Chapter 71: The Chainbreakers' Intelligence Contact Point
King's Landing, Flea Bottom
Night fell, and pale moonlight spilled over the crumbling buildings of Flea Bottom in King's Landing, deepening the chill already clinging to the air.
This was a corner long forgotten by the splendor of the capital. Whether candle or oil lamp, any light that dared shine here seemed swallowed by shadow the moment it touched these alleys.
If not for the faint flicker of distant lamps, one might mistake this quarter for a graveyard.
Dilapidated houses stood pressed together, their walls mottled and cracked, their roofs patched with straw and hardened mud. When the cold wind swept through the narrow dirt lanes, it carried with it the stench of refuse and rot.
On this silent night, a suffocating oppression hung over the slum. Beggars without shelter wrapped themselves in rags, hunched and shivering, seeking warmth that would never come.
Those fortunate enough to possess huts of clay and timber crouched inside, anxious and exhausted, hiding within structures that seemed ready to collapse with a single hard gust.
They wore threadbare garments. Their faces bore the marks of hunger and cold.
Children huddled in corners, thin arms wrapped around themselves, eyes filled with fear and helplessness.
Occasionally, a dog barked in the distance—then silence returned.
The air itself felt heavy.
"Whoosh… whoosh… whoosh…"
Suddenly, a strange distortion rippled through one corner of the alley, accompanied by the sound of tearing wind.
"Crack… crack…"
Under the force of a massive dragon claw, space fractured like glass.
Then Jon appeared.
"Where in the Seven Hells is this?"
He surveyed the desolation around him, momentarily suspecting misplacement. Yet from experience, he knew the Demon Dragon's spatial traversal was precise in destination—if random in landing point.
Last time, it had delivered him directly into the Archon's Palace of Tyrosh.
This time, he had used it to reach King's Landing—to rescue Eddard Stark.
But instead of appearing within the Red Keep, he had been deposited somewhere in the depths of Flea Bottom.
"I need to get out of here first."
Curfew did not blanket all of King's Landing. In places like Flour Street or the Street of Silk, night meant revelry.
But here—
"Caw… caw…"
"Hoot… hoot…"
As Jon extended his senses, two ravens and a barn owl burst into the air. Through their eyes, he surveyed the surrounding streets.
After identifying a viable route, Jon strode forward.
Based on the terrain and density of squalor, he was certain: this was Flea Bottom.
After some time, he halted before a modest structure.
It resembled a blacksmith's shop—but unlike the master forges along the Street of Steel, this establishment crafted mostly household implements.
Above the door hung a wooden sign bearing the image of a hammer crossed with a chain.
"Clang, clang, clang…"
Candlelight glowed faintly within.
Jon pulled the rope by the door.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
"Clink…"
A chain was drawn back. A small square viewing hatch opened.
"What do you want?"
The dim oil lamp within revealed little of Jon's face.
"I wish to forge a hammer that can break shackles."
"Ah… cough… we can open shackles here without forging one."
"The hammer I seek breaks the shackles within men's hearts. That one is not easily made."
Silence.
Then—
"You… are you—?"
"Let us speak inside."
After exchanging coded phrases, Jon entered.
It was a small earthen courtyard with two stories. Clay walls. Tiled roof. Three smelting furnaces stood cold, six anvils arranged nearby.
Only two showed signs of recent use.
"Lord Jon, the entire Flea Bottom unit is assembled. Please inspect."
Five young men in coarse linen stepped forward.
They were members of the Chainbreakers, assigned to this intelligence node within King's Landing.
"Temi, Labei, Lance, Amy, Coster. You have done well to receive me at such an hour."
"It is no trouble, my lord."
All were outsiders by birth—men whose presence aroused no suspicion in Flea Bottom. Their forge had earned goodwill among locals.
"Jon!?"
A voice broke in.
A small girl rushed from a bedchamber, followed by a slender boy dressed in borrowed girl's clothing.
"Arya."
She collided into him without hesitation.
Jon caught her instinctively.
A moment later, another pair of arms wrapped around him.
"Bran."
"Is it truly you?" Arya asked, voice trembling.
Jon embraced them both.
"Long time no see."
The composure Arya had clung to shattered.
"Septa Mordane is dead… Master Hullen is dead… so many have died…"
After Eddard Stark's arrest, Jon's embedded Stark contingency team had acted immediately—arrangements Jon had put into place before departing King's Landing.
Twenty intelligence agents had been planted throughout the capital. Each enhanced through the System at great cost.
During the Lannister seizure of power, Stark guards and sworn swords fought to buy time.
The agents hid first along the Street of Steel until nightfall, then extracted Arya Stark and Bran Stark under cover of darkness.
If Jon had not arrived tonight, they would have smuggled the children out by dawn.
"Do not fear," Jon said quietly. "Winter always comes for those who forget it. The Lannisters speak of debts—but House Stark remembers as well. Direwolves are no gentler than lions."
After arranging rest for Arya and Bran, Jon convened the agents in the master bedchamber.
"Report."
"Yes, Lord Jon."
They sat.
"A few days ago… our people observed… then the gold cloaks moved…"
Through Temi's detailed account, Jon pieced together events.
They had confirmed Eddard Stark was held within the Red Keep dungeons.
They had also located Sansa Stark, confined under guard.
"Latest word suggests Lord Stark is to be brought before the Great Sept of Baelor for judgment."
Jon's expression hardened.
"What of Lord Varys and Petyr Baelish? Those two are variables. Continue observing them closely."
The Spider and Littlefinger knew every shadow of King's Landing. Jon might wield overwhelming force, but subtle treachery could still complicate matters.
"Our watchers track them constantly. With the abilities you granted us, shadowing them has proven manageable."
These agents knew the reputations of both men well.
"Good. Tomorrow, you will maintain surveillance only. I will handle the rest myself."
He paused.
"Prepare to move Arya and Bran out of the city at first light."
"Yes, Lord Jon."
Their answer came in unison.
Outside, the cold wind of Flea Bottom continued to whisper through broken roofs.
And far above, beyond the Red Keep's looming towers, the game for the Seven Kingdoms crept toward its next move.
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