"We'll divide our forces then," you said after a minute's consideration. The foot and a tenth of our horse shall be placed under Robett Glover's command. I shall lead the rest of our horse to liberate Riverrun."
Glover nodded, a gloved hand stroking a grey-streaked beard. "We will take losses, to be sure. But engaging Tywin Lannister is essential. He must believe our forces march toward the next crossing or he will surely join with the Kingslayer."
"But what if he didn't?"
The lords of your unofficial war council stared at you puzzledly. There were no ranks or positions, but the Greatjon and Theon had come to stand at your sides, with Roose Bolton directly across from you. There was a hint of interest in his ice-chip grey eyes.
"My lord?" questioned Galbart Glover.
"When we approached the Twins, my lords, there was a consensus among you. The castle could not be taken by force. Further, any attempt would see Lord Tywin set upon our rear."
You paused for a moment, as the idea formed more fully in your mind. "I see no reason to discourage him."
Was it horror or simple confusion that led them to stare at you so? Only Lord Bolton understood, and he said as much in a whisper that nonetheless filled the tent. "You mean to strand him across the river."
The Greatjon guffawed, and clapped your shoulder with such strength your legs nearly buckled. "The old lion's face when he's a day out and our forces stroll across the bridge they've been besieging!"
A round of laughter echoed through the tent.
"The plan is not without risk though," said Lord Bolton, his words slicing through the laughter. "Should the siege be less than perfect, Lord Tywin will see through the forgery and march west. Our men will be caught between two Lannister armies."
You met his gaze. "A strategy is worth nothing if it is inflexible. The Blackfish will take a band of our best archers to intercept Lord Tywin's outriders and communications. If Lord Tywin marches west, then our foot will march south. Lord Tywin wishes to catch us between his two armies? We will pay him in kind."
The laughter was gone. Lord Hornwood spoke. "It is… bold. To be sure it could see us to a great victory, but a plan so complicated can fail in a dozen ways. Some losses are necessary."
"Not if it leaves Tywin Lannister with an intact army between us and King's Landing."
---
The Lord of Casterly Rock did not frown, but his brow tightened somewhat as the Valeman savages began yet another drunken chant. Such men could prove useful tools, but he could not abide a lack of discipline as a battle approached. More like than not the Knights of the Vale would cut them down without difficulty, armed in steel and iron or rancid pelts.
The dwarf was in good company among them.
He put such thoughts from his mind. The Northmen had been deprived of their finest general, but there were still dangerous men among their ranks. Old veterans now, but he was no different.
This would be his last war.
He ran through the scout's report. A northern siege of the Twins, one where no blood had been shed. A forgery, and a poor one at that. Was-
Another savages roar, followed by a wave of laughter.
Lord Tywin clenched his teeth. A Northern attempt at cunning. To lure him away from Riverrun so that they could leave him stranded and humiliated between the Twins and the Neck. West then.
"Send word to my son at Riverrun. Robb Stark marches on Riverrun, and we shall meet him midway."
---
Oldstones was the name the smallfolk had given the ancient stronghold of House Mudd. It was the resting site of Tristifer the Hammer, who had won a hundred battles until at last he had met his match.
It was a fitting place for Tywin Lannister to meet his match.
The men were… apprehensive. The Old Lion was feared for good reason, and he was on his way. You could only pray that your mother's uncle had been successful in blinding him, and that the Kingslayer was not.
And that you could survive long enough for near twenty thousand men to pound Tywin Lannister in his backside.
The knights of House Mallister, led by Lord Jason, had joined you as you rode. Another five hundred mounted men to ride with you here, and two thousand to lag behind and join the rest of your army. Perhaps so few men could not make a great difference, but you would take every advantage possible.
If you gambled here and lost you would lose everything. Your mother would never see her husband again, your siblings their father. The North's strength would be broken and the Riverlands little more than a flaming mass grave. It was not how you had envisioned your first battle. Had father felt this way, all those years ago. Had he felt so angry?
Lord Tywin had sent a ripple across all of Westeros when he broke the Reynes of Castamere.
It was about time you started making ripples of your own.
---
Two thousand northern horses smash into the western center like a hurricane, and the world erupts in a cacophony of screams and orders. Don't feel. Fight. Lead. You kill your first man with a blade through his throat. He is only the first of many. 'Keep pushing'.
On either side Lord Tywin's army begins to organize. The left and right flanks pushing back your men even as the center folds beneath the hammering of your charge. "Hold damn you!" a man screams.
They don't. The center disintegrates as you and your riders push and kill and kill and push. There is a man, mounted and within sight. Golden hair turned grey, and green eyes narrowed with silent disbelief. You cannot stop here. Your charge is not enough, not when he has a greater force on either side of you.
