—At Riverrun—
The army converging onto Riverrun had encamped themselves on a hillside several yards away, blasting the lowlands with heavy artillery fire and decimating the rebels' frontline squads one by one. With the arrival of high-powered cannon-like mortars, Ser Loreon gave the signal to his men to thin the number of Tully soldiers and army defectors before moving more of his troops further inward. On the other side, House Tully retained a variety of assorted artillery pieces and cannons to slow the Lannister army down, but even that only served to stall for time. Loreon's army was several times larger in size and the Golden Lion himself was a talented commander—giving his forces a significant advantage.
*BANG!*
*BOOM!*
"Such a pitiful sight," Loreon said feeling bored. Why do they even bother? "The rebels are no match for us. If they only had the sense of bend the knee, they would not be suffering this much. Come men, time to fish for some trout."
"Aye, aye, ser!"
"Major," one of his captains chimed, "are you certain you wish to leave the main camp?"
"I haven't had a proper time to wet my blade in quite some time. I had hoped for a more decent challenge at Harrenhal, but none could even last longer than 30 seconds against me. Besides, the rebels are small and insignificant. I need not worry. This battle will be over before it has a chance to escalate. Our scouts report that Ser Rodrick Stark is somewhere among the enemy ranks. I heard his men call him 'the Swift Wolf'. If true, then I might have a worthy opponent for once." He clicked his heel, directing his horse to move. "Captain, I leave the main camp to you. Hyah!"
"*Neigh!*"
*BANG!*
*BOOM!*
*SSSSHBLAMM!*
Galloping with his vanguard, Loreon rode down the slopes—sword drawn and three-barreled flintlock at the ready. His troops were already taking several shots at rebel forces in their path; others simply got close enough to put their swords to good use before any had the chance to unsheathe theirs.
"Ha! Come on! Is this the best you can do?" he hollered as he slays more of his foes, his troops entering the fray.
A sense of change fills the rebels as upon seeing the Golden Lion, many turned to flee—only to be shot in the back. High in the sky, the weather begins to turn. The sun is suddenly hidden behind darkened storm clouds as the rain finally begins to fall. Galloping through the wettened terrain, both sides realized their gunpowder was rendered useless, forcing them to engage in close quarters. Swords clashed; shouts hurled… the fields of Riverrun was a scene of utter carnage.
"Gah!" shouted a militia.
Loreon swung his sword, swiftly cutting the man down. "Begone from my sight, peasant!" he exclaimed. Another rebel tried swinging at him, but he too met his end. "My father's ambitions shall never die! Hah! All of you worthless, insolent scum… shall be destroyed!" he slew another, living up to his reputation as a skilled swordsman.
Another officer rushed towards him; the ranking insignia patched onto his left shoulder indicated he was once a member of the Royal Army, so he had to have at least some experience. But alas, the youth only lasted twelve seconds before being disarmed and knocked to the ground. He looked up at Ser Loreon, still gripping his sword, and pointed his three-barreled flintlock at his face; there was still one shot remaining.
"P-please… mercy…!"
"'Mercy'? I am sorry, but I am afraid I am all out of mercy… considering you chose to prefer treason over absolute loyalty. Your services are no longer required." Before he could squeeze the trigger, a faint howling can be heard in the distance.
"*Aroooo!*"
Ser Loreon's ears perked up at the sound which causes him to stop, allowing the rebel to swiftly withdraw to a safe distance. Wolves… He quickly re-mounted his horse as more of his vanguard converged onto his location before the Lannister soldiers reported screaming, steel clashing and horses neighing in terror. The sound of torrential downpour and thunderbolts were adding to the chaos surrounding Riverrun as well as its surrounding areas throughout the Riverlands.
"My lord!" a Corporal reported. "Report from the main camp: our left and right flanks are under siege! They're sabotaging our mortars!"
"Then that means our siege weapons are practically useless."
"But who—"
"It's Rodrick Stark," Loreon stated plainly. "Get the men into position. We're going to be in for a wild fight."
"…"
"NOW!"
"Y-yes, my lord!" the soldier panicked.
Using the severity of the storm to launch an ambush, render our siege weapons momentarily useless, and encase us in a double envelopment to prevent us from maneuvering… Very clever of you, Stark. But it still will not be enough to beat me. I still have the greater numbers. Loreon had estimated they were more than several hundred yards along the countryside closing in. In due time, the main camp would launch an immediate response; despite most of the Lannister forces being placed on the frontlines, the main camp would still be heavily defended.
