Chapter Text
King’s Landing, the so-called “center of the world,” was not a place Elizabeth had expected to live in. Braavos had been her home for the past nineteen years of her life, and that hadn’t changed when she’d slowly regained her memories of a past life. It had all come as rather a shock, realizing one day that the world she was now living in—and had been for years—was nothing more than the fictional creation of one man from a different place. A shock that quickly mellowed into indifference, and then roared to life as curiosity when she realized that not everything from her memories aligned with what she now knew, and the rest didn’t matter.
Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying went, but Elizabeth had been endlessly curious in two lives now, and she lived a full life in her first.
She stood at the prow of the ship, the King of the Waves, and took in the sight as they made their way to port. King’s Landing was like nothing she’d ever seen, and it did not match what her memories told her. Built upon three hills, the walled city sat on the northern shore of the Blackwater Rush, like a slumbering dragon sprawled out next to the sea. Elizabeth imagined the Red Keep, that castle of red bricks sitting on Aegon’s High Hill, like the dragon’s head, and in a certain way of speaking it really was. The Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya’s Hill would be the hoard of gold dragons were said to keep, or did that honor go to the Library of King’s Landing, which sat on Rhaenys’ Hill? She couldn’t decide, and when she breathed in deeply, she noticed that the smell of shit didn’t fill her nose.
That was yet another mark against her memories, and another for her hunch that someone had come before her, a someone who had also regained their memories of a past life. But she couldn’t be sure—not without solid, and tangible, proof carved into stone.
She knew off the top of her head that King’s Landing was home to half a million people. She also knew that the number was only an estimate, as a proper accounting had never been taken. How many people actually lived here? It had to be more than what was commonly thought, what with all the trade and gold that was coming its way.
Around her, sailors rushed about, the final preparations underway for their imminent berth. The King of the Waves was a slight, two-masted vessel, built to befit a king rather than any major function as a merchant ship. Her holds were not deep, her armament was minimal, and the amount of gold detailing in the wood, rigging, trappings, and sails was like to mark the ship as a rich target. But she was the Sealord of Braavos’ ship, carrying the Sealord’s daughter, and wherever either went, so too did a proper and heavily armed escort.
“What will people think when they see this warfleet that’s been dispatched for a journey that is known to be safe?” asked Lady Vitoria Medci, as she came to stand beside Elizabeth. Before then the ship’s figurehead had been her only companion.
“I think they might be impressed.” Elizabeth counted ten ships that acted as escorts for the King of the Waves. In the vanguard was Archer, Titan’s Fist, Stormbreaker, Ironeyes, and Blackthorn. Alongside was Nightingale and Wings of Liberty. The rearguard consisted of Yellow’s Lighting, Lady Tiberia, and Chain Breaker. She knew their purple sails well, and their purple hulls. They were all Braavosi ships, built and sailed. Ten dromonds all armed to the teeth with scorpions, crossbowmen, and contingents of marines with their swords and shields. A flurry of oars all rising and falling in unison.
Those warships were bigger than the galleys that were often found, but smaller than the East Valyriamen that the Company used for its long and far traveled merchant fleets.
Vitoria only pouted. “I wanted as little fanfare as possible. Oh, my dear Elizabeth, how am I supposed to explore the city when I have eleven ships to herald my arrival? This is all so unfair.”
“We could dye your hair and dress you like someone who wasn’t a Daughter of the Medci,” said Elizabeth. “No one would look at you twice.”
“Now that would be scandalous.” Vitoria bit her lower lip as she fingered a loose lock of brown that had escaped her coif. The confection of turquoise silk that covered most of her hair was in the current fashion, looking lazily put together while also carrying an air of elegance. “Do you think my father would be cross if we actually did so?”
“For you? Maybe for a day. Me? I’d lose everything, if not my head.”
“I wouldn’t let it get to that!” Elizabeth found her hands taken into Vitoria’s gloved ones. “We’ve crossed the Narrow Sea together. That makes us sisters.”
