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KoW - Chapter 12
🕑 Added 2024-10-16 01:50:53 +0000 UTCRickard Karstark
His horse was step for step with the young lord’s, slowly marching along the rocky ground as they made their way to their destination.
In hindsight, Stark’s plan to bypass the Golden Tooth was simple, and not even original. The Young Dragon had used the same method of using goat paths to avoid the traps and ambushes of the Dornish.
Yet those paths were known, and any who enquired on the matter would have found out about them.
The narrow goat path they had used was not, it was old and unmaintained, and Rickard suspected it was left unused for decades, if not centuries.
How Robb Stark knew about it, he didn’t have a damn clue.
But he blamed the wolf.
Even now, as they were already deep into the Westerlands, the presence of Greywind was a constant reminder on the backs of their heads. They couldn’t see the large beast, nor hear or smell it, but every now and then the Direwolf would come back with the corpse of soldier or simply to receive scratches from his master, it was the ultimate scout, capable of catching, detecting, and killing enemies without their knowledge, and is what he considered to be the primary reason why they went undetected for so long.
Especially with those Mallister horsemen.
Unlike the previous battles, their 6000 strong cavalry was not entirely made up of northerners, but only half. The other half was made up of Freys, Mallisters, Vance and Pipers.
“It seems house Mallister has more horses than men.” He commented. “They have sailors riding steeds and marching to war.” He shakes his head.
Robb Stark’s piercing eyes meet his. “That was by design.” And before Rickard could ask for elaboration, a man swiftly approaches atop his horse.
Rickard squints his eyes. ‘A scout, and it’s one of ours.’ He notices.
As the man is allowed to approach and greets the young stark with a bow, Robb asks. “What news do you bring me?”
The man takes deep gulps from his flask, he was clean shaven and clean garments, denoting him as a man of good standing. “My Lord, the enemy army is camped near the village of Oxcross, where they seem to be training levies.” He answers. “The main camp holds the banner of the Lannisters of Lannisport, and they have deemed it unnecessary to keep sentries.”
“Numbers?” Robb asks.
“I did not risk counting the exact numbers, yet at a glance at their camp I would say close to ten thousand, My Lord.”
Robb nods. “Good man.” He compliments. “You shall have a reward and a place to rest for the day, we shall camp here.” He turns to Rickard and the rest. “Prepare to march at night.”
--*
It is midnight, and the men are arrayed in simple formation, preparing to charge the enemies.
Robb had sent some men to cut the enemy horses free, once they receive the signal, the ambush would begin.
And soon enough, Rickard saw flickering flame darting in a particular sequence.
To his right, he saw Robb gesture to his direwolf, who almost reached his shoulder even while ahorse.
Greywind let out a howl that echoed through the night, it was a harrowing sound that brought shivers to his back, yet, even whilst the freed horse began neigh and rampage through the enemy camps, their own seemed fine with it.
The Ice Lord turned to them. “I want hostages, so try not to kill any nobleman if you can.”
It was the last thing Rickard heard before his mind went to the now familiar state of serenity that came with every battle next to his liege.
At first, the idea seemed mad, the fact that his mind could be sharpened to such an extent as long as he fought next to Robb Stark was an outrageous thought.
Yet here he was, charging through disoriented levies with a calm so unlike him.
It wasn’t that he simply became more skilled, but that instead of the usual lightheaded state of bloodlust, he was able to ignore the noise and chaos in favor of logical thought, all the while, his instincts are kept intact.
Rickard sights a contingent of knights escaping west, presumably toward Lannisport. A single glance with his son and they urge their group to the chase.
He tightens the hold on his lance as he comes close to the closest horse, the man looks back in panic as he urges his horse to gallop further, but his efforts are in vain as Karstark slits the back of his neck with his lance.
Knowing that to escape, they need to get rid of their pursuers; a middle aged man with obvious Lannister features sharply turns around, and taking advantage of the element of surprise, he tries to pierce Rickard’s throat.
His attempt would have worked were it not for Harrion, who cut his weapon hand before his own life was forfeited.
“FATHER!” Another screamed.
At a glance the younger man seemed more impressive than the one in front, he had long thick and tangled yellow hair, and a big chin covered by a huge mane of a beard and wore gilded ringmail, a helm, and a fox-fur cloak.
Rickard recognized him, his appearance being so unique, and before his son could finish the job he gainsaid him.
His men stopped their tracks while readying their weapons, ready to retaliate at any moment.
“I recognize you, boy. You’re Devan Lannister, and if so…” He grabs the older man by the scruff of his neck and pulls him and his horse next to him. “Then this must be Stafford Lannister.”
It is no wonder that he didn’t know who the older one was, unlike his son, Stafford wasn’t famed for his martial abilities.
“Take me!” The aged man spoke. “Take me and leave my people, as long as you have me, they shall not harm you!”
