ASOIAF/Game Of Thrones: Ruler of Batannia

Arthur looked at the hazy sea and made up his mind. White Harbor was not Wintertown. It was larger, louder, richer, and more useful. A man could learn more in one day near a port than in a moon inside a village, so long as he knew where to listen and did not lose his purse in the process. He patted Ena on the shoulder and walked toward the busiest dockside streets, where the smell of fish, salt, wet rope, and human sweat rose so thickly that it almost had weight.

The docks of White Harbor were filled with life. Fishermen shouted prices over baskets of fresh catch. Sailors laughed in rough voices, their accents mixed with words from the Bite, Gulltown, King's Landing, and places farther across the Narrow Sea. Hammers rang from the smithies near the shore, carts creaked beneath barrels, and boys ran between legs carrying messages or stolen things. Arthur led Ena through the crowded fish market, past old nets, oak barrels, and stalls stained by years of brine. He passed beneath a low stone gate carved with the merman of House Manderly, and the view ahead opened suddenly.

Fish King Square was broad and paved in stone. It was crowded enough to make every step annoying. Under the arcades, merchants displayed goods from across Westeros and beyond: bright oranges, barrels of Arbor wine, fine lace from Myr, bronze cups and lamps that had likely crossed the Narrow Sea, piles of spices, leather belts, wool, and baked bread. The richer smells of food, wine, and spice almost drove away the stench of the docks. Almost. White Harbor was still a port, and ports had a way of reminding men that trade and filth were close relatives.

A warm smell of hot oil reached Arthur. He followed it to a small stall where fish cakes rolled in a pan of bubbling oil, golden and crisp on the outside. He paid a few copper pennies and took one fresh from the pan, shifting it from one hand to the other because it was too hot. After blowing on it several times, he took a bite. The crust cracked under his teeth, and the fish inside was soft, oily, and better than expected.

Ena stood beside him without touching the food. Her eyes moved through the crowd, and her right hand never strayed far from the hilt of her short sword.

"Relax," Arthur said, still chewing. "This is the heart of White Harbor. There are guards, merchants, and half the city watching. It is not the Wolfswood."

"Being careful is never wrong," Ena replied in a low voice. Her gaze remained fixed beyond him. "The man in the grey cloak on the left has followed us since the docks. Three streets. He keeps his distance, but not enough."

Arthur did not turn his head immediately. He finished chewing, wiped his fingers, and looked toward a spice stall as if something there had caught his interest. He saw him then: a tall, thin man in a grey cloak, pretending to study a jar of spices while glancing in their direction too often. He was not very good at pretending. That was either arrogance or stupidity. In White Harbor, it might have been both.

Arthur swallowed the last bite of fish cake and approached the old vendor again.

"Do you know where I can find the Lazy Eel?"

The vendor grinned, showing more gaps than teeth. He pointed toward a narrow alley beside a crooked building. "Go in there. The one that smells the worst is the one you want. You will know it."

Arthur thanked him and walked into the alley as if he had noticed nothing strange. Ena followed, though her expression suggested she disliked every stone beneath her boots. Behind them, the grey-cloaked man slowed, then continued at a distance.

The alley was narrower than Arthur expected. Two men could barely walk side by side. The ground was slick, and dark moss covered the walls. The wooden sign of the Lazy Eel hung crooked above a door whose paint had mostly peeled away. Arthur pushed it open. A wave of stale ale, sweat, vomit, smoke, and damp rot struck him in the face.

He frowned.

Ena stepped halfway inside, turned pale, and retreated almost immediately.

"I will wait outside," she said, covering her mouth.

Arthur watched her flee toward the alley mouth and sighed. Then he held his breath as much as possible and walked to the bar. The tavern's ceiling was blackened by smoke, the dirt floor sticky beneath his boots. A few sailors sat at crooked tables, shouting and laughing in voices that had long since abandoned dignity. The keeper was a one-eyed man wiping a wooden cup with a rag that looked dirtier than the cup itself.

"I am asking about work," Arthur said, pushing a silver stag onto the bar. "Or news worth hearing."

The one-eyed keeper looked at the coin first, then at Arthur. That was the correct order. He picked it up between two rough fingers, bit it lightly, and put it away.

"Work? The docks always need backs. Five copper pennies a day and black bread if the foreman is in a generous mood." He looked Arthur over and gave a dry laugh. "But men with axes usually want better pay and worse trouble. There is something west of the city. Widow's Tower. Three nights in a row, someone has seen a black shadow climbing the wall. Widow Martha is frightened enough to beg the watch. Ten silver stags to catch the climber, alive or dead."

The system panel flickered at the edge of Arthur's sight.

[Quest Updated: Harbor Whispers]

Content: Gather recent news in the taverns of White Harbor. 1/3.

