Wolves in the Wood

Jason Mallister rode through the storm of battle, his sword an extension of his will as he cut down another Lannister soldier who stumbled toward him, panic in his eyes. The enemy was in complete disarray. Their once-orderly camp had descended into chaos, shouts of alarm and the clamor of metal filling the night as men scrambled to arm themselves. Tents burned, casting flickering shadows across the battlefield. Horses reared, their riders struggling to control them amidst the flashing steel and screaming men.

Jason pulled his blade free, flicking blood from the edge before spurring his mount forward. The attack had gone exactly as planned. They had struck hard, faster than the Lannisters could react, leaving bodies in their wake and setting fire to supply wagons. If he had been given free rein, Jason might have pressed the attack, might have driven straight through the camp and crushed this portion of the enemy force before they could even mount a defense.

But that was not the plan.

He forced himself to rein in his instincts. They had achieved what they had come for—chaos, confusion, and destruction. If they lingered too long, the Lannisters would regroup, and the risk of being encircled would grow. He turned his horse and raised his sword high, signaling his men to fall back.

"Retreat!" Jason bellowed over the din of battle, his voice cutting through the screams and shouts. "Pull back! Now!"

His men obeyed immediately, disengaging and wheeling their mounts around, galloping out of the burning wreckage of the Lannister camp. Behind them, wounded men clutched at their injuries, groaning, while others lay still, trampled underfoot by the charging cavalry. The sounds of dying men mixed with the crackling of flames and the occasional panicked whinny of a terrified horse.

Jason risked a glance behind him. The Lannister forces were still in complete disarray. He could see soldiers scrambling to organize themselves, officers screaming commands to restore order. It was a scene of pure confusion, their arrogance having left them woefully unprepared for an assault like this. Even so, Jason knew they could not celebrate yet.

This was only the beginning.

As they rode, his eyes swept over the darkened fields beyond the Lannister encampment. Somewhere in the distance, just beyond the treeline of the Whispering Woods, Robb Stark and the rest of their forces waited in the shadows, ready for the next stage of the battle. But before that could happen, they had one more crucial task—destroying the three thousand strong Lannister heavy cavalry force pursuing them.

His heart pounded as he realized the true weight of what was at stake.

The Lannisters had divided their host into three separate camps around Riverrun, each containing five thousand men. The camp they had just struck had been the largest concentration of cavalry, with Jaime Lannister and his elite knights stationed there. Jason had no doubt the Kingslayer himself was leading the charge even now, eager to put an end to his harrying tactics once and for all.

A reckless fool.

The trap had been set, and if they executed it correctly, Jaime's own arrogance would be his undoing. If they managed to eliminate the heavy cavalry force chasing them, the remaining two camps would be drastically weakened. Even if they failed to wipe out the Lannister foot soldiers afterward, their victory would still be assured.

Jason forced his gaze forward again, focusing on the ride ahead. They had to draw Jaime's knights in deeper, lead them further away from the main Lannister force. The Riverlords and Northmen hidden in the Whispering Woods would do the rest.

But they had to ensure that no Lannister riders escaped. If even a handful of scouts managed to flee back to their camp, the entire plan would be compromised. The Lannisters would realize the true size of the enemy force they were dealing with. They would tighten their defenses, fortify their camps, and perhaps even abandon the siege entirely to regroup with Tywin Lannister at the Ruby Ford.

That could not be allowed to happen.

He turned toward the rider beside him—Marq Piper, his expression hard as he kept pace with Jason.

"Pick your best men," Jason ordered. "We need riders circling back. If any of the Lannisters try to break off and retreat, I want them cut down before they make it back to their camp."

Marq nodded sharply. "Understood."

Jason's eyes flickered toward the mass of Lannister cavalry in the distance, barely visible in the darkness. He could already hear them—hooves pounding, armor clanking, the faint roar of Jaime Lannister's voice as he led the charge.

The Lion was hungry for blood.

Jason's grip tightened on his reins as his horse thundered beneath him. Soon enough, the Whispering Woods loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. The Lannisters would chase them right into its heart.

There the wolves would be lying in wait.

