39 Battle of Riverrun

Spyglass peering, Jaime felt a foreboding feeling in his gut. Nothing of a rational sort, for his army greatly outnumbered the Bastard of Winterfell. It was more instinct. A primal sense of danger that giving battle may not have been the best option.

"I don't fucking like this." Apparently, Bronn had the same idea. "Where are the fucking dragons?" There was no sight of the great beasts, nor the dragon queen. "That cunt Snow is there on his horse, but his Queen ain't. Don't like this one fucking bit."

"Quit your bellyaching, sellsword scum." Randyll Tarly was just as blunt as Bronn, if more reserved. He peered on the enemy lines himself, studying them. "Snow is no fool. Unsullied spearmen on his left flank, Vale Knights on the right. He's protecting his flanks well."

A snort came from the older man, armor gleaming in the sun and body still as fit as it was decades before. "Bah," Tygett Lannister spat. "Any of my men are worth five mountain rock-fuckers, or twenty Essosi slaves. Send me at them and I'll bring the hammer down." Tarly glared at him. "Oh what now, Lord Stick up His Ass. The dragons? We have scorpions positioned among our forces. That whore would be stupid to even try!"

The Lannister forces were arranged in classic blocks, four in total. Anchoring the right were the elite Westerlands infantry formations - armored to the hilt, equipped with the best of weapons. They had fought Robb Stark in the Riverlands, Renly Baratheon in the Crownlands. Put down revolts from the southern Vale to the Stormlands. Marched through Dorne in an orgy of burning and killing. Some were even old enough to have battled Rhaegar Targaryen in Robert's Rebellion. Tygett Lannister commanded, wishing he were among the cavalry where the glory would be found.

In the center stood the Stormlands forces, chainmail tight across their bodies and pointed helmets strapped to their heads. Once loyal to Renly Baratheon and many having fought at Blackwater Rush under the stag banner, now they fought for their new Lord Tommen - and by extension King Joffrey, the Almighty Chimera. Loyalty to their commander Selwyn Tarth went far, but their Liege Lord lived ensconced in the Red Keep rather than at Storm's End. Was the Dragon Queen that the High Sparrow and Faith Militant preached was the greatest demon that could walk the earth truly such, or was the King they now served not deserving of such service? They readied themselves for battle either way.

On the Lannister left were the forces of the Reach and Riverlands, loyal to their new lords out of hate for the Tullys and Tyrells long dominant over them. Now they ruled the roost and had the arrogance to spare. Tinged among them was fear as well - all knew what happened to the Freys, poisoned to the last man by forces yet unknown. If they failed, the same surely awaited them. Randyll Tarly commanded here, ready to win glory against the foreign whore that invaded his beloved land.

And last was the cavalry. Nine thousand strong, the knights of the Realm waited for their part, to sweep all before them.

"Perhaps we should let them come at us." Selwyn Tarth spoke haltingly, silently praying that his beloved Brienne wasn't at the frontlines. "We hold the high ground, and will better withstand their arrows while stationary." Nods came from the war council apart from Tygett, who scoffed in derision.

Nodding finally, Jaime looked at the scowling Reachman. "Uncle, you get the cavalry." Pounding his chest, Tygett mounted his horse and rode off. The others quickly followed. Looking at Bronn, who remained with that knowing frown planted on his face, Jamie straightened his back. "I'm taking personal command of the right against the Unsullied. If they're as good as everyone says they are, then the men will fight best led by their commander."

"It's not too late to back out. Make them pursue." Not having a viable response, between his own commanders and Joffrey he had to attack, Jaime ignored the sellsword and set off for his mount.

Across the field, Jon eased his mount to a slow trot. So the Lannisters were readying themselves. 'Oh Kingslayer… you were likely goaded into this campaign and goaded into this battle.' Cocky confidence was not the normal countinance of the wolf, but he could feel the dragon roaring within him. One sated from centuries of martial tradition and victorious campaigns. This was a big one, and the Lannisters would be leading their lambs to the slaughter.

Outnumbered greatly, he had spread his forces thin to match the Lannister front. 'What I would give for some Dothraki, or more Vale Knights,' Jon thought, though confident in his plans. Facing against the elite of the Westerlands were his own crack troops - the Unsullied. Formed in a single deep host with thinner wings waiting to sweep around as jaws would around prey, their indefatigable courage in the face of death made them the best he had. Grey Worm would hold their left to the death.

In the center was Jon's only worry, though Theodosius promised he had no need to worry. Far lighter and less bloodied were the freedmen levies - many armed with ranged weapons such as slings and light bows. As densely packed in tight rows as the Unsullied, they shivered in the cold not known in the Ghiscari lands. Many offered a curse at the faraway lands they now fought in, but all were in high spirits. Their Queen, their Mysa, had given them the gift of their freedom. Till the death, they would fight for her against the knights they now faced.

