Game of Thrones: The Frozen Throne

Outside the training yard of Winterfell, Ser Rodrik Cassel stroked his white beard.

"Lord Eddard, the recruitment efforts in Winterfell have been completed. We have gathered a total of three thousand soldiers, most of them from Winter Town, with a few from nearby villages."

Eddard flipped through the soldier roster handed to him by Maester Luwin. Jack, John, Harry, Will—ordinary names of common men. Some were farmers, some were craftsmen, some were swineherds, and some were inn servants. Now, they had all gathered together to fight for Winterfell.

Eddard asked, "I heard that among them, there are quite a few men from the mountain clans?"

Ser Rodrik Cassel nodded. "Indeed, my lord. Eight hundred of them are mountain warriors. When Winter Town was expanded, many people from the mountain clans settled there. The mountain clansmen are fierce by nature, and many of those we recruited have combat experience. Some have fought wildlings, some have fought ironborn raiders, and some even participated in suppressing the Greyjoy Rebellion."

During the upcoming campaign to eliminate the Rockborn pirates, the mountain clan warriors would be of little use in naval battles. They were not skilled cavalrymen either. However, once the Northern army landed on Skagos, a mountainous island, these warriors—experts in mountain warfare—would become the North's sharpest blade.

Maester Luwin touched his maester's chain. "I heard that some of these soldiers only recently moved from the eastern coast to Winter Town?"

Ser Rodrik Cassel replied, "That's true. Many of them came from the lands of House Umber and House Karstark, only recently settling in Winter Town. The Rockborn pirates were the reason they left their homes."

"They fled to Winter Town to escape the Rockborn pirates, thinking they would be safe living under House Stark's protection. And now, I am sending them to war." Eddard's voice was filled with helplessness.

Ser Rodrik Cassel said, "Men must protect their homes, my lord. Among the soldiers I recruited, there are two particularly outstanding ones. I believe they have great potential to achieve glory on the battlefield."

Eddard was intrigued. "Where did you find such men? Are they hedge knights or southern sellswords?"

Ser Rodrik Cassel chuckled. "No, my lord, they are from right here in Winterfell! I found them among Farlen's hunters."

Lately, Winterfell's kennelmaster, Farlen, had been leading a large group of hunters and hounds into the Wolfswood daily, returning by dusk with game—pheasants, hares, and deer.

Because many of these hunters were former poachers whom Eddard had pardoned, the people of Winterfell and Winter Town had taken to calling them the 'Poachers' Brigade' behind their backs.

The two hunters Ser Rodrik recommended were indeed former poachers.

"This one is Farlan. His archery is even better than Theon's," he said, introducing a red-haired man with sharp blue eyes, a quiver on his back, and a longbow in hand.

"A poacher better than me at archery? Impossible!" Theon scoffed, grabbing a bow. He took his time aiming and loosed an arrow—hitting the bullseye. A proud grin spread across his face.

Ser Rodrik said, "Farlan, show Lord Stark your skills."

Eddard expected Farlan to simply take aim at the target. Instead, the man leaped onto a horse, galloped across the yard, and fired an arrow in full stride—striking the bullseye with pinpoint accuracy.

Eddard, Robb, Jon Snow, Domeric Bolton, and Theon Greyjoy all watched in stunned silence. Theon was dumbfounded. "How is that possible?"

Ser Rodrik explained, "Farlan is from the Riverlands. He grew up tending Lord Lychester's horses and is an excellent rider. His archery, as you can see, is extraordinary. Moreover, from years of evading his lord's hounds and guards in the woods, he has become an expert in stealth. He would make an excellent scout."

Eddard looked at Farlan with approval. "You once tended a lord's horses—why did you become a poacher?"

Farlan answered apologetically, "My lord, when I was young, I stole a white horse from Lord Lychester and sold it to buy medicine for my sick sister. But she died anyway. I couldn't return home, so I fled to the Wolfswood and survived by poaching. When Winterfell's guards caught me, I thought my life was over… but you pardoned me, my lord."

Eddard said, "Farlan, you were once a horse thief and a poacher. I gave you the chance to become a hunter. Now, I give you another title—Winterfell guard."

The second man Ser Rodrik recommended was a burly warrior named Dawson, a black-haired, thick-bearded man with arms like tree trunks and a neck like an ox's.

"Dawson wields a thirty-pound battle-axe. He is not a skilled rider, as he rarely mounts a horse, but his prowess in infantry combat is unparalleled—even Jory Cassel cannot best him."

Jory Cassel was the captain of Winterfell's guards. The fact that Dawson could defeat him in combat was proof enough of his strength.

Eddard studied Dawson. His imposing figure reminded Eddard of Robert Baratheon—Robert would have liked a warrior like this.

Farlan and Dawson knelt before Eddard, swearing their oaths of loyalty.

The army was assembled, ready to march. The children were excited.

"Father, take me with you!" Robb pleaded.

Eddard shook his head. "You are too young to go to war. You must stay in Winterfell."

Robb looked disappointed. "I heard some southern squires go to battle at the age of ten."

Eddard said, "A young wolf cannot fight in war, Robb. When you come of age, I will let you charge into battle. For now, your duty is to remain in Winterfell, help your mother, and protect your younger siblings."

Domeric Bolton and Theon Greyjoy, however, were allowed to accompany Eddard. They were both thrilled.

Domeric said, "Lord Stark, I cannot wait to prove myself on the battlefield. Last year, when I served as Lord Redfort's squire in the Vale, I fought alongside the knights of the Vale against the mountain clans. I wounded a Black Ears clansman, but before I could finish him, another knight struck the killing blow. I missed my chance to take my first kill."

"You thirst for bloodshed?" Eddard asked. Domeric was a kind and talented young man—but he was, after all, the heir to the Dreadfort.

"I thirst for the glory of battle," Domeric said, gripping his longsword. "The Rockborn pirates have raided the lands of the Dreadfort as well. I will use my sword to avenge our people."

Not to be outdone, Theon said, "Lord Stark, send me to White Harbor! Let me command their fleet. I am the heir to the Iron Islands, a natural-born ironborn, a master of sea warfare!"

Eddard replied, "The White Harbor fleet has already set sail. You should stay by my side. Once we reach the coast, you will have your chance to prove yourself."

Theon was an ironborn, true—but a master of sea warfare? Hardly. He had not seen the sea since he was ten years old.

Jon Snow then stepped forward. "Lord Stark, can I come with you?"

Eddard sighed. "Jon, did you not hear what I just told Robb? You are too young for war. Stay here."

Jon hesitated, looking troubled. "It's not that I want to defy you, my lord… but if I stay in Winterfell, Lady Catelyn… she will not be pleased."

Eddard sighed. He had nearly forgotten. As a bastard, Jon Snow had to endure Catelyn Tully's hostility every day. So long as she remained in Winterfell, it would never truly be Jon's home.

Eddard hesitated. "Jon… perhaps you could stay in one of Winterfell's outlying villages for a while?"

Jon said, "I only want to follow you, my lord. Bastards grow up fast. I can endure military life. I will not ask to fight—just let me serve you, help you with your armor, clean your sword."

Eddard had no choice but to agree…

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