A Different Course of Action

by Dovah-wolfbear64

(Canon divergent AU. No Others/White Walkers. Some characters OOC) Jon Snow does not take the black after being selected as a steward, so leaves the Wall. Robb meanwhile marches past the Twins to engage Tywin Lannister head on, thus ignoring the Freys. How will the game of thrones go with this different course of action? [ON HIATUS, READ PROFILE FOR MORE INFO]

12. Into The West

Author's Note: Update 2 of 2 for today. Warning for language and violence (it is a battle after all).

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Chapter 12

Into The West

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Robb

The rain came thundering down as Robb sat on his horse, his eyes scanning the camp ahead of him. His host was now nine-thousand strong, and all of them ready to fight. He had Smalljon and Harrion to his left while Lucas and Dacey, who had joined with her mother as part of the reinforcements, sat to his right. Grey Wind was up ahead ready to jump out from the woods and scare the horses of the enemy host. Robb sent his scouts ahead to cut the lines that were holding the horses where they were, so that when Grey Wind pounced and scared them the horses would thunder through the camp and cause confusion. Now Robb was simply waiting for word that everyone was in position. He sat quietly on his horse, wearing his armour and resting his sword hand on the hilt of his longsword. To his far right were Lady Maege Mormont and her men, and right of her was Robb's uncle who gathered his own bannermen. To the left were Greatjon and Lord Rickard, along with their men as well. The plan was to charge out as one and overwhelm the camp a minute after the horses were set loose. Lord Rickard and Ser Edmure would go around the flanks of the host and charge in while Lady Mormont and Greatjon would thunder in alongside Robb, tearing straight through the middle of the confused host.

After staring ahead for what seemed like forever a runner came up to Robb, stomping through the mud until he came to a halt beside Robb's horse.

"My prince," the man spoke. "The line is cut and our men are out of the way." Robb nodded his head.

"Good. Now we just have to wait for word from the other groups." Barely a minute later Olyvar came riding up to them.

"My prince, the left flank is ready when you are," he told Robb.

"Very good Olyvar," Robb answered just as he saw another rider approach.

"The right is ready my prince," the messenger said. Robb smiled at this as he looked back at the scout runner.

"Tell the men it is time to let Grey Wind loose," he commanded. The runner bowed to him before taking off. Robb looked back to the enemy camp, his eyes scanning over the numerous tents that would soon be trampled over. It would be about ten minutes before the horses were let loose, so Robb relaxed himself just a little bit.

"Just thinking over the plan Robb?" Harrion asked him. Robb looked at him briefly before nodding his head and looking back.

"Can't make any changes now Harrion," he told him. "We're committed to the plan now. Not that I would do anything differently." As he spoke Robb watched a group of Westermen pikemen marching by the tents, right in front of where the horses would be going.

"Those poor fuckers will get trampled into the dirt," Smalljon spoke with amusement. Robb barely resisted the urge to smile at his friend's remark.

"Those that don't will get their skulls caved in by us," Dacey replied from Robb's other side. "I don't know what's worse, getting crushed by horses or having a mace smashed into you." Robb looked at the Mormont heir and saw the vicious smile on Dacey's face. Gods I'm glad she's on our side, he thought.

"What matters is that they will be dead one way or the other, unless they drop their arms and surrender," he responded. "And we will take prisoners if they surrender. No exceptions."

"Does cutting them down while deafened..." Harrion began before Robb glared at him.

"No exceptions," he repeated. Harrion held up a hand in surrender.

"I jape Robb," he said, prompting a chuckle from Dacey.

"Maybe you should leave the japes to Smalljon," she said. "After all, everything he does in life is a jape." Robb laughed with Lucas and Harrion as Smalljon glared at Dacey.

"That so Mormont?" he spoke a bit too loudly.

"Not so loud Jon," Robb reminded him while laughing still. The group fell quiet again once they all stopped laughing, and for the next few minutes they stayed quiet, until the horses bolted as planned.

The first Robb knew that the horses had bolted was when he saw some of the Westermen running towards where the horses were kept, clearly panicking as they waved their arms about. A couple of moments later the first horses rode into view, ploughing through those who did not get out of the way quick enough. The horses tore through the camp at speed, crushing underfoot anyone and anything that was in the way. Robb watched as tents collapsed under the weight of hooves, and he saw one or two men being pummelled into the ground. He was certain that he saw one unfortunate Westerman having a hoof crush his skull, but in this darkness it could well have been rainwater splashing up from the hoof coming down. Horses whinnied and shrieked as they galloped, the scent of Grey Wind having driven them mad with fear. Men shouted and cursed as they were crushed or watched their friends being crushed by the stampede. After half a minute two thirds of the tents that Robb could see were trampled, and he decided to draw his sword ready. After another half minute he raised his sword and waved it in the air.

"NOW!" he bellowed as loud as he could, and then he heard the war horns of his host blaring. The battle-cries resonated in the night sky, louder to his ears than the thundering rain. He urged his horse onwards and soon his host charged into the disorganised Westermen. The few tents that were still standing came closer and clearer, and Robb could see the enemy as they were doing whatever they were doing; groups of men running towards the panicked horses in a bid to try and recover them; several men lying on the ground injured by the stampede; some wandering about in a daze as if they were dreaming; a couple of men moving to help the injured; and one lone pikeman staring at Robb stupidly with his pike gripped tightly in his hands.

Robb's eyes locked with the enemy pikeman as they just stared at each other, with Robb getting closer to him while the man just stood there. When the man finally made to move, it was too late for him. Robb was not sure if the man was going to raise his pike or throw it down in surrender as he had swung his sword down at almost the same time. The castle forged steel blade cut through the man's neck, blood jetting out in an arc trailing after the blade. Robb fixed his eyes on his next target who was drawing his sword ready. By the time the sword was free of the scabbard Robb had slashed his sword upwards, splitting that man's face in two.

"IT'S THE FUCKING STARKS!" he heard someone shout fearfully. Looking to one side Robb saw his men crashing through the remaining tents and carving a bloody path through the Westermen. Not needing to look to the opposite flank as he knew it would be the same outcome Robb focused his eyes ahead of him. Three men stood directly in front of him, but only one had the good sense to dive out of the way. The other two were trampled by Robb's horse as he rushed through them, barely registering their death shrieks. He caught movement from his left and saw a pikeman running at him, but as Robb got ready to engage him a grey blur tackled the pikeman from behind. He watched as Grey Wind tore the man's throat open viciously, blood splashing out of the large gaping hole. Soon after Grey Wind was on the move again, and Robb looked for another foe.

Slowing his horse down so as not to ride blindly into his foes Robb turned to seek out his friends. Lucas was riding past him, slashing his sword at a fleeing Westerman who was too slow in escaping him. Dacey was smashing her mace into the head of one unfortunate soul who thought to try and engage her and Harrion had her back covered, parrying the attack of an enemy knight who was on foot. Smalljon was laughing heartily as he raked his greatsword across the chests of two men standing beside each other, opening one of them while slicing the other in two. Robb looked back to the battle and saw a man running at him with a sword held high. Robb raised his sword up and kicked his horse's sides to charge at the man. The enemy man suddenly halted in his tracks before throwing down his weapon and fleeing, his courage having deserted him. Robb would have laughed were it not for the sound of a dozen men-at-arms charging at him with pikes level.

"SMALLJON, DACEY!" Robb bellowed as he turned his horse to ride back to his friends. He rode back to see that Harrion was still fighting the same knight. Robb slashed his sword down into the knight's arm, carving it off. Harrion looked up at him with a look of shock and annoyance.

"That bastard was mine!" he yelled.

"You can have one of them behind me!" Robb yelled back pointing his sword at the pikemen. Harrion looked over at them and glared at them as Dacey and Smalljon gathered beside him. He saw Lucas manoeuvring himself into a position that would let him flank them, and beside him were five other mounted Blackwood men with spears held ready. Robb nodded to him and Lucas waved his sword forward, charging into the pikemen. They were caught off guard and all but two were killed, the rest having been crushed or impaled on the Blackwood spears. Robb rushed forward along with Harrion to the last two, and when he was close enough he hacked his sword down at the nearest pikeman, only to have his attack blocked. The pikeman tried to thrust his weapon at Robb who kept his blade locked with his foe's, the two trying to force the other to pull their blade away. If the pikeman pulled away Robb could follow up with a swift strike, but if he pulled away the pikeman could simply thrust at him again, and at this distance Robb's armour would not do much to keep him alive. However a blade flashed out of nowhere and struck off the pikeman's head. As the headless body crashed to the ground Robb saw Harrion grinning at him.

