Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.


Chapter 6

JAIME

Riverrun

Defeating the Riverlords in the field had been easy enough. The Lord's Vance and Piper and their combined force of three thousand spearmen and knights had clearly not been expecting such a large host so soon and had been caught of guard. About a third of their number had been killed that day with the rest falling back to Riverrun where they had regrouped with the Tully-Blackwood force. That had been a fairly easy victory as well. Edmure Tully was as green as Jaime's own son when it came to war and fair less talented, he had discovered. Six thousand disorganized levies had met Jaime's five and eighteen thousand men, and while Jaime's losses had been greater than he'd anticipated; fifteen hundred dead or injured westermen; he'd killed more than half of his enemy and forced the remainder back inside Riverrun. Even better, Edmure Tully and nearly two dozen other nobles of varying rank had been captured, with Lord Vance and a number of others being slain in battle.

But as easy as winning the battles had been, Jaime was finding the ensuing siege to be much more difficult. Tytos Blackwood commanded the garrison, and he was doing a damn good job of it. Any attempt by Jaime's army to build siege weapons like catapults had been destroyed by the onagers that stood atop Riverrun's battlements and no matter where he placed his men he couldn't have his archers fire volley's at the castle simply because no matter what range the longbows of the westerlands had, the Blackwood bowmen had more. Even beyond that, it had to be one of the most awkward sieges Jaime had ever seen. After pulling his troops back to the castle walls, Blackwood had ordered the portcullis raised and turned the castle into an island. Jaime had been forced to split his army up into three camps of five thousand men in order to siege it effectively. Forley Prester, Lord of Feastfires, commanded the east camp which was situated on the east side of the Red Fork, the one most in danger of an attack from the Whent's. Thankfully, Ser Forley was a skilled and experienced commander. Wooden stakes and pit traps had been set up to the east while a constant guard was kept on Riverrun's east drawbridge. The northern camp was placed under the command of Lord Quentin Banefort while Lord Andros Brax of Hornvale took command of the force that had set up in between the Tumblestone and the Red Fork, to Riverrun's southwest.

Jaime himself had taken command of a force of two thousand heavy horse in an attempt to hunt down the other major problem facing him. While most of the survivors from the battles at the Golden Tooth and Riverrun had fallen back into the castle, there were small groups of cavalry that had taken to raiding his stores and supply lines. Jaime had no idea who led them, but knew one was likely Marq Piper, the heir to Pinkmaiden. So far though, Jaime and his men had only managed to capture a single raiding party. Still, there was nothing for it but to continue to try and catch them. If he didn't then they would starve long before Blackwood and his men did.

That was where Jaime was now. A group of riders flying Tully banners had been spotted to the north and his suspicions had been confirmed when Banefort's camp had been raided not long after. He and his heavy cavalry had begun to pursue immediately, chasing the riders for a few miles until they reached a heavily wooded area just east of Raventree Hall. It was a forested valley with a rocky stream running through down the middle. The sloping ridges on either side were densely packed with tall tree's whose canopy was thick enough to block out most of the moonlight that should be shining down on them from the fully circular silver orb that lit up the cloudless night sky. Jaime paid no heed to the soft breeze that had his soldiers shivering as he spurred his horse on, and likewise did not acknowledge the faint whispers that traveled on the wind. Doubtless his men would spread stories of snarks and grumpkins living in the wood by morning, but Jaime did not fear children's tale and would not be distracted from his goal so easily.

The hairs on the back of his arms and neck stood on end and a felt a tight, clenching sensation in his stomach when the warhorns began to blow.

HAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo!

The first long, low blast of the horns shattered the stillness of the night and in the heartbeat after a hail of arrows fell from the sky, raining down on top of Jaime and his men. All were clad in steel armour, most using full suits of plate and their horses were not unprotected either. Even still, some arrows found their mark, punching through a gap of a weak point and piercing flesh, indiscriminate of whether it was horse or man. In an instant Jaime's men were struggling to reel the panicking horses around to face the mounted, armoured gauntlet that was storming out of the trees on their right. In the half a blink he had, Jaime took notice of the banner's; there were many and more but those that were most common and stood out the most was the silver eagle of Mallister on purple and the bear of Mormont, along with other's that doubtless belonged to other Northern and Riverlands house's.

HAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo!

HAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Jaime barely had time to process that an attack was happening from the east when two more deep warhorns were blown to the north and west, joined by the chilling and frightening howl of a wolf. No wolf had ever before made Jaime afraid but this sound seemed to pass right through him. Turning his head rapidly and trying to put the chilling sound out of his mind, Jaime saw more riders storming out from all directions. A pink flayed man, the twin towers of Frey, a merman, the Stark direwolf, a mailed fist and some sort of roaring giant on a red banner were the banners Jaime could see leading the force, and all of them were mounted atop tall warhorses and their lances nearly sparkled in the silvery light of the moon. Jaime was briefly able to acknowledge that it was strangely beautiful before the forces met in a screeching clash of steel.

It was a struggle to even keep moving, Jaime found. Most of his force had been either killed or broken in the first charge and now the fight had devolved into a chaotic melee as the northmen circled around and trapped them in and the stubborn few of Jaime's men who refused to either die or yield so easily fought on, desperately trying to escape the circle of death. Jaime knew it was pointless. They had been trapped and they were outnumbered. Stark's host was all mounted while more than half of Jaime's remaining knights had been forced to fight on the ground for one reason or another. The battle was lost.

But maybe not entirely, Jaime thought as he scanned the battlefield idly fighting off any of the fools that thought they could stand up to him.