"*Aroooo!*"
*BANG!*
"*Neigh!*"
*BOOM!*
More of his men were yelling and horses neighed with fright as more wolves snarled and leaped upwards to take them down along with their riders. Those fortunate enough to keep their gunpowder dry were able to get off a single shot before the wolves tore at their throats; others, however, were able to keep them at bay with their swords long enough to pull out their daggers to finish the distracted beasts off. Loreon spots one wolf sprinting towards him, mouth agape, but one of his troops bats it aside. A second one rushes from the hills, leaping onto the back of the rear vanguard's neck; Loreon slashes at wolves staring at him before a crossbow bolt soars through the air and slams into his shoulder, piercing his armor. The sudden impact causes him to exclaim with surprise but maintains a firm grip on the reins of his horse as it rears its front legs up.
Loreon snaps off the end of the bolt then turned his head and chuckled darkly because standing directly in front of him tossing aside a crossbow mounted on his stallion was Ser Rodrick Stark, heir to Winterfell and commander of the Winter Wolves. If he was here, then the Lannister commander concluded that his cousin Captain Tyler has failed to seize Wayfarer's Rest and was either forced to retreat past the Golden Tooth or was slain on the battlefield. The way Rodrick was staring at him through the rain, there was a distinct gleam in his eyes, like that of a direwolf stalking its prey: the lion. The suspense of it all brought forth a tingling sensation in the lion's spine.
"Ah, now… Now it's getting interesting," Loreon smirked and pointed his blade. At last, I have you within my claws. "Rodrick Stark, I challenge you! Face me now!"
Rodrick seemed unfazed and unsheathed his blade. "Your cruelty ends here and now, Loreon! Winter has come for House Lannister!" he responded.
Both men reared their horses and charged at each other. As their mounts kicked up grass, dirt, and mud, Loreon and Rodrick whipped out their flintlocks and pointed them at each other. In near-perfect unison, both shots were fired—however, the lead balls projecting out of the barrels shot their respective counterparts' long-range weapons out of their hands. Rodrick maintained a firm focus; Loreon, however, was amazed that someone could keep up with him.
Not bad, but let's see how well you fare up close.
Wielding their blades high in the air, Loreon and Rodrick closed the gap and brought their weapons down to clash. Steel grazed against the surface, but the force of the momentum had inadvertently dislodged Rodrick from his horse. As he rolled in the mud, the Swift Wolf quickly got to his feet—discarding his wolf cloak from his shoulders and readied himself. Loreon turned his horse around and charged to make another pass still beaming with confidence.
However, what Rodrick planned had caught the lion unprepared. Lowering his head to avoid decapitation, the Swift Wolf quickly swung his sword sideways with enough force to cut off two of Loreon's horse's front legs from under him. The animal whinnies in pain and falls forward, flinging him off its back and into the mud with a grunt. As he staggers to his feet, Rodrick got close. Loreon narrows his eyes, grips his longsword, and assumes the knight's dance fighting style, ready to attack or defend. After a moment of locked gazes, Rodrick Stark and Loreon Lannister charge at each other on foot. Despite his prowess as a warrior, the lion and wolf found themselves to be equally matched. The soldiers around them were either busy fighting the rebels, defending the main camp, or fending off Razor's pack of wolves going for the horses as more Stark forces arrived to provide military support to the Tullys.
HAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo came the answer from the far ridge as Harmond Umber winded his own horn. To east and west, the trumpets of the Blackwoods, Whents, Brackens, and Freys blew liberation. North, from behind Riverrun, Lord Brynden Mallister's 2nd Eagle Infantry Division added their warhorns. Men were shouting, wolves snarled and growled, snapping their long teeth to tear off flesh from man and horse alike. The horses were rearing along the grassy, muddy plains. With the arrival of 20,000 northern troops, the Stark forces bolstered the morale—causing the numerical gap between the royalists and rebels to close to rivaling each other respectively. All around each other, the mounted knights raised their lances and musket rifles, and the dirt and leaves that had buried the cruel bright points fell away to reveal the gleam of sharpened steel.
