Robb Stark
"My Lord, enemy formations advancing in our direction ahead! We estimate their number to be ten thousand!"
It seemed that their actions on the right wing had not gone unnoticed, and Renly Baratheon had taken precautions to stop their advance.
"They must be what remains Renly's reserves, have our front ranks engage them at once!" He ordered swiftly. "In the meantime, have our main force hold back and reorganize our formations! We will concentrate the bulk of our forces on a specific point in their line to break through. After that, Renly's head is as good as ours!"
Riders set out to relay his orders while the nearby men cheered, their morale already sky high and climbing even higher.
Fighting and utterly crushing Tarly's 20,000 men had made the men tired, but that tiredness was outweighed by their success. They were exhilarated, eager to see the battle's forgone conclusion of a complete Northern victory. It would be something to boast about back home, for the men to go back to their villages and homes in the North with the pride of having won this battle.
His men-at-arms soon threw themselves against whatever scraps Renly's commanders had managed to conjure, being ill-armed smallfolk that had likely been press ganged into service from the Reach. Their lines crumbled under the onslaught of enthusiastic, blood-soaked Northmen, having just crushed one of Westeros' greatest generals, and eager to take Renly's head.
It didn't take long for the first waves to make headway, and that was when Robb pulled out his sword, raising it aloft as the hastily-made formation of Reachmen buckled. It was time for his own army to finally breakthrough, and attack Renly's position directly.
"Forward, wolves of the North!" Robb roared, as trumpets blared and banners were raised aloft, signaling the whole army to advance as one. "It is time for us to bring this battle to an end!"
His limbs felt heavy, the surrounding Lords were breathing hard, and the men-at-arms were tired. But the battle - as well as the war - was nearly at an end. All it would take was this final push to reach Renly Baratheon's headquarters where he was overseeing the battle.
They advanced steadily with the main bulk of their force, their numbers and momentum guaranteeing their advance. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that nothing could stop them now, but that was when their front lines erupted in chaos.
"Several hundred knights have broken through the front ranks and are heading straight for us!" A spotter called out.
They must be Renly's strongest troops, held in reserve just in case. It made sense for elite units to be held in reserve in a battle this large, and Robb guessed that his advance had forced Renly to deploy them. Indeed, his own army had specialty troops of their own, and he had deployed House Stark's own veteran mounted men-at-arms with Harry to flank Tarly's army.
It was a lesson he had learned from his father, back during his own war against Rhaegar Targaryen. His father had held the most elite units of the rebellion's army in reserve, first deploying the knights of the Vale who decimated the Martell forces. Then came Robert Baratheon and his own veterans from the Stormlands, carefully maneuvered by his Father so they could break through to Rhaegar Targaryen's position.
"Allow my forces to handle them, my Lord." Lord Karstark spoke from the side.
House Karstark had come south with several thousand mounted men, with most of those being veterans of fighting wildling incursions in the past. They were some of the North's strongest troops, and could likely handle whatever elite troops Renly had deployed.
"I give you leave to do so." Robb agreed to his request. "Know that these knights are likely trying to cut their way here, so prioritize defending this position."
His headquarters was located close to the front of his force, and with the Stark banners raised high overhead, it was more than likely those knights saw his position and were trying to cut their way to him. Likely it was a last ditch gamble to win the battle, to take his head and turn the tides in Renly's favor.
"Do you think they'll make it here?" Theon asked cautiously from his side as the battle progressed.
No longer was he far from the fighting like before, and couldn't get a good view of the entire battlefield. But from the sounds of battle ahead, he could tell Renly's knights were putting up one hell of a fight to reach him.
"Aye." Robb nodded. "Maybe a few, so be ready."
The men around him took his words seriously, readying their weapons as Renly's knights soon hit the innermost defenses around his position.
