When Winter Comes

Their host spilled from the gates of Moat Cailin like the mouth of a mighty river. A seemingly endless tide of troops marched along the thin, winding causeway that lead into the dense, marshy swamps of the Neck. They all looked so small as Robb observed them, flying overhead on Gnasher, but that didn’t diminish the weight he felt on his shoulders.

They all look to me.

As the provisional Stark of Starks, Robb was responsible for each and every one of them. He longed for his father. His father always made ruling look easy. Robb needed to mask his fears in a fortress of ice cold resolve, even as they grew greater and greater.

He feared for his father’s life, for his mothers, his siblings. Most of all for Rhaenys and their babe. Robb heard a loud rumble as Gnasher growled beneath him, clearly his dragon was aware of Robb’s thoughts.

We have to win. For them…

Eventually they emerged from the Neck and into the open fields of his birth-mother’s homeland. Constantly circling the marching troops became tedious, so Robb and Jon decided to ride their wolves at the head of the column, beneath the white and grey banner of their house.

They needed to be seen by the men. To put on a strong, united front. Their father had taught them that it did wonders for the morale of the men if they saw their leaders stride forth confidently. Each day on the march Robb and Jon asked one of their lords to join them. Father had also taught them that a good leader listened to all of those who followed him.

Robb and Jon both listened intently to what each of the lords had to say, though Robb noticed none held Jon’s attention like their great uncle Brynden Tully. They had both been practically weaned on stories of the Blackfish and the Blood wolf.

A week after they left the Neck behind them, Robb’s second cousin, twice removed, Lara Stark, came riding down from the North on her dragon, with news that Lannister merchant ships had tried to force entry to the Great Canal. Thankfully, Lord Ryder’s forces had rebuffed the invaders, taking their ships and cargo in the bargain.

First blood…

Lara was the granddaughter of Artos Stark and head of the Order of Mist. Thanks to the enhancements she had received, she looked barely a year older than Robb’s aunt Lyanna, though Lara had reached her seventy-sixth name-day that year.

Robb had been certainly glad to have her and her dragon added to his forces on the march south. Though they now had nine dragons to bolster their forces, Robb was against sending them flying far ahead to scout the way. Dragons were very visible and it was best that they stick together.

The Blackfish had taken a hundred wargs and their fastest mounts and raced ahead to screen their movements and scout the way. His aunt Lyanna had gone with them, to ‘Go hunting’ she had informed him. The reports they brought back did little to ease Robb’s mind.

Tywin’s host was still many days away, yet Walder Frey was of greater concern. According to their scouts the Lord of the Crossing had assembled a force of near five thousand men at the Twins. Robb and Jon had called their mothers to the front of the column when they heard, though in truth, they only needed to talk to their birth-mother. All three rode up on their direwolves, Elia’s being younger and smaller than their other mother’s wolves.

“Late again…” Their birth mother had murmured grimly when they told her.

“Late?” Jon asked, unsure of her meaning.

“My father dubbed Lord Walder ‘The Late Lord Frey’ when he arrived late to the Battle of the Trident, only after it was clear your father and Robert had won.”

“A coward then.” Robb decided.

“I would not call him that to his face” his mother answered, “…but yes… Some men place very little value on their word.”

“He hasn’t the numbers to fight either Tywin Lannister or us alone.” Jon stated. “What is he planning?”

Their Tully mother sighed. “If truth be told, I doubt even he knows what he’s planning. Lord Walder has an old man’s caution and a young man’s ambition, and has never lacked for cunning.”

“We have nine dragons.” Their Dayne mother cut in. “Surely he knows that if he stood against us, we’d wipe him out.”

“One would hope.” Their Tully mother answered. “One would hope…”

That night they made camp by the river. It was the in the planning tent where uncle Benjen brought them further word from the Blackfish. “Lya and Ser Brynden say to tell you they’ve crossed swords with the Lannisters. There are a few dozen scouts the Lannisters will never see again.” He informed them, grimly. Other lords who were in attendance chuckled. “Ser Addam Marbrand commands their outriders, and he’s pulling back south, burning as he goes. Currently, they know very little of where we are, and they certainly won’t know when we split.”

“Unless Lord Frey tells him,” Robb heard his mother say. “Ben, you should send word to my uncle, tell him he is to place his best bowmen around the Twins, day and night, with orders to bring down any raven they see leaving the battlements. I want no birds bringing word of our movements to Lord Tywin.”

“Ser Brynden has seen to it already, Cat.” Benjen repiled. “I dare say a few more blackbirds, and we should have enough to bake a pie.”

The next morning it was Ser Brynden Tully himself who rode back to them. “There has been a battle under the walls of Riverrun,” he informed them, his mouth grim. “We had it from a Lannister outrider Lyanna took captive. The Kingslayer has destroyed Edmure’s host and sent the lords of the Trident reeling in flight.” Robb could practically hear his Tully mother’s jaw clenching at the news. He did not envy her. Robb imagined he would act the similarly if the same had happened to Winterfell.

“And my brother?” She asked her uncle.

“Wounded and taken prisoner.” Ser Brynden said. “Lord Blackwood and the other survivors are under siege inside Riverrun, surrounded by Jaime’s host.”

Robb scratched his chin. The news was grave. “Then we must march all the quicker. We’ll need to cross the river and relieve them.”

Ser Brynden was not the only arrival to their camp that day. As the setting sun dipped into the horizon, Sansa came riding her dragon from the North to a tearful reunion with her family. Beric, Yennefer, Triss and the Chosen Men came a day or two after, riding hard after her dragon. She had left them when their ship had arrived at White Harbour, Lord Manderly’s men were currently escorting Arya back to Winterfell.

With Beric’s arrival, came the reason for why all this had happened. Joffrey was not Robert’s son. The news had been both surprising and unsurprising. Thinking back on when Robb had met Joffrey, he remembered thinking how little he had resembled the king. He had thought nothing of it at the time, yet now it was clear as fresh water.   

Sansa told them all how they had escaped King’s Landing, how they had taken father and uncle Arthur prisoner, and how Snowsong had flown south a few days ago. She also explosively voiced her annoyance at Robb and Jon for fucking Myrcella before she could.

Their mothers had ordered Sansa to return home, yet she had refused, saying that Benjen’s son Osric was two years younger than her, yet he was riding his dragon to war. Eventually, they conceded to Sansa’s reasoning and it was decided that she would stay with them.

It was another day and a half until they laid eyes on the Twins, with the sun shining high in the sky. The Frey bridge was a massive arch of smooth grey rock, wide enough for three wagons to pass abreast. A tall tower rose from the center of the span, commanding both road and river with its arrow slits, murder holes, and portcullises. Two squat, ugly, formidable castles stood on either side of the bridge.

Twins by name, twins by nature.

Both keeps were perfectly mirrored, with high curtain walls, deep moats and heavy oak and iron gates. Storming the castle would cost far too many men, but as it happened, they had near a dozen dragons to support them.

Robb did not relish the thought of having to kill everyone inside the castles, especially as they were full of innocents who would likely let Robb cross the bridge without a second thought. If it came to it, could I condemn them to death? Robb asked himself. He hoped he wouldn’t have to answer it. Looking to his side, he saw Jon was thinking the same thing. “Would father want us to destroy the castles to save him?” Jon asked in a hushed tone, hoping the others wouldn’t hear them.

“If it were possible, he’d want you to make a deal.” Obviously their Dayne mother had better hearing than Jon had guessed.

As they studied the castle, a sally port opened, a plank bridge slid across the moat, and a dozen knights rode forth. Their banner held high above them, the twin towers, dark blue on a field of pale silver-grey.

“They’re lead by four of Lord Walder’s many sons.” Robb’s Tully mother said.

“Can you name them?”

“Not all.” His mother confessed. “But Ser Stevron Frey, Lord Walder’s heir is among them.”

“Which is he?”

“The one with the weasel face.”

“They all have weasel faces…” Jon observed. Robb had to stifle his laughter.

Their mother gave them both a stern look. “Ser Stevron is past sixty, with grandchildren of his own.” She said. “He’s the one that looks like an especially old and tired weasel.”

The old weasel-man in question rode up to them, his horse clearly unnerved by the direwolves. To his credit, Ser Stevron did not seem so afraid of them. Though that was perhaps because his gaze was fixed on the dragons that circled overhead. Aunt Lyanna, Rhaenys, Alsyanne and Sansa had decided they needed some dragonriders in the air when they came upon the Twins. It seemed they had the intended effect.

Ser Stevron coughed. “My lord father has sent me to greet you, and inquire as to… who leads this mighty host.”

“I do.” Robb spurred Grey Wind forward. He was clad in a full suit of black Uru plate, with the direwolf shield of Winterfell strapped to his saddle. Gnasher gave a rather loud roar as he flew above them, making the Frey knights look to the sky nervously.

“Th-the Twins are yours… Prince Stark.” The old man stammered, bowing his head. Robb felt a great wave a relief washing over him. He urged Grey Wind closer to Ser Stevron’s gelding, his direwolf stood taller and longer than the horse, and seemingly weighed near twice as much. The knight’s horse sidled away from him nervously.

Robb leaned closer. “You made the right choice.”

“My lord father also wished to cement our alliance…” Ser Stevron said carefully.

**********

Robb had come to realise that Walder Frey lacked any sense of shame or subtlety. He was sending nearly two dozen of his daughters and granddaughters to Winterfell ‘For their own safety’ he had explained.

Walder Frey’s intentions were clear. He likely wanted them to bed down with Northern heirs or even Stark men, getting the Frey’s more allies. Or perhaps just marrying them off. Robb’s mother had said multiple times that lord Walder often found trouble finding matches for all his many children.

Robb didn’t particularly mind, he could even see himself and Jon bedding a fair few of the more beautiful ones. He had even offered Robb one of his own sons as a squire, Olyvar Frey, son of a Rosby woman. There was no need to deny him, so now Robb found himself with a squire he didn’t quite know how to deal with. He sat astride Grey Wind, watching part of his forces marching over the bridge when Lara rode up next to him.

“Any news from our scouts?”

“Nothing new.” Lara reported. “I’ve been speaking to your mother about Walder Frey…”

“The sooner we are away from him, the better.” Robb stated. He had proved to be a throughly disagreeable man when Robb had talked to him.

“Your mother seemed to agree.” She looked at the two keeps of the Twins. “This bridge is too important to be in the hands of a man we cannot trust.”

Robb saw reason in that. “So what do you suggest? It’s not as if we can simply remove him.”

“Lord Walder is an old man… As are many of his sons…”

Robb turned to her, grimly. “What are you suggesting?”

“I am sworn to defend house Stark and the North.” Lara affirmed. “We are at war and Walder Frey is a weakness I will not abide.”

“You think he would betray us?”

“Men like him are driven by spite. He feels others look down on him, and they do. He would sell you to the Lannisters in a heartbeat if he thought he could get away with it.”

“We have dragons, why would he betray us?”

“Unless you plan to keep them at the Twins, they will be of little use.” Lara said. “He fears the dragons when they are on his doorstep, but what about when they are far to the south? To be united by fear, is a fragile alliance at best...”

“This feels wrong.” Robb admitted. Yet it did make a certain sense. His father was in prison, his uncle was held by their enemies. What was the life of one lecherous, rude, spiteful old man against them?

What would father think of me for discussing this?

“Let me worry about the rights and wrongs.” Lara placed her hand on his shoulder. “Give me the command, and I’ll see to the rest.”

“What would that entail?”

“Perhaps you should keep your focus on fighting the Lannisters.” Lara advised.

Robb sighed as he looked over his men marching along the bridge. Then looked Lara in the eye, and nodded. His father had once told him that being the Stark of Starks meant making decisions that wouldn’t sit right in the heart. But there was wisdom in Lara’s words, he would be a fool to leave such an important bridge in such fickle hands.

