Chapter 1
Locke did not know how much time had passed. Darkness was settling in, and the people who had chased after them were long gone. They didn't seem to return anymore. Though they did come back to look for him, it seems that they have given up. And it's probably a fool's game to look for a boy they could barely recognize in the night.
Yet Locke stayed, though he climbed out of the hole and leaned against the wall. He looked at the lifeless body until a wagon arrived to take her away. The man driving only glanced at Locke before dismissing him and disappearing with his mother's body into the countless streets of King's Landing.
He only came out of his stillness when hunger reared its ugly face. It was a welcome sensation — it forced him to move and snap out of his daze, finally. However, he had no idea where to go. Everything around him was unfamiliar, but somehow he knew the only place he could go was the darkest part of the city.
It was the smelliest and dirtiest place he had ever been. The piss and shit was mixed with blood and vomit. It made him choke as he went deeper in. The ale and rotting meat soon overpowered any other smell. But he knew he would have to get used to it and quickly.
He walked through it, with only a few shops open at this hour, though the best place to stay was probably an inn. He had enough gold to live there for years. But looking at the pouch in his hands, he realized it was more than useless — it was a death sentence.
People around here were killed for far less. If they knew a lone, defenseless boy was carrying so much, swarms of people would try to get to him. If anyone saw even a single gold coin in Locke's hand, he would be killed and robbed immediately. To avoid this fate, Locke needed to blend in and hide.
He walked through the city until it became too dark. He found himself just under a hill. He had no idea which of the three hills it was, nor did he care. He found a patch of rocks and boulders. After checking that no one was around, he dug out a hole under a certain boulder and hid the gold.
Then he searched for a sharp rock. He needed a weapon if he wanted to survive. The best he could find was a longer, slender stone. He chipped it away at a bigger boulder until it was at least a bit sharp and capable of piercing skin. Now, he had no idea what to do.
He needed to sleep, but he didn't trust anyone not to murder him in his sleep. After all, he was wearing quite decent clothes. Maybe he could sell them for a few pennies, but they wouldn't last long. In the end, he knew he'd have to steal — and probably kill — to get what he needed.
Though he was tired, physically and mentally, he could not sleep. He had never stolen anything in his life and knew he wouldn't be good at it. The night might be his only opportunity. Not only would it provide cover to get to his target, but it would also shadow his escape if things went wrong.
Locke returned to the streets from the base of the hill. He thought the darkness would make him feel safer, but it was the opposite. He wasn't the only one waiting for night to do what they had to survive. He did everything he could to stay out of the eyes of anyone who might pose the slightest danger.
And that was probably everyone he would ever meet — even the children. He thought he could take any of them in a fight if it came to it. But when he met their eyes, he knew he stood no chance. Most of them were animalistic, ready to tear and bite their way through if needed. The others were never alone; groups of three or four always stuck together.
So, Locke stayed in the shadows, silently observing his surroundings, trying not to draw attention. Hours passed, but he waited patiently. He was rewarded when a drunk collapsed by the road. It was the first one of the night that nobody had noticed before, and Locke had time to rummage through the man's clothes before anyone else came by.
First, he took the boots. As long as they were in good condition, they would sell. Then the cloak. After taking the easiest items, Locke's small fingers searched the pockets. He found a small bundle of copper coins. But as he reached for more, his hand was caught by the drunk.
"Damn shitstain, dare to steal from me," the drunk slurred, looking at Locke, trying to stand up.
Without hesitation, Locke stabbed his stone knife into the man's leg. As the drunk screamed in pain and let go of him, Locke ran away — never stopping or looking back — clutching his loot to his chest and hiding in a narrow alley. His heart raced, and his eyes darted in every direction, waiting for someone to come after him.
When he was sure the drunk wasn't following or had lost his way, Locke left the alley. It was too open and too close to the streets. If he wanted to sleep tonight, he'd need to find a hole to hide in, especially now since he left his only weapon in the leg of that drunk.
After wandering a bit, he stumbled over a puddle of drying blood. The alley was cloaked in dark, seemingly no light coming from anywhere as it was hidden under the buildings. Yet the flickering moonlight revealed splashes of red on the cobblestones under his feet.
