The Broken Shield tavern reeked of sour ale and unwashed bodies, the kind of stench that seeped into your clothes and lingered for days. Lorrick nursed a watered-down cup of bitter brown ale in the corner, watching a table of drunken hedge knights lose what little coin they had to a one-eyed man with suspiciously nimble fingers. The dice game had been going for hours, the knights getting progressively drunker while the one-eyed man remained frustratingly sober.
This wasn't Lorrick's usual haunt. The Broken Shield catered to sellswords, hedge knights, and the occasional minor lordling slumming for excitement. It sat on the border between Flea Bottom and the more respectable parts of King's Landing, making it neutral ground of sorts where different worlds collided after dark.
He'd come here following a rumor about a Volantene merchant looking for reliable messengers, but the man hadn't shown. Now, with his single cup of ale nearly gone and night settling firmly over the city, Lorrick was about to cut his losses and leave when the tavern door banged open.
A man staggered in, so drunk he nearly fell face-first onto the rushes covering the floor. His clothes marked him as nobility, or at least wealthy. Fine wool and leather, with silver embroidery along the edges of his cloak. A sword with a jeweled hilt hung at his side, looking absurdly out of place on someone who could barely stand.
"Mor' wine!" the man slurred, stumbling toward the bar. "In the king's name!"
The tavern keeper, a burly man missing most of his right ear, looked unimpressed. "Coin first, m'lord, then wine."
The drunk nobleman fumbled at his belt, producing a purse that clinked promisingly. "Tha's gold in there," he announced to the suddenly attentive room. "Gold for wine! Gold for ev'ryone!"
Lorrick straightened, every instinct on alert. The fool might as well have painted a target on his back. Already, several patrons were exchanging meaningful glances, calculating the distance to the door and the likelihood of the City Watch passing by at this hour.
The drunk was served his wine, which he gulped gracelessly, spilling half down his doublet. He turned, swaying, and announced to the room at large: "Drink with me! All of you! Ser Marq Piper commands it!"
A young knight, then. Likely from the Riverlands, given the name. What he was doing drunk and alone in this part of King's Landing was anyone's guess, but it wouldn't end well if someone didn't intervene.
Lorrick watched as three men detached themselves from the shadows near the door. They weren't regular patrons – he'd have noticed them earlier. Newcomers, then, drawn by the prospect of easy prey. One positioned himself near the door, another drifted toward the back entrance, while the third approached Ser Marq with a friendly smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Ser Knight," the third man said, clapping Piper on the shoulder. "What fortune to meet you here! Let us drink together, as brothers in arms."
Ser Marq squinted blearily at the man. "You're no knight," he slurred, but allowed himself to be guided to a table anyway.
Lorrick knew he should leave. This wasn't his business, and getting involved would only invite trouble. But something about the young knight's foolish vulnerability stirred something in him. Besides, a nobleman from the Riverlands might have valuable information about the war brewing between Stark and Lannister.
Decision made, Lorrick rose and approached the table where Ser Marq was now being plied with more wine by his new "friend."
"Ser Marq," Lorrick said, as if they were acquainted. "Your father's men have been looking everywhere for you."
The knight blinked owlishly up at him. "My father?"
"Lord Piper sent us to escort you back to your lodgings," Lorrick continued smoothly. "He was most concerned when you didn't return."
The would-be robber glared at Lorrick, hand drifting toward the knife at his belt. "The knight and I were having a private conversation, boy. Run along before you get hurt."
Lorrick ignored him, focusing on Ser Marq. "Your father insisted you return with your sword intact this time, my lord. He was most displeased about the last one."
Something flickered in the knight's bleary eyes... recognition or perhaps fear. His hand moved to the jeweled sword hilt. "M'father sent you?
"He did, my lord. And he'll have my hide if I return without you." Lorrick extended a hand. "If you'll come with me?"
The would-be robber stood abruptly. "He's not going anywhere. We were drinking together, weren't we, Ser Knight?"
