The Stronghammer - CH - 59

The decision to stay in King’s Landing longer than anticipated brought both a sense of nostalgia for Holden Cross and an opportunity for Eddie to immerse himself in rigorous training. Their temporary home became one of the last intact Blackstone Legion hideouts—hidden beneath the bustling streets of the capital. The training ground had seen better days, but its sturdy walls, reinforced with the ingenuity of the Legion’s architects, still held strong.

The chamber was expansive, with high ceilings that echoed every clang of steel and thud of boots. The floor was covered in patches of sand and dust, remnants of countless training sessions that had taken place there decades ago. Broken weapons and faded banners of the Blackstone Legion adorned the walls, silent witnesses to a glorious past.

“Don’t let your skills dull, Eddie,” Holden barked as he paced the training ground, his sharp eyes fixed on Eddie’s every move. “Out in the real world, there’s no room for mistakes. A dull blade—or a dull mind—gets you killed.”

Eddie nodded, gripping his training sword tightly. The sweat dripped down his brow as he faced off against one of the guards who had accompanied them to King’s Landing. The guard, a seasoned fighter named Jarrek, swung his blade with precision, forcing Eddie to block and counter with all his might.

“Good!” Holden shouted, clapping his hands as Eddie deflected Jarrek’s strike and followed it with a clean, precise thrust. “Now again. Faster this time.”

Eddie’s muscles burned, but he didn’t stop. He was determined to make every swing, every block, every movement count. He had no intention of letting his time in King’s Landing dull his edge, even if it was far from the battlefield.

As Eddie sparred, Holden leaned against the wall, observing not just Eddie but also the other guards who trained alongside him. The echoes of their grunts and the clash of steel filled the chamber, a sound that brought him back to the golden days of the Legion.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Holden remarked to Wyllis, the innkeeper who had come to watch. “This place once teemed with warriors, strategists, and spies. Now it’s just a shadow of what it was.”

Wyllis nodded. “Aye, but it’s good to see life in it again. Feels like the old days, watching you train the boy.”

Holden smirked. “The boy’s got potential, more than most. But potential means nothing without hard work. And he’s got a long way to go.”

In between training sessions, Eddie explored the hideout, uncovering its secrets. He found old maps of King’s Landing, detailing the interconnected tunnels and passageways that once allowed the Legion to move undetected. He marveled at the ingenuity of the design, imagining how the Legion must have operated during its prime.

“These tunnels could still be useful,” Eddie mused aloud as he showed Holden one of the maps. “We could use them to gather information, or as escape routes if things go south.”

Holden nodded, impressed by Eddie’s insight. “You’re thinking like a strategist. Good. But remember, these tunnels are a double-edged sword. If the wrong people find out about them, they could turn them against us.”

Not all of the old hideouts remained untouched. Some had been claimed by homeless families, others by thieves and spies. Eddie and Holden decided to investigate one of the occupied chambers, a former armory that now served as a den for a gang of cutthroats.

As they approached the chamber, Eddie whispered, “What’s the plan? Do we confront them or let them be?”

Holden grinned, his old soldier’s instincts kicking in. “We’ll see if they’re willing to talk first. If not, we remind them whose ground they’re standing on.”

The gang, initially hostile, quickly changed their tune when Holden revealed his identity. His reputation as a former Blackstone knight still held weight, even in the underbelly of King’s Landing. After a tense negotiation, the gang agreed to vacate the chamber, leaving it to Eddie and Holden.

“Sometimes,” Holden said afterward, “a name is more powerful than a sword.”

The days turned into weeks, and Eddie threw himself into his training with unwavering dedication. He sparred with the guards, practiced archery, and even tested his skills in hand-to-hand combat. Holden pushed him hard, never letting him settle for mediocrity.

“You’ve got to be better than the best, Eddie,” Holden told him during one grueling session. “Not just because you’re my squire, but because you’re a Stormrage. Your father built a kingdom on his strength and will. You’ll need to be even stronger to protect it.”

Eddie nodded, his determination shining through his exhaustion. “I won’t let him—or you—down.”

Eddie’s days in King’s Landing followed a steady rhythm. Each morning began in the hidden Blackstone Legion training grounds beneath the city, the air filled with the sound of clashing steel and Holden Cross’s gruff instructions.

“Keep your guard up, Eddie!” Holden barked as Eddie parried a strike from one of the guards. “Your father might have been a hammer in battle, but you’ve got the potential to be sharper—more precise.”

Sweat dripped down Eddie’s brow as he adjusted his grip and counterattacked, forcing his opponent back. Despite Holden’s harsh words, Eddie knew it was all part of the old knight’s way of pushing him to his limits. Every strike, every dodge, every fall was a step closer to the warrior he wanted to become.

After his morning training, Eddie would venture out into the sprawling city. King's Landing was a world of contrasts, a place where wealth and poverty coexisted within walking distance. Eddie, disguised as a common squire, found himself weaving through both worlds with ease.

In the wealthier districts, he strolled through the grand markets, where silk, spices, and rare gems were traded. He listened to merchants boasting about their wares and struck up conversations with minor lords and ladies, charming them with his quick wit and roguish smile.

“Quite the silver tongue you’ve got there,” one merchant said, handing Eddie a small trinket as a token of appreciation. “You could sell snow to a Northman.”

But it was in the slums of Flea Bottom where Eddie felt most at home. He shared bowls of stew with the locals, helped an old woman mend her cart, and played dice games with street children. His easygoing nature and lack of judgment won him friends wherever he went.

