✶|𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺|✶ 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘐𝘐𝘐 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯

✶𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 44✶

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Dark Streets

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✯Serena's pov✯

Year 134 A.C

Westeros

The Cidadel, King's Landing

The streets were busier than Serena had expected for the hour, distant laughter, drunken arguments, the soft clatter of footsteps on uneven cobblestones. 

Some alleys reeked of filth, others of cheap wine and smoke. Here and there, workers hurried home or towards the night's shift, while painted women beckoned from doorways, their voices carrying over the hum of the city.

It was different from Dorne.... And yet, in a strange way, similar.

Ser Lace moved ahead of her, guiding them through dimly lit alleys and narrow, grimy streets. 

Serena's feet ached from the long walk, it must have been half an hour since they'd left the Red Keep through its maze of hidden passages. 

She couldn't help but wonder how a single knight knew so much about the twisting paths between the castle's walls... And apparently, the backstreets of King's Landing as well.

"I believe we're nearly there, Your Grace." Ser Lace murmured for the first time since they'd set out.

Serena gave a faint nod, keeping close a step behind him.

They slipped out from a cramped side street into a wider road, lined with taverns and brothels. Laughter and music spilled from doorways, mingling with the scent of stale ale and wet stone. 

Ser Lace paused, his sharp gaze sweeping the establishments, searching for the right one.

"Come." He murmured at last, setting off again. Serena followed, her hood still drawn low.

As they moved down the street, someone collided with her, a sharp jolt that made her stagger back a step.

"I'm so sorry!" A young girl stammered, her light brown hair tangled, her clothes threadbare and worn. Her eyes darted up to Serena's, wide with surprise and regret.

Ser Lace was at Serena's side in an instant, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.

"It's fine..." Serena said quietly, glancing past the girl to the small boy clinging to her hand. The girl gave a quick nod and hurried away, tugging the child along with her.

"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Ser Lace asked, his brow furrowed.

"I'm fine." Serena replied, straightening her cloak.

He gave a curt nod and they pressed on, finally reaching a small, unremarkable inn tucked into a shadowed corner of the street. Ser Lace opened the door, motioning for her to enter first.

Inside, the room was dim and quiet. A handful of empty tables sat in the gloom, and a lone man hunched over the bar, nursing a cup of ale. 

Behind the counter, a heavyset man, likely the innkeeper, polished glasses with a threadbare rag, barely glancing their way.