Fury and Blood
Ned watched the lands to the east with a critical eye while standing in his stirrups, the trepidation of coming battle slowly gathering in his stomach and aching limbs only heightened by the thin fog that had arrived with the rising sun.
The moon was a crescent in the early morning sky, barely visible with the sun peeking over the horizon, and marching through the night made everything ache even hours later. Agreeing to plans and their necessity beforehand did not change that, and neither did riding a horse.
The waiting was always the worst part of battle, Ned had learned very quickly, though he vaguely remembered his father saying something to that effect years ago, before he had gone to foster in the Vale. At least when you were already fighting you simply had to fight, there was no time for much more than that, and when there were preparations to be made, you did your best to prepare.
But now everything was already in place, and they were only waiting for their opponent to make the mistake. Plans had been made and strategies decided hours ago, and all the necessary orders were already given. The men were assembled in a rough order some distance, only waiting for the word to fall into proper lines and march into view.
Whatever had caused the King's forces to remain in place as they had, it was only to their advantage now.
An army that was crossing a river was fatally exposed, especially with the right timing, and marching as they had meant there were in the right place to exploit it. The terrain was hillier than Ned would have liked here, limiting the size of any cavalry charges, but that went equally for both sides, and even a smaller force crashing into the flank of fording troops would have devastating consequences.
Still, Ned continued to watch the east, ready for any sign of changing situations.
Horns and trumpets were only a distant clamour to his ears, but their intended effect was clear. Eventually, on the other side of the calm river that local smallfolk called the Gods Tear, snaking south to join the Blackwater Rush, an army approached.
Ned sat back in his saddle and shook out his arms and legs. Soon now. Very soon.
The first men that crossed the water flew the flags of Crownlands Houses.
Dry summer days and little rainfall since the beginning of autumn meant the river was running shallow, and it had not been particularly deep in the first place, but it was more than wide enough not to be jumped by even a trained horse without barding or rider. Men waded through anyway, never more than up to their waist in water and keeping their weapons dry by carrying them above their heads, before emerging on the other side.
Ned calmed his courser and then his men with a hand, still hidden behind a hillock nearly a mile away. The full vanguard might number some eight thousand men in total, but this was far from all of them. They would take time to cross the water in those numbers, and it would take even more for the rest of the army to follow. Striking now would only leave the river as an annoyance for them and not the king's army.
They had argued endlessly over how many to let across. Robert had wanted to wait for Rhaegar himself to be within reach, no matter the numbers that accompanied the king, but he had acknowledged that using the river crossing to their advantage for as long as possible would be the best course of action.
One of their outriders had seen the Lannister banners in the enemy camp before being spotted, removing any doubt of that new alliance. Ned had harboured some hope that Tywin Lannister would not be convinced to fight for another Targaryen king, considering his silence after Aerys' call to arms, but there was nothing to be done for that now.
They would be fighting their equal in numbers, if not more, with the forces holding Harrenhal and Maidenpool unavailable, whether they wished it or not.
And Ned was all too aware that simply winning would not be enough here. Without a decisive victory Rhaegar would simply retreat to the capital, forcing them to ford the river and expose themselves in turn when they gave chase. He might retreat a coward to many, even those fighting for him, but Ned could not say how much that would sway Rhaegar's decisions today.
The men that had already arrived on the other riverbank spread out in a loose formation, spearman roughly facing the direction of Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully with the main force while archers grouped themselves behind them to wait for the rest of the vanguard to cross.
Ned's rough estimates had arrived at two thousand and a contingent of riders were gathering on the southern riverbank to cross the water when he sent a messenger to Jon and gave his men the signal to head out.
Near a thousand horses were spurred and began an orderly walk towards the river in the shadow of slowly shrinking hills. He had gathered the best northern riders for this part of the plan, more than half of them either Manderly knights or Ryswell lancers. They were more than a match for even the proudest Reach lord's knightly cavalry.
Bordering the river was a stretch of flat, hard-packed earth extending nearly two hundred yards before rising and falling in a scattering of bare and wooded hills that hid their main strength from sight.
It was good ground for the horses, the best of it to be found for some time in the area, but not enough distance to charge towards the river and trap their foes with their backs to the water. Not only would it be seen too soon when the horses descended the final hill, but the angle was steep there, exposing riders and mounts to lethal stumbles and arrow fire far too easily.
Charging along the river's length was the only alternative.
Ned's riders emerged onto the flat stretch of land less than half a mile to the north from the crossing troops, but they paid him no mind. They had a closer threat to worry about.
