(a/n: This chapter is a bit short. Sorry if it seems rushed but this is in honor of the final episode of the final season of Game of Thrones airing, hopefully, on this date. Please, enjoy!)
Part 11: Laughter in Smoke
Tyrion hurried out of his tent and into the predawn morning.
The horizon was slowly growing brighter, faintly coloring the dark sky. The entire Lannister camp was already roused to activity. Shaking off sleep, the dwarf adjusted his well-fitted armor a little and Bronn fell in behind him, apprising him of the situation.
Not long earlier, he was awoken by the sound of battle horns. Bronn informed him that the Stark host has come down the kingsroad in the night and were forming up for battle about a mile north of them. Podrick Payne, one of Tyrion's new servants, and Shae, his new whore whom he shared the night with, helped him into his armor.
Tyrion felt his stomach tighten into a knot. He was never one for battles and he was about to go into one, while under the command of Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. To further worsen his nerves, Tyrion's life wasn't the only one at risk. During the battle, he'll have to keep not only himself alive, but also his young cousin, Axel.
The two arrived at Axel's tent, expecting to find the young man fast asleep or deep into his cups. However, when they entered, the two were surprised to see the golden haired youth already in his armor. Covered completely from head to foot in crimson steel trimmed with gold.
At his side was a handsome sword with a golden lion head for a pommel and ruby set into the center of the cross-guard. The servants draped a crimson cloak around his shoulders and fastened it there with twin golden lion head clasps. He was ready.
Axel turned, inspecting himself and then looked to Tyrion. "How do I look?" the youth asked.
"Almost like a full-fledged knight," Tyrion answered truthfully, "You almost resemble Jaime when he was your age, its quite astonishing." It was true. The boy did vaguely look like his more infamous cousin, though with visible differences.
If only he had the skills to match, the dwarf thought sadly.
Axel was a good boy and had his uses, but was ill suited for a battlefield. He was terrible with swords and it was unlikely that he had made any significant improvements since his disastrous bout with Jamie all those years ago. The youth's armor was polished and immaculate, meaning that it was either new, never used in combat before, meaning that this will be his first experience in the life of war and death. If he survives, it'll certainly change his perspective a bit.
A servant placed a lion crested helm on Axel's head and the three departed from the tent, but not before the boy planted a kiss on the lips of a whore who waited outside his tent.
Podrick and Shae helped Tyrion onto his armored horse and Axel handed him his battle-axe.
"You look fearsome my lord" Shae complimented. Tyrion smiled a little and politely disagreed. He felt a little foolish and out of place but there wasn't anything he could do. The dwarf instructed Podrick to safely escort Shae home should they lose the battle.
With that, Tyrion, Bronn and Axel rode off, leading the clansmen from the Mountains of the Moon, to join the rest of the Lannister forces on the battlefield. The clansmen were armed with good steel and were eagerly awaiting the coming battle.
A mile north of the camp, Tyrion, Axel and Bronn spotted the massive Ser Gregor and the vanguard force assembling on the left flank.
As they made their way toward the Mountain and the vanguard, Tyrion could pick out his father in his splendid armor that easily put Axel's and Jaime's to shame. He was in command of the reserve forces in the rear, with a nice view of the field.
In the center was Ser Kevan and off to the right flank was Ser Addam Marbrand, with whom Tywin had assembled his armored knights.
As the three riders joined the vanguard, they heard the Mountain giving his men a rousing speech.
"Any man who runs," he snarled from atop of his massive warhorse "Will be cut down by my blade."
The men said nothing and did their best to hide their fear, but it was evident that the Mountain's threat warded off any ideas of running. Axel eyed the large knight nervously. When he was sure the Mountain couldn't hear him, Tyrion leaned over to the blond youth.
"That's one way of inspiring the men, isn't it?" he remarked.
Axel smirked "True, but underneath all the blustering and threats, I'm certain that Ser Gregor is truly a gentle and compassionate man."
The two did their best not to laugh. They would get in a lot of trouble with the giant of a man if he heard them.
Not long after, the assembled Lannister forces reached the banks of the Green Fork. Tyrion reviewed what his role in the battle was. A messenger from his father delivered orders to him, commanding him to hold the left of the left next to the river.
