300 AC

Robb Stark

This was it. After months of war, this was it.

In the past moon, much news had reached the Crown's army in the Riverlands. King Robert had taken control of the eastern portion of the Reach; from the Crownlands to west of Cider Hall. The Lord Commander, Ser Barristan Selmy, had taken a separate host and now controlled most of the southern Reach.

Many houses remained neutral in the Reach's conflict; more interested in seeing how the Crown and House Tyrell would respond. House Hightower most especially remained neutral. The Crown's forces had met a small skirmish at Whitegrove. Although a royal victory, the commander of the royal van, Lord Ralph Buckler, died, leaving the storied house in the hands of his cousin, Brus, as the new Lord of Bronzegate. The last word they received mentioned that the divided hosts of Ser Barristan and the King finally regrouped just south of Highgarden; additionally meeting up with a Tyrell host led by Ser Garlan Tyrell.

But now, the time had come for his challenge. Over the time that the northern campaign took place; many of the lords and knights, had, through loyalty to his father, or through his own skill, listened to him, including many of the Riverlords and he held influence over the Vale lords.

It wasn't until he met up with Edwyle that he realized what had happened. 'You are their leader Robb; they're looking to you for everything.' He had tried to deny it, but already, at only seven and ten, he realized he had led an army numbering over twenty-five thousand strong; had taken castles and had battled fierce opponents. It was almost too much for him to handle.

But this is where he found himself, inside a command tent, just west of Stone Hedge. All the lords of the Riverlands, the North, and the Vale before him. All were shouting, trying to get their own opinions in.

Word had reached them that Tywin Lannister had left the safety of the walls of Riverrun. In all honesty, he would too; the Old Lion had mostly his cavalry, he'd need open space.

He was nervous. He had won every battle he was in, but for some reason, going directly against Tywin Lannister felt too much. The other side of his head told him how ridiculous he was being, of course he could win against him.

But reputation was one hell of a thing. And he discerned that it was not fear for himself over a potential defeat, it was fear for his family. He knew how Tywin Lannister dealt with his enemies. If he failed, and Dacey, Samsyn, Edwyle, or anyone else was hurt because of it, he didn't know if he could handle it.

But all these thought were drowned out by the noise in the tent. So much so, that his own thoughts were beginning to drown out. Finally, having enough, he raised his hand.

Without a word being spoken, the tent began to quiet down. Slowly standing up, he out his hands on the table, and examined the map before them. It was a large map, specifically of the Riverlands, with all the natural terrain added.

He could feel their eyes on him, as they looked to him, waiting for him to speak, but speak he did not. He had a battle to plan.

"Lord Bracken, how large are the 'hills' just east of Riverrun?" He'd occasionally ask these questions, getting a more detailed description than just the map could give him. He would ask the lords about the density of some woods, or the texture of the soil; hard or soft?

Every time he'd post a query, the gathered commanders would expect him to open up soon. But he stayed quiet. He learned this from his father; silence was just as effective as the loudest shout.

And slowly…ever so slowly, a plan began to form. It was not risky, not at all in fact. Rather, it was the opposite. If his idea succeeded, he could end the war in a single battle. If he failed, he still wouldn't truly lose, but it would not be decisive.

Quite out of character for him.

Looking up, he immediately looked into the eyes of Ed. For the first time since the commanders entered the tent, he spoke. But not to them, directly to his brother.

"You remember the Hammering of the Riverlands? With Ser Rodrik?"

Every other person gazed at them in confusion, but Ed…Ed simply grinned back. He knew where his thoughts were. Standing up to his full height, he addressed the rest of the tent.

"My lords, this is what we'll do; Tywin Lannister must go on the offensive, with his decreasing food train thanks to my brother and Lord Umber and Lady Mormont, as well as the makeup of the remnants of his troops, he has no other choice. He must use his cavalry, and he must attack soon."

"Let's gut the bastard then!" The Greatjon roared aloud, to the agreement of the mountain clans and many of the southwestern Northmen, specifically those of House Dustin and House Ryswell.

"No…we shall meet him on our terms, not theirs. Here-" He used his finger to point to a small area of woods just west of Stone Hedge, and just east of their current position. "-is an area of woods. No so dense so as to hinder footmen, but too much for mounted troops."

