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That night, I found Robb alone near the riverbank again.
He didn't turn when I approached.
"Let me guess," he said. "Another dream?"
I smiled slightly.
"Something like that."
He snorted.
"You're becoming insufferable, you know."
"I've been told worse."
He glanced sideways at me.
"Don't tell me you've already dreamed what I'm planning."
I just smiled back at him. Robb didn't believe me so I let him stew in his thoughts.
He studied me carefully.
"I haven't told anyone."
"No, you've not."
A pause.
"Just another dream??"
"Yes."
His frustration flickered briefly.
"Then enlighten me, brother. What am I thinking?"
"You'll divide the army," I said calmly. "Send the foot soldiers to engage Tywin — make him think we intend to face him head-on."
Robb's jaw tightened slightly, a small measure of shock in his eyes, he hid it well.
"And?"
"You'll take the cavalry west, cross the river quietly, and fall on the Kingslayers host at Riverrun. Break the siege. Capture or kill him before Tywin can react."
Silence.
The river moved slowly in the dark.
Robb exhaled through his nose. Definitely frustrated.
"That is exactly what I was considering."
"I know."
"Lucky guess."
"I know."
His irritation flared.
"You can't just keep saying that."
I shrugged faintly. Giving him a cheeky smile.
"You asked."
He stared at me for a long moment.
"And will it work?" he asked finally.
"Yes."
That answer came without hesitation. He searched my face for doubt and found none.
A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Well," he said, "it's good to know my plans are at least correct in your prophetic nightmares."
"Don't let it go to your head."
He huffed a quiet laugh.
But then his expression sobered.
"I intend to give the southern force to Roose Bolton," he said.
"I know."
Robb gave me a blank stare and I just smiled back. Finally after a small pause he asked.
"And?"
"No"
His brow lifted. Suddenly a bit angry.
"Why?"
"Roose will betray you at the first chance he gets."
Robb stewed on my words. Even though he didn't know the future events like I did. He had the same lessons I had growing up, of our houses history, of how every other Bolton lord had rebelled against the Starks. He could see the logic in my advice.
"Who else then." He finally asked.
"The ideal man would be Ser Brynden Tully but we need him with our main army, I would suggest Greatjon."
"From what I have seen Roose is a better commander than Greatjon." Robb pointed out.
"He most probably is but loyalty and honour matter more."
Robb contemplates my words and finally agrees.
We talked about other minor matters, it was decided that Greatjon will take all the foot soldiers with him and on his march south will gather all the riverland levies he could.
Robb looked over the Green Fork, running my suggestions through his mind. After a few moments he nodded.
I nodded back, then moved beside him to look over the flowing water.
There was one more thing.
"Robb."
He looked at me.
"Our bannermen."
"What of them?"
"They respect you."
"I should hope so."
"They don't like being commanded by your mother."
His expression hardened immediately.
"She is Lady of Winterfell."
"She is," I agreed. "but this is not Winterfell. All lords have ego's Robb, even northern lords. They don't like to take orders from women."
"That is their failing."
"But it becomes yours if it festers."
He didn't answer.
"They are proud men," I continued. "Pride is a weapon if aimed outward. A weakness if turned inward."
He rubbed his jaw slowly.
"You want me to sideline her."
"Ideally Lady Stark would go back to Winterfell, to take care of Bran and Rickon."
Robb gave a derisive laugh, "I've already tried"
"Barring that, make sure she doesn't contradict you in front of your Bannermen, you want to appear as Lord Stark not some boy being berated and led around by his mother."
A long silence followed. I could tell that Robb didn't like my words but I had to at least try.
"You know how she is," he said quietly.
"I do."
"She believes she's protecting us."
"I know."
He stared at the sky.
"I'll… think on it."
That was all I could ask.
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The next morning, the army split.
All the foot soldiers and another 600 horses remained on the east bank under Greatjon's command. The men carrying banners of each and every northern house, along with a smattering of some riverland ones. The idea was to appear more numerous than they were.
Greatjon rode at their head, his face filled with joy, he had hoped to command the van. Now he was leading the whole army.
