The Shadow of Winterfell Chapter 26

A/N: The format for this chapter will be different than the usual ASOIAF-style POVs

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The location chosen for the main forces of King Renly and King Tommen to do battle could be found by simply drawing a line between Harrenhal and King’s Landing and choosing any place along the shore of the massive lake that was the God’s Eye. As Renly Baratheon’s army advanced north, and Tywin’s south, the two masses of troops eventually met in what would eventually be hailed as the largest battle seen in recent Westerosi history.

After reviewing the terrain reports from their scouts, Tywin Lannister eventually settled on an coastal plain on the shores of the God’s Eye to do battle. In truth, it was one of the only suitable locations for the Lords to amass their massive number of troops. Over a hundred thousand men would participate in the coming battle, meaning that any normal empty field wouldn’t suffice.

The plain itself skirted along the shore of the God’s Eye, with the opposite side to the shore running against a steep, wooded embankment that would be impossible for a large number of troops to navigate effectively. With those two edges set to box in both armies, their respective commanders didn’t have to worry about being outflanked or ambushed by a detached force from behind without sufficient advance warning.

But the battlefield wasn’t perfect, with a dense line of trees and rocks that separated about a fourth of the battlefield from the rest. It was this part of the battlefield that skirted the shoreline, and being wide enough that it required both armies to place several thousand troops there to secure it. This meant that Tywin’s right wing, along with Renly’s left, would be out of view from the rest of the battlefield, forced to battle along the shores of the lake.

However, it was this part of the battlefield that held a certain significance that each army’s respective commanders saw. If Tywin’s army on the right managed to annihilate the opposing army, they would then be able to flank Renly’s force from the right and secure victory. As such, Robb Stark was chosen to attack on the right, having the second strongest force behind the Lannister army.

However, Renly Baratheon and his fellow Lords were also aware of this fact, and made preparations of their own. With Renly and Mace Tyrell in command of the main host of their Baratheon and Tyrell men-at-arms, they sent their best commander, Randyll Tarly, to annihilate the Stark army.

A/N: Map of the battle:

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Renly Baratheon

The Tyrell host arrived on the battlefield with much fanfare. Trumpets sounded and while hundreds of banners marked the advance of tens of thousands of men, making the very earth shake underneath their boots.

King Renly Baratheon took up his own spot on the battlefield, a hill that had been partially erected so he could see out over his own dense line of troops along with the rest of his commanding Lords. Next to him sat Mace Tyrell, along with a horde of other Lords and commanders who had a prime view over the battlefield. It was their headquarters, and was decorated with massive Baratheon and Tyrell banners raised high above the rest.

That wasn't to mention to thousands of men guarding it, making the hill a veritable fortress. But in a battle of this scale, a few thousand men to defend one hill was a token force that could be brushed aside if Tywin’s army truly reached them.

“This will be a glorious day, your Grace.” Mace Tyrell raised a goblet of wine as he wore a suit of armor that wrapped around his immense girth. “Today, we shall see the fall of Tywin Lannister, and ensure that no one can challenge your right to rule.”

“Indeed.” Renly’s expression was tense, as he didn’t look over the mass of troops in front of him, but rather towards his left and off in the distance.

“You are looking towards… Lord Tarly, your Grace?”

“I am.” Renly stated. “For it may not be us who win this battlefield, but Randyll Tarly.”

Mace frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, your Grace.”

Renly pointed at the steep treeline that divided the battlefield, and how it ended at both his own, and Tywin Lannister’s, flank. “Lord Tarly will be able to flank the Lannister army from behind if he is able to defeat Robb Stark in a timely manner. And I find it likely that he will be able to do so, as the Northmen lack decent armor, while Tarly’s own men are equipped with the finest steel, and are battle-tested and led by one of the best commanders in Westeros.”

“Hmm, Lord Tarly was able to defeat Robert Baratheon, after all.” Mace Tyrell mused. “Not to mention that Robb Stark is a green boy, no doubt emotional over his father being currently besieged by our own forces. Now that I think about it, their morale must truly be terrible, knowing that they face our more numerical force, and that it’s only a matter of time till we take King’s Landing. Why, perhaps we should give them the chance to surrender—”

Just then, a roar came from the left side of the battlefield, sounding out from the shores of the lake. It came from an army high on morale, eager to fight and die for their Lord. And both men couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t Lord Tarly’s men who were cheering.

