House Among Chaotic Kingdoms

Votes for this Turn:

A1 - Infantry - 0

A2 - Reputation - 4

A3- Magic&Med - 37

A4 - Physical - 17

A5 - Mixed Army - 4

S1 - Wikipedia - 8

S2 - Steam - 0

S3 - Wookiepedia - 12

S4- World - 42

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Rolls for this Turn:

Personal: Warhammer Fantasy Wiki

Thanks to Loec, another god has gained access to Planetos.

Luckily for us, this is actually a god who knows of the Chaos Gods and opposes them, though his primary opponent in the past was She Who Thirsts.

Loec is the Elven God of:

Trickery (kind and mean-spirited), music, revelry, joy, laughter, dances, songs, plays, shadows, vengeance, and dark deeds.

As part of the deal to be given access to this Universe, Loec has agreed to begin ensuring there is a path away from Grandfather Worship.

In particular, Loec has agreed to appear to those who want to leave the Grandfather Worship and offer them an alternative that did not exist before now.

Those who convert away from the Grandfather automatically become dedicants of Loec and will attempt to convert others, with a special focus on those dedicated to the grandfather.

This is very good for the long-term health of Planetos since it gives the Grandfather a direct rival who is aware of the methods and abilities of a Chaos God.

But make no mistake, this is still a god of schemers who were given access to the Game of Thrones…

While focused on Grandfather, Loec will be willing to accept any rebel who wishes to break away from a cultural or supernatural bond, regardless of the reason.

So they’d be just as willing to help an Other break away from the Night King as to help a Brother of the Night's Watch abandon their post.

The final caveat is that any agreements or Bonds made with Wulfric, will not be messed with.

So if we eventually roll some kind of Magical Contracts ability, Loec will let it slide so long as the agreement is between us and someone else.

World: Forgotten Realms Wiki

Thanks to the Undead Torch, the followers of the Red God now have access to a type of fire that will set undead on fire should they even approach it.

The good news is that Yeshua Grantham is particularly talented with this kind of fire.

The bad news is that the magic of this fire is heavily tied into the mythology of Azor Ahai, and so every time a Red Priest uses this flame or is asked about it, they will advertise Stannis Baratheon.

This will cause increasing PR problems for Joffrey and his cause as time goes on, though it isn’t an immediate crisis.

Additionally, this fire is very taxing and does require the dedicated effort of a highly trained red priest.

Meaning someone like Yeshua Grantham could sustain a single fire of this sort for a few hours at most before needing to get a Long Rest before doing it again.

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Story:

Jon was dying more slowly than Archibald Yronwood had likely intended.

You thought of it sometime during the third treatment that morning.

You tried replacing the thought, but nothing useful came to mind.

Archibald's blood had soaked Jon.

Enough had gotten into his mouth that nobody could keep calling this a fouled wound.

That had been weeks ago by now.

The healers had spent most of those weeks proving how much difference there was between slowing something and stopping it.

Nothing they had done had managed the second.

Berenice pressed two fingers against Jon's throat while one of the other Springlords held his wrist.

Jon lay beneath several blankets despite the Dornish heat.

His face had lost enough color that Ghost looked vibrant beside him.

You kept one hand against Jon's chest and pushed against the same wrongness you'd been fighting since Yronwood.

At first there had been places where the corruption gathered.

Now there wasn't any useful edge left to find.

"Again, but don't push any harder."

Berenice kept watching Jon instead of you.

"You'll need enough left for later."

"If I could clear the rest, I'd spend it."

"You can't, so don't be stupid."

She nodded toward your hand.

"Just keep that part quiet."

The Springlord at Jon's wrist shifted his grip.

"His breathing's going again."

Berenice nodded without looking away.

"Lungs first, then."

You kept the pressure exactly where it was while they worked.

You'd learned enough by now to stop improvising when Berenice already had everyone doing something useful.

The corruption resisted without behaving like anything alive enough to hate.

It didn't pull away or gather somewhere else.

It simply sat inside Jon and made everything his body tried to do harder.

You pushed while Berenice worked around it.

After several minutes, Jon's breathing eased.

Nobody smiled when that happened anymore.

Two weeks earlier, everyone would've called it a victory.

Three days earlier, you would've taken it as good news.

Now everyone waited for the improvement to disappear.

It lasted nearly an hour this time.

By evening, Jon was worse again.

You slept because Berenice threatened to have Robb carry you out if you refused.

Robb was standing close enough to hear her.

He looked at you.

You looked back.

Then the bastard cracked his knuckles.

You went to sleep before he could enjoy himself.

The next morning started the same way.

You ate because Jon was sleeping and Berenice wouldn't let you near him until they'd finished checking him.

Then you went back and helped again.

You left long enough to deal with two Infantry reports that would've taken most of an ordinary morning.

When you returned, Jon had another fever.

The Green Study Group stayed near the medical tents without treating Jon like one of their plants.

They recorded what changed when you suppressed the corruption, what changed when Berenice worked without you, and what happened when you combined both approaches.

Mostly, they recorded that none of it stayed fixed.

Sam came twice during that day.

The second time, you found him sitting beside Jon when you returned.

Jon was awake enough to talk then.

They stopped when you came in, but neither looked guilty enough for it to have been about you.

Robb stopped asking whether Jon was improving and started asking whether he was stable.

Joffrey stopped asking even that after another day.

Barristan spoke to Berenice outside and came back quieter each time.

By the fourth day, stable had become ambitious.

By the fifth, conscious counted as encouraging.

That afternoon, you came back from a meal you hadn't wanted and found Berenice speaking quietly with two other Springlords.

Nobody noticed you at first.

That was unusual enough to stop you.

"If we keep purging him, we're draining what he's got left."

Berenice's voice barely carried beyond the table.

"If we stop, the fever runs."

One of the others rubbed both hands over his face.

"We're losing ground either way."

Berenice nodded once.

"I know."

That was worse than hearing them argue.

Berenice noticed you before anyone else.

Nobody tried pretending you hadn't heard them.

You stepped closer because standing in the doorway wasn't going to improve anything.

"Are we still trying to cure him?"

Berenice looked at you for a moment before answering.

"We're trying to keep him here."

You looked toward Jon through the doorway.

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"Can you keep doing this?"

"Not much longer."

A wagon rolled past outside.

Someone shouted at a mule that was ignoring him.

Several thousand people kept doing ordinary things.

You looked through the doorway toward Jon.

"What haven't we tried?"

Berenice didn't answer immediately.

That was answer enough.

"Nothing that fixes this."

The following day came apart into smaller pieces.

Another purge bought less time.

Another fever came back sooner.

Jon managed a few hours where he could still speak.

By sunset, holding half a cup of water had become enough work that you took it from him.

"You look awful."

His voice barely carried beyond the bed.

"You've looked worse every day this week."

You set the cup aside.

"I'm still winning."

Jon's mouth moved enough to count.

"Everyone looks thrilled about it."

"They're Southerners, so this might be joy."

You pulled the blanket higher over him.

Jon managed one laugh before it became coughing.

You waited until he could breathe again.

Jon shut his eyes afterward.

"You should sleep sometime."

"You first, then I'll consider it."

"I've been doing that all week."

"You've been doing it badly."

Jon opened one eye.

"You've somehow been worse."

You almost promised tomorrow would be better.

Jon would've known better.

"We're still working."

Jon watched you for a moment.

Then he nodded.

You stayed until Berenice threw you out again.

That night, Berenice sent for you before anyone needed to explain why.

Robb was already beside Jon when you arrived.

Barristan stood near the head of the bed.

