I floated above the chaos. Plate and mail and leather armored men on foot and a horse fought with sword and spear and axe in shallow water. Cohesion of lines was breaking apart. A big man sporting ridiculous oversized antlers led the point of a wedge of riders at an angle down a short, crumbling dirt embankment into the river. The lucky on both sides rushed out of the way. The unlucky, friend and foe alike, were bowled over; hewn; bludgeoned; trampled; maimed; murdered; drowned.

My vision swooped down into the back of the charge, darting between riders making my way forward; dirt and blood stained knights. I reached the front and spotted a near equal number of knights paused on a sand bar in about the middle of the slow flowing water. A man with a red glittering chest and equally ridiculous oversized dragon wings attached to his helmet was pointing; clearly giving orders.

Pure fury arose within me, unlike any passion I'd ever experienced before. The fact that I now wore the silly antlers riveted to my helm bore no significance for me. All I knew was hate. I was no longer disembodied. I was a part of the hot, physical madness. The spiked warhammer in my powerful grasp felt light as a feather and quivered for blood.

A wave of riders started trampling off the sand bar into the water, curving round toward me in a counter-charge. We had been spotted. But the cursed Dragon did not join his guard. I lifted my hammer and gave a waggle at the same moment I instinctively started slowing my mount.

The wedge shifted into a diamond with the mighty Stag now in the center.

The two forces collided. Men and horses began shearing off both sides in continued combat or by falling to mortal injury.

The shield of knights in front of me finally swept away, I smashed out once, twice, thrice. No man withstanding the blows. The last of the counter-charge disposed of, I viciously raked spurs into my beast's flanks. He sprang forward. "TARGARYEN!" I roared.

Challenge accepted. The last score of raping bastards on the sand bar came forth to meet me straight on.

Without looking, I felt the bannermen beside me, forming into another wedge with me the deadly point.

The others did like-wise, with the vile incest spawn as the lead of their tri-headed beast.

Now the water deepened. Not much, but enough. Momentum fell as my warhorse pushed through the weight. Luckily, the pocket was wide, capturing the foemen's speed too. This would be a melee, not a joust.

Horses crashed chest to chest.

Heroic champion met evil villain.

A sword hammered hard on my shield. I swung my hammer sideways. He both ducked and tipped his shield just so. The point skipped up and off from the angle, carrying the mass of the ironhead off into space.

He smote again and again at my off balance body. I shifted my own shield as best I could in answer. The whoreson was fast. He struck a glancing blow on the joint of my hammer arm, popping mail rings on the inner elbow. I barely felt it.

My backswing clipped off one wing of his stupid helmet.

Our horses slowly pivoted, each vicious monster thumping into the other; carrying their masters' hate with teeth and spittle.

More blows were exchanged. Chaos swirled barely noticed around the vacuum of my own conflict. The war would end here and now one way or the other.

I saw an opening. The rapist could not dodge. My arm reared back and then started forward.

Still, the Dragon tongue lashed out like a viper. The point of his blade pierced through the undermail of my hammer arm's shoulder pauldron. I felt the sting of flesh parting. My swing kept coming. Steel grated against bone and then my back plate shifted slightly, the point all the way through a part of my flesh.

Clang.

He'd gotten his shield up, the demon. Not good enough, I laughed cruelly to myself; the point of my spike puncturing through the thick iron reinforced oak. My strength holding despite the wound, I pulled back on the warhammer while clutching my upper arm tight to my body.

Rhaegar tugged in vain on his sword, finding the blade only shifted slightly against malleable flesh and hard bone. He could not remove it from my body; his weapon trapped.

I heaved with all my might and several hundred pounds of man and metal began lifting out of his saddle. His thighs clutched desperately at the barrel of this mount. Feet sought frantic purchase in stirrups. The Stag commenced to shake the Dragon. More pain ripped through my side, wetness dripped down within my armor, yet I refused to yield to it.

The foe's purchase on his mount in peril, he at last released his sword and with two hands started to pull back on the shield. By millimeter and then by centimeter, the Dragon eased back toward his saddle.

Pop.

The spike ripped out of the shield.

Rhaegar dropped back down awkwardly, scrambling to regain balance atop his seat.

"DIE!" I screamed, simply slamming the steel top of the free warhammer straight into his chest.

Rubies shattered. Rubies shot off the black and red three headed dragon surcoat. The fine steel plate beneath the silk crumpled. Chest cavity ruptured. Broken, shattered ribs pierced heart and lungs and liver.

I smashed him again.

Rhaegar Targaryen toppled dead into the Trident. Dark, bloody waters began to cover over the submerging form of the lifeless Dragon.

The lazy swirls obscuring my sight dissipated into a soft breeze of cold morning air and steaming breath issuing from the mouths of horses in a ragged line that carried a bevy of fur bundled men and a few boys. Over their heads hung a banner lightly fluffing in the wind; a white banner showing a grey direwolf. I watched them from where I was bound, shivering, hand and foot to a wall.

