After the ambush Craig became far more cautious. He now kept two riders scouting ahead at all times. The remaining guards were ordered to stay armored with weapons ready—able to fight at a moment's notice in any situation.
He even posted one man a hundred meters behind the column—ready to flee and carry word if disaster struck.
In Craig's own blunt words:
"If that Bolton bastard loses his temper and sends an army even Ser Rodney can't handle—at least Rodney will know how we died."
Those grim words weighed heavily on Ethan. For days he remained fully armored inside the carriage—poised to leap out and shock any attackers the instant trouble appeared.
No one could guarantee Craig's fears wouldn't come true.
After several uneventful days—whether their bad luck had finally run its course or for some other reason—the journey proceeded smoothly.
The caravan continued south beside the widening White Knife River. Upon entering lands controlled by House Manderly Ethan immediately noticed the change: far higher population density.
The road itself had become broad, solid, and well maintained—clear evidence of serious investment.
Travelers crowded the way; small patrols of chainmailed soldiers passed regularly. The merman sigil on their surcoats marked them as Manderly men.
Compared with House Corbray—whose main income came from traditional land rents—House Manderly clearly placed far greater importance on protecting and maintaining trade routes.
The tension that had gripped the caravan members for days finally eased.
As long as House Bolton had no intention of sparking open rebellion in the North they would never dare strike a caravan under such heavy escort and visibility.
When the White Knife broadened into a proper estuary the weary caravan at last reached a bustling market town.
Craig told Ethan they would rest here one more night and enter White Harbor itself by morning.
House Manderly had migrated from the Reach to the North more than a thousand years earlier. Accepted by the King in the North they were granted the Wolf's Den—a military stronghold at the mouth of the White Knife—and the surrounding lands as their fief.
The White Knife itself rose in the Lonely Mountains near the Wall, flowed south through the entire North, entered Bite Bay, and emptied into the sea at White Harbor.
Before the Manderlys took control countless families had tried to hold the site. None succeeded. Their keeps were repeatedly captured by pirates, slavers, and Vale knights—each using the position as a staging ground to raid the North.
Only when the Manderlys settled at the Wolf's Den and poured their wealth into rebuilding did a true city rise outside the old stronghold—White Harbor.
The great river—once a wound cutting deep into the North—became a commercial artery carrying goods and riches.
Over the past thousand years White Harbor had grown into the fifth-largest port in all of Westeros.
Through skillful management House Manderly amassed enormous wealth—and the military strength that wealth could buy.
In gratitude to House Stark they remained among the most loyal bannermen of the King in the North for a millennium.
Peace—and the trade that peace enabled—became the foundation of the city.
With a gentle creak the carriage rolled to a stop.
Kevin turned back toward the interior.
"Teacher—we've arrived."
"Arrived where?"
Ethan leaned against the side panel and looked out. A towering white wall rose before them. In the distance lay the endless sea dotted with countless ships of every color and rig.
Kevin answered simply:
"White Harbor. Our destination."
*White Harbor… it really does deserve the name.*
But the wall was visible—so they were still outside the city. Why had they stopped?
Ethan asked, puzzled:
"So what now?"
"We're queuing to enter. There's another group ahead of us. We have to wait until they're cleared."
"Then wake me when we're inside." Ethan started to lie back down.
"But Mr. Craig said the city guards will inspect personnel and cargo soon… and the inspection might be a bit rough…"
Hearing that Ethan immediately remembered old movies—soldiers casually plunging bayonets into haystacks on wagons.
After a brief hesitation he crawled forward and sat beside Kevin.
"Kevin—how much coin do we have left?"
Kevin tilted his head back and calculated.
"Four gold dragons, sixty-two silver stags… and a bunch of copper stars."
Since the formal master–apprentice bond had been established no financial barriers remained between them.
Out of trust—and to avoid trouble—Ethan had given Kevin responsibility for managing their shared travel funds (the "public account").
The personal wealth Ethan had brought from Azeroth remained his private reserve, still kept on his person.
Outside Horwood Craig had used his connections to convert the seven captured horses—plus the weapons and armor left by Ramsay's "good lads" (the black-clad raiders)—into coin.
The total came to fifteen gold dragons.
By agreed contribution in the battle Craig awarded Ethan four gold dragons. The remaining eleven were divided equally among the surviving caravan members.
Though each man received only one gold dragon—for an ordinary family that single shining coin could support careful living for more than half a year. And they had survived. No one grumbled that Ethan had received more.
Even for Ethan four gold dragons represented serious money.
Throughout the journey—out of curiosity and concern about food safety—Ethan had frequently taken Kevin into villages to buy supplies directly.
After much haggling he had learned that in most parts of Westeros five copper coins could buy either a loaf of decent bread or a simple sausage.
Using Earth prices as reference: a bottle of good pure-grain beer cost about seven yuan; a pure-meat sausage around five yuan.
One gold dragon exchanged for 210 silver stags.
One silver stag exchanged for 56 copper coins.
Thus one gold dragon ≈ 11,760 copper coins.
Converted to Earth equivalents—four gold dragons roughly equaled more than 60,000 yuan. No small sum.
Despite Ethan's occasional generous spending along the way he had used only about thirty to forty silver stags so far.
Generally speaking—thanks to well-developed distribution networks—prices in large cities tended to be lower than in remote rural areas (except for certain fresh foods).
If he explored White Harbor properly and shopped wisely the money would go quite far.
