Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 8: Punishments and planning

…

Third POV

It was a moonless night in Lannisport, the air thick with the smell of salt and ale. Gwent, a hedge knight of some repute, stumbled out of a tavern, his gait unsteady from drink. He fumbled with his trousers as he found a shadowed corner, relieving himself against a crumbling stone wall. His eyes were half-lidded, his mind dulled by the mead coursing through his veins.

As he finished, fumbling to lace up his breeches, a sudden sharp pain exploded at the back of his skull. A rock had struck him, and his head throbbed in fury. Gwent swore loudly, spinning around to find the culprit. His vision blurred for a moment before settling on a ragged teenage boy standing at the mouth of a narrow alley, grinning with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"You're a son of a whore!" the boy jeered, his voice echoing through the empty street. Without waiting for Gwent's reaction, the boy turned and sprinted down the alley.

Rage clouded Gwent's senses. With a snarl, he unsheathed his sword, the steel gleaming cold in the dim light. He gave chase, his boots slapping against the cobblestones as he thundered after the boy. "You'll pay for that, you little rat!" he growled, his voice filled with venom.

The boy led him deeper into the twisting, labyrinthine alleys of Lannisport, darting through narrow passageways like a shadow. Gwent struggled to keep up, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the drink still slowing his reactions. Sweat dripped down his brow as they weaved through the maze of darkened streets, his anger burning hotter with every step.

At last, the boy turned sharply into a dead end. Trapped, the lad faced him, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Gwent's heart hammered in his chest, his rage reaching a fever pitch. He raised his sword, the metal whispering through the air as he stepped forward. 

"You've nowhere to run now," Gwent snarled, advancing with murder in his eyes. "I'll gut you where you stand."

But the boy didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled—a slow, knowing grin that unsettled Gwent. The hedge knight hesitated, confusion flickering in his bloodshot eyes.

"What are you smiling at, you little fool?" Gwent barked, raising his sword to strike.

Before he could bring the blade down, a sharp blow struck the side of his head, faster than his drunken mind could register. His vision spun, and the world around him faded to black. He collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, his sword clattering from his hand.

Richard stood over the unconscious knight, his face expressionless as he wiped the blood from his knuckles with a slow, deliberate motion. His boot nudged the limp body, and he looked up, his gaze landing on Humphrey.

"Good work, Humphrey," Richard said, his voice low, almost approving. The boy had played his part well, leading Ser Gwent right into the trap.

Humphrey's face lit up with excitement. "Thank you, milord! How did I do?" he asked eagerly, his youthful enthusiasm clear in his voice.

Richard's eyes softened for a brief moment. Humphrey had come a long way from the streets, where he had once scrounged for scraps with his sister, Myrielle. That was before the family had been built, before the purge that had changed everything. Now the boy was well-fed, strong, and eager to prove himself.

"You did well," Richard replied calmly, his tone measured. "But the job isn't finished yet."

He held out a knife to Humphrey, its blade safely sheathed. Humphrey's breath caught as he accepted the weapon, his small fingers curling around the hilt. The weight of it felt heavier than he'd expected, though not because of the steel. He looked up at Richard, wide-eyed.

"If you want to be more than a scout," Richard said, his voice turning cold, "you know what you must do."

Humphrey's heart began to race. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard, nodding toward his lord. He had asked for this, had begged for a chance to do more, to be more. Now that the moment was here, standing over the unconscious knight, the reality of it settled over him like a dark cloud.

With trembling hands, he stepped forward, closer to Ser Gwent's prone body. The man, a brute in life, now lay still, defenseless. Humphrey could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, louder with each step.

Richard stood behind him, watching in silence. There was no malice in his expression, no satisfaction—just cold, quiet expectation. Humphrey knew this was a test, and in Richard's Family, there were only two outcomes: success or failure.