Eyes and ears were focused on the south, where the Blackfish and a contingent of light cavalry had kicked up a small cloud of dust as they rode towards the already crossed men. Instead of plate, barding, and war lances, those men carried bows, javelins, and crossbows, and stayed at a distance as they began to pelt the hastily forming lines of spearmen with projectiles.
Orders were shouted and lines tightened as archers on foot answered with their own arrows.
Ned checked his own formation before glancing at the riders to both sides for a final time. Steel gleamed all around him, and the eyes that greeted his own were hard and focused. He nodded his head and Ethan Glover raised the standard of House Stark into the breeze behind him, making the snarling direwolf seem to prowl in the snowy field.
Raising his lance, Ned spurred his courser. "Northmen! To battle!"
His men followed the command with answering roars, setting their own mounts into motion on both sides of him. A trot quickly turned into a canter as lines evened out and the horses moved abreast, maintaining speed and rhythm.
One of the crossbowmen wading through the river was the first to notice Ned and his charge. Shouts quickly travelled on both sides of the crossing, sparking chaos and confusion in the enemy command. A single force of light cavalry might have slipped past their own outriders, but more meant that they were clearly lacking critical information.
Ned rode on, carefully checking his lines every few moments as they gained speed and ground. Slowly, a wedge was shaped, as the wings of the formation fell back with every step.
The yards disappeared behind him and his men, as whoever was in command of the vanguard tried in vain to move his lines onto the other side of his bowmen. Singular men carrying billhooks or spears appeared from the throng of people, trying to assemble any form of defensive, but it was already too late.
Horses fell into a gallop and lines tightened even further and then there was only a hundred yards to cross. Lances were lowered and the first man broke before there was any contact, dropping his spear and turning to run.
Lines of spears and pikes could counter even the best armoured cavalry, but only if they formed solid lines and only if they held. When they broke, the charge would tear through them like a scythe at harvest.
Even though these men outnumbered him near three to one now, there was no hope of holding lines that did not yet exist.
A few of the archers tried to release a desperate volley in the last remaining moments, and he heard the scattering of arrows and bolts impact shields and armour, but then he and his charge were upon them, and they could only die.
Ned's lance tore through the first man's mail and back and speared into a second right behind him while his courser ran over a third, trampling him beneath iron-shod hooves. As soon as his hand dragged at him, the tip of his lance caught in between the neck and breastplate of a man-at-arms on foot, Ned abandoned the weapon for his sword.
He struck at everything he could reach, always pushing his horse to continue further forward, as the sounds of battle drowned out any other thought. Cavalry's advantage was in the charge, in the motion. Stopping meant death for him and his men, so they did not.
A mace swinging for his knee was interrupted by a Manderly knight's destrier bowling over the attacker. Ned returned the favour only seconds later when he cut the neck of a billman trying to hook his weapon around a leg and pull the man from his saddle.
Another swing bit into a crossbowman's face and split it near to the nose, the blade only coming free with a jerk of effort, but then Ned was already past, stabbing the tip of his sword down into an exposed neck or striking at arms and elbows as they came close enough.
Eventually, their momentum threatened to run out against the mass of people, even with more riders pushing from the back, but Ned was still flanked by Northmen laying about with their weapons and crushing the enemy underfoot as they pushed on. Most of the men he encountered were already trying to run by then, for either the hills or the river, but those caught in the middle of the chaos and boxed in by their own allies had no hope of escaping their fate.
When Ned emerged onto the other side of the fight his sword was drenched in blood and his breaths came heavy, and the only people in sight were the Blackfish and his men posturing a few hundred yards away. Ned pulled on the reins and let other riders pass him by as his eyes sought Ethan. The young Glover was easy enough to find and Ned raised his sword in salute.
The Stark banner still billowed proudly, not a rip or tear to be seen, and Ethan looked only a little worse off with a crossbow bolt stuck in a pauldron. If the iron tip had touched skin at all, it had done little damage, judging by the depth.
Ned reached for the war horn attached to his saddle and waited only long enough for Ethan to acknowledge him before giving the signal to pull away.
The sound rolled over the riverbanks, a long low blast entirely unmistakeable to his riders, and Ethan raised the standard in his hands even higher, marking their position and direction.
Turning a tight circle, Ned threw one last look at the carnage he and his Northmen had left behind before spurring his horse to meet the Blackfish and his outriders. A few moments of galloping and he chanced another glance, focusing on the other side of the river.
He had bloodied Rhaegar's nose and there were only so many ways for the king to respond once the news reached him.
Ned did not see what he had expected.
Men were still in the water, either those fortunate enough to find refugee from Northern lances there or those that had still been in process of crossing the river, but on the eastern riverbank and stretching for miles foot and horse were now gathering in their thousands, assembling under their lord's banners.
