Unwanted Waifu System - Multi-Crossovers

Synopsis

A veteran dies, gets forcibly reincarnated by an insane goddess of perverts (no, not a perverted goddess - a goddess of perverts) and is saddled with a system that he wants nothing to do with. Oh, and he has never read a piece of fanfiction or isekai story in his life. He was living in the woods before he died, for goodness' sake! How will he cope with being thrown into a situation for which he has no context? Badly, that's how. 

Prologue 

“You’re giving me what?!” John’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets as he goggled at the ridiculous offer.

“A Waifu System!” The thing masquerading as a goddess exclaimed. “It’ll let you summon a ton of sexy girls who would do your bidding. It’s the stuff of dreams for lonely virgins who have never touched naked breasts in their lives! You can have them do anything you want, too. Clean your house, make you a sandwich, get down on their knees and –”

“Nope! None of that. Nuh-uh, no ma’am. We are NOT going there!”

John snapped out of his shock just in time to interrupt what would have been a highly inappropriate suggestion from the little menace. She, in response, had the audacity to pout.

“Why not? I was just getting to the best part.”

“I don’t care! There is literally nothing that would interest me less than whatever snake oil you’re peddling. I’m done here. Just send me to the afterlife or something.”

That seemed to finally cut through her veil of smugness. It seems no one had ever refused this lump of turd wrapped in silk before. 

“You… you can’t be serious! Do you have any idea what you’re turning down? The most bangable babes in the multiverse would be at your beck and call! The hottest honeys willing to jump on your dick! You can tie them up, spank them, humiliate them, inflict your every depraved desire on them! Why wouldn’t you want that?”

It took a second for John to reply because he had to pick up his jaw from the floor. Every word that came out of her pie hole caused mini aneurysms in his brain. Kinks weren’t exactly news to him, but holy shit!

“I got a better question. Why the fuck would I want any of that? I couldn’t even handle a single woman throughout my disastrous series of relationships. What makes you think dating more than one would turn out any better for me?”

The so-called goddess then gave John a look of absolute confusion.

“Who said anything about dating them? This system is about giving you fuck toys, you moron! It’s about putting your dream girls within your reach! Haven’t you ever seen anyone on TV or in a movie that you wanted to leave panting and cross-eyed while spraying your stuff all over her tatas?”

It was at this moment that John decided he was in hell. For what else could this be but perdition for all the sins he committed? 

Closing his eyes and sighing in defeat, John chose to beg, “Please, oh please, just grant me eternal peace. I’m done. I lived, I loved, and now I’m dead. All I want to do is close my eyes and never have to think again.”

She regarded him more closely this time, a contemplative expression gracing her face. John had to admit, if she wasn’t spouting disgusting rhetoric and wearing a repellent smile, she would actually be quite lovely.

“You know what, John? You’re right.”

At this, the recently deceased bastard finally relaxed…

“But I can’t let you pass on, just yet.”

…Only to tense up once more.

“Why the hell not?” he asked dully.

“Because, dear boy, I’ve already made the preparations! After going through all this effort, it would be a shame if it all went to waste. Besides,” she added, a demented grin forming on her lips, “the system was keyed to you the moment you arrived here. I can’t assign it to anyone else now. It has to be you.”

John gaped at the woman whom he now saw as the manifestation of Satan. This bitch was insane!

“And if I refuse to use it?”

The grin grew wider.

“Oh, you won’t have a choice. I’ll make sure of that.”

Before he could say anything else, a circle of light suddenly appeared under his feet. It then launched tendrils that wrapped around his form, tightly binding his arms and legs.

“It’s also quite too late, Johnny boy. Your destination is set, where lots of adventures await you. Be sure to have fun, okay? Toodles!”

Unable to move, John Sinclair, decorated veteran and newest victim of cosmic shenanigans, disappeared into motes of light.

Levania, the Deviant Goddess of Neckbeard Perverts, Writers of Detestable Smut Fanfictions, and Closet Incels could only laugh at this absurd turn of events. To actually meet a transmigration prospect who wasn’t a complete piece of shit. What a novelty, indeed.

Chapter 1 - Meeting Daenerys Targaryen

John Sinclair hasn’t had the best life, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Raised by a single mother who escaped an abusive husband, he had a front row seat to a woman who did her best to provide a good life for her child. She wasn’t always successful, though a lot of that could be laid at his feet.

Growing up, John had all the hallmarks of a troubled boy. Acting out, getting involved with the wrong crowd, and absolutely bombing out of school. By the time he woke up and realized how much he was hurting himself and his mom, it was too late. 

So, he did the only thing that occurred to him: Join the Marines.

Everything he earned was sent to his mother. A pittance compared to all she sacrificed in raising him. After two tours, he applied for the Delta Force. It wasn’t easy, but he got in. By the time he was 25, John had racked up quite a number of deployments… and body count.

During that time, he was able to secure a few things for his mother. A house, a retirement fund, an investment portfolio (courtesy of a buddy who knew a guy who also knew another guy), and a hefty insurance package. She was set, and so, it was finally time for him to retire.

John enjoyed solitude. He found peace in the quiet of the woods where he built his cabin. 

So, one could understand his frustration at dying while taking a nap under the shade of a tree just outside his house. Years spent fighting against insurgents, mercenaries, and drug cartels without so much as a scratch. And he gets offed while getting some shuteye?

Then, to make an already egregious shit sandwich worse, he gets a face-to-face with the literal fucking Devil. John didn’t care what she called herself. Only the embodiment of all the world’s sins would put him in this predicament.

What predicament, you ask?

Suddenly finding himself in a big fuckoff room covered in a shit ton of gold, including the floor, walls, and ceiling. Oh, and there was currently an assload of pointy things being waved menacingly in his direction.

Well, ‘wave’ might be exaggerating it a bit. These weirdos in medieval-looking getups were actually holding those spears quite steadily. No shaking at all. John would be impressed if an older gentleman weren’t also threatening him with a sword.

All in all, not the best start to whatever the fuck this is.

Now, it should be said that John is a soldier. He wasn’t a stranger to danger. As such, he knew exactly what to do in this situation. Heroically thrusting both hands into the air, he looked his would-be assailant dead in the eye and declared to all the world his unshakable intentions.

“I surrender!”

To John’s credit, his voice wasn’t nearly as squeaky as it should have been. He still sounded like a little bitch, though.

“I’m not looking for trouble! I don’t know where I am, how I got here, who you people are, or whatever the hell this is. But I don’t want any part of it, and I would really appreciate you just letting me go.”

Suffice it to say, his fearless proclamation was met with confusion and skepticism. Then a voice responded from an elevated position, delivering words with the weight and authority of a queen. 

“Do you truly expect us to believe that you are here by mistake?”

John shifted his eyes toward what looked like a raised dais preceded by an almost unconscionable number of stairs. There, a vision of beauty sat on an elegant throne, poise and regal grace practically oozing from her pale skin. Silver hair cascaded down her back and framed a dainty face with full, pouty lips and the most hauntingly beautiful purple eyes.

Such a countenance would have reduced any man to a puddle, his mind a haze of lust and desire, his loins stirring at imagined visions of conquering such a marvel shaped by the gods. Indeed, many have already been tempted by such a delightful source of delectable and desirous desideratum*.

Following several moments of considering what was in front of him, John Sinclair replied in the only way he knew how.

“Excuse me, miss, but you really shouldn’t be here. Please vacate the premises and find your parents so they can get you to safety.”

The thunderous silence should have been a sign that this was the wrong thing to say. So were the shrieking howls of outrage from gigantic throats somewhere distressingly close. 

* Another word for desirable, in case you didn’t know.

Chapter 2 - Meeting Saber

Immediately after the words came out of his mouth, John realized that he fucked up big time. The spear-wielding guards started marching toward him with malicious intent. The sword held at his throat was now practically kissing skin as its owner’s eyes became, dare he say it… flinty.

Worst of all, the pretty, pubescent girl he made the mistake of addressing was now looking downright pissed. Based on everyone’s reactions, she seemed to be someone important. And John had basically just pulled her hair.

He didn’t know which conversational landmine he stepped on, but he needed to defuse it fast.

“Okay, let’s everybody calm down for a moment. I don’t know what I said that’s got you all in a tizzy, but I’m sure we can talk this out.”

In response, his current assailant spoke in a rich, calm voice. “Your Grace, I request the privilege of taking this miscreant’s head.”

Drat, that escalated quickly. 

However, just as John was rummaging in his memory banks about possible ways to reverse the current course of events, something else happened. Something that will make his situation much worse.

A glowing circle suddenly appeared behind him, covered in scripts and runes that were utterly foreign to this world. The flash of light that followed would have spelt John’s untimely second demise if it weren’t for another sword intercepting the one heading right for his throat. His own honed combat IQ quickly put together what happened.

Old sword guy had already made up his mind to kill John for whatever perceived insult he had unintentionally levied. The flash of light gave him the excuse to do so since his first priority would have been to get rid of known threats to his charge before dealing with unknown ones. Whoever came to John’s defense foiled his plans, and now shit was about to hit the fan.

Judging by the whirlwind of ass-kicking that followed, that last part was an understatement.

In a single heartbeat, anyone holding a weapon in the room was twitching and groaning on the floor, except for his savior. Speaking of whom, the figure had appeared in front of him after delivering said ass-kicking to give what had to be the cheesiest ‘reporting for duty’ line ever devised.

“Servant Saber answers your summoning. I ask of you, are you my Master?”

John didn’t know how he knew, but there were definitely some capitalizations in that statement that needed more context. Unfortunately, he was prevented from responding once more, courtesy of a gilded wall exploding inward. Through the hole, a massive head poked through. 

It was reptilian, black of scales, and mean of countenance. In layman’s terms, it looked pants-shittingly scary.

As quickly as it appeared, the titanic lizard head was forced out by a blow that made the hole even bigger. The resulting dust blanketed the chamber, eliciting coughing fits from its still-conscious occupants.

Contrary to everyone else who was busy being on varying stages of losing their shit, John was rooted to the same spot as he arrived. Too many strange developments happening in quick succession seem to have caused his brain to shut down. At least, this was the case before the little lady with silver hair climbed down from her throne, grabbed a discarded spear, and pointed it right in his face.

“Who are you?!” she demanded. “Why have you come? Are you in league with the Warlocks of Qarth?”

“The who of the what?” 

Evidently, John’s brain is still in the process of rebooting.

“The Warlocks!” the increasingly agitated girl screamed. “From the House of the Undying! Are you in league with them? Have you come to take my life?”

Okay, that’s it. John has had a lot of curveballs thrown his way today, but the child-killer accusation was going too far.

“I have never heard of whoever that is,” he said with forced patience. “I don’t know who you are, either. In fact, I don’t even know where I am! And was that a fucking dragon?!”

Three distinct shrieks rang out one after the other.

“Scratch that. Are those fucking dragons?!”

Confusion marred her fair countenance at his (justifiably) panicked questions. 

“Of course, they are. Those are my children, your brute is fighting.”

Mother of God, will this day’s surprises never end? There could have been any number of things that should have caught John’s attention in that explanation. But for some reason, the one that did also caused him to blurt out the stupidest thing to ever come out of his mouth, bar none.

“You laid dragon eggs?”

Chapter 3 - Meeting the Dragons

John Sinclair had been on the receiving end of a wide range of reactions over the years. From incredulous to pitying, and angry to baffled. The look on the silver-haired girl’s face after the ill-thought-out query escaped his lips was downright fascinating.

Shock, indignation, bewilderment, some amount of compassion (perhaps she thought he was two fries short of a Happy Meal?), and disgust all mingled together on her lovely face. 

“I most certainly did not! For you to even – how dare – that’s not what I –” 

She was sputtering. John had never seen anyone sputter before. It would have been funny if everything around him wasn’t going to hell in a handbasket. But it was, and he can’t ignore the world just because he wanted to keep watching the midget continue to try and fail to form a coherent sentence.

Okay, maybe just a few more seconds…

Aaaaand he’s done.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said, finally interrupting the hilarious would-be tirade that kept starting and failing. “Just forget about it, for now. It was a stupid question, anyway. Can you call off your overgrown iguanas?”

The girl was agog at his flawless de-escalation skills.

“Iguanas?”

Oh, for the love of…!

“The fire-breathing lizards, lady! Keep up! How can we stop them?”

“Why would I wish to stop them?” she demanded, gripping the spear shaft tightly. “If anything, you should call off your brute and end this senseless destruction.”

Right on cue, the sounds of crumbling structures, panicked screams, and explosions that were giving John flashbacks finally made it through the haze of his mind. Dammit, she’s right! He may not have a complete grasp of the situation, but that’s always how it’s been in firefights. 

Three months after retirement, and you forget your training. Get it together, Sinclair! A voice that sounded suspiciously like his drill sergeant yelled in his mind.

“How about this? You call off your dragons and I’ll pull back my, um –” (crap, what was it she called herself? Right, Servant) “– I’ll pull back my servant and we can all have a calm discussion?”

The brat seemed tempted to just skewer John with her spear, but he wasn’t the only one who saw the guards getting tossed around. After a few moments of hesitation, she nodded in agreement and the displaced veteran exhaled in relief.

Still, he didn’t trust her enough to expose his back while in easy poking reach, so he scuttled sideways like a particularly gangly crab until he reached the wall breach. Looking out, he saw smoke, fire, and widespread devastation across what appeared to be a city with distinctive architecture. 

Where the hell am I? This place reminds me of Morocco… or Split, Croatia.

Why those two places? The first was part of a deployment where John hooked up with a blonde chick. She had green eyes, golden hair, and a juicy pair of bazongas. Too bad she was a psycho. As for the latter, it was part of his vacation between deployments. There, he met a gorgeous British girl with the most animated pair of eyebrows and the personality of a Golden Retriever.

Her name was Amy something or other. Too bad he eventually had to leave. That one was fantastic in bed.

What was he thinking about again? Ah, yes, the place that’s currently getting demolished. Unfortunately, all he could see were the dragons breathing fire seemingly at random and quick blurs of movement that were bouncing all over. 

In lieu of proper comms equipment, John cupped his hands around his mouth and started yelling.

“Hey, Servant lady! Come back here, a sec, I gotta talk to you!”

Honestly, the shouting was a shot in the dark. John didn’t actually expect her to hear him, what with all the noise and him being so far away. But as soon as he was done, she was there again, along with a burst of wind.

“Yes, Master?” she asked, looking a bit banged up and dirty, but otherwise unfazed. 

Yeah, no. She wasn’t calling him that if he had anything to say about it. But that was for later. Instead, he grabbed her shoulders over what looked like someone’s fantasy idea of pauldrons, eliciting a confused frown on the mystery girl’s face.

John then turned to the other petite blonde (technically, platinum blonde, but do you really care about that?) who was approaching them, spear still in hand, and gave her an irreverent grin.

“I got the brute. Now you tell your lizards to heel.”

If the new girl’s eye twitched at his declaration, he never noticed.

Chapter 4 - Meeting the Dragon Queen’s Court

It took some doing, along with a few arguments and threats thrown his way, but John eventually found himself in a smaller room along with a few others. Seated on an impractically opulent wooden chair, he was able to have a better look at the folks he would be dealing with. 

Besides Miss Petite Princess or whatever she was, there was another little girl in the room. Darker in complexion, with a round face and eyes like molten gold, she looked about ten years old. The other two were the old guy who pointed a sword at John and some dude wearing the same outfit as the guards. Both looked mucho dangerous, if their postures are anything to go by.

Some ridiculous-looking douche (blue hair and beard) also wanted in on the action, but the waif of a teen told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. Well, she said it in a more polite way, but the sentiment was the same.

The only one on John’s side of the polished, wooden table was the girl who brought the smackdown on everybody, including three fire-breathing dragons. As far as firepower goes, John thinks he’s got the upper hand.

On the way to their current location, he finally got a good look at her. Just a little over five feet in height for sure. Blonde hair arranged in some kind of intricate braids. She was also wearing what looked like a perplexing mix of dress and armor. 

Like, why would anyone do that? It’s either one or the other!

With that said, she definitely carried herself well. Straight-backed, smooth strides, and a face that seemed to have been carved from marble. Perfectly straight and blank.

Armor girl was standing behind him and to his right, staring dispassionately at the room’s other occupants. The thing that ticked John’s brain, though, was the absence of her sword. He could have sworn she had one. Did she stick it up her ass or something?

“Are we to sit in silence all day, or can we begin this discussion?”

The question finally brought John’s attention back to the present. Right, they were here to settle their problems with words instead of bashing each other’s brains in.

Coughing into his fist, John said, “Yeah, talk. We gotta talk about something. That’s, uh, what we gotta talk about.”

Nailed it.

Those on the other side of the table didn’t seem to agree with him.

“Yes,” silver hair said slowly, “we are indeed here to, as you say, ‘talk’. However, it might be best to specify what we are here to talk about. Perhaps starting with your name and purpose here?”

John didn’t have a problem with that.

“Sure. Name’s John Sinclair, former 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta of the United States of America. Pleased to meet you. As for why I’m here? You can blame a demented goddess for sending me to wherever this is. I didn’t even want to be here.”

He was telling the truth here, as much as he could say, anyway. Opsec still applies, even for retired operators. So, why did his hosts look like they didn’t understand a word he said?

“A former what?” Old guy asked, speaking up for the first time instead of just trying to murder John with his eyes.

“Delta Force,” he replied bluntly, though at the unvarnished look of confusion, John elaborated. “SpecOps? Counter-Terrorism response units? Soldier?”

At that last one, understanding finally dawned. Hallelujah! 

“So, you’re a soldier?” Silver hair asked again.

“That’s what I said. Now, it’s your turn to introduce yourself. I can’t keep calling you princess or midget in my head the whole time.”

From the way her lips pursed, John had apparently caused offense again. But, at this point, he doesn’t give a shit anymore. Fortunately for everyone, she decided not to make trouble and just sat back in her chair.

John waited for her to tell him her name, but she never did. Instead, little girl number two did it for her.

“You are speaking to Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.”

…

…

…

What the fuck? Who introduces themselves like that? Wait, no, who gets someone else to introduce them like that? What exactly was he dealing with here?

Before John could say something that would have undoubtedly gotten him in even more trouble, someone else decided to stir the pot, for a change.

“Those are lofty titles,” the blonde behind him said, “ones that imply a heavy burden. Or,” she paused, voice growing frigid, “an appeal to one’s vanity and unearned pride.”

Judging by the way everyone bristled, she had touched a nerve. John sighed as he started seeing a pattern forming.

Chapter 5 - Meeting Between Equals

When it rains, it really does flood. Or is it ‘pours’? John feels he might’ve confused that idiom, but it doesn’t currently matter. Not when he’s in the middle of yet another potential fight because somebody insulted somebody else.

The fact that it wasn’t him causing offense this time didn’t give him much comfort. Not when the culprit was nominally tied to him and the offended party was apparently a queen of some kind.

Are queens supposed to start this you–

Nope! Not the time. Kind of a crisis moment. Examining royal practices and norms can wait until no one is at risk of getting skewered.

“Let’s keep a cool head, everyone,” John interjected hastily, making sure to project his voice loud enough to be heard but not so loud that it came across as aggressive. “My friend’s probably still coming down from combat high.” He gave sword girl a meaningful look at that last part.

“We just came from an entirely avoidable scuffle,” he continued. “I’m not really keen on starting another. Are you?”

Judging from the wary looks that warred with indignation among their host, it would appear that they were in agreement. John’s so-called Servant, however, seemed ready to either eviscerate her enemies or sit down for tea. Shorty’s got that Resting Blank Face™ locked down tight!

Speaking of whom…

“Hey, uh, blondie,” John said, catching said blonde’s attention. “What’d you say your name was again?”

Did her brow just twitch?

“As you may recall, upon my summoning,” she began frostily, “I am Servant Saber, Master.”

Ignoring the baffling annoyance coming off of the now-named Saber for a moment, John asked, “Yeah, I have a few questions about that. What do you mean by summoning? What’s with the whole Master thing? And where’d your sword go?”

At this, Saber gave John a look most would reserve for a particularly slow toddler.

“Those are questions best answered in private, Master.” Her eyes then briefly flicked to the room’s other occupants. Upon doing the same, John saw the keen interest in their faces.

Ah, right. He really should have thought of that. Discussing potentially confidential information in a room full of possible hostile elements would be pretty stupid. He must be more rattled from the day’s events than he first thought if obvious things like this were slipping his mind.

Clearing his throat, John decided to move things along.

“Well, with her, uh, her majesty introduced, what do I call the rest of you?”

For a beat, John thought that they might not answer. But he needn’t have worried.

“Ser Barristan of House Selmy,” the armored LARPer eventually proclaimed. “First of her Grace’s Queensguard and Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“I am Missandei of Nath, aide to Her Grace, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen,” said the littlest girl in the room.

“Grey Worm,” grunted the guard person.

John had to blink at the last speaker. A man of few words, eh? Then again, he might still be holding a grudge. The bruises and scratches remained visible on him and the old guy (or Barristan, as he is now named). With that being the case, John decided that it might be best to cut back on the sass as much as possible.

“Thanks for the introductions,” John offered. “I get that we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, but I’m hoping we can fix that.”

Pausing to see the reception of his words, John felt relieved to see some softening of severe expressions. 

“Now, I’m gonna be honest. This is my first time meeting a Queen.” 

If John expected anyone to be surprised by this revelation, he would’ve been disappointed. Everyone in the room wore various expressions of ‘no shit!’, including Saber. 

“I also never made a habit of mixing with, um, high society types if I could help it. So, I’m asking you to meet me halfway.” This was the part that John couldn’t afford to mess up. More than anything, he needed time to think, to learn, and to plan. “I’ll try not to say or do anything that’ll set you off. At least, not intentionally. If I mess up, I’d at least appreciate a heads-up before you bring out the pitchforks and torches. Sound good?”

John wasn’t dense enough to miss the consternation building in his counterparts’ faces as he talked. It was clear that they were used to having more control over discussions of any kind. Queens with three flying engines of destruction and an army wouldn’t have allowed anyone to dictate the pace of conversations, especially one this sensitive.

But John had a few advantages that allowed him to do so. At least, for now.

Chief among them was Saber. She was clearly beyond whatever conventional forces might exist here. Heck, she contended with three fire-breathing lizards and came out of it without a scratch.

His second advantage was how alien he probably was to these people. Unknowns tend to make folks wary, and poking them with a stick is a good way to lose an arm, at best.

The last advantage that John had, ironically, was his willingness to de-escalate. He could have easily pressed his advantage back in the throne room. Saber had already taken out all the threats and kept the dragons busy. At that point, taking the queen hostage would’ve been easy. 

He knew it, and they knew it.

Without Saber on his side, John had no trouble imagining he’d be in a dungeon, by now. But she was. Though the reason for her presence was yet another can of worms he’ll have to deal with eventually.

Still, it was clear that, however these types of arrangements went in the past, his hosts couldn’t simply disregard his words without the risk of escalating violence.

“If you will,” Daenerys finally said after a few seconds’ consideration, “I require some clarifications before agreeing.”

Not surprising.

“Shoot.” 

Quirking a brow at John’s reply, the girl queen seemed to understand the acquiescence, nevertheless.

“Though you speak the Common Tongue, there is much room for misunderstandings between us,” she said. “For us to truly avoid preventable mishaps, I would have you explain your presence in Mereen.” Then she added, “Beyond the barebones allusion to a goddess, if you please.”

“Well, I could do that,” John conceded. “But it really is exactly as I said. I died, but instead of passing on to the afterlife, this weirdo claiming to be some divine figure decided to send me here. Said something about giving me some sort of system involving women, if you can believe it.”

Silence.

“What?”

It was the bronze-skinned girl who asked, looking like I just smacked her with a pan.

“Exactly,” John pointed at her, “that’s exactly how I reacted the first time. It’s pretty messed up, to be honest. I mean, I wasn’t the most religious guy growing up, but how does someone like that even exist? What’s the point?”

“Please!” the young queen yelped. “Please, explain properly. You only confuse the matter further by rambling!”

John paused for a moment, realized that he was making more of a mess of things, and then just decided to narrate the entire scene of him meeting the goddess from start to finish. From the way brows furrowed in some places, he still wasn’t doing a good job of conveying the information. But by the end, they eventually got what he was trying to say.

He knew this because the four looked like they just lost the will to live. Whether that’s due to the content of his narration or because they think he was insane, was unclear.

Worth noting was Saber looking positively unruffled by the revelations John just dropped on the group. Either she’s really good at keeping a straight face or she already knew the details behind her circumstances.

“For the sake of clarity,” Daenerys finally spoke up after, “you claim to have been brought here by a goddess who wished to shower you with women, all for the sake of entertainment?”

“Close enough,” John confirmed.

“And you denied such a boon in favor of passing on?” she pressed.

“Correct!”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Is that not the desire of all men?”

“Not me. Sounds like a hassle.”

“If I may, Your Grace,” the old-timer cut in and addressed John after a nod from his queen, “I assume that your current companion is a result of this supposed gift from the goddess?”

John turned to Saber for confirmation, both because he wasn’t completely sure himself and to find out how aware she was of what was going on. From the glare she was sending his way, it didn’t seem like she wanted to answer the question. Joke’s on her. John could imitate the stare of a dead fish for as long as he wanted to. Eventually, she sighed and spoke a single, grudging word.

“Yes.”

Even knowing about compartmentalization and the typical spook-speak associated with guarding information, John wasn’t really sure why Saber was so reticent to answer. Where else would she have come from?

“I see,” the bearded dude hummed. “Given the way this system is supposed to work, may we assume that more ladies of the same calibre will be coming?”

Damn, that was a good question. That weirdo did say that he could “summon a ton of sexy girls,” though, looking at Saber, John was rather doubtful about that. She was pretty enough, sure, but sexy? Anybody drooling over the shorty needs a “To Catch a Predator” treatment.

“Maybe?” John hedged. “I don’t really know how it works, either.”

At this point, the knight, the queen, the girl, and the guard regarded John with calculation in their eyes. Crap. He knew that look. He’d seen it on the faces of COs right before sending them behind enemy lines to get shot at, and retrieve inconvenient packages: i.e. targets needing bags over their heads.