It took hours for their forces to split. Robb lead nine tenths of the Northern mounted forces; rangers, mounted Winter Wolves, knights, other armoured lances, freeriders, and mounted bowmen. A sizeable portion of the great dire wolf pack also joined them.

Robb left by far the larger part of the northern host, pikes, archers, crossbowmen, thunderers and great masses of men-at-arms on foot, on the east bank under Jon’s command. Their separation had nearly been tearful, but they were not boys anymore, so they shed none.

The orders had been given for Jon to continue the march south, to confront the huge Lannister army coming north under Lord Tywin. Their Dayne mother had surprised them when she stated she would join Jon, against their protests, saying he should at least have one of his mothers with him. She was not alone in joining Jon. Robb sent Benjen with his sons, Beric, Lara and Sansa with him. It seemed the best course of action as Jon would be facing the larger army, and would likely need more dragons. That left Robb with his own dragon, Alysanne’s, aunt Lyanna’s and Rhaenys’ dragons. Four dragons were more than enough. And more than that, he had the Chosen Men.

The moon was rising when Robb began to lead his forces south to Riverrun. “Will they be safe, mother?” Robb asked as he looked across the river to his little brother’s forces.

“Your brother and sister have Beric to watch over them. They have Benjen and Lara…” She said, sadly. Robb could tell his mother was afraid. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her it would all be fine. But they had no time for lies.

For good or ill, he had thrown the dice, it was time to see if the odds were in their favour.

**********

Days passed by quickly as they rode hard to Riverrun. Their host had grown since they left the Twins. Lord Jason Mallister marched his men from Seagard to join them as they swept around the headwaters of the Blue Fork and galloped south.

They’d picked up other stragglers along the way: hedge knights, Witchers, small lords and masterless men-at-arms who had fled north when uncle Edmure's army was shattered beneath the walls of Riverrun.

When they neared their destination, Robb gave the Blackfish three hundred picked men along with experienced wargs, sending them ahead to screen their march. The closer they could get before being seen, the better. A day after Robb sent him off, the Blackfish returned.

"Jaime does not know of us.” Ser Brynden said to the council of lords as they sat in Robb’s tent. "We’ve seen to it that no bird reaches him. The few of his outriders that saw us, were dealt with swiftly. He is blind north of the Tumblestone."

"How large is his host?" Robb asked, looking over the mad that splayed out in front of him.

"Around eight and a half thousand foot, scattered around the castle in three separate camps, with the rivers between. Along with some trolls, mages, and a pride or two of great-lions." Brynden explained, with the craggy smile. "Along with maybe two or three thousand horse."

Galbart Glover smiled. “That’s less than we have.”

“But they are fortified.” Rickard Karstark countered.

“Yes, they’ve plated wooden stakes along their camp perimeter.” The Blackfish pointed at the map.

“Uncle, when you rode into camp, you said you had an idea.” Robb heard his mother saying.

“Yes.” The Blackfish smiled. “Your father might have already taught you this,” He turned to Robb. “but one of the most powerful skills a battle commander can learn is reading his enemy. Once you understand him, you can know how he’ll react to your moves. And once you can do that, defeating him becomes that much easier.”

“So what can you tell me of Jaime Lannister?”

"The Kingslayer is restless, and quick to anger," Brynden said. "He is no man to sit in a tent while his carpenters build siege towers. He has ridden out with his knights multiple times already, to chase down raiders or storm a stubborn holdfast."

“You’ve seen this?”

“No.” The Blackfish admitted. “But Karl Vance and Marq Piper have been harassing his baggage train with fifty men since he started the siege. Our riders met up with theirs in the Whispering Wood. When they attack, the Kingslayer rides out to chase them down with his mounted men every time.”

“And two thousand is a much smaller number than eleven thousand…” Robb understood.

He looked over the map again. They wanted to draw the Kingslayer out. The question was where they drew him to. Robb summoned everything his father had taught him and made his decision.

"Raid him… here," he pointed at the northern camp of the Lannister forces. "A few hundred men, no more. Tully, Mallister, Vance, Piper banners… He has to think it’s another night-raid by Riverlander men. When he comes after you, lead him” Robb moved his finger north, into the wood, to a river in a valley " here. Cross the river at the bend and continue riding north along it. Lords Karstark and Umber will charge at the Kingslayer from the north,” The Greatjon chuckled, clearly happy that he was attacking the enemy head on. “Lord Nord and Ser Stevron shall ride at them from the western ridge, Lords Mallister and Glover get the eastern ridge.” Robb continued to issue orders. “And finally Lady Mormont and Lord Ryswell circle around and take them in the rear.”

“I imagine the sight of the Mormont bear riders will send the Lannisters screaming into the Greatjon’s open arms.” Alysanne’s words sent a rumble of laughed among the lords.

“If this is done well,” Robb said. “we’ll have taken Jaime Lannister and his mounted forces off the board all within an hour.” He looked up to the Blackfish, hoping to find approval.

“Your father taught you well.”

**********

The moon hung high in the starless sky, casting silver light into the dark waters of the winding river as it flowed along the floor of the valley. Robb was sitting still, yet he could feel his heart thundering so hard and fast that he feared it might jump out of his chest.

Grey Wind shifted his weight slightly, beneath him. The great grey direwolf shifting from paw to paw in anticipation. The gentle clink of Grey Wind’s Uru armour adjusting to his movements echoed through the trees.

Robb had sent the Blackfish and his men off over an hour ago. Now they gathered along the ridge, looking over the valley below. Waiting.

Around him, Robb could hear the mounts of the Winter Wolves and Ice Guard neighing softly. The men spoke in soft voices, like they were afraid to wake a sleeping babe.

“When we used to wait for a fight, your father usually went along the lines and talked to the men a little.” Harper whispered to him. “It lifts their spirits.”

Robb was glad to have the Chosen Men with him, though he would have rather they stood guarding his mothers and Rhaenys, along with the other hundred men he had assigned to them. This would not be a battle for dragons, so he had ordered that Rhaenys stay back with his mothers. She hadn’t exactly taken it well.

On dragonback, it was another matter entirely, but on the ground, she was vulnerable. Rhaenys had only reluctantly agreed when she discovered she no longer fit into her armour due to her growing babe.

If Robb had been able to find a way to prevent Alysanne from fighting, he would have used it in an instant. Alas, to Robb’s dismay, she carried no babe and was as strong a fighter as any of his other warriors.

He put her with the Mormont cavalry, hoping that as they would attack the Lannisters in the rear, they would have the easiest task. Aunt Lyanna also rides beside her, Robb told himself. He’d seen her put uncle Arthur on his arse more than enough times for him to know her skill.

Robb saw his mothers and Rhaenys as he turned Grey Wind to walk among the men. He made sure not to let them see his fear. He had killed before and fought in small skirmishes, nothing like the numbers of a real battle. It was certainly a prospect he didn’t relish.

Rather empty words of encouragement fell from his lips, the men seemed to appreciate it, though they likely could have given him better ones. Robb was riding with veteran Winter Wolves, men who had fought beside his father in Robert’s rebellion and on the Iron Islands. They knew how to fight, and they knew how to kill.

Eventually Robb reached his family. It was much darker where they were, the trees were closer, blocking out the moonlight. He did not know the words to say. The fear in their eyes was plain to see.

“I have the Chosen Men with me and Fang.” Robb tried to console them. His father’s familiars had come south with them, Fang had rarely left his mother’s side. “Alys has aunt Lyanna with her… We’ll both be fine.”

“Don’t you dare die, Robb Stark.” Rhaenys looked him in the eye. “Our son will know his father.”

Robb urged Grey Wind closer and placed his hand on Rhaenys’ belly. “I promise i’ll come back.”

“We’ll be here waiting for you when you do.” His Tully mother said. She smiled then, Robb could tell she was doing it for his benefit.

Robb turned Grey Wind and urged him slowly onward. A bird called faintly in the distance, a high, sharp trill that Robb recognised in an instant. Another bird answered; a third, a fourth. It was the call of a northern bird. A Snow Shrike. The signal for when the lookouts saw the Lannisters.

They’re coming, Robb thought.

Olyvar cantered his horse up to him, shivering like a leaf as he handed Robb his helmet. He donned it quickly, urging Grey Wind back to the front of the line. The woods grew still around them, all of them straining to hear the Lannisters coming.

Robb heard them first, with Grey Wind’s ears. The thunder of hooves and the clamouring of steel against steel. Then came the voices, shouting and laughing and swearing and the sound of snarling lions.

Robb tried to still his hammering heart as the sounds grew louder and louder. First it was the Blackfish who crossed with his men dashing behind him. Not long after came the Lannister horse, hooting and hollering after them, splashing into the shallow part of the stream as they crossed.

From his position at the edge of the tree line, Robb saw Jaime Lannister leading the charge, his golden armour turned silver in the moonlight. He was not wearing a helm. The Lannister horse rode behind him, long columns of the pure gold armour of the Golden Legion shining in the dark. There was so many Robb thought Jaime Lannister had probably taken his entire mounted force with him to chase the raiders down.

None of his men dared breath, lest the Lannisters heard them. Slowly urging Grey Wind forward beyond the trees, Robb glanced back at his loved ones one last time before drawing his sword. He lifted it high into the air.

Steelcoat gave a long, low howl that rolled down into the valley from the south-east. Robb would know the sound of Alysanne’s wolf anywhere. It was the signal that the last of the riders had entered the valley. They couldn’t afford any of them escaping back to their camp.

Grey Wind threw back his head and howled in response to his sister.

Then came the others. To the north, and west, and east and south more howling answered. Over a thousand direwolves baying for blood. For a moment Robb felt a touch of pity for the men in the valley bellow. Then he remembered Beric’s words: “Close your heart to their suffering.” Lannisters held his father and attacked his mother’s family. They had to die.

In the base of the valley, Lannister men were shouting as their horses reared in terror. They bunched up together in fear of what was in the dark. The Whispering Wood let out a breath as Robb’s bowmen loosed their arrows on the unorganised group below them. The night erupted with the screams of men and horses. Then came the mages. Yennefer and her compatriots sent a hail of fireballs down on the Lannisters. The valley exploded with light for a few instants as the men burned.

All around Robb, the Winter Wolves had risen their Uru lances. Robb made sure the Chosen Men had readied themselves before he shouted “Winterfell!” And urged Grey Wind forward again, down the hill.

The Chosen Men were beside Robb as Grey Wind began to speed down into the valley. The Winter Wolves lowered their lances, like long black fingers of a shadow hand reaching out to crush the Lannister men.

With a motion of his wrist, Robb activated the Shield of Krato, that he wore on his vambrace. He heard the mechanisms turning as the plates shifted and expanded to form a large round shield with a direwolf’s head emblazoned upon it. Father had given it to him as one of his wedding presents. Robb was glad to have a so-called unbreakable shield with him now.

To the north, Robb saw the Greatjon’s riders burst from the darkness beneath the trees, rushing to the base of the valley. To the south, he could hear the roaring bears of the Mormont cavalry dashing forth to block the Lannister retreat. A final volley of arrows rained down from overhead, the last, as it was a poor commander who shot his own men.

In the last few moments of the charge, Robb felt it all slipping away. Grey Wind dashed ahead of the horses at blinding speeds. All he could see was the Lannister troops in front of him, through the narrow slit of his helmet. The thundering hooves and shouting men fell away, all that remained was his breathing.

Then he crashed into a Lannister horse, Robb didn’t even have time to strike before Grey Wind ripped the horse’s head off and moved on. He was unaware of his men charging into the Lannisters around him, the valley rang with the echoes of screaming men. The crack of broken lances, the clash of swords, the cries of "Lannister" and "Stark".

A man in golden armour came swinging his sword towards Robb, he blocked his with his shield, thrusting out under it with his sword. He heard the man screaming as he fell of his horse. Then came another, only to be set upon by Harper and Cooper. Harper blocked the man’s wild swing as Cooper near took his head clean off.

Robb wasn’t quite sure what was going on. He heard the rending of steel and the snarling of hundreds of bears.

