[Chapter Size: 3400 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Reach, 300 AC.
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The very next moment, the charge struck them from the rear by surprise, throwing itself against the camp and simply overrunning everything. The men shouted as they tried to raise their shields, but it was useless at that moment. Ten thousand horsemen and the dwarves' war ponies charged forward at full speed, impossible to stop through any resistance.
Kevan tried to prevent it with his orders, turning the army toward the more urgent side, while a portion disappeared under Jaime's command into the mist.
All they could hear were their men desperately and futilely trying to stop the charge. At the same time, another thunderous crash came from the south, within the mist. The giants were trampling over the horses and the men who had fallen to the ground during the first assault.
The giants began advancing with their enormous bodies, running at full speed, wielding shields and swords, heading straight toward them with footsteps that made the earth tremble slightly.
All they could see was the Lannister army being pressed from both sides, unable to establish a proper defense against the enemy.
"Maintain a defensive formation!" Kevan tried to command, but most were already in a panic. The charge from the rear was already overrunning the group of fifteen thousand men he had prepared for the attack.
Very quickly, the noise drowned out everything. The neighing of horses, men screaming in pain, others shouting orders, and even cries of fury echoed from every direction, while the sound of countless people crashing to the ground beneath the combined weight of horses and men upon other men—since most of the mounted Lannisters had already been sent in the first assault—mixed with the sound of flesh being pierced, filled the ears of the lords present. Before long, it had become a hopeless battle for them.
The giants also drew near, and the men could only watch in horror as they raised their blades and began slaughtering them.
Kevan dodged one warrior and tried to defend himself from other Arcticans approaching in full armor, searching for an opening in those suits of armor, but unable to wound them.
"You seem busy, Kevan Lannister," a voice echoed, making Kevan immediately turn his horse. He saw a man standing atop an enormous direwolf, so colossal that it made the horse itself look like a mouse before a cat.
Jon was riding Ghost, who was immense and clad in full armor to protect him from arrows, as he observed the battlefield. He had left Eragon in the skies. The dragon remained circling overhead, but there was no need to use him at that moment.
Kevan's own horse began to grow restless, stepping backward as if it refused to approach that creature.
Kevan merely kept his stunned gaze fixed on the king before him. Even though he was wearing a helmet, there was no denying it was him.
Ghost simply hurled himself at the horse. The animal barely had time to react before one of the direwolf's paws struck it violently, knocking it to the ground. The horse neighed in pain as Kevan was thrown from the saddle, rolling across the ground. All the air seemed to vanish from his lungs at that instant as he struggled to catch his breath, completely dazed.
Jon did not remain still either. He simply leaped down from Ghost, landing on the ground before calmly walking toward where Kevan was trying to recover.
"Pick up your sword, Kevan Lannister," Jon said, drawing Blackfyre from its sheath while keeping it pointed downward, completely ignoring the battles raging around them.
"My lord!" several men from the Westerlands shouted, trying to reach Kevan. However, the men of the Kingsguard, who were already positioned around the king alongside his giant direwolf, stepped in front of them and quickly raised their swords, ready to kill any noble who came closer.
Kevan saw this and looked toward the other nobles, who now hesitated to advance.
"Sound the horn. We surrender," Kevan said.
The men nodded and hurried off to carry out the order. The battle was already lost.
Jon spat on the ground. "So that's it? I expected a little more resistance from you, Kevan Lannister," Jon said with a hint of disgust, staring at the man as he got to his feet and removed his helmet.
"What more do you want? You've already won!" Kevan growled angrily.
"No. Pick up your sword and fight me. Not after what your men did in the North."
"What did they do in the North?" he asked.
"Bring me Lord Ferren," Jon ordered.
The man was quickly brought forward. There was a massive gash across his chest, and blood was still flowing through the openings in his armor. Valyrian steel had sliced through the metal with ease as he looked around in a daze.
"I must say, the plan to commit atrocities at House Durwell's seat and place the blame on us was quite interesting," Jon said, looking at the man.
