The journey southward with Lord Stark was an arduous and taxing endeavor. Pushing our horses to their limits, we sought to cover the distance as swiftly as possible. Yet, even with such determination, the reality was that the trip would take a fortnight at a minimum, a relentless push through days and nights. The urgency of our mission compelled us to sacrifice rest and endure the fatigue that gnawed at us.
During our brief stops along the way, the mood was somber. The quiet flickering of campfires cast dancing shadows, a metaphor for the heavy atmosphere surrounding us. Our discussions were few, and laughter was absent from the crackling firelight. The weight of the task ahead pressed upon our shoulders, and the silence was a tribute to the gravity of our mission.
In those quiet moments, as we tended to our horses and ate sparingly, I took the opportunity to get better acquainted with the Riverland riders. Jack Rivers, a Frey bastard, stood out among them. He was Robar's chosen second, a capable and sturdy man with a demeanor that revealed the harsh realities he had faced in life. His eyes bore the scars of experience, and his stories hinted at the struggles that had shaped him.
Amidst the shadows cast by the flickering campfire, Jack Rivers began recounting a tale that revealed a glimpse of his past and the enigmatic domain of House Frey—the Twins. As the night wind whispered through the trees, he spoke in a low, measured voice.
"The Twins," Jack began, "is a castle unlike any other in the Riverlands. It stands as a testament to Frey cunning and ambition. A twin keep, connected by a great bridge, rising from the Green Fork of the Trident. A strategic stronghold, feared and respected."
He went on to narrate the complex and often deceitful history of the Freys and the intrigues that characterized life within the castle's walls. Jack's story echoed the tales of a house notorious for its calculating nature, a reputation that had earned the Freys both power and enmity in equal measure.
In the company of these Riverland riders, I came to know Jack Rivers well. He was a rugged man, marked by the same hardships that had shaped much of the Riverlands. His face bore the chiseled scars of battles and harsh winters, and his eyes told stories of resilience and survival.
Jack, one of the countless bastards of House Frey, stood tall and sturdy, with a demeanor that echoed the toughness of the lands he hailed from. He had earned his place through the harsh realities of life, proving his worth time and again. It was Robar who recognized his capabilities, appointing him to be my second in this journey southward.
The journey had been long and arduous, each mile pushing us closer to our destination, the Tower of Joy. As we neared, the starkness of the arid Dornish landscape framed our path. The Tower stood ahead—a small, well-weathered keep, a testament to the passing of time and history's relentless march.
As we approached, a small force emerged from the Tower grounds, standing ready in the open field. It was an unexpected sight. The defenders could have chosen to stay within the safety of the battlements, but instead, they stood before us.
Curiosity gnawed at me. Why did they choose this field encounter? It seemed unusual, for I did not recall such an arrangement from the books or the show. Perhaps it was to demonstrate confidence, or maybe it concealed a strategic maneuver. Regardless, the tension in the air was palpable.
Lord Stark dismounted his horse, and the rest of us followed suit. I felt the weight of my poleaxe as I pulled it from my saddle, hoping it would prove a worthy companion today. Swords were not my forte, but this weapon felt familiar and secure in my grip.
At the forefront of the approaching force were three figures, their white Kingsguard cloaks billowing in the wind. They exuded an aura of unquestionable dedication and loyalty, defenders of the last vestiges of an ancient legacy. They were stalwarts, protectors sworn to serve until the very end.
However, my surprise grew as I noticed the additional presence of Targaryen men-at-arms. This was not as I remembered from my past life. Beside the Kingsguard stood six Targaryen men-at-arms, the last remnants of a fallen dynasty. I pondered the implications of their presence as a hot wind swept through, charging the air with an electric intensity. This was a pivotal moment, and as my fingers gripped my poleaxe, I steeled myself for what lay ahead.
Every step had led to this, a moment where destinies clashed and fates intertwined. The wind carried with it a sense of inevitability, and in the distance, the Tower watched over us, its ancient stones standing silent witness to the drama that was about to unfold. There was no turning back now.
The forces of House Stark and the defenders of the Tower stood at a precipice, destinies colliding in a barren field.
Lord Stark's voice broke the silence, "I looked for you on the Trident." His eyes bore into the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Gerold Hightower.
In this tense moment, the world seemed to hesitate as if holding its breath for what would unfold. The Lord Commander remained silent, a stoic figure with years etched into his face. It was Ser Arthur Dayne who responded, his voice carrying a weight of solemnity, "We were not there."
With the conversation unfolding as I expected, a part of me wondered, in that intense moment if Bran Stark or the Bloodraven were watching us now. Were they observing this very conversation through the lens of time? The metaphysical aspects of my journey could not be ignored, for I was not just a witness to history but a participant in its unfolding.
The weight of the moment demanded my focus, and I brought my attention back to the present as steel was drawn on both sides. The confrontation was imminent, a clash that would echo through the ages. The defenders of the Tower of Joy stood resolute, committed to their duty even in the face of the inevitable.
My gaze shifted to the Targaryen men-at-arms, and a plan formed in my mind. As both sides prepared for the clash, I leaned towards Jack Rivers, my second in command, and spoke just loud enough for the Northerners to hear, "The knights are the lords' problem. Our men will take on the guardsmen."
Jack nodded, understanding the plan. Our mission was to support Lord Stark, but at this moment, we had to divide and conquer.
As you may of noticed, I am not the biggest fan of Author updates, but i wanted to thank you all for the commentary and suggestions both here and in real life (Jim). That said I know I have not been hitting the SI or the Blackfyre portions of the story hard. From the prologue, I did mention that these chapters would be wave tops. While I think both are vital to the story, to keep on track with my plan I have not made them a major piece as of yet. The panic attack at the beginning is a foreshadow of how much more in-depth this story will be during the expansion. In your minds eye please feel free to add in more snarkyness and concern about what actions Oros will take to try and shape the future. Some of which have already occurred, he saved Ser Lewyn for one. As for the additional guards at the tower, I personally always thought it was daft that there were only 2-3 men (Kingsguard or not) guarding the tower. Sleep schedules alone would of been a nightmare. A small contingent of trusted guardsman/squires makes sense and was not meant as a canon busting moment. I also think them not addressing the Northerners from the tower walls also was daft. So I at least addressed that part. I hope you all enjoy and continue to add comments / send messages. I may not address all these Author updates, but they are well received and have already caused changes :)