*The song that is playing when Tywin make's note of it, is what I called 'Torrhen's Lake' in the previous chapter. I highly encourage listening to the song as you read the chapter when it starts. The song I based it off is on Spotify called:

'Highland Laddie; Black Bear' by Pipes and Drums of The London Scottish Regiment.

300 AC

Tywin Lannister

"Lord Crakehall, you will command the van. On my word, you are to charge their lines…not a moment before, do you understand me my lord?"

"Clearly." The angry man confirmed.

"Good. Brother, you will command the extreme right. Lord Banefort, you will command the left. Lord Lydden, you will command the center. I myself shall hold the reserves and direct this battle. I want no heroics or dashes for glory, understood? The wolf pups will be waiting for such an act. I expect complete discipline."

Most of the lords nodded in understanding, but from the rear of the tent, he could see Roland Crakehall's furious visage. He would have to keep an eye on him. Perhaps it was foolish to give him the van in his anger, but it came down to logic and numbers. Quite frankly, he had few competent commanders to spare, and Crakehall was among those 'lucky' few so to speak. In other words, if he did not hold the van, than who?

As for his brother, admittedly it was odd for him to not hold the center. He was his most trusted battle commander after all. However, he had previously discussed with Kevan his plans. His position on the extreme right would allow his component to swing around and attack from the side or rear if necessary.

Raising his hand, he dismissed the gathered lords. On the 'morrow, the two armies would meet.

"Brother, I will see to the final preparations." Kevan reported before exiting the tent.

As Tywin sat alone, he let his mind drift. How did everything go so wrong? Less than a half a year ago; he was the most powerful man in Westeros, the King including. His daughter was the queen, his grandchildren royal princes and princess, and no one would dare to even look at him.

And now? Now, madness…madness and stupidity. His one and only goal has always been the supremacy of House Lannister. By any means necessary, he would keep House Lannister as rulers of the West and Lords of Casterly Rock.

By the Seven, if it guaranteed their continued powerful position, he'd offer himself as a sacrifice.

But the matter at hand would not go away any time soon. He had oft thought to himself if he had been truly an able parent. Had he not given his spoilt children everything they needed? Had they not the finest silks? The most succulent foods? The strongest keep calling home? Dear Joanna, had always been the softening side to the twins. After Tyrion, they only had him.

Perhaps he was cruel, perhaps he listened not to their wants and desires. But by all the gods, can anyone blame him? He had given them everything, and yet it was not enough for them.

Jaime still had some hope to him. Let it never be said that he was not proud of his eldest son's martial prowess, but to waste it on being a glorified bodyguard was the worst thing that could have happened.

After the end of Robert's Rebellion, he had requested to the new stag king that he be relieved of his oaths, to take his rightful place at Casterly Rock. But it was not Robert Baratheon that stood in his way.

No…it was none other than Jaime himself who still held onto delusions of grandeur. Before the fall of the Targaryens, he knew it was Aerys II who had taken his boy. But after King's Landing, it was Jaime himself.

Cersei believed herself to be the most intelligent person in the realm. He had received covert reports from Pycelle for many years, even so much as spying on his own children.

He did not distrust Cersei because she was a woman; he distrusted her because she was stupid. She believed that power in in-of-itself was what made himself so great. What she did not realize was that it was how one used such power. After all, any man who must call himself a lord, is no lord at all.

Much in the same way of a blade. A sword itself was not dangerous…it was how the person used the sword.

And Tyrion.

Tyrion had always been his greatest shame. He killed his dear Joanna and for that, he would never forgive him for that. But, it had always piled on. Most especially the drinking and the whoring.

But in the month or so that he had still received word from Pycelle before he was killed, he had been surprised at the reports. Tyrion had apparently done very well as Master of Coin. He had dialed back his use of whores, though not completely.

Still…as a whole, his three children disappointed him to no end.

"My lord! Our scouts report movement from the Stark camp!" A messenger barged in.

After he had suitably reprimanded for not seeking entry first, he dismissed the man.

"And so it begins…"

Throughout the night, and into the early morning, his men had relaxed. He had ordered extra provisions and light guard duty to relax them and give them more incentive to fight.

That was some hours ago. Now, they were almost done marching. They left their camp some time ago and only one more hill separated them from the unofficial place of battle.

Flicking his wrist, his commanders nodded and rode to their own formations. In only a few moments, his host had begun to break up into their specific groups such as the van and the flanks.

When the force had finally reached the peak of the hill, the view before them confused them.

At the very bottom of the hill, roughly seven hundred yards away, an entire battalion of archers resided. They were stalwart and still, no movement detected.

"My lord…are those archers?"

"Aye, they are."

Lord Crakehall galloped up to him. "My lord! Permission to run them down?"

