Frigid air pierced through Robin Egen's many layers of furs and leathers. Damn cold he thought to himself. Unlike his brother Jasyn, Robin couldn't stand the cold, and often had every fire in the castle lit and burning throughout the nights.

Robin heard hoofbeats in the courtyard, and then soldiers dismounting. He stretched his arms, the cold making the arthritis only ever more painful. He slowly walked down the staircase, feeling more like a Maester than a sitting Lord. In the courtyard, he saw some fifty men, many visibly wounded. One soldier had bandages wrapped around his face to the point where all that could be seen was a slit for one eye and another for his nostrils. A large man of at least 20 stone had four arrow shafts sticking out of his arm and back. Seven hells... thought Robin.

The report from one of the knights was even more dire. It had been a massacre. And the heir... Jorah... he had been killed. The brave fool had challenged the leader of the mountain clansmen to a duel and... he had died a brave man! The knight insisted. He was fighting for us! For his subjects and for the Vale!

After Jorah fell, as the knight reported, one of their number had decided that there was no honor to be given to savages, and swung for Rockhead. "The damned fool!" the knight punched a post as he was led inside by Robin, "The savage bastard might've let us return unmolested if he hadn't've done that. After that... blood. Arrows from the clansmen felled twenty of our number before we could even react. The melee was equally brutal, my lord. We killed many of them, but they had the high ground, and we were pushed back. For an hour we fought through the streets of Papsmyr, but for every clansman that we killed, they stole from us two brave sons of the Vale. I called the retreat... I know that it was my duty to fight forward and recover the remains of my Lord Jorah... but I couldn't. I couldn't condemn all of the men to death. That is not what Lord Jorah would have wanted..." he trailed off, tears welling in his eyes.

Robin remembered the way that Jorah had always inspired his men... the way that they would follow him to the ends of the earth. Tears welled in his eyes, too. Robin nodded and placed a hand on the knight's shoulder. "Thank you, my son. You have done a service to this house, and to the Vale. My nephew, Vardis has just arrived from Essos. Please report to him. I must write to Lord Jasyn, and to our Liege Lord in the Eyrie to inform them of this..."

Robin walked away, the sorrow making his arthritis feel numb rather than stinging. He set down heavily in the large stone chair of the Lord's office and sobbed, in private, remembering Jorah. He remembered reading to Jorah stories of the Andals and the First Men, of the old King Brightstone, the first King of the Vale. Of the histories of the houses...

In the barracks, Vardis approached the knight.

"How many were there?" he asked.

"Two hundred, at least, my lord."

"Muster the men. Six hundred of them."