"Each new Stark sovereign has traditionally chosen the design of their throne according to personal taste, yet there is one royal symbol the Stark royal family has continued to use since the days of Eddard the First: the Ice Crown.

The crown is forged from a blend of iron and copper. It bears no engravings or ornaments—only sharp, ice-like spikes that jut outward at the edges. Its design was inspired by the ancient Ice Crown once worn by the old Kings of Winter. According to the rulers who wore it, the crown is remarkably light; the thorns cause no discomfort, and it is easy to forget its presence atop one's head.

Without exception, every Stark ruler was crowned and reigned with this crown. Unlike the Iron Throne used by Eddard Stark, the Ice Crown has never been altered or decorated in any way—only polished periodically to preserve its integrity.

Following the Great Democratic Revolution, the last emperor of the Stark royal line, Cregan IV, was publicly executed, and the Ice Crown was cast into a ceremonial fire, thus officially announcing the end of the monarchy.

Twenty years later, Eldar Barath—one of the revolution's leading figures—claimed that the crown burned during the ceremony had been a forgery, and that he had hidden the real one. The Ice Crown is now on display in the Square of Three Kingdoms in the city of Maidenpool, though whether it is the true crown remains a subject of debate."

— Paul Mertyns, Dean of History, Seagard University

"Alright, I suppose we've settled all matters," King Robert said to the small council. "Is there anything else?"

"There's one more issue, my lord. News from the Vale," reported the Hand of the King, Eldon Estermont.

"The Vale? What's going on there?" Robert asked.

Stannis exchanged glances with his grandfather Eldon, but in the end, he was the one who spoke. "You know that Jon Arryn is dead."

"Of course I know," Robert replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. "We'll depart for the Eyrie in two days, and I'll attend the funeral."

"I'm sure you're also aware of Jon Arryn's will."

"What do you take me for, Stannis? A fool?" Robert asked. "Yes, he wanted his kingdom to be bound to the North after his death, and he even signed the agreement long ago."

Eldon and Stannis looked at each other again, this time with hesitation.

"Gods damn it, Stannis, what happened?" Robert asked angrily.

"Brother, we've only just received this news," Stannis reported. "It seems that Lady Lysa Arryn, Lord Jasper's mother, has locked up the Vale lords who came to the Eyrie for the funeral. She wishes to maintain the Vale's independence and appears to have the support of several local lords. At the top of the list is Lord Petyr Baelish, likely manipulating the treasury. The Bloody Gate is filled with troops—an internal war seems likely to erupt in the Vale."

Robert stared at Stannis in shock at first, then roared in rage and slammed his hand on the table. "That whore! How dare she disrespect Jon's funeral and his will like this?"

"What are we going to do about it, father?" Argilac asked.

"What do you mean, what are we going to do? Ready the fleet—we're going to support Ned. First we'll take Gulltown, then we'll attack the Bloody Gate from behind so the Northern army can get through. That whore must think she's safe in the Eyrie—she'll realize how foolish she's been when she starts starving to death."

Stannis nodded in agreement. Trying to take the Bloody Gate head-on was a hopeless dream, but the ports were vulnerable to invasion. The Vale was the first Westerosi land invaded by the Andals.

"Why should we do this?" Argilac asked again.

The room fell silent for a moment. Robert looked at his son in disbelief. "What do you mean, why? Of course we should help Ned—we're friends and allies."

"Why should we help the Northern Kingdom grow stronger?" Argilac pressed. "On the contrary, we should take advantage of this situation. If we play our cards right, we could turn the Vale into our own vassal. We both worship the Seven, and we're both Andal—far more compatible with them than the Starks ever could be."

"You want me to betray my stepfather's will and scheme behind my stepbrother's back?" Robert asked, his face darkening.

"Argilac, I think you should stay silent..." Eldon, the King's Hand, tried to interrupt, but his grandson ignored him.

"From the very beginning, someone should've united Westeros and been its king—and that someone was you. You killed Rhaegar, you led the rebellion, but they refused to see you as king. Instead, they chose to tear Westeros apart."

"Argilac, you..." Stannis looked at his nephew in shock. He hadn't known he held such thoughts.

"If you had been the king of Westeros, the Reach and the Westerlands wouldn't have turned into rivers of blood. Or at the very least, they would have let you conquer them, and you could have kept the realm in peace. These people are not your friends, father—they're just manipulating you for their own gain—"

A massive sound of shattering glass rang out. Robert had thrown his wine goblet at his son and heir, Argilac. The young prince collapsed to the ground, clutching his bleeding head in pain. Queen Alara screamed and ran to her son's side.

