Our Hero

New Barrel stood downstream on the Goldengrove River. It was the seat of the great Reach house of Fossoway, and because it lay close to both the Roseroad and the river, it had become a gathering place for merchants. Nearly every cargo bound for Goldengrove, Red Lake, or Old Oak passed through New Barrel instead of taking the Highgarden route.

Merchants had first made that choice because Highgarden's tolls were heavy. Sending goods through the Tyrells' seat meant paying an extra burden, and merchants understood profit well enough to choose another road.

Later, House Tyrell sharply reduced the taxes on passing caravans and abolished several unreasonable levies, hoping to draw that traffic away from New Barrel.

By then, however, the merchants were already used to gathering there. The lords of Red Lake, Coldmoat, and Old Oak had also built roads to make trade easier. Those roads were crude and could not compare with the Roseroad, but the caravans had grown used to them. In the end, Highgarden attracted only a small portion of the trade. Most merchants still chose New Barrel.

In recent days, however, there seemed to be more merchants in New Barrel than usual. Caravans that had already unloaded did not leave, and even some merchants from Highgarden had come. All of them appeared to be waiting for something.

Well-informed men soon learned the reason. The recent campaign by Goldengrove, Red Lake, and Old Oak against the outlaws of Red Lake Forest had brought an unexpected harvest. The rumor that those outlaws were Targaryen loyalists had proved true. The three houses had seized a large quantity of supplies from them: grain, weapons, valuables ready to be turned into coin, and even several important goods lost before the Mad King's death.

That led some to speculate that the Mad King had foreseen the fall of House Targaryen and entrusted part of his stores to loyal men before the end. The outlaws in Red Lake Forest had been one such group.

The captured goods were plentiful, but actual coin was scarce, and the three houses did not need so many supplies. They needed money they could spend at once. There was another concern as well: many of the goods bore Targaryen marks. If the houses kept them, Robert Baratheon might decide they were sheltering dragon loyalists and use it as an excuse against them.

So they needed to sell the haul quickly, turning it into gold dragons and silver stags. Nearby, only two places could absorb so many goods in a short time: New Barrel and Highgarden.

At the moment, however, House Tyrell had placed all its attention on repairing relations with Robert Baratheon and had little energy to spare for trade. Lord Taks Fossoway, head of the Green-Apple Fossoways and lord of New Barrel, had been far more eager. He reached out to the three houses himself and offered generous terms, even waiving taxes, so that the goods would be sold in his town.

Some wondered why Lord Taks would do something that seemed to bring him no direct profit. Shrewder men understood his intention. He was not looking at the tax on one batch of goods. He wanted the caravans drawn to New Barrel by those goods. Their presence would enrich the town for a long time, and the additional benefits would far exceed one levy.

For the common folk of New Barrel and the lowborn guards who traveled with the caravans, such noble calculations were too distant to matter. They cared only for the legends born during the campaign: Ser Joel Flowers breaking a formation alone and killing the outlaw leader, Ser Arys Oakheart leading thirteen riders to rout more than a hundred outlaws, and other such tales.

Among the stories created by famous knights, one stood apart. It was more legendary than all the rest, and its hero was Alden the Bear-Hunter.

Compared with highborn knights set above ordinary men, the common-born Bear-Hunter gave the smallfolk someone they could step into. When they heard singers perform his song in taverns, they imagined themselves in his place, creating legend alongside him.

Before the campaign against the Red Lake Forest outlaws, songs about Alden the Bear-Hunter had already spread through taverns across the Reach. At that time, those who heard them saw him only as a lucky hunter. They praised his courage and devotion in avenging his father and hunting a mountain bear alone, but no one believed he was a true warrior.

Now that they had heard the tales from the campaign, their view of him changed drastically, almost impossibly, like seeing a familiar neighbor suddenly become a stranger no one had ever met.

He had refused the aid of ten soldiers, gone alone to hold a key position, and killed nearly a hundred outlaws fleeing the battlefield. Among the dead were two Targaryen loyalists. Such a wild achievement sounded like a rumor invented by men with too much wine in them, yet it had been confirmed by Ser Ryman Webber of Coldmoat and Ser Joel Flowers, the knight who ended the campaign. Both men had reputations among the Reach nobility for being trustworthy.

So the Bear-Hunter's deeds in the campaign were turned into a new song and carried through the taverns of Red Lake, Old Oak, and Goldengrove. The smallfolk loved it, and the singers earned heavily from it.

Once other singers saw that the song could make money, they began spreading it of their own accord. Alden's name traveled through the cities of the Reach once more, New Barrel among them.

After nightfall, commoners from New Barrel came to a tavern near the docks to relax after work. Caravan guards poured in to spend their wages and drink themselves into a pleasant fog. The tavern's resident singer began the Bear-Hunter's song for the third time that day. His voice was nothing special, but the listeners still savored every line.

When the song reached the moment where the Bear-Hunter swung twin swords and cut down the enemy, one man lifted his cup and shouted, "To our hero, the Bear-Hunter!"

"To our hero, the Bear-Hunter!"

"To our hero, the Bear-Hunter!"

