Chapter Three: The Battle Begins
Northern Host (Robb Stark)
The early morning fog scattered around the vast fields of the Riverlands as the mighty northern host made their advanced down the River Road, Robb Stark had ordered the host to march with haste after receiving a raven mentioning the death of his lord father at the hands of a Lannister spear, the very thought of his father dying only fueled him to continue pressing forward. The sun had not yet dawned when the northsmen appeared on the horizon behind one of the three Lannister camps around the seat of House Tully. Robb was joined by Ser Brynden Tully, his great-uncle and several Valemen that had chosen to follow the Blackfish rather than wait for the Lady Arryn to make a move. After much discussion during the night, it was decided that the command of the vanguard consisting of several Frey men, shall be given to Brynden who would lead the first charge against the Lannister camp north of Tumblestone. He had studied the Lannister patrols and noted that Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer himself was in total command of the assaulting force, but he noticed several discord among the ranks of the westermen. House Brax, he noticed, were the only ones making arguments with the other westermen. Could they be declaring for Jon? That he did not know.
He glanced to his left and gave a firm nod at his brother in all blood, Theon Greyjoy, arrayed to his left and right were Lords Rickard Karstark, Karyl Vance, Roose Bolton and the Greatjon himself along with a dozen knighted sons and a certain Mormont warrior-girl. Behind them were at least six thousand northsmen on horseback, awaiting his orders, every single person were eager to stain their blades with the blood of the lions. Now all they had to do was wait for the Blackfish's signal to advance. The raven that carried the letter confirming the death of his lord father also carried another missive meant for his eyes only, he had read the letter in secrecy and only he knew that a large host of Stormlanders and Reachmen under the command of Ser Loras Tyrell would be arriving to aid them. The sounds of battle soon arose from the northern camp, he smiled grimly as the palisades caught up in flames, he eased his longsword and held it aloft.
"ADVANCE!" He roared, and in one swift movement, the northsmen charged the field.
The sleeping westerlanders, roused by the sounds of fighting, attempted to rush to the defense of the northern camp when they realized that the northsmen were coming straight for them. Not only that, the gates of Riverrun swung open and out came a hundred outriders led by Lord Tytos Blackwood. The riverlanders and the northsmen joined their forces in the center and started to massacre the confused Lannister host. A fast swirling arrow pierced the hind legs of Robb's horse causing him to tumble to the ground, he rolled and quickly stood to his feet. He ran his blade through the back of an unsuspecting Lannister men, but as he was pulling his sword out from the body, he did not see nor notice Jaime Lannister creeping out behind him until he caught a glimpse of steel meeting steel mere inches behind him. He whirled around in a flash only to find Lord Andros Brax deflecting Jaime's killing blow that was meant for him.
"You traitor!" Jaime growled.
The Lord of Hornvale shook his head and gave the Kingslayer a hard shove. "I'm no traitor. You are the traitor. Standing with the usurper rather than the true king." He held his blade in a defensive stance, he gave Jaime a crooked grin. "If I die today, I die knowing that I made the right choice. House Brax stands with Jon Baratheon! The true King of Westeros!" At his declaration of his loyalty, Robb watched as hundreds of westermen bearing the sigil of the amethyst unicorn turn their blades against their fellow westermen. However, that proclamation only made the Kingslayer angrier. The two engaged in a series of blows, they parried, dodged, block, struck and parried again before a lucky stroke from Jaime found its way into the chest of Andros Brax.
Robb watched in absolute horror as Andros fell to the ground. He readied his sword, he glanced around and couldn't find Theon or any of his bannermen nearby, he cursed himself and charged. He silenced out the Kingslayer's constant taunts and focused on breaking his defense structure, the more Jaime talked, the more he felt like cutting the man open but he knew he could not. Even if he won, he needed the Kingslayer as a bargaining chip for his sister, Sansa whom is still a captive of the Queen regent and the false king. As he fought the Kingslayer, he noticed a series of pattern is Jaime's attacks and defenses, a thought came into his mind as he foolishly dropped his guard. Jaime fell for his trick and thrust his blade forward. He side-stepped and brought his blade down on the weakest part of the armor, his blade cleaved through mail and flesh which ended with a deep cut. The Kingslayer dropped to his knees with blood seeping out of his wounded arm. Without a second thought, Robb knocked the knight out with the back of his sword.
