The Stronghammer - CH - 58

The sun was barely above the horizon when Holden Cross, a grizzled knight with years of battle etched into his scarred face, and his young squire, Eddie, set out from Storm’s End. Eddie, though a prince in disguise, was clad in plain attire befitting a squire—his tunic simple, his demeanor humble, and his mannerisms carefully adjusted to avoid suspicion.

Holden, on the other hand, looked every bit the seasoned knight. His armor gleamed faintly in the morning light, though it was marked by years of use. A great sword rested across his back, a weapon that had seen countless battles. Despite his age, he carried himself with the strength and confidence of a man who had never known defeat.

“Keep the reins steady, boy,” Holden said gruffly, glancing back at Eddie as their horses trotted down the well-worn road. “A knight’s squire should not fidget like a farmhand.”

“Yes, Ser Holden,” Eddie replied dutifully, though a faint smirk touched his lips. He was far from the ordinary squire he pretended to be, but he played the role well. His long hours of practice with Holden had prepared him for this ruse.

Their journey led them through the dense and shadowy paths of the Kingswood. The forest was alive with the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds. Eddie, ever alert, scanned their surroundings while managing the supplies strapped to their horses. He carried a bundle of spare weapons, a small tent, and provisions for the journey.

“You remember the plan, boy?” Holden asked as they slowed their pace to navigate a narrow trail.

“Yes,” Eddie replied. “We’ll travel as knight and squire, staying far from trouble and blending in wherever we go. King’s Landing first, then wherever the road takes us.”

Holden nodded approvingly. “Good. But remember, lad, there’s more to being a squire than hauling gear. Watch and listen. Learn from the tourneys and the courts. You’ve the makings of a great leader, but humility comes first.”

Eddie suppressed a grin at the irony of Holden lecturing him about humility, given the man’s gruff and sometimes arrogant demeanor. But he took the advice to heart.

As they approached a small clearing, they paused to water their horses. Eddie worked quickly, checking the saddles and ensuring their supplies were secure.

“Why King’s Landing first?” Eddie asked as he handed Holden a flask of water.

Holden took a long drink before answering. “Because it’s the heart of the realm. If you’re going to understand Westeros, you start where the power is concentrated. Besides, the capital has everything—a mix of high lords and lowborn. You’ll see the best and worst of what the Seven Kingdoms have to offer.”

Eddie nodded, though he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anticipation. He had heard countless tales of King’s Landing, of the Red Keep, and the bustling streets of the capital. Now, he would see it all for himself—not as a prince, but as a humble squire.

As they resumed their journey, the Kingswood began to thin, and the distant spires of King’s Landing appeared on the horizon. Eddie adjusted the straps on his horse’s saddle, ensuring everything was in place.

“Remember, lad,” Holden said, his tone serious now. “Keep your head down, speak only when spoken to, and let me do the talking. The less attention we draw, the safer we’ll be.”

As Holden Cross and Eddie Stormrage rode through the winding trails and open roads of Westeros, they made it a point to engage with the common folk they encountered along the way. Holden, ever the seasoned knight, struck up casual conversations with innkeepers, merchants, farmers, and even wandering minstrels. Eddie, playing his part as a squire, listened carefully, absorbing every word like a sponge.

Their questions often circled around the state of the realm, the king’s rule, and the growing tension surrounding the succession of the Iron Throne. The responses they received were as varied as the people they met.

At a small village inn near the Kingswood, an older man with a weathered face and a missing tooth leaned over the counter as Holden sipped his ale. “The king’s doing fine, I s’pose,” the man muttered. “But it ain’t right, you know? A girl on the throne. Don’t matter what the king says. His boy ought to sit there when the time comes.”

Holden nodded, his expression neutral. “And what of Princess Rhaenyra? She’s the king’s chosen heir, is she not?”

“Aye, she is,” the man replied, lowering his voice. “But folks don’t like it. A woman ruling? It’s not the way of things. And with the queen birthing sons now, it’s only stirring the pot more.”

