Talia ran through the crowded streets near the Dragonpit. The usual quiet near the ancient structure was gone, replaced by the sounds of construction. The air was filled with the cacophony of rocks being torn down, hammers striking stone, and the shouts of men.
She deftly climbed to the roof, her small frame moving swiftly and silently among the tiles. From her vantage point, she spotted her target: two men on horseback. The man leading was an old man wearing a blue and white tunic, his face weathered and lined with age but still exuding a quiet dignity. Beside him rode a large and robust man with dark hair and a sandy beard, his presence commanding . Behind them, a group of guards followed closely, also on horseback.
Talia strained to hear their conversation but the distance and noise made it impossible. She watched as they rode towards the Dragonpit, a site she could not follow them into. Frustrated, she climbed down from the roof and began making her way deep into Flea Bottom.
The journey through Flea Bottom was a stark contrast to the relatively ordered chaos near the Dragonpit. The streets were narrow and winding, filled with the stench of filth and the press of humanity. People jostled and shouted, hawkers peddled their wares, and beggars pleaded for coins. She navigated through the crowd with practiced ease, slipping through gaps and darting past obstacles until she reached a small, nondescript shack.
Inside the shack, she found the hidden opening to an underground tunnel. The air grew cooler and damper as she descended, the sounds of the surface world fading away. The tunnels were a labyrinth of narrow passageways, lit sporadically by torches mounted on the walls. She moved quickly and confidently through the maze, finally emerging into a large, dimly lit room.
The room was filled with the sound of chatter and laughter. Young people, most around her age of ten and six, some even younger, were scattered about. They talked and joked, a temporary respite from the harsh realities of their lives above ground. In the center of the room sat a thin old man, his eyes sharp and observant despite his frail appearance. He looked up as Talia entered, a knowing smile spreading across his face.
"Mollander," she called.
"Yes, my dear," he answered, his eyes gleaming with interest.
"I followed them just like ya asked."
"Tell me," he ordered, leaning forward from his chair.
Talia took a deep breath. "The falcon lord and the prince rode from the castle to the old dragon's home. They were very friendly, talkin' and laughin'. I couldn't hear much, but I caught snippets about someone called Ned and Robb. Other than that, nothin'."
Mollander leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing in thought. "Nothing? You heard nothing?" he asked again, his voice edged with frustration.
"No, Mollander. Just those names."
Mollander sighed and then called out, "Cleaver!"
A large man appeared from the shadows behind him, stepping into the dim light. Cleaver was grotesque, with a massive frame and a face marred by scars and a broken nose. His eyes were small and cruel, and his hands were the size of hams. Talia couldn't help but cower slightly at the sight of him.
"Arrange a meeting with Lord Hayford," Mollander ordered.
The giant nodded silently and lumbered out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing through the tunnels.
Mollander turned back to Talia, a smile creeping across his face. "Now you, Talia, as your reward, you may join me today for supper."
Talia's face lit up with a smile. Supper with Mollander meant good meat, not the rat meat she was used to. Today was indeed a good day.
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Maekar Kings Landing
Maekar and Jon Arryn rode toward the Dragonpit, passing through the bustling streets near the Street of Silk. The area was lined with brothels and taverns, their colorful signs and lively crowds giving the place a vibrant yet seedy atmosphere.
"Wonder why they built the Dragonpit near the Street of Silk," he mused as they rode.
"Perhaps the Street of Silk was built around the Dragonpit, more convenient for your ancestors," Jon Arryn jested.
Maekar laughed. He had been getting along well with the old man; no wonder his uncle liked him so much.
"Robin has been happier in the last two months, much happier than when he was being instructed by my squire, Hugh," Jon remarked.
"He has the potential to be a great warrior, my lord, and I aim to help him reach that potential," he said.
"Is he truly that great? I admit neither I nor my father was a great warrior," Jon asked.
"Yes, he is. He grasps the basics with ease, and I've even begun teaching him more advanced techniques lately."
Jon beamed with pride. They continued the rest of the journey talking about his uncle's time in the Vale and about Robert. It was clear it hurt the old man to talk about his dead foster son, but he spoke of those days with great fondness.
They arrived at the Dragonpit. The once grand structure was now in the process of transformation. Before, it had been a dilapidated ruin, a shadow of its former glory with collapsed sections and overgrown vegetation. Now, most of the decayed parts had been torn down, and the sections that could be rebuilt were being reinforced.
The open areas inside were cleared of debris, revealing the vast expanse of what had once been the holding grounds for dragons. Makeshift barracks, tents, and temporary shelters filled the grounds for the recruits and his newly arrived force from the north. The largest transformation was the training ground built in the part where the Dragonpit was most worn down, with rocks from there being used to build up other parts.
He surveyed the bustling activity with satisfaction. The construction was progressing well.
They dismounted, and he spotted a familiar figure walking from the Dragonpit. He squinted and recognized him as Tobho Mott, the Qohorik blacksmith he had brought to the north after the Greyjoy Rebellion. Mott had returned to King's Landing four months before he himself left the north. Recently, he had availed himself of Mott's and other blacksmiths' services for another project.
"Master Mott," he greeted as the blacksmith got closer.
Mott bowed to him and then to Jon Arryn. "My prince, my lord."
"Surprised to see you here. I thought you did not do construction," he said, intrigued.
"I still don't. I'm here because one of your recruits broke the pump," Mott said, slightly annoyed.
"What has Basil been doing?" he muttered.
"The little man is instructing them again," Mott informed him.
