Robb at the Crossing, Part III

First battle

The slight figure in Frey azure walking quickly through the hasty encampment would seem only some squire on an errand, had anyone noticed. Anyone of note was trying to steal a few hours sleep. The call to arms would be at the darkest hour; the host to be marshaled by the first glimmer of twilight; the first charge to go in at sunrise. Everyone else busied themselves tending horses, cleaning armor, sharpening weapons, distributing bundles of arrows and bolts, and preparing a cold gruel to accompany a spare breakfast of cold ham, stale bread and ale. "No fires!" was the order and the first and only one to violate the order was already cold. He had been a squire; his knight was in chains.

A shadow lifted the tent flap and slipped inside. There was no light, only a darker shadow seated on a camp chair. "You came. I hadn't seen you during the march. Riding with your betters, I was thinking; starting to put on airs; too busy for your cousin."

"This is my first battle and I may not fight another."

"Frightened, little one? Far better to seek death out than hide from it; you're so surprised when you come out alive."

"No, not scared. But if I die I want man-scent on me."

"Ser High-and-Mighty not man enough for you?"

"He doesn't sleep. He's scouting the field. I'd be with him but I have orders. He doesn't like you to disobey his orders."

"Good enough. But it's more than your stink I want."

"I'll fight you."

"Good."

They were approaching from downwind. The smells from the Lannister camp were growing stronger, wood smoke, meat grilling, horses, cattle and unwashed men; many men. Grey Wind's nose was up, working the field side to side, just barely in sight. Robb signaled a trot. The command was relayed by a hundred waving banners up and down the line. Four-thousand horsemen picked up the pace. The ground rumbled. "That'll wake them up!" shouted Theon. "And herald their deaths," Brynden replied. There was a slight rise ahead with a thin covering of trees. There had been a score of pickets posted. They lay silent, their blood not yet congealed. Beyond the ground sloped gently down to a field where the horses were tethered in long lines. Near the middle a hundred aurochs shifted nervously in their stockade. An expedient palisade of sharpened stakes surrounded the camp which was now beginning to stir. Somewhere beyond that shadows and mist obscured the Red Fork and the towers of Riverrun. Robb signaled the canter. Again the banners waved. Again the pace quickened. Robb glanced anxiously to the east where the colors of dawn were starting to paint the clouds. Grey Wind reached the crest of the rise and began to howl. In the camp horns blew and drums beat, the call to arms! A flaming arrow rose high in the western sky. "Greatjon's signal, at the gallop!" The banners waved.

The horsemen thundered up the rise as an arc of blinding sunlight peeked above the horizon. A thousand gleaming spear points caught the first rays. Robb rode up to where Grey Wind stood howling. Below was a maelstrom of bellowing cattle, spooked horses and frantic men struggling to saddle and mount. The gates through the palisade were open. On the opposite side of the camp a storm of fire arrows descended; already flames were leaping from dozens of pavilions. Umber's host had broken through the first line, breached the palisade and was nearly to the tents. Robb stood up in his saddle and drew his sword, "Kill them!" A score of trumpeters sounded the charge. Brynden took the left wing and Robb the right. A hundred beaters with blazing torches headed straight for the panicked paddock. The rider-less horses tore loose from the lines and stampeded through the gates and into the camp, collapsing tents, overturning cookfires, trampling men. The maddened aurochs smashed their makeshift fence and made a new passage through the palisade. Nothing survived in their wake.

