Prologue

Banners lined the ridge beneath the red dragon, flapping in the cold breeze over Rhaegar's host. Far, far to Ned's right, distant black wisps of smoke signaled the impending arrival of Tywin Lannister's host on Robert's right flank as it burned its way across Lord Piper's lands. Ned looked back at the men arraying in the shallow valley below, shaking off his concerns. Robert had chosen to give battle well before the Targaryen and Lannister hosts could unite against him, and waiting would only make things worse.

Lords Ryswell, Bolton, and Dustin commanded the van and reserves on the left, a staggered lance of a column, aimed at the troop-encrusted sept-hill anchoring the loyalist position. Ned himself would hold overall rein over the near ten thousand Northerners filing up behind them. Robert had already joined the men in the valley and would lead from the center, and hopefully find Rhaegar Targaryen under his personal banners, which hung faintly visible across from his own. Yet further right, outside of view behind a grass-laden spur, Hoster Tully commanded the reserve behind a makeshift fortification of supply wagons that Robert had suggested. The over seven thousand men under Hoster's direct command were hopefully men of distinction. Brynden Tully was among them, though his unfavorable views of the Rebellion itself had consigned him to a low rank, for Lord Tully distrusted him ever since he'd made them clear.

Uncertainties aside, it was not long before northern warhorns and southern trumpets sounded across the line and the advance began. Ned and his men trod across the field at an easy pace. Further left, the huge column of knights and heavy lancers hooved its way left as the Targaryen heavy horse revealed itself over the crest of the ridge, waiting. Rhaegar's foot soldiers did not budge. Halfway up the slope, Robert's soldiers surged ahead with the roar of a hundred trumpets. Damned hot Stormlander blood, Ned almost thought, before remembering Robert's war council the night before. For a tense minute, Robert's line bulged forward with his personal banners at the head, but the Targaryen loyalist line refused the challenge. Then Rhaegar took the bait.

Trumpets echoed in the valley once more. The Targaryen surged down the rolling slopes like water and then they were upon him. Ned lowered his visor and cut down the first Reachman before him with a single strike as the hapless soldier's comrades rushed to his aid, too late. One swung his shield forward to blind him and his mates thrust at him with their points. Ice cleft the shafts and blades in two and smacked the shield's rim with the flat, knocking it aside by sheer weight. Ned was too fast for its bearer and hacked deep into his shoulder, kicking him off the blade. Soon the lines tightened up on both sides and Ned retired to the rear, mounting a horse from his guards. Slugging it out in the mud was not his idea of winning a battle. It seemed the Northerners and their foe were evenly matched, despite the slopes, for now. It was better further towards the center, where Robert's personal battle flag waved above the crest of the ridge defiantly amongst a sea of friends and foes. Even now, those of his bannermen slowly wrestled loyalist banners aside and the mounted reserve followed close behind. Robert and Jon Arryn's heavily-armored Valemen and Stormlanders had made short work of the Dornish and Crownland levies. The enemy must have broken their own formation in the counter-charge,he thought. One of Ned's guards had pointed out the silver-black dragon banner of Rhaegar Targaryen amongst the cavalry, which was engaged in a heated battle on the left flank, but now detached itself and slithered over the battlefield, Jon Connington's griffin sigil waving in tow. He meant to challenge Robert, Ned decided. It was a quick assumption, but only the death of Robert would push his men from their deathgrip on the crest. And Rhaegar would seek it.

"Robert may not need my help," Ned said, "But I will be damned if I leave him to fight alone Lyanna's raper" Rodrik Cassel chuckled grimly.

"The King is with his best knights. But if his Lordship pleases, same for us to you, and we must follow."

Ned took one last look at his Northerners. The infantry lines pushed and shoved with no clear winner. Further left, Roose Bolton and his goodfather's heavy horse retreated down the hillside with the Reachers on their tail, and then Wyman Manderly's knights couched their ribbon-laced lances and plunged into the overextended flank of their southern counterparts. Lord William Dustin's lancers of the reserve trotted forward, ready to plug the gap that their fellows had left.

"The men will think I'm deserting them if they see me leave."

Ser Donnel Locke nudged his horse a step up. "Let me take your helm and crest, then. I am close to your age enough, and a cousin of yours twice-removed besides." Ned remembered the expectant faces of the lords. Bolton. The Greatjon. Karstark. They would disapprove. Letting Robert die on the field alone was worse, though, than disappointing them. Ned looked briefly for observers, and finding none, unclasped the brooch on his grey cloak and surcoat. Donnel did the same and they traded their cloths of heraldry, as Ned fumbled with his greathelm.

