Chapter 20: The Rebel Advance
The march south was slow and perilous. The once-fertile Riverlands now lay scarred by war—burned-out villages, abandoned farms, and fields littered with rotting bodies bore testament to recent devastation. Although the rebels advanced with momentum, they were constantly harassed by scattered loyalist forces, forcing them to remain ever vigilant on treacherous roads.
Beneath the banner of House Stark, Eddard Stark and Roose Bolton led the main infantry. Northmen and Riverlords marched together—a sea of steel and banners—as they secured crossings and established fortifications along the way. Ever calculating, Roose ensured that any stronghold left behind was either occupied by loyal troops or razed entirely to deny the enemy a foothold.
Scouts moved ahead, and the Crannogmen of Howland Reed proved their worth by gathering vital intelligence. They struck swiftly from the shadows, eliminating isolated Targaryen patrols and setting traps along the roads, ensuring that no full message of the rebels' strength reached the enemy.
Farther ahead, Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn led the cavalry in a series of rapid strikes against pockets of loyalist resistance. Stormlanders and Vale knights rode hard, crushing the remnants of forces that still clung to disorganized defenses. Every town, bridge, and open stretch of road was fiercely contested.
By the time the rebels reached the Red Fork, their advance was well underway, though challenges remained.
The rebel camp sprawled along the banks of the Red Fork—a chaotic yet determined mass of tents, banners, and warhorses. Soldiers cooked their meager rations over open flames, sharpened their blades, and whispered anxious plans about the battles to come. Tension hung thickly in the air.
Inside the command tent, Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn, Roose Bolton, and Steve Rogers huddled around a detailed map.
"The Trident is not far now," Jon Arryn murmured. "But neither is Rhaegar. We must assume he is already gathering his forces."
Robert slammed his fist on the table, grinning broadly. "Good. Let him come. Let's settle this with steel."
Eddard frowned. "This isn't a mere skirmish, Robert. Meeting him at the Trident will decide everything. We cannot afford to fight blindly."
Roose leaned forward, his voice pragmatic. "Then we should ensure he comes to us weakened. My men can move through the night, flank any forward detachments, and bleed them before they reach our main force."
Finally, Steve spoke, his tone measured but determined. "Rhaegar isn't foolish enough to march blindly into an ambush. If we cut his supply lines, he'll do the same to us." He pointed at several key river crossings on the map. "We must hold these crossings. Lose them, and the Crown's reinforcements will come unchallenged."
Jon Arryn nodded. "Agreed. I'll send orders to the Riverlords to burn the bridges behind us, but we must be careful not to trap ourselves."
Outside, the soldiers prepared for the next phase. A young Northman tightened the straps on his gambeson and asked, "Think the Targaryens will fight at the Trident?" An older Stormlander replied, "Aye, and if they do, there'll be blood—lots of it." Far in the distance, banners of dragon red fluttered ominously. Rhaegar was coming. The war was reaching its climax.
The rebel advance, however, was never simple. The road south remained treacherous, and although the royalists had been beaten at Stoney Sept, they were not yet defeated. The town of Fairmarket, perched on the Blue Fork of the Trident, had become a fortress in all but name. Lord Darry, one of King Aerys' most loyal bannermen, held it with nearly 4,000 men—a mix of Crownlanders and steadfast Riverlords still sworn to the Targaryens.
Fairmarket was the final major crossing the rebels needed to secure full control of the Riverlands. If Darry could hold out, Rhaegar would have time to regroup and counter the rebel advance. Eddard Stark, leading the Northmen and Riverlords, knew the town had to be taken swiftly. Meanwhile, Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon rode ahead to prepare for the final assault on the capital. For Ned, Roose Bolton, and the Crannogmen, victory in Fairmarket was crucial.
A direct assault on the town would be costly. Darry's men had barricaded the main roads, manned ramparts with archers, and fortified every choke point. Instead, the plan was for the Crannogmen to infiltrate at night—using the river and sewers to slip into the town, sabotage its defenses, sow chaos, and open the gates for a full-scale rebel assault.
