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A Reason to Live (ASOIAF SI)

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We've all heard it before.

A Self Insert is isekai'd into Westeros. Uplifts the Seven Kingdoms, whilst everyone magically follows their orders. Single handedly building institutions from nothing.

The classic power fantasy. Done to death.

This is not that kind of story.

Join RepliSI as he struggles to lead a decent life, and maybe, just maybe finally gets some self respect.
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A Reason to Live Chapter 1 : Funeral
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    • Replicant

    Replicant

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    A Reason to Live Chapter 1 : Funeral


    The first emotion he felt was confusion.

    One moment he was having dinner with his family and relatives. Quietly eating his dinner as his parents were arguing with relatives over financial issues. A familiar albeit uncomfortable ritual. His relatives always wanted money and his parents were not inclined to give it to them. His input on their discussions was not welcome. At best they would just ignore him, so might as well focus on dinner instead.

    The next moment he was in a room. A bedroom with brick walls, a bed that was too small for someone his size and a window with no glass.on it. Not his bedroom.

    Definitely not his bedroom.

    The next emotion he felt was, inevitably, panic.

    The next few moments were not his finest.

    He remembers the smell coming from outside the window, a nauseating smell of human excrement and waste. He remembers backing off looking out the window the moment the stench overcame him, so powerful it nearly caused him to vomit the contents of his dinner, right there and then. He remembers pulling open the bedroom wardrobe , looking for clues, only to find mediaeval looking clothes He remembered realizing he was shorter than he was supposed to be. He remembers the ever increasing existential dread within him as he searched the bedroom in vain \for something, anything but only finding crafting knives and half finished wooden figurines. Clearly the person who lived here liked woodcraft.

    He could not appreciate the person's work or dedication. Art does not interest him.

    He remembers the only places he did not search for clues was out the window or walking out of the room.

    He chose to look out the window.

    He should not have looked out the window.

    For outside, in front of his eyes, was Maegor's monstrous creation.

    The Red Keep.

    And then, the screaming started.

    It did not end for a long time.
    —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Hey, want to go outside and watch the wrestling match?"

    He remembers his Voice.

    He remembers ignoring it, willing the Voice to just go away. He cannot be real. None of this is real. He should not be here. Cannot be real. It is just a dream. Another delusion.

    The Voice did not listen.

    The Voice chose to stay.

    The Voice was persistent. Unlike the Man and Woman thing that called themselves his parents. Unlike the flesh golems masquerading as his siblings. They had long given up on him. They tried to heal him, spend large sums of money on maesters and healers, to heal his hysteria.

    One of the healers got stabbed by his crafting knife after trying to get him to eat cockroach eggs. Said it would "heal his mind".

    Real or not, he would not consume filth.

    The healers left soon after that.

    The knives too. Once the Woman thing found out he was trying to slit his wrists.

    He tried throwing himself off the window.

    He just broke his legs

    The Man thing boarded up the window.

    Soon after that his fake family would not talk to him after all. They would not plead or beg or scold him. Instead there was just silence. Other than the Woman thing taking care of his broken legs and feeding him, they would leave him be. Which was how he wanted it to be. He did not belong here and as soon as his legs were healed he would try again to leave this dream. That was the plan.

    And then the Voice showed up.

    The Voice stayed. He talked. A lot. He introduced himself as Rodrick, he was thirteen years old and his family were textile merchants. And then he would ramble on about what he did during the day, about how he had fun with his friends, How he was an apprentice to a tailor shop, how he helped that one elderly lady carry her things. He talked about the mundane things that no one really cared to listen to. The minor, ordinary things in life.

    And that is how he spent his days. In bed with two broken legs, listening to Rodrick rambling everyday. Regardless of whether he wanted to or not. He was a very inconsiderate person.

    But even if he was inconsiderate, it was nice. Even if he didn't reply to Rodrick 's stories, it was nice listening to the kid talk about his days.

    And then he asked for his stories.

    It wasn't fair, Rodrick said. That he spent his days after his apprenticeship hours were over talking to him, when he would never reply or share anything with him.

    It was true, it wasn't fair. But, the thing is he never had anything worthwhile to share. Nothing in this dream or his life before that. He had nothing. Been nothing in the eyes of others.

    But it wasn't fair.

    So after months stuck in this hell, he opened his mouth and spoke for the first time.

    "Long, long time ago, in a land far away from here, there was once an emperor that held a vast amount of land, bigger than Westeros. One day he asked a shepherd boy how many seconds in eternity…"
    —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    And so it went like this for a while.

    He would wait for Rodrick to arrive.

    He then would think of a story to share. Some days it would be stories of historical figures. Sometimes it would be fables, tales from the Brothers Grimm. Other times, he would share stories of his life.

    And then Rodrick would come. Sit right outside his bedroom door and they would exchange stories. One would share his daily life, the other would share stories that were deemed useless, not worth remembering by others in his lifetime.

    But, it was worth it. To listen how Rodrick laughed in disbelief, in the pure wonder and horror of what had been accomplished, what humanity did to itself. Of metal ships that roamed the skies. Of a 14 year old winning an empire in a single battle. Of men reaching the Moon, reaching the stars themselves.

    It was worth remembering garbage after all, if someone cherished it. He remembers thinking.

    He still didn't think this was real, but some days he caught himself, hoping. Sometimes. That Rodrick was real.

    And then one day, Rodrick asked him a question.

    "    Why don't you write a book about all the things you told me about? It would be amazing if the Septon read it aloud during his sermon."

    He remembers telling Rodrick that there were so many things wrong about that statement. That the Septon would not read a children's storybook during a sermon. That no one would spend so much time and energy on writing a story like that. Parchment and ink are expensive.

    "Just make one of those, what do you call it, printing machines? Like, you come up with all these wonderful stories, surely you could make a machine that prints books?"

    He remembers laughing. He remembers telling Rodrick, he knew how to spin a tale, a story but he had no talent in anything else. This is all he has for himself. Just stories for people to listen to.

    But for Rodrick, he would try his hand at writing something down. Maybe more people could cherish his stories. Maybe more people could laugh and smile because of him.

    There was just one problem.

    He did not know how to write in the Common Tongue.
    —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    He remembers telling his fake mother that he wanted to learn his letters.

    His legs had long since healed by then and it had been a long time since he last attempted suicide. So, he was allowed, tentatively, to share meals with the rest of his false family.

    He remembers his false father asking the rest of his non-siblings how their days were going. He remembers slowly sipping on his onion soup as his eldest non-sibling proudly boasted about how their apprenticeships were going. A sailor in the Royal Navy. If he kept up his hard work he would surely be a captain someday.

    He remembers the ugly, misshapen feeling of hate and jealousy. His eldest non-sibling's proud boasting reminded him of his other life. When his actual sibling was the golden child, the one that always succeeded in everything, the one with a long list of accolades and achievement . Him, he was just that guy who knew useless things no one sane would remember.

    He remembers, thinking nothing had actually changed. In this dream or in real life.

    He remembers he has a story to write.

    He asked to be taught how to write.

    The silence was deafening.

    He realized that this was the first time he ever really spoke to them as a family. He remembers being hugged and his false father crying, tears and snot dripping down as he unashamedly cried out that his son had inally talked to him. He remembers his false mother's incoherent speech about how proud she was of him. even his non-siblings rushed in for a group hug, happy that he finally responded to them.

    For the first time in a long time, he felt guilty. For deluding himself that this wasn't real, that everything was false, a hallucination. For thinking it was a dream. For pretending to not notice everyone's worries, for only talking to Rodrick and no one else.

    The snot and tears were definitely real. These feelings of happiness are real. The hugs were real. Their warmth is real. How could he be this blind. How?!

    After all this time, he was still so blind as to what was in front of him.

    He could not pretend this was false any longer . Despite not being his real family, they cared about his well-being. More than his actual family ever did. For that, and that alone.

    He cried.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    His second father hired an actual maester to teach him.

    No, that was a lie.

    A halfmaester.

    When he asked to have a literate education, he did not expect his second parents to go to such lengths. He knew they cared about all four of their sons and daughters, arranging an apprenticeship for Oscar as a sailor in the Royal Navy, was no small feat.

    Even for a well-off smallfolk merchant family, that took a lot of connections in the right places.

    But a half maester.

    He feels a sudden warm feeling in his chest, right where his heart is.

    But back to the half maester. Edric was pretty accomplished even if he failed to complete his education at the Citadel, with several chains underneath his metaphorical belt. Gold for the study of money and accounts, silver for medicine and copper for history. That is to say, overkill for a simple request to learn how to read and write.

    Edric was also a homosexual.

    He was expelled from the Citadel due to a scandal. Fornication with another student. Rumours spread quickly in King Landing. Nobody wanted to employ a sword swallower till his second father decided to take pity and employed him instead.

    A once rising comet, destined to be a well accomplished maester was reduced to being a tuition teacher, teaching him his letters and sums. Well, he and Rodrick. Somehow his friend managed to convince his parents to allow him to join in the lessons. Even if he already knew how to read and write thanks to his father's homeschooling.

    He just wanted to learn more about the World. About the history of Westeros and other parts of the world. Oh and to spend more time with his friend. Being the only student must be lonely, Rodrick said.

    It wasn't that bad being alone, but having someone to share lessons, to talk to, was nice, he thought.

    And so it went like this for a while.

    In the morning, he did his homework assigned by Edric. Usually they weren't that hard to complete, except for when there were words and phrases in the Common Tongue he didn't understand.

    In the afternoons, after lunch, Edric would arrive, followed by Rodrick, always slightly late. And the lessons would start. Sometimes it would just involve learning how to read certain words and sentence structures. Other times it would be grammar or vocabulary. On some occasions Edric would teach history, those lessons were the most interesting for him personally. Even if the stories of this world are duller than actual historical events, and usually of questionable historicity. History is history. It will never bore him. His one passion

    Once the day's lessons were concluded, Edric would ask any questions. And he always had so many questions. About this or that letter, what does this sentence sound like, what is the tense used for this paragraph and is this the correct verb I am using? Sometimes he would even challenge Edric on Westerosi history. How do we even know this person existed, if there are no real sources about them except for myths and hearsay? What were the motivations of the Targaryen conquest of Westeros? Normal questions from a normal boy.

    And at night, he worked on his book. Or tried to anyway. He still did not have a firm grasp on the Common Tongue but he wanted to try. And his second parents would indulge in his wishes, purchasing large amounts of parchment and ink for him to write with.

    He felt guilty for wasting so much ink. Wasting so much parchments on a delusional, egotistical hobby that pretty much nobody would read except for him. Maybe Rodrick. Guilty for asking his second parents to waste so much money on him (    some things would never change between this life and the previous one). But vocalizing his guilt served no purpose. So he kept it to himself. Shoved it deep down in that part of him where he threw all meaningless things into. He continued writing.

    And so it went like this for a while.

    And for a time, he felt something resembling content and peace.

    Until it all fell apart.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    It started with a cough.

    Rodrick would smile and say nothing. Wipe his mouth with a handkerchief and try to cover it up. Pretend everything was fine.

    It wasn't. He saw it. His handkerchief had flecks of blood.

    It was then he realized, there was really, absolutely nothing he could do. Not once, in this life or his previous one was he ever useful in any way. His ideals, his knowledge, all of it. Useless. He couldn't do anything. Not against this.

    He knew, deep in his heart, nothing can be done against consumption. Rodrick would die.

    He screamed, wailing in his heart even as he smiled at his friend and pretended everything was fine. That someone like him was destined to die from something that could be prevented by a simple childhood vaccination in his previous life was a tragedy. If only he were a medical student, if only he knew some obscure medical knowledge. If only he truly knew a thousand and one useless facts, and the methods to replicate it.

    If only, if only.

    But no he doesn't know, because in the end he was nothing but a fraud with superficial historical knowledge. There was nothing he could do to ease his friend's suffering.

    Except for one thing.

    Finish it before he passes away. Make him proud. Make him smile.

    Finish the damn book.

    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    And so his days went by, with ever more increasing desperation.

    Rodrick, once so healthy, started coughing with ever more alarming frequency. He soon stopped bothering to cover up the blood now. Said it was a passing illness.

    A lie. But he didn't have the heart to call him out on it..

    His writing, once slow and steady, increasingly turned frantic, desperate. He tore through the parchments like a devouring wolf. Racing against time. He made a bet with the Stranger that his book would finish before he could claim his friend's life. He challenged Kronos that he could beat him in a fight against time itself.

    He hoped and prayed he would be fast enough.

    He wasn't fast enough.

    Rodrick's mother came to his house. An announcement that he was too ill to continue his lessons. He had to stay in bed. For now. Soon he would come back, she said. Another lie to comfort him or herself, he doesn't know. Maybe it was for the sake of both of us.

    His writing devolved into the scribblings of a madman. He didn't sleep. Could not sleep. He had to write. He burnt candles. So many candles. He must focus. He must finish it. He would. This was his promise to himself. Rodrick would be proud. Even if he never mustered the courage to visit his house. He would finish the book. He would read it to him. He asked God, just once in his life, to not let him be a failure, just this once.

    He prayed he could make it in time.

    He never finished the book in time.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    It was a rainy day when he finally visited Rodrick.

    In another life, his older sister once said that rain was God's tears upon seeing mankind destroying his perfect world. That God would cry for man's sins.

    Back then he thought she was full of shit. Now, he just thinks the rain is God's way of laughing at mankind's monumental failures.

    He didn't want to visit. If he had a choice, he would not have visited at all. He hates living funerals in both his previous life and his current one.

    But Rodrick had run out of time. Any day now the Stranger would claim him. He wants to see you one last time.Rodrick's mother had begged for him to visit, said he wanted to see him one last time. Just once, to please visit. And he wanted to see his friend, he did. For the final time.

    In his right arm was the book, he wasn't even three quarters done yet.

    Still, he would read it to him, even if it was shit. That's what he thought as he pushed Rodrick's bedroom door open.

    He wanted to scream.

    The skeleton in front of him was not Rodrick.His limbs have wasted away. Just bones now. He tried to smile. He coughed out blood.

    "Took you long enough to come and visit. Sorry for… looking like this."