The Kingslayer caught sight of his quarry in a heartbeat. Robb Stark was in the thick of it a ways to Jaime's left. The boy was fighting on foot now, though whether he had dismounted on purpose or been forced to was something Jaime could not say. An uncommonly large grey wolf that Jaime recognized as a direwolf fought at the boy's side, leaping from man to man and seemed to alternate between tearing out throats with his incredibly sharp fangs or hamstringing them with his claws, and the boy was surrounded by what looked to be a personal bodyguard. Nonetheless, Jaime knew that he could end this war right here and spurred his horse into as much of a charge as he could. He cut down a half dozen northmen with ease, only faltering when a well placed arrow was shot through his horse's neck. Stumbling to his feet, Jaime found himself having to hastily raise his blade to parry an attack that would have split his neck in half. Countering quickly, he clashed blade's with the northman and knocked the other man's sword aside before stabbing into the opening of the man's helm. Swiftly sidestepping to avoid an attack from a still mounted man (and slashing at the horse's underbelly for good measure) Jaime surged forward, beheading one man and sending another to the ground clutching his rapidly bleeding leg Jaime advanced on the Stark boy.

"My Lord!" one of the guards called out in warning, before stepping forward to block Jaime's path. He had a moose on his armour, but that was all Jaime saw before, without difficulty, he deflected the guards attack and slashed his blade along the man's throat. But even as the body was falling to the ground another had taken his place, bringing his sword down on Jaime's undefended left. With skilled and speed that he was sure seemed impossible, Jaime pivoted and blocked. Unexpectedly, the other managed to use Jaime's block as a way to bring more power and speed to an overhead attack that Jaime dodged back from. Quickly ending the fight, Jaime parried a lunge and before the other man could pull his arm back, Jaime's sword had cleaved through his arm at the elbow. With a scream of pain, the man fell to the ground, his hand pressed against the stump that was spraying blood across his surcoat, decorated with a silver star.

"EDD!" The grief filled scream tore Jaime's attention from the Stark boy for naught more than a moment but it was enough. Jaime turned in time to block a strike from another, younger lad that bore striking similarity to the one Jaime had just killed. The strikes rained down on him wild and relentless, but slow and sloppy. Within an instant, Jaime had managed to twist his blade around the others and with a simple flick of the wrist had disarmed him. But as he pulled his arm back to plunge his sword through the boy's throat, he locked eyes with the boy's light green ones. He's not much older than Harry, Jaime realized and while the boy's eyes were not the same emerald shade as his sons, it was enough to make him hesitate for a fraction of a second as his mind pictured his blade coming to rest in Harry's throat rather than some unknown northerner. That split second hesitation was all it took, and in the next instant the Kingslayer felt as though a tree trunk had been slammed into his side, throwing him to the ground. Glancing up at the powerfully built man, similar in size to the Hound, Jaime lunged for his sword but was brought up short by the flat of an axe slamming into his face.

In his last moments before blackness overtook his vision, Jaime saw the last of his men throw down their arms as the massive, dark haired man and a short, muscular woman with a a lot of axe's stood over him.


HARRY

The Green Fork

On the other side of the Riverlands, that following morning, Harry found himself starting awake to the sound of warhorns ringing through the air, some coming from the Lannister sentries and others distinctly foreign. The main Lannister army had arrived at the location Tywin had chosen to face the Northmen at the night before, their scouts reporting back that the Northern host should reach them at noon the following day. Despite his misgivings about the whole situation, Harry had to admit the location was a good one. To the right, the plains sloped upwards on a gradual ascent until the hills reached the rocky base of the mountain range that marked the border of the Vale. The sloped land was perfectly suited to the heavy cavalry Tywin wanted him to command on the right flank, allowing them to build up more momentum for their charges while negating the effect of the northern horse. The land sloped downwards to the left, the plains merging into the banks of the rushing Green Fork river. There was absolutely no possible way for Stark to get around their flanks, unless he wanted his army to swim or climb, either of which would spell disaster for him.

Nonetheless, Harry had never managed to suppress the nagging feeling that the left flank was far too weak. The left was made up of two thousand men, all of whom were mounted, yet only a quarter of Clegane's men were armoured knights. The rest was the hedge knights, free riders and lightly armoured levies that had the privilege of owning a horse, plus Tyrion's five hundred clansmen who, though ferocious to be sure, were still ill equipped to fight against a professional army. Being honest with himself, Harry could admit that Tyrion's chances at surviving the coming battle was slim and he knew that his uncle felt much the same. The night before he had spent drinking and talking with Harry, the sellsword Bronn and some camp follower named Shae that he ended up spending the night with. Though Bronn's stories had managed to bring genuine grins to their faces, the night had been quite somber overall. Tyrion, Harry could tell, was very aware that the night might have been his last night among the living, and in his drunken state he'd revealed the full story of his tragic marriage to Tysha, of which Harry had only ever heard rumors.

It had been getting late by the time Harry had made his way back to his own tent and he regretted that now, as he tiredly stumbled out of his bed roll. Harry hurried to pull his breeches and boots on, before throwing a loose cotton shirt on and buckling up his sword belt before rushing out of his tent and into the panicking mass of men, surging around him as they scrambled for weapons and armour. It was early, he realized; very early. Dawn must only have broken an hour or two before as the sun was still struggling to rise beyond the horizon and a thin mist lay over the land. Clad as scarcely as he was, Harry shivered slightly in the cool morning air as he shoved his way past a few lost looking young men, hurriedly making his way through the Lannister encampment in his search for a vantage point and coming to a halt next to Ser Addam Marbrand. At the sight that lay before him, Harry's eyes widened in a manner he was sure would have been comical in any other situation.

"The snuck a night march on us," Marbrand cursed "Damn it all, they pulled a night march,"

Indeed they had. It seemed Stark was much more cunning than the mighty Lord of the West had expected. Certainly more than Harry expected. For a brief moment Harry could only watch as a wave of northmen marched over the hills little less than a mile away from where the Lannister army had camped the night. To get here so fast, Stark must have marched his army through the night and even then at a remarkably fast pace. Harry could almost feel himself pale as realization sunk in. They didn't have time to form up; if Stark was smart enough to force a night march then he wouldn't be foolish enough to waste it. Within moments, Harry knew he would see a horde of Northern horse's charging them, and he wasn't naive enough to think they could win. He knew what happened the last time Lannister spears had met a Northern cavalry charge. Roddy 'The Ruin' Dustin and his small force of Winter Wolves had shattered a Lannister army right here in the Riverlands during the Dance of Dragons, and then led the remaining few to slay ten times their number at the First Battle of Tumbleton. Caught of guard by a night march, facing a force of superior numbers and utterly unprepared for battle Harry knew that what Tywin expected to be an easy victory had just turned into a disastrous defeat.

