INSURMOUNTABLE

SANSA

The first rider to appear was Sandor Clegane. He wore an ashen gray armor, and his green cloak, along with his dog-shaped helmet, was his only concession to ornamentation. He lowered his visor with a loud clang, hiding his half-burned face, and positioned himself. Only three contenders remained of all those who had signed up for the tournament. That the Hound had made it this far was a surprise to many. He had unhorsed Ser Jaime Lannister and Lord Renly Baratheon, and now he faced Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, in the semifinals.

When Ser Loras made his appearance, a murmur ran through the crowd. "He's so handsome..." whispered Sansa, trying not to be heard by her father, who sat beside her. Today he seemed to be in a much better mood than in recent days. Eddard Stark had promised to watch the final jousts with her and Arya, although the latter had not come because she was too busy with her dance lessons. Ser Loras Tyrell was slender and wore an incredible silver armor, so polished that it dazzled. It was decorated with green vine filigrees. Sansa realized that the green came from hundreds of emeralds embedded in the gleaming armor. He wore a cape of the same color, with three beautiful golden flowers embroidered in the center. Sansa still wore the beautiful red rose he had given her the day before, after defeating Ser Robar Royce.

His mount was a beautiful gray mare, as slender as the rider and the living image of speed. The Hound's horse neighed at the sight of him. The knight of Highgarden made a movement with his legs, and his mare began to trot toward Sandor Clegane. The grandstand shook as the riders prepared their lances and galloped off, or maybe it was just her, trembling with excitement.

The Hound leaned forward with his lance firm, but Ser Loras leaned to one side and stopped the blow with his shield while his lance hit the Hound's dog-shaped helmet head-on. The wood splintered, and Sandor Clegane tried to fight not to fall, but he couldn't. The crowd went crazy.

"I knew Ser Loras was going to win," Sansa told her father, brimming with excitement. "It's impossible for him to lose."

"He's not that good," Jory Cassel said behind her. "I know more than one rider who could unseat him without breaking a sweat." He had that ironic smile on his face, although he had been showing it more than usual since they left the North. Of course, he was wrong in what he said. Jory had fallen in the early rounds of the tournament against one of the Freys after repeatedly extolling the worth of the northern knights. In fact, all the knights of the North had been defeated sooner or later. He's still resentful, that's why he says those things, Sansa thought.

The Hound was on his feet again, taking off the dog-shaped helmet that, between the lance blow and the fall to the ground, had been dented and took on a grotesque shape. The ladies and knights tried to conceal their laughter, but Joffrey, her prince, laughed uncontrollably from the dais next to his father. Sansa didn't understand very well, wasn't Sandor Clegane his sworn shield? Shouldn't he be upset or worried instead?

By the time Clegane had retired bruised and humiliated to his usual spot next to the prince, Ferdinand von Aegir had already taken his place in the lists. The knight of Dragonstone had reached the final by defeating Gregor Clegane, the Hound's older brother, with a single decisive blow from his lance. The Astral Knight had defeated opponent after opponent, including three members of the Kingsguard, and so far not a single opponent had been able to break a lance against him. If the crowd had been awed by Ser Loras, they were now going wild. They cheered and screamed for their clear favorite.

The Astral Knight was wearing the same armor he had seen him in the day he first saw him on the Kingsroad. What she had initially believed to be silver and gold was actually polished and painted bronze and steel, as her friend Morgan had told her. His attire was completed with a blue and crimson cape and a bronze winged helmet, though the wings were much darker, almost black. Her prince had told her the night before that the Astral Knight had not participated in a tourney since he had taken Ser Edrik as his squire. "Surely for fear that my cousin would make a fool of him," he had added. Now that Edrik Baratheon was a knight, he seemed to have ended his retirement.

As the combatants approached the stands, the crowd screamed with increasing excitement. There were cries of "Ferdinand!" and "Loras!" before they were silenced by chants of "Astral Knight! Astral Knight!" When they reached the king's box, they raised their visors and bowed before the king, before returning to their respective sides of the arena.

It's like in the songs, Sansa thought, trying to hold back tears of joy. Two legendary knights about to face each other in a singular duel. On one side, Ser Loras, with his legend still ahead of him. On the other, Ser Ferdinand, who had achieved great feats in the rebellion and the war with the Greyjoys. Present and past were going to collide in a legendary duel that would be written about in songs and remembered for centuries. And she was going to see it.

As the Astral Knight prepared his horse, Edrik Baratheon, the young heir of Dragonstone, ran out of the jouster's tent with his jousting lance. Ser Ferdinand glanced at Ser Loras on the other side of the field, and then the trumpet sounded. The ground rose in a huge cloud of dust as the galloping horses passed. The two knights prepared for the clash. She almost looked away when the two riders were facing each other, but she couldn't. She needed to see what was going to happen. The lances crashed against the shields and shattered into a thousand pieces. The knights crossed as the splinters bounced off their armor, impassive to the shock that had just occurred. The crowd fell silent for a moment, before applauding and cheering once more. Edrik Baratheon hurried to give Ser Ferdinand a new lance while Loras Tyrell's squire did the same for his master.

