Empala, twenty years old, stood tall—only half a head shorter than Green—roughly one seventy-five in height.
Her light brown hair was tied loosely at the back of her head, blending the grace of a woman with the boldness of a warrior.
Her skin was a sun-warmed bronze, slightly rough from years outdoors.
The muscle along her limbs was taut and smooth—not bulky, but clearly forged by labor.
Most women in House Crabb's domain toiled in the fields or hunted just as the men did. Empala was considered well-kept by local standards.
She wore a sleeveless brown robe of coarse linen, its hem falling only to mid-thigh. A thick rope cinched it at the waist.
Her calves were wrapped in simple bandages, and straw sandals wove tightly around her feet.
Noticing Lord Green's gaze, Empala flexed her toes slightly.
It was her first time being summoned personally by her lord, and so suddenly at that. Despite her prowess as a hunter, she was visibly nervous.
"Empala. I hear you once brought down a black bear?"
Green's voice still bore a trace of youth, yet it rang steady and composed—holding a maturity beyond his years. It soothed her nerves.
"There were others with me. I just landed more shots than the rest."
After a few light questions, Green saw her relax, and asked plainly, "Would you fight for me?"
Empala furrowed her brow. "You mean against the wildlings? I've killed at least ten. They keep sneaking into our woods, trying to steal the hunt."
Too literal, Green thought, and rephrased.
"You're brave. What I meant is—will you become one of my sworn blades? Like the men in the yard. I'll grant you iron mail and a sword."
Empala blinked, startled. Green went on: "You'll earn at least two gold dragons a year."
"More, if you distinguish yourself. You'll be rewarded from the spoils."
"I'm willing, my lord!" Empala said at once.
Then, hesitant, she added, "But… I'm a woman. All the others are men. Will that…"
The Crabb bannermen were all male. Empala wasn't worried about harassment—crude talk didn't bother her, and anyone who stepped out of line, she'd cut down. Her concern was being ostracized.
Green nodded, acknowledging it. "You're right. Some spearwives have joined battles before—though unofficially. They support small tasks, but aren't truly part of the fighting force. That's temporary. No one minds."
"But official service is different. Men and women side by side all day—trouble's bound to follow."
Empala nodded seriously—That's exactly what I was thinking. The lord speaks wisely.
"You're well-known among the spearwives. If I tasked you with recruitment, how many would follow you?"
"They'd all fight, right? I know twenty, maybe thirty. All skilled hunters."
"I'm forming a new corps of spearwives," Green said. "It shall be named the Thorn Regiment."
[A tribute to the Queen of Thorns.]
"War is at our door. Recruit as many as will fight—especially those without men. If they'll follow your lead, you'll be the Thorn Regiment's first commander."
Green spoke clearly and patiently. Empala listened, and her heart swelled. Her chest rose and fell as her breath caught, her eyes sparkling with pride.
Then Green's tone shifted, solemn. "Empala. Can I trust you?"
There were only three in the study: Green, Empala, and Maester Arl, who sat silent in a corner, seeming asleep.
But how to prove it?
Empala stared at the still maester. Her eyes shifted. Then, as if steeling herself, she asked, "Should I prove it now?"
Green arched an eyebrow at the strange question but nodded.
Rustle.
Empala's robe slipped off her shoulders.
Standing bare before him, her cheeks flushed, she held Green's gaze. And he—he thought of a mother leopard.
His pupils widened, then narrowed. He turned his face aside. "A fine figure," he muttered.
Maester Arl stirred suddenly, revealing yellowed teeth as he trembled and winked knowingly at Green.
Empala, finally sensing something amiss, covered herself in a panic.
"That's not what I meant. Put your clothes back on," Green said, still composed. "But I thank you. You've shown me your strength. It's been a… memorable day."
Even after dressing, Empala's face remained crimson. Her toes curled so hard they could've dug tunnels beneath Whispering Town.
"Empala. Kneel. A warrior's kneel—one knee."
The awkward moment passed. The duties of lordship resumed.
"Repeat after me. I, Empala."
"I, Empala…"
"I swear loyalty. To love what he loves, and hate what he hates."
"I swear loyalty. To love what he loves, and hate what he hates…"
"I vow my every word and deed shall follow the will of Green Crabb, without question."
"I vow my every word and deed shall follow the will of Green Crabb, without question."
"From this day, until my last."
"From this day, until my last."
"I swear by the Old Gods and the New."
"I swear by the Old Gods and the New."
A gentle rain veiled Whispering Town.
At the gate stood a girl of sixteen or seventeen. She wore an orange short tunic beneath battered leather armor, an old hunting bow across her back.
Short and wiry, she looked quick and keen.
Her name was Reyna—brown-skinned, with striking silver hair tied into a high ponytail.
She waited impatiently, eyes flicking toward the gate.
At last, Empala appeared. Reyna sprang up like a spark.
"Hey, mother leopard! Lord Green finally let you out? How was it—sweet as they say?"
Empala scowled. "Little Reyna, rutting again, are you?"
She stepped aside slightly, revealing a deep blue cloak embroidered with a golden marsh marigold.
Reyna wiped rain from her eyes and blinked.
"The marigold? That's House Crabb's crest! Empala, are you mad? They'll hang you for this! Even if the lord spares you, the White Walkers will snap your neck. Quick, take it off—no, don't drag me—we run. Now!"
"Stop, stop. It's not what you think."
"Oh? Then…"
Reyna raised a brow, smirking. "Did the lord enjoy your… savage charms? Is this his reward?"
Empala flushed darkly, sighed, and rubbed her face. "Reyna, stop guessing. Shut your mouth and listen."
The cloak had been a gift from Lord Green himself. In all of Crackclaw Point, only Ser Pell and Ser Massen had worn the Crabb sigil before.
Her task was urgent. The cloak was an early reward—a symbol of authority. Whether she could keep it would depend on her merit.
Green's test had already begun.
When Empala had finished explaining, Reyna's eyes lit up.
"That's amazing! Sisters will line up to join! Just take care of a few loudmouths and you'll have hundreds."
She laughed. "Grab coin! Claim the men!"
"Oh, and Commander of the Thorn Regiment—I'm first in line!"
Reyna spoke so fast that Empala couldn't get a word in. But her joy was infectious, and even the stern-faced hunter found herself smiling.
Together, they quickened their steps.
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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