Flea Bottom, King's Landing.
When the bells tolled at dusk, the denizens of Flea Bottom knew tonight would be different.
Seven long rings, the signal for an emergency royal decree.
Then, a continuous series of short, sharp tolls: the signal for a total curfew.
On any other day, this was when Flea Bottom's nightlife truly began.
The lanterns in Candle Lane's brothels would be lit, the gambling dens by the gutters would overflow, and cutpurses would vanish into the shadows.
But tonight, the sound of iron boots striking the ground arrived before the bells could even stop.
"Everyone inside! Close your doors immediately! Violators will be arrested!"
The royal troops poured into the narrow alleys in disciplined ranks. These were not the Gold Cloaks of old, the kind who would look the other way for a few copper groats.
These were battle-ready soldiers with cold eyes and steel-tipped spears that glinted in the fading light.
Flea Bottom became a kicked hornet's nest. Peddlers abandoned their carts, drunks were dragged indoors, and prostitutes slammed their shutters.
Those with nowhere to go, the homeless, the outlaws, retreated into the deepest shadows, praying to stay unseen.
At the main entrance to the district, Aemond Targaryen sat atop a black warhorse, watching the chaos.
Beside him stood Terra, dressed in leather armor for tonight's operation.
Usually, she was at Helaena's side, but tonight she was Aemond's instrument.
"Are the exits sealed?" Aemond asked quietly.
"Four main gates, twelve alleys, and the ledgers have been brought," Terra replied.
The "ledgers" were the property and residency records from the City Hall.
Though half the population wasn't on them, they provided a legal pretext.
"The 'Little Birds' say Billy the Butcher is at the Leaking Jar. He has six men with him."
"Little Birds" was Aemond's name for the street urchins he had Terra recruit.
He took the idea from a man not yet born.
He fed them, housed them, and taught them to read faces. In return, they became his eyes and ears in every corner of King's Landing.
Aemond looked at his captain, Hal.
"Take a squad with Terra. Find that bandit and slaughter him."
---------
The Leaking Jar.
Inside the tavern, the air was thick with the acrid smoke of cheap candles.
Billy, a man built like a bear with a scar running from forehead to jaw, slammed his flagon down.
"Two days! Two damn days of curfew!"
He was a butcher from the Riverlands who had fled to the capital after murdering a Bracken noblewoman and three of her knights.
He had planned to catch a smuggler's ship to Tyrosh or Lys, but the city's sudden lockdown had trapped him.
Suddenly, the horses' hooves stopped outside. Billy grabbed his twin-bladed axe.
CRASH!
The doors were kicked in, not just the front, but the kitchen entrance as well. Shield-bearing soldiers flooded the room.
"Royal Army! Get down or die!"
Most of the patrons hit the floor instantly. Billy's men were a second too slow. Two were cut down immediately.
One tried to jump out of a window and was pinned by an arrow. Another was run through by a spear.
Billy stood alone amidst the bodies of his crew, surrounded by a forest of spears.
Hal walked in, eyes fixed on the bandit.
"Billy the Butcher. House Bracken has a bounty of five hundred Gold Dragons on you, dead or alive."
"Bastard," Billy spat.
"You think you can take me?"
"By the law, your crimes merit the noose," Hal sneered.
Billy roared and lunged, swinging his axe in a desperate attempt to carve a path out.
He managed to knock one soldier down, but the room was too small, the spears too many.
Realizing it was over, Billy grinned, showing yellowed teeth.
"You know, boy... that Bracken girl? She called me 'daddy' before she died."
He didn't finish the sentence.
Hal signaled.
Three spears lunged simultaneously.
One to the thigh, one to the ribs, and the third, driven with precision from beneath a shield, skewered Billy's knee.
He fell, and four more spears pinned him to the ground, the floor, and the walls. He died in an instant.
"Take the head," Hal ordered.
"Seal it in lime and box it. Send it to House Bracken in the Riverlands. Tell them it's a gift."
-------
Flea Bottom Square.
Outside, torches illuminated the grime of Flea Bottom.
Aemond stood on a temporary wooden stage, facing a sea of terrified people.
The residency ledgers were useless, so Aemond offered a different solution: Mutual Betrayal.
"Report a criminal," Aemond's voice carried over the crowd.
"A thief, a robber, a rapist, a murderer. Unless you have committed a capital crime yourself, anyone who informs on a major criminal will be rewarded with five Silver Stags. Report three petty crimes, and your past is forgiven."
Silence reigned at first. The code of Flea Bottom was never to snitch.
But then, a skeletal old man pointed a trembling finger at a man in the corner.
"He... he stole the medicine money for my grandson yesterday."
The man was dragged out.
Then, the floodgates opened.
"He's a thief! He's a thug! He raped the washerwoman!"
The snowball grew until five or six hundred people were detained in the square.
Those found guilty of "heinous" crimes were executed on the spot, ensuring the informants had nothing to fear from revenge.
Hal approached Aemond, his face splattered with blood.
"My Prince, by the law, most of these remaining men should have their hands or feet chopped off, or be sent to the wall."
Aemond looked at the crowd. Cutting off limbs was a waste of labor.
He thought of the iron mines at Summerhall.
"Don't hang them, and don't maim them," Aemond said.
"Release them?" Hal asked, stunned.
"Hardly. The mines need labor, don't they?" Aemond turned to him.
"Free the slaves currently working the mines."
Hal's eyes widened. "My Prince, those slaves were paid for with coin!"
"Free them," Aemond repeated.
"Then, have those former slaves form a... 'Redemption Corps."
"A what?" Hal stammered.
"What are they teaching? How to dig?"
"They are teaching these criminals how to be human again," Aemond said with a thin smile.
"Let the former slaves oversee the labor of these criminals. Mining, road-building, the hardest, most grueling work. Provide them with food and shelter, but no wages. After three years of Hard Labor, those who perform well may be released."
Hal stood with his mouth agape.
"This... this method is... brilliant. We save on gallows, save on medical costs for the maimed, and gain a massive workforce."
Aemond nodded.
-----
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