King's Landing, The Streets.
King's Landing in the dead of night was a city under siege from within.
Massive contingents of soldiers scoured the streets and alleys, their torches so numerous they seemed to set half the city aglow.
Accompanied by officials, they burst into homes to verify identities and search for conspirators.
Ser William Darklyn, Commander of the Royal Host, had never seen the city this quiet.
It was a heavy, suffocating silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic clatter of his men's armored boots.
Mounted on his warhorse, William's plate armor, adorned with the black three-headed dragon in gold, flashed coldly under the torchlight.
An hour ago, he had been asleep. Then, his squires had shaken him awake with orders from the Red Keep: immediate lockdown, total curfew, and the arrest of any "suspicious" persons.
"Suspicious?" William had asked.
"By what standard?"
"The Prince said anyone walking the streets is suspicious."
Now, William understood. The streets were to be empty of everyone except the Prince's own men.
"Open up! By order of the King!"
Soldiers used spear butts to smash through another wooden door. Cries and the shrieks of women erupted from within.
William watched impassively.
They had already arrested over thirty suspects: drunks, thieves, prostitutes working late, and a few unlucky minor nobles.
"My Lord! Mercy!"
A man was dragged out, shirtless, his breeches barely fastened.
Behind him followed four young women, wrapped in white blankets, their faces pale with terror as the soldiers looked them over with predatory eyes.
"Pimping during a curfew," the squad leader, Frey, remarked, checking the man's coin purse. He turned to William.
"Do we take them, my Lord?"
William looked at the man, middle-aged, his face flushed from years of drinking.
There was no information to be beaten out of such a wretch.
"Give him five lashes and throw him back inside," William commanded, riding on.
As William turned the corner, the squad leader, Frey, looked back at the shivering women.
"Bring them back," he muttered to his men with a wicked grin.
"I need to interrogate them... personally. One by one. Don't worry, brothers, I don't like to waste. Even the crumbs on the plate get eaten."
Elsewhere, another group of soldiers brought a young nobleman forward.
His face was bruised and his fine clothes torn.
"I am Arthur Rosby," the young man said, trying to steady his voice.
"My men were just drinking. We didn't know about the curfew."
William looked down at him. House Rosby was a significant family in the Crownlands, but tonight, significance meant nothing.
"The Prince himself issued the decree. Did you think it was a suggestion?"
"My Lord, I, "
"Take him," William interrupted.
"Throw him in the dungeon for the Master of Laws to handle."
Arthur's legs went weak. Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, was a man who loved gold more than mercy.
Even if Arthur's father paid the fine, Arthur knew his legs would likely be broken for the disgrace.
As he was dragged away, the heir to Rosby began to wail for mercy.
William didn't look back. He didn't know exactly what had happened in the Red Keep, but his gut told him the world had changed.
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Maegor's Holdfast, The King's Chambers.
Inside the King's Chambers, seven white candles burned on silver stands.
Viserys I lay upon the bed, dressed in a black silk shroud.
Queen Mother Alicent, with her handmaidens, had dressed him, combed his hair, and cleaned his face.
She had even applied powder to hide the deathly grey, but the scent of death could not be masked, a smell of incense mixed with the metallic tang of black blood.
Alicent sat in a chair by the bed, draped in black silk and veils.
Her tears had run dry. She simply stared at the man she had been married to for twenty years.
Aegon stood beside his mother, leaning heavily on a cane.
His right leg, shattered during the fall at Dragonstone, was still mending. Pain made him pale, but his anxiety was deeper.
His father was dead; his brother held the power. He was the heir, but he felt like a puppet.
He didn't fear being a puppet-king; he feared that Aemond would put him on the Throne only to tear him down later.
His wife, Aelyn Rogare, supported him. She had given birth to a daughter, Jaehaera, only three days ago, a child Viserys had lived long enough to name.
Aelyn wore a mask of grief, but her mind was calculating. She frequently stole glances at Aemond, the man who truly held the reins.
Helaena knelt at the foot of the bed in a white mourning gown, her silver hair loose. She prayed with her hands clasped, silent tears falling onto her lap.
She had only just wed Aemond, hoping for peace; now her father was dead and war was at the gates.
She thought of her dreams from the night before...
Tyland Lannister stood to the left, his blue eyes calm and calculating.
Beside him was Larys Strong, leaning on his silver-headed cane, his eyes darting between Alicent, Aegon, and Aemond.
Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, was sweating; he had been the first to receive the orders for the lockdown.
He knew the King had been poisoned and that the envoys of the Four Realms had fled.
Will Simmons, the new Master of Coin, stood on the outer edge, nervous. Of Aemond's "Three Fingers," he had risen the highest, Hal ran the guard, Carter ran the estates, and he managed the gold of the Seven Kingdoms.
But he knew his seat at the table existed only because Aemond had put him there.
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