Interlude: King's Landing (The Flame)

Bronn and his Brute Squad headed through the sewers, accompanied by thirty, hand-picked, men from all of the gangs that owed him fealty. All were equipped in Runic Arsenal Steel, while Bronn had even donned his brace of pistols. Whatever Lord Stark and Lord Stannis had planned, it had gone completely tits up. The Lannister Guards and Gold Cloaks were swarming through the City looking for Stark Loyalists and the servants they'd bought or bribed information from who worked in the Red Keep had told him that the King was dead.

Mind you, none of them seemed to be able to give them a straight answer about how the King had died. Some said poison, others that Lord Stark had strangled him to death, Bronn's coin was on the King just being fucking Old and Fat. That sort of thing usually led to a man's heart giving out sooner or later. It normally took a lot of activity for that to happen, though. That or a major shock. Bronn had once seen a fat shite of a Pentoshi Magister fall stone-dead to the ground after news that the team he'd bet on during a game of Emporte had lost. Apparently, the shock from losing so much gold killed him.

The question of exactly what had shocked the King so much to make his heart give out was up in the air, mind you, but one thing all their people in the Red Keep agreed on was that the Queen had blamed Lord Stark and ordered his arrest. He'd tried to fight his way out, but he'd been disarmed by the Kingslayer after wounding Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard.

Fortunately, mapping the bloody sewers of this fucking shitehole of a City had been one of the First things that he'd done. Mind you, they weren't completely mapped out. Several chambers had been filled to the brim with clay pots of Wildfire and that'd made Bronn mark those areas off as no-go spaces. No sense in getting you and half the city blown to the seven hells and back out of curiosity.

No, the relevant bit was that they'd mapped a route into the Red Keep via a secret passageway. A gift from Maegor the Cruel, apparently. Bloody Targs were all mad and Maegor's madness had manifested in his extreme paranoia. He'd had secret tunnels dug into the sewers from a number of places around the city and Bronn'd take advantage of that kind of crazy any day of the fucking week.

Right now, they were under Aegon's High Hill, having entered the sewers by way of a hidden tunnel connecting from the underground bits of the Dragonpit. If everything went well, they'd slip into the Black Cells from below, nab Lord Stark, and slip out while the fucking Queen and her bloody sycophants were busy searching the streets. They had a ship waiting to take Lord Stark north to White Harbor while they helped Lord Stannis and his man Ser Davos get out of the City.

Mind you, they had to hope the Royal Fleet would be loyal to Lord Stannis 'cause if it wasn't, this would be the shortest fucking rescue ever. Still, that was a problem for if they survived getting Lord Stark out of the Red Keep.

They made it to the section of sewers underneath the Red Keep easily enough. There was a massive cesspit full of shite that stunk something awful and a winding stairway leading up to the dungeons. Bronn'd give Maegor the Cruel this, nobody'd want to look in a fucking cesspit that stunk this bad for a fleeing King.

"Come on, up the bloody stairs. Let's get this over with." Muttered Bronn, trying his damndest not to breathe in too deeply.

They clambered up the stone stairways, winding their way up above the cesspit like winding a rope around a ship's capstan. Because of the way the Red Keep was situated, it was several flights up with no handrail. That caused comment by itself.

"How much longer?" Growled out Gragg Shorn.

"I suppose your Ibbenese legs aren't meant for so much climbing, eh?" Teased Anguy.

"No. They're not." Grunted Gragg Shorn.

"Well don't look down or you might fall into the shite." Huffed Likely Luke.

"Quiet, we're almost at the top. We need to be stealthy here or we're all fucking dead." Commanded Bronn.

That got the others to shut up. Soon enough, they'd made their way to the top of the winding staircase to find a false wall activated by a rusty torch sconce. Bronn peered at the sconce to try and figure out if it was too rusty to work, but he swiftly realized that while the torch itself and the arms of the sconce were pitted with rust, the actual mechanism and the part where the sconce was attached to the wall seemed well-oiled and in good repair. That suggested that someone regularly made use of the tunnels.

Mind you, Bronn hadn't seen any patrols or anything, so it probably wasn't the guards coming down here. That left potential spies, which was a problem for someone who wasn't Bronn. He doubted that any spies would be using the tunnel right now unless they worked for Lord Stark, and the man didn't seem the type to employ skullduggery.