A steel tipped lance bounced off his shield. Grey Wind went low, rushed forward and leaped onto the knight who held it, taking the man’s torso in his maw as the horse fell beneath them.

The battle was mostly a blur. Robb could hardly see what was going on, every now and then he felt something hit him, rarely did it ever hurt. He hacked and slashed at the men in front of him, as Grey Wind ripped and tore with his teeth.

A lion jumped up and knocked him off Grey Wind, knocking the air from him as they fell to the muddy ground, it’s claws trying to rake through his plate. Robb rolled in the mud and stabbed it in the belly with his sword.

“Stark!” He heard a voice shouting his name. Robb scrambled to his feet and looked to the voice, only to see Jaime Lannister galloping towards him, his sword held aloft.

Not thinking, Robb ducked under the Kingslayer’s blow, slashing his sword out at the horse’s legs. The horse screamed as the black Uru blade took off one of it’s hooves. The horse wheeled and fell, Jaime Lannister falling into a roll before rising to his feet.

Robb had only a moment to collect himself before the Kingslayer was on him, slashing high, then low as Robb stumbled backwards. His father’s words running through his mind. “Asses your enemy. What do they have? What do you have?”

The Kingslayer was faster, stronger… Older… More skilled… More experienced…

Fuck!

A failed counter sent Robb’s sword tumbling from his grasp. He held his shield up as Jaime Lannister hammered away. “The Kingslayer’s quick to anger…”

“Once you understand him, you can know how he’ll react to your moves.”

“A Lannister values their pride above all…”

“Joffrey is Jaime’s son…”

“Wait!” Robb shouted as he stumbled back.

To his surprise, Jaime relented, letting Robb stumble back a few steps. The fighting had died away around them. They stood mostly alone in the dark. He could see Harper and the Chosen Men were rushing to them behind Jaime.

“You want to yield, Stark?” The Kingslayer smiled.

“My father fucked your sister!” Harper had told them how he hand seen Robb’s father and the Queen together. His mothers had only laughed.

The Kingslayer’s face froze in a mixture of fury and confusion. “What did you say?”

Robb inched closer to his fallen sword he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. “Would you prefer if I called her your lover?” Robb forced a laugh, though his ribs hurt from the fall. “Though I suppose that might no longer be the case after father is done with her.” He saw Jaime’s face twitching in rage. “It’s nothing personal. Men and women are often drawn towards Starks...”

“Liar!” Jaime held his sword high, Robb lunged to the side, summoning his blade to his hand.

The Kingslayer was angry now, making mistakes, swinging more wildly. But Robb could tell he was still out of his depth. Thankfully, their duel was interrupted when Harper, Cooper and Harris barrelled into the Kingslayer, knocking him into the mud.

“Remember us?” Harper bellowed as he punched Jaime’s unprotected face.

The Kingslayer kicked and rolled, trying to grab his sword as the Chosen Men pinned him down. Robb heard Lyanna’s voice, he lifted his visor up and saw she had a hand on his shoulder. Fang and Grey Wind stood with her. His aunt was covered head-to-toe in blood.

“Are you alright?” She asked again.

“Yes.” Robb answered her, looking around the battlefield.

The vast majority of the bodies on the ground were men he did not recognise, wearing sigils he did not know. Lannister men? There was fighting in the distance, he saw Alysanne running through a troll whith her Uru spear. Robb turned when he heard a shout. The Kingslayer had managed to free himself.

“He’s mine!” Lyanna shouted, advancing with her Uru longsword in hand. The Chosen men stood back around Jaime Lannister as he pointed his sword to Lyanna.

“As you wish.” He smiled, though his face was bloodied with a broken nose.

“You took Ned’s hand.” Lyanna growled.

Robb saw a flicker of guilt in Jaime’s eyes. “Someone interrupted us…” he said, almost apologetically. “He gave me the best fight i’d had in years. That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen…”

Lyanna gave a battle cry as she thrust her blade towards Jaime’s heart. She was clearly quicker than the Kingslayer was expecting, pushing him onto the back foot. Every attack Lyanna made was aimed at the Kingslayer’s unprotected head, with him rarely being able to counter attack.

Robb had always known his aunt Lyanna was a great fighter, but he had never realised how good she was until just then. An overcommitment from Jaime left him on unsteady footing. He never saw Cooper with the spear. The Kinglsayer let out a cry and fell to one knee when the Uru tip went straight through his armoured thigh.

Quicker than a snake, Lyanna swung her blade left, then brought it down on the Kingslayer’s sword arm, cutting his hand off at the wrist. Jaime’s first scream was nothing compared to his second, or even his third, when Lyanna heated up her blade with magic and cauterised his stump.

“For Ned.” Was all she said.

The battle ended rather quickly after that, when what few Lannister men who remained saw they had Jaime captured, they threw down their arms in surrender.

Robb found Alysanne pushing her Uru spear through a dying horse, putting it out of it’s misery. She’d lost her helm, but was otherwise unhurt. When Robb got to her, they held each other so tightly Robb thought they might both burst.

A blood-red sun was dawning when they rode back to their mothers. The beasts they had with them had begun to eat the dead. Robb saw that it took every ounce of willpower his mothers and Rhaenys had not to gallop towards him and Alysanne and full tilt.

“Are you hurt?” Rhaenys reached to his blood-soaked arm when they were near enough.

“Uh… No.” Robb said, looking down at his right arm. “That’s… Lion blood?” He wasn’t entirely sure. Rhaenys leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her as she buried her face into his shoulder.

“You did well.” His birth mother said to him and Alysanne.

The Chosen Men carried the Kingslayer up the hill, still unconscious after his maiming. “The Kingslayer.” Lyanna said proudly as they presented him to Robb’s mothers.

“But short a hand.” Elia noted the stump.

“Seems fair to me.” Lyanna smirked. “He took Ned’s hand, I took his.”

"He’s lucky we didn’t feed him to the wolves." Alysanne piped up, turning to her mothers. "Gods mother, the realm hasn’t seen such a victory since the Field of Fire. The Lannisters must have lost twenty men for every one of ours that fell. We've taken over two hundred knights captive, and a dozen lords bannermen. Lord Westerling, Lord Banefort, Ser Garth Greenfield, Lord Estren, Ser Tytos Brax... and another Lannister besides Jaime, one of his brother's sons…"

“Your father would be proud of such a victory.” Their Tully mother said, warmly. “But it is not complete yet.”

“I know.” Robb answered. “We still have Riervrrun to free.”

They had the day to rest and mend their wounds, come nightfall, they would attack the Lannister camp around Riverrun. Their plan was laid out quickly.

During the hour of the Wolf, the Blackfish would lead the vanguard to kill the scouts and lookouts of the northern Lannister camp. They would then clear away the defences for more of their riders to charge into the sleeping camp and fire their tents.

Robb and Rhaenys would fly their dragons over the western camp between the two rivers, burning and freezing their siege towers before Lord Umber could lead the rest of their cavalry in to clean up the remains. Lyanna and Alysanne alone would do for the third camp. After the first battle, fewer worries plagued Robb’s mind about the second. They would be riding dragons far above the people below.

When the hour came to make ready for the attack, the dragonriders mounted up sprung in to the air. They flew so high above the Lannister camp they could nearly touch the clouds. It was there they had to wait. The cold was fierce, though they were all wrapped in many layers.

The Blackfish’s attack on the northern camp needed to be underway before the dragons could attack the rest. Eventually the hour came. From his position, Robb could see his forces clearing away the palisades of the northern camp. All four of the dragons descended, roaring in a terrible fury.

Robb heard Rhaenys cry “Dracarys!” and the world was made light.

She burned two half-made siege towers, reducing them to ash. Flying low, Gnasher kicked over another with his mighty legs. Men were screaming and running in the camp below. Running from the dragons straight into the Greatjon’s charge from the west.

Men were gathering on Riverrun’s ramparts, watching and cheering the Northern army. Robb saw there were men trying to cross the Tumblestone on rafts. Trying to escape the dragons, or reinforce the northern camp, Robb did not know.

“Rhaenys!” Robb shouted to her, flying close. “They’re trying to cross the river!”

She knew what he was asking of her. Flying over the river, she began to move her arms, bending the water to her will. The river responded to her movements. The waters rose, beginning to flow faster and faster. What few men managed to board the rafts were swept into the water. Men who wore heavy armour rarely ever proved to be good swimmers.

Hearing a horn blowing, Robb turned to see a Blackwood banner leading a sortie of men from Riverrun to attack the Lanniser camp. They caught the Lannister shield walls in the rear as they tried to fend off a northern charge. They shattered the formations between them.

A horn sounded victory in the northern camp, Lyanna and Alysanne had obliterated the southern camp, and men in the western camp were throwing down their swords in surrender.

“Two victories and Riverrun relieved!” Rhaenys shouted over the wind as she flew her dragon next to him. “Not a bad start!”

“Let’s hope the Gods are as generous in their favour with Jon!” Robb replied.

************************************************************************

Jon

They had been marching south down the King’s Road for ten days. Slowly making their way towards Tywin Lannister. Jon wanted to keep the men marching at an easy pace, they would need their strength for the battle ahead.

“We have six dragons.” Jon said to his mother, who rode beside him through the camp. “Close to a thousand giants. You don’t need to worry.”

“Only a fool doesn’t worry when her children go to battle.” His Dayne mother looked across to him. “You cannot diminish a mother’s worries with simple words, little pup.”

“Then I will make sure to end the battle as quickly as possible.” Jon vowed.

“You are a kind son.” His mother laughed, then turned to other matters. “I saw Sunbeam flying overhead earlier. Where’s Sansa flying to?”

“She wanted to go with uncle Benjen to scout the south.” Jon explained.

“Be sure to tell me when she returns.” She said, as she dismounted Starlight and stood at the entrance to her tent. “After a long day of riding, I feel i’m in need of a long bath.”

Jon left his mother to search for Beric. He was one of the oldest and most experienced warriors Jon had, he aimed to make good use of the old Witcher. Jon found him pouring over a number of maps splayed out over a large wooden table in his tent, depicting various parts of the Riverlands.

“We’ve been letting some scouts through as ordered.” Beric reported. “Tywin’ll have a general idea of where we are.”

“Good.” Jon nodded, looking over the maps. “Tywin Lannister is who I came to talk about.”

Beric looked up, pensively, one hand stroking his beard. “What do you want to know?” He indicated to a chair.

“What was he like during the War of the Nine Penny King’s?” Jon asked, sitting.

“You want to know how he thinks.” His uncle stated.

“Yes.”

Beric drummed his fingers on the table as he thought of what to say. “Tywin Lannister is a cautious man,” he leaned forward in his seat. “not prone to make rash decisions on the field. He likes to stay with the reserves at the back, only leading them into the fray when he knows he has a decisive advantage.”

“So he’s a coward?” Jon asked. He’d heard the stories of how his father had always lead his men from the front. As a good leader would.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Jon.” Beric answered softly. “Many a war-hero has won battles by commanding from the rear. He also surrounds himself with competent men. You’d be hard pressed to find a commander in his army that doesn’t have some idea of what they’re doing.”

Jon grimaced. “So it’s unlikely we’re in for an easy skirmish.”

“You would be a fool if you thought we were.”

“Well, I am no fool.” Jon looked his uncle in the eye. “How would he fight his battles?”

“The man has little respect for life.” Beric explained. “He’ll happily sacrifice men to insure victory. That’s how he nearly got Rodrik killed during the war.” The words seemed bitter on his tongue.

“The Wandering Wolf?” Jon asked, surprised how Tywin had managed to nearly get a Stark killed. He had heard of how his great grandfather —through his father’s mother— was crippled during the War of the Nine Penny Kings. The salient details escaped Jon in the moment, but he remembered it was something to do with one of the great Blackfyre dragon-abominations. The Wandering Wolf’s dragon had been Snowsong, who went to his grandson, Jon’s father, after him.