And anchoring their right were the northerners and Tullys, burning bright for vengeance against their greatest foes. Now was no longer civil war. Now was the true chance to avenge the Red Wedding and finish the War of the Four Kings. Jon saw they were in the highest spirits of all. "Robb!" he called out, finding his brother at the head of the Northern/Tully wing, conversing with Lord Glover and Theodosius Caryn. He urged the horse to join them. "They're forming up on our right."

"Aye, they want us to attack." The Lord of Winterfell gazed at the gleaming rows of Lannister infantry. Such a cowering sight for any soldier, mentally intimidating for those that hadn't fought it or vanquished it. Robb had, victorious nearly every time but had still lost the war. He couldn't lose Jon's war. "Unlike at Winterfell, we want to charge as well."

"They'll wear us out," Lord Glover cautioned - a fear that many within the command structure echoed. "And they'll use their archers against us."

"Our archers are Essosi trained," replied Theodosius. "They can move and fire quickly while keeping pace behind the infantry. If we pause for a moment in the middle of the field, that should keep the exhaustion away." Other than their contingent of Vale cavalry, their forces were armored lightly. Unlike the Lannister forces, this gave them greater speed and endurance. "Are my weapons in position?"

Jon nodded. "You better hope they work as you reassured me, Lord Caryn." They had a lot riding on them - just about the only cog in the plan that Jon wasn't completely confident about.

"We all hope, your Grace." All knowing their part, the commanders spurred their horses to their respective commands. It was soon only Jon left in front of the men. There was no need for a speech, or something inspiring as was written in the bards or ancient epics. Jon merely nodded at the men, waving his hand at the Northern bannermen. The men knew their duty and would do it honorably, the northern way.

"Give em hells, White Wolf!" shouted one man, a bearded veteran carrying an axe.

"Gods save the White Wolf!"

"White wolf! White wolf! White Wolf!" They cheered him as he rode to his position at the edge of the line. He was one of them, a Northerner despite his Targaryen heritage. His men knew him, they fought for him. They knew those that fought for him. Unlike the others in the Targaryen Combined Army, he had nothing to prove. His life had taught him nothing but humility, but Gods, it felt exhilarating.

'Be ready, my love. You know what to do.'

Gingerly avoiding the still squelching patches of riverbank, Dany watched as Edderon greedily lapped at the rushing waters of the Trident. "Drink up, my child." She gently stroked his neck while the white-grey dragon sated his thirst. "You need your strength." A loud splash startled her as Edderon roared - what fear that they were being attacked was soon dissipated. Balerion emerged from the river with a sturgeon in his jaws, gulping it down. Dany let out a laugh. They bickered just like their brother and sister, just like Jon and his siblings.

Turning her head, she noticed the third unnaturally quiet. "Rheagal," Dany cooed, approaching him. His eyes looked lethargically at her, still lying flat on the ground. She leaned on his scales, hugging his snout. "I know. I'm worried about him too." Jon was, arguably, the most skilled warrior in the Seven Kingdoms. But everything that could go wrong would go wrong in battle. Flashes swarmed through her mind - an arrow piercing his skull, a sword slicing his head off, a lance running Jon through the stomach… She hugged Rhaegal tighter. "He'll be fine. Jon's a fighter. He will return."

Growling softly, suddenly Rhaegal's eyes widened and he hooted. Twin hoots left Balerion and Edderon. Anyone would wonder what they were thinking - anyone but Dany. The message was loud and clear for her. 'I am. I am ready, husband.' One hour. In one hour they would fly.

A cold breeze fluttered across the river valley. The rush of the River Trident filling the still air, the sudden cool spell had frozen the mud and firmed up the ground. Good omen or bad… it was all up to the various troops strung around the field. Banners fluttered in the wind, various sigils but the majority being the golden lion of House Lannister reared in a mighty roar or the combined direwolf/dragon of the union of Houses Stark and Targaryen, ready to bring Fire and Ice upon their enemies.

Several horns blew over the landscape and Robb Stark, Theodosius Caryn, and Grey Worm led their men forward in a fast trot. Worried Lannister eyes scanned the cloudless sky above for signs of the infamous dragons, but barely a bird marred the expanse of blue as the Targaryen/Stark host marched. Booted feet crunched over freshly fallen snow and recently froze ice, swords drawn, spears held high, and shields pressed close to their bodies. Jaime watched with bated breath, hoping for a charge. Hoping that the enemy, in their aggressiveness, would overexert itself.