Shaking his head, Bronn pulled the sconce and the false wall slid open, letting him out into an antechamber. Inside, there was a group of twelve men in slick, black, boiled leather armor with masks and cloaks. They all bore short, arming swords and daggers and seemed to be just guarding the tunnel. And Bronn's group had just surprised them.

Never one to waste an ambush opportunity, Bronn hissed out, "Kill them! Quick and quiet!"

Then all hell broke loose as Anguy shot two in the throat and eye respectively with a pair of nocked arrows and a trick shot. Bronn himself took one in the top of the head with his fighting knife as Likely Luke and Gragg Shorn bisected two others from shoulder to hip with bastard sword and longaxe. The rest of the men funneled in, hacking and slashing as best they could. It was a massacre. Not only did Bronn and his men have the element of surprise, but for some reason, the black leather-clas Guards didn't bother calling for help.

Bronn was suspicious as to why. As he reached down to retrieve his fighting knife, his victim's mouth fell open and he got his answer as to why.

"No tongues. These men belonged to the Spider." Whispered Bronn.

"I guess we know what happens to his little birds once they age up and aren't so little anymore." Mused Anguy, quietly.

Bronn didn't waste any time with banter. There was a time and a place for that sort of shite and now wasn't it. Not in the middle of enemy territory with the sands already starting to fall through the hourglass. He turned to one of the thirty gang members and began to quietly issue orders.

"Get rid of the bodies and secure the room. Dump the corpses into the cesspit, nobody will look down there. We won't be able to do shite about the blood, but that ship has sailed, got caught in a storm, and wrecked on the fucking rocks by now. Gragg, Luke, Anguy, with me. We're headed for Lord Stark's cell." Ordered Bronn, quietly.

"The Piss Boy we paid off who empties out the chamberpots in the Black Cells said they have him in a cell at the end of the hall in the Black Cells. The one that Queen Rhaenyra threw the Sea Snake in." Informed Likely Luke.

"Like we'd know which one that is." Scoffed Anguy.

"End of the Hall. Seems easy enough." Shrugged Gragg Shorn.

"Right then, let's hop to it." Nodded Bronn.

Then, together, the Brute Squad exited out of another false wall and into the Dungeons. Fortunately, no one was around to spot them moving in here. That by itself was odd. Bronn had seen a lot of dungeons in his time as a Sellsword. Usually, there was at least one Gaoler on duty. Oftentimes a lot more than that.

Wary of traps, Bronn moved into the section of Dungeons known as the Black Cells, looking for Lord Stark. . .

XXXX

Lord Eddard Stark was an honorable man. More to the point, he was a proud man. He could count on one of his hands the number of times he'd been bested in a fight since he'd completed his training at arms as a boy, all those years ago in the Eyrie. He'd thought he could take the Kingslayer, Ser Stafford Lannister, and Ser Mandon Moore by himself.

True, he'd needed Howland Reed's help to kill the Sword of the Morning, but Ned had handled the White Bull by himself. It was something he'd been proud of. Unfortunately, the Kingslayer had been right about his prime being past him, much as it pained Ned to admit it. The black eye and bleeding arm pained him more, mind you, but it seemed the Queen wanted him to stand trial and so had Pycelle patch his arm up.

Ser Mandon Moore wasn't so fortunate. Ned had taken his leg out from under him with Ice in such a way as to cripple the man. Oh, he'd not taken the leg off, but there were places to cut behind the knee or off to the side that would render a man lame for the rest of his days, assuming he survived. That's why Poleyns generally had wings that extended around the sides of the knee. Ser Mandon had been wearing Poleyns, of course, but castle-forged steel was no proof against Valyrian Steel and Ice had cut the man through his armor all the same.

When Ser Mandon had gone down, Ser Stafford Lannister panicked and attacked. Ned had knocked the man unconscious with a strike from his crossguard, but that had put him out of position to defend against the Kingslayer's rush. A last-second parry with all the force Ned could muster behind it had managed to carve through the Kingslayer's blade, but Ser Jaime had simply drawn a dagger from his belt and plunged it between Ned's Vambrace and the mail of his hauberk. Down an arm, he couldn't effectively wield Ice and it had only been a matter of time before he was disarmed and captured.

Ned knew he should have worn more than cursory armor. Stannis had tried to advise him to wear a full suit, but he hadn't listened. Now he was paying the price. The enemy'd had him three to one and he still beat two of them, though, and there was honor in that. The two Lannister Guardsmen hadn't entered into the picture, they'd been too busy dragging Ser Stafford out of the scrum at the time to attack Ned.

