"Caw! Caw! Caw..."
A raven flew from the south, heading north until it touched down on the pear tree in the tavern's backyard.
The handyman, who was busy feeding the pigs, spotted it immediately. He dropped his basin, cut through the kitchen, and dashed into the front hall.
He skidded to a halt at the kitchen door, scanning the front room. Seeing no customers, he pointed toward the backyard, panting heavily.
"Boss! The raven came back."
The tavern owner tossed aside his rag, belly protruding as he waddled out from behind the counter. The handyman quickly stepped aside, holding the counter gate open for him.
Once his master was through, the handyman scurried back to the kitchen and threw open the back door.
The owner walked unimpeded into the yard. He waved a hand in front of his nose to ward off the stench of the pigsty, then walked under the pear tree and extended his arm toward the bird.
The raven cocked its head, eyeing the bald, fat man for a moment before flapping its wings and hopping down onto his arm with a squawk.
The owner stroked the bird's head with his left hand, his fingers sliding down to the small wooden cylinder tied to its claw.
Inside the cylinder was a slip of paper. He fished it out and unrolled it with two fingers.
On the brownish-yellow paper, stamped with green waves and a fret pattern, were written just four words:
"Honor must be upheld."
The tavern owner read it, then crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the dirty slop water.
Ever since the family had been reduced to a single female heir, the chaos hadn't stopped. Everyone wanted a bite of the carcass.
What honor is there left to speak of?
The owner sighed.
He turned around and barked an order to the handyman.
"Send our men after them."
Whether it was bullying the weak or just trying to save face, doing something was better than doing nothing.
The handyman nodded, bowed his head with his hands over his chest, and briskly walked out the side door.
Moments later, casual shouting erupted outside:
"Let's move! Let's move! The Lord has orders: we're going to teach that kid a lesson for recruiting men on Harford family territory without permission!"
"Yeah! Protect the Harford family!"
The shouting exploded from beyond the wall, followed by the thundering of hooves fading into the distance.
In the shadows of a corner, a 'little bird' watched it all unfold, staring until the horses' rumps disappeared into the dust...
---
On the wide road, Dale drove the carriage without pausing for a moment.
After leaving the woods, he wasn't sure how long they had been running, but he could vaguely see scattered houses in the distance. The sun was high, hanging in the southern sky.
The cart bumped and rattled, jumping whenever the wheels hit loose gravel.
Davos, jostled by the shaking, kept slamming into the wooden planks.
"Hss..."
He sucked in a cold breath, waking up in pain.
Reaching up to cover his head, Davos felt an ache all over his body, especially on the side of his head and his right leg.
It took him a while to recover enough to slowly open his eyes.
The bright light was jarring, forcing him to shield his eyes with his hand. He turned his head to see who was driving.
He was terrified he had been captured by traitorous Night's Watchmen.
But when he saw the armor and cloak, Davos couldn't help but smile.
No father would fail to recognize his own son.
"Dale, where are we going?"
He relaxed for a second, glancing around. Seeing no one else, his heart grew heavy again.
Dale jumped, startled. He looked back while pulling on the reins.
Once the carriage stopped, eyes red, he crawled over to his father, helped him sit up, and choked out, "You're finally awake..."
Davos couldn't stand seeing his children act so soft. He gave Dale a heavy pat on the head and pushed him away.
"What's the situation?" he asked, his voice low.
Dale wiped his eyes, putting away his weakness, and recounted everything that had happened after Davos fainted.
When talking about Ser Harwin, Morty, and Matthew, he didn't spare them at all, painting them as two-faced scoundrels.
But Dale wasn't exactly a great orator. He inadvertently exposed his own pettiness and temper to his father once again.
Davos sighed internally.
He knew his sons were good men, but they had no talent for dealing with people, and their temperaments were too rough. Sometimes, he felt he had failed them.
If I die, what will become of them?
Davos felt a splitting headache coming on.
And with the mission ending like this, he didn't know if Stannis would be disappointed in him.
After venting his frustrations, Dale looked at his father, who was deep in thought. Davos's face was etched with loneliness and irritation.
Dale wanted to shut up, but his curiosity got the better of him. Hesitating for a moment, he asked carefully, "Father, who attacked you?"
At the question, Davos's expression turned grave, as if a memory had just been unlocked.
He muttered to himself, "Who knocked me out? Who was it?"
Davos touched the area above his ear; he could feel a lump there. Every touch sent a jolt of pain that made his eyelids twitch, but it also brought the events of that night into sharper focus.
Dale waited a long time. Seeing no reaction from his father, he offered his own guess.
"Was it Matthew?"
He had always been suspicious of Matthew. But with Ser Harwin and Morty acting strange at the time, he hadn't dared to confront them, keeping his doubts buried.
He had seen how Matthew handled the 'little birds'—ruthless and cruel. In Dale's eyes, those spies were technically Matthew's companions, just like they were.