Ser Marq frowned, looking confused. "Was jus' one drink..."
"One is plenty," Lorrick said firmly. "Lord Piper expects you back before midnight."
The standoff might have escalated further, but fate intervened in the form of three Gold Cloaks entering the tavern, their black mail gleaming dully in the tavern's poor light. They weren't actively searching for trouble, just stopping in for a drink after their patrol, but their presence was enough to make the would-be robbers reconsider their options.
The leader shot Lorrick a venomous look that promised future trouble, then melted back into the shadows with his companions. Not gone for good, Lorrick knew, but at least temporarily deterred.
"Let's get you back to your lodgings, my lord," Lorrick said, helping the unsteady knight to his feet. "The night air will clear your head."
Getting Ser Marq out of the tavern proved easier than keeping him upright once they were in the street. The knight leaned heavily on Lorrick, mumbling about tournaments and someone named Edmure.
"Where are you staying, Ser Marq?" Lorrick asked as they staggered down the street.
"The... the Silver Trout," the knight managed. "Near the River Gate."
Of course. An inn favored by Riverlanders visiting the capital. It was a fair distance away, on the opposite side of the city from where they currently stood.
"What brings you to King's Landing, my lord?" Lorrick asked, partly to keep the knight conscious and partly out of genuine curiosity.
"Message," Ser Marq slurred. "For Lord Stark. From Riverrun."
Lorrick's interest sharpened. "Lord Stark? The Hand of the King?"
"Aye. Secret message. Very secret. Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret is safe with me, my lord," Lorrick assured him, mind racing with possibilities. Riverlanders communicating secretly with Ned Stark while tensions built between Stark and Lannister? That was valuable information indeed.
They'd gone perhaps two streets when Lorrick noticed they were being followed. Three shadows detached themselves from an alley behind them – the would-be robbers from the tavern, no doubt looking to finish what they'd started. Worse, he glimpsed movement ahead as well. They were being herded into a trap.
"My lord," Lorrick said urgently, "we need to move faster."
"Tired," the knight complained. "Need to rest."
"No time for rest." Lorrick half-dragged the man down a side street, hoping to throw off their pursuers. It didn't work. The footsteps behind them quickened.
"Give us the knight and you can walk away, boy," called a voice from the darkness. "No need for you to die tonight."
Ser Marq stirred at the threat, some of his drunken haze clearing. "Wha's happening?"
"Robbers, my lord," Lorrick explained tersely. "They want your sword and purse, at the very least."
To Lorrick's surprise, the knight straightened, drawing his jeweled sword with unexpected steadiness. "Let them try," he growled, suddenly sounding much more sober. "Pipers don't surrender to common thieves."
Their pursuers emerged from the shadows – five men now, not just the three from the tavern. They carried an assortment of weapons, from crude clubs to wicked-looking daggers. None looked particularly impressed by the knight's blade.
"Look at his sword, boys," said the leader, the same man who'd tried to befriend Ser Marq in the tavern. "That'll fetch a pretty price once we pry it from his dead fingers."
Lorrick assessed their options with growing desperation. The knight might have been a decent fighter when sober, but drunk as he was, he'd be cut down in moments. And while Lorrick carried a knife, he was no match for five armed men.
They needed a diversion, something to even the odds or create an escape route. His gaze fell on a stack of empty barrels outside a nearby building. They looked sturdy enough to cause chaos if toppled into the street.
"When I say run, head that way," Lorrick murmured to the knight, nodding toward a narrow passage between buildings. "Don't stop, don't look back."
Before Ser Marq could respond, their attackers rushed forward. Lorrick darted to the side, reaching the stack of barrels and throwing his weight against them. The heavy wooden containers crashed into the street, forcing their attackers to leap back or be crushed.
"Run!" Lorrick shouted, grabbing the knight's arm and dragging him toward the passage.
They sprinted through the darkness, the knight surprisingly fast despite his inebriation. Behind them, curses and the sound of pursuit spurred them on. The passage twisted and turned, eventually opening onto a wider street that Lorrick recognized as part of the Street of Flour.
