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The Winter Witch by Kneazle

Harry Potter & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: T, English, Adventure & Fantasy, [Hermione G., Robb S.] Roose B., Words: 281k+, Favs: 3k+, Follows: 4k+, Published: Oct 16, 2017 Updated: Mar 20 2,575Chapter 8: I:VIII

the Winter Witch

Note: I made a bit of a gaff with the timeline of the story. After Robb's coronation, he sits at Riverrun for approximately five months before the Battle of Oxcross. In this story, he waited all of two weeks and then went charging. So - let's just say that's all been moved up. He'll have downtime now, after all, he's been injured!

Hermione's unexpected "nap" gave her time to rejuvenate - albeit, not much - for the first couple of hours of their journey. Although Edmure had men making token forts along the Red Fork north of them, he was sure that the majority of the fighting would be further south, nearer to Riverrun and the Stone Mill, as they were closer to the riverlands and westerlands border between the Tullys and the Lannisters. Tywin's force would have eased south from Harrenhal and then swung up and around towards Riverrun, the largest opposing force accessible, especially given that Robb's army was beyond their reach over a mountain range.

As such, Hermione swung into consciousness, only to find that she was lying on hard, unyielding ground. It was so reminiscent of her time on the run with Harry and Ron that the fog clogging her brain and the visceral fear those memories evoked, had her confused, especially as she stared into the warm and crackling fire in front of her.

A shape moved towards her, and Hermione pushed herself up on her hands, muttering, "Harry? Is it my turn for the watch? Give the locket here, then - it's my turn to wear the damn thing."

"Why, Lady Hermione," the figure teased, and she frowned as Harry never called her 'Lady Hermione', "Say that in front of my father and he'll definitely think you're sweet on me."

Father? thought Hermione, frowning heavily. Harry's father is dead…

Hermione almost jumped up, brandishing her wand to attack the man, but then the memories came: walking through the Forbidden Forest, ending up in Westeros; Robb, his coronation, and meeting the Northern army; Torrhen -

"Torrhen," said Hermione, softly. "I'm sorry - I thought you were someone else for a moment, there."

"Aye, this Harry," he continued to tease, his shape taking form from the dark as he crouched low in front of her and to the side of the fire, so she was able to make out his square jaw and hulking shoulders. "Is there competition for your heart, my lady?"

A loud snort from the other side of the fire had Hermione peering. Both Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood were roasting some small mammals - likely squirrels or rabbit - on a makeshift spit. She had been unconscious longer than she thought.

"Karstark," began Blackwood, "If your father thinks he can broker a marriage deal for you or your brothers with Lady Hermione, he's delusional."

Quite right, too, thought Hermione happily, finally glad someone was on her side. Her hopes were quickly dashed when the man continued, "If Lady Hermione even gave the slightest inclination she was interested, I'd be joining the discussion and parading Brynden or Lucas in front of her in a moment's notice."

Hermione scowled deeply and Bracken laughed, while Torrhen crossed his arms and sat cross-legged on the ground just by Hermione's feet.

"Lady Hermione loves me best," the young man said petulantly.

"Only on Tuesdays and Wednesdays," quipped Hermione, rolling her eyes and sitting up properly. She gingerly took the hot slice of meat Bracken passed her with his dagger.

Torrhen muttering something under his breath, something Hermione couldn't make out, but was sure had mentioned Robb in it.

"Lady Hermione, what was this locket you mentioned?" asked Bracken, as he reached for one of the cooked meats in front of him, only to hiss and bring his fingers to his mouth as the juices spit. "And who is Harry?"

Hermione shifted, chewing thoughtfully before answering. "Harry's my best friend- practically my brother. We met when we were both starting at Hogwarts and were sorted into Gryffindor together."

"Gryffindor?" asked Blackwood, attempting the strange word carefully.