This was what they faced. This was the Iron Throne's armies gathering to crush rebellious lords beneath its heels.
There was the lion of Lannister with his vassals and there the Hand's opposing griffins of Connington, and closer to his current position the huntsman of Tarly, the three leaves of Oakheart, and the border of flowers of Meadows.
Ned thought he saw the sun and spear of House Martell further up the river near where he had emerged onto the stretch of even ground as well, surrounded by other Dornish standards, but the proudest of all the banners was without doubt the three-headed dragon on black, flying higher than any other in the centre of them all.
The true battle was closer than he had thought.
"The centre will not fall easily," Jon Arryn said, looking through a Myrish lens. "For either side, fortunately. Lord Royce is holding his lines just as much as Tywin Lannister."
Ned peered in that direction for a few moments before focusing back on the men further upriver, where his own foot was engaging the royal army. He did not doubt Jon's assessment, but with the battle stretched so wide before them, any detail might escape notice for a few fatal moments.
He had only just returned with the Blackfish from that first strike against the river crossing. With the terrain as it was in this part of the Riverlands, their progress had been slow, but he had hoped to arrive before the foot could meet in the field. In vain, as it turned out. Neither side had delayed on his account.
They were watching the fighting from one of the larger hills situated far enough away to allow a view of the stretched armies in their entirety, though the smaller details were hard to make out by eye alone.
Closer to the river, Vale and Riverlands bowmen were pelting the royal troops from another sloping high ground, stopping any hope of progress from the strong core of Lannister spearmen and knights on foot. Serrett and Lydden archers returned volleys from the other side of the river, arcing them high and over the heads of their allies to find any gaps in rows of shields and armour.
The few holes that appeared in either formation were quickly patched by new reserves from the back, and neither side gained any ground. The effort was half-hearted at best.
To the south, the fighting was more vicious, and Ned did not need to see the black stag on gold to know that was where Robert would be found. His friend liked it best when he was where the fighting was thickest, and his men fought all the more fiercely with him there to lead them. It was only a matter of time until they smashed a hole into the enemy line that would bring Robert's cavalry spilling into the back of fleeing men.
Ned raised his hands to gauge distances along the lines of standards.
When Robert managed to break through, Rhaegar's troops would try to stop him in strength and they would fight with a fierce desperation, but their commitment to the attack might expose them from the rear. But only if someone was there to take advantage.
With the terrain as it was and the armies stretched out, he would have to fight through half the royal forces before ever reaching Robert's side. Not impossible, especially if his Northmen could quickly force their way through the Dornish and Riverlands opposition, but folly still. There were men aplenty nearer the river, waiting for orders and ready to crush an incautious manoeuvrer between them and the advanced positions. Likely, they were some of the very best on offer to Rhaegar and his most loyal lords.
Ned would not risk it, though a part of him wanted to. Their strategy was decided, and he would do what he must, as would Robert.
A young boy with the Arryn colours on his gambeson ascended the hill from the battle lines, his goal the Lord of the Vale. To Ned's eyes he looked to be Benjen's age, if not even younger, but he was only one of the many hundreds of messengers, pages, and squires on both sides of this war.
Jon never stopped watching the field in front, even when the boy was stopped by Ser Vardis Egen. The Eyrie's captain of the guard listened with a frown before sending the boy off to a nearby scribe, to have whatever notable death or injury that had occurred written down to be perused later at Jon's leisure.
Ned knew he had no head for politicking while the fighting was still going on, while men on both sides were dying in the mud, so he did not ask who it had been, as he had not for the other boys that had come since his arrival. There would still be time for that later.
"It seems His Grace has decided to make a move," Jon announced, finally lowering the lens from his eye. He looked around and motioned for Ser Vardis to step close. "Runners for my orders, and have my personal guard at attention. The battlefield is changing."
Shading his eyes, Ned took the time to try and see what the lord of the Vale had seen. Men were crossing the river even now, wading through the water, carrying weapons and pulling horses by their reins, but that was nothing different than what had been happening ever since that first strike against their crossing.
His gaze roved over the battlefield, away from his own men holding the northern flank to the strong centre where the dragon standard of the king flattered in the wind. Robert and his men were fighting further south, where the woods began and covered his right flank from being attacked, his own crowned stag just as large and just as proud.
Ned had been taught to always estimate the size of a force, if a full count was out of the question, and he did the same thing now. Standards and orderly lines helped make that quicker, and so did knowing what was to be expected from a lordship of a certain size, but even without that you could only fit so many soldiers onto a stretch of land.
