The rain started just after nightfall, swiftly turning into a downpour that soaked the men to the bone. Jon sat easily on his charger, Ghost pacing right in front of him. He, the other commanders, and the battle guard were at the front lines of the cavalry. The only ones missing were Lords Mallister and Hawker. Each man held a flank and would sweep in from the north and south and wrap around the enemy camp before pushing in.
The lannister camp looked sleepy and peaceful to Jon. A mass of tents and small fires. There was hardly any movement between tents as the men huddled in their tents, wisely staying out of the rain. The only people who were outside were the weary sentries who stood at intervals on the outskirts of the camps, alone and miserable in the elements. None of them noticed the arrival of thousands of horsemen not even a hundred yards from the camp.
This would be Jon's first battle, and he tried not to show how afraid he was, but he couldn't help the fluttering of his fingers as they tapped the pommel of Frost. He was anxious to begin the attack, but he knew that he had to remain calm and wait for the Blackfish to give the order.
It was Ghost's howl that signaled the attack, spooking the Lannister horses into a stampede that trampled half of the camp. When the Lannister soldiers came running out of their tents to find out what had happened, that's when the northern host struck.
It wasn't a fair fight. The northern cavalry cut down the Lannister soldiers without remorse, tearing through the defenders like a hot knife through butter. The enemy tried to fight back, using spears, swords, even stools, whatever they could get their hands on to defend themselves, but it was no use. They were being massacred.
When Jon had been a boy, he had imagined battle being a scene of carefully orchestrated movements, almost like a dance. He found out that night that battle was nothing like a dance. It was a gruesome, mind-numbing, repetitive affair where Jon found himself just hacking away at whoever was in front of him.
Having a valyrian steel sword helped the matter since it cut through virtually everything in its path.
Jon had been with the Blackfish when they had made it to the center of the camp where the command tent was, stopping while the rest of the cavalry surged around the structure like a wave breaking against a massive rock.
Stafford Lannister hadn't even had time to properly armor himself, as the Tully knight found the man with only a breastplate on over his nightshirt, barefoot with a sword in his hand. From the state of his hair, the northern army had given him a rude awakening.
Ser Brynden pointed his sword at the Lannister, the blade stained red with gore. "Stafford Lannister, your men have been routed. Surrender." He ordered.
If looks could kill then Ser Brynden would have dropped dead from the glare Stafford Lannister gave him. But the Lannister knight knew that he had been defeated, and there was no use fighting back only to lose his life.
"I yield," he said angrily, throwing down his sword.
Ser Brynden nodded to the man. "Have him bound. I want quarter given to any enemy that surrenders. Those who refuse are to be struck down." He ordered the others. Two men jumped off their horses and moved towards the unarmed knight while the others rode off to pursue the enemy.
The Battle of Oxcross had lasted only a couple of hours, but it would soon be known as another stunning victory for the northern king, even though he had not been present at the actual battle. Now all Tywin had left was his host of twenty thousand at Harrenhal and whatever men his stunted son could put together at Duskendale.
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"More than fifty nobles have been captured, along with a thousand or so soldiers." Lord Roose Bolton reported. "We lost one man for every five of theirs. The captains could be of some use, but the others are nothing more than mouths to feed."
The Leech Lord and the Blackfish had been walking through the battlefield, watching the Silent Sisters and healers go about their business of giving last rites, saving those they could, and helping ease the pain of those they couldn't. The dead were being stripped of cloaks, swords, and boots, all items that could later come in handy. The camp was also being scoured for food, cloth, metal, and wood. Brynden was an experienced campaigner and knew the importance of resources and loathed to let such a source go to waste.
Ser Brynden glanced at the northern lord, frowning. "Speak plainly, Lord Bolton."
"My house has a saying, Ser Brynden. 'A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man has none." Bolton replied casually.
Ser Brynden stopped, turning to look at the man. "We won't torture them," he said firmly. "Besides, isn't the practice banned in the North?"
"We're not in the North," Roose commented. "We won't win this war by being honorable."
"We're not going to torture them." Ser Brynden again, his tone leaving no room for argument. "King Robb left me in charge of this host and that is my order."
Lord Bolton nodded and walked off. The Blackfish watched him go, not liking that the man's mind had gone to torture. He remembered the man from the last two wars, and he still seemed like the same person to Brynden. He was cunning and was an above-average warrior and commander, but there was something inherently untrustworthy about the man. Perhaps it was the sinister history of his house, or simply how the man looked and spoke.
Regardless, he would have to be watched.
"Ser Brynden," Jon said, walking up to the old knight. "Is everything alright?"
Ser Brynden glanced at the direction where the Leech Lord had walked off before turning to the young warrior. "Fine," he answered. "Have you done as I asked?"
Jon nodded. "We lost around three hundred men, with another few hundred injured in some way. Those who are too wounded to keep going are being loaded on carts to return to Riverrun."
"And the enemy?"
"Still counting bodies, but so far it seems like only a few hundred made it out of the fight," Jon said.
"Have we learned anything from the survivors?"
"This host was approximately fifteen thousand strong, but Stafford had stripped many of the surrounding garrisons to put it together. One Forley Prester was also at the Battle of the Camps." Jon explained.
"He must have been commanding the portion of the Kingslayer's army that managed to retreat." Ser Brynden muttered.
Jon nodded. "Aye, so it seems. Other than that, the army was made up of boys and old men, some sellswords, but the true cutting edge of the army were those men under Prester."
