The cool forest wind of forests clawed at the crimson velvet of Jaime Lannister's cloak as he led his two thousand men through the forested valley north of Tumblestone. It was a cool morning with high wind that smelled of pine trees. Jaime kept his eyes moving, constantly scanning the path ahead, half-expecting the ground to open into a spike pit or for the branches overhead to fall right onto them.
He glanced sideways at Ser Addam Marbrand, his childhood friend. Addam, usually quick to laugh, had been riding quiet and tense for miles, the steel of his breastplate gleaming dully beneath his orange burning tree on a smoke-grey field colour, surcoat.
"Is something wrong, Ser Addam?" Jaime asked in his light voice, carrying the hint of a drawl he use when he wants to look most relaxed. He wanted to draw his companion out of his melancholy and wanted to break the crushing silence.
Addam shook himself in a sudden and stiff motion. "Nothing's wrong, Ser Jaime. Just… thinking." He tightens his grip on the reins. "It's Lord Randyll's counter, that's all. It saved us from a disaster that none of us could have foreseen."
Jaime smirks, shaking his head with a trace of weary amusement. "Good thing we sent fearsome and ruthless Lord Mace Tyrell back to King's Landing for his daughter's marriage, and called for Lord Randyll from Harrenhal." A few knights riding nearby chuckled, the small sound quickly dispersing in the wind. Addam gets a ghost of a smile on his lips before falling silent again, some thoughts pressing on his chest like ill-fitted armor.
Jaime nudged his mount closer until their saddles almost touched. "You're still thinking too hard. What is it, Addam? Speak the thought or it'll fester."
Addam starts in a small voice, clearly meaning only Ser Jaime to hear of it. "I remember the day the lords of the Reach knelt to Robert Baratheon in the Red Keep. Many did so in fear of the King Robert Baratheon's wrath or of your father's ire. But Lord Randyll Tarly… his face, Ser Jaime. It was cold enough that had looks alone been able to kill, the Lannisters and Baratheons might have gone extinct that day."
Jaime arches his blond brows and asks slowly. "You think this is some ploy of his? That he means to deliver us to the wolf's cub?"
Addam shakes his head in denial in a decisive motion this time. "No, It's no ploy. His troops ride with other Reach lord under the cover of forest. He saw the trap we could not, a masterstroke of an ambush by the Northmen, worthy of the Kingswood Brotherhood. Riding through this silence now, I can feel it, the ambush incoming. What I do not understand is why he would save the Crown's forces… when he gains nothing. No titles, no extra favor with Tyrells or Lannisters. Nothing, so what does he prove by this?"
Jaime's grin faded, replaced by a cold thoughtfulness that made his green eyes eerily similar like his father. "He wants nothing from us, Addam. He only wants to prove his own strength in dictating the battlefield and his loyalty, to his own severe, distorted sense of honor. My father knows that man and so does other Reach lords especially Olenna Tyrell, they would never allow that man to gain power in any manner over anything. Yet… what he proved in our last meeting is dangerous in itself. It proves he is the only one whose sight is clear and that the rest of us are children playing at war."
Their further conversation ends with sound of hooves in thousand echoing in the valley.
A motion in a sudden and unnatural rustle ran through their flanks in the forested valley. Before Jaime could shout a warning, riders in Stark colors, grey and white, broke from the treeline, howling their war cries. Almost simultaneously, arrows hissed in from the flanks.
"Raise the shields!" Ser Addam's voice was like a kraken's call, cutting through the sudden din. Lannister men, drilled and trained until they moved as one, plated their shoulders and raised their great, iron-rimmed kite shields just in time as bolts thudded into trunks and the painted wood.
Jaime places a hand on Addam's shoulder, in a gesture that was thanks to his taking over in command before any damage could have been done. "Looks like we have Ser Randyll to thank for his prudence."
Addam nodded grimly, already drawing his longsword. "Karstarks from the north, Starks and Freys from the west, Mormonts, Mallisters, and Umbers from the east." He muttered looking on the three sides, shocked by the lengths that rebels have gone to bury them here.
