Chapter 1

"What's this?"

"Don't just stand on that, Alphonse?"

"I'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Famous last words."

"This seems like a…."

"Al, move!"

"Don't come near!"

"ALPHONSE!"

Alphonse woke up with a gasp, sweat dripping down his temple. It took a moment for him to bring his thundering heart under control. Groaning, he leaned forward and buried his face into his hands as the memories flooded him, made afresh by his recurring nightmare.

"Nightmare?" A soft voice murmured behind him. He turned around, a small smile spreading across his lips as he caught the sight of his wife. Well, wife in all but legality. They never got around to the actual marriage back in Xing, even though everyone knew they were eventually going to.

"The same one," he whispered in reply. One year now. One year since they had gone into the warehouse in pursuit of a mad Alchemist and his knowledge. One year since he had stood - quite idiotically - on the array for a spatial manipulation. One year since said array went awry and dropped them into this backwards, medieval, fantasy world.

One year. And as clueless about how to get back as they had been when they first arrived. Arms came around him and pulled him in against a soft, warm chest. He shuddered and let out a shaky breath, before his own arms lifted as if on their own accord and wrapped around the woman, hands clutching her clothes tightly. Soft fingers ran through his hair and that sweet, sweet voice whispered in his ears. The familiar, soothing rhythm calmed him down slowly.

Eventually, he pulled back, looking at May, at his warrior princess, and gave her a sad smile. "Sorry," he whispered, "I promised I would protect you. And yet… you're always the one who ends up protecting me." Albeit from himself. But he was sure his mind and memories and nightmares were his greatest enemy in this world.

A sharp sting on his arm brought him back to the present. "Ow!" he hissed, rubbing his arms where May had pinched it and pou… scowled at her. "What was that for?" May rolled her eyes and then settled herself on his lap. "Stop being absurd. We promised to protect each other. Remember?"

"Don't worry. I'll protect you."

"And I you."

"I will fight the world for you, for us."

"And I'll watch your back as you do."

"It's okay. We can do this, We will do this. Together."

"Together. Partners."

"Partners."

Huddled together in a room of a cheap inn, the heavens crying and the skies thundering outside, plagued by the memories of their own world and the uncertainties of whether they would be able to return, those words spoken in the darkness that as they leaned into each other for warmth and comfort was the closest they had come to speaking any wedding vows. And to them, they meant more than any pre-written, rehearsed vows they could have spoken at a ceremony watched by hundreds of people.

He let out a soft breath and nodded. All this time with May and he still sometimes forgot how strong she was. Not because of her skills as an alkahestrist - though she was formidable in that respect too. No, he admired her strength to face the enormity of their situation and still hold on to her resolve, to her heart and mind, firmly enough for both of them. Whichever mysogynistic idiot said that women were the weaker sex was an idiot, Alphonse decided. The women in his life were infinitely stronger than him. Shishou, Winry, Pinaco, his lovely, strong May. He could never be….

Another pinch. Another hiss leaving his lips. "What did I do this time?"

"You had that look on your face."

"What look?"

"That stupid look you have when you are praising someone while putting yourself down. Really, your talent astounds me."

He opened his mouth to deny it….. and found that he couldn't. He did have a tendency to… self-deprecate. He didn't remember doing that before he regained his body. But then again, all the time in the armor had been spent in a haze of getbackourbodies-findthephilosopher'sstone-stopthehomonculi-stopFather-saveAmestris. He suspected it also had something to do with his time in that … other realm. He vaguely remembered his body, sitting in front of that gate in the middle of endless white…. He shook his head. No use digging up old memories. He needed to focus on the here and now.

A movement caught his eye and he looked up at May. She had her head tilted toward the entrance - and exit - of the tent. "Zampano is coming. Along with Don. They seem ... agitated. And they're close." She said softly, as she pushed off him. He marvelled at her skills once again. To be able to sense chi so acutely to know exactly to whom it belonged and how they were feeling….

He knew many highly skilled warriors of Xing could do that. And he knew May counted among them. Still, to see it in work always left him… awestruck. He had learned the basics of sensing chi during his time in Xing; he could sense a person's species and position from it, and could use it fairly decently in battle. But he didn't think he could ever achieve the instinctual level of skill that May employed quite often.

He could now feel them, a few steps from the tent. And he had to wonder how far back they had been when May felt them. The tent flap opened and in came Zampano, accompanied by a young man of medium build with shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. Quite plain, admittedly, but a decent fighter.

"Get ready." Zampano's words brought his attention back to his friend. "We siege the Castle of Pyke in an hour." Alphonse sighed softly and, for a moment, wondered. War. It was as adept at draining someone physically as it was at draining them mentally. Especially in this world, where transport and communication was slow and death was as common as leaves were in forests even when there wasn't a war. He had tried to avoid killing ever since coming to this world, but … in a world where most people were crueler than the Homunculi and more desperate than the last Ishbalans alive, it was inevitable. And this war wasn't helping any. He just had to hope he didn't take someone's only family or support.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see May's concerned face. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and turned to the two. "We will be there in a few moments. Where is Jerso?" Zampano sighed and jerked his head towards the entrance. "Out. He said he would meet us when we're all ready to go."

Alphonse wasn't surprised. Their lack of progress to find a way back home was bearing on their minds. And everyone was coping in their own ways. He was just grateful that he had May here with him. He would have gone mad without her solid, calming presence to ground him.

"We?" Don spoke up, making Alphonse look at him. "The lady, too?" He was looking at May with doubtful eyes. He would have said something in defense of May, but the truth was… he didn't need to.

Sure enough, he felt May straighten beside him. "Is there a problem with that?" She asked with a strangely cheerful voice, He stifled a laugh when he saw Don gulp and take a step back. Alphonse knew, he just knew, that May had that look she had picked up from Lieutenant Haweye, with an eyebrow arched and one corner of her lips lifted into a challenging smirk. That expression just dared the other person challenge her.

No one ever did. And neither did Don. Quite wisely. No doubt he was remembering the time when he - and Rick, the other boy who had camped with them and had similar concerns when it came out that May was not a man - did take up that challenge and learned the hard way why May was not to be messed with.
He couldn't blame them much, though. They grew up in a world where women were damsels in distress, better kept at home than be forced to face the harsh realities of the world, depending on men to protect them and provide for them. That was not true. Most women he met each had an inner strength to outmatch that of a hundred men's. But this was not a world where they were able to show that strength, unlike his own.

He sighed and nodded at Zampano, who nodded back. Zampano quickly grabbed the armors and weapons of their male … tent-mates before grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck and dragging him away. Alphonse looked at May. "You didn't have to scare him like that." May blinked at him innocently with a "who, me?" look on her face. He shook his head with a fond smile on his face and got up from the bed, grabbing his armor.

It took a moment to fit it to his body. A clap and a small flash of light later, he had a reinforced armour and weapons. He turned to see May already decked in her own armor. He repeated the process with her armor. His way of alchemy was faster and, as such, more efficient like in situations like this.

When he was sure everything was in place, he looked her in the eye. "Ready?"

She nodded. "Ready."

"Let's go.

His blood sang with ecstasy as he sliced and hacked through man after man after man, uncaring of the blood that splattered his face, his armor, his clothes. His booming laugh echoed across the battlefield, even over the sound of the roaring battle. Ah. He hadn't felt like this since the Battle of the Trident, when he had caved that bastard Targeryan's chest in. Say what you would about Rhaegar Targeryan, no one could deny that he had been one tough bastard.

He weaved and drove through his opponents with brute strength, his warhammer smashing through every head, chest or any other limb it met. He left a bloody trail and chaos in his wake, living up to his name as the demon of the Trident he had earned all those years ago.

And yet… he wasn't. He wasn't living up to that name. Not the way he wanted to. No one else noticed, of course. Certainly not the dead bodies who had had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of his hammer. But he did. Years of complacency had left him … soft, for the lack of a better word. He had the reflexes. His muscles knew how to move. And yet, sometimes… his body faltered. His muscles ached, something he didn't remember feeling during the last time he wielded this hammer.

Perhaps that was why someone got through his guard. He felt the back of his neck prickle and twisted, while at the same time leaning back to avoid the attack. But… It was a longsword. He wouldn't get away. He started lifting his hammer to block it; but he knew it was too late. The sword would pierce his throat long before his weapon could reach.

Robert was pretty sure his life was supposed to flash before his eyes right about now. But there was nothing. Just a dull ache in his chest for all the things he wasn't and wouldn't be able to do - save Lyanna, love Cersei, look after his children, train his sons, give away his daughter in marriage - and a small satisfaction that at least he was going the way he wanted to do - in the glory of battle. The sword came closer and closer and he could do nothing but wait for it to pierce him ….

…. Until it didn't. It stopped, just before touching his throat. He looked up at the man, only to see blood spurting from the man's neck, a strange knife buried deep in it, as he fell forward. This time, he managed to avoid him, stepping back to let him drop on the ground, revealing a … petite? slim? thin and short … man walking towards him. A light armour covered his body and a helmet of similar material covered his face, leaving nothing but the eyes visible. He seemed to have no weapons but a shortsword that was strapped to his hip. He wasn't using it. But then how… that was when he noticed the small, strangely shaped knives in his hands. The same kind that was now buried in the Ironman's neck.

He opened his mouth to say something to the young lad - he had to be very young to be that small; probably his first battle - when he threw himself forward, knives poised to strike. Robert's eyes widened - traitor! a part of his mind yelled - and he lifted his hammer, ready to block any attack and, if needed, smash the little fuck's head in.

But the man sped past him. He turned to see him slicing through another's throat. And then … and then a dance started. A deadly dance, in which he weaved gracefully through the Ironmen who seemed to be clumsily and blindly hacking away at air next to the young man. He was not from here, Robert decided. No Westerosi fought like that.

He absently dodged an attack at him and had his hammer meet the attacker's face, his muscles revitalized now that they had a moment of reprieve. He watched the sight in front of him for a moment before he lunged forward, killing anyone who got through the man's guard or whom the man left behind. It had been a long time since he acted as backup to anyone… not since his days of being a squire. Hah! Would you look at that? The King of the Seven Kingdoms, reduced to being backup by a brat. He liked this brat.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw a man swing a curved sword at the lad's head from behind. 'Coward,' his mind spat while he yelled, "Watch out!" The lad jerked in surprise before he quickly spun and twisted his head out of the way. He managed to avoid the blow but the end of the sword caught the helmet and, as the attacker yanked the sword back, the helmet was wrenched off the young warrior's head.

Robert's mind screeched to a halt. Braid - long, black, sleek braid - fell down fell down the back of the soldier - and as she turned, Robert could see her face, round cheeks that came down in a slightly angular chin that should have looked unpleasant but instead served to make the face look more beautiful. And there really was no other word to describe the sight in front of him. The lad… was no lad at all. A young woman - a girl; she couldn't be more than sixteen (though her … ahem, assets suggested an even lower age) - stood in front of him. Slanted eyes turned to him, swept over him once and, apparently satisfied with the assessment they got, turned to the assailant, who managed to gather quite a few friends.

The lass's eyes met his once and, in that instant, they came to an agreement only warriors in battlefield fighting for their lives could come to. There was none of the prejudices and lessons drilled into him about ladies being delicate and needing to be protected in his mind that moment.. No, the warrior in him recognized another warrior. Together, they lunged forward.

