"That war, apart from the disobedient Ironborn, went very smoothly for the rest of the coalition. Why? Because we had King Robert, who, though large in stature, could command the entire army, and we had Barristan, who had participated in the War of Ninepenny Kings, a seasoned veteran familiar with the Stepstones, as the overall commander!" Wright looked at everyone.
"The military plan they created, from logistics to objectives, from marching routes to support troops, even the retreat route, was all carefully planned in advance! As for us, this time, everyone did their own thing, without any unified command."
Many in the audience fell silent. They were all brave, having killed countless wights, but this battle felt frustrating! It seemed, as Wright said, that everyone did their own thing without a unified command. But this had always been the case—no one listened to anyone but their own lord.
The Northerners were scattered by the sudden appearance of the wights, Edmure couldn't command the entire army, and young Robb, having no military rank, couldn't command the older nobles. On top of that, they had to protect civilians, and everything turned into a mess.
In the Vale, apart from the Arryn family, most of the nobles had stayed in their lands after the Dance of the Dragons, fighting small skirmishes with the wildlings of the Mountains of the Moon for over a hundred years. At most, they had raised banners for support but never sent any soldiers out of the Vale, never participating in a major war.
This time, they had ridden around the battlefield, killed no enemies, and lost no soldiers.
The Riverlands coalition, under Edmure's command, had advanced slowly and steadily, but they did not support the Northerners, who were struggling close by.
"Barristan is of such an old age, and yet we're bringing him out again?" someone asked. The Riverlands nobles agreed with this.
"Maybe we could prepare a wheelchair for him," the Vale people suggested.
The nobles below began to murmur among themselves.
"Every war needs a strategic expert to lead with unified command. King Renly commands all the armies, so who should be chosen as the supreme commander?" Wright paused, "Any recommendations?"
"I propose Lord Edmure!"
Black Walder family was the first to speak up. In times like this, one had to fight for their lord to secure the easiest and most rewarding tasks.
The hall fell silent, the only sound being the crackling of the fire in the hearth, as all eyes turned toward Lord Edmure.
Sitting next to Renly, Edmure quickly responded, "I've recently caught a cold, suffering from a fever, headaches, and aching limbs. I'm not fit to be the supreme commander!"
After speaking, Edmure immediately pretended to have a headache, pressing his hand to his forehead, while his eyes, hidden by his hand, shot a fierce glare at Black Walder, inwardly cursing the fool.
Edmure knew his own limits. He could command small skirmishes, but commanding the armies of the Seven Kingdoms was something he only dared to dream about. The highest commander in the fight against the wights was no small task; victory would bring immense glory, but defeat would cost everyone their lives.
The meeting temporarily set aside the issue, with Renly planning to wait for the other Lords to arrive at Moat Cailin before discussing the choice for the supreme commander.
Robb briefly explained the meeting content to Seran.
"Robb, you should fight for the position of supreme commander of the coalition!" Seran urged.
Robb shook his head. "I can't. I've never commanded more than a hundred men. Even when I went North, it was with Skinchangers and mages. They follow me because of my power and status."
Bang! Seran slammed his fist onto Robb's chest plate and angrily said, "I usually call you foolish because you only know a few moves in bed, but you've taken it seriously!"
"Quiet down!" Robb quickly covered Seran's mouth and turned to check the surroundings.
Fortunately, everyone was busy packing their belongings, with only his younger brother Rickon giving him a sly look.
"Robb, I support you!" Rickon grinned and gave Robb a thumbs-up, only to be immediately pulled by Catelyn, who was tugging his ear toward the carriage.
To a mother, her children were always her children, no matter how old they were. Catelyn didn't care if there were many or few people here; no matter how much Rickon protested to stay and fight, Catelyn and Robb were determined to send him to King's Landing.
Before getting into the carriage, Catelyn turned back to look at Robb. "Your father led the Northern army to battle before he was even twenty."
With that, Catelyn entered the carriage and closed the door.
Seran spoke, "Catelyn is right. We've lived a peaceful and prosperous life, but now that war has come, you must not only lead the Northerners to reclaim their lands, but you should use your talents to lead humanity to victory. You are the Lord of the North!"
"To be honest, I haven't adapted to this new role," Robb admitted. He often saw his father, Eddard, seemingly uninterested in handling the affairs of state, yet here he was, having only been a Lord for a day, with nobles' proposals piling up on his desk like snow on the ground.
