Interlude: The Dragonpit Raid

Bronn had finally managed to talk down Anguy and Likely Luke from trying to storm the fucking Red Keep to break Lord Seawynd out of Custody. That wouldn't've ended well for anyone, least of all Lord Seawynd, who could handle his own business without their help. It was all thanks to Ser Roger Groves and Ser Loras Lothston adding to his own words of caution on the matter. That tipped the scales in Bronn's favor.

Mind, you that didn't stop them from asking around, but when they spoke to Jory Cassell, Lord Stark's Man, the bloke made it sound like Lord Stark was gonna let Lord Seawynd Sweat a touch before letting him off the hook. Supposedly, Lord Tyrell had lobbied the King on Lord Seawynd's behalf, so outside of making sure that Lord Lannister got his pound of flesh in reparations for the crippling of one of his commanders, there wasn't a whole lot that Lord Stark could do to punish Lord Seawynd.

With that done, Bronn had told Ser Roger and Ser Loras about a bit of help he could use on the issue of the Drakespawn and the Dragonpit. Ser Roger and Ser Loras went off and spoke to each other out of earshot of the rest of the lads and when they came back, both agreed to help out. That was how they got to be where they were now.

See, Anguy had followed some big, pox-scarred, Drakespawn Bastard a couple days ago as he made his rounds in the section of Flea Bottom that the Drakespawn owned. They'd picked him out as one of Black Daeron Waters' lieutenants from the gear he was wearing. Most Drakespawn didn't have anything more protective than some leathers or a padded jack along with a half-helm. This bloke had a chain Byrnie and proper greaves and vambraces on along with a proper bastard sword instead of the daggers, arming blades, and axes most Drakespawn had.

Anguy'd followed the man to a row of buildings that contained a pair of smithies and a winesink in Horn Alley, near the Dragonpit. After some observation, it looked like the Winesink was being used to fund the operation of the Smithies, which were being used to arm the Drakespawn. Fair dues to them, the Drakespawn tended to be armed better than average for gangs in flea bottom. Hells, until they'd come along, the Drakespawn had been armed the best out of any of the gangs, most of which relied on improvised weapons. Felling axes, butchers knives, pitchforks, and the like tended to be what the average Flea Bottom Roughneck used, after all. Tools that'd been turned into weapons rather than purpose-built.

Accordingly, taking this group of businesses would likely put a big kink in the Drakespawn's ability to arm themselves, and that in turn would likely allow the rough assemblage of Gangs that owed fealty to Bronn, and thus to Lord Seawynd, to push deeper into Drakespawn Territory. Ser Roger and Ser Loras had agreed to help and after a change from their pretty fucking conspicuous tourney plate into more understated gear, they'd come with Bronn, Likely Luke, Anguy, Gragg Shorn, and around a hundred of the best men from the Longshoremen, Forty Thieves, Fishmongers, and Drunken Rovers.

What Bronn hadn't expected was for the Drakespawn and their lot of vassalized gangs to send a contingent to match them. Apparently, Black Daeron Waters'd apparently known something like this was coming and had brought around a hundred-twenty men from the Drakespawn and their lot to contest Horn Alley.

Now, both sides stood in the middle of the street in front of the Smithies and Winesink, facing off against each other. Black Daeron Waters out in front, in his chain byrnie over padded jack and bearing an odd, bronze-hilted, bastard sword, along with his lieutenants. There was the Pox-Scarred Form of Mad Jon Waters in his chain byrnie with his bastard sword, the hulking form of Big Tom Waters in his boiled leather over padded jack with his ironwood cudgel, the scrawny form of Sharp-Eyed Dick Rivers with his brigandine over padded jack and his longbow, the Wiry form of Quick Robb Storm in his boiled leather over padded jack with his arming sword and dirk, and lastly the bulky form of Fat Pate Flowers in his chain byrnie and with his longaxe.

They were joined by the leaders of their various subordinate gangs, Scarred Hendry of the Plug Uglies in his padded leather jerkin and with his felling axe, Golden Garth Hill of the Westies in his pilfered Goldcloak Mail with his pilfered Goldcloak Longsword, Tamarro Tann of the Foreign Horde with his boiled leather over a padded jack and wielding a carpenter's mattock as a warhammer, and Big Benn of the Sheepstealers in his padded jack with his sling and shepherd's staff.

