On a late-summer midday in the North the sun stood high but offered almost no warmth to Ethan and his companions who were perched on a rooftop overlooking the Kingsroad in Winterfell.
Brother John stood with arms crossed rubbing his hands together and shivering.
"Hasn't the royal party arrived yet? Why don't we just go downstairs and wait? It's freezing up here."
Lennar pulled his thin fur cloak tighter around himself and answered impatiently:
"What's the hurry? Just wait a little longer. My friend in Winterfell told me yesterday that all the dishes for tonight's banquet are already prepared. The king's party will definitely arrive before afternoon. He's one of Jory Cassel's men—would he lie to me?"
Jory Cassel was the nephew of Rodrik Cassel Winterfell's master-at-arms and served as Lord Eddard's chief bodyguard.
A few days earlier word had spread through Winterfell that the king's royal progress was approaching the North. Jory Cassel—as the duke's representative—had taken more than half the household guard and ridden out along the Kingsroad to meet them.
Even the moderately well-informed residents of Winterfell had set aside their work that day and gathered along both sides of the Kingsroad outside the gates eager to witness the royal splendor. For common folk the chance to see a king in the flesh was about as rare as glimpsing a White Walker—and one sighting was enough to boast about for a lifetime.
As a bard Lennar considered joining the spectacle both a personal pleasure and a professional necessity. Naturally he couldn't miss such a grand event so he dragged his courtyard companions along to the eastern side of the city to welcome the king.
Unfortunately they arrived too late. Every decent vantage point along the roadside had already been claimed by locals. So they found a house facing the street paid the landlord one copper star climbed onto the roof and lay down on the cold tiles to wait.
They waited most of the day.
Just as the four of them were gnawing on cold hard bread to keep hunger at bay Lennar suddenly pointed into the distance and shouted:
"Look—they're coming!"
Ethan followed Lennar's finger. Far down the Kingsroad stretching eastward into the wilds a column of several hundred riders was approaching.
The procession numbered roughly three hundred almost entirely mounted. They flew tall golden banners emblazoned with crowned stags wore gleaming gold-and-silver armor and escorted several opulent carriages at the center.
The most extravagant carriage required more than a dozen horses to draw it. Its enormous wheels—nearly half a man's height—cut deep ruts into the road while its wide body took up almost half the width forcing the escorting cavalry to ride awkwardly along the verges. Even watching from a distance Ethan worried someone might slip and tumble off the edge.
At the head of the column rode a tall powerfully built middle-aged man with long curly black hair a thick beard and a black velvet cloak. He sat a tall black destrier radiating casual confidence.
Ethan pointed at the man and asked Lennar:
"Who's that fat man?"
Lennar gave him a sideways glance.
"That fat man is the king."
"The king of the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Yes—the king of the Seven Kingdoms." Lennar instinctively lowered his voice and pointed. "Robert Baratheon—universally acknowledged as the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms King of the Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.
Though most common folk prefer to call him 'the Usurper' and 'the King of Whoremongers.'
The first because on the Trident he personally slew Prince Rhaegar Targaryen heir to the Iron Throne shattering the royalists' morale and paving the way for final victory. After the 'Mad King' Aerys was slain and King's Landing fell the rebels chose him as king."
"The 'King of Whoremongers'… well I think that one explains itself."
Lennar winked.
"I've heard the queen is one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms. Yet His Grace still finds the energy to play the field. It just proves that the greatest warrior of the realm is second to none in any department!"
Lennar suddenly remembered something and turned to Brother John.
"By the way John—didn't you go to Winterfell to pray for the duchess? Was Lady Catelyn beautiful?"
Brother John shook his head.
"I never saw the duchess at all. Septon Chayle of Winterfell's sept told me that to welcome the king and his… entourage Lady Catelyn is fully occupied preparing tonight's banquet and fulfilling her duties as hostess. She has no time to receive a humble wandering septon like me.
But Septon Chayle was very kind. After I finished praying for Lady Catelyn and the Stark family he noticed how worn my copy of *The Seven-Pointed Star* had become and gave me a new Book of Prayers—supposedly brought from the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing."
Lennar and John chatted idly about minor gossip but Ethan paid little attention. He was far more interested in the military bearing of the royal escort.
The knights riding behind the king wore shining armor carried excellent weapons and bore expressions of complacent arrogance—yet they occasionally cast reverent glances toward the man at the head of the column.
Watching the magnificent sight Ethan felt a pang of envy.
Recalling the "prophecy" he had seen during his transmigration he couldn't help but wonder: with such a king on the throne and such an army enforcing his will how could war ever break out in the south unless Robert himself wanted it?
The thought sent a shiver up his spine. He muttered under his breath:
"A true man should be like this… replaceable!"
Lennar—who couldn't understand the eastern dialect—asked curiously:
"What did you say?"
Ethan shook his head.
"Nothing."
"You're muttering strange things again."
Lennar pouted and started climbing down from the roof.
Brother John quickly grabbed him.
"Where are you going?"
"To Winterfell—for the king's welcome feast.
Oh—and don't prepare dinner for me tonight. I'm going to feast!"
"I wasn't planning to anyway" Ethan shot back then asked: "Why are *you* invited to the king's banquet?"
