Hearing Jaime's taunt, Robb Stark's face contorted with rage. He spurred his horse forward, protected by his own guard, and shouted back across the field, "The bastard Joffrey on the Iron Throne is no king of mine! He's the spawn of your incest with Cersei, not King Robert's son! He has no right to rule! You Lannister filth murdered my father, and I will see every last one of you hang for it!"
The accusation of incest, thrown in his face before tens of thousands of men, made Jaime's face flush with shame and fury. "Damn you, traitor!" he roared. "If you will not repent, then I will take your head myself!"
"Attack!" Jaime Lannister drew his sword, held it high, and gave the order.
In his eyes, Robb was just a boy, fresh from his mother's teat. He believed a single, overwhelming charge would send the northern army scattering in terror. Months of easy victories in the Riverlands had made him arrogant; he held the armies of the North and the Riverlands in contempt, especially one led by a green boy who had never seen a real battlefield.
Seeing the Lannister army advance, Robb drew his own sword and gave the command to charge.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
The war horns blared as tens of thousands of horsemen surged forward like a tidal wave. The ground trembled under the thunder of hooves, a roar like an earthquake swallowing all other sound. The golden torrent of the Westerlands smashed into the grey tide of the Northmen.
The world dissolved into a cacophony of screams, shattering steel, and the thunderous clash of men and horses.
On the left flank, Jon Snow led Lord Jason's one thousand cavalrymen. Before the two sides met, he gave the order. "Archers! Nock! Draw! Loose!"
A thousand arrows from advanced compound bows hissed through the air, their range and power far exceeding those of the Lannister longbows. The volley crashed into the charging western cavalry before they could even draw their own bows, sending hundreds of men screaming from their saddles. A second volley followed, tearing another gap in their formation.
The Lannister return fire was sporadic and ineffective. Their arrows glanced harmlessly off the modern-style armor and riot helmets worn by Jason's men.
As the lines met, Jon saw the chaos his archers had wrought. The enemy's charge was broken, their horses stumbling over the bodies of the fallen. "Swords!" he bellowed, drawing his own blade. "Charge!"
Jason's cavalry tore into the disordered Lannister ranks. Their superior steel swords shattered the blades of the western knights, cutting them down with terrifying ease. Jon swung his sword and took the head of a Lannister soldier in a spray of gore. The hot blood splashed across his face, and in that moment, the boy was gone, replaced by a fierce and blood-soaked warrior. He wiped the blood from his eyes and led his men on another devastating charge through the crumbling flank.
While the left flank was being annihilated, the battle on the right was a brutal, grinding stalemate, with both sides locked in a desperate struggle.
From the center, Jaime Lannister saw his left flank collapsing and knew the battle was lost if he did nothing. With no reserves to send, he made a desperate choice: he would strike at the head of the wolf.
"With me!" he roared, gathering his personal guard. "We take Robb Stark!"
Hundreds of his best knights formed a wedge behind him, and they charged directly toward Robb's banner, cutting a bloody path through the northern infantry.
Robb, meanwhile, was in the thick of the fighting, his blood singing with the thrill of his first battle. He was fighting with a ferocity that bordered on recklessness, his face flushed with excitement.
Theon Greyjoy, who had witnessed battle during his father's rebellion, was more clear-headed. He saw the Kingslayer's banner charging straight for them. "Robb!" he shouted, grabbing his friend's arm. "The Kingslayer is coming for you! You're the commander, you can't be on the front lines!"
Theon's warning snapped Robb out of his battle lust. He looked up and saw Jaime's golden armor bearing down on them. He instantly understood the danger. "To me!" he commanded, raising his bloody sword. "Guard the banner! Stop the Kingslayer!"
His household guard, made up of the sons of his northern lords, rallied around him, forming a tight ring of steel. Jaime's ferocious charge slammed into them, and the center of the battlefield became a chaotic maelstrom of hacking swords and desperate courage as both commanders fought for their lives.
Jason, meanwhile, was protected by his fifty heavily armed guards. He had deliberately positioned them on a quiet corner of the battlefield, engaging in small skirmishes but staying well away from the deadly chaos in the middle. Survival always came first.
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