Game of Thrones: My Weekend Trips to Earth Chapter 31 31

The aroma of food in the dining hall had not yet completely faded when various rich, crisp, or spicy unfamiliar wine scents began to drift through the air.

The eleven differently shaped wine bottles on the table sparkled with tempting yet dangerous light under the mixed glow of candlelight and LED night lamps.

Luke picked up the bottle labeled "Heavenly Dragon Spring 53°" and poured a shallow amount — really just a tiny bit, barely enough for half a sip — into the three crystal-clear stemd glasses from Blue Star placed before himself, Tyrion, and Bronn.

"Hey! Luke! You're being way too stingy!"

Bronn imdiately complained, his eyes locked onto the pitifully small amount of liquid. "This is wine! A real man should drink in big gulps! Who the hell can rinse their mouth with this little?"

Tyrion didn't speak, but his eyebrows rose slightly as he looked at the tiny bit of clear, strongly aromatic liquid in his cup. Clearly, he also thought Luke was being overly "stingy."

"Don't rush," Luke shook the bottle in his hand, a mysterious smile on his face. "This wine is called 'Dragon Fla.' It's completely different from the ale and grape wine you usually drink. Try this little bit first and feel it. If you can handle it, there's more afterward."

He had temporarily given "Heavenly Dragon Spring" a more Westeros-appropriate and domineering na.

Bronn and Tyrion exchanged a skeptical glance.

Bronn was a heavy drinker, and Tyrion had tasted fine wines from across the Seven Kingdoms and many from across the Narrow Sea. Both considered their alcohol tolerance quite good.

How much trouble could such a small amount cause?

The two no longer hesitated and almost simultaneously raised their stemd glasses.

The glasses were as thin as cicada wings, cool to the touch, and felt weightless in their hands — another novel experience they had never had before.

Following Luke's earlier example with the tea (though this ti it was wine), they downed the tiny bit of "Dragon Fla" in one go.

The mont the liquid entered their mouths—

Ti seed to freeze.

Bronn's eyes, usually lazy or sharp, suddenly bulged wide. The muscles on his face tensed instantly, and the veins on his neck popped out like earthworms!

He clutched his throat tightly, mouth open, but could only produce hoarse "ho… ho…" gasping sounds from deep in his throat. His face rapidly flushed red, and cold sweat even broke out on his temples.

It took a full four or five seconds before he finally gasped for air. Then he erupted into a string of extrely vulgar, incoherent curses:

"Fuck!!! Motherfucker!!! Seven Hells!!! What the hell is this?! I feel like my throat was sprayed with dragon breath!! No… it's even stronger than that!!"

"Cough cough… cough cough cough…"

He coughed violently, but his eyes were like soone who had discovered a rare treasure. He stared deathly at the wine bottle in Luke's hand. After catching his breath, he actually licked his lips and showed a twisted smile mixing pain and extre excitent.

"…FUCK… that was so damn good! Better than… a hundred tis better than fucking the top girl at Chataya's!!"

On the other side, Tyrion's reaction was equally intense.

His small body shuddered violently, as if struck by invisible lightning. His green eye lost focus for a mont, then his pupils contracted. His whole body trembled uncontrollably like a leaf in autumn wind.

He gripped the edge of the table tightly, knuckles white, lips quivering. After a long ti, he let out a high-pitched, changed-tone cry:

"SEVEN—GODS—ABOVE—!!!"

The sound echoed in the dining hall.

"I… I feel like I just swallowed a mouthful of 'wildfire'! No! It's molten dragon glass! It's lava from the Seven Hells! My tongue… my throat… my guts are all burning!!"

He gasped heavily. His black eye was wide open, filled with shock and a near-maniacal curiosity:

"But this burning… is so pure! So fierce! I feel… I feel like my dirty soul, soaked in alcohol and lust, has been… purified by this fla?!"

The two n's exaggerated reactions left Annie and Emma Waters watching in stunned silence. They covered their mouths, afraid to laugh, yet worried the two guests might collapse on the spot.

Luke held back his laughter, very satisfied with the effect of his "prank."

He gestured to the sisters: "Go wash their glasses thoroughly. Then prepare two cups of clear water for them to rinse their mouths."

After washing, rinsing, and taking a good while to recover, Bronn and Tyrion finally recovered sowhat from the terrifying impact of the first sip of "Dragon Fla (53°)."

But their eyes had changed. Looking at the wine bottles on the table, they were no longer casual, but filled with awe, curiosity, and… a strong desire to conquer.

