"Kid. Pack your bags and walk back right now."
Those were the very first words Commander Arthur Whitmore said as soon as he saw me.
Since Winterguard fell under the ultimate jurisdiction of the Lornfell territory, it was only natural for me to formally greet Arthur, the Lord of the Lornfell, the head of Whitmore household and the active Commander of the fortress.
However, Arthur, a grizzled veteran with heavily scarred armor and perpetually furrowed brows, was fiercely uncooperative from the moment I stepped into his command tent.
"Can't you understand the situation?" Arthur growled, crossing his arms. "Your father has finally lost his mind and sent you here to your doom."
Arthur's expression was grim. His anger seemed directed more at Count Darius than at me. Sending his own blood to Winterguard, even if the boy used to be a good-for-nothing? That thought was clearly reflected in his tired eyes.
