"Call the banners," Lord Morton had said. And so the riders went out from Ironoaks.
I knew why I had suggested this course. Every member of this family carried a deep-seated hatred for the mountain clans, a burning need to avenge the late Ser Hother. They had lacked the permission, the opportunity, and the right strategy. Now, they had all three.
A war council was called. I laid out my plan. "We do not need to risk the knights House Waynwood can muster. We will raise a new force from the smallfolk."
I explained my reasoning. Knights were less effective in the mountains, where their horses were a liability. While skilled with a sword, their true value would be in the open-field battles of the war I knew was coming. Losing a knight here would be a strategic waste. A trained infantry, however, would be perfect for the terrain and could be raised without depleting the house's core strength.
I assured Morton, "Even if the expedition meets resistance, your house's power remains intact. I will lead the new foot soldiers into the mountains. You and your household knights will secure our supply lines and flanks."
He protested immediately. "This is my fight, Julius. I should lead."
"It is your fight, which is why you cannot fall to a stray arrow in some rocky pass," I countered. "If a new lord dies on a minor campaign, the other lords will call it folly, not glory. If we succeed, the victory is yours. The command is merely a practicality."
Ser Robar and Lady Anya saw the wisdom. With their support, Morton reluctantly agreed.
I set new rules for recruitment. Only one man per family could join. If he was the sole provider, he was turned away. This prevented a single death from crippling a household. We sent half the volunteers home, keeping our force to one thousand men. We would not risk a backlash that could break the smallfolk's spirit.
We began their training with wooden swords and drills in their own clothes. House Waynwood had five hundred gambesons in its armory; we commissioned five hundred more from Gulltown, along with six hundred swords and helmets. Breastplates would be forged in the local town. The shipment would arrive in a month, giving us time to train the men before equipping them fully.
The cost was significant. Some of Morton's kin and the Maester voiced their protests. Raising a peasant levy was far more expensive than mustering knights, who equipped themselves.
I took Lady Anya aside. "Why do you think Lord Arryn granted this permission now, when he denied it for years? He once preferred negotiation. Why sanction a war now?"
She was a shrewd politician. Understanding dawned in her eyes. She spoke privately with Morton and Ser Robar about Lord Arryn's recent behavior and what it might portend. After that, all protests about the cost ceased. They understood this was more than a punitive raid; it was a preparation.
The preparations for the subjugation of the Howlers began in earnest. My days were filled with drilling the new recruits alongside Morton, his knights, and my men. It was demanding, purposeful work.
One evening, a maid approached me in the yard. She was older, with a kind but weary face, and introduced herself as Maysa, the head maid.
"Ser Julius," she said, her voice low. "Might I have a word?"
"Of course."
We stepped into a quieter corner of the courtyard. She hesitated, then spoke plainly. "I served Lady Anya's husband. I know what it is to lose a man to the clans. What you are doing... giving us a chance to finally answer for Ser Hother... it means more than you know to those of us who remember." She looked at me, her gaze direct and sincere. "The people see you not as a foreign knight, but as the sword arm of our justice. Thank you."
She left as quietly as she came. Her words were a better reward than any feast. It was a reminder that this campaign was not just about strategy or future alliances, but about real people and a long-overdue reckoning.
The following week, the weapons and armor from Gulltown arrived. The training yard filled with the sound of hammers and the smell of fresh leather as the men were finally equipped. They stood straighter, their movements more confident with steel in their hands and padded cloth on their backs.
Lord Morton stood beside me, watching them drill. "They look like soldiers," he said, a note of pride in his voice.
"They are," I replied. "And soon, they will have their chance to prove it."