Aldric scanned the square. The other stall owners kept their heads down, furiously busying themselves with phantom customers or counting coppers, pretending they were blind and deaf. Yet, their furtive, terrified glances betrayed them.
No one stepped forward to defend the boy. No one spoke of justice or tradition. No one cared if an orphan was beaten in the street, so long as the violence didn't fall on their own heads next.
It wasn't about whether the "portion money" was truly one Silver Stag a day. It was about power. These two thugs, and the "Long Fish Gang" behind them, held absolute dominion over the market.
Aldric sighed. It appeared his generosity—handing the boy a silver coin—had painted a target on his back.
"Kevin, give me a Silver Stag."
Kevin fished a coin from his pouch and handed it over. Aldric pinched the silver between his thumb and forefinger, turning to the thugs.
"Here is his management fee for today."
The chubby thug sneered, reaching out to snatch the coin. But when he pulled, the silver didn't move. It was clamped in Aldric's grip as if welded to stone.
The thug looked up, his sneer faltering. Aldric's eyes were narrowed, reflecting a dark, dangerous glint, even as his mouth formed a casual smile.
"I trust this won't cause any further trouble for the young boss?" Aldric asked softly.
The thug swallowed hard, feeling the immense strength radiating from the giant. "For your sake... we'll let him off today."
This time, Aldric released his grip. The coin dropped into the thug's palm.
The man blew on the silver, listened to the ring, and tucked it away. He turned a vicious glare on the boy. "Kid, you got lucky today. Next time, keep your ears open."
He swept a hand toward the silent vendors. "In this market, if I say you work, you work. If I say you don't, you starve. If you disappear tomorrow, someone else will claim this spot before your body is cold!"
He tapped his temple, then turned and swaggered off into the crowd, his thin companion trailing behind.
Once they were gone, the boy silently righted his cart. He crawled through the mud, picking up the scattered oysters one by one, placing them back on the iron grill.
But the charcoal was dead, soaked in street muck. The oysters were ruined.
Aldric watched the boy try futilely to restart his business, completely ignoring the man who had just saved him.
"Little friend," Aldric asked. "I paid a silver coin for you. Don't you intend to say anything?"
The boy glanced at him coldly. "I didn't ask you to pay it."
Kevin bristled, stepping forward. "Hey! My master helped you! Is this how you thank him?"
The boy remained stubbornly silent, staring at his ruined cart.
Aldric put a hand on Kevin's chest, stopping him. "Little boss, a Silver Stag isn't a small sum. How about this: since you can't do business today anyway, be our guide. Show us around the city. That silver coin will be your advance payment."
The boy lowered his head, calculating his odds, then finally nodded. "Fine. But only for today."
"If we aren't satisfied, I'll hire you for another day and pay extra."
"Deal."
The boy hid his broken cart in a narrow alley, covered it with an old straw mat, and led the master and apprentice on a proper tour of the Outer Harbor.
Chatting along the way, Aldric learned the boy's name was Jimmy. He was eleven, three years younger than Kevin, but chronic malnutrition made him look closer to eight.
Two weeks ago, his grandfather—his only kin—had died of a lung fever. With the help of sympathetic neighbors, Jimmy spent their meager savings to bury the old man. Since then, he had lived alone, relying on the oyster cart. He dove for the catch himself in the freezing shallows, but charcoal and garlic cost money. After a full day's grueling work, the Long Fish Gang took the lion's share. What was left barely kept him from starving.
But today, the Silver Stag Aldric had surrendered covered his expenses for a moon's turn. Leaving the oppressive atmosphere of the fish market, Jimmy's guarded exterior cracked. He brightened up, chattering endlessly about the ships and the sights, guiding them safely back to Fishmonger's Square as dusk fell.
Before parting, Aldric made an offer. "Kid, you did well today. Meet me here tomorrow morning. Same deal: one Silver Stag."
Jimmy's eyes lit up, losing their street-hardened edge. "Ah! Yes! Thank you, learned Maester!"