    He could not speak. Even now, he can't. How could he? He spent this entire time chasing after a book. It wasn't even a good book. Not once he had visited his friend. Not even once. Too focused on himself. Too self absorbed. He remember his sister once saying not everything was about him.

    He really was. Really is. A horrible person.

    He doesn't know what to say. He could not say anything. He doesn't think he has the right to talk.

    "    Oh, you actually brought along the book you worked so hard on. Read it to me.Please?" He said with a blood smeared smile.

    So he read the damn storybook. Of men. Of people. Of fairy tales. Of gods and demons. Of figures trying their best. Of Heros and Vlilians.

    It wasn't a good book. Not remotely publishable material.

    But his friend smiled at him as he read it. So it was worth it. The blood, sweat and tears. All of it. Worth it.

    And as he finishes reading the latest chapter, Rodrick asks him for a request.

    A promise between friends.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    And so here he stood in front of Rodrick's gravestone. Just outside the Great Sept of Kings Landing. Reading the now completed book of fables out loud.

    It had been a year now. Since his death. Two years since his arrival.

    It was high time to get an apprenticeship, his parents were constantly nagging at him to get a job. Some things never change.

    Except he doesn't know what to do with his life. If it's ok to be like this. He has no plans for the future, or any ambition really. If this really was a story in a fictional book, he thinks he will make for a lame main character, with no talent whatsoever.

    It was a familiar feeling he thinks to himself, this feeling of detachment, of feeling lost. Just like his previous life. Aimless. Directionless.

    Similar. Except for one thing.

    He had a promise to keep. So, he had a reason.

    He had a reason to live. A reason to move on. And sometimes that's all that matters. At least for him.

    In his mind, a plan begins to form.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Author note : Hello. It's me. The author. Some of you, dear readers might be somewhat bewildered about the purpose of this fanfic. After all, Self inserts MCs are monsters of logic that uplift entire civilisations with their large amounts of acquired knowledge, whose motives are usually imperialistic and self serving.

    So what. Exactly. Is the point of this fanfic.

    The truth is. This is a love letter to myself.

    My younger self. The 17 year old me to be precise.

    I want to hug him. I want to shake his hands. I want to tell him everything will turn out fine. That his ideals he thought were trash, are valuable and important. That his passions and hobbies are not useless, that they are treasures to be prized. I want to tell him that there are people out there that care for his well being. That they appreciate him for being him. I want to tell him he has self worth, that he should not continue breaking his own heart like this.

    I want him to give life a chance. I want to give him a reason to live.

    But what is done, is already done. The past cannot be changed. The march of time is relentless.

    Ultimately, this fanfic is just a wish. A wish that maybe, the author could be a better person.

    That's all it really is at its core.

    Thank you for reading.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Replicant said:
    @Hianny no canals you fake German :D
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Great chapter can't understand why your SI will not build canals they are such a great way to promote economic activities but hey at least he will still bring the industrial revolution :). Kidding aside great chapter Repli excited for more and hope he gets to find his place in this really unpleasant world
     
    The si really needs to start being industrypilled. He's stuck on the tiny feudal scale when he should be in advancing science instead of writing books. If he doesn't adapt the chances of him being taken out increases exponentially. Plate armor is infinitely fragile compared to tanks and firearms. He should be building towards creating the foundations to facilitate an industrial revolution. /s

    For real tho, keep it up, this is a certified banger.
     
    A Reason to Live Chapter 2: A Job Offer
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    • "Your Bookkeeper is stealing money right underneath your nose."

    The audacity of this child.

    Those were his first impressions of the boy.

    Well. Not his first. The boy's parents were close friends with him and often visited his humble Library, sometimes bringing along their children. So no, he was well aware of the boy's existence.

    And the fact that he took a peek at his commercial records. Normally, he would throw the rascal out of his establishment for that.

    But the boy's parents— he trusted them with his life. So, He let the boy be, and gave him unspoken permission to look around his library.

    Apparently, his past self had made the wrong judgement.

    But still. The boy was nearly a grown man, but he was still a child. So he gave him another chance.

    He told the boy to explain himself in the politest tone he could manage. Blurting out such a serious accusation towards Gerold, his bookkeeper for a decade, required substantial evidence, after all.

    Something must've been wrong with his speech, because the boy looked like he was going to faint. Seriously, was this child a boy or a girl? It wasn't like he was really scolding him.

    Okay, Martha was giving him the death glare. He must have said something wrong to her son tha-

    Wait, the boy's lips were moving, but not a single word was coming out of his mouth.

    The boy was panicking now. His eyes were darting left and right, looking for an escape route. His back seemed to be damp with sweat. He uncrossed and crossed his arms in a vain attempt to gather courage.

    Must be nervous. Of course he was nervous. A big frame muscular stormlander like him must have posed an imposing figure. an intimidating symbol of adult authority to the boy. It didn't help that he had a deep voice, either.

    He sighed.

    "    Before you say anything, take a deep breath. That's it. Just. Calm yourself first. Breath in. Breath out. Good. Now, do you have a reason for such a serious accusation?"

    The boy still looked nervous, but he stopped acting like a lost pigeon. Or a headless duck. That was an improvement. Even if he looked like he was going to faint, at least he was trying to keep it together.

    Now if only he had something worthwhile to sa-

    A rush of words spewed out of the boy's mouth.

    His eyes widened.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    He was hired on the spot. The previous bookkeeper, Gerold, was fired for ripping off Ronald's, the library owner, hard-earned silver stags, and he became the new bookkeeper.

    His parents, who had a front row seat to the drama that unfolded, were incredibly proud of him and told him so just before they left to complete some errands. After all, it had required six full months of fruitless interviews for apprenticeships positions. Six months of constant rejections. Six months of people whispering behind his back, of the strange child with his book of witchcraft. Six months of worry and fear of an uncertain future.

    He should be proud that he got the job. It meant that he could gain some respect for himself. A means to support himself. It means that the vile rumours could cease for a while.

    Except.

    Except that he didn't want the responsibility.

    This was not part of the plan. The plan was to show off a little. Introduce double-entry accounting. Prove that Gerold was embezzling money from the library. Brown nose a little. Get an entry level job, something like a librarian? That was the plan.

    (It was fairly easy to prove Gerold was stealing money. The idiot didn't even bother covering his tracks well. He was busy creating new fictitious suppliers of parchment which on the surface seemed legitimate, except there's only one true parchment supplier in town, the Great Sept itself. King Baelor made sure of that. So no, Gerold wasn't just corrupt. He was also lazy. The only reason he got the job was because he was Ronald's blood relative, or that's what his parents said.)

    But no. Apparently he had to suffer from overachievement. He did not want to be the sole person responsible for the library's financial well being.

    And he really, really didn't want to be the person to reorganise the entire financial record keeping of this establishment. He was too inexperienced and young to do such a thing.

    (The sweat had returned. The shakes were starting again. His hands trembled regardless of his wishes for them to be still. He ignored it as best as he could. Deep breath. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. There was nothing wrong. It was nothing. Nothing at all. I am nothing.)

    He told Ronald his worries. The madman just laughed and said he was more than capable of such an endeavour, and he trusted he would do a good job. Obviously, he would take a look at the records from time to time, just to see if he was actually doing his job, but he had full confidence he would do better than the previous bookkeeper.

    What the fuck. That seemed awfully irresponsible of him, downright naive, even. Especially since his previous employee did such a wonderful job at messing up the records. And now he had to unfuck the situation.

    (Why was he so sweaty? Stop being gross. You got the job already, so stop being stressed. Why, why—why was he like this. No, calm down. Deep breaths, breathe in, breathe out. Still nervous, his hands were trembling. No. Deep breaths again. In.…out…)

    His bad feelings must have shown on his facial expressions as Ronald did seem apologetic. The stormlander explained that normally he would have caught Gerold red-handed, if he wasn't so districted with local politics as well as being busy handling new suppliers outside of King's Landing. So he didn't have much time to look through the records whatsoever.

    (Deep breathing is not fucking working. It's getting worse. need a distraction, if not…this will escalate into something else. Fuck— stop shaking. Why am I shaking so badly?Breathe, just breathe. In. Out. In.. Why amI sweating so much? I should lea- no. No— I can't run away. Don't run. Stay. Stay. People need me, so do not run. Not from this.)

    Well, the records did prove Ronald wasn't lying. It was only fairly recently that Gerold had gotten greedy and started skimming some of the library earnings when Ronald was out of town. Normally, the punishment for embezzlers would be a civil trial and chopping off the offender's hands, or the wall. But Ronald, on account of Gerold's years of service, just fired him. Let him go, just like that.

    He really didn't understand his new employer. It might just be a public relations stunt? Or because of nepotism? Maybe both. Probably both.

    Anyway, Ronald continued, since this was his first day on the job, he would get his daughter to show him around the place. Familiarise himself with his new working environment, so to speak.

    (Look at the walls, they're made of wood I think, is it oak or something, no this keeps getting worse, the shakes are getting worse, look, keep looking for something. Breathe breathe breathe, in, out, in. There are so many desks with people reading chain manuscripts, why chain the manu- to prevent theft. Sensible. So many people, everyone counting on me. Me. Why, why why why. I don't want this. I want this so badly. Why is my body like this? No, stop, stop and breathe. In, out, in, out. Whatever you do. Don't run. Not again, never again don't run from this, cannot run. There is no door, trapped again, always trapped. What the fuck is wrong with y-)

    Which brought him right here, in front of a brunette girl sneering at him, asking if he had any questions before she started the tour.

    (Is it too late to run away from everything? No. Never. Run you fucking coward nothing you do will change. You're still the same even after all these years. Run then, run away from yourself. That is the only thing you can do.)

    It seemed someone had already decided they hate his guts.

    Joy.

    Pathetic.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Leyla didn't like the new bookkeeper.

    Not one bit.

    For one, he was shaking. Like actually shaking. His entire body was literally vibrating from sheer nervousness. And he was sweating profusely. Seriously, was he a boy or a girl?

    She couldn't believe the new bookkeeper was related to Oscar. They were two complete opposites; Oscar was dashing, rogue and charismatic, while the new bookkeeper was…

    Never mind. She felt bad thinking about him so lowly.

    But still, she didn't know him. Despite knowing Oscar well since he always visited the library (even though he didn't read anything and only watched her for some reason), his younger brother was a non-entity in her mind. A non-factor. Someone that she knew existed in the neighbourhood, but not someone she was remotely close to in the slightest.

    Which meant he could be a threat to her. To her inheritance.

    She was an only child. But what if her father liked the new guy more and decided to give her inheritance to him instead? Maybe his shakes and shivers were a mummer farce. Maybe he was trying to deceive everyone so he could claim what was rightfully hers. Maybe—

    She knew she was being paranoid, but still. Still. Her male relatives were always looking for a way to steal what was hers by law, but laws could change, Will Guarantors could be bribed, and her father's will could be changed by unscrupulous relatives after his demise. She was, after all, just a girl. And the fairer sex's worth was only to be betrothed and then married. Just as the gods intended.

    Her uncle's words, not hers.

    So yes, she might be a tad paranoid. But she felt that her worries were justified, despite her father's repeated assurance the library was hers if he passed away without a son.

    She loved her father, but he was too trusting of relatives with greedy intentions. History was never kind to female inheritors. Just ask Rhaenyra. Actually, you couldn't ask her, for she was already dead.

    Oh, the new bookkeeper asked a question. Mumbled, really.

    When was this place first founded?

    …No one actually told him. Guess his parents didn't want their children to know their dirty past history with her father.

    Well then. Guess she had to give him the standard new hired talk after all.

    "    This Library was first founded by my father about 12 years ago as a way to store knowledge and books that he acquired over the years as a travelling merchant," she started. "Over the years he acquired even more manuscripts, scrolls and books from his own network of contacts across Westeros and even from Essos. Obviously we are not a charity here so anyone who wished to read here had to pay for the privilege to do so. Oh, we also do book rentals, which is when readers are allowed to borrow books or scrolls, but they have to pay a deposit as collateral so they, you know, don't just run off. Also, see those chained manuscripts?"

    She pointed towards the collection of desks. "Those are the rare ones, the ones that are one of a kind. The kind not even my father will risk allowing readers to borrow because of their immense value, so of course the privilege of reading them is more expensive than the normal book or manuscript copy."

    Even if the entire neighbourhood was once in on the scheme, it was best for those who didn't know to be kept in the dark. After all, if word got out, they were all going to the wall or be hanged for treason.

    Ignorance was a blessing. The irony was delicious.

    Wait, the boy wasn't even listening to her book speech. Which was incredibly rude. She should probably scold him for that, except he probably wouldn't register her scolding. In fact, he looked like he was going to faint at any moment.

    Worrying. Guess she had to distract him from whatever he was thinking. Even if she couldn't trust him, no one deserved to be so wrecked with nerves. It was nauseating and spoiled her mood as well.

    What to do, what to do.

    Huh.

    He was carrying a book. Well, not carrying, more like clinging onto it like a drowning man clinging onto a piece of log in the middle of an ocean.

    Interesting.

    "You wrote a book by yourself? That is incredible! You are what? 14? That is the same age as me and you've already finished writing a book by yourself? Can I read it? I promise to return it later!"

    The boy said he was the author, and no, he would not let her read the book.

    Unacceptable. She did not take no for an answer.

    Another approach, then.

    "You clearly spent a lot of time writing that book and seeing as you're clinging to it so tightly, it clearly holds immense personal value to you. Don't you want more people to appreciate your hard work? My father and I can arrange for your book to be stored here and let people read it. Imagine your book being read by maesters, wouldn't that be great??"

    The boy said she could've put in more effort in her speech. But he did let her take a glance at his book. He called it the book of fables.

    Which, she was guessing, was a book of natural sciences? Cartography? Sounded like her kind of book. She could feel her excitement grow.

    And then she opened the book.

    And read the chapter.

    Her excitement vanished.

    Anger and crushing disappointment took over.

    This. This Bookkeeper.

    He spent so much time. Effort. Tears. Precious parchment. Ink. So much ink and parchment.

    On half-baked fake tales of fictional worlds. Did he know how much a sheet of parchment cost? Five silver stags. Five silver stags were wasted. And on what— children's tales.

    And there were hundreds of parchment. And the ink. The ink too. She didn't want to know how much the entire book actually cost.

    His parents must've spent, no, wasted dozens of gold dragons for this. THIS.

    AND THE ENTIRE CHAPTER WAS FILLED WITH GRAMMAR ERRORS. WHAT WAS WITH THE SENTENCE STRUCTURES? ALSO THE VERBS WERE USED INCORRECTLY. SHE HAD TO REREAD THIS THREE. TIMES. TO EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT THE STORY WAS ABOUT. IT WAS ALMOST LIKE HE JUST STARTED LEARNING HOW TO WRITE REC-

    Wait, why was the entire library looking at her?

    Where did the bookkeeper go? He was right in front of her.

    Also why was her father's face so dark?

    …By the maiden nonexistent chest, she'd said it out loud.

    Uhhhh.

    Well.

    Shit.
    —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Oscar found his brother cowering in an alleyway.

    It wasn't that hard to find him. He just had to follow the sounds of sobbing.

    Wait, that's a lie, his brother was actually pretty hard to find when he didn't want to be found.

    It was only thanks to the neighbourhood criers pointing where he went that Oscar found him.

    Honestly, society could not function without town criers. Good men. They deserve higher wages.

    Anyway,

    He honestly thought his brother was doing better now. Well, at least he was doing fine these past few months. He'd been trying to find an apprenticeship but it wasn't his fault that he had bad luck. Most shops in their neighbourhood already had their hands full with current apprentices. Or just straight up didn't want him for being a weird child. Stupid really, his brother was really cute with that book of his, always by his side.

    People just couldn't comprehend his brother's greatness, really. Bunch of losers.

    But still.

    Still. He expected better. Not of his brother. Never him. He was trying his best. But he really expected better of Leyla. She shouldn't have been so hard on him.

    Like, she was really cute and easy to look at (her ponytail and the way she frowned when reading some dusty scroll. She looked. Amazing.), but she was so paranoid that someone was out to steal the library from her. Like, come on, look at his baby brother, he couldn't even hurt a baby! At least she looked guilty when he asked where his brother went, served her right, heh.

    She did look really cute with that guilty loo-

    Nope not the time, absolutely not the time for that.

    His brother needed the great Oscar. The second coming of the Sea Snake.

    So he did what all responsible older siblings did.

    He hugged him.

    And dragged him to a tavern.

    It was high time for a drink.

    —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "    And that's why Lelya has a stick up her ass. Wait, not like that. But despite uh, having a stick up her ass, she is so cute like by the gods I'm happy you got an apprenticeship but I wish I could trade places with you, brother."

    He wished to be anywhere but here.

    But Oscar was trying to cheer him up.

    Even if it was with this god-awful beer, his brother had come to save him from himself. So

    He stayed.

    Even though hearing that Oscar had a massive crush on that Bitch was–well, honestly not that weird. They were just a year apart. But still.

    He'd rather not talk about how Leyla was amazing. Or cute. Or apparently an intellectual. A prodigy. A female maester. Whatever. Being viscerally torn apart like that in front of dozens of intellectuals, scholars and maesters was… You know what?

    He just wanted to cower somewhere and process the magnitude of his fuck up.

    Also, talking about how cute a teenage girl was was very fucking creepy.

    Well, at least his panic attacks had stopped. What a fucking disaster.

    He drank his beer. Blugh. It sucked ass. His past life wasn't much of a drinker, either, and yet…he wanted more.

    Oh wait, his brother was quiet now. It seemed like he was actually going to say something profound, with how much his forehead wrinkles were showing.

    He had to listen to this.

    " Brother, you know how bad I am with speeches. But you need to hear this. No matter what anyone says about you, you're great. Fantastic, really." Oscar said with a bright, flashing smile.

    He frowned. Oscar didn't know shit what the fuck does he know about him anyway.

    "No, don't give me that look. You need to love yourself more. So what if you ran away from your first day at work? Bah, fuck Leyla. Not in that way you know mother would kill m- you know what? If I was there I would scold her back." Oscar exclaimed as he let out a laugh.

    Oscar would not do that, he loved leyla way too much to talk back to her, that was his honest thoughts.

    Somehow his brother was a telepathic.

    "Yes, I would scold her. Even if I like her, she went too far this time. You know what brother, your main problem is that you don't fight back. You just soak up everything. Now that's fine sometimes, but it's not always the right solution. You need to stand up for yourself at times. But if you don't, well, that's fine! I am here for a reason." Oscar said with a weary smile as his arms pulled him into a hug.

    "Anyway, that was a long-winded speech, but I guess what I want to say is that if you have problems you should just stand up for yourself. Talk about it. I mean, I'm here right? Oh gods you're going to cry again." His brother's head looked around frantically for something or someone for help. Suspiciously everyone else in the tavern was busy with their own conversations or drinks.

    "Hhhhh fuck. Okay uh. You know what. Tomorrow we'll march into Uncle Ronald's library, and force Leyla to apologise. Now cheer up, we got beers to drink." Today, he thought, was a suspiciously rainy day. In a tavern, of all places.

    Laughing uproariously, together they toasted and drank a a pair of cups brimming with beer form.

    And another.

    And another

    And another.

    This continued for quite a while
    .
    .
    .
    .
    And that was how he received his first hangover.

    And how he was late to his second day of work.

    Fuck.
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • Poor Repli, at least he got a job, dude got off his feet quicker than me after college :V

    Anyway, I can't wait for his superior methods of accounting to dazzle his boss (and piss off Leyla)
     
    Last edited:
    A Reason to Live Chapter 3 : Question
  • Threadmarks
    • A Reason to Live Chapter 3 : Question

    Walking to the library wasn't a fun experience.

    Especially with a hangover.

    He honestly didn't want to go to work, but just the thought of disappointing his parents and siblings (again) was painful. Oscar did ask to accompany him, but honestly—it would be too embarrassing. It was bad enough that he ran away from his first full-time apprenticeship. Asking his older brother to accompany him was going to tank his non-existent reputation even further.

    That, and he was nursing the mother of all hangovers.

    So here he was. Slowly walking through the busy market to the Library.

    If he was going to gaslight himself to go and work for a living, he might as well slowly stumble his way to his workplace. And maybe get something as an apology gift for Leyla after yesterday's debacle.

    Which sounded awfully like an excuse to be late, but at least it reassured the guilty feeling in his heart for fucking up yesterday, so that worked out fine.

    Let's see.

    That peddler over there was selling fruits, while the merchant to the left of the fruit seller was selling seeds. Next to him was a woman selling trinkets. , and opposite to her was an old man selling metalware. Next to the old man was a gaggle of goat herders…

    Actually, what did girls fancy anyways?

    …

    This was embarrassing. He had a sister in his previous life so he should know, except that his older sister preferred cold hard cash and unhealthy food as an apology gift.

    For some reason, he didn't think this was gonna fly with Leyla. Call it a hunch, but he was reasonably certain the girl would go ballistic if he bought fried corn as an apology gift.

    From yesterday's interaction, he was confident that Leyla prized one and one thing only: Knowledge.

    Considering the world he found himself in, that was one expensive apology gift, not something his merger savings could afford.

    … He regretted not asking Oscar to follow him now. With this persistent headache, it was hard to actually think straight. Maybe he should go buy some jewellery or accessories, girls liked that right? But Leyla would most likely not be interested in those kind of things so maybe something el-

    Wait. She loved reading, and by extension, that meant she liked to write as well. Which meant that it was also reasonable to assume that she tended to stay up late at night reading with candles on. He assumed from her heavy eyebags she didn't get enough sleep and was lethargic, which meant-

    He wasn't sure if they actually sold coffee beans here. But …

    Fuck it why not.

    If nothing else, he could delay an uncomfortable confrontation. And if she was waiting for him, well,

    It was kinda her fault for yesterday so he didn't feel too bad, really she kind of deserved it.

    Heh.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    He was late. For his second day.

    She was standing outside of her father's library, under the blistering sun. Because of him.

    She could feel herself getting angrier by the second.

    She really shouldn't blame him for being late. But still. Still. That did not leave a good impression of his character. What kind of person had a massive meltdown on their first day of work and didn't show up on their second day?

    Not a reliable person, that's what.

    Sure, her father went on a long speech about how the new hire had, well, issues and it was her fault that she scared him away, that she should apologise. Fine, she got it. This was her fault. Right. But still, it's not actually her fault the new bookkeeper didn't have the spine to stand up to her, like if he had a problem with her criticism (and it was criticism not a rant like what the other librarians whispering behind her back, those cowards), he should've spoken up.

    Not run away, crying. Seriously, how he was a guy she had no clue, much less Oscar's younger brother.

    So here she was, glaring at the pavement, even as the gold cloak guards that her father hired to deter robbers were trying to make small talk with her.

    She didn't need their distractions. She needed this little shit to hurry the fuck up so she could go back to reading. Her father forbade her from going back in till this cock suc-

    Oh. He was here. And with a shit-eating grin. What the fuck was he smiling so hard for, was her suffering amusing to him? Sadistic little shit that he was, did he know just how long she had to wait for him? Since the sun came up. Yeah that's right yo-

    Wait. Did he just say that? Those were coffee beans. Actual coffee beans.

    Huh. That was the first time someone actually gave her something in good faith, excluding Oscar or her father.

    Maybe he wasn't that useless after all.
    —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Finding coffee beans in the marketplace was surprisingly not that hard.

    Well. It took hours of searching. But they existed. Somehow. He chalked it up to the author's shitty worldbuilding.

    All he had to do was ask questions around the market, about beans that caused goats and sheep to act weird. It took some time to work up the courage to hold a conversation with the peddlers and merchants, but amusingly enough, one of the goat herders had the beans. Something about buying it from a failing dornish merchant who thought that there was a demand for waking beans in King's Landing or something.

    Well, there was a demand for coffee beans alright. Just not the kind they were expecting.

    Good thing he found the beans too, since by the time he reached the library, Leyla looked ready to slaughter him in broad daylight. Apparently, her father banned her from coming in till she apologised.

    She had been waiting since the sun rose.

    It was currently noon. And considering how the gold cloak guards were quietly sighing with relief, he imagined Leyla wasn't the best at managing her temper.

    Okay, he felt guilty. A bit. For the guards and maybe for forcing her to wait so long. But seeing her rage turn into wonder was pretty funny and nice for a change. Even if her apology was fairly bland, that was fine. Part of what happened yesterday was his fault anyway.

    Which left him in his current state.

    He had an office now, on the Library second floor which outsiders weren't allowed on. It was better than he expected to be honest. Everything was neatly organised with all the scrolls and manuscripts on the shelves, a small container for ink on the desk, and no ink stains or parchments all over the place, which was surprising considering how incompetent the previous bookkeeper had been. At least he was organised and neat, he would give him that at least.

    It was too bad that he had to reorganise everything to his own preference and that they were going to need more parchments for his plans.

    A lot more parchments. And ink. And quills.

    … Leyla was going to hate him for his proposal wasn't she? Great.

    Hopefully, Ronald could understand the superiority of the double entry system even if it may be a bitch to implement.

    Hopefully.

    (… Honestly he didn't think he could pull this off. He did not have the confidence to believe in himself. He did not know if this was a great idea. He didn't know if he could do it. He doubted that the system he spent several years in his previous life memorising would actually have a tangible benefit. He knew its theoretical benefits; he didn't believe that it would actually work. The only thing he believed in right now was his self doubt and the courage of hangovers)
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    She took everything positive she felt about him back.

    The new bookkeeper was a vicious idiot.

    It all began during the end of the day staff meeting. The usual discussion of maybe acquiring some books by librarian Matthias, the latest acquisition of manuscripts by her dad dealing with book merchants and the citadel. Complaints about the regular patrons. Usual bitching by the Gold Cloak Captain Edmure on how the sun was so hot and maybe they could have shorter shifts guarding the Library. Oh, and what to do with the one or two thieves that always somehow sneak into the Library.

    Usually, the punishment for thievery was handing them over to the city authorities to get their hands chopped off. But since it was her father, they usually got off with a warning, much to the dismay of all the staff. Sometimes, she wondered why her father got into business with a bleeding heart.

    Then, just as they closed the meeting for the day, the new bookkeeper opened his big mouth. For god's sake, she just wanted to go back home and do some personal reading.

    But no. For some reason, he thought the entire bookkeeping system wasn't good enough for his standards. That he, a fourteen year old crybaby, could change the way they did bookkeeping, that he could make it more efficient. Stammering about a double-entry system that no one had ever heard about that could change the way bookkeeping worked forever.

    Considering the sheer disinterest and outright indifference the vast majority of the library staff had to his "idea", well, she thought he should work on his public speaking skills over conjuring up ideas that had no place around here. Also, it may not have been such a great idea to do an important speech when everyone just wanted to go home.

    No, the staff was not a problem here. The problem was that her father was stroking his beard while the new bookkeeper continued his speech (with increasingly sweaty palms and a pained expression on his face, she noticed). Normally, nobody would notice it. But she did. It was a telltale sign her dad was seriously considering his proposal. Great. Fantastical. It's not like they would have to order even more parchments. More ink. More quills. More wax tablets for practise writing. It wasn't like this little guy's harebrained scheme was going to eat into the Library's profit. It's not like her father was forgetting her deceased mother's bookkeeping work. No, Leyla is not mad at her father; she would never be angry at him.

    She is just angry at this little shit wasting everyone's time, effort and spitting on her mother's grave.

    Oh, he finally was done with his little speech. That took forever and he even looked proud. Good. Continue looking proud. She would make his life a living hell for wasting everyone ti-

    Why did he look so gre-, no, shit, fuck he was going to vomit like Oscar always did, why the fuck did she stand to him, movemovem-

    FUCK HE VOMITED ON HER DRESS THAT SHI-
    —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    He really.

    Really.

    Has zero inclination to go to work today. Not one bit. He just wanted to sit in the corner of the bedroom and pretend nothing happened.

