Rhaegar Targaryen nursed a headache that had begun to form as the day droned on. The last months of the year 282 after the conquest were determined to be trying in many ways. The war that had erupted across the kingdoms had not slowed nor stalled, if anything it only seemed to pick up as more and more men were gathered and shipped off to fight for loyal kings or rebellious lords. The south had been pacified by all accounts, according to reports both official and not. The armies of the Reach had settled themselves outside the walls of Storm's End, persistant in continuing their unnecessary siege of the seat of the Stormlords.
Meanwhile, the Jon had led a contingent of Crownland forces north to assemble with the loyal Riverland lords and march on Robert Baratheon's army before it could meet with the forces of the North and Vale. Eddard Stark had made no attempts to reply to his letters or Lyanna's. Whether he had even received them was never in doubt, what few spies Varys claimed he had in the Northern forces indicated that all his attempts at diplomacy had been rejected. Not for the first time, he cursed the stubbornness of his second wife's family. In Lyanna is was an endearing quality that had made her exciting and exhilirating. In the rest of her family however, that quality made them far too hard-headed to see the chaos they had sown through their selfish actions.
The rebels had no chance at victory. Rhaegar knew this. Just the forces of the Reach could match the entire rebel army that had assembled, and getting the men needed to match the Reach's number would mean emptying two of their kingdoms of most every man old and fit enough to hold a weapon.
Looking down at the map of Westeros that he had been using to plan the movements of the armies and the strategies of the Targaryen forces, he narrowed his eyes at the regions of his family's domain that had so far refused to mobilize. Dorne had stayed out of the affairs of the seven kingdoms, as it was wont to do. The Ironborn likewise had remained on their islands, with no navy to speak of amongst the rebel lords, the reavers had little interest or use in the war.
Finally, his eyes settled on the Westerlands, and more specifically two points on the map. Casterly Rock was marked more prominently than any other castle or town on the map, with only Lannisport being anywhere near as important seeing as it was one of the only cities on the continent. However, that second place spot in terms of importance was quickly being challenged. Fair Isle, and specifically the Plataea, were becoming one of the new centers of the Westerlands. Varys had spoken little of the castle or lands itself, the spymaster had not yet been able to settle and implant spies into the lands of House Terra, but so far, the Westerlands in general were preening with praise for their new fellows. House Marbrand had apparently recently received a set of well made mining equipment from the Terras, alongside knowledge of several diamond and gold veins in their lands that they had begun to mine.
House Kenning, one of the closer houses on the mainland, had also been receiving aid from their new neighbours. Glass guards similar to those found in Winterfell were being constructed with glass and materials shipped from the Spartan lords. The lords and peasants of the Westerlands sang the praises of the lord of Terra and his Spartans as their influence spread across the kingdom.
Rhaegar had more than once tried to force Lord Kurt into leveraging his new amiability with his fellow lords to bring the Westerlands and the Lannisters into the fold. Kurt had made no promises, nor had he tried to retract lord Tywin's price of a royal betrothal in return for his kingdom's aid. Rhaegar had spent more than one night gritting his teeth over the problem. To marry Cersei Lannister into his family by his brother all but guarenteed his children's deaths through 'mysterious circumstances'. Children of Aegon and Rhaenys' age were well known to die of sickness, esspecially in winter. Meanwhile, he could not marry her to any of his own children, both because of the difference in age, and the need for Aegon to wed his sister-wives.
The old lion and the spartan lord had not relented however, and it seemed that their patience had reached its end. Lord Ambrose was set to return to the west, leaving again his three spartans to guard Ser Jaime, his mother, and raise up a household under Lady Jane.
Rhaegar ran his hand through his long silver hair, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his nerves. Time was on his side, and the longer the war dragged out, the longer there was for the people to realise that their rebeling lords were unreasonable. It made no sense to throw away three centuries of peace and prosperity over one ill-made decision of his father's.