"Now we're even!" he bellowed at him. Robb chuckled with his friend before they rejoined the battle.

Leading his friends further into the slaughter Robb watched as his men carved through the disorganised rabble that the Westerman host had become. Men stood rooted to the spot in shock as their fellow Westermen were cut down, seeming incapable of either running or fighting. Some of Robb's men had dismounted their horses to fight on foot, including Greatjon who was hacking men apart with his greatsword. One fool rushed at him alone with only a spear, only to have his weapon broken before being split in twain from scalp to groin. Robb urged his horse on to Greatjon, slashing at a man-at-arms who thought he could catch him unawares. The man's body flew back as blood gushed out from his opened chest.

"Greatjon! How goes your end?" he shouted at the Lord of Last Hearth as he cut a man in half across the belly.

"It's bloody tiring gutting these whelps my prince, but we're doing good!" he shouted back as Grey Wind pounced on a man who tried to sneak up behind Greatjon. "These dumb fools are too busy shitting and pissing themselves to give us a proper fight!" He thrust his sword into a swordsman who came charging at him screaming like a banshee. The man found himself impaled up to the hilt before Greatjon savagely tore his blade free and parried the blow of another swordsman. Grey Wind danced around the feet of several men-at-arms who tried to impale him, only for one of them to thrust his sword into the foot of his friend. Robb rode up to those men and hacked his sword down into one's shoulder, nearly cutting that man in half. He saw Smalljon had dismounted his horse and was now fighting beside his father, carving men into bloody chunks.

"Keep up the good work Lord Umber!" Robb bellowed to the man. "Smalljon, take half of your father's man and tear the camp to pieces!" Smalljon gave him a gleeful look that made him look like a living horror with the firelight illuminating his face.

"Gladly Robb!" he shouted before hacking off his current opponent's leg at the knee and slashing his throat open. As Smalljon made his way towards the camp, shouting at Umber men to follow him, Robb turned to Dacey who was fighting off a determined swordsman. Robb turned to face them only to see Dacey's mace smash into the swordsman's skull, splattering blood over her right thigh.

"Gods these idiots are dumb!" she shouted to him. Robb was about to respond when he heard Grey Wind snarling off to his right. Turning to his direwolf he saw four Westermen that had decided to try their luck stopping in their tracks before tripping up over their feet trying to get away from Grey Wind. One was pushed into the ground below and had his neck ripped open by the direwolf's teeth. The other three screamed in terror as Robb and Dacey raced after them. Robb slashed his sword into the head of one man as Dacey smacked her mace into the back of the head of another. As Harrion appeared from ahead of them and thrust his sword into the last one Robb realised that what he was doing was not exactly honourable, cutting down men as they fled from him. It's either kill them now or risk them finding their courage later on and attacking me from behind, as quite a few of them seem content with doing, he justified to himself just as he heard a shout of fear and pain from behind him. Looking over his shoulder Robb saw Grey Wind tearing off the arm of a Lannister knight who was clearly trying to sneak up behind him. So much for a southron knight's honour.

For the next twenty minutes the battle, which was beginning to look more like a rout to Robb, carried on in the same pattern with Robb and his companions cutting down men as they either fled or tried to fight back while he rode through the camp to see how things were going for his host. Lady Mormont and Ser Edmure were both doing well, as were their sub-commanders. When Robb rode to where Lord Rickard was he saw many dead Westermen, and noticed that a knight in Lannister colours was crawling on his knees with blood pouring down his side as Lord Rickard stomped after him, a look of absolute hate in his eyes. Robb watched as the Lord of Karhold raised his sword and swung it down at the Lannister knight who had begun to plead. The next moment the knight's head flew up into the air and fell as blood pumped out of the stump of his neck. As Lord Rickard stood up straight a man appeared behind him.

"FATHER!" Harrion shouted out in warning, but his words came too late as a spearhead exploded out of Lord Rickard's long grey beard. The lower half of his beard turned dark as he dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat. Robb looked on, stunned as he watched his friend's father die in front of them. "YOU FUCKING HONOURLESS CUNT!" Harrion roared as he spurred his horse after the Westerman.

"HARRION!" Robb called out before kicking his own horse's flanks to follow on. The Westerman was quite big, and Robb noticed that the man had the black and white brindled boar of House Crakehall embossed on his kite shield. Robb remembered two things then; one of the prisoners that he took at the Humbling was Ser Lyle Crakehall, often called the Strongboar, who had killed eight of his men before he was overpowered and taken captive; the other thing was that the man who killed Eddard Karstark before being killed in turn by Torrhen was Ser Lyon Crakehall. Both men were quite big, and it seemed that that was a family trait. That and killing Karstarks, Robb thought as he raised his sword to strike at the Crakehall who was drawing his sword after having tossed away the broken spear-shaft. Robb caught up with Harrion and the two of them struck with their swords at the same time; Robb's blade was blocked by the shield while Harrion's was parried by the sword.

"Dismount your steeds traitors!" the Crakehall called out. "Face me on foot!" Robb glared at the man as he jumped back. He was wearing full steel plate armour and carried himself with an air of lordly authority. As he stood ready he opened his visor to reveal his face, which was lined with scars and wrinkles. Although none of them have ever met the man Robb realised that this must have been Lord Roland Crakehall, the Lord of Crakehall. Robb looked at Harrion and nodded to him, and the two of them dismounted their horses, noticing that they were being joined by Lucas, Dacey and over a half dozen other men.

Robb and Harrion walked over to Lord Crakehall who glared at them. Harrion had nothing but hate in his eyes as he stared at him, his sword hand gripping the hilt tightly. As they stopped walking Robb saw half a dozen Westerland knights approaching them, all with their swords drawn. As they stood ready to fight Robb saw from the corner of his eye another man join them. Turning his head he saw Torrhen, who had a look of anger on his face.

"We'll take him together Harrion," Torrhen said to his elder brother.

"Aye," was all Harrion said. Robb stepped forward slightly and faced the lord.

"Drop your weapons Northmen," Lord Crakehall demanded. "End your pathetic rebellion and I'm sure his grace will show you mercy." Robb had to resist the urge to laugh then.

"You're demanding us to surrender?" he spat. "Did you not hear of our victory over your liege lord? If I surrender to that inbred little shit on the throne the only mercy I'll get is my head on a spike. I'd rather he surrender."

"Not going to happen pup," Lord Crakehall sneered.

"Tywin Lannister is my prisoner," Robb told the lord. "Both of his sons are prisoners, as are his nephews, whose father died by my hand at the Humbling. You are in no position to be demanding us to surrender." Crakehall spat onto the ground between them.

"You have rebelled against your King boy!" he snapped. "I think you'll find that I am well within my right to demand your surrender. However, as you won't see reason, prepare to die."

"You first," Harrion snarled before he hurled himself forward with Torrhen beside him. Lord Crakehall brought his sword and shield up and began to fight the two Karstarks as Robb and Dacey engaged the same knight while all the others charged in and fought the other Westerland knights. Robb and Dacey had a tough time fighting their opponent, who was skilled with his sword. He blocked and parried effortlessly before hacking and slashing at them. A Riverland levy tried to assist them only to have both of his arms sliced off at the elbow before his head was sent flying off. Knowing that this knight was not going to go down easily Robb whistled for Grey Wind, hoping that his wolf would be nearby. As he did he saw one of the knights pull his sword free from a man in Stark colours before turning to Dacey.

"Dacey, behind you!" Robb shouted as he moved to keep their foe focused on him while Dacey turned to fight her new opponent. As he fought the knight he saw another Westerland knight rush him from the side. "Shit!" he yelled out as he just managed to jump back out of the way of the blow. He steadied himself and prepared for his opponents to attack, when suddenly Grey Wind launched himself onto the back of the knight who tried to surprise him. The man bellowed out in shock before screaming briefly as razor sharp teeth sank into his neck. The first knight brought his sword back ready to thrust into Grey Wind's flank, but Robb grabbed hold of the man's arm with his offhand before thrusting his sword into the knight's throat. The knight gasped as blood bubbled out of his mouth before Robb twisted his sword and yanked it out, tearing the throat wide open. He turned to seek out a new foe and saw Dacey slam her mace into the thigh of her opponent before smashing her knee into his gut and following up with a blow to the back of the neck. The knight fell to the ground, rolling onto his back and Dacey stomped her boot down on his throat, crushing his windpipe. Another knight who had just killed one of Robb's men turned to face Dacey only for Grey Wind to jump up and rip his throat open. Dacey looked at the direwolf and thanked him before looking back at Robb. Robb nodded his head to Dacey and they turned to the fight, which was nearly over; only Lord Crakehall was left standing, fighting off the vengeful Karstark brothers and three other men.