“Regardless of the circumstances behind your arrival,” the queen spoke, having regained her former poise, “it is a fact that you are now here. So, I ask you, John Sinclair. What are your intentions going forward?”

Talk about pouncing on a juicy opportunity. For all that he acted like a meathead, John was still a trained operator. He knew when someone was working an angle. And the little girl was definitely doing that.

On the other hand, it’s not like he had a lot of options, either. 

He’d long since assessed his situation in the back of his mind, and his prospects weren’t looking good. Stuck in an entirely unknown location with absolutely no intel, no equipment, no logistical support, and no backup except for a girl who looked like she should still be in high school? Yeah, shit was FUBAR.

As was becoming his lot in life of late, though, John wasn’t given the chance to answer. Though thankfully, it was due to a development entirely unrelated to his actions.

Someone started banging on the heavy, wooden door in a frantic staccato. With the guy in leather being closest, he opened it after a quick glance at his queen. He was met by another man in the same armor, speaking rapidly in a language John didn’t understand. Going by the expressions of alarm spreading through the room’s occupants, they did. 

The petite ruler barked some instructions at the door, which resulted in a flurry of activity and the stampeding of leather boots in the halls beyond.

John kept his cool throughout the kerfuffle. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to things going sideways, and he could recognize when people in charge were responding to unexpected events in a timely manner.

When the hubbub started dying down and the queen remained seated, John took this chance to ask.

“I take it there’s a problem?”

Intense purple eyes pinned him with a baleful glare. “There is rioting in the city.”

Oh.

“Scout reports also mention an army marching in our direction. They will arrive in a matter of days.”

Oh!

“Several of my Unsullied have been found murdered.”

OH!

“And there have been calls for your head and that of your Servant.”

Okay, maybe not entirely unrelated to his actions, then.

Chapter 6 - Meeting an Army

John Sinclair had to deliberately review the series of events that led him to standing on a high wall, overlooking a barren landscape, with a fuck-off huge army camped in front of it. He had to make sure that everything really happened as it did, and that he didn’t hallucinate anything.

Something that he was increasingly finding himself wishing for and was repeatedly denied.

Right after the queen dropped several bombs that included calls for his and Saber’s heads, the pair of them were quickly sequestered in shockingly opulent rooms. His blonde defender then shared everything he needed to know about her nature, though, not before berating him for several opsec missteps.

In John’s defense, he couldn’t pass up the chance to build some form of cooperation from the only faction with whom he had already established dialogue. 

He was definitely taking a risk, but this was one of those times when choosing the best from a bad list of options left everyone unsatisfied. Either he made concessions that ultimately don’t mean much in the grand scheme of things, or he could keep his secrets and cause further offense to what seemed to be a fairly powerful group.

Even Saber had to agree with his thought process after he finally got the chance to explain. John had to admit, though. The little girl could be really intimidating, even without her sword. She didn’t even raise her voice, and he still almost pissed himself.

It’s been two days since then, and neither of the two was allowed out of their rooms, except to meet up in one of them. Ostensibly, this was to prevent further incidents that their presence could set off, while the queen and her people cleaned up the mess.

John would have really liked to have access to a Servant’s ability to dematerialize. Unfortunately, as Saber explained, she didn’t have it due to some convoluted reason that frankly escaped the ex-SpecOp’s comprehension. 

Something about roots, causality, and alternate planes of existence? What?

In any case, despite the isolation and the alien circumstances, John was still a trained operator. Even casual observation was enough to conclude that everyone in the city was on edge. He did catch snippets of conversations from time to time, but the language was incomprehensible. So, that was a bust.

The day before, the old man calling himself Barristan dropped by to give them some updates on what was going on. First, the riots have been somewhat quelled. Second, the murders were apparently committed by dissidents (though he didn’t give specifics). And third, they were about to get buttfucked by an invading force.

Which is why, this morning, the queen summoned John and Saber to view the spectacle of several thousand mercenaries stirring up clouds of dust in preparation for their march. Apparently, the prospect of having the city sacked was a big enough distraction that he could show his face without inciting violence among the populace.

Queen Daenerys stood in a revealing dress nearby, posture straight and gaze dispassionate. Beside her was her aide, Missandei, and several of her guards, whom she called the Unsullied. 

John had never been one for medieval reenactments. He didn’t attend Renaissance festivals, watch historical or fantasy movies, or have any interest in historical events that weren’t part of the recommended study materials for school and training. 

Heck, he even managed to avoid learning anything about the show called Game of Thrones, which should’ve impossible if only through the power of osmosis!

So, he couldn’t really say one way or another if what he was looking at was good, bad, or a step above LARPing. What he did know was that there were a lot more soldiers down there than there were in the city. 

With that said…

“Can’t you just roast them with your dragons?” The honest, if ill-thought-out, question burst forth from John’s orifice, causing the young queen to give him a blistering glare.

“What?”

“You would send Her Grace against this gathering of mongrel dogs?” The quiet rumble of Barristan’s voice belied the building fury in his chest.

“I’m guessing that’s a bad idea?”

“It certainly would be,” Silver-hair answered. “My children are too young, too untrained, and too vulnerable to face such a large force. They need only succeed once to bring low one of my dragons, particularly as they have yet to fully grow.”

That got John blinking in confusion. He then directed an inquiring look at Saber, who had a better idea of the dragons’ capabilities, having taken them on herself.

“She is correct, Master. They would not be reliable weapons in this battle. I had numerous opportunities to slay the drakes in our brief scuffle. The conclusion was only delayed by my efforts to defeat them while also sparing their lives. Even then, I was close to succeeding when you called for my return.”

The whole spiel was delivered with a dull, matter-of-fact tone, with a hint of annoyance by the end. She, uh, she’s really annoyed that John got in the way, huh? On that note, had to ask.

“Why’d you do that, again?”

Sharp, blue eyes then pinned him where he stood. “For the same reason I spared the men in the throne room.”

Ah.

“You caught my children by surprise, my lady,” the frosty voice of the other petite blonde in the gathering cut through the tense atmosphere. “Were I you, I would not be so certain of victory, had it gone on for much longer.”

“A daring declaration,” Saber retorted. “Yet, I’ve carved through waves of Phantasmal Beasts much larger and significantly more dangerous than your wyrmlings.”

“Oh? Quite the bold claim. You wouldn’t be interested in proving your mettle, would you?”

Saber scoffed derisively. “I’m no fresh-faced youth to be goaded with pricks to my pride.”

“What would be there to prick when you’ve clearly no pride to poke?”

The whole time they were exchanging catty remarks, John swung his head from one side to the other, internally wondering what was going on. A glance at the so-called Queensguard revealed wide, disbelieving eyes on an aged face. The rest of the queen’s close circle wore similar expressions.

Right. So, this wasn’t normal, then. Time to intervene, and maybe gain some brownie points.

Clapping his hands once, John declared in a voice loud enough to be heard without shouting, “Oookay, let’s stop before you two end up mud wrestling, shall we?”

“Mud what?”

“I would never!”

“Great!” John said in fake cheer. “Now, Saber, I’m guessing you can demolish those guys down there on your lonesome?” 

The change in topic took the wind out of both girls and their swelling bags of feminine rage. 

“With ease,” she confirmed without preamble.

“Awesome! You wouldn’t mind if we took care of this, right, your – uh – grace?” John asked, completely running over all of the subtext and nuance floating in the air that typically came with political machinations. 

Daenerys then regarded John with a look of exasperation, likely having figured out what he was going for. 

“Do as you will,” she said, acting as if she were bestowing him with the highest of honors.

“Right-o!” John projected enthusiasm before pointing down at the gathered army. “Saber! Go kick their assess!”

A deep sigh and a quietly muttered, “Yes, master,” was heard before the diminutive blonde launched herself off the wall, sword in hand, and crashed in the middle of the gigantic merc formation.

What followed was a slaughter of epic proportions.

Chapter 7 - Meeting a Murder Blender

John was no stranger to death on the battlefield. He’d seen soldiers get shot, blown up, run over, thrown off high places, strangled, stabbed, and so much more. It just came with the job.

What he has never in his life borne witness to, however, is an honest-to-God murder blender.

Saber was, in effect, a blue and red blur sweeping through a huge formation of dudes with medieval gear, and making mincemeat of them, one chunk at a time. The blue was her battledress. The red was… well, take a guess. 

Standing on top of the high, stone wall, John had a pretty clear view of everything that was happening.

And he wished he didn’t.

On an intellectual level, he knew full well that wars fought by hacking at each other with sharp implements were going to be a messy affair. Even in the modern era, where killing is done over long distances, it wasn’t completely clean. 

Blood, muck, sweat, and viscera would still be involved.

But this? There wasn’t an expletive in the world foul enough to describe it.

The worst part was the smell being blown by the gales Saber’s every movement generated. It even reached their position, as high as the wall was. John and the others who knew the realities of war were fine, but the queen and her aide?

Off to the side, throwing their guts out.

At least she got what she wanted. Girl’s got balls of brass goading Saber like that, knowing what she knew.

Then again, she probably didn’t have a good appreciation of just what the Servant was capable of. Even when she explained her abilities to him, John could never have imagined what he was seeing.

Naturally (or was it Unnaturally?), it didn’t take long for the invading army to realize just how far up shit creek they were.

The girl was simply untouchable. In those few moments that John saw her get hit, the attacks just bounced right off. More often than not, she was like the wind, tearing through stacks of straw.

So, they started scattering and running for their lives. When most of them had already scrambled away from her, Saber stood in place, watching them go.

Master.

A manly shriek escaped John’s mouth at hearing Saber’s voice in his head.

“What the fuck?! How’re you doing that?” His screech drew curious looks from those around him.

I’m quite sure that I explained our mental connection, Master, she sighed.

Oh, right. That was a thing, wasn’t it?

Yep! I definitely remember that. Thanks for reminding me, though.

Another mental sigh clued John in that she didn’t buy a word he said (thought?).

So, whatchu need? Oh, and congrats, by the way! You really, uh, showed them what’s what. 

Your praise is unneeded. What should I do about the fleeing mercenaries? Honor dictates not striking those who have lost the will to fight. Would you have me pursue them?

Crap. John wasn’t ready to make decisions like that. He was a grunt. Always had been. So, he turned to the folks who had actual stakes in this kerfuffle. 

“Saber’s asking if she should give the escaping mercs another beating,” He told Barristan, since the queen was preoccupied. 

Instead of answering, he approached the little monarch who was starting to stink up the place.

“Your Grace,” the old knight addressed her. “The lady Saber asks your leave to pursue the retreating soldiers.”

Now, hold on! That is so not what she said. And it sure as fuck wasn’t what John passed on. The wrinkled asshole wasn’t even trying to be subtle!

Apparently, the break in the slaughter and being prompted to give royal orders was enough for the teenybopper to get ahold of herself. 

“Tell her –” Burp! “– tell her to let them run. Word will spread of the carn –” Gurgle! “– of the carnage wrought this day. None will challenge our might when –” Gag! “– when they hear of what comes from inviting our wrath!”

Would somebody, for the love of God, give her some damn water! Oh, there we go. Good job, Missandei!

After two gulps, she was finally able to stand up straight, her face calm and controlled, before John in the eye.

“Lord John, you and Lady Saber have done me a good service,” she proclaimed to everyone listening. “You have done the city of Mereen, and all of its people, a good service. For this, you will be justly rewarded.”

A tumultuous applause resounded after her declaration, with indecipherable shouts and calls from the gathered citizens.

Huh. So that’s their plan. 

It is a clever ruse, Saber commented through their link. One that solves many problems.

Uh-huh, was John’s dry rejoinder. It also ties us to them and their cause. Any spy watching in the crowd would’ve heard every word.

Was this not your intention with your measured indiscretion? She asked, before leaping up and landing lightly on the wall, ignoring the gasps of surprise from those nearby.

Sure, John confirmed, looking the girl over for any injuries, and found none. But I would’ve liked some flexibility. Her tiny majesty just closed down a lot of our options!

It’s worth noting that the whole time they were mentally conversing, John smiled and waved in apparent appreciation for the bestowed honors. Contradicting Daenerys in any way now would just be asking for trouble. Doesn’t mean he couldn’t express his displeasure at some point, though.

Which is why he waited until after returning to the bowels of the impractically large pyramid that the queen called home, a process that was interrupted by gladhanding with faceless, nameless figures of status. Once safely ensconced in the privacy of the same chamber that they met in three days ago, the mood shifted from celebratory to freezing cold.

Sitting on opposite sides of the table – again – John and Daenerys regarded each other with blank faces. 

“You couldn’t have given us a heads-up?” John started, causing a frown of incomprehension to form on the girl’s face for a second, before clearing up in understanding.

“Had we given you a ‘heads-up’, as you put it, you would have exposed our hand.” The explanation was delivered with much aplomb and regal sniffing. Either that, or John was imposing his impressions of snooty behavior on the girl. 

He was pretty pissed, after all.

“And why is that?” he asked, trying valiantly to keep a lid on his temper.

“You yourself have confessed to having no experience in the Great Game,” she drawled. “You’ve no training, no education, and no years to practice such training and education. My own upbringing was incomplete, yet even to my insufficient eyes, you are as unguarded as a child.”

God damn, that was cold! Who the hell did this little squirt think she was?!

She is not wrong, Master.

Say, what? John barely managed to keep his head from snapping toward the pipsqueak standing behind him.

What the hell, Saber? I thought you were on my side!

I am, and part of my duty is delivering harsh truths. Your political acumen is, quite frankly, abysmal. Take, for example, your inability to control your emotions, thus cluing in the young queen and her entourage that we have some means of silent communication.

Oh, shit.

Seeing the shrewd eyes looking at him and Saber, John understood just how much he fucked up. To be fair, this was way out of his wheelhouse.

“Fine, whatever,” he huffed in irritation, honestly wishing that he was back in the deserts of Afghanistan, hunting for the Taliban. At least, he didn’t have to deal with this shit, even if sand did keep getting into uncomfortable places. “What’s next? Gonna teach me how to bow and scrape? Should I start talking like Shakespeare, too? Cause, I’m telling you, right now. I’m not about that ‘thou’ and ‘thy’ shit.”

A part of John did know how close to the edge he was pushing, but another part of him told that part to eat a bag of dicks. 

He was doing really well, if he did say so himself, considering everything he’s had to deal with. Compartmentalization was a wonderful thing. But, compartmentalization could only do so much. Seeing what Saber can do with his own eyes opened a lot of avenues for the pair.

If he doesn’t like the next words that come out of the royal twig’s mouth, John just might have to take drastic measures.

As it turns out, they were worse than he could have ever imagined.

“Tell me, Lord John. Have you ever been married?”

The girl’s smile would’ve been sweet if her eyes didn’t also promise pain.

As for John?

Saber! Exfil! Exfil! Get me the hell out of here!

Her response?

You’re being dramatic, Master.

Noooooooooooooo………..!

Chapter 8 - Meeting Messengers

It’s amazing how much could happen in just a few weeks. John became ennobled, or whatever passes for ennobling around here; he got a marriage proposal from an actual queen, and found out that his so-called Servant was a crossdressing King Arthur. 

And those were just the major ones!

Suddenly having servants (the normal kind) scurrying around, trying to cater to his every whim, was an absolute nightmare. Dudes in fancy dresses (and they are dresses) kept asking after him, and invitations to attend meetings to discuss matters of state became the norm.

John ducked all of those because fuck that noise!

He was a motherfucking soldier. A goddamn killing machine. He’d shot bad guys a mile downrange under heavy winds and left the area with none of his buddies even mentioning it. 

Shit, he fucked off to the middle of nowhere as soon as he was out of the force, just so he didn’t need to deal with people anymore. No way in hell he was schmoozing with pampered pricks who seemed to have showered in cologne. 

The first time he got close to one of them, the smell of flowers was strong enough to make his eyes water.

Not that his avoidance was missed or appreciated. While the invitations always said that they were optional, the wording progressively got more insistent every time he didn’t go. At least, that’s what Saber told him.

She’s the one who’s been reading them, not John.

He had more important things to do, such as sneaking out of his room through the balcony and climbing down via a makeshift rappel. He only ever did it at night, which made the whole thing much harder and easier at the same time.

Harder because he had to climb down by feel and memory. No one really appreciates how dark nights could get without modern lights shining over most corners. The absence of gear that he would typically use for things like this, like nightvision goggles, actual carabiners, or even gloves with strong grips, made it much more dangerous, too.

Easier because, well, these folks clearly don’t have experience dealing with his kind of warfare.

No one was looking up, everyone had the awareness of a foot, and blending in was as easy as dressing up like them. John didn’t talk, preferring to just walk among the crowd, and keeping an ear out for interesting conversation.

Plus, no surveillance cameras of any kind. Almost made the whole thing a cakewalk. 

Saber wanted to come, at first, but he told her in no uncertain terms that he’d be better off on his own. When she tried to push it, he had to lay out exactly what he used to do for a living, and asked if she received the same training.

It took some doing, but he finally convinced her that staying put while he skulked about was the best way for her to keep him safe.

As for why John was even doing this, the answer was simple.

He’d been on the back foot way too long since he got here. Being entirely dependent on his hosts for intel is just bad practice. 

So, he spent a lot of time strolling through the markets, the main squares, the ports, and the gates. All the while, he did everything he could to avoid notice, with the most effective method being to look, act, and smell like a bum.

It’s actually easier than it sounds. He’d done this before in Fallujah, Damascus, Sohar, and many places similar to this one, where guys like him were definitely not supposed to be. The stakes were even higher in those missions because, if caught, imprisonment was only if they were lucky – beheading, if they weren’t.

Here? A beating from the guards, getting spat or pissed on by drunks, or being shooed away by irritable merchants. That’s it.

All of which he was trained to ignore.

By doing this, John learned quite a few things of interest. For example, a place called Westeros was apparently experiencing a civil war, with multiple Kings vying for power. This only caught his attention due to various snippets of discussions in a language that he could actually understand. According to what he managed to gather over several days of snooping, Queen Daenerys is yet another of the claimants to the throne, and Meereen was just the latest addition to cities she’s already conquered.

The others being Yunkai and Astapor.

But this is only the start. John also gathered bits and pieces of the girl’s history. Her long, sordid history. Without getting into the whole thing, it’s enough to say that everyone involved would’ve been shot in the face if the events unfolded within rifle range.

So, John started feeling just a teensy bit guilty and decided to do her a solid. He started by tracking down the so-called Sons of the Harpy, who’ve been doing the whole insurgent thing.

Hideouts, names, connections, descriptions, and numbers – all collected, packaged, and ready for delivery.

Unfortunately, just as he was getting ready to speak with her highness, something else happened. Something directly related to what Saber did to the merc army, which meant that it was related to him.

Thus, John found himself standing in the throne room, sitting in a prominent position just below the queen. Saber stood behind him in her battle attire, sword on full display. 

Even after seeing it a few times already, Excalibur still made for a breathtaking sight. Which was the point, John supposed. It certainly made the new guests shoot it, and her, nervous glances. 

Apparently, these folks were sent by city-states that had beef with Daenerys. Even an idiot could’ve pinned them as the money-men who bankrolled the army of mercenaries Saber sent running.

They were announced upon entry, with accompanying titles, but John really couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck. If they were worth remembering, his supernatural partner would let him know. Some greetings were exchanged, which were probably laced with subtle threats and barbs, and then everyone got to the meat of the matter.

“So, good envoys,” Daenerys started. “I presume you are here to deliver additional treats? Ultimatums, perhaps? You were certainly explicit in your warnings during your previous visit.”

Oh, they did this song and dance before, did they? John’ll have to remember that.

“No, Dragon Queen,” one of the messengers, fat and sweaty, rumbled. “We are here to deliver terms so we may deal in harmony and peace.”

“As my humble companion says, dear queen,” another dude spoke up, this time thin and kinda sickly. “New Ghis wishes nothing more than to have good relations with the true ruler of Westeros.”

“In fact,” the last one added, and this time, John had a hard time looking away from all the makeup and the obnoxiously dyed hair, “we have come to offer our assistance in facilitating your crossing of the Narrow Sea toward the Sunset Lands. Five hundred ships, well-stocked and provisioned, ready to ferry you and yours to finally seize your stolen birthright.”

It’s worth noting that all three gave off the impression of sleazy salesmen. All smiles and flattery, while they’re trying to drain you of every last dime.

“Peace, harmony, and ships,” the tween monarch listed, raising a dainty eyebrow. “Generous terms, indeed.”

“We’ve also brought gifts,” the sweaty one declared, gesturing toward the half-nude pair of guys, who then stepped forward to drop a heavy-looking chest on the stone floor. Upon opening it, John’s eyes nearly popped out.

It was full of gold coins.

That’s a lotta dough! He mentally commented to Saber.

A small fortune, to be sure, she agreed. It shows their desperation to see her gone from their shores.

From the way Daenerys didn’t even blink, though, she wasn’t as impressed as John. “Quite the sum. Although it does make one wonder what brought on such acts of magnanimity. I confess to feeling surprised, given my treatment at your hands when I first claimed this city.”

Everyone felt the dripping sarcasm in those words, for sure. Then again, only a baby would fall for this obvious setup. Even if he didn’t know all of the details, the retired soldier figured out enough to know that they were dealing with a bunch of snakes.

Then again, what else could he expect from slavers?

Without missing a beat, the thin one (Khyros Paras, Saber provided) replied, “This is so, Queen Daenerys. Yet, as with the tides, views among the masters have changed.” His eyes flickered to John and Saber for a second. “It is their hope, as it is ours, that you would not wish to continue residing here in Meereen longer than is necessary. Particularly given your good fortune to have such –” This time, the eye-flick lasted longer and was definitely more deliberate. “– capable additions to your court.”

Fuckity fucking fuck! This is exactly what John was worried about. He’d bet his left nut that everyone would’ve heard about him being cozy to the queen now. Even in this backwards shithole of a continent, rumors still travel fast.

“I see,” Daenerys hummed. She began tapping on the armrest of her throne, seemingly lost in thought. To be fair, so was John, though his reason couldn’t be more opposite to hers. The dwindling opportunities to find a way out of this mess have basically confirmed his fears. Options started flashing in his head – starting his own faction, fucking off into the desert, stealing a ship, finding someone else to hitch his wagon to, and ever more ridiculous scenarios – but none of them were viable, given the circumstances.

John was so lost in his own thoughts that Saber had to nudge him via their link to bring him out of his stupor. Luckily, he’d gotten enough of his bearings over the last few weeks that some of his previous training started to kick in. One of which was how to bullshit with the best of them.

Eyeing the gathered envoys more deliberately, he steepled his fingers together to appear more thoughtful. At the same time, he frantically asked Saber for help.

The queen asked for your opinion on their offer, she sent through. I do believe this is yet another means of drawing you closer to her side. Or, at least, make it appear as such.

Shit. Fuck. Shit-fuck. 

In an attempt to buy more time rather than out of any genuine concern, he asked, “What would happen to Meereen?”

This caused a rather contagious outbreak of the blinks. As in, the messengers and their entourage started blinking in confusion.

“Why,” Khyros began, being the first to recover, “it would be returned to its rightful masters, of course.”

His response caused something to twig in John’s brain.

“Elaborate.”

“Meereen belongs to the Great Masters,” the prick wearing clown make-up explained slowly, as if he were talking to a child, or an idiot. “Once Queen Daenerys has departed, it will be returned to its rightful and benevolent rulers.”

That’s when it finally clicked. 

See, John’s seen a lot of fucked up shit during his tour of duty. Bad things happened to good people, all the time. He didn’t do anything to stop them for a lot of reasons: maintaining their cover, following orders, politics, ignoring smaller human rights violations to prevent bigger human rights violations, and many more.

But, he wasn’t working for the US government anymore. Hell, he wasn’t even on Earth, apparently.

And looking back to the past few days he spent walking around the city, watching the people, and trying to get a sense of their lives – the idea that they’d be put back in chains if Daenerys just up and left… well, it sent his blood boiling.

Don’t get him wrong. John knew that there were some things he couldn’t fix, even with an entire army at his back. Slavery took centuries to eradicate back home, and it still persists in the form of human trafficking.

This wasn’t his home. These weren’t his people. But can he really just walk away knowing what’ll happen to them if he did?

John turned to Daenerys and saw her waiting patiently for his answer. In those beautiful amethyst eyes was a lot of hope. Behind the manipulations and the bravado was the heart of someone who dearly wished to do the right thing.

Saber?

I’m with you, Master.

Well, that settles that.

John turned back to the trio of cunts. He made sure to take in their cunty smiles, their cunty clothes, and their cunty views that ran in direct violation of everyone’s right to Life, Liberty, and The Pursuit of Happiness.

A smile formed on his lips. The brightest, cheeriest, and friendliest smile that anyone could ask for. Then, he spoke.

“Go back to your masters and tell them that they can shove their generous offers right up their asses.” The reply caused the expected reactions, of course. Lots of eyes widening, gasps, cries of alarm, and even some honest-to-God hand-wringing. 

John’s smile grew even wider as he added, “And if they have a problem with that, tell them to come back with a bigger army. The last one didn’t even make Saber sweat.”

With his piece said, the outworlder stood and made his way out of the throne room, though not before giving Daenerys a passable bow. As he did, there was no mistaking the satisfaction in the way the girl beamed.

And so, John exited stage left after causing a cacophony that involved lots of shouting, wailing, and screeching, with Saber right behind. He had to admit, telling the motherfuckers exactly what he thought felt good.

“You do understand what you did, yes?” Saber asked as they neared their rooms.

“Hmm?” 

“In all likelihood, you just sparked a war.”

“And?”

By this point, they were inside John’s sleeping quarters, where he unceremoniously plopped on the bed face-first.

“This won’t be like the battles in your old home, Master,” Saber admonished, while taking one of the chairs. “Here, you will look enemies in the eyes as you spill their blood.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong!” John crowed from his position, which partially muffled his words.

“Oh? Do tell.”

Propping himself up by the elbow and lying sideways, John wore a shit-eating grin.

