His head hurt, so did the numerous wounds he had sustained. The trip to Tumbleton was hellish, and he was not even exaggerating. It appeared his tolerance for pain, once the rush of action had passed, was even lower than he had expected. He had seen warriors in the pits of Essos with far more grievous injuries just bracing their teeth and shrugging them off.

Then again, it was a habit for them. They were used to pain. He would have to gain the same resistance with time. His dream required that he walk a path riddled with suffering.

Milk of the poppy, however, certainly helped. He had once asked a Maester about the origins of that strange liquid and the decrepit old man had compared it to the various substances one could find in Essos, those that helped the weak escape their dreadful reality by making them delirious. It was a surprise the old man had even visited Essos, but then again he could not claim he knew all maesters personally.

Thankfully it apparently was far safer than those substances, but that was a given. The maesters would not be using the milk of the poppy so recklessly if it was just as dangerous, right?

Contrary to what he had planned, though, he was forced to remain in Tumbleton for more than three days. The town’s Maester simply refused to let him go. Perhaps he would have still pressed on in different conditions, but…

It was an absolute fact that the milk of the poppy could dull the senses of any man. No sooner had he taken it than he wanted to take the longest nap in his life. Perhaps the Maester had given him too much of it? He would not put it past him. The Maesters all looked old enough to be incredibly senile.

When he was finally allowed to leave, he shook off any thoughts of sightseeing in the town. Tumbleton was lovely, but he had places to be. He did question an innkeeper about the situation in the Riverlands to avoid any nasty surprise, but all he received as an answer was more questions.

He mulled over the man’s words as he rode out of Tumbleton, snacking on dried meat he had bought at the market. He had been told that the Great House Tully was in open war with a number of its vassals, but not that many anymore. The war had started some years ago when Edmure Tully inherited the title of Lord Paramount from his father. The Great Lord had been too young and was never known to be all that lordly anyway.

In general, the vassals of a Great House would not dare to rebel simply because their new liege proved to be incompetent. It had happened countless times throughout history and had not often been followed by consequences. More often than not, the bannermen would simply keep their heads low and hope that their lord would see sense or soon be replaced. Even Aerys the Mad had only faced a rebellion after his own son went too far, not before that. He had certainly been hated and some regrettable events happened, but nothing on the scale of what House Tully was facing.

With the time he had spent in Essos, he could not remember the little bit of history he had learned from his parents. Of course, they only taught him the basics, not much of that he could use to understand the situation. He would ask for more information in Rosby or in the Riverlands directly. Someone was bound to know more than that innkeeper in Tumbleton did. The lords certainly would but he could not exactly question them freely.

He was not their equal, yet.

Rosby was….not as great as Tumbleton. He had seen the greatest cities of western Essos, as far as he was aware, and Oldtown, so nothing could really impress him anymore. Yet he had to admit, he had expected a lot more than a shoddy-looking keep and a decently sized village next to it. At least, it had a tavern. Not a single inn in sight, but he had intended to quickly go back on the road to the Riverlands once he had more information anyway.

He could have gone elsewhere, but Rosby was just about the only place near the Riverlands that was not the Antlers or Duskendale. The Antlers was an even better place to get information but the problem was how close it was to the Riverlands. He wanted to get unbiased information if he could. There was bound to be resentment for one side or the other from a town that would be impacted by the war. It was not the seat of a House of Riverlanders, but they had to feel the economic consequences of the war.

Lord Tyrell had often taken care to explain to him how war worked and what its consequences were. Personally, he was convinced the man had simply been trying to cull his ambitions.

Once he opened the door to Rosby’s only tavern, he was immediately hit with the sound of rough singing. A couple of drunkards, arms around each others’ shoulders, kept bobbing left and right as they sang something ridiculous. He ignored both the drunkards and their song and immediately approached the woman behind the counter. She looked just about as inhospitable as a woman could possibly be. Then again she was somewhat old. Perhaps all old women were meant to become bitter. He had little experience with them but Lady Olenna Tyrell had been more than enough to put the idea in his mind.

Of course, it was only then that he noticed how many eyes were upon him. He was not hiding. Most were drunk enough not to have really been stunned by his reveal, yet some regarded him with barely disguised distrust. He would gladly take that over being directly confronted because he was ‘ an affront to the Gods’. That had happened once and he still had nightmares about it.

