Gary woke before the sun rose, a heaviness in his mind. He had slept in short bursts, stirred by worries about the kingdom’s future. In the faint gray light, he washed his face with cold water from a chipped basin, then dressed in a simple tunic and boots. The halls were quiet as he made his way to the great hall, where he found Sir Alden already going over notes by a lone lantern.

“Good morning,” Gary said, his voice soft in the stillness.

Alden inclined his head. “Morning, Your Majesty. I’ve been reviewing our troop placements. The knights we sent to the southern route have settled in with the merchant guild’s guards. For now, things seem calm there.”

Gary let out a slight sigh of relief. “That’s good news. Any word from the eastern side? We heard rumors of armed riders near the border.”

Alden flipped through a set of parchment pages. “Our small militia has been patrolling near two villages. No direct sightings yet, but folks remain on edge. A few travelers claim to have seen men on horseback in the distance, but it could be anything—hunters, smugglers, or actual mercenaries.”

Gary pulled out a chair and sat. “We’ll have to keep watch. If we let our guard down, we risk disaster. What about Jenny? Have we received any letters from her?”

Alden shook his head. “Not yet. She must still be visiting the nobles who haven’t honored their pledges. She mentioned riding to at least two estates before returning. Travel can be slow, especially if the roads are in poor shape.”

Gary stared at the table, picturing Jenny on a dusty path, trying to reason with stubborn lords. He trusted her skills, but part of him still worried. A small escort might not be enough if danger lurked nearby. But he had little choice—someone had to confront these nobles.

After a brief meal of bread and cheese in the castle’s small dining area, Gary headed outside. The morning sun was just breaking over the horizon, lighting the courtyard in pale gold. Servants bustled with chores, and a few guards chatted near the gate. He spotted two farmers waiting by a cart loaded with sacks of grain, likely hoping to sell or barter.

He paused to greet them. “Good day. What brings you here so early?”

One farmer, a man with weathered features and a thin beard, bowed. “We heard the castle might pay fair coin for extra grain, so we brought a small surplus. Our village had a better harvest than expected.”

Gary’s face brightened. “That is a good sign. We do need more supplies. Let me direct you to the steward inside. He’ll handle the payment. Thank you for bringing this.”

The farmer’s eyes showed relief. “We’re glad to help. If trade grows stronger, we all benefit.”

Gary smiled, once again reminded that many simple folk wanted the kingdom to thrive. The big obstacles seemed to come from powerful figures hoarding their wealth or pursuing hidden plans.

He continued across the courtyard to a side area where a few knights were instructing new recruits. A cluster of villagers, most in plain clothes, practiced basic drills under the watchful eye of a knight named Sir Varlan. Gary halted by the fence, observing. The trainees looked clumsy, but they were eager, gripping spears with sweaty hands. Sir Varlan urged them to keep their feet steady.

Noticing Gary, Sir Varlan bowed slightly. “Your Majesty, these volunteers come from a nearby hamlet. They lost livestock to bandits last month, so they want to learn how to defend themselves.”

Gary nodded. “That’s good. The more people can handle basic defense, the less fear grips our farmland. Keep up the training. We might need more militias soon if any fresh threats rise.”

Sir Varlan agreed, then turned back to the recruits, barking commands as they resumed their stances. Gary watched for a few minutes, then headed to the stables. A stable boy held a saddled horse at the ready. Gary had decided to ride out to a small neighboring village that morning. He wanted to see how folks there were coping, especially now that the trade roads were slowly reopening.

Two guards joined him on horseback, and they set off. The castle’s gate swung wide, revealing a road that snaked over gentle hills. Early sunshine glistened on dew-soaked grass, and a cool breeze played across the fields. As they traveled, Gary noticed that some sections of the path had fresh repairs—someone had laid new gravel in potholes. It pleased him to see signs that their recent efforts were paying off.

They reached the village around mid-morning. Simple wooden huts stood around a central well. Chickens pecked at the ground, and a few dogs barked from behind fences. When Gary dismounted, a handful of villagers came out to greet him, eyes widening when they recognized the king. One older woman, leaning on a cane, approached with cautious steps.

