Lying on the bed in Westeros—clean enough, but unfamiliar nonetheless—Luke felt entirely sleepless.
Outside the window were the ambient noises unique to King’s Landing at night, far from peaceful.
Distant barking dogs, the footsteps of the city watch patrol, and perhaps even shady deals or scuffles occurring in unseen corners.
More importantly, aside from himself, this manse housed eleven newly hired sellswords of unknown background and practically zero loyalty.
Including that shrewd, cunning, money-grubbing Bronn.
Murder for wealth?
Turning on their employer?
In a world where the law was frail and martial might supreme, this was hardly baseless paranoia.
He had not bothered to hide his salt, sugar, and perfume transactions, and Bronn had personally watched him produce two large sacks of “hard currency.”
Luke was not so naive as to entrust his personal safety entirely to mercenary ethics and newly minted “trust.”
Shifting his thoughts, he focused his Spirit.
A second later, a sensation of weightlessness washed over him, and the scene before his eyes flipped.
The familiar, slightly musty air of his rented room, the continuous low hum of the city at night beyond the window, and the somewhat firm yet incomparably welcoming wooden bed beneath him.
A clean, bright rental, a hot shower, a gentle breeze from a small electric fan…
a sense of security instantly enveloped him.
“It really is much more reassuring on this side…”
Breathing a long sigh of relief, he turned off the light and soon sank into a sound, peaceful sleep amidst the familiar nighttime sounds of Blue Star.
The next morning, refreshed and energized, he returned to the Westeros manse to find the front courtyard already bustling.
Bronn and a few of his men were gathered around a small wooden table, washing down rock-hard, suspiciously colored black bread and chunks of dry cheese with murky ale, laughing and talking loudly.
Seeing Luke emerge from the rear courtyard, Bronn wiped his mouth and stood up.
“Morning, Luke,” he grinned.
“Nice place, just a bit empty.
We’re short on grain, short on meat, short on ale, and even shorter on a cook and scullions.
You can’t expect the lads to cook for themselves, can you?
Their slop would turn the stomach of a Flea Bottom rat.”
Luke nodded, glancing over the ten new guards covertly sizing him up.
These men were all in decent physical shape, their eyes carrying the usual vigilance of sellswords and a measure of scrutiny toward their new employer, with no glaring red flags for now.
“We’ll see to it today,” Luke said concisely.
“Bronn, pick four men and come with me to buy supplies.
The other six stay to watch the house.
Without my permission, no one approaches the rear courtyard or lets outsiders in.”
“Understood.”
Bronn called out four sellswords who seemed relatively sharp and steady.
The group returned to Cobbler’s Square.
It was as noisy and chaotic as ever, but Luke had a clear goal—recruiting hands.
Guided by Bronn, they found relatively hidden corners and makeshift shacks at the square’s edge where shadowy figures known as flesh-peddlers operated.
On the surface, slave trading was forbidden in Westeros, but poverty, debt, and the sheer struggle to survive spawned countless forms of disguised servitude.
Buying and selling people outright was illegal, but “buying debts,” “indentured servitude,” or “accepting debtors as bonded servants” were tacitly accepted unspoken rules.
Every world had its loopholes; where there was policy, there was a workaround.
Luke did not waste time haggling.
Under the guise of a hundred Gold Dragons for “advance pay” and “settling-in fees,” he “recruited” twenty people.
Ten were sallow-faced yet fairly sturdy young lads, aged fourteen to twenty.
Most had voluntarily or forcibly signed near-servile long-term contracts due to family bankruptcy, debts, or sheer destitution.
Luke intended to have Bronn and his men train them as a future armed cadre and loyal retainers.
The other ten were assorted servants: three claimed basic cooking skills, and five were middle-aged men and women for rough chores.
The last two were twin sisters who caught Luke’s eye.
They looked around sixteen or seventeen, with blonde hair and blue eyes that perfectly matched his Eastern aesthetic.
That damned “Eastern grace with Western bone structure” struck a deep chord! The source of this chapter is g.com.
Though gaunt and clad in tattered rags, their delicate features could not be hidden.
What caught Luke’s interest even more was the flesh-peddler lowering his voice: “These sisters are the bastard daughters of a ruined knight.
A degenerate gambler who used his daughters to pay off his debts…
The bastard swore they’re still maidens, and they can read!”
Literate!
In a world with rampant illiteracy, this was a rare skill.
Awkward heritage, sold out by their own flesh and blood, stuck at rock bottom…
the perfect candidates to bestow favors upon and cultivate early loyalty.
Luke made the decision on the spot.
The elder was Anne Waters, and the younger was Emma Waters.
Bastards born in the Crownlands all bore the surname Waters.
Hearing that their new master was this well-dressed, handsome young lord, a faint spark of hope flickered in the sisters’ eyes, though apprehension and fear remained far stronger.
Bronn watched from the side, clicking his tongue and leaning in with a sly wink.
“Sharp eye, Luke!
Keep these two fed and fattened up for a few months, and they’d fetch top coin on the Street of Silk!”
“Tsk, tsk, still green maidens, soft enough to pinch water out of…
Quite the taste, my lord—like having them two at a time?”
His voice was not loud, but easily carried to Anne and Emma.
The sisters turned deathly pale, tears streaming down like broken strings of pearls.
They huddled together, shivering, looking at Luke with absolute despair.
