Julius Harlane POV
A restless energy burned in my blood. In a month, I would be standing on the banks of the Trident, part of a battle that would decide the fate of a kingdom. The thought stirred a familiar, grim anticipation. Memories of another life surfaced—the roar of different battlefields, the harsh lessons of Apollyon.
I had served her once, followed her from one war to the next. She was no righteous leader, but a ruthless schemer who believed only in strength. She wanted to forge a world of wolves, where the weak were torn apart. We never understood her purpose, and in the end, many of us left the Blackstone Legion behind.
I only returned when word came that our fortress was under siege. By the time I arrived, it was over. Apollyon was dead. We buried our dead, and I thought her legacy was buried with her. But it wasn't. Another took her armor, and the cycle of violence began again, until it claimed my own life in a storm of salt and steel. I woke up here.
This world was not so different. The cruelty was the same, the politics just as deadly, with the added threat of ice and darkness. The ghost of the man I was before—the college student who saw war as a game—still flinched at the soldier I had become. But his shock was a useful reminder. A check on the part of me that thrived in the chaos.
My duty was here. My focus had to be the Trident.
My fingers brushed against the cloth tied to my belt. Lysa's favor. The embroidered handkerchief felt heavy now. In the dim light of her distress, accepting it had seemed a harmless way to offer comfort. But in the clear light of day, it felt like a mistake. This was not a token of alliance; it was a secret, a potential betrayal of Lord Arryn's trust. I would not start this campaign with a dishonor hanging over me.
The solution was clear. I went to find him.
Lord Arryn was outside his tent, his eyes on the horizon. "Ser Julius," he said, noticing my approach.
"My lord." I held out the cloth. "Lady Lysa gave this to me before we marched. I took it as a gesture for the alliance, but I fear her intentions were more personal. It does not feel right to keep it. I am returning it to you."
He looked at the cloth, then at me. A deep weariness was in his eyes, but also a flicker of respect. He asked for no explanation. He was a man who understood the world, and his wife, all too well.
"You are a good man, Julius," he said, his voice low. "An honorable one. This act proves it. Thank you."
A burden I hadn't fully acknowledged lifted from my shoulders. The path was clear again.
The sound of hooves announced the arrival of the Vale reinforcements—two thousand fresh cavalry. Among the riders, I saw the familiar face of my former squire, Colt. He had filled out, the boy now a hardened man.
After the greetings were done, I clasped his arm. "It's good to see you, Colt. How are things in the Vale?"
He grinned. "Well enough, Ser Julius. They're singing songs about you. The Knight of the Red Eyes."
I shook my head. "Songs won't stop a lance. I'll take loyal men and sharp steel any day."
"Aye, ser," he agreed, his grin softening into a look of solid understanding.
I looked at him, this young man I'd trained, and felt a surge of confidence. "It's good to have you back. I need men I can trust at my side."
Colt stood a little straighter. "I'm ready."
"Then go," I said, nodding toward the camp. "Find Claw and Hale. They'll be waiting for you. We have a war to win."