Deciding to sit this fight out to get his breath back Robb watched as the old lord opened up the belly of one of his men, spilling his guts onto the mud beneath them. The Karstarks and the other two kept up the pressure and slashed and stabbed at him. The lord's shield was a splintered ruin and after two more blows from Harrion's sword Lord Crakehall smashed it into the face of one of the men, letting it go before spinning out of the way of Torrhen's thrust and slashing at the man whose face he pummelled with his shield. As the man fell screaming Robb noticed Dacey getting ready to jump in and help.

"Not yet Dacey," Robb told her. "Give it another minute."

"They'll be dead in a minute if we don't help Robb," she said. Just then Lucas threw himself into the fight, his own sword drenched in blood, only to have the pommel of Crakehall's sword strike the side of his head. That gave Torrhen an opening, and the second son of Karhold swung his sword into the lord's side directly under his arm where the armour was weak. Blood fountained out from the wound as Crakehall staggered back, but the lord was not done yet. He slashed his sword at Harrion, the flat of the blade striking him hard enough to knock him off balance and stumbling into the dazed Lucas, sending them both sprawling to the ground. The last man-at-arms thrust his sword into Crakehall's leg with all of his strength, the blade punching through the weakened plate armour and into the thigh. Shouting in anger and pain Crakehall punched the man-at-arms in his throat before slashing his sword at the man's neck, nearly taking his head off. As Robb was about to go and finish him off Torrhen thrust his sword into the lord's armpit where he had already struck, pushing his blade in just enough to puncture the lung but not get to his heart. Crakehall gasped out and dropped to his knees, letting his sword fall into the mud.

"For my father," Torrhen said as he raised his sword high and brought it down, severing Lord Crakehall's head from his body. The helmeted head came rolling to a stop by Dacey's feet as Torrhen then proceeded to hack his bloodied sword into the lifeless body.

"Torrhen!" Robb called out to him, but the man ignored him as he vented his anger into the corpse of his fallen foe. After a few seconds Harrion grabbed hold of his brother and restrained him.

"Ease up Torr, you've got him," he told his brother. "You've got him." Torrhen struggled against his brother's hold for only a few moments before he relented, nearly collapsing in Harrion's arms.

Robb took the reprieve in the fighting to look around the ruined camp, seeing many dead littering the ground. All around him he saw very few Westermen on their feet, but he saw many more of his own men either on foot or on horseback. The battle was very much over, and the enemy was broken. Robb turned to look at the corpse of Lord Rickard and walked over to him. Kneeling down Robb looked at the body of his friend's father; his face was stuck in one of absolute shock, his eyes wide and unseeing, with blood coating the facial hair around his mouth. The head of the spear was still protruding from his throat, the strands of hair from his beard tangled with the iron tip. Horrible way to go, Robb thought as he reached out and gripped the spearhead. He pulled it free from Lord Rickard's neck and tossed it aside before rolling his body onto his back. He looked up to see Harrion walking over to him, dropping to his knees once he reached them.

"I'm sorry Harrion," Robb said. Harrion looked up at him, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

"I never thought it possible," he said. "My father... dead... he always seemed invincible." Robb wanted to say something to him, but he could not think of anything at all so he just stood up and patted his friend's shoulder. Torrhen stumbled over to them and looked up at Robb.

"I... I'm..." Torrhen tried speaking but he just could not get any words out. Robb just nodded his head in answer and walked past him, patting Torrhen on the back as he walked to the others. Lucas stood there looking disturbed, no doubt remembering his own father's death at the battle outside Riverrun. Dacey was standing next to him, her face grim but her eyes full of sadness. As Robb joined them he saw his uncle riding over to him with several of his men.

"The battle is ours my prince," Edmure said from atop his horse. "We have seen no sign of Stafford Lannister though." Robb looked up at his uncle and nodded his head while Dacey wandered over to the body of the man that Lord Rickard had killed before being slain himself.

"That may be him Ser Edmure," she said as she approached the headless body. Robb joined her along with Lucas and his uncle once he dismounted, and they checked the body while Dacey picked up the head and brought it over. The hair was blond, but not quite as bright as the Kingslayer's hair, and his eyes were green. "What do you think Robb?" Dacey asked him.

"We'll get a prisoner to confirm for us," Robb said as he stood up.

"One of our scouts might know Robb," Harrion said as he too stood up, his voice quieter than normal and his eyes bloodshot. "That or the Blackfish." Robb looked over to Edmure, who looked between them before nodding.

"I will send for my uncle and see if he recognises him," he replied. "By your leave, my prince." Robb nodded his head to dismiss him before turning back to their horses. He saw that Olyvar had caught up with them and was keeping the horses under control, despite Grey Wind prowling around nearby. The Frey looked at Robb and bowed his head to him.

"Thank you Olyvar," Robb said as he took the reins of his horse. He looked over his shoulder to see Dacey and Lucas kneeling down beside the Karstark brothers, speaking with them quietly. Taking his eyes away from them he looked back at Olyvar. "Find Lord Dondarrion and tell him to round up any of the remaining Westermen that try to flee," he commanded before mounting his horse.

"Will do my prince," he answered before running to and mounting his own horse and riding to find the Lightning Lord. Robb looked around the field, which was littered with the bodies of dead men and the crumpled remains of tents. He felt discomfort at the sight of the aftermath, despite most of the dead being his enemy. The sooner we end this war the better, he thought as he looked back at his friends, seeing Lucas wrapping his arm over Torrhen's shoulder while Harrion sat down with Dacey stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder, all of them looking at the corpse of Lord Rickard. To think I once thought of war as a game. There's nothing to smile about here, not now. Robb shook his head, looking away from the scene as he took in everything else around them. Not ever.

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Beric

The Westerman screamed out in pain as Beric's sword carved through him, splashing blood over his armour. He was grateful that everything went as planned this time, with everyone doing as they were told instead of as they wished. They had been fighting for nigh on an hour when the battle finally came to an end, with hundreds if not thousands dead, mostly the levies of the Westerlands. Just before the battle came to an end young Olyvar Frey, the squire of Prince Robb, rode up to him and told him that Prince Robb commanded him to round up any enemy men-at-arms who tried to flee. Beric took about two-hundred men and rode out, tracking down and dealing with whoever they came across. Most of the men they caught surrendered without much of a fight, but there were some who fought back such as this group of men that they had just encountered. There were less than a dozen men, all led by a lord who wore black steel armour that had three golden lion heads inlaid upon the breastplate of said armour. It was this man that Beric found himself facing after killing his last opponent.

"Lord Antario Jast," Beric called out. "Yield now and save the lives of your remaining men." The lord looked at him with contempt before lunging at him, roaring with fury as he slashed at Beric's head. The blow was easily avoided though, as Beric simply ducked down before slashing his own sword up, the steel blade cutting into the gap between the breastplate and the shoulder pauldron. Blood jetted out of the wound and Lord Jast grunted in pain as he stepped back, still clutching his sword. The lord raised his sword to block Beric's second strike but his weakened arm could not hold against the force of the blow, allowing the tip of Beric's sword to scratch into the gap of the visor and slice into Jast's face. The man shrieked in agony as he dropped his sword and fell to the ground, removing his helm and grasping at his left eye.

"Mercy, I yield!" he shouted, blood seeping between his fingers. Beric nodded his head and looked around him, seeing the surviving seven men dropping their own weapons and raising their arms.

"Round them up," Beric commanded his men as he looked back at Lord Jast. "Someone see to his wounds." He walked away as three of his men walked over to the lord. Beric took a ragged cloth from his saddlebags and wiped the blade of his sword clean of blood, watching his men securing their new prisoners. Just then a group of Rivermen knights rode up to him, with a few prisoners of their own.

"My lord," the lead rider called out. "We have secured all of those who we could catch. We saw a large group of men heading in the direction of Casterly Rock though." Beric nodded his head.

"There's nothing to be done about that now ser," he replied. "Let's secure our prisoners and make our way to the Young Wolf."

