289 AC. Morning on the Kingsroad, still a good distance from the Twins.
Cheers rolled across the fields in wave after wave. Banners snapped in the wind — crowned stags, direwolves, falcons, leaping trout, black bats, and more — proud sigils of every great house riding to war.
Robert led the combined might of the Crownlands, Riverlands, and Vale. Here they met Eddard Stark's Northern host. Two rivers of steel and flesh merged on the road. The smell of men, horses, and oiled steel hung thick in the air.
Robert rode with four Kingsguard: Ser Barristan Selmy, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, Ser Boros Blount, and Ser Mandon Moore. The white knights gleamed in milk-white armor and cloaks, white shields on their arms. Robert had left three Kingsguard in King's Landing, but he had brought the two best blades the order still possessed.
Eddard Stark spurred forward, dismounted, and dropped to one knee.
"Winterfell answers your call, Your Grace."
He carried Ice on his back. Long-faced, brown-haired, gray-eyed — quieter and steadier than his wild brother Brandon had ever been.
"Ned!" Robert laughed, loud and genuine, and hauled his old friend up into a crushing embrace. "By the gods, it's good to ride with you again."
"Long live King Robert!"
The shout thundered from thousands of throats. Lords and knights alike roared it.
Most men dreaded war. Robert lived for it. Wine and women were one pleasure. Blood and steel on the battlefield was another.
Arthur watched from nearby, black armor gleaming under his yellow surcoat. The "stag and wolf" were the realm's most famous pair of brothers-in-arms. Eddard was less wolf than eagle — calm, sharp, dangerous in his own quiet way.
"Nothing left to say," Robert bellowed, eyes bright with battle-hunger. "Let's gut those squid bastards!"
His warhammer and great shield looked monstrous in his hands. Only a man built like Robert could swing them and live.
Good news kept arriving. The Redwyne fleet and Oldtown's ships would link with Stannis once he cleared Dorne. When the royal fleet and the Reach fleets joined, Balon's Iron Fleet was finished.
The full host was gathered. They would cross at the Twins and drive straight for Seagard.
"Lord Hoster Tully commands the Riverlands!"
"Lord Jon Royce leads the Vale!"
"Ser Barristan Selmy commands the Crownlands host!"
Robert named his commanders for Eddard's benefit. Then he grinned.
"And the vanguards. Ser Lyn Corbray of the Vale. Young Arthur Whent of the Riverlands. And Thoros of Myr."
Arthur, Lyn, and Thoros rode forward and greeted Eddard.
"Good day, Lord Eddard."
Arthur wore black plate and a yellow surcoat stitched with black bats. Eddard studied him for a moment. The boy looked every inch the rising Riverlands champion now — tall, confident, already blooded.
Lyn Corbray sat in silver armor, rust-brown hair showing beneath his helm. Three ravens clutching red hearts adorned his surcoat. Lady Forlorn, the famous Valyrian steel blade, hung at his hip.
Thoros of Myr was impossible to miss — a big, bald, red-robed priest of R'hllor who drank with the king and fought like a demon. His sword was coated in wildfire for the lists, a terrifying sight when it blazed.
"All fine young men," Eddard said. "Besides my own vanguard, Lord Rickard Karstark, I brought another strong hand. Jorah, come forward."
Jorah Mormont rode up — dark-skinned, thickly bearded, plain-faced, wearing a green cloak over his armor. Longclaw, the Mormont Valyrian steel sword with its bear-head pommel, rested at his side.
Robert laughed. "Jorah! I remember you at the Trident. You fought well. You'll earn fresh glory here."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Jorah answered, pleased.
Robert looked over the four vanguards and nodded with satisfaction.
"I have high hopes for every one of you. Good men. They'll do great things in this war."
The Great Bear Jorah. Lyn Corbray, the Vale's finest swordsman. Arthur Whent, the Dark Knight. Thoros of Myr with his flaming blade.
Four vanguards. Four famous swords.
Three were Valyrian steel: Lady Forlorn, Longclaw, and Dark Messenger. Thoros's wildfire-coated blade made the fourth.
Randyll Tarly wasn't here, or it would have been four Valyrian steel swords riding together.
After the hosts joined, the great army turned toward the Twins to cross the Green Fork.
Outside the castle, old Walder Frey waited with his men, bowing and scraping.
"Good day, Your Grace, my lords," the old weasel said, voice oily with respect. "I will guide you across myself. My sons and grandsons will fight for you. Forgive an old man for staying behind."
Robert accepted the courtesy with a grunt. Walder Frey knew when to bend.
The Twins stood as they always had — two ugly, square, brutally strong castles linked by a high arched bridge that had guarded the crossing for centuries. High walls, deep moat, thick iron-banded doors, portcullises, and the Watchtower in the middle of the river.
As the army marched, the great lords rode in one group and the vanguards in another.
Jorah was quiet. Lyn carried himself with cool pride.
Thoros was the easiest company — loud, cheerful, and already friendly with Arthur because the young lord traveled with excellent wine.
"My lady is thirsty," Lyn told Arthur as they rode. "She may want to taste a few more ironborn before we're done."
Lyn was usually cold to most men, but he treated Arthur with something close to respect. Arthur's victories were real, and Arthur had gold.
"Dark Messenger is thirsty too," Arthur answered.
"Perhaps we should let the two blades meet," Lyn said, interest flickering in his eyes.
"Good lad, but no," Lyn said after a moment, shaking his head. "I'm too old for that. It wouldn't be fair."
Both were famous swordsmen, but this was not the place for private duels.
"There will be chances," Arthur said quietly. "But I think we have a better opportunity to work together — and make some gold dragons while we're at it."
Lyn's head turned slightly.
"What kind of opportunity?"
House Corbray was old and poor. Lyn was always short on coin.
Arthur smiled faintly as the army rolled on toward the river crossing.
The war was only beginning.