Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Okay, I couldn't get the battle to work, and I tried for days to get it down, so the battle's off-screen. Sorry. The amount of men the West are capable of fielding comes from A Wiki of Ice and Fire. Finally, the Winterlanders use the completion of the Wall as their calendar, so 303 AC is 8791 After Wall (obviously we don't have an exact date for its' completion so that's it.

Chapter Seventeen

The Higher You Rise...

The Riverwall Garrison: 25thMay, 303 AC

Oberyn:

Oberyn twirled the spear he had been given in one hand as they waited. It was made of ironwood, and had a slightly different weight to the Dornish spears he was used to losing, but it was close enough that he was confident it would not affect his skills.

The Northron soldiers were gathered into a dozen columns, with a shield wall at the front, waiting quietly and patiently for their enemies to advance. Their discipline was admirable, but then, this was an army made up of trained and blooded warriors, not the smallfolk conscripts used by the southron armies. Oberyn himself stood just beside the front of the line, alongside Sara, who was perched on top of her direwolf (which was a frankly intimidating and extremely attractive sight. All the Northrons were rather formfitting clothes that showed a wonderfully scandalous amount of skin). Aegon and Obara were on his other side, much to his dismay. For all he knew that they were both extremely capable warriors, he loathed his eldest daughter and nephew being in danger.

He was not particularly fond of Sara putting herself at risk either, but he was not about to say so. Despite what his siblings thought, he did in fact have some sense of self-preservation, and he guessed that if he ever dared to breathe a word implying that she might be better off away from the battlefield, he would find himself with a dagger buried in his stomach.

According to the scout, a Northron woman by the name of Kyra of House Whitewolf who had the hardened air of a veteran in spite of her being only a few years older than Sara (whom, admittedly, was also a veteran of many battles), the West's army was about twenty-eight thousand strong by her count. The numbers made sense at any rate, as the West could field about fifty thousand men (if they depleted their castles of any defences and recruited every greenboy and old man as levies). The Starks' spies had informed them that the Old Lannister had taken around ten thousand men to secure the capital after his daughter's coup, and those men combined with another two thousand that he had 'donated' to the City Watch after his daughter's marriage to Rhaegar (an act that much of the Small Council had opposed but Rhaegar had allowed in the name of keeping the peace with his goodfather, and had eventually led to Cersei's take-over being possible) meant that there was about twelve thousand Westermen in the capital. Then they would have needed to leave a minimum force of ten thousand behind to defend their own keeps and lands, leaving twenty-eight thousand to march east to the Crownlands so that they could reinforce the capital.

Their own host, meanwhile, was currently made up of the troops loaned by the North. Although King Eddard had only sanctioned the loan of four thousand soldiers to follow them to the capital, Sara had agreed to have the garrison of the Riverwall (one of their strongest guarded, with thirteen thousand men and women lining it) aid them in this particular battle until the Valemen could arrive at last. Due to that, they would have fourteen thousand soldiers on the field today, with three thousand of the garrison being kept behind in reserve. Of those troops, five hundred were wargs.

Oberyn's knowledge of numbers said that fourteen thousand would never manage to beat a host of almost thirty thousand. Oberyn's knowledge of and experience with the skills and fighting tactics of the Northrons said that there would be nobody left of the Lannisters' army by the time the Winterlanders (who had been disturbingly gleeful about 'sending the fucking burners to rot in their precious seven hells') were through with them. In truth, the five hundred wargs alone would likely be able to defeat the Westermen. Oberyn still had nightmares about the war two decades past. The sight of the giant animals ripping his men apart had imprinted itself on the backs of his eyelashes. He was very relieved that he was on their side this time.

"The enemy approaches, my princess!" somebody called. Sara had instructed them to use Andaii for the sake of the southrons with them, though the group had begun picking up bits of the Old Tongue over their time with the Northrons.

"Ready yourselves!" Sara called back. "Archers, knock arrows!"

They were tucked out of sight on a ridge, looking down over their enemies. The Westermen were marching into view. They had no idea that they were about to be ambushed.

Aegon had originally been going to send them a request for parley before fighting, and the Winterlanders had looked at him as if he were madder than Aerys. In truth, Oberyn had been rather disappointed by his nephew's naïve suggestion as well. He had thought that he'd taught Aegon better than that.

"Why would you do something like that?" Sara had demanded incredulously. "Offer parley after we have defeated them. Do not be a fool and take away our advantage of surprise."