Eddie, standing nearby and pretending to organize their saddlebags, kept his face carefully composed. But inside, his mind raced. He knew of Rhaenyra from his father, Robert Stormrage, who had once loved her deeply. Robert’s tales of Rhaenyra were always tinged with a mix of fondness and bitterness. Hearing her name now, in the context of political discord, stirred a strange sense of curiosity in Eddie.

“Has there been any trouble over the matter?” Holden asked casually, swirling his ale.

“Not yet,” the innkeeper replied. “But it’s coming, mark my words. The lords don’t want to defy the king outright, but once he’s gone…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’ll be a mess.”

As they continued their journey, the conversations followed a similar pattern. Some supported Rhaenyra, praising her intelligence and strength. Others scoffed at the idea of a queen ruling Westeros, citing tradition and the natural order. The most vocal, however, were those who believed Prince Aegon, Viserys’ eldest son with Queen Alicent, should take precedence.

At a bustling market near the Blackwater Rush, a merchant selling bolts of fabric spoke animatedly about the issue. “It’s not just the lords, you see,” she said, gesturing with her hands. “Even the smallfolk have their opinions. Some say Rhaenyra would be strong, like Nymeria of old. Others call her reckless, unfit for the crown. But most of all, they fear what’ll happen when the king dies.”

Holden nodded thoughtfully. “And what do you fear?”

The merchant hesitated, then sighed. “War,” she said simply. “When there’s two claimants to the throne, there’s always war.”

Later that evening, as they made camp by the roadside, Eddie couldn’t help but reflect on everything they had heard. The discord over Rhaenyra’s succession seemed to be a wound festering beneath the surface of the realm, threatening to erupt at any moment.

“Do you think it’ll come to war?” Eddie asked, breaking the silence as they sat by the fire.

Holden looked up from sharpening his blade. “It always does,” he said grimly. “Ambition and pride have spilled more blood than any sword. And succession disputes…” He shook his head. “They’re the worst of all.”

Eddie nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting back to his father. Robert had told him stories of Rhaenyra—not just as the ambitious princess, but as the woman he had once loved and lost. Hearing these tales of succession and conflict, Eddie wondered if his father’s connection to Rhaenyra might one day complicate matters further.

For now, though, he had to focus on their journey. King’s Landing awaited, and with it, the heart of Westeros’ political intrigue. Eddie knew he had much to learn, and the road ahead promised to be anything but simple.

The towering gates of King’s Landing loomed ahead, its bustling crowd a cacophony of voices, carts creaking, and the occasional neighing of horses. Eddie, disguised as a young squire, rode closely behind Holden Cross, his so-called "knight." Both were covered in modest, travel-worn cloaks, their faces shadowed against the midday sun. Behind them, the ten guards who had traveled with them from Stormrage trailed at a deliberate distance, their carts loaded with wares to maintain their guise as merchants.

As they approached the gates, the guards stationed there cast a scrutinizing look at the pair. One of them, a burly man with a pockmarked face, stepped forward, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword.

“What business do you have in King’s Landing?” the guard asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Holden Cross, ever the seasoned actor, dipped his head respectfully. “I am but a wandering knight, good ser, and this here is my squire. We seek opportunity, perhaps to serve a lord in need of loyal swords.”

The guard snorted, his eyes narrowing. “A knight, eh? You look like you’ve seen too many winters, old man. What lord would take you in?” He chuckled, nudging the guard beside him.

Holden’s lips twitched, but he held his temper. “A lord who values skill over youth, perhaps.”

The guard laughed harder this time. “Skill? You’d probably fall off your horse before you could draw that rusty sword of yours.”

Eddie shifted uncomfortably, his fists clenching at the insult. But before he could speak, Holden reached into his pouch and withdrew three silver coins, holding them out with an easy smile. “Perhaps these will convince you of our worth, good ser.”