"Sleep tight, Kingslayer." He spat on the body.
"My lord, the northern camp has fallen to the Blackfish and we have routed the forces here." Lord Rickard Karstark reported just as he spotted the unconscious Kingslayer. "By the Old Gods, you actually defeated him..." His voice was filled with awe and the look of respect was evident in his eyes.
Robb managed to grin before he remembered what happened. "Have some men carry the Kingslayer into one of the cells in Riverrun, he'll stay there until the true King arrives." Lord Karstark nodded in agreement as he barked for his sons to carry the Kingslayer away. "Lord Brax..." He suddenly recalled and quickly ran to the fallen lord's side. "Lord Brax? Can you hear me?" He said.
Andros cracked his eye open. "Lord Stark..." He whispered. "I'm sorry for your father...he was an honorable man...I respected him." Robb nodded in gratitude, With weak hands, he grabbed his sword and handed it to Robb. "Take my blade...give it to my son, my heir...return my bones to my castle when I'm gone...tell my family what has happened here and they'll rise up in rebellion..." Robb at first refused the sword, stating firmly that a maester could save him, he merely chuckled through ragged breath. "No...no maester can save me. I've lost too much blood...I won't make it past the night." He coughed and held his chest in agony. "Tell my men...tell them what I told you...they'll fight for you..." He stated, Robb nodded. He managed a gentle smile. "You northsmen are not that bad either."
Robb opened his mouth to reply only to discover that Andros has stopped breathing, the Lord of Hornvale had died with his eyes wide opened but a smile on his lips, he has died fighting for what he believed in. Robb gently closed the eyelids of the fallen lord and whispered a short eulogy, his hand tighten around his sword and Andros' sword, he stood to his full height. "Men of Hornvale!" He called and watched as several answered the call when he held the blade high. They were all his to command for now. He looked across the Red Fork and narrowed his eyes at the other Lannister camp. "With me! Avenge your lord!"
The men of Hornvale answered with a resounding battle cry.
Baratheon – Reach Vanguard (Ser Loras Tyrell)
Ser Loras Tyrell, otherwise known in the realm as the Knight of Flowers slapped the reins of his horse as the sounds of fighting and the smell of death grew evident in the air. He had taken at least eight thousand outriders from the Reach and several hundred archers from the Stormlands and Dragonstone, he was honored to have been bestowed the duty to lead the vanguard, and to be the one to broker an alliance with the North and Riverlands. The battle was all but joined on all three banks, the Lannister camp north of Tumblestone was burning to the ground with minor resistance and the second Lannister camp on the River Road was being engaged by vengeful northsmen. The only camp that remained free of any attacks was the one near High Heart, the westermen in that camp managed to gear up in time and formed a counter-attack against outriders from Riverrun. Time was ticking, and he quickly mobilized the forces under his command.
"Archers! Make ready!" He cried. Hundreds of bowstrings were pulled. "Steady..." He held his hand aloft and brought it down. "FIRE!" The arrows whizzed over his head, striking dozens of Lannister men from the back, the northsmen halted in their charge when they spotted the banners of the Rose and Stag flying proudly over the horizon. Many broke out in cheers and with loud war cries, they charged the field once more. "Cavalry form up behind me!" He barked. He pulled out his longsword from its scabbard and pointed it towards the trapped Lannister host. "Give no quarter lads! And expect none either! Now, with me! Let's send these bastards crying to the afterlife! FOR THE WHITE WOLF!"
With that, the Baratheon-Reach vanguard advanced forward in a wedge formation, letting out their battle cries echo across the valley. Loras kicked his horse faster, a loud war cry erupting from his throat, as the knights and outriders behind him lowered their lances, charging in a full gallop.
