The meeting with the Lord Commander had gone better than I'd dared hope. A part of me, fed on dramatic tales, had expected to be immediately swept into the games of the great lords. I had even steeled myself for a worst-case scenario: joining the Kingsguard, stabbing the Mad King in the back, and taking the black—a bold, if suicidal, plan.
Thankfully, that particular brand of madness had been avoided. I was not yet entangled in the political shitstorm of the capital.
I had to remind myself I wasn't some shut-in who knew only games. I was a second-year college student with a part-time job and, yes, a deep familiarity with fanfiction tropes. For a moment, I'd entertained the idea of killing Aerys to make Rhaegar king, solving everything.
But no. That was a fool's hope. Even with Rhaegar on the Iron Throne, things could spiral into something worse. My only true advantage was my knowledge of the future. I had to stay away from the main players to keep the timeline from unraveling completely.
A cold dread trickled down my spine. Varys. The Spider. His little birds were everywhere. I loved his character in the show, but the thought of being caught in his web now was terrifying. How would I even spot one of his child spies? For all I knew, the very walls had ears. I was being paranoid, but in this city, paranoia was probably just good sense.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus on the present. I had nearly forgotten about Rolf.
"I need to find a place to sleep and rest," I said to him. "Somewhere to finally wash off the grime of the road. Do you have a recommendation?"
"Of course, Ser!" Rolf replied cheerfully. "We're headed there now. First, I must unload my wagon at the Fishmonger's Square. Then we'll pass by the Street of Silk to get you some proper clothes. I'm guessing you don't have any, and mine certainly won't fit you."
The man was a godsend. His practicality was a lifeline. I needed to keep him close; I was still utterly ignorant of how to navigate this world.
"You speak to me as if we're old friends," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I told you to drop the 'Ser.' Call me Julius. And you're taking me to an inn, not your home, I hope? I've no wish to trouble your family."
Rolf laughed. "Haha, I wouldn't dream of it, Ser—Julius. My home hasn't a bed that could fit you. We're going to an inn run by my relatives. And keep your coin. Having my life in one piece is reward enough."
His jolly nature was a balm. We talked and joked as we navigated the crowded streets, and a genuine camaraderie began to form. He saw me as a friend, perhaps because I'd saved his life. I, however, was acutely aware that I was using him for his knowledge. It didn't make me feel like a good person, but I wasn't villainous either. I was just trying to survive.
A strange sensation was also growing in me, a whisper in my muscles and mind. It spoke of chivalry and honor, a drive to fight for what was right, protect the innocent, and punish the wicked. Was this a side effect of the Warden's body? An echo of its original purpose? It didn't feel like an invasion, more like a part of myself I'd never known was waking up. At least no one was speaking in my head, commanding me. I was still my own man.
The city itself was a shock. From a distance, it was magnificent. From within, it was a chaotic, stinking sprawl. The poverty was staggering. Beggars lined the streets, their lives dependent on the scraps of the wealthy. I wasn't even talking about the high lords in their castles, but the merchants and craftsmen who formed a fragile middle class. The thought of winter coming, of the cold and famine that would inevitably kill so many of these people, was a deeply disturbing prospect. I came from a world where such mass suffering was, for the most part, an abstract concept. Seeing it firsthand was chilling.
The thought of arriving here in my original body—a decently healthy but average 5'8" frame—was a sobering one. I would have drowned in the armor or been cut down instantly by the bandits. A silent thanks went to whatever power had sent me here in this form. I swore then I wouldn't convert to any of this world's religions, but I could still be grateful for the gift of survival.
After finishing our shopping—acquiring ready-made clothes that barely fit my large frame at a reasonable price—I found I still had 206 gold dragons. A fortune. But I needed more: a helmet to hide my face from prying eyes, a large horse, and perhaps a squire or two to manage it all. Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound.
We finally arrived at our destination: an inn called The Green Bird. My body ached for a long, proper bath with hot water and, in a true fantasy indulgence, perhaps a maid to scrub my back. The simple bliss of a clean body felt like the greatest luxury in the world. I could only hope this establishment provided it.