A few days later, Leo's party finally reached King's Landing.
Staring at the massive city and the towering palace on the hill, Leo felt a rush of excitement he couldn't hide.
The Game of Thrones world. Westeros. The political heart of the Seven Kingdoms. I'm finally here.
That feeling didn't last long. The closer they got, the stronger the stench became—human shit, animal piss, rotting waste and sewage all mixed together and left to ferment into something thick and layered.
"Fuck! It smells this bad?" Leo blurted out, clamping a hand over his nose. "This is King's Landing? Capital of a whole damn kingdom? People actually live here?"
He'd heard characters complain about the city's stink on the show, but experiencing it in person was on another level.
His men grinned. Varyn chuckled and explained, "First time in King's Landing hits everyone the same, my lord. With your status and coin, though, we can stay at a high-end inn on Silk Street."
"King's Landing is built on three hills—Aegon's High Hill, Rhaenys's Hill, and Visenya's Hill. Nobles, the royal family, and rich merchants live up there. Silk Street sits on Rhaenys's Hill. The better inns have servants who keep everything clean and burn incense. Being higher up means the wind carries most of the smell away. You'll be a lot more comfortable."
Leo nodded, still disgusted but resigned.
Varyn left one thing unsaid: you get used to it eventually.
The rest of the men just thought the same thing—pampered young lord who can't handle a little stink.
Still, the idea of staying at a fancy inn on Silk Street made the trip feel worth it.
They reached the King's Gate, one of the city's seven entrances. It sat in the southern stretch of the southwestern wall, right where the Kingsroad met the Blackwater River.
The fish market lay just northwest of the gate, near the Mud Gate and the docks, so the usual city reek now carried a sharp overlay of rotting fish. Leo's scowl deepened.
The smell was so bad he silently swore: if he had to stay in this shithole long-term, he was going to do something about the stench. At the very least he'd make sure he didn't have to gag every time he stepped outside.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
A handful of gold cloaks stood at the gate—the City Watch, King's Landing's official guard and lawmen, loyal only to the crown. There were a few thousand of them, their cloaks dyed bright gold.
Every commoner and merchant had to pay an entry tax. It was one of the crown's steady incomes.
Leo's group—ornate armor, warhorse, armed retainers, wagons, and farmers—had drawn their attention from a long way off. Since they flew no house banners, the sergeant stepped forward for the standard questions.
Varyn cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and announced, "Before you stands the great adventurer Lord Neo Presto, second son of Duke Ni Shiming of the Great Tang Empire in the distant east!"
The gold cloaks traded blank looks. Great Tang Empire? Duke Ni Shiming? Lord Neo Presto?
Never heard of any of it.
Still, the sergeant's eyes flicked over Leo's expensive lion-etched plate and the magnificent white stallion. No commoner could afford gear like that.
He forced a polite smile. "Forgive me, my lord… I've never heard of this Great Tang Empire or the Presto family. Your armor does bear a striking resemblance to the Lannisters of the Westerlands…"
"Hmph." Leo cut him off with a cold snort. "I've heard of House Lannister. A great house. But I have no connection to them. The lion design on this armor was a gift from the Emperor of the Great Tang—pure coincidence."
"I crossed the sea to reach Westeros after hearing your king is holding a grand tourney for Prince Joffrey's nameday. I bring gifts and blessings for King Robert and the prince."
Leo stopped there and stared the man down, the look clear: Any more questions?
The sergeant thought for half a second, then beamed and stepped aside. "Of course, my lord. You there—escort Lord Presto. See to his every need."
"Very good. You know how to handle things." Leo smiled, flicked a gold coin through the air. It landed neatly in the sergeant's palm.
The gold cloak's grin widened and his bow deepened.
"Safe travels, my lord!"
Money opened doors in every age and every land.
Leo rode through the King's Gate at the head of his column, chin high, entering the beating heart of the Game of Thrones world.
The assigned gold cloak played the perfect guide, leading them through bustling streets while pointing out landmarks and answering every question Leo had. Whenever a commoner or peddler blocked the way, the man shouted them aside—or cracked his whip if they were too slow.
Leo watched the gold cloak's mix of bootlicking and casual brutality and felt a flicker of disgust, but he kept it hidden. This was how the world worked. He wasn't about to play hero and scold the man for clearing the road for him.
Once they reached the fanciest inn on Silk Street, Leo had Varyn tip the gold cloak a few extra silver stags. The man left practically skipping.
With a wave of his hand, Leo rented an entire private courtyard for his group.
By nightfall, word had already reached every well-connected ear inside the Red Keep: a generous young duke's son from a faraway eastern empire had arrived in King's Landing—and he was spending gold like water.