“You’re not like the others,” a grizzled dockworker told him one evening. “You listen, lad. Not many do.”

Eddie grinned. “Maybe I’ve just got good ears.”

Despite his modest disguise, Eddie couldn’t completely suppress the Baratheon blood coursing through his veins. Like his father, Robert Stronghammer, Eddie had an insatiable appetite for life’s pleasures.

Brothels became a regular haunt for the young prince. He was a familiar face in the Street of Silk, where the courtesans greeted him warmly. His charm, youth, and striking looks made him a favorite among the workers.

“Back so soon?” Lira, a fiery-haired courtesan, teased one evening as Eddie walked into her room.

“Can’t stay away,” Eddie replied with a wink. “You’re far too good at what you do.”

Lira laughed, pulling him into the room. “Flattery will get you everywhere, boy.”

Though he reveled in these indulgences, Eddie carried himself with a sense of respect. He never took advantage, always paid generously, and treated the women with kindness. In return, they shared stories about the city, giving him a deeper understanding of the world he was exploring.

Despite his hedonistic tendencies, Eddie never let his training falter. Morning and evening, he sparred with Holden and the guards. He pushed himself harder with each passing day, determined to live up to the legacy of his father and the expectations of Stormrage.

Holden often watched him with a mix of pride and frustration. “You’ve got your father’s strength and spirit,” he told Eddie one evening after a particularly grueling session. “But you’ve got something more—patience. Use it wisely.”

Eddie nodded, absorbing the advice. He knew he was still young and had much to learn, but he also felt a fire within him—a desire to carve out his own path, not just as the heir to Stormrage but as his own man.

Eddie’s life in King’s Landing was a delicate balance of indulgence and discipline, exploration and self-discovery. He was the son of Robert Stronghammer, a man who had risen from a bastard knight to a king.

Eddie reclined on the plush mattress of a brothel in one of the most opulent parts of King’s Landing. The room was richly adorned with silk drapes and ornate furniture, the scent of incense lingering in the air. Beside him was Alina, a brothel girl who had caught Eddie’s attention since his arrival in the capital. Her quick wit and skillful charm made her a favorite, not just among the wealthy clientele but also for Eddie, who had made a habit of visiting her whenever his time allowed.

“You’re too generous, Eddie,” Alina teased as she draped herself across him, running her fingers through his dark hair. “If you keep spoiling me, I might start expecting you every night.”

Eddie smirked. “You’re worth it. Besides, who else would put up with my endless stories about battles and training?”

Alina laughed, leaning in closer. “I think I enjoy your company more than you realize.”

Their banter continued, the evening unfolding in indulgent pleasure until the door to the room burst open, startling them both.

A stocky man with a scowl stepped into the room. His tone was authoritative, bordering on arrogant. “The girl is needed elsewhere,” he barked, his eyes narrowing at Eddie.

Eddie, unfazed, sat up slowly. “I’ve already paid for her time,” he said calmly. “I’ll leave when I’m finished.”

The man sneered. “You don’t understand, boy. She’s needed for someone far more important than you. Get out.”

Eddie’s temper flared, but he kept his voice steady. “I don’t care who you are or who you’re here for. I paid, and I’ll leave when I choose.”

The tension in the room thickened as the man’s companions moved closer, but Eddie didn’t back down. When the man reached for Alina, Eddie’s patience snapped. He sprang to his feet, his training kicking in as he delivered a swift punch that sent the man sprawling out of the room.

Moments later, the man returned with six more thugs, all armed and ready for a fight. Eddie stood his ground, motioning for Alina to stay behind him.

“This could’ve been avoided,” Eddie said, rolling his shoulders. “But if you’re determined to make it a fight, don’t expect me to hold back.”

The first thug charged, swinging wildly. Eddie sidestepped, landing a precise elbow to the man’s jaw, dropping him instantly. The others hesitated, but their leader roared, “Get him!”

What followed was a whirlwind of chaos. Eddie’s fists and feet moved with the precision of years of training under Holden Cross. He used the small space of the room to his advantage, striking with speed and accuracy. One by one, the attackers fell, groaning on the floor.

Amid the fight, a cloaked figure emerged from the hallway, shouting, “Enough!” But Eddie was in the heat of the moment and delivered a punch before realizing who it was. The figure crumpled to the ground, the hood falling back to reveal none other than Prince Aegon Targaryen, the crown prince of the realm, disguised as a commoner.

Eddie froze, the room falling silent except for the groans of the injured. Alina gasped, covering her mouth. “Do you know what you’ve done?” she whispered.

The sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway as guards burst into the room. They quickly assessed the scene, their eyes widening when they saw the unconscious prince.

“Arrest him!” one of them barked, and Eddie didn’t resist as they grabbed his arms and shackled him.

From a distance, some of the guards who had come to King’s Landing with Eddie watched the scene unfold. One of them moved to intervene, but Holden Cross, who had just arrived, raised a hand to stop him.

Eddie caught Holden’s eye and gave a subtle nod, a silent message: Stay out of this. I’ll handle it.

As the guards led him away, Eddie’s mind raced. He knew the gravity of the situation. Knocking out the prince of the realm wasn’t something easily forgiven. But he wasn’t afraid. He trusted his wits and his training—and he had faith in his father’s legacy to help him navigate the trouble ahead.