    Yes, nothing happened. Yesterday was a dream. He did not just embarrass himself and by extension his entire family, no sir. It wasn't like he demolished any goodwill he had gathered from Leyla. Not like everyone in his workplace hated his guts for wasting everyone's time. Nope, nothing happened. He definitely didn't vomit on Leyla. Nope, that was someone else. He did not have a job, he didn't have any responsibilities. Just a waste of space. What was the word again? Ah yes, hikikomori. Yep, that was him.

    But of course his family did not let him wallow in his own self-inflicted misery.

    See, Oscar, after banging his door for the thousandth time, had given up and said he didn't have time for his shit since he had to go back to his galley. Off for a two weeks naval patrol near Dragonstone or something. He did not listen to his brother's rambling.

    So his brother brought the big guns.

    Their younger sister, Lena. Who did not tolerate his bullshit. Grabbed the keys, unlocked his bedroom door and threw him out of the house. Wonderful.

    So here he was. On his third day. Being dragged to the Library doorstep by a very pissed off younger sister ("Seriously can you just man up and go to work by yourself?"). Right in front of a very, very, pissed off Leyla. And promptly abandoned by Lena as she ran back to their parents. ("Brother, how d- actually, you know what? This is your fault, I have no idea how in the world you pissed off Leyla; she's a sweet girl so clearly you're the one at fault here. Man up and face the consequences of your own actions, got to go, mom wants me back at the shop. Oh and don't die, I would be very upset if you do.") So much for sibling loyalty.

    Also he still. Didn't. Understand why Leyla was mad at him. It clearly wasn't the vomit considering how angry she got during yesterday's presentation bu- you know what.

    Someone please insert a bullet in his skull.

    He just wanted to die from the humiliation and he knew the gold cloaks standing on guard duty were laughing at him. Fuck, could he just dig a hole and just die already? He really did not want to be here.

    But alas in this life and the previous one, he cannot say no to his family demands.

    … But Lena was right. He had to face the situation he created because of his own big brain idea. Even if it meant facing Leyla's anger, he had to prove that his idea was not only right, but was also beneficial to the Library as a whole.

    So with courage he didn't have, confidence of previous life knowledge that he didn't feel, he opened his eyes and faced Leyla's antagonism head on.

    …

    He would rather face a dragon, to be honest.
    —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Today was truly a hellish day.

    For one, her father thought it was a great idea for her to supervise the bookkeeper as he got to implement his shitty double entry system. Considering how panicky he looked when she first greeted him, at least he was aware of her being mad at something. Good. Let him stew in his own misery.

    Throughout the morning, she had to help him collect parchments and scrolls up from the first floor storage room behind the library to the second floor bookkeeping room. Which should have been easy for her and the new bookkeeper. Except the sheer amount of scrolls he needed was, well. They needed multiple trips around the entire building. Which meant climbing up and down the stairs. A lot of climbing.

    At least they had one thing in common–both of them weren't physically active individuals. And honestly, seeing him this pathetic, gasping for air and sweating heavily, it was getting harder to stay angry at him. He looked more like a soaking wet puppy than a person. Not like she was any better. Then she remembered how many silver stags his scheme cost her father.

    … Maybe he didn't know how much it actually cost. She should tell him. Actually, never mind he was already writing something down. She should leave the room. He was clearly working on something for once in three days that wasn't crying, running away or reorganising manuscripts. Yes, she should leave. He was being serious about something.

    Her hands were at the wooden door. She just hads to push.

    She couldn't push it.

    His face. Something had changed when he was writing. He;d changed. He no longer looked like he was going to cry or panic.

    He was actually smiling. It was a painful, nostalgic, thin smile. But he was smiling, like the parchment was an old friend he'd been reunited with. Like a friend asking a stupid question he knew the answer to. Which was honestly a bit creepy. But–

    He was smiling. He never smiled. Oscar told her that much when he first ran out of the library. He was always frowning and scared of everything, even his own shadow.

    She needed to know why. Why did he change? Why was he sitting straight? Why were his hands no longer shaking? Why did he look like a different person?

    Why was she no longer angry but instead curious about the individual before her?

    She turned back around.

    For the first time, she asked a question.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    "    Why are you smiling?" she asked with a curious expression on her face. Her eyes were wide with unabashed curiosity. It reminded him of a time before.

    He honestly had no idea how to answer her.

    In a rare moment, his mind, rather than in a constant state of panic or near mental breakdown, was blissfully blank.

    This. This he could do. His proof that he wasn't useless. That he was able to do something. Instead of stories people could ignore as ramblings of a madman, this thing in front of him meant only one thing to him.

    Validation.

    They could ignore his existence. They couldn't ignore this. He was good at this, first in his class, the entire school, even. The only achievement that forced his previous family to turn around and acknowledge that he was useful for something.

    Even if it was just the basic first steps, the principles of accounting. Even if it wasn't real mathematics. Even if the entire school wrote the subject off as useless, only for bottom feeders who couldn't achieve distinction. Even if it was nothing in the grand scheme of things, he was so absurdly proud of it he didn't realise there were tears flowing down his face, much to the girl in front of him's dismay.

    How did he explain that he was good at taking unworthy discarded things that ordinary people threw away and polishing them to gold in his mind?

    He did not know the words. He never had the words or the vocabulary to explain it out in simple terms or concepts that people could understand. He did not and will not have the ability in his previous life, or this one.

    He was doomed to failure. To never achieve it. To always be ridiculed for wasting his life away on useless things. He understood that. Even as he choked on his own inner rage and willed the world to try and realise it, he knew that he couldn't change peoples' mindset or gain their understanding. That ability was simply not his.

    Yet.

    Yet the girl in front of him had asked him a question. It was a simple question. And like the idiot he was, he still hoped that maybe one day, just maybe, someone could understand it–that the things he deemed precious were truly needed and necessary for society. That he was needed.

    So, despite the countless times he was looked down upon .Despite the ridicule. Despite the pain he still holds in his heart. He still hoped.

    He answered her question.

    "Because I am good at this."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • A Reason to Live Chapter 4 : Double Entry and Shopping
  • Threadmarks
    • A Reason to Live Chapter 4 : Double Entry and Shopping

    A hastily given handkerchief and a few sniffs later, there was an awkward silence. Leyla didn't know what to do. Her palms were sweaty, and her eyes kept darting around the room as if an answer to her current situation would miraculously appear. She didn't know how to comfort the person in front of her. Boys should not cry this easily, especially not in front of a young lady like her. Especially not in front of her; she was self aware enough that she was not the nicest person around.

    That was a lie. She knew exactly what kind of person she was. But still. This was awkward.

    Ah, sod it. Just like what her deceased mother once said (the gods bless her soul), if you were in a bad situation, deflect everything.

    (Her mother did not, in fact, teach her that. She just made it up on the spot).

    So she asked more questions. "What are assets?" "What are those entries?" "What exactly is capital?" She made sure that her tone was less abrasive and as friendly as possible, even sitting down on the wooden chair next to him so he would not feel threatened by her standing up, arms crossed as if she were judging him. It would not do to have the bookkeeper have another mental breakdown. What would Oscar think of her if she broke his younger brother before he got back home. Or her father being disappointed with her. Again. No, that would not do at all. She did not want to stand in front of the Library, forced to apologize to him again.

    …. It almost felt like she was caring for a wounded stray cat.

    Anyway, it did help that she was fairly curious about this double-entry system he was creating. Take, for example, maester Edmure renting a book on Riverland gastronomy for a year, the cost of which was 2 silver stags paid upfront. Normally, the library would just record the transaction down on a general bookkeeping ledger and be done with it. Instead, the Bookkeeper decided to write the transaction down in a separate book he called the "Cash Book", entirely dedicated towards cash transactions. In the Cash Book, he wrote down Master Edmure's transactions in two separate account items, debiting 2 silver stags to the Cash account and crediting 2 silver stags to Book Rental Income.

    What was debit? Oh, it's basically debts that you had to collect. Credit?That was your debts to creditors, basically. Capital was how much the owner of an establishment invested into the business? Oh, and apparently there was always a credit item and a debit item in a single transaction, so that was why it's called double-entry? Assets were like stuff in the business that had, uh, economic benefits to the business? Liabilities were apparently like him? What did that even mean?

    … That was what she managed to decipher from his hour long rambling and rant on what exactly was double-entry accounting.

    Now, Leyla knew for a fact that she was the smartest person in the district, but. But, it took a monumental effort to actually understand a fraction of the terminology that the boy in front of her kept…. regurgitating.

    Something told her that the Bookkeeper didn't know how to socially interact with people. Coming from her, that's. That was worrying. How long had he lived like this? Spewing out random knowledge that no one could actually understand. Or bother, to be honest. Even for her, listening to his rumbling was a bit too much. No wonder he was, well, like this. It was honestly pitiful.

    But, still. Despite how much he clearly yearned for his double-entry to work, from the way he rambled on about ledgers, cash books, and balance sheets… It seemed awfully expensive. So many parchments and ink wasted cataloging transactions into many different books. Yes, she knew there were benefits to this double-entry system he was rambling on; better organization, a clearer picture of the library's financial situation, recovering forgotten debts, she was well aware of it all.

    She just. The initial cost of it was, well, her father could pay for it. But still, the cost of such an endeavor…Did he know just how much time, effort, and energy went into producing a single parchment? Or a bottle of ink? Well, parchment was more expensive but still.

    He was asking for thousands of parchment. At minimum.

    Blurgh, all this thinking was making her head hurt and he was still. Talking. Rambling about the benefits of income statements now. It had been several hours and he was still talking about his system. Which, fine, she usually did the same thing with Oscar when he visited the library. Just that instead of copper counting, it was hours of rambling about cartography and animal and plant experimentations. Normal things that smart girls like her talked about. It was totally not because all the girls around her age had ostracized her for being too smart for them, nope.

    She could not wait for Oscar to come ba-

    Wait. His name day was coming up—right on the day his galley would dock in King's Landing.

    She needed to come up with a gift for him.

    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Leyla suddenly stood up and grabbed his hand, much to his surprise and shock.

    Apparently it was lunch break now, and she knew a tavern that served great onion soup. But first, she said with a wicked smile, they had to go shopping, so a detour to the marketplace was in place.

    This girl would be the death of him, hecould feel it in his bones. One day she would get him killed from stress or anger or accidentally stab-

    Sigh. He wished he could reject her, but she did listen to his rambling for the most part. And attentively, even if her blue eyes stared at him in confusion at times when he struggled to explain the concepts of financial statements. But she'd actually listened to what he had to say.

    Which was way, way more than most of his classmates in his previous life ever bothered to give. Only expecting him to give them the answers to their assignments. Only to be exploited for his knowledge. He was fine with it, it didn'tbother him one bit, since he loved to be useful after all.

    (It bothered him alot, that people were not, in fact, interested in what he had to say. He just didn't want to admit it to himself).

    So despite his annoyance at being drafted to a mission against his will, he did not resist her. This was the least he could do, after all.

    So he let Leyla take his hand and off they went, out of the library and into the busy street, much to the amusement of the Gold Cloak guards. Those bastards were laughing at his suffering.

    And they entered into a sea of humanity.

    It was suffocating. Hundreds of city dwellers apparently decided that now of all times that everyone should have a lunch break at the same time. The result? A barely moving sea of human flesh going painfully, slowly… somewhere. A wave of humanity blobbing up and down the cobblestone street, something he noted distinctly as a rarity in the city. Much of King's Landing pavements were just dung-riddled mud paths, and the fact that his district had cobbled roads for a street implied someone or a group of individuals actually bothered to pay for such an expense. The King and his small council certainly wouldn't give a sh- actually this probably wasn't the time to think about roads of all things.

    The crowd suddenly picked up the pace, and the noise level drastically increased. Dozens of people shouting, laughing, holding conversation all at once. It was distracting and an annoyance, something he knew that Leyla wordlessly agreed on as her grip on his hand tightened.

    The last thing they both needed was to get lost.

    To be bluntly honest, he felt bored. The crowd was still moving at a sluggish pace. Talking to Leyla seemed counterproductive; the noise from the crowd was so loud they wouldn't be able to hold a proper conversation. Besides, taking a peek at her face revealed… Well, she looked pissed. Actually, that seemed to be an understatement. She was glaring with deadly intent at a trio of aunties cheerfully shouting at one another about how King Aegon had just reduced the purity of the silver coins to pay his debts, all while moving at a glacial pace. Just normal aunty talk. Talking about economics. Usual small talk. Right.

    So instead of staring into blank space or risking Leyla's anger, he looked around his surroundings.

    He had always known his neighborhood was one of the more well-off districts within the city, but looking at the rows of tall townhouses, he started to realize just how much he'd lucked out being born here. Each townhouse, usually three to four stories tall, was different and unique in its own way. Some, he noticed, had shops and businesses on the ground floor, with upper stories for actual housing. Those, he distinctly observed, had a tendency to be bakeries or cafes. He even noticed a few families keeping herd animals or chicken coups behind the houses.

    Other townhouses were subdivided into smaller units to be rented out to tenants. They were easier to spot, as seemed more poorly maintained and dour, with vines growing on the houses' wooden frames and bird shitstains covering their brick walls. Seems like the landlords didn't really bother with maintenance so long as the building didn't collapse.The tired looks of the house inhabitants also gave it away, but that might've been himself projecting so there's that.

    Regardless of the landlords' situation, he felt a small sense of pride knowing that unlike what so many had said in his previous life, King's Landing wasn't just a shithole that lived in its own filth.

    But between the rental properties and small businesses, he noticed something.

    Bookstores.

    Several of them.

    None of them were as large or blatantly obvious as Ronald Library (the Classical, almost Greek temple-like building facade and more importantly, squads of Gold Cloaks guarding it, made it difficult to ignore the establishment), but weren't books supposed to be rare? Why were there so many stores that sold books around here? Yes, there were several tanneries like in the next street over, it was hard to ignore the piss smell, but still. It was only recently that the Faith had a monopoly over parchment production so unless they were doing some smuggli-

    It was at this moment the crowd suddenly dissipated, much to the clear joy of Lelya. But that joy soon turned into a grim frown once they walked past the reason why traffic was so slow today.

