Eleven months. It was a strange thing, to measure one's life in the turning of seasons in a world not your own. In what felt like both a lifetime and the blink of an eye, I had carved out a place for myself. The list of what I had built, of the lives now intertwined with my own, was something I could scarcely have imagined on that first, desperate day on the beach. Now, the time had come to leave it all behind, if only for a time. The road to the Riverlands called.
My purpose was twofold: to make connections at the great tourney and to ensure that Varys, the creepy old spider, remained as ignorant of my true nature as possible. I cared little for the fates of the Starks, Targaryens, or other highborn players, but my own path was now inextricably linked to the coming chaos. To secure a future, I had to navigate the present.
Thank the gods for Miranda. She had been a godsend, her cleverness a shield and her pragmatism a guiding star. The establishments we had built together—hers and Rolf's shares carefully honored—were not just businesses; they were a foundation. When I had returned from the Stormlands with a hundred souls in tow, I had been at a loss. She had simply nodded, already expanding her operations to absorb them, turning my desperate rescue into a sustainable enterprise.
Through a mix of shrewd negotiation and undisclosed methods from her past, she had consolidated the properties around the Green Bird, creating a small, defensible enclave. We even enjoyed the quiet backing of Lord Stokeworth. But this security was an illusion I knew would shatter. When Tywin Lannister's dogs came to sack the city, this district would be a prime target.
I needed a force to defend it, loyal and unseen by the current regime. Mercenaries were faithless, but the city itself was teeming with the desperate and unemployed. With Rolf's street-level knowledge and my squires' drilling, we quietly recruited two hundred boys from the slums, boys with fire in their bellies and nothing to lose. For three months, we turned our walled properties into a secret training ground, Alban and Alaric whipping them into a disciplined, if green, garrison. Paid a fair wage to guard the very establishments that fed them, their loyalty was bought with more than coin; it was bought with purpose.
While they trained in shifts, I devoted myself to the Stormlanders. Those thirty-two boys were becoming something else entirely—a razor's edge. Under my personal tutelage, they had been forged into a formidable unit. The best of them, Rick, Claw, and the others, could now hold their own in a spar longer than any seasoned man-at-arms. They were the elite core I would need for the wars to come, for scouting, for sabotage, for the decisive strike.
This entire enterprise—the businesses, the garrison, my personal guard—was all for them. For Miranda, Rolf, Ava, and the orphans. They were my family now, my strength, and my most profound weakness. To protect them, I needed more than a hidden force in the capital; I needed a land of my own, a true base of power, a name that commanded respect. Harrenhal was the path to that.
On the morning of my departure, I found Miranda in the courtyard. "You will look after them?" I asked, though I knew the answer.
She offered a rare, genuine smile. "They are my family too, Julius. Go. Win your glory. We will be here when you return."
I embraced her, then Ava, a silent understanding passing between us. The weight of their trust was a heavier armor than any steel. I found Rolf and clasped his arm. "The city is in your hands, my friend. And Robin has a good head on his shoulders; listen to his counsel."
"I will, Julius. Don't worry yourself sick over us," he replied, his loyalty as solid as the earth.
With a final nod to my squires, I walked through the city gates, leaving the only home I had in this world behind me.
Outside the city, my thirty-two Stormlanders waited. Mounted on fine coursers and clad in new leathers, they were no longer orphaned boys. They were my company. I felt a surge of pride so fierce it stole my breath. I took one last look at the towering walls of King's Landing, a nest of snakes and dragons I was glad to quit.
Morty shifted in his saddle. "What are your orders, Ser?"
I took a deep breath, the open road stretching before me. "Now," I declared, my voice cutting through the morning air, "we ride."