A girl no older than ten stepped in front of Aragorn and blocked his way.
“Guest, before you come inside, please dust the dirt off your clothes first.” Her voice was serious and clear.
“Sorry, ser.
This is my little sister Willow.
She’s always very particular about these things.” The older girl gave a small, apologetic smile.
“No trouble,” Aragorn said.
“I really am filthy.” “You saved my older sister, so I’ll clean you up nice and proper,” Willow promised.
“Thank you.” With the girl’s help, he beat the worst of the dust and mud from his armor and boots until he was fit to enter.
The common room smelled of roast meat and woodsmoke.
“You’re lucky today,” the innkeeper said around a wad of tobacco she was chewing.
Her teeth were stained dark red, and when she smiled it looked almost bloody.
“Not many guests.
Roast meat’s on the house as long as it lasts.” “I’d like to eat in my room,” Aragorn said.
This inn sat on a major trade road.
Merchants and travelers came through constantly.
It was a perfect place to pick up information and figure out where to go next.
Aragorn made a show of reaching into his coat.
He opened his game inventory and pulled out ten gold coins stamped with the image of a naked woman.
He set them on the bar, a little embarrassed.
In the game, money had just been numbers you earned from quests and kills.
The really rare stuff came from real-money purchases.
“Hey, you!” the innkeeper snapped, eyes wide.
“Don’t go flashing that kind of wealth around.
I don’t know how long you plan on staying or how much you’re planning to eat, but you don’t need to buy the whole damn inn.” She picked up one of the coins with shaking fingers, turned it over in her palm, and studied it carefully before putting it back with a sigh.
That much money?
These?
She had to be joking.
Aragorn pulled out a single silver coin instead and told her he’d eat in his room.
She could send the food up when it was ready.
The innkeeper chewed her tobacco, then spat.
“Another jumped-up rich boy from Essos.” Aragorn heard her perfectly but didn’t bother reacting.
The world of Kingdom of Heaven Online was huge, built to match a real-world map.
It was split across several continents, but players mostly stayed on Essos and Westeros.
The other lands weren’t even open yet.
Anyone who tried sailing too far just got disconnected.
Aragorn’s old stomping grounds had been Essos.
The coins he carried were Lysene—from one of the Nine Free Cities.
Players used to call them “rogue coins” because of the naked woman stamped on the front.
Aragorn went up to his room, set his weapons on the floor, and took off his cloak and leather armor.
He sat on the bed, pulled off his boots, and stretched.
Once he was sure he was alone and safe, he used the one-key outfit change to switch into casual clothes.
A knock came soon after.
“Your food’s ready.” The wooden tray held black rye bread, bean soup, a simple salad, and roast meat—a solid mix of meat and greens.
The moment the food hit his stomach, Aragorn finally accepted it.
This was real.
The black bread was hard as a board; he had to dip it in the soup to eat it.
The meat tasted good but was short on salt.
Probably not enough of it to go around.
When he finished, he carried the empty dishes back downstairs.
The innkeeper’s face changed the second she saw him bringing them down himself, but she didn’t say anything.
Instead she handed him a slice of honey cake.
“Don’t sleep through the bell,” she warned.
“Come down late and you miss breakfast.” Back in his room, Aragorn sat on the bed for a while before crawling under the blankets.
In the middle of the night the inn had gone quiet.
Two shadows crept up to his door.
“Been quiet in there a long time.
Kid’s definitely asleep.” “Shut your mouth.
You wake him up and this gets complicated.” “He killed four bandits, remember?” “You weren’t listening.
He did it with a sneak attack.
Up close he’s got nothing.” These two were local small-time thugs.
Their target was the fat purse they’d seen Aragorn carrying.
A sheltered rich kid like him was an easy mark.
But the moment one of them pushed the door open, there was a sharp thud.
A throwing knife had pinned the man’s groin straight to the wooden door.
He pissed himself on the spot.
“Gods damn you, what the hell are you—” His partner felt something hot on his neck.
He touched it and his fingers came away wet with blood.
A second knife was buried in the wall behind him.
“Be sure to close the door on your way out,” Aragorn’s voice came out of the darkness.
He’d noticed the pair earlier but hadn’t wanted to kill anyone over a bit of petty theft.
A good scare was enough.
The bell woke him at dawn.
Aragorn changed back into his gear and went downstairs.
The common room was full now—old folks and young, all talking, laughing, eating and drinking.
It was loud and lively.
Some of the armed men wore no sigils.
Sellswords or hedge knights, most likely.
More of them looked like soldiers, their tunics and shields marked with a deer and a lion.
Aragorn recognized the sigils.
Stormlands and Westerlands.
Baratheon and Lannister men.
Peace, then.
Men from rival kingdoms sitting together drinking without trouble.
Before he crossed over, the game’s background had been the Targaryen invasion of Westeros.
A paradise for players who liked conquest and war.
Aragorn walked through the stares and found an empty seat.
Maybe it was the emerald on his chest that drew the eyes.
A serving girl brought his breakfast.
Across the table sat a young bard, maybe seventeen or eighteen, idly tuning a wooden harp.
“Morning, traveler.
The Seven bless you.” “Thanks.” Aragorn took a bite of his fried egg.
The bard watched him openly, his gaze lingering on the emerald for a few seconds.
Then the questions started coming fast—where was he from, where was he headed, any news from the road?
He barely gave Aragorn time to answer.
“From Lys,” Aragorn said, answering one of them.
“Oh, Lys!” The bard’s eyes lit up.
“I’ve always wanted to go there.
They say you’ve got the prettiest boys and the prettiest slave girls.
I dream about seeing the Perfume Gardens someday.” Aragorn frowned a little.
He didn’t mind friendly people, but he could tell this one was mostly using the questions as an excuse to talk about himself.
“Chataya’s place in King’s Landing is good too,” the bard went on.
“Plenty of rich lords there.
Last tourney I won so much coin I could barely carry it all… but then I put it all on the Kingslayer and lost every last copper.
Shame.
Otherwise I’d be halfway to Lys by now.
Maybe even the Perfume Gardens.” “That’s a shame.
The Seven really turned their backs on you that day.” “I know the gods don’t favor me,” the bard said with a crooked grin.
“That’s why I’m looking extra hard this time.” “You’ve traveled a lot, singer.
Tell me who rules the Seven Kingdoms these days.” Aragorn slid a silver coin across the table.
The bard picked it up, eyebrows rising in surprise.
“My friend, have you been in Lys so long you’ve gone soft in the head?
The Seven Kingdoms haven’t had their own kings in years.
The Baratheons rule them all now!” “What?” Aragorn’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
“The Targaryens were driven back?”