Suddenly, Grey Worm barked an order, repeated in the tongue foreign to the hallowed ground of the Seven Kingdoms. As a single mass the Unsullied halted atop a molehill. The effect was repeated all along the line, each of the three commands halting to catch their breath. The Unsullied stood shock still, while northerners and Essosi alike took swigs from their waterskins or lowered their trousers to relieve themselves. One man of House Glover grinned madly at the troops of House Tarly directly opposing him, shouting a jeer at the top of his lungs while dropping his pants in a gesture of obscenity. It was picked up by his comrades, then all of House Glover, then the entire Combined Army. Northerners wild and frenzied, joined by the revenge seeking Tullys. Ghiscari and Valyrian profanity tumbling from the lips of the auxiliaries, guttural and fierce. Unsullied proved to be the most intimidating of them all, merely slamming their spearends into the ground in a booming resonance.

It was Randyll Tarly that reacted first. "NOCK!" He snarled angrilly. "LOOSE!" Arrows surged upward in a wide arc.

The sounds heartened Robb's ears, the Lord of Winterfell drawing his sword. "The North Remembers!"

A roar left the throats of the Northmen. "THE NORTH REMEMBERS!" Covered by the Essosi archers, the Combined Army's right surged forth to finally join the fray against the forces of the Reach, already moving when the first arrows impacted among them. The undulating mass of humanity in the center and the left surged forth as well. Shields held up, the strangled cries of the fallen resonated out regardless, but far less than expected - few fell on the right or center, and even fewer among the Unsullied as shield tactics and counterfire from the mobile archers joined in. A mere six ranks deep against the Lannister ten ranks, the momentum was powerful enough to shake the entire stationary line.

But Riverrun would not be decided here.

For the thousand men under the banners of House Royce, plate armor clinking as they steadied their mounts, the fear they were to display was only half faked. Seven thousand heavy cavalry, lances pointed skyward as they moved into their tight lines several ranks deep, lined up directly in front of them. Thier steel breastplates reflected the sunlight in a shimmering glare. Though it would be others dealing with them at their most dangerous, it still struck terror into the hearts of the knights.

At the first trumpets, Lord Royce cleared his throat - cowardice, even fake cowardice, filled his mouth with bile. He steeled himself nonetheless. "Alright lads! We're not fighting and dying for some northern bastard!" Hollered at the top of his voice, it resonated across the field as the cluster of cavalry turned as one force, trotting off to the forests to the northwest. Where the sole remaining bridge over the Trident stood.

Tygett Lannister smirked. "Just a stroll through Lannisport, boys," he remarked to his retinue. Out went his sword. "Send them all in. Full attack!" The hornblowers brought their instruments to their lips, booming sounds echoing through the air. Planning simple - given the lack of agility for a heavy cavalry charge to go anywhere but forward or on a wide turn - the Lannister knights would wheel far to the right of the non-engaging Combined Army third force and bank to hit them from the side and rear. Horses broke out into a fast trot, Lions flying high. They had the Dragon and Wolf just where they wanted them.

Unseen to the Lannister scouts, hidden behind the small molehill where the Northerners rested was Jon's fourth line. Five hundred Free Folk warriors two lines deep, enjoying the sunny day in the warm south. "Keep calm boys. It shall all be over soon." Jon stood with them at the front, walking through their ranks and shouting words of encouragement.

"Awfully confident of that, your Grace," Ser Jorah whispered into his King's ear. Not holding any personal loyalty to the boy, he held all the loyalty in the world for Queen Daenerys - she had made him promise to protect Jaehaerys Targaryen, and he would do so till his last breath.

Jon nodded. "As confident as I have ever been, Jorah." A slight tremor rocked his hand but he kept it grasped over Longclaw. 'Only the most foolish wouldn't be even slightly apprehensive.' He raised his eyebrow to the second man by his side. "Nervous, Ser Barristan."

A wry smile formed on the old knight's face. "Slightly, your Grace." He gazed into the distance, sounds of battle joined by the first glimpses of the enemy cavalry. "I am supremely glad that I am by the side of my ward's son and heir, fighting with him as I should have fought with your father, Rhaegar. But if you fall…"

"I won't." Smirking, he looked just like his father. Confident. Passionate. Strong. "In this, I know we'll win."

Tormund snorted. "I like this King Crow. Not a brooding cunt like most of the time." Gazing back at the snow-covered fields, his eyes widened at the sight of the enemy cavalry horde. "Mothercuntfuck. You really are a prick, King Crow." Even the hardened warrior trembled. It was if the entire Westerlands had mounted a horse and entered the fight.

"And so it begins." Jon motioned to Ollie, positioned well behind the men with the archers and - special unit. The young squire held a bugle, and at his King's signal brought it to his lips. One sharp blast pierced the din. The Free Folk adopted a rare discipline and formed a staggered line.

