GoT Shadowborn: The Rise of Ashford

The road was not dangerous yet, but both Ethan and Bjorn knew that trouble often came without warning. The quiet of the morning seemed to stretch on forever, the only sounds being the crunch of the horses' hooves on gravel and the soft murmurs of the caravan members.

The trees on either side of the path formed an imposing canopy, their gnarled branches intertwining like skeletal hands reaching for the sky. Shafts of pale light filtered through the leaves, dappling the ground with patches of gold. The scent of earth and wildflowers lingered in the cool morning air, mingled with the faint tang of damp wood.

Ethan's senses were alert. The shadows in the trees, the stillness of the woods—something felt off. The further they traveled, the more he sensed the watchful eyes of unseen figures lurking just beyond the treeline. The air held a heavy weight, thick with tension.

Bjorn rode beside him, his face set in a grim expression. He gripped the hilt of his sword, fingers tightening unconsciously with each passing mile.

"Do you feel it?" Bjorn asked, his voice low.

Ethan nodded, eyes scanning the trees. "We're being watched."

Behind them, Kieran sat atop a sturdy brown mare, his expression nervous but determined. The boy's presence had been an unexpected development, but Ethan had seen something in him—a resilience born of hardship. Kieran had proven useful so far, helping with minor tasks and keeping morale up with his quick wit. Despite his youth, there was a fire in him that reminded Ethan of himself.

"Keep your eyes sharp," Ethan advised. "They'll make their move when we least expect it."

The woods thinned briefly, revealing patches of open fields stretching toward the horizon. Wildflowers dotted the landscape, swaying gently in the breeze. A babbling brook wound its way through the greenery, glinting like silver under the morning sun. For a moment, the beauty of the Riverlands shone through the tension, a reminder that not all parts of this world were cruel and unforgiving.

But the moment of peace was fleeting.

Ethan caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye—a shadow slipping between trees. He drew his sword without hesitation, the familiar weight comforting in his grip.

"Bjorn," he said sharply.

Bjorn was already reacting, signaling to the caravan to halt. The wagons creaked to a stop, merchants muttering nervously as they looked around. Borin's cousin, a stout man with a face weathered by years of trade, stepped forward.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Trouble," Ethan replied tersely. "Get your people behind the wagons."

The merchants scrambled to comply, fear palpable in their hurried movements. Kieran dismounted and drew a small dagger from his belt, his expression grim.

"Stay close," Ethan told him.

The attackers came swiftly and without warning—a band of ragged men wielding crude weapons emerged from the trees, their eyes gleaming with desperation and greed. Bandits. They had likely been tracking the caravan for miles, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Ethan moved without hesitation, meeting the first assailant head-on. The clash of steel rang out as their blades met. The bandit's eyes widened in surprise as Ethan's strength overpowered him, the sword slipping from his grasp before Ethan struck him down.

Beside him, Bjorn fought with practiced efficiency, his blade a blur as he dispatched one attacker after another. Kieran, to Ethan's surprise, held his own, darting in and out of the fray with surprising agility, his dagger finding its mark more than once.

The bandits had not expected such fierce resistance. Their initial confidence wavered as their numbers dwindled. Some tried to flee, disappearing back into the woods from which they had come.

Breathing heavily, Ethan scanned the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground, but the caravan was intact. The merchants, though shaken, were unharmed.

"Is everyone all right?" Bjorn called out.

A chorus of affirmations followed, though the fear in their voices was unmistakable.

Ethan wiped his blade clean on the grass before sheathing it. "We need to move. There could be more of them."

Borin's cousin nodded grimly. "We owe you our lives."

Ethan waved off the gratitude. "Just keep your people safe."

As the caravan resumed its journey, the tension lingered, but there was also a newfound respect for Ethan and Bjorn among the merchants. Kieran, too, earned approving nods from several caravan members.

"Not bad for a kid," Bjorn said with a grin, clapping Kieran on the back.

Kieran grinned sheepishly. "I've had to fight before. You learn quick when you've got no choice."

Ethan regarded the boy thoughtfully. There was more to Kieran's story, he was sure of it, but now wasn't the time to press.

The rest of the day passed without incident, though everyone remained vigilant. The landscape continued to change as they traveled, the open fields giving way to rolling hills and small clusters of trees. Villages dotted the horizon, smoke rising from chimneys as farmers went about their work.

As night fell, the caravan made camp near a gentle stream. The sound of running water was soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning. Fireflies danced in the twilight, their soft glow adding an otherworldly beauty to the scene.

Ethan sat by the fire, sharpening his blade while Bjorn tended to his own weapons. Kieran joined them, his expression thoughtful.

"What happens next?" the boy asked.

Ethan glanced at Bjorn before answering. "We get the caravan to its destination safely. After that… we head back to Riverrun takes us."

Kieran nodded, his gaze steady. "I want to stay with you. Learn from you."

Bjorn chuckled. "Careful what you wish for, lad. This life isn't all glory and adventure."

Ethan smiled faintly. "We'll see, Kieran. For now, get some rest. We'll need you sharp tomorrow."

As the fire crackled and the stars shone overhead, Ethan allowed himself a rare moment of peace. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with dangers and challenges yet unseen. But for now, they had survived.

And that was enough.