"Haha, Ethan—come meet an old friend.
This is my comrade-in-arms from way back, Ivo Russ!"
The burly white-bearded man extended a massive hand.
"You must be Ethan!
Howard told me you and your boys are damn tough.
He wasn't exaggerating, was he?"
Ethan gripped the man's hand and gave it a firm shake.
"I'm decent.
I once fought the Kingslayer to a standstill.
Not long ago I took twenty men and wiped out a band of forty wildlings—captured twenty more alive."
"How many did you lose?"
"Not a single man injured."
Ivo Russ slammed his palm on the table so hard the tankards jumped.
"Not bad, lad—not bad at all."
"You never told me you came through Wisteria without a scratch," Howard said, genuinely surprised.
Ethan shrugged.
"You never asked."
Ivo burst into another booming laugh.
"You don't even know your own man, Howard?
You're killing me!"
Although Ethan had no idea what was so funny he joined in with a few polite chuckles anyway.
When Ivo's laughter finally died down he pointed at Howard.
"Howard and I go way back.
When we were young we rounded up a crew and fought all over—north south everywhere.
Back when the Mad King Aerys still sat the Iron Throne—those were the real good days.
Must've been… what—more than ten years?"
Ivo glanced at Howard who nodded.
"More than ten."
"Those years," Ivo went on "one day some lord would betray his liege and hire us to join him—the next some peasants would rise up because they couldn't stand the taxes and the lords would hire us to crush them.
Fathers fought sons brothers ambushed brothers—work was everywhere money was everywhere.
But after the War of the Usurper Robert Baratheon took the throne and our golden age as free swords ended.
Life as common blades suddenly got uncertain.
Southerners didn't like seeing northern faces wandering their lands so they drove us back north.
Howard took his cut opened this tavern.
I couldn't abandon the lads so I kept leading them through the lean years."
Ivo gestured at the grizzled veterans drinking heavily around the table.
"Hard years…
Over the last decade or so some left some died.
In the end only these dozen or so remain."
Howard cut in:
"This war is coming whether we like it or not.
I've heard Lord Tywin already sent the Kingslayer to strike the Riverlands—and Riverlands envoys have been arriving in droves begging the young lord for aid.
Once blood starts flowing between great houses like the Westerlands and the North it only stops when one side has no more blood left to give.
We—no I should say *you* mercenaries—will inevitably get dragged in.
No lord feels safe leaving an independent armed band sitting in his rear when he marches to war.
So sooner or later someone will force us onto the field—and most likely as expendable fodder."
Hearing this Ethan's mood grew heavy.
"So what do we do?"
"What do we do?
Sell ourselves early—and try to get a decent price."
Ivo sounded like a man who had been through this many times.
"Step forward voluntarily show loyalty to the lords and you can still negotiate terms.
If someone puts a knife to your throat you won't get to negotiate anymore.
Besides—we need to band together.
Scattered warbands get no respect."
Ethan leaned forward.
"How do we band together?"
Ivo avoided Ethan's eyes and swirled the wine in his cup.
"We unite under one banner and negotiate with the lords as one voice."
Ethan gave a small laugh.
"Brother Ivo—what does your banner look like?
May I see it?"
Ivo gave a self-mocking chuckle.
"My banner?
What banner do I have left?
Just an old man the world has almost forgotten."
"You know I don't want to compete with you youngsters.
Howard says you've already got forty men—I've only got a dozen or so left.
If your lads are really as strong as you claim I don't mind following your banner.
But even if I sell I want a fair price."
Ivo's bluntness caught Ethan off guard.
He had half-expected the old man wanted to swallow his company—instead it sounded like Ivo was eager to be swallowed.
"To be honest this kind of arrangement is rare where I come from.
I'm not sure how it works here.
Could you explain it clearly?"
Ivo glanced at Howard.
Howard took over the explanation:
"Bigger warbands command higher rates because lords find them easier to manage than scattered groups.
Ivo's proposal is simple: fold his dozen-odd men under your banner so you can negotiate a single price with the employer."
Ethan frowned.
"And what do I get out of it?"
"You take your usual cut from the pay we're supposed to receive—normally around fifteen percent."
