Chapter 85: The heir proves his mettle

28 AF

Rickard

He had left the Twins three weeks ago together with his Uncle Rickon and six thousand men. They had marched in unison southwards along the Kingsroad, until Rickon had broken ranks and marched his two thousand men towards Falconry Tower.

On their way south together, they had encountered a few groups of fanatics that had been ravaging the countryside between the Green Fork and the mountains. On his uncle's advice, he had dispatched groups of light cavalry to deal with them. This had the benefit that his march south would not be delayed.

The commands of those groups were given to the heirs of the present nobles. This would bring him the appreciation of the new generation, as well as more veteran commanders in the future. Apparently, it was a thing frequently done amongst new commanders in the Free Company's in Essos.

He had sent out three bands of riders when they had marched together. One under the command of his cousin Belthasar Bolton, the two others under Ondrew Locke and Donnel Flint. After their split, three more groups had been sent out under Osric and Mors Umber and Meeron Reed.

When his father had sent him south, he had expected many of the surrounding Riverlords to join him. Nonetheless, this didn't happen. Houses Cox, Lychester, Roote and Shawney all refused to respond to his summons, as they kept their forces behind their own walls and their gates closed.

Some of these could be explained. Houses Shawney and Cox had notable marriage connections to House Lolliston, whilst Lady Lychester was a Bracken. Nonetheless, it was shameful. The worst of them were House Roote, who had been handsomely rewarded after the war by his father with the establishment of a second branch of the family in Rook's Rest under the name House Rooke. Now, it seemed both branches refused to join either side.

When he had studied the present situation of those houses, he understood it better. Many of their sworn knightly vassals or even family members had openly called to join the rebels. They faced zealous pillagers on the outside of their borders and rebels inside of them. For many, remaining neutral was an attempt at trying to evade possible carnage on their own lands. Lord Shawney's third son had even rebelled against his own father and taken three hundred disgruntled soldiers of his father's lands with him to join Elmar at Stoney Sept.

Nevertheless, he had found some allies. He had spent a week clearing zealous groups away from the lands of Houses Darry and Greensnake, both of which had thanked him profusely for his help.

In Frog's Knot, the keep of House Greensnake, he had been hosted warmly. Lord Robert Greensnake's heir, Ser Damon had entertained him for multiple days, after he had hung all the zealots he could find on and around the lands formerly belonging to House Vypren. A house he had only heard of in stories, as his father had destroyed it almost completely. Its only remaining member, Lady Greensnake, reduced to a way to legitimize House Greensnake's rule over the area.

In the end, Ser Damon had personally joined him with two hundred of his house's men and together they had continued southwest towards Lolliston Grove.

His stay in Castle Darry had been equally pleasant. The keep was temporarily in the control of Lord Lyman's second son Ser Jonothor Darry. Both he and his stepmother, Lady Darry, had been excellent hosts. After clearing away the bandits and fanatics from his land, Ser Jonothor had raised another three hundred men to join him under the command of his father's bastard cousin Ser Roland Rivers.

He noticed that the longer they travelled, the more the local smallfolk seemed to fear his coming. Stories travelled quickly and his treatment of the zealots had been brutal, and rightfully so. His father had asked him to make a showing of it, so tales would spread. He had done just that.

Any fanatic captured, dead or alive, had been hung from the branches of the closest tree with his belly cut open and his entrails hanging out of him. Sometimes their families travelled with them, and they suffered similar fates. The women he gave to his men, before hanging them next to their husbands. Their children were sent to the Twins, to be escorted towards the Wall or the Silent Sisters.

Most peasants shut themselves up inside their houses out of fear when he passed their villages or homesteads. Nonetheless, they had nothing to fear of him. To better his reputation, he handed out parts of his supplies in every village. He had even held court in two of the bigger ones. Three other villages he had helped repair after zealots had passed through it.

This seemed to have adjusted his reputation somewhat. Brutal for his enemies, kind for those who remained loyal or kept to their own. It was a reputation he could live with.

After only a week, the populations of the Darry and Greensnake lands lauded him as he passed by. Nevertheless, those in the lands of House Lolliston had anxiously hidden away from him.

They had doubted on what to do. When his father had given him his orders, he had expected for at least fifteen hundred extra Riverlanders to join him. A thing which hadn't materialized. He had to make a choice. March on Lolliston Grove anyway, or back off and wait to get more reinforcements after his Uncle Rickon took Falconry Tower.

He had chosen the former. His men were angry and ready. On their way south, they had passed several Weirwood trees that had been cut down. His army had called for vengeance then, a call which had amplified a thousand-fold after hearing about the Slaughter of Sow's Horn. Their thirst for blood was great, and so was his. They would all pay for this. When he was finished with the Lollistons and other like them, no one would dare to destroy their holy places or hunt his fellow countrymen ever again.

With four thousand five hundred men, he had set out for Lolliston Grove. There had been one major problem. Harrenhal was only one day marching away from Lolliston Grove and if Oscar Tully attacked him in the back, it could be a disaster.

For now, all their spies told them that the second-born son of Edmure Tully was stubbornly locking himself in his giant fortress. He refused to join any of his brothers in their civil war.

He wouldn't take anything for granted though, and as such he had sent Meeron Reed south towards Harrenhal to keep an eye on the Tully and his troops. If Oscar were to march out, Reed had strict orders to delay his coming by any means necessary and to kill as many of his men as he could while doing so.

Meeron Reed had been an enigma to him. The Crannogman looked almost like a child and behaved and clothed himself very oddly. Nevertheless, he was the heir to one of the main noble houses of the North.

His father had urged him to give the young man a chance, reminding him of the fact that Meeron's grandfather had not only saved his own grandfather's life during Robert's Rebellion but also the fact that Lord Howland had served during his father's wars in the South. Apparently, he had also helped his Uncle Jon a lot, both by initially telling him of his parentage and later by giving him advice throughout the years.

