2nd Month of 299 A.C. Pendric Hills
Lord Robb Stark
Arya was dead, that thought haunted him more than he would ever admit to anyone. His little sister was gone, she was with their father wherever people went when they died. Guilt weighed heavily on him, he knew he should have done more to get her to safety, that he should have done as Jon had suggested and sent a party to find her and bring her to Riverrun or perhaps Harrenhal. Robb knows that he will curse his indecision for the rest of his days, but he also knows that dwelling on it now, when they have a battle to fight is not the smartest of things. He knows Jon is sticking by him, because of Arya, because he wants revenge just as much as Robb does, and Robb knows that perhaps the time is coming for them to discuss what to do.
The sound of a horn draws him from his reverie. He shakes his head pulls down his helm, and then feels a chill flow through him as Greywind and Ghost howl. The call of wolves, a primal sound, deep and filled with anger. Robb knows that following the destruction of Nunn's Deep they are now moving closer toward breaking the power of the Lannisters. His uncle Ser Edmure and the Riverlords have been ravaging the southern Westerlands. Now is the time to ensure that those who are coming toward them are destroyed. Another army that can be broken, one step closer to avenging father and Arya. His blood is pumping through his veins, he feels it and with one fell motion he draws his sword and roars his command.
He leads the charge, his horse and his direwolf running through the slopes of early snow as his heart hammers. The enemy is in sight, Robb feels the collision and laughs as his sword cuts through one man, and then another, and another. Through the carnage they go, cutting, slashing and hacking. A most primal thing this, the urge to continue onward, pushing through, the image of his father and his sister floats through his mind, giving him a much needed savagery in his act. His sword sings as it cuts through lance and other weapons. These southerners with their lances, he laughs at them, he knows there is nothing half as good as a sword to deal with a lance. Through it all they go, running, charging, and his men at his side, Jon on his right, slashing and cutting. The brothers' wolf, all through, wreaking havoc on the westermen and making them fear their coming.
The westermen are led by someone who Robb does not know, whether this man is of any importance he does not know, all he knows is that defeating this man and then taking what loot they can is one more blow toward Tywin Lannister. It will not bring Arya back, but perhaps in doing this, they can hurt the man who loves his gold, just as much as Robb is hurting now. He cuts his way through the army of westermen, Greywind snarling and tearing his way through. Jon is at his side, his guard are there as well, fierce and protective as always. Robb roars a command and the rest of the northern army come pouring through. The trap, these westermen never learn. He laughs at that, and kills one more man as the slaughter begins in earnest.
The charge is a hard one, the Pendric Hills are some of the toughest, Robb has ever encountered. He knows though that sooner or later they shall need to completely burn them down. It seems a shame to him, but he knows that it is necessary, they cannot allow the Westerlands to gain power once more. And so, he barks his commands, and takes action. Men fall to their deaths, Robb cuts through the men who come into his path. Slashing, hacking, cutting, doing all that he can to make sure they do not gain too much power or prominence. It seems to be working well enough, for already the sizeable Westerlands army that had been coming is now reduced.
"Onward, we push onward." Robb roars as rain begins to fall, the westermen are coming closer and closer now. He can smell victory, he can sense it. Blood is running freely down the mountain, the time is coming. His sword rises high into the air and comes swinging down in a free arc, breaking one man in half, and another who falls down pleading for mercy. The man is soon killed in the stampede of war. Robb laughs and pushes onward, the time to break through their defences is here. "Light the torches." he roars, and the command is passed down the army, and soon enough the torches are being lit and thrown at the oncoming Westerlands army.
Fire, its red brightness is intoxicating and it engulfs those before it. Robb calls his army to a halt, allowing them to watch as the flames engulf those westermen who are stuck on the other side of the hill. As the flame begins falling down the slope of the hill, the screams of the dying men reach Robb and his men. He watches all of this through the slit of his helm, and when it seems as though the flames will die out, he orders more torches lit and thrown. Rain is falling lightly, but it does nothing to disrupt the power of the fire that he has started. The screams of the dying echo in his ears, but all he can think of is revenge for Arya. Soon enough they shall take the Rock, and then Tywin Lannister shall know true pain.
He continues watching as the flames engulf the army of the enemy. He watches and watches, and then when he has seen enough he turns to his brother and says. "We are done here, take what plunder there is available. We ride out now." His brother nods, and Robb turns his horse away from the scene before them. His job is done here for now, it is on to greater things now.