"Hogwarts has four houses that students are sorted into based on their personalities, or preference," she lectured, absently licking the juice from her own slice of meat off her thumb. "Hufflepuff for the loyal and hardworking; Ravenclaw for the bookish and logical; Slytherin for the cunning and ambitious; and my house, Gryffindor: for the brave and daring."

"Well, you certainly are brave and daring," complimented Bracken, handing her another sliver of meat.

"Thanks," replied Hermione, for both the words and dinner; "But the Hat originally wanted me for Ravenclaw."

"Hat?" echoed Torrhen.

Hermione nodded. "We were sorted by the magical hat that had the ability to look into someone's mind - and soul, I suppose - and best place you based on your current personality and your hopes and fears. It is meant to help you grow as a person, but there are limitations of course. Who you are at eleven is not who you are at seventeen, for example. And given that we fought a war, we had to adapt and change in order to survive."

"How did you become involved in such a war?" asked Blackwood, just as Bracken on his other side muttered something rudely about people not taking care of their women.

"I became Harry's friend," said Hermione with a shrug. "His parents were murdered when he was one by a dark wizard - Voldemort - and when he tried to kill Harry, it didn't work. That made Harry enemy number one, and by default, I became part of that. I was smart, and loyal, and I helped Harry in tricky situations and was at his side for all his adventures. It didn't help that our war was based on blood."

"Blood?" all three men made confused faces, but it was Bracken who voiced it.

Hermione glanced at Torrhen, who was frowning and staring intently at the fire. She cleared her throat. "In the magical world, there were those who were born to witches and wizards; if they could trace their family line back several generations, they were considered pureblood. Someone with a one magical parent was a halfblood, and then there was me: someone born to two people without magic. I'm a Muggleborn, or insultingly, a Mudblood."

Indecision warred within her for a moment, but she realized she wanted these men to know about her and her past; she wanted them to see she was capable and strong, and that she was more than magic and books but strong in her own right. She withstood torture at the hands of a madwoman, and their understanding of the world where women were ornaments, unless a Mormont, wasn't fair or accurate.

She rolled up the sleeve of her sweater on her left arm and held it out in such a way that the carved lines from Bellatrix's cursed dagger were visible in the firelight. The scarred word Mudblood was still raised and puckered, an angry red against the pale of her skin, as though it was just carved days ago instead of a year.

Blackwood was staring at her arm in horror, while Bracken had angrily spat out a curse Hermione didn't recognize; but it was Torrhen's furious face that stopped her from speaking, "oh, it's fine, it happened a year ago, it doesn't hurt anymore," in a flippant manner.

"Who? How?" the young man, whom Hermione was beginning to regard as a friend, growled out.

Hermione turned away from the men partially, curling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them in a loose hug as she stared into the flame. "We made a mistake. We were on the run, fugitives, and Harry tripped the taboo. We were hunted down and caught by Snatchers, and they took us to Malfoy Manor."

The words were soft, almost rote by the way she repeated it, as though she had said the story before and more than once or twice. Her eyes took on a glazed appearance, lost in the haze of memories.

"Ron and Harry were taken to the dungeons, and they kept me in the drawing room. Bellatrix thought I'd be easier to break because of my diluted and impure blood, that I'd be the loose link that would answer her questions. She tortured me, and when that didn't work, she used a cursed dagger to remind me of what I'd always be - a Mudblood."

But then Hermione turned to the men, a small smile on her face. "I didn't break, though. Lied under torture, and this scar? All it does is remind me every day just how strong I am, what I am capable of, and what I survived."

Her words rang strong with truth and conviction, and it was enough that the three men with her did not say anything. Instead, Blackwood and Bracken began discussing joint hunting and raiding parties their now-allied houses could conduct to keep Lannisters off their lands, speaking in very loud voices. Torrhen's jaw worked, and hermione reached out to touch his shoulder. He jerked, then looked at her.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

The angry look on his face melted to a wry one. "I dislike the idea of you in danger, Lady Hermione, even more so that I was unable to prevent such danger to you."

