Robert Claridge's Story

"But sire, there's simply not enough livestock nor grain. The coming months look grim indeed." The exasperation, even desperation, in lumbering man's voice was apparent. Next to Robert, his import adviser appeared to be a hulk of a man, much bigger than Claridge. Robert never gave it any heed however, and simply stopped walk down the gravel road and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I have faith in you, John," Robert began in a gentle, yet firmly supportive way, "you always get it done, no matter what you have to do." Robert waited for the man's eyes to ease and his shoulders to forcibly relax. "Food and appropriate shelter have always been scarce, but you'd do your best not to show signs of unwilling. It would invite unnecessary thoughts of inevitable defeat or disbandment, and I won't have that sort of morale circulating while the Dire Wolves remain loyal to me and the Old Ways." They began to walk down the barren gravel path heading towards a seclusive barracks.

"Apologies sire... you're right of course." They walked in silence for a minute before the man known as John spoke up yet again. "We still need a way to increase food production efficiency. Marcellus said you had the makings of a plan, and I was wondering how much of his statement held true?"

Robert looked at John slyly out of the corner of his eye, letting a small smile taint is otherwise-humble visage. As they walked, Robert opened up the left side of his furry robe made from the pelts of several grey wolves. Inside the pocket was his map of the region. "As we speak and establishing a simple path to connect here," he tapped a point on the map close to where they were but a few miles away, "to here." He pointed to a seemingly-empty part of the map.

"But sire," John scratched his head, confused, "that is a vast area of nothing be unforgiving woods. No one has been there in o'er two years."

Robert tapped his head. "Because I ordered it to be so. I forbid anyone to enter that part of the hollow so the animal life may repopulate. I think you'll find it now to be a very suitable hunting ground." Robert smiled and put his map away. "A hunting post is being erected as we speak."

John just blinked. "Why is it you never include your advisers in on your plans?"

Robert just gave a hearty laugh and clapped the man on the shoulder. "I'm including you right now, aren't I?" He picked up the pace.

As they entered the grounds that contained the barracks. "Oh and one for thing, john. Send word for Marcellus, would you? I'll have need of him soon enough. The Owl King is on the march, and I won't see him enter these lands without the proper hospitality."

"My liege," John bowed his head and ran off towards the falconry tower, to dispatch the order. Robert himself moved further into the bleak, grey barracks. The building itself was cleverly hidden by two hills and painted to blend into the bleak landscape around it. Although the forest wasn't the thickest, the light permafrost that seemingly clung to more than just the ground gave them certain opportunities to keep smaller locations hidden. Although this particular barracks wasn't one of his barracks, it was likely the most crucial, for it was the southern most structure in Winterfell operated by the Dire Wolf clan. As such, it kept special servailence over the border of his territory. The few scout posts in the area reported back to its center command, which lay underneath the very stones of the barracks. It was clever really, but something he couldn't take credit for. What few people knew was that the area was riddled with tunnels. It made easy access to many of his structures in the area should the need arise for quick travel.

Through the door Robert went, and saw Legate Ryster was shouting commands as new recruits were circling a make-shift arena where two men inside were getting a crash-course in hand-to-hand combat. Unfortunately for one of the combatants, his opponent was a long-time veteran who was quite easily deflecting all his blows.

"Get yur' hands up!" Barked Legate Ryster. "Use your forearms to take the brunt of the attack, wait for a moment of weakness in your combatant, and then--" he then looked over and saw Robert walking calmly over towards the fight with his arms folded, looking on with amusement and interest. "Sire, ah ha! Weren't expectin' you for another hour or so. Form up you mangy dogs, before I get out the lashes and teach you some respect!" The new recruits in the room formed up, if not clumsily, making Ryster shake his head. "Look at the rusted lot you sent me, Robert. These men wouldn't be able to sneak up on one who was deaf and blind."

Robert just kept his amused smile as he moved about the ranks. Every now and again, he'd stare at one of the soldiers and ask him his name, where he was from, and if he had any family. He would then commend the man for making the sacrifice to be out here. When he was done, the men were watching his every step with quiet solidarity.

Out of no where, Robert picked up a spear and threw it at one of the recruits (the wooden, blunted side, but no one else knew that). The recruit yelped in surprise, but then deftly snatched the spear out of the air and held it with his arm outstretched, panting softly. All eyes in the room shot to Robert.

He chuckled at Ryster. "They'll do fine." He then marched out of the room, leaving the rest of them staring at the soldier who caught the spear.

The vast army of the Owl King known as the Birds of Prey began their march. Fully stocked with more than enough provisions for not only themselves but the hungry wolves in the North, the enemies of Godwin set off on their trek. To the frozen home of the dire wolves, Winterfell. To a man Arthas had never met but hoped to all the Gods that he was the man he needed to be. A young man, Arthas had been told Robert was a few years his junior but proud, noble and a gifted commander. A warrior for certain but known as a skilled blacksmith as well. His true gift however was his relationship with his men. He is said to have an uncanny ability to inspire loyalty in his men beyond what the most experienced military man could do. To walk amongst his men was his secret to leading them. A true gift that most rulers don't posses nor take the time to learn. One Arthas forcibly learned at the deft hands of Samara. The boy from the Roost was taught how to follow before being taught how to lead, apparently a similarity the two young men shared. Arthas and Robert had exchanged a few letters here and there as they coordinated their efforts but now was the time for a special letter to be sent. One Arthas had spent time writing himself before moving out. Arthas had the scroll rolled up and tied to Halas' talon before tenderly caressing the birds head.

"Go on, see to it then."

Arthas said warmly, a hint of lament in sending his friend off on his own. Halas screeched out as he stretched his massive wings before taking off into the sky and flying north ahead of Ordway's army. The letter had been sent and the stones that start the avalanche that will wipe the stain of Godwin's rule form this land have begun to fall.