"Sheen Greyjoy?" Ethan frowned at the name. "Who's that?"
"Do you know the Iron Islands?" Lennar ladled himself a bowl of turnip soup from the iron pot, stirred it once, tasted, and grimaced. "This soup is so bland."
"We're out of coarse salt. I'll buy some tomorrow morning," Ethan replied, then pressed: "By the way—what are the Iron Islands? An island literally made of iron? That luxurious?"
Brother John—who was carefully carving a wooden likeness of the Crone under the light of a pine-oil lamp—spoke up without looking away from his work:
"The Iron Islands lie in Ironman's Bay in the Sunset Sea. Before Aegon Targaryen conquered them they were an independent kingdom ruled first by the Kings of the Iron Islands and later by the Kings of the Isles and the Rivers.
The people there call themselves the Ironborn. They have a saying: 'Every captain is a king.' That's why the islands are sometimes called the 'Land of Ten Thousand Kings.'
As for the name 'Iron Islands'—some say it's because the rocks are rich in iron ore. The Ironborn themselves claim it's because their people are hard as iron and will not bend.
The Greyjoys are the current lords of the Iron Islands—in practice just a particularly well-armed band of pirates."
John glanced sideways at Lennar.
"How do *you* know the Greyjoys? You didn't get tangled up with one of their women did you? Be careful—they're not forgiving."
"Come on—I wish," Lennar snorted. "Living off a woman would be so much easier."
He set his empty bowl back on the bench wiped his mouth and continued:
"Nine years ago didn't the Greyjoys raise a rebellion?
King Robert and Lord Eddard crushed them.
Their only surviving son—Theon Greyjoy—was taken as ward by Lord Eddard and raised in Winterfell.
Recently *Red Star Over China* has become quite popular around here. Lots of people coming to listen.
Every time I finish a chapter I casually mention: '…and the descendant of the great warrior Wilcon Cole is currently traveling in Winterhold.'
So this afternoon the boy came to me and said he wanted to meet you.
Don't go to the Wolf's Kiss tomorrow—make yourself presentable and come with me to the Smoked Wood this afternoon. Let's see what the little lordling wants."
Some things you plant deliberately and nothing grows—others you scatter carelessly and they bloom.
Ethan kept the thought to himself but felt quietly pleased.
"Fine. Call me when you're leaving tomorrow."
Because of his profession Lennar was often out late and returned even later—sometimes not at all.
When he stayed out all night he would slip back into the courtyard at dawn eyes shadowed and tired crawl into Ethan and Kevin's room with his blanket and sleep until afternoon—rising only when it was nearly time for his evening performance at the Smoked Wood.
Because of the appointment with Theon Greyjoy Lennar rose earlier today.
Just past noon after making himself presentable he collected Ethan—who had also cleaned up but still looked rather rough—and the two headed to the Smoked Wood finding a window table.
People in this world had a far looser sense of time than Ethan was used to.
"Afternoon" meant anytime between noon and sundown—being a few hours late still counted as punctual.
They waited a long while without anyone appearing.
Eventually Lennar left Ethan there to prepare for his evening set.
Ethan stayed behind nursing the tavern's so-called "specialty" apple cider passing time by mentally replaying old novels he once read.
"Cider? Women's drink."
Before Ethan could react a lean dark-skinned handsome young man with a sparse beard dropped into the opposite chair staring at him with open mockery.
"Are warriors from Seris all this soft?"
"Whether I'm soft or not we can test it with my pretty face—if your skin is tougher than this cup."
Ethan drained the rest of his cider in one long swallow.
Under the young man's startled gaze he slowly closed his fist around the sturdy wooden cup.
With a sharp series of cracks the vessel shattered into jagged pieces that clattered across the table.
The old cup-crushing trick never failed.
"Hey Rory—I accidentally broke your cup. That all right?"
"It's fine—just pay me back. Two bronze stars."
"Another cider—put it on Lennar's tab."
A moment later Rory brought a fresh cup.
Ethan ignored the broken wood scattered on the table and took a slow sip as though nothing had happened.
The young man studied him for a long moment cleared his throat and spoke:
"Let me introduce myself.
I am Theon Greyjoy—son and heir of King Balon of the Iron Islands and ward of Lord Eddard Stark."
Ethan extended his hand.
"A pleasure Lord Theon.
I am Ethan Cole—a wandering swordsman."
"Likewise." Theon shook briefly. "After hearing the bard sing of your ancestor's deeds I've been eager to meet you.
You truly are formidable.
Enough pleasantries—I have a job I'd like to offer. Interested?"
"Of course I'm interested—but I don't know whether I'm capable. Tell me first."
"Someone owes me eleven gold dragons in gambling debts.
I want you to help me collect."
Though Theon Greyjoy was Lord Eddard's ward raised alongside the Stark children and given the same education he was already nineteen.
As a ward he had no voice in Winterfell's governance—yet he also could not return to the Iron Islands.
He disliked studying and grew bored quickly with sword practice alongside the younger Stark boys.
Once his daily lessons were finished he preferred slipping into Winterfell to drink listen to music play cards and generally enjoy himself.
Some months earlier garrison commanders from across the North had arrived to deliver winter stores and pay respects to Lord Eddard.
Winterfell had been lively with so many visitors.
Theon—always generous with coin—took the chance to organize several private card games offering the visiting officers new entertainments while quietly filling his own purse.
In theory it should have been mutually beneficial: the duke's ward deigning to play with lesser men showing them city pleasures while they lost a modest sum—nothing serious.
But unexpectedly one man refused to accept the loss gracefully.
Ander Bacchus—garrison commander of Rabbitpaw Village beside the Wolfswood—lost heavily then slipped away the very next morning with his men leaving no IOU behind.