"This way," he urged, pulling the knight toward an intersection where the street divided. "The City Watch keeps a regular patrol here."
Sure enough, the distant sound of armored men approaching caused their pursuers to fall back, unwilling to risk confrontation with the Gold Cloaks. Lorrick and Ser Marq ducked into a baker's doorway, catching their breath as a patrol passed by, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded.
"Seven hells," the knight gasped, leaning against the wall. "Who were those men?"
"Just thieves looking for easy prey," Lorrick said, though he wasn't entirely convinced. The coordination of the attack suggested something more organized than opportunistic robbery.
"You saved my life," Ser Marq said, studying Lorrick with clearer eyes than before. "And my sword. My father would have had my head if I'd lost another blade."
"Happy to help, my lord," Lorrick replied, already thinking of how to turn this encounter to his advantage. "Though I should get you safely to your inn now."
The rest of their journey passed without incident, though Lorrick took a circuitous route to avoid any further ambushes. By the time they reached the Silver Trout, Ser Marq had sobered enough to walk unassisted, though he still leaned on Lorrick periodically.
The innkeeper recognized the knight immediately, relief evident on his face. "Ser Marq! We were about to send for the City Watch. Your companions were most concerned."
"My companions?" The knight frowned.
"The other Riverlanders, ser. They've been waiting in your rooms these past two hours."
Ser Marq nodded slowly, then turned to Lorrick. "I owe you a debt, boy. What's your name?"
"Lorrick, my lord."
"Well, Lorrick of King's Landing, tonight you've earned the gratitude of House Piper." He fumbled at his belt, producing his purse. "Here. A knight's ransom for a knight's life."
Lorrick accepted the purse, surprised by its weight. "My lord, this is too much—"
"Nonsense," Ser Marq interrupted. "A Piper pays his debts. Besides," he added with a rueful smile, "better you have it than those thieves, or the next tavern keeper to serve me too much wine."
Before Lorrick could respond, the inn's door opened and three men emerged, wearing the colors of House Piper. They rushed to the knight's side, expressions mixing relief and exasperation.
"Ser Marq, thank the Seven! We've been searching half the city for you."
"Lord Edmure will have our heads if anything happens to you."
"Are you hurt, my lord?"
The knight waved off their concerns. "I'm fine, thanks to this lad. See that he's given a proper meal before he leaves."
With that, Ser Marq was whisked away by his men, leaving Lorrick standing in the inn yard with a purse of gold and an invitation to dine. He weighed the purse in his hand, scarcely believing his luck. There was enough here to feed his little family for months, perhaps even rent proper lodgings away from the damp squalor of their current hideout.
As he followed a servant into the inn's common room, Lorrick's mind raced with possibilities. The gold was a windfall, certainly, but the information he'd gleaned might prove even more valuable. Riverlanders in King's Landing with secret messages for the Hand, at a time when war whispers grew louder by the day? Master Wendel would pay handsomely for such news.
More than that, though, Lorrick found himself contemplating a future beyond day-to-day survival. With gold in his pocket and growing connections among those who valued information, perhaps a different life was possible. Not just for him, but for Tommen, Weasel, and little Jena too.
For the first time in years, Lorrick allowed himself to dream of something beyond Flea Bottom. Not the childish fantasies of knights and castles he'd once harbored, but something more tangible: a small house in a better district, perhaps. Regular meals. Clean clothes. Safety.
The thought was so foreign it almost frightened him. Safety wasn't something people like him were allowed to expect. But as he sat in the Silver Trout, eating better food than he'd tasted in years, the weight of the gold against his hip made such dreams seem almost possible.
Of course, he'd have to be careful. Gold made men targets in King's Landing, and he had three children depending on him.
But for tonight, at least, Lorrick Wrennel would allow himself to imagine a future where Flea Bottom was nothing but a memory, and the stench of its gutters no longer clung to his clothes or his dreams.