“I think it only applies to those who sail east of Valyria.”
“That’s a stupid requirement, so I’m changing it.” Vitoria pulled her close so that they were hip to hip, with such a fierce grip and Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh and hug the noble girl close. “I say that we only need to cross the Narrow Sea. And look at that! We’ve reached the harbor!”
Indeed, they had arrived, and the longshoremen were pulling the King of the Waves into the dock to be tied down. Out in the bay, the escorts were coming in as well, and below on the pier awaited a party of lords and knights. One that was only there to receive the daughter of the Sealord, a woman of noble birth, and not a lowly Company clerk like Elizabeth.
That fact took away some of her smile, and soon enough the hug came to an end as the captain approached after he saw to the final preparations. Vitoria had a small retinue of handmaidens, guardsmen, and a master-servant to be served, protected, and counseled by. She needed to go to them all before disembarking, to prepare for that unwanted fanfare that waited below. Elizabeth only had her satchel and trunk—filled with her life’s possessions—to serve her, her dagger to protect her, and her wits and memories to counsel her.
The friendship with Vitoria was one borne from those who sailed together for the first time—everyone else had been sailors or servants. It wasn’t meant to last, and Elizabeth knew that. They weren’t equals in any sense of the word. But it still pained her some. Vitoria was the type of person who seemed to brighten any room she walked into, even if she was a tad sheltered.
“Elizabeth, my girl,” said the captain, after Vitoria was away. Tallar was a thickset man with sun-kissed skin and white hair underneath his knitted cap. He was so often at sea that he spoke Braavosi with a noticeable accent, a mishmash of the half a hundred places he’d visited. “I’ll send one of the lads with your trunk up to Company House. They’ll be the ones finding you lodgings and such. You know the way?”
“I’ve been told that someone is waiting for me at the docks,” Elizabeth said, nodding gratefully. “You have my thanks.”
“And you have mine.” Tallar tipped his cap to her. “Valar dohaeris.”
“Valar morghulis.”
Then the captain returned to his duties, and Elizabeth was alone with just the ship’s figurehead once more. It was carved in the shape of an old man. A nameless man for there were no kings in the Free City of Braavos. Elizabeth said her goodbyes to him as well, gripped the strap of her satchel, and followed Vitoria’s retinue down the gangplank.
The harbor was alive with a furious activity. Hundreds of voices filled the air, alongside the groaning of cranes as they hoisted crates off ships, and the jostling of waves against tied down ships. Elizabeth heard at least half a dozen languages being yelled this way and that. The sounds of animals were there as well, and their smells. King’s Landing may not have smelled like her memories told her it should have, but the docks did. Here the stink of unwashed bodies mingled with rotting fish, piss, smoke, and nightsoil.
It was, Elizabeth concluded, slightly less managed chaos than Ragman’s Harbor was back across the Narrow Sea.
As she made way for the customs sergeants boarding the King of the Waves, Elizabeth found that she didn’t know what the person waiting for her looked like, and felt rather foolish for letting that little fact slip from her mind. She only knew that someone who also worked for the Company was waiting.
The display of fanfare that Vitoria bemoaned drew Elizabeth’s eye. Her fast-made friend was smiling a bland smile that one reserved for boring ceremonies and unwanted company. The party of lords and knights that had come to greet her numbered over twenty, and it seemed that all of them wished to personally greet the daughter of the Sealord. Then a commotion started deeper into the harbor proper, Elizabeth caught sight of the famous golden dragon banner of House Maecederys—gold on black, and the air seemed to fill with even more voices.
“Girl,” said a voice, from her left.
From the growing crowd emerged a man—middle thirties by his looks. He was armored in plate over ringmail and leathers, wore a cloak that had seen better days, and had a sword slung across his back. The pommel peaked over his shoulder and looked similar to the man’s head. His black hair was pulled back into a tail, his face was scarred and blemished, his mustachios were long and pulled to the sides, making it look like his mouth was wearing a black straw hat. There was a red birthmark above his eyebrow, a couple blotches that together looked like a flower.
He spoke Braavosi. Accented like the rest of the Westerosi she knew, but it was still her mother tongue, and Elizabeth called to him with it. “Are you the one the Company has sent?”
“What if I wasn’t?” The man approached and a sudden fear struck through Elizabeth, her dagger forgotten. “What would you do then?”
“I—”
The man tsked. “Don’t they train you lot better than this? I thought some of you Braavosi had brains.”
Elizabeth was insulted, and she didn’t care that it showed. “Says the man who uses threats as greetings!”
“This is King’s Landing, girl. Half of everything said here is a threat. And I didn’t threaten you just then. I asked a question.”
“I-In a threatening way.”
“Maybe to you.”
Elizabeth huffed. Everyone who worked for the Braavos Office of the King’s Landing Company had been nice and cordial and proper. If this man was able to work for the Company in the same city that it was headquartered in, what did that say for the rest of them, the very people she was to work with? Not even her memories had any answer for that.
“Well,” Elizabeth said, “are you the one the Company sent or not?”
“I am. The name’s Pate.”
He didn’t offer his hand to shake, and Elizabeth didn’t feel like shaking it even if he had. “My name’s Elizabeth,” she said. “Shall we get going then?
Pate looked at her. “That satchel’s all you got?”
“I have a trunk too. The captain said he’s sending one of his men to bring it up to Company House.”
“And he might lighten it along the way. No. We bring it with us.”
The process of taking the trunk from the ship and tying it onto the back of a donkey was rather short. Elizabeth offered apologies to the captain when Pate said none. “Westerosi,” was all the captain said, and she shared the roll of the eyes with him. Then a sharp whistle sounded in the air, and Elizabeth hurried after her guide and his donkey.
“Take a look through that crowd,” Pate said over his shoulder. “That’s the bossman right there.”
Elizabeth looked to where Pate nodded. It was the very same one that had come to greet Vitoria, only now it had many more members. The Maecederys banner flew from standard bearers, the guardsmen all wore the house colors from their richly furnished armor, and lords themselves were all richer than Elizabeth ever would be. One of them was older than the others, and Elizabeth recognized him from the portrait that hung in the Braavos Office. Those purple eyes and that face were unmistakable.
“That’s Lord Triston Maecederys,” she exclaimed.
“Old Lord Money himself,” said Pate.
“Why didn’t …” and it all clicked in her mind. Elizabeth blushed. How hadn’t she connected the dots during the trip? Vitoria’s “dear uncle Triston” was the very person that Elizabeth worked for. The fact that Vitoria had told her that her mother was Westerosi made the realization all the more embarrassing.
“The Sealord’s married to the Governor-General’s sister,” Pate explained, unknowing of Elizabeth’s red face.
“Yes, I know. Vitoria told me.”
“Heh. Chummy with the daughter, are we? Could’ve used that for leverage.”
“And betray her friendship?” said Elizabeth, aghast.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Pate said, not once looking over his shoulder.
Elizabeth snorted, and then muttered, “I’m starting to realize why everyone has such low opinions about this place.” All of her friends in Braavos had given her mournful looks when they learned where she was being relocated. Her brothers had been playfully jealous, her mother had been worried, and her father had been happy that she was “moving up in the world.” But memories spoke badly about this city.
“King’s Landing,” Pate said as they made their way out of the harbor and started up the path towards the city gates. “Home of kings and beggars. Where the richest lords rub shoulders with the poorest street urchins. Learn to love it or quietly hate it, girl, but this pimple on the face of Westeros is now your home.”
As much as that metaphor left much to be desired, some of Elizabeth’s curiosity still burned an ember in her heart, and she still wished to know more about this new city. Even when her memories were being contradicted left and right, and that hunch was becoming all the more realized. She still wanted hard evidence to prove her right. Something as undeniable as a slap in the face.
