Fire and Blood

Kingswood

Oberyn had seen flashes of Rhaegar's armour run past him. He had seen the skilled fighters that were the Kingsguard, he was unsure of whom exactly they were, cutting down men like they were a slice of pie. But as of recently, he also saw men, their men, falling to the floor with feathered arrows in their bodies.

They fell in the tens around him, like flies around hot candles. Oberyn watched intently, though it was hard when screaming men were aiming their swords, axes and at one-point hammers at you, he found the culprit. Lyanna Stark, now Baratheon, knelt by a hidden shrub, aiming her arrow at any man she did not recognise as her own. Oberyn broke his way free from the thick of battle, from the stench of blood, and sweat, and piss and vomit, making a break for the girl.

Lyanna noticed him, drawing her arrow to him. Oberyn weaved, knowing all too well a moving target was one not many had a chance of getting. She released her arrow, but it missed him by a hair. Lyanna stood from the ground in a hurry, moving to take the sword next to her. But Oberyn wasn't known to be quick and agile in battle for nothing, he took his spear, the very one that had killed many men before her and threw it at her. Lyanna cried out as the spear met with her right leg. She dropped her sword and clutched on to her thigh in pain.

Oberyn neared her, pulling the spear from her leg, and she screamed out, withering under him. Before he could kill her though, he heard the deep shout of Rhaegar. He ran back to where he had been, where the voice of Rhaegar had been. Robert Baratheon and Brandon Stark swung their sword and hammer at him, two on one. Oberyn shot his spear once more, if not one Baratheon, the other would do.

It caught its target this time; Robert fell to the floor with a thump, his heavy hammer falling with him. Oberyn grunted, pulling the spear from Robert's neck and nodding to Rhaegar.

Brandon, who had watched Robert fall to the floor, ducked at Rhaegar's oncoming blow, leaving the King for a short moment. He knew if he did not kill him now, they'd surly lose – it looked that way anyway. The archers that had been hidden had stopped shooting, and he wondered what had happened to them.

He saw Ned from the corner of his eyes, running back onto the field.

Where had he been? He thought to himself, watching as his brother swung his sword at a Lannister solider. It didn't take long for Brandon to figure him out. Ned was always one to have a forgiving and merciful heart.

"In a moment!" Brandon shouted to the first man who he could see, the scaled armour giving away Hoster Tully, "tell them we surrender." Hoster wanted to say something to him, but the young man was already gone.

He pushed past those who stood in his way, unsure of who he was stabbing and swinging at, but knowing he needed to find out exactly what Ned had been up to.

...

"Arianne!" She heard Brandon's voice ringing throughout the forest, it would near her and then his voice would disappear.

Arianne stood up, Baelor still in her hands. She was panicking now, crying as she looked for a place to hide him. By a large tree sat a bed of lilies, the prefect hiding spot. She did a quick prayer; no animals nor men should harm him. And placed him gently down and then taking off the ring that Rhaegar had given her when they were still courting, she put it in his little hand.

"Stay quiet dragon," she whispered to him, covering his body lightly with fallen leaves.

Baelor did as he was told, blinking up at his mother and not registering her departure. Now all he could see was the big blue sky above.

"Arianne!" Brandon's calls became frantic, and she made a break for it, running towards him. There was no chance in seven hells he'd find Baelor, and if she had to offer herself than she would.

Her running ceased when she saw Brandon, standing in front of him as a doe would when a hunter had found her. Brandon threw his helm to the ground, took her by her neck and made for the camp.

As he dragged her back to the campsite, Arianne realised she hadn't gotten that far into the woods. It wasn't as if running whilst with child and in labour was something that one could do easily. Brandon pushed her to the floor, onto her knees.

"Brandon please," Arianne begun, she did not want to die. Not like this. Not at the hands of the boy she'd grown up with.

"Shut up!" He cried out, his voice breaking as he did so. In all his anger, in all the promises he had made to Rhaegar, he had forgotten how much he had adored her. But that didn't matter now, she was the reason for his father's death. She was the reason for all things black in his world, and that was unforgivable. No matter how beautiful one was.

They waited in that position for an hour, Brandon wondering if Hoster had not taken his words and surrendered. But he had, judging by the sounds of a small party approaching them.

"Lord Stark," Tywin's voice called out, he was the first to arrive, followed by Arthur Dayne, Oberyn Martell, Rhaegar and two other men Brandon did not recognise. They wore Tyrell armour, so he accounted they must have been Tyrell sons or cousins.

