"Work for you? As a servant?" Bronn let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Even if I were starving to death, I wouldn't do that kind of work."
"This is just the deposit," Ian said, ignoring the sellsword's bluster. He let the gold dragon gleam on the table. "Your pay is one gold dragon a week."
He had set the price deliberately. It was more than Bronn was worth at this moment, but not so outrageously high as to arouse suspicion.
Bronn's eyes widened. "...shoveling horse shit for some swaggering knight, or pulling off your gods-damned boots. What was that you said? A gold dragon a week?"
His face broke into an exaggerated grin. "By all seven hells, I *love* feeding horses. Did it all the time as a boy, back at my grandfather's."
"I'm not interested in stories from your childhood."
"Oh? What are you interested in, then?" Bronn leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rasp. "Want me to kiss your arse for you?"
*I'll pass on seeing you smile like a flower,* Ian thought dryly. "I need you to feed my horse," he said aloud. "And when necessary, I need you to slit my enemy's throat."
"A fair deal," Bronn chuckled. "Believe me, ser. If the Stranger himself was your enemy, I'd stick a dagger right up his bony—"
"Stop, stop," Ian cut him off hastily. "Do not use that word in front of me again."
"As you wish."
"Sir, I can feed horses, too!" Seeing an opportunity, Chiggen quickly interjected. "I don't need pay as high as his. I hope you can hire me as well."
Ian almost shot back with Bronn's own words. *Have you ever seen such an old servant?* He was hiring Bronn for his sword, not his stable-hand skills. What value did Chiggen bring?
But then he considered it. He actually did need someone to be responsible for the horses.
He nodded. "Your pay will be thirty silver stags a week. It doubles if you're involved in a battle. Any objections?"
"No, sir." Chiggen's brow furrowed for a moment, but he accepted the terms. Thirty stags was standard pay for a combat mercenary, and he was only being asked to do chores. Sixty for a fight was a great deal.
As for being jealous of Bronn? A man only felt envy for those slightly better than him, or those luckier than him. He could never be jealous of a man like Bronn, who could probably kill three of him without breaking a sweat. He knew perfectly well he was only getting this job by riding on Bronn's coattails.
The other mercenaries loitering in the common room, who had been watching the exchange, relaxed. They weren't jealous either. They were all sellswords of the same generation; they knew exactly what Bronn was capable of.
"So," Bronn said, slinging an arm around the prostitute he'd claimed, "shall we discuss this… agreement… upstairs?"
Ian raised an eyebrow. "This early in the morning?"
"Mornings are for getting a head start," Bronn replied with a sly grin, planting a kiss on the woman's cheek.
"Have you forgotten you are my squire now?"
"Not at all," Bronn defended instantly. "This is part of the deal, isn't it? You said you're happy to pay a higher price for the things you like. This is me, liking this."
Ian laughed. "Fine." He turned to Chiggen. "You can go too, man. Consider it part of the deal."
Chiggen hesitated for a second, then bowed to Ian before leading another woman upstairs.
Once they were gone, Ian returned to his table. Rohr simply shook his head, signaling that he hadn't noticed any unusual reactions from the others in the inn during the recruitment.
"Just stay vigilant," Ian said quietly. He then turned his attention to Keith. "Why did it take you so long to purchase the weapons?"
Keith met his gaze but remained silent. Ian frowned.
What was wrong with this man? Given how diligently Keith carried out his orders, Ian had no doubts about his loyalty. But from the moment they had met until now, he hadn't heard the man utter a single word.
*Does he have aphasia?*
"Keith can't speak, ser," Rohr explained for his companion.
*Just as I thought.*
"Keith was the first warrior in our batch to complete the training," Rohr said, unprompted, beginning to speak of his comrade's past.
Ian listened intently. Although these two knights were religious warriors trained by the organizers, they had been released into the world. Their knowledge was an invaluable resource for understanding the game's hidden mechanics.
"When he was younger, he traveled all across Essos," Rohr continued. "He won the grand tourney in the fighting pits of Meereen. He defeated a Braavosi Water Dancer in a duel to the death. He even killed a pirate king on the Stepstones."