Theon was furious.
If everyone did that how could he keep running games?
"So Ethan—I'd like you to recover that money for me.
As reward—I'll pay you two gold dragons."
Collecting gambling debts… strong-arm debt recovery… how many years was that back home again?
"My lord—I have a question."
"Speak."
"There are plenty of capable men waiting for work at the Wolf's Kiss.
Why not hire one of them? Why come to me?"
Theon raised two fingers.
"Two reasons.
First—the men at Wolf's Kiss are hardened veterans.
Who knows which of them might be old comrades—or even kin—of Ander Bacchus? I don't trust them.
Second—Ander is after all a sworn man of my foster father Lord Eddard.
I don't want this to become a public scandal.
Too many men would make noise.
Better to send one or two quiet capable people slip in collect the debt and slip out again.
That requires real skill.
The bard says you killed sixteen pirates single-handed in Corbray lands.
If that's true—you're the best choice I can think of."
*Newcomer no local ties strong enough to be useful disposable if things go wrong.*
It all added up.
Ethan understood exactly what Theon wanted—and wanted to refuse.
But when he remembered the anxious look on Kevin's face last night reporting that their public purse now held only one gold dragon sixteen silver stags and a handful of coppers—he couldn't bring himself to say no.
After a moment's thought he looked troubled.
"I don't have any men right now—just my apprentice and me.
Besides I've only just arrived in Winterfell—I don't know the roads or the people…"
Theon leaned back arms crossed.
"So you don't want the job?"
"It'll cost more."
Theon shook his head.
"Not a copper more. Two gold dragons is already generous.
Rabbitpaw is only three days' ride from Winterfell.
If I weren't concerned about my foster father's reputation I'd ride there myself and collect it personally.
Here's my compromise: it's not fitting for you to go alone to collect a debt.
I'll provide a guide to show the way and bear witness—but he won't lift a finger to help.
You handle the rest yourself."
Ethan considered a long moment then nodded.
"Very well. I'll take the job."
After settling the details—they would meet at the Hunter's Gate of Winterfell two days later—Theon Greyjoy left first.
Ethan waited until Lennar finished his set then the two returned to the courtyard together.
Because the job had been mentioned in advance Kevin prepared dinner later than usual.
When Ethan and Lennar arrived the turnip-and-mushroom soup was still steaming filling the room with its distinctive vegetarian scent.
Since this was Ethan's first real contract everyone was deeply interested.
After carrying the pot and black bread into the main house they ate while Ethan recounted his conversation with Theon Greyjoy.
When he finished Kevin set down his spoon looked worried and said quietly:
"Teacher—collecting gambling debts isn't exactly an honorable line of work."
Brother John agreed soberly:
"The Seven do not forbid gambling—but they do not smile on it either.
Gambling clouds the mind and turns men from the pursuit of virtue.
You should think carefully."
Lennar however waved a piece of black bread enthusiastically.
"Honor doesn't fill the belly.
Kid—your teacher's already under enough pressure. Don't add to it.
And Brother John…" He grinned. "It's not *Ethan* who owes the gambling debt.
Even if he owed the entire kingdom—what difference would it make?
Ethan—listen to me. Take the job."
Ethan nodded then asked:
"Will you come with me then?"
Lennar's gaze slid guiltily toward the courtyard.
"I… have performances. No time."
Brother John sighed.
"Ah—if only more believers came to pray—and more generous ones."
Since the little sept in the courtyard was finished a few southern-born residents of Winterhold had come to offer prayers—but in John's opinion they were not devout enough.
"They give no alms their prayers are mumbled and hurried.
They leave as soon as they arrive.
I wonder what the Seven truly mean to them."
Ethan gestured at the plain bare walls of the large room.
"Their devotion is probably about equal to the splendor of this sept.
It's substance over form."
Brother John frowned set down his spoon.
"Well—if it comes to that I'll make some southern-style furniture to sell.
That was my plan anyway.
Tomorrow I'll ask the town blacksmith how much a full set of carpentry tools would cost.
If I can afford it…"
"No need to spend the coin." Ethan waved a hand. "Tomorrow we'll buy some scrap iron.
I'll forge you a set myself."
Brother John looked startled.
"Hm? Aren't you a wandering swordsman? Since when do you know smithing?"
Ethan answered matter-of-factly:
"What's strange about it? How can a good warrior wield his weapon properly if he doesn't even understand how it's made?"
"Nonsense." John scoffed. "By your logic a maester who can't make his own quill can't write a proper treatise?
The Seven made two distinct aspects—Smith and Warrior—precisely because the one who forges and the one who wields are fundamentally different roles.
Both smithing and swordplay demand years of practice to master.
To say otherwise disrespects honest labor and borders on blasphemy against the Seven.
Please don't repeat that."
Ethan retorted:
"How strange! Since both the Smith and the Warrior are divine aspects of the Seven isn't it perfectly normal for me to master both?"
Seeing the two about to argue in earnest Lennar cut in quickly:
"What's there to fight over? You either know how or you don't.
Enough—let's change the subject."
He paused then abruptly asked:
"Speaking of the Duchess—have you heard the tale of the rainy season in Castamere…?"
And so a night that nearly turned into a theological dispute over poverty ended instead with gleeful Lannister gossip.
The next afternoon Ethan returned to the Wolf's Kiss ordered his usual rye beer and sat down across from Brother Howard without waiting to be invited.
Seeing him Howard said impatiently:
"What now? Didn't I tell you I'd let you know when something suitable came up?"
Ethan took a slow sip then replied calmly:
"Brother—I'm not here looking for a job today.
I'm here to *recruit*."
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