Based on all of this, he had chosen to give the young Reed a chance. Since then, Meeron had positively surprised him. He had been a real asset in tracking zealous groups and wasn't bad at dealing with them either. In a mysterious way, he seemed wise beyond his years.

For some reason, he trusted the twenty-one-year-old to fulfill the important job at Harrenhal. His Umber father-in-law had had his doubts and had pressed upon him the importance of the mission. If Oscar broke out of Harrenhal in time, they could be annihilated. Nevertheless, he knew Meeron wouldn't fail.

Suddenly, Lord Domeric brought him back to reality. "My Prince, we are here. Our scouts tell us that from on top of this hill, we will be able to see Lolliston Grove." The Lord of the Dreadfort told him, while pointing at the hill they were slowly climbing with their horses.

"Thank you, Lord Bolton." He didn't have to ask if it was safe. He pulled at a string at the back of his head, like his father had taught him to do in secret for over a decade. He smelled the air through his direwolf's superior nose, while listening for any dangers. There was no one waiting for them behind that hill.

He softly put his spurs in the flanks of his horse and cantered away from the main line. His two Kingsguard members immediately followed him. Ser Dickon Brune, his trusted companion since his early childhood, caught up to him on his left. Cedric Cerwyn rode behind him with their mutual cousin Eddarion.

His father had arranged for his Aunt Arya's second son to serve as his squire during the war. Rion's older brother and father had gone to Riverrun, whilst he remained with him as a squire. He was a willful lad, much like his mother. Nonetheless, he was dutiful and loyal to the bone. Things that he could appreciate. When the boy came of age, he would offer him a position at Winterfell because of those traits. Father would never object, and the boy had potential.

Lord Bolton loudly objected his movements behind him, but he simply ignored him. Soon, the Lord of the Dreadfort caught up to him on his right, while his direwolf Ash sped up in front of them.

Together they reached the top of the large hill, and there he held his reins. They looked over a few fertile valleys between some hills. On a small elevation in the largest of the valleys, Lolliston Grove could be seen.

It was a small castle. It had somewhat of an oval shape. Furthest from him was the keep, which also served as the back of the outer wall. A stone curtain wall wrapped in front of it with two small rectangular stone towers on each side. In the front, a much stronger and larger tower stood facing the south-east. It was also rectangular, and the gate passed through its base. It was a simple, but very effective design. Any force trying to break down the gate would be pelted with missiles by the defenders from all floors of the tower.

To the east of the castle, between it and some woodlands, an army encampment could be seen. Well, an 'army encampment' was somewhat of an exaggeration. In the center and closest to the castle, orderly rows of tents could be seen. However, all around those tents were scattered around far and wide, betraying an undisciplined and unruly force.

Nevertheless, the encampment seemed empty. This was no surprise. In between the hill from which he was looking down and the keep, two other large and flat hills could be seen. The enemy, clearly informed of their coming, had formed up there.

Its elite organized force stood between those hills. Large unorganized bands of rabble stood on the flanks of the hills on each side, with groups of archers behind them on the highest ground. Two small groups of cavalry on both flanks finished their position.

Lord Domeric took a deep breath, while analyzing the situation below. After a while, he turned his head towards him. "Why did you do that? There could have easily been a last-minute enemy ambush over the top of the hill. If anything were to happen to you, it could alter the entire war. Don't be so reckless, Prince Rickard!" His aunt's husband scolded him.

He waved away the concern. "I knew it was safe. Ash went ahead and he could have sniffed out enemies twice the distance we covered."

The head of House Bolton frowned deeply, while looking between him and his companion. It was clear that the intelligent Lord of the Dreadfort was putting some things together in his head, but he kept silent. His wife, Aunt Sansa, was bonded to a direwolf. He probably knew more than he let on.

"What do you think of the enemy position?" He instead asked him.

Lord Bolton scanned the area once more. "They hold a strong position. If we attack head on, their spear line and men-at-arms will hold us off while their archers pelt us from on top of those hills. They could even follow this up with downward charges against our flanks."

"Aye, a frontal assault would be messy." He agreed.

"Nevertheless, it might be our best option at first glance. If we attack their flanks with cavalry, we will be bogged down by their rabble, while the archers and enemy cavalry tears us to shreds. It would be a bloodbath. A similar, maybe even more devastating thing would happen if we attacked the flanks with infantry." Lord Domeric thought aloud, as his eyes pierced over the horizon.

"We could do both at the same time?" He asked.

His Aunt Sansa's husband agreed, albeit reluctantly. "Aye, that could work, but it would still be ugly." He had to agree with that.

He scanned the hills and valleys in front of him again and again, until his eyes rested on the small forest east of the disorganized enemy encampment. He trailed the area around it and slowly followed it back to his own position with his eyes. A small smile started to creep up on his mouth.

This didn't go unnoticed by the Lord of the Dreadfort. "You have a plan?"

"Aye, but before I know that it can work, I need to ask you something." He replied.

"Me?" Lord Domeric shrugged. "Ask away."

"If I were to give Belthasar command of a hundred light horsemen to move under the cover of those hills to the east towards those woodlands, could he do it unseen?" He asked the man that was most likely the best cavalry commander in the North, maybe even the whole of Westeros.

Lord Bolton scratched through his neatly cut beard, before a soft smile crept upon his own face. "You want to attack the enemy camp?"

He nodded. "The rabble situated on those hills has left their homes and livelihood to fight for their idiotic cause. Most will have taken many valuables with them. Others will have looted some from what they deemed traitors or enemies. Many will have their families with them … wives, maybe even children. If we set their camp aflame, they will drop everything to try to protect their possessions and families. After that, we can charge the hills and destroy House Lolliston's forces."

Domeric Bolton thought about for a moment, before he nodded approvingly. "Aye, it is a good plan. To come back to your earlier question, Belthasar can do it. I trained him for this for over a decade myself. He is young, but this he can do. Especially so with that direwolf his mother sent with him for protection! What would you do if they countercharge him? He could be in a very dangerous situation."