"It happened a year ago," she pointed out.

He shook his head. "Still. I promised King Robb to protect you where I could, and I feel like I let you down, somehow." When she opened her mouth to refute that, he grinned. "I know - I know - but… it doesn't change how I feel." He then nudged his shoulder into hers, nearly sending her sprawling in the opposite direction. He laughed. "I guess you'll have to remain out of trouble from now on."

Hermione grumbled something uncomplimentary and he laughed again.

As the evening wore on, Blackwood suggested taking first watch, with Bracken after him, and then Torrhen. Hermione put up a token effort to be included, but was shot down with a forceful response that she was still recovering from her magical use. While not fully true, it was true enough to some degree that she didn't put up a sight, and quickly fell asleep.

They were all up at the crack of dawn the next morning, just as the sun's golden rays began to spread across the farmland. There was still a hard day's ride ahead of them, and Hermione was beginning to chafe on the idea of being on horseback for another day of travel.

As she was staring contemplatively at the three horses, Blackwood approached her. "Copper for your thoughts?"

"I was just wondering if I can stupefy the horses and we just Side-Along back to Stone Mill," sighed Hermione.

"What is this - stoo-puh-fi?" asked Blackwood curiously.

"It knocks someone unconscious," called Torrhen from where he was finishing packing up his bedroll. "Right, Lady Hermione? It's what you used on the Kingslayer when -" he stopped and unconsciously ran a hand across his neck, thinking of his brother and the faint line that existed from the wound she healed.

Hermione nodded. "That's it," she said, without calling attention to the near-miss her friend had.

"Will it harm the horses?" asked Bracken nervously; a fair point, given that the man's sigil was a horse.

"Not at all."

"And it'll save us time?" asked Blackwood, rubbing his rough beard close to the chin.

Again, Hermione nodded.

"Well, I see no harm in it," concluded Bracken, casting his vote. The other three men agreed, and Hermione brandished her wand, pointing it at the three horses who looked back passively. She quickly cast four spells in succession: a cushioning charm on the ground, so that when the horses fell they didn't break their legs; and then three stupefys to knock them out.

Once done, the four stared at the horses and Torrhen asked the obvious question: "Well. Now what?"

Feeling sheepish, because there was no way they would be able to Apparate with three fully-grown horses as well, Hermione did an animal-to-object transfiguration and turned the three horses into small, hand-sized toy horses instead, each mimicking the features of their real counterparts. She tucked them in her beaded bag and said, with a flourish, "Voila! Now we can go."

Bracken shook his head, but he and Blackwood took their places next to Hermione like they had the previous night, with Torrhen behind her.

"I'm never going to get used to this," muttered Blackwood.

"Oh, it's really not so bad," said Bracken in response with a grin, as he was the only one of the three to not get sick when Apparating.

Blackwood's retort was left in the air as they displaced space, arriving at the Stone Mill with a loud crack.

However, the noise of their arrival was masked by the shouts and screams of the men around them, as they had appeared in the middle of a battle.

Brynden Tully, also known as the Blackfish, was worried. Oh, he tried to not let it show, of course; he wasn't biting his nails or wringing his hands like some milkmaid. But he was pacing a role in the rug in front of the fireplace of the room he was in, hands clasped behind his back when they weren't aggressively stroking his beard.

Things had been going so well, he thought darkly. Of course; of course here was when things went wrong.

Things weren't necessarily wrong, either - but they weren't looking good. Initially, after the siege of the Crag, once King Robb awoke after having the arrow pushed through the wound and a poutrice then slathered on top of it, the young Wolf commanded the army to station themselves in and around the ruins of the Westerling household.