Unfortunately, Ned had still been captured and to make matters worse, Varys the Spider had come to see him five minutes ago. He'd let Ned know that the Trial that Cersei had planned for him would all be for show. He would be executed on the spot. Even now, his remaining guards and servants were being slaughtered or rounded up for show trials of their own. They would likely get sent to the wall in lieu of execution, as they weren't the leaders of this conspiracy.

Of course, Ned would be spared such indignities if he simply renounced whatever conspiracy he'd planned on pushing and confessed. Mind you, he would have to tell Varys all about who his co-conspirators were for that to be the case. Ned wasn't afraid to die, and he was no dishonorable cur who would sell Lord Stannis out to the Spider or the Queen. He refused, saying it straight to Varys' face.

That was when Varys had let something crucial slip. That they would comb the City for his Daughters and Heir. The Spider said he would return when the Lannister Guards and Goldcloaks found them. Varys was certain that to ensure his Childrens' safety, Ned would be forced to tell him of his Co-Conspirators. All that told Ned, however, was that Varys didn't realize that his Children had already escaped. That was good, he could die in peace, now. As he heard the door to his cell open up, he was prepared to spit right in the eye of whoever Cersei had sent down here now.

"Fucking hell, did you know someone's drugged the bloody Gaoler?" Came an unfamiliar voice.

Ned looked up to see a brown-haired man in blackened chain armor with an arming sword and oddly-shaped fighting knife at his belt. He was accompanied by a large man with long brown hair and a scruffy layer of fuzz on his face, similarly armored in blackened chain but wielding a bastard sword. Looking out from the doorway, Ned spotted a squat, hairy, Ibbenese man in blackened scale armor with a longaxe and a smaller, wiry Man in blackened chain armor with a Marcher Longbow. The brace of pistols that likewise hung around the First Man's chest let Lord Stark know just who he had to thank for this lot's presence.

"I assume Lord Seawynd sent you?" Questioned Ned.

"With his compliments, we're your rescue." Nodded the First Man.

"How did you get in here?" Queried Ned.

"The sewers of this fucking city are lousy with secret passageways. We've long since mapped out ones into the Red Kepp, just in case." Answered the First Man.

"And now it's come in handy." Added the Man with long hair.

"Even if you can ferret me out of the Black Cells, the Lannister Guards and Gold Cloaks are running amok in the streets. How will you get me out of the City?" Asked Ned.

"There's a ship waiting for you out in Blackwater Bay. We've got a dinghy tied up in a hidden jetty south of the Iron Gate. The Captain there, Fat Franklyn, owes us enough money that he's willing to look the other way on this, even at a time like now." Responded the First Man.

"He's too fond of making bad bets and doubling down. He needs the money." Added the Long-Haired Man.

"You operate gambling dens?" Blinked Ned.

"Among other things. Lord Seawynd and his Spymaster realized that nobody had bothered trying to influence the Gangs of Flea Bottom. He's had us turn them into an extension of his network in King's Landing." Shrugged the First Man.

"Any port in a storm, my Lord." Nodded the Long-Haired Man.

"Indeed." Smirked Ned.

"Come on, let's get you out of here. No sense dithering when the bloody Gaoler could wake up any moment to raise the alarm." Intoned the First Man.

Then he produced a set of oddly shaped metal tools from a pouch at his belt. It took Ned a moment to place what those were. Lockpicks, those were lockpicks. Those were against the law to own in most of the Lord Paramountcies. If a guard caught you with a set of those, the punishments were severe. It varied by Kingdom, but in the North, you had the option of the Wall or losing fingers. Ned supposed that working for a Spymaster took all kinds. The First Man was good with those too. He had Ned's Manacles off in no time.

"What did you do before you became an agent for Lord Seawynd?" Ned Questioned.

"I was a sellsword, my Lord. A damned good one, too." Informed the First Man.

"You learned to pick locks as a Sellsword?" Pressed Ned.

"You'd be surprised at the jobs you get hired for in the Free Cities, my Lord. Come, let's see you to your ship." Smirked Bronn.

"Wait. My sword. Ice is an ancestral blade of Valyrian Steel. Do you know what happened to it?" Demanded Ned.

"Last our informants heard, the Kingslayer took it. No one knows where and you're not in any condition to go after it, my Lord." Pointed out the First Man.

