Chapter 26: Not Quiet on the Western Front

Outside Riverrun

"It will be dangerous, my lady," said Robb.

The girl only smiled in her calm and infuriating way while he tried to convince her that riding out into battle with him was not a good idea. "I will be careful, my lord," Katherine said. "I always am."

"Battles are chaotic. There will be arrows flying in all directions, and it will be impossible to be careful," he said, trying further to convince her that she really should stay in the camp and wait for his triumphant return, but she was having none of it.

"How many battles have you seen, my lord?" she asked.

Damn her! She knew this was his first! The question did not deserve an answer, so he did not answer it, but his silence only served to make his argument moot. So he just glared at her instead and hoped that the force of his will and the severity of his eyes –Damon had always said he had a gaze capable of piercing the soul– would be enough to make her stay.

It wasn't.

"I am a bard, my lord," she said as she placed a hand on his arm. He would never have allowed it if she had been anyone else, but she was Katherine. He allowed her more liberties than he would like to admit. "How am I to write songs about your victory if I am not there to witness it?" Her beautiful dark eyes were framed by the longest eyelashes. How could anyone have such beautiful eyes? He could look at them forever, and they had this almost magical way of wearing him down and making him agree with whatever it was she said. It had to be magic. How else would he explain it?

"Fine, but you will wear armour and stay by my side where it is safest," he said.

"Would it not be the most dangerous, since all the Lannister spears and arrows will be looking for you, my lord?" she asked.

"I will have my honour guard, and nobody aims at the front of the army where I will be, or else all the arrows would fall short," he said. "Just stay by me, or else you will be staying here." He had to put his foot down at some point, although it was so very hard to be firm with her. Other parts of him were growing firm…no, not now. This was the wrong time. He had a battle to win. He needed to save his father.

Why was he even explaining himself to himself, at any rate?

"Thank you, my lord."

Robb turned to Elijah. His new squire had witnessed everything, but he had had the tact to act as if he hadn't. "You will stay by my side and guard Lady Katherine. If a single hair on her head is harmed, you will answer for it."

"Yes, my lord," said Elijah.

He had Katherine go and seek out a suit of armour that fitted her, warning her that if she could not find one, she could not come. Elijah helped him with his armour, deftly buckling the straps and adjusting everything so it was strapped on tightly, but not so tightly that he could not move or breathe. Perhaps there was merit in having a squire who was older than oneself. Younger boys tended to fumble and be nervous. Elijah Frey was never nervous and he always performed his tasks efficiently, contrary to everything he had ever heard about Freys.

Outside, the men were waiting for him to give the signal. He had made them sleep during the day so they would be fresh for battle. It was past midnight. In a few hours, dawn would come. The dawn had been growing later and later. He looked upon the thickets of spears rising from the mist and thought of the two thousand men he had sent in Tywin Lannister's direction. He would thank them for their sacrifice today.

"Robb!"

His mother came striding towards him, her cloak billowing out behind her. "Let me ride with you," she said.

"No, Mother," said Robb. "It is too dangerous."

"Your bard is riding with you. If it is not too dangerous for her, it is not too dangerous for me."

What was it with women riding into battle this morning? Perhaps Katherine, being a bard rather than a lady, had never learned that women, being more delicate and weaker than men, were not supposed to go onto the battlefield, but his mother really ought to know better!

"I need to know that you are here guarding the camp," he tried to reason with her. She would have none of it. At the end, he had to compromise with her. So long as she rode at the back with Ser Rodrik, she would be allowed to accompany the main force. At no point was she to get involved, and if things were to go awry, she was to run immediately.

The weary Lannisters, tired from a hard day's work of building fortifications, none of which were facing the right direction, were mostly resting. Their campfires had burnt low, and only a few sentries remained armed. A few gathered about barrels of water. At least Jaime Lannister had the sense to not allow his men to imbibe too much alcohol, but even that wouldn't help him.

