Matthew didn't wait—he started dividing the loot right there.
For a small tavern, the haul was pretty impressive—probably the kind of place backed by the Haverfield family.
Even after taking only twenty percent, Matthew pocketed fifteen gold dragons.
The rest of the group still made more money than they'd seen in years.
As for the remaining half they agreed to keep in reserve, the mercenaries decided Bernas should manage it.
Matthew didn't interfere. He just watched them squabble over shares, their voices rising and falling.
When that was done, they turned to fighting over the food, unable to stay still for even a minute.
The four new recruits stood to the side, cheerful and slightly overwhelmed.
Matthew hadn't planned on paying them at first—but after thinking it through, he had. He needed them close, useful, and—most importantly—to help muddy the Haverfield family's perception so they'd stop bothering him.
Once the mercenaries finished eating, Matthew made the cooks and the four new men sit down to have their share too.
Compared to the rough mercenaries, they ate politely, wiping their hands before touching food, though they kept sneaking glances at Matthew.
He caught them staring, smiled, and tore off a roasted chicken leg.
If there'd been poison in it, the mercenaries would've dropped by now. Since they were still laughing and breathing, the food was safe enough.
Sometimes taking leftovers was the smart play.
When everyone's bellies were full, the mood was good.
Those who feared death had survived; those who wanted gold had earned it—and everyone got a proper meal.
Only the tavern owner looked ready to collapse, tears on the edge of falling.
Matthew told Bernas to pack the leftovers, then turned to the four recruits.
"Keep a close eye on the innkeeper and the cooks," he ordered. "Make sure they stay alive—no accidents, and no poison, understand?"
They nodded frantically, too scared to do anything but agree.
Matthew didn't really trust them—but he couldn't linger here forever either.
He'd set everything up. If some fool ruined it now, well, that'd be fate's doing.
The sun sank low, spilling red across the sky.
With a last uneasy glance at the tavern, Matthew mounted his horse and rode out.
Bernas rode beside him, catching the tension in his brow. "My lord, something troubling you?"
Matthew shook his head. "Nothing worth worrying over. Let's move—we'll reach Sow's Ridge by noon tomorrow if we keep pace. The sooner we're there, the better."
Bernas nodded and shouted for the others to speed up.
By the time they reached the narrow road again, the sunset still burned on the mountain's edge.
Those guarding the position spotted them immediately and ran forward, surrounding them in excitement.
Matthew didn't like being crowded. He pointed straight at Bernas. "He's got food—and your share of the loot. Go get it from him."
A cheer broke out as the men swarmed poor Bernas, trapping him in the road like a bear at a festival.
Matthew chuckled, dismounted, and walked off toward the wagons to start hitching the horses.
Just then, one of the sentries ran up, panting. "Lord Matthew! Yoren's awake—he's asking to see you!"
Matthew raised his chin, gesturing for the boy to lead the way.
They went into the woods on the right, where Yoren leaned weakly against an oak tree. His face was ghost-white—his beard did little to hide how close he'd come to death.
Matthew couldn't help but marvel at his toughness.
Then his thoughts drifted briefly to the Onion Knight. Was he awake yet? Had he and Dale reached Sow's Ridge safely?
He hoped so—and in that dark, playful way of his, imagined Stannis's grim face when the news reached him.
The boy knelt beside Yoren and nudged his shoulder. "Yoren, wake up. Lord Matthew's here."
The old ranger stirred, blinking himself back to awareness. Once his eyes focused, he smiled faintly.
"Back so soon? Thank you—for saving my life."
Matthew returned the smile. "You got lucky, that's all. Not many could have lived through that kind of betrayal. Shame about the one who died protecting you, though."
He still remembered the heavily-built man who'd taken the strike for Yoren—a memory that left a bitter taste.
Had the man survived, Matthew might've traded three mercenaries just to have him instead.
But the dead don't come back.
Yoren's smile faded. He coughed a few times, voice rough. "My fault. I hope the boy finds peace with the Old Gods."
The younger boy next to him—Ethan—had tears welling in his eyes, struggling to hold back sobs.
Matthew hated anything that smelled of sentiment. "Alright," he said briskly, "what'd you want to talk about?"
Yoren's gaze softened on the boy before turning back up to Matthew. "I wanted to ask… could you take Ethan with you?"
Matthew blinked. "He's a Night's Watch recruit, isn't he? Wouldn't that be against the rules?"
Yoren shook his head weakly. "He and Talen only came with me because they had nowhere else to go. They're not criminals. He hasn't sworn the oath yet—it'll do no harm."
Matthew turned to the crying boy. "Talen was the one who died? He your brother? You really want to come with me?"
Ethan wiped his eyes and nodded once—but said firmly, "No. I'll join the Night's Watch. I'll live for my brother's will, guard the Wall, and be a hero."
Matthew's eyelid twitched.
Another northern fool romanticizing the Wall. Only they'd call a lifetime of frost and misery "heroic."
He spread his hands helplessly at Yoren, shrugging. "Can't help you there."
Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
Back at the road, the men were eating, loud and satisfied.
Matthew plucked another chicken leg from Bernas's stash and bit in.
The old soldier chuckled, thinking the informal gesture meant they were getting close.
That's when Morty appeared, tugging along Sir Haven.
Matthew saw him coming and already knew what he wanted.
Before Morty could even open his mouth, Matthew swallowed his food, tossed aside the bone, and raised his voice. "Everyone! Listen up—I have something to say."
Bernas quickly caught on, clapping his hands and calling the others over.
Soon the whole group had gathered around.
Matthew smiled, slapped a friendly hand on Morty's shoulder, and said, "I gave Morty my word—he can leave in seven days. And I'll promise the same to all of you: if anyone wants to go, I won't stop you."
Silence fell, broken only by crickets and horses snorting in the twilight.
The men had just eaten and filled their pockets, so for now, Matthew's word was law.
They stared at Morty, contempt in their eyes. A deserter, after a good payday—it didn't sit right.
Sensing the tension, Matthew clapped again. "Don't brood over it. Anyone who tells me straight to my face can go whenever they like. Fewer hands means a larger share, eh?"
He said it lightly, half-joking, easing the weight from Morty's back—and scoring points with the rest of them at the same time.
That was the move of a real leader: discipline wrapped in charm.
Bernas grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
He'd worried Matthew was too ruthless for his own men—that one day he'd turn cold even toward them.
But this gesture calmed him. Maybe there was more to this young commander than blood and ambition.
Seeing Bernas's reaction, the rest fell in line.
No one voiced support for Morty, but no one objected either. In the end, everyone went back to eating, the tension dissolving into the warm night air.
Matthew, satisfied, brushed off Morty's shoulder and turned to Sir Haven.
"So," he said with a grin, "have you made up your mind yet?"
The knight froze, scratching behind his ear, clearly caught off guard. "I… I still need time to think."
He wanted to see what Matthew would do next. If it turned into banditry and raiding, he was out. Not because of honor exactly—but because it was cheap.
Matthew smirked. "Take your time, then."
He waved it off, turning away with an easy smile.
He wasn't in any hurry. He didn't mind letting Haven stew a bit—it was all part of the game.
He had confidence now, plans, even momentum.
Everything was moving in the right direction.
But as he passed the knight, he gave him a light pat on the shoulder and said quietly, "When we reach Sow's Ridge—you let me know."
The knight flinched at the touch, pain flashing through his eyes, but said nothing.
He just watched Matthew walk away into the lantern-lit camp until the crowd swallowed him from view.
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