Lord Bolton was understandably concerned. He had only one surviving son and no brothers. The future of his house was on the line. "It wouldn't matter. I would give Belthasar only light cavalry. If he were to encounter serious mounted resistance, he could simply outpace them and fall back to our main line."

His answer was seemingly deemed acceptable. "How would you divide command?"

He let the question sink in, thinking it over before responding. "Lord Umber would take the center. He can taunt the enemy, while the archers return fire on each other. That way, the enemy's attention is on us and not on Belthasar's movements. Once the camp is aflame, we strike with cavalry on its flanks. I would command the left. You would command the right. You are our best cavalry commander and would be best positioned to run down the fanatic rabble, as well as come to your son's aid if necessary."

"Good." The simple reply came. "What about archers and the reserve?"

"The archers will be commanded by Geron, one of my serjeants. No reserve will be necessary. Once we charge, I want our full might to hit them at once."

"I agree with having no reserve, but giving a lowborn serjeant command of the archers? My vassals won't like that." The head of House Bolton countered.

"They will have to live with it. Geron is a veteran of my father's wars in the South. Since then, he has been training the Winterfell garrison in archery for over two decades. He even taught me and most of my siblings how to shoot a bow. I trust him and I know him to be capable of this. That is what I need on the battlefield, not some over eager noble who could mess up my plans because he wanted to gain glory."

Lord Domeric nodded, dropping the topic. "I will relay your orders to Lord Umber. Do we set up the army here on top of the hill?"

"Aye, everyone except Bethasar's force. Then we slowly advance from here. I trust you to choose the men in your son's squadron." Lord Bolton silently bowed and rode off, leaving him to contemplate the gravity of the decisions that he had just made.

An hour later, he was sitting upon his grey destrier at the head of their cavalry. Hundreds of horsemen from Houses Stark, Umber and Darry surrounded him, eagerly awaiting the coming battle. Amongst them was Mors Umber, Lord Umber's second son. He had promised his good-father to keep the twenty-year-old giant close.

Eddarion found himself just behind the lines with most of the other squires. They would pull the wounded out of the fighting and provide new weapons when the old ones had broken. More importantly, they would relay messages to him when he found himself in the middle of the fighting.

To his right, both archer lines were exchanging fire. The enemy army screamed at his own, while the Northmen under Lord Umber only produced a continuous horrifying rhythm by hitting their swords on their armor and shields. The sound chilled every fighter to the core and its message was clear. For now, we strike upon our shields. Soon, it will be your limbs and head we strike upon.

He stood upright on his stirrups, when he could suddenly see smoke rising up from behind the enemy army. He grinned, whilst pointing it out to Mors. "Belthasar did it." The Umber produced a menacing smile, and his eyes looked like a hunter getting ready to strike his prey.

The giant's brother and father had also seen the smoke, it seemed. The rhythmic slashing of iron on iron stopped, as it was replaced by a loud chant.

"Our friends are raping your wives and stealing your gold, while you are here wetting your breeches." Could be heard across the plain again and again. The effect was almost immediate. Fear and confusion spread through the enemy ranks, and soon hundreds of the rabble warriors charged back to their burning camp.

He grinned. "We have them on the run men! Let's win the day!" He screamed loudly, before ordering the horn blower to signal the attack. The horn was immediately answered by the one at the other side. Soon, the horns from the infantry in the center followed suit too.

"FOR WINTERFELL!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. "FOR THE PRINCE!" Ser Dickon Brune shouted in response. "FOR THE OLD GODS!" Mors Umber easily bellowed over it all. Together they charged up the hill towards the enemy left.

The enemy archers got wind of their idea and managed to get a volley off before they reached the enemy line. One arrow hit his left shoulder. Its immediate impact hurt, but it didn't pierce the metal shoulder pad and boun dc off it. He rolled his shoulder to lessen the pain, as he gripped the lance tighter in his other hand.

On his signal, a few of his serjeants and some two hundred of his riders turned away to catch the enemy horsemen charging against him. He had foreseen the enemy move, but he had made sure that nothing would soften or hinder his charge.

In front of them all, Ash jumped two enemy soldiers at the front of their line. That, and the hundreds of horsemen thundering towards them, was enough to break the large group of archers. In panic, they ran in all directions. It didn't matter. It only made them easier to kill.

He planted his lance in the back of a fleeing archer, before pulling out his sword. He slashed into one's neck on his left, before claiming a hand on his right. He trampled an archer that had fallen, before splitting his companion's head in two. It was absolute carnage. This was no battle … it was a slaughter.

He pulled his reins and shouted for others to gather around him. His two members of the Wolfsguard immediately arose at his flanks, as dozens of riders fell in behind them. Mors Umber had disappeared in the melee, but he wasn't worried about him. The giant could fight.

A knight rode up to him, with two dozen others at his back. He raised his visor, and he recognized Ser Roland Rivers, the bastard knight of Darry. "We follow you, My Prince. Into the back of the infantry, I presume?" He shouted at him.

He raised his own visor. "Aye, Ser Roland. Do me the honor and ride next to me. I want it known that the North and the Riverlands rode beside each other during the charge that broke the enemy formation." The knight seemed touched and guided his horse closer to him. Together, they closed their visors. Cedric Cerwyn tossed him another lance and he lowered it in front of him, before giving the order to charge.

"FOR HOUSE STARK!" He screamed, and dozens of riders charged down towards the back of the enemy infantry line. They hit them at the edge of their line and barreled through it. He stabbed the lance in the chest of a spearman, just before the charge connected and the rest felt like a blur. His sword clashed against a shield and then hit someone on the helmet. Before he knew it, he was through the enemy line.

The surprised Northern soldiers in front of him shouted their support for their prince, as he turned his horse to charge back into the melee. From the corner of his eye, he saw how the Bolton horse had also struck the enemy from the other side and then he found himself again amidst the confusing mess of men, horses and steel.

He cut an enemy soldier's spear in two, before catching an axe upon his shield from the other side. He turned his horse around, before slicing the axeman's neck open. Soon after, the enemy started surrendering and he led his horsemen out of the fight. The infantry could capture the foot soldiers, there was neither honor nor importance in that task.

He pulled back his reins upon the left hill, as he scanned the battlefield. The battle in the center was over and their horsemen were running down the remainder of the archers and rabble left and right. The only force still fighting was the cavalry that had attacked his horsemen at the beginning to try and stop their charg. Together with as many riders as he could find, he clashed into them from the side.

He traded blows with a knight in blue, and he started to feel the pain in his shoulder where the arrow had previously hit. Every time that his opponent's mace hit his shield, he winced a little as his shoulder revolted. Still, he kept fighting. He tried to hit the knight on his hand, elbow, shoulder and neck, but the blue fighter managed to block or dodge all his attacks.

Frustration and worry slowly crept up on him, as the pain in his shoulder grew exponentially every time the enemy mace cut through the air. Suddenly, a rider stormed behind his opponent and hit the blue knight hard on the back of his helmet with a war hammer. The knight slowly fell from his horse, as blood trickled from under his helmet.

The rider he recognized as Ser Roland. The Riverlander tipped his helmet lightly in greeting, before disappearing in the melee. He gathered his breath, as Ser Dickon and Cedric Cerwyn gathered around him protectively.

Not much later, the enemy horsemen either scattered or surrendered. As he rode back to the main fighting, he saw that it had been the same everywhere. Only much further on, at the gate of the castle, fighting continued. Fleeing soldiers were desperately trying to enter the keep, while being cut down by his men from the back.

The enemy had closed the gate and was only able to give their fleeing men missile support from above. When they realized this, the last enemies surrendered in droves.

Lord Bolton found him soon after the last fighting, guiding his horse next to his. He immediately noticed his discomfort in his shoulder. "What is that?"

"An arrow slid of it at the beginning of the charge, although the initial impact hurt somewhat. Afterwards, some Riverlander knight thought it a good idea to keep hitting my shield with his mace. My shoulder didn't agree with him." He explained.

"Where is that knight now?" The Lord of the Dreadfort asked him.

"Dead." He replied.

"Good." His aunt's husband replied with a grin, as he looked at his shoulder. "It doesn't seem to be bleeding much externally, although your skin is heavily bruised and damaged. Have one of the healers look at it now. Umber and I will clean up the battlefield. When you are back, we can take count of the losses and evaluate the battle." He advised him, although it sounded more like an order.

He didn't care, as it was good advice. He turned his horse towards their rear. At that moment, Ash appeared out of the crowd. His fur was drenched with blood from muzzle to paw, but he seemed unhurt and happy to see him again. He scratched the large direwolf under his chin, and together they rode back.

An hour later, he found himself in his command tent with his commanders and their most important vassals around him.

"Lord Umber, if you would be so kind as to tell us our losses?" He asked his wife's father.

The giant nodded, as he rolled out a scroll he had kept in his sword belt. "We have lost one hundred and fifty-six men, mostly cavalry and archers. Another two hundred and seventy-three are significantly wounded, some forty of those aren't expected to survive."

He took in that information. Two hundred dead wasn't bad to destroy an entire enemy house, as well as an unknown number of zealots.

"Any significant casualties?"

"Only Jon Lake, Lord Lake's third son. He was a good lad. He will be missed." The Umber Lord said of his vassal's son. He looked over to Lord Lake, who looked to be both angry and grieving at the same time. "You will have your vengeance ten times over. I promise you that, My Lord." He told the lesser lord.

Lord Lake silently inclined his head in gratitude.

"The enemy casualties?" He asked.

"Over nineteen hundred are dead, another thousand surrendered." The Lord of Last Hearth replied.

Some Bolton vassal whistled, and he was right. Those were serious numbers.

"That's not even the best of it. We took more than a few notable prisoners. House Lolliston is a huge family. Lord Lolliston himself was captured, although he is a hand short now. The healers tell us he'll survive." Smalljon Umber shrugged.

"Lord Lolliston had five sons. His second son died, and his fourth son ran inside the keep like a coward. The other three are in our custody. He also had three brothers. One died when Tywin Lannister ravaged the Riverlands. The other two died on the field today." His father's friend took a deep breath, before reading on from the scroll.

"Together these brothers had six living sons. Two of those were killed today, three were captured and one ran for the hills. Among those captured, one is apparently a member of that retched Faith Militant." Smalljon spat.

"Three of his cousins also died, whilst four were captured. Two of his niece's husbands were captured, while his sister's husband and two sons, namely Sers Ellery, Emmett and Elmar Margrave, died during Lord Bolton's cavalry charge on the infantry."

"Gods, were they trying to emulate House Frey?" Geron remarked, which earned him a few snickers from around the tent.

"How many escaped?" He continued the conversation.

"Difficult to say. At least seven hundred, half of those managed to get inside the castle. The others scattered to the four winds."

"Mostly rabble fanatics that scattered?" He inquired.

"Aye, the scum ran as soon as they saw the smoke rising from their encampment. In their encampment, another eight hundred women and children were captured. Those cowards even left their own families behind." The giant lord spat.

He thought that over. "Ser Roland, Ser Damon, Lord Domeric how soon until your riders are ready to move?" He asked, as he looked each of them in the eyes.

They looked at each other and shrugged. "I can have a significant amount ready in an hour." The Bolton lord told him, the others said similar things.

"Good, when you leave here go to them. Go zealot hunting. The more of them you can catch, the greater your reward when you return." He told them, which was met by laughter and support from all in the tent. We wanted the rabble dead. Otherwise, they would scatter and terrorize the local population.

