After the ambush, Clegg Cobb's jovial demeanor vanished. He became ruthlessly cautious.
He assigned two men to ride half a mile ahead as scouts, and ordered the guards on the wagons to wear their armor at all times. Weapons were to be kept drawn or loose in their scabbards. He even stationed a rider a hundred yards behind the rearguard, specifically tasked to turn and flee if disaster struck.
"If the Bastard of Bolton gets angry and sends a host that even Ser Aldric can't chop through," Clegg had explained grimly, "at least Master Rodney needs to know how his brother died."
Those words weighed heavily on Aldric. For days, he sat fully armored inside the canvas-covered wagon, his greatsword resting across his knees, ready to burst out and shock the enemy. No one could guarantee that Clegg's paranoid fears wouldn't become reality.
But as days turned into a week, whether due to a shift in luck or simply outrunning Ramsay's immediate reach, the journey proceeded smoothly.
As the caravan moved south along the rushing waters of the White Knife and crossed into the domain of House Manderly, the tension finally broke.
Aldric noticed the change immediately. The population density increased. The muddy, rutted Kingsroad transitioned into firm, wide tracks built with crushed stone and substantial coin. Pedestrians wove back and forth between thriving villages, and patrols of heavily armed men-at-arms marched along the road.
The white merman sigil painted on their shields identified them as the guards of House Manderly.
Unlike House Hornwood, whose income relied on traditional agrarian tithes, House Manderly was a house of merchants and sailors. They paid meticulous attention to maintaining their trade routes.
Unless Roose Bolton planned to openly incite a rebellion against Winterfell, his bastard wouldn't dare attack a caravan in such a heavily policed environment.
Watching the White Knife grow wider and wider, the caravan finally arrived at a bustling market town. Clegg informed Aldric they would camp there for the night; by mid-morning tomorrow, they would reach the city.
The rulers of White Harbor, House Manderly, were a unique anomaly in the North. They had migrated from the Reach in the south over a thousand years ago, fleeing the persecution of House Gardener. Accepted by the Starks, the Kings of Winter, they were granted the Wolf's Den—a brutal military fortress at the mouth of the White Knife—and the surrounding lands.
Before the Manderlys, countless Northern houses had tried to hold that vital choke point. None could keep it. The fortress was inevitably breached by pirates, slavers, or Andal invaders, becoming a beachhead for foreign forces to bleed the North.
It wasn't until House Manderly garrisoned the Wolf's Den and used their southern wealth to build a true city around it that the situation stabilized. Under their rule, the White Knife transformed from a bleeding wound into the great commercial vein of the North. Over a millennium, White Harbor grew into the fifth-largest port in Westeros.
Out of profound gratitude to House Stark for granting them sanctuary, the Manderlys remained fiercely loyal bannermen. This loyalty, combined with immense wealth and naval power, brought long-lasting peace to the city. And peace was the foundation of trade.
Creak. The wagon slowly ground to a halt.
Kevin turned from the driver's bench and poked his head through the canvas flap. "Master. We're here."
"Here? Where?"
Aldric leaned out, grabbing the tailgate. He looked up.
A towering, whitewashed stone wall loomed before him, gleaming in the morning sun. Beyond it, the sky was a brilliant, boundless azure, dotted with the masts and sails of ships as numerous as stars.
"White Harbor," Kevin said, grinning. "The destination."
Aldric stared. The name certainly fit.
"Why have we stopped?" Aldric asked, noting they were still outside the gates.
"Waiting in line. There's a merchant train ahead of us."
"Wake me when we're inside," Aldric mumbled, stretching his aching back.
"But Master Clegg said the city watch will inspect the cargo," Kevin warned. "The inspection might be... rough."
Aldric pictured guards thrusting spears into the hay bales. He sighed and crawled to the front, sitting beside his apprentice.
"Kevin, how much coin do we have left?"
"Let me calculate," Kevin said, pulling a heavy leather pouch from his belt. "Four Gold Dragons, sixty-two Silver Stags, and a pile of Copper Stars."
After establishing their formal master-apprentice relationship, Aldric had unceremoniously dumped the bookkeeping duties onto the boy. Kevin managed the "public funds"—the coin they earned together. The gold Aldric had brought from Azeroth remained safely hidden in his private inventory.
Outside Hornwood Keep, Clegg had used his mercantile connections to liquidate the seven captured horses and the rusted weapons left by the Bastard's Boys. The haul sold for a total of fifteen Gold Dragons.
Based on combat contribution, Clegg allocated four Dragons directly to Aldric. The remaining eleven were divided among the dead and the surviving caravan members.
One Gold Dragon might seem like a trifle to a high lord, but for a common family, it was enough to live comfortably for half a year. Since Aldric had essentially saved all their lives, no one complained about his cut.
Even to Aldric, it was a significant sum.
During the journey, driven by curiosity, Aldric had priced out the local economy. In the remote villages, five Copper Pennies could buy a decent horn of ale or a roasted sausage.