“I know how to make black powder.”

…

…

…

“Ah.”

Chapter 9 - Meeting a New Age

One might be tempted to wonder how a soldier, SpecOps or not, would know how to make black powder. To such a person, John would just like to say:

“YouTube. It’s all on YouTube. There’s like a fuckton of videos on how to make things that make other things go boom on YouTube.”

And so it was that a list was made of ingredients to usher in a new age. An age of enlightenment. Of inspiration. Of art! 

Because, while many might disagree with the sentiment, bombs do light up. They inspire awe and fear. And everyone knows that art is an explosion!

This was proven beyond a shadow of a doubt two weeks after the so-called envoys of the Free Cities left in a huff, promising vengeance as they went. Queen Daenerys and her small circle of trusted advisors stood over the walls of Meereen, once more.

It wasn’t to look over an invading force, however. No. This time, it’s to witness something momentous. Something glorious.

“Will you finally speak on what it is we are here to see?” John’s internal monologuing, which was admittedly getting a little unhinged, was interrupted by the impatient huff of a teen queen. 

“A little patience, please,” he replied with glee. “This is worth the wait, I promise.”

It better be, John groused in his mind.

Something that not a lot of people really appreciate about the modern world is how accessible everything has gotten. The ingredients to make gunpowder? You could order them online! Sure, you’d be on a list, depending on where you live. But there’s no need to actually go hunting for them.

Here? None of the stuff he needed could be found in the market. Once he did find them, everything had to be refined so that they could be mixed properly. John even had to invent new measuring systems just to get the ratio correctly. Well, he says invent, but he really just imported the ones he already knew.

But, after much toil, he finally did it. Then again, it helps that all he really needed was charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur.

He then packed them tightly in a cylinder of paper, which he had to make from scratch using old clothing. It was an annoying process, but whatever. It was done. Now, it was just a matter of demonstrating why he was so busy that he couldn’t be bothered to attend meetings about the war he started.

Saber, you ready?

Ready, Master

John really had to find a way to make her stop calling him that. A problem for another time.

Light it up!

Out in the distance was a boulder standing on top of a cliffside. It was fairly visible even this far away, and it also had the added benefit of being away from any settlement. A warning had already been spread to the citizens, telling them that something was happening today, and that it was going to be loud.

John also made sure to warn Daenerys of this, to make sure that her dragons didn’t freak out. Dragons that seemed to have entirely stayed away from him since the first day.

Upon seeing a trail of smoke rising into the air, John excitedly pointed to catch everyone’s attention. 

“There! You see the smoke? Watch that spot and be amazed!”

Dubious looks were sent his way, but they complied. Now, the responsible thing to do here was also warn them to cover their ears. But John couldn’t have that. He needed them to truly understand what he’s doing here.

Also, they’re far enough away that tinnitus shouldn’t be an issue.

Only a few seconds after he spoke, a spectacular explosion shattered the relative silence of the city’s outskirts. Great clouds of dust spread in every direction, and smaller pieces of rock rained down on the surrounding landscape.

It was, honestly, the most beautiful thing that John had seen since coming to this world.

As for the spectators he invited to watch the display, each and every single one had a look of shock. Not surprising. It was a really big rock. Probably twenty feet wide, and several tons in weight, but he wasn’t no geologist.

Stop smiling, Master. You look like a loon.

God! Why’d he get such a buzzkill for a Servant?

Speaking of which, he saw the blur that was Saber barreling toward them before then jumping up to the top of the wall. It was a testament to the impact of the black powder explosion that no one even reacted to her inhuman feat. Normally, they wouldn’t have talked about anything else.

“Good work, partner!” John crowed at the Artoria. Huh. He should probably start calling her that instead of Saber. At least, in his head.

“It was a simple matter,” she demurred. Why’s this girl always gotta dodge compliments? 

“Not to me,” John insisted. “This would have gone a lot slower without your help. More dangerous, too.”

“As you say, Master.”

“How?” a low, shaky voice piped up.

John looked over to the pale girl who went around calling herself The Mother of Dragons. Sab – Artoria had already humbled her on two occasions, showing that her overgrown reptiles and armies don’t really make much of a difference to a genuine badass with a magical sword. This time was different, because it was all John Sinclair’s doing.

“Twenty pounds of black powder stuffed in a confined space,” he answered with nonchalance, “and then lit with a fuse courtesy of Saber, here.”

“Was that magic?” Missandei asked, the sweet girl’s eyes so wide, they might just get stuck that way. 

“Mmm, nah,” John denied. “It’s all chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” Ol’ Barry-boy asked. He tried to sound unaffected, but the clenching and unclenching of his fist gave the game away.

“I think you call it alchemy, here.”

“You speak of wildfire,” Daenerys gasped, suddenly sounding outraged. “You concocted such an abominable substance?”

Now, it was John’s turn to look puzzled.

“When you say wildfire…” he said leadingly.

“A malevolent green liquid,” Barristan explained. “Produces fire so hot that it could melt stone, and cannot be extinguished with water.”

“Huh, that sounds a lot like Greek fire. But, no, that’s not what I made.”

“Then, what is it?” the queen pressed, purple eyes looking at the spot test site again, and seeing the devastation. 

“As I said, it’s black powder. Burns really hot, really quickly. And if you put it in something that contains all of that heat and pressure? You get a big boom.”

Silence fell among the small group, though the people who gathered to watch the demonstration were not chattering in awed whispers. Yeah, that’s right. Appreciate the most effective tool in America’s brand of diplomacy!

“Can you make more?” Daenerys suddenly grabbed John’s bicep in a vice grip. 

He blinked down at her before grinning like a madman. “I can do you one better, your highness.”

She chose to ignore the strange way he addressed her and focused on the important bits, like a bloodhound. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me, have you ever heard of a cannon?”

When she shook her head, the already demented grin on John’s face only widened.

Oh, this is going to be beautiful!

Chapter 10 - Meeting the Boom Tubes

Okay, so making a cannon turned out to be a lot harder than John first thought. Unlike with the black powder, he didn’t really look up how to make the ancient artillery. He only knew that they used to be made of bronze, brass, or iron, were loaded from the front, and kind of looked like an inflated condom.

That’s about it.

So, it took a few tries to get a working prototype. Luckily for John’s explosive ambitions, Daenerys was impressed enough with the black powder that she gave him unlimited resources.

Naturally, he took full advantage of that, but not for anything nefarious.

Instead, he took aside some enterprising craftsmen and smiths to work on something else, leaving the rest to figure out how to make a cannon that blew up the enemy, instead of the operators. Specifically, he wanted them to create the foundation of a new arms race.

The assembly line!

All right, quick history lesson. The US didn’t beat Germany because its stuff was so superior. The Nazis had MUCH better weapons, tanks, and everything else!

Instead, America stamped out the socialist scum from God’s Green Earth through sheer industry. US factories were basically untouched by the war, which then allowed them to make as much as they needed to win. 

That’s what John’s trying to do. 

Every cannon needs to be made with the same dimensions. Every powder load had to weigh the same. Every cannonball had to be standardized.

Aside from that, he also had a small group working on a super-secret project that would be infinitely helpful in his bid to stay alive while making sure that the other guys don’t: Guns, baby! Lots and lots of guns!

Specifically, he asked them to create casings, cap primers, and bullet molds, along with the parts needed for breech-loaded, single-shot pistols and rifles. John even provided them with blueprints, though, not before he described to them in excruciating detail what would happen if they shared it with anyone they weren’t supposed to.

Artoria even played the menacing muscle to complete the act. Though it was still disconcerting how intimidating such an adorable girl can be.

In any case, a full month passed before they were finally ready to publicly test the cannons. John did express some astonishment as to how quickly that came about, but his partner (that’s what he decided to call Artoria instead of Servant, completely ignoring her objections) explained that the people were inspired by his demonstration. As such, they worked hard to bring his vision to life. 

John was instantly suspicious, of course. When he pressed, Artoria added that Daenerys has been making a lot of promises. Something about bringing freedom to other slaves with the power of fire and thunder or some such.

He found that a bit messed up, but who was he to argue with the results?

No guns yet, unfortunately. Those need a bit more time in the oven, so to speak. For today, he’ll have to content himself with proving the very concept of manmade engines of mass destruction.

Speaking of which, the cannons were arrayed on a cliff near the beach. Their targets were some rickety old boats bobbing out on the water, and anchored with rocks to keep them still. Not the most sophisticated test for accuracy, but he’ll have to make do.

Everyone had already gathered. And by that, John does mean everyone.

It’s like the whole damn city turned out to watch the test, far more than there were when he demonstrated what the black powder could do. Probably didn’t want to miss the promised solution to the slaver pest problem.

As for the queen’s court, they had a place of honor under the shade of a fancy tent, where they had a clear view of the bay. John couldn’t join them this time, as he was in charge of this exhibition.

Right about then, one of the test operators called for his attention to declare that everything was ready. While John is nowhere near fluent with the language used here, he has managed learn a few phrases. Enough to get things done.

Grunting an acknowledgement, he waved a red flag in the direction of the pavilion. He’d already briefed them about the system ahead of time, and this signal essentially meant ‘Cover your ears, it’s about to get loud!’

John himself has a pair of specially prepared beeswax earplugs. The same went for everyone within a hundred feet of the cannons. They don’t block all sound, but they’re better than nothing.

The test itself is pretty straightforward. The cannons were each placed about 30 feet away from each other, and they’ll be fired one at a time. Each operator was also covered in thick, padded clothes to cover the torso, and wore strips of leather with narrow slits to protect their eyes.

“Bronze team, make ready!” he roared in the local language, and waited for the response.

“Ready!” the team yelled back.

“Load!” Powder bag and shot went in.

“Prick and Prime!” A spike was driven through the touchhole (yes, it’s really called that) to puncture the powder bag, and black powder was poured in.

“Make clear!” Everyone except the guy holding the long stick with the lit fuse moved to a safe distance in the rear and covered their ears.

All right. Moment of truth.

“Fire!”

Thunder drowned the world in its roar, and ten pounds of spherical iron sped to the water. It was an impressive display, to be sure. Unfortunately, it also missed by about ten feet.

Not too bad for the first, ever cannon shot in this world, John mentally commented to Artoria.

Astonishing that it is still in one piece, more like, she sent back from her position at a high vantage point, looking out for potential infiltrators.

Hmm. Can’t really disagree with that. It’s fine, though. Expecting perfect accuracy at this juncture would be stupid.

The team checked the Bronze cannon and reported that there were worrying deformations. Not too bad, all things considered.

Once the field was cleared, he repeated the commands with the Iron team and got mixed results. Mixed as in the cannonball did get launched, but the tube itself split and warped. Yeah, that was about what he expected. Fortunately, none of the operators got hurt.

Panic wasn’t widespread, either, since he had briefed them on all the ways this could go wrong and prepared accordingly.

Brass team went last and was the most promising yet. 

The shot actually clipped its target, resulting in an impressive shower of splintered wood splashing over the water. Upon checking, there were no major structural issues. Some scuffs and scratches, of course, but nothing that metallurgical improvements can’t fix.

With the test done, the cannons were taken away and the site cleaned up of anything that spies and saboteurs might try to steal. John, meanwhile, went straight to the queen’s pavilion. Upon arriving, he was met with a beaming face that almost took his breath away.

Gah! This girl needs to be careful where she aims that thing!

“A marvelous display, Lord John!” she exclaimed. “Truly spectacular! When will we deploy these wondrous weaponry?”

At first, John was confused by the girl’s breathless effusion, but quickly understood. Whoops! Gonna have to correct this little misunderstanding.

“Thank you kindly!” he replied. “Unfortunately, we’ll need to make some improvements before the cannons are ready for field use.” That got a look of disappointment on her pretty face. “I’m afraid there’s no getting around that, your highness. We want them to be safe and reliable. Can’t go freeing slaves if our cannons keep breaking, right?”

Taking a deep breath, Daenerys nodded. “Yes, of course. My excitement was premature. Can you provide an estimate as to how long the work will take?”

John thought of it for a moment before answering. “Taking everything into account, the first set should be ready in two months.”

The look on her face clearly said that it was longer than she’d like, but didn’t voice her dissatisfaction. Frankly, John was stretching the truth a bit here. That they got working prototypes so soon was already a miracle. 

Field deployment in less than a year, though? Good luck with that!

Well, at least he didn’t have to deal with government bureaucracy. 

Chapter 11 - Meeting the Faceless

It’s nighttime, and John is alone in his room. Not an unusual occurrence, by any means, but this occasion is a bit different. He just came back after arguing with Daenerys. 

Well, it was less arguing and more her doing a lot of yelling, while John stared blankly at the young girl. Oof, there he goes again. Using his lens of perception instead of trying to see things from her perspective. At least, that’s what she kept shouting while he wondered what on Earth he did wrong.

Just to provide some context, it all started with an invitation to have dinner with the queen. It was delivered by a servant, and while John was tempted to say no, it did explicitly say that no one else would join them.

Naturally, John assumed that she meant no one but her inner circle, Artoria, and him. When he brought it up with his partner, she paused for a moment, looked him over with that impenetrable stare of hers, before commenting that it would be a good idea. 

So, when he arrived at the designated location – following the servant sent to fetch him – he was confused to find only Daenerys present. The dining room itself was small and homey, clearly meant for a more intimate setting. 

And that was the keyword he missed in this whole arrangement.

Intimate.

Every drop of his modern sensibilities screamed at him to turn around and walk away, but he chose to stay. For one thing, he’d have to be a real dick to just straight up ghost her. For another, he had been ducking a lot of her invitations in favor of working on the cannons. Well, that and he just didn’t want to deal with politics more than he had to.

To his surprise, the meal went really well. 

Daenerys caught John up on what’s been happening, stressing how important his work was to the future of her people. He gave her updates on the things he had been up to, including plans for creating an industry that would make waging wars more streamlined.

She seemed to understand what John was getting at, even though he kept slipping up, and used terms that needed a lot of clarification.

Just as he was beginning to hope that the night would end without incident, after all, Daenerys decided to bring up the subject John had been dreading.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” she had asked.

The former SpecOps considered playing dumb for a fraction of a second, but decided that it wouldn’t do him any good. Instead, he tried a different tack.

“I didn’t ask before, because I never in a million years could have imagined that I would have to. But, why exactly do you want to marry me?”

Daenerys didn’t answer right away and instead swirled her wine cup in thought. When she did speak, her face looked much older than before.

“You are a mystery, Lord John,” she said in a low voice, almost a whisper. “One who claims to have died, met a goddess, and was forcibly sent to our world against your will. By all rights, I should want nothing to do with you.”

John could definitely understand where she was coming from. If someone told him what he told her, he’d have thought they were crazy!

“But I am more familiar with mysteries than most,” she continued, still looking at her cup. “The hatching of my children was the work of old magic. At the House of the Undying, I was shown visions of a terrible future. Magic runs through my blood, as it has since the days of Old Valyria. And your arrival?” This time, she met his eyes, and the fire in them made John want to bolt out of the room. “I believe it was preordained. You were sent to me, at the hour of my victory, to become my greatest champion.”

Ooooooh, Lordy… Someone’s drunk. Or, at least, John dearly hoped this was the case.

“What does that have to do with marriage?” John asked, steering the uncomfortable conversation away to something less so. “I’m already making you cannons. Those will definitely help you win your Iron Crown, or whatever it is you’re after.”

A frown formed on the delicate brows. “Does the idea of marrying me bring you such distaste, Lord John?”

Dammit. How should he handle this?

“I’m nearing twenty-six,” John said. “And you’re, what, fourteen? Fifteen?”

“Seven and ten namedays,” she answered, quirking an elegant brow. “A year past my majority and fully eligible for marriage.”

“Maybe you are here, but not where I’m from,” he countered. Not strictly true, since some places did allow minors to get married with the permission of their parents. But John wasn’t about to bring that up, especially in his current predicament. “Also, there’s a bit more to marriage than age.”

A sardonic smile crossed her lips. “Am I not pleasing to your eyes, Lord John?”

The look on his face must’ve been funny, because the girl burst into a fit of giggles. John waited until she calmed down before giving his answer.

“Yes, you’re very pretty,” he said with an eye roll. “Still doesn’t the fact that you’re too young for me. Not to mention the fact that I never intended to get hitched in the first place.”

She went quiet then. The kind of quiet that heralded a coming storm.

“I am still no more than a wisp of a girl to you, is that so?” the queen asked in a dangerously calm voice.

“By my standards? Yes, you are.” John was done tiptoeing around the issue. He really should have shut this down when it was first brought up. “If we were both the same age, I’d consider it. But we’re not, and there’s nothing that can change that. So, we might as well forget about the whole thing.”

The explosion that happened after that isn’t worth going over. Suffice it to say, John was called a number of not-nice names that he frankly didn’t care to remember. The girl then shrieked for him to get out of her sight, which John gladly did.

And now, here he was, lying down in bed alone.

It wasn’t like John didn’t understand where Daenerys was coming from. He saw enough fucked up practices under the guise of tradition among the various desert tribes in the Middle East. If the queen decided to marry someone else several times her age, he certainly wouldn’t say anything about it.

Where he drew the line was anyone dragging him into the mix. No way was he gonna consider marriage to a girl who wouldn’t even be old enough to legally drink in the States.

Just then, a knock came from the door.

“Go away!” 

“My lord, there is an urgent message from the queen!” a familiar voice called through the door. It was one of the girls who usually came to bring him food or tidy up the room.

John would have just ignored her, but if the message was urgent, doing so would probably get the servant in trouble. She was just doing her job.

Signing with annoyance, he got up and went to open the door. Upon doing so, however, John lashed out with a web hand strike, landing a solid blow on the girl’s windpipe. The respiratory interruption caused her to simultaneously reach for her throat with one hand and draw out a dagger with the other.

This was all John needed to grab the wrist with the weapon, pivot around with his left hand, clamp on the triceps just above the elbow, step into the girl’s wide stance, and push her down onto the stone floor with his knee and forearm. 

It was done in two seconds flat.

John then twists the hand holding the dagger, causing it to go limp and release the blade. Even before he finished the move, a mental alert was sent to Artoria, which is how the blonde arrived before the assailant even hit the floor.

“Master!”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, taking care to secure his grip on the offending limb with a reverse armbar.

“What is this rabble?!” Barristan barked as he and several guards rounded the corner to see me pinning a seemingly harmless civilian to the floor. “Why are you assaulting one of Her Grace’s servants, Lord John?”

“Look at her eyes, Barry,” John replied. “You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

“Her eyes?” he gaped. “What should I find there?”

“Just do it,” John snapped. “She’s a lot stronger than she looks. Saber, secure her other hand, please.”

While noticeably displeased, Barristan decided to humor the request. With John and Artoria holding the girl in place, the knight knelt down to examine the girl.

“Please, ser knight!” she pleaded. “I am innocent! I know not –” the sword point hovering an inch from her eyes stopped any further supplications.

“Who are you?” Barristan asked in a low growl.

Rather than answer or continue to struggle, the girl went limp and started frothing at the mouth. Everyone observing the sight was used to death, and easily deduced that she had swallowed poison. Probably from a pill or vial hidden in her mouth.

“Shit,” John cursed. “There goes our lead on this assassination attempt.”

“Not necessarily,” Artoria said. At the inquiring look from John and Barristan, she continued, “The assassin is wearing someone else’s face.”

Okay, first of all, eww. Second of all, what the fuck?

“Faceless Men,” Barristan breathed in awe and fear.

Somehow, John got the feeling that the old man wasn’t referring to dudes walking around without actual faces.

Chapter 12 - Meeting Marvelous Machinery

The days since John was almost shanked by a magical assassin who can apparently steal people’s faces have been busy. Daenerys was steaming mad that someone had gone to the trouble of paying what amounted to a mountain of gold just to get rid of him. 

That an innocent bystander got caught in the crossfire only made her even angrier.

After she ran out of steam, metaphorically spitting venom and spewing acid, the queen promised the annihilation of the so-called Faceless Men. Considering how they conducted their operations, John agreed just on principle. 

He didn’t know Narissa. Heck, he only learned her name after she was dead. But to kill her and desecrate her corpse by stealing her face, even though she wasn’t the target?

Well, there was a special place in hell for folks who did that kind of thing. And John will be glad to be the one to send them there.

But this wasn’t going to happen with just hopes and prayers. Artoria had already offered to do the deed herself, but that seemed far too risky, in John’s opinion. Even with the Servant’s seeming invincibility, there was apparently magic in this world.

No sense putting her in danger, unless absolutely necessary. 

Daenerys can’t just use her dragons, either. The big buggers seemed to be in their rebellious phase, refusing to listen to mama and all that jazz.

Well, this was the case until Artoria went with the queen to find out exactly what was going on. His partner hadn’t volunteered any information about what they were doing, and he hadn’t asked. She’d tell him if there was anything he needed to know.

The point is that, if John were to make those sneaky little fucks pay for coming after him, he’d need familiar tools. Swords, spears, and bows just weren’t gonna cut it.

So, the morning after the assassination attempt, John went to the manufacturing district to look over the progress of his projects. To his surprise, the assembly line was going swimmingly. It turns out, all the people needed were clear instructions, and off they went.

Issues were still cropping up with the cannons, but fewer and fewer every day. A fire had been lit under the craftsmen and artisans, and it wasn’t until much later that he learned it was due to him. Or, rather, due to his almost dying.

John thought it was ridiculous. The amateur didn’t even come close! Who fucking knocks on the door of your intended target? You get inside once they are asleep and knife them in bed.

Either way, two weeks had passed, and he was now standing in a large courtyard, at the far side of the city. Only Artoria accompanied him for this trip, since speed and discretion were necessary. In front of him was a table full of items that, while pretty to look at, appeared strange to his modern sensibilities.

They varied in sizes, shapes, and dimensions. However, they shared two major characteristics. Every single one had a single tube. Every single one was a break-action. The major differences came down to the furniture, which is where the smiths and craftspeople really went wild.

Guns. John Sinclair had just introduced this feudal world full of dictators, tyrants, and petty rulers to a weapon that is guaranteed to shake its foundations.

With that said, there was one last thing that needed to be done before John could consider this project a success. Taking one of the rifle rounds on the table, he raised it to eye level, observing its condition.

It was a thumb-thick cylinder of solid metal with a blunt, rounded nose. Perfect for taking down big game… or heavily-armored combatants. Patinas of imperfections were visible, but for this world’s technology? It’s downright impressive.

The same went for the pistol rounds, which were a little bit bigger than .45 Long Colt, but didn’t come close to a .50 Cal. He would’ve been satisfied with 9mm, but one of the contradictions of this world’s technological limitations is that bigger things are easier to make than smaller ones.

As one of the craftspeople explained, these were as small as they could make them while still retaining the requested dimensions for ease of manufacturing. 

Nodding in satisfaction, John took one of the pistols and loaded a round into the chamber. He then strode to a point about 30 yards from a straw target, putting in the beeswax earplugs he used for the cannon test. Flowing into the shooting stance was second-nature, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, torso slightly bent forward, and arms forming a V. 

Looking down the primitive iron sight, John took a breath, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.

The report was just a little bit louder than he expected, but the recoil was manageable, and the bullet pierced right through the target and into the clay wall behind it. Exclamations of shock, shouts of joy, and ringing laughter sounded from the gathered smiths, artisans, and engineers. 

None of them seemed to have been deafened, so they at least followed his instructions about ear protection. John repeated the test with the other pistols, finding some to be better than others. All of them worked, though.

When he got to the rifles, the crack was even louder than the pistol, but nothing John couldn’t handle. By the end of the day, only one of the prototypes was too damaged for further use 

Naturally, a lot more tests are needed to make sure that the weapons can actually withstand the rigours of the field. Even so, John couldn’t contain his excitement at having working firearms. 

“What do you think?” he asked Artoria on their way back to the Pyramid.

“Given the state of this world, I still find it difficult to believe that they succeeded,” she replied. “Nor did I think I would ever see the likes of Emiya Kiritsugu’s weapon realized in the here and now.”

“You gave me the idea,” John said. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve stuck with the idea of revolvers or even flintlocks. Not like we were using a lot of break-action weapons in Delta.”

“I merely provided suggestions,” she demurred. “It was the craftsmen who managed to produce such a feat.”

Sheesh, girl! Learn to take a compliment.

Whatever. John was now one step closer to his goal, which…

His sudden stop caught Artoria by surprise. The same went for the people who were now obstructed by him standing in the middle of the road.

“Master?” she asked in concern.

“I just realized something,” John said, eyes going a little dead. “What exactly am I doing all of this for?”

Chapter 13 - Meeting the Real John Sinclair

John wasn’t the kind of guy given to introspection. He’d always believed that folks in need of soul searching are idiots who have too much time on their hands. The last month has shown him how ignorant that mindset had been. 

He sided with Daenerys due to circumstances. He started a war with the slavers because he was against the practice, and his lingering American values. He was intent on wiping out every last Faceless Man and their whole fucked up Order because of how callously they treat human life.

Those were concepts that he understood and could live with.

What he was still struggling to reconcile, even after four weeks of thinking about it, was his loss of purpose. Or, rather, his loss of control over the direction his life is taking.

Retiring from Delta was a point of pride because he finally made something of himself and was able to walk away. His mom had a home that she owned. He had land and a house in the woods where he didn’t have to deal with anyone else’s bullshit. And he was well on his way to building a life for himself.

Everything was going great!

But then he died, somehow, and even a peaceful rest was denied him. Instead, he’s now slumming it in a world he doesn’t know, with people he doesn’t know, and fighting a war against enemies he doesn’t know.

To top it all off, he’s been saddled with some kind of gift/curse that will inevitably glue women from all over the so-called multiverse to his side, whether he wants them or not. Artoria hasn’t been so bad, despite the stick up her ass. But what if the next one was some kind of psycho chick?

Seeing what the Servant could do had opened his eyes to some really disturbing possibilities. Chaining normal women to him was bad enough. What if it’s some kind of Bride of Frankenstein deal? 

What then?