Once one voice began, others rose throughout the tavern. Perhaps the shouts carried outside and stirred drinkers in a nearby tavern, because soon the same cry came from there as well. From taverns and caravan fires across the town, the toast spread into the night.

At some unknown point, Alden the Bear-Hunter had become the embodiment of a common hero. Ordinary people turned him into an idol and placed upon him the life they had once longed for but could never possess. When the Bear-Hunter created a legend, they felt as though they had shared in its creation, and their admiration for a man they had never met grew stronger still.

"If this keeps going, I may soon hear people shouting, 'Long live the Bear-Hunter.'" In an unremarkable corner of the tavern sat two cloaked outsiders. The taller middle-aged man drank from his cup of mead, glanced at the companion quietly eating against the wall, and spoke with obvious amusement.

The other man raised his head and looked at him. "I only hope our new king does not take my head for it."

The older man kept teasing him. "No. Knowing our new king's nature, he might praise you for it. He may even find a place for you in the Kingsguard."

"I will pass. I still want descendants." In his mouth, the Kingsguard, highest honor of knighthood and admired throughout the realm, seemed almost worthless.

"You really are an ambitious fellow," the middle-aged man said, taking another drink with clear appreciation.

The two men in the tavern corner were Joel Flowers and the very Bear-Hunter being praised in song. None of the smallfolk and caravan guards shouting Alden's epithet realized the object of their worship was sitting nearby.

That gave Alden a stray thought. What would happen if he revealed himself now? Would they carry him through the streets of New Barrel, or would they throw him out of the tavern as a madman? He felt the latter was far more likely.

They were there because Joel meant to keep his promise and recommend Alden to Ser Vortimer Crane as a squire.

After attending the victory feast at Goldengrove, Joel had not stayed to discuss the follow-up matters, nor had he returned to Red Lake with the Crane men. Instead, he took Alden south along the Goldengrove River.

Originally, Joel meant to sail all the way to Highgarden. When their boat stopped at the docks of New Barrel, however, they heard dockworkers talking about a party sent by Highgarden to King's Landing for the tournament celebrating the birth of the new king's first child, Joffrey Baratheon. The party was led by Garlan Tyrell, Lord Mace's second son, and Ser Vortimer Crane, now master-at-arms at Highgarden and Garlan's sword teacher, traveled with him. They had already reached New Barrel and would rest one night before continuing on.

Since Vortimer was already in New Barrel, there was no need to keep going to Highgarden. Joel and Alden left the boat there.

They had disembarked deep into the night, and going to the Tyrell camp at that hour would have been improper. Every inn in the town was already full of caravan men, so Joel decided they would make do in the tavern for the night and visit Vortimer in the morning.

"You are not drinking?" Joel asked after emptying his own cup. He pointed at the untouched mead in front of Alden.

Alden shook his head. "I do not drink."

"You are a dull one." Joel took Alden's cup for himself, drank from it, and watched him chew his food with careful slowness. Time seemed to drag unbearably.

Their days together, especially the two days spent sailing south from Goldengrove, had given Joel a deeper understanding of Alden.

Self-disciplined. Extremely self-disciplined. That was his newest judgment. Alden arranged every part of his day in detail: what hour to train, how much time to give to sword practice, when to eat, when to rest. Every activity had its place, as if he carried a written timetable in his hand and lived by it from morning to night. It was dull to the point of pain.

That severe self-control made Joel think of Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill.

Fortunately, the young man before him could still exchange a few jokes. He was not as painfully stern as Randyll Tarly, who had all the warmth of cold iron.

Even so, Joel was glad he had not taken Alden as his own squire. A few days earlier, after seeing the boy's battle record, he had felt a sudden urge to do exactly that instead of handing him over to Vortimer.

A squire that strong would help him a great deal, at least on a battlefield, where he would have a capable assistant instead of the current squires who still required his protection.

The thought had only passed through his mind before he discarded it. He did not have the time or energy to train a commoner. More importantly, he did not think Alden would be able to go very far.

After draining the mead in great gulps, Joel felt a powerful need to piss. He stood, swayed a little, and walked out of the tavern. Two large cups of mead had already left him half drunk. Outside, he looked around, found a secluded spot beside the building, and prepared to relieve himself.

As he freed himself and began emptying his bladder, he never noticed the man slipping up behind him. A club rose and came down hard. As Joel fell, the attacker searched him quickly, took his purse, his sword, and every valuable thing on him. Even the bearskin cloak was not spared.

Inside the tavern, Alden had no idea that Joel had just been attacked and robbed. He was still eating the food before him with careful patience.

He looked refined only because the food was terrible. Raisins had been baked into the bread, and the crust had been brushed with honey, but the loaf itself was hard enough that each bite demanded a long struggle before he could chew it small enough to swallow.

He badly wanted to throw the bread away. Then he thought of all the worse food he would have to face in the future. If he did not learn to endure it now, it would be too late to start later.

While he was still wrestling with the bread, two people entered the tavern, one tall and one short. They swept their eyes over the room, saw that Alden sat alone at his table, and came over. Without a word of greeting, they took the two other seats.

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