Bathed in the warm glow of the early morning sun, the first sight of the red keep astounded me. The sharp edges and towering spires giving it a domineering feel, which had I come with ill intention would likely have frightened me. The only fitting comparison would be a majestic creature perched upon a sheer precipice arrogantly glaring downwards. The burgeoning sounds of activity informed us we were closing in on the port, but it would never have prepared me for what I witnessed. Vessels packed tight like a flock of birds all across the port and throngs of people moving between them in every direction. The pure chaos of the environment and amount of people unnerving me.
“Mad isn’t it” a calm voice sounds from behind me. Drawn from my thoughts, I turn around to identify the owner of the voice as Quhuru, staring admiringly at the port.
“Is it always like this?” I ask worriedly, not sure the delicate sensibilities of an islander would ever become accustomed to such chaos.
“Only on good days.” He replied flippantly as he walked off in the direction of the crew.
The crew had been working flat out since the moment we entered the bay and with Kojja barking orders at them, were preparing to dock. A process further complicated by the sheer number of vessels on the port. The solution to this was a policy, that any vessel would need to send a landing party in advance to make arrangements for their arrival. The landing party would negotiate favourable docking locations and access to port hands with the harbour master, likely trading bribes and favours. The Cinnamon Wind was principally crewed with uneducated sailors so Quhuru would always be a member of any landing party that was sent out. As expected, a small rowing boat was released from the vessel and quickly manned by the captain. Enthusiastic to begin exploration, Jahi and I joined the landing party to gain our first experience of Westeros.
The stench was the first thing that hit us, taking me and Jahi by surprise momentarily. The smell of waste emanating from the city, immediately reminding me of the downsides of having so many people in such a small area. The smells of the sea and fish from the market was dampening it currently, but I could only assume it would get worse moving forward. My interest was instantly drawn to the people around me, going about their lives. The pale skin sported by the Westerosi feeling so unfamiliar and informing me that I was far from home. Jahi’s head moved on a swivel, trying to capture as much of the scenery as possible in his eyes. The excitement of being in a new location showing through even his usual blank face.
“If you walk around gaping, you’re just going to be an easy target. Try to act like you belong and people will usually assume you do.” Quhuru warns us, aware of our lack of experience.
“Now I’ve got work to attend to, so I’ll only say this once, listen up. Your parents have paid me to ferry you to Oldtown, and that’s what I’m planning to do, but I’m not a baby sitter so if you find yourself in trouble, you’ll be on your own. The crew will be staying at the Salty Sheets, an inn on River Row, east of the Fishmongers Square. I plan to book a double room for you for the duration of our stay and you are free to come and go as you please. In the event, you are unable to find the inn just return to the boat, as at least one of the crew will always be on board. King’s Landing is a confusing city for its residents, let alone inexperienced foreigners. So, if you don’t wish to get lost, I suggest staying to the main roads. Also, avoid anyone dressed in finery, nobles are often quick to anger and always slow to calm down.” Lectured Quhuru, glaring at both of us until we nodded back our agreements.
Crossing the Mud Gate with a renewed sense of caution, I headed towards the centre of the city with Jahi accompanying me. The city appeared disordered and irregular, not what I would’ve expected from such a massive construction. An urban maze of alleyways and dwellings which would take years to become comfortable with. The different areas also appeared to have been built at varying times, with older constructions next to new builds. The city likely springing up from need, as opposed to any intelligent design and its layout reflecting that. The Muddy Way which connected the gate to the centre of the city, opened up to a lavish clearing with decorative trees at its edges. The main roads of the city passed through the clearing allowing easy access for any carriages and horses.
“Sign up and win eternal glory in the upcoming tourney. Only a week to get your names down so be quick” boomed a voice standing on a platform, indicating towards a sign-up sheet on the wall behind him.
