The last day in the city

In the aftermath of the execution, a lingering unease clung to Kings Landing. Conversations in the taverns shifted away from daily gossip and towards muttered fears of the king's instability. An invisible thread of tension hung between the city's denizens, a sense of impending doom that permeated the bustling streets.

Eren had settled into a routine at the forge. The back-breaking labor and blistering heat provided a much-needed distraction from the echoes of the pyre that haunted his sleep. Boros, with grudging approval, was starting to entrust him with more demanding tasks, allowing him to shape metal under his watchful eye. The rhythmic clang of the hammer, the primal struggle with the unforgiving iron, provided a peculiar sense of purpose in those uncertain days.

One rain-soaked morning, as Eren was stoking the flames of the forge in preparation for the day's work, an unexpected visitor arrived. A tall figure clad in polished steel and a crimson cloak stood at the smithy's entrance, rainwater dripping from his visor. At his hip hung a longsword gleaming in the dim light.

"Kingsguard," Boros whispered, his usual gruffness replaced by a note of caution. He stepped forward and bowed low. "Ser, how may I be of service?"

The Kingsguard remained impassive. His voice, when he finally spoke, was cold and clipped. "We've received reports of a new face in the city. A foreigner. That will be your boy."

Eren felt his heart clench. He knew he could not fully blend in; his outsider status was obvious. But he had hoped to escape notice from the royal forces for as long as possible.

Eren felt his heart clench. He knew he could not fully blend in; his outsider status was obvious. But he had hoped to escape notice from the royal forces for as long as possible.

"He's a good lad, Ser," Boros replied, a hint of pleading in his gruff voice. "Hard worker, keeps his head down."

The Kingsguard didn't seem swayed. "The King's peace is paramount. Foreigners can bring trouble, stir up disquiet. I must bring him before the Justiciar for questioning."

Eren steeled himself, a familiar sense of dread creeping in. He stepped forward, his face as stern as he could manage. "I have done no wrong, Ser," he said in his halting accent. "I seek only to work and survive."

The Kingsguard studied him with cold, assessing eyes. Eren held his gaze, determined not to betray a hint of fear. After a few moments that seemed to stretch into eternity, the knight nodded curtly.

"Follow me, boy. And know this – any sign of deceit or rebellion will bring the swift and unrelenting fury of the Iron Throne upon you." He turned on his heel and strode into the pouring rain.

Eren hesitated only a moment, then threw one final glance at Boros. The blacksmith met his gaze with a somber expression, a hint of pity in his eyes. With a deep breath, Eren followed the Kingsguard into the labyrinthine streets of Kings Landing.

The rain lashed down, turning the cobblestone streets into rivers of mud. The Kingsguard maintained a brisk pace, his crimson cloak fluttering behind him. They wound through the markets, past the hovels of Flea Bottom, and finally, after what felt like hours, arrived at the imposing walls of the Red Keep.

As they passed through the fortified gates, Eren felt an oppressive sense of power radiating from the ancient stones. He had expected grandeur, ornate decorations, and perhaps a hint of regal beauty. Instead, there was a harshness to the Red Keep, a silent threat lurking in its shadowy corners.

The Kingsguard led him into a large chamber, where several Justiciars – high-ranking officers of the King's law – resided. The men looked Eren up and down with appraising gazes, their faces masked by the formality of their office.

They peppered him with questions – his origins, his reasons for coming to Kings Landing, his skills. Eren recounted his carefully constructed backstory: a distant village destroyed, a desire for a better life. He left out any detail that would raise suspicion, kept his answers brief and unremarkable. The Justiciars exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable.

Finally, one of them, an older man with a weathered face, leaned forward. "You appear to be a simple man, a peasant. But peasants do not often travel so far alone. Be warned, boy, lying to the King's men is a serious offense."

"I speak the truth, my lords," Eren replied, his voice steady despite the knot in his stomach.

The interrogation stretched on, Eren repeating the same simple story until even the inquisitors seemed to grow weary. Finally, with a dismissive wave, they sent him away.

As he staggered back into the rain-drenched streets, drenched and exhausted, relief washed over him in waves. He had survived the encounter and avoided any major slip-ups. But an ominous question lingered in his mind: how long would this deception last? How long until the ruling power see through him and decided he was more than just an anonymous peasant seeking a better life?

Eren stumbled back into the forge, dripping rain clinging to his clothes and hair. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic counterpoint to the rhythmic pounding of rain against the roof. He had faced the Kingsguard, endured the interrogation – but at what cost?

Boros looked up from his work, concern etched on his weathered face. "Well, lad? What did those gold-cloaked peacocks say?"

Eren sank onto a stool, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "They let me go," he rasped. "Said they found my story believable. But…"

"But?" Boros prompted, setting down his tools.

"It felt like a countdown," Eren confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "Like every day they could decide I'm lying, that there's something more to me."

Boros grunted, wiping his brow with a soot-stained rag. "Kingsguard are suspicious by nature, boy. They sniff trouble a mile away. But you held your ground, stayed calm. That's all you can do."

Eren wasn't so sure. The encounter had shaken him more than he cared to admit. The city, once a potential haven, now felt like a cage, its walls closing in around him. An idea, reckless and desperate, began to crystallize in his mind.

"Boros," he said, his voice low. "I might need to leave Kings Landing."

The blacksmith's eyes narrowed. "Leave? Why? You just started to carve out a place here."

Eren hesitated, then plunged ahead. "They'll find out eventually, Boros. Who I am, what I have done. It's too dangerous to stay."

Boros studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Dangerous? You think you can outrun the King's reach? This city has a way of finding those who try to disappear."

Eren rose to his feet, a newfound resolve hardening his voice. "I have to try." He began to gather his meager belongings, stuffing them into a makeshift sack.

Boros watched him silently, then let out a long sigh. "Foolish boy, but brave too. Here," he said, tossing Eren a small pouch. "A few coins for the road. And listen…" his voice softened, an unusual vulnerability in his gruff tone. "You be careful out there, Eren. Don't let this world break you."

Eren nodded, the words heavy in the air between them. He knew the risks, the near-certainty of failure. But the thought of remaining a prisoner, a pawn in someone else's bloody game, filled him with a suffocating dread. He craved freedom, even if it meant wandering into the unknown.

Just as he was about to step out of the forge, a commotion erupted outside. Shouts, the clang of metal hitting metal. Eren froze, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Someone saw him! Stop him!" a voice bellowed.

The entrance to the forge was blocked by two city guards, their faces grim, swords drawn. Their uniforms lacked the crimson cloak of Kingsguard, but their purpose was clear – to apprehend Eren.

Eren's stomach lurched. Had they seen through his story? Was this the end of his fragile new life? He locked eyes with Boros, a silent plea etched on his face. The answer he received was a gruff nod and a glint of defiant steel in the blacksmith's eyes.

The hunt was on. But for whom, and for what reason, remained unanswered.

Eren lunged forward, not towards the guards, but past them, knocking over a crate of scrap metal in his haste. The loud crash caused the men to stumble, momentarily confused. He bolted towards the back of the forge, towards the narrow alleyway, the only escape route he knew.

Out into the shadowed labyrinth of Flea Bottom he ran, a blur of tattered clothes and desperate determination. The guards, recovering from their initial surprise, were hot on his heels, their shouts echoing through the twisting streets.

He could hear their armored footsteps pounding on the cobblestones, the clinking of weapons against mail. They were gaining on him, closing the distance with relentless efficiency. He darted into alleyways, leaped over crates, and tumbled through abandoned market stalls, anything to throw off the pursuit.

His heart thundered in his chest, his breath rasping in the damp air. The relentless chase fueled a familiar, primal surge of energy. His Titan shifter instincts, dormant for so long, flared to life. Every twist and turn felt calculated, his movements driven by an innate understanding of combat.

He spotted a chance: a narrow gap between two crumbling buildings, barely shoulder-width. He squeezed through the opening, scraping against the rough stone. The guards, their armor bulky, couldn't follow. He heard a muffled curse and another crash as they sought a longer route.

A slight advantage. A sliver of hope. He emerged onto a wider street, but his pursuers had caught sight of him once more.

"There he is!" a voice called, followed by the sound of more guards pounding towards his position.

He was surrounded. Trapped. His gaze darted around, seeking any means of escape. A wall, a rooftop – anything. There! At the end of the street, a horse was tethered to a post. If he could get to it…

With a desperate surge, he sprinted towards the horse, ignoring the shouts and the approaching clang of steel. He reached the animal, its eyes wide and startled. Frantically, he fumbled with the reins, the guards closing in.

Just as the first guard lunged for him, he clambered onto the horse's back, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. With a sharp tug on the reins, he kicked the animal into a frenzied gallop.

The street blurred past him, the wind roaring in his ears. The shouts of the guards faded slightly, replaced by the pounding of hooves on the cobblestones. He risked a glance back and saw his pursuers struggling to keep up, their heavy armor hindering their speed.

Yet they were relentless. And more joined the chase, attracted by the commotion. He needed to ditch the horse, find a smaller, more concealed escape route.

Spotting a tight alleyway ahead, he turned the horse abruptly, nearly being thrown off. The narrow passage was almost pitch-black, barely lit by the dim light filtering through the buildings. He could hear the shouts growing louder. There was no time to hesitate.

Dismounting from the startled horse, he shoved it back into the street, hoping to cause enough chaos to delay his pursuers. He ducked into the alley, vanishing in the suffocating darkness.

He crouched, catching his breath, heart pounding against his ribs. The alleyway was silent but for the faint sounds of the pursuit further down the street. He pressed himself against the damp stone wall, praying the shadows would be his ally.