"You've got to be shittin' me!" A bellowing laugh left Tygett Lannister's lips. Sounds of steel clashing and men crying in pain and terror was drowned by the gallop of his horses. "So this is how the Bastard seeks to stop me. Time to finish this." Orders were to wheel around the enemy, but Tygett wasn't about to see his glory delayed just to satisfy his nephew's need to command. He raised his sword, joining the forest of steel and bronze-tipped wood held high above the horsemen. "Charge! Full attack!"

With a loud war cry, the knights broke into a full charge. Hooves kicked up clouds of dirt and snow as they raced towards the Free Folk.

"They're too many!" one yelled.

"Tormund! We must fall back!"

"Fuck off," the ginger wildling shot back.

"We're fucked! We're fucked!"

"Hold!" Jon hollered. "Don't be cowards! Hold!"

In a single fluid motion, the first and second line of horses lowered their lances. Pointed tips, sharp and solid, presented menacingly to the shaking Free Folk, arrogant war whoops and snarls from the knights audible over the deafening gallop of the charging beasts. None among the wildling warriors had withstood a Westerosi heavy cavalry charge, and Jon couldn't begrudge them their fear. He trembled as well, hand tightening around Longclaw. "Your Grace, we should get you away from the front," Barristan said, increasingly worried.

Jon cut them off. "Hold steady men!" Their King standing with them - not using them as arrow sponges - filled the men with courage. Barely thirty yards out, He could pick out the whites of their eyes. "NOW!"

"Fuck their asses, boys!" Tormund snarled, dropping his twin axes and picking up one of the many sharpened logs resting in between their tightly packed formation. At once the entire frontline of fur-clad Free Folk kneeled and raised the staves into position, presenting a thick porcupine wall to the enemy. Long out of space to properly halt, or even react to this, the split second for the Lannister horse to notice the change ended mercilessly as man and beast slammed into the Free Folk.

What followed was eerily familiar to Jon from the plains outside Winterfell. Angered shouts of couraged turned into sheer screams of terror and pain. Bodies flew through the air, shrieks leaving the jaws of horses as their riders slammed them into the staves. Blood gushed over the snow, a streak covering his beard and hair in sticky red. Several knights found the momentum of the charge and the immovable force of the wall of staves launching them into the crowd of Free Folk behind them. Many barely had a chance to push themselves off the ground before axes and hammers crashed down into their backs and faces - wilding ruthlessness in full effect.

One knight - horse impaled through the stave Jon held - tried to stab his lance forward at Tormund. Barristan sliced the infernal weapon clean in half while Jon brought out Longclaw. In one fluid motion he hacked off the knight's arm while Jorah shoved the stake forward, felling riders and mounts aline with the lifeless horse adorning the front. Wiping the blood off as Tormund embedded one of his axes into a Lannister knight's skull, Jon noticed a key difference from Winterfell. After barely thirty seconds, it was only one side that found itself a bloodied mess. Behind, the deeper ranks blundered into the savaged front. 'Right where we want them.' "LOOSE!"

Hurried hands yanked back burlap tarps, revealing the eight special weapons. Hurried to the Combined Army by Targaryen quartermasters, Theodosius Caryn's design would prove itself in the middle of battle. "Make ready!" screamed the battery commander in Valyrian. Scrambling crewmen moved in liquid motion, loading the projectiles to the barrels of the crude weapons. The commander, a freedman that a mere four years before toiled in an iron mine on the outskirts of Yunkai, was apprehensive. The sheer weight of enemy cavalry, savaged as it was, could still overcome the line of staves. And the 'cannon' had a knack of exploding on the testing grounds. "Fire!"

In quick succession the cannon boomed, lead balls shooting towards the dense cluster of men and horses struggling to push forward. The staves had shocked the elite knights of the Westerlands - nothing could have prepared them for the death hurtling at them. Men by the dozens collapsed as the projectiles lanced through flesh and steel plate, those initially hit simply exploding into gory masses of flesh. Many a Lannister knight felt a massive shove, head turning to witness an entire arm and shoulder hacked clean off before the pain overwhelmed them to point of blackness. One round hacked through over a score of men and horses in a twisted flight of death, soon joined by the arcing arrows of the Essosi bowmen. Blood blanketed the snow as successive volleys turned the horse charge into a slaughter.

At the three sharp blasts of the bugle, the final reserve at the far right of the Combined Army's line - the Tully loyalists with Lord Edmure at the van - swung a hard oblique angle and charged toward the Lannister cavalry. "REMEMBER THE RED WEDDING!" snarled Edmure, his revenge soon at hand. Fully concentrating at breaking through the wall of thick pikes that held them at bay, Tygett Lannister and his forces did not notice the charging Tullys until their Lord's sword sliced sliced through the side of a mounted knight. Though on foot, the thousand proud Riverlanders had momentum, surprise, and pure savagery on their side, slamming into the knights massed together in a shocked pile.