"Yes my lord," came the knight's answer.

Two hours later the sun was finally coming up, and the carnage of the night time assault could be seen for miles. Tents were trampled into the dirt while men lay broken on the mud, which was red with blood and gore. Beric rode up towards a small gathering of Northmen where he saw Prince Robb stood talking with one of his own men, who Beric noticed was being restrained by two others. The weeping girl standing not far off with blood splashed over her gave him an idea of why Robb had one of his own restrained.

"But, my prince, they were only whores, ones who lay with the lions," the man spoke in a bid to defend himself. Robb glared at the man, his face stern and his eyes angry.

"That does not excuse you," the Young Wolf growled out. "My orders to the entire host were clear; attack the Westermen levies only, and leave the villagers alone. Defend yourself all you want, but murder is murder and I won't let it go unpunished." Beric watched as Robb nodded his head to the two men holding the condemned man, who then put him on his knees.

"My prince please, at least give me the option to take the black," the condemned man pleaded, his voice quivering with fear. Beric looked at the men who were gathered; most looked on dispassionately, clearly unimpressed by the man's bid to avoid justice, while some looked at the murderer hatefully. One or two however looked on in shock, as if what was happening was a grave injustice. Robb must have noticed those individuals, given what he said next.

"We are at war," he said, "but that does not mean that the law does not apply. Killing a man-at-arms in battle is one thing, but killing small folk is another thing entirely. Northmen, Rivermen, Valemen, Crownlander, Westermen, Reachmen, Stormlander, Iron Islander or Dornish it does not matter. All small folk are protected by the law. Murder is murder no matter where the victim comes from. In peace time you are given the option of taking the black, but while at war it is the discretion of the lord passing judgement. And I tell you now, any man brought before me for murder, or caught by me while in the middle of murdering, will be executed." Robb's voice was cold and harsh, but loud enough that all could hear him clearly. Beric nodded his head in agreement with the young man, as he too believes that death is the only fitting punishment for a levy who commits a serious crime during war.

"My prince, please," the man pleaded once again, but Robb was not moved by the man's words even as tears fell down the murderer's face. Beric looked at the young girl, who could not have been much older than sixteen. Her light brown hair was dishevelled and sticking out and she sported a black eye and a split lip. She wrapped her arms around herself and held her blood drenched brown dress tightly. Beric shook his head. Did you listen to her when she no doubt pleaded with you as you killed her friend? he thought as Robb's squire appeared with a wooden block. As Olyvar placed the block in front of the murderer Robb turned to the girl.

"You do not have to witness this if you don't want to," the Young Wolf said, his voice kind. The girl looked at him and shook her head.

"I... I want to see it, my prince," she spoke, her voice barely audible. "I want to see him punished for what he did to my friend." Beric watched as the girl tried to calm herself despite the tears that fell down her cheeks. Robb nodded before looking back at the men and nodding his head to them. They lowered the murderer down onto the block, keeping him down despite his struggling while keeping their heads back. Beric watched as Robb drew his longsword and held it in both hands, the tip planted into the ground. The murderer began to blubber as he finally stilled, resigned to his fate.

"In the name of Eddard of the House Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, King of the North and the Trident and the Vale, Defender of the Northern Kingdoms and Shield of the First Men, by the word of Robb of the House Stark, Crown Prince and Heir to Winterfell, do I sentence you to die," Robb spoke, his voice calm and clear. "If you have any last words, now is the time." Beric watched as the murderer looked up at Robb and pleaded once more for mercy before he looked back at the ground crying. In the next moment Robb raised his sword above the man's neck before bringing it up high and swinging it down. The murderer's head flew off, blood trailing behind as it rushed out of the stump.

The man dead, Robb turned to Olyvar and nodded his head. The squire walked over to the head and picked it up by the hair. Beric saw that his face was scrunched up in disgust, though whether at the sight of the criminal's face and his actions or because of the grisly outcome he could not decide. Beric looked at the girl who was led away by Dacey Mormont, the warrior woman rubbing the girl's back as she led her to wherever she would stay. Dacey intrigued Beric; she was a fearsome fighter with a skill to match even the finest battle-hardened knights, but she was also a kind and compassionate person who treated people with the care that only a highborn lady could give. Truth be told he did not know what to make of her. Shaking his head Beric turned to look at Robb and walk over to him. The Young Wolf was cleaning the blood from his blade as Beric approached him.

"Prince Robb," Beric spoke. "We have captured those who have tried to flee, but a large band had been able to get too far for us to catch up to." Robb looked at him and nodded his head, sheathing his sword.

"Did you capture anyone noteworthy Lord Dondarrion?" he asked him.

"Lord Antario Jast and Ser Lymond Vikary," Beric replied. "Lord Jast fought back and so was wounded, but Ser Lymond had the good sense to yield almost immediately." Robb gave him a small smile as he stepped closer.

"Good word Lord Dondarrion," he said as he turned to walk towards the village. "We'll get them seen to and secured properly. After that we'll ride east to the Golden Tooth and be ready to lay siege to it. Hopefully Lady Lefford will yield without too much trouble." Beric nodded his head as he walked beside Robb.

"Do you have a plan should Lady Lefford not see reason?" he asked Robb, who shook his head.

"My father might have had a plan in place, but I heard that he has gone to the Eyrie with Lord Royce, leaving Lord Mallister in charge," Robb told him. Beric nodded his head, trying to think of what to say. Before he could speak he heard his squire Edric Dayne calling out to him.

"Lord Beric!" the boy lord yelled. Beric looked at the blond haired lad as he ran to him, a fresh scar cutting through his left brow but thankfully missing his eye. "My lord, Harwin has just returned with his group. They have captured a Lannister." Beric turned to Robb who was looking at Edric with wide eyes.

"Is Harwin certain that he has a Lannister?" he asked.

"Harwin says that the man said that he was my prince," Edric answered. Robb looked back at Beric and nodded his head to him. "Shall I lead the way?" Edric asked as Robb was about to speak. Robb looked between the two of them before nodding to Beric again.

"Take us to Harwin then Edric," Beric told his squire.

Beric and Robb followed the young lord as he led them through the wrecked camp, with the direwolf Grey Wind following close behind along with a dozen guards. After a minute they were joined by Smalljon Umber, whose armour was splattered with blood. The Umber heir spoke with Robb quietly as they walked along, until they finally came to a stop by the fence of a farmhouse. Harwin was stood leaning against the fence, a water-skin held in his hands. There were eight men stood close to him along with a young man in Lannister armour. The Lannister had blond hair, but his eyes were a pale green instead of the bright emerald green that Lannisters from the main branch seem to have. Harwin and his men stood up straighter and greeted Robb as they approached. He returned their greeting before looking at the prisoner.

"Who are you?" Robb asked the young man who looked up upon being spoken to and glared at him.

"I am Ser Lucion Lannister boy," the knight spat. "My grandfather is a cousin of Lord Tywin Lannister, and he'll take your heads for this atrocity." Most of the men laughed at the young knight, whose face turned red with rage at his humiliation. "Silence traitors!" he spat, but the men only laughed more.

"I doubt your grandfather will be doing much in the way of taking heads ser," Harwin stated before he took a swig from his water skin.

"What do you know you whore-son?" the knight sneered. Harwin looked ready to punch him but Robb stopped him doing anything.

"You are quite a lively fellow I'll give you that," Robb said. "But insulting my friend's mother won't do you much good." Lucion glared at Robb before spitting on his feet.

"Well I suppose the get of whores should always stand firm together," he remarked. Beric shook his head then as he realised what was likely to happen next. "Now bring me before your so-called prince so that I can speak with him. I'll not suffer the presence of lowborn Northern shits any more than I-" Robb's fist struck Lucion across the face, hard enough that his nose broke. Blood streaked down his mouth and chin, and Beric noticed that even Smalljon Umber was surprised by the Young Wolf's blow. Lucion looked up at Robb and smirked at him. "You've just signed your death warrant fool. What do you think the little prince will do to you when he hears of this?" Robb looked at the knight with contempt, his eyes hard.

"I have no idea what my brother will do when he hears of me striking a prisoner who just insulted our lady mother," Robb spoke, and Lucion Lannister's face fell then when he realised what he had just said. "Did you not pay any attention to these men when they addressed me?"

"What?" Lucion stuttered stupidly. Smalljon stepped forward then, his smug grin returning to his face.