The crowd fell silent again, and all that could be heard were the horses' hooves hitting the ground as the riders charged once more. The crowd was nervous. Even her father, who had made his dissatisfaction with the tourney clear on every occasion he had, was staring in amazement at the two knights approaching. This time, Ser Ferdinand's lance hit Ser Loras' shield again, which was starting to fill with wooden stakes, while the Knight of the Flowers' lance connected perfectly with his opponent's chest, just below the throat. Sansa believed that this would dismount the Astral Knight, as it had done with the Hound minutes before, but Ser Ferdinand remained unperturbed by Ser Loras' powerful blow.

"A hundred golden dragons for the Knight of Flowers!" Lord Renly shouted, excited by the spectacle.

"I accept," Lady Edelgard announced loudly, who was watching the jousting with Lord Stannis and her daughter Morgan beside her. Until that moment, Sansa had not seen Lady Edelgard show the slightest interest in jousting, but apparently, she had been mistaken. Or maybe her true interest was in betting. Beside her, Lord Stannis looked as serious as usual. As rumored at court, and as Morgan had confirmed when she asked her, he had resigned from his position on the Small Council and was preparing to return to Dragonstone in a few days.

"I'll join the bet," announced Littlefinger. "The Knight of Flowers seems especially skilled today." His father snorted and muttered something Sansa didn't understand. She was too focused on what was happening in the arena.

"In that case, why don't we raise the bet?" Lady Hresvelg declared. "A thousand dragons for the Astral Knight."

"A thousand dragons?" exclaimed Littlefinger surprised. "Do you want to fleece me, Lady Edelgard?"

"I, for my part, accept, dear sister-in-law," Renly Baratheon proclaimed loudly. "You wouldn't have chicken out, Littlefinger?"

"I'm just worried about my wallet, Lord Renly. But I'll go ahead, I can't wait to spend those thousand dragons, my lady."

The horses galloped once more, the sound of the charge silenced by the hysterical screams of the increasingly enthusiastic crowd. Ser Ferdinand maintained the same posture, his lance pointing at the chest of Ser Loras, who covered himself with his strong shield. He, on the other hand, aimed higher, toward the face of the Astral Knight, who showed no sign of trying to cover himself and seemed to trust everything to withstand the blow and unseat his opponent with a strong impact.

"Finish him, Loras!" Lord Renly shouted as the jousters approached each other. Sansa had the feeling that this was going to be the decisive clash, and the angry chants of the spectators only increased that feeling.

When Ser Ferdinand and Ser Loras were about to collide, something incredible happened. The Astral Knight, in a breathtaking act, stood up on his stirrups, towering over the knight of Highgarden to the amazement of lords, knights, ladies, and commoners alike. The rays of the sun reflected blindingly on his armor, and Sansa knew she was witnessing a legend in all its glory. Ser Ferdinand's lance passed over Ser Loras's shield, stunned, and crashed into his chest plate, shattering into a thousand pieces. The Knight of the Flowers' lance, on the other hand, also hit his opponent, but it didn't break and flew out of Ser Loras's hand. If the Astral Knight had felt the blow, he showed no sign of it.

Ser Loras was thrown off his horse and crashed onto the ground as the crowd roared with excitement and fervently applauded. Even the king burst into laughter in his seat. The young knight rolled several times on the ground before coming to a stop, leaving a trail of emeralds and a cloud of dust in his wake. Some citizens tried to jump into the arena, ready to grab something from the loot scattered on the ground, but the gold cloaks pushed them back. As the cheers died down, Sansa watched Ser Ferdinand, proud on his horse, ride around the arena and approach Ser Loras, who was trying to get up.

"Do you think Ser Loras will be okay?" Sansa asked her father when she saw how difficult it was for the young knight to stand.

"I think so," Ned Stark said with a reassuring smile. "The blow was accurate and the fall was very clean. He'll only have some bruises and a bit of dizziness."

A brief pause ensued as Ser Loras removed his helmet, revealing his beautiful face covered in dirt and dust. He hadn't lost his adorable smile.

"You are the victorious knight, Ser Ferdinand," said the Knight of Flowers, while greeting the crowd, who cheered him despite his defeat. In his hands, he held the reins of his horse, which his squire had just handed him.

"The price of defeat," his father whispered, although with the twenty thousand gold dragons he had just won, Ser Loras could well buy it back if he wanted to.

"You have offered me a great and honorable fight, Ser Loras," replied the Astral Knight, who returned the reins of his horse to Loras Tyrell, amid cheers from the audience. "You have my gratitude, and I predict great feats for you."

