299 AC
Robb Stark
He and the small group with him had walked back to the main encampment. Ordering a fresh pair of guards on his tent, he sent the previous two to sleep. He ordered Lord Glover to get some rest before ordering him to summon all the lords and knights for an early morning meeting.
Once all inside, he had a camp follower fetch the morning meal. We'll break our fast in here. He had mentioned.
His lords and Riverlords seemed to be put off by his newfound energy. Lord Bolton seemed to not care, and Lord Glover understood why.
"My lords, you must excuse my early summons, but I may have a way to break this siege sooner than thought."
His words made the Northerners excited, perking them up from their sleep. Some of the Riverlords tried to look alert, but after the beating they took the previous day, they merely nodded in finality.
"Grey Wind was able to lead me to a weakness in their defenses. Allowing me and Lord Glover here to witness it." He stood and reached his hand over to point to the western side of the castle on the map. "Here, just along the coast of the Gods Eye, is a very small drainage ditch, with its metal grate completely rusted out and broken. Lord Glover and I scouted the area, and it seems that the particular section of the wall is not very well defended."
He allowed Lord Glover to continue.
"If we plan accordingly, we can create a diversion. Harrenhal possesses four gates. The largest and main gate is the one attacked by the Riverlords yesterday. It is the northern facing gate. A second gate faces directly east, however this one has completely fallen in with debris over the centuries and is more a wall than a gate. Another gate lies directly east of the Gods Eye, along the southern portion of the walls. The last gate is due completely west, facing the large woods that Lord Robb and I scouted from last night."
Robb interjected here. "If done well, we can have a large force, say eight, nine thousand? Attack the main gate once more, perhaps feigning an attack on the southern gate, we can have the Westermen focus all their attention on the east. Leaving about four thousand, I can lead through the woods. Volunteers could crawl through this sewage ditch. Before the Lannisters even know what happened, they can have the western gate open, and we can charge in, taking the castle."
Ser Mordan Rivers, the baseborn nephew of the senile Lord Lymond Lychester, spoke up. "And how will we know that this section is so undefended. Perhaps they are simply taking rounds, and you viewed it at a time when many were off patrolling different sections of the castle."
"We don't, but we have to be willing to trust it. Despite being the most prudent plan, we simply do not have the time for an extended siege. Instead of being reactive, we must be proactive in our efforts. Does anyone else have any ideas?"
The tent was silent for a moment. That was before a knight spoke up. "Lord Robb, I would be honored if you would allow me to join your forces."
"Very well, your name?"
"Ser Halmon Paege, my lord."
"Granted, Ser Halmon."
"I also volunteer, my lord. I am Ser Lymond Goodbrook."
"Very well. You two, walk amongst your countrymen. Look for any other volunteers. But do not force them or shame them, they have been through a great ordeal."
"My lord." They both responded before exiting the tent.
"Regardless my lords, do any of you have final thoughts? For not, I shall order the men prepared for tomorrow before sunrise, to begin to move out at midnight."
"Who shall command the main thrust, serving as the distraction?" Lord Glover asked.
"Lord Bolton, I trust you to ensure a believable attack on the northeastern side of the castle."
"Very well my lord." The creepy lord responded, slowly annunciating every word.
It had been a long day. For most of the rest of the morning, his commanders had ensured that a majority of their forces were seen preparing for an assault. Robb, neither were his commanders, dumb to believe that seasoned warriors of the Westerlands would believe them, so he ordered for Lord Bolton to send another, diversionary, attack south, along the eastern wall. This way, the defenders would be completely fooled.
A fake diversionary attack, to cover the existence of another real one.
He found himself standing just in the shadows of the tree line. As the sun was setting, the guards patrolling the western walls had no hope of seeing any of them with the setting sun in their eyes.
Turning back around, he walked back to the small group of knights and lords accompanying them, ahead of the main diversionary thrust.
Four men stood before him and Lord Glover. Gryff Whitehill, the youngest son of Lord Ludd Whitehill, Donnel Burley, the second son of Jon Burley and grandson of Lord Rickard Burley, Ser Mordan Rivers, and Ser Lymond Goodbrook. The four were men who volunteered to crawl through the small sewage ditch after sun fell, and Lord Bolton launched his attack on the other side of the castle. Ser Halmon Paege was allowed to join the command of the vanguard with himself and Lord Glover after the western gate was opened for their force.
"Gentlemen, you are aware of your orders?" Robb asked.
"Aye, mi' lord." Replied Donnel Burley.
"Good. Remember, you shall sneak to the ditch, but shall wait for our signal when we see the guards have ran to reinforce their brethren on the other side of the castle."
"We understand, my lord." Gryff responded annoyed.
He simply fixed the arrogant man-child with a dead glare. After noticing it, and his compatriots own glares, Gryff Whitehill gulped and lost his attitude. "Yes, of course. I understand Lord Robb."