A steady line was forming next to him of warriors kitted out in all forms of armour. The more prosperous of them wearing exquisite steel plate armour with their coat of arms blazoned upon it. The poorer warriors appeared to barely have enough armour to cover their bodies causing a stark contrast between them. Jahi was eager to sign up and demonstrate the strength of the isles, but I discouraged him from it by reminding him we should be keeping a low profile. With our limited understanding of Westerosi customs taking part in such events would be risky and in the event that we offended the wrong individual fatal.
Destination already decided, we embarked down the Street of Sisters heading towards the northwest of the city. An imposing dome structure upon a large hill, informing us that we had reached our destination. The dome was pitch black, looming ominously over the city. Its collapsed roof leaving jagged prongs jutting out of the dome in such a way as to resemble the tip of a black flame. The Dragonpit of King’s Landing was a building used to house the dragons of the royal family and after an incident in history had been left as a ruin sitting on the hill. This building offered the first clue towards the scaled majestic creatures, I had witnessed in my visions and was always going to be my first destination. The sheer bulk of the structure sending waves of distress passing through me, at the thought of the creatures that would be housed within and the size they would reach to warrant this.
Turning away from the Dragonpit, we began backtracking upon the Street of Sisters to my second destination. From the corner of my eye, I noted the location of the Street of Silk. Its perfumed and oily smell wafting out and drawing the attention of any helpless gentlemen. Mentally memorizing its location for later, we continue on to the second destination.
The city of King’s Landing was built to enclose three large hills dotted around the capital. On each of these hills lying a landmark which forms an integral part of the capital and Westeros in general. The first was the Red Keep, the seat of the royal family and small council that rule the Seven Kingdoms. Representing power through diplomacy and tact. The second was the Dragonpit, the ominous and foreboding structure harkening back to a more archaic time where dragons ran rampant. This represented power through force itself, with a dragon being a living embodiment of that. The last landmark is the Great Sept of Baelor, the centre of the Faith of the Seven in the kingdom. Representing power through the beliefs that people hold dear. The three hills of the capital paralleling the three forms of power the kingdom was forged on top of.
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The Great Sept of Baelor had its own dome but couldn’t be farther in image than the Dragonpit. The dome was formed from glass and crystal, a light blue glow bouncing off it in the midday sun. Surrounded by seven crystal towers, the dome shined with an ethereal light as if screaming out its divinity. The white marble stairs leading up to the hall unblemished as if they had never been walked upon. The hall of the Sept was a different experience entirely, the dome diffusing light in a natural way as to leave no corner in the dark. Seven statues surrounded the central alter representing the different faces of the Faith of the Seven. Time flew as I lost myself in the myriad details of the central hall. A feeling of loss permeating my soul when I finally decided it was time to leave.
The sun had begun to wane in the sky and I was beginning to feel hungry, so I decided to head to the Salty Sheets that Quhuru had booked for us. To reach the inn we would need to cross the Street of Steel which would lead us directly to the River Row. The street as if not aware of the setting sun was still in full operation. The sound of hammering and the roaring of the furnace demonstrating that the work of a smith was never ending. Jahi who so far had been content to just follow and watch proceedings, for the first time requested to have a closer look at the weapons. The Summer Isles were naturally blessed with many different kinds of resources, but metal deposits were not one of them. This meant the majority of our metal tools and weapons had been traded for with merchants. The blacksmithing culture of the isles was essentially non-existent as there was no reason to trade for raw materials when you could just opt for the finished product.
Heading into the first store we had come across, I immediately could tell the weapons were high quality and the smiths in the store were experienced. Apprentices of varying ages were also involved in the production of weapons. The older individuals making small parts of the weapons while the younger children helped with chores and other miscellaneous tasks. The youngest of which, appeared to be five years old and was desperately trying to move a large piece of ore from the pile over to one of the smiths. Pitying him somewhat, I grabbed one side of the ore taking the majority of the weight while still allowing him to make a token effort. After breathing out heavily the boy whispered his gratitude, running off to find another task.
“Most kind of you customer but hardship is a part of what it takes to become a blacksmith, and all must experience it.” A gravely voice sounds from behind me.