"That's the truth, much as I hate to admit it. We'll have to leave it." Sighed Ned.

"I'm sure an opportunity to get it back will arise in the future, my Lord." Offered the Long-Haired Man.

As they strode out of Lord Stark's Cell, the Ibbenese Axeman huffed out an exasperated, "Finally."

"My sentiments exactly. Who bloody knows when the Gaoler will wake up from his nap." Agreed the Archer.

"Wait. Before we go, I would know the names of my rescuers." Insisted Ned.

"I'm Bronn, this is Likely Luke, Gragg Shorn, and Anguy of the Marches. We're what Lord Seawynd refers to as his Spymaster's Brute Squad." Intoned Bronn.

"Very well. Lead on then." Nodded Ned.

Thirty minutes later, Ned was on a Dinghy, being rowed by Gragg Shorn and Likely Luke toward a fat-bellied trade Cog from White Harbor. The name Gilded Merling was painted in gold letters on its prow. As they rowed, Ned filled Bronn in on everything that had happened. Bronn already knew some of it, mind you. Lord Seawynd's intelligence really was good, but the exact details of events around Robert's death and his capture had to be filled in by Ned.

Twenty minutes later, the Cog had set sail for White Harbor with Ned aboard. The Brute Squad hadn't come with him, instead rowing their Dinghy back out into the Bay in the direction that Ned saw several sails likely belonging to the Royal Fleet flying.

Standing on the stern of the trade cog, watching King's Landing fade into the distance, Ned silently said a prayer to the Old Gods that those four made it through whatever else they had to do before leaving. . .

XXXX

Stannis Baratheon was a busy man. He'd had to take the Royal Fleet out of the Blackwater Rush into the bay for exercises in a snap decision to prepare for the departure of the Fleet to Dragonstone. Clearly whatever Lord Stark had done in the Red Keep had kicked the hornet's nest. By the time Stannis had sailed out of port into the Bay with the fleet, it was already starting to spill out of the Red Keep and into the streets of the City.

Thankfully, Stannis had gotten Ser Davos to confine the crews to quarters in advance of their attempt to warn Robert because he'd never have made it this far with this many ships if he hadn't. The problem was, what exactly had happened to Robert? Those first few hours were crucial to getting the fleet out of port on a moment's notice and Stannis hadn't had the time or the wherewithal during the flurry of activity to send a runner to the Red Keep to clarify the situation.

Mind you, he'd heard a number of rumors. That Lord Stark had killed the King in a number of increasingly improbable ways, that the Queen had sent the Lannister Guards out to hunt for traitors, that Lord Stark was dead, no wait, he was imprisoned in the Black Cells, or instead that he was the secret lover of the Queen and had decided to finally conquer the city he'd refused to rule all those years ago.

It was all equally probable or improbable by turns and Stannis had been forced to disregard everything in favor of just being able to set off with the fleet intact and ready. As it was, they had been forced to leave most of their powder and shot behind in stores in King's Landing, just from haste. Sailing a fleet out of port was a complicated business, after all, and if you wanted it done swiftly, you needed either weeks of preparation or to cut corners. Stannis had had three days to prepare. He'd been lucky to keep the crews confined to quarters with enough food and fresh water to reach Dragonstone. Powder and shot would need to be restocked in port if the fleet was to fight a serious engagement.

"Begging your pardon, Milord, but we have an irregularity off the port bow." Came Ser Davos' voice, jolting Stannis out of his thoughts.

"What sort of irregularity?" Queried Stannis.

"It looks to be a Dinghy, Milord." Answered Ser Davos.

"A dinghy?" Repeated Stannis.

"Aye, with four men in full armor at that. They say they're from Lord Seawynd." Confirmed Ser Davos.

"Is that so? Does anything lend credence to their claims?" Asked Stannis.

"Well, the Armor's Arsenal Steel and the Leader's wearing a brace o' pistols." Informed Ser Davos.

"That's not unusual. We've made matchlock pistols of our own, haven't we?" Questioned Stannis.

"Snaplock pistols, Milord." Returned Ser Davos.

"Ah. Very well, send them up." Ordered Stannis.

He knew that Ser Davos never would have sent them the ropes to climb aboard before talking to him. They must still be in that dinghy, though likely lashed to the Royal Stag, at least Stannis couldn't imagine they'd be able to keep pace by rowing with a ship that had its sails out.

