Guys, I'm sorry it has taken me forever to update. I was frustrated and unsure how to alter this story to fit better. But I have rewritten this thoroughly, so I recommend you read from the beginning, because some of these changes are major. Thank you all for your patience.

Chapter 13

On a cool, crisp day, Jon Connington found himself in a bar. It was in Braavos, he was fairly certain. He had spent several days drowning himself in ale. Damned spider. Damned Magister. Took Aegon. Probably dead somewhere. He had tried to reconcile his thoughts after his… stunning revelation. Unfortunately, all he could see was the differences. This was no child of Rhaegar's. Valyrian, maybe, but he lacked the subtle characteristics. Jon would know; he had spent many hours gazing at Rhaegar. He sipped some of the ale, finishing the mug off. A barmaid passed by, looking increasingly beautiful. "You… barmaid… more ale…" his words were strangely slurred. He stuffed a fist into his coin purse, seeking a coin. None. None? Where did my money go? He paused, thinking it over. Must have been the spider. Such sneaky hands… Jon wrenched his fist from his purse. "Ne'ermind. Piss off." He slumped over onto the cool, pleasant table. Then the bartender came over, a large fellow with rough hands.

"Payin' customers could be using this table. Get up, you lazy sot." Jon tried to wave him off and over balanced, the flimsy stool toppling.

"Fine, fine… damn fool…" Jon declared, leaving the bar. He walked along the paths, enjoying the cool sea air. It helped him sober up… somewhat. He meandered around for a while. Then he stopped in front of a familiar manor. He had never seen it before, surely. Rhaegar told me about this place. Surely Rhaegar would not lead him astray. Jon began pounding on the door. "Lemme in! Whoever's in there, open the door!" Sure enough, the door opened. Jon quickly lost his balance and toppled over. Vaguely, he could hear muffled conversation.

"My lady, should I just toss this fellow back on the streets? Surely he's just some drunken fool." That voice sounded strong and tough.

"No. Sadly I recognize this man, though he has done a poor job dying his hair and seems quite drunk." Jon recognized that voice. It was someone he liked, and their voice was crisp and regal, if somewhat weary. He smiled at the thought. "Bring him in."

…

A day and a half later, Jon finally overcame both his drunken stupor and his hangover dispersed. He left his bed and began wandering the manor. He passed a hall, several rooms, kitchens (from which he broke his fast with thick rye bread and bacon) until he found himself before the gardens. There stood two guards, who let him through hesitantly. Jon looked around, shocked. Viserys Targaryen, now a boy of fifteen, was practicing against old Gerold Hightower. Queen Rhaella was carefully showing her daughter how to use a needle, and the young girl seemed to be catching on quickly. Jon smiled wanly. The Targaryen family wasn't broken to pieces, it was united in Braavos. He approached the Dowager Queen and the young girl. "My Queen… I apologize for how I entered your manor. I should not have been so drunk, but you see, I had been searching for young Aegon after several years in the Golden Company." He raised a hand to stop the Queen's question. "A fake. A mummers farce made by Varys and Illyrio Mopatis. The real Aegon may be out there, but I do not know where to look."

Rhaella paused, looking thoughtful for a long moment. "I had thought I had gained one of my family members once more, and your news disheartens me, Lord Connington. But I have two of my children here, and I seek to care for them." She looked to the young girl. "Daenerys, this is one of your brother Rhaegar's friends. Jon Connington."

Eddard

After their strong victory at seagard, the forces of Stark and Mallister had linked up, traveling quickly towards the Crag, where King Robert was camped and waiting for reinforcements. The journey was boring, with the Ironborn clearly licking their wounds. They passed through woods and hills, watching the nearby landscape carefully. They passed several small holdfasts, as well as deep mines and villages aplenty. Several days of travel paid off; eventually they arrived at the Crag. Passing through the neat camps, Eddard noted the segregation by kingdom. Robert camped in the center, with many of his men around him. Eddard allowed his men to make camp, while he and his principal lords - Dustin, Umber, Manderly, Karstark, and Bolton sought to freshen up then join the war council. Ned welcomed the relaxing bath, and once he was changed he quickly sought out Robert and his council along with his bannermen. They arrived to a somewhat somber meeting. Robert looked extremely pleased to see Ned, however. "Ned!" He boomed, interrupting some Reachman lord. "Good to see you! We'd heard of your victory at Seagard, of course. Can't believe you killed Rodrik Greyjoy yourself!" Ned could not help but note that Robert had gained a bit of weight. While not fat by any means, the hard bodied warrior of his youth was pudgier.

Ned nodded, embarrassed at the praise being heaped upon him. "It was nothing, Your Grace. I heard your brother Stannis whipped the Ironborn at Fair Isle. I presume these victories will allow us to conduct a naval assault?" Ned nodded at the map. Rickard Karstark grunted at the thought.

