Chapter 7: The Young Wolf's Shadow
The Whispering Wood earned its name from the way wind moved through ancient oaks, creating sounds like distant voices sharing secrets. As dawn broke over the forest, those whispers would soon be drowned by the clash of steel and the screams of dying men.
I crouched in the underbrush, watching Lannister scouts make their final preparations before the battle that would change everything. Jaime Lannister's advance force was walking into a trap—Robb's army lay hidden throughout the wood, waiting for the perfect moment to spring their ambush.
But even the best plans could benefit from a little... adjustment.
The first Lannister patrol passed within twenty feet of my hiding spot, their red cloaks bright against the green shadows. Professional soldiers, well-armed and experienced, but they had no idea they were being watched by enhanced eyes that could track their every movement.
More importantly, they had no idea their equipment had been sabotaged.
"Seven hells," muttered the patrol leader, scratching frantically at his neck. "Something's gotten into my mail. Feels like fire ants."
His men were having similar problems. Armor that had been fine yesterday now seemed to itch constantly, mail shirts that felt like they were lined with nettles, helmets that made their heads burn. The itching powder I'd introduced to their gear during yesterday's chaos was finally taking effect.
[Pre-Battle Sabotage: Phase 1 Activated]
[Enemy Morale: -25% due to discomfort]
[Combat Effectiveness: Reduced by constant distraction]
[Stealth Bonus: Enemies focused on personal misery]
But the real masterpiece was the false intelligence I'd planted.
I watched as a Lannister sergeant unfolded a map—one I'd carefully doctored during my night raids on their camp. The positions of Robb's forces were marked, but incorrectly. Instead of showing the true ambush sites, the map suggested the northern army was concentrated in a valley half a mile south.
"According to this," the sergeant was saying, "the Stark boy has his men deployed in open ground. Thinks he can meet us in honorable battle like his father would have."
"Young fool," laughed another soldier. "Ser Jaime will cut through them like wheat."
They had no idea they were marching into a killing ground where two thousand northern warriors waited in perfect concealment. The false intelligence would ensure Jaime's forces entered the wood with confidence, unprepared for the reality of what awaited them.
[False Intelligence: Successfully Deployed]
[Enemy Tactical Planning: Completely Compromised]
[Ambush Effectiveness: +50% due to enemy overconfidence]
I slipped away from the patrol, moving deeper into the wood where Robb's forces lay hidden. The northern army was impressive—disciplined soldiers who understood forest warfare, led by lords who had fought in Robert's Rebellion. They knew how to wait, how to strike from concealment, how to turn terrain into a weapon.
And at their heart was Grey Wind.
Robb's direwolf paced restlessly near his master's position, silver-grey fur almost glowing in the dappled sunlight. The beast was magnificent—six feet long and built for killing, with intelligence that went far beyond any normal wolf.
But Grey Wind was restrained by a chain, held back while the human armies maneuvered into position. That was tactically sound but missed opportunities for psychological warfare. Nothing broke cavalry formations like a giant wolf appearing among the horses.
Time to fix that oversight.
I moved through the underbrush until I reached the tree where Grey Wind's chain was secured. The lock was solid iron, but I had tools—a thin file I'd liberated from Harrenhal's smithy, picks made from bent nails, techniques learned in another life where such skills had been necessary.
The lock opened with a soft click.
I didn't free the direwolf completely—that would have been too obvious. Instead, I weakened the chain at a specific link, creating a failure point that would break under stress. When the moment came for Grey Wind to act, nothing would hold him back.
[Tactical Preparation: Grey Wind Liberation Protocol]
[Chain Integrity: Compromised at optimal stress point]
[Psychological Warfare: Direwolf terror tactics available]
The sound of horns echoed through the forest—Jaime's army was approaching. I moved to my final position, a hilltop overlooking the killing ground where the ambush would unfold.
From here, I could see everything. Jaime Lannister rode at the head of his column, golden armor gleaming, confident and deadly. Behind him came three thousand men—infantry, cavalry, archers. A force that should have been sufficient to crush any opposition.
They entered the Whispering Wood like lambs walking into a slaughterhouse.
The attack began with arrows.
A thousand northern archers opened fire simultaneously, their shafts falling like deadly rain on the Lannister column. Men screamed and fell, horses reared and bolted, formations collapsed into chaos as death fell from the sky.
But this was just the beginning.
Robb Stark burst from concealment with a roar that seemed to shake the trees themselves, Grey Wind at his side, northern warriors streaming from every shadow and glade. The ambush was perfect—the Lannisters were caught in a valley with no escape routes, surrounded by enemies who knew every tree and rock.
"For the North! For Ned Stark!"
The battle cry echoed through the wood as steel rang against steel. This was northern warfare at its finest—brutal, efficient, designed to break enemy morale as much as enemy bodies.
And that's when I made my first direct intervention.
Jaime Lannister was fighting his way toward Robb, his sword carving through northern soldiers like they were made of paper. The Kingslayer was everything the stories claimed—fast, strong, deadly, a warrior who could turn the tide of battle through pure skill.
He was also riding straight toward a patch of ground where I'd spilled oil from a broken wagon.
The golden stallion's hooves hit the slick surface and went out from under it, sending horse and rider crashing to the forest floor. Jaime rolled clear, but his mount was down, screaming with a broken leg.
[Tactical Intervention: Successful]
[Enemy Commander: Dismounted and vulnerable]
[Battle Momentum: Shifted toward northern forces]
But Jaime was still dangerous on foot. He fought like a cornered lion, his sword a blur of steel that held back a dozen attackers. He was actually carving his way toward freedom when Grey Wind's weakened chain finally snapped.
