After the small council meeting, Rhaenar beckoned Theodore and me to join him privately.
"Conceal yourselves and remain in your chambers. When the hour of the wolf arrives, I will come for you," he instructed.
Having spent over a decade by Rhaenar's side, I had learned not to attach too much significance to his cryptic hints at adventure. So, I simply nodded and retired to my chambers. Engaging in some reading, I passed the time until sundown when I dressed in anticipation of the hour of the wolf.
Seated in a chair, I kept my gaze fixed on the door, awaiting Rhaenar's knock. However, instead of a knock, I heard subtle movements along the walls. Suddenly, the walls shifted behind my bed, and Prince Rhaenar emerged, clad in a black cloak as dark as the night.
"Evening, Brien Flowers," he greeted me.
"Secret doors?!" I exclaimed, surprised by the unexpected entrance.
"I've read about Maegor the Cruel commissioning such hidden passageways, but it was rumored that he executed the architects during a so-called 'celebratory feast' the castle's secret. To think such tales held truth..." I pondered aloud.
"Oh, please," Rhaenar replied dismissively. "You knew they were true from the moment you heard them. Come."
Rhaenar led me through the concealed passages within the Red Keep, with only his torch illuminating our path. Each step echoed in the darkness.
"How long have you been aware of these passages?" I inquired curiously.
"For some time now," Rhaenar revealed.
"Grandgrace Jaehaerys hinted at the possibility. Unfortunately, I never acquired the secret from him before his passing. However, I decided to try my luck with someone who might possess the knowledge. So, one day, when Uncle Daemon returned from one of his escapades in Essos, I approached him.
"Uncle," I said, lowering my voice, "This is quite embarrassing..."
"My unsuspecting uncle had no idea what I was about to propose. After all, I was just a ten-year-old at the time.
"I didn't want to involve Father or Rhaenyra," I confided in him, "but I truly desire to escape this place. I yearn to walk the streets without the constant presence of the Kingsguard breathing down my neck.
"Uncle Daemon responded with the expected refusal, suggesting I consult my mother and wait until I was of age. He dismissed my request as if it were insignificant, even if he did want to help.
"However, I motioned a childish squeezing of imaginary breasts, hoping he would 'understand'.
"My nephew," he spoke endearingly, "How you've grown."
"To which I rolled my eyes, remarking, "You sound just like Aunt Rhea."
"And that's how it happened. Uncle Daemon revealed to me the secret passageways built by Maegor the Cruel many years ago, and I've been using them to sneak out ever since."
Descending the steps, we reached a chamber where candles were lit around an altar.
There, the massive skull of a dragon loomed menacingly, its teeth bared and its brow intimidating. I knew it had to be the skull of none other than Balerion the Black Dread.
"Gods," I exclaimed. "To think your uncle would enable you in such a way."
"What can I say?" chuckled Rhaenar. "The Targaryen lads stick together. Come, this way—"
The Prince led me deeper into the darkness, descending further until we finally reached a metallic coastal sewage door. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow on our faces as we stood there.
With a bit of effort, Prince Rhaenar worked on opening the door, using either a lock and key or manipulating some latches.
The exact method was unclear to me, but after a while, he successfully fashioned the door open, revealing the expanse of the beach beyond.
"There you are," a voice emerged from the shadow of a nearby tree.
Rhaenar turned his attention to the stranger. "Weaver. How poignant of you."
Weaver, the so-called alley-weaving alalah of King's Landing, would have faced a harsh punishment if not for Prince Rhaenar's benevolence.
"A good time to show up," said Weaver through missing teeth. His deep-set eyes portrayed a deceptive malnourishment, a body honed in muscle and trained to kill at a moment's notice concealed under his cloak.
"What of Theodore?" said Rhaenar.
"Taken care of," assured the Thief.
Rhaenar was pleased to hear that. "Sounds like you've been shaping up your boys quite well."
"The only shape they see is the round of a coin," Weaver replied, acknowledging the mercenary nature of his recruits. "But they can follow orders once I get through to them."
What ensued was a bewildering journey through the labyrinthine streets, alleys, and hidden corners of King's Landing.
We weaved our way through the city, entering humble dwellings only to slip out through back windows.
