[Check Out My P4treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!! And get chapters before publishing them here for free on my p4treon][https://p4treon.com/ThePlotHoleRefuge]
===
In the high-walled courtyard of the manse, the air was punctured by the rhythmic thwack of wood against wood. Viserys Targaryen moved with a newfound fluidity, his blunted practice sword blurring as he drove it into a heavy training post.
Under the influence of his recent attribute gains, his body felt like a coiled spring. However, as the sun began to dip toward the Shivering Sea, he lowered his weapon, his breath coming in ragged heaves. Strength and agility were growing, fueled by the Glutton and the God of Gastronomy, but his technique was a mess of half-remembered lessons from a half-blind knight.
"I need an instructor," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
In Braavos, one could find a thousand Water Dancers—flamboyant assassins who moved like cats and fought with needles. But Viserys did not want to dance; he wanted to survive the iron-clad reality of Westeros. He needed the heavy, systematic violence of a knight: the synergy of sword and shield, the crushing weight of a lance, and the endurance to fight in a hundred pounds of plate. Finding a loyalist knight in a city of sellswords was a needle in a haystack, but tonight, he was meeting the person who owned the haystack.
The guest of honor arrived as the first stars appeared. She was known as The Swordswoman, a second-tier Courtesan who had carved out a niche in the competitive Braavosi social scene by carrying a rapier and affecting the poise of a duelist. She was accompanied by Thassos and a silent, bearded Braavosi whose eyes never stopped moving.
"My friend, Viserys Targaryen," Thassos introduced, pride beaming from his face.
Viserys stood on the steps, his silver hair now cut short and sharp. The long, princely locks were gone, replaced by a style that was more practical, more martial. It made him look less like a tragic exile and more like a young commander.
"The Landless King," the Swordswoman purred, her eyes raking over him with professional curiosity. "Thassos spoke of a meal that could make a man forget his gods. I see the host is as striking as the legend."
Viserys ushered them into the reception hall. He had moved beyond simple sea snails. Tonight's menu was a symphony of the lagoon: mussels in saffron broth, red eels glazed in honey and crushed pepper, and lampreys prepared so delicately that even her bearded guard, Moro, found his stoic expression wavering.
The "Swordswoman" took a spoonful of the flower-crab soup. She paused, her eyes fluttering shut. The flavor was an ambush—complex, layered, and utterly perfect.
"Tragic," she whispered after a moment, looking at Viserys. "That a kingdom should fall and leave its king to be the finest gourmet in the Free Cities. Even the Governors of Pentos eat like peasants compared to this."
"Exile is a long road," Viserys replied, his voice smooth as silk. "I simply chose to walk it with a better palate."
As the Summer Red wine flowed, the atmosphere loosened. Thassos, eager to claim credit, whispered to the Courtesan that the "King" himself had guided the kitchen's hand. The revelation shifted the Swordswoman's gaze. She no longer saw a desperate boy; she saw a man of hidden, perhaps dangerous, talents.
"In Braavos, a favor must always be returned," she said, leaning forward, the jewels on her bodice catching the light. "Fine wine, gold, or beautiful women—name your price, Your Grace. I dislike owing debts to kings, even landless ones."
Thassos nodded encouragingly. Viserys knew this was the moment. He didn't need gold, and he didn't need more wine. He needed a bridge back to the Sunset Kingdoms.
"I seek a man," Viserys said, his purple eyes locking onto hers. "Not just any man. A knight of Westeros. One who fought for the dragon and fled when the stag roared. I need a master-at-arms who remembers the smell of the Reach or the Riverlands, not the brine of the canals."
The Swordswoman smiled, her fingers tracing the hilt of her rapier. A Courtesan was a broker of secrets and people. If there was a grizzled knight hiding in a mercenary company or a disgraced lord drinking his way through the fog of the docks, she would find him.
"A teacher of steel," she mused. "Very well, King Viserys. I shall turn my eyes to the mists. Braavos hides many ghosts; I will see if I can find one willing to haunt your courtyard."
Viserys raised his glass. The network was moving. The "Beggar King" was beginning to trade in a currency far more valuable than gold: influence.
===
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 25 on my patreon, go check it out
exclusive 18+ character images, and early chapters, please visit my Patreon. Thanks for your support!
p4treon.com/ThePlotHoleRefuge
if you want more updates == supports with power stones
Power Stones == Bonus Chapter
every three 5-star reviews == Bonus Chapter