Then came the moment to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty, which Sansa eagerly awaited. Lady Constance was not present that day in the stands, so she was very curious to see who would be chosen. The crowd was taken aback when the Astral Knight, with the laurel crown on the tip of his lance, passed in front of the royal box, where Queen Cersei was, and ignored her. The queen could not hide the icy contempt reflected on her face towards the winner of the tournament. Ser Ferdinand lowered his horse and stood in front of Lady Edelgard of Dragonstone, and placed the crown of red roses in her lap.

"There is only one lady present here who deserves this prize," Ser Ferdinand's voice echoed throughout the arena. "And that is Lady Edelgard, whose beauty surpasses that of the goddesses, her kindness that of the High Septon, and her valor, my own." Her father was pale, but when it seemed that a scandal was about to erupt, the people began to applaud again, followed by all the ladies and knights, and even King Robert, although somewhat uncomfortably.

That night, during the feast, Sansa learned that Ser Ferdinand had also decided to distribute the prize of the winner among the poor and orphans of Flea Bottom, which almost made Sansa's heart skip a beat.

He's so brave and kind... The Astral Knight was just as she had imagined him from the songs, and even more so. Everything that any knight in the Seven Kingdoms should aspire to be. The only thing that could have made that evening better was hanging out with her prince, who had been absent with his mother and siblings that night.

"The tournament has been magnificent," Sansa told her sister Arya, who was also part of the celebrations. "How are your dance lessons going?"

"I'm covered in bruises," Arya informed her cheerfully. Gods, the poor thing must be a terrible dancer, thought Sansa, although she gave her sister an encouraging smile. Either that, or that Syrio Forel must be a really bad teacher.

"My ladies," interrupted a voice. Ferdinand von Aegir had appeared next to them, looking at them with a chivalrous smile. "I hope I haven't interrupted any conversation."

"You haven't interrupted anything, Ser Ferdinand," Sansa said, somewhat nervous. "You were magnificent in the jousts. No knight could stand up to you."

"You honor me with your kind words," replied the Astral Knight, as he brushed aside a lock of his red hair. "I had come to ask if you would accompany me to meet a friend of mine."

"A friend of yours?" Sansa asked. She had no idea who it could be.

"Yes. I was actually going to invite you to the opera and introduce you there, but I'm afraid I'm leaving with Lord Stannis back to Dragonstone in just a couple of days."

"Oh. In that case, I'll be delighted to meet her right now."

"I'm not interested," Arya replied. Sansa had hoped that her sister's manners were starting to improve, but she was still a lost cause. Fortunately, Ser Ferdinand didn't seem at all offended by her sister's rude honesty.

He led Sansa outside the large tent where the banquet was being held, away from the tumult and noise. There, illuminated by the light of a torch, were Lord Hubert, one of Lord Stannis Baratheon's vassals, and beside him, one of the most beautiful women Sansa had ever seen.

Could that be his wife? Sansa wondered. She must be mother's age, Sansa supposed, but the years had treated her well. Her long brown hair fell to the middle of her back and her green eyes shone in the flames' light. She had a slender figure, generous bosom, and her face seemed made of porcelain.

"... will they be enough?" she heard the sinister Lord Vestra ask.

"Yes... they're ready... I'll give the signal," she heard the woman reply, before they noticed Ser Ferdinand and Sansa's presence. "Oh, Ferdie, you're back. Who's your guest?"

"This is Lady Sansa Stark, the daughter of our Hand of the King," the Astral Knight introduced her.

"Lady Sansa," the woman said with a slight curtsy, "pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Lady Vestra," Sansa replied.

"Oh, hahaha," the woman laughed at Sansa's confusion. Ser Ferdinand also chuckled, and Lord Vestra put a hand to his head. "What would poor Bern say?"

"I...I'm sorry," Sansa apologized, embarrassed.

"Don't worry, child," Hubert von Vestra said. His voice gave Sansa chills, but she forced herself to maintain her composure. "This is Lady Dorothea, an old friend of ours."

"Lady Dorothea? You wouldn't happen to be...?"

"The Mystical Songstress," Ser Ferdinand proclaimed. "I see your fame has reached the North as well, my dear."

"Don't be silly, Ferdie, it's not that big of a deal. Besides, I don't have many years left before I retire permanently. The family is starting to take up a good portion of my time..."

"Oh. I would love to hear you sing, my lady," Sansa said excitedly. Bards and minstrels from all over the realm came to Winterfell, but the Mystical Songstress' fame was legendary throughout the kingdom.

"I'll be in the city for a few weeks," Dorothea said. "The Mittlefrank Opera is presenting their new work. If you want, Lady Sansa, I can get you tickets for the premiere, it wouldn't be any trouble... or perhaps you prefer a more classic work. The Madness of King Balon always attracts a large audience, people always enjoy a good comedy."

