Walking down the steps out, he looked over at the guard once more. Guards to the Lord Paramount of the Reach all wore a similar uniform of a chain mail and plate armour, with a green backdrop on the emblazoned material, it seeming as if they were an ex. Whilst a Reach Knight could be expected to wear armour that was as beautiful as it was functional, these were simply for function, nothing elegant or beautifully designed in comparison. The guard was one of many that Garland recognized, just too many for him to remember the names of, they always changed and were always cycled through, as they came into service or retired, seeking the coin of what employment would be for them. It was a high amount- more than a soldier could normally expect in an army of the Reach.
"So, tell me more about this lady, who is with her, guards."
"She has her own guard detail, my lord. One wears a mask, he appears dangerous. A small number of slaves are with her, I believe she was carried."
"Up that incline? Well, I expect to see some dead slaves, they'd be exhausted. I could never approve of slavery. Well, not unless it was paid for. Which technically, makes it legal in the Seven Kingdoms. Paid service, in exchange for coin. Those Yunkish may do things differently, but it works." Garland said, chuckling a little to the thought of her being carried, the guard nodding as he replied.
"Aye, M'Lord. She is down here." The guard replied, as they turned from the corridor, heading down the next set of stairs, and back into the open courtyard, by the stairs that they had been observing the fighting from earlier. The gatehouse of the inner gate came into view, as Garland saw what he could have sworn was not a young lady of Yunkai, but a she-bear of gluttony.

Seeing the Yunkish Lady, Garland's face almost dropped. How? This woman could not exist. She was so slothful, so massive in her girth, it seemed preposterous. Her dress barely seemed to even cover up her enormous chest, nor her stomach, sticking out like a barrel. Walking out by the inner gate, her entourage around her, as mysterious as could be, he could tell that this woman was not some insignificant noble, the dozen or so, if not more slaves that had carried her looking exhausted, but obedient to their Lady. The masked guard, closest to her side wore a helmet that revealed nothing of him, but the guard must have stood as tall as Garland, and he knew he was a fairly tall man for Westeros. He had to speak, he said to himself mentally, if he didn't, he was going to end up staring, and he knew that the longer he didn't say a word, the more likely someone would say something completely inappropriate.
"My Lady. I am Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach, Warden of the South, Hand of the King to the passed away King Aegon Targeryen, Tenth of his Name. It is a pleasure to meet you, Jehrilla Zo Zaaraq. I hear you have mercenaries to offer, and I wish to listen to your words. We may have different customs in the lands of The Reach, but if you wish, we can do this over some wine and some bread, in the Council Hall. You must be exhausted after your long journey....your slaves can find accommodation in the tents of the Briar Maze."

--------

In the chambers, Alerie looked out from the balcony with Rickard, the short lad standing, his cane holding him up as Alerie kept him close. They looked over the evening sky of the Reach, the distant horizon seeing a setting sun, sinking over the hills with it's orange glow, the gentle light that came from below in the lower tiers of the castle, alongside the distant candles on riverboats in the Mander already setting quie a scene. She had to grow up quickly, because Rickard had lost his mother and father when he was very young, just like herself when they died, years ago. He was not a young boy any longer, but he was still young, and would still not have come of age until two more years. Even Alerie knew that whilst she was almost coming to her 18th year, and Garland to his 22nd, they still seemed old, forcibly so, compared to Rickard. Young deaths did that, when their parents died, first Moryn, then Elinor. It was a terrible thing, death, but she knew she had to look after family, hold it together where she could. Lyanna was looking after him, but sometimes, Alerie knew she had to talk to Rickard, at least remind him that his older sister still loved him very much. He seemed saddened, after being told the news about Aegon; it hadn't reached him as he came back from Oldtown, spending a few days with his head in books, reading and reading again. Looking down at him, Alerie wiped a tear from Rickard's cheek, smiling.
"It's okay, Rickard. It's done now, he is at rest. We cannot do anything about it."
"But why, sister? He was such a good man, why did they poison him?" He asked, his voice croaking a little, more saddened than angered by it all.
"We don't know yet, Rickard. But me and Garland are going to find out who did it, and we'll have them in chains. 
"But what if it's a Targaryen? Wouldn't they want to kill you too?"
"I promise you, Rickard. We'll do whatever it takes. Aegon was a good man, but if we have to kill that bastard...then we will." She said, looking across on the dark plains, thinking to herself. She adjusted her dress a little, the fabric gentle on her kind skin, being a very unrevealing attire for her standards, showing little of her bust.
"Remember our words, Rickard."
"Yes, we're Growing Strong, I know Alerie..." He said quickly, before being interrupted, Alerie smiling.
"See, you're a clever lad. So do as our words say, Rickard. Just grow strong, past this. We always do." 

