The alleyway was a throat of shadow, damp with the smell of stagnant water and the sharp, coppery tang of the blood Tom's dagger had just drawn from Darren's neck. Outside, the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor continued their slow, mournful tolling, a rhythmic iron heartbeat for a dead king.
Darren's knees hit the cobblestones. The corrupt food manager, usually so arrogant in his dealings with the "country hicks," was now a blubbering mess of sweat and silk.
"Please... please," Darren whimpered, his eyes fixed on Tom's cold, smiling face. "I'll give it back! All of it! The twenty dragons, the necklaces, everything! Just don't let the Archer shoot me!"
Anguy stood in the mouth of the alley, a dark silhouette against the twilight. He didn't have his Golden Shadow bow, but his hands were steady, his fingers twitching as if feeling for a string. "The money is spent, Darren. We want the story. Tell us what happened in that hall. Every drop of wine, every bite of pie. If you lie, I'll find a way to make a crossbow bolt out of your ribs."
Darren swallowed hard, the blade at his throat stinging. "It was the pie... no, the wine! The King... Joffrey... he was eating the pigeon pie. Then he started to cough. He turned purple, like an eggplant. He was clawing at his own throat, screaming without a voice."
Tom leaned in, his voice a melodic, terrifying whisper. "And the Imp? Tyrion Lannister?"
"He was the cupbearer!" Darren gasped. "He gave Joffrey the wine. Everyone saw it! The Queen Regent was screaming for his head. They arrested him on the spot.
In the original chaos of the capital, Cersei might have looked for Sansa Stark to blame, but that path was closed to her. Thanks to Eddard Karstark, Sansa had been formally and legally traded months ago in exchange for Jaime. Tywin Lannister himself had signed the decree, and Joffrey, though petulant and angry about losing his "plaything," had been forced to watch his former fiancée ride out of the city under a Karstark banner while he still sat securely on his throne.
Eddard Karstark had known the King would die at his own wedding. He had known the blame would fall on the dwarf. And he had prepared the counter-strike.
"One more thing, Darren," Tom said, his smile widening. "Who else was near the King? Who touched his cup? Who stood by the Queen of Thorns?"
"Lady Olenna? She... she was everywhere," Darren stammered. "She spoke with the King. Queen Margaery was right there, too, holding him as he died. It was a tragedy! A terrible, Reach-sized tragedy!"
Tom pulled the dagger back just enough for Darren to breathe. "Lemon, take his purse. We need the coin for the beggars. Darren, you're going to walk out of here and you're going to forget you ever saw us. If I hear our names in Hook Alley, I'll come back and play a song on your intestines."
Darren didn't wait. He scrambled to his feet and bolted into the darkness, his boots clattering against the stone until the sound was swallowed by the bells.
Dusk turned into a starless, oppressive night. King's Landing was no longer a city; it was a cage. The Golden Cloaks were out in force, their torches forming lines of fire along the main thoroughfares as they searched for the vanished Sansa Stark and checked the credentials of every departing merchant.
But in the gutters of Flea Bottom and the salt-caked wharves of the docks, a different kind of work was being done.
Tom, Anguy, and Lemon moved through the shadows of the "Silver String" tavern, meeting with the leaders of the city's invisible army, the beggars, the street urchins, and the broken men.
Eddard's gold was a powerful motivator. In a city where a carrot was worth a fight, a silver moon was a fortune.
"Listen close, little birds," Tom whispered to a group of ragged children gathered in a cellar. He spoke with a rhythmic, hypnotic lilt, turning the "Wizard's" instructions into a dark nursery rhyme. "The Lion was cruel, the Lion was wild. The Rose wanted a King who was meek as a child."
"They say Lady Olenna didn't like the way Joffrey looked at her granddaughter," Tom continued, leaning into the firelight. "They say she saw the bruises on the maidservants. She knew a Tyrell wouldn't survive a night with a monster. So, she and the girl... they brewed a special vintage. A purple death for a purple king. They want Tommen on the throne. Tommen is soft. Tommen is sweet. A King the Roses can lead by his feet."
The children listened with wide, hungry eyes. This wasn't just gossip; it was a story that explained the chaos they were seeing. It made sense. Why would the Tyrells want a madman for a son-in-law when they could have a puppet?
By midnight, the story had taken root.
In the taverns of the Mud Gate, sailors whispered about the "Poison Rose." In the kitchens of the Red Keep, servants muttered about how Margaery Tyrell hadn't cried quite hard enough when her husband died. In the barracks of the Golden Cloaks, men wondered if they were guarding a King or a Tyrell hostage.
Eddard's plan was a masterpiece of psychological fragmentation. He wasn't trying to prove Tyrion's innocence; he was trying to make the Tyrells look guilty. By framing Olenna and Margaery as the masterminds who manipulated the "Little Devil" to secure a more controllable Tommen, he was driving a wedge of pure suspicion into the heart of the Lannister camp.
"Mission accomplished," Lemon said, stepping into their room at the tavern. He was panting, his yellow cloak stained with the soot of the lower city. "The story is everywhere. I even heard a Gold Cloak sergeant repeat it to his men. They're looking at the Tyrell knights with very different eyes tonight."
Anguy was already packed, his dagger sharpened and his luxurious blue robe discarded for a practical leather jerkin. "Good. Now let's get out of here. The bells have stopped, and that usually means the executions are about to start. I don't want to be in the city when Tywin realizes his allies are being talked about like murderers."
Tom picked up his harp, his expression thoughtful. "We leave through the King's Gate. We have the Karstark papers. If they ask, we're messengers for the Hand, returning to the North with news of the 'King's Tragedy.'"
He looked at the embers in the brazier, where the last of Eddard's letter was turning to ash.
"Lord Eddard said the world would change after this wedding," Tom muttered. "I thought he was just being a Karstark. But he saw it. He really saw it all."
As the trio slipped out of the tavern and into the misty, dangerous streets, the spirit of the capital was already shifting. The lion and the rose were still standing together, but for the first time, they were looking at each other's hands, searching for the stain of the "Purple Death."
[System Notification: Covert Mission 'Divide and Rule' successful.]
[Strategic Status: Lannister-Tyrell Alliance (Suspicion Rising).]
[Soul Power Gained: 150 SP.]
[Reputation with Tywin Lannister: Unknown (Anonymity Maintained).]
"Winter is coming to King's Landing," Tom whispered as they reached the gates. "And it smells like Reach wine and Lannister blood."
Drop Some Power Stones Plz.
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