The God's Eye
The tall slender man held the goldenheart spear in his right palm, his olive skin and yellow kaftan blending into the dun colored walls of the ruined throne room. He placed the left hand down, the back of the palm on the right wrist. He spun the spear clockwise, two revolutions between the handoffs from right to left and back again. Skip and catch. Skip and catch. The spear twirled, slowly at first, but then faster and faster, until the weapon moved in a blur and the long steel blade seemed everywhere and nowhere at once. The spear spun at an incredible speed, but the man stood undisturbed in a stable pose. His hands moved quicker than a viper, but his shoulders were entirely relaxed and no sweat dripped on his face.
In his youth, Oberyn Martell studied sojutsu, the art of the spear, with the fighting monks of Yi Ti. He learned to thrust, swing, and strike until the weapon became an extension of his arms. He could stab with the point, slice with both edges of the long blade, and smash with a spinning shaft, hitting as hard as a flail. Through thousands of hours of practice and hundreds of fights, Oberyn mastered the three elements of the spear - speed, stamina, and space. The Red Viper was as quick as his namesake, he could fight or fuck for hours, and he kept his enemies at range, close enough to strike, but far enough to block, dodge, or circle.
Oberyn practiced that morning in the Sandship. A thousand years ago, Mors Martell, a lesser lord of Dorne, had married Princess Nymeria here, after she burnt the ten thousand ships. Before the Martells conquered Dorne, the Sandship was their ancient home - an ugly squat keep, shaped like a dromond washed ashore and turned to stone. Oberyn trained in the ruins, under the leaded glass windows of the dome - one inlaid with the Martell spear in gold, and the other the blazing Rhoynish sun. He had gone through a dozen katas when he heard light steps on the stairs. Oberyn continued his movements, focusing on footwork, jab steps for attack, and even quicker backsteps, until he flitted about in a whirlwind and ended the dance with the blade level with the face of the intruder, an olive skinned boy with straight black hair.
"Trystane, why are you not with your little lioness?" Oberyn said. He placed the spear butt down on the stone floor.
"Father sent me to summon you to the Tower of the Sun." Trystane said.
"I am not surprised Doran calls. But why are you the messenger? Why not the castellan, the maester, or even your sworn shield? I thought you were busy wooing Myrcella in the Water Gardens by losing games of cyvasse." Oberyn said.
The boy flushed slightly. "Myrcella beats me fairly. She is very clever, Uncle, and sweet and gentle. Father has sent Maester Caleotte and Maester Myles to gather our entire House. Lady Ellaria, your daughters, my sister Arianne. Even Ricassio, Ser Manfrey and Lady Alyse have been ordered to attend. Something important has happened, uncle."
Oberyn kissed Ellaria on the lips and greeted his seven daughters. Even little Loreza was there, and his youngest girl celebrated her sixth name day only a moon ago. Three of the Sand Snakes were armed openly, and the four others carried hidden daggers. Loreza had been given hers as a name day present. Trystane sat next to his father and sister Arianne.
"Brother - why have you called us?" Oberyn addressed the gray haired man seated in the wheeled chair.
Gout and time had weakened Doran Martell, who covered his swollen and weakened legs under a gold and red blanket. A copper tray near the wheeled chair held peeled blood oranges and a silver knife. Areo Hotah, the bearded captain of the guards, stood over the Prince, carrying a two handed longaxe. "A ship landed this morning. The captain announced to every inn, winesink, and alehouse in Sunspear that the North has sent Rhaenys's killer to Dorne."
"The Mountain That Rides was captured?" Oberyn asked in shock.
"Our spies say the Mountain still accompanies Tywin Lannister. The lions, or what is left of their army, prepare for battle against the wolves." Doran said.
"Then who?" Oberyn asked the question on the mind of everyone in the room. Two dozen Martell guards marched into the room, armed with spears and round shields wearing the gold, red, and orange of the Prince of Dorne. They escorted half a dozen warriors in mail and heavy furs. The leader was a boy of ten and two, with pale blond hair and dark blue, almost purple eyes. He smiled and bowed deeply, the pale purple cloak swirling on the floor. He at least had sense enough not to wear fur in Dorne.
"Edric, it is good to see you return to Dorne safe." Doran said.
"Who are your companions, Lord Dayne?" Oberyn said.
"Ser Emmon Cuy. And these are the Forresters and the Tuttles." Edric said.
"Your father died three moons ago, Edric. You are now Lord of Starfall, and the head of House Dayne." Doran said.
"I am sorry to hear that news." the boy said softly. At seven, Edric was fostered at Blackhaven as a squire. Oberyn doubted the boy remembered Starfall or his father well.
"Why have you returned to Dorne?" Doran said.
Ser Emmon yanked a rope, dragging a terrified man with a pale piggy face, and pig like eyes. The fat man dropped to his knees, begging for the mercy that would never be granted.
Edric raised his violet eyes, looking older and fiercer than his twelve name days. "This is Amory Lorch. Jon Snow, the White Wolf, captured him at Harrenhal. Lord Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, offered him to House Martell as a gift. He confessed to the murder of Rhaenys Targaryen."
A hiss of disgust could be heard over the blubbering of the porcine prisoner. "We should take his head now." Arianne Martell said.
"Not before we have found out the truth about the Sack of King's Landing." Oberyn said.
"Prince Oberyn, the Starks have already done so. Lorch killed Rhaenys. Gregor Clegane killed Aegon and Elia Martell. Lord Tywin Lannister ordered Elia and her children slain and the bodies delivered to Robert Baratheon. Lorch confessed this to Robb Stark and Jon Snow." Edric said.
If he had a spear, Oberyn would have impaled the fat man. His brother held up his hands to quiet the Sand Snakes. "Thank you, Edric. But how is it that you deliver this message? You served Lord Beric. Why do you follow House Stark?"
"When the Starks captured us, Thoros declared Jon Snow to be Azor Ahai reborn, and the Prince That Was Promised. Lord Beric pledged his sword to the White Wolf." Edric said.
"The Prince That Was Promised. Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy. But does this Jon Snow claim to be a saviour?" Oberyn asked.
Edric reddened. "Actually Snow does not believe Thoros. He was more annoyed than pleased with our vows of fealty. He would rather kill the Lannisters than fulfil any prophecy."
Oberyn laughed. "I like the bastard already. A Prince Who Does Not Wish to be a Prince."
"That sounds like Snow. He was skilled as any maester but he refused to forge his links until he turned one and six." The dark skinned woman wore a yellow cloak over her green brigandine. The black hair was still short but had grown longer in the sea voyage.
"Sarella! You are back from the Citadel." Arianne said.
"Sister, Have you gotten tired of all that learning?" Nymeria said with a mocking smile.
"I travelled here on the Cinnamon Wind because I wanted no maester to see the raven. Father, Uncle - I know Jon Snow well. He was my best friend at the Citadel." Sarella said.
"Sarella, I am delighted to see you." Oberyn embraced his fourth daughter. You and Lord Dayne have many stories to tell. Let us do so over a meal. And as for this scum, lock him in the deepest dungeon. His dying will be long, and his name will be forgotten."
As Oberyn expected, the snake was too much for the Northmen. Ser Emmon, Lord Gregor Forrester, his sons and henchmen, snacked on the sharp white cheese, olives and flatbread. They ate the dates cooked in honey and the stuffed grape leaves, filled with raisins, peppers, onions and mushrooms. They even stomached, with great difficulty, the sausages and shrimp, spiced with aleppo, poblano and bird's-eye peppers. But the Forresters and Tuttles blanched at the grilled snake with fiery mustard sauce, covered with dragon peppers.
"The snake needs more venom." Arianne said, licking the sauce off her finger. The Northmen and Ser Emmon rushed out of the hall, leaving the Martells alone with Edric.
Oberyn chuckled. "They lasted longer than I expected. Northmen do not appreciate our cuisine."
Ellaria rolled her beautiful exotic eyes. "Send them a platter of cream cakes. It will sooth them."
"Now, Edric. Tell us the true tale. What have you seen in the Riverlands?" Oberyn commanded.
"Wait." Arianne pointed to her brother. "Should he be here?"
"Why am I not allowed, sister? Dorea and Loreza are here, and they are younger than me." Trystane said angrily.
"Isn't it obvious? Trystane might tell Myrcella. Do we want the Lannisters to know our thoughts?" Arianne said.
The youngest Martell flushed red. His father put his hand on the boy's elbow. "Trystane is family, and in time, Myrcella will be too. Arianne, you have accused me of keeping secrets. Everyone in this room is curious about the War in the Riverlands. If they do not hear now, they would seek Lord Dayne out. And besides, the maesters track every raven in Sunspear."
Edric began. He spoke about the Lightning Lord's death and rebirth at Mummer's Ford. He talked of the devastation in the riverlands from fire, war, and floods, and how the Brotherhood Without Banners tried but failed to defend the smallfolk from the Mountain, the Goat, and the lions. Then the wolves came into the picture. Edric told of the Inn at the Crossroads and how Jon Snow had ambushed them there. There, Lord Beric and Thoros swore their loyalty to the White Wolf. He mentioned Robb Stark's voyage North to deal a blow to the Greyjoys at the Neck. Edric finished with the march to Harrenhal and Vargo Hoat's betrayal and brutal death at the hands of prisoners.
"An exciting tale. But what about the battles? What of Oxcross and the Golden Tooth ... Or the Bloody Trident?" Doran said.
"Prince Doran, I only know what I heard. I would have fought at Harrenhal but Lord Snow captured the castle without any losses. The Northmen think the Young Wolf cannot be beaten in the field. And that the White Wolf is a sorcerer. He took the Tooth and broke the Westerlands with cunning. They claim he used magic at the Trident to hold a wall against five times his number with an army of wolves and ravens."
Obara snorted. "So many battles and you did not even fight in one." His oldest daughter had always been impatient, and eager for war.
"I don't see you fighting the Lannisters either." Sarella sniped.
"Robb Stark wants an alliance with House Martell - Dornish swords and spears to fight the Lannisters." Edric said.
"Father, I thought we are allied with the Lannisters." Trystane said.
"Ah, yes. Your little princess. She has such lovely curls." Tyene said in a gentle voice. Her sisters knew better.
"Alliances can be made and unmade. But our spies in the capital say that the Northmen are doomed. The army of the Reach are thirty thousand strong, with another ten at King's Landing and more still at Highgarden. The talks have failed. The roses and the lions will besiege Harrenhal." Doran said.
"It would be different if Dornish spears were in the Riverlands." Obara groused.
"True, but how do our spears travel a thousand miles? No one expected Robb Stark to crush the Lannisters. Even if we sent men today, they would not arrive at Harrenhal in a moon. The last report is that outriders of the two armies are less than a hundred miles apart." Doran said.
"Prince Doran, Jon Snow asked if House Martell wants to avenge your sister and her children." Edric said. The room erupted in anger, and Oberyn felt shame that the Northmen had done more to hurt the lions than Elia's family.
"We have waited years for revenge. We should strike now. The lions are weak. The Lannister army has lost four battles in a row." Arianne hissed.
"That does not mean they will lose the fifth. The alliance with Highgarden has bought forty thousand swords to the Iron Throne. The North have less than twenty thousand, and many of those are Rivermen - and they are quarrelsome and unreliable. I do not play the game of thrones to lose." Doran said firmly.
