"Least we managed to beat him here," Matthew stared at the river. It was narrow, even narrower than Stannis had described, but it would be sufficient to hold Robb back. I don't fancy having to cross that.
"Your Grace, it is unwise to make yourself a prominent target," Jaime declared. "Stark's forces are estimated to be here in a couple of hours and even if they cannot cross, their archers can still rain arrows down upon us."
"Just making a few final preparations." Matthew galloped next to the river, surveying his surroundings. His present location was free of trees, at least ones large enough to be used as a bridge. His vision was clear. "Are the bridges destroyed?"
"They are, Your Grace," Jaime responded.
"Keep in mind no plan survives first contact with the enemy, but I think we're in a good position here." Matthew's men waited behind him. Tywin wanted to use those Matthew had trained to soak up the enemy arrows, but he had refused. Matthew didn't intend to let his supposed Grandfather weaken him.
His men were at least one hundred meters away from the river, spread out across several kilometers. So long as the river was an obstacle, Matthew knew he had little to fear from Robb. Deciding he'd already gotten the information he needed, he turned his horse and hurried to rejoin the rest of his men.
What I wouldn't give for a good pair of binoculars. . . One of many modern conveniences Matthew missed. His cannons would allow him to hit the enemy at a range they couldn't respond, or so he hoped. Robb in canon, however, never lost a fight, and was an enemy who couldn't be beaten in conventional warfare.
"Have your scouts reported anything new?" Matthew inquired of Tywin. He'd insisted the man come along, both for his experience and to keep an extra eye on Tyrion.
"Stark is marching down the path we expected," Tywin traced his finger along a map. "I have scouts ten leagues in both directions and the bridges are destroyed. The boy's victories have made him overconfident."
Robb looked out at the river, Grey Wind by his side. Had he been so inclined, he could have ridden his direwolf into battle, as some tales about him claimed. Joffrey beat us here, Robb squinted, just making out the Lannister infantry.
"That river's no match for hardened Northmen!" The Greatjon bragged. "Give me 2,000 men and I'll give us control of the riverbank!"
"At the proper time," Robb kept his tone diplomatic. His scouts had already reported the river was swift, quick enough to where any direct attempt to cross would led to his death. I was hoping to arrive first, but it means I'll need to come up with a new plan. Robb was troubled at the rumors of the new weapon. Many of his men dismissed their capabilities, but he wasn't so sure.
"Do you truly intend to cross that river?" Catelyn worried. "That's exactly what Joffrey wants you to do."
"It's what he expects me to do," Robb admitted. He had a slight numerical advantage and the Knights of the Vale provided him with superior horsemen, but none of that would matter if he didn't find a way across that river. "Joffrey's a fool, but Tywin isn't. He will have destroyed any nearby bridges."
"Your Grace, perhaps we can launch a probing attack," Yohn Royce suggested. "Make him think we're going to take the bait, find out how formidable his defenses truly are."
"Some of his troops are green, but there are also veterans of the Blackwater," Robb considered. Defeating Joffrey would require flexibility and, most of all, patience. His enemy wanted to tempt him into making a crucial mistake. "No, our priority is finding a way to cross the river before we engage him." Once the river was no longer a barrier, Joffrey would be finished. Their superior numbers and discipline would carry the day.
There's still that problem to overcome, however. Robb saw no obvious place to ford and any attempt he made to find one would be countered by Joffrey and Tywin. Lannister bannermen were encamped three hundred meters away from the river, confident Robb would not make any attempt to attack.
"This is going to require patience," Robb announced. "Fortunately, time is on our side."
"Your Grace, if we do not act, the smallfolk will consider us weak and rebel," Bolton cautioned. "Perhaps we should have burned everything when he had the opportunity."
"That would hurt us more than Joffrey," Robb refused. The two sides had stared at each other for more than an hour, both aware a direct crossing would lead to disaster.
"If it appears we are attempting to cross the river, their formation will have to change," Royce added. "None of them can afford to allow us to get a foothold on the riverbank. This will force the Lannisters to get close, and our arrows can travel far enough to hit them, as can our scorpions." Robb possessed only sixty scorpions, fewer than he'd hoped for.
Considerable risk, but with a possible reward. "Commence, but retreat at the sign of any complications." Robb decided. "Lord Royce, I will give you the honor of command." Greatjon frowned, but Robb considered the man far too impulsive for a delicate task.
"Stark must be more irrational than I thought if he's willing to cross a river like that," Matthew observed the troop formations. He could hardly believe Robb would do something so foolish, but thousands of Northmen and Vale Knights assembled toward the river.
