The sun rose and cleared the morning fog of the field. His army was settled when Robb saw the Kingslayer's host waiting in the hills. Robb's mount was as steady as he was feeling, not much.
There was no time to dig the trenches that saw them victorious back at the Green Fork. However, that didn't mean his army waited patiently for the Kingslayer's whims in an open field.
His army scattered wooden stakes to cover their flanks. If the Kingslayer didn't attack them today, he would have to attack them through potholes and trenches tomorrow.
It was another way to pressure his enemy.
The choice to attack them with an army made of fresh recruits was folly. He knew it, his lords knew it, so it was a certainty the Kingslayer's lords knew it too.
A battle is not only fought with steel, at times battles are won long before any steel is drawn. His previous battles were won due to a clever tactic prepared beforehand, here he didn't have a trick to surprise his enemy. That didn't mean Robb didn't have something.
Admittedly, it was unreliable. But it was his task to turn that fickle aspect into reality. Take the seed of doubt the Kingslayer's army had, and make it bloom and flourish.
It was a shame they didn't reached the passage a day before the Lannisters, but it would do. Unlike Tywin, Robb wouldn't underestimate his enemy, so he sent part of his outriders to scour the land to find any hidden cavalry or raiding parties.
"Our defenses are ready, Your Grace," Lord Karstark said.
"Good. Ready the archers and crossbows."
Seeing the terrain, he understood how the Rivermen were broken in these same fields. The hills in front had a gentle slope, easy enough to aid a knight's charge, but harsh enough to tire any attempt at a counter attack.
He lifted his gaze and saw the crimson lion flapping proudly atop the hills in front.
"At most, they have eight thousand," Ser Brynden said, from the side. "The foot is rabble and at least half of their riders will break after a gentle drizzle of arrows."
"Aye, the lions are truly desperate." Yohn Royce's armor shone as bright as the Kingslayer's under the sun. "I still think this is a distraction, Your Grace. Why attack now? Why attack even? Staying in the Westerlands forced you to keep an army close to the borders. With this… attack, even if he somehow manages to punch through this army, he'd be doomed still."
It was as Lord Royce said. The Kingslayer attacking them was madness.
"The man proved to be a fool already," Theon said. "Why interrupt him when he is making a mistake."
That got a few chuckles from his commanders.
"We'll be careful," Robb cut and prevented his party from devolving in screams of victory. "We'll defeat this army before deciding if the Kingslayer is a fool or not."
Everyone nodded.
There was one last thing, something he had been planning on doing when planning the invasion of the Westerlands. It would be ideal to capture Ser Jaime, with Jon risking his hide in King's Landing, Robb couldn't think of a better hostage.
It would be hard, he knew. The original plan was to surprise the Westerlanders and capture their commander. Now, they would have to face an army and hope for the Kingslayer to overcommit. To be fair, given the foolishness of his actions, it remained a possibility.
Robb gave Ser Brynden a look. His uncle gave him a discreet nod. "It's a shame we couldn't catch Tywin's golden boy with his breeches down."
As expected, the Greatjon took the bait. "We have the golden fuck in front! The moment he commits to the fight, I say we capture him!"
Nods and cheers erupted. It was good to see his lords were feeling well about this battle.
Robb turned to see straight at the hills and said, "Not even the Demon of the Trident could fight a war on his own. We'll break the Westerlanders before trying to capture the Kingslayer. Remember, my lords, Tywin thought himself invincible, let's not commit the same mistake."
That sobered them all. Lord Karstark nodded at him, a satisfied smile curved his lips.
He swept across the faces of everyone present. "The day is as good as ours, we just have to be careful when taking it." He raised a fist in the air. "Winterfell! Riverrun!"
"The King in the North!" his men roared.
Grey Wind howled making his whole army growl as one.
Show me what you got, Kingslayer.
###
He couldn't hide from the truth no longer, the Stark boy's success wasn't blind luck.
Jaime didn't lose Riverrun just to a surprise attack. He didn't think Walder Frey would let the wolves cross, Lannisters and Freys were family for the Seven's sake. That had been his first mistake.
Night raids that did nothing to his camp the raiders lost three men for every one his. They grew complacent and redoubled their efforts to bring Riverrun to heel. They pursued too far and lost six hundred riders in one night. This had been his second mistake.