Grabbing a wooden sigil, he placed it on the map, due west of their current camp, just west of Riverrun. "We'll place every single archer we have on every single horse we have, and they shall meet the Lannisters initially…alone."

"Are you mad!?" He heard many roar against him. None more than Lord Mooton. He could understand, the man had lost one of his sons during the Siege of Harrenhal.

"Lord Robb, I must protest, archers are effective, yes, but alone, against charging horse? They'll be cut to pieces." Ser Stevron Frey spoke.

He stood silent as more and more resisted his idea, until it settled down again.

"Worry not. They shall meet them on the lowest part of the field. They shall draw in the overly prideful lions. Then, when the lions would nearly be upon them, our entire force of footmen shall march out from the woods and over this small hill. The lions will not know what hit them."

And so, he explained his plan in greater detail. Over time, each lord and knight was won over, finally realizing the complexity of his plan.

"And as our foot take the field, the archers shall use their horses to retreat behind our lines, reform, and send more volleys of arrow out."

"Lord Robb, and excellent plan, aye, but I am still worried over one point."

The Greatjon was uncharacteristically cautious.

"Yes, Lord Umber?"

"The foot…our footmen are as fierce as they come, but in this, the Lannisters will still be charging at full speed. 'Tis not an easy thing for a footman to march under formation while a wall of armored horse comes barreling towards them."

"Worry not. I have I feeling you'll enjoy this Greatjon." The giant of a man perked at that.

"My lords…the footmen of the North shall take the van of the column…using the tune of 'Torrhen's Lake' to embolden them."

And all the Northmen grinned.

Using instruments to rally troops was not new to warfare. But the Northmen, being Northmen, ever improved it. Not only did they use it to keep men in marching time, but they also used uplifting tunes to inspire courage in their men, and strike unease in the hearts of the enemy.

And no instrument succeeded in this endeavor better than the time-tested bagpipe. A shrill sound, only a true Northman could find sweet poetry in the harsh sound.

He knew the Greatjon would enjoy it as the Umbers were widely known in the North for their bagpipes. And for a peasant conscript, seeing the Greatjon marching with his greatsword while drums and pipes were blasting…well damn, if that didn't inspire him, nothing would.

Tywin Lannister

Just as he was sure that the Young Wolf was holding his own meeting, Tywin was meeting with his own men. Since the fall of Harrenhal, he had steadily recalled every Lannister soldier east of his position. Further, he had sent riders back to the Westerlands, calling for an additional emergency host to march at full speed for the Riverlands.

What he had not counted on was the fore thought of one of his lords; Damon Marbrand, his cousin. The man was older than him or his siblings, but he was glad that he was as competent as Kevan at the very least. Unknown to him, Lord Marbrand had been raising a host from his lands as well as some other smaller, minor houses. All told, by the time the riders arrived in the Westerlands, a host of close to eight thousand had already been raised.

It's downside was that it was mostly green boys and old men. They had to scrape the bottom of the barrel so to speak for troops. Regardless, instead of having to wait to raise an emergency host, already, many thousands of men marched to assist them already.

But it was not his only problem. He had been having…unpleasant dreams. He had never lost sleep over the choices he made in his life. They were his, and his alone. But recently, he dreamed of his sweet Joanna once more. Though in these dreams, she would belittle him, or for not paying attention. He knew not to what, as every time he reached for her in his mind, to embrace her just one last time, she would disappear.

And the moments he were awake for, were not much better. Just the other day, he had ordered the public execution of a sergeant he had overheard speaking of the rumors from the Capital. Word soon spread to not speak of his golden twins. Additionally, he had heard some captains talk of it, but truthfully, he could ill-afford to execute experienced, veteran, men.

The talk of his lords broke his thoughts and pulled him from his own mind.

"We have underestimated the Stark boys for far too long. You expect them to falter, they will not." His brother, Ser Kevan reprimanded some of the more stupid lords.

"But ser, surely they must be as worn out as us, if not more. Since they marched south, the Northern force has been constantly on the move; at some point, their resolve will fail." Lord Lewys Lydden countered. Lord Lydden was not an idiot, he was a capable enough man, but his words were not wise at the moment, and did nothing to help stifle the idiotic comments from lords more moronic than he.