"Your Grace, they've got boats!" one of his scouts declared.
"Well, if Robb's so willing to fight on my terms, who am I to refuse him?" Matthew doubted this was the only plan Robb possessed. Others worked on cutting down the trees in hopes of forging a crossing, but the trees in the immediate area were thin and quickly swept away by the current.
Matthew considered having his own men kill any stragglers who managed to get ashore. It would both hinder Robb and boost their own morale, as Stark had amassed quite a reputation for himself. Northern boats were far too few for a quick crossing. There's got to be something more to this. Even in his current state, Stark knows better than to try a frontal assault.
"I agree, and he knows we will have to oppose him," Tywin mentioned when Matthew brought it up.
"He's expecting me to break my formation. I don't think he intends to cross the river, at least not yet. However, he knows I can't afford to allow him to manage a secure foothold. If I don't act, risking my own men, he'll have his crossing."
"No, I don't think that'll be necessary," Matthew countermanded the order. "Let's show Stark what he's up against. Prepare the cannons." Tywin frowned with disapproval, but said nothing.
Twenty cannons were moved to the front of the line, well beyond the range his enemies could inflict damage on. Matthew stuffed wax into his ears, not wishing to cause any further hearing damage on himself. The northerners and their allies had gathered on the banks, bunched close together. Perfect.
Matthew's horse retreated at the sound of cannons, as did most of the Lannister cavalry. None of them had yet gotten accustomed to such noises on the battlefields. Even with his visor up, Matthew could hardly make out what the effects on his enemy were.
On the other side of the river, those who had climbed into boats had little chance. Cannonballs barreled through them, tearing through plate armor like paper. Bunched up on the riverbanks, few had a chance to react. A few attempted to fire their bows in the direction of the barrage, but all fell far short of their target.
Still others froze, having never encountered such devices before. No initial effort was made to retreat, however. The scorpion operators refused to budge from their posts and coordinated their efforts in hopes of inflicting damage. Half a dozen crews fell to enemy fire, but the remainder stayed put.
A mere handful succeeded in hitting Matthew's cannons, inflicting two fatalities. Matthew shut his visor and retreated before any could be aimed specifically at him. He gave a small smile at the artilleryman, who chose to fight on rather than flee.
Across the river, enemy forces abandoned their boats and the men who resided in them. A few scorpion operators stayed to cover the retreat, but even they did not have the courage to stay for long. Northmen tripped over each other in their haste to get away. Swords and spears were thrown on the ground, plate and mail providing no protection against the barrage.
Matthew allowed himself a small smile.
"So the reports of the new weapons were not an exaggeration," Robb sighed upon observing his retreating men. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, had been killed without any opportunity to defend themselves. The probing attack was a risk, which he knew, but Robb had not expected such a slaughter.
"All due respect, My Lord, how do you intend to fight back against that?" Bolton inquired.
"I have to say, I agree," Royce admitted. "I had dismissed the accounts of the Blackwater, but now. . . sending our men against those weapons would be suicide." Even the Greatjon frowned, no longer possessing his usual spirit.
"I don't intend to give up," Robb refused to consider the suggestion. I won't insult Sansa's memory by bending the knee. "There are always locations that are not on any map." Robb placed a hand on Grey Wind's shoulder, confident he would be able to find something.
"Perhaps we can try a night attack, row across the river before the Lannisters realize we're upon them." Grey Wind snarled at Bolton, opening his mouth. Robb gripped his hair to restrain him. Bolton stared with impassive eyes, but Robb detected a faint hint of fear.
"We might get the men across, but not the horses," Royce considered. "Any ford's going to be narrow, and I have my doubts about whether we'll get everyone across before the sun comes up. Before I saw those weapons, I would have considered it of limited importance, but now. . ."
"Understood, My Lords." Robb pondered the new information. He looked around to see skeptical faces in his direction. For the first time, some felt he was incapable of winning the battle.
"We can't retreat; they'll think us weak!" Greatjon announced.
"Build a bridge out of a sight," Royce suggested. "It'll allow us to get everyone across quickly enough to stay out of sight."
"How do you intend to hide something like this?" Bolton wondered. "Surely Tywin will know what we're up to."
"Which is why we're going to build this thing well out of sight, at least half a league," Robb considered. It would be extremely difficult to transport such a thing, even if it was assembled in several pieces. "We'll transport it at night, use the horses to get it to the river, then push it the rest of the way. Some of my best men can use boats to cross, make sure it's where we need it to be."
"My boys can do it; we're not afraid of any Lannisters!" Greatjon laughed. "Besides, I want to be the first to see Joffrey piss himself when he realizes we're across!"