"Aye, well, if only Stannis had crushed them utterly. But yes, with our forces as they are we can assault them by sea, and slaughter the lot." Robert waved him over to a map, fairly detailed. It showed the Iron Islands in detail as well as some of the coast of the Westerlands. "We'll assault Great Wyk first, then old Wyk and Orkmont, and once that resistance is crushed, we can storm Pyke and put the Greyjoys to the sword. Oh, and Harlaw." Robert had one of his dark scowls on his face, the kind he displayed only when he felt truly slighted. He waved a hand at the map. "Damn fools think they can steal my kingdom."

"They could never, your grace, you are simply too wise and strong," simpered a voice nearby. The fellow might have been a Reachman.

"Yes, yes, Inchfield. Quiet down." Robert seemed to at least have the grace not to tell the man to shut up.

"Where would you like my forces, Your grace?" Ned was observing the map carefully, trying to remember Maester Walys' lessons on various southern houses. Jon had taught him some too, but Ironborn houses were hard to distinguish. He did recognize the major isles, at least.

"Ned, I would have your forces alongside mine own when we storm Pyke." Robert looked up, a fearsome smile upon his face. "You and I fighting side by side against those scum. I mean for us to sail tomorrow."

"But of course, Your Grace." Ned bowed before him. "If I may take my leave to prepare my men?"

Robert nodded, then looked around at the other lords and began issuing orders. Ned gratefully took his leave, with his bannermen striding alongside. The preparations for the siege, or perhaps battle to come would need to be made.

…

Ned felt weary. He had only experienced a handful of storms at sea, and this one was particularly gruesome. King Robert's fleet was scattered, the transport barges and galleys being forced to split up as winds picked up. Ned had managed to gather several thousand men and several galleys together after much effort, and ordered a beachhead made. The barges struggled with the weather, but after much prodding, they came close to the Isle of Pyke. Six longships rushed to meet them, and Ned was forced to order his galleys to engage while the men on the barges disembarked. He could hear the shrieking on the wind even as he and his personal guard hopped on to dry land, swords in hand. The Ironborn had mustered several sally parties in an effort to halt the invasion. Ned didn't intend to give them the chance. As several more barges landed and their men quickly disembarked, the first of several parties found them. A horn sounded in the distance, and Ned ordered his own hornbearer to sound in return. His men managed to form up into small formations as the wave of Ironborn crashed against them.

Ned unsheathed Ice, brandishing it. His men joined into a group, and following Ned's lead, charged out of the shallow waters. An Ironborn reaver sprinted towards Ned, one of several hundred in this band. As the man's beard blew in the wind and his axes lashed out, Ned stepped into the man's guard, using his shield to block the frenzied blows. A quick slice from his shimmering sword found the man dead. Ned turned and struck out at an Ironborn who was garbed in chainmail, his sword slicing through quickly. I mustn't get too overconfident. A sword is only a sword. But it was very powerful, indeed. Ned quickly moved forward, cutting a swathe through the Ironborn formation. His men quickly followed, filling in the gaps. If we can cut through, we can flank them and free up the rest of our men. Several barges were approaching, attempting to take the place of the emptied ones.

Ned was surprised and rather dismayed when an Ironborn man bearing a longaxe assaulted him. His shield was battered quickly, and the axe could not get him in to reach. The man bearing it was immensely strong and bellowing savagely with each swing. Ned had to try something risky to end this quickly. He pulled his shield up and angled it so that the longax would catch in his shield. The Ironborn reaver hacked at him again, but this time the axe caught in his shield, cracking it. Ned took the opportunity, swiftly slicing the haft in two, then closing the distance to stab the man in his chest. He toppled over like a felled tree, and Ned continued forward. He could see Rickard Karstark now, his men gathered around his banner as the Ironborn crashed into them again and again. His portion of the line was wavering, however. Ned looked back momentarily. His own soldiers were holding their own excellently. Ned nodded at the thought and then waved for a squadron of soldiers to join him. Forming up around their lord, Ned charged forward, attempting to cut his way to Rickard and link up forces.