But then, to his shock, instead of the thousands he'd been expecting, a small force of maybe a few hundred cavalrymen was all that charged out ahead of the main body of infantry, and Harry felt a faint sliver of hope rise in his chest. Though he knew that even this small force could inflict untold damage to them, the fact that Stark wasn't sending his full might for whatever reason meant that they might have a chance at forming a rearguard so as to allow the bulk of the army to escape. Glancing at the swiftly approaching heavy horse, Harry noticed that they were being led by the silver star of House Karstark, alongside the now familiar snarling direwolf. A few others that Harry vaguely recognized such as Manderly, Dustin and Mormont were dotted throughout the opposing army but Harry noticed that the flayed man of Bolton was conspicuously absent.

Not dwelling on it; and secretly hoping that there might have been dissension in the ranks; Harry turned to his father's friend (and three time cousin to the Lannister family) "Form some men up as best you can. I'll rally for a counterattack," he ordered, before sprinting back to his tent as fast as he could force himself to move, pushing and ordering the men to grab their weapons and armour. Arriving at his tent, he was greeted by the sight of an anxious and pale Ty wringing his hands nervously and a delighted Lyman Darry, watching the approaching banners with a smug grin on his face. A pair of White Lions stood on either side of the young Lord, while Lyman Jast was just beyond them, forming the remainder of Harry's personal guard and a number of other men at arms into ranks and preparing them for battle.

"My Lord!" Ty cried out, and his pale face regained some colour "When we couldn't find you we feared the worst,"

"Fetch my armour, Ty, quickly!" he barked out, a little harshly, glancing frantically around at the sound of crashing metal coming from the northern edge of the encampment. Ty did indeed move quickly, fumbling to get Harry into armour as quickly as possible and before long Harry was clad in a mail hauberk, a boiled leather doublet and a plate breastplate. Pulling a half helm over his head, Harry faced the dark brown destrier that had been brought to his side and hauled himself into the saddle.

"Take Lord Darry to my grandfather and keep him under guard, the rest of you with me," he ordered before spurring his horse forwards and surging through the chaotic frenzy that had ensued since the beginning of the attack

All too soon, Harry had reached the edge of the encampment. All along the way he had rallied the troops as best he could considering that some had already begun to rout. The knights and men at arms, the most professional part of the army, had been the easiest to rally and Harry found himself riding with a force of a thousand heavy cavalry and perhaps thrice as many infantry at his back. Not enough to defeat the Stark host, but perhaps enough to delay the northerners approach. The initial skirmish had already been met and it was a bloodbath. Even as Harry arrived, the Northern cavalry, which by this point had been whittled down to about half it's strength, was wheeling around for another charge. After initially slicing through the disorganized Lannister soldiers in the outermost section of the camp, the Northmen had met the crude and thin spear wall that Addam Marbrand had managed to form against them. So far it seemed to be holding, but Harry could see that another couple of direct charges would break the line and it didn't seem as though the Northmen had any intention of falling back. They had no reason to, Harry supposed. Though half their number lay unmoving on the field, for every dead northerner there were at least five times as many dead Lannister soldiers. To make a bad situation worse, the Northern infantry was advancing steadily, their archers spreading out into two long lines on either side of the road in front of the northern spears and notching their arrows in preparation for a volley.

"Cavalry!" Harry called, trying to project his voice as much as possible over the clashing of steel and the cries of the wounded in the background "With me!"

And with that he dug his spurs into his destrier's sides, urging his mount to pick up speed. Starting off a trot, the steed wound up until he was galloping and then full out charging. The thunder of hooves to either side and behind him told him that his men were following, and slight glints out of the corner of his eyes marked the tips of the sturdy war lances many were using. Harry tuned it all out, focusing only on the line of spearmen that edged ever closer to breaking ranks and fleeing as the northmen crashed against their lines once more. The distance shortened far more rapidly than Harry had expected and in those moments in seemed as though time sped up. In one moment it was thirty meters and then twenty and then ten, the northmen taking notice and turning to face them.

It didn't save them.

Harry's heavy horse crashed into the northmen like a plated fist crashing into a man's unprotected face. The Lannister lances had dipped on the charge and now a good number of the northern cavalrymen found themselves impaled, whether in an unprotected region like the face or neck or simply because their fur and leather armour hadn't held up against the high quality steel of the Westerlands. Others were sent flying from their horse and quickly met their end as Ser Addam's force surged forward and finished them off with spear and axe and sword and mace. Harry himself had met the northmen first and had brought his blade around with all his might and opened the throat of the first man he passed, blocked axe strike of another with his shield before slamming the pommel of his sword into the man's helmetless head, sending him reeling to the floor where a Serrett spearman hurried forward to spear the man through the throat. Few of the northmen managed to avoid the attack and those that did quickly set to work on trying to defend themselves with little success, before eventually trying to disengage and retreat to their main army after Ser Addam ran his blade between the ribs of a stout, grey haired man wearing the colours of House Karstark.

Perhaps two or three dozen northern horse managed to escape the melee to rejoin their army, the first four lines of which was now getting dangerously close and beginning to charge at them haphazardly. They would have been better suited to stay on that hill and let us come to them, Harry thought idly, before discarding the thought

Harry clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, subconsciously noting that he was picking up on Stannis' habits. Narrowing his eyes, he turned to his men and quickly estimated that Ser Addam had less than a thousand pikemen left and little to no archers. With about five thousand men, Harry figured he could probably hold the against the first wave of northmen before having to either withdraw or die "Form ranks! Pikes in front, men at arms behind!" he bellowed, ordering his men to form a curving line of pikes with one end facing north and the other east "Hold against their center and left! Cavalry, prepare to charge their right, force them into the river!"