Humphrey knelt beside the knight, the weight of the knife heavy in his hand. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as he unsheathed the blade, its cold surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. For a moment, he hesitated, glancing back at Richard. His eyes searched for reassurance, a flicker of emotion—anything to hold onto—but Richard stood still, watching, his face unreadable.

"Aim for the side of the neck," Richard said softly, his voice devoid of warmth. "It'll be quicker."

Humphrey's chest tightened, his heart pounding in his ears. But he nodded, forcing the fear down. Richard had given him a purpose, a place in the family, a future. If he was to earn that, this was the price.

The job was finished. Richard came back from the mission with Humphrey.

He was proud. Humphrey had potential. He followed orders and asked no questions. He was one of the first members of the family.

But since he was young, only 9 back then, Richard had always thought he could become a capo one day.

When Humphrey turned 10 on his namesday, he had asked—pleaded—that he wanted to be more than just a recruit scout.

Richard gave him a chance, and the boy passed with flying colors.

"Head back to base," Richard told him.

Humphrey nodded and ran off in excitement.

Once the boy had gone, Richard pulled on his hood and mask. From his cloak, he drew a parchment. On it was a list of a dozen names. Biting into his thumb, he crossed out Ser Gwent's name.

He looked at the other 11 names and smiled.

It was time to hunt.

…

Richard POV

I awoke from my bed, yawning and stretching. Last night had been eventful. It was late when I returned to base, but I was satisfied—I had hunted down every target on my list.

I got up, dressed quickly, and made my way toward the smaller dining room. This was the more private space we used compared to the larger hall we reserved for bigger gatherings like Alicent's namesday.

As I entered, I spotted Alicent and her mother already seated, sharing a quiet moment together. I waved to them as I approached the table.

"Good morning, ladies," I greeted, sliding into a chair opposite them.

"Good morning," they replied in unison, their faces warm with the ease of familiarity.

I glanced over to a teenage girl standing by the window—one of the young ones I'd taken in from the streets. "Bring me some pancakes and eggs," I said, my tone casual but firm.

She nodded quickly, offering a respectful bow before hurrying off to the kitchen.

Turning my attention back to Alicent and Maria, I asked, "So, what are you two planning for today?"

Alicent smiled brightly. "Mom, Rose, Sharra, and I were thinking of going to the market. The children we've been teaching are making good progress, so we thought we'd buy some new books."

I returned her smile, a sense of pride welling up inside me. The children they were mentoring had come a long way, and it was rewarding to see their hard work bearing fruit.

Alicent's mother, Maria, looked at me with a bit of hesitation in her eyes. "I was thinking... the girls could use some new clothes. Would it be alright if we borrowed some coin for that?"

She seemed nervous, as if unsure of my reaction. But I simply nodded.

"Of course," I said without hesitation. "Why would I refuse if it's to improve things for our family?"

Maria's face relaxed, relief washing over her. It was a small request, but I knew it meant a lot to her.

Just then, my breakfast arrived. The girl from earlier placed a plate in front of me with steaming pancakes and eggs, the aroma wafting up to greet me. 

The one who made this was Stephen, the chef, he is a man in his thirties who now worked for me. He owed me a great debt for saving him and his family from a ruthless loan shark, and he repaid it every day with his cooking. In return, I paid him well, and his loyalty was unwavering.

I'd taught Stephen a few culinary basics, knowledge passed down from John Falcon. Now, he knew how to make all sorts of things—pancakes, hot dogs, French fries, you name it.

Pouring honey over my pancakes, I took my first bite and savored the taste. It was good, better than I expected.

I glanced across the table. Alicent and Maria were enjoying their breakfast as well, a simpler fare of fresh fruits, vegetables, sausage, and bread—though today, the sausage was nestled in the bread, much like a hot dog.

They ate slowly, savoring each bite, while I devoured my pancakes with less restraint. The warm sweetness of honey and the fluffy texture of the pancakes made it hard to resist.

It was a quiet morning, but peaceful. Just another day in our little corner of the world, a rare moment of calm amidst everything else. Days like this were few, and though my mind was already spinning with plans, I allowed myself to enjoy this fleeting silence.

