Chapter 156: The Imp

"Ser Wofford, sign this contract, and these 5,000 gold dragons are yours. As for the remaining 8,000, I'll pay it off over the next three years."

In a room heavy with the scent of spices, Samwell pushed a parchment across the table toward a thin, anxious man.

"Three years…" Wofford Baelish seemed hesitant. "It's not that I don't trust you, Lord Caesar, but I'd still feel better if you paid it all upfront."

"I didn't bring that much gold with me to King's Landing," Samwell said with a slight shrug.

"But you're the champion of the tourney! I've heard the prize was 40,000 gold dragons!"

"I've other expenses as well." Samwell's tone chilled. "Frankly, Ser Wofford, I don't have to buy these brothels. I'm only doing it out of respect for Lord Petyr's memory. If you can't accept my terms, then keep them and run them yourself."

Wofford deflated. He had no idea how to manage brothels, and seeing Samwell ready to walk out, he rushed forward. "Lord Caesar, I accept! I accept your terms. Just… I'd feel better if there was a guarantor. In case…"

"Lord Varys is my guarantor," Samwell replied without hesitation, borrowing the Spider's name without a second thought since he wasn't present. Varys had, after all, arranged this meeting with Ser Wofford.

"Very well, I'll sign." With no suspicion, Wofford obediently signed the contract on the parchment.

Samwell nodded, pleased. This Baelish was far easier to handle than "Littlefinger."

"The gold is in that chest; you're welcome to count it."

"I trust your honor, my lord," Wofford said, though he couldn't resist opening the chest and carefully counting the coins.

"Take your time," Samwell said, rising and leaving the room, where a curvaceous woman awaited him at the door.

She wore a revealing silk dress and bore a heady, fragrant scent. Her accent held a faint flavor of the Summer Isles. "Lord Caesar, from now on, you are our master."

"Your name's Chataya, isn't it?" Samwell asked, looking her over.

"Yes, my lord." She followed him to an adjoining room.

"This place is very elegant," Samwell commented, eyeing an oil painting of two women intertwined in intimacy.

"To please my patrons is my highest aim." Chataya's voice had a flirtatious undertone. "Would you like me to bring a few girls to entertain you?"

Samwell seated himself, his gaze steady on her. "If I were here for women, would I need to buy so many brothels?"

"I thought you might want the very best." Chataya giggled, but the baron didn't return her smile.

Realizing his displeasure, Chataya quickly adjusted her tone and moved closer. "I understand, my lord. We'll provide you the same services we gave to Lord Petyr."

"And Varys as well, right?" Samwell replied icily.

"No, never…" Chataya began to deny, but she quickly realized that Lord Caesar must already know she had provided information to both sides. She fell silent, then knelt before him, pressing her body against his leg as she pleaded.

"Lord Caesar, from now on, we'll serve only you. I swear it, I'll even swear by the Seven!"

Samwell tilted her chin up with his hand, his voice cold. "Your oaths mean nothing to me. Seduction is your profession, and lying is part of it. Did you think I wouldn't know that?" His grip tightened, making her jawbone creak. "If you betray me, unlike those customers, I won't just scold you or withhold payment… I'll kill."

Chataya's heart froze, the pain in her jaw leaving her trembling, but she dared not make a sound.

At last, he released her, and she slumped to the floor, then quickly bowed at his feet, tearfully promising, "Yes, my lord. I will never deceive you!"

"Good. Now, stand." Samwell's tone softened slightly.

She rose, still avoiding his gaze.

"Take this." He tossed her a pouch. "Use it to buy more ravens. Once I'm back at Eagle's Nest, write me every week with any important news from King's Landing. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord!" Chataya opened the pouch, gasping at its contents. "This is far too much, my lord; I don't need nearly this many silver stags to buy ravens."

"The rest is your reward." Samwell said, "I'm always generous with my own."

"Thank you, my lord!" Chataya felt a warm surge of gratitude, and her earlier fear and resentment lessened somewhat.

After getting answers to some questions about the brothels' operations, Samwell was ready to leave when Ser Wofford finished counting the gold. Just as he prepared to depart, Chataya spoke up.