"My Lord!" Lyman called, and Harry turned towards him inquisitively "Look! On their left,"

Harry followed his pointing hand and when he saw the banners that had caught his captain's attention, his heart sunk. Not quite as large as the Stark center, the left commanded about a similar number of troops to the northern left flank on the river banks, marching under a waving banner that proudly displayed the blue, twin towers of Frey. Old Lord Walder, it seemed, had joined his men to Stark's and they were facing a larger force than there scouts had reported. The one good thing Harry could think of was that the men on the Stark left were struggling to advance quite as quickly as their counterparts in the center and left, due to the moderately steep incline on that side. The slope made marching or indeed charging a more difficult task than it ought to be and they lagged a little behind the other parts of the army.

With the northern infantry still a little ways away from meeting their hastily formed spear wall, the enemy archers began to pelt their lines with s rain of arrows. The first volley came unexpectedly, and the air was quickly filled with pain filled screams once again as the arrows found their mark. Harry himself barely raised his shield in time to block a pair of arrows that thudded into the wood and stuck there while a third ricocheted off his helm, barely an inch above his right eye. Many other were not so lucky, and a sickening number of men dropped to the ground either injured or dead when arrows found their mark, mainly the less heavily armoured pikemen on the front line.

"Shields up!" Harry cried, and the men at arms hurried to obey, raising their shield over both their own heads and those of the pikemen in front. The knights didn't need to worry as much; plated as they were, the chances of an arrow finding a chink in their armour was slim; but similarly raised their own shields as well. An old saying came back to Harry then, one he felt startlingly appropriate given that he was missing any armour on his legs or arms. Oak and iron guard me well, else I'm dead and doomed to hell. He couldn't remember where he'd heard it from.

Another volley came and then another after that, but before a fourth could begin a volley of their own soared over their heads and struck the charging infantry that were by this point but thirty yards away from the crude wall of pikes and running at them full pelt now. Harry watched with some shameful satisfaction as dozens of men on the front line of the Stark forces fell into the ground, others tripping over the sudden dead and dying bodies on the floor before being trampled by the men behind them. Glancing behind him, Harry could see that the Lannister forces had nearly managed to assemble themselves into a some semblance of a formation, their archers forming long lines stretching from the hills on the east to the river on the west, already notching for another volley. With another commander, the army may have already routed, but Tywin Lannister was respected enough that his orders to form up had apparently had an impact. The presence of Gregor Clegane probably helped with that too, and Harry could see the hulking giant of a man even from quite a distance away.

Turning back to the oncoming attack, Harry watched as yet another volley was fired at both sides of the battle before giving a nod to his banner-bearer. The northern center was about to reach the pikes and it was time to begin their attack on the Northmen's right. The standard bearer, a Stackspear knight, returned his nod stoically before blowing his warhorn, signalling to the other cavalry that it was time to begin their charge. It was almost excellent timing; as Harry's heavy knights began to charge down the far shallower incline at the northern right that was attempting to circle up it to surround the pike wall, the centre's of both armies met and Ser Addam's line buckled as the Frey led left flank joined the fight.

On the left, Harry led the knights in their charge against the northern spearmen that had stumbled to a halt upon seeing the charging horses and tried to form ranks to defend themselves. It was a futile attempt, really. Harry's knights crashed against the crude spear wall which held for nothing more than half a second before collapsing under the relentless assault of Harry's men. At the front of the spearhead formation, Harry himself spurred his horse onwards, the cavalry around him ploughing through the northern spearmen like a hot knife through butter, focused on the only mounted man among them. The man had a slightly square shaped frame and was somewhat pot bellied. Harry could see nothing of his face, meaning the only way to identify the man was the orange surcoat upon which a moose was depicted, though Harry couldn't think of which house that belonged to. Harry off-handedly cut down a few men that made an attempt to put a spear through him, easily knocking their clumsy attacks aside with either blade or shield before opening one's throat, removing the head of a second and plunging his blade into the soft flesh between the last man's shoulder and neck before reaching that flank's commander. With an ease that showed just why he was considering one of the best swords of his generation, Harry parried the man's surprisingly quick attack before landing a solid strike across the man's armoured chest as he rode passed at full speed, sending the man flying from his saddle to land in the dirt with a shallow gash from hip shoulder. By this point, the majority of the northern right had begun retreating north along the green fork and the rest where quickly cut down by the far better equipped Lannister men.

Harry kept his gaze on the man in the orange surcoat that he was clutching at his chest and wheezing. A regular blade might have broken a few ribs and sent him flying from the horse, but Harry knew it was only the influence of the Elder Wand that allowed his blade to cut through the man's coat of plate.

Spitting blood out of his mouth, the man spoke with gritted teeth but over the din of the battle, Harry heard nothing "I yield, damn you!" the man shouted a moment later, tossing his battle axe to the floor at the feet of Harry's horse.

Nodding slightly, Harry half turned to one of his men. Orange was clearly highborn and would therefore make a valuable prisoner "Ser Tybolt, escort this man back to the camp as our prisoner,"

Once the grumbling northman was being taken back to the rear lines of their army, Harry looked over at Ser Addam's infantry and cursed. He could see them being overwhelmed. Though the Lannister forces were using long reaching pikes and their men-at-arms were donned in a higher quality armour, the Northmen had ferocity and numbers on their side and it was clearly winning out. Growling in frustration, Harry called his men's attention away from the fleeing Northmen and turned it onto the droves that were assaulting Ser Addam's lines.

"Break their flank!" he yelled, yanking sharply on the reigns to have his horse wheel around "Send them running back to the North!"

Once more Harry led the heavy cavalry in a charge against the enemies lines. This time though their progress was a little more sluggish and slow, their charge not as effective due to the uphill movement sapping the speed with which the cavalry to make a charge. On the other hand, the enemy they were hitting this time were facing away from them and distracting by the vicious fight they were engaged in, and when the horns sounded again, ringing out low and deep, they were joined by a series of others from the south. Flicking his eyes to the side, Harry couldn't help but grin a little at the sight of the main body of Lannister infantry charging into the fray to support Ser Addam. Harry's cavalry and the fresh infantry enveloped the Stark forces, circling around on either side as Ser Addam began pushing the northerners back against the hills. Harry moved almost on autopilot, his sword swinging, stabbing, slashing and hacking left, right and center as it carved through flesh, cleaved through bone, removed limbs and plunged deep into the flesh and innards of his enemy. From atop his horse and wearing his plate armour Harry felt nigh on invincible. He'd never felt so...exhilarated in a fight before. The battle lust, he'd heard it described and he'd never understood it before. Now that he'd fought in his first real battle; knowing now that the brief skirmishes at Darry and the other Riverlands castle's didn't count; he did.

