CHAPTER 13 — Sentence
The yard was silent except for the sound of steel being checked and boots scraping dirt. I stood waiting, the weight of the moment settling on my shoulders. This was no battlefield — this was judgment.
The other side had chosen their champion. A knight. Probably famous somewhere, but I couldn't care less.
"At least give me armor," the man sneered. "Or are you planning to kill a knight bare as a peasant and call it a trial?"
"You're a prisoner of the North," I said evenly. "And this trial will be by Northern tradition. No armor for either of us. Pick whatever weapon you think will save your life."
He didn't like it, but he had no choice.
When the fight began, I could tell in the first few exchanges he was good — good enough for a tourney maybe, not for me. He lunged, I parried. Steel clanged and slid. I read his style after a few passes. The moment his guard slipped, my sword came down in one clean stroke. His head hit the ground before his body did.
It wasn't worth telling as a grand tale. The fight was over almost before it began.
---
The rest were brought forward, kneeling in the cold dirt before me. Their eyes were defiant, frightened, or dead already.
"In the name of Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord Paramount of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I, Artos of House Stark — Acting Commander of the Northern Army — sentence you to die. If you have last words, speak them now."
None did.
One by one, steel bit into flesh and bone. Quick work. We had no time to linger; war waits for no man's conscience.
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Later, I was in the sky. Not with wings of my own, but through Rick — my eagle. Named after my father.
The wind tore through his feathers, and my sight swept across leagues of land. It was freedom, but dangerous freedom — too easy to lose myself in him if I wasn't careful.
That's when I saw them. King's Landing banners. Crownlands men on the march. Not a massive host, but enough — ten thousand at most — moving toward Stony Sept. Robert was there with only three thousand. He'd be crushed.
I snapped back into myself, heart pounding.
---
"My lords," I told the Northern council, "prepare your men. We march at once."
They stared at me — surprise, irritation.
"What's happened?" Lord Karstark demanded.
"King's men are moving on Stony Sept," I said.
"Where did you hear this? Can we trust it?"
"You'll have to take my word for it," I answered sharply. "We move now. I'll send word to my brother — we'll crush them between us."
Jeor Mormont spoke up. "We still have wounded."
"Then the wounded stay," I said. "Lord Rogar, Lord Wyman — you'll hold here with three, four thousand at most. The rest — seven thousand — ride with me. The Crownlands force isn't large. We'll break them."
There were no more arguments.
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I wrote the letter for Ned, tied it to Rick's leg, and warged into him, guiding him through the air to find my brother.
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Eddard Stark
We were marching with five thousand Northmen. I rode among the heirs of our bannermen — they'd have to learn war sooner or later.
Then I saw him. A great eagle, arrow-fast, cutting through the sky. One of my archers loosed a shot, but the bird twisted away with impossible speed, then landed before me.
It had a letter bound to its leg.
I raised a hand to hold my men back, untied the scroll, and read it. Artos's hand. His warning. His plan.
The bird watched me with unsettling eyes. I muttered, half-joking, "Will you wait a bit, boy?"
It nodded.
I froze for a heartbeat, then called for a messenger. "Send word to Lord Arryn and Ser Tully — I need them now. And feed this eagle. No one touches a feather on him."
When they arrived, I told them straight: "The King's army is moving on Stony Sept. Ten thousand men."
Jon Arryn let out a breath. "Better than we feared. How did you learn of this?"
"My brother sent word."
"And how did he reach you?" Ser Blackfish asked, baffled.
"He sent… an eagle."
They stared.
"We can discuss that later. His plan is to hit them from behind while we press from the front. A hammer and anvil. It'll work."
Jon Arryn nodded. "It's sound."
"But I think we can do better," I said. "We're close enough to set a trap at the entrance to Stony Sept. Northmen and Valemen will hold the choke point. We let them push, then Northern archers cut them down. When they're broken, Artos riders crash into them. Ser Blackfish's men sweep up the stragglers from sides . Fewer of ours die, more of theirs don't get back up."
They agreed without hesitation.
"It will give them no place to retreat and will be killed fast and effectively." Ser Blackfish.
I penned my reply to Artos, tied it to the eagle, and sent him back into the sky.
---
Jon Connington
Ten thousand men at my back, loyal to the dragon banner. The King had given me this chance .He will kill Robert Baratheon and prove my worth to the Prince.
We were close to Stony Sept. If they didn't yield, I'd burn the place to the ground. I will kill that Rebel bastard with my own hands.
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Artos Stark
We shadowed the Crownlands column, keeping just far enough that they wouldn't see us.
Rick returned, dropping into my arm. I fed him jerky before untying Ned's reply. I read it, smiled. My brother would make a fine commander.
I called the lords together.
"My lords, new orders from Lord Eddard. Lord Reed — ready the archers. You'll control their fire. We'll cut into them first, then charge with the riders. The Northmen and Valemen will draw them toward us, straight into our kill zone."
Every head nodded. Ned's plan was cleaner, safer, deadlier.
And in war, that's all that mattered.
I explained them the whole plan.
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