Several knights tried to use their horses to simply bull through the bodies of their comrades and the spear wall that left so many dead carpeted on the ground - only for the axes and clubs of the free folk to murder them for trying. Longclaw up, Jon dodged a lance and sliced through the leg of a poor horse, felling it and trapping the Lannister knight under its bulk. Barristan and Jorah finished him off while Jon swung at another, Valyrian steel slicing through armor as if it were paper and spraying bright arterial blood everywhere. "Signal the Vale!" he bellowed over the shriek of horses, cries of men, and another volley of booming thunderclaps of the cannon behind him, sending further death straight into the charnel house before them. "FREE FOLK! WITH ME!" A guttural cry left them as the wildling berserkers charged wildly into the melee.

Disaster befell the Lannister cavalry when a banner unfurled high, followed by the deep bellow of a horn and a glint of sun reflected from steel plate. Doves over blue, whipping in the wind, unfurled high as the two thousand Knights of the Vale returned to the battlefield. Momentum unchallenged by the bleeding, battered Lannisters, their lances scythed through the enemy. Bronze Yohn and those in the rear ranks hacked away at stragglers with their swords. Armor and tunics were drenched in blood but the knights cared little, proving their earlier cowardice was but a ruse by achieving a mounted warrior's dream - catching the enemy flank.

Caving the head of a senior knight, elaborate helmet shearing in two as Longclaw splatter blood and brain matter over the ground, Jon watched as the Lannisters broke, rear of the mass of horses, men, and bloody husks began to stampede to the rear in a desperate attempt to escape. Grinning wolfishly, he whistled and waved to the rear before charging forth with his men and horses. The bugler signalled with three long, stucco blasts of music. The cannon halted their fire, deadly task completed. Jon took a mount from Ollie, Longclaw held high. "At the line boys!" A bostrious cheer of bloodlust and vengeance rose as the Knights of the Vale charged forth to the enemy flank, Tullys and Free Folk following on foot.

Sword drenched in the blood of an unknown number of Unsullied, Jaime Lannister galloped towards Bronn, the sellsword's leather armor quite worse for wear. What had been planned to be a methodical engagement of an outnumbered and exhausted enemy had turned into a slaughterhouse. The North fought with a ferocity unmatched anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, the skill and bravery in the face of steel and blood brought down upon them by the Reachmen forcing Randyll Tarly to give ground. In the center the demoralized Baratheons were beginning to buckle, the green appearance of the Essosi squashed by an inner courage inside them. And the Unsullied - even his elite Westerlands troops were being forced back by the onrushing and disciplined phalanx that took Bolton tactics and increased the sheer scope of it. They could not be dislodged, spears thrusting forward and carpeting the snowy ground with Lannister bodies. "Send the signal for Tarly to shift to the rear!" They had to prepare to withstand the assault on the right now that the cavalry had broken.

"Are you fuckin' mad?" Bronn snarled back. "The field is over! Our knights were fucking annihilated! You and I were right, they were wrong, and we got fucked! Both ducked as arrows pelted the ground around them. "You're the damn commander. Order the retreat!"

"We can still hold them," Jaime countered, but any further statement were silenced by a trio of bellowing roars that pierced the din.

Shock, for both sides, descended like a pallor over the battlefield as three massive batlike shapes - far too large and close to the ground to be mistaken for anything else - swept from behind the bluffs and hills across the Trident. Fierce fighting stilled as warrior and noncombatant alike stared at the wonder that were the three dragons returned to the land of Westeros. Mounted on the back of the largest, Balerion the Dread reborn, was the Dragon Queen herself. Curved blade in hand, the silver-haired warrior royal surveyed the battlefield like a goddess atop the heavens.

Jaime quickly shook himself out of his reverie. "Scorpions! Get into position, damn it!" The operators, far from asleep at the wheel, began firing their bolts. Archers drew and loosed their flimsy raindrops of death upon the beasts, but Dany winged them swiftly away. 'Where the fuck are they going?' Jaime thought, watching the bolts zing past them as the beasts avoided the cluster of forces. It suddenly dawned on him. "Fuck me!"

Spurring his horse forward, Longclaw lowered at the host of Reach infantry tangling with his brother - Robb hacking and slashing the enemy with Ice like the fearsome Young Wolf he was - Jon felt Rhaegal roar above him. 'Make me proud, boy.' He grinned at the resulting roar.

Not expecting to be attacked and stripped of Scorpions to defend the main force, the mere three thousand men guarding the Lannister camp were swept into a panic as the dragons approached. Daenerys set her expression into one of pure resolve. "Dracarys!"

