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The Bastard of Blackhaven

It was several days of riding before Ser Damon finally caught sight of the red walls of King's Landing. It was a blessed sight, it was. Damon had spent nearly a fortnight on the roads to the capital city, with too few inns and no brothels to speak of. Only one night of rain was enough to leave the Bastard of Blackhaven feeling heavy-footed and - ironically - drained. His horse, which Damon had taken to calling Storm Spirit, was doubtlessly tired as well.

As the city drew closer and closer, Damon began to think about the roof he would have over his head. He thought about the warmth of a kindled hearth, the juicy taste of chicken, mutton, or pork. He thought of the softness of a featherbed - and the softness of the woman who would join him in it. Yes, King's Landing would answer a man's wants and needs. Provided a man wasn't a fool, at least.

And it's certainly not foolish to try for the queen… Just a bit daring, is all.

Exhausted as he was, Ser Damon still found himself grinning as he rode past the shanties that had been raised just outside the city walls and up to the King's Gate. The gate was open and guarded by two men of the city watch.

Gold Cloaks. Named for the worth of their honor and integrity, I'm sure.

Damon decided they were competent enough for common guardsmen. It only took them a moment or so to notice the armed horseman riding up to their station.

"Stop there." Commanded the one on the right, a stout man with black mustache flecked with some gray. He stood before Damon and Storm Spirit, holding one hand up with the other clutching his spear. Damon could see the man's eyes under his helm taking him in, shifting from the dirk on his right hip to the longsword sheathed at his left. The guardsman gave a small frown. "Who are you? What is your business in King's Landing?"

"Ser Desmond of the Green Fields." Ser Damon lied, smiling. The Dondarrions were still in open rebellion to the crown. And even a Dondarrion bastard was unlikely to be welcome within the crown's own walls. At least until I speak my intentions. Preferably to the Queen herself. "I am but a humble hedge knight, good ser. Here to find honor in service to the true queen of Westeros."

The guardsman with the mustache moved around to the side of Storm Spirit, still eyeing the longsword at Damon's hip. Then he glanced up at Damon's face, his eyes narrowing under his helm.

"Is that so? How do we know you're really a knight?" The guardsman turned to his unhelmed compatriot, a taller man with a shaved head. "I've never heard of no green fields. Have you?"

"Not at all." The bald guardsman wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

The guardsman at Damon's flank turned back to face him again, his frown curling into a sneer. "I think it's rubbish, yeah."

Damon took note of how the man's hand very slowly and very clearly fell upon the grip of his longsword. The stormlander pursed his lips, feeling a flash of annoyance. Gold Cloaks weren't known for their battle prowess, so the Bastard of Blackhaven felt only a sliver of apprehension. No, the true issue in drawing steel would be the consequences of spilling guardsman blood right outside the city gates. Even the lowliest of commoners could understand the stupidity of making such a poor first impression.

"How many commoners can afford a good horse and good weapons?" Damon proposed then, keeping his demeanor steady and even. Even though he felt a measure of outrage, he knew it would be unwise to escalate. The best course was to try and reason with the city watchmen. If these thickskulls can even be reasoned with…

"You could have stolen 'em." The bald man countered. "For all we know, you could have killed a man, taken his things."

The other guardsman nodded, snorting and spitting on the dirt beside Storm Spirit. Damon began to really dislike that particular Gold Cloak.

"There's plenty of that happening out there, the way we hear it." Said the man at Damon's side. He stepped closer to Storm Spirit and Damon mounted atop him. Now too close for Damon's comfort. The stormlander bastard gave the guardsman a sour look.

"I've slain men on the field of battle, but I'm no murderer." Damon spoke forcefully, scowling. Under him, Storm Spirit stirred. Doubtless, the steed was as restless as his rider. "I'm no thief, neither. I'm an honest man. I earned my gold the honest way."

Gold. That's what gets things done in Westeros, Damon realized. I've been wasting my own time talking with these fools.

With a heavy sigh, Ser Damon reached under his cloak. His gloved hand came back holding a small purse, clinking with the sound of coin. The two guardsmen immediately stood straighter. Damon gave a small grin. Of course they would know the sound of money.

Damon tossed the coin purse to the man at his flank. It struck the man's gold breastplate before falling into his arms as he shuffled back to catch it. The guardsman looked down at the bag for a moment. Then he looked up at Ser Damon. Under his helm, the man's eyes narrowed, curious and expecting.

"You two look like honest men, as well." Damon observed, wearing a wry grin. "Would you deny an honest man the hospitality of the queen's city? Or the chance to faithfully serve in her name?"

There was a moment of silence as the helmed guardsman opened the bag to confirm its contents. Damon had filled the purse with copper stars and some silver stags. It was the money to be spent on food and drink, but now it would be used as a bribe.

It was a funny thing that he had set aside another purse full of golden dragons for the exact purpose of bribery. But there was no force in any of the seven hells that would make him waste that kind of coin on two lowly city guards.

The helmed guardsman spent another brief moment poking through the contents of the coin purse before giving Ser Damon another look. This time, Damon could see a toothy grin under the Gold Cloak's helm.

