He could just barely make out the head of the procession. They were riding at a breakneck pace ahead of the main host, their horses kicking up a maelstrom of topsoil as they went, layering their leathers, mail, and plate with a light brown dust. He could feel his mount tiring beneath him and he knew they would have to stop soon or risk being useless in the battles ahead. Eddard just hoped they would make it in time to assist their allies in the Riverlands but given the reception they received at The Twins, that outcome was looking less and less likely.

Eddard was currently riding next to Howland Reed. Despite the crannogman's protests that he was not any good on a horse, he seemed to be doing rather well for himself. They had spent most of their time in companionable silence since the first few days of the march, having exhausted all comfortable conversation topics. One can only remark upon the fair weather so many times after all and Eddard had heard enough about Greywater Watch for his liking. Any other topic often led them to places that they didn't want to tread.

Lyanna…

He prayed to the Gods that she was unharmed. He didn't know what he would do otherwise.

"Ned!"

He caught sight of Brandon coming back from the head of the van at a relaxed pace, accompanied by an eager Ethan Glover bearing a Stark banner. His brother looked as carefree as ever with a broad grin on his face and Ice slung across his back. He was no doubt looking forward to testing the family steel in true combat. Their father had bestowed it upon him before they departed as a matter of practicality, given that he would be commanding in the rear. It aggrieved Father to no end to admit that he wasn't as hale as he used to be, but the past few years had not been kind to him and winter was coming.

"Can you feel it?," Brandon asked as he and Ethan turned their horses around to ride side by side with Eddard.

He shrugged, deciding not to acknowledge his brother's vague question, given that he was likely to follow it with something lewd regardless. Howland, however, had no such reservations. "Feel what, my Lord?"

Brandon looked surprised at Howland's presence, but his countenance quickly changed to adopt a manic grin. "The sound of four and twenty thousand hooves about to firmly plant themselves in some southron arse, that's what."

Both Howland and Ethan gave a weak chuckle as Brandon laughed far too hard at his own joke. Eddard wasn't amused.

"two and thirty," He muttered. There was a force of eight thousand horse in their company, so either Brandon was not paying any mind to Father in the war council or he had forgotten his numbers. Eddard would wager on the latter.

"What was that?" Brandon looked at him oddly.

"Nothing, Brother. When will we reach the Crossroads?" Eddard could guess, but that's all it would be. A guess… His brother knew these lands best.

Brandon ran a hand through his hair as his face screwed up in concentration. "Perhaps late the next morn if we stop soon, past the hour of the wolf tonight if we don't, Then we'll push on to Darry."

"Is it wise to advance so far beyond the main host?" If their supply was cut off from the north they would have to forage in nearby villages and Eddard sorely wanted to avoid that.

His brother narrowed his eyes. "There's not even any minor houses along this stretch of the Kingsroad. Assuming the Charltons did not impede their progress,…" Brandon huffed at the prospects of that happening. They were apparently just as spineless as their Frey overlords and did not even send out an envoy as they passed through their lands. "...any of our foes would have to ford the Green Fork to cut us off, leaving them vulnerable."

Eddard nodded solemnly in understanding. That was not strictly true. They were still open to attack from the east, but unless the mountain clans of the Vale had developed an interest in the politics of the realm, such things were unlikely until they reached the Crossroads.

Brandon laughed. "By the Gods...Smile, Ned! We're headed to battle and glory and here you are looking as if you're already a statue in the crypts."

"It is not wise to jest about such things." Not that he had any true superstitions, He just found his brother's humor severely lacking.

He only laughed harder. "You sound like Old Nan." He turned to face his squire. "Come, Ethan. We can hardly lead the procession from the center." As they trotted off, Eddard shared a look with his friend.

He was now confident that he knew the reason Father sent him along with the forward column. Eddard was neither a great warrior like Brandon, nor did he have any real experience leading cavalry.

Or men at all for that matter…

It was just as well that Brandon was in charge but if he got too foolhardy, Eddard would be there to counsel patience and hopefully drag his brother out of danger if need be.