With a clatter the drawbridge of Riverrun castle opened and out poured the entire garrison. Brynden Tully and Gendry Waters in the van, war howls left their throats as they charged in a desperate sally. What few Lannister bannermen that hadn't been scattered to the wind by the mighty dragons had any cohesivity disintegrated when the Tullys slammed into them with sword and spear. One brave knight tried to marshal a defensive line but found his head caved in by Gendry, swinging his massive warhammer like a true Baratheon. Others tried to fire the catapults directly at the attacking forces but were wiped out by a gout of flame from Balerion. One sight of a former street thug from Lannisport turned catapult roustabout with flames licking up his tunic, face burned off and skull leering in a scream… All hope of salvaging the camp was destroyed.

Watching their comrades burn alive within the camp, immense pressure forced the Reachmen on the right further and further back as their northern foes were joined by the onrushing Vale cavalry samming into them from the flank - King Jaehaerys at the van, caked in blood not his own and slicing his great Valyrian sword through flesh and armor alike. Nevertheless, the indomitable courage of Randyll Tarly kept the mass cohesive. Foreign levies surging forward at their ranks, it was rather the center that was first to break. Pressed into the fight for a Lord they knew not on behalf of a King they despised, the Baratheons and other Stormlands houses began to buckle. Many fled, many surrendered, a few joining with Selwyn Tarth to continue honorably to fight, holding back Theodosius and his command, freedmen of Meereen, Astapor, and Yunkai.

All was lost. "Full retreat!" Jaime screamed at his signaller, who blasted the two deep bellows one after the other on the signal horn. On their left the remnants of the heavy cavalry rallied and charged desperately, crashing into the Valemen and Northerners to buy Randyll Tarly a chance to escape. Facing the ever pressing force of the Unsullied phalanx, Lannister commanders threw their greenest troops into a last ditched rearguard as the main force withdrew in good order. "Get to the scorpions!" he ordered Bronn. "Cover us."

Bronn spat. "I better get a big fucking castle for this!" Finding one Scorpion unmanned, both operators carpeting the ground with arrows littered on them, he was heartened that there was already a bolt lined up. "Alright, come on you big cunts." Moving the hefty bitch into position, Bronn lined it up with the massive black dragon. "Fuck you." Bronn let it fly, but not before he caught a flash of white approach. Instinctively diving onto the dusty ground below, the fireball that immolated the Scorpion missed him as Edderon winged by.

Anguish rolled through Dany's mind as Balerion stilled in the air, a cry of pain resonating from deep in his throat. "Tegon," she commanded gently. The reborn Black Dread flapped frantically, setting himself upon a stretch of ground near the river. Dismounting quickly, the Dragon Queen cringed at her child's painful wails as she moved to inspect the bolt protruding from the jagged wood.

Running Oathkeeper into the heart of a Vale Knight that was foolish enough to approach him, Jaime blinked at disbelief at the sight before him. The dainty Targaryen Queen, out in the open with only a wounded dragon to protect her. 'Might I…' Acting on instinct, he grabbed a discarded lance protruding from the soil and spurred his horse directly for her.

Shaking the aches from his head, Bronn peered through the dust around the destroyed scorpion. 'What the fuck…' Horse galloping at full speed, Jaime lowered his lance as he raced towards the Dragon Queen. "Oh you dumb fucking cunt…" Without knowing quite how the sellsword scrambled to his feet and took off after the moronic highborn.

All sense of time disappeared for Jaime, eyes focusing only on the target in front of him. She didn't notice the threat coming for her, focusing herself on alleviating the painful cries from her massive beast. He narrowed his eyes into slits, positioning the lance just right. One stroke of luck… Only one and he could turn the tide of the battle and cripple the enemy in a single blow. 'Hear me roar,' thundered the motto of House Lannister in his head. 'HEAR ME ROAR!'

Swing decapitating the head off a Tarly knight, Jon wheeled around to slash across the chest of a remaining knight. Longclaw's Valyrian steel blade cut through plate steel like knife through butter, spraying yet more blood upon the crimson-stained ground, rider knocked off his mount. "King Crow!" Snarl heard above the din, Jon met eyes with Tormund. Following the wilding's outstretched arm, the King's eyes widened in pure fear.

"DANY!" Too concentrated on freeing the bolt from Balerion, the golden-thatched form of who had to be the Kingslayer made a final dash towards her. Intent on killing his Queen. His wife. 'My wife!' Jon's mind searched out his mount. 'Quickly, save mother!'

Carefully working the barbed spear to avoid shredding Balerion's flesh, Daenerys remained blissfully unaware of her surroundings until the hoofbeats drew too close to escape. Turning, her eyes widened at the flashing lancepoint.

A loud roar reached Jaime, gusts of air hitting him as a massive green dragon hovered over the landscape. Orange-red flame billowed from his open maw. So close… so damn close. 'Fuck, forgive me, Cersei.' He closed his eyes and embraced his impending immolation before the form of Bronn of the Blackwater, profanity on his lips, tackling him into the muddy waters of the river as the air above was engulfed in flame.

