Robert Baratheon’s voice filled the tent, loud and crude as ever.
“Birth, background—why the hell did you drag your ass to this shithole anyway?” Aragorn kept his face calm and respectful.
Inside, he was already tired of the game.
“Your Grace, I’m from Essos.
I grew up hearing the old tales about the Seven Kingdoms.
I came to see it all with my own eyes.” Robert squinted at him, leaning forward in his chair.
“You don’t look Essosi.
And lying to a king is a fast way to lose your head.” Aragorn had expected the suspicion.
Lyseni were supposed to be tall, smooth-skinned, with seductive eyes.
His Andal features didn’t match.
“Your Grace, the Andals lived in Andalos for thousands of years.
Their blood spread everywhere after the migrations.
Descendants turn up in the strangest places.” Robert suddenly roared with laughter, the sound shaking the tent walls.
“No whore’s stench on you at all!
Hahahaha!” Cersei’s cold voice cut through the noise from where she sat beside him.
“You didn’t bring him here to listen to boring stories.” Robert waved her off and turned back to Aragorn with a greedy glint in his eye.
“Those golden candies taste pretty damn good.
I’m buying every last one.
The gold I’m paying could buy you a hundred wives easy.
Someone bring him a hundred gold dragons.” Aragorn bowed low and backed out of the tent without another word.
Inside, Robert snatched up a handful of the sweets like a kid given a treat.
Cersei watched him with open disgust.
“This junk costs a fortune.” “I’m the king, woman.
It’s worth every coin,” Robert snapped.
“Same price you pay your whores.” Cersei’s smile was thin and sharp.
“Whatever you say.
Now get out of my sight.
I want a drink.” Robert barked for wine and ignored her.
Aragorn walked back to the Crossroads Inn, unaware of the argument still raging behind him.
The second he stepped through the door, the entire common room went quiet.
Then a huge cheer erupted.
“Seven hells, he came back alive!
I won the bet!” Bronn shouted, jumping onto a chair and throwing his fists in the air.
“No fucking way…” “Gods damn it, I lost silver on this…” Aragorn realized he’d been the subject of wagers again.
Some people looked thrilled.
Others looked like they’d been hoping for bad news.
Martha Hyde pushed a cup of wine into his hand, her face caught between relief and exasperation.
“You’ve only been here a few days and you’re already causing this much trouble.” “Good trouble,” Aragorn said.
He slapped a gold dragon onto the bar with a loud clink.
“The king bought my candies.” “Hide that before someone slits your throat for it,” Martha hissed.
Aragorn just grinned and raised his voice.
“Drinks are on me tonight!” The inn exploded into cheers and stomping feet.
“Come on, Aragorn!” someone yelled from the crowd.
He blinked.
“What?” Martha sighed like she was dealing with a slow child.
“You’re the reason we’re celebrating.
Lead the damn toast.” Aragorn wasn’t used to being the center of attention at parties.
He’d always preferred staying in the background.
But he could play along.
He lifted his cup high.
“To peace!” The whole room roared it back and drank deep.
The celebration kicked off hard.
Martha brought out every bit of stored meat she had.
The smell of roasting filled the air.
People ate, drank, sang, and danced.
Laughter bounced off the walls.
Bronn and Kiggen sat in a corner, drinking and watching Aragorn with matching smirks.
The young bard sat nearby, fingers moving gently over his harp strings.
His voice carried through the noise.
“Her form is slender as a cypress in the wind… black hair like a piece of the night sky… eyes greener than jade… lips soft as rose petals touched by morning dew…” Martha listened with a faraway look.
“I’ve heard that song since I was a girl.
Decades later and the words are still the same.” As the night went on, the food ran low and the mood changed.
The working girls arrived and the energy turned hotter.
Men drank and sang with the whores, the room growing loud and loose.
One of them swayed straight over to Aragorn.
She reached out and ran a finger slowly across the emerald on his chest.
“Tonight I’m yours, handsome.
Free of charge.” Aragorn froze for half a second.
His game stats gave him total resistance to status effects, including drunkenness.
He could fake it though.
He let his body go slack and slumped sideways like a man who’d had way too much.
The whore made a disappointed sound.
“Really?
That’s all it takes?
Lightweight.” With the guest of honor suddenly “passed out,” the party lost its spark and started breaking up.
Bronn hauled Aragorn over his shoulder and carried him upstairs.
After dumping him on the bed, Bronn turned to go and felt something in his pocket.
He pulled out a silver stag and smiled.
“Kid’s decent.” Hours later Aragorn woke needing to piss.
On his way back from the privy he found the same whore waiting near his door.
She didn’t speak.
She just smiled, tugged her neckline down to show him everything, then turned and walked away into the dark.
Aragorn stood there staring after her, completely speechless.
He finally let out a long breath, went into his room, and lay down on the bed.
“Goddamn… those were big.” He knocked the heel of his hand against his forehead a few times, trying to knock the image out of his head, and eventually fell asleep.