"We'll send our troops north and south of the river, force the Lannisters to follow us," Robb concluded. If he found a location, he would use it, but even that was a dubious proposition. "Joffrey will have to watch the entire river, which will lower their guard enough for when the time is right."
"Your Grace, building a bridge large enough will take weeks," Royce cautioned.
"I know, but if we send the infantry alone, they'll get slaughtered. And time is on our side. None of the villagers will dare to withhold food from us, and Joffrey looks weaker." After a few villages had been wiped out, the others became more complaint. Bolton objected, saying that all of them should be destroyed, but Robb refused. If their crops were intact, the Northern-Vale army could subsist for the long term.
His men argued over the details for a while longer, but agreed. "I won't let you down, Your Grace!" Greatjon laughed.
"I'd expect nothing less from you," Robb complimented. He left the tents, complete with his bodyguards. He could hardly see in between their bodies, trusting them to lead the way back to where his mother was waiting.
"Is there a reason you refused to allow me to attend your war council?" Robb sensed a small rebuke in her voice.
"If anything happens, I don't want you in danger," Robb declared. "I've already lost Sansa. I don't want to lose another family member. And. . . you're not a military strategist, Mother."
"I understand." Catelyn lowered her head. Robb hoped she wouldn't lecture him to be careful. Her heart was in the right place, but there were times her worrying made him look weak in front of his men. "What do you intend to do now?"
"Win."
The Lannister bannermen cheered, raising their swords and boasting the battle would soon be over. Only Matthew stayed silent. "We've used up over half our gunpowder," he announced after a check on his artillery. Iron and stone balls were no problem, but gunpowder was another matter. "This isn't a display we're going to be able to make a second time. I want what we have ready for when Stark crosses the river."
"Why are you still so confident that the boy will cross?" Tywin inquired with a stony face.
"For one thing, he's got that direwolf, and while I don't believe the claims Robb rides him into battle, he does have an unusual connection with him. Grey Wind is smart and he might be able to find a place that human scouts won't. Robb's learned he can't survive a frontal assault. Now if I were in his position, facing superior firepower, I'd launch a night assault. It'd be dangerous for him, but less so than the river is." Tywin thumped his fingers against the table, thinking it over.
"I'll have scouts watching in all directions, day and night. Nobody will cross that I don't know about."
"All the same, I intend to be prepared for anything. The men's morale is high now, and I want to keep it that way, else we could lose by belief alone."
"With the bridges destroyed, how does Stark think he's going to cross a river so swift?" Tyrion remarked. "It would suck under anyone foolish enough to do so." He took the time to glare at Matthew, still furious over being forced to come along.
"I don't think Robb's going to be rational about this. Tell me, Grandfather, if you believed a family member had been tortured to death, would you retreat or wait for the perfect opportunity?" Tywin said nothing, but his silence was reply enough.
"I recommend you stay far away from the river, Your Grace," Jaime commented. "You might consider yourself safe, but I've seen enough fully armored men fall to a lucky arrow strike."
"Fair enough." Jaime talked sense, so Matthew wasn't going to argue with him.
"Your Grace, Robb is moving his forces along the river!" Marbrand stuck his head into the tent.
"That doesn't surprise me; I'm certain he's looking for a way to cross. Or to exhaust us." Matthew knew he couldn't risk letting the enemy out of his sight, so he climbed onto his horse. Each member of the Kingsguard surrounded him.
Robb split his forces in two directions, each going in opposite directions along the river. Enemy banners were no longer visible, making it harder to tell where their exact location was. He's trying to keep me off-balance, so I don't know where he's going to go next. Taunts were shouted across the river.
Those resting inside their tents were hauled out by their superiors and ordered to follow the enemy. "You keep an eye on them, I'll go this direction." Matthew stuck his thumb left.
"I promise you, Stark will not cross that river," Tywin declared.
Matthew kept his vision focused on the river, trusting his subordinates to warn him of an incoming attack. His eyes widened even after the open plains began to be replaced by trees. Glad I'm not the one who has to cross this thing. If Robb was smart, he'd bend the knee, but I expect he's past all reason. Matthew kept his horse a minimum of one hundred meters away, aware the enemy still possessed scorpions.
Despite some of his fears, Matthew felt confident he'd win the fight. He admitted to having limited political skills, but this he knew. Jaime spotted the Vale cavalry speeding away from the ground troops. "Your Grace. . ." He warned.
"I see them; send a few horsemen to watch them, but otherwise, keep our troops intact." Matthew ordered. "Stark wants us divided and I don't intend to give him what he wants."
