Two weeks was far too long a time to spend in King's Landing. The entire city must be mad, for no one in their right mind could willingly choose to live in such a place. Perhaps it was different in the Red Keep, but Theon wouldn't know.
It made him wish for some of the ramshackle inns they'd stayed in on their journey. Theon never thought he'd long for those inns, let alone their small makeshift camps.
Theon and Jory had not traveled along the King's Road, which left very few inns along their path. The ones they found were modest, with only a handful of rooms to offer. Rooms that more often than not were filled with dust, with lumpy beds if they were lucky. The meals were no better. Theon preferred not to dwell on what exactly might have been in some of those stews. At least then, they'd had warm meals, even if the bread was stale half the time.
But smaller inns meant fewer travelers, and less of a chance they'd be recognized. When they didn't have the option of an inn, they'd find a place to make camp, if one could call it a camp. They carried no tents with them, only their bedrolls, and on those nights, Theon hardly slept. The ground was hard and cold, and even when it was Jory's watch, he couldn't sleep.
Flea Bottom must certainly be one of the Seven Hells. But then again, certainly no god would be so cruel as to subject a poor soul to an eternity in such a place. Theon doubted he'd ever rid himself of the filth that clung to his skin, or ever be free of the stench of piss and shit that lingered in his nostrils. He'd tried once to breathe through his mouth instead, to spare him the putrid smell, but hastily abandoned that endeavor when he found the taste of the city just as revolting.
As much as he tried to, one could not avoid the filth that lined the streets of Flea Bottom. Stepping around one pile of muck put you almost directly in another, or something worse if one was particularly unlucky. Theon resolved to burn his boots and trousers once he left the city; the moment he got his hands on another pair. No amount of washing could restore them, in his mind. He was certain the grime caked onto them was there to stay, as much a feature now as the fine embroidery and beadwork on his doublets in Winterfell.
If not for the stench which stung his eyes, Theon might have been in awe of the sheer scale of King's Landing. Even Flea Bottom felt more vast to him than Winter Town, what with the twisting and twining alley ways. Had he any desire to explore the slum, Theon was certain he would become lost, never to be found again. Theon still had no inkling how Jory led them through without becoming lost.
It wasn't as though there was anything to distinguish one road from another. The buildings all stretched upwards and slumped over the narrow roads; any further, and they'd collapse in on each other. They nearly touched as it was. The whorehouses and winksinks all blended together, and if they looked any different on the insides, Theon would never know.
Flea Bottom was far from the only slum in the city; gods knew there were plenty. They'd passed through some of them when they arrived. Theon wished Jory had picked one of those to hide away in. There were less unsavory characters in those parts of the city, and considerably less filth as well.
Though he was loath to admit it, Theon knew Jory was right to pick Flea Bottom. He could count on one hand the amount of Gold Cloaks or Lannister soldiers he'd seen in the slum since they arrived. They weren't well liked, by the looks of things, and they seemed to prefer staying away from the slum.
No one would recognize them in Flea Bottom, let alone pay them any mind. It wasn't so long ago that Jory was in King's Landing, after all. To hear Jory tell it, he'd become quite familiar with the guards in the Red Keep, even friendly with a few. Their journey would all be for naught, were they to be discovered so soon.
As it was, they hardly left their small hovel in Flea Bottom. Aside from leaving to devise a plan, they only left to replenish food stores. Even Jory would not brave the bowl's o'brown, the thought alone made Theon feel ill. He much preferred the simple bread and cheese Jory insisted they eat in an effort to save coin for the journey back.
It was Jory who found the small house they hid away in, and Theon didn't care enough to ask how he knew it was abandoned. House is a generous term. It was more a shack, and part of Theon felt they would have been just as well off on the street. There was no true floor to speak of, only hard packed dirt. Nor were there any true windows, even during the day they resorted to candles if they wanted anything brighter than what light the cracks and gaps in the wood allowed in.
A plain table sat pressed against one wall, and Theon was confident even he could have built something better than it. There were two tables, as well as two stools, and nothing else. No beds, no shelves, desks, or hearths, not even a chest to store their belongings, which remained bundled up in the packs they'd traveled south with. The pads they'd used for sleeping on the journey had, until that morning, been unfurled on opposite sides of the hovel with the table between them. Now they were packed away once more.
The hovel would be abandoned once more, if that night's plan went as they wished. If only we'd arrived but a moon earlier. There had been a riot as the royal procession sent to see Princess Myrcella off to Dorne returned to the Red Keep. It had been pure chaos, to hear the smallfolk tell it. They could have grabbed Sansa then amidst the tumult and been well out of the city before anyone was the wiser. They'd be halfway back to Robb by now, with Sansa safe.
She'll be safe soon enough. The longer they lingered in Flea Bottom trying to find a way into the Red Keep, the more antsy Theon grew. Each day that passed, Theon wondered what fresh horror Joffrey had subjected Sansa to. I'll give her that prick's head. He would see Sansa safe, then ride all the way back to King's Landing and take the bastard's head himself if he had to. He'd gift it to her on a gilded platter, if it pleased her.
I should never have let her go. He'd had half a mind to ask Lord Stark for her hand, before they departed from Winterfell. He hadn't done so, of course. It would have only resulted in humiliation for him. Why would Lord Stark ever agree to such a thing? He was a fool to entertain the thought in the first place. There were better matches to be made, alliances that no doubt Robb would consider once Sansa was free. Heirs to great northern keeps like Harrion Karstark, Gawen Glover, or even the bloody Smalljon. At least she'll be safe.
Theon liked those men. He'd ridden into battle with them. They're good men. That's all that matters, he admonished himself. Not the fact that she'd live in some northern keep far from wherever he'd end up. He had no land or keep to give her, heir to the Iron Islands though he was. Asha is father's preferred heir. He'll give me nothing.
Still, Theon lamented the fact he hadn't at least stolen one kiss from Sansa before she left. He almost had once before the King arrived, one morning in the small yard set aside for archery practice. Dawn had only just broken, and the castle still slept for the most part. Sansa had risen early that morning to practice with him, as she'd been busy helping Lady Stark ready Winterfell for their guests.
Theon remembered that morning as if it were only yesterday, instead of nearly a year past. He could still see the crimson tinge her cheeks had taken on when he stepped perhaps a bit closer than was proper to correct her hold on the bow. He could have kissed her then. All he would have had to do was tilt her head to the side, or step just in front of her. But he hadn't. And now I never will.
From his seat on one of the rickety stools in their hovel, Theon watched Jory clean a steel pauldron. He barely shifted his weight, and the stool shrieked below him. To Jory's right sat an assemblage of armor, two sets in total, already cleaned and ready to be worn.
Theon speculated that part of the reason the Gold Cloaks and Lannister guardsmen avoided Flea Bottom were the riots. Many had perished, and some of the smallfolk had been all too eager to spill blood. Their armor had been stripped from their corpses and either sold or hoarded away. It was not nearly as difficult as Theon and Jory anticipated it would be to track down bits of armor, and many were eager to give their pieces up when presented with a generous amount of gold coins. Slowly, they'd piecemeal'd together two full sets.
Perhaps they had missed their best chance with the riots, but if the gods were on their side, they'd have another chance that very night. Stannis Baratheon would storm the city that night, if the chatter they'd heard was true.
They had not been idle in the two weeks they'd been in Flea Bottom. During the day, before the curfew put in place after the riots, Theon and Jory mapped out escape routes. They watched the guards at the gates of the Red Keep from a distance, and sat in dark corners of inns and taverns closer to the keep and listened to the conversations of guardsmen and soldiers. Perhaps their plan was not the most sound, but it was the best they could come up with. All that remained was for Theon and Jory to find a way into the Red Keep.
Theon glanced over to the table, where a crudely drawn map of the Red Keep awaited. Lot of good it will do. There was no way of knowing where Sansa was being kept, or where exactly she would be.
"Are you nervous, lad?" Jory didn't tear his attention away from the steel pauldron as he spoke. He held it up into a beam of light and surveyed it with narrow eyes before rubbing at it some more.
I'm not nervous, Theon might have retorted. But he was frightened, and he would be better for it. What was it he'd told Robb, just before they left Winterfell? It means I'm not stupid. "Aye," Theon answered. "How do you mean to get us in?"
Jory cleared away the last bit of caked blood from the pauldron and set it to the side. "There was a postern gate near the armory. It was busy enough the last time I was here. I imagine it will be all the busier now." He grabbed the map off the table and neatly folded it. "I think that will be our best bet."
"Have you gone mad?" Theon gaped at him, and waited for Jory to tell him he was only japing, but he never did. "They'll never let us through."
They'll realize we're not one of them. They could pass as new recruits long enough to steal past the gates, perhaps. And even then, surely the guards didn't know every man in the gold cloaks. But if there are men guarding Sansa? Certainly they would think to question them.
"What did you think the armor was for, lad? I watched for a bit this morning. There's so many soldiers moving supplies down to the city walls they haven't the time to stop them all."
"It's too risky." If they were caught, they'd certainly be killed. They would fix their heads above the gates just as they had Lord Stark's. And then Sansa will have to await Robb.
"And what's your idea to get in?" Jory yanked his pack close to him, and began rifling through it. "There are passageways and tunnels. But even if I knew where one was, it would take us ages to find our way. Bran said the only reason he didn't become lost was Tommen, and even Tommen didn't venture too far."
Theon made a noise of displeasure, but Jory ignored him. "We can't very well scale the walls either. The Lannisters already did that during the Rebellion. They won't let the same thing happen to them." Jory found what he was digging for, and tossed his sack of gold coins onto the table with a thunk. "We'll leave our packs here, save for our gold. We'll have to be swift once we get her out of the keep. It won't be long before they notice she's missing."
Theon's mouth twisted, and he considered their packs. What other choice do we have? He reached for his own pack and was careful not to knock over the two bows, which leaned against it as he drew it closer.
Alongside his pack and his own bow rested the one he'd brought for Sansa. It was more slender than his, and perhaps not as powerful. Theon didn't think it capable of delivering a killing strike, but it was certainly enough to injure. She won't need to kill anyone. I'll do the killing.
"And are we just supposed to continue on foot?" Theon found his gold, and chucked it onto the table next to Jory's. "We won't get very far before they catch us." Even if they made it out of the city before Joffrey and Cersei noticed Sansa was missing, they would be fucked if they didn't have horses. It would take mounted men no time at all to catch up to them.
Jory shot him an exasperated frown. "Have you ever seen a city sacked, Theon? There will be riots tonight, and no part of this city will be untouched. There'll be plenty of stables on our way out. I don't like it, but I doubt we'll draw too much attention, grabbing some horses. We'll leave some coin, if we can."
Theon didn't like the idea of pilfering horses from some poor farmer, either. But he liked even less the idea of being ridden down by Joffrey's men.
He followed Jory's lead and readied his pack for a quick getaway, before sharpening his sword. He'd much rather his bow, but Theon hadn't seen any gold cloaks carrying a bow. It would do him no good to carry something which would draw attention. I'll leave it here, for now.
That evening, Jory and Theon set off towards the Red Keep. It felt as though the entire city held its breath. People flowed silently through the streets, and no one stopped to speak to one another or linger at the shops or merchant stalls. The ones that remained open, at least; most had already closed. Stalls that had been teeming with goods just the other day were now barren, and bakeries and smithies alike had drawn their shutters and barred their doors.
Down by the Mud Gate, peeking over the city walls, Theon could see the three great trebuchets that had been constructed. They'll need more than that, to hold back Stannis' fleet. Already, the first of Stannis' fleet dotted the horizon. They encroached up the Blackwater from Dragonstone, and Theon did not envy the men marching down to the gates.
They would be in for a long night, no doubt. Theon was counting on it. The longer they took, the longer he and Jory would have to spirit Sansa away.
The shadows had grown long in the fading light, and Jory and Theon found a place pressed up against a manse. From there, they had a clear view of the postern gate. Just as Jory said, men in Lannister raiment, golden cloaks, and other colors Theon did not recognize streamed in and out of the gates. They carried bundles of arrows, spare shields and swords, pots of pitch to be boiled and dumped on men brave enough to try to scale the walls; the guards stopped none of them. Even the men with their healms on weren't stopped.
Jory made to continue on to the gates, but Theon did not budge. "We can't waste anymore time," Jory said, but Theon still faltered. It can't be so simple.
The sound of drums reverberated from the bay, and the men moving in and out of the gates froze for a minute to listen before resuming with a heightened desperation. Jory's right. Theon nodded and followed Jory.
His helm fit snugly on his head, and he and Jory fell in behind a larger group of men. They did not follow too close, but close enough that it did not appear as though they traveled alone. It was not a far distance to the postern gate, but to Theon it may as well have been as far as Winterfell.
Theon kept his gaze trained straight ahead as he walked. Just a bit closer. He skipped to the side to avoid clashing with a gold cloak, who hurried down the street. Each step he took caused his heart to hammer harder in his chest.
What would he say if the guards stopped them? Would they believe their story, that they were naught but men who wished to serve the King? Slight though as it was, Theon did have a northern accent, and Jory's was even thicker. One of their first days in the city, a baker had commented on Jory's. They were lucky he took them for yet more refugees of the war, and the worst he'd done was grumble about the amount of them heading south.
A man in the group he followed peered behind him and shot Theon a queer look. Theon nodded, and the man gave a hesitant nod back. Is it my armor? It looked right to Theon, but what did he know? Jory had done his best to collect the pieces, but what if he'd been told wrong?
The gate loomed high overhead, and Theon held his breath. Their pace slowed, and he was careful to not make eye contact with the men posted. Each step sent a shock of fear up his spine, and he was nearly certain the guards would cut him down as he passed.
But they didn't, and Theon slowly exhaled as they walked right into the outer yard of the Red Keep.
The rumbling of drums had grown louder and the haze of dusk settled over the city. From the Red Keep, Theon could see the three large trebuchets all the more clear, as well as the fires which dotted the gates lining the Blackwater.
Theon followed Jory, who in turn continued to follow the stream of men past the castle smith and into the middle bailey. The group of men veered towards the armory, and still they followed. Though at the last moment, Jory grabbed Theon by the arm and they tore away from the group. Jory led them through a servant's entrance into a dimly lit hallway of the Red Keep.
Finally past the guards and in the keep, Theon felt as though he could breathe comfortably once more. His jaw unclenched and his shoulders eased, and Jory slowed his pace.
"If we're separated, we meet outside the Iron Gate."
"Aye, the Iron Gate," Theon said mindlessly. He did his best to remember the turns Jory led them through, but soon they all jumbled together. "And what if Joffrey's already sent men after us?"
Footsteps echoed from around the corner and Jory threw an arm out to stop Theon. They pushed against the corner and waited for the men to pass. Their footsteps faded, and Jory and Theon continued. "There's an inn a day's ride north, past Hayford Castle. If the Iron Gate is no good, we'll meet there."
Jory led them over a drawbridge with a dry moat of spikes beneath it. Theon could hear the sounds of battle all the way from the Red Keep, and the sky glowed. It's not the sky, it's the water that burns! Theon stopped in the middle of the bridge. "Fuck me."
At Theon's curse, Jory stopped as well. The entire bay was aflame, a sickly green flame that swallowed ship after ship with a voracity the likes of which Theon had never seen. "Wildfire," Jory declared in disbelief.
Where did they get so much bloody wildfire? The sight of the ships burning and the screaming of men carried by the wind made Theon feel ill. What was it his Uncle Victarion said? Piss on wildfire, and your cock burns off.
"Come," Jory said with a tug on his shoulder.
Green fingers scratched at the sky, and the fire grew. They left the screams of the bay behind and continued on into Maegor's Holdfast. Towards Sansa.