Jodor's heart pounded as he stepped into the dark, narrow passage leading to Iron Crag. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of earth and mold, and his every step echoed faintly along the stone walls. This was no ordinary path—it was a labyrinth designed to confuse, maim, or kill any intruder foolish enough to attempt entry without guidance. He carried a torch in one hand, its flickering light casting ominous shadows on the jagged walls around him.

The passage forked frequently, branching off into what Jodor knew were false trails. Some led to dead ends, others to deadly traps—pits lined with sharpened stakes or collapsing ceilings designed to crush the unwary. Jodor moved with confidence, however. He had traversed this passage many times as a loyal soldier of Thrain. Now, his loyalty belonged to another. His mind lingered on his family, freed from Thrain's tyranny thanks to Jon Frost's daring raids. They were safe now, far from the reach of Iron Crag.

Jodor's determination solidified as he navigated the twisting paths. He had no fear of Thrain's wrath because he had nothing left to lose. He would carry out Jon Frost's plan, not for glory or coin, but for the future of his loved ones.

The journey took hours, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceiling or the distant scurrying of unseen vermin. As Jodor neared the end of the passage, he extinguished his torch, plunging himself into near-total darkness. He moved cautiously now, his hand skimming the wall to guide him. Finally, he saw a faint glimmer of light ahead—the hidden entrance to Iron Crag.

Emerging from the passage, Jodor found himself at the base of a narrow stairwell carved into the rock. The stairs spiraled upward, and he ascended them quickly, his pulse quickening. As he reached the top, he stepped out into a small, concealed chamber within the fortress walls. Before he could take another step, the unmistakable sound of bowstrings being drawn froze him in place.

"Don't move!" a harsh voice barked.

Jodor raised his hands slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dim torchlight of the room. He was surrounded by Thrain's soldiers, all with arrows nocked and trained on him. There were at least twenty men, their faces hard and suspicious.

"I'm no enemy," Jodor said, his voice steady despite the danger. "I've escaped from Jon Frost's camp. I've come to warn Lord Thrain of Frost's movements."

The soldiers exchanged wary glances, their bows still drawn. One of them, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. "How did you escape?" he demanded. "And why would Frost let you live?"

Jodor's mind raced. This was the moment Jon Frost had prepared him for. "Frost's camp isn't as secure as he likes to think," Jodor said, injecting a note of disdain into his voice. "I slipped away during the night while his men were drunk on their victory over the last outpost. They're arrogant, thinking they've already won. I came back because I know Iron Crag can't fall—not if Thrain knows what he's up against."

The scarred man studied him intently, his eyes narrowing. "If you're lying, it'll be your head."

"I'm not lying," Jodor insisted. "Frost is amassing an army larger than anything we've seen. He's rallying soldiers, deserters, and anyone who hates Thrain's rule. But it's not just numbers that make him dangerous. He's a skinchanger, stronger than Thrain. He uses wolves, crows, even bears to fight for him. And his men believe in him—they think he's unstoppable."

The room fell silent at Jodor's words. The soldiers shifted uneasily, their previous confidence replaced with unease. Jodor pressed on, sensing their doubt.

"Thrain needs to act quickly," he said. "If he doesn't, Frost will overrun Iron Crag. I've seen it myself—outposts falling in hours, soldiers surrendering without a fight. Frost isn't just leading an army; he's spreading fear. And fear is his greatest weapon."

The scarred man lowered his bow slightly, though his expression remained skeptical. "Why should we believe you?"

Jodor leaned forward, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Because I know the secret passage. The one I used to get here. If I wanted Iron Crag to fall, I could've led Frost's men straight to your doorstep. Instead, I came alone, risking my life to warn you."

The soldiers glanced at one another, their resolve wavering. The scarred man hesitated, then motioned for his men to lower their bows. "We'll take you to Thrain," he said gruffly. "But if you're lying, you'll wish you'd died in that camp."

Jodor nodded, keeping his expression neutral even as relief flooded through him. He had passed the first test, but the real challenge lay ahead. As the soldiers escorted him through the fortress, he silently repeated Jon Frost's instructions.

Sow doubt. Spread fear. Let Thrain's men question their leader's strength and the inevitability of his rule.

The corridors of Iron Crag were as imposing as Jodor remembered—cold, unyielding stone walls lit by flickering torches, the air heavy with the scent of oil and iron. Soldiers bustled about, their faces grim and determined. But Jodor could already see the cracks forming—whispers between men, wary glances toward the fortress gates. The fear of Jon Frost was taking root, and Jodor would ensure it spread like wildfire.

As they approached the great hall where Thrain awaited, Jodor steeled himself. He would need every ounce of his cunning to survive this encounter. But he believed in Jon Frost's vision, and he would do whatever it took to see it realized.

Jodor's plan unfolded exactly as Jon Frost had envisioned. After being granted an audience with Thrain, Jodor repeated the tale Jon had coached him on: Frost's army was formidable, his numbers growing with each victory, and his prowess as a skinchanger unmatched. Thrain, with his pride and temper, dismissed much of what Jodor said but allowed him to stay among the soldiers, deeming him harmless. That decision would prove his undoing.

Once released back into the general ranks, Jodor began his true work. He spoke to soldiers in quiet corners of the fortress, planting seeds of doubt and fear. "You saw it yourselves," he whispered. "Thrain hides behind these walls while Jon Frost walks freely outside, daring him to fight. What kind of leader refuses a challenge? A coward, that's who."

The soldiers listened, some brushing him off, but others nodded in agreement. As days turned into weeks and Jon Frost returned repeatedly to stand before Iron Crag, calling out Thrain to a duel, the whispers grew louder. Jodor's words became the thoughts of many. The once-fearless garrison of Iron Crag began to crumble from within.

Thrain, oblivious at first, soon began to notice the changes among his men. Patrols grew lax, the morale of his soldiers dipped, and the air of confidence that once filled the fortress was replaced by tension and mistrust. When one of his captains reported that a group of soldiers had deserted through the secret passage, Thrain was furious. He ordered the passage sealed and posted guards to prevent further desertion. But the damage was already done.

The men who fled from Iron Crag sought refuge with Jon Frost, who welcomed them into his growing ranks. These deserters, emboldened by their newfound freedom, spread tales of Thrain's cowardice and Jon's strength. The stories reached back to Iron Crag through spies and rumors, further undermining Thrain's authority.

Thrain's frustration mounted. Each time Jon Frost appeared before the fortress, challenging him to single combat, the walls of Iron Crag seemed to close in tighter. His men began to avoid his gaze, their loyalty eroding with each passing day. Even his closest advisors started to falter in their faith.

Jodor continued his work, subtly undermining Thrain from within. He spoke in hushed tones to groups of soldiers, questioning their leader's resolve. "Jon Frost stands outside every day, ready to fight, and yet Thrain does nothing," he said. "Is this the man you want to follow? A man who hides while his enemy grows stronger?"

The murmurs of agreement grew louder with each conversation. More and more soldiers began to see Thrain not as a leader but as a liability. Jodor's influence spread like a disease, infecting the fortress with doubt.

When Jon Frost once again appeared before Iron Crag, his voice booming across the battlefield as he challenged Thrain to a duel, the pressure became unbearable. Soldiers whispered among themselves, their eyes darting toward their leader. Thrain, standing atop the battlements, felt their stares like daggers. His pride, already wounded, could take no more.

"Enough!" Thrain roared, his voice echoing through the fortress. He turned to his gathered men, his face a mask of fury. "If Frost wants a duel, he will have one. Let him see the might of Thrain the Merciless."

The soldiers cheered, though the sound was half-hearted. Some felt a flicker of hope at their leader's decision, while others saw it as a desperate attempt to reclaim lost honor. Jodor, standing among them, allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The plan was working perfectly.

The gates of Iron Crag creaked open, and Thrain emerged, clad in full armor that gleamed in the sunlight. His blonde hair and beard were braided, giving him a regal and imposing appearance. He carried a massive axe, its blade etched with runes of the Old Tongue, and his every step radiated power.

Jon Frost waited for him in the clearing below the fortress, his own armor simple but effective. He held a sword in one hand, but his true weapon was his confidence. He had won this battle before it even began, and he knew it.

The two men faced each other, the air between them heavy with tension. The soldiers of Iron Crag lined the walls, watching intently, while Jon's army stood in disciplined silence on the opposite side. The duel would decide the fate of both armies, but for Jon Frost, it was more than that. It was the culmination of weeks of strategy and subterfuge.

Thrain's voice boomed across the field. "You've called me a coward for the last time, Frost. Today, I'll show you the strength of a true leader."

Jon smirked, his tone calm and cutting. "You're no leader, Thrain. Just a relic of a dying era. Let's see if you can prove me wrong."