He inclined his head slightly to Robb before departing.
"My lord."
"Remember your task," Robb said evenly.
Greatjon's smiled boisterously.
"Of course."
They marched south. The rest of us moved west.
We crossed the Green Fork under cover of darkness, Tully guides leading the way.
As the last of our forces cleared the crossing, I looked back once.
Jon Umbers banners were already distant. Then I turned my horse toward Riverrun.
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I rode with the host, but not at its heart.
That place belonged to Robb. And increasingly, to my stepmother or aunt.
Catelyn Tully rode close to him during the day, speaking quietly, advising, reminding. So I stayed to the edges.
I drilled with outriders. Rode with scouts. Spoke to captains, heirs and Knights.
But at night, when the fires burned low and the banners stilled, Robb would find me — or I would find him.
And we would talk.
"The Whispering Wood," I said one night, crouched over a rough map scratched into the dirt.
Robb leaned forward, brow furrowed.
"You're certain the Kingslayer will take the bait?"
"Yes."
"And he'll ride out if we harry his supply lines enough?."
"Yes."
He gave me a long look.
"You've never even seen the place."
I smirked faintly.
"Just another dream."
He shook his head, but there was less irritation in it now. He knew the plan was promising.
He trusted results and the results were coming.
Under my urging — though he framed it as his own decision — Robb had summoned Ser Brynden Tully.
The Blackfish listened in silence as Robb outlined the task.
"Three hundred picked riders," Robb said. "You'll range ahead. Kill the Kingslayers scouts. Bring down any ravens you see leaving his camp."
Brynden's eyes sharpened.
"Cut his eyes and ears."
"Yes."
He glanced briefly at me.
"Bold for a boy."
Robb didn't rise to it.
"Can you do it?"
A thin smile tugged at the Blackfish's mouth.
"I was killing Lannister outriders when you were in swaddling cloth."
He bowed slightly.
"It will be done."
And it was.
Within days, reports from captured scouts confirmed what I already knew would happen — Jaime was blind.
Ravens failed to arrive or leave. Messengers disappeared. The Kingslayer was growing impatient.
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The command tent was thick with damp wool and impatience.
Maps of the riverlands lay spread across the central table, small carved markers showing Lannister camps around Riverrun. Torches guttered in iron brackets as the wind tugged at the canvas.
Robb stood at the head of the table, grey eyes intent.
"We cannot assault the Kingslayers host outright," he said. "Not while he sits entrenched and provisioned."
Stevron Frey grunted. "Then we starve him out."
"With what time?" said Roose Bolton. "Lord Tywin marches in the south."
Silence settled. Robb let it stretch.
"We will strike his supplies."
Several heads lifted.
"With a heavy force?" asked Rickard Karstark.
"No," Robb said. "Fifty mounted men. Fast riders. Lightly equipped. They'll burn wagons, scatter foragers, and vanish."
Murmurs rippled through the tent.
Jon stood a step behind Robb's right shoulder, silent until now.
"And who leads this… bold venture?" Karstark asked.
Jon stepped forward.
"Ser Marq Piper," he said evenly.
A few brows rose.
Ser Marq himself, standing near the riverlords, blinked once in surprise.
Robb nodded at Jon to continue.
"Ser Marq is among the finest riders here," Jon continued. "He knows these lands better than any northern lord. The rivers, the tree lines, the broken hills near the Whispering Wood."
The name lingered in the air.
Ser Marq's expression sharpened slightly at that.
Rickard Karstark scratched his beard. "Fifty men won't last long if the Kingslayer rides."
"They are not meant to stand," Jon replied calmly. "Only to strike and withdraw. Jaime Lannister is proud. If his supplies burn, he will ride to stop it himself."
"And you know this how?" Stevron Frey asked bluntly.
Jon met his gaze. "Just a guess." smirking slightly.
Robb looked at Jon exasperatedly, he spoke before further questions came.
"The objective is not destruction alone," he said firmly. "It is provocation."
Now they understood. A slow, dangerous understanding. Draw Jaime out. Isolate him.
Maege Mormonts lips curved faintly.
