The breeze slowly rustled the brown length of Ned Stark's hair across his brooding face as he stared anxiously to the horizon, watching, waiting. Beside him Robert, of house Baratheon, tightened his grip around the handle of his warhammer. The black obsidian colour of the weapon seemed to glitter in the light of the early morning sun, and even though Ned knew he wouldn't be on the receiving end of any of its blows, he couldn't help but feel somewhat intimidated by it, and the man wielding it. The hammer was forged for killing things, and this man was exceptional at killing. Robert granted him a small nod, a dark expression on his face, for they both knew what was about to happen here that day.

That was when Ned saw it, or rather he heard it. The sound of feet and hooves stomping alike, the military union of steps echoing the beating of his own heart. It sent a chill deep through the bones of Ned Stark, bones that not even winter could chill like this. His hands white-knuckled around the grip of his greatsword, but he forced himself to relax. "The Kings of Winter would not tremble now, nor will I" he thought to himself as he loosened his grip and cast his gaze upwards to the sight of the Targaryen army, if you could even call it an army. The horde of men was at least forty thousand strong, a mismatch of knights, dornish warriors and sellswords, marching in unison towards the Stag and Wolf bannermen.

At the head of the chaos proudly stood Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, head to toe in glistening silver. His armour looked beautiful, a pattern of dragon's dancing around his breastplate, encrusted with exquisite rubies that shone like a warning of death across the Trident. Seeing him now, Ned's nerves turned to anger as the thought of Rhaegar kidnapping and raping his sister burned fiercely in his mind, and he wore a determined look upon his troubled countenance. At his side Robert too tensed up and bore an expression of pure hatred at the sight of the dragonspawn and the men around him bristled, sensing a fight.

When the foes reached the traditional distance from Ned on the other side of the stream, the water flowing silently between them, he expected them to come to a halt, to prepare for the battle ahead. To the two lords' surprise, they showed no signs of stopping and even appeared to increase their pace. Ned glanced anxiously at his ally, "they don't appear to stop" he remarked. Robert Baratheon just grimaced and hefted his warhammer "Good," he roared fiercely, "let's get this bastard Ned, for Lyanna."

Their bannerman screamed a mighty warcry behind them as Ned Stark took mount upon his powerful black stallion, the worn leather saddle providing little comfort in such a dire time. Nevertheless, with a cry of "Winterfell!" - which was echoed by the northerners behind him - he kicked the horse's sides and the stallion burst into action. Robert, who too was now on horseback, followed suit with his own banners, and the fearsome duo tore across the Trident towards the sea of swords that awaited them. Stark unsheathed Ice as he rode, the greatsword shining in his clutch as he neared the smug bastard and his army, it instilled him with hope and a calm sense of duty.

He knew what had to be done. For Lyanna's sake.

And just like that, the two forces came together, cavalry on cavalry, infantry smashing and hacking each other to pieces, spears and arrows whistling past everywhere to find an unlucky target. It was brutal, it was messy, it was carnage. Ned smiled. His first opponent came at him atop a horse, wielding a spear as long as a man is tall. He thrust the spear towards him and would easily have put an end to the honourable Ned Stark with a single blow, but the Warden of the North shifted his weight to one side so that he was head on with the other man's horse. The spear carried off harmlessly past him and as their horses came to collide, Ned raised Ice with one hand and plunged it deep through the skull of the opposing stallion with an oddly satisfying noise.

Ned had no time to focus on the rider after that before a Southron sellsword sliced the forelegs of his stallion and brought Ned off of his horse. He hit the ground with an echoing thud and rolled through the dirt, bringing his greatsword with him. The sellsword grinned maliciously and closed in on Ned as he rose to his feet, twirling his short sword in his hand. Unfazed, Ned reached to answer the man's steel with his own Valyrian Steel, exchanging audible blow after blow, determined to put the craven to sleep for good. He found his feet and took guard with Ice, waiting for his foe to advance.