The feeling lasted all through the melee, and not even the screams of the dying nor the piles of Stark and Lannister dead could draw him out of it. The sight of a second wave of northmen, more than twice as large as the first, charging at them as the survivors from the repelled first wave regrouped half a league beyond the Lannister lines.

"Fuck," Harry snarled, before raising his force "Infantry from ranks, hold fast!" he roared "Cavalry, prepare to charge, reform the line!"

Quickly, yet not quickly enough for Harry's comfort, the pikes were once more in a line, far more steady this time and the numbers seemed to be roughly equal. Shouts of "Casterly Rock!" and "Lannister!" filled the air as the cavalry began a swift charge at the enemy, who hastily stopped and readied themselves. There were other shouts, too, as each knight and nobleman shouted for his family name and home, and faintly Harry was aware of the enemy doing the same. Still though the sound of injured men crying out in agony remained the dominant sound, until with a crash the Lannister cavalry hit the front of the second wave of Stark men, and the cold, screeching sound of steel meeting steel overtook the ever growing, ever horrifying sounds of the poor men who hadn't yet been granted death.

Harry urged his men onward, trying to fight through the rush of men to find the enemy commander and end the fight quickly. He was barely even aware of it when the Lannister infantry reached them and started to push the Northmen back. He did, however, notice it when a hail of arrows fell over him, his men and those of the enemy, many finding their mark and bringing them to the ground indiscriminate of whether the target they struck was Northman or Westerman. One such arrow sunk into a gap in the armour on his horses neck and the tall mount collapsed from under him, it's momentum carrying it forward even as it fell and sending Harry flying forwards. He landed with a crash and immediately found himself having to fight with everything he had just to be able to stand. Struggling to stand, Harry glanced around in a panic, barely dodging the swift attack of a northern man at arms and ending the man's life with a sword through the throat. If Robb Stark was anything like his father, ordering his archers to fire into his own men didn't seem like something he would do. But then, as a second volley of projectiles filled the sky, Harry noticed the direction they were coming from.

South.

Gritting his teeth, Harry began fighting his way out of the mass of men around him. Any time a man crossed his path with a weapon raised, he was ruthlessly cut down, though as the minutes passed and the bodies began piling up, Harry found deflecting the attacks of even the untrained levies to be more of a challenge than they ought to be and every time a knight clashed blades with him, a sharp pain ran up his upper arm to match the burning ache on the back of his leg. Raising either sword or shield was starting to take more and more effort the longer the battle went on. Eventually, Harry managed to break out of the Stark lines and into the Lannister ones and found himself side by side with Ser Addam and Ser Lyman, flanked on either side by rows of relentlessly battling infantry, engaged in a melee that seemed to be lasting forever.

It ended rather abruptly when two different sets of horns sounded, both of them from the south. One was the deep and low blast of a warhorn as a massive force of heavy knights and men at arms smashed through the Stark left flank, sending the soldiers there into an immediate rout. The center and the left didn't panic as much, and retreated in a much more orderly fashion, but disengage and back off they did. Harry was forced to use all of his willpower to order his troops not to pursue. He thought it was odd that they would keep attacking and then withdrawing, rather than just attack outright, and an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that following the northern army would be a bad idea.

It was the second horn that confused him, though. It wasn't as deep as the warhorns and not quite as long a sound. Such a horn was used to sound a retreat. Moments later a runner found him, and confirmed his suspicions.

"Ser Harold," the squire gasped out "Your Lord Grandfather has ordered a retreat to the Ruby Ford. Ser Lyle is to command the rearguard,"

Sighing, Harry nodded slightly, and looked over at the force of cavalry that had shattered the Northmen's right. Sure enough the Strongboar could be seen at the head of the column and was organizing his men to repel a northern attack quickly and efficiently "Very well," he said "Men of the West! We're leaving! Retreat to the Ruby Ford,"

Moments later saw Harry and his men moving as fast as they were able while still maintaining a semi-professional formation. As they began to make their way back to where Tywin was waiting with his reserve, a column of cavalry charged past under the lead of an eight foot behemoth in a massive suit of armour. Harry, Ser Addam and the White Lions detached from the withdrawing column of men to watch as the Mountain led the weak and mostly undisciplined force of cavalry that would have been their left flank and vanguard had the battle gone as planned against the now reassembled northern host. Harry had an inkling of what Clegane was doing on such a suicide mission, but kept his thoughts to himself as Ser Addam gazed quizzically after the man as though he'd lost his wits.

When Clegane's force met the northmen in the distance, Harry half expected them to be wiped out easily. Indeed, a good number were and some even switched sides, Harry could tell. However the heavy knights under his command lasted longer than he expected. A lot longer. The Mountain himself and the havoc he must have been causing was surely part of the reason for that happening. Tyrion's clansmen, as far as Harry could tell, were also among those still fighting. Thinking of his uncle brought Harry's attention to the fact that he hadn't seen him all day, and he chewed his lip nervously in fear of his uncles fate.

For a moment it seemed as though Clegane might escape the skirmish alive. When the center of the Stark lines started to be forced backwards, for a heartbeat Harry thought Clegane had done the impossible and forced the Stark's into a retreat. But then left and right flank starting wheeling around and closing in on Clegane's sides, and the missing banners from the battle appeared. The flayed man of Bolton and a merman that Harry recognized as the sigil of house Manderly were flying high above a force of infantry that must have numbered five thousand who marched into Harry's line of sight from around the hills and surged upwards into the unprotected rear flank of Clegane's men. So that's what they were doing, Harry mused, they sought to have us follow them so they could flank us with their best troops. Clever. It was an effective tactic. Clegane's men had nowhere to run, and one by one they fell. Clegane was the last to fall, and by the time he did the main Lannister army was making a hasty march in the direction of the ford.