Two hard looking men wearing the same colors of the banner were not mounted. At a gesture from the mounted man in the middle of the line, they came forward and cut with knives the ropes that secured me to the frozen stone.

"Get up," one of them muttered.

Another kicked my legs. "Face it like a man, deserter. Move."

Petrified, I stayed in place, shivering harder.

From where the cordage still wrapped hard around my ankles and wrists, they dragged me to the middle of what I now realized was a square shaped courtyard; placing me beside a stump of dark wood.

Nononononononononono.

The man in charge, the most stern faced of the lot, dismounted.

A young man uncased a very long, very wide smokey blade and handed it over to the leader. Walking over to me, he hefted it once, twice. He paused; then took of his gloves, handing them to one of the pair who had carried me to my inevitable doom.

I stared up at the icy face in mute fascination.

The one who didn't take the gloves pressed his boot in my back, forcing it down upon the rough cut of the wood.

My evident executioner took hold of the great sword in both hands.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die."

Wait. So much to tell you. But I only made a gurgling sound.

'Patience, child of man' whispered in my brain.

Ned Fucking Stark lifted Ice high above his head.

The guard took his heel off me, but I didn't, I couldn't move.

'Great magic requires blood and dragon fire.'

I found myself bouncing across the uneven ground of the courtyard, catching a glimpse or three of a headless corpse spurting gouts of red into the snow about the stump.

I came to rest near the feet of the youth who had passed over the Valyrian forged sword. He looked down at me in amusement. 'Reek, rhymes with Sneak,' I thought as I stared up into dark eyes that grew and grew until I saw a reflection in them – a face. One half pudgy and black bearded with a blue eye over a strong nose and wide mouth. The other balding, with a more white than dull brown beard framing a hazel eye, stubby nose, and thin lips.

"AGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed. Something was choking me, entangling me. I writhed and kicked, freeing myself from its deadly embrace.

The door burst open and a red bearded man in a white cloak rushed in, sword drawn. "Your Grace?!" he shouted, eyes shifting left and right in search of ... something.

I rolled off whatever I lay on, knocking a table over. Falling, I hit something hard and unyielding. The floor? Immediately after, liquid started splattering over me. My heart rushed so hard it seemed ready to burst. I … I wasn't dead?

"There is no one here, your Grace," the guard announced cautiously.

"A dream. I had just been …" No, back up farther than that, something cautioned me. "I fought a man with a dragon helm and raiment's sewn with rubies," I announced dumbfounded.

"Ahh, Rhaegar, your Grace," the man mumbled knowingly and with an obvious twinge of embarrassment.

"Rhaegar?" 'What the fuck!?'

"Aye, your Grace."

'And why are you calling me …' "Shit!" Some minor semblance of earth shattering understanding pounded its way through my aching skull. Other parts hurt too; and not the usual places my middle aged body had reluctantly grown used to.

Naked and afraid on the floor was not the place to start a kingship. So I raised my miserable, odd, wine stained body up to its damned big feet; then promptly started to wobble. The floor looked further away than it had any right to be. Noting it was a bed I had fallen off of, I took advantage and sat heavily down on it. "Oooof," I groaned.

The white cloak with a red beard looked at me expectantly. This behavior apparently not seeming so 'odd' to him.

"Give me a moment … Ser … Meryn," I hazard a scary ass guess.

The man, satisfied by my logical leap, nodded, before adding carefully. "Your Grace, the party is ready to leave at your ease." Pause. "Ser Jaime came to wake you several … uhm … hours ago."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, double fuck. God damn Alien Space Bats. Breath. Again. From scary ass guess to shit inducing deadly reality. I'm not writing this fixfic crap now. Too genuine. Too lethal. Mommy!

Genre Savy.

Nononono. I warned you, but did you listen to me? Oh, no, you knew, didn't you? Oh, its just a harmless little bunny, isn't it?

Armed with canon.

Run away! Run away! Run the FUCK away.

"ShitshitshitFuckityShit!" I announced, trying my best to stop my bladder from exploding.

Time. Time to figure out when and where I am. Then run away.

"Send in my squires," I at last commanded gruffly.

Trant left, leaving me for the moment alone with my new body.

I looked down at it … hmmmn, I appraised … hairy, pudgy to fat, big boned, still fairly muscular. Later-ish Robert, not heroic Robert. Closer to the fire than the frying pan.

I suddenly realized I still needed to piss. I looked around for the inevitable bucket. There's always a slop bucket in these stories - no indoor plumbing. Ahh, there. Shitting was definitely going to be an issue when it finally happened. I went over and began to relief myself.

Hey, big there too.

Maybe it's not so bad to be the King?

"Your Grace," a teenage voice called out behind my naked back.

I involuntarily flinched mid-stream.

Or maybe it is.