Note: This is another of the more disturbing chapters. Please proceed with caution.


The goldcloaks guarding the steps to the platform had closed their visors to protect their faces from any objects that missed their intended target, and so had Ser Harmen and his brother, but Prince Lewyn Martell did not even so much as wear a helmet. His bright orange cloak was stained red and brown, and blood was trickling down his face. Something must have hit him in the head, but he could not remember what or when.

His eyes swept over the sea of people surrounding the platform. The crowd below was boiling with a mix of anger and excitement. We cannot get out, he realized. We're trapped here until the people tire of the show.

And what a show it was. His sister's bannerman was the master mummer, making the butcher lord dance for the crowd. He understood the art of making one death feel like a thousand, how to maim without killing, how to play with a man's fears, how to make him cry and plead and shriek in agony without ever allowing him to slip into unconsciousness.

Somehow, he had expected that watching the monster die might give him peace, but the sight of the blood, the sound of the screams, the smell of gore only reminded him of Elia, her crushed head, her savaged body still clinging to her babe even in death. Blood, blood, blood everywhere.

Death was a messy affair. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, wishing he had a third hand to cover his nose as well.

For a moment, all he wanted to do was take his sword and put an end to the man's suffering. On the battlefield, when he saw a dying man, friend or foe, he always gave him the mercy of death. He knew how to drive his blade through the armpit straight into the heart. This is no man, he reminded himself. This is a monster.

He thought of his sister, his beautiful, strong sister who had always taken care of him, comforted him as a child, protected him. Will this give you satisfaction? He wondered. If I bring you his head, if I tell you how he died, will it give you comfort? But he already knew the answer.

He'd sent her a raven before word of her daughter's and grandchildren's death could reach her in another way, but he had only heard back from his nephew, informing him the Princess had taken to her bed and refused to see anyone. "She does not eat," Doran had written, "she does not wash herself. She will not even speak to me. I don't know what to do."

His sister had died with her daughter.

Lewyn pressed his cloak over his mouth, forcing back a gag. If only I hadn't left for the Trident, he thought. I could have saved her. I could have saved you.


Just as the sun was about to set, the monster fell silent at last, his limp body hanging in the stocks by his neck, his knees almost touching the wooden planks of the platform.

Gradually, the crowd dissipated, bored by the sudden lack of wails and screams.

All Lewyn wanted to do was return to the White Sword Tower and sleep, but he had one more task left unfinished.

The sky was dark when he met the eunuch by the Traitor's Walk. He had changed into his gaoler's uniform and looked nothing like himself. He even sounded different. "Follow me," he said in a gruff voice.

The deeper they went the damper the vaults seemed to become. He felt a draft of cold air as they passed a row of cells.

"That's your white brother there," Varys said, pointing at a heavy wooden door with iron reinforcements. For a moment, Lewyn was tempted to go inside. He could not help but be angry at Lord Eddard's refusal to put Jaime to the sword. He should have stopped his father. Elia was his to protect, too. But he forced himself to shake his head. "Show me the dog."

Ser Gregor was chained to the wall. Even seated, he was a mountain of a man. He raised his head, grunting and cursing when he saw them coming.

Lewyn seized his face with his hands and looked him in the eye, searching for the man inside. Nothing, he thought. There's nobody in there. A boy of seven-and-ten, but the monster's dog is a monster himself.

Ser Gregor spat at him.

He smiled as he wiped his face clean. "I've brought you wine," he said, holding a cup to the enormous man's lips. Clegane was too thirsty to refuse.

Lewyn made sure he finished all the wine before he turned around, walking away. "That's all?" He heard the eunuch calling after him.

"That is all," he said softly.