"I believe in you!" Seran gave Robb a gentle kiss on the lips.
Robb sighed, "I'll try to fight for it. But I think Master Wright is more suited for it."
"Is it because of the books you've been reading?"
In Winterfell, there was a small private study belonging to Robb, filled not only with books on magic but also many books on warfare and biographies of famous people. Seran, in her spare time, loved reading these books, especially the copies of Wright's works. Apart from magic, there were all sorts of unbelievable stories and war books, particularly the one that Robb had nearly worn out, The Thirty-One Strategies of War.
Wright didn't have perfect memory; he preferred to write down his knowledge. Due to years spent focusing on magical knowledge, by the time he found The Thirty-Six Strategies in his spare time, he only remembered one, the Beauty Trap. He then pieced it together, mixing characters and events from this world to write his version. Even so, it became one of the rare military masterpieces of the time, with copies only given to a few of his closest apprentices.
Seran gently stroked Robb's face as if she were comforting a child. "Robb, Lord Wright's thoughts are wild and creative; otherwise, he could never have created the magic system. But a person's time is limited, and he devoted all his energy to magic, leaving the strategy of war only on paper. But you're his disciple, and I believe you're better suited to this than he ever was."
Encouraged by his wife Seran, Robb found the confidence to move forward.
People often overestimated Wright—capable of great feats and earning vast wealth—but they overlooked many things. Wright wasn't perfect. Robb knew that in business alone, Wright had created many failed products.
For example, the black object he had received from Wright, a piece of gear that could be worn on the nose to block out bright light, had remained at the bottom of his chest. Wright had claimed it would block the blinding glare of reflected snow, but for the Northerners, who had lived in the icy lands for thousands of years, it was unnecessary and ugly.
"Don't worry, Seran. I will compete for the position of Commander," Robb said, no longer hesitating.
The sunlight was blocked, and two shadows passed swiftly over the ground. Robb looked up and saw two dragons, one blue and one black, flying overhead.
"The Prince and Sauron have already set out. You should hurry as well. I've privately asked Sauron to take care of your carriage along the way with the black dragon," Robb said. Despite the sorrow of parting, he gently pushed Seran away.
"You swear you'll come to Red Keep to pick me up?" Seran, despite her strength, knew that after this farewell, Robb's fate was uncertain. Tears began to flow uncontrollably from her eyes.
Robb reached out and wiped the tears from her face, then placed a kiss on her forehead. "I swear! I will bring victory and glory to Red Keep and bring you back to Winterfell!"
The soldiers escorting the family to King's Landing were disabled veterans who could no longer fight. Robb watched them march south under the banner of the direwolf, his gaze fixed on the soldiers surrounding the central carriage. When the carriage turned a small hill, Robb climbed the city wall and continued to watch until the mist blocked his view, and he could no longer see them.
"Robb, the King requests your presence in the meeting room," Arya quietly approached him.
Robb didn't respond but instead asked, "Where were you when we sent Mother off?"
Arya, expressionless, spun her thin, needle-like sword in her hand. "I don't like the feeling of parting, so I stayed on the city wall, watching you all."
Never before had so many people set foot in the Neck region simultaneously. As the Northerners marched south along King's Road, they met the western forces heading north near the east of Twin Rivers.
Upon hearing of Eddard's death and that the Lord of the North was now Robb, Willen, the acting Lord of Casterly Rock, and his wife Rosamund, invited Catelyn, Seran, and several Northern nobles to gather in their military tent.
The somewhat mad Lord of the West, Jaime, upon hearing Seran was present, shaved off his long beard for the first time in years and prepared himself, dressing neatly to attend the gathering.
A simple banquet was held in the tent, where Willen inquired much from Catelyn about the Battle of the Moat Cailin, while Rosamund and Seran sat together, chatting happily. The two were not only both fair-skinned, beautiful blondes, but their appearances were also remarkably similar.
At the head of the table, Jaime's gaze never left Seran. He would smile and take a sip of wine, then suddenly burst into tears, his face a mess of tears and snot. His attendants tried to offer him a handkerchief, but Jaime pushed them away. His behavior, although startling to the Westerlands nobility due to his clean-shaven face, was no longer a surprise to anyone.
