When I was a boy, my mother told me stories of the Griffin King and the Winged Knight, and their great battle atop the Giant's Lance. I dreamed of becoming a knight like him, a hero of the Vale.
The legend is thousands of years old, a tale from the Age of Heroes. Every kingdom has one. The Westerlands have Lann the Clever, the North has Bran the Builder, the Reach has Garth Greenhand, and the Stormlands has Durran Godsgrief. But the Winged Knight was ours, and I loved his story best.
My father died when I was very young, so I don't remember him well. My mother remarried a kind man from Gulltown, but he too passed away from poor health. My mother, burdened by duty, could not spend much time with me, so my grandfather, Ser Robar, became the one who raised me, telling me those stories and teaching me what it meant to be a knight of the Vale.
I served as my brother Morton's squire for four years. He could have taken the son of any knight in our service, but he chose me. I was his constant companion. We attended the tourney at Harrenhal, hoping to recruit competent knights to bolster our house's strength, which had waned after our father's death and the loss of our Valyrian steel sword.
It was there, in the great melee, that we first saw him. A knight in blue armor, moving with a precision and power that was unlike anything I had seen. He defeated opponent after opponent, even holding his own in that infamous brawl with Lord Baratheon. My mother, watching beside me, saw in him a solution to our problems.
At the feast, he was a different man—composed, well-spoken, a foreigner with an air of mystery. I could see my mother's mind working, scheming to recruit him just like every other lord in the hall. To my surprise, my brother Morton ended up as his drinking companion, forging a fast friendship with Ser Julius Harlane and Lord Baratheon's other allies.
When Prince Rhaegar played his harp, the entire hall fell silent. But when Ser Julius sang, his voice held a different kind of power. His song was of resilience and unending struggle, its words stirring something restless in every man who heard it. It was then I began to understand he was more than just a skilled sword.
We returned to the Vale, and Ser Julius joined our party. He became a source of entertainment for the ladies with his stories and a valued sparring partner for the knights. My brother and mother both grew to respect him deeply. I confess, I was somewhat jealous of his six subordinates. They were not highborn, yet they fought with a skill that shamed many veteran knights. Despite all my training, I could not best any of them.
Then came the ambush. It was the most terrifying night of my life. When the mountain clans fell upon us, I froze. My limbs turned to lead as I watched them cut down a maid. I was useless, a boy playing at being a squire.
Ser Julius and his men saved us. They moved like a whirlwind of steel, cutting down the raiders with brutal efficiency. I saw my brother wounded, our guards slain, and the two of Ser Julius's men gravely injured protecting us. The debt our house owed him grew heavier that night.
When we returned to Ironoaks and my mother presented my brother with our returned Valyrian steel sword, tears streamed down my face. Ser Julius had not only saved our lives but had avenged our father and restored our house's pride. The debt felt immeasurable.
So when he proposed the expedition to break the mountain clans once and for all, we agreed. After months of preparation and a grueling campaign, he succeeded. He brought the Howlers to their knees, something no Andal lord had managed in thousands of years.
I was named Regent of the new settlement and betrothed to a granddaughter of the clan's wise woman, Morag. It was a political match, meant to cement the peace. I accepted my duty without question. The girl, Lysara, is comely and knows this land better than anyone. It is my task to rule here wisely.
I have been living in the mountains for a month, overseeing the construction of my keep and the influx of new settlers, when my new maester found me with urgent news.
Fear gripped me as I read the scroll. Lord Arryn had called his banners against the Iron Throne. My brother, marching to war, has named me Regent of Ironoaks in his absence. With our mother attending Lord Arryn's court and our grandfather's advanced age, the duty falls to me.
I understand the weight of this responsibility. My brother trusts me to hold our home while he fights. A loyal brother follows orders. I will return to Ironoaks at once. The boy who dreamed of the Winged Knight is gone; the man who must protect his brother's seat remains.