A Verse of Ice and Fire

Eddard

 King's Landing was coming into view. The great Red Castle; the City of the Targaryen Dynasty; or what was left of it. House Targaryen was falling apart, and everyone knew it. The battle had ravaged the land, far and wide, littering the once flourishing fields with corpses of men and boys, sent to fight a war that shouldn't have happened. Ned had to take the city despite having to help the Lannisters to do it. Always being a wary one of the Southern Lords, especially those of the Westerlands, Ned knew that he couldn't trust the Lannisters, or their Bannermen.

 With a cry, he and his forces rushed forward through the ravaged gatehouse of the city. Robert would have led the charge, but he was wounded in the Battle of the Trident after killing Rhaegar. Ned couldn't help but think that it was a good thing that Robert was wounded. Despite being one of the Baratheon's most ardent supporters, Ned knew that Robert would take this chance and slaughter everyone in the Red Keep; adult or otherwise, Targaryen or otherwise.

 Robert was run by bloodlust and anger; this much was true, and everyone knew it. Ned knew it better than any of them. So much so, that Robert's anger could get him killed if he goes too far with the killing. As true as it is, Ned wanted one man only. His target was Aerys II Targaryen 'the Mad King'; the man who burned his brother and father with wildfire. The man who agitated the North with his actions. Ned was going to shove Ice into his chest and finish the job for Robert; who would no doubt, mutilate the man even after his confirmed death.

 Ned ducked as a gold-cloak rushed at him with a spear, lunging forward. He continued to weave in and around the wooden shaft. Suddenly, the young Stark grabbed the spear and quickly yanked the weapon from the man's hands. Ned took in the sight of the fear in the soldiers eyes. He knew he was going to regret this. The Stark shot his blade forward, plunging the sword into the gold-cloak's chest. The light in his eyes, left with a fleeting retreat as darkness took the man right before Ned. He pushed the gold-cloak from his blade and took off down the street toward the Red Keep.

 Gold-cloaks were retreating or turning on their comrades in a last ditch effort to not get slaughtered by the Lannister forces flooding the inner city. Ned took a deep breath as Northmen and Lannister footmen rushed ahead of him, clearing the streets and alleyways, rife with resistance. The Stark exhaled with a sting in his sigh. Howland appeared at his side along with Ser Rodrik. The three gave each other knowing looks and took off as fast as they could, trying their best to reach the Red Keep before any Lannisters do. Ned glared at the gateway leading to the Red Keep and let out a soft growl.

 The gateway was broken down and the bodies of both Lannister men and Targaryen men were littering the entrance. The three Northmen entered the Castle courtyard only to find more corpses of Lannister and Targaryen footmen. It was a near bloodbath; something that Ned didn't want to make a comment on. There was small struggle going on in the Red Keep itself, revealing that there were still loyal Targaryen soldiers and Lannister footmen still fighting within the castle.

 Ned ran ahead of his two companions, wanting to make sure that the blasted Lannisters don't do anything rash. Just as he entered the Keep, a Targaryen knight rushed at him, bashing his kite shield against his back. Ned stumbled, but swung Ice around, taking the head from the knight. As the man collapsed to the ground, headless and lifeless, a heavy commotion was heard; echoing throughout the castle's bloodied halls.

 Without a second thought, Ned rushed through the vermilion halls of the Red Keep; mind racing as the battle raged on around the castle. He jumped to the side as a Targaryen footman lunged ahead, sword in hand. Ned spun on the ball of his heel, swinging upward, slicing the arm from the man. The boy howled in pain, keeling over, holding his stumped arm. For two years, the Stark had been fighting a war that shouldn't have happened. For two damned years he trudged through the Southern Lands, sword in hand, and an army at his back. It had been two years since the brutal murder of his brother and father and ever since, the constant slaughter of his men and bannermen; people he considered friends. Ned growled as he dug his sword into the chest of the Targaryen knight, punching the man from his soiled blade.