His fingers traced the worn dagger tucked into his belt. A paltry weapon against trained guards, but it might buy him some time. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing his senses to heighten, channeling the primal instincts of his former life.

The sound of armored footsteps drew closer, followed by the low murmur of voices. He tensed, the dagger gripped tightly in his hand. They were getting closer, searching the alleyways, one by one. It was only a matter of time before they found him.

A shadow fell across him. Panic flared, and he struck out blindly, his dagger slicing through the air. A cry of surprise rang out, then a heavy thud.

He scrambled to his feet. A figure stood silhouetted in the alleyway entrance, blocking the sliver of light. His heart sank – he was cornered.

"Well fought, boy," a deep, resonant voice rumbled. "But this ends here."

The figure stepped into the alley, revealing a man clad in gleaming white armor. Tall, proud, with silver hair and a face weathered by battles – an unmistakably legendary warrior. Ser Barristan Selmy. Not just a Kingsguard, but the Lord Commander himself.

[Ser Barristan Selmy]

(by the way for anyone that might think this is too much against eren. Remember even though there is no ID people there watch the people who didn't enter from the port/main door. For tax.)

Eren had not faced an opponent of this caliber since the days when he fought as the Attack Titan. But he wasn't a Titan now. He was a hunted stranger with a stolen dagger. Still, desperation ignited a fierce defiance within him.

"I won't go back," he rasped, brandishing the dagger in a shaky grip.

Ser Barristan's eyes narrowed. "Go back? To where? What game are you playing, boy?"

Eren scrambled to his feet, a desperate fury surging through him. The Lord Commander studied him, a strange intensity in his eyes. Perhaps he did recognize a fellow warrior, even one tossed into a strange land by a cruel twist of fate.

"Come with me," Ser Barristan finally said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "There are those who will wish to hear your tale."

The guards, who had fanned out cautiously through the alleyways, arrived moments later. They stared at Eren warily, their eyes narrowed behind their helms. Eren wasn't a fool. He knew that if he went with Ser Barristan, he would be taken straight to the heart of the King's power. He would be scrutinized, interrogated, perhaps even tortured if they suspected him of deception.

The Lord Commander's words were a death sentence disguised as an invitation.

A rush of cold determination flooded his veins. He couldn't let himself become a pawn in their game. Not again. Not after everything he had endured. Not for a world that seemed just as doomed to destruction as his own.

A sliver of opportunity presented itself. The guards still regarded him warily, unsure of how to proceed in the presence of the Lord Commander. Ser Barristan himself was focused intently on Eren, perhaps expecting a response, a plea for mercy.

He had to move now.

"I won't go with you," Eren spat, his voice laced with defiance.

With a burst of power fueled by desperation, he shoved past Ser Barristan, knocking the surprised knight slightly off balance. The guards reacted instantly, lunging toward him, swords drawn. But Eren had the momentum of surprise.

He used their hesitation to his advantage. He darted towards the alley entrance, his escape route. Ser Barristan shouted a command, the sound echoing behind him.

Two guards stood between him and freedom. He slammed into the first, a shoulder tackle knocking the man off his feet. The second guard swung his sword, a clumsy arc that Eren easily ducked under. He grabbed the man's arm, his fingers digging into the metal gauntlet. With a swift twist, fueled by years of battle-hardened training, he disarmed him.

Clutching the stolen sword, he sprinted toward the alley's end, the sounds of the pursuit pounding in his ears. Sunlight flooded his vision as he burst from the alley back into the crowded street.

Chaos erupted. Pedestrians screamed and scattered, startled by the commotion. A horse reared in fright, its rider struggling to regain control. Eren saw his chance.

In a fluid motion, he leaped, throwing himself onto the horse's back. The rider yelled in protest as Eren seized the reins, wrenching them from his grasp. He kicked the horse hard, the animal responding with a terrified surge.

He galloped down the street, scattering crowds and overturning carts. The weight of the unfamiliar sword in his hand sent a thrill of adrenaline through him. He hadn't held a weapon like this in years, not since the final battles for Shiganshina.

Behind him, he heard the shouts of the guards, the clang of armor as they tried to give chase. But they were too far behind, their heavy gear slowing them down. He pushed the horse harder, weaving through the maze of streets.

His heart hammered in his chest, a mix of fear and exhilaration. He had escaped, at least for now. But where could he go? The city was a labyrinth, and its guards would soon be scouring every corner for him. Beyond the walls, the world was unknown, potentially just as dangerous.

He rode on, letting the horse's instincts guide him as he fled the immediate danger. As the sounds of Kings Landing began to fade in the distance, he looked up at the vast blue sky. He was a fugitive now, an outsider in a world he barely understood. But he was also, for the first time in a long while, free to choose his own path, however precarious it might be.