The short, stout Ser Song drew his longsword and pointed it at Stryker, cursing, "You bastard, do you have a death wish? How dare you insult His Majesty!"
"His Majesty came right to my doorstep, and I just happened to be cooking. Inviting him inside for a bowl of hot soup, how is that an insult?" Stryker protested.
"Brown soup is fit for people to drink?" Ser Song snapped.
"Then what, are we all White Walkers?" Stryker widened his eyes and leaned his head forward. "Look, look at my eyes. Do they glow?"
Ser Song was tongue-tied and had no retort. He could only keep shouting, "Troublemaker! A real troublemaker!"
"Song, stop embarrassing yourself," Ser Richard said coldly, casting a glance at Stryker. "Your weapon is a sword. Why argue with a commoner?"
"Sir Knight, are you hungry?" Stryker turned to him with a grin.
"You're quite bold." Richard rested his right hand on the hilt of his sword and looked toward Erlu.
Erlu's expression was gloomy, yet he gave no instruction or hint.
"Hahaha, people like us who have no tomorrow and don't need to think about tomorrow have no courage left. We were so hungry before that even our guts were thrown into the pot to cook brown soup!" Stryker laughed boldly.
His face was calm, as if he truly did not fear death at all.
Erlu looked at him and said lightly, "Starting tomorrow at noon, I will send people to register the population of King's Landing and the food supplies of every household. Poor families without food can go to the Blackwater docks to receive relief grain."
With that, he gave Richard a look and took the lead in leaving.
No one else spoke. They simply followed closely behind the king.
Watching Erlu and his group disappear around the corner, Stryker stood there, somewhat dazed.
The roads of Flea Bottom were as intricate as a maze, with houses pressed tightly against narrow alleys.
Walking through the alleys, people often could not see the sky even if they looked up. Balconies or bedrooms extending beyond the foundations on the second floor blocked all view. From time to time, women would pour out basins of filthy household water from above, splashing onto the muddy, swamp-like ground below.
Filthy, crowded, poor, like a box of moldy, stinking caviar.
If Flea Bottom had once been a neat patch of mold on King's Landing, now it could not even maintain that neatness.
Yesterday's great fire had turned it into something like a spreading skin disease.
Anyone who had not lived in King's Landing for years would certainly get lost upon entering.
Jon, for one, had already begun to feel dizzy after just fifteen minutes inside Flea Bottom.
One moment they headed north, the next they turned southwest, and soon he could no longer tell east from west.
At this moment, Jon could not help but feel a measure of admiration for Ser Richard. Not only did the man know the way, he had even managed to find the "small" Iron Throne in such a complicated district.
"We're here!" Richard's excited shout snapped Jon out of his wandering thoughts.
They turned a corner and stood at the top of a slightly elevated narrow slope, looking down at a small pool of water pressed against a surrounding wall.
It might have been a drainage ditch, but the channel was blocked, and the water had overflowed, forming a pond of about forty square meters.
Because of the layers of twisted courtyard walls, people below could easily overlook those on the slope. But from above, the view was relatively open.
Erlu and the others spotted the Iron Throne at once.
The iron chair symbolizing the supreme authority of the Seven Kingdoms stood planted beside the pool. The five-meter-high throne with its steps still had at least three meters exposed above the water.
At that moment, a group of mischievous children had occupied it.
Erlu stopped involuntarily, staring blankly ahead.
When he stopped, everyone behind him stopped as well.
"I am the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon Targaryen!" A dark, skinny ten-year-old boy sat on the throne, solemnly announcing to the children below.
The chair stood in the pool. Between the lowest step and the bank, a wooden plank only twenty centimeters wide had been placed.
The children crossed the plank, came before the chair, and climbed up to sit.
"Doggy Egg, are you playing fake crown prince?" a frostbitten-faced little girl laughed, pointing at the boy on the throne.
"Fake prince! Fake prince!" the other children clapped and laughed.
"I'm not fake Prince Aegon. I am the master of the Black Dread Balerion, Aegon the Conqueror!" Doggy Egg's dark face flushed red as he argued loudly.
"Doggy Egg, hurry up and come down. It's my turn!" a skinny, monkey-like blond boy below the throne jumped and shouted.
Doggy Egg reluctantly stood up.
Rip.
The sound of tearing cloth came from behind him. When he turned, a strip of gray linen was caught on the sword-bladed seat.
His patched cotton pants had gained another tear, and the yellowed stuffing fluttered in the wind.
"Oh no, my pants are torn. My mom will beat me for sure!" Doggy Egg wailed.
"Hahaha, King Aegon with his butt showing!" the frostbitten-faced girl clapped and laughed again.
Doggy Egg glared at her and walked down the steps in embarrassment, muttering, "What kind of lousy chair is this? It's not meant for people to sit on at all."
Soon, the skinny boy climbed up after him.
The comical sight was like placing a monkey on a throne.
The boy pinched his voice and cried out, "I am the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon!"
"Where is my hammer? Rhaegar, take this hammer, ahhh!"
He got too into character, imitating the exaggerated style of tavern performers, raising his right hand as if holding a great hammer.
"Hahaha, Robert, a boar bit off your manhood!" the frostbitten-faced girl bent over laughing.
"Robert" pointed at her and shouted, "You, whore Cersei, you dare poison me? Take this hammer too!"
"I'm not Cersei. I don't like you. I won't be your wife!" the girl shouted angrily.