There were holes in the ceiling to fix, wounds to be treated, and the dead to bury. And the King handled that admirably. He even handled the bitter Rolf Spicer, castellan of the Crag, and his sister, Lady Westerling, with deftness and grace. They were even able to hold a brief meeting of all the commanders at the Crag, and through the communications parchment that Lady Hermione made, with the others who took the other Lannister keeps. They were even requesting more information about Bran and Rickon from Riverrun; however, Edmure was surprisingly silent, which was a cause for concern.

And the Blackfish went to bed that night thinking everything was wonderful and they would soon return to Riverrun victorious, that they would return to Riverrun shortly and deal with his idiotic nephew.

Except Olyvar Frey, Robb's squire, couldn't wake him up the next day.

The Maester of the Crag, a wizened, crotchety old man, took one look at their feverish King and said that his arrow wound was infected. And as sweat gleaned on the Young Wolf's bare torso as his squire brought wet rag after wet rag to cool his liege lord down, Brynden only had one thought: this is not going to go well.

Two days later, Robb's fever hadn't broke, and his Kingsguard, as well as Lord Umber and Lord Bolton, were ensconced in the room they had commandeered for their King. It was a tight fit, but Olyvar and Eddard Karstark were running medical interference, while Daryn Hornwood and Dacey Mormont stood just inside the doors to the chamber; two other Kingsguards members, Lucas Blackwood and Peter Mallister, stood outside.

Umber, Bolton, and the Blackfish stood by the fireplace opposite the bed, braving the heat and sweat that trickled down their spines. Outside, the moon was high in the sky and a few stars blinked in and out of focus as clouds swept across them. They were nearing three days without change, and they were getting desperate.

On the bed, Robb moaned and writhed in pain, his face already a pale white. His Tully-lent hair, a deep auburn, stood out in stark contrast, and was plastered to his head in a sticky, sweaty mess.

"We need to do something," hissed the Greatjon, although his version of a whisper was speaking normally for everyone else.

"Like what?" countered Bolton, eyes firmly on his King while he had his arms folded as he leaned against back in his seat at a table. "We've tried what medicinal herbs we had on hand; even Lady Westerling's daughter has brought stuff."

Brynden shook his head. "I don't trust the very family we've essentially imprisoned by successfully taking their home."

"Hornwood's taste-testing everything," assured Bolton, glancing at the man who stood stiff and straight at the door. The tall brown-haired man with square jaw covered in day-old stubble was made of stone in the way he kept sentry.

From the bed, Robb groaned, "Bran. Rickon."

"We need more information for his Grace," countered Umber.

"I would like to know about my nephews, too," argued Brynden darkly, "But my King will need to actually be awake to hear the news to begin with! He needs to heal. He needs a better Maester!"

"There is no one," argued back Umber, eyes flashing. "That useless corpse here would rather see him die than help, and if we send for one, it'll take them days - if not a week or longer! - to get here from Riverrun."

"And news from Riverrun is quiet now," sighed Bolton, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "They are probably engaged in battle as we speak."

A knock on the door had everyone turn to it in unison. It creaked open and Lucas Blackwood, the second son to Lord Blackwood, a tall but lean young man of black hair poked his head in. "Begging your pardon, my Lords - Lady Jeyne is here with some more herbs and concoctions for his Grace."

There was some grumbling, but Hornwood opened the door and the small, timid girl slipped in, her eyes darting from one man to the next nervously. She was a mousy but pretty thing, noted Brynden, skinny to the point of boney but with thick brown hair that she kept tucked over one shoulder.

She eased to the seat next to the King's bed, while Olyvar Frey hovered like an anxious mother, eyeing each and every bottle she lifted from the tray she carried in.

"What's that?" the squire asked suspiciously, pointing to each one.

Hornwood strode forward and Lady Jeyne allowed drops of each to fall onto his tongue with a stopper she brought. After several minutes with no ill effects, the group in the room collectively relaxed - only a bit, though.

Lady Jeyne began first by probing the festering wound, causing pus to escape and Robb to groan on the bed. Brynden grit his teeth and flexed his hand around the handle of his blade. She removed the dressings and then bathed the wound first, before putting a poultice mixture on top of it, then redressing.