"I suppose it wouldn't be very true of us." The man spoke with warmth and good humor. He flashed a smile and a nod towards his bald friend.

"Not true at all." The bald man agreed.

"Who are we to deny a humble hedge knight the chance for honor?" The man gestured lazily towards the King's Gate, stepping away from Damon and Storm Spirit. The other guardsman moved aside as well, allowing a clear path through the gate house.

Finally…

"Good men. The both of you." Damon nodded to one man, then the other. He clicked his tongue and started Storm Spirit on a slow trot. As he began to pass into the gate house, the bald man spoke out.

"Try and keep your sword clean, hedge knight." He said, leaning back against the stone wall. He gave Damon a pointed look as the bastard knight rode on by. "There's been enough blood spilled in this city."

"You needn't worry." Ser Damon assured him, looking back over his shoulder. A smile spread across his face that he couldn't contain. Thoughts of the Queen with golden hair were already on his mind. "In service to the queen, I plan to keep my sword sheathed well and good."

---

It was an hour's ride to the Red Keep. Damon had only ever seen it once before, years ago when he was but a lad of two and ten. Even as a man grown, the castle looked impossibly tall. It loomed over Damon, its red spires stretching so high near the entire city fell under the shadow of the crown.

I'll be within its walls soon enough, Damon thought with a grin. The Queen's walls too should my luck stay true.

He hitched Storm Spirit to a post outside a tavern, leaving his horse in the company of two pale palfreys, and started on foot towards the crown's castle. It was a short walk and by the time he reached the castle gates it was midday, with the autumn sun hanging at its highest. Then would be the time when Queen Cersei would be holding court and granting an audience to her subjects. But when Ser Damon reached the castle gatehouse, he found that it was sealed and guarded with a small crowd of petitioners having gathered just outside.

"The queen isn't seeing any petitioners today." A guard captain dressed in Lannister red sat high upon a white destrier, his booming voice carrying across the crowd. "Return to your homes or head to a tavern. Anywhere but here."

The crowd shouted their displeasure. Some of the commoners had enough nerve to curse the Lannister guard. But the petitioners dispersed all the same. All but Damon. Frowning, he went up to the mounted guardsman, intent on gathering answers.

"The queen isn't holding court? Why not?" Damon asked, taking slower steps as he drew closer to the war mount.

"How in the bloody seven hells should I know?" The red-cloaked guard sounded annoyed. It was likely he had heard that very same question dozens of times already. The man grunted, continuing, "Maybe she's busy. Maybe she's tired. The queen doesn't need a reason. She's the queen."

"Of course." Damon gave a short bow of his head. A small measure of respect and deference. Perhaps it would be enough to soften the tired man's disposition. "Forgive my presumption. I have traveled very far…"

"Plenty of people have traveled very far." The captain countered, his voice flat and firm. "You all have to wait until tomorrow."

Tomorrow, Damon thought with a sigh. I've already ridden for days. I can wait for just one more.

"In that case, I don't suppose you could direct me to some local hospitality?" Damon gave a shrug, sending off any feelings of disappointment.

"You can't turn a corner in this city without finding an inn or a tavern." The guard captain grunted.

"I'd prefer an establishment that has more of a woman's touch." Damon gave a small grin. The guard captain caught it and returned it with the tiniest smirk of his own. Tired men are still men.

"Heh." The man snorted. He leaned forward on his horse, his grin widening. "The Street of Silk is what you're looking for then. On the Hill of Rhaenys, towards the Dragonpit. Brothels and whorehouses line the walkways. Any one of them will suit you just fine. There's no better place for a man to lose his gold."

"Many thanks, friend." Ser Damon nodded and went on his way. He might as well find some close company during the wait for tomorrow.

---

It was near sundown by the time Damon reached the Street of Silk. And it wasn't long after that he found himself some close company. On the Street of Silk, it wasn't difficult at all. The guardsman had been right: any one of them would have more than suited Damon's needs. The stormlander ended up settling on an establishment called Velvet Valera's. Standing outside, he could catch the scent of wine, spice, perfume, and the aroma of women.

Sure enough, he found women inside and they were more than welcoming to his presence. Lovely, radiant creatures, every single one of them. Dark hair, brown hair, red hair, golden hair, wild curls hanging free down their backs, or done in long, thick braids swaying like vines. One of the girls in particular caught his eye, a Volantene with rich, dusky skin and a mane of dark curls. It was almost too difficult for Damon to choose. Almost.

It was the Madam who had caught his eye more than any of the whores. A plump blonde who carried her extra weight marvelously. She wore a gown of sheer, pink silk which had the consistency of light smoke. There was nothing to hide her wide hips, flaring outward like a ship's sails, nor her proud, pendulous breasts which drew forth so prominently it suspended the fabric before her torso like a curtain. She had a round, pretty face with full, rosy cheeks. Her eyes were a bright blue, glimmering like sapphires. But those eyes were as cunning as they were dazzling, betraying the Madam's awareness of her own beauty. This one was a sharp woman to be sure.

Yes, the blonde would be joining him in bed that night. And once the Bastard of Dondarrion had made a decision, he stayed true to it.

