My Walding friends are kind enough to let me stay over at Esmerel and even
keep a few things here, not having a wagon of my own.
My accent? I thought I was better at disguising it. Well, I'm from a long way north of here. A Southerner like you probably thinks we're pretty far north now, but where I come from, everyone here is a southerner.
Good, those soldiers moved on. If you must know, I'm not actually a Walding, either, although I can usually pass for one among non-Waldings. Why would anyone want to look like a Walding? Well, look at this place... can you imagine trying to find any Walding in particular? Plus, their wagons go everywhere and Waldings see a lot of the world. It can be a useful way to travel.
No, I'm not in trouble with the law! Actually, I'm on clan business, which is usually none of anyone else's concern. I'm apprentice to our clan's Honour. Surely even you have heard of Sigurd Bronding.
Look, if you say that again, you'll be very sorry! He is not an assassin. He personifies the honour of our clan, and killing people who wrong us is the smallest part of the job. Usually a word to another Honour or a stern warning suffices. Assassins kill for money, and Sigurd would never do anything so evil.
Hmmm... there's someone over there I have to check out. Excuse me, please. And if you see a one-eyed Shielding with a fancy green cloak, could you ask Stewart to let me know?
Others point out that Hodor Brond has many, many descendants, and that few clans indeed do not consider themselves the best swordsmen. However, the prudent among them don't point this out in a tavern full of brawny Bronding men!