    A crowd had gathered at the scene and slowed down traffic, much to the dismay of the Gold Cloak patrol trying to get people to move along.

    Someone had committed suicide. Jumped down from a fourth story townhouse headfirst. From the way the bloated, fat uncle wearing three golden rings on his fat right hand was loudly swearing a hailstorm of obscenity towards the Goldcloak Captain, it seemed like the poor soul had lost their job and hadn't paid rent in several months.

    He could not take his eyes away from the corpse. Their eyes were wide open— or rather, one eye. The other had burst like a grapefruit. The skull was cracked open. He remembered a time when his past life uncle cracked open a durian fruit, and the scene before him eerily resembled that. Brain fluid and blood (there was so much blood) had mixed together, forming a massive pool around the body.

    The body that the Captain nor the landlord seemed to care to remove.

    One wanted their money back, the other just wanted to go to his lunch break.

    The crowd did not care. It just moved along, happy they could go wherever they wanted, except for the where the body lied on the street.

    Anger swelled in his heart.

    But Leyla noticed that he had stopped walking. She dragged him forward. He did not want to go.

    She didn't take no for an answer.

    So he gave in and walked away.

    But he still remembered it. The body was smiling. Half of its face smashed beyond recognition, teeth fragments scattered randomly on the cobblestone street while the nose had gone…somewhere. But the way their lips had stretched. How their facial muscles were tensed. The lack of tears. There was no mistaking it.

    The person had died happy.
    —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Morbid episode aside, they finally reached their destination.

    The marketplace.

    It was just the way he remembered it. Loud, obscenely loud, with hundreds of voices raising all at once. Dozens of conversations happening at the same time. Livestock being slaughtered. Merchants loudly proclaiming they had the best deals in the market. Aunties accusing stall owners of being frauds and complaining of obscene prices. Dozens of brightly coloured stalls and prospective eyes staring at the both of them, hoping they would buy something and inevitably get the worser end of the deal.

    In other words, it was almost like he was back in his previous life and in the wet market.

    Except it wasn't wet, and the marketplace didn't just sell groceries or food. For one, the live slaughtering of animals common here was notably absent in his previous life.

    Which reminded him, why were they shopping again? His stomach was protesting out of hunger and his legs were killing him.

    Leyla turned her back around and stared at him. "    Your brother's name day is about a fortnight away, once he comes back, he'll want a present," she exclaimed, her eyes glowing with excitement. "That's why we're shopping today; hopefully we can find something that he'll like as a gift for putting up with my rambling, I guess." Leyla mumbled the last words as her left hand scratched the back of her head, a clear sign of nervousness. She seemed embarrassed? No, more nervous that his brother wouldn't like what she would give him. Which was hilarious, considering how much Oscar gushed about her. Still, her fears were understandable.

    But he didnt know how to help her. He'd always have trouble buying gifts and showing his appreciation for others. It didn't help that his previous family didn't really care about the practice of giving gifts. Cold hard cashwas usually his birthday presents rather than random trinkets, though in his opinion, the cash was more useful and versatile. At least he could spend it on what he really wanted.

    But that didn't translate well in this world. And before getting his first job, he hadn't truly bothered finding out what his siblings wanted as birthday gifts. He had bigger priorities on hand at the time, like visiting Rodrick or finishing his book, so he'd never felt the need to find out what his brother and sister would want as a gift.

    …He was truly a scumbag.

    Leyla frowned, somehow having managed to deduce what he was thinking. Apparently, he was just that simple to read.

    "    Oi, don't look so glum. I mean, you probably don't have a clue as to what Oscar would want, but it's still nice to have an extra pair of hands," Leyla happily exclaimed as she pat him on the back.

    He didn't understand her motivations. The day before she looked like she was going to exterminate his entire bloodline, but now it seemed Leyla actually tolerated him enough to go shopping with him for a present for Oscar. Was this some sort of peace offering or something else entirely?

    Whatever the case, at least he was being paid hourly, so the more time they wasted here meant less wo- actually you know what never mind. The workload would probably pile up even more if he went shopping with Leyla. He still had today's transactions to record dow-

    But he couldn't refuse. She was smiling at him, and it's a genuine smile. This girl, for some reason, was extremely excited at the prospect of shopping for a present for his older brother. He couldn't comprehend why, but he also couldn't just reject her like that. Still, he had work to do.

    He was sweating profusely.

    Leyla grinned wider.

    He really wanted to refuse besides he was star-

    Her eyes sprinkled in anticipation of imminent victory.

    Infernal demon. Curse your witchery and foul ways.

    Fine, you win.

    Lunch can wait, he supposed. This was more important.

    He sighed and nodded in acceptance of his fate.

    And was promptly dragged halfway across the marketplace.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    The sun was setting when Leyla concluded her search.

    Today was a monumental failure. Hours of searching. Hours of crisscrossing the marketplace several times, searching for something that could fit her, admittedly high, criteria for a gift. Only stopping for a short lunch after the Bookkeeper's stomach groaned in pain. Loudly, much to his dismay and her amusement. A quick purchase of roasted chicken and porridge soon shut him up. Well, his stomach at least. The grumbling persisted, much to her slight annoyance.

    Yet she could find nothing. She thought that buying a silver ring from one of the qohori merchants would do the trick, but the Bookkeeper has viciously shaken his head in absolute rejection, his facial expression turning slightly red as he said that it would give the wrong impression. Which was weird;it was just a gift, there was no hidden meaning behind it. Right? Also, why was his face red? Was he overheating? The sun had been blazing hot this afternoon.

    His deadpan face suggested otherwise. Eh, she was probably overthinking it.

    But still, nothing of interest stood out. She bought some coffee beans from one of the goat herders the Bookkeeper was acquainted with. Which, she could present as a gift? But the coffee beans were too precious for her to part with and she needed to hoard them just in case there was a need to stay up late. Well, that and she liked the bitter taste of coffee in general. (It was definitely not that she has a caffeine addiction) Thinking about it, throwing a book at Oscar could work, but that seemed predictable and she didn't think he would appreciate it. Well he would since it was from her, but it seemed like such a dull gift. A very Leyla gift. Predictable

    She wanted to impress him. Maybe a ring would d-

    "Maybe you should just make something for him, like I don't know, a map or something," the Bookkeeper grumbled, half-lidded eyes staring at the evening sky. The idiot probably thought he looked cool or something. "Pretty sure it would mean a lot if you crafted a gift yourself instead of just buying it."

    She almost dismissed his suggestion out of hand. Who did he think she was? She wasn't a craftsman. She didn't know how to craft things with her two hands, and besides, he was acting like he was some kind of wise maester handing out nuggets of wisdom.

    (The opposite, really. The Bookkeeper was tired from running around the marketplace several times because of a girl's obsession with purchasing the perfect gift. In all honesty, he had surpassed his own mortal limit. Right now he was just staring at the sky wondering if this hell would ever end.)

    Yet. He had a point. Crafting something did show how much she appreciated Oscar for always being there for her. And a map was something she could draw out. Probably. Maybe. Impossible. Maps were drawn over months, years even. Mountains, hills, islands, islets, Lagoons must be sketched. Longitude and latitude must be measured. All with great care and attention to detail, not to mention the annotations she would have to make.

    She couldn't do it in less than two weeks.

    But a local map of the city… It could be done. Maybe. Definitely. It would be a tough deadline but it could be done. She just had to sacrifice several days of sleep and burn her stash of coffee beans.

    But it will be done.

    Leyla smiled mischievously, eyes wide with excitement. She straightened her back, renewed with newly gained purpose.

    Oscar would definitely love this.

    (He wondered what he had unleashed upon this world).
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Parchment is expensive. *nods*
    But maybe standardization can help save page space by reducing space taken?
     
    Chloe Sullivan said:
    Parchment is expensive. *nods*
    But maybe standardization can help save page space by reducing space taken?
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Standardisation could be done but everyone handwriting must be as similar as possible for that to actually work. Which is uh (looked at my IRL handwriting style).

    It could be done but Leyla would went nuclear. Several times.

    Something like Chinese woodprinting is another possible alternative but difficult to implement. Would require several trial and error as well.

    Or we could just made paper so it would be slightly more cheaper. Again trial and error since RepliSI isn't a wonder kid

    Anyway things can be done to reduce cost but it would require hard work, heartache, lots of quarrels and mental breakdown for something to work.

    Hope that answer your question ♥️
     
    A Reason to Live Interlude: Trauma Bonding
  • Threadmarks
    • A Reason to Live Interlude: Trauma Bonding

    Oscar was eight when he decided that he wanted to be a sailor in the Royal Navy.

    It was a dream that began when his parents decided to bring him along to the city docks to meet an acquaintance. A partnership meeting they said, so he best behaved himself in front of their business partner.

    That's when he saw the galleys for the first time.Towering rows of ships with dozens of oars on each side. Junior apprentices followed close behind captains and pilots, straining to hear their orders amidst the loud bustling of the naval docks. Sailors shouting at one another to load up supplies, preparing for the next voyage. Preparing for the next patrol, to keep the seas safe from pirates. Protecting the Seven Kingdoms. All of this happening underneath the bright azure sky and oh the air. The air was so clean and for a while, he swore that the disgusting smell of the city had faded away to be replaced by the salty taste of the Blackwaters.

    It tasted of freedom, of opportunity.

    He knew then that he wanted to become a sailor.

    It was also on that fateful day, he met her.

    She looked. She looked terrified. And small. Cowering behind her parents. Terrified. Scared of him.

    He remembered being confused. He didn't do anything wrong, so why would she be afraid of him? He didn't know then that she didn't have any friends. That children were cruel miscreants. Oh, they didn't bother her overtly or physically harm her. They did something far worse.

    They isolated her. Whispered behind her back, names and foul rumors. They didn't invite her to events or play with her. Every time she asked if they could join in she was met with silence. And the sound of footsteps leaving her. They would smile and leave her to be alone. She hated people's smiles because it was always, always so patronizing and pitiful.

    But back then, he didn't know. So he smiled at her, hoping that would work. That she would accept his implicit offer of friendship. Maybe she would crawl out of her hermit shell at least and they could talk?

    Nope. No dice.

    She curled up into a ball, hid away behind her father's back. Despite her parents' attempts to get her to show some respect in front of Oscar's family, she refused to release her grasp on her father's clothes.

    As their parents talked about business and planned for the future, he wondered why the girl was so timid, hiding behind her father and also–

    What was her name again?
    —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Oscar was nine when he encountered the timid girl again.

    He was buying groceries in the bustling marketplace, an errand for his mother, when he saw her being harassed by a clique of girls. Being herded into a dark alleyway behind two shophouses.

    Well, he couldn't just stand there and do nothing, could he?

    Ignoring the squawk of the vegetable seller he was bargaining with, he dashed down the alleyway. In his mind, he fantasized how he was just as heroic as one of the seven Kingsguard. Maybe one day he could be just like Aemon the Dragon Knight, wouldn't that be great!

    He remembered standing in front of the gaggle of bullies harassing the timid girl. Shouting at them to stop throwing refuse and food waste on her. Remembered how they took one look at him and laughed. Pathetic little shits like you should go back to being a mommy's boy, they said.

    He remembered the timid girl's face. Her eyes were closed, tears streaming down her cheeks with her hands stuffed inside her mouth. She refused to let a single whimper out even after being thoroughly humiliated. Even as the demons masquerading as human beings threw waste at her face. At her hair. At her dress.

    He remembered being embarrassed that the bully was right. He was pathetic, thinking that he was some kind of hero saving a damsel in distress. He wasn't a hero. Or someone that was strong.

    She was stronger than him.

    Standing there and refusing to let the bullies have their satisfaction despite the pain she was going through, the humiliation, she refused to let them see her scream and beg for mercy.

    He remembered being angry for her. But he could not fought off half a dozen girls at once despite being a male; the numbers were not on his side.

    So, he threw the vegetables he was carrying at their faces. Swinged the basket he was carrying as hard as he could. Punch. Bite. Chew on human flesh. Repeat. Bite that arm, punch that smug blonde face, pull that nasty little midget's hair. Cause as much mayhem as he could. Amidst the screams of foul demon boy and yells of ungentlemanly behavior, he reached out his arm, praying this time, this time. Please, please. Please take my hand.

    His prayers were answered.

    He dashed out of that dark alley, holding her hand tightly amidst goans of pain and curses.

    He should not have gone and saved her. Now his mother was going to be angry for losing her vegetables and how was he going to explain all the bruises he g-

    "Thank you for saving me, Oscar," she whispered softly.

    He turned his head back. Stared at her grateful smile and her eyes. Her eyes were shining blue. It reminded him of that blue azure sky back when he visited the naval docks for the first time.

    ….On second thought, this was worth it.

    Even though his mother scolded him for losing the groceries.

    Whoops.

    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    And that was how he first met Leyla. Officially, that was.

    He remembered thinking she was a strange girl. Shouldn't girls like to play with dolls or sew clothes? But Leyla wasn't like that at all. He remembered her bringing him to the Library for the first time. Remembered the rows and rows of books, manuscripts, and scrolls just waiting for someone to read them. Remembered how Uncle Ronald was incensed that his daughter brought a boy home and how despite being scared shitless at his yelling to get out of his establishment, he was laughing at how Leyla was panicking so much.

    He remembered how she rambled on and on about maps and charts. Of distant lands she would never get to see with her own eyes. How he tried not to fall asleep when she talked at length about cross-breeding plants and animal anatomy, only to fall asleep and wake up to her gently bonking his head with a scroll and being greeted with a tired smile. Remembered her complaints about useless incompetent relatives. Her worries about her mother's declining health. Her fear of losing her eyes as her vision grew increasingly blurry. Remembered trying to comfort her as she was in tears, scared to death that her blurry vision was connected to her mother's illness.

    And as the years went by, he too opened up to her.

    Told her his dreams of being a sailor. Remembered her being worried that he would die on voyage or in a battle with pirates. Told her about his worries for his younger brother who was in a coma, struck down during an iconoclast mob riot. Worried he would never wake up, that the wisemen and women were right and he was already dead. Remembered her saying that he should not give up on his brother. That his brother was as strong as him.

