Ser Mandon Moore was oiling his longsword when Loren entered the white sword tower. The knight was by the fire in the spartan common room and stood at Loren's entry, raising the blade still dripping oil. "This is not your place." He said quietly.
"I am looking for my brother." Loren replied, not answering ser Mandon's question. Mandon stepped forward, his pale face giving nothing away. Loren glanced at the sword, which remained pointed at him. Loren was armoured, Ser Mandon was not, and that was the only thing that gave him pause. He had seen Mandon fight in the Battle of Blackwater, casting Stannis' men from the walls and cutting them apart. Loren knew if Mandon and he were to fight equally, the kingsguard would win.
Ser Mandon kept the blade levelled for several moments, then sat back down and returned to his sword. "The Lord Commander's apartments are on the top floor."
Loren thanked ser Mandon and made his way up to the fourth floor. On the third floor he passed the cell of ser Arys Oakheart. The knight was sleeping, having been watching the king the night before. He was facing away from the door, probably to keep as much light as possible out of his eyes. We need to fill the last spot on the Kingsguard. Ser Arys was asleep, but even ser Balon, usually so alert, had dark shadows under his eyes when Loren passed him that morning. He knocked quietly on the door to the lord commander's quarters.
"Ser Jaime." Nothing. "Brother," he knocked again. When there was no reply on his third attempt he opened the door and stepped inside. "Jaime I-" Loren stopped. The room was empty. The bed was made and unslept in. The armour stand was bare, the curtains were pulled across. There was a parchment on the table, but the writing was so poor that Loren couldn't read it. Given that Jaime was now writing with his off-hand, that was to be expected. It seemed to be a list, some items on it crossed, others ticked.
He didn't have time for this. He returned to the common room on the ground floor and asked ser Mandon for Jaime's presence, annoyed that the knight had sent him to the top floor for nothing. But when he asked again, ser Mandon repeated that Jaime's apartments were on the top floor.
"I know, ser, but he isn't in them."
That got a twitch on Mandon's usually dead face. "We were not informed," he replied finally.
"Do you know where he is?"
"The Lord Commander has many responsibilities."
He considered rousing ser Arys to ask him, but they needed the Kingsguard at their best, and Arys needed his rest. "In that case I need you, ser Mandon. Don your armour again and meet me in the courtyard."
Mandon got to his feet, picking up a cloth to wipe the oil from his blade. "At once."
On the battlements of the Red Keep, Loren looked out towards the dragonpit.
The capital had been preparing for roving mobs of fanatics, but there had been no mobs, no rampaging peasants with pitchforks and torches. They had come as pilgrims, with only the bones of holy men, and the occasional axe or makeshift spear to fend of bandits, and they came in clutches of a dozen or two. The first group had been led by a man with no hands, who had come to pray at the great sept, and the guards had taken pity on him. Before long it was too late, and the mobs were in the city. They had camped around the Great Sept and they came with bones. The bones of holy men they claimed, and they were laying their tribute at the feet of the statue of Baelor the Blessed. Aly had gone to the Great Sept yesterday to continue courting the Most Devout before, and claimed that the bones were to Baelor's waist.
Loren had prayed that they would pay their bone tax, maybe make some demands and then go. But now they were determined to wait for a new High Septon to bless them first, and to ask for justice and protection from the crown on their behalf.
And then the bleeding boy on the bleeding horse had cantered into the Red Keep.
He was Harold Gaunt, the six-year-old heir to lord Elyas and lady Rosette Gaunt. The family had been swarmed while riding through the city. Little Harry had been sat in front of his father when they had been swarmed by the mob. His mother and father had been dragged from their horses, leaving terrified little Harry clutching the reins. "Mother told me to ride," he whispered as Margaery attempted to console the boy. "We were just looking for winter clothes… I don't have any…" He had broken into tears. Loren was impressed that Harry had kept a grip on his father's horse which was far too big for him, all the way back to the Red Keep. Margaery took the boy away, and Cersei gave the order that the gold coaks recover Elyas and Rosette, but Commander Bywater had returned to report that they had been taken to the Dragonpit and surrounded by more than three thousand holy men, who refused to return them unless the crown swears to rebuild the septs that had been burned and protect them from their enemies.
Cersei demanded to know why Jacelyn hadn't attacked and scattered the mob, he stammered. "There are three thousand of them… your grace." She had demoted him on the spot and sent him back to his old command. Loren thought that Jacelyn had been lucky to escape with his life, given Cersei's rage. But he wished that Jaceyn was still commander. He had served well since he had replaced Janos Slynt. Worse Cersei had replaced him with a man Loren didn't know called Rennifer Blacke. The Hand had proposed his brother, but Cersei put an end to that suggestion and so Rennifer, a hard brute of a man, was in charge of the gold cloaks.