"You are in the presence of Prince Robb Stark, the Crown Prince and Heir to Winterfell, whose lady mother is the Queen Catelyn Stark," he said loudly as if talking to a simpleton. "You have just insulted our Queen, boy." He spat the last word out mockingly. Lucion looked down at the ground, looking like he wanted for the ground beneath him to open up and swallow him whole. Beric watched Robb lower himself so that he could look into the knight's eyes, but Lucion averted his gaze.

"I could well have taken your tongue out for that insult ser," he said coldly. "However, I think having your nose broken is enough punishment for you today. Now then, you are from another branch of House Lannister, correct?" Lucion nodded his head, resulting in more blood seeping down over his lips. "You'll tell me everything that I wish to know about the composition of the Lannister forces at both Lannisport and Casterly Rock, once you have been seen by a Maester." Robb stood up and looked at Harwin. "Take him to get his nose seen to, then secure him with our other highborn prisoners," he ordered.

"Will do my prince," Harwin said before nodding to his men.

After another couple of hours of wandering around the ruined camp Beric found himself sat down with a cup of wine in hand with Robb and some others inside the village inn. Beric sat next to Dacey on his left, currently drinking a mug of ale, and Harrion on his right, who was not drinking at all. The young Northman was now the Lord of Karhold after his father had been killed by Lord Roland Crakehall, who had been killed by Harrion's brother Torrhen. That's the second Crakehall that he has killed now, he thought. I wonder how long it'll be before the men start calling him Boar-slayer or something similar. Sitting to Dacey's left was her mother Lady Maege, and to her left was Smalljon and then his father Greatjon. Robb sat beside him, his direwolf's head popping up next to his left arm as he took a swig of ale from the cup in his right hand. To Robb's left was his great-uncle Ser Brynden Tully, with Ser Edmure to his left along with Lucas Blackwood and then Ser Marq Piper. Beside the Piper heir was Ser Jasper Redfort, Lord Horton Redfort's eldest son and heir. The man was older than Beric, nearly twenty-seven, with short brown hair and a neatly groomed beard. He had joined the host with two-hundred men sworn to his House, including sixty knights.

"Right then my lords, my ladies," Robb began after he had drained his cup and put it back down on the table before him. "What do we need to know?" Ser Brynden spoke up first leaning forward over the table.

"I can confirm that the man slain by Lord Rickard Karstark was indeed Ser Stafford Lannister," the Blackfish stated. "His son Ser Daven was not accounted for however." Beric cleared his throat then, waiting for everyone to look at him before he spoke.

"A knight from the Riverlands who rode with me to capture those who fled told me that he had seen a large group heading in the general direction of Casterly Rock. It may be possible that Ser Daven has rallied some survivors and retreated to his family's seat to reorganise." Robb sat up straighter in his seat before looking back at the Blackfish.

"What do you know of Ser Daven?" he asked.

"He is more of a threat than his father ever could be," Ser Brynden answered. "Where his father was incompetent Ser Daven is anything but. He can fight and command men as a knight should, and prefers to fight up close with his men. With him in charge of the Lannister forces we may have a more serious foe to face once he reorganises his men. And he won't repeat his father's mistakes. Our fight here in the Westerlands will be much more difficult now." Robb nodded his head before looking around the table, waiting to see if anyone would speak. Over the time that Beric has spent in the young Northman's company he has learned that he prefers to listen to what others will say before deciding on a set path.

"We need to consolidate our forces first Robb," Dacey said from beside Beric. "We need to march on the Golden Tooth while leaving a sizeable force behind to deter any trouble makers."

"My daughter's right my prince," Lady Maege stated. "With your leave I'll remain with half of our host and post sentries. Once we get the rest of our army through we can worry about the Westermen forces who might try to rally and march against us." From Robb's right Greatjon hummed loudly.

"I too will stay behind, if you've no objections my prince," he boomed out. "Let the Lannisters shit themselves at the sight of Umber warriors and Bear Islanders while the rest of you open the Tooth up." Ser Jasper Redfort coughed to gain attention from those gathered. Beric looked over at him as everyone else did and waited for him to speak.

"It would be a good idea to have several patrols my prince," he spoke. "It'll be better to have them as well as sentries to keep an eye open for any attacking Westermen. If you wish I'll leave two score of my own knights behind to assist with the patrols." Beric looked at Robb to see him looking at Ser Jasper with his eyes narrowed, looking as if he was thinking over what to do. After a brief moment Robb nodded his head.

"That will be wise," he said. "Lord Umber, Lady Mormont and Ser Redfort shall remain here with half of our host while the rest of us shall ride east to the Golden Tooth and persuade Lady Lefford to yield. Once that is done we shall have little to no trouble in getting our forces into the Westerlands." Robb leaned back in his seat before looking over at the gathered lords. "Now, is there anything else to discuss?" For the next twenty minutes they discussed the outcome of the battle, going over their own casualties which were thankfully minimal, the number of prisoners taken which were many, the few highborn hostages that were taken which apart from Ser Lucion, Lord Antario Jast and Ser Lymond Vikary included the sons of Lord Jast, Roland Crakehall's son and heir Ser Tybolt and many others, and they also spoke of what to do with the dead. They all agreed on dealing with their own dead and making sure to send their bones back to wherever they came from but they disagreed on what to do with the enemy dead. Beric listened as some said to just pile the corpses and burn them while others suggested to leave them to rot. In the end Robb ordered the dead to be seen to respectfully, regardless of who they fought for.

"We shouldn't need to worry about them my prince," Ser Marq stated. "Let the crows have their feast." Beric glared at the young blond haired knight.

"We should be respectful of the dead no matter which side they fought for," he said. "Show respect to the dead of your fallen foe and maybe they will do the same if you should fall." Ser Marq glared back at Beric, his eyes wide and full of anger.

"Tywin Lannister's army sacked and burned my lord father's castle, putting many innocents to the sword and desecrating their bodies," he answered back. "They tore the bodies of people I have known since childhood to shreds, run them through repeatedly even after they had died. I even saw one cretin raping a woman's lifeless body. Why should we show respect to those..."

"That will do Ser Marq!" Robb bellowed as he stood up from his seat, Grey Wind growling menacingly from beside him. "We are not honour-less scum like Tywin Lannister and his men. We are men of honour, and we shall show respect to all of the dead, our own, our enemies, all of them. Now sit down." Ser Marq looked back at Robb, looking like he was about to protest further, but he fell quiet all the same. Once he had sat back down Ser Marq leaned back into his chair, still glaring at Beric but not saying another word. "We shall have all of the dead seen to. I do not care for whom they fought, we will treat the dead respectfully. Our enemy might not show us the same courtesy but that is irrelevant. We will show respect to them. My father, our King, wants this campaign to be conducted in an honourable fashion with respect shown to our foes as well as mercy, despite the fact that the Westermen have thus far shown neither respect nor mercy themselves. If we do this then our foe may come to realise that we are not the bloodthirsty barbarians that they make us out to be, and then the lords of the Westerlands may well decide that fighting us is not in their best interests. I want us to be able to move throughout the Westerlands swiftly, with few battles." Beric heard Harrion snort from beside him.

"Robb, you do realise that that will be a lot easier said than done?" he stated. Robb looked at the new Lord Karstark and inclined his head.

"Aye Harrion, of that I am aware," he admitted. "But it will cause us no harm to try now, will it?" Harrion was silent for a moment before he answered him.

"You have a point there Robb," he said with a sigh. "But regardless there is one fight that I want, and I do not want to be denied that." Beric felt uneasy then, wondering just what it was that Harrion wanted.

"Go on," Robb said calmly.

"To sack Crakehall and put them to the sword," came Harrion's harsh reply. Beric was surprised at the venom in Harrion's voice.

"Harrion," Robb began, leaning over the table with his hands supporting him. "I know that you wish for vengeance for your father's death but the man responsible is dead, by Torrhen's hand no less. Putting the Crakehall's to the sword serves no purpose. It would be murder."

"Not unless they resist," Harrion replied. Robb narrowed his eyes then, looking at his friend with concern in his eyes.

"You and I will discuss this later Harrion," Robb said in response. Beric looked back at Harrion who seemed to be shocked by Robb's dismissal.

"But my prince..."

"We will discuss this later Lord Karstark!" Robb bellowed. "Once you have grieved for your father and have had a chance to calm down we shall speak on this matter. I will consider giving you command of the forces who will lay siege to Crakehall, but not if you persist in speaking of it now!" Beric leant back from the table, shocked at Robb raising his voice but also impressed with how he has just handled Harrion, who sank back in his seat with his head bowed.

