"Theon Greyjoy?" Aldric looked up, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Who is that?"
"Do you know the Iron Islands?" Rennel asked, ladling a steaming bowl of turnip soup from the iron pot. He took a sip and winced. "This soup is as bland as a Septon's lecture."
"We're out of coarse salt. I'll buy a sack tomorrow morning," Kevin explained from the corner, where he was sharpening his spear.
Aldric pressed on, ignoring the culinary critique. "By the way, what are the Iron Islands? Are they actually made of iron? That sounds... expensive."
Brother John, meticulously carving a wooden statue of the Crone by the flickering light of a pine oil lamp, chimed in. "The Iron Islands lie in Ironman's Bay, off the western coast. Before the Targaryen conquest, they were a sovereign nation. Their kings ruled the Riverlands with an iron fist."
"The inhabitants call themselves 'Ironborn,'" John continued. "They claim every captain is a king on his own deck, so the islands are sometimes called the 'Land of Ten Thousand Kings.' Some say the name comes from the ore in their hills, but the Ironborn claim it's named for their unyielding nature. The Greyjoy family rules them now—mostly, they're just a pack of high-born pirates."
John looked over at Rennel. "How do you know a Greyjoy? Did you bed one of their daughters? Be careful; they aren't a folk to be trifled with."
"I wish," Rennel snorted, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Soft rice always tastes the best. No, nine years ago, the Greyjoys rebelled against the Iron Throne. King Robert and Lord Eddard crushed them. The only surviving son, Theon Greyjoy, was taken as a ward by Lord Eddard. He lives in the castle now. Lately, my performance of The Chronicle of the Dawn has been drawing quite the crowd."
Rennel turned to Aldric with a grin. "At the end of every set, I mention your name—the descendant of the Stone-Born Warrior Vilcon Seres, wandering the Winter Town. Theon found me after a show. He wants to meet you. Don't waste your time at the Wolf's Kiss tomorrow. Clean your leathers and meet me at the Smoking Log in the afternoon."
Unintentionally planting a willow that gives shade, Aldric thought. The marketing had worked. "Alright. Wake me when it's time."
Rennel usually lived like a ghost—leaving late and returning well after midnight. Often, he'd stumble back at dawn with dark circles under his eyes, dragging his bedding into Aldric and Kevin's room to sleep until mid-afternoon.
Because of the meeting with the Greyjoy ward, Rennel hauled himself out of bed early. Just past noon, they arrived at the Smoking Log, securing a window seat.
Time in Westeros was a fluid concept. If someone said "afternoon," showing up anytime between the sun hitting its zenith and the first signs of dusk was considered punctual. After an hour of waiting, Rennel had to leave to prepare for his evening set. Aldric sat alone, nursing a cup of the house-special sweet cider.
"Sweet cider? That's a woman's drink."
Aldric didn't look up. A lean, dark-haired youth with a arrogant, handsome face and a sparse beard slid into the seat opposite him. His eyes were sharp, mocking. "Is the great warrior from Seres truly such a pansy?"
"Pansy or not, you can test it against your pretty face," Aldric said, finishing the cider in one long swallow.
Under the youth's surprised gaze, Aldric slowly tightened his fist. The wooden cup groaned and then exploded into splinters, clattering onto the table. It was a classic "Highlord" parlor trick, but it never failed to silence a room.
"Rory!" Aldric called out. "I broke a cup. Add it to the bill."
"Two copper stars!" the waiter shouted back.
"Put it on Rennel's tab. And bring me another cider."
Moments later, a fresh drink arrived. Aldric sipped it calmly, ignoring the wood shards on the table.
The youth looked at the shattered remains of the cup, then back at Aldric, his smirk replaced by genuine interest. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Theon Greyjoy, heir to Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, and ward of Lord Eddard Stark."