We climbed rooftops and traversed them, descending through chimneys and emerging from front doors.
In the heart of Fleabottom, we chanced upon a makeshift brothel, its entrance guarded by a frantic eye latch.
"Shh!" whispered the matronly figure with creases around her eyes. "Hurry now!"
She ushered us into her humble establishment. We paid little attention to the diseased yet strikingly beautiful women and swiftly changed into the clothes prepared for us.
Donning our newly acquired green cloaks, we took to the streets once again.
The entire experience felt like a feverish, convoluted dream—a hallucination induced by a venomous scorpion's sting or a poisonous snake's bite. It left me feeling disoriented, adrift in a surreal haze.
Finally, on the western edge of King's Landing, on the slope of Rhaeny's Hill, where we could catch glimpses of moonlight dancing on the Blackwater Rush, we arrived at a second-floor apartment in a modest building. The air was infused with the scents of incense and lavender.
Arland opened the door, clad in a purple doublet. "Last but not least!"
Rhaenar playfully bumped fists with Arland and teased him, "Look at you, always the fashionable one."
"Right back at you," Arland chuckled. "I'm loving that green cloaks!"
Inside, a fire crackled in the shoddy hearth. Despite the apartment's modest condition, there was a gentle draft, lending an airy feel to the space. It was a surprisingly pleasant haven amidst the slums of Fleabottom.
To my amazement, the familiar faces of our clandestine group filled the room, gathered at a round table.
Sari Sicai, always seeking solace in a corner, occupied the furthest spot.
Beside him sat Pheonix, his cheeks flushed with the unmistakable glow of a few glasses of wine that Sari might have persuaded him to indulge in.
Cleave, whom Rhaenar dubbed the infamous Mad Butcher serial killer despite Cleaver's persistent denial, radiated an unsettling intensity.
Dillan the smuggler raised a sceptical ash-salt eyebrow at our arrival before downing a concoction, undoubtedly rum.
Theodore sat at the table. He was relieved to see us.
"Gentlemen," said Rhaenar, taking a seat, "Thank you for coming."
Cleave, his gaze flickering with a sinister intensity, questioned the need for secrecy. "What's with all the cloak-and-dagger? If I want to go somewhere in this city, I go."
Rhaenar offered a mild apology, his tone unwavering.
"Quite the inconvenience, I'm sure. Consider it an exercise of discretion."
"I'll start," Arland said eagerly, "As you asked, I've been talking to some tailors, and we have these designs—"
As the discussions continued, the weight of the words spoken by each person in the group began to take its toll, gradually adding heaviness to my eyelids.
"Aye," Dillan interjected, his voice filled with confidence, "I can handle moving that much freight. But we must consider the City Watch and patrol boats that could pose a threat—"
"Don't you worry about the streets," Cleave assured him, his tone brimming with assurance, "I've got that covered."
At one point, Weaver nervously rubbed his neck, expressing his doubts, "I'm not sure... I never saw myself as much of a teacher—"
Sari let out a yawn and chimed in, "Neither did I, but it can't be any harder than training you."
Rhaenar simply smiled, ignoring the playful jab from Sari, and turned his attention to the Unsullied, "So far, so good. What are your thoughts?"
Phoenix nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful, "It is good strategy. For now."
Theodore eagerly closed his ledgers, his face displaying enthusiasm and agreement with the plans being discussed.
And before I knew it, Prince Rhaenar tapped me on the shoulder, signaling that it was my turn to speak. I shook my head and whispered, "What should I talk about?"
"Everything," Rhaenar replied.
"Your research, of course," Theodore chimed in.
Those words were music to my ears.
"I never thought fools would ask. Should I begin with the measurements of dragons? Or perhaps Archmaester Vaegon's report? No... I believe I should start with matters of importance."
I paused, preparing to share my insights, but then I had a whimsical thought.
"I once had the pleasure of entering a brothel with a box full of kittens~"
They exchanged peculiar glances, and Sari playfully remarked, "Of course! Where else could he learn to handle all that pussy!"
Their laughter filled the room. All I could do was roll my eyes and wait patiently for them to calm down.
"As I was saying..."
-Brien Flowers, 107 AC