But the gold cloaks couldn't attack the Dragonpit without abandoning their positions throughout the rest of the city. "You are the King's Marshall, Loren." Cersei had pointed out and Lord Mace had proclaimed his surety that Loren would quickly dispense with the problem.
And so Loren led fifty knights and a hundred and fifty men at arms in full plate to the Dragonpit, with Mandon Moore at his side to show he was marching under the King's authority.
They rode down King's Street and turned towards the Dragon Pit at the Guildhall of the Alchemists, where they were joined by three hundred gold cloaks under their new commander. They rode up the street of sisters, with the ruins of Flea Bottom on their right, filled with propups and tents and makeshift hovels. The occupants watched Loren's company warily. One couple in rags, cooking a rat over a small fire abandoned their food, the mother snatching up their child and taking him inside their tent.
They would need to start rebuilding Flea Bottom soon. Once the war was over he could see to this. If the crown refused he would bring gold from Casterly Rock and see built anew. Buildings of brick and slate roofs, with proper inns and taverns to replace the old winesinks and potshops. There would be a post for the goldcloaks to maintain order and proper workshops, leatherworkers, tanneries, butchers, haberdasheries and tailors…
The men and women around the Dragonpit hill did not quiver when he arrived. They clutched their weapons, spears, hatchets, hammers and less, sharpened sticks and stones. Shields were planks of wood. Some had the look of soldiers, broken men from the war, turned to a new purpose it seemed. They blocked the path leading up to the dragonpit, where they were holding lord and lady Gaunt.
"Clear the road in the name of the king," Loren commanded.
"If the king wishes to command us to move, he can come himself." He didn't see he speaker, but a different one spoke next. "The king will hear our demands!" and then more. "We demand the protection of the king! Justice! Justice!"
"You have taken a noble family hostage against all the laws of the realm. In his mercy, the king and his council will forgive this if they are released immediately." He said.
"The council whisper's poison in the king's ear! They corrupt the king and the realm!"
"The Seven know it true!"
More calls for justice, for the gods to deliver King Tommen from his councillors. If they were calling to deliver him from his mother, I would be with them. But when someone took up the name Shireen as his cry, Loren knew he had to put a stop to it and with one hand gestured to his side. Rennifer Blacke stepped forward and raised a horn to his lips.
He blew until he was out of breath and the calls were silenced. Loren swung himself down from his horse.
He approached the crowd. "I will give you one last chance, stand aside and stand down, or we will cut through you."
"Your swords will blunt before the sparrows fall."
"Sparrows?"
"We are the sparrows. As the sparrows are the most humble and common of birds, we are the most humble and common of men." The man who said so did so with pride.
"If you are sparrows, then fly, and clear the road."
They refused, calling again for the King's justice and protection. Loren asked from whence they came and they listed a hundred villages and septries and holdfasts across the crownlands and the Reach. "Then the war is over, the protection you seek is achieved, the war only continues in the Stormlands now."
But still, they complained. One spoke of how his village was in the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, the Riverlands, yet it had still been burned four times in the war. Another spoke of how his town now lay on the new border with the North, and would burn as soon as the next war began. Being in the heart of the kingdoms, away from pirates and raiders, it's holdfast, once a chapterhouse of the old Faith Militant, was gone decrepit and offered no refuge. All issues that needed to be resolved. "I will take your concerns to the king, but you must return the Gaunts."
"The king can come here. You lordships have failed us, we would hear it from his mouth." They cried. "The king, bring us the king!" And Loren knew his entreaties would come to nothing.
He turned and marched back to his men, signalling for them to dismount. The path up to the Dragonpit was steep and irregular. Crowded with these so-called 'sparrows', he wouldn't want to charge up them on horseback. The pit itself was no fortress, only an old and ruined stable for beasts long dead. No doubt the Targaryens kept it in hope that the dragons would return, and Robert… well who could say, did he keep it as a monument to his conquest of the old dynasty, or did he simply not care. Regardless, it was abandoned now, the haunt of whores and mummers rather than knights and bowmen. Cersei had raged like a furnace when they had been told the pit was taken, but in truth, the sparrows had just walked in. With luck, they would just walk out again.
"Are we to attack, my lord?" ser Larence asked.
"Yes," he replied. "This is an act of defiance against the king, we cannot coddle it, if they will not scatter, then we will scatter them." And kill those who won't.
He put on his helm before drawing his sword. Those stones would soon be flying, and a stone to the head could kill him, knight or not.
His knights and men at arms spread out in a thin line across the road, the goldcloaks behind them. None of them were flowery knights of summer, all of them had seen the horror of the corpseroad on his march from Highgarden, and knew the cost of war. They would do what needed to be done.
The sparrows had cheered when he retreated and dismounted. The fools thought he would run so easily. Their cheers became defiant when Loren turned and led his knights and men at arms forward. With a chop of his sword, Loren's knights marched forward. Their feet tramped on the cobbles, the sound answered by the sparrows drumming their feet and weapons in turn. Smallfolk who had emerged from the nearby buildings disappeared back inside to bar the doors, those in the ragged camps of Fleabottom retreated further into the ruins. And Loren and his knights marched.
They expected him to stop. The madness of the crowd. They expected his knights, swords drawn and fully armoured to stop. One brave man thrust his pitchfork out in Loren's direction, defiant. He was still defiant when Loren battered the pitchfork away. He wasn't when Loren cut his head off.
The crowd went silent, for the briefest second they watched in disbelief. Then ser Mandon cut down another with a single diagonal cut across his chest, and another peasant reared back from ser Larence so that the blow that would have split him in half instead took his arm at the shoulder. He screamed, and so did the rest.
The crowd surged in all directions. One came at Loren, a lanky youth with a spear that broke on his plate and he caught him fast around the throat. The youth choked, eyes bulging in sudden fear as Loren stabbed him in the heart. The spear haft clattered to the floor and the body followed him. Another youth, similar in face roared in pain and rage and charged Loren. He didn't even have a weapon and Loren cut him across the chest, stepping over his dying body.
A stone hit him on the chest, another on the arm while others hit his knights, but most rattled off the cobbles on the street. He gave the order to move forwards, leaving the dead and the dying to the men at arms behind them. The peasants were scattering now, any hope that they might fight lost. One tried to charge ser Theron, but Theron split his head down the middle like a ripe lemon. One tried to run but was too slow for ser Thryce who took off his leg just below the knee. The man screamed and tried to crawl away. Thrice ignored him and a man-at-arms stabbed him through the chest with a spear. A woman was stepping up the path, picking up stones and hurling them, a curse leaving her lips every time a stone left her hand. She was aiming at him and missing. He walked forwards. Run. Run woman. She didn't run. She only turned when he was in front of her, and then he seized her. He should let her go, let her run, she had seen the blood. But this was a challenge to the king, and with the throne so precarious, every challenge had to be met and crushed. And now she was in his grip. "Plea-" he opened her throat and left her to die. Another woman who had been casting stones was staggering and screaming, blood spurting from her severed wrists. One of her missing hands still held a stone.
Ser Mandon swung his sword in neat cuts that killed peasants cleanly. Ser Marvyn did nothing of the sort, stepping into the crowd with his great longsword and swinging in great arcs carving through three, four or more with a single cut. Then he stepped forward four paces and did it again. And again.
I gave them a chance- cut. I gave them a chance- cut. I gave them a chance- cut.
It was done. They fled, streaming down the hill on all sides, some on paths and some through the undergrowth. He raised his sword to halt the slaughter. "Bring up the horses."
Lord and lady Gaunt were gagged and trussed in a hole in the floor of the Dragonpit. This was where they had found wildfire stores before the battle of Blackwater. He pulled out lord Gaunt and removed his gag. "Harry!" He blurted as soon as the rope was out of his mouth, his lips bloody and scabbed.
"We have him, he's safe at the Red Keep." Loren assured him.
Returning to the keep, he found that Rennifer and his goldcloaks had gathered a number of the rebels and secured them with irons. "Queen Cersei wants them, an example like," he explained when Loren asked.
"When you're done, have some men clean this up."
Rennifer looked like he wanted to object, but wisely he bowed his head and agreed. If he hadn't he would have been an unfortunate casualty of the attack.
"You don't have to watch this," he said to Alysanne.
"If you are going to watch, my lord, then I will stand at your side."
"Lelia-"
"Is with the king, we can't well send her away now."
Loren glanced over to where Tommen stood behind Cersei with Myrcella, Lelia and Margaery. Even if they hadn't yet received a blessing as there was still no High Septon, it would be good to show the two of them together. Jaime had returned and was standing in front of Tommen. Was he trying to shield him from what was about to happen? Loren hoped so. The rest of the council were there as well, and only Kevan looked steady. Lord Mace looked like he had just swallowed an entire cow in a single bite. Varys looked sorrowful, his head bowed. Even Littlefinger's eyes had no glint or gleam to them. The crowds had gathered beyond them, held back by a line of red and gold and green-cloaked men.