Davos looked sharply at Dale. Then, he shook his head.
"He knocked me down, but he didn't knock me out."
Dale froze, then stood up abruptly, shocked. "How is that possible? If not him, then who?"
Davos shook his head. "It's the truth. Would I lie? Matthew was running too fast. He just tackled me; he didn't do anything else."
Dale's face flushed red, then turned pale. He lowered his head, not knowing what to do with himself.
The excuse he used to comfort himself had shattered.
He realized it was his own impulsiveness that had left his father fighting alone, leading to the attack. Ser Harwin hadn't been wrong.
Chivalry made Dale feel ashamed, but it also made him detest Matthew even more. If Matthew hadn't knocked his father down, none of this would have happened.
A young man's heart is always sensitive—complex as silk, yet stinking like a privy.
Davos patted his son's armor. "Stop thinking about it. We need to keep moving. We have to reach Duskendale early, then head back to Dragonstone."
Confused, Dale looked up. "We're going back? But the mission isn't finished."
"And..." He pointed behind them, wanting to say they hadn't even said goodbye to Matthew and the others.
But before he could finish, Davos interrupted him.
"We can't wait. Matthew is no saint. We're lucky to be alive this time. He let you take me because he didn't want to make an enemy of the Duke."
Dale was stunned.
Davos glanced at his son and sighed. "I thought he just wanted to escape the Spider. Now, it seems his ambitions go far beyond that. If we meet in the future, it might be as enemies."
Dale felt conflicted. He hadn't expected his father to rate Matthew so highly.
"Just because he recruited some trash?" Dale asked, unable to understand.
Dale was always blunt with his father. He couldn't grasp why his father placed so much importance on a destitute bastard. Even if he had royal blood, a bastard was still a bastard. Who would respect him? Which noble house would support him?
Seeing his son's indignation born of jealousy, Davos shook his head.
He was about to say something else when his head began to throb violently, blacking out his vision for a moment.
Dale quickly supported his father, helping him lie back down.
Once settled, clutching his head and clenching his jaw, Davos cut the chatter. "Let's go, quickly. If Matthew catches up, we might end up as hostages."
Dale hesitated, then let out a long breath. He returned to the front of the cart, grabbed the reins, and snapped them, pulling the horse's head toward the east.
He knew his father was right.
Matthew was unstable, and now that he had men, he was dangerous. Big trouble was likely brewing.
Crack! The reins snapped.
The draft horse spooked at the sound and broke into a gallop.
Davos watched his son, feeling a glimmer of relief. At least the boy listened.
But as the cart rocked back and forth, his dizziness worsened. Before long, amidst the blur of green passing by, he fell asleep again.
Dale glanced back at his sleeping father, turned around, and sighed.
He didn't know how the Duke would deal with them when they returned.
---
At the fork in the road, on the edge of the dense forest.
Matthew sat on the ground and let out a massive sneeze.
He immediately frowned, glaring at the mercenaries joking around nearby. "Did you guys just curse me?"
The mercenaries shook their heads like rattle-drums, all talking over each other. "No, no... how could we curse you?"
Their tone was dripping with flattery.
Matthew turned his head toward Ser Harwin, who was panting heavily from chopping down trees. "Lord Harwin, was it you cursing me just now?"
Ser Harwin, already fuming, spat on the ground and yelled, "I haven't just been cursing you! I've been cursing you all morning! Didn't see you sneeze yourself to death, did I?"
Everyone laughed.
They knew Ser Harwin had messed up and was being punished by Matthew to lead the tree-chopping detail. Since their positions dictated their perspectives, the mercenaries were particularly amused.
Laughing along, Matthew stood up and dusted off the dirt from his clothes. He started humming a tune as he walked toward the edge of the woods, not looking angry in the least.
He was never petty with his own people.
Seeing this, the mercenaries quickly got up and followed close behind him.
Matthew kept an eye on his rear, satisfied with the mercenaries' loyalty. Making Ser Harwin suffer a bit to win over the hearts of the others was definitely a profitable trade.
Reaching the bushes in front of the narrow path, Matthew stopped. Shielding his eyes from the direct sunlight, he looked south.
From here, you could see for miles.
But between the hills and the plains, there was still no one.
Little Fish crawled out of the bushes, wiping his face. He smiled. "Why did you come over?"
Matthew kept his eyes forward but patted the boy's head. "Want to switch out?"
Little Fish shook his head.
He believed that as long as he was useful, he wouldn't be abandoned, so he didn't like being idle.
Matthew respected Little Fish's choice and turned to leave.
But before his feet could move, his ears twitched.
He heard the vibration of the earth.
Matthew immediately stood on his tiptoes, gazing into the distance.
After a short wait, a small black dot appeared on the farthest hill within his line of sight.
Then, more and more black dots appeared.
The corner of Matthew's mouth curled up. He immediately turned back to the mercenaries.
"Did you clear the carriage tracks on the left road?"