(Due to interference from an unnamed bronze dragon, the timeline has been slightly adjusted. When Robb marched south, Ned was still alive. The previous text has been corrected accordingly, and this change has minimal impact on the overall plot. PS: The above note is free.)
"Wheels rumbling, horses neighing, travelers with bows and arrows at their waists."
These are the opening lines of Du Fu's famous poem "The Ballad of the War Chariots."
As a young man Ethan had never truly understood the depth behind those words.
But now—standing in the midst of the long northern column personally witnessing this vast and awe-inspiring sight—he could only marvel at how precisely and profoundly the ancient poet had captured the essence of war and human life.
Since the War of the Usurper more than fifteen years earlier an army of ten thousand or more marching south along the Kingsroad had not been seen.
In this age simply keeping so many men fed watered and moving safely south of the Neck was already a monumental task—never mind preventing them from ravaging every village and inn along the way.
Mounted garrison officers rode up and down the column constantly shouting reminders not to fall behind.
Supply wagons loaded with dried bacon hard bread and barrels of small-beer rumbled along at the rear.
Yet every soldier still had to fill his own waterskin each morning.
Forget to refill before breaking camp and you could only hope a comrade would share—or go thirsty.
Whenever the column passed a village smallfolk came out to watch.
Some out of sheer curiosity eager to see the rare spectacle of thousands of armed men on the move;
others already fleeing deeper into the hills far from the Kingsroad—a precaution not at all unreasonable given the history of armies on campaign.
To make command and control easier during the march Robb's fifty-eight separate contingents were reorganized into six temporary battalions each under a senior officer from the Winterfell household guard.
These officers mainly served as coordinators passing down Robb's orders; actual day-to-day command remained with the individual garrison captains.
But wherever men gather power struggles follow—especially when lives are at stake.
The seven garrison commanders assigned to the same battalion as Ethan soon began quietly jockeying for dominance.
Among them Siegel Novak of Redfort held the largest force—over eighty infantry and light horse—while Anderson Barnes of White Harbour Bay was the most senior his thirty-odd men all veterans in mail.
Within the battalion two clear factions quickly formed.
Only Ethan stayed completely silent even during officers' meetings.
Most assumed he simply understood his place as a mercenary captain and deliberately kept a low profile.
But as days passed both the winners and losers of the quiet power struggle gradually realized that Ethan's presence could not be ignored—whether he spoke or not.
The reason lay in a story that had already spread throughout the northern host before they even left Winterfell:
the tale of how Ethan had used Light magic inside the Tobacco Tavern to save a Manderly soldier from certain death.
No one could ignore a man who could literally pull souls back from the brink—especially not northern soldiers who knew how easily a festering wound could kill even the strongest fighter.
On the third day out of Winterfell while the army was encamped for the night a man over two meters tall and broader even than Ethan's snow-bear cub Little Bell approached with several guards.
He towered over the Silver Hand warriors who were sitting around campfires listening to Lennar tell stories.
Laughter died instantly.
Several men rose hands drifting toward sword-hilts.
Ethan stood calmly and asked neither servile nor overbearing:
"May I ask your business sir?"
The giant chuckled.
"Tell your lads to relax—I'm not here to start trouble."
Ethan gave a small smile turned to his men and said:
"Carry on.
I'll speak with the gentleman."
"Teacher—you're going alone?" Kevin asked worriedly.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"Kevin—do you really think I need protecting?"
Kevin was speechless for a second then realized—indeed there was probably no need.
He and the others sat back down and resumed listening to Lennar.
The giant gave Ethan a long measuring look then said:
"Your soldiers trust you a great deal."
"A commander earns trust through strength does he not?" Ethan replied evenly.
He led the big man a short distance outside the camp perimeter then asked:
"Now sir—what brings you here?
Speak plainly."
The giant raised his left hand—wrapped in dirty bandages.
He slowly unwound the cloth revealing a grotesquely swollen palm.
Half the middle and ring fingers were gone; the stumps were already blackening and weeping pus.
"I've heard you can bring men back from death.
Can you fix this?" he asked.
Ethan gently probed the wound examined it carefully and said:
"I cannot raise the truly dead—but I may be able to save the dying.
Your injury isn't hopeless yet.
May I ask how it happened?"
"A rabid dog bit my fingers clean off a few days ago.
A maester cleaned and bandaged it—but once we started marching there was no more care.
The wound festered.
