A month passed in a whirlwind of activity. I had thrown myself into improving the Green Bird, transforming it from a simple inn into a thriving restaurant. The family's exceptional cooking skills were the cornerstone, and with Rolf's head for numbers as our cashier, we flourished. A bit of strategic rumor-mongering—the medieval equivalent of advertising—made the "New Green Bird" the talk of the area. We expanded, taking over the second floor, a move that, unfortunately, cost me my room. I relocated to the main house, taking a room opposite the boys.
My presence served as a deterrent to would-be troublemakers, though I learned to be a subtle guardian; overt intimidation was bad for business. We hired a few retired prostitutes as serving maids, a move that proved both popular and profitable. With the business running smoothly, my time was freed for other pursuits.
I devoted my days to training Alban and Alaric. The boys were diligent, their bodies transforming with new muscle and height as they ate and drilled with single-minded focus. My nights were for lessons of a different kind with Miranda. Under her tutelage, my grasp of the King's Landing dialect became fluent, and I learned the elegant dances of her native Lys.
Jane and Alice, meanwhile, grew bolder. During my lessons with their mother, they would often interrupt, claiming boredom, hugging me from behind or playfully covering my eyes, demanding I play the guitar instead. Their affections were a sweet, constant distraction, a storm of youthful energy I carefully navigated.
Beneath this idyllic surface, however, a grim purpose drove me. I knew this city would burn. I couldn't be here to protect them when it happened, nor could I realistically take them with me. My solution was a secret project: an underground bunker, hidden beneath the stable. With my unnatural stamina, I excavated the space, the boys discreetly helping me dispose of the soil outside the city walls. I stocked it with a month's worth of supplies for twenty people, along with wine and games to pass the time. It was a desperate measure for a coming nightmare.
I also ventured into Flea Bottom, a festering slum that was every bit as terrible as described. My goal was to find a man named Davos. After a day of searching, I found him surrounded by a community that eyed me with open hostility. He was a man in his mid-thirties, with a weary but resolute face.
"Are you the one they call Davos?" I asked.
"Aye, that's my name," he replied, his stance guarded. "What can I do for you, ser?"
"Relax. I'm not here to deliver the King's Justice. I only wish to have a word, if you have the time." I let my gaze make it clear that refusal was not an option.
"I've time," he said, his voice steady. "I'll answer your questions, ser, but I'll take no blades against my friends."
I respected his loyalty. "I can see your friends won't abandon you. I'm not here for that." I extended a hand. "Ser Julius Harlane, from Essos. I need information on navigation and the... logistics of moving goods discreetly."
We spoke for a long time. He was sharp, pragmatic, and possessed a core of common-sense morality that was rare in this world. Before I left, I gave him a task and two gold dragons as advance payment. "I need dragonglass, smuggled from Dragonstone. And any whispers you hear about the Crown Prince." He didn't question why, simply nodding as he pocketed the coins. I had found a valuable, if unofficial, ally.
Despite all this, a restlessness grew in me. I had purchased three horses—a large white destrier I named Stormwind, and two rounseys for the boys. With eleven months until the tourney at Harrenhal, I needed to leave King's Landing. The constant, tempting proximity to Jane and Alice was a strain on the chivalrous discipline this body afforded me. I had no intention of marrying yet, and the political complications of such a match were a future problem. I needed to see the Seven Kingdoms, to breathe air that wasn't thick with impending doom.
On the eve of my departure, I found Miranda waiting for me in the stables, the moonlight silvering her hair.
Later, as we lay together in the quiet aftermath, she played with my hair, her voice soft. "What is your goal, Julius? What are you trying to accomplish?" She paused. "And what of my daughters? Do you intend to make one your wife?"
The question was a bucket of cold water. I shifted, creating a small space between us, the gravity of the moment settling in. This was the crossroads.
"I care for them too much to offer them a life in the shadows," I said, my voice firm. "A mistress has no security, no honor. You, of all people, know the price of that life. I will not inflict it on them. They deserve husbands who can give them their name, their protection, and a place of respect. I cannot be that man, and so I will not dishonor them with a half-measure."
She was silent for a long moment, studying my face in the dim light. I saw no anger, only a weary acceptance. "They will be heartbroken," she finally said.
"And that is a cleaner pain than a lifetime of dishonor," I replied. "It is the only honorable choice I can make."
My next words were for her. "And this... between us... it cannot continue, Miranda."
She raised an eyebrow, a ghost of her old smirk returning. "Oh? Found me lacking, have you?"
"Quite the opposite," I said, meeting her gaze squarely. "It is a complication I can no longer afford. You are the mother of the boys I hope to mentor. You are the anchor of this family. What we have done... it was a consequence of a strange night and two strangers finding common ground. But I am a stranger no longer. To continue would be to risk everything you have built here, and everything I hope to build. It would be a betrayal of your sons' trust."
The smirk faded, replaced by a look of stark clarity. She was a pragmatist at her core. She understood power, alliances, and survival better than anyone. She nodded slowly, a single, decisive motion.
"It seems the student has learned his final lesson," she said, her tone a mixture of respect and finality. She stood, gathering her torn dress around her with a dignity that defied the setting. "You are making the right choice. For all of us."
She paused at the stable door, a silhouette against the moonlit courtyard. "Protect my sons, Ser Julius. That is the only promise I will ask of you."
"You have my word," I vowed.
And with that, she was gone. The chapter had closed. The future, with all its perils and promises, began at dawn.