He let out a laugh. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he mocked.
Even Kevan realized he was lying, whatever had happened.
"Two hundred horsemen were sent to the Durwell lands with the intention of massacring everyone, committing atrocities, and in the end placing the blame on us. A rather foolish plan, I must say. After all, this war will already be won by us. Westeros never had a chance, and we would have come after you anyway," Jon said calmly, watching them.
"But I don't like being targeted in that way. You people don't seem to understand that we will retaliate, and that is exactly what I will do. Lord Ferren, your family will hold lands no longer. I will personally make sure to destroy everything that bears your name," Jon declared.
He watched the man turn pale at that moment. "You won't win," he said, though he no longer sounded nearly as bold as before.
Jon gave him a smile. "Ah, you must be trying to judge this by the numbers. But what are you doing? Look at the battlefield around you. You had twice as many men as we did, yet all I see are Lannisters being slaughtered," Jon said.
The man's expression began to crumble before that obvious logic. He was a lord, so some measure of reason should have surfaced at that moment. He needed to be able to understand that reality was not on his side.
"You can't defeat King's Landing," he said, more as a murmur than a statement.
Jon merely smiled. "You know my numbers are far greater than fifteen thousand. We proved that years ago. We only launched an attack from the western coast, and we didn't even have all of our men, since they're heading north, transporting the former slaves from the Iron Islands. But you know something? The true size of our army will come from the east. Or rather... it is already stationed in the east at this very moment. Not even your precious allies in King's Landing know that yet, but they soon will. It doesn't matter how many men you have stationed on that side."
Jon spoke while looking at the man, who was beginning to see reality more and more clearly. He knew he had lost. Even so, Jon would not let this pass lightly. What he had done had to be dealt with accordingly.
Around them, the battlefield began to fall silent. The Lannisters who were still fighting desperately started dropping their weapons one by one, bringing the battle to an end.
"It was Tywin Lannister who ordered me to do it," Lord Ferren's voice echoed.
Jon stared at him for a moment before nodding. He had already suspected that this truly was Tywin Lannister's way of doing things. He should not have been surprised by it. He simply nodded, as though acknowledging the fact.
"I see... all the more reason for you to pick up your sword and fight me, Kevan. At the very least, I need to take the life of a Lannister here on the battlefield."
"I won't fight you. If you want to execute me, then do it," Kevan replied coldly.
Jon merely shook his head. "Very well, then. I'll do what has to be done."
"Just do it, Trinsmy." He turned toward one of the Kingsguard, who simply nodded.
Kevan had imagined there would be a public execution, but that did not happen. Kevan knew that such a duel would be a lost cause. After all, Jon Arctic was renowned as the greatest swordsman in the world, never having been defeated and capable of overcoming anyone.
Since there would be no duel, Trinsmy simply mounted his horse and rode south.
Kevan did not know what he intended to do, and Jon soon turned his attention back to his men. "Gather all the prisoners and force Lord Ferren to his knees," Jon ordered.
There was no need for a spectacle. He would do it immediately. As his men forced Lord Ferren down onto the ground, the man still struggled to break free, but there was nothing he could do. Jon approached with Blackfyre already in hand, the very sword he had expected to use against Kevan.
Fear flashed in Lord Ferren's eyes at that moment, but nothing would stop that blade from severing his head.
Jon raised Blackfyre and, without giving the man the chance to say another single word, brought the blade down. His men simply held him still as the sword sliced through his neck, sending his head rolling across the ground.
"I will grant no mercy to men who resort to tricks like that," Jon said with undisguised contempt.
Then he looked at Kevan for only a moment before continuing on his way, watching as his men began gathering up the Lannisters.
To the south, Jaime suddenly felt his world spin as he was hurled to the ground. The impact immediately brought him back to his senses before an involuntary cough escaped him along with the pain coursing through his body.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a field, not far from where he had been before. Horses and men lay scattered everywhere, while the dwarves continued slaughtering those who could no longer be saved, ending their lives as massive hammers crushed one head after another.