When Clegane fell, Harry knew it was time to leave.

They reached the ford early the next morning and by mid-afternoon they had crossed their entire army. Tywin had forced a night march to gain some ground over the northerners and combined with the fact that they were marching faster than usual anyway and that their army was noticeably smaller now, they'd made good time. As the soldiers were granted a few hours to rest before they had to press onward to rejoin Kevan's force, Harry was summoned to see his grandfather in the dilapidated, burned out ruins of the Inn of the Kneeling Man. Tywin had turned the main room into a council chamber of sorts, though Harry doubted they'd be here long enough to use it as such. Nonetheless, the Lord of Casterly Rock sat at the head of the table, looking over the maps and papers in front of him. Tyrion sat in a seat to his left, and Harry felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He'd heard his uncle was alive, but with the constant marching he hadn't been able to see for certain. Aside from what looked to be a bad bruise on the side of his head, the Imp of the Rock looked none the worse for wear.

"Nephew," he greeted cheerfully "I hear you were in the thick of it. I'm glad you still seem to have all of your limbs,"

"Uncle," he said tiredly "I hear you weren't, yet you seem injured?"

"My clansmen got over enthusiastic," the dwarf admitted uncomfortably "They knocked me out as they charged to battle,"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by his grandfather "It wasn't twenty five thousand northmen," he said gravely "It was little more than twenty, even with the Frey's. The prisoner you took, Halys Hornwood, was more than happy to confirm my suspicions. They split their army at the Twins,"

"He talked?" Harry had gotten nervous when his grandfather mentioned the Twins. The only purpose to splitting an army there would be to march down the west side of the Green Fork, too, putting them on a straight path to Riverrun. With the feeling that he didn't want to know what his grandfather's suspicions were, he delayed "I didn't think you condoned pointless torture grandfather? Acts of excessive cruelty and ruthlessness, perhaps, but torture?"

"Mind your tongue grandson," his eyes narrowed "He wasn't tortured. He was rather happy to tell me all about their plans and relish in our helplessness to stop them,"

"What plans? And where is the rest of the Stark army?" Tyrion interjected

Tywin didn't answer; he merely shifted his gaze to the door, as though waiting for something. Taking the seat on Tywin's right, Harry settled in to play one of his grandfathers waiting games.

They didn't have to wait long. A few minutes later the door burst open and Uncle Kevan rushed in, still clad in his armour much the same as his three kinsmen in the room with him.

"Tywin," he said desperately "Word from Riverrun..." he trailed off helplessly as Tywin stood with a deep sigh and moved to stare into the fire.

"So I was correct," he drawled "Stark has freed Riverrun and defeated Jaime. My son?"

"We don't know. He left the siege to hunt down raiders and never returned. The camps came under attack a few hours later. Reports are unclear, but it seems as though our army was completely broke,"

Tywin nodded slowly "Harrenhal?"

"Still under Lady Whent's control. The Darry's were slaughtered when they tried to leave, and we faced two separate sortie's. The Mooton's came first and we repelled them with ease and the Cox's and Roote's that followed suffered similarly," Kevan reported "I lost barely any men, but I lacked the numbers to take Harrenhal,"

Tywin nodded once more, tapping his fingers on the table idly. Harry, staring blankly at the table top as he had been ever since hearing of his father's defeat at Riverrun, subconsciously noticed that Tyrion was as pale and wide eyed as he himself felt.

"So be it," Tywin said finally "Prepare the men to march. We will make camp along the Kingsroad north of Antlers,"

"Wait," Harry snapped out his daze at that "We're leaving? They have my father, we can't just retreat..."

Kevan put a hand on his shoulder "There's nothing we can do, Harry. We'll get him back, but we can't right now,"

Harry just shook the hand off and left to find what remained of the White Lions, some two dozen men. He needed to train, take his mind of things.


WILL

King's Landing

When news came of the Lannister defeat's at the Green Fork and Riverrun, Will knew it wouldn't be long. Joffrey's temper was like a storm, just as unpredictable and dangerous. He wouldn't take the news of their losses well, he knew and he had a feeling he knew who the target of the boy King's anger would be.

So he'd worked fast. He knew he had a few days at most before the King found out about the defeats through official channels and reacted, so Will worked on a very tight time limit. Thankfully, the first half of his plan was easy. After but a few hours of searching, Will had found an acceptable scapegoat. The hard part came in putting him into position and gaining the cooperation of the original target. To do that however, he needed the information that could only be found from one source.

Which was why Will found himself in a meeting with the Master of Whispers. He was using a manse in the city that was owned by the Lannister's that Harry had given him permission to use. Having delivered his proposition, the hunter waited.

Varys giggled "My what an interesting idea this is," he said "Tell me, my Lord, whatever would the young Crown Prince think of such a scheme?"

Will blushed a little and got the uncomfortable feeling that Varys knew far more about their relationship than he should. After Harry had left, Will had continued to teach Tommen how to use a sword and a bow. At first he'd had Arya too, but then Ned Stark had sent her home with Syrio and a good part of his household. In a few months the private sessions had gone from three teachers and three students to one on one sessions between Tommen and Will. Though not the boy's only teacher; as he still took lessons with Aron Santagar and some of the Kingsguard occasionally; Tommen had made no secret of the fact that he liked Will's lessons the best. Flattered though he was, Will still didn't know why the blonde prince liked him so much. Gods knew he hadn't done much to deserve his attention. Still, the prince's apparent infatuation with him was no business of the eunuch's.

"I aim to make sure he never finds out," Will responded dryly "but if he did, I like to think that Tommen is a good enough person to understand. Will you help me?"