    Now, that made Oscar laugh. He wasn't a strong person. Not like her. Remembered telling her his brother had made a miraculous recovery only to be in hysteria. And she said to give him time, that he would recover and be the same person as he was before. Remembered how they were both happy.

    The years went by and he found himself wishing he could stay in that library forever. Those were good times. He wished they would never end.

    Then one summer night, his father told him the news.

    He'd managed to secure an apprenticeship for him as a prospective midshipman.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    He killed his first man when he was fourteen.

    He shot an arrow at the pirate's face, right at his unprotected throat . From the pirate blue-dyed hair, he seemed to be from Tyrosh. The steel plated armor he wore and that shiny steel shortsword waved around indicated that he was a wealthy nobleman, playing as a pirate.

    Well, all that shiny frontal plate armor didn't save him in the end. Considering how he gurgled and choked in his own blood, his end would not be glorious. Or fast.

    A second arrow on the pirate's forehead ended his suffering, mercifully short.

    He viewed the battle taking place on top of the galley castle with a detached morbid disgust. He knew what he was signing up for, knew that there would be death. He thought it would be glorious.

    It wasn't.

    There was nothing glorious about men dying. Nothing glorious about men shitting themselves as they expired. Men crying as their limbs were hacked off and shoved overboard only to be drowned. Of boys, the same age as him, crying for mercy only to be stabbed or speared to death by his fellow crewmates. Or the pirate trireme broken in half and sunk by his galley ram, the still-chained oarsmen drowning with her.

    There was no glory to be found, only looting the pirates' dead corpses. He morbidly watched as his fellow comrades started pilfering the dead of their valuables. Watched as the quartermaster, an old giant of a man carrying a massive war axe, brought out a pair of forceps and started pulling out golden teeth from the dead bodies.

    He wondered if he'd made the wrong decision. That he should have refused the apprenticeship offer. That he should have apologized to Leyla when they argued the day before he set sail. That he was a fool to not believe her when she said that he would regret it, that the ocean was filled with danger and he wasn't capable enough to survive it. He regretted making her angry enough that she didn't show up at the naval dockyards when his galley set sail.

    But in the end, it was too late to have regrets. He'd made his bed and he must lie on it. Or try to, anyway. Ashes of dreams, it turned out, weren't very comforting to sleep on. The sound of that Tyroshi noble choking on his own blood haunted his dreams.



    He did not sleep well that night. And many more nights to come.
    —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    It was supposed to only be a month-long voyage across the stepstones.

    It felt like an eternity.

    Oh, he learned a lot during the voyage. His captain, Roger Storm, was a loud intimidating bastard but also a great teacher. Even though he cursed a lot. But Oscar did learn. Like how to tie the ropes. How to navigate just by star gazing. He even started learning how to measure longitude, although from the stream of cursed words Captain Roger unleashed upon him, he was apparently really bad at measurements.

    But still, that month was seven hells incarnated.

    While voyaging across the stepstones archipelago, his galley got into fights with pirate ships several times. Each and every time he was on top of the galley forecastle, aiding his fellow crewmate by raining arrows down upon the pirate scums. Apparently, Captain Roger believed it would not be a great idea to have inexperienced young lads such as himself be part of the melee combat. He would not look good to the master of ships if a bunch of green boys died in their first voyage, the captain's words, not his.

    It seemed Captain Roger, foul mouth as he was, had a heart within him. Thank the gods for small mercies. Huzzah.

    Still. Watching men die in all sorts of horrific ways. Hacked, sliced, hands chopped off, human entrails everywhere, heads splintered by great northern war axes, men pleading for mercy only to be speared and shoved off the ship. And the blood. There was so much blood on the deck, an entire lake of blood just lazily flowing, forming rivelets across the galley. Even after an entire day of scrubbing the deck, the bloodstains would not come off. So they just left it as it was, a morbid reminder of the vicious battles they had gone through.

    But the worst part was the screams.

    The cries for help. The pleading for mercy that would not be given, for they were pirates and all were condemned to death, regardless if they were green as grass boys or old men with one leg. The death rattle of a dying man. The screaming of a boy whose right arm was hacked off, his suffering mercifully cut short by a hand axe to his skull. The pirate officer wailing as he fruitlessly tried to stuff his hanging entrails back into his body.

    He could not sleep. Their screams and cries kept him awake throughout the voyage. Even when he was awake they tormented him still. No matter how much he tried to distract himself or worked himself to exhaustion the screaming. Did. Not. Stop.

    So here he was. In a busy tavern, thinking about buying a pint of beer. Or two. Just to knock himself out. He'd learned from the quartermaster's rumbling that drinking would keep those dark things away, at least for a little while.

    At this point he just wanted the screaming to stop. Even if it wouldn't drove it away completely, at least he would finally get some rest.

    Yet. Yet he still remembered that story.

    That story his younger brother told, with big brown eyes and; for once, clarity in his voice. And a hint of fanaticism. About a kingdom stricken with disease and plague. Of death merchants gleefully selling milk of the poppy to the masses. Of dead-eyed parents throwing away their life savings and children, just for another phial of the milky substance. Of a kingdom that was sinking under its own rot and malaise. Of a king tired of his people wasting away in their addiction, deciding to do the unthinkable and hanging the death merchants.Ordering his people to stop their foolishness or they would be hanged. Many changed their ways. Many didn't. The king kept his word.

    The streets of the capital were lined with hanged men, women and children.

    The neighboring kingdoms decried the king's actions as tyrannical. But the king did not care, he did what his predecessors could not, would not do. He made his kingdom a prosperous one by forcing his own people to get rid of their self-inflicted pestilence, shepherding them like they were livestock until they grew to be happy and hale again. In the king's eyes, his success justified his actions. Yet he was blinded by his own hubris. Could not see that his own royal family distanced themselves from him. Could not see how even his own people, happy to be hale again, disliked his oppressive heavy-handed ways. Could not see how his neighboring kingdoms grew to envy and hate his prideful speeches.

    In the end he died alone, mourned publicly by many but soon forgotten. For although his people loved him, they hated him just as much. And before long, his descendants were at each other's throats and the kingdom was no longer what it had been before.

    He remembered Lena rolling her eyes and walking off after that. Something about wasting her time listening to a farce. Yet he remembered his brother's eyes, clear and stern, for once neither dead nor sad.

    He was being serious.



    … Why was he remembering this now?

    Ah. Right. Addiction. His younger brother was explaining, well, more ranting about how repeated drinking of poppy milk would lead to a strong yearning for more of it, leading to a vicious cycle that destroyed households and traumatized entire families. And death for the addict.

    Oh, and something about how no man was an island and hubris would just push everyone alone. And uh, nothing good ever came from a hard man or something like that? His rant got much too much rambly near the end.

    But still. He got the point but. He needed this beer. He couldn't sleep. What did his brother know about his suffering anyway? None of them did. Besides, it's only one drink. It would not kill him anyway.

    So he ordered one pint of beer.

    Then another.

    And another.

    And another.

    It got blurry till the end.

    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    When he woke up from his blissfully peaceful sleep, he awoke with a godsawful headache.

    And he woke up in a sunlit room full of animal skulls and carefully cultivated plants.

    Woke up on a girl's lap.

    … shit.

    He didn't have time for this. As much as his life had gone to shit he still valued his life. If Uncle Ronald saw him like this with his daughter, not even his mother could save him.

    He slowly turned his head upwards. She was snoring and… also drooling a little. Gross. But that was good. So if he could juuuust slightly move his body like so, underneath her arm-

    Her grip tightened. The steady snoring abruptly ended.

    Well, alright then. Okay. That option was out.

    Which left him with only one choice.

    Pretend he was dead.

    So he shut his eyes and continued sleeping, and despite the headache he was able to get back to some needed rest quickly enough.

    Who knew a girl's thigh would make for a comfortable pillow.

    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Oscar woke up a couple of hours later to the sound of someone flipping pages of parchment.

    He was still inside the same room.

    Which meant she was still here, waiting for him to wake up.

    Best to pretend de-

    "I know you're already awake, Oscar," Leyla grumbled, her face so close to the parchment she was reading that if she were any closer her nose would touch the black inked letters. She really should do something about her ey- "Oi, I have a question for you. Why'd you turn up drunk in front of my ho-"

    Okay, well he can't answer that right now, best to leave. Now. Bad enough she saw him in such a terrible state. Nope, can't deal with this right now.

    He got up from the wooden chair. His hand pushed the darkwood door open.

    Her right arm gripped his shoulder. Begging him not to go. To just stay.

    Why wouldn't she leave him b-

    "Tell me what happened, please?" she pleaded, a slight nervous tremor in her voice. "What happened out there?"

    He could feel her right arm trembling.

    He didn't know what to do. How could he? They wouldn't understand. None of them did. His parents were proud of him. When he first got back from the month-long voyage everyone thought he was great, that he would become a fine captain one day. Keeping the seas safe from pirate scum. What a respectable fine young lad he was, they said. What a bright future he had, they exclaimed.

    Had.

    Nobody understood the screaming of dead men. Dead boys with no future. The blood and the entrails flowing. The galley slaves below deck, press-ganged from Flea Bottom's slums. Whipped day and night with no rest. Thrown overboard once they died of overexhaustion. No one told him anything about the horrors he would see.

    He felt like a fraud.

    A pair of arms hugged him from behind. Plea-

    "You know, I can't see your face anymore. It's all blurry now so I have to get real close just to see you," she quietly muttered. Her arms tightened around him, almost as if she knew he was trying to escape. Again. "But even if my eyes are failing, even someone emotionally stunted like me can tell something bad happened to you." He felt something wet on his back, " So p-please, just tell me, what happened? What h-happened out there that turned you into this?"

    He turned around, his hands back in his pockets.

    Leyla was trying, miserably, to hold back her tears. Standing straight and wiping her eyes, sniffing, snot dripping down her nose, she looked the complete opposite of the stern and serious girl she usually was.

    He let out a soft sigh. She was such a hypocrite.

    Always, always she sneered at those that cried. Said that tears were for the weak-willed, for those that could not stand up and fight. For cowards. That the truly strong would not show their emotions so plainly, for the world was cruel and heartless. Yet, all his best memories of her were her crying. Standing bravely in spite of cruelty and hate, but crying nonetheless.

    The irony.

    Yet. Watching her, trying her best to not cry, to stand strong for him, gazing into her azure eyes as streams of tears leaked out despite her best efforts, he realized then, that he should try. If not for him, then at least for her. Because she truly cared for him. Because she was trying to reach out to him.

    Because she worried for him.

    He sighed.

    Turned around.

    And closed the darkwood door in front of him.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    They talked.

    They talked for several days.

    They talked whenever he had shore leave. Thank the gods his galley only had short patrols. He would have gone insane without her being there for him.

    She did not judge when he told her everything. Did not say anything when he talked about how he could not cry even after everything he witnessed, for his heart had already deadened at the sight of atrocities. She stayed silent when he said he could not sleep without drinking rum or beer. She just held him tight as if he was a Yi-Ti porcelain and quietly said that everything would be fine, that she was here for him.

    She only had an understanding, but with a tired smile asked for a few minor promises. Do not get too used to the taste of alcohol. Only visit the tavern on important occasions. She even went to the trouble of making some herbal medicine just for him to get some sleep.

    She dragged him out of the tavern several times, when he broke his promise. Forced him to drop drinking so much. Talked at length about falling into a cycle he could not come back from, just like his brother used to talk about. Those two were more alike than they thought.

    It was hard, slowly weaning off rum and beer. Especially when the crew only drank rum. Even then, Leyla was uncompromising. She gave him several leather pouches she made, filled with boiled water, much to the jeers of his fellow crew calling him a henpecked husband.

    Slowly, he realized he didn't need to drink beer so much. He just needed to remember her voice to sleep. Slowly, he learned to live with the nightmares. They never went away. But her voice did not fade away either so that's fine.

    And just like that, steadily, he realized he couldn't live without her.

    Realized that somehow, Leyla became his anchor. That Oscar wanted to be better for her. But to do that, he needed to change himself.

    Standing in front of his galley right now as the crew prepared for a two week voyage, hoping that Leyla and his brother could finally just get along, he decided at that moment, on two things.

    To get Leyla a present. Something to show his gratitude for her always being there for him. Hmmm, maybe one of those Myrish lenses? Those were expensive, but he had savings and he did not spend his share of the loot whatsoever, so it was possible. He would have to look around in Hull for a suitable price.

    And finally leave this blasted ship. Damn the King. Damn the Captain. Damn everyone on board. After this patrol, he would leave. Get a proper job on a merchant cog or something. Jobs were easy to find, but his life? Irreplaceable. Oscar did not want Leyla to be worried for him anymore .

    Never again.
     
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    • A Reason to Live Chapter 5 : Counterfeits and Gifts
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    • A Reason to Live Chapter 5 : Counterfeits and Gifts

    Time was a funny thing.

    Established a daily routine. Went through the motions and just like that, the hours and days rushed by so quickly. Like sand within an hourglass.

    Woke up from bed. Got chased out of the house by Lena. Arrived at the library. Went to work on recording every past and present transaction. Cataloged them into the appropriate ledgers and cash book. Lunch break. Continued work. Library closed. Staff meeting. Went home. Ate dinner. Sleep.

    And just like that an entire week passed. In a blink of an eye. It should've been easier now. The panic attacks had stopped. His job was mostly boring but stable. But. Yet, yet.

    He was getting frustrated, annoyed at something.

    That something was Leyla.

    She was locked in on her project. Which was fine, except she wasn't turning up for work. And on the days she did, well. She looked like she'd gone through hell. Unkempt hair that she didn't bother to comb. Long eye bags underneath her eyes. The fact he caught her sleepwalking on several occasions and going through her not-so secret stash of coffee at an… alarming rate. He didn't knew how many cups of coffee a fourteen year old girl should drink but he knew well enough that a dozen cups a day was approaching heart attack levels.

    He was fine with it, really, it wasn't his business to give a damn what she had been up to. Her private life wasn't something he was too keen on. If she wanted to work on that map of hers, she was more than welcome to do so. Not like they were truly friends or anything. Just work colleagues.

