Chapter 191: News from Westeros
"I've come all this way with so much gold, and you're telling me we can't go ashore?" Bronn was a little incredulous.
"I need you on board, my friend," Ian explained. "The sailors know the secrets of the ship, and now is not the time to let the world know about dragons."
Well, the players certainly already knew, but at least they couldn't know where the dragons were.
"As compensation," Ian continued, "I can buy a batch of slaves you want and bring them back to the ship," giving Daenerys her first lesson on slavery, "but they can't disembark either. I need you two to oversee this."
"There are nearly two hundred sailors on board," Bronn complained. "I'm sure they won't like this order."
"And I believe you're very good at handling these issues."
"Alright." Bronn agreed readily, without resorting to demanding more coin as usual. "I'll keep them as well-behaved as septas in a motherhouse."
He wasn't short of coin, although he hadn't received the 1,000 gold dragons promised by Prince Hazan because of the earlier chaos in Pentos. But the generous Lord Lannister—no, Lord Darry—whoever paid was his good lord. The generous Lord Darry compensated him with 500 gold dragons on behalf of Prince Hazan, ensuring he hadn't fought in vain.
Bronn's desire for gold dragons wasn't as strong as before. He valued the castle and lordship Ian had promised him, and judging from the Targaryen Queen's acquisition of dragons, it didn't seem so unattainable.
After receiving Bronn's assurance, Ian looked at Dorian. Frankly, he wasn't worried about Dorian refusing. The man had faithfully carried out his orders since swearing fealty.
"Of course, my lord," Dorian readily agreed, then added, "However, I must correct a slip of the tongue. The Black Falcon Company isn't a sellsword company. We are your household guard. We swore fealty to you back in the Stranger's Sept."
Ian paused, then laughed.
Dorian was only two years older than him—well, only two years older than his current body. When he first met him at the Inn at the Crossroads, Dorian was a naive and impulsive young man. He never expected Dorian to say something like this now.
Thinking about it, it seemed that the people around him had all grown sharper after spending so much time with him.
"Yes, it was a slip of the tongue. You are my household guard," Ian nodded. "Kneel." He drew his sword as he spoke.
Dorian was somewhat bewildered, but he still knelt down.
"One knee, my friend," Ian said, suppressing the urge to laugh.
Dorian then understood Ian's intention and quickly readjusted his posture.
"Dorian Blackfalcon," Ian placed his sword on Dorian's right shoulder.
"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave.
In the name of the Father I charge you to be just.
Rise, Ser Dorian. I hereby formally name you Captain of my Guard, and you will have the right to choose the sigil for your house."
"I swear my loyalty unto death." Dorian clenched his right fist and struck his left chest twice, then stood up.
"You kneel, Bronn." Ian turned back to Bronn.
"I..." Bronn shrugged, seemingly uninterested in the formalities, but after thinking it over, he felt that kneeling for a knighthood wasn't a bad deal, so he knelt as well.
"In the name of the Warrior—"
"I don't believe in the Seven, my lord." Bronn rudely interrupted Ian. "Can we find a faster way?"
"Sure," Ian wasn't angry, because he didn't believe in the Seven either. He used their oaths purely for ceremony. "In my own name, Ian Darry, I charge you to carry out my commands and kill my enemies."
"That's exactly what I've been doing."
"Then rise, Ser Bronn."
Ian finished the final investiture, leaving most of the people on the ship before disembarking with only Rol, Cass, and Celia.
They inquired with the guards at the Tyroshi docks about the location of the largest inn near the port and headed there.
Walking along the road, Ian momentarily thought he had stumbled into a madhouse. The streets were unusually noisy, and the people were flamboyant, their hair and beards dyed in various colors—blue, purple, scarlet, green, and other hues.
Although he knew that green hair had no special meaning in Tyroshi culture, Ian and Celia couldn't help but exchange amused glances when they saw it.
Passing through the bustling dock area, they quickly turned onto a riverside street and found a three-story wooden building.
This was the largest inn outside Tyrosh's port that the guard had mentioned—the 'Three Heads' Inn.
Without lingering outside, Ian and the others went inside and casually found a table to sit at.
The innkeeper proactively approached Ian and his companions to ask what they would like to order. Ian casually ordered four cups of local ale and then began to wait.
He didn't need to find out Kohruru's exact location. Based on experience, he only needed to arrive at the agreed-upon spot, and the NPC would find him on his own.
However, while Ian was waiting, he overheard the voices of sellswords at the next table.
"Westeros is going to war. We can go there and try our luck."
"Come on, those poor lords of Westeros—how much can they afford? Instead of going west, we'd rather wait for the Disputed Lands to heat up again. Myr has already signed a contract with the Golden Company. I bet the war in the Disputed Lands will resume in less than six months."
"This time it's different. I've heard that Lord Tywin's shit is made of gold."
"Who's Tywin?"
"You don't even know that? The Lord of Casterly Rock, the man who owns half the gold mines in Westeros. Now the King of Westeros is calling all his banners to attack him. What price do you think he'd offer sellswords willing to fight for him to save his own life?"
"Are you fucking mad? The King is calling all his banners to attack him and you want to go? You might get his golden shit, but will you even live to spend it?"
"Friends," a blond youth's voice interrupted the two sellswords. "Can you tell me more specifically what's happening in Westeros?"
"Don't worry, I won't let you work for nothing," Ian said, placing two silver stags on the table.
"Of course, my friend," the sellsword echoed Ian's words, then enthusiastically began sharing the rumors he'd heard. "You might not believe it, but the Queen of Westeros and her brother were caught fucking in Winterfell. The Queen was beaten to death on the spot by the King, and her brother, the son of the Lord of Casterly Rock, fled like a craven, so..."
After listening to the sellsword's explanation, Ian roughly understood the situation.
In short, a certain player faction had used the plot point of Jaime and Cersei's affair being discovered by Bran to orchestrate a direct and brutal overturning of the entire Westerosi storyline—exactly the same idea he had.
After all, this was the best option for players who had gained a developmental advantage.
Disrupting the plot could maximally destroy other players' 'knowledge of the original story' advantage, causing their plans based on the subsequent storylines to completely fail.
(End of Chapter)
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