A moment later the warrior in black armor who had been standing beside the queen picked up a practice sword from the weapon rack and walked to the center of the lime-marked circle. He looked at Ethan and said:
"Boy—you shouldn't provoke people you can't afford to cross.
Kneel now and beg for mercy. I *might* let you keep your life."
Ethan curled his lip.
"Give me your name first. Otherwise how will I know who I defeated? How am I supposed to brag about it later?"
The warrior sneered.
"Sandor Clegane.
Remember that name well—so when someone asks who crippled you you'll have an answer."
After the brief exchange of barbs both men assumed fighting stances ready to begin.
Just as steel was about to meet steel Theon Greyjoy suddenly stepped forward dropped to one knee and addressed King Robert:
"Your Majesty!"
He then explained to the king:
"Ethan Cole came here from outside the city at your command and has not had a moment's rest before being forced into a duel with Sandor Clegane. This is too hasty.
Please—at the very least—allow him a drink and a short rest."
Robert considered for a moment then nodded.
"Very well."
He shouted to an attendant:
"Bring him a skin of wine! Let him drink then start the fight!"
Ethan relaxed his stance inwardly puzzled.
He had already clashed with Theon—yet instead of kicking him while he was down the Greyjoy boy was helping him.
Why?
Perhaps sensing Ethan's gaze Theon turned flashed a quick smile nodded once then turned back to continue chatting casually with the surrounding warriors.
Ethan still couldn't understand Theon's motive—but it didn't matter.
The priority now was preparing for the duel against Sandor Clegane.
He seized the offered wineskin drained half of it in several long gulps then strode into the center of the ring.
Unexpectedly Clegane—who had been silent until now—showed a flicker of rough courtesy:
"Maybe you'd like to use the privy again."
Ethan answered firmly:
"No need. Come on."
After that short exchange a fierce duel erupted on the training ground.
Ethan's bronze-armored figure collided violently with Clegane's black-armored bulk—the ringing clash of swords echoing across Winterfell.
Ethan recognized a worthy opponent and stopped holding back unleashing a brutal yet precise and almost beautiful dance of slaughter.
Yet despite Clegane's best efforts he could not withstand the onslaught.
After only a few exchanges his hands trembled so violently he could no longer hold the longsword.
Ethan shifted stance with fluid speed appeared behind Clegane struck once to knock the blade flying then brought his own sword down in a controlled arc against the back of Clegane's neck.
A soft *clang*.
Sandor Clegane pitched forward unconscious.
Ethan drove his longsword point-first into the dirt of the training yard and announced calmly:
"Ser Clegane may need a few days of rest."
King Robert finally looked directly at Ethan and spoke slowly:
"He is no knight—but he may indeed need a few days of rest."
Then Robert Baratheon Lord of the Iron Throne and widely regarded as the strongest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms removed his cloak revealing his massive powerful frame and an expression of eager combativeness.
"Lancel—prepare my armor. I want to face him myself!"
But Lord Eddard immediately stepped forward to intervene:
"Your Grace—there is no need."
Robert seemed almost agitated.
"Ned—don't stop me. I haven't felt this alive in years."
Eddard leaned close and murmured a reminder:
"Your Grace—you are the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.
Do you truly believe he would dare fight you with full strength?"
Hearing those words Robert froze.
His gaze returned to Ethan who stood expressionless just outside the dueling circle.
After a long silence he sighed heavily:
"Gods damn it… being king really is bloody meaningless."
With that Robert turned and walked back toward the great hall leaving only a broad lonely back in his wake.
After the royal party departed a middle-aged man in white armor approached.
He took a heavy purse from his belt pressed it into Ethan's hands and said with a crooked smile:
"Well fought lad.
But why didn't you smash Clegane in the face? Every time I look at that twisted ugly mug I feel like I've swallowed a fly."
The man clapped Ethan's upper arm companionably then jogged after the king.
On the ride back from Winterfell Ethan happily counted the coins in the purse and discovered a total of one hundred ninety-seven gold dragons—an amount that filled him with delight.
He cheerfully told his student riding beside him:
"Kevin—take the purse."
No hand reached out to accept it.
Ethan turned and saw Kevin riding behind him face sullen.
Puzzled Ethan asked:
"What's wrong?"
Kevin answered quietly:
"Teacher—why did you accept that dwarf's deal?
You could have easily won."
Ethan smiled and explained:
"Beat Jaime Lannister? Forget it.
What difference does it make who I fight?
I didn't lose—that's enough.
Besides the man I actually dueled—Sandor Clegane—was no weakling.
Defeating him brings no dishonor."
Having said that Ethan ignored his still-sulking student and began reflecting on recent events.
Since leaving White Harbor he had drifted aimlessly mainly because he had no money.
Now with one hundred ninety-seven gold dragons in hand—and if the Lannister dwarf kept his word dozens more would follow.
With this seed capital the Silver Hand could accelerate recruitment.
This was the foundation of Ethan's military power; he could no longer afford to be as selective as before—judging recruits by character combat skill and experience.
Anyone willing to join would be accepted. Their true worth would be proven on the battlefield.
Before his transmigration Ethan had seen a "prophecy" warning that the crisis in the North would be accompanied by war in the South.