Their pursuit continued for the rest of the day, with little order or reason to it. Stark's forces traveled in random directions, hiding in the trees, trading taunts with the Lannisters. But no further blood was shed.
"Okay, I want at least one-third of the men ready to fight at all times," Matthew groaned, his back sore from a day of horseback riding. "Everybody else sleeps in whatever armor they have, weapons at hand. I'm positive Stark is going to try to hit us at night. It's what I'd do if our positions were reversed." He looked at his advisors to see if anyone would disagree. Nobody did. I was afraid of that. "And no fires. They might grumble about the cold, but that'll attract the Starks like flies on shit.
With his troops several kilometers away from the central camp, everyone was forced to sleep on the cold ground. Matthew lay his head upon the dirt, intending to live under the same conditions as his troops. All he possessed for a pillow was his arm. Balon and Jaime took the first watch. "No harm will come to you, Your Grace," Balon promised.
Matthew searched through the darkness with a slight shiver. Although he had ordered no fires, distant conversations echoed through his eyes. The wind had died down, a crescent moon overlooking the sky. His right hand kept its grip on his Warhammer. They get across the river, we're in a lot of trouble. His forces had been divided into several pieces across the river, paralleling the Northern forces. Matthew placed his ear against the ground. "I've got to get at least some sleep." He muttered. Still want to go home.
Matthew closed his eyes and let his exhaustion overtake him. When he next opened his eyes, he felt the sun beating down on him. Barristan assisted Matthew onto his feet and handed him his breakfast. "Thank you very much." He nodded. "How many casualties?"
"None, Your Grace; we suffered no attacks," Barristan informed.
"None?" Matthew rubbed his chin. He had expected at least a few token efforts. That he had slept through the night was little surprise. During the war in his world, he'd seen soldiers sleep in the midst of an artillery barrage.
Matthew put on his helmet and climbed onto his horse. He gestured for his Kingsguard to remove the banners in his presence. No need for the enemy to figure out who he was. Matthew squinted in an attempt to make up Robb's forces across the river.
He rode throughout the camp to ensure Barristan's information was accurate. "Okay, my bet: Stark's forcing us to follow him, so we'll be caught off-guard when he finally does find a way to cross." The river was slightly calmer, making Matthew wonder how long it would take him.
"Swear on the Gods, m'lord," a peasant trembled, bowing his head. Robb stared at the men with distrust.
"So you're telling me there's a place we can cross?" Robb crossed his arms. Several of his bannermen had hands on their swords, ready to kill the peasant if they felt he was lying. He'd been searching for days, all the while keeping the Lannisters off-balance. Robb wanted to exhaust them, make them question his every move.
"Yes, m'lord; there's a place where you can cross. Water's not more than three feet." The man rubbed his beard. "I can show you. . . in exchange for a small reward."
"How much?" Robb didn't trust the man, but if he was telling the truth, it would allow him to crush the Lannisters.
"Ten gold dragons," the man struggled to look at Robb.
"Before I give you anything, I want to verify your story first." Robb wasn't naïve enough to trust him at face value. "Show me this ford."
"At once, M'ilord." The man darted off, moving faster than Robb has expected possible.
"Do you truly consider him trustworthy?" Bolton commented, unreadable as always.
"Let me go in your place, Your Grace." Greatjon offered. "If he's playing us false, it'll be my honor to gut the lying bastard!"
Robb moved through the meadows into the trees, removing his crown and banner to avoid being recognized. Hope and fear warred within him. This might be a little too convenient. Someone shows up, offering exactly what I need? However, he considered the risk worth the price of victory.
"Move apart, don't make it so obvious you're trying to protect me," Robb ordered his bodyguards. "Last thing we want is to get Tywin's attention." The Lannister patriarch would pay greatly for an opportunity to take his head. Robb had to push a couple away before everyone followed his instructions, old habits dying hard.
The tree cover became thicker, Robb marching through the underbrush. Twice the man had to slow down to allow his party to keep up. "Just a little further, m'lord." His lip quivered.
Robb's bodyguards looked at him, suspecting a trap. He did as well, but didn't wish to let on. He stood up straight and kept his appearance confident. The man suddenly halted, gesturing to the river with a smile. "Here it is. Water only goes up to my knees here, M'lord."
"Then you're going first," Robb ordered. "Show me the water is as shallow as you say." The man frowned but obeyed the order. He extended his arms for balance and took his first step into the river. "Watch the trees, be ready for any traps." Robb shielded his body behind a tree trunk.
The man marched to the other side of the river after a couple stumbles. He turned around and waved, Robb's bodyguards whispering to themselves. He walked back, no longer extending his arms. His speed increased, the man eager for his payment. "Have I proven my words, m'lord?" He gave a cautious smile.
