Playing God 9

Playing God 9

Charlie Foxtrot

We arrived in short order. The throne room had an almost austere quality to it. Two guards stood at the entrance to open the thick, wooden doors. The far end housed an elevated platform, atop which sat two thrones. One was adorned with a spear while the other had a sun. The Sun Throne had not been occupied since Doran’s wife, Lady Mellario, moved back to Norvos.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood at the base of the thrones. He had a thick, bushy beard and yellow cape, with a clasp shaped in the sigil of House Martell. The clasp was made of gold unlike the guard’s I saw earlier, which probably made this man Areo Hotah.

And then, there was Doran. Where his brother looked young and handsome, Doran was a gaunt man who appeared older than he likely was. Perhaps to hide the swelling of his joints, he wore heavy linens even in the sweltering sun.

Even so, I knew not to take him lightly. There was a deep, calculating gaze in his eyes, an intensity that I’d not seen in anyone else’s. This was a man who schemed to avenge his sister for over a decade. They said time healed all wounds, but he did not seem the type to want to be healed, merely reminded of past wrongs.

“What have you to say for yourself, daughter?” he said, completely ignoring us. It was one thing to ignore me, a total stranger, but I saw even Oberyn's brows tighten with annoyance.

“Nothing that you would hear, father,” Arianne replied, undaunted. “If I must marry, let it be the heir of Highgarden. Let my bride price be the Reach that I might act for the good of Dorne!”

“Willas Tyrell will not be your husband, daughter.”

“He is a fine match. A neighboring kingdom, the breadbasket of Westeros–”

“And he is not to be yours. There are plans in place, complicated by your insistence on petty tantrums.”

“Perhaps I would not feel the need to throw these ‘petty tantrums’ if you informed me of such plans!”

“Enough! We will speak no more of this before our guest,” he growled, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. He turned to me with a searching gaze. “You are Charlie Foxtrot. I heard you were akin to a fox. I see that this is true.”

I nodded agreeably. He seemed as closed off as I’d expected. “Hello, Prince Doran. I am of the kitsune race and I do indeed take great pride in my tails.”

“You are a magician then?”

“Of a sort, though cleric or shaman might be a better word for what I am.”

“You have been offered guest right by my brother. Be welcome, then, though I request that you use your unique gifts for the interests of Dorne.”

I frowned in askance. He was trying to weasel favors out of me, a truly shrewd man. “Oh? Is that how guest right works in Westeros? Am I not promised safety and hospitality for the duration of my stay? Shall I also pay rent, Prince Doran?”

“It is a small matter. Magic has certain connotations among the faithful that you may find troublesome. House Martell’s support can make life easier.”

I was starting to grow annoyed. My self-imposed task of seeing to the girls’ safety was done. If this was the game he wanted to play, then so be it. “As I understand it, I owe you no favors to receive guest right, for I have received it already. If anything, the relationship is reversed: It is you who owes me.”

His eyes narrowed in warning. It might have intimidated lesser men, but I could hardly be called a man now. “And how is my house in your debt, stranger?”

“Oh, it must have been someone else’s daughter and niece I sheltered and fed the night prior,” I replied with a flippant wave, my message clear: Go ahead, disavow your own family in front of them, asshole. Or admit you owe me one. “My mistake, Prince Doran.”

“I asked no such thing of you and so no favor is owed. Have you come all this way to demand coppers for your rations?”

“And guest right demands no favor of me. Yet, all else aside, it is I who acted in good faith while you attempt to corner me with words. If you wish to negotiate with me for my magic, square your debt first, then we may speak of what services I permit you to purchase.”

“‘Permit?’ You speak boldly.”

“As I should.”

“And if I do not recognize this debt? The indiscretions of my foolish daughter are her own.”

“As you please. I will be gone from your palace at dawn. I have no interest in burdening such a miserly prince.”

He studied me carefully. “And what would you ask to be compensated with?”

“Hmm… I have no need for coin. One jar of every spice stored in your storehouse will suffice.”

“So be it. Go down now. Have dinner with my brother. I will have your spices arranged for you in your quarters.”

I bowed mockingly, tails swooping with my head. “Thank you, Prince Doran. May our dealings be fruitful.”

I decided that I didn’t like Doran Martell. He was conniving, ambitious, and shrewd, and I didn’t mean them as compliments. He reminded me of corporate bigwigs I knew when I was trying to save up for YGGDRASIL. He seemed like the kind of man who would cheat their employees out of a raise saying, “That’s just how the game is played.”

