Whispered words still reached into the dark of the black cells. Rickard Stark was meant to be kept under lock and key until the time his family could be brought to him and executed in front of him. Aerys had decreed it, a death deserving of a scheming traitor like he believed Rickard to be. He was only to be brought meals each day, enough to keep him alive, and left in silence to be driven mad in the dark. Unfortunately for Aerys, though few outwardly opposed his orders, several sympathetic guards would occasionally give him bits and pieces of news regarding the state of the realm.

The Vale was in open revolt, along with the Stormlands. The North was marching south, collecting men along the way, as they passed castle after castle that stretched out across the massive land. He had even heard from one serving girl who's family was from Barrowton that there had been three battles so far and Robert Baratheon had won them all.

Rickard wondered how his remaining son's were faring given the circumstances. Ned, who was never meant to rule, but who Rickard knew would make a capable advisor to tame some of Brandon's more wild impulses. Now he was lord of Winterfell and all of the North, with the many responsibilities that came with such a station. He had heard from Jon Arryn about a woman who had been visting his son over the last few moons, a great beauty by all accounts and for a moment, he mourned his son's lost love. Brandon's betrothal to Catelyn Tully would have to be honoured, and Ned would inherit more than just his brother's lands and titles.

His thoughts wandered to Benjen. He was but a boy, not ready for the responsibility that he would have to shoulder as the Stark in Winterfell while Ned was away at war. Even still, such responsibilities did not always wait until one was ready for it, and so Rickard prayed to the Old Gods that Benjen might find the strength to hold the North together in what was becoming their time of greatest need.

As he mourned the change in the fate of his family, the death of his son, and the war started by his daughter and the king. Thoughts turning towards Lyanna, he wasn't sure whether he should rage at her foolhardy decisions, or despair in the fact that he had failed Lyarra in raising their daughter correctly. He wondered where and when he had failed. Had he not been hard enough on her? Not done enought to curtail her wolf's blood? Had he been too hard on her? Forcing her to act out and letting the wolf's blood get the better of her? Whatever way it was that he had failed, he knew that he had.

He could still remember when she had come down to see him, begging for him to understand, to accept her decisions. She had at least tried to be intelligent about her pleas. She had tried to appeal to his southern ambitions, a prince was a far better match than a lord after all. Whatever reasoning she might have given though, it would not make up for the fact that she had shamed herself, shamed him, shamed their family, and most importantly, been one of the causes of her brother's death. Aerys may have lit the fire, but Lyanna had set off the madman holding the match.

He could admit in retrospect that he had been harsh, he had all but disowned her from their house, blamed her for Brandon's death and the war that even now was tearing the realm apart, all because she believed her personal freedom and gratification was more important than the stability of the realm. Lyanna had not responded well to his scolding.

"If you had just listened to me, none of this would have happened."

"If you had spoken of anything other than childish fantasies devoid of consequence, then maybe I might have."

"I told you I didn't want to marry that boar."

"That 'boar' as you so call him, is fighting a war for the survival of our house, while you stand with those who would see us all dead, or worse yet, supplanted by those valyrian bastards who were still fucking goats when we were kings of winter."

That argument had lasted for some time. Lyanna seemed adamant in trying to convince him. Of what, Rickard did not fully know, but none the less it had ended in rather heated words.

"You are not listening to me father."

"No, and I'll not listen to the woman who's recklessness murdered my son and who now stands by as her so-called husband works to murder the rest of my family. Go now, back to the silver haired bastard who took my daughter, and returned to me a murderess."

His daughter had run crying from the dungeons after that. Prince Rhaegar had come down the next day, demanding an apology to Lyanna for his words.

"You'll sooner have my tongue than those words." He had said, turning away and ignoring the prince as he tried making more and more demands.

Eventually the boy had run out of bluster, it seemed, for he left soon after and he had been denied food. He shook his head at such petty vengence, if it was a sign of the reign of Rhaegar that might still come, then he worried for the realm that might endure it. Hopefully though, it wouldn't come to that, as the war was so far going well for the rebel forces that stood with his house.

Four moons he had been kept in a cell, rotting away in the dark, Rickard wondered just how long more he might stay here. He hoped that it might be for a while yet, as the longer he was down here, the longer his sons remained outof Aerys' hands.

Rhaegar gritted his teeth as he read through the reports from both the lords in charge of his armies, and the spies that Varys had contacted. two moons had passed since the disaster of Summerhall. One of the main seats of the Targaryen dynasty, his own birthplace and a castle he had been fond of for as long as he could remember, had become a symbol of rebel power and victory. Robert Baratheon had smashed three armies in a single day at the ruined castle, defeating and absorbing the forces of the loyalist lords who had planned to meet and combine their forces there.