The Lannister men, too preoccupied dealing with the northsmen sudden charge, were thrown into complete chaos when the Baratheon-Reach cavalry crashed into their rear at full speed, trampling down men and other horses alike. Hundreds of the red lions were skewered on lances on impact, and a chaotic melee battle erupted between the now outnumbered Lannisters and their enemies. Steel met steel as each men on either side fought for their own survival, there was no time for honor on the field that day, there was only death. Screams of the dying and wounded rang out from all around the battlefield, singing their songs of death as they were welcomed into the halls of the Father to be judged for their sins, or were dragged down into the darkness of the Stranger. However, it had no impact on Ser Loras Tyrell, for he was having a great field day.
Battles and tourneys were all he knew ever since he was a boy at Highgarden, and even more so after he gained his knighthood. He felt pride in his bones when his blade cleaved through the neck of an unsuspecting Lannister men at arms, while burying an axe into the skull of a Marband knight. The unlucky knight slid off his horse and crashed onto the ground, joining his fallen brethren. As he gazed across the field, a knight from Crakehall knocked him off the seat of his mount. Loras quickly stood to his feet, wondering who in the seven hells could knock him off his steed. His eyes widen when he saw the culprit.
The man responsible was known as one of the strongest living men in Westeros, He was clad in standard westerland armor with a black and white brindled boar coat worn over the plates of steel, mail and leather. He was the middle son of Lord Roland Crakehall and was better known as Strongboar, for his strength and ability to wield a sword, ranking a mere second to Loras himself. Ser Lyle Crakehall was his name. And the man wasn't alone. At his side stood Ser Forley Prester, sword in hand and ready to engage the Knight of Flowers in a bloody dance.
"Well, well, the Knight of Flowers in the Riverlands." Mocked the Strongboar. "Tell me, Ser Loras, are you done sticking your cock in Renly's arse." He laughed despite the battle raging all around him.
Loras managed to grin for a moment before his charged forward, he tackled the Strongboar to the ground and almost finished the bastard when the Prester boy struck him from behind. Fortunately, he was saved from being decapitated by the thickness of his helmet, he whirled around, his blade meeting Forley's in a dance of death. They twirled, ducked, hit, parried, hit, and parried again. "Is this the might of the Westerlands? I expect something better from knights like you!" He taunted. Forley saw red and hurled himself forward, exposing the side of his armor. With a glint of achievement in his eyes, Loras thrusted his blade into the weakest part of Forley's armor. He pulled the blade out as the Strongboar gave a loud ferocious war cry at the sight of his fallen comrade. Loras countered the attack and picked up a shield from a fallen Tyrell knight.
Loras blocked attacks after attacks from the Strongboar, there was no chance he could counter an offensive as the Crakehall knight was in a frenzy. His shield arm grew weaker and weaker with each hit, and it was only a matter of time before he would be overwhelmed. He swung his blade forward, but was parried away. The Strongboar lifted up his blade, Loras lifted his shield. That one last swing from the Crakehall's blade shattered the shield in half, breaking his arm in the process, and the Strongboar gave a solid kick on Loras' chestplate sending the Knight of Flowers sprawling on the ground. Stars and fading darkness spiraled Loras' vision, a large shadow of the Strongboar hovering above him with his blade ready to strike. He closed his eyes and begged forgiveness. He waited for the killing blow...which did not came.
The Strongboar cried out in agony when he felt a ripping pain from his chest. Loras opened his eyes at the scream to see the Strongboar staring in disbelief at the blade sprouting out of his breastplate, the Crakehall knight fell to his knees as the blade was pulled out from his chest causing another scream. That was when the blade entered again, but this time through the back of his skull, and coming out from his mouth. The Strongboar's eyes went wide for a mere second, a look of horror and fear etched across his face before his eyes rolled back, and he fell forward, when his attacker withdrew his sword.
"Ser Loras? Are you alright?" Came the voice of the Strongboar's killer.
Loras pulled himself to his feet despite the pain in his left fore-arm. "Aye..." He nodded as his eyes studied the facial features of his savior. "Lord Stark...you...you saved my life when you could have just ignored...you have my utmost gratitude and my respect." He inclined his head in respect. The young Stark nodded. He walked towards the fallen form of the Ser Lyle Crakehall and gave the body a hard kick. "Not so ferocious now aren't ye?" He spat. As the fighting died around them, a Baratheon outrider wearing the colors of Dragonstone rode up next to them.