He spun his hammer and easily blocked and dodged any attack that came his way while driving it straight into the chest and head of anyone who was stupid enough to attack him. This time, the lad - no, lass - was the backup. She moved around him gracefully - ducking under his arms, spinning behind him, twisting forward by his side - while taking care of the remnants of the group and killing anyone who was fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to not have died by his hammer. She did this while managing to stay out of the way of his blows the whole time.

Finally, he crushed the head of the one of the two left while his temporary partner sliced clean through the other's throat. He absently noted that she was now using her shortsword. He straightened and looked around. The battle was starting to die down in this area of the battlefield, and more of his men were alive than the enemy's. He grinned; victory was near.

He turned to the … girl… and saw that she was already putting on her helmet. Finally, he spoke his mind. "What's a little lass like you doing here?"

She looked at him for a moment, before shrugging. "Reasons." A non answer. Her voice was soft like the ladies of Court but there was a firmness there that could not be found in said ladies.

Robert was thick headed at the best of times. But even he knew not to pry when someone did not want to reveal their reasons for fighting. He would have, once. But heading a rebellion changed a person. He merely nodded. "You have my thanks." She did save his life.

She nodded back in acknowledgement. "As you do mine." Robert was confused, but she did not elaborate any further, instead sheathing her sword and putting her knives in a pouch attached to her hip (how had he not noticed that before?), clearly intending to leave.

"Wait!" Robert called just as she turned. "I would like to know the name of the person."

She paused for a moment before heaving a sigh. "May. May Chang."

That decided it. She was definitely not from around here. "May Chang." The name was awkward on his tongue. "You have my eternal gratitude."

She waved a hand at him dismissively. "Don't mention it, Your Grace." She said. When Robert chuckled, she turned to him and levelled a piercing glare at him. "No. Seriously. Do not mention it. I just did what everyone else is doing." He would have said something else but she was already running away. 'Seven hells, she's fast.' He probably would have followed her if not for Thoros of Myr appearing at his side.

"Alright, Your Grace?"

He looked at his friend and grinned. "Great!" He said. And meant it. "Just fucking great! You?"

"Well enough. Just finished up. Ned has cleared a path for soldiers to take the main tower where Greyjoy is hiding."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" He raised both his hammer and his voice. "Let's win this fucking war!" He roared and the crowd roared with him. That feeling… it was exhilarating.

He turned to see if the woman was still there, though he didn't have much hope. No sign of her. She had disappeared completely. It was as if she had not been there at all. If not for the corpses around him sliced arteries, he would have doubted her existence. She was so small. And yet she took down fully grown men with just a few knives and a small sword. Strangely, a thought occurred to him at that moment and he wondered how his own daughter would look with knives in her hands and a fearsome snarl on her face.

The thought was… not as disturbing as it ought to be. In fact, he liked the image very much. A girl with Cersei's face but his passions….. Huh.

It seemed his sons were not the only ones he was looking forward to training.

Ned had never liked killing. Not like his friend did. For him, it was one of those necessary evils. He could do it. He was good at it. Almost frighteningly good. But he would rather not do it. That was not to say he didn't enjoy fighting. That was impossible when you grew up with Robert. He enjoyed a good fight as much as the next soldier. He just didn't relish in blood and death and gore like most soldiers did.

However, said blood and death and gore was in an inevitable part of war. He didn't like it. But he had gotten used to it. And he was resigned to having blood on his hands. If it saved his people, if it protected his loved ones - he would go to any lengths.

That was the only thought going through his mind as he stood in front of the rope bridge, staring at the Ironmen on the other side of the bridge, blades poised and ready to jump on the bridge the moment Ned and his men did. The ironmen converging on them from behind left little option but to do exactly that.

Strands of rope made a bridge connecting the towers and the Ironmen that had more experiences with said bridge surrounded them on both sides. They had the advantage here, both in numbers and in landscape. But Ned was not one to hesitate. Hesitance meant death. More so when one was the leader.

