The corridor behind the inn was quieter than the front hall.
The noise of drinkers and travelers faded the moment Thaddues stepped past the kitchen door and into the narrow passageway that led toward the rear exit. The air shifted there—less smoke, less spilled ale, more damp stone and old timber.
Esteban followed closely behind him.
The horseman's steps were steady, measured. Not loud, but never hesitant either. He had the posture of a man who had spent most of his life either on horseback or standing guard at a saddle's side. His eyes kept moving even when his voice stayed calm.
"My lord," Esteban said after a moment, breaking the silence.
Thaddues did not slow down. "Speak."
Esteban hesitated just long enough to choose his words carefully. "About the girl from earlier. The child of waters."
Thaddues glanced slightly over his shoulder but did not stop walking.
Esteban continued, his voice low but steady. "Dorne does not clutch its pearls over bastards the way the rest of Westeros does, but this is still politics, my lord. And politics has a long memory."
He glanced ahead as they walked, the heat of the stone still lingering beneath their steps.
"Now that a Targaryen sits the Iron Throne, even here men grow cautious. No one wishes to be tied to a choice that might be remembered differently when the winds shift. Even in Dorne… especially in Dorne, where freedom is prized, people learn when to keep their hands clean of certain entanglements."
He lowered his voice slightly. "A child of waters may be accepted in principle, my lord, but in practice it is another matter."
He glanced ahead. "It becomes a burden others will see. And to take one under your name invites attention you may not want."
They turned a corner. A thin strip of fading light cut through a crack in the stone wall ahead where the rear door stood ajar.
Thaddues finally spoke. "You think I would be burdened by it."
"It is not about your strength, my lord," Esteban replied quickly. "It is about how men see you. Nobles do not fall because they are weak. They fall because too many eyes are on them."
That earned a faint pause from Thaddues.
He stepped into the small walled courtyard behind the inn, where the heat still lingered in the stone as evening air began to creep in—quiet and private, as Esteban had arranged.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Esteban waited.
In truth, Thaddues understood more than he showed.
In King's Landing, bastards were rarely anything but a stain. Names whispered with contempt, children treated as if they had inherited the sins of their parents. Even when they rose, it was always in spite of their birth, never because of acceptance.
But Westeros was not uniform.
Dorne was different.
Not gentle, not forgiving—but different in how it defined legitimacy. Blood mattered, yes, but not in the same suffocating way the northern courts clung to it. The Martells ruled a land that had resisted conquest longer than most kingdoms cared to remember. Pride ran deeper than tradition here.
And yet even in Dorne, there were lines people avoided crossing openly.
Acceptance in Dorne was conditional. It existed, but it was not absolute and those conditions were shaped by power.
Targaryen influence still lingered like a shadow over Westeros. Even if Dorne had never been brought to heel, even if it still stood apart, the Iron Throne defined what "danger" meant for most noble houses. Anything tied to uncertainty—anything that might draw unwanted attention—was quietly avoided.
Esteban's warning made sense in that light.
But Thaddues did not immediately respond to it.
Instead, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
To the little girl.
Magic. She carried vast dormant power, and her emotional distress had caused a surge—an outburst of magic most would never notice, but one he, as a wizard, could clearly feel. It was what led him to them.
And honestly he had not expected it here. Not in Dorne.
In his previous life, and through what he had come to understand of this world, magic was not something one stumbled upon in a back-alley inn. It was distant—rare enough to be half-myth, and dangerous enough to be buried when it surfaced. Especially in Dorne, where such things were spoken of less as reality and more as old, uneasy tales carried on desert wind.
And yet... He clearly felt it In her.
Raw unleashed magic with great potential. It would be wasteful not to see what she could become and more importantly—what she could do if he imparted her knowledge with magic from wizarding world. That's why he accepted them, the risks are worth it.
Thaddues exhaled slowly.
"Your concern is noted," he said at last. "But it is not a decision made lightly, nor blindly."
Esteban bowed his head slightly. "Of course, my lord."
Thaddues resumed walking.
"And Esteban," he added, "do not mistake Dorne's openness for simplicity. People here do not reject bastards because they are cruel. They reject them because they understand consequence."
Esteban did not reply immediately, then he said, "Understood."
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the inn's windows in thin, golden strips.
Thaddues ate in a private dining room Esteban had arranged ahead of time. It was modest but clean, with a long wooden table and shutters half-open to let in the morning air. The noise of the common hall was far enough away that the space felt almost detached from the rest of the building.
Esteban stood near the door until Thaddues gestured for him to sit.
He hesitated only briefly before obeying.
For a while, they ate in silence.
Bread, olives, thin slices of salted meat, and watered wine. Simple fare, but well-prepared.
Eventually, Esteban set his cup down.
"My lord," he said, "if it pleases you, I would request a few hours of leave."
Thaddues glanced at him. "For what purpose?"
"To visit my family," Esteban replied without embellishment.
There was no attempt to disguise it. No political framing. Just honesty.