An unmistakable pallor hung over the Trident River Valley. Smells wafted to Tyrion's nostrils, face wrinkling in disgust and sadness. The stench of decay, pallor of death. Grown up sheltered if neglected, he had nevertheless whiffed this particular stench before. "Never gets old, does it?" He looked up to see his King, breathing deeply and wiping the blood off his sword with a torn scrap of cloth.

"No, it does not." The Imp looked at the various bodies strewn everywhere, for every Unsullied black or northern grey a Tarly maroon or Lannister red/gold. A tattered lion banner fluttered in the weak wind, groups of Free Folk plundering the corpses. 'My house. My bannermen.' Tyrion knew why he was fighting for the Dragon Queen and White Wolf, but fighting his own family broke his heart.

Jon noticed it. "Did you know any of these men?"

Tyrion shook his head. "No. Probably all just random smallfolk from Lannisport. But they are still my people."

"We have no quarrel with them. They are my people too, Tyrion." Inwardly, the Imp appreciated that from his King. He was a good man, and even in this hell he managed to keep his innate goodness. Their eyes soon flickered to the line of prisoners escorted by grim-faced auxiliaries - Northern bannermen taunting them with jeers and insults the whole way. "We captured your uncle, Tygett I believe his name was." Jon's jaw set in resolve. "Your family murdered my father, both of them, but I will spare him if he bends the knee." Catching Daenerys among a cluster of rocks, the three dragons settling in and stretching on the ground behind her, Jon hurried towards her.

Head hanging sadly, fondly remembering the good times with his once good-natured uncle, Tyrion sighed. "We both know that he never will."

Steely glare gazing at the collection of prisoners, the dark violet immediately brightened at the upright figure dismounting his horse. Wanting nothing more than to run into his arms, Daenerys instead stood regally, heart leaping inside her chest as he stormed forward through the milling northerners and Unsullied. The comfort she sought was but delayed, Jon sweeping her into a tight embrace. "My Queen." Voice low, only audible to her, Dany could pick up the tenderness and relief in his tone. "I almost lost you."

"You didn't," she replied just as quiet but no less firm and comforting of her husband. Pulling back, her smile disappeared at the blood caking his tunic. "Jon…"

His beloved looked so beautiful, black riding leather hugging her slender body, looking every inch a mighty Empress. "Not my blood," he replied back, a small, wry grin curling in the corner of his mouth. She chuckled softly, squeezing his hand. A wordless understanding passed over them and they both turned to the prisoners - Jon wearing the same menacing aura of a dragon as Daenerys did. King and Queen. Equal rulers. "Ser Davos," said the King. "What do we have here?"

Gingerly stepping through the smoking ground, dragons having gone to town on their final attack runs, Davos Seaworth approached the royal couple. "About ten thousand, your Graces. Perhaps less. Haven't gone about an accurate headcount yet." Too many were busy looting the Lannister camp to do so. It would take hours to reform discipline among the non-Unsullied forces. "Mostly Stormlanders. A few of the Reach. Fewer Lannister bannermen and knights. My best guess, a similar number dead or wounded on the battlefield - only about a tenth of that for our army. Your victory was complete, your Graces."

Dany looked up at her husband, grinning at the barely-disguised glint of triumph in his eyes. While such a loss of life - on both sides - was a tragedy, Jon was already proving to be as adept a strategist as his father, her brother. Anticipating the enemy tactics, he had won a decisive victory with far fewer casualties and only a flesh wound for Balerion, who licked his wounds behind them. "And the Kingslayer?"

"Likely escaped," spat Theodosius, though Tyrion seemed to perk up at the news. "So did the main Lannister force and half the Reach. Randyll Tarly isn't among the dead, so he had to have escaped as well, bastards." He kicked at a lump of sod with his boot. "Probably retreating towards Harrenhal, so I sent a raven to the initial Dothraki elements to steal the march, force them deeper into the Crownlands."

"Good thinking. I commend you." Watching him bow at the praise, Daenerys turned to the collected prisoners. Jon did not object - both knew she was better at such matters than he. "Soldiers of the Westerlands, Reach, Crownlands, and Stormlands. You have fought bravely on this field. In any other lifetime, we likely would have fought side by side to defend our beloved land…"

"As if, foreign whore!" The heckler's jeer was drowned out by a roar from Edderon, causing the prisoners to collectively flinch. A sharp cry rang out as a northerner smacked the hilt of his sword into the heckler's face.

Clearing her throat, face still set into an impassive scowl, Daenerys continued. "I am a daughter of this land, born in Dragonstone. My husband is the son of this land, born in Dorne and raised in the North. I know you have heard much from Joffrey Baratheon and his cronies about me, but such are merely projection of what Joffrey himself is upon all that oppose him. All King Jon and I seek are to break the wheel that grinds rich and poor into the dirt at the behest of those like Joffrey. Bend the knee, and you will be part of such a glorious endeavor."

