All rights belong to GRRM
Robb III
Even in his advanced age, Ser Brynden Tully was still a very intimidating figure. Tall and lean, with grey hair and a weathered, windburnt face, he was a veteran of half a hundred battles and it showed. He carried himself with confidence, from the way he rode to the way he wore his mail and leather armor. His armor was stained black, the leaping trout on his chest reminding everyone the name he was known by throughout Westeros: The Blackfish.
The aged knight had been leading a party of a few hundred riders. Not a true threat to the Kingslayer, the Blackfish and his men had been nothing but a thorn in the man's side as they raided and burned the Lannister supply lines and killed their scouts. Because of the Blackfish's years of experience, he was always one step ahead of the Kingslayer and his men.
Standing in front of the man, Robb felt like little more than a child. He remembered meeting the man once when Ser Brynden had come for a melee at Winterfell on one of Robb's earliest birthdays. He had smiled and his hair had been auburn at the time, calling Robb 'little pup'. He had been fun to be around.
He was not smiling now.
"Uncle." Robb greeted as the Blackfish and his companions rode up to the small party of Northmen. The young stark was surrounded by his commanders and a few guards. Just a few miles back, the northern cavalry rested.
"Robb." he greeted strongly, bringing his horse to a halt in front of the group. He flashed a small smile to Robb's mother. "Cat."
Lady Catelyn smiled happily at her uncle. The two had always had a great relationship, even if the relationship between her father and the Blackfish had been strained. Ser Brynden had acted as a confidant for her, always returning her letters when he was Knight of the Gate in the Vale. Like Hoster, Catelyn was Ser Brynden's favorite as well.
"Uncle Brynden. I am glad to see you doing well," she said.
The old knight's smile fell. "As well as can be," he said grimly. "I'll be a whole lot better when the Kingslayer's been dealt with. I am surprised to find you here nephew. I thought you were on the other side of the Twins?"
Robb grimaced. "We struck a deal with Walder Frey," he explained. "Time was at the essence. I have brought the entire northern cavalry, with my infantry still on its way."
The Blackfish smiled grimly. "The reinforcements are welcome, nephew, but Tywin still sits at Harrenhal. He will come if he sees his son being attacked."
Robb grinned. "Not if he is not at Harrenhal. I have sent 2,000 men under Lord Bolton to distract the old lion. Bearing banners and banging on drums, it will look as if the entire northern host is marching upon him."
The Blackfish raised an eyebrow. "Good thinking." he praised, surprised that a boy of Robb's age had come up with such a plan.
"Aye, he's Ned's boy through and through." the Greatjon chuckled, patting Robb on the shoulder with a massive paw of a hand.
The Blackfish nodded. "So it seems. I assume you have a plan for dealing with the Kingslayer."
Robb nodded. "We strike fast and hard," Robb said fiercly. "I suspect the Kingslayer wants your head."
"He's had some trouble taking it." Ser Brynden said, smiling grimly. "He know's that I am leading the resistance here in the Riverlands. What do you have in mind?"
"I was thinking we could cut the head of the snake." Robb continued. "Pull Ser Jaime away from his men where my Northmen and I could ambush him."
The two men at Brynden's side smiled fiercely. The Blackfish scratched his jaw. "Aye, that could work. There is a place, the Whispering Wood. A dried river bed with a rounded bend curving through the center of it. If I can lead the Kingslayer into it, then you can position your men on the ridgelines on either side. We'll trap him and cut him off from his men."
Robb nodded. "A sound plan," he said. "I will meet you there in two days. Then we will capture the Kingslayer."
"I'll make sure the bastard follows me. He's been sending patrols after my men and me, but if I attack his position directly, he'll follow." Ser Brynden explained.
Robb nodded again. "I'll leave it to your judgment, Uncle. My men and I will be ready."