Less than half of Rhaegar's men had made it across the river and half again were currently engaging in battle. For now, Ned and his allies were matching those numbers evenly, to involve the loyalists in a melee and prevent larger manoeuvrers, but it was soon time that changed.
He could feel something wrong, looking over the field now, but his counts came up roughly as they had when he had first crested this hill upon arriving. On the spur of the moment, he ignored the banners for now, gauging men more directly as they gathered in the centre and on the flanks.
Standing in his stirrups, he finally saw it.
"They are gathering men on the southern flank. Trying to overwhelm Robert with numbers and end this battle before it has truly begun." He hadn't seen the change for what it was at first. It was men changing position on the field, but only so many from every source. The standards were keeping their place for now, hiding the change from a distance. "We have to reinforce him."
"And we will," Jon agreed, and there was a fatherly pride in his blue eyes. "But this is an opportunity as well. You see it too, lad." He motioned for men still busy fording the water. "It is a bold plan, but with the crossing behind him, Rhaegar has little choice in the matter. He has to hit us hard, somewhere, or we will simply push him back into the crossing while half his men are still trapped on the other side, unable to affect anything. He commits his strength to overwhelm Robert, but we both know that is no simple matter, and it gives us time to prepare the final stroke against him."
Ned silently worked his jaw, fingers tight on the leather of his reins. "Our plan remains as it has?"
Jon simply inclined his head. "Only from one side now, but the idea remains the same. Seven willing, they will only see when it is already too late and choose surrender rather than death."
A deep breath, and he quietened the remaining doubts in his head. Here and now, there was no use for them. They had a battle to win.
The runners Jon had called for were gathering now, quick boys and young men on sleek horses that would be no use in a charge but could cover the distance between flanks in the blink of an eye. Ned could hear the shouted orders and movement of men from behind him as well even without turning around.
"Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your men now, Lord Stark," Jon said, and gave a warm smile. "They will need your orders soon, and their lord to lead them."
Ned inclined his head, one equal to another, and turned his horse away. He had a flank to crush.
Joining Ethan and the other men still waiting at the bottom of the hill, they set off for the Northern flank.
They rode in relative silence while the sounds of battle reached them from over the covering range of hills to their right, never fading even when they reached their destination.
The northern flank was where he had first hidden his cavalry charge from sight, using the mostly flat, valley-like corridor formed behind progressively smaller hills as a natural cover while he approached the river.
At its origin near the river, a natural choke point was created by the shape of the land, and holding that point and even more than that the entrance to the entire corridor of flat ground was absolutely vital. Here, cavalry could be used effectively again, unlike when trying to seize any of the hills, and by simply following the natural path you could drive a wedge into the position their army had taken.
Ned had chosen a point further into the corridor to mount a defence, conceding the very entrance for an easier time at holding the path itself.
The surrounding hills were slightly bigger here, their sides steeper, and should an opposing offensive gain any of them surging into the corridor from above would be far more difficult than it was closer to the river. It also meant that the Tallhart archers positioned there could pepper their targets without fear of being harassed and involved in a melee. At least from the corridor.
The other side held more men from both sides on the main field, and its threat was easy enough to understand for even a common soldier taught nothing of warfare beyond his own arms.
Ned was greeted by an entire household's worth of messengers, soldiers, and minor lords and it seemed like he would drown under the torrent of reports and questions until they were quietened with a sharp "Quiet!" from Theo Wull. "You are not fishwives or children. Let the man think."
Ned raised a calming hand into the sudden quiet before tempers could rise in response. "I will hear your words in due time. All of them. But for now we are on a battlefield. Anything that can still be dealt with tomorrow can wait until then."
He had not been their lord for very long, but that time had been spent at war, where the fighting made friendships and loyalty easier and more solid. His Northmen obeyed without further trouble, and he had Martyn Cassel begin listening to those matters judged most vital by the tongues that brought them.
Ned's own focus was the battle.
A string of orders followed, quickly brought to the lords commanding their men on the front lines, while other messengers called the still-waiting lords to him so that their foot could be in position on the hills.
More than an hour had passed before everyone was in position and then he gave the final signal.
Lord Bolton's foot began a fighting retreat, drawing the opposing lines further into the corridor with the promise of an enemy near to breaking, while archers continued their craft from above.
Ned did not know who exactly commanded the Riverlords that had kept their loyalty with the Iron Throne, but the standards pursued the flayed man without any worry for the position they were putting themselves in.
Further and further they followed, gaining vital ground for the king with every step and unknowingly spelling their doom.