Robb and his men emerged like phantoms from the forest. Their dark northern clothes melded perfectly with the shadows. He had ordered the men to bind the horses' hooves in cloth so they could move in silence. Mist swirled about them, making it seem as if they really were ghosts rather than men.

They formed their lines opposite the Lannister camp. The sentries still hadn't seen them through the fog and the dark, just as Robb had intended.

"Sound the advance," he said.

It was rare for someone of her age to have new experiences. She had seen a great many battles from afar, watched men graduate from crossbows to rifles and from the most primitive cannons to sophisticated guns and rocket propelled grenades, and then she had combed the battlefield afterwards, dining on the dying. It might seem callous, but what sane human being or vampire would say no to a free all-you-can-eat buffet? However, this was the first time she had ever ridden into battle.

The armour was pinching her in all the wrong places; tight across some areas and far too loose in others. It couldn't be helped. Men and women had such different shapes, and Katherine considered herself to be particularly feminine in many ways. It would probably pay to get another suit made. This was Robb's first battle, but it wouldn't be the last, and it looked as if accompanying him into battle would become her long-term employment rather than a short-term job. Perhaps he would even commission a suit of armour for her. He liked her more than well enough for that.

Speaking of Robb, he looked particularly handsome in his armour this morning. It wasn't that he was wearing something different, because he wasn't, but there was something about the determined hard set of his mouth and his ice cold blue eyes. He might have only been seventeen, but he wasn't a boy. He was her young Caesar. Armour and chainmail suited him.

Then again, he probably looked better out of it. She'd only ever seen glimpses of his body when she'd brought him water for his quick baths. He used a screen, but it wasn't a very good screen, and it had gaps. She wouldn't say she was a peeping-tom, but she was a curious sort of person, and she always let curiosity get the better of her. One could even say it was her weakness.

And anyway, what she had seen had been totally worth it. In fact, he had bathed just the night before, and although he had Elijah now, he preferred it when she carried out the 'domestic' duties.

"Why do you need to bathe just before a battle, my lord? War is a messy business and you will only get dirty again on the morrow," she said as she passed him a jug of hot water to rinse off the rough soap on his skin. Perhaps she ought to make him another soap. The lye soap he was using was so…unpleasant. He bathed outside just behind his tent, with only a screen to separate him from prying eyes such as her own. Through the gaps in the linen screen, for Robb Stark was too practical a man for silk, she saw him pour the water over his head. His wet skin gleamed in the flickering torchlight. Grey Wind stood guard, making sure no one approached his master except those who were authorized, Katherine included.

"A leader must appear inspiring," he said. "I cannot be covered in dirt and grime and expect the men to respect me as a lord rather than as an untried common soldier." He brushed the water from his face, shook his head to get most of the water out of his hair, and then held his hand over the screen and demanded firstly his towel and then his clothes, which she dutifully passed to him. It was a pity he wasn't the type of lord who needed someone to help him dress. She would have gladly obliged.

When he emerged, his wet hair was sticking out in all directions, and his linen shirt clung to his still damp skin. He invited her to sit with him a while by the fire while he dried off more thoroughly. At first, they sat cross-legged on the floor in silence. She wanted to reach out to touch him, but feared it might be construed wrongly. Robb had to do the chasing.

She watched the firelight and shadow dance over his face as he traced shapes in the dirt with his index finger, on which he wore his signet ring depicting a snarling wolf's head. She wondered whether she had ever seen anything quite so beautiful as Robb Stark in profile while he was deep in thought. Eventually, he spoke.

"The Lannisters have more men than we do," he said. "Even without Tywin's men, Jaime Lannister has a force of thirty thousand surrounding Riverrun. They don't expect us, so we have the advantage of surprise. My main concern is that they will flank us."

He drew out Riverrun in the dirt and the layout of Jaime Lannister's fortifications, all of them facing the castle rather than the woods, before proceeding to explain to her where he would place all his men, and how he expected Jaime Lannister to arrange his.

