“Hahaha, you’re something else.” Bronn’s hearty laugh echoed through the air as he and his companion Kiggen heaved the three thugs onto a cart side by side.
Their hands and feet were bound tight with rope so they couldn’t move.
Scarface had taken the worst of the wounds, so Aragorn had given him some basic treatment.
Dead men were no good for collecting a bounty.
“Here.
Your share.” “What’s this?” “While you were fighting I made a little wager with the folks watching.
Fifty-fifty split sound fair?” Bronn raised an eyebrow, eyes full of mischief.
Aragorn felt a wave of speechlessness.
People had actually bet on it?
Still, he took the coin pouch and muttered a thanks.
“Thanks to you I don’t have to worry about living expenses for a while.
Pretty fun, right?” Bronn clapped him on the shoulder, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
“No.
I hate gambling.” Aragorn had always hated gambling, even in his previous life.
One of his friends had racked up massive debts, borrowed from everyone he knew, lost the house, and ended up with his wife and kids walking out on him.
It had been ugly.
“Then you’re missing out on a lot of fun,” Bronn said, lips pursed in mock pity.
“You’re not me.
How would you know what I find fun?” Aragorn ignored the look Bronn gave him—like he was staring at an idiot—and walked away.
Instead of heading back to the inn, Aragorn rode into the nearby forest.
He planned to bring back some game as compensation for the trouble he’d caused at the inn.
Paying coin would have worked, but after the earlier attack on their supply run they were short on ingredients.
Fresh meat seemed like the better gesture.
“What’s going on here?” He hadn’t gone far into the trees when he spotted a man in full armor up ahead.
His heart jumped.
What was a knight doing out here?
As he got closer he saw the lion embroidered on the man’s chest.
The sigil of the Westerlands.
“Who are you?” the knight shouted, drawing his sword while they were still some distance apart.
His voice cut sharply through the quiet forest.
At the same time two spearmen stepped out from the trees and boxed Aragorn in.
“I’m a traveler.
Aragorn.
Is there anything I can do for you?” “Traveler?
The King’s camp is just ahead.
Don’t come any closer or we’ll treat you as a poacher.” The knight puffed out his chest, showing off the silver breastplate stamped with the lion, and spoke with open arrogance.
Come on.
You just told a complete stranger where the King is.
What happened to security?
Aragorn kept the thought to himself.
He knew better than to act too casual around men like this.
A little respect went a long way toward keeping them from getting stupid and aggressive.
Aragorn reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather pouch.
He loosened the cord and took out one of the golden rock candies inside—game quest items that restored a bit of stamina.
He popped one into his mouth, then offered the whole pouch to the knight.
“Want one?” The knight hesitated for a long moment before finally nodding and reaching out.
Clearly this kind of delicate sweet was a rare treat for him.
“I’m just a traveler.
Heard the scenery around here was nice, so I thought I’d take a look.” “Then you came to the wrong place.
You should go farther out.
This area belongs to the King now.” The King?
Robert Baratheon?
What’s he doing out here instead of in King’s Landing?
Some kind of progress tour?
The knight barked at him to leave.
“Ah… right, right.
I got too excited.” Aragorn fiddled with the candy pouch while he asked, “Want another one?” “No thanks.
Too many and you get thirsty.” The knight waved it off, but his eyes kept drifting back to the pouch.
Lower knights spent what little coin they had on gear and travel.
Sweets were a luxury.
“Please, don’t be polite.
I’ve admired knights since I was a boy.” “Oh, then I really ought to thank you properly.” Aragorn could hear the other two soldiers swallowing hard.
He bowed to the knight and handed over the entire pouch, then gave a few candies to the spearmen as well.
“I never expected His Grace the King to be so close.
Did he come out here just to see us?” The knight scoffed at the idea but didn’t mock him outright—probably because of the candy.
“The King is heading to the North… that’s all you need to know.
You should go back now.” “The North… what’s so special about a place that’s nothing but ice and snow all year?” After parting ways with the knight, Aragorn rode back to the inn.
He could hear shouting from inside before he even dismounted.
“Damn it!
Bring me that roast meat right now!” “I’m truly sorry, but we really don’t have any left.” “Just a small piece.
You don’t even have a small piece?” the customer pressed.
“We really don’t.
There was trouble a few days ago and the supplies never came in.
The meat is gone…” Martha Hyde explained helplessly.
“What about wine?” “Wine we have plenty of.
Drink as much as you like.” Martha looked ready to tear her hair out until she spotted Aragorn carrying the game he’d hunted.
Her face lit up with relief.
In a corner of the King’s camp, the Lannister knight and his men were enjoying the golden rock candies Aragorn had given them.
“Ohhh, this smell is incredible.” “What is this?
It’s delicious—” “Do the highborn lords eat things like this every day?” “That kid really had some good stuff.
Heard he made it himself.” Right then a deep voice boomed out from inside the largest tent.
“Bring that thing over here and let me try it!” The knight and soldiers froze where they stood.
They knew that voice.
It belonged to King Robert Baratheon, the man who now ruled the Seven Kingdoms.
Robert was as wide around the middle as he was tall, with a thick black beard like iron wire that hid his heavy double chin.
His big belly and the dark circles under his eyes couldn’t hide the sheer presence he carried.
“Hey!
The King is speaking.
Didn’t you hear him?
Give it here.” The knight’s hands shook as he passed the pouch over.
Robert snatched it, gave it a sniff, then tossed several candies straight into his mouth.
“Fuck, that’s good!
What the hell have you lot been feeding me?
Tastes like horse shit.” “Horse shit?
You haven’t gone without it these past decades,” Queen Cersei Lannister said dryly from beside him.
Her twin brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, stood golden-haired and silent at her side.
A short, misshapen dwarf—Tyrion Lannister—watched from a little farther away with clear amusement.
“You three.
Where did you get these?
And don’t lie to your King.” The knight had gone pale.
Sweat poured down his face and his legs were trembling so badly he could barely stay upright.
He stammered out the story of the traveler named Aragorn, carefully leaving out the part where he had accidentally revealed the King’s location.
“Then go fetch that damned traveler.
Now.”