*Damn,* Ian thought. *And the system calls these 'extremely limited' resources that players 'need to fight for'?*
"But none of those are the achievements Keith is most proud of," Rohr said, shaking his head with an air of mystery.
"Then what is?"
"He used the wealth from his adventures to live a prosperous life in Lys for a time," Rohr explained, drawing out the story. "He became a frequent guest in the homes of the city's trade princes."
"There, with the skill of the sword below his belt—a skill that put the sword in his hand to shame—he conquered four of Lys's great magisters at once. He even boasted he could do it with his tongue alone."
Keith's head snapped up, and he shot a glare at Rohr that could have curdled milk.
Rohr flinched and hastily concluded the tale. "Anyway, some time later, his tongue was… injured. For some reason. And then he couldn't speak."
Ian hadn't seen the warning look Keith gave Rohr, but he caught the sudden shift in Rohr's expression and knew better than to press for details.
He silently added the city of Lys to a restricted area in his mind, vowing never to set foot there.
After glaring at Rohr, Keith stood and left the table. He returned a moment later with the Dornish mercenary, Meggie, who had gone with him to buy the equipment.
"Ser? You were looking for me?"
"Sit," Ian said, gesturing with his chin. "What do they call you?"
"They all call me Moisty Meggie," the mercenary said as he sat.
*My apologies to Denzel,* Ian thought. *His nickname 'Spike' is perfectly respectable.*
"It took you two days to procure the armaments," Ian began. "Logically, even if you had to go to Harrenhal instead of nearby Darry, it shouldn't have taken that long."
"Ah, ser, we went to Darry first," Meggie explained. "But the only equipment for sale was defective junk, and there wasn't a single horse to be had. We had no choice but to travel on to Harrenhal. We bought everything we needed there."
*It seems House Darry has been suppressed even more thoroughly than the Whents of Harrenhal,* Ian mused.
They had lost their lands, titles, and wealth, and were now so destitute they couldn't even sell off their old armaments for coin. Of course, their fate wasn't surprising. Three of Ser Raymun Darry's brothers had died fighting for Rhaegar Targaryen. The fourth had smuggled the last Targaryen children, Viserys and Daenerys, across the Narrow Sea.
Their loyalty to the dragons was absolute. Any new king on the Iron Throne would have to guard against them.
"Alright. I have no other questions," Ian said, waving a hand to dismiss him.
After waiting in the hall for some time, Ian finally saw Bronn and Chiggen ambling down the stairs together.
"You two have excellent timing," Ian commented dryly.
"He was waiting for me," the mercenaries answered in perfect unison. They glanced at each other, then both broke into laughter.
"Good. Now that the agreement is settled, it's time for you to get to work."
"I will serve you with all my heart, my lord," Bronn said, executing an exaggeratedly comical, yet somehow graceful, courtly bow.
"Me too," Chiggen added quickly.
"Very good. Now, go check on the horses. We prepare to leave," Ian ordered.
"Apologies, ser," Bronn said, "but we don't have horses."
"I will provide them," Ian replied. "Along with better armor and weapons, of course." He turned to Keith. "The cavalry I left with Ser Grantson at the Black Falcon's camp—find a suitable shirt of chainmail for Bronn among their stores." *Chiggen can do without,* he added mentally.
He then turned back to Bronn. "By the way," he began, then paused. Bronn's current appearance was too iconic, too close to the character from the stories. It could attract unwanted attention from other players. "Go shave off that beard, trim your hair, take a bath, and put on some clean clothes."
"Now, hang on—" Bronn started to retort.
"This is also part of the price." Ian cut him off, pressing another gold dragon into his hand.
"You are a truly fastidious lord," Bronn said, pocketing the coin with a smirk before turning to leave.
Ian then looked at Chiggen.
"I'll go take care of it right away," the other mercenary said, bowing quickly. He knew this new employer was interested in Bronn, and he was just along for the ride. He didn't dare ask for more coin and hurried to catch up with his companion.
When the two reappeared a short while later, they were transformed. Scrubbed clean, freshly shaven, and dressed in new shirts provided by Martha, they looked far less like vagabonds and almost like respectable men-at-arms.
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