The duel began with a tense stillness as Jon Frost and Thrain the Merciless faced off in the clearing below Iron Crag. Thrain, towering and broad, held a massive wooden shield in one hand and a runed axe in the other. His blonde hair glinted in the sunlight, giving him a kingly air. Across from him stood Jon Frost, lean but powerful, gripping two swords, his stance poised and deliberate.

The crowd of soldiers, from both Thrain's garrison and Jon's army, stood in utter silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. The fate of Skagos rested on this battle.

Thrain charged first, his shield raised and axe swinging with a deadly arc. Jon met the assault head-on, his twin blades moving with precision and speed. Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel, the sound ringing out across the battlefield. Thrain's strikes were powerful and relentless, forcing Jon to stay on the defensive in the opening moments.

But Jon was patient, biding his time. Where Thrain relied on brute strength, Jon used agility and strategy. He weaved around the blows, his swords dancing in fluid motions that kept Thrain on edge. When Thrain swung his axe in a wide arc, Jon ducked low, slicing at Thrain's shield with one sword while striking at his exposed leg with the other. Thrain growled in pain but didn't falter, countering with a shield bash that sent Jon stumbling back.

The two combatants circled each other, breathing heavily but refusing to give ground. Jon could see that Thrain was skilled—more skilled than he had anticipated. Thrain fought like a man who had survived countless battles, his movements calculated and his strikes deadly. Yet Jon noticed something else: Thrain's strikes were fueled by anger, while Jon's were driven by purpose.

For what seemed like an eternity, they clashed. Axes and swords met in a symphony of violence. Both men narrowly escaped death several times. Jon's cloak was torn, and a shallow cut ran across his arm, while Thrain's shield bore deep gashes, and his breathing grew labored.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Jon saw his opening. Thrain overcommitted to a heavy swing, leaving his side exposed. Jon pivoted, one sword deflecting the axe while the other drove forward, piercing Thrain's stomach. The older man gasped, his strength leaving him as he fell to his knees.

The soldiers on the walls of Iron Crag gasped as their leader fell, the once-mighty Thrain now kneeling before Jon Frost. Blood seeped from the wound in his stomach, staining the ground red. Jon stepped back, his swords lowered, breathing heavily. He had won, but it had been a hard-fought victory.

Thrain looked up at Jon, his face pale but his eyes still fierce. "You've bested me, Frost," he said, his voice weak but steady. "You've proven yourself stronger. But strength alone won't keep you alive in Skagos."

Jon nodded, respecting Thrain's resolve even in defeat. "Your reign ends here, Thrain. But I'll give you one last moment to speak your mind."

Thrain nodded and called out for his daughter. From the gates of Iron Crag, Hilda emerged. She was young, with blonde hair like her father and a fierce determination in her eyes. She knelt beside Thrain, her expression a mixture of sorrow and pride.

"Hilda," Thrain said, his voice faltering, "without me, you'll have no protection. I've made too many enemies, done too many unforgivable things. You'll be hunted, and I cannot bear the thought of you falling into their hands." He turned his gaze to Jon. "Take her as your wife. Protect her as I would have. It's the only way she'll survive."

Jon hesitated, his brow furrowing. "I made a promise to someone else," he said. "I told her I would marry her."

Thrain gave a weak chuckle. "That's the custom of the Andals, boy. Not the First Men. Our ancestors had many wives, and you'll need alliances to rule Skagos. Hilda is my blood, and through her, you can claim my lands and my people."

Jon considered Thrain's words. He knew Thrain was right; the customs of the First Men allowed multiple wives, and marrying Hilda would solidify his claim to Skagos while ensuring her safety. After a long pause, Jon nodded.

"I will take her as my wife," Jon said, his voice firm. "And I will protect her. But know this, Thrain—I will not follow in your footsteps. Skagos will be ruled justly, not through fear."

Thrain gave a faint smile and nodded before slumping forward, his strength finally leaving him. The soldiers of Iron Crag lowered their weapons, their resistance broken.

With Thrain dead and Hilda at his side, Jon Frost stood before the gates of Iron Crag. The soldiers inside, seeing their leader defeated, surrendered without a fight. Jon's army marched into the fortress, securing it and claiming it in his name.

As the sun set over Iron Crag, Jon Frost stood atop its walls, looking out over the new land he now claimed. The North was vast and wild, but Jon was determined to bring order to it, one battle at a time.

Author's Note:

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