"If they ask why Ser Donnel Locke rode away," Ned said, "Tell them he was a messenger. If they ask for Ned's command, ask of them their advice. They will think none of it." Donnel put on Ned's helm over his head f ollowing the cloak and wolf-embroidered surcoat, nodding.

"I will, my Lord. But what of your sword?" Ned thought for a moment.

"Draw your sword only if you must, and that comes to pass, wield it with skill and speed to mask its subtle features." Ned drew Ice from his saddleside sheath. The blade glinted dark as smoke all along its long length. Donnel drew his own longsword. It was two forearms shorter than Ice, and two fingers less wide, but otherwise passable.

"Close enough." Ned gestured to his other guards. "I will leave it at that. You two, come with me. The rest, defend my cousin as if he were my son." Ned turned and spurred his horse, his chosen men in tow.

Wounded men and trumpeters wandered up and down the slopes, seeking healers or a lord's retinue to follow. Ned paid them no heed. His eyes were fixed on what was happening at the crest of the ridge, where the fighting raged back and forth. The Baratheon stag banner flailed in the center of it all, in a deadly dance with the dragon sigil. He urged his steed faster.

Jon Arryn waited with the Vale knights of the mounted reserve, just behind the line. He turned at Ned's approach, raising his eyebrows.

"Were you not appointed to defend my ward?" Ned nodded.

"And sent to speak with the other, my Lord."

"On your way then and get back to Ned… Just a moment. What is this message you wish to pass to him?" Ned exhaled in his helm. Why did he choose this very moment to ask a question, in the critical part of the battle? But he answered.

"The battle goes well enough for Lord Stark. Lord Manderly and Dustin are committed, and Bolton and Ryswell are catching their breath. The Reachmen charged but were taken in the flank and routed." Jon Arryn smiled thinly.

"Good. Robert may be in need of a hammer soon, so tell your Lord that as soon as the Prince's knights are routed, he should aim his next cavalry assault on the center to aid King Robert."

"Aye, then. I have a message to deliver." Ned looked up the hill as he left his foster-father behind. Robert's banner swung and moved more feverishly than before, unless he was imagining it. He spurred his horse to the back of the line, weaving around the pike squares marching to the chaos. At some point his steed simply could not get past the throngs of soldiers, so Ned dismounted and drew Ice from its saddle-side scabbard. Unhesitating, he then proceeded on foot through the pressing throng of men who, noticing the heraldry, drew aside to let him through. Craning his neck every several steps he was able to make his way to Robert.

A copper antler stuck out above the melee—It was Robert! Ned hastened his pace. A knight was dragged back past him shrieking bloody murder, arms hanging limply from a smashed shoulder encased in a shattered steel pauldron. Ned finally reached Robert as he was busy wrestling another knight to the ground as Baratheon guards around the fight locked shields to prevent Targaryen soldiers from coming to his aid. Ned thrust Ice into the armpit of Robert's assailant like with a spear. Red, more blood, gushed from the new wound into the thick puddles in the trampled mud and snow. Robert looked up.

"Why did you do that?" he said. "He was a knight, Gods… I was planning on letting him live." Ned looked down at the twitching, dying man's surcoat, and understood.

"Killing Lord Lychester's firstborn son was my mistake," Ned admitted, his heart sinking. Hoster Tully had promised that Lord Lychester's loyalist son would be captured alive and returned to him. There was no hope of that now.

"By the Seven, Ned, is that you?" Robert climbed to his feet. Ned took off his helm. "You should be with your men on the left flank."

"I saw Rhaegar's personal banner coming this way, and I wanted to meet him with you at my side. How goes the battle?"

"I would ask the same of you, but I will face him alone lest he ask his Kingsguard to join him." Robert picked up a spear and flung it amidst the Targaryen men roiling further downhill that wrestled with his thinning battle-guard.

"The foot merely holds but the cavalry caught some of the enemy knights in the flank." Robert nodded, his face hidden behind his helm.

"Send the word down to Jon Arryn that I need reinforcements here, now. Why are you looking like that?"

The horseshoe of Robert's men suddenly crumpled with the thunder of hoofbeats and a man in black armor on a black horse burst on the scene, mace and shield in hands encased in ashen steel. Rubies crusted his breastplate in a band split in three strands, and a cloak of red and black swung over his shoulder as he sprung from his black horse. Rhaegar had come. Targaryen soldiers stepped back from their fight with the Baratheon men, silently offering a parlay of sorts to the few of their nearby foes remaining. Rhaegar wanted single combat. And Robert gave it.