"Ser Loras, we've utterly crushed the enemy. About thirteen thousand of theirs lie dead on this field!"
"And what about the other thousand?"
Robb answered this. "The rest have striked their banners and declared themselves for Jon, I've seen them and fought alongside them. They're no trouble." Loras nodded in acknowledgment.
"And our own losses?" Loras asked, dreading the response.
"Four hundred dead and a hundred more wounded." The Dragonstone rider informed him. Loras closed his eyes. Four hundred men under his command were dead, their lives taken away from them, never to see their loved ones again. But this was war, and casualties was nothing but one of the many horrors of conflict. He would have to mourn them later, for now, he has to organize and rally the survivors. "I also bring word from the rear." The outrider spoke up again. "Ser Estermont sends word that smoke and fire can be seen near Harrenhal, His Grace's host has clashed with the Lannisters, he requests your permission to lead his riders to aid the King." He continued.
"Granted." Loras immediately replied. "Ask him to take as many riders as he can. His Grace's safety is paramount." The outrider nodded and nearly rode off before Robb Stark spoke.
"Torrhen. Eddard." Robb called the two sons of Rickard Karstark to his side. "Gather up what men you can and aid Ser Estermont. Show the Lannisters that the North stands with the rightful King." The two Karstarks nodded and left, the outrider from Dragonstone bowed his head and rode off as well. "Come, Ser Loras, we must tend to your wounds. And perhaps, we can discuss...a possible alliance." He paused and allowed himself to smirk. "Have I mentioned that I bested the Kingslayer?"
Loras cracked a grin. "I believe this is the start of a long and prosperous friendship between us, Lord Stark." He stated plainly.
The two laughed as they walked side by side back into the midst of cheering soldiers.
This was a day that would be written down in the history books as a major victory.
Westerling-Brax Rebel Host (Ser Raynald Westerling)
If anyone had told him that Tywin Lannister himself would turn against the ideals of his own family, he might have laughed and called that man a liar. But having heard the very words from the Old Lion himself, and being ordered to turn against the Iron Throne for the greater good of the Seven Kingdoms, he knew that Tywin was not a man to be trifled with. The Old Lion loved his family. Yes, no one can deny that. But the man was no fool. It was clear that Jon Baratheon had the rightful claim and many of the lords in the Westerlands have been planning since the outbreak of the war to switch sides, but most had remained loyal due to fear. But for how long. After that meeting in the command tent, Raynald went to find his old friend per Tywin's suggestion and with just a few words, Tytos Brax and three hundred men from Hornvale journeyed with him.
"Fancy day for a war, no?" The voice of Tytos interrupted his thoughts.
"Aye, but we have not seen any hostiles ever since we left Oxcross. Apart from slitting the throats of a few night sentries to clear our path..." Raynald answered with a sigh. "We've been marching the entire night. The men longed for a fight, they're eager to spill the blood in the name of Jon. But I don't think we'll be getting any kills today." He said sadly. He longed to be at Jon's side this very instant, fighting together with his brother in all but blood.
"I think we might get some blood today." Tytos informed, eyes narrowing at the horizon.
Raynald followed his friend's gaze and came face to face with a massive battle. Near the hills of the impregnable fortress of Harrenhal were hundreds if not thousands of soldiers clashing together, fires burned from several of the towers, screams of dying men filled the air. The smell of fresh blood only became more evident as they got closer. His eyes scanned the battleground and noticed several banners from the Stormlands and a small minority from the Reach, his eyes then zeroed in on the banner of the Stag, but this one had a Direwolf sharing the stage on a field of white. He knew that banner anywhere, for he had seen it a couple of times in King's Landing. After being betrothed to Arya Stark of the North, Jon changed his personal sigil to include a Direwolf to show his new relationship with the Starks and the northsmen. He turned towards the banners of the Westerlands and widened his eyes in horror.
Three black dogs on a field of yellow. The very sigil of House Clegane. Which clearly meant that the infamous and most feared knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms was present on the field this very moment.
"The Mountain..." Tytos cursed, his eyes mirrored the fear and shock in his friend. "What shall we do? Continue on to Storm's End?"
