Now we get to see what actually happens on the battlefield. Takes place simultaneously with the events of the previous chapter.


JON XVI

Boulders and arrows crashed all around them. A big rock smashed against the wooden walls, shattering a huge section. That was a very lucky shot. Catapults and trebuchets were not very accurate weapons.

"Mother, go back to the castle!"

Jon shot a quick glance to his brother and Lady Stark, but he quickly ran to his position. Robb had been very clear. He was to lead the infantry on this side of the castle. Jon joined the men he was to command, standing behind the closed doors of the battlements. Most of them were Northerners from the hill tribes, Norreys, Wulls, Burleys, Flints. Jon knew they wouldn't back down if ordered to charge, even among a maze of traps.

He found them eager for battle. Jon ordered them to protect themselves the best they could from projectiles that fell all around them. They did their best, but some, too sure of themselves, didn't raise their wooden shields over their head. One got an arrow straight through the eye. That enraged them. Jon did his best to calm them, but among the rocks and bolts that fell all around, it was hard to keep them steady. Roars, shouts and insults rained, even though Jon knew Stannis and his Stormlanders could not hear them.

"Jon!" His brother arrived on a horse, reigning right in front of him. "Stannis is trying to dismantle our traps. I'm sending you to the fight." He looked straight at his half-brother. "Don't die out there."

Jon nodded. His brother was still angry with him for giving hints to Mira about Martyn and Willem Lannister, but he also still trusted him. As Robb rode away, he turned to the Northerners. "Time to fight has come!" The moment he shouted it, roars erupted, covering the rest of his words. "Stay close to the path. Don't walk into our own traps."

Jon adjusted his helmet on his head and readied himself. When the doors finally opened after an endless waiting, he roared in unison with the hill tribes and charged forward.

They followed a straight line. Jon knew there was no trap on this path. Some of the men he commanded rushed past him, brandishing axes, swords, clubs and shields. A few enemy soldiers, isolated, were cut to pieces when the tribe men reached the outskirts of the trap field. Then they met the bulk of the enemy forces.

Jon found himself fighting against sigils he previously fought alongside. He and the tribes men pushed back their former allies of the Riverlands. When Jon brought his sword on one of them, he parried, but he didn't move when Jon hit him again, ending his part in the battle, a gaze of astonishment or surprise on his face. The next met a similar fate.

Northerners definitely had the upper hand. The rivermen were too few, and some of them were scattered at the front of their line. Their attack had split their ranks, as if a fist had broken the bones of their body.

A powerful burst of hot wind and a thundering sound exploded behind him. Jon turned just in time to see a part of their palisade being devoured by green flames. Then these flames erupted at other points behind their walls. Jon turned back his attention to the battle. An enemy stood in front of him. He cut him to pieces immediately.

"Fight, men! Fight!"

He tossed away from his mind what was happening behind their lines, focusing on the threat he had to deal with. He shouted to his men to keep fighting. As leader of this battalion, that was his duty. This would be Robb's duty to deal with the other problems behind.

He heard his words being repeated by nearby allies and farther, perhaps even from men on the other side. Despite this, the Northerners kept the advantage and continued to push back their enemy.

In the sky, projectiles flew everywhere. Jon barely had time to reflect they must contain wildfire, for he was too busy hacking to pieces one more enemy. And then the tide turned.

It was the Northerners' turn to give ground. "Hold, men! HOLD!" He almost burst his lungs, shouting to the warriors, encouraging them to keep fighting, to not give away any more ground. But their enemies pressed against them. No matter how Jon attacked, parried, pushed, they kept coming back. After dealing with a hundredth man of the Riverlands, his sword met one that was held by a man with a burning heart on his breastplate.

Jon was caught off guard, but that didn't stop him from fighting with the energy he had. The soldier in front of him delivered powerful blows. He was taller, stronger, and probably less exhausted than Jon. Ser Rodrik had taught them that when facing an enemy who was in a better position, speed was very important, either to reposition ourselves in a more favorable position, to counterattack or just to retreat. He used to say that when no other choice was left, abandoning the fight to come back and keep fighting later was a very honorable choice.