Jaime tried to understand what had happened, but he was struck on the side of his helmet with a punch that sent him reeling backward before he crashed to the ground once again.
He looked up at his attacker and saw a man standing before him.
"Come on, Jaime Lannister. Get up, pick up that Valyrian steel sword of yours, and fight me," Trinsmy said.
Jaime's eyes instantly filled with deep hatred. The man who had severed his hand was standing right before him, inviting him to a duel.
Jaime looked at the Valyrian steel sword his father had given him and picked it up. Forged from the Starks' Ice... "You..." he said with profound disgust and hatred.
The man merely smiled. "My king wants to see a Lannister beheaded today. It seems your uncle refuses to fight him, so it'll be you instead. And since we have a bit of history together, it's time for me to cut off more than just your right hand. Show me what you've learned over the past year, cripple," Trinsmy said, provoking Jaime, who was as furious as a lion.
Jaime got to his feet, gripped his sword, and cast him a look filled with hatred before attacking. Trinsmy blocked the blow with ease.
It had been more than a year and a half since Jaime had lost his hand. Since then, he had been mocked by countless knights and courtiers, who whispered that he was no longer worthy of wearing the white cloak. Even his sister now looked at him with a measure of contempt, as though he had become weak. His father still tried to make him carry himself like a true lion, but Jaime knew that even he harbored a trace of disappointment.
And all of that was the fault of the man standing before him. He was the one who had cut off his hand when Jaime had tried to defend his sister after Trinsmy threatened her.
Jaime launched another attack, which was once again blocked with ease.
He had lost everything. Even though he was still a reasonably decent swordsman, he was only a shadow of the warrior he had once been. And that shadow of his former self had already been humiliatingly defeated by a woman wearing the same armor as the man now standing before him at Winterfell, even before Trinsmy had appeared.
Trinsmy blocked yet another strike and smiled, as though he were enjoying Jaime Lannister's downfall.
Other Arctican men began to gather nearby. Most of them were dwarves, watching the duel while asking the soldiers at the front what was happening.
Jaime tried to thrust, but the man sidestepped it effortlessly, clearly toying with him. Jaime attempted another slash, and this time the man blocked it while his Valyrian steel blade scraped against armor forged from the same metal.
"Nice try," he said with a smile. He was doing it on purpose. With the armor completely enclosed, there were only a few openings at the joints, but Jaime knew he was incapable of striking them. Even so, he would fight until the very end.
It was a shame his opponent had no intention of dragging out the duel. The next moment, he went on the offensive, forcing Jaime backward. He gave him no further opening for a counterattack. He continued pressing him relentlessly for nearly half a minute until Jaime lost his breath and began making mistakes.
That was when his armor started taking repeated blows from the Valyrian steel blade. The metal became scarred with cuts and dents, though it still resisted being pierced.
Then came a strike delivered with surgical precision beneath his left armpit. Trinsmy's sword pierced the high-quality chainmail specially made for a Lannister. It was impossible for it to withstand Valyrian steel. The blade drove through the protection, and blood immediately gushed out.
The sword fell from Jaime's left hand as he looked at his own shoulder, overwhelmed by pain. Part of it had been pierced by the blow. He had completely lost the use of his arm. Clearly, the strike had reached the bone as well.
"Looks like that's all the lion can do," Trinsmy said with his malicious smile.
He walked over to Jaime, placed a hand on his pauldron, and forced him down onto his knees. Then he reached for his helmet and removed it while Jaime stared at him, utterly exhausted and struggling to breathe.
"So, little lion... let's finish this."
Under the eyes of all the witnesses, even some men who knew the reputation of Jaime Lannister watched him.
Jaime simply stared at the man he hated most. The very next instant, Trinsmy swung his sword and completely severed Jaime Lannister's head. The head rolled several yards before he picked it up.
"Let's go see the king now," he said without showing the slightest emotion.