"You do not play the game at all. The wolves are fighting, the lions are fighting. Even the Fat Flower of Highgarden is fighting. And what are the Dornish doing? Nothing. We are eating." Nymeria Sand said.
"I will not spill Dornish blood for no reason. House Stark is badly outnumbered. Mace Tyrell is a fool but his lords are not. The lions are still in the field. Balon Greyjoy still hates the North. The wolves must retreat, or they will fall in the Riverlands." Doran said.
"Jon Snow won't retreat, uncle." Sarella said. "Not with his sister at King's Landing. You will regret not allying with House Stark. They will fight."
"What do you think of him?" Oberyn asked.
"I met him two years ago. He was just a boy then - only ten and three - one of the youngest students. He has a thirst for knowledge unmatched in the Citadel. He is loyal to his friends, and loves his family dearly. And he is good at war." Sarella said.
"But the Northmen face an army twice their size. Surely the Starks will see reason." Doran said.
"He is a Snow, not a Stark and he will not agree to your "reason." At the Citadel, he was happy to defy the archmaesters. Why will he fear the Reach?" Sarella said.
"Do you think he will win? That he is this Promised Prince?" Oberyn said.
"I do not know about prophecies but I believe in Jon Snow. I asked him to run away with me to Dorne." Sarella said.
"Won't he be surprised when he discovers that you are not a man?" Nymeria said.
"He knows that I am a woman. He deduced it a year ago and kept my secret. I told him that he would be welcome in Dorne and that my sisters would like him." Sarella said.
"Are you not afraid that we will steal him away from you?" Tyene smiled.
"You can try. He may be too much for you." Sarella said to the smirks of the older Sand Snakes.
"He is only a boy of sixteen name days." Arianne said.
"You like to play at games, Arianne. Do not play against him. Jon Snow is a dangerous opponent, and deadlier than he seems. Be glad that he is not our enemy." Sarella said.
If the matter wasn't so serious, Jon would have laughed. Arya stood ramrod straight, like everyone in the room, cowed by Robb's stern face. He looked every bit the Lord of Winterfell, like Ned Stark dispensing justice to his bannerman. Arya was not the subject of Robb's ire.
"Where are your men?" Robb said he glared at the nervous Rivermen.
"My lord, I am sure this is just a misunderstanding." Ser Stevron said.
Jon Snow shook his head. "Their horses are gone, and they took a large quantity of supplies - enough for three weeks. Their squires also left in the middle of the night."
A sennight after the talks failed between the Reach and House Stark, the Freys had slowly vanished from Harrenhal. It had been a slight trickle at first, but last night hundreds had gone missing, including most of Walder Frey's trueborn sons. Ser Stevron, Ser Perwyn and Olyvar remained, and surprisingly most of the bastards.
"I hear talk that Black Walder wishes to be married." Martyn Rivers said. "Perhaps he will return after a wedding at the Twins."
"Black Walder enjoys bedding his brother's wives too much to marry." Perwyn said.
"How many of your men are missing?" Robb asked.
A long silence passed before Stevron answered. "Fifteen hundred, Lord Stark. Perhaps more. My son Ser Ryman, and his sons. Many of my brothers as well. Most of the knights and horse."
"See to it that no more men go missing." Robb said, dismissing the Freys. They scurried out of the room, eyes downcast from the irritated Northmen.
"Such treachery must be punished." Roose Bolton said. "We should hang a few Freys as examples. Or their bannermen. There are three minor houses pledged to the Twins."
"Kill men who stayed to punish those who left? That will lead to more deserters, and weaken our army further." Jon said.
"The Frey cunts are shit at fighting. Good riddance, I say." The Greatjon said. The Umbers were proud and fierce, but not patient planners. Ser Ryman may have been a sot and a craven, but the other knights and men at arms fought well at the Whispering Wood and Oxcross.
"We can ill afford to lose men. My Lords, make certain your forces do not desert. The outriders report that the Tyrells are past the Blackwater." Robb said.
"Our men think you plan to leave Harrenhal. We are outnumbered, Lord Stark. Would it not be better to fight behind the castle walls?" Roose Bolton murmured.
"Harrenhal is the largest castle in Westeros but to be trapped behind the walls in a siege would be hard. We would have to send away our horses, for lack of fodder. Disease and hunger would weaken our forces." Robb said.
"It might weaken the Tyrells as well. Maintaining an army of thirty thousand plus men will not be easy in the Riverlands." Lord Bolton said.
"Tywin Lannister could feed his army but he had to pillage most of the nearby lands to do so. And the Reach is the most fertile region of Westeros. They are used to sending supplies up the Rose Road." Jon said.
"Prepare your men to move out. The battle will come soon enough." Robb said. The Northern lords nodded and left, leaving only the Starks and Jon Snow.
"How many men do we truly have, Jon?" Robb asked after the room cleared.
"We had fifteen thousand men. We lost half the Freys, but we gained a thousand Mormonts and seven hundred Valemen. That brings us to the same numbers. But fresh recruits have joined us. - smallfolk, men training on the pikes, ex-septons, and former deserters. Several thousands, but many raw and inexperienced. And the others brigands or half crazed." Jon said.
"I saw many with rainbow stripes on their cloaks and sword belts. They all have a crystal sword on their shields. Some even have a seven pointed star branded on them." Arya said.
"The Warrior's Sons. Men dedicated to the Faith of the Seven and angry at the Lannisters for destroying the septs." Jon said.
Robb shook his head. "Can we trust these recruits in battle? The Blackfish says these are broken men, who have suffered too much. They cannot withstand a strong charge."
"Most men break under a charge. If a thousand knights of the Reach attack at a full gallop, we would have to pray to the old gods that the footmen would hold. And our new pikemen have only used their weapons for only a moon's time." Jon said.
"What are you two talking about?" Arya asked her brothers.
Robb flattened out the map of the Riverlands and placed down a few tokens of different colors. "Arya, there are three basic groups of soldiers. Archers, horsemen, and infantry. Forget the archers for now, and just think of horse and foot. With the Vale, we have over 6000 horse, 9000 foot, and 4000 new recruits. The recruits would fight with the infantry. Our cavalry is well tested. We defeated the Lannisters at the Whispering Wood and broke the siege at Riverrun. Jon took half the Northern cavalry west, while the infantry was in the Riverlands. At the last battle, near the Trident, I led the cavalry against Lord Tywin's reserve and won, while Jon held the Trident."
"But that is good, right? That the knights and mounted fighters have fought well." Arya said.
"Yes, but it means the infantry has not been bloodied. It took nearly three weeks for Lord Bolton and Lord Karstark to march the foot soldiers down to Riverrun. And Jon used the cavalry to attack Oxcross. The infantry has seen only one battle, and even then, most of the hard fighting was done at the wall or by the horsemen." Robb said.
"Robb is worried about how the foot soldiers will fare. The Reach has thousands and thousands of armored lancemen. Knights charging at full speed would be frightening even for experienced veterans. For the Brotherhood without Banners or smallfolk…" Jon said.
"They would be cut to pieces. It might be better to leave them behind." Robb said.
"No, we need as many men possible. We are already badly outnumbered. I will find a use for them on the battlefield." Jon said.
"Then you will take charge of them?" Robb asked. Jon nodded and his brother grimaced before leaving the room.
"Robb is angry." Arya said after their brother departed. The room was empty now, except for the map lying on a table.
"Not at us. He is upset about the Freys. Do you know what is the most important thing for an army?" Jon said.
"Numbers? Strength? Skill in battle?." Arya said.
Jon shook his head. "No, it is discipline. An army without discipline will fall apart in any difficulty. By leaving, the Freys have hurt Robb's ability to command. That is far more important than fifteen hundred men. Fighting in a war is not like dueling in the yard."
"So not just sticking them with the pointy end?" Arya said.
Jon laughed. "Not quite." He made two rows of coins on the map. "Two armies face each other in two lines. Imagine I break through the enemy line." Jon pushed one coin through the line. "What happens?"
Arya thought. "Well, you would be ahead of our forces. They would attack you on three sides."
Jon nodded. "And that is why in battle, men are rewarded for their bravery. It is dangerous to fight at the front. But look more closely. What happens to our enemies?"
"If they move to strike you, they would also be vulnerable. They could be attacked from the front and side." Arya realized.
"Breaking through the enemy line is dangerous. But once you do so, they feel great pressure to retreat." Jon pushed more coins though at different spots. "The first one who runs might survive. But those who are trapped when their line breaks…."
"They die." Arya said.
"Aye, most battles are about holding the line. Often two lines crash into each other, hoping to force the other side to give way. You have to be brave - because when the lines break, and people run - the battle is often lost. More men die fleeing than they do fighting." Jon said.
"But Jon, how will you stop that?" Arya said.
"We cannot. The Tyrell knights will charge and our line will break. But we can change what happens afterwards." Jon said.
No one in King's Landing was better guarded than Sansa Stark, Tyrion thought. The girl had three sets of escorts, although they might be better described as her jailers. Bronn and his hired killers walked behind them, the sellsword's gloved hands on his longsword and dirk. Ser Loras Tyrell stood at her side, chatting vapidly about his sister's visits of mercy to Flea Bottom. The Knight of Flowers dressed in the white of the Kingsguard, with the only color a brooch wrought in the shape of the rose of Highgarden, soft yellow gold in a bed of delicate jade green leaves. The final guard was the most dangerous, stomping ahead in his soot dark gray plate armor. Sandor Clegane wore the white cloak but most saw only the left side of his face, a burned ruin of scars. The Hound was one of the few men that Bronn feared to fight. Sandor Clegane was a few inches shorter than the Mountain but he was quicker and just as savage.
The door opened to two giant guards, seven foot tall, in gilded half helms and golden armor with the rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. A dozen women were seated about a trestle table. Sweet smelling rushes were scattered on the floor and a few bowls of rosewater lay on the table, along with knitting. Tyrion did not recognize many of the women. He had only been introduced to Lord Mace's elegant wife, Lady Alerie. The cousins and companions blurred together although the status of Lady Margaery and the wizened old woman with the future queen was clear to all. The matriarch of the Tyrell family stared at him with unfriendly eyes.
"You were not invited, Lord Tyrion. We are here to sup as ladies, and I do not believe you qualify." Olenna said.
"I am here to ensure Lady Sansa's safe return." Tyrion said, holding back a more caustic response. "As Hand of the King, I intend that no harm comes to her."
"Do you really believe we would harm my new lady in waiting?" Margaery said.
"No, but I need her returned to the Tower of the Hand." Tyrion said.
"Ah yes." Olenna said, glaring at Tyrion. "The poor child is the Iron Throne's hostage against the North. Have you no shame holding her while you war against her brothers?"
Tyrion refrained from calling the Queen of Thorns a hypocritical bitch. "Her brothers refuse to accept King Joffrey's rule. Perhaps the Tyrells can instruct them on the meaning of loyalty."
Olenna ignored the quip and reached gaunt spotted fingers for Sansa's hand. Her sour breath contrasted with the sweet rosewater. "Poor child, do you know what they say about you?"
Dutifully, Sansa bowed to Olenna and gave a deeper curtsy to Lady Margaery. "I do not, my lady. I have not seen any news or had any visitors for some time."
"They say you are the reason your brothers refuse to leave the Riverlands. The singers call you the Princess of Love and War, and the Lady of Ten Thousand Knights. That is the number of the knights of the Reach that will battle the North in your name." Olenna said.