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Flea Bottom, King's Landing

[img]http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/gameofthrones/images/7/7c/Flea_bottom.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130301183817[/img]


King's Landing was a hostile place, but for Willas, it felt like a place that he felt he knew the corners to. Flea Bottom may have felt like a ragged sewer, but here, was the place. He did not wear his helmet, his grey scratched Kingsguard armor with any markings etched off, Willas aware that the white shine had long faded from this suit of armour. 
"Ser Maxwell, have the men surround the tavern. Nobody leaves. Darren Celtigar is a man I expect to argue, maybe agree if he sees sense...but if I kill him, the rest of his men should bend the knee. They're confused, and unaware."
"Agreed, Willas. They're going to, I know the City Watch don't like Celtigar, not after he cut their food ration again. I've heard rumours. Are you willing to shed blood?"
"I wouldn't have gotten you and the men in armor if I didn't. Lord Garland said any means needed. So long as it doesn't piss off whoever is in The Red Keep, and the city's peace is maintained, they will have to accept the replacement of their new Commander. Otherwise...well, the Tumbletons will be here before they realize."
"Aye, Ser." Ser Maxwell was a man of Tumbleton himself, standing at six feet, he wore a suit of Reach-produced plate, his steel feet clattering as the rest of the Retinue followed. It had made a scene, but nobody was stopping them in Flea Bottom, peasants weren't throwing stones or cow dung, they were watching. 

The night had descended in it's entirety, as he walked through the tavern's door, filled with men of the City Watch, most drinking, but still in their armor, the golden chainmail, here after what was probably a routine sweep through Flea Bottom and followed by a drink for the men on a night like tonight where the Commander had decided it was his time to get drunk. Willas wore full plate, and as did his retinue, the Reachmen awaiting a figure like Darren to sit up and notice him first. His men fanned in, as he walked forwards, the Tavern's bard going quiet, as Willas cleared his throat.

Darren Celtigar looked across, the Commander staring at Willas's imposing frame, taking it in. He looked worried, but drunk enough to put on a bold response to the ex-Kingsguarder's face.
"Commander Celtigar, I am sure you know of me."
"Oh, it is the missing Ser Willas Tyrell, traitor to the Kingsguard, and now, here to show off his fancy armour!" He replied, chuckling as he shook his head, looking across at Willas, some of the other men taking him in with another look.
"The King is dead, and as his Queen. I serve the Hand, and I am here to see you for that reason. I have an order, handwritten by Lord Garland Tyrell, Hand of the King. It is as follows, that you are to stand down, that you will assist me in my new duty as Commander of the City Watch. If you do not, you are disobeying a direct order from the Hand of the King, or your current Regent. Ser Maxwell has it to hand. Read it." He said, as Ser Maxwell presented it, the small note clearly writing that it was for Darren Celtigar, Commander of the Goldcloaks, King's Landing's city and municipal guard, to stand aside in place of Ser Willas Tyrell, in order to better secure the city in the favour of a Targaryen sucession crisis. It was clearly worded, and every single man was taking a different opinion. Since the King was dead, people were frightened, and some had the thought in their mind already. Who would come in, and that their commander had either done great things for them, and that this was a meddler, or that Willas Tyrell could at least take better care. Plus, they couldn't argue with a Hand's command, some saw it at that face value. Darren laughed, as the stout Crownlander looked over at him, shaking his head.
"The King is dead, Tyrell! Your hand serves nobody!"
"And who do you serve? Stand down, or I will gut you where you stand!" Willas barked, his voice authorative and not backing down. He had done this before. He wasn't too old for this shit, but sometimes, it felt like this was only more dangerous because he knew he was outnumbered, and relying on a confidence in the Watch's respect for higher-ups.
"Oh really? I serve this city, you serve some distant Lord! Go on then, do it, you honourable fuck! Put that pike in my throat, and these men will kill you!" He heard, as Willas chuckled, swinging the steel Poleaxe off his back, the Commander already after a couple drinks, and too cocky. It was not going to end well, as he only realized that Willas was not making a bluff. Taking his axe from off the table, the Valyrian Steel shined, as Willas was already going forward, with a sharp jab up to his throat.