The king had ordered Jaime's death, and he had merely carried out that command. Jon was watching the prisoners being gathered in the middle of the battlefield when Trinsmy returned carrying the head in his hands.
"I've brought what you asked for, Your Majesty," he said.
Jon merely nodded. "Good work. Give it to his uncle."
Trinsmy obeyed immediately and tossed the head, sending it bouncing until it reached the principal prisoners.
Kevan turned pale as he recognized Jaime Lannister's severed head coming to a stop in front of him.
Jon did not even bother asking how the duel had gone. He had watched it through his other eyes. It had been a tedious fight, not even worth watching. Jaime was a cripple who would have struggled to defeat even a commoner holding a sword for the first time.
That was why Jon had thought it more appropriate to let Trinsmy settle the matter once and for all. After all, the two of them already had a bit of history together.
"He fought. He didn't cower, unlike certain people," Trinsmy mocked.
Jon simply nodded. "Excellent," he replied.
Then he turned his attention back to Kevan, who was still staring at his nephew's head. "You see, Kevan. Unlike you, your nephew still fought. I wanted the head of a Lannister to punish you for what almost happened to the Durwells. Fortunately, I managed to stop it. But since you refused to fight, your nephew fought in your place. I want you to remember for the rest of your life that your own cowardice killed your nephew. Even crippled, he still fought."
Kevan simply stared at him, a storm of emotions reflected in his eyes.
"Put that head somewhere. I'm going to send it to King's Landing so Tywin knows what happened," Jon said without showing any emotion.
He would make Tywin suffer the consequences of his actions in that war. It was also part of his vengeance for what had happened decades earlier.
"We have around three thousand prisoners, Your Majesty. What shall we do with them? That's a lot of people to take care of," Lancelot said as he approached.
Jon considered it. Three thousand prisoners against an army of fifteen thousand soldiers was a complicated number. Guarding that many prisoners would require assigning at least three thousand men solely to watch over them, and they did not have an army large enough for that at the moment.
"Take the important prisoners to the sea. They'll be kept with the others so we can deal with them after the war is over," Jon ordered.
Kevan and the others were dragged away. Sons of lords and important knights could still be kept alive. The problem was the common soldiers.
Jon, however, remembered what he had seen in the Riverlands. He had seen what those men had done throughout the region. Rape, looting, massacres, and every kind of atrocity simply because they had an army to protect them.
"You may cut off all their heads." At least he would grant them a swift death.
His men merely nodded. Jon had no way to feed and guard three thousand enemy mouths without jeopardizing the rest of the campaign. Nor could he simply set them free.
So he would give them all a swift death. The battlefield was soon stained with even more red as all the men were forced to kneel before wooden blocks. Hundreds of them at a time, before being beheaded one by one.
Blood gushed everywhere, heads rolled across the ground, men screamed, begged for forgiveness, spoke of their families, of babies who had just been born and who would now grow up without their fathers.
But this was war. Jon still had a campaign to finish, and what he had seen in the Riverlands had certainly not left him with a favorable impression of the soldiers from the Westerlands. He also remembered very well what had happened in King's Landing when Elia and Aegon were murdered.
Had it not been for the logistical concerns and what he had witnessed, he might even have spared them. He was not so petty as to kill people without reason. But when it benefited his people and his kingdom, he did not hesitate.
Thus, over the following hours, while the nobles were taken away as prisoners, the entire remainder of the surrendered army was executed.
Once they were finished, they lit an enormous bonfire to burn all the bodies. A vast sea of flames began consuming the dead.
His men had lost around five hundred soldiers, while another thousand had been wounded. It was a negligible result compared to the losses they had inflicted upon the enemy, thanks to their high-quality armor, superior weapons, and, above all, the strategy they had employed.
Now, Jon still had around thirteen thousand five hundred men to continue marching south. Fourteen thousand once he healed the other thousand...
In any case, he still had the heart of the Reach to conquer.
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