He turned towards the group of men behind him. They couldn't have been more than fifteen in numbers. The Ironmen were more than twice that. The odds weren't good. But he had to make do with what he had.

"Whoever can fight on unsteady ground, stand forward." A soft murmur rippled through his men and they shifted, clearly hestating. Before he could give them a sharp reminder that this was war, you idiots - a man stepped forward. He did not have any helmet or face-guard. Golden hair (more golden than that of Laniisters) framed his face in a side fringe and the rest of it was swept behind and tied in a ponytail. The man clutched his sword tightly - no shield, he noted - and gave a small nod, his equally golden eyes steeled in determination.

"I can, milord." Ah. One of the smallfolks recruited from Lannisport, he guessed. His voice was mild, gentle, with none of the rough quality that men in general seemed to have. A part of him doubted the young man was actually smallfolk. His stance was too straight, too proud, his eyes alight with a fire not seen in most common people struggling to make ends meet.

Nevertheless, he nodded and turned to the others. "Anyone else?" The lad's action seemed to have done its job and three more men stepped forward. He nodded again. This would have to do. "Very well, you four are coming with me. We will clear a path across the bridge for the others. And the rest of you," he turned his eyes towards the rest of the group, "take care of them." He jerked his head towards the Ironmen who had now reached their small group and were getting ready to strike.

He turned towards the bridge and stepped forward with a simple command of "Come", expecting to be followed. The footsteps behind him said that his command had been followed. The clash of the group on ground with Ironmen was heard and ignored in favour of facing those ahead of them.

Their enemies on the other side had already stepped on the bridge and were now rushing to meet them halfway. He sped up, felt those behind him do the same, and with a loud cry that echoed in the skies, they clashed. He clenched his teeth as his sword was blocked by another and pushed back. He did not have the brute strength of robert but he was not weak either. He managed to push the man back before shoving the sword away and driving his own sword through the man's chest.

And then it started, the swinging, the hacking, the killing. Blood sprayed and guts spilled out and life left his opponents' eyes and he just kept going. This was not the time to stop. He cut through his enemies and felt the others doing the same.

Now, he was a good warrior. He knew that. Someone with his training can take multiple opponents at a time, no problem. The same could not be said for those who followed him. He realised this when, after a while, he paused and looked back after taking down another enemy, only to find the golden haired man fighting. The rest were … dead. Killed. He gritted his teeth, the familiar feeling of hate at himself for leading his men to their deaths curling in his chest.

The remaining man seemed to be doing well enough, spinning and dodging attacks efficiently and blocking the ones he couldn't, before quickly slicing through his opponent to give them a quick, clean death. Ned guessed this man was like him when it came to battle.

He hadn't realised that he had been staring for a bit too long until he heard the telltale swish of a sword cutting through the air behind him. His reflexes reared up and he instinctively twisted, dodging the blow. But the sharp pain in his shoulder told him that he had not been able to dodge it completely. The sword sunk into his flesh. He gritted his teeth and stumbled forward, letting the momentum of the sword increase the distance between him and the attacker.

He turned and used his sword to push his opponent's away and then cut clean through his neck. That momentum managed to take him forward just a bit more and he cut down two more. He then panted, his blood pounding in his veins as he realised there were six or more opponents left and only two of them. He clutched his sword tightly and put it in front of him, pointing towards the men. For every step they took forward, he took one back, assessing them, trying to find the quickest way to dispose of them without getting himself killed.

He kept stepping backwards, until his back hit something. He risked a glance back and saw that some of the Ironmen had slipped past battle on the ground and were now looking at the young lad with leery eyes that drunkards usually aimed at barmaids. Said lad was tense, absolutely rigid, muscles ready to spring into action any moment.

He turned back to his own opponents. "Lad," he called, "how many can you take?"

"I can take care of the ones on this side just fine. You?"

"Heh. I'll be fine, lad. You're 10 years too young to be worrying about me."

He felt the boy shift behind him slightly. He didn't know what was going through the other boy's mind but after a moment, Ned heard him speak. "Understood." And with that confirmation, both of them threw themselves at their respective enemies.

Even injured, Ned was a fearsome warrior. He did not survive a rebellion and help his best friend take the throne just like that. He killed three of them, driving his sword into their vital organs and ouling it out before sinking it into the next Ironman he could find. The rest of them, though, quickly recovered themselves and countered his attacks before launching their own. He ducked and spun and dodged while trying to get his own weapon through their guard.

He managed to kill two more before the remaining three converged on him together. He blocked three swords and soon found himself being pushed back by them. He clenched his teeth, as he realised they intended to push him over the age. He screamed as he pushed back with all his strength. All he managed to do, however, was put them in a stalemate with the back part of his feet already past the edge. He didn't look back, knowing it could be his undoing.

What he did not count on, however, was the men using anything other than their swords. They couldn't lift their legs in this position. But one of them lifted a hand and punched his shoulder hard, right where his wound was. Pain burned through his muscles and his grip on his sword loosened. One more push and he was over the edge.

A scream ripped out his throat. This was it. His death. He would never see his wife, his sons and daughters. Catelyn, Robb, Jon, Sansa Arya - he would never be able to tell them the truth. He regretted not telling Catelyn the truth and now Catelyn would live the rest of her life thinking that he had betrayed her, that he had been an infidel. His Jon would grow up hated and hating himself and his Robb, his dear, sweet Robb would be eaten up and spewed out by the traitorous Court.

For a moment, it felt like all his organs had dropped down to his feet as he stated to sail through the air. And then…. Something grabbed his hand and his fall halted, leaving him dangling in the air. He looked up to see the golden haired man, clutching his hand tightly, his face marred by a frown of concentration.

"Milord, you need to pull yourself. Use both hands." It was sound advice, he could already feel the man tugging hard to pull him up. But the ironmen on the bridge had other ideas. One of them swung his sword, aiming for the back of the lad's neck. Before he could shout out a warning however, the man lifted his other hand - and his sword with it - without even looking back and blocked the man's blow, their swords clanging, while still trying to pull Ned up.
Ned tried as hard as he could. But he was not a light man. There was no way the man could fend off the ironmen that were comin on all sides to attack him and lift him up at the same time.

"Lad, let go of…." He started - there was no way he could let the young man die for him.

"No way in hell!" The boy's snarl cut him off and he looked up to see his golden eyes shining almost ethereally even in the dim light that illuminated the bridge.

"Don't be stupid," he snarled right back. "Leave me. You'll die if you don't."

It was as if the lad hadn't heard his words. "Get. Up." He said as he pulled him harder. But he had to keep half his focus on the swordsman bearing down on him and the moment of distraction cost him as the man managed to overpower him. He was pushed forward and almost a quarter of his body went past the edge. They both grunted as Ned went even further down, their grip on each other starting to slip.

"Damn you, boy! Let me go!"

Said boy didn't answer, just attempted to tighten his grip and pull him up. It was no use though. Their hands were sweaty and soaked in blood and there was no way the boy could pull him up now. The ironmen were standing right beside him, swords raised to strike the killing blow

Ned made his decision. He let go. The boy's eyes widened the moment he felt Ned's grip start to loosen. He immediately let go of his sword that he still had poised to defend and used that hand to grab Ned's arm. "Stop it, you self-sacrificing idiot!" If Ned could, he would have chuckled. No one had dared to talk to him like that since he had become Lord. As it was, he couldn't chuckle. No, all he could do was dangle and feel unspeakable agony and utter terror… for himself and for this young man who would now die for him. He could already see the nearest ironman's sword swinging down on the back of the man's neck and the scream ripped out his throat before he could stop it.

"NO!"

And then there was light…. Literally. Flames engulfed the man who had been intending to kill the lad and soon a sword followed it, aflame with the same fire. The man wielding it laughed wildly before lunging at the rest of the problem. Half of the already startled men were taken down easily as he danced around them with his flaming sword.

Thoros of Myr.

Ned sighed in relief and tightened his grip. Now that the other man was not in imminent danger of dying, Ned wasn't so eager to for either. He let the man pull him up before he quickly grabbed the nearest strand of rope that worked as a railing. Still keeping his grip as tight as he could, he lifted a leg onto the bridge and firmly planted it before using it as anchor to get the rest of his body up.

He grunted as he finally got on the bridge before he rolled over on his back, panting. The shifting beside him said that the young warrior was doing the same. There were no sounds around them; Thoros must have taken care of the rest of the men.

"Don't do that," the man's voice was full of sorrow as he spoke.

"Pardon?"

The man turned to look at him and he was hit with the intensity of emotions in those golden orbs. "Don't fucking sacrifice yourself. Don't give up. You have a family, don't you?"

Ned understood what the man was trying to say. But…. "That's not how it works. If my life…"

"If nothing," the boy said firmly. "You only lose when you die. Don't give up your life like that. Keep moving forward. Keep moving until you can't and then move again. Keep moving until you fall over and then get. Up. Don't just give up because you think it's the only way. It's not. It's never the only way."

The man's voice, so fierce and raw, cut deep. For the first time in a long time, he didn't know what to say. He stared at the man for a moment before he turned to face the sky. "You know," he started, "most people wouldn't dare speak to a Lord like that."

The lad chuckled and sat up, Ned following him, "I'm not most people." Ned looked at him again, eyes following his movements as he stood.

"What's your name, lad?" He asked, making the young man turn and look down at him. A small, warm smile spread across his face and he gave a shallow bow, nothing like the deep ones he had come to expect from smallfolks. "Alphonse Elric, milord."

A last name. He was right. The boy had to be from a noble family. Though he did not recognize the house. Essosi, perhaps? Ned nodded in acknowledgement. "Alphonse Elric, I thank you, for everything you have done."

He shook his head, smiling genially."I just did what anyone else would do."

That was not true. Not many would save another's life at the cost of their own. He opened his mouth to say that when he heard footsteps approaching him. He turned, ready to stand and launch an attack if need be, only to find Thoros of Myr walking towards him.

He relaxed, and took his time standing. The priest smirked at him. "You looked as if you needed some help, Lord Stark." He said, making the Lord chuckle. "I did," he admitted, "Your help is much appreciated."

The man tilted his head and frowned. "Speaking of…" he made a show of looking around, "... where is the other one that helped you?"

"What do you mean?" Ned frowned and turned. "He's right…." He trailed off. The lad was nowhere to be seen. He could see half his men on the other side, battered and injured but alive and victorious. But no sign of the man.

"He was right here." He whispered. There was a long silence before the priest spoke up again. "Well," he sighed, "most of the ironmen have either fallen or been taken captive. So all we need to do is go in there," he jerked his thumb at the main tower, "and make Greyjoy kneel."

He frowned for a moment and then sighed softly, nodding. "Can you inform the king, priest?" He asked. "Let us get this over with. I want to go home."

He felt tired. So very tired.

Catelyn. Robb. Jon. Sansa. Arya. I'm coming home.

It was over.

They won.

Greyjoy had bent the knee. His youngest son was taken hostage. Jorah Mormomt and several others had been then Robert spoke.

"Today was the best fucking day I've had in a long, long while!" He said, addressing the crowd, who cheered. "The glory of war! This was what I was born for!" Ned shook his head fondly. His friend's penchant for dramatics hadn't faded one bit over the past years.

"But I regret to say that I spent years slacking away in the Red Keep and I felt it today," he swept his eyes over the crowd, frowning. "If it was not for a young, brave warrior, this could have been my very last battle."

