loki's main supply lines, or isolating him. He would wait for Loki to overextend, for the Westerosi "grand army" to further exhaust itself, and then, he would strike. His vengeance would be cold, precise, and devastating. He sent forth more spies, determined to discover every detail of Loki's forces, their strengths, and more importantly, their weaknesses. He would make Loki pay for Lannisport, but he would do it on his own terms, in his own time.
Dragonstone: Stannis's Final Stand
Stannis Baratheon, grim and unyielding, watched the realm crumble. Robert's defeat was proof of his brother's weakness. The realm needed a strong hand, a true king. And Stannis believed he was that king.
"They speak of Loki's axe, Stormbreaker," Stannis told Davos, his hand resting on the hilt of his own sword. "A weapon of legend, they say. Forged from the steel of this land, but twisted by his dark magic."
"The King demands you sail to King's Landing, my Lord," Davos reported, "to protect the capital, and to coordinate the fleet."
Stannis scoffed. "And fall into Robert's chaos? To waste my disciplined fleet in a desperate, last-minute defense of a city already doomed by its own folly? No. My fleet remains here. My men remain here. We will be the shield of the Crownlands, should these barbarians dare to cross the Narrow Sea. But my gaze is fixed further."
Stannis began to make preparations for his own claim to the throne. He dispatched his most loyal men to gather support, to sound out lords who were disillusioned with Robert's reign. He started hoarding food and weapons, training his men relentlessly, preparing for a future where the throne might be vacant, or worse, under the control of a foreign conqueror. He knew the true war was yet to come, and only the strong, the disciplined, and the just would prevail. He saw himself as the last hope for a realm consumed by madness.
Loki's March East: The Road to King's Landing
With Robert's army broken and the Riverlands in chaos, Loki Bloodaxe saw his path clear. He did not immediately march on King's Landing. Instead, he consolidated his gains in the Riverlands, establishing permanent strongholds along the Trident, securing supply lines, and subjugating the local populace. His engineers began construction of river forts, ensuring his dominion over the vital waterways.
The Golden Tooth: Hakon, despite constant skirmishes with Lannister forces, held the Golden Tooth with brutal efficiency. Tywin Lannister's attempts to dislodge him were met with fierce resistance, bleeding the Lannister army and reinforcing the blockade. Loki knew that as long as Tywin was caged, the path to King's Landing was relatively open.
The Eye of the Storm: Loki, with Kael and Astrid by his side, moved steadily eastward, his drakkars carrying his main army. They were not marching directly on King's Landing yet, but rather striking at the wealthy lordships on the borders of the Crownlands and the Riverlands. Castles like Darry and Maidenpool, though not as grand as Harrenhal, were systematically taken, their resources plundered, their people subjugated. This served multiple purposes: it secured his flank, gathered more supplies, and extended the reach of his terror, pushing the tide of refugees directly towards King's Landing.
A Looming Shadow: The Royal City now felt the direct threat. Refugees flooded in, spreading tales of the "River Demon" and his axe, "Stormbreaker." Food prices skyrocketed. The Gold Cloaks, already stretched thin, struggled to maintain order amidst the growing desperation. The silhouette of Loki's dragon-prowed drakkars, often seen patrolling the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, became a constant, terrifying reminder of their vulnerability.
Loki's visions, fueled by his growing power and the chaos he had wrought, became almost overwhelming. He saw the Red Keep, its walls cracked and bleeding. He saw the Iron Throne, bathed in a grim, bloody light. He saw the great houses of Westeros, their sigils tarnished, their power waning. He saw the dragons, awakening from their slumber, but their purpose unclear. And beyond, in the distant North, he saw the coming of a great, chilling darkness, a threat that dwarfed even his own ambitions.
But that was for later. For now, his focus was on the Iron Throne. He was not just a conqueror; he was a force of nature, a harbinger of a new age. He had broken Robert Baratheon, shattered the Westerosi army, and plunged the realm into disarray. The serpent had coiled itself around the heart of the kingdom. And soon, it would strike.
Loki stood on the deck of his command barge, Stormbreaker resting across his shoulders, the river currents carrying him ever closer to the capital. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the cries of a dying realm. He took a deep breath, savoring it. The time was ripe. The Serpent in the Rivers was ready to claim its ultimate prize. King's Landing awaited its conqueror.