It was then, the boy tricked him once again. He expected an attack to come from the forest to the north, so he focused his defenses there, only for the wolves to attack his other two camps instead.
The rage from that night never extinguished. It was always there, in the back of his mind reminding him how much of a failure he was.
The Stark lines formed fast, his first plan was crushed before the sunlight dispersed the fog. He wouldn't route disorganized lines today.
And then he saw his second plan crushed under the wooden stakes the Stark army put in front. The Westerlander host wouldn't be fighting a defensive battle.
It made sense. It was expected.
The order came to remove their own defenses, they wouldn't be needing them today. It would have been their best bet, but consecutive victories didn't make the Young Wolf arrogant enough to attack an entrenched enemy. Eddard Stark's son wasn't just anyone, it seemed.
Gods knew, if his positions were reversed, a six-and-ten name days Jaime with a string of victories to his name would've attacked uphill without hesitation.
A sigh escaped him. For the first time in weeks, Jaime Lannister found peace in his stormy mind. And all he had to do, was accept that Robb Stark was many times the commander he was.
He gripped his reins and moved his shield arm up and down. The armor was tight in some places, but he would manage. At least the breastplate and helmet were a perfect fit.
A group of his men went forward all at once and picked up the stakes to move them out of the way. It was a practiced maneuver. It wouldn't catch any competent commander unaware. But at least it would leave his opponents little time to prepare for his charge.
Jaime was no schemer like his father. He didn't have hidden riders on his opponent's rear, nor the skill to win against the Stark King with the power of parchment and ink like his father planned to do.
Gold, rewards or threats… Jaime's hand trembled in rage whenever he tried to write those letters.
To think the Kingslayer wasn't a man of subterfuge…
Very few times Jaime lamented not being able to live up to his epithet.
Mayhaps if he did, Cersei's letter wouldn't have sent him in desperation to the battlefield.
Cersei was as proud as she was beautiful. For the life of him, Jaime couldn't remember his sister ever apologizing or asking 'please' for anything. Not to his father, not even to his mother.
And yet, her letter…
Jaime pulled his hand from his chest back to his reins. His fingers felt like burning from the letter in his chest.
Jaime was no schemer. Jaime was a warrior, and when the most important person in his life asked him to fight, he would do so as one.
That didn't mean warriors didn't have tricks of their own.
The moment the men removed the last of their stakes (or perhaps a little before). The trumpets blared and the riders moved downhill.
The passage below the Golden Tooth was narrow. Uneven, rocky terrain protected the Northern army's flanks from a cavalry charge. Only a fool would move riders through there.
So his lines mirrored the Young Wolf's. The center and right flank moving downhill were made of foot soldiers with horses behind. Only the vanguard had only riders trotting down the hill. His riders, advanced slowly at first matching the archers' pace. It wouldn't last, he knew. He expected it.
Before his wager with fate itself could begin in earnest, Jaime allowed himself to look the knights accompanying him.
Lord Tytos Brax, new Lord of the Hornvale, the knight's sword arm was good enough to last more than most against Jaime. And Ser Garth Greenfield, the captain of the outriders, his speed and decisiveness would be essential for his plans.
He spurred his mount and let out a roar, "The Rock!"
The wind refreshed him through the gaps in his armor, almost as a reminder to keep his head cold and alert.
The thundering hooves below and behind him reminded him of better times. Of times when he felt invincible at the front of a cavalry charge. A time that was only weeks ago.
Focus.
He slowed his breathing and the world slowed down with him.
Jaime allowed himself to look at his right. To the golden armor and the crimson golden lion at the head of the army.
His cousin Daven would have to hold his ground long enough for Jaime's gamble to maybe bear fruit.
It was a stupid and reckless plan.
Daven and Jaime exchanged armor and positions in the army. Daven would be on the center doing his best to look appetizing enough for glory hounds to try and get him. His cousin would have to focus everything into keeping his side from losing too many men too fast and be a constant reminder to his opponents that they had Jaime Lannister in front.
Granted, the first part of his plan hinged on the wolves' efforts in capturing 'Jamie Lannister'. But Jaime knew how valuable of a prisoner he would be. The war would end immediately, and the Westerlands would be left defenseless.
That would explain 'Jamie Lannister' not overcommitting himself in the center. It would also make the action that the real Jaime Lannister was about to take seem utterly mad.
The world resumed.
"FORWARD!" Jaime's roar tore through the battlefield. His mount accelerated and his vanguard followed his command.
A thundering wall of flesh and steel surged down the hill. Men and beasts melting into each other to become what they were meant to be: heralds of the Warrior made flesh.
A hail of arrows hit them, but it didn't stop them. Didn't make him doubt even for half a heartbeat.
Crossbow's bolts came next.
Jaime saw men in full plate fall to them before, and today was no different. Knights, men at arms, and common folk fell screaming. The sound of crunching bones following soon after.
They were close. Close enough to see the faces of the men they were about to crash into. A stray thought crossed his mind: How do the faces of my men look like.
In the last yards of their charge, the formation tightened until the men on his flanks were almost knee to knee, lest the horses balk at the wall of pikes ahead. His plan hinged on his vanguard punching through the Stark flank, and by the gods, he would see it done.
No matter how hard it would be, no matter how many would meet the Stranger today, Jaime Lannister would break through.
At ten yards away from his enemies, Jaime locked away his distractions and focused on the task at hand. He pointed his lance to the man in front, and braced for what was to come.
Jaime jumped from his mount just before the crash. He splintered his lance against someone's shoulder and, with sword in hand, landed greaves first into another.
A heartbeat later, the chaos of the crash engulfed him. Screams of men and horses blended into one. A hymn for the Stranger, chaotic and desperate to start the battle.
Jaime stabbed the man in front and punched the face of the one behind him. His sword sung and hummed for him. The Northmen may be armored, but it wasn't full plate.
Throats, armpits and hamstrings were vulnerable. The long reach of pikes gave him the advantage. So he slashed, stabbed, and kicked his way back to his lines. The Stark soldiers offering no fight worth remembering.
Faster. Faster.
This was his only chance, he had to strike hard enough to break through here. And for that, he needed his knights.
"To me!" he roared. "Knights, to me!"
He swung low sending a man to his knees; the backswing took the hand of another, and without looking back, he blocked a slash with his off-arm vambrace.
Half a step to the side, he dodged a halberd aimed at his leg. He rushed forward to get inside the man's guard, parried a sword strike from the side, and drove a fist into the halberdier's face. The man crumpled.
He allowed himself a breath of fresh air. With his sword guiding him, he delivered death once more. The breach was small, but enough for his knights to join him. He just needed to hold.
It wouldn't be a problem.
###
Hearing the crash on their right flank made Theon turn his incredulous gaze toward the sound. The sheer stupidity of such a move made his confidence soar.
Smashing a pike wall with cavalry… and not only that, smashing a pike wall reinforced with wooden stakes. The Lannister vanguard was as good as done.
Robb inhaled sharply from the side, hiding a wince behind his helmet.
Robb called for a messenger. "Lord Umber must advance slowly, our left flank must press the Lannisters."
"Aye, Your Grace." The rider spurred his horse and left.
War, Theon learned, was about forcing your opponent to react while doing your best to predict their moves. No matter how good one was, there were times when the enemy would do something unpredictable.
Like whatever the Lannisters were trying to do on the right.
From what they knew, the Kingslayer had two commanders for his flanks. Stafford Lannister, a dullard according to the Blackfish, and his son Daven, the more formidable of the two.
I guess we know who is on the right flank then.
Their vanguard's warhorns blared and like a ripple the whole formation moved forward. Theon felt the earth rumbling on their advance. Archers sent volley after volley, the forest of pikes moved forward one step at a time. The first yards were clunky due to the wooden stakes in front, but soon the left flank moved as one.
Laughter echoed from their vanguard, rumbling like rocks falling down a mountain. The Greatjon had joined the front lines.
A few of their group snorted in good humor, Robb shut them all up with a warning gaze.
Theon had to swallow a sigh. His friend was too tightly strung. From the moment the Lannister vanguard chose to impale themselves on their pikes out of misplaced pride, the battle was already theirs. It was just a matter of time.
Besides, the Greatjon was an experienced commander. The man looked (and acted) like a barbarian, but knew how far to push and when to stop. And even if he overextended, the archers and crossbowmen would cover for him.
A battle fought from advantage was a beautiful thing, Theon decided.
If there was one thing he could complain about, was that this battle wouldn't give him renown. Well, when his turn came to tell the story, he could make the battle just a bit more thrilling. He was certain Shae would love hearing about it.
Although, mayhaps… she would be happier if he told her he didn't even had to lift a finger in battle. The girl was odd like that.
A rumbling warhorn from the right flank accompanied the Karstark banner moving forward between the lines. The old Lord Karstark wanted his share in battle after seeing the left flank's advance, it seemed.
Now, if only Robb would let them join.
"Master Tallhart," his friend said, looking to their right. "Take two hundred men and reinforce Lord Karstark's lines."
"Aye, Your Grace." The Northern knight left.
The order didn't make much sense to Theon, but he wasn't fool enough to question a king in the midst of battle. Instead, he focused his gaze to the front.
The center was as static as ever. Mere prodding attacks from both sides. A step forward followed by a step back.
On the left, Lord Umber was steadily advancing. Arrows and bolts would pelt the front lines, then pikes would open gaps for the halberds to attack.
The Greatjon had pushed his men to practice that formation back in Riverrun. From the looks of it, the man was very happy from his foresight.
On the right, dust from the mad charge was yet to settle. But Theon could hear the death throes of horses still. A desperate cavalry charge wouldn't be able to break a wall of pikes, that was a given.
In front of him, the Kingslayer in his golden armor looked was riling up his men. From time to time, he joined the battle, but got back to safety just as quick. It was as if he was taunting them, daring them to advance and capture him.
Seeing him, Theon understood what his message was. He couldn't hear him, but his message for Robb was loud and clear: "I'm not hiding behind my army, boy."
Theon ground his teeth at the golden fuck. The fool dared to taunt Robb? You're losing, you arrogant fool.
Oh, how he wanted for Robb to give the order to advance and crush him. Of course, he wouldn't. At least not until one of the Lannister wings collapsed.
It was then the second unexpected thing in the day happened. A shrill warhorn blared from the right. Their outermost right flank was being attacked.
To the side, Robb was calm as a lake. No distress or concern visible on his face.
"Ser Stevron, take one hundred archers. Don't let the Lannisters advance."
"Yes, Your Grace." The old Frey inclined his head and left.
Oddly enough, Grey Wind stood alert with a stiff tail.
"Ser Walder, stay here," Robb stopped the knight from following his grandsire. "I'm in need of your talents."
Black Walder turned with a feral smile on him. "Oh? I'm helping the vanguard then."
Robb gave him a knowing smile. "Prepare your riders. Lord Umber's advance will leave a gap of flat terrain for you to exploit."
"It will be my honor, Your Grace." Black Walder bowed and left to gather his riders.
Grey Wind slumped, tail falling. The direwolf misliked the shrill sounds of warhorns and trumpets, it seemed.
"Lord Royce, Lord Redfort," Robb said. "How well could you maneuver your Valemen riders on the rocky terrain past our right flank?"
Both lords exchanged a glance. "Slowly," Yohn Royce admitted sourly. "Once in position we could counter charge, but it wouldn't be…"
"Peace, my lords," Robb said with a hand raised. "I don't need you to charge, just slip by and cut the escape of Lannister right flank, and if possible capture the commander."
"Aye. That we can do." Both Vale lords left.
The Greatjon's side pushed harder and harder onto the center, wheeling their lines to block any escape attempt. It would have been ideal if the right flank was doing the same, but for some reason they were locked in a stalemate.
One line collapsing, another just barely holding on, and another in a stalemate. It was only a matter of time for the Lannisters to fall, and everyone with two eyes could see it.
The Kingslayer recognized it, so he stopped his games and committed to the battle. His banner moved forward together with the sounding of his trumpets. He needed to change the flow of battle.
Sadly for him, Robb wouldn't let him.
The warhorns rumbled and Robb ordered the rotation of lines. His own men, the ones Jon insisted on training back in Winterfell, would end the battle.
The direwolf banner moved forward. Robb and his battle guard riding behind the pikemen square. Grey Wind growled anticipating battle.
The soldiers cheered in presence of the Stark banner, and the lines pushed forward. The Blackfish was right, morale is a powerful thing.
The Lannister line buckled even before the fresh soldiers reached the front, and Theon pulled back with his riders. They were going to wait for an opening to punch through and fracture the enemy lines, or, if their enemy broke too fast, ride down the Kingslayer through all Seven Hells if they had to.
To the left, Black Walder had found a gap and was rushing down the Lannisters.
The sound of battle turned his gaze forward. Their line wedged into the Lannisters. They would break soon, Theon could feel it.
