WMK 129 (Patreon)

Chapter 129 The Mummer's Ford

The Riverlands were not only full of rivers but also dotted with hills large and small. House Mudd, which once ruled the Riverlands for a thousand years, styled themselves "Kings of the Rivers and the Hills."

The largest area of hills stretched from the mountains at the border between the Westerlands and the Riverlands all the way to High Heart. Several ancient noble houses had lived there for generations, including the Pipers of Pinkmaiden Castle, the Vances of Wayfarer's Rest, and the Lychsters of Lord Lychester's keep. Together, they formed the first line of defense against the Westerlands.

As the sun set in the west, the distant mountains were bathed in a rosy glow. By the banks of a nameless stream, dozens of tents were neatly pitched, and banners featuring bats swayed gently in the cool night breeze.

The burly, Maester apprentice Ron hurried into William's tent.

"Ser, a letter from Harrenhal." Ron gave a slight bow and presented a letter sealed with red wax, indicating great urgency.

The letter was brief, and William finished it quickly.

He handed the letter to the five cavalry captains beside him. His face was calm, but inwardly, curses were raging.

When William had departed from Harrenhal, two ravens had been sent to Riverrun and Winterfell, carrying news of the king's death and the coup in King's Landing.

For Robb, the advice was to immediately summon his bannermen and march south under the pretext of defending against an ironborn invasion. This way, by the time he reached Moat Cailin, the official proclamation from King's Landing would likely have arrived, and he could then proceed directly to Harrenhal, avoiding the nearly month-long delay he suffered in the original timeline at Moat Cailin.

The warning to Riverrun was even more direct: the forty thousand Lannister troops gathering at Golden Tooth could launch a major attack at any moment. The isolated forces led by Lord Piper and Lord Vance were in great danger, and it was advised that Edmure immediately recall them to Riverrun.

'The outcome of the Battle of Golden Tooth is almost identical to the original timeline. What in the world is Edmure doing?'

It seemed Edmure hadn't taken Harrenhal's warnings very seriously, nor had he earnestly summoned his bannermen.

At the very least, as William traveled through the central Riverlands, he had visited the local nobles at each stop, informing them to prepare for battle. He had indeed seen that most nobles were still at home, rather than having taken their troops to Riverrun.

Calculating the time, Jaime's army was likely already approaching Riverrun. Being in the upper reaches of the Red Fork, William was truly powerless to assist in the battle for Riverrun.

"Ser, Riverrun might be in danger. We should march to its aid immediately," suggested Ser Jermaine Lychester, a tall and slender man who nonetheless did not appear lanky.

Jermaine was the nephew of Lord Lymond Lychester. Since the lord's sons had all died in Robert's Rebellion, Jermaine was now effectively the second in line to inherit House Lychster.

"Too late," William shook his head. "By the time we arrive, the battle will surely be over. If Ser Edmure wins, our trip would be for nothing. If the battle goes poorly, Riverrun should still hold, with or without our cavalry. So, our presence wouldn't make much difference. We'll stick to the original plan and head for the Mummer's Ford, but we'll pick up the pace."

He turned his gaze to Jermaine. "My apologies, Jermaine. We won't be able to visit Lord Lychester's keep now, though I would very much have liked to meet the valiant Lord Lymond."

In his youth, Lord Lymond had gained quite a reputation for bravery in the Riverlands after killing an opposing knight despite suffering six serious wounds.

Jermaine's handsome brow furrowed slightly. "Think nothing of it, Ser. This war isn't likely to end soon. We'll fight side-by-side sooner or later."

Early the next morning, the Harrenhal cavalry broke through the thin morning mist and continued towards the Red Fork. A clear eagle's cry pierced the sky as a goshawk passed over the riders, its wings spread, riding the wind into the distance.

The goshawk flew over a shallow ford on the Red Fork. The river widened considerably here, becoming very shallow. The gravel on the riverbed and the fish swimming in the water were clearly visible from above.

Not far from the ford lay the ruins of a small town. Charred wooden houses stood like blackened stakes, their few remaining upright posts stubbornly accusing the sky. Among the broken walls and rubble, wild dogs fought over and gnawed on something, and the scent of blood seemed to hang in the air.

A group of over a hundred allied noble soldiers appeared north of the town. Their banners were varied: the stag of the king, the direwolf of the Hand, the six five-pointed stars of House Marbrand, the great green vortex of House Wylde, and the black ploughman of House Darry.

They were advancing at full speed towards the ford, their formation disordered, showing signs of panic.

Just as they entered the ford and were slowed by the current, two large groups of cavalry suddenly charged from the dense woods on both banks of the river.

The weapons in the cavalrymen's hands reflected a cold light. Their crimson cloaks billowed in the wind like soaked blood, and the golden lion on their red banners roared silently.

The group in the water fell into chaos.

The troops wading through the water fell into panic.

“Ambush!”

“It’s the Lannisters!”

“…Don’t scatter!”

Worse still, some wanted to push forward while others tried to retreat, exposing the fatal flaw of the coalition’s lack of unified command.

Soon, the riverbank erupted in shouts and the clash of weapons. Wisps of red spread across the water, drifting downstream.

Lord Raymun Darry exchanged a few blows with a man in a red cloak before seizing an opening and slashing the man’s shoulder. Screaming, the redcloak tumbled into the river, sending up a great splash.

When Raymun raised his head again, he saw that Lannister soldiers surrounded them on all sides.

Without hesitating, he spurred his horse toward three Lannister soldiers who were besieging Lord Lothar Mallery.

Although the coalition’s numbers were small, their quality was excellent. Among them was a Medium lord, two small lord, their personal guards, and more than ten knights, including Ser Willis Woode.

Even though the North did not follow the Faith of the Seven and House Stark had few knights among its men, the personal guards Eddard had sent were formidable fighters. Some of the squad leaders fought no worse than knights anointed with holy oil.

If the two sides had charged in orderly formations, the coalition might have collapsed quickly. But this chaotic melee was precisely where knights excelled.

Though the Lannister cavalry had undergone rigorous training, in one-on-one, two-on-one, or even three-on-one fights, they were often no match for these noble-born killers trained since childhood.

Even with the advantage of striking mid-crossing and outnumbering the enemy several times over, the Lannister forces couldn’t seize the upper hand. Both sides appeared evenly matched.

The handsome Lord Beric Dondarrion charged through the battlefield like an unstoppable force.

He rallied the scattered groups of coalition soldiers, directing them to break through toward the southern bank of the Red Fork, while he and his guards held the rear.

Beric’s bravery and fearlessness lifted the coalition’s morale. The Lannister redcloaks were forced back again and again, and the coalition was on the verge of reaching the southern shore.

Suddenly, a huge shadow appeared on the northern bank of the mummers’ ford, followed by a roar that seemed to come from the depths of hell.

Even amid the clash of weapons, screams, and shouts, Raymun faintly heard it.

He turned and saw a giant of a man on a massive warhorse charging through the shallows, water spraying in every direction.

The giant wore a great flat-topped helm, its crest a stone fist pointing toward the sky. Tiny holes dotted the faceplate for breathing, and a narrow slit around the eyes glinted with bloodthirsty light.

“My lord, watch out!” A guard rode up and blocked a Lannister soldier who tried to strike Raymun while he was distracted.

Raymun snapped back to his senses and shouted, “Lord Beric, watch out for the Mountain!”

But Beric was still roaring and fighting fiercely, seemingly unaware. Gritting his teeth, Raymun turned his horse around and charged back toward him.:(