Steve Rogers, refusing to remain a bystander, volunteered for the most dangerous mission. Instead of staying behind as a mere knight, he would infiltrate alone and lead the first strike from within. Armed with his two Wakandan shields, he slipped into the shadows alongside Howland Reed's expert Crannogmen.
Night fell, and under the cover of darkness the Crannogmen glided into the river, moving like phantoms beneath its surface. Steve, however, chose a different route—scaling the outer walls and moving silently across rooftops. The streets of Fairmarket lay eerily quiet, punctuated only by the occasional patrol of Targaryen soldiers. Steve stalked them from the shadows, listening to their idle conversations.
"The Starks won't dare attack directly," one guard murmured. "Prince Rhaegar will come soon. We just have to hold," another replied.
Steve allowed himself a grim smile. They wouldn't have to hold for long.
Once inside, Steve moved with the speed and ferocity of a storm. A group of soldiers near the eastern gate never saw him coming. With his shields raised, he crashed into them—breaking bones, sending men sprawling. In mere moments, he had taken out five foes before the alarm had even sounded. The guards on the gatehouse scrambled as he descended among them; one drew his sword, but Steve caught it with his shield and delivered a punishing blow that sent the man over the railing.
With the gate's heavy chains thrown into disarray by his powerful strikes, the doors swung open, exposing the town to the full fury of the rebel charge. Chaos erupted as soldiers realized the defenses had been compromised.
"Open the gates! Stop him!" a guard cried, but it was too late. Steve, both shields raised, moved with relentless determination. Over 800 men scrambled to form ranks, but by the time they had organized, Steve was already deep within their midst. He ducked beneath a spear thrust, delivered a brutal backhand strike that shattered an enemy's guard, and then spun to smash his other shield into a swordsman's ribs.
Another attacker charged from behind; without pausing, Steve hurled his shield like a discus, striking the man square in the chest and sending him crashing into two others. Each movement was precise and devastating—elite knights found their weapons deflected by his vibranium shields, and their momentum turned against them as he weaved through their ranks. Within minutes, nearly a fifth of the garrison lay dead, unconscious, or fleeing in terror.
Then, from the hills, the war horns of the North sounded—a clarion call that spurred the rebel forces onward.
With the gates thrown open and Steve still holding the courtyard, Eddard Stark led the Northmen and Riverlords in a brutal charge. House Umber's warriors smashed through the outer streets while Roose Bolton's men flanked the defenders, cutting down the remaining loyalists. The Crannogmen emerged from the riverbanks, setting fires that consumed grain stores and barracks alike.
Fairmarket, once a bastion of royalist power, crumbled from within. Lord Darry, realizing his men were losing their nerve, rode out desperately in an attempt to regroup—and soon found himself face to face with Steve.
Darry, a veteran and loyal to the Targaryen cause, spurred his horse forward with his lance aimed straight at Steve's chest. But Steve didn't flinch. He sidestepped at the last moment, spun, and slammed both shields into the side of Darry's horse. The beast reared violently, collapsing and throwing Darry to the ground. Before the commander could recover, Steve pinned him with a shield to his throat.
"Surrender. This battle is over," Steve commanded.
Darry spat blood, his voice hoarse with defeat. "You... you are no knight."
"I'm not," Steve admitted, "but that doesn't change the fact that you've lost." With that, the remaining Crownlander forces quickly crumbled, their morale shattered by the fall of their leader.
By dawn, the rebel banners soared high over Fairmarket. The Blue Fork was secured, and the loyalist garrison was wiped out, inflicting minimal losses on the rebels. Steve's heroic exploits spread swiftly through the camp; many now spoke of him as a warrior of legend—a force who had breached the defenses of a noble house in a single night. Yet, for Steve, glory mattered little compared to the mission at hand. He fought to win and to bring the war one step closer to its conclusion. Somewhere beyond, Rhaegar Targaryen was gathering his forces, and Steve vowed to be ready.
Even as the rebel army advanced, the struggle for supplies became evident. The deeper they marched into the Riverlands, the more apparent it was that Rhaegar's forces were reorganizing. Although the royalist army had suffered setbacks, they were not entirely broken. Rhaegar was gathering his strength at the Trident, and if the rebels did not push forward swiftly, he risked giving the enemy precious time to consolidate.