Bolton was watching her carefully, and his eyes slid from the young girl to his King when Robb seemed to settle a bit.

Lady Jeyne curtseyed to the men as she gathered her supplies, and left as silently as she entered. Bolton's eyes narrowed after her.

"What are you thinking?" rumbled Brynden, having been watching him.

"I think," said Bolton softly, which was at his normal volume, but this time it carried gravitas, "That we should send a message on the parchment to Lady Hermione."

"Oh?" asked Brynden with a scoff. "And what could Lady Hermione do that none of us can?"

Umber sighed noisily and Bolton turned to Brynden with a cool look in his eyes. "She's a witch, Blackfish. I'm certain that she's more than capable of healing our King given that she saved Eddard Karstark from bleeding out when the Kingslayer slashed his throat open."

Brynden's mouth dropped open at the slight rebuke, his eyes darting to Daryn Hornwood, who had been in the clearing during that battle, who nodded.

The large Tully sighed, running his hands over his hair but nodded reluctantly. "Fine. Write her. And for the God's sake, I hope she's near that parchment and can come soon."

Chaos. It was pure chaos.

Torrhen shouted something in Hermione's face, and then he shoved her behind him, bringing his sword up and deflecting a stray arrow.

Blackwood and Bracken had already taken off - both in different directions - and were lost in the melee of bodies in various armour - some shiny in steel, and others, in the boiled leathers than the northern army preferred. The noise was loud, filled with shouts and screams and the clang of steel hitting steel.

Hermione crouched, hands over her ears as she squeezed her eyes shut. This was nothing like the Battle of Hogwarts - this was something altogether different. The Battle of Hogwarts had been loud and chaotic, yes, but it was with the shout of spellfire and flashes of light that one had to duck under or avoid. They were racing up and down castle stairwells and hallways, or ducking into classrooms for a breather while Death Eaters paced up and down the corridors.

Magical battles were often conducted standing still, side-faced and waving wands; Torrhen, in front of her, was moving back and forth, sideways, hacking and slashing at any opponents who chose to challenge him, sliding to face sideways one moment and then bracing his shoulders forward the next for a downward slash.

His sword was bright red minutes later, sweat already trickling down the side of his face and into the collar of his black leathers. He turned around and leaned down, hauling Hermione to her feet. He tucked her protectively close to his left side.

"We need to get you to safety!" he shouted, bringing his right arm up to block at a man in red bearing down at them.

Hermione, eyes wide, watched as he stabbed the man through, yanking his sword out quickly - so quickly that blood splattered forward onto his leathers and neck and some hit Hermione as well.

Time seemed to slow. Hermione was only aware of the furious pounding of her own heart as she stared around her, watching her friend defend her as they began to retreat towards the Stone Mill, which stood as a beacon above all the fighting, the sigil of the Tullys - a trout - flying proudly in a soft wind.

Torrhen cursed, and Hermione saw him scoop up someone's discarded shield and he rammed forward, into an oncoming opponent, shoving the man back a few feet. His eyes were on his enemy, leaving Hermione standing shell shocked on the muddy - and bloody - uneven field.

Someone was screaming, and Hermione turned to see a man coming towards her, eyes and mouth wide, his face already covered in blood and other matter. For a moment, she just stood there. And then -

"Reducto!"

The man went flying back, his armour taking the hit but not without severe injury: the steel had punctured in, leaving a large gaping wound that had shattered and pulverized his chest cavity inward.

Sound came rushing back to Hermione, and she spun, eyes seeking out Torrhen. He had abandoned the shield and was fighting sword-to-sword with a Lannister, but another two were moving towards him.

Hermione branished her wand, and focusing narrowing on the armour just above their chest plates, a spot she was familiar with due to Torrhen's own wound, she thought viciously, diffindo, jabbing her wand in one man's direction first, and then the next. A flash of pale light erupted from her wand, and slashed thinly across their throats cleanly.