Retreat, however, was no option for Jon. He just ducked, avoided the man's attacks, then struck right in the good place, between the legs, causing his opponent to release heart shattering cry.

"Snow!" Brandon Norrey appeared on his left, cutting into two a nearby soldier, who also displayed a fiery heart on his arms. Stannis had sent reinforcements when he saw the rivermen fail. "We cannot fight here."

Jon understood what it meant. "FALL BACK! FALL BACK!"

The word spread through their ranks. Slowly, surely, the hill tribes of the North moved away from battle. Some of them kept fighting the enemy, and they were killed, but they bought time for the others. Jon still couldn't believe how they were willing to die for their countrymen. Jon was not afraid to die in battle, but to actually charge the enemy, stay to fight people you knew would eventually kill you, that was something entirely different. For these people who lived in the north of the North, however, this looked like natural. Like Norrey explained to him long before, half of them would probably be dead by the end of winter. Dying today or in two years made no difference in their eyes. They were used to sacrifice themselves, especially the oldest, so that the others could survive. Jon didn't have time to check if those who sacrificed themselves in this very moment were older, but that wouldn't surprise him.

Jon followed the men he led. Or rather, in this case, he followed them. For without them, he would certainly have died. The moment they crossed the line, everything changed.

All of a sudden, the shouts from the opposing side turned into cries of pain and despair. One man fell into a pit. Another was impaled by a spike fixed in the mud. Another caught his foot into two jaws of steel that closed on it. The traps Robb had set, the traps Jon was managing to avoid even as he walked among them, thanks to the help of the Norreys and the others, killed Stannis' men, slowed them down, gave them time to regroup. Only the falling of some projectiles and two fires that burst not far away from them caused minimum trouble.

Jon ignored how the hill tribes did that. They were used to the most hostile of all environments, used to walk among the traps they set themselves, but how they could make sure to not fall into one, Jon didn't know. They kept retreating, very slowly. Stannis' men, entangled in the traps, could barely follow them. They couldn't escape the traps or avoid them, pushed by their comrades behind them. Those who managed to get through and who reached the Northerners they were easily dealt with.

In perfect contrast with their earlier demeanor, the men regrouped and calmly went back to the tracks free of traps. And then they charged.

Jon's sword cut through the bones of another man as he and the other soldiers pierced the enemy ranks, increasing the already existing disorder in their lines. The enemies he met on his way were easily defeated and soon Jon knew they had left the field of holes. They kept pushing their opponents, again and again. Silent as hunters one moment ago, the hill tribes of the North were roaring like mad men again.

An enemy without helmet came to his encounter. Jon avoided his strike, brought his sword to his leg, then cut through his head as he fell on his knees. Then another fiery heart came at him, but a huge knight in full armor brought him down before. He had a bear sigil on his breast.

Jon didn't have time to wonder why a Mormont had joined them in battle. He thought he heard additional roars behind him, suggesting Robb sent reinforcements. He decided to give place for other men to fight in first line and tried to assess the situation. Indeed, more armored soldiers, almost all from the North, a few from the Riverlands, including some with the trout of House Tully, had joined the fray. He looked at the other side. Stannis' banners were still in place, and he thought he saw many men behind his first line. He wouldn't give up.

Jon caught the first man he could put his hands on. The soldier wore a sigil from the Riverlands, one of the houses still loyal to his brother's uncle.

"Tell my brother we won't be able to hold much longer. Either he keeps sending us reinforcements and we lose more men, or we draw back."

The infantryman ran right away in direction of the walls. When Jon looked at where he was heading, he realized that several fires now plagued their camp. The smoke and the flames could be seen rising over the wooden walls, and damages were visible on Riverrun as well. All the while, Stannis' siege engines kept bombarding them. He realized they had no retreat. He cursed himself for sending a messenger to Robb asking him to call that day off.

It was hard to tell from his position how many of Stannis' men they fought and how many stayed behind with the bulk of his forces. And then his eyes caught something on the right. Far away, the banner of House Tully stood high in the wind, with those of House Stark, House Bolton, House Manderly and many more. It was hard to judge from that distance, with the melee ahead of him clouding his vision, but Jon thought the banners were a little higher than usual. These were horsemen.