The Kingslayer was desperately swinging his blade, while his line buckled a little more each passing breath.
This is the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms? Theon sneered. This is the man knighted by the Sword of the Morning? The one people thought could replace Ser Barristan?
The Kingslayer was good, of that there was no doubt, but he couldn't measure up to real knights. The Sword of the Morning could duel the rest of the Kingsguard and win. Ser Barristan the Bold cut a bloody path through the Golden Company to slay Maelys the Monstruous.
What had the Kingslayer had done?
Kill the Mad King, win a few tourneys, doomed his soldiers back at Riverrun, and now… desperately holding his line waiting for divine intervention to save him.
What a joke.
Hands on his reins, gaze locked in the advancing of their army, Theon almost didn't saw what happened on their right flank.
The Karstark banner, the one marking the old Lord's position, fell.
Old fool. Was he that hungry for glory?
Thank the gods Robb had the foresight to sent capable men to hold the right wing.
Surprisingly, even after losing so many riders on their mad initial charge, the Lannister vanguard was able to hold up until now. Hells, they even slayed Lord Kars—tark.
The man in golden armor in front was still swinging his sword, desperately trying to win time. He wasn't a prodigy with the blade, he was well trained and a good warrior, but someone measuring up to Ser Barristan, he was not.
Because he isn't the Kingslayer. The thought filled him with dread. But why? Why is he using the golden armor?
Theon looked back to the field, frantically trying to understand.
The left side was riding down the Lannisters, there was little resistance left.
The wedge in the center drove deep into Lannister lines, almost splitting their formation in two. Robb's banner was pushing forward, the impostor in the golden armor was a bad swing away from losing his life.
The right… Fuck!
"To me!" Theon roared to his confused horsemen. "We ride to the King!"
The right line hadn't moved from the beginning, but the center did. The wedge thinned the lines and made Robb push forward.
As if to confirm his fears, a dust cloud rose from the Lannister vanguard.
Ser Barristan and Maelys.
Robb… and the Kingslayer.
Fuck.
###
It had been hard to keep his mind serene when the Kingslayer taunted him over and over.
It was bad enough that, when he finally committed, Robb almost threw caution to the wind and rode with his personal guard to end it once and for all. But no, he couldn't afford to be rash, the Kingslayer was dangerous still.
He had Grey Wind to remind him of that.
His lines pushed and pushed. He could almost see it, the Lannister line fractured in two. Theon and Black Walder riding down the stragglers. The Kingslayer on his knees, captured.
He took a deep breath. The battle isn't over, Robb reminded himself.
A warhorn sounded twice from his left. They broke through.
"Smalljon, push harder to your left!" Robb ordered. His voice cutting through the chaos of the battlefield.
Part of his guard nodded and left at his command. Another strain for the almost-breaking lions.
He could see it, the Kingslayer was close to being overwhelmed. Just a little more and he would be his.
He turned to his companions, "Forward! For Winterfell!"
The battlefield rumbled with echoes of his call.
Just a little more.
A drizzle of arrows fell around him. His side answered with a hail of arrows and bolts.
He could almost taste victory. Even if Jon's scheme failed, he would have the perfect hostage to exchange.
"Winterfell!"
His banner fluttered proudly in the wind. The sound was enough to distract him for a heartbeat and turn down to see Grey Wind.
His direwolf was growling to the side. In the heartbeat that took him to see his sides, Robb saw how far the center had pushed.
The wedge, we overextended.
To his right a cloud of dust had risen.
How long had it been there?
In front the 'Kingslayer' desperately tried to hold his ground.
Grey Wind got to his side, ready to pounce. The chaos of battle hid the Lannister charge to his right. The wedge thinned his lines, and someone was taking advantage of his error.
Men, his men, fell as they are cut down by a mad charge, pushed aside or trampled under hooves. Robb saw the harbingers of death riding toward his position.
"Robb!" Eddard Karstark rushed to stop the attackers. A contemptuous slash lobbed his head off.
The golden armored man never fully committing. The Lannister vanguard's stubborn resistance…
The man in polished plate armor with lions decorating his pauldrons looked straight at him. Daven—no, Jaime Lannister—looked down on him with the eyes of a hunter, and Robb couldn't move.
"Your Grace!" Ser Jammos charged, together with a pair of knights on his sides.
