A City's Whisper
The alley behind the barracks was dim, the scent of damp straw and old steel hanging in the air. A group of City Watchn leaned against the cold stone, voices hushed but heavy.
"They took Hal out back yesterday," muttered one. "Made him clean the lion banners with his tongue."
"No shit?" said another, jaw clenched.
"For laughing when that Lannister knight tripped drunk in the street."
A third spat. "I'm done. We bled for this city, kept order when no one else would. Now they treat us like dogs."
One younger cloak, maybe barely twenty, looked up. "What if we left?"
"Left?"
"To the North. To Lord Cregan. They say he treats his n like brothers, not servants."
Silence fell over the group.
"Would he even take us?"
A veteran with a notched spear looked northward. "He trained us. He believed in us when no one else did. If anyone would, it's him."
---
The Revolt of the Cloaks
Within two days, nearly seventy percent of the City Watch—over fifteen hundred n—had laid down their cloaks. With families included, over three thousand were preparing to leave King's Landing. So had been in the Watch for years, others newly sworn. But all carried a single sentint:
"We serve the wolf, not the lion."
They filed out of the barracks one after another, gold cloaks folded and left neatly on the steps. It caused chaos.
---
The Hand's Alarm
Jon Arryn stood at the Red Keep, face pale as the reports ca flooding in.
"Fifteen hundred n?" he echoed in disbelief.
"Plus their wives, children, elders," said a royal scribe. "It's a whole migration, my lord."
Jon called an ergency council. Even King Robert appeared, bleary-eyed but sober for once.
"They want Cregan back?" Robert muttered. "Gods, I miss the days when they just whined about bread."
Jon nodded. "They're loyal to the man, not the crown. That's dangerous."
"And keeping them here is more dangerous," said Ser Barristan quietly.
---
Rodrik's Stand
Rodrik, forr captain of the City Watch and now their de facto leader again, stood in the hall with a few trusted officers. Before him stood Jon Arryn, arms crossed.
"You trained under , Rodrik," Jon said firmly. "You swore to protect the city. Not abandon it."
Rodrik's jaw clenched. "Aye, and I kept that oath. I patrolled your streets. I stopped riots. I stopped murderers. And what do we get for it? Humiliation. Spit. Disrespect."
"You're abandoning your post."
"We're walking away from a regi that doesn't see us as n. The Lannisters treat us like cattle. They beat our lads in alleys. They deny us pay. They've stripped our dignity. My n don't owe them anything anymore."
Jon took a slow breath. "You'll beco a rcenary force in the North."
Rodrik stepped forward, voice calm but steel-edged. "We'll beco soldiers in a land where we're valued. Lord Cregan trained us. He raised our standards. We learned discipline under him. We fought for this city not because of crowns—but because he gave us purpose."
"And now you'll make King's Landing look weak," Jon said, voice tightening. "A great force defecting north—what ssage does that send?"
Rodrik didn't flinch. "Maybe it sends the truth."
There was silence.
Then, almost reluctantly, Jon exhaled. "Go then. Better that you walk free than rot resentful in our streets."
Rodrik bowed once. "You'll regret losing us."
---
The King Decides
Later that evening, Robert nursed a cup of wine as Jon paced the solar.
"They want Cregan back as their commander. They say it outright."
Robert chuckled bitterly. "He beats the Mountain, bleeds in the pit, and now the gold cloaks worship him like so northern god."
"They're becoming a symbol," Jon said. "A movent."
"Let them go," Robert grunted. "Rather that than have a city full of ard wolves waiting to snap. Gods help us if we tell them no."
Jon nodded. "I'll sign the orders. Their departure is to be peaceful. We won't stop them."
---
Mott's Concern
Elsewhere in the city, Tobho Mott paced in his forge, anxiety gripping him.
"The city isn't safe anymore," he muttered, glancing over at Gendry, who hamred a steel bar with quiet strength.
The boy had grown. Broad shoulders, dark hair, and those eyes. Baratheon eyes.
"They'll co looking for bastards next," Mott whispered. "Especially ones who look like Robert."
He left the forge and approached a few departing forr City Watchn. n he'd worked with before, sold armor to. Good n.
"I have a favor," Mott said. "There's a boy in my forge. Strong, good with tal. But more than that, he's in danger here."
"Why?" one asked.
"He's got the look of soone they hate. And he's just a boy."
"You want us to take him north?" another asked.
"Yes," Mott said. "Tell Lord Cregan it's from . He can work. He's a damn good smith. And more than that... he might need protecting .Tell Lord Cregan it's a favour from . He respects and have done business with ."
They exchanged glances.
"Aye," said one. "We'll take him. North's safer for boys like him now."
---
The Cloaks March
So it was that over fifteen hundred trained n, their families in wagons, their armor packed and weapons strapped, marched out of King's Landing.
Their cloaks left behind.
Their loyalty carried with them.
Toward the North.
Toward the Bloody Wolf.
---
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