"We have over twenty-thousand men, over half of them are mounted! The fields of the Riverlands are ripe for running down those savages!" Lord Damian Serrett foolishly advised.

He spoke for the first time since the meeting started. "If all you have to offer are the words of a dolt, I would rather you not speak at all my lord." He coldly told off Lord Serrett.

"My lord-" Kevan spoke to him. Even though he was his brother, especially in front of their bannermen, Kevan spoke to him with the utmost respect. "-We have the greatest force of horse between us two, but you are of course correct, we cannot rely on numbers in this. Instead, let us take a lesson from the Stark pups themselves. Let us lure them in, and pincer them in with two separate columns."

"That has the potential to work." He muttered quietly to himself, but without conviction.

"Now hold on!" Spoke Kevan's goodfather, Ser Harys Swyft stood. "You speak that numbers will not work. Would you enlighten the rest of us?!"

Before Kevan could answer, another of his bannermen, Lord Crakehall turned to the dunce who spoke. "Sit down you dumb fuck." He growled angrily. Ever since the news of the loss of his second son, Roland Crakehall had grown distant and full of rage. "Have you cotton in your eyes and ears?"

Before Ser Harys could angrily retort, he finally waved his hand for silence. "Calm…calm yourselves. The reason that we cannot rely on numbers is because the Stark brothers no doubt are aware of our numbers as well. And as such, no doubt have a trap or plan already designed to either annihilate or negate this advantage. And I will not fall for the same thing that Ser Gregor fell for."

Kevan spoke after him. "Despite the best abilities of our spies, we have not been able to discern and useable information about their plans. However, we have learned other things. We are now aware that the rift that some of the Freys had with the Starks are now gone. Many of the Freys that had such a problem also fell at Harrenhal."

Tywin noticed that Lord Crakehall's eyes darkened at the mention of the castle where his son fell.

"As such, we can no longer rely on a schism between the allied forces." Kevan finished speaking. He decided to pick up where he left off.

"We do have one piece of vital information." The lords leaned in to pay closer attention. "One of our spies was able to read one of the ravens sent to Robb Stark. It seems the misdirection we've directed in the Reach is reaping wonders for us. Currently, the King, and the entire force of the Stormlands are marching through the Reach as we speak to reestablish royal order."

"Are they succeeding?"

"It doesn't matter if they are or not. It never truly mattered. The whole purpose was to distract Robert Baratheon and buy us time. Time that we now have. According to the information we have gleamed; we have ample time for this battle. It is the one true advantage we hold over our enemies. We need not worry any reinforcements joining the battle at some point. The Crownlands have been rallied to serve as the defenders of King's Landing and the Stormlords are busy. Theoretically, we have over a moon to deal with the Starks and their allies."

The lords nodded happily at that. And they should. It was true what he had said, time was the one advantage they had. They need not worry about any surprise force. Unfortunately, this was offset by the need to act due to their food supplies. Though not needed to ration yet, they could only count on about another fortnight of supplies before they would need to worry and begin rationing. And rationing was never good with the fighting men.

So, for all practicality, they would need to march against the Starks, Riverlords, and Vale lords, in roughly a sennight, ideally.

Eddard Stark

It had been a stressful number of moons since he had rode south and become the Hand of the King to Robert. Initially, he had expected to become grey-haired over the governance of the realm, not knowing that later, he would effectively lead the realm through a disastrous civil war. Robert was King, aye, but he was in the field.

Supreme civil authority rested on his shoulders. And by the gods was he tired. So very tired.

But he was the Quiet Wolf. He was Eddard of House Stark. He would do his duty if it killed him. And it may very well do so.

Sitting in the Tower of the Hand, Eddard was actually nervous for the following conversation he was about to have. Only because the possible end of future hostilities could result from it.

He had called Tyrion Lannister for an audience.

He barely had time to think further when the very same man was allowed entrance into the Hand's solar.

"Ah! My Lord Hand, always a pleasure!" Lord Tyrion remarked in his usual sarcastic wit. "You'll be pleased to know that the matter involving Lords Chyttering and Velaryon has been resolved. Perhaps to the likes of neither but resolved nonetheless."

