Chapitre 9: Chapter 9
The dawn broke over Winterfell, painting the ancient stone walls with hues of gold and pink. The courtyard bustled with activity as the royal party prepared for their long journey south. Amidst the chaos of loading wagons and saddling horses, Benjamin Gilman stood in his quarters, taking one last look at the room that had been his home for the past weeks.
A soft knock at the door drew his attention. "Come in," he called, expecting a servant with last-minute instructions.
Instead, Mara entered, her eyes downcast and her hands fidgeting with her apron. "Benjamin," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I've come to bid you farewell."
Benjamin's cocky grin softened slightly, eyeing her up and down. "Mara, a sight for sore eyes, I didn't think you'd come."
She looked up, a hint of a smile on her lips. "M-lor'...Benjamin," she corrected herself. "I've washed your gear for the journey." She gestured to the neatly folded pile of his strange, green suit and the gleaming shield propped against it.
"Well, aren't you thoughtful," Benjamin said, stepping closer. "Any other goodbye gifts for me?"
Mara's cheeks flushed, but there was a glimmer of determination in her eyes. She rose on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to Benjamin's lips. "For luck," she murmured as she pulled away.
Benjamin chuckled, pleasantly surprised. "Guess making women feel young again does pay off," he mused aloud. "Don't worry, a 'lord', yeah I'm one of those now, always needs servants. We'll see each other soon."
As Mara slipped out of the room, Benjamin gave her ass a quick smack. He then turned to his gear. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of his shield, lost in thought. The past two weeks had been a whirlwind of preparation, politics, and more than a few drunken nights with Robert.
The stark girl, Sansa had tried to make a move on him. Poor girl doesn't know Benjamin has an acquired taste. What do they say about wine? Exactly.
As he prepared to leave for King's Landing and his promised lordship, Benjamin couldn't help but feel a twinge of... something. Not quite regret, but a sense that he was stepping into a world far more complex than he'd initially realized. Nobody could realistically stop him from killing everyone here and taking the crown for himself. But, he doesn't want the responsibility of all that. Not now.
Shaking off his contemplation, Benjamin donned his suit and strapped on his shield. It was time to claim what this strange world had in store for him. He was going to be a lord, that's fucking awesome.
.....
.....
...
The journey south began with great fanfare, the royal procession stretching for miles along the Kingsroad. Benjamin found himself riding alongside the Lannister contingent, much to the evident displeasure of Cersei. Her twin, Jaime, however, seemed fascinated by the newcomer.
"So, Gilman," Jaime called out one afternoon, urging his horse closer to Benjamin's. "Tell us more about this America of yours. Is it true what Starks guardsmen say about your warriors?"
'Here goes this dickbag with a thousand and one questions.' Benjamin thought with a raised eyebrow. "Depends on what they're saying, I suppose. What have you heard?"
Cersei, riding nearby, scoffed. "Ridiculous tales of men flying through the air and shooting arrows from something called 'F-15'. Clearly, the ale has gone to people's heads."
"Oh, those pilots could fuck up just about anyone," Benjamin said with a grin and remembered the time he stole one of those jets and crashed it into an Iranian oil refinery. "We've got some pretty impressive folks back home. Not on my level, but the average man from what I've seen here would get obliterated. By the women as well, yes, even them"
Even as a bit of a misogynist himself, he couldn't lie, those were some badass chicks.
The shock on the Lannisters' faces was almost comical. Jaime looked both skeptical and intrigued, while Cersei's eyes narrowed in calculation. 'A woman, with some sort of magic... does he have it?'
"And you?" Jaime asked, his hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of his sword. "What can you do, besides your obvious strength?"
Benjamin's grin widened. "Now that would be telling, wouldn't it? Let's just say I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."
As the days wore on, Benjamin found himself spending more time with Robert. The king, it seemed, was eager to relive his glory days through tales of battle and conquest. One evening, as they sat around a campfire, Robert deep in his cups, Benjamin decided to satisfy his curiosity.
"So, Your Grace," he began, passing Robert another wineskin. "I've heard you were quite the warrior in your day. Care to share some stories?"
Robert's eyes lit up, a spark of his former self shining through the layers of fat and alcohol. "Was I a warrior?" he boomed. "By the gods, I was strong! You should have seen me at the Trident, swinging my Warhammer. I crushed Rhaegar Targaryen's chest, and sent the rubies from his armor flying into the fucking river!"
As Robert launched into a detailed (and likely embellished) account of his exploits, Benjamin listened with genuine interest. Here was a man who had once been at the peak of physical perfection, a true warrior-king. What had happened to reduce him to this shadow of his former self? I guess being a fat bastard ain't so bad when you were once an absolute unit.
The journey to King's Landing took nearly fifty days, a grueling trek that tested even Benjamin's enhanced endurance. The novelty of medieval travel wore off quickly, replaced by a longing for the comforts of modern transportation.
As they finally crested the last hill and King's Landing came into view, Benjamin felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. The city sprawled before them, a vast expanse of buildings crowned by the imposing Red Keep. But as they drew closer, another sensation overwhelmed Benjamin's senses.
The stench.
It hit him like a physical force, a miasma of human waste, rotting food, and unwashed bodies. Benjamin's enhanced senses, usually an advantage, now worked against him as he struggled not to gag.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, pulling cloth up over his nose. "Is this normal?"
One of the guards riding nearby, let out a bark of laughter. "Welcome to King's Landing, Lord Gilman. The greatest city in Westeros, they say. Though they neglect to mention it's also the most pungent. Proper filthy"
As they made their way through the city gates, Benjamin found himself reconsidering his decision. The promise of lordship and glory suddenly seemed less appealing in the face of this assault on his senses. What had he gotten himself into?
Little did Benjamin know that the stench of King's Landing would soon be the least of his worries. As they approached the Red Keep, the center of power in Westeros, he was unwittingly stepping into a viper's nest of politics, intrigue, and danger that would make his adventures in the North seem like child's play.
The game of thrones had already begun in earnest, and Benjamin Gilman, with his superhuman abilities and twenty-first-century sensibilities, was about to become a wild card that no one, not even the most cunning players, had accounted for.
As he dismounted in the courtyard of the Red Keep, Benjamin took a deep breath (immediately regretting it) and steeled himself for whatever came next.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone