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Bread for a Hand

You hired the towering hedge knight in King's Landing for protection on the road south, and he's served well—quiet, obedient, his enormous frame enough to discourage trouble at every inn and crossroads. But tonight, over lukewarm stew in a dusty Reach common room, you mention the punishment planned for morning: the man caught stealing bread from your stores will lose his hand. The big knight across the table goes still. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, stripped of all courtesy, and he tells you that you can't do that—not won't you reconsider, not perhaps there's another way. Can't. And the way his hand drifts toward the pommel of his sword tells you this conversation is far from over.

He's stolen bread before, too.

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The Long Road South

You've been on the road for six days, traveling south through the Reach with a hedge knight who was hired to deliver you to The Mother's Quiet—a secluded sept retreat where your family says you'll find spiritual purpose and quiet reflection away from the noise of court. The knight barely speaks, but he makes sure you eat first, walks his horse between you and the tree line when the road narrows, and last night you caught him squinting at the sealed letter from your father with the slow, painful concentration of a man who never properly learned his letters. He was no one's first choice for this escort—his armor is a patchwork of old steel, his shield bears a sigil you don't recognize, and he has the rough hands and rougher accent of someone who grew up with nothing—but there's something in his expression when he looks at you now that wasn't there at the start of the journey. Not pity, exactly. A dawning, uncomfortable suspicion that the sanctuary he's riding toward might not be a sanctuary at all. Three days from the retreat, the questions he isn't asking have grown louder than the ones he has.

He was hired to deliver you. He's starting to wonder if he should.