The Lannister army began to rout. But not all of it. A powerful troop of several hundred heavy cavalry flying yellow banners had entered the field and was moving aggressively on Robb's flank. The commander wore the armor of the Kingsguard. He had seen the Stark banner and sought a decisive kill. Robb ordered Theon and two of his captains with half his wing to take the opposing horse in the rear, knowing the split would appear to be his men breaking. The remainder he formed up into a line 5 score wide and 10 ranks deep. The riders executed the maneuver smartly. Placing himself at the front he ordered, "At the gallop, forward!" The enemy accepted the challenge and charged. It is said that a horse will not willingly run into an obstacle, and will shy to the side. Normally. But the fury of battle affects man and horse. With comrades left and right, shouting, snorting, sweat and lather flying, their blood up, all surging forward as one body toward an object of utter hatred they will attempt impossible things. The clash when it came splintered lances, shattered shields, broke bones and tore flesh. Some mounts leapt the first rank and smashed into the second. The rear ranks collapsed forward. The crush at the front was so great that men could not swing their blades. They jabbed at each other with knives, kicking, gouging, and biting. Robb and the opposing commander saw each other clearly and spit oaths; but could not fight their way close enough to trade blows. Horses went down carrying their riders with them into a bloody shambles. It could not last, one or the other would break. It came with trumpets and shouts of "Winterfell, Tully, Frey, Umber, the North!" Theon had struck. A shiver passed through the Lannister men. The knight of the Kingsguard cursed and shouted, "Hold! Stand fast!" But their furor was spent and each sought escape. It was enough. Robb and those remaining of the first two ranks were finally free to use their swords. The slaughter began.

Lady Catelyn and Walda had approached the fighting as close as the captain of the life guards would permit. They were six chosen Stark men and had sworn a mighty oath to Robb that very morning. The smoke from the burning camp was a good sign. But the flow of wounded men and horses limping to the rear was increasing. They had halted on a small hill which offered a partial view of the battlefield. It appeared to be littered with colored rags, mostly red; not evenly distributed but in clumps, piles and windrows. There was the faint accompaniment of screaming men and horses. From a tree line some 300 paces to their left a dozen horsemen suddenly burst forth. "Lannisters!" one of the guards shouted. "Ride to the camp, Lady Catelyn; we'll hold them here!" Catelyn spurred her horse but had gone only a few paces before realizing that Walda was not following. "Walda, come now!" Without turning or speaking the girl quickly reached into a leather case strapped to the side of her saddle and pulled out a strangely curved bow. With what must have been her legs and feet she controlled her twitchy mount, turning him to face the attackers. From a quiver on the other side she picked an arrow. She notched it and pulled the string in one fluid motion back to her ear. The bending bow creaked loudly. She released and the arrow vanished. The string thrummed. There was a streak through the air and one of the attackers fell backwards off his horse. She repeated this five more times. The sixth attacker took his arrow in the back. The survivors were in full flight before the life guards had reached them. They pursued. Walda cantered up to each of her victims in turn, jumped from her saddle, cut out her arrows and took an ear. One, the last, was still alive. "Mercy," he gasped. She pulled his head back and slit his throat before claiming her prize. But she had yanked out the arrow first. It came with a piece of lung. When she came trotting back with her bloody trophies strung on a cord and held high Catelyn was staring in disbelief. Walda was grinning. Her face and clothes splattered with blood, her hands crimson. "My first kills in battle!"

"Walda, I … thank you. You may have saved us all. But I don't understand. How did you do this? Why did you take their ears?"

"This is a Dothraki bow. I hunt with it. It is expected to take tokens in battle; only small ones as there were six. A bloodrider travels light. It is known."

Catelyn was bewildered.

"Oh, don't think me mad. I just lived my warrior dream. Our armorer had gone across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities. The bow he bought in a bazaar. I bought it from him. He told me all about the Dothraki."

"Walda you make me think of my daughter Arya and Nymeria."

"The Queen of the Roynar?"

"No, Arya's direwolf. All my children have … had a wolf."

"Grey Wind is my friend."

Catelyn suddenly slumped in her saddle and covered her face with her hands. Walda could hear her sobbing. She dismounted and removed a water skin from her saddle bag. She splashed water on her hands and wiped them clean with grasses torn from the ground. "Lady Catelyn," Walda reached up to take her hand, "Robb is alive and victorious."

Catelyn looked at her, "How …?"

"Those men were running from the battle; they met us by chance. And look, those are our banners on the field. The fighting is over."

"And Robb?"

"Grey Wind is pleased."

"And … Ned, Arya, Sansa?"

"I am sorry. I cannot see that far."

