The tavern was modest. The ground-floor common room measured barely forty square meters and contained three or four heavy solid-oak tables.
A narrow wooden staircase rose from the back of the hall. Following Gabriel upstairs, Ethan and Kevin found two small rooms with open doors.
The room prepared for them had a low ceiling and the barest furnishings: two simple beds, a small wooden stand, and a hip-high wooden tub bound with leather straps.
There were no proper blankets—only rough wooden headrests carved into pillow shapes.
"Holy crap—we can actually sleep in *beds*!"
Ethan happily stripped off his armor, about to collapse onto the nearest mattress—when Gabriel and his younger brother each carried in a large armload of last year's dried hay. They spread it thickly across both beds.
"Sir—this hay was cut and dried months ago. Very clean. You'll sleep well."
A genuine thatched bed.
Once the brothers left, Ethan threw himself onto the straw with a contented sigh. He inhaled the faint, dusty scent of sun-dried grass, pulled the threadbare blanket haphazardly draped over the pile, and said to Kevin:
"You take the other bed… Ahhh…"
Within three breaths he was snoring.
The long-forgotten comfort of a horizontal sleeping surface kept Ethan in bed far past noon. Even as afternoon faded toward evening he remained burrowed in the hay, reluctant to move.
Only when a soft knock sounded at the door did he finally grumble, "What is it?"
Alvin's young voice answered from the hallway.
"Sir Knight—Elder William and Uncle Unite would like to speak with you. They're waiting downstairs."
Ethan frowned.
*Do Northerners really have no sense of timing or courtesy?*
Even setting aside the natural deference owed a fully armored warrior, expecting someone who had just saved their kin to jump at an immediate summons felt rude.
He rolled over, intending to ignore the request and go back to sleep.
A sharp *crack* sounded outside—someone had clearly cuffed the boy.
Unite's older, slightly hoarse voice came through the door, polite but firm.
"Sir Knight—children sometimes speak carelessly. Please don't take offense. The village elders would be honored if you could join us downstairs when you're rested. We'll wait for you."
The same request—phrased with proper deference—landed very differently.
"Wait a moment. I'll be right down."
Ethan forced himself upright. The washbasin on the stand was already full. He splashed cold water on his face, ran fingers through his hair, donned his tunic (leaving the armor off for now), and headed downstairs.
In the common room he found Unite sitting beside the blond man who had led the armed response at the village gate. Ethan pulled out a chair opposite them and sat.
"I pictured 'Elder William' as a white-bearded grandfather in his seventies or eighties leaning on a cane," Ethan said with a small smile. "Didn't expect someone so young."
The blond man chuckled.
"'Elder' is just a title. Truth is, I'm ten years younger than this balding old farmer here."
He shook hands firmly with Ethan.
"William. Village elder and militia captain. On behalf of everyone—thank you for saving our girls. Linhai Village was founded by kin who moved down the coast more than ten years ago. Hearing it was wiped out by pirates hit us hard. Claire said you personally buried the dead. Is that true?"
"Yes. It wasn't much."
"Digging a pit large enough for dozens of bodies is no small task." William turned toward the bar. "Gabriel—three mugs of sparkling ale."
Moments later Gabriel set down a tray bearing three large wooden tankards filled with a hazy yellowish-brown liquid topped by a thick white head.
Ethan lifted his mug and took a cautious sip. It tasted like a rustic kvass—sweet, slightly sour, with a strong malt backbone.
"Delicious. What's it made from?"
Gabriel gave a shy smile that looked out of place on such a big man.
"Just leftover day-old bread from the kitchen… plus a couple of family tricks."
Ethan raised the tankard in thanks.
"To your health."
After Gabriel retreated to the bar, William continued.
"The destruction of Linhai wasn't just their tragedy—it's a warning for all of us. The pirates are back. Old Grandma Eve used to love frightening the children with tales of Skaggs raiders. You must have heard them too?"
Unite took a long pull from his mug and nodded, reminiscing.
"Of course. Every cool evening she'd drag her chair to the village gate, shelling peas or mending nets while she told us horror stories. Mostly about the Skaggs—huge, bloodthirsty, even cannibals."
"May her soul rest easy." William raised his tankard in silent tribute, then went on.
"Her husband and eldest son both died fighting those same pirates. She spent her whole life reminding us how cruel they are. After so many peaceful years, most of us thought the stories were just old-lady tales meant to scare children…"
He leaned forward.
"Raiders are a nightmare. They strike fast, take what they want, and vanish. No one knows when or where they'll hit next. I've already set a day watch—every able-bodied man carries a weapon while working the fields. At night we post sentries. But Rockfall only has a little over two hundred souls. Our militia numbers barely a dozen. Even counting every adult who can swing a tool, we might muster seventy fighters—and most have never seen real combat."
Ethan listened in silence, nursing his ale.
Unite added,
"We've already sent riders to warn the neighboring hamlets and raised the alarm with Ser Rodney's garrison. The lord should respond soon. But it may take days for orders to reach us. If you have no pressing plans, Sir Ethan… we'd be deeply grateful if you and your squire could stay a few days."
William picked up smoothly.
"You'd have the upstairs rooms, of course. Food and drink on the village. Should the pirates come here, we'd ask your help holding the line. We can discuss fair payment then."
Ethan swirled the last of his ale, thinking.
