"Jon! Jon!"
Ethan called to Jon, who was sparring with several squad-mates.
"Change into clean clothes and come with me into the city!"
"Yes, Teacher!"
Jon didn't ask questions. He gave a few quick instructions to his opponent and ducked into his tent.
Lennar leaned close and asked softly:
"Are you going to tell him?"
"Of course," Ethan replied, watching Jon's retreating figure.
"He is still his father, after all.
Tell Eddie and the others I'm taking Jon to Winterfell right away."
Ethan returned to his own tent, changed clothes, saddled Lightning, and set off toward Winterfell with Jon riding beside him.
Jon was a man of few words. Teacher and student barely spoke during the entire ride.
After long internal debate Ethan decided to prepare the boy and said:
"Jon—how have things been between you and the brothers lately?"
Jon nodded.
"Good. They're a tough bunch. I've learned a lot from them."
"Your father would surely be proud to see you so resilient… standing now among your ancestors."
Jon suddenly jerked his head up.
"Teacher—what do you mean 'among my ancestors'?"
Ethan hesitated, then said carefully:
"Lennar heard in town that King Robert is dead… and your father was executed by the new king—"
Jon's voice cracked:
"Impossible!
He was Warden of the North—Hand of the King!
How could he be executed?
Only a madman would do that!"
Ethan shook his head.
"That's what I thought too.
That's why I'm taking you to Winterfell—to confirm the news for ourselves.
Lennar only heard it second-hand; rumors get twisted when they travel."
But before Ethan could finish, Jon had already spurred his horse into a gallop toward Winterfell.
With no choice Ethan followed at full speed.
At the south gate of Winterfell Jon shouted for entry.
A guard recognized him opened the gate and escorted the two men straight to the Great Keep.
Once inside Jon went alone into Robb Stark's solar while Ethan waited in the corridor.
Some time later the door opened again.
Jon emerged eyes red-rimmed and said:
"Teacher—Robb invites you in."
Seeing Jon's expression Ethan already knew the truth in his heart: Lord Eddard was gone.
Although Ethan's only personal encounter with the man had been tense and unpleasant he still felt gratitude—Lord Eddard had stood up for him when the king forced the duel with the Hound.
Ethan clapped Jon gently on the shoulder.
"My boy… my condolences."
Jon started then forced an awkward smile.
"Teacher—my father is still alive.
But he is imprisoned."
With that he led Ethan into the solar.
The room—where generations of Winterfell lords had conducted the North's business—was lit by soft warm candlelight from several fine holders and pale daylight streaming through tall windows.
One wall held towering bookshelves packed with volumes and scrolls; opposite hung the great Stark banner—a snarling direwolf embroidered in silver thread that caught and reflected the candle flames.
Beneath the banner stood a massive polished oak table covered in maps letters wax seals and scattered quills.
Robb sat behind the desk writing a letter while Maester Luwin read aloud from several small parchments.
When Ethan entered Robb looked up gestured to the chair opposite and said politely:
"Please sit Captain Ethan."
Ethan bowed slightly and took the seat.
Robb set down his quill.
"Captain Ethan—thank you sincerely for looking after Jon Snow all this time."
Ethan replied evenly:
"In my homeland we say: 'If something is entrusted to you carry it out faithfully.'
When Chief Ranger Benjen placed Jon in my care I resolved to train him into an outstanding warrior.
Now Jon is my student.
Caring for him and teaching him is simply my duty."
Robb's tone suddenly sharpened.
"My father Lord Eddard Stark has been imprisoned in King's Landing by that fool Joffrey on charges of treason.
All the guards he took south were killed.
There is still no word of my two sisters.
Joffrey's act was a shameful betrayal of the ancient alliance between Houses Stark and Baratheon.
I will never acknowledge that boy as king.
Even a dog on the Iron Throne would be better!
What do you say?"
Ethan frowned.
He personally had no favorable opinion of Joffrey so he answered:
"Yes.
This is outright betrayal—and it should be punished."
Robb looked satisfied with the reply then continued:
"I heard from Jon that you destroyed a wildling raiding band in Wisteria Village and used your magical power to save two warriors who were at death's door.
Is that true?"
Ethan did not deny it.
"Yes—thanks to the mercy of the Sun God they lived."
Robb nodded.
"Then I hope you will join this war for justice as a friend of the North.
What say you?"
Ethan's heart leapt.
A major contract was landing right in his lap!
He rose immediately placed his hand over his heart and bowed.
"Lord Robb—I am willing to fight for the honor of Winterfell."
Robb looked pleased.
"Good.
I will have Harrion Mollen speak with you shortly about the details.
He is my captain of the guard and my standard-bearer."
With that Robb lowered his head and returned to his unfinished letter.
Although Westeros had no custom of serving tea to guests Ethan understood the polite dismissal.
He rose bowed again and withdrew.
Jon started to follow but Ethan stopped him.
"It's rare for you to be back—go see your brothers and old acquaintances.