He shuffled away the map of the war-effort, pulling another paper and retieving a pot of ink and a quill. The letter before him was one that would be sent to Dragonstone, informing Elia that her presence was required back in King's Landing. Elia had sequestered herself away from him and the court for long enough. He sympathised with her feelings. He understood that she likely felt betrayed. Elia had never understood his devotion to his destiny, she lacked the vision necessary to see the difficult decisions that he had had to undertake in order to ensure the safety of the realm. However, no matter how much he might wish to let his first wife work through he feelings in peace, Dorne had to be brought into the war effort. Doran Martell would not send a single troop to salvage his 'folly' as he liked to put it, but with Elia in the capital the Dornish prince would have no choice but to send his forces. After all, the Rebels were fighting with the intention of dethroning his family, and Aegon, Rhaenys and Elia were a part of house Targaryen, no matter his wife's current estrangement.
As he finished his letter with a final flourish, he sealed the parchment in wax, pressing the seal of his house into the hardening substance and marking it with the symbol of the three headed dragon. He gazed down at the sigil, the banner that had represented his family since the times of Aegon the conqueror. The banner had seen a great deal of conflict in its three centuries of control over the seven kingdoms. However, this would be the first time that the ancient Valyrian house would find themselves threatened by a sigil not their own. The dance of dragons, the Blackfyre rebellions, those conflicts had been threats from within, and though Robert held Valyrian and even Targaryen heritage, the crowned stag was a threat that stood beside the wolf and the falcon. Thee heads of the rebellion, facing off against the dragon. Rhaegar wondered whether this was a sign, that the greatest challenges he would face would not be from the others beyond the wall, but from his own lords amongst the living.
He shook his head, trying to clear it as the seal finally finished cooling and he rose from his seat to send his message to Dragonstone.
Robert Baratheon roared as he faced off against a troop of Riverlanders. It seemed that some of the loyalist forces had decided to face him alone, without the greater bulk of their forces. The problem was that this was just another attack of dozens that had occured during their long march from the Reach up north into the Riverlands. The journey had been stressful, not just due to the normal stresses of managing an army, but because they had had to pass through the Westerlands on their trip.
The old lion of the Rock had not yet stirred from his slumber atop his mountains of gold, but Robert was not fool enough to think that that could not change. As much as it galled him, he had forced his men to take the long way around the borders of the Westerlands, so as not to ruffle lord Tywin's mane.
It seemed that the strategy had worked. Though they had met forces from the Reach, Riverlands and even the Crownlands, they had not seen a single force of Westermen approaching their trudging collumns of soldiers.
Robert swung his hammer down, crushing the armoured chest of a man in Darry colours. He saw as the Riverlands force carved into his flank. It seemed that the enemy had decided to take a risk and attempt to seperate him from the rest of his forces. Robert himself had rushed to the front when the loyalist army, numbering no more than a thousand men, had attacked his right flank. He had launched himself into the fight, soon finding himself knee deep in battle and it seemed, in his rush to aid his men, he had been cut off from the rest of the army.
"Retreat!" He yelled, trying to rally the forces that had been left within the remnants of his line. A group of men, no more than two dozen strong, surrounded him quickly, all but a few of them on horseback.
"Come on!" Robert yelled, stirring his charger away from the approaching enemy force, which also pulled him away from his own army.
"Come get me you bastards!" He yelled, waving his distinctive warhammer and drawing attention to his antlered helmet. The Riverland forces seemed drawn to the display, and soon shouts raised from the small army.
"Death to the traitor!"
"For the King!"
"After him!"
Robert kicked his horse, urging it into a gallop and being quickly followed by the remaining men who had been seperated from the main force with him. As he moved atop his horse, he felt a pair of hard impacts on his back. The enemy archers had loosed a volley of arrows against the fleeing Stormland men, bringing down several of them if the sound of whinning horses and dying men was any indication. Robert glanced back seeing at least half of his men had been felled by the arrows fired at their backs.