In a moment of impulse, he got her to fetch a few of his wooden lion and wolf pieces so he could show her how he would move to completely annihilate the enemy. As she passed him the pieces, their hands briefly touched. It was as if a jolt of electricity passed through them. She quickly pulled away, as she ought, and he seemed shocked by the contact. His fingers were calloused from years of training with swords and bows and any other weapon he had deemed fit for use, but his hands, while strong, were slender and graceful like an artist's hands. Or a lover's hands.

"The best plan is simple," he said.

Katherine smiled and said nothing, for she preferred many-layered plans like a delicate French gateau, with layers of melt-in-your-mouth pastry, custard, cream, and fruit, amongst other things. When one bit into it, there were many flavours and textures combined. That was a good plan.

Although, the best plans always ensured victory, and sometimes one could get a lot of pleasure from a simple one-layer crepe with a sprinkle of lemon juice and sugar.

"Jaime Lannister is trapped between the wood and his own fortifications. The key is to make sure they cannot surround us, so our lines must be as long as theirs at least. We will be more thinly spread, but they will not be fully prepared," Robb continued, oblivious to her silence. "We will come in from the northwest through the woods. They will not be able to see us nor how long our lines are."

He arrayed the wolves so their lines were longer than the lions, and then moved the piece on the left flank forward. "The Lannisters' right flank will see there is a gap, so they will charge and lose formation."

"Why not move both flanks up at the same time and surround them completely?" she asked, reaching out to touch the wolf piece on the Starks' right flank. He caught her hand before she could, and he did not let go.

"What does a rat do when it cannot run at all?" asked Robb. "It will bite. Men who have nowhere to run will fight their very hardest. Jaime Lannister is the best swordsman in all the seven kingdoms; a legend. If it had been any other man, I might have been less wary, but if anyone can cut his way through our lines, it is him." He pointed to the open right flank at the north east of Riverrun. "So we give him and his men somewhere to run to, and then–" Here, he got a carved trout and placed it a little further away from the opening. "–my uncle Blackfish will catch them and make sure they don't escape. We'll take Jaime Lannister, alive if possible, and trade him for my father."

"And where will you be, my lord?" she asked.

"Here." He pointed to the wolf piece at the very centre. "At the front."

"All the greatest generals lead from the front," said Katherine.

"I intend to be one of them."

Jaime Lannister was having a bad day. It was chaos around him, and he could not get his messengers through to his flanks, nor could their messengers get through to him, which meant no one had any fucking idea what was going on. He needed more competent sub-commanders.

He had told Tytos Brax to hold when Robb Stark's left flank had moved forward, but of course Brax could not resist the bait. They had turned to meet the enemy, exposing the Lannisters' right flank. After that, he knew his only chance was to kill Robb Stark and he had charged with his men for Robb's centre.

Horns sounded in every direction. Most of them were Stark horns. The northmen's battle cries all merged into one to create a singular howl. His blade cleaved through skin, bone, and flesh, cutting men from head to sternum at times with a single strike. Anyone who came near him fell, but even Jaime Lannister was only one man.

"Hold the lines!" he roared to his men, but he could not be everywhere at once. While his main force held, it would be for nought if all the other men broke away.

"My lord, the Starks are pushing our left flank back!" shouted his messenger.

"Tell Gawen Westerling to stay exactly where he is!"

Red and gold banners fell and were trampled into the mud as men fled the battlefield. Deserters were cut down by their commanders, but in some cases, even the commanders fled.

Jaime's horse reared with a furious scream, his sharp iron-shod hooves cutting flesh and smashing skulls as Stark men tried to surround him. He lashed out with his back hooves, sending men's broken bodies flying into their comrades behind them. Jaime finished off the rest. A surrounded enraged lion was a dangerous lion.