Throughout the day, Jimmy had heard Kevin call Aldric "Master." Coupled with Aldric's refined manner of speaking and absolute confidence, the street urchin had assumed Aldric was a traveling scholar or a maester from the Citadel, and Kevin his acolyte.
Aldric didn't correct him.
After Jimmy ran off into the alleys, Kevin frowned. "Master, we saw most of the Outer Harbor today. Do we really need a guide tomorrow?"
"Did you notice?" Aldric asked quietly. "When we left the market, those two thugs were watching us from the shadows. If Jimmy tries to open his stall tomorrow, I worry they will break his legs out of spite. But if he doesn't work, he starves."
Aldric looked down the dark alley. "To us, a Silver Stag is pocket change. To him, it's a lifeline."
Nightlife in White Harbor was loud and vibrant. Shortly after returning to The White Salmon, the innkeeper's hired bard began to strum a worn lute. Accompanied by a flowing, melancholic melody, the bard sang the tale of a legendary knight: Ser Duncan the Tall.
The bard's voice was deep and magnetic. Even the rough sailors at the tables found themselves captivated.
When the first segment of the epic ended, the tavern erupted in applause, pounding wooden mugs against the tables. The bard doffed his feathered hat, bowed low, and retreated to the bar to wet his whistle.
Aldric took a sip of his ale. "Is he finished?"
"No," Kevin replied. "Normally, he rests his voice for a few minutes, then continues."
"Have you heard this story before?"
"The story of Ser Duncan? I heard it in my cradle," Kevin smiled. "He was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for King Aegon the Unlikely. The absolute paragon of knighthood. Every boy who dreams of spurs grows up on his legends."
"I see," Aldric noted. "So what was that 'Trial by Seven' the song mentioned?"
"Trial by Seven..." Kevin scratched his head, trying to recall his father's lessons. "When a knight or lord is accused of a crime and denies it, they can demand a Trial by Combat, letting the Seven Gods decide their guilt in the yard."
"Trial by Combat is one-on-one," Kevin continued. "Accuser versus Accused, or their chosen champions. The winner is innocent."
"But," Kevin added, "if either side feels a single duel is unfair, or the stakes are high enough, they can escalate to a Trial by Seven. Seven champions on each side fight a grand melee. Same rules: the survivors are innocent, the dead are guilty."
Aldric raised an eyebrow. "And what exact role do the Seven Gods play in this?"
Kevin answered earnestly. "They guide the swords of the just, to protect the innocent."
Aldric scoffed softly. "So if you win, you're innocent and favored by the heavens. If you lose, you're a sinner. Heh. Doesn't that just mean whoever has the biggest muscles and the richest coin to hire killers can do whatever they want?"
After venting his modern cynicism regarding Westerosi justice, Aldric asked, "Trial by Combat is a holy rite of the Seven. But you told me the North follows the Old Gods."
"I don't know about the deep North," Kevin said. "But White Harbor is different. The Manderlys are originally Southrons, and merchant ships bring southern culture. There are far more followers of the Seven here than anywhere else above the Neck."
Aldric mused on this. If he had time, he should visit the local Sept. The title of "Knight" was incredibly useful in this society—no exams, no licenses needed, just a claim and a sword. Since he couldn't shake the label, he might as well learn the basic doctrines of the Seven to solidify his cover story.
The bard returned to the stage, and the tavern quieted down as the lute strings hummed again.
The next morning, Aldric and Kevin arrived at the square.
Little Jimmy was already waiting. He had scrubbed his face clean, slicked back his hair with water, and put on a patched but freshly washed tunic. He was taking this temporary job very seriously.
Seeing his employers, Jimmy bowed, hand over his heart. "Good morning, Maester."
"Good morning, Jimmy. Take us to the Sept. We wish to view the holy sites."
"May the Father judge you justly," Jimmy rattled off. "Our biggest Sept is the Snow Sept in the Inner Harbor..."
Under Jimmy's chattering guidance, Aldric toured the Snow Sept, marveling at its massive white stone domes and the crystal prisms that scattered rainbows across the altars. Afterward, Aldric sent Kevin off to the docks to resume the hunt for a ship heading south.