"Yes, you have served us well." Robb handed him a few gold dragons. The man turned to run, only for Robb to grab his tunic. "Nope, I'm afraid you can't leave just yet. I don't intend to risk the Lannisters finding out about this gambit."
"They'll get naught from me, M'lord, I swear," the man trembled.
"No, I'm going to ensure that they don't. You'll be kept safe until the battle is over." Robb still didn't trust the man. With his greed, he could easily sell out to the Lannisters. Even if he didn't, torture would force the truth out of him. "Once the battle's over, you'll be released with an addition ten gold dragons. You have my word of honor on it." Robb gestured for two of his bodyguards to escort him.
If I'm able to get my horsemen across the river as well, we'll be able to crush the Lannisters. It would have to be at night, when his enemy was unprepared for an attack. Even if the journey took until daylight, however, his chances would be far better than trying to cross a dangerous river in battle.
"I can't wait to see the look on their faces when they realize we're across!" Greatjon rubbed his hands together.
"Will we truly be able to get everyone across without the Lannisters knowing?" Bolton remained cautious.
"Provided we use no torches and make our camp look like it's still occupied, yes," Robb went through the plans in his head. He stared at the map for a few more moments before making his final decision. "But. . . I don't intend to gamble everything on just one plan." He pointed to a location a few kilometers away. "We're going to hit the Lannisters in two directions. Our boats can get us across here, even if the number of men will be relatively small."
"What good does that do us if we cannot get enough men across on the boats?" Royce wondered.
"Because their job will be to assault the enemy from behind, catch them in a pincer movement." Robb considered who to send for the task. The Greatjon would want the job, but he wasn't a man for whom subtlety was a concept. "Lord Bolton, can I trust you to ensure they won't be seen?"
"Of course, Your Grace." A small smile spread across his lips.
"And make sure he can't use those weapons against us." Even if they got across the river, Robb feared they could exact a dreadful price upon his troops. Perhaps we can learn how they work and build them ourselves.
Whatever Joffrey's new weapons were, Robb's scouts had reported many could not be moved though the mud. Nor would they do him any good in the middle of the night. So long as they stay that way. He hoped to be upon Joffrey and Tywin before daybreak.
"Sounds like he's taking the bait," Matthew read over the latest reports on enemy movements. He'd anticipated enemy troops moving left was a diversion to keep him from learning his real plans. Must be more desperate than I thought if he's willing to take that risk. "Least we learned about the ford before he did." He glanced over at Stannis and Melisandre, who had not said a word since he summoned them.
"He's a fool for attempting it," Stannis responded. "But have you considered revealing that information could end badly for you?"
"Stark could keep this up for months, especially since he didn't destroy the villages behind the river," Matthew pointed out. "And as you said, the Tyrells might decide to end their food shipments if the tide turns against us. Giving him a false ford would have done no good." Matthew raised his arm, the sun setting in the sky. "He'll start moving at night, perhaps an hour after the sun's fallen."
"If he smells a trap, the surprise will be ruined and all of this will be for nothing."
"Fires from our camp are visible for more than a league. Exactly what I'm counting on." Matthew turned to Melisandre. "Do you see him moving?"
"The powers the Lord of Light has granted me are not summoned on command," Melisandre rebuked, but searched through them regardless. Matthew paced around the tent for several minutes waiting for a response. "I can only see blood staining the ground, nothing more."
"Yeah, real helpful." Matthew rolled his eyes. "Anything to say, since we're alone? This would be a lot easier if you chose to attend the war councils."
"I assist you alone, and only because I do not, as of yet, see Joffrey regaining control." Stannis ground his teeth. "A night attack is risky, but Stark will have no other way to cross the river. The Umbers are rash, though not without a certain intelligence. Bolton will probably remain behind to save his own skin if the attack fails. Stark will lead from the front, as is expected for a Northerner."
"Good." Precisely what Matthew was counting on, in fact. He preferred to command from the rear when possible, but in Westeros, that was the exception. "Will capturing or killing Robb end this war?"
"For the short-term, yes. Few are willing to fight on once their commander has been killed."
"And long-term?"
"The Starks are beloved by their subjects and have been for centuries. While a few Starks have been monsters, most have cherished their honor above all. Killing Robb will win you this battle, but the North remembers."
"I'll worry about that when the time comes. Right now, we need to make sure Stark doesn't suspect we're on to him. Your forces will be in charge of the right flank. I'm sure Melisandre can guide you." Stannis nodded, although not without an unpleasant glare.