Through the sprays of blood, the waves of rushing men, the thickets of spears, and the waving grey and white banners, he saw Robb Stark. The cub had become a wolf, and he was a fiercer wolf than his father had ever been or would ever be. He had not thought much of the boy when he had first met him at Winterfell. He had been wrong, and he would not make the same mistake today.

If he killed Robb Stark, then hopefully the battle would be over and the northmen would scurry back to their little lairs beneath the ground.

Behind them, the sky was beginning to grow light. It turned purple, and then red, as if it, too, were stained with the blood of Jaime's men. "Rally to me!" he shouted as he raised his sword. Ruby droplets flew off his blade while others created an ever changing red lattice over the steel as he pointed it in Robb Stark's direction.

Lions did not run from wolves even when they knew they were losing. Everyone knew that.

He had to be strong for the men. He was their lord now, and he was leading them either to victory or to their deaths. But he couldn't show his nervousness; not to the men, not to Katherine, not even to himself. His heart was thudding in his chest, but he kept his breathing steady.

Arrows flew into their midst from desperate Lannister archers hoping that their projectiles might, in the off-chance, find the greatest target of them all; himself. Most of them passed over his head. He blocked one accidentally with his sword, although it would have only hit his armour anyway. He charged into the fray when the Lannisters rushed forward, riding down more enemies than he cut down. Anyone who fell was trampled by the feet and hooves of the men and horses who came behind him.

"The Lannisters are running, my lord," cried his messenger, a boy who had been so eager to squire for him that he had not been able to speak to Robb at all even when asked questions. But he was speaking now. The boy's face was flushed with the excitement of victory, but they had not won yet. "The Lannisters' right flank broke, and their left flank ran when they saw the others running." What? The left flank broke too? Well, he hadn't been expecting that quite just yet, as in not before they had even engaged in battle. Perhaps he had overestimated them and Lannister men weren't actually as disciplined as he had thought. Or maybe Jaime had gotten Tywin's leftovers.

"Tell Jason Mallister to close in on them," said Robb. He was surprised at how calm he sounded. He sent the same order to the Greatjon. There was still a chance the Lannisters could break through. He would never say it out loud, but his men simply were not as good as Tywin's soldiers. Compared to the Lannister army, which was trained to move as a unit and fight as an army, the northmen might as well have been common brigands. They were driven on by the smell of victory now, but if their lines broke even just a little, then everything he had tried to create here would break with it. There would be no rallying them.

"Are you ready for this?" Theon asked him.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" asked Robb grimly. "Katherine, stay–"

Where in the seven hells was Katherine?!

She had been by his side just a moment ago, unfazed by the smoke and smell of battle. "Elijah!" he shouted.

His squire had disappeared too.

There was nothing for it. He could not think about all the possibilities right now. There could only be one thing on his mind. Only a few red and gold banners remained waving in the wind, the golden lion stained with the blood of slain men.

"Forward!" shouted Robb.

There was something to be said for the organic diet of Westerosians. They tasted so much better. Armour rattled and torn banners snagged in the black branches of the trees as the soldiers passed by where she lay in waiting on the Starks' right flank and the opening which Robb had left as a baited trap for the fleeing Lannister men.

Some of the Lannisters supported wounded comrades, but most of them were more worried about their own lives to care about the injured. It really wasn't hard to dart out and drag one of them away from the group without anyone noticing. One bite to the throat silenced the man forever. He was dying anyway. The wound in his leg had been infected, and sooner or later, the gangrene would have killed him if Blackfish didn't. What did it matter who killed him as long as he was dead? Not that she minded helping. People were fragile, and their lives cheap.

Although tainted with the slightest hint of disease, the man had been in his prime when he'd died. His hot salty blood was nectar to a hungry vampire. There was no hint of preservatives or anything else that usually tainted the blood of modern humans.

"We should get back before Robb Stark misses us," said Elijah.