John didn’t even know when the next one would come! His partner had no clue either, and he didn’t care to find out from that bitch calling herself a goddess. He would be damned before he tried praying to her just to ask!

Instead of stewing in his own juices, though, the ex-SpecOps focused on things that he could control. Checking on the progress of the cannons, making sure that the guns and ammo were secure and accounted for, and attending meetings with Daenerys and her council.

Yeah, he was that desperate to distract himself from drowning in his existential crisis.

On the flipside, John finally got a better picture of what’s going on, and things weren’t looking too bad! Well, to him. The queen’s advisors seemed to be freaking out, though. Most of them were yelling, wailing, or moaning about this or that. Artoria let him know through their mental link that this seemed to be the norm.

In descending order, their concerns included the huge armies coming for our assess, the strangling of trade, the loss of power and prestige among the surviving masters (who Daenerys stupidly spared), and the restlessness of the former slaves. It’s worth noting that none of them could give actionable solutions to these problems they keep bleating about.

It’s a wonder Daenerys hasn’t fed them to her dragons yet.

Then, during one particularly early meeting, some dude in gold robes barged into the room, yelling about members of the nobility having been found dead in their beds. Sweat was pouring over his face, his eyes looked about ready to pop out of their sockets, and he honestly sounded like a vice was wrapped around his balls.

“You must do something about this, Your Grace!” he squealed. “You must find the perpetrator!”

“Oh, there’s no need to do that,” John spoke up, catching the attention of everyone in attendance. Even some of the guards, who were often notably like statues. 

It makes sense, though. The number of times that he contributed to the meetings could be counted on one hand, with three fingers left over.

“Lord John?” Daenerys prompted.

“I killed those idiots,” he confessed readily, not changing his lounging, seated posture.

Predictably, just about everyone lost their minds. The members of the council who apparently came from Meereen’s ruling class were shouting for his head. Barristan was berating John for his dishonorable actions. And the blue-haired, long-bearded douche was on his feet, aggressively pointing with fingers that had a stupid number of rings.

The young queen addressed him multiple times in previous meetings, but John couldn’t be bothered to remember his name. 

After letting them scream for about half a minute, John had enough. Reaching into his custom-tailored jacket (which he commissioned from a seamstress that the queen assigned to him), he grabbed the handle of a pistol and pulled it from its holster (which he commissioned from a leather worker). 

John then pointed it at an open window and squeezed the trigger. The resulting report was quite efficient at shutting everyone up. Though it also had the effect of every armed person in the room drawing their weapons.

Affecting a nonchalant demeanour, the off-worlder calmly took out the spent casing, loaded the pistol, and snapped the break-action back in place, before setting the firearm on the table. He then picked up the casing with gloved fingers and showed it to his gawking audience.

“Don’t worry,” he said almost lazily. “That was a blank. The next shot, however, will be the real deal. I shoot someone with it, and they die. I hope you take my warning seriously.”

From the way everyone hadn’t seemed to move a muscle, John had their undivided attention. 

“Now, as for why I killed all of those people, the reasons are simple.” He made sure no one did anything stupid before talking again. “Saber, would you be a dear and get the sack I asked you to hide?”

“Yes, Master,” she said and leaped out of the meeting room’s open balcony. 

“While waiting for her to come back, could I ask Her Grace to share what I discussed with her three nights ago?” Daenerys perked up at John’s request, eyes shining with understanding.

“You approached me to speak of a new development with regard to the Sons of the Harpy, correct?” she played along.

The reactions to her words varied in interesting ways. Some gasped, others looked intrigued, while a few stiffened where they sat. Well, now. 

“Something about having identified the members, where they hid, and who supported them?” she continued, making the air in the room even more tense. “I take it you’ve carried out your mission?”

That last part irked John something fierce, but he didn’t object. Not like she was wrong. Also, seeing the comprehension almost ripple through the gathered council members was really funny.

“Pretty much,” John confirmed. “Most didn’t even notice they died. Though,” he played it up and adopted a thinking pose, “there was that one asshole who died like a little bitch. Yeah, I remember him calling for his mommy as I gutted him like a pig.”

He didn’t, but John couldn’t afford for them to know the truth. It would ruin the effect he was going for. 

“Let’s see, what was his name?” While John was acting like a complete lunatic, he kept an eye on a particular figure. 

Said figure was draped in a shimmering green silk veil that covered her entire face, leaving only her eyes visible. Much of her body was hidden from sight, but there was no mistaking the hatred and fear in those green eyes.

“Oh!” John snapped his fingers, as if having just figured something out. “Zhazraq zo Galare, that’s it! Son of Ghazdor zo Galare and Qezra zo Pahl, and grandson of our own esteemed Galazza Galare.” He finished with an unhinged grin, leering at the veiled woman.

She wasn’t even able to get halfway up before a bullet went through her forehead, blowing her brains out the other side. 

There was a brief pause, as if the world held its breath. Then…

It was pandemonium.

Chapter 14 - Meeting to Discuss Death

John anticipated a lot of things once he made the choice to kill someone with a gun for the first time in this world. Guilt, naturally. Maybe some shame. Fear, for sure. 

What he didn’t expect was the rush of energy that flooded his whole body after squeezing the trigger. As if he had forgotten what adrenaline felt like. It was so invigorating that the noise of the chaos unfolding around him was pushed to the background while his mind gained the kind of focus he only ever experienced during missions.

Combat focus, his instructors had called it. By the end, he and his buddies only ever knew it as normal.

It’s true what they say, after all. You never really know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Fortunately, some things are much easier to get back than others. Case in point…

“Anyone who comes at me with hostile intent will be the next to die,” he almost drawled while loading another bullet into his pistol.

Having already proven that he had an extremely lethal weapon, no one tried to go near John. Barristan, the douche, and the guards did watch him with wariness, though. Oddly enough, Daenerys herself looked utterly at ease.

“Restore order, Ser Barristan,” the girl commanded. “I will have silence.”

The old man did as bidden and, with the help of the guards, everyone was in their seats and quiet. It was at this point that Artoria returned through the same place as she exited, carrying a hemp sack.

“Thank you, Saber. Dump the contents on the table, would you please?”

Loud thuds and clanks resounded as metal masks, daggers, and other paraphernalia were deposited on the wooden surface. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to the first items, in particular, because they depicted stylized images of harpies.

“This is an outrage!” the intruding master, something, whatever, sputtered. “A fabrication! Your Grace, you cannot believe –”

“Oh, spare us, old man!” John groaned petulantly. “Your friends got caught with their hands in the terrorist cookie jar. Did ya’ll really think you could just do whatever the fuck you wanted and get away with it?” His voice had suddenly dropped several octaves and adopted a growly, gravelly note. “The game’s changed, you sack of shit. Queen Daenerys gave you a chance, and you wasted it. Now it’s time to pay the piper.”

There were several phrases and references there that John knew they wouldn’t get, but that doesn’t matter anymore. He’d been looking for something to occupy his time, and hunting down rats might just do the job.

“What’s the verdict, Your Grace?” he asked, looking at the queen.

“Is there anyone else in this chamber who shares his guilt?” she asked, in turn.

For a moment, John was tempted to include a few names, particularly those giving him pleading looks. But, flexible as his morals might be, he still had lines he wouldn’t cross.

“Just him, Your Grace.”

“Good,” she nodded. “Grey Worm.”

It was impressive to see the bronze-skinned guard move so fast. Right handy with that knife of his. From one blink to the next, the blade was unsheathed, and the traitorous bastard was choking on his own blood.

“This meeting is over,” Daenerys declared, rising from her chair. “Ser Barristan, Grey Worm, Missandei, Lord John, and Lady Saber. Follow me.”

They did, walking behind the waif of a girl to the small side room they’ve used several times by now. Grey Worm was the last to enter, closing the door as he did, and remained on the spot. John and Saber took up seats on one end of the table, with the platinum blonde, her aide, and the knight occupying the other.

“Are you certain of his guilt?” Daenerys asked once everyone was settled.

Instead of answering verbally, John reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a stack of folded-up documents. He then handed them to Artoria, who passed them on to the queen. It didn’t take long to peruse the parchments. John was trained to write brief and concise After Action Reports, which came in handy here.

“The other names listed here,” she said after reading. “They’ve been dispatched, as well?”

“Every single one.”

“Good.”

“Your Grace?” Barristan suddenly spoke up, looking agitated as he did.

“Do you have objections, Ser?” Daenerys asked, looking up at him.

“If these people were truly guilty of their crimes,” he began, “then they deserved to be tried. To so blatantly execute them without due process is, forgive me for saying so, a dishonorable act. One that would tarnish your good name!”

“The evidence is incontrovertible, Ser Barristan,” she calmly replied. “Trying all of those involved would have been a monumental waste of our time, which we simply cannot afford with enemies at the gates.”

“Evidence?” The man’s voice had hardened, and the glare he sent John was full of mistrust. “What would a common soldier know of gathering evidence, Your Grace? He himself has admitted to a lack of education in courtly matters.”

Daenerys stiffened at the accusatory tone, but John decided to jump in before things could spiral into an annoying back-and-forth.

“You know,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention, “I never really explained what my job was, did I?”

“A soldier,” Barristan grunted with disdain.

John’s eyes sharpened at the dismissal of his former profession. The things he and his friends were asked to do might not have always been clean, but John was damn proud to be Delta, former or not.

“The misunderstanding’s my fault, I guess,” he said, leaning with his elbows on the table. “So, let me clear a few things up, and we can start with a question. Ser Barristan, how many people have you killed, do you think, over the years?”

“I do not count the lives I’ve taken,” the knight replied.

“But, you’ve got to have some idea, right?” John pressed. “A few dozen, maybe? Closer to a hundred or so?”

He grunted in confirmation.

“At last count, mine was three hundred and forty-six. Officially.” John’s declaration seemed to cause the room to drop in temperature a degree or two. “We weren’t just grunts deployed during full-scale ground wars, like you’re thinking of. Those would be the Marines and the Army, and while they were great at their jobs, Delta’s role was a bit different.

“You see, we were sent behind enemy lines, accomplishing missions that were never meant to be known. Everywhere we went, people died. Whether they were the targets or the folks who stood between the targets and us. We didn’t move in the tens, dozens, or hundreds. We were four to six guys, going into areas where we were often outnumbered.”

John didn’t even notice how dead and emotionless his voice had gotten, but the others did. And the change sent chills down their spines.

“I’ve been on over two hundred missions in different parts of the world, and everywhere we went, we left bodies in our wake. We were Grim Fucking Reapers, if that makes any sense to you. Though –” John tilted his head in curiosity “–this reminds me. I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of wars, Ser Barristan. How many would you say you’ve seen die?”

The look in the old man’s eyes seems to have shifted between when John started speaking and when he asked the question. Now, he had the kind of eyes that had seen way too much for way too long.

“Thousands,” he whispered.

“Thousands,” John repeated. “Back in my world, numbers like those were an everyday thing. Our last Great War was estimated to have killed between twenty-one and twenty-five million combatants.” This drew a sharp gasp from everyone in the room, except Artoria, who closed her eyes in pain. “And that’s just the soldiers. If we include the civilians, those who didn’t even fight, that number goes up to seventy million, at the minimum.”

Daenerys and Missandei were both looking a bit green with nausea, at this point, eyes wide with horror. Barristan’s face had gone deathly pale, and even Grey Worm’s stance had become extremely rigid.

“The worst part is that we had two Great Wars, and though the first one had fewer deaths, it was widely considered significantly bloodier than the second. Fewer is relative, too, since about nine million soldiers died in that conflict.” John paused to take a breath, deciding that he had said enough to get his final point across. “I’m telling you this because I needed you to have the right context for what I’m about to say.”

Oh, he’s got their attention now, all right.

“That little show I put on? That’s nothing compared to what I’m about to unleash on this world. My people knew war like no one else. So, now you have to decide if you still want me on your side. Because, if you do, then I’ll be killing a hell of a lot more people than you could possibly imagine.”

Surprisingly, it was Missandei who broke the tense silence.

“Will you do it with that weapon of yours?” Her voice was small, but the curiosity shone through.

“Oh, darling.” John grinned. “I’ll do it with this and more.”

Chapter 15 - Meeting the Bear and the Imp

As much as John hated listening to the asshat members of the council, who, by the way, have gotten a lot quieter these days, they did have a point. Waging a war is an expensive affair, and the economic problems that Meereen is being subjected to do affect it negatively.

That’s why John is currently on a ship hunting down other ships, which have been harassing and sinking anyone who comes near their waters. A task that would have been incredibly dangerous if not for two things.

One, Artoria basically acts as an incredibly effective scout. She uses her Air Burst ability to hop into the air and look for targets. Reaching up to a thousand feet into the air certainly gives a better vantage point than just climbing the crow’s nest.

The other advantage comes in the form of six brass canons expertly fitted on the ship’s deck. Each one comes with an operator team of five men, all of whom went through two weeks of intensive training. 

As a result, running down enemy boats became a much shorter affair than it had any right to be.

Now, there are a few things that Hollywood routinely gets wrong about naval battles, but the most egregious of which is the aftermath. As it turns out, even if you bombard a ship with cannonballs, they don’t sink.

You can reduce them to splinters, and they’ll just keep on floating. This made retrieving any valuables onboard once the crew had been dealt with much easier.

John could have just as easily sent Artoria to clear them out, but that would have made this exercise completely pointless. The crew had to learn everything they needed to know about using the cannons, whether the target is in the water or on land. By doing so, they can pass on that knowledge to other sailors.

Naturally, such information can be dangerous. That’s why they got the same warnings as those who worked on the cannons and the guns about infosec. It also helps that John and Artoria have spent a lot of time and effort rooting out spies in the city.

He wasn’t deluded enough to believe that they got them all. But, they certainly exterminated enough rats to send the rest into hiding. 

“Ship spotted, m’lord!” The captain, a guy named Turaco, shouted after putting away his spyglass. Or far-eyes, as they called them here. “Ghiscari markings, it would seem. The Lady Saber is correct.”

“Huh,” John hummed. “So, counting the ones we already hit, we have two from Qarth, one from Tolos, one from Elyria, and now, two from New Ghis.”

“That is correct, m’lord,” Captain Turaco confirmed. “Rumors have it that Volantis is also sending a fleet and has commissioned many mercenary bands.”

The words were said as a statement, but there was a question there that lingered.

“Don’t worry, captain,” John told him reassuringly. “You’ve already seen what the cannons can do. Once we’re done here, you and your men will train others to do the same things.”

“Aye,” the man said. “These weapons are marvelous. With enough of them, we shall be unstoppable both on sea and land.”

A grim smile formed on John’s lips. That would only be the case if their enemies kept moving as slowly as they are. At this rate, they’d have another two months before the first wave of mercs started showing up. More than enough time to produce enough cannons to arm a few ships to form a line that would decimate invading forces from the sea, and to place several on top of the walls.

This time, Saber won’t be doing all the work.

Coming back to their current endeavor, however, it’s worth saying that ships in this era are hella slow. Even after the Ghiscari ship was finally sighted, it still took hours to actually catch up with it. To think, the boat they’re riding was supposed to be one of their fastest.

Steam engines would’ve come in really handy. Too bad that’s going to stay a dream. John had no talent for advanced engineering whatsoever. When they were close enough, the practiced commands were given.

“Clear the decks for action!” the captain yelled. The men hurried to obey.

“Cast loose!” The ropes tying the cannons in place were untied.

“Load!” The cycle of loading began.

“Run out the guns!” Operators pulled the tackle to move the cannons forward.

“Hold your fire!”

At this point, their ship’s broadside is perfectly aligned with that of the enemy’s. The sea was calm, and the waves were small. John took the time to observe the soon-to-be bombarded assholes who were making their lives miserable. Try as he might, he didn’t see anything worth preserving.

“We’re ready, m’lord,” the captain told him.

“Fire when ready,” John said with a detached calm.

“Fire on the up-roll!” 

The command was echoed by the captain’s seconds all across the ship, instructing the men to time their shots with the roll of the waves. It spoke to how slow these artillery munitions were that John actually saw a glimpse of the iron balls while they flew through the air. Despite that, the devastation they wrought couldn’t be denied.

The cannons roared twice more, stripping the enemy ship’s starboard hull bare. The main mast was smashed and brought low, while the helm was pretty much gone. Whatever limitations these people had compared to those back home, John can’t deny their ability to follow instructions. 

All targets were hit.

From there, it was just a matter of hooking what was left of the ship to clear it out. Survivors were put down, prisoners were rescued, and valuables were liberated. John judged that the sailors performed well enough to do the rest once they got back to shore.

Upon their return to Meereen, an escort of Unsullied was waiting for them, with an urgent summons. Either the queen couldn’t wait to hear of their success, or another troublesome event had occurred.

When they got to the pyramid’s throne room, it was to find a balding, middle-aged man and a blonde-haired dwarf kneeling on the floor. The curious sight didn’t cause John to pause in his steps, though.

“You called for me, Your Grace?” he greeted Daenerys.

“Lord John,” her melodious voice echoed through the silent chamber. “Let me introduce you to Jorah of House Mormont, a traitor and an exile.” Her words seemed to cut deep into the guy, if his grimace was anything to go by. “And accompanying him is Tyrion of House Lannister. Former Hand of the King, son of one of my greatest enemies, Tywin Lannister, and brother to Queen Cersei, who currently sits on my family’s throne.”

John examined the two newcomers with dispassionate eyes, wondering what fresh hell they brought with them.

Chapter 16 - Meeting Sources of New Perspectives

Big guy and little guy looked at John. John looked at them. They looked at each other. And for a moment, none of them spoke. Naturally, the woman of power in the room couldn’t just let men have a good, old-fashioned staring contest in peace.

“Ser Jorah brought the dwarf of Casterly Rock here in hopes of securing my forgiveness,” Dany said. “I would hear your thoughts on the matter, Lord John.”

Way to throw me in the deep end, lady! John thought miserably. Eh, if nothing else, he could always fall back on compartmentalization. 

“Do they need to be sentenced now?” he asked the queen.

She gazed over the kneeling figures for a moment before saying, “No. Their fates can wait, I suppose.”

“Then I suggest putting them in the cells, for now.” This would give John more time to discuss the matter with the girl, preferably with fewer eyes and ears. “Maybe we can find uses for them later.”

“Very well,” she said. “Take them away.”

“Your Grace –” the big guy tried to speak, but Daenerys didn’t let him.

“You will not speak,” she hissed, shutting him up.

When both prisoners were gone, the queen gestured for John to the center of the throne room, with the court still in attendance. Entirely unnecessary just to give his report, but politics is theatre, he supposed.

“Lord John. Tell us the results of your endeavors. Did the new weapons perform as expected?”

Deciding to play along, John said, “They needed some adjustments, but pretty much, Your Grace. We sank six ships in just a few hours.” 

His statement caused a murmur of excitement to ripple through the chamber. Maybe it’s because he didn’t have the right context, but six wasn’t that impressive. Clearly, the little royal disagreed with his sentiment.

“A mighty feat,” she declared with a gracious smile. “What of those under your tutelage? Are they prepared to proceed?”

“I would expect some growing pains,” he cautioned. “But, as long as they stick to my instructions, they should be fine. You’ll have the most powerful army and navy to complement your air force, Your Grace.”

A glint of satisfaction lit up her purple eyes. “You have served me well, Lord John. Expect a suitable reward for your exemplary performance.”

This time, the murmurs from the crowd were more indistinct in content, and yet, far more obvious in context. John had to keep reminding himself of the occasion to avoid scowling.

From there, the usual frippery followed, with pampered pricks giving their congratulations and whatnot. It took a solid two hours before he was finally in a more private setting, with Artoria, Daenerys, and her inner council. 

“Do you have to keep doing that?” John groused. 

“Playing to the crowd is expected of one with your station,” the queen teased.

For a brief moment, John was tempted to throw the unwanted ennobling at her face, but decided against it. He was supposed to be the adult in their dynamic.

“I’m not a circus monkey, your highness,” he said, instead, reverting to his snarkier form of address. “Just give me a heads up in the future, so I’ll know to stay away.”

“You cannot hide from your duty, Lord John,” Barristan scolded. “You serve at Her Grace’s behest.”

“I kill her enemies, isn’t that enough?”

“That is the thinking of brutes and savages.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

A loud throat-clearing signalled the queen’s displeasure at their antics, causing the knight to back down. John took longer to follow, but a pointed look finally caused him to concede. Not without rolling his eyes first, though.

“Can we talk about the elephant in the room?” he asked just to change the subject.

“‘Elephant’?” More than one voice repeated.

“I mean the big, hairy dude and the midget,” John clarified.

It was oddly pleasing to hear Missandei and Daenerys giggling at his description of the dungeon’s newest additions. The sound was an island of familiarity in a sea of strangeness.

“What do you wish to know?” the queen asked, after getting ahold of herself.

“What’s the story there and why’d you expect me, of all people, to have anything to say about them?”

“To answer your question, in reverse order,” Daenerys started. “The months spent in your company have allowed me a better grasp of your character. I knew you wouldn’t simply pass judgment on them without knowing more. As for the story, as you put it…”

What followed was a tale of intrigue, betrayal, power-grab, a whole convoluted host of family issues, and more. By the time the telling was done, John was genuinely curious if Earth’s equivalent of this time period was just as tangled in drama and politics. From what little he knew of history, then the answer is probably yes.

“So, what are you going to do with this Jorah guy?” John asked Daenerys.

“I gave my word that should he return, it would mean his death,” she answered with a blank expression. 

“And this… Tyrion Lannister?.... Yeah, this Tyrion Lannister. What’s gonna happen with him?” 

“...of that, I have yet to decide,” she admitted.

“Tell you what,” John proposed. “Let me go talk to them. See what’s what. If you’re still set on killing the traitor, I won’t say a word about it. But if they have something valuable to offer, it would be a waste to just execute them.”

“The Queen has no need for traitors in her service,” Barristan declared sternly. “Spies and whoremongers would offer little value.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” was the annoyed reply, “but, weren’t you serving another king until you got canned and came scurrying to Daenerys to pledge your allegiance or whatever?”

The old man looked murderous, but John chose to ignore him. Dealing with self-righteous assholes was exhausting.

“Let me go talk to them and see what they have to offer,” he told the queen. “What have we got to lose?”

It took a while for her to answer, but eventually, she gave him permission. So, John made his way to the dungeons and found their guests in separate cells. The dim light of the torches made seeing difficult, but he was no stranger to working in dark environments.

John arrived carrying a wooden stool, which he placed on the stone floor, and sat between the two cells. He then spent a minute just observing the pair until one of them finally spoke up.

“I’ve heard of the stranger who has riled up the slaver coalition,” the little guy spoke up in a surprisingly deep voice. “Far more than the dragon queen, herself.” John gave him more of his attention then. “Prior to my most recent, forced arrangement – courtesy of my sweet sister, and illustrious father – word of you had even reached King’s Landing. A man capable of laying waste to entire armies and providing weapons that could breathe fire without the aid of dragons. Now, far be it for a captive dwarf such as myself to be so presumptuous, but I must ask. Is any of that true?”

Rather than answer his question right away, John chose to observe their current accommodations. It was about as hygienic as medieval prisons could be, with buckets in the corner, presumably for doing their business. Straw was sticking out of the cots, and manacles hung on the walls. 

Not entirely new for the ex-SpecOps, who have certain similar sights in less-developed places back on Earth. Judging from the wooden plates and cups, they’ve at least been fed and given water.

Both of them were dirty, though, with dust and blood on their clothes, skin, and hair. All-in-all, they weren’t doing all that bad. 

This conversation might not be a waste of time after all.

“I don’t know what you might or might not have heard, so I can’t say one way or the other,” John finally said. “What I do know is that you’ll probably see your heads chopped off by sunrise.” He made sure to emphasize his point by looking them in the eyes. Tyrion seemed nervous, but Jorah only glowered at John with eyes that could have been chips of ice. “That is, unless I decide you’re worth keeping alive.”

“Truly?” The midget affected an exaggeratedly interested tone. “How might we go about earning such an endorsement, my lord?”

Ignoring the snark, John simply pinned him with a sharp stare. “You can start by telling me everything that’s going on in Westeros. The players, the army compositions, alliances, everything. Lie to me even once, and I’ll know. You do that, I walk, and the next time I see you, you’ll both be a head shorter.”

Chapter 17 - Meeting About Westeros

Ever since his forcible translocation to this shit-heap of a world, John had learned a lot of things. Many of them were useful, but a lot more were very much the opposite. The whole public circus act that he’s been subjected to several times now, for example. It was a pointless waste of his time and doesn’t really serve anyone except to soothe the egos of so-called nobles.

If Daenerys were still in an unstable position, John would have understood the necessity of it. But ever since his little killing spree, all displays of disloyalty have died down, overt or otherwise.

At this point, she was just making a dancing monkey out of him because it’s what everyone else was doing. Monkey see, monkey do, as it were. 

John, being the pragmatic moron that he was, weighed the cost and benefit of just letting her continue. As things stood, an hour or two of going along with the whole charade was worth the days of being left alone to do as he pleased.

So, as far as he was concerned, he was getting the better end of the stick, deal, thingamajig.

Besides, it wasn’t like she was humiliating him in public. According to Artoria, the queen was basically fast-tracking his education on noble etiquette, politics, and this world’s feudal system without causing undue delays on his projects. In fact, his partner revealed that Daenerys has been doing a lot in the background to ensure that John was left alone most of the time.

So, all those occasions when he was forced to hobnob with the perfumed crowd were the absolute minimum that a monarch could realistically manage for someone of his supposed standing. When that was explained to John, he actually felt a little guilty.

This is why he went through the trouble of setting up a meeting with the queen’s personal council a week after the surprise visit by the Mormont-Lannister duo. 

Speaking of which, the two prisoners were standing in the corner of the usual meeting room, where Daenerys had spent the better part of ten minutes making them really uncomfortable. That’s fine by John, because he was busy organizing his documents.

He should’ve been done two minutes ago, but he just let the silence stretch on for a bit longer. Why? He thought it was funny. But, he’s about beaten the dead horse to a pulp. So, now, it’s about to get to business.

