This took far longer than it should. I'll admit that.

Though in my defence, I think some of you can understand exactly why that may be the case. I won't name any names, but there was a certain show that people may or may not have heard of that may or may not have ended in such a way as to insult every single person who ever enjoyed it.

Completely coincidentally, I would like to state again that this is book based.

Anyway with that out of the way. Really hope you're all still enjoying this! And slight update on the Thousand Thrones playthrough... horse is dead, beastmen ate it. Guillaume is now magically brainwashed and I officially am I complete and utter idiot as I managed to nearly derail the campaign through my stubborn stupidity. Ah well, still have both fate points!

**I do not own either Warhammer Fantasy Battles/Roleplay and nor do I own A Song of Ice and Fire. I make no profit from this at all.**

Chapter 3

His armour truly was a lost cause, Guillaume had decided upon being presented with it. Lord Beric and his fellows had not lied in the slightest when they described how it had been rent and smashed and cut. His once good and solid plate armour, never a fancy or attractive suit to tell the honest truth, was likely now only worth scraps. It astounded him in a way, for he had not realised at the time just how damaged he had become in the womb beneath the earth in cold and ruinous Kislev. He could recall only a few of the strikes which must have sundered his armour. One came from a mighty Orc kept there by dark magics. Another from the cruel axe of a cultist that followed the vile Nurglist Ruprecht. The last, and the greatest, the one that had split the breastplate nearly from navel to nipple, had come from the witch herself.

The only solace Guillaume took was that it had achieved all and more than it had meant to. No matter the blow, they had struck his armour and not his own flesh, or that was how it seemed now, and it was what he had convinced himself.

The underclothes that he wore, however, were still damaged if broadly in good shape. They had been washed and stitched and cleaned by the women of Lord Beric's company. Their work was fine and clearly that of swift and skilled hands. They had once been rich and well-tailored, purchased both on Marienburg and Altdorf, but now their colours vague and washed out and the patches likely outnumbered the original fabric, especially now. About the only thing, he rued, and this was not something he had blamed them for, nor took umbrage with them for, was that they had also seen fit to repair his cloak. He knew at once from Lord Beric's odd look at his own look that the fashions of Bretonnia did not live here, as they had not lived in the Empire also. For in Bretonnia it was the fashion for a knight to wear his battle damaged cloak proudly, as a record of his mortal combats. Guillaume had worn his with pride ever since he had bought it anew and it had received its first slash, which happened to come from the vampire Hollenbach. he had consoled himself with the fact that this merely meant he had the perfect excuse to acquire an ever fancier cloak to repeat the process with.

And it looked like he would have every opportunity to do so.

While it may have paled in comparison to the like of Bordeleaux or L'Anguille in terms of beauty, the city of King's Landing still awed Guillaume. This was mostly due to the sheer size of it, for Guillaume had never seen any city quite so large. Half a million souls, Maester Olyvar had told him, dwelled here beneath the castle of the Kings. not even Altdorf could claim numbers so large. All three, however, could claim better defences and fortifications and just plain appeal. The walls were bland and small in comparison to any great city Guillaume had seen before, even Praag in frigid Kislev was surrounded by more impressive specimens. The castle, which could be seen from miles around, at least showed promise.

The streets too were sub-par compared to any city of the old world he had set foot in. He would grant, of course, that the destitute and pathetic crowded the streets of those cities were just as bad as these ones, that was something he could never ignore nor deny. But in the place of good cobbled roads surrounded by decently, if not splendidly, built housing, in King's Landing he found an assorted collection of poorly built slums that nestled in places directly alongside the more respectable elements. Bits of it reminded him of the doodkanal of Marienburg. Though that swiftly brought a bemused smile to his face, for he remembered those gamblers and thieves who went around in fezs, which even then, near on a year later, forced him to struggle to keep a straight face.

So it was that Guillaume, despite being disappointed in this city, found himself in a rather good mood as the party of Lord Beric Dondarrion, of which he was a temporary part, rode into the Red Keep, which was what the locals called the primary castle of the city. From there their horses, or borrowed horse in Guillaume's case, had been taken by grooms and stabled, their luggage taken by servants and taken to apartments prepared for them. None of the party was to spend their days in a tent or in a simple tavern, all were to dwell in the keep.

"This is where I leave you, at least for a time." Lord Beric had said to Guillaume then as he pulled his riding gloves off. "I invite you to stay with my party here, I'm sure a place by the fire can be found for you, or space made."

