Robb was proud of his army as they marched into position. He, a young man who had not even reached twenty name days, had united four of the seven kingdoms under one banner and now led a significant portion of them into battle against possibly the most dangerous man in Westeros.
Unfortunately, pride wasn't all that Robb was feeling. It felt like stone butterflies littered his stomach, an unpleasant experience for the young king as he faced the opposing force arrayed in front of him.
Tywin had set his men in a similar formation as Robb, with infantry and archers in the center and his cavalry protecting the flanks. There was a heavier presence of knights on his eastern side, but Robb knew that it was to prevent the flank from being turned. Both commanders knew that, should the stark host prove able to pin the Lannister army against the lake, then all hope is lost.
"My lord, the men are in position." a messenger said, reining his horse in as he approached the northern king.
Robb turned to his horn-blower. "Sound the advance," he ordered. The barrel-chested man nodded and wet his lips before bringing up the horn and blew an ascending scale of notes.
Almost as one, Robb's army began to move forward, the sound of their boots tramping, along with the jingle of armor and weapons, was deafening to the young commander who had never been in a pitched battle before. All his battles to this point had been brilliantly planned surprise attacks. His father had taught Jon and him how to conduct pitched battles, but there was a difference between moving pieces on a board and commanding mortal men.
Horns went up along the lannister line as the mass of scarlet and gold began to move forward as well. When both armies were in range, archers began raining arrows down on the infantry, with mixed results coming from both sides.
Robb's front lines were entirely composed of stormlander levies, some of the toughest men he had ever seen. They trooped stubbornly through the arrow storm towards the lannisters, who were also doing their best to shrug off the projectiles flying all around them.
In a giant clash of metal and bodies, the two fronts came together and began to shove each other, a battle of will and strength emerging in the center. On the flanks, the two cavalry hosts slammed each other as well. The only way Robb would ever be able to describe the mass of humanity in front of him would be by saying that it looked like two bulls fighting for dominance.
Robb turned to Loras, who was watching the battle with a pale, but firm look on his face. He was once again armored in his ornate silver armor and helm decorated with golden roses. He had a heater shield strapped to his saddle and his sword was still sheathed at his side. Though the young knight was gripping the hilt with all his might.
"Ser Loras, now is the time," he ordered.
The young knight nodded quickly and rode off back towards the north. Robb had added a small wrinkle to his battle plan that morning, placing a thousand mounted knights some ways away from the battle on the Kingsroad. The plan was to have Loras take command and have them charge into Tywin's flank from the east in an effort to turn the enemy army. It would take the young knight time to reach them and for the column to reach the actual battle. Hopefully, Tywin's forces would be worn out and unprepared for a cavalry charge.
"Send word to Blackwood that I need arrow fire on the eastern flank," Robb said, giving orders to a messenger. The man nodded and clapped his heels into the flanks of his mount, galloping off towards where the archers were drawn up.
Robb surveyed the battlefield, an impatient itch annoying him. He knew he had to be patient and to let the battle play out, but the lack of anything happening got at him. He expected Tywin to have something up his sleeve, some trick or game to throw at Robb. but so far, he had revealed nothing.
Something in Robb's gut told him that something was coming, he just didn't know what.
Tywin
The Old Lion watched impassively as his army fought hard to hold back the stark host. They were fresh and well-fed, compared to Tywin's own army that was hanging on to their last reserves of food, water, and will.
Lord Banefort sat mounted next to his liege lord, an old and experienced veteran who had served under Tywin many times. With Kevan away on the eastern flank holding off the Tyrells, Banefort became Tywin's right-hand man.
"Those stormlanders are fighting something fierce." the older man said grimly, leaning forward in his saddle to get a better look at the front lines.
Tywin couldn't help but agree. His men were experienced soldiers one and all, but stormlander levies were some of the best in the seven kingdoms, and they were showing their worth now as they slowly moved through Tywin's front ranks. Not even the archers, who were the cream of the crop from the westerlands, seemed to be giving the southern warriors any trouble.
"My lord, a lone rider has left Stark's command center." a messenger replied breathlessly.
A certain light gleamed in the old man's eye. "Send word to Prince Oberyn. He will know what to do," he ordered, dismissing the man.
When the rider was gone, Lord Banefort, glanced towards his liege lord. "Do you think that dornishman will keep his word?" he asked quietly.