Reward: 50 dinars, Intelligence +1.

Arthur kept his face calm.

"Anything else?"

The keeper leaned closer. "The Storm Dancer docked this morning. Came from King's Landing. Captain Morio is hiring men willing to cross the Narrow Sea with him. The pay is high." He raised a finger and drew it across his throat. "Very high. The last men he hired did not return. Twenty of them. Not one came back alive."

[Quest Updated: Harbor Whispers]

Content: Gather recent news in the taverns of White Harbor. 2/3.

Arthur remembered the name and the warning. High pay meant high danger. Sometimes it meant the employer expected to save coin by having fewer men alive at the end.

He pushed a copper penny across the bar and pointed toward the door. "Do you know the man in the grey cloak outside? He followed us from the docks."

The one-eyed keeper glanced toward the alley and grinned. "Grey Rat. A dock thief. Pickpocket, errand boy, little rat with quick hands. Not dangerous, unless you are stupid enough to leave your purse open. He knows many things, though. Rats usually do."

Arthur nodded and left without asking more. The keeper clearly had no interest in talking too much about him.

Outside, the cold air felt almost clean compared to the inside of the Lazy Eel. Ena stood near the mouth of the alley, wiping her face with a handful of snow. She glared at him as soon as he appeared.

"That place should be burned."

"It might improve the smell," Arthur agreed.

"What did you learn?"

"A bounty at Widow's Tower. A black shadow climbing the wall at night. Ten silver stags. There is also a ship called the Storm Dancer hiring men to cross the Narrow Sea. The pay is high, and the dead seem numerous."

"Catching a thief sounds better," Ena said immediately.

"That is because you are fond of living."

"So are you."

"I am trying to make it a habit."

Arthur noticed Grey Rat slip into a side lane, still not giving up his pursuit. He did not chase him. A thief who followed too closely might become useful later. Or dead. White Harbor seemed generous with both possibilities.

They crossed Fish King Square again and followed the direction of the great statue of the Fish King holding a trident. The wider streets narrowed as they moved west. The air changed. The smells of grilled fish, soup, hot bread, cheap perfume, and powder mixed together in a way that made Ena slow beside him. Lanterns hung at doors even though the sun had not fully set. Women in thin clothing leaned against doorframes, smiling at sailors and merchants passing by. Their words were soft, their eyes sharp.

Ena's face turned red.

"You brought me here?" she asked, her voice stiff with anger and embarrassment.

Arthur realized a little too late what kind of street they had entered.

"The tower is nearby," he said quickly. "It is not what you think."

"You brought me to a brothel street."

"I brought you to a bounty near a brothel street. That is different."

"It does not feel different."

"It is different in intent."

"That sounds like something a guilty man says."

Arthur decided not to answer. Some battles were lost before they began.

At the end of the alley stood a lonely stone tower, taller than the surrounding wooden buildings. Its walls were mottled and covered in dead vines. It looked cold and unpleasant, which made it fit the city rather well. A small crowd had gathered near the base of the tower. A watch captain wearing a cloak marked with the Manderly merman stood before them, repeating the offer loudly.

"Three nights in a row! A black shadow climbing Widow's Tower. Widow Martha has asked Lord Manderly's men for help. Ten silver stags to whoever catches the climber, alive or dead."

The idlers muttered among themselves, but no one stepped forward. There were already whispers about ghosts and unclean things. Arthur had heard enough of Westeros to know that men were happy to believe in spirits if belief allowed them to avoid danger.

Arthur walked forward.

"We will take it."

The watch captain looked at him, then at Ena. His gaze lingered on Arthur's strange armor and her bow.

"Just the two of you?"

"It will be enough."

"The climber is quick. If it is a thief, he knows how to move. If it is something worse, you may regret your confidence."

"I will regret it later, then."

The captain stared at him for a moment, then tossed him a wooden token marked with the city watch's seal. "Guard the tower after dark. If you catch the climber, bring him to the watch house. If he dies, bring proof."

Arthur took the token.

He and Ena walked around the tower before nightfall to study the ground. Widow's Tower backed against an abandoned stretch of old wall. One side led to a dead end, while the front faced the brothel street. The stonework had cracks, and the dead vines on the wall offered enough handholds for a good climber. Arthur could see how the shadow had climbed it. He could also see how a careless man might fall and break his neck.

When night came, they hid behind empty barrels across from the tower. The lanterns of the brothel street glowed warmly, and voices drifted through the alley. Laughter, songs, whispers, and sounds Ena clearly wished she could stop hearing. She sat rigidly beside him, ears red, eyes fixed on the wall with exaggerated seriousness.

"Do you often come to places like this?" Ena asked suddenly.

"No."

"You answered too quickly."

"Because the answer was easy."

"You look like you would."