“My lord,” she said, voice raspy, “it’s an honor to have you here. We rarely see the crown so close to our humble homes.”

Gary smiled gently. “I came to learn about your needs. How fares the harvest? Have you had any trouble with bandits or strange riders?”

The woman’s wrinkled face softened. “Our fields have produced decently. No big raids, though some men from nowhere stole a few tools last week. We chased them off with pitchforks. It’s been quiet since.”

He frowned slightly. “I’m sorry you faced thieves. We have people training in the city, and we can send a knight or two if more problems arise.”

She waved her cane. “We can manage. But yes, if big groups show up, we’ll need help. You can’t expect us old bones to chase them off forever.”

Gary looked around, taking in the sight of small children running across the dusty lanes, and a couple of men repairing a worn roof. “I see. We’ll work on a better system of alert, so you can call for reinforcements. Also, I suggest forming a small watch group, even if it’s just a few men rotating at night.”

A tall farmer stepped forward, nodding. “We’ve talked about that. Your words confirm it’s a good plan. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

They shared a brief conversation about tools, seeds, and the possibility of building a better road for carts to pass. The villagers seemed hopeful, though a hint of caution remained. Gary promised he would send word if new resources became available. Then he and his guards remounted and rode back toward the castle.

Along the way, they crossed paths with a lone rider wearing a hooded cloak. The stranger paused to let them pass but kept his face hidden. Gary’s guards eyed the figure warily. Gary gave a polite nod, but the rider said nothing, nudging his horse forward after they had gone by.

Sir Alden’s warning about strangers on the roads came back to Gary’s mind. He mentally noted the man’s cloak color—dark green—and the saddle’s shape. If trouble arose, maybe the man was involved. Yet he had no proof, so he simply filed the memory away.

Upon returning to the castle, Gary found a thick envelope waiting for him. The seal belonged to Lady Sabine, one of the few nobles who had shown real willingness to help. Curious, Gary broke the seal and read her letter. She described improvements on her land, plus a small squad of men she had begun training for local defense. Better still, she wanted to donate a portion of grain for the crown to distribute among needy villages. Gary felt gratitude flood him. Lady Sabine’s example might spur others to act, if they could be shamed or inspired into stepping forward.

He shared the news with Sir Alden, who grinned. “At least some of the higher-ups keep their word. That’s more than we can say for certain others.”

Gary sighed. “Yes. If only more followed her lead. We might have enough to arm more militias or support the guild’s efforts. Right now, every handful of coin matters.”

They spoke briefly about sending an official thank-you letter to Lady Sabine, then parted ways. Gary headed inside, stepping into the great hall. There, he noticed a young messenger leaning against a pillar, sipping water. Spotting Gary, the messenger straightened.

“Your Majesty, a rider just arrived from the eastern militia. He brought these notes.” The messenger handed over a small bundle of parchment. “He’s resting by the stables now.”

Gary thanked him and unrolled the parchment. The notes contained brief updates from the eastern region: still no solid proof of a large hostile force, but some watchers had glimpsed distant shapes at dusk. They suspected mercenaries scouting the land. The militia advised caution and asked for more supplies, as they were running low on arrows and basic gear.

Gary felt a pang of frustration. “We can’t stay half-armed forever,” he muttered. “But we can only do so much with limited metal and coin.”

He hurried off to the blacksmith’s forge, hoping Royce had found a solution. The forge was warm, lit by a glowing bed of coals. Royce stood by the anvil, hammering a metal bar. Sparks danced in the air. When he paused to cool the piece, Gary approached.

“Royce, do we have enough materials to forge more arrows and spare spears? The eastern militia needs them.”

The blacksmith wiped sweat from his forehead. “I can do a small batch, but we’re nearly out of good iron. We have scrap metal that might make arrowheads, though they won’t be top quality.”

Gary nodded. “Do what you can. Maybe we can trade for better supplies soon.”

Royce set the iron aside and rubbed his arms. “I’ll give it my best effort, Your Majesty. Hopefully, more ore comes in from the northern hills soon. That was the plan, right?”

Gary recalled the idea to reopen old mines once the roads were safer. “Yes, we’re trying to secure the routes, but it’s slow going. Still, don’t lose hope.”