"I am no princess." Sansa said. "I will be loyal to her grace, Queen Margaery."
One of the Tyrell cousins, a fat and florid girl, clapped her hands. "How romantic! To be admired by so many brave men, like the songs and stories of old."
Sansa flushed. "I do not wish to be fought over by anyone or have anyone die for me in songs. Whether it is Northmen, Rivermen, or Reachmen. I only wish to serve."
"Quite right. Don't listen to Megga. She is one of the more foolish of this flock of hens and that is saying quite a lot." Olenna shook her head at the Tyrell cousin in question. "Come, eat with us. Lord Tyrion can stay outside and dine on some salt fish and cold bread."
"Sansa. You must be hungry" The friendly Lady Alerie said. "We have boar roasted in red wine and blackberries, a broth of leeks and mushrooms, and lemon cakes."
"Have them bring a plate of cheese. Or I will starve to death." Olenna said.
The Queen of Thorns motioned to her guards and the two seven footers ushered Tyrion, Bronn and the other escorts to a small alcove. The Tyrell ladies could still be seen but were too far to be heard. A wooden tray of brown bread baked with beer was plopped down on a table, with two small dishes of butter and blackberry jam. Tyrion frowned. They had forgotten the salt fish.
Sansa Stark searched for words under the curious eyes of the ladies. There were three cousins her age, one the chastened but smiling Megga. There were a few married ladies, Lady Alerie who seemed kind. She guessed the others were Fossoways and Rowans but she had no idea of their names. The Queen of Thorns cleared her throat and Sansa rushed to fill the silence.
"I am saddened to hear of Lord Renly's death, your Grace. He was gallant." she said.
Olenna snorted before Margaery could respond. "He was a traitor. Renly had no real claim to the throne. Stannis is the elder and Robert has two sons. Even if these stories about Cersei and the Kingslayer acting like Targaryens are true, Robert Baratheon had many other natural sons. Your brothers have a Baratheon bastard at Harrenhal - some by-product of the king and a tavern wench, and he is older than Joffrey." Olenna said.
"I was not aware of that, my lady. I had thought the Lannisters planned to trade me for Ser Jaime" Sansa stammered. She wondered why the Tyrells summoned her.
"The Lannisters would if they had more sense. If my son wasn't a dolt eager to please, he would force the exchange. But boys like to beat their little swords on shields and boast about knocking each other off horses. A bunch of fools, who should listen to their mothers. Are your brothers like that as well? Do they enjoy whacking each other with sticks?" Olenna said.
"They spar and they train. Or they did. Jon was sent to the Citadel four years ago. Robb is a good sword, and a better lance. But he doesn't speak about his skills. The North does not have tourneys, my lady. My father did not think war was a game. When he fought a man, he did so to kill, not boast." Sansa said.
"Your father was a sensible man. A terrible Hand but a good ruler for the North." Olenna said. "Is your brother Robb like him? Or does he favor his Tully side?"
"I am not certain what you mean." Sansa said, slightly confused.
"My grandmother wants to know if they have ambitions in the South. With this Gendry Waters as their puppet, they could put a claim for the Iron Throne. Even in King's Landing, many doubt Joffrey's parentage. He looks very little like a stag." Margaery added.
A few moons ago, Sansa would have defended Joffrey as too beautiful to hate, but she knew better now. "My brothers are not hungry for power. They are honorable men. They take after my father, Lord Stark. They will do what is right, and not for baser reasons."
"Your brothers? What about the bastard? Robb Stark is the Lord of Winterfell. But your half brother Jon Snow has no lands. Might he not want to fight to gain a title?" Olenna said.
Sansa shook her head. "Jon is more Stark than anyone. He and Robb are very close, and Jon's loyalty cannot be questioned. Robb has always wanted to give Jon lands near Winterfell."
Margaery smiled brightly. "I hope when all this unpleasantness is over, that we can be friends. As Queen, I would like relations with the North to be good."
"Pardon, your grace. I thought the Tyrell army was marching to fight my brothers." Sansa said.
"My brother, Ser Garlan, believes that the bloodshed can be minimized." Margaery said.
"My son Mace has given orders to encircle the Northern army at Harrenhal. No one wants a long and costly siege. If everyone stays sensible, an honorable surrender can be reached. Lord Robb may have to give hostages but Joffrey will be disappointed. That boy is far too eager for blood. Garlan has no desire to give him your brothers' heads." Olenna said.
The leek and mushroom broth came, along with fresh oat bread, baked with bits of dates, apples and oranges. A tray of cheese and lemon cakes followed. "Your grace, I pray for peace. Robb and Jon have no anger against the Reach. The head they want does not belong to your brother." Sansa said to Margaery.
The horses were saddled and mules and drays ready to pull the loaded supply wagons. At the edge of the lake, Jon gave a few last orders to Maturin Manderly and the captains of the other riverboats. They would launch from Harroway and stay close to the western shore. That morning, Robb had spoken to both the cavalry and the infantry about the plans to march South. Jon would do the same for the recruits that were being gathered by the Winter Town boys.
He looked over the motley bunch. Half a dozen outlaws with mismatched armor, sour faces, and few teeth stood with the Lightning Lord. These were the leaders of the Brotherhood, and not just the rank and file. Septons and begging brothers rubbed shoulders with soldiers pledged to the Faith. Captains of the pike companies sat on the grass, the long spears jutting high into the air. The pikemen took Jon's instructions to become familiar with their weapons literally. Peasants, eager for glory, milled about with their crude axes, sickles, and hammers as did drummer boys who had blended in with the crowd. Ser Raymund Mallery and a few other knights looked uneasy at the other attendees. Jon could understand their reservations. The new recruits did not inspire much confidence. Arya, Chett, Gerry and Gendry stood behind him.
"We march South from Harrenhal today to fight the invaders. If there is anyone who wishes to stay behind, say so now." Jon said.
"Milord. Why would we not follow you?" Jack-Be-Lucky was a loyal man to Dondarrion. He had only one eye, and the other was covered by a dirty brown bandana. He wore a rusty pot helm and carried an equally decrepit bill hook.
"The Reach has thirty thousand men. It will be a tough fight, and you must be ready for a hard struggle." Jon said.
A muscled soldier shoved his way to the front. "Lord Snow, we are not afraid of these knights. We will gladly die for the Riverlands, and under the banner of the wolves."
"And that is where you are wrong. In war, the goal is not to die for your liege lord. The goal is to let your enemies die for theirs. My men will live to fight another day. Let the knights of the Reach sacrifice themselves for glory. We will win." Jon waited for the cheering to die down. "But to do that, do you remember what I asked before we marched on Harrenhal?"
"You said to follow your orders or hang." Ser Raymund said.
"Aye. If you come with me, you had best listen. When I tell you to march, you will march. When I say stop, you will hold. Every man here will heed my orders, or you are no use to me at all." Jon said. "Is that clear? When I give commands, you must obey."
"But how will we know? On the battlefield, we cannot see you."
"Listen to your captains, and the drummer boys. Their notes will tell you what to do. Make no mistake - if you wish to stay alive, obey me on the field. Otherwise you will look like him." Jon pointed to the Lightning Lord, blind in one eye and battered with many wounds. "And the Red God will not save you."
The recruits renewed their vows, and chanted White Wolf with gusto. He was amazed at their boldness. Then again, he had been eager for war once too.
"Quite a speech, Snow." Jory said, grabbing his elbow. "Stark wants to see you." The Mormont girl was with Eddard Karstark and Smalljon Umber.
"Any particular reason?" Jon asked.
"Final orders, I think. We are ready to march, Snow." Smalljon said. "Time to take it to the southron cunts who smell like flowers."
"They smell a lot better than you, Umber." Eddard japed.
Jory stopped Jon with a hand on his chest. "Snow, Robb says that you are going to be at the center of the fight. That like the Red Fork, he has given you an important task."
"Yes, I will command the new recruits. Otherwise they are not likely to make it out alive. I am sure the Reach knights will charge and we will have to face them." Jon said.
"The Mormonts will join you. We have the best armor in the Northern army. My sisters, Dacey and Lyra, ride with Robb in the cavalry but I will fight at your side." Jory said firmly.
"As will we." Eddard said while the Smalljon nodded. "Harrion and Torrhen are mounted, but I promised to defend your life. And the Smalljon hates to miss any real fights."
"It will be dangerous. My speech to the recruits aside, I do not know how many of us will survive. A charge by a thousand knights can be deadly." Jon said.
"Bah, I am the boldest of all the Mormonts. On Bear Island, my name is Danger." Jory scoffed.
"Your name is Jory. And I think your four sisters would all claim that title. But I would welcome allies. There is great risk though. This battle will be hard." Jon said.
Jory shrugged. "I would rather die fighting with you than in the winter cold. I want to face the enemy and have them sing songs about the courage of the she-bears. Let them fear the North. Let them know what a thousand howling Mormonts can do in war. Let them see that death comes at the end of my morning star." Her dark eyes glittered in the morning light.
He nodded and clasped Jory's hand in his. No one could say that Jory Mormont lacked fire. She was a true lady of the North and in her way, sweet as any southron lass. If the war ended now, he would enjoy his stay on Bear Island.
Jon and Arya made their way to the gatehouse. The Kingslayer was secured for transport in a prison wagon, singing a jaunty tune - Six Maids in a Pool - a song about Florian the Fool and Jonquil the Maiden in the Age of Heroes. Tully and Stark guards glared but Ser Jaime only whistled back. They might never be friends but Jon admired the confidence of the Lannister knight and his armor of insolence. They walked past Robb's guard, and entered into a room with only Robb, Talisa and the Tullys.
"Robb, there must be some other way." Lady Stark said. "Perhaps a parley. Or send a message to the Tyrells. They may be able to convince the Throne to give up Sansa."
"The Tyrells failed before. Ser Garlan made promises that he did not keep." Robb said.
"Ser Garlan is not Lord Mace. Either he or Lady Olenna may have more influence at King's Landing." Catelyn said.
"Mother, the die is already cast. Our scouts have spotted their outriders. The main army of the Reach has marched north of Stony Sept. They are less than a hundred miles away." Robb said.
"If you lose, the Lannisters will pursue us North. It won't just be your head, but Bran, Rickon and Arya. And we will never see Sansa again." she warned.
"We may be outnumbered but that does not mean we will lose. I have seen the army of the Reach. Jon and I have a strategy to defeat them." Robb said.
"They outnumber you two to one. There is no shame in bending the knee. The Lannisters want the Kingslayer released. If we do that and there is no more war, Sansa may be released one day. Lord Tywin, let us give him peace in return for mercy." Catelyn said.
"I do not want war, mother, but the Throne refused to return Sansa, after agreeing to a trade. That is not justice. The Reach believes they cannot be defeated. Let us see how they fare in battle, and not boasts or tourneys." Robb said.
Lady Stark stomped away, with a downcast Edmure and an apologetic Brynden in her wake.
"Mother is in a fine mood, today." Arya said.
"She is worried about all of us, not just Sansa. I am sending her back to Riverrun with the Kingslayer." Robb said.
"What about Lord Edmure? What about the Freys?" Jon said.
"I cannot spare any men now. I have neither the time nor desire to bargain with Lord Frey." Robb said.
"Are you going to punish the Freys for deserting?" Arya asked.
"Robb can't punish Lord Walder. The Freys are sworn to House Tully. It was Lord Edmure that Walder insulted." Jon said to his confused sister. "Arya, Ser Ryman and his sons are cravens. They would not have betrayed the Tullys without Walder Frey's approval."