At this point, Locke's head was spinning from hunger and exhaustion. Yet he recognized the place — he could never forget it. Even if he wanted to leave, he knew he couldn't find a better hiding spot for the night than the hole beneath the building.
…
The chill of the morning woke Locke. He tried his best to ward off the cold with the stolen cloak, but in the end, he couldn't escape it. He knew it was better to move and warm up since the cold wouldn't last long.
And he knew getting sick was a death sentence. If he wanted to survive, he could not afford to make any mistakes. Food and water were priorities. So, he walked around as the sun slowly rose, searching for any stands that sold bread or anything edible.
Though he avoided the pot-shops along the alleys, anything inside those huge tubs smelled like death — definitely not something he wanted to get near. He trusted his senses; if the smell were any indication of what was inside, he'd rather try catching rats or pigeons.
"I want two loaves of bread," Locke finally found a stand.
The owner was quite fat and short, so probably not the best of runners. If it came to it, Locke at least knew he could run away. He saw other children trade trinkets and other things for food with him, so Locke was quite confident that he could get some food, too, even though he knew he would be losing the trade. He was desperate.
"Get lost, kid." The owner didn't even glance at him.
"I can pay."
"Show me."
"A pair of boots for four loaves," Locke offered, producing the stolen boots.
"Where did you get these?"
"Three loaves."
"I'm an honest man, brat. Go somewhere else."
"Two loaves."
"Give it here." The owner snatched the boots, and just as Locke thought he would get nothing, the man threw two loaves of bread at him. "Now get lost."
Locke ran off as told and found a place to sit and eat. It was harder than he expected, and it tasted old, though the salt masked it well. However, he checked carefully for mold. When he found none, he nibbled at it little by little while observing the streets. He had food; now he needed water.
That seemed harder to get. The cheap taverns probably had some, but he wasn't ready to give away the few copper coins he had just yet. His survival depended on how well he could trade for what he needed. And who knows when he would be able to find another drunk who was defenseless against him.
Those boots were useless to him, so it wasn't a hard decision to trade them for food, and so was his shirt. It was decent, but the cloak he stole would cover him better, hiding him from everyone and, most importantly, the cold. He still had another loaf of bread, and he needed information. After all, he was in a foreign place he knew nothing about.
If he wanted to survive, he needed to learn which places to avoid, where to beg for coins, and where to get food and water. He also needed to find people who would trade stolen goods instead of beating him to death and taking them away. He needed to learn about this city.
First, he needed to observe anyone he wanted to approach. Who knew what kind of gangs roamed these parts? He was new and alone — the best kind of prey. He didn't even dare think about what some of those people might do if they caught him.
So, he lurked in the shadows, observing where people begged, where they got food, and places they avoided. He made sure to stay out of the way of groups of people. It didn't matter if they were children or not. He stayed away but still observed.
As night came again, Locke continued watching. Following the children was easier. They had less awareness of their surroundings, and most importantly, they weren't as dangerous as adults. He followed them to learn where they stayed at night.
When a group of children entered a building, Locke quickly turned away and found another group. Buildings were out of his bounds. With most buildings in these parts of the city, he felt like he would never get out once he entered.
So, he returned to the streets and looked for other children. Soon, he realized that every group would enter one building or another. That made Locke understand that most children were working for someone or at least were part of some gang.
Maybe that was the way to survive as a kid. But for how long? Somehow, Locke didn't think those gangs provided much protection. They probably used the children in every way possible. And thinking of the ways they would control them, Locke could only come up with one conclusion. Fear.
Maybe it was a way to survive until he could get stronger. But he doubted it would benefit him. Getting beaten daily and having everything stolen by someone bigger and stronger wasn't appealing. He'd rather stay in his hole and try his luck on his own.
As the second night rolled in, Locke felt desperate. At least he still had some bread to munch on. Tomorrow, he could try to buy something to drink. But those thoughts were distractions.
His mind never left the Red Keep — the Throne Room. The faces of those who looked down on everyone else flashed through his mind. They had already forgotten him and his mother. They lived as if nothing had happened. Even rumors had probably stopped spreading about another of the King's bastards.
But he would make them remember, just before the last bit of life left their eyes.
A.N.As always, thanks for reading and supporting me, so I can continue writing without any concerns, and if you want more, up to seven more chapters, you can support me on pa treon. com \ ironwolf852.