Swinging his axe, he blocked Willas's jab with the axe's handle, the strong Commander throwing Willas back a little, as he realized what had happened. Willas was not a fool with this weapon, and he had wanted him to show his weapon, to at least expose himself a little more before he took him out. He may have been a Commander, but he had already drunk, and his men were not close enough to stop him, not without breaking into a fight without the other retinue that the Tyrell had in this tavern. Willas had played his game well. He turned the hook, and the axe was plucked from his bare hands, as he then left him completely exposed, the Valyrian Steel bouncing off the wood by Willas's feet.

By the time that he had begun to pull his sword from his hilt, the Tyrell had rammed the Poleaxe clean through his skull, thrusting him upward so much force was thrown into the Poleaxe, Willas aware that if the man was sober, he would have had a hell of a fight on his hands. But he didn't, he was like this, and what a fool at a time like this. When he had to be most vigilant, a former Kingsguard could walk in and snatch the life from his veins. They were well trained, but against a Kingsguarder, even such as Willas, he could strike faster and harder than they could anticipate, and Willas's mind was wired, clear. He didn't care. Blood sprayed for a moment, giving a thin film across his vambraces and gauntlets, as he pushed the Pole in deeper.

The Commander of the City Guard now had blood pouring from his impaled mouth, as Willas withdrew the Poleaxe's most pointy end, the two handed weapon capable in his hands as his drunken friend slumbered over and pulled his sword, receiving a sharp kick from the Reachman, flying onto the floor with his pint, as the others screamed, terrified, some yelling back and drawing swords. Others watched on, other guardsmen, looking at Willas as he looked across, lowering his weapon and raising his tone of voice, even more than before.
"Hand's orders! The Hand is your Regent, and if you fail to obey his orders, I will have you imprisoned or killed! You now serve me as your new Commander of the City Watch, and Commander Celtigar was relieved of his duties by me, right now! We are here to keep the peace, rather than let men like Celtigar serve his own interests, it is written here that we serve our Hand! I will not repeat myself!" He yelled over the noise in the Tavern, as one of the men looked across, Maxwell held the parchment high, from Garland's raven. He was never the best at putting himself across easily, but he knew the men got the message. They would die if they fought back, and already, there was division in the room. The air felt thick with it.
"Seven Hells, fuck you!" One man screamed across the hall, as one of Willas's men turned to him, watching him draw a sword, as another turned to him, a City Guard, and in turn, pulled his sword, turning to the loyal man. The watchman then threw himself forward and stabbed the other expelative-giving watcher, before another stood up, drawing. Suddenly, what felt like the greatest standoff cracked, as the room became filled with people drawing swords and either getting murdered, or hacked to bits. It appeared that the greatest number were actually with Willas, perhaps seeing that with their Commander dead, they had enough reason to stop whatever else was stirring. At least 40 men were inside, and considering that Willas had entered with barely 15 of his 20-strong retinue, 

The scene descended into anarchy, as Willas led the rabble that were left, walking out the Tavern with signifcantly more blood over his armor than he had entered it with, men following him, be they Tyrell or City Watch.
"Spread the word, the City Guard serves Ser Willas Tyrell....If they disobey, then put them to the sword!" He yelled, as his men fanned out, Willas already able to make a note to two of the Lieutenants, unaware of their specific names, but aware that they followed him. Men of his retinue followed, as Willas turned back to Ser Maxwell, nodding.
"Take that group and head through the city...let us get the point across now before we have to have people wake up to this. It's going to be a long night. Spare them if you have to, but take no prisoners if you can't. Disloyalty is a sign of rebellion." He said, pointing his Poleaxe, as he looked back at a group of watchmen, knowing that they had to move. They seemed confused, demoralized, unaware.
"I promise you, your service will be rewarded. For now, we enforce the Hand's command."