"Walder Frey will deny it, of course. He is a disgusting old man but he has no lack of cunning. If the Tyrells and Lannisters win, he can claim that he held half his troops back and strike a better deal with the Throne. If we win, Ser Stevron and Perwyn will be fighting for us. Either way, the Freys come out on top." Robb said.
"That is not cunning. That is deceitful." Arya said.
"It is both, sister." Jon said.
"It is Edmure's right and obligation to punish the Freys but the Tullys have only a small army. Without his bannermen, he would be outnumbered in any conflict with Lord Walder." Robb said.
"Robb can send Stark men to support Edmure but we need every sword and spear for the coming battle." Jon said.
Robb nodded his head. "We are ready now. I will ride the cavalry down. Jon will take the infantry on a forced march. The boats have been dispatched. We will move swiftly south."
"You don't plan to wait at all." Arya said.
"I have seen the Tyrell army in motion. They move slowly. So we will move quickly. They expect time to set up their forces. We will not give that to them. We will march and force them to react. The battle will occur where we choose." Robb said.
"And where is that?" Arya said.
Robb pointed to a place on the map, 30 leagues to the south, on the shores of the great lake. "The God's Eye. That is where we will fight the Tyrells."
The bells rang in the Tyrell camp early that morning. Ser Garlan rushed out of the tent with his shield and sword. To his squire's dismay, he only wore a mail coif about the head and gauntlets and vambraces to protect his forearms. Ser Garlan preferred no armor rather than hastily fitted pieces that would be far more cumbersome than full plate. He looked about cautiously - there were no dire wolves present, or fires burning. The Starks might have attacked but any damage was not great.
Ser Garlan met with other leaders in the central pavilion. Ser Addam Marbrand and the giant Gregor Clegane represented Lord Twyin but the leaders were predominantly Reachmen - Hightower, Fossoway, Crane, Oakheart, and Merryweather. Lord Randyll Tarly was in charge of both armies, and he barked orders to his two unfortunate sons. Ser Garlan commanded a large force of Tyrell cavalry but the strongest bannerman was Ser Baelor Hightower.
"Ser Baelor, what was the attack this morning?" Garlan asked the handsome heir of Oldtown.
"They think it was the Blackfish. He raided with a hundred men, and destroyed several supply wagons before retreating." Baelor said.
"These attacks are only flies biting at our heels. Vance and Piper men attacked my spears yesterday and we repelled them without a single loss." Orton Merryweather said.
"It is true. When my knights came to help, they had already fled." Ser Parmen Crane said.
"These Northmen seem poorly equipped to fight against the Reach." Lord Oakheart observed.
"You have not fought the Northmen." Ser Addam Marbrand said. "Those raiders are Rivermen. The Blackfish may be a seasoned warrior but he is not a Stark. They are much more devious, and will attack where we least expect."
"That is why we will strike first." Lord Tarly raised his hand, clutching a note in a meaty. Garlan realized that the fat son named Samwell had just handed a short missive to Tarly.
"Do you have news, Lord Randyll?" Marbrand asked.
"We have a spy in the Northern camp. They have already marched fifty miles down from Harrenhal on the western shore of the lake." Tarly said. "The wolves have won battles through trickery. At the Whispering Wood, they lured Jaime Lannister into an ambush. They broke the siege at Riverrun by attacking in the early morning. They attacked Oxcross with surprise. They took the Golden Tooth with treachery. And they built defenses and traps on the other side of the Trident. These tricks won't work on us."
"Why not? Does your spy know what they intend?" Marbrand said.
Tarly shook his head dismissively. "The battle plan is simple enough. We have forty thousand men, twice their number. Our knights and foot soldiers will break through the center of the Northern lines, and overpower the two halves. After the infantry is defeated, we can chase their cavalry away. There will be no ambushes, no surprise tactics. We will attack on flat ground where our charge will destroy their forces."
"Are you not worried about Northern cunning?" Jon Fossoway asked.
"Five thousand men dead would be a heavy loss for the Reach. For the North, five thousand dead would be a disaster. We can afford to wear them down, and when they are broken into smaller groups, they will be easy to flank. The North does not have enough men. And that will be their downfall." Tarly said.
"We have heard that the North has more men. That knights from the Vale and the Lightning Lord have joined them. The Brotherhood without Banners now fight for the Starks. And septons and other men pledged to the Faith." Addam Marbrand said.
Tarly scoffed. "A few hundred men here or there. Bandits, deserters, smallfolk. And who cares about these self proclaimed sparrows? When have kings and high lords ever had to dance to the twittering of sparrows?
The Reachmen in the tent applauded Lord Tarly for his bold plan of attack. Ser Addam Marbrand seemed less convinced and the freakishly large Gregor Clegane had no expression on his huge surly face. Garlan had spent two days with Jon Snow at Riverrun. He was more familiar with Robb Stark but Snow struck him as nobody's fool. On the way to the Riverlands, Owen warned Garlan that his friend was clever as a fox. Tarly expected the Starks to fall to the combined Lannister and Tyrell army and saw Jon Snow and Robb Stark as two green boys who would break before an experienced commander. Hadn't Lord Tywin made that same mistake? House Tarly's sigil was a huntsman with a bow. Horn Hill's words were First in Battle. But the Starks were wolves. Who would win between a hunter and a pack of dire wolves?
Jon Snow woke up to the loud snoring of Jory Mormont. She drooled a bit in her sleep, her crooked teeth and winsome smile visible under the furs. She was no fair maiden - actually Jory was no maiden at all but she was eager and unburdened. When Jon worried about battle and the looming threat of death, she laughed. The Stranger comes when he comes, she said, but before we die, we must live. She pinned him down with heavy teats, callused hands and thick thighs. At least, she had not threatened to use her morning star.
Jon smiled at the slumbering She-bear. Starks had made happy marriages with Mormonts in the past. But you are not a wolf, the voices whispered. You are the blood of a dragon. And dragons do not plant trees. No, they did not, his namesake least of all. Prince Daemon preferred to play at war than be a devoted paramour. His first marriage simply lacked any affection. The later two marriages were bloodier affairs. Lady Laena died in childbirth, trying to birth a son. Rhaenyra might have been beautiful once but she was petulant, proud, and grasping, hardly a good foundation for marriage. War was easier than love. The Rogue Prince was good at war, and so was Jon.
He left the tent and breathed in the cool morning air. There was no wind and the sun was low in the sky over the God's Eye. Besides the guards on night patrol, only a few squires and boys had woken. Jon opened a cage and a raven took wing flying west. He sat and waited, until the bird reached the enemy camp. The Tyrells had deliberately kept to flat, open land, to avoid any ambushes. For the last twenty miles, they would march east to meet the Northern army, camped on the Western shore of the God's Eye. There were two obvious ways of attack. The Reach could use their superior numbers and widen the line, beyond the point a smaller force could match. Then they could attack the wings, and try to envelop the Northern army. There were two problems with that approach. First, the wings would be vulnerable to harrying from Robb's experienced cavalry. Second, the lake protected their back. It would be bloody and costly, but the North had a strong defensive position.
The Tyrells were less than ten miles away. Jon saw through the raven's eyes a huge host of tent and thousands of horses. There were a few banners for the Westermen but dozens for the Reach. The Reachmen had not widened the line - in fact, they had formed large narrow columns, with less frontage, but great depth. The entire army was spread over less than a mile and densely packed, There was light cavalry and infantry on the wings, to shield the massive central attack force, rows of spears and swords and most importantly, the knights with lances. Lord Tarly meant to cut through the Northern infantry with one brutal charge, a flying wedge that would penetrate deeply and break the enemy formation. Tarly knew his history. That was what the Blacks had done at the God's Eye, forcing the greens into the water to drown.
"How far are they?" Robb's voice broke into Jon's thoughts.
"Less than ten miles. They mean to attack our center. Tarly knows our infantry will break."
"No doubt Lord Bolton told him. Or spies for the lions or roses." Robb said.
"We will be ready." Jon said simply. The two brothers sat in silence, thinking of the battle to come. "What of the engagements in the last few days?"
"The Blackfish, Marq Piper, Karyl Vance and Martyn Rivers have been raiding but they retreat immediately. No casualties on our side." Robb said.
Jon nodded. The mummer's farce would make the Reachmen overconfident. Southron knights and lords enjoyed boasts and such skirmishes would give them ample fuel.
"Yesterday, the Blackfish harassed some water bearers who wandered outside their main camp. So the horses will not have enough water - at least for a day." Robb said.
"They will not die of thirst but any advantage, no matter how small, is good." Jon said.
"Do you think Tarly attacks this morning? Robb said.
"Most likely, he waits until Bolton tells him our plans. The Leech Lord is cunning and we do not know how he sends messages. If his messenger is fast, the Reach will attack today. If not, tomorrow. They think it is easy to put us to flight." Jon said.
"Your position is dangerous. More so even than the Red Fork." Robb sighed.
Jon shrugged "We cannot ask others to fight if we are not willing to lead."
"Time to fight or die." Robb said. Or perhaps both, Jon thought.
Northmen and Riverlords were crammed tight into Robb's tent. Dried meat, dried fish and bread were laid out on the table along with a crude map. Robb added to the lines on the parchment for the lake with circles on the north and south for the short hills, overlooking the valley.
"The cavalry will be placed in these two spots. The Blackfish and Ser Martyn will lead the Rivermen on our left wing. I will hold the right wing with the Greatjon, Karstarks and Umbers. Ser Robar and the Valemen will ride with me." Robb turned to Roose Bolton. "My lord, I would give you a place of great importance. You will hold the very front."
Bolton's pale cold eyes gazed at both brothers. Jon wiped any emotions from his face. "I appreciate the confidence but where will the other forces be deployed?"
Jon stepped forward, and marked several spots on the map for a mixture of units. They were behind and either to the left or right, forming two diagonals, with the Bolton men were at the peak. Next came the Dustins and Ryswells. Interspersed in the crescent were pikemen and mixed forces. The Mormonts held the flanks.
After he finished marking the inverted V, Jon spoke. "This is an echelon formation. Lord Bolton's men will face the Tyrells. Our new recruits will be behind him, as will the Glovers, the Manderlys, and the mountain clans."
"The center will be extremely thin." Roose Bolton said in a soft whisper.
"We have no choice, Our formation must be flexible to offset the advantage they have in men. If they attempt to attack your sides and flanks, then other units can reinforce you." Jon said.
"Do you not think you can hold the front, Lord Bolton?" Robb asked.
"I accept the honor of the position. I intend to repay you for your trust." Roose said. "But where do you plan to be, Maester Snow?"
"I will be behind you, my Lord, closer to the shore. After all, I am no fighter." Jon said.
"Lord Stark, the scouts report that the enemy host is enormous. That there are dozens and dozens of the banners. Might they have received reinforcements?" the Redfort knight asked.
Robb smiled. "Ser Mychel, who are the best knights in the Seven Kingdoms?"
"The Knights of the Vale, my Lord." The young man said with certainty.
"And we have the knights. They may have numbers, but the Reach does not have Ser Mychel Redfort. Our strength and speed will win the day." Robb said.
Ser Mychel blushed from the praise and laughter spread through the ranks of the Northmen. Jon admired Robb's easy leadership. Of course, they did not have the Knights of the Vale. They had less than a thousand Valemen. If they had twenty thousand additional warriors, their tactics would be very different. Robb would be at the Gates of King's Landing.