Just as he was mentally tallying how best to spend it the caravan rolled slowly forward.
In moments their turn arrived at the gate.
A young soldier in chainmail and livery asked for names, made a quick visual check of the cargo to confirm entry tax had been prepaid, then waved them through.
The inspection was far gentler than Ethan had imagined.
Or perhaps his idea of "rough" simply differed from local standards.
Once inside the gates the caravan moved along broad cobblestone streets until it reached a crowded warehouse district in the outer harbor.
This area had been specially set aside for transient caravans to store goods during transactions.
Merchants would negotiate prices, sign contracts, then complete loading or unloading directly at the warehouses before moving cargo to ships.
Because of their schedule the caravan arrived before noon.
Idle loaders—who had been squatting in corners waiting for work—swarmed the wagons under direction from the caravan crew and began unloading.
Ethan and Kevin hopped down with their personal gear and stood at the roadside.
While young workers directed the unloading Craig approached Ethan and extended his hand.
"Sir—this journey would have ended in disaster without you. None of us would have seen White Harbor's walls again."
Ethan shook firmly.
"No—it was my duty. How long will you stay here?"
"Not long. Buyers for most of this cargo were already arranged before we left. We just need to deliver to the warehouses and complete handover.
According to plan we'll depart again early on the morning three days from now."
Craig hesitated, then asked:
"What about you? You're really not coming back with us?"
Ethan shook his head.
"We plan to find a ship to King's Landing. I've heard there are more opportunities there."
Craig had known Ethan's intentions from the beginning so he wasn't surprised.
"Except for Old Ollie and Johnny who'll stay to watch the goods the rest of us will be at Harbor Nights Inn—we always use it when we're here.
If you can't find a decent place feel free to join us.
Of course—if you want to experience White Harbor's… full atmosphere… don't feel obligated."
Craig gave a knowing wink.
Ethan returned an awkward smile.
"Okay. If the timing works I'll drop by."
He understood exactly what Craig meant.
In this era both merchant caravans and sailors risked their lives for coin. Along the way they faced powerful lords, rival traders who might turn robber, and constant tension.
When they finally reached a safe city the men naturally sought to unwind.
In a major trading hub like White Harbor that urge created a very profitable industry.
Moreover White Harbor was one of the greatest ports in Westeros—merchants arrived from every corner of the known world. Related businesses thrived.
Ethan, however, had zero interest.
No chance.
He had no faith that service workers in Westeros practiced anything resembling modern hygiene or protection.
One strange disease and the Sunwalker would drop dead in a heartbeat.
Since his agreement with Rodney had been only to escort the caravan as far as White Harbor—and responsibility for cargo handover security no longer fell on him—Craig did not press.
He shook Ethan's hand solemnly.
"Safe travels, my friend. And may your future shine bright."
Ethan returned the grip firmly.
"And to you—prosperous business and a thriving family."
With that Ethan and Kevin took their leave.
White Harbor was divided into two main districts: the inner harbor and the outer harbor.
The inner harbor served as a military port—home to House Manderly's warships and the exclusive berth for noble visitors arriving by sea.
The outer harbor was open to merchant vessels and common folk. It bustled with trade and was far more prosperous.
Inns of every class dotted the streets of the outer harbor—catering to every purse.
Kevin had visited White Harbor once before with his uncle Thomas and stayed for a while.
During that trip the two had lodged at a modest inn called the White Salmon near Fishmonger's Square in the outer harbor.
Though named the White Salmon the only thing fish-like about it was the painted sign above the door. Nothing on the menu had anything to do with salmon—much to Ethan's quiet disappointment. He had really wanted to try salmon sashimi.
Ethan—still half-hoping—asked the innkeeper:
"You really don't have salmon here?"
The owner—a middle-aged man with a thick beard, bald head, and substantial belly—looked at him like he'd asked something absurd.
"I just named it that for luck.
This little place doesn't carry fancy seafood.
If you want salmon you'll have to go inside the inner city and see if any nobleman's favorite tavern has leftovers."
"Never mind then. Just give us a room with two beds."
"Two silver stags a night—includes breakfast and dinner."
The owner pulled a brass key from a drawer behind the counter.
"How many nights?"
"So expensive?"
Kevin was genuinely surprised. His uncle had paid last time so he'd never known the exact rate. He had simply remembered the inn as comfortable and brought Ethan here.
"I never imagined one night here would cost two silver stags! Two silver stags!"
The innkeeper snorted.
"This is White Harbor—not some backwater hamlet. Two silver stags gets you a clean, safe room and good, filling meals. What more do you want?"
Ethan patted Kevin's shoulder to stop the protest.
"If it's worth the price—book us for ten days. Pay day by day?"
"Pay one day in advance and the room is yours. If you don't pay tomorrow I'll clear out your gear, clean the room, and rent it to someone else."
Kevin reluctantly fished two silver stags from the pouch and handed them over.
The owner passed him the key.
Master and apprentice climbed to the third floor and opened the door.
Inside Ethan checked the bedding and general cleanliness. The two-stag room really was noticeably better than the inn in Rockfall Village.
Gray linen sheets lay over wool felt padding; the blankets were thick wool—comfortable and warm.
After stacking their gear in the corner Ethan opened the window.
The sea lay just beyond—salty breeze carrying a faint fishy tang rushed in.
"Kevin—want to go for a walk?"
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