Tywin clenched his jaw. "Oberyn Martell will keep to his word. It's the only way his family can have what they want: a chance to sit on the Iron Throne."
Lord Banefort didn't feel as confident as his liege, but he held his tongue. If Tywin was willing to risk his legacy, for this was what this battle was, then who was he to argue. The Old Lion had never let his bannermen down before.
The two veterans watched as the battle raged in front of them, each host pushing against each other in a great battle of strength and will. Unfortunately for the Lords of Casterly Rock and Banefort, the stormlander levies were proving to be too much for the weary westermen. They were also backed up by a small host of northmen, given their chainmail and boiled leather armor. No doubt battle-hardened soldiers that had been with the Stark boy since the onset of the war. They were the steel backbone of the infantry.
"My lord, our arrows are running thin." a messenger called, riding up to Tywin. "Lord Marbrand is asking for any archer you can spare."
"Lord Marbrand will continue as he is." Tywin barked glaring at the man. "Reinforcements will be arriving soon. Tell him that he is not to disturb me anymore."
The rider paled, but nodded, riding off back the way he came. Tywin turned his glare back towards the battle, where the stark host seemed to be getting the upper hand against the lannister army.
"Send word to Ser Gregor." Tywin snapped to a nearby messenger.
The rider nodded and clapped his heels into his mount, spurring it towards the ruined castle in the distance. It was time for the Old Lion to show his claws.
Robb
After hours of fighting, Robb finally saw that his men were taking the upper hand in the fight. It was a good sight for the young king, especially since Ser Loras was close with his knights.
Just as the thought entered Robb's mind, the Knight of Flowers and his thousand-strong company came galloping down the road, their steel armor shining in the sun. With spectacular discipline, the armored wedge swung east before swinging back west, now pointed at the lannisters unprotected flank.
Like an arrow sinking into a target, the wedge of knight slammed into the lannister cavalry, penetrating deep into the ranks of red and gold. The enemy wavered slightly under the onslaught, but they seemed to retreat and rally, trying to keep their enemy in front of them.
"Your grace!" Brienne cried, pointing towards Harrenhal, where a group of cavalry had suddenly emerged and was charging full pelt towards Robb's flank where Lord Caron was slowly pushing the enemy back into their own infantry.
The massive figure at the head of the group told Robb all he needed to know about who was leading the group. It was the Mountain. Tywin's mad dog and his pack of equally cruel and sadistic raiders.
"Perwyn, take a thousand men from the reserve and march to Lord Caron's aid." Robb quickly ordered. The Frey knight nodded and rode off to follow his king's ordered.
"Will that be enough?" Smalljon asked, he and Dacey riding up to Robb.
"It'll have to," Robb said grimly, annoyed that he had been caught by surprise. He didn't think that Tywin would attack Robb from the west. "He's trying to cause casualties, and Gregor fucking Clegane can do that better than anyone. He knows he can't win and is going down fighting."
Smalljon and Dacey nodded, falling back in line behind their king with the rest of their group.
For the next hour, Robb watched the battle unfold before him. His left flank and center were still going strong, pushing the lannister back slowly and surely. His right flank was still a bit of a mess, but Caron was regaining control now that Ser Perwyn and his infantry had moved forward to restore order.
Robb had been tempted to throw his reserves into the battle to try and end the fight, but he knew that it would be a folly. His father had taught him to be patient in battle, and to try and think as his opponent would. That's what Robb had done so far in the war, and it's worked out well for him. He would not abandon such sound logic now.
"My lord, Ser Donnel reports that the lannister center is close to breaking," a messenger called, riding up to Robb. "He requests that the archers focus their full attention on the infantry."
Robb glanced at his left before nodding. "Request granted," he answered firmly. "Ride to Lord Blackwood and tell him."
The rider nodded and rode off.
For another hour, Robb and his friends waited and watched as the battle raged before them. By now, the death and carnage that they witnessed had dulled their emotions and calmed their senses. When the battle had started, a few had paled at the sight of death, but they had since steadied their hearts and had firm control of their fear.
"Sire, what is that?" Ser Balon asked, pointing an armored hand towards the southeast where a large dust cloud had formed.
Robb frowned, leaned forward in the saddle as he tried to figure out what had created the dust cloud. Whatever it was, it had to be large. Surely it couldn't be the Lannisters. From Robb's understanding, all of Tywin's host was now a part of the fray.
