4th Month of 299 A.C. Dornish Plains

Prince Quentyn Martell

The war continued to rage, his sister was growing powerful, but the entry of his uncle Oberyn into the war had created chaos and confusion, and not for the first time Quentyn felt resentful of his uncle, the uncle who had cost him almost everything. Any chance of a decent relationship with his family had fallen through thanks to his uncle, and truth be told Quentyn wanted to find his uncle and have the man killed almost immediately, his anger was growing the more and more he thought about it. The war was raging around them all, Dorne was burning, his sister was too proud to accept she was losing the war, and Quentyn was growing angrier. His sister was the cause of this, by the gods was she the cause of it all, and he would have his revenge.

The site of this current battle was somewhere within the vicinity of where the Wyls had once tortured Orys Baratheon. A fitting sight, Quentyn thought considering the Wyls were fighting for him, had been brought round to his line of thinking after some long discussion. He smiles at the thought of the Wyls using their dark arts on Gerold Dayne, that man was a bane in Quentyn's side. That his sister insisted on using him, was something that Quentyn could not understand, nor could he tolerate, he would see his sister dead for that. Anger grew within him at the thought, Gerold Dayne, a monster waiting to be brought to light, anger and frustration were growing within him now, he needed to focus, could not allow the man to get inside his head. Even though the man was leading his sister's army, after Daemon Sand had been slain.

Quentyn knows his men are growing tired, and some merely want to fight Oberyn, and the men the man had brought with him to the fore. That his uncle had not declared for Arianne, and had sent Trystane off to King's Landing was something Quentyn found interesting, it was also something he could not understand. All of Dorne knew what Prince Oberyn thought of the Lannisters and the Baratheons and yet he had been willing to allow Trystane to go into the lion's den that was something that he found very suspicious, something he wanted to know more about. He would pry it out of his uncle before he did away with him. Viserys might be dead, but all hope was not yet lost, there was still something that could be done, Daenerys Targaryen was alive, and there was another across the sea who could be brought to use.

Sand was growing more powerful the further they marched, Quentyn knows his men are growing tired, that they wish to fight or be done with this whole thing, Quentyn cannot begrudge them that feeling, seven hells he feels it himself. This innate desire to retreat, to retire into something else, into a place where he can sleep and not worry about anything else. And yet he knows such a thing cannot happen for him, not whilst Arianne remains alive, the thought of killing his sister makes him balk somewhat, but he knows he must do what is necessary. His sister would only bring Dorne to ruin, if the people she uses as councillors is anything to go by, there would be nothing but chaos and ruin in Dorne if she were to become Princess of Dorne.

Quentyn will not allow that to happen, he will not allow his sister to continue displaying the arrogance with which she had lived her life before their father died. He had never understood why his father was so willing to allow her those extravagances, why he was so willing to look the other way whilst she did everything in her power to discredit the Martell name. Such a thought had angered him often, had made him want to scream in protest, to want to shout at the red mountains of Dorne of the injustice. That his father would overlook something Arianne did, and yet come down just as hard, if not harder on him for doing one thing wrong.

And then there was his mother, she who had left him and his siblings when they were barely old enough to understand what was happening. She who had left and not written, and then had returned when father was dying, and had had the nerve to demand that he not fight with his sister. She did not know Arianne, she did not know him, and she had the nerve to talk to him as if she did? Ha, no, not in the seven hells would he even allow her to dictate anything in his life. She had lost that right when she left them for Norvos. He did not know what he would when he came before her, but he would have her dealt with appropriately.

The hate he feels now has always been inside of him, had been there from the beginning, growing stronger and stronger, making something untenable, something bitter within him. He did not know how to feel, he knew that now, he did not know, nor did he care about the normal emotions, all he wished to do was break free from the constraints of the life his father had chosen for him and live. He wanted to be the Prince of Dorne, not merely his sister's brother and heir. He wanted the power for himself, and he would get it for himself. He was determined to ensure that. It would be his, and there would be none who could come between him and achieving that, that vision that had kept him alive when he had felt as if he was being torn from the inside out. He was so determined to achieve this vision that he did not feel the arrows until they were forcing him off of his horse, his death not the glorious thing he had thought it would be. He dies alone and broken, as he had grown up.


The Kingswood

Lord Eddard Stark

He was a grandfather, it felt strange saying that and knowing it to be true. The babe that his daughter had given birth to was a boy, and the succession and Sansa's place as queen was somewhat secure as well, Ned was glad of that. He was also somewhat relieved if he did say so himself when word had come that Lord Paxter Redwyne had been found slain within the Citadel, what the man was doing there he did not know, but it meant the dangerous pact with the Redwynes could be avoided for the time being and that Ned could find someone more suitable for Robb to marry. His son who was more and more in favour with the king, something Ned had not failed to notice. That was something he was curious about, especially as the way Robb acted around the king was the same way Daryn Hornwood acted around the king as well. It was somewhat worrying, but Ned knew that to think too much into it would only invite more questions than answers, and right now he could not afford that.

After months of coming toward the city, word had come some days ago that Renly Baratheon had finally sent a force of men under the command of Ser Loras Tyrell toward the city, the vanguard as it were. The host under Tyrell was some twenty thousand strong, and though Ned felt nervous about it, when the king had ordered him and the northern army to ride out to confront the host coming toward him, he had breathed something of a sigh of relief. Since Duskendale he had been feeling on edge, something was creeping onto him and he did not know what it was. Secrets he had long held were threatening to come forth and ruin him, and his family, and that was something he could not allow, something he could not prevent either, and so he remained silent, he continued on his march through, they looked at where their scouts had told them Tyrell was going to be marching through, and they had marched there. That was how they had come to the Kingswood, a place where they could fight through and use the trees as cover.

Tyrell had gone about it a long winding way, swaying and slanting through the woods, and Ned had grown frustrated, but had kept his patience. He knew there had been some skirmishes between his scouts and Tyrells men, but so far Tyrell had been kept blind about where Ned's men actually were, and that was a good thing. The waiting was the worst part though, Ned had never been good with waiting, not when he was young and certainly not now, now there were many other things he had to content with and that was what was on his mind. The sound of footfalls somewhere in the distance draws his attention, he looks and sees his scouts return, they merely nod at him signalling that Tyrell is drawing near. Ned looks at path before him, he wonders what Tyrell is thinking, if he remembers correctly, this will be Tyrell's first taste of battle, a curious thing that, the smell of battle and war. Drums sound somewhere off in the distance and Ned smiles, so that is how Tyrell is trying to play it is it? Trying to bring about nervousness and shake them, well it will not work, Ned knows his men, knows his commanders knows that they do not shake easily.

The drums grow nearer, and when they come close enough, Ned roars his command, and the men move forward, a slow advance through the woods, past the trees, Ned holds himself in line waiting and waiting. He keeps waiting even as the first line begins disappearing, even as he sees Greywind streaking into the darkness before them. He holds himself firm, pausing and waiting, and then it comes, the roar he had been expecting, a whip of thunder. Drawing his sword he pushes his horse onto the charge, his heart racing, his pulse drawing everything forward. Everything seems to speed up, pushing through them all, Ned draws his sword swinging it with a fierce intensity, pushing, swinging, cleaving, and swinging. Men are falling down before his fierce embrace, death is calling to them. Ned roars, roaring for he knows if does not roar he will cry. There is something about the act of fighting, something that inspires him to keep going, none of the worries he feels elsewhere are present. He knows how to fight, it was the one thing he was good at, and nothing else seems to matter when he fights. His sword takes away the pain of these flowers, makes them wilt to the ground.

Pains grinds into him, drawing him from the place of bliss that he goes to when fighting, it makes him roar, and plunge his sword deep into the bowels of the man who had dared draw him from the state he had been in. The man falls to the ground, Ned pushes on, his sword clean as if it had not been plunged inward. His son is nearby fighting, cleaning the ground of Tyrell men, somewhere Loras Tyrell is fighting, Ned knows what must needs be done and so he advances toward it, cutting and cleaving, men fall and die. Ned continues onward, his heart racing somewhat, as he watches his son fight and fall and rise again. He feels pride in Robb, pride that his son has become the man that Ned never could be. His sword does most of his thinking for him soon enough, Tyrell is there before him, and for all his talk of being a great swordsman, Tyrell is nothing, not really compared to anything else. Tyrell's sword is removed and the battle ends with him a prisoner and his men all dead. Ned looks at Tyrell and makes a decision then, he has Tyrell's hair shaved off, and his face beaten in, for Tyrell will fall, it has been decided.