The Son of Ice and Fire (Jon Snow SI)

The day was blistering hot, with scorching winds blowing through the city. The heat seemed to seep into every corner of King's Landing, making the air thick and heavy. 

On a large balcony overlooking the city in the wealthy district near the Old Gate sat Harrold Hayford. The balcony offered a panoramic view of the bustling streets below, filled with merchants, nobles, and commoners going about their day. The district was adorned with grand mansions and lush gardens, a stark contrast to the crowded and dirty streets of Flea Bottom.

Harrold Hayford, middle-aged and handsome with brown hair and a clean-shaven face, lounged comfortably on a plush chair. He wore fine clothing, befitting his status, and had an air of confidence about him.

"I always knew those Northerners were less smart than us in the South. All brawn and nothing in the head," Hayford said, a sneer curling his lips. His voice dripped with disdain and arrogance.

Around him, seated on the other side of the table, were his four officers. Ser Elwood Hogg, who oversaw the northern districts, was a thin and ugly-looking man with a perpetual scowl. Ser Lambert Harte, who managed the eastern districts, was an average-looking man with one eye, giving him a somewhat sinister appearance. Cedric Rollingford, in charge of the western districts, was a fat man who seemed perpetually out of breath. Lastly, Roland Ironhand, overseeing the southern districts, looked like he had spent time in the fields, strong and rugged with a large scar running down his face.

Hayford took a piece of ice from the goblet he was holding and let it melt in his mouth, savoring the coolness. "But now, seeing the savages selling ice and making a fortune, I wonder if three hundred years of being ruled from the South have finally civilized them."

His four officers laughed, their amusement genuine but laced with a hint of nervousness.

"It's a fluke, Commander," Hogg said, his voice nasally and unpleasant.

Hayford laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "Perhaps it is. Suggested by some maester, no doubt," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Those tree worshipers can't think of anything on their own."

Hayford leaned back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his lips as he began his well-worn tale. 

"I still remember that day when those Northern savages decided to make their move. Brandon Stark himself led the charge, thinking he could just march down and take what he wanted. Foolish, really."

His officers shifted in their seats, trying to feign interest as they prepared for the long-winded boast.

"I remember it clearly," Hayford continued, his voice rising with excitement. "We met on the field of battle, and let me tell you, Stark was all bluster and no skill. He came at me with his oversized sword, thinking sheer strength would win the day. But I was too quick for him. I danced around his clumsy swings, outsmarting him at every turn."

He took a sip of his wine, savoring the memory. "The look on his face when I disarmed him was priceless. He was left standing there, weaponless and stunned, while I held my sword to his throat. The great Brandon Stark, brought to his knees by a true Southern knight."

Hayford's eyes gleamed with pride as he spoke. "And that wasn't the end of it. With their leader humiliated, the Northern forces lost heart. They scattered like frightened sheep, and we drove them back, securing our lands once and for all."

His officers nodded along, their expressions carefully composed. They had heard this story countless times, but they knew better than to interrupt their commander. Instead, they offered murmurs of agreement and admiration, feeding Hayford's ego.

"Yes," Hayford said, his voice filled with self-satisfaction. "Brandon Stark learned that day that the South is not to be trifled with. And it's a lesson the North should never forget."

Hayford sat up in his chair, his previous boastful demeanor replaced with a more serious expression. "Well, as much as I would love to continue that story, let's get on to what you're here for. The sooner you leave, the better," he said, looking at his officers with a mix of expectation and impatience.

He motioned to Ser Elwood Hogg first. "Elwood, your report."

 "Commander, the northern districts are running smoothly. We've managed to increase our revenue from local businesses through our usual means. No significant issues to report. The merchants know their place and pay without much fuss." Elwood reported.

Hayford nodded in approval. "Good. Keep the pressure on them. We can't afford any lapses."

Next, he turned to Ser Lambert Harte, the one-eyed officer who managed the eastern districts. "Lambert, how about the east?"