All they had to do is put themselves between the Stark's forces and the river, preventing them from crossing and joining with the Tully's at Riverrun. Normally a task like this would prove challenging, especially since a good number of Tyrion's force was comprised of misfits and sweepings, including half-trained boys. Even though they're mounted, their skills were the most worrisome. It was appeared that their force wouldn't be enough to hold the left flank, which made the dwarf wonder what his father was thinking.
Tyrion decided that would have to wait. He will have to make do with what he has and, fortunately, what he has are the clansmen who accompanied him all the way from the Mountains of the Moon and Bronn.
Tyrion gave his own speech, though it was shorter, more instructive and more motivating than the Mountain's. It essentially told them all that they needed to know: keep themselves between the enemy and the river. The dwarf also reminded the clansmen of their payment: dominion over the Vale.
The clansmen raised their battle cry "Halfman!"
Keeping the river to the left, the Lanister army formed up and waited for their enemy.
As dawn slowly approached, the enemy gradually revealed themselves.
It was a sizable force, though the dwarf knew that his father had more men under his command. The northerners must be tired from the long march south in their attempt trying to catch them off guard in the early morning.
Unfortunate for them, the Lannisters were prepared.
But it seemed odd that they would engage them in battle now. Their army, while of a considerable size, would be useless if they were too exhausted to fight. What was Robb Stark planning? Inspecting the enemy form afar, Tyrion spotted some Freys amongst them. Judging from the banners, the rest of the enemy army was comprised of men of House Karstark, Hornwood, Cerwyn, and Glover.
The dwarf rubbed his eyes and looked again carefully. He could've sworn he saw a few riders from House Wayne as well but he didn't get much time to confirm what he saw, for the battle had just begun.
The northerners charged. They were met with a hail of arrows, which slowed them a bit.
Ser Gregor ordering a charge of their own. Tyrion, Bronn and Axel rode into battle along with the Mountain and the mountain clansmen, though the clansmen pulled ahead of Tyrion and the others.
The vanguard crashed against the Karstark spearmen, who impaled a number of the riders and unhorsed a few more. Tyrion saw that the Mountain's own horse was badly wounded, having been run through by several spears. The horse shrieked with pain and bled, but it was spurred on. Ser Gregor and steed crashed through a shield wall before it collapsed.
The Mountain rose from his fallen horse and attacked any enemy closest to him. Shagga and other clansmen pushed through the gap in the line before it closed.
The rest of the vanguard engaged the northerners, cutting and lunging their way forward. The northerner's line began to waver and crumble under the onslaught. Tyrion, Bronn and Axel joined the fight.
In the chaos, the dwarf managed to hold his own. He defeated a few northerners, in particular a rather tall one. The tall man almost unhorsed Tyrion but the horse bit the man's cheek, which gave the dwarf an opening to cut him down with his axe. Tyrion's eyes searched the combat roiling around him.
Bronn was close but he was busy with an opponent of his own. Meanwhile, Axel was swinging his sword, trying to stave off two spearmen from trying to impale his steed. The youth's emerald eyes were wide and alert. His face covered by flecks of blood and his cloak was torn.
Tyrion felt a hint of pride for his young cousin. He's faring well for his first battle.
Gradually, Tyrion saw the northerner force waver and crumble before them. The battle was beginning to shift in their favor.
Above the cacophony of battle and carnage, the dwarf thought he heard the sound of a horn. He looked about him but no one else appeared to have heard it. The sound was different from a battle horn. It was higher, lighter, almost musical.
Before he could devote more thought to the meaning and possible origin of the phantom horn, a knight wielding a morning star confronted Tyrion. The dwarf was struck by the morning star, knocking him off his horse.
As he struggled against the knight, Tyrion and none of the other men, both northern and Lannister, were aware of the danger closing in around them.
Across the Green Fork, a short distance from the battle and cloaked in the shadows of the woods, Dwight and the rest of the Laughing Prince's acolytes waited for their lord's signal. Arrayed in dark rough spun clothes and faces painted and powdered white, the acolytes had marched under the cover of night and arrived just as the battle had begun.