The first that broke through was an armored knight of House Cuy, who was laid low by one of Theon's arrows. More followed after, ragged and wounded as they had fought their way this far into his formation by sheer force. The nearby Lords were immediately upon them, including Maege Mormont who killed two of them with her mace.
But one managed to fight through Robb's guard, dressed in the most ornate armor he had ever seen. The sigil of House Tyrell was displayed prominently on his armor, along with a strange rainbow cloak.
Their swords clashed, and Robb felt his arm shake under the strain. But he had no time to think, as already his opponent was maneuvering for another strike that he barely managed to deflect.
Quick. The man was fast, faster than his father and even faster than Harry in the yard. He was slippery too, perfectly positioning himself to dodge each of Robb's thrusts. But when he didn't dodge, he slammed his blade against him in a way that left Robb rattled.
He was lucky to be keeping up with the man's speed, but eventually his luck ran out. One of his swings missed, and resulted in his forearm getting a nasty gash.
"Fuck!" He hissed in pain, struggling to grip his sword. It was hardly a fatal wound, but it had cut tendons and nerves. And in a fight where he was already struggling to keep up, it would make his blows slower and less precise.
"It's over for you, Stark." The voice that came from his opponent was deep and unnatural, as if he knew their duel was decided.
He stared at the man, knowing he was likely a Tyrell, and for a brief moment he caught a glimpse of his eyes under his helm. Those eyes were black as night, his pupils possessing no color and the whites of his eye nonexistent.
The man lashed out then, and Robb moved to block. But his strength was too little, as the knight's strike brushed aside his weak block before cutting through his breastplate to pierce his chest. He gasped at the pain, falling backwards and off his horse.
"Lord Robb! " He heard multiple voices call out to him in panic.
The Tyrell knight moved to end him while he lay sprawled on the ground, but fate had other plans in that moment. A cry of rage signaled the arrival of another knight, his horse sprinting into the melee before he slammed his greatsword into Robb's assailant.
The blow was heavy, but what came next defied basic sense. The man's sword shattered upon impact with the Tyrell knight, creating an explosion that sent both men flying back in a mess of steel.
The man who saved him landed on the ground, his helm gone, armor a mess, but was dressed in Stark colors. Robb recognized him instantly.
Harry had arrived.
/////
Hadrian Snow
What magic was that? His sword had been about to cut that man in two, and save Robb from a gruesome death. And yet his blade had been utterly shattered upon impact, almost like some sort of magical backlash. Next thing he knew, Harry was blown backwards before landing harshly on the ground.
"You." The voice that spoke was inhuman, deep and oily unlike anything he had heard before. It came from the knight he had just attacked, who stood across from him.
It was only through sheer force of will that he managed to stand up and face his opponent. He recognized him as Loras Tyrell through sheer luck, as it was only his ornate armor and Tyrell heraldry that gave him away.
The place where Harry's blade had impacted was open, revealing a grisly sight of green, worm-like tentacles on his insides. It was disgustingly inhuman, and was hardly the only part of him that was different.
His helm was removed to reveal eyes that were black, skin scarred by bulging veins, and it reminded him far too much of Voldemort's baby form his fourth year of Hogwarts in his previous life. Clearly Loras Tyrell had undergone something magical to end up in such a state.
"What happened to you?" He couldn't help but ask.
"A gift." Loras smirked. "At the request of my king, Lord Hightower worked to save my life. Now, I am even stronger than before."
Lord Hightower? That will need investigating. The last thing the realm needed were magically-powered monsters like Loras roaming Westeros. Although his explanation brought a host of other questions to mind, such as how House Hightower was able to perform whatever magic that turned Loras into this.
The Reach was the last place he expected to find any magical practitioners. And with Oldtown also being the home of the Citadel, it made Harry wonder if the Maesters were somehow involved with this.
His thoughts were disrupted suddenly, as more Northern mounted men and Lords appeared, before charging at Loras. Harry had not been the only one to come support Robb, as others wanted to save their liege Lord.
