#flea bottom

Peter Claffey is from County Galway in the west of Ireland. When he auditioned for the part of Dunk he originally did so in a southeastern or northern England accent. But he was encouraged to use his native Galway accent and it turned out to be a huge success.

But you can't take the man out of the bowl of brown

Daemon and Rhaenyra hold hands in a Flea Bottom alleyway♾️

27_Juego de tronos_Eddard VI

El maestro llamó a un muchacho alto, más o menos de la edad de Robb, pero con el pecho y los brazos muy musculosos.

  —Éste es Lord Stark, la nueva Mano del Rey —dijo al chico de ojos azules y hoscos, que se retiraba de la frente el pelo empapado de sudor. Tenía el cabello negro como la tinta, espeso e indómito. La sombra de una barba incipiente le oscurecía la mandíbula—. Éste es Gendry. Es muy fuerte para su edad, y trabaja duro. Enséñale a la Mano el yelmo que has hecho, chico.

  El muchacho los guió hacia su mesa de trabajo y, casi con timidez, tendió a Ned un yelmo de acero con forma de cabeza de toro y dos enormes cuernos curvos. Ned dio vueltas al yelmo entre sus manos. Era de acero basto, sin pulir, pero que denotaba una mano experta.

  —Un trabajo excelente. Sería un placer que me permitieras comprarlo.

  —No está en venta —dijo el chico arrebatándoselo de las manos.

  —Estás hablando con la Mano del Rey, chico. —Tobho Mott lo miraba horrorizado—. Si su señoría quiere este yelmo, regálaselo. Te ha hecho el honor de pedírtelo.

Birth: Flea Bottom is a shit-scented corner of the city of King’s Landing. Filled to bursting with naught but low-lives, whores, criminals and those too poor and infirm to fight back against those who’d brutalize them. Thus it was into this world of shit that you were born. The bastard son of some noble from some far off place who would never know, your mother was another unknown quantity, she sold you to the owner of the brothel she worked at and he had but one purpose for young boys. While some might have sold boys to certain men of a certain persuasion he had a different interest. The Rat Pits.

Childhood: From the moment you were given over to the brothel owner you were no longer human. If you resisted any command you were beaten, if you caused any trouble you were starved. All transgressions were punished a severely as possible and your master relished in the power. You had no name, you were referred to only as Rat, one of many. You were given little food, what little there was you had to fight for which often resulted in the death of some of the smaller Rats. You always pried some food for yourself almost always taking a finger or two with it. When you had grown large enough, when your aggression and rage had been primed only then were you given over to the Pits.

The First Fight: Your first fight, the first kill was not an easy one. You were fighting another Rat, one owned by another brothel. He was larger and faster. He beat you for what felt like hours, driving his fists into your face over and over until one of your eyes went white. When the pain overtook you, when the realization that you were about to die rang though your skull, you retaliated. You bit his nose off, grinding the cartilage between your teeth. In his panic you pounced driving your thumbs deep into his eyes you proceeded to beat him, again and again until he stopped moving all together. Your gift for this victory was simple, new clothes, and new weapons. Your teeth were filed into fangs, all the better rip into your enemies with.

The Fights to Come: Over several years you won many bouts against many opponents, your savage and violent style making up for what you initially lacked in raw size and strength, though that too would come in time. With every fight your master grew richer and with every fight you began to wonder why. Why did you take orders from him why did you have to bow to man to did nothing but abuse you, force you to kill others and treat you like an animal. In time you realized you didn’t have to

The Rats: Whilst not engaged in fights you spent the majority of your time in an underground cellar beneath the brothel with the other Rats. You were one of the oldest boys, in a way they saw you as a leader. You would personally divide up the food as equally as possible, violently punishing any who attempted to take more than their ration. One plan of yours that truly helped the other was when you dealt with the actual rats in the cellar. Using a bucket and a morsel of food you rounded up every rat living in the cellar and left them in their. Over time they began to eat each other and when there was only a handful left you released them. Now the rats would eat other rats. 

The Cat: During one evening a commotion woke you in the night, a cat screaming in the corner. You and several other Rats followed the noise to it’s source, a large black cat being attacked from all sides by the rats you had trained to hunt other rats. Before the sight of you all, the rats killed the cat. While the others went back to sleep you investigated the wall. The rats feasted as you stepped over them and when you probed the wall you found something, a hidden tunnel which led to the armory of the City Watch. When you realized this you couldn’t help but smile. A horrific and terrible smile. 

The Rebellion of the Rat Pits: You spoke to your master with an idea, a plan for more money than he could ever dream of. What if he gathered all of the brothel owners and their rats for a single massive mock battle? The idea was profitable and your master agreed. What he could not know was that you had raided the City Watch armory for weapons and had hidden them in the brothel, in all the nooks and crannies that the master never looked in. Dozens of them were hidden beneath the dirt of the Rat Pit itself, easy to access for that was to come. During the day all the rats gathered in your home, every rat from every brothel, easily spoken to, easy to convince. During the match they were all gathered in the pit you at the center. In a voice like a dragons you roared for the attack and all at once  nearly five hundred Rats attacked at once. Pulling swords, axes, mauls and spears from the dirt beneath their feet. It took nearly three hours but the majority of crowd would die, every master was killed first. Speared, beheaded or defenestrated, most of the guests were as well. But the true prize would come from a single guest that was found attempting to escape. A Prince with silver hair and a Valyrian steel sword. As your boys surrounded him, dozens of spears blocking him from escape, the Prince yielded. 

The Silver Prince:  Had Daemon Targaryen not been so far from the door when your rebellion began he could have escaped. But alas here he was now, dark sister pried from his fist, nearly three dozen spears pointed at his throat and surrounded by fanged, snarling children. However, what caught his eye was not the children but you. You stood above them, like a warlord amongst his troops directing every movement, every attack. You matched his gaze and Daemon could tell that whatever happened here tonight you were not finished and as that realization dawned on his face you smiled a wolf’s smile. 

Bronn grinned. "There's a pot shop I know in Flea Bottom makes a savory bowl of brown. All kinds of meat in it, I hear." Tyrion  IV -PG 432

Tyrion and Bronn leave the meeting with Symon Silvertongue. Tyrion gives Bronn instructions on how to handle this problem. Bronn tells Tyrion how he's going to dispose of the body at a local pot shop.

My first idea for this was to have Bronn and Tyrion walk by a pot shop. Unfortunately, the angle didn't work from any position, either having the pot shop in the background or showing Bronn and Tyrion through the pot shop's window. I inevitably went with just a picture of the Pot Shop.