Chapter 157: Bloody King's Landing
More than two months had passed since the council first discussed the Sparrows.
They had names now. Meeting places. Lists of former guardsmen, knights and septons who gathered armed men beneath the Crown's nose.
What they did not have was the hand paying for it.
Tyrion had hoped that would be enough to delay matters.
The armour being fastened around Artos suggested otherwise.
"Not so fucking tight," Artos grumbled. " Who would have thought I would be little fat for my armour."
The guard working beneath his arm loosened the strap.
"Ouch," he winced a bit more frustrating than pain."I went nearly a decade without needing to be dressed in this much steel. A few months in King's Landing, and I'm wearing it every other bloody month."
Tyrion stood beside the table with a cup of wine.
"You don't have to."
Artos looked at him and laughed.
"You needn't worry about me, Tyrion. I can still swing a sword. I believe I demonstrated that quite recently."
"That was not what I meant. No what I meant because I believe The whole operation is premature."
Artos's amusement faded. He lifted his arm while another guard secured the plate covering his side.
"We've discussed this."
"And apparently accomplished nothing."
"We are removing an armed force from the capital. I would think protecting our king was something his council could agree upon."
"It will be a massacre."
"It may be."
"Some of those men don't even understand what they've joined. They were offered food, wages and a septon telling them they were doing holy work."
Artos rolled his shoulders, testing the armour.
Tyrion watched him with growing frustration.
"I don't believe they intend to take the Red Keep with this, they can't even if they try.This is a distraction. They want you looking at angry men in the streets while someone else works behind you."
"I agree."
Tyrion stared.
"You agree?"
"Aye. It probably is a distraction."
"Then why give them what they want?" Tyrion said frustrated.
"Because I haven't the patience for whatever bloody game they're playing. I don't have the time."
Ethan entered carrying a sheathed sword. He stopped beside the door when he saw Tyrion's expression.
"The men are ready, my lord."
"Good."
"Lord Artos," Tyrion said, setting his cup down harder than intended. "It is probably my father. We both believe that. Give us time to establish the links."
"We've had two months."
"Two months following men who have spent years hiding money. We could find enough to force him to stop. Threaten him with a royal inquiry. Summon him before the court."
Artos smiled without humour.
"I would enjoy that."
"Then wait."
Ethan glanced between them.
"For once, I agree with the little lord."
Tyrion turned toward him.
"A touching choice of words."
Ethan ignored it.
"Our men have found where they gather. We know who trains them and who carries their orders. But we still haven't found all the men helping them inside the city. Especially then men working in the background."
Artos held out his hand for the sword.
Ethan did not move immediately.
"A little more patience could give us their patrons as well as their fighters."
"I don't have it."
"My lord—"
"I don't have the time."
The words came sharply enough that the guards stopped adjusting his armour.
Artos looked away, breathing through his nose.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
"They have had two months to put their weapons down. Instead, they have bought more."
"And if you cut them down today," Tyrion said, "their masters will pay another group tomorrow."
"Then their masters had better understand me."
Artos turned back.
"If Tywin is behind this, and he tries it again after today, I won't spend my days cutting through his pawns. I'll take the bloodshed to bloody Casterly Rock. I don't need evidence, I can create one. I am frustrated of this bullshit. I have far so many important things to focus on. I didn't have my family sent away from me for this."
Tyrion said nothing.
Ethan looked at Artos more closely.
I don't have the time.
The commander had heard his lord lose patience before. He knew the difference between anger and a decision already made.
This felt like both.
"Now," Artos said, extending his hand again. "Give me the sword. We have a bloodbath waiting."
Ethan approached.
For a moment, the weapon remained between them.
Then he placed it in Artos's hand.
"There, my lord. You look ready enough."
Artos secured the sword at his waist.
"Only ready enough?"
"It would be an honour to follow you into battle." Ethan smiled faintly. "Though I am a little wounded that you feel the need to come. You trained us to do this work."
Artos's expression eased.
"Don't worry about this, Consider it a final test."
"Then it is my honour, My Lord." Ethan replied with a smile
Tyrion picked up a shield resting beside the table and carried it toward him.
Artos looked down at it, then at Tyrion.
"I don't use a shield."
Tyrion paused.
"Of course you don't."
"Give it to another man. He may have more sense."
"That would not be very difficult here. Or might be Your men doesn't have a common sense in my opinion."
Artos laughed.
He turned toward the guard by the door.
"Is our little prince ready? Has he put on his shining armour?"
"Yes, my lord. He is waiting below." The guard replied.
Tyrion closed his eyes briefly and sighs.
"One more decision I would like to question."
"You've questioned all the others. I'd be disappointed if you stopped now."
"Is it wise to bring Joffrey?"
Ethan shrugged.
"Ehh, It might toughen him."
"You have a peculiar understanding of those words." Tyrion said looking at Ethan like he is an idiot.
"I grew up in North. Then I trained for the Winterguards. Then trained as thier commander by Lord Artos himself.It seems ordinary enough to me."
"That explains a great deal."
Artos adjusted one gauntlet.
"He will be king."
The thought seemed to irritate him more than the armour.
"Gods help us. He needs to understand what that means."
"By watching men being butchered?"
"Better than believing they die as neatly as they do in songs."
"He has barely learned to take a blow in the yard."
"I've been mentoring him."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
Artos hesitated.
"He'll be fine."
Neither man looked convinced.
Artos turned to Ethan.
"Put a guard beside him. Someone sensible."
Ethan nodded and smiled " My Lord."
"Just in case," Artos added.
King's Landing was awake when the soldiers entered its lower streets.
Bakers had opened their shutters. Carts rattled over the stones. Women carried water from the wells, stepping aside as the first ranks passed.
People watched from doorways.
Some recognised the Winterguards and hurried inside. Others stayed to stare at the prince riding behind the Hand.
Joffrey's armour shone in the morning light.
He sat stiffly in the saddle, trying to appear bored.
"How many are there?" he asked.
Artos did not look back.
"Enough, Don't count. Never count your enemies it will only scare you. Just focus on killing them, might keep you focus." Though he wasn't sure if it would help Jofferey at all.
Joffrey fell silent.
Ahead, Ethan spoke briefly with a gold cloak.
The men of the Watch looked different from the ones Artos had first found in the city. Their equipment was cared for. They listened when their officers spoke.
Artos has let Ethan trained them.
Today, they would learn what else Ethan had taught them.
A bell began ringing somewhere beyond the houses.
A second answered it.
The crowd ahead shifted.
Men came out of an alley carrying clubs, axes and short spears. Some wore scraps of old armour. Others had tied cloth around their arms or painted seven-pointed stars upon their shields.
A barefoot septon stood behind them.
"False justice!" he shouted. "The gods see what you—"
"Put down your weapons," Ethan called.
The septon kept shouting.
A former gold cloak pushed through the crowd wearing a rusted breastplate. Artos recognised the face from one of Ethan's reports.
Dismissed for selling prisoners back to their families.
"Why bother Ethan," Artos said.
The man raised his sword.
Someone behind him threw a stone.
It struck a guardsman's helmet.
Then an arrow came from a window.
The Winterguard beside Artos staggered with it buried high in his shoulder.
"See, Forward," Artos said.
The street broke.
Steel struck wood. The first man facing Ethan tried to bring his axe down and took a sword beneath the ribs before he finished lifting it.
The gold cloaks moved with the Winterguards.
Their line hit the gathering hard enough to drive men backward into those behind them.
A spear snapped.
A man screamed for the Mother.
Another tried to run and fell beneath the press of bodies.
Joffrey's horse shied.
"Hold the reins," Artos said.
The prince obeyed too late. His guard caught the bridle.
Artos dismounted and drew his sword.
Ahead, a Sparrow swung a hammer wildly. A Winterguard caught the blow on his shield while the man beside him cut the attacker down.
There was nothing graceful about it.
Men slipped in blood. Blades caught in clothing and flesh. Those who fell clawed at boots as the soldiers passed over them.
A woman screamed from an upstairs window.
"His hands are empty!"
Artos turned.
A young man had dropped his club and was backing into a doorway, both palms raised.
A gold cloak struck him before he reached it.
The woman's screaming changed.
Artos's jaw tightened.
"Keep moving."
The order travelled through the ranks.
Joffrey had dismounted behind him. He stared at the body near the doorway.
Only moments earlier, he had been talking about hanging them.
Now his mouth hung slightly open.
A wounded man dragged himself toward a cart, leaving one leg useless behind him. He reached beneath it as though the narrow space might hide him.
A soldier followed.
Joffrey looked away before the blade fell.
"Eyes forward," Artos said.
The prince's face had lost its colour.
At the next crossing, more men were gathering.
Some had swords. Others carried tools snatched from workshops. Men at the rear shouted without being able to see what was happening at the front.
Ethan raised his voice above them.
"Back inside!"
Some obeyed.
Others could not move.
The soldiers reached them before they untangled themselves from the crowd.
A bearded knight in a dented helm forced his way forward, swinging hard enough to open a gold cloak's face. Blood struck the wall beside him.
Artos stepped in.
The knight turned his sword toward the Hand.
Their blades met once.
Artos drove him backward, struck him across the face with his gauntlet and finished him as he stumbled.
Joffrey made a small sound behind him.
Artos pulled his sword free.
"Stay beside your guard."
The prince nodded quickly.
A scream rose from farther down the street.
Another bell began ringing.
Then the fighting reached the narrow passage to their right.
A man burst from it with a short blade clutched in his fist. His sleeve was dark with blood, and one side of his face had been split open.
He saw the royal colours.
"The prince!"
Joffrey turned.
His guard stepped forward, but someone struck against him from the side. He stumbled into the wall.
The attacker came on.
Joffrey raised his sword too slowly.
Artos caught the man before he reached him.
His blade drove through the attacker's open mouth and burst from the back of his skull.
The man's weight carried him another half-step.
Blood spilled over the steel.
Joffrey froze inches away.
Artos planted his foot, pulled the sword free and let the body fall between them.
The prince made a thin, broken noise.
Then he began whimpering.
His sword shook so badly that its point rattled against the stones.
Artos looked at him and sighed.
"Shut up, boy. Gather yourself."
Joffrey tried.
He could not stop looking at the dead man.
Artos turned toward the guard struggling upright.
"Take care of him."
He pointed at another Winterguard.
"You too. Put another man beside him."
Beyond the crossing, Ethan called for the next advance.
Artos wiped his sword against the fallen man's cloak.
"Take the boy somewhere the action is lighter. Have him some but just some light work."
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