The short sword granted his opponent faster hacking and slashing, but he was unable to put much force behind his attacks. Ned defensively parried a few blows before throwing an almighty swing at his attacker with the force of a northerner and an ancient greatsword behind it. He aimed Ice at the midsection, and though the sellsword tried to parry the blow with his tiny blade, the Valyrian Steel ignored the defence and knocked the steel right out of the way, clearing a path for Ned Stark to cleave him cleanly in two. His body tumbled to the floor and Ned looked away to avoid seeing the entrails spilling across the ground. Killing a man so savagely brought him no joy, and he wished not to see the mark his dutiful blade had left..

Leaving the dead man behind him, Ned carved his way through knights and peasants alike in search of his Baratheon ally. In the midst of the bloodshed he spotted the shining white cloak of a Kingsguard, belonging to none other than Ser Barristan Selmy, as he seamlessly sliced his way through Robert's bannermen. Ned made sure to steer clear of Barristan the Bold, for he feared that would not be a battle he would be likely to emerge from victorious, or alive. Instead he pressed forward towards the stream where the thick of the battle was unfolding, unseating and dismembering anyone who fell in his path. Stark searched for Robert, praying he had not been slain before he had the chance to take his revenge on the dragon prince.

He had just pulled Ice from the throat of some knight from Highgarden he had never met when he saw Robert raining down a volley of deafening blows onto none other than Rhaegar Targaryen himself. Ned watched as closely as he could whilst fending off attacks from Dornishmen who had threatened their left flank. Baratheon and Targaryen battled ferociously atop their stallions, the rebel swinging powerful advances and Rhaegar doing just enough to stop the fearsome war hammer from wiping him from horseback. The water rushed around the hooves of their mounts and the stream became the new battleground for the ferocious commanders.

Rhaegar, to do him credit, fought bravely, Ned thought. Even a few surrounding men had stopped to watch the duel unfold, though no-one dared intervene. As Ned parried blows and warded off threats, he remarked on how this battle could decide the fate of the battle, and even the tide of the war. After what seemed like an eternity of hammer clashing on sword, Robert threw his all of his weight into one final swing and, with a sickening crack that resonated throughout the Trident, he brought the warhammer down onto Rhaegar's breast. His chest caved in under the force and the rubies he adorned on his breastplate shattered and were scattered into the river.

Robert bellowed a cry of victory as the Prince crumpled and fell from his mount, whispering a name too quietly for anyone to hear, and splashed into the river, dead as he hit the riverbed. Ned and his bannermen cheered so loudly Catelyn could have heard them in Winterfell. Robert had won, Ned rejoiced, he had held true his promise for Lyanna. A smile, so out of place in the circumstance, crept eagerly across Ned's face as he beamed at the man he might call his brother. The stag helmed commander roared vehemently and unmounted, clearing aside nearby foes as easily as a hot knife through butter.

What remained of Rhaegar's army saw that their commander had fallen, and after realisation dawned, swiftly turned to retreat. In the name of the brave northerners that had fallen that day, Ned and his men chased them as far as they could and ran them down by the hundreds. There few courageous men that had dared to stand and fight the mass of rebels, Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard among them. Ned and his men disarmed every last one of them and took them captive, though no one dared to kill any of them without Robert's command. That didn't stop any foul treatment towards them, Stark men kicking and bruising the survivors despite their helpless situation.

When the fighting had ceased, the ground was painted red and bodies littered the floor in their multitudes. The men whom were rounded up were brought before Robert Baratheon who, in the sight of gods and men, sentenced them to die, with only a few spared. When Ser Barristan was brought to Robert, he was commended for the loyalty and valour he had displayed that day and his life was spared. "I cannot punish a man for undying loyalty," he had announced and, though there were some who disagreed with this movement, Selmy was allowed to live and join the rebels henceforth. Robert even sent his own maester to tend to his wounds.

Ned did not turn away from the executions that took place. His father had never, so neither would smell was foul, far fouler than Ned cared for. For all the good songs could sing about battles, they never tell you how men shit themselves when they die, Ned thought. He met Robert in the stream, standing over where he had slain the dragon prince, though Robert adorned an expression of sorrow rather than joy. Ned clutched the man he knew to be his brother by heart by the shoulder and congratulated him. "It's over Robert," he said with an air of approval, "you killed him". Robert met him with a ghost of a smile and replied,

"I killed him Ned, but only the once."