King's Landing at night.
"This is the place," Yule said, leading Arthur down a shadowed alley near the Street of Silk, toward a discreet courtyard with lanterns flickering outside. "Anguy and his Dornish companions are here."
Arthur nodded, taking in the details. The Dornishmen inside looked like younger versions of Prince Oberyn Martell, the infamous Red Viper of Dorne—lean, sun-kissed, and dressed in colorful silks. Though not of noble birth, they carried themselves with the same swagger Oberyn was known for before his death at the hands of Ser Gregor Clegane.
Once a prince, Oberyn had also lived the life of a mercenary across Essos, even serving briefly with the Second Sons, and was known for his fondness for wine, women, and violence. These men, it seemed, followed his example, minus the titles.
Arthur, freshly changed from his silver armor into vibrant yellow silk robes, followed Yule into the brothel's main hall. The victory in the group battle had secured another 20,000 gold dragons, and Arthur was now confident enough to start building his own army.
The tourney had drawn more than just knights and lords—plenty of hedge knights, exiles, and mercenaries had arrived in King's Landing, some hoping to find work before the realm inevitably fractured into war. Arthur's goal tonight: recruit as many useful swords as possible before the chaos began.
A wrinkled madam greeted them at the door. "Good sers, what can I do for you? I have a Dornish redhead just in—"
"We're looking for someone," Arthur interrupted.
The old woman blinked. "Of course! I'll fetch her immediately."
"I'm looking for a man," Arthur said firmly, tone sharp.
She blinked again, stunned. "Here? For a man?"
Arthur brushed past her with Yule into a room at the back, where voices and laughter rang out.
"My friends, where is Anguy?" Arthur called out.
A shirtless man with dark curls and a faint accent sat up from a tangle of limbs. He looked just like he had when he'd joined Beric Dondarrion's Brotherhood Without Banners in the future—lean, dangerous, and amused.
"You got a problem with me, Andal?" Anguy asked lazily.
"I'm a descendant of the First Men," Arthur replied calmly. "And I'm here to hire you and your companions. My house is in conflict with a northern neighbor, and I need warriors."
Anguy raised an eyebrow. "This afternoon, the Hand of the King sent someone to ask me the same thing. I turned him down. Why would I take your offer instead?"
"Because he sent a messenger," Arthur said, "and I came in person."
Laughter erupted from the room. "So what?" one of the Dornishmen called. "Think that makes you more important than Lord Stark?"
"Think you're stronger than his guards?"
"You think we're bored enough to fight for honor now?" someone else added, half-laughing, half-drunk.
Arthur didn't react. He was focused on Anguy.
"There's a story," he began. "In the far east, in Yi Ti or Asshai, they tell of a man named Liu Bei. Three times he visited a thatched cottage to win a great strategist to his side."
They fell quiet as he spoke, unfamiliar with the tale, but drawn in nonetheless.
"The difference between me and the Hand isn't title—it's sincerity. He sent a guard. I came here myself. I'm not hiring guards—I'm recruiting brothers."
Arthur paused, letting his words settle.
"You all know of Prince Oberyn," he added. "Your prince. He was brother to the Lord of Sunspear. And yet he lived and fought like you—free, dangerous, respected. No one called him a common sellsword."
Anguy stared at Arthur for a long time, then shifted his weight.
"Tell me why you're in conflict with the nobles around you," he finally asked.
Yule stepped in smoothly. "The heir to House Vance of Crow's Nest posed as a bandit. His men killed three smallfolk women near our border, one of whom was pregnant. My nephew—Ser Arthur—acted to bring them to justice."
The room was silent a beat longer. Then some of the Dornishmen murmured something to Anguy. Arthur's sharp ears caught fragments.
"…the guy who cracked that Frey's ribs…"
"…he's the hammer-wielder…"
"…left Gregor speechless in the crowd…"
Anguy rose from the bed, his face serious now.
"You're a just man," he said. "We'll follow you—for a time. Until your feud with Crow's Nest ends."
Arthur extended a hand. "Good. You'll be paid your fair wages."
A faint blue shimmer passed in the corner of Arthur's vision—[Anguy and thirteen Dornish spearmen have joined your party.]
After exchanging details, Arthur and Yule departed for their next destination.
The Blood Troupe.
This time, the meeting place was a filthy tavern on the edge of Flea Bottom. The smell of unwashed bodies and rot lingered in the air. The mercenaries inside looked like a pack of wolves—scarred, rough men from Essos and the Disputed Lands.
Their captain, Wag Huot, was a giant of a man from Qohor with a stutter and a crooked nose.
"Tw-tw-twenty… g-g-gold dragons per man," he said firmly. "N-not a s-s-single coin less."
Arthur glanced around the room. "How many men are we talking about? If it's just this handful, twenty gold dragons each isn't worth it."
A grizzled mercenary leaned forward. "There's more outside the city. Too expensive to board all of us here. And we've got lads scattered all along the Kingsroad and east coast. Give us time, and we'll bring in two hundred—some even from Braavos, Norvos, and beyond."
Wag nodded. "M-m-more than two h-h-hundred. If the gold's r-r-real."
Arthur grinned. "You'll have your gold. I'll pay tomorrow."
He didn't care that the Blood Troupe were cutthroats and thieves. He needed numbers—sellswords who would do the dirty work his knights couldn't. They'd be the perfect buffer for the coming war.
As they left, Wag tried to speak again. "M-my lord, I… I w-watched your match t-t-today. You were a—"
Arthur raised a hand, stopping him.
"Just be ready."
After leaving the address with Wag, Arthur and Yule made their way back toward their quarters near the Dragonpit.
Tomorrow would be for visiting lone swords and smaller companies. But tonight, Arthur had another subject in mind for his uncle, who had once maxed out his tracking skill.
Dragon eggs.
They were real. And if war was coming, Arthur would need more than men.
He'd need fire.
JOIN MY PATREON TO READ ADVANCE 50+ CHAPTERS
Patreon.com/Kora_1