-X-

Robb Stark sat atop his horse, his breath slow and measured as he surveyed the clearing below. Moonlight barely touched the forest floor, shrouding the thick canopy of trees in darkness. The Whispering Woods stretched around him like a living thing, its branches twisting high overhead, its roots sprawling beneath his horse's hooves.

He tightened his grip on the reins, feeling the leather bite into his palm. Beneath him, his mount shifted, muscles tensed as if sensing the anticipation thick in the air. The men around him—fifteen hundred cavalry strong—remained silent, the only sounds the restless snorts of their horses and the faint rustling of movement as hands tightened around weapons.

To his right, Theon Greyjoy sat tall in his saddle, his smirk visible even in the dim light.

To his left, Smalljon Umber shifted his weight, one hand resting on the war horn that would signal their charge.

Across the clearing, hidden in the eastern treeline, Jonos Bracken and his one thousand cavalry—an even split of heavy and light riders—waited like wolves in the underbrush. Their breaths would be slow, their hands steady on their reins.

They knew what was at stake.

Just like they all did.

To the north, deeper in the trees, Wylis Manderly's five hundred longbowmen waited with arrows already nocked, ready to let loose the first wave of death. Beside them, the fifteen hundred light infantry under Greatjon Umber remained crouched, hidden in the dark, their swords and spears prepared to cut down any man foolish enough to flee north.

To the southwest, Brynden Blackfish and his five hundred longbowmen waited in patient silence. A mirrored force of fifteen hundred light infantry led by Rickard Karstark positioned themselves in the southeast, ensuring that no Lannister would escape without facing the bite of steel.

They were surrounded.

Trapped.

The Lannisters just didn't know it yet.

Robb inhaled deeply, his breath misting in the cold night air. It had taken days of careful maneuvering to set this trap, a web woven with patience and strategy. He had spent hours poring over the terrain, scouting the best locations for ambush, ensuring every man was positioned precisely where they needed to be.

The Lannisters were arrogant. They expected victory to be handed to them, for the Riverlords and Northmen to break like dried twigs beneath their golden banners. But tonight, the Lions would learn what it meant to be hunted.

A whisper of movement to his right.

Theon leaned in, voice low. "Jason Mallister is approaching."

Robb nodded, his grip tightening on the reins. He could hear the distant thunder of hooves now—faint, but growing. The Mallister riders were coming, drawing Jaime Lannister's three thousand heavy cavalry straight into the heart of the Whispering Woods.

Robb glanced down, catching sight of his own trembling hand. It was slight, but it was there. He clenched his fingers into a fist, willing the tremor away, forcing down the creeping unease that curled in his stomach. He had no choice but to be strong.

This was it.

The moment his father had spent his life protecting him from.

No more war stories.

No more lessons in the yard.

This was real.

If he failed—if he faltered even for a moment—it would be death.

Not just for him, but for every man who had placed their faith in him.

Robb exhaled slowly. His ears picked up the deep, rumbling growl of Grey Wind beside him, the massive Direwolf crouched low, his golden eyes locked on the clearing below. The beast could sense his unease, the battle-lust thrumming through the air.

He closed his eyes.

One last deep breath.

One last moment of stillness before the storm.

Then, he opened them—and every ounce of doubt, every whisper of fear, was crushed beneath ironclad resolve. He turned to Theon, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. "Stay close. I wouldn't want you getting yourself killed."

Theon chuckled, adjusting the grip on his sword. "What, you think I'm in danger?"

Robb huffed a quiet laugh. "If you fall, I'll tell the squids you died screaming."

"If I fall," Theon said with a cocky grin, "I'll be taking a dozen Lannisters down with me."

It was foolish bravado—but it worked.

Robb felt lighter, his breath easier, his mind clearer. The fear would not rule him.

He drew his sword, the cold steel gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The men around him followed suit, the sound of blades sliding from their sheaths ringing through the trees like a whispered promise of death.

Grey Wind let out a low snarl, pacing beside his horse, his thick fur bristling with anticipation. The Direwolf's golden eyes locked onto Robb's own, and for a moment, they understood each other perfectly.

Now.

Robb turned to Smalljon, his voice steady, commanding, unshakable. "Sound the horn."

Smalljon raised the war horn to his lips and blew.

The sound shook the night, deep and foreboding, rolling across the clearing like the groan of winter itself.

With that—Robb Stark led the charge.