City Hall, King's Landing.
The sun had just risen over King's Landing. Within the morning mist along Rosby Lane, a large crowd of commoners had already formed a long line outside the City Hall.
They had surrounded the building.
They were not a line for bread. Ever since the Blacks had severed the sea routes, the charity stalls that occasionally provided porridge to the poor had long been dismantled.
These were commoners gathered for a petition.
"Make way! Make way!"
"Keep your heads down! Go back to wherever the hell you came from!"
Vice-Commander Frey of the City Watch rode upon his horse, his mount's hooves nearly crushing an old woman's foot.
The old woman shrank back quickly, her copper coins spilling into the mud. She didn't even dare to pick them up, kneeling in the muck with her head buried low.
The gathered commoners watched as the City Watch arrived to disperse them, but they remained silent and did not leave.
They endured the insults and the cold, for they only wanted their families within the city to survive.
Frey had only recently been promoted to Vice-Commander. Through various previous merits and a substantial bribe of Golden Dragons paid to Master of Laws Lord Jasper Wylde, he had finally secured this position.
It had been hard-won, truly hard-won. And now, early this morning, these wretches dared to gather and cause trouble at City Hall!
Frey, who had just been warmed in bed by a red-headed Riverlands beauty, was forced to deploy his men to face these sudden agitators.
He was currently fuming! If he didn't skin these paupers alive, he'd write his name backward!
Frey whipped a nearby commoner with his riding crop.
"Ah!"
The commoner gasped in pain and scrambled back, not daring to offer a single word of complaint. Frey snarled in rage.
"Are you all fucking deaf?! No gathering is permitted in front of City Hall! Now move! Scuttle back to your rat holes!"
No one dared to answer. But no one moved either. Frey reined in his horse, his eyes squinting as he scanned the crowd.
Most were paupers from Flea Bottom, laborers from the docks, and fishermen who lived by the sea, all dressed in rags. The crowd trembled under the gaze of the arriving guards.
Roughly five or six hundred people were packed into the plaza before City Hall, clutching copper pennies, silver stags, and some even holding rolls of cloth or iron pots, as if they were prepared to offer up their last worldly possessions.
"Lord Officer..."
An old man, braver than the rest, took a step forward with a pleading smile.
"We aren't here to cause trouble. We just wanted to ask... if the grain prices could be lowered a bit?"
Frey said nothing.
The old man swallowed and held his coin purse high.
"Last month, a bag of rye was twenty coppers. Now it's risen to sixty. Those of us who sell our strength earn three coppers a day. Even if we spend it all on grain, it's barely enough to keep a family of five half-fed..."
"He's right!"
"My Lord!"
"We won't be able to survive much longer!"
A few voices from the crowd joined in, but they were quickly suppressed. Frey's men half-drew their swords from their scabbards.
Frey leaned down from his horse, staring at the old man for a long time before suddenly laughing.
"What's your name?"
"I... my name is Will. I'm a porter at the docks."
"Will the Porter," Frey nodded from his horse.
"Let me ask you: if the ships can't enter the harbor, where does the grain come from?"
Will opened his mouth but found no words.
"Let me ask you another thing: the Black Fleet has blockaded Blackwater Bay, and the Velaryon ships are prowling the outer seas. Grain can't be shipped in. Do you think I set the price? Or did City Hall set the price?"
Will lowered his head. "No... no, sir."
"Then let me ask you: who should you be looking for?"
Will didn't dare speak. Frey straightened up in his saddle and shouted to the crowd:
"Now, all of you listen well! Where does the grain come from? Why can't it get in? It's because the traitors' ships are blocking the sea! Who ordered those traitors to blockade us? That whore Rhaenyra!"
"She murdered the late King, and now she gathers a rebellion to starve you all!"
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. Someone whispered, "But I heard the late King was..."
Before the sentence could be finished, a club smashed into his face. Frey's men surged into the crowd, dragging out the young man who had spoken and kicking him repeatedly into the mud.
The surrounding people fell back in panic; some fell and were trampled, screaming in pain.
Frey trotted his horse slowly toward the victim and barked, "How did the late King die? Rhaenyra conspired with a Maester to poison him. Who told you these rumors?! Was it a spy for the Blacks? Who has been whispering in your ears? Spies for the Blacks!"
He pointed at the bloodied youth on the ground.
"This one is likely a spy himself."
The young man, face covered in blood, struggled to cry out, "I'm not... I just heard it from someone..."
"Heard it from whom?"
"I... I forgot."
Frey waved a hand dismissively. "Cut out his tongue. Let him remember the lesson."
"No!"
The guard's blade flashed, and blood splattered across the face of a nearby woman.
She shrieked, her eyes rolling back as she fainted dead away.
The crowd fell into a deathly silence. The old porter named Will sat paralyzed on the ground, his coin purse clutched in a trembling hand, his whole body shaking.
Frey maneuvered his horse in front of him and leaned down to pat Will's withered cheek.
"Old man, remember this well for me."
"If grain is expensive, blame Rhaenyra. If you can't fill your bellies, blame Rhaenyra. If you want to blame someone, blame that kinslaying, regicidal whore. Understand? You lowly filth?"
Humiliated in public, Will endured. He didn't dare to fight back; he had a family of five to consider.
The surrounding commoners sank into a heavy silence, staring at the treacherous and cruel Lord Frey.
On his horse, Frey was satisfied as he looked at these "malcontent" citizens of King's Landing. He wasn't afraid of them resisting; if they dared, he'd see if his sword was sharp enough.
He had over a hundred fully armed guards with him. Cutting through these paupers would be as easy as slicing melons.
Besides, he had a powerful patron: Master of Laws Lord Jasper Wylde. Previously, Prince Aemond's personal guard had managed King's Landing, but they had all departed for Antlers.
Now, the Master of Laws was in charge of the city. If these commoners resisted, he could frame it as a riot organized by traitors and claim even more merit!
Frey glared at the people. "If anyone dares to gather at City Hall again, next time, I'll be cutting down his entire family."
He turned to the crowd and roared, "Disperse! Anyone caught gathering will be thrown into the dungeon or dealt with as a traitor!"
Hearing "dungeon" and "traitor," the crowd immediately receded like a tide. Currently, they were only occasionally short on food and could manage to stay half-alive.
Those sent to the dungeons were likely to starve to death inside.
Only the young man with the severed tongue remained in the mud, clutching his mouth and rolling in agony, blood seeping through his fingers.
Will walked a few steps, then suddenly turned to look back at the gates of City Hall.
The doors were tightly shut, and the guards stood like stones, watching the people with expressionless faces.
He remembered over a year ago, when the late King Viserys I was still alive.
Even in the hardest winters, City Hall would distribute relief grain to those who truly couldn't survive. Though it was mixed with stones and sawdust, it saved lives.
Back then, grain prices rose occasionally, but there was always a limit. If you truly couldn't go on, you could at least get a bowl of porridge.
Your work could support a family and keep them full.
But now?
He looked down at the bag of coppers in his hand. For a family of five, he worked himself to the bone only to stay half-starved.
Would the days ahead become even harder? Would people start to starve to death? He had heard the legends of Flea Bottom's "Bowl of Brown."
They said that meat broth was much cheaper than grain, but that meat...
As he thought, tears streamed down his face.
'O Late King... look at the state of the Realm now. Your children are slaughtering each other. The Seven Kingdoms are bleeding.'
He thought of Frey, that calculating, treacherous villain, and felt a surge of resentment.
With such vermin in charge, how could the country ever prosper?
"Will, let's go!"
His companion pulled at his arm, snapping him out of his daze.
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