Game of Thrones: The Frozen Throne

Clad in white beast pelts and chainmail, Norda Mapleleaf, a Rockborn, rode beside Eddard, serving as the guide for the Northern army.

Norda Mapleleaf and his two sons had been taken as captives by the North. His youngest son, suffering from festering wounds and a high fever, was on the brink of death. Without hesitation, Maester Uther of Dreadfort was ordered by Eddard to treat him, saving the boy's life.

Maester Uther was the only maester accompanying the Northern host, and his services were reserved for wounded noble lords.

Out of gratitude for Eddard and Maester Uther, Norda knelt before the Warden of the North under the heart tree and swore fealty.

With Norda as their guide, the march through Skagos became far smoother. Like the forest clans of the Wolfswood, Norda knew every mountain, every stream, and even every village in the region.

What pleased Eddard even more was that Norda Mapleleaf was of minor nobility, serving under René Mapleleaf, the lord of Maple Hall. He had often accompanied René to councils among the nine great clans of Skagos, and had even attended some meetings at Abyss Keep, where the Stone King ruled. This meant he possessed knowledge that only high-ranking Rockborn nobles would have.

After Helen Pyke the Iron Whore led her fleet to burn two-thirds of the Northern army's supplies, the remaining provisions would only last a month. A prolonged war would doom the Northmen on this island. Thus, Eddard gave the order to march directly on Abyss Keep.

By doing so, the Stone King, in an effort to protect the ancestral stronghold of the Crowl Clan, would be forced into a decisive battle.

However, the path ahead was treacherous. Skagos was mountainous and rugged, with steep, winding trails. Gazing down from a peak, Eddard saw twisting roads, towering summits piercing the clouds, frost-blue lakes, and forests ablaze with red maple leaves—a testament to nature's artistry.

Yet this land had become a battlefield. Rockborn warriors frequently ambushed them from ravines, caves, or hidden mountain trails. Their slingers hurled stones the size of melons, capable of shattering skulls and kneecaps, while archers loosed arrows from the shadows.

In such terrain, scouts were of limited use. Ferran and Robert Glover led the Northern outriders, but their cavalry suffered heavy losses due to the Rockborn's ambush tactics. Eddard had no choice but to rely on hill clan warriors for reconnaissance.

The Rockborn attacked in small bands of ten to twenty warriors, striking swiftly before vanishing into the wilds. Their hit-and-run tactics were a constant thorn in the Northern army's side.

Fortunately, under the leadership of Middle Riddle, Big Barrel Worr, and others, the hill clansmen adapted to the Rockborn's style of warfare. Like the Rockborn, they excelled in mountain combat, and with each skirmish, the cost of the Rockborn's ambushes grew steeper.

As they rode, Norda turned to Eddard.

"No one wishes for war, my lord." His voice was solemn. "During his conquest of Skagos, Samro Crowl the Stone King bathed these lands in blood—the Magnar Clan, the Stern Clan, all suffered at his hands. Most of the Rockborn warriors fight only because they were forced into it."

Eddard pondered this. "The clans hold grudges against each other. Do you think we can exploit their rivalries to win this war?"

Norda shrugged. "Unlikely. When there is no outside threat, the Rockborn war among themselves. But Samro Crowl has ruled for over a decade. His grip may be tenuous, and resentment may fester, but the arrival of a foreign invader—the North—will only unite them."

Eddard gazed at the distant peaks. Overhead, a lone eagle circled.

"If the Stone King falls, everything changes."

He was certain that Samro Crowl's death would shatter the alliance of the Rockborn. The clans would descend into chaos once more. And they would never accept Helen Pyke as their ruler—a woman, a foreigner, and a worshipper of the Drowned God. The Rockborn would never kneel to her.

"What kind of man is Samro Crowl?" Eddard asked as they continued forward. "Is he the type to lead from the front or command from behind the lines?"

Norda replied, "In his youth, Samro Crowl was a warrior who relished the battlefield, slaying many foes. But now, at nearly fifty, he rarely fights."

Eddard frowned. If the Stone King appeared in battle, Ferran the Marksman could try to put an arrow through him. Or Syrio Forel, the Braavosi Water Dancer, could attempt an assassination. Even Greatjon Umber could lead a charge with Winterfell's elite cavalry. But with Samro avoiding the battlefield, a decapitation strike seemed unlikely.

"He may not fight," Norda added, "but when he addresses his warriors and people, he rides his mount—the Unicorn—to display his strength."

Eddard's eyes narrowed. "The Rockborn chiefs truly ride unicorns into battle?"

Norda nodded. "Of course. To us, unicorns are sacred. They are rare. When a chieftain dies, his successor must mount a unicorn before the heart tree to prove his right to rule. If the unicorn rejects him, the clan will scorn him and turn to another who can."

"A fascinating custom." Eddard mused. "Is it difficult to mount one?"

Norda chuckled. "Many chieftains' heirs abandon their claims rather than face the trial. It is common for a would-be chief to be gored or trampled to death during the ceremony. Only those who are swift, strong, and cunning can tame a unicorn."

It sounded far more perilous than breaking a direwolf.

Eddard nodded. "Once we lay siege to Abyss Keep, Samro will be forced to ride out and face us."

Norda hesitated. "My lord, the Northmen will struggle to breach Abyss Keep. If the Stone King knows—"

A deep horn blast cut him off, echoing through the valley.

Drums followed, pounding like thunder. Along the cliffs, Rockborn slingers emerged, toppling massive boulders onto the path below. Northern soldiers were crushed into pulp beneath the tumbling stones, their screams drowned out by the laughter of the slingers above.

Deepwood Motte's archers retaliated, loosing a storm of arrows. The Rockborn laughter turned to shrieks as they were struck, some tumbling from the cliffs to their deaths.

Suddenly, Jory Cassel, Captain of Winterfell's Guard, galloped up.

"My lord," he called urgently. "They're coming from multiple paths. This wave of Rockborn is unlike the others."

Eddard smirked. "Let them come. We need food, after all."

Jory, however, looked grim. "My lord, this time, their chieftain rides a unicorn!"

________________

— Thanks to Venkat for subscribing in Warden of the Realm

— Thanks to Robin kristiansen for subscribing in Warden of the Realm

— Thanks to hussain jama for subscribing in Warden of the Realm

— Thanks to sable for subscribing in Warden of the Realm

— Thanks to Mohamed for subscribing in Warden of the Realm

" Help the story climb the rankings! Don't forget to leave a Power Stone and share your thoughts in the comments if you enjoyed this chapter!"