The path ahead was our only concern. My focus remained on the tree line, the sounds of the forest, and the safety of the woman riding behind me.
We rode ahead of the main party for a practical purpose: to scout the route and ensure it was clear of further ambushes. A tight, wounded group was a vulnerable one.
After a while, I spotted a waterfall a safe distance from the road. "We'll check the water source," I told Lady Anya. "The wounded will need fresh water for their wounds."
She simply nodded, the tension from our earlier conversation seeming to have faded into a weary acceptance of my diligence.
At the waterfall, I dismounted and helped her down. I scouted the perimeter, my hand on my sword, finding nothing but the chatter of birds and the rush of water. Only then did I fill our waterskins. Lady Anya sat on a large rock, the spray misting her face. She looked more at peace than I had seen her since the ambush.
"We should return," I said after a short time. "The Maester will need this."
"Of course," she replied, her voice steady. "Thank you, Ser Julius. For your vigilance."
Two days later, the relief force from Ironoaks found us. At its head was an old knight, Ser Robar Waynwood, alongside Maester Lomas and fifty mounted knights. The Maester immediately began tending to Morton, Colt, and Morty, offering quiet praise for the initial field treatments.
Ser Robar approached me, his back straight despite his years. "Ser Julius Harlane," he said, his voice gravelly but firm. "You have the gratitude of House Waynwood. For my family's lives, and for the return of our legacy." His eyes, sharp and intelligent, held mine. He saw his niece riding under my protection, and his gaze held no suspicion, only a deep, measured respect. He saw a knight who had done his duty, nothing more and nothing less.
Morton had woken a day prior and was already back in the saddle, his resilience impressive. When Lady Anya presented him with the recovered Valyrian steel sword, he stared at it in disbelief before his composure broke. He embraced me, his grip strong. "A debt of blood and steel," he said, his voice thick. "I will not forget this."
My man Morty, now bearing the nickname "The One-Eye" with defiant pride, was already holding court with the new knights, weaving a grand tale of our skirmish. Colt, still confined to the carriage, was enduring the good-natured teasing of his comrades, who had dubbed him 'Colt Backslash.'
As we rode into the heart of Waynwood lands, the presence of more villages and patrols spoke of a stable and well-ruled domain. The people we passed looked healthy and their fields were well-tended.
At Ironoaks Castle, we were formally given guest right. That night, Lord Morton and Lady Anya held a feast. It was a genuine, public declaration of gratitude. Morton's demeanor toward me had solidified into a firm, brotherly respect.
The following days were spent productively. I sparred with Morton, who was eager to test his family's blade. My squires worked with the castle guards, drilling them in new formations that, after initial resistance, began to show clear improvement.
I accompanied Ser Robar on a tour of their iron mines. I offered suggestions on shoring up tunnels and improving drainage to prevent collapses and flooding. He listened with a skeptic's ear, which I respected. But as the practical benefits became clear, his skepticism turned to thoughtful consideration.
Eventually, he broached the subject directly. "You have given my house a new future, Ser Julius. What is it you seek in return? Name your price."
"I seek no price, Ser Robar," I replied. "I was asked to provide safe escort, and I did. The return of your sword was a matter of honor, not a bargaining chip. If my advice is useful, that is its own reward. When I have lands of my own, perhaps we can trade your iron for my goods at a fair rate. That is all the future payment I would ask."
He was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. He found no guile. "A man's worth is in his word and his deeds," he said finally. "Yours are both sound." He then did something I did not expect. Before the assembled household, he made a vow. "From this day, let it be known that House Waynwood holds Ser Julius Harlane and his line as a sworn ally. If he has need, we will answer."
It was not a debt to be called in, but an oath of friendship. It was worth more than any chest of gold.
In the quiet days that followed, I also spoke with Lady Anya. Our conversations were of governance and the burdens of leadership. I saw the weariness in her eyes, the weight of two decades of rule.
"A lord who rules alone is like a single pillar," I told her one evening. "Strong, but brittle. A lord who rules with the support of his family is like a foundation, unshakeable."
She heard the wisdom in the words. Shortly after, in a quiet ceremony, she formally passed the lordship to Morton. The relief on her face was palpable. She began to bridge the distance with her good-daughter and took visible joy in her grandson, Roland. The very air in Ironoaks felt lighter.
A few weeks later, with the household secure and its new lord settled, I went to Morton with a final piece of counsel.
"The Howlers are bloodied, but not broken. They will return. To secure your people for a generation, you must not just defend. You must eradicate the threat."
The new Lord of Ironoaks did not hesitate. A raven was sent to the Eyrie, seeking Lord Arryn's leave to call his banners.
The reply came the next day. Permission was granted.
Lord Morton Waynwood stood before the high table in his hall, his ancestral sword at his hip, and gave the order that would define the beginning of his rule.
"Call the banners."