“ A good day to you, my lady. I am in search of information, and I was hoping you could part with some knowledge.” He told her. He was sudden, rude even. But he had been a peasant before, and he at least remembered that back then, most people around him barely gave courtesies a thought. On top of that, he did not want to lose any more time than he already had. Who knew what was happening in this conflict. It could be over by the time he arrived there!

He was far too impatient, and he knew it, but he could not help it. This would be the chance to kickstart his new life. Though it would not happen this easily, he realized, as the redhead gave him a blank stare. Even the ‘patron’ she had just served looked quite confused.

“Again? Well, I gotta say you lots are a hassle! I’ll tell ya like I told the last one, the Tullys’ been at war; we only hear about House Vance as their enemy, and that’s it. I don’t know more than that, mi’lord, "she added sarcastically. He probably shouldn’t have called her ‘ My lady’, only highborns and merchants do that.

“ Are you certain? I am certain you must have heard more than that. The war has been raging for quite some time now” He pressed on. He fetched a silver coin and threw it on the counter. At that, she gave him an ugly smile. Not that she was ugly, he simply could feel the greed emanating from the woman. How hypocritical of him to think like that though.

“ Well, this one’s good more sense than the tall fella, don’t he?” She quickly grabbed the coin, as if someone else would take it from her. The burly man beside Gideon laughed in his mug.

“ Well, here’s the information mi’lord.” She was not half as sarcastic this time. Money bought some manner of respect as he had long since learned.

“ House Tully got in a bit of a pickle after the old Lord Tully croaked. The new one’s apparently a bit of a….well, a Gods’ damn idiot. That’s what many say at least. House Vance and another powerful House, can’t remember which, constantly went against the little lord’s decisions. At some point the little angry was so angry he said a few things he was not supposed to. Ya know how the Lords get about their honour or whatnot. “ She sniffed and he nodded. He indeed knew; all too well at that.

“ So a war starts. But get that. Lord Tully thinks he is a big man. Thinks he can win all on his own. So what does he do? He refuses the Starks’ help!” She laughs at that and so do a few drunkards who’ve heard her. He had to admit it sounded ridiculous.

“ Gets even better I tell ya! He hires sellswords to help him, but he’s so bad at managing coin that other Houses get fed up with him and join the rebels. The Riverlands end up divided and between us…” She inches closer. So does he, getting the hint that she wanted discretion.

“ I heard some whispers, can’t say I really trust them, but some say…the Lannisters have been giving coins to some of those rebels.” She told him with raised eyebrows. He shifted on his stool as he pondered over the words.

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It already sounded unbelievable enough that such a vassal war could occur, but if the Lannisters were behind in some way? This was far bigger than he had anticipated. He could not solely go off of the words of some random woman in an inn, however. Though a question made him scratch his head.

“ What is the King even doing? Isn’t he supposed to intervene in such matters? Hell, the other Great Lords ought to act too. Such a war sets a precedent. Once it happens, it can happen again. Well, except in the Westerlands, of course…as long as Tywin Lannister lives.” At that, she nodded whilst she went to serve another mug of ale.

“ Ain’t that the truth! But I don’t know what goes in the big Lords’ heads. Who fucking does, aye? I tell you what, though, you’d probably get a lot more from the people who actually live in the Riverlands. Hell, even those at the Antlers would know better!”

Certainly. It seemed he could not really avoid the bias that would surely accompany such informations. With some luck, the people would be crossed with both sides and just remain somewhat factual.

“ You know, Snowhair, you leave now you’d probably catch up with that fella, the sellsword fella!” The man who had been drinking beside him talked. He had been drinking heavily, yet he seemed sober compared to the assortment of drunkards in the inn. He did have an awfully red nose though. Gideon ignored the insult but recognized it for what it was. The man looked at him like he was a particularly amusing beast.

“ Sellsword? Whom are you speaking of?” Gideon asked. It was the woman who answered him as she wiped the sweat off of her brows. They were just as colourful as her red hair. It oddly reminded him of a girl he once knew in his once peaceful little village. How vexing. He hid his frown as he listened to her.

“ Yeah that fella I talked ‘bout. Tall fella, pretty thin for a sellsword. Was here some two hours before you. Tried to get information, but he had no coin. Tried to act all scary too! Ah! He had a sword, sure, but you don’t hurt the one who pours the drink! Least he didn’t have your eyes, or your skin…or your hair. Ahah! Would’ve probably shat meself.” She answered him. As crass and rude as she was, he ignored it once more. He nodded and left without another word. He could have drank something but…They had removed his thirst for now.