They fell to the ground like puppets cut from their string.

Torrhen, having defeated his opponent, turned on his boots to face Hermione, eyes wide and horrified, trying to find her in the crowd.

"My Lady!" he dodged under a flying sword and then punched another as he ran to her side. "We need to go!"

Hermione shook her head. "We need to help!"

"How?"

Hermione turned, completely expecting her friend to watch her back in case any other soldiers came up to them. She surveyed the field, but her height wasn't conductive to seeing over towering knights and lords, especially once they were mixed with their enemies. Behind her, the Stone Mill towered over everything; at the top was a small ledge: barely two feet, but it ran along the top dome.

Hermione swallowed.

Torrhen, at her side, breathed heavily, almost panting in exertion, and followed her gaze. His small brown eyes went hard, and then narrowed into slits as he whipped his head back around to her. "No, Lady Hermione! I swear to the Old Gods if you-!"

But Hermione had no idea what he swore, as she disapparated with a pop, lost in the noise of the battle, and reappeared on that small ledge. Her weight overbalanced and she shot a sticking charm to her feet and then swung herself forward to hug the rough stones of the domed top of the Mill.

Once she was sure of herself, she undid the sticking charm and slowly twisted on the small ledge, looking over the landscape. Behind her, the wide and churning Red Fork rushed by; the mill itself stretched across the bank, using the kinetic motion of the water beneath to power the mill's blades.

The river wound straight south, and opposite, north, Hermione could see the faint outline of Riverrun on what she knew was the three-way break of the river: one to go south, where they were now; one west turning into the Tumblestones towards the mountains; and another east from Riverrun, leading to the main mouth of the Trident.

Facing south, the battle was spread over a large parcel of what was once farmland backed on gently rolling green hills, sparsely decorated with large fir and coniferous trees. Those tiny mini forests were bracketed in by half-walls of stone and wood, too densely packed for any other purpose that to serve as visual markers to break up the farming areas. Now, however, they were used to hide archers.

Ahead, coming up from the south, Hermione could see the swarm of crimson and gold, large banners flying a proud lion in the distance on a hill that overlooked the battle, opposite the river. On this side of the Red Fork, the land sloped down into plains whereas on the other side, the land rose to form a natural, steep bank. On that bank were several small wooden fortifications, tiny watch towers on stilts with Tully and Tully-allied archers.

It only took a moment to categorize it all, but Hermione could easily see that they were outnumbered. Severely outnumbered.

I need to do damage, she thought, but in the best place possible.

She peered ahead, towards that hill where several men sat on their horses, immoveable figures overlooking the carnage below and framed by the flying lions. Instinctively, she knew that one of those men was Tywin Lannister.

While she could Apparate over, Hermione was unsure if that was the best direction at the moment; she plan was still to return home, and announcing her abilities as a witch would put a target on her back. Even though many in Robb's army was aware of her status as a witch, few knew her capabilities or doubted what Eddard or Torrhen Karstark had accidentally blurted out. If she couldn't return home, her magical abilities were the only thing she had that gave her an advantage over others in this world.

Also - what would she do with Tywin Lannister if she even knew which man it was? Stun him and take him captive? And hold him at Riverrun? That would only encourage his bannermen to attack viciously and with Robb's portion of the army elsewhere, Hermione wasn't sure even her wards could hold against such a dedicated force.

No, she decided, eyes narrowed on a marching foot relief unit that was coming up along the river towards the main battle, which was beginning to thin out - with the crimson and gold winning. That won't do.

With a deep breath, as she still had not recovered fully from yesterday's warding of two keeps, the battle at Stone Hedge, nor the Side-Along she conducted, Hermione centered herself and pointed her wand at the bank of the river, eyes closed as she concentrated.

She visualized what she wanted her spell to do - as that was half the way magic worked, on intent - and murmured her spell. "Glacius."