By then Lennar's face had already disappeared below the eaves but hearing the question he deliberately climbed back up just far enough to flash a wide grin.
"Of course they invited me to perform! I'm the most sought-after bard in Winterfell right now!
All right—see you tomorrow everyone!"
Lennar hurried off.
Brother John and Ethan exchanged a glance then began making their own way home.
As time passed the royal retinue gradually reached Winterfell.
Except for the queen's enormous wheeled carriage—the single most luxurious vehicle in the entire procession—which was too wide to fit through the gates and had to remain parked in an open field outside the walls—the streets slowly emptied.
With a long groaning creak the eastern gate of Winterfell closed sealing the city from the outside world.
For Ethan—who had watched several national-day military parades on television back on Earth—the awe-inspiring sight of the royal column was little more than a brief cold gust on a winter day—something to shiver at and then forget.
But for Kevin Turner—who had grown up in the impoverished coastal hamlets of the Fingers Peninsula and whose farthest journey until now had been to Coldwater—it was a spectacle that struck him to the core.
"Teacher—did you see that? The king is so tall and strong—he looks even stronger than you!"
On the walk home Kevin excitedly recounted everything he had witnessed to his teacher.
"And that blond knight riding right behind the king—in the white cloak and white armor—that must be Ser Jaime Lannister the 'Kingslayer.' He's much more handsome than I imagined."
Ethan didn't mind comparisons of strength—but being outdone in looks was another matter.
"What?" He reached over and ruffled Kevin's hair. "You think your teacher isn't handsome enough?"
Kevin ducked under the hand covering his head and protested:
"Of course you're amazing—you're the strongest warrior I've ever seen…
But that's *the king*! My father always said the king is the most powerful noblest and bravest knight in the Seven Kingdoms—the knight above all knights!"
Ethan surrendered with a helpless laugh.
"All right all right—even if you want to become the king's knight you'll need armor that fits you first.
Hurry home. Your left greave is only one plate away from finished. Let's try to complete it today."
"Teacher—can my helmet be made…"
"No—the helmet…"
The cold northern wind blew like the gentle yet chilly hand of an elderly mother smoothing away the excited chatter between master and apprentice and erasing the ripples stirred by the arrival of the royal army.
Ethan and Kevin returned to their ordinary routine—day after day of hammering forging and fitting steel armor plates.
In the days that followed thanks to Ethan's growing reputation and Howard's quiet recommendations several promising freelancers had come to the blacksmith's courtyard to discuss joining the Silver Hand.
After turning away a few obviously unsuitable candidates Ethan took down their contact information and promised to call on them when a suitable job appeared.
Neither side seemed troubled by the vague arrangement.
For mercenaries a real fight was the only true test of character and ability.
Until then all promises were empty words.
Ethan had assumed life would continue peacefully—but trouble arrived uninvited.
On the third night after the king's arrival Ethan was in the courtyard teaching Kevin how to angle armor plates to deflect incoming strikes when a furious shout rang out from the alley. A rough southern accent bellowed:
"Fuck you—open this door!"
Ethan wondered which poor family had drawn the attention of thugs—until he saw his own gate slammed open with a violent bang.
A moment later Lennar—covered in bruises and cuts—was shoved roughly into the yard tumbling into a corner where he slumped against the wall.
The intruders marched straight to the giant spider's corpse. When Kevin tried to block them he was shoved aside just as roughly.
Uncertain what was happening Ethan forced down his rising anger held back a furious Kevin and hurried to Lennar's side to check his injuries.
Despite his anger seeing Lennar's comical swollen bruised face made him laugh despite himself.
"How did you get beaten up like this? Caught stealing someone's wife?"
Lennar managed a pained grin.
"Even now you're joking…
Earlier I was telling 'The Seris Spider-Slayer' and 'Red Star Over China' at the Smoked Wood Tavern as usual.
These drunks kept interrupting—one minute saying I was making it up and hadn't even read *The Seven-Pointed Star* the next saying my stories were incoherent characters were inconsistent plots were boring then saying the hero was too ugly and unlikable…"
Ethan rubbed his nose.
"That's not enough to start a fight is it?"
"Of course not. I've been in this business for years—what haven't I seen?" Lennar spat bloody saliva onto the ground.
"But after I finished 'Red Star Over China' that blond kid suddenly jumped up shouting that I was blaspheming the Seven and that he was going to drag me to Winterfell's sept and burn me alive.
I didn't know if he was serious or just drunk—so I tried to leave.
They caught me and beat me.
And your spider—the mustached one said monsters like this are blasphemy against the Seven and should be dragged out and burned too…"
Only then did Ethan notice Lennar was still cradling his right hand.
He gently lifted the wrist and saw the knuckles swollen like steamed sausages.
Ethan's voice dropped low and dangerous.
"What happened?"
"Easy—easy—" Lennar pulled his hand back. "I stepped on it when they hit me but I protected myself. Only one finger's hurt. It's fine—I still have nine left to work with.
They're wandering knights who came north with the king. Don't provoke them."
A surge of cold fury rose in Ethan's chest.
He narrowed his eyes at the laughing thugs clustered around the spider's corpse and said in an icy tone:
"But they've already provoked *me*."
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