"Be cautious, Your Grace." Melisandre brushed her hand against Matthew's cheek. "You still have a role to play."
"I don't plan on taking any unnecessary chances," Matthew promised. He hadn't entirely given up hope on getting home. Matthew marched out of his tent, keeping his pace casual so no observing eyes would pick up on the plan.
"Ah, I thought I'd be too late to greet you," Tyrion waddled over to Matthew.
"Any particular reason you're shadowing me?" Matthew did his best to keep the irritation out of his voice.
"My father ordered me to accompany you," Tyrion commented. "You know, if the two of you were conspiring to have me killed, there are easier ways to do it."
"I don't want you dead, Tyrion. Gagged, yes. Dead? No, I don't see a reason for that." At the moment. "Think of it this way. At least you'll have your big brother protecting you."
"He's spent most of his life doing that. Certainly he'll manage a single more night. Him at least I'm certain doesn't wish to see me dead."
"Not a good time for your quips, Tyrion. We've got a job to do." And Matthew knew he couldn't bring his cannons along. Half of them are still stuck in the mud. They gave him an edge, but he was low on gunpowder and in Westeros, couldn't use them as too much of a crutch. Superior tactics could still overcome them.
He ordered a few men to remain behind, to maintain the illusion of their presence. "And make sure to be visible. I want Stark to assume everyone else is sleeping."
"Of course, Your Grace." His soldiers agreed.
Once the stars were the only available light, Matthew assembled his soldiers behind the tents. "We do this slowly, make sure we don't spook Stark." He would have preferred to use his cannons, but with the mud, he didn't see a way to bring them in time.
Matthew winced at each step his men took. Even attempting to move quietly, he could hear every squish against the mud, every splash of a puddle. So long as they don't hear them. He looked back to see Tywin at the rear, wearing a scowl. He knew the man objected to his intentions, but if the risk paid off, it would end the entire war, at least for a while.
He could only see a few dozen feet in front of him, the Kingsguard presence obstructing his vision. Matthew possessed experience with night attacks. . . when he had night vision goggles, GPS, and proper intelligence, at least. If Robb didn't take the bait, or if they didn't arrive at the proper time, all of this would be for nothing.
He climbed onto his horse, now skilled enough to do it without his mount making a sound. Matthew patted the horse's armor and kept him at a walking pace. Adrenaline screamed at him to charge forward, however foolish it might have been.
Matthew rushed forward to pull down a banner carried in the dark. "I don't want anything visible," He whispered to the men foolish enough to draw attention to themselves. "This needs to go smooth as silk." Or we're fucked. But Matthew didn't intend to say those words out loud. He bit his lip to keep from saying anything.
Is Robb going to fall for this? Matthew's intelligence indicated he was, but he considered the possibility he was being played. However, sooner or later, Robb would have found the ford, and it would be better he didn't take him by surprise.
He trusted his bodyguards would be able to see any enemies he did not. Matthew knew better than to fight on the front lines, but no plan survived contact with the enemy. Each step, each splash, made him jump with the knowledge all of this could go wrong.
None of his men knew how much time had passed, nor did they know how close they were to Stark's forces. Matthew realized all it would take is a single wrong turn for them to miss their opportunity. Stark's forces were blind, but so were his. Curses echoed from those of his men who walked into trees. Matthew covered his mouth to keep his laughter concealed. Least I know we're getting close. He'd make sure to remember where the ford was in case of any misunderstandings.
A trumpet made Matthew jump nearly a foot, armor and all. He prepared his weapon, everyone's heads perking up. A second sound was interrupted moments afterward by a pair of crossbow bolts. Screams echoed through the trees in the distance. Matthew could not see, but felt certain the Northerners had spotted them.
Lannister forces charged into the trees with a cheer, despite being unable to see more than a few feet in front of them. Matthew heard the sound of sword clashes and pleading men, agonized shrieks throughout the landscape. He looked in all directions, unable to see where the enemy was coming from or where they were headed. Who was under attack? Had the ambush succeeded?
"Well, no plan survives first contact with the enemy," Matthew kept his tone light. Battle waged in total darkness. Not a single man carried a torch, using their swords, spears, and axes on whoever appeared to carry an enemy banner. Melisandre had wondered off Gods-knew-where, but he had no time to locate them.
"Your Grace, I recommend you stay where you are," Swann suggested. "They kill you, they've won the battle."
"Tempting as that is, I don't intend to let Stark have everything his own way," Matthew prayed he hadn't just made a crucial mistake. He galloped to the rear of where he assumed his lines were. Who was winning the battle? Matthew didn't have the slightest idea. Melisandre wore a small smile on her face.
