Four days later.
In the study.
Don Quixote pointed to a stack of parchment on his desk and instructed, "Warren, from now on, whenever the Bloody Hand Mercenary Company takes on a contract, we use written agreements.
"I've already signed these and sealed them with my personal beeswax signet. All you need to do is fill in the specific details of the contract in the blank spaces, then have the employer sign and seal it."
Don Quixote's personal signet was a simple windmill crest.
The stack of parchment was a formal contract template he had designed himself. It was a cross-cut indenture—meaning two copies were written on a single piece of parchment, with a wax seal stamped directly over the dividing line.
The parchment would then be cut through the seal. The contract was only considered valid if the two halves of the seal matched perfectly when brought together—a reliable method to prevent forgery or tampering.
While these formal templates were drafted under Don Quixote's personal name rather than the Bloody Hand's, he figured the clients wouldn't mind.
In fact, to most people in White Harbor right now, Don Quixote's personal honor carried far more weight and guarantee than the mercenary company's reputation.
Warren blinked, looking a bit confused by the sudden formality. But he didn't question it.
"Don't worry, My Lord," he said solemnly. "I will guard these contracts with my life, and I'll make sure to double-check every single detail before anything is signed.
"I will handle this with the utmost caution. I won't let anyone try to frame or extort you!"
In both Westeros and Essos, a written contract bearing a wax seal carried immense legal weight. If these blank, pre-signed contracts fell into the wrong hands, it could spell absolute disaster.
Don Quixote smiled. "I trust you."
He then spent some time going over a few final details with Warren.
---
The next day.
After packing all their essential gear, Don Quixote and his retinue left their residence and rode toward the gates of White Harbor.
His current home in the city was a sizable manse located near the New Castle and the Sept of the Snows. He had purchased it outright, spending a hefty sum of Gold Dragons.
The smaller house he had previously rented was now serving as the temporary headquarters for the Bloody Hand Mercenary Company. Warren had fully moved in there a few days ago.
It didn't take long for the group to cross the Seal Gate Square and arrive at the Seal Gate itself.
A sharp-eyed guard spotted Don Quixote approaching and immediately bowed.
"Ser Don Quixote!"
Hearing this, the other guards quickly caught on, bowing respectfully one after another.
"Ser Don Quixote!"
Don Quixote smiled and nodded to each of them.
Just then, a captain of the guard—who had just finished inspecting a merchant caravan—rode over. Seeing Don Quixote's loaded horses, he grinned.
"Ser Don Quixote! Are you finally heading out to your new lands?"
Don Quixote recognized the man. Ser Jeremy Burley, a sworn sword to Lord Manderly and a captain in the White Harbor city watch.
"I am, Ser Jeremy," he replied smoothly.
Jeremy let out a whistle of admiration. "You've got more patience than I do, Ser! It's been days since the tourney. If I'd just been granted a fief, I would've ridden out that very night just to look at it!"
Don Quixote laughed. "Haha, trust me, I've been itching to go. If I didn't have so many loose ends to tie up here in the city, I'd have left ages ago."
Jeremy chuckled before adding, "We should grab a drink together sometime, Ser Don Quixote."
"Next time I'm in White Harbor, I'll hold you to that, Ser Jeremy," Don Quixote replied warmly. "Don't try telling me you're too busy when I come looking."
"Never!" Jeremy laughed. "For you, Ser Don Quixote, I'll always make the time."
Exchanging a few more pleasantries with Jeremy and the guards, Don Quixote led his group through the Seal Gate and out of the city.
They rode in silence for a short stretch before Warren, who had come along to see them off, suddenly chuckled.
"My Lord, I remember when we first arrived in White Harbor. Those guards weren't nearly as friendly back then."
Don Quixote shook his head with a wry smile. "It hasn't been that long... but a lot has happened. It feels like everything has changed.
"Alright, Warren, this is far enough. We can take it from here."
Warren nodded, bowing deeply to Don Quixote and the rest of the departing group.
"May the Old Gods and the New watch over you all, My Lord."
They parted ways. But Don Quixote's group hadn't gone much further when a loud, urgent shout echoed from behind them.
Don Quixote turned in his saddle to see two young women galloping wildly down the road toward them, flanked by two White Harbor guards.
He reined in his horse, waiting until they caught up before offering a polite nod.
"Lady Wynafryd, Lady Wylla. A good morning to you both."
It was Lord Wyman Manderly's two granddaughters.
Wynafryd had clearly ridden hard; she pulled her horse to a stop, panting heavily, her cheeks flushed bright red.
Wylla, on the other hand, seemed entirely unbothered. She blinked her large eyes and crossed her arms.
"Hey, Ser Knight! Were you just going to sneak out of White Harbor without saying goodbye? My sister was practically—"
Still struggling to catch her breath, Wynafryd panicked and cut her off. "Wylla, don't you dare!"
Wylla tilted her head innocently, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Sister, I haven't even said anything yet! What are you so nervous about?"
Don Quixote looked at the two girls. They were exactly as they had been at the tourney.
The elder, Wynafryd, possessed a gentle, quiet grace, though right now she looked adorably flustered.
The younger, Wylla, was a textbook troublemaker, her vibrant energy matching her golden brows and striking green braids.
Don Quixote smiled. "Your sister was practically what?"
Wynafryd shot Wylla a desperate glare before turning back to Don Quixote, refusing to give her sister another chance to speak.
"Ser Don Quixote, I... I wanted to give you a gift!" she blurted out.
The moment the words left her mouth, she realized she had just completely butchered the elegant, composed speech she had spent days practicing in her head. Her face instantly burned an even deeper shade of crimson.
Don Quixote was slightly taken aback, but a warm smile quickly returned to his face.
"I would be honored to accept a gift from you, Lady Wynafryd. Though, I must apologize... I am completely unprepared. I have nothing of equal value to offer you in return."
Having finally gotten the words out, Wynafryd visibly relaxed, a soft smile gracing her lips.
"You already gave me the greatest gift of all at the tourney, Ser Don Quixote."
She paused, her voice dropping to a shy murmur. "I've been trying to decide what to give you for days. Thank the Gods you didn't leave too early, or I would have missed you.
"I'm so glad I caught you in time.
"Here, Ser. Please don't judge it too harshly! It was my first time trying to make something like this, so it's not perfect."
Don Quixote reached out and accepted the bundle she held out to him.
It was a thick, heavy wool sweater, dyed a warm, earthy brown.
He ran his hands over the coarse but sturdy fabric, then bowed slightly in his saddle.
"I love it, Lady Wynafryd. Thank you truly."
Wynafryd blushed furiously, mumbling a hasty, incoherent goodbye before violently jerking her horse around and galloping back toward the city as fast as she could.
At that moment, Wylla tossed something at Don Quixote as well, speaking in a rapid-fire rush:
"Hey, Ser! I hand-copied a collection of songs and poems for you!
"Look, I didn't know what to get you, so I just grabbed a few books from the library and mashed them together. Turns out they were all songs and poems.
"Read it when you're bored! But don't you dare mock my handwriting in your head!
"If I hear about it, you are dead meat!"
...