"How did you get the men to talk?" Ser Brynden asked curiously.
"Eddard and I found a pitcher of Arbor Gold in Ser Stafford's tent," Jon said. "I figured none of the men had ever tasted it before and used that and some food as bribes."
"Good work Jon." Ser Brynden praised. "Any word from the groups I sent out?"
"Lord Umber cut down several deserters heading towards Casterly Rock and Lord Blackwood didn't find anyone on the road towards the Golden Tooth," Jon reported. "Safe to say that our way back into the Riverlands is safe."
Ser Brynden rubbed his jaw, looking around. An idea was beginning to form in his head. He had been debating what to do now that the Lannister host had been scattered. The Golden Tooth needed to be taken, or else things could become difficult if the cavalry was trapped in the Westerlands and Tywin decided to strike north and attack the rest of the army at Riverrun. Conventional military tactics told him to gather the rest of the army at Riverrun and march west, but taking the castle would be a major loss of life.
The plan he had in his head was bold and some might even call it foolish. But if it could be pulled off, then thousands of men would be saved in the long run.
"I want bodies stripped of armor," he ordered. "Enough for two thousand men. I want them all riverlanders and assembled as soon as possible."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "To what purpose?"
"I mean to dress men in Lannister armor and send them towards the Golden Tooth." Ser Brynden explained. "Then, they will be able to take the castle from the inside."
Jon frowned. "But who would be able to lead such a force? Men like Blackwood and Bracken will be recognized."
Ser Brynden smiled mischievously. "Lord Blackwood perhaps, but not his second son Lucas. I doubt many would be able to know the lad simply by his face, certainly not if he's dressed like a Lannister captain."
Jon nodded, understanding what the man had in mind.
"I'll get the men together," he promised before striding off.
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Jon, Ser Brynden, and Lucas Blackwood used Stafford Lannister's tent for their meeting. The Blackfish had already dolled out responsibilities to others on the war council. Roose Bolton was tasked with taking Ashemark and the Crag. Lords Karstark and Glover would raid down the coast from Banefort to Kayce. The Greatjon was heading south to capture gold mines, and Lady Mormont was told to push as much livestock as she could towards the Riverlands. Ser Brynden and the rest of the riverlords would remain here for a day or two before marching back to Riverrun. That would give Lucas and his men time to complete the Blackfish's plan.
"You understand the plan?" Ser Brynden asked again, crossing his arms.
The young noble nodded as he finished adjusting his stolen armor. Lucas wore a red and gold cuirass with similarly colored shoulder guards. He also now wore a red cloak. The ridiculous helmet that Lannister soldiers wore was on a nearby table.
"Get into the castle, tell them about the battle, say we're survivors. That night, take off the armor and take the castle." Lucas repeated, summarizing the Blackfish's plan. "I also have to remember not to take my helmet off."
The Blackfish had made it perfectly clear to Blackwood and those he was leading that honor had to be set aside for the plan to work. They could not afford to set off alarms because men wanted to kill enemies with honor. Ser Brynden had helped push the message by saying that, if the mission succeeded, then the supplies captured by the northern lords would go to helping rebuild the Riverlands.
Ser Brynden nodded. "We don't know who might recognize you. So be vigilant."
"Why aren't northerners allowed in Lucas's host?" Jon asked curiously.
"Your accent is too different. It's thicker and can easily give you away. A Riverlands accent will stick out less." Ser Brynden explained. "That said, you need to watch how you speak," he said, turning back to Blackwood.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with how I speak? You just said my accent won't be noticeable."
Ser Brynden shook his head. "It's not about how you sound, but the way you talk. You talk like you've spent your life in a bloody castle. You need to sound like a low born."
Lucas frowned. "How do I do that?"
"Instead of saying 'my lord', say 'm'lord.'" Ser Brynden said. "Talk with some of your men and copy the way they say things."
Lucas still looked a little confused but nodded nonetheless. Ser Brynden knew a lot about war. If he said Lucas needed to do something, then he should probably do it.
"I'll work on it," he promised.
Ser Brynden nodded. "See that you do. I'll give you two days head start to get into the castle and take it."
Lucas bowed slightly and left, grabbing the helmet on the way out. When he was gone, Jon turned to the Blackfish.
"I would like to go with Lucas."
Ser Brynden shook his head. "Your accent will give you away," he replied, turning to look at the map of the Westerlands. "And if that doesn't, that massive wolf of yours will."
Jon shifted. "I can leave Ghost with you," he said. "He'll stay if I tell him. Besides, if your plan goes as it should, I only have to make it a day without talking."
The Blackfish sighed and turned to look at the young warrior. "Why do you want to go?"
"I want to play a part in this war," Jon said quietly. "I wasn't with Robb at the Whispering Wood or Riverrun, and Oxcross was barely a battle. With this, I play an important part."
Ser Brynden gazed steadily at Jon, who met the knight's gaze without wavering.
"Fine. Find Blackwood and tell him that you're his second," Ser Brynden relented, holding up a hand to stop Jon before he left. "However, if you are imprisoned or caught, he and others are not responsible for you. I will not have the mission jeopardized."
Jon nodded firmly. "I understand."
"One day you'll realize that war isn't about fighting lad, but I see your point." Ser Brynden grunted. "Now go. Collect armor and be ready to ride in the morning."
Jon bowed slightly. "Thank you, Ser Brynden."
"Don't thank me yet lad, there's still a lot of fighting that has to be done," he said quietly, listening as Jon left the tent.