Game of Thrones: The Frozen Throne

Under the starlit night, along the coastline of House Umber's territory in the North, Ser Herman Tallhart stood at the bow of his ship, gripping his longsword. He was clad in dark green armor, with the three trees of House Tallhart emblazoned on his breastplate. His gaze was fixed on the patrol boats in the distance.

Ser Herman's son, Benfred Tallhart, was sixteen—the same age as Theon Greyjoy. He had been given the opportunity to follow the army on this campaign. Benfred was a tall and burly young man, with a thick neck like a bull calf, and he had always been a loud and restless youth.

"Father, I don't understand. The war is being fought on Skagos, across the Bay of Seals, yet we're stuck here counting seals. What's the point of this? I should be fighting alongside my friend Theon. Why does he get to go to battle while I'm left behind?"

Ser Herman sighed. "I protested to Lord Eddard as well, saying I wanted to be on the front lines. But he told me that guarding the supplies and baggage was just as important. Benfred, don't forget—two-thirds of the Northern army's provisions are here. The mercenary ships from Pentos and the Sistermen's fleet have sailed with Lord Eddard to Skagos, so we must remain vigilant."

Benfred scoffed. "Isn't that what the Manderly boys are for? Just look at Ser Wylis and Ser Wendel with their enormous bellies—they seem born to guard food. The supplies are safe aboard the ships; what risk could there be? By now, our army must have already landed on Skagos, and the pirates will have retreated to defend their island stronghold."

Ser Herman's eyes remained locked on the tranquil sea. A flock of seagulls glided past.

"No matter what, I won't lower my guard. Benfred, send word to the patrol boats—tell them to keep their eyes sharp. If they spot even a single longship, they must sound the alarm immediately."

Benfred left begrudgingly, while Ser Herman made his way toward the captain's quarters.

The merchant vessel White Harbor Treasure was the largest ship in White Harbor's fleet for this expedition, making it the ideal choice for transporting supplies. It was packed with provisions and equipment.

Inside, Lord Wyman Manderly's two sons, Ser Wendel and Ser Wylis, were playing dice with a group of White Harbor knights. Wylis won a round and roared with laughter, his walrus-like belly shaking.

Both Wylis and Wendel were large men who sweated easily, so they had removed their armor.

Ser Herman frowned. "Wendel, Wylis—Lord Eddard entrusted us with guarding the supplies. We can't afford to slack off. You should be wearing your armor and inspecting the other ships. Make sure the archers are on high alert."

Ser Wendel wrinkled his nose. "We have two thousand men here. What pirate would dare attack us? You worry too much, Ser Herman. Why don't you join us for a game?"

Wylis waved him off and began donning his armor. "Brother, do as Ser Herman says. Don't forget, he is the commander appointed by Lord Eddard."

Grumbling, Wendel rose and grabbed his armor, while his squire helped him fasten the buckles. "What pirate would dare? The Stoneborn and the Ironborn will only flee before the Northern army."

Then the horns of the North sounded from outside.

Shouts erupted from the deck—soldiers and sailors alike yelling, "Pirates!"

Ser Herman drew his sword at once. Wendel and Wylis froze in place.

"What are you waiting for?" Ser Herman snapped. "Take the White Harbor knights and protect the ships. I'll lead the archers against the pirates!"

Hurriedly, Wendel strapped on his armor. "Even if they're here, their numbers can't be great."

But when Ser Herman reached the deck and saw the longships emerging from the eastern horizon, his blood ran cold.

Wendel's claim of "not many" was entirely wrong. The Ironborn longships materialized like ghosts in the darkness, closing in from the north, south, and east. In the dim light, Ser Herman couldn't count them precisely, but there had to be no fewer than thirty.

Every Northern ship's archers readied their bows and loosed volleys of arrows. The Ironborn fired flaming arrows in return, setting several fishing boats ablaze. Thankfully, they were some distance from the supply ships, offering Ser Herman some relief.

Yet the longships pressed on, undeterred by casualties.

Ser Herman bellowed orders, calling every available man—sailors, soldiers, squires, even cooks—to the ship's rail with bows in hand.

The Northern fleet had the advantage in archers, keeping the pirates at bay for the moment.

Then came Ser Wendel's panicked cry:

"Ser Herman! Pirates are attacking from the land!"

Ser Herman was caught off guard. He had never expected the Ironborn to flank them from the shore. He rushed to the other side of the ship.

The defenses were weak there. By the time he and Wendel arrived, flaming arrows had already struck the White Harbor Treasure, and the fire was spreading rapidly. More than a dozen other ships were ablaze.

"Put out the fires!" Ser Herman commanded, but the deck was already in chaos. Many archers abandoned their bows and ran.

Without the archers' covering fire, the Ironborn longships crashed into the Northern fleet like blades, and the raiders swarmed onto the decks.

As the Ironborn leapt onto the Northern ships, panic set in. Some archers had no time to switch weapons and were cut down instantly. Some knights were struck down by throwing axes before they could even draw their swords.

Many Northern soldiers, seeing their ships consumed by fire, leapt into the sea—only to be shot down by Ironborn archers as they swam.

Wylis Manderly lay on the deck, his fate uncertain. Ser Wendel managed to slay two enemies before rushing to check on his brother, only to be struck in the back of the head by a morningstar-wielding reaver. He collapsed atop his brother.

Ser Herman fought ferociously, cutting down foe after foe, but despair crept into his heart. The flames still raged, and the Northern army's vital supplies were doomed to be lost in this night of blood and fire.

A short, stocky Ironborn wielding a battle-axe charged at him. Ser Herman parried the blow, his wrist stinging from the impact. With a precise strike, he slashed through the raider's knee and drove his sword into the man's chest—only for his blade to catch in the enemy's breastplate.

Then, a graceful yet deadly figure swept past him.

Pain seared his arm as a sword slashed across it. He collapsed to the deck, gasping.

Standing over him was a woman—a striking beauty with flowing red hair, pale skin, and sea-blue eyes. She wore a deep blue blouse, black riding pants, and a chainmail coat.

Her piercing gaze lingered on the sigil upon his breastplate.

"You are Ser Herman Tallhart of Torrhen's Square? Your supplies are gone. How will Eddard Stark conquer Skagos now? The Northern army will starve there. Before the oath of the Iron Maiden and the King of the Rock, the Northmen are doomed to fall on Skagos."

Ser Herman spat blood. "Who are you?"

In the firelight and the howling sea wind, her eyes glowed with cruel amusement.

"I am the conqueror forged by the Drowned God. The Iron Bitch, the—"

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