"My prince," he murmured quietly. Robb stared at Harrion for a short while before he sat back down.

"That will be all for now my lords, my ladies," he said, his voice calm again. "Let us retire and get some food and rest. We ride out for the Golden Tooth after midday."

Beric and the others stood up and left the inn, all going their separate ways. Beric walked with Dacey and her mother, both of whom were talking about how well they believed Robb handled himself in regards to Harrion. As they spoke Edric rushed over to them, his face cleaned of the filth from the battle last night.

"When the time comes for Ned, the North will be in capable hands," Lady Maege said as she brushed her fingers through her greying hair. "Prince Robb has come a long way since we first marched out."

"Aye mother," Dacey said. "Not quite as green now and he has shown that he can do his duties while under pressure, but he still has much to learn." Beric heard the elder Mormont woman snort with laughter then.

"I didn't realise that I was beginning to rub off on you now Dacey," she said. As the two women continued to talk Edric shook Beric's sleeve to gain his attention.

"My lord?" he said. Beric looked at him and smiled.

"Yes Edric?" he asked before stifling a yawn. He felt more tired than he has ever felt in his twenty-two years of life, and after last night he has felt older than he ever felt possible. Now I understand how my father felt, he thought. Edric looked from him to the Mormont women before looking back at him. When he spoke he spoke with trepidation.

"I was wondering about... um, I mean, I was wondering if we could speak about when I would return to Starfall, now that my lord father is dead." Beric felt his heart sink then as he looked down at the eleven year old boy. A couple of weeks ago word had arrived from the ancestral seat of House Dayne informing them of the death of Lord Ulric Dayne. His illness had finally taken him and brought him to the Stranger, leaving Edric as the Lord of Starfall in name. "Will you be sending me back home after this war is done or will you still let me squire for you?" Beric knelt down so that he was eye level with Edric.

"You are my squire until I knight you Edric," he said. "I will not send you back until then, but once this war is done I may well take you back to Starfall and finish your squiring there. I know that is not how you wanted to earn your knighthood, and I know you wish to be worthy enough to wield Dawn, but you are the last son of House Dayne, unless you want Ser Gerold to lay claim to your home." Edric's eyes hardened at the mention of the man many called the Darkstar. The man was of a cadet branch of House Dayne, and was considered to be an unpleasant individual.

"I'll die before I allow Gerold to take my home," the boy lord said.

"It shall not come to that little lord," Dacey suddenly spoke up from beside them. Beric had forgotten that she was next to them. "With the way that King Eddard is dealing with Prince Oberyn it'll surely mean that an alliance with Dorne will see more involvement between our two peoples. I'm certain that this Gerold will think twice before trying to stake a claim to your castle." Edric looked up at her and puffed out his chest proudly.

"I thank you for your kind words my lady," he said. "But Darkstar is not an honourable person. He brings shame to my House, and I wouldn't put it past him to try and take my home when I am not there." Edric looked down at the ground, looking quite solemn as he no doubt started to think about his father. Beric stood up and looked at Dacey who looked down at Edric with a strange look in her eyes.

"Perhaps a drink will lift your spirits lad," she said. "You look like you could do with one." Beric watched his squire look at her with wide eyes before he shook his head.

"I do not drink my lady," he said. Dacey chortled, shaking her head.

"Have you never had a drop Lord Dayne?" she asked. "Not even at Lord Dondarrion's table?"

"No my lady," Edric answered, earning a scoff from Dacey.

"Cut the 'my lady' bollocks little lord," she said, her crude tongue shocking Beric's squire. "You are in the company of Northmen now. If you don't want to be looked at with suspicion then you'll need to learn to enjoy a drink."

"Knights are not supposed to drink," he said weakly. Beric laughed softly before putting a hand on Edric's shoulder.

"I enjoy the occasional drink Edric, as you well know," he told him. "That is unfortunately a weak argument." Edric looked up at him and shook his head.

"If I am to ever be worthy of wielding Dawn and becoming the next Sword of the Morning then I must not take to drink," he said adamantly. Beric sighed while Dacey laughed.

"I'm sure that a Sword of the Morning from the past has enjoyed the odd drink here and there before earning that title," she said as she stepped forward and took Edric's hand, pulling him along with her in a manner similar to how a mother would pull their child along. "And you are not a Sword of the Morning yet." Beric watched as a flabbergasted Edric found himself being pulled along by a highborn lady many years his senior to have his first drink. Beric looked over to Dacey's mother who had a wide grin on her face.

"That daughter of mine knows how to make friends Lord Dondarrion," she said to him as they watched Edric and Dacey disappear from their view. "We should be thankful that young Lord Dayne is still a boy, otherwise my daughter could well make him her new lover instead of you." Beric was shocked by those words.

"What do you mean my lady?" he asked. Maege Mormont chuckled as she looked over to him.

"I've seen the way my girl looks at you," she said. "I've seen how you look at her. The only thing stopping her dragging you into her bed is the fact that you are a lord with your own castle. Dacey is my heir, and she'll become the Lady of Bear Island when I die. If you were a second son then it would be you she's dragging off for a drink. We Mormont women do things very differently. We don't worry too much about keeping our maidenheads intact, our martial upbringing sees to that. If we decide to have a lover, we take one, no arguments. It takes a certain kind of man to keep us to one bed, and not many are up to the challenge." After that Lady Maege walked off, humming a tune to herself and leaving Beric to think on what she has just said. Dacey has taken a lover before? No, that doesn't seem right, he thought. After a short while though he thought back to every time that Dacey has looked at him, with what Beric could only describe as desire in her eyes. She does not seem the sort. But what if... Beric shook his head, deciding to forget it and find something else to do. He walked away to where his tent was, intending to get some sleep, but all the while he could not get Dacey out of his mind. What if she does like me? he wondered.

---

Alysanne

The Lady of the Golden Tooth walked through the halls of her home, a sense of dread filling her as she did. She walked with two guards behind her, both with swords on their hips and their heads enclosed within their iron helms. They wore chainmail and leather armour like most guardsmen did, and they were quite sour, just like Alysanne felt right now. It has been months since she has heard word from her great-uncle, Lord Leo Lefford, who had ridden out with Lord Tywin Lannister and was with him at the battle that was known as the Humbling. Great-Uncle Leo was known to be a sour man, but that was not surprising when one considered that he had lost his only son a few years back and was left with only a girl for an heir. At nineteen Alysanne was indeed in an unusual situation; being the granddaughter of Leo's younger brother as well as his only living relative she should have been married at least three years ago, but few men had considered accepting marrying her. She was still a girl when Lord Leo's son died and as he did not remarry for whatever reason he had, Alysanne became the heir.

"Marry my great-niece and you shall become the Lord of the Golden Tooth, and your sons shall be born to House Lefford," he would say to the few prospective suitors that came to court her. She had quite a few suitors once she had flowered at thirteen, but all were put off not by her but by Lord Leo.

Alysanne had no trouble attracting suitors; she had a lovely figure that drew attention, full breasts that men seemed to have no problem looking at, a smooth looking heart shaped face, long brown hair so light it was almost blonde and reached her waist, and eyes that, as one suitor had said, were enchanting blue-green. Typically she would wear close fitting dresses that covered her modesty but hugged her frame and gave men a look at her figure, and she would wear silver bracelets and a necklace of gold with an emerald set into it. Today however she wore a modest dress of sky blue with golden yellow designs embroidered along the sleeves and the edges of the skirt, and she had her hair tied into a simple plait rather than having a more elaborate style. She left her bracelets and necklace in the jewellery box that she kept in her vanity in her rooms. Today she was going to walk along the battlements of the keep and look out to the east, where a host of men from three kingdoms was set up two miles away. After her walk she would go back inside and wait for Ser Stafford to arrive with his host, and then she can relax knowing that the rebels will not be able to enter the Westerlands this way. She has been doing this for the last eight days now, ever since Ser Stafford's messenger arrived to let her know that they would be marching soon.