Jon left the tent with Arya after instructing the Riverlords and Northmen on their place in the formation. Many commanders, including the Lightning Lord and Jory, had left to rally their troops. Arya looked at her brother nervously. She had never been seen battle before.
"Jon, do you have any special orders today?" Arya asked.
"Yes, don't get killed." he said before turning serious. "It will take time to deploy our troops. Even then, we do not know when they will attack. Eat, drink and rest. And bring me the drummer boys. They will play an important role. We will need them to play loudly in the battle. Very loudly. Roose Bolton says he will repay us for our trust. He will regret those words."
Moving quickly for the Tyrell army still took many hours. The sun was high in the sky when they sighted the Northern banners. Ser Garlan had wanted to lead the Tyrell-Lannister army but he bit back any angry words. Randyll Tarly had taken the center, and next to the Lord of Horn Hill, Ser Addam Marbrand and Gregor Clegane stood. Garlan had been isolated to the wings. He understood why - his men were primarily light cavalry, armed with javelins, swords and shields, and better for reconnaissance and patrol. Garlan's men would fend off any attacks by Northmen on the flanks. At the very front of the army, two rows of light infantry had been placed to hide the formidable ranks of knights and heavily armed footmen.
He was positioned on the center right, with an excellent view of the battle field, far better than Randyll Tarly on the front line. Garlan was shocked at the enemy formation. For one, the Stark banner, the running dire wolf, could barely be seen. The banner in the front was an upside down flayed man on a cross. The hands, feet and head were white while the rest of the body was bloody red, the skin stripped off. He could see the Tully and rivermen banners to his right and the Stark banner to the left, clumped with several others, in a throng of mounted men. But it was the infantry that was more surprising. The foot had advanced beyond their horses on the two sides, forming a crescent with the Bolton banner central to the half circle. The center looked quite thin, and the troops that Garlan could see were a mix of different units - warriors with mermaid helmets, hairy mountain fighters with armored byrnies and great two handed swords, devout knights with rainbow tassels and crystals on their greathelms, and poorly equipped smallfolk in boiled leather. There were pockets of pikes jutting toward the sky but not readied for defense. Garlan wondered why Lord Tarly had not already charged a charge.
On the wings, the horsemen battled. Tully and Blackwood men attacked on the periphery but that foray seemed half hearted, with no one getting an upper hand. On the other flank, the Stark banner remained in place but other cavalrymen charged hard, slamming into a band of Westermen scouts. The Reach infantry barely reacted, too focused on keeping their column intact. The Lannister light horsemen were driven from the field easily. The battle, after all, would be determined in the center.
Garlan and his men were ready to advance. Then he saw why Tarly had been so confident. The grim sign of the hanged man turned away and the Reach could only see the black cloth, and not the bloody skinless body. The Bolton forces spun around - first the men nearest to the Reach army, but then the ranks further away, until they faced east toward the water. Confusion reigned in the front ranks, as the cohorts nearest, one bearing a black horse head, and the other two long crossed axes, still faced west. House Bolton had betrayed the Starks. The charge had not been ordered because Lord Tarly intended the Boltons to attack as the vanguard. Garlan wondered who had known of this treachery. Randyll Tarly, of course. The Lannister men - Clegane and Marbrand - must have too. That explained their presence at the front. Garlan did not like such knavery and deceit but he could do nothing now. The Northmen began to give ground as the Boltons attacked their unsuspecting allies. Into this chaos, the Tyrell-Lannister army charged, the banner of the flayed man leading the way. As the Northern line broke, knights and footmen rushed into the breach, certain of victory.
Jon Snow reacted as soon as the banner turned. He motioned to Big Liddle who took out a warhorn longer than his head, carved from an auroch's horn, and banded with bronze. The eldest son of the clan chief of House Liddle was a mountain of a man with a voice like thunder. He lifted the great horn and blew, a long and low blast that carried far and wide, through the entire valley. Eddard Karstark and Smalljon immediately called to their men, and Jory barked an order to the Mormonts to assemble. The Winter Town boys, already mounted on ponies, took off to call on the drummer boys.
"Jon, the Boltons have started to attack." Arya said.
On the field, soldiers wearing the flayed man struck down confused Ryswell and Dustin forces. Jon had placed the two houses closest to see if they would also betray the North. They had not, and that would cost them their lives. The blood that Roose Bolton shared with those two houses clearly did not matter a whit.
The drumming began, a slow but steady beat. It was uneven at first, but then the smallfolk boys managed to follow the beat, and the crack of drums could be heard over the field. Lord Beric and his Brotherhood, Ser Raymund Mallory, the Faith Militant, smallfolk, Manderlys, Glovers, Liddles, Flints, Burleys and Wulls - all of them began to retreat, first a slow walk, then an orderly pace, and lastly, a swift trot backwards. For a full moon, the pikemen practiced only two movements, and today they executed the second flawlessly. The bulging crescent vanished and then reversed, as the Northern infantry formed into a tighter semi circle. This time, the central position was held by Mormonts, and Karstark and Umber infantry held guarded the flanks.
Along the mile of the backward bending crescent, the Wintertown boys dismounted, waving the banner of the White Wolf at six points. The infantry marched to the sigils, and the first to arrive were the pikemen. They stopped and turned, and the new formation took shape. Jon had sacrificed the lives of House Dustin and Ryswell, but that was only a few hundred men.
At Highgarden, Ser Garlan drilled often against three or four combatants, trying his best to simulate war. Nothing could prepare him for the smell and sound of a real battle. Thousands of men and horses stank, and that before the fighting began. He had heard men shat themselves when they died. He had not expected them to do so before even fighting. Green boys, nervous despite their bragging, fouled their breeches, and the battlefield already smelled like shit. Ser Garlan was too far to smell the blood and guts of the men butchered by the Boltons but he could hear their screams of surprise and shrieks of pain. Unlike the songs, few men died cleanly in war. Wounded men took a long time to die.
"Look at the Northmen running for their lives!" Orton Merryweather whooped. The Reach men anxiously waited for their chance to advance. Some rushed ahead despite their orders.
"We had best attack soon - else we will be too late for any glory." Lord Oakheart said.
"I will take the White Wolf's banner as a prize." A knight boasted as he began his charge.
Then Ser Garlan heard the drummers beating in a slow rhythm. Boom. Boom. Boom. The noise had been hidden in the thunder of hooves and howls of dying men. Was the North sounding a retreat? He saw the banners far away, near the copper waters of the lake. There were many of them - a white wolf on dark field - waving proudly in the air.
Something did not make sense. The Northern center was breaking under pressure. Lannister cavalry and Lord Tarly charged ahead to bolster the Bolton attack and men from the Reach poured into the breach. But at the left and right hills, the Northmen and the Rivermen had not retreated. Ser Brynden Tully remained with the Rivermen. On the other side, the banner of House Stark - a gray wolf on white - stood still. Garlan knew that Robb Stark and Jon Snow were close. If one was threatened, the other would come to the rescue. And yet, even as the Northern infantry fell back, the cavalry had not reacted. Why would they not move? The horses stayed still for a long while as the battle raged, and the Reach chased the overmatched infantry further. Finally, at long last, the enemy cavalry began to move.
Ser Garlan's eyes widened in shock. Robb Stark was not retreating. He was advancing, and so were the Rivermen under the Blackfish. Something was terribly wrong.
The semi circle had solidified into a mass of pikes and spears. Along the crescent, companies of pikemen had lowered their weapons, the long spears giving cover for the other Northern forces to reassembly. Jon was at the center of the new line with Jory and the Mormont foot soldiers. Behind him, Nymeria and Ghost waited silently, guarding Arya. Behind her, Gendry and the other Winter Town boys were mounted, in case he needed a messenger. Jon glanced back at the lake, looking for the riverboats. Then he remembered the words of Leaf on the Isle of Faces.
Water magic. "Use the water against your enemies." There was power in blood, and he was the blood of the dragon. Jon turned to the water. The Isle of Faces was the last bastion of magic where the weirwood trees grew stronger and stranger. Why did they grow there? Was it merely a reserve for the children or did the greenseers choose the Isle for a reason? Jon had read the legends of the Children and listened to the Citadel argue that those were only tall tales. Archmaester Cassander claimed the Arm of Dorne formed from hot summers and short winters on the Shivering Sea, not the Hammer of the Waters, and that the swamps of the Neck existed long before the Andal invasion. But what did an archmaester really know?
Jon reached for the water. He let his mind sink deep into the God's Eye. The lake stretched forever, a sheet of sun hammered blue. Something lay underneath the surface - strange, alien and dark. Blue eyes that burned bright, blue blood that did not bleed, and pale skin whiter than the moon on a clear night. The cold struck Jon - bitter cold, that numbed the mind and froze the skin. The cold rose and spread, and birds fled, and fish shivered. The color drained from the God's Eye, the warm water sucked down to the depths, and the lake began to swirl.
Jon pushed further. Fierce waves roiled the God's Eye, slamming into the shore, the crests riding high. The sky turned gray, as the very air was pulled down by the lake. Pulled into the cold depths, by the magic of the God's Eye. Jon realized what would happen next. The wind came, a powerful strong breeze that blew from the lake, whipping the air into a frenzy. The wind howled, blowing over the lake. Blowing West into the faces of the enemy.
"Jory, Arya, Gerry." Jon yelled and pointed to the sky. "Dust - we need dust."
Jory was the first to understand him. She slammed her spear into the dirt, and a small cloud of dust went up. Jory gaped as the gray dust billowed in the field, caught by the fierce wind.
"Mormonts. What are our words?" Jory cried to her men.
"Here we stand." The fighters in full plate armor, greathelms and steel shields cried back.
The She-Bear stamped her steel boots, and thumped the butt of her spear on dirt. A thousand Mormonts did the same, and the huge cloud of dust blew directly into the Tyrell-Lannister army. Other North and Rivermen began to mirror the Mormonts, and more clouds of dust rose. The wind continued to blow, throwing the grit and dirt into enemy eyes. He turned away, breaking the link with the God's Eye. The lake held magic and mystery but he had no time now. As the warmth returned to his blood, Jon hefted his spear and waited to meet the enemy. Behind him, the air howled and the sky turned gray and ashen. He was ready for the battle.
At the back, Ser Garlan tried to understand what was happening. The surge of knights, spearmen, and swordsmen should have swept away the weak enemy line. Victory seemed inevitable as the Reach charged into the center, led by treacherous Boltons. But the powerful onslaught lost its momentum, and the advance slowed and then ceased altogether. Men still continued to pour in from the back, and knights and foot soldiers were crammed together, in their eagerness to see battle.
The drumming stopped. The Northern infantry had regathered under Jon Snow's banner. The long spears that had been pointed harmlessly into the sky now faced forward. Squares of pikes controlled the battlefield, soldiers crouching down to brace the butt of the pike in between their feet. A forest of spearheads bristled at chest level for the horses, and formed two diagonal lines, forcing the Tyrell army inward toward the center of the Northern line. The air was full of the groans of the wounded, the sound of blows to flesh or armor, the mingled shouting of the confident and the terrified. And over it all, a wind blew - a cold devil wind from the lake, whipping dirt and earth into men's eyes. From the edge, Ser Garlan could barely see through the torrent of dust. The conditions in the center must have been far worse.