Steel clashed on steel, the knights stopped the Kingslayer's companions and, for a heartbeat, it looked as if Ser Jammos is the Kingslayer's match.
Then, the proud lion parried Ser Jammos strike, and, with unnatural grace, stabbed him through the eye slit of his helmet.
Alysane charged forward, halberd raised and ready to strike. The Kingslayer evaded the overhead cleave with a slight tilt, and his free hand punched the Mormont off her horse.
Grey Wind snarls and it's enough to awaken Robb.
"Kingslayer!"
The swords clashed, and in an instant, Robb knew it was a mistake. The Kingslayer pushed his hand away, ready to do as he did with Ser Jammos. But Robb was not alone. Grey Wind attacked the Kingslayer's mount and the beast reared in terror.
A rearing horse would have been enough to throw most knights, but sadly, the Kingslayer was not any knight.
Robb blocked an overhead swing that left his whole arm rattling at the impact. He wanted to gasp, to take a moment to breath, but the Kingslayer was relentless.
Left, right, a punch to the face and right again. Robb blocked it all with his sword and shield, but he felt his arms quickly turn to lead.
Grey Wind tried to attack the horse again but a quick sword strike kept him at bay.
Robb lunged forward, thankful for the distraction. He swung to the Kingslayer's sword arm, but a found air instead. He received a punch to the face for his mistake.
Years in the yard of Winterfell moved his sword to block the strike he knew was coming. Another mistake.
The Kingslayer grabbed his shield and twisted.
"Agh!"
Hot pain shot through his arm, whitening his vision for a heartbeat. When he returned to himself… a sword, the Kingslayer's sword, was quickly approaching him.
I'm sorry fa—
"Winterfell!" someone snarled and blocked the Kingslayer's sword with his own.
It took him a moment to see his savior's sigil. The kraken on his cloak made it clear who he was.
Alysane got back on her feet and stabbed the Kingslayer's mount. At the same time, Theon struck with a roar.
Robb could almost see the Kingslayer's grin behind his helmet. He parried Theon's strike to the side and, with dreamlike grace, cut into Theon's armpit, then leaped from his mount before the horse could reach the ground.
His shield arm was useless, his body was stiff and tired, and ready to collapse. But it didn't matter. Rob raised his sword as the Kingslayer lowered himself for a final charge. There was only two people in the world, and soon, there would be only one.
The Kingslayer moved first, but a lance broke on his pauldron and dropped him to the ground. Jason Mallister turned his horse, as his son Patrek broke a second lance on the fallen knight.
The tension of the fight, the certainty of death, the relief of seeing the Mallisters with him washed over him and left only one thing on his mind.
"Theon!"
Robb dropped his sword and dismounted his horse, he fell and sent another pulse of whitening pain through his arm. He clenched his jaws to swallow a groan and ran to Theon.
Blood. Gods, there's so much blood.
"Theon," Robb whimpered. The lump in his chest making it hard for him to breathe.
"Winter is coming, Stark," Theon said with half a grin. "It's getting cold."
"Shut up." Pressure, bandages, Robb remembered his lessons with Maester Luwin. "Healer! I need a healer!" He snarled at the top of his lungs.
Gods, please. That's so much blood.
"You'll be fine Theon," Robb said, his voice fragile. "You'll be fine."
His good hand put pressure on his friend's shoulder. Soon, he was painted red.
"Hey Stark," Theon said, his voice hoarse and weak. "I wonder… Do you think father would be proud?"
Shut up.
Robb swallowed the lump in his throat and focused his gaze on the wound. "He is, Theon. Lord Balon is very proud."
"Heh," Theon chuckled. "Not Balon… brother."
Robb didn't take his eyes off the wound. He didn't want to see his brother's face, for he was too afraid to look.
###
A/N: Had to scrap a lot of this chapter because I almost wrote myself into a hole I currently don't know how to write myself out of. Curse you Jaime, and your inferiority complex, and your idiocy on everything Cersei.
Btw, Jaime's plan failed, he wanted to break Robb's right flank and, with whatever men he had left, charge toward Robb.
In unrelated news, Twitter found out about fanfiction, lmao. fem!Draco as a tsundere was enough for twitter to lose their collective minds. It's kinda funny, and at the same time… well it's fucking twitter, so I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop any moment now.
You can read two chapters ahead: p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / yorud
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