Rhaella watched as Lord Kurt Ambrose, head of the house of Terra, cut his food and riased the cooked pork to his mouth. The lord of the Plataea was due to leave on the morrow, and the dinner that he had hosted, and that she and her household were attending, was to be his last meal in King's Landing. Her eyes flickered over to the space on his arm that earlier that day, she had seen under his torn shirt. Not for the first time, Rhaella wondered if she had imagined what she had seen, whether the lord of house Terra's arm could really look quite so unsettling.

She was unsure whether she had been the only one to glimpse the sight. But no one else at the table had looked so unnerved at the Lord Ambrose, and she had not seen any of the servants give him any looks beyond the standard stares that his massive frame and handsome face drew from the female servants.

She remembered briefly what she had seen. I looked like an old injury, though Rhaella herself had not seen enough old scars to know. The skin was a pinkish hue, which she knew to be common of scars, but what shocked her was just how much of it there seemed to be. The tear had been close to his shoulder, showing off three or four inches of his upper arm. There had been a criss-crossing of the jagged, raised flesh, looking as though someone had sown his skin together. She knew that such things were done by some maesters, the most experienced were said to be able to stitch flesh back together after a wound like ladies knitted cloth onto cloaks. Still though, whatever wound the lord of the Plataea had suffered, must have required a maester of skill surpassing all others.

So caught up in watching the lord, Rhaella almost didn't notice as Lord Ambrose's eyes caught her staring. Seeing him catch her gaze, she felt a small blush appearing before she turned back to her meal.

Taking any meal with the spartans of Fair Isle was a strange affair. There was little of any of the standard court gossip to be found, and would only come up if one of the guests brought it up. Otherwise, the meals were usually quiet, simple affairs that lasted as long as it took to finish the food and drink, after which they would retire to their chambers, only staying further if it was requested.

Rhaella found that she enjoyed taking meals in such a way on occasion. While as queen she was expected to entertain the ladies of court and hear of the daily goings on of her household, it was relaxing to spend meals in the quiet company of the Spartans. Their presence caused even the most avid of gossips to be quieter than usual, and aside from a minimal amount of small talk, the silence allowed Rhaella to contemplate among her own thoughts.

Not to mention that on occasion, Lord Ambrose would bring with him delicacies from his lands. She had found that the man's people knew a great deal about spices that were not common in Westeros. Perhaps she might find their kind somewhere in Essos.

Either way, the queen found that she could not focus fully on her meal, not with thoughts swirling in her mind. Giving her head a slight shake as she picked at the roasted pork sausage that was being served for the meal, she tried to clear her mind and focus.

The evening carried on, dinner passing in pleasant silence before a small dessert was served, an interesting sugary confection that also smelled and tasted of cinnamon. As the night grew darker and the fires burned on the torches, Rhaella and her ladies eventually left when Lord Ambrose rose and bid them a good night. Marching out of the dinning hall and down the halls of the Red Keep, Rhaella reflected on the day. The more she knew about the spartans and the people of house Terra, the more questions there seemed to be, and while her latest query was centred around the lord himself, as opposed to his people, she still found herself deeply theorising about just what might have caused such scars to appear. As she wondered, she entered into her chambers, Ser Oswell standing outside of her door to guard her during the night.

The queen of the seven kingdoms laid down on her bed, her mind whirling as she occupied herself with the mystery of the house of Terra. Its people, its soldiers, its spartans, and its lord. Each and every aspect of the house raised dozens, if not hundreds of questions, none of while she was anywhere close to answering.

Cassandra trudged alongside Pratibha and the ten men who made up the remainder of Lord Robert's retinue. Ever since they had been seperated from the main army two weeks ago, they had be moving through the Riverlands towards Riverrun. They had crossed over the Blackwater Rush in their first week, and had followed the river towards the town of Stoney Sept. Robert seemed certain that they would be able to gain support and supplies there, and after that they could head to Riverrun and link up with the rest of the Stormlands army that he was sure was also headed to the seat of house Tully.

That was not to say that they had suffered no setbacks on their journey. Just as they were persuing allied forces in efforts to converge with them, they were being persued by their enemies.

