Game of Thrones: The Frozen Throne

Edd stood atop the hillside, gazing down as the Rockborn warriors of Skagos surged from all directions.

Most of them were clad in thick, foul-smelling animal hides. Only a few wore plate armor or chainmail, just as Edd had predicted. It seemed likely that the Rockborn had forged some kind of alliance with the Ironborn. Even if there were Ironborn forges on the island, they wouldn't have been able to supply large quantities of armor in such a short time.

The pirates who had appeared along the northern coastline and the waters surrounding Skagos had been well-armored. It was clear that the so-called King of the Rocks, the Iron Whore, and Helaena Pyke had prioritized equipping their raiders, leaving the island's defenders with only scraps. Many Rockborn warriors lacked even leather armor.

However, their weapons were of fine craftsmanship. Nearly every warrior wielded a battle axe or a longsword, a sign that Skagos' forges produced far more weapons than armor.

Down in the encampment, "Big Barrel" Worr of the mountain clans, Donnor Flint, and Morgan Riddle barked orders as their warriors clashed with the Rockborn in brutal melee. "Iron-Leg" Wotan of Dreadfort charged into the enemy lines atop his grey warhorse, leading his cavalry into the fray.

Edd's guard, Dawson, rushed down the hill to join the battle, wielding his double-bladed axe like a whirlwind. He tore through the Rockborn ranks with devastating efficiency.

Then came the hail of arrows. The Rockborn archers loosed their volleys, darkening the sky. Flaming arrows rained down upon the encampment, setting Lord Severn's tents ablaze.

Missiles struck the hillside as well. A soldier from Bear Island screamed in agony as an arrow pierced his arm.

Jory Cassel, captain of the Winterfell guard, unsheathed his sword. "My lord, this is no place for you! You must take shelter in your tent!"

Edd fixed his gaze on the direwolf banners fluttering in the wind. "The Rockborn aim to drive us back into the sea. If our lines break, do you think a tent will keep me safe? No. I will stay and fight alongside my men."

Jory deflected an incoming arrow with his blade. "My lord, it is too dangerous here! If you won't take cover in your tent, at least retreat to the ships—Greybeard Casseren's vessel can offer you safety."

The battlefield roared with chaos. Cavalry from Creekflow, pikemen from Cahor, knights from White Harbor, and the fierce warriors of the mountain clans fought valiantly, shouting, "For Winterfell!" "For House Stark!" The air was thick with the stench of salt, blood, and sweat.

Haeward and Verr, two of Edd's sworn guards, stood by his side. Suddenly, a fist-sized rock came hurtling from nowhere and struck Verr's head. His skull exploded like a melon, spraying blood and brain matter as he collapsed lifeless into the dirt.

Edd recoiled in horror. Haeward gasped, his face pale with shock.

Another stone—this one larger and oval-shaped—sped toward Edd. At the last moment, Syrio Forel, the Braavosi water dancer, yanked him aside.

The rock whizzed past, barely missing Edd's face, and smashed into the ground, leaving a deep crater.

The sun dipped westward, casting a golden haze over the battlefield. Then came the sound of drums from the Rockborn lines—a signal for retreat. The enemy warriors withdrew like a receding tide, vanishing into the forests and mountains. They left behind a field of corpses and wounded men.

Haeward knelt over Verr's body, sobbing. Verr had grown up in Winterfell, trained under Ser Rodrik Cassel, and had been close to Edd's children. To see him killed so suddenly, by something as simple as a stone, filled Edd with grief.

"These savages… they use rocks as weapons."

If Syrio hadn't reacted in time, Edd might have shared Verr's fate.

Syrio said, "My lord, I have heard tales of Skagos from my time in Braavos. It is said that the Rockborn practice brutal forms of execution using stones. Among them are slingers with deadly accuracy, comparable to the famed Tholos slingers of the East. The difference is that the Tholos warriors use lead projectiles, while the Rockborn use stones."

Slingers… another deadly foe for the Northern army to contend with. The Rockborn might run out of iron, but they would never run out of stones.

Roose Bolton approached. "Lord Edd, the enemy is in retreat. We should send cavalry to pursue them."

Edd frowned. "Retreat? No, this looks more like a calculated withdrawal. Do not pursue. The Rockborn are far craftier than we assumed. This could be a trap."

Domeric Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort, stood nearby, his armor soaked in blood. Roose's eyes widened. "Domeric! Are you wounded?"

Domeric smiled. "Father, do not worry. This is not my blood."

Roose's expression darkened. "Reckless bravado is not the mark of a wise man. Lord Edd commanded you to oversee the ravens, yet you ran off to fight. What if the Rockborn had killed you?"

"My spear and my horse are more than enough to handle these Rockborn," Domeric replied confidently.

Edd studied him. "Domeric, you have fought them firsthand. What do you make of these warriors?"

"They are far tougher than I expected." Domeric's gaze swept over the battlefield, littered with bodies. "I have read many histories. The maesters often compare the Rockborn to the wildlings beyond the Wall. But we all know the truth—wildlings, or 'free folk,' are undisciplined and chaotic. Even when past Kings-Beyond-the-Wall gathered large hosts, their armies were never a true threat to the Seven Kingdoms."

"But these Rockborn are different. They are disciplined. Why? They worship the Old Gods, just like the wildlings. They are primitive, savage. So why is there such a vast difference between them?"

Edd thought for a moment. "Perhaps it is geographical. The wildlings beyond the Wall roam a vast and desolate land. No one knows how large it truly is. They live as nomads, moving freely. When wildling clans lose battles, they simply relocate."

"But the Rockborn of Skagos are different. They are bound to this island. Their clans have fought one another for thousands of years in constant warfare. If a Rockborn clan is defeated, they lose their home. This harsh reality has forged them into disciplined warriors who revere strength."

As Edd, Roose Bolton, and Greatjon Umber walked across the blood-soaked field, they noticed that the corpses were all Rockborn—towering men clad in beast hides.

Not a single Ironborn pirate lay among them.

"Where are the Ironborn?" Edd murmured.

Greatjon scoffed. "I'd wager they fled with Helaena Pyke and the Iron Whore. The Ironborn have longships. The moment they saw the North mustering its forces, they must have set sail and abandoned the Rockborn to die."

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