A stout warrior was in the way, however. He bore a sword and round shield, and dodged Ned's attacks skillfully. Frustrated, Ned lashed out with ice. The man dodged, but that was Eddard's goal. With a quick motion, Ned attacked, forcing the man on the defence. After a few seconds, Ned sheared his chainmail in two. The Ironborn were looking more hesitant now, and Eddard used this to his advantage, cutting his way through. "Lord Karstark!" He bellowed. "We must link our forces!" Karstark looked up at him and nodded. He shouted a command, and his soldiers unfurled from their defensive position, attacking towards his squadron. The combined assault allowed them to create a gap, which was quickly filled by Karstark's men. It opened much more space, allowing their reinforcements to land and take the fight to the Ironborn. Not long after that, the Ironborn beat a hasty retreat, many being cut down by the victorious Northerners. Ned and Rickard quickly rallied the soldiers once more, taking up defensive positions to allow further barges to land and leave. After an hour, the storm began to let up. Several of the galleys limped into the small bay, dropping soldiers off. Ned turned to Lord Rickard at that point. "My Lord, I think we have about three thousand men. I will leave six hundred here with you to protect further landings. The rest of our men will move to burn Lordsport, which will hopefully clear the other landing sites and allow reinforcements." Lord Rickard nodded, looking back towards the sea. Several ships were in haphazard formation still, trying to land their troops. Many had likely been sunk. Ned nodded at the thought. The skirmish had been short, and his men would likely be able to manage a bit more battle before the day was over.

Ned was mostly correct. Some of his troops had to be left behind from exhaustion, but two thousand soldiers marched forth from the beachhead, and together they beat several skirmishing parties. They reached Lordsport, and found only a hundred Ironborn reavers protecting it. After swiftly dispatching them, they razed Lordsport to the ground, tossing torches and letting it light. It was difficult work with the recent rain, and most of the peasants fled, but the message was sent, and received. Several parties of warriors marched from the beaches, but Ned cut them off piecemeal and killed most. Their largest trouble came from Victarion Greyjoy, who rallied some fourteen hundred men as well as a sally party from Pyke and assaulted the Northmen.

Ned had kept his weapons handy, watching as Victarion drew his men into a frenzy. Then the ironborn had charged, like utter madmen. Ned had lost perhaps two hundred men, but he still outnumbered them. Quickly his men formed up, locking shields. Spears pristled out from the formation, and Ned stood at the salient point of the chevron. Ironborn slammed into the wall, many stabbed by spears but others getting through. Ned and his guards were quickly assaulted as well. The Ironborn were enraged, battling with immense strength. Ned had razed their only 'city' after all. Ned kept his shield up, slicing at any Ironborn who came too close. He looked around during a brief moment of calm. From what he could tell, his men were doing well, but he needed to end this, and quickly. They would have to break the center and push through. Ned rallied his soldiers once more, then with his bodyguards in a tight ring around him, he charged. His sword bit through armor with ease, slicing and hacking. Ned was reminded that he was not invincible, however. While fighting one Ironborn who seemed quite handy with a flail, Ned was struck from the side by a sword, cutting a deep gash in his armor and slicing deep into his skin. The gap in his guards closed quickly, but the damage was done. Ned finished the man with the flail off, then retreated into the safety of his formation for a moment. The gash was bloodied already, and he paused, observing the fighting. Victarion Greyjoy was attempting to rally his men, but the few hundred that remained instead retreated for the safety of Pyke. Ned nodded, leaning on his sword for support as he held his wound firm. Jory Cassel noted this. "Fetch a healer for Lord Stark! Quickly, he's bleeding something fierce!"

Ned's memory became decidedly disjointed at that point. He was quite sure he passed out at some point, then woke up again in a tent with a bandaged side. He could hear thousands of men marching. Who could that be? Ned thought. His question was swiftly answered. Robert Baratheon, resplendent in his strong steel armor, entered the tent. That silly helmet he insisted on wearing was by his side. "Ah, seven hells, Ned. That's a pretty nasty wound." Robert came closer, inspecting him.

"Aye, Your Grace. It hurts quite badly, even with milk of the poppy. Healer says I won't die, at least." Ned looked up, and a strange thought came to him. He laughed, but it hurt quite badly, so he stopped. "Look at us. Now it's you taking the castle and me wounded after a battle."

Robert smiled, though it was a soft smile. "Aye, Ned. A strange thought indeed. Get some rest. Stannis has reported that Great Wyk is taken, and his forces will be arriving soon. Then we'll storm Pyke and… and put them to the sword. Damn reavers."

Ned looked up. "Don't kill the children, Robert. Please." Ned felt weak.

Robert waved his hand. "What happens will happen, Ned. I'll try not to."

"Good." Ned closed his eyes. "Good." Robert left, his footfalls even as he prepared for battle. Ned was given more milk of the poppy later that day, and he slept long and hard. When he awoke, he was not sure of the day. After some tending by the healer, Rickard Karstark entered.

"Good day, My Lord. You've slept long, and it is good to see you awake. I have news of the battle, however." Rickard's face took a somber tone. "We won the battle handily, aye. But… King Robert was killed in the battle."

Ah, how cruel I am to leave you all on a cliffhanger. Ciao!