"Monkey, you're hogging it," a triangular-faced boy said, picking up a stone and throwing it at him. "It's not your toy alone. It's my turn!"
The monkey boy reluctantly climbed down. This time his pants did not tear, but he kept looking back, dragging his feet. Suddenly, he slipped and fell into the pool with a splash.
He came up drenched, his clothes smeared with colorful filth. It was excrement.
A foul stench spread instantly.
"Hahaha, the monkey fell into the latrine!"
"Robert's eating shit from the pit!"
Amid the children's laughter, the boy, ashamed and freezing, climbed out and ran off with his head lowered.
"I am the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men…" The triangular-faced boy faltered, frowning as he tried to think.
"Who should I be?" he asked.
The frostbitten-faced girl rolled her eyes. "How about Emperor Joffrey?"
"No! Joffrey was crazy and stupid, and he died so pathetically," the boy shook his head.
"What about Tommen?" another suggested.
"That snot-nosed kid didn't even know his wife cheated on him. If I have to wear a cuckold's crown to be king, I'd rather not sit the throne. Help me find someone more impressive. I remember a Targaryen king in the plays who defeated the Dornish. Very young and capable."
"The Mad King!"
"Not him."
"How about Stannis? He has a magic dragon and just took King's Landing. That's pretty impressive."
"No, he's an evil heretic! My dad and brother have been cursing him in private these days. If they find out I'm playing Stannis, they'll beat me to death," the boy said fearfully.
"That's true. If people find out you're Stannis, you'll get beaten the moment you step outside. Look what he and Euron have done to us," someone agreed.
"Hurry up, stop messing around. It's my turn!"
The triangular-faced boy sighed helplessly and declared loudly, "I am the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Renly Baratheon."
"I'd rather be Renly. At least he's good-looking," he explained.
"Watch out for your brother. His red priestess will kill you!" the girl cried in alarm.
"What?" the boy was confused.
"Idiot, don't you even know how Renly died?" the others mocked.
"Oh, you mean the king of hearts." He laughed. "I'm not afraid. Once I become king, I'll keep Saint Matthew by my side every day."
Then it was the frostbitten-faced girl's turn.
The others below shouted, "Cersei! Cersei! Cersei!" She puffed her cheeks, thought for a moment, and said, "I want to be the Dragon Queen. You won't tell anyone, right?"
"We will! We'll tell your mom you blasphemed Saint Daenerys. She'll beat your butt raw!" the dark-faced "Aegon" snickered.
"Fine, I won't be the Dragon Queen. I am the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Barbara Campbell," she announced, lifting her chin.
"Tch, that's just your own name. Might as well be whore Cersei," the others scoffed.
"You don't understand. If I sit on the Iron Throne now, of course I use my own name. That means the throne is mine, and the Seven Kingdoms are mine too. If Stannis came now, would he say 'I am Aegon' like Doggy Egg?"
"That… makes sense!" the children hesitated.
Soon, they all began declaring their own names. In no time, the Iron Throne had gained over a dozen former "owners."
But not all of them managed to sit on it.
When it was a ten-year-old flat-nosed girl's turn, she climbed up with difficulty while holding her younger brother, who was not yet two.
Fortunately, the chair was large enough for her to place him beside her. But before she could speak, the little boy squatted and defecated on the throne.
"Oh no, I haven't even gone up yet. Why is Hammer already pooping on it?" a child below wailed.
"Hammer is still young. He doesn't know any better," the girl said awkwardly. "Wait a moment. After he finishes, I'll go home and bring a basin to wash the chair clean."
"My house is just behind the wall. That latrine is connected to the public toilet of my family's inn," she said, pointing to the wall with several drainage outlets.
"No, I won't sit on a chair with poop on it. That's disgusting!" another child said with a face full of disgust.
"What did Hammer eat? It smells worse than the pit!" the frostbitten-faced girl muttered, pinching her nose.
The girl grew even more embarrassed. "Yesterday my dad found a dead pig. I don't know which noble's it came from, but it was very fat. Meat is expensive during the Long Night. We haven't eaten pork for years, so Hammer ate a bit too much."
"Sis!" Hammer finished and stuck out his bare bottom, smeared with filth.
"Hey, help me find a stick. I need to clean him," the girl said urgently.
"No. The chair is big enough, just use it. It's too cold here. I'm leaving," the frostbitten-faced girl said, pulling her clothes tighter as she ran off first.
The children seemed to have grown tired of competing for the throne and left one by one.
"Don't go! Don't you want the Iron Throne? Don't you want to be king anymore?" the girl called anxiously.
"Who wants a throne covered in shit?" they replied in disgust.
Soon, everyone had gone.
"Waaah…" Hammer rubbed his bare bottom against the chair. The blades cut into his soft skin, and blood flowed as he cried in pain.
"Hammer? Is that Hammer crying?" came a woman's voice from the other side of the wall.
"Mom, are you using the toilet?" the girl said timidly. "I'm sitting on the Iron Throne. Hammer pooped on it and cut his bottom."
"You stupid girl! The latrine is right there. Why didn't you hold him over it? That iron chair is cold and full of spikes. What's so good about sitting on it?" the mother scolded from the other side.
"I want to be queen…" the girl muttered softly.
"Fool. Do you think sitting on that chair makes you a king? Even an idiot wouldn't think that."
Erlu's face turned deathly pale. His body swayed, and he suddenly spat out a mouthful of dark, foul-smelling blood before collapsing unconscious.
(End of Chapter)
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