The Riverlands, 289 AC, Jon Snow's POV
The air burned with dragonfire, the Cannibal's black-and-green flames roaring around Jaime Lannister's host like a living cage. The beast's wings churned the sky, its roars drowning out the screams of Lannister and Tyrell men as they scrambled, trapped between the inferno and Jon's Northern army. Jon Snow—Jaehaerys Targaryen, third of his name—stood firm, his longsword clashing against Jaime's, steel singing in a deadly dance. Ghost snarled at his side, red eyes glowing, while the Cannibal's shadow loomed, its green eyes locked on the Kingslayer.
Jaime fought like a lion, his golden hair sweat-slicked beneath his helm, his blade a blur of precision. "Dragon Wolf," he taunted, parrying Jon's strike, "you're no Rhaegar." His green eyes glinted with something—admiration, perhaps, or mockery.
Jon's ruby eyes burned, the bond in his blood pulsing with the Cannibal's rage. "You killed a mad king," he said, his voice low and fierce. "You'll not kill me." He lunged, his sword arcing, but Jaime sidestepped, his blade grazing Jon's brow. Blood trickled over Jon's eye, warm and stinging, but he blinked it away, his focus unbroken.
The Northern host surged forward, Umber axes and Karstark spears crashing into Lannister ranks. The Cannibal's fire herded Jaime's men, forcing them toward Jon's lines, where Manderly knights and Bolton flayers cut them down. In the distance, a knot of Tyrell knights broke free, their green-and-gold banners vanishing into the woods as they fled, abandoning their lord. Jon barely noticed, his world narrowed to the clash of steel and Jaime's mocking grin.
Jaime struck again, aiming for Jon's shoulder, but Jon parried, his blade sliding along Jaime's to slash at his sword arm. The Kingslayer hissed as blood welled through his golden armor, his grip faltering. Jon pressed the advantage, his foot hooking Jaime's ankle in a desperate move. The Kingslayer stumbled, his sword dipping, and Jon's blade came to rest at his throat.
The battlefield stilled, the roar of combat fading as both armies watched. Jaime's chest heaved, his sword arm trembling, blood dripping to the mud. He looked into Jon's ruby eyes, and for a moment, his grin softened into something else—recognition. "Rhaegar," he murmured, almost to himself. "You've got his his quiet fire." He dropped his sword, the steel clattering to the ground, and raised his hands, a faint smile curving his lips. "I yield"
Jon lowered his blade, his breath ragged, the cut above his eye stinging. "Take him," he ordered, and Northern men seized Jaime, binding his wrists. The Cannibal roared, its flames dying to embers as it landed nearby, its gaze fixed on Jon. Ghost pressed against his leg, a silent anchor.
The Lannister host broke, their survivors surrendering or fleeing into the river's embrace. The Tyrell escapees were a distant shadow, too few to matter. Jon's eyes found Ned across the field, slumped against Robb, blood staining his side. The victory was theirs, but the cost weighed heavy.
The Riverlands, 289 AC, Robb Stark's POV
Robb Stark's heart pounded as he half-carried, half-dragged his father through the chaos of the battlefield. Ned's face was pale, his surcoat soaked with blood from Jaime Lannister's blade. The clash of steel and the Cannibal's roars faded behind them as Robb guided Ned toward a copse of trees, where Manderly men had set up a makeshift camp. The direwolf banner flew above, a beacon of safety amidst the carnage.
"Hold on, Father," Robb said, his voice tight with fear. "Maester Vyman's with the rear guard. He'll stitch you up." He tightened his grip on Ned's arm, supporting his weight as they stumbled over roots and mud.
Ned grunted, his grey eyes clouded with pain but sharp with resolve. "Jon," he rasped. "Is he…?"
"He's fighting Jaime," Robb said, glancing back. The dragon's fire lit the sky, and Jon's silver hair flashed in the chaos, his sword meeting the Kingslayer's. "He'll win. He has to." Robb's chest ached, pride and fear warring within him. Jon was his brother—no, his cousin—but now a king, Jaehaerys Targaryen, with a dragon at his command. Robb had sworn to follow him, but seeing Ned bleed made the cost real.
They reached the camp, and Robb lowered Ned onto a cloak spread by a Manderly knight. Maester Vyman hurried over, his chain clinking, his hands steady as he examined the wound. "It's deep, my lord," he said, "but not mortal if we act quickly."
Ned gripped Robb's hand, his voice low. "Stay with Jon," he said. "He needs you. The North needs you. Whatever happens… protect him."
Robb nodded, his throat tight. "Always, Father." He looked back toward the battlefield, where the Cannibal's flames framed Jon's figure, locked in combat with Jaime. The North had rallied for their king, but Robb felt the weight of their choice—a war that could consume them all.
The Riverlands, 289 AC, Jon Snow's POV
Jon wiped the blood from his eye, the cut stinging as he faced Jaime Lannister, now disarmed and bound. The Kingslayer's surrender had been unexpected, his smile haunting, as if he saw a ghost in Jon's face. Rhaegar. The name lingered, a reminder of the father Jon had never known, whose blood now burned in his veins. The Cannibal loomed behind, its black scales glinting, its growls a low thunder. Ghost stood at Jon's side, his white fur flecked with mud, his eyes fixed on Jaime.
The battlefield was a graveyard of broken banners and bodies, Lannister gold and Tyrell green trampled into the mud. A few Tyrell knights had slipped away, their escape a minor thorn in Jon's victory. The Northern host stood triumphant, their cheers of "Jaehaerys!" echoing over the river. But Jon's gaze was drawn to Ned, carried to safety by Robb, his wound a stark reminder of the war's cost.
"You fought well, Kingslayer," Jon said, his voice steady despite the ache in his bones.
Jaime's smile returned, faint but genuine. "I see him in you," he said. "Rhaegar. He was a friend, once. Before the world turned to ash. If you're his son, maybe there's something I can fight for " He shrugged, the motion stiff with his bound hands. "Or maybe I'm just tired of killing kings."
Jon's grip tightened on his sword, the bond with the Cannibal pulsing, urging him south. "You'll live," he said. "For now. The North decides your fate."
He turned to his men, raising his voice. "Bind the prisoners! We march for Riverrun!" The Northerners roared, their resolve unbroken. Jon's eyes met Robb's across the field, his brother's nod a silent promise. Ned would live, and the North would fight on.
Above, the Cannibal took flight, its wings casting a shadow over the Riverlands. The war for the Iron Throne had begun in earnest, and Jon—Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Dragon Wolf—would face it with fire and blood.