War horns and trumpets blew, and their blasts rolled down the corridor, while on the outer ring of hills, until now left unmanned and seemingly undefended, Northern foot assembled to crush the Riverlords' side. Near half of them were archers or crossbowmen, ready to mirror those positioned on the inner ring of hills, but there were Lord Umber's men and those like them, who looked one step from surging down the hillside for a great melee.
Lord Bolton's retreat ended in the same orderly fashion it had begun, his men once more gathered in lines of spears and pikes.
Another war horn sounded then, the one marking the time to attack, and though Ned could not see it from his position he knew that behind the Riverlords a small force of Dustin cavalry had crested a low hillock near the entrance of the corridor, led by their lord on a red stallion and lances sharp.
Men shouted and cried, and he could see the attempts at order begin and then fail in the enemy force when the first volley of bolts and arrows found their targets. A white and grey standard fell, its bearer dead or dying among his allies.
Surrounded on all sides by foes, it was only a matter of time until they broke.
The Greatjon's furious roar, sounding like a war horn all its own and quickly mirrored by his men as they rushed down into the corridor, was the final straw. Men born and raised in these lands threw down their arms rather than die and all the remaining standards were dropped or lowered in defeat.
Spurring his horse, Ned rode for the enemy, a guard of Stark men and friends settling in around him.
When he reached the field, the defeated lords had already been gathered for him, their helmets, shields, and weapons taken and only their daggers left to them as a courtesy. All around them, their men were relinquishing their arms as well, submitting to the larger force of Northmen without particular struggle.
"Start clearing away the corpses and get these men out of here once they are disarmed. Have Lord Glover place sufficient guards. We will have need of this place," Ned said and dismounted. Martyn Cassel immediately began calling out names to organise the necessary steps, while he went to accept the Riverlords' defeat.
The three men varied in age and size, and regarded the Umber and Bolton soldiers around them with equal parts wariness and dismissal.
Ned barely listened to the words of surrender that followed, his mind already on the fight still to come.
Ser Lewyn Martell fell in attempting to escape their encirclement by pushing forward against the Vale lines. Whether it had been an attentive spearman, an eagle-eyed archer, or the Kingsguard himself that had noticed him, they had been quick in their response, rallying and pushing forward with the determination of men that saw death on their heels.
The Vale lines had been notified and prepared, but they had still buckled under the ferocity of the assault, pushed back to the very foot of the first hills, where archers and crossbowmen had been doing their bloody work for hours.
Even at this distance, Ned had seen the snow-white cloak that had been such an easy marker before disappear in the tangle of men and the offensive finally falter.
He and his Northmen continued carving their own bloody path south, headed by all the cavalry he had brought with him below the Neck.
Only small pockets of Dornish resistance were still keeping up the fight when he gave the order for lines to assemble again. Lord Karstark was leading the foot to link up with the first Valelords on their path, making their entire battle line fold over the king's strength, while Ned was with the cavalry again, closer to the river.
Near every lance of the front two ranks had been shattered or abandoned by now, and all those still available were hastily brought to the front, while horses were quickly checked for injuries or switched out for healthier, less exhausted beasts.
Soon, everything was readied for another charge. Unlike the last, it would not be as easy this time, without surprise and disorder weakening the opposing position and giving him and his men free reign to cause chaos, but they were not the only threat either.
Jon's lords had been timing their own orders to his charges and encirclements and he did not doubt that Hoster Tully and his Riverlords would be capable of the very same once they reached that part of the field.
There were enough men to hold two sides in the alliance of Reach, Crownlands, and Westerlands, even with another two thousand holding the crossing and others still stuck on the other side of the tear streak river, the only question was for how long.
Hefting his own lance, Ned gave the signal to ride.
Horns blew and Ethan raised the Stark banner behind him, as did all the other standard bearers, and then thousands of hooves kicked the hard-packed earth, their goal a formation of Marbrand spearmen positioned to face them head on.
Thoughts and plans faded from his mind, nothing more than a distraction in this moment. There was only the horse between his legs, the weight of armour on his shoulders, and the feel of leather and wood in his hands.
As he fell into a gallop for the final stretch of ground, arrows filled the air again. A horse squealed shrilly and stumbled somewhere to his left, breaking the formation for a single moment before the hole was patched again by men taking notice, while the soldiers awaiting their arrival ducked in some attempt to evade the shafts seeking any piece of exposed flesh.
Ned saw a few die outright and more be injured, and a quick glance told him that his own charge had gotten off without much damage, but the hail of projectiles had done what it was intended to, opening holes in otherwise tightly packed men.
Horses thundered forward, overpowering everything else with their single-minded purpose, and then steel met steel and his vision was filled with dying men.
