The streets of King's Landing lay shrouded in darkness, every household's doors and windows tightly shut. Only slivers of light escaped from cracks, casting faint, ghostly beams across the cobblestones. The city was quiet, almost unnaturally so, save for the occasional shuffle of a patrol. The Golden Cloaks moved steadily through the streets, torches flickering against the walls. When they saw Bronze Yohn approaching, they nodded in recognition, allowing him to pass without interruption.
A few days prior, the sudden arrival of Vale soldiers had caused whispers and uneasy glances throughout the city. And now, as Jon Royce rode through the Mud Gate atop a tall horse, fully armored and flanked by his loyal knights, the guards could not ignore him.
The rhythmic clatter of Royce's plate-armored boots echoed against the stone streets—tap-tap-tap. His bronze armor, etched with magical runes, glimmered faintly in torchlight. He had abandoned his helmet, revealing a solemn face, eyes gleaming with determination. Behind him followed ten knights in silver plate, each armed with longswords, battle-axes, or morning stars. These were the finest warriors of Runestone, their families having served House Royce for generations.
Silently, they moved toward the Red Keep, shadows among shadows, ten sparks in the midnight gloom.
As they approached the towering Hand's Tower, Royce looked up at the Red Keep. Its windows flickered with light, seemingly defiant against the dark night. War had come, and Ser Kevan Lannister, acting Hand of the King, could not rest. A thousand concerns plagued him: the city's defenses, the loyalty of the nobles, and the delicate balance of supply and order in the capital.
Royce whispered to his men, "Proceed as planned."
He had brought only a few of his most trusted knights. The gates of the Red Keep did not admit large, fully armed groups, especially after dark when the iron portcullis was lowered and the city secured.
"Who goes there? The gate is closed!" a guard called, torch held high. "If it's not urgent, come back tomorrow!"
"I am Jon Royce, Earl of Runestone," Royce's voice rang across the walls. "I have urgent matters to discuss with the Hand."
Bronze Yohn shouted again, carrying his words deep into the courtyard. "Hurry! Inform him immediately!"
Within moments, a guard departed, returning with the portcullis raised and the gates opened. "Lord Royce, Ser Kevan waits in the Hand's Tower study," he said, bowing.
Royce nodded, stepping inside with his knights. A guard tried to halt them. "My Lords, fully armed—this is…"
"They are knights blessed by the Seven," Bronze Yohn said coldly, eyes scanning the guard. "Each carries vital information for the Hand. Do your duty."
Intimidated, the guard stepped aside. The group advanced, gates clanging shut behind them. The Hand's Tower loomed above, Maegor's Holdfast crouched in shadow like a silent sentinel, torches flickering along its walls.
"My Lords, please enter," the guard muttered, leaving them to their purpose.
Ser Shet from Gull Tower leaned close to Royce. "My Lord?"
"Find as many men as you can and bring them here," Royce whispered. "Now follow me." He led the other nine toward the Hand's Tower, while Ser Shet made his way to Maegor's Holdfast, where the Vale nobles under house arrest resided. With the King, Queen, and Queen Mother gone, more than half the Kingsguard and servants had departed, leaving space for the Vale captives.
A Lannister guard blocked the path. "Weapons are not permitted."
Royce waved a hand. "Unbuckle four men and follow. The rest stay here."
The staircase was long, winding, and echoing with every footfall. By the time Royce reached the study, only two knights remained at his side. Pushing open the door, he found Ser Kevan hunched over documents, the oil lamp casting shadows over his lined face. Beside him, an official complained about the war's impact on the docks, merchants, and the city's finances.
"I have done all I can to protect the city," Kevan said wearily. "Tell them to endure a few more days. That will be all."
The official left, muttering. Kevan finally looked at Royce. "My Lord, you come at a late hour. Something urgent?"
"Yes." Royce seated himself, solemn. "I bear news that, if confirmed, could alter the situation in King's Landing entirely."
Kevan straightened, alert. The Hand's burdens were already immense: protecting the city, managing the nobility and Faith, and supplying armies in the field. Flea Bottom simmered with unrest. Knights had been murdered, noblewomen vanished, and the city teetered on the edge of chaos.
Royce continued. "I require Varys and Archmaester Pycelle to verify this information."
Kevan paused, sensing the gravity. He called for the Red Cloak guard, who departed to fetch them. Silence settled over the study.
Minutes passed. The thin Archmaester appeared, chains heavy around his neck, gems glittering in the lamplight. "Ser Kevan?" Pycelle's voice quivered with deference.
"Yes, follow me." Royce's guard guided him silently.
Next, Varys appeared, dressed in purple robes with a gold-embroidered vest. His face, pale as ever, betrayed an instinctive caution. A Vale knight at his side barred any attempt at flight.
"My Lord," Pycelle said, bowing slightly, "what requires our service at this hour?"
Kevan smiled faintly. "Lord Royce shall explain."
Royce rose, drawing a dagger from his greaves and pressing it under Kevan's chin with practiced precision. Silent, accurate, and swift. Kevan's smile froze. Pycelle's knees buckled, and the study filled with the sharp, acrid scent of urine. Varys covered his nose, remaining still.
Outside, chaos erupted. Vale knights with swords and spears swept into the study, neutralizing the remaining Red Cloak guards. Five knights stationed at the gate drew their longswords, engaging Lannister guards with lethal efficiency. One intercepted a spear with his arm, another drove a blade into a guard's neck. Within moments, the city gates descended into disarray, mechanisms destroyed, and the portcullis rendered inoperable.
Royce turned to the window. Below, the Gods Gate and Old Gate were filled with torches and rushing soldiers.
Kevan's roar cut through the night. "What madness is this? Hundreds of Lannister guards remain! You cannot escape!"
"None of that matters," Royce replied steadily. "Now, I need Varys and Pycelle to answer one question: What was the cause of Lord Jon Arryn's death?"
The room fell silent. Outside, the city trembled on the edge of upheaval, its fate poised by a handful of determined men and the secrets they now held.
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