The Madam went down the line of whores, still believing that she herself wasn't his chosen lover. Damon kept a polite smile, staying silent as she went about her duties as host.

"The selection might be smaller than other establishments, but each one of them is a true beauty indeed." She took slow, leisurely strides behind the whores who had gathered into a single row. As she did, the Madam reached out to glide her fingertips softly across the girls' bare shoulders.

Some of them shuddered under their Lady's gentle touch, bashful creatures they were. But others hummed pleasantly, the spirited young women who ached for the heat and fire of lovemaking. One of them was the Volantene, who gave a small, devious smile towards Damon as if she was daring him to pick her.

The Madam rounded the end of the line of women, coming to a stop before Damon.

"I assure you my girls can bring pleasure to a man in ways you could only dream of." She said, clasping her hands together as she awaited his choice.

"Thanks in no small part to your instruction, I assume." Damon's voice came low and smooth, warm like melted butter. There was a tinkle in his eyes then, he was sure, and it was something the Madam could not miss.

The buxom blonde was taken aback, but only for a moment. There was a bout of murmuring from the line of girls behind her, some of them giggling. The Lady of the Brothel gave them a quick pointed look, mostly silencing them. But it was scandalous, wasn't it? For a paying man to pay for the Madam herself.

On the other hand, the blonde didn't seem to be against Damon's proposition. From the way she looked him over then, it was clear that she was at least considering it. And the next words from her lips were pointedly not a declination.

"You are a bold one, good ser." The Madam said, the corners of her lips turning upwards into a small smile.

"Are you part of the selection, Madam?" Damon's voice rumbled deep in his chest. He took a step closer to the blonde, his intent doubtlessly clear in his eyes. She was near a head shorter than him, and even her abundance in body left her frame slightly wider than his. From his position, Damon could now see the deep valley between her breasts. It was an entrancing sight and shamelessly, he drank it in.

"I'm not a woman to be bought, lecher." The Madam looked Damon dead in the eye, firmly rooted where she stood. But the little smile never left her face and she made no effort to push him away. Damon's grin turned toothy and wolfish.

"I'm not buying you, sweetling." He told her, his voice dripping with warm honey. But even honey couldn't hide the fangs he had readied to sink into the sweetness of womanly flesh. No, that would be dishonest, to present himself as entirely harmless. He wanted her to know he wanted to fuck her. He was in a whorehouse, after all. "I'm buying your company. Two gold dragons to have you until sunrise."

Two gold dragons. Twice the price for a woman's maidenhead. Wildly expensive for a common brothel like Velvet Valera's, but Damon could afford it. And it would be madness for the Madam to refuse such a rich offer.

To prove himself true, Damon drew a hand from under his cloak. Pinched between his fingers were indeed two shining gold coins, with the sigil of the exiled House Targaryen stamped on one side.

The Madam stared at the coins, unmoving and her face unreadable. Behind her, a wave of small gasps came from the line of girls. Then the blonde glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing. Damon merely smirked and gave a small nod. The Madam held his gaze for a moment longer, before huffing through her nose and throwing a quick glance over her shoulder.

"Darra, you have the house for the day." The woman spoke loud and clear to one of her working girls. Darra, one of the redheads, nodded and stepped back from the line. The Madam turned to face the rest of her girls, continuing. "I'll be retiring to my bedchamber. I am not to be disturbed."

Damon couldn't keep the shameless look of triumph off of his face. The Madam returned to him, linking her arm with his. She began to lead him off to her chambers when he produced a small, clinking pouch. The blonde furrowed her brow as he held it before her but took it from him all the same, confused but not at all averse to the extra coin.

"That's for the Volantene." Damon explained, pointing to the dusky woman he had his eye on before. "She'll be joining us as well."

"Lecher." The Madam gave a rich, hearty laugh. It was music to Damon, for he truly loved women with passion and fire stirring inside them. The blonde called to the Volantene, beckoning the darker woman over. "Narisa, love, come with me."

Narisa, as the Madam had named her, approached with long, elegant strides. She was the taller woman of the two, but still shorter than Damon. Her black hair was dark as a moonless night, wild locks falling across her shoulders and covering most of her teardrop breasts. But Damon could still see the tips of her darkened nipple poking through the curtain of curls. The bastard knight drew his eyes back up to the woman's face and found her gray eyes full of mirth and spirit and the promise of womanly thrills.

"As it pleases you, m'lady." Narisa spoke with a low, husky voice, the slightest hint of an accent coloring her words with a layer of sweetness. The Volantene hummed as she then slid her hand to hook around Damon's free arm.

Flanked now on both sides by spirited, vivacious women, Ser Damon realized that he was now outnumbered. But it would take more than uneven odds to unman the Bastard of Blackhaven.

"Do you truly believe you'll be able to handle the two of us, brave knight?" The Madam giggled softly as she and Narisa led him off to the lush paradise of a whore's domain.

A bestial vigor stirred within Damon and the next words that came from his lips were like the speakings of another man entirely.

"The real question is…" He all but growled as one of his hands took liberty with one of their supple rear ends. "Will the two of you be able to handle me?"