CHAPTER 7

It had been a long day for Sam, a day that he would probably never forget – a day that would probably make him question reality forever. In my case, though, well, I had seen far stranger things. My existence itself was a tale of its own, let alone the means through which I had arrived here.

I was convinced that Sam would not go looking for his men – at least his fear would not let him. With a final glance at where he was tying his rucksack on the back of the gelding, I took a deep breath of the chilly night air and disappeared into the night.

Even by vampire standards, the day's toll had hit me hard. Both my newly acquired personality as Dracula and my modern side were, at the very least, used to taking a shower and sleeping in a comfortable bed. Dracula was a lord, after all, and the feel of his rank wasn't lost on my new self.

So, with my hunger sated, it was time to find a place to spend the night. Through my keen senses, I realized that we were not far from a decently sized human town. From my distance, I could see its battlement and faint light from its torches. It didn't take me long before I was immediately in its vicinity.

At first, it wasn't easy to tell what town this was, and I tried hard to draw from my memories. With nothing to base my reference on, it proved a hard task. However, I could detect many heartbeats, some weaker than others. A couple dozen or so were stronger and louder. I guessed those had to be those of the night patrolmen and guards.

Getting closer to the town, I spotted the banner illuminated by the moon's faint light. It was enough for my vision accustomed to unveiling details at night to pick out the sigil on the banner – four chains linked by a central ring on a dark red field. Of course, the house ruling this place became clear – unless some other city was flying another house banner, this was definitely the sigil of House Umber, one of the many houses loyal to House Stark. The town, therefore, had to be the Last Hearth. I almost felt relief knowing this; it meant we were just a couple of days away from the Wall. I also knew that despite the fact that I had arrived here faster due to my superhuman speed, Sam would also get here before the night was over. I could sense him further back, even though he was killing his mount.

Now the issue was whether they would open the gates for him. As for me, well, they need not bother; I would gladly help myself. Forgive my impatience, well, and my manners.

Scaling the city wasn't a daunting task by any means, but once I found myself in, understanding its layout was something else. Buildings and structures were scattered in no particular pattern. The main castle, of course, was the most prominent structure, easily dwarfing all the other buildings.

The good thing, though, was that it occupied a large area in a corner of the city, clearly isolated from the rest of the town. The architecture was plainly medieval—what else had I expected? Still, even by Westeros standards, this town was poorly developed and certainly couldn't compare to Winterfell, let alone the Red Keep.

All this made sense, however. It was a common phenomenon in the Seven Kingdoms—the further north the town was, the poorer it was. Probably because no merchants were willing to risk it in these harsh terrains of the north. The fact that it was near the Wall meant it would probably be among the first victims of Wildling attacks if they somehow succeeded in scaling the Wall or evading the Night's Watch.

Using the shadows and the darker corners of the city, I steered my way towards the area that was densely populated with a mixture of brick and log buildings. I was particularly following a certain buzz of noise coming from the heart of these structures. Even from my location, I could still pick up a faint sound—the hearty laughter and wild chant that was a signature of drunk men.

It only meant one thing—a tavern or probably an inn. That is what I needed. In fact, it would be astonishing if I were to find a place that was not yet closed for the night. I was honestly exhausted. After getting lost a few times, I was finally standing before the massive wooden door of a two-story building.

The noise had now become louder, and a strange smell reached my nose. "I guess that is what they call ale." The smell was quite different from the modern world's alcohol. But judging from the wild laughter coming from within the building, it appeared that the stuff did its job just fine.

I realized now that the phase I was entering was now a different one. I was placing myself in a situation where I would be forced to have a lot of human interaction as well as raising a lot of curiosity. My black velvet Victorian attire did nothing to ease the situation. I mean, compared to the modern world I was coming from, the clothes I was wearing were out of fashion.

But here in Westeros, anything from the Victorian era was by far advanced. So, in a way, the clothes I had would easily pass me off as a noble or a very wealthy merchant. And that was the problem. You see, I had not a single dime on me. All the silver I had retrieved from the thug, I had already returned to Sam, and now I was left with only one way to cater to my needs.

It was not the means my proud self wished to use, but, you know what they say about desperate times. I had to go the mind trick way. But I had to be very, very careful not to find someone like Samwell Tarly. I mean, people who were resistant to my mind control or those who were able to recall their previous state after the effect of mind control faded.

Making up my mind, I raised my hand to knock the door. The damn thing actually opened up, and the light from torches mounted on the tavern walls blinded my eyes. I had become accustomed to the dim moonlight, and the sudden brilliance assailed my eyes.

Also, I noted that my entire body seemed to shudder at the sight of fire—not much like I reacted to the sun, but still, it made me highly uncomfortable. Those were, however, the least of my problems. I realized that the creak from the door when I pushed it had brought a sudden hush into the previously noisy place.

All faces had turned to look at me, and the problem was they had stuck. I had expected this, but I had also counted on etiquette not to keep staring for long. Well, I was wrong. I mean, the tavern is the last place one would expect manners to prevail.

With a sigh, I walked into the tavern—or at least I tried because I found myself hitting into some kind of barrier.

I hesitated for a while and then tried again. Again, I hit the same barrier and stumbled back. The guys inside were now giving me strange looks. I could see further ahead on a well-covered wooden shelf that acted as the counter; a portly man with a thick, huge beard was wiping mugs with a cloth. He paused and threw a questioning look towards me. He, too, was seemingly trying to figure out what I was running into.

What the hell was this place? I never recall watching any magic practiced in the parts of Westeros... in Essos maybe, but magic was generally frowned upon in the Seven Kingdoms.

After scrutinizing the doorway for a while, I took a deep breath. Whatever the hell was there, I was going to drive right through it. I was getting inside this place one way or the other.

I took a step back, then taking two huge steps, I crashed into the barrier with massive force.

I felt my body make contact with the barrier, and I was sure that this time I would break through. And for a while, it appeared as if I would.

The next moment, however, I was spat outside with a violent force that were it not for my superhuman stamina, I would have flown several feet and crashed on the opposite building. I managed, however, to put a tight grip on my foot as I skidded almost two meters back.

The tavern exploded with laughter. The drunk patrons were now watching me as if I was a damn circus performer.

"Curse that door," I mumbled to myself, feeling my frustration and my anger surging. It did not sit well with me that I was making a joke out of myself.

The innkeeper had now left the counter, and he approached me with a curious look. He came right in front of the door and put his hand through as if trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Surprisingly, nothing happened to him. He glared at me with an annoyed look—a look of a man tired of dealing with drunk men day and night. His annoyance, however, softened after he had scrutinized me for a while—probably he had decided against talking rudely to a customer of my 'status'.

chapter 8,9,10,11,12 are already on pat.reon,com/realmsinus