Luke’s face darkened, and he glared coldly at Bronn.
“Mind your tongue, Bronn.
They are my maidservants, not merchandise.
Say that again, and I’ll dock your pay.”
Bronn rubbed his nose sheepishly, muttering, “Just a joke,” but said no more.
He could tell the young lord was genuinely displeased.
Just as Luke prepared to lead the crowd away, an inconspicuous corner of the square caught his eye.
An olive-skinned couple clearly from Essos, accompanied by an equally stunning daughter of the same complexion, stood there silently.
The man held a crude wooden placard, written in the Common Tongue:
[Literate, skilled in writing, fluent in Westerosi Common Tongue and High Valyrian, proficient in arithmetic and management.
Terms: 2 Gold Dragons per month, lodging and food for a family of three.
3-year contract maximum, renewable upon expiration.]
Talent!
That was Luke’s immediate thought.
Literate, able to write, good with numbers, and capable of management—in this era, this was a high-level intellectual and professional manager!
He walked over at once.
Through conversation, he learned the man was named Arthur, forty-nine years old, claiming to hail from Myr across the Narrow Sea.
He had once been a steward to a wealthy merchant, but when his master went bankrupt and drew deadly enemies, he was forced to flee across the sea with his family to seek refuge and a living in Westeros.
Arthur had snow-white hair, though his eyebrows and eyes remained dark, his face weathered by hardship.
His wife, Carola, looked very young—an exotic, breathtaking beauty whose every smile was captivating enough to leave Bronn staring dumbstruck.
In particular, her perky, ample bust bounced enough to make even Luke feel slightly dizzy!
Their daughter, Michelle, was similar in age to Anne and Emma, inheriting her mother’s beauty—a blossoming stunner in her own right.
Arthur was neither servile nor haughty, speaking with clear logic that showed refined breeding and sound intellect.
Luke signed the family of three without hesitation.
A salary of two Gold Dragons a month was an exorbitant sum for ordinary folk, but to Luke, a talent capable of running internal affairs, keeping the accounts, and even drafting documents was well worth the price.
The large entourage returned in force to the new manse on Rhaenys’ Hill, instantly filling the empty grounds with lively bustle.
Luke quickly made assignments:
Arthur’s family was placed in the eastern wing of the rear courtyard—quiet and secluded, well-suited for living and working. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Anne and Emma were given two small rooms on the ground floor of the main building.
Nominally maid’s quarters, they were close to Luke’s bedchamber, making it convenient to summon them and observe their development.
Bronn was “banished” to the western wing, close to the front courtyard so he could manage the guards.
Next, Luke summoned Arthur to the reception room, currently serving as a makeshift study, and slid a heavy sack of gold coins across the table.
“There are one thousand Gold Dragons here,” Luke said calmly.
“Arthur, starting today, you will be responsible for the household’s daily expenses, payroll, and the daily tasks of the servants.
This money serves as operating capital; you will log it, keep the books, and report to me regularly.”
Arthur froze.
Staring at the sack of gold coins that would make many minor lords green with envy, then looking up at this absurdly young master he had met less than half a day ago, his eyes filled with disbelief.
Such immense trust and responsibility felt unreal after all his wanderings and encounters with the wickedness of men.
“My lord…
I…” Arthur choked up slightly.
“You…
place such trust in me…”
“I look only at ability, not the past,” Luke cut him off, his gaze piercing.
“You safely brought your family all the way from Myr to King’s Landing, keeping everyone whole.
That is ability.
Manage this place well, and I will not mistreat you.
But if anything goes wrong…”
He did not finish the thought, but the unspoken implication made Arthur shiver.
“I will never fail your trust, my lord!”
Arthur bowed deeply, solemnly accepting the money pouch with both hands, feeling an immense weight on his shoulders.
Not just the weight of gold, but a profound burden of responsibility and…
perhaps a chance to change his destiny.
Afterward, Luke summoned Bronn.
“Divide the guards into two groups of five.
One day shift, one night shift, rotating duties.
During the day shift, unless out on an assignment, each man is responsible for training those ten new lads in combat for one hour a day.
Consider it extra work; they get five silver stags a day as a stipend.
Those on night watch get an extra ten silver stags a night.”
He paused, then added, “Furthermore, for every five consecutive days worked, each guard receives one ‘paid day off.’ In other words, full pay on their rest day.”
Bronn blinked and scratched his messy hair.
“Extra pay for teaching fights by day, more pay for night watches, and a free day of coin every five days?
My lord…
quite the novel rules you’ve got.”
A grin broke across his face.
“The lads will bloody well love it, though!
I’ll set it up right away!”
Watching Bronn stride off eagerly, Luke walked to the window and looked out over the courtyard settling into dusk.
Servants were sweeping and settling in under Arthur’s direction.
Guards were falling into formation and splitting into squads at Bronn’s barking orders.
Anne and Emma carefully carried basins of water to wipe down the main building’s furniture.
Arthur’s wife, Carola, had tied on an apron, busy in the kitchen leading the three new cooks…
The manse, vacant and dreary only yesterday, was transforming at an astonishing pace into a fully functional, staffed stronghold.
His foundation was being built.
Trust would take time and shared benefits to solidify.
It was now 297 AC.
Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, did not have long to live!
In 298 AC—next year—Robert would ride north, and the wolves would march south…