'This is the result,' came the distracted thought as a spear slid off his shield and its wielder was trampled by his horse, 'when a king forsakes justice and honour.'
Or perhaps it was truly the result of one man brave enough so say "No." when asked to follow their king into evil.
Like a wave his Northmen surged forward, drowning the soldiers from the West beneath their ferocity, and there was no more time to deliberate on a dead man's acts. Ned simply fought and hoped that victory here might let his family rest in peace.
When the resistance in front of him finally crumbled a new sound managed to barely penetrate the din of fighting men. He could not say why this one reached his ears among the orchestra of roars, screams, and the sounds of steel on steel, but he thought he heard the vaguely familiar thrum of tightly wound ropes being released from the tension they had been under all the same.
Ned searched the sky in a moment of calm, trying to see anything new between the continuous hail of arrows raining on both sides of the battle. It was not hard to find. Reddish-brown in colour and roughly circular they sailed over the river. Clay, he thought by the colour, and pots by their shape, there were perhaps a dozen of the new objects making their way for him and his allies, though seeing thousands of arrows fly told him that they would overshoot him and his riders by some distance.
Surrounded as they were by arrows, it was still only chance that had an iron-tipped shaft impact one of the new implements early, the result of which was obvious from the start. Clay shattered, spilling its green liquid innards onto the men gathered below.
Confusion and panic spread quickly, first in only that spot and then everywhere the pots found a target, shattering against hard-packed earth or armoured men. A second one had spilled its contents early, hitting a standard bearer from the Westerlands and the soldiers around him.
Ned watched with a detached calm that quickly turned to horror as something set off a spark in the gathering of steel and men and one of the targets turned into an emerald conflagration that devoured everything it could reach with fire borne from some deep dark hell.
Men screamed and horses squealed in terror, on both sides of the battle, and what had been orderly lines of spears and pikes before descended into chaos.
Flames roared in another spot as well and then another, and even from more than a hundred yards away Ned felt the sudden heat score his face. His gaze was glued to the display all the same, only shaken by the distressed steps of his courser. The horse liked the noise and heat even less than he did.
Around him, Northern riders came to a halt on a stretch of empty ground, eyeing the emerald flames and the second staggered line of spears facing them with clear hesitation.
Ned did not fault them that. Even without the wildfire sparking chaos everywhere it landed, there was not enough ground to reach effective speeds without circling back.
More clay pots crashed to the ground in his view, their fires reaching above the heads of the common soldiers, and Ned pulled on his reins. Raising his sword, he whirled the weapon in a circle a few times, hoping his commanders would see the signal for the order it was. "Turn back!"
When he spurred his horse, his men followed, riding first towards the river and then back the way they had come. Ethan pulled even with him in the looser formation, standard still held high to orient the other riders.
"Do you still intend to charge them, my lord?"
"Yes."
"What will we do about the flames?"
"They are not meant for us," Ned said and hoped it was not just his imagination. "The fires will disrupt the battle lines more than even ten thousand archers ever could. If we give them enough time, Tywin Lannister can focus his attention entirely on us and ignore the foot coming from the hills. They can focus on Robert and keep us from dogging their heels. I won't allow it."
Ned had lost his father to Targaryen madness already, had lost a brother to it at the same time. He could not lose another.
Ethan nodded, thoughtful but obedient. If he had doubts, he kept them to himself for now. "I am at your command."
Ned tugged at the reins, turning his horse to face south, and watching as his men settled in around him, returning to formation. He left the matter of lances to others for a moment, and leaned on his saddle horn, deliberately more quiet so that only Ethan could hear even without noise of thousands of riding horses. "I would have us able to deal with the wildfire either way. I know enough to disregard the water, but that will be poor comfort for anyone unfortunate enough to suffer its effects. I need a Maester or some other learned man, and men set aside to prepare countermeasures."
"I might assist with that," a soft voice included itself into their conversation.
Ned's reflexive frown turned into a raised brow pushing against the inner padding of his helmet. Howland Reed was a crannogman through and through and seldom seen ahorse, much less in the midst of a heavily armoured cavalry charge. His current mount was a sleek young filly that looked as out of place as her rider next to the large warhorses all around, though it had no trouble carrying the shorter javelins and other pouches attached to the saddle. It all left Ned rather puzzled. "Howland? What do you mean?"
Green eyes were distant for a moment, looking off towards the field of battle where new blazes had sparked and sowed devastation, before focusing back on him. "Water will not quench those flames, but sand or earth can smother them, and might save at least some lives from that horror. I've had men sent out to gather what is necessary. Few will have the strength to survive after being set ablaze, but..."
