Third Person POV
299 AC, King's Landing – Late Afternoon
The air shimmered as Dominic Augustus and Jon Snow apparated into a narrow alley in King's Landing, the city's stench hitting them like a physical blow—a rancid cocktail of piss, garbage, and rotting fish. Jon gagged, his grey eyes watering, while Dominic's nose wrinkled, his eyes scanning the filth-strewn cobblestones. "By the gods," Jon muttered, covering his mouth. "This place reeks worse than a privy."
Dominic smirked, raising his wand with a flick, he cast a bubble-head charm on both of them. Twin translucent spheres enveloped their heads, filtering the air to a crisp, clean breath. Jon inhaled deeply, his relief palpable, while Dominic's grin widened. "Better?"
"Much," Jon said, his voice steadier. He adjusted his sword at his hip, the ice and fire thrumming faintly in his veins. "Where are we going now, Dom? The Red Keep's a fortress—how do we even start?"
Dominic closed his eyes, his Observation Haki flaring, a ripple of perception spreading through the city like a net. Faces, auras, and intents flickered in his mind—gold cloaks patrolling, smallfolk cowering, schemers whispering. Then, a familiar spark: fierce, defiant, unmistakably Stark. "Arya's nearby," he said, opening his eyes, his voice low with certainty. "In Flea Bottom. I know her aura from Winterfell—sharp as a wolf's bite. We'll find her first, then plan our next move."
Jon's eyes widened, hope flaring. "Arya's here? Lead the way, Dom."
They moved through the alleys, cloaks pulled tight, avoiding the gold cloaks' patrols. Flea Bottom's squalor closed around them—hovels leaning like drunken men, children darting through muck, the air thick with despair. Dominic's Haki guided them to a desolate building, its sagging beams and broken shutters a perfect hideout. The door creaked as they entered, the gloom swallowing them.
A blade flashed, cold steel pressing against Dominic's neck. "Hands up, slowly," a Braavosi accent hissed. Jon tensed, feeling a sword at his own neck from behind. "You too, big man," a young voice growled, fierce but trembling.
Dominic raised his hands, his grin unfazed, while Jon complied, his voice calm. "Easy, now. We're not enemies."
"Turn around, slow," the Braavosi voice commanded. They pivoted, Dominic's golden eyes meeting Syrio Forel's sharp black ones, the water dancer's blade steady. Jon faced Arya Stark, her grey eyes blazing, Needle poised at his throat. Behind her stood two boys: one broad-shouldered with black hair, with a hammer in his hands, the other pudgy with nervous eyes, clutching a dagger.
Arya's eyes widened, recognition breaking through her scowl. "Jon?" she gasped, dropping Needle and flinging herself into his arms, her small frame shaking. "Jon! You're here! I thought… I thought you were across the sea!"
Jon hugged her tightly, his voice thick with relief. "Arya, you're safe. Thank the gods." He pulled back, his grey eyes searching her dirt-streaked face. "What happened? How'd you end up here?"
Arya wiped her eyes, her voice fierce. "Let me introduce you. This is Syrio Forel, my swordmaster. Saved my life when the gold cloaks came for me." Syrio lowered his blade, nodding, his lean frame taut. "And these are Gendry and Hot Pie," she continued, gesturing to the boys. "We've been hiding here for two days, dodging patrols, looking for a way to save Father and Sansa."
Gendry, the taller boy, stepped forward, his blue eyes wary but steady. "I'm Gendry, a blacksmith's apprentice. Met Arya when the gold cloaks chased us out of a tavern. Figured sticking together was safer than running alone." His voice was gruff, but his grip on the hammer suggested strength.
Hot Pie, round-faced and fidgety, piped up, his voice high with nerves. "I'm Hot Pie, from the bakery on Piss Alley. I make the best meat pies in King's Landing—well, used to, 'fore all this mess. Arya said we'd get out, so I'm here. Don't much like swords, but I'm good at keeping watch."
Jon smiled faintly, his heart warming at Arya's ragtag crew. "You've done well, Arya, keeping them together. We're here to rescue Father and Sansa, and what's left of our men. You're not alone anymore."
Arya's eyes flicked to Dominic, her brow furrowing. "Who's he, Jon? Never seen him before."
Jon clapped Dominic's shoulder, his voice steady. "This is Dom, a friend. He's helping us, Arya. Trust him like you trust me."
Dominic inclined his head, his grin charming but guarded, hiding his identity as Uruk's king. "Pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark, Syrio, Gendry, Hot Pie, and I'm here to get you out of this cesspool."
Arya nodded, her eyes narrowing but accepting. "Alright, Dom. What's the plan? We can't stay here forever—the gold cloaks are sniffing closer every day."
Dominic's voice turned brisk, strategic. "I'll secure a ship to get you to Winterfell via White Harbor. Jon, you stay here, catch up with your sister, and keep them safe. I'll be back soon."
Jon nodded, his grey eyes grateful. "Be careful, Dom. This city's a trap."