Already, forces of the Riverlands and Crownlands, mostly those forces scattered during the battle that had seperated them from the main rebel army, had appeared and tried to kill them. None had succeeded obviously, due to the small and mobile nature of their group, and the extreme measures taken by Cassandra and Pratibha. The two female spartans had been given near carte blanche to do whatever it took to see to it that Robert Baratheon survived. Apparently the loyalist forces had been stubborn about accepting the captain and Lord Tywin's plans, while the rebels had been far more receptive. As such, they were to ensure that Robert made it to the other rebel lords alive, in order to secure an alliance between the local authorities of the Westerlands and the Stormlands.

Truthfully, Cassandra had found herself begrudgingly invested in the conflict. While she understood that rebelling against and absolute monarch who was severly aflicted by madness and dementia was a reasonable idea, she and her fellow spartans had become more and more involved with the members of their sellsword company, the Echoes. The men who had fought alongside them were not spartans, but they had fought well enough all the same, and since they had begun training them, Cassandra had found herself enjoying the rancourous personalities of their fellow soldiers. Over the last few months traveling with them, she could say that she almost considered the other, non-spartan, soldiers of the Echoes to be something close to friends. She and the otheres of echo squad had fought beside those men, eaten and drank with them, stood side by side as they had retrieved, buried and burned their fallen. The bonds of men and women in war was a strong one, not to be underestimated, and now that there was no mythologisation of them due to their status as spartans, the people of Westeros had opened up to them far more freely than the soldiers of the UNSC had.

She briefly wondered what was happening to her men. She knew that they had been marching northwards, and had long since passed the Stoney Sept and were almost to Riverrun. Likely they would make contact with the remainder of the rebel army. After which, her fellow spartans would 'leak' the information of their whereabouts to the senoir leadership. Given how much resistance they had encountered so far, it was more than likely they would be retrieved without her or Pratibha having to really reveal what they were and where they came from.

"My lord!" one of the riders yelled as he rushed into the clearing. He was covered in dirt, his armour abandoned in favour of lighter clothes to allow him faster movement through the trees. "My lord, I have news!"

"Calm yourself man." Robert said, getting up from the small circle of logs that they had gathered to sit at. A small, unlit fire was in the centre of the circle, waiting for the evening before they would light it for warmth against the cold of the declining winter.

"An army my lord." He wheezed, hands on his arms as he took deep gulps of air. "I saw... I saw the standard of House Targaryen... and House Connington. Thousands at least, perhaps tens of thousands. They are advancing in this direction."

Robert cursed under his breath, but aside from that there was no sign of panic on the man's face.

"Hurry then, we must move."

"But where my lord? We cannot outrun them forever. I saw riders being sent out to scout the area."

"We head to Stoney Sept." Robert declared. We can hide amongst the townspeople there. Connington will be delayed, and one of us can run ahead to warn our forces at Riverrun."

"Lord Robert." Another man said, coming closer. "How can you be sure that our men have even reached Riverrun, or that they will side with us in this conflict."

"The Tullys were to be married into the Starks." Robert explained, though there was a flash of pain crossing his features. "Lord Eddard is the new heir to the North, and by tradition he will carry out the betrothal set forth for his older brother by his father and Lord Tully."

"But my lord, we have raised up in rebellion against house Targaryen, who raised house Tully to become lords of the Riverlands. Will they side against the dragons who gave them their seats?"

"You forget ser, no house held closer faith with the dragons than house Baratheon, for we aided in the conquest of Westeros at their side. If the madness of King Aerys could bring us into rebellion against them, then House Tully will see reason and understand that we, as lords of this realm, cannot abide a king so mad as to imprison and burn the lord and heir of one of his seven kingdoms. Now come, we will have to move quickly if we are to keep ahead of the scouts of our enemies, and be faster still if one of us is to reach Riverrun before Connington and his army catch up to us.

Cassandra watched as the small camp packed itself up quickly, mounting their horses where they could, and set out at a trot towards the town of Stoney Sept to the north-west. Meanwhile, she nodded to Pratibha, who tapped the small radio she had used to capture the conversation and send it on to their mission supervisor on the Plataea. By the end of the day, Lei and the rest of Echo squad would know about their situation, and would find a way to direct the forces of the rebels towards them.

The year of two-hundred eighty-two after the conquest was coming to a close. Ned felt his skin itch as he walked through the halls of Riverrun towards lord Hoster Tully's solar. The rebellion had been raging for nearly nine moons, Robert had seen four battles and won three of them, and he had only just marched the first armies of the North down past the neck and into the proper south. Many of his lords were baying for blood, roaring for battle, but no force had yet appeared this far north for his countrymen to whet their appetites.