“Yes. Even today the tight-arsed cunt says Rodrik got himself hurt.” Beric grumbled, then let out a sour laugh. “Rickard and I took Joanna to a tent that had the entire Ice Guard assembled in it… She was limping for days afterwards…”

The thought drew a laugh from Jon’s lips. The powerful Tywin Lannister getting cuckolded by a group of guardsmen. Then his eyes fell to the map before him. “How do you think Tywin will plan to attack us?”

“Well, he’ll think Robb is leading us, for one.” Beric listed. “Being the pompous prick he is, Tywin’ll think you both lack the age and experience to match him. I’d wager ten gold dragons that he thinks you’ll be quick to anger and easy to fool.”

“Lucky for us, I am neither of those things.” Jon stated, to his surprise, Beric barked out a laugh. “…What?” He asked, with a hint of indignation.

“You forget that Rhaenys told us why you decided to fuck Myrcella.” Beric chuckled. Jon pouted. That was different. The Lannister shit insulted Rhaenys. “Either way.” The old Witcher continued. “I expect Tywin will try to goad you into overcommitting troops, stretch out our lines, then charge in with his reservists to mop up the remains.”

“How would he achieve that?”

Jon sat in silence, watching Beric tap his chin as he thought through manoeuvres. “Probably with a false rout,” he began. “tempting you into a charge and them slamming you up the arse with a steel lance.”

“Sounds painful.” Jon quipped.

“Druids recommend avoiding the condition, yes.” Beric studied a long map of the Riverlands in front of him. “Barring some extraordinary feat of troop movement, we’ll have the Green Fork to the west when the battle begins.” He pointed along a thin blue line cutting through a sea of green. Then he began to move wooden markers that stood on the side of the table into two lines. The Lannister line in the south and the Stark line in the north. “He’ll probably leave his left flank weak and easy to crumble,” On the Lannister line, Beric moved the wooden soldiers next to the river, back. “so we focus our men on it.” He then moved the troops from the Stark line into the gap. “Then probably rotate his lines thus,” he turned the Lannister line on it’s axis. “and pin our men against the water.” Using the Lannister line, Beric pushed the Stark pieces into the river.

“Then we should not be so accommodating.” Jon affirmed, mulling over Beric’s presentation.

“Agreed.”

Jon began to lay out his army. “We have more men-“

Beric interrupted him. “But not many more.”

“…But not many more.” Jon continued, “And Robb has taken most of our mounted troops west across the river. Most of what he have left is light cavalry, mounted archers.”

“The Lannister cavalry will outnumber ours by a not-insubstantial amount.” Beric agreed.

“We should let them come to us.” Jon looked up to the older man.

“That’s what I would suggest.” Beric nodded in approval. “Keep a strong, defensive formation and have the dragons flying overhead, doing what they do best.”

“Here.” Jon pointed to the map. “Twenty miles to the south of here are some hills that we could make our stand on. They’re by the river and much closer to us than Tywin’s army.”

“I know those hills.” Beric smiled when he saw where Jon was pointing. “The larger one practically touches the river and it’s north side is far too steep for a force to climb.”

“Leaving only two directions it can be attacked from.” Jon finished Beric’s sentence.

“I’ve an idea for the smaller hill to the east of it…”

Jon stayed in Beric’s tent for hours, drawing up plans with him. They would both spend the night thinking on the plan, then bring it to Benjen on the morrow. If Benjen could not find fault with it, the plan would be presented to the lords.

A swirling vortex of anticipation and apprehension encircled Jon as he walked through the camp. His first real battle was close at hand and against the feared Tywin Lannister, no less. A chance for Jon Stark, the younger twin, to show his quality. Robb had entrusted Jon to lead and he would not fail his brother.

He had bid his mother and sister goodnight before he found his way to his abode, at the end of a long row of tents. From a distance, Jon knew Val and Ygritte were already in there by the sight of Ember and Pearl sitting outside the tent. Ghost had yipped happily and bounded over to them. When he got closer to the tent, he began to hear moans and the slapping of skin floating out from inside the tent.

Jon chuckled and looked to the Ice Guard standing sentinel at the entrance to the tent. “They been at it long?”

“I… uhh… I wouldn’t know, sir.” The Ice Guard responded resolutely. He was a younger man, likely only a year older than Jon. It was probable he was very new to the Ice Guard.

Chuckling, Jon walked passed him and into his tent, where he was gifted by a sight he would never forget. On the bed, in the centre of the tent, Ygritte was fucking Val to within an inch of her life. The sounds of wet slapping and Val’s moans of pleasure filled the air.

It was almost comical. Ygritte, the older of the two, was nearly half a foot shorter than Val. The shorter twin had mounted the taller one, fucking her blind.

Ygritte had her back to Jon, he could see the muscles of her massive arse flexing as she thrust her hips down onto Val’s arse. She was wearing one of the mummer’s cocks they owned, put in a harness so she could fuck Val senseless. Her flaming red hair was loose, her skin flushed and sweaty from exertion. Even from behind, Jon could see Ygritte’s large, heavy breasts swaying with her every thrust.

“I see you haven’t been idle in my absence.” Jon announced himself.

Ygritte turned and smiled. “You took too long.” She laughed as she unstrapped her harness and jumped off the bed, leaving the mummer’s cock buried deep inside Val, who was left on her hands and knees resting on the bed, her face buried into the pillow her arms were wrapped around as her thighs quivered weakly.

Ygritte sauntered nudely over to Jon, before drawing him into a passionate embrace, pressing her body fully against him. It wasn’t long before Jon’s cock was straining against his breeches, begging to be set free.

“I was making plans with Beric.” Jon’s eyes rolled over his curvy wives as Ygritte walked to a small table and poured them cups of water.

“So we ride to battle soon?” Val murmured from across the tent, removing the still-vibrating mummer’s cock from her cunt.

“Perhaps.” Jon said as Ygritte passed him some water. His eyes drifted to Ygritte’s stomach, Jon reached out, palming the smooth skin above her cunt. “How’s my daughter?” He asked.

Ygritte and Val had informed him of their pregnancies a day after they had left Moat Cailin. For Jon, the thought of having children of his own had been a comforting one in these trying times.

“You know nothing, Jon Stark.” Ygritte laughed, putting her hand over his as she raised her cup to her lips. “This is your son.” She nodded her head towards the bed. “Val’s the one who’s carrying your daughter.”

“Is that so?” Putting down his cup, Jon began to take off his clothes.

“Yes it is.” Ygritte’s bright blue eyes were alight as she watched him undress. “A mother knows these things.” She lead him over to Val once he was fully undressed and pushed him down onto the bed.

“Gods, I love your massive cock...” Ygritte moaned as she knelt on the floor and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, pumping her hand along it, sending a thrum of arousal through Jon’s body.

“So hard, and all for us.” Val smiled, leaning over, she kissed him.

Their tongues caressed each other lovingly, there was little of the bite that Ygritte had when she kissed him. Jon almost laughed against Val’s lips. It was a predicament could have never imagined himself being in when he was younger. He sat naked on a bed with two beautiful, and equally naked sisters. His wives. One was rubbing his cock gleefully while the other kissed him as if her life depended on it.

“As Val was the one getting ravaged when you interrupted us,” Ygritte rose from the floor and sat on the bed. “I feel you owe her the first fucking.”

Val laughed as she pulled away from Jon, lying back on the bed and spreading her thighs wide. “I agree. Our wife was plundering my cunt for all it’s worth when you arrive. Perhaps you should remind it who it really belongs to.”

Jon’s cock was achingly hard as he cast his eyes over his blonde wife. She was a goddess. Flawless, creamy skin, all soft curves and toned muscle. Her massive, pillowy breasts rising and falling with every breath.

He repositioned himself on the bed, bringing the whole length of his cock down on her cunt with a wet slap. It reached from her cunt, all the way past her belly button. A small shiver on anticipation when right through Val.

“I would hate to disappoint my adoring wives.” Jon smiled as he placed his hands on Val’s knees, rubbing his shaft against the lips of Val’s cunt. He manoeuvred the tip of his cock to probe her entrance, feeling how wet and ready she was for him, causing her to quiver and moan.

A soft whimper escaped from Val’s lips as Jon eased the first inch of his cock inside her. Sliding his hands up her thick thighs, Jon took hold of Val by her hips.

“Do it, Jon.” Ygritte urged him, kneeling behind him on the bed, placing her chin on his shoulder. “Slam the perfect, blonde whore.”

Looking down at Val, Jon was reminded just how similar she was to Genna. How she moaned and coo’d when he fucked her stupid.

“Take me, love.” Val moaned, moving her hips to get move of his length inside her. “Just like you took my moth-Ahhhhhhh!”

Jon didn’t let her finish, he tightened his grip on her hips and slammed the entire length of his cock into her. Val threw her head back and howled like a wolf. Her back arched in ecstasy, presenting her perfect breasts to Jon’s hungry gaze.

Jon didn’t give her a moment’s rest.

He pulled back and slammed into her again. Somehow even deeper than before. He took Val with no restraint, fucking the depths of her cunt with his cock. With his hips, he thrust into her, with his hands, he pulled her onto him.

Val’s arms were running through her golden locks as her head thrashed from side to side. Her perfect breasts bounced back and forth in time with his thrusts. Jon felt his cock throbbing inside Val’s molten cunt at the sight of them. There were fewer things that got Jon harder than Val’s bouncing breasts. Something she had used to great effect many, many times.

It took fewer than a dozen thrusts to make her scream like a mad woman. Ygritte was still behind Jon, running her hands lovingly over his skin, pressing herself against his back. She offered a constant stream of commentary and encouragement.

“Oh, I love it when you do that to me…”

“I can’t wait until you’re fucking me with that tree-trunk you call a cock…”

“I love your muscles. I love how they feel against my body…” She gave him a playful nip on the ear.

“My room used to have a lovely view of the training yard. I used to pleasure myself as I watched you train shirtless…”

“Aren’t Val’s tits amazing?” Ygritte reached out and pinched one of Val’s nipples, making her sister squeal.

“Does her cunt feel the same as my mother’s?”

“Of the three of us, who would you say is the best fuck? Obviously me, but where do Mother and Val rank?”

“The whole camp can probably hear Val’s wails.” Jon finally answered her, as Val screamed that she wanted Jon to breed her.

“I know how to fix that.” Ygritte snorted, crawling over to the other end of the bed. Without another word, she mounted Val’s face as if it were a saddle, sitting heavily down on it. Val’s hands went to Ygritte’s wide hips in surprise, her screams of pleasure muffled by Ygritte’s cunt.

“That’s certainly one way.” Jon chuckled as his thrusts slowed.

“The best way.” Ygritte smirked as she leaned forward and captured Jon’s lips with her own, ending their embrace with a sharpe nip.

“Ow!”

“Well it can’t all be sweetness and light.” Ygritte laughed. “You’d get bored.”

Ygritte’s smirk gave way to shudders and moans as Val went to work on her cunt, licking at her folds like she was born to do it. She pleasured her sister without restraint or hesitation, drawing a delicious song of ecstasy from Ygritte’s plump lips. Jon decided to help Val, reaching out, he palmed one of Ygritte’s hefty breasts, pinching her rosy nipples.

“You love my tits, don’t you Jon Stark?” Ygritte fixed him with a sultry gaze as she bit her bottom lip.

“Of course I do.” Jon responded, his cock still deep inside Val. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Val’s are much better.” Ygritte began to play with Val’s tits as they bounced and heaved beneath her. They were two great melons capped with tiny pink nipples, hanging high on Val’s chest and softer than a goose downed mattress. “I’ve always loved they way they bounced when she gets fucked.”

Val gave a hum of something under Ygritte’s cunt. Ygritte began to roll her hips, moaning louder. For a few moments Jon sat back and watched as the Ryder twins moaned and pleasured each other. He could see Val’s jaw moving as she feasted on Ygritte’s cunt.

Deciding he had watched long enough, Jon spread Val’s legs as wide as they would go, then speared the whole length of his cock inside her cunt. Her scream of pleasure muffled by Ygritte’s cunt.

She was tight and wet and wanton for him. The muscles of her cunt choked his cock, trying to squeeze his seed from it. Her silky smooth walls massaged and embraced him as he thrust, withdrew, then thrust again.

There were times when Jon loved that he was the man he was. This was certainly one of them. He pounded Val for all her worth, making her body sing a symphony of pleasure.

“Fuck this whore, Jon.” Ygritte moaned, on the verge of screaming. Val was always talented with her tongue. “Fuck her. Fuck her! Give her your seed!”

“That what you want Val?” Jon leaned forward slightly, for better leverage as he ploughed Val. “Do you want my seed?”

Val’s response was muffled by Ygritte’s cunt.

“She said yes.” Ygritte answered for her sister, seemingly having trouble staying up. Her skin was flushed and beaded with sweat, she was beginning to tire.

“What about you?” Jon asked, reaching out and grabbing his redheaded wife by her throat and squeezing. “Do you want my seed too?”

Ygritte’s eyes widened in shock at the sudden lack of air. One of her hands went to Jon’s wrist, holding him at her throat. The feeling of squeezing Ygritte’s throat as Val squeezed his cock was maddening for Jon, driving his lust higher and higher.

“Yes!” Ygritte choked out. “Yes! Please give me your seed! I love you! I love you! Give us your seed!”

Ygritte’s hips began to gyrate on Val’s face, desperate for pleasure and chasing her end, going and back and forth across Val’s tongue. Jon felt his first climax of their lovemaking fast approaching.

From the look in Ygritte’s eye and moans coming from her mouth, Jon could tell she was closer. He was proved right a few moments later. Val’s tongue on her cunt and Jon’s hands on her throat and breasts were clearly getting to be too much for her.

Ygritte was driven to a howling, explosive climax, drenching Val’s face with her pleasure. The only thing holding her up was Jon’s hand at her throat, and he held her there as he fucked Val to within an inch of her life, her massive breasts swaying back and forth under him. When he released her, she fell back onto the bed, still squirting her release over Val’s face.

A dozen thrusts after Ygritte’s end, Val began to shake uncontrollably, her screams now unmuffled by Ygritte’s cunt. Jon used one of his hands to start pinching and slapping her tits, making her shiver all the more. Her vice-like cunt clamped hard down on his cock, begging him to fill her with his seed as it drenched him in a tidal-wave her pleasure.

That proved to be his undoing.

Jon set a blinding pace as he thrust his way to his climax. His hips were a blur as he pounded Val’s cunt, cock throbbing with desire. Obscenely wet slapping sounds filled their tent as Jon fucked his rapturous end into Val.

The pressure in his cock built to a maddening crescendo and he released a torrent of his seed into Val’s womb. He held himself there for several minutes, filling her cunt with his seed. If she were not already pregnant, a babe would have been all but guaranteed.

Eventually Jon pulled back, his cock slipping out of Val’s cunt with ease. He sat on his knees as Val lay on her back, panting hard, her breasts rising and falling. Her face was flushed and drenched in Ygritte’s pleasure.

Jon raised his finger to Ygritte. “Get on top of her. Now.” Ygritte knew his tone would not accept denial. With a strained huff, her sweaty body rose from the bedsheets and crawled over to Val. “You must be face to face with her.” Jon ordered. “Tit to tit.”

Ygritte slung her leg over Val’s ample hips and lay down on top of her. “This to your liking?” She wiggled her hips from side to side for his amusement. Ygritte arched her back, leaning down to kiss Val’s lips, her massive, pale, heart-shaped arse rising up behind her.

An offer… An invitation… An arse that begged to be spanked.

“Val might have better tits.” Jon smiled, drinking in the erotic curve of her fleshy arse. “But she can’t compete with your arse.”

Ygritte giggled as she arched her back a little more. “I’ve heard that often enough.”

“It’s true.” Jon rose from his position to press his pelvis against Ygritte’s arse. His hard cock throbbed as it nestled between the twin moons of her expansive arse cheeks.

In moments, Jon’s hands were kneading the flesh like dough, squeezing and running his hands over Ygritte’s delectable rear end. He could hear her humming delightfully in approval as he spread her cheeks apart, then pressed them together. He lifted his hand high, then brought it down on the arse with a hard smack.

Ygritte squealed, pressing her arse back further into him, begging for more. “Harder…” she moaned as Jon raised his hand again, then brought it down. “Harder.” She begged.

Smack!

“Harder!”

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

Jon struck her a few dozen times on each cheek, turning them as red as her hair. Ygritte could only quiver and moan under the assault, raising up to gasp for breath between kisses.

Much like Jon loved the way Val’s breasts bounced as she was fucked, he adored the way Ygritte’s arse bounced as she was spanked. The way it jiggled and wobbled under his hand, the way Ygritte moaned and presented herself to him submissively.

“Your arse’ll be as red as your hair when i’m done with you.” Jon laughed as he surveyed his work.

With a flick of her long red hair, Ygritte turned her gaze back to him, smirking. “Are you going to stop beating me and start fucking me any time soon?”

“Is that a command?”

“Yes.” Ygritte pressed her arse against his cock again, using the impossibly round globes of her cheeks to massage his length. “Your wife demands you fuck her. So get to it.”

Jon ran his hand along Ygritte’s toned back, making her shiver. “As you wish, my love.”

He took hold of his shaft, hotter than a naked flame and harder than Uru, still slick from Val’s pleasure. With one hand on Ygritte’s hip, he guided himself to the lips of her cunt. The soft, wet lips of her womanhood caressed his tip, then he pushed against them.

The muscles of Ygritte’s cunt clenched around the first inch of Jon’s cock as it slid inside. He witnessed a small shiver move along Ygritte’s spine as he eased further in.

Her head dropped low as she let out a low moan, pressing herself back onto Jon eagerly, completely surrendering to him. Jon pulled her cheeks aside, so he could watch the inches of his cock entering Ygritte’s silky tunnel.

“Good girl.” Jon smirked as Ygritte took every inch of him without complaint. “How much do you love my cock?”

“I loooovvee iiiiit.” Ygritte whined. “I want it allll the time.”

“What a needy whore you are.” Jon laughed, laying a hard smack on Ygritte’s arse again, making her squeal in pleasure.

He thrust on, plumbing the fathomless depths of Ygritte’s cunt , as it clenched around him, massaging him, begging for his seed. Ygritte loved to rave about how Jon held complete ownership of her cunt, but nothing made Jon as sure of that truth, as how Ygritte’s body reacted to him, mewling prettily as he claimed her.

Few things drove Jon mad like Ygritte’s cunt. It was the seven heavens. She was tight, and wet, and hot, wrapping around him like a warm silk blanket. A river of her pleasure was leaking from around his cock as he thrust into her.

Ygritte’s moans were muffled by Val, who’d recovered from her session with Jon and locked lips with her sister, holding Ygritte close. Jon began to violently fuck her, riding her like an unruly horse.

“You moan so prettily when you’re taking his cock, short-arse.” Val giggled to her sister.

Jon leaned forward and locked eyes with Val. “One day i’m going to fuck the two of you, Anya and Genna all together.” He told her. “All four of the Ryder women.”

Anya was Ygritte and Val’s older sister. She was a Witcher, so her comings and goings were sporadic at best. That hadn’t stopped Jon from enjoying all three of the Ryder sisters together, but he had yet to have all three of them alongside their mother.

Val and Ygritte both moaned together at his words, clearly they enjoyed the idea. Val’s hand snaked down to her cunt and began to play with herself.

“All four of the Ryder women…” She repeated. “All getting seeded by you…” she began to moan loudly.

Jon pressed Ygritte’s head to Val’s, on instinct, they began to kiss, silencing each other with their lips. He sank his cock the whole way into Ygritte’s cunt. All the way up to the hilt. Jon swore as he ground his hips against Ygritte’s ample arse-cheeks. She was shaking and crying, gasping as Jon speared deep into her. She was clinging to Val as her toes curled in the bedsheets.

Ygritte was being taken by him like a bitch in heat. Jon withdrew from her again, easing the inches from her, then slamming them home, repeatedly. Ygritte moans climbed the shrill cries as he ploughed her. Plundering her depths, conquering her body with his cock.

Val reached onto a side table that stood by their bed, she retrieved a paddle of palm wood. Val brought it down on Ygritte’s arse with some force, smacking it louder and harder than it had been so far. Ygritte’s flesh rippled from the blow as she shivered, screaming like a banshee.

“Take it, whore!” Val grunted, striking Ygritte’s arse again. “Take your spanking like a good slut!”

Slaps and claps echoed throughout the tent. Ygritte’s arse was repeatedly assaulted by Val’s paddle and Jon’s pelvis. On and on they went, not stopping until Ygritte was brought to a screaming climax, that Jon relentlessly fucked her through.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Every inch of Jon’s footlong cock slammed in and out of Ygritte’s cunt, using her for it’s pleasure, making her shriek and whine through her climax, her whole body trembling. Her cunt was clenched tight around him, tighter than even Val’s was, it wanted him to stay there forever.

“Take me like a wolf!” Ygritte moaned against Val’s cheek, her strength leaving her. Her back glistened with sweat from their lovemaking. Jon leaned down and gripped her by the hair, hauling her up.

“You want to be my bitch?” Jon asked, punctuating his words with deep, hard thrusts.

“Yes…” Ygritte moaned as her eyes rolled back.

“Louder, bitch!” Val began to twist Ygritte’s nipples with one hand, the other diddling herself as she watched them.

“Yes! Yes! I want to be your bitch! Please take me!”

“Beg me to sire my pups on you.”

“Please! Please! Please sire more pups on me! I want bear your children! I’ll birth you an army of sons! I love you!”

Jon gave a toothy grin as he clutched Ygritte’s hair tighter. He took her like a wolf, rutting hard and fast against her. The bed was creaking awfully loudly beneath them, threatening to break under the force their coupling.

If they were battling, it was an unmitigated rout on Ygritte’s side. A lesser woman would beg for mercy, but Ygritte held out till the last.

Jon felt the mounting pressure on his cock again, the pleasure overwhelming, threatening to undo him. With a few last powerful thrusts, Jon emptied his balls right into Ygritte’s womb, a torrent of his seed filling her to the brim. Clearly the feeling of Jon filling her was too much for Ygritte, who came to her own spectacular climax, shaking and moaning as she sprayed her pleasure from her cunt, his cock holding most of it inside her. Jon felt the sudden rush of warmth as her cunt strangled his cock like a snake.

Jon released Ygritte’s hair and she flopped down into Val’s waiting arms, submissive and utterly spent. He collapsed on top of the twins, feeling their warm skin against his. The three lovers panted in silence together, the thrum of their heartbeats in sync. Then sleep took him.

When Jon awoke, he found Ygritte and Val lavishing his cock with their tongues. The Ryder twins working in perfect harmony to bring him pleasure with their mouths. Jon lay back and prepared for a nice relaxing hour of rest when he heard raised voices outside his tent. Soon enough, lord Robert Rarker pushed past the guards and entered Jon’s tent, looking decidedly put out.

“I’m sorry, prince Jon.” His Ice Guard called out as he came in after lord Rarker, who’s eyes went wide when faced with Val’s and Ygritte’s bare bodies.

“It’s fine.” Jon said. “You may go.” The Ice Guard bowed and beat a hasty retreat as lord Robert sent his jaw, with an angry look in his eye. “You have a problem, Lord Rarker?” Jon said nonchalantly as both of his wives continued sucking his cock, uncaring that they had an audience.

