Hello all! The first POVs are small glimpses of the characters Ned sent a raven to.

Have a good read!

Edmure

Edmure re-read the message and rubbed his face.

From what Lord Stark has written, a new war was on the horizon.

The wording wasn't clear, and the circumstances even less. A threat from the Westerlands, that was simple to understand, but why? When will the attempt be made?

Edmure cursed the lack of information. The rumours from King's Landing are very dubious, some saying that the king disappeared, or died, depending on who you ask. Still, he couldn't trust peasants to rely on delicate information, only a fool would do that.

Father's illness is consuming him. It was an ailment of the stomach, Maester Vyman said. He would always be hungry no matter what he ate, as if a creature inside him fed itself from his ingested food. The Lord of Riverrun was bedridden, even unable to talk. It fell on Edmure to act as Lord Paramount, a duty he was still unprepared for.

And now his brother-in-law is urging him to call the banners. Edmure sighed and threw the letter in the fireplace. He couldn't afford for a spy to glimpse into his plans.

There was a knock on the door. "Enter!" Edmure ordered.

It was Maester Vyman, worry etched on his face. "My Lord, word has arrived from the Crossroads Inn. Your sister Catelyn has arrested Tyrion Lannister on the charges of attempted murder, claiming that he was responsible for little Brandon's possible assassination."

Edmure's blood froze. No... this is unrelated to Eddard's warnings, he thought. Something was very off, it didn't make any sense...

Edmure tried to think thoroughly, as Father taught him. Considering the timeframes, Catelyn should've arrested Lord Tyrion around one week ago, while Eddard's raven must've departed around half a moon ago. Two unrelated events, pitting house Stark and Tully against the Lannisters...

Yes, this smelt of some plot.

Someone was trying to spark a conflict, for what reason Edmure knew not. Who could benefit from one? The Tyrells, the Martells? All former loyalist houses who would thrive with a Targaryen restoration. But Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen are half a world away, fucking horses in the Dothraki Sea. Nay, these are different from the plays of a great house. Mayhaps it was an individual with great ambition. The eunuch... Father never trusted him, a relic of Aerys' reign.

But there was no time for games. "I order to rally the banners, Vyman."

"The banners?!" The elderly Maester spluttered, "My Lord, this will break the King's Peace!"

"There's some scheme afoot, Vyman," Edmure sighed, "War is inevitable now, may the king be dead or not. My people will suffer, and I prefer it to be only for a short while."

The Maester visibly gulped, "As you order, my Lord."

Vyman left the room, leaving Edmure alone. The young lord sighed and stared outside the window.

Family, duty, honour... Catelyn, what have you done?

Robb

Robb stood on the balcony of the first keep, observing the vastness of Winterfell and its walls. The bells were ringing: the North was being called to war.

Servants ran everywhere, carrying supplies and equipment for the battles to come. The already mustered soldiers were training in the yard, some fresh recruits and others veterans of the Rebellion. The former were excited to prove themselves in battle, but the old bore a look of uncertainty. Having not experienced war, Robb did not know what they were worried about. Many aspects were daunting, but at the same time, one could find glory on the battlefield.

The letter sent by Father was unexpected and out of place. He didn't explain much, only that he was doing something precarious that may cause a war with the West. He advised Robb to rally the men and aid his Tully brethren against the Lannisters. Robb believed for the kingdom to be stable, but this debacle spoke against it. And what of King Robert? Isn't he capable of stopping this madness?

Robb sighed in resignation. He didn't expect at four and ten to lead an army to war, he was very young to do that. Soon enough, the lords of the North would assemble in Winterfell with all the men and march south of the Neck. Father didn't have the time to present his bannermen in the past. What were they like? How should Robb handle each one of them? All details that he had to discover without help. Mother still hadn't returned yet, which left him alone, only with the wisdom of Maester Luwin. Yet, he wasn't a man of politics and could only advise him of technicalities. Robb rubbed his face in exasperation. Gods help me...

Robb felt his arm being nudged. It was Grey Wind. He probably sensed his bad mood and was trying to cheer him up. The firstborn of Ned Stark chuckled, and patted the beast's head. It was odd for a direwolf to yelp and ask for belly rubs, but Robb couldn't resist. He felt more at ease, as if he knew everything would go right. Father would return home and will be able to avert the war. It was a bit childish to believe it, but Robb didn't care. He wished for his family to be all together, as it always has been.