The direwolf hit the battle like a force of nature.
Six feet of muscle and fang moving faster than any horse, Grey Wind tore through Lannister formations with predatory efficiency. Horses screamed and bolted at the sight of him, men dropped their weapons and ran, and the few brave enough to stand and fight discovered that armor meant nothing to jaws that could crush skulls.
"Seven hells!" Jaime cursed, backing away from the advancing wolf. "What is that thing?"
"That's Grey Wind," Robb said, appearing through the chaos with his sword bloody and his crown slightly askew. "And you're finished, Kingslayer."
The battle lasted another ten minutes, but the outcome was decided the moment Grey Wind entered the fray. The Lannister forces broke completely, survivors fleeing into the deeper woods where northern hunters would track them down one by one.
Jaime Lannister, the most dangerous knight in Westeros, knelt in the mud with his hands bound and his golden armor dented.
[Battle of Whispering Wood: Decisive Northern Victory]
[Prisoners Taken: 847 Lannister soldiers]
[Key Prisoner: Jaime Lannister (High Value)]
[Northern Casualties: 156 (75% reduction from original timeline)]
But my work wasn't finished. Victory could be as dangerous as defeat if handled incorrectly, and I could already see the bloodlust in some of the northern soldiers' eyes. Men drunk on triumph, looking at valuable prisoners and seeing only enemies to be executed.
That couldn't be allowed to happen.
I moved through the aftermath like a ghost, whispering suggestions to key figures, planting ideas that would preserve the lives I needed to save.
"Lord Karstark," I said to Rickard Karstark as he stood over a wounded Lannister knight, "His Grace might want to question this one. He wears a sigil I don't recognize—could be valuable intelligence."
The older lord paused, his sword halfway to a killing stroke. The wounded knight was actually Ser Addam Marbrand, one of Jaime's most trusted commanders and a man who would be crucial for future prisoner exchanges.
"Aye," Karstark said slowly. "Better to let His Grace decide."
[Prisoner Preservation: Ser Addam Marbrand]
[Future Exchange Value: High]
[Strategic Asset: Retained]
I moved to the next group, where younger soldiers were arguing over the fate of captured Lannister men-at-arms. These weren't knights or nobles—just common soldiers who'd followed their lords to war. But some of them would become important in ways that weren't yet apparent.
"Greatjon's looking for men to help with the wounded," I told them, pointing toward where the massive lord was organizing medical care. "Says any man who can walk should be helping, not standing around talking."
The soldiers scattered to help with more immediate tasks, leaving the prisoners under guard but alive. Small interventions, but they would ripple through future events in ways no one could imagine.
[Mass Prisoner Preservation: 147 soldiers]
[Karma Bank: +73 points for preserving lives]
[Ripple Effect: Multiple future timeline improvements]
The real test came with the Brave Companions.
I spotted them before most people realized what they were—sell-swords and cutthroats who'd been hired by Tywin Lannister but would switch sides the moment it became profitable. In the original timeline, they would eventually torture and mutilate prisoners for sport, become a cancer within northern forces.
Time to mark them for special attention.
I approached their leader, a scarred man with gold teeth who was already eyeing Lannister purses. "Fine work today," I said conversationally. "Though I heard some of the lords talking about... irregularities in the fighting."
"What kind of irregularities?" Gold Teeth asked, suddenly wary.
"Men who fought a bit too carefully. Like they knew which way the battle was going to go." I shrugged. "Probably nothing. Just paranoid northern lords seeing conspiracies everywhere."
I planted similar suggestions with other groups, creating a cloud of suspicion around the Brave Companions without making direct accusations. By the time we made camp, they would be under careful watch by men who had good reason to distrust sellswords.
[Enemy Faction: Brave Companions Marked for Surveillance]
[Future Betrayal: Prevention protocols initiated]
[Internal Security: Significantly enhanced]
As the sun began to set over the Whispering Wood, I stood on the same hilltop where I'd watched the battle unfold. Below, northern soldiers were celebrating their victory while prisoners were secured and wounded were tended.
Robb Stark moved among his men like a true king, sharing their triumph while ensuring proper treatment of captives. At sixteen, he already understood that how you treated enemies said as much about your character as how you treated friends.
Grey Wind padded at his side, the direwolf's presence a reminder that House Stark commanded more than just human loyalty. The old blood ran strong in the North, and with it came bonds that went deeper than mere feudal obligation.
[Mission Objectives: Achieved]
[Battle Outcome: Optimal for northern forces]
[Prisoner Management: Successful preservation of key assets]
[Grey Wind Protocol: Perfectly executed]
[Strategic Position: Northern advantage significantly enhanced]
But as I prepared to slip away into the growing darkness, I felt eyes watching me. Not the casual attention of soldiers or the measured observation of officers, but something more intense. More dangerous.
Roose Bolton stood at the edge of the firelight, his pale gaze fixed directly on my position. Even at this distance, I could see the calculating intelligence in those colorless eyes, the way he studied my movements like a hunter tracking prey.
He knew. Maybe not everything, but he knew something was wrong. Patterns that shouldn't exist, coincidences that defied explanation, results that seemed too perfect to be natural.
The Leech Lord was patient, methodical, and absolutely ruthless. He would keep watching, keep analyzing, until he found the answers he sought.
But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, Robb Stark had won his first great victory, and the War of Five Kings had taken a dramatically different turn than anyone expected.
The Young Wolf had tasted blood, and winter was coming for House Lannister.
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