Jermas Fires is a man known for his ability to use what’s given to him. His parents were a generic pair of petty pickpockets. Jermas grew up just another urchin till he reached the age of fifteen. It was at that age Jermas learned how to make what was once considered impossible possible. He kidnapped a fat son of some baker and explained politely to said baker that if fifteen gold rings weren’t given to him in a week the boy would lose a finger. Come the end of the week the baker begged for more time, explained how he couldn’t get a fraction of the required money in a week. Jermas sent the boy’s whole fucking hand to the bakers doorstep and gave him another week. The baker sold his business, his home and his dignity and by the time his next meeting with Jermas came round he got to hug his crippled son. Jermas fed his parents a fine meal that evening, bought himself some fine clothes the next day, bought himself some men and began his business. He is a man who has put dozens in the ground over a few debts. A man who cares not for the limits or reasonings of others. A man lacking in humanity.

A man without weakness.

A man without suffering

He set up his place of work in a cold, ugly, abandoned factory in the industrial district. Spent a considerable amount of silver on renovating it, making the outside look like an imposing, granite monster and furnishing the inside with numerous tools and furnaces. Presumably he likes subjecting others to the unpleasant atmosphere when negotiating with his ‘competitors’ as he rarely resides there. His home here is a small mansion. Several guest bedrooms, a library, a pantry, a large dining room, a game room and a garden. He spends the last month of winter in an estate forty miles north. The only reason I know all this is because Jermas’ execution has been planned for months now. I have the papers waiting to be signed in my drawer and city watch are to break open his door next week armed with guns, swords and the authority to slaughter anyone who resists. I have a speech for when Jermas is choking. I had plans for his properties, his fronts and his private kingdom. Plans that will result in Allison being left with nothing provided she isn’t killed in the raid. Now I walk to his home avoiding the crowds via back alleys.

They shouldn’t change.

They must.

Why?

Fuck off.

She’ll make us weak. She is making us weak.

Weakness is not-

What makes this one so special? There’s thousands of women in this kingdom, we could have any one of them. What makes this bitch special?

Shut up.

She’ll never love us. Creatures like us are destined to be loathed not loved.

I punch a nearby brick wall, hard enough to snap some of the bones.

“Shut up!” I scream. “Shut fucking up!”

We will always love you.

Then there's only silence.

Jermas’ manse is made from smooth marble bricks. His doors are sturdy oak and the shape of a pickaxe has been burnt into it, both the sigil of his family and the logo for his criminal businesses. I don't know what I expected to open these doors, maybe some brutish creature, too large to be fully visible and staggeringly ugly, perhaps some thin emotionless man who looks just too comfortable when holding an icepick. I did not expect an unnervingly normal man. Jermas is a bit large and a bit muscled, yes but it makes appear more handsome than imposing. His dark beard is so thick and wiry one could lose a hand in it. A jolly red face regards me carefully for a moment with two bright blue eyes before, with wide grin, he bellows; "Shit boys it's the watch!"

Men inside the home spit curses as furniture is knocked over and glass is shattered. Jermas manages to hold out for around twenty seconds before he bursts into raucous laughter.

"You fucking idiots!" He yells with almost childlike glee. “You think young Jermas would forget his only job?”

Young Jermas is Jeremy, a boy with fifteen summers who was given enough money to bribe his way into any position in the watch he so desired. After a private audience with me and a brief demonstration of the many unsung uses of an icepick Jeremy told me everything he could about Jermas, fed Jermas whatever information I wanted, led him to caches of faulty guns and damaged explosives. For every good meal Jermas got I ensured fifty measurements of poison were forced down his throat. One man yells some muffled slur back.

“Watch you’re fucking tongue!” Jermas shouts cheerily. “We’ve got a royal guest.”

“Mr Fire would it be convenient if-”

“Would you like to come in your grace?” He cuts across me wiping a tear away from his eye.

“I don’t wish to intrude. It’s just that-”

Jermas grabs me rather roughly by the shoulder and drags me into his home bellowing. “Nonsense. You should drink with us, I’ve bought this bottle of southern wine. It’s heavenly, I swear it to you.”

I try to protest but Jermas forces me past the paintings of jade cities and stone titans.

He underestimates us, thinks us to be weak, submissive. Tear out his throat. Throw his body in the mud, let the worms and rats and centipedes gorge themselves.

I’m dragged into the game room. Several men sit around a table with white markings on it. They all smoke cigars and drink wine from fancy glasses. They all look like tame businessmen from the south, celebrating another sound investment in another coal mine. It's impossible to imagine a single one of these men cutting a throat.

