Little Beggar

Prosperous King's Landing was not kind to those who had nothing.

The first day was manageable.

But once night fell, the problem of where to sleep immediately presented itself.

Anywhere that looked decent required clean, tidy clothes and a heavy purse. Even a shabby inn required copper coins.

And you had none.

Sleep on the streets, in open lots, or beneath archways?

What were you thinking?

Once the Gold Cloaks who patrolled day and night spotted you, they would not be polite. You could even be beaten to death on the spot.

Your only choice was to curl up in some corner of Flea Bottom. It would be best if you could join a beggar gang.

But even then, you had to stay constantly alert for theft and attacks from others. People with nothing could do anything.

And remember, never get sick or injured.

Mosquitoes, cold, heat, and your companions could all smell weakness. Then they would show you their most vicious and sinister side.

If you were lucky enough to survive that, congratulations—you could start thinking about finding a steady source of food.

The good spots for begging were not open to a newcomer like you.

The porridge and bread The Faith handed out in the Gods' name were not enough to feed everyone in Flea Bottom.

If you relied on that alone to get by, then either you would be too hungry to walk beneath the sun after a few days, or your "companions" would bury you completely beyond its reach.

Of course, you could also try earning money through work and cast off the identity of a beggar for good.

The easy, pleasant jobs would never come to you, but hauling freight at the warehouses and docks could earn you one Copper Star a day—sixteen copper coins.

A loaf of black bread mixed with grit cost only one copper coin.

Two loaves a day were barely enough to keep a person alive. If you did hard labor, four or five would suffice.

Sixteen copper coins. Sixteen loaves of bread. What pitiful yet crushing numbers.

But even that was only in theory.

After enduring more than half a month of torment, the Prostitute's Bastard finally realized that reality would only be crueler than anyone imagined.

That trial in the Throne Room had pushed him into a true hell.

He had lost his only support.

When he left through the gates of the Red Keep, he kept his head lowered tightly, terrified that he might accidentally spot his mother among the rows of heads on spikes he had once enjoyed looking at.

Whether fortunate or unfortunate, the Gold Cloaks guarding the Red Keep's gate returned his knife. They only took one Golden Dragon as payment.

He was penniless.

He tried returning to the brothel he had once hated yet depended on, but he was ruthlessly thrown out within moments.

He lived off his only two friends for two days, but was abandoned after that.

Then he went all over the city looking for work. In the end, only the docks needed hands. The docks it was. What right did he have to be picky?

But he had never expected hard labor to be so complicated and dark.

He could never actually get those sixteen copper coins a day.

First, when wages were handed out, even if nothing had gone wrong that day, the overseer would deduct two copper coins as some kind of wear-and-tear fee. If you made a mistake, it was even worse.

Then there were the dock gangs.

They claimed to protect the dockworkers' safety, yet demanded half with the first words out of their mouths. With blades, fists, and swords before you, who dared refuse?

At that point, he could still have seven copper coins left. Such a lucky number.

He gave each one the name of one of the Seven: Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone, and Stranger.

There was plenty of fish at the docks, but it was all far more expensive than black bread. He could only stare at it hungrily.

When he entered the city from the docks, the Gold Cloaks worn by the gate guards were especially glaring. They wanted a little "respect" too—half, again.

What was half of seven?

He knelt in public, kowtowing and begging bitterly.

"Please have mercy, my lords, please have mercy..."

Sometimes the guards would burst into laughter, seeming to enjoy themselves, and generously let him into the city.

Other times they were not in a good mood. The scabbards they jabbed at him struck with enough force to kill, and then they took every copper coin he had.

Sometimes, they mockingly demanded one copper coin.

He would offer up the "Stranger."

Stranger, take them away soon. They did not belong in the human world. They should live amid blazing fire and molten rock, in the Seven Hells.

He could only comfort himself by thinking that at least he was better off than the beggars in Flea Bottom.

Until a week ago...

A Silver Stag rolled to his feet with a jingle, and Little Beggar immediately flung those memories to the horizon.

A Silver Stag! Seven Copper Stars! So many copper coins!!

"May the old and new Gods bless you! Thank you for your reward, my lord! You are such a kind and generous man!!"

Little Beggar knocked his head against the ground in excitement.

He was already thinking about how to hide this enormous fortune. He absolutely could not take a Silver Stag back to Flea Bottom. That would be suicide.

The lord who had given him the Silver Stag spoke. "Someone wishes to see you."

Little Beggar slowly raised his head.

A plain-faced man in his thirties, with calm eyes, stood before him.

In a deserted alley, Joffrey listened as Tyrion described the selected boy's experiences over the past half month.

"...After that, some dock thugs took a liking to the knife he carried. Unexpectedly, he refused to yield no matter what, and even drew his blade and wounded two of them."

Tyrion somewhat admired the boy's courage, but also felt that he had been too impulsive.

"He fled back into the city. No one would hire him after that, so he had no choice but to become a beggar for more than a week, until now."

Joffrey was very satisfied. It was good that he would not submit. Otherwise, what use would he be?

A faint sound came from nearby.

An unremarkable man led a thin, frail boy into the mouth of the alley.

Joffrey silently observed the boy.

Tyrion, meanwhile, played the role of "that lord."

"Little fellow, don't be nervous. There is simply something you can help with. What do you think?"

"Just give the order, my lord."

The boy awkwardly bowed. He lowered his eyes briefly at the "lord," who was even shorter than himself, before fixing his gaze on Joffrey.

The unnamed luxurious fabric, with its vivid and intricate red-and-gold patterns, set off a face that made others feel ashamed of themselves. At a glance, he was clearly an important figure of noble birth. But more importantly, the boy had seen this young lord in the Throne Room.

In an instant, countless memories returned to him, and his lips pressed tighter and tighter.

Law! Bullshit law!

Tyrion sensed the shift in the boy's emotions.

"Do you want revenge? You lost your mother and fell into such a state. Who do you hate most?"

The boy thought of that disgusting man, but he had already killed him himself. That man's wife? The dock gang? The Gold Cloaks? The beggar gang? The brothel? His two-faced friends?

He had many possible answers, but the final figure in his mind was the cold-blooded lord who had stood ramrod straight in the Throne Room.

He knew that man's name: Stannis!

Joffrey saw the Flames in his eyes.

After a brief and unequal transaction, Joffrey attached a Solid Rune mirror image to the boy's knife, then bestowed upon him mirror images of the Solid Rune and Fire Rune.

The secret agent, who had remained silent all along, quietly led the boy away.

The alley returned to silence.

After staring at the alley entrance for an unknown length of time, Tyrion suddenly spoke.

"You have that much confidence in him?"

Joffrey shrugged.

"I only know that he has no other choice. All the anger in his heart will only be poured onto his target."

Tyrion said nothing more. He understood the reasoning as well.

Yes, the boy who had been approached was already doomed to die. What could this little fellow do?

A beggar—no one would believe him even if he successfully exposed them, and he could not escape either. The greatest resistance he could offer was refusing to do it, struggling as he waited for death to come.

But would he do that?

Would he spare the greatest enemy he could think of?

Tyrion sighed.

Stannis, you really were an unlikable fellow.