Chapter 6 The Downfall

Winterfell was hastily preparing for war.

Lady Catelyn rode along the Kingsroad, snow melting in her hair, inspecting the defenses with two guards and Ser Rodrik Cassel. Soldiers were shouting and cursing, planting wooden stakes in the ground, placing caltrops and tripwires, digging trenches. The enemy was coming.

The Tyrell Host under command of Lord Randyll Tarly had begun pushing towards Winterfell at a horrifying speed, smashing through the hastily assembled defense lines of Lord Cerwyn and destroying Lord Barrowton's host, destroying over half of her son's infantry. Her son had plunged into a tearful rage that day, and confined himself to his chambers for most of that day. A scout from the South had also reported that another Lannister host under command of that thrice-damned dwarf would be joining the Kingslayer in a second attack from the east.

I should have hanged that evil grotesque when I had the chance, thought Catelyn bitterly. She wanted to cry, for Ned, for her son, for Arya, for the Riverlands, most of all for herself. But she could not. Self-pity was a luxury she did not deserve.

They passed line after line of defense. She noticed a lonely line of wooden stakes, behind them a hastily dug trench with about ten soldiers defending them. She saw that two of them were children. They reminded her horribly of Bran. They were about the same age, seven or eight, although they looked nothing like her sweet Brandon they did remind her of him. She rode over.

'Who is in charge of the defense line?' She asked.

A portly knight came and saluted her. 'I, my lady. Ser Henry Woodhull.'

'Why are there children in this defense line?' Catelyn pointed at the two.

'They are soldiers, My Lady. King Robb has commanded every man above seven years old must fight. Lync here,' Ser Henry pointed at one of the children, 'had fought with the Tyrells with Lord Barrowton and slew two Tarly knights. He has been awarded a sword for his courage.'

The older the war, the younger the soldiers, thought Catelyn, and this war has been raging on for well over a year. 'You lack equipment. What do you mean to defend this trench with?'

'We have spears and scythes,' the other child said proudly, 'we are using planks as shields.'

'Do you think a plank shield will stop the Tyrell chivalry? They are coming for Winterfell and they will bring heavy horse and lances. You will need armour, shields and a proper defense to stop them. When Lord Tarly comes storming up with his men you will not withstand the first charge.'

'We are soldiers. We have sworn an oath to the Young Wolf.'

'Are words more valuable than young lives? Ser Henry, I command you to disband this defense group at once. Ser Rodrik, you will see to it that more proper defenders are acquired.'

'Aye, My Lady.' Ser Rodrik Cassel nodded. When they strode away from the trench, Ser Rodrik rode up beside her. 'My Lady,' he whispered, 'that was ill done.'

'I could not help,' she replied, 'the children reminded me too much of Bran.'

Rodrick nodded. Catelyn knew his own daughter, Beth Cassel was also fighting, as a healer, along with several other girls under the command of a Volantene woman, Maegyr.

Under the portcullis of Winterfell Rodrik barked a brusque command and the portcullis raised. Before the gates were many Northmen, old and young, all lowborn villagers, trying to seek refuge from the battle behind Winterfell's high walls. Robb had tried to let them in, but they were too many and Winterfell was not a large castle, so Robb had to command for them to be kept out of the city. Several of them tried to force their way in when the portcullis raised, but were beaten unconscious by Stark guardsmen in grey cloaks and thrown back out.

Even with the refugees outside Winterfell was still full to bursting. There were men everywhere, soldiers and knights and lords. A hundred banners flew from the ramparts. She noticed Lord Bolton's and Lord Umber's were missing. 'Where is Roose Bolton?' she asked Ser Rodrik.

'I know not, My Lady. He left several days ago.'

'And the Greatjon?'

'He's gone north to the wall, My Lady.'

She returned to the great hall where he son was. As usual her son was sitting on his throne, locked in war council with the lords. 'Your Grace, I do not know how to express this, but the Blackwood and Darry garrison in Castle Cerwyn must retreat, otherwise they shall be obliterated,' her brother Edmure was saying heatedly.

'We have retreated enough, Uncle,' Robb looked tired, 'command Tytos Blackwood to fight where he stands! Castle Cerwyn is the only thing that lies between Winterfell and the Tarlys.'

'But then we shall lose the Blackwood forces entirely, Your Grace,' the Blackfish said quietly.

'I think not. My Lords, I have come up with a strategy. A mightly counter-attack, driving Randyll Tarly back and freeing Castle Cerwyn. I shall lead the attack myself, and we shall strike from north and west, blunting their cavalry charge with heavy infantry, giving them no choice but to retreat.' Robb pointed at a map of the North, to a few small clusters of forests surrounding Castle Cerwyn. 'These woods are ideal for an army to hide. We shall catch them unawares.'

'With what troops, Your Grace?' The Blackfish asked.

'The men of Houses Frey, Mallister and Whent stationed on the West Coast along with the several hundred Ironborn King Balon has given us will attack from the west, whilst we strike from the north.'

'I fear my men are unable to attack, Your Grace,' Lord Jason Mallister said, 'they are stranded deep in enemy territory and are outnumbered five to one. Attack would be suicide.'

'Then command for Lord Manderly's heavy horse to join the attack from the east. They shall attack first, clearing the way for us and the Frey, Mallister and Whent men.'

'But Your Grace, the White Harbour men are garrisoned in their defense lines, to stop the Kingslayer's host,' Edmure said, rather unwisely.

'Then tell them to Turn Back North!' Robb made the last three words a curse.

'But Your Grace, that would completely expose the Eastern Front to the Lannisters…'

'Are you questioning my orders, uncle?' Robb's tone had grown dangerously angry. Even at a very young age, Robb's wrath was a fearsome thing, Catelyn knew. Grey Wind, lurking in a corner rose and began prowling around Edmure, its golden eyes unblinking.

'I BELIEVE, I HAVE EXPRESSED MY ORDERS CLEAR ENOUGH!' Robb roared, rising to his feet, sounding more like a child than a king.

A long silence followed. Robb ordered Olyvar to bring himself a cup of iced water. The King slowly drank, Grey Wind prowling at his feet. None dared to speak.

Outside, the snow raged larger and larger.