"I suppose neither I nor your uncle were much involved in your upbringing, son," said Robert, locking eyes with his heir, who now stared back in fear. "Which is probably why you seem to have no idea what it means to be a Baratheon. Baratheons don't scheme behind their friends' backs or sit around having a gods-damned picnic while they're at war. We Baratheons take up our bloody hammer, we fight alongside our friends, our brothers, our comrades—and if we must, we die beside them on the battlefield."

Stannis did not entirely agree with the king, but he saw no reason to speak his mind and risk drawing his brother's wrath. Besides, Robert was right about one thing: if the day ever came when Stannis had to die on the battlefield, he knew he wouldn't hesitate.

"Who put these foolish ideas in your head? Was it your Tyrell wife?" Robert continued. "You seem to be turning into a plaything in her hands already, boy. Then go—go back to that gods-damned flower-filled house your beloved wife calls home, and don't return until you've come to your senses."

Argilac rose to his feet, still clutching his bleeding head. The storm brewing inside him was plain in his eyes—he was a Baratheon too, after all, and Ours is the Fury. Even so, he somehow managed to suppress his rage, said nothing, did not even look at his father, and walked out of the room.

Stannis furrowed his brows as he read through the reports in his study. Lately, he had stopped receiving updates from the naval patrols he'd dispatched around the waters of Dragonstone. The last commander he had sent was Ser Justin Massey, and that man was not known for shirking his duties or disappearing without cause.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud bang. Stannis clenched his teeth and turned to glare at the intruder. Just as he suspected—there was only one man in Storm's End who would dare barge into his chambers like that: his brother, the ever-honorable Storm King, Robert Baratheon.

"Alara hasn't spoken to me in a week," Robert grumbled, dropping into Stannis's guest chair without asking.

"You threw a glass at your son's head," Stannis reminded him, hoping that would be explanation enough.

"I know... godsdammit. I overreacted, alright? Argilac is just fourteen, and instead of guiding him, I threw him out of the house."

"Then call him back," Stannis offered simply.

"I can't do that. I banished the boy in front of everyone—if I call him back now, I'll look like I'm swallowing my own spit."

That's an interesting thought, brother, Stannis thought silently. Swallowing your own spit might actually help improve your character. Of course, he was wise enough not to say that aloud. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, the door burst open again with another loud thud.

Stannis grit his teeth and turned toward the door with irritation—only to relax slightly when he saw who it was. Grand Maester Cressen.

"Lord Stannis, Your Majesty Robert," the elderly man wheezed. "Urgent news from the island of Tarth. The Valyrian alliance is attacking."

Three weeks had passed. The Valyrian navy's assault had been swift and merciless. Stannis had received news of the approaching fleet far too late to gather the allied forces and initiate a naval counterattack. To be honest, even if he had, he doubted they could have won. The Valyrian Alliance possessed sturdier ships, greater numbers, and far more experienced captains.

The alliance of the Three Kingdoms had been completely caught off guard by such a massive fleet, and there could only be one explanation for this: Lord Varys—the treacherous eunuch—had betrayed us. Trusting a man from Lys had been foolish, Stannis thought as he let out a deep sigh.

The Valyrian fleet had brought with it 120,000 soldiers and 60,000 Dothraki allies, laying siege to Storm's End with frightening speed. Only now did Stannis realize that most of the ships weren't warships but troop transports. If he'd known earlier, he would've launched a suicidal assault just to destroy those carriers and cripple their numbers.

Robert and Stannis had foreseen that Storm's End would eventually be besieged. They had taken in as many smallfolk as the castle could hold, knowing well that the Valyrian Alliance would show them no mercy. And the Dothraki… there was no need to even speak of them.

Stannis had been trapped inside the castle for three weeks now, along with his brother and their men—but this wasn't his first siege. This time, he had made sure the granaries were filled to the brim. They had enough food to last six months. And Storm's End was one of the most impregnable castles in Westeros. Its only real entry was the front gate, which could only be reached by a narrow, winding stone path—a death trap for any army. Sending troops along it was no different than offering them to the archers as easy prey. The Dothraki had tried a few times before giving up.

The real danger came from the enemy's active use of wildfire. In one attack on the bridge, they managed—at great cost—to get a cart of wildfire to the gate. The iron doors melted instantly. But even that effort was futile, for the stone path remained a death trap.