Oberyn and Ser Oswell had both agreed, and that had been that.

The archers, who were all hovering on their gryffins, knocked their arrows.

"Draw!" Robb yelled. The archers pulled back. "Aim! Fire!"

On the final order, the archers loosed a rain of death on the unsuspecting Westermen.

The enemy's rows were broken and scattered by the surprise attack, and the commanders' attempts to rally their men failed with another series of arrows being sent at them.

"Charge!" Sara cried. Drummers began beating their instruments. It was a fascinating technique, apparently invented by Prince Matthos the Musical Wolf, allowing orders to be communicated via different rhythms that the soldiers were all trained to recognize, whilst at the same time confusing the enemy and sparing the commanders the loss of their voices from bellowing orders halfway across the field over the sounds of weapons clashing. Oberyn himself wouldn't be able to distinguish one beat from the other if his life depended on it, but the Northrons had been doing so for years, and they reacted on instinct to the slightest change in beat.

They charged down the ridge to the shocked Westermen, and more than a few terrified greenboys turned tail and fled as if demons from the deepest of the seven hells were nipping at their heels.

Oberyn himself thundered down on his borrowed steed. He quickly found himself in the middle of the melee, separated from his daughter and nephew but still able to see where Sara was. She had dismounted from her canine companion and was in the middle of slashing and hacking any Westerman unfortunate enough to cross her path into a dozen pieces while Taibhse rampaged through the battlefield, tearing a bloody swathe through the Lannister men.

In other circumstances, he would have been entranced by the sight of Sara, and the way she made fighting seem as elegant and graceful as a dance. But as it was, he was currently fighting a deadly battle, and thoughts of how beautiful and deadly his Winterlander lover was, as well as concern for both her, his daughter and his nephew/king all had to be put to the side so that he could focus on staying alive.

King's Landing: 4th June, 303 AC

Ser Daven:

Ser Daven Lannister, cousin to the legendary Lord Tywin Lannister, had never before had to retreat from a battle, yet he had fled the battle at the Riverwall. Of the twenty-eight thousand levies he'd had at the start of the battle, a bit less than half remained to him. Many of the raw recruits had fled in terror of the Winterlanders, whilst many of those who had remained to fight had been killed. He didn't know how he would ever be able to show his face again, with his reputation so stained. Well, if his head of House decided to kill him, he wouldn't need to worry about that.

At least he had managed to rally his disorganized and wounded forces enough to retreat, and they had been allowed to leave. And they were definitely allowed to flee, because they had not been chased and the barbarians had practically made way for them to escape towards the Crownlands, whilst blocking any other possible escape routes, including the one leading back towards the Westerlands.

It had taken some time for Daven to understand, but he had come to a realization eventually. The Northrons wanted them to get to King's Landing. They wanted the Crown to know that they were coming en masse, that their doom was coming.

The gates leading into the capital were shut and barred when Daven's ragged and exhausted forces staggered up to them. He had barely allowed them time to eat and piss, let alone sleep, too desperate to get to the capital and tell Tywin what had happened.

"Who goes?" A Watchman demanded from his position atop the walls. He, and many others lining the wall, aimed crossbows and regular bows at Daven's host, prepared to fire on any enemies mad enough to attack the capital of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Ser Daven Lannister!" Daven yelled back. "I bring reinforcements for His Grace King Aenar to defend against the rebels! I must speak with Lord Tywin straight away!"

They allowed them entrance. Janos Slynt, the Commander of the City Watch, greeted him with a look of mockery.

"So these are your reinforcements?" he scoffed. "Doesn't look like they could tell the difference between a blade and a hilt. What-"

"Monsters, monsters, they were monsters," he paused on hearing what a young greenboy was weeping. "We're dead, we're all dead. The barbarians will kill us all! The Winterlanders are invading, we are all doomed!"

Janos Slynt, who for all his faults did have some sense (in that he was ever-ready to protect himself) and who had also fought in the previous war, went pale. "He's mad," the man croaked, panic flicking in his eyes. "The Winterlanders- No, 'tis not possible. The boy is mad!"

"I must speak with Lord Tywin immediately," Daven insisted. Slynt looked even more horrified when his almost-pleading statements that the lad was mad were not confirmed.

"Aye, aye," he muttered, paler than a ghost. "Oy, you!" he pointed at another Watchmen. "Escort Ser Daven to Lord Lannister, right away! Go, idiot! Hurry up and do not keep the Lord Hand waiting!"