Joffrey stood a little behind Robb with one hand resting on the back of an empty chair.

Ghost had pressed himself against the frame hard enough that someone had given up trying to move him.

Jon was awake when you came in.

That made everything worse.

Every breath looked like something he had to remember.

Berenice had stopped pretending any of the work could be hidden from him.

Robb sat close enough that their knees nearly touched.

Joffrey stayed where Jon could see him without crowding the bed.

Jon looked at Robb for a while.

"I don't think I'm getting home."

Robb's jaw tightened.

"Shut up."

Jon managed a smile.

"Tell Sansa she still cheats at cards."

"She'll say you can't prove it."

"She always says that."

Robb laughed once and wiped at his face like something had gotten in his eye.

Nobody was stupid enough to mention it.

Jon had to stop for breath afterward.

Berenice moved closer and checked him herself.

When Jon could speak again, he turned toward Barristan.

"Thank you, Lord Commander."

Barristan stayed very still.

"For what, Ser Jon?"

Jon swallowed before answering.

"For treating me like I might matter."

Barristan looked away for a heartbeat.

When he looked back, his voice was steady.

"You managed that part yourself."

Jon glanced toward Joffrey afterward.

Joffrey gave him one short nod.

Jon returned it.

Neither of them tried turning it into anything larger.

Jon shut his eyes.

For a moment, you thought he'd finished.

Then he found you again.

"Wulfric, come here."

You were already moving before he finished.

"I'm here."

His fingers moved weakly against yours.

You closed your hand around them.

He was cold enough that you wanted another blanket even though it wouldn't help.

Jon drew another shallow breath.

"I was supposed to guard you."

"You've been useless all week."

The corner of his mouth moved.

"Sorry."

"Do better tomorrow."

Jon's fingers tightened once around yours.

Then his eyes found yours.

"You know."

You did.

Robb did too.

Barristan did.

Joffrey didn't move.

Nobody needed to say anything else.

Jon tried breathing again.

Something caught halfway through.

Berenice was moving before you understood why.

One of the other Springlords reached Jon from the opposite side.

Jon's grip loosened inside your hand.

Something old rose through everything else.

Not a lesson from the Springlords.

Not one of the exercises you'd been practicing.

Something you'd carried for years without ever finding a reason to touch.

You knew one thing about it that mattered.

Someone had to be dying.

Actually dying.

Not badly wounded, unconscious, or frightening everyone nearby.

Death's door.

You looked down at Jon and finally understood why you'd never been able to use it.

You looked toward Berenice.

"I've got one thing left."

Her eyes snapped toward you.

"What does it do?"

"I don't know."

Berenice looked ready to demand something better.

Jon failed to finish another breath.

You spoke before she could.

"It only works now."

She looked at Jon, then back at you.

"Do it."

You tightened your grip around Jon's hand.

Then you reached for something you'd never touched before.

The room disappeared into white light.

Not fire or lightning or anything with enough shape to understand.

For one instant there was only brightness and the feeling that something inside you had been torn loose.

Then the room came back.

Jon inhaled with a full breath.

Another followed without catching.

His hand tightened around yours.

Color moved back beneath his skin.

The wrongness you'd been fighting for weeks was simply gone.

You reached for it twice because the absence made less sense than finding it.

Berenice made a sound you'd never heard before.

One of the Springlords swore.

Robb's chair hit the floor behind him.

Joffrey had gone completely still.

Jon's eyes opened and found you.

That was the last thing you saw clearly.

Then the floor hit you first.

The next thing you knew, Jon was standing beside your bed.

You stared at him.

Jon stared back.

He looked healthy enough to be offensive.

His hair still needed cutting, and Yronwood had left another small scar near his jaw.

"You're standing."

"So are most healthy people."

Your throat hurt.

Everything else hurt farther away.

"How long?"

"A little over a week."

You stared at him.

"Rude."

"I said the same thing."

You tried sitting up.

That lasted less than a second.

Jon caught your shoulder.

"Don't make me put you back down."

"I'm checking you."

"You can do that from there."

"What did they find?"

"Nothing."

You looked at him again.

No fever hid behind his eyes.

No tremor ran through his hands.

His breathing sounded boring.

That was beautiful.

"Grandfather?"

"Gone."

That took longer to settle.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

When you opened them, Jon was still there.

"Thank you."

"You'd have done it."

Jon looked down.

"Yeah."

Neither of you had anything else to add.

Then exhaustion dragged you back under.

Recovery became a collection of increasing humiliations.

You stayed awake through breakfast.

Then you stayed awake through breakfast and lunch.

On the third day, you walked outside and discovered getting to the nearest patch of shade counted as serious exertion.

Robb found this extremely funny.

You could tell because he didn't even bother hiding it.

"You look happy."

"I am."

"Die."

"No."

You considered throwing the nearest cup.

The cup looked heavier than it should've.

Robb noticed that too.

His smile became unbearable.

Robb had recovered from the miracle before you'd recovered from walking.

Jon wasn't far behind him.

Sam took another day or two before he stopped watching you out of the corner of his eye.

Joffrey managed one strange conversation and then went back to being Joffrey.

Everyone else took longer.

A page who'd previously walked straight into your tent started waiting at the entrance until invited.

Two landed Captains who'd argued with you freely at Prince's Pass suddenly discovered "my lord" could be fitted into almost every sentence.

Men moved aside earlier when you passed.

A clerk bowed deeply enough that you checked whether he'd dropped something.

You blamed the army.

You had gone to sleep as one important officer among several and woken up with Joffrey preparing to hand you an army group.

People behaved differently around commanders.

That explained enough of it to ignore the rest.

Jon stayed healthy enough to become irritating again.

He trained lightly on the second day you were awake.

By the fourth, Barristan had stopped treating him like someone who'd nearly died and resumed correcting his footwork.

Every time you saw Jon moving normally, some part of you waited for the fever to return.

It never did.

The war had been less willing to wait.

Joffrey gave you the first pieces once you could sit through them.

Sam filled in the rest later.

Hellholt had fallen and Hellgate Hall was now under siege.

Salt Shore and Vaith had declared for Arianne.

The Golden Company had been pushed back around God's Grace, Sandstone, and Planky Town.

Dorne was still a mess.

It was becoming a mess that needed fewer armies sitting on it.

One report was stranger.

"Some of Grandfather's people are converting."

Joffrey tapped the page.

"Not deserting."

"To what?"

"No one agrees."

Edmure leaned closer.

"Most reports agree it hates Grandfather."

Joffrey folded his arms.

"That doesn't make it friendly."

"No."

Edmure looked down at the page.

"But it wants the people leaving him."

You looked between them.

"So, good?"

Joffrey grimaced.

"I hate questions like that."

That answered the question.

"My prohibition should cover another dangerous cult."

He tapped the report again.

"But this one is stealing Grandfather's worshippers."

"And nobody's started rotting yet."

Edmure's tone stayed dry.

Joffrey sighed.

"That is now a meaningful standard."

"So you're waiting."

"I'm waiting until someone knows enough that I don't outlaw the easiest way out."

That was all anyone knew.

Another god existed somewhere in Dorne.

It hated Grandfather.

People trying to leave Grandfather were joining it.

Nobody you trusted knew much beyond that.

The oddness around you didn't disappear.

It became easier to notice once you could walk farther than a hundred paces without needing somewhere to sit.

Knights who'd previously nodded now inclined their heads.

Men you knew by name suddenly remembered every title you possessed.

Even people who weren't under your command had started making room around you.

The ones who knew you best kept ruining it.

Robb still stole food from your plate.

Jon still insulted your balance.

Berenice remained entirely willing to order you back into bed.