"I would love to. But my father..." Sansa knew full well what her father would say. It had already been difficult to convince him to let her attend the tournament, so getting to go to the opera seemed like an impossible task.

"Ah, yes. Lord Stark... Well, since no one here can hear us, I could sing you a bit of an opera I'm writing. Ahem... Hail the mighty Edelgard, though red blood stains her story... Heavy as her crown might be, she will lead us all to glory... "

Her voice was more wonderful than Sansa had imagined, almost as if it transported her to another world. She was so happy to have been able to hear it that her joy was only overshadowed by the impossibility of being able to go see her sing at the opera. Sometimes life was so unfair... why couldn't her father understand?

"I thought Lady Edelgard had forbidden you from continuing with that libretto," Vestra said.

"She only strongly suggested it, Hubie," Dorothea replied. "But when one is inspired, no one can stop her. I'm sure Edie will understand."

"I, for one, am eager for you to premiere it," said the Astral Knight.

"Thank you. Honestly, I think it will be soon."

ASHA

The rays of the sun at dawn shone on Asha's black armor as she watched the Fifth Army unfold like a fan of steel on the plain in front of her. Being there, on a hill, so close, yet so far from her troops made her nervous. She should be there with them... She was beside herself with nerves. Too nervous for simple maneuvers.

If those exercises could be considered simple maneuvers. The Battle of the Eagles was the biggest event of the year for the Black Eagle Strike Force, by far. A practice battle with blunt weapons and wooden-tipped arrows, pitting the different armies that made up the force against each other. Except for the Hegemon Guard, which usually did not participate in such an event, the rest of the armies awaited it eagerly. For the generals, it was nothing more than a kind of competition. For the rest, the perfect opportunity to show themselves to the rest of the army and to the higher ranks. A soldier who demonstrated skill, valor, or intelligence could easily be promoted to sergeant in the future or become part of the personal guard of the Lords of Dragonstone. For sergeants and captains, it was an opportunity to demonstrate their leadership skills and put themselves in the spotlight for a future promotion. Thought it was not going to be entirely the case this time.

On this occasion, neither Lord Stannis nor Lady Edelgard in person were going to be present at the battle, as they were still on their way back to the island from King's Landing and their arrival was not expected until at least that night or early in the morning. In theory, the battle was not scheduled for a few more months, but that was one of the strangest and most exciting things about these maneuvers: there was always something unexpected.

The first one Asha participated in was on a hot summer day a few years ago. In theory, it was going to be a simple battle at dawn. But it was never like that. On that occasion, a tremendous storm broke out throughout the day, turning the battlefield into a mud pit. All the participants ended up bruised, tired, and learned that carrying a mud-soaked armor was not an easy task. Another year, an ambush was simulated, in other occasions, it was a naval battle, and there were a couple of times when the entire Hegemon Guard participated in the battle. But the one she remembered most vividly was the year she was named general. On that occasion, the armies were randomly divided into two forces, just like this year, but one with twice as many troops as the other. Asha was chosen by lottery among the different captains to command the second one. Her small army was soon overwhelmed and surrounded by the enemy force, much larger in number, but she managed to reorganize her soldiers and undertake a glorious suicidal charge against the enemy center, breaking through their lines and capturing the enemy leader. That bold maneuver earned her victory that year and the position she now held.

"I don't like this," grumbled Aliser Thorne, near her. It was one of the things the old instructor was good at. "I don't understand why it's been moved up so much this year. And on top of that, they warn us the day before, as usual. Most of the new kids have barely learned to wield a sword. What do they expect them to do?"

"Well, for my part, I'm eager to see the new ones," replied Donal Noye, the general of the Second Army. The former armorer was one of the oldest members of the Strike Force, and one of the few who had known Lord Stannis and Lady Edelgard long before its formation. It was also rumored that he was the one who had forged the Lord of Dragonstone's first sword, as well as the one who had reforged Lady Hresvelg's Valyrian steel axe.

"Fresh blood always makes for quite a show," added Gilbert Farring, another of the generals. "Although I agree with Ser Aliser. It's too soon for many of them."

"Well, sometimes you have to give the young ones a chance," said Asha with a smile. "Who knows, maybe we'll be surprised."

"If they don't run away or freeze up, that will be a victory in itself," commented Ser Aliser, causing a general laughter.

"Want to bet, Thorne?" asked Asha. She knew the instructor couldn't resist even the slightest provocation.

"Here we go again..." said Farring. "Can't you at least wait until Bergliez arrives? You know he never misses the chance to bet."

"He won't be here," Noye informed them, crossing his arms. "The Director has sent him on a mission with the Onion Knight, or something like that, from what I understood." Asha was surprised and disappointed by both absences. Caspar von Bergliez was someone who enlivened conversations. She still remembered the anecdotes he told her when she was a child about his travels to Essos with the Windblown and the Golden Company. And Ser Davos was almost like a father to her, the daughter he never had, as he had called her until the birth of his daughter Edelgard, the smallest of the Onion Knight's offspring.