I've seen plenty of men die from less.
I don't want to bleed out on some southern field because of a damn stray dog."
Ethan asked:
"Have you had fever chills night sweats?"
The giant's eyes narrowed.
"Yes—all of that."
Ethan sighed.
"If you had come to me sooner it wouldn't have reached this stage.
Wait much longer and blood poisoning will kill you before any blade does."
The giant didn't know the term "blood poisoning" but he understood the tone.
He asked urgently:
"Then how will you treat it?
If you need medicine or herbs my men can fetch them."
Ethan shook his head.
"Call your men over."
The giant waved.
Four guards hurried forward and saluted respectfully:
"Sir."
The giant pointed at Ethan.
"Do whatever he tells you."
All eyes turned to Ethan.
He said simply:
"It's not complicated.
I'll begin praying shortly.
After each verse I'll pause—you repeat the words as devoutly as you can.
The more sincerely you pray the faster and better your lord's hand will heal."
The men nodded without hesitation.
"Please begin."
Ethan gently took the giant's ruined hand in both of his closed his eyes and began to pray with deep fervent intensity:
"O Sun—source of all light
illuminating every corner bestowing warmth and life upon the world—
we thank You for Your eternal glory!"
The prayer was short and powerful.
The giant's guards quickly repeated it—three times in all.
When the third recitation ended Ethan poured every ounce of remaining strength into the spell and cried aloud:
"Awaken warrior!
Rise renewed in the radiance of the guardian Sun!"
A brilliant golden light flared in the night enveloping the giant's hand.
He clenched his teeth enduring the searing pain of rapid healing.
When the glow faded the blackened stumps were clean pink new skin had begun to form over the wounds and most of the swelling was gone.
Only two short scarred stubs remained where fingers had been.
"Torch!" the giant ordered.
A guard handed one over.
In the flickering firelight the giant studied his hand—half awe half regret.
"A pity the fingers didn't grow back."
Ethan shook his head helplessly.
"That I truly cannot do."
The giant nodded solemnly to Ethan.
"Your treatment far exceeded my hopes.
Kaelin—bring ten gold dragons."
One of the guards produced a purse.
The giant counted out ten dragons and pressed them into Ethan's hand.
"I know your rules.
Rules are good."
Ethan accepted the coins with a small smile.
"I sincerely hope you are never bitten by a dog again."
"Hah!"
The giant laughed heartily then turned and left with his men.
Ethan never asked the man's name—he had no desire to seem mercenary.
But from that night onward wounded soldiers began arriving at Ethan's fire almost daily.
Some were garrison officers who—in a fit of temper at their scattered disorganized ranks—had cursed their men fallen from horseback and cracked their skulls.
Others were unlucky men who slipped into latrine pits at night and broke legs.
A few were fools who had fought over a camp follower's favors turning a drunken argument into a real blade duel—one dead one gutted.
Ethan could only sigh:
He could heal the holes in their bodies—but not the holes in their heads.
Without realizing it Ethan had quietly accumulated several hundred more gold dragons.
Earning coin this way was far easier than blacksmithing or selling brigandine.
As for the surplus leather-covered iron armor produced on Eddie's advice—not a single piece had been sold by the time the army broke camp again.
In the end Ethan simply distributed every set to the fighting men—one per warrior.
Even the craftsman squad—who never saw combat—and Little Bell the snow-bear cub—who mostly sat on the supply wagon looking cute—received custom harnesses.
After alteration Little Bell's surprisingly fit perfectly.
As more and more men came seeking treatment the other garrison officers in Ethan's battalion began treating him with increasing respect.
Heart-tree sap was being consumed far too quickly.
By the time they reached Yellowford Hamlet only one-sixth of the stock gathered in the Haunted Forest remained.
When Ethan finally announced he would no longer treat non-life-threatening injuries Anderson Barnes—who by then had firmly established himself as battalion commander—cautiously asked during a routine officers' meeting:
"Captain Ethan—we're all in the same battalion—not outsiders are we?"
Ethan was taken aback then gave a wry smile.
"If any of your men are hurt bring them over and I'll see what I can do."
After more than a month of grueling march the northern host finally reached Kalin Bay—an ancient ruined holdfast at the northern edge of the Neck.
Kalin Bay once a stronghold of the First Men now stood half-swallowed by swamp and time.
Under Stark dominion yet abandoned for centuries it still guarded the single safe causeway across the Neck—the only reliable route for large armies moving between North and south.