    Except Ronald decided she needed to get some rest urgently after he caught his daughter fainting from exhaustion and lack of sleep. Which he was sympathetic to, since Leyla really was being too hard on herself.

    Except.

    Except he ended up doing her job, on top of his bookkeeping. Which, again, she needed urgent rest. and it was just temporary but still. Still.

    Why did Ronald think it was a good idea to force him of all people to man the library counter?????

    He did not like interacting with people, much less prospective customers, or complain kings, or whiners. He did not came with the appropriate social skills to deal with them. Surely, surely Ronald knew that, right? Right.

    Yet when he told Ronald of his concerns, the mad man just laughed and said it would be fine. It's part of his bookkeeping tasks, after all. He was already recording down transactions, surely he could handle dealing with actual payments for book and manuscript renting, right? The customers wouldn't give him a hard time, and if they did just ask Captain Corlys right at the main entrance. He would deal with the troublemakers.

    He wanted to scream. He wanted to say no. The coward in him wanted to just leave this place and never look back. He wasn't that reliable. Pick someone else. Please.

    He just gave a weak smile and said yes.

    Why was he like this.

    So here he was, manning the library counter, a small weighing scale in hand. Just trying to keep everything together because someone was irresponsible enough not to get enough sleep. No big deal, his opinion didn't matter anyway, even if he opened his mouth and objected, it didn't matter anyway. Just like always, what a jo-

    "Uh, hello? I want to rent this book please?" said an annoyed maester with a short brown beard. "Can you hurry up? I have appointments to catch up on. My time is precious so move your pretty ass, alright?"

    Yeah, yeah, divas and karens transcended the multiverse apparently.

    "Uhhhhh, that'll be one silver stag please, wait I need to weigh it first," he told the maester, much to the latter's annoyance and protest. Something about how dare he disbelieve the words of a maester working in the Red Keep.

    Yeah, no, he didn't care. Why should he care about who this fart worked for anyway? He was way past that point. Only cold indifference and a slight tinge of annoyance remained.

    So ignoring the maester's complaints, he placed the silver stag coin on the scales. Just a simple procedure to check if the maester's coin was a counterfeit, no big deal.
    It should be balanced with the library's silver stag coin. It would be fine. Probably.

    The scale tipped.

    The maester's coin was lighter.

    Suddenly, the maester's ranting abruptly ended. His face went pale with terror. For a blissful moment, his mouth was shut.

    And then he started screeching again.

    Of course the scales would tip! His coin was minted during the dance, silver stag's purity back then was lower than it was right now! What was he trying to insinuate, that a maester like him would indulge in counterfeiting? I want to see the owner right now! Clearly the scales were weighted or something!

    Sigh

    …This had become beyond his paygrade.

    He reached out to Ronald and asked him to verify whether the coin was a counterfeit. Much to his relief, Ronald actually aided him despite being busy with organizing the bookshelves and without hesitation shaved off the top bit of the coin, much to the maester's dismay and his shock. Ronald must have trusted his assessment if he decided to just shave the top of a silver stag coin just like that. He didn't know what he did to warrant such trust in the first place.

    So Ronald slowly, carefully, shaved off the top layer of the silver stag coin.

    Only to reveal orange red copper within.

    Much cursing and gold cloaks dragging later, the whole minor affair was quickly resolved, to his immense relief and trembling hands. That was way too much stress for him to deal with on a Monday morning.

    He tried not to think too hard about the poor maester. Probably not part of a counterfeit syndicate so he was unlikely to get his head chopped off. But still, a couple of nights spent with hoodlums in jail? Very unpleasant.

    First customer and he already had to deal with fake coins. Amazing.

    Now only a dozen grumbling scholars and gentlemen left to deal with. Also, he had to record down every transaction into the books as well.

    Great.


    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    She screwed up.

    Big time.

    Leyla knew that she was going to collapse at the rate she was going. But still, there wasn't enough time. It's only two weeks. Two weeks! It was just a small map but still she had to account for every detail, every street, every landmark, Red Keep, the naval docks, the colossal ruins that was the dragonpit. Everything had to be drawn out in excruciating detail. A problem made worse by her worsening eyesight. By the gods, she went through so many parchments just by errors made from blurry eyes. A street that should be straight went crooked. The round shape of the dragonpit looked like a freaking rectangle. Progress had been… increasingly negative. She was no artist, that's for sure, as even with a reader stone she kept messing up her sketches.

    But she only had two weeks.

    So yeah, maybe she had went through her not-so secret stash of coffee beans. Actually, more like burned through. Her small bag of beans weighed significantly less now. And yeah, maybe she had not slept for three days straight. And she might have neglected her duties in the Library. And she might have offloaded most of her responsibilities onto the bookkeeper.

    …Now that she thought about it, she really screwed up didn''t she? Well, she owned him big time for covering her duties.

    But her current predicament was… just the worst.

    She was forced to stay in bed for three days by the maester's mandated orders. Three days! That barely left four days of work before Oscar got back home. And she could not just draw from her bed either. After catching her trying to draw while in her room one too many time, her father had locked away the ink sets and the parchment away from her hands. Gods damn it. So now here she was, lying in bed with nothing to do. Wasting her time.

    She missed him. She wanted to touch his hair. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to rant all day long with him listening to her. She wanted to read books with him. She didn't want him to go. Again. Leaving her alone here.

    Her pillow felt wet.

    No, no. Crying was useless. Wouldn't do anything. No. She had to think. Calmly and rationally. The situation wasn't optimal, but she could salvage a way out from her current predicament. Just had to think.

    … She did not like this. But I felt like she was cheating. Or more accurately, it cheapened the meaning of a gift, but still. She needed help to finish the map. Seven days left. Four if she just did nothing at all.

    She let out a long sigh. Mitty, her brown cat, raised an eyebrow in concern. She pet her head, and Mitty went back to sleep, content that her mistress had it all sorted out. Hopefully.

    Well, she did not have much of a choice.

    Time to ask Oscar's mother for help; hopefully, Maria had time to spare for her.

    Hopefully.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Oscar was broke.

    Well, more accurately, he did not have enough money on hand to buy what he wanted.

    So here he was in Hull, trying and failing to find a merchant that sold glasses in his price range. What few there were only sold Myrish glass to nobility. A spectacle set? Sure! Could you afford fifty maiden coins? No? Not even a single Gold Dragon? HAH, good luck sailor! Apparently, glasses were expensive. Exclusively for nobility, not for someone like Leyla or him. Well, according to the smug Myrish Journeyman apprentice that he was talking to anyway.

    Gods damn prick. But despite how punchable his smug face was, the Myrish cunt was right. There weren't many glassmakers around, and what few that were, well, didn't bother entertaining his pitch. Just threw him out onto the muddy street.

    He sighed. Guess he needed to keep looking or borrow some coin from his fellow crewma-

    "Oi, what ya looking for?"

    Ah shit, it was the Captain. Time to leave before Captain Roger noticed him. Wait nevermind he was coming this way. Too late now, must deflect, parry away his curiosity.

    "Uhhh, nothing look I got to go an-" he tried dodging the question, praying Captain Roger would not notice him shopping for a gift.

    The Captain let out a loud sigh and a disapproving frown came over his face. Well, there went deflection.

    "Don't be a weasel, I have eyes that see. Look, you want to buy something for your sweetheart? Sure! In fact, let me pay for ya as a parting gift. This is your last voyage with me after all," Captain Roger exclaimed with a booming laugh that startled several passersby.

    Oscar wasn't a fool.

    Captain Roger was not doing this out of the goodness of his heart. Or because he was being kind. Not after what he saw the man could do in combat. The man laughed as he gleefully split a boy's head into two. Hacked a man's arm off and cheered as he died from blood loss. Castrated a pirate captain and mocked the man for being an eunuch, dangling his private parts in his face. No, even though he treated the crew well (actual crew, not the galley slaves, poor bastards), the captain was definitely not a good man.

    He wanted a favor from him. Not now, not even in the near future. But he would come calling later down the road. Come calling for the debt Oscar owned him.

    He wanted to refuse. He wanted to say no so badly.

    He did not want to own anything to this brute of a man. Despite learning so much from him, the Captain was repulsive, anathema to Oscar's character. He just wanted to go back to King's Landing as soon as possible and leave the Royal Fleet.

    But he remembered.

    How Leyla pressed her face so closely to manuscripts, so near that her nose nearly touched the letters themselves. How she sometimes tripped and fell because she couldn't see where she was walking. How she was scared to death that one day she might go blind. That she wouldn't see the world again. How she kept touching his face so she could feel how he looked.

    The Myr spectacles may not cure her near blindness, but they could correct her vision. A problem that had plagued her for so, so long.

    So against his better judgment, he told the Captain his dilemma and how he wanted to buy a pair of glasses for Leyla.

    The Captain without hesitation agreed. It was only fair for a Captain to take care of his crew, after all. Of course he would gladly helped Oscar in purchasing such a minor gift!

    They shook hands to seal the deal.

    Somehow, Oscar felt like he just signed a contract with a demon.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    He moaned in pain just as he reached home. His posture, never the best, was completely slouched. His spinal cord had officially gave up on life. Leg muscles were… not much better. His legs nearly gave up several times on the way back home.

    Today was actual hell. He had no idea how in the world Leyla could deal with customers all afternoon. No wonder she was so grouchy with him. Ah well, at least today was over. Now he just had to eat today's dinner of clam chowder and pork chops before going to bed. And then the whole cycle would begin anew. Great.

    He wished Leyla would come back soon. He couldn't handled customer service and accounting at the same time.

    "I wish Oscar could come back home soon, it's not the same without him," Lena, sitting right next to him, grumbled.

    Oh yeah, Oscar. One more week before he came back. Before his name day. He still didn't have a gift ready for him.

    He still didn't have a gift ready for his brother.

    … What did boys actually want as a gift anyway? He couldn't just give him money. That would be insulting, implying Oscar needed his income to sustain his livelihood. Purchasing a weapon would be even worse. He didn't have the money to buy a good steel sword. Or a mace. Even if he could, that would imply he didn't trust Oscar could take care of himself out in the ocean, right? Hmmm, maybe—well, never mind a book, that was just way too expensive. Even if he tried to write something for Oscar, a week was too short of a time to complete a short story. Actually, maybe he was overthinking this but what in the world should he buy for Oscar that would made for a good birthday pre-

    Lena shoved a spoonful of clam chowder into his mouth.

    "Stop thinking and eat. Even if you brood all day, nothing good'll come out from your skull so just finish your meal instead," she sneered with a nasty smile on her face.

    Wait.

    Wait. That's it. Food. Family. Bonding activity. He had to sell this right

    "So uh, ma and pa, what do you think about all of us cooking dinner for Oscar once he got back? As, like, a name day gift from the entire family?" He gave himself a mental pat on his shoulder. He finally sounded like an actual normal person. Yes!


    Wait.

    Why was the dinner table so silent? Why did everyone look so shocked? Also, why the fuck was Lena's face as red as a tomato? Did he do something wrong?

    … Oh.

    "YOU FUCKING SHIT FOR THE PAST FEW YEARS YOU NEVER FUCKING GAVE ME GIFTS OR CARED TO REMEMBER MY NAME DAY AND NOW-" Ma had to forcibly restrained Lena before she could leap from her chair and strangle him. "WHAT THE FUCK NOW OSCAR GETS A NAME DAY GIFT BEFORE ME?!? HUUUUH???" she ranted uncontrollably, drops of spit landing on his face.

    Thank god for his mother's foresight at wrestling her away from the table. For a moment he was legitimately fearful for his life.

    He didn't have an excuse. He was, is, just that bad at remembering birthday dates. Ask his previous life's older sister. He still didn't remember her birthday even after nearly two decades of constant reminders.

    Yes. He was that bad.

    "That is incredibly thoughtful of you. But," his mother said with an apologetic tone —he didn't like where this was going, she was going to say something he was going to hate to hear— "your ma is currently engaged with helping Leyla on her project and your pa over there," his father raised both his hands in mock surrender, "has several business engagements this week. So we don't have the time to help you."

    Oh, okay, so he was just going to do it himself. This would be fi-

    "So!" His mother smiled. Still holding Lena in a chokehold on the ground (his sister was still swearing uncontrollably, he might have broken her mind), she continued, "How about Lena and you made dinner for Oscar instead? Maybe a name day cake! That would be fun, a sibling bonding exercise!" She chuckled.

    "WAIT N-"

    What.
     
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    • A Reason to Live Chapter 6: Old friends and family
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    • A Reason to Live Chapter 6: Old friends and family

    The past few days had been a tortuous ordeal.

    He was, no still is, extremely shit at cooking. Was self aware enough to acknowledge he would never be an actual chief in this life or his previous one. So he wasn't expecting to be a Michelin star chef or anything like that. If the cake was edible and presentable enough, it should be right, right? Right.

    But cooking with a sibling that constantly tells you that you are just the worst, was something else entirely.

    "Too much sugar. Great, we have to redo this again. Good job, brother."

    "No, no, you need to leave it in the oven for a while longer. If not, it won't cook"

    "By the grace of the Seven, how are you so bad at measuring when your entire job is to count coins?"

    In the end, a temperamental sister forcefully evicted him from the kitchen. To be brutally honest with himself, it was probably for the best, for both their sakes. The first, actual completed cake they baked together, turned out to be salty.

    Okay, in his defense, no one in this household actually labeled the ingredients or condiments. It's not his fault that sugar and salt looked exactly the same to him. Like, It was his mistake for fucking up the cake yes, but it wasn't as if he was out to sabotage Oscar's homecoming dinner.

    Lena's unamused face when she threw him out of the kitchen, it seems, vehemently disagreed with his excuse.

    He sighed. Well, at least today was a slow day in the Library, not that many customers. So he was stuck manning the counter, just going through the ledgers again. Brain numbing work, actually. Blegh. At least Leyla was back. Even if she was more zombie than an actual person nowadays, with dark rings beneath her eyes and the alarming frequency of nodding off or taking naps at work. It got to the point where, after one too many health concerns being raised by fellow staff members, Ronald had to mandate a curfew on Leyla. Again.