It barely took an hour, but through Flea Bottom and then, through the other boroughs of the city, it had begun, going into the the night as the City Guard was thrown into chaos. The night was yet young, and what had started as hell in one Tavern spread, becoming something that went into the core of the City Watch, the Goldcloaks' ranks changed and moving to different allegiances. The news spread, and Goldcloaks were splintering like flies, Lieutenants, Captains, all of it's men thrown into disfigured mess as it began to turn into bloody conflict. Men were waken to be told to serve or die, or to join a revolt. It was street fighting, ambushing, men having their throats slit, like a group of thugs on the streets, and the people awake were being pushed out of the way. Nobody identified anyone, and yet those who opposed stood out clear, finding that they would be killed for their defiance, against the new order that was posted. Many accepted it. Those who did not, were either fought and killed, or running away, throwing their armour down before they got murdered for a mere guard role. The Purge had ended as quickly as it begun, as groups of Goldcloaks made their move, killing who they had to, decimating the men that did not accept Willas's new command.

It was needlessly bloody, but it had achieved his aims. By the middle of the night, the City Guard had been thinned out, almost a sixth of it's capability either dismissed or killed outright, Goldcloaks killing Goldcloaks, spreading the written message that Willas had presented. In the Red Keep, they were still asleep, or perhaps waking up to the new dawn that sat outside. Most importantly of all, the gates had been locked down. Willas's first command was a simple one. The Roseroad Gate would remain open, to Tumbleton forces, expected in a day and a half, as opposed to the expected Crakehall forces within four to six, and highly expected were they to be beaten back if the Reachman force hardened itself into the city. 10,000 could hold a force five times it's size, for a few weeks, if the whole city was utillized. Willas had not trained for that eventuality, but he knew that King's Landing had undergone siege many a time, and that while direct assault was ballsy, and could work, holding the city and waiting a siege would be surely the best move. That would be, only if the Crakehalls didn't break in. Willas could guess this ruse could only last a week, before the City Guard either had another internal revolt, or even worse, some other Lord got involved. Any marching forces that were not Tyrell were to be repelled, and that would be extremely difficult. He had at best, 1,500 men now loyal to the new order. 50,000 could be coming to knock on the door, and if they had Siege Equipment, they would not be afraid about mounting the walls and murdering everyone. The Tyrell hoped that it would be enough however, and would be just as Garland said. It was his chance. What would come of this, he did not know, and it would be up to the Lords to find out. He was not here to do diplomacy, he was here to do what he did best. Fighting. Garland would smooth it over, as would the other Lords, when they informed the rest of the Crownlands' Lordships of the hostile takeover that had taken place tonight.

------------

Sitting inside the Barrack, with a fireplace behind, still wearing his bloodied armour, he wrote, looking across the room to Ser Maxwell after finishing the letter.

The message simply read: 

[b]"We have control. I command the City Watch, we are awaiting your imposed force to arrive, in order to keep the peace within the city. 

Signed, Ser Willas Tyrell, Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing."
[/b]

Reading it over, he nodded, clearing his throat before he spoke.

"Mount your horse, and ride. Do not stop until you reach our banners, they'll be leaving Tumbleton in the morning in the morrow, and they will arrive for the day after. Go with Lord Tumbleton. If you are stopped, destroy the message. The Crakehall may be insane, but even if they try and intercept you, they will not be able to relay it back to their main forces."
"Understood, Ser. Don't let this place fall apart, those Goldcloaks are low in morale, you'll need to bolster them somehow."
"Leave it to me. We do this for the Reach, Maxwell. Do not forget."