Capítulo 3: rats
In the pitch-black of the Black cell, day and night blend into one, with darkness remaining even after your eyes adjust.
*clank *clank * clank
Then, a torch's light pierced the dark and damp, joined by the clanking of iron footsteps.
It was Lord Larys Strong, Master of whisperers and Lord confesser, with his guard, who carried the torch.
Larys held in his left a set torture devices: a pair of thumb screws for crushing fingers, a set of pincers for pulling teeth and nails, and a gleaming knife for cutting and flaying.
Before him lay a naked man known as Blood, one of the two assassins sent to kill the young prince. He was stretched on the wooden rack, his ankles fastened to one roller and his wrists chained to another, with a cloth pressed against his stomach to staunch the bleeding.
"You can leave now." Larys said coldly to the guard. The guard set the torch in a bracket on the wall and then quickly left.
"Maester has patched up your wound." he said, holding a pincer in his left hand and a knife in his right.
"It would be a shame if I had to undo the Maester's fine work." He walked over and looked into Blood's eyes with his murky gaze, the clanking of his iron footsteps echoing through the cell.
"I am a knight." Blood confessed immediately, He wasn't a brave knight, defender of the innocent as he swore an oath to be, but rather a frightened coward fit for a childslayer
"I was hired by a pale whore." He confessed shakily, unlike how he threatened the unarmed Helaena.
"She spoke with a foreign tongue, wore a hooded robe, and harlots called her Misery."
"That damn ratcatcher stabbed me and left me to die in the tunnel, and took the boy's head to get the reward." Blood added. He stopped there, as if he thought that was all he needed to say.
But it wasn't.
Larys used the pincer to tear out Blood's forefinger nail, making him scream at the top of his lungs, like a pig squealing in the slaughterhouse. The crimson blood poured from the exposed nail bed, dripping down his finger and pooling on the wooden rack.
"I didn't say you could stop." Larys said, pinning another nail, ready to pull it out next.
"The whore! She hired us to kill the prince!" Blood cried out in pain.
"Is that all, Ser?" Larys asked politely, as if they were at a tea party.
"There was a man! In the tunnel! He pointed out the way to the Hand's tower! I swear t-" before Blood could finish, a sharp pain pierced through his cheek as Larys drove the knife into his mouth from the side.
Blood screamed in agony as Larys twisted and pulled the knife out.
"I told you the truth!" He yelled, blood rushing down his mouth.
"A man, hmmm?" Larys mused, pinning Blood's tongue out.
As Larys cut through his tongue, Blood recalled that the hooded man in the tunnel had a clanking sound with each step.
Larys slowly pressed the knife into his skin.
"I once heard that a naked man has few secrets, but a flayed man has none."
The scream echoed through the Black cell.
And Maester's fine work was undone.
———-
"The man was a gold cloak, Your Grace."
Otto was horrified. It could have been him, or worse, it could have been the king himself. If only Daemon had been more pragmatic than sadistic, the war could have ended. Fortunately, he was not.
"He confessed that he and the ratcatcher were hired by a whore of Prince Daemon named Mysaria, Your Grace." Larys reported to the King and the small council.
Two seats were left empty: those of Queen Dowager Alicent and Grand Maester Orwyle.
Alicent was comforting Helaena, while Grand Maester Orwyle took care of the young Prince Jaehaerys.
Ser Criston, Lord commander of the Kingsguard, was the first one to react.
"A gold cloak!? Weren't they supposed to be loyal to us? Ser Gwayne was the second in command! How could this happened?" He shouted.
Ser Otto, Hand of the King, glanced at Criston. "The officers were loyal to us, but the rank-and-file gold cloak still supported the Lord Flea Bottom." Otto explained.
"Then their loyalty are in question! Why didn't we know this!?" Ser Criston asked furiously.
"Calm down, Ser Criston." Otto demanded.
"Calm down!? How can we calm down when the city's watch can turn cloaks at anytime!" Criston pointed out.
"W-Where?"
Aegon trembling voice silenced them. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, so was his nose.
"Where is my son's…" He sobbed, wiping away his tears.
"…Head?" He asked. his purple eyes glaring into Larys's brown ones.
All eyes turned to Larys, the clubfoot.
"With the ratcatcher, Your Grace." Larys answered.
That answer transformed Aegon's grief and sorrow into rage. His face turned beet-red and twisted with anger.
"Kill them all." He said, his voice cracking in anger. "Kill them all!" He shouted, commanding.
"Your Grace, I understand your pain, but we cannot–" Otto began, only for Aegon to smash his wine glass, cutting his hand and silencing his Hand.
Blood and wine reddened his hand alike.
"I am the King! And you will do as I command!"
For the first time, Aegon stood and commanded, fearsome like a true king.
"I want them all dead! Hang together like a bunch of rats they were!"
The council fell silent. They exchanged a glances, unknown what to do. They all knew the king was merely a puppet, and the Hand pulling the strings.
"You are my council! Do something!" Aegon demanded.
.
.
.
.
"We will have them all hang, Your Grace."
It's Ser Criston who broke the silence.
"We will show them the price of treason."
Criston looked at Aegon with understanding. Having lived with him, trained him, and taught him throughout his life, Criston had become a father to Aegon than Viserys ever was.
"Your Grace! This is an act of tyranny! People will curse your name alongside the pretender!" Otto protested.
His glare at Aegon was like a blade of ice, his cold, brown eyes boring into the young king and silencing the room once more.
In that moment, Otto resolved to tighten his control, determined to put Aegon in his place.
"All of them will hang," Aegon declared, approaching Otto and standing face to face. His purple eyes burned with a thirst for vengeance as they locked onto Otto's cold gaze.
"Then I'll need a hundred cats for the hundred ratcatchers you hang." Otto said coldly.
Aegon grabbed Otto's linked chain and yanked him close.
"You are nothing but a second son. All you have is this pity chain." Aegon mocked.
"Know your place, Ser." He released his grip, letting his grandfather go.
Otto quickly left, furious, knowing that his control had been weakened.
Aegon wearily sank into his seat, his heart seething with rage.
He will make them pay. He will make that whore usurper drowned in her son's blood. He will burn every castle that dare to raise her banner to the ground.
Now they were equals: he had lost his, and she had lost hers. But not for long, he swore.
Not for long.
———-
The next they, all the ratcatchers were hanged altogether. Their bodies swayed from the gallows of the town's square, twitching as the wind blew.
The nooses were tightly fastened around their necks, stretching them to unnatural angles.
Their faces were twisted and turned purple like grapes, eyes bulging and tongue lolling out. Beneath them were brothers, daughters, fathers, friends, and mothers alike, weeping for their lost loved ones.
They were hanged together like a rat king. For every fifty counted, there was one.
Two rat kings were hung on the gallows.
But the third one still roamed free in the Red Keep.
The grim tableau in the town square was a stark reminder of the new king's resolve. The dead ratcatchers, hanged in a macabre display, had become a symbol of Aegon's wrath. Their grotesque remains swayed in the breeze, their lifeless eyes a chilling testament to the price of treachery. Yet, the King's anger was far from quenched; in fact, it was only beginning to unfold.
Inside the Red Keep, the atmosphere was tense and fraught with unease. The corridors echoed with the whisper of guards and the hurried steps of servants carrying out their duties. In contrast to the public spectacle of hanging, the inner workings of the court were far more insidious, plotting their next moves amidst shadows and uncertainty.
———
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