In front of me the Lannister heavy cavalry started moving.
This was it. They were the second to last part of Lord Tywin's host to commit to this battle. Did they grow desperate? Or did they thought they could flatten us and then flank our center? If they are still underestimating us, then they are irredeemable fools.
I raised a fist. My soldiers kept quiet. The knights in front started pacing.
I was still in front.
The ditches we dug were behind me and the brave fools that stood in the first lines concealing them. There was a chance that the knights would see the ditches and turn, but we needed to bleed the Lannisters dry. And so, we stood there, looking like sacrifices to the altar of victory.
The time it took for the charging riders to reach us felt like an eternity and a half. I was concious of every breath, every drop of sweat and every blink I took.
At some two hundred and fifty yards, arrows started falling on them.
At two hundred, my men started screaming to give themselves some courage.
At one hundred and fifty, the ground started thundering under me and I could somehow smell each individual horse and hear their breaths. Ghost was silent at my side.
At one hundred yards, they started galloping, "Now!" I ordered.
The first line, turned heels and ran through the narrow passages between ditches, toward the safety of our pikes.
I felt my lungs burn and I tasted blood in my mouth. It was the longest ten yards I've ran in my life.
The work was done, "Brace!"
The first cavalry line noticed the trap, some tried to turn, some pushed their mounts harder, a couple of them fell down and were trampled by the riders behind.
The knights fell down the ditches and into wooden spikes in droves. Other knights were catapulted from their mounts and into our ranks, dirks and daggers took care of them. Horse and men impaled themselves on the ground, adding their wailing to the cacophony of battle.
My men roared "Stark!" or "Winterfell!" with every fallen knight.
I let out a calming sigh, "Crossbows!"
The knights started falling one by one, and it wasn't enough.
The only places across our lines that were actively fighting were the ones who had the narrow passages in front. Even then, they weren't exactly struggling.
The Westerlander knights could assault those crossings with two at a time, while having six or more pikes actively looking to skewer them or their mounts.
The passages were doing a good job baiting the knights to keep their assault, but it wouldn't last. However, at least for now, we got ourselves a moment of calm.
"You did well Wolfboy! Those cunts died in droves!"
"Lady Alysane. It's good to see you hale and healthy."
She slapped my shoulder with the grace of a blacksmith hammering a breastplate, "Bah, what's a little life gamble before battle."
I wasn't entirely sure if she was joking or not, and I didn't had the time to find out.
"A company is forming to our left!" Hatten said from behind.
It was expected, our left flank was covered by rocky, uneven terrain. Enough to make a gallop impossible but it was not enough to completely stop slow approaching knights.
There was only one thing I could do, "Halberds! To me!"
I ran to the outermost left side. We hastily formed lines behind the pikemen formation, Ghost, Hatten and Ryk at my sides.
The Westerlanders couldn't assault us directly, it was inevitable for them to try and flank us even if the terrain did not favor horses.
The enemy formed faster than us and started advancing with the shrill sound of trumpets. We didn't have time, we had to stop these fuckers or our farmhand soldiers would rout.
"Forward!" Alysane and the other commanders echoed my call, warhorns rumbled.
When dealing with cavalry, it is important to deny them their most important advantage, their mobility. In this case, the terrain was an equalizer for men and horse.
We kept our slow pace for as long as we could, halberdiers and a few crossbowmen kept joining our ranks all the while. Every step we took, the air felt heavier and heavier. The knights were frustrated and eager for battle, it was only a matter of a few yards for them to come at us.
The inevitable came, a few of the Westerlanders broke formation and charged. One was coming directly at me.
"Winterfell!" I growled as Ghost followed my charge.
My albino friend went for the horse's leg, I went straight for the rider.
I swung my halberd on the rider's shield arm, the horse buckled and with it, the knight fell. Ryk finished the man with an overhead swing.
That was easy.
And like that, three more knights came at us. Ghost jumped the one on the left, I skipped to the right to try and hook the Westerlander there.
The man dodged me but nailed his lance on the ground. Hatten hooked him and threw him to the ground. Ryk buried the butt spike of his halberd behind the knight's flimsy pauldron. The man died with a blood curling scream.
"Eddard!" Roared my three lines of halberds from behind and caught up with us.
Westerosi say that knights ahorse are unrivaled; and yet, and yet here we are.
The knights realized we wouldn't bend nor break, but we hurt their pride. That couldn't stand.
They formed and started coming again, this time in orderly lines. It wouldn't do.
"Charge!" I snarled.
My brave and foolish soldiers followed me. Tightly packed as we were, there were two men for every rider in front. I set my eyes on a white destrier, I held my halberd in a diagonal fashion, ready to ward off any lance.