Line Break
Robb shifted in his saddle as he looked over the gully. The treeline at the top of the ridgelines was dense, easily allowing the northern cavalry to hide amongst the woods. Robb had divided his cavalry into three divisions. The Greatjon and Lord Hawker commanded 2,000 men on the other side of the gully. Maege Mormont commanded another 2,000 and was placed towards the entrance to the gully. Her job was to cut off any escape for the enemy cavalry that tried to flee the battle. Robb commanded the final 2,000 riders, along with the rest of his war council and his battle guard.
Robb's battle guard consisted of northern nobles whom Robb had picked as a way to honor his bannermen. Among them was Jon Umber, otherwise known as the 'Smalljon', heir to Last Hearth. Dacey Mormont, heiress to Bear Island. Eddard and Torrhen Karstark, sons of Lord Rickard Karstark. Eyan and Brandon Hawker, sons of Roland Hawker. Theon, one of Robb's oldest friends, and other northern nobles. The only outliers of the group were Olyvar and Perwyn Frey. Altogether, there were close to twenty warriors around Robb.
At Robb's side, as always, was Greywind. The wolf always seemed to be bigger than the last time Robb looked at him. By now, he was nearly the size of a full-grown mastiff, the kind his father used for hunting boar. The young noble was curious to see how the Lannisters soldiers would react when they saw the wolf run at them, snarling and howling.
Greywind remaining totally still where he was, sniffing the air, his head firmly looking west, where the Blackfish and his men would be coming from hopefully soon.
"I know boy. I'm anxious too." Robb whispered. The young stark was dressed for war. He wore plaited-leather armor, with steel shoulder guards and gorget, a snow-white tabard bearing the grey direwolf of House Stark covered his armor. He wore no helm so that all his men could see that he fought alongside them. strapped to his saddle was an oak shield, also bearing the white and grey colores of his house.
Theon nudged his horse closer to Robb. The remaining son of Balon Greyjoy was armored from shoulder to thigh with steel plate and chain mail. At his side, he wore a longsword while he had a short bow laid across his lap. He may not have been the swordsman Robb was, but he excelled as an archer.
"You ready?" he asked quietly.
Robb nodded. "Aye. And you?"
Theon smirked. "Let's fuck 'em bloody," he said, his usually arrogant tone coming out.
Robb chuckled and turned his attention back towards the gully as the sounds of thunder carried through the forest, heralding the arrival of several riders. Like the calm before the storm, the sound became louder as it approached, becoming almost defeating to the ears. Soon, war cries and curses were added to the sound, though Robb were unable to properly make out what was being said.
Robb mentally steeled himself as he drew his sword, gripping the reins of his charger just a bit more. He remembered what his father had said about war when he was younger.
Don't think. Just allow your instincts to take over. They will keep you alive.
Eddard had taught both Robb and his half-brother Jon about war and what it meant to command men, passing on the lessons that the Lord of Winterfell had learned growing up in the Eyrie under the tutelage of Jon Arryn. Robb and Jon were told that commanding was not an honor, but a burden. When they moved pieces on a map, they had to remember that they were not playing a game, but dealing with men who had lives and families. That's why Robb had felt so uncomfortable sending 2,000 perfectly good men south with Roose Bolton, knowing perfectly well that there was no way that they could win.
Robb also thought back on his lessons with Ser Rodrik. The old knight had begun training Robb and Jon the moment they could walk. He was a strict teacher, demanding perfection with zero tolerance for laziness. He had drilled into the boy's heads that there was no faking battle. If you were fighting in a battle or war, you fought to win, defeat could never be considered.
Robb was brought from his thoughts as the gully filled with riders as rivermen galloped in, urging their mounts faster as the Lannister cavalry gave chase, jeering and shouting curses because they had thought that they had finally captured the mighty Blackfish. There were about a thousand horsemen, decked in red and gold armor, a mixture of knights and lighter cavalry.
They had all just been led to their deaths.
Robb raised his sword, kicking his heels into the flanks of his horse as he charged forward.