"As I told your father many years ago, Lord William, I am not a warrior or a hero," Varys' tone was serious and he continued despite the way Will stiffened at the mention of his father "I listen to my birds and report what they tell me, nothing more,"

Shakily, Will drew a breath "You told Harry once that all you sought was the betterment of the realm. If that's true then help me; this will help bring peace faster,"

"Mayhaps it will, but will such a peace truly be peace? Will it benefit the realm or destroy it? One can never be sure with these things, and must choose carefully,"

Rubbing his forehead and frustrated with the cryptic statements, Will barely kept himself from snapping "I need a way for two people to get into the Black Cells, retrieve something and then for two people to leave, without being seen. Can you help? Will you help?"

"Fear not, my Lord, I shall assist you with your task. Meet me at the ruins of the Dragonpit at midnight," Varys said and turned to leave "I sincerely hope the repercussions for this are worth it, my Lord,"

With that he was gone, and Will blew out a long breath "So do I,"

The hours passed slowly after that. It had been early evening when Varys had left and Will felt he'd paced the length of the main study several hundred times by the time came for him to meet with Varys. Accompanied by two of the most loyal and trustworthy men Will had under his command and joined by his chosen scapegoat; the man limping from a spear wound in the leg and shackled at the wrist, the young archer made his way through the streets of King's Landing dressed as a very well armed commoner. The city was quiet at this time of night, or at least quieter than during the day. Though the vile stench remained, Will couldn't help but feel the capital was more beautiful this way.

They arrived at the Dragonpit a little early, having made good time. Will looking around him in awe. Despite living in the city on and off for two years now, Will had never been inside the ancient building used by the Targaryen's to house their dragons. Now that he was inside, he was struck by the sheer size of the structure. Each of the individual cells or rooms could fit the entire population of Flea Bottom crammed in, and Will's mind brought him to imagining massive, fire breathing winged creatures of all different colours living in this very building. Despite the ruined and crumbling state of the building, Will thought it was magnificent.

"Fantastic, isn't it," a voice whispered from his side and Will whipped around to see a hooded man. When the man pulled the hood back slightly, Will could see the familiar face of Varys, disguised as a gaoler "The Targaryen's hailed from Ancient Valyria, whose technology was and is unmatched. Architecture is simply one way in which their heritage truly shines,"

"Are we ready?"

Without saying a word, Varys turned and slipped through a small gap in the wall that Will hadn't even noticed in the darkness. Grabbing the scapegoat and placing a knife at his back, Will dismissed the other two men. The most trustworthy they may be, but Will wanted as few people as possible to know what he was doing. Shoving the bound and gagged man before him, Will followed Varys down a narrow and steep set of stairs and then along a long, winding and drafty hall. Only the dim light of a small, dying torch carried by Varys lit the way as they walked, that torch being the only source of light they had. Still, Varys never faltered and before long they were in an even darker area, the sides of this one marked by thick wooden doors. Varys led him halfway along the hall and opened a door on the left, quickly beginning work on lighting a brighter torch.

When the fire lit, Will got the first look at the Warden of the North he'd had for a while now. Shoving the scapegoat to the floor of the cell, Will turned to the haggard looking Northman.

"Lord Stark," he greeted "It's William Buckwell. I have an offer for you,"


HARRY

The Kingsroad

It was late at night when the Lords bannermen of the Westerlands convened after the news arrived. News from both Riverrun, King's Landing, Dragonstone and Highgarden that was too dire not to be discussed immediately.

"We have received confirmation that after leading a sortie to deal with a raiding party, Ser Jaime Lannister was captured by Robb Stark and a force of heavy horse at what is being called the Battle of the Whispering Wood. Two thirds of his army were completely destroyed at the following Battle of the Camps. Andros Brax drowned in the Tumblestone; Quentin Banefort, Tytos Brax, Willem Lannister, Tion and Cleos Frey, Garth Greenfield, Regenard Estren and others were captured by the Northmen. Forley Prester retreated into the west with four thousand men," Kevan sat back into his seat after delivering his report.

Harry winced at the thought of his father being held hostage by Robb Stark, especially with the news that had just arrived from King's Landing earlier that evening.

The loss at Riverrun were bad enough. With over twelve thousand men killed, many lords dead or captured including one of their best commanders and fighters, and a thousand mercenaries and freeriders defected to join the Northmen the result of the battle outside Riverrun was nothing short of a disaster. To make things worse, their losses on the Green Fork had been significant on a ridiculous level. In total they'd lost seven thousand men while reports from Ser Addam's scouts indicated that the Northmen had lost little over half that amount. Now they had nearly ten thousand cavalry at Riverrun, well positioned to strike at the vulnerable Westerlands as well as nearly twenty thousand fortified on the north side of the Ruby Ford, plus whatever could join them from Harrenhal.

"This is a disaster," Harys Swyft wailed miserably "Ser Jaime defeated, us defeated cut off from the west by two different armies...why did he split his forces into three camps? Is he a fool?" Harry's fists clenched at that.

"Have you ever been to Riverrun, Ser Harys?" Kevan questioned "If the Tully's open their portcullis then Riverrun is turned into a small island. Three camps is the only way to siege the castle. Jaime did nothing wrong,"

"What do we do now?" Lord Lefford asked "We can't face the North in open battle anymore. Do we fall back to King's Landing?"

"They will need our swords to repel Renly when he marches," Ser Addam mused thoughtfully "Especially if Stannis is also planning on claiming the throne,"

Word had come in recently that Renly Baratheon had declared himself King; on what grounds, Harry had no idea, and he worried for his one time friends sanity; and married Margaery Tyrell. Already, a massive host of Stormlords and Reachmen was being raised at Highgarden. All estimates said that it was approaching sixty thousand men. With the coin and food stuffs of the Reach behind him, as well as such a huge army, Renly might already be damn near unstoppable. Still, Harry prided himself on being nothing if not tenacious (though some would just say stubborn) and he refused to allow the former Master of Laws to place his little cousins heads on spikes just to appease Renly's arrogance and ambition.

No word had been received from Dragonstone, but rumor had it that Stannis Baratheon was hiring sellswords, calling his banners and constructing even more ships. Despite the lack of an army on Dragonstone, and the very large one in the Reach, Harry knew that it was Stannis his grandfather feared.