Lambert replied confidently. "Commander, the eastern districts are well under control. Our coordination with the local crime syndicates is paying off. The crime lords know better than to cross us."

Hayford smirked. "good."

He then looked at Ser Cedric Rollingford, the fat man responsible for the western districts. "Cedric, your turn."

Cedric Rollingford shifted his weight and spoke. "Commander, the western districts are thriving. Our protection rackets are bringing in a steady flow of gold. Additionally, our collaboration with the smugglers is yielding great results. We've secured several new routes, ensuring a consistent supply of contraband goods."

Hayford's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Well done, Cedric. Keep those routes secure."

Finally, Hayford turned to Roland Ironhand, his face turning into a sneer. "Roland, your report."

Roland stepped forward, his expression troubled. "Commander, the southern districts are experiencing some difficulties. Many of the lower-ranking enforcers are acting out of control. They're taking bribes without reporting them and are engaging in unauthorized activities. It has been causing problems."

Hayford's sneer deepened. "Perhaps your common origins are the cause of this. I should have picked someone more capable." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he went on a tirade. "This is why you can never trust commoners to do a noble's job. You give them a bit of power, and they run wild, like pigs in a sty. It's no wonder you can't keep your men in line, Ironhand. You belong in the fields, not commanding men."

Roland's face tightened, but he remained silent, enduring the insults.

Hayford continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "Commoners always revert to their base instincts. Greedy, untrustworthy, and utterly incapable of understanding the responsibilities that come with power. It's a miracle you've lasted this long without completely embarrassing yourself."

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Hayford finally leaned back, his sneer turning into a look of cold calculation. "Get your men in line, Ironhand. Or I'll find someone who can. Do you understand me?"

Roland nodded, his face a mask of controlled anger. "Understood, Commander."

As Hayford was about to dismiss them; he remembered an important matter.

"Ah, before I forget," Hayford began, "Cedric" he called, causing the fat man to turn his attention towards him. He looked visibly afraid.

"Your brother is not responding to my ravens," Hayford continued. "I plan to take the mines on the border with Rosby soon."

Hayford had been plotting for months to seize the copper mines that existed at the border between his lands and Rosby. The venture was lucrative, but it required the cooperation of House Rollingford, who controlled the land adjacent to the mines. With the help of his powerful ally in court, Hayford had managed to secure the necessary arrangements to make the acquisition seem legitimate. All that remained was to send men to capture the mines, but Cedric's brother's silence was becoming a problem.

"My friend in court has made all the arrangements for it to be made official," Hayford said, his tone dangerous. "I only need to send some men and capture it for myself. Your brother's silence is costing me gold, Cedric."

"I will travel personally to my brother and speak to him, Commander," Cedric said, fear evident in his voice.

"Don't bother traveling. Even I pity your horse," Hayford sneered. "Send him a raven or some men. I need you here."

"Yes I will" Cedric said, stuttering a bit.

Hayford's eyes narrowed menacingly. "Remember, you fat fuck, why you have this position," he added, his voice dripping with menace.

"Anything else?" Hayford asked, wanting to end this tiresome meeting.

"No," Cedric said quickly. 

Hayford turned to the thin man. "Elwood, you look like you wish to ask something."

"Yes, Commander. It's about the fire watch. Should we move against them? They could be a threat to us." Elwood asked.

Hayford laughed maniacally. "The fire watch?" he said in a mocking tone. "What are they going to do, throw water at us?"

Elwood's expression remained serious. "They have also been tasked with riot control, Commander."

"That's even better. Less work for us," Hayford said dismissively.

"The prince—" Roland began to say but was interrupted by Hayford.

"What about the bastard?" Hayford sneered. "My friends in court say he is not dangerous. If he wants to play leader to some water boys, then let him."

"He must be as stupid as his uncle," he muttered. After a moment of silence, he added, "Keep an eye on him anyway."

"Now get out of here. I'll be having some company soon," he said, getting up. The officers did as well and walked out. Hayford strolled to the railing, watching the city below. 

"My little kingdom," He said in a low voice.