Robb Stark examined the man before him. He was tall, with the broad-shouldered, muscular build of a swordsman, and a plainly handsome face that included untidy black hair, green eyes, and a peculiar scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt. The long black cloak he wore over his plate armor was entirely practical, as was the armor itself, from the barbute helmet tucked under his left arm to his armor-plated boots. The only decoration of any kind was the black lion on gold painted on his left rerebrace and an eight pointed star with the initials GG just below it. The hand-and-a-half sword and matching dagger hanging at his belt were just as practical as the armor was. The only oddity was the short stick thrust into a sheath next to the dagger. Robb already seen a demonstration of the mercenary leader's magic and had to admit that it was quite impressive. That he had used that stick, a wand, he called it, to cast the spells made a certain amount of sense. Focus would be insanely important in that kind of business after all. Even more astounding was the man's presence. He wore command as easily as his armor. He cleared his throat.

"So, Captain-General Potter, how many swords can you bring to our banner? And how many wizards?"

"The Lion Company maintains six thousand fighters under arms at present, all of them proficient with sword, bow, shield, and magic. In an emergency, we could summon an additional four thousand from Gryffindor, but those would be mostly retired veterans, half-trained recruits, and those of our dependents who can hold their own in a battle. In addition, we have a few units of magical creatures. One of my brothers-in-law, Charlie, is a noted dragon breeder, and Hagrid maintains one of the finest Hippogriff herds in the world."

"Dragons?" the Greatjon interrupted eagerly. "How many?"

"At present, Lord Umber, thirty-six that we can put into the battle line. And if Charlie is telling me the truth, we could have twice that number two years from now. We use them as a sort of flying artillery. They each have a rider that, in point of fact, is there mostly to block incoming projectiles and make sure the dragon reacts appropriately to orders. The dragon takes care of the rest."

The way the sellsword captain-general spoke so casually of using dragons in combat, when the last dragons in Westeros had died out hundreds of years ago, was astounding. And if the half-horse, half-eagle creature that Potter had flown in on was any indicator of the quality of Hagrid's Hippogriff herd, then The Lion Company had an aerial cavalry that would make horsemen have jealous aneurysms from Dorne to the Vale. And his escort, all hard-bitten veterans with rough, practical armor as plain as their commander's was, filled Robb with confidence.

"Would you allow us to confer, Captain-General Potter?"

"Of course, Sire." The sellsword commander momentarily bowed, straightened, and left the chamber.

Robb forestalled the worst of the babble with a raised hand. "My lords, if you would do each other the courtesy of voicing your opinions in turn, it would spare us time and migraines. Lord Bolton?"

"Hire them, Sire," the dead-eyed lord of the Dreadfort said instantly. "Even if the captain's claim of dragons is so much hot air, six thousand extra swords is nothing to set aside so lightly."

"Lord Karstark?"

"I second Bolton, Your Majesty. Our recent triumphs aside, we are yet outnumbered by the Lannisters. Six thousand swords would go a long way towards evening those odds."

"Lord Umber?"

"Hire them, Your Majesty, even if it empties our treasury," the huge northerner insisted. "Between those hippogriffs and the dragons the captain mentioned, nothing would stand against us."

"Lord Brynden, Lord Edmure?"

"Hire them on the spot, Sire," proclaimed the Blackfish as his brother nodded vigorously. "Give me a thousand good outriders mounted on hippogriffs and nothing would move between the Neck and Deep Den but we would know of it. And it has been centuries since any army in the world has faced dragons. They alone could give us victory."

Robb nodded. "Then we shall offer terms to the Lion Company. Our treasury is sufficient to the task of it, so we need not fear bankruptcy." He gestured to the page at the door. "Call back the captain."

Potter walked in not five minutes later. "You have come to a decision then, Your Majesty?" he asked in a tone that stated that he already knew the answer.

The King in the North nodded. "Twenty thousand gold dragons per quarter, with any plunder your Company takes subject to the usual terms." That meant two eighths to the employer, two to the captain, another two to be divided among his officers, and the rest to be divided among the common soldiers of the company.

"Twenty-three thousand gold's a quarter and you have a deal," the captain-general replied. "You don't want to know how much it costs to feed two hundred dragons, half of those with young." The Greatjon's mouth dropped at "two hundred dragons".

"We will have the contract ready for signatures tomorrow."

"I will have the rest of the Lion Company on the road from Saltpans by this evening and here in Riverrun in three days," Potter replied. "With your permission, I must draft and issue the movement orders."

"One question before you go, Captain-General." At Potter's raised eyebrow, Robb forged ahead. "Are there other companies like yours that we could hire?"

Potter frowned. "None that are readily available. The Raptors signed a five-year deal with Lady Arryn a few weeks after your Lady mother left the Vale, courtesy of Lysa Arryn's growing paranoia. The Badgers are in Hufflepuff for rest and refit after a nasty little trade war in Myr; they'll be out of business for a year or so. And the Silver Serpents are still recovering from King Robert's rebellion. Normally, losing five-sixths of your strength fighting for a madman and all your credibility by switching sides is a death blow to a Company; the only reason they survived at all is because a good half of the Serpents had rather substantial family vaults at Gringott's and drew heavily on them to survive those first five years after Robert took the throne. They've been doing little jobs for ten years now; small scraps between arguing guilds, hired-dagger work for various nobles, that sort of thing. The biggest job they've had since the rebellion has been a dispute between Norvos and Tyrosh, and that was only because both sides were too cheap to hire anyone else. As a significant war-fighting force, they're virtually insignificant; less than eight hundred fighters under arms if I remember correctly, even if they armed everyone who wasn't nursing, pregnant, crippled, or otherwise too handicapped to fight a battle. And they haven't fought in a major conflict in fifteen years."

Robb shrugged in disappointment. "Very well, then. If any of those Companies becomes available, let me know and we shall see about employing them."

XXX