The gold cloaks were taking a tax from everyone entering the city, a single copper star per head, but when it was their turn Pate only flashed the watchmen his Company badge—the King’s Landing Company’s initials artistically superimposed upon itself, and they were waved through without so much as a second look. It was such a casual interaction that Elizabeth couldn’t help but ask.
“They didn’t teach you this in Braavos?” Pate said over his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be asking if they did.”
“Heh. I’m starting to see why they sent you here.”
“What is that supposed—”
“The reason why we don’t have to pay the tax is simple,” Pate said, and Elizabeth huffed at his back. “We work for the Company.”
“That’s it?” Elizabeth ignored the bustling noise and activity that was Fishmonger’s Square—once you’ve seen one crowded market place, you’ve seen them all, and she instead pestered Pate. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know there’s more to the story than that.”
“Do I look like a maester to you?” Pate’s stern expression was dampened by the flower shaped birthmark over his eyebrow.
“I expected you to at least be educated.” Elizabeth turned her nose up at him, uncaring at how it made her look. “Seems the Company is willing to hire anyone.”
They went all of a minute before Pate tsked at her and said, “The agreement was made during the reign of the second Daeron, or maybe the first Aerys. I don’t know what it said exactly, only that Company men don’t have to pay the tax to enter the city. It impedes business or some such. It was all done and buried hundred years ago. Why do you care?”
“Why don’t you care?” Elizabeth said back. “The Company has maintained an effective monopoly on all foreign trade since its creation. It has so much power that it can dictate terms to kings to sidestep taxes … and from that plain look on your face I can see that I’m wasting my breath. I may as well be talking to a wall.”
“I’m not paid to care about taxes and politics and all that.” Pate jerked the reins of the donkey as they turned a street that headed up the side of Visenya’s Hill. He got a wheeze from the animal as it followed. “I’m a soldier. I get paid to kill what needs killing and to protect what needs protecting. It’s that simple.”
“Then why are you here in King’s Landing?” Elizabeth asked. “There’s no one here that needs killing.”
She got a laugh in return. “Keep telling yourself that,” said Pate. “And for your own sake, don’t visit Flea Bottom. You’ll save us both the trouble.”
Elizabeth’s memories told her enough about the congregated slums of King’s Landings, but with all the changes that she’d seen, there must be some differences between it and reality. “Sounds like you’ve been there before.”
“What is it with you and all these questions?”
“I didn’t ask a question just then.”
“Sure sounded like one.”
“Let’s just say I have a healthy curiosity.”
“Now I know why the Braavosi got rid of you. That mouth of yours flaps so much that you could sail us halfway to Qarth without any help from the wind.”
“Have you been to Qarth?”
Elizabeth could almost feel the way Pate rolled his eyes, even though she couldn’t see it, and she took some enjoyment from that. She also continued to pester him, knowing that for all he complained about her constant chatter, he didn’t find it annoying enough to actually tell her to stop. In fact, he had an answer for every one of her questions, even if some of them were not as informative as the others. But they were all colorful in their own Pate-blended way.
Elizabeth learned that most of the Northern Lords were currently present in the city for an upcoming wedding. Lord Rickard Stark’s daughter Lyanna had long been betrothed to Lord Triston Maecederys’ son and heir Alexander, and with the bride-to-be only a month or so away from her sixteenth nameday, the nuptials were fast approaching. She pestered for more details but all she got from Pate was that the betrothal had something to do about strengthening trade relations with the North and its massive forests of ironwood.
There was talk of a great tourney being held after the wedding. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was apparently brooding on Dragonstone with his young Lannister wife instead of attending his royal father. It looked like war was going to break out between Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys—something the Company would have to intervene in should it disrupt the shipping lanes through the Stepstones. The maesters of the Citadel were still disagreeing about everything with the foreign scholars in the Library of King’s Landing. The next merchant fleet of some fifty East Valyriamen was only half a year away from departing the city for Asshai-by-the-Shadow, and her guide meant to be part of it, so long as the bay didn’t freeze. It was the year of the false spring.