Raynald shook his head. "Nay, we can't. Jon's here." He pointed to the banner in the heart of the battle he saw beforehand. "If he's here, the might of the Stormlands is here. We can prove our loyalty by taking the fight to Clegane's men. Aye, the Iron Throne will learn of our treachery by nightfall but who really cares, Lord Tywin entrusted me with the protection of Jon, and I intend to see it done." He stated confidently.
"Well said brother!" Tytos smiled grimly, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "I shall follow you into the depths of the seven hells, you know that. Now, I believe the men needs some inspiring words, we are, after all, going to fight against Clegane."
"Men of the Crag! Of Hornvale! Hear me!" Raynald yelled as he turned his horse around to face the assembled westermen. "After today, we'll be branded as traitors by the Iron Throne and all of the Westerlands will see us as enemies and we will have no other choice but to kill our own kinsmen. But it is for the best. Jon Baratheon! Your King! Our King! Is the rightful King of Westeros! Not that boy king that the Queen regent and the other lords support! If you ride with us into the heart of the battle, you may come face to face with the Mountain...Ser Gregor Clegane." He caught the glimpse of fear passing through the eyes of every men, including the most bravest knights of the Crag. "Aye, if we fight, we might die. But know that we are dying for a great cause, there is no cause in this entire damn continent that I'll gladly lay down my life for! The Old Gods of the Forests and the Seven are watching our very action today, the Children will welcome us should we fall and the Father would grant us a seat by his side if we are to die today! Have courage men! Let's show the Mountain how real soldiers fight!"
The men of the Crag and Hornvale chanted loudly.
"Lead us Ser Raynald!" They cried in one loud voice.
Raynald drew out his blade and pointed it towards the heart of the enemy. "Raise the banners! Sound the charge!" A trumpeter blew the war horn. "Ride now! Ride now! Onwards men! To victory!"
Tytos mirrored his friend's actions. "FORWARD!" He roared, kicking his horse to a gallop.
The westermen under the command of the Mountain, at first, believed that reinforcements from Oxcross had arrived to render their aid but all hopes of being reinforced were cast aside when Ser Raynald cuts down the flag-bearer of House Clegane. The charge made by the cavalry from the Crag and Hornvale took out many of the Mountain's men by surprise, many were trampled to death by the powerful horse charge and hundreds were impaled by the lances. Raynald jammed his blade through the chest of Polliver, one of the Mountain's ruthless men apart from several others, the blade went straight through and emerged on the other side. A cry of outrage came from his right, he dodged the decapitation attempt and stabbed the man-at-arms in the back, he might not have known it but he had just slain the Tickler, the most ruthless interrogator under the Mountain's employ. He spurred his horse through the thick of the field, making very sure to stay clear of the charging Baratheon and Reach troops, a quick thrust from a Clegane pike caused his steed to rear in fright. Hence, he fell off his horse and landed on his back. He picked himself up and easily cleaved his way past numerous enemies before a towering shadow loomed before him. His eyes widened in fear.
For before him stood Ser Gregor Clegane, clad in the heaviest and thickest plate armor in the Seven Kingdoms, the armor itself is so heavy that no mere mortal would be able to move, let alone fight effectively while wearing it. A plate helm with only a narrow slit for vision, atop of which is a stone fist punching up towards the sky protected his face. In his right hand was a six-foot, two-handed greatsword, that very sword was known to have hacked enemies in half with just a single blow. On his left was an extremely thick oaken shield bearing the three black dogs of House Clegane, it was said that no sword could ever penetrate the shield due to its thickness. No man had ever stood before the Mountain and lived to tell the tale. The Mountain spoke first, his voice as deep as a cavern.
"You treacherous cunt!" He growled loudly. "I will enjoy cutting you apart Westerling."
"Not today dog." Raynald taunted. He heard another war horn and his eyes lit with hope when he saw the banners of the North over the other end of the field, accompanied by several others from the Stormlands. "Looks like the northsmen has arrived from Riverrun. You know what that means Clegane? The Kingslayer has lost. About bloody time to." He readied his blade.