Still, two of the men got up from their horses, rising tall, and began to run. Robert pittied those men who would be trying to outrun men on horseback, but there was nothing to be done for them. However, instead of beeing left behind as he expected, the two men kept pace with the last twelve horsemen and reached the treeline alongside Robert and his fellow riders. In the distance, Robert could see men with loyalist colours breaking off from the battle against his forces. A horn sounded, and the lord of Storm's end saw the army break and rush towards the trees where he and his men had retreated to. There were fewer of the enemies, but they still numbered in the hundreds and it would be foolish to try and reunite with his main force with that number of enemies in between them.
Robet bit his lip in frustration, furrowing his brows.
"My lord." A man in Estermont colours spoke up. "What should we do?"
Robert considered for a moment. He didn't have much time to come to a decision. His enemies would be on him soon, and then there would be no chance. Trying to remember in his mind the plans that he and his generals had made he recalled that their army had crossed the gold road about a week ago, and that they were approaching a fork in the blackwater rush. If they could get across the river, they could seek shelter and resupply. After that, they could make their way to Riverrun in disguise and meet up with Ned and Jon when their armies reached Riverrun.
"Come on men. We can't stay here. We'll cross the river and make our way to Riverrun."
The assembled men shared murmers as they began to follow him as he urged his horse forwards once again. The two men who were on foot followed along, and now that he was out of the haze of battle and had a better look, he recognised the armour they wore.
"You two, you're Echoes, aren't you?" The other men and knights glanced at their newly known companions, and after the two shared a glance, they nodded in confirmation.
"Good, We'll need men like you if we're to survive the coming days." With that, the small force made their way deeper into the wood, away from the sounds of the charging Riverlanders who were no doubt persuing them.
Kurt pushed his muscles to the limit as he forced Shane and Jane off of him. The three spartans were sparring in the training grounds of the Red Keep. Above them, an audience that Kurt had come to accept as normal watched them train. Kurt managed to scramble to his feet just in time to catch and counter a kick from Jane that would likely have ripped the jaw off of a normal human being. Gripping her leg firmly in his hands he used his superior size to life the girl off of her feet, swinging her like a club and slamming her body into Shane's charging form. The two spartan-IIIs flew backwards, but recovered quickly and engaged him in a coordiated assault.
Team wolfpack was well known among alpha-company as one of the best of the best. Jane was well known as one of the strongest of the spartan-IIIs, period, and both Robert and Shane were first-class memebers of their company. There was no such thing as a weak sparten, the terms were oxymoronic, but even amongst their ranks there were the occational, unofficial rankings when it came to who was best at what.
Still, while the two were exemplary examples of what training and augmentations could do, Kurt had over two decades of Experience on them, and had been fighting in wars since before they had even been born. Experience won out in this case, even against their teamwork. Not to mention that there was little that his spartans knew that he had not taught them.
Seeing Shane pull slightly ahead of Jane, he was the fastest member of their squad, he readied himself to catch his charge. Instead of stopping him though, or trying to engage him, he diverted the alpha-company spartan right past him, coming face to face with Jane, who he attacked with a left hook. His fist struck true, and Jane found herself running right into a puch to the face. Against a normal person, their skull might have caved in, or at least cracked, but Jane instead powered through the attack, only spitting a slight amount of bloody sliva onto the ground. Her arms locked around his, and she used her smaller size to maneuver around his form and lock his arm into place. Shane colided with him from behind, sending him into the dirt and allowing the two to secure his arms behind his back.
Kurt struggled against the twin holds of both his arms, but was unable to break them as Jane and Shane placed more and more presure on his joints. He felt his muscled protest against the strain, demanding to be allowed to maintain their normal shapes and not be torn a he was forcefully contorted against his wishes. His legs lashed out, and he managed to get to his knees. However, that only seemed to hurt him, as his two opponents allowed gravity to add to their restraint of their captain.
Enhanced muscles strained against enhanced muscles, and the sound of ripping cloth let Kurt in on the fact that his shirt was beginning to tear under the strain.
"I give." He grunted, feeling the presure let up immediately as the two let him go. He got up, looking down on the two before giving them a pair of matching smiles and approving nods.
"Good job. You've gotten better."
