Chapter 76: The Tavern by the River
Ian and his men continued southeast along the Street of Steel, the clang of hammers fading behind them as they descended Visenya's Hill. They crossed the bustling Fishmonger's Square and soon found themselves on the riverfront road.
From this vantage point, the Red Keep was a formidable silhouette to the east, a colossal, cold castle of pale red stone perched on Aegon's High Hill, overlooking the Blackwater Rush. High on its gatehouse, the golden, crowned stag of House Baratheon snapped in the wind.
To the south lay the River Gate, known more commonly by the city's residents as the Mud Gate. Just beyond its walls sprawled the port of King's Landing, a chaotic tangle of docks and ships built along the river.
Ser Grantham, having arrived half a day ahead of them, had already secured a large house here. This was according to Ian's orders. He wanted to establish a safe house in King's Landing, a foothold as far from the stinking alleys of Flea Bottom as possible.
The location served two purposes: it put distance between them and any players who might be hiding in the slums, and its proximity to the river offered a clear path for a swift evacuation by boat if the need arose.
By the time Ian arrived, Ser Grantham had already summoned Bronn from his post with Dorian the Black Falcon. They had been operating out of an inn near the Red Keep.
Bronn's report was concise. The previous day, King Robert had granted Ser Wylis his petition, holding a trial for treason against the houses of Darry and Grafton.
Ser Symon, Bronn explained, might have had a chance to take the black and save his life. But the sudden betrayal by Wylis seemed to have shattered his mind. He stood before the court and did nothing but curse—he cursed Wylis, he cursed the Iron Throne, and for good measure, he cursed the entire Lannister family.
His tirade finally enraged King Robert, a man already raw with grief over the death of his foster father, Lord Arryn. The king had sentenced Symon to death on the spot.
And just like that, Dorian's mission to "ensure Symon's death" was completed ahead of schedule. Ian now had another team of sellswords at his disposal in King's Landing.
After settling into the house, Ian divided his men into two groups and led them to a nearby inn for dinner.
The moment they pushed open the heavy wooden door, a wall of smells assaulted them. The air was thick with the reek of cheap ale, the sour tang of sweat and unwashed feet, and the cloying mix of rotting food and damp wood. Underneath it all was a foul, fishy odor and the scent of other, unspeakable acts best left to the imagination.
The tavern's common room was packed. Most of the patrons were sailors from the ships in port, laborers from the docks, and local fishermen. A good number of idle, wandering mercenaries were mixed in as well.
They drank alone in corners or gathered in loud groups to brag, gamble, and engage in activities that would have been censored if written down.
The arrival of Ian and his men went completely unnoticed. The din of the tavern continued, unabated.
Ian found an empty table, sat, and waved a serving boy over, ordering the best food and wine the establishment had to offer. Then, he leaned back and began to idly scan the faces in the crowd.
Even with only sixty or so players left in the game, the odds of running into one in any random tavern were incredibly low. Still, he had no intention of letting his guard down.
His survey of the room yielded nothing. He relaxed, giving up the search.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the table next to them. The man at its head, clearly the center of attention, was telling a story. Ian turned his focus that way, not because he intended to eavesdrop, but because the man's voice was so loud it carried across the entire hall.
"I was drunk… proper drunk that day," the man began, his words slurring together. His face, flushed red with alcohol, was lit with the hazy glow of memory. "And I saw this whore. Gods, she was beautiful. I didn't have a single copper on me, so I just… followed her. Followed her after she left the brothel."
"She might've cried a bit," he continued, his voice trailing off. "Might've fought back some. Can't remember it clear. I was very, very drunk. Thinking back on it now… I feel like I was so innocent then."
Ian's brow furrowed. Innocent? Does he even know what that word means?
"After… after it was done, I was gonna kill her. Silence her. Couldn't pay, see, and her boss… he's a hard man. But just as I pulled my knife, she smiled. And it was so damned pretty."
"'I'm a whore,' she said to me. 'I don't mind which man I sleep with. You don't have to be so rough.'"
"She sounded so sincere, you know? And she was smiling. So pretty. I believed her, just like that. Like I said, I was very drunk."
"You don't have to keep saying that," one of his companions grumbled.
"You telling me what to do?" the drunkard snarled, glaring at his friend. The man immediately fell silent.
The storyteller cleared his throat and resumed his tale.
Just then, Ian caught a snippet of conversation from two sailors sitting nearby.
"Don't cross him when he's in his cups," one whispered. "Just nod and agree with whatever he says."
"Gods, I know. Man's a menace when he's drunk. Only person on the whole Shayara's Dance who can handle him is Boss Corian."
"Shh, keep your voice down."
Ian filed the names away. Shayara's Dance. Corian.
"'Yes, well, I believed her," the drunkard boomed, oblivious. "'I don't have money to pay you,' I told her."
"'But you won't always be without money,' she answered. 'You're a strong man. Brave. And you have a handsome face.'"
Brave and handsome, Ian thought, glancing at the man's scarred face, one eye nearly bisected by a white line of old tissue. He had to suppress a scoff.
"'So, I'll put it on credit,' she said. 'When you've made your name and fortune, you can come back to King's Landing. But don't you forget the night Natsuki of Sataya's…'" The drunkard paused to add his own narration. "She made up the name herself, you see."
"'Don't you forget the night Natsuki of Sataya's comforted you when you were at the lowest point in your life.' And as she said it, she leaned in and kissed me."
"Her voice was so gentle. Like one of the Seven themselves was talking to me. And in that moment… I fell in love with her. The love between a rapist and a whore. It ought to be a beautiful story, shouldn't it?"
A beautiful story? The corner of Ian's mouth twitched. He was beginning to seriously doubt the wisdom of his plan.
"She said good night to me before she left," the man continued, his voice rising with emotion. "And I swore, right then and there, I swore I would come back one day, buy her freedom, and marry her! And then… AND THEN!" His voice cracked with sudden fury. "The very next day, she comes to the inn where I was staying! And she brings three Gold Cloaks with her! Accused me! Slandered me!"
"What did she slander you for?" Ian's voice cut through the man's tirade, sharp and sudden. "Did she make up something you didn't do?"
The question was so abrupt it silenced half the tavern. Dozens of eyes turned to stare at Ian.
"That… that…" The drunkard was clearly stunned, as if the thought had never once occurred to him. He stammered for a moment before finding his footing. "She lied to me! She betrayed me!"
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