Three days.
Three days since Ser Talion Rivers had died.
Three days since a nameless traveler had begun walking the Riverlands with nothing but a prince's sword and a direwolf for company.
The first lesson had been simple.
Dead men had no coin.
And coin bought everything.
Food.
Clothes.
Shelter.
Information.
Without it...
I wouldn't survive long enough to reach the Narrow Sea.
The Riverlands were changing.
Word traveled faster than horses.
Lord Jon Arryn was dead.
The King had returned to King's Landing.
The great lords had gone home.
And with thousands of soldiers no longer marching the Kingsroad...
The bandits had returned.
I heard it in every village.
"They took another merchant."
"Three farms burned."
"Don't travel after dark."
"The Bloody Mummers?"
"No."
"Just outlaws."
Celebrimbor listened as we left another frightened hamlet.
"Law collapses quickly."
"It always does."
I remembered enough of the books to know this was only the beginning.
Soon...
The Riverlands would become the battlefield of the realm.
Compared to what was coming...
These bandits were nothing.
Nymeria walked silently beside me.
She no longer kept her distance.
She hadn't exactly become tame.
She was still wild.
Still hunted whenever she pleased.
Sometimes she'd disappear for hours before returning with blood on her muzzle.
But she always came back.
Celebrimbor watched her disappear into the trees once again.
"She has accepted you."
"I think she decided I'm useful."
"Perhaps."
"I don't intend to command her."
Celebrimbor nodded.
"Wise."
"She's Arya's wolf."
"I won't take that from her."
If, one day, Arya found Nymeria again...
The direwolf would be free to choose.
Until then...
We simply traveled together.
By sunset, we reached a roadside sept.
Half a dozen wagons stood outside.
Two merchants argued over the price of grain.
An old blacksmith sat sharpening a ploughshare.
I kept my hood low.
The patched clothes I'd found abandoned near an old wash line were hardly impressive.
My mail shirt remained hidden beneath a rough wool tunic.
The lion-hilted sword rested at my hip beneath a plain leather wrap I'd fashioned to conceal its ornate scabbard.
The last thing I needed was someone recognizing a prince's weapon.
Inside the common room, conversation stopped as I entered.
Not because anyone knew me.
Because strangers were always measured.
I ordered the cheapest stew they had.
The innkeeper looked at me.
"Two coppers."
I placed them on the counter.
Half my remaining coin.
As I ate...
I listened.
"...killed another caravan..."
"...old mill by the river..."
"...six of them..."
"...their leader wears chainmail..."
"...five silver stags for proof..."
I didn't move.
Celebrimbor spoke quietly.
"You are thinking."
"I am."
"The reward."
"Not just the reward."
The bandits would have supplies.
Clothes.
Armor.
Perhaps even horses.
Everything I needed.
Later that evening, I approached the innkeeper.
"I heard talk of bandits."
The old man spat into the fire.
"Everyone's heard."
"Where?"
He looked me over.
"You planning on becoming a hero?"
"No."
"I'm planning on eating next week."
That earned a bark of laughter.
"Fair enough."
He pointed west.
"Old mill."
"About two hours through the woods."
"Seven or eight men."
"Former soldiers, if rumors are true."
"Mean bastards."
We left before dawn.
Mist rolled through the forest.
Every sound seemed louder.
Every snapped twig echoed.
Celebrimbor floated silently beside me.
"Former soldiers are more dangerous than common brigands."
"I know."
"They'll have discipline."
"Perhaps."
He looked ahead.
"Or perhaps drink has already destroyed it."
The old mill appeared shortly after sunrise.
Its wheel had long since rotted away.
The roof sagged.
Smoke drifted lazily from a chimney.
I climbed a nearby hill.
Eight men.
One stood watch.
The others slept or argued around a fire.
Two bows.
Three spears.
Axes.
One sword.
And...
One man in chainmail.
Probably the leader.
I crouched lower.
"They're organized."
Celebrimbor studied them.
"Poorly."
"What do you mean?"
"Look."
He pointed.
"The sentry watches the road."
I nodded.
"Not the woods."
"...Idiot."
"Indeed."
I looked toward Nymeria.
She lay hidden in the undergrowth.
Watching.
Waiting.
I shook my head.
"No."
Her ears twitched.
"I won't ask you to fight."
She huffed in what sounded suspiciously like annoyance.
Celebrimbor noticed.
"She disagrees."
"She's not my weapon."
Nymeria stood anyway.
Then, to my surprise, she vanished silently into the trees.
I sighed.
"I have a bad feeling about this."
Celebrimbor looked at me.
"What is your plan?"
I smiled.
"The one Damon would've hated."
The Elf-Lord folded his arms.
"Explain."
"I'm going to let Nymeria scare them."
He raised an eyebrow.
"They'll panic."
"They'll split up."
"I pick them off one at a time."
Celebrimbor considered it.
Then...
To my immense satisfaction...
He nodded.
"An inelegant plan."
"But effective."
I grinned.
"Damon always preferred charging through the front gate."
"And you?"
"I spent eight years learning from him."
I slowly drew Joffrey's sword.
"...I also spent eight years learning how to think for myself."
Below them...
A howl echoed through the forest.
Not the cry of an ordinary wolf.
But the deep, thunderous call of a direwolf.
The camp erupted into chaos.
Men scrambled for weapons.
The sentry spun toward the trees.
Exactly as Talion had hoped.
He smiled grimly.
"Let's see if a dead man can still hunt."
Men stumbled from their bedrolls, reaching for weapons that weren't where they had left them.
