New students start from 'Game of Thrones'

Chapter 33 The Onion Knight

As noon approached, outside the Hand's Tower, Sandor Clegane stood at the entrance—only to be blocked by a Stark guardsman. The guardsman's hand rested on his sword hilt, his eyes sharp with wariness. Behind him, several more guards hurried over, ready to intervene.

"Calm down. I'm not here to cause trouble—I value my life too much," Sandor said, his voice gruff but calm.

"These days, no one's stupid enough to stir up trouble near the Hand's Tower," he added.

"What business do you have here, Ser Sandor?" Hill asked, stepping forward from the group of guards.

"I've come to see Ser Owen. To thank him," Sandor replied, looking down at Hill—who was several inches shorter.

He could feel the guards' eyes on him, all of them tensed, ready to draw their swords at the slightest provocation.

"Please give this letter to Ser Owen. Tell him I'll be waiting for him at the Blackwater Tavern tonight," Sandor said, handing Hill a sealed note before turning to leave.

Once Sandor was gone, Hill rushed to the basement training yard—where Owen was instructing the off-duty guards in swordplay, with Arya as his most eager pupil.

Owen, wielding a wooden sword, parried Arya's strikes as they dueled.

"Faster, Arya! Don't fight me head-on with strength—use your speed. That's your advantage," he said, easily blocking her quick thrusts while pointing out flaws in her technique.

Arya was a natural—sharp, quick to learn, and full of spirit. At Owen's guidance, she immediately adjusted her stance, leaning into her small frame and agility. She targeted Owen's legs and torso, her practice sword moving like a needle, precise and relentless as she exploited the openings he deliberately left.

Her feet danced across the stone floor, shifting positions—now close, now far—keeping Owen guessing. Her movements were both graceful and fierce, like a waltz with a deadly edge.

Under Owen's direction, Arya's strikes grew faster, bolder, and more disciplined. She was so caught up in the thrill of it that she didn't notice Owen's wrist tense—until he flicked his wooden sword, sending her practice sword flying from her hand.

Arya froze, stunned. She'd felt a sudden surge of force along her blade, too strong to resist. She watched, wide-eyed, as her sword clattered to the ground several feet away.

"One more lesson: speed and skill matter—but so does strength. You need to work on building yours," Owen said, grinning teasingly.

Arya glared at him, clearly annoyed by his trickery.

"Starting today, practice with this wooden sword. When you can move with it as smoothly as you did with yours—you'll be ready," Owen said, handing her his sword and ruffled her hair.

"Ser!" Hill called, approaching with the letter once the training session ended.

"What is it, Hill?" Owen asked.

"Ser Sandor was here. He asked me to give you this—said he wanted to thank you. He'll be at the Blackwater Tavern tonight," Hill replied, handing over the note.

"Well, that's convenient," Owen said, opening the letter and scanning it.

"I'll let Lord Eddard know. I know what to do," he added, folding the letter and tucking it away.

Hill bowed and returned to his post in the hall. Arya, meanwhile, had snuck over, her big eyes fixed on Owen.

"Don't even think about it," Owen said, cutting her off. "It's nighttime—too dangerous. You're staying in your chambers."