"Ser Garlan." His gangly squire, Alyn Ambrose, yelled. "We are under attack."
Ser Garlan pivoted to the right, ready to take on the Blackfish. The Rivermen scouts pushed forward but were still contained by the Oakhearts and the Cranes.
"Ser, Ser…." Alyn screamed in fear. "Not that way - the other side. The Young Wolf."
Ser Garlan had positioned himself on the center right. The Stark banner had been to the far left. If Robb Stark was here, that meant the cavalry guarding the Tyrell left flank must be dead or dying. Ser Garlan tried to wheel his men around desperately to meet the attack. He saw Lord Umber's giant in chains and the Karstark's white sun, but it was a mounted Robb Stark and the monstrous wolf running at full speed that led them. On the wings, Stark's companions threw a barrage of javelins, killing men and horses alike. Alyn fell hard to the ground as his horse was slain. If there were more time, Ser Garlan might have sounded the horn for retreat. But it was too late. The Reach had fully committed themselves to the battle.
"They are coming." Jon said. Time had lost all meaning in the clamor and chaos of the battle. It felt like hours but he knew it had not taken long for the flayed men to cross the field. Jon hefted a spear and picked up his shield. If he died today, let him die, defeating his enemies.
"Gods, there are lots of them." Eddard Karstark said. The Bolton men outnumbered the center of the line two to one. And behind the Boltons, there were thousands more.
"A lot of fuckers means more men to kill." Smalljon Umber said. "Don't worry, Karstark. You look pretty enough already."
"Enough." Jon said through his war helm. The barbuta did not offer as much protection as Jory's visored bascinet. He stood next to the Mormont girl on the front line. "Time to fight." The Smalljon and Eddard joined, as the waiting came to an end.
The Mormonts formed a wall, the first rank a hundred men strong, with ten rows of men. The House of the She-Bear wore the best plate armor, steel shields, and carried stout weapons. Bolton men wore fur over mail, pink cloaks decorated with red raindrops and carried red shields decorated with the flayed man, hands stretched out.
House Bolton rushed forward, howling and snarling, and died on the shield wall, the pink cloaks turning red as their life blood spilled on the dirt and grass. Jon stabbed and stabbed - the speartip thrusting through mail hauberks. The ground turned muddy - but a red mud as hundreds of men fell. Row after row of Boltons died. They crashed against the wall but the Mormonts, with better armor, shields, and weapons won. There was little room for individual glory, Jon thought. The Mormonts were well rested and fighting in a row. The few enemy strikes that got past the sturdy shields glanced harmlessly off the steel plate. As Mormont men tired, fresh troops could replace the front ranks. For their frantic enemies, that was not possible. They were pushed by a sea of men to be butchered at the wall.
The Leech Lord approached, wearing a distinctive set of dark gray plate armor with rondels shaped like human heads screaming in agony and a helmet with fluttering streamers of red silk that matched his pink woolen cloak. Jon wondered whether Bolton chose this armor because he was certain of victory. Roose Bolton stood out on the battlefield like a sore thumb.
"Snow." Bolton had to yell because of the screams of the wounded.
"He wants to fight you, Jon." Jory said, breathing hard from the battle.
Jon motioned for Bolton to come. The Leech Lord walked closer, longsword in one hand, large shield protecting his torso in the other. Jon waited until he could see the cold pale eyes in the painted red helmet, and then he stabbed the spear down, the blade driving into the gap between the greave and the ankle plate of the sabaton. Bolton went down with a yell, clutching his wounded left leg and Jon twisted the spear, tearing tendons and breaking bones. The Leech Lord rolled on the dirt.
The Smalljon stepped forward and booted the heavy shield away. Eddard Karstark readied his long axe to strike. "Hold." Jon commanded. "Who ordered the betrayal, Bolton?"
Roose Bolton dropped his sword and took off his helm. His plain colorless face looked at Jon with a disturbing stillness. "You know already, Snow."
"Tywin Lannister. But I want you to confess and tell us what he promised you." Jon said.
"And why would I do that?" Bolton replied.
Jon jammed the spear through the other ankle, crippling the right leg. "You are not the only house with sharp blades."
Bolton screamed in pain. Jon lifted the bloody spear and smashed the shaft on the exposed bone, eliciting another moan of pain. "You haven't won, bastard. Tywin Lannister may still take your head." Bolton said.
"Maybe. But you have lost, Bolton. Your men are dead. Your house is dead. And soon enough, you will be dead too. You promised this morning to repay us for our trust. You have. You led the Reach into a trap." Jon turned as he heard the whistle over his shoulder, not at all like the wind.
The boats had finally arrived, piloted by Maturin Manderly and other men from White Harbor. Catapults launched rocks, and ballistas shot spears into the masses of confused Reachmen, their shields useless against missiles plummeting from high in the sky. The Tyrell army lost all cohesion as they desperately sought shelter, trampling and accidentally wounding each other in their retreat. Riders were thrown from dying horses, creating more confusion. Bodies began to pile up, both the dead and the wounded.
They were surrounded now on two sides. Ser Brynden Tully attacked their rear while Robb Stark and his companions assaulted the front. A knight with the sigil of a red castle on a white field fought like a demon, slaying three horsemen and wounding four others. Garlan defended himself from a spiked mace while Ser Mark Mullendore fall to a knight in red armor, marked with bronze runes. He had seen that wicked mace before at Riverrun in the hands of Dacey Mormont. In the Reach, girls were given dolls and sweets, and boys were taught never to hit girls. Those lessons clearly did not apply at Bear Isle. Ser Garlan blocked a powerful jab. His shield held but the force of the blow staggered him.
"Yield!" Robb Stark's voice boomed. "Yield, and you may still live."
An immensely fat man in green and gray plate mail used his bulk to smash into Garlan's young cousin, Garrett Flowers. The boy tottered and fell over the side of his horse, and only his right spur stuck in the stirrup stopped him from smashing into the ground. Behind him, the Blackfish disarmed Lord Oakheart. Ser Garlan knew that the concentrated force of the Rivermen, the North and the Vale knights would overwhelm them. As he blocked another vicious strike, arrows whistled in the air. One bounced off his horse's barding but others were not so lucky.
Ser Garlan did not fear facing one Northmen or even two fighters as skilled as Dacey Mormont. Being surrounded by five or six was too much. The situation was dire as Karstarks and Mallisters appeared at his flanks.
The sound of heavy hooves came from the East. A giant man on a huge destrier burst through the Reach infantry, riding back through the lines. With violent one-handed swings of his giant six foot sword, Gregor Clegane cut a bloody swath through Tyrell forces, leaving dead bodies left and right. Clegane had been posted near the front of the lines with Lord Tarly. The churl must have been fleeing the field, like a dog who had lost his master.
"It is the Mountain that Rides." a Northern knight with a sigil of a mailed fist said.
"Kill the bastard." A heavy man with a great gray steel helm with a red horsehair crest cried.
Robb Stark's men wheeled around to face Clegane. A tall rangy man with sign of the white sun thrust into the Mountain's right side, aiming for the armpit. The blade went between the plate but bounced off the mail underneath.
The Mountain turned and struck hard. The huge blade cleaved the Karstark man into two, slicing through the shoulder and the right side, severing the entire arm, like a butcher hacking a pig into pieces.
"Torrhen!" Another fighter wearing the white sun called. He thrust a spear hard at Clegane, the tip smashing hard on orange tabard of three black dogs. The barbed hook did not penetrate but was stuck in the thick plate armor.
Clegane lowered the tower shield. He ripped the spear away, first from the hands of his foe, then from his breastplate. The Karstark man's gauntleted hands grabbed the Mountain's right arm, in a wild attempt to wrestle away the bloody greatsword. The Karstark was strong and powerful, easily half a head taller than Garlan. He looked puny compared to the Mountain that Rides. The Mountain clubbed him with the edge of the shield, and then bashed with the shaft of the spear, driving Karstark to the ground. Had Clegane used the spear tip, his foe would be dead. Even with the shaft, Karstark lay prone and unmoving.
"Grey Wind." Robb Stark's voice rang out. "Kill the horse."
The great dire wolf attacked the horse's haunches, where Clegane could not reach. Grey Wind bit into the back right thigh, severing the leg at the knee. The horse squealed its death throes and fell hard. Ser Gregor, eight foot tall and in heavy thick plate and steel helm, stood up and swung his massive blade warily. Grey Wind snarled but did not pounce.
"Find spears. The Mountain is too deadly to attack with sword or mace. Use long spears and skewer him to death." Robb said.
Easier said than done. Most of the cavalry had already used their spears and were down to swords and axes for close hand to hand fighting. Another man rode near and cried in agony when he saw one Karstark cut in half, and the other lying unconscious.
In the confusion, Ser Garlan took out his ivory and gold banded horn. He blew the horn, a long and plaintive sound for a retreat. Garlan knew he was abandoning the other Reachman. But the carnage was terrible and his light cavalry had no chance of victory. The Northern infantry semicircle had held. On both sides of the field, Northern cavalry and footmen had snaked up. To his right, he could see the Malister winged helms and the Vance quartered shield. On the left, the Northern army had nearly completed the encirclement. Umbers, Karstarks, and Stark soldiers. And companies of pikemen held knights and infantry at bay in the tight confines of the crescent. If the sky was clear, and Tarly willing to retreat, the Reach might be able to escape with horrific losses. But the sky was full of dirt and dust, and judging from the Mountain's vicious attacks on allies, Tarly must still be trapped unless Clegane killed the Lord of Horn Hill in his flight. Garlan realized that the Tyrell army was packed so densely that they barely had space to see, let alone fight. There were tens of thousands of men stuck in the middle, wearing heavy helmets, heavy armor, and holding shields to the sky to defend against missile attack. They were dead men - they just did not know yet.
Gregor Clegane grabbed both of the Karstark horses by the bridle. He jumped on one, and in a show of stunning strength, pushed the other to block the dire wolf. Clegane galloped off, and Ser Garlan followed with what was left of the Tyrell light cavalry.
Garlan looked back. Robb Stark and his men were not pursuing. A less disciplined commander would have hunted the Mountain down. But the horses of the Northmen and the Reach aimed to close the trap shut. Robb Stark's cavalry ruled the battlefield completely. The enemy forces encircled the Tyrell army on three sides, and now, the enemy horse would attack the rear. Ser Garlan's first battle had not gone well.
The helmet sat on top of his forehead, so Jon could quench his thirst with cool lake water. There had been a lull in the fighting, and the Mormont front few ranks had taken a welcome breather. Jory, Eddard and the Smalljon rested as well while others maintained the shieldwall.
"Lord Snow." Gerry said. "Chett waved a white flag. They have run out of bolts and stones."
Archers and crossbowmen showered the enemy with missiles but the artillery on the boat was done. Even the wind had died down, although the sky was still gray with dust. Jon realized the cold in the water generated the wind, and that faded with time.
"Jon!" Arya said, pointing West. "Something strange is going on there." Across the battlefield, a half of a mile away, he could see banners, assembling.
"Umber - what do you see?" Jon said.
"Lots of dead cunts." The Smalljon japed.
"This is serious. What are the banners?" Jon said, standing up.
"Some ponce in red shooting arrows to the left. That burning orange tree at the Golden Tooth. Green and Red apples. Cranes. A golden tree. Grapes. Leaves. These Southron cunts have stupid banners. Who is scared of grapes or apples?" the Smalljon guffawed.