Ser Davos left and soon enough, he brought forth a quartet of curious-looking agents. Two large Men, one of them Ibbenese, a shorter, wiry, Archer from the Dornish Marches, and a scruffy, brown-haired, Sellsword. They were indeed equipped just as Ser Davos had said.

"Well, I was told you were Lord Seawynd's men. What news?" Demanded Stannis.

"Lord Stark is safe, my Lord. We smuggled him to a ship and he's already on his way to White Harbor. Lord Seawynd's orders were for us to get a number of key people out of the city if at all possible. Yourself, Ser Davos, Ser Maric Seaworth, Princess Shireen, Vayon Poole, Jayne Poole, Syrio Forel, Robb Stark, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, and Lord Eddard Stark. If Ser Maric is with you, then our mission was a complete success." Explained the Leader.

"Maric's serving as Captain of the Royal Wind. She's a Galley loaded with sixteen four-pound guns. She should be somewhere in Black Squadron." Informed Ser Davos.

"Then our mission was a complete success. Looks like I'll be getting a nice fat bonus." Grinned the Leader.

"Lord Seawynd foresaw all this?" Queried Stannis.

"Lord Seawynd foresaw a lot of the shite that's going down now." Nodded the Leader.

"I think you'd best start at the beginning. Tell me everything you know about what is happening in the Capital right now and what Lord Seawynd's plans, if any are." Commanded Stannis.

By the end of what the Leader of this group, a former Sellsword named Bronn, was able to tell him about the current situation, Stannis was sorely tempted to find a drink. He wouldn't of course, as he loathed the weakness that such things made of men, but it did seem to be the sort of occasion where one was warranted. Robert's heart had given out on him, and it seemed that the Queen had blamed Lord Stark. Stannis would raise the flag of rebellion and Bronn had said that Lord Seawynd would support him in this. However, Lord Seawynd expected more factions to pop up as Civil War gave the opportunity for various grudges to be settled. He wouldn't be wrong.

Stannis has scarcely been able to return to Dragonstone, send out the letters he'd had pre-arranged revealing the Queen's treachery, call his banners, and raise the flag of rebellion before he'd received word that Renly had declared himself King as well with the support of Mace Tyrell and the Reach. Fortunately for Stannis, he had received the pledge of Houses Penrose, Rye, Bolling, Lonmouth, Errol, Rogers, Wylde, and Kellington to back him over Renly. That brought him twelve-thousand Stormlanders to add to his ten thousand Bannermen and Lord Seawynd's fifty-thousand, not to mention the naval superiority.

The war had scarcely broken out and already there were three kings. Stannis was intent on dealing with Renly first. To that end, he called a council of every lord that was sworn to or pledged support to him to be held on Dragonstone. There, they would hammer out a strategy and Stannis would hand out appointments. He'd never asked for this to happen, but now that it had, the throne was Stannis' by legal right.

He would see his duty done, even if it killed him. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here we see the second half of events in the capital. Ned is broken out of the Black Cells by the Brute Squad who then escaped with Stannis, while Renly declares himself king at the same time Stannis does. Only three Kings in the war this time, but it was inevitable.

That said, there are a few other turns that other Kingdoms will take going forward. The North is waiting on Ned to return from the Capital before making any moves and while Dorne is likely to remain out of the fighting for now, the Vale could go either way or it could remain neutral, while the Iron Isles are torn between Balon's Traditionalists and a resurgent group of Reformists who see Ricasso's innovations as essentially the writing on the wall for the Old Ways. Unfortunately, the Reformists are split between those loyal to the Reader and those who are in the Lannister's Pockets. Meanwhile, the Riverlands are on fire with some, like House Mallister, staying out of the skirmishing due to taking Tywin's gold while others, like the Freys, are simply looking to join the side giving them the best deal.

Things are going to get even more messy as time goes on, as several Lord Paramountcies are torn between factions. The Vale, Stormlands, Iron Isles, and Riverlands are all split between factions who would prefer one King or course of action over another. Even the Crownlands has people in Cracklaw Point and on the Narrow Sea Coast who would rather declare for Stannis than Joffrey. The exceptions are the Westerlands, Reach, North, and Southern Seas, and the North is waiting for Ned to pop up in White Harbor before making any decisions.

At any rate, the next chapter we'll be back with Ricasso for Stannis' War Council.

Stay tuned. . .