Chapter 9: Blades, Bonds, and Beginnings

As they made their way deeper into the heart of Riverrun, the sound of the bustling city filled the air—clanking armor, chatter from merchants, and the distant calls of children playing. The city was alive with energy, a stark contrast to the calm quiet they'd grown used to on their journey. Ethan couldn't help but feel a thrill at the sight of the massive walls and the grand structures that defined this city. But his thoughts quickly shifted back to the task at hand.

Borin had asked him to meet him at a small tavern just inside the city walls. It was a quiet, tucked-away place, far from the main markets, where business could be done in private. As they walked, Ethan could feel the weight of Borin's request hanging over him like a heavy cloak. It wasn't just about being in Riverrun anymore—now, it was about proving he was capable.

When they arrived, Borin was already seated at a table in the corner, his grizzled face shadowed by the dim light of the tavern. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the room like a predator. He looked up as they approached, his lips curling into a slight smile.

"I see you've made it in one piece," Borin greeted, motioning for them to sit.

Ethan took his seat across from the merchant, while Bjorn stood by, his posture casual but attentive. Borin didn't waste any time.

"I've got a task for you two," he said, his voice low but firm. "My cousin's children—his son and daughter—are traveling to a small town about a week's ride from here. They need protection along the way. I'll be busy with business here, so I'm relying on you to get them there safely."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, sensing the gravity of the request. "What's the catch?"

Borin leaned in slightly, his voice lowering even further. "There are bandits on the road. A lot of them. And the town they're going to... let's just say they don't get many visitors. It's a small, isolated place. I trust you'll understand why discretion is important. The children are not just anyone. They're part of a powerful family, and their safety is of the utmost importance."

Bjorn nodded, already aware of the details. "I know the road well. We've dealt with worse."

Ethan looked over at Bjorn, noting the confidence in his voice. But he knew the stakes were higher than just an ordinary escort mission. This was a chance for him to prove himself, to gain the trust of Borin and earn a place within this world.

"Understood," Ethan said, turning back to Borin. "We'll take care of it. But I need to know more about these children. Who are they exactly?"

Borin's expression softened just a little as he spoke about his cousin's family. "His son, Caelan, is young—only about twelve. Strong for his age, but still a child. The daughter, Alina, is a bit older—fifteen, if I recall. A sharp mind, but delicate. She's got the looks of her mother. You'll need to make sure they're kept out of harm's way. They're not used to danger."

Borin paused, his gaze turning serious. "You'll meet them at the inn tomorrow morning. Make sure you don't draw attention to yourselves. We don't know who might be watching."

Ethan nodded, absorbing the information. The challenge ahead was more than just physical—it was about managing these children, keeping them safe, and staying under the radar. He knew the road to this town wouldn't be easy.

After exchanging a few more details about the trip, Borin stood, clasping both Ethan and Bjorn on the shoulders.

"Take care of them," he said, his tone heavier now. "And come back in one piece. If you do, I'll make sure you're rewarded handsomely. Trust me, you'll want that reward."

Ethan and Bjorn stood, offering their farewells before leaving the tavern. As they stepped back out into the crowded streets, the enormity of the task ahead began to sink in.

The first light of dawn was soft on the hills surrounding Riverrun, the first rays catching the dew on the rolling fields and painting the horizon in hues of gold. The city itself still held a mysterious aura, its great stone walls rising like an ancient fortress, guarding all who passed through. The Riverlands were in full bloom—spring was spreading its reach across the land, making the once-dark earth seem alive with color.

Ethan could feel it now: the true weight of Riverrun's presence. The city was more than just a stronghold of power; it was a hub of trade, culture, and military strength. The Riverlands, and Riverrun in particular, seemed to breathe history. As they walked out into the city, the murmur of the streets mixed with the sound of steel being hammered and carts clattering down cobbled roads. The air smelled of wet stone and fresh bread from the bakeries nearby.

Ethan had to admit, despite his unease at being surrounded by so many people, Riverrun was a city of wonder. Markets teemed with traders from every corner of the continent. The streets seemed to pulse with life, a blend of aristocrats, merchants, soldiers, and beggars. High stone buildings cast long shadows over narrow alleyways, where ragged beggars huddled against the cold morning air. It was a reminder of the stark contrast that existed between the rich and the poor, even in a city so grand.

As they made their way through the city, Bjorn kept close to Ethan, his expression cautious as he led the way toward a blacksmith's shop on the outskirts of the city. The faint clang of hammers on steel and the smell of burning coal grew louder as they approached the forge.

Riverrun's blacksmiths were known for their fine craftsmanship, supplying armor and weapons not just for the Tully family, but also for travelers and soldiers passing through. This shop, in particular, was a well-known establishment. The front of the forge was a large wooden structure, the roof thick with smoke from the fires within. The walls were adorned with shields, swords, and tools of all sorts, their edges gleaming brightly in the morning sun.

Bjorn stepped forward and greeted the blacksmith—a tall, muscular man named Garret, whose broad frame and calloused hands spoke of years spent shaping steel. "Garret, good morning. We've come for some new gear."

The blacksmith gave them a curt nod, wiping his hands on his apron. His voice was rough, like gravel grinding beneath boots. "Aye, what do you need?"

"We need something better for our trip," Bjorn said, glancing at Ethan. "Some swords, shields, and light armor. We're traveling with a couple of delicate passengers, so we'll need to be ready for trouble."

Garret's eyes flickered over them, assessing their size and build before turning to the racks of weapons lining the wall behind him. "I've got some fine blades, well balanced. No better for defense on the roads."

Ethan's fingers grazed the hilt of a long sword as he stepped closer to inspect the selection. He could feel the weight of the steel in his grip, a reminder of the strength he now commanded. There were many choices, each of them crafted with the skill of a master, but Ethan knew that picking the right weapon was more than just about cutting through enemies—it was about feeling the weight, understanding its balance. The sword should become an extension of the body.

"You're lucky," Garret said, noting Ethan's thoughtful expression. "Just finished a batch of custom-made short swords. Lighter than most, but still sharp enough to gut a man."

Ethan nodded, handing the sword back to the blacksmith. "I'll take one. Make sure it's well-balanced. And I'll need a shield as well."

Bjorn glanced around. "I'll take a spear, something with reach."

As Garret moved to fetch their new weapons, Ethan's eyes were drawn to a corner of the shop, where a young boy, no older than sixteen, sat huddled against the cold stone wall. His clothes were ragged, and his face was thin, drawn from hunger. His eyes flickered nervously between the blacksmith and the patrons who came in and out of the shop.

Ethan watched the boy for a moment, his mind working. The lad had the look of someone who didn't belong—someone who had been cast aside. He had the haunted eyes of someone who had seen too much, too soon.

"What's his story?" Ethan asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Bjorn's gaze followed Ethan's. He frowned. "A stray. He's been coming around the forge for a while. Probably an orphan. Garret's too kind-hearted to turn him away."

Ethan narrowed his eyes, an idea forming in his mind. The boy was small, yes, but there was something in his demeanor that made Ethan think of himself back when he had first been thrown into this world—out of place, fighting for survival. Ethan understood the importance of having allies, even unexpected ones. The boy might not be much, but he could be useful—more importantly, he might need a chance.

"Garret," Ethan called, turning to the blacksmith as he returned with their new weapons, "I'll take the sword and shield, but I'll also take that boy with us. He looks like he could use a purpose."

Bjorn raised an eyebrow. "Ethan, are you sure?"

Ethan met his gaze. "Sometimes, giving someone a chance is the most useful thing we can do. He might surprise us."

Garret grunted, clearly unsure. "You'd be better off without him. The boy's got no skills."

Ethan gave the boy a final glance, then turned back to Garret. "I'm not looking for skills. I'm looking for someone who can learn. And I think he's got potential."

Garret eyed the boy warily but eventually nodded. "I'll make sure he's fed before he goes. No one should travel empty."

With that, the boy stood, his movements slow and cautious. Garret handed him a loaf of bread and some dried meats, and the boy took them hesitantly. Ethan placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind.