Kapitel 13: Robert Quince I

Authors Note: I tried to be smart with intrigue, but I hope it didn't come off as cringe. Enjoy the chapter if you can and I appreciate any comments.

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His liege's purple shoulder cape fluttered with a sudden breeze, the croak of the giant wooden doors echoing around them.

He entered after the Prince, his sight hidden by Ser Rodryck's back.

And then he saw the throne.

If he were a lesser man, he would have stilled in his tracks at the sight of that humongous chair, it was as asymmetrical as it was intimidating, and he almost felt bad for the King as he saw him sitting amidst jutting sharp steel swords and on uncomfortable metal.

But this isn't time to gape at unfamiliar -if not majestic- scenery, this was time for the Prince to shine.

The courtiers stood in front of the throne in an obviously polarised structure, at one side, you had the Blacks, people allied with the Princess and House Velaryon, most of them are people with mercantile interests or royalists, who benefit the most from the order brought by the power of the Targaryen family.

On the other are the Greens, their numbers were higher than the blacks, but instead of at least moderately talented men and women, most of them were a bunch of arrogant fools and sycophants, obsessed with keeping their power and holding on the even slightest amount of influence, with some exceptions of course.

Then there were the neutrals, the outliers; the centralists. Lords who were either too smart to choose a side or just didn't bother with politics, the most notable are the Tullys and the Lannisters, who kept wearing their own colors, although they started including Purple into their wardrobe lately.

At the head of each side stood their respective leaders, or their representatives, which meant both Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon for the blacks alongside her younger sons, Jacaerys is with his grandsire alongside his cousins in Driftmark, their hold over the faction is tenuous at best, as while they may be its nominal leaders, the person who attracted all these men is in actuality the Sea Snake himself, with his gold and Essossi connections.

And for the Greens, that's the Queen, her sons, and the newly appointed commander of the city watch Gwayne Hightower, the Hand of the King is alongside the rest of the small council sitting at the side of the Throne in smaller chairs to assist the King in ruling in court, normally most of them would be absent, but this was an important occasion, one already scripted by the concerned parties.

And surely, we all deeply bow to the King with impeccable timing.

He gestures for us to stand. "Rise" He orders.

With a push against my knees, I manage to rise alongside the others, it seems I may need to lose some weight.

The King stands up, letting out a small sickly cough.

The Prince stood imperiously in front of the throne, he wore a pitch-black surcoat with finely stitched depictions of violet dragons, and his velvet capelet waved with the wind, leaving his Valyrian sword exposed for all to see. Even his onyx leather boots were made from dragon scales, one that he slayed himself.

As the King went down the stairs, his cane hitting the floor, the Prince looked like the Warrior reborn to all onlookers.

Viserys I stood in front of his son, the latter barely eclipsing him in height, staring at him in the eyes.

The mood was grim for a while, the King had yet to speak, and was uncharacteristically stoic today.

The tension was cut as the plump ruler slapped his son on the shoulder, bursting into guffaws all the while.

He looked back towards his courtiers. "My son! This is my son!" He exclaimed.

Baelon just raised an eyebrow in bemusement.

The King took a couple of steps back in order to be seen by everyone.

"Four! Four wars we led against the dornish, some have turned out victorious, while others led to disaster. The separation of the Dornish was a slight against the Iron Throne, and disrespect towards all those who swore fealty to the Targaryens, to me. Look at him, lords of the realm." He pointed at Baelon. "Look at the boy, nay! The man of five and ten name days who managed to do what Aegon the Conqueror couldn't with thrice the number! If I hadn't held him in my arms whilst you were a babe, I would have thought his feats to be naught but tales that we'd tell our children."

The audience listened raptly, from the noble courtiers who aimed to gain the king's favor to the guards who were supposed to secure the latter's safety. But Quince didn't, he took hold of this opportunity to observe, people often didn't hide their intentions when they thought to be unseen.

He noted the chagrined expression of the Queen, her father however held his composure, an expression of admiration on his face. Princess Rhaenyra's smile trembled, however, Robert couldn't quite put an emotion to it though, while Prince Daemon just looked bored out of his mind.

He suddenly turned his gaze as he sensed someone looking at him. At the back of the hall, a man hunched over his cane, Larys Strong looked at him like a hunter stared at his prey, filled with malicious intent.

Robert wiped the sweat on his cheek with his handkerchief and winked at the Clubfoot before resuming his observation.

Meanwhile, the King continued his speech.

"His workers are ever steadfast, building smooth roads and canals, like blood vessels in the body, they shall carry the lifeblood of the realm, from Sunspear to the Wall. An able administrator, he turned dreary Dragonstone into a crystal in the sea. And I saw him with my own eyes, as he soared in the skies and stabbed the Cannibal in the eye. A Conqueror, a statesman, an administrator, and an unmatched warrior, he is the son I dreamed of, born amidst Dragon roars and the clamor of swords, he is what any king would have desired out of an heir, but most importantly, he is what any father would have wanted out a son. MY SON! TO BAELON!" Viserys raised his caned to the sky as he clamored to the masses.

"TO BAELON!" The cheers followed but were silenced after a while by the sound of a cane colliding with stone.

"I thought long and hard about how to reward you." The King turns to his son. "You are my heir, the crown prince of the realm, you have enough glory to last you generations, and you have no need for land nor riches, but I would like to keep you close, at home here, with family. And so I name you Governor of Kingslanding, a new position with many responsibilities, the greatest of which is managing the city both economically and militarily, and assuring both the safety and prosperity of its people." A canopy of murmurs echoes the room, the courtiers discussing the news.

"This is a position of responsibility and prestige, but you already shouldered both in greater measures, so I trust you with it wholeheartedly, and I look forward to the pleasant surprises that may come."

The Prince held a hand over his heart. "I swear Father, that I will not disappoint." He solemnly declared.

"How can you?" Answered the King, turning back and sitting on his throne. "The members of the small council are already informed of my decision and all relevant authorities were already transferred to you. You may stay if you want, but I'm afraid court is dreadfully boring." He japed.

"Thank you, your Grace." Baelon bowed, before turning towards the door.

His cape billowed again, as he left with assured, measured steps. And as always, they followed.

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"The tariffs on foodstuffs are increasing I'm afraid."

"That is unreasonable, how could I afford to sell if I-"

He held up a chubby hand, silencing the merchant.

"HOWEVER. The taxes are another matter entirely, in order to encourage local merchants to grow their businesses, the Prince employed a new strategy in order to... revitalize the economy."

"Don't give me that drivel of yours! You just want to corner the market here with your products! Look, Ser Robert, we knew each other for a long time, long before the Prince came to your island, I supported you and sold you my grains even though no one else wanted to." The man's dialect was more flowing and his words drawn out, a sign of his Volantene accent, he held Quince's hand and 'stealthily' slid a pouch of gold. "Can you let this go, just for once?"

What a load of crap, the man exploited the lords of the narrow sea, High Tide notwithstanding, for years, charging them exorbitant prices for Reacher products.

He gave the man his pouch back, he is serving in his capacity as Steward to the Governor of the capital now, and he can't afford to tarnish his reputation.

"I'm afraid that is an order from the prince, my friend. These guards that you see around you would gut me the moment I disobey his orders, so I'm afraid I have to refuse. Tell you what, I am willing to buy your stock at a reduced price, and since you won't be inside the city at the time, you won't have to pay any tariffs."

"Are you fucking kidding me! You think I don't see through your godsdamned ploy you FUCKING barbarian, just you wait, I'll- Wait, what are you doing?! Let me go! Do you know who I am?!" The voice of the merchant dissipated with the wind as he was dragged back outside of his solar.

Robert leaned his considerable weight on the chair, causing sounds of creaking to echo.

He let out a loud, frustrated sigh, massaging his temples.

"I'm sick of these godsdamned Essossi merchants, how is this city even standing if this was the norm?" He complained.

His door opens suddenly, and an olive-skinned man wearing padded leather armor and disheveled hair entered without any preamble.

Robert looks up at the man. "What is the matter, Quentyn?" He asked.

This man was a member of the Prince's "Rangers" a force currently comprised of a hundred men and growing of light cavalry, most of its members are currently Dornish, as their cavalry is inferior only to the Dothraki savages.

It was his own idea to recruit Dornish men, he counselled the Prince that his new popularity with that Realm may be conductive to such an action, although he hadn't expected for him to recruit light cavalry.

"We found one of the fuckers, he's in one of the seedier brothels in the city."

Robert leaned forwards while his hands slid on the table in rapt attention.

'Finally, some good news!'

"Did you capture him?"

"Not yet."

"Good, the Prince wants to be present to interrogate him himself, whoever he is. Call for him, and surround that shithole, I don't want him to take a single breath without our knowledge."

"Already done, we have one of their... workers giving us information, we know all the people there, the hidden caches, and the secret tunnels, he won't escape."

"Good, lead the way."

Competent man, that Quentyn.

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He came to the sight of a veritable sea of purple surrounding a small building, chasing all pedestrians away while they murmured about the peculiar scene.

One of the purple mantles approached him. "Ser Robert, the Prince is on his way."

"Alright, we'll enter first in order to secure the building, but don't say anything until the Prince comes."

"Understood."

*BLAM*

One of the larger men slammed the door open, while the others entered without any warning.

The purple mantles ignored the screams of women and belts as they pushed through every room and securing every man and woman on the premises.

Robert wiped the sweat on his forehead as he entered, the place already secured.

He met Quentyn at the entrance of the establishment, he took no heed to the whores and their clients as he looked at the Dornish man.

"Where is he?"

"This way."

They entered one of the private rooms, only to find a scraggly dirty man forcing himself on a young girl, her cries provoking a wince from his face.

Quentyn promptly kicked him on the side with his steel-tipped boot.

The man let out a scream at the pain, and he was pretty sure that he heard some bones crack.

The girl looked back at them, her face filled with horror. She ran back to a dark corner and hid while sobbing.

Before the situation could develop anymore, they were interrupted by sounds from the entrance.

"Your Grace!" Exclaimed every mantle in the vicinity at once.

The Prince entered the door, wearing a white and red outfit emblazoned with dragons and seven-pointed stars. It seems he was just in a meeting with the High Septon.

Robert almost felt pity for the man whimpering on the floor.

Baelon approached with firm and measured steps, his eyes glazed over every person in the room, and his iconic smile absent on his face.

As he entered the room, his gaze followed the traces of blood back to the sobbing child in the corner, the look on his face hardened, losing all signs of emotion.

He turned back towards one of the naked prostitutes. "You." He called in a steely voice, the woman jumped almost instinctively. "Here." The Prince slid his white cloak to the whore, an understanding espression morfs on her face as she begins to wrap the cloak against her body.

Baelon holds the womans hand, interrupting her. "Not you. Her." He points towards the child. "Cover her up and lead her outside, discreetly." The woman feafully nods before rushing towards the child, covering her up and carefully lifting her up.

The girls sobs grow into a full blown cry as she smushes her face against the womans chest.

Baelon turns back towards one of the purple mantles.

"If a man gets so much as an inch close to the child, I want one of you to cut off his balls and feed them to the dogs, understood?"

The Prince gets a nod in return as the other mantles push other people out of the way of the whore carrying the child.

Baelon finally looks at the man, who finally opens his eyes in shock out of recognition.

"You- you are-" A Valyrian blade goes through the man's shoulder.

"I did not ask you to speak." Baelon crouches down in front of the man, using Blackfyre still inside the man's shoulder as support.

"You, whatever your name is, own several establishments that offer different services, all pertaining to the most unhinged, despicable acts that man could enjoy." The man opens his mouth, showing blackened teeth badly taken care of, but before he could say anything else, the Prince violently slaps him sideways.

The man lets out an agonizing scream as the hole in his shoulder gets widened even more.

"The problem is there is no way for any of those establishments to exist without one, essential aspect."

"The backing of an influential lord, or a couple of not-so-influential ones." Continues Robert.

Baelon nods in acknowledgment.

"You have two choices, you tell me the names of your backers now and confess to them in front of the King, and as much as I am loathed to admit, you'll get the chance to get to either wear the black or get a painless death, or you could keep your mouth shut, in which case I will take you to a dark, dark place, where you will feel agonizing pain every second of your life until you die of old age. Which one do you choose?"

The man goes silent out of terror, which causes the prince to twist the blade in his shoulder even more.

"When I don't give you permission to speak you open your mouth, and when I tell you to speak you stay silent, is your brain addled?" Says the Prince through the man's screams.

"I'LL SPEAK! I'LL SPEAK!"

"Good, give me the names."

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"Jonos Bracken, Nigel Piper, Ben Darklyn, Josen Mootoon, and more..." Viserys lightly threw the parchment on the table.

"I will have their tongues..." He murmured.

"Not quite, Father."

"You can't think to spare flesh peddlers in my city?"

"Oh, that we agree on, the issue is that while these people are from noble families, they are all but cousins or distant relatives who have no chance at succession, I remember meeting some of them, and they didn't strike me as particularly bright or devious enough for such despicable schemes, someone is behind them, using them as a shield against his sins."

"Who?"

"Whoever it is must have quite a number of competent spies and associates, he should be both knowledgeable about the Lords of the Crownlands and the Riverlands and influential enough to approach these people, whoever it is is ruthless and ambitious enough to not shed a tear at the suffering he causes, and he needs to be present in Kingslanding most of the time in order to make sure no one screws anything up."

"You think..."

"Yes, it is probably Larys."

Viserys slams his fist on the table.

"I will have the dragons feast on his flesh! Call the guards, we will detain him at once."

Baelon lets out a soft sigh.

"I wish we could do it, but I believe he knows that we have our eyes set on him, he is always amidst a crowd in case we try to bring a dragon, and he has hidden his tracks well enough that any evidence we bring over him would not be enough. And even if we do try to detain him, he has enough spies in the castle to be able to escape way before anyone could get a whiff of him."

"Then what do we do?"

"We definitely stumbled on a big source of his income, he definitely needs the gold to keep the loyalty of his people, and bribe the people he needs to bribe. We weaken his footing, then we bring a sword to cut off his head."

"A sword?"

"We fight a spymaster with another one, you should call Daemon, father. We need an acquaintance of his."

"Can't you find him yourself?"

"It's a her, father. And the White Worm chooses whom she speaks to."