With the arrangements for his armor settled, Davion found himself in the mood for a little leisure.
King's Landing was, after all, one of the greatest cities in Westeros, the center of power in the Seven Kingdoms.
Even though he had long heard about its chaos, he still wanted to explore it himself and see what this city, steeped in countless legends, actually looked like.
But the moment he left the Street of Steel, the filth and squalor of King's Landing threw cold water over his enthusiasm.
The streets and alleys were narrow and crowded, sewage flowed unchecked, and the stench of excrement and rotting food mingled with dust, assaulting his nostrils.
The sheer filth went far beyond anything he had imagined.
In the end, Davion could not bear it. Frowning, he followed the route he remembered back to Shataya's brothel.
As soon as he pushed open the door, a rich fragrance washed over him, instantly dispelling the lingering stench in his nose and easing his taut nerves a little.
He had barely entered the hall when the sight ahead caught his attention.
With a measure of reserve and respect on her face, Shataya stood beside a round table, her head lowered and her posture humble.
Across the round table sat a man in his thirties with a neatly trimmed mustache. A faint, insincere smile hovered at the corners of his mouth, and he exuded shrewd calculation.
Davion was about to approach and greet Shataya when she quickly shot him a discreet look, signaling for him to hurry back to his room upstairs.
Puzzled, Davion paused, then slowly took a few steps forward. Only then did he realize that the mustached man was not the only person at the table.
A dwarf of exceptionally small stature sat in a chair with its back to Davion, his hands, noticeably smaller than an ordinary person's, resting casually on the armrests.
The chair back had hidden him, and Davion had failed to notice him at first.
Though Shataya's glance was discreet, it still did not escape the dwarf or the man.
The mustached man turned first, narrowing his eyes as his gaze fell on Davion.
When he saw the nine bats of House Whent's sigil on Davion's clothes, his expression abruptly grew strange.
Just then, the dwarf suddenly leaned out to one side and looked at Davion.
His large head was utterly out of proportion to his shoulders, his forehead bulged prominently, and one eye was black while the other was green.
Sparse golden hair clung to his scalp, while a tangled beard of brown and gold covered his chin, making him look strange and ugly.
Had Davion not already known someone was behind the chair, the face that suddenly appeared would certainly have startled him.
The dwarf grinned, revealing a mouthful of uneven teeth:
"Shataya, who is he? A new customer? From his looks, I'd say he's a young nobleman."
Shataya hastily put on a flattering smile and bowed apologetically:
"Lord Tyrion, you have a keen eye! This is Lord Davion. He only arrived in King's Landing yesterday, and he's a new guest here!"
"Tyrion?"
Hearing the name, Davion studied the dwarf before him more closely and thought to himself,
"The dwarf from House Lannister? Looking at that face, you really wouldn't think he was well-read and meticulous. Ugly. He's truly hideous!"
"And yet he's the cleverest Lannister of his generation! Where's the sense in that?"
Bracing his hands on the armrests, Tyrion sprang up to stand on his chair, his body rising just above its back as he looked Davion up and down:
"This is the guest who booked all your most prized girls?"
His gaze fell on Davion's build, and he scoffed:
"With that frame? He only looks a little sturdier than the average man. Can he handle those five pretty girls?"
Davion's physique had grown considerably stronger since he first woke up.
With his clothes on, he only just qualified as well-built, a far cry from Willis Wode's burly stature.
Shataya pressed her lips together and gave an suggestive smile. She said nothing, but her silence said it all.
Shrewd as Tyrion was, he understood Shataya's look at once and adopted an exaggerated expression of surprise:
"Don't tell me those five girls couldn't satisfy him, and even you had to join in yourself?"
As he spoke, he picked up the flagon on the table, poured himself a brimming cup of fruit wine, and waved eagerly to Davion:
"Oh, come and sit with us, young fellow!"
"You must share your secret with me. How did you get these women so thoroughly under your thumb that they'd rather turn away my business to keep you company?"
With that, he turned to the mustached man beside him.
His tone instantly grew casual:
"Lord Baelish, look, Shataya has turned you down so many times already. Give it up!"
"We noble lords only come here to relax in peace. We don't want the whores passing our bedroom affairs on to outsiders, do we?"
"So you should be on your way. Don't get in the way of our fun."
Tyrion had made himself quite plain.
The reason Shataya's brothel had become a gathering place for the nobles of King's Landing was precisely that it was sufficiently "safe."
This was the nobles' last haven.
The brothels belonging to Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, were an entirely different matter.
They were not merely tools for making money, but important places for prying into the nobles' secrets.
Sleeping with a whore in Littlefinger's brothels was no different from putting on a live performance before him. Not a whispered word or a single movement escaped his ears.
Before the next day even came, Littlefinger would know exactly how many hairs you had on your body.
Davion's gaze settled on Littlefinger, and he instantly grew wary.
This was Petyr Baelish, one of the foremost schemers in the entire game of thrones.
What made him formidable was not extraordinary intelligence or exquisite schemes, but his utter lack of limits. He would stop at nothing to achieve his ends.
Even Catelyn Stark, whom he claimed to have loved all his life, was someone he could deceive and exploit without hesitation. People like that were the most frightening.
Davion silently resolved that it was best to keep a respectful distance from such a schemer and avoid any involvement with him, lest he become mired in trouble.
Baelish, however, showed no anger at Tyrion's attempt to drive him away. Still wearing that false smile, he slowly rose:
"Tyrion, you've misunderstood me. I only wish to expand my business interests!"
"After all, during my years as Master of Coin, His Majesty has left far too many holes for me to fill!"
"What else can I do but expand my business?"
He turned to Shataya:
"Shataya, I won't give up on buying this brothel!"
"If you ever change your mind and consider selling, you can come to me at any time. I'll offer you a satisfactory price."
With that, he gave Shataya and Tyrion an elegant little nod, then turned and walked straight toward Davion.
Stopping before Davion, his smile grew even more insincere:
"Earl Davion Whent, I've long heard of you. So accomplished at such a young age!"
"Allow me to wish you a brilliant performance and first place in the coming Hand's Tourney."
Davion inwardly stiffened, instantly recognizing the hidden meaning in Littlefinger's words.
He knew everything about a down-and-out lord on only his second day in King's Landing: his identity, his purpose, and even his every movement.
He meant to tell Davion that, in King's Landing, no one's intelligence network could rival that of Petyr Baelish.
But Davion was not afraid in the slightest. His wariness of Littlefinger was merely a desire to avoid trouble.
He knew the methods of such underhanded men all too well. They never acted themselves, only sowed discord behind the scenes, incited others, and had someone else take the lead for them. That made it all but impossible for their victims to guard against them.
Davion considered himself strong enough in combat that he would not be killed in a direct confrontation, but he had no all-seeing eye and could not read people's hearts. Who knew when someone seemingly close to him might stab him in the back?
The thought flashed through his mind, and Davion immediately put on an enthusiastic smile, feigning flattered surprise:
"Oh, Lord Baelish, I never imagined you would remember a mere Earl of Harrenhal like me. What an honor!"
Littlefinger gave a mysterious smile and said slowly:
"Earl Davion's exploits have been the most astonishing story in the Riverlands this past month."
"I greatly admire your cunning and valor, Earl Davion."
Davion sneered inwardly:
Anyone who believed a single word out of Littlefinger's mouth was a fucking idiot!
Davion hastily waved his hands, putting on a modest air:
"You flatter me, my lord. Everything I've done was nothing but child's play!"
"Before you and this young Lord Lannister, it's hardly worth mentioning."
Before you continue