The Army Surges

Harford City.

Rain poured in torrents, draping heaven and earth behind an immense curtain of water.

This castle lay north of King's Landing.

Upon the walls, young, tense faces moved back and forth as they erected defensive works.

Tam wiped the rain from his face. The icy water streamed down his neck and into his armor, raising a layer of goosebumps.

But he could not feel the cold.

A fire burned within his chest—a fire Lord Suleiman had lit with his own hands.

"Keep your spirits up!"

Tam gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist and patrolled back and forth along the muddy battlements.

Though his voice still carried a trace of youthful immaturity, it had already begun to show authority.

One thousand soldiers, along with three thousand disorganized civilian militias and town guards—this was the entirety of the force at his command.

And what they had to face was the rumored allied army of the Vale and the West Riverlands, said to number in the tens of thousands.

"My lord."

An old soldier came over, offering him a piece of hard, dry black bread.

"Have something. In weather like this..."

Tam took the black bread and bit down hard. It was as tough as stone.

The old soldier grinned, revealing a mouthful of broken, yellowed teeth, and chuckled.

"Before we came, Lord Suleiman sent word that once this battle is over, we'll all be his meritorious servants."

"He'll give our children the most land, make them knights—however many sons we have, that's how many he'll knight!"

Tam froze for a moment, his hand stiffening, but only for an instant.

Seeing the light in the old soldier's eyes, he nodded firmly.

"That's right!"

He raised both hands and roared, his voice resolute enough for every soldier to hear.