He then had Jimmy lead him to Silversmith Street, where the metalworkers and moneylenders gathered.
White Harbor sat near several prosperous silver mines in the White Knife region. The gold and silver processing industry here was highly developed, catering to both local lords and Braavosi bankers.
Aldric had exactly one hundred Azerothian gold coins in his inventory. He planned to convert them all into local Gold Dragons. Haggling over foreign exchange rates every time he wanted to buy a loaf of bread was a massive tactical vulnerability.
Entering the Inner Harbor district, Jimmy became visibly tense. Manderly guards in pristine chainmail patrolled the pristine streets, and the pedestrians wore velvet and silk. A ragged boy like Jimmy stood out. Without the imposing, armored Aldric beside him, he would have been tossed into the harbor.
Seeing the boy shrink into himself, Aldric patted his back. "Hey. Stand tall. Even if it's just for today, you are my attendant. Don't look like a whipped dog."
The words were strict, but the tone was reassuring. Jimmy straightened his spine, lifting his chin.
Aldric laughed. "Good lad."
They picked a silversmith shop at random. Behind a counter reinforced with iron bars sat an old man with flabby skin, tapping a jeweler's hammer against a silver ingot.
"Shopkeeper?"
The old man paused, looking over his spectacles. "What is it?"
"Can you exchange foreign gold for Dragons?"
"Depends on the mint. Where from?"
"See for yourself."
Aldric handed over a heavy, perfectly round coin stamped with the lion head of Stormwind. The old man examined the unfamiliar crest, then took a fine file and scraped a tiny bit of dust from the edge. He placed the coin on a delicate brass scale.
The old man's eyebrows rose. "Standard coins have fixed rates. I haven't seen this mint... but the purity is absolute. Astonishingly pure. I'll give you one and a half Dragons for it."
"What if the quantity is large?" Aldric asked.
"Larger quantity, better rate. Scarcity makes value, Ser."
Aldric took the coin back. "I'll consider it."
Aldric visited four other shops. The rates were similar, driven by the sheer weight and impossible purity of the magical gold. The highest offer was 1.7 Dragons per coin.
He agreed to bring the rest of the gold the next morning for a bulk exchange.
Leaving Silversmith Street, Aldric looked down at his young guide. "Jimmy, I only have Kevin as an apprentice right now. I am short a servant to handle the camp and run errands. Are you interested in leaving the docks and following me?"
Jimmy visibly panicked, his street-smart bravado vanishing. "Ah? My Lord, I... I don't know how to serve a knight. I'm just a fish-hawker."
"You can learn."
Perhaps overwhelmed by the sudden, life-altering offer, Jimmy struggled to breathe. Finally, he bowed his head. "Maester... can I think about it?"
"Of course. Tell me your decision tomorrow."
"I will! I will give you an answer tomorrow!"
Over the past two days, Aldric had confirmed that Jimmy was clever, brave, and pure-hearted. If he stayed on the docks, the Long Fish Gang would eventually break him. He would either end up a corpse in an alley, or he would join them, becoming the very monster that tormented him, losing his soul in the process. Aldric didn't want the child to walk that path.
Back at the tavern, Kevin reported failure. No captain was willing to sacrifice precious cargo space for three horses on the run to King's Landing.
Aldric sighed. "If worst comes to worst, we'll take the Kingsroad south. Clegg probably hasn't left yet; we'll ask for my wagon back. With three of us to switch off driving, it should be manageable."
"Three?" Kevin was confused. "Where did the third come from?"
"Forgot to tell you. I offered Jimmy a spot. I plan to hire him as a camp servant. What do you think?"
Kevin shrugged. "No problem at all. Though he's a bit small, he might not be able to lift the heavy crates."
"Doesn't matter," Aldric said. "He has a brain and two hands. We'll find a use for him."
But plans rarely survive contact with reality.
The next morning, when Aldric arrived at the square to exchange his gold, Jimmy wasn't waiting for him.
Standing in his place was a different street urchin, a stranger with a terrified look in his eye.