The enemy had begun constructing catapults to launch wildfire, but ordinary catapults couldn't reach far enough. Storm's End sat high on a cliff, and only trebuchets had some success. Yet trebuchets were difficult and time-consuming to build, and to be effective, they had to be placed within range of the castle's ballistae. Most trebuchets were destroyed after firing four shots at most—ripped apart by ballista bolts. In short, they were of little use.

At night, the enemy tried indirect methods—scaling hooks, tunneling beneath the walls—but this wasn't Stannis's first siege. He had prepared for them all. Yes, there were a few secret tunnels into the castle, but every member of House Baratheon knew where they were. Robert had already sealed them off, and they would only be opened when it was time to escape.

The Valyrian Alliance was growing desperate. They would likely attempt a suicidal charge along the damaged stone path soon. Stannis hoped they would. Even if the castle eventually fell, the Alliance would suffer devastating losses, and the delay would buy precious time for the allied forces to rally.

Robert had sent letters to his son and the lords of the Stormlands just before the siege began, ordering an immediate army to be gathered at the Highgarden. However, the army was not assembling to relieve Storm's End. Robert's instructions were very clear: the army was to march straight to Riverrun and fall under Eddard Stark's command. This way, the allied forces would be united under a single leader.

Stannis estimated the army gathering at Highgarden to be around 80,000 strong. Eddard's forces—assuming no help would come from the Vale—were expected to number about 100,000. Together, their combined 180,000 troops should be enough to repel the invaders.

The real problem was how to fight the Dothraki army. Meeting them in open battle would be suicide. But Stannis knew that King Eddard had been preparing for this since he first learned of their existence two years ago. The royal smiths had been commissioned to craft a new type of shield unlike any seen before. The shield was a full-sized rectangle, large enough to cover an entire man's body. Additionally, they were making pikes between four and six meters long. Stannis didn't understand the purpose of these inventions—the shield was too heavy and cumbersome for battle, and the pikes were unnecessarily long—but he knew Eddard was no fool. There was surely a plan behind it.

"We'll hold them off for another month or two. Then Ned will come to crush those bastards. Don't worry, brothers—I promise you revenge," Robert declared, as the hall echoed with cries of vengeance.

The Valyrian army was showing no mercy to the people of the Stormlands. Worse, they were placing the pitiful corpses of the slaughtered civilians before the castle gates to provoke the garrison. About 10,000 men remained inside the castle, and not a single soul among them was untainted by anti-Valyrian sentiment.

Stannis took a deep breath and drank the water from his cup. Argilac must have finished gathering his army by now and set off north. It would take about two weeks for the two armies to join forces, and another two or three weeks for them to arrive. The Valyrians might launch an attack on Argilac to prevent the union, but such an attack was unlikely to succeed. The Valyrian Alliance was unfamiliar with Westeros's terrain; Argilac could easily evade them.

While the siege continued, Robert had started a celebration inside the castle, inviting all commanders. This was a clear message that they did not fear the besieging army and were confident of victory. Yet Stannis saw it as a waste of the castle's supplies.

As the feast in the great hall was in full swing, a scantily dressed woman slipped her arm around Stannis's. He brushed her off with a simple gesture. His wife and son were safely left behind in White Harbor, and he was thankful for their absence at every opportunity.

While dismissing the woman, suddenly all the torches in the room went out simultaneously. A second later, they flared back to life, as if someone was blowing on the flames to make them grow higher and fiercer.

As the hall filled with screams, Stannis immediately sprang from his seat. He noticed a strange black orb beginning to form in the center of the dance floor—dark masses were flying from different corners of the room, joining the swirling circle and making it grow larger. Looking down at his feet, Stannis realized his shadow was missing. Magic.

From within the round circle, a sickle-shaped hand shot out. Everyone it touched instantly shattered into pieces and died. The gust it created was strong enough to throw everyone backward.

"ROBERT! RUN!" Stannis roared for the first time in his life like his brother, grabbing Robert and guiding him toward the hall's exit.

At that moment, a strange sound rang out. Stannis fell to the ground and struggled to stand again, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. When he turned his head to look at himself, he found the answer: my legs... my legs are gone. Strangely, he felt no pain.

Looking a little further, he saw his brother Robert's lifeless body. The Queen Alara's corpse was in his arms—clearly, the Storm King had tried to protect his wife in his final moments.

"They're attacking the main gate!" As darkness descended, these were the last words Stannis heard.

---

The long-awaited "Unification War," which earned Eddard I the title in the book's name, is about to begin.

I'm sure those familiar with medieval European history will immediately recognize the battle formation King Eddard has prepared against the Dothraki.

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