He heard the sound of horsemen charging forward, a random lord shouting command to those under him. "What the hell is going on?" Matthew gripped one of his troops. "How did they find us?"
"I don't know, Your Grace," the soldier appeared convinced Matthew would execute him.
"Fuck!" How was he supposed to command a battle when he couldn't see a damned thing? He'd intended to ambush Stark close to sunrise, but it hadn't worked out that way. Matthew's heart felt ready to burst out of his chest. He kept himself prepared for an attack in all directions. Eyes darting around every few seconds, he never moved in the same direction for more than a few moments at a time.
Nor could he be certain the attackers would be Starks. Matthew could barely distinguish friend from foe. Neither could anyone on either side. What I wouldn't give for a pair of night-vision goggles. There was little he could do to affect the outcome either way.
His ears perked up at a snarl in the distance. A shadow leaped into the dark, knocking Matthew off his horse. He swung his hammer around, connecting with nothing but air, but the growl was unmistakable.
Grey Wind.
The Kingsguard moved to respond, but Grey Wind was quicker and pulled Matthew off his horse in a single leap. He swung his Warhammer toward the direwolf's skull. Grey Wind dodged it and tore it out of his hand. Matthew lowered his visor in hopes the armor would protect him. He groaned at the feeling of a 300-pound wolf on top of him.
Jaime and Barristan cautiously advanced to defend him, knowing the beast's speed. Grey Wind bypassed them and killed Meryn Trant's horse, trapping him underneath. Its paw removed his helm, allowing the direwolf to open Trant's throat. He screamed for mercy, but the beast had no pity.
Matthew stumbled to his feet as Grey Wind disappeared into the night. "He's here to kill me. He hasn't gone far." Matthew suspected Robb decided to make an assassination attempt of his own. The direwolf was the size of a small horse. Little wonder it had such a terrifying reputation.
Grey Wolf knocked him to the ground a second time, aiming for his helmet. Matthew fought with all his strength to keep it on, knowing he was doomed if the direwolf could anyone near his flesh. Barristan, Balon, and Jaime surrounded it, thrusting their swords at it, but the beast moved quicker than they. Even the couple attacks that did connect spilled only a small amount of blood.
Matthew inched toward his Warhammer, taking advantage of the distraction. Grey Wind turned around and gripped its teeth around his gorget. Matthew clawed at Grey Wind's house, aiming for his eyes. Barristan buried his sword into the creature's back, but still Grey Wind did not relent. Matthew felt himself dragged along the ground, knowing it was only a matter of time before his neck was broken.
Barristan and Balon stabbed the animal repeatedly, hoping to at least get it to retreat, but Grey Wind was on a mission. Matthew found himself unable to breathe from the bite force, the metal cracking. The direwolf would likely die from its wounds, but that would be of small comfort to him.
His heart felt ready to burst out of his chest. Matthew moved his hand, gripping a dagger he always kept on his person. Jaime screamed for bystanders to assist them as they pursued, but nobody could hear over the sounds of battle. Matthew plunged the dagger into Grey Wolf's eye, hot blood spilling onto his armor. The beast roared and collapsed onto the ground.
How the hell did I get through that? Matthew attempted to turn his neck, eyes watering from the pain. His part in the battle was over.
Robb swore to himself. He'd hoped to get all his men across the river before daybreak, only for his scouts to warn of a Lannister attack. How did they find us? Only a third of his men had gotten across before the enemy attacked, and he hadn't heard anything from Lord Bolton on his efforts.
The battle, now distant, grew closer to him every moment. Robb searched for Grey Wind, but he had disappeared over an hour before, with no explanation or reason.
My men need me out there, Robb wasn't accustomed to fighting in the rear, but on previous occasions, he could at least see his enemy. He couldn't see, but had a sinking feeling they were losing. Every instinct in his body wanted to fight, to slaughter all those who dared to join the Lannisters, but he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him.
Those on both sides who attempted to use torches inevitably ended up dead. Robb uncharacteristically froze, uncertain of what to do next. No one could hear his voice and Grey Wind was no longer around to guide him.
"What shall we do, Your Grace?" Smalljon inquired, the largest of his bodyguards, although still slightly smaller than the Greatjon, his father.
"We coordinate with our men, and push the Lannisters back," Robb ordered. "Joffrey can't use his new weapons in the dark and when we're across the river. . ." The sounds of the dying drowned out his next words. Robb had known fear from the time he first took up his banners, but never paralysis.
They're counting on me; I can't let them down. In the dark, he knew nothing of the battle's progression.