“Right,” John announced to get everyone’s attention. “First of all, thank you all for attending this presentation.” He got up and started handing out stacks of papers around the table, including Artoria, but excluding their two guests. Each stack had ten pages, which took forever to write by hand.

“I figured that I’d give you a taste of what these types of meetings were like back home,” John said once back at his end of the table. However, he didn’t sit as this is meant to be a presentation. “What you have in your hands is a summary of what’s been going on in The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The information came from our two prisoners, Jorah Mormont and Tyrion Lannister, though more primarily from the latter than the former. As you might expect, much of it is out of date, but outdated intel is still intel.”

He gave them a few moments to peruse the contents of the documents, which were written in English. Why it was so close to the so-called Common Tongue, John had no idea. He was just thankful that he didn’t need to learn an entirely new written script from scratch.

“You’ll find that many of the details in those documents have been boiled down to essentials. Troop sizes, command structure, logistics, and more. We’ll likely need to tweak those when we get more recent news from there, but unless they somehow manage to pull more soldiers from thin air, your goal to conquer it is pretty much a slam dunk.” He told the queen, who looked up in surprise. “With your dragons, my cannons, and the industry I’ve started here, the Houses of Westeros won’t be able to put up much of a fight. Once we’re done with the slavers here, taking back the Iron Throne is basically gonna be a cakewalk.”

A loud cough came from the side, and when John turned to look, he saw that it came from the little Lannister. He looked constipated and seemed in dire need of relief.

“You need to use the shitter?” John asked.

The guy’s face twitched with confusion at first, before smoothing out in understanding.

“I’d gone before coming up here, actually,” he said sarcastically. “I thought it best not to insult Her Grace by soiling myself. No, I simply couldn’t contain my disbelief at the ignorance of your declaration.”

“Oh?” the outworlder challenged. “Care to elaborate?”

Instead of answering John, Tyrion actually turned to Daenerys. “Your Grace, large armies still roam the lands of Westeros. Many houses retain their seats, remaining safe behind high walls and stout gates. Your ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, and his Queens, subjugated six kingdoms. That is true. However, they did so with fully grown dragons, each of which had their own rider. As I understand it, yours are still quite young, and you are the only prospective rider, which would then contain them in only a single place at any given time.”

Tyrion then turned to John for the next bit. “I know nothing about the weapons you were rumored to have, but you surely don’t believe them capable of overcoming overwhelming numbers? Particularly if those numbers include mounted knights in plate armor.”

John was barely able to restrain the manic grin threatening to form on his face. “Hmm, I dunno. What do you think, Ser Barristan? Can my cannons and guns overcome the armies of Westeros?”

It’s the old man’s turn to look constipated. Sparing a glance at his fellow Westerosi, who gave him inquiring stares, his answer seemed to have pulled out a piece of his soul.

“... Yes.”

Both Jorah and Tyrion were in danger of having their eyes pop out of their heads. Yeah, that’s right. The Second Amendment’s about to make an appearance up in here! John didn’t dwell on their shock, though, as there were more things to talk about. 

“Moving on,” drawing everyone’s attention to him again, “once the sealanes have been cleared, I suggest that we start sending out agents to suss out what’s going on elsewhere. We’ve been blind to international events for way too long. An intelligence-gathering apparatus would be handy, but it’ll have to be led by someone you trust. Maybe Missandei?”

We all looked to the queen’s aide, but she was preoccupied with something else, judging by her intense examination of the documents.

“Missandei?” Daenerys prompted, finally snapping the little girl out of her fugue. 

“Yes, Your Grace?” she squeaked in a flustered manner.

“Is there something in those documents that caught your eye?” the queen asked.

“I, uh, no, Your Grace,” she stammered. “Rather, it is the material the documents are made of. It is not parchment. The letters are also not written in ink!”

Ha! Nerd!

Daenerys then started looking closer at her own sheets, before looking up at John.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s just paper,” he said.

“And what did you use to write on it?”

“A pencil.”

What’s the big deal?

“Can you make more?” The way her eyes gleamed suddenly made John very nervous.

Chapter 18 - Meeting the Recruits

“What do you think?” John asked Artoria.

“They’re performing better than I anticipated,” she answered.

“Are you commenting on their ability to learn or my ability to teach?” 

“Both.”

“Ha! I knew there was a sense of humor in there!”

A smirk graced the lovely lips of his partner. “If nothing else, your means of encouragement have proven effective.”

“Damn right!” John grinned. “Hey! Why’re you slowing down, you maggots?! Hop to! Hop to!”

He followed up his words with a shot from his pistol over the heads of the crawling men. Two dozen were on their bellies, doing their best to wriggle forward in the mud while planks of wood limited how high they could raise their heads.

This was part of the obstacle course that John had asked Daenerys for two weeks ago. After their meeting about the state of Westeros, which was also when they went gaga over his paper and pencil. Apparently, his method of creating new writing materials would be a major source of revenue for Meereen if they could duplicate it.

Something that was apparently possible with the help of large stone blocks suspended with thick ropes and pulleys in a complicated compactor system. John had made his version with the help of Artoria, who could crush a piece of coal into a diamond. The craftsmen made do with more mundane alternatives that they came up with after John explained the process.

He was offered a reward for yet another contribution, and he jumped on it with a request that he’s had for a while. After a short recruitment drive that drew in hundreds of applicants, John was left with two dozen grunts who stuck it out and were now receiving the low-tech simulation of Boot Camp.

These recruits will form the backbone of John’s new wing of the Royal Armed Forces. He already brought guns and bombs to this world. He might as well introduce them to the beginnings of modern warfare.

Just imagining the mad scrambling he’d soon see when he let them loose on the battlefield was enough to give John the giggles.

He still had no idea what he wanted to do in this world, but getting back to familiar territory was a good start. John had grown used to military life. He might have retired sooner than most of his buddies, but once a soldier, always a soldier.

Naturally, the formation of a new division wasn’t easy. He had to build the whole thing from the ground up, starting with the mentality of its members. This world doesn’t train its grunts like they did in the good ol’ US of A. 

Honor and privilege would only get you so far. The recruits had to be broken down and built back up into the killing machines that would be the terror of the battlefield. 

There was no room for individual thinking in this outfit. That can come later. For now, he had to teach them how to follow orders, no matter how stupid or ridiculous. But he can’t accomplish that if the hierarchy wasn’t properly established, or if they didn’t understand the reason for that hierarchy. 

So, he had to put the fear of God in them first. Or, more accurately, the fear of him and his boomstick.

“You’re slowing down, maggots!” Two shots were fired. One from his pistol and another from his rifle. This time, the bullets whizzed closer, though still several feet over their heads. Safety was still a concern, after all. 

It did the job, though. The grunts crawled even faster. 

He could understand their trepidation, though. Conserving strength and stamina was obvious when there were additional obstacles still waiting for them. John did model the course after the one used by the United States Marine Corps, after all. 

By the time they were done, none of them was fit to stand.

“Congratulations, maggots!” John barked in a loud, gleeful voice. “You’re not the useless lumps of meat I thought you were. Now, go get cleaned up and chow down. Your barracks better be fucking clean by the time I inspect it, or I’ll have you running around the damn city! Am I clear?!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” they all shouted.

John was almost brought to tears. He was so proud of their progress!

“Good! Diiiiiiiiissssmiiiiissed!”

After leaving the recruits to their misery, John and Artoria went on their usual rounds. They visited the factories, the walls, the docks, and so on. So far, with a little over a month to go before the Slaver Coalition’s armies start arriving, Meereen was in a good enough state. They could have done more with a longer prep time, but nothing will ever be perfect in war.

Heck, even in the most advanced military in the world, back home, shit always kept breaking down, and nothing ever came on schedule.

Right now, they were on track to have four bronze cannons on three walls, facing the North, East, and West. The docks and the coast will be defended by the ships, with each having six cannons. The builders only had enough time to refit seven boats, but that’s better than nothing. All they’d have to do is form a line and send a hail of solid, iron balls at the enemies. 

The ships of this era were slow as fuck, so even with the practical range being 600 to 1,000 yards, they’ll still hit quite a few of them. Besides, there were also four cannons reserved for the dock walls.

If things really went to shit, well, Artoria can have her fun. She’ll remain on standby until she’s really needed. After all, the queen’s men needed the experience, and her enemies were so kind as to send practice dummies.

Chapter 19 - Meeting the Revolution

“Hooowee! That’s a lot of bodies.”

John was looking over the Eastern walls of Meereen along with Artoria, Daenerys, and her entourage. Included in that entourage were Tyrion Lannister and Jorah Mormont, weirdly enough. Whatever they talked about behind closed doors seemed to have resulted in a stay of execution.

Actually, it seemed to be more than that.

The midget was wearing nice clothes, for example, and was sitting close to the queen’s inner circle. Jorah was wearing chainmail armor, along with a jerkin and pants made of boiled leather. Barristan, of course, was in plate armor, and the Unsullied guards wore all tough, leather outfits. 

As for John, he was wearing a long rawhide trenchcoat on top of his cotton shirt and pants. His boots were made of top-quality buffalo skin, too. It’s amazing what the leatherworkers in this world can do with the right direction and a diagram.

“Surpassing one hundred thousand, according to our scouts,” Daenerys said while surveying their assembled invaders with her lilac eyes. “They brought many scorpions for my dragons and catapults to breach our walls, as well.”

Speaking of the fire-breathing alligators, John looked up to find their gigantic forms flying high in the clouds. Apparently, with the help of Artoria, Daenerys has been getting really good at controlling them. Today, she’ll have plenty of chances to prove how far she’s come.

“My cannon operators have their targets, then.” John grinned in anticipation. “Nice, big, stationary targets. So nice of these slaver folks to bring training aids with them. We won’t have to waste so much lumber!”

His quip drew a smile from both Daenerys and Missandei. Even Artoria had a twinkle in her eyes. The men seemed quite skeptical, though. Particularly Tyrion.

“And you’re so certain of your cannons’ accuracy from this distance?” he asked dubiously.

John favored him with a deranged smile. “Let’s find out, shall we? Do we have your permission, Your Grace?”

Glittering violet eyes considered him. “Should we not offer terms first?”

Her question actually elicited an approving nod from Barristan, Jorah, and even Artoria. What the shit?

“Do you actually want to?” John’s incredulous look must have been funny because the girl and her aide broke out in tinkling laughter. 

“We must observe the rules and norms of war, Lord John,” Barry admonished. “Only the uncivilized and the savage conduct battle without first meeting to exchange terms.”

“Ugh, fine!” John did not pout. He smouldered. There was a difference.

That necessity of meeting under the flag of parley or whatever meant that by midday, a delegation was sent from each side. To John’s dismay, he was considered important enough to play a part in the so-called negotiations. If it were up to him, he’d have just sent Artoria to act as muscle and to protect the queen.

But, nooooo! He had a reputation to uphold! Bunch of bullshit is what it is!

Somehow, John just knew that he was going to regret being forced to come along. And if that was going to be the case, he’d make someone else share in that regret.

A large pavilion was set up about halfway between the army of mercs and the city. Tables and chairs were set up, along with an unnecessary amount of silks, other fabrics, goblets made of gold and encrusted with jewels, and all that stuff.

This is stupid!

John had to keep his opinions to himself, though. Well, to be more accurate, John was explicitly told to keep his opinions to himself. He was told this by no less than five people. The most hurtful of which was Missandei, who looked so earnest in her lecturing of John, yet seemed doubtful of his ability to keep his mouth shut.

He’ll show them! John will be as quiet as a mouse. A dead one, even!

This resolution lasted only until one of the assholes on the other side of the ornate table opened their mouth.

“So, the dragon whore shows herse –”

He didn’t even get to finish speaking before a smoking hole was punched in the middle of his forehead. After a brief moment where screams and shrieks resounded, the whole pavilion went silent.

“Oops,” John said with a careless shrug. “How’s about we all stay polite, hmm? No calling each other names, that would be downright rude. We’re civilized folk, aren’t we?” He made sure to meet the eyes of every single shithead sitting opposite them before repeating his question, this time, punctuated by the snap of his reloaded pistol. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Fatty McFatman stammered. That’s what John chose to call him in his mind since he couldn’t tell any of them apart. “Yes, we are. Please accept our apologies for Captain Haruk’s crassness. We can certainly conduct ourselves with dignity.”

The whole time he spoke, his eyes were glued to the pistol that John placed on the table in full view of everyone. The same went for his compatriots, who had begun to sweat profusely.

“I am glad to hear this,” Daenerys replied with grace and poise. She looked so at ease, one would think that a man hadn’t just been shot in front of her. “Also, please accept my apologies for Lord John’s hasty actions. He can be quite protective of me, you see?”

Oh, she just can’t help herself, can she? There’s nothing going on here, people! John Sinclair ain’t no pedo! But, of course, he couldn’t say any of that out loud. Stupid politics.

Instead of stewing on that particular issue, John reviewed battle plans in his head and completely ignored the ongoing talks. He trusted Artoria to let him know if there was anything that needed his attention. After a lot of back and forth, the meeting concluded with both sides not reaching an agreement. 

On the way back, he asked the burning question. “I can start shooting them now, right?”

An amused smile played on the queen’s lips. “As soon as we are behind the walls.”

“Yes!” John pumped his fist and did a jig, the act amusing Daenerys and Missandei again. This time, even Barristan rolled his eyes in exasperation, which was progress as far as John was concerned.

Once through the gate, he ran all the way up to the top of the walls where his operators were waiting for orders. Stacks of cannonballs were already in easy reach. 

“Where are we at, partner?” John asked Artoria.

“The bulk of the enemy army is to the East,” she reported. “Several detachments broke off, presumably in an attempt to find weak points along the walls or to attempt an attack from the rear. The Volantene navy has also appeared over the horizon and will likely be within our ships’ range by late afternoon.”

“Hmm, not ideal,” John commented. “The low light’s gonna be a bitch for accuracy.”

“We couldn’t have all of the advantages, Master. To expect otherwise is foolish.”

“Yeah,” John sighed, but perked back up. “Still, everything’s in place, right?”

“Everything is in place,” Artoria confirmed.

“Excellent.” John rubbed his hands together like that old bald guy from that really old cartoon. “Captain Morago!”

“Sir!” a middle-aged man with close-cropped hair, beard, and mustache answered. He, like his fellow cannon operators, was wearing thick protective gear.

“Ready on the guns!” John instructed.

“Ready on the guns!” Captain Morago yelled to his crew. The command was repeated several more times by specially trained personnel whose entire job boiled down to a game of telephone. 

“Concentrate on their siege engines, scorpions, and clustered formations!”

Once again, the command was repeated all across the walls.

“Load!” John shouted.

Powder and shot entered the cannons.

“Prick and Prime!”

The powder bag was punctured, and priming powder was poured into the touchhole.

“Make clear!”

All of the operators, except the one holding the lit fuse, moved to the rear.

This was it. After today, this world will never be the same. No matter how many test fires John and his crew did, it was no comparison to battlefield conditions. They had already sunk some ships, and the operators have gotten really good at their jobs. Even so, this will be the first time that the booming of cannons heralded the start of war.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held it in for a few more seconds before opening his eyes and mouth.

“Fire!”

“Fire!”

“Fire!”

The roar didn’t come from the operators or the other personnel. It came from the crowd behind the walls. John looked back and beheld thousands upon thousands gathering in the streets, shouting at the top of their lungs. The sound they made was so loud that he heard them even above the controlled explosions of artillery. 

“Fire!” They roared, over and over again.

Looking to where Daenerys sat with her court, John was surprised to see her on her feet, shouting along with her people.

“Fire!” They roared, and that’s exactly what the cannons did.

Chapter 20 - Meeting Dragon Fire

John learned something new today. Cannonball impact is not at all like what you’d get with modern artillery back on Earth. They splatter their targets rather than shred them with shrapnel. He had to put away his spyglass because of how gory the hits were.

Don’t get him wrong. Corpses aren’t anything new to an ex-operator. But, he didn’t enjoy seeing limbs and viscera flying all over the place, either.

When Delta kills, it’s clean and quiet. Any mission that ends with unnecessary collateral damage is a failed mission. This goes double for open combat, where both sides exchange fire out in the open. If that happens, something has gone horribly wrong.

Back to the present, though. While accuracy wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t abysmal either. Already, a lot of the siege engines have been reduced to splinters. Smears that used to be clustered formations also dotted the field, as if giant droplets of marinara sauce landed in even spaces among the panicking mercs. 

Most of the fire was concentrated around the Eastern side, with occasional booms coming from the Northern and Western walls. John guessed that those were the detachments that broke off from the main force.

Unfortunately, whoever was commanding this army was still hellbent on having them march forward. If they did, chances are good that at least some of them will cross the intervening distance between them and Meereen. There simply weren’t enough cannons to really saturate the field with enough shots.

Fortunately, this was an easy problem to fix.

Artoria, he called through the link.

Yes, Master? She answered.

Can you pick out where the commanders are down there? John asked with mounting anticipation.

It turns out, she could. When she pointed them out, John gauged how far out they were. About two hundred yards, more or less. Far, but not too far.

Walking to the spot of the wall where he kept his firearms, John chose a gun that reminded him of those old buffalo rifles, and which he had been itching to try on live targets. Finished two days prior, its heavy barrel was made of low-carbon steel, rifled with careful precision, and was about 51 inches long from stock to tip.

Breech-loaded, of course.

It was a chunky boy, but the weight and dimensions were necessary because it fired a larger bullet. He only had five left after testing it out the day before, but that was fine. To John, this was just good fun.

The scope he jury-rigged couldn’t have hoped to compare with modern options. For starters, it was made from another spyglass that he took apart. It won’t do much for long-range targets over five hundred yards, but for anything closer, it’ll do the job.

Hefting the rifle over his shoulder, he also picked up a small wool sack filled with sand. John placed the bag on the parapet between two cannon teams. This not only added height so that the rifle would line up with John’s shoulder, but it also provided a nice, stable platform to shoot from. 

Done with his preparation, John gently laid the barrel of the loaded rifle on the surface of the sandbag, looked down his improvised scope, and lined up his shot. His first target was a douche on a horse with a helmet shaped like a 9mm bullet. The poor guy was doing his best to get his soldiers back into line.

If nothing else, the man’s got balls. Too bad he’ll soon lose his head.

Taking a deep breath, John placed his left hand on top of the barrel, pulled the stock firmly into his shoulder, breathed out, and squeezed the trigger. The crack was loud, even with wax in his ears, but John never took his eyes off his target.

Even as fast as bullets can move, they still need to travel from one point to the other. This time, it took about a second. Not that long, all things considered.

As for the result, a geyser of blood flew behind the target a split second before the unfortunate soul behind him lost half his face. Both dropped to the ground, though the horse dude did the whole dramatic touching his chest in shock thing before falling off the saddle.

Naturally, those close to him started acting like headless chickens.

John only savored the sight for a moment before reloading and acquiring a new target. When he did, the next guy was yelling at a subordinate who was waving his arms and gesturing toward the direction of the commander he just shot.

“You should’ve listened,” he muttered before squeezing the trigger. 

Once again, a spray of blood flew out, and anyone close to the dead man ran in all directions. John repeated the process three more times, which resulted in three more neutralized targets. By then, the whole army was in disarray.

A quick scan let John know that even the teams manning the scorpions and the siege engines were running for the hills. That’s all he needed to see.

Placing the rifle on the table, John picked up a pole with a green cloth tied to it. He then waved it in the direction of the balcony jutting out of the pyramid’s walls, where Daenerys was sitting. Upon seeing the signal, she got up and went inside.

Knowing what’s about to happen, John then turned to Artoria, who was on the lookout for potential assassins.

Can you do a quick check of what’s going on with the enemy fleet?

She briefly gave him a considering look before nodding and taking off at speed. While she was gone, John looked over the state of the battlefield and saw that all discipline had broken down. Ten seconds later, she returned.

The Volantene fleet is still an hour or so before entering cannon range, she reported.

Ah. Well, it would appear that John vastly overestimated how hard this was going to be. Before he could say anything about the matter, however, a trio of deafening roars filled the air. They were so loud, even cannon fire was muted by comparison. 

The dragons swooped down from the sky and made a beeline for the pyramid.

Only the black one called Drogon landed, though. The other two simply circled the large structure. A small figure then climbed on top of the dragon. Concerned, John took out his spyglass and pointed it in the figure’s direction.

Is that…?

Artoria?

Yes, Master?

Does that dragon have a saddle?

Yes, Master.

Huh, that made sense. John wasn’t sure why he thought Daenerys would ride Drogon without one. It even came with chains!

Once the queen was well and truly secured, she gave a command that John couldn’t hear. Great, big wings extended into the air, and an exultant roar came out of gigantic jaws, before the flying lizard took off into the air with its royal passenger. Two answering cries echoed, and the three living, breathing engines of destruction flew over the walls. Their passing cast enormous shadows that gave even John the shivers.

Without the scorpions, there was absolutely nothing that their enemies could do to threaten the titanic mounts.

As soon as they came upon the first group of fleeing enemies, waves of fire were spat out of scaly maws, and it was both terrible and wonderful to behold. The dragons then split, likely at their mother’s command, and began burning indiscriminately.

The green and white ones were essentially meant to cut off the retreating figures with walls of flames. Daenerys, meanwhile, shot toward the tents that contained representatives of the Slaver Coalition who, to their credit, started packing up the moment the cannons began raining iron balls from the walls.

It’s just too bad they don’t have the ability to outrun dragons.

John had to wonder what other result they expected. Even without him, Daenerys still had three enormous, fire-breathing weapons of mass destruction. How did they expect to win?

Buncha idjits!

As satisfying as it was to watch slavers burn, though, there was one huge downside to the cleanup operation.

“Whew!” John waved one hand in front of him while pinching his nose with the other. “I won’t be having barbecue after this!”

“Ridiculous,” Artoria disagreed. “Hunger is the enemy.”

Chapter 21 - Meeting the Commander

“Well, shit.”

The impressive bit of eloquence spilled forth from John’s lips as a consequence of ships filling the horizon. According to Artoria, who learned it from Barristan, most of the fleet was made up of war galleys and dromonds. There were apparently boats called cogs, but they were mostly meant for carrying men and supplies.

“That’s a lot of ships.”

“Hundreds,” Artoria said while standing calmly at John’s side.

They were both on an elevated platform overlooking the docks and, by extension, the bay. Daenerys was currently resting after going on a burning spree, and the dragons were enjoying a post-battle meal. That is to say, they were back in their den, being fed cows, sheep, and pigs.

Apparently, their mother didn’t want them gorging on the corpses of her foes. A sentiment that John thoroughly agreed with, since humans typically come with a lot of diseases.

Having some idea as to what the mercenaries in this world got up to, he didn’t even want to know what kinds of STDs they had.

That left the naval force as John’s responsibility to deal with. It was an incredible show of trust, now that he actually thought about it. Then again, who else would take charge of the cannon? Barristan was still the captain of her infantry while Grey Worm handled the Unsullied. She was in charge of the Air Force, all on her own.

With that said…

“Hey, Saber,” John said, using Artoria’s preferred form of address when in public.

“Yes, Master?” she asked.

“In your former profession,” John hedged, “did you do much naval combat?”

“No, Master. We were mostly focused on land battles.”

“Ironic, considering how Britain rules the seas, at some point.” Then, the US took the title from them. Heh.

“That was long after my reign, Master.”

“Seriously, when are you going to just call me by my name?” John complained. “This whole master business is getting annoying.”

“Until you accept that you are my Master, Master.” John could swear he saw a twinkle in the girl’s eye. 

He knew, objectively, that Artoria was centuries older than he was. She even died in her 30s. So, technically speaking, there really wasn’t a reason to form a more intimate relationship with her. Two things stopped John, though.

One, it would be giving in to that bitch calling herself a goddess, and John would rather cut off his own testicles than let that happen.

Two, he genuinely liked and trusted Artoria. She was basically the only person in this hellhole of a world devoid of functioning plumbing, whom he knew for a fact wouldn’t sell him out. So, the idea of having that kind of relationship with her would, paradoxically, be a risk.

Even if he knew, intellectually, that she wouldn’t just leave him if his usual hangups around women surfaced, it still rang in the back of his mind. Like an alarm that didn’t have a snooze button.

Wanting a distraction from his irritating dilemma, John observed the approaching ships. Their own boats had already formed a line near the mouth of the bay so that they could really spread out. In just a few minutes, they’ll start the cannonade.

This will be a test of how well they can perform without his presence.

John took control of the wall cannons, but that won’t be the case forever. Now that they’ve had a taste of what the guns could do, someone else will handle the artillery in the upcoming campaign. With the ships, John was no sailor. So, it’s best to leave the sea business to seamen.

Finally, the crack of cannon fire resounded over the waters, and at this distance, John could track the shots flying through the air.

It was an incredible sight, especially once they found their marks. Some landed in the surf, though, but that was fine. The sailors would already be making adjustments, which was proven by their more effective second volley.

Several enemy ships had already started listing, but more deployed oars to speed up. John was already made aware of this possibility, so he did not doubt that the captains had already factored this into their calculations. Sure enough, the speed of the cannon fire increased, and more Volantene ships were hit.

Just to make sure, though, John looked up to one of the personnel assigned to be his end of the telephone chain previously used in passing on messages.

“Alert the queen,” he told the young man. “We may need her dragons.”

The man nodded and shouted the predetermined command to the next in line. That person then shouted again, and pretty soon, the message would be carried to Daenerys.

In the end, however, it proved to be unnecessary. Unlike with the mercenaries, the win condition against the Volantene fleet wasn’t a complete massacre. Even the bloodthirsty Targaryen girl has had her fill of the land forces.  

Once a few dozen of their numbers were taken out, a horn was blown across the waves, and they began to turn around. The Meereen naval line still continued to pelt them with shots, though, more for satisfaction than anything else. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, as the old saying goes.

Eventually, the lot of them were able to maneuver their ungainly boats around and head toward the open seas. That left quite a few ships stranded, just drifting among the floating debris.

The ship captains already knew what to do about those poor suckers. There was booty to be claimed, after all.

