Support me on patreon.com/c/Striker2025
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
POV: Arthur Snow
Location: Duskwatch – Hill-Town Inn
Duskwatch wasn't large enough to have a garrison, but it had fences, a watchtower, and an inn with rooms that didn't stink of mold. That made it the most civilized place Arthur's company had passed through since Winterfell.
They reached it by dusk, feet sore and clothes damp from the day's rain. The inn was built of gray timber and old stone, two stories tall and slouched to one side. But the common room was warm, the bread fresh, and the beer tolerable.
Arthur paid for two rooms.
Thom took one with Sarra. Garron muttered something about snoring and took the floor. Arthur kept the other room alone.
He didn't sleep much.
Old habits.
Just past midnight, something shifted in the air—too slight for a normal man to notice. A floorboard gave just enough to betray weight. Not heavy. Careful.
Arthur kept still.
He let his breathing stay slow. Kept his eyes closed. Felt the faintest movement near the edge of the bed.
A hand reached toward his satchel.
He moved.
In one clean motion, he rolled, caught the wrist, and shifted behind the figure, twisting her arm just enough to lock it without breaking anything.
She gasped—barely. She didn't scream.
She was small. Fast. Her breath was steady, despite being caught.
Arthur pressed a knee to the back of her leg and whispered, "You're either brave or stupid."
"Just hungry," the girl muttered.
He let go.
She didn't run.
She stepped forward, rolled her shoulder, and turned. She wore rough black clothes, padded for silence. Her hood had slipped back, revealing a sharp-jawed girl no older than twenty, with short-cropped red hair and fox-bright eyes.
"You didn't kill me," she said.
"I don't kill for practice."
"Not even for thieves?"
"Only the bad ones."
She smirked. "I thought I was good."
"You were quiet," Arthur said. "But you didn't check the mirror. I saw your reflection when you opened the door."
Her jaw tightened. Embarrassed.
Arthur stepped to the door, opened it. "Come downstairs."
She blinked. "What?"
"You tried to take something. Now I'll take your time."
They sat alone in the quiet common room, just past midnight. The fire in the hearth had gone down to a low smolder. Arthur poured a cup of water and set it across the table.
Redna didn't reach for it.
"You've been talking to the innkeeper," Arthur said quietly.
Her gaze didn't change, but her body stilled.
"You passed him a coin folded in a scrap of drycloth," Arthur continued. "His hands were shaking before he opened it."
"I'm just a girl who listens," she said.
Arthur leaned back. "You don't just listen. You collect. You sort. You filter."
Redna studied him carefully now. "You knew?"
"I noticed before we even ordered supper. The way he looked at Garron's hammer—then at the stairs. Measuring us."
"And you let him?"
Arthur nodded. "I wanted to see if you'd keep the information for yourself. Or pass it."
"I passed it."
"You did," Arthur said. "Smart. Quiet. Never left your seat."
She tilted her head. "What gave me away?"
"You didn't flinch when he told you about the guards going missing two nights ago. That wasn't news. It was confirmation."
Redna smiled faintly. "You see everything?"
"No," Arthur said. "But I see people trying not to be seen."
She looked at the fire. "So what now? You turn me in? Toss me to the watch?"
He shook his head. "I admire it."
That made her blink.
Arthur continued. "I don't want a thief. I want a handler. Someone who knows how to hear things worth hearing—and say nothing until it matters."
"You want me to spy?"
"I want you to build a network. Slowly. Quietly. Nothing too wide. Just people who know how to listen, who owe you favors, who can pass things discreetly."
"And you want it for yourself."
"For my group," Arthur said. "But you answer to me. No one else."
Redna took the cup, drank once, then asked, "What makes you think I'd say yes?"
Arthur met her gaze. "Because I won't chain you. I'll protect you. Fund you. And if you do it right, I'll make you rich before the rest of the world even knows your name."
Her lips pressed together. Thoughtful.
"You planning to play king, Snow?"
Arthur didn't answer right away.
Redna leaned back in the chair, watching the fire. Her voice softened—not out of kindness, but understanding.
"I'd heard the name," she said. "Arthur Snow. Thought you were some Stark loyalist with a clean sword and a clean face. Thought maybe you were a retainer with honor problems."
She turned back to him.
"You don't move like a knight. You don't talk like a lord. You don't even flinch like a sellsword."
Arthur waited.
"I saw you come into town," she went on. "Tired, road-dusted. Thought you were the kind of man I could lift a purse from and be gone before morning."
She smiled faintly.
"Guess I picked the wrong one this time."
"You picked the right one," Arthur said. "Just not for what you expected."
Redna studied him. "I've robbed men with sharper blades. Fought ones with heavier fists. You? You're quieter than all of them. That's worse."
Arthur said nothing.
She gave a small sigh, the edge of humor returning. "Bad luck, running into you."
He shook his head. "Good instinct. Wrong moment."
She drummed her fingers once on the cup. "What are you, really?"
"I don't know yet," Arthur replied. "But I know what I need."
"And I'm part of that?"
"You could be."
Redna tapped her fingers on the edge of the table.
"I have an old informant in Barrowton. Keeps ears on noble houses. Another girl in Last Hearth's kitchens who hears things before the stewards do."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You already started?"
"I was bored."
Arthur allowed the smallest smile.
Redna leaned forward. "If I do this, you don't mention me. Not to your companions. Not to your enemies. You get a whisper when I have one. That's all."
"Done," Arthur said.
She stood, slid the chair back with barely a sound.
"I'm not loyal."
"I didn't ask you to be."
Redna hesitated, then added, "You'll hear from my people in two weeks. If you don't… it's because I'm dead."
Arthur stood too. "You won't be."
She turned to go, then paused once more in the doorway.
"You're a strange man."
"I've heard worse."
Later, when Arthur returned to his room, Sarra was leaning near the hallway window.
"She's gone," she said.
"She wasn't staying."
"Friend or something else?"
Arthur paused. "She's the only one outside this room I trust to know what we don't."
Sarra arched an eyebrow. "That's dangerous."
"So is facing the unknown"