'Trouble is the first thing we borrow.'
-Taken from 'The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar' by Brien Flowers
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At an undisclosed location on the west side of town, Xhadho Zhalas and Prince Rhaenar occupied a VIP booth, high above a fighting pit, where they watched as two men pummeled each other.
The crowd roared with each significant strike, shouting insults and making bets.
Xhadho graciously held his wine cup, and a servant filled it.
"So this is how you Westerosi fight?" he remarked, observing the guarded stance and viper-like punches.
What intrigued him most was the use of kicks— kicks to the legs, torso, and head. Xhadho had never seen such a diverse approach.
"Not exactly," Rhaenar replied, dressed in black garb with a headscarf covering his silver mane and a hood that obscured his amethyst eyes. "We call it Muay Thai. I taught it to them."
"I like it," Xhadho said thoughtfully. "A test of skill without the intent to kill one's opponent. Such a blood sport would do well in the Summer Isles."
"Feel free to take it home with you," Rhaenar offered with a wry smile. "I could write down the rules if you like."
"You flatter me, Prince Rhaenar. No, you can teach it to us when you visit one day."
"Works for me. More gold for my coffers."
The whole enterprise intrigued Xhadho, "You said these bouts happen all over the country, yes?"
"That is correct," Rhaenar said, "Each match is sanctioned by my commission, and every town has its own league, complete with various weight classes and champions. We keep track of fighter records and matches. It's reaching a point where we will need to host a major event and crown an official champion for each division. But I digress."
Xhadho swirled the wine in his cup. "And all the proceeds go to you. Very good. What if someone makes a commission of their own?"
"It happens," Rhaenar remarked. "People get caught up in get-rich-quick schemes, or some fool forgets their oath and thinks we wouldn't notice coin skimmed from the top. They're not the smartest, these folks. It doesn't take long for them to stand out, and then we deal with them accordingly."
Just then, Dirty Douglas scurried into the booth. Well clean after his stint in the sewers and garbed in the urban armor.
"Boss," Douglas said. Rhaenar noted the giddiness. "You'll want to come and see this!"
"What is it, captain?"
"Some knights are outside with a stick up their arse. Going at each other for a whore they fell for. Hah! Rookie mistake."
Rhaenar scoffed, "What knights?"
"I don't know. Ser Whosywhatsit and Ser Flimflam. Gearing up to be a right ol' scrap, it is."
That's when the prince sighed and turned to Xhadho, "What do you say, old friend? Shall we go mediate the brokenhearted?"
Xhadho sculled his wine in a single gulp, "With pleasure!"
Sure enough, when they stepped outside, the two knights were engaged in a shouting match, drawing a crowd on the street eager to witness a potential sword duel.
Rhaenar cringed at the sight. You could always tell when someone was not from King's Landing by their clueless demeanor. Only fools borrow trouble in the cobbled jungle.
The formation of the new and improved city watch could not come soon enough. At least two thousand men had signed up if initial estimates are believed.
That being said, there was some entertainment to be found in fools. Rhaenar tapped Douglas on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
Douglas grinned after hearing it. "Good idea, as always, boss. Right away—"
With that, Douglas strode into the crowd and pushed the two knights apart.
"Is this how you lot go about it? Like fucking pansies. Why not settle it like true men, with a wager?"
The crowd erupted, chanting for a fight, but Douglas silenced them.
"Nay! These two be knights, too noble to bleed for us."
A Fleabottom native, Douglas's words held weight, and the crowd laughed at his disdain for knights.
"How about this then, aye?" Douglas said, "The road is straight enough, and what's a knight without a horse?"
The pun of horse and whores was not lost on the crowd. They caught on immediately.
"A race!" they cheered. "A race for the whore, bahahaha!"
It did not take long for peer pressure to work its magic, and the two knights staked their pride.
Soon, everyone poured out of pleasure houses and gambling dens to witness the spectacle, with coppers and stags placed as bets.
Xhadho and Rhaenar watched from afar, and Xhadho said, "What about a commission for this, then?"
Rhaenar nodded thoughtfully. "For horse racing? You know what, Xhadho, that's an excellent idea."
.
..
…
..
.
After that debacle, Rhaenar escorted Xhadho back to his swan ship.
There, they stood on deck and watched as the half-moon occasionally peeked through the clouds, casting silver on the shimmering Blackwater Bay.
Rhaenar coughed as he took a swig from the bottle.
"Seven hells! This stuff is strong!"
Xhadho patted Rhaenar on the back with force as if patting the back of a choking baby.
"Haha, of course. Our spiced rum is the best in all the seas."
"I'll say. Mind if I take a bottle when I leave?"
"Consider it done!"
They gazed out at the ocean in idle chatter.
Darkness swept in whenever the moon hid behind a cloud.
When that happened, all they could make out was a subtle glow from the silhouetted outline of King's Landing.
The clouds were so idle that the light came back and forth in such intervals it was like they were slowly blinking.
Then, on the horizon, something caught Xhadho's eye.
One ship, two ships, twelve… They slinked through the bay like silent phantoms.
As the ships drew closer, Xhadho remarked, "Black sails. Do you know what that means, Prince Rhaenar?"
"Smugglers," Rhaenar replied. "Sly ones at that."
"Should we not bar their entry to your Father's city?"
Rhaenar sighed and said, "Under normal circumstances, we would. Those ships are fine though."
"Why's that?"
"Because they're mine."
Xhadho raised a brow. "What could a prince want to smuggle?"
That's when all familiarity drained from Rhaenar's voice. So indifferent that, for a moment, Xhadho was scared.
"Sorry, Xhadho. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."