"Your Grace, we should retreat back across the bank!" Dacey Mormont suggested. "The attack has failed and every moment you delay, more northerners die."
Robb wanted to scream in denial. He was so close to avenging his sister's death, and he would never have a better chance to shove his sword though Joffrey's throat. They would block the ford, keep them from launching another attack, and all bridges had been destroyed.
"Attack!" he heard a scream behind him. Robb's guards circled him, ready for action. He prepared to cut down any who got through. A whirlwind of swords, maces, and hammers resulted. Robb trusted his men to guard his back, thrusting his sword toward any vulnerable part of the body.
Protecting their King, few of his guards had any room to maneuver. So close together, their offensive capabilities were limited. Robb stabbed two people through the face, bypassing their chain mail. The Smalljon pushed Robb behind him, insistent on him not facing any danger.
Only a few sword strikes got anywhere near Robb, and only twice was he forced to deflect them. He moved into a defensive crouch, not wanting to hit his own bodyguards by mistake. Enemy faces reflected in the moonlight, breathing hard, wanting nothing more than to survive.
Two of Robb's bodyguards fell from wounds, the others filling the gaps. Robb took advantage of the opening to behead a man who was in possession of nothing more than a breastplate. "For King Robb!" One of his attackers called out.
"I'm Robb!" Robb exclaimed, his heart sinking. Gradually, people lowered their swords and took a strong look at their opposite numbers. He could just make out the Northern house sigils. Both sides stared in shock. Five were already dead, and a few more wouldn't survive their wounds. Robb worked to drown out the noises of his troops below him.
They still watched each other with suspicion, rage and horror visible on their facial expressions. "What do we do now, My Lord?" One of Robb's former opponents questioned.
"Your Grace, we should retreat across the river," Dacey Mormont advised, blood spatter on the mace she wielded. "We cannot fight under these circumstances." The battle lines closed in by the moment.
Robb loathed the idea of retreat, doubly so because he knew he wouldn't get another chance to hit the Lannisters. But we can't fight in the darkness like this. We're likely to end up killing each other. "Get everyone you can back across the ford," Robb gave a reluctant order to his subordinates. Those too close to the fighting would have to be abandoned. He gave a silent prayer to the Old Gods for forgiveness.
"How do you propose to get everyone across?" Smalljon countered. "My Lord, you need to retreat and retreat now. They know their duty, and we know ours."
"We can't save many, but those whom we can assist, we will," Robb didn't intend to throw his men away as Tywin would. With a final regretful glance, what remained of his bodyguards escorted him back. Lannisters, Starks. . . few could make the distinction in the darkness.
What am I going to do now? Robb could harass the Lannisters for years, but winter was coming with little time to prepare. He wouldn't be able to pull off such a daring move a second time. I'm sorry, Sansa. They creeped through the trees, hoping the ford could be found. The fighting deeper in the woods began to die down, though Robb considered it an ominous sign.
"Do we know where we're going?" One of his bodyguards asked.
"Of course I know where we are," Robb responded. I hope. If the Lannisters didn't kill him, his own forces would by mistake. "We'll have to rely on Lord Bolton to cover us." He should be burning their camps by now. Where is he?
Robb froze at the sounds of horses. Few Northern and Vale cavalry had yet crossed the river, so he knew they could only be Lannisters. Those who marched beside him stopped moving in hopes their enemy could not detect them. We're not far. Just a couple hundred meters away from the river.
Lannister horsemen charged directly toward them, Robb's eyes wide at the realization they'd been spotted. Nowhere to run, or hide; that only left fighting. "Come on, you Lannister pricks! We're worth ten of you!" Smalljon declared, apparently having decided stealth was no longer necessary.
The horsemen surrounded them, picking off Robb's bodyguards one by one. Lances penetrated their chain mail, bodies falling onto the grass. Robb cleaved off the leg of one horse, sending the animal to the ground and crushing its rider, but there was no time to finish him off.
A couple bodyguards broke under the barrage and tried to flee. Neither got more than ten yards before being trampled by Lannister horses. Robb cut a horse's throat, rendering the man unable to fight. He refused to stay still for more than a few moments. If he was to die that night, Robb intended to take as many Lannisters as he could with him.
Only a few of his bodyguards were still unscathed. Robb grunted from the force of a lance hitting his chest, though it thankfully did not penetrate. He nevertheless collapsed to his hands and knees, still determined to fight to the end.
"It's over, Stark." Robb looked up to see Tywin Lannister's sword placed against his throat.
Based a large part of this battle off of one of Alexander the Great's campaign. Battle of the Hydaspes, although with a different outcome.