'Of all the philters I've seen, none rile a man so vehemently as the sight of blood.'
-Taken from 'The Travels of Fyrio Fartold'
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The time came when Prince Daemon's new and improved City Watch was ready to unveil itself.
On the west side, close to Cobblers Square and the Gate of the Gods, stood the West Barracks, the official headquarters of the City Watch.
It was there that Prince Daemon marched up and down the line, inspecting his troops. The night was dark and clouded, with no stars or moon in sight.
Thousands of fists bashed against their chest plates, creating a thunderous metallic rain. Draped over one of their shoulders was a golden cape.
Daemon, too, was dressed for battle. Dragon armor? Check. Valyrian steel helmet? Check. Darksister strapped at his waist? Check.
Then Captain Randyll Barret shouted, "Commander on the floor!" and all the racket ceased.
All eyes watched their prince with respect and reverence. Daemon began, "When I took command of the Watch, you were stray mongrels, starving and undisciplined. Now, you're a pack of hounds, sated and honed for the hunt!"
At that, 2,000 voices howled up at the moonless sky.
"My brother's city has fallen into squalor," Daemon continued, marching down the line and gazing into each man's eyes, "Crime of every breed has been allowed to thrive. No longer. Beginning tonight, King's Landing will learn to fear the color gold!"
War cries erupted, fists raised to the air.
Then they marched out of the barracks in four files, heading into the city.
It was systematic. The Gold Cloaks knew their targets. House by house, street by street, alley by alley, they descended on the people. They barged into houses and beat any who resisted with their cudgels. They dragged criminals out to the streets with no remorse.
No one was safe from the wrath of justice — not women, not children, none. If they had the info on you, you were finished.
How the rats scattered. Word spread quickly through the city. They ran wherever they could, but the Gold Cloaks predicted their moves. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
It was almost laughable how pathetically the scum tried to resist. All were brought to Cobblers Square. That's when the punishments began.
"Raper!" One Gold Cloak pointed, and they cut the alleged offender's cock off. Another rapist had a sword pierced up his ass.
"Thief!" Captain Barret declared, personally hacking the man's hand off with a hatchet.
Cries of a hellscape, a symphony of pain and punishment.
When a murderer was brought before him, Prince Daemon unsheathed Darksister and slew the man himself.
The sly grin on his face showed no remorse. In fact, the prince was enjoying himself.
All the civilians could do was watch in horror from the safety of their house windows and pray.
Pray they don't look the wrong way and incur the stone-cold hand of indiscriminate justice.
.
..
…
..
.
The next morning, King Viserys was awoken and given the rundown as they strode to the small council chambers.
"It was an unprecedented roundup of criminals of every ilk," Ser Otto explained. "Your brother made a public show of it, meting out the summary judgments himself. I'm told they needed a two-horse cart to haul away the resulting dismemberment's when it's done."
King Viserys sighed. "Gods be good."
The small council stood in attendance when the King entered the room. All except one.
"The Prince cannot be allowed to act with this kind of unchecked impunity."
Prince Daemon remained seated in the Commander's chair, the blood of last night still on him.
"Brother," he said.
"Daemon," said the King.
At that moment, Prince Rhaenar entered.
Yawning yet still battle-ready in his armor, Rhaenar said, "What folly has summoned us at this hour, pray tell?"
Daemon smirked. "Otto was just saying something about my impunity."
"Is he now?" Rhaenar said, strolling around the table. Its left side only had Ser Otto's seat usually, but when Rhaenar was there, he had a designated seat of his own next to Otto. "Well, this should be a fun start to the morning."
Rhaenar's presence helped Ser Otto feel a tad more at ease. He glanced down at his feet for a moment and summoned the gall required for what had to be said.
But when his eyes glanced back up, Ser Otto had the aura of the King's Hand. "You are to explain your doings with the City Watch."
That's when Ser Otto placed the stone ball that signified he was the Hand into its placeholder on the table. And with that, the King seated, all took their seats.
"His doings?" Rhaenar said, amused. "Uh oh, that doesn't sound good."
The King turned to his brother. "Your new 'gold cloaks' made quite the impression last night, didn't they?"
"Did they?" Daemon replied, cool and amused.
"The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim," Ser Otto said. "They're an extension of the crown."
Prince Daemon expected this kind of performance. He remained unfazed. "The Watch was enforcing the crown's laws. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Strong?"
Rhaenar laughed internally at how Lyonel Strong's eyes widened in a 'don't involve me in this!'
"My Prince," Lord Strong stammered, "I don't think—"
Ser Otto remained firm. "Making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws."
"Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending upon King's Landing for my brother's tourney. Do you want them mugged, raped, murdered?"
No one could agree to that. Rhaenar had to give his uncle some credit. For a man about the blade, Daemon could make use of oratory skills quite well.
Prince Daemon knew he had them. "You mightn't know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep, but much of King's Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying."
Then he turned to the King. "Our city should be safe for all its people."
"I agree," the King said. "I just hope you don't have to maim half of my city to achieve this."
Daemon smirked in that way Viserys knew all too well from their childhood. "Time will tell."
At the opposite end of the table, Lord Corlys sat in that same swaggery way he always did.
"We installed Prince Daemon as commander to promote law and order. The criminal element should fear the City Watch."
"Thank you for your support, Lord Corlys," Daemon said.
For a moment, Rhaenar thought that was the end of the matter. A superficial slap on the wrist for his uncle. A bitch and a moan from Ser Otto. The usual.
