[19] Seduction Arts On A Whore?

Chapter 19: Seduction Arts On A Whore?

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The narrow alleys of King's Landing were like a maze. It was a claustrophobic warren of stone, grime, and the combined stink of humanity. It was honestly gross. Do I really want this place back? Yikes.

The smell was unbearable. Fortunately, it did have an end. I walked through them with my hood pulled low as I navigated the twisting streets away from the smell. This was far different than Volantis, at least on the part I'd visited. The sights of this city, ancient and medieval, were fascinating. Structures like this I'd only seen in pictures, and heavy CGI works. Dirty cobblestones beneath my boots, wooden beams that jutted out from the upper floors of buildings to create strange, leaning streets, all of that was a strange wonder to my modern mind, even with Viserys' memories.

The city stank of unwashed bodies and rot, with every corner harboring dark, unknown filth. Yet there was life here, too. The poor, the rich, the beggars, and the lords. All lives that'd one day belong under my foot… soon. I turned down another alley, the din of the marketplace fading behind me as I approached my destination—Littlefinger's brothel.

It was evening. The sun had set halfway, and the moon was visible. People were starting to buzz around the place. There was something darkly amusing about all this as I stood under the shadow of the building, smiling up at it. 

Here I was, Viserys Targaryen, the last of a fallen dynasty, entering the lair of a man who was meant to be a major character in a story I had once watched on a screen. With intentions to reclaim the dynasty.

"The revival of my kingdom is starting from a brothel," I shook my head.

The door opened with a groan as I stepped inside. Immediately, the heavy, musky perfume of the place wrapped around me, an overpowering blend of sweat, floral oils, and the faintest hint of incense. Girls of all types lounged around, laughing and talking, their voices merging into a soft, constant hum.

I strode to the center of the room, avoiding bumping into people, while my eyes trailed lazily across the offerings. The madam on duty was a stout woman with heavily painted lips, who approached me, her smile practiced and smooth. "Welcome, my lord," she purred. "What might you be in the mood for?"

"The best girl you have?" I asked simply, watching the room.

The madam's eyebrows rose, and there was a moment of silence before a young girl—a blonde no older than twenty—giggled softly. "Can you even pay for the best?" she said, her tone half teasing, half skeptical, given my choice of clothes. 

I couldn't reply as a sharp slap cracked through the room. The madam had moved so fast that even I almost missed it. The young blonde gasped, clutching her cheek, eyes wide as the madam rounded on her, her gaze like steel. "Mind your manners," she snapped before turning back to me, all smiles again.

The girls began to move closer, surrounding me in a swirl of scents and fabrics. "There's no one best, my lord," the madam said smoothly, gesturing to the array before me. "All are worthy. Do you like blondes? Redheads? Something petite, perhaps? I can find the best of your taste."

Hands reached for me, delicate fingers brushing my arms and chest as if to draw my attention. I observed their curves, groping their breasts. "Tall girls, short ones," one of them said, her eyes gleaming. "You'll find what you need here."

Will I, really? Of course, I wasn't here to get my dick wet. I had Kinvara for that. This was a strategic visit.

I was here for someone, and as I glanced around, scanning the faces, I soon found her—a girl sitting by the far side of the room. She was different from the rest. 

I bet on any other day, she'd have acted the same as them, but today she wasn't trying to catch my eye. She wasn't even looking this way, too dazed as she was tying her auburn hair back. Ros the Whore. I remembered her from the show, though now she looked softer and more fragile, as well as prettier, her face unlined by the cruelties that would one day come her way.

How beautiful for a whore, I had to admit.

[Image Here]

I raised my head, nodding in her direction, and felt the collective sigh of several girls around me—a soft, near-imperceptible sound of disappointment. The madam hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Ros, then back to me. "Ah… well…"

"My lord," the blonde girl from earlier began, her voice almost pleading, "Ros isn't feeling well today. Perhaps another?"

Before she could continue, Ros's voice cut through the murmurs. "I'm fine, Lyris," she said, standing, her face expressionless. She stepped forward, her posture straight. Her body was great, and her eyes locked on mine with a quiet defiance. "I'll take the job."

The madam gave her a wary look but said nothing. I held back a smile, merely nodding, allowing her to lead the way. Ros moved ahead, her steps steady, her hand gesturing for me to follow her up the winding staircase that led to the private chambers.

I followed, the other girls parting for us, their eyes following our ascent—a mix of curiosity, envy, and perhaps even pity. Ros led me down a narrow hallway, opened a door to one of the rooms, and stepped aside for me to enter first.

The door closed softly behind us, and the night and the city waited just beyond.

*****

"So what would you like to start with, ser?" Ros asked, her voice smooth and practiced, leading me inside the room. She gently nudged me onto the bed, her movements deliberate, her demeanor polished with years of experience.

The room smelled faintly of incense—a thick sweetness that attempted to disguise the musty undertone of too many bodies passing through. The bed, with its rich crimson drapes and silken sheets, looked inviting but somehow hollow, like all things gilded and hollowed out with use. Flickering candles in the corners threw shadows that danced across the stone walls, casting a certain warmth that wasn't truly there—a place where charm and emptiness went hand in hand.

Ros was smiling now, and to most, it would look sincere. But it was hard to act in front of me—my stats, and perhaps just my experience, made it almost amusingly easy to see the edges of her weariness.

She wore more makeup today than I imagined she normally would. A bit of powder under her eyes, too much kohl to hide what lay beneath. 

A swelling—the kind that came from tears shed not too long ago. I had heard the news of Joffrey's latest cruelty while wandering the city earlier: the slaughter of bastards, the senseless killing of children, of mothers left wailing in the streets. It wasn't hard to recall the scene where Ros cried over one of those unfortunate babies—a friend's child. Just like in the show. And Petyr Baelish... well, he hadn't made it any easier.

This is good, I thought, the timing is just perfect. Holding back a smile, I corrected her, "I'm no Ser," I said. "What do you usually do for your customers?"

Alright, crazy question. How do you seduce a whore?

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Author Note: This is a tribute to Ros, I liked her character a lot, and she didn't deserve her end. We'll be focusing on some influence-building chapters from here on out, which might feel slow but necessary for the story. This is not a 'go kill king, take throne' story, after all. But we'll focus on the action soon again! 

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