Aldric offered a hand. "Lewie Seres, hedge sword. Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," Theon said, shaking his hand and testing the grip. "I heard the bard's tales. You're a big man, and clearly a strong one. I won't waste words. I have work for you. Are you interested?"
"I'm a sellsword, Lord Theon. Work is what I'm here for. Tell me the job."
"Someone owes me eleven Gold Dragons in gambling debts," Theon said, leaning in. "I want you to get it back for me."
Despite his noble status, Theon was an outsider in Winterfell. At nineteen, he was too old to be a child and too much of a hostage to be a lord. He spent his days in the Winter Town, looking for entertainment—and often, for ways to line his pockets.
Recently, the garrison commanders from the surrounding villages had come to Winterfell to deliver reserve grain and pay homage to Lord Stark. Theon had organized several card games to "entertain" the visiting officers. Most knew that losing a few stags to the Greyjoy boy was a small price for his favor.
However, a commander named Andel Backus had lost big and fled in the night without so much as an IOU.
"I want you to take some men and get that gold back," Theon said. "As a reward, you keep two Dragons."
Violent debt collection, Aldric thought. How many years in a dungeon does that get you back home?
"Lord Theon, a question. There are fifty veterans at the Wolf's Kiss waiting for work. Why hire me?"
Theon held up two fingers. "Two reasons. First, those old fools at the Wolf's Kiss have been here too long. For all I know, one of them is drinking buddies with Andel. I don't trust them not to let him slip away."
"Second, Andel is technically a vassal of my foster father. I don't want this becoming a scandal. If a stranger goes and 'reminds' him of his debts, it stays private. I need someone strong enough to handle himself quietly."
Aldric thought of Kevin's report from the night before: one Gold Dragon and sixteen Silver Stags left. Pride didn't fill bellies.
"I'll need more coin," Aldric said, feigning hesitation.
"Not a copper," Theon snapped. "Two Dragons is a king's ransom for a three-day ride to Rabbit's Paw Village. I'll provide a guide to act as a witness so you aren't accused of simple banditry, but he won't fight. The heavy work is yours."
Aldric finally nodded. "Fine. I'll take the job."
Back at the courtyard that evening, the mood was somber. Over a dinner of turnip and mushroom soup, Aldric recounted the deal.
"Teacher, debt collection isn't honorable work," Kevin said softly.
Brother John added, "Gambling is a rot, Aldric. It corrodes the spirit. You should consider whose cause you are championing."
"It doesn't bring honor, but it brings bread!" Rennel argued, waving a crust of black bread. "John, the man in debt is the sinner here. Aldric is just the messenger. Go for it, friend!"
Aldric nodded, then looked at John. "You mentioned wanting to make Southern-style furniture to sell. You need better tools."
"I do," John sighed. "But a full set of professional carpentry tools costs more than I have. I'll have to ask the blacksmith for a price tomorrow."
"No need," Aldric said. "Don't waste the coin. Tomorrow we'll buy some scrap iron, and I'll forge the set for you myself."
John looked at him in shock. "Forge them? You're a sellsword, Aldric. What do you know of the Smith's labor?"
"A warrior who doesn't know how his weapon is forged doesn't truly know his weapon," Aldric replied.
"Heretical nonsense," John scoffed. "By your logic, a Maester who can't make his own quill can't write an essay? The Warrior and the Smith are two different aspects for a reason. You cannot master both without blaspheming the Seven's design."
"Weird," Aldric retorted. "If they're both aspects of the same god, shouldn't mastering both be the highest form of worship?"
Rennel held up his hands to stop the impending theological brawl. "Enough! If he can forge them, he forges them. Let's talk about something more interesting... have you heard the one about the Lion and the Rose?"
The next afternoon, Aldric returned to the Wolf's Kiss. He sat before Howard Bello and ordered a cup of barley ale.
Howard looked up, annoyed. "I told you, Seres, I'll send word if a contract comes up."
Aldric took a slow sip. "I'm not here to find work today, Howard. I'm here to hire."