Renly’s eyes narrowed. “It seems Lord Tarly will have a more difficult time than we assumed.”

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Robb Stark

“LONG LIVE THE STARKS!”

“THE LORD OF THE NORTH!”

“LORD ROBB! LORD ROBB! LORD ROBB!”

His guard followed as he rode his horse in front of the men, his direwolf Grey Wind at his side, while his sword was held aloft and raised high. Meanwhile his fellow Northmen cheered themselves hoarse, banners raised high while war horns sounded.

Behind him, he heard his fellow Lords and even Theon letting out their own roars, unable to help themselves but join in with their men. Their morale was higher than ever, his men wound tight and thirsty for the blood of their enemies.

“Prepare the front ranks to charge on my command, have them begin advancing forward!” Robb ordered.

Riders raced out to distribute his orders, while messenger flags were raised. The first rows of their army advanced forward, and he spotted Bolton and Karstark banners amongst their number. Meanwhile their main army stayed put, anxiously waiting with anticipation for their own orders, while Robb and his closest Lords moved to the back.

The regular men-at-arms panted and huffed for breath, but not out of worry, but out of sheer excitement. He had wound his army up with his show at the beginning, raised their morale incredibly high by riding with his direwolf to the front. Now the men wanted to fight, to die, and to win victory for the North.

But they would have to wait, as Robb had decided to choose caution over valor in the coming battle. He wasn’t a lackwit, and knew that Randyll Tarly was a skilled commander, and wasn't to be underestimated.

His army couldn’t win on momentum alone, especially if they wanted to completely annihilate Tarly’s army before circling left and hitting Renly’s main force from the side. Maybe before his father’s brutal lessons on being Lord of Winterfell, Robb would’ve charged forward at the front of his army, but he wasn't the same hotheaded boy as before. He was more cautious and mature now, ready to bring this war to a close and get back to Winterfell and see his beautiful wife.

Horns sounded then, as the advancing men finally went into an all-out sprint towards the Tyrell lines. He could hear the initial clash, as thousands of bodies collided at once. Men were trampled, shields shaken, and spears broken as the bloodshed officially began.

Surprisingly, his men kept moving forward, barely slowing in stride as they rampaged through Tarly’s formation. It seems the Reachmen underestimated the strength of the North.

Men cheered at the sight, while the Lords around him hastily asked to commit their own forces to the slaughter. He had not expected such a simple charge to gain such headway into Tarly’s formation, and it would be wise to capitalize on it.

But something stayed his hand, making him wait as thousands fought and died. Around him, he could hear the regular soldiers eagerly wanting to join the fray.

“Let’s go kill the Reach scum!”

“What are you waiting for?! Send us in!”

“N-Not yet! Lord Stark has yet to give orders!”

“My Lord, Lord Ryswell requests orders to charge the Tyrell line and support our men in the front!” A messenger spoke to his side.

Robb didn’t answer, watching as their force crushed the Tyrell formation. However, he couldn’t help but notice the right side of Tarly’s ranks by the lake barely moved, practically unscathed by the 2,000 men he sent ahead, standing like mountains against the northern tide. It was then that Tarly’s center and left ranks ran back, as if in a rout.

“We’ve got them now! They’re on the run!”

“Lord Robb, please send the rest of our men in!”

His eyes narrowed, watching as dark shapes moved to the front of Tarly’s rear ranks, forming new lines against his charging men. Even if far away, their armor was so heavy that he could spot it from here, each man carrying a gigantic shield while spearmen positioned themselves behind. They formed an impenitable wall of iron, one that would be nearly impossible to break through without heavy casualties.

And his men ran straight into it. Scores of troops died in an instant as morale went from its peak to abysmal in a matter of moments. Soon bodies began to pile up in front of the newly-formed Tyrell shield wall, as the 2,000 Northmen he sent out barely made a dent against it.

Suddenly, arrows began to rain down from both the front and side, as the right side of the Tyrell formation by the lake’s edge concealed archers behind their lines.

“W-What?!”

