"A Shield in the Storm: The Captain’s Oath"

Stoney Sept – A City of Smoke and Blood

Ser Garett Forrester had seen his fair share of battles.

But this?

This was a siege unlike any other.

From his position on the outskirts of Stoney Sept, he could hear the bells ringing—that cursed sound that had been echoing for days, a desperate call for help.

The town was bleeding, its streets filled with the dead and dying, its people caught in a war not of their making.

And here he stood, sword in hand, staring across the battlefield at an enemy that refused to break.

Jon Connington was a ruthless commander.

And Robert Baratheon?

A beast that would not die.

---

A Soldier's Burden – War Without End

Garett wasn't a great lord, nor a knight of high renown.

He was just a soldier—one of thousands fighting for a cause greater than himself.

And yet, as he stood among his brothers-in-arms, waiting for the next skirmish, he could feel the weight of the war pressing down on them all.

"How much longer can we hold?"

Robert was inside the town, fighting like a madman, but the rebel forces outside were barely making progress.

Connington's men held the choke points. Every advance was met with blood and steel.

"If we break through too late, Robert will be dead."

But if they charged too soon?

They'd be slaughtered before even reaching the town.

And so they waited.

Watching.

Hoping.

Dreading.

---

The Officers' Meeting – A War of Attrition

That night, in the command tent, the tension was thick enough to cut with a blade.

Jon Arryn sat at the center, his face drawn with exhaustion. Hoster Tully leaned forward, frustration burning in his eyes.

Garett stood at the edge of the room, listening as the lords debated their next move.

"This siege cannot continue," Hoster said, slamming a fist on the table. "We must break through."

"And lose half our men in the process?" Jon Arryn shot back. "Connington wants us to rush in blind. He'll cut us down before we reach Robert."

Ser Lyn Corbray sneered. "So what do we do? Pray?"

No one spoke.

Because, in truth, they had no answer.

Garett swallowed hard. He had fought in skirmishes, seen men die in the mud, but this was something else.

This was a war of patience.

And patience was running out.

---

The Night Before Battle – Fear in the Ranks

Garett returned to the camp, passing by men huddled around fires, sharpening swords, whispering prayers to gods old and new.

He sat with his company, a mix of Riverlands soldiers and a few Vale men who had survived the early battles.

"Reckon we'll break through tomorrow?" a young soldier asked.

Garett exhaled. "Maybe."

The boy—no older than sixteen—looked down at his blade. His hands were shaking.

He didn't belong here. None of them did.

But war didn't care.

Before Garett could say another word, a horn sounded in the distance.

A deep, thunderous call.

He froze.

The others leapt to their feet, eyes wide with disbelief.

Because that wasn't an enemy horn.

That was a signal.

A sign.

The North had arrived.

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The North Rises – A New Dawn

From the darkened horizon, a great host emerged.

Banners of grey direwolves fluttered in the wind, carried by thousands of armored riders and foot soldiers.

The men around Garett stood in stunned silence.

Eddard Stark had come.

And with him, the might of the North.

The battle was about to change.

Forever.

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