"A chance is better than an assured death," Ned concluded, and found himself frowning at the river where siege engines continued hurling pots of clay. As he watched, one of the machines was torn apart by a poisonous blaze meant to be launched their way. He found no satisfaction in the sight and his frown only deepened. "Can anything be done about those machines?"
Ethan and Howland only gave him dubious and questioning looks respectively. The crannogman was the one to speak. "My men tell me of guards, not to mention the remaining army across the river."
Ned nearly bit his tongue and felt frustration bubbling up his throat. "If there are any men willing to brave the danger, have them cross the river upstream. Even one destroyed machine might end up saving hundreds of lives today. And if not… A distraction there would be better than continuing without."
Howland Reed gave him a calculating look, before closing his eyes and bowing his head. "I will see it done, Lord Stark." There was no accusation in the short lord's voice. "There is one final matter. A runner from the Lord of the Vale brought word not long ago. 'Lord Robert Baratheon has driven a wedge of his own.'" Bowing again, Howland reached for his reins.
Ned watched the small filly slink away and quickly disappear among barded destriers and coursers. There was something ugly curdling in his gut, hot and sharp and clogging his throat, making swallowing feel impossible.
He wasn't sure whether it was the fact that he had just sent men to an almost assured death or seeing the way his father had been murdered a hundred times over right before his eyes.
A few moments longer and everything was prepared for the next charge. Nodding at Ethan, who raised the Stark banner higher in response, Ned reached for his own horn.
The noise thundered across the field, reverberating from the earth and in his very bones and bringing all the conflicts inside him to the surface, freeing him from their gnawing. He had a line to crush, a battle and war to win. A brother to reach.
Unsheathing his sword, he raised it high, made his courser rear up, and gave a final roar of his own. "For the North!"
"North!" "Winterfell!" "Justice!"
Mirroring bellows answered from his men, spawning from all over the long line of horses, joining their voices to his own.
The words differed between each of them, but their intent was one. And soon their words were as well. "Stark! Stark! Stark!"
Hooves set the earth to rumbling beneath them and Ned's focus was split between both sides of him, quickly settling into the familiar motions of managing his cavalry's charge to reach the very top of its potential.
Arrows and bolts flew again, and Ned felt one of the iron tips glance off the curve of his helmet, but his focus never wavered. This was not the North, but even so far from home, his men knew winter, knew uncompromising death like no others, and now they brought the very same.
At two hundred yards the enemy line was unyielding steel. At one hundred yards it was cold iron, at fifty hardened wood. When they were no more than a horse's length away, they were only flesh and blood and bone, parting like a criminal's neck beneath Ice's sorcerous steel.
They held, wavered, broke, and died.
It was not until some time later that Ned had a moment to take stock of everything, to take note of the state of himself and his men, to glance in every direction and consider the state of the battle. He glimpsed Robert's crowned stag somewhere to the south-west, immediately hidden again among the multitude of standards clogging the field in that direction, the one flown highest of all the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
He was barely even surprised that the fighting was still thickest over there.
His first priority was the other side of the river, and to his eyes there were two additional spots that might have once been catapults, now burning in emerald fire. Whether that meant success for his orders or was only a testament to the dangers of wildfire, he could not say without hearing the relevant reports.
To the west, green fire blazed in a hundred different spots, the former lines of spears more cinders than men, while the south harboured a gathering of bowmen in the thousands, their position defended with fire-hardened wooden spikes driven into the ground at an angle.
The decision to ignore them to ride for Robert's position was almost instinctive, and he was spurring his courser before he had even a moment to consider. Those men would run out of arrows eventually, if they had not already with their supply train across the river, and the last steps of victory lied with the king and his almost entirely surrounded enclave. Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully were coming as well, collapsing on one side of the fight, leaving the rear open for him.
He gave the necessary orders and rode on, pushing his exhausted body and horse even further, his eyes peeled for what mattered most.
Ned searched and found, and horror warred with awe in a battle to clog his throat. Robert had always towered over lesser men, especially when attired for war, and compared to the young lord of Storm's End most men could very quickly seem lesser.
Now, with jade flames lighting one of the arcing antlers on his helmet and blazing all along his left arm and shield, he did not seem a man at all but instead a demon, called to war by a terrible fury and arrived to slay a dragon.
Rhaegar was clad in ebony steel, a crown fashioned to the top of his winged helmet, and his sword flashing as it traded blows with Robert's spiked warhammer, but for all the elegance of his strikes they did not seem capable of matching his opponent's awe-inspiring strength.
Ned turned his gaze away as he reached the first men in his path and barely even registered the standard flying closest to him as belonging to a minor Reach house before he was busy navigating his tired horse in a way that allowed him to act without inhibiting the men following at his wings.