Now the lords Grandison, Cafferen and Fell had all joined forces with the man who had defeated them. Lord Fell's own son, who's father had been killed by Robert himself, now rode with the man and proclaimed his loyalty to the stag lord over the dragon kings. Already their army was marching north-east, making way to meet up with the Northern and Vale forces that were gathering at the bloody gate and Moat Cailin.

Thankfully, lord Mace Tyrell had declared for the crown, though he had hinted heavily at a marriage proposition between his heir, Willas, and his daugher Rhaenys. Rhaegar considered lying to the man, or making similar vague propositions that could easily be dismissed as speculation when the time came to renege and fulfill the prophesy, but had instead opted to simply hint at future riches that would come to his house, making no mention or even insinuation at a betrothal. Mace Tyrell however was not the true enigma of the war. The flowers would fight for the dragons who had given them lordship over all those ancient houses who considered themselves so superior. No, the true mystery force in the seven kingdoms was the Westerlands and the lions who sat atop its mines. Tywin was a shrewd man, and was unlikely to commit his forces to one side or the other so early in the conflict. Not to mention that Robert was no longer betrothed, and of the right age to marry his daughter Cersei. Rhaegar wondered whether his cousin would make such a sacrifice in order to ensure the allegiance of the lion to his cause.

He shook himself of those thoughts, as they were irrelevant. Robert would be defeated and brought to justice by Mace Tyrell and the Reach army. The man had gathered his banners already and was marching across the Reach with a force nearly fifty thousand strong. More were gathering at Highgarden, and soon the loyalist would have the full might of the Reach at hand. No kingdom could match them in sheer number of men that they could field, and already they outnumbered Robert's forces two to one. He leaned back in the seat in his solar, looking over maps and reports that had gathered over the weeks. Already, the year of two-hundred eighty-two after the conquest was more than half over, and it had been five moons since the rebellion had begun.

Rhaegar allowed a smile to bloom on his face despite the war raging. Lyanna was with child, her moon blood had not come over the past moon, and even in the times of battle and carnage, new life and new hope were being formed. The prophesy was at hand, in another eight moons or so Lyanna would birth his daughter, and the three heads of the dragon would be at hand to crush the enemies of his house and fulfil their destiny against mankind's true enemy.

He wondered of the next step to come after the birth though. Lyanna understood the prophesy, and would be delighted by the chance to raise the warrior princess that Westeros would need to fight off the long night that was coming. However, would Elia be as accepting? He mourned that he might have to take the children from her if she was not willing to see them trained for the destiny that they had in store.

'No.' Rhaegar shook the doubt from his mind. Elia was Dornish, if any kingdom would be tolerant of the taboo that was training women to be warriors, it was the kingdom that half the time followed a princess into battle. Elia had also been writing to his mother in recent months, breaking the silence that she had forced upon the capitol after his elopement with Lyanna. Ashara had apparently returned from wherever she had been lost, but had left soon after, going back to Starfall with a strange sickness that neither Elia nor Rhaella would elaborate upon. When Rhaegar had tried to inquire about whatever it was that was plaguing his first wife's dearest friend, his mother had waved him off, explaining with rather cryptic words.

"It is something unique to women my son, you wouldn't understand." She had seemed sad as she said it, looking over Elia's letter but Rhaegar had left her afterwards, seeing no reason to pry further if his mother seemed so set on keeping it secret.

Looking back at the battleplans that his forces had proposed to him, he pulled up one of the plans brought forth by his friend Jon Connington, who was now hand of the king. Lord Merryweather was an adequate hand, but the failure to stop the rebellion, combined with the defeats of the loyalist stormlords at Summerhall, had left his father distrustful of his advice and command. Jon had been named in the man's stead, which Rhaegar had no qualms with. Jon was a capable warrior and a good friend, loyal to him above even his father the king. He knew that when the time came he would prove himself against the rebels to the north.

Robert about to be captured and killed by the Reach, Jon forming an army to combat the North and Vale, and Lyanna pregnant and set to birth his last piece of the prophesy, Rhaegar knew that fate had shone her light down upon him. Destiny was at hand, and nothing could stop the rise of house Targeryen to heights not seen since the conquest of Aegon I.

"Retreat! Quickly, we have to move north." Robert yelled as the Reach vanguard made ready to break through their center line.

"My lord?" asked lord Fell. The silveraxe was watching the battle with Robert, and could not seem to grasp the severity of their situation.

