From above the city of King's Landing looked like a square drawn by a dim toddler. In the northeast corner of this irregular square sat the massive Red Keep. The Dragonpit wasn't exactly in the northwest corner of the square, but it was in that general area.

Lying between the Dragonpit and the Red Keep were two very different neighborhoods. One was the slum of Flea Bottom, which was now a stronghold of Lord Crabbe's Bludgers. The other neighborhood was full of leafy streets and grand mansions. It made sense for the rich to flock there: they were close to both the cool breezes of the Blackwater Bay and the political power of the Red Keep. Expanding towards that exclusive area of the city would be a bad idea politically, at least for now.

So Vincent had to turn his eyes elsewhere. The southern half of King's Landing was cut (roughly) in half by the Great Sept of Baelor, which sat atop Visenya's Hill. Getting too close to the Great Sept this early in the game would almost be as bad as getting too close to the Red Keep. That meant that if the Bludgers were going to expand their influence, the southwest corner of the city was their next logical target.

Unfortunately the other gang leaders could figure that out as well.

Up until now the Bludgers' string of victories were built on assassinations. Vincent would use his magic to strike at night without any warning. That was how he dealt with the Shadow Rangers, the Warrior's Orphans, and the Street of Flour Furies. With their leaders massacred, the foot soldiers of these gangs either fled or joined the Bludgers.

The leaders of the Silk Swords, the Smith's Hammers, the Copper Axes, and the Crone's Black Cats knew they were his next targets. In desperation they formed a temporary alliance with one goal in mind: to kill that fat bastard Lord Crabbe before he could kill all of them.

Their tactics were clever too. Since they believed Lord Crabbe was nothing more than a sneaky assassin, they assembled an army to kill him. The four gangs gathered their forces together in Clobbers' Square one night, and dared their cowardly enemy to attack.

"Why won't Lord Crabbe come out and fight us? Is he scared?" they jeered for hours on that first night.

Or so Bronn claimed. His top minion seemed to enjoy giving his intelligence report a bit too much. "They think you're afraid of anyone who can hit back. They're calling you a namby-pamby boy. They say you're a milksop who runs home every morning so you can suck on your fat momma's tits. They also calling you a..."

"I get the idea!" Vincent roared. This public humiliation was more than a proud Slytherin like him could bear. "Heather, cancel all my appointments for the next week. I have some real work to do."

Up until now, Vincent had neglected the Bludgers for the most part so he could focus on healing rich women and building his first copper still inside the Dragonpit. After all, his minions knew how to terrorize and extort the stupid muggles of King's Landing far better than he did.

But open warfare… that was a different story.

Vincent quickly made his way down to the deepest basement of the Dragonpit. Down there in the dark—hidden behind a thick iron door covered with nasty wards—was his new treasure vault. He grabbed four bags full of gold coins and tossed them at Bronn. His new career as a healer was proving to be a lucrative one. If only Greg could see him now.

"Have the Bludgers start buying leather jerkins, trousers, gloves, boots, and helmets. Enough for each man to have a complete set. And the more skin the leather covers, the better. Especially the helmets."

"Plain old leather won't be of much use in…"

That was as far as Bronn got, because Vincent decided it was the perfect moment to introduce him to the Cruciatus Curse. It lasted for only a second, but that second was the longest in Bronn's life. It was more than enough to get his undivided attention and ensure his future obedience.

"There are times when you can question my orders. This is not one of them. I also need a few hundred bats. The size and shape aren't important, but make sure they're made out of solid wood," Vincent said before tossing another bag of gold coins at his minion, who was still lying on the ground, moaning. "And get yourself a new sword while you're out shopping."

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After six days of exhausting work they were finally ready for their enemies. On the seventh day Vincent slept like the dead until sunset. Then on the seventh night Lord Crabbe's Bludgers marched out of the Dragonpit looking almost like a respectable army. Their mismatched clothes could pass for uniforms, since everything they wore was made out of cheap leather. Their banner held Vincent's new sigil: a fierce black crab on a field of green. The Bludgers were passing around jugs of fresh moonshine and shouting their Lord's new words—"Fear Our Claws"—as they marched south through the dark and narrow streets of King's Landing.

They were a confident bunch, but they had good reason to be.

The Battle of Clobbers' Square soon began, and it was completely devoid of any tactics. Once the Bludgers came into view, the members of the "Kill Lord Crabbe" alliance charged. The two armies smashed together like two glops of liquid, and quickly form a single mass at the northern end of the Square.

Despite the chaos, Vincent wasn't worried. No, he was thrilled. This was just like being a Beater in a Quidditch match back home. But instead of smashing an iron Bludger, he was smashing muggle skulls.

Like any Beater worth his salt, Vincent knew all the various protective charms used in modern Quidditch. There was no telling when an opponent might strip those charms off your uniform during a match to secure an advantage. Slytherins had be able to recast those charms on the fly before they were allowed to join the house team. It was a precaution Snape insisted upon to protect his pureblood students.

As a result the leather worn by the Bludgers that night was as strong as the best plate armor, but weighed only a fraction as much. The other gangs attacked with swords and axes and daggers, but to their surprise none of their weapons could penetrate this strange new leather. In desperation their enemies began aiming for exposed areas like the face and forearms and ankles, but it took time to make those adjustments.

It was time they didn't have, because the Bludgers were on the offensive with their new Beater bats. Those bats were seen as a weakness at first glance. A hunk of wood can do damage in a fight, but not nearly as much as a bladed weapon. Luckily for the Bludgers their new magically-enhanced bats were strong enough to break rocks despite their light weight. The old shields and piecemeal armor used by the other gangs were smashed to pieces with a single blow. And what these bats did to an unprotected human body was devastating.

However his best move had been the jugs of moonshine. Fresh out the new copper still, the alcohol content was so high you could light it on fire. The Bludgers loved the stuff, and it did wonders for their fighting spirit.

Vincent made his way to the center of the battle. He wasn't even tempted to use his dragon bone wand. Instead he had a long bat in each hand, and every swing of this arms sent another muggle crumpling to the ground.

"No prisoners!" he yelled over and over. "No prisoners!"

"Fear Our Claws!" his Bludgers added. "Fear Our Claws!"

The Battle of Clobbers' Square took less than twenty minutes from start to finish, and it was massacre. Vincent knew that if he wiped out the the Silk Swords, the Smith's Hammers, the Copper Axes, and the Crone's Black Cats in single night the south side of King's Landing would fall into his lap. And it did. No other gang leader in their right mind wanted to face the Bludgers now.

"Orders?" Bronn asked when it was all over. His new steel sword was a thing of beauty, and it was covered with fresh blood from the point to the hilt.

Vincent drew his wand and discreetly cast a Thunder and Lighting Hex. That was a sign for the wagons to move forward from the side streets. "Strip the bodies and keep any gold you can find," he finally shouted, which earned him loud cheers from the surviving Bludgers. "Load our wounded on the wagons flying my banner, and pile the dead on the other ones. I want to be out of here and back at the Dragonpit before sunrise."

Heather was sitting in largest of the Bludgers' wagons, and she flew into his arms when he climbed up the small ladder. "That was incredible, Lord Crabbe. You slaughtered those sad weaklings."

"Yeah, I sure did," Vincent said as he ran his hands over her silk-covered arse. "Did you bring the blindfolds like I asked?"

"Yes, my Lord. Are you ready to start?"

Healing the wounded (and blindfolded) Bludgers in the back of those wagons was in some ways more important than winning the battle out in Clobbers' Square. Vincent's knowledge of healing spells strictly limited. For instance he never attempted to fix Heather's crossed eyes, since he was afraid he might accidently blind her. However with all these wounded men—most of whom were dying—he could test how far his magic could go.

Not far at all, he quickly discovered as he moved from wagon to wagon.

Cleaning up infections and replacing smashed teeth? Those were his specialties, but he already knew that.

Healing the damage caused by swords and daggers was simple enough—even the deepest cuts that went down to the bone.

Fixing the bones themselves? That was more complicated. If a break was clean, he could usually fuse the two halves back together. If a break caused the bone to fragment into several pieces, Vincent's attempts at healing were a toss of the dice. Some of the Bludgers regained full use of their legs or arms, while others were left with useless limbs.

But a stab wound to the heart? That particular Bludger (who lost his leather jerkin sometime during the battle) died screaming when Vincent tried casting his most advanced healing spell. The same thing happened when he tried to heal a stab wound to another man's belly.

And healing a head injury of any kind? His spells caused nothing but violent seizures and gushing nosebleeds. All four of the Bludgers he tried to save that night died less than a minute after he spoke his incantations.

It was a sobering experience for the young wizard, but Heather thought he was being a fool. "You saved over half of the wounded men, and they'll be back at work by tomorrow. Your magic is a thousand time better than what those stupid Maesters can do, and don't you think otherwise."

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Vincent tried to open his eyes, but they weren't cooperating. He had hangovers before, but this was ridiculous. How many jugs of moonshine did he finish off when they reached the Dragonpit? And why wasn't he in his soft bed anymore?

"Boy, can you hear me?"

Yes, he bloody well could, and that commanding voice was just enough to motivate his lazy eyes.

"For the love of Merlin's slimy snot," Vincent muttered as he looked around.

He was right back where he started: in that tiny forest in the middle of the Red Keep. At least he wasn't naked this time, and his wand was still in his back pocket. Unfortunately he was shackled to a huge oak tree with several heavy chains. And around the perimeter of the tiny forest were a hundred Gold Cloaks holding crossbows—all of which were pointed directly at him.

That meant his chances of escaping the Red Keep again were nil.

Panic gripped Vincent, and for a moment he seriously considered Apparition. It was the only form of magical transportation he could use. He once saw Lucius Malfoy make a portkey, but he had no idea how to do it himself. Setting up a Floo Network took years of work, and NEWTs in both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. A racing broom would be a wonderful tool to have this far back in the past, except you needed NEWTs in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Charms to build one.

That left Apparition as his only option, and Apparition meant the possibility of splinching. Vincent had lost both of his arms and legs (and one of his testicles) to splinching accidents during the past few years, and prospect of it happening again scared the shite out of him. Without a trained healer could he reattach a missing limb by himself, or would he just bleed to death?

"I know you're awake boy, so look at me."

Somehow Vincent managed to get his panic under controlled. He turned to study the muggles who had captured him with such easy. Three men were sitting on the long marble bench in front of him. The one in the center was clearly a soldier, but an old and feeble one. At his side sat two fat men. Well, the bald one wearing the purple robes was only sort of fat. The one wearing the brown robes (and a glass hat of all things) was really fat. Vincent saw his future self sitting there on that bench, and he didn't like it one bit. He doubted that Heather would like it much either.

"Yes, I'm awake," he finally answered. Vincent tried to think of what Snape would do in a situation like this. To his mind the Headmaster was the ultimate Slytherin, and he always knew what to say. Then it came to him. "You haven't killed me yet, so you must want something from me."

"What we want is answers," the old soldier said. "I am Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. They tell me you are a warlock. We don't much like warlocks or their foul magic here in Westeros."

"Actually I'm a wizard, if that helps matters any."

"It does not. Especially when your magic involves claiming the virtue of our honorable young ladies."

Vincent thought about that statement for a moment before replying. "I don't know what you've been told, but my magic doesn't depend on the blood of virgins—not that any of those women were virgins by the way. That was just some harmless fun we had afterwards."

"Liar!" the bald one in the purple robes hissed. "Magic is impossible without the sacrifice of blood. I know that for a fact."

"Piss off, muggle. You don't know anything about magic."

"Perhaps, but I do know that you're a complete imbecile. There are hundreds of castles and temples scattered across Westeros, but only here in King's Landing can you find a structure like the Dragonpit. It is famous throughout the entire world. Yet you claimed it for yourself and for your new cult. Thanks to your arrogance everyone of importance in city knows who and exactly what you are."

"Eunuch, that's enough of your bile," an annoyed Lord Arryn said.

"You have to understand that a warlock once cut off Varys' cock and balls, so he hates your kind," the really fat one in the brown robes added. "But that doesn't make him wrong. So wizard, is there any compelling reason shouldn't we have you killed today?"

"Killed? Am I on trial or something?"

"Yes, you are," Varys said. "And if we—your three judges—give the word, the Gold Cloaks will fill your accursed hide full of crossbow bolts."

"What am I on trial for?" Vincent asked, stalling for time.

"High Septon, read out the charges," Lord Arryn commanded.

The really fat one reached for a scroll at his side, and began reading: "You are charged with blasphemy for entering the Godswood while naked. You are charged with escaping from the dungeons of the Red Keep. You are charged with murdering a member of the City Watch, and with stealing his armor. You are charged with personally murdering no less than ten loyal subjects of the Crownlands. You are charged with instigating a riot last night in the middle of Cobbler's Square which resulted in the death of two hundred and six loyal subjects of the Crownlands. You are charged with impersonating a member of the high nobility, which involves the violation of several clauses of the King's Law including but not limited to..."

The grin on Varys' face kept growing as the charges piled up. Vincent really wanted to kill the bastard, but he had to focus. This whole trial smelled wrong. These muggles knew he was a wizard, but they didn't know what he was capable of when provoked. The Gold Cloaks hadn't even confiscated his wand or his other belongings.

The smart move would've been to cut my throat while I was sleeping, Vincent thought. That's how I would have done it.

"How do you plead?" Lord Arryn asked when High Septon was done.

Tell the truth or lie? Definitely lie. "Not guilty."

Varys rolled his beady little eyes before turning to face the other judges. "You have both seen the evidence I've gathered. We are all busy men, so let us put an end to this farce. I vote guilty."

The High Septon shrugged his shoulders. "Guilty, I suppose."

"Guilty," Lord Arryn added. "Do you wish to take the black?"

Then the old soldier did something odd: he grabbed his chin with one hand and moved his jaw up and down. When his mouth was opened Vincent got his first clear view of the man's teeth and saw that over half of them were missing. After that the two locked eyes for a moment.

Vincent was no genius, but even he could recognize a message when he saw one. He looked around at the Gold Cloaks with their crossbows, and then at the eunuch who clearly wanted him dead. Should he go with his instincts and trust this muggle Lord Arryn, or should he try a risky Apparition?

"I really must protest," Varys said. "We can not allow this monstrous abomination to escape justice by joining the…"

That sealed it. "I will take the black."

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An hour later he had a visitor to his new cell in the dungeons: Lord Arryn. It didn't happen often, but there were times when Vincent thought the Sorting Hat made the right choice when it placed him in Slytherin.

"You do want something from me after all."

The muggle ignored his question and started asking his own. "None of the Gold Cloaks saw you enter the Red Keep, so how do you reach the Godswood? We couldn't find your clothes either—where are they?"

Again Vincent thought about escaping, but he knew a dozen crossbow bolts were waiting for him outside that cell door. He decided to play along until a better opportunity presented itself. "I don't know how I got there. I was taking part in a great battle far away from King's Landing, and I almost died. But then I suddenly found myself in Godswood, as you call it. Without any clothes."

"Ned was right all those years ago," Lord Arryn whispered to himself. "The Old Gods didn't abandon us. We abandoned them."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't have time to explain. Tell me the truth: is your magic real?"

"You want me to fix your teeth," Vincent guessed. If that was the price of getting out of this dungeon without a fight, he would gladly pay it.

"So the witnesses Varys found and brought before us weren't lying. Yes, I want you to fix my teeth, among other things."

The procedure went off without a hitch. After Lord Arryn inspected his new teeth, Vincent was expecting a thank you. Instead the old soldier unbuckled his belt and dropped his fine trousers. He was suffering under the Curse of Morgan Le Fay, and he was suffering badly if those oozing red sores were anything to go by.

"Let's just wait a second," Vincent yelled as he backed away to the far side of the cell. "You hinted that I should take the black. What does that mean?"

"Restore my manhood to health, and I will tell you."

"No, you'll tell me now, or I going to hurt you. Badly."

"If I die here you will never leave the Red Keep alive, let alone King's Landing. Trust me, Varys will see to that."

"Fuck the eunuch," Vincent snarled. "Now for the love of Merlin would you please cover up, and tell me what's going on."

"Very well," Lord Arryn said as he finally pull up his trousers. "The tale the High Septon spoke of is true. Varys did lose his manhood to a warlock when was just a child, and as a result his hatred of magic knows no limits. As the Master of Whisperers he has spies everywhere, and he knows how to hire the best cut-throats. Varys wanted to have you killed back at the Dragonpit, but I insisted on capturing you so we could have a formal trial. It was the only way I could think of to keep you alive."

"Because you need me to lift Curse on your... manhood?"

"Several ladies of the court claim you possess this strange healing power, and I have need of it. As does my wife. Despite our long years of marriage, I still have no legitimate heir. That is why the Old Gods sent you to me. I can see that clearly now."

A proud father desperate for an heir. As a pureblood Vincent could understand that kind of motivation, and he could use it as leverage. "How do I know you won't just kill me once I've cured you and your wife of the Curse? What kind of guarantees are you offering me?"

"You have my word of honor, which is all the guarantee you need," Lord Arryn snapped. "We must get you beyond Varys' reach as soon as possible, but that will take some doing. The eunuch is originally from Essos, so he has many spies in the Free Cities and in Slaver's Bay. Your best option would be the far North, where the Old Gods are still worshipped. That is why I wanted you to take the black."

"I still have no idea what "taking the black" means," Vincent growled.

Lord Arryn smiled for the first time. "Forgive me, but it's difficult to imagine a man could be ignorant of the Wall. To take the black means to join the Night's Watch. The brothers of the..."

The more Vincent heard about the Night's Watch, the less he liked it. Living right next to giant wall of ice in the middle of a frozen wasteland? And no wives or children? That alone was a deal-breaker. "Sorry, but I have no intention of joining this Night's Watch of ours. How about I just killed Varys instead. You don't seem to like him anymore than I do."

"I do despise the eunuch, but the Realm can't afford to lose such a skillful Master of Whisperers. Not with the Iron Islands in full rebellion. No, Varys must remain where he is for now, and it is you who must leave King's Landing if you wish to remain alive."

Vincent knew a bluff when he heard one. This muggle would gladly see the whole Realm burn if that was the price of gaining an heir, especially at his age. "If you want my help, certain conditions will have to be met. One, Varys dies. Two, my recent conviction must be overturned. Three, have the Crown sign over legal ownership of the Dragonpit to me personally. If you want a healthy heir, none of those conditions are negotiable."

Lord Arryn responded by drawing his sword. "How dare you issue demands to the Hand of the King, you impudent cur."

"You're wasting time," Vincent said in a bored voice. He held all the high cards, and it was only a matter of time until this fool realized it too.

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It wasn't fair, the wizard thought. Add a stone or two (or three) to a man, and he automatically becomes fat. Add a stone or two to a woman, and she becomes voluptuous. And real men love voluptuous women.

"Stop staring at me and get on with it," the naked Lysa Arryn snarled as he continued with his less-than-professional examination. The muggle woman was a lush mellon, but her personality was sour to the core.

A few minutes later he had restored both the Lord and Lady to perfect reproductive health. "Remember: I've lifted the Curse, but it can return again if either of you shags another infected person."

Lady Arryn gave Vincent a calculated looked as she continued to button-up her blue dress. Of course Lord Arryn chose to take offence like a doltish Gryffindor. "Are you questioning the honor of my wife?"

"No, I'm just offering you some advice."

"Do you have any other advice for us?" Lady Arryn asked.

If there was one subject that fascinated all pureblood witches, it was pregnancy. Miscarriages and infertility were depressing common among the older families, so they were always eager to hear about the latest medical advances—even if those advances came from the muggles. As a child Vincent had overheard countless conversations between his mother and her friends about prenatal healthcare.

"Don't drink any wine or mead until after your child is born," he offered.

"Are you being serious?"

"Yes, and that goes for your husband too. You should be shagging at least two or three times a day in the weeks between your monthlies, and it's almost impossible for a man his age to get it up while drunk."

Lord Arryn sputtered in embarrassment, a fact which seemed to amuse his wife. "Tell me more, wizard. If I can't drink wine, then what can I drink?"

"Stick to water that's been boiled for at least several minutes."

"Boiled water?" Lady Arryn whined.

"Do you want a healthy heir or not? Because if you do, you're going to have make certain sacrifices. If drinking safe water is too hard for you, you can always add freshly-squeezed juice from a lemon. And sugar. Lots and lots of sugar. It's called lemonade, and I'm sure you'll like it."

"It might be a little hard to find sugar in King's Landing, with your gang of ruffians stealing it all," Lord Arryn complained.

"Then import some more from the south," Vincent said—that way there would be more for the Bludgers to steal. "Now where was I before you interrupted me? Oh yes, drinks. Stay away from herbal tea and milk. In fact the local milk is full of terrible bugs, so avoid cheese and butter altogether. Well-cooked fish and meat is fine, especially the kidneys. Eating a wide variety of clean fruit and vegetables is essential for good health, but that's true for everyone, not just expecting mothers."

"I don't like vegetables," Lady Arryn whined again.

"Of course you don't, since the stupid cooks here in King's Landing boil them into tasteless mush. The key is to steam them."

"How exactly do you steam a vegetable?"

"Take a pot of boiling water and place a metal grate on top of it. You put the vegetables on the grate, and the hot steam rising from the boiling water slowly cooks them. That way you get tender broccoli and carrots that taste great, instead of green and orange mush you won't feed to a dog. You know what else is important: exercise."

The muggles looked confused by that word. "What is exercise?" Lady Arryn asked.

Vincent scratched his short hair. "You know, going outdoors and doing… stuff. Running around until you've worked up a good sweat. Don't your soldiers do things like that when they're training?"

"I am not a soldier. What about horseback riding?"

"No horseback riding for an expectant mother. That would be a bad idea. Why don't you try walking around the Red Keep for an hour each day."

"Walking around? Doing what?"

"I don't know. Have your handmaidens walk with you, and... "

"Crabbe, are you quite done organizing my wife's diet and social calendar?" Lord Arryn snapped. "You might be safe here in the Tower of the Hand for the moment, but Varys and his spies are still waiting for you out there in the city. He will have you killed the first chance he gets."

Vincent figured the muggle would try to worm his way out their recent agreement. After all, it had been made under duress. "Just tell me where the eunuch is, and he'll be dead soon enough."

"Varys is too valuable…"

"Petyr would make an excellent Master of Whisperers," Lady Arryn offered. "I have told you this before. He is brilliant enough for job, and House Baelish has sworn allegiance to House Arryn for over eighty years. Wouldn't it be nice to have someone on the Small Council you can trust? Someone who can faithfully carry out your orders without question or complaint."

"He might be capable…"

"Petyr is capable—there is no question of that. This wizard is offering you a chance to be rid of that slimy eunuch and strengthen your position on the Small Council at the same time. I say we take it."

"Killing Varys won't solve all your problems," Lord Arryn argued. "The High Septon might not care whether you live or die, but the Faith of the Seven has always frown upon magic and those who yield it."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "I seen the High Septon's type before. As long as I keep the gold flowing into his pocket, we'll remain the best of friends."

"What about the Gold Cloaks? You killed of one of their men during your escape from the Red Keep. They aren't likely to forget that."

"From what I've heard, the Gold Cloaks are even more eager to take bribes than the High Septon. We will come to an acceptable arrangement soon enough."

Lady Arryn gave him a perfect aristocratic sneer that would have made Daphne Greengrass jealous. "Tell me wizard, where are you going to get the gold to pay for all these new friends of yours? Will you conjure it out of thin air like the old stories claim?"

"Yeah, something like that."

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Author's Note: Why didn't Vincent demand a trial by combat? That option is only available to nobles. For mere commoners the legal system of Westeros is nasty, brutish, and short.