ASOIAF/Game Of Thrones: Ruler of Batannia

They went first to the Dragonpit.

The ruin stood on Rhaenys's Hill, broken and blackened, a massive corpse of stone where the dragons of House Targaryen had once been kept. Wild grass grew between cracked stones, and the wind moved through shattered arches with a low, hollow sound. Ena looked around in silence, perhaps imagining dragons beneath that dead dome. Arthur did the same, though his thoughts were less poetic. A dynasty had once locked its greatest weapons in a building and then acted surprised when the world changed around them. Nobles had a gift for building cages and calling them order.

Still, he enjoyed it more than he expected. There was something strange about standing in a place that had been a screen, a story, a distant piece of fiction in another life. Arthur moved around the ruins with far too much interest, examining scorched stone, broken passages, and collapsed walls as if some hidden treasure might be lying under the rubble. There was no treasure. Just dust, weeds, and the ghost of better monsters. Apparently, that was enough.

Ena followed quietly, watching him with a small smile she probably thought he did not notice. "You look like a child."

"I am appreciating history."

"You are poking broken stones."

"Many great discoveries begin with poking."

"Name one."

Arthur chose silence. A strategic retreat. Kings had survived with less wisdom.

From the Dragonpit, they went to the Great Sept of Baelor. Compared to the streets outside, the sept felt like another world. Light came through colored glass and fell across polished stone in soft patches of red, blue, green, and gold. Believers knelt before the Seven, whispering prayers. Septons moved quietly beneath the high dome. The singing of the choir echoed through the hall, solemn enough to make even liars lower their voices.

Ena stopped before the statue of the Warrior and closed her eyes. Arthur did not interrupt. She prayed silently, hands clasped, face calm in a way he rarely saw. Perhaps she prayed for victory. Perhaps for survival. Perhaps for the fool beside her not to get himself killed before the tournament was done.

Arthur looked at the statues and murals, then at the people kneeling before them. Faith was not just belief. It was structure, influence, coin, fear, comfort, and power wearing a holy face. The Faith of the Seven had hands everywhere in the South. A mercenary company that ignored it would be stupid. One that understood it might find doors. Or knives. Often both.

Afterward, they descended into Flea Bottom.

Ena regretted it almost immediately.

The district was crowded, dirty, loud, and alive in the most aggressive way possible. Children ran barefoot through filth. Women shouted from windows. Men argued over food, dice, debts, and insults too old to matter. The smell was worse than the docks of White Harbor, which Arthur considered almost impressive. Yet there was life there, raw and stubborn. The lowest part of King's Landing, and probably the most honest. No one in Flea Bottom pretended the city was clean.

Arthur pulled Ena into one of the busier taverns, partly for information and partly because she looked ready to flee. They ordered two cups of cheap ale and sat in a corner. The drink was terrible, naturally. It tasted like someone had threatened water until it agreed to become alcohol. Around them, men boasted, cursed, lied, and traded rumors about the court, the tournament, the queen, the Hand, and which knight would fall first in the lists.

At first, Ena sat stiffly, one hand gripping the edge of Arthur's sleeve. After a while, she relaxed enough to sip her ale and listen. Her eyes moved from speaker to speaker, collecting pieces. She had learned quickly. Rumors were arrows. Most missed. A few killed.

From Flea Bottom, they went to the Street of Steel. The sound reached them before the street itself: hammers striking iron, bellows breathing heat, men shouting orders over sparks and smoke. Smithies, armorers, weapon shops, and toolmakers lined the road. The air smelled of charcoal, hot metal, oil, leather, and sweat. Arthur slowed almost at once.

Here, at least, the city made sense.

He moved from shop to shop, studying sword balance, spearheads, shield rims, rivets, mail links, and the quality of leather armor. Prices were high because the tournament had fattened every smith's ambition, but the craftsmanship varied. Some pieces were excellent. Some looked excellent until one knew where to look. Arthur made notes in his mind for future upgrades. The Battanian Rangers would need better armor if they continued growing, and King's Landing had enough steel to bankrupt a cautious man.

Near the end of the street, he stopped before a jeweler's shop. Ena had already walked a few steps ahead before noticing he was no longer beside her.

"What are you doing?"

Arthur pointed at a silver necklace inlaid with turquoise. The stone was clear, blue-green, and bright without being loud. The chain was delicate, but not fragile. It was not the sort of thing a lady of court would kill for, which made it better. Too much beauty attracted thieves and fools.

He paid for it before Ena could ask too many questions.

"For you," he said, handing it to her.

Ena stared at the necklace, then at him. Her face reddened slowly. "Why?"

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware that buying weapons was much easier than giving gifts. Weapons did not look at him with confused eyes. "For helping me. For staying. For putting up with my... unreliable habits."

"That is a strange reason."

"It also matches your eyes."

That made the red on her face deepen. She took the necklace carefully, fingers brushing the cool silver. For a moment, she looked as if she did not know what to do with softness. Arthur understood that. Softness was suspicious when life had mostly handed a person teeth.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Arthur nodded, then immediately ruined the moment by spotting a building with a peculiar spire ahead.

"The Alchemists' Guild," he said, eyes lighting up. "Come on. I want to see real magic."

Ena blinked. "Real magic?"

He was already pulling her along.

Half an hour later, they walked out with matching disappointment, though Arthur's was much louder.

"That was not magic," he muttered. "That was chemical tricks wearing a robe. Phosphorus fire, acids, smoke powders, sealed jars, theatrical nonsense. I expected fireballs. At least one proper fireball. Humanity disappoints even in another world."

"Chemical?" Ena asked.

"Materials reacting with other materials. Ratios, heat, pressure, that kind of thing."

She stared.

"It is less interesting when explained."

"It was already less interesting when you came out looking offended."

Arthur rubbed his chin. "Still, it gives ideas. What was the ratio for gunpowder again? Saltpeter, sulfur, charcoal... damn it. I remember the concept, not the exact parts. One more reason school was a poorly designed torture system."

"Gunpowder?"

"Something that would make every castle in Westeros very nervous."

Ena looked at him for a long moment, then laughed softly. "Sometimes you sound like an old fox. Sometimes you sound like a child who found a locked box and wants to break it open."

"That is unfair."

"It can be true and unfair."

The sun began to sink, turning the roofs of King's Landing warm gold and red. Lanterns were lit one by one along the streets, softening the city in ways it did not deserve. Arthur and Ena walked back toward the inn side by side, their shadows long on the cobblestones. For once, no one chased them, no one tried to stab them, and no system prompt dragged them into trouble. A rare mercy. Naturally, Arthur distrusted it.

"Registration starts tomorrow," Ena said.

"Yes."

"Will we win?"

Arthur looked toward the Red Keep atop Aegon's High Hill. The royal banner moved in the evening wind, bright above a city built on hunger, pride, and old blood. "We will try. If we win, we gain coin and fame. If we lose, then we make sure everyone remembers that warriors from Battania stood in the capital and did not bow their heads."

Ena studied him. The turquoise necklace rested against her throat now, catching the last light of the day. "I will be watching."

"I know."

"I will also be beside you."

Arthur turned to her. For a moment, the noise of the city felt farther away than it should have. Then he smiled.

"That is probably safer for everyone."

Ena rolled her eyes, but she smiled too.

They quickened their pace toward the inn as the night of King's Landing rose around them. Tomorrow, registration would begin. After that, the tourney. The Battanian Rangers had no noble titles, no ancient banners, no songs, and no great house standing behind them. They had discipline, sharp weapons, good archers, and enough hunger to make wiser men uncomfortable.

For now, that would have to be enough.

Read 50 + chapters!

LInk on bio.