A Chance Meeting

"Those seats are taken." Alden forced down the food he had finally chewed apart and spoke to the two strangers in front of him.

The tall middle-aged man frowned, clearly about to answer, but the shorter boy stopped him. The boy smiled at Alden and said, "We will sit only for a short while. When your companion returns, we will leave. Is that acceptable?"

The boy looked about ten. He was a little plump, and his face still held the innocence of childhood, yet his words and manner seemed old beyond his years. It did not feel entirely natural. It was more like he was deliberately imitating someone.

His voice was pleasant as well, clear and bright, like a songbird. It seemed to carry some gentle force of the heart, giving his words a strange warmth and persuasiveness.

Alden studied the young noble with interest, then said nothing more. He could guess that the two were likely a noble boy who had slipped out at night and the knight guarding him. There was no need to create conflict over a seat.

The tall man, however, did not relax. He sat to the boy's right, placing himself between the noble and the tavern aisle while keeping the boy against the wall. If anything unexpected happened, he could shield him at once.

At the same time, he did not loosen his attention on Alden. The eyes beneath his hood flicked over him every so often.

The surveillance was too obvious for Alden to miss, and it made him curious about the guard's origins. The man had only sat beside him and looked at him twice, yet Alden already felt a strong pressure from him. Before this, he had felt that only from Joel Flowers.

He sensed the pressure, but he did not show it. He did not even acknowledge the man's watchfulness. Instead, he kept to his own rhythm and slowly finished the food in front of him, focused as if the two people at his table, and everyone else in the tavern, did not exist.

That composure caught the young noble's interest. It was the first time he had seen someone remain so calm under his sword teacher's gaze.

As he looked Alden over with curiosity, the boy noticed the two hand-and-a-half swords at his waist. A playful smile touched his face, and he guessed with great confidence, "You like the Bear-Hunter's story too, do you? You even wear twin swords to imitate him. My little brother does the same."

Alden glanced down at his swords and asked back, "You do not like the Bear-Hunter?"

"Not very much." The boy shook his head, making no attempt to hide his opinion. "His story is too exaggerated. It does not feel real. It sounds more like something a singer made up to improve the song. I prefer true stories, like Dorne resisting Aegon the Conqueror."

At that moment, the Bear-Hunter's song rose again in the tavern. It seemed someone had requested it. The crowd began to sing along.

The earliest version of the song had not been the one singers were spreading now. That first attempt had been adapted from a country tune from the Reach by a few singers passing through White Village. In truth, they had done little more than change the words of an existing melody and fit the Bear-Hunter's story into it.

Because of that, the first version had not traveled far. Those who heard it cared more about the tale itself than the song.

The current version, however, came from Alden. He had taken the theme of an old game from his former life, one about a dragonborn hero, changed the words, and turned it into the Bear-Hunter's song. Its epic force pleased the common people, and the singers were eager to spread it. That only quickened the growth of his reputation.

The young noble might not like the Bear-Hunter's story, but he clearly loved the song. When it began, he started humming along, his head moving slightly with the rhythm. His delight was plain.

Only when the song neared its end did he return to himself. He saw Alden watching him with amusement, and embarrassment flickered across his face. He could not resist explaining, "I only like the song."

"No need to explain," Alden said calmly.

The boy pouted in a childish way, displeased by Alden's response. That flash of temper seemed far closer to his true self. The mature composure from earlier had been the disguise.

He soon put the childishness away and said, "I may not like the Bear-Hunter's story, but I admire his talent. To write such a good song is no small thing. I heard he used to be only a hunter. I wonder where he learned such knowledge."

Alden stilled for an instant. Only he and Ryman Webber knew that he had written the song, and Ryman had been the one to spread the tale. Yet this young noble already knew. That made Alden curious about the family standing behind him.

Then he frowned. His eyes sharpened suddenly, not because the boy had done anything unexpected, but because he had realized Joel had been gone too long. Something must have happened.

The change in Alden's expression caused the knightly guard to misunderstand. The man shifted until he faced Alden directly. His hooded eyes fixed on him, and his hand moved to the hilt at his waist, ready to draw the moment Alden made any unusual movement.

If the pressure from the guard had earlier been like waves along a riverbank, it now became the sea under a storm. One careless breath might bring destruction.

Alden did not know why the knight had suddenly turned so aggressive, but he was not the sort to sit still and wait for death. As the other man's hand moved to his sword, Alden's hand also settled on his own hilt. Their eyes met, neither yielding.

The young noble was not the target of either man, yet even he felt the danger pouring from them. He did not understand why a pleasant conversation had turned into drawn tension, but his trust in his teacher made him slide back slightly, away from Alden and behind the knight.

Just as the air around the table grew wrong, the tavern door was shoved open from outside. A tall figure came staggering in, rubbing the back of his head and cursing without pause. It was Joel Flowers, who had just been attacked and stripped of everything valuable.

