The ambush came exactly where it should have.
That was the problem.
The road narrowed where the trees pressed close, roots breaking through the mud like grasping fingers. A shallow rise to the left. A fallen log to the right. Too perfect. Too obvious.
They expected us to walk into it.
I raised my fist, and the patrol halted instantly. The men obeyed without question—except for Tom, who leaned forward in his saddle, eyes narrowed, breath quickening.
He saw it too.
That mattered.
"Dismount," I said quietly. "Slow. No steel yet."
The men slid down from their horses, reins looped and tied back. No shouting. No rattling mail. The forest swallowed sound the way it always did—greedily.
I motioned Tom closer.
"Stay behind me," I told him.
His jaw tightened. "I can—"
"I know," I cut in. "That's why you'll wait."
That earned me a look—not defiance, but frustration held tightly in check. He nodded once and did as he was told.
We advanced on foot, spacing out, eyes scanning branches and shadows. I counted heartbeats in my head, measuring the silence.
There.
A bird startled from the underbrush to our right—too sudden, too close. Someone had shifted their weight.
I raised two fingers and angled them left.
The serjeant understood immediately. Half the men peeled away, circling wide. The rest held position.
A shout rang out—too early, panicked.
Steel flashed from the treeline.
"Now," I said.
The forest exploded into motion.
Two bandits burst from cover, weapons raised. One fell instantly as a spear took him through the thigh and pinned him to the dirt. The other barely had time to scream before I closed the distance and struck him down with the flat of my blade, sending him sprawling unconscious.
More movement—three figures retreating deeper into the trees.
"After them!" Tom shouted, already moving.
Too fast.
Too eager.
"Tom—" I started.
He didn't hear me.
He broke formation and sprinted forward, sword drawn, mail clinking just enough to give him away. One of the bandits turned, saw him coming, and grinned.
A trap within the trap.
The bandit lunged from behind a tree, blade arcing toward Tom's exposed side.
I moved without thinking.
The distance vanished beneath my stride. My sword came up and ended the strike before it finished forming—steel meeting steel with a force that sent sparks into the damp air. I drove my shoulder into the bandit and sent him crashing into the undergrowth.
Tom stumbled to a stop, breathing hard.
"Stay. In. Line," I said sharply.
"Yes—Captain," he gasped.
The rest of the skirmish ended quickly after that. The remaining bandits fled once they realized the ambush had failed. Broken men scattered easily when things didn't go their way.
We didn't chase.
We couldn't afford to.
One bandit lay unconscious. Another was pinned to the ground, screaming through clenched teeth as the serjeant kept pressure on his wound.
The man was young. Not much older than Tom. Filthy, gaunt, eyes burning with hatred rather than fear.
We dragged him into the open.
"Who do you answer to?" the serjeant demanded.
The bandit spat blood and laughed.
"Go to hell."
"Where's your camp?" Tom asked, stepping forward before I could stop him.
The bandit looked up at him and smiled wider. "You're dead already, boy. You just don't know it yet."
Tom's hand tightened on his sword.
I raised a hand, stopping him.
I crouched in front of the bandit instead.
"You left a message on the road," I said calmly. "A trout. That wasn't hunger. That was intent. Who's leading you?"
Silence.
I studied him for a moment longer, then stood.
"He won't talk," I said.
The serjeant shifted uneasily. "We could take him back to Riverrun."
"With what men?" I asked. "And what escort?"
The serjeant had no answer.
Tom looked at me, eyes wide. "We can't just—"
"We don't have the resources," I said. "And if we let him go, he warns the others. If we take him, we slow down and get hunted."
The bandit laughed again, softer this time. Confident.
I drew my sword.
The laughter stopped.
Tom froze. "Captain—"
"This is command," I said, voice steady. "Not cruelty."
The bandit stared up at me now, fear finally breaking through his bravado.
I ended it cleanly.
One strike. No spectacle.
The forest seemed to exhale afterward.
No one spoke for several long moments.
Tom turned away, jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might crack. His hands shook—not from fear, but from the effort of holding something in.
I watched him carefully.
He didn't vomit.He didn't shout.He didn't look away from the body for long.
That mattered too.
When the men finished checking wounds and retrieving what little could be salvaged, I walked over to him.
"You disobeyed an order," I said.
"Yes," he replied, voice tight.
"You nearly died."
"Yes."
"And you still charged," I continued. "Why?"
He met my eyes, fire burning there despite everything. "Because if we don't stop them, they'll keep hurting people who can't fight back."
There it was.
Raw. Unpolished. Dangerous.
The kind of courage that got men killed—or forged into something better.
"You need training," I said.
His head snapped up. "Sir?"
"You have instincts," I continued. "And conviction. Both will kill you if you don't learn control."
His breath caught. "You'd train me?"
"If you survive," I said flatly. "And if you listen."
He nodded immediately. No hesitation. No pride.
"Yes, Captain."
I looked back toward the trees where the bandits had vanished.
Good.
Because the Riverlands didn't need more martyrs.
They needed men who could endure what justice actually cost—and still stand.