It was slow at first. Some, who had been trembling the most, fell on their knees almost immediately. The rest hesitated. Lord Selwyn Tarth, nursing several cuts to his arm, met the eyes of his daughter standing farther off. Eyes filling with tears after so long without her, he bent the knee - the entirety of his Stormlands command followed suit. Tarlys, Lannisters, and others remained upright, until a roar from Rhaegal sent all but the most stubborn to their knees.

One of those was Tygett Lannister. He said nothing, merely staring at his nephew. The Imp stood several paces to Jon's right, and looked away from the death stare. "Look at you," the fallen horseman spat. "Betraying your own family."

Tyrion at last met his uncle in the eye. "Please, uncle. See reason. Bend the knee and save your life."

"As if I would bend the knee to a whore and a bastard."

"I would follow your nephew's plea, Tygett Lannister," Jon said, stepping towards him. "As of this moment, he is the only one of your rancid House that holds any sense."

A sneer formed on Tygett's lips. "And who are you to talk to me, bastard?"

"He is your rightful, legitimate ruler," Daenerys said darkly. "Show him the respect your family lacks."

He laughed. "I can smell the wolf on him. It was fun, bastard, planning the destruction of your father's House with my brothers. Sansa, your slut sister, cried for weeks." Jon's fists clenched as the Lannister continued. "I only wish your brother would have died as your father did, and that the King would imitate my brother and hand your sister to the Mountain."

Something snapping within Jon's head, it took every ounce of composure not to beat the man to death. Turning, he walked to Dany's side - but his wife noticed the fire in his eyes. 'The dragon is awoken.' "Very well, your decision is made. Tygett Lannister, I, Jaehaerys of Houses Targaryen and Stark, Third of my Name and Daenerys of Houses Targaryen and Stark, First of her Name, sentence you to die." With a single mental command, Rhaegal curved his neck and bathed Tywin Lannister's youngest brother in dragonfire. His screams echoed over the whole battlefield.

The sight of their commander nothing but an ashen skeleton and blackened, melted armor broke the remaining holdouts. All fell to their knees, pledging themselves to the King and Queen in the North.

One young lad, a squire by the looks of him, shook with tremors of pure terror as he kneeled. His red/gold tunic was coated in greasy black soot, face ashen with what he had seen. Gently, a hand pressed to his shoulder. He looked up to see the curly gold locks of another Lannister. The family he pledged to serve. "My Lord?" he said haltingly, voice barely a whisper.

"Go," Tyrion replied, tone that of a loving father. If we wept for his uncle, he hid it well. "Take a horse and go to King's Landing. And tell Lord Tywin what you have witnessed. What happens when someone crosses Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen. Crosses their armies and dragons." The squire nodded, knowing nothing else he could do.

The stench of burnt flesh in his nostrils, Amory Lorch felt fear building up inside him. Not the apprehension of fighting. Not the uncertainty of what was to come. No, the wrenching, knife to the stomach fear of impending horrors befalling him. Under Tywin Lannister's service he had brought much death, dished out unspeakable cruelty upon the enemies of the Crown. Lorch knew a rope awaited his neck if he was caught - or a sword, given the Northern revulsion to hanging.

Feet crunching on soft snow and he crawled and crept through the brambles, Lorch quickly looked over his shoulder and found no one had yet made it over the lip of ground. Stepping several feet, he did not notice when something slammed into his gut. More like a dull slap, Lorch's head swiveled to find a thin, needle-like blade run right through his ribcage. More surprised than anything, mere moments passed before Lorch's eyes widened. He began to wheeze, lungs straining to suck ragged breaths of air. "What…"

Lips curled into a smile, Arya Stark calmly twisted Needle further. Her target cried painfully. 'Like a coward,' she thought dismissively. Pulling the blade out, she watched as he fell to his knees. She circled him as a wolf would its prey - which in effect this was. "You're on my list, you know." Drawing a short knife from her belt, Arya slammed it in Lorch's back. He sputtered and spat blood from his mouth. "You killed Yoren, and had Polliver kill Lommy."

Gurgles built up deep in his throat. Lorch felt this was what it was like to drown. Looking up at his tormentor, his eyes widened in recognition. The tiny, wisp of a girl he had captured long ago near Harrenhal? Her face remained passive - but her eyes sparkled with sublime satisfaction. The true face of a northern demon.

A chuckle left Arya's lips. "I almost killed you at Harrenhal, but you played stupid and lived. No longer." She grabbed his hair, exposing his neck. "Winter has come for you, Amory Lorch." The Faceless Man drew the blade, slicing through the skin of her enemy's throat. "As it will for House Lannister."