Then one recovering pikeman asked whether he could have Lord Stark's blessing before returning to duty.

You looked straight toward Berenice.

Berenice suddenly became very interested in folded bandages.

"He means Jon."

"I know."

"Good."

"You could help."

"I am helping."

She folded another bandage.

"You lit half the tent."

"Allegedly."

"Then you slept for a week."

"Against my wishes."

"And Jon got completely better."

You stared at her.

"You're enjoying this."

"A little."

That explained at least some of the bowing.

Nearly killing yourself had made the story better.

You didn't think miracles were supposed to cost something.

Berenice made the situation worse several days later.

You were finally strong enough to attend a Green Study meeting without somebody threatening to carry you away.

Sam, Alyn and two Springlords, around a table covered in notes.

Berenice sat at the head of it with Jon's records in front of her.

Alyn had made himself useful quickly after joining the group.

He was good at figuring out what all witnesses agreed on and what was just people filling in gaps in memory.

One of the Springlords had spent several minutes comparing Jon's recovery against other known healing when Berenice stopped him.

"That's enough."

You looked between them.

It was the first interesting thing anyone had said for several minutes.

"Enough of what?"

Berenice gave you the look she normally reserved for patients reaching toward stitches.

"There are methods we don't discuss outside the order."

Sam's pen stopped.

Alyn looked up from the notes.

"Methods for what?"

Berenice was quiet for a moment.

Then she looked toward the other two Springlords.

Neither seemed eager to help her.

"Returning someone after death."

You stared at her.

Berenice held up one hand before you could start.

"It isn't what you did."

"You can raise dead people."

"Wulfric."

"That sounded like a yes."

Berenice exhaled through her nose.

"Under very narrow circumstances, the order has ways of restoring life after it has ended."

Sam slowly put his pen back to the page.

Alyn wasn't even pretending this was normal.

"You knew this the entire time."

"Of course I knew."

Berenice's expression hardened.

"I'm a Springlord."

That shut you up for perhaps two seconds.

"You could've done that to Jon?"

"No."

You looked at her.

Berenice leaned forward.

"If Jon had died with his body still viable, there are circumstances where we could've restored life."

"The corruption would've come back with him."

"It doesn't heal the body."

That changed the question.

Berenice tapped Jon's records.

"His lungs would've still been failing."

"His blood would've still been corrupted."

"Every piece of damage Grandfather had already done would still have been there."

"What you did removed it."

Sam leaned forward.

"So the order's method restores life to the body it has."

"Yes."

"It doesn't restore the body itself."

"No."

Alyn looked toward Berenice.

"What if you repair the damage first?"

"If we can."

Berenice looked at him.

"Sometimes there's enough left to repair."

"Sometimes there isn't."

You thought about Jon lying under the blankets.

"So if we'd waited until he died, bringing him back wouldn't have fixed anything."

"It would've put him back inside the same problem."

That sounded considerably less miraculous.

It also sounded worse.

"What about damage from being dead?"

One of the other Springlords answered this time.

"That stays too."

Berenice nodded.

"Air stops reaching the brain, the brain suffers."

"An organ is destroyed, it stays destroyed."

"Decomposition starts, we don't reverse it."

Sam's pen moved faster.

"So the useful window depends on the body."

Berenice gave him a short nod.

"More than the time."

Alyn looked between them.

"Then someone who bleeds out cleanly could be easier than somebody who takes hours to suffocate."

"Yes."

Berenice glanced toward you.

"Which is already more than I intended to explain."

You ignored that.

"What about children?"

Berenice's expression changed.

"Our oaths go farther for them."

"How much farther?"

"Far enough that we take risks we won't take for adults."

She tapped one finger against the table.

"Not far enough to bring them back to permanent agony."

Sam stopped writing.

"And adults?"

Berenice looked at him.

"Recent death."

"A body worth returning to."

"And enough privacy that we don't have every grieving family in camp tearing the medical tents apart."

You frowned.

"Privacy."

"Yes, Wulfric."

Berenice looked tired now.

That explained why you'd never seen it.

Alyn had been quiet for several moments.

You looked toward him.

"You reacted better than I did."

"I was trying not to annoy the people who can apparently raise the dead."

That was fair.

Berenice pointed at both of you.

"This conversation doesn't leave this group."

Sam looked up from his notes.

"Then why am I writing it down?"

Berenice stared at him.

Sam looked back.

Then he slowly turned the page over.

The discussion continued from there with considerably less cooperation from the Springlords.

You learned enough to understand why the order kept the practice hidden.

You did not learn enough to reproduce it.

Berenice plainly intended to keep it that way.

Alyn stayed after most people left.

Sam remained behind arguing with Berenice about what counted as recording forbidden information.

Alyn gathered several pages of safer notes.

"You look better."

"I crossed the whole room earlier."

"Robb must be crushed."

"He's surviving somehow."

Alyn smiled.

He'd started the war as exactly the sort of noble Captain nobody needed explained.

Second son of Lord Darry.

Already knighted, well equipped, and respectably connected.

Then he kept being useful.

His father had chosen the Targaryen side during Robert's Rebellion and managed to lose without doing enough to make losing impressive.

Alyn's elder brother had gone through the Greyjoy Rebellion without giving anyone much reason to revise House Darry's reputation.

Alyn had decided the family had contributed enough forgettable military history.

That part was going well.

A few days later, Joffrey confirmed the rumors and gave you an army.

"The irritating part is that they did too well."

He pushed the Stormlands map toward you.

Several places that had been contested were loyalist again.

"The garrisons."

"Exactly."

Joffrey leaned over the map.

"They took enough ground that holding it is eating the men who took it."

Rob pointed toward Storm's End.

"And the Blackfish has already gone north."

"The Vale?"

"Stannis isn't waiting."

You followed the remaining markers.

"So everyone left pulls back toward Storm's End."

"And helps Mace finish it."

Joffrey moved several pieces.

"They can't hold everything, clear the Rainwood, and support Storm's End."

"So the Rainwood gets split off."

"It gets you."

You looked up.

Joffrey looked pleased.

"I'm still recovering."

"You can recover on horseback."

"Generous."

"I try."

You looked back down.

"How much of it is open?"

"Enough that I don't expect you to fight every tree."

"Good."

"You'll have local men."

"Better."

"You also know forests."

"Some."

"I've heard there are a few trees near Long Lake."

You looked at him.

Joffrey remained completely serious.

"A few."

"Then you're overqualified."

You ignored him.

Long Lake wasn't the Rainwood.

You knew how quickly visibility disappeared, how badly wagons depended on roads, and how quickly nearby groups became useless to each other once the woods thickened.

That would have to do.

"What do you want?"

"Someone responsible."

Joffrey tapped the Rainwood.

"I don't need a glorious victory next week."

"I need someone who owns the problem."

You understood him.

Then Joffrey pointed toward Sam.

"He's coming with you."

Sam looked like he wanted to say something.

Joffrey ignored him.

"His position needs to be clearer."

Sam had already carried Colonel authority because of Willas’s support.

But his old army had carried too much baggage from Renly's brief rebellion.

Joffrey looked toward him.

"The Reach came back."

"I'm not spending ten years treating everyone who followed the wrong lord like a traitor."

Sam's expression tightened.

"You keep the Colonelcy."

Joffrey tapped the army marker.

"Logistics and operations are yours."

Sam glanced at the map.

"Fewer men."

"More trust."

Joffrey shrugged.

"Try not to make me regret either."

Sam nodded once.

"I understand."

Joffrey turned toward you.

"And don't redo everything he does."

Sam looked at you.