The Mountain swung his blade forward and Raynald wisely ducked to the ground and narrowly avoided being cleaved in half, he studied the attack patterns carefully and noticed that the Mountain needed some time to recover before he could swing again. Taking this opportunity, he dodged every single strike and hacked his blade against the thick armor, most of his strikes were rattled off and had no effect. But a selective few managed to find its mark inside the boiled leather. Those few cuts only made the Mountain even more angrier, Raynald watched as the Mountain tossed aside his shield and removed his visor helm and resumed the attack. Several brave Baratheon and men from the Crag attempted to come to his aid only to meet their end at Gregor's blade, their cries only fueled Raynald's determination to put an end to the reign of terror in Westeros. The Mountain thrust his blade forward, Raynald went prone and picked up a spear, he rolled to avoid being smashed by the Mountain's heavy boots before making use of the spear to slice at the legs. The Mountain let out a loud howl of agony as he crashed to his knees, his six-foot blade falling to the ground with him.
Ser Raynald stood over the fallen warrior. "Tywin Lannister sends his regards." He whispered. A look of shock formed on the face of Gregor Clegane moments before Raynald ended his life. With one swift stroke, Raynald removed the Mountain's head from its shoulders.
Ser Gregor Clegane, otherwise known as the Mountain-That-Rides is no more. With his death, the remaining westermen faltered and started to flee from the field but were easily cut down by Karstark cavalry. Not a single westerlander fighting for House Clegane left the field that day. It was a complete slaughter. A total massacre that would be remembered for years to come.
The fighting around seemed to cease, and for a moment time itself was frozen as all eyes were upon the killer of the Mountain. Be it Baratheon or Tyrell, the awestruck look on their faces was more than enough to convince Raynald that a new title was about to be added to his list. Loud cheers soon came from the men of the Crag, bellowing out his name as if he had just won the Iron Throne. The chanting was then taken up by the men from Hornvale, and slowly, the entire field was chanting his name over and over again.
"Westerling! Westerling! WESTERLING!" The men cried over and over again.
Raynald held his head high at the praise coming from all around, he soon heard the sound of men parting and he held his breath when his childhood friend came before him. The two stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before grasping each and other, smiles that nearly reached their eyes.
"You old bastard!" Jon stated with a glint of amusement. "It's about time you came to my side."
"It's all that I ever wanted, Your Grace." Raynald answered with a grin. To prove his allegiance, he laid his sword at Jon's feet much to the lad's protest. "I, Ser Raynald of House Westerling, along with my men do hereby pledge our fealty to Jon of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Will you accept us into your service?"
"Get up you oaf, of course I do!" Jon said, extending his hand to pull his friend to his feet. He stared at the banners and noticed another beside the sigil of House Westerling. The amethyst unicorn of House Brax. "And I also accept your fealty Tytos!" He yelled causing the said knight to laugh. His eyes then zeroed in on the headless body of the feared Mountain. "I'll be damned, you actually killed the Mountain...you really killed him. I thought it was some sort of mistake when the soldiers starting cheering your name." He whistled in admiration. "I think I'll call you Mountain Slayer from now on in retribution of you naming me the White Wolf." Raynald opened and closed his mouth before nodding in agreement. Jon smiled and faced the crowd. "Gather up our fallen so we can honor them with proper funerals. Have the healers tend to our wounded at once. Let the armies of my traitor brother know this, never again will the lands of my people fall into his hands! Harrenhal! Has been reclaimed! Tonight, we celebrate our great victory! Tonight, we feast!" The men cheered once more.
"You know..." Jon said softly, his eyes filled with mirth. "Arya is going to hammer you with questions since you took out the Mountain single-handedly." Raynald groaned at his feat. "Talking about her, it's about time I ride for Riverrun. My uncle Stannis is escorting her there along with...her lord father.."
"I'm sorry." Raynald apologized. "He...he was an honorable man."
"He shouldn't have died like this." Jon added grimly. "He should have died like all northsmen. With a weapon in his hands and a song on his lips. Where was I when he needed me most...I should have been there with him when he confronted Joffrey."