Also you know our equipment is still poor.
Ask Robb whether you can draw a suitable suit from the Winterfell armory to take with you—as a token of your father's pride in you."
Jon nodded gratefully and headed off in another direction.
Guided by another guard Ethan met Harrion Mollen.
Harrion was a big square-jawed man with a thick brown beard.
He led Ethan to a quiet corner of the Great Hall and they sat.
As soon as they were seated Harrion asked eagerly:
"Captain Ethan—is it true you can raise the dead?"
Ethan was taken aback and quickly denied:
"No!
Who told you that?"
Harrion pointed toward the solar.
"Jon was just speaking with Lord Robb in there—it can't be false can it?"
Ethan explained:
"No—I only brought two gravely wounded warriors back from the brink of death—"
Harrion Mollen might look taciturn but he was an inveterate gossip.
He and Ethan sat talking for more than an hour—Harrion asking endless questions trying to pry every detail of Ethan's life out of him while freely spilling his own secrets with almost no filter.
Ethan wondered silently how someone so loose-lipped could serve as captain of the guard.
He answered patiently until a young guard hurried in.
"Harrion—the young lord wants to see you."
"Ah!"
Harrion slapped his forehead turned to Ethan and said briskly:
"Based on the size of the Silver Hand the monthly fee will be twenty-five gold dragons.
You keep all spoils.
Pay starts the day we march—come find me then.
Go back and prepare; we'll head south soon."
With that Harrion left with his colleague.
Ethan shook his head helplessly.
In more than an hour only those two sentences had contained any real information.
Not long afterward Jon returned wearing a suit of blackened hard leather armor.
A grim direwolf head was embossed on the breastplate and beneath the leather lay a layer of mail—making him look far more formidable.
Ethan asked with concern:
"How is your brother?"
Jon shook his head expression somber.
"Not well—but he seems more mature than before.
He's grown up a lot."
Ethan sighed and comforted him:
"The more you experience the faster you grow.
In my homeland we call children who've never known hardship 'flowers in a greenhouse.'
Jon—you've grown tremendously these past few months too."
"Unfortunately not fast enough to save my father."
Jon paused then asked with a trace of hope:
"Teacher—if my father were to meet with disaster… could you save him?"
Ethan said regretfully:
"No Jon.
Though I wish I could life and death is a boundary even I cannot cross—at least not yet."
Teacher and student returned to camp in heavy silence.
News of Lord Eddard's imprisonment swept across the North like wildfire.
Since Lord Rickard Stark and his heir Brandon had been executed in King's Landing by the Mad King Aerys this was the third Lord of Winterfell in recent decades to be imprisoned—or worse—by royal command.
For sixteen years Eddard Stark had ruled the North with fairness and justice creating a stable order.
As Lennar once said: "At least on the Kingsroad a lone woman can travel without fear of molestation."
So when word of his arrest spread fury ignited across the land and the flames of vengeance spread quickly.
At the summons of Robb Stark Acting Lord of Winterfell lords and knights from every corner of the North raised their banners and marched their best troops to Winterfell awaiting orders to march south.
Inside and outside the city banners snapped in the wind.
Every livable house in Winterfell overflowed with soldiers who had followed their lords.
Even near Ethan's camp troops from unknown houses began to appear.
The entire atmosphere of Winterfell town grew tense and electric.
To avoid unnecessary trouble Ethan tightened camp discipline: no one could leave without good reason.
Even when Eddie went into town for supplies he had to take at least five men with him.
One night after supper everyone was chatting around the campfires when Kevin suddenly asked a question that instantly caught everyone's attention:
"Teacher—it seems our company still doesn't have its own banner raised does it?"
Ethan was startled.
He realized that nearly three months after founding the Silver Hand the company indeed had no flag.
With a great campaign looming lack of a proper standard would make battlefield command extremely difficult.
He agreed at once:
"You're right.
Tomorrow I'll go into town and have one made.
But I haven't decided the design yet.
What do you all think?"
The officers looked at one another.
Choosing a company banner was not something any of them had experience with—and shouldn't it be the commander's privilege and duty?
After a silence Conrad spoke first:
"That's easy.
We're called the Silver Hand—why not just a white fist?"
"That's almost the same as Glover of Deepwood Motte's banner" Jon reminded him.
Eddie suggested:
"Then let's make it a silver hand."
Ethan visualized the design Eddie described then decided firmly:
"Done.
Red field—a silver circle in the center—and inside the circle a silver hand."
With the design settled Ethan took liaison officer Lennar and quartermaster Eddie into town early the next morning and placed the order at a reputable embroiderer's shop.
One large main banner and five smaller squad standards each with slight variations in the embroidery—all to be finished within five days.
When they left the shop Ethan shook out his coin purse and sighed:
"Another four silver moons gone."
Lennar comforted him:
"It's reasonable.
You ordered one command flag and five squad flags each with different embroidered details and wanted them rushed in five days.
The price is fair."