Strictly speaking, he was just a product of his environment. That was how the game was played in Westeros. You seized every advantage, or you died. I could acknowledge that he was doing whatever he could for the benefit of his house, even if it meant trying to coerce a wandering magician into his service.

That said, he was still an asshole. He could be held responsible for his own actions. Maybe my perception of him had been colored by Arianne’s complaints, but I found his behavior distasteful.

I liked House Martell, the ones I’d met so far. I’d climbed the Tower of the Sun with every intent to do them a favor and fix Doran’s gout. In the end, Doran’s probing attitude annoyed me so much that I decided against it at the last moment.

He set the tone: We were not friends. We were competitors and rivals, sitting on opposite sides of the negotiating table. If he wanted to entrap me in a web of favors and obligations, then I would respond in kind. It’d be wrong to hold this against Arianne or Oberyn, but if Doran wanted something from me, he could purchase whatever few droplets of mana he could afford.

X

After my meeting with him, Tyene led me on a brief tour of the castle before taking us to the main hall for dinner. The head table had been set with over a dozen seats. A dinner of stewed mutton, fresh bread, and lemon cakes for dessert had been laid out.

“We don’t usually eat at the same time so this is a bit new for me as well,” Tyene told me.

“Is it because you have a big family?” I asked.

I took a bite of the stewed mutton. It was a bit gamey, and very heavily seasoned with cumin and other spices to mask the smell. Though I didn’t like the smell much, its savoriness made up for it. The fresh bread was much better, rustic in a way that made it feel more authentic.

Tyene sat me between her and Sarella, with Arianne to her other side. Across from me was Oberyn and Ellaria. Typically, in the great hall, the high table would only be seated on one side so that Doran and his guests of honor could look out over the rest of the hall, but this was a much smaller crowd than in a feast.

“Yes. Uncle has three children: Arianne, Quentyn, and Trystane, though Quentyn is being fostered in Yronwood right now. Then there is father and Ellaria, and me and my seven siblings. And then there is Ser Manfrey Martell, who is the castellan here, and his wife. That is far too many people to eat together regularly so most of us take our meals at our leisure.”

“That makes sense. I can see why the high table is needed. In that case, I’ll just take my meals with you as long as I stay here.”

“That is for the best. Now, let me properly introduce you to my cousins.”

She picked out Trystane for me. He wasn’t much to look at. He was just seven years old, even younger than the Little Lance. Much like his father, Trystane had black hair and olive skin.

He was a study in contrasts. On one hand, his eyes were drawn to me like moths to a lamp. I could tell he had a thousand questions, as any seven year old would. Yet, he only offered me a polite greeting before eyeing his father and sister. He seemed quite conscientious of their strained relationship.

“I hope the fare is to your liking, Charlie,” Ellaria said with a warm smile in an obvious attempt to distract me from the tension. 

“It is. Mutton isn’t eaten very often in my home, but I'm always happy to try something new,” I replied with a polite smile.

“Oh? What do your people eat?”

“In Japan, the principal grain is something called rice, which is steamed and eaten in loose chunks, a little like oatmeal. For meats, we eat a lot of chicken, pork, beef, and seafood. We are especially well-known for our seafood dishes amongst our neighbors.”

“Oh? No boar, rabbit, venison, or wild fowl? I would have thought game meats would be universally popular.”

“No, I’m afraid not. Most people in my homeland grew out of the practice through a lack of need. In fact, many went multiple generations without learning to shoot a bow.” This was true in modern Japan. In Overlord, such animals had long since gone extinct.

“Then your home must be a paradise of abundance.”

“Not quite. We all have our troubles.”

Sarella looked at me, then at my half-eaten dinner roll. “I've been curious for a while now. If you're a fox, does that mean you prefer chicken or rabbit for your meals?”

“No, I assure you I can eat anything and have an adventurous palate. Moreover, even mundane foxes are capable of digesting fruits and vegetables. They’re not obligate carnivores like cats.”

“What will you do tomorrow, Charlie?” Nymeria asked neutrally. She was the polar opposite of Arianne, cool and outwardly collected whereas her cousin embraced passion with every breath.

“Nothing. I think you all have misunderstood me. My presence here has no special meaning. I am not here to start a cult, subvert Dorne, seduce your cousin, build a power base, or anything else you may believe.”