Even after all this time…

He got on his horse and left the dingy village. His grip over the reins was painfully tight but he ignored it and focused on the path forward. It would be good to catch this sellsword. The man was bound to know about the options an…aspiring young man could choose to shape his future with this war. It was a foregone conclusion that serving one side or the other as a sellsword was one of the best paths to go about this quest. The only other choice he really had was to join a House as a mere soldier but…he would not.

Sellswords earned far more glory and coins than soldiers whilst doing basically the same thing, right? That’s what he knew about them, and that was enough to tempt him. He brushed his fingers over the sheath at his hip. The thought of training crossed his mind. He actually had to survive to finish the quest and certainly do well to earn all the possible rewards. Couldn’t do that with skills as shoddy as his.

No matter, he would find a way.

He spent two more days on the road. By now he was growing sick of the lands. Pretty sights all around, certainly, but they seemed to stretch on forever. He could not count how many trees he had passed by. Why was Westeros so green?

He had to admit the disappearing sun on the horizon, its last rays of light passing through the leaves as his horse trotted forward, was a calming sight. What would it feel like to gaze upon such a sight, whilst being the lord of the lands around him? He could only imagine how those people felt whenever they drank in their lands.

He arrived during the early morning, in a village even more destitute than Rosby, though that was mostly because there was no castle in sight. He approached a man who immediately appeared wary. Was it the war or just his looks? He certainly hoped the war had more of an impact than just how ‘freaky’ he was.

“ My good man, would you have time to spare? I come from the Reach and I would like to know more about the war in the Riverlands. What is this village named?” He called out. The man let out a sigh, but not of relief.

“ First that cunt and now you? I am a farmer, what do ya expect me to know!?” The irate man exclaimed. “ Go ask that tall fella with the sword! Had lots of questions too, just talk to each other and leave us alone!”

And he left. Just like that. Gideon knew he did not look like a lord because obviously if there was a lord with his….physical abnormalities, all would have at least heard of him, just like most in the Seven Kingdoms knew of the Mountain. Even he did, and not alone had he never been in the Westerlands; he had only come back to Westeros a few years prior and had not known of the man back as a child. Still, one could not just assume. He certainly talked like a lord, he had a horse, a sword and somewhat decent clothes.

A lord would have had the man’s head for such disrespect. Did war really make the good people of Westeros reckless enough to be that rude to complete strangers? Well an internal war such as this one was bound to be even worse for the people since the consequences of it fell only on them. No rewards, no matter who won, and just a miserable time in general whilst it still raged on.

Again, he was glad to have been a slave. And again, the thought was vexing. Westeros often viewed Essos as a land of savages, but the Westerosi, his people, did not truly have better lives than their eastern brethren.

He snorted and started to search for the ‘ tall fella with the sword’. It was probably that sellsword, but then again there could be as many tall fuckers with swords as there were trees.

Luckily for him, he found a tall and lanky man arguing with a farmer and his wife a little further down the road.

“ These are copper stars we are talking about, three copper stars. War or not, that is not the price of a single loaf of bread!” The Sellsword, it had to be him, shouted in the farmer’s face. The wife’s face darkened but she remained silent.

“ What do you even know!? The prices keep going up every week. We barely have enough coin to feed our children and you expect good prices? This isn’t a market, I don’t haggle! It’s three stars for a loaf of bread and two stars for a head of cabbage.” The farmer stated with his arms crossed.

To his surprise, he saw the sellsword’s fingers twitch around the pommel of his weapon. His eyes widened and he quickly approached them.

“ My good man, would you happen to be the sellsword that came to Rosby two days back? “ He asked.

The sellsword turned around, a hand over his sheath. Now that he could see him from up close, his brows furrowed in confusion. The man looked more like a knight than a sellsword, especially one who was apparently prone to using violence on the smallfolk. He was younger than Gideon had expected to be, though in a way it made sense for most sellswords to be young. It was not a profession he expected many to survive for a long time. He had shoulder-length raven black hair and…blue or green eyes? They were certainly colourful and bright but Gideon could not see that well from a distance.

He was indeed a tall fellow, standing at maybe five and eight feet tall, perhaps more. Again, his sight was horrendous whilst the sun was still out. In an hour he would see better. This was bound to become a problem in the future.