Above them, on a high rocky ridge, Catelyn Stark sat beneath a wind-battered pine, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white, praying all goes well as his son had planned. Hallis Mollen, captain of Winterfell guard comes up beside her, his face taut with anticipation.
"My lady, it seems Ser Jaime has fallen for it," he whispered, the sound tight.
Catelyn rose, the cold and fast wind whipping her auburn hair around her face, as she watches her son's strategy unfold. The valley below was a crucible of crimson and grey, a wild and brutal surging tide of horse and steel. The Lannisters were trapped from three directions, a classic box trap, but Hallis's next whisper made her heart stop in her chest.
"Something's wrong, my lady… they are not panicking."
She looked around and saw it: a second wave of banners, bearing the green and yellow of the Reach and the red and gold of the Westerlands, riding hard through the same woods from which her sons had launched their ambush. They struck the sides, Westerland banners hitting Starks and Freys on west flanks and the Reach Houses hitting Umbers, Mormonts and Mallisters on east flanks, right on the rear of both.
"They created an ambush over our own," Hallis breathed, his voice hollowed by shock.
Down in the valley, Robb Stark's heart started to beat loudly, feeling a thrill and a chill at once. The valley become a chaos soon, and Robb could see his men guiding his way in the deep.
Jaime Lannister's breath came in sharp gasps, as he scan the battlefield with his narrow eyes as his men scramble to form a desperate, hedgehog-like defensive line to hold the three fronts. He caught sight of the rebel banners on the eastern flank bending and breaking beneath the Reach's sudden onslaught, and his stomach clenched with a grim understanding.
"By the gods…" he mutters, a prayer spoken after so many years, understanding what his forces could have faced if not for Lord Tarly's plan. This was not some green-boy they were facing but a wolf. He spurred forward, sword drawn, hacking at a Mallister man who sought to press through a gap in the defensive line. Blood splashed across his golden gauntlet as the man's lifeless body fell away.
In the valley, Robb Stark rode at the head of his men, eyes bright with fury. The Lannister line appeared vulnerable, but the new sound of rumble from behind them made his stomach churn. He spurred his horse, turning slightly to see the banners bearing Westerland Houses coming down the very path his men had taken.
Olyvar Frey rode beside him, urgency in his cry. "Lord Robb! We must retreat! It's a trap on top of our trap!"
Robb's jaw tightened seeing the ambush from rear closing in and shouted loudly over the shrieks and battle cries. "Cut through their lines only on the flanks, don't go deep, just sideways. Keep going with the momentum, don't stop."
Robb ignored him them and started to tear through the sidelines of the battle, careful to avoid overcommitting to the main line. A knight fell beneath his blade, then another as he parried a thrust from a one with a spun, and drove his blade through the knight's side, a man in dented anonymous rich mail and armour. The man cried out, twisting beneath in his horse. Robb did not look away and yanked the man through his belt, dragging him onto his saddle, slumping him against his chest. He seemed conscious, but too injured and dazed to resist. The chaos across the battlefield swallowed all chance of identification, the captive although an unnecessary weight seemed far more useful as a shield. He held him tight and rode, weaving between his men toward the relative safety of the ridge.
Olyvar Frey comes beside him, his young face pale with news. "Lord Robb! The Reach is breaking the eastern flank, and Lord Karstark is being hard-pressed!"
Robb turns to Olyvar, his face set and commanded in sharp voice. "Go tell Lord Karstark to strike hard if possible and draw as much blood as he can, then fall back to the Twins."
Olyvar hesitates, fear and confusion warring in his eyes. "But… what of the Mormonts, Mallisters, and Umbers on the east? They'll be cut off."
Robb closes his eyes for a heartbeat, forcing himself to weigh lives of many against the few. The choice was like blade twisting in his gut, and it was the most difficult one. "Do what you can to signal the east flank. If they cannot break free from ambush of the Reach, their lives will cover our retreat. Follow my orders now, we survive and we get fight for another day."
Olyvar nods, spurring his horse northward, weaving between the chaos to carry the terrible orders while Robb starts tearing through the sides, the captured knight slumped against him, barely able to breathe. His blade remained drawn, his eyes searching for a retreat.