"Then you would have died." Raynald stated firmly. "Though you are family, the Queen regent would have you imprisoned in the black cells or have you deported to the Wall to take the Black. But knowing Joffrey and what a prick he is, he'll probably sent some assassins to finish what the Queen regent can't, and that is getting rid of you once and for all." He continued with narrowed eyes. "And with your death, your uncles would fight against one another." Jon sighed at how right Raynald's words were. The two continued to walk towards the gates of Harrenhal. "Here," Raynald spoke up once more, lifting a sealed parchment before Jon's eyes.
"A gift from Lord Tywin. For your eyes only." He stated before walking off, leaving Jon alone to his thoughts.
Harrenhal (Jon Baratheon)
Staring at the sigil of House Lannister made Jon's blood boil, it was a Lannister spear that killed Eddard Stark and it was Lannister men that raided the villages, but he knew he couldn't blame his grandfather for the actions of the Westerlords. Venturing to a secluded location with the very halls of Harrenhal after ensuring his assigned protectors that no harm will come to him, not when he had Ghost at his side, it took some convincing but the sworn knights left him alone. He locked the door behind him, he lighted a small candle to brighten up the dark room, his finger hovered above the seal and he hesitated for a brief second before breaking it completely. He un-scrolled the parchment and read the contents.
Your Grace,
You must take heed to my words Jon, what I wrote in this very piece of paper is valuable to the outcome of this accursed war that your oaf of a brother started. Firstly, I would like to extend my sympathies for the lost of Lord Eddard Stark, we never saw eye to eye on many occasions but he was an honorable man above all. Perhaps, too honorable but his loyalty to King Robert and hence you was astounding from what my daughter wrote in a private letter. Your mother stated clearly in her letter that I must support the crown for the sake of our family. And the Stranger take me, but she is right. I cannot publicly stand by your side but know that I support your claim wholeheartedly. Rest assured that I'm secretly working on a plan to add more swords to your cause.
But be warned. Even though I support you along with a few of my vassals, there are those that are extremely loyal to the Iron Throne and have taken their men to King's Landing. Remember these Houses well, and when the time comes, punish them severely for their treasonous acts. Clegane. Lorch. Swyft. Marbrand. Payne. Prester. Spicer. Stackspear. Crakehall. These few have chosen to support the Iron Throne and have left Oxcross to conduct their own series of raids along the Riverlands despite my strict orders. I cannot act and stop the men from pillaging the small folk. But you can. Send whatever men you can and secure the entire water line from the Red Fork to the Trident, defend those positions and you'll deal a devastating blow to the Westerlands. I'll try to support you by sending outriders from my own retinue to join you every now and then.
You must also take heed of the Krakens in the east. Once you join your House with the Starks, the northsmen will become your allies and kinsmen, and you must know how to protect them. The Ironborn are growing restless, my scouts reports that there are several activities going on across the waters, most likely an assembly for war. With the Seven Kingdoms plunged into combat, there are lands right for the picking and the Ironborns are the ones to do it. The North will be their target. Protect them from the Kraken threat, and they'll be indebted to you. In the mean time, I'll wait out here at Oxcross until the time comes for me to join you. You'll know when.
Your loyal servant,
Tywin Lannister
Jon stared at the words for almost an eternity before hovering it above the candle and watched it burn away from existence, no one must know that his grandfather is loyal to him. Not yet at least. He unlocked the door and walked out into the courtyard, he glanced up towards the battlements and smiled grimly at his banner flying proudly in the wind. Harrenhal has been reclaimed. The Mountain is dead, slain by his childhood friend. Riverrun is free. And nearly thirteen thousand Lannisters were sent to meet the gods above. The casualties on his side were fairly mild, this wasn't his first time killing someone but this was his first major battle and he felt nothing but a sense of pride. He recalled the adrenaline rushing through his veins when he led the charge against the Mountain's men, he remembered the sense of justice when he saw Clegane's decapitated head. He shook his thoughts aside and ventured into the great hall, banners of House Clegane were being cut down and replaced with his own, his friends were already inside by the time he entered.
"You look troubled." Tytos commented drily, taking a sip from his mug. "Tell us, what troubles you?"
"The Ironborn." Jon replied. The two knights sat up at once.
"What about them?" Raynald pressed.
"They're gearing up for war. Dozens of longships have been sighted along the coasts of Pyke." Jon answered with a frown. Raynald knew where he got the information from. "We have to warn the North. I have to warn Robb."
