Chapter 18: Justice at King's Landing - Part 1
POV: Corwyn Darke
King's Landing assaulted the senses.
The smell hit first—a complex stench of sewage, fish, unwashed bodies, and cooking fires that no amount of perfumed handkerchiefs could mask. Then the noise: vendors hawking wares, children screaming, dogs barking, the constant rumble of cart wheels on cobblestones.
I rode through the streets with a small escort—Lord Rykker, Maester Harlan, four guards, and the sellsword captain bound on a mule. We attracted curious looks but no interference; the Darke colors and lord's bearing bought passage through crowds that might otherwise have blocked our way.
[ LOCATION: KING'S LANDING ]
[ POPULATION: ~500,000 ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE (POLITICAL) ]
[ OBJECTIVE: CROWN AUDIENCE ]
The Red Keep dominated the skyline, its towers rising above the lesser buildings like a stone fist thrust toward heaven. Aegon's fortress, seat of the Iron Throne, center of power for the Seven Kingdoms. I'd seen it in... somewhere. The memory was fuzzy, indistinct. But the reality was more imposing than any image.
"Stay close," Rykker murmured as we approached the Lion Gate. "King's Landing swallows the unwary."
The guards at the gate examined our credentials—formal letters bearing my seal and Maester Harlan's chain of authenticity. After a brief consultation, we were admitted to the outer bailey with directions to the Petitioners' Office.
"Bureaucracy. Same in every age."
Three hours of waiting, questioning, and form-signing later, we secured a preliminary hearing before the Small Council in three days' time. Our lodgings were a modest inn near the Gate of the Gods—respectable enough for a minor lord, humble enough to avoid accusations of presumption.
"The timing is good," Harlan said that evening as we reviewed our strategy. "King Viserys holds open court weekly. Our petition will be heard publicly, which makes it harder for Darklyn's friends to bury."
"And Darklyn himself?"
"No sign yet. But he'll learn of our presence soon enough. His counter-arguments will follow."
I nodded, staring out the window at the city below. Somewhere in those winding streets, politics moved like currents beneath the surface. Alliances formed and broke. Fortunes rose and fell. And I was about to throw myself into that churning water.
POV: Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen
The garden was supposed to be empty.
Rhaenyra had escaped the suffocating formality of court—another afternoon of suitors and sycophants competing for her attention—seeking refuge among the Red Keep's lesser-known greenspaces. The herb garden behind the maester's tower was usually deserted, perfect for an hour of blessed solitude.
Today, she found it occupied.
A young man stood among the rosemary bushes, apparently lost in thought. He wore simple traveling clothes, not court finery, and his posture suggested someone accustomed to work rather than leisure. When he heard her approach, he turned with the quick alertness of a man who'd recently faced danger.
"Your Grace." He bowed—properly, but without the excessive prostration most men offered. "Forgive me. I didn't realize these gardens were restricted."
"They're not." Rhaenyra studied him curiously. Not handsome in the classic sense, but there was something compelling about his directness. "You're new to court."
"New to King's Landing entirely, Your Grace. I'm—"
"Lord Corwyn Darke." She surprised herself by knowing. "The young lord who defeated Darklyn's sellswords last week. News travels, even through the keep's stone walls."
His expression flickered—surprise, then careful evaluation. "You're well informed, Your Grace."
"Being well informed is one of the few freedoms available to me." She moved to a stone bench, settling onto it with practiced grace. "Tell me about your battle. The real version, not the court-polished account."
He hesitated, clearly unsure how to respond to the heir to the Iron Throne demanding war stories in a herb garden.
"It was brutal," he said finally. "And necessary. Men died on both sides for politics they didn't understand. I won because I prepared better than my enemy expected."
"Honest. Most men would claim divine favor or exceptional personal valor."
"Most men didn't watch nine of their soldiers buried." His voice carried weight that contradicted his youth. "Victory cost something. Lying about it seems... disrespectful."
[ RELATIONSHIP ESTABLISHED ]
[ PRINCESS RHAENYRA TARGARYEN ]
[ INITIAL IMPRESSION: POSITIVE ]
[ POLITICAL SIGNIFICANCE: EXTREMELY HIGH ]
Rhaenyra found herself intrigued despite her usual wariness of ambitious lords. This one didn't look at her with hunger—for power, for connection to the throne, for the political advantages a princess could provide. He looked at her like a person.
"How novel."
"What do you want from your audience with my father?"
"Justice. Lord Darklyn hired men to murder my people. I have evidence. I want him held accountable."
"And if accountability isn't available? If Darklyn's connections protect him?"
The young lord's jaw tightened. "Then I find another way. But I'd prefer the legitimate path. It sets better precedent."
"Precedent." She almost laughed. "You sound like a maester."
"I sound like someone who's learned that force alone doesn't build lasting peace." He met her eyes directly—another novelty. Most men couldn't hold her gaze for more than seconds. "Your Grace, may I ask you something?"
"You may ask. I may not answer."
"Do you believe justice is possible in this court? Real justice, not the political theater that usually passes for it?"
The question was dangerous. Honest answers to dangerous questions had consequences in King's Landing.
"I believe," Rhaenyra said slowly, "that justice requires people willing to fight for it. The court responds to pressure, like any structure. Apply force at the right point, and things move."
She rose, smoothing her skirts. "Your hearing is in three days. Prepare well, Lord Darke. And perhaps..." She paused at the garden's entrance. "Perhaps I'll attend. Court proceedings are usually tedious, but yours might be interesting."
She left him standing among the rosemary, and found herself looking forward to something for the first time in months.
POV: Corwyn Darke
Night settled over King's Landing like a dirty blanket.
I sat in my room at the inn, documents spread across the table, candle burning low. Harlan had retired hours ago. Rykker stood watch with our guards, suspicious of the city's shadows. The sellsword captain slept in the cellar, chains light but secure.
[ QUEST: CROWN JUSTICE ]
[ HEARING DATE: 3 DAYS ]
[ EVIDENCE STATUS: PREPARED ]
[ POLITICAL CONNECTIONS: LIMITED ]
[ WILD CARD: PRINCESS RHAENYRA (INTEREST NOTED) ]
The encounter in the garden replayed in my mind. I hadn't expected to meet the princess—certainly hadn't expected her to engage in genuine conversation rather than polite dismissal. Her interest could be useful, or dangerous, or both.
"Tread carefully. Court politics are a different battlefield."
I reviewed the evidence one more time, ensuring every document was in order, every argument anticipated. Darklyn would deny everything, of course. He'd claim the sellswords acted independently, that the contracts were forgeries, that I'd manufactured the entire conspiracy.
But I had witnesses. I had receipts. I had the sellsword captain, broken by defeat and willing to testify for his life.
The truth was on my side. In a rational world, that would be enough.
"This isn't a rational world. It's Westeros."
I extinguished the candle and lay in darkness, listening to the sounds of a city that never truly slept. Through the window, the Red Keep's towers glowed with torchlight—a beacon of power I would face in three days.
Sleep came slowly, filled with dreams of battle and politics and a princess who looked at the world with ancient eyes in a young face.
Dawn would bring more preparation. The hearing would bring judgment. And somewhere, Lord Bryen Darklyn was surely preparing his own response.
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