From the tip of her wand, a blue light quickly burst in a flurry of snowflakes as the air around her from above instantly plummeted - after all, warm air rose, but cold air fell rapidly to the earth.

The strong breeze raced across the battlefield, and almost immediately Hermione saw the results as the men still fighting began to shiver and their breath misted in front of them. Those lying still on the ground soon were covered with frost. There was confusion on the ground as the southern Lords were unable to understand what happened - while the Northern army, and some Riverlands men - were able to shake off the cold far quicker and take advantage of their enemies' pause.

The gust of wind then hit the Red Fork, and instantly the water began to freeze over. Once it solidified to what Hermione needed, she then cut the spell.

"Bombarda Maxima!" she shouted, clutching the side of the mill as she jabbed at the frozen river in the distance, watching the ice crack and then break into a multiple of a hundred little sharp pieces. "Oppugno!"

The tiny shards of ice rose in the air and with a flick of Hermione's wand for direction, she sent them towards the Lannister relief soldiers. Still confused at the sudden drop in temperature, they had no time to notice the icicles, but they certainly heard the cries of pain as they punctured through flesh and in between the armour, riddling the men with the shards.

From her vantage point, Hermione watched, slightly sickened, at the destruction she caused with her spells as the entire unit fell to the ground, and those closest to the river turned it red with their blood.

However, without the relief, and in conjunction with the cold air, the battle turned in the favour of the Tullys and their men, and they quickly overwhelmed those who remained. As the line progressed closer and closer to the hill the Lannister leaders were, one man simply turned his horse and left.

That was the sign for the others, and they too, followed the first man on horseback, and then a horn was blown and call went out; immediately, those closest to the hill, at the rear of the Lannister force, began to straggle backwards, and then soon the entire force - whatever was left of it - began a retreat.

They moved quickly, and from her spot, Hermione saw them begin their march southeast, towards the hills. She let out a silent sigh of relief, and Apparated down to the field below, focusing on Torrhen.

usually she wasn't able to blind Apparate to a person, but she was familiar enough with Torrhen now that she could find him easily, and popped into existence next to him as he was walking the battlefield angrily, taking his emotions out on crimson and gold soldiers who remained behind, too injured to move or near death.

He swore loudly when she appeared, jumping and blinding sending his sword flying, making Hermione duck low.

"Torrhen! Merlin!"

The tall man grimaced, his forehead wrinkled. Then, horror settled on his face as he realized what he had nearly done. "Lady Hermione!" he yelped.

"Hi," she replied wryly.

He glared at her, and then ushered her back in the direction she came from, towards the Stone Mill and where Edmure's command tents were set up. "You, my lady, are going to Lord Edmure and staying in the tent and not moving!"

Hermione wisely did not argue, allowing the taller man to maneuver her around bloody bodies and churned ground, until they reached the command tent flying the Tully banner of a trout. Edmure was already inside, covered in dirt, grime, and blood, but had a beaming smile on his face as Lord Blackwood, Mallister, and Bracken all congratulated him on sending Tywin's forces back south.

"I saw that the Mountain was here," Lord Blackwood was saying as Hermione and Torrhen entered. "What became of him?"

"Peppered with arrows like a hedgehog," crowed Edmure happily. "We held the west bank of the river, and he lost more than two-thirds of his men attempting to cross the Mill, coming across our reserves hidden away with Lady Hermione's magic, and I faced him to a standstill until the retreat was sounded!"

"Well, I doubt it was a standstill," interjected Mallister with infinite kindness and patience, "But you did well enough against a man that normally would crush anyone else."

Hermione sidled up in the space that Bracken made for her at the table. Edmure nodded in her direction and continued, "Overall, our numbers stand at two-hundred and eighty lost. Our defense of the archers in the forts and trees on the west side of the river helped keep the majority of the Lannister forces from crossing."

