I want to go home.
I want to go back to Skagos, where the nauseating stench of this city doesn't assault my nose.
Of course, I knew what to expect, given how many times it's been mentioned in books, the show, and the fan fictions I've read, but two crucial factors were forgotten.
First, the three cities of Skagos have cleanliness centers and a sewer system, which means the city always smells nice, and I'm used to that. Second, like every other aspect of my body, my sense of smell is far superior to that of humans, which means that everything the good people of King's Landing can smell, I feel it much, much more intensely.
At least I'm not the only one. Even if the sailors don't seem too bothered, probably because they occasionally go to the Free Cities for trade, Geralt, on the other hand...
Yeah, the enhanced Witcher senses, boosted by my system, can suck sometimes. Note to self: ask the research center to make a mask that filters out smells.
While my guards prepare the cargo for transport to the Red Keep, my eyes scan the entire port, the people working there, the guards pretending to patrol, the various entry and exit routes... the weak points... just in case.
Once the cargo is ready, I, along with a dozen guards and servants, head toward the Red Keep. On the way, I carefully observe everything I can—again, just in case.
"I must admit, I expected a lot more from the capital of the Seven Kingdoms." Turning my head to the right, where Geralt is riding beside me, I see him looking at the city with a grimace on his face. "I hope their castle smells better than the city."
I let out a small laugh at the Witcher's discomfort as we continued moving toward the Red Keep. "We both know we're going to be disappointed, White Wolf." My laugh grows a little louder as I see him mutter complaints. "Are you planning to take part in the tournament?"
Still frowning, he looks at me again before speaking. "Yes, I'm quite curious about the swordsmen the capital has to offer. Maybe I'll get the chance to humiliate a Kingsguard or two."
And with that cheerful mood, Geralt and I continue chatting on our way to our destination. Of course, I keep observing the city as much as I can, and I continue doing the same once we reach the castle that houses the royal family of the Seven Kingdoms. Once again, I analyze the guards, their equipment, the visible entry points… again, just in case.
-
Something felt wrong.
When her foolish husband came up with the stupid idea of organizing a tournament just because he could, she wasn't surprised. She had tried to convince him it was a bad idea, but that drunken idiot simply told her that "the king does what he wants."
As soon as the decision was made, he gave the order to begin preparations. Naturally, the funds for the tournament came from yet another loan from her father, further tightening the old lion's grip on the crown.
Of course, that fat pig couldn't see it—that would require him to be sober and intelligent enough to understand.
Several great houses, along with some of their vassals, were invited to the tournament.
House Tyrell, with old Olenna, her dim-witted son, and those two grandchildren of hers.
House Tully, with Lord Edmure.
House Lannister, with the little monster and her uncle Kevan.
And finally, House Martell, with "Prince" Oberyn and his lover.
However, one house is still expected, which is why they're all waiting in the throne room—for the final family invited to this tournament, despite her most furious objections to this idiotic king allowing those people into their home.
Even the peasants knew Skagos was full of savages—more uncivilized than Northerners, no better than wildlings. Not even Jaime had managed to calm her fury at the stupidity of this fat and foolish king.
The members of the great houses are in the throne room, not out of duty like the royal family, but out of sheer curiosity—to see the infamous cannibal savages.
However, when House Harlow was announced, a long silence settled over the throne room.
Like all the lords and ladies present, my brows furrowed as I laid eyes on the skin of the servant women—flawless, as perfect as any noblewoman—and my gaze dropped to the dress I wore. As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and a member of House Lannister, my gown was without question of the finest quality one could find in the realm. And yet, upon seeing the dresses worn by the cursed servants of the young lord, I suddenly felt as though I were clad in peasant rags. Even more so considering that the young lord's attire far outshone that of his servants, and was therefore leagues above mine.
I don't like this. Not one bit.
My eyes linger for a few seconds on his guard—their armor, their weapons, their presence. As my gaze flickers between them and the Kingsguard, a fleeting thought crosses my mind: would the Kingsguard even be able to stop them if they attacked?