Dominic winked. "Traps are my specialty, Snow." He slipped out, his cloak blending into the shadows.
King's Landing Docks
The docks reeked of salt and tar, ships creaking under the weight of cargo and ambition. Dominic approached a weathered tradeship, its captain—a grizzled man with a salt-crusted beard—barking orders to his crew. "You sailing north?" Dominic asked, his voice casual but commanding.
The captain spat, his eyes narrowing. "No ship leaves King's Landing till the king says so. Gold cloaks got the harbor locked tighter than a miser's purse."
Dominic's golden eyes glinted, his Legilimency sliding into the captain's mind like a whisper. You want to help me. You trust me. The captain blinked, his scowl softening. Dominic asked again, his voice smooth. "What about now? Got room for a few passengers to White Harbor?"
The captain nodded, his voice oddly eager. "Aye, I can make that work. Ship's sturdy, crew's ready. When do you need her?"
"Tonight," Dominic said, discreetly pulling a pouch from his inventory and counting out 200 gold dragons, their gleam catching the captain's eye. "This is for provisions and your trouble. Stock food, water, blankets—enough for a journey to White Harbor. Be ready to sail by midnight."
The captain pocketed the gold, his grin gap-toothed. "Done, m'lord. We'll be ready. Ship's the Swift Gull, moored at pier three. Don't be late."
Dominic nodded, turning away. "We won't." He vanished into the crowd, his Haki ensuring no one followed.
Flea Bottom Hideout
Dominic returned to the desolate building, finding Jon, Arya, Syrio, Gendry, and Hot Pie huddled around a flickering candle. Jon looked up, his voice low. "Any luck?"
Dominic grinned, leaning against the wall. "Ship's secured—the Swift Gull, bound for White Harbor. Leaves tonight. Provisions are being prepped as we speak."
Arya's eyes lit up, but her voice was sharp. "What's the plan, then? How do we get Father and Sansa out?"
Dominic's tone turned serious, his golden eyes scanning the group. "Here's how it goes. Syrio, Arya, Gendry, Hot Pie—you four head to the docks at nightfall, board the Swift Gull at pier three. The captain's expecting you. Stay low, avoid patrols. Jon and I will infiltrate the Red Keep, rescue Eddard Stark, Sansa, and any of your retinue still alive. We'll meet you at the Harbor."
Arya's face hardened, her voice rising. "No way! I'm not running off to some ship while you save Father and Sansa! I can fight, Jon—you know I can! Needle's tasted blood already. I'm coming with you!"
Jon knelt before her, his voice gentle but firm. "Arya, listen. You're brave—braver than most grown men. But the Red Keep's a death trap. Gold cloaks, knights, gods know what else. I need you safe, so I can focus on saving Father and Sansa."
Arya's eyes blazed, her fists clenched. "That's not fair, Jon! I'm not a baby! I killed gold cloaks with Syrio! I can help—don't leave me behind!"
Gendry spoke up, his voice gruff but kind. "Arya, Jon's right. You're tough, but the Red Keep's no place for us. We'd just slow 'em down. I'll keep an eye on you, make sure we get to that ship. Hammer's good for more than forging, y'know."
Hot Pie nodded, his voice trembling but earnest. "Yeah, Arya, we gotta stick together. I don't wanna face no knights."
Syrio placed a hand on Arya's shoulder, his voice calm. "Little wolf, your brother speaks wisdom. Your father and sister need you alive, not dead in a king's dungeon. I will protect you, as I swore. We go to the ship, we wait for them, and we fight another day."
Arya glared, tears brimming, but she nodded, her voice small. "Fine. But you better save them, Jon. Promise me."
Jon hugged her, his voice fierce. "I promise, Arya. I'll bring them home."
Dominic clapped his hands, breaking the tension. "Right, let's eat first. Can't scheme on an empty stomach." He bought a sack of food for them, revealing bread, cheese, and dried fish. "Not a feast, but it'll keep you sharp."
Hot Pie's eyes lit up, grabbing a hunk of bread. "This ain't half bad! Better than the slop we've been scrounging. You're alright, Dom."
Gendry took a piece of fish, his voice low. "Thanks, Dom. Been a while since we ate properly. You sure that ship's safe?"
Dominic nodded, his grin reassuring. "Safe as it gets in this pit. Captain's paid, ship's ready. Just stay sharp till you're aboard."
As night fell, Syrio, Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie prepared to leave, cloaks pulled tight. Arya hugged Jon again, her voice fierce. "Don't die, Jon. I'll never forgive you."
Jon smiled, ruffling her hair. "I won't, little sister. See you at the ship."
Syrio led the group out, his blade hidden but ready, Gendry's hammer at his belt, Hot Pie clutching his dagger, Arya's Needle a shadow at her side. They slipped into the night, bound for the docks.
Dominic turned to Jon, his grin sharp. "Ready, Snow? The Red Keep awaits, and we've got Starks to steal."
Jon's eyes burned with ice and fire, his voice steel. "Let's end this."