One shouted.
"What in the Seven Hells was that?"
Another answered with fear already in his voice.
"Wolf!"
"No..."
The leader tightened his grip on his sword.
"...Something bigger."
From my place atop the hill, I smiled.
"They're already afraid."
Celebrimbor stood beside me, watching.
"Fear breaks discipline."
"It also makes men predictable."
Eight years under Damon had taught me that.
A frightened soldier fought poorly.
A frightened bandit...
Even worse.
I slipped down the hillside without a sound.
The sentry had abandoned his post the moment Nymeria howled.
Amateurs.
Damon would've had him flogged for leaving his position.
The first bandit never saw me.
He rounded the corner of the old mill, looking toward the trees.
Joffrey's sword flashed.
One clean cut across the throat.
He collapsed without a sound.
I caught him before his body struck the ground.
Celebrimbor nodded.
"Efficient."
"No reason to make this harder than it has to be."
The second man wandered away from the fire carrying a bow.
Probably hoping for a better view of whatever stalked them.
He found me instead.
His eyes widened.
"You—"
He never finished.
My sword pierced his chest.
I pulled it free before he hit the ground.
Two.
The remaining six finally realized something was wrong.
"Harlen?"
"Where'd you go?"
Silence answered.
The leader frowned.
"Swords!"
"Someone's here!"
Too late.
Nymeria exploded from the undergrowth.
She hit one man with enough force to throw him clear off his feet.
Her jaws closed around his shoulder.
Bone snapped.
His scream echoed through the woods.
The others instinctively turned toward her.
Not one looked behind them.
Exactly what I'd hoped.
I charged.
The nearest bandit barely managed to turn.
Steel flashed.
He fell.
A second rushed me with an axe.
I stepped inside his swing.
Damon's lessons took over.
"Don't meet strength with strength."
"Step around it."
My elbow broke his nose.
My sword followed immediately.
Four.
The leader was better.
He actually knew how to fight.
Former soldier.
Good stance.
Steady grip.
He met my blade with his own.
Steel rang through the clearing.
"You little bastard!"
He swung hard.
I parried.
Pivoted.
Cut.
His sword arm opened from elbow to wrist.
He roared.
I drove my shoulder into his chest.
He stumbled backward.
Before he could recover—
Joffrey's blade entered beneath his chin.
The point emerged from the back of his neck.
Five.
The last three broke immediately.
"Run!"
They scattered into the trees.
I didn't chase.
Nymeria did.
One disappeared between the oaks.
A grey blur followed.
Seconds later...
A scream.
Then silence.
Six.
Another tried reaching the road.
He made perhaps thirty yards before Nymeria caught him.
Seven.
The last man dropped his weapon.
"I surrender!"
He couldn't have been older than eighteen.
His hands shook so violently he could barely stand.
I walked toward him.
He fell to his knees.
"Please..."
"I never killed anyone."
"I swear it."
I stopped several paces away.
For a moment...
I wanted to believe him.
Then my eyes drifted to Nymeria.
The direwolf stood beside me, her golden eyes fixed upon the kneeling bandit.
No ordinary man traveled with a beast like her.
If this boy lived...
He would remember.
A fifteen-year-old knight.
A giant grey direwolf.
A sword fit for a prince.
The story would spread from one village to another.
Sooner or later...
It would reach the wrong ears.
The man who had murdered me would learn I still lived.
And if that happened...
My family would no longer be safe.
Celebrimbor spoke quietly.
"You understand."
"I do."
The words felt heavy.
"I don't have a choice."
The bandit saw the decision settle in my eyes.
His face went pale.
"No..."
"Please..."
"I won't tell anyone!"
"I swear before the Seven!"
I wished I could believe him.
Perhaps he meant every word.
Perhaps fear would keep him silent.
Or perhaps, after enough ale in enough taverns, he'd tell the tale of the dead knight and the monstrous wolf.
I couldn't gamble my family's lives on perhaps.
"I'm sorry."
The words were little more than a whisper.
The bandit lunged for the knife hidden in his boot.
My sword was faster.
One clean thrust.
He collapsed without another word.
Silence settled over the clearing.
Eight corpses.
No witnesses.
I closed his eyes.
"I hope the Seven judge you more kindly than this world did."
Celebrimbor stood beside me.
He did not praise me.
Nor did he condemn me.
Instead, he simply said,
"Some choices leave no honorable answer."
I wiped the blade clean on the fallen man's cloak.
"No."
"...Only necessary ones."
I searched the camp carefully.
The leader's belongings were far better than I'd expected.
A well-maintained set of boiled leather reinforced with riveted mail across the chest.
Sturdy riding boots.
A dark green traveling cloak without any sigil.
A serviceable longbow with two full quivers.
Three silver stags.
Forty-seven copper pennies.
A small pouch containing dried beef, hard cheese, oats, salt, and a whetstone.
Most importantly...
A healthy brown courser stood tethered behind the old mill.
The gelding lifted its head as I approached.
I stroked its neck gently.
"I suppose we'll be traveling together."
The horse nudged my shoulder.
Nymeria sniffed it once.
The gelding stiffened...
Then, remarkably, settled.
I fastened the saddlebags to the horse and secured my newly claimed supplies.
Food.
Coin.
Armor.
A bow.
A mount.
Everything a wandering hedge knight might need.
Everything...
Except a name.
Ser Talion Rivers had died on the Kingsroad.
The man mounting the brown courser was someone else.
A dead man walking, a man seeking for redemption and revenge.
A Wraith