As it was, he had come to Riverrun to speak with the lord paramount of the Riverlands, the man whos daughter should have been his good-sister. Catelyn Tully was the betrothed of his elder brother, and Ned knew what tradition demanded upon Brandon's death. Part of him wanted to leave. He could walk out of the ancient castle, march himself and a small retinue down into Dorne and take the woman he had sworn his love to as his bride. Honor would not allow it though. Hoster Tully could bring to their side a force nearly ten-thousand strong, with fourty-thousand more to be raised over time until the fields were bare and villages were cleared of every man who could hold a sword. His own force and Jon Arryn's both ten-thousand strong, with more on the way as both of their kingdoms gathered more forces and raised more armies to send to them but at the moment every man the old trout could bring to the table was a blessing.

'My kingdom.' Eddard thought, the notion that he was the lord of the North was still a strange one to him. Rumour had it that his father was still alive, trapped and tormented beneath the Red Keep in King's Landing, but with Brandon's death it meant that Ned was heir to Winterfell and the largest of the seven kingdoms.

As he entered lord Hoster's solar, he saw that standing with the man was his brother, the blackfish Brynden Tully, and a woman with fiery red hair, likely Catelyn Tully, Brandon's betrother, now his soon to be wife.

"Lord Stark." Hoster nodded.

"Ned." Jon Arryn said, gesturing for the man to sit beside him.

"We are all here then." Lord Brynden said gruffly.

"Aye." Lord Hoster acknowledged his brother. "Lord Stark, firstly let me offer my deepest condolences for the death of your brother. My prayers go to him."

"And mine as well." Catelyn said.

'Aye, and the prayers to your seven will do my brother no good.' Eddard thought with a twinge of bitterness. Of course he would never say such a thing out loud, but even over these last few moons, he had not had much time to grieve between organising an army and marching it south to do battle with the man who was now his good-brother.

"Thank you my lord." Was what he said, bowing his head in thanks.

"Now then." Jon Arryn said. "We must speak of the future. The madness of king Aerys can no longer be tolerated, the events of lady Lyanna's diasppearance and subsequent events must prove this."

"I understand that lady Lyanna left to marry prince Rhaegar in secret." Hoster said.

"Be that as it may." Jon returned. "To burn Brandon Stark alive is surely an injustice that cannot be tolerated or forgiven. The boy was to be your own good-son."

"Aye, he was, but from what I have heard, he threatened the life of prince Rhaegar. Such words spoken aloud are treason, let alone shouted in the streets of King's Landing where Aerys could all but hear them himself."

"Are you implying that my brother deserved to be burned alive, lord Hoster?" Ned asked, his voice low and cold.

"Not at all, lord Eddard." Hoster said. "Only that your brother's fate, while tragic, does not oblige me to enter into this war."

"The marriage pact is still in effect, if I recall." Jon Arryn said, his eyes darting apologetically to Ned for a moment.

Ned himself swallowed thickly, hoping that no one else in the room could hear it, least of all lady Catelyn, who seemed to have stiffened as soon as marriage had been brought up.

"Ned understands his duty, what honor demands. A wedding was planned, and by now it is long overdue, let us see it through."

Hoster Tully looked contemplative, strocking his beard as he regarded the two lord Paramounts that sat before him.

"A wedding was indeed planned, but one? One is not yet enough."

"My lord-" Jon Arryn tried say but was interrupted.

"Lord Arryn, you yourself lost your heir to Aerys' madness and have no wife as far as I am aware, and unless he is truly mad I believe the betrothal of Robert Baratheon to your sister is broken. Is it not lord Stark? I have two daughters, Catelyn is already betrothed, and soon will bear the name Stark the same as you, but Lysa has yet to have a match."

"Surely you cannot expect us to dictate the marriage of a lord paramount when he is not even here."

"You are Robert's foster father, are you not lord Arryn? Surely he will go along with whatever decision you make-"

"No, I cannot be the one to make this kind of decision. Should you wish for a betrothal with Robert or the house of Baratheon, you will wait for Robert himself to negotiate such a pact."