"They are gathering their horses." Jory said.
Jon stood up, buckled his sword, and picked up the spear. "We have to go. Randyll Tarly is no fool." He said.
"What's happening?" Arya asked.
"We have trapped the Tyrell army. If Robb succeeded, then we surround them on all four sides. Tarly has realized that, and knows that if he does not break out, we will slaughter them where they stand. Charging straight into the pikes is death. His own forces prevent him from turning back. And even if they did, they would run into Robb's cavalry. Tarly means to break the circle by rushing forward. He will happily kill five thousand of his men so that ten thousand can escape." Jon said.
"But we have held off their attack the entire day." Eddard said. "We have lost a few dozen, and killed many hundreds."
"A thousand tired Boltons who fought their way through the field can be beaten by a shieldwall. But ten thousand men rushing at us in a desperate attempt to escape is another matter. We have less than a thousand fighters and the front line is only a hundred men. Tarly means to break free by overwhelming us." Jon said.
"My Lord - what about traps or pits or building a wall?" Gerry said. That had been impossible before because the infantry needed to retreat before the Reach.
"We have little time. Also at the Red Fork, we had the cover of the Trident so we would not be attacked. Stlll…." Jon thought quickly. "Gerry is right. A few hundred men can dig multiple trenches. Four or five feet wide - Four feet deep. Any horse charging would break their legs and it would be easy to defend. Start to dig here. But I will fight at the shieldwall."
"But Jon, why not fight at the trench?" Arya asked.
"We can't dig the trench without cover. We will resist the Tarly charge as long as possible and buy as much time possible to fortify. There are simple defenses we can built at the shieldwall. We can stack enemy bodies in piles and fight behind them." Jon said.
"You heard the Maester. Let's gather whatever wood we can get." Gerry cried to the other Winter Town boys.
"But Jon, a few piles of bodies won't be enough to stop so many men." Arya said. "I will fight with you."
"Absolutely not." Jon said. "I pray that Robb is alive but if he is dead, you are my heir. You will be Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North." Arya looked angry, and then sad.
"I am going with you. I am just a third son." Eddard said, grabbing his long axe.
Jon turned to Smalljon Umber. "You are the heir to Last Hearth. Stay here and oversee the trench digging."
"Fuck that." Smalljon spat. "I am not letting a Karstark outdo me. I have every right to be a hero and protect the North."
They stood face to face or rather face to chin, given the Smalljon was a head taller. "You will be a hero. If Tarly gets past our wall, the trenches will stop the Reach from escaping. This is a direct order, Umber. If men in the army don't follow orders, everyone will die. And if I die, I need someone to take command, and bring Arya to Robb."
"I don't need the Smalljon. I can kill southerners as well as he can." Arya yelled.
"Spoken like a true Northern lass. Alright, Snow - I will do it. But when the wolf girl is safe, I am going to kill as many of these apple and grape and turnip knights as I can. My father can bring my bones North." Smalljon said.
Arya stormed off and Nymeria loped after her. Ghost stayed at Jon's side. Jon hoped his sister would be safe with her wolf.
Jory Mormont strutted over and planted a wet sloppy kiss on Jon's mouth. "I am not inheriting. We will fight together, Snow, and then I will drag you to Bear Isle."
"Watch it, Snow. She will chain you to her bed and have you satisfy all the She-Bears." Smalljon Umber japed.
"That won't be a problem for me." Jon retorted.
"That may include her mother, Lady Maege." Smalljon roared with glee. "If you die Snow, I was glad to serve with you. You are a glorious bastard." Jon supposed that was a compliment.
"I hope the Stranger does not come for you, my lord." Gerry said.
"Death comes when it does. Who wants to live forever?" Jon said. He left with Jory at his side, and Eddard guarding the back. The parting with Arya had gone poorly but her safety was more important than a fond farewell.
In the end, the fortification at the front was simple, thanks to Gerion. The clever boy noticed that the broken spears and shattered weapons littered the battlefield. The Winter Town boys took a log and covered it with many projecting wooden shafts or spears. The spikes ran diagonally, like sharp X's. Three or four men could fight easily behind a defense. It would not stop a massive attack but it would slow down the enemy.
Every bit of time was valuable. In time, Robb's cavalry would close the pocket and the battle would turn into mass slaughter. Further, to be trapped inside with thousands of dead bodies would be enormously distressing to the Reachmen. Robb's army could fall back to rest, retrieve their wounded and send fresh troops to relieve the front line. The encircled forces had little room to maneuver. The ability to replace troops gave House Stark an enormous advantage over the doomed Reachmen.
Tarly's attack came. Far off, Jon could see panic as the infantry on the wings pivoted and charged inward. The rest of the army was herding the enemy into a tight square. When Robb attacked, the enemy would fall like wheat before a scythe. Jon knew he needed to fight for time.
Desperate men surged forward, dying in great numbers. A horse raced through and jumped over a gap between two of the wooden defenses. Jon stabbed his spear upwards, ripping a gash so deep, the entrails fell out. Ghost put the white destrier out of its misery with a bite through the neck, and Jon stunned Ser Addam Marbrand with a shield bash to the head. A Winter Town boy snatched away Ser Addam's sword and bound the knight's hands tightly.
The Mormonts fought with great fury, proving their house words - Here We Stand. Still, the horde of enemy fighters took their toll. Spears impaled many Reachmen but the attack continued and through the line, the Northmen gave ground before the horde. The front line lost half its number and was forced to retreat behind another set of spiked logs. The Reachmen were dying but they had many times their number. A man at arms with a golden centaur landed a hit, knocking Jory's mace to the ground. Jon thrust his sword through the aventail, the flexible curtain of metal that covered the neck and shoulders. The man gurgled and died, and Jory retrieved her weapon.
"Gerry." Jon yelled. "The pikemen must advance now. Tell the drummer boys." The boy rushed to obey as Jon fended off three men. Ghost ripped a man's shoulder clean off, and Jon stabbed another through the throat. The third soldier stepped to his right, only to slip in the pool of blood oozing from the torn shoulder. Ghost finished him before Jon could thrust his blade through the visor of the steel helmet.
The Reachmen continued their attack. On his left, Eddard fell to a hard blow that shattered the shield on his left arm. Jon protected the youngest Karstark against attackers but too much space had opened up between Jon and Jory. Reachman surged into the gaps, hacking away with maces, axes and swords. Thanks to Ghost, he still stood, but he wondered how much longer that would last. Many of the Mormont soldiers were down, dead or injured.
The drumming began again. This time, it was not slow booming sound. Quick rat-a-tats rang through the battlefield, and the noise panicked the Reachmen. Their fear was justified. Pikemen, guarded by archers and infantry, jogged forward in a steady formation, weapons held at shoulder level, and skewering men with ease. The pocket for the Tyrell - Lannister army continued to shrink as Northern spears, arrows and swords cut down the outer ranks and survivors were forced to pull back and huddle together. Behind him, the ground was full of half dug trenches that would prevent escape if Jon and the Mormonts fell in battle.
"Tarly." Jon shouted.
The Lord of Horn Hill wore mail and boiled leather with only a breastplate of grey steel for stronger protection. He wielded a Valyrian steel two handed greatsword, Heartsbane. Lord Tarly raised his helmet to reveal a sneer on his serious face.
"Surrender, Lord Tarly. You can't win. Your men are trapped." Jon said.
"I will not be beaten by a green boy." Tarly snarled.
"No, you were beaten by two green boys. My brother Robb and myself." Jon said.
Tarly struck at the fortification, the Valyrian blade cutting through the wooden log like parchment. He grunted and stepped nearer, his sword pointed directly at Jon's torso.
Randyll Tarly was no Gregor Clegane but Heartsbane was five feet long from pommel to tip. Tarly's reach far surpassed his. The best strategy would be to tire out the Lord of Horn Hill. Jon stayed on his toes, backing away at any potential strike. Tarly used the remains of the spiked log to guard his back, preventing Ghost from flanking him.
"Jon!" Arya's voice called out.
"Arya. What are you doing here?" Jon turned his eyes briefly. His sister ran toward him with Nymeria. Lightly armed fighters with short broad sabres charged with her.
"I got the boats to land." Arya said. Behind her, Chett and the other Winter Town boys shot bolts and whirled stones while the sailors reinforced the remaining Mormonts.
With Nymeria, and few hundred fresh reinforcements, Tarly's forces fled. Lord Tarly though was more stubborn. He swung the two hander straight down at his foe. Jon blocked the greatsword but the force drove him to his knees and his blade down to the ground. Time seemed to slow as Heartsbane drew back.
Before the Valyrian blade could come down for a killing blow, Jory Mormont struck Tarly's shoulder with her morning star. The furious Lord of Horn Hill thrust the blade to his left, impaling the Mormont girl through her breastplate. Before the sword could be pulled out, Jon slammed his right gauntlet into Tarly's mail codpiece. Tarly screamed in pain, and fell over. Jon smashed Tarly's ugly face with a shield, breaking his nose and knocking him out.
Jon ran over to the fallen She-bear. The sword was still plunged in her body, and faint traces of blood appeared on her lips. Her eyes were still open and her teeth gritted in pain.
"Seems like we won't go back to Bear Isle together." She said, coughing flecks of blood.
Jon wrapped his arms around the dying girl. "I am sorry, Jory. I never meant for this."
"Give them hell for me, Snow. See you on the other side." Jory grinned her toothy charming smile and then her eyes closed forever.
Jon held her still warm body. He could almost imagine that she was sleeping.
Robb rode through the battlefield to the lake. The carnage was immense - stacks of slain men, Reachmen, Westermen, Northmen and Rivermen alike. Corpses looked the same in death, he thought. Thousands of horses lay dead and already flies buzzed over pools of blood and dead flesh. As a boy, he had thought there might be a terrible beauty in war. There was none here. War was only terrible.
Robb had spared most of the enemy army. Ser Baelor Hightower had ridden unarmed to his Battle Guard and surrendered in the sight of many Reachmen. The Heir of Oldtown begged for the lives of his men. Even the North and the Rivermen had suffered thousands of deaths, and thousands more injured. Robb granted mercy despite some angry bannermen. House Stark was fierce in battle but not butchers. Wolves did not kill for sport.
After Ser Baelor surrendered, dozens of lords and knights rushed to do the same - Lord Oakheart, Ser Parmen Crane, Jon Fossoway, Orton Merryweather. He did not catch all the names. They cast down their weapons and took off their armor. Robb passed through the killing fields, shocked at the brutality of the battle. Soldiers saluted him and prisoners fell to their hands and knees as he rode by with Grey Wind. His guards stayed close but after the death of so many, there was little appetite for more fighting. Men on all sides were happy to be alive.
Grey Wind saw Arya first. His sister, with the help of the dire wolves and the Smalljon, watched over the injured and the prisoners - Roose Bolton, Addam Marbrand, Randyll Tarly and many more. Here too, at the edge of the God's Eye, the slaughter was immense. There were many Northmen and Rivermen dead. He smelled blood and vomit and feces, and thousands had been killed in terrifying ways, bodies mangled and limbs hacked off. Robb said a prayer over the hundreds of dead Mormonts, the bravest and most loyal of the Northern army. Jon crouched over Jory's body. Robb waited in silence for his brother to rise.