The six lifeguards rode up, winded but in high spirits. The captain dismounted, approached Lady Catelyn and bowed. "I prayed you had returned to camp. There may be other stragglers about. But I see there was no need to worry." Turning to Walda he bowed a degree deeper. "Milady, we thought you just a Frey lass not a Wildling maid." The men laughed. Lady Caetlyn frowned disapprovingly. But Walda beamed. "Beg your pardon, milady. The men were of differing minds until we came back and saw your kills. We all agreed you should have these. We took them off their leader." He held out his hand. In it rested 6 golden dragons. She took them from his hand one by one. "Ser, you honor me more than I can say. Please have your men dismount." By now the numbers returning to camp had become a steady flow. Many had paused to see what transpired with Lady Catelyn and the pretty girl.

The life guards, anticipating the command, swung down from their horses and instinctively fell into a single rank, tallest to shortest, left to right. Walda brushed aside a blonde red-speckled lock that had fallen across her brow. "Today we fought together. I count you my brothers. I already have my tokens of victory. You shall share the spoils." Starting with the shortest man she took his hand and placed a golden dragon in it. Then she smiled and kissed him. There was nothing maidenly about it. "Ah, you have a wound. See to it. I shall check later." As she reached the taller end of the line, the men were bending their heads down eagerly. Finally she turned to the captain. She placed the remaining coin in his hand and with both of hers closed his. "This was my first battle. Did I do well?" He stood there for a moment, flustered. "Milady, I have never seen better shots from horseback. Those men were Lannister household. They wore good mail. I believe I owe you my life. What say you lads?" They were peasant boys, sons of crafters and merchants. Ser Rodrik Cassel had chosen them from among the many for their way with horses, talent with weapons, wits and willingness to accept orders. They would do what was expected. For honor and duty each was prepared to die for any of the Starks. But this savage young woman with the powerful arms, amber eyes, and hot kisses, they loved. "Walda!" they shouted. "Wal-da, Wal-da!" She threw her arms around the startled captain and kissed him deepest of all. Those who had paused to watch began to take up the chant. Others farther away who had no idea what the words meant joined in. Catelyn knew she had just witnessed something remarkable.

"And the Kingslayer?" Robb demanded.

"Nothing; we've been chasing ghosts and rumors of ghosts," replied Ser Brynden as he stomped to his seat at the great trestle table. He was mud splattered, tired and in a foul mood. "How is it possible he escaped the camp?! We had it surrounded on land and Lord Blackwood held the river. If I had taken the right wing he'd be dead or in chains!"

"We did have him, nuncle! Seven hells! He was as close to me as Greatjon is now at the end of this table. We traded curses! There was no lack of will to close on either side. When they broke he disappeared. We chased them all and killed all we caught."

"Yes; you had him and let him go. You wasted days training your men to perform fancy tournament tricks. It sapped their furor. In battle you charge and you kill; there is no time to trot about in neat lines. You made weaklings of them."

"Sapped their furor?! Weaklings?!" Theon spoke with difficulty, his jaw bandaged from a sword cut. "There was no lack of furor on the right! When I was unhorsed and lay wounded on the ground, ten of my men, common men, not knights, nobody of high family or note, circled me and fought like demons until I could remount. Eight of them died. And many more in our charge. How many gave their lives on the left? It must have been dangerous chasing cows, stepping in shit!"

"So, young pup of Pyke, eight good men died because you couldn't keep your saddle."

His eyes livid, Theon flung back his chair and drew his sword. Brynden's blade flashed from its scabbard.

"Hold!" shouted Robb smashing his fist on the table. "Jaime Lannister will have his victory even now if we start quarreling among ourselves. He may have escaped but without his army. We have the initiative. We will retain it by striking south, cutting the kingsroad and forcing Tywin to face two directions. And know this Ser Brynden, Theon is my father's ward, a member of my household. Attack him, you attack me. And Theon, draw a sword again in my council and I'll have you in chains." Both men sullenly sheathed their swords and sat down, still glaring at each other. Umber nodded approvingly to Robb. "Now, Lord Frey, you were speaking of your losses."