"Aw, you're cute when you're scared," said Katherine as she let the drained corpse drop. Waste not, want not.

"I am not scared, but do you really want Robb Stark to find out what we are?"

She didn't answer as she carefully dabbed away any traces of blood on her lips. Obviously, a man as smart as Robb would find out sooner or later, but she wanted him to know in her own sweet time. "Have I missed any?" she asked.

Elijah wiped the last of the blood away from the corner of her mouth. "Better," he said. "Let's go, Lady Bard. You have a song to write. A great many, actually, I would say."

She rolled her eyes at him. Yes, yes, she would sing a song for the northmen about their victory. She had plenty in her repertoire she could pilfer from and considering their tastes in music –next to none– they should be quite easy to please.

Her horse had wandered off during the time she had taken to ambush and feed on the Lannister men. She wiped at the blood on the front of her surcoat. She had had no dresses that fit over the armour, and Robb wouldn't let her wear the shiny chainmail over her dresses. In the end, she'd had to borrow some young bannerman's son's spare gambeson, surcoat and trousers. Now she'd gotten blood all over them. It couldn't be helped. She could simply say she got cut off from Robb's force and was nearly hurt but Elijah saved her. That would explain the blood on his surcoat too, and no one would suspect them of having sneaked in breakfast.

Jaime charged straight for Robb. The Stark boy's guards rushed to meet him head on, thinking him a vanquished foe. Idiots. He cut them down and tasted the saltiness of their blood as some of it splashed onto his face. Blood had a curious quality to it; it almost tasted like life, or at least life lost. It wasn't actually unpleasant if one did not know it was blood, but because of the nature of the liquid, most men were repulsed by it.

A Frey man, on foot, stepped into his path. Jaime –barely– recognized the bridge on his surcoat. Did he have a death wish? Well, he'd give it to him. At the last minute, the man dropped and rolled. Jaime's mount screamed as he crashed to the ground. His back hooves flew through the air as his body somersaulted like a perverted version of the acrobats Jaime had liked watching as a child before his mother had died. After that, Lord Tywin Lannister had not hired any more acrobats because Joanna had enjoyed their antics, and they reminded him of her too much.

Jaime threw himself from the saddle just in time to avoid being crushed by his horse. The animal pawed at the air, one front leg spurting blood where the hoof should be.

The Frey man still stood, covered in horse blood, but very much unharmed. He lunged for Jaime. Yes, a Frey had charged at Jaime Lannister. What was this, a world where everything suddenly turned backwards? Jaime met him. Their blades clashed. He tried to let the other man's sword slide down his so he could trap it with the guard and wrench it from him, but the Frey was too clever for that. He struck out at Jaime's legs, forcing him to step backwards or else lose his balance. He had to admit, apart from Ser Barristan Selmy, he had never fought anyone so strong, so fast, and so sure of his skill. In fact, there was something about the Frey that reminded him of another extremely fast and agile opponent he had sparred with recently.

Unlike Rebekah, however, the Frey had excellent swordsmanship. Jaime had the distinct feeling he was being toyed with.

He deliberately left an opening. The Frey fell for it and lunged forward, just as the little lady knight had taken the bait. Maybe he wasn't so good after all. Jaime dropped his sword and caught the Frey's sword arm while preparing to plunge a dagger into the other man's face with his other hand, only to find he could not move his wrist.

"Not so fast, my lord," whispered the Frey as he forced Jaime's hand back. He wasn't even sure what happened next, but the Frey suddenly swung him around and threw him into the jaws of what seemed like a dozen slavering wolves baying for his blood. They pinned him to the ground and would probably have attempted to kill him had the Frey not suggested that Robb Stark would have wanted him alive. Then they trussed him up like a pig ready for slaughter –not that he let them do it easily– and dragged him before their little lordling.

Jaime Lannister was having a very bad day.

Next chapter: Katherine teaches the northerners an iconic slice of French culture.