The young lord strides toward us, calm and confident, moving with a grace and beauty no "cannibal savage" should possess. At his side walks a man with silver-gray hair and piercing yellow eyes, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. Together, they kneel before us, their heads bowed low.
I bite my lip involuntarily as a vision flashes through my mind—one where the young lord or the man beside him kneels before me for an entirely different kind of service.
"Your Grace, my Queen," the young lord says in a clear and composed voice, before raising his head to meet my fool of a husband's eyes with an intense gaze.
The two men lock eyes for several seconds, engaged in a silent duel, before Robert bursts into a loud, booming laugh while the young lord offers a faint smile as he rises to his feet.
Robert gets up from his throne to greet the young lord and share bread and salt with him.
"Your Grace, my Queen, my Lords and Ladies," the young lord says again, his voice firm, strong, and full of confidence as he addresses the nobles gathered in the throne room. "On such a special occasion, I could not arrive without bringing gifts for such distinguished and important people as yourselves. You probably don't know this, but Skagos produces different types of alcohol—highly sought-after and deeply appreciated in Essos, as Lord Varys here can confirm."
All eyes turned to the Master of Whisperers, who looked surprised for a brief moment before regaining his composure and putting his mask back on. "Indeed, my little birds recently told me that the young lord has sold new drinks to various Free Cities for a total of one million seven hundred thousand gold dragons."
My eyes widened in surprise as they returned to the young lord, who continued to captivate the attention of the throne room's nobles with a charm that was now undeniable. "However, for such prestigious guests, I couldn't bring the same alcohol I'd offer to the common folk, no." With a simple gesture, two servant women stepped forward, each carrying a glass and a bottle. "Therefore, I had special drinks prepared, a unique beverage for each of the distinguished guests gathered here today. And of course, it is only right to begin with His Grace and our Queen," he said, as the two servants poured the drinks into their respective glasses.
"For the King of the Seven Kingdoms, mead, thick and sweet, infused with spices. And for the Queen, a deep red wine, full-bodied and rich in tannins." Taking the glass in my hands, the delicious aroma of the liquor reached my nose. Glancing to my left, I watched Robert down the mead in one go, his eyes widening before he let out a groan of satisfaction, followed by a deep, booming laugh.
"This is the best damn drink that's ever crossed my throat, little lord—HAHAHAHA!" Ignoring the king's lack of decorum, I brought the glass to my lips, and my eyes widened as the wine slid down my throat. In all my life, I had never tasted such a divine nectar—and the Seven know I've drunk plenty. "And it seems my wife agrees," Robert said with a grin.
Blinking in surprise, I realized that everyone in the throne room had seen, quite clearly, the look of pure ecstasy on my face.
"Glad to know the work of the Skagosi is to your liking," the young lord continued, his tone respectful but laced with undeniable pride. "Each of you will receive a bottle crafted especially for you, with flavors, ingredients, and textures selected to match your status and... personality."
He smiled, just slightly, and I wasn't the only one who noticed the flicker of amusement in his eyes. Around the throne room, curiosity replaced disdain, and I saw several lords leaning forward, their interest now genuinely piqued.
"Of course," he went on, "these drinks are only the beginning. My people and I have brought many other gifts as symbols of peace, respect, and the desire to strengthen the ties between Skagos and the different houses of Westeros."
His voice carried clearly, with the kind of eloquence that no "cannibal savage" should ever possess. He had presence—commanding yet polished, and it made my skin crawl in a way I couldn't quite explain.
"For House Tyrell, a sweet and floral wine; for House Tully, a dry cider; for House Lannister, vintage champagne; and finally, for House Martell, a spiced wine."
"Refined ice wine for Lord Arryn, a green herbal absinthe for Lord Baelish, sake for Lord Varys, dark rum for Lord Stannis, a cocktail of prosecco, red berries, and floral liqueur for Lord Renly, a red port for Grand Maester Pycelle, and a full-bodied red wine for Ser Barristan Selmy."