A short time later, Gary heard the clatter of hooves outside. He stepped out of the forge to see a small group of riders entering the courtyard. Leading them was Jenny, looking dusty yet determined, with two guards behind her. Relief washed over Gary as he walked up to greet her.

She swung off her horse, breathing hard. “I’m glad to be back. The roads were rough, and we saw signs of possible bandit camps, but no direct attacks. How are things here?”

Gary gave her a quick summary: Lady Sabine’s generosity, the eastern militia’s requests, and the small progress with farmland. Jenny nodded, then handed him a sheaf of papers. “I got statements from some nobles. They made all sorts of excuses, but I managed to get partial commitments from two of them—some coin, plus a promise to send harvest goods next month. One lord outright refused to see me, though. Another said he’d only give help if the crown offered him a new title. He’s playing politics.”

Gary groaned, scanning her notes. “So we’ll see a trickle of support, but nowhere near what we need.”

“Yes,” Jenny said. “I also learned that certain lords fear Rodrik might invade soon. They’re hesitant to deplete their own stockpiles in case they must defend their estates. They act as though the crown’s defense doesn’t help them, when it truly does.”

They found a quiet corner of the courtyard to continue talking. Gary flipped through Jenny’s papers, pausing at a name. “This lord wants a new title? How can he ask for more while the kingdom is at risk?”

Jenny shrugged, tiredness etched on her face. “He only cares about his standing. Maybe if we show him that Rodrik’s threat will affect his lands first, he’ll change his tone. But we lack the time to pander to every whim.”

Gary scanned the castle yard, noticing the ongoing activities: recruits in training, travelers seeking lodging, a few merchants hoping to sell goods. “We’ll handle the worst offenders last. For now, let’s focus on the ones who at least offered partial aid. If we channel that aid smartly, we might strengthen the roads or the militias enough to deter large raids. Then, with a bit of luck, the rest will join in.”

Jenny nodded, running a hand through her hair. “Yes. I’ll set up a priority list. Also, we need to watch the eastern border carefully. Those armed riders might be the first wave of something bigger.”

Gary let her words sink in. War or large-scale invasion could break the kingdom wide open. Their best hope was to look strong, even if they had to bluff. “We’ll keep our scouts out there. The moment we see a large force, we raise the alarm.”

She patted his arm gently. “We’ll manage. One step at a time. Don’t forget to breathe.”

He nodded with a faint smile. He wanted to remain strong in front of the people, but inside, he felt the weight of each new hurdle. Even so, as he watched villagers joining training, farmers bringing extra grain, and Lady Sabine’s letter offering real help, he felt a small surge of resolve. Not everyone was selfish. Some wanted Arya to rise again.

By dusk, Gary and Jenny had compiled a new plan. They would allocate the partial funds from two lords to buy more supplies for the eastern militias. They would also distribute some of Lady Sabine’s grain to smaller villages that risked losing farmland to bandits. Meanwhile, they’d send more letters to the noble who demanded a title, politely reminding him that the safety of the kingdom outweighed personal ambition.

Once they finished, the night sky deepened into a tapestry of stars. Torches flickered around the courtyard, and the sounds of chatter faded into softer tones. Gary walked the battlements with Jenny at his side, the cool wind brushing against them.

He gazed out into the darkness. Somewhere beyond those rolling hills, armed riders might be plotting a strike, while certain nobles toyed with demands for titles. Yet here in Arya’s heart, knights drilled, farmers shared their surplus, and small steps of unity took shape. It was not a perfect land, but it was alive, inching forward.

Jenny leaned on the worn stone, her eyes on the distant horizon. “I see faint lights. Probably travelers passing through. It’s a sign the roads are somewhat safer.”

Gary joined her, letting the night air calm his thoughts. “Yes, safer for now. But we must keep pushing. Every day counts.”

She nodded. They stood there a while, in silence, drawing strength from each other. The tasks ahead were daunting, but they were not alone. As long as hope found fertile ground in the hearts of Arya’s people, they had a chance. And as Gary looked over the moonlit fields, he reminded himself that even the smallest seeds could grow, given enough care and determination.