Game of Thrones: The Frozen Throne

Eddard Stark stood by the sea alongside his bastard son, Jon Snow, his ward, Domeric Bolton, and his other ward, Theon Greyjoy, gazing out over the waters of the Bay of Seals.

Since arriving at Winterfell as a ward at the age of ten, Theon had not seen the sea. Now, standing by the shore again, he was overwhelmed with excitement. He removed his boots, walked barefoot along the beach, then returned to Eddard.

"Lord Stark, to once again smell the salt in the air, to hear the crashing of the waves—I feel my blood stirring."

The Ironborn were born to the sea. Most Northerners, descendants of the First Men, had little interest in conquest over the waves. Because of this, Skagos, the island beyond the Bay of Seals, had remained beyond the direct rule of House Stark.

Domeric Bolton looked eastward. "Lord Stark, Skagos lies somewhere beyond the eastern edge of the bay. We are about to set foot on an island scarcely mentioned in the ancient records of the Citadel or Winterfell's own library. I will complete my book on the Rockborn—"The Forgotten Corner: A Complete Record of Skagos and Its Rockborn.""

Theon snorted. "Who would read a book about the Rockborn? A bunch of cannibal savages. And, Domeric, you might want to shorten that title—no one's going to care about something so long-winded."

Domeric replied calmly, "I'll consider it. But I have a feeling this will be a great adventure. Once the White Harbor fleet arrives, the Northern army will strike like a hammer, crushing the Rockborn. The so-called 'Stone King' Samlor Crowl will be forced to his knees, and the wicked queen hiding on Skagos—be she the Iron Whore or Helyna Pyke—will fall alongside her schemes, swept away by Northern steel."

Jon Snow nodded. "I agree. King Daeron I conquered Dorne without drawing a sword—we can do the same with Skagos."

Eddard sighed. "And yet Daeron could not hold Dorne. Thousands died for his conquest. Jon, tell me—if the North defeats the Stone King and his Rockborn warriors, and the army returns home, can we truly hold that island?"

"We can." Jon's tone left no room for doubt. "We leave behind a garrison. If anyone rebels, they are executed. In time, they will bend the knee."

Eddard shook his head. "That is a dangerous thought. Rule through fear alone will never earn loyalty. When Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters brought Westeros to heel, they held dragons—but had they burned every lord and king who opposed them, Aegon would have ruled only over ash and bone."

Domeric added, "Regardless, Lord Stark, the Northern army will break the Rockborn. They are raiders at best. The moment they see us coming, they will scatter like the wind."

Eddard wished he could share the young man's confidence. Theon, Domeric, and even Jon—who had never seen battle—boasted of their skirmishes along the coast of the Bay of Seals. But they did not understand. The true battle awaited across the water, on the shores of Skagos.

Though the Northern army had camped by the bay for only two days, it felt to Eddard like two years. The White Harbor fleet had yet to arrive. Where in the Seven Hells had Wylis Manderly taken his ships?

The fleet was a ragtag collection—Pentoshi mercenary galleys, longships hired from the Three Sisters, great merchant cogs from Lys, whaling ships from Ibben, Summer Islander swan ships, and trading vessels from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Even some fishing boats from Oldtown and Widow's Watch had been pressed into service.

Ser Herman Tallhart, overseeing supplies, had taken stock of their rations. "Enough to last the army two months. If we stretch it, maybe three. Greatjon Umber has also offered Winter provisions from Last Hearth."

Yet even with ample supplies, Eddard felt the weight of the campaign pressing down on him. Winterfell's coffers were empty. The debt to the Iron Bank stood at fifty thousand golden dragons. Another ten thousand had been borrowed from Lord Wyman Manderly. No Stark before him had ever been so deeply in debt.

If Wylis Manderly's fleet had suffered misfortune at sea and could not reach them, the war would be lost before it had even begun.

Without ships, the army could not cross the water. Eddard would have no choice but to send his bannermen and their soldiers back home. All the coin spent to assemble this force would be wasted. And if the army dispersed, the pirates of Skagos would return, raiding the coasts of House Umber, House Karstark, and House Bolton with impunity.

If this expedition failed, Eddard had no doubt that the Rockborn and Ironborn raiders would plague the North's eastern shores for years. The Stone King had forges and shipyards on the island—his strength would only grow. And Eddard doubted he could ever again rally an army of this size for another campaign against Skagos.

Already, his maester, Luwin, and his wife, Catelyn, had opposed this war. If they had their way, it would be the last time he ever led an army to the island. His vassals would not support another costly venture. If Winterfell failed to end the threat now, the Iron Whore, Helyna Pyke, and the Stone King would remain hidden in their stronghold, their legend growing in the shadows of Skagos.

Without a fleet, they could not cross the sea. Eddard turned to Domeric. Luwin had remained behind at Winterfell, leaving Domeric responsible for ravens and messages.

"Before I left Winterfell, I instructed your father, Roose Bolton, to do whatever was necessary to ensure White Harbor's fleet reached us safely. By now, the fleet should have passed along the Dreadfort's coastline. Why has your father sent no word?"

Domeric pondered for a moment. "Lord Stark, we have spent the past days marching. Even if my father released a raven, finding us in the field would be difficult. And even if he did send a message, who's to say some hunter or hawk did not bring the bird down?"

"If White Harbor's fleet has arrived, they and the Dreadfort's forces would have crushed any pirates in their path. My father may have boarded the ships himself, sailing for the Bay of Seals. I suggest sending outriders to Karhold—House Karstark's coast may provide some sign of the fleet."

Eddard exhaled. "So be it. Tell Jory Cassel to send my household guard to Karhold. They are to ride hard and ask Lord Rickard Karstark whether the fleet has passed."

A long, mournful horn tore through the air.

Eddard turned sharply.

Out on the bay, a fleet of ships approached, banners flying high. Upon them, he saw the sigil of House Manderly—a merman gripping a trident.

At last, the White Harbor fleet had arrived.

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