“This is Company Square,” Pate said, as Visenya’s Hill leveled out for a stretch of space enough for a modest rectangle. “It has an official name that no one uses and few even know. That is Company House, same deal.”
Elizabeth took in the building, and found that house was a rather poor descriptor. To call something a house in Braavos evoked images of one or two story buildings of wood or brick. These houses would have a couple windows with shutters, perhaps two doors, and if it were large enough, a hearth and chimney. The furnishings would be few, but modestly made, and often handcrafted by those who lived there.
Company House was better described as a manse. It stretched for the entire length of Company Square’s rectangle and was at least four stories high, with towers that went even higher. The white stone was almost certainly marble and the panes of glass set into each window could have only come from the Free City of Myr. The iron fence that surrounded the building was twelve feet tall and made it look as if Company House was a walled garden, privy for only a select few. It was, in a word, opulent.
Elizabeth saw that all of the other buildings adjoined to Company Square were just as well built, though nowhere near as large. Some were houses, while others seemed to be shops, and one looked like an inn. “Whoever wrote the descriptions of this place must have been blind,” she mumbled. Even the rectangular square itself was a world away from the rest of the King’s Landing she had seen along the way. There was no refuse and muck in the gutters, trees stood every ten paces and provided ample shade, a marble statue of some noble seated on a horse stood on a large pedestal in the center, everyone about was as richly dressed as a lord—if not more so, and the guardsmen that patrolled the area were not gold cloaks, but Company men in Company colors.
“Maybe he just can’t write worth a shit,” said Pate. He flashed the guardsmen his Company badge and was waved through. Elizabeth had to rifle through her satchel for her own badge. She had never needed to use it before.
There was a stable set off to the side—no beasts of burden were allowed within Company Square itself.
After the donkey was seen to, Elizabeth was left outside the gates of Company House with her trunk at her feet, her satchel worn across her chest, and Pate opposite her. Something was supposed to happen, but Elizabeth didn’t know what, and before the silence became truly awkward Pate said, “This is the part where you head on in and do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth blinked. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“Yeah.” Pate turned to go.
“Wait!”
He stopped.
“One more question?” Elizabeth smiled up at him.
“… I guess one more won’t hurt.”
“Who is that?” She pointed at the marble statue in the center of the square.
Pate looked. “No idea. I’ve never bothered to learn.”
“How about we look together?” A part of Elizabeth didn’t want to lose the grumpy companion that was Pate. He reminded her of someone from her past life—all hard as stone on the outside, but cuddly and goodnatured on the inside. “That way I can see if you’re actually telling me the truth when you say you can read.”
For a second she thought he would just turn around and walk away, but he only tsked at her and made for the statue. Elizabeth left her trunk next to the guardsmen standing at the iron gates. They were the type of men who bled the red, black, and gold of the Company.
The statue itself was far more magnificent once she got a closer look. It was very reminiscent of the statues she knew from her memories. Roman, if she had to say a name. The noble lord was sitting astride his horse, looking out towards Blackwater Bay. Strangely, he didn’t have a sword hanging from his belt, and perhaps that was the first damning sign.
The second slapped her in the face when she read the words—Common Tongue of Westeros—that were carved into the marble pedestal itself.
Prince Aegon Targaryen
Founder and first Governor-General of the King’s Landing Company
The third might as well have shouted it aloud for the world to hear, or in this case, read. “Christ as my witness,” Elizabeth read aloud, as her eyes went over the last words carved into stone. “I found this city full of fire breathing dragons. I leave her full of dragons stamped in gold. Let that be a worthier legacy.”
“No wonder he has a statue here,” Pate said. “The first bossman.”
Elizabeth didn’t have a witty remark. Her hunch had been proven correct, for how else could this Prince Aegon Targaryen know about Jesus Christ? Here was the proof she was looking for, set into stone, so solid and tangible that she could run her fingers across the letters, and she did. Someone before her had lived a full life after regaining the memories of their past.
And she was standing directly in the middle of his legacy.