Chapter 82: Shame The Jewel
Braavos had started to feel the change with Artos and his men taking charge to protect the Valens.
There had been incidents where they intervened to protect them from so-called bad customers and men for hire. Although several men tried to bribe or even threaten the Northerner Brutes, they didn't budge. For them, it didn't matter. Artos' words were always a priority for them, and they knew what would happen to the one who betrayed. After all, even in the distant land, the North remembers.
Artos and his men were not just standing around Lord Valen's merchants anymore — they were making the streets difficult to use against them. Every shipment guarded, every store watched, every route checked twice by men. The Valen houses and markets, which had once felt exposed, were beginning to settle under the presence of the Northern Brutes. Merchants noticed it first. Then traders.
Some still came at the shops regardless — shouting too loudly, jostling too hard, trying to make a crowd panic. But one look at the Northern men standing with them was often enough to make their confidence fade. After all, they all survived the Demonwolf wars.
Their savage look and unflinching presence were enough to make men shit their pants out of fear. One man literally shat his pants when Hal aka Artos himself came in defence of the Valens in the street. Seeing the tall man, the men hired to haggle and disturb the peace shat his pants in front of everyone.
By the time the days had stretched on, the city had begun to understand something else too: the Valens were not as alone as they had once looked. More than the merchants said. More than the whispers admitted.
Across the city, Glaro Sythan was informed of the interference in a room full of men who had begun to talk too confidently before the news arrived.
He listened without speaking at first.
Then one of his associates, red-faced with irritation, said, "They are harder to shake than we thought. Hal's men are moving as if they own the streets. They are literally forcing our men to back down, and those pests aren't even putting on a show against them."
Glaro's expression did not change, but the air around him did.
"Hal, that bastard. Always ruining my plans," Glaro seethed, hate in every word he spoke. Truly pissed at the man named Hal.
Another man, more cautious, added, "They are not merely protecting the Valens now. They are making examples. The rough men we sent in are backing off before they even make contact. That's a loss in our gold and campaigns. Valens are recovering — that's a loss in our momentum against them. We need to do something. Otherwise, it's our loss and not only gold, but influence and trade and, obviously, the enmity with the Valens." They all agreed, putting pressure on Glaro and the Sythan family as they are the ones leading the campaign.
That brought a thin, humorless smile to Glaro's mouth. "Then they are afraid. Afraid of those Northern bastards. Our men are afraid of their infamous reputation among mercenaries' circles."
"You are right. They are afraid of the Northern Brutes," the first man muttered. "And not the Valens. But what can we do? Brutes are supporting them. We have tried to buy them, trying to outbid Valens, but those folks and fuckers don't even negotiate."
Glaro's jaw tightened.
He had not expected Hal to become a problem again so quickly. He had expected a sellsword's support, but it's a protection that is becoming a problem.
One of the associates gave a low laugh to hide his unease. "He is turning the board over, my lord. But we need to remain focused on our goal. He is trying to distract us by keeping our focus on him and not our target."
Glaro's eyes lifted slowly. "Then we stop letting him play on it."
The room quieted.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "If he intends to protect the Valens openly, then we make the cost of that protection unbearable. Seraphine Valen, the jewel of the Valens. The final nail in the coffin." The man emphasized.
One of the men nodded quickly. "Then we move forward with the Seraphine matter?"
At that, Glaro's gaze sharpened with ugly satisfaction.
"Yes," he said. "And now."
He had not forgotten the humiliation she had given him. The rejection still lived in him, but now it had become useful. It was easier to hate cleanly when the plan offered a shape for that hatred. Seraphine was no longer simply a woman who had refused him. She was a symbol, a wound.
"Kidnap her if we can," Glaro said. "If not, then leave her marked. Bruised. Frightened. Broken, and most importantly, shamed."
One of the men hesitated. "And if the Northern Brutes are near her?"
Glaro's mouth curled. "We need to prepare for them also. Yes, they are strong, but they are men only. Our total numbers are far greater. We need to put them to use after all we have paid them gold. Now it's time to check them for their worth."
The others nodded, some more eagerly than others.
The plan was set.
What Glaro did not know, and what none of them had yet bothered to imagine, was that men with Hal were not ordinary men, but demons famed in the North for their fighting in uneven battles. Fighting battles against more men in the opposing side.
They resumed their plan. And they sent their men to follow Seraphine Valen. They followed her for few days and found out their best chances, and they were here to take it.
Leading the men was Merek, one of the famous men in Essos for his cruelty against women and dueling in fighting pits. He was a free fighter, hired by Sythan and his associates to do their dirty work for them, and this had become one of them.
They followed Seraphine at the right time, when the street had grown a little quieter and the guards had loosened their attention for just a moment.
The hired men moved in with confidence, led by Merek, a man known in the pits for his cruelty and in the alleys for the kind of violence that did not need reason. He smiled when he saw Seraphine, the sort of smile that had made weaker women lower their eyes before. He looked her up and down as if she were some prize dragged out for his amusement.
"Well, well," he said with a greasy grin. "The little slut has come back to the city."
One of the others laughed behind him.
"Ran away with the Northman Savage and returned like nothing happened," the man said, circling slowly. "That is a bold kind of shame. Even for a Valen that's a low."
Seraphine stopped walking literally confused and shocked . As no one in her life has dared to use this kind of language infront of her. Calling her a slut and what not.
Her guards stepped forward at once, anger rising in them to . "Move away from her, This is Lady Seraphine you are talking about. Shut your mouth pest." one of them snapped.
Merek laughed and tilted his head. "Or what? You'll bleed for her? You'll die for a woman who already made herself a story for the city?"
The other men around him began to close in, moving with practiced ease. Not too fast, not too obvious. Enough to crowd the road.
Enough to make escape harder. Enough to make the Valen guards understand they had been set up for this.
"Look at her," another man said loudly. "That is the one who ran north with Hal a sellsword and came back pretending she was a saint and not a slut that she is."
"Maybe she liked it up there, behaving like a slut." one of them added, and the rest laughed.
"Maybe that's why she came back so quiet," said another. "Some women return with shame but it's seems Seraphine didn't have one."
Seraphine's face went pale with anger.
One of the guards lunged forward at the insult, but the hired men were ready. They struck first, and in the narrow street it was enough. Two more men came from the side, cutting off the path. The Valen guards were strong, but they were outnumbered, and this was planned too well to be stopped by pride alone.
Merek stepped closer, his eyes cold now.
"Where is your Northman?" he asked mockingly. "Not here to save you? That's a shame. I was hoping to see if the rumors were true."
Seraphine did not answer.
She did not give them the satisfaction.
But her guards were already being pushed back, and the crowd around them had started to break instead of gather. Men watched. Women pulled their children aside. No one wanted to step into the middle of what was becoming a trap.
Then, high above the street, Rick saw it.
He had been circling from above, seeing the city in a way no one below could. The moment the ambush began to tighten, he understood what it was. His wings shifted once, sharply, and his mind reached out through that strange bond to the man he knew was near.
Artos.
The warning hit him like fire.
Artos was not there yet, but he was close enough. Close enough to feel the alarm through Rick's call, close enough to see it in his mind, close enough to understand that Seraphine had been cornered.
He saw what was happening and His face changed at once.
The rage came so fast it made even the man besides him step back.
Artos turned, already moving, his jaw set hard enough to crack stone. He could see it now through Rick's warning, through that mental link that had saved and warned before. He saw the street. He saw the men. He saw Seraphine surrounded like prey.
And then something in him broke.
But with a terrible, silent fury that made the air around him feel dangerous.
"Move ," he said, and the single word carried a shout.
He was already on his way.
---
This is just the start.
I know I have made the hype but trust me that's all I would say. We are gonna rise up. For that I would need your support. I will ask a lot when I deliver. So we all are waiting for it to come
---
A request for all of you to join patreon. I am trying to be consistent. So please join it would provide me a motivation to complete the story. So please please join the Patreon.
YOU LIKE THE WORK PLEASE SUPPORT 🙏
Please join the patreon and join the pack
www.patreon.com/Cregantheblackwolf
Thank you for your support and I am really grateful