"I see. Well, thank you, Master Mott. I hope that royal favor has been working out for you," he said.
"Oh, it has, my prince, it has," Mott said. He and Jon walked past the blacksmith.
"This has been very helpful for the people in the city," Jon said as they walked. The surroundings were bustling with activity. The sounds of hammers striking anvils, wood being sawed, and the shouts of workers filled the air. Men and women moved busily around the site, some carrying heavy loads, others directing the placement of stones and beams. The construction of the Firewatch headquarters had created new jobs, providing both skilled and unskilled laborers with a means to work.
"Yes, yes it has," he said. "Though this is not enough. Fire stations need to be built all around the city. New water tunnels, cisterns, and pipes have to be constructed to ensure a sufficient water supply."
"Those will be more difficult. There are those in court who do not like change," Jon mentioned.
"Their scheming means nothing if the command comes from the king," he replied.
"Yes, but they can make it more difficult," Jon mentioned as they arrived at the training yard.
The training yard was bustling with activity. New recruits were running around, some carrying large weights. The air was filled with the sounds of grunts, shouts, and the clanking of metal.
In the center of the yard, he saw large men wearing conical helms with faceplates. They wore studded armor with chainmail covering most of their bodies. Their weapons included large swords and axes, and they carried heavy round shields. Their presence was authoritative, commanding the respect and attention of everyone around.
'The Varangians look great' he thought. The force of two hundred men had arrived last month; he thought it fitting to name them Varangians.
Standing among them was a small man in maester's robes, shouting and explaining to the gathered men how to operate a bronze action pump. The pump was a large, intricate device designed to draw water efficiently, and the maester's voice carried over the noise of the yard.
"The key to operating the bronze action pump is maintaining a steady rhythm. You must ensure the valves are clear and the handles are worked in unison. This will allow for a continuous flow of water," the maester explained, demonstrating the process as he and Jon walked closer.
They stood and watched Basil's lesson, and after he finished and the men dispersed to practice, he called out, "Basil!"
The man heard and quickly ran toward him, bowing as he arrived. "My prince," he said respectfully.
"Basil, I would like you to meet the master of laws and the lord of the Vale, Jon Arryn," he introduced.
"Lord Arryn, this is Basil of Wintertown, the best of the many acolytes of Maester Luwin," he added.
"It's Archmaester now, my prince," Basil corrected with a hint of pride.
'That's right, Luwin was promoted to Archmaester last month,' he remembered.
"How goes the construction?" he inquired.
Basil began explaining, "Most of the debris has been removed, and we've stabilized the ruins. We've set up temporary shelters for the Varangians and the new recruits."
Jon Arryn chimed in, "Varangians?"
He laughed, "Something I call the warriors I brought from the North. They will form the core of our force."
"Ah, I've been meaning to ask about these Varangians, as you call them. Two hundred men, yes?" Jon asked.
"Yes," he answered.
"Good, we need loyal men," Jon Arryn said approvingly.
"They are as loyal as they come, my lord," Basil assured.
Basil then led them to see the construction. The progress was impressive. The Dragonpit, once a dilapidated structure, was being transformed into a fortified headquarters.
Basil showed them where the barracks were being built, using the most stable parts of the Dragonpit and converting them into sleeping quarters. The modular designs allowed for quick expansion of capacity. They had established basic sanitation facilities to prevent disease and maintain hygiene, crucial for the well-being of the men.
Next, Basil led them to a dry, fortified area designated for weapons and supplies storage. It was secure and well-organized, ensuring that everything needed for their operations was readily available.
The large communal dining area was nearing completion, strategically placed close to the kitchen for efficient food service.
Finally, Basil showed them a large room designated as the central command area. It was set up for planning and coordination.
Jon Arryn nodded approvingly, impressed by the progress. "I will report this progress to the small council today," Jon said. "We will also need to pass new laws for the prevention of fires. I want the Firewatch to enforce them as well."
"What will these laws entail?" Jon asked.
At his nod, Basil produced a piece of paper and began listing the proposed regulations. "Basic fire prevention measures will include regulations on building materials, ensuring that structures are made from stone or other fire-resistant materials rather than wood. New buildings are to be built with proper spacing to prevent the rapid spread of fire. No open flames will be allowed within buildings without proper ventilation and supervision."
Basil listed more, then stopped.
Jon nodded thoughtfully. "It could be difficult for them to enforce these regulations."
"This needs to be done," he insisted. "The Firewatch will be responsible for inspecting buildings for compliance and punishing negligence. We also need to build new water tunnels, cisterns, and pipes, as I mentioned before."
Jon nodded. "There will be opposition to this."
"Who would oppose it?" he asked.
"There are people," Jon said with a sigh. "Your father's rule has made administration more chaotic. A group of nobles and wealthy men have amassed a large amount of power."
'What has my father been doing? How are the kingdoms even functioning?' he thought in horror.
"But I have friends in court who can counter them," Jon assured him.
"Who?" he inquired.
"Quenton Qoherys," Jon answered. "He assisted me with my investigation of Hayford last year."
"Qoherys? I thought that family died out centuries ago," he said, surprised.
"No, they have not. Quenton is descended from a minor branch. His family is now vassals to the Celtigars," Jon explained.
"You say he is powerful in the city?" he asked.
"Yes, and in court as well. He can smooth over any troubles you may find yourself in if you plan to build these for the Firewatch," Jon said.
He nodded, conceding. "Fine, if you trust him," he agreed.
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