"What do we do with the prisoners?" Ser Damon Greensnake asked him. "We can't hold or feed a thousand men, let alone eight hundred women and children. "

"Aye, you're right." He turned to one of the Winterfell serjeants. "Errold, split the prisoners in two groups. Soldiers and knights to one side, secure those as you would other prisoners. The zealous rabble and members of the Faith Militant on the other side."

"Of course, My Prince." The man replied loyally.

"Lord Lake?" He asked the older man who had just lost one of his sons. "What would you say about getting the opportunity to string up hundreds of the bastards at once?"

The Northman from Long Lake gave him a vicious grin in reply. The anger and hatred beaming out of his eyes. "It would do me great pleasure, Prince Rickard."

He nodded. "Once Errold has finished dividing the prisoners, you oversee the hanging of every one of those fanatics. Give them the usual treatment. Remind them of the customs our ancestors performed on the early Andals. If you wish to take a few heads yourself to calm your anger, I won't stop you. However, they must all be dead by nightfall. I will not tolerate prolonged torture. Do you understand?"

"I understand very clearly, My Prince." The Northern lord replied eagerly, as his vicious grin only grew wider.

"What about the women and children?" Lord Lake's heir asked.

"Give the women to the men. They have earned a reward. Hold the children with the prisoners. The males will be sent to the orphanages at the Wall at the earliest convenience, while a solution for the females will be created later on." Both Lord Lake and his eldest son seemed pleased with that.

"What do we do about the keep? It remains strong and it probably has close to five hundred men inside." Ser Roland asked.

Before he could answer, Lord Domeric spoke up. "I might have a solution."

"I am listening."

"Lolliston Grove will be filled with women worried sick about the fate of their husbands and sons. Put all the Lollistons in front of the keep. Take one of their heads every half an hour until the keep surrenders. Have a herald announce it before you begin, I bet it won't take more than an hour before they open their gates." The Lord of the Dreadfort spoke up, honoring his family's gruesome reputation.

Many across the room acted with mixed reactions. While they liked the idea of taking the keep without bloodshed, executing nobles like that was not something you undertook lightly.

"Good plan, we will start with the one that joined the Faith Militant. By all laws of the kingdom, he is destined to die anyway. Secondly, will be Lord Lolliston. As a traitor to the Crown and his overlord Lord Tully, no one will object to his death either. I agree that they will most likely surrender after that." This put most of his nobles at ease, as both had indeed strong cases against them.

"Have a herald announce it at their gates. It starts in half an hour." He told one of serjeants. Afterwards, he continued talking to his nobles. He asked them about their ideas, comments and grievances both on campaign and at home.

When the time was up, he walked onto the field in front of the castle, a one-handed axe in his right hand. The remnants of the enemy encampment were situated some ways behind them, and the leavings of the battlefield laid to his left.

The wall in front of him was packed with people, all silently watching him and his army in silence. They had had the time to intervene. They hadn't done so. He shrugged. This first knight had to die anyway.

All captured members of House Lolliston found themselves on their knees in the mud, bound at their ankles and wrists. With a few words, he ordered his guards to put the head of Ser Humfrey Lolliston on the chopping block.

He looked at the Riverlander's tabard with disdain. It was white, like all the others in his family. However, only half of it was decorated with the tree brown barrels of House Lolliston. The other half displayed the Seven-Pointed-Star in its many colors. The knight had visually chosen to join the Faith Militant, he would now face the consequences.

He pushed the man's head down harshly into the block, rendering him unable to speak. "In the name of my father, King Robb Stark, I sentence you, Ser Humfrey Lolliston, to die for joining a religious order against the laws of the kingdom. Do you have any last words?" He asked the Riverlander knight. He pulled his hand back, to allow him to breathe and speak.

"YOU HEATHENS WILL BURN IN THE SEVEN HELLS! THE FOLLOWERS OF THE SEVEN WILL COME FOR YOU AND BURN YOUR FALSE IDOLS AND YOUR TREES. YOU WILL RUE THE DAY YOU OPPOSED THE MIGHT OF THE ONLY TRUE GODS. YOU …" Ser Humfrey Lolliston screamed, but he cut him off. He didn't have time for this sort of rambling.

The axe came down upon the neck of the knight, cutting of his curses and trading them in for screams. It took him three swings to cut his head off with the one-handed-axe, but that didn't matter. He silently handed the bloodied axe to Rion and walked forward.

All other members of House Lolliston looked at him in horror as he picked up the head of what had been Ser Humfrey and walked forward with it towards the walls. Just out of arrow range, he threw it as hard as he could towards the walls. It bumped and rolled until it laid still some thirty feet from the walls. From atop them, screams could be heard, but he paid it no mind.

"Put Lord Lolliston on the block." He ordered to some of his guards, who immediately obeyed. Osric Umber raised his eyebrow at him. "Weren't we going to wait half an hour between each of the executions?"

He shrugged. "We don't have time for this. They will have to decide more quickly." He told his goodbrother. The Umber heir simply nodded, before ordering one of his men to announce his decision to the castle.

He waited five more minutes, before asking his axe back from his squire and walking over to Lord Lolliston. Just as he prepared to ask him for his last words, the gates opened. A lone rider with a makeshift white flag rode towards his line.

The rider was no older than him and wore the same style of tunic as the prisoners in the field. He stopped some forty feet away from him, before proudly announcing himself. "My name is Ser Edmyn Lolliston. I am the fourth son of Lord Lucian Lolliston. I would like to start negotiations."

Ash stalked over to him and growled loudly, panicking the rider's horse. Scared, it threw him off into the mud, before galloping back towards the open gates of the castle.

Humiliated, the knight got up. He tried to clean some of the worst mud from his armor, but soon gave up on it. Silently, he locked eyes with the Lolliston knight. It was clear that the fourth son was never taught how to command. The Riverlander did his best but threw more and more uncertain glances in the directions of his father and elder brother as the time passed.

Finally, he spoke up. "My terms are the following. You will open your gates to us and disarm your soldiers. You will willingly hand over every zealot or member of the Faith Militant to us. In turn, you, your family and your keep will be spared."