Thaddues studied him for a moment, then gave a slight nod. "Take the time you need."
Esteban looked mildly surprised, as if expecting conditions or hesitation. When he was hired from Vaithmar he signed a contract to work under him for a summer season. Other contractors will definitely not allow a day of leave but his young Lord immediately agread.
Thaddues reached into a small pouch and placed a few galleons on the table.
Esteban's eyes narrowed slightly. "My lord—"
"Take them," Thaddues said. "Not as payment. As support. Let your family live in comfort. I will still rely on you to be my Steward while I'm here in Shadow City."
Esteban hesitated, then accepted them carefully. Nodding at what he said. "My Lord, You are… unusually generous."
"I am not generous," Thaddues replied. "I am practical. A loyal man who returns to service without worry is worth more than a loyal man distracted by need."
Esteban gave a short, resigned breath. "As you say."
Still, there was something like reluctant admiration in his expression. "Sometimes I forget how young you are."
Thaddues did not respond to that.
A knock came at the door before either of them could say more.
Esteban stood up to open the door, that's when he saw the insignia on the armor outside.
The banner of House Martell.
Two household guards entered, their presence formal but not hostile.
"The Second Princess of House Martell has returned from the coastal settlements," one of them announced. "A banquet will be held in Sunspear in celebration of her return, alongside the youngest princess. You are hereby invited."
Thaddues wiped his hands with a cloth and stood.
"I accept," he said simply.
The guards bowed and left without further ceremony.
Esteban raised an eyebrow as the door closed. "You're being drawn into Dornish court affairs rather quickly, my lord, after saving the heir."
"I am being invited," Thaddues corrected lightly. "There is a difference."
Esteban did not argue.
Thaddues sat back down briefly, but his attention drifted inward.
A faint interface flickered in his mind.
--
[SYSTEM PROGRESS: 3%]
--
It's been weeks but still unchanged. Why is it still stuck at 3%?
He exhaled through his nose.
"I missed signing-in," he muttered under his breath.
Esteban looked at him. "My lord?"
"Nothing."
By afternoon, Thaddues had already left the inn.
Esteban had departed earlier to see his family, leaving him alone.
He did not take a carriage.
Instead, he walked.
The lower districts of Sunspear were more active than they had been the day before. Not chaotic, but alive in a way that spoke of trade and constant movement. Narrow streets curved between sun-worn buildings, their walls painted in faded ochres and pale reds that softened under the bright light.
Here, in the Shadow City, the sun seemed to linger differently—broken by awnings, arches, and winding alleys that kept the heat from ever fully settling.
Merchants lined the busier paths. Some called out openly, others waited in silence with folded arms and watchful eyes. Spice, cloth, and imported goods filled the air with overlapping scents.
Thaddues moved through it without urgency.
He observed rather than engaged.
There was order here, even if it was not obvious at first glance. Not the rigid order of King's Landing as he knew it from the book—enforced by fear and decree—but something looser, negotiated, maintained through habit and local understanding.
A different kind of balance.
Eventually, he found a merchant's shop that dealt in currency exchange. The man behind the counter was old, with careful eyes and a polite manner in the way seasoned traders often had when they sensed coin and consequence in equal measure.
Thaddues took out a bag of galleons under his robe. "Exchange them to Gold Dragons, "he said simply, placing them on the counter.
The merchant inspected them briefly, then blinked in surprise at the sheer number of galleons in the bag. "All of it?"
"Yes."
A faint pause, then the old man nodded. "Gold dragons will be provided at fair rate."
The exchange was conducted without issue.
The merchant weighed the galleon in his hand, feeling its heavy density. It was pure gold. His expression changed at once—respect settling in more deeply.
When the transaction finished, Thaddues turned one thousand galleons into one thousand gold dragons. His face broke into a grin, unable to suppress his happiness while putting the bag full of dragon coins to his robe. Finally he had wealth that is recognized in this world.
He did not leave immediately.
"I am also looking into land ownership," he said.
The merchant blinked once. "Land, my lord?"
"Plots. Estates. Anything available for purchase."
The old man's expression shifted into consideration. "There are holdings that change hands quietly, though most noble land is not openly sold."
"I am aware."
The merchant leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. "There will be an auction in three days. Private attendance. Several minor houses and independent sellers. If you are seeking property, that would be your best opportunity."
Thaddues considered this.
Then nodded once. "I will attend."
"As you wish."
He left the shop shortly after.
By the time he returned to the inn, the sun was beginning its slow descent.
Esteban had already come back.
He stood near the entrance, waiting.
"My lord," he said, "I have returned."
"Good," Thaddues replied. "Prepare. We're going to the palace."
Esteban nodded once. "As you command."
Thaddues glanced once toward the road that led upward, toward the palace where the Martells ruled under their sunlit banners.
Then he turned back toward the inn.
Whatever waited at the banquet, it would not be a simple celebration.
And Thaddues had no intention of letting it remain one.
TBC
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