As the door opened Alysanne took a deep breath and walked outside, breathing in the fresh air. She walked along the battlements and saw her guardsmen tending to their duties along with the keep's servants. To her east she could see the rebel forces had gotten closer to the Golden Tooth. She saw many banners from the Riverlands, the Vale and the North. Fools, she thought disdainfully. Have they nothing better to do? Alysanne saw the Mallisters banners along with the Blackwoods, Brackens, Freys and other Riverland banners all on the one side. On the opposite side to them she saw the Redforts as well as the Waynwoods, Hardyngs and some other Vale banners. In the middle she saw the Manderlys, Glovers, Tallharts and other Northern banners. There was no sign of the Stark banner, which confused Alysanne. She watched as the rebels worked around their camp setting up palisades, digging up latrine pits, raising tents and so many other tasks. The sheer number of them was daunting. Seven who are one give me strength, she thought, her heart sinking. Nothing has gone well for the Westerlands since the Humbling, and now it seems that the war is coming here. I cannot let them through. I must not yield. The path that the Golden Tooth has guarded since House Lefford was gifted the keep by King Cerion Lannister many thousands of years ago is flanked by mountains to both the north and the south. The keep itself sits on the edge of the road, close enough that anyone travelling was within range of the archers that were always on patrol. The rebels would have to take the keep if they wanted to cross into the west, and that would not be an easy task even with the current garrison.

"Look at them," she heard someone say further along. "So many o' them out there. How many do ye think there are?"

"Thousands, likely more," another replied. "An' we only 'ave three-hunnert guardsmen to keep them out." Alysanne cringed at the conversation. Why can't lowborn speak properly? she thought as she walked by the talking men who both bowed to her. "Milady," they both said. She walked past them and stopped at the door to the gate-tower where Ser Ralf, the captain of the guard and castellan of the Golden Tooth, was stood watching the rebels.

"My lady," he spoke as she approached. The knight bowed to her before he walked into the tower. Alysanne followed him into the room where a table was set up with several chairs, one of which was more comfortable than the others and given to her. Alysanne sat upon that chair while Ser Ralf kept standing. "As you can see the rebels have moved closer to our walls my lady," he said as a servant moved to pour her a cup of water. "Lord Mallister seems to be in charge of this host, but as to his intentions I have no idea. Perhaps he is awaiting the Starks, or maybe they have sent him to keep us in the Westerlands." Alysanne nodded her head.

"And so stop us from going to give aid to King Joffrey when his traitor uncles march on him?" she guessed. Ser Ralf nodded his head in answer. "Were it not for the Reach siding with Lord Renly then we could just march our forces through the Reach and attack from the south."

"If only it would've been that easy," Ser Ralf said with a chuckle. "Sadly the Reach would hinder us if we were to move through their lands even if they did not take Lord Renly's side. The Tyrells are arrogant and seem to think they are better than others, just because the Conqueror gave them Highgarden after the Field of Fire where House Gardener was extinguished. I believe Lord Lefford said it best when he said that the Tyrells were just the Freys of the Reach." Alysanne frowned at that comparison, thinking it rather unfair to liken anyone to the Freys of the Twins. She remembered a couple of years ago when a knight of House Frey arrived to seek her hand. Alysanne would have considered the match if it had been a nameless bastard knighted by the King himself, but the man was a grandson of Lord Walder Frey and known to be quite unpleasant. She never even gave her great-uncle a chance to refuse him as she did that herself, telling him that he was not welcome. The day I let a Frey take my maidenhead is the day the Others come back, she thought.

"House Tyrell is far more... cultured than House Frey, Ser Ralf," she said after a few moments. "At least they have more handsome knights than the Freys do."

"Yes my lady, but they are just as power hungry," the knight replied. "Anyway, Ser Stafford should hopefully be here by..." The door behind him opening with a bang cut him off as a lowborn guardsman entered.

"Ser Ralf, milady," the man spoke in a rush. "A host has marched up from our west." Ser Ralf smiled as he looked back at her.

"Well then, looks like Ser Stafford has arrived now," he said, but the guardsman looked at him with wide eyes.

"No ser, it's not Ser Stafford," he said. "The rebels are marching on us." Alysanne looked sharply at the man as she stood up.

"Impossible," she told him. "The only way into the Westerlands aside from here is from the south or the coast, and the rebels don't have a fleet." Before anyone could say another word the sound of war-horns blaring drew their attention. Alysanne followed Ser Ralf and the guardsman out and walked along the walls, where she looked to the west and felt her heart beat faster than she thought it should.

The host marching up to the Golden Tooth looked to be about four-thousand strong, with many banners fluttering in the wind. Alysanne saw the leaping silver trout of Tully, the dancing pink maiden of Piper, the roaring giant of Umber, the black bear of Mormont, and the white sunburst of Karstark to name but a few. The most prominent banner however was that of a grey direwolf racing over a field of white. The Starks were here, and had somehow gotten into the Westerlands without going through the Golden Tooth. Men shouted out in alarm then as the host marched along the road, stopping when they were just out of range of the archers. Senior guardsmen and knights cursed at the sight of the rebels, and Alysanne felt fearful as it dawned on her that she was surrounded.

"STAND TO!" Ser Ralf shouted, and soon guardsmen were rushing to their posts, bows held ready and arrows knocked. "My lady, you should perhaps return to the keep," Ser Ralf suggested to her. She was about to nod when she saw a peace banner being raised by the rebels.

"Ser Ralf, look," she said as she pointed to the banner. A lone man on a horse rode up to the wall, the reins in one hand and the peace banner held in the other. He was quite young by the looks of him, and looked quite plain; neither handsome nor ugly. He wore mail and leather and Alysanne could see that he was nervous.

"Archers, draw and hold," Ser Ralf commanded. Alysanne saw the men drawing their bowstrings back and noticed that quite a few were shaking nervously. She was no expert but she knew that all it would take would be for one man to accidentally loose off his arrow and then the battle would start. Despite not knowing how this second host had gotten into the Westerlands one thing was clear; Ser Stafford's host would not be coming.

"Ser Ralf, order the men to stand down," she told her castellan. The knight looked back at her, his eyes wide.

"But my lady, what if it's a trap to make us relax our guard?" he asked her. Alysanne had not thought of that possibility, but that was not the point.

"Look at your men ser," she said. "Most are far too nervous to be aiming their bows and holding steady. If just one man loses his grip and sends an arrow into that messenger then we are doomed." Ser Ralf sighed as the realisation sank in. "Now order the men to stand down." The knight stood still for only a moment before nodding his head in defeat.

"Stand down," he ordered, his order echoed by the officers. Every archer relaxed their aim, lowering their bows, and Alysanne looked back at the messenger.

The young man stopped maybe ten yards from the wall and looked up. He looked across the battlements of the wall and stopped briefly when he saw Alysanne. She felt a flutter of nerves when their eyes met, not knowing if there was indifference or malice behind those eyes. The man straightened himself on his mount and began to shout.

"In the name of His Grace Eddard Stark, the King in the North and the Trident and the Vale, you are called upon to yield the Golden Tooth to Prince Robb Stark, the Heir to Winterfell!" he shouted loudly. Alysanne had to hide her surprise at the words; she had heard rumours that the North along with the Riverlands had named Eddard Stark as their King, but the mention of the Vale calling him their King too was quite unexpected. Nevertheless she had to answer the man down below, and she felt more nervous than ever before. Alysanne looked to Ser Ralf who nodded his head to her.

"You are the Lady of the Golden Tooth. Only you can answer to that," he told her. Gulping down nervously Alysanne stepped closer to the wall and looked down.

"I will speak with your Prince Robb!" she called out. "Go back and tell him that I shall only speak terms with him and no other!" The man seemed to be shocked by her answer but he bowed his head and turned his horse around, riding back to the rebels.

For twenty minutes Alysanne stood by the walls, her heart hammering in her chest as a thousand scenarios played in her mind, some more grisly than others. As she was starting to feel like going back to her rooms and waiting there a small party of rebels rode up to the gate. Alysanne ordered for Ser Ralf to accompany her with half a dozen men as she made her way down to the courtyard. One man suggested to let the Stark boy in and capture him, but Ser Ralf quickly silenced the fool.

