The reality of last night settled upon me with the cold light of dawn. I had killed men. Actual, living men. And I felt… nothing. No revulsion, no trembling hands, no storm of guilt. It felt as mundane as any other morning. How was that possible? Was it a side effect of this body, its instincts overwriting my own?
The bandit leader, the one who had surrendered, was named Ulmar. He was one of the last dregs of the Kingswood Brotherhood, he claimed. He begged for his life, offering to take the black.
I refused. A man like that likely had a price on his head, and I had a pressing need for coin.
I had Rolf loot the corpses of their weapons—leaving their poor clothes—while I performed the grisly task of taking the heads. I stacked the bodies and set them alight, a pyre for men no one would mourn. The heads we stored in an emptied fish barrel. A macabre bounty, but a profitable one.
As we resumed our journey, I pondered the strangeness of it all. Sleeping in my armor had been uncomfortable, but it had saved my life. More than that, my body's reactions were not my own. They were faster, stronger, driven by a deep-seated muscle memory for the sword and a seemingly endless stamina to bear the armor's weight. It was a disconcerting, yet undoubtedly vital, advantage in this world.
The rest of the travel was swift on the well-mainated road, and by noon, the capital came into view.
Kings Landing.
It was a sprawling, magnificent, and filthy sight from a distance. I knew from the shows and books that it was the greatest city in Westeros, and also the worst—the beating heart of all the realm's politics and poverty. Seeing it now, smelling the distant mix of salt, smoke, and decay on the wind, drove home the final, inescapable truth: this was no dream. This was real.
We arrived at the southern gate amidst a throng of traffic. Just as I thought we'd be waiting for hours, Rolf's connections with the City Watch proved useful. As we were waved forward, I felt the weight of countless eyes upon me. Then, from the crowd, someone recognized our prisoner.
"Ulmar!" a voice shouted, pointing a trembling finger. "That's Ulmar the outlaw!"
The murmur grew into a roar. The crowd began to press in, the situation threatening to spiral out of control. Before it could, two goldcloaks appeared, granting us special passage and escorting us to the captain of the barracks in Cobbler's Square.
There, I met Captain Janos Slynt. He was not the bald, sycophantic man I remembered from the show, but a young man near my own age, though his face already bore a similar, weaselly cast. He inspected the prisoner and the heads with a perfunctory air, confirmed Ulmar's identity, and had him dragged away. He then bid Rolf and me wait for the commander.
Half an hour later, the Lord Commander of the City Watch, Manly Stokeworth, arrived.
(POV Manly Stokeworth)
I was enjoying a glass of Arbor gold when the news arrived. The bandit leader Ulmar, captured. His band, wiped out. A wave of relief washed over me. The King's demands for traitors to burn were growing more frequent and restless; at least this would provide him with fresh fodder for his pyres. A disturbing thought, but my duty was to obey.
My duties, however, stretched beyond the King's madness. Crime in the city was rampant. The Watch was stretched thin, lacking competent men. While Lord Tywin Lannister's financial support and redcloaks were a welcome help, I was no fool—it was a political move to tighten his grip on the capital.
"Well, Tom," I said to my assistant. "Let us meet the man who can single-handedly dispatch a band of outlaws."
We found him in Slynt's office. A well-armored man, tall as a tower, much like Lord Commander Hightower or Lord Baratheon. His sigil gave me pause: a white eagle on a blue field, reminiscent of House Mallister of the Riverlands, though not the same. Perhaps a bastard branch? The Mallisters were known for their height.
"I am Manly Stokeworth, Lord Commander of the City Watch," I began, taking my seat and gesturing for him to do the same. "You have done a great service to the Crown. From where do you hail, ser?"
"I am Ser Julius Harlane, my lord. I am from Essos, but I am well-versed in knightly customs," he replied. His voice was firm, confident.
Harlane? No house by that name came to mind. Essos, he claimed. "And what brings you to Westeros, Ser Harlane?"
"As you might guess from my story, my lord, I come from a merchant family of some wealth. My companions and I came seeking grand adventure," he explained, pausing for a breath. "I had heard many stories of the Sunset Kingdoms and the wonders built by great men. But a storm took our ship. I am the sole survivor."
A spoiled merchant prince, then. He likely bought his knighthood from some exiled hedge knight and learned fanciful tales that did not match the Seven Kingdoms' grim reality. How interesting.
"Tragedies happen, lad," I said, not unkindly. "But you have solved your financial troubles. Here is your reward for the service you provided." Tom handed me a heavy pouch. "The promised twenty gold dragons. We will, however, keep the outlaws' weapons."
I handed him the pouch. He took it and gave a respectful nod. "I am thankful for the reward, my lord."
"No need for thanks. You earned it." I considered him for a moment. He had the look of a fighter, something my Watch desperately needed. "I would ask if you had any interest in serving under me, but I suspect a man of your… adventurous nature would decline. So, enjoy your stay in the city." I handed him a signed paper. "Take this. It has my seal. And a piece of advice: don't spend all that coin on whores."
He looked surprised, then grateful. "Of course, my lord. I thank you again for your consideration and advice. This will be most helpful." With a short bow, he took his leave.
I turned to Tom as the door closed. "Find Captain Slynt. Tell him to hang those heads from the southern gate."
I had a report for the Small Council, though I thought better of presenting the foreign knight. The lad would be chewed up and spat out by the politics of this city. Refusing a lord's offer could backfire on him, especially with players like Tywin Lannister and the King himself involved.
Damnable politics. I was a knight, good with a sword, not with parchment and bribes. And speaking of bribes, I had reports that Janos Slynt was lining his pockets from lords to whores alike. Gods, when did my life become this?