I turn around to find who I presume to be the owner of the smithery. A muscular individual with a short well-groomed white beard. The owner was dressed in a fine black coat with hammers embroidered on the sleeves that appeared too elaborate for a craftsman. As a greeting the owner raised his arms to offer a handshake, which I promptly imitated. The handshake allowing me another clue into his identity as his hands felt powerful and calloused from what I could only assume to be decades of hard labour.
“My name is Tobho Mott, and this is my smithery. Greatest in all of the Seven Kingdoms. No where shall a man be better equipped than if he picks his armour from this room.” Stated Tobho, with the confidence of someone who had been forging his entire life.
“Mostafa Osei, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that” I reply with a cheeky grin,
“But it would be the first time its true. Gendry show these gentlemen over to where we keep the completed spears” commanded Tobho.
Hearing this the youngest apprentice returned as quickly as possible, and this time directed us towards the far corner where a table full of spears was placed. The spears were of many different types from ornate ones to simple looking instruments but they all had one thing in common which was the level of detail and craftmanship on display. Hefting one of the smaller simpler spears, I noted the perfect balance on it which would make fighting and throwing far easier. Placing my finger on the blade caused a thin streak of blood to stream down it demonstrating it was a weapon intended for war. Jahi had chosen a powerful spear with a red oak shaft, which he had begun throwing out practise lunges with. The sound of his strikes showing that the weapon suited him well. Deciding to hold off on a new weapon till I had passed my growth cycle, I placed my weapon back down.
“If the spears ain’t to your liking m’lord, Master Tobho will personally make one to order” chirped Gendry in a high-pitched voice.
“The spears here are perfect Gendry, I just have no need for a new weapon right now.” I comfort the little boy worried he might consider it his fault.
“Could you tell your master to reserve that spear my friend has for us?” I ask, noting Jahi’s infatuation with it.
Hunger pangs having become unbearable, I have to physically separate Jahi from the spear, so we can leave the shop. Finding myself unable to resist the temptation, I pause at the entrance to the store.
“You win, how did you know we were spear wielders?” I inquire, still facing away from the store.
“Only an amateur wouldn’t recognise those callouses” snorted Tobho.
Helpless to prevent a thin smile spreading across my face, I stepped out of the store in the direction of River Row and our inn. The Salty Sheets was a typical inn with the symbol of a lantern upon its hanging sign. The imagery evoking the idea of a lighthouse, which represents safety to any sailor suggesting they would find shelter inside the inn. The inside was humbly decorated with paintings of the sea and rustic furniture. The entire establishment was well lit, and with the crackle of the fire place gave off a warm and inviting feel. The crew was sat at a large table on the far end of the eating area, from the noises likely drinking to excess. Falling back into old habits, I nod my salutations while taking a seat and immediately begin eating. The roasted meats, fresh bread, spinach salad went down well paired with a juice made from smashed blackberries. The cuisine in Westeros was hearty and left me feeling fuller than I have ever been in the past. Quhuru sat at the head of the table muttering words into his beer mug with a downcast expression on his face.
“What happened to the captain?” I inquired, turning to Kojja who was sitting to my left.
“Fleeced by the new customers officer” Kojja teased.
“Some upstart noble named Baelish. Barely worked at the capital for a few months. Happy to take my bribes and still rob me for all I’m worth.” Slurred Quhuru, looking distinctly more dishevelled than ever before.
Raucous sounds of laughter spread amongst the table, the crew evidently finding the state of their captain hilarious. The remainder of the night passed similarly, with laughter and stories being shared across the large table. The crew ecstatic to be on land for the first time in weeks and making the most of it. Exhausted from my first experience on a new continent and not yet able to drink, I decided to call it an early night and turn in. As soon as I had placed my head on the pillow, the characteristic pull of a new vision was felt. The only difference being this pull felt stronger than ever before, and I knew even if I wanted to, I would be unable to fight it. Wrenched from the world of consciousness, I drifted away into the dream with an increasing sense of anxiety.