You looked back.

Joffrey's face turned more serious.

"And when something works because Sam did it, say so."

You understood immediately.

Barristan had done that for you often enough.

You nodded.

Joffrey returned to the map.

"One other problem."

"Naturally."

"Neither of you know how to lead cavalry."

"We'll need scouts..."

"Exactly."

Joffrey pointed toward Sam.

"He can explain it until the horses understand."

Sam frowned.

"I've never tried."

"You've thought about it."

Sam didn't answer.

Joffrey tapped Stonehelm.

"I found someone."

You knew the name.

"You'll meet him there."

The introduction could wait.

Barristan was staying near Joffrey.

That made sense.

Jaime was dead.

Joffrey had other Kingsguard, but he didn't have another Barristan Selmy.

What surprised you came afterward.

Barristan stood beside the training yard while Jon demonstrated that nearly dying hadn't improved his humility.

"You knew Jon was serving as your Lieutenant."

You nodded.

"I was Colonel."

"He was already guarding me."

Barristan looked at you for a moment.

Jon started smiling.

"Oh, stop that."

"I haven't said anything."

"Your face has."

Barristan almost smiled.

"I didn't make him Lieutenant because he happened to be standing near you."

You looked back toward him.

"Then why?"

"Because he needed the practice."

That got your attention.

Barristan glanced toward Jon.

"I've been preparing him for this since Prince's Pass."

You looked at Jon.

"You never mentioned that."

"You knew we trained."

"I knew you hit each other."

"That was the entertaining part."

Barristan rubbed his beard.

"The rest was guardsmanship."

He didn't recite every lesson.

He didn't need to.

Rotations, reliefs, approaches into command spaces, where to put men when the person being guarded refused to stay still.

Things Jon had been quietly doing more often for months.

You looked toward him again.

"It was useful."

"You could've mentioned it."

"You never asked."

That was irritatingly fair.

Barristan watched Jon for another moment.

"He was ready."

Several old details shifted.

Jon's Lieutenant rank hadn't simply followed yours.

Barristan had been preparing him.

Even Yronwood looked different afterward.

"Your army needs a Captain of Guards."

"Jon."

"Ser Jon, officially."

Jon sighed.

"You're both becoming unbearable."

Barristan ignored him.

Jon would organize guards across the army group, not simply the men nearest you.

You remained the highest priority, but Sam and the other senior officers needed protection too.

Then the old rumors came back.

Jon Snow in a white cloak.

Now he was a knight personally trained by Barristan Selmy in guardsmanship.

That was an excellent path.

You hated where it could lead.

The South had already found enough excuses to keep your kin.

You shoved the thought aside before Jon noticed.

He deserved the honor if it ever came.

Robb solved the immediate problem by giving you another knight.

Omek brought him over later that evening.

"Ser Harl of Wintertown."

The name reached you first.

Then the face caught up.

You stared.

Harl stared back.

"The east snow wall."

Harl grinned.

"Robb always put me there."

Robb looked offended.

"It mattered."

"You gave us three people."

"You kept losing."

"We had three people."

Omek waited with the patience of someone regretting every choice that had brought him here.

Harl had grown considerably since then.

The leatherworker's son you remembered had been one of the Wintertown boys Robb pulled into plays whenever he needed extra bodies.

The man standing there now wore a sword and carried Ser before his name.

Omek explained Summerhall.

Robb trapped.

Harl going back when leaving would've been safer.

Harl holding until Robb got free.

You looked toward Robb.

He nodded.

"I'd be dead."

Harl looked away.

"There were men coming."

"They weren't there."

Omek had knighted him afterward.

Harl had spent the campaign in Robb's personal guard.

Now Robb was giving him to you.

"You need him."

"Robb."

"You do."

You looked at him.

Robb just shrugged.

"He saved me once."

You nodded.

Harl came with you.

Jon became Captain of Guards.

Harl became his Lieutenant.

Jon ran the whole guard system.

Harl directly ran your own detail beneath him.

The arrangement took several days before you stopped expecting Jon personally every time something changed.

If Jon was elsewhere, Harl still had the authority.

Nothing paused until Jon came back.

Barristan had been busy.

You left Dorne several days afterward.

Walking through the first companies before departure was enough to make you regret proving you could walk.

You spent most of the first day barely standing.

This was humiliating and nobody cared.

The army moved north without waiting for your pride.

You spent the first three days waiting for disaster.

Nothing dramatic happened.

One wagon broke an axle.

Sam shifted two baggage sections before the delay reached the Infantry.

A group of Rainwood survivors arrived carrying orders that placed them beneath a lord who'd already departed.

One company appeared twice on a muster roll.

Another vanished from the paperwork completely.

Two Captains argued over several dozen wounded men returning to duty.

Eventually you accepted that these were the problems.

There were simply more of them now.

Sam looked annoyingly comfortable among all of it.

He carried lists everywhere.

He knew which roads the wagons could use before most people remembered roads could become problems.

You gave him one broad instruction and got back the few decisions that needed you.

At the first full command meeting, you called him Colonel Tarly in front of everyone.

Sam looked at you once.

Three Reach Captains heard it.

So did everyone else.

The room was quieter around you than Prince's Pass councils had ever been.

People waited when you reached for the map instead of reaching over you.

One Captain stopped himself halfway through interrupting.

You weren't certain whether that was the new command or the light.

The fifth time you walked over to check something, Sam looked up.

"Wulfric."

"What?"

"Go away."

You stared.

"I'm checking."

"I know."

"I outrank you."

"I know that too."

Sam went back to his papers.

You stood there for another moment.

Then you left because staying would've proved his point.

Alyn started doing something similar with the Infantry.

Not telling you to go away.

Getting to problems first.

The army held too many old command habits to move cleanly through instinct.

Some men had spent long enough in Prince's Pass to treat a Sergeant's advice as ordinary.

Others still reacted like a commoner speaking before a knight required investigation.

Alyn handled those collisions better than most.

One afternoon, a young landed Captain wanted two companies moved farther forward before camp.

An older Sergeant objected because the men had spent half the day repairing the road.

The Captain started explaining rank.

Alyn stopped him.

"How long were they on the road?"

The Sergeant answered.

Alyn asked how much equipment they'd moved.

The Captain answered that.

Alyn asked how many men still carried injuries from Yronwood.

Neither knew.

Alyn sent someone to check.

Twenty minutes later, the companies stayed where they were.

Nobody needed a speech afterward.

Two evenings later, you found Alyn after supper.

"Want the Infantry?"

He looked up.

"All of it?"

"That's usually what the words mean."

Alyn leaned back.

"You finally noticed you can't do everything yourself."

"I noticed nothing of the sort."

"Of course."

You sat opposite him.

Nobody nearby required titles.

"Alyn, I'm serious."

"So am I."

He set his cup down.

"I want it."

You told him what you wanted kept.

The NCO structure stayed.

Good Sergeants stayed useful even when a lord disliked hearing them.

A lord didn't lose authority because a commoner knew more about one problem.

The commoner didn't stop being right because the lord's grandfather owned more land.

Alyn listened.

Then he nodded.

"My father had the right name when Robert rebelled."

He looked at his cup.

"It didn't help much."

You waited.

"My brother had it during the Greyjoy Rebellion."

Alyn shrugged.

"Nobody remembers that either."

He looked back at you.

"I'd like to do better."

You nodded.

"Then don't waste good men."

"I wasn't planning to."

Two days later, Captain Ser Alyn Darry became Colonel of Infantry.

The title carried weight.

Captains were everywhere.

A middling lord could arrive with eighty men and call himself Captain.