"Another point in my favor. Bergliez, Lady Edelgard, and Lord Stannis are absent, and the new ones are very green. These maneuvers are too hasty. What was the Director thinking?" complained Ser Aliser once again.

"She's probably thinking of new ways to annoy you. You know how this goes, testing our ability to react to unforeseen situations. And seeing your reaction, it seems she's succeeded," teased Asha. She couldn't resist, it was too easy.

"Bah. All she's going to get is a bunch of crying brats."

"In that case, I apologize, Sir Aliser. We're not looking for any job intrusion with this exercise." A tired voice, followed by a deep yawn, surprised them as they argued.

The Director had finally arrived. Asha, along with the others present, placed her hand on her chest and made a slight bow to the newcomers. There were two of them, a man and a woman, in addition to their escort of half a dozen members of the Hegemon Guard. They could not be more different. The man was tall, at least a head taller than Asha, and his long green hair fell almost to his shoulders. He had a tired expression, but he still stood upright. The woman, on the other hand, was shorter, although still taller than Asha. Like the man, her hair had a strange color, violet in this case. Bernadetta von Barley, the Director of the Academy, and the wife of the most dangerous man she had ever met.

"I see you're all here. Good, good, we can get started then," said the Director. If Asha knew her as well as she thought she did, both newcomers wanted nothing more than to leave as soon as possible.

"And we can leave earlier," added the man, confirming her suspicions, and then pulled out a fluffy cushion and reclined against the trunk of one of the nearby trees. Like the rest, Asha knew him well. Linhardt von Herving was one of Lord Stannis's most trusted vassals, and it was no secret that he was destined to replace the old maester of Dragonstone when the time came, although the young maester Pylos might have something to say about it. Until then, he dedicated himself to helping run the Academy, and his figure was only overshadowed by that of the Director. Together, they were the ultimate authority in Dragonstone, just below Lord Stannis and Lady Edelgard. They were also a pair of big softies incapable of harming a fly.

Unless a matter was interesting or particularly urgent, Linhardt rarely paid much attention to the routine matters of the army and delegated the work to his assistants, which for the time being did not seem to pose any problem for the functioning of the Academy. Lady Bernadetta, for her part, devoted most of her time to administrative tasks, and occasionally taught soldiers how to use the bow. She was also the direct cause of that thorny issue.

"It is not my place to criticize you, my lords, but... do you really think it is appropriate to have the battle now?" said Ser Aliser. Asha always had the feeling that the strange couple generated much more discipline and respect than they should have for their appearance and behavior, especially in men like Aliser Thorne, but it wasn't a topic she cared much about.

"Probably not - yawn," Lord Linhardt replied. "But it will be good practice for them, it will take away their fear."

"Yes, that first experience is always very important," Bernadetta added. "I admit that it may be too soon for many of them, but that is also part of the exercise."

This is not for testing the new recruits, Asha quickly deduced, as if the cloud that was obscuring her thoughts had cleared in an instant. But for the rest.

"It seems Asha has caught on quickly," Linhardt said. Her reaction must have been more obvious than she imagined for even the half-asleep man to notice.

"Training the recruits is not the main objective of this battle," Asha informed them. "Not the main one, at least."

"True," confirmed Bernadetta. "Lady Edelgard wanted to see how our most capable soldiers would react in a crisis situation. Without the help of the generals, with novices among their ranks, and with almost no time to react."

The others glanced at each other but said nothing, weighing the Director's words. Like generals, captains, and sergeants, they had all reached their positions through their own merits, but it was true that many, especially the younger ones, had never participated in a real war, Asha among them. Since her father's rebellion, the kingdom had known a decade of peace, and that could make anyone complacent.

"Look, it seems they're starting," Gilbert Farring said to them. As he said, the two groups were approaching. One carried crimson red banners, the other navy blue. They had assumed very similar formations, although certain differences were noted. The eastern group, the one with the red banners, had placed their archers at the front and withdrew them behind their lines as the enemy infantry approached. The opposing army, on the other hand, had positioned their archers on the flanks and didn't seem to intend to withdraw them. The instructors had already started indicating to many soldiers to retreat. The first "casualties."

"They're going to demolish them," Ser Gilbert continued. "As soon as the cavalry charges, those archers will fall like flies."

"If they manage to do so. If they don't break through the enemy cavalry, they'll be in trouble," Donal Noye said in this case. He's right, Asha noted. The two mounted forces had the same number of troops, and neither could gain the upper hand on either flank. In the center of the battlefield, things didn't seem to be any better, as it had turned into a war of attrition between formations of pikemen. To her pleasant surprise, none of the formations on either side seemed to have collapsed, although the red army seemed to be suffering from the constant volleys of archers on the flanks. She wondered which side her men had been assigned to. They might be in both. They won't disappoint me, but I have to admit that the archers' strategy has been really effective.