But he knew it wouldn't be like that anymore. Jon was at the wall, and Sansa would marry the little prick, Joffrey. He cringed when remembering the twat, with all his arrogance and cruelty. Robb couldn't imagine King Robert's opinion of his heir. He probably drinks to hide his sorrows. And the Queen... no wonder his father's old friend ended up like the fat, drunken wreck he saw at Winterfell.

Robb got up from his seat and left the solar, Grey Wind trailing behind. Whether he liked it or not, work had to be done.

Eddard

"Charge!"

"Lannister!"

"Winterfell!"

"For King Robert!"

Another day, another clash. Four weeks had passed since the attempted coup, and the fighting still hadn't died down. Lannisters, Starks, and Baratheon men fought against each other in this damnable battle, one in which the Gods did not care how many died. Dead bodies in the streets have become a common sight in King's Landing, rivers of blood flowed in the road drainages instead of unclean water. Most of the peasants stay hidden in their homes, fearful of getting gutted by a random soldier.

Eddard was in Fishmonger's Square, fighting a skirmish to take control of the vital site. All merchant stalls were ruined, with broken barrels spilling ale everywhere to bins of food negligently tossed to the ground. The central fountain was filled entirely with decaying bodies of Lannisters and Loyalists alike, creating a gruesome display for any to see.

Eddard faced a knight he had seen during the Hand's Tourney: Tallad the Tall. The man was a giant, a hulking figure that would send most levies running. But not Eddard. The Stark readied his blade to meet his enemy.

Tallad tried multiple times to infiltrate Ned's guard with his shield, but the Northman kept a decent distance. Losing his temper, Tallad attempted a risky slash, aiming to at least knock out Ned. But he only found Ice's blade, which stopped the attempt. That left the knight staggered, offering Ned an opening he could exploit. He brought Ice down, attempting to hit the left shoulder. Tallad clumsily deflected the blow, which found its mark nonetheless. The Tall fell to the ground, screaming in pain.

Ned snapped towards the sound of hooves against stone, coming from Aegon's Hill. Three Lannister knights, one of which was...

The Kingslayer.

He had the grace of a perfect knight. His movements were fluid and elegant, the glow of the golden armour he wore rivalled the sun. But Eddard knew who truly the man was. He was a knight without a shred of honour, a coward who soiled his white cloak, a monster who broke his oaths twice, if not thrice...

"Stark!" He called him out, "I've finally found your frozen arse!"

"This is not a jesting contest, Kingslayer." Ned barked, "Comedy doesn't belong on a battlefield."

"Ow! Do not be so harsh, Stark," the damnable man said, "Or I might be forced to make your death a bit... slower."

Under his helm, Ned's face contorted in rage, "I wouldn't underestimate my opponent if I were you," Ned's wolf's blood was boiling, "Last time, it cost the life of your treasonous brother in arms, Arthur Dayne."

The Lannister's posture shifted. He was getting furious, "I don't care what dirty tricks you used, they won't work with me." He dismounted his horse, "Let's dance, Eddard Stark."

It started with the two exchanging multiple blows, fury fuelling their resolve. The Kingslayer was agile, dancing between the swings like a maiden with his betrothed. But Eddard wasn't a man to yield, the great reach of Ice giving him the possibility to dictate the pace of the duel.

Ned probed Lannister's defence by giving a tiny slash, aimed at disarming him. His opponent masterfully deflected the blow, but wasn't able to exploit the opening as The Northman immediately backed off. He could see the Kingslayer's frustration: every opportunity to strike him was thwarted by his skilful spacing.

The fighting around them ceased, all mesmerised by the clash between wolf and lion.

"Stark!"

"Casterly Rock!"

"Winter is coming!"

The soldiers bellowed shouts and cheers of encouragement. It was as if they were suddenly in a tourney.

Jaime tried swatting Ned's sword away to enter his guard, but his hold was firm. It would take much more than that to break it.

Strike, Parry, Riposte! Jon Arryn's authoritative voice rang in Eddard's mind. Eddard narrowly avoided a stab aimed at his armpit and recovered his stance.