"Leave him to me!" Robert roared, and charged. "I will avenge my betrothed on this singing snake myself." The Prince brought his shield up and stepped back, raising his mace over his head. Robert's hammer changed direction at the last blink and delivered a blow to the rim of Rhaegar's shield that sent the arm bearing it and wooden splinters flying. Rhaegar sidestepped and struck at Robert's forearm, ducking below the next hammer-blow.

"Curse you!" Robert kicked Rhaegar between his legs, and grabbed the Prince's shield arm above the elbow as he doubled over. Rhaegar had some fight still in him, and rammed his shoulder into his enemy's waist. The two men went down flailing, rolling. Robert wrestled a dagger from Rhaegar's right hand, which had long since lost its mace. Rhaegar screamed when Robert managed to thrust it through his side between the plates, and rolled out of Robert's attempt to wrestle him down.

Ned watched a few steps away with the ring of soldiers friend and foe. Jon Connington stood a few steps away doing the same, gripping a bloody halberd with trembling fingers. Was he going to interfere? Robert picked up his weapon as Rhaegar, Jon Connington's "silver prince," as Connington had called him at Harrenhal, drew his sword. Robert stepped forward and rained blows on the Prince's frantic defense. His hammer was swift as a snake, thundering against plate and sharpened steel, and each blow landed was like a poisoned bite. Rhaegar nevertheless kept his footing, and managed to draw blood with a stab at Robert's right leg. Jon Connington leaned forward.

Robert ignored it and slammed his hammer into Rhaegar's breastplate. Rhaegar fell. Connington snapped. Robert stepped on Rhaegar's chest, raising his hammer. Ned threw himself forward, throwing Ice in a guard over his head. In a moment Jon was there, hacking, stabbing, shouting for help. Robert's foot slipped from the bloody chestplate and Steffon's firstborn fell. The spell that held the soldiers at bay from the duel broke. Rhaegar's men swarmed at Robert and their Prince like a flood as Baratheon and Arryn men-at-arms surged forward to as well to protect their lord, and in the press Robert disappeared. Ned beheaded one knight, cut off the hand of another, but no matter how many he slew there was another three between him and where he had seen Robert last. His white Stark surcoat was scarlet now, and the wolf was a lion. The men before him yielded at last to his slowing blows and Jon Connington stepped forward from the press with his visor raised, red hair rolling down his shoulders like a shroud. Once again Targaryen men around cleared away, followed by their adversaries. Robert's hammer splashed in the blood at Ned's feet among the corpses.

"Robert Baratheon is dead, Stark." Connington recognized Ice. He looked at Ned's surcoat, raising his eyebrows. "You wear the colors of another man? I did not see you when I slew a knight bearing your armor. Lay down your arms. There is no more need for further bloodshed." Ice's tip darted at the griffin on his chest. Jon's longsword warded it aside.

"Why?" Ned pulled Ice back with no reply, leveling its point at the Targaryen men around him, then back at him. Very few Baratheon men remained, even behind him. He was almost alone now. Who remained now to avenge the elder Starks? That end was all that was left to Ned now, for even escape had deserted him. Jon Connington stepped forward, leveling his point at him across his shoulder. Then he finally replied.

"My Prince wanted his good-brother to live." He struck first this time, giving no time for Ned to think of a reply. The knight of Griffin's Roost wove his sword around Ned's guard again and again and again, searching, searching. Ice was too long for dueling of this sort and Jon inevitably found an opening. Ned stepped back to evade a thrust and felt the winter cold bite into his flesh. Then again, then again. Ned fell. His knees on the ground throbbed against his armor and he felt blood running down his side. Jon looked down at him. He kicked Ice from Ned's hands.

"Yield."

"My sister is avenged?" Jon Connington glared, but nodded. Ned slipped his hand behind his back.

"Do you yield?"

"My father and brother…" He drew his dagger and lunged… "Wait still!" Jon cut him down. Ned fell, vainly clutching the deep wound in his shoulder, trying to stem the tide of blood. He was too weak to speak. Jon picked up Ice.

"My Prince is with them. Tell him..." He raised the massive blade above Ned's chest. "Forgive me." Death fell.

—O—

Author's Note: This story will for the most part retain ASOIAF characters as its core—That is, I will follow primarily existing characters if I can. This is my first timeline, but I hope to get the next chapter out in the middling-near future. Feel free to give your opinions and predictions if you like!

Credit for the cover image goes to Adjiklam (who is not associated to me whatsoever), who permitted usage of it under the Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 license, which stipulates proper attribution to the author as a term of usage. (I do think I am overdoing it here, but I don't want to ever get sued over this, however unlikely that may be.)