“How brutal!”

“They were planning that the whole time?!”

“M-My Lord, we must have the men retreat!”

“Prepare the next charge.” Robb ordered, making the Lords around him look at him as if he had lost all sense. “Randyll Tarly has played his hand, and it was only through the courage of a tenth of our might that we prompted him to do so. We shall organize our men into two groups, being one attacking the far left by the treeline, while another charges the outcropping of Tyrell soldiers on the right.”

His orders would surely result in heavy casualties, but such a fact was unavoidable at this point. It seemed that Randyll Tarly’s own strategy was to defend and bloody them as much as possible, relying heavily-armored soldiers and archers before arranging them in a formation that would ensure the any attacking army would endure heavy casualties.

“Lord Umber.” Robb turned to the burly Lord. “You are to keep to the left, and charge straight through that wall with your men.”

“Aye.” Greatjon Umber gave a bloodthirsty grin. “We’ll crush those Reach bastards, and take Tarly’s head!”

“Lord Glover, you are to attack the right.” He ordered next. “Take command of the mountain clansmen as well as your own men, and make sure you shield yourselves from the archers.”

“Yes, Lord Robb.” Galbart Glover bowed.

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Randyll Tarly

The headquarters of the Tyrell left wing was calm and collected. Orders and reports of the battle’s progress came and went without much reaction, as Randyll Tarly and his closest commanders were veterans of such bloodshed. They were some of the best commanders Westeros had to offer, and arrived on the battlefield with an expectation of victory.

And not even a messenger bringing ill news would fracture that facade. “Report! The Northmen have broken through to the right, and Lord Ashford is requesting reinforcements!”

“What of the northerners that have broken through? What banners do they march under?” Randyll Tarly calmly asked.

Rather than retreating, which any smart commander would do once faced with the terror of their formation, Robb Stark had decided to send even more men into the deadly quagmire.

“They belong to House Umber, my Lord.”

“The Umbers are said to be the most fanatical among House Stark’s vassals.” Randyll Tarly mused. “It is not unexpected that they would break through with sheer force.”

“Should we reform a second defensive line and regroup, Lord Randyll?” A nearby lord asked.

“No.” The Lord of Horn Hill replied. “To be safe, have our reserves begin shifting to the right for now. I don’t want to make any more drastic moves when Robb Stark has yet to commit the bulk of his forces.”

Lord Tarly’s eyes narrowed as he looked across the battlefield, over the killing fields and the men fighting and dying in droves to where the Stark army sat patiently. Robb Stark had yet to commit even half of his army, instead only sending out the front ranks of his men to attack.

It was hard to figure out just what the Stark heir was thinking, as the only conceivable way through this formation was to use the sheer might of his army to muscle through while under the onslaught of archers. Only overwhelming numbers would allow them to prevail, as men would climb over the dead bodies of their own comrades to break through his shield wall.

A new messenger appeared then, covered in blood and sweat unlike the one before. “Report! Lord Cuy has been killed! We are failing to stop the attack to our right!”

His nearby commanders reeled back in shock, and Lord Tarly opened his mouth to respond, only for a new messenger to appear then. “Report! Two thousand men have left the Stark lines and attacked our left by the shore! Their men wave the banners of House Glover!”

“So they’ve broken through our left and right?!”

“Ngh! Just what are the Starks playing at?!”

He could see it now. Robb Stark planned to make inroads into his formation before committing the rest of his men. With enough chaos sewn by House Glover and Umber to the left and right sides of his formation, the Stark army would be ripe to attack.

“Have most of our reserves focus on the right!” He called out. “Send the rest to the left, and don’t let House Glover gain a foothold in our formation! We—”

“My Lord!” It wasn’t a messenger this time, but a nearby lookout who interrupted him.

“What?!” He snapped.

“The Stark army is advancing upon us!”

Randyll’s head snapped up, seeing that the Stark army was indeed finally moving. But that wasn’t what caught his attention, as it was the way in which they were advancing that worried him.

The men marched in waves, forming three of them, one behind the other, each having several thousand men. More than that, the Stark formation was positioned to directly slam into his battle line.

“Damn him. He sees us having trouble with Glover and Umber, and immediately launched his attack!”