“Then why are you here? Tyene says you came from across the sea, further east than even Yi Ti. That is a great distance to travel for no reason at all.”

“Is it?” I tilted my head quizzically. Everyone was listening now, even if Doran pretended he wasn’t. “What if travel is the reason? What if I simply enjoy seeing new sights and experiencing new cultures?”

“That seems strange to me. I know nothing of your home, but you are dressed like a man of great import,” she told me. “I was also told that you are the god of foxes. Do gods have no responsibilities where you come from? Or does ‘god’ mean something different there?”

“Haha, truthfully? We don’t. The principal goddess of my pantheon is a hikki-neet.” At their confusion, I chuckled again and elaborated. “That is to say, a shut-in. She would much prefer to spend her time indoors, alone, rather than rule the Heavenly Plains.”

“That sounds… like a complicated religion… And what about you? Don’t you have an obligation to your worshipers?”

“Nymeria, let me ask you a question in turn: Does a god need worshipers?”

That brought her up short. “I… Yes…?”

“Really? If a farmer has no chickens, is he no longer a man?”

“You equate humans to chickens?”

“It’s just a metaphor. Truthfully, a god is a god. We do not require worship to exist. Faith alone does not define us. If we ceased to exist simply because humans stopped believing in us, would we be worthy of worship at all?” I asked. Next to me, I saw Tyene’s spoon still as she mulled over my question.

Her sister frowned in thought but I could see that moral and religious philosophy did not hold her interest. “I suppose not… Is that why you are here? To spread word of your faith? You speak well enough.”

“Hah! No, haven’t you been listening? I am the Inari Okami, not because humans call me that, but because that is simply me. I do not want worshipers.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you must,” I said, giggling under my breath. “If it helps, remember that I am the god of foxes. You are human, not a fox. Why would I want your worship?”

“That is… better…”

Sarella piped up again, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “Does that mean you want a congregation of foxes?”

“No, Sarella. It means that I am the paragon of what a fox should be. I am carefree. I am unbound by responsibilities. I am cunning and wise and playful. And most of all, I am curious.”

“That sounds much like Sarella,” Obara mused jokingly. “Are you sure you did not sleep with a fox, father?”

Oberyn choked on his goblet of wine. “No, I think I would remember a lover of such… fluffy… persuasion. Not that I would mind. I too am open to new experiences.”

“Pass,” I said bluntly. “I like women.”

“Oh? Would you be more amenable if I join as well?” Ellaria replied with a coy smile.

“No thanks. I’m not interested in taking a lover at the moment. Or sharing one, for that matter.”

The conversation devolved like that. I was surprised by how forward those two were about sex. From my understanding, Medieval society was supposed to be rather prudish. I didn’t think they’d be comfortable flirting with me in front of  their younger daughters.

Then again, Dorne was clearly somewhat removed from the medieval norms I’d read about in history class so long ago. Tyene and Arianne had likewise been rather forward.

X

Following dinner, I was led to a guest room at the Sandship. Apparently, it was a great honor to lay my head in the ancestral seat of House Martell.

My quarters were… satisfactory. It was as spacious as a room in an ancient military fortification could be expected to be. I had a dresser and a bed decked out with goosefeather blankets and pillows. The color was, of course, of sunset shades, as befitting my hosts.

To one side was a stack of clay jars. Each was half the size of my torso and filled to the brim with various spices. I spotted paprika, cayenne, both black and white pepper, cumin, nutmeg, and dried mint. There were more, arrayed like a spread at a bazaar.

This was a lot. Merchant houses had been founded on less than this. I got the message Doran was trying to send: Let no one say House Martell is poor or cannot pay its debts.

I stuffed them all inside my inventory and looked around. What annoyed me most about this place was the lack of hygiene. When prompted, the servants provided a wooden basin of warm water that I could use to wash my face, but that was all.

No toothbrush or mouthwash could be found, never mind a shower. Indeed, they took baths once a week, or once every few days for noblewomen. Worst of all was the chamberpot. It was a clay urn, glazed orange and yellow and decorated with a desert vista.

I should have expected as much. Arianne and Tyene had not seemed concerned with the lack of a bath last night, either. Scented oils were preferred over soap because, as I understood it, soap was still seen as a status symbol rather than an object of daily necessity.

I looked into the pot. It was clean. I understood that this was the height of medieval accommodation, and that I was being treated as an honored guest of Prince Oberyn, but… I just couldn’t. I refused to shit in a pot and shove it under my bed to stew until morning. I refused to go to bed for the second time without so much as a shower or gargle of mouthwash.