The day dragged on relentlessly as they pushed their steeds. They finally stopped to set up camp as the dusk light was waning, finding themselves outside of a small hamlet that Brandon said was not more than five miles north of The Crossroads.

Eddard stepped into their impromptu command tent, finding half of their number already there. Around the circular table Brandon looked to be joking around with Lord William Dustin and judging by the wistful smile on the young Lord Dustin's face, they were talking about Barbrey, the new Lady of Barrowton.

Lord Wyman Manderly was already starting to help himself to the meager refreshments available as he acknowledged Eddard's arrival with a nod and asked, "Has Martyn returned yet, Ser Eddard?"

Eddard shook his head as he took his seat at the table next to Brandon. "Not to my knowledge, Lord Manderly." It did not bode well that the most forward group of outriders had yet to return, but there were still a few hours left before their absence would raise serious concern.

His ruminations were interrupted by Lord Ryswell and his brother, Ser Mark striding into the tent. "Any news?" Brandon asked.

"Aye, but there's not much to report, my Lord." Rodrik Ryswell was a grizzled man on the cusp of his fortieth name day with a few grey hairs taking hold in his brown beard. Ser Mark looked like a younger version of his brother with the same brown hair and fewer wrinkles around his eyes.

He has not had the opportunity to get to know the Ryswells at all really, but Lord Rodrik seemed to be the more serious of the two with Ser Mark being more gregarious if a bit soft-spoken. Eddard supposed it only made sense that the eldest was more grim, given his responsibilities.

"Well, report it anyway. It's not like we have anything better to be talking about." Brandon sighed. His brother was clearly growing bored, constantly riding without seeing any action or indulging in his favorite vices.

The Ryswells settled down in their seats before Lord Rodrik obliged. "Aye, my Lord. Most of the scouts have returned from their rangings and have found no opposition in sight for the moment. We're still waiting on the van, but that's to be expected. If they sighted something, they're counting numbers and if they didn't they're likely being doubly thorough." He took a long draw from his tankard before wiping his mouth and continuing. "Ser Martyn's no fool and we don't want to be going into the Crossroads blind."

Brandon nodded firmly looking every inch a lord and Eddard chose the time to interject before his brother's serious mood passed. "The last rider from the main host says that they're two days march behind us. We wouldn't want to bite off more than we can chew, otherwise, the foot will be unable to come to our aid in time."

Lords Manderly and Dustin nodded while Lord Ryswell remained inscrutable at Eddard's words.

"Yes, yes, Ned..." Brandon leaned back in his chair while propping his legs up on the table. Lord Ryswell had a noticeable eyebrow tic at that, to Eddard's faint amusement. "...but if an opportunity presents itself, we take it by the horns. You understand?"

Eddard rolled his eyes at the pun. "Of course. Such were our orders."

With that response, the miniature war council devolved into stunted conversations about supply lines and overall battle plans that were ultimately useless without the bigger picture. Once Lord Dustin brought up how the quality of ale degraded the further south you went, Eddard knew it was time to conclude the meeting.

As he was made to say as much, the tent flap opened once more to reveal Ser Martyn Cassel, whose appearance inspired a palpable sense of relief.

"My Lord, The Crossroads is clear for us to advance."

Brandon's face broke out into a grin. "Excellent, Martyn. Any word of movement in the area?"

Martyn smiled. "Aye. The smallfolk all say that troops from the east bearing falcon banners took the south road towards Darry about a moon ago."

Most of them clearly reveled in the news, but Eddard's face remained carefully blank. A lot could happen in a moon's time. It seemed as if Lord Ryswell shared his sentiment as they shared a look of concern over the table.

"You didn't encounter any evidence of other outriders?" Lord Ryswell was clearly disbelieving at this possibly being the case.

Martyn gave a small shrug as he shook his head. "No, my Lord. I'm as shocked as you are. No soldiers have been seen at The Crossroads for a fortnight."

Brandon seemed to actually be thinking things through for once. "It's been the same way for the entire march. We've encountered no scouts and no envoys beyond the Freys..." He trailed off as he realized the oddity.

