After a long day of hard work, sleep is the best. It's not just me, but Thor thinks the same, or else I wouldn't have kept enjoying sleep this much as I did back on Earth.
The more time went on, the more I found myself becoming like Thor. I had this constant urge to smash something with my hammer. Strange? Maybe, but I can't deny it—I like doing it.
It was very obvious that I was changing bit by bit, becoming more like Thor. In many ways, it was a good thing. To survive here, I had to be more like him, but I didn't want to be completely like him.
It's already strange how I'm not making a fuss about another entity taking control of my mind, making me like him. Maybe because I have already started to consider myself like Thor. Who knows? I just hope that there is still a little bit of me left by the end.
Just as sleep was very close to claiming me, I suddenly felt a presence. It was very faint, but my senses picked it up. I all but shot open my eyes and bolted up, my hands instinctively finding my hammer before I turned toward the person who was standing in the shadows, coming into my room at night.
"Who are you? Another royal assassin?" I bolted out of bed and pointed Mjolnir at the man hiding his face in the shadows.
Just two days ago, an assassin had come to kill me, and now here we are—another one. Cowards, all of them, killing a man in his sleep while hiding behind the shadows. I tried to control it, but my anger slightly leaked out in the way I was glaring at the man.
"A man has not come to grant you the blessing of the many-face god," replied the man as he stepped out from the shadows. He looked ordinary, but if what he said was anything to go by, then no one could tell how exactly he looked.
Many-Faced God. Out of all the faiths in both Westeros and Essos, this one was the most dangerous. All its followers were assassins who could change faces and kill anyone for the right price. A gift is what they call it; they say it's a blessing from their god.
An annoyed look appeared on my face. I didn't like this kind of underhanded way—or maybe it was Thor's influence.
"Only demons call killing a blessing. Yours is no god," I said with anger.
"A man does not question the Many-Faced God. A man only follows what the Many-Faced God asks of him," he replied in a calm tone.
That was another thing annoying about them—they talked funny like this for some reason. I just shook my head and glared at him, looking around but finding no one else but him. There was no need to talk sense to him. These followers of their faith don't listen to reason.
"Why are you here if not to give your so-called god's gift?"
"A request. A man is imprisoned and needs freeing. Our god lead us to you, oh champion of the Storm God. Assist a man, and a man shall return a life for a life."
Alright, that was even harder to understand than his earlier annoying talk. I pondered for a little before it finally clicked—he was talking about Jaqen H'ghar.
But what is this nonsense about being the champion of the Storm God? I have heard about the Old Gods, the Seven, the Lord of Light, even the Horse God and the Drowned God that those Dothraki and those plundering Greyjoys worship, but this was my first time hearing about this new god.
For the time being, I didn't bother asking about it further or denying it. I was rather interested in the offer he was talking about. A life for a life…
That could help me quite a bit, though I didn't like pulling underhanded tactics like those cowards hiding in shadows. However, maybe I could ask for something else.
"I don't need a life, but I could use a name," I replied as I took out the dagger and showed it to him.
"You might not have brought any gift for me, but before you, there was one. He had a face and a dagger. Find out who sent him, and I'll think about your offer."
The Faceless Man stood there, contemplating something before he asked,
"No blessing?"
"Not even touching. You just bring the name; I'll prepare a gift for him myself."
He thought a little more before finally nodding.
"The God will consider helping a man, if a man brings him a name," he said. Quite a reversal of roles, but it was what it was.
The God? Now I was getting a little curious. How much did he know about me? The fact that he came to ask for my help was strange as it was, but maybe his talk about his god leading him wasn't a lie.
"You have my word."
"Valar Morghulis," he nodded.
"Valar Dohaeris," I nodded back.
And then he was gone. Like he wasn't here a moment ago.
Sighing, I went back to sleep.
Unlike Ser Hugh who most likely won't make it for the tourney now, I have to and thus from tomorrow onwards, work extra hard to get greater control over my powers.
It was a request from the king himself but that wasn't why I agreed so willingly. Aside from the prize money, which I could definitely use, I just wanted to fight someone strong.
I might have entered it even if Robert didn't ask for it.
The urge to fight in this body for me was almost like a masturbation addiction from my last world.
It's hard to control, so if I get to crack some skulls and get paid for it, then it's a welcome change.
...
In the warm chambers of the Red Keep, Sansa sat with her handmaidens. The air was filled with soft laughter, whispers, and the faint scent of flowers. The girls were talking in hushed tones, but their voices carried just enough.
"Have you heard of Lord Thor?" one of the maids giggled, her eyes wide with excitement. "They say he fought the Hound himself and won!"
Another maid leaned in, almost sighing. "And they say in Winterfell he killed a great white polar bear with his bare hands. Can you imagine? Stronger than any knight, they say. It is true." The maid asked with a cheeky smile on her face.
She wasn't the only one, many of the female residents of the castle have been talking about our residential asguardian thunder god ever since he came.
To their dismay, he hardly send time with them, refuses all help from maids, even talking to them. Most of the time he was training.
Sansa's cheeks grew warm at their words. She lowered her gaze, but she couldn't hide the shy smile tugging at her lips. Unlike this girls she was there when this happened.
Her heart fluttered like a bird in a cage. The reminder of his tall figure, his shining hair, his strength that seemed like something from the old songs. To her, he was more than a man; he was like the heroes she had dreamed of as a little girl.
The maids noticed her blush and giggled even louder. "Look at her! Lady Sansa knows more than she lets on," one teased.
Sansa tried to hush them, pressing her hands to her cheeks. "No, I—please, you mustn't say such things." But her voice was soft, and the redness of her face betrayed her feelings.
It was then that the chamber doors opened. Prince Joffrey stepped inside, his golden hair gleaming, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught sight of them. The laughter died at once, and the maids bowed their heads quickly, but Joffrey had already seen enough.
His gaze fixed on Sansa, and for a moment, his jaw tightened, anger burning behind his princely mask. To see his betrothed glowing, blushing, over another man—it was like a knife twisting in his pride. He wanted to lash out, to shout, to strike, but his mother's words echoed in his head: Be kind to the Stark girl. She must be made to love you.
So he did not speak his rage aloud. Instead, Joffrey smiled thinly, a smile that never reached his eyes. "My Lady," he said coldly. "May I have a walk with you?"
The girls curtsied nervously. Sansa lowered her head, her blush now one of shame.
But inside Joffrey, the fury remained, coiling like a snake. He would not allow his bride-to-be to dream of another man. A plan began to form in his mind—one that would remind her, and everyone else, to whom she truly belonged.
...
"You're sure about this, my lord? There are many eyes here," Jory asked as both he and Ned Stark came to the blacksmith's shop.
Ser Hugh had given them crucial intel about what Jon Arryn was doing before he died. Out of all the people, he had come here often. So, Ned too wanted to check out why.
He could have just sent Thor, but the last time he did, the man was beaten and bruised badly. Regarding the person he was about to talk to, he didn't want the same fate to befall him and thus kept Thor out of it.
It was a little risky coming here. Thor had told him not to raise suspicions, but he had to know. And by the time he was done talking to the person, he was shocked and troubled.
"What did you find, my lord?" Jory asked.
"King Robert's bastard…"
xxx
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