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
The crack of a broken lance, the clash of swords, the cries of "Lannister" and "Winterfell" and "Tully! Riverrun and Tully!", the terrified screaming of a thousand horses. Men shouted curses and begged for mercy, and got it (or not), and lived (or died). Men closed on each other from both sides cutting one down in the rain; a steel-shood hoof caught a dislodged officer in the face with a sickening crunch. The true Battle of Riverrun had come alive around Loreon and Rodrick as they remained deadlock in a one-on-one fight; both Stark and Lannister commanders were holding their own against each other with one combatant trying to establish a foothold over the other.
"Ngh! Not bad for a lone wolf, Stark," Loreon strained against the steel. "Mmm! A pity you have to die sword in hand."
Rodrick huffed, his voice straining as well. "You've never fought a Northmen before," he groaned. Both shoved each other away as they circled one another and clashed, again and again. "But you're forgetting one thing…"
"What?"
He noticed another rider approaching. "Wolves… hunt in packs!" he shouted.
"BROTHER!"
Loreon heard the sound coming from behind him in time to see Brandon Stark leaping off his horse with his sword raised in the air before bringing it down; the Lannister commander reacted quickly by bringing his blade up to defend himself, though the surprise attack and force of the impact nearly caused him to fall to one knee. This was the opening Roderick was waiting for and rushed in for another offensive. Both Stark brothers teamed up against the lion of Casterly Rock with such ferocity. Loreon found himself on the defensive as each of his adversaries traded turns ringing the steel on steel. Briefly taken aback and found himself scrambling backward, Loreon decided enough was enough. He did not find any of this amusing anymore, and he was growing angry, unwilling to tolerate such insolence. Upon trading the next blow, Loreon's eyes never left his target and moved quicker; swatting Brandon aside before rushing Rodrick, forcing the Swift Wolf to back off.
Hear me roar, he recited his house's motto. "ENOUGH! All right. That's it. I'm done playing around with you. No animal in Westeros can rival a lion. House Lannister has no rival. None! So come at me, Starks… if you can."
Brandon noted the change in Loreon's posture. "He's getting serious. We might need to pick up the pace from here on out," he observed.
"I know," Roderick agreed. "We'll take him together. You go in slowly on the left, I'll cover the right."
"Understood, brother."
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
The brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when all three swordsmen resumed their stance. Splitting off in two different directions, Rodrick and Brandon moved to engage Loreon—who was more prepared. Swinging their swords, theirs collided with Loreon who held up his with one arm as he pressed firmly against the flat end with his palm before swirling around to deflect as if there were nothing and no one else in the world. Steel rang as the lion's blade flashed upwards. Rodrick took half a step back to avoid being struck in the head; Brandon stepped left again before driving forward off his back foot, but his sword parried and was caught by Loreon's before the Lannister commander caught him across the edge of his ribs, leaving a bright gash when it bit into his leather lamellar. Loreon slammed Brandon aside and danced away.
Staggered, Brandon grunted yet stood his ground. Roderick brought his sword down with both hands but was met with Loreon's counter-riposte. The swords flew at each other and their steel songs filled the battlefield. Every parry was deflected, and the two wolves noted the lion's strength and ferocity. Throwing the younger Stark aside, Loreon was abruptly crashed into by Rodrick's shoulder charge and nearly threw him off his feet… but Loreon recovered, redirecting his attention towards the Swift Wolf before pressing the attack. No sooner did he turn one cut than the next was upon him. The swords kissed and sprang apart and kissed again. Loreon's blood was singing. This was what he was meant for; he never felt so alive as when he was fighting, with death balanced on every stroke.
"Not so very confident now, are you?" the Lannister taunted.
Rodrick was forced to use a two-handed grip on his weapon to defend himself from Loreon's assault. High, low, overhand, they each rained down steel. Left, right, backslash, swinging so hard that sparks flew when the swords came together, upswing, side slash, overhand, always attacking, moving into her, step and slide, strike and step, step and strike, hacking, slashing, faster, faster, faster… until, breathless, he stepped back and let the point of the sword fall to the ground.
"There seemed to be… more to you than… meets the eye," Rodrick took a slow deep breath, his eyes watching him warily.
Loreon whirled the blade back up above his head. "As if you could even come close to comprehending my capabilities," he said.