Lord Manderly got red in the face and slammed his sizable fist on the table. "They think us craven!" He calmed down a bit after a glare from Lord Dustin drew his attention to the ale spilt as a result of his brief outburst, but he nevertheless continued in a more measured fashion. "We took so long to gather the full strength of The North...perhaps they thought that we weren't coming at all."

An audible snort came from the other side of the table. "Once the banners were called, all of Westeros knew we would be marching before long. It would be impossible to gather a force of our size in secret."

Well...that theory was out. The merchants in White Harbor alone would have spread word to the Vale within a week. It was impossible to know how far the news of marching Northmen could have spread by now.

Eddard had a thought. "Perhaps both sides are certain that we are coming to aid them and see no reason to keep an eye on us when they have other foes to worry about."

The others exchanged glances around the table before Brandon broke out into a chuckle which quickly morphed into a full-blown laugh. The remaining members of the council all found some degree of amusement at the idea, with even Lord Ryswell allowing himself a small smirk.

"I admit that the notion has some merit, but the lack of opposition could also belie the presence of a trap."

Lord Dustin nodded. "I concur with Lord Rodrik. We must be cautious in our advance from now on."

They no longer had the luxury of two natural obstacles protecting their flanks, so it would be wise to tread carefully. Raising a third voice in agreement would contribute little, so Eddard kept silent.

Brandon drained the rest of his tankard before rising. "Very well...We'll continue at the same pace to The Crossroads then proceed at three-quarters speed to Darry. If all goes well, we should reach our objective by nightfall."

The council concluded with tired words of assent as Eddard and the others departed to their personal tents for the night. He fell asleep on his cot to dreams of battle and fire.

The next morning saw them pass through the large village without issue and from there they took more care to screen their advance with double the amount of scout details. When Ser Martyn reported sighting the Arryn camp around Darry near dusk, Brandon was ecstatic.

"They're still holding out, Ned. There's a battle to be had after all!"

Eddard could not deny that he felt some excitement, but it was tempered by a heavy sense of dread as well. Whenever there was a battle, people died and while it seemed like an obvious enough realization, it hit a man harder when he's on the eve of his first one. It could be Brandon, Howland, Martyn...anyone, even him now that he thought about it further. Oddly enough, the prospect of dying didn't bother him overmuch. Perhaps it would when he came uncomfortably close to it.

Eddard shook the thoughts out of his mind as the call came to mount. The fields around Darry left nothing to cover their advance except darkness and surprise was of the essence.

He nodded to Martyn and Howland as he took his place at the center of the left flank. Their current position was behind one of the many rolling hills of the region that blocked the vision from the camp. The one disadvantage of the position was that it blocked their view of the center column as well. They would have to wait for the signal after the vanguard made contact.

As night fell, the quiet became almost unbearable as the faint sounds of whispering became audible among the column. Eddard noticed that he was shifting back and forth in his saddle and had to make a conscious effort to stop.

An even deeper silence fell over the battle group as they heard the sounds of yelling and clashing steel over the hill. Eddard held up his arm to settle a few of his more restless companions. They had to wait for the signal.

Agonizing minutes that felt like years passed as Eddard grew more and more concerned. Just as he was beginning to question the whereabouts of the gods-be-damned horn blower, the deep chilling sound of a northern horn pierced the night air.

He raised his sword. "Forward! For Winterfell!" Eddard felt some courage enter him as he ordered his host forward. The sound of thundering hooves dominated his senses as his heartbeat pounded in his ears. As they crested the hill, he saw the battle laid out before him. It was clearly going in their favor, but there were more men than they expected and not nearly as many of them had retired for the night as they thought. Victory seemed imminent, however, as the two flanks would trap the besieging host against Castle Darry and they could hopefully rely on assistance from the defenders once they realized what was going on.

As he approached the fray, he cut down a few of the fleeing levy, before focusing in on a knight with a bundle of arrows on his shield. The Hunter knight noticed him as well. "For Robert!," the man shouted.

Eddard gave a cry of his own as he spurred his horse on. "For King Aerys!"