There was no offer of a bed, but Guillaume had not expected any offer to be made at all, so he was grateful regardless. "You have my thanks, Lord. But I would not wish to be a burden upon you. I shall find myself someplace in the city." He did not find it chivalrous to mooch off of others for too long, at least not without service or something else to earn it. "Your generosity has been very welcome, but I would not wish to abuse it."

"Nonsense!" Lord Beric said with his signature smile. "It is never a burden to help a knight in need."

"I am no longer in need, Lord."

Lord Beric waved the idea off. "You are a knight without armour or coin, of course, you are in need. Please, stay only a few days more."

Guillaume was stubborn though, he always had been. "No, Lord. I mean no offence, but I would prefer to sort myself from here on."

A crestfallen look came over Lord Beric for a moment, before being replaced with a happy acceptance. "Very well. I would rather it be otherwise, but I will not stop you. You shall have your armour at least." He gave the orders to the servants of the Red Keep, and Guillaume's armour, which had already been taken inside the castle of red stone, was swiftly brought back out. "I would advise a fresh set if you mean to compete unless you consider yourself good with a bow."

Guillaume laughed. "A bow? Hah! I fear I am less than useless with such a weapon. It is not something acceptable for a knight in Bretonnia."

"Well then, ser, you shall need new armour. I would hate to do you yet more harm so soon after you recovered."

"And I would hate to have to treat you again so soon, ser," Olyvar said with a serious look that soon morphed into a kindly smile. "I jest, of course, ser. Should you need aid, I would be more than happy to provide, even if it is Lord Beric who dealt the blow."

"I shall keep that in mind, maester." Guillaume gave a nod of thanks to the old man. "I wish you luck in the tourney, Lord. Who shall I see about entering once I am comfortable here?"

Lord Beric scoffed for a moment before considering. "Comfortable in King's Landing, you'll be waiting a long time, ser. As for entering, ser, you shall not have to worry. I shall enter you myself. The master of the games would be like to doubt your knighthood, even though I very much doubt that will be an obstacle here, for I hear there are Northmen competing, and they do not go in for being knights."

Guillaume's hairs at the back of his neck stood up a bit at the mention of Northmen, but he calmed himself quickly. This was a new world, and he was brought here by the will of the Lady. He would wait to see these Northmen before he judged them on the merits of those who came from the Old World. Had Lord Beric said Norscan, things would be different, but he hadn't.

"All I shall need is your heraldry, ser." Lord Beric finished, not having seen or noticed Guillaume's little moment. "I fear we did not see any on your garments and the design on your shield was too battered, I recall some blue and yellow, however."

"Blue, yes. Azure to be precise. I can describe it if you so wish."

Lord Beric nodded and looked to Olyvar for a moment. "Olyvar, I shall trust you to remember this should I fail. And Ser Guillaume, if I do relay this incorrectly I can only apologise and vouch for you on the day itself."

"Appreciated, lord," Guillaume said. "Very well, my heraldry is azure two fleurs-de-lis, per chevron or a swan argent." It came naturally to Guillaume to explain heraldry, it was one of the few academic fields he had a real thirst for, surpassing that even of the wizard he had travelled with, who would happily devour books whole on anything, sometimes giving up all his gold for the mere chance at obtaining more knowledge. "Should I be able to afford such, I shall have a fresh shield ready for the day."

"I look forward to seeing it, Ser Guillaume the swan knight." Lord Beric smiled. "Oh! Before you do go, shall it be the melee or the jousting? Or both mayhaps?"

"Melee, lord," Guillaume answered quickly. "My vows prohibit me from taking up the lance until I find the grail. I know it will sound strange to you, but honour dictates it."

Lord Beric looked a bit bemused but nodded regardless. "Very well, ser. I shall not question matters of honour, at least not one so mild as this. I wish you well and know that should you ever change your mind you shall always find a place with me."

As Lord Beric spoke, Guillaume's rent armour was handed to him, it was in a sack so he could more easily carry it. Upon taking it and exchanging other pleasantries and farewells, Guillaume left the confines of the Red Keep and entered the stinking pit of the city.

To say it didn't take long for him to regret his decision would be an understatement, but Guillaume was stubborn by nature and one prone to sticking with decisions to the bitter end. To such an end, he descended the hill the Red Keep sat upon and walked down what he surmised was the main street. He would give this city one thing, it was somewhat easier to navigate than Altdorf or Marienberg, though that was primarily due to the fact it sat beside the river rather than straddled it like either of the other two did. In fact, while getting from one place to another in Altdorf may take an entire day and lead you down several dozen dead ends or wrong turns, a few simple questions to the locals produced the answer and directions Guillaume sought, and what was truly marvellous was that they were accurate on the first attempt, rather than the twentieth.

