Rags to Britches

The Lion's Gate is the westernmost gate of King's Landing. Being the main gate of entry for many land-based traders who journey the Goldroad, the Lion's Gate is naturally one of the busiest, if not the most. Banners hung from the gate towers, flapping in the wind, boasting a crowned black stag rearing on a field of gold.

The hectic energy had only multiplied after the Greyjoys rebelled. Angry traders shouted insults to whoever was at the gate holding up the cue. Paranoid gold cloaks darted their eyes, paranoid, with no problems sending suspicious people aside for "questioning".

Dante weaved his way through the crowd and casually strolled through the checkpoint.

"Oi!" a voice shouted, "You there! Kid!"

Dante stopped and turned.

"What do you think you're doing?" a gold cloak asked, tall and slightly chubby, with black hair and a gap between his front teeth.

"I've lived here all my life," lied Dante, glancing at his shovel, "Was outside the walls to help out with some digging."

"Maybe," said the gold cloak, "But I haven't seen you before. It's my job explaining how things are nice and proper here."

The gold cloak held out his empty palm expectantly.

Dante saw this and rolled his eyes.

'Right…. Of course. Everything's always about money.'

He reached for his pouch and took out some silver, "Certainly," said Dante, bowing politely, "Forgive me. I don't normally use this gate."

"Hmph," the gold cloak scoffed as he took the silver, "Alright, now piss off."

Dante made a mental note of the gold cloak as he scurried away without further word. Something in the air implied they'd no doubt meet again.

'Would the Universe punish me if I cut off his balls?'

When Dante took that first step through the Lion's Gate and officially in King's Landing, whirling energies zapped his body. Fire, blood, ash, greed, deceit, hopes, and dreams — all shattered, mixed and intertwined. Dante stumbled, somehow out of breath. He would have fallen to the dirty ground was it not for his use of the shovel to break his fall.

Dante clenched his chest and breathed heavily, sweat forming on his forehead.

"What is this place?" said Dante, gathering himself.

He had never felt such potently terrible energy from a location before. He felt the land beneath his bare feet call to him, weeping, pleading, crying to anyone for help. Dante almost wept himself. Only those born naturally gifted, or willing to dedicate themselves, could hear the voice of Mother Earth.

Usually the song was enjoyable. Lovely strolls in lush green forests, invigorating hikes through great view mountains. Smooth go sailing archipelagos, to open fields and great meadows…. The song of nature is a marvel to the special those who hear its flows.

But then there's a downside when one can feel the tune of nature: sad places, old cemeteries, sites of tragedies past. Places where strong feelings seeped into the ground like ink refusing to dry.

For the first time, Dante noticed King's Landing's terrible smell.

But then he looked around, and his feet moved. He knew not where to go, and he bothered not to ask for help just yet. He only wanted to explore, to get a feel for the city. Dante noticed the structures, stone and wood and brick and clay. He saw the people, who were oblivious to the sinister energies of the town they located. Yet, they continued nobly, doing their best to make their lot in the life dealt to them.

Dante chuckled and said, "It's a start."

After a short aimless walk in King's Landing, Dante asked around for a nice place to rest his head for the night. He had enough silver for a room at an inn, a hot bath, and food for the belly. A fine reward for the end of a pilgrimage, he surmised. There was no need to rush into the work just yet.

Relax, he did, securing a snug upstairs room at a place called The Last Dragon on the west side of town. Dante sat on the window ledge that evening, appreciating the grandeur of the Great Sept of Baelor as it basked in the moonlight. He'd never been in a settlement this large, and the city never did quite sleep. Each new corner revealed unknown streets, alleys too dark to see where they lead, and voices numbering in the thousands.

The following day opened with a relaxed, orange sky with no clouds. Dante rose from a dreamless sleep, bristling with energy. With a smile, he took his shovel and went about his business.

The first order was to get out of these rags. Finding a modest tailor shop, Dante adorned with a clean and cheap shirt, rolled up the sleeves to the upper forearms, and slipped on some trousers. Next, finding his footwear proved to be a more difficult task, as the shoemakers were okay with a good haggle. It took a while before Dante eventually Dante a place willing to sell a quality pair of children-sized boots at a fair price.

The only catch was that the shoemaker wanted Dante to trade in his trusty shovel as part of the deal.

Dante laughed, 'To think this is how we part ways.'

So it was, shovel-less, yes, but no longer looking like a wretched kid turned refuge who just walked miles across the country.

From rags to britches.

Now looking presentable, Dante needed to decide what he should do in life. In terms of job opportunities, he imagined King's Landing was a great base camp to start. The long road here offered him many hours alone to ponder the fact, but he'd just given it thought now for the first time.

'Never too late.'

Dante could make his trade by fishing like he did back in Passerby Village, he always enjoyed that. Being a baker would be alright. Feeding people nourishes the soul, after all. Dante had to think about whatever he would be, and there was no point meditating on a roof somewhere while he did it.

Dante walked the streets, and ideas began forming.

'I always enjoyed fixing people's roofs back at Passerby. Could always become a roofer?'

'Or should I become a healer and help the sick and needy?

Dante shook his head, 'No…. Think harder. What do I really want to do? Work on a farm? Physical labor would be great for the body. Work on a ship, explore the world?'

But then Dante realized something.

'If I go anywhere, I ought to have a sword.'

The street of steel: best described by the pounding clangs of hammers and the soot of burning foundries.

Dante scoffed. This street had enough weapons to arm an army. He browsed the first wares he saw, a row of swords on a table, placed on a soft cloth.

Dante inspected the blades. Long swords, short swords, great swords…. It took Dante a while to get over the funny shape, unlike the Katana he knew and loved. Dante ran his finger softly down the edge of a longsword, shinier than the rest, obviously intended to grab one's attention.

"Oi!" said a short, hunched blacksmith. He had teeth missing, with thinned hair close to officially bald, "That's for paying customers only!"

Dante rolled his eyes, "This? I would never buy such poor craftsmanship."

"Shoo! Shoo!" the hunched blacksmith said, flapping his sweat rag at Dante until he obliged.

The rest of the street of steel offered the same disappointment as far as blades were concerned. However, Dante noticed the wares' quality slowly improved the further you walked. Furthermore, there were more weapons than just swords. Warfare in Westeros was different, and it showed in the armor they made, tailored to protect against various weapons. Dante wondered about these so-called Knights of Westeros and what ilk of warriors they were.

Then a building caught his eye, bigger than all the rest, with upper stories that towered above the street. Its large open double doors had carvings of a hunting scene on a strange, beautiful white and ebony wood. Stone knights guarded the entrance, with red armor displaying the griffin and unicorn. Inside, the heart of the room was a mighty forge, with young apprentices storming around busily or hammering away at metal. Even a slim girl with red hair pottered about doing odd jobs like fetching water or tools. Busy would be an understatement.

At the center of it all stood a man in a black velvet cloak, barking orders at some boy around Dante's age.

"How many times do I have to tell you," said Tobho Mott, "The metal is hot!"

"I'm sorry, My Lord," replied the young Gendry, "It won't happen again."

"Ahem…."

The conversation cut short by Dante's interruption.

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SonnyBritches: Wow, some familiar faces!

Next Chapter: What is Dante's path in King's Landing?