Staying a few days wasn't unreasonable. Pirates still roamed the coast; traveling with just Kevin was risky.
William hadn't tried to lock in a fixed price—sensible, since no one knew whether raiders would even attack, how many they'd bring, or how strong they'd be. Haggling too hard now would only breed resentment later.
The terms were fair. Ethan saw no reason to refuse.
"Agreed."
William and Unite exchanged a quick, surprised glance—clearly they had expected more negotiation.
Now that their request was granted, they rose with warm smiles.
"We hope you rest well, Sir Ethan."
"Thank you."
After the two men left, Ethan ordered dinner.
Village standards were simple: a thick slice of whole-grain black bread, a generous piece of bacon, a bowl of mushroom or root-vegetable soup, and a large tankard of ale.
Gabriel—clearly mindful of Ethan's size—had been generous with portions. The food was hearty and surprisingly well seasoned.
Halfway through the meal Kevin stumbled downstairs, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Ethan waved him over to the opposite bench and ordered the same meal for him.
After they finished, Ethan suggested a walk.
The two strolled through the village in the warm glow of late afternoon.
Farmers were returning from the fields.
Smoke curled from every chimney. Children darted through the streets—some trying to trail the tall, black-haired stranger before being shooed home by parents.
Word had already spread: this armored warrior had single-handedly slain over a dozen pirates (the number grew with each retelling).
Everyone was curious—but no one dared come too close.
Ethan didn't mind the distance.
The respectful space gave him a rare chance to speak privately with Kevin.
Once they reached a quieter stretch of lane, Ethan asked:
"Kevin—now that we've reached a living village… what are your plans going forward?"
Kevin blinked, confused.
"Plans, sir?"
"I mean… don't you want to return to the Fingers? Even if we never found your uncle's body, he's most likely dead. If your goal is still to join a sellsword company in the Free Cities, that path will be difficult at fourteen—you're not yet of age. Wouldn't it be wiser to go home to your parents in Watershed?"
Kevin's face paled. He panicked.
"Sir—did I… did I do something wrong? Please tell me. I learn quickly—I'll fix it. Please don't send me away…"
Ethan shook his head quickly.
"No—no, nothing like that. You've been helpful. Having you around makes things easier."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Truth is—you're a good kid. Smart, dependable, eager to learn. But you're still very young. Back in my homeland boys your age are still begging their parents for candy money. I'm far from home with no real destination. If you keep following me, who knows how many years you'll spend wandering before you can settle anywhere. That doesn't feel fair to you."
Kevin relaxed slightly—relieved it wasn't his fault—but his answer came without hesitation.
"Sir… from the day my father told me I had to leave with my uncle for White Harbor, I haven't really had a home. That house in Watershed belongs to my father and my brother—not me.
My uncle once told me a man's true honor isn't found hiding in a small village. I'm not afraid of wandering. I'm only afraid of dying without meaning."
Ethan laughed softly.
"The bold words of youth always make me smile."
Thinking he was being mocked, Kevin flushed and tried to explain.
Ethan raised a hand.
"It's not mockery. I was the same at your age. It's not a bad thing."
He studied Kevin for a long moment.
"Do people here hold a formal ceremony when taking on apprentices? Do you know what it involves?"
"Apprentice…?" Kevin froze. His eyes widened. "You mean… you'd take me as your squire?"
In Westeros the knight–squire bond was close to the master–apprentice relationship among craftsmen.
A squire served unpaid for years—handling chores, tending armor, horses, and weapons, and eventually riding to war beside his knight. All wages went to the knight, who might—depending on mood and generosity—pass a portion to the squire.
In return the knight provided food, clothing, lodging, training in arms, and took legal responsibility for the squire's actions.
True knights therefore chose squires with great care—usually only two or three at a time—and knighted them only when they reached their early twenties and proved worthy.
Lesser lords or hedge knights might take "servants" instead—similar duties, but no path to knighthood.
From everything Kevin had seen, Ethan wasn't just any knight. He suspected the black-haired warrior might be the scion of a powerful southern house—though he couldn't quite place which one.
He had never dared hope to become Ethan's true squire.
At most he had dreamed of serving as a man-at-arms or personal servant for a time—learning what he could before striking out alone.
Now, hearing the word "apprentice," Kevin's mind immediately translated it to *squire*.
The possibility hit him like a thunderbolt. He stood speechless.
Seeing the misunderstanding, Ethan clarified gently.
"Kevin—I have to be honest. Though you call me 'Sir,' I've never actually been knighted.
I don't worship the Seven. I've sworn no oath to any lord. I follow my own beliefs and my own code of conduct—which may differ greatly from those common in Westeros.
I won't force you to adopt my ways. If you're unwilling, I won't insist.
So I'll ask again: are you willing to become my apprentice—accept my teaching and my protection?"
Kevin didn't hesitate.
"Sir… we haven't known each other long, but in that short time you've shown more true knighthood than any lord I've ever met.
If the code you follow produces someone so brave, so strong, so honorable—then I want to walk the same path.
So yes—I am willing to pledge myself to you and become your apprentice."
He started to drop to one knee.
Ethan caught his arm and pulled him back up, then clapped him firmly on the shoulder.
"Good. But the ceremony still matters. Since I'm taking you as my apprentice, we'll follow the customs of *my* homeland.
We'll need two more days—I have to prepare a few things."
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