The servants moved through the room now, offering personalized bottles to the nobles. Murmurs spread among them as they sniffed, sipped, and shared expressions of surprise and delight. Even Olenna Tyrell raised a brow of approval, which for her was nearly a standing ovation.
I kept my eyes on the young lord.
This boy, no, this man, was dangerous. Not in the obvious way that Robert or even Jaime could be. No, his danger came from elsewhere. From the way he spoke. The way he stood. The way he made us listen.
And worst of all, from the realization that none of us had expected this. Not the lords. Not the council. Not me.
Especially not me.
Not a savage, not a savage at all.
(Hours later)
[Making a strong first impression on the southern nobility of Westeros: 4 gacha pulls]
"I told you everything would go well." Leaning against one of the Red Keep's ramparts alongside Geralt, I watch the giant anthill that is King's Landing. My superhuman vision has no trouble seeing the common folk desperately trying to survive under the disastrous rule of their nobles. A feeling of disdain and mockery rises in me as countless solutions to improve King's Landing come to mind, without even needing the system for it.
"And now, here I am, right in the middle of a grotesque political scene. I could feel some of their brains starting to work, trying to figure out how to use me for their own ends," I say, sitting on the low wall in front of me. "The Spider, the 'Littlefinger,' the Lioness Queen, the Queen of Thorns, the King... No, I doubt that fat bastard is capable of planning anything."
A sense of contempt rises again in me as I think about all these "players."
"One of them already seems to be making a move." A smile forms on my face at Geralt's amused words as I hear footsteps approaching us. The scent I memorized earlier gives me the person's identity without even needing to take my eyes off the city.
"Lord Hand." The footsteps of the Defender of the Vale pause for a second before resuming, finally stopping next to me, his eyes also gazing at the city.
"Just call me Jon. No need to burden ourselves with such foolishness when we're without spies around." His words catch me off guard, freezing my body for a second before a light chuckle escapes my lips. "I hope you don't mind, Alexander."
"Not at all, Jon," I say, before we fall into a surprisingly pleasant silence for a few minutes—until jon lets out a small, nostalgic laugh.
"Why do you move forward?" His sudden question unsettles me slightly, as I turn to him, my eyebrows furrowed. His eyes remain fixed on the city. "When you wake up in the morning, what dream keeps you going?"
For the first time since arriving in this world, I can't find my words, much to Jon's amusement. "Those were the first words your mother said to me when we first met." I can see a mix of joy and nostalgia in his expression. "Your mother had a mind unlike any I've ever seen, intelligence that would put any Maester of the Citadel to shame."
"Her intelligence could have allowed her to amass wealth, power, and manipulate Westeros' political game with frightening ease, but that's not what she wanted. What she wanted was something that few with her abilities would ever seek." I remain silent, impatient and hanging onto the Hand of the King's every word, eager to learn more about my mother. "Peace."
It only takes me a few seconds to grasp the meaning of that simple word, a slight smile forming on my face. "With her beauty and intelligence, she could have had everything. But all she wanted was peace. She simply wanted to find a suitable husband, have children, and raise them in a place she could call home."
So my mother was the type to stay away from Westeros nonsense and just focus on her family without anyone bothering her. Like mother, like son, I suppose.
Another long and pleasant silence settles as we watch the city. "Sorry, I couldn't attend your parents' funeral. Helping His Grace rule the Seven Kingdoms doesn't leave me much time for myself. If you don't mind, young lord, I would like to join you when you return to Skagos at the end of the tournament. If I couldn't attend the funeral, I'd at least like to pay my respects at your mother's grave and say goodbye to my friend."
"It would be my pleasure, Jon."
And so, we talked for long hours about everything and nothing.
I wouldn't say I've found an ally—no—but at least a person I can talk to without everything automatically becoming political. And that, in itself, is quite pleasant.