Converting to Earth prices: if a craft beer was 7 RMB and a sausage 5 RMB, a copper was roughly 1 RMB.
The exchange rate was staggering: 1 Gold Dragon equaled 210 Silver Stags, and 1 Stag equaled 56 Coppers. One Gold Dragon was worth 11,760 Coppers.
Using the beer standard, four Gold Dragons was roughly equivalent to 50,000 RMB.
Despite eating lavishly on the road, they had only spent thirty Silver Stags. With the advanced logistics of a major port, basic goods would likely be cheaper here than in the wilderness. If he shopped carefully, Aldric could outfit them both perfectly.
The line moved forward. A young Manderly guardsman in a bright surcoat checked Clegg's manifest, confirmed the taxes were paid, glanced into the wagons, and waved them through. It was incredibly civil—a stark contrast to the brutal North Aldric had experienced so far.
Passing through the massive gates, the caravan rolled onto smooth cobblestone streets, finally halting in a dense, bustling warehouse district.
This was the Outer Harbor, zoned specifically for bulk trade. Merchants signed contracts and exchanged goods directly at the warehouses before loading them onto the galleys.
Stevedores swarmed the wagons, shouting and hauling crates. Aldric and Kevin grabbed their personal bags, hopped off, and stood by the road.
Clegg Cobb approached, wiping sweat from his brow. He extended a hand.
"Ser Aldric," Clegg said, his grip firm. "We owe you our lives. Without you, none of us would have seen these white walls again."
"It was a contract, Clegg. And I got paid. How long will you stay?"
"Not long. The cargo was pre-sold; we just need to deliver it to the factors. We head back north in three days." Clegg hesitated. "Are you certain you won't ride back with us?"
Aldric shook his head. "We need to find a ship heading south to King's Landing. I hear there is more opportunity there."
Clegg nodded. "Most of us will be staying at an inn near here called The Harbor Night. If you can't find a room, come join us. And if you want to experience the... specific delights of White Harbor, don't let me hold you back." Clegg winked broadly.
Aldric offered an awkward laugh. "I'll keep it in mind."
In this era, guards and sailors earned their coin with their lives. When they hit a safe port, they blew off steam with cheap ale and cheaper women. For a trade city, catering to that need was a massive, lucrative industry.
But Aldric had zero interest. Go to hell with that. He didn't trust Westerosi sex workers to practice proper hygiene. If a max-level Paladin survived a Skagosi raid only to die of syphilis in a brothel, the irony would be unbearable.
"Fair winds, Ser Aldric," Clegg said warmly.
"And a safe road home, Clegg."
With the contract concluded, Aldric and Kevin turned and walked into the city.
White Harbor was divided into two distinct zones. The Inner Harbor was a fortified military port, home to the Manderly war fleet and the luxurious manses of visiting nobles. The Outer Harbor was for merchants, sailors, and commoners.
Inns of all varying quality lined the cobbled streets.
Kevin remembered an inn he had visited with his uncle Thomas, located near the Fishmonger's Square. It was called The White Salmon.
Despite the name and the beautifully painted wooden sign, the establishment sold absolutely no salmon. This disappointed Aldric greatly; he had been craving fresh sashimi for a month.
"Is there really no salmon?" Aldric asked the innkeeper, leaning over the wooden counter.
The owner—a bald, potbellied man with a thick beard—looked at Aldric like he was an idiot. "I named it for luck, giant. A modest house like ours doesn't carry high-end sea fish. If you want that, go to the Inner City and see if the high lords left any scraps in their kitchens."
Aldric sighed. "Fine. A room. Two beds."
"Two Silver Stags a night. Includes morning and evening meals." The owner pulled a heavy brass key from a drawer. "How many days?"
"That expensive?!" Kevin gasped. When he had come with his uncle, Thomas had paid the bill. Two Stags a night felt like robbery.
The owner curled his lip. "This is White Harbor, boy, not a mud-hut village. Two Stags for a clean, safe room, locked doors, and two hot meals. What more do you want?"
Aldric patted Kevin's shoulder, silencing the boy. "If it's clean, it's worth it. We'll take ten days. Pay daily?"
"Pay a day in advance to keep the room. You miss a payment, your bags go out the window."
Kevin reluctantly dug two silver coins from his pouch.
They took the key and climbed to the third floor. Entering the room, Aldric was pleasantly surprised. The owner hadn't lied. The room was spotless. Two sturdy beds with grey linen sheets, thick wool felt pads, and heavy blankets. A vast improvement over the straw beds of Redstone.
Aldric dumped his heavy pack in the corner and pushed open the wooden shutters.
The salty, cool sea breeze hit his face. The chaotic noise of the bustling port and the cries of the gulls drifted up from the square. It felt like civilization.
"Kevin," Aldric smiled, breathing in the sea air. "Let's go for a walk."