"Continue!" Bronn wiped the sweat from his forehead and slamd the table with heroic spirit, though his voice was still a bit hoarse.

"Interesting… so interesting!" Tyrion's green eyes sparkled like a child who had discovered a new toy. "Mr. Jacknien, please continue your… 'magic.'"

Luke nodded and began tasting the "Dragon Fla" series in order from highest to lowest proof: 35°, 28°, 22°… then brandy, whiskey, vodka, gin, rum, and finally champagne and wine.

He strictly controlled the portions, pouring only a tiny bit each ti, and insisted on washing the glasses and rinsing with clear water before switching wines to ensure pure taste.

The first six wines (from 53° to gin), although each brought different, strong sensory impacts — so rich and lingering, so sharp and fierce, so with unique grain, fruit, or plant aromas — Bronn and Tyrion, relying on their superior tolerance and willpower, could still maintain basic clarity of thought. They could even give so crude or insightful comnts on each wine's flavor.

Bronn on whiskey: "This has a smoky wood flavor, like licking the bark of an old forest!"

Tyrion on brandy: "This wine's aroma… reminds of a certain courtesan in Braavos — pure on the surface, burning inside."

But starting from the seventh wine — rum, with its obvious sweet aroma and tropical flair — things began to spiral out of control.

Their tongues started to tangle, and their speech tone and logic began to show subtle deviations.

"This wine… is sweet like honey, but… the aftertaste feels like getting kicked by a mule?"

"Rum… from the Sumr Isles? No… even further away. It's… a dream brewed from sunlight and sea breeze…"

The eighth wine was champagne. The novelty of the bubbles and lower alcohol content made them let down their guard a bit and drink a little more.

The two began talking nonsense, their topics running wild.

"Bronn! You tell … can shadows drink? My shadow just now… seed to move!"

Tyrion pointed at the floor.

"Shadows? I… I can chop down ten shadows! Luke! More! I want to use this… this bubbling water to toast my old man, wherever the hell he died!"

Bronn waved his empty glass.

The ninth wine was a smooth modern grape wine that Luke had specially chosen.

Religious feelings began to erge in the two drinkers.

Tyrion, eyes hazy: "I… I seem to see the light of the Seven Gods… rippling in the wine… Mother… forgive …"

Bronn, slurring: "Seven Gods? Fuck the Seven Gods! I only believe in… the sword in my hand and… and Luke's gold dragons!"

The tenth wine was a lower-proof sweet wine.

Their cognition began to invert.

"Seven Gods… where are the Seven Gods? Oh… they're in my heart… No, I am… I am the Seven Gods! I bestow upon you… wine!"

Tyrion tried to stand up and nearly fell.

"Yes! You… you are the Wine God! Luke! You are the Gold Dragon God! I… I am the Sword God! The three of us… are the new gods!" Bronn hugged Tyrion's shoulders. The two swayed unsteadily.

When Luke, both amused and helpless, brought out the eleventh wine — a nearly alcohol-free grape juice beverage added just to make up the numbers — the two n could no longer even hold their glasses steady.

After symbolically taking a sip of the so-called "final magical nectar," Bronn and Tyrion — one a tall, crude rcenary, the other a short, clever dwarf noble — actually hugged each other.

Mumbling unintelligible gibberish, they tilted their heads and fell soundly asleep right there in the dining hall chairs, even starting to snore lightly.

Emma and Annie stared at this unbelievable scene with wide eyes, completely dumbfounded.

They looked at the row of bottles on the table that had barely decreased, then at the two n passed out drunk, and finally at Luke with confusion in their eyes: Master… they really didn't drink that much? Altogether… each of them probably didn't even have half a cup?

Luke was also holding a pen and notebook, recording the evaluation of each wine and the two n's reactions.

He stopped with a helpless, wry smile.

He knew these distilled spirits had high proof and had expected them to get drunk, but he hadn't expected… them to get drunk in such a layered, dramatic way.

It seed the livers of Westerosi people needed re-evaluation regarding their tolerance and tabolism of high-concentration alcohol.

"Emma, go call two guards to help Bronn back to the west wing to rest. Also tell Arthur to prepare a clean guest room for Tyrion and his attendants, and serve them carefully."

Luke instructed helplessly.

Watching the two being carried away, Luke shook his head and began clearing the wine bottles and notes from the table.

This impromptu "wine tasting session," although comical in process, had a significant effect.

At the very least, the power of "Dragon Fla" wine and the fact that he possessed brewing technology far beyond this era had been deeply imprinted in the hearts of Bronn and Tyrion.

This was more effective than any advertisent.

Late at night, the estate returned to silence.