The Howl of Winter

Jason Mallister felt the earth tremble beneath his horse's hooves, the dull pounding of their desperate gallop mixing with the relentless roar of the Lannister cavalry hot on their heels. His breath came in quick, measured bursts, his eyes darting between the thick trees of the Whispering Woods and the open stretch of uneven terrain ahead.

The night air was damp with the scent of churned mud and sweat, the weight of the chase pressing down upon him like a tangible force. Every moment counted.

To his left and right, his men rode with grim determination, faces drawn tight with exertion and resolve. They had played their roles perfectly—luring the Lannisters deep into their trap, maintaining just enough distance to keep them in pursuit, never so far ahead that they lost their quarry. Now finally, they were reaching the most pivotal moment of the battle to come.

Jason's keen eyes flickered toward the treeline. Though he could not see them, he knew they were there.

The Northmen.

Robb Stark. Greatjon Umber. Brynden Blackfish. Rickard Karstark.

All of them lay hidden, waiting in the darkness beyond the trees, unseen but ever present. Jason had spent years in battle—long enough to know when unseen allies were near. It was a feeling in the air, the charged stillness before the storm.

Ahead, Jonos Bracken's infantry was falling into formation having come from the trees. Shields locked, spears bristling like the jagged edge of a saw, they positioned themselves across the narrow path that Jason and his men now rode toward. The terrain was tight, limiting the movements of any cavalry foolish enough to attempt a headlong charge. Jonos knew his task—to present an unyielding wall, a lure, a false hope.

Behind them, Jason knew that Wylis Manderly's longbowmen were assembling in the shadows, bows nocked, arrows ready. The moment Jaime Lannister crossed the threshold into their killing field, death would rain from the sky.

Jason's grip tightened on his reins. They were almost there.

He turned sharply in his saddle and bellowed over the sound of the galloping hooves, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Pick up the pace! Ride now, full speed!"

Without hesitation, his men obeyed.

Jason dug his heels into his destrier's flanks, urging the stallion into a final, desperate sprint. The light cavalry surged forward, breaking away with an explosion of speed, hooves hammering the earth as they left the slower, heavier Lannister cavalry behind.

They had been careful not to outrun their pursuers before.

Now, they had no reason to hold back.

Behind them, the Lannister knights struggled to react.

"Faster!" Jaime Lannister's voice rang out behind them, filled with frustration, his command urging his men forward. But the golden lion had fallen into his own trap. His knights were too heavily armored, their horses bred for endurance, not speed.

For the first time since the pursuit began, they were losing ground.

Jason allowed himself a smirk.

The trap was closing.

-X-

Wylis Manderly stood atop a gentle rise, eyes fixed on the stretch of open field below. The Whispering Woods loomed behind him, thick and dark, a silent witness to the battle unfolding. The ground was damp, softened by the persistent rains, but his archers held their positions, steady and disciplined.

Before them, the infantry under Jonos Bracken was forming up, their shields interlocking, spears braced against the earth. A wall of steel and resolve. Beyond them, in the distance, the thunder of hooves grew louder.

Jason Mallister's light cavalry rushed toward them, breaking through the mist and low evening fog like specters. Their banners, battered and torn from days of skirmishing, snapped wildly in the wind as they galloped forward, their horses kicking up dirt and debris in their desperate flight.

Wylis did not need to see the Lannisters to know they were coming.

They would be hungry for blood, convinced that their quarry was finally cornered, their confidence blinding them to the truth of what lay ahead.

The fools.

Wylis turned slightly, speaking low but firm to his men. "Ready yourselves."

The response was immediate and precise.

Hundreds of archers moved as one. Bows raised, arrows notched, the sound of wood and string stretching in unison rang out like a chorus of death.

The signal had been marked—a single arrow embedded in the soil a dozen yards ahead, indicating the perfect range for the opening volley.

But Wylis did not give the order to fire. Not yet.

He watched as Jason's cavalry continued their rapid approach. Behind them, hidden by the galloping horses and the kicked-up dirt, the Lannisters thundered into view, still unseen by those further back.

Then, Jason and his men split apart.

Like the parting of a wave, the Riverlords and Northmen veered left and right, clearing the way and exposing the truth behind their flight.

The Lannisters saw the trap too late.

The shifting riders revealed Bracken's shield wall, an immovable force bristling with spears and heavy shields gleaming under the dim morning light. The golden-clad knights, expecting nothing but a routed enemy to trample down, instead found an army waiting for them.

For a split second, there was hesitation.

That was all Wylis needed.

"Draw!" He commanded.

Hundreds of bowstrings groaned in unison as archers pulled their arrows back, the tension humming in the air. Wylis could see the Lannister knights now, their red cloaks streaming behind them, golden lions gleaming on their breastplates. Jaime Lannister rode among them, further back, his polished armor glinting despite the overcast skies.