Another might bring five hundred under the same title.

Colonel worked differently.

Lord Paramounts fit there naturally.

Their heirs often did too.

A second son of House Darry did not arrive there automatically.

Alyn had enough name, valor, and ability to make the jump stick.

In front of the officers, he was Colonel Darry.

Later, near the medical wagons, he was Alyn again.

The first few times he called you Wulfric afterward, other officers noticed.

Alyn noticed them noticing and kept doing it.

Teba started making himself less necessary quickly afterward.

He had spent most of the war collecting jobs nobody else owned.

Now he started throwing those jobs back.

Infantry questions went toward Alyn.

March schedules and supplies went toward Sam.

For a while, men still brought problems to Teba and got redirected.

Then they stopped.

You noticed because Teba acquired enough spare time to complain about you pushing yourself too hard.

That counted as progress.

The healing work came north with everyone else.

Owen Storm became one of the first useful cases.

He was a Rainwood bastard with an old wound beneath his ribs.

Physically, the wound had healed.

Something underneath it had not.

One of the Springlords working under Berenice stood nearby without saying anything.

You examined the scar and what sat beneath it.

The wrongness there was faint.

"There's still something there."

He nodded.

"How much?"

"Not enough to make him sick."

Owen looked down at his ribs.

"I'd rather not keep it."

"Reasonable."

The Springlord folded his arms.

"So remove it."

You looked at him.

He didn't add anything.

That was new.

You worked slowly.

The corruption came away cleanly.

When you finished, he checked your work.

"Good."

Owen thanked you and left.

Two days later, a pikeman came in with a wrist swollen twice its proper size after a fall.

Berenice looked at it, then at you.

"What are you doing?"

You told her.

She nodded once.

"Go on."

She stayed long enough to watch you start.

Then someone called her to another bed.

She never came back to finish the case for you.

The next clean cut went the same way.

You explained what you intended to do to one of the other Springlords.

He listened, nodded, and went back to his own patients.

He checked the wound afterward and moved on.

Alyn still appeared at Green Study meetings whenever Infantry allowed it.

Sometimes he brought questions from things he'd seen among the men.

Sometimes Sam arrived because one of those questions had become interesting enough to ruin his evening.

The work kept following the march.

Tulin received his own change several days later.

Long Lake's archers had stopped being only Long Lake's archers a long time ago.

They remained the core of something much larger.

Tulin had grown with them.

You made him Major of the Archers.

He cared more about the next part.

"I've got someone."

"Of course you do."

Hobb Flowers was a Reach bastard raised around the household troops of a small landed knight.

He wasn't Tulin's best shot.

Tulin barely cared.

"He gets them to wait."

Frightened archers loosed early.

Hobb's didn't do it as often.

You made him Captain.

Then Tulin brought Owen Storm.

You recognized him.

Owen looked surprised.

Tulin didn't notice.

"He's good in woods."

Tulin nodded toward him.

"Knows the Rainwood too."

"My father hunts there."

"The locals listen to him."

You looked at Owen.

He'd already survived one test you understood.

Tulin supplied another.

"Sergeant, then."

Owen blinked.

Tulin nodded like the decision had been obvious.

Your guard changed around you during the same weeks.

Jon reviewed schedules instead of merely appearing beside you.

He moved guards between officers and checked approaches into command spaces.

Harl ran the men directly around you.

The first time Jon disappeared for half a day and nothing changed, Barristan's lessons finally made sense.

Jon had learned how to make other men guard properly.

That was much more useful than simply standing beside you.

It also made the Kingsguard thought return.

You ignored it again.

You discovered something else halfway through the march.

Jon and Sam had become friends.

This was concerning for entirely reasonable reasons.

You had been unconscious for one week and people had begun forming relationships without permission.

"When did this happen?"

Sam looked up from the training sword Jon had handed him.

"When did what happen?"

"You two."

Jon grinned.

Sam sighed.

"We spoke while you were unconscious."

"A lot."

"You were unconscious for a long time."

That was annoyingly fair.

Jon tossed Sam another practice blade.

"He gets less annoying eventually."

Sam looked offended.

"You were the one asking questions."

"I made one mistake."

You looked Sam over.

Sam was too valuable to remain that bad with a sword.

"Keep training him."

Sam turned immediately.

"No."

Jon answered at the same time.

"Yes."

"You don't get a vote."

"I'm Captain of Guards."

"This isn't guarding."

"It could become guarding very quickly."

Sam closed his eyes.

You considered that settled.

By the third week, you could work through most of an ordinary day.

Long days still punished you afterward.

The army continued working whenever you stopped.

That remained suspicious.

You went looking for an Infantry problem.

Alyn had handled it.

You asked about a delayed wagon.

Sam had changed the schedule.

You noticed a weak approach toward the command camp.

Jon had moved guards there.

People had also stopped questioning whether you were well enough to make decisions.

That was useful.

The extra pause before some of them spoke was less useful.

You caught one young knight glancing toward the weirwood charm at his neck before answering you and decided not to ask.

Captain Hugh happened during the following week.

Hugh had spent long enough recovering from his old injury to hate everyone involved in medicine.

That now included you.

"I'm fine."

"You said that last week."

"I was right last week."

"You couldn't turn."

"I could turn."

"Slowly."

"Still counts."

Berenice walked past.

"No, it didn't."

Hugh waited until she left.

"I liked you better before this."

"You liked me easier to lie to."

"Exactly."

You knew the old injury well enough by then.

You knew which movements caused trouble.

You knew Hugh well enough to catch him compensating before he admitted anything.

You worked out the last lingering inflammation.

Nothing flashed or glowed.

Berenice checked him afterward.

Hugh was cleared.

You stayed beside him after she left.

"The main Long Lake Infantry needs a Captain."

Hugh stopped adjusting his boot.

Then he looked at you.

"No."

"That wasn't the question."

"There are knights."

"Plenty."

"Long Lake knights."

"A few."

"Men who won't make half the army furious."

"Less important."

Hugh stared at you.

"You mean it."

"Obviously."

There was still one largest body of Long Lake heavy Infantry.

Not everyone who marched south with you remained there.

The archers had become the core of Tulin's branch.

The heavy Infantry still needed someone.

"You know them."

Hugh said nothing.

"They know you."

"As Sergeant."

"Not anymore."

Hugh looked away.

Then he looked back.

"You can do this because they're yours."

"Yes."

You weren't placing Hugh over somebody else's hereditary following.

You were choosing who commanded your own main Infantry body.

"What happens when some lord's son objects?"

"He can object."

"And then?"

"Then he obeys Captain Hugh."

Hugh went quiet.

"That sounds terrible."

"It'll grow on you."

"I doubt that."

"You'll survive."

The public announcement mattered.

Captain Hugh, with an actual body of soldiers beneath him.

The first time you used the title in front of several noble officers, Hugh stood straighter.

Later, Alyn handed him a cup and called him Hugh.

Hugh still had the habit of supplying information and waiting for somebody better born to decide what it meant.

Alyn started wearing that habit down quickly.

You found them together several days later.

They wanted a Major.

More specifically, they wanted you to make someone you'd never met into a Major.

"Ser Gerren Holt."

Alyn sat opposite you with Hugh beside him.

You looked between them.

"Never heard of him."

"Most people haven't."

Hugh leaned forward.

"That's why we're here."

Alyn gave you the history.

Gray beard.

Hedge knight.

Very good swordsman.

Not Barristan.

Not Jaime.

Still better than most men who made a living with steel.

Gerren had spent decades doing the sort of fighting nobody wrote songs about.

Bandits.

Outlaws.

Escort work.

Household service.