A thrust came for my leg. I deflected it to the ground and swung at the knight's horse. I felt a sword hit my left shoulder, my armor shrugged it off. Ghost bit the knight's arm, broke his arm with a swung of my halberd.
I stole a glance to the side, a couple of my men fell to lances in the initial clash. Most of the knight line had their mounts dead under them.
Ghost's growl grounded me. There was another armored enemy in front of me. This one had a blue rooster on yellow. A knight of house Swyft if I remember my lessons correctly.
I prepared the pike to kill the horse, but Ghost was faster and felled the mount. The Swyft knight was able to jump before being crushed under the horse and raised his shield.
Ghost went off to hunt down more horses, I prepared myself for a fight. I held my distance at pike point, the knight wasn't eager to throw himself at me. In this brief moment of respite, all I could hear was steel hammering steel.
My soldiers line reformed around me and right after, I felt someone race behind with the sound of a fluttering flag. Right, my banner. The little crannogman carrying it must've fallen behind on the initial charge.
The knight line tried an assault. Hatten stopped the Swyft knight with a thrust to the face and the rest of the Westerlanders didn't fare better. Our lines stood in an uneasy equilibrium, the knights unwilling to charge, and us, content with keeping it that way.
I was cycled from the front line. Ghost, with blood all over his jaws, found his way to me. With my direwolf at my side and a moment to breathe, it hit me.
The running, the screaming, the horses falling… the men dying. Just then, I could feel the weight of my actions settling on me. And with it, a bone deep exhaustion.
My knees almost buckled from under me, I had to support myself on my halberd to stand. Shit. What the fuck was I thinking?
"So much for staying by our side," sighed Jorelle Mormont. When did she came here?
"I didn't know you had it in you Wolfboy!" the most impolite woman I've ever met said while patting my back. "Those southron cunts died in droves."
"Next time I'm picking up a poleaxe too Aly," said Lyra. "A sword… feels inadequate"
Ryk joined by my side, and the sisters went on and on for a while. It was the oddest feeling, a battle was being fought around us and yet, the Mormont sisters were talking as if this was a Tuesday morning. It helped me a little.
Far away warhorns echoed and brought me back to the present.
We stopped the flanking attempt, now the issue was that we needed Lord Tywin to commit his reserves, that way he'd be sealing his fate.
To do that, we needed to break this stalemate. I called a messenger, with a pike formation we could pressure this flank and maybe box them in.
Before the messenger could go, I heard horns and saw pikemen under the flayed man banner marching to our side. Lord Bolton must've thought the same.
After a few breaths, the shrill Lannister trumpets sounded and, in the distance, the burning tree banner changed directions.
The Westerlanders saw the pikemen approach. To sound a retreat after failing a flanking attempt, is to admit defeat on the left flank. By how proud the Westerlanders are, that doesn't make sense.
"Prepare yourselves," I muttered.
"What? I can't hear you," said Alysane. Shit, I'm still too tired.
I cleared my throat, "Prepare yourselves, Marbrand is coming to us."
Lyra Mormont went to prepare her troops, Alysane and Jorelle ordered and supervised the cycling of our lines. Hatten ran to grab as many crossbowmen as he could and Ryk gave me a firm nod and steeled himself. Ghost stood quietly by my side, calm. Lending me some of his strength.
Barely minutes after Hatten left, the burning tree crashed into our formation. A knight flew from his horse and broke his neck behind our lines. One of my men screamed bloody murder with a lance through his leg.
"Ashemark!" the knights screamed.
"Winterfell!" came the reply.
I was to step forward to stab whoever tried to break in, when I saw the black boar livery twenty yards to my right.
"Crakehall!" boomed the big knight in front while throwing a soldier like a ragdoll through the air.
I turned and was about to give orders, but not before the Crakehall knight lost his horse. The man jumped off before his mount hit the ground. Alysane and her men pushed into the gap.
Thirty yards to my left, a similar attempt to breach our lines was taking place, this time by a blue rooster banner. I sent Ryk and ten men there.
Merely seconds later, a dozen knights on foot crashed shield first on the line in front of me.
"Snow! I know you're here!" said Ser Addam Marbrand while cutting his way through the line.
My soldiers did their best to cover the gap. It wasn't enough, not with these many knights ready to lay their lives.
So I did the only thing I could. "Marbrand!" with my knees weak and heavy breath I received him.
"Your bastard head will make a fine gift for my liege."
His burnished bronzed steel armor was scuffed and dirty, his House's tree was etched black on his breastplate. He was favoring his right leg, he was putting on an act. I didn't delude myself, all of that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.