It was at this point that John voiced a thought he’s had for as long as a navy armed with cannons has existed in this world. Granted, it’s only been a few weeks, but the point stands.

“You know,” he told Artoria, “it would be nice if we had an actual naval officer. Someone who could take over our forces at sea. I’m certainly no good for that.”

The Servant gave him a wry look and opened her mouth to reply when a glowing symbol suddenly formed on the ground – a very familiar symbol.

“Oh no,” John whimpered.

With a blinding flash of light, a female form appeared, as if she just sprouted out of the stone platform. A redhead this time, of average height, and an athletic build. Most curious of all, however, was her outfit.

It looked like a futuristic version of armor, with a chestplate, armpads, greaves, and pauldrons. There were also blocky items attached to her hips and back.

“Hey there!” she greeted in a cheery and warm vibrato. “Commander Jane Shepard of the Systems Alliance Navy.”

…

…

…

“Well, shit.”

Chapter 22 - Meeting Shame and Embarrassment

Once again in the small meeting, John, Artoria, Daenerys, and her entourage, and the newcomer sat around the table. John was pressing his forehead into the cool surface of the polished wood. Artoria sat beside him, no longer acting the role of a cautious bodyguard. As for the queen and her group, they openly stared in wonder at the cheerful redhead.

Why? It might have something to do with her impressive armor. Or her breathtaking beauty, complete with the elfin face, adorable freckles across her nose, and the most heart-achingly gorgeous green eyes. The various weapons attached to her would’ve played a role in gaining the attention of the comparatively primitive group, as well.

But, no. The thing that truly captivated her audience was the transparent rectangle floating just over her wrist.

“As you can see,” Commander Jane Shepard regaled her listeners, “the omni-tool provides several libraries’ worth of information. Most come in texts from countless languages, but a fair amount of photos and videos are available, too.”

Even Artoria couldn’t keep the interest from shining in her eyes, glittering like sapphires.

“What are these photos and videos, as you call them?” Honestly, the way the queen leaned over with the enthusiasm of an ordinary teen was something to behold. The old knight, her aide, and even Grey Worm were hardly any better.

The armored woman simply grinned before multiple floating screens popped up, showcasing various stills and clips of different objects and scenes. Gadgets, buildings, vehicles, cityscapes, and even spaceships were on display.

John finally had to pause his exaggerated expression of exasperation and look up at the gasps and various sounds of awe. Upon laying eyes on what his most recent source of stress was showing off from where she sat, though, he went right back to cooling his overheated forehead on the table.

His headache only worsened when a cacophony of competing questions was flung at the woman, who answered them with equal eagerness. Naturally, Artoria made her interest in food and warfare known, which the Commander was only too glad to satisfy.

Once everyone had finally settled, most likely due to being overwhelmed by the details of a futuristic society, Jane Shepard turned her interest toward John.

“Something the matter, Master?”

It was an innocent enough question, but the man had finally had enough. Slamming his palms on the table, John pushed himself to full height and pointed a finger right at her face.

“No!” he growled. “No more of this Master business! You will call me John and nothing else. That goes for you too, Artoria!” John turned to the shorty sitting beside him. “I’m no one’s Master, dagnabit! And I swear, if I hear anyone else call me by that despicable title, I’m gonna start shooting. See if I won’t!”

Everyone in the room fell silent and watched John in apprehension. They’ve all seen him kill in cold blood. They’ve all seen him be annoyed, irritated, and impatient. But none of them have ever seen him lose his cool.

“Jeez, all right!” the redhead complied, raising her hands in surrender, looking rather hurt.

“My apologies, John,” Artoria muttered sadly. “I never meant to make you so uncomfortable with the title.”

Now, it was his turn to feel like a complete asshole. “No, I’m sorry,” John apologized, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “I shouldn’t have shouted like that. I was out of line.” Looking at Daenerys and Missandei, who stared at him with wide eyes, made him feel even worse. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, Missandei. That was shameful of me.”

“You are forgiven,” Daenerys was quick to say, inclining her head.

“It is as Her Grace says,” Missandei added. 

“Artoria?” He turned to his partner.

“I forgive you, John,” she said gracefully.

“Thanks,” John said sincerely before addressing the redhead. “I’m sorry to you too, Commander. I guess I’ve been more stressed lately than I thought.”

He got a knowing smirk in return. “Eh, it’s fine. God knows I’ve blown up at people quite a few times. Some of them were even technically my superiors!”

John barked out a laugh, recognizing a fellow soldier’s sense of humor. “I hear that,” he said as he sat back down, sighing. “Poking the elephant in the room, though.” Two sets of giggles sounded. “Did you really appear just because I said I needed a navy officer?”

She wiggled a gauntleted palm. “Yes and no. From what I understand, I was always on the list of girls to make your life more fulfilling.” This time, a snort escaped a pair of nostrils attached to a serious old man. “That you voiced what you needed out loud just pushed me to the front.” She finished with a wicked grin, which John found hard to look away from.

Crap.

“So, uh,” John stammered a bit before clearing his throat. “So, there are definitely more, uh, girls, on the way?”

The grin widened, causing heart palpitations in a vulnerable male chest. “A lot more.”

John was dumbstruck at the confirmation of his worst fear. More women in his life. More!

“How is it that you know this and yet I did not?” Artoria asked while John was busy having an aneurysm. 

“Apparently, you were deemed too honest for your own good,” Jane answered. “That bitch of a goddess changed a few things in the backend once you went through.”

“You would speak of a goddess so harshly?” Daenerys interrupted with a frown.

“She won’t mind,” the Commander waved the concern away. “If you’re worried she’ll be all wrath and ruin, don’t be. Watching John is providing her with plenty of entertainment, and she can also read his mind.”

Her words immediately rebooted John’s brain, and he used the restarted wetware to think up as many foul words and images as he could come up with. Thanks to his time in the military, he knew a fair amount. To his dismay, though, a faint echo of amusement was all he got in return.

Fortunately, Barristan came in clutch with a question that provided a big enough distraction.

“Will this goddess meddle in mortal affairs?” Damn, that’s a really good question.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Jane shrugged. “She’s content to just lie back and watch John struggle. The system’s pretty much running as she set it up, so there’s no need for her to do more.”

“You’re speaking of this Waifu System?” Daenerys clarified, and John felt his face burn in second-hand embarrassment. 

He totally forgot that he included that tidbit in his initial explanation on that first day. To his horror, Jane noticed his consternation and smiled at the teenage ruler.

“The one and only,” she said, crossing one arm on the table, and resting her chin on the palm of the other. “What do you know about it?”

From the way those lilac eyes twinkled, Daenerys caught on to the redhead’s game. “That it is meant to provide Lord John with many beautiful women to wed. Though,” she paused, placing a thoughtful finger on her chin, “he failed to provide more details on the matter. Would you kindly do so in his stead? It would ever be so helpful.”

A snort escaped Artoria, which was so shocking coming from the normally put-together girl that it thoroughly distracted John. That split-second distraction was enough for Commander Jane Shepard of the Systems Alliance Navy, veteran of numerous conflicts, and galactic hero, to launch into a campaign of brutal gossip.

Gossip that involved the merciless unveiling of John Sinclair’s shame, while he could do naught but sit there and question how cruel the universe could be.

Chapter 23 - Meeting Merciless Torment

John Sinclair was made of stone. Untouchable, immutable, and immovable stone. His feelings were iron. No, in fact, he had no feelings. His feelings were dead. As such, there was no possibility of his wanting to crawl under the table out of mortification.

Certainly not from the uncontrollable laughter of two girls, one being an actual queen…

Okay, you know what? Screw that!

This was a betrayal. A betrayal of the most atrocious sort! The culprit was supposed to be on his side, helping him with… stuff that he can’t really be bothered to think about right that moment.

“And then, apparently, John here went red when the goddess started describing what he was supposed to do with women, blushing like an innocent maiden!” the devil in futuristic armor crowed, making the laughter go up in volume.

Lies! All lies! John Sinclair doesn’t blush, and he certainly wasn’t a maiden, which was just a polite way of saying virgin! He was no virgin, dammit!

Not like he could say that, though. He had a suspicion that it would only worsen his situation. Making the whole thing so much more unbearable was the look of approval Barristan fucking Selmy and Grey Worm were sending his way. He honestly would’ve preferred the usual glares of disdain. 

What the hell, dudes?!

John could only thank his lucky stars that neither the bear nor the dwarf was present…

“Are you a maiden, John?” Artoria’s question was so sincere that it finally cracked the outworlder’s shaky mask, causing him to groan into his hands.

It also made Daenerys cackle so hard that she fell off her chair. Missandei tried to help her up, but she ended up rolling on the floor herself, along with her queen. Both Barristan and Grey Worm had difficulty setting them upright since they seemed to be valiantly trying to contain their own sniggers.

“See! Look! He’s blushing again!”

It was at this moment that John swore vengeance most foul. Someday, he didn’t know when, Jane Shepard would know the true depths of despair. It will be hilarious, and would preferably involve feathers.

The day ended with the echoes of unrestrained laughter reverberating through the halls of the great pyramid of Meereen. The Unsullied and servants who heard it merely looked at each other in confusion, shrugged, and moved on.

“Oh, come on, you can’t still be angry!”

“Indeed, John. Good-natured teasing builds stronger bonds among fellow soldiers, does it not?”

“Exactly! I was just messing around. You gotta admit, your meeting with our perverted overlord was funny.”

“Was it truly so vulgar?”

“There were mentions of tatas and spray –”

A scandalized shriek interrupted what Jane was about to say. “Don’t you dare! Saber doesn’t need to hear about things like that!”

“You’re kidding, right? I bet she’s heard worse while out on campaign.”

“That is true. I have heard many boasts of trysts and bedding in sensational detail from my men. They were quite graphic in their description, and spoke often of how lengthy and girthy their –”

Another scandalized shriek interrupted whatever Artoria was about to say. At this point, John wasn’t even sure why he was acting like such a prude. Hearing about stuff like that from the blonde just felt wrong.

“For the love of God, can we please stop talking about this!”

“Saber, look! He’s blushing again!”

Wasn’t this woman supposed to be a naval officer? Where’s the frickin’ dignity? The composure?

John bet that she’s crashed a few times, with an attitude like that. Probably a bad dancer too. Not that one had anything to do with the other. John was just feeling petty.

“Lord John?”

“Yes, Ser Barristan?”

“I have come to apologize for thinking ill of you.”

“Say what?”

“You possess more chivalry in your heart than I previously believed. Not many men would have had your strength of character to resist the call of the flesh.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Your commitment to preserving your chastity, Lord John. It is quite admirable. I have known many knights who could not turn away from such temptations. Not even I could make such a claim.”

“...”

“...”

“Ser Barristan?”

“Yes, Lord John?”

“Please go away.”

“Ah, my apologies. I will leave you to your meditations. I imagine developing such mental fortitude as what you possess requires extensive self-reflection in isolation.”

“...Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Lord John?”

“How can I help you, Missandei?”

“If I may ask, have you truly never married?”

“Uh, no, no, I haven’t. Why?”

“I don’t mean to overstep, but may I ask why?”

“Just never found the right partner, I guess.”

“Truly?”

“Well, I also have terrible luck with women.”

“I see.”

“Anything else?”

“...Yes, but I would not wish to cause offense.”

“Oh, Missandei. I have thick skin. Go ahead. Ask.”

“Very well. If you are certain?”

“I am. Shoot.”

“That means proceed, yes?”

“Yep, shoot means proceed.”

“Then, if you truly do not mind, is marriage required for coupling in your culture?”

“...”

“...”

“Why’re you asking me that, Missandei?”

“Marriage would resolve your status as a maiden, would it not?”

“...”

“...”

“I, uh, I mean – Yes, Missandei. Yes, it would.”

“Wonderful! I will go speak with Her Grace!”

“Wait, what?!”

“I have just spoken with Missandei.”

“And?”

“You do understand that should we marry, we would lay together, do you not?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Surely you have no objections to losing your maidenhood in matrimony? I am willing to wait until I’ve reached the age you deem acceptable, if it is necessary.”

“Oh, good point, Your Grace! See, John? You could lose your V-card if you just say yes!”

“I truly do not understand the issue, John. Even in our world, Queen Daenerys would have been of age to marry.”

“Back in the Bronze Age, maybe!”

“Hardly the Bronze Age. We had steel swords and armor.”

“Not the point, Saber!”

“Is it your prior commitments to your existing and future wives?”

“Excuse me?”

“If so, I am willing to share.”

“What the hell is happening?”

“Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, and I am not opposed to sharing my bed with the same sex.”

“I’m down for it!”

“My experience in this matter is limited, but I am open to such an arrangement, as well.”

“So, what say you, Lord John?”

“...”

“Lord John?”

“Yo, John!”

“Are you all right, John?”

“...”

“Holy crap, he fainted!”

“With his eyes open and while on his feet?”

“Quite the feat, indeed.”

“Heh, good pun!”

“...”

“Should we draw on him?”

“Draw?”

“Yeah! I can fabricate markers with my omni-tool.”

“Is this considered acceptable in his world?”

“Oh, definitely. I come from a different version of his home, just, ya know, farther along. A lot of girls do it to guys they like!”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Trust me, Saber. It’s tradition.”

“If you are certain.”

“I’m certain, Your Grace.”

“Very well. What shall we draw?”

“Dick and balls?”

“A what?”

“I believe she means a man’s genitals.”

“...”

“Do it.”

“Heck, yeah! This is gonna be so funny!”

“Poor John… may I have one, as well?”

Chapter 24 - Meeting to Plan the War

Things for Meereen are definitely looking up after the war with the slavers, if it can even be called that. Seriously, the whole thing was so short that it was almost embarrassing how much preparation went into just taking them to the cleaners. 

It was certainly the most uneven war that this world has ever seen, according to Barristan.

Sounds about right, considering there were absolutely no losses on their side. Zero. Nada. A big old hard-boiled egg. Shit, John couldn’t think of a single conflict where that was the case. Apparently, neither could the old knight.

Such a clean sweep has certainly done wonders for anyone else looking to test the city. It’s been over a month since then, and it seems that the waters around Slaver’s Bay have suddenly become pirate-free.

What could have prompted such a weird development?

Was it the nearly two dozen ships now patrolling the seas, each armed with cannons? Apparently, they travelled in groups of four, roving the oceans like wolf packs.

The lack of dangers across the waves has thus allowed merchant ships to travel to and fro with no trouble. So, food and necessities were being met again. The old masters of the city had plenty of gold, so paying for the goods wasn’t all that hard, either. That, plus no enterprising tradesfolk were willing to gouge the dragon queen overmuch.

Oh, Daenerys was more than happy to pay premium prices if it meant feeding her people. She simply expected to receive premium products in return. So far, this seems to be working out.

While she and her council are handling the economy stuff, John’s been busy making improvements in the budding industry he started. Thanks to Commander Jane Shepard’s omni-tool, they now had access to a lot of advanced blueprints. Granted, they couldn’t build everything stored in her doodad, but that was fine.

None of them were in a hurry to build cars or airplanes, for example.

Better ways to produce more bombs, bullets, and bread, though? Those were of high interest for pretty much everyone. Daenerys even commandeered the Commander a few times for information on things like mining, farming, road-building, construction, and so on.

They tried to keep John in the loop, but at the end of the day, he was just a grunt. A highly effective grunt, but still a grunt.

He didn’t need to know anything about running a kingdom or commerce. Instead, he focused on the things that he actually knew. Building things he can use to kill. Teaching others how to kill. And making the right preparations that would help him kill more effectively. 

Not necessarily in that order, since he does tend to bounce between them quite a bit.

As a result, he was the last to know that Meereen had gotten a lot of new things to export, which made them a lot of money. Paper, pencils, rudimentary fountain pens, bags of cement, and so on. There’s been a change in the textiles industry of the city, too, which was surprising since, as far as John knew, it didn’t even have one.

When he asked Artoria about it a few days back, he only remembered snippets about new ways to make cloth, dyes, threads, and such before his eyes started glazing over.

Suffice it to say, the former Delta operator wasn’t good at academics. He was, however, extremely good at being a Staff Sergeant. Fitting, considering he was a Sergeant by the time he retired, well below Commander, which made things a bit awkward with Jane.

As the higher-ranking officer, he should be deferring to her. But all military conventions had already gone out the window when John woke up with his face covered in dicks and balls.

Since then, they’ve all agreed to pretend that the incident never happened.

Upon learning that he was building up his own posse of crayon munchers, though, the woman jumped on the opportunity to help with their training. Apparently, attaining the rank of N7 in the Systems Alliance military was about as hard as John expected, and she passed on the lessons she learned the only way she knew how: lots and lots of PT.

She had trouble making them listen at first, seeing as she’s a woman and this world was about as backwards as it could be. Her collapsible rifle changed their minds quickly enough. It’s amazing how quickly folks start respecting you when you have fully automatic weaponry that can literally rip people to shreds.

John found this out when she allowed him to take her guns for a spin. To say he was jealous would be an understatement. 

For one thing, unlimited rounds. Nuff said.

For another, each round was the size of a grain of sand, yet it could blow a hole the size of his fist through a block of stone.

The craftsmen who were invited to observe nearly lost their minds. John’s firearms were already plenty powerful compared to anything this world has ever produced. The Commander’s weapons, though? Lightyears more impressive.

Unfortunately, they had to be disappointed when it was explained that there is simply no feasible way for them to reproduce Jane’s guns. Explaining why made things both easy and far more difficult, as they somehow got it in their heads that the sci-fi weapons were divine constructs.

They weren’t exactly wrong, but the context was entirely ignored. So, now, Daenerys might have a new religion to deal with, on top of everything else. 

Luckily for John, handling that nonsense wasn’t part of his job. Instead, he’s working with Barristan and Grey Worm to plan out their next moves. Apparently, the douche with the blue beard tried to worm his way into their group, but was barred from doing so by order of the queen. Good thing too, or he’d have been force-fed some lead.

During the planning sessions, the next target was easy enough to settle on: Yunkai. It would seem that some shenanigans were afoot involving lying liars who lied to the queen’s face, and were apparently suffering from delusions of grandeur or something. Too bad they didn’t come with the force that was just wiped out. That would’ve saved them a lot of trouble.

Now, they’ll have to march all the way to the next city over, blow up the gate, and kill everyone who stands in their way. It was practically guaranteed to be a slog.

John was actually thinking of simply not going. It wasn’t like he was needed for the operators to work the cannons anymore. They already had that down. A few ships will also be going with the infantry, just in case Yunkai needs to be bombarded or some boats need to be sunk.

But Artoria and Jane convinced him otherwise. There were duties, expectations, or some other bullshit that made staying behind a bad idea, they said. 

On top of that, this could be a good opportunity to blood their new troops. Building up their equivalent of the USMC has to start somewhere, and if they can’t shoot for shit, then John might as well give up on the idea.

All-in-all, getting everything ready for the march should take another month. That gives them four more weeks to get the baby jarheads into shape. 

Ugh. John was already tired just thinking about how much of a hassle this is gonna be.

Chapter 25 - Meeting About Varys

The meeting room was already full by the time John arrived, drawing attention from the various attendees, which included a few council members, the queen’s inner circle, and, most surprisingly of all, Tyrion Lannister. Or it would have been, had the meeting's topic not been Westeros.

“Lord John,” Daenerys greeted warmly, “Lady Saber, Commander Shepard, welcome.” By this point, everyone had grown used to her royal highness addressing the trio in such a familiar manner that nobody batted an eye.

“Your Grace,” John greeted with a slight bow, which both Artoria and Jane mimicked as they moved to their assigned places. “Sorry, we’re late. We were on the other side of the city when your messenger found us.”

“Understandable,” she said. “Your work is important.”

That went without saying, but apparently, it still needed to be said. Political theatre at its finest. Instead of commenting on it, John simply nodded and settled in.

“With all of us in attendance, we may begin. Lord Tyrion?”

The midget cleared his throat. “Thank you, Your Grace. We’ve recently received word regarding matters in The Seven Kingdoms. It would appear that Stannis Baratheon has gone North in an attempt to rally what remains of the kingdom to his cause following his defeat at Blackwater Bay. He landed on the Wall, whereupon he supposedly repelled an army of Wildlings.”

Murmurs erupted around the table, with Daenerys and Barristan looking particularly interested in the news. John, on the other hand, was more curious about another matter. So, he mentally reached out to his partner.

Hey, Artoria. What’s with Tyrion doing the briefing? I thought he was a prisoner or something?

He was. However, he has since convinced the queen of his value as an asset. He knows much about Westeros and its people.

That sounded suspicious to John.

You didn’t help him, did you?

…I did. His argument was sound. A ruler who does not know her people will not rule for long.

John wanted to groan in frustration. Though he could see her point, this added another complication to an already unstable house of cards. Tyrion was a Lannister. They will eventually need to kill a lot of Lannisters. When he brought this up with Artoria, a former king who was supposed to know these things, her response was shocking, to say the least. 

He no longer feels any loyalty towards his House, John. Tyrion… he killed his own father. Killing kin is seen as a cursed act in his culture and is widely reviled. Serving Daenerys faithfully is his only means of survival.

Shit. John’s heard a lot of bad things both before and after coming to this world. Earth’s own various royal dynasties involved a lot of family murder. Heck, Artoria was killed by Mordred, whom she freely confessed was her son in some convoluted fashion. Even so, it never gets easier to hear about.

When he finally returned his focus to Tyrion, John realized that he missed quite a bit of the report.

“...Bank of Braavos has become rather short with the Iron Throne. These are merely rumors, as of now, of course. However, history does paint a rather vivid picture as to what the bank does to those who cannot or, in this case, refuse to pay their debts. As they say, the Iron Bank will always have its due.”

“And what does history tell us of this matter, Lord Tyrion?” one of the councilors asked. In a rather snarky tone, too, if John were to judge.

The little Lannister just quirked an eyebrow at his questioner. “Should my lovely sister continue with her pigheaded schemes of cheating the bank, she’ll find her enemies well apportioned indeed.”

“You believe they will fund her enemies?” Daenerys asked.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tyrion inclined his head. “They will likely approach both you and Stannis Baratheon to test the waters, as it were. Whichever of you proves more capable of settling the Iron Throne’s debt will receive their support.”

“Support which we don’t need,” Douchebeard scoffed. Yeah, he was here too. Why was that again? “Our lovely queen is already in possession of dragons, treasures aplenty, an army of Unsullied, and, of course, the Second Sons. What need is there for the gold of those… bankers?”

Oh, he did not just…

“You’re forgetting Lord John’s cannons, guns, Lady Saber, and Commander Shepard,” Tyrion snarked. “Their contributions are rather significant, if you’ve forgotten, Captain Naharis.” Was that his name? “A rather impressive feat considering how loud his weapons tend to be.”

Now, if John were one of these preening peacocks, he would have done the petty thing and smirked at the douche. Instead, he affected a bored posture and just looked at the ceiling. 

Oooh, look at those moldings! Does everything here have to be made of gold? How did he never notice those?

Whatever the Naharis fella did in response to Tyrion’s verbal slap was completely ignored. The same went for the rest of the meeting. John knew that he really should be paying attention to these meetings. Some would even go so far as to say that this was like the briefings he and his team would get before missions.

John would probably shoot those people.

Mission briefings were concise and to-the-point. Where were they going? What were they doing? Who were they killing/abducting/abducting before killing? How were they gonna get there? How were they gonna get back? And what time was the mission? 

That was it. 

Professionals tended to leave the posturing at the door. Ego would only get them killed out in the field. Anyone too engrossed in some macho bullshit didn’t last all that long in Delta.

Scratch that. They wouldn’t get through the door in the first place.

John! Artoria mentally pricked him just before he heard a “Lord John?” spoken out loud. Both snapped the outworlder back to the present, and he saw Daenerys looking at him expectantly. With this not being the first time he was caught not paying attention, John adopted a thoughtful look and went with the “old reliable.”

What did I miss? He frantically asked Artoria. Her irritation at his inattentiveness was clear through their bond.

The queen is asking for your opinion regarding Lord Tyrion’s proposal to have someone called Varys serve her as her chief spymaster.

Who the hell is that? 

He served as the so-called Master of Whisperers for both King Aerys and King Robert.

That’s a dumb name!

John! They’re still waiting for your answer!

Refocusing on the meeting room, many of the attendees were already looking impatient, especially the douche. In contrast, Daenerys and Missandei were serene, while Tyrion’s mismatched eyes were practically shining with amusement.

“I got two questions, if that’s okay, Your Grace?” Daenerys inclined her head for John to proceed. “One, do we need him. Two, can we trust him?”

She turned to the one who made the proposal. “Well, Lord Tyrion?”

The midget’s mouth quirked to form a wry smile. “One should never fully trust a spymaster, Your Grace, Lord John. By his very nature, Varys is a survivor. He does whatever he feels he must to stay alive. However, he does share our concern for the small folk. Neither Cersei nor Stannis has been acting in the best interest of the people. He believes, as I do, that you are the only ruler worth supporting, Your Grace.”

Hooh, lawdy! That’s a damn good endorsement, right there!

Daenerys and John’s eyes met, and the expectations in those violet eyes spoke volumes. To be honest, John would rather they leave him out of these kinds of decisions. He was a damn grunt! They point, he shoots. That should’ve been the end of his role in this whole ruling nonsense.

What do you think? 

Lord Tyrion appears to hold this Varys in some esteem, and information is vital for future campaigns.

Do you think Jane would approve?

She’s leaving the decision to you.

How do you know?

We’re communicating via sign language.

How do you know sign language?!

She taught me.

She knows sign language?!

John, focus! What’s your answer?

Sighing, both at the aborted conversation and having to make the choice at all, John met Tyrion’s gaze. 

“If Her Grace has no objection, then I don’t either.”

CUT TO BLACK

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhHEHw0-Znc&list=RDBhHEHw0-Znc&start_radio=1

Chapter 26 - Meeting Outside Meereen’s Walls

Looking at Meereen from outside its walls was a strange experience for John, who just realized that he had never ventured far from the city through the land route. Doing so on the deck of a ship simply wasn’t the same, since it provided a different vista in comparison.