Joining Bronn and his group were Hellcat Margaery of the Fishmongers in her arsenal steel chain byrnie and with her longbow, Little Bill Rivers, son of the late Old Bill Rivers of the Forty Thieves in his Arsenal Steel chain Hauberk and with his Arsenal Steel Halberd, One-Eyed Pate of the Longshoremen in his Arsenal Steel and Leather Brigandine with an arsenal steel boarding axe, and Lucky Ned of the Drunken Rovers in his arsenal steel and leather brigandine over a padded jack wielding an arsenal steel cutlass and dagger.

"So, this is it, aye?" Demanded Bronn.

"Aye, you and yours've been running around altering the whole way of doing things for too long now. I've kept me eye on your comings and goings. It's how I knew that one'd been staking out the Leaking Barrel and the smithies next door to it." Smirked Black Daeron Waters, gesturing over to Anguy.

"So now we're fighting for the whole of flea bottom?" Questioned Bronn.

"You wish. Me lads here are only a touch over a third of what I can bring to bear. There's still a hundred men in the Dragonpit along with the reserves we've got squirreled away in various safehouses. Even if you lot managed to beat us here, the Drakespawn'll endure." Scoffed Black Daeron Waters.

"All I'm hearing is that we're gonna have to march on the Dragonpit once we put you in the ground here." Scowled Bronn.

"Hah! We've been here since the Dance! The blood of kings runs in some of our veins. Good luck with all that!" Laughed Black Daeron Waters.

"That's a pretty lie you been telling folks. Anyone who knows anything about the sort of shite you're talking about would've been able to tell you the Dance and the Blackfyres ain't part of the same civil war. A pretty lie's still a lie." Retorted Bronn.

"See, that's the sort of talk what gets a man killed. Now you're about to find that out first-hand!" Insisted Black Daeron Waters.

Then, as if on cue, the Drakespawn all charged and Bronn found himself neck deep in arseholes with no more time for talking. . .

XXXX

Ser Roger Groves had fought in many places over the years. He'd squired for his uncle, Ser Rickard Groves, the Knight of Forest Tower during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, where he'd slain his first man and fought in his first battle. He'd fought during Robert's Rebellion, unfortunately for the wrong side, at both Stoney Sept and the Trident, first under Lord Connington, then under Prince Rhaegar. He'd been captured and sent into exile as a result, where he and a few others had formed the Andal Arrows and fought numerous battles for varying masters in Essos before joining Lord Seawynd and gaining his new fiefdom in the Stepstones. It effectively made him the most veteran man here.

That was why he knew what he was saying when he said that never in his life had he seen such a chaotic battle as this. Even Stoney Sept, where everything had gone to the hells quick as an eyeblink had at least begun with some semblance of order and formation. This street fight between gang factions hadn't even had that much going for it. Instead, two masses of armed men slammed into each other and instantly devolved into a chaotic scramble of a fight as both sides mixed together and fought in small groups or as individuals.

Fortunately, Ser Roger was nothing if not adaptable to the conditions of the battlefield. You had to be to grow as old as he was with your primary occupation being Sellsword. He kept up admirably, cutting down individual opponents who sought to challenge him left and right. In many ways, this sort of fighting was easier than proper warfare, more of a series of one-on-one duels than a battle against a unit.

He carved through a Plug Ugly that was using a massive, two-handed, maul to batter through the guard of one of the Forty Thieves with a horizontal stroke of his bastard sword. The Arsenal Steel blade cut through the man's padded jack like it was barely there and practically bisected the man at the hip. As he wrenched his blade out of the corpse, he saw the eyes of the man he saved widen and look past him. Ser Roger turned in time to parry the axe strike of a leather-clad Sheepstealer. The axe head was knocked to the side by the parry and Ser Roger smashed the crossguard of his blade into the throat of the Sheepstealer, smashing the man's windpipe to uselessness.

Stepping past his latest fallen, choking, opponent, Ser Roger lashed out at a bald Westy who was trying to get in close to use his daggers on one of Hellcat Margaery's Fishmongers. His vertical strike took the Man's left hand off at the wrist and the Westy aborted his attack, falling back with a strangled scream clutching his stump. Moving on, Ser Roger parried a swordstroke from a Drakespawn whose platinum blonde hair was half-matted with blood. He began winding and binding with the Drakespawn, eventually managing to lever his Opponent's blade out of his hands. A pommel smash to the face ensued, knocking the Drakespawn to the ground, where Ser Roger finished him off with the thrust through the man's shoulder down into his chest from above.

Cutting out, slashing, and stabbing, Ser Roger must have cut down at least twenty enemies on his own before he ran up against an opponent that actually gave him any trouble. Looking around after slaying his twentieth man of the battle, Ser Roger saw that many of the so-called officers of both sides were engaged in duels.

Anguy was trading arrow fire with Sharp-Eyed Dick Rivers, both using the terrain and buildings as cover, Gragg Shorn was engaged with Big Tom Waters in a battle of Ibbenese axe versus Ironwood Cudgel, Fat Pate Flowers and Likely Luke were currently winding and binding each others' weapons trying to gain leverage to finish the fight, Bronn was trading blows with Golden Garth Hill of the Westies, even as Big Benn of the Sheepstealers was attempting to line up a sling shot on him. Speaking of Big Benn, his attempt was interrupted by Lucky Ned of the Drunken Rovers who had emerged from a side alley with his cutlass to cut down the head of the Sheepstealers. Tamarro Tann and One-Eyed Pate were both facing off against each other boarding axe hooking Tann's Mattock out of the way for One-Eyed Pate to deliver a headbutt, Mad Jon Waters was running from Hellcat Margaery as she fired arrows at him, ducking down a side alley even as his right shoulder sprouted a fletched shaft. Meanwhile, Young Bill Rivers and Scarred Hendry were trying to kill each other, both engaged in a bind with their weapons. Finally, Quick Robb Storm was attempting to get past Ser Loras Lothston's guard only to find himself thwarted each time.

There was no sign of Black Daeron Waters, though. No sign, at least, until Ser Roger found himself suddenly assailed from behind. He felt a painful cut bite through his arsenal steel greave and the cut through the leather beneath and into his calf as he was hit from behind and sent stumbling forward and sprawling onto the street. That stumble, it turns out, was likely what saved Ser Roger from losing his leg and foot from mid-calf down, it turned a dismembering blow into a grazing wound. It still affected his mobility, though, which wasn't something you wanted to happen on a battlefield.

Regardless, Ser Roger rolled to the side on instinct and a rippling, smoky, black steel blade slashed into the cobblestones where he'd been sent sprawling. Valyrian Steel. Looking to the side, Ser Roger saw the runes on the blade and the bronze hilt and immediately knew the blade was Lamentation, the lost Valyrian Steel sword of House Royce of Runestone. It made sense, it had been lost during the storming of the Dragonpit, and with the Drakespawn having moved into the Dragonpit Ruins, who better to have found it again?

That was a problem for Ser Roger, because the hands currently wrenching the blade out of the stones of the street belonged to Black Daeron Waters. No wonder his cut had bit through his greave like it had. For the first time in a while, Ser Roger found himself out-armed in a fight. Falling back on his experience as a sellsword, Ser Roger began fighting dirty to equalize things.

As Black Daeron Waters loomed over him, Lamentation about to strike downwards into his chest, Ser Roger grabbed a handful of the dirt that had accumulated on the cobblestones. Such things were everpresent in Fleabottom and the dirt now served as an improvised weapon that Ser Roger flung into Black Daeron's eyes, blinding him. If that was all he did, then perhaps it wouldn't have mattered, but Ser Roger also brought his good leg up hard from below. His steel-plated boot bypassed the fauld of Black Daeron's mail hauberk and smashed into his opponent's groin from below. Black Daeron fell to the cobblestones with a sharp gasp, allowing Ser Roger time to limp to his feet.

Was it an ignoble blow for a knight? Definitely. Did Ser Roger care that much when it had saved his life? Not a chance. Ser Roger cut down at his prone opponent with his Arsenal Steel blade, taking the chance to finish this. Unfortunately, Black Daeron was apparently no stranger to dirty tricks either and had long practice in dealing with them. Lamentation flashed out through ingrained instinct and parried Ser Roger's falling blade even as Black Daeron sucked in a heaving breath to get the pain in his groin under control. The parry was a bit more forceful than it normally would be, owing to the amount of pain Black Daeron was in. Lamentation gouged a chunk out of Ser Roger's blade as it parried and sent Ser Roger stumbling to the side, wounded leg unable to steady his stance as it normally would.

Black Daeron surged to his feet with an angry shout, Lamentation striking for Ser Roger, who just barely managed to parry, another chunk of metal missing from the edge of his blade. He struck out with a gauntleted backhand that smashed Black Daeron back and came in with a cut of his own. Lamentation lashed out in a parry that finally sheared through Ser Roger's blade with a screech of tearing metal, but Ser Roger had been trained on what to do if ever he fought an opponent wielding Valyrian Steel. It was something that used to be a part of most of the training that Knights received as squires in the Crownlands owing to the long history of civil wars in Westeros.

As Ser Roger struck out with his sword, his left hand was already moving to the dagger at his belt the second that Black Daeron began his parry. As his sword was sheared in half by Lamentation, the moment of resistance that the blades had before Lamentation cut through was enough for Ser Roger to draw his dagger. As his blade was cut through, Ser Roger's now-drawn dagger was already streaking for Black Daeron's throat. Lamentation was out of position to parry and Ser Roger's dagger plunged into his Opponent's throat, killing him.

As Black Daeron fell to the cobblestones dead, Ser Roger bent down and retrieved Lamentation. The runic, bronze-hilted, Valyrian Steel, sword would make a fine replacement for the weapon it had cut through. Looking down at Black Daeron as he choked out his last, bloody, breaths there on the cobblestones, Ser Roger couldn't help but nod at his fallen opponent.

"A good try, but I'll be taking this as a replacement." He muttered.

Looking around, Ser Roger realized that they had essentially won. Gragg Shorn had just managed to cleave into Big Tom Waters' shoulder with his axe, lopping off the man's arm and killing him. Meanwhile, Likely Luke had long since managed to gut Fat Pate Flowers and was leading a group of men alongside Ser Loras Lothston whose blade had taken Quick Robb Storm's head clean off at some point. Hellcat Margaery had switched to giving cover to others once she'd driven Mad Jon Waters off the field and several corpses were sporting fletched shafts growing from their bodies. Lucky Ned had cut Big Benn's Throat while Bronn had slain Golden Garth in a similar manner to how Ser Roger had killed Black Daeron, by parrying Garth's longsword with his blade before splitting the man's skull with his fighting knife. Scarred Hendry had been disarmed and surrendered to Young Bill Rivers after a long duel. Only Tamarro Tann was still fighting, sporting a nick on the side of his right arm where One-Eyed Pate's boarding axe had grazed him.

"Give it up, Tann! You're the last man standing on your side!" Insisted One-Eyed Pate.

"I will not yield to some sunset barbarian who has drawn my blood once already!" Retorted Tamarro Tann, accent betraying an origin somewhere in Myr or Tyrosh.

The pair continued to duel for some time, trading and dodging blows. Ser Roger felt it was a wasteful way to fight, personally. Both men preferred to dodge instead of parry and neither had the formal training to make such a style work, which inevitably led to a lot of wasted motion and expended effort that would only tire a man out in the long run. Pate was clearly better at it than Tamarro Tann was as well, which meant that it came as no surprise when Tann misjudged his timing on an attack and couldn't dodge out of the way of Pate's riposte in time. One-Eyed Pate's boarding axe cleaved into Tamarro Tann's elbow and cut off his right arm in a spray of blood. Tann fell back with a cry of pain and Pate pressed in, boarding axe streaking for Tann's head. Axe met skull in a crunch of bone and gore and the battle was over.

Effectively, they had decapitated four gangs and severely weakened a fifth. Bronn demanded they push on the Dragonpit immediately. Ser Roger was wounded enough to beg off, but he went along anyway. As it happened, Mad Jon Waters had made it back to the Dragonpit to organize the defense along with the person that Black Daeron had left in charge, a woman named Red Lysa who was apparently so-named for both her temper and her fiery red hair. Oddly enough, Ser Roger wound up dueling her with Lamentation in the fight.

They traded three blows before Lamentation cut through both of Red Lysa's blades in a single swordstroke. She had tried to parry a descending strike with both of her arming swords in a cross block only for Lamentation to shear through them both with a screech of tortured metal and knock her to the floor of the entrance to the Dragonpit from the force of Ser Roger's blow. He poised his blade to strike only for Red Lysa to throw her hands up.

"Yield, damn it! I yield!" She yelled out.

Ser Roger took her prisoner, and soon Bronn was storming past them into the wider Dragonpit after Mad Jon Waters and the remaining Drakespawn. The fighting only lasted another twenty minutes or so before Bronn caught up with Mad Jon and killed him after a brief duel between the two. The remaining members of the Drakespawn and associated gangs, seeing the writing on the wall, surrendered.

Ser Roger handed Red Lysa off to Bronn and he and Ser Loras Lothston headed first to the House Seawynd Townhouse to get patched up by Lord Seawynd's physician. Ser Loras was barely scratched, suffering a slight bruise on his chest where a blacksmith's hammer had struck him and the subsequent force had transferred through his arsenal steel and leather brigandine over mail to bruise his chest. Ser Roger was much worse hurt, his calf having been cut into by Lamentation. Lord Seawynd's Physician sewed him up and wrapped his calf in bandages soaked in the foul-smelling Bravoosi paste that Lord Seawynd had introduced. Ser Roger hated the smell, but couldn't deny it was effective in avoiding wounds turning foul. Once that was done, the pair made their way back to the Pavillions to find Lord Seawynd drinking with Sallhador Saan and Jalhabar Xho.

The rest, as they say, is history. . .

XXXX

Bronn was pretty fucking pleased with himself. Not only had they just decapitated the Drakespawn and taken over what was left of their gang and territory, but they'd also decapitated four other antagonistic gangs which'd now be easy pickings for them as they stormed into those gangs' territory over the next week or so. Honestly, by the time the next two weeks were up, Bronn expected every gang in Flea Bottom to be paying them tribute and vassalized.

Vizimir would be pleased as a pig in shite as well. This was step one of the Man's Master Fucking Plan for spreading his tendrils deep into the heart of King's Landing. And they'd accomplished it in such a short time. Who knew? Maybe Bronn'd get a castle and an actual title out of this whole thing once it was all over?

Snickering to himself and shaking his head, Bronn said, "Sure, and then all Seven Hells will freeze over and the Father will come down to bring World Fucking Peace."

After all, Bronn of all people knew that the reward for good work was more work, at least when Vizimir was involved. Still, he'd probably get a nice fat bonus come time to settle accounts for the month, and more coin was always a good thing in Bronn's book. After all, he'd had his eye on a lass from Bloodstone. Rolena was the daughter of Mizhan Zo Asni, who was a Ghiscari Spice Trader from Tolos who'd taken up residence on Bloodstone. Rolena was a dusky beauty and had a decent head on her shoulders to boot. More importantly, she came from a rich family.

Problem was, her father was a successful spice trader because his cousin owned a lot of plantations outside the city. She was used to having all sorts of posh shite. If Bronn wanted to court her, he needed coin to do so, which was where his bonus came in. Let the others spend theirs on whores and ale, Bronn was investing in his future here. He wouldn't mind marrying into a family with the kind of estates that Ghiscari plantation family owned, after all. He might even get one of those estates as a dowry. It wasn't a castle, but it was just as good in his view.

First, though, there was work to do in consolidating the gains made tonight. Nodding to himself, Bronn began to order around a group of armed men to try and bully them into a strike force. Once they were formed up, he'd start following up on their success tonight by taking the Foreign Horde's Territory in Shinbone Alley. Better to get a jump on that and get his bonus earlier. The sooner he started earning bonuses, the sooner he could begin wooing Rolena, after all.

And the sooner he could begin wooing Rolena, the sooner he could get one of those cushy estates her family owned. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here we see how the Drakespawn were taken out. I've been taking inspiration from certain IRL Nineteenth Century gangs in New York City for some of the Fleabottom Gangs. I don't know if you guys have noticed at all. Names like the Plug Uglies and Forty Thieves aren't exactly Westerosi in nature, after all.

But yeah, now, not only does Flea Bottom effectively belong to Vizimir's network, and House Seawynd by Extension, but Ser Roger now had Lamentation, a Valyrian Steel Sword along with working First Men Runes. At the same time, Bronn is scheming to use the bonus he's going to get from this to marry well and potentially get an estate out of it.

Mind you any estate he gains from the family of Ghiscari Spice trader is going to have to be one of the smaller ones by necessity. The Larger Ones are all Plantation Estates and thus worked by slaves. That's a nono for Westeros, after all. The smaller ones can have what slaves are attached replaced by Serfs. You can't really do that on a big plantation, though.

Anyway, next chapter we'll be back with Ricasso for the next part of the Tourney, along with seeing how the Lannisters react to his counteroffer for operations for crippling the Mountain.

Stay tuned. . .