I probably should've ignored his taunts, but this man reminded me of why we were here, why my brother called his banners. What the cost for losing was.
I pictured Marbrand a prideful prick. I knew the precise words to incense his kind, "Yeah, sure, whatever."
That did the trick. Marbrand launched himself at me.
I had space so I sidestepped right and swung to his shield as hard as I could. He tried to parry the blade over his head and stepped in to stab me with his sword hand.
I used the force of the shield bash to reorient my halberd and spun it to hit his blade. A clean hit would disarm him, but he dodged with a back step.
I clearly saw Marbrand wince when he forced his bad leg. And he may not show it, but I know his shield arm felt the blow.
I should press him, make him spend his legs, make him recoil with every swing. But my arms felt like lead and my knees were begging me to rest.
He saw my unsteady stance and rushed me with his blade. I blocked it with the shaft and pushed forward to block a shield bash.
I fell for his ploy. He locked in a contest of strength. I was a teenager, Marbrand a grown man. No matter what, the winner was already decided if things didn't change.
My heels dug the ground my legs were loudly screaming at me and my arms were tearing apart, but I refused to yield, or rather I couldn't yield. The moment I did, he'd throw me to the ground and stab me at his leisure.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
I couldn't even take a step, the moment I lifted a foot was the moment Marbrand would win. Right before I crumbled, Ghost went for Marbrand's legs from behind.
He eased the pressure and hastily turned to cover his legs. I was able to took a couple of steps back. And Ghost retired before Marbrand's sword found him.
"Only a bastard would fi-," I rushed him. Ghost was faster and locked his sword arm. I growled and swung for his head with everything I had left and more. Let this be enough.
Ser Marbrand was able move his head out of the way.
At the last second, he instinctively raised his shield and tilted his whole body to dodge the swing to his head. My halberd found his neck instead.
Ser Marbrand's gorget was crushed and, with a wet gurgle, he crumbled to the ground. I almost followed.
The battlefield felt silent for a second, the cheers came next.
I was about to plant my face on the ground when Alysane arrived and supported me by my side.
The 'thank you' I was to offer, was stuck in my throat when I heard what she was saying.
"Wolfboy! Wolfboy!" her voice seemed to reach the whole battlefield and my treacherous men chorused her chant.
"Wolfboy!""Wolfboy!"
Ghost howled as if mocking my misfortune. My soldiers raised their halberds and swords. The shouts turned louder and louder.
The sun above marked midday.
The enemy was in disarray and fresh Bolton pikemen arrived ready to cage the Lannister right flank. And all I could think about was just how fucking unfair this world was.
###
Tywin wasn't a man often surprised. The Stark boy was an able commander for a green boy that is.
That much he could accept.
The moment his reinforced vanguard was pushed back and the Stark river side didn't push further, Tywin thought the boy was being counseled. When the center advanced slow and methodic, Tywin understood. The boy, Robb, was not just any eager boy. Tywin could believe the Stark boy to become a remarkable commander in a few years.
Now, around half an hour before midday, the Stark center was slowly pushing to the river. Tywin was forced to commit his foot reserves to his vanguard to mend his original plan.
The Stark boy would push the center while the river side would stand in place. This would give the illusion of an opening for the Stark boy to finally commit his reserves exposing the gap between the Stark center and the hill side for a heavy cavalry flank.
It would be a costly victory, but a victory nonetheless.
However, the hill side was an issue still. After the initial surprise of a failed charge, Tywin's right wing composed themselves and had already tried to flank the Stark hill side from the inner and outermost sides.
The Northmen next to the hill side held strong with a heavy infantry charge. And on the innermost side, a cavalry charge stopped the attempt.
The Northmen stopped Ser Marbrand for the time being. Tywin was confident they would break sooner or later. No peasant could stand against proper knights after all.
But since he wanted his right wing available to mow down the North's center, Tywin sent a messenger ordering an all out assault. Plowhands would crumble the moment knights took the fight seriously. Tywin only wished he didn't had to order them to do so.
It was midday when the Stark reserves kicked up clouds of dust, they were moving. Tywin patiently waited to see where they were going.
He was rewarded when he saw them committed to the center, it was then that he knew his plan would work. The Stark boy took the bait, it was time for Tywin to take the day.
Tywin gave the order to march ahead and position themselves to take on the Stark center.
They had already positioned themselves when a messenger caught up with him, "Lord Tywin!" the man dropped to one knee. "Scouts have spotted clouds of dust in our rear. Lord Ferren sent men to confirm it, but he suspects a significant cavalry force is descending the Mountains of the Moon."