Tommen, now Eugene Farman, heir of Fair Isle, completely unable to recall his childhood, chatted and laughed with the westerland people.
Seran had sailed back to the Isle after giving birth, visiting Lord Jaime under the pretense of a formal visit. At that time, Jaime's madness was not as severe as now. He had shaved his beard before the reception banquet, and Seran had commented on how good he looked. Jaime had cherished that compliment ever since.
As the banquet drew to a close, the soldiers' rations of wine were scarce, and the nobles began to leave for their tents.
Willen and Rosamund, having noticed the signs, had long understood the relationship between Jaime and Seran. Willen had already become the legal heir to the Westerlands. Even if Jaime had children of his own, the succession order would place him after Willen, not affecting the Western politics.
Rosamund gave Willen a meaningful look, and the two of them helped the slightly drunk Catelyn back to her tent, leaving Seran and Jaime alone.
"Myr~~ce~lla!" It had been so long since he last spoke, Jaime's voice was hoarse, like that of a White Walker.
"No, my name is Seran, Seran of the House Farman from Fair Isle!" Seran said.
Upon hearing this, Jaime's face instantly turned pale, and his hands trembled uncontrollably. His wine cup fell onto the table.
Seran immediately realized that Jaime was not in his right mind and couldn't comprehend what she was saying. She quickly explained, "We both know what our relationship is, Jaime, bury this secret in your heart forever!"
Seran was now the Lady of the North, the mother of the North's heir, little Robb, and wife or Rob Stark, who was about to compete for the position of Commander of the Army. Even though she had gained the approval of Renly and Wright, if Jaime accidentally revealed her identity, it would lead to an irreversible situation.
"Seran! Seran!" Jaime lifted his head to stare at the empty tent ceiling, a faint smile appearing on his face as he recalled the scene when he sent Seran off to her wedding.
---
Inside the two rings of walls of the Moat Cailin, tents from nobles filled the area. Outside the walls, the tents of knights and soldiers were grouped by color: gold, red, and mostly cheap white tents.
Each hillock had a simple wooden lookout tower, where soldiers didn't need to scout for enemy movements. Their only job was to spread the military news from the fortress to the sprawling camp using horns.
After meeting with the king and other nobles at Moat Cailin, Willen immediately sought out his old comrade-in-arms, Harry Bracken.
"Have you heard? The king is going to select a Commander for the Seven Kingdoms' army," Harry asked Willen.
The two, clad in armor, walked slowly through the camp's pathways as their knights followed behind, each carrying the respective family banners.
"I thought Lord Wright would be the perfect choice, but he was the first to propose the decision, and the first to withdraw from the race!" Willen said, clearly disappointed by what he had heard from the king.
Harry replied, "Lord Wright wasn't interested in this. How about you? Do you want to compete for the position? If you do, I'll go speak to the lords of the Riverlands and support you!"
"Me?" Willen shook his head.
"You defeated several vampire armies outside the Rivers. We Riverlanders won't forget that!" Harry insisted, having privately consulted with many people before coming to this conclusion.
"That was only a cavalry detachment of less than five hundred men. I haven't commanded any large-scale wars since then, and I know my own limitations," Willen replied. He was very aware of the situation—it was a heavy position that carried immense pressure.
Harry continued to persuade him, "Based on the precedent set by Barristan, we've analyzed that no one in the Kingsguard has any experience in war. Then, there are the major Lords. Wright and Edmund have withdrawn, and Robb, aside from his uncle Edmund, isn't well-known among the Riverlanders. Think, who else could compete with you?"
Willen was still thinking.
Harry pressed on, "The Lord of Storm's End is a prince, already sent back to King's Landing by the king. Denys Arryn hides in his mountain lair, and I doubt anyone would want him in charge. Stannis must command the navy at sea, and if he could give up the Iron Throne, I doubt he'd force himself to take up a meaningless title. The southern lord with the inflated ego, have you ever seen him wield a sword?"
Willen replied, "You missed one person—the Princess of Dorne, Nymeria. She's probably the only one among us who has actually led an army into battle."
"Her? That's even less likely," Harry laughed, waving his hand dismissively.
"Why?" Willen was surprised, as Harry seemed so certain.
Harry explained, "The vanguard from Dorne arrived at Moat Cailin before you. They're struggling to adapt to this miserable weather, and now they're all bedridden, unable to get up."