A surge of hope gained Jon. Joining back the battle, he went from one man to another, informing them of the upcoming help, lifting spirits everywhere. He and his troops fought with increased determination. Despite this, Jon felt more and more that they had reached a stalemate. Northerners didn't give ground, but they didn't gain any either. They killed their enemies, but the enemies killed many of them too. After taking a pause to see where things stood, Jon felt fatigue settle in. Instead of blocking strikes, he deviated them, or avoided them. His own attacks were less powerful. Using again the teaching of Ser Rodrik, he targeted vulnerable regions of his opponents. Legs, necks, even feet became its prior objectives.

Then, as he repelled another swordsman, his gaze met a man mounting a horse. One of their own. Robb's cavalry had made its way to them. He thought he saw doubts in the minds of the enemies in front of him as a few horsemen, including knights from White Harbor, began to hack them from behind. Jon took more energy from his reserve and pushed forward, not wanting to lose such an advantage. Cavalries were mostly useful against infantry during the beginning of an engagement, with the effect of surprise and the power of the initial charge. Once it was gone, a man on a horse could easily become lost and surrounded in a sea of footmen armed with lances, spikes and swords. They had to help their cavalry as much as it must help them.

The hill tribes only retained some advantage for a short time. Soon, new horsemen joined the fray, and this time Jon could see most of them were knights. Many bore sigils from the Vale of Arryn.

Looking at the people who betrayed them, who promised their help then joined Stannis to end them, hatred took hold of Jon. With a loud cry of anger, he pierced the underbelly of a horse with his sword while his occupant looked away. The beast cried in pain and fell on the ground. Then Jon ended the life of the knight mounting it, now laying on the field, by plunging his sword through his head. He ignored his exhaustion, ignored that they were outnumbered and likely to die. He just killed, and he killed again, and again, and again…

Until someone got him.

After slashing across the face one more infantryman with the arms of House Velaryon, a knight with a blue sigil appeared right in front of him and smashed him with his morningstar. The hit took him in the chest, right in his armor.

His breathing was cut short, his feet left the earth under them and he did a fly that looked like it took forever before his face met the ground first. He collided with the mud, taking it in his mouth, then spit it. His head was causing him great pain, and so were all the other parts of his body. He raised his head to see his sword laying a few inches away. But it wasn't all that he saw.

All around, men kept fighting. Many fell, on every side. Death was everywhere. His head was turning. Not far away, he caught the sight of a black banner. He had trouble focusing on it, but he finally saw the white tree, and a thin black line in the trunk. House Forrester.

He remembered Mira was furious when she learned what happened to Martyn and Willem. Jon was too. That was why he told her something terrible had happened. Perhaps, secretly, he wished for her to find out. He remembered a conversation they had a long time ago.

History tells us the date of battles, the lords and the kings who took part to it, who won and who lost, but never tells us what truly happens during wars. The events that truly happened during wars were taking place right in front of Jon, for his eyes to see. People die on the battlefield. There were so many bodies all around. And for every man who is killed, many more are injured. Among the bodies on the ground, many men still lived. Some lose legs and arms. It was as if she was talking to him in this very moment. Some are so severely injured and suffer so much that their comrades kill them to shorten their pain. The things she described back then… this was reality. THIS is war. Do you think it's justice?

Even as he heard the words, he struggled to get back on his feet. The battle was raging. He thought of all the other men around him, all those who needed him. And he thought about Rodrik, who died because of him, who he failed to save. And he thought of Mira, of the time he spent with her at Casterly Rock, when they prayed in the Stone Garden, when they danced together. It gave him force to stand up. And just as he got back on his feet and he looked far away, red filled his view.


Please review

Next chapter tomorrow.

Please review

Next chapter tomorrow.

Edit : Because I want to release the two final chapters of this battle together, and because I just decided I wanted to make you grind your teeth by making you wait longer (:D), there will be one more day before the next update. However, this next update will include two chapters at the same time.