Loras Tyrell didn't bother moving, as his mouth opened, before opening far wider than should be humanly possible. The sight was unnatural, and what came next was even more so. A deafening cry split the air that hurt his ears, causing the horses nearby to go berserk. Riders were thrown from their mounts, with some even being crushed by the hooves of their unruly steeds.
Luckily, he was still armed, and Harry reached to grab his new Valyrian steel greatsword he had taken from Lord Tarly. He raced forward with the sword before slashing it down at the Tyrell knight, forcing him to cease his screaming and block.
They were fighting then, blades clashing in the chaos as Harry struggled to keep up. Each of his blows were strong, capable of shattering the strongest of men under their weight, and yet Loras was able to fend them off.
He could feel a heaviness as the fight progressed, almost like a weight that had been thrust upon his shoulders. His whole body felt sluggish, like he was trying to move his limbs through seawater. A glance around showed the nearby men were also struggling to move. In fact, most were struggling to even stand up, let alone actually fight.
"What is this?" He spoke aloud during a break in the fighting.
"You feel it, don't you, champion of R'hllor?" Loras spoke in that same unnatural voice. "The Drowned God has granted me a great gift. You should grovel in his mere presence."
The Drowned God? The explanation for Loras Tyrell's magic became even stranger. Likely some sort of ritual or sacrifice that caused his boost in power. Yet it explained why himself and those nearby were struggling to move, weighed down by the presence of his supposed god.
"Unlike you, I didn't sell my soul to get stronger." His words made Loras hiss in rage, as he pointed at him with his blade. "Prepare yourself to meet your god, Ser Loras. For I shall send you to him!"
Courage and bravado was good and all, but unless he could back it up, then it was useless. At this rate, it would only be a matter of time till Loras slew him and went on to kill the others. The man also had some sort of magical resistance, so it wasn't like Harry could use any spells on him, and the only thing he had going was that his Valyrian steel sword had yet to shatter.
He could feel another presence then, a heat that came from behind him. It was like a woman was hugging him from behind, pushing away the pressure that was supposedly caused by the Drowned God.
It was a familiar heat, the same energy he had felt during that fight with the Mountain in the Hand's tourney not so long ago. Now that he thought about it, Loras had mentioned R'hllor blessing him, and it seemed the god had seen fit to finally appear and help him out.
"Go forth, my unwilling Champion" A woman whispered in his ear, who could only be the Lord of Light.
He knew in that moment that the Drowned God and the Lord of Light were on that battlefield with them, empowering their respective champions. And as to prove his words, Heartsbane came alight with flame in his grasp, his very skin releasing smoke at the energy his body was channeling.
If only Kinvara were here. The woman had been obsessed with his connection with R'hllor, and she probably would've orgasmed at the sight of him now. Harry barely spared a moment to adjust before charging forward with a burst of newfound speed, slamming his flaming sword down.
The move caught Loras off guard, as he wasn't quite fast enough to position himself to perfectly redirect the blow. A weak deflection had his blade cutting off his left arm. Yet no blood sprouted from the wound, instead those grisly tentacles were there, erupting from his shoulder.
"He remakes me." Loras boasted in reverence, as his severed arm was taken over by tentacles. "What does your god do?"
"She doesn't have me smelling like seaweed and shit."
Loras hissed in rage, and his tentacles shot forward. It was like Harry was battling a giant squid then, as he used his blade to bat them aside. His flaming sword burned them on impact before he had to suddenly shift, as Loras tried to sneak up on him.
Margaery's brother swung hard down hard, and Harry briefly stepped back to dodge before moving inside his guard and thrusting upwards. His strike impaled Loras through his plate and upwards under his ribcage. Many vital organs were destroyed with that strike, but he didn't stop there. His fiery sword blazed brighter, burning Loras from the inside out and turning his body into a charred husk.