Originally, the Laughing Prince had planned to lead his men on a night raid on the Lannister camp but before they reached the encampment, one of the scouts caught wind of the coming battle between Robb Stark's forces and Tywin Lannister's.
The pale outlaw decided to change the plan. He decided that they should join in on the fun.
The Laughing Prince divided the raiders up among his senior acolytes. Dwight was given command of the archers and the bearers of the outlaw's newest device.
The other senior acolytes, among them a solidly built but not overly clever man named Cyrus, were given charge over those armed and trained in melee combat. The pale outlaw gave them each instructions that were specific to each group. He then gave them the same overall command: to wait for the sound of his horn. When it sounds, they were to join the battle, enacting the commands he gave each of them.
While the young man was rather jealous of Cyrus and the rest of the men going into battle, Dwight was entrusted with an equally important task.
The Laughing Prince gave Dwight and his men something that the outlaw called a 'surprise.'
The young man held up the so-called surprise and carefully inspected it. The surprise was a wineskin filled with a foul smelling liquid. He lathered some of it on an arrow, in preparation for the Laughing Prince's signal and so he could see what this liquid was. The liquid was a dark green, though it looked black in the faint dawning light.
Dwight sniffed it and after a few sniffs, the liquid slowly began to smell better and his head felt a little lighter.
The young man stopped sniffing the liquid, remembering the outlaw's warning. "Make sure to lather your arrows with this special concoction and lather them good," the Laughing Prince instructed, a warm smile painted on his snowy countenance "But take great care that you don't inhale the fumes too much, this little mixture has been specially brewed for Lord Tywin and his friends. Don't want it to go to waste."
The pale outlaw told them their task. On the signal, the archers were to emerge from among the trees, arrows lathered in the concoction given to them, set them alight and loose them into thick of the chaotic battlefield.
Dwight and the others watched the battle begin. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, led the charge. He was easily recognizable due to his size. The man was certainly a monster. The enormous knight plowed through the northerners shield wall on a dying horse and was chopping apart everything close to him.
The screams and blood made Dwight feel nauseous. He didn't want to be there. This was madness. There was nothing a scrawny young man like him could do against a monster like the Mountain. He was a man born and bred to kill, while Dwight was, not too long ago, a simple farm boy who almost became an apprentice.
If he joined the battle, even from afar, Dwight knew he could be killed. However, the memory of his dead sister and ravaged village made him think again.
He can't go home, for there was nothing to go home to. He had sworn to take revenge on those who killed his sisters and one of them was just across the river. Besides, Dwight owed everything to the Laughing Prince. He had taught him how to fight, how to hide, and gave him courage. The young man looked at the arrow in his hand and held it up to his nose and sniffed it.
A faintly sweet smell crawled up his nose. It vaguely reminded Dwight of the flowers that grew behind the small sept back home, when they blossomed at the start of a spring long since gone. Almost instantly, Dwight's fears melted away and a wide smile forced itself onto his lips, eliciting a small giggle.
Dwight stopped and nocked his arrow, ignoring some curious looks he received.
As the battle intensified, the archers had all prepared themselves. Arrows were nocked and the tip and half of the shaft lathered in the strange liquid. A man kept some flint on hand and was ready to strike a fire when needed. Above the clash of steel and screams of dying men, Dwight and the archers heard a light, almost musical, horn sound in the distance.
"That's the signal!" the youth stated.
The man with the flint quickly struck a small flame to life and quickly fed it until it was a sizable fire, which he put on a makeshift torch. The archers quickly lined up. Dwight offered his arrow first. The moment it kissed the flame, the arrow's tip caught fire, belching out a thick cloud of dark purple smoke.
Quickly, Dwight emerged from the trees. He drew back the bowstring and loosed the arrow. In the brightening sky, the arrow looked like a smoking comet, racing across a light blue and orange sky, streaking it with a line of purple. The arrow struck a Lannister man in the neck and he fell.
Not long after Dwight had loosed his arrow, a dozen other arrows wreathed in purple smoke, soared overhead and joined their brother amongst the chaos.