"Lord Caesar, there's something I'm not sure I should tell you…"

"Anything you think might be valuable is worth telling me," Samwell said, his tone kinder. "I won't punish you for that."

"Lord Tyrion of House Lannister arrived in King's Landing last night and stayed here."

Samwell's brows rose. "The 'Imp' Tyrion? Is he still here?"

"Yes, my lord," Chataya said, noting his interest and adding, "I heard from my girls that the Small Council might consider him to replace Lord Petyr as Master of Coin."

Samwell nodded approvingly; he hadn't known that yet. It confirmed that brothels were indeed valuable sources of information. Men always loosened their tongues around beautiful women.

"Take me to him."

They exited the room and passed through a large hall where an elderly woman played a lively tune on a flute. Several drunken sellswords were playfully wrestling with two women who had matching honey-colored hair. On a raised platform, a girl, wearing only a blue wreath on her head, was dancing provocatively.

Elsewhere, patrons were playing tiles, drinking, laughing, or kissing openly. At least none were outright coupling in public—that required a private room and additional payment.

As they passed through, many of the girls cast curious glances at Samwell, some bold enough to throw him a flirtatious look. Chataya, however, knowing her new lord's temperament, said nothing, only leading him to Tyrion's room.

She knocked softly on the door.

"Who is it?" came a groggy voice from within.

"Lord Tyrion, it's me, Chataya."

After a pause, the door opened, revealing a small, misshapen figure. The dwarf's brow protruded markedly, and his mismatched eyes—one black, one green—glinted beneath a mane of nearly white-blond hair. A scruffy beard of brown and gold framed his face, giving him a look that could frighten children.

"Dear Chataya," Tyrion greeted her with courtesy. "If I'm not mistaken, I already paid in full."

"Of course, Lord Tyrion. This is Lord Caesar, who wished to meet you." She stepped aside.

"Caesar?" Tyrion looked at the man standing behind her, recognizing him. "The lord of Eagle Point?"

"Yes, I'm flattered you've heard of me." Samwell studied the dwarf with interest.

"How could I not, with your reputation?" Tyrion replied, warming to his guest. "You carved out your own lands in the Red Mountains, made the Dornish howl in defeat, and won the tourney's grand prize. Lord Caesar, you're impossible not to hear about."

"I didn't realize I was so famous. But you forgot one title—I'm also the new owner here. I heard you were in my establishment and thought I'd come to welcome you."

"You own this place?" Tyrion gave a low whistle. "Then I'd be a terrible guest to leave my host standing in the hall. Please, come in."

He opened the door wider, strolling back to his bed.

Samwell took in the room, where Tyrion had wrapped himself in only a small cloth around his waist. A girl lay sprawled across the bed, her smooth, ebony skin gleaming like polished stone. Her large, amber eyes sparkled with confidence as she displayed her bare form unabashedly.

"Mother," the girl addressed Chataya.

Catching Samwell's surprised expression, Chataya explained, "My lord, this is my daughter, Alayaya. We of the Summer Isles don't view matters of the bed as shameful. In our culture, it's seen as an honor to the gods."

"Praise the Summer Isles!" Tyrion exclaimed. "When I meet the High Septon next, I'll relay that message. If lovemaking could be an act of worship, I'd be the most devout man alive."

Samwell smirked, though he said nothing about the dwarf's wit. The room's lingering odor, however, made him reluctant to step further inside.

"Lord Tyrion, did you come here straight from Casterly Rock?"

"No." Tyrion leaned back, resting his head on Alayaya's thigh. "I accompanied the king's party to Winterfell, then took a detour to the Wall. That's why I arrived later than planned. But by the gods, King's Landing's changed so much in such a short time! I feel as if I lost a part of my life up on the Wall."

"I'm sure you had some memorable adventures there."

"Frankly, not much if anything "Tyrion complained. "It's icy and snowy, it's cold enough to freeze you to death. At first I was going to pee on the Wall, but the temperature would probably turn my dick into ice, so I asked a Night's Watch brother to do it for me - they didn't need that job anyway, hahaha!"

Samwell couldn't help laughing, and after he finished laughing, he asked,

"Lord Tyrion, i trust the Night Watch is doing well?"

(End of this chapter)