"And where would we meet him, should he take the bait?"
Robb's hand drifted over the map and tapped the trees north of Riverrun.
"The Whispering Wood."
A murmur of approval moved through the tent.
Brynden Tully gave a short nod. "Dense cover. Broken ground. Good for trapping heavy horse."
Ser Marq Piper finally spoke.
"If this is your will, my lord, I'll lead it."
Robb inclined his head slightly toward him.
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Jaime Lannister rode from his camp three times.
Three times he chased smoke and found nothing but ashes and hoofprints.
Each time, he returned more furious than before.
Exactly as expected.
That night, back in camp, Robb listened to the report with tight satisfaction.
"He rode himself?" he asked.
"Yes." Ser Marq replied.
Robb's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Good."
Jaime was angry now. Impatient. Blind. And a frustrated lion makes mistakes. Soon, we would give him one he could not ride away from.
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The trees felt too close.
The Whispering Wood earned its name. Wind moved through bare branches with a low hiss, like breath through teeth. Horses shifted beneath us. Leather creaked. No one spoke above a murmur.
I sat astride my horse at Robb's right hand.
That was where I had chosen to be.
The heirs of half the North clustered around him—Karstark's sons, young Hornwood, others with bright eyes and bright cloaks who wanted glory. They watched Robb the way men watch a banner in battle.
Theon sat to my right.
"If he doesn't come," he whispered, "I'll freeze for nothing."
"He'll come," I said.
Theon snorted softly. "You and your certainties."
I didn't answer.
Across the valley I could just make out shadows where Lady Maege Mormont and Lord Jason Mallister waited to the east. Somewhere north, Lord Rickard Karstark held his men taut as drawn bows. West lay the Freys under Ser Stevron. And beyond the far ridge, hidden, Roose Bolton waited to strike.
Above us all, high on a ridge, Lady Stark—watched under the guard of Hallis Mollen.
I did not look toward her.
Hooves drifted through the trees. Distant at first. Then clearer. Metal. Harness. The low murmur of disciplined riders.
Ser Marq Piper burst into the valley ahead, his men feigning disorder. Behind them thundered Ser Brynden's outriders.
Then I saw him.
Jaime Lannister rode at the front, white cloak streaming, gilded armor bright even in winter light. He did not ride like a fool charging blind. He rode like a man who believed he had already won.
He entered the valley.
I waited. A heartbeat. Two.
Then the cry split the trees.
Snow shrikes.
Sharp. Piercing. One from the east, one from the north, one from the west.
Now.
The woods erupted.
Arrows hissed downward. Crossbow bolts slammed into men and horses. A Lannister knight toppled from the saddle with a bolt through his throat before he understood he was dying.
"Now!" Robb shouted.
The North descended.
Men poured from every tree line. The Freys charged from the west. Karstark's riders crashed down from the north. Bolton men sprang from the ridge.
I stayed with Robb.
That was my purpose here.
A Lannister man broke toward us, panic in his eyes. I cut him down before he reached Robb's horse. Another followed; I parried his slash and drove my sword through his mail at the joint beneath his arm. Blood steamed in the cold air.
All around us the trap tightened.
Jaime understood quickly.
I saw it in the way his head turned—calculating, measuring distances, counting numbers even in chaos.
He did not flee.He gathered the knights nearest him.
"With me!" he shouted.
They formed around him—tight, disciplined—and drove straight for us. For Robb.
Daryn Hornwood spurred forward first. He died quickly.
Jaime's blade moved like silver lightning. One stroke opened Hornwood from collar to chest. He slid from his saddle before he could even cry out.
Eddard Karstark followed with a shout of fury. Jaime cut him down just as cleanly.
The spearpoint came on.
For a moment, I understood why men feared him. He was not simply skilled.
He was beautiful in motion. Precise. Unhesitating. Every cut placed where it would kill.
He saw Robb. Then he saw me. Green eyes met grey. I spurred forward to meet him.
Our horses slammed shoulder to shoulder. His blade came down in a blur. I caught it high and barely held the line. He twisted in the saddle with impossible balance, cutting again, forcing me to defend rather than strike.