Alden saw him enter. The tightness in his expression eased slightly, but his hand did not leave his hilt. He remained locked in the standoff with the knight.

Joel came to their table without even looking at the boy or the guard. He glared at Alden and snapped, "You did not notice I was gone for a while?"

"I noticed just now," Alden said, not at all intimidated by Joel's anger. "Then I thought that after pissing, you might need to shit as well, so I paid it no mind." He looked Joel up and down, taking in the man's miserable appearance. "Were you robbed?"

"Is that not obvious?" Joel spread his hands and shot back.

Alden was nearly speechless. "You are a famous swordmaster of the Reach."

Embarrassment appeared on Joel's face, but his mouth remained stubborn. "Can a swordmaster not be robbed after getting drunk?"

Alden did not argue. "What do we do now?"

"What do you mean, what do we do?"

"Everything valuable on you was taken, was it not?" Alden pointed at the empty cups and plates on the table. "How are we paying?"

Joel froze, then pointed at him. "You can pay. You earned plenty of reward from the battle. Surely that is enough for a tavern bill."

Expressionless, Alden said, "I sent all of my money to Old Baine. I do not have a copper on me."

Joel stared at him in shock. "You followed me south without carrying any money?"

Alden looked back at him. "I had you, my lord. With you beside me, I assumed there would be no lack of expenses. Besides, in Goldengrove, were you not the one who said you would pay for everything on the road?"

"I..." Joel remembered that he had indeed said those words and found himself unable to answer.

Then Alden sniffed, as if catching a strange smell. His expression turned peculiar. "You did not piss yourself just now, did you?"

Joel's shame and anger reached their peak. For one instant he wanted to draw his sword, cut Alden down, and then kill every other witness. Unfortunately, his sword had been stolen along with his valuables. In the end, he could only point at Alden, speechless, his trembling hand revealing exactly how he felt.

"Ha! This is too good. Too good!" A laugh broke the awkward air around the table. The young noble had abandoned all dignity and was clutching his stomach as he laughed. As if speaking to an acquaintance, he said to Joel, "I never thought our great swordmaster of the Reach, Ser Joel Flowers, had such an amusing side. No one would believe this even if I told them."

Only when the boy spoke did Joel notice two strangers at the table. In the dim light from the tavern wall, he recognized their faces, and surprise leapt into his own. "Lord Garlan. Ser Vortimer. What are you doing here?"

At Joel's words, Alden immediately understood that the young noble and the knightly guard were the very people they had come to find: Garlan Tyrell and Ser Vortimer Crane.

Joel knew Garlan Tyrell fairly well. After Barristan the Bold praised Joel's swordplay, Lord Mace Tyrell had once invited him to teach Willas Tyrell for a short time. It had lasted only a month, but Garlan often followed his elder brother then, so he was familiar with Joel.

As for Vortimer Crane, there was even less need to explain. He and Joel were the two great swordmasters of House Crane and had crossed blades many times. They belonged to different factions, but their personal relationship was not poor.

Joel's identity made Vortimer lower his guard against Alden. He tilted his head slightly and looked at Joel's bedraggled state. Since they knew each other well, his tone was casual. "Should you not be in Red Lake celebrating your victory? Why come to New Barrel? To sell spoils? That hardly requires a great knight like you."

"No. I came to New Barrel to find you," Joel said.

"Me?" Vortimer looked puzzled, then seemed to think of something. His gaze moved to Alden. "Do not tell me that after seeing my squire perform well the last time we crossed swords, you found a squire of your own just to show him off." He spoke with blunt honesty. "I will admit, this one is not bad. I do not know his swordwork yet, but in courage and bearing, at least, he already looks like a true knight."

Joel looked at Alden in surprise. He knew Vortimer's nature and how hard it was to win the man's approval. He had only been gone a short while, yet Alden had already earned praise from him. Joel wondered what had happened in that time.

He soon pulled himself away from the thought and said, "You are mistaken. He is not my squire. He is the squire I mean to recommend to you."

"Recommend to me?" Vortimer paused, clearly confused.

"Let me introduce him." Joel pointed at Alden. "Alden. Alden the Bear-Hunter."

"Ah?" Garlan Tyrell cried out at once when Joel revealed Alden's identity. Then he remembered what he had said earlier, and embarrassment returned to his face.

Vortimer also studied Alden in surprise. He had heard many rumors about the Bear-Hunter recently, and like Garlan, he had thought them exaggerated and unreliable. Now his view shifted. The force Alden had shown earlier could already stand against his own. If the boy's swordwork matched that bearing, then perhaps those seemingly exaggerated feats were within reach after all.

While Vortimer measured him, Garlan recovered from his embarrassment and asked with fresh curiosity, "Lord Alden, is it true that you possess the most splendid twin-sword style in the Reach?"

"No," Alden said, shaking his head. Just as disappointment appeared on Garlan's face, he changed the turn of the sentence and spoke with complete confidence. "It is the most splendid twin-sword style in all Westeros."

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