    There had been several very intense shouting matches behind the Library closed doors.

    But that wasn't his primary concern right now. Much as he felt bad about Leyla's situation, his was much worse. Lena firmly stated that he could no longer enter the kitchen. Even went so far as pulling some strings in her own network of neighborhood cliques to get kitchen help. Lena convinced some cousins from their mother's side of the family to help in the kitchen, and now their house, once blissfully silent, buzzes with the sounds of cooking and conversations.

    (Since when did his sister have more friends than him?)

    So that basically left him back to square one. For several days now, he was stuck thinking in a never-ending loop. Thoughts about what presents to give to his older brother. It wasn't like he knew much about Oscar preferences. Like, he loved Leyla, the ocean, ships, did not really like reading, what else, anything else. Uh, he liked drinking. But he already cut down on that. What else, what else. God. Can he just give Oscar his first paycheck or something like that would be? That wouldn't fly in this family. Ma would just force Oscar to give his money back. Bah. If only it would be simple. But of course no-

    "Oi, remember me?" a chestnut haired man with a short beard cheerfully enquired.

    "Come on, you must have remembered my face at least?"

    ….

    Who?

    No, seriously, who was that stranger? Like he could not recall his face. Was he someone he met before? His mind was totally blank. Did he offend this… well, his robed attire meant he was a maester. Did he offend this stranger before?

    The chestnut haired man slurped. His face deadpanned, as if he was expecting his blank expression. Which was weird, since he never met the man before in his entire life. Then again, he was bad at remembering names, so it was probably his fault.

    The man let out a heavy theatrical sigh. "How could you possibly forget me, your beloved tutor Edric??" His right hand gently laid down a manuscript on the counter. His eyebrow narrowed, as if he was thinking of an obstacle to overcome. "Anyway, I would love to chat, but I have some business to attend to shortly. How much would renting a copy of Maester Gerold Thesis on a Dornish coffee plantation for a year cost?" He smiled genially.

    Oh. Yeah. The halfmaester. Him.

    He totally forgot about Edric's existence till now. Actually, he never visited Edric since his father decided to stop his tuition about half a year ago.

    …Okay in his defense, the man in front of him looked more well dressed and groomed compared to the Edric in his memories. Edric used to have a long unkempt beard and a massive mane for a hair. More a lion than man, not like, well, this respectable individual in front of him. With a short beard that was clearly combed and a short mushroom hair style.

    Edric had grown from a near homeless vagrant to a respectable member of society. He honestly felt proud of his former tutor. Edric finally made it in life despite the bigotry and discrimination.

    "Oi, oi anyone home? "He waved his hand across his vacant eyes. "You're still doing that spacing out thing again??' Edric huffed, his face clearly amused. "Some things never changed, huh?"

    "... Uh one second." Where's his quail, ah there? "So, ahem. Renting a copy of Gerold Thesis on a Dornish coffee plantation for a year cost about Two shillings and 6 copper stars. One moment, please." Debit cash in the cash book, credit rental income in the sales ledger, there done. Now to check the coins. "Okay, now uh, place the coins on the scales here. Also, how is life treating you nowadays?"

    "Oh, it's fine actually." Edric grinned widely as he placed his coins on the scale. The sound of silver echoed softly in the silent library halls. The scale balanced perfectly. "Your father has been good to me and recommended my services to several burgher families. So I was eating well at least, and finally had a house of my own, instead of a rental room in some moss covered, leaky roof tenant apartments." He laughed softly.

    Yeah, that sounded like his father. He would always make sure to do good by others. Edric had lucked out with his family. In his previous life, his former parents wouldn't have bothered. Tutors were in high demand back then. No point recommending anyway, even if his former tutor and him were close. No such thing as a free lunch in that country.

    "Anyway, it was great seeing you." Edric smiled as he gingerly gathered up the manuscript, carefully bundling it in his satchel. "Would love to catch up sometime, but I have an appointment to attend to. Also good to see that you finally got to implement your double entry system! Keep up the good work!" He laughed as he walked out of the Library, past the two gold cloak guards.

    Oh. Right. He rambled about the double entry system back in the days when Edric was teaching him how to read and write. Remembered how Edric actually wrote down notes on his rants about debit and credit. How he didn't really care about what the halfmaester actually thought about his idea except that he actually listened to what he had to say. Did not consider whether Edric would not use his ideas for his benefits because who would believe his words, anyway? He was half mad after all.

    Besides, Edric was someone he could trust to not spread his ideas without his consent. And if he betrayed his trust, well. At least the world would benefit from his glorious double entry system.

    Either way, it did not matter. He already got what he wanted.

    Now, back to work-. Wait, shit, he had forgotten to ask Edric something. Ah well, it's fine. Should be fine anyway. Not like he knew Oscar that well, either. But still..

    What to do, what to do.

    …

    Wait. Leyla has a small garden of plants, right?

    Hmmmm… this might work.

    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Leyla was not having a great day. Well, more like two weeks, now that she thought about it. Sleep deprived, slow progress, that sort of thing. Did not help her own father was sabotaging her project, that bastard.

    But her day had gotten considerably worse when that bookkeeper came knocking on her office door, yapping about citrus or lemons for some reason. Something about scurvy? Weird, she knew he was desperately finding an acceptable gift, but coming up with his own imaginative sickness … was something else entirely. It was probably her fault for slacking off, since clearly the stress of counting copper must have gotten to him. Hmmm, maybe she should have made an apology present for him. One day. After she had sorted out her current project first.

    But back to the main point. It wasn't like she had those kinds of fruits lying about in her own garden. Or within her experimental room. Like, yes, her father owned an entire library, so they were well off enough to surpass some minor nobles in terms of wealth. But that did not mean she could just ask her father to import lemon from Dorne or the Reach, just because she had a sudden fascination for exotic fruits? The custom duties would be enough to send her father into an early grave.

    Still, looking at the way his back slurped in dejection, and the depressed look on his face was … pitiful. He looked like someone kicked his dog. Well, that was his usual facial expression. But somehow his current sadness was so much worse. Somehow. She did not understand. It was just a name day present; he did not have to think so hard about it.

    Well, not like she was the one to talk about that. Considering just how sleep deprived and frustrated she was because of this blasted map. At least Maria was helping her out with the map decorations, so she did not have to be so stressed anymore.

    Fine, fine. She had to do something about the bookkeeper's current conundrum. If not, her father would think it was her fault when he cried again.

    She sighed. "Well, we don't have a lemon tree in this establishment. But." His face brightened up, renewed hope flared within his eyes. Good, he shouldn't be so sad all the time. It was annoying her and everyone else. "But, I heard your uncle from… your mother's side of the family? Hmm, yeah, your mother's older brother has a small orange tree, I think? Anyway, it is worth checking out." She said with a huff. Well, at least she would not feel so bad if the bookkeeper failed to get an acceptable present on time. Actually, she would still be guilty bu-

    Wait, why is he grasping her hands like that?

    "THANK YOU LEYLA YOU ARE A LIFESAVER." He squeaked out as he released her hands and dashed out of her office. "I WOULD REPAY YOU FOR THIS ONE DAY. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I KNEW YOU WERE NOT SUCH A BITCH AFTER ALL WOOHOO." His shouting exclamations echoed in the library's silent halls. Much to the annoyance of the scholars and maesters reading manuscripts. And from the distant shouts of silence in the library, it seemed like some of them really got pissed at him.

    She was more confused than anything. Inappropriate hand holding aside, how in the world did he not know his own familial relations? Liked. She was reasonably certain Maria did force the bookkeeper to family gatherings, right? Right. That sounded like what Maria would do. So why was it that somehow she knew way more about his own family than he did? Oscar did tell her about how his younger brother didn't really care or bother to remember their cousins or their parents' names. Sometimes he would forget how they looked like or even their entire existence. She thought he was bluffing or simply exaggerating his brother's flaws. Surely someone could not be this bad at social interaction. Like yes, there was well, her. But she was that bad at names or people in general.

    But clearly the Book Keeper was in a class of his own.

    Ah well, she smiled. At least she did something good today. For once, something went well. She hoped he could find what he was searching for. A part of her was curious about what kind of gift he would present. A citrus seedling? Just fruits? Surely he cannot be that boring, right?

    … On second thought, maybe he was onto something here. Fruits could be a practical gift after all, months out at sea and eating salted pork would be, well, seven hells on earth. So it would be logical to just give Oscar fruits to eat. Huh, maybe his head wasn't up on the clouds after all.

    She still thinks her gift was better, though!

    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    On second thought, maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

    He had spent his entire lunch break running back home asking his ma whether her older brother had a citrus tree. Which, well, she bluntly told him yes, of course, Uncle Addam owned an orange tree. Also, you had totally forgotten who Uncle Addam was. You know, the massive black as night beard, short in stature, has two daughters that are currently baking cakes and desserts in the kitchen with Lena? Ring any bell? No?

    Okay, in his defense, he had some vague memories of a drunken uncle pressuring him to drink alcohol in hmm, one or two years back? It was supposedly his name day party, and Lena dragged him out of his man cave to celebrate. Only to be forced into a drinking contest with all his supposed relatives. Apparently it's for fun and entertainment? He wasn't too sure what the fuss was all about, but next thing he knew, his two older cousins basically waterboarded him. Except instead of water, it was beer.

    So yes, he tends to forget his extended family existence. For a reason. Okay, in their defense, they were probably upstanding individuals who were mostly respectable in their own field of expertise. It was just the difference in character between them and him was a little too much- actually no, not a little more like a massive gulf between them-

    "Oi, Nephew! Come to visit us?" a scruffy-looking man yelled out from the two story shop house he was currently glaring holes on. Waving his hand from the balcony like a madman.

    He wasn't wearing anything. Just stark naked for the entire street to see his naked glory. Clearly, he was a Greek statue from his past life.

    How was he even related to that man?

    Yeahhh, time to go. Today was not the day to deal with this. Maybe next time. Actually, you know what. Never. He wasn't going through this shit. He got better things to do, such as actually going back to work rather than catching up with uncles and. cousins he couldn't care less about-

    A hand grabbed his shoulder. Firmly.

    "Oi Cuz. It was rude of you to not pay your respects to my pa," a menacing voice growled softly behind his back. "Come inside. It's been a long while since we last talked. Ma even made lemon cakes for you." That right there was a lie. They had never had a one-to-one conversation before. Heck, he didn't know the guy. Sure he knew his face, but the name? Nope, not a clue. They are not related, that's for sure. Also, how in the world they know he was coming if they already had lemon cakes ready for him? This was a trap. It has to be.

    But saying no to the six feet of pure muscle behind him sounded like a death wish. As much as he liked the idea of dying, being pummeled to death by a human grizzly bear sounds. Unappetizing. Nope. Best to pretend he was a dead mouse and let these fat cats play with him for a while till they got bored. That's the only strategy he had with the best chance of survival.

    So, with the mindset of a condemned criminal sentenced to be hanged, he turned around and walked into the shophouse.

    Hoping he would make it out alive in one piece.

    —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Oh, so you just want the fruits? Yeah sure, no problem Nephew." The madman had a wide smile on his face. "What's with that look on your face? It's just citrus! Sweetheart looked at him! The poor sod looked like he was about to be eaten alive. BAHAHAHA." Addam guffawed, hands clutching his wide belly as tears leaked out of his eyes.

    He blinked hard. Twice.

    That was easy.

    He felt someone nudging him. He turned around to find a plate with a slice of lemon cake and a smiling matron aunt.

    "Go on, dear, have a slice of cake." She said, with a warm smile on her face. He noticed several rotting teeth. "By the gods, boy, you are so skinny I could see your bones! Is Maria actually feeding you?" A sympathetic look appeared on her face as she poked at his scrawny arms, much to his discomfort.

    "Uh, thanks for the cake, but I already ate lunch so-." He attempted to reject, but the six-foot muscular tank beside him brutally stomped on him.

    "Are you saying my ma baking is not good enough for you?" The grizzly bear growled.

    With great effort, he managed not to soil himself.

    "Actually, you know what aunty? I am in fact positively starving, thanks for the cake?!?" He managed to squeak out as he devoured the lemon cakes ravenously.

    A bit too sweet for his liking, but he sure as hell won't complain. At least openly.

    "Not to be rude or anything, but why come all this way just to ask for some fruits? I mean, you haven't visited us alone, since, well, never?" Uncle Addam questioned with a huff, only to get reprimanded by Aunt Jocelyn.

    "He probably wanted to show off some girls he fancied, eh? The gods know how flirty your uncle was when he was your age, HA!" Oh god, no. Not that, please. Never in his lifetime would he chase a girl, ever. Best to intervene before this got too out of hand.

    "... I just want to make some orange juice for Oscar's name day. Maybe an orange tree sapling as a gift?" he timidly answered.

    His relatives as one sigh in disappointment and disbelief

    "That's seriously all you could think of? Really?" His cousin exclaimed in bewilderment. Turns out he could actually have an emotion that wasn't just growling." You could make pastries, and cakes with oranges. You could make candied orange peels. Why, you could even concoct medical potions from oranges!" He nearly shouted in his ears. Christ, his breath even smells like orange. 'But all you could think was what, just juice? Really? I expected better from you." His cousin glared at him. Okay fine, maybe he didn't think through well enough, but to be fair he was thinking more, like disease prevention not, well actual cooking recipe-

    "The point Adam is making is that you are limiting yourself to the true potential of oranges." His uncle exclaimed a near fanatical gleam shone in his eyes. "But don't worry, once my wife taught you our secret receipts, you would truly appreciate the noble orange!" He finished his speech with a self-congratulatory nod.

    No, wait, I don't even know how to co-

    "Yes, yes, now come along now don't be shy why I just received a new batch of sugar today! So hurry up, we don't have time to waste!" Aunty Jocelyn cheerfully laughed as she dragged him to the kitchen.

    "Don't worry. If you can't cook, there's a first time for everything!" His uncle and cousin unanimously laughed as one. Their laughter slowly fading away as he finally came to grasp the sheer enormity of his situation.

    …

    Well.

    He was screwed. But hey at least it would be fun?

    Right?
     
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