The pale-faced archers continued their barrage, striking down both Lannister and Stark men, quickly filling the field with smoke and soon, laughter.
Tyrion did not think that the battle could have gotten worse but, somehow, it did.
After subduing the knight with the morning star, an arrow struck a Lannister man in the throat not very far from Tyrion. The man crumpled and a plume of putrid purple smoke rose from he once stood. Almost an instant later, a rain of a dozen other similar arrows fell. Some missed but the rest landed on raised shields and unsuspecting warriors.
The burning arrows and the billowing purple smoke soon enveloped them. More arrows fell around them, bringing more smoke down on the field. Enveloped in smoke, Tyrion lost sight of Bronn and Axel. The men and corpses became shades and silhouettes in the purple haze.
In the haze, men coughed and shielded their faces from the invasive and foul smelling fumes rising from the burning arrows. Slashing through the curtains of purple, men groped about in an attempt to find a foe or find their way back to their side.
Tyrion stumbled through the haze and falling arrows, trying to get clear of the fighting and Bronn and Axel.
As the dwarf searched through the purple smoke, the clang of steel, the screams of pain and dry coughs faded and were soon replaced by chuckles. Tyrion frowned and heard the chuckles grow into giggling and soon full belly laughter.
A large Stark man stumbled through the smoke and dropped to his knees in front of the dwarf. The man's ordinary face was drenched by sweat and spattered by mud. His thin lips twisted into a creepy grin as hysterical laughter poured from his mouth. Tyrion felt his skin crawl. The man's face slowly grew red and his laughter became more raucous and uncontrollable. At a glance, it seemed he was laughing very hard at something funny but when the dwarf looked at the man's eyes, he saw only terror.
Tears dribbled down his cheeks. Not long after, the man collapsed, his laughter silenced and his grin permanently carved in his face. Tyrion nudged the man with the bottom of his axe. The man was stone dead.
A chill slithered down the dwarf's spine. He had to get out of this smoke. The dwarf rushed on.
Ducking past laughing Stark and Lannister men, Tyrion searched through the smoke for escape. One by one, men fell to their knees or collapsed, coughing, laughing and clawing at their throats.
The foul smell of the smoke, like burning shit and something terrible and unfamiliar, slowly began to lose its disgusting flavor. The dwarf's head began to feel light and the cold fear that gripped his heart gradually loosened.
Ignoring the aching wound he received when the knight with morning star knocked him off his horse, Tyrion held his breath and pinched his nose. The fog was dense and still made him feel woozy. He stumbled and fell, his lungs sore and desperate for air.
Taking a deep breath, the smoke now smelled of sweet blossoms, Tyrion leaned on his axe for support, fighting the first tremors of laughter that bubbled up from within him, picked himself up.
Limping onward, Tyrion's vision swam. Shapes of men and horses raced past him, laughter and screams mingled and echoed. Dots of flickering flames, tinged an eerie pink, flickered and grew as they devoured the clothes and flesh of fallen men.
A newer and brighter light pierced the cloud of smoke. Its brightness was more alluring than the growing flames. The dwarf staggered toward it and managed to emerge from the purple haze.
Cool, fresh air filled Tyrion's nostrils. The sweet, smoky scent was pushed away by a gentle breeze that rolled in.
The Lannister dwarf leaned on his axe like a crutch, taking a moment to clear his head and get his bearings. Looking about him, he found significant portions of the battlefield now enveloped in long clouds purple smoke.
Men stumbled free from the other clouds, choking and gasping for air. The traditional sound of battle had been superseded by the sounds of laughter.
This unsettled Tyrion. What unsettled him even more was the sight of a mountain clansman, a large wild looking man decked out in furs and skins, stagger forth from the smoke, roaring with laughter. He clutched his laughing face and tried to breathe. The large warrior fell, shaking and rolling with mad cheerful laughter.
A little further off, Ser Gregor emerged from the smoke, his face twisted into a scowl. However, Tyrion saw a flicker of something that he's never seen in the giant's face before. It wasn't exactly fear but it was some approximate of it. It would appear that even the Mountain was disturbed what was happening around them.
This strange smoke was not natural. It was cruel and monstrous.