Ned couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. So his friend had a similar experience? How curious. Robert raised a hand to stop the murmurs. "This person told me not to recognize the deed. But how can I not? He saved THE KING!" Another uproar from the audience and this time, it took a while to die down.

"Now, May Chang," Ned frowned at that unfamiliar sounding name, "come forward." He turned to see who would step forward to claim the glory.

No one did.

Robert frowned and called out the name again. No response. Two more calls. Ned could tell by the twitch of his brow that Robert was getting irritated. Something tugged at the back of his mind and he stepped forward.

"Robert," he called softly, so only his friend would hear. "I would like to call someone as well." Robert looked at him, his face still marred by the frown. He searched Ned's face for a moment, and then nodded.

Ned looked toward the crowd. "Alphonse Elric!" No response. No one stepped forward. He called again. "Alphonse Elric." He frowned and his eyes swept over the crowd once again. Then he adopted a different tactic. "Does anyone here know Alphonse Elric or May Chang?" His eyes swept over the men, trying to gauge their reactions. There. A young man with shaggy brown hair, shifting slightly, making himself smaller.

He pointed at him. "You! Come forward!" The boy jerked and looked up at him before looking around to see if Ned was pointing at someone else. Others had shifted away from him ever so slightly and, when it was clear whom the Lord was pointing at, he quickly stepped forward. It was not a good idea to keep the King and the Warden of the North waiting.

He dropped to his knees when he came close enough. "Your Grace. Milord." He murmured.

"Stand." Ned ordered and was pleased to see that his command was immediately followed. "Do you know anything about May Chang or Alphonse Elric?"

He shifted, hesitating. "Do not be afraid." Surprisingly, it was Robert who spoke the reassuring words. "No harm will come to you or them." Another moment of hesitance. And then the boy spoke. "I … I know them. Rick - my friend - and I stayed with them and their cousins after we took Lordsport. They were recruited with us from Lannisport."
There was something odd there. Them and their cousins…. "Are they related?" Ned asked. Another, longer bout of hesitance. He shifted from leg to leg, clearly reluctant to say anything. Now, even he was getting annoyed.

"Speak." His command was sharp, leaving no room for disobedience. The young man jerked before gulping and speaking. "They are…. They are man and wife."

Shock rippled through the crowd and Ned's mind echoed it. Man and wife? A woman? In the battlefield? Impossible. The crowd's shouts echoed his thoughts. He turned to Robert to see how he was taking this…. And was even more shocked to find that there was no surprise on his face. Only a thoughtful look.

The King of the Seven Kingdoms looked at the boy. "Do you know anything else about them?"

The young man shook his head. "No. They said they were just travellers."

"Do you know where they are now?"

A pause. A shake of his head.

"They're gone."

At a distance from the castle, four individuals now stood at the now empty shore. Everyone was either dead or at the tower. It gave them the perfect opportunity to get away. They stole a boat, it wasn't like the ironmen would need it. A few claps took care of the modifications to make it better and faster.

"It's ready," Alphonse said softly and turned to the other three. They nodded at him. There was a new, determined, almost manic fire in their eyes. They had fought a battle today and lived. They had come too close to death many times. They had stared death in the face. They had said their last prayers when they thought that this was it. And yet they survived. They were alive. Hope was not lost. It would never be lost. They were alive and well and they would find a way back home and Lord help anyone who got in their way.

You only lose when you die.

He looked at the three and nodded. "Let's go."

Author's Note: WHOO! That was the longest chapter I Have ever written. 6923 words! Holy fucking shit!

Okay, I would like to say again that I haven't read the books and I am mostly following the show and incorporation some book elements where I feel they fit better. These elements, I take from the internet. Also I have no beta. So mistakes are inevitable. If you see any, please do point them out. Constructive criticism is welcome. Flames are not. Enjoy!

Reviews are life!