Howard added:
"Fifteen percent isn't small.
The price bump you get from representing a larger force might not even cover it.
But when the employer issues orders they come warband by warband.
Will you obey my orders?"
"What difference does it make whose orders we follow?" Ivo replied.
"As long as you don't treat us like fodder."
Ethan's fingers drummed on the table.
He still couldn't decide.
He asked himself silently: *What is this old man really after?
Giving me money for free?
Is there a trap here?*
He looked at Howard again.
Howard had been a reliable partner so far—he doubted the man would sell him out for Ivo's sake.
So how much profit could Ivo possibly offer Howard?
Ethan after all had never truly been a mercenary.
Everything he knew about leading and training soldiers came from his homeland's traditions—traditions that said nothing about situations like this.
Unable to reach a decision he fell back on the classic stall.
"Howard Ivo—although I'm commander of the Silver Hand the company belongs to all the brothers not just me.
I need to go back and discuss it with them."
"No problem—go talk.
Give me an answer soon.
I'm sure plenty of other captains would jump at free fifteen percent."
After that the conversation shifted to lighter topics.
As a relative newcomer Ethan had limited connections and knew little of the mercenary world's everyday gossip.
For example: Lady Barbrey Dustin now ruled the Barrowlands and still harbored deep resentment toward Lord Eddard; House Stark had always been wary of House Bolton; Lady Maege Mormont's heir Alysane remained unmarried—whether she had a secret lover or other such rumors Ethan only learned second-hand.
Yet this kind of information was vital to professional mercenaries.
Fighting skill came second—choosing the right side came first.
Otherwise they might accept a contract kill the wrong man offend the wrong lord and then be wiped out on some trumped-up charge.
Ethan found the discussion eye-opening.
When the drinks were finished night had fallen.
Ethan and Lennar walked back to camp under starlight.
The warriors had already eaten and were gathered around campfires listening to Kevin preach.
After weeks of practice Kevin had grown quite skilled at delivering sermons.
With Ethan's permission he had begun blending elements of the Faith of the Seven into An'she teachings—making the doctrine easier for northerners to accept.
Ethan never hesitated to share entertaining stories with Lennar so Kevin could weave them into his lessons—turning sermons into lively engaging sessions filled with laughter that echoed across the camp.
Seeing the warm harmonious scene Ethan had no wish to interrupt.
He simply patted Conrad and Eddie on the shoulders quietly called them aside.
Once inside his tent Ethan recounted Ivo Russ's proposal from that afternoon then asked:
"What do you think he's really after?
You two are veterans—help me analyze it."
Eddie explained:
"It's actually quite normal.
Joining a larger outfit is the only realistic way to get paid by lords.
A handful of loners can only negotiate with garrison commanders or petty lords who can't raise enough men from their own lands.
Trying to attach directly to someone like the Duke of Winterfell and get paid is impossible.
They won't pay you—and you'll have to feed house and move yourselves."
Ethan was puzzled.
"Then what are they fighting for?"
Conrad laughed.
"We mercenaries don't only make money from pay.
Joining a duke's army brings huge side benefits.
Watching large formations maneuver gives battlefield intelligence.
Loot—armor warhorses—can be a fortune.
If you're lucky enough to capture an enemy noble you can demand ransom.
If the captive's family has any wealth they usually pay up.
Even if they're short on coin right now you can sell the prisoner to some other local lord who can afford to keep him.
Lower price quicker cash—still good business."
Eddie added:
"Conrad only mentioned money.
If you're luckier still—kill an important enemy commander or rescue a key ally in battle—you might get invited to join a lord's household guard.
That's a completely different life.
If you're timid or unlucky and get none of those benefits—well there's always civilians to rob right?
In wartime nobody cares about burning killing looting—so long as you don't steal your own lord's spoils you're usually fine."
"Have either of you ever robbed civilians?" Ethan asked directly.
After months together Conrad and Eddie had learned Ethan's character—he was far more upright than the average mercenary.
They immediately waved their hands in denial.
"No—honestly soldiers of our rank aren't even allowed near the good looting.
The lord's household troops go first.