Jermas pushes me into a seat and everyone stares at me wide eyed, not quite believing I’m there.

“My king,” they all mutter politely.

“I really must talk to you Mr Fire-”

“Of course you must,” Jermas yawns as if what I have to say will bore him. “So how much will the bribes be under your rule?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh sorry!” Jermas gasps, mocking shame. “What portion of my finances should be donated to the various extensions of the crown?”

“None of them ideally,” I spit somewhat insulted at the idea of making deals with a man I intended to string up right outside his office. “I need to-”

“No bribes!” Jermas exclaims. “Well boys let us toast to this new magnanimous king!”

They all raise their glasses and hollowly say “King Harold” before drinking. Their forced smiles are unnerving. The refusal to meet my gaze is downright annoying. As if I'm the detestable one here. As if I'm the devil seated at this table.

“Tell me then my king,” Jermas begins speaking in exaggerated tones like a storybook knight. “How can my varying enterprises work towards the betterment of my homeland and birthplace? If it's those hammer bastards you want gone just give me some hideouts and some blast powder and I’ll happily have them disappear.” Jermas puts a wine glass in front of me, notices my hand and adds; “or perhaps you would like me to rouse my physician.”

“The hammer gang is under control,” it isn’t. The cutters keep them busy but both organisations have more than enough time for extortion, arson and murder. “I’d like to discuss a private matter.”

“We all grew up together,” he declares grabbing the men nearest to him by the shoulders, they don't seem to agree with the gesture but smile anyway. “Like brothers we are! We keep no secrets.”

“It’s in relation to Allison,” I add toying with my glass, hands too twisted to pick it up. Jermas’ good cheer leaves him, like a fog clearing suddenly exposing the ugliness it mercifully hid.

“You heard the king,” Jermas grimly utters. “Get the fuck out.

Wordlessly the men rise from their seats and hastily exit the room, not bothering to collect the small piles of their money or to finish their cigars.

“How did you manage to hide such a sweet flower in the putrid swamp of all your other achievements?” I inquire. “It must have been hard. Every detail of your life has been transcribed to paper and published. I know what fucking teeth you’ve had replaced with silver and which are gold! Yet somehow no one seems to have noticed your daughter.”

“What have you done to her?” Jermas asks, each syllable dripping with violence.

He thinks we’ve raped her. He sees us like grandfather. Gouge his eyes out to clear his vision.

“Didn’t do a thing to her,” I state. “Well I brought her to a friend’s home. Would have taken her here but she protested. The question you should ask is what has she done that warrants a visit from me?”

Jermas curses under his breath. “Well? What was it? Did she steal someone's purse? Kick some noble bastard in the prick? Tell me what will you string me with? Tell me-”

“Saved my life,” I say plainly.

“Your pardon?” Jermas utters after a few moments of silence.

“She saved me,” I repeat, undoing my collar so he can better see the rope burns. “Had she not then your magnanimous king would be on a pike outside Castle Black. Now unfortunately she had to kill a man to rescue me from my demise and…”

“She’s not like us,” Jermas mutters.

From this day till your last you’ll do exactly as we say or it will be her hand on your doorstep.

“She’s in good hands I swear that to you,” I continue. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

Jermas slumps dejectedly into a chair facing opposite me and takes a long swig of my wine.

"I want to see her," he grunts.

"She doesn't reciprocate that desire," I shrug.

"I'm her father! He spits. "Without me-"

"Tell me Jermas, how many sins have the two of us committed remorselessly? A few dozen? A hundred? A thousand?"

"What does it matter-"

"How are filthy creatures such as us supposed to clean the blood from her hands? How can our ugly lies ease her mind? How can horrors like you and me possibly hope to sooth?"

He opens his mouth to counter but nothing comes out.

“You must think me detestable,” he laments. “A father whose daughter is afraid to come to him.”

“I have no right to judge matters of family,” I shrug. “All I know is your daughter is a hero and should be awarded. I’ve decided that, given the recent executions of their owners and their proximity to each other, your family may have both the properties of Lord Harry the Golden and Gregory the mute.”

"We don't need land," he mumbles.

"Take it anyway. Have one of your men make sure the farmers pay their taxes and keep the land from falling into disrepair. Earn a bit more silver at the end of each year, have a few more carrots or potatoes or whatever to put into your stews for the winter."

We sit there silently for an undeterminable period of time until Jermas declares he's fetching his physician leaving me alone with the grandiose depictions of gods and saints trampling heathens or blessing the faithful. Hollow, soulless paintings made to make walls of marble seem greater than they truly are.