Making the sight more unnerving were the layers of grey concrete that were now being plastered on the surfaces of the stones, fixing some of the damaged areas and smoothing them over. 

This was apparently not the modern-day concrete that was used back on Earth, either. That would’ve been too simple.

Instead, they went with the Roman variant, which, according to Artoria and Jane, was better for this world’s approach to building. Fair enough. It’s not like switching to modern construction methods was gonna be an overnight thing. With that said, as interesting as this development was, it’s not the reason for venturing outside the city.

See, he and his partners were currently standing on a rock formation that provided a good view of the area around Meereen. It was ostensibly to check out the terrain in preparation for the upcoming campaign against the slavers. In reality, it was to ensure privacy.

“So, what do you think?” John asked.

“Baldy’s a rat,” Jane said without hesitation. “No doubt about it.”

Owing to the fact that the Commander didn’t have the same mental link as John and Artoria did, verbal communication was necessary. You couldn’t exactly have that and expect to keep the discussion on the down-low when you’re in the same vicinity as a spymaster. A spymaster who used mute children because their tongues were cut out.

That wonderful little discovery prompted the hasty excursion. Otherwise, there would’ve been blood.

The strange thing, however, was how casually this Varys fellow admitted to the cruel act. He spouted plenty of platitudes and justifications that the councillors ate up. Even Tyrion seemed to have been resigned to the necessity. After all, it wasn’t like the eunuch was responsible for their unfortunate states.

Yeah, that was another thing that really raised the trio’s hackles. Apparently, mutilating children is common practice in this world, especially among the slaver states. 

Despite their boiling rage, however, none of them allowed the revelation to cloud their judgment. All three were veterans of wars. All three were more than familiar with the barbarity that humanity (and other species, in Jane’s case) can stoop to. Varys was the subject of their concern, and based on Jane’s observations, the asshole was definitely a snake in the grass.

“Daenerys is likely to have him beheaded at your word, John.” Artoria wasn’t even exaggerating. One thing that has been made more than clear, at this point, is how highly the queen valued John’s thoughts and opinions.

Part of that was due to the pure military might he brought to the table. The other reason was, as she had told him during that disastrous dinner so long ago, a perceived divine mandate. Daenerys believed that John was sent to this world to be her champion. It didn’t matter that the one who sent him was a bitch of a goddess.

In the Targaryen girl’s mind, a goddess was still a goddess.

“Believe me, I’m thinking about it.” Much as John liked to believe that he was a rational person, which you needed to be to survive in Delta, he was only human. He might have innocent blood on his hands, but he never hurt children, even when taking them out of the picture would’ve made the mission easier. “I’d happily just shoot him myself.”

“But you won’t, will you?” Jane asked with a knowing look in her eyes.

“No, I won’t,” John sighed. “Doing that would leave us blind, again. Most times, bad intel can be worse than no intel, but things are a lot more complicated here.” 

That’s what’s really grinding his gears with this situation. The US was regularly fed with bullshit by allies and informants, but there were analysts to sift through the garbage. Here? With news arriving slower than snail mail, and where you can’t tell which are actual facts from made-up facts? Where details can change from one day to the next in both small and big ways?

It would be different if Daenerys already had an established intelligence apparatus to draw intel from. So, they’re stuck between potentially poisoned info and no info at all.

“Plus, there’s so much shit about him that we don’t know,” John continued. “He’s not really loyal to Daenerys, so who does he serve? Why’d he send Tyrion here? Why’d he straight up admit that he’s using tongueless kids? Is his name even Varys?”

There were far too many things about the so-called Great Game that everyone’s talking about to keep track of. As much as John hated feeling outmatched, none of his training prepared him for something this convoluted.

Fortunately, he wasn’t in this alone.

“We must be patient,” Artoria said, coming over to place a hand on John’s shoulder. “Neither our enemies nor our allies have grasped the true magnitude of our capabilities. My former kingship is unknown to them. They do not truly understand who and what Jane is. As for you?” John met her eyes and saw the sincerity in them. “You are the one thing the players of this world truly fear.”

John couldn’t help but smirk at the blonde’s pronouncement. “And what’s that?”

“An incorruptible force,” Artoria firmly declared.

The disbelief was probably etched on his face because Jane then added, “This world works on different rules, John.” She stepped in front of him, so they were eye-to-eye. “But, the same goes for you. They don’t really get how dangerous someone like you, who was born in a country with a functioning democracy, can be.” A vague idea of what they were trying to say was forming in John’s head. 

“People here?” she continued. “This feudal way of life is all they have ever known. Exchanging service for a higher social standing is commonplace and the height of ambition for many of them. They don’t have the context to fully appreciate how unacceptable things here are to people like us. Heck, considering how much of a utopia Camelot supposedly was, Artoria probably despises what this world’s like more than us, right?” Jane directed that last part at the former king of legend.

“Indeed.” Artoria nodded solemnly. “As a ruler, I dedicated my entire life to serving my people. Everything I’ve heard regarding the various rulers of this world has left me… angered.”

“Is that why neither of you has a problem with Daenerys?” John asked, having wondered about the subject for a while.

His partners exchanged exasperated looks before Jane answered. “Daenerys is a valuable ally, but that’s not what makes us willing to work with her.”

“Okay?” Where was she going with this?

“John,” Artoria prompted with a hint of impatience. “We haven’t steered you away from the girl because she is your anchor point.”

“My what?” 

The heck is an anchor point?

“Her existence is a large part of why you haven’t offed yourself.” John’s mind went blank at Jane’s statement.

“Say again?”

Artoria’s gaze softened at how confused John sounded. “Daenerys is far from a perfect ruler,” she said. “However, her care for the common people and hatred for slavery resonated with you, John. Your continued association with her gave you purpose. Her adoration for you keeps her compliant. And so long as this remains the case, we could not object.”

“It helps that you obviously find her attractive,” Jane threw in, which finally snapped John out of his stunned state.

“What the shit?” he yelped.

“Your desire for Daenerys is rather clear to see, John.” Et tu, Artoria?

“That’s malarkey!” John protested. “I’m a grown-ass man, and she’s –”

“A grown-ass woman in this world’s culture,” Jane interrupted.

“She did propose to wait until you’re comfortable with her age,” Artoria put in.

“I’m not talking about this!” John threw his hands in the air. “Let’s get back to talking about Varys, please!”

“Oh, fine.” Commander Jane Shepard had the audacity to pout! “Here’s what I propose we do…”

The rest of the day was spent planning exactly how to handle the viper in their midst. The discussion was interspersed with more teasing about John and Daenerys, much to the former’s annoyance and embarrassment.

Later that night, John was woken up by a nightmare that involved a church, wedding bells, and him in a tux lifting a white veil hiding a pair of violet eyes.

Chapter 27 - Meeting About Keyholders and Cheesemongers

“Watch those corners!” John yelled at his advancing Marines. “Bucket! Keep an eye on those rooftops! Drop anyone holding a weapon!”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” came the chorus of replies.

Four squads were currently moving through the streets of Yunkai. John led two. The other two followed Jane. Artoria was leading a contingent of infantry to clear out the bulk of the resistance along with Barristan. Together, they ensured that the main force wouldn’t be flanked.

Suffice it to say, the whole operation was practically a cakewalk.

The gate took two bombardments from the cannons, which was actually impressive. One would have thought that bronze and wood weren’t all that tough. Turns out, they were.

Anyone unlucky enough to be assigned to the battlements became target practice for John’s new riflemen. Naturally, a lot of the shots missed the first time. Nerves got in the way. They got better after each volley, though.

Unlike John’s heavier and more powerful variants, his Marines were carrying the first version of what might just become their first mass-produced rifles. Uniformly manufactured, they all had the same dimensions, caliber, materials, and performance. Compromises had to be made, of course, but that was just part of the process.

It’s only been a few hours since the operations started. For some inexplicable reason, negotiations with the envoys broke down when the self-proclaimed Wise Masters refused to surrender. So now, they’ll have to find the fuckers, hogtie them, and lug the bastards all the way to Daenerys. Apparently, she wanted to make an example of them.

John certainly had no problem with it. They were already accepting surrenders, anyway. Who would’ve thought that overwhelming force could be so effective at cowing enemy combatants?

Escape was impossible too, since the sea was blockaded by ships bristling with cannons, and there were another three divisions’ worth of troops stationed outside the city.

By late afternoon, it was all over. Artoria and Barristan had cornered the city’s self-proclaimed rulers, reducing their guards to paste, and they were now turning the disgusting fucks’ mansions upside down for intel. And they are definitely disgusting fucks.

John had to walk all the way to the other side of the city after finding out what the pricks had been doing while living it up as petty tyrants. The temptation to just shoot the slimeballs was too strong.

It was just as well. Hunting down pockets of resistance gave him plenty of opportunities to blow off steam. He did so by killing a fuckton of morons who couldn’t grasp the idea that they simply had no leverage. Even those who took hostages soon learned that hiding behind the people they abused was a bad idea.

A lot of the women decided to just grab the knives placed over their throats with their bare hands, slicing off fingers in some instances. For the rest, John got to show off how much of a crack shot he really was.

The day ended with a lot of idiots getting a third hole right between their eyes.

By nightfall, the focus became consolidation. Areas were secured. Prisoners were processed. The injured were treated. And administrators who came with the army started going through what passed for bureaucracy in this world.

Not trusting their safety in the bowels of the city they just conquered (or, reconquered, in this case), John, Jane, Artoria, and Barristan met up in the command tent set up in the camp outside the walls. Debriefing was important before they could rest for the night. Apparently, this wasn’t something that the old knight was used to, but the two soldiers from a more advanced era insisted on it.

It was pretty standard fare, all things considered.

They each discussed how their assigned tasks went, what went wrong, how things could be improved, and if there was anything worth noting in their areas of operation. From an outside perspective, the leadership arrangement was pretty strange. In effect, it was a shared responsibility.

Daenerys had initially wanted to place John in charge when they spoke in private, but he argued against it. Leading men who used spears, swords, and shields was not his expertise. He wouldn’t know how to use them properly.

At the same time, Barristan knew nothing about the modern warfare that John was trying to introduce. The current system was what they settled on. Surprisingly, it’s been working well enough.

“The scribes have found correspondence from other coalition members,” Barristan said once they got to the part about the documents that had been found. They all changed into more comfortable clothes for the debriefing, including Artoria and Jane. Seeing them in anything other than armor felt weird to John. “Nothing we did not already know,” the old man continued. “Volantis and New Ghis were among the first that the Wise Masters approached. However, Lord John’s appearance and challenge spurred other cities to provide support or join outright.”

“Oops?” John said while grinning unrepentantly, to which Barristan only rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

“However, it would appear that some in Pentos and Braavos have also grown interested in affairs involving Her Grace,” Barristan went on. “Letters from the cheesemonger Illyrio Mopatis, along with some notable figures known for their mercantile interests. According to the scribes, they claimed to represent the interests of keyholders.”

“The what?” John asked blankly.

“Keyholders,” Barristan repeated. When John still looked lost, he explained more. “The keyholders are the hereditary elite with immense influence over the Iron Bank of Braavos. Their status is rooted in the very beginning of the city’s history, or so it is said.”

“Oh, those keyholders!” John said, doing his best to sound as if he figured it out. From the looks sent his way, the other three didn’t believe him.

“And what do these letters say, Ser Barristan?” Artoria asked, completely ignoring John’s gaffe.

“Nothing incriminating,” he answered ruefully. “Empty platitudes and casual enquiries veiled in flowery words. They promised gold in exchange for information regarding Queen Daenerys and Lord John.”

“So, they didn’t say anything about supporting the Slaver Coalition or something?” Jane piped in.

The old knight shook his head. “The scribes have found no evidence of such intentions, thus far. However, the cheesemonger, Illyrio Mopatis, might be worthy of note.”

“Why does that name sound so familiar?” John muttered.

“He hosted Her Grace and her late brother, Prince Viserys, in his manse in Pentos,” Barristan explained.

“Did he not arrange for Queen Daenerys to be sold to Khal Drogo?” Artoria asked seriously, and the air inside the command tent immediately went down a few degrees.

“He did, indeed,” Barristan gravely confirmed.

“Well, then!” John clapped both hands with a deranged grin on his face. “When are we going to gank this fucker?”

Barristan raised an eyebrow at the outworlder’s enthusiasm. “From the context, I believe you are asking when we mean to kill this Illyrio Mopatis?”

“Yep!” John answered.

“For what reason?” The old man’s eyes narrowed in an accusatory manner.

“‘For what’ – are you serious?” John squawked. “What kind of question is that?!”

“He committed no crime, broke no laws, and Her Grace has given no commands with regard to the cheesemonger one way or the other.”

“A question, Ser Barristan,” Artoria cut in before John could respond, and got a nod from her fellow knight. “Pentos still practices slavery under the guise of indentured servitude, yes?”

Barristan’s eyes widened with comprehension. “Yes, I do believe that is the case.”

“And this Mopatis person would have these indentured servants, too, right?” Jane asked with a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes.

“He would,” Barristan said. “It would be expected of a man of wealth, like him.”

“Then it is settled.” Artoria nodded in satisfaction. “Pentos will eventually be added to our list of conquests. Should Illyrio Mopatis choose to surrender when the time comes, Her Grace will decide his fate.”

“Oh, can’t I just pop over there, shoot him, and then come right back?” John asked in a manner that was most certainly not whiny or petulant.

The deadpan look Barristan gave him was something to behold. “Pentos is on the other side of the continent, Lord John. You may not simply ‘pop over,’ as you put it.”

“Oh… so, how long would it take to get there?”

“Several weeks, by ship.”

That long in a wooden tug that doesn’t have a toilet, drinking putrid water stored in rotting barrels, and eating nothing but dried meat? Well, it’s not like John hadn’t done any of those before. But he’d really like to avoid doing so unless absolutely necessary.

“Yeah, never mind.”

Chapter 28 - Meeting PTSD?

A resounding report echoed in the silent square of Astapor, where Unsullied used to be shown off. Now, it was the venue of an execution of a delusional idiot who actually thought that he was doing Daenerys a favor. John didn’t bother remembering his name. He’d just be one of many corpses already piled high on their quest to rid the former Slaver’s Bay of all, well, slavers.

Many of the men had already exercised the privilege of every conquering force in history, which was to rename shit they got no business renaming.

Dragon’s Bay was the most popular. Liberty Bay came in second. Personally, John liked the latter more than the former. From the sporadic conversations that he’s had with Barristan, Tyrion, and the queen, the people in this world seem to have a habit of naming things after animals or magical creatures.

If they weren’t basing names on those, they’d use events or literal concepts. King’s Landing, Highgarden, Hightower, Storm’s End, Winterfell, and on and on it goes. 

Then again, it’s not like the various civilizations of Earth were any better. John is doubly disinclined to voice his opinions on the matter as an American. What do you name a place that has a port and has land? Portland! How many places can you tack on the word “New” before you run out of existing names to add after it? 

Virginia, anyone?

In any case, John was just coping at this point. As he expected, the whole campaign is turning out to be a slog. Even worse, it also became a blur.

Roads, landscapes, faces, names, all of it was just passing through John’s mind to the point where he needed Artoria’s constant presence to help him keep track of everything that was going on. He’s reminded, once more, that he simply wasn’t built for anything more complicated than grunt work.

To prove this point, clearing out Astapor went much more smoothly than Yunkai. He led his team through the streets in a more efficient fashion, reminding him of the days when he was promoted to Sergeant in the Marine Corps.

Executing a mission was almost second-nature to the former operator. Planning them, on the other hand, and everything that came after? Folks’d be lucky to get a blank stare.

So, much of the logistics and admin work was left to Barristan, Artoria, and Jane.

If that were the case, one might wonder what John has been doing while others take care of the work that requires active brain cells? Putting his Marines through hell, of course!

Well, they weren’t actually Marines, but that’s semantics. Everyone else can call them riflemen all they want, but crayon munchers’ got their own language. And John was determined to instill that same spirit of disregard for higher thinking in the men he was training.

Hence, he calls them Marines because Marines is what they are.

If they wanted to use their heads, they should’ve applied for the scribe force or something and become pencil pushers… uh, quill pushers?... do quills need pushing?... wait, pencils are a thing now, thanks to John, so pencil pushers it is… though, what exactly were they pushing against?

Great, John just lost his train of thought…

Oh! Right.

The point is that John is being active in making sure that his own slice of modern infantry remains in fantastic shape. If he has to drill them into the ground while also marching all day long, that’s a sacrifice he’s more than happy to make.

He doesn’t actually do that, though.

That would be stupid.

But he could, and that’s the point.

Where was he going with this again?

“Lord John?”

The call brought John out of his confusing musings to discover that he had been staring at the asshole he had just shot. Half of his face was gone. Blood and brain matter were splattered all over the dusty, stone ground. They created a fascinating patina of red, dark red, and black, which was changing even as he watched, thanks to the blood still leaking from the cavity carved by the bullet.

Blinking away the gory thought, John turned to the concerned crowd gathering around him. Beyond them was the collection of slaves and citizens who had assembled to watch the death of their tormentor. Looks of satisfaction, relish, and relief dotted the mass of humanity surrounding the square.

It made John just a tad claustrophobic.

“I’m fine, Ser Barristan,” he told the old man. “Just want this over with.”

An hour later, John is in his tent after a refreshing bath and a change of clothes. Artoria was with him, but Jane was out organizing the city’s administration, recovery, or whatever else. Barristan would be handling the army, but John wasn’t entirely sure about that.

He just wanted to sit on his cot and stare at the tent’s wall for a while.

The murmurs of hundreds of voices came from outside, but the interior was silent. Back in Delta, John and his buddies would be decompressing at this point. 

After-mission activities involved a variety of options, from playing games, listening to music, physical activities that had nothing to do with combat, or just plain shooting the shit. Funnily enough, it was actively encouraged by the brass. After all, you can’t have your operators tilting when it matters most, so there should always be time for processing.

John’s preferred method was just sitting in silence. Not brooding, exactly. That never works out well. John knew some brooders. They lasted about as long as the quiet stopped being quiet, and they started hearing voices that weren’t there.

When that happened, they either quit or were made to quit.

Only the right kind of crazy were welcome in Delta. Or the Marines. Or any kind of military, for that matter.

The wrong kind inevitably ends up either shooting their buddies in the back or shooting themselves. Neither one was conducive to an inviting reputation where kids with balls bigger than their brains could be enticed to sign up.

“I gotta stop doing that,” John suddenly muttered into the air.

“The ruminations or speaking to yourself?” Artoria asked.

“Eh, both, I guess.” John shrugged.

“Those are shared experiences among soldiers across time,” she said. Sitting on a chair in the corner, she looked like a kid about to enter her first year in high school. Anyone who heard her talk or looked her in the eye would know right away that this wasn’t the case, though. “Even in my era, I never stopped my knights from finding their own means of entertainment, so long as they weren’t harmful. I’m still surprised that you’ve held off on indulging as warriors are wont to.”

John grimaced. “That was never my thing. I mean, I get it. I just don’t do it.”

Artoria raised a curious eyebrow. “You never sought to find comfort in the arms of another?”

“For the last time, I’m not a virgin!” John moaned. Artoria’s question actually managed to get him out of his funk. “I got around, all right? Having sex cuz I’m bummed out after a mission just never clicked for me. I find a girl while on leave, have some fun, and then come back!”

“I did not mean to cast aspersions on your sexual experience or lack thereof, John.” The blonde actually gave him an understanding smile! “Merely commenting on your choice of isolating yourself following combat. Jane and I have held off on speaking on the matter following previous engagements, but your distress in the square has forced the issue.”

“Is that why you’re here?” John quirked a brow. After Yunkai, his partner helped Barristan and Jane restore order in the city. This time, she didn’t do that.

“We are concerned for you,” was her answer.

“Sheesh, I’m not a kid.” John rolled his eyes. “I didn’t need a babysitter back on Earth, and I don’t need one now.”

“I am not here out of obligation, John.” Artoria’s eyes sharpened. “Jane and I are available should you require an ear who would not judge you at your lowest moment. You often forget that we are here for you, before anyone else. Our highest priority has always been and will always be you.”

John sighed. “Yeah, I get that. I do. I’m just not used to, you know, having anyone actually give a shit. Well, other than my mom, but she’s different.”

Artoria smiled gently. “You are no longer alone. Regardless of your views on what made our presence in this world possible, our concern for you is genuine.” Then she added, quite unnecessarily, “Daenerys would be another willing listener, should you wish to speak your mind. She’s an insightful young woman, if lacking education and training in certain matters.”

She got a dry look in response. “Can you please stop pushing this? The queen and I are never gonna happen. Though, you got me curious now.” John sat up and turned fully toward Artoria. “What do you talk about when you’re together? How much did you tell her about your history?”

Artoria creased her brows. “Matters of state, more often than not. She does not know of my previous status, nor has she ever asked directly, but my upbringing is rather evident in my bearing. Prior to setting out on this campaign, our conversations centered on how she can best utilize her advantages to regain her crown without sacrificing our gains in Essos.”

“So, we’re not just winging it with this whole ending slavery thing?” John asked the question that’s been bugging him.

The stupidity of which actually caused the stoic girl to look at him with incredulity. “Did you think we were conducting this initiative without planning?” She actually sounded offended.

“Uh…” was John’s intelligent reply.

Outraged sparks nearly leapt out of Artoria’s eyes. That night, John was treated to hours of notes and documents about what they were doing, what they aimed to accomplish, and how they planned to do that.

By the end of it, his head was swimming, and the lingering effects of combat were well and truly gone.

Worst. Coping. Session. Ever.

Chapter 29 - Meeting About Visiting Pests

Seeing the walls of Meereen looming in the distance after months spent on the road felt strange for John Sinclair. Travel time in this world sucks balls, and this is doubly true when you factor in that getting from one place to another takes longer than an actual siege.

Yunkai and Astapor fell on the first day, which was a feat and a half, according to old Barristan. A lot of that could be chalked up to the cannons, game changers that they are.

Hell, it actually took longer just to get the cities in a functional state. Artoria deserves credit for much of it, since she was the one who organized the people. Apparently, Daenerys had empowered her to install people to positions of power, a job she took super seriously.

John found out just how seriously, since she took the opportunity that their return trip provided to educate him on everything they’ve been doing. It all boiled down to Artoria being a damn good ruler who knew what she was doing when it came to building a country from scratch.

Sometimes John would forget that he was dealing with the actual King Arthur, who inevitably had to do, you know, kingly stuff.

While John was busy fucking around with gunpowder, working jarheads into the dirt, and establishing a war industry, Artoria spent a lot of time talking about being an effective ruler with Daenerys. Jane had quickly joined the girl squad, chiming in about the various polities in her version of the Milky Way. Naturally, Missandei was often tagging along.

Honestly, John thought that they were just gossiping. Girls did that, right?

It’s just his luck that his partner decided John’s brain hadn’t been worked over enough. So, now, he was all clued in on the plan.

Huge parts of the standing army stayed behind in the two cities they had just liberated to both protect them from opportunistic raiders and to keep the peace. Artoria tried to explain the complicated bureaucracy she put in place so that things wouldn’t go to shit while they were gone. She really overestimated his ability to retain that kind of information.

All John cared about was not having to go back and kick their ass all over again. If it did, he could only hope that it would be after Jane succeeded in her project.

See, after his brief foray into manly brooding about not being able to just go to Pentos without spending a long-ass time at sea, the Commander proposed building an honest-to-God steam engine. When he asked how they would pull that off, Jane revealed that she was a trained engineer.

Granted, she was used to more advanced equipment and machinery, but her omni-tool contained all she needed to get the job done. Unfortunately, she’s not sure how soon she can build a working prototype. Hopefully, it won’t take too long.

Just as they rounded a bend between two hills, they were treated to a strange sight. A sea of people was gathered just outside the walls of the city, crowding both sides of the main road. Colorful flags and streamers were hung on tall poles along the main thoroughfare, and as soon as they spotted the returning army, a loud cheer exploded.

A quiet “What the hell?” came out of John’s mouth without thinking.

“Never seen a welcome back party before?” Jane asked beside him while patting her mount’s neck.

She, John, Artoria, and Barristan were all on horseback and were all stopped to observe the sight in front of them. The train of soldiers behind the quartet could also see the jubilant mass of citizens, eliciting wide grins from the tired men.

“Not one this big,” John admitted as he spurred his horse forward.

Jane quirked a brow at his answer. “I thought the US was big on supporting the troops and all that?”

A bitter grimace formed on John’s face. “No comment.”

He wasn’t in the armed forces all that long, all things considered. Seven years compared to the many career soldiers across America’s multiple branches was basically a blink. It was still enough time to be exposed to the realities of military life, though.

An old Gunnery Sergeant put it best: “You might not be maggots once you walk through those doors, but you ain’t never gonna be much better than that.”

John couldn’t have imagined how right the old bastard was after their batch graduated from basic. Two years of getting the mushroom treatment, and five years of getting more of the same thing, except in multiple exotic locales.

Oorah.

All sorts of shit were thrown at them while passing between the gathered crowd. John caught snippets of praise and plenty of happy smiles. None of it left a lasting impression on his mind. 

Daenerys met them at the base of the pyramid, where she said some shit that her subjects ate up. She really can do no wrong in their eyes, can she? After that, they were given the chance to clean up and get some rest before the night’s banquet.

Naturally, some schmoozing was involved, and John would say that he didn’t do too bad. Nobody got socked in the face, at least.

He did get into a bit of a drinking contest with Tyrion, which the midget won. That was a bit embarrassing. John was forced to dance, too, which was even more embarrassing. Aside from Daenerys, Artoria, Jane, and even Missandei, he twirled around with some of the other ladies who attended.

Some guys would have called him a lucky bastard. He was just happy that he didn’t step on any dainty toes.

By the time the night had ended, he was tapped out and snoring as soon as he reached his bed.

The following morning, however, came with bad news. Not “fuck my life!” bad. More like, “fuck this shit!” bad.

“A rather curious coincidence,” Artoria commented.