Local disputes and campaign work.

He had nearly become Master-at-Arms several times.

Then something always went wrong first.

A patron died.

One household lost its money.

One promised position went to a relative.

Another disappeared when a war ended.

Nothing spectacular had ruined his career.

Life had simply turned one step too early often enough to keep him moving.

"Someone's going to keep him eventually."

Hugh spoke before Alyn could.

"I'd rather we did."

You looked toward him.

"You trust him that much?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He listens."

You waited.

Hugh rolled his eyes.

"Properly, Wulfric."

"If a Sergeant says the men can't do something, he asks why."

"If the answer's stupid, he ignores it."

"If it isn't, he changes the plan."

Alyn nodded.

"He knows when men are exhausted."

"Apparently that's rare."

"More than it should be."

You asked how much Gerren had commanded.

Alyn answered.

You asked how he handled young nobles.

Hugh laughed.

"Depends whether they're idiots."

"And you?"

Hugh looked directly at you.

"If I thought he'd be a problem with me, I wouldn't be here."

That earned him a meeting.

Ser Gerren Holt arrived an hour later.

The gray beard was accurate.

So was the armor.

Nothing matched closely enough to suggest it had been bought together.

Nothing looked badly maintained.

His sword moved when he walked like it belonged there.

Gerren bowed lower than you expected.

That had been happening more often.

"Lord Stark."

"Sit."

He did.

"You know why you're here."

"Alyn said Major."

Gerren glanced at Hugh.

"Hugh said don't embarrass them."

Hugh looked pleased.

"Have you commanded Captains?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"At once, or altogether?"

That was a good start.

You kept asking.

He had commanded noblemen before.

Some hated it.

They still followed orders.

Serving beneath a younger Colonel didn't bother him.

He'd served younger, older, better, and considerably worse men.

"What if Hugh is right and you're wrong?"

Gerren looked toward Hugh.

"Then Captain Hugh should say so before someone dies."

Hugh's expression changed.

You looked toward Alyn.

Alyn gave you nothing.

You trusted him anyway.

You trusted Hugh too.

"Major Holt."

Gerren blinked once.

Then he stood.

"Thank you, Lord Stark."

The Infantry changed again.

Alyn stood above it.

Gerren sat beneath him.

Hugh commanded the largest Long Lake body.

Plenty of other Captains and Lieutenants remained.

You had not invented an army.

You had made a few important answers clearer.

Gerren entered your healing work several days later by getting hit.

Unfortunately, it happened during training.

That deprived the injury of almost all dignity.

A large bruise covered half his side.

Berenice insisted he stop pretending it was decorative.

You handled most of the treatment.

By then, she mostly watched.

Gerren knew bruises better than most medical diagrams.

"That should last a month."

"At your age?"

Gerren looked offended.

"At my age, it might outlive me."

"Comforting."

"I value realism."

By evening, the bruise had faded enough to surprise him.

He prodded his side.

"Seven save me."

Berenice looked toward him.

You looked too.

"Gerren follows the Seven."

"I had noticed."

Gerren touched the small seven-pointed star beneath his shirt.

"The bruise hadn't."

Nobody improved on that.

Then another Seven worshipper healed normally.

Then another.

Old Gods, Seven, and men who shrugged when asked.

One man came in with a split scalp after slipping from a wagon.

By then, Berenice only asked what you saw.

You answered, treated him, and finished before noticing she'd moved on to another patient.

Another afternoon, you cleared the last traces of corruption from a recovering spearman while Berenice worked three beds away.

Nobody checked behind you afterward.

You only noticed because that had once been automatic.

Your healing didn't care about religion.

The order found that more interesting than the soldiers did.

The soldiers had already decided Lord Stark had been blessed.

If several gods wanted credit, they could fight over it themselves.

Pate of Wendwater became a different kind of problem.

You knew Pate, though not particularly well.

Early in the war, he'd panicked.

Then he'd made several worse choices trying to prove he hadn't.

Years of campaigning had turned him into a decent officer.

His current men still remembered the frightened boy.

Gerren noticed the problem.

Hugh agreed.

Pate gave sensible orders.

His men obeyed too slowly.

Someone else said the same thing and got a cleaner response.

Promoting Pate over them would only make it worse.

So you promoted him somewhere else.

Lieutenant Pate transferred to another company.

Those men knew the officer he'd become.

His old group still needed a Sergeant.

Wat was already doing most of the work.

Wat had no surname anyone used.

His parents had been seasonal farm laborers.

Nothing before the war suggested command.

During the war, frightened men kept looking toward him.

That was enough.

"Sergeant Wat, they're yours."

Wat stared.

Then he looked at Hugh.

Then back at you.

"Me, sir?"

"Yes, you."

He still looked confused.

That wasn't a bad sign.

He accepted.

Will of Bitterbridge took longer because Will kept doing two jobs.

He was a perfectly good spearman.

He was a much better baker.

His family had fed travelers passing through Bitterbridge.

Will knew what bad flour could still become.

He knew what damp wood did to ovens.

He knew how to feed soldiers with cooks who considered measuring things suspicious.

The army around him ate better.

Other kitchens borrowed him.

His own company complained.

This continued until Will cut his hand in a kitchen he didn't officially belong to.

The injury was clean and simple.

You examined it, cleaned it, closed what needed closing, and checked the movement afterward.

Will flexed his fingers.

"That's strange."

"Pain?"

"No."

He flexed them again.

"That's the strange part."

You looked around.

No Springlord stood behind you.

Berenice wasn't waiting to inspect anything.

Nobody was preparing to correct whatever you'd missed.

You had simply treated him.

Then you looked at Will's spear leaning against the wall.

"This is stupid."

Will froze.

"My hand?"

"No."

"Good."

"You're a baker."

"Yes."

"You're also a spearman."

"Also yes."

"And every kitchen steals you."

Will looked toward one of the cooks.

The cook found flour fascinating.

You made Will Corporal and moved him into the kitchens permanently.

His new rank gave him enough authority to stop begging unrelated officers for what the ovens needed.

It also meant he only had one full job again.

Merren of Maidenpool followed after another river crossing.

The bridge was damaged.

The ford was worse.

Three people started arguing about boats.

Merren was already waist-deep in the water checking a rope.

His father had been a ferryman.

Merren had grown up around boats, currents, cargo, and people discovering water was stronger than optimism.

This wasn't the first crossing he'd helped solve.

It was simply the first time you stopped afterward and asked why he was still a spearman.

Sergeant Merren moved into transport and crossings.

Torren Hund followed after an entire group of replacements vanished on paper.

They hadn't vanished physically.

Torren knew exactly where they'd gone.

"Ser Lucas's second company."

Sam looked down at the roll.

"That's nowhere on here."

"It should be."

"How'd you find them?"

"Cards."

Sam stared.

Torren shrugged.

That explained enough.

You made him a Lieutenant and attached him to muster and replacements.

During the conversation, Torren again tried explaining exactly how he was related to Cinaed.

You followed someone's mother's cousin.

Then somebody married somebody else.

Then a great-uncle entered the explanation.

You raised one hand.

"Cinaed says you're related."

"Yes."

"You're a Hund."

"Yes."

"Then we're done."

Torren looked disappointed.

You remained unmoved.

Rafe Storm came through Sam and Teba.

You knew the name vaguely.

You didn't know the man.

That had started happening more often.

Rafe's father hauled timber and charcoal along Stormlands roads.

Rafe had learned wagons usually warned people before breaking.

He checked ropes, wheels, axles, loads, and teams before they became problems.

Teba had relied on him for months because Rafe's wagons almost never became interesting.