"No, no body talks but me now," Brandon said, pulling Arianne from her knees to her feet and holding his sword to her throat.

"You have lost Lord Stark, put the sword down before you make things even worse for yourself," Tywin called out.

Rhaegar stepped forward, and Arianne pushed into the sword, wanting to feel herself in Rhaegar's hands once more. He held his hands up to Brandon, "have reason Lord Stark and put down the sword."

"Or what?" Brandon asked him.

Arianne, feeling Brandon was not in the mood for negotiations or leniency called out Rhaegar's name. The silver haired man's eyes moved to her own, "he is west, by a bed of lilies. Baelor."

"I killed him, your last dragon. I cut his from mouth to stomach," Brandon said, pulling her closer by her waist.

She shook her head, Rhaegar, who wanted to express his joy but couldn't, nodded. Understanding her words. "He is holding your ring and has hair as white as snow with one black streak."

"Will you go look for my son?" He asked Julian and Otto, they nodded remembering her words from earlier. Bed of lilies, west, and took off.

"Stop speaking as if you will die," it was Oberyn's voice, he stopped her from continuing her words. "The sword down, now Stark."

"Your brother, he lives," Rhaegar said, he had remembered the young Stark sitting on the floor with his hands bound behind his back – as the other lords had.

Brandon loosened his grip, "and Lyanna?" Silence was his response, Oberyn unsure of how to tell him that he had found the girl dead, having lost too much blood. That was the only answer he needed, "then I shall take a sister for a sister. Our last truce. What do you say, your grace?"

"I say put down the sword. I know mercy, not as my father knew mercy. I do not want fighting while I rule. Winterfell will be the Stark's and you will take the Black. Think of your brother and son."

Little Rickon. His mind knew no reason now though and so he pulled her closer. "Did you enjoy riding your sister dragon?" Rhaegar did not respond, looking away from Brandon's roaming hands. He now noticed the blood around her dress and her missing sleeve. She had fought to keep Baelor alive. "Did you enjoy taking her from behind, like a true-,"

"That is enough Stark!" Oberyn called, gripping onto his spear.

"Throw it and I will shield myself with her body."

They stood in silence for a short while, those with Rhaegar trying to find a way to bring Arianne from Brandon's arms, or find a way to take him down without hurting her.

Brandon let out a shaky breath and she felt it hit the back of her neck.

"Please, Brandon. We have all had enough of this. That is my wife, your foster sister. Let it end now," Rhaegar finally called out. His heart was aching, his mind was tired, and all he wanted – no matter the consequences – was to have Arianne by his side.

"I will end it for you," Brandon said, having already made up his mind. He turned Arianne around, kissing her lips once. "I will see you in whichever afterlife we end up in." There was a ringing in her ears, and Arianne blinked, her body too tired to form anymore words nor tears. She heard the muffled pleas of Rhaegar, the shouts of the brother she knew for a little while, Arthur, the demands of Tywin and Oberyn but it was far too late to speak with Brandon. It became too late the moment his father had been slaughtered. All he sought was revenge. He took his sword, just as his ward father, Lord Dustin, had taught him and pressed it into her back.

He had always said a bloody sword was a thing to behold, and here one lay in front of him. Her body dropped to his feet, and she squirmed in pain.

Rhaegar stood opposite it, hands on his head. He could not even comprehend his next movements. Was he to hold her? No that wasn't even a thing he'd do before killing Brandon. He felt himself run, fly almost, to Brandon and bring the bigger man down. He punched him so many times, his face became unrecognisable. His fist met Brandon's face so many times it hurt him, it hurt Rhaegar. Brandon was unresponsive by the time Arthur had pulled him from Brandon's dead body.

"Rhae-," Arianne's soft voice came from beside them, unable to lift her head she mustered the strength to call him. Rhaegar went to her, knees bent as he turned her to her back and held her in his arms. Arianne felt the tears now, falling from her face into her hair and ears. Her eyes met his for the last time, she couldn't speak, letting the peace of blackness take her.

Rhaegar's had hovered over her face, nervous and shaking. He left marks of red blood all over it. He muttered a string of nos. "We have a Maester. Someone call a Maester!" She was already dead, and when he pressed his lips to hers, just as he had done all those times before, they were unresponsive. He felt all he could now was cry. He did not care if he was in the company of seasoned warriors, Rhaegar had earnt the wails and tears that left his body.

...