Author's Notes
A yari is a Japanese spear, and the art of the spear is called sojutsu. The Chinese spear of the martial art movies (check out Michelle Yeoh in Crouching Tiger) is the qiang, with a leaf shaped blade and the red horse hair tassel. Oberyn uses the yari because the blade is long and can slice, as well as stab.
Myrcella is 11 when her ear is chopped off and she is disfigured in the inept Arianne Martell plot. In the show, she is older and killed with poison by Ellaria after Oberyn dies in King's Landing. Either way, it is a fairly depressing fate.
"Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy." These are the words of Marwyn the Mage to Samwell Tarly at the Citadel in the Feast of Crows. If the Lightning Lord declares Jon Snow Azor Ahai reborn, it seems likely that the impressionable Edric would repeat the story.
The Forresters are the Lords of Ironath - the largest source of ironwood trees in the North. The characters are from the Telltale Game Series.
The medieval cream cakes are from the website, the Inn at the Crossroads. The other Dornish food is cobbled from other sources. The Dornish are spicy!
The Martells are the book version. That means Quentyn is flailing in Essos, Arianne mid 20s, and Trystane 12. There are 8 Sand Snakes - 4 older ones with Sarella the youngest - early 20s. The four children of Ellaria Sand range from 14 to 6. In my mind, the Sand Snakes are (much) lesser versions of Arya. But Arya is super awesome.
I am not sure who is to blame for Doran coming off as an idiot in the books. His whole plan is a Targaryen restoration, which makes sense when you think of how close the Martells are to the dragons in the last century. Five Targs married Dornish. But in the book, Doran comes off as incompetent. His middle child burns to death, trying to tame a dragon. Arianne actively screws up his plans. And his revenge is dependent on Arianne marrying Viserys who is an idiot, and then fake Aegon (where he gets suckered by Varys and llyrio.) Maybe it is just an unreliable narrator (Arianne), but Doran comes off as a cartoon villain.
I thought about making the dialogue between the Snakes/Arianne and Doran more strained but decided against it. First, Oberyn isn't dead - the primary source of the tensions. Second, Arianne is similar to her dad - she keeps all these secrets and plots. So none of the Tyrells are totally honest which makes them incompetent. Then again, all the suspense in Game of Thrones is driven by wacky prophecies or people lying to family.
The conversation that Jon and Arya have about ancient war is accurate. Most casualties are taken when the battle is lost, and the fleeing people get killed. The death toll in ancient battles are lop sided because when you flee, the cavalry can easily hunt you down. The Roman legion manage this in two ways. The legion was organized in three separate lines, the hastati (the least trained), the principes (experienced soldiers), and the triarri, the veterans. The front troops, the hastati, were inexperienced so in theory, they were young and eager for glory. Also, they were cheap cannon fodder and expendable. If they ran, the soldiers behind them would order them to fight or kill them. The third rank of troops, the triarii, were the reserve, and fought with long spears rather than the sword. They often did not fight in battles - because the first two ranks were enough - and when they did, they used phalanx tactics. I forgot where this is from but I read an article where the most senior fighter was put in front and the second most senior fighter was put in the row in the back. It is the same idea - make sure others don't flee by having your most trusted men in the critical areas.
The scene where Sansa meets the Tyrells is one of my favorites but one question nags at me. Did the Tyrells really not know Joffrey was vicious and cruel? I understand that there are always secrets about the court, and the story of his dismembering a cat would be suppressed. BUT, Loras is Renly Baratheon's lover and Margaery his wife. How could Renly not be aware of his nephew's nature? He was on the Small Council and in King's Landing for years. I know GRRM wants to make Varys, Baelish, and Tyrion super aware, but if the Starks can realize Joffrey is a shit in five seconds, so can others. So, I have the Tyrells ask Sansa about her brothers instead.
We never get a real sense of how good Robb is at actual fighting. He is much more of a general than a hero. For Jon, he has to fight for his life many times.
The Jory speech echoes the great quote by Hugo Wull when he marches off to kill the Boltons. It is good writing when he answers a question "Do you want to die, Wull?" The best three lines start with "Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die."
The Tarly battle plan is simple, uncreative but effective. Tarly commits his knights and footmen into a wedge to break the line. He is confident that his superior numbers will carry the day.
The actual quote is "What have we become, when kings and high lords must dance the twittering of sparrows?" Randyll Tarly says this to Kevan Lannister right before he gets killed by Varys. It is unfortunately the last piece of GOT that was published by GRRM. I am up in the air on the whole religious issues in the story. I thought it was interesting, showing the machinations around the church. On the show, Cersei blows up the Sept effectively ended everything and religion is never mentioned again. You wonder if GRRM will just discard it so casually or whether in the books, the Faith of the Seven has a more meaningful role to play. Personally, I think the idea of a vengeful templar like society is pretty neat, with the caveat that it would easily go out of control and focus on the Starks (wargs!) or the dragons.
This is the Battle of Cannae - Hannibal versus two consuls in Rome. Hannibal had 40,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry. His cavalry was superior and it was comprised of Numidians (present day Algeria), Spanish and Gauls. The Romans had 6,400 cavalry (but the quality was poor) but 80,000 infantry. So in terms of infantry, the Romans had double the Carthaginians. The Roman strategy was based on previous battles where they lost but still broke Hannibal's center. They had succeeded twice in this, the Romans wanted to simplify the battle - they wanted to avoid the trickery of Trebia and Trasimene, where Hannibal used deception and terrain to win. So, the Romans did a brute force attack. It did not go very well.
Echelon sounds like a modern term. But Polybius, a Greek historian who lived in ancient Rome, actually described the Carthaginian deployment in those terms. It is the V shaped formation that a flock of geese or ducks fly in. The first known recorded usage is by the Thebans at the Battle of Leuctra but it was also used by Alexander the Great.
Lysa Arryn declares the Knights of the Vale to be bold and true before Tyrion's trial in the Eyrie. Forgetting that she is a crazy woman who nurses her eight year old, I always thought the words "As High as Honor" to be a bit pompous. On the other hand, the Reach claims to be the heart of chivalry. It should be noted that neither the Eyrie or the Reach do well in the GOT, which says something about the value GRRM places on bold knights. Or that their leaders are dolts.
Plutarch writes that before Cannae, a Carthaginan officer named Gisgo wondered about the size of the Roman army. Hannibal says "There is one thing, Gisgo, yet more astonishing which you take no notice of. In all those great numbers before us, there is not one man called Gisgo." Hannibal, like many of the great generals and Robb Stark, knew how to motivate his men.
When Jon tells Arya to rest and eat, he is not kidding. In the actual battle of Cannae, the armies stayed in their locations for two days. Hannibal actually offered battle on the second day but the consul in charge refused. The Roman army was commanded by two consuls, who switched off for each day. Clearly it was not the best way to run an army.
The heraldry of House Bolton is different in the book than the TV show. The book image, a red flayed man on pink with bloody drops in the background, is cool but it is on a pink background. The show image is on black which works better on a battlefield.
In the TV show, the White Walkers are ice zombies - the undead with bones and muscles made from ice and snow. But I think the intent of GRRM in the books is different. In an interview, GRRM describes the Others as the Sidhe made of ice, so magical elves that are more than human and not just shambling creatures. On the TV show, there is an episode where Bran discovers the Children of the Forest created the Night King, as a way to protect themselves from man. But in the books, the Night King falls in love with a woman with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Then he rules the Night Fort and makes sacrifices to the Others. The book version is way cooler and implies the Others are far more powerful whereas TV makes it sound like some sort of bad karma - juju. I like the book version much more.
Before I get accused of making Jon OP with Gandalf like powers, the water in the lake is magically getting colder. Cold lake, warm land - the wind goes from the lake to the shore. If the lake is warm, but the land is cold - you have a sea breeze. So in the story, the waves of the water make the wind blow. I am sure some scientists or meteorologist will say this is impossible but this is magic. Now, why is this relevant? At Cannae, the wind did blow directly into the eyes of the Romans. The hot libecco wind blew dust and grit from the south! Hannibal arranged his troops to face north, the Romans were fighting south. This really helped Hannibal win. Clearly, and this is what amazes me, Hannibal took advantage of the terrain even fighting on Roman land.
There are many parts of Cannae but the key to the battle is the behavior of the Roman legions. You can make a number of excuses - the consuls were inexperienced, this was the largest army ever assembled, after two losses, they were eager to exact vengeance on Hannibal. But it goes to a basic point - breaking the enemy line is crucial in ancient war. The killing really starts when the line is broken and your cavalry hunts down the fleeing troops. Tarly thought Bolton turning coat would be a huge shock, and then the press of 30,000 men would overwhelm the North. In his mind, either is sufficient for victory. When they saw the mixed infantry dropping back, every instinct is to press forward and kill the enemy. And that is the heart of Jon and Robb's plan.
I looked up some historical info on trench digging. The British guidelines say it would take 450 men 6 hours to dig 275 yards of a trench seven feet deep, six feet wide. Now of course, those Brits have better shovels and picks, but they are not as burly as the Smalljon. 275 yards is 1/6th of a mile so wider than the frontage the Mormonts are guarding.
So what Gerry comes up with is called a cheval de frise - a medieval anti cavalry defense. This remained in use until the American civil war - when it was replaced by barbed wire. Even in WWI, Europeans used these for gaps in the barbed wire. The origin comes from the Frisians who are mostly Dutch. They lacked horses, so when they fought the Spanish cavalry, they used these spiked wood or metal obstacles.
I have emphasized how brutal this battle was. Some people might note that a lot of Lannisters died at Riverrun. The difference is that the battlefield at the God's Eye, like Cannae, is compact. The bodies are concentrated in one small area. And the actual descriptions of the carnage at Cannae are hideous.
In retrospect, the Battle of Cannae sounds easy - just like the Battle of the God's Eye. And yes, a much more cautious approach would have blunted the Carthaginian trap. But the double envelopment, aka the pincer movement, is hard to pull off - particularly as Hannibal did against a larger force with better infantry. It was a complex plan that required substantial coordination on the soldiers, officers and overall leader. The Carthaginian cavalry at Cannae was incredibly disciplined - it made three charges, never lost cohesion, and drove off the enemy forces. This, Robb's role, was necessary to complete the entrapment. Second, Hannibal stood in the center behind the Gaulish and Iberian forces. He needed the trap to take a long time, and he needed an orderly retreat. In the story, this is replaced by the drummer boys coordinating the retreat and the pikes. Once the pikemen turn with their spears, the Northern formation holds. Lastly, if you could break out from the trap with a huge push, Hannibal's strategy fails. This is what Lord Tarly is trying to do in that final charge.
Hannibal is not the only one to try this maneuver. He is not even the first to succeed at it. Herodotus believed the Greeks used it at the Battle of Marathon. Alexander the Great used it at the Battle of Hydaspes. Sun Tzu, in the sixth century BC, wrote about this but advised it against, thinking it would be better to leave the enemy an exit route. Then again, he wasn't facing two to one odds. Hannibal was one of the greatest generals in history and Jon and Robb follow in those footsteps - of course there is a bit more magic (the cold in the God's Eye) and some drama (Traitor Roose Bolton, Tarly being a jerk, and Jory's death.)
Cannae was not enough to win the war - there is a difference between tactics and strategy - but it continues to fascinate generals. The best example of this would be Dwight Eisenhower's quote. "Every ground commander seeks the battle of annihilation; so far as conditions permit, he tried to duplicate in modern war the classic example of Cannae."