Securing supplies—food, weapons, and fresh mounts—was now paramount. Lord Harroway's Town, situated along the Blackwater Rush, emerged as a key supply hub for the royalists. Loyalist forces had been ferrying vital provisions through the town to support Rhaegar's growing army. Capturing this town would cripple the enemy's supply lines, potentially starving their forces before the final battle could even begin.
The plan was straightforward: the Crannogmen would infiltrate the outskirts under cover of darkness, eliminating sentries and sowing chaos. Meanwhile, Steve Rogers would lead a direct strike on the main supply depot, causing enough havoc for the rebel cavalry to move in swiftly. Once the town's stores were seized or destroyed, the rebels would withdraw quickly before any reinforcements could arrive.
Night fell, and under its cloak, the Crannogmen moved like shadows. They struck silently from the marshlands, dispatching patrols before alarms could be raised. Steve, however, made his presence felt. Using his formidable strength and his twin shields, he cut a swath through the streets. Every time a loyalist patrol rushed in, Steve was already upon them—deflecting arrows, shattering breastplates, and ensuring that chaos reigned.
The distraction worked. Guards abandoned their posts, and by the time they realized the gravity of the situation, it was too late. The granaries were set alight, the weapons depot was looted and burned, and soon, the town was in complete disarray.
"Kill them! Protect the supplies at all costs!" bellowed the captain of the guard as he rallied the remaining soldiers. But Steve held his ground. He hurled one shield like a discus, knocking two men off their feet, then caught a sword mid-swing with his other shield, twisting it free before slamming his attacker to the ground. Waves of loyalists charged, but Steve fought with the ferocity of a man determined to end the war. He ducked, weaved, and countered every assault, reducing the enemy force until the town lay in flames and ruin.
By the time the last of the guard fell, the rebel forces—led by Eddard Stark—arrived with their cavalry to secure the spoils and withdraw before reinforcements could arrive. The Crannogmen melted back into the swamps, their mission accomplished. Steve, covered in sweat and soot, walked through the smoldering remains, his shields clutched tightly at his sides.
"What now?" one rebel soldier asked as they regrouped.
Steve glanced toward the south, where he knew Rhaegar's forces were still gathering. "Now we finish what we started," he replied firmly.
The rebels had crippled the Targaryen supply lines. With their stores in ruins, Rhaegar's forces would march slower and hungrier. The rebel army had secured more weapons, food, and horses, clearing the road to the Trident. The final battle was drawing near.
Across the Riverlands, the rebel advance continued with resolve. Although every step south was fraught with danger—from harassing enemy patrols to the constant need for supplies—the rebels pressed on. Fairmarket had fallen, and with it, one of the last major strongholds of the Crown. But the war was far from over.
In the command tents, strategies were redrawn and orders relayed. The rebels knew that a direct assault on King's Landing was not yet feasible. Instead, they would push through the Riverlands, cutting off reinforcements and systematically dismantling the enemy's remaining power. Every town, every bridge, and every open road would be contested until the final confrontation at the Trident.
As dawn broke over the smoldering remnants of Fairmarket, the rebel camp prepared to march again. The determination in the eyes of every soldier, knight, and lord was unmistakable—they were united by a common cause. Their hearts were heavy with the cost of victory, yet filled with the hope of ending the war once and for all.
With the road to the Trident now open and the enemy reeling from the loss of their supplies, the rebel army advanced with renewed vigor. The final battle was imminent, and each step brought them closer to a fate that would decide the destiny of Westeros. Steve Rogers, still the Captain revered by the common man, led by example—his unwavering resolve lighting the way through the darkness.
In that moment, as the rebel forces marched south, their banners flapping in the cool morning breeze and their footsteps echoing on scarred earth, they carried not just the hope of victory but the weight of sacrifice. The war would continue, and the road ahead would be perilous, but united under a single banner, the rebels were prepared to meet the enemy head-on.
And so, the rebel advance pressed onward—a tide of determined souls, every man, and every lord bound together by the ties of honor, duty, and a shared dream of a new dawn for the realm.
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Word Count: Approximately 2100 words