The moon was high and pale by the time they stopped riding. Hours had passed since they fled Strongsong, the mountain wind biting at their cloaks, howling through the jagged crags like the ghosts of old First Men kings. Tiber and Ser Benedar barely spoke a word. The hooves of their horses clattered against stone, and not once did Benedar look back.
They climbed higher, up narrow goat paths and over crumbling ledges until they found a small ridge nestled between two steep rocks. It wasn't much—barely enough room for a fire and two bedrolls—but it was hidden and high. It would do.
They dismounted. Pebbles snorted and pawed at the dirt, and Tiber gave her a soft pat before unsaddling her. The horses were fed and tied to a scrubby pine tree that clawed up from the rock. Benedar, silent as ever, just dropped to the ground with a groan and sat against a boulder. His head was hung low. His eyes empty.
Tiber lit a small fire, the flames crackling like bones in the silence.
Then Benedar moved.
Without a word, he stood and stalked over, fists clenched. Tiber barely turned before the punch came. A hard right hook that caught him square on the cheek and sent him stumbling sideways.
"You fucking bastard!" Benedar roared.
Tiber straightened, rubbing his jaw. "That hurt."
"You should've let me die!" Benedar shouted, voice raw. "I had nothing left. Nothing but her. And now… now she's gone."
Tiber steadied himself, blood tasting like copper in his mouth. "So that's your plan? Blame me for saving your life?"
"She was my life!" Benedar shouted again, chest heaving.
"And yet she cast you aside the moment her brother died," Tiber shot back, eyes narrowing. "She blamed us. Not the brother who swung first. Not the father who would've hanged you. Us."
Benedar surged forward again, another punch rising. But this time, he stopped short—his fist trembling inches from Tiber's jaw. He stood there, eyes wet with fury. Then his knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground like a sack of grain.
"She said she loved me…" he whispered. "She said she'd run away with me. Gods, she even talked of children. Of holding them in our arms."
Tiber didn't answer. He simply sat down beside him. The firelight danced across the ridge, casting long shadows behind them.
"I have nothing now," Benedar whispered, voice cracking. "No keep. No family. No purpose."
"You've got one thing," Tiber said. "You've got me a friend."
Benedar looked at him, face red and wet.
"You're a knight still," Tiber continued. "A hedge knight now, aye, but that's not nothing. We can fight for the smallfolk. We can make a name that isn't bound to some keep or some noble's favor."
Benedar didn't respond at first. But slowly, his sobs quieted. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his tunic. Then, unexpectedly, he pulled Tiber into a hug.
"We'll do it together," he said. "We'll protect the Vale. From mountain clans. From lords like Belmore. From men who think their gold gives them right over others."
Tiber nodded slowly. "Aye."
They sat there a while longer, watching the fire dwindle. Eventually, they lay down beneath the stars. Sleep came hard for Tiber, but it came nonetheless. He hoped that maybe—just maybe—this new purpose would anchor Benedar.
But by morning, the camp was empty.
Tiber sat up to cold ash and colder air. Benedar's bedroll was gone. His horse too. Not even a note left behind.
Tiber sighed, rubbing his eyes.
"Bloody idiot," he muttered.
He packed up what remained, saddled Pebbles, and followed the fresh hoofprints down the mountainside. The trail led him through winding paths and scattered pine forests. Around midday, it led him to a small roadside tavern nestled in a grove of stunted trees.
Benedar's horse was tied outside, tail swishing lazily.
Inside, Tiber heard shouting—and then the door slammed open.
Ser Benedar came flying out, drunk and limp, and crashed straight into Tiber. They fell to the ground in a heap, limbs tangled.
Tiber rolled free and stood. Benedar was groaning, face red, eyes glassy. Unconscious.
A pair of thuggish-looking men stepped out of the tavern, one with a crooked nose and the other with a missing tooth.
"This drunk owes us coin," said Crooked Nose, spitting on the ground. "Step aside."
Tiber didn't.
"No," he said, standing tall.
They laughed.
"Then we'll go through you," said the second man.
They lunged.
Tiber ducked the first swing and smashed his fist into the man's gut, then grabbed a stool propped by the door and cracked it over the second man's back. Wood splintered. The man went down.
Crooked Nose came at him with a dagger now, snarling, but Tiber grabbed the man's wrist and twisted until the knife clattered to the ground. He punched him hard across the face, and the thug stumbled back into a post and slid down to the dirt.
Tiber turned to Benedar, who was blinking awake. He groaned.
"Come on," Tiber said, offering a hand. "Time to go."
Benedar slapped it away and shoved himself upright.
"No," he slurred. "I don't want to go anywhere. Just leave me be."
"Don't be a fool," Tiber said. "You'll drink yourself to death."
"That's the point," Benedar snapped, climbing onto his horse. "I had a dream once. It's dead now. You can't understand that."
Tiber crossed his arms, jaw clenched. "If you want to die wallowing in ale and regret, fine. But I won't follow you into the grave."
Benedar looked down at him. "Then we're done here."
And with that, he rode off into the woods, weaving slightly in the saddle. Tiber stood in the dirt, watching him go, feeling a strange hollowness grow in his chest.
He stared after Benedar until he disappeared into the trees.
Then he mounted Pebbles, turned the opposite direction, and rode away without looking back.