But Ser Otto couldn't let it go. "If only the Prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does his work, Your Grace."
Otto turned to Daemon with a courageous glare. Rhaenar had to hand it to him, the man had balls.
"You've not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone for quite some time."
"I think my bronze bitch is happier for my absence."
"Lady Rhea is your wife," Ser Otto said, "a good and honorable lady of the Vale."
"In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women. I can assure you, the sheep are prettier."
The King grimaced at that. Grandmaester Mellos uttered "Dear me," uncomfortably.
Ser Otto raised his voice now. "You made a vow before the Seven to honor your wife in marriage."
"Well, I'd gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you're in want of a woman to warm your bed. Your own lady wife passed recently—"
To Rhaenar's surprise, Ser Otto rose from his chair like a man ready to fight.
For a moment, he thought Ser Otto might hurl himself across the table.
But to Prince Daemon, it was checkmate. He had gotten the reaction he wanted. He simply continued his sentence with plausible deniability, "Did she not?"
"Otto…" the King said with concern.
"Perhaps you aren't ready to move on just yet," Daemon stuck the knife deeper.
The King acted to defuse the situation. "You know how my brother makes sport of provoking you. Must you indulge him?"
The calm came back to Ser Otto. He slowly sat down. "My apologies, Your Grace."
"Oh, none of that!" Rhaenar said. "That was unbecoming of you, Uncle. Lady Hightower was an angel on this earth. As for your wife, I agree that you should at least go visit her. The child in her belly — your child, I might add — would benefit by your presence."
The King nodded with pride at his son's words.
Then Viserys added further, "This council has, at great expense, bettered the City Watch to your exacting standards. Enforce my laws, but understand… any further performances like last night's will be answered."
For a moment, the King and his brother just looked at each other. It was almost like Viserys was daring his brother to make a mockery of his court.
Never in public. Daemon's principles didn't allow it. He deferred, "Understood, Your Grace. There is, however, more to report."
Prince Daemon then produced a long slim vial and opened its cork. He poured its contents onto the table.
Red dust came out.
Prince Rhaenar leaned forward with sudden interest.
"I take it you've seen this, my nephew," Daemon said as he poured, forming a line of red sparkles.
All eyes turned to Prince Rhaenar, confused and surprised.
"That I have," Rhaenar said. "It's a new drug that hit the streets just recently. 'The Red Stuff', they're calling it. I heard others dub it simply as Ruff. 'Hey man, got a hit of that Ruff? Any ruffage for me?'"
The King didn't know what to make of this development.
"Speak, my son. Tell me all you know about this… Ruffage… as they call it."
"I have yet to launch a full-scale investigation," Rhaenar said. "From what I can tell, this red spice-like substance has started to hook folks from all social classes.
"I first encountered it when the actors at my theater started snorting the stuff backstage. The effects were immediate. Bloodshot eyes, heightened awareness…
"My lead actor spoke his lines with such speed that it was unintelligible. I had to ban it from my presence before our theatergoers lost faith in our productions. Grandmaester, what do you make of the substance?"
Grandmaester Mellos rose from his seat and walked to the other end of the table where Daemon had prepared a line.
Mellos dipped a finger in the line and beheld the crimson sparkles. "It seems like a perverted outcome from a laboratory, my Prince. Perhaps if I could study it in the lab…"
Lord Strong shook his head. "You mean a maester created this?"
"Our Order would never make something that would harm the people," Mellos said.
"Well said," Rhaenar chimed in. "What's your opinion, Uncle? Do you think we should be concerned?"
At this point, all of Prince Daemon's gut feelings were tingling. He peered at his nephew in silence. He knew that Rhaenar would know much more about the red stuff than he was letting on. The only thing he needed to figure out was why.
"I'll continue to survey the situation," Daemon said. "Should it become a pressing problem, the City Watch will act immediately. Now, if that is all, I must go and rest. Your Grace."
King Viserys nodded his permission, and Prince Daemon took his leave.
When Daemon was gone, Viserys turned to Rhaenar and said, "Why didn't you mention this substance earlier when it came to your attention?"
Rhaenar shrugged. "To be honest, I didn't pay it much mind. In all our history, man has found ways to intoxicate themselves. However, now that I've seen my uncle's concern, perhaps this is only the beginning stages of a military operation.
"If what Mellos said is true, and maesters adhere to their code, then it stands to reason this substance was synthesized by an outside force. There are plenty of medicine men overseas that could create such a thing, I have no doubt."
Lord Corlys felt like a bucket of cold, sobering sea water had been dumped on him.
"The Triarchy?"
"Perhaps," Rhaenar said. "Though I must say that is quite the leap in reasoning. We don't even know how harmful the substance is. It could very well be that I'm giving our enemies too much credit. A long-winded, convoluted invasion using chemical warfare is a tad beyond what Slavers are capable of. Though I won't completely dismiss the notion."
King Viserys shook his head, "Well, so long as the tourney is not disrupted, we can settle this matter in detail another time, should it escalate and force our hand."
Rhaenar glanced at Ser Otto and was reminded at how the 'Hand' had somehow neglected the upkeep of the city sewers since the time his Father took the crown. Nine entire years.
"Yes, Father," Rhaenar yawned, "I couldn't agree more."
The King raised a brow, "Why in Seven Hell's are you so tired?"
Rhaenar absently smiled.
"Bad dreams, I guess."