Ethan grumbled:
"Combat squads one through three the scout squad and the medical team—that's five small flags right?
If Juan's craftsman squad didn't stay in camp I'd have ordered one for them too."
Just then the three passed the Tobacco Tavern.
Thinking of something he hadn't considered in a long time Ethan suddenly missed Rory's fruit liqueur.
"How about we have a drink before heading back?"
Lennar agreed at once:
"Great idea!
Eddie—you coming?"
Eddie nodded.
"Sure.
Been a while.
Let's try Rory's new brew."
So Ethan Lennar and Eddie pushed through the heavy door of the Tobacco Tavern.
The moment they stepped inside a roar of voices hit them like a wave.
The tavern was far more crowded than usual.
Normally only half the tables would be occupied by idle sellswords waiting for contracts.
Today every bench was packed—excited boisterous soldiers filled the place.
Some couldn't even find seats and stood with stools dragged up beside friends creating a chaotic lively din.
Squeezing between tables Ethan and his two companions reached the bar and sat.
"Hi Rory—long time."
"Hi Ethan—how've you been?" Rory greeted them warmly.
Ethan smiled.
"Fine.
Still got any fruit wine?
Three cups."
Rory looked troubled and shook his head.
"No fruit wine left—and barley ale is almost gone too.
If you're willing to drink watered small-beer I've still got a little."
Ethan glanced at Lennar and Eddie.
Seeing no objection he said:
"All right—we didn't come all this way for nothing.
By the way business looks good today."
Rory sighed helplessly.
"You bet.
Lords from every corner have brought their men—place is packed every day.
My boss is thinking of closing for a while just to get some peace."
Ethan was puzzled.
"Why?
Isn't it good to make money?"
Rory gave a bitter smile.
"What's good about it?
The drinkers are all grizzled old soldiers.
When they get drunk they start fights.
Sometimes we don't even get paid—and we have to pay to fix the tables and benches they break."
He complained in a low voice:
"And with so many soldiers flooding in the price of ale keeps rising.
Boss doesn't dare raise the cup price—so we're losing coin on every pour.
Better to close up and wait until Lord Robb marches south."
Ethan sighed.
"Lord Robb—alas—at his age suddenly becoming acting lord isn't easy."
Rory chuckled.
"You say that like he's starving.
These soldiers have nearly emptied the town's grain stores.
Flour has tripled in price.
Ordinary folk don't keep big stocks.
Now buying bread takes every last coin.
My sister's family ran out of food yesterday.
Luckily when these men leave there's always scraps left on their plates.
I collect it all—it's barely enough to keep my sister and her two children alive.
Otherwise we might starve before the Lannisters even arrive."
"Doesn't Lord Robb care?" Ethan asked frowning.
"In Lord Robb's eyes—"
Rory began then was interrupted by a timid-looking serving girl.
"Rory—table six wants more barley ale."
Rory sounded exasperated.
"Didn't you tell them we're out?"
The girl looked miserable.
"I did—but he said we must have some left in the cellar and if we don't bring it he'll go down there himself."
Rory sighed muttered a string of curses under his breath then pulled a small barrel from beneath the bar and handed it over.
"Tell him this is the very last one.
Even if he turns the tavern upside down there's no more."
Then he gave Ethan an apologetic smile.
"Didn't expect there was still one barrel left—sorry about that."
Ethan waved it off.
"No need to apologize—I understand—"
Just then a burly soldier walked over slung an arm around Eddie's shoulders and exclaimed:
"Eddie!
Hunter Eddie—is that really you?
What are you doing here?!"
Eddie looked up recognized the face and grinned.
"Basque!
It's you!
You're here too?
Did you come with Lord Manderly?"
"Yes—where are you serving now?" Basque asked curiously.
Eddie smiled.
"I'm with a company called the Silver Hand.
This is my captain—Ethan Cole."
Hearing the name Basque immediately thrust out a meaty hand.
"Captain Ethan—pleased to meet you!
I've heard a lot about you."
Ethan shook firmly.
"Likewise Mr. Basque—good to meet you."
Basque said excitedly:
"Eddie—come on!
Let's go see some old mates!"
Eddie glanced at Ethan for permission.
Ethan nodded.
"Go ahead—just make sure you're back at camp tonight."
After Eddie left Ethan Lennar and Rory kept talking.
Rory's complaints revealed deep dissatisfaction with the lack of discipline among the newly arrived soldiers—but he said little about the war itself which had begun to rescue Lord Eddard.
The three were chatting comfortably when a violent scuffle suddenly erupted behind them.
Ethan turned and saw two groups of drunk men wrestling in a corner of the hall—the scene chaotic.
Ethan pointed.
"Does this happen every day?"
Rory chuckled.
"Of course.
It's fine—let them fight.
They'll stop when they're tired."
Ethan shrugged and returned to his drink.
A moment later he suddenly heard Eddie's voice shouting from the back:
"Captain!
Captain Ethan!
Basque is hurt—come quick!"
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