The night before Robb Stark departed, a Northern noble visited camp—a man so respected that even Lady Catelyn came personally to greet him."Ser Hodor," she said with a mix of curiosity and warmth, "are you certain you wish to march with Lord Bolton's host?"The man inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, My Lady. The Crannogmen are skilled in scouting, skirmishing, and archery. Perhaps my men and I can be of service."His true name was Lelan Horode, though the men of the North affectionately called him Ser Hodor.Eddard Stark had once told his family that had it not been for Lelan Horode's aid, he would have perished by Ser Arthur Dayne's blade at the Tower of Joy. That debt alone had given the Horode name weight among the Starks.Robb had originally intended to take him south toward Riverrun, but if the man himself requested to ride under Bolton's banner, his choice was to be respected."Very well, Ser Hodor," Catelyn replied after a quiet exchange with her son. "May the gods guide your bow true."But what neither she nor Robb realized was that Ser Hodor's decision to join Bolton's command carried another, more personal purpose.It had to do with Jon Snow.---Lelan knew something almost no one else in Westeros did—that Jon Snow was not Eddard Stark's bastard.He had been there at the Tower of Joy. He had watched Eddard stagger from that blood-soaked place with a swaddled infant in his arms. He remembered too well Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, standing before them and declaring that Prince Rhaegar had ordered him and the Kingsguard to protect the prince.Not a bastard. A prince.And in the years since, Jon had grown into a young man whose swordsmanship and battlefield instincts shone ever brighter. Too bright to ignore.Lelan had sworn to Eddard that he would guard the secret. But oaths weighed heavy, and now he needed to be certain—was Jon truly fighting only for his father's freedom, as he claimed? Or did the boy harbor ambitions far greater?---Meanwhile, far to the south, Lord Tywin Lannister's army was camped on the southern bank of the Green Fork, no more than five days from the Twins.It was a shrewd position. From there, Tywin could bar the Northern host from advancing south, while also keeping a wary eye eastward toward the Vale.Against him stood Roose Bolton, whose grim host now marched south with Jon among them. Their task: pin down Tywin's forces long enough for Robb Stark to strike the Westerlands army that besieged Riverrun.Robb himself had already ridden west with eight hundred cavalry, hoping to outpace his enemy. That left more than a thousand infantry under Bolton's command to face the might of House Lannister.Inside Bolton's command tent, lit by flickering torches, the major Northern houses had gathered: Karstarks, Cerwyns, Manderlys, Blackwoods, and even envoys of House Frey. Maps were spread across the table, tokens set for infantry and cavalry, while Bolton's cold eyes measured each man present.Assignments were made. The Horode men were placed with the archers. The vanguard, center, and flanks were apportioned.Yet one crucial role remained unfilled—reconnaissance.In the last war, Bolton's plans had failed after his troops stumbled upon a Westerlands patrol. Surprise lost, the attack collapsed. This time, he meant to avoid such humiliation."Who will scout ahead for us?" Bolton asked softly, his pale eyes sweeping the lords.But the tent went silent.Reconnaissance was a cursed duty. If successful, it earned no praise. If it failed, the blame was swift and crushing.The nobles looked away, unwilling to risk their lives for little gain.Then Jon Snow rose to his feet."My lord," he said clearly, his voice carrying across the tent. "I will lead the scouts. I will see the path clear and safe for the army."Heads turned. Some raised brows in surprise, others frowned in doubt.Lelan Horode studied him intently, those green eyes seeing not only the bastard of Winterfell but the echo of Lyanna Stark.One man, Mickey Cerwyn, sneered. "Safe and clear? With your rabble of boys who can barely march in step?"Jon's gaze snapped toward him, cold as the snows of the Wall. The mocking smile on Cerwyn's lips froze. He looked away, shamed into silence.The tent hushed. They all remembered—bastard or not, Jon Snow was among the North's deadliest warriors.Lelan, in the shadows, whispered to himself one word only he dared say: Lyanna.Bolton's lips curved faintly. "A wolf's nose is sharp. Very well, Snow. The reconnaissance is yours."Jon inclined his head. "As you command."Inwardly, Bolton already thought ahead. If the plan fails, the blame will fall neatly on the bastard's shoulders. Robb will have fewer reasons to keep him.Before the council dispersed, Lelan Horode rose as well. "Lord Bolton, the Crannogmen know this land better than most. Allow me to accompany Jon Snow on his mission."Bolton regarded him for a long moment before nodding. "So be it. You two will scout together."The decision raised murmurs. A moment ago no one dared volunteer, and now two had stepped forward. Odd indeed.For Jon, hearing the name Horode was like a thunderclap in his chest. But he schooled his features, betraying no sign. If Ser Hodor had come for him, best not to show it here.---After the council, the lords returned to their camps to brief their men. Orders filtered down—Bolton's plan, whispered from lord to captain to knight to soldier.Jon, too, returned to his ragtag company. Old York was there, still overseeing soldiers drilling turns and halts as if parade steps would win battles. He shook his head in despair."What good are fancy lines when steel meets steel?" he muttered. "We'll be slaughtered like sheep."Tommen, his quiet companion, continued polishing his armor, taking comfort in routine.Jon's return silenced them. Both men rose and saluted."My lord," they said together.Jon looked them over. "Two tasks lie before us. First, reconnaissance. We ride ahead to ensure Tywin's men do not discover our army's march. Second, we must dam a section of the Green Fork to flood the field at the right moment."Old York's heart sank. The first task was thankless. The second near impossible. He grimaced, muttering under his breath, "Cursed luck. Nothing but chores that win no glory."Finally, he dared ask softly, "My lord… were these forced upon you by Bolton? Perhaps… perhaps Lord Robb should know…"But Jon ignored the suggestion. He already knew Bolton's nature. Complaining would gain nothing.Instead, he thought of Lelan Horode and the man's sudden interest in him. Why had he spoken of joining him? What did he truly want?Jon clenched his fists. He needed to upgrade his God's Perspective and uncover Horode's purpose.For if even one man suspected the truth of his blood…-
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