GoT Shadowborn: The Rise of Ashford

The merchant caravan was quiet now. The sounds of battle had long since faded into the distance, replaced by the mundane bustle of survival. The wounded bandits were left behind, either dead or incapacitated, and the remaining merchants were in the process of gathering what was left of their goods. The sky had darkened by the time the dust from the battle had settled, and the cold began to creep through the trees.

Ethan stood off to the side, a silent observer as the merchants worked. His thoughts were scattered, the adrenaline from the fight slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a strange feeling of emptiness. He had never been one to seek bloodshed, never been one to risk his life for strangers. But something had changed in him since his arrival in this world. He wasn't sure if it was the raw power coursing through his veins, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, or something deeper—something primal—but he had tasted the rush of battle, and he found that it wasn't as foreign as he had once thought.

The merchant leader, a grizzled man named Borin, came over to him. The man's face was lined with age and hardship, but his eyes were sharp, filled with the kind of wisdom that only years of surviving the road could provide. He looked at Ethan with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity.

"You fought well today," Borin said, his voice gruff but sincere. "We owe you our lives. If it weren't for you, we'd have been overrun."

Ethan nodded, acknowledging the praise, though it felt hollow. He hadn't done it for them, not really. He had acted on instinct. It was survival. Still, there was something about Borin's presence—about these people—that made him feel a slight pang of connection.

"I didn't do it for thanks," Ethan said, his voice low. "I did it because I couldn't just watch."

Borin studied him for a long moment, as if weighing Ethan's words. Then he gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.

"Fair enough," Borin said. "But if you're willing to travel with us, we can offer you food, shelter, and a place to rest. You've earned it."

Ethan wasn't sure how to respond. Part of him wanted to refuse, to keep moving, to stay on his own and figure things out. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had no real direction. No plan. This world was vast, and he was a stranger in it. These merchants, for all their flaws and imperfections, represented something he needed—something he had lacked in his past life: a way to move forward.

"I'll travel with you," Ethan said, his voice steady. "For now, at least."

Borin grunted in approval and clapped him on the shoulder, causing Ethan to flinch slightly at the unexpected contact. "Good," he said. "We're heading toward the city of Riverrun. It's a few days' travel from here, but we should make it by the end of the week if we keep a steady pace. You'll get paid in coin, and there's always work for strong men willing to lend a hand."

Ethan considered that. Riverrun. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he didn't know much about it. He hadn't gotten into the politics of Westeros when he had read A Song of Ice and Fire—too wrapped up in Cersei and her machinations to care about the rest.

Riverrun, he knew, was an important location in the novels, a seat of power for House Tully. But beyond that, the details were murky. Still, the idea of reaching a city had its appeal. It would be a place where people gathered, where the power dynamics were more complex. And if he could get a better understanding of this world—how it worked, who held the power—then perhaps he could figure out how to carve his own path in it.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing here?" Borin asked, his voice low, almost like a murmur, as if sensing Ethan's hesitation.

Ethan paused, unsure of how to respond. He had no idea why the gods had brought him to this world. He didn't know why he was here, why he had been given this strange new power. But one thing was clear: if he wanted to survive, he had to keep moving forward. He had to adapt.

"I'm trying to figure it out," Ethan said finally, his eyes meeting Borin's. "Just trying to survive for now."

Borin's lips curled into a tight smile. "That's all any of us can do, boy. You'll learn that soon enough."

The merchant leader turned away, leaving Ethan alone with his thoughts.

As the caravan began to break camp, Ethan wandered a little farther into the trees, his mind racing. This was his new reality, and for all his knowledge of the world he had left behind, he had no idea how to navigate this one. He wasn't sure what he was searching for, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he became: if he was to make a name for himself here, he had to find some kind of power. He needed to understand how this world worked.

The power within him was vast—he could feel it. The strength, the speed, the senses—it was all there, buried beneath the surface. But there was something else as well, something darker, something he had yet to tap into fully. He had the ability to be more than just a survivor. He could rise to be something else. A king, perhaps. A ruler. The gods had brought him here for a reason. He could feel it in his bones.

But how? How would he begin to forge his destiny?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Borin's son, a young man with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, approaching. The boy couldn't have been more than nineteen, yet he carried himself with the confidence of someone much older. He was tall and fit, wearing a simple tunic and trousers, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword that hung from his waist. He was definitely a fighter.

"Father says you fought well back there," the young man, Bjorn, said, his voice a bit warmer than his father's. "You know how to handle yourself."

Ethan looked at Bjorn, unsure of how to respond. "I've... learned a few things," he muttered, not wanting to go into detail. He still wasn't used to admitting he had no formal training in combat.

Bjorn nodded, his gaze never leaving Ethan as he walked closer. "You don't look like you've ever held a sword before," Bjorn said bluntly, his tone almost teasing. "But you fought like someone who had."

Ethan felt a flash of defensiveness. "I didn't have much of a choice," he replied.

Bjorn chuckled, though his eyes were assessing, studying. "I'm not saying you're bad at it, but if you want to survive this world, you need to learn how to fight properly. Trust me, you can't rely on instinct alone forever."

Ethan nodded, trying to keep his cool despite the flood of emotions. This world was harsh, and the reality of needing to learn how to fight, to truly survive, was something that hit him square in the chest. He didn't want to be weak. He didn't want to be helpless.

Bjorn, seeming to sense Ethan's unease, gave him a knowing look. "Let me show you a few things, at least. It'll make the next fight a lot easier."

Without waiting for a response, Bjorn drew his sword and held it out toward Ethan. "Here," he said. "I'll give you this one. It's lighter than the one you've got. You'll be able to move faster with it."

Ethan hesitated for a moment, glancing at the blade. It was a simple sword, though the craftsmanship was clearly of a higher quality than anything he had seen before. With a slight nod, he took it.

Bjorn demonstrated a few basic moves, showing him how to properly grip the sword, how to swing with more control, and how to block an attack with precision rather than just brute strength. Ethan struggled at first, his movements stiff and uncoordinated, but Bjorn was patient, offering tips and pointers as they went.

"Relax your grip," Bjorn said after a particularly awkward swing. "You don't need to strangle the sword. Let it move with you, not against you."

Ethan tried again, this time with more fluidity. The sword felt lighter in his hands, more natural.

"Good," Bjorn said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Now, when you're on the defensive, don't just wait for them to strike. Move with them. Make them react to you."

Ethan nodded, focusing on his movements, his attention solely on the young merchant's advice. It felt like a whole new world was opening up to him—one where he could be more than just a bystander, more than just someone trying to survive. He could learn, adapt, and eventually master the skills that would make him a force to be reckoned with.

As they continued their practice, Ethan felt a surge of determination. He would learn. He would master this. Whatever power the gods had given him, he would wield it.

The road ahead was long, and Riverrun was still far off, but with every step, he felt himself inching closer to his destiny.

As the evening wore on, the merchants prepared their camp, and Ethan settled near the fire, the warmth from the flames only adding to the sense of progress in his heart. He had clothes now, a small pouch of coin from Borin, and the sword at his side—a weapon that felt less foreign with every passing moment.

The road was still uncertain, but for the first time since his arrival, Ethan felt a strange, almost thrilling sense of possibility.

This was just the beginning of his journey, and no matter how far he had to go, he would find the power he sought.