(Flashback - One Month Prior)
My time in the Stormlands, amidst the people of Summer Village, had become something I never expected: a purpose. I had become a guardian to these orphans, a cool older brother to the little ones and a stern teacher to the older boys.
But my thoughts were in turmoil. What was I to do with the nearly one hundred souls I had inadvertently saved? I couldn't stay forever, but leaving them now would be a death sentence. This wasn't King's Landing, where street urchins could survive on scraps. The mystery of why the plague had predominantly taken the adults gnawed at me—curses and unexplained magics were real here, and we were in the shadow of Summerhall, a place of great tragedy. But speculation was a luxury I couldn't afford.
My only viable option was to take them to the capital. Miranda could potentially expand her establishment, providing work and shelter. It was a good plan, but the logistics were a nightmare.
There were ninety-seven of them in total: thirty-seven girls and sixty boys, all under seventeen. Only about forty were of fighting age, and after the harsh training I put them through, I judged that thirty had the potential to become proper warriors. The others lacked the necessary mindset.
I gave them what I called a "knightly education," drilling into them the values of discipline, loyalty, and brotherhood. The routine was relentless. At dawn, I forced them on runs with Alban and Alaric to build their stamina. In the evenings, I taught them lessons in basic maths, history, geography, and the cultures of Westeros. I told them heroic stories not to glorify war, but to inspire them to be protectors.
Their mornings were dedicated to sword training, which I delegated to my squires. Alban and Alaric needed to learn leadership, and the villagers, wielding wooden swords, needed to learn from peers first. I reserved my own sessions for the more advanced, training with steel. My control was such that they were only endangered by their own mistakes, not mine. In the afternoons, we conducted horse riding lessons. We were severely limited, with only five horses available for training besides Stormwind, who tolerated no other rider. I split the thirty most promising boys into five teams, appointing six as team leaders.
(Flashback End)
Now, they stood in lines, their postures reflecting a soldier's discipline. The most pressing issue was their clothing; their new musculature strained the seams of their old, ragged garments.
This place had been ideal for secret training, but our supplies were critically short. Old Durran's supply runs took a week, and it wasn't enough. We had to leave, and we had to do it secretly, moving a hundred people without drawing the suspicion that we were a slave caravan.
I was accompanied by my six new pages—Rick, Claw, Alfy, Morty, Colt, and Hale. They were the boys I had first encountered in the woods two months prior. A year older than my squires and educated by Durran, they had shown superior discipline and a knack for combat, earning their places as team leaders. I was now overseeing their education personally. These Stormlander boys couldn't yet defeat Alban and Alaric, but they could give them a real fight.
I brought Ava along for our mission to Ashford market town. We needed to buy clothes, horses, gambesons, and more food for our people, and her input on the women's garments was essential.
We traveled slowly along the Roseroad, making camp for the night. We built a bonfire to ward off predators and, perhaps, to dare any bandits to show themselves. The mood was high; we feasted on roasted deer and shared ale. I sang for them, and soon they all joined in, their voices a testament to the hope I had rekindled.
Ava sat close by, a contented smile on her face. I spoke with the boys late into the night about the journey ahead, until they insisted I rest and they took over the watch. Their reliability and respect had grown immensely.
I understood their admiration for Ava. To the older boys, she was a caring older sister; to the younger ones, a mother figure. I could only hope old Durran was managing the rest of the "menace" back in the village.
As the fire died down to embers, I noticed Ava shivering slightly. I offered her my spare cloak.
"Thank you, Julius," she said, her voice soft. "For all of this. You've given them hope."
"They had it in them all along," I replied. "I just gave it a direction."
We sat in a comfortable silence, watching the stars. The weight of leadership and the responsibility for nearly a hundred souls was a heavy burden, but in that quiet moment, shared with someone who understood the struggle, it felt a little lighter. The boys had the watch. It was time to rest, for the road to Ashford began at dawn.