Life is life.

It was told as such, "Before the gods themselves known to men, dragons lived first". Annals of every kingdom wrote that they are the only ruler of the skies. They are immortals and possessed a will of its own. They are amalgamations of primal fear and power.

Though knowing their fate, the birds still dance.

Lord Commander Jack Amberville donned a grim face. A scroll of parchment in front of his eyes told him, truthfully, to do so. Twice he had opened the finger-width parchment scroll. Twice he had rolled it back.

"Do dragons frightened you, Lord Commander?", the man in front of him asked, with a hint of a smile.

"No, my lord." The Lord Commander looked at the man's eyes; blue as sapphire that shone brilliantly. Those eyes are the eyes of a ruler, full of ambitions and know no fear. But those eyes, much to his surprise, belongs to a tall boy, who just came of his age. "And as I said before, my lord. Northwind is yours."

It was just a few days after he sent Sir Galwerth and the boy Lyle to drive away the disturbing brigands from the land. When the dawn is breaking, these visitors poured through the gate; no flags, and no sigil bearers. Maybe it's just some refugees, he thought. But, it was not long until these 'refugees' revealed themselves as the envoy of the Watcher of the North, Lord Sieg himself, and he demands an audience with the Lord Commander himself and without any refrain they ordering his men to hold an extravagant banquet as if this castle is their own's.

Three fools now stood in front of him.

He didn't ask anything as he deemed it's unnecessary; their lords, they are already here if not few leagues behind these so-called 'envoys'. Only, the Old Jack found himself a little amusement, to scare these arrogant and cunt-mouthed greenhorns.

Their pride was hurt; they can only hide behind names of whoever-lords they served. They smelled like a puddle of their own making. But, who can blame them for that? They are just footmen if not pages under a vassal house, desperate to impress their lords, whose in the same way are desperate to impress the young lord of Novus.

"Now get out," he commanded. "I trust all of you enjoyed the journey. But I think it will be better for all of you to serve in the stable and the pit. Pray that your lords don't found it too dirty to use."

Six men helped them to get out of the room. Lord Commander send them out while sipping his strong-wine from the carved wooden glass.

Now, he must wait.

He gazed to the ancient plains and the bordering misty forests.

"Here they come," he muttered.

The visitors are here. They poured through the castle main gate in a river: fur coat, leather, clinking mail, then, polished steel. The Lord Commander guessed five hundred strong, bannermen and knights, sworn swords and maybe also free-riders. Over their

heads, banners hoisted high, whipped back and forth in the cold northern wind.

"Birds of the same feather call their kinds and flock together." One rare wisdom came out of the scholar's mouth. Sir Kayne nodded in agreement.

"Supposedly if all the men asked for bread, we will have no choice but to embrace the cold winter. And if I may say, Tyler said that we also short on taters and turnips, sir," he added.

"Fuck me," the Lord Commander cursed. "Fuck them all. Now how can we make through this winter?"

Everyone fell in silent, although there's commotion outside the bailey.

Supposedly, a castle had no secrets.

Eight years ago, and then five years ago. To begin his encounter with this particular boy, the Lord Commander must begin from there.

"It's been a long time, Lord Commander."