“Harm me?” Karstark let out a belly laugh. “As if I could get felled by weak southron milk drinkers!” His handle on the man tightens, causing Devan to take a half step forward in worry.
Rickard notices that.
“But you might have a point.” He concedes. “I respect a man who values family and friends, Lannister or no.” He says to the others. “So here is what is going to happen, I shall take your liege lord into my custody, upon which he will be taken care of as befits a man of his station.” He says. “In exchange, I let you all go, but you all owe me a life debt, especially you, Devan Lannister.”
Devan makes to decry him, but gets interrupted by a stern glare from his weakened father.
The boy grumbles some definitely unkind words before turning around and heading out.
Rickard simply shrugs and orders two of his riders to lead the injured man to the camp for treatment.
“Father, we could have won.” His son’s voice is tame yet the unsaid question was obvious.
“Look around.” Rickard ordered. “We’ve already gone far away from the battle, their men were more familiar with the terrain and it wasn’t out of logic’s reach that they’d try some funny business. We already captured the enemy commander, I’d say that’s enough.”
Harrion, dutiful boy that he was, nods in understanding.
“Plus, it’s not like we have nothing to do.” He smirks.
--*
What is now called the battle of Oxcross is over, in truth, calling it a battle is a bit of a misnomer, however. Massacre or hunt would be more appropriate.
They were gathered again around the main tent in order to discuss the battle’s aftermath and next steps. Over these months, the Young Wolf seemed to grow even more into a very intimidating frame, sitting on a makeshift chair with the giant wolf on his feet, the boy turned man wore a pitch black pelt made from a shadowcat’s fur (One of his direwolf’s many preys, it is known that some shadowcats inhabit the many distant natural caves of the Westerlands.) over his castle made steel, his hair had grown to surround his head ,and alongside his new grown light beard, it seemed like a mane of red hair, wild yet majestic.
The Stark Lord rests his bloodied blade on the table; Rickard could practically smell the rust from his own seat.
“This was a splendid battle.” Robb’s voice carried no inflection, yet all know the praise to be genuine. “There were some dangers.” He pointedly stares at nervously smiling Stevron Frey, from what Rickard heard, the man had been negligent in victory and almost died to a stray spear, only to be saved by Robb. “But we scattered the Lannister host, captured many, many hostages, including Stafford Lannister, who with the help of the swift intervention of our healers, managed to survive his injury and is recuperating as we speak. And Kevan Lannister’s nephew, Martyn Lannister, Lord Jast and his sons, and half a hundred more highborn hostages.”
Rickard lets out a loud cheer alongside the others, taking a sip from his pint of ale.
After the hollers and cheers die out, Robb speaks.
“I shall trade for all of them except Ser Martyn.” He gives his ultimatum, yet explains himself before others could object. “The words of my house are clear, Winter is Coming. This war of ours, while glorious and filled with victories yet to come, is costly.” He looks to the side filled with northern lords. “The Maesters say that the coming winter is set to be the longest in memory, and while my father was a smart and forward thinking man who profited from years of peace to fill our granaries and larders with plenty of foodstuffs, getting men away from their fields to wage wars means spending food on their stomachs yet not harvesting their fields.”
He then looks at the Riverlanders. “And there is the current succession crisis, even now, the Lannisters had already done enough damage to the Riverlands, burning fields and scavenging for food, but while us Northmen can simply retreat to our kingdom whenever our revenge is sated and our bloodlust spent, it is always the Riverlands curse to suffer the most through these type of conflicts, even with the Lannisters dead, Renly and Stannis still claim kinghood, then there are the Targaryens over the seas and the coiled snake that is Dorne.”
“This conflict, this war, I believe to keep up much longer than we expect, which is why we must be smart, we must be cautious. Now that we brought ourselves some breathing room, here is the plan.” He explains. “We shall split our host in many parts, my horsemen, the Mallisters and the Freys will head to Lannisport to trade Stafford Lannister and the relevant hostages to his son.” His eyes roam the room. “The rest of you are to split as you wish, I give you free reign. You are to scavenge, raid, trade or do whatever comes to mind to get grain, livestock or gold. You are to be quick, you are to be swift, and you are to be cautious. I want low casualties, no sieges, no risky manoeuvers, and do not stay in one place for long. Understood?”
When the Ice Lord stares at you with such intensity, you have no choice but to nod your head yes.
Comments
Dark B3rry
Thank you for the chapter!
Primordial_Will
Oh, my bad. Thank you for clearing that up.
Niflheim
Ice only gets melted in the third book, when Tywin relieves the siege of Kingslanding he takes the sword from Ilyn who has been using it as an executioner's sword and has it melted in two, one is given to Joeffrey, the other to Jaime. So It's still intact.
Primordial_Will
I know that Jaime gave the Valyrian sword he had (that was originally House Stark's ancestral great sword, Ice) to Brienne before he was captured by Robb, at least that is what happened in the show. I would like to know whether this remains the same.
