I awoke at dawn, a habit that felt like second nature to this body, despite the short and eventful night. The space beside me was empty. Miranda was gone. A wave of relief washed over me; the last thing I needed was for her children to discover I had been bedding their mother.
After a moment to collect myself, I rose and dressed in the fresh clothes I had bought the day before, the simple tunic and breeches a welcome change from the constant weight of steel.
In the courtyard, I found Alice sweeping. She looked up, her face brightening with a smile. "Good morning, Ser Julius!"
"And to you, Lady Alice," I replied, giving a small wave before splashing cold water from a pitcher onto my face. The shock was bracing. When I looked up, Alice had scurried back into the main house, returning a moment later with a clean towel.
"Thank you," I said, accepting it. "You are very kind."
A blush crept up her neck, coloring her cheeks. "It is nothing, Ser." To steer the conversation, I asked, "Where is everyone this morning?"
"Jane is washing the plates from breakfast. The boys have gone to the well for water. If they do not go early, the line becomes very long."
I nodded. It was a simple, stark reminder of the realities of life here. "And your mother? Does she sleep later than the rest of you?"
"She is still abed, Ser. But no, she does not usually. I tried to wake her, but she said she was not feeling well." Alice looked genuinely concerned.
I feigned a sympathetic expression. "I hope it is nothing serious."
"Oh, I am sure she will be fine," Alice assured me quickly. "She said she just needed rest and would be back to her duties soon."
I knew exactly why she needed rest, and a faint, sympathetic ache in my own muscles confirmed it. With the morning stretching before me, I decided on a course of action. It was time to test this body's instincts properly.
I fetched one of my longswords. I had never truly inspected them before. The blade was not Valyrian steel, but a strange, dark metal, devoid of any Damascus pattern, yet it felt flawlessly balanced in my hand. A serious weapon.
I began with simple drills, but as my concentration deepened, a floodgate opened. It wasn't just movement; it was a torrent of emotion and memory—the sharp focus of a duel, the controlled chaos of a shield wall, and the stern, demanding presence of a mentor named Apollyon. These were the Warden's memories, etched into the very muscle and bone of this form. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.
When I finally surfaced from the trance-like state, I was sheened in sweat. I pulled my shirt off over my head, the morning air cool on my skin, and noticed my audience. The boys had returned, their eyes wide with admiration. The girls, Jane having joined her sister, watched from the doorway, their blushes unmistakable.
Seeing the boys' eager faces, I made a decision. "Do you wish to learn how to fight?"
I didn't need to hear their answer. For the rest of the morning, I drilled them in basic stances and simple, effective hand-to-hand maneuvers. They were strong, healthy lads with good stamina, and they followed instructions without question. Their father, a soldier to the core, had given them a solid foundation. With the right training, they could become truly formidable. Their potential was undeniable, especially considering their bloodline—bastards of House Tarly through their father, and descendants of Bittersteel himself through their mother. If I was to build a place for myself here, loyal and capable subordinates would be essential.
The girls brought us refreshments, watching the training with dreamy eyes. It was nearing noon when I realized I had skipped breakfast entirely. When I asked about lunch, the girls snapped to attention and hurried away to prepare it, bringing a simple meal to my room shortly after.
Later, Rolf arrived, looking refreshed and jolly. I was keen to see the city, and having a guide was far preferable to wandering alone. After some jesting about his night at the brothel, I enlisted Alban and Alaric to help me back into my armor. The weight of the plate was a familiar comfort now, a symbol of status and security in a dangerous world.
"Right," I said to Rolf, settling my second sword at my hip. "Our first stop is the Street of Steel. Then, a horse trader. I need a mount that can carry this weight." I paused, a thought occurring. "And after that, perhaps a walk through Flea Bottom."
Rolf raised an eyebrow. "Flea Bottom, Ser? It's a foul place."
"I've heard," I said, a plan forming. "I'm looking for a man. A smuggler, they say is honest. Name of Davos."