"The same happened near Riverrun where Lord Vance had command," reported Bracken, reading from their communication parchment.

"Our reports are coming in, slowly, but by the sound of it, Ser Marchbrand was soundly routed several times where he attempted to breech our forts," continued Bracken, eyes on the parchment in front of him, absently moving his finger to point at the areas where these people were on the map on the table. "Ser Crakehall is now a captive of ours and currently being treated for his injuries, while we have confirmation that Lord Leo Lefford and Robert Brax are both dead."

"There was one point here where I was worried," admitted Edmure, running a hand over his auburn hair, glancing at Hermione, "But when that northern gust of wind came - well -"

"Aye," agreed Blackwood happily, also looking at Hermione. "It seems our Winter Witch is living up to her name!"

Hermione blanched, having not realized that her actions would reinforce the stupid name Karstark had given her at Robb's coronation. She swallowed and said, a bit snipily, "I saw the Lannister army moving southeast. Do we know what's that way?"

"Well, not our King," said Edmure, almost flippantly, "Which is the important thing. Tywin can't move back towards Casterly Rock for reinforcements."

Blackwood, however, frowned. "We should look into this, though. Lady Hermione makes a good point: the Old Lion was moving with purpose and reason, so he had a backup plan. We need to know what it was."

All fell silent as they contemplated how they were going to manage that.

"A problem for another day," finally said Edmure slowly. "We won these past two days of fighting, and the men deserve to enjoy themselves and our victory. We can get started on figuring out where Tywin Lannister disappeared to shortly."

There were some grumbles, but Edmure ordered Bracken inform Vance to make his way back to Riverrun to regroup, leaving only token forces behind in case of Lannister retaliation, and both Blackwood and Bracken offered their homes of Raventree Hall and Stone Hedge as home bases.

"Well, if that's all you need," began Hermione, brushing her palms on her jeans absently, "Then I have three horses to transfigure back and wake."

Torrhen laughed at Edmure's confused look, and Bracken and Blackwood shared a smile. Bracken turned back to the parchment, his stylus dipped in ink as he wrote the orders on Edmure's behalf.

However, as he wrote, other words formed on the parchment, swirling, and then Bracken's face, as he read, morphed into horror.

"What? What is it?" demanded Edmure, seeing it. "Is it Riverrun? Father? What?"

Blackwood reached out and grabbed the man's shoulder. "Jonos - speak!"

The Lord's eyes turned to Hermione, of all the people in the tent. "It's King Robb. He's taken an arrow and the wound is festering."

Horror spread through Hermione's veins as they turned to ice. She felt dizzy and Bracken's next words seemed to come from a far distance: "They - that is - the Blackfish - the Kingsguard - they're asking for Lady Hermione's help. Immediately."

The tent pin pricked to a tiny point in her vision. Hermione took a moment to glance at Torrhen, who looked at wretched as her, but he gave her the tiniest of nods. With the loudest crack yet, Hermione blind Apprated to Robb, in a place she had never been before, hoping she wouldn't splinch herself.

Hang on, Robb, she thought, I'm coming!

Note: who had marking to do? Yes, I did, I did! And then I ran out of ink in my fountain pen and needed my husband to refill it so I took a break and wrote this. Given that my college students have their final exams Friday and Monday, you can bet I'll be writing between marking their essays. Although, let's be honest, I really should be more dedicated. I also have a chapter due for an anthology on the 12th that I only have an outline for... whoops?

twinklegoesthesea: Hermione can manage some wandless, as we saw in the previous chapter, but I'm going under the impression that it's rare and it's more a "signature" spell thing that certain things can be done over others.

to the guest: Accordingly to ASoIaF wiki, Lord Bracken complains to Jaime at a later point in the books that the Mountain raped one of his daughters. There was no word or indication which daughter, or what happened to her, so I took the liberty of saying it was the eldest, Barbara and that she survived the event although horrifically bruised and battered.

Chapter 456 - hhhh

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