Sam considered this an excellent quality.

Rafe received formal responsibility over a larger baggage section.

He needed everyone to know the wagons were his problem.

The healing work kept getting easier to miss because the cases stopped being memorable.

Cuts, bruises, swelling, stable wounds, and familiar corruption came through.

You treated them between councils, marches, meals, and whatever else the army had decided needed you that day.

Berenice and the other Springlords stepped in less each week.

At first they'd told you what to do.

Then they watched.

Then they asked what you planned.

Then they checked afterward.

Eventually, they stopped checking the easy ones.

One morning, Berenice stopped you after rounds.

"Wulfric."

You looked over.

"That tone usually means trouble."

"Not today."

That was almost worse.

She led you away from the busiest cots.

"You keep waiting for permission."

"For difficult cases."

"For easy ones too."

"You're better than me."

"Obviously."

You stared at her.

"Modesty is thriving."

Berenice ignored that.

"You don't need supervision for ordinary treatment anymore."

You looked back toward the patients.

She pointed.

"The cut this morning."

"The swollen knee yesterday."

"Gerren's bruise."

"The corruption cases."

You looked back at her.

"You're serious."

"I usually am about medicine."

That was true enough.

"If you'd entered the order normally, we'd stop calling you a student now."

That landed harder than expected.

"What would you call me?"

"A junior Springlord."

You looked back toward the medical tents.

That felt stranger than Colonel ever had.

"What shouldn't I touch?"

Berenice smiled.

"Better question."

Complicated diagnoses.

Serious internal injuries.

Unfamiliar diseases.

Dangerous wounds.

Magic you didn't recognize.

"You can handle ordinary medicine."

She folded her arms.

"More importantly, you know when something isn't ordinary."

"And corruption?"

Berenice's mouth twisted.

"Some of that, you're better at than I am."

Coming from her, that meant considerably more.

You had spent months helping healers.

Somewhere on the road north, that had changed.

No ceremony marked it.

Nobody handed you different clothes.

If an ordinary wounded man arrived now, you were one of the people qualified to treat him.

That still felt strange.

The army had changed in much the same quiet way.

Alyn received Infantry reports without you seeing them first.

Gerren coordinated Captains beneath him.

Hugh commanded Long Lake's main Infantry.

Tulin ran the archers.

Hobb handled more of the direct formations.

Owen moved among guides and woodland archers.

Jon managed guard assignments.

Harl ran the men directly around you.

Sam touched almost every day of the march without pretending to command every branch himself.

Teba became less necessary wherever someone else owned the work.

Will ran kitchens.

Merren handled crossings.

Torren knew where transferred men had gone.

Rafe's wagons remained pleasantly dull.

Pate did well among men who didn't remember him panicking.

Wat did well among men who'd already chosen him.

The old army hadn't disappeared.

Lords still arrived as Captains because they were lords.

Their sons still became Lieutenants because fathers trusted sons.

Knights still carried weight common men didn't.

Names and prestige still mattered.

Gerren's gray beard and Ser could make arrogant Captains listen before Hugh's better argument reached them.

Alyn's name made his Colonelcy easier to swallow.

Hugh's Captaincy worked partly because the men were yours to place beneath him.

None of that bothered you.

It worked better now.

Alyn and Hugh grew closer while everything settled.

You noticed the first time Hugh interrupted him without apologizing.

Alyn was explaining where he wanted two companies placed for the next day's march.

Hugh shook his head.

"That puts us behind Morton."

"Yes."

"He stops early."

"His baggage is slow."

"He likes supper."

Alyn looked at the map.

Hugh pointed toward one road.

"If we're behind him, we'll spend every afternoon inside his wagons."

Alyn shifted the marker.

"Morton goes behind you."

Hugh nodded.

Nothing else needed saying.

By the final two weeks, you were healthy enough to become annoying again.

That was when you discovered how many old habits had become unnecessary.

You went to inspect an Infantry dispute.

Alyn had already settled it.

You checked why the column had slowed.

Sam had changed the next day's schedule.

You noticed an exposed path toward the command camp.

Jon had moved guards there.

You went to the medical tents after hearing an officer had been wounded.

The Medcorps had already treated him.

Another man had internal bleeding.

They had correctly not sent that man to you.

You knew enough medicine now to know he needed somebody better.

That should've been satisfying.

It was... mostly.

One evening, you finished a meeting with Sam and walked the length of camp to find Hugh.

Halfway through the conversation, you stopped.

Hugh looked over.

"What?"

You thought back through the day.

You'd ridden since morning.

You'd walked the camp twice.

You'd worked in the medical tents.

You'd sat through three meetings.

You'd trained with Jon before supper and regretted only Jon.

You hadn't once thought about conserving energy.

"I'm better."

Hugh stared.

"Finally."

"You knew?"

"Everyone knew."

You looked at him.

Hugh shrugged.

"You were the last one."

That was plausible enough to be annoying.

The weakness didn't return the next morning.

Or the one after that.

Saving Jon had taken nearly the whole journey out of you.

You would pay it again without thinking.

There had never been anything to decide there.

Stonehelm drew closer during the final week.

The country changed before the castle appeared.

Trees mattered more.

Roads mattered more.

Owen and the other Rainwood men became more useful with every mile.

Dense woods broke sight lines.

Minor roads became the only roads wagons could use.

Nearby groups became useless to each other once the trees thickened.

You knew forests.

You didn't know this forest.

Owen did.

That was why he was here.

By then, the one obvious senior gap left was cavalry.

You had mounted men, knights, and Captains whose idea of military dignity required a horse.

Nobody owned the cavalry the way Alyn owned Infantry or Tulin owned archery.

Sam understood cavalry perfectly well on paper.

You could use it competently in battle.

Joffrey had still been right.

You needed someone who thought in horses before anything else.

That commander was waiting at Stonehelm.

The castle finally came into view near the end of the second month.

You'd spent six weeks traveling toward it.

Most of the people behind you were the same people who'd left Dorne.

The command around them wasn't.

Sam rode somewhere behind the forward companies carrying enough paper to kill a lesser man.

Alyn had the Infantry.

Gerren sat beneath him as the Major Alyn and Hugh had found without your help.

Hugh commanded Long Lake's main Infantry with enough authority that nobody treated it as temporary anymore.

Tulin had the archers.

Hobb had taken more of the direct command.

Owen had stopped being the man with corruption beneath his ribs.

Now he was someone you expected to listen to once the trees became a battlefield.

Jon had the guards.

Harl had the men directly around you.

The medical tents no longer treated you like a lord with useful magic who occasionally helped.

If an ordinary wounded man needed a medic, you counted.

People still moved aside a little earlier than they used to.

Some bowed lower.

Some waited for you to speak first.

By then, you had stopped trying to decide how much came from the army and how much came from Jon.

Stonehelm grew larger ahead.

Beyond it waited the Rainwood.

Inside it waited the cavalry commander Joffrey had chosen.

Meeting him could wait until tomorrow.

For today, this was enough.