"Bugger that," the Strongboar blurted "If we run to King's Landing, then they're free to attack the west unopposed,"

"You suggest we fight, Ser Lyle?" Flement Brax asked

"If we force them to come to us on our terms then numbers mean nothing, especially not if we could keep their hosts apart!" Crakehall shouted

"Could we raise another force in the west?" Lefford asked

Harry spoke up in answer "We could but it would take time and even then they'd be the sweepings of the west," he said "Still, it may be worth it anyway. We should send a raven as soon as possible,"

"What about peace," Swyft exclaimed suddenly "Could we sue for peace,"

The sound of shattering glass drew their attention to Tyrion, sitting at the other head of the table.

"There's your peace," he said, pointing at the shattered goblet he'd knocked onto the floor "You'd have as much chance getting peace from the northerners as you would drinking from that glass. With Ned Stark alive we had a chance. But my sister and nephew saw to that when they had him killed,"

Harry winced at that too. The message from King's Landing claimed that Eddard Stark had died of poor health in the Black Cells. Harry wasn't foolish enough to believe that though. Either his beloved aunt or his delightful cousin had a hand in the man's death, most likely the latter but possible the former or even both. Regardless, Harry wasn't stupid enough to allow his aunt's honeyed words to deceive him and he doubted the Starks would either. The thought of what might happen to his father in response to this sent a jolt of fear through Harry's heart.

"They have my son," Tywin ground out, before raising his voice a fair bit "They have my son! Get out, all of you. Harry, Kevan, Tyrion; you stay," Tywin waited until the assembled bannermen had left the tent and dispersed among the camp before he spoke "You are right of course; peace will be impossible now, else I might be tempted to negotiate with the Stark boy,"

"You admire him," Kevan accused

"Part of his victory of us is that we underestimated him, but such a plan was still rather brilliant," Tywin conceded "I have some respect for that," he turned his attention back to the topic at hand "Killing Ned Stark was stupid; whether he died by accident or was killed, we'll find ourself blamed for this,"

"What do we do?" Kevan asked

"Lord Lefford's idea of a new army had merit. With your leave I'll have a raven sent to Ser Daven with instructions to raise a new host,"

"Send it later. We still have business," Tywin told him "Cersei has demanded I come to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King. She won't say it, be she can't control her son and needs me to do it for her. I'm needed here, to make sure the Northmen can't march into the Crownlands. Kevan, I want you to raise an army from the Crownlands,"

Harry, if Cersei is incapable of reeling in her son then I have every faith you'll live up to the task. I'm sending you to rule in my stead, taking three thousand men with you to bolster the defense of the city. You are to bring Joffrey to heel and keep an eye on those worms on the council; Varys, Baelish, Pycelle if any of them play you false you know what to do. Tyrion..."

"No,"

Tywin came to an immediate halt in his speech and both Tyrion and Kevan turned to look at him with aghast and shocked expressions.

"Excuse me, grandson,"

"I said no," Harry declared "We did things your way, and we lost. Now we do it my way. I told you what Joffrey was and you didn't believe me. Go to King's Landing, take a force to help defend it and watch him. Make your own decision; I'll command the army here and try and deal with the northerners my way. Take Tyrion to Kings Landing too, to serve in my old position as Master of Ships,"

There was a ringing silence throughout the tent as Harry finished speaking. Tyrion was looking anywhere but his father or nephew, quietly sipping from a goblet of wine. Kevan was staring at him, his expression an odd mix of horror and a little respect. Tywin; Harry swallowed nervously at the piercing glare that was being sent at him by his grandfather. It wasn't the first time he'd stood up to his grandfather over one issue or another, but it was the first time he'd done so in front of other people and also the first time he'd ever outright said 'no'. But in this case, Harry knew he was in the right and kept his gaze locked with his grandfather's, his entire posture rigid and unmoving, just as his position on the matter was.

"So be it," Tywin said lowly "We'll do it your way grandson," the man stood to leave and Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding "But don't ever presume to command me again,"


Like I said, this chapter was supposed to be part of the last one, so if it feels out of place then that's why.

So the Lannister's lose the Green Fork and Tywin's the one who's going to King's Landing, not just Tyrion. And would anyone like to have a guess as to what Will's doing?

The Karstark's: In the books, Rickard has four kids; two sons, Torrhen and Eddard, who Jaime kills at the Whispering Wood, a son Harrion who is held prisoner by the Lannister's and a daughter Alys who Jon marries to the new Thenn leader. In the show, he also had three sons and a daughter, but their fates and names are different; Torrhen is strangled during Jaime's escape attempt in season 2, Harrion dies in a battle sometime (basically takes Eddard's place), and Harrion is replaced by Harald (Season 6 Karstark guy). For this story, I've sort of mixed the two versions. He has four sons and a daughter; Harrion, Torrhen and Eddard fight in the Whispering Wood, while Harald is back at Karhold in the North with Alys.

Loghain Mac Tir: I don't mind her. Some things she does are stupid, others alright. She's not a major character in this so I haven't really thought on it much

coldblue: 1)It's kind of not outright stated, but Rickard's fate can be found in the Green Fork battle 2) oh yes, absolutely. essential plot point 3) this will most likely happen 4) Valar Morghulis 5) Balon? Maybe not, that might be resolved before Harry can deal with it. Euron; oh yes absolutely 6) I think that will be an interesting conversation 7) Oathkeeper only ends up with Brienne because it goes to Jaime first. Might not happen this time

Child of Dreams: er...

Separ: Maybe it's not Robb that'll be able to 'keep it in their pants'

Chosen-One-92: Yup they will

Murdough: Huh, must have gotten my timelines mixed up. Put it down to Harry doing the same thing

1529: Not exactly; Tywin isn't a nice guy but I wouldn't put him on Hitler level. And after Tywin, none of the other Lannister family are all that bad, if you look at them. Cersei and Joffrey are the two exceptions, and as it turns out they're the one he doesn't actually care about.

WeylandCorp4: *Whistling innocently*

Emporer Vanquest: Harry gets a magic overload next chapter.

Everyone else: Thanks for your reviews, glad you're all enjoying it.

That's it for now. Cya next time. Yozza out.