For the next several days, Solomon spent nearly every waking hour in the muddy yard outside the tower, testing the limits of his new body.
Strength was survival in Westeros.
This world was full of monsters, both human and otherwise.
Relying on other people’s swords was a fast way to die in the game of thrones.
Every swing, every step, every turn felt impossibly light and coordinated.
He filled old sacks with wet mud and tied them to his wrists and ankles for weight, yet he could still move through the muck with speed and balance that felt almost unnatural.
He could turn on a dime, leap, and recover without losing his footing.
It was like his body had been rebuilt for precision and speed rather than brute force.
The style that came most naturally to him was the one Luden and Rosslyn had described as “dancing.” Light, flowing, almost beautiful in its efficiency.
He moved like a fencer from the old war games he used to play back home—the kind of elite skirmisher who slipped through enemy lines instead of smashing into them.
His sharpened senses helped.
He heard Old Niken’s careful footsteps long before the old man reached the yard.
“Old Niken,” Solomon said, turning and sheathing the sword at his hip.
“Have you finished the inventory?” The steward approached with hunched shoulders and a deeply uncomfortable expression.
He held out a piece of parchment covered in cramped writing.
“Yes, my lord.
Everything has been counted.
Please look it over.” Solomon took the list and scanned it quickly.
His eyes stopped on two lines.
Granary: Enough for four people for seven days.
Treasury: Empty.
A cold spike of dread went straight up his spine.
He had known things were bad.
He hadn’t realized they were this bad.
“What happened?” His voice came out tighter than he intended.
Old Niken kept his head bowed.
“My lord… you ordered it yourself.” Solomon stared at him.
Then he remembered.
In the aftermath of meeting the widow Hake, he had told Old Niken to distribute the remaining grain and coin to the families of every farmer who had died serving his father.
He had wanted to give them enough to survive until the next harvest.
He had done it to buy loyalty.
To show that House Stinkfort was different.
Now the tower was effectively broke.
Old Niken spoke quietly.
“I did not understand why you would give away our last stores, my lord.
Most lords in the Riverlands would have taken what little the smallfolk still had during a war and a poor harvest.
But you gave instead.
I followed your command regardless.
Every sack and every coin was distributed exactly as you instructed.” Solomon closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.
His act of mercy had worked exactly as he hoped it would in the hearts of the smallfolk.
It had also left him with almost nothing.
“The granary is truly empty?” he asked.
“There is enough left to keep the three of us alive for perhaps a week, if we are very careful,” Old Niken said.
“After that… nothing.” Solomon looked out over the empty yard.
The wind moved through the reeds with a dry, whispering sound.
He had no choice now.
“Niken,” he said, voice steady again.
“I need to ride to Deddings castle immediately.” Old Niken’s head jerked up.
“Now, my lord?
But Lord Balon is still at Seagard holding the line against the ironborn.” “I know.
I’ll present myself to Lady Deddings instead,” Solomon said.
“I need to swear my oaths and formally take the title before the situation here becomes even worse.
More importantly, I need to tell her how desperate Stinkfort has become and ask for aid.” He didn’t say the quiet part out loud: I need to go there so we don’t starve to death in our own tower.
Old Niken looked stricken.
“And the tower, my lord?
The people?” “You will stay here,” Solomon said.
“I trust you more than anyone, Niken.
Keep the tower and watch over the remaining smallfolk as best you can.
I’ll ride as fast as I can, swear my oaths, and bring back whatever help I can get.” Tears welled in the old man’s eyes.
He bowed deeply, unable to speak for a moment.
Then he nodded.
Solomon turned toward the tower.
“I’ll take Luden and Rosslyn with me.” He found the two guards in the lower hall and told them to come to the small room that served as a study.
They entered looking nervous, still not entirely comfortable being invited into their lord’s private space.
Solomon didn’t waste time.
“I’m riding to Deddings castle to swear fealty to House Deddings,” he said.
“You two will come with me.” Both men straightened immediately.
“Yes, my lord.” Solomon studied them for a moment.
These two had proven themselves reliable in the short time they had served as his guards.
He decided they deserved honesty.
“There’s another reason we’re going,” he said plainly.
“The granary is empty.
We don’t have enough food left to feed the three of us for more than a few days.” Luden and Rosslyn exchanged a glance.
They had suspected things were bad, but hearing their lord say it out loud still shocked them.
“Also,” Solomon continued, his tone growing more serious, “the ironborn rebellion is still going on.
Lord Deddings is at Seagard right now.
There’s a very real chance he’ll conscript us the moment I swear my oaths and send us straight to the fighting.” Both men went still.
They remembered the beach at Seagard.
The screams.
The axes.
The way men had been hacked apart in the mud.
For smallfolk like them, being sent back to that place felt like a death sentence.
But neither of them hesitated.
They dropped to their knees in front of Solomon, eyes wet.
“Lord Solomon,” Luden said, voice thick.
“We will follow you.
Even if it means dying at Seagard again.
It would be an honor to fight beside you.” Rosslyn’s voice cracked.
“We failed your father once.
We won’t fail you.
If we have to die for you and for House Stinkfort, then we’ll die gladly.” Solomon looked down at the two rough, tear-streaked faces and felt something tight in his chest.
These men were illiterate, poor, and had spent their whole lives being treated like property.
Yet once they decided someone was worthy of their loyalty, they gave it completely.
He reached down and pulled them both to their feet.
“Get up,” he said.
“And stop talking about dying so easily.
If you follow me, we’re not going to throw our lives away for nothing.
I have plans.
And none of them involve the three of us dying on some beach because Lord Deddings needs more bodies.” He looked them both in the eye.
“We’re going to Deddings castle to survive.
Not to die.
Understood?” They nodded, still visibly moved.
Solomon turned away before they could see the small, tired smile that tugged at his mouth.
At least he wasn’t completely alone in this broken tower anymore.