The battle lasted for several hours without anything of significance happening beyond a few attempts to charge against the blue archers. Most were far from achieving their goal and were easily repelled, but one came close to achieving its objective on the right flank. Unfortunately for them, one of the nearby infantry battalions abandoned its position and moved to intercept the charge before it reached the archers.

At the end of the day, victory went to the blue army, but the battle was fierce and evenly matched. There were considerably more injuries than in previous years, though thankfully nothing serious to regret, and Linhardt only had to intervene a couple of times. She always found it amusing to see the stunned faces of the rookies when they saw their open wounds, which in other situations would leave scars for life, close in seconds.

"This was a good battle," Omar Blackberry, one of the captains, was heard saying as they regrouped on the hill.

"It could have been better. In the end, it was just a mud fight, although it was a truly devilish struggle," replied William Floxglove, another captain.

"You could have given us a better show up here," said Asha. "I wasn't sure if I was watching a battle or a tavern brawl between drunk old men." This provoked a general laugh, and even Ser Aliser joined in.

"You should buy a Myrish eye, general," Brienne retorted. "Maybe then you'd be more entertained." The woman from Tarth was bruised and limping on one leg, so Asha imagined the fight had reached such a point as to involve the high command directly.

"Your jokes are still terrible, Brienne, as always. By the way, I hope you were on the winning side, or I'll have to apply serious discipline," she replied, mocking.

"It won't be necessary," Brienne laughed. "The battle was ours. Although most of the glory belongs to Ser Jaremy."

"You honor me, Brienne, but we all deserve our share of this triumph. The young Seaworth's tactics with the archers turned out to be decisive," said Ser Jaremy, one of the most veteran members of the army. Rumors had it that he could have been promoted to general a long time ago, but he had always declined.

"Thank you, although it was very risky," said the young Dale, somewhat uncomfortable. Those charges could have shattered our flank if it weren't for Brienne's troops."

"Ah, so it was our boys who stopped the charge?" Asha asked curiously.

"Yes, the fourth battalion acted quickly, almost spontaneously."

"We'll have to congratulate Thomas," said Asha. It was a bit strange that the sergeant had ordered to break ranks, as he wasn't someone who usually took much initiative, but she was glad that he had finally shown some character.

"He has his boys well trained," Brienne admitted. "But he had fallen by that point in the battle. I think it was young Snow who led them."

Snow. This was a surprise, thought Asha, remembering the shy boy who had returned with them from Winterfell.

"Snow?" Ser Aliser asked. "It seems he's finally got some sense into his head."

"I don't think it's thanks to you," she replied, generating another laugh. Jon Snow. She didn't know why, but she had the feeling that boy was full of surprises.

THE LADY OF ICE

16 years and a half ago

The entire castle seemed like a cemetery. They, along with the soldiers, were nothing but mere spectators of an announced burial. For several days, rations had decreased to only one meager meal a day, and Edelgard wasn't fooling herself. It wouldn't be long until that too ran out. Months had passed, and discipline had been maintained strictly. Until now.

"You can't do this! He's mad! It will only lead us all to death, do you hear me?! All of us!" The screams echoed through the castle yard as the prisoners were escorted to their makeshift gallows. They had been discovered in the middle of the night trying to escape the castle through one of the posterns, to no avail. Leading them was Ser Gawen Wylde. The soldier who had behaved with such pride and anger the day they arrived at that place had been reduced to a poor, unkempt, defeated man. The only indication that he was the same man Edelgard had met weeks ago, the one who had tried to challenge Stannis for command, was his audacity in trying to incite the guards escorting him to rebel.

He has lost all hope of winning. Now he only tries to live, at any cost. She knew that feeling well. That moment when even the slightest hint of escape would serve to preserve hope a little longer. The Edelgard of the past would have done it, would have given anything to escape the horrible torture to which they were being subjected to. But that girl was dead.

She could have escaped Storm's End. True, several hundred sentinels and huge walls prevented it, but it was not impossible at all. Hubert had discovered a fairly feasible escape route just a week after their unexpected stay in the castle, and she had rejected the proposal time and time again. It was somewhat foolish. What did she owe these people? They were complete strangers to them to the point that they didn't even belong in the same world. She had told Hubert and the others that they should do their best to help Stannis and the desperate garrison. That these soldiers had welcomed them despite their critical situation, that outside nothing guaranteed their safety. It was a lie, of course. She did it for herself, to prove to herself what she was capable of. To prove that she was no longer that frightened girl locked in a dark cell. How stupid it seemed now, and yet she was unable to turn her back on those men.

