reincarnated in GOT with a down graded Cheat engine.

The morning mist clung to Bogwater like a wet cloak.

The soft squelch of mud accompanied every step as Levi and his twenty hand-picked young men assembled in the training field.

They stood with wooden handles in hand some carved hastily, others carefully smoothed but all sturdy enough to begin their training.

Hunn stood before them, his posture straight as a spear near him, his stood spear at his side.

The man was older, scarred, and shaped by a life of battle in places wetter and colder.

Shows how the man was molded in the Neck. A true crannogman.

His voice, when it cut through the morning silence, was calm but commanding.

"You are not warriors," he began, pacing slowly before the lines. "Not yet. But in three moons' time (a seasons worth of time), you'll know what it means to stand together.

Not as boys with sticks, but as men with weapons."

Levi stood at the front of all the young men his heart pounding but with anticipation and excitement. Behind him were all twenty men. four people in five lines and to either side four more lines, each with its own lead.

Jory stood at the head of the first line his grin ever-present, voice light with jokes even as he held his spear steady. His group, too, shared his warmth. They talked, laughed softly, and trained with a bond like brothers.

Lyle, quiet and thoughtful, stood at the front of the second line. His boys mirrored him watchful, slow to speak, but sharp in their movements. There was discipline in their silence.

The third line was led by Kell a boy with a crooked smile and sharp tongue. He had been quiet when first chosen, but quickly warmed to Levi, Jory, and Lyle. His group was a balanced mix a bit of noise, a bit of calm. Kell served as their middle ground.

Next came Arl the forth in line, loud as a market hawker and just as energetic. His group was the noisiest always laughing, pushing, sometimes scolded by Hunn, but never disloyal. They brought life to the field, even if they needed the most discipline.

Lastly was Munty the fifth in line , a lean boy with a scar along his brow and a voice rarely heard. His group followed in kind. They didn't talk much, but they marched in perfect step and hit the dummies harder than anyone else. They were the most precise, if not the most personable.

Training began with formation.

"Four men per line. Five lines. Spear tips forward. Spacing: one step between men, three steps between rows. Again."

They marched in the morning, practiced stabs by noon, and drilled until the evening light faded. Some boys blistered their hands on day one. Others dropped from fatigue by day three. But they kept coming back.

Levi provided food a mess of swampberries and stewed lizard meat, hard bread, and blocks of cheese. Ale was given in barrels, rationed not by wealth but by effort. No man went hungry, and no one ate more than they earned.

The weeks passed with a rhythm.

Hunn drilled them in spacing, in patience, in when to strike and when to wait. He taught them to hold a line against a charge and to fall back without breaking ranks. He showed them how to bait an enemy, and how not to be baited themselves.

They learned basic tactics. They learned endurance. They learned what they can.

They ran laps through the swamp trails until their legs ached. They held their spears steady for hours until their arms trembled. They sparred, not to win, but to learn the weight of wood and muscle and will. Their bodies will do the remembering for them when they need it.

Friendships deepened.

Jory and his group often lifted the mood. They sang songs during meal breaks and told stories that made the quieter boys smile. Lyle's group respected the noise but kept their focus. Kell acted as the bridge between them, often pulling one from each group to spar with another. His idea of "random pairs" made sure everyone knew everyone.

Arl's noisy crew got into trouble at times, but when the drills got serious, they were first to shout a battle cry. Munty's group never shouted, but their silence became its own kind of presence. When they advanced, others watched and followed.

As the second moon passed, blisters became calluses. Boys grew leaner, faster, stronger. Spears that once wobbled in their grip now moved like extensions of their limbs.

Hunn, though never warm, began to nod at their efforts. Sometimes, when no one was watching, Levi caught the older man watching them with a rare glint of pride.

By the end of the third moon, the swamp air was warmer. The rains fell less, and the men stood taller.

On the last day of the season, the twenty stood before Hunn in full formation a unit now, not a gathering. Their stances were solid. Their eyes sharp. Their spirits unified.

Hunn looked at them for a long time.

"The season has ended," he finally said. "And so has your spear training."

The silence that followed was heavy with the completion of the first training.

They had begun as nothing more but boys. 

Now, they were trained men.

Not yet warriors or killers. But men who knew discipline. Who knew what it meant to be trained through pain.

Who knew each other's strengths, and weaknesses, and will to stand beside one another.

They were the Spears of Bogwater for now as they trained with the spear.