Ned knew that this outburst by Jon was two-fold. On the one hand, it was truly not the lord paramount of the Vale's place to negotiate Robert's marriage, especially since Robert was not even here. On the other, he knew that Jon was still hoping to bring up Lord Tywin's proposal with Robert and convince him to accept. To wed Cersei Lannister would bring all the might of the West to their side, not to mention the spartans who had so far seemed to be invincible against normal men.

Hoster didn't look at all output by the old falcon's outburst.

"Very well. I will speak with Lord Robert should the time comes. For now, let us plan for the battles that are to come in the future."

"Indeed my lord, we have much to discuss before the dragons advance north to engage us. Most prominently, we will need to move through your lands if we are to link forces with Robert in time to take battle to the king's armies."

"Indeed. However, I'm sure you have seen the force of Stormlanders residing outside my walls. They have so far been well-behaved, but have been requesting me to search for Robert Baratheon in the Riverlands since they have arrived."

Jon nodded along with the old Trout.

"We'll find him." Ser Brynden said gruffly, giving Ned and Jon reassuring looks. "I've placed my best men onto to the search. There's no place in the Riverlands they'll be able to hide without being found."

Just as he finished, a frantic pounding sounded on the door to the chambers, and moments later, a man in haggard clothing with the Baratheon sigil stitched on his doublet appeared before them.

"My lord." He gasped. "I have news. I have been sent by Lord Robert to carry this message to Lord Arryn and Lord Stark."

"Speak then ser." Jon said as Ned's stomach both settled down and began to tie itself into knots.

"My lord, Lord Robert has sent me to tell you of an army persuring him in the Riverlands. Led by Lord Connington, it persued myself, my lord and his retinue down the Blackwater Rush. He and the rest of us were headed toward the town of Stoney Sept, and I was sent ahead to inform you. Lord Connington and his forces were bearing down on the town when I left, but hopefully he will be be delayed long enough by searching the other settlements along the way."

Ned felt his stomach clench again. Robert was his friend, a man who he considered himself as close to as his own brothers. He had left to the North to rally his armies and to see to it that Ashara was sent back south without drawing suspision to her, and in doing so he had not joined Robert in any of the battles that had raged across the country in the past year. Now his friend was gripped tightly within the jaws of death with only the swiftest of actions having any hope of saving him. His head snapped over to Jon, who likewise looked shocked and dismayed.

"Lord Tully." Ned said, trying to keep his voice steady and abscent of panic. "It seems that the time has come for us to put our new alliance into action. If your forces would be so good as to join our own in combatting Lord Connington and rescuing Lord Baratheon we can seal our unity in blood as well as ink."

There was a slight twitch in Lord Hoster's eye. It seemed he hadn't thought that he would have to fight until such time as his daughters were already married, but before anything else could be said, Ser Brynden guffawed.

"Aye, what a stroke of fate. Brother, I'll have our forces marching with Lord Stark and Lord Arryn by days end. We can make it to the Stoney Sept within the week if we make haste."

Ned bowed his head in thanks to the Blackfish. As soon the older man finished speaking. Ned marched out of the solar, not waiting for a dismissal no matter how rude such a thing was. At the moment, his friend's life was more important than a small act of impropriety.

He made his way through the castle's halls, making his way out into the courtyard before he crossed the drawbridge and marched into the Northern camp. Within hours. The lords and soldiers of the North were ready and roaring to move. The righteous anger they haboured for the unjust crimes commited against their lords made them eager for combat, howling for the blood of the dragons to coat the teeth of the wolves.

Ned mounted his horse, finding that his forces moved faster than those of the Vale or the Riverlands. Only the army of the Stormlands had readied themselves as quickly as his own, no doubt in order to rescue their lord who was in peril and awaiting their arrival.

Urging his men forwards, more than twenty-thousand men marched behind him south into the wartorn Riverlands, racing to rescue hs friend before the servants of the dragon could trap and kill him.

Moving forwards a bit, but overall I think the pace isn't too fast. Honestly the problem with any warfare from medieval times or before is just how long travel takes. We hear in GOT that the trip from King's Landing to Winterfell took a month or more, but that was a king's progress, definately smaller than an army. Armies are known to march far slower than other groups, because they have to maintain a formation. Because of this, a coordinated formation travels much slower than normal men moving. This means that while generals strategise, their armies only really meet weeks or months after plans are made. I've found out that apparently the Stormlands forces weren't at the battle of the bells, but I find that dumb, and so I'm changing it a bit. Really it shouldn't be to big a change.