Lord Rarker was a big man, taller than Jon and built like a bear, with a shaved head and a long ginger beard gathered into one braid, a few streaks of grey running through it. “Yes, I have a problem.” The lord of the Denhold fumed. Jon knew the lords were getting restless, something like this was likely to happen sooner or later. “We should be taking the fight to the Lannisters!” He pointed to a map of the Riverlands that hung on the wall. “But you have us marching slower than my mother… and she’s been dead for eleven years. Don’t you get it, boy? The sooner we smash Tywin, the sooner we can save your father!” Lord Rarker took a breath, before speaking more evenly. “You’re supposed to be leading us. What do you imagine the men think when they don’t see you for days on end, but they hear your whores crying out all over the camp.”

I wish I was him?

Ygritte rose from Jon’s cock and fixed lord Rarker with a steely gaze. “Our husband may call us his whores whenever he wishes. You may not…”

A look of complete surprise fell on lord Rarker’s face, and he looked away sheepishly. “Apologies, princess. I-I did not know it was you.”

“Apology excepted.” Val, tore her lips off Jon’s cock for a moment. “Now fuck off.”

“Your brother’s off taking the fight to the Lannisters.” Lord Robert looked him in the eye. “You owe it to him and your father to do the same.”

“You wish to know our plans?” Jon asked, rising from his bed, still nude. He walked over to a table and pointed to a map. “The reason we march slowly is because we want Tywin to come to us. We want him to come further north, further away from Riverrun and his supply lines.” Jon emphasised, pointing along the the Gold road. “He knows we are here and he wants to deal with us quickly, so he can move on to Robert’s brothers. I ask you, why should we tire our men out rushing to meet him when he is rushing to us anyway?” Jon asked. Robert did not answer, so Jon continued. “The further up the kingsroad he marches, the further away from Robb and the Kingslayer’s armies he gets. Meaning Tywin will have no hope of reinforcing his son when Robb attacks. If Robb is successful, he’ll have smashed one Lannister army, freed Riverrun from siege, broken the Lannister supply lines and rallied the Riverlords. If we do this right, if we can keep Tywin away from his son for long enough, we’ll be able to trap Tywin between three armies and force a surrender from the Lannisters.” He moved several wooden markers to surround Tywin’s army. One group was his army, the other was Robb’s, the final one was the Riverlords. “If Tywin becomes aware of Robb on the other side of the Green fork and reinforces his son, our plan could fail. So we march slowly, we make him do the work to reach us. The more tired his troops are, the more rested and ready ours will be. Do you understand?”

Lord Rarker, looked over the map sternly, trying to find fault in the plan. “…Yes.” He said, finally. “I apologise for my words. I was wrong to doubt you.”

“Think nothing of it.” Jon smiled, placing his hand on lord Rarker’s shoulder. “You are loyal to my father and want to see him free, I cannot find fault in that.”

After another apology, lord Rarker left their tent. Jon went back and flopped down onto his bed with Val and Ygritte.

“So that’s our strategy,” Val said, thoughtfully, as she stroked her hand over Jon’s chest. “I was wondering why we spent more time fucking than marching.”

“Not that you’ve ever complained about too much fucking.” Ygritte snorted.

“We are about to fight a battle against your mother’s family…” Jon said, the whole affair feeling more real after he’d explained it to one of his lords. He would need to do the same again later in the day, to all of them.

“Mother has made her peace with it.” Ygritte said. “She is loyal to father, as we are loyal to you.”

“She only asks that you spare her family members.” Val added. “If you are able...”

“If I am able…” Jon repeated.

***********

An early morning sun rose from the east. A red dawn. Some would call it an ill portent, but Jon had no use for portents as he flew above his amassing army. Together Jon, Beric and Benjen had presented their plans to the other lords and their captains. When all had been agreed, they marched. They had arrived at their hills in good time, making preparations for when Lord Tywin’s army came.

And come they did, though they were certainly taking their time.

The Lannister army gleamed in dawn’s light, horns blaring and drums hammering. Lines upon lines of men clad in gold and steel and polished iron marched from the south. The land between the two armies was soft and muddied. Part of their preparations had been to bring the murky water from the Green fork onto the land south of their positions. Crossing the sodden ground would be like walking through the seven circles of the hells for the Lannister heavy troops, wading through knee-deep muck while fire rained down on them.

From high in the sky, Jon had a clear view of both forces. If only there was an easy way to communicate, he thought. Alas, all Jon had was a horn, making it difficult to convey much more than ‘I want your attention!’

It wouldn’t have made much difference anyhow, the northern troops were stationed on high hills. There was little Jon could see that they could not. Beric’s description of the hills had been very accurate, the western side was practically sheer into the Green fork and the north side was too steep to climb. That left the eastern and southern sides the only accessible options for attack.

The main bulk of the army was on the hill in tightly packed formations. Walls of Uru armour, studded shields and long pikes. The Ice Guard stood sentinel around the lords bannermen in the centre of the army. Standing behind them were squares of archers and crossbowmen that checkered the top of the hill. Among them stood the giants, holding boulders they would hurl at the enemy, causing death and destruction wherever they landed. The slight shimmer of the magical protection wards surrounded the whole northern army. It was the main protection against magical attack, but it wouldn’t keep everything out, the troops would have to weather some of the storm.

A thousand banners fluttered in the wind, Jon saw the diamond-shaped grey dragon of Lord Nord, Manderly’s merman, the Karstark sunburst, the ravens of Rarker, along with Cerwyns and Hornwoods and Dhalarks and Greystarks and hundreds more. Above all flew the Stark direwolf, grey wolves on a sea of pure white snow.

Jon knew the names and faces of every one of the North’s lords and their children. He knew some of them would not survive the battle.

A detachment of the main forces, lead by Beric, was positioned on the smaller hill around seventy yards to the south-east, shielded from view with magic. Six-hundred Thunderers protected by seven-hundred Dwarven Ironbreakers and a handful of Witchers. It was Beric’s idea that the Thunderers would rain fire down on the flank of forces attacking the main hill. By all accounts a good plan, and a devastating one if they managed to execute it properly.

Jon turned his eyes to the south, to the Lannister army that was taking shape on the king’s road. Golden lions fluttered in the wind with hundreds of other banners. The Lannister archers had arrayed themselves in three long lines to the east and west of the road. The gods were with them, with the wind blowing down from the north, the Lannister arrows would likely fall short, while their own arrows were carried further. Between the lines of archers, pikemen had formed a number of squares, followed by men-at-arms with spears and swords and axes in hand. A large group of heavy horse near three hundred strong massed at the centre of the group, Jon imagined that was where Kevan Lannister commanded his troops from, if Beric was correct.

The Lannister’s eastern flank seemed all cavalry, thousands of knights on heavy horse, their armour glinting in the morning sun. Beside them were armoured lions and trolls, they were the hammer for the Lannister army.

Let’s see how their armour suits them when they’re wading through deep mud under a hail of arrows.

At the head of the heavy horse rode a Lannister banner, according to Beric, lord Tywin usually gave command of his mounted men to his brother Tygett, a Witcher of some repute in the South. Behind his banner flew many others, unicorns, boars, roosters, Jon even spied the sigil of the Golden Legion.

Jon urged Moonhowler to circle around and he looked to the Lannister’s western flank. Like the eastern, it was all mounted men, though in far poorer condition. Where their right had trolls, lions, full plate and heavy lancers, their left had men in gambesons and leather, wielding scythes, old swords and wood-chopping axes. The best of them were freeriders and sellswords, the majority were field-hands who’d likely never seen a battle before.

There even looked to be some mountain clansmen to Jon’s eye. He had met more than a few of the Northern clan leaders in Winterfell. They were good men and strong warriors, but there was a reason they were among those not called upon to march south.

Jon even saw some of them running already when they saw the dragons, only to be cut down by what few knights rode on the western flank. Tywin means for them to break on our lines like waves on a beach, Jon realised.

Beric’s words rang true. Jon thanked the gods his great uncle was with them, and that he was able to predict Tywin’s strategy so accurately. They did not ask the be marched to war. He knew they were only boys, probably younger than he was, told to march for their lord or die. Jon closed his heart to those feelings. The world was a cruel place, if he refused to kill his enemy’s troops because it wasn’t fair, then they’d be let loose on his own men.

The Lannister army has been raiding and raping the Riverlands, he told himself. In an effort to quell his empathy for them.

Behind the troops on a small hill, stood the Lannister reserves and Tywin himself. Leading from the back, just like Beric had said. The reserves seemed to number close to ten thousand, half mounted and half foot. A faint shimmering field enclosed around them. Jon was more than tempted to call on Sansa, Lara, Benjen and his sons, and all fly to kill Tywin in a torrent of ice, but Jon saw a dozen Luminark’s of Hysh standing between them and Tywin. They were massive, ornately decorated carriages with a Warrior Priest standing on top behind a delicate array of focusing lenses.

A Luminark of Hysh magnified magical energy into a concentrated beam, shining with the divine light of the Seven. One beam wouldn’t kill a dragon, nor would twelve, but the blow would certainly be felt. Luckily, their range wasn’t too great, and their accuracy was little better. Jon knew if they stayed at a distance and kept moving, it was unlikely they would be hit. But their threat denied the dragons areas of the battlefield. Jon wondered how easy it might be to out flank and surround the Luminarks.

The low rumble of the Lannister drums came to a halt when their troops stopped marching. The drums were replaced with shouting and cheering for their lords, ferocious and ready for a fight. The Northerners answered with their own cries, howling like beasts baying for blood.

Jon knew then that the battle would not be an easy one.

His heart pounded in his chest in time to the drums. Soon all were washed away by the long, low warhorns that the Winter Wolves brought to battle. As small chill ran along Jon’s spine when he heard them, drowning out all other sound until only the horn remained. The Lannister trumpets answered the call, though they sounded small and far away in comparison.

Jon circled his dragon back to flying over his troops, he saw Sansa and Lara falling in behind him, as Benjen lead his sons back. Jon heard men shouting orders as they flew over them.

The twanging of thousands of bowstrings drew Jon’s attention to the Lannister lines, their archers had loosed their first volley as the rest of their army marched forward. A cloud of arrows arched through the air as the Northerners raised their shields. Due to the winds from the north, most of the arrows fell short, with only a few finding a home in the shields of Stark men.

A horn blew and the northerners loosed a volley of their own. This one found it’s target, at the centre of the Lannister foot, a scream rose from their lines as a thousand Lannister men stumbled and fell. Then came another volley, and another. A good start, Jon thought. If the battle continued on this path, it would take little time to win.

It seemed the Lannister’s western flank was to be their vanguard, the less armoured troops had an easier time traversing the mud and would charge up the hill to break against the northern shield walls if they were allowed to.

“Sansa! Lara!” Jon shouted to his family members as he circled them with on Moonhowler. “We’ll take their western wing!” He shouted over the wind. “Benjen! Take your sons and deal with their eastern wing!”

Once all confirmed their understanding, the flew off. The Lannister’s charging western flank quickly turned and ran when they saw three dragons flying towards them.

“Reothadh!” Jon yelled the word for dragon ice in the Old Tongue.

Moonhowler opened his great maw and froze the riders in his path. Sunbeam and Windrider joined him and soon a massive ice structure formed on the battlefield. The wing of riders broke and ran in the shadow of the Stark dragons. A great wave of victorious cheers washed over the Stark lines.

It seems we might not even need to use the Thunderers, Jon thought as he chuckled to himself. All cheer died when a great monstrous roar echoed over the battlefield.

Jon looked to the Lannister lines again.

“…Oh fuck…”

*************

Beric

Beric was in a somber mood as they made their way to the top of the hill, as he often was just before a battle. He remembered the war of the Nine Penny Kings and the Greyjoy Rebellion, the battle and death. It was not something he had wished for Jon and Sansa to see, nor Benjen and his children. Yet when he looked to the sky, he saw them and Lara circling above him on dragonback.

Riding Moonhowler, Beric was tempted to tell Jon how much he reminded him of Rickard. Sansa had even shown herself to have more than a few qualities Lyarra held. It was times like this where he felt Blackadder’s absence even more.

When Beric chose to become a Witcher, he was young, fourteen years old. He hadn’t quite comprehended that he would outlive all his brothers and sisters, and their children, and likely their children’s children. It was a sobering reality.