The guard’s laughter ceased abruptly as he snatched the coins, his demeanor shifting to mock courtesy. “Aye, go on in. But mind your manners, old man.”

Holden nodded, his face impassive as he nudged his horse forward. Eddie followed, his jaw tight with barely contained frustration. Behind them, the guards posing as merchants approached the gate. The same burly guard stepped forward, eyeing the carts with a greedy glint in his eye.

“What’s this?” he asked, feigning curiosity. “Merchants, eh? What goods are you hauling?”

“Silks and spices, fine wares from Essos,” one of the guards replied smoothly, his tone measured.

The burly guard smirked. “Fine wares, eh? That’ll cost you seven silver to pass.”

“Seven?!” the "merchant" protested, feigning outrage. “The knight ahead of us paid only three!”

The guard shrugged lazily. “Knights are different. You’re merchants, and you’ve got goods. Pay up, or turn around.”

Grumbling under their breath, the merchants reluctantly handed over the silver, their charade intact as they followed Holden and Eddie into the city.

The air inside King’s Landing was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, rotting waste, and a hint of baked bread wafting from distant stalls. The streets were alive with activity—vendors shouting about their wares, children darting between carts, and the ever-present clamor of gossip and arguments.

Holden led the way with a practiced ease, his horse navigating the crowded streets without hesitation. Eddie followed closely, his eyes darting around, taking in the sights and sounds of the capital. It was his first time in King’s Landing, and despite the filth and chaos, there was a certain vibrancy to the city that intrigued him.

“Where are we headed?” Eddie asked, his voice low.

Holden glanced over his shoulder. “To the Street of Silk. There’s an inn there, run by an old acquaintance of mine. She’ll give us lodging and keep her mouth shut.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “She?”

Holden smirked. “Aye, she. You’ll like her—sharp tongue, sharper mind.”

The Street of Silk was a district known for its brothels and taverns, a place where wealth and vice intermingled freely. The inn Holden led them to was modest compared to the grand establishments nearby, but it exuded a warmth and charm that set it apart. A wooden sign creaked above the door, bearing the name The Velvet Stag.

Holden dismounted and handed the reins to Eddie. “Stay here. I’ll make the arrangements.”

He stepped inside, the door creaking open to reveal a cozy interior filled with the hum of quiet conversation and the clink of mugs. A woman in her fifties stood behind the bar, her graying hair tied back in a no-nonsense bun. Her sharp eyes lit up when they landed on Holden.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice rich with amusement. “If it isn’t Holden Cross. Thought you’d be dead by now.”

Holden chuckled, spreading his arms. “And miss the chance to see your lovely face again, Lyanna? Never.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “What brings you here, old man?”

“Lodging, for me and my squire,” Holden said, leaning against the bar. “We’ll keep to ourselves, pay in advance, and cause no trouble.”

Lyanna studied him for a moment before nodding. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Two rooms?”

“One will do,” Holden replied. “Don’t need anyone thinking we’re living large.”

Lyanna raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she handed him a key. “Welcome back, Holden."

Outside, Eddie watched as the guards-turned-merchants unloaded their wares onto a nearby cart, blending seamlessly into the city’s bustling trade. When Holden returned with the key, he handed it to Eddie.

“Come on,” Holden said, leading the way inside. “Let’s get settled. King’s Landing is a city of whispers, and we’ve got a lot to learn.”

As Eddie followed Holden into The Velvet Queen, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. The capital was a place of power, intrigue, and danger—and he was determined to make the most of their time here.

Holden Cross stood on the edge of King’s Landing’s bustling streets, his weathered eyes scanning the cityscape as memories flooded back. The familiar cacophony of the capital stirred a deep nostalgia within him. The last time he had walked these streets was decades ago, during the height of the Blackstone Legion’s covert operations in Westeros. Back then, the Legion’s influence stretched into the underbelly of the city, connecting establishments that served as their hidden network.