-----

Skills:

Pursuits:

Martial:

(12) Physical Form - 245/400 (+5)

(11) Westerosi Swordsmanship - 195/300 (+5)

(12) Archery - 200/400 (+10) (Gifted)

(13) Heavy Armour - 280/500 (+30) (Prodigious)

Avocations:

(12) Equestrianism - 75/400 (+10) (Talented)

(10) Hunting - 20/200 (+0)

(10) Seacraft - 50/200 (+5) (Knack)

(7) Fishing - 60/100 (+0)

(6) Swimming - 40/100 (+0)

(6) Climbing - 60/100 (+0)

Scholarly:

Applied:

(12) Accounting - 335/400 (+25) (Prodigious)

(7) Northern Law - 85/100 (+5) (Knack)

(7) General Westerosi Law - 80/100 (+10) (Knack)

(9) Castrametation - 30/100 (+40) (Knack)

(4) Poliorcetics - 85/100 (+0)

Contextual:

(10) Mathematics - 30/200 (+20) (Knack)

(11) Northern History - 5/300 (+5) (Knack)

(8) Northern Cultures - 80/100 (+0)

(8) Westerosi History - 65/100 (+5)

(7) Westerosi Cultures - 75/100 (+10)

(7) Common Literacy - 80/100 (+30)

(6) Valyrian Literacy - 35/100 (+5)

Social:

Public:

(14) Management - 250/500 (+50) (Prodigious)

(9) Stewardship - 45/100 (+25) (Knack)

(12) Strategy - 290/400 (+25) (Prodigious +)

(10) Public Speaking - 70/200 (+50) (Skilled)

Personal:

(12) Interpersonal Communication - 245/400 (+35) (Skilled)

(5) Acting (Lying/Politics) - 90/100 (+5) (Incapacity)

(11) Common Speaking - 280/300 (+40) (Knack)

(11) Old Tongue Speaking - 230/300 (+15) (Knack)

(8) Valyrian Speaking - 30/100 (+5) (Knack)

Magic:

(1) Theory of Magic - 30/100 (+5)

- (1) Potentium: Heartsense + Warging - 40/100 (+20)

(19) Verdancy:

- (11) The Green Aura - 90/300 (+30) (Talented)

- - (3) The Green Touch - 30/100 (+0)

- (6) The Green Knowledge - 20/100 (+5) (Knack)

(37) Potentium:

- (1) Potentium Studies - 90/100 (+5)

- (4) Combat Intuition - 40/100 (+0)

- (2) Clairsentience - 10/100 (+0)

- - (11) Heartsense - 110/200 (+50)

- (6) Warging - 100/100 (+50) (Talented)

- - (3) Warging Theory - 75/100 (+5) (Knack)

- (3) Somatic Insight - 20/100 (+25) (Knack)

- - (6) Force Healing - 30/100 (+35) (Gifted)

- - (6) Healing Trance - 80/100 (+50) (Knack)

(7) Enchanting:

- (6) Westerosi Runes Theory - 100/100 (+0)

- (1) Westerosi Runes Practice - 100/100 (+0)

(18) Adamancy:

- (8) Armored Recuperation - 85/100 (+15)

- (5) Burden Opponent - 70/100 (+0)

- (3) Ending Blow - 100/100 (+0)

- (3) Ocular Renewal - 20/100 (+5)

- (2) Cold Resistance - 10/100 (+0)

(5) Numinance:

- (2) Revive - 100/100 (+100)

- (4) Sensor Shroud - 50/100 (+25) (Knack)

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Resources:

Earning: 9

Spending: 0

Banked: 123

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Rolls for Next Turn:

T3 = Objects/Effect on Another Place

L3 = Slightly Inconvenient

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Voting:

Main Actions: (What should we focus on in the next chapter?)

A1 - Focus on the needs, wants, and skills of the Common Soldiers and Non-Coms.

A2 - Focus on your Reputation with your Lords and underlings Commanders.

A3 - Work on your Understanding of Magic with the Medcorps and Green Study Group.

A4 - Work on Physical Skills & Magics by training with and against the Martial-Minded like Jon.

A5 - Focus on your Army's Strategic and Logistical situation. (War Games, Runes, etc.)

Personal Rolls Sources:

S1 - Wikipedia

S2 - Steam Games

S3 - Wookiepedia

S4 - World Rolls List (On Cooldown)

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Information/Maps:

1 - Rainwood War Map

File Garden - Imgur - Catbox

Key:

Red - Baratheon Loyalist Coalition (Wulfric’s Army)

Blue - Stannis’s Rebels + R'hllor Support (Davos as Lord of the Rainwood)

2 - Varys The Spider’s War Map

File Garden - Imgur - Catbox

Key:

Red - Baratheon Loyalist Coalition (King Joffrey Baratheon)

Blue - Stannis’s Rebels + R'hllor Support + Privateers + Euron

Purple - Aegon Blackfyre (Grandfather’s Slaves + JonCon’s Atheists + Cult of Loec )

Yellow - Independent Veil (Arryn Loyalists + Mountain Clan Rebels)

3 - Long Lake Province - Lands and Governance Map (Updated)

Imgur - File Garden - Catbox

4 - Full Planetos Map

Note: Not accurate to Westeros or Western Essos/Free Cities.

5 - Wulfric’s Army Structure (In Levels of Official Priority)

1 - Commander of the Army - Lord Wulfric Stark of Long Lake.

2 - Colonel of Army Logistics - Lord Samwell Tarly of Horn Hill.

2 - Colonel of Army Cavalry and Scouts - Lord/Sir ??? of ???.

3 - Colonel of Infantry - Sir Alyn Darry of Castle Darry.

3 - Captain of the Guard - Sir Jon Snow.

3 - Captain of the Medcorps - Berenice Renatus of the Springlords.

3 - Whatever Lord Stark needs him to be - Lord Teba of Clan Rito.

4 - Major of Archers - Tulin Rito of Clan Rito.

4 - Major of Infantry - Ser Gerren Holt (#2 of Infantry)

5 - More specific Majors who lead 3-5 Captains.

6 - Actual Captains like Hugh or Hobb (or Sir Alyn used to be).

7 - “Captains” aka any Lord who brought their own men, but isn’t actually doing a Captain's job.

7 - Head of Lord Stark's Personal Guard - Sir Harl of Wintertown

8 - Actual Lieutenants like Pate.

8 - Any other Springlord.

8 - Any Septons and Septas.

9 - Important Sergeants like Owen or Wat.

9 - Hedge Knights and the like with real experience.

9 - Noble Born Aids/Squires of Important People

10 - “Lieutenants” aka any non-Lord Nobility who are just around.

10 - Whatever he does for Lord Stark - Omek.

10 - Non-Noble Aids/Squires of Important People

11 - Corporals.

11 - Medics.

11 - Cooks.

12 - Common Soldiers.

13 - Child “Soldiers” (12-15yrs who act as “squire” to Sergeants/Corporals or as team Mascot.)

13 - Various Pets (Janus, Jinx, Ghost, Sam’s Pet Rock, etc.).

13 - Horses.

14 - Actual Children (anyone under 12 who somehow ended up with some sort of task/job).

15 - Adult Camp Followers.

16 - Child Camp Followers

17 - Regular POWs.

17 - Animals for Eating Later.

18 - (Theoretical) Drowned God or Loec Followers.

19-98 - Literally any other thing.

99 - Grandfather or R'hllor Follower POWs (only kept alive if politically important.)

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Write-In/Questions:

1 - Any Ideas for who the 3rd Commander of our Army Should be?

Ideally this is someone we establish a connection with, who can help rally support and come to our aid during the Long Night.

They need to be someone a bit older and decently respectable to balance out Wulfric and Sam

It shouldn’t be anyone from the Reach, Iron Islands or Dorne

They need to be from an important but not paramount house: Bolton, Manderly, Karstark, Umber, Blackwood, Bracken, Crakehall, Marbrand, Lefford, Swann, Dondarrion, Rosby, Stokeworth, etc.

Beyond that, if anyone has a favorite Lord/Knight or would like to invent an OC, now is the time for that…

(If nobody has a pick/makes an OC, then it’ll probably be Jason Mallister and his son Patrek.)