"Denied. This is no doubt a trap of some kind."

Lord Crakehall huffed angrily and snapped his reins turning about. He could feel his brother riding up slowly to him.

"What in the Seven are they doing?"

"I know not, but it is no doubt a trap of some kind." He was silent for some moments while he thought to himself. Finally, he made his decision. "Kevan, order a company of horsemen to scout the flanks. I will not sit as we are potentially cut off."

"My lord." He bowed from atop his charger and turned to give the orders.

"Lord Lydden, order the men to defensive stations. We cannot be caught unawares."

"At once my lord."

Staring at the horizon, Tywin muttered to himself. "What are you up to boy?"

The army had stopped for over an hour as Tywin awaited word from the scouts. Finally after close to two hours, the company reformed and rode for the commanders. The two sergeants had reported nothing. For an hour to the north and southeast, there was no sign of the Northern, Riverland, or Vale main force.

But before the they could think on the possibility, they heard yelling.

"My lord! The archers! They're firing!"

And so they were. The enemy archers had finally acted from their silence and began firing off their missiles.

The first volley had fallen short. No doubt they were still figuring out the range. But the second volley hit some men, and more on the third. And now, they were hitting much of the shield line, his only infantry.

"My lord!"

"Shield wall! Shield wall you idiots!" He had ordered. Already, some of the peasant sergeants had already ordered such…perhaps he should make the smallfolk his commanders. At least they seemed to have some sense.

And so, few men fell to the arrows, but still, this position was untenable.

"My lord! We must run them down!" Lord Crakehall had nearly yelled at him.

He had almost relented. But one thing kept him from allowing it. Where was their main force? If he ordered the van to charge the archers, they'd lose their most experienced and veteran cavalry force they had.

And for the first time in his entire life, he was hesitant about what to do.

But before any more yelling could be heard, the choice was made for him. Kevan leaned close to him to whisper.

"Tywin! We must charge them! I agree, it is most definitely a trap, but a brilliant one, nonetheless. We cannot stay here while they lose volley after volley." He nodded in understanding. He knew that it was an ambush of some kind…but at this point, they had no choice in the matter.

"Lord Crakehall!"

"My lord?"

"…charge them."

And the wild boar grinned for the first time since his son had died at Harrenhal.

Wheeling about, he was able to hear Lord Crakehall shout to his men. "Men! Form up! We'll take this fight to those cowards! And we'll shove those arrows so far up their behinds that they'll throw them up!"

The entire mounted vanguard force cheered for their commander. And so, slowly at first, the Lannister van galloped at full speed down the hill, intent on wiping out the battalion of archers that had already culled hundreds of them in the time since they started firing.

But about two hundred yards before the van would impact the archers, the archers broke and mounted horses that were posted behind them.

"There it is Kevan, there's the trap!" His brother nodded silently in agreement.

But it seemed that in his blood rage, Lord Crakehall did not consider this. So as the archers began to gallop eastward, over their own hill…his van followed.

"What? What?! Crakehall! It's a trap!" More to himself than anyone else. No doubt the boar could not hear him from here.

And so it was that as the enemy bowmen galloped past the crest of the hill, at the same time…their entire line of heavy infantry came over the crest.

And Crakehall could not stop.

Already, the van had been galloping up hill in an attempt to catch the retreating bowmen, but the heavy cavalry had lost a great deal of momentum going up the hill. So much so that when they finally crashed in the line of heavy Northern infantry, it was like water upon rock.

He could do nothing but watch as his entire van was systematically slaughtered.

And that gods-damned noise! As the last of his force was destroyed, the Northmen began slamming their drums and blasting air into bags.

It was high-pitched and shrill.

Some of them men winced and grimaced as the sound penetrated their ears and gave them headaches.

Despite the shrieking sound and loud drums, admittedly there was a steady tune there. He long experience allowed him to look past it.

But it did nothing to help his own men. His footmen shuffled nervously, and most of his mounted troops had to use great effort to calm down their mounts, scared from the unfamiliar, painful sound.

And blessed be the Seven, the enemy didn't stop playing the gods damned sound.

As he ordered Kevan to ready the rest of the troops, he finally saw him. The boys that had made his life so difficult.

From this distance, he couldn't make out specifics, but the bright auburn hair was obvious. The broad-shouldered lad with a grey wolf running next to his horse was undoubtedly Robb Stark. and the other boy with a wolf, this one with darker hair like his father must be Edwyle Stark.

He couldn't hear it over the loud sounds, but he could see as the Starks rallied their men. The two boys swinging their swords as they no doubt gave grand, but ultimately useless, speeches.

And after his commanders were able to steady the horse, and reinvigorate the men, the field calmed.

The Battle of the Rivers had begun.

"And so it begins…"