The soldiers of Deddings castle stared in open shock as Solomon and his two guards, Luden and Rosslyn, walked straight to the serving line like they belonged there.
A landed knight and his men queuing up for common soldier’s rations?
The young Stinkfort lord’s tastes were certainly… unusual.
Solomon ignored the curious and measuring looks.
He led Luden and Rosslyn to an empty table, sat down with his tray, and pulled two small cloth pouches from inside his robe.
He tossed one to each man.
“Those are your wages,” he said, taking a bite of the food on his plate.
The coin had come from Lord Raymond Darry as thanks for sharing their experience fighting the ironborn.
In truth, it had been Luden and Rosslyn who had done most of the talking by the cookfires.
Luden and Rosslyn froze.
They stared at the pouches like they had never seen coin before.
“Lord Solomon… what… what is this?” Luden stammered.
Rosslyn looked equally stunned.
Solomon set his tray down and frowned at them.
“I already told you.
Those are your wages.” His tone was so matter-of-fact that it only made them more confused.
In their world, a lord gave his smallfolk protection and land.
In return, when the lord called them to war, they went.
That was their duty.
If they died, it was simply bad luck.
They owed their lord everything.
They were not supposed to be paid for it.
Luden swallowed hard.
“You gave our families a place to live on your land so we wouldn’t have to wander.
You gave us land to farm so we wouldn’t starve.
That’s what our fathers taught us.
That’s how it’s always been.” Both men’s eyes were red.
Their voices shook.
Taking the coin felt like committing some terrible sin.
“Lord Solomon… we… we can’t take this ‘wage.'” “Especially not after what we did to your family… to the old lady… your mother…” Solomon’s patience snapped.
He slammed his hand on the table.
“Effort deserves reward.
Do you understand?” “You are my soldiers now.
Soldiers of House Stinkfort.
Not farmers anymore.
You are my sword and shield.” “I need you to be able to stand on your own.” He saw the fear and stiffness on their faces and forced himself to take a breath.
He was changing.
Every day he sounded more like a real Westerosi lord.
His voice dropped, but the steel in it remained.
“Listen to me.
Merit is rewarded.
Failure is punished.
That is how it works.” “This coin is yours because you earned it.
You served me well.
This is the reward for that service.” He looked at the two small pouches.
“Take the money.
Buy something for your families while we’re in Deddings.
Something for your wives and children.” “Let them know—let every person on my land know—that following Ser Solomon Stinkfort doesn’t mean marching off to die for nothing.” “It means using your skill and your effort to give your family a better life.” Luden and Rosslyn finally stopped arguing.
They stared at the pouches, then at Solomon, as his words sank in.
For the first time, they truly understood.
They were not just smallfolk anymore.
They were his soldiers.
Soldiers of House Stinkfort.
And their lord saw their worth and paid them for it.
The coin felt heavier in their hands than their swords.
Both men silently swore the same oath in their hearts.
We will follow Lord Solomon until death.
Solomon picked up a piece of black bread and took a bite.
“Eat,” he said.
His eyes flicked over them—calm, but carrying an unspoken weight that made both men straighten their backs.
Rosslyn swallowed and carefully tucked his pouch away.
Luden did the same.
In the dim war room of Deddings castle, a fire crackled in the hearth.
A large wooden map of the Riverlands lay spread across the long table, marked with every major house, mountain pass, river, castle, and crossing.
Lady Roslyn stood over the map, one finger pressed hard against the green fork where House Deddings held its lands.
Her brows were drawn tight with worry.
Maester Walder stood beside her, gray robes hanging loose, his chain glinting faintly in the low light.
“Ravens and messengers keep arriving from all across our lands, my lady,” the maester said, voice low and tired.
His thin finger moved to the mountain range where the Riverlands met the Vale.
“The mountain clans have come down from the Moon Mountains.
They’re raiding and burning.
At least a thousand of them.
Possibly more.” Lady Roslyn’s hand tightened into a fist.
She said nothing.
“They’ve already scattered.
Many villages have been put to the torch.” Lady Roslyn finally spoke, her voice heavy.
“How many men do we have left?” Maester Walder was quiet for a moment.
“Fewer than four hundred, my lady.
Lord Balon took the bulk of our strength to Seagard.
We can hold the castle.
We cannot ride out to help anyone.” “What about Lord Tully?” Lady Roslyn rubbed her temple.
“Or the other Riverlands lords?” The maester gave her the hard truth.
“The Riverlands host is spread thin along the coast near Stone Hedge and the Eagle’s Beak, watching the ironborn.
The wildlings are a lesser threat in their eyes.” “We are on our own.
And right now, there is very little we can do.” Silence settled over the room.
Lady Roslyn broke it first.
She struck the table with her fist.
“We have to do something, Maester Walder.
We cannot simply ignore the pleas of our vassals and smallfolk.
If we do, what will they think of House Deddings?” “They will believe we cannot protect them.
That would be disastrous.” Maester Walder did not offer false comfort.
“My lady, you should be more concerned about ourselves than about them.
If Deepvale falls, Deddings castle itself will be exposed.” He paused, then spoke more carefully.
“I have an idea.” “There are no other landed knights currently in the castle.
But I have heard that the young survivor from Stinkfort—Ser Solomon—is here.” “We could levy three hundred men and place them under his command.
We could announce that House Deddings is answering the calls for aid from our people.” “If he fails to stop the wildlings… or if he proves hesitant…” Lady Roslyn’s stomach dropped.
She understood exactly what the maester was suggesting.
“Maester Walder, we cannot do that.
Not to a boy who has already lost his entire family.” Maester Walder’s expression did not change.
Lady Roslyn paced the length of the room, glancing again and again at the Deddings sigil hanging on the wall—a shield meant to represent protection of their lands.
Now wild men from the mountains were burning those same lands.
She stopped pacing.
When she turned back to the maester, her face was set.
“Levy three hundred men.
Send them to reinforce Deepvale.
We will abandon the smaller villages for now.” “Summon Ser Solomon.”