But there is something else past Tywin Lannister. And amidst the din of battle you hear the rumbling earth as near twenty thousand soldiers crash into the unprepared back of the Lannister army. The center routs. Lord Tywin's eyes are wide now as they meet yours, but he does not cease issuing orders even as your weakened right flank repels all but a small number of his knights attempting to push through. You lose sight of him.
The battle continues for some time.
---
Theon Greyjoy bristled under your gaze. "You lot could quit laughing!"
"I'm sorry," you said, entirely failing to suppress the largest smile you'd had since the news of Lord Eddard's arrest. "It's just... the Imp did this to you? Lord Umber cut the Mountain's horse out from under him and pummeled the man senseless with a rock, and the Imp nearly sawed you in two?"
Olyvar, hard at work helping you out of your armor, giggled. He quieted quickly as Theon shot a glare at the Frey boy, but kept smiling. You had not been sure what to expect of Lord Walder's son, and in truth you still were not, but he had more than held his own today. Which apparently was more than could be said for the Heir to the Iron Islands.
"I was distracted!" The Greyjoy protested. "I was fighting two men and he hit me from behind. I could have been killed if I didn't cut my way out of there."
"He's lying."
At that you all turned to the new voice. A dark haired man with dark eyes and a few days' stubble. His captor, a burly mustached Northman shoved him. "Keep walking, Lannister."
"No," you interjected. "I'd like to hear what this one has to say. Ser..."
"Bronn. Not a knight, though I think the half-man might have made me one for saving his life. Greyjoy here caught sight of the dwarf sure enough and thought he could capture them. And there were two of us nearby. But one of them was on your side."
Theon snarled. "A Lannister as our hostage could have saved the battle if things went wrong. I was injured and did my best."
Bronn offered him a crooked grin. "You almost got the drop on me there too. If Tyrion hadn't smashed you on the head with his shield, I reckon that nice sword of yours could have been the end of me. No one could blame you for turning tail after a clobbering like that.
You gazed at him with renewed interest. "You're a sellsword then. You knew Tyrion Lannister?"
The man nodded. "He might have employed my services in the Vale. Don't reckon I'll be getting paid now."
"Did he discuss anything strategic with you? Movements, contingencies? The Kingslayer?"
There was a greedy glint in those near black eyes as they drifted slowly to his captor and then back to you. "He just might have."
[] Have this Bronn let go. He might just prove useful to you in the future.
[] You have won a great victory, and a single sellsword will not make a difference.
---
When Lord Bolton ran down the fleeing Tywin Lannister and returned him in chains, the whole army seemed to cheer. The Lord of Casterly Rock and his heir were yours. So to were a dozen lordlings and Gregor Clegane himself. That Kevan Lannister had escaped with a few hundred men was infuriating, but he had diverted from his course to Riverrun after nearly being cut down by the Blackfish. Your scouts said he looked to be on his way to King's Landing. Let him tell the King of your victory in person.
You had lost two and a half thousand of your foot, and near five hundred of your horse. But the Lannisters had lost seven thousand foot and four thousand horse. Almost eight thousand men had surrendered, with only small bands escaping the collapse of both flanks as your army surrounded them.
There was no time to bathe in glory. You needed to push the advantage. Riverrun needed to be liberated and the Kingslayer needed to join his father and brother in chains.
---
And as it turned out, Ser Jaime was not a tenth the commander his father was. He had taken your bait in the Whispering Wood without question. Any chance of his scouts passing news of the great battle or your approach was silenced by Ser Brynden Tully as he and his Crannogmen cut them down with ruthless efficiency.
You had lured him into the valley there and broken the small force he brought with him. When the dust settled you heard that near forty of his men had died for each of your nine. That was not counting the seven men he himself had cut down as he carved his way to you. Perhaps he thought he could save the whole battle with you as his prisoner.
You could admire his nerve. You had met his charge without fear. Your sword raised, your teeth bared as they had sunk into his wrist. His screaming as Grey Wind savaged his sword arm to the point of amputation was a sound you would never forget. You had seen to it that the wound was cauterized before the Kingslayer was locked away, but he had still not awoken.
After that it had been a simple matter to strike the three camps hard before the sun rose. Your men were exhausted and bloodied, but the Lannisters were half asleep themselves. Ser Forley Prester had the good sense to surrender himself and his four thousand into your custody, even as his Tyroshi sellswords fled the battle. The other two camps... it had been a massacre. You were told that Lord Brax and two of Ser Kevan's children were among the prisoners taken, but few prisoners had been taken. The Riverlanders among your company had some rage at the defilers of their country.
Your army had suffered five and a half thousand losses. They had killed, capture, or scattered almost forty thousand.
"Nephew." Edmure Tully was a stranger, but undeniably familiar. His hair was a shade lighter than your own, and his eyes the same color exactly. There was something disbelieving in his expression. "Riverrun is yours."