"Yes, Robb Stark, we killed and captured many hundreds but not without cost: 60 riders, 20 archers, 30 men-at-arms; of men of note only my grandson Walder, Ser Ryman's son."

"It grieves me to hear this. I'm sure he did honor to his house."

Frey coughed. "He … did not die in battle. We could not find him this morning."

Brynden interjected, "This is not possible! Black Walder never ran from a fight!"

"Permit me." Frey continued. "We found his body this afternoon in bushes near the path to the camp latrines. He had been mutilated, as if savaged by war dogs."

The men stared at Frey in shock.

"What became of the Lannister pack?" asked Robb. "I didn't see any of the brutes today."

Theon spoke up. "If a pack were loose last night there would be reports from the pickets. I visited the latrines twice, as did many of us. Didn't see a damn thing. Grey Wind would have smelled them out." The other council members shifted uncomfortably and then looked to Robb.

"Lord Frey, Walder will be counted among the battle dead. There is no hint of dishonor here."

"What do you know of Walda?"

"She'll never inherit the Twins," Robb replied.

"Today I saw what she is capable of. It frightened me. You spoke with the captain of the life guard?"

"Yes, mother. He was very impressed. I do believe he loves her. They all do."

"This doesn't bother you?"

"I understand. I love her, too. And she knows more about inspiring men than Sers and Lords thrice her age. I've a mind to give her a troop of horse."

"And this Dothraki game she plays? I insisted she wash before seeing you. She said the Khal expects to see his bloodriders covered in enemy blood. It is known."

"And if the Dothraki are anything like her I'd pay for a thousand. I intend to try that bow of hers."

"I doubt if she is pure. There is talk she shared the bed of her cousin."

"It is well that one of us is experienced. I would not want a night with her wasted in clumsy grappling."

"Robb!"

"Sorry mother, but nothing you say changes my feelings. Would you have me send her home and pledge myself to Little Walda? I cannot wait that long and I might not live that long."

"There is one more thing. Her great grandmother was a Royce."

"And Stevron's mother was a Royce. I do not think any less of him for it."

"The Royces are an ancient family. They claim descent from the First Men and consorted with the children of the forest before the Andals."

"And so, too, the Starks. I've heard all this from Old Nan."

"A trait may skip one generation or many only to reappear in full force; an ancient trait such as skinchanging. Walda told me that Grey Wind was her friend and through him knew that you lived. She said she couldn't see your father and sisters."

"That could mean anything. Besides, the wolf loves her. He chose her."

"Are you sure?"

"Wait, her cousin, the one the rumors speak of; do you know his name?"

"Another Walder. Black Walder. Why do you ask? You're not thinking of confronting him?"

"He was killed this morning by wild dogs, it is thought."

Catelyn stared at him wide eyed. "Where was Grey Wind?

"With me, scouting; but there were long stretches when I did not see him. After the battle he was so covered in gore there was no telling how many of what he had killed. Some saw him rip the bellies of Lannister chargers."

"And now?"

"He hunts at night; I don't always feel his presence. Mother, there are times when I dream I am Grey Wind. I feel the snow beneath his paws. Everything he feels, I feel. I've tasted his kills. Bran told me as much about Summer; and Arya, about Nymeria; and I'm sorry, mother, Jon about Ghost. Are we all skinchangers, wargs?"

"The power is not just vivid dreams, or even control over animals. I've heard Nan's tales, too.

"Just what are you saying, then?"

"I don't know, Robb! I can't help it. I love that strange girl. But I'm frightened for you!"

He stood up and hugged her.

"Mother it is late and Walda is waiting."

She had been given a small chamber overlooking the Godswood. It had not been cleaned since the siege began. She found a broom and went to work. It improved things somewhat. She arranged her kit on a large chest and then worked the fire until its warmth filled the room. She looked out the window. In the darkness below a large shadow was moving. She whistled. The direwolf answered with a happy yip. "Here boy!" She moved back from the window and whistled again. Could he do it? There was a thump and a scrabbling at the sill. Then a bigger thump on the ground outside. "Try again, boy!" There was a low growl this time, followed by a louder thump and Grey Wind landed, head and forelegs in the window, the rest out; he woofed, his big eyes pleading. Walda rushed forward, grabbed his legs and pulled. There was a mad scrambling on the outside wall below the sill. Finally a paw found purchase and the wolf heaved himself into the room. He landed on Walda. Laughing she crawled out from under him. "Good wolf!" He licked her face. "The taste of our enemies, Grey Wind; now stop, you'll take all the blood off. My Khal must see for himself." She rubbed his fur. "You're wet. He already saw you, and sent you to swim in the river, yes boy?" They looked into each other's eyes, so alike.