Tywin felt a chill run his back. The Vale allied themselves to the Starks.
The Master of Coin had assured him time and time again that the Vale would not move. Tywin knew better than to trust the word of a whoremonger, so he sent his agents to confirm this. The Lady Lysa Arryn didn't raise the Arryn banners. The Bloody Gate was not hosting soldiers beyond the normal garrison.
But what about smaller numbers? What if a few Vale lords sent a trickle of knights each? Small numbers that would raise no suspicions and then join forces on his rear. There was no other explanation.
He couldn't wait for Lord Ferren to confirm with his scouts, a heavy horse attack on the rear would completely wipe his forces.
He turned his gaze to the battlefield in front. The Stark boy had outwitted him. A green boy had outwitted him.
###
Ser Brynden Tully had given him his word, "My riders will be in position exactly at midday, nephew. Be ready by then," he had said.
This was how they would rout Lord Tywin's host. A attack from the rear when the Lannisters were fully committed.
Earlier before dawn, two thousand riders followed the Blackfish to a mountain pass to surprise the Lannisters from behind. Robb sent part of his most trusted commanders in this mission. His uncle Ser Brynden, his brother in all but blood Theon, Lord Karstark and his son Eddard the Hornwood heir and the Mormont heir.
It was midday and Robb felt that he failed. The Lannisters hadn't committed their whole force, they still had their cavalry reserves on the back.
He heard a howl from the left flank. Grey Wind howled in turn. Something happened to Jon.
He had to swallow his worries and trust his brother, "Let's move behind the gap," he ordered. "Be ready to crush the Lannister reserve if they confront Ser Brynden. Get me a messenger, Ser Martyn needs to clear the path for our horses."
The Lannister reserve mirrored his move and once in position, Robb settled his gaze on the enemy. It would all depend on how they'd react.
After a minute or two, the shrill Lannister trumpets sounded. Ser Marbrand's side reacted first and knights started pulling out. The Lannister reserve didn't move.
Robb was tempted to charge just then, but first, he needed the Blackfish closer.
He looked to his brother's flank and saw how more and more Westerlanders started retreating. Sers Jammos and Martyn started cutting down the retreating knights with ease. They didn't give chase though.
It was then that Robb saw the opportunity for what it was, "Charge! Cut them down!"
The retreating knights panicked with the warhorns announcing his reserve's charge. Almost three thousand riders thundered through the eastern gap with deafening screams. Robb followed behind with his guard and Grey Wind, he still needed a clear view of the battlefield.
The Lannister center panicked and some men from the rear started running away, some of the right side followed. They were not Robb's objective, however. He needed to cut down as many riders as possible, he couldn't let them join Lord Tywin's reserves unscathed.
Suddenly new trumpets sounded, but this time, the Lannister reserves turned around and galloped south before the Blackfish could join the battle proper.
His first instinct was to chase after them. This retreat didn't make sense after all.
Robb raised his eyes to look at the horizon. All he could see were the clouds of dust marking his uncle's path.
It dawned on him then. The Vale. Lord Tywin thinks the Vale is coming for him.
"Galbart, take two hundred riders, chase the retreating old lion. Don't engage and turn the moment you see them making a stand."
"Aye, my lord."
The old lion was a cautious man, he retired the moment he thought victory was unattainable. As such, Robett Galbart's riders wouldn't caught him. All they needed to do was to not let Lord Tywin relax and think clearly.
A few minutes passed for the Westerlanders in the midst of battle to realize they had been abandoned by their lord. By then, his uncle had already entered the field.
The Blackfish smashed into the Lannister center from the southeast, gently guiding them to the river.
He recalled something his uncle had said the night before. War, in its essence, comes down to butcher's work.
Robb felt sick.
###
A/N: Tywin's PoV starts sometime around half of Jon's PoV, I used the sun to mark it but I'm a bit unsure if that was completely clear (if it wasn't, let me know and I'll see what can I do.)
So finally, Robb's plan to massacre most of the Lannister forces is here. I left a few clues as foreshadowing, clap if you found them.
If Robb was able to find a goat track to avoid the Golden Tooth, then the Blackfish, the man who served as the 'Knight of the Gate' for almost a decade and a half, knows of a passage in the Vale hills and mountains to go behind Tywin's host.
I had initially planned to write the retreat and massacre from Tywin's perspective, but I couldn't find the correct tone of a man like Tywin reacting to a crushing defeat. So Robb came in at the last minute with a save.
Happy holidays everyone! (or at the very least tolerable!)
Now, give me your comments ᒄ₍⁽ˆ⁰ˆ⁾₎ᒃ♪♬