Most surprising of all when he beheld this sellsword, was his equipment. The sword sheath appeared to be quite fine, and so was the sword, probably. The leather armour he wore? Certainly far better than anything Gideon had ever worn. The man was probably experienced if he had fine equipment. Fine for a sellsword of course.

“ What pit of hell did you even crawl out of?” The man instinctually said. He could tell the answer had come before the sellsword could even properly think his words through. The farmers took one look at him and walked back to their home as fast as their feet could carry them.

A vein popped on his forehead but Gideon kept his easy-going smile.

“ Gideon, an aspiring sellsword. Probably. The good people of Rosby told me about you. I figured you would have answers to my questions.”

“ Beryn Hardy, sellsword as you already knew. I might have answers, but they come at a price. “ The aforementioned Beryn narrowed his eyes as he approached.

“ Hardy? You belong to a house?” He asked and Beryn clicked his tongue.

“ Any man is entitled to have a family, no? S’not only the highborn who get to have a name for their family. But that ain’t too important. What’s important is what you seek, boy. Gods you look young. You want to be a sellsword?” Beryn asked as a mocking smile drew itself upon his face.

“ I want to be far more if I can. Being a sellsword might take me to interesting places…and interesting opportunities. “ Gideon answered half-heartedly.

Beryn’s whole demeanour changed in a second. A wide and genuine smile split his face and he spread his arms wide.

“ Well, well, a kindred fucking spirit then! You’ve come for the war between the Tullys and their bannermen? Ah, what am I even asking? ‘Course you are. Otherwise an ‘aspiring sellsword’ like you would be in Essos instead! I say we’re both lucky to have met each other. “

“ Why is that?” Gideon asked a hint of wariness in his tone. The man had switched a bit too suddenly. The feeling became even worse once Beryn stood before him and put a palm against his horse’s neck. There was a hunger in those eyes, that he had only expected from himself.

“ There’s a King ransom in coins to be gotten in these lands. The war isn’t about to end anytime soon, no matter what the small-minded farmers tell ya. The Tullys are back on top, and whoever is funding the rebels, because I am telling you someone is….well, the naughty bastard won’t take this lying down!” He exclaimed.

“ So you are here for the same reason as I? You seek fortune and opportunities from this war? This might indeed be luck then.”

Beryn playfully punched his leg before taking the horse’s reins in one hand.

“ I’ve got an idea on where to go, who to join, boy. You strike me as a child who left without a plan and is trying to make things up as he goes. Ain’t I right?” He offered no reaction.” Of course, I’m right! Thing is, I’ve got the knowledge and you….Well, you might not know it, but you have a whole lot already with this freak body.”

He fixed him a harsh glare but found himself flat-footed when he noticed that Beryn did not seem to be mocking him in the slightest.

“ W-What? What are you saying exactly?” He asked harshly.

“ Boy, sellswords are not unlike mere foot soldiers. They’re not much. Poor sods running after gold. But unlike soldiers, you see, they create legends. They become legends! Of course, they have to survive and not suck with a blade to even have their names uttered, but that is an advantage they…well, WE, hold over the common soldiery of the Houses.”

“ Your point being?” Gideon questioned him. He could not quite sense where the man was going with this. That nasty smile of pure greed and envy did not fill him with confidence.

“ I am far better with a sword than I look, boy. I know I will rise through the ranks of whichever company I join. This is not arrogance but an absolute fact. And you…well, I would not assume your skills…and you seem a bit on the thin side, even more so than this handsome sellsword here,” He pointed at himself. “ But you look fucking terrific! I would shiver in me boots if I saw you at night boy! Just got to get you decent with a blade, and there’s your path to a purse full of coins and empty balls!”

Gideon blushed despite himself. He stammered over his words but Beryn shushed him.

“ Don’t worry, boy. Let this here experienced and accomplished sellsword guide you to success!” We’s just got to reach a town and find where the Boar Company is. Met them twice and they seemed decent enough to join. You in with me boy?”

Gideon looked at the extended hand with wide eyes. This had been far too swift. And this was about the shadiest sellsword he had seen in his entire life. He, who had lived in Essos and seen all manners of sellsword companies. But he recognized greed and ambition. He recognized the fire that burned in Beryn’s soul. The same had been lit in his a decade ago.

He shook the hand. He would have to get to know Beryn better before truly deciding himself, but this was a start.

And this was how his new life started, with a most lucky encounter. Though years later, he still wouldn’t know who had been the most unfortunate here.