He now realized how vital it was to gather intelligence about the political situation south of the Neck.
He decided to focus more attention on that front.
Ethan planned to return to the blacksmith's courtyard speak with Brother John and Lennar and learn whether any factors in the South could ignite a war—and what preparations he could make.
As for the threat from the North Ethan believed it stemmed primarily from White Walkers and wildlings beyond the Wall.
Since he was already in the North he intended to seize the first suitable opportunity to see the danger for himself and determine whether the true menace came from the Others or from Mance Rayder's free folk.
Of course such a journey would require careful timing.
Lost in thought Ethan was carried back to the blacksmith's courtyard by "Lightning" without realizing how much time had passed.
Pushing open the gate he found Conrad Juan Eddie John Lennar and several others gathered around a campfire drinking and talking quietly.
Lennar's injured finger was neatly bandaged; the others had wooden staves and blunt weapons close at hand clearly keeping watch for trouble.
Seeing his friends assembled Ethan felt a touch of warmth but kept his expression neutral.
"You're all here? What's happening?"
Eddie answered for the group:
"Captain—we saw you didn't bring back the spider.
We were worried something had happened to you!"
Touched by their concern but unwilling to show it Ethan simply pulled up a stool sat by the fire and said calmly:
"I'm fine. The king bought the spider.
Lennar—how's the hand? Still painful?"
Lennar raised his bandaged right hand displaying the middle finger wrapped in clean gauze and gave a wry smile.
"What do you think?"
Ethan laughed loudly.
"Hahaha… then you'll have to rest a few days."
Lennar said helplessly:
"What else can I do? When I perform the guests won't listen to the story—they'll just stare at my hand and laugh."
After a short pause Lennar asked hesitantly:
"Ethan—were those men yesterday really the king's people? Did they cause you trouble?"
Ethan picked up a piece of firewood tossed it into the flames and watched the sparks rise before answering slowly:
"That blond boy yesterday—he's from House Lannister.
After I beat him he ran home and complained to his family.
Today Jaime Lannister tried to settle the score by challenging me to a duel.
But the opponent was changed at the last moment—and I won."
Hearing this Lennar seemed to forget the pain in his hand entirely.
Eyes bright he leaned forward:
"You *won*? Tell us—quickly!"
The others crowded closer echoing:
"Yes Captain—tell us!"
"Tell us everything!"
Seeing their eagerness Ethan recounted the entire duel in detail.
When he finished everyone fell silent unsure what to say.
After a long moment Lennar sighed:
"That's how House Lannister is…"
Seeing that Ethan had returned unscathed the tension in his comrades' faces eased.
They talked and drank until the moon rode high then dispersed to their homes.
After seeing everyone off Ethan washed up and went to bed.
But the following night worried about further trouble the Silver Hand members gathered again in the blacksmith's courtyard.
To thank them for their concern Ethan bought fresh pork belly stewed a rich pork soup in the Chinese style and purchased good wine to treat everyone—a small gesture of appreciation.
Just as the group was enjoying the meal and drink a knock sounded at the gate.
Ethan called:
"Kevin—open the door."
Though Kevin was still quietly sulking over yesterday's events he obeyed without protest and went to the gate.
Standing outside was Tyrion Lannister accompanied by two servants.
Tyrion asked:
"Hey lad—where's your teacher?"
Kevin glanced back at Ethan. Seeing no objection he invited Tyrion inside.
Tyrion walked into the courtyard sat down beside Ethan and greeted him casually:
"Hey friend."
But Ethan—still nursing some resentment from yesterday afternoon—merely sipped his thick soup and ignored him.
Tyrion shrugged took a small leather pouch from his belt placed it on the bench and said:
"Last night Jaime spoke with Lancel—the boy you beat—and asked what really happened the day before.
He asked me to apologize for his recklessness and to thank you for preserving his honor.
There are fifty gold dragons in the pouch.
The extra fifteen are Jaime's personal compensation.
You know—Lannisters always pay their debts."
Ethan weighed the purse in his hand smiled at Tyrion and asked:
"And your friendship?"
Tyrion met Ethan's eyes and answered with sincerity:
"Of course—and my friendship too."
Ethan nodded satisfied accepted the pouch then turned to Kevin:
"Kevin—bring three more bowls.
Serve Lord Tyrion and his men some soup.
I hope Lord Tyrion won't find our humble dinner too plain."
Tyrion laughed heartily.
"Haha—a man of my stature can't eat much."
Ethan turned back his expression suddenly serious.
"Lord Tyrion—in my opinion you are not small at all.
I've seen plenty of fools who grow tall but never grow wise.
In my view—if they are not dwarves then *you* are the giant.
So please—do not mock your own size in front of me.
That is not true friendship."
Tyrion's playful expression vanished.
After a brief silence he gave a genuine warm smile.
"Then I shall taste what soup a giant drinks."
🪽✨🪽✨🪽✨🪽✨🪽✨🪽✨🪽✨🪽
Read Extra Chapter Visit My Patreon
I have only 1 tier
19$ Tier – Access to 40 advance chapters
patreon.com/Lempil
patreon.com/Lempil