Edelgard and her companions, along with a few curious men, followed the condemned on their way. Nobles and commoners, knights, stable boys, and even some castle servants. Everyone wanted to see what was going to happen on that fateful day. It had dawned rainy, and it had only stopped pouring an hour ago, but the black clouds still covered the sky. They climbed the walls and walked along the battlements until they reached one of the circular towers. A catapult had been placed on it, ready to defend the wall from siege towers that the Tyrells had constructed if necessary. Edelgard had not yet seen it fire a single shot in these months, and there was nothing to indicate that that was going to change. Alongside her, escorted by Maester Cressen and a dozen guards, was the commander of the garrison. Also present was little Renly, Stannis' younger brother, a cheerful six-year-old boy. A child his age should not have to suffer these cruelties. I wasn't much older than him, but it was a different world... She repeated that every night she spent in those lands, and each time it became more evident how false that statement was.

"I know you four," Stannis said. His beard was unkempt and his eyes sunk into the hollows of his skull. He was the first to feel the effects of the dwindling food supplies. He didn't say it, but Edelgard knew that the young knight went without food for more than a day at a time, and she had never seen him take more rations than anyone else in the castle. It didn't seem like much, but that alone had earned her deepest respect.

"Ser Gawen. You taught me how to wield a sword, just as you did my brother before me. And now, in our darkest hour, you dare to betray us."

"It's not betrayal," replied Ser Gawen. He didn't seem affected by the ropes that bound his wrists to the point of injury. "You're mad, and your madness will be our downfall. What betrayal is there in trying to live to see another day? Robert is dead, there's no need to follow him to the grave."

"If you're so eager to dine with Mace Tyrell, I'll send you to him. Prepare the catapult."

"What?" said Ser Gawen, stunned. "You can't, you have no honor."

"Then you'll join my brother, if he has died as you so blindly claim."

"Stannis?" Maester Cressen was also surprised by the punishment the commander planned to inflict on the deserters. "I would advise against it." She saw how the old man's words gave the prisoners a glimmer of hope. Edelgard made her way through the crowd to Ser Stannis and the old man, trying to hear the conversation better. A couple of guards tried to stop her, but Stannis gestured for them to let her through.

"I suppose you have an opinion on these traitors as well," Stannis said in a low voice.

"Aye. But I wanted to hear what Cressen was proposing first," she replied.

"My lady. I was merely advising caution. It would be better to lock them up for the time being. If need be, we may have to resort to eating-"

"The dead," Edelgard finished for him. She had assumed several weeks ago that this might be a possibility. At least this time it will be less painful.

"Exactly," Cressen concluded, although Edelgard instantly noticed that the severity of his words did not reflect in his face. He doesn't think we may need to go that far. He just wants to save them, the idiot.

"I agree with you, Maester. Firing them from the catapult will only make the Tyrells realize how desperate our situation is becoming. We shouldn't give them that satisfaction." The old man relaxed upon hearing her words. "But I have an objection, if I may. If you're really willing to resort to cannibalism, we'd better do it sooner rather than later. The longer they spend in the dungeons, the weaker they'll be, and when the time comes, they'll be nothing but a bag of bones, not to mention the diseases they may contract. If you choose that path, you should do it now."

Stannis' face remained impassive, weighing what Edelgard had just told him, but Cressen was visibly shaken. He couldn't even articulate a firm response.

"I will not give Mace Tyrell the satisfaction of seeing our weakness," Stannis proclaimed loudly. "Let them rot in the dungeons." He turned around as the guards led the prisoners back at spear-point. The crowd also began to disperse.

"I will order their execution tonight," he confided when he made sure no one could hear them. "I don't like having to do this, let alone having to hide it, but you're right."

"I'm glad to see you have the will to do whatever is necessary to resist," Edelgard told him.

"To resist... and for what, I wonder. Robert is alive, I know it, and I also know he has forgotten us. Him, Ned Stark, Jon Arryn... none will come. Not until the war is over. I'm going to order the execution of those four men, four good men, out of pride." His eyes continued to look out at the horizon, where Mace Tyrell and his generals were preparing to organize a splendid banquet before his eyes once again.

"Sometimes the heart overcomes our reason. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing. If this is the path you've chosen to take, know that both my comrades and I will follow you to the bitter end." As she said it, she knew those words were true. Her fate had been irretrievably tied to those men's. It was a colossal stupidity, illogical in every sense. And it was also the right thing to do.

"To the bitter end..."

Edelgard didn't hear whatever it was Stannis was going to say, as all her senses faded away the moment she saw Bernadetta making her way through the soldiers towards the edge of the battlements. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

No, NO! She wanted to react, run towards her and stop her before it was too late, but her legs refused to respond. The words stuck in her throat and once again she felt like a little girl, powerless. She hadn't even considered something like this could happen.