The street of steel they called it, rather appropriately too, since near all the smithies of the city apparently sat either side of this long lane. Of course, not every building there was a smithy, there were still homes, houses, taverns and brothels aplenty, but more than anything there were smithies. Now, Guillaume had spent enough time travelling to note the tells of a good smith from a bad one, from a craftsman to a peddler of shoddy blades, and it was that experience he called upon. He was not rich, he had never really been, and so he sought most of all an affordable one.

In the end, he found a simple enough workshop that opened onto the street. The owner was far from a humble man, but he showed his own works and they were indeed of good quality for the prices he charged. He had baulked at first at the idea of taking ruined armour in exchange for fresh and new, but this soon proved an attempt to still get gold out of the affair. Eventually, after much back and forth haggling and other such tedious things Guillaume had often left to his former companions, they had talked each other down from their original plans. Guillaume walked out with a clean mail hauberk and new helm alongside a simple and cheap shield of oak, while the smith had taken his old armour while still protesting it was not an even exchange but accepting it nonetheless.

Guillaume, now outfitted in not demolished gear, had reached the point where he had to address the other issue at hand, he had no money with which to rent some lodgings. Grumbling at his misfortune and, a bit more jokingly, at the absurd notion that nobles still have the pay for such things as a room in a tavern, Guillaume considered what he still possessed that he could sell. Eventually, he remembered something that had often slipped his mind, something he had carried since his first encounter with the vampire Hollenbach, a dagger of silver given to him to help slay the beast. He had rarely used it, partially out of considering a sword a far better companion in a fight and in part because he quite simply forgot he even had it most of the time. When it came to selling it, he did not do it at the same smith he had just fleeced for armour, but instead a pawn shop owner, or the thing closest to it. He walked away with a few coins of gold now weighing him down. Guillaume did not know the worth of these gold coins in comparison to the thrones and gilders of the Empire that he was used to, but gold was gold.

However, not that he had some lovely hard currency, his time would hopefully be somewhat easier from now on. Finding an inn was not hard, as with many towns and cities a good public house was to be had on nearly every street or corner. The one in particular that he found on a square he heard someone call Cobbler's Square. It looked respectable enough and rose three stories into the sky, each one overhanging the last. The inside was comfortable and well used and throng with people all around, drinking and eating and talking. The innkeeper, a large heavy-set man with a red face and undignified mop of muddy brown hair, beamed at Guillaume as he entered and approached the long and low counter that served as the bar.

"Morning ser," He said with a thick accent that reeked so much of the peasantry that Guillaume came close to struggling to understand him on more than one occasion. "Here for the tourney are you? Won't be the first and won't be the last I'll wager, but the most well to do by the looks of you." It was obvious that the fact that Guillaume was wearing mail and carrying a sword and shield made him look a bit above everyone else.

"Yes, you're quite right." He saw the smile of the innkeeper falter slightly as he noticed Guillaume's accent, but Guillaume was quick to make a good impression, or at least to try to. "I shan't say much of how well to do I am, that is for other people to decide. But anyway, do you have any rooms available?"

The innkeeper nodded, yet at the same time looked vaguely apologetic. "That we do, ser, but none that are private sad to say. So many folk coming to compete or watch I've had to double bunk some. O' course, for a little extra something can be found, ser."He said with a wide smile that showed off a couple missing teeth.

Inwardly grimacing, Guillaume shook his head politely. "I can bunk with others, it is no worry." After all, if you could share living space with an eternally grubby and hairy wizard then you could do so with anyone. "Just make it one of the nicer ones."

"Right you are, ser. First floor room, nice and warm beds with a window that looks over the square. Fair price for it too, ser, only two silver stags."

This was probably the moment that Guillaume had been dreading. Figuring out how the money actually worked here. Back in the Old World, everything was lovely and simple working off of shillings. But here? Lady knows. "Two silver stags? Sounds reasonable enough." Every muscle in Guillaume's body was telling him to haggle, but being quite frank with himself he just didn't know enough to do it without making a mockery of the whole procedure. So instead of that, he simply handed over a gold coin which had the face of some king on one side and a dragon on the other.

The innkeeper's face lit up. "Gold? Hmm, ser is a well off gent." he gave the gap filled smile again and brought out a small lockbox. Turning the key in the lock and opening it up, he revealed it was filled with various coinage. Guillaume watched as the man counted out the change for a gold coin, and he was surprised at the sheer amount he was given in the end, by the looks of it one gold coin was worth a smattering of silver coins with moons on them and other smaller coins of silver with stags on them, the silver stags in question. "There you are ser." The innkeep said, smirking openly as Guillaume fumbled with collecting his money and dropping it into his purse while he himself closed the lockbox and put it back behind the bar.