"Nevermind that now, we have something important to discuss."

"I'm the Master of Coin, resolving financial disputes is important."

"I like to think of myself as not much of a lackwit, but admittedly I came to the realization that only one person can guarantee the continuance of peace after this war is over."

"Yes…it is quite frustrating that my Lord father has that quality. Make no mistake Lord Stark, no one know-"

"I speak not of Tywin Lannister." He interrupted simply.

"Oh? You cannot mean His Grace, can you? Surely even you know of his blood rage."

"I speak not of Robert either."

"Then please my Lord Hand, if you'll indulge me to-"

"I speak of you, Tyrion Lannister."

For the first time since he had met the small man, the little lion actually seemed surprised.

"Pardon?"

"I do not wish to see the destruction of the Westerlands. Many are innocent, including the thousands of smallfolk. Especially before the onset of the change of seasons; winter is coming after all."

"As you are quite fond of reminding us." He could tell he was trying to lighten the mood, but Eddard just blew right past it.

"And the only way that can happen easily, it to have Tywin Lannister surrender, if he does not, we will be forced to chase him through the Westerlands, and it will cause great damage. And I do not doubt, that even if he were to surrender, Tywin is not the man to let go of past grudges, even if he did finally believe the truth."

"Yes, you have the right of it so far."

"Which leads to you. Cersei will be out of the picture, and as for your brother, Ser Jaime will not be involved after the conclusion of this war."

Tyrion looked up worried. "My Lord Hand, please I must-"

"Calm yourself Lord Tyrion. I have privately decided to offer him the choice of accepting the Black when the time comes for his sentencing. Though I must stress that it is his only chance at life. Make no mistake Tyrion Lannister, Ser Jaime will either trade his white cloak for a black one or be sent back to Casterly Rock in a coffin."

Tyrion understood the message well enough he hoped. 'If you wish for your brother's life, convince him to accept the Black.'

"I digress. If we can have Tywin surrender, one of the stipulations that I have decided to implement is that he is to recognize you as his official heir, the Iron Throne will not recognize anyone else."

He could tell that Tyrion was absolutely gobsmacked. "My Lord Hand, I thank you for this, but surely he will not accept this. My father has not hidden his distaste for me."

"If he wishes for House Lannister to continue to hold the Westerlands, he'll agree. I will not be moved on this matter. Which…brings us back to you. I will be open to you and confess some things. I confess that I have been greatly surprised at the skill at which you have executed your office, no doubt you will make a fine lord someday. I have great hopes that after your father, you will lead the Westerlands just as ably, and with more compassion, but, before I do this, I must have your word."

"My word?"

"Your word. I am aware that your brother is one of only few members of your family that cares for you, additionally I am aware that he is perhaps your favorite person in the realm. But I must have your word that if he chooses not to take the Black, that you will not hold resentment against me or mine for what I will undoubtedly have to do then. As both a Lord Paramount and the Hand of the King, I have enormous amounts of power at my hands, but even that only goes so far. I can offer the Black to him, but only he can decide what he will do."

He had never seen Tyrion Lannister so deep in thought. For a long time, there was silence between them before Tyrion finally looked at him again.

"…and you promise that should he take the Black, that you'll protect him from His Grace's wrath?"

"On my word as a Stark of Winterfell, if your brother takes the Black, I shall sooner face Robert's blade than allow him to run Ser Jaime down."

Still, Tyrion was silent. Still thinking. Once more, he looked back at him. "Give me your word that Myrcella and Tommen will be granted the Lannister name, and given into my custody, and I accept this…this…this proposal."

This time it was his turn to think on it. It could result in some problems. There would always be those that would try to raise them to the throne, perhaps even without their own knowledge, but that could be a matter for the future.

"If you give me your word that they shall only marry within the Westerlands or marry not at all…I shall give this to you as well." He hoped this measure would stop any attempts at building potential alliances.

"Very well. I accept these conditions." Tyrion somberly responded. Without a dismissal, the little lion left the chambers much quieter than he had entered. After the door shut behind him, Eddard let out a large sigh.

Staring into the stones that made up the tower, he spoke to himself.

"Now only to get Tywin to accept this."

*Dont' worry, you'll learn what 'Torrhen's Lake' is soon enough ;)