As Daven hurried after his assigned guide, he said a silent prayer that the phrase 'what goes around comes around' would come true for his House. Otherwise, the next ballad written about the House of Lions would be the Rains of the Rock, instead of Castamere.

More than that, he prayed that he was not about to pay the price for the Winterlanders winning the battle.

The Red Keep: 4th June, 303 AC

Tywin:

Tywin seethed as his cousin left, blatantly relieved that the Old Lion had not taken his anger out on the messenger.

This was an utter disaster. The Winterlanders had now officially entered the war, and their already hopeless cause was in complete ruins now.

Damn his idiot daughter for her foolish recklessness. What in the Gods' names had possessed her to perform a coup, and why was it so hard for her to do a proper one? Tywin was not one to dismiss a woman solely on her gender. His beloved Joanna had been a political genius hidden by sweet smiles, and his sister Genna was the shrewdest lady that Tywin knew. Why then was Cersei such a fool, with examples such as her mother and aunt to follow?

A knock interrupted his attempts to figure out a way to salvage the wreck that his children were making of his legacy.

"What?" he barked. "Who is it?"

A trembling servant stuck his head around the edge of the doorway and held out a letter in a shaking hand. "A letter for the Crown, Your Lordship," he muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "It seems that copy was sent to every lord in Westeros."

Tywin narrowed his eyes at that, already anticipating what it was. The Winterlanders always sent out letters on the onset of a war, informing the lords and ladies of the south as to why they were attacking. Usually it happened after the fighting had already begun so they did not lose the advantage of surprise, but it always came eventually.

"Leave!" Tywin snapped as soon as he had snatched the envelope out of the servant's hand. The young boy practically ran away, as Tywin used his old letter opener (a gift from his late wife) to open the envelope.

Reading it, his nostrils flared and his heart started to have palpitations. He had to read it through twice before he was able to accept his child's stupidity.

8th April, 303 AC/8791 AW

Winterfell

The North

The Winterlands

To Whom It May Concern,

This is a formal declaration of war between the Winterlands (consisting of the North, the Three Sisters, the Iron Islands and the Northron Riverlands) and the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, former Wardens and Lords Paramount of the West (all titles of the aforementioned House have now been stripped and attained due to the treasonous actions of the House by His Grace King Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Six Kingdoms).

This declaration is based on two acts.

First of all, the agreement between House Stark and House Targaryen, the Pact of Ice and Fire (drafted and signed this year between late February and March) demands that, when ones' throne and territories are threatened, the other comes to their defence. As the Lannisters have attempted to usurp King Aegon's legitimate and lawful rights and his claim to the Iron Throne, House Stark is thus obliged to aid the King of the South in regaining his throne and overthrowing his enemies.

The second basis of the war declaration between the Winterlands and House Lannister is their illegal and outrageous attempt to usurp the authority of the Weirwood Throne. The so-called Queen Regent Cersei sent a letter demanding that King Eddard, Head of House Stark and King of the Winterlands, Shield of the Realm, bend the knee to the false king Aenar Targaryen and his kinslaying mother Cersei of House Lannister. They also demanded that Crown Princess Lysara and Prince Brandon be handed over as hostages, an act we have thus interpretated as death threats to His Grace the King of Winter, Her Highness the Princess and His Highness the Prince. Thus, we have no choice but to declare war and blood feud against the Lannisters of Casterly Rock.

All who get in our way shall pay the price. You have been warned.

Ashara Stark of House Dayne, Queen Consort of the Winterlands

Tywin glowered in apoplectic fury at the paragraph announcing what his thrice-cursed daughter had so stupidly done. Many times he had resented the fact that their shared blood preventing him from killing off his shameful dwarf son. Now, however, he deeply regretted the fact that he had not smothered Cersei in her crib. If he had done so, this would not have ever happened.

Flames of pain shot up his left arm, and he realized that he was breathing heavily enough that his nostrils were flaring like a horse's would. There was a tightness in his chest. He staggered to his feet, trying to breathe properly. He failed, collapsing onto all fours and cursing his daughter weakly as he succumbed to the encroaching darkness.

This was all Cersei's fault. How had he managed to sire such a complete idiot for a child? At least the Imp was clever, even if he was a disappointment in all other ways. How was it possible that his family had managed to rise so far, yet now it all seemed poised to come tumbling down around him?