The First Caravan

The day began with low fog and damp boots, but for the small group preparing at the edge of Bogwater, it felt like something grander. Six wagons stood ready, packed with salted lizard meat, wheels of cheese, barrels of ale, swampberry preserves, cloth, and simple tools. Not riches—but survival goods. What they lacked in steel, they carried in purpose.

Levi stood with arms folded, trying not to look too serious. He didn't want to scare them, but he needed this to go right. This wasn't just a trade run. It was the first real step to tying Bogwater to the rest of the North.

The chosen crew were all volunteers. But not all were strangers to ledgers or maps. Four among them had spent the past year under the old maester's guidance, learning letters, sums, trade routes, and how not to get cheated at a stall.

Wenna, sharp with numbers, could quote grain prices from memory. Ralf, the smith's son, was no speaker, but steady with records. Lysa, curious and quiet, loved studying maps more than people. And Hobb, not the brightest, but he remembered weights and measures well enough to spot a short sack.

Mae, though proud of them for being Bogwater's own, had no hand in their education.

"All the maester's work," she'd said. "I gave them stew and a roof. He gave them their minds."

Levi approached the group as final lashings were tied on the wagons. He looked each of them in the eye, then addressed them all.

"You have three tasks," he said. "First: trade fairly. Don't cheat. Don't get cheated. You represent more than yourself—you carry Bogwater's name now. Second: visit nearby villages that are struggling—fishing hamlets, half-starved crofts, outposts forgotten by the lords. If they're hurting, let them know about us. Tell them there's a place that can offer warmth and food. That we don't care who they were, only who they'll become."

He paused, then turned to Lysa, handing her a small leather sack—surprisingly heavy for its size. Inside it were fifty-six gold dragons, the full weight of Levi's personal fortune saved from his earliest days in this world.

Lysa's eyes widened. The others murmured behind her.

"That's… that's real," she said softly.

"It is," Levi replied. "And it's for more than trade. When you reach White Harbor—if your route takes you that far—quietly seek a supplier for armor and weapons. Don't make a scene. Don't say who you're with. Just look, ask, and report back. Bring what you can if it's safe. Not too much. Not yet. But it's time we start thinking ahead."

Lysa nodded slowly, suddenly aware of the weight in her hands. "You trust me with this?"

"No," Levi said, then grinned. "I trust all four of you. But I know you'll be the one who sees things the others won't."

The wagons creaked as they rolled out, escorted by two of Harwin's trained watchmen and one eager lad named Darn from Darren's scouting crew, more for learning than for guarding.

Levi watched them go in silence. He didn't wave. Just stood there in the early mist, watching until the trees swallowed the last wagon.

Only then did Mae step beside him.

"They'll make it," she said.

"I hope so," Levi murmured. "Because if they don't… then no one will ever come."