"What about my father and brothers? What about all the family members here on the field?" Ser Edmyn Lolliston asked him.

"They will face the King's judgement in Riverrun. They took up arms against the King in name of a false claimant." He simply replied.

"What will you do with the zealous peasants?"

"They will die. They followed the orders of a foreign entity to murder, rape and steal from my father's subjects on the basis of their religion or their alleged alliance with Old Gods believers. This is unforgivable. There is no world where any of them walk away from this alive." He responded.

Ser Edmyn swallowed, while shooting a look to his father. "What if we refuse?"

He shrugged. "We will storm the keep and take it sooner or later. The castle will be sacked, as my men pillage your family's property and rape your women. Your keep will be torn down, and your lands will be salted. All adult males, including you, will be killed and the boys will be sent to the orphanages at the Wall. The remaining women and girls will be sent to the Silent Sisters. I would normally say the Septs, but it seems that they do more bad than good these days."

The eyes of the knight went wide. "You can't do that! We are an old noble family, stemming from the first coming of the Andals to Westeros!"

"I can and I will, if I must. You are given a choice to save your family and your name. If you refuse, that is your choice. However, in that case I will make sure that no one will remember the name Lolliston in fifty years, whether it has been around since the coming of the Andals or not. Your allies from the Reach never showed this curtesy to Houses Parrell or Menning. Their lands were destroyed and their families assaulted, while they never broke an oath in their lives. Be grateful that you even get this opportunity. It would be in my right to eradicate your treacherous house once and for all, but I give you an honorable way out. Take it or leave it, but you know the consequences either way."

The knight visibly seemed to panic, as he looked to his father for help. Lord Lolliston was still bent over the wooden log on which his nephew had been executed not long ago. Nevertheless, he chose to speak.

"Think of your children and those of your siblings, Edmyn! Take the deal and advice your nephew Harold until he comes of age in our absence. Think of the family. It must persist." Lord Lucian Lolliston told his fourth son.

As fate would have it, he would seal his own when he added the next sentence. "Make those Northern savages swear to honor the deal on their trees. It is the only way to get them to keep their word."

He looked the Riverlord in his eyes and he realized that Lord Lucian knew what saying those words meant. Nevertheless, he had uttered them anyway.

Ser Edmyn looked at him. "I accept your offer, on the condition that you swear to it on your gods."

He pierced into the knight's eyes, anger boiling up inside him. A streak of the Wolfsblood his aunts and grandmother had called it ever since he was young. He pushed his anger down. There was a time and place for it, and it wasn't now.

"I swear on the Old Gods to honor the terms I gave your before, as long as you keep yours. From the moment that you fail to honor your part, this vow is null and void." He told the Riverlander knight, who nodded meekly.

"Now, you will personally escort my men inside. You will order the garrison to put down their weapons. If you even think about laying a trap, I will execute all those on the field here, while my men make sure that you don't come out of that keep alive either. Do you understand?" The Lolliston knight nodded silently.

He turned to Osric Umber. "Take eight hundred men and march into the keep. Secure the gate and the walls and disarm the garrison. Gather the whole Lolliston family inside their hall. I will come inside once everything is secure. You kill anyone that resists, highborn or lowborn."

Osric nodded, before bellowing orders to the lines of his father's men. Lords Bolton and Umber immediately walked over to him. Both congratulated him on securing the keep without any more bloodshed, and they talked about their strategy on how to deal with the rest of the Lolliston family.

"What will you do about Old Lucian?" Lord Domeric asked. "His words cannot go unpunished."

He agreed. "Aye, they can't. He will die for those words. Still, executing him now would not be beneficial. We will take him with us back to Riverrun, where I will execute him myself when the time comes. No one calls me or my countrymen savages and lives to tell the tale."

Lords Umber and Bolton nodded approvingly, before going to aid Osric in the task he had been given.

Remembering his own anger when he had been called a savage by Lord Lolliston, he walked over to where the man was still laying on the log of wood. He walked over to him, as he ordered a guard to keep him down.

He put his mouth next to the man's ear and whispered softly. "No one calls me or my countrymen savages. We will meet again under the same circumstances soon and then your blood will paint the courtyard of Riverrun red. Use your remaining time to make peace with your beloved Gods."

He backed up and pointed to two guards. "You two, take Lord Lolliston away. Make sure that he is guarded and kept away from the other prisoners at all times."

The older and most experienced of the two immediately stepped forward. "Of course, My Prince." He replied, with a small bow. He and his companion put their arms under the shoulders of the Riverlord and carried him off.

He then pointed to a few other guardsmen. "You, take the others away. Put them with the other prisoners for now. Once we have secured the keep, they will be transported to the dungeons."

All men bowed, and the other Lollistons were carried off as well. He walked back into the camp and mingled among lower Bolton nobles together with his cousin Belthasar. They passed a sack of wine amongst themselves to pass the time, as his men put up their camp around him. In the meantime, his cousin and squire Eddarion Cerwyn brought him his copper and iron crown.

After a while, the now familiar Umber war horns were heard. Nevertheless, they didn't call for battle. They gave the usual command to advance. Clever thinking on Osric's part to tell them that the coast was clear to advance into the castle.

Most of the lower nobles scattered to check on their men, while he and Belthasar walked over to their horses with the two direwolves. They were soon joined by Ser Dickon Brune and Cedric Cerwyn, as well as Lords Bolton and Umber and their retainers. Together they rode towards the keep, entering it through the gate under the square tower.

Outside, zealots were guided towards the forests by dozens of his men, while in the courtyard, hundreds of disarmed regular soldiers stood awaiting their fate. Most of them stepped back from him the moment they noticed Ash.

He looked over towards his direwolf, whose ashen fur that had lent him his name was red from all the dried blood. Ash's muzzle was scarlet, and he bared his teeth at the disarmed enemy soldiers.

He held his reins and looked over the hundreds of men gathered together in the courtyard. He ignored the itch coming from his bandaged arm and spoke up.

"You have two options in front of you. You can tell me that you only took up arms against me because you were forced to do so by your overlords. To prove this, you can voluntarily ask to join my forces to fight against the other rebels and religious fanatics. Your other option is that you hold your ground and bravely tell me that you fought against me for what you believed to be a just cause. It is a choice that I will respect, and which will give you your freedom. However, this decision will cost you your sword hand, to make sure that you can never again take up arms against Houses Stark or Tully. The choice is yours. Those willing to join our ranks can enlist with Lord Bolton."

He looked at Lord Domeric, who grinned at him before jumping off his horse together with some of his guards. The Lord of the Dreadfort knew what to do. Without another word, he led his horse towards the keep in the back.

He dismounted on the steps in front of it, and he and his entourage were guided inside towards the Lolliston Hall by an Umber serjeant. The hall was small and insignificant, and filled with members of its ruling house.

He saw at least twenty-five children, a dozen women and only three men. Ser Edmyn stood in the middle, next to a boy of around twelve years old.

He walked over towards them, flanked by his two Kingsguard members and his direwolf. All backed up at the side, but he simply walked on until he was right in front of the boy. "Harold Lolliston, I presume?" He asked the boy, who nodded with great difficulty.

He looked around the room filled with the boy's kin, before locking eyes with him again. "I will make it easy for you. You are nobles and you deserve to be treated as such, as long as you don't oppose us. You surrendered the keep; we expect this to remain the same or your adult men will suffer for it." He voiced, while locking eyes with many of the women around him before turning back to the boy.

"My forces and I will rest here for a few days, before we continue. A garrison will be installed here to keep the area under our control. Harold and Ser Edmyn may remain here, together with Harold's mother, brother and sisters and Ser Edmyn's wife and children, on the condition that they help pacify the region. All the others will be accompanied towards the Twins, where they will be treated with the respect deserving of their noble status. Once the war has ended, most of you will all be allowed to return home without a ransom. Some of the children will of course be raised as wards in other castles across the kingdom." He ruled.

One of the older women seemed to conquer her fears of his direwolf and dared to ask him a question. "What about my husband and sons?"

"Lady Lolliston, I presume?" He asked, to which she nodded in confirmation.

"One of your sons died in the fighting. Your husband and the other three, as well as all their cousins and other family members, will be escorted to Riverrun where they will be judged for their treason by the king." He responded calmly.

"The others, … they remain alive?" Another younger woman asked.

"Aye, those that survived the fighting remain alive and are in our custody. The only exception being Ser Humfrey, as he had joined the Stars and Swords, an act penalized with death in the Kingdom of the North and the Riverlands." The younger woman seemed to be relieved, while others looked to be even more angry now.

"Can we ask you who of our family died in the fighting? We haven't had the luxury of receiving this information." The old Lady Lolliston asked him.

He shrugged and turned to his father-in-law. "Lord Umber, would you be so kind as to tell the lady which of her family members perished during the battle."

"Of course, My Prince." Smalljon boomed, as he pulled a scroll out of his belt.

"Lord Lolliston's second son, Ser Jon Lolliston, died in the fighting, as well as two of the lord's brothers Sers Hoster and Benjicot Lolliston. Two of his nephews, namely Sers Alan and Willam Lolliston, fell on the field together with three of his cousins Sers Jonos, Steffon and Bryan Lolliston. On top of that, Lord Lolliston lost his goodbrother Ser Ellery Margave, as well as his two sons Ser Emmett and Ser Elmar Margrave. Two other knights who were connected to the family also died, namely Ser Geremy Pale and Ser Damon Scallop."

The Lord of Last Hearth put away the scroll, as many of the women started crying amongst themselves, with some of them throwing hateful glances his way.

"Now, I would ask you all to go back to your rooms under the guidance of my guards. All of you, except those living closest to the Lord's rooms. Those rooms will be claimed by my own nobles, other sleeping arrangements will be found for you in the meantime." He ruled, before signaling his guards to kindly push them out of the hall.

He turned towards Smalljon Umber and his son Osric, who had walked into the hall during the conversation. "Both of you pick a room to your liking close to the Lord's rooms. I will pick that one for myself and I want you close." Both grinned at him in response.

"Have your guards search the rooms for any possible dangers first, but let their belongings be. There will be enough plunder in the future to satiate your needs." He continued.

"Aye, My Prince." Father and son replied, before storming off with a handful of their retainers.

He then turned to Belthasar Bolton. "You can do the same, cousin. Pick one for your father as well, but make sure that they are safe first. I don't want the singers to make parallels between my campaign and the Young Dragon's Conquest of Dorne."

The Bolton heir marched off next, half a dozen retainers following behind him. Ser Dickon Brune then came to him. "Will we be clearing the Lord's rooms for you first, Prince Rickard?"

"Aye, my trusted friend. Take five guards with you and turn the whole room upside down. I will climb the keep to take a look at the area around us.

"It will be done, My Prince." Ser Dickon Brune grinned, before ordering Cedric Cerwyn to stay with 'their prince' at all times.

He climbed the stone cut stairs of the keep, before walking on to the stone floor. He walked over to the battlements, looking across the fertile valleys and hills of the Central Riverlands. Little Rion took his place beside him and looked across the area as well.

"It is so … green." Aunt Arya's second son remarked in wonder.

He chuckled. "Aye, the Riverlands are very fertile. They are one of the two main breadbaskets of Westeros. They are invaluable for the North, as they could easily produce enough food to help sustain and even grow our country's population. At the same time, its many river towns bring in much appreciated coin to the Crown's coffers." He responded, before sighing.

"The problem of the Riverlands is not in its value, it's its stability. Before the Targaryens, it was ravaged at least each generation. The Dragon Lords famed themselves upon pacifying Westeros, but even under their rule regular conflict destroyed the Riverlands. Its people are as divided as its lands are plentiful. If we wish to hold onto it, we will need to fight for it, little cousin."

"You think that we won't be able to defeat and pacify the rebels?" Eddarion asked in shock.

He shook his head. "Oh, we will. The instigators will be dealt with, and its people pacified. Afterwards, the land will begin to heal again. Its population will replenish, and its harvests will become plentiful again. Nevertheless, another problem will arise that will divide its cumbersome people and before long they will be at odds again."

His Cerwyn cousin looked at him weirdly. "My father has hopes of pacifying the region once and for all, and he will try his best, but I have my doubts. In my opinion, every generation the North will have to send its warriors south to retain its possessions and food supply. We will do so, as the Riverlands are too valuable to lose. Nevertheless, there will always be a neighboring power looking to expand its influence, and stupidly ambitious Riverlords to give them the opportunity to try."

"Isn't the North allied with the majority of the other kingdoms in Westeros?" The second born son of House Cerwyn asked him.

"Aye, … for now." His cousin asked him to explain what he meant, and so he did.

"The Arryns are our friends but if they ever wish to expand, they will come into conflict with us. Nonetheless, due to my sister Berena's marriage, the Arryns won't dare to lift a finger for the next two generations. The Ironborn are too weak to try anything on their own for now and our alliance brings too much profit in the pockets of Lord Harras for him to even contemplate it." He started.

"The Lannisters' power has been curtailed by my father, but they are slowly rebuilding. By the time that your sons have become men, they will have risen anew. A similar story will be true for the Baratheons."

"Will cousin Margaret's betrothal not make the Stormlands our friends, like with the Vale?" Rion remarked sharply.

He nodded approvingly. "Aye, my little sister's betrothal to the second son of Queen Shireen, Stannis, will pacify the border for the time being. Their rule over Summerhall will especially help to keep the Reach in check in the future. A thing which is sourly needed."

"The Reach is behind this rebellion, isn't it? I heard my father and mother talk about it before we left home."

"Aye, they are. The rulers of the Reach, House Tyrell, have used their border lords to stir up trouble. They also used the High Septon to incite the Seven Believers to make war upon us. Many of the peasants have heeded that call." He answered.

Rion frowned. "I still don't understand how these Southrons think that an old man with an expensive gemstone hat is the voice of the Gods on earth."

He laughed loudly and had to agree with his thirteen-year-old cousin. It was a ridiculous idea. The voice of the Gods could be heard in the rustling of the leaves, or the peaceful rippling and gurgling of a stream. Not through some fat aristocrat in Oldtown he didn't care about.

Nevertheless, they would have to do something about this particular fat aristocrat. His orders had led to the death of thousands upon thousands of Old Gods believers, and still more where being persecuted every day. That was without even concerning the tens of thousands of Andal dead. It was all just so pointless, but someone would have to answer for it and, if someone asked him, that fat prick wouldn't be able to escape the dance.

This is all for this chapter!

Rickard gets his first battle experience and defeats House Lolliston and their unorganized zealous allies. As a result, he has taken Lolliston Grove.

The heir to Winterfell is ordered by his father to be ruthless and has taken this to heart. In contrast to Robb, he hasn't been raised with such high morals and a great believe in honor. He is eager to prove himself and prove his worth to his father. He is also angered by the destruction of Weirwood trees and the prosecution of their followers, as well as the 'Slaughter of Sow's Horn'. To this end, he is emulating his role models, the old Kings of Winter, and they were much more brutal than the recent generations of Starks.

The Northmen call for blood and in their ambitious Crown Prince they find an eager listener. In contrast to Robb, Rickard still wants to prove himself and he is more hotheaded as well. His mentality is something along the lines of 'if they want war crimes, they can get war crimes.' Nonetheless, he won't lower himself to killing children.

Ps: did you notice the two mentions of Lady in this chapter?

Thank you for your support.

Fannic

Reviews:

- Scifiromance: Thank you so much! That is exactly what I was going for! Whatever its outcome, this conflict will be dark. Hundreds of thousands of people will die and the Riverlanders will indeed suffer. You are right when saying this will be expensive to rebuild, whoever wins.

Honestly, I feel bad for writing Hoster's life like this, but historically there were many future counts and dukes who were raised far away at a king's court (Paris, London, Barcelona, Madrid, …) who were afterwards despised by parts of their subjects. The Northern settlements around Blackwater Bay have had it really hard. Many have died, and many more might yet be killed. For them, it is not about power, but about survival.

- Rebfan90: Thank you for your continued support!

- Yogurt9928: Thank you! Does this already count for a massacre? Maybe worse things will follow, maybe they won't! ;-)

The inner relationships of the Tully family are a perfect metaphor for the relations in the whole of the Riverlands. Divided, unruly and vindictive.

Yes, Ser Harry and dozens of other nobles must make very difficult choices which will decide their family's future or even survival. Haha, Edrick Whitefyre might have a similar worldview. Interesting take on his future, I won't spoil anything.

Glad that you think that the whole picture worked together with House Piper. It is stupid, but it is also very human. Humans can achieve great things if they unite against a common threat or problem, but at the latest once the problem is solved they will fight for their own (and their families!) interests. I am happy that you like the updates! I have been on a writing frenzy lately.

- MasterOfDragonsGod: I am writing one, but you will have to wait a few more chapters for it.

- George Cristian810: It might be a problem, yes. Robb indeed needs to be Tywin to fix this. He needs to make an example out of a handful of people, while regularly punishing the others who will cower in fear. However, before all of that he needs to win. Robb's son believes himself to be the heir of the Kings of Winter, at least. He won't hesitate to set examples.

- Supremus85: There might be!

- Force Smuggler: Thanks!

- Timdoe: Leuk om te horen! De neutrale huizen en Oscar komen zeker nog aan bod.

- Guest: It is a possibility. It would depend on what his vassals and allies think and how much strife he is willing to go through to achieve this. You will see later what he decides.