"We take him captive then his host will destroy us all," he hissed at the man. "What do you think the Northmen in particular will do if that happens?" The guardsman held his tongue after that, and after a minute the gate opened. Alysanne walked out with her guards, having refused to ride out on her horse to meet with the rebels. She would not go far from the gate and she would be under the protection of the archers upon the walls as well as the men with her. The rebels that rode up were not quite what she expected. Growing up as a child Alysanne had heard that the men of the North were all no better than wildlings with their furs and manes of unkempt hair and hideous scars. The Northmen in front of her looked nothing like the tales that she had been told. There were a dozen of them, mostly Northmen apart from one or two who she realised were of the Riverlands. The Northmen wore either iron or boiled leather over mail while the Rivermen wore steel-plate armour. The messenger sat atop his horse, still holding the peace banner. At the head was a young man with auburn hair and a trimmed beard, with hard blue eyes. He wore steel-plate armour, and held on his horse's side was a shield with a direwolf head engraved upon it. His helm which he held under his arm was plain, devoid of any decoration, and his longsword's hilt was a simple cross-guard and grip wound with leather and a semi-circular pommel. What was most interesting however was the grey furred beast that was standing next to him, its yellow eyes looking at her intently. When those eyes shifted onto her guards the beast bared its teeth at them, growling lowly.

"Lady Lefford?" the man asked after he dismounted his horse. Two of his guard detail also dismounted and followed him when he walked over to her. "You wish to speak terms so I hear," he stated. Looking at the man standing before her and taking in his Tully appearance it was clear to her who this was, having heard that Eddard Stark's eldest son has his mother's looks.

"That is correct Lord Stark," she replied. One of the guards who followed the Young Wolf stepped forward, and to her amazement Alysanne saw that it was a woman dressed in men's mail.

"You are standing before Prince Robb of the House Stark of Winterfell," the woman said. "You will address him as 'my prince'." Alysanne looked at the woman who was clutching the grip of her mace, as if waiting to start swinging it.

"Who do you think you are, speaking to highborn in such a manner wench?" Ser Ralf snapped.

"Careful ser," the Young Wolf growled out. "You are speaking to the Heir of Bear Island, Lady Dacey Mormont. The Mormonts are a proud noble House who do not take too kindly to anyone showing disrespect to my own House. Unless you would like to see first hand what a warrior woman of Bear Island is capable of I suggest that you hold your tongue." Looking at her castellan Alysanne could see that Ser Ralf was seething at the Stark boy. Deciding to diffuse the situation Alysanne held up a hand and took a single step forward.

"Prince Robb," she started, turning back to face the boy. Man, she chided herself. The boy is a man who has fought and killed men. Give him the respect that he is due. "I am not accustomed to addressing those of a higher station than mine own, so please forgive my earlier words. I would speak with you and you only in regards to the matter of your two hosts camped outside my family's walls." Robb Stark looked at her and simply nodded, his gaze stern.

"You want to discus terms?" he repeated. Alysanne nodded her head in answer. "The terms are simple. As you have said there are two hosts camped outside your keep. Ser Stafford Lannister is dead, his host scattered. It will be a long time until help is organised, by which point we will be marching throughout the Westerlands. Here are my terms my lady. Order your men to stand down and surrender their arms. Any man who wishes to return to their families will be allowed to do so. Any who wish to take the black will be allowed to do so. You will yield the Golden Tooth to me and then you will be escorted to Riverrun where you will be a hostage until the war is over. No harm will come to you while you are there." Alysanne blinked as the Young Wolf spoke, not believing what she was hearing. "The remains of Lord Leo Lefford will be brought here to be laid to rest with his ancestors in accordance with your family's traditions," he said next. At that Alysanne let out a small gasp, shocked by the sudden news. My great-uncle is dead? No, no. Alysanne felt sick upon the revelation of Lord Leo's death.

"How..." she tried speaking, but her words were caught in her throat. She cleared her throat and tried again. "How did my great-uncle die?" Robb Stark looked at her sympathetically, bowing his head slightly.

"He took an injury during the Humbling," he answered. "The wound was severe, and proved to be fatal. He died three days after the battle." Alysanne flinched at that news. Three days of agony, she thought sadly. After a moment the Young Wolf continued with his terms. "Half of the Golden Tooth's wealth shall be given to the Riverlands as part of the Westerlands debt to the lands of House Tully and their vassal lords. Also, one third of all food stores shall be sent to the Riverlands for redistribution to cover the crops that were lost during the sacking of the Riverlands." Alysanne stared wide eyed at him as he spoke.

"Prince Robb," she began. "What you are asking of me is extortionate. The small folk of my lands will need that food, especially when the winter comes as your House words constantly remind us."

"Your small folk will have plenty of food to survive winter, so long as you share in their hardships and eat the same as they would," he told her. Alysanne was about to argue when she actually stopped and thought about what he just said. He has a point. House Lefford is only one of many Houses throughout the Westerlands. But still, to share their hardships? Alysanne felt that she was in a very unpleasant situation. She tried to think about what she should do for her House, remembering that she was now the head of her House. What would you have done Lord Leo? she thought, but she knew the answer to that. Fight to the end. But I am not a warrior. In the end Alysanne sighed loudly before looking back to Ser Ralf. She walked over to him and leaned closer to him.

"When we are done tell the garrison to lay down their arms and disband," she told him. Ser Ralf looked at her, horrified at the order by the look in his eyes.

"But my lady, your great-uncle..." he began, but Alysanne cut him off.

"Is dead ser," she said. "I am the last of House Lefford." She was trying hard not to let her emotion show. "You will give the order to the men to stand down." Ser Ralf looked at her, his eyes betraying the look of abject disgust he felt at the order. The knight nodded his head in defeat. Alysanne turned to face the Young Wolf and walked over to him, keeping her hands down by her sides. "I will comply with your terms my prince, but I have a demand of my own." Robb Stark looked at her sternly for what seemed like eternity before he finally spoke.

"I'm listening my lady," he told her. Alysanne steeled herself as she took a deep breath.

"I will remain in my home until I have laid my great-uncle to rest," she told him with a firm tone. "Only once I have seen Lord Leo laid to rest with our ancestors will I allow you to remove me from my home and send me to Riverrun." The Northman looked at her for a long time, not once looking at his guards. He was clearly thinking about her demand. Before long he gave her his answer.

"I can allow that my lady," he said. Alysanne had to fight to not show her shock; she had expected him to steadfastly refuse her demand. "I will send word for Lord Leo's remains to be brought here quickly. Once you have seen to his funeral you will leave for Riverrun." Alysanne bowed her head and dipped into a curtsey.

"Thank you, my prince," she said as she stood up from the curtsey.

Alysanne walked back into the courtyard of the Golden Tooth, and then she looked at Ser Ralf who looked at her with pained eyes. Obviously he took her orders as a betrayal to her House, which she could understand as the knight has served her family faithfully for many years now. He turned around and began to order his men to stand down and surrender their arms. Many of the guardsmen looked stunned by the order but they did as they were told anyway. Alysanne stood in front of the doors to the main keep and watched as her household guard laid down their swords, spears and bows. After half an hour a large group of rebels walked in through the gate and spread out over the courtyard, and soon the Lefford guards were walking out of the gate. The pile of weapons increased in height and the banners of House Lefford, golden inverted pile with yellow sun on the left upon a sky-blue field, were taken down to be replaced by the grey direwolf on white of Stark. Alysanne watched as the rebels began to occupy her family's home. The Young Wolf and his lords rode in and dismounted their horse before walking over to her. Alysanne knelt before him, hating that she was doing this but knowing that it was the only way to save her family and to ensure that no harm befell the small folk within her lands.

"The Golden Tooth is yours Prince Robb," she spoke. "I hereby surrender my ancestral home into your care." She kept her head down but looked up with her eyes and saw the Northman's hand signalling her to stand up. She did so slowly, keeping her hands in front of her and her head bowed.

"I accept your surrender my lady," the man said. And with that Lady Alysanne returned to her rooms under guard, but where before she was guarded by men sworn to her House she was now being guarded by Northmen sworn to the Starks. How did it come to this? she wondered fearfully.

---

Author's Note: So the invasion has begun.

I've always wanted to see the chaos of the battle that would've been fought under the conditions that the battle at Oxcross was fought under, so that was my take on it. Harrion is not in the best frame of mind right now seeing as he saw his father being killed, and everyone is now worried for him, Robb especially. As for Beric, well I like the guy and want to give him a better chance than he had in canon (I mean come on, getting killed and being brought back from the dead six times would be a right pain in the ass). As for him and Dacey, well the idea is stuck in my head along with two more ideas so we will see what happens.

Alysanne Lefford I had to take liberties with as we know next to nothing about her apart from her name. Everything else is unknown, including what her relation with Lord Leo is. I brought her in to give a view of how things are from the perspective of the other side of the conflict, like I did with Cersei a couple of chapter or so back.

Back to typing chapter for now, so see you when I get them done.