I held my breath as the gray clouds parted to reveal the sight I had dreamed of while sitting in my room back in the twenty-first century. Directly ahead of us rose King's Landing. It wasn't just a city from a TV show; it was a living canvas of red stone glowing under the midday sun. The towering walls encircling the city, the harbor teeming with ships of colorful sails, and the spires of the Red Keep reaching for the heavens—everything was grander and more imposing than I had ever imagined.
"My god... it's real," I whispered to myself, a look of genuine wonder crossing my face. Despite the stench that began to creep into our nostrils, the architectural magnificence and the intricate carvings on the Lion's Gate left me in a state of cultural shock. The city was bursting with life: street vendors, knights in gleaming plate, and noblewomen in silken gowns. For a moment, I didn't feel like a warrior on a mission; I felt like a tourist in the greatest museum of history.
As the procession carved its way through the Street of the Sisters, I glanced left and right with childlike amazement. I stared at the Great Sept of Baelor with its marble domes, feeling a chill run down my spine.
Upon reaching the courtyard of the Red Keep, I dismounted, my eyes tracing the very walls that had witnessed the fall of the Mad King. The luxury here was a stark contrast to the grim, gray austerity of Winterfell. Every corner screamed of wealth and ancient history.
In the center of the courtyard, a formal reception awaited. I saw Petyr Baelish with his calm, mocking features, and Varys, smelling of powder and lavender. They didn't look at me as a threat; their gazes passed over me as they would any other Northern soldier in Ned Stark's retinue. To them, I was just more "muscle" arriving in the capital.
I overheard Baelish whisper to Renly Baratheon as he watched us: "It seems Lord Ned has brought the finest of Northern youth this time... but beauty in this city does little to protect one's neck." Renly chuckled softly, and I felt Varys's scrutinizing gaze linger on me—not as a political danger, but as a new piece added to the board, its true value yet unknown to them.
While I stood mesmerized by an ancient dragon statue in one of the corridors, a massive shadow blocked the light. I turned to find Sandor Clegane (The Hound). His burned face looked far more terrifying and visceral than any screen could portray.
"Stop staring at the stones, boy," the Hound growled in his gravelly, menacing voice. "Stones don't bite, but the people here will tear your throat out while you sleep."
I smiled at him—perhaps a foolish smile of someone starstruck by the encounter. "They are beautiful stones, Sandor, even if they are stained with blood."
He looked at me with bewilderment, as if the very idea of someone admiring the city's beauty disgusted him, then stomped away muttering profanities.
Shortly after, I crossed paths with Ser Barristan Selmy. The man was a living legend. I bowed to him with genuine respect. "Ser Barristan, it is a profound honor to be in the presence of the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms."
The old knight nodded humbly. "I have heard of you, lad. They say you sparred with the Crown Prince using a tree branch. Great courage... or great recklessness. At your age, I had the same fire, but be warned: the swords in the capital rarely leave their scabbards in broad daylight."
I spent the first few hours exploring the secret passages—locations I already knew from the show. I walked through the halls, trying to hide my awe at the woven tapestries and rare carpets.
In the evening, I headed to the girls' quarters. I found Arya trying to climb one of the balconies to see the sea, while Sansa sat before a mirror, her eyes shining with the brilliance of dreams finally coming true.
"Alex! Have you seen the castle? It's more beautiful than all the stories!" Sansa cried out excitedly.
"Yes, Lady Sansa," I replied, looking out at the sunset over Blackwater Bay. "But remember, the most beautiful roses always have thorns."
I took my leave, and on my way back, I passed a window overlooking the Small Council chamber. I saw Baelish and Varys talking quietly. To them, I was just a handsome warrior in Ned Stark's guard—a naive Northern lad who might be used to charm a lady-in-waiting or guard a gate. They had no idea that this "naive lad" knew exactly what they were hiding in the cellars of their hearts.
I entered my small room and stretched out on the plush bed. "I'm really in King's Landing," I whispered to myself. "The beauty here steals your breath, but I won't let it steal my head."