Lord Robb Stark
The sounds of war echoed throughout the camp, men were preparing to fight once more. Joffrey Baratheon, the mad boy King had been sighted very close to where their army was, and as such, Robb knew one last chance at revenge, at justice had come to present itself. They had an army, it was not as big as he would have liked it to be, they had suffered far too many deaths for it to last though. Still, they were prepared and ready, the false King's army was not, and that would be the thing that would stand them in good stead, against him. Robb finished putting his armour on, and advanced through the camp, Greywind at his side, the dreams from last night still flickering in his mind, of a dead wolf, with white skin and red eyes, that was not good, but he forced it from his mind and moved forward.
Soon enough, his horse is saddled and ready, his sword is on his person, he is mounted atop his horse, in the saddle, clear and steady, he takes a breath, gives his men a rousing speech, or at least tries to, Robb is not sure he knows how to be positive anymore, he has seen far too much death and chaos for that to matter. They move from the camp, out into the field, advancing slowly but surely, his heart beating a steady rhythm, he knows now that to rush into battle, is to willingly invite death into his heart, and though he might wish it for himself, he does not want any more men's deaths on his conscience. Slowly but surely he thinks through the plans, from a brief scan through his visor, he can tell their plan might well work, might already be working. Joffrey Baratheon has never fought before, he does not have Tywin Lannister marching alongside him, he is exposed, Robb nods and the signal is given, battle begins.
His heart begins to speed up as they move between the lines, seeking, searching, looking for the boy who took his father from him. Greywind is at his side, snarling, cutting and biting, doing all he can to help keep Robb going, they both know just how chaotic the last two years have been, how problematic everything has been. The pain of losing his wife and child, the pain of seeing Theon betray him, all of this pain, all of it has been slowly eating into him. Today is the result of all of that, of all of the anger and pain, and hurt that he has been feeling. He swings his sword and watches men fall and die, he feels nothing, he keeps going, swinging his sword, dodging men who try to bring him down, he does it all and makes sure none of them can ever truly hurt him. If he could avoid feeling pain and hurt ever again he would, but he knows that this is just a temporary fix, and so he takes all he can from it.
Something smashes into him, he gasps, but then he moves forward, cutting the thing down. He smacks the thing away, and another thing, and another. He does not know if the things are grass or people, chaos, freneticism is all there, engulfing him, swallowing him up into one thing or another. It feels as though they are living inside some sort of reality that cannot be real. He swings again, blood comes away, more bodies, another body, his men are falling as well, the King has more men than him, he sees white and sees white fall, he sees more white, they are coming from everywhere, he feels tired, so very tired. Still he keeps moving, determined not to let this down, not to let this opportunity go. He keeps fighting, swinging his weapon, and moving like a man possessed. Lannister, Baratheon, he does not know who these people are anymore, all he knows is that they are in his way, and he makes the way clear. His men are at his side, fighting, breathing, snoring, sweating, puking their way through.
A blow to the chest, he feels Greywind knocked to the side, he growls, they both growl, he shuffles slightly, swings and connects, another blow to the chest, his weapon is faltering, he is faltering, he cannot have that. He straightens, swings again, smashes into something, breaks and then moves through. A knight of the Kingsguard lies broken and bleeding before him. He sighs, good men are dying for a horrible King, where is the sense in that? He sees Baratheon's banner and smiles, now is the time for him to get his revenge, the thing long promised to him. He moves as quickly as possible, cutting down those who get in his way, the Bold falls before him and moves dying slowly and painfully, then there is the boy. The boy who looks at him in panic, Robb grins. "Time to try your steel." They begin their dance. Robb remembers the boasts that Joffrey had made that day long ago in Winterfell, the claims he had made, the jests all of it comes back to him now, and he snarls. The boy whimpers, and fights, but there is no fight in him, no fight at all. It is disappointing to say the least, but he moves forward.
"Mercy please!" the boy begs.
Robb snorts. "Mercy? Where was your mercy when you had, my father executed? Where was the mercy when you laughed at my brother's fall? You deserve no mercy boy."
The boy whimpers. "I am your King. You are at my command!"
Robb laughs. "You stopped being my King the moment you hit my sister."
The boy looks terrified, and Robb moves towards him, he knocks the sword from the boy's hand and then swings in an arc, cutting and swaying, bringing the boy down to his knees. As blood falls from the boy's mouth he snarls. "You will die here, alone and broken. Your line will end with you." He brings his sword down, cutting the boy in half. As the boy falls down to the ground, Robb screams.