The fall of battered armor and charred skin signaled the end of the battle, as the presence of both the Drowned God and Lord of Light seemingly withdrew. The surrounding men finally managed to stand up, as Robb limped over to him.
"By the old Gods and the new, just what is Renly playing with?" Robb swore at the sight.
"Nothing good, that's for sure."
"Report!" A mounted Northman rushed over then. "Renly Baratheon has fled the battle, and his army is currently withdrawing!"
"Damn him!" Robb hissed. "We were so close!"
"Aye, but he gave the order for his men to retreat as soon as you slew Lord Tarly." A familiar voice spoke, as Tyrion Lannister rode forwards into their formation with several Red Cloaks riding at his back. "It seems I missed quite a show here, just what happened?"
"Lord Tyrion." Robb greeted. "It seems Renly sent several hundred knights to cut through and try and take my head."
"Thank the Seven that they were unsuccessful. Lord Robb, you have done quite well in this battle." The Imp spoke. "In fact, my Father was quite envious of your success. He sent many thousands to their deaths when we learned you were heading this way, but it seems Renly's head has evaded the both of us."
"I assume we still won the battle? Did we not?"
"Aye."
Indeed, looking over the surrounding area revealed nothing but fleeing men and corpses that covered the once empty plain. Thousands - likely tens of thousands - had perished on this field, but at the end they had won a great victory.
"I doubt we will face Renly in battle like this again." Tyrion continued. "Losing Randyll Tarly was a great blow, and I doubt his Lords will be willing to face us on such open ground."
"We have an opportunity then." Robb suddenly spoke, looking at Harry. "Renly's forces are a mess, and it will take a while to regroup. You can slip right by them, and reach Father in King's Landing."
He blinked in astonishment, not anticipating that decision. "You would have me leave you, Robb?"
"Aye." His cousin nodded. "We have won here, and it will take time before we battle once again. In the meantime, Father could use whatever support we can lend, along with word of our victory. Head to King's Landing, take a thousand men with you, and you'll be able to slip right past Renly's retreating forces."
"You don't make things easy, do you?" Harry smiled. "Fine, back to King's Landing it is."
/////
It can be said that after three centuries of mostly stable Targaryen rule, the Realm of Westeros had not become truly accustomed to the new Kingship established by Robert Baratheon. Along with this came the unseen precedent that the Demon of the Trident had set with overthrowing the previous dynasty through strength of arms.
It was only within hours of King Robert's death that multiple claimants for the Iron Throne appeared. Most notable among them was Robert's only living Son, King Tommen, along with his youngest brother, Renly Baratheon. Both claimants were backed by equally powerful forces, with Eddard Stark and the notorious Tywin Lannister supporting Tommen, while the might of the Reach and most of the Stormlands threw itself behind Renly.
It was this manpower he managed to gain from the Reach that Renly leveraged heavily early on in the war. Gifted a hundred-thousand swords, Renly hatched a plan to lay siege to King's Landing while holding off Tywin Lannister and whatever other forces marched to support King Tommen from up North.
However, this plan backfired tremendously on Renly Baratheon early on, with Eddard Stark commanding a much greater force within the walls of King's Landing than anticipated. The Hand of the King sallied out, slaying Lord Peake and scattering much of the besieging Reach army.
It was only after the Battle of the God's Eye had begun that Renly would learn of this blunder, which contributed to his decision to retreat south. Combined with the unforeseen loss of Randyll Tarly, the gargantuan host of the Reach was left reeling and struggling to regain its footing as Tywin Lannister began his dogged pursuit.
Soon, the War of Kings would enter its most destructive and bloodiest stretch. It was here that the likes of Hadrian Snow would soon etch his name into history, sneaking south past the retreating Reach army and arriving at King's Landing to meet with Eddard Stark. What would come next was completely unexpected by every observer, a campaign of destruction that would see the enemies of King Tommen truly laid low.
Reflections on the Beginning of the War of Kings, by Archmaester Denmo