Branches rustled in the breeze, and the moon slowly moved across the sky, casting a cold light.
Silence ruled the night.
Suddenly, an intense commotion erupted on the north bank of the Tumblestone River. A series of torches lit up, racing into the Lannister camp like fiery snakes. The flames licked at numerous tents, then ignited a blazing inferno.
Shouts of battle and screams instantly filled the sky.
Eddard knew that Ser Brynden, the "Blackfish," had launched a night raid.
They took advantage of the enemy's deep sleep, cleared the obstacles that might impede cavalry, and, armed with swords and torches, crossed the ditches and swarmed in, killing anyone they encountered. The sleeping Westerlands soldiers had no power to resist.
It was a one-sided slaughter.
As for the western camp, Eddard couldn't see it due to Riverrun's obstruction.
He waited patiently.
About ten minutes later, shouting erupted from the west, mixed with the booming of trebuchets.
It seemed the defenders of Riverrun had noticed the reinforcements and were assisting in the battle.
With the Lannister army caught in a pincer, the outcome was all but certain.
At that moment, several dark figures darted from Ser Foeller's camp. They quickly split into two teams, galloped toward the battlefield, and returned minutes later.
No close observation was needed—the camps were ablaze. A night raid was obvious.
The situation was beyond saving.
The Lannister camp turned chaotic, full of shouting and flashing lights.
Even from afar, Eddard could tell Ser Foeller was preparing to act.
Soldiers in gold and crimson armor spilled from the camp, quickly forming into a square.
Pikemen in iron-studded leather placed shields at the front and lowered their pikes.
Archers in boiled leather gathered behind them, ready to fire.
The entire formation looked like a giant hedgehog, creeping forward through the dark.
Its most vulnerable flank was hidden on the western side.
It was impossible for 2,000 pikemen to fully protect 2,000 archers. If Ser Foeller tried, the formation would be like a dumpling with thin skin and too much filling—easily broken by a cavalry charge.
Pikemen needed to form a thick crescent wall in front of the archers to block enemies.
Once engaged, trained pikemen could adjust formation to redirect their pikes. Archers could fire with only a pivot.
Ser Foeller's formation matched that design.
The square hesitated at the camp gates, then moved toward the southern farmland.
Suddenly, a large banner in the camp fell.
If there were no surprises, the Tyroshi mercenaries had defected.
Eddard watched without emotion. Whether Tyroshi or Foeller, this matched the original timeline.
The forest preparations were just a backup plan.
His father's forces were the main event.
And just as Ser Foeller's formation marched along the river...
In the darkness, a cavalry unit emerged east of the Red Fork. Hooves thundered like a storm. The shadowy force charged toward the ford.
At their speed, they would intercept Foeller's formation.
Eddard's eyes widened. This wasn't part of his plan—his father couldn't have mustered so many riders.
Even if he had, he wouldn't deploy them this way.
If forced into retreat, the enemy would slip away through the forest. His strategy of "every bush a soldier" wouldn't work on foes desperate to flee.
Which House in the North dared act this recklessly?
Eddard stared at the moonlit Lannister formation.
As expected!
Seeing a cavalry charge incoming, Ser Foeller's formation reacted. The pikemen adjusted quickly, spearpoints forward, slowly retreating alongside the archers.
But tight formations are vulnerable while moving—weaknesses grew as they retreated.
Still, they successfully pivoted, preparing to escape east into the woods.
Eddard frowned.
Whether his bluff would work was now a gamble.
If the enemy charged, his six cavalry and 100 archers would need to flee. Holding ground meant suicide.
Eddard, recently killed by a dump truck, wasn't eager to die again.
Under the cold moonlight, Lannister armor approached. Sweat broke across Eddard's face. Enemies were within range. He waved his hand twice. His five riders moved their horses slowly through the forest.
Each horse dragged long ropes behind them, stirring bushes to simulate movement.
Startled birds burst into flight.
A hundred archers hidden in the branches let fly a concentrated volley.
They aimed to fire the most arrows in the shortest time.
No pacing. No caution. Just the illusion of a massive ambush.
"Swish! Swish! Swish!"
Dozens of soldiers fell instantly. Armor saved some; others screamed.
"I'm hit!" "Help!"
Others shouted warnings.
"Ambush! Archers!"
The confusion caused archers to stop and search for threats.
Two other camps were already ablaze. They had been driven here by cavalry and now were being hit from the forest.
Even Ser Foeller stood dumbfounded.
His intelligence suggested the Northmen had left Karhold. He had no idea they'd split.
The news of Lord Tywin's victory over Roose Bolton hadn't yet arrived.
To Ser Foeller, the enemy force could number 20,000—between Stark's army and Frey's men.
A night raid, plus an ambush, meant disaster.
He had to overcome the fear of being outnumbered.
And then, the Karstark cavalry crossed the ford, galloping straight at the stunned Lannister force.
The front-line pikemen sweated, eyes locked ahead.
They watched the direwolf banner flutter under the moon.
Unaware of the chaos behind them.
Tight formations meant soldiers were shoulder to shoulder. Retreating pikemen collided with archers.
Some tripped. Some knocked others over. And the front kept moving.
A small disruption became a line, then a ripple, then half the formation was affected.
Finally, Ser Foeller snapped out of it.
"Maintain formation!" he roared.
His guards echoed the order.
But it was too late.
A good hedgehog formation became a tangled mess.
Pikes pointed up or clattered to the ground. Some flew into friendly ranks.
Still, these were veterans. They obeyed orders through fear. Fallen comrades were lifted. Dropped pikes were replaced by short swords.
Deputy Commander Ser Selin of House Prester urged action:
"Ser Foeller, if we stay, we'll be surrounded. We need to break out!"
To the east—enemy cavalry.
To the west—unknown archers.
To the south—eerily silent.
To the north—a wide river.
Staying meant death.
Though the formation hadn't recovered, Foeller saw the approaching cavalry. Determined, he ordered:
"Advance into the forest!"
Better to engage infantry in woods than be trampled on the plain.
"Damn it," Eddard muttered.
The bluff failed.
He couldn't expect six cavalry and a hundred archers to stop 4,000.
As he prepared to retreat, another cavalry force emerged from the south.
They rode along the forest's edge, charging the weakest flank of the Lannister formation.
A black banner bearing a white sunburst star glinted under the moon.
House Karstark.
"Charge!" shouted Earl Rickard Karstark, his spear flashing forward.
It pierced a young soldier's face. Blood sprayed as the body crumpled.
Rickard and his heavy cavalry formed the tip of the wedge.
Over 200 light cavalry followed, trampling through the stunned Lannister lines.
Archers panicked and scattered as the riders arrived.
Spears pierced chests. Swords slit throats. Horses crushed anyone in their path.
Caught between two charges and forest fire, the Lannister lines collapsed.
One-third of their forces were down in minutes. The archers on the forest-facing side suffered worst.
Dead soldiers littered the ground. Archers fled and disrupted the ranks, revealing Ser Foeller's banner.
Under the banner, a dozen men stood dumbfounded.
Too many surprises.
"Mount up! Mount up!"
Eddard, seeing his father seize the moment, felt his blood boil.
He grabbed his reins, mounted, and roared:
"What's the point of running?! Let's kill Ser Foeller! Let my father and that foolish Young Wolf see!"
He glanced at Karas Snow, Lando, Dita Kalander, Mam, and Abel Qashtak. All were ready.
He raised his lance and pointed to the Prester banner.
"Brothers, see that banner? Charge! Follow me!"
He led the way, galloping out of the forest.
The five followed, nervous but resolute.
Ser Foeller stood in the crowd issuing orders, armored in chain and plate, steel shining under the moon.
He looked rich—and very visible.
Eddard locked on to him.
"You think your wealth makes you mighty? Today, I'll show you that all men are equal beneath the lance!"