After breakfast, I headed to my solar. There was paperwork to handle—ledgers to review, payments to process, and requests for meetings to consider. The usual flow of business that came with overseeing our growing network.

Most of the documents were standard—protection fees from merchants, business dealings, and a handful of requests from people hoping for an audience with me. I moved quickly through them, my mind focused but drifting occasionally to more pressing matters.

One stack caught my attention—the document from the scout unit. It was led by Addam, one of my capos. Humphrey, once a part of that unit, had proven himself yesterday, showing both skill and determination. I would need to replace another person into the scout ground in Humphrey place.

As a reward, I'd moved him to the assassin unit, a more elite group under my personal supervision. Humphrey would be the seventh member, joining the six others I'd trained from the ground up.

The assassin unit was still in its early stages, each boy handpicked for their ruthlessness and loyalty, though they had much to learn. I trusted them with the delicate tasks—jobs where precision and silence were key. They had come a long way, but the path ahead was still steep.

Once I finished the paperwork, I gave some of the documents signed in my name to Laenor. It was confirmation to all the people that I had promise to do a favor.

I asked him to give it out to the people who came for help during this week. One of which was the black smith Corlos. His daughter was now avenge.

Just like that my day was over and I made my way to the courtyard.

The sound of steel clashing greeted me as I approached. Boys were sparring in pairs, their training a constant grind. As I stepped closer, I focused on my assassin unit. The six boys were paired off, moving through drills designed to sharpen their instincts and reflexes. 

Each had their strengths, but I watched closely for any weaknesses. They were far from perfect, and mistakes could be fatal in their line of work. Still, they fought with focus, their movements fluid, efficient.

I nodded to myself, satisfied for now. Soon enough, they'd be ready for something bigger, and Humphrey would carve his place among them. Speaking of Humphrey, he was off to the side, receiving guidance from Conrad, the leader of the assassin unit. Conrad had once been part of another criminal group, but I'd spared his life during the purge.

There was a reason for that. Conrad had talent, and more importantly, he was young enough that I could still mold him, bend him to my will. He had a younger brother too, someone he lived and fought for, which made him more predictable—loyal even. 

I had offered him and his brother a place in my family, and though he accepted because of wanting a better life for him and his brother, fear had also driven him just as much as ambition. A knife to the throat will make even the hardest teenager reconsider his loyalties. 

"Milord," Conrad said, his voice steady as he was the first to notice me. Without hesitation, he knelt on one knee, his head lowered.

I regarded him for a moment, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Rise, Conrad," I said, my tone firm but not unkind. "How's the training coming along?"

He stood, eyes respectfully lowered. "Well, milord. Humphrey is learning quickly, and the others are sharpening their skills. They'll be ready when you need them."

I glanced at Humphrey, who stood nearby, listening intently. The boy had promise, and the fire in his eyes spoke volumes about his determination. "Good," I replied. "Keep working with him. I expect him to catch up to the others soon."

Conrad nodded, the hint of a proud smile on his lips. "He will, milord. He's determined."

I turned my gaze back to the courtyard, watching the other boys spar. The clang of steel was rhythmic, methodical, each clash echoing the discipline instilled in them.

"I have a mission for you," I said, not looking away from the practice.

Conrad listened silently, his body tensing slightly as he awaited the order.

"Alicent and her mother are heading out to the market. Keep watch over them and ensure their safety." I finally turned my gaze to him, my eyes sharp and unyielding. "Protect them at all costs."

Conrad flinched under my gaze, the weight of my seriousness sinking in. He bowed his head low, his voice steady but filled with determination. "Yes, milord. I will not fail."

"See that you don't," I said, my voice cold as steel. "Their safety is more important than anything else."

Conrad bowed once more before hurrying off, the gravity of his task clear on his face. I watched him go, my thoughts already shifting to the next move. There was always more to do, more to plan, and more to protect.