Her comrades were demoralized, yes, but she hadn't taken into account how much their spirits could have fallen. Caspar complained that there was no fight, Ferdinand of the enemy generals' lack of honor, and Dorothea often lamented the situation. They were all down, but she had always believed they were stronger than the rest. Even Bernadetta, who was calmly heading towards the abyss before her, had seemed stronger than anyone else in those last few days. The scared girl even went out of the rooms they were given and occasionally talked to some soldiers. How could this be happening, then? Had she been so blind not to notice that?

"Edie!"

A soft but penetrating voice pulled her out of her thoughts. A hand rested on her shoulder and she realized she was trembling. Suddenly, as if chains had been lifted, her entire body responded.

"Bernadetta!" she shouted, but before she could run towards her, the same person who had snapped her out of her paralysis grabbed her again, harder. "What are you doing? Let me go!" When she turned, she almost collided with Dorothea's concerned face.

"Edie, calm down," Dorothea said. Hubert, Stannis, Caspar, Ferdinand, and the rest were also looking at her strangely. How can they be so calm? Don't they realize what Bernadetta is about to do? Does no one see it?

"It is okay, Lady Edelgard," Petra said, approaching them. "Look close, Bernadetta is strong."

Edelgard almost laughed at her stupidity. In her hand, Bernadetta held her bow. It was very similar to the bows of the other soldiers, but Edelgard could tell the differences, especially by the metal decorations of the Church of Seiros on the grip. She also had the quiver on her back with the few arrows left after the battle with Kronya and her followers. She had one of them in her other hand.

What is she doing? Certainly, the shy and frightened girl had clear intentions of shooting the enemy from the wall, but she must have realized that it was utterly impossible. They were too far away, even for a catapult, it was impossible to reach that distance. The soldiers moved aside as the small woman with that strange hair color approached where they were, and looked at her confused, but none said anything. In fact, they turned and watched her, as if hypnotized by what she was about to do. Edelgard realized that she was doing the exact same thing. In the end, in their darkest hour, it had been the lonely daughter of House Varley who had shown more determination than any of them, making the rest have to follow her that time.

Bernadetta approached the battlements, placed the arrow on the string, and began to draw the bow, aiming into the distance. Her body was completely rigid, and her eyes were focused on the horizon. Her mouth was closed, and her jaw was as tight as the bowstring, which seemed ready to break. Time seemed to stand still for a moment.

She knew it was completely and utterly impossible for Bernadetta to hit anyone. Heaven's, it was more likely that the arrow wouldn't even make it halfway to its target, and yet she watched with anticipation, as if waiting for a miracle. That the girl who was scared of her own shadow could perform such a feat.

The arrow flew. It whistled as it tore through the air and disappeared into the horizon, rising towards the sky. Edelgard couldn't contain herself and ran towards the battlements, trying her best to see where the arrow was heading, which had already become a mere black dot fading away in the distance towards the enemy camp.

Impossible... did she... did she hit him? She tried to focus on what was visible in the distance, as if that could make her see what had happened far away. Clearly, with no result. The rest had also crowded to the edge of the wall, including Stannis and the soldiers of Storm's End, who were also dumbfounded.

"I'm... I'm sorry..." Bernadetta stammered, close to her. Her hand was shaking, and all the strength she seemed to have just a moment ago had disappeared. "I was aiming for the fat one... I failed... useless... I failed..." Edelgard hugged her.

Failed? Does she not know what she just did? What mattered was not that she had missed, but the mere fact of shooting an arrow at that distance was worthy of admiration. With just that small act of defiance, she had given them hope. Not just for herself or the Eagles, but for the entire castle. Of that, she was sure. By the Goddess, the Tyrells must be completely confused. With a bit of luck, they might even think it's another army...

In her arms, Bernadetta had finally stopped shaking. In fact, she wasn't moving at all. Her breathing was too calm considering the situation.

"Bernadetta?" Her friend had a lost look and didn't react at all.

"Argg," said Hubert, who appeared next to them quickly. "Again... don't worry, Lady Edelgard, I'll take care of it." With a quick movement, he lifted Bernadetta from her legs and carried her in his arms, more delicately than was typical of him.

"What's wrong with her?" Edelgard asked as Hubert headed towards the fortress.

"She just fainted," Hubert said with a smile.

"On her feet? But what...?" She didn't have time to ask because Hubert was already on his way to the courtyard, down the stairs. She was about to follow them when she heard Stannis say something near her.

"Im-impossible..." Stannis stammered. He was looking beyond the walls with a spyglass, or a Myrish eye, as they called it in that land. The instrument partially covered his face, but Edelgard could sense his disbelief and... happiness? For the first time since she had met him, she saw a smile form on his lips. It was a strange but hopeful sight. "That's... Tarly. Yes, I'm sure... I can't believe it... She killed Randyll Tarly!"