There came a knock. "Walda, it's Robb. May I enter?"

She ran to the door and threw it open. "Robb Stark! We've been waiting forever."

He looked around inside and saw his wolf sitting attentively in the corner. "How the devil did you get in here?"

Walda smiled and pointed to the window. He walked across the room and looked out; and then back to Grey Wind; and again out the window. "You haven't grown wings, have you boy?" He scratched the wolf's neck with both hands and brought his head close to stare into the yellow, luminous eyes. The wolf licked him. Walda stood beside him, placed her arm around his back, grasping his belt. She leaned against his side and closed her eyes. Robb turned and studied her face. He placed a finger in his mouth, moistened it and gently rubbed one of the dark splotches on her forehead. The blood came off on his finger. "Is it proper for a Khal to bathe his brave bloodrider?"

"I have not heard it said but it would please me."

"Sit here, then." There was a pot of water warming above the fire and some clean rags on the mantle. He took these things and sat on the floor in front of Walda. He dipped a rag into the water and began cleaning her face. He worked slowly and thoroughly, and then washed her ears and throat. He found on the latter that he was removing more than blood. There was a sort of flesh-colored cream. Under it were fresh bruises and unhealed scratches. As gently as he tried to clean them she winced. He stopped then. Looking around the room he found a brush on a table. This was, after all, a lady's chamber. He retrieved it and then sat beside her on the bed and tenderly brushed her hair. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, "Nobody has done that for me since I was very small. I'd forgotten what it meant to me."

"Do I get one of those kisses you were giving away today?"

She wiped her eyes and smiled. "They must be earned. How many ears did you take?"

"If I had started doing that I'd still be on the field cutting, instead of here with you."

"Do you have any wounds?"

"Ah, yes; those hurt. But none fatal."

"Show me."

He removed his tunic. A large bandage covered his upper chest, stained with blood. There were a dozen cuts on his arms. Across his back an enormous bruise blossomed. "That's where I took a war hammer. It dented my armor and nearly unhorsed me. And speaking of ears, I almost lost one." He pulled his hair aside. His left ear was swollen and bloody. There were dark gaps where skin should be. She examined it closely. "The maester should see to that. You could lose it still."

"Enough? I could show you more."

"Time enough, later. You've earned your kiss."

He had anticipated this moment but was unprepared for the torrent of passion and fire. For a fleeting moment he felt he had passed into her and she into him. He could hear their heartbeats racing and the calls of night birds leagues away. He could smell Walda's rising heat and fading flowers in the Godswood. He could see himself, and then both he and she from a distance, embracing. He couldn't breathe. He was falling. An instant later he was lying flat on his back, his lips sore and burning. His mouth filled with the sweet taste of her. He had never felt so alive. "That's what you gave the guardsmen?"

"Oh, no; that was only for you. They would have died. You are a much stronger man and of weirblood."

"I want more."

"I will give all."

He noticed the wolf staring at them, panting rapidly. "Does he have to watch?"

"Not only watch. Grey Wind is more than our friend, Robb Stark; he is one with us."

High in the North Tower a raven settled on its perch causing a bell to ring in Maester Vyman's chamber. He hurried as best an old man can hurry to the loft and its cote. He recognized the preening bird as one of Grand Maester Pycelle's flock. He removed the message it carried and began to read. "My," he murmured, "such news on such a day." Then he heard the sound. He walked to each of the loft's windows and leaned out searching for its source. Definitely in the castle, he thought; near the Godswood. He understood and marveled. Eddard Stark was dead and the direwolves were howling.