Wylis knew the moment the Kingslayer realized the truth. The way his helm turned sharply, his body leaning back slightly in his saddle as if to halt, the unmistakable shift in his posture.

It was too late.

"Loose!"

The world seemed to breathe in for a moment—

—And then death descended from the sky.

Arrows sang as they cut through the air, the sheer number darkening the heavens for the briefest instant before they came crashing down upon the Lannister knights.

-X-

Jaime Lannister could feel the frustration clawing at his insides.

His golden hair clung damply to his forehead beneath his helm, sweat beading at the edges of his brow. The Riverland cavalry ahead of him had suddenly begun to pull ahead. Their pace, which had remained just slow enough to stay within reach of his charge, had shifted into a full gallop.

It was only now, watching them widen the distance, that unease crept into his thoughts.

They could have ridden this fast before.

They had been holding back on purpose.

A trap.

The realization settled like ice in his veins, yet Jaime did not falter. He pushed the unease aside, focusing instead on what he knew.

This was not a hopeless situation.

The Riverlands were shattered.

The Starks, the only allies who could bring a force large enough to make a difference, were still far to the north. There had been no signs of a major army moving into the Riverlands. The Freys, opportunistic and cautious, were still stationed at the Twins, supposedly under siege by a meager five thousand Northmen.

Who could be waiting for him here?

At most, another few hundred men hidden in the trees.

That did not concern him.

The Riverlanders lacked the discipline, armor, and numbers to challenge his force outright. His knights were clad in steel from head to toe, mounted on heavy destriers bred for war. Even if there was an ambush, he had three thousand cavalry.

Nothing short of a full army could hope to match him.

Still, something gnawed at him.

His fingers tightened around the reins as he urged his horse forward, ignoring the flickering doubt in his mind. This would be another failed ambush, another broken Riverlord, and another victory for House Lannister.

Then, he saw it.

Ahead, the Riverland cavalry split apart, veering left and right.

Suddenly, the battlefield shifted.

Through the clearing dust and mist, a wall of shields and spears emerged.

The Lannister knights behind Jaime slowed instinctively, murmurs of confusion and unease rippling through their ranks. Jaime's breath caught in his throat. There were more than a few hundred men here.

His mind raced as he scanned the numbers.

A thousand? Two? More?

He had no time to fully assess the strength of this force, but it was large—far larger than it should have been.

The Riverlanders had been reinforced.

The whistling came next.

A sound like the wind cutting through frozen trees.

Jaime barely had time to glance up before the first volley of arrows rained down upon them. "Shields up!" Jaime bellowed as a cacophony of screams erupted as men and horses fell. Some arrows found gaps in armor, slipping through visors or embedding themselves into the flesh of exposed limbs.

Most of his knights, however, remained standing.

Heavy plate and thick shields absorbed much of the damage.

A horse directly beside Jaime shrieked, rearing up as an arrow buried itself in its eye. The knight riding it tumbled to the ground with a heavy clang, only to be trampled by the hooves of his own men. Jaime jerked his reins, bringing his mount to a sharp halt a hundred yards from the Riverland shield wall.

Another volley of arrows fell.

The knights tightened formation, shields raised, bracing against the storm of projectiles.

Jaime could hear the attendants shouting, their voices barely audible over the chaos.

"Archers and infantry to the rear, ser!"

Jaime turned sharply in his saddle, his eyes narrowing.

Through the swirling dust and shifting bodies, he caught glimpses of movement in the trees.

'Another force?' His mind whirled, piecing together the only explanation that made sense.'The Freys. They have upheld their oaths to House Tully.'

That was the only possibility.

Somehow, Walder Frey had thrown in his lot with the Tullys after all.

'Damn the old rat.' Jaime clenched his jaw. It did not matter. "Turn around!" He shouted, yanking his horse's reins. "We'll cut our way out and make for Riverrun. Now!"

His knights, trained and disciplined, obeyed instantly.

The Lannister cavalry began to pivot, wheeling around to escape before the enemy forces could fully close in. Jaime turned his own mount, gripping the pommel of his sword, prepared to lead the charge out of this trap.

Then, he heard it.

A low, guttural sound rising from the trees.

A deep, reverberating howl.

It echoed through the clearing, sending a shiver down his spine. Jaime turned back just in time to see the Whispering Woods come alive. Cavalry surged forth from the east and west tree lines, bursting onto the battlefield like a pack of predators descending upon prey.

Their banners fluttered in the wind—the direwolf of House Stark.

At the head of the western charge, a massive grey beast ran alongside the leading rider, its form larger than any hound Jaime had ever seen.

A Direwolf.

The rider at its side, sword raised high, bore the Stark sigil upon his chest.

Robb Stark.

Jaime's mind reeled.

The Starks weren't in the North.

They weren't trapped at the Twins.

They were here.