"People of King's Landing!" Cersei declared, her voice strong but shrill. "Today we have witnessed an act of defiance against good king Tommen. Traitors and rebels kidnapped loyal followers of the crown, they attempted to mutilate and murder them, but for the swift interference of the Lord Marshall, they would have succeeded." She let her voice soften. "These are dark days for us all. Good King Joffrey taken too soon, murdered by an assassin sent by, the traitor Shireen Baratheon, who sought to bring incest back to the bed of kings with her traitor brother, burns our docks and murders our people." That got no reaction from the crowd. "But in the name of our new King Tommen I give you my word, that treason will ever be punished. Bring them down!"
Seven carriage wheels were lowered over the wall of the Red Keep until they hung a foot off the wall. Strapped to each of them, naked and wimpering, was a prisoner taken by Rennifer Blacke's gold cloaks. The captain himself stood by the wheels as they lowered. Five men and two woman, legs and arms spread, exposed to the world.
"Rennifer Blacke, in the name of the King - break them."
Rennifer bowed his head and stepped forward. Thirteen gold cloaks joined him, two for each prisoner.
"Please!" One of the men cried. "Mercy!"
Three of the men and one of the women were beyond words, sobbing and shrieking and Loren wished again that they had been gagged, but Cersei insisted, she wanted the populace to hear. And she was the regent. The Hand hadn't tried to dissuade her. When Cersei's vision was set, lord Sebaston followed it.
"Mercy, King Tommen!"
"Mercy!" The defiance they showed on the hill was gone now they knew what fate awaited them.
The goldcloaks took up heavy mauls and the breaking began. The limbs broke first. Shins and forearms shattering, shards breaking through skin and the arms and legs twisting like macabre marrionettes. The screams sang out, as twisted and broken as the arms and legs of the screamers.
The torsos came next, mauls sinking into the soft flesh of belly and breast and collar, turning the bones beneath to powder. One maul broke the skin and as it ripped free, tore intestines and stomach from the man who looked on in horror as the bloody masses roped around the goldcloak pulverising him. But he didn't stop.
The heads were left alone, resting points for the crows, and so the people of King's Landing would see these criminals and know what awaited treason.
That night he was glad to be woken from his dreams of broken limbs and screams. Aly told him there was a guest at the door and his eyes widened to see ser Garlan's and his wife there, both were still dressed for the day. "Ser Garlan, lady Leonette, what is it?"
"We need to speak, in private," Garlan warned. Loren didn't want to, but in the flickering torchlight, he saw the concern on their faces and agreed. Mayhaps some talk would help him forget his dreams.
He went with them to the godswood of the Red Keep, in the darkness the trees leaned over them like twisted crones clutching withered staffs. "What dark tidings require us to talk at this hour?" Loren asked.
"Septon Franklyn has come to visit us this evening," Garlan explained. "We had his vote for Septon Luceon."
"Had?"
"Franklyn said that Cersei came to the great sept to pray this morning, before the capture of the Gaunts. When she was there she publicly berated septon Luceon while he was leading prayers to the Father."
"What in the gods' name did she do that for?"
"She accused him of a lack of faith, but that is not the reason," Leonette said. "Franklyn says he was approached by Ollitor after the queen-regent left the sept. It would seem that Cersei is concerned that a rosebud would become the next High Septon."
"Luceon is half a rose-bud, half a lion, as agreed," Loren reminded them.
"Does Cersei know that?"
Loren didn't know. "And so Franklyn held off his vote?"
"They all did. Luceon is still the favoured to win, but the men we have bribed all want reassurances that we will hold to our bargains if Luceon is elected and opposed by the queen-regent."
Acting without thinking. Ned Stark. Barristan Selmy. The smallfolk on the wheels. Now this. "I will speak with them all on the morrow," he promised the Tyrells. "And Cersei as well, we need Luceon elected."
"I would hope the queen-regent could remember on her own that we are allies, not foes," Garlan replied, thin lipped.
"I will make her remember," Loren said.
Garlan left with a nod. "I thank you, my lord," Leonette replied quietly. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Garlan was out of hearing. "Do not judge my husband harshly for his manner. After Stannis' death we thought that things would start to improve for us, yet one tragedy follows another."
"I understand, my lady," Loren replied, trying to sound kind. But did Garlan not think that they were all being crushed by this? "We will have another vote soon, and get whom we need as High Septon, and then things will start to improve for us."
"I pray so too, my lord."
Loren nodded. "You should return to your husband, and I must return to my wife."
Leonette smiled tiredly. "In a moment, I just need a few breaths of air."
"I would not recommend that, my lady. It does not do to be alone in the Red Keep these nights."