“C-Can we hold against that, my Lord?” A nearby knight stammered, his face an expression of horror as he stared at the incoming wave attack.

“We will.” Randyll Tarly forced calmness into his voice. “This is nothing more than some green boy playing games on the battlefield. His formation will do nothing but crash against us like water upon rock. Bolster our front ranks immediately! Annihilate whatever footholds the Northmen have managed to gain! And inform all of our men that we outnumber them!”

Messengers set out at once, while a new round of war horns and trumpets sounded in the background.

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Robb Stark

“Is it wise to attack with our full might this early, my Lord?”

“We have to.” Robb answered. “Lord Umber and Lord Glover have done their part spectacularly, and it is our job to capitalize on their success.”

“But their archers are still attacking, my Lord!”

Indeed, the archers under Lord Tarly were still launching their arrows from the front and side. But he knew it was only a matter of time till their advance units broke through to those archers and either annihilated them or forced them to withdraw.

“It is unavoidable.” Robb stated grimly. “We are sure to lose a lot of men to Lord Tarly’s tactics, but this is the only way to win other than brute forcing our way through.”

Ahead, the first wave of Northmen was arriving to support the men already in battle, slipping through the gaps in Tarly’s shield wall and slaughtering the men behind. He could only hope that the Greatjon was okay, and hadn’t been injured or lost too many men in his breakthrough on the left.

The second wave of men finally reached them, bringing even more soldiers as support as the battlefield devolved into a melee.

“Advance!” A nearby knight roared over the battle, as the third and final wave of Northmen moved closer to the battlefield. And it just so happened that Robb was leading them, positioned at the front upon his horse, Grey Wind at his side, while surrounded by his closest guards and Lords.

“It seems we will be the ones to bring the battlefield to a close.” Lord Medger Cerwyn remarked from Robb’s side, as they moved closer.

But Robb wasn’t looking at the approaching battle, as his gaze instead drifted to the right, out over the misty lake that was the God’s Eye. They had not picked a perfectly clear day to do battle, as light rain in the night combined with the cool morning air created a dense fog over the lake.

It was something that typically wouldn’t matter to any normal commander, but to Robb it was a blessing in disguise. Part of his plan hinged on Lord Tarly focusing on Robb’s left, against the dense treeline, instead of positioning more men along the shoreline.

Robb moved then, moving to the left side of their advancing troops as to focus even more pressure on Tarly’s right. His men moved behind him, creating wedge formation that would cause the Reachmen even more chaos. Your time is now, Harry.

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“Crush them! Kill the Northern scum!”

The Reachmen moved forward along the shore as their front ranks crashed into the Northmen right wing. The left side of their formation stuck out like a sore thumb, and as such was getting beaten to hell and back by the northerners. The archers were in the process of retreating, while regular men-at-arms moved up as reinforcements.

The Glovers had attacked them in a ruthless charge, supported the mountainmen that were no different from wildlings in the minds of these Reachmen. They had created a foothold under an insane barrage of arrows, and were then supported by the tens of thousands of men sent forward by Lord Stark to break the shield wall carefully planned in advance by Lord Tarly.

Some of the advancing Reachmen paused as the sound of splashing water caught their attention then, and a couple looked out to the fog-covered lake. Just then, a dark shape appeared, as the soldiers of the Reach had to look up just to see how tall the incoming shape was.

It was a massive wooden wall, which the men soon realized was a ramp, attached to a gigantic barge. The barge itself was hastily put together, made up of logs and spare wood, before being covered on the top by dirt.

And they could see men and horses positioned on top of that barge.

Some opened their mouths to scream, to alert their superiors of the unexpected attack. But that was when the ramp came crashing down, crushing several men underneath its weight and momentum.

Mounted knights and men-at-arms were on those barges, numbering in the hundreds by the time one counted up the number of rafts multiplied by the horsemen positioned on each one.

An unruly, dark haired man strode forward first, his green eyes surveying the battlefield with an eyrie coolness. In his hand rested a greatsword, and behind him sat a blonde woman unlike any maiden the Reachmen had seen before, wielding a spear atop her own steed.

“Well then.” Harry equipped his helm, riding to the front atop his horse. “Let’s finish things up.”