"Those Reach bastards are about to break through the center." Robert growled. "Deploy the reserves to reinforce it and beat a steady retreat."

"My lord, if we can overwhealm them-" The silveraxe said, pointing to the enemy army.

"Then we might beat them, aye. But then we'd be weakened and ready for the rest of their force to swallow us whole." Robert said.

"The rest of them?"

"Don't be daft man. The Reach wouldn't send so few soldiers, and beyond that I don't see a Tyrell banner at the armies' head. No, this is just the beginning, we cannot win."

"Of course my lord."

"Send in the Echoes, I want them to reinforce the left flank as we turn and march north."

"The Echoes, my lord?"

"They may be sellswords, but they are skilled and held their own at Summerhall. Have them cover us while we maneuver ourselves. If they succeed, then they are worth their pay, and if not, then our own forces will be spared ten casualties."

"As you command my lord."

Cassandra stood firm alongside her fellow Spartans. Their squad were made up of two of the larger Spartan III fireteams, a total of ten Spartans helping to hold down the flank against twenty-five thousand men of this strange world.

That kind of battle might have been a tall order, even for Spartans, but at the moment they only had to hold them off while the rest of the army retreated north out of range of Ashford castle. She already had a small circle of bodies laying around her, and was little worse for wear. Luckily, since the native forces they had become a part of were retreating, they would only have to hold for a bit longer before they could join up with the rest of the Stormlands army.

Cassandra didn't like killing people. She was fully capable of it, there was no questions about that, but she had jumped out of that pelican that night so long ago to fight the Covenant, to kill the split-jawed bastards who had killed her family, slaughtered her friends, and destroyed her homeoworld. As a Spartan of Beta company, she had gotten her revenge, but it was never enough. She had killed hundreds, thousands of Covenant forces, left their multicoloured blood staining the ground on more operations than most soldiers would ever know existed, much less take part in.

People were different. She had killed them before, insurrectionists who couldn't put aside their differences in the face of utter extinction, but every time she did it had left her feeling like she was betraying the charge that her commander had placed on her that night.

Westeros was new territory for her, for all of them. This strange world that wasn't part of the UNSC, wasn't anywhere on their starcharts. This new world was an enigma that fascinated the scientists, but was driving her and her fellow Spartans crazy. When were they getting home? When could they go back to fighting for a civilization that was actually worth saving? She wondered that, as did so many other crew aboard the 'Plataea'.

A quick swing of the knives she wielded left another knight in Ambrose colours choking on his own blood. Cassandra had been so deep in thought that she had almost missed the man trying to attack her from the side while another knight kept her attention at the front.

She shook herself from her musings, cursing the lack of activity. If they had had real missions, actual combat, then she would never have had time to get lost in her own thoughts. Even this mission into the native's war was a walk in the park. She hated to think about what wolf pack was going though, stuck in the capitol without any chances for action outside training. Then again, unlike her and Echo squad, they didn't have to hide their true allegience and keep up the appearance of being normal humans, so their sparing was probably much more engaging than the playfighting that she and her team took part in.

The wind whipped in her close-cropped hair, reminding her once more that she wasn't even allowed to wear her proper armour. It was similar to the kind that had been fabricated for captain Ambrose's away party to the tourney, but with a few personal touches that the two teams been allowed to make in order to appear as a small sell sword band that was looking for work.

They had first been ferried by pelican under the cover of night to Stonehelm before moving north in order to join up with the Stormland army with lord Swann's forces. They had taken part in the battles of Summerhall, where they had made something of a name for themselves as a unit, enough that they were now specifically being ordered to hold this position while the army pivoted to retreat. The drum breats sounded through the air, letting the stormland army know that it was time to beat a controlled withdrawl northward.

Cassandra held firm, even as more and more of the men fighting beside her left to join the controlled retreat from the battle, what was once nearly a thousand men on their flank had dwindled to half of that, and the weakness that was growing in their line was becoming enough that the boost provided by her and her fellow Spartans would soon be overcome by sheer numbers on the enemy's part. She had no doubt that she could kill any one of these natives, but a hundred men pilling on to her was beyond what her strength could handle.

More and more men drained as time went on, and she found herself and her fellow Spartans moving back step by step. The loss of ground infuriated her. If allowed to use her full capabilities, and equiped with her armour and prefered weapons, she and her team could likely carve out a good chunk of this 'army' alone before they were pinned down by numbers. Another man fell to her blades, making this the fifty-third man she had killed since the battle had begun.

"Come on!"