"Thank you sir." The two said, breaking into crisp salutes before relaxing.
"That'll be it for today I think." He said. "Get cleaned up and changed. I'll be debriefing you tonight before I leave in the morning."
"Yes sir." The two said, before they made their way over to the sides. A pair of children ran over to them, carrying towels and waterskins and handing them to the two tired but victorious spartans.
Kurt felt a small tug on his pants, seeing the girl he had met on his first trip to King's Landing holding a towel and a full waterskin. He smiled down at her, taking the skin and towel.
"Thank you, run along now."
The girl smiled before taking off, rushing to the other two children who had helped Jane and Shane and running into the keep. Kurt watched them go, and made a note in his mind to have them transfered over to the Plataea as soon as possible. It was a stroke of pure luck that he had found the girl. That bloodstained rag he had used to clean her cut had unlocked yet another mystery about this strange world.
The girl, alongside another half-dozen or so children, had been part of the first ever attempt at genetic screening of the people of Westeros. Shiera, a girl from the slums of Flea Bottom had been one of the first, a hunch that Kurt had had when he had seen her stand defiant before him despite his size. She was something of a small girl, yet Kurt had come to recognise the look she had had in her eyes. His suspicions were correct it seemed, because Shiera was a match. Project Chrysanthemum had found its first native Westerosi match. That kind of match meant one thing to Kurt, that his Spartans had a future, and that with time there was a chance he could acomplish Ackerson's predictions.
As he mused on the future, he felt eyes on him. Turning his head, he saw queen Rhaella Targaryen staring at him. Kurt was used to women staring at him, especially in the aftermath of a spar with his Spartans, but the queen was usually one of the people who kept themselves under control and did not make an open display of lust as many others might. Such was the case now, as he saw no signs of attraction or arousal on her face. Instead her was pale, and her eyes were laser focused on a spot on his arm. Looking down, he saw that the fabric of his shirt had been ripped slightly. Unlike his spartan-IIIs, his augmentations had left serious and visible scars. He felt no shame over them, but he knew that they were disturbing to normal people. When bare, his body looked something like a cross between an autopsied body, and Frankenstein's monster from various media. There were distinct and dark stitches that had left him with scar tissue like a roadmap all over him. It was normally disguised under clothes by the muscled physique that he had never once let slip, but now in that small torn section of shirt on his upper arm, Rhaella it seemed had caught sight of one of the long lines of scars and remants of medical stitching from when he had been torn open and then sown back together during his augmentations.
He pulled up the ripped section of fabric, again not out of any shame, but more for the queen's benefit as her eyes lost the subject of their focus. As soon as they lost the sight, her eyes darted up to meet his, and finding no shame, in fact, finding nothing at all in his eyes beside a careful neutrality, she flinched away and walked over to Jane. The queen congratulated the woman on her win, offering her an embrace despite the fact that she was still barely cleaned of sweat and grime. Rhaella came away from the hug with a few small stains on her dress, but carried on smiling as she conversed with Jane as she and Shane relaxed. Cleaning his face with the towel, Kurt drapped the piece of cloth over his shoulder, allowing the dangling end to cover the tear in his shirt. He retreated from the training area, almost missing the strange look of pity sent his way by Rhaella as he disappeared back into the castle.
Kind of a short chapter but hey, it's still a good length by the constraints that I placed on myself. I honestly am trying to fill in some of the oddities that exist in GRRM's history with Robert's rebellion. Like how did Robert get seperated from his army and end up in Stoney Sept? I hope this is an acceptable explaination and while I find it hard sometimes to work around the canon. The problem becomes that while the spartans and UNSC are present, there's no way Kurt is going to deploy anything but the absolute necessity into a war that he has no real stakes in. While we might see more deployments of spartans, we won't really be seeing UNSC personel outside of them taking part in armed conflict. This is also an interesting line to thread for me, as I want to keep some canon elements, but not others, so having certain events occur is a balancing act to try and not have characters act needlessly stupid just for plot 'cough' season 8 'cough' 'cough'. Let me know how I'm doing.