"If ser would follow me, I'll show you to your room." With a nod from Guillaume, the innkeep exited from behind the bar and lead him to a flight of stairs at the back of the building. They were thin and snaked around the back of the common room so as to give over enough space to drinking. It was dark without the natural light, it being a part of the building that lent against the one behind it, and it was not lit by anything since candles would have been too expensive to use on such a simple space. The first floor itself was little more than a corridor that shot off from the stairs while they themselves carried on up towards the second and final floor. "Just down here, ser."

The door Guillaume was lead to was at the far end of the corridor, next to a simple glass window set into the wall that overlooked the square, showing the bustling space for all its loud glory. Before opening it, the innkeep first knocked, only turning the latch after the current occupant gave a response. "Here, ser. If you need anything to eat or to drink simply find me and you can sup to your hearts content, provided you give coin of course." There was that toothy grin again.

"Thank you." Guillaume replied simply and walked through the entrance to the room, smiling as best he could and nodding to signal that the man could leave. He thankfully soon did, and Guillaume was left in the room with the sole other occupant. It was slightly cramped but could still be considered comfortable. There were four beds, all of them against the walls so as to give the centre of the room a large enough space for moving about. There was scant else there however, only a single table, upon which a short and squat candle sat, along with a couple of stools. The window the innkeeper had boasted of was a large one with wooden shutters that, like the one in the corridor, looked over the square.

Sitting on one of the four beds in the room, the one that lay against the wall with the window, was a younger man, Guillaume guessed at around twenty years old. He had red hair, not unlike Lord Beric, but while Lord Beric was large and strong with a noble bearing, this youth was skinny and covered in freckles. He had placed the pillow behind his head as he lent against the wall and looked at Guillaume with a bored expression, to his side was a longbow and quiver of arrows. "Here for the tourney of the Hand?" The youth asked after studying Guillaume for a few moments, a gesture that was given back in kind.

Guillaume gave a simple nod as he glanced around and decided to claim the bed opposite the youth, the one against the wall the door was set into. "I assume you are as well."

He could hear the wondering at his strange accent, the pause that signalled the slight confusion, but like so many in this city it seemed the youth decided it wasn't worth his time. "Archery competition. I mean to win the prize."

Of course he did. "Well I doubt many would aim for second place." Guillaume noted as he pulled off his new armour and more or less plonked it down on the floor beneath his bed alongside his sword and fresh shield. "What is the prize anyway?"

"You don't know? Seven, you're a slow one and here I thought you were just drunk. What with that voice of yours." Guillaume rolled his eyes at the youth. "It's ten thousand gold dragons for winning the archery. I could buy a castle for that, or maybe a ship of my own, or finally go to that high class place I've heard about."

Suffice it say, that made Guillaume pause a bit. Ten thousand gold? Even with how little he knew of money here, that seemed an obscene amount. "That's... a fair amount." Understatement of the century, it felt like to Guillaume at the time. "Melee the same? That's what I mean to compete in."

"Melee? Uh... Twenty, I think." The youth said, never for one moment leaving his clearly comfortable position.

Well.

Even though the idea of the tourney had been more an idea at some merriment and practice for his sword arm, Guillaume would now treat it a bit more seriously.

Twenty thousand. That would be a splendid amount of money to have weighing him down. He could buy himself a new set of plate armour, a warhorse to replace his dearly departed one he lost in Kislev. So Many different possibilities, he might even be able to purchase some land, or mayhaps some other extravagance.

"Who are you anyway?" Guillaume was roused from his thoughts by the youth.

It took Guillaume longer than he would have liked to actually focus back on the youth and to push thoughts of riches from his mind. He may be a knight of Bretonnia and hold chivalry above all else, but he was still human and as such the idea of wealth still found itself welcomed wholeheartedly by his psyche. "Sir Guillaume de Lusignan." He answered eventually, sitting down on his own bed.

"Knight then eh?" The youth didn't seem bothered by much.

"Yes. And you?"

The youth finally smiled a little, the first expression Guillaume had seen on his face beyond mild boredom. "Anguy. Soon it'll all be over the city when I win."

"You'll have to actually win first."

Anguy laughed. "So will you. I can see the wheel in that head of yours turning. Been doing that since I told you the prize."

"Touché." Guillaume said chuckling, which soon morphed into a proper laugh as he realised Anguy didn't have a clue what he meant.