Cassandra turned her head for a moment, finding a man on horseback signaling her and the remaining men to abandon the position. The soldiers still holding the crumbling line, numbering no more than a hundred now, broke and fled, several of them taking blades or arrows in the back as they tried to escape with their lives. Rather than expose her back to the oncoming Reach forces, She moved to close ranks with her fellow Spartans, and saw a number of native soldiers watch and follow her, taking up positions beside her people.

Cassandra found herself moving backward beside a man in a leather jerkin who had likely never held a weapon in his life. Luckily for him, neither had most of his enemies. Their group numbered sixty-one in total, with all ten members of Echo squad or 'The Echoes' as they had named their native sellsword group. They retreated quickly after that, moving faster than the army that was chasing them as their enemies were called back and reorganised into a proper formation to persue them.

The day wore on, and the relatively small group marched on. Cassandra spoke to Lei, the head of their squad and a member of team Lima, the other Spartan fireteam that made up their larger unit. He was insistent on aiding their new allies in returning to the Stormlands camp, which Cassandra had eventually agreed to. It had taken the better part of a day to find the army, longer than one might expect, but most of it was guessing the right direction since they unfortunately had limited access to data from the 'Plataea'.

When they finally did arrive, the lone horseman among them had trotted off to inform his superiors of their survival. Cassandra and the rest of her squad moved off to find themselve a place to rest, but were stopped by the men who had been part of their group retreat.

"Thank you." Said the man who had fought beside her. His hands were shaking as he looked up into her face, his face smudged with grime but a pair ot clean tracks showing where tears had cleaned his face. "I... I'd be dead 'thout you. I don't know what te say."

Cassandra didn't either, civilian interaction hadn't been a part of her life since she had been a child. Luckily, Noelani, another of her teammates from her own fireteam, stepped up to take over.

"You're welcome." She smiled. The woman hadn't completely lost her old accent in their training, giving her a slight hawaiian tinge when she spoke.

Seeing both Cassandra and Noelani together, the man swallowed heavily, his eyes darting between them every now and again. Several other men, both from their group and from the camp in general, turned to look at them. Apparently Spartan women were quite attractive by native standards, though Cassandra herself had never cared to think about such things. Physical attractiveness had no bearing on combat capability, beyond qualifying or disqualifying someone for the occasional undercover mission to assassinate some insurrectionist leader or other. Still, the eyes that were on her and her group were strange and were beginning to make her uncomfortable.

Slowly the two of them returned to their group, but found that the fifty remaining men who had fought beside them had apparently latched themselves onto them. By the time night fell and the campfires were lit, they had become their own protected unit, seperate from the rest of the forces that made up the stormland army. The Spartans sat silently by their fires, while the other men drank and sang, reveling in their unlikely survival against the massive forces of the Reach. They shared stories with the soldiers who came to speak with them, to ask about their ordeal. Soon enough, drink and bravado had some of them saying that they had faced down a charge of knights on horseback and had defeated them on foot.

Such claims made the Spartans hunch themselves into their canteens, hoping to be ignored and left out of the revelry that they wanted no part in. It worked for the most part and aside from some soldiers trying to get in the female Spartans' pants, they were not disturbed over the night.

The next day, Cassandra's squad and the fifty other men who had been part of their retreat were stationed close to the lords' train, so close in fact that she could see Robert Baratheon on his black-haired charger. She and Lei would have to radio the captain in the evening, the mission was going well and they were apparently ahead of schedule.

For anyone wondering why they weren't recognised as Spartans, tall people aren't as rare in Westeros it seems, not to mention that most people of Westeros don't know what a Spartan really is, and the armour of Echo squad is basically just really well made Westerosi armour.

Echo and Lima teams are real Spartan III teams, but their members aren't named so I made some up. I hope you were ok with them and for the most part, we shouldn't see too many Spartan OCs. These were some of the only ones that I hope to make. However they might not be the last but I hope not to make too many.

So basically, my timeline goes like this (most of it is actually travel because this is medieval times)

281 September: tourney of Harrenhal

281 December: Aegon VI is born

282 March: Lyanna and Rhaegar run away together. Brandon arrives in King's Landing, Jane finds Rhaegar and Lyanna, Rickard Arrives in Kings Landing, Brandon dies and Rickard is imprisoned (I know it's not how it goes in the books/show but stay with me on this one.), Jane returns to King's landing, Chapter 14

282 April: Rebellion begins with Arryn defiance, Buildup of Vale forces, Taking of Gulltown.

282 May: Robert arrives in Stormlands and builds up forces. Ned Returns north, northern banners gather slower than Stormlands or Vale, Chapter 15,

282 June: Battle at Summerhall.

282 July: Lyanna becomes pregnant.

282 August: Battle at Ashford, Chapter 16.