By the time we get there it's usually just corpses and nothing left."
Ethan nodded.
He suspected both men were probably lying—but at least they were willing to lie *to him*.
That kind of "honesty" was rare and he let the matter drop.
Still after this conversation Ethan clearly understood that his ultimate goal for building the Silver Hand was fundamentally different from that of a conventional mercenary company.
A true mercenary band existed to kill for coin—regardless of whose blood stained the money or whose screams rose from beneath their blades.
But the Silver Hand was being forged as the armed protectors of the An'she faith and—ultimately—the saviors of Westeros.
If these warriors absorbed the worst habits of feudal mercenaries how could he ever lead them to defeat the White Walkers and save the world?
Moreover he planned to select the most promising among them for training as Sunwalkers.
Therefore Ethan resolved not only to reject Ivo's proposal outright but to use the time before departure to enforce strict discipline—preventing his brothers from committing any outrage on the territory of their northern allies.
After dismissing Eddie and Conrad Ethan kept Lennar behind and instructed:
"Lennar—tomorrow go to the Wolf's Kiss and deliver my refusal to Ivo Russ.
Make up whatever reason you like—just don't make it too absurd."
Lennar nodded but asked with concern:
"What if Howard objects?"
Ethan thought for a moment.
"Even if they object it changes nothing.
Tell them that anyone who carries the name Silver Hand must abide by our discipline.
Ask them plainly: can they accept it or not?"
He then listed four iron rules:
"First—all actions follow orders.
Second—no rape of women.
Third—no looting or destruction of civilian property.
Fourth—all spoils of war are turned in and distributed uniformly according to need.
Tell them these four rules first—and see whether they can live by them."
Ethan had not yet decided exactly how the Silver Hand should treat southern civilians versus northern civilians versus enemy civilians.
But he understood clearly that these four basic rules were the bedrock of the company.
Once their reputation became stained—once the smallfolk of Westeros feared and shunned the Silver Hand banner—his dream of becoming a true savior would be impossible.
The following afternoon after daily training ended Ethan decided to replace Kevin and personally announce the new military discipline to the entire company.
The mountain-clan warriors—most of them simple rural youths before joining—had never tasted the unchecked thrill of violence and accepted the rules easily.
But for the former wildling raiders the restrictions caused immediate grumbling.
Raised in the far north they were accustomed to taking whatever they could seize.
They had accepted Ethan's offer of membership without pay—eagerly anticipating that wartime plunder would be their reward.
Now that they were mostly integrated Ethan realized the original three-year unpaid term might feel far too long.
Objectively if he truly paid them nothing the initial shock of discipline would fade over time—and it would become difficult to guarantee they would not slip back into old habits.
So Ethan made an adjustment.
He announced that from now on free-folk warriors would receive half the daily maintenance stipend of mountain-clan warriors.
Furthermore after participating in battle and proving both skill and loyalty they would receive full regular pay and benefits equal to any other soldier.
This concession finally calmed the free folk.
It also dramatically increased Ethan's expenses.
Lennar returned from the Wolf's Kiss later that evening with Ivo Russ's reply.
Upon hearing the four rules Russ admitted he could never hold his own men to such standards.
He asked Lennar to pass on a message to Ethan:
"Are you running a mercenary company or a sept?
You forbid this forbid that—how do you even feed your army?
Feeding them shit?"
When Lennar relayed the remark Ethan smiled outwardly and let it pass—but inwardly he quietly marked the old man down for future reckoning.
Time passed quietly amid the shouts of training the clang of the trip-hammer and Kevin's tireless preaching.
Although Ethan spent nearly every day in camp Lennar—as liaison officer—continued ranging through Winterfell town gathering intelligence.
One snowy afternoon well before his usual return time Lennar burst into camp shouting:
"Ethan! Ethan!
Terrible news!"
Ethan set down his practice blade.
"What happened?"
Lennar panted:
"Lord Eddard has been executed—by order of the king!"
Ethan's eyes widened in disbelief.
"King Robert and Lord Eddard were foster brothers—they fought through life-and-death together—"
Lennar nodded heavily.
"King Robert is dead too!"
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