Ch 13

As dusk fell over the camp, I felt the weight of what lay ahead settle over me like a cloak. The road to King's Landing had been long, but the true journey was just beginning. The Eagle Order, my brothers-in-arms, had followed me this far, but it was time they understood what we were walking into. I called them together in the meadow, the dying light casting long shadows over their faces.

Standing before them, I raised my voice. "You're likely wondering why I've gathered you here tonight."

They watched me in silence, their faces hard and expectant. I could see the questions in their eyes, the uncertainty. These were men who'd fought countless battles, survived wars, and lived through bloodshed. But the game we were about to enter was not one of swords and shields alone. This was a fight in the shadows, where the wrong whisper could mean a dagger in the back.

I lowered myself onto a large stone, the cool surface grounding me as I spoke. "We're marching to King's Landing. But none of you know why—not yet. The truth is, we're heading straight into a web of treachery and political games. It's not just a fight for land or gold. This is something far more dangerous. We'll be taking sides in a war before it even begins. And when it does, we'll be marked men. At best, we'll have a few houses hunting us down. At worst, our heads will adorn the city gates."

A murmur rippled through the group. They'd expected danger, of course, but not this. Not the kind that follows you long after the battlefield is quiet.

One of the sellswords, a grizzled man with a scar running across his cheek, spoke up, his voice gruff. "What about gold? Are we to risk our necks for nothing?"

I met his gaze. "Gold may come, or it may not. If you're here for riches, turn back now. What we're about to do... there are no promises of wealth, only blood and risk. Think carefully."

I let that sink in before turning my attention to the squires, boys really, though they thought themselves men. They stood at the edge of the group, eyes wide, hanging on every word. "And as for you, squires, your age doesn't make you immune. You're part of this, just as much as anyone else. But you've a choice. No one here will force you to stay and fight. What we're about to step into—many will not survive."

The camp fell into an uneasy silence. I could see them shifting, thinking, weighing their options. "You have until dawn," I said, standing. "If you wish to leave, come to me before we march. You'll get your last pay, no questions asked. But those who stay... know that once we enter King's Landing, there's no turning back."

I turned, leaving them to their thoughts. As I walked back to my tent, I caught a few of them crowding around Edric, pressing him for more answers. But I had given them all they needed to know—for now. It was better this way. Too much knowledge in the wrong hands could unravel everything. We needed loyalty, not uncertainty.

Inside my tent, I lay down on the bedroll, staring at the canvas above me, my mind restless. Who would remain by my side come morning? How many would walk away, choosing the safety of obscurity over the danger of what was to come?

Dawn broke, and as I emerged from my tent, the camp was already stirring. Six men stood before me: four sellswords and two hedge knights, their wives packed and ready beside them. They had made their choice, and I couldn't blame them for it.

I handed them their coin, offering a nod of understanding. "Dorne will be safe for now. Head there, if you can. It'll be far from the reach of what's to come."

The hedge knights nodded solemnly, taking their leave with their families. As they disappeared into the distance, I looked back at the thirty-five that remained. Of them, only twenty were true fighters. It would be enough. It had to be.

We mounted up and continued towards King's Landing. As the city loomed closer, the weight of what we were about to do pressed down on me. Robert Baratheon would die—there was no question in my mind. His death was necessary for the survival of the realm, for Daenerys and her dragons would be crucial in the war to come. But her madness… that, too, had to be tempered.

The Starks must survive. The North could not be weakened, not when the true enemy was already marching south, though few knew it. And Baelish—he would need to be dealt with. His scheming would bring too much chaos. The Vale, Riverrun, the North—they could be allies, strong enough to stand against what was to come.

The Lannisters... their time would come. They were the murderers of my mother in this world, and though I could not strike at them yet, the thought of their downfall was never far from my mind.

As we neared the city, a rider approached. "Make way! The king's party is coming through!"

The caravan passed us, a long procession of knights, nobles, and the king himself. Robert Baratheon was on his way to Winterfell, to bring Ned Stark into the fold. The game had begun. We pulled our horses to the side, waiting as the caravan passed, the dust of their procession lingering in the air long after they were gone.

"Let's move," I said to the company behind me, urging my horse forward. We were on the brink of a storm, and only the gods knew what would be left standing when it was over.