If the charge into the very first troops to ford the river had been devastating, this was even worse. These men had been killing and dying for hours now, stuck in the very heart of the battle, and with the fighting so thick, they had experienced their own fair share of the wildfire's effects.
The first simply died beneath Northern blades, unaware that death was at every side. Once they took notice, only the most rabid of lords and knights still resisted, while others simply laid down their arms and hoped for mercy.
It gave him the opportunity to focus on what was ahead again.
Ned felt Robert's roar as he grasped the king's bridle in a gauntleted fist, keeping them both from separating, and watched him nearly fall from his saddle while imparting the savage blow that followed.
Rhaegar did fall, unable to keep his balance, and Robert tumbled right after him, unwilling to abandon his weapon from where it was lodged in black steel. The spiked warhammer came free with a jerk, but the next blow came not with his friend's favoured weapon but instead with the blazing remains of his shield, lashing out at the crowned helmet again and again and sharing the fiery agony inflicted upon him.
Crown and helmet blazed with wildfire, the hungry flames uncaring of what they were devouring, and one of the draconic wings snapped off under the force of the blows.
Robert stood, nearly stumbling, the flames now reaching up to his shoulder. He seemed to take no notice of that, his eyes only for the man lying at his feet. He raised his warhammer like a trophy into the sky, left arm dangling uselessly as the remains of his shield turned to ash, and Ned watched him bring the spiked head down in a final crushing blow.
The king's body jerked from the force and then lay still, only the green flames wreathing his crowned head still flickering with unnatural life.
What resistance that had remained on this part of the field crumbled as one.
The king was slain, which made the second one in the span of a year, but just as with the first Ned felt no satisfaction from that knowledge. These dead men did not give him back his father or brother, they would not turn the time back on his sister's choices. No amount of death could accomplish that.
If he had ever doubted that reality before, he knew it now.
With a shake of his head, Ned spurred his horse into a final canter, and shouted for sand to be gathered and every nearby blaze to be smothered. He might yet lose another brother to a Targaryen king.
The following morning, there was a rider clad in a crimson tabard bringing offers of peace.
I hope you enjoyed chapter 48. I know many people would have hoped for Naruto PoV, but this chapter was the final necessary one to close out this part of the story that doesn't directly involve him. Next one will be from his perspective again, and hopefully won't take quite as long to be finished.
The rebellion ends for the most part, as it does in canon, with a devastating defeat of the Iron Throne.
Though this happens nowhere near the Trident, I though the river crossing was too fitting an element not to implement. Rhaegar is untested as a general, though he was obviously educated on warfare and leadership, and after the rebellion Robert was known for marching through the night and being where no one expected him to be.
Cavalry is the name of the game in the high medieval times and even for decades afterwards. Only pike and shot really manages to change that, once guns get good enough, but even then cavalry simply adapts them as well and you get cuirassiers and dragoons harrying your flanks or plundering your supply train.
Generally speaking, in the time period of ASoIaF, a mounted man is worth ten on foot. Often times, a lot more. I tried to make Ned come across as very capable without the individual prowess of someone like Robert, much less Naruto. He doesn't win because he himself is so great at fighting, but because his strategies and troop movements are sound and because he exploits the weaknesses in the enemy line. Ned is said to be a very good general.
Wildfire, which is pretty clearly based on greek fire, is volatile and very imprecise, but, as Tyrion showed during the Blackwater, it can also be devastatingly effective. The fact that he uses it against an attacking fleet is also key. That is how Byzantine greek fire was used too.
In a pitched battle, there are certain problems. Transportation is an issue, because Wildfire can be ignited by even direct contact with sunlight, and it only gets more volatile with age. One of those pots blows up, the whole stack might follow right behind. You need to go slow, best at night, ideally on cold nights, and very carefully. Then there is training and actually using it. Catapults or something along those lines makes sense, but to eliminate most mishaps or mistakes, you would want to give those men specialized training for years. Like alchemists, only those people aren't going to work siege engines effectively.
The idea is workable in a vacuum, but it would need many years to really work out effectively in the field. But I can absolutely see someone like Rhaegar (young, intelligent, self-important, proud of his Valyrian heritage) coming up with it. These are the people that will actually transform the shape of warfare, should their ideas bear fruit. Here, it obviously doesn't, but imagine if it had been canons, just for the laughs.
Anyway, enough rambling from me. Thanks to my editor, who has helped me put these chapters out there since the beginning by spotting many of the small mistakes that tend to worm their way in when I write, and thanks for everyone who reads and reviews. Until next time.