"FOR WINTERFELL!" he bellowed, charging into the unsuspecting Lannisters.
The woods came alive with horsemen as the northern cavalry revealed themselves, cutting through the enemy ranks like a hot knife through butter as the Lannisters struggled to overcome their surprise, but the northern/riverlander force did not give them a respite as the Blackfish and Maege Mormont led their forces into the fray as well, trapping the lannisters inside of a killing box.
Greywind howled, adding his own call to the sounds of battle as he lept at an unsuspecting knight, unseating him in a flurry of tooth and claw. The man went down with a cry as he was mauled by the wolf.
Robb's first kill was painfully easy. The man tried to bring his shield up in defense, but Robb's attack was swift and merciless. His blade sliced through the man's throat, cutting through leather, skin, and bone, causing a fountain of scarlet to run down the man's chest as he fell off the horse. But Robb didn't have time to acknowledge the kill as he continued forward, his battle guard at his side, howling like banshees as they set upon the enemy, cutting them down where they stood.
Robb did just as his father said, allowing his instincts to take over. He hacked and stabbed his way through the lannisters, Greywind remaining at his side, spooking horses and riders alike. From time to time, those at Robb's side shifted. Theon would be at his side one moment, cutting down lannisters before he would be replaced with Dacey Mormont, bashing the enemy with her mace. Smalljon and Brandon Hawker went berserk nearby, the two massive men pulling riders bodily from the saddles as their massive blades hacked off arms, legs, and heads.
It seemed like moments, but the battle began to wind down as the combined might of the North and Riverlands wiped up the remains of the Lanniste host. All that was left were a few pockets of resistance that were being easily smashed apart and cut down.
"Stark!" someone shouted, causing Robb to turn.
It was the Kingslayer, his golden armor drenched with gore. He had rallied his remaining riders and was now carving a path through Robb's men. Stark could only watch with grim admiration as the Kingslayer claimed life after life with terrifying ease. His sword a glitter of red-stained silver, seemingly with a life of its own as it moved from man to man, cutting through steel and flesh.
Ser Jaime's reputation will forever be stained by him stabbing the Mad King in the back during the Sack of King's Landing, but he was reminding everyone that he was still a very deadly fighter who was trained and stood beside some of the greatest fighters in the past half-century in Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, and Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning.
As the Kingslayer got closer to Robb, Torrhen Karstark roared and charged the man, Robin Flint right behind him. Torrhen and Robin exchanged blows with the man, but like all the others, they too were slain. The Kingslayer shoved his blade through Torrhen's stomach before pulling the sword out and whipping it through Robin's throat, killing both men in a matter of moments.
Before he could resume his direct assault on Robb, dozens of northern soldiers converged on the man, scattering his guard and taking the Kingslayer down, overwhelming him. Robb breathed a sigh of relief as he moved forward to where Torrhen and Robin lay, blood pooling around them as their stiff bodies laid in the mud.
Lord Karstark was already on the ground, cradling his son's head in his lap as he cried quietly. His other son Eddard was kneeling next to his father, adding his own tears. Robb dismounted and placed a hand on the old lord's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said simply.
Rickard nodded. "Thank you," he muttered.
Robb turned back to his Battle Guard as more of his commander pushed to the front. "Make sure all survivors are captured. We can not allow word to get back to the enemy encampment. We will bury the dead and take care of the wounded." he turned to the Blackfish. "My infantry is a day away. We will meet up with them and prepare our assault on the enemy when we are done here."
Ser Brynden nodded firmly. "It will be done."
"We won a great victory," Robb said, raising his voice to address his men. "But we are not finished. We will relieve the siege of Riverrun, and with our allies of the Riverlands by our side, we will march on Tywin Lannister and King's Landing!"
The northerners cheered. This was a great victory for Robb Stark and a devastating strike to the Lannisters. If Tywin Lannister wanted war, then the North and the Riverlands will give him it.