Arthur turned to her. "That is an insult."

"Yes."

The faint sound of movement came from the tower wall before he could respond.

Both fell silent.

Under the moonlight, a thin black shape climbed along the cracks and dead vines. The figure moved quickly, almost like an animal. It reached a second-floor window, took out a small tool, and began working at the latch.

"There," Arthur whispered.

Ena already had an arrow on the string.

They moved out together.

"Thief!" Arthur shouted.

The shadow jerked, one hand gripping the window frame. It did not panic. Instead, it pulled a small pouch from its coat and threw it down.

The pouch burst against the ground.

White powder exploded into the air. Arthur's eyes burned at once. He coughed, covering his mouth with his sleeve. Ena coughed beside him, cursing under her breath. By the time the powder thinned, the shadow had slipped through the window.

"Inside," Arthur said hoarsely.

The main door was bolted from within. Arthur stepped back and slammed his shoulder against it. The wood shook. Dust fell from the frame. He struck it again, and the bolt cracked. On the third blow, it broke. Arthur rushed into the dark hall, shield raised. Ena entered behind him and shoved the door closed, cutting off the easiest escape.

The tower was silent except for their breathing. Moonlight entered through broken shutters and thin cracks, giving vague shape to abandoned furniture. Spiderwebs moved gently in the light. The stairs stood in the corner, curling upward.

They climbed slowly. The second floor held an abandoned bedchamber, furniture covered in dusty sheets. The third was a ruined study, with collapsed shelves and books scattered across the floor. The fourth floor seemed empty at first.

Then the shadow dropped from the rafters.

A dagger flashed toward Arthur's face.

Arthur raised the round shield on instinct. The dagger scraped across the wood, sending sparks into the darkness. The shadow landed, rolled, and tried to rush toward the window.

Ena's arrow struck the wall just beside his leg.

"Move again," she said coldly, "and the next one goes through your knee."

The shadow froze.

Slowly, it raised both hands.

By the moonlight, Arthur saw the climber properly for the first time. It was a scrawny boy of fifteen or sixteen, his face dirty, his grey cloak torn, his eyes bright and stubborn. Grey Rat.

Arthur kicked away the fallen dagger.

"So the rat climbs walls too."

The boy clenched his jaw and said nothing.

Ena approached, then frowned. "He smells of medicine. And blood."

She crouched and lifted the edge of his torn coat. Beneath it, a dirty bandage was wrapped around his waist, dark with blood and pus. The skin around the wound was swollen and angry.

Arthur's brow tightened. "You are injured."

Grey Rat turned his face away. "Take me in, then. The reward is yours."

Arthur looked at Ena. Ena looked at the boy. For a moment, neither said anything.

Ena put away her bow and took a small leather pouch from her belt. "Sit."

The boy hesitated.

"Sit," she repeated.

He obeyed.

She cleaned the wound with careful hands and applied herbal powder from her pouch. Grey Rat shook but did not cry out. Arthur watched him in silence. The boy had expected to be beaten or dragged away. He did not know what to do with mercy. That said enough.

The story came out slowly after that.

Grey Rat was an orphan from the docks. He stole sometimes, carried messages sometimes, worked when there was work, and starved when there was not. A few days ago, a crate had rolled during unloading and struck his side. With no coin for a healer, the wound had festered. He had heard Widow Martha gave alms to the poor, so he climbed the tower hoping to beg for medicine or a few coppers. People saw a shadow on the wall and called him a thief. Given his life, the accusation was not entirely unreasonable.

"I was not going to steal anything valuable," Grey Rat muttered. "Just medicine. Or bread."

Arthur was silent for a moment.

Then he took out several silver stags and placed them in the boy's hand.

Grey Rat stared at the coins.

"Go to a healer," Arthur said. "And stop climbing towers. One day the fall will finish what hunger started."

The boy's eyes reddened. He clutched the coins tightly, bowed awkwardly, and ran down the stairs into the night.

Ena watched him go.

"The bounty is gone."

"Yes."

"And you lost money."

"Yes."

"You will be cheated one day."

"Probably."

She looked at him for a while. Then she smiled faintly.

"Fool."

Arthur sighed. It did not sound entirely like an insult.

They told the watch captain what had happened. He was annoyed, but when he learned the climber had been a wounded dock orphan, he spat to the side and waved them away. The city had too many hungry children for one more to matter.

As they returned toward Fish King Square, the system panel appeared.

[Quest Complete: Harbor Whispers]

Reward: 50 dinars. Intelligence +1.

[Intelligence Obtained: Captain Morio of the Storm Dancer is recruiting desperate men. Destination suspected to be the Disputed Lands. Risk extremely high. Previous hired guards did not return.]

Arthur read the message twice.

The Disputed Lands.

Even he knew enough to dislike the name.