“Remember, we need to be hidden from the Lannisters.” Beric told Val and her mages when they finally got to the top of the hill.

“I know.” Val answered, dismounting her direwolf. The mages all began chanting their illusion spells to hide their force on the smaller hill.

The dwarven Ironbreakers came marching after the Winter Wolves. Their shorter legs and very heavy armour made them slow moving, but the protection they gave was perhaps the strongest in Westeros. Their armour was renown for breaking enemy weapons when struck. But if the mages spells worked as they should, then the Ironbreakers wouldn’t be needed much.

“I want you in lines facing outwards!” Beric barked his orders to the Winter Wolves. “One third of each line facing south! The next third facing south-west! The final third facing west!” He indicated with his arm. “Ironbreakers protecting the flanks and the rear! With our mages standing in the middle with the Witchers!”

And with that, the just-over fifteen-hundred Beric was commanding went into formation. Beric dismounted Roach when he was finished giving orders, he stood in front of the Winter Wolves as they formed five ranks, standing shoulder to shoulder, all with Thunderers in hand.

“Captain Mainwaring!” Beric called, looking for the commander of the Thunderers.

“Over here, sir!” A hand went up in the middle of the front line. Beric eyed the stout man instantly. He’d always thought Mainwaring a little pompous, but he would never dare deny the man’s bravery, nor the devotion of his men. After serving in the Winter Wolves for near forty years, he still fought for the Starks whenever called upon.

The man had even been offered a place in the Ice Guard, the highest honour a Winter Wolf could aspire to. Mainwaring turned the offer down, saying he would not abandon his men. He was one of the many veterans that made up the Winter Wolf Thunderers, the younger troops had taken to calling them “Dad’s Army”.

As perhaps the oldest man on the field, he found a kinship with them.

“Everybody in order?” Beric cut into the line on Mainwaring’s left.

“Certainly, sir.” The captain answered. “My men are the elite, I dare say they could win the battle on their own.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Just then, the Lannister troops began enter view, their armour shining in the morning sun. “Gods, look at them all.” Beric heard a voice in the lines behind him.

“There’s got to be tens of thousands there.” Another, younger voice said.

“Then you’ll have no excuse for missing, Pike.” Captain Mainwaring cut in. “Now, men!” He cleared his throat and began shouting. “Our job is simple. We are to stand on this hill and fire at the enemy as they attack our main forces on the larger hill, over there.” He pointed to the other hill.

“What if they charge at us instead?” Pike asked.

“They’ll not do that.” Mainwaring answered. “That’s what are mages are for. They’re keeping us hidden.”

“Won’t they know we’re here when we start shooting them?”

“Yes, but we’ll have the element of surprise.”

“What if they start charging us then?” Pike asked again.

“Then we stand our ground.” Mainwaring said, with a touch of finality. “And we keep shooting them until they stop.”

Beric could hear the drums and horns sounding from the Lannister army, and the main Stark force on the other hill. All his could hear from his own men were mutterings and prayers to the gods. Soon enough, the Lannisters began to move. Their light cavalry coming along the river.

“Lord Tywin’s sending those men to die on a Stark shield wall.” Captain Mainwaring observed, mournfully.

Beric could not disagree with him. “I imagine he wants to goad our men on the other hill into charging down after them.”

“Where they could then be cut down by his heavy cavalry.” Mainwaring finished his thought. “A sound strategy, if a bloody one.”

“We’ll wait for them to charge, then we shoot them.” Beric affirmed.

The thought seemed strange to him though. The Luminarks of Hysh were Tywin’s only real defence against the Stark dragons. So why would he send his cavalry charging ahead of them? Surely he knows the dragons have the advantage…

“Seems the dragons have other ideas.” Mainwaring indicated to the sky.

The dragons had split into two groups, and were making to preemptively attack the enemy cavalry. Jon, Sansa and Lara made short work of the western flank, to the raucous cheers of the men.

But then Beric heard something that shook him to his very bones. All cheers died when a series of loud, terrifying roars pierced the sky. A sound Beric knew all too well.

Dragons…

It seemed they weren’t the only ones who where hiding their troops with magic.

Maybe a dozen dragons rose from behind the Lannister lines, screaming bloody fury. Oh, gods… None of the dragons looked over forty, they were many colours, many shapes and sizes, certain features Beric recognised as from Targaryen dragons. But it did not matter where they came from. The revelation near sent his men into disarray.

“Hear me!” Beric shouted, taking control of the situation. “Sounds the drums!” He called, a deep thundering answered him. “Are you wolves, or sheep!?”

“AWOO!” All seven hundred of them called the response.

“Are you men of the North?!”

“AWOO!”

“ARE YOU STARK MEN?!”

“AWOOO!”

“They have dragons?! We have dragons! And ours are fucking bigger!” Beric shouted. “They have magic? We have magic! They have numbers? We have numbers! Nothing has changed! We have a battle to fight, and we are going to win it!” His words were met with a cheer from the men. Beric hoped he showed more confidence than he felt.

Questions were raging through his mind, yet he shoved them down. In the moment, it didn’t matter how the Lannisters had dragons, what mattered was that they had dragons. Beric looked to the sky, the Stark dragons were outnumbered two-to-one, but all of them -bar Sansa’s- were larger than the Lannister dragons. Lara had the most experience fighting dragons with dragons from the war of the Nine Penny Kings, Beric told himself she would know what to do.

Tywin had lured them well, the Stark dragons had flown out of position to attack his cavalry, now they were being punished for it. The Lannister dragons circled them like flies. They were smaller, but mostly quicker. They knew not to fight Moonhowler, or the near one-hundred-and-seventy year old dragon would tear them to pieces. Sansa and Sunbeam managed to nimbly dance around their attackers. But the Lannisters had two dragons for every one Stark dragon. They would need help.

The Stark soldiers on the ground would need to fight without the aid of dragons. Free of hinderance, the Lannister centre marched up the hill towards the main Stark forces. Though they had been surprised by the reveal of new dragons, Beric saw the lords and captains had kept their men in hand. The Lannisters advanced under a hail of arrows and magic with their shields raised, mostly protecting them.

“On my order, the first rank is to fire!” Beric drew his red Uru sword, the Forlorn Hope and held it aloft for all to see.

The men readied their Thunderers, placing them on their stands so they could take aim. Beric could heard the shouting Lannister men as they charged the last few yards into the Stark lines, lead by their Golden Legion.

They clashed with the singing of steel and screams of injured men.

“Steady men.” Captain Mainwaring said, calm as a cold stone. They waited for the Lannisters to push more and more.

“First rank, Fire!” Beric ordered. The sound of a hundred-and-forty Thunderers all being fired at once was deafening. They certainly lived up to their name. Fire and a great black cloud spewed forth from the barrels of the Thunderers, choking, blinding and deafening them.

They didn’t see what the shots did to the Lannister men, but they certainly heard it, once the ringing stopped. The screams of a thousand men having holes blown through them echoed across the field.

It didn’t take long for the smoke to clear, though it still stung Beric’s eyes. Through his watery gaze, he saw a mess of men and body parts. Legless men crawling back down the hill, men missing half their heads, their arms, screaming and crying for mercy.

Many Lannisters had no idea how many of their comrades and spontaneously combusted. It was a horror. But war was horrible and Beric was about to order the same again.

The first line knelt in the grass and began reloading, so the second rank had clear view.

“Second rank!” Beric shouted. “Fire!”

They were deafened and blinded again. Beric’s hearing came back quicker this time, he heard even more screams. The wind was blowing the smoke to the south, he hoped it might inhibit Lannister sight at least. The dragon-battle in the sky fell from his mind. There was only the Thunderers and their target.

On Beric’s order, the second rank knelt and the third rank fired. When the smoke cleared a third time, the Lannister foot soldiers had fallen back. They were retreating across the wet, muddy ground, slipping and sliding along the way. Beric was tempted to order his men fire on them, until he heard a rider’s horn.

“Seems they can see us, now.” Mainwaring said as he knelt next to him. Some of the Lannister mounted knights were charging towards them, armour shining in the sun.

“We knew it wasn’t going to last forever.” Beric muttered. “Forth and fifth ranks! On my command, fire on those riders!” Beric pointed towards the knights with the Forlorn Hope. The thundering hooves of the heavy cavalry grew louder and louder as they reached the hill and began to climb the slope.

“Fire!” He yelled, and two-hundred-and-forty Thunderers answered. They stopped the charge dead in it’s tracks. More than three hundred must have died in an instant. Men and horses screamed in pain when the shots struck home.

Clouds of red exploded from the less armoured men and horses, others were knocked back and trampled by those who charged behind them. A great wave of crushed bodies and mangled steel piled up on the hillside.

Rather than face that again, the knights further back turned and retreated back to the main Lannister force.

“Can’t imagine they’ll be charging at us again.” Mainwaring quipped.

“Recover!” Beric ordered as he stood, the three ranks of kneeling Winter Wolves rose behind him. He lifted his eyes to the sky. “Let’s see if we can find a way to shoot down-“ Beric was interrupted by a loud, shrill horn on the Lannister side.

After a bloody retreat, they were forming their lines again. A new structure had appeared nestled among Tywin’s reservists, covered in flags. That was where the sound was coming from. The wooden arms holding the flags moved, positioning themselves at odd angles, then moving to the next position, then the next. A dragon swerved away from Benjen on Winderfröst and started flying directly towards them.

Tywin’s giving them orders, Beric realised.

“To the sky!” Mainwaring shouted. “Lift your eyes, raise your Thunderers! We won’t get a second chance!”

“Not yet!” Beric ordered in response. “Your arms will tire if you hold them up now! We must wait to shoot until the last possible moment! If you miss, we all die!”

So they waited uneasily as the dragon flew across the battlefield, closer and closer. It was a young dragon, a good few years younger than Sansa’s. The target was small.

“Aim!” Beric ordered, seven-hundred Thunderers raised towards the dragon. He could see it’s jaw opening, it’s teeth sharp. Red fire was rising up it’s gullet when Beric shouted “Fire!”

The volume of the shots was only matched by the whine of the dragon when it was hit. It crumpled in the air and began to fall. Beric gripped his sword and dashed forward. The dragon landed just over twenty yards in front of the formation, pained whimpers escaping it’s maw.

It was a small thing.

Relatively.

Beric plunged his red uru longsword deep into the back of it’s skull, killing the dragon instantly. A man in pure gold armour, the dragon’s rider, leaped out from under the dragon’s wing, swiping at Beric with his axe.

The man was skilled, but nowhere near Beric’s level, and the fall had likely done him no favours. Beric killed him in three moves, blocking the first mad swing, then the second, allowing the momentum from his over committal on the second swing to impale the man with his sword.

A great cheer rumbled through the men behind him as Beric stood on the dragon corpse and looked over the battlefield. Osric’s dragon, Palewing, was wounded, being chased by three Lannister dragons. Beric prayed to the Old Gods that he would survive.

His prayers were quickly answered when Benjen, on Winderfröst came screaming from above, ripping the head off the leading dragon and scaring the other two off.

Those two dragons then turned and flew towards the main Stark forces on the larger hill. Arrows began to fly towards them, what few found their mark did little damage. Beric was a frozen spectator. The dragons were out of Thunderer range and the Stark dragons were trapped fighting off the other Lannister dragons.

Beric muttered another prayer to the Old Gods, but rarely did they answer two prayers in as many minutes. They had Triss and other mages to shield them on the main hill. But wards could only do so much against dragon fire.

The smaller dragon was skewered by four Giant arrows, but the larger of the two managed to dodge away, before breathing a great plum of fire across the left side of the Stark formation.

Their tightly back grouping had been a benefit in defence against men. There was only one way up that hill, and only one way down it. Now the benefits of their position proved to be their undoing.

A man can have trained all his life to resist fear, yet you’d have trouble finding a man who wouldn’t run from fire. Many broke formation and ran down the hill, either through fear, or because they were swept up in the stampede. It made little difference.