For any invader securing an alliance with House Reed was almost the only way to cross safely.
Only crannogmen knew the hidden paths through the bogs the secret waterways among the reeds.
But given the ancient unbreakable bond between Reed and Stark that possibility was vanishingly small.
When the army arrived Robb ordered a halt of several days to await Lord Manderly's troops marching up from White Harbour.
"How could the Lords of Winterfell allow so vital a place to fall into ruin like this?" Ethan asked Rodney Colbert pointing at the collapsed black basalt blocks.
Rodney gave a dry smile.
"Do you think the Starks cannot see the danger?
They see it—and so does the man on the Iron Throne.
Whether Targaryen or Baratheon if the Starks ever rebuilt Kalin Bay it would be viewed as open defiance of royal authority."
Rodney Colbert—an old friend Ethan had made shortly after arriving on the continent—was now marching in the same host.
As garrison commander of Redfort Village under House Hornwood he had personally led over sixty men to Winterfell when Robb summoned the banners.
He had not expected to find Ethan among the host—much less as a direct officer under Robb himself.
Because House Hornwood's contingent was positioned far from the Stark household troops the two men had not met until the army encamped at Kalin Bay.
Taking advantage of Ethan's now widespread reputation Rodney had finally sought him out.
Hearing the explanation Ethan shook his head regretfully.
Kalin Bay was no longer what it once had been.
The curtain walls were gone—only huge chunks of black basalt remained half-sunk into the earth where they had once stood.
Of the original twenty towers only three still rose—slender broken-spired skeletons draped in green moss and white ghost grass.
The Gate Tower—the largest—was still relatively intact but its interior was choked with lichen.
The Drunken Tower—where the south and west walls had once met—leaned at a drunken angle that seemed impossible to sustain.
Yet even in decay Ethan could see that with sufficient manpower the three surviving towers could still hold the causeway.
Any enemy foolish enough to assault Kalin Bay would first have to cross leagues of black sucking bog ford the dry moat and scale moss-slick walls.
Once the gates were barred siege engines would be almost impossible to position beneath them—never mind withstand the storm of arrows that would rain from above.
Even Ethan himself—if he ever had to take the place—would probably need a dozen Sunwalkers carrying explosives shielded by Holy Light to rush the Gate Tower and blast it open.
But in this world there were no other Sunwalkers no explosives—and no need to capture Kalin Bay.
Returning from his reverie over the ancient ruins Ethan asked:
"How's business with your caravans lately?"
Rodney gave another wry smile.
"Almost bankrupt.
Ever since you escorted that one load it's as though we're cursed—raided again and again.
Several sets of guards killed—even Craig is badly wounded and sent home to recover."
Ethan frowned.
"And House Hornwood does nothing?"
"They… well they should.
But the bandits are slippery—hard to catch.
Though we all have our suspicions—" Rodney subtly nodded toward the distant flayed-man banner of House Bolton "—Earl Harrion keeps saying we must catch them red-handed."
"You're leading troops in the field—your brother Craig is wounded—so Harry is the only one minding things at home?"
Rodney nodded.
"Harry's eighteen now—he has to take responsibility sometime.
Letting him manage family affairs isn't necessarily bad.
Anyway the caravans weren't running before—and I left a few trusted old hands to guide him.
A few small villages—no matter how he mismanages them—won't cause real disaster.
Besides Lord Robb himself isn't even sixteen yet is he?"
Ethan could hardly argue with that.
"How far is the heart tree you mentioned?" Ethan asked shifting the subject to the real reason he had come.
"Almost there."
When Rodney was young he had spent over a year traveling the length and breadth of the North opening trade routes—he still had friends in every corner.
So when Ethan had casually mentioned wanting to locate a heart tree Rodney immediately offered to guide him to an ancient weirwood growing in a grove southeast of Kalin Bay.
The two men set out together.
Sure enough by afternoon they found it—at the place where solid land gave way to swamp—a towering weirwood its bone-white trunk carved with twisted screaming faces as grotesque and sorrowful as ever.
Under Rodney's bewildered gaze Ethan sliced open the bark and completed his sap-gathering task.
As dusk fell they camped in the godswood for the night.
Next morning upon returning to the main encampment Ethan received a shocking order from Anderson Barnes:
"What?
Lord Robb is taking *all* the cavalry south—leaving the infantry under Lord Roose Bolton?"
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