He was stronger than he looked. Faster too.
He drove me sideways through the press of men. Our mounts crashed against one another again—too close, too hard. A panicked Lannister horse smashed into mine from the flank.
The world lurched. My horse screamed and went down beneath me.
I rolled free as hooves thundered overhead. Mud filled my mouth. I surged to my feet just in time to see Jaime's destrier stumble, pierced by two northern spears. The great animal toppled, throwing him hard.
We rose almost together. No horses now. No space. Just mud, trees, and killing ground.
Jaime came at me without hesitation. On foot he was no less deadly.
Steel struck steel in tight quarters. No sweeping cavalry blows now—only brutal, efficient cuts meant to maim and end quickly. He pressed me back toward a broken trunk, boots slipping in churned earth.
"You're better than the others," he said between strikes smiling. "I remember you Jon Snow."
I said nothing. I watched his shoulders. His hips. The shift of weight before each cut.
He feinted high, then slashed low. I barely turned it. The shock numbed my fingers.
He stepped in close, trying to end it with a thrust to the throat.
I knocked it aside and slammed into him with my shoulder. We broke apart, circling.
Around us the battle roared, but here it narrowed to breath and steel.
He came again. I gave ground, then caught his blade and locked it. For a heartbeat our faces were inches apart.
His green eyes were clear. Focused. Then movement to my right—
Theon.
He had dismounted somewhere in the chaos and now came in fast, dagger drawn, aiming for Jaime's exposed flank.
Jaime did not look.
He simply knew.
His sword ripped free from our bind and flashed sideways in a savage arc.
Theon's scream tore through the wood.
His right arm clutching the dagger fell into the mud.
Jaime pivoted back toward me in the same motion, already recovering his stance.
That moment—just that fraction of distraction—was all I had.
I surged forward with everything left in my arms.
Our blades met again. I battered his guard aside, stepped inside his reach, and smashed my pommel into his mouth. I felt teeth give beneath the blow and he staggered.
I hooked my sword under his sword arm and twisted hard.
His blade tore from his grip and vanished into the mud.
Before he could recover, I drove him backward and kicked his legs out from under him. He fell hard onto his back, breath rushing from him.
My swords edge settled at his throat. I was tempted to cut his throat open right there. This man had pushed Bran out the window. I could almost hear his words 'The things I do for love'.
Thankfully I was able to reel my emotions in, barely. They still have Sansa and that was the only reason my sword hand stayed.
"Yield," I said, chest heaving, tears forming in my eyes as I tried to control my emotions.
He lay there, blood on his lip, white cloak ruined.
For a heartbeat I thought he might lunge barehanded, I almost wanted him to.
Instead, he laughed once—short and sharp.
"Well fought, Bastard." he spat.
The emotions I had struggled to keep in check broke free. Thoughts of my family, of Bran, broken and lost. Of Sansa in Kingslanding being beaten by Kingsguard for Joffery's amusement, flashed through my eyes.
With a shout I threw away my sword and jumped on him. Even he was surprised by my aggression.
My mailed fist met his mouth, I lost track of my senses, I just remember wailing on him. Feeling his jaw break under my knuckles.
I would have kept going if it wasn't for others around us pulling me off him.
Around us the Lannister resistance collapsed. With their commander down, their will broke. Knights threw down swords. Men shouted for quarter.
I stood over Jaime Lannister, mud-spattered and shaking, Theon's scream still echoing in my ears.
When it was done, the Whispering Wood stank of blood and churned earth.
Jaime Lannister stood bound and bloody.
Near a hundred knights were taken with him. A dozen lords besides—Gawen Westerling, Quenten Banefort, Ser Garth Greenfield, Regenard Estren, Ser Tytos Brax, Mallor the Dornishman, Willem Lannister, Cleos Frey, Tion Frey.
Robb rode forward slowly.
He looked at the fallen—Hornwood. Karstark.
Then at Theon, pale and shaking as men pressed cloth against the ruin of his arm.
Then at Jaime and his bloody face
Then at me.
I smiled at him, my plan or his original plan had worked again. We had Tywin Lannisters son.
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