The Swift Wolf could not have said how long he pressed the attack. It might have been minutes, or it might have been hours; Loreon drove him further away from Brandon, drove him across the field, drove him into the mud. Rodrick slipped on the wet, muddy terrain, and for a moment he thought he was done for, but he went to one knee instead of falling. Brandon recovered and swung his sword up to block a down-cut from Loreon that would have opened his elder brother from shoulder to groin, and then he cut at him, again and again, both fighting their way back stroke-by-stroke.
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
Grunting, Loreon came at them both with renewed vigor, blade whirling, and suddenly both Rodrick and Brandon were struggling to keep the lion's blade from their skins. One of Loreon's slashes raked across Brandon's arm and swirled to slash Rodrick's torso, drawing blood around their injuries. Both Starks felt their arms were going numb from the jarring they endured, and their longswords felt heavier with every blow after a swing.
"He's… so strong!" Brandon ached; the realization chilled him.
"Even with the two of you teamed up, you're still no match for me," the Lannister commander gloated. Utilizing his speed and skill, Loreon was able to hold them off and eventually wear them down. "I will admit, though, I was rather surprised by your strategy. I commend you for your efforts, but in the end, it didn't make a difference."
"Curse you, Loreon…!" Rodrick groaned.
"The Starks are an old, ancient family from a bygone age. For the new era to begin, the old must be swept away. Your treason at parliament was the final push Argilac and my father needed to eliminate the past so we can rebuild the world in our image. A good death is all you can hope for." Loreon pointed his sword at the Swift Wolf's face. "Last I checked, I hear you have a wife in Winterfell and a child on the way, right Rodrick? Perhaps I'll pay them a visit once we've conquered Riverrun."
"…"
Brandon struggled to stand but buckled down to one knee, with one hand on the pommel as support. "Don't you even go there, Lannister," he warned. "Is that how you all function now after 800 years? Your square jaw, your golden armor… Major Loreon Lannister, son of General Gerion and descendant of Lord Tyrion Lannister… the Imp… Do you even understand the damage you have done? How much you've dishonored your house? How do you lions live with yourself?"
"I'll remind you that our houses are at war. Sorry if this conflict has confused you but rebelling against the crown does have its consequences. Your big brother here knew that when he and the other traitors at parliament tried to instigate a coup. You can protest all you want. You can complain. It doesn't matter." He raised his sword in the air. "Because none of you matter. And if must slaughter every Stark, every Tully, Arryn, Greyjoy or whoever to realize my father's vision for the ideal world, then that's what I'll do. A world… I'm afraid you'll have to be erased from."
Before the Lannister of Casterly Rock and commander of the Lion's Pride 48th Elite Corps could bring down his sword, a singular shot rang across the battlefield—hitting the sword and forcing Loreon to backpaddle as more neared his feet.
*BANG!*
*BOOM!*
Rodrick and Brandon looked behind them to see the timely arrival of the Wild Trout's 24th Maritime Infantry Corps; all its members arrived bearing the sigil of House Tully, a silver trout leaping on a red and blue field. And leading at the forefront stood the General himself.
"Well, well… General Willem Tully, what a pleasant surprise," Loreon chuckled with amusement.
Willem huffed. "You've run rampant in my homeland for far too long, boy. But that stops now," he turned to the Starks. "You two let this pompous bastard beat you? Come on! Stand up!"
Utilizing the strength in their bodies, Rodrick and Brandon slowly rose to their feet ready to begin round two. "We're not… out of the fight yet, Lannister," the Swift Wolf declared. "In winter, we must protect ourselves. Look after one another. And you're going to wish you never made those threats."
"Oh?"
Willem dismounted. "Men! Assist your compatriots in defending our homes! The rest of you help the northern forces! Keep the lions away from Riverrun!" he ordered.
"Aoooorah! Yes, ser!" they replied.
"And you…" he stood between the Stark brothers, "I think it's time I show you what a real fight looks like. You two, let's show him what we're made of when it's three-on-one."
Chapter End
Author's Note: The epic battle for control of Riverrun and the Riverland intensifies with the arrival of the Winter Wolves under Rodrick and Brandon Stark of Winterfell against the armies of Loreon Lannister; but even in the rain, even in close-quarters combat, the wolves were repelled by the lion's ferocity. From this we've caught a glimpse of how capable Loreon is when he gets serious. Luckily, Rodrick and Brandon were saved by the timely arrival of Willem Tully and his troops. How will the Battle for Riverrun conclude? Let me know.