Jon

Jon was speaking with his war council in the pavilion when the squire entered, panting heavily. "Your Grace, my apologies, but… The Lannister army has been sighted on the horizon!" Jon turned to his council of Brynden, Robb, and Randyll. "It's time for battle, then. You know your positions." They all nodded and filed out. Damn. They got through the sentinels I placed at the Golden Tooth. Well, at least we have the position on the hill. Jon thought, as he pulled on hlis gloves, strapped on his sword belt, and placed his dragon helm upon his head.

Jon was astride a barded destrier bearing the black and red of House Targaryen, a match for his armor. He was commanding the center, watching Robb smashing through the Lannister vanguard and then moving swiftly to attack the left. Jon turned to Sam, who was by his side, shaking much less than the last battle he had faced. "Sam, pass me the horn." Sam nodded his head and produced the horn. Jon put it to his lips and blew. Ahooooooo, Ahooooo, Ahoooooooo, the signal for the reserve cavalry and infantry to charge, leaving the archers on the hill with a guard of pikemen.

The sun was finally out, gleaming upon the bloody battlefield. Jon could only hear the scream of men, the clacking of hooves on the stones of the hill and the clashing of steel. As he neared the line of heavy infantry, he couched his lance in the last few moments, impaling a man at arms upon his lance with a great clatter before dropping the remains and pulling out his pale longsword with rubies inlaid into the hilt, giving it a good hard swing right into the chest of a peasant with a spear, cleaving him clean in two.

Jon finally spotted Addam Marbrand and Lancel Lannister, their guards trying to stave off the flow of heavy infantry. Spurring his horse, he pulled up his shield a bit and began to gallop forward, readying his sword before the guards could turn to attack. Addam spotted him first just before he took a sword into his throat. He was knocked clean off his horse and slid off the sword, a gurgle escaping his lips before he clacked to the ground. Lancel was shocked, but he wheeled his horse around in time to see Jon making a return run.

One of the guards tried to turn and attack him and was almost immediately speared through the throat, shock splaying on his face. Jon was back to eyeing Lancel. He slowed a bit when he saw him put his shield up. Hmmm… Jon thought for a moment, before producing a dagger and stabbing at his foe's horses eye. Lancel only had a moment before his horse screamed and fell of onto his side, smashing Lancel's leg in the process. Jon had only a moment to turn his attention to the peasant with a spear who was sprinting at him. An instant later, an arrow volley fell down upon the enemies in the area, killing quite a few and a couple of arrows pinging off his horses armor.

Things were starting to look better and better, as the left was driven off and Robb wheeled his cavalry into the center where Jon was. The right was starting to falter and with the deaths of their commanders they were confused and without large scale orders, many began to rout. Jon returned to his lines, finally realizing he hadn't seen Sam in a while. After a time he spotted the fat boy behind the lines, his horse clearly killed by a spear. Jon nodded his head at that. Things were finishing up by now, the Lannister army that had numbered perhaps thirty thousand men that morning now only numbering six thousand men, by his reckoning. The rout continued.

Daenerys

Khal Drogo was dead, burning in the pyre. Her sun and stars had been killed by the witch, who was burning now in the fire. The three dragon eggs began to crack, so Daenerys walked into the flame. She heard Jorah cry out in horror, but she only smiled wanly and continued. She was not burning, she realized. Her hair and dress had burnt off entirely, but her skin was fine. She watched the dragon eggs crack entirely, and three dragons emerged, the first a black scaled one, the second a green scaled, and the third was orange scaled. She walked out with the three tiny dragons upon her shoulders, and the Dothraki khas kneeled before her, declaring themselves her bloodriders.

After two months of sweltering heat, and the people of her small khalasar dying, they reached Qarth. In that time, she had chosen to name her dragons Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal. The people of Qarth had been awed by her dragons, and she had been staying in the merchant Xaro Xhoan Daxos' manse as a guest. It was there she had learned that the Usurper had died and most of his dogs were dead as well, save for the Lion. But the most interesting news she learned was that a Targaryen was upon the throne. Jon Targaryen, they called him. He was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. It was when she heard this that she decided she must head west, no longer an exile. So she spent what little gold she had left to buy passage back to Westeros on the newly named Dragon's Tail, along with her bloodriders and her handmaids.

Tyrion

Tyrion was quite surprised when he reached civilized lands once more and found that there was a new King upon the throne and he was not, in fact, Joffrey. In fact, he had no prior knowledge of this boy, to be true. He seemed to be wise enough, he reckoned, and he had the fealty of the Riverlands, the North, most of the Stormlands, the Reach, and Dorne behind him, with only the Westerlands to fight him and the Vale was quite neutral as of yet. It made no matter, however. If his father died, which was quite likely, he would be the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. He would swear fealty to this young king willingly, not seeing the point in losing his head, or worse, his cock, in a foolish war.

He found himself at the inn of the Crossroads once more, though this time the innkeep was gone, levied along with quite a few others for the war. Tyrion turned to Bronn. "Bronn, where do you think we should go, hmm?" Bronn shrugged his shoulders and spat on the ground. "I don' fucking care. You're the one paying me to cut throats, dwarf." Tyrion nodded his head and considered it. Perhaps if he went to King's Landing and swore fealty, he could save his head and perhaps his family's ancestral home of Casterly Rock. This new king wasn't said to be cruel, and quite a few of the smallfolk remaining did like him. Perhaps this won't be all that bad, he mused silently.

Bran

"Hodor!" Hodor cried, grinning quite happily when Bran called him to take him to the hall. His brother had gone off to get Father back and instead was now fighting for their brother - no, cousin, Jon. Bran had found out their Father had been killed by a lannister guardsman during the battle for the throne. But Jon was on the throne, and that was good. His mother had been shocked to find out Jon hadn't been a bastard at all and had been very demure in the past few weeks. Bran was working his way through books with little else to do, and he like to hear Old Nan's tales.

Hodor lifted him up and put him into the basket, ducking under the doorway and heading off to the hall. He set him down upon the too big throne and let out another Hodor, before meandering off to the kitchens to break his fast. Bran was brought two boiled eggs and a hollowed out loaf of bread with butter and shredded cheese inside. He nibbled away before calling for Maester Luwin. The older man appeared after a time and asked, "What is it, young Lord Stark?" Bran turned his head towards the old maester and said, "I think I'll hold court today. Please call forth the petitioner's." Maester Luwin nodded and walked away.

He had finished his meal and cleaned himself off before being brought into the main hall and being set upon the throne. The petitioner's made their way forth to request him to draw the border between two villages, or settle a dispute or request some guards to clear out a few bandits. It all seemed the same, but he tried to be fair and just, like Father would. At the end of the day, he declared he would stop holding court and they could return tomorrow. He returned to the dining hall where his mother was, and they dined upon a thick stew of onions and beef and lemon water. At the end of the day, Hodor brought him back to his room and he prepared for rest, thinking about the morrow.