Eddie, his young charge, watched Holden quietly. The elder knight had been unusually pensive since their arrival, and Eddie, always curious, finally asked, “Holden, what’s it like to be back after so many years?”

Holden smirked, his grizzled face softening. “King’s Landing hasn’t changed much, lad. It still reeks of filth and ambition. But for me, this city is full of ghosts—reminders of the golden days when the Blackstone Legion had its roots here. We weren’t just soldiers; we were shadows, keeping the city in check.”

Intrigued, Eddie pressed further. “You’ve told me stories of the Legion’s operations here. Did you ever think you’d come back?”

Holden shrugged, his gaze distant. “Never thought I’d leave, to be honest. But times changed, and so did the Legion. What remains of our influence here is what I intend to find out.”

With that, Holden led Eddie through a maze of narrow alleys, the sound of their boots muffled on the uneven cobblestones. Their destination was an unassuming building near the Street of Flour, its exterior weathered and inconspicuous. Holden pushed open a hidden door at the back, revealing a dark staircase descending into the earth.

“This,” Holden said, his voice laced with pride, “was one of our secret passages. It connects to several establishments we once controlled.”

Eddie followed Holden down the staircase, the damp air thick with the scent of mildew and stone. The passageway was narrow, lined with faintly glowing torches that flickered against the cold walls. It felt ancient, a remnant of a time when the Blackstone Legion thrived in the shadows.

As they walked, Holden began recounting the days when the Legion had a significant presence in King’s Landing. “We operated out of places no one would suspect—inns, taverns, brothels, even bakeries. We had eyes and ears everywhere. If there was corruption, banditry, or injustice, we knew about it before anyone else.”

Eddie absorbed every word, his admiration for Holden growing with each story. “And what happened to all these places after the Legion left Westeros?”

Holden’s expression turned somber. “Some were abandoned. Others were handed over to those who chose to stay behind. Not everyone wanted to leave Westeros, Eddie. For some, this city was their home, their life.”

Their journey through the passage eventually led them to a hidden door that opened into the backroom of a modest tavern. The air was thick with the scent of ale and roasting meat. As Holden stepped into the room, the bartender—a graying man with sharp eyes—froze, his mug mid-polish.

“Holden Cross,” the bartender said, his voice a mix of disbelief and respect. “I thought you were dead.”

Holden chuckled. “Not yet, Wyllis. Still kicking, though the years have caught up to me.”

Wyllis set the mug down and came around the bar, clasping Holden’s hand in a firm grip. “It’s been too long. What brings you back?”

“Memories, mostly,” Holden replied. “And curiosity. I wanted to see what became of the old network.”

Wyllis nodded, his expression turning serious. “Some of us are still here, keeping the old ways alive. But the city’s changed, Holden. It’s more dangerous now. The lords and their games make it harder to operate.”

Holden glanced at Eddie, who was quietly observing the interaction. “This is my squire, Eddie. He’s learning the ways of the world.”

Wyllis gave Eddie a once-over and grinned. “A sharp-looking lad. You’ve got a good teacher, boy.”

Eddie smiled politely but said nothing, keenly aware of the need to maintain his cover.

Over the next few hours, Holden and Eddie visited several other establishments connected by the underground network. At each stop, Holden was greeted with a mixture of surprise and reverence by those who still remembered him. The Legion’s legacy, it seemed, was far from forgotten.

Despite the warm receptions, Holden remained cautious. He trusted few people and shared nothing about Eddie’s true identity. “Loose lips sink ships,” he muttered to Eddie after one particularly nosy innkeeper tried to pry too much information.

As they returned to The Velvet Queen that evening, Eddie couldn’t help but ask, “Do you miss it? The way things were?”

Holden considered the question for a moment. “Sometimes. But the past is the past, lad. What matters is what we do with the time we have now. The Legion’s mission continues, even if it’s in a different land.”

Eddie nodded, his respect for Holden deepening. Together, they prepared for the next phase of their journey, knowing that King’s Landing held many more secrets yet to uncover.