Nathan froze on the spot, completely taken aback for a moment.
It took him a few seconds to process it before he blurted out in pleasant surprise:
"My Lord, you're taking on another squire? My son could actually be a squire?"
Don Quixote nodded and smiled:
"Of course! As long as you aren't opposed to the Faith of the Seven, your son might just become a true knight one day!"
Nathan hesitated for a moment, but finally said earnestly:
"The Old Gods would surely want my son to make something of himself too!"
The North was brutally cold, and its nights were long.
The howling blizzards of winter could easily snatch a person's life away.
The smallfolk relied on the forests to hunt, the frozen earth to farm, and the streams to draw water.
And the Old Gods were the gods of the forest! The gods of the stone! The gods of the streams!
Before stepping into the woods, a woodcutter would reach out to trace the grain of a weirwood tree, whispering a prayer for safe passage.
When sowing seeds, a farmer's wife would scatter a handful of grain in the direction of the godswood, praying for the frozen earth to yield a harvest.
If a child went missing in the woods, the family's first instinct wasn't to cry out, but to run to the godswood and light pine branches, begging the Old Gods to guide their child home.
For the common folk of the North, the practice of the Old Gods was incredibly simple.
There were no priests, and no holy texts.
It was entirely sustained by stories passed down by word of mouth, the warnings of their ancestors, and rituals handed down through generations.
The vast majority of the Northern smallfolk couldn't read or write.
They couldn't wrap their heads around the complex doctrines of the Faith of the Seven—the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, and the Stranger.
Nor could they memorize those elaborate prayers.
They only believed in the power they could see and touch.
The branches and leaves of the weirwood trees provided shelter from the wind and rain!
The shadows of the heart trees chased away the terror of the long, freezing nights!
The "presence" of the Old Gods was hidden in every blade of grass and every tree in the North. It was their sole spiritual pillar against a harsh, unforgiving world.
However, when the Andals sailed their longships from the continent of Essos across the Narrow Sea...
They launched an invasion of Westeros that lasted for centuries, bringing the Faith of the Seven with them.
Because of the extreme, bitter environment of the North, the spread of the Seven had always faced fierce resistance from the followers of the Old Gods.
In fact, the aggressive push of the Seven only caused the Northern smallfolk to cling to the Old Gods with even greater fervor and unity.
But centuries had passed.
As trade, intermarriage, and exiles from the South quietly trickled into the North...
Some Northern noble houses, looking to curry favor with Southern powers or to smooth over trade relations, chose to convert to the Faith of the Seven.
House Wells and House Ryswell, for example.
Within their lands, septs had begun to replace the godswoods in some areas.
And House Manderly, who controlled the largest port city in the North, was the core of the Faith of the Seven in the region.
Of course, this was tied to House Manderly's history.
They weren't native to the North; they were originally nobles from the Reach.
After being exiled due to political strife, House Stark took them in and granted them the Wolf's Den, which eventually became White Harbor.
House Manderly retained their Southern faith in the Seven, their knightly traditions, their culture, and their mercantile ways, turning White Harbor into the most prosperous commercial hub and primary port in the North.
Most members of House Manderly were knights, deeply influenced by Southern culture.
Within their main keep in White Harbor stood the massive "Sept of the Snows," one of the very few septs in the entire North.
Furthermore, the Faith of the Seven also arrived with Southern merchants.
They built small septs in various Northern towns and villages.
Using Southern fabrics, spices, and grain, they lured in the smallfolk who were struggling to survive.
Telling them, "Pray to the Mother to be fed and clothed; pray to the Smith for iron tools."
And so, the tug-of-war between the Seven and the Old Gods woven into the daily lives of the Northern smallfolk turned into a centuries-long, hidden conflict—one far more vivid and biting than the political maneuvering of the nobles.
In many cases, the faith of the Northern smallfolk was a mashup of both belief systems!
Especially in certain situations, some commoners would pray to the Seven while also offering sacrifices to the Old Gods, adopting a unique "dual-faith" survival strategy.
Their reason for once staunchly believing in the Old Gods was to survive the bitter cold of the North.
It was all about staying alive!
And now, their reason for accepting the simplified teachings of the Seven...
Was also to stay alive!
In those moments of pure desperation, when they couldn't see any hope or find a way out, they would seize any opportunity that might turn their luck around.
That was when...
Old beliefs would waver, and new ones would take root!
————
Don Quixote wasn't surprised by Nathan's choice.
It was partly due to his careful observation of Nathan over the past month.
But it was also because he intimately understood the crisis of faith facing the Northern smallfolk.
After all, he had spent the entire first half of his current life scraping by at the very bottom of Northern society, living among the poor.
Their despair, their hopes.
He had experienced them to some degree.
It was only because the memories of his past life were so strong...
Otherwise, he probably would have become a devout follower of the Old Gods, or the Seven, or perhaps a mix of both by now!
Don Quixote thought for a moment and smiled:
"Bring your son here tomorrow morning."
"Yes! My Lord! I'll bring him right over first thing tomorrow!" Nathan agreed hastily, a genuine smile breaking across his face.
Once Nathan's figure disappeared into the distance, Don Quixote and Adele went back to drinking ale and eating meat by the campfire.
After they had eaten their fill.
Adele whispered with anticipation:
"My Lord, I want to go to the trade market too. Can I?"
Don Quixote naturally wasn't going to say no. He nodded:
"If you want to go, tag along."
Hearing this, Adele, who was leaning against Don Quixote's chest, couldn't hide her joy.
She looked up, sneaking a glance at his profile, and then, while he wasn't paying attention...
She gave his earlobe a quick, light nip, instantly jumped up, and ran into the wooden cabin:
"My Lord, I'm going to go change."
"Where did she pick up that bad habit? Oh, right, I probably encouraged it." Don Quixote froze for a second, muttered to himself, and stood up.
He cleaned up the somewhat messy camp and then brought his horse over.
Just then, Adele opened the wooden door.
She was wearing a short wool jacket, with a thick rim of white wool sewn around the collar and cuffs.
Over that, she wore a well-fitted animal skin cloak.
In her hand, she carried a small, coarse cloth basket. The rim was lined with oiled leather, and the handle was wrapped in soft leather.
Adele looked at Don Quixote expectantly.
As if waiting for his verdict.
Don Quixote looked at the pretty girl standing before him, with her soft pink lips and sparkling eyes. He blinked and finally managed to squeeze out one word:
"Beautiful."
Hearing this, Adele happily hurried over to his side.
Don Quixote scooped her up and set her on the horse before swinging up behind her.
The two of them bickered playfully as they rode toward the trade market outside Castle Cerwyn.
————
"Good day, My Lord!"
The freelance knights patrolling the perimeter of the market spotted Don Quixote and quickly approached to greet him respectfully.
"Keep up the good work."
Don Quixote gave them a brief nod and kept moving.
At the entrance to the trade market, Don Quixote and Adele dismounted.
The market was bustling with people coming and going.
The wooden stalls lining both sides were packed with all sorts of goods.
Many commoners were haggling with the merchants.
Plumes of smoke drifted up from the chimneys of the stone and wood huts.
The faint aroma of food hung in the air.
...