'I'm in Game of Thrones!?' the man muttered to himself in surprise as he fell into a daze.
His eyes dilated as his mind raced, trying to recall the memories of his human life. 'It is faint, but….'
It has been hundreds of years since he last thought about his first life, so the details were a little messy, but he remembered.
His golden eyes flickered as memories of him watching the show resurfaced. The Starks, Lannisters, Targaryens.
It took him a few moments to recall enough information: 'Hmm, I need to know who's in power and if the realm has already been thrown into chaos.'
He turned to the man behind the counter, who was grumbling as he glared at him, "What year is it?"
"Huh?" That was the only thing that came out of his mouth: 'Who the fuck is this guy!?' He wondered.
In his long years of life as a tavern owner, he had seen many drunk people who were lost as to where they were. But never like the guy in front of him.
The tavern owner's face twisted in annoyance as he looked at the golden eyed bastard.
He was about to bark at him in irritation, but before he could do so,
"Hey, who the fuck are you?" a burly man asked with his rough voice as he placed his hand on the golden-eyed man's shoulder.
He wasn't necessarily tall, being a few inches shorter than the golden-eyed man, but the muscles on his body were much bulkier than him.
"I haven't seen you here before. Tell me, who the fuck are you!?" the burly man growled at him.
But the man stayed silent, not leaking a squeak in reply. His golden eyes narrowed as he turned to his side, his gaze fixated on the hand over his shoulder.
By this time, all the men in the tavern had turned silent and stared at the scene. One look at the golden-eyed man, and the men could tell…. he is pissed.
Their eyes shone eagerly as they expected a fight to break out, and for men like them, it was a form of entertainment in their shitty lives.
But they would be disappointed or shocked, as they only saw a blur that swept over the burly man's hand.
"Hey, you fucker!! I'm talking to you!" the burly man barked in anger. "Where the fu—-"
But as the burly man was about to curse again, he stopped.
He frowned as he felt liquid pouring down onto his feet.
The man looked down; he was barefoot, with calluses filling his feet and his nails deformed from all the things falling on them.
But the burly man ignored the deformities and focused on the red dots falling on his foot.
"Huh?" the man mumbled in confusion while the faces of the other men paled in fright.
BADUMP BADUMP BADUMP
Their hearts thumped against their chests while blood rushed to their heads. They couldn't believe it; it was too fast!
TREMBLE
Some of the men began to tremble while some clutched their arms as they gulped down their saliva.
"Huh?" The burly man let out another mumble of confusion as the red liquid began to pour out, falling down onto the floor and drenching his feet.
His nose picked up the smell of rusted iron that began to fill the air while his eyes caught something in the corner of his vision.
'What is that?' the man mumbled inwardly as he turned to look at it, only for his eyes to widen in horror.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
A guttural scream of pain and dread filled the tavern as the burly man clutched his shoulder, now devoid of an arm.
His eyes, reddened with pain, shot toward the golden-haired man whose face was twisted with disgust. "I hate scum like you touching me!" the man growled.
But the burly man didn't reply to his comments; the pain was too much for the man.
GULP
The tavern owner gulped in fear; he had never seen anyone like the man in front of him. He was fast, faster than any knight he had ever known.
'He may be even faster than Ser Jaime!!' the tavern owner mumbled as his expression paled even further.
But his breath hitched while his body involuntarily shuddered when he looked at the sword in the man's hand, 'By the gods…!!!'
The tavern owner watched as the golden-haired man raised the blood-red sword.
The men in the tavern stiffened as they looked at the sword, their hands gripping their necks, feeling as though the golden-haired man was aiming it at them.
'N-No way, he's not going to kill him, is he!?' the tavern owner exclaimed inwardly in shock as he watched the man press the sword against the burly man's neck.
The tavern owner clenched his fists while he tightened his jaw; the burly man cannot die!!
'I don't care if that guy dies, but not in my tavern!! If word gets around, the tavern will be closed!!' the owner mumbled inwardly, but alas, he was too powerless against the golden haired man.
Amidst all of this, the burly man continued to scream in pain as tears rolled down his cheeks.
But his cries stopped at the golden-haired man's next words, "I hate loud people. Especially men who cry!"
The burly man's eyes shrank in dread as he covered his mouth with his remaining bloodied hand, smearing himself with blood in the process.
The burly man's entire face turned red as his body shivered in fear; he could feel the sharp blade pressing against his neck.
Tears of humiliation fell from his eyes as he could sense the iron taste of his own blood in his mouth.
The golden-haired man ignored the burly man after he had stopped screaming. His face reverted to a calm look as he turned to the owner.
"What year is it?" he asked once again.
"Its 298 AC!" the owner replied swiftly; he didn't want to anger this mad man anymore further.
The golden-haired man frowned at the answer; he tried to recall what was happening in 298 AC but couldn't recall anything.
'It seems that I've forgotten a lot of details and only remember the major plot.' the man mumbled inwardly.
He then asked the inner, "Who is the king of the realm?"
The owner was confused as to why the man was asking these questions, but still answered nonetheless, "I-Its His Grace, Robert Baratheon!"
"Oh," a flicker of understanding flashed through the man's golden eyes as he nodded his head slightly, 'So the pig hasn't died yet, huh… Then I must be somewhere at the start of the show.'
"Who is the hand?" he asked again, 'If it's that Stark, then that means the games have already begun!'
"N-No one, Lord Jon Arryn, who used to be the Hand of the King, had died a month ago.
Some say he died of a fever while the others on the sea rumor it to be otherwise." The owner answered. He relayed everything he knows about it, at least everything he heard from the occasional sailors who visit his tavern.
The golden-haired man fell into a daze once again, 'So it seems I have three to four months left before the games truly start.'
From what the man could remember, after Jon Arryn's death, Robert would travel north for his friend Ned Stark and return, which took several months.
Finally, looking at the owner one last time, he asked, "Where is the harbour?"
The owner's heart calmed down at his question; he had never felt so relieved in his life as he answered, "To the left, there is a sign that has a map to the harbour."
The owner's body relaxed as the golden-haired man put his sword back in his scabbard.
He then looked at the owner and said, "Thank you for letting me stay here." Before turning around and starting to walk out of the tavern.
But the owner's lips twitched as he looked at the man's back, 'He hasn't paid!!'
The man soon left the tavern, his body feeling the cold winds with a lingering scent of salt filled with it.
He then turned left and took a few steps when,
"WAITT!!!"
He heard a loud voice coming from behind; frowning, the man turned to see who it was, only to be surprised to see the burly man whose arm he had cut off running toward him.
"WAIT….!"