“Shit.” Beric swore as he watched thousands of northerners breaking formation, right in front of the remains of the Lannister centre and heavy cavalry. He knew someone had to go lead them.

Calling Roach, he ran back to the Winter Wolves and began barking out orders. “Captain Mainwaring, you have the command! Hold this hill!” He pointed the Forlorn Hope at the Lannister knights as they charged into the unready northerners. “And pepper those knights like a roasted boar!”

“Understood sir!” Mainwaring replied.

“Witchers!” Beric shouted to them as they mounted up, knowing what he was going to ask. “With me! We’ll cover the foot soldiers as they reform their lines!”

“We’re with you!” Grandmaster Samara answered him as she mounted her direwolf.

Beric turned Roach, and with a mighty howl, he lead them down the hill. Roach leaped over the the mound of horses from the previous charge with little issue, the other Witchers followed, swords in hand into the broiling mass of steel and flesh and split into small groups instantly.

It was a mess of men, no form, no lines. Men fought, killed, then moved onto the next, hoping that the mud hadn’t covered so much of their opponents that the couldn’t tell who was on which side. A crackling beam of golden energy cut across Beric’s view, vaporising all men in it’s path. It seemed Tywin had brought his Luminarks forward.

Beric had gone from having a view of the whole field, to only seeing a few dozen feet around him. A knight in very clean plate tried to ride across him, Beric ducked under his swing as Roach ripped the knight’s horse’s legs out from under it, then moved on.

A man-at-arms with a pike tried to spear him in the chest, Beric batted it aside with enough force to break the spear tip off. As Roach rushed forward, he took the man’s head off his shoulders.

An armoured lion made a swiping leap at Samara as she rode beside him, she ducked under it’s paw cut it’s belly open from neck to balls, drenching herself in lion guts.

Magnificent…

He remembered how she gave him mandatory stamina training for two hours every morning when she was training him to be a Witcher. Two hours of stamina training in her bedchambers. He had been the envy of every other Witcher student in the School of the Wolf.

A giant’s roar brought Beric back to the real world. It stumbled through groups of men, trampling all in it’s path. Most of it’s left side was on fire as it madly tried to run towards the river.

“Aard him!” He heard Samara and they both rushed to action. Together they used their Witcher signs to put out the burning giant, that only seemed to get more angry when it was no longer aflame, stomping a passing bull troll into a wet puddle.

“Search for banners!” Beric shouted.

“There!” Samara pointed to an Ice Guard banner, they rode to it, cutting and slashing their way through Lannister footmen that had advanced into the fray. When they reached the banner, they saw an Ice Guard shield wall defending against a number of trolls. Samara and Beric rode along the back of them, cutting them down as they tried to bash the shields.

“Captain!” Beric barked to the officer in charge. “Blow your horn and retreat slowly back up the hill. Have as many form up with you as you can!”

The officer nodded. “Form up!” He began to order, pulling his horn to his lips and blowing.

“Find any lord you can.” Beric shouted to Samara. “Tell them to rally to the Ice Guard banner. We need to reform our lines.”

Samara nodded and set off in one direction, Beric chose another. He searched for the leader of the Rangers, he needed them to rally back to formation. A roar and shadow overhead made Beric duck close to Roach. To his relief, it was Moonhowler, chasing a Lannister dragon.

Eventually he found Jaheira, captain of the Rangers and sister to Sylvie. She stood in a clearing of men, a dozen golden knights lying dead in the mud around her, her twin curved blades dancing with two more armoured knights. By the time Beric got to her, they had joined their comrades dead in the mud.

“Whaddya hear, Jaheira?” Beric shouted to her over the symphony of steal around them.

“Nothin’ but the rain.” She replied, nonchalantly wiping blood from her blades as a flight of arrows thrummed into the ground not three feet from where she stood. “How the fuck didn’t we know they had dragons?!”

“No time for that now.” Beric snapped. “We need to reform our lines! Find what Rangers you can and rally them to the Ice Guard banner! We need to bring the two parts of our armies together! Go!”

“Alright!” Jaheira answered him. “Just don’t get killed, Witcher.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Beric laughed as he rode on. He found another enemy quickly, taking him from behind with a miss-timed downcut that sent a jolt of impact up his arm, but still killed the man.

Messy, but acceptable…

Roach stopped in his tracks as a headless horseman with a unicorn on his surcoat crossed their path, the horse running madly as the corpse somehow stayed in the saddle. Over the cacophony of battle, Beric heard screams that were familiar to him…

Ygritte.

He raced towards them, Roach bounding over or through men without issue. He found her slashing her axe down on a fallen troll’s head, as Ember, her wolf, ripped it’s arm off. A man in armour lay behind her, a winged helm sigil on his surcoat, his left arm burned badly. Beric remembered one of Ygritte and Val’s older brothers, Tytos was riding with them, commanding the Ryder foot.

He quickly dismounted Roach so he could cover for them and stormed over to Ygritte. She was still screaming in rage as she hacked at the dead troll.

“It’s already dead!” He shouted, grabbing her arm as it raised up. She wheeled round and punched him squarely in the jaw. Her enhanced strength rattled every tooth in his head.

Thankfully her eyes cleared and her rage dissipated when she saw him.

“Tytos!” She shouted and rushed to her brother, falling to her knees by his side. “Can you hear me!?” Tytos only gave a pained moan in response.

“Mount up and ride for the Thunderers.” Beric told her as he picked up Tytos. “Val’s there. They’ll have healers for his arm.”

Ygritte called Ember and mounted her before Beric put Tytos in her saddle. She uttered a quick thanks before she sped off up to the smaller hill. Beric took a breath to see the battle around him.

The Lannister cavalry had mostly been worn off by the Thunderers, all that seemed to remain where the Lannister reserves standing back and the foot soldiers slugging it out in the mud. A roar from overhead reminded Beric that the dragons were still an issue.

More northern horns were blowing than before, Beric saw his forces were slowly forming their lines again, their training remembered. The Lannister foot was doing the same, hoping for a rest as the two forces pulled apart, leaving stragglers on both sides. The Northern banners were retreating up to the hill where the ones who hadn’t originally run were advancing down to reinforce those that did.

Finally things are turning around.

Beric rode through the mass of men again, finding lords and captains, telling them to retreat to the hill, to form up again. He’d just ordered Harrion Karstark to take his spears back to the hill when he was set upon by three armoured lions. They knocked him from Roach and into the mud.

Though they took him by surprise, they fell relatively quickly. As he stood over their corpses, he heard a sarcastic clap behind him.

“Well done.” A tone so overconfident that it could only come from a Lannister.

He whirled and saw a helmet-less man in Lannister armour with golden hair and green eyes, wearing a Witcher medallion, sword in hand.

“Tygett, I presume.”

“Oh, the songs they’ll write about me, after I kill you. I wonder what they’ll call me.” He chuckled. “Wolfsbane?”

“Your sister has asked us to spare any of her family we find.” Beric said, evenly. “As she’s good woman and a great fuck, I plan not to disappoint her.”

“What do you say of my sister?” Tygett fumed, pointing his sword at Beric.

“That she’s a great fuck.” He answered honestly. “She has a body built for sin and the enthusiasm of a lusty wench.”

Tygett roared in a fury and aimed an overhead slash and Beric’s head. He side-stepped, crouched and brought his pommel down onto Tygett’s bent knee, hearing a crunch. Tygett grunted in pain and Beric rolled away and rose to his feet.

Then came a relentless assault, cutting high, then low, then a point thrust. Though it seemed he was hampered by his injured knee. Tygett was certainly quick, there was no denying his strength and skill. Yet he let his anger get the better of him, it seemed.

Beric thought back to his lessons with Samara. “You must learn to rule your feelings, lest they rule you.” Giving into anger clouds one’s judgment.

“A Witcher should keep a tighter grip on himself.” Beric told Tygett as he ducked under one blow, and parried another. “If you were thinking properly right now,” Tygett rushed forward, trying to push him over, but Beric spun to the side and Tygett missed him entirely, stumbling on his weakened knee into a particularly deep and wet patch of mud.

Beric used Aard to knock him on his arse, the Lannister fell with a wet squelch.

“You’d notice that I was drawing you into a trap.” He finished, pressing his sword point to Tygett’s neck. “Do you yield?”

Tygett gritted his teeth and looked like he understood how foolish he was. “…Yes.” He mumbled.

“You are now my prisoner.” Beric helped him out of the mud. “And I wasn’t lying about your sister.” He said earnestly. “She really is a great fuck.”

Tygett punched him. Strangely, Ygritte’s blow had hurt him more.

“You yielded…” Beric pointed his sword at the Lannister again when he recovered.

Tygett raised his hands. “Allow a man his brotherly duty.”

Beric rolled his eyes and called Roach, they both took in the battle field. It seemed the battle had left them both behind. The northerners had formed up again, bloodied but ready for more. The Lannisters were worse off, but not by too much.

It seemed like both forces were steadily retreating from each other. Most of the Lannister dragons had been scared off south, with some of the Stark dragons having to land behind their lines. Though in the distance, Beric could see Moonholwer flying after a smaller dragon.

“Seems your side is retreating, Tyggie.” Beric chuckled.

“Yours too.” Tygett retorted. “And don’t call me Tyggie.”

“Where the fuck did Tywin get dragons from?” Beric asked as he mounted his saddle.

Tygett set his face sternly. “Military secret. I can’t reveal that.”

“As you like.” Beric reach out and helped Tygett onto his saddle and began riding back to the Stark lines.

“What the fuck are those loud things that shoot fire and smoke?” Tygett asked as they passed the smaller hill.

Beric smirked. “Military secret. I can’t reveal that.”

Tygett’s groan conveyed just how much he regretted yielding.

********

Jon was in a rage as he flew after the last dragon. The battle hadn’t been a defeat, but it was not a victory either. Many lives had been lost and as it turned out, House Lannister had more dragons on the field than House Stark did!

He’d managed to chase one of the smaller dragons north, away from the rest of the Lannister forces. As soon as the battle begun, he’d tried to warg into the Lannister dragons and take control. They all seemed to be wearing jewelled headpieces that thrummed with magic, somehow blocking him from the dragon minds.

With warging blocked, they had no choice but to fight the Lannister dragons. They were smaller, yet there was many more of them. Jon remembered seeing Osric’s dragon taking more than a few wounds. They had tried to focus on Sansa too, but Jon had always been there to defend her with Moonhowler.

His dragon was a behemoth and as Jon himself was immune to burning, there was little the Lannister dragons could do to him. All dragons were immune to fire, but none of the enemy dragons were immune to the cold. He’d counted at least a dozen dragons when they first appeared, and four of them had died in the battle.

He needed to capture the last dragonrider. He needed to know if the Lannisters had other dragons. The smaller dragon had a wounded wing. It was flying closer and closer to the treetops. Jon hurled a fireball or two from above, they hit the dragon and it cried out under the force of the blows. It was young and lacked the stamina for battle. Eventually it fell to the earth, exhausted, it’s rider thrown from it’s back.

Moonhowler set down next to it, putting a foot on the tired younger dragon. Jon leaped from his dragon and pulled off the jewelled headpiece. With it’s mind unprotected, sending it to sleep was easy.

Then Jon was left with the man in the golden armour. He was short and clearly winded after the fall. He stumbled to his feet, looked at Jon, then his dragon, then he started running in the other direction.

“Hey! Stop!” Jon shouted as he broke into a sprint after him.

Jon quickly caught up, tackling them man in gold to the ground. They rolled together, eventually Jon was on top, he held one arm down and got the other beneath his knee. Jon raised his free hand, a ball of fire coalescing in it.

“I could burn your fucking head off.” He said. “Yield.”

The man kept struggling. Jon ripped off the man’s helmet and was met with a surprise. The man was not a man at all. He was a woman. Quite a beautiful woman, with distinctly Valyrian features.

“Who are you?”