"It's the Martells!" Ser Balon gasped, shocked.
Robb turned to him. "Are you sure?"
The knight nodded quickly. "I see their banner clear as day. It's all cavalry. There have to be thousands of them!"
"Surely they are here to help us." Ser Garth Hightower interrupted. "Prince Doran and his family loathe all Lannisters."
A terrible feeling filled Robb's gut, one that he had felt weeks ago when he was in the Reach with Renly the night the Baratheon brother had died in front of him. It was a feeling of fear and uncertainty. Not something that Robb felt often.
He felt it again now, far stronger than when he had at the start of the battle.
The group of warriors watched, shocked and outraged, as the massive host of dornish cavalry smashed into Robb's left flank, quickly buckling and breaking the cavalry there and sending them retreating into their infantry, destroying their soon-to-be victory against the lannister foot.
Now the lannister cavalry added their depleted might to their newly arrived allies, driving Robb's host west towards the lake. What Robb had hoped to do to Tywin's army was now happening to his own, faster than the young king could keep up with.
"Sound the retreat!" Robb roared, trying to keep his anger and fear out of his voice as his mighty host was quickly being cut to pieces. "Retreat west!"
The remaining messengers around the king quickly rode off, sounding their horns and calling for their comrades to flee west.
Robb stayed where he was for a moment longer, glaring at the giant lion standard that flew behind the lannister vanguard where Tywin no doubt was. The Old Lion had surprised him and it had cost Robb dearly. It made the young man angrier than words could describe.
"This isn't over," he growled to himself.
"Your grace!" Brienne yelled. "We must go."
Robb growled and pointed his mount west. "Greywind," he shouted as he spurred his horse forward, his guards quickly surrounding him, hands gripping weapons as they readied themselves to protect their king.
Tywin
The Lord of Casterly Rock watched with satisfaction as his plan worked to perfection. The dornish cavalry swept in from the east like a flood, scything through the Stark bannermen, leaving hundreds of bodies in their wake.
Well, almost perfection. Instead of trying to rally his men, the Stark boy had quickly sounded the general retreat and would no doubt save more of his men from being cut down by the dornish cavalry. It was a safe, smart play by the boy, but he would still lose thousands, if not tens of thousands of men to Prince Oberyn and his dornish riders.
"My lord, we have victory," Kevan said happily as he rode up to his brother. "The Stark host is retreating."
"Send Clegane and our cavalry after him," Tywin ordered, not acknowledging his brother. "We have to keep them on the run and not allow them to regroup."
Kevan nodded to a nearby messenger, who nodded back and rode off to the west, where the Mountain that Rides was still slaughtering all around him. protected the thickest set of armor ever made, the knight stood out like, well, a mountain among the other mounted men around him. Kevan did not like the man. There was undoubtedly something unhinged about him, but Tywin loved him. He was his hammer, his mad dog, his strong and unforgiving hand.
"Prince Oberyn kept to his word," Kevan said, removing his helm and wiping his forehead. The older knight had taken a small part in the fighting when the Tyrell knight and his company of cavalry had slammed into his flank. Thankfully, he had been able to pull his host into itself, keeping the enemy held in place until the dornish had arrived.
The rest of his host, now under the command of a knight that had spent years in Kevan's service, was helping the dornish cavalry sweep up the rest of the stark infantry.
"As I said," Tywin replied, his eyes still trained on one of the few remaining pockets of resistance that were being quickly and savagely put down. "The Dornish only want one thing: power. It's what they have always wanted. I gave them enough to sate their thirst for now."
"And what if they want more?" Kevan asked.
"They won't want for more till after this war is over," Tywin answered. "When this war is over, so is their usefulness."
"How can you know this?"
Tywin glanced at his brother. "I spent decades in court, brother," he said coldly. "This is what happens. Always."
Kevan sighed quietly and bowed his head, dropping the discussion. The older knight then realized how tired he was. He was no longer a young man, not like when he and Tywin had marched off to fight in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He was old now and, like his brother, this would be his last war.
And from the looks of the battlefield, it would end with a hard-won victory.
"Send word to all commanders that we will regroup at Harrenhal tonight," Tywin ordered, gathering his reins in his hands.
Kevan nodded. "It will be done, my lord."
And with that, Tywin rode off, leaving his brother behind, tired, but victorious.