The fight went on for an eternity. The two duellists weren't able to deal the final blow.

Then, they began to tire. The Kingslayer's attempts to close the distances were useless, and Ned's wide swings slowed down. Their armour was ravaged by the blows. Some plates completely fell off as the bindings holding them together were cut. One mistake could spell the end of either of them.

A mistake Eddard made.

A single, misplaced tile. That was all that was needed for Ned to stumble. The Kingslayer exploited the new opening and managed to stab him in the exposed mail, in his torso. Ned let out a grunt of pain and fell to his knees. The fragile peace between the two forces broke, and the soldiers began fighting again. Some tried to reach him, but were forced to engage the pikemen who were walling them off.

He expected to be finished off, but the moment didn't come. The Kingslayer removed his helmet, a smirk of pure bliss adorned his visage. "It's over, Stark. I have won."

"You gave me a good fight, one I will remember for the rest of my life." He shrugged, "Your small rebellion was doomed from the start. I'm the better swordsman, you see. Arthur Dayne would've crumbled against my blows."

"You may have cut off the head of the snake..." Eddard said, "But it's not over yet. You've won only the battle, Kingslayer, not the war."

The wretched man laughed, "Your friends won't last long." He gave Eddard a broad, dark smile, "And then I will rescue my brother. I won't spare your pretty wife, remember that Lannisters always pay their debts, Lord Stark. Tyrion, trying to assassinate your pup? Preposterous!"

"And you know what?" He walked very close to him, enough to whisper in Ned's ear, "I pushed him off the tower. The things I do for love..."

Eddard suddenly found himself above a grounded Kingslayer, eyes wide in shock. He tried crawling away, trying to reach his now strayed sword. But Ned caught his leg, unsheathing the Valyrian Steel dagger used by the catspaw.

Ned slowly carved the Kingslayer's right knee, ravaging the joint.

Jaime Lannister screamed in pain, trying to dislodge Eddard from him. But the Northman still held firm, blinded by rage.

Another stab, another knee. Both articulations were now a broken mess of blood and bone, the Valyrian steel spared no ligaments. The Kingslayer blacked out, the pain was too much for him. Three Lannister soldiers managed to tear him from his grasp, but Eddard inflicted one last slash at the unconscious man's face. He cut off his nose, ruining his once immaculate face.

Suddenly hands were dragging him away. They saddled him on a horse, alongside someone else, and was brought to the Dragonpit. He remembers only cries of alarms and orders being shouted, nothing else.

He drifted from consciousness to slumber multiple times until one specific moment.

"Lord Stark will not survive."

The young Maester was alongside Renly and Jory, who was on the verge of crying. "The Kingslayer's sword pierced the lung. The opening doesn't seem very large, but mending it's beyond my skills. Only the most skilled healers of the Citadel would be able to."

Renly appeared genuinely sad for the first time, "This is... truly a loss. Let us leave Lord Stark to pass peacefully. It's best not to bother him."

"Wait...!" Ned had a coughing fit.

Jory was the one to steady him, using a handkerchief to clean the blood. "My Lord, what do you wish to say?"

"Renly," he croaked, "You've been a precious ally... without your help, my cause would've been doomed. Thank you..."

His lips curled into a smile, "Thank you, Lord Stark. Now I understand why my brother loved you the way he did."

Eddard grasped Jory's hand, "Jory... you're a loyal man. House Cassel bears Stark blood, take Ice... wield it in my name. Fight for Robert, but evacuate the Loyalists if the situation grows dire. Search for Ser Barristan in the Crownlands, join him..."

Jory couldn't hold it anymore, he cried a little.

"And Jon... tell him his mother's name, Wy-"

Another coughing fit.

Eddard was struggling to breathe. He longed for air, but none would fill his lungs.

Slowly, the panicked voices faded, leaving him surrounded by silence.

Eddard closed his eyes. Faintly, he could hear the rustling leaves of a Weirwood tree.

Robert's girlfriend is dead! Westeros has fallen, billions must die!

Memes aside, good old Neddie has died. In different circumstances, but still better than getting his head chopped off. Jaime got his knees deleted this time around, he's going to have a hard time doing pretty much anything that involves walking.

Hope you enjoyed this new chapter!