And, I didn’t need to. It wasn’t like I needed to keep Arianne and Tyene safe in their own castle. I cast Prestidigitation on myself, cleaning my clothes in an instant.

Then, I opened a door to the Explorer’s Refuge. My conceptually perfect pillow fort and a steaming hot bath beckoned.

X

The next morning, I rose with the dawn and prepared myself a warm mug of coffee. For breakfast, I made myself a bowl of miso soup, rice, grilled fish, pickled daikon, and a sweet omelet. Even weeks after my transmigration, starting each day like this made me feel like a new man. It was a reminder that I wasn’t a helpless wage slave anymore.

I exited the Refuge and began to wander Sunspear, eager to see more of the world. I cast a minor concealment spell on myself. I could do without the gawking first thing in the morning. Besides, I wanted to see how these people lived their lives on the daily, not when catering to an honored guest.

I had it in my head that a medieval castle was something full of magic and mystique. Or at least, a defensive structure that prioritized protection over comfort. I imagined great sieges, or maybe the video game dungeons of YGGDRASIL, full of traps, monsters, and hidden loot.

I was wrong. Maybe castles back on Earth were predominantly smaller fortifications, but that wasn’t necessarily so in Westeros. Martin had loved to play with different designs, even if they weren’t architecturally practical. Famously, there was a system of pipes that carried hot water throughout Winterfell apparently, never mind how absurd that sounded. Castles here were bigger, more like small towns in their own light.

Yesterday, the servants and guards had been on high alert, knowing that Prince Oberyn would arrive with a guest. But now, the hubbub had largely died down, replaced by the monotony of everyday life.

A group of young boys drew water from the castle well. I would have assumed that to be a woman’s job, as housework often was in medieval society, but perhaps not? Maybe the water was heavy after a bucket or two. Still unseen, I tossed a quick purification spell into the well, a small blessing for their continued health.

Nearby, half a dozen matronly women hung laundry out to dry. They had enough blankets and sheets to cover a section of the courtyard. I could see that they’d strategically positioned themselves so the sun would catch the laundry from morning to afternoon.

Still more servants, burly men, were unloading things from carts. I saw grains like wheat and millet as well as sacks of spices, vegetables, and meats. The meat in particular went into a separate building near the Sandship, kept airy and cool for optimal drying. I guessed that fresh meat was a bit of a luxury even for high lords like Doran and Oberyn.

It was all so fascinating to me. Their work was just something they did to survive. In a way, they weren’t any different from the person I’d been as I played YGGDRASIL, but they were so much more alive. 

These smallfolk had more creature comforts and freedoms than I did back then. Most could eat fresh food. They could breathe without wondering if they were poisoning themselves unwittingly. They could form meaningful communities, get married, and dare to dream of a legacy in which they improved on the lives their parents gave them. And, if all else failed, they could leave, join a merchant ship or find a new lord to serve.

Maybe I was romanticizing medieval life a bit too much. It wasn’t as though I didn’t know that they had their own hardships. The stench of horseshit and sweat still tickled my nose. But even so, I couldn’t help but feel a little envious on my past self’s behalf.

I let out a bittersweet chuckle and walked away. Watching them put me in a melancholic mood so I wandered around until I found the castle gardens.

Tyene showed me this place yesterday. It wasn’t as large as the Water Gardens, which was its own facility separate from Sunspear, but it boasted an impressive collection of flowers and sculptures nonetheless.

I dropped my cloaking spell and took in the sights. Many of the flowers were of the hardier sort, with narrow leaves and sparse buds adapted for the arid climate. Of particular interest were arches and fountains that seemed to clash with the architecture of the rest of Sunspear.

Author’s Note

Is Charlie a little petty? Yeah, he is. At the same time, I imagine him being someone who cares about genuine relationships over transactions. He’s had enough of the corporate politics and would look unfavorably upon social games like that.

Animal Fact: Kiwis are related to ostriches, emus, and cassowaries. This means that though they’re about as large as a small dog, they lay eggs that are roughly the same size as that of an emu or ostrich.

The eggs are so large that a kiwi’s organs will rearrange themselves and its ribs will stretch to make room. Said egg is roughly 20% of a kiwi’s body weight. For humans, that’s like giving birth to a 30 lb baby.

Props to that one dude who mentioned it before.