KING'S LANDING – OUTER STREETS – FORGE DISTRICT – LATE AFTERNOON
The stench of smoke and mud still lingered in the alley, though the forge itself had long gone cold.
Eddard Stark stood outside the shuttered doorway, cloak pulled tight. three guards flanked him, two bearing the direwolf sigil of House Stark, the other from the City Watch.
The iron sign above the door swung gently in the wind.
TOBHO MOTT – FINE ARMORER
The name meant little now.
The smith—and the boy Jon Arryn had come to see—were gone.
Disappeared the same month the Hand died.
Eddard turned to his men.
"Find someone who knows this place. Anyone who heard what happened."
They scattered without a word.
Moments passed. The sun dipped lower behind the rooftops.
Then—
A man was dragged forward. Mid-fifties, lean, missing teeth, clothes smelling of mud and sweat. He looked like he hadn't bathed in days.
"My lord," said the Stark guard, "He says he was nearby that night."
Eddard looked him over. The man wouldn't meet his eyes.
"What's your name?"
"Harlen, m'lord."
"You said you heard something. When?"
Harlen scratched his neck, voice low.
"Weeks after the old Hand died. Just after the bells stopped ringing. Was out late. Had a dice game near Flea Bottom. Walked past the forge on me way home."
Eddard's eyes narrowed.
"And?"
Harlen nodded nervously.
"Forge was dark. But I heard it. Like a fight. Grunts, shouts."
Eddard gestured for him to continue.
Harlen's voice dipped lower, as if scared the shadows might hear.
"I crept near. Didn't go in, gods no. Just watched through the crack in the door."
A pause.
"There was a boy. Young. Maybe fifteen. Screaming. Two men, dressed in black, grabbed him. One held him down. The other shoved a cloth in his mouth."
Eddard frowned.
"A cloth?"
"Yes, m'lord."
"And the blacksmith?"
Harlen looked uneasy.
"On the floor. Bleeding. Barely moving."
"Did they say anything?" Eddard asked, his voice firmer now.
Harlen looked around, then leaned in.
"One of them said… kill the boy. The other said no.'"
"And then?"
"Nothing. One of them shut the door. I ran."
Harlen looked at the ground.
"I shouldn't be saying this. If they find me—"
"You've done your part," Eddard said quietly.
He turned to his men.
"Search for any word of Blacksmith. Discreetly."
"And the boy?" asked the Stark man.
Eddard's jaw tightened.
"Find his name first."
He cast one last glance at the cold forge.
Jon Arryn had come here looking for a boy. Now both the smith and the boy were gone.
Too clean to be a coincidence. Too quiet to be chance.
Eddard Stark turned.
The bells of King's Landing began to ring again.
...
KING'S LANDING – BROTHEL BALCONY – NIGHT
The alley below simmered with haze and heat. Laughter spilled from open doorways. Torchlight danced off cobblestone like firelight on water.
Up on the balcony, she stood—bare-shouldered in silk, a figure of curved shape and soft menace.
A breeze lifted the edge of her curtain, carrying scents of myrrh and wine.
She watched the city with idle hunger.
Behind her, a shadow moved.
She didn't turn.
Only smiled.
"You're back, dear," she said—sweet as honey, seductive.
The shadow said nothing.
She raised an arm lazily, and the shadow placed a folded piece of parchment in her open palm.
She opened it with one hand, her other still propping her head. The flickering lamp cast her lashes in sharp relief.
Reading.
A smile touched her lips. Not soft—satisfied.
She murmured, "Save the wolf… leave one behind."
Her voice melted like candle.
Another presence joined the shadow. Then another.
She rose with slow grace.
Bare feet padded across the wooden floor.
She walked to one of the shadows—close enough for her breath to kiss the edge of his scarf.
"How could you leave a rat alive?" she whispered.
It sounded like flirtation.
But the warning was sharp.
The shinobi said nothing. His eyes stayed on hers.
She chuckled, lips curled. "Kai would be… displeased."
Her tone shifted—silken jealousy rising like her perfume.
"That white-haired girl," she said with a pout, "Does our Lord only enjoy girls now, not women?"
The question earned her a kunai to the throat.
Fast. Silent.
The shadow's hand didn't shake.
Her blue eyes gleamed. Not with fear.
With thrill.
From behind the curtains, thin swords parted the silk.
Other Visha Kanya emerged—one, two, three. Their blades didn't waver, light as dancers, sharp as ice.
The woman raised a single finger.
Pushed the kunai gently away with one painted nail.
"I love my Lord more than you do," she said softly. "You men of Kai… you hate us, don't you?"
She smiled.
"But we can offer what you cannot."
She turned—her silhouette lit by red lanterns.
Walked to the edge of the balcony.
Down below, the city burned with wicked life.
She spoke without facing them.
"Send him a message."
She turned—just slightly, profile lit.
"I'm tired of the competition."
A smile.
"He's been… displeasing me."
A beat.
Then, she tapped one finger against her lips.
"The little finger," she said with delight.
One of the shadows finally asked, "And the City Watch?"
She stretched. Catlike.
"They're still breathing," she said. "For now."
She turned back to the alley.
"When the day comes… we stop the antidote. They die."
A whisper, barely heard—
"When our Lord comes… this city will welcome him in death."
None of the shadows spoke again.
One by one, they vanished.
She remained alone in the red glow.
Watching the city with her smile.
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