They were gathered in the usual meeting room with the usual crowd. Tyrion was there, along with Varys. They needed to be because of the topic of discussion.

“I hardly believe it’s a coincidence at all,” the Lannister drawled, wine in hand. Jesus, how much can this little guy put away?

“Indeed,” came the sleazy agreement from the bald spymaster. “My little birds have found nothing amiss, but the timing does hint at deeper coordination.”

Barristan looked like he barely stopped himself from snorting. “The Dornish and Ironborn? Unlikely.”

“Yet, both are arriving on the same day,” Varys simpered. “With the same proposal, no less.”

John ignored everyone in favor of reading the two letters that were sent in advance of the arriving pests. Both talked about alliances. Both wanted that alliance sealed by marriage. He’d already gone through them twice, but just to be sure, he read them a third time. Once he was absolutely certain that he understood what they were saying, John made up his mind.

“Right,” he said while abruptly getting on his feet.

“John?” Daenerys called after him. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t stop, though. John just spoke over his shoulder as he went out the door, “I need target practice. A few squids and sandrats just volunteered.”

There was a pause before the sounds of scraping chairs and raised protests followed in his wake.

Chapter 30 - Meeting Annoying Pricks Without John

John Sinclair was annoyed. Standing on the walls of Meereen, he mean-mugged the ships that carried the latest complications in his life as they docked at the pier. Gathered at the end of the plank was a contingent of Unsullied, with Barristan at its head, as well as Tyrion Lannister.

It was determined that John should not be part of the welcoming party. This was probably the right move for those who wanted to avoid bloodshed.

Don’t get him wrong. He understood the necessities of marriage in a world like this, where power and security can often hinge on making alliances. So, he wasn’t against the proposals contained in the letters in principle.

What made his blood boil was the absolute audacity with which those proposals were made.

These assholes are acting like they’re owed something. Words like debt, promises, rewards, and so on were still chasing each other in his head like coked-up raccoons, fighting over a piece of moldy pizza they got from the trash can.

John wasn’t sure how he would have reacted had the interest been solely focused on Daenerys. But he certainly wouldn’t have as many violent urges churning in his gut as he does now. Because it wasn’t just the queen that these people wanted. Oh no. They wanted him, too. And they referred to him in the most insulting way possible.

“Our alliance could be made much stronger should the rumored sorcerer under your command, this Lord John, as we believe he is called, be bound to a loyal vassal, Your Grace. Such untrustworthy sorts as those consorting with unnatural forces need a firm hand.”

That’s the way these people talked about him. Like he was some sort of dog. But it didn’t stop there. No, they went even further.

“Dorne and the Iron Islands are no strangers to women devoted to martial matters. The Lady Saber would find either of our kingdoms quite welcoming, and we have many suitable lords and heirs who would support her interests even in matrimony. We would certainly never deprive Her Grace of so capable a guard.”

Jane wasn’t mentioned at all, which means that their information is out of date. But that didn’t matter. John was willing to bet anything that they’d try to squeeze her into the negotiations once they learned of her existence, which is really where he wanted to object in the form of supersonic projectiles.

He could shake off anything said about him. It was irritating, but he’s never given a shit about his reputation before. At the end of the day, those were just words that he could ignore.

As for Daenerys, well, the choice will ultimately be hers.

But to imply that they could just come in and barter for his partner’s hand like she’s some kind of livestock? John had literally killed people for less.

The rational part of his brain told him that it would never happen. Daenerys knows exactly what the three of them were capable of and the hell he would rain on everyone if she even entertained the idea. John had made this very clear when they were finally able to sit him down and talk him out of his initial impulses to have more cannons moved to the port.

The itch to reach for his pistol still wouldn’t leave him, though.

Making matters worse is Artoria’s absence. She was needed by the queen’s side to supposedly represent his interests in the upcoming talks. Taking her place was Jane, and while John wasn’t uncomfortable being around her, they simply hadn’t built the same closeness as he had with Artoria.

Not that she seemed to share his reservations.

“You look like you need to take a shit,” the Commander said, prompting John to shoot her an incredulous look.

“What?”

Jane rolled her eyes and leaned on the battlement. “Look, I get it, you’d rather just sink those ships and be done with it. But you’re acting as if you’ve never been through this. Haven’t you ever received orders you didn’t like while you were serving?”

John grimaced at the reminder. Yeah, unpleasant orders were more common than not in the USMC. It didn’t really get much better in Delta. There were fewer pointless jobs, like moving the latrines two meters back for no apparent reason. But stupid desk jockeys still existed, and operators were often caught between competing interests, which went right to the top.

“I just don’t get why we’re even doing this,” John groused, arms crossed. “Do we even need these assholes?”

The redhead quirked an eyebrow. “‘Need them’? No. As we are, there’s essentially nothing stopping Daenerys from taking over Westeros. But remember that she’ll have to rule these people once she’s done. They need to know that she won’t just burn them every time they annoy her. Otherwise, there’ll be a rebellion every other year.”

John snorted. “You’re exaggerating. She’s got three dragons, a trained army, and us. Who’d be crazy enough to go up against all of that?”

This time, Jane shot him with an annoyed look. “You’re being intentionally obtuse, John. We dealt with insurgencies all the time. People aren’t always logical. That’s why we have pirates, criminals, and traitors who would risk everything for money, power, or influence. If the hostile houses can’t beat Daenerys in the open, they’ll sabotage her rule in the dark. You were stationed in the Middle East, weren’t you?”

John could already tell where this was going. “Yeah,” he sighed.

“How was it?” she pressed.

“Painful.” The memories made John purse his lips. “Expensive. Painfully expensive.”

Jane nodded in understanding. “This is one of the ways Daenerys can avoid that drama. She’ll put them in their place. Artoria will make it clear that she, you, and I are off limits. Then they either capitulate or you’ll finally get what you want.”

John was practically salivating at that last part. While he knew it was petty, some part of him was actually hoping that they’d act like idiots and give him an excuse to put them down like rabid dogs.

His brewing daydream was swiftly interrupted by a mental message from Artoria.

John, we have a problem.

She seemed calm, but the words still made John’s gut clench. Jane noticed and gave him a questioning look, which he forestalled with a gesture for her to wait.

Is it a problem I can shoot?

Not at the moment. Her delivery, even through their mental bond, was palpably dry. However, you might get the chance to use your weapons in the near future.

Oh? Do tell.

It would appear that someone claiming to be Aegon, the son of the late Prince Rhaegar, has sent out messages declaring himself the rightful king of Westeros.

Are you kidding me?!

No, I am not. There’s more, however.

Just lay it on me. John braced for whatever shitshow was coming his way next.

He declared his intent to travel to Meereen to unite his claim with Daenerys so they may, in his words, ‘retake the Iron Throne and reunite the Seven Kingdoms in Fire and Blood’.

Ah, crap.

Does that mean what I think it means?

If you believe that he wishes to marry Daenerys and ride one of her dragons? Then, yes, that is precisely what he means to do.

John really can’t go a month without something happening in this place. It’s like this whole world was the setting of some fat bastard’s sick, grimdark, and unrealistic fantasies!

Chapter 31 - Meeting the Bachelorettes

So, to recap: visitors from places called Dorne and the Iron Islands had just arrived, unwanted talks about marriage are in the air, someone calling himself Aegon just joined the war for the Iron Throne (which involved marrying who he claims is his aunt and claiming a dragon), and there were still slavers to deal with. John had to run these subjects through his head to keep them straight because his thoughts kept straying to visions of murder.

Unfortunately, everyone kept telling him that killing is not the answer. Well, to be more specific, they said that killing absolutely everyone who was pissing him off was not the answer.

Either way, he’s being blueballed something fierce, figuratively speaking.

According to Artoria, their visitors are insisting that they meet him, despite her, Daenerys, and anyone with a lick of authority saying that it would be a very bad idea. John certainly wasn’t unwilling to grant their wish, which was the problem as far as the more politically savvy folks were concerned.

To reduce the chances of them crossing paths, John has been exiled to the section of Meereen that has been transformed into its manufacturing hub. He’s certainly not complaining.

With Jane’s handy-dandy omni-tool, a lot of innovation is currently underway in this sector. Much of it had to do with things that John had absolutely no interest in. New chemical propellant mixtures, advanced metallurgical techniques, and alloy combinations, as well as weaponry schematics, on the other hand?

It’s Christmas!

Due to limitations in this world’s industrial capacity, mass-manufactured automatic and semi-automatic guns were still off the table. However, boutique, handcrafted versions were more than possible.

Prototypes for revolver, pump-action, lever-action, and bolt-action weapons were already in the works. From there, they’ll start working on the really complicated stuff. Once the craftsmen figure out the nitty-gritty details on how to make them, John and his Marines are in for a grand time.

Their enemies? Not so much.

Aside from the small arms, Jane’s contributions also extended to more artillery options, as well as to less glamorous parts of logistics, like rubber. Yeah, as it turns out, rubber exists here. It’s just not as widely available and can only be found in specific places.

Designs for primitive mortars and other long-range bombardment equipment are being studied by scholars, engineers, and smiths. It’s a good thing pencils exist now. Creating diagrams for those was a pain since Jane had to conserve her stock of Omni-Gel.

In short, John was kept extremely busy. Too bad it didn’t last.

As part of this little arrangement, John was given some sweet digs in the form of a mansion, or manse, as it’s called here. Not that he spent much time there over the past week since their visitors’ arrival. It was basically a place for him to sleep, eat, bathe, and change clothes.

While walking back to his temporary home with Jane, they took the shortest route from the workshops. The same one they had been treading for days, which involved weaving between two tall shops. Out of nowhere, a scuffle broke out at the mouth of the narrow path.

Now, it’s worth noting that such developments would have caused most people to stop in their tracks, if for no other reason than surprise.

As actual trained combatants who were taught to smell a trap a mile away, however, both John and Jane had their weapons out as soon as the brawl started without breaking stride. Both assessed the situation in almost the same way, too.

Multiple participants beating the shit out of each other. Majority are laborers and sailors. Seems organic. Not pretense. Weapons? Small knives strapped to their sides. Not in play. Threat posed is negligible, for the moment, but that could change quickly. Exits are front and back. No side doors. Windows, possible.

A crowd was forming. Other players? Three observers in the front. Rooftops were clear. A subtle glance to the rear revealed a small group approaching. Four women, two men. All armed. All melee.

Had John been alone, this would have been a problem. Single-shot breech-loaders weren’t great when outnumbered, even with the two he held, one in each hand. He had a combat knife for close quarters, but if it got that point, he would be out-ranged. They had spears and swords. One even had a whip.

With Jane, though? This’ll be a piece of cake.

John finished his assessment of the situation at about the same time as his newest partner. A wordless discussion, done entirely via eye contact, occurred. When it was done, both nodded.

For scenarios like this, it’s never a good idea to leave a blind spot. So, while John remained staring forward and continued for two more steps, Jane smoothly pulled her collapsible automatic rifle off her back while turning to face the oncoming group.

Both stopped at around the same time, as if they had practiced the move before.

“Can we help you?” Jane asked as she got into a ready stance.

“You’ve been difficult to find, Lord John, Lady Jane.” A quick flick of his eyes let John know that the speaker wore scandalously revealing clothes. 

It was too quick to take in more details, but it was impossible to miss the two mounds practically spilling out of her dress. Her tone was playful, even downright flirty. It immediately put John on edge.

“Oh?” Jane’s voice was light and airy. Anyone else would have been fooled, but John knew how fast the change could come with someone like the Commander. “That’s strange. Anyone looking for us would have needed to speak to the queen first.”

“We did,” a new voice spoke up. This time, the voice sounded rougher, with an accent that reminded John of the actor Sean Bean, but still noticeably feminine. “She’s been keepin’ us from meetin’ her sorcerer. So we came to find him ourselves.”

John dearly wanted to turn around, but he had to keep his position. Getting distracted here could get him and Jane killed. Even so, he had the sinking feeling that he knew what this was about.

“And why would you want to meet Lord John?” Jane asked, her voice becoming a tad sharper.

“Well~” It was the playful voice, again. “Who wouldn’t want to meet their betrothed?”

….There we go.

“And their potential sister-wife?”

…

…

…

“Oh, get fucked!” John yelped.

“That’s the idea, boyo!”

Chapter 32 - Meeting the Setup for Future Events

Well, this day just became a dumpster fire.

Sitting around a huge, rectangular table in the rarely used dining room of his temporary manse, John observed his ‘guests’ with simmering irritation. After confirming with Artoria that these people were indeed part of the delegations (a conversation made rather complicated because she and Daenerys were in the middle of speaking with other representatives), Jane suggested that they take their business somewhere more private.

John wanted to object, but the Commander actually had experience in dealing with political headaches, and she made it clear that ignoring the issue would only make it worse. And so, here he was, hosting the very people who challenged his self-control more than he could ever remember – unable to do a damn thing about it as he was instructed not to kill any of them.

He was feeling so petty that he foisted the responsibilities of instructing the servants to prepare the dining room on Jane, since this whole thing was her idea. That backfired rather quickly since it was clear that she had experience hosting negotiations with bigwigs, too.

The veranda would’ve been his choice, but not only did it leave them open to getting sniped (John actually winced at his own stupidity), it was also too cramped for a group this size. So, the dining room it was.

With food and drink prepared, as was appropriate for the owner of the residence, John sullenly waited for everyone to get seated. 

Naturally, Jane sat to his right, while he took the head of the table. Oddly enough, nobody chose to sit opposite him, with women on the right and men on the left. Was this some sort of subtle power play?

He would have asked Jane, but doing so in front of strangers would have made him look as sharp as a brick. Not that he actually gave a damn about what these people thought, but as everyone has taken the time to hammer into his head, he had a reputation to think about. It wouldn’t do to look stupid in front of potentially hostile elements, would it?

John understood this, of course. Which is why he did his best to be diplomatic. 

“Let’s just get this over with so I can kick you out,” he groused, arms crossed and scowling. 

His best, unfortunately, could use some work. The two men’s faces tightened at his rudeness, which John observed with satisfaction. This wasn’t the case with their more feminine counterparts. 

Instead of responding with equal vitriol, maybe an insult or two, the women simply smiled at him. A vein started pounding on John’s temple. Somehow, their expressions reminded him of how people would coo over grumpy puppies. Or how grownups would indulge rowdy children.

He didn’t like that… at all.

“We truly regret taking up your time, Lord John,” the one in the sluttiest clothes simpered. “Had our needs been less urgent, we would have practiced more patience. However, time was short, and we could not wait any longer.”

“None of this would have been necessary if you didn’t give us the runaround,” the tomboy added snarkily. The two couldn’t have been more different. One looks like she belongs in a period-specific porn, and the other would have fit right in with the other female Marines John knew.

“A poignant, if crudely put, sentiment,” Miss Big Boobs cut in. “However, perhaps it would be best to start with introductions? We would have done this under more formal circumstances, but needs must. If I may?”

John looked at Jane, who nodded. That got an eyeroll out of him.

“Name’s John Sinclair,” he said dispassionately before gesturing to the side with his thumb. “That’s Commander Jane Shepard.”

If these people expected him to adhere to their usual protocols, they would be sorely mistaken. Disappointingly enough, they didn’t seem to mind.

“I am Princess Arianne of House Martell,” the now-named Arianne said while smiling pleasantly. “These are my cousins,” she gestured to the two women sitting on both sides of her. “Obara Sand,” this was the tall one with the spear and the whip, “and Nymeria Sand,” this was the pretty blonde one with the demure smile. Both gave John a nod, which was vastly preferable to a bow. “They are the daughters of my late uncle, Prince Oberyn Martell, who died at the hands of Gregor Clegane.”

John had to blink at that. He vaguely remembered hearing about this prince from when he interrogated Tyrion. Something about a trial? He filed that thought for later as Arianne continued.

“Accompanying us is Ser Daemon Sand,” she indicated the bronze-skinned young man sitting directly opposite her. “He was Prince Oberyn’s squire and one of the deadliest blades in Dorne.”

Unlike the girls, this dude wasn’t trying very hard to hide his hostility. He wasn’t glaring, exactly, but any experienced combatant worth their salt would immediately notice when less-than-friendly intent was being directed at them.

“Suppose it’s my turn,” the tomboy spoke next, who was almost lounging on her chair, and swirling the wine in her cup. “Call me Asha Greyjoy, captain of the Black Wind, and daughter of Balon Greyjoy. That one,” she pointed with a jerk of her chin at the man sitting opposite her, “is me first mate, Dagon.”

Unlike Daemon, Dagon was completely disinterested while nodding at John. He almost seemed bored.

As for the girl herself, her name triggered something in John’s memory. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the North or something?”

She scowled. “We were. But that cunt Stannis was thunderin’ down from the Wall, and we thought it best to flee.”

“And how did you end up joining this delegation?” Jane asked. “One that includes Victarion Greyjoy?”

Say what? John’s eyes shifted back and forth between the two women, suddenly feeling lost.

“Happenstance, mostly,” she shrugged. “Ran into them as we were roundin’ Planky Town. My uncle and I came to an understandin’. He has his own goals, and I have mine. We stay out of each other’s way.”

“Speaking of goals,” Arianne saw fit to jump in, while giving John a smoldering gaze. “I understand you have been less than receptive to the arrangements proposed in our message?”

“Which part?” John snarked. “The one where I’ll be tied down and controlled like a dog? Or the one where Saber gets traded to some gilded douche like a cow? Because, I’m telling you right now, lady, neither of those things is gonna happen.”

Her dark eyes glinted with something as she asked, “And regarding the proposed marriage to Her Grace, Queen Daenerys, you’ve no objections?”

John frowned in genuine confusion. “Why the hell would I? She can make her own choices.”

“So the rumors of her taking you as her lover and potential husband are complete fabrication?”

This was the wrong thing to say. John was immediately on his feet. The motion was so fast that it shoved the heavy wooden chair until it tipped over, and the plates and various utensils on the table clattered on the floor.

“Where’d you hear that shit?” he demanded. “I ain’t no pedo, you hear?!”

“John!” Jane attempted to grab his arm, but she missed, and he simply ignored her.

“I don’t touch kids! Fuck anyone who says otherwise. You know what? Give me the names of these pricks. I’ll fucking kick their ass! This world’s assholes might be fine getting hitched to little girls, but I’ll be damned if I’m painted with the same damn brush! Tell me where to find them, I’ll –”

Jane finally had enough. With a frustrated sigh, she reached over, grabbed his earlobe, and pulled.

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Jane, stop it!” he whined.

“Are you gonna calm down or do I have to pull it off?” she growled.

“Uncle! God dammit, I give!” John cried while bending sideways and trying to pry the woman’s fingers off his ear.

When she finally let go, John noticed two things while rubbing his earlobe. First, Daemon and Dagon were on their feet, both looking at John with wide, confused eyes. Second, the women were laughing their asses off. 

Some more than others. 

Arianne was holding her stomach. Asha was banging her fist on the table. Nymeria covered her mouth while her shoulders shook. And Obara was guffawing uproariously.

Well… there goes his reputation.

Chapter 33 - Meeting Fanatics

John had plopped back down on his chair, sulking under Jane’s sharp glare. It took a while for the women to stop laughing, but when they finally did, their real reason for seeking him out was revealed. As expected, it was all about what John could bring to the table for their endless pursuit of power, prestige, and revenge.

As for why so many attractive (debatable) women were sent to entice him, it would appear that rumors going around went beyond his supposed relationship with Daenerys.

“Let me get this straight,” John murmured while rubbing his temples. Suffice it to say, Jane was giggling without restraint once the truth was laid out. “Someone has been spreading stories that I’m a horndog, and you decided to, what, throw yourselves at me?”

“A what?” the one called Obara asked.

“I believe, from context, that it means a lustful man, yes?” Nymeria interjected.

“Yeah, that’s what it means,” John confirmed automatically. He’s had to explain unfamiliar words to a lot of people multiple times that it’s become a habit.

“Seems to me these stories are closer to the truth than you’re willing to admit,” Asha mocked with a grin.

“The hell they are!” John yelped.

“Lord John,” Arianne spoke up, “we’ve seen Her Grace and the Lady Saber up close. Tales of their beauty have already spread far and wide prior to our arrival, and from my personal perspective, those tales do not do them justice. And here, we have the Lady Jane,” she gestured at John’s sniggering companion. “Who is, without a doubt, one of the most singularly enchanting women I have ever laid eyes on. Would you not agree?”

John’s eyes narrowed at the half-naked princess. This has got to be a trap. Whenever women would ask him questions like this, it was always a test. He turned to the Commander and felt his heart skip at the teasing smile she sent his way, forcing John to look away.

“I’m not falling for that!” was his reply to the openly smirking Arianne. “You’ll throw anything I say back in my face, or save it for later and then throw it in my face, or you’ll do something else with it that I won’t see coming.”

Her smirk only got wider. “And yet, you’ve given me your answer, nonetheless.”

John’s eyes narrowed even more before promptly reviewing what he said in his head. Upon doing so, he couldn’t find anything incriminating. What the hell was she talking about?

“Look at him!” Jane crowed for some unfathomable reason. “He’s trying to figure out what you meant!”

“And failing,” Nymeria noted with a twinkle in her eyes.

The other women voiced their agreement in varying ways, which left John feeling incredibly outnumbered. In his desperation, he looked to the only other two men in the room, but both had their faces turned away.

He was alone, surrounded by a sea of teasing women.

How did he get here? Jane didn’t even know these broads until today. They were supposed to be the enemy! Why was she egging them on?

“Oh, he seems utterly lost!” Arianne cooed.

“Like a puppy!” Nymeria added.

The vein that had just recently receded began throbbing again. This time, for an entirely different reason.

“A feisty puppy.” Obara nodded.

“All right, that’s enough,” Jane intervened. “That vein looks like it’s about to pop. How about we actually get down to business?”

“You're the one who started this!” John wanted to shout, but kept quiet. He knew better than to tempt fate.

“Very well,” Arianne sighed regretfully before becoming more serious. “We and Lady Asha have come to an agreement. Though we initially presented a united front, in truth, the representatives of our two kingdoms have interests that do not completely align.”

“My uncle Victarion was ordered to present a marriage offer from my other uncle, Euron Greyjoy, who now rules the Iron Islands.” From the way Asha almost spat that last name, it was clear that they didn’t get along. “However, Uncle Victarion has no intention of obeying those orders. Instead, for reasons of his own, he aims to marry the queen and crown himself king.”

“Likewise, my brother, Quentyn, was sent by my father with the same goal,” Arianne explained with an eyeroll, clearly indicating her extreme doubt at her brother’s chance of success. “Whereas I was sent to seduce you –” she shot a lustful gaze at John “– and, should you prove pliable, bring you to our cause. With my cousins’ help, if necessary.”

Nymeria started staring at John like a cat would a mouse. Obara, however, was significantly more restrained.

“While I’m sure there’s more to it than that,” Jane said, “can you clarify something for me?”

“By all means, Lady Jane,” Arianne replied.

“Why didn’t you kill each other?” the Commander asked.

John nearly cracked his neck with how fast he jerked his head toward his partner. Can they just ask them stuff like that, now? Why didn’t anybody tell him?

“Yer a sharp one,” Asha Greyjoy praised. “The official answer is, as the princess here said, presenting a united front.”

“And the real answer?” the redhead prodded.

“We were evenly matched,” Obara said.

“They had more men,” Asha drawled. “We had more ships.”

“Fighting each other would have only weakened the winner,” Arianne finished, “regardless of who ended up victorious.”

“Must’ve been quite the tense voyage, then,” Jane noted.

“It was,” Nymeria sighed daintily. Or, at least, she pretended to. John wasn’t that blind, and she wasn’t that good at it. “I prayed to the Seven in thanks each time we saw the sunrise.”

Jane’s green eyes pinned her with a scrutinizing look, but the blonde only stared back demurely. John was starting to feel like he was missing an entirely different conversation here. And he was getting tired of it.

“Can we cut to the chase?” he finally cut in. “What exactly do you want from me? It’s clear, by now, that this whole marriage business is a load of horseshit. So, why did you feel the need to come find me?”

His guests all exchanged glances. John looked to Jane, too, who gave him an encouraging smile. He wasn’t really sure what that was about, but now wasn’t the time to unpack that.

“Tell me, Lord John,” Arianne started. “Do you know of your reputation beyond this bay?”

Great. Answering his question with a question. “You just told me,” he told her bluntly.

An amused smile played on her glossy lips. “Aside from that.”

John huffed. “I don’t know. The queen’s pet weirdo?”

Arianne shook her head of dark, curly hair. “No, Lord John. From Qarth to White Harbor, you have a far more fearsome reputation.” A frown began to form on John’s face. “Her Grace is known by many names, but the one that strikes fear in the hearts of men is Dragon Queen. Myths and legends surround Lady Saber, exalting her skills with the sword, her invincibility, and her beauty. You, however…”

Her large, dark eyes met John’s. “You are known as the queen’s executioner.” Well, that’s not too bad. “Many would call you a butcher, murderer, and madman.” Spoke too soon. “Yet, your loftiest title is one that is only spoken in whispers among those blessed enough to know it.”

Oh, John didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What is it?” he asked dully.

Something shifted in Arianne’s face. Not just hers but all the women’s.

“You are The Champion, Lord John.” Her voice had gotten so quiet that it was almost impossible to hear what she said. 

No.

“Sent down by a goddess to ensure Her Grace will reclaim the Iron Throne.”

Oh, no.

“Father of a thousand generations.”

Oh, no, no, no. This isn’t happening.

“And the one who would give us power over our own destinies.”

John waited for the punchline, because this had to be a joke. When it didn’t come, he turned to Jane, who looked shocked at the revelation.

He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know. “Where did you hear about any of this?”

When Arianne replied, John finally found the right word to describe how she looked: Fanatical.

“She promised us,” she breathed.

In the back of his mind, John flashed back to the most unfortunate meeting of his entire life.

“Oh, you won’t have a choice,” she had told him then. “I’ll make sure of that.”

He thought that the involuntary addition of summoned partners would be the end of it. It turns out, they were just the start.

Then, another dreadful thought crawled into his brain.

How many women has she been whispering to?