"Good, see to it that you do."
And so that is how he found himself, once more standing at the edge of the tree line, this time, with thousands of northmen standing just behind him. Many dozens of paces, if not a hundred or so paces away, were the four men lying, after having crawled through the low-lying underbrush, to get to the ditch.
Thankfully, the machicolations of this section of the walls had been ruined, making guards unable to look immediately down from the wall. Therefore, they could not see what was immediately right up against the wall. Useful for the four men about to save the siege for them.
The sun had gone down, but still, nothing.
Finally, he heard it. Less than an hour after the sun fell, they heard a horn. Then another, then many more. At last, Lord Bolton had launched the massive assault on the other side of the castle.
At this stage, the four men looked back at him, no just past the tree line, in the dark they could barely see him. But the few guards atop them on the wall were still present. Damn them, move! But for as much as he wanted it so, the Westermen did not move.
And so as long as the Westermen remained in their positions, he did not give the signal for them to sneak into the fortress.
Another half hour past. He could feel the men behind him grow restless. He also felt for the four hiding beneath the walls. At this point, the four of them had been laying down for close to two hours, some in plate, some in chain and leather. They had to grow uncomfortable at the very least, if not sore and wild with cramps.
And then it came. Another, distinctive, horn. That signaled the launch of the other 'diversionary' attack. And soon, only a few moments later, the men atop the walls, finally ran off. The light of the torches having disappeared.
Taking one more glance along the walls, Robb gestured with an open hand. Lord Glover placed the previously decided signal, an unlit torch in his hand. Moving forward only a little, Robb threw it, so it landed on the ground with a soft sigh in the leaves of a bush. This got the attention of the men, who turned and crawled into the ditch, disappearing over the mound.
It was all in their hands now. With nothing more he could do but hope that they could reach the western gatehouse hidden, he turned and moved about two to three hundred paces north along the tree line, finally lining up with the gate. As soon as the gate opened, he and his men could be there in only a few moments.
He knew not the terrain or layout of the castle between the ditch and the western gatehouse. He knew not if a structure blocked the route, but assuming it was an open bailey or land, the four of them could probably reach it within ten minutes. However, they accounted for a longer time, to ensure they were not spotted, and had time to dispatch any lingering patrols quietly.
"They should have opened the gates by now." Lord Glover whispered next to him.
"Patience. Give them a few more moments, we haven't heard a second alarm bell sound. Hopefully they won't notice us until a great portion of us have been able to make it through the gate."
Lord Glover nodded and backed away quietly.
Another few moments passed. Robb was just about to sigh and turn around when he heard a feint noise coming from the gate. Before he knew it, he saw as Donnel Burley and Ser Lymond Goodbrook wave from a small creak in the gate.
His adrenaline started to pump. "Quiet now! Quiet." He raised his voice loud enough to get the message across. "No shouting until we've made it through the gate."
He said nothing more. Pulling his arming sword from his hip, he had left Ice in Winterfell with his wife and brother Brandon, he silently sprinted forth with Grey Wind hot on his heels. Only a moment later, he heard the noise of hundreds of men run after him. True to his word, it was a silent run, hearing only the breathes and footfalls of the men.
After crossing over a hundred paces, he finally reached the gate.
Now was the time. None could stop their forces now.
"Charge!"
And all of a sudden, thousands of Northmen poured into the ruined fortress. Running over the corpses of the odd patrol the four men had killed while infiltrating the castle.
"Yah!" Robb yelled as he slashed at a Westerman knight before stabbing him under the arm, in the armpit.
"Lord Robb! Lord Bolton has fallen!" Yelled out one of his men-at-arms.
Rushing over to him, avoiding the battle as best he could, he made it to the section of the wall that Lord Bolton has finally been able to take. The Leech Lord had a spear fragment imbedded into his shoulder, he sword arm in great pain. "Take him out, he's done. Make sure he sees a camp maester!"
Nodding in the affirmative, the soldier helped take Lord Bolton away from the walls, going through the second, captured northern gate.
After charging in from the west, his Northmen met the main force. By that point, the Northmen had been able to seize the walls around the north gate. With the Westermen between the hammer and the anvil, the battle soon turned to their favor.
"Dog!"
His attention was grabbed once more from his thinking.
Turning, he saw as a great brute of a man lumbered towards him. In light plate armor, the man wielded a bastard sword in his right hand, a solid mace in his left. The sigil on his torso was of a boar on a brown field.
The man was on his way to him when Donnel Burley intercepted him and pushed him back, allowing Robb to dispatch Westermen men-at-arms closer to him.
Turning once more, he saw as the knight of Crakehall blocked an overhead attack from Donnel, before smashing his mace into Donnel's left side. Donnel let out a scream as most if not all his ribs on his right side were pulverized before he was silenced by a blade through the neck. His greatsword, gifted by his father as the traditional Northman's weapon, fell to the side.
"Come here ya dog!" The knight screamed.
And so, Robb went on the offensive. Their blades met in an overhead strike. Having seen the previous fight however, Robb quickly moved out of the way of the incoming mace strike.
"Ha! Smart lad!"
"Who are you, who would fight me?"
"I am Ser Lyle Crakehall, and I'll deliver your head to Lord Tywin if it's the last thing I do!"
This time, Ser Lyle attacked with his mace, smashing Robb's blade to the side, making him duck from the incoming sword attack.
I need to get rid of his mace. Robb thought to himself.
Electing to follow the strategy of divide and conquer, he focused all his effort on making sure Ser Lyle dropped his mace.
And he very successful at that. Blocking a strike from his sword, Robb counterattacked by slashing at the knight's left wrist.
The heavy plate blocked any kind of slashing damage, but the force that Robb hit with most surely bruised at the very least. It also made the knight drop his mace, from the pain that his fingers were in.
"Ah! Fuck you!"
Rolling, the one thing that Ser Rodrik told him never to do, he blocked any attempt by the knight to pick of his mace. Going on the offensive, he thrusted into the man's torso for it to be blocked, but just as Ser Lyle went on the offensive again, Robb ducked and slashed at the man's exposed cheek, his helmet cover, stupidly, raised.
He felt resistance before the knight backed off. "Argh! Fucker!"
Without allowing him to attack again, Robb smashing the tiring knight's blade away before kicking him on his back, his heavy plate doing no favors to stop his fall.
"Surrender! Now!"
But instead, Ser Lyle reached down to grab a dagger. He never had the chance to use it. In the same way Ser Lyle had dispatched Donnel Burley, Robb shoved his sword through the knight's throat.
Once more taking in the battle around him, he noticed that it was dying down. Westermen had thrown down their arms and just as he joined some minor lords in the main bailey, some Northmen brought forth a couple men in chains.
Besides some notable knights of various houses, the most notable were two. The first stepped forth. "Robb Stark?" The man asked in a defensive, but polite, tone.
"Yes, and you are?"
"Lord Andros of House Brax. I officially offer my full surrender. All I ask is for the honorable care of my son, and men."
"I know not whom your son is, my lord. But on my honor as the acting Lord of Winterfell, I hereby accept your total surrender. You will be treated as per your station. As will your son. You men will be put to work throughout the eastern Riverlands, helping rebuild the castles that your Lord Tywin had ordered brought down." He sternly responded. Angered over the behavior of Westermen in his mother's homeland.
The lord had the shame to look down, shame on his face. Robb turned to the other man. "And you are?"
"Ser Addam Marbrand, Lord Robb. I hereby offer the total and unconditional surrender of my forces to you. All I expect is the same fair treatment."
"I accept your surrender. Forgive me, but my last reports indicated that another, held joint command. A man of House Prestor?"
"Yes Lord Robb, Ser Forley Prestor. He was injured however and is being seen by our maester here in the castle."
"Very well. Regardless, you fought honorably." He turned to the soldiers holding them. "Take them away and see that they receive medical attention and food."
"Mi' lord." They responded before escorting them away.
In the end, after three total days, forces of the Iron Throne won the Siege of Harrenhal.
But not for nothing.
Donnel Burley died fighting to save his life. Gryff Whitehill had survived the infiltration task, but after the western gate was opened, his skull was split open in the initial attack on the castle. His along with the dead Burley, bones would be sent north, back home.
His heart went out to the normally arrogant and difficult House Whitehill. Ludd Whitehill had lost his eldest son, his second went to become a maester, and his youngest had died in battle.
His greatest loss however was Lord Glover. Galbart Glover had survived the initial attack. However, after taking a portion of men, he charged into one of the towers. He took a spear to his torso and bled out, dying with a sword in his hand.
Lord Bolton would survive, but unlike Lucas Blackwood, his sword arm would be useless for the rest of his life. He could no longer raise his arm above eye level. Ser Lymond Goodbrook survived as well as Ser Halmon Paege, though they received non-lethal injuries as well.
Of the two thousand Rivermen and thirteen thousand Northmen, half of the Rivermen died, and about four thousand Northmen fell. Roughly one third of their total force fell.
This was against the defending Westermen. Of the roughly ten thousand Westermen, roughly fifteen hundred died in the first assault, along with about five to six thousand in the second assault. Leaving roughly three to four thousand Westermen alive. Most were exhausted however and were split up amongst many small camps to discourage rebellion and riot.
Of the four Westermen commanders, only Ser Lyle Crakehall died. Lord Andros Brax, Ser Addam Marbrand, and Ser Forley Prestor surrendered. Ser Forley would live but was currently put into deepsleep by the maesters to heal.
After many fortnights of marching, and three days of a siege, Harrenhal had fallen, and the men had a solid roof over their head to sleep under.
The Siege of Harrenhal had come to a close.
All that was left, was Tywin Lannister.