"Robb's at Riverrun." Tytos stated softly. "I can go in your stead."
Any replies from Jon was cut off when two men about their age walked in, they were garbed in northern leather with the sigil of House Karstark embroiled on their coats. Jon beamed at them and welcomed them into the hall.
"Your Grace, it's an honor to finally meet you." One of the men said with a swift bow.
"I was greatly honored fighting by your side." The other one added.
Jon nodded and patted their shoulders. "The honor was mine Ser. I thank you for cutting down that rider before he could get the best of me. If you hadn't been there, I wouldn't even be here. So aye, you have my thanks." He replied. "Now I'm afraid, I haven't got your names Sers."
"Eddard of House Karstark." The first one answered.
"Torrhen Karstark." The second one said.
"You came directly from Riverrun, didn't ye?" Tytos asked. The two nodded. "Have you seen my lord father?" He paused at the confused looks and slapped himself inwardly. "Forgive me, my name is Tytos Brax. My father was commanding our forces at Riverrun, I was wondering if you have any news of him."
Torrhen bit his lips and bowed his head. Tytos feared the worst. It was Eddard that delivered the final blow.
"Lord Andros Brax fell to the blade of the Kingslayer, he declared his support for the rightful heir of the Iron Throne before dying. Our liege lord, Robb Stark has your family sword, he will be insistent on returning it to you." Eddard said softly. "I'm sorry...Know that he was valiant for taking on Jaime Lannister alone...and he died with honor."
Tytos was taken aback by the news, but he nodded nonetheless. Was it acceptance, he did not know. But in the eyes of gods and men, he was the Lord of House Brax now. The Lord of Hornvale. The leader of nearly six thousand westermen. Time to strike away the title of Ser, and to take on the rightful title of Lord. How he hated that. He wasn't the one to lead. He was more of a fighter. A protector. Not a leader. But he had to be. "Thank you...for delivering the news." He thanked the Karstarks before facing Jon with determination in his eyes. "Like my father before me, you have my loyalty. I vow to you that I will not leave your side in any event, be it victory or defeat. My blade stands ready to meet the blood of your foes, and I would gladly kick down the walls of King's Landing should you ever give the word."
"You've earned my friendship back at Casterly Rock. I know you're ready for this. You've been training for years and now it's time to show the other westerlords how real lords fight." Jon placed his right hand on top of his friend's left shoulder. "I'm sorry...Losing someone close to you has always been...drastic. Sorry, not one to show that kind of emotions." Tytos smiled grimly. Jon returned the gesture. "We'll rest here for the night and move out to Riverrun at first light. The men deserve a rest and I dd promise them a fest."
"Well!" Raynald clapped his hands together. "Putting aside all these sad talk about our fallen. We should prepare ourselves a grand feast! Curtsey of the stores of Harrenhal! So who's coming with me to check what the Mountain has in store for us. Hope he does have fresh clean kills." Everyone shared a laugh at the sarcastic joke.
"You know, we should probably send his head to King's Landing." Tytos commented amidst the laughter. "It'll shock the Queen regent off that bloody throne."
"Nay, leaving it on a spike in the middle of the field is much better." Jon waved that off.
"Or send it to Dorne." Torrhen pointed out. Four eyes snapped to him. He cringed at the stares. "To ensure neutrality in the war. We cannot risk the Dornish rising up in rebellion." He stated firmly.
"That...that's not a bad idea." Raynald mused quietly. "The Martells are always after the Mountain after he brutally raped Elia Martell before bashing her skull in and butchered her children right in front of her eyes..." He paused and looked at Jon. "But the Mountain didn't act on Lord Tywin's command, I recall Lord Tywin telling us that he strictly instructed Clegane to detain the royal children not kill them, and that resulted in the falling out between House Lannister and House Clegane, Lord Tywin never forgave the Mountain for disobeying his orders. If it isn't Lord Tywin..." He stared at everyone. "...then who in the seven hells commanded Clegane to butcher the royal family?"
The entire great hall fell silent.
That one question that everyone wanted to know was.
Who gave the command. Was it Robert. Or someone else within the Westerlands.