King's Landing smelled of ash, dried blood, and resentment. The war was over, yes, but peace wasn't built with speeches or crowns. In Flea Bottom, the poorest slum in the Seven Kingdoms, rats fought dogs over rotten bones, and children over pieces of bread as hard as stone.
The looting that followed the fall of the Red Keep had ravaged what little remained. Taverns were empty, brothels dark, and the sewers filled with nameless bodies. The old soldiers of Aerys had hidden in the gutters, and Robert's new recruits barely patrolled with any discipline.
Halys Hornwood saw it with his own eyes as he crossed Silk Street, escorted by Rodrik Cassel and Thorren Flint. People watched him with fear, used to men with cloaks and weapons bringing only violence.
But Halys did not come with steel.
He came with bread.
From the stables of his new temporary residence in Lower Harrenhal, he had barrels of grain, sacks of flour, cured hams from the North, and salted fish from the Mander brought in. He bought carts of fruit from the Tyrells of Highgarden, paying twice their value so they could be delivered without profit, taxes, or conditions.
In the heart of Flea Bottom, he set up a black tent with white antlers—the banner of his house—flanked by a simple sign:
"The King has not forgotten you. This bread is delivered by the Law."
And there, day after day, Halys handed out pieces of bread, bowls of hot soup, sweet fruits for the children, and meat for the crippled veterans with his own hands. He did not speak of politics. He promised no lands or glory. He only looked into the hungry eyes and said:
—Today you eat. Tomorrow too. As long as I'm here, you will live.
The news spread fast. In a city full of thieves and absentee lords, a man from the North gave food without charging a penny. Not out of fear or gold. Out of conviction.
Wyman Manderly murmured it was an expensive gesture.Jon Arryn considered it unnecessary.Varys, on the other hand, simply smiled from the shadows.
—Sometimes, Lord Hornwood —the eunuch said in a honeyed voice— a handful of crumbs feeds more than a hundred swords. But be careful… the loyalty of the hungry is as volatile as fire under an empty pot.
But Halys did not seek blind loyalty.
He sought justice.
And in those filthy streets, among sewers and dried blood, his name began to be heard as a whisper of respect:
—The Lord of the Horn protects us.—The one with the bread… the one with the stag.—The one who doesn't look at us like we're trash.
Mothers began naming their children "Hal" and "Horn." The blacksmiths of the alleys painted antlers on their children's wooden shields. And the beggars, seeing his escort pass, stepped aside not out of fear, but out of reverence.
Halys had won many battles in the war.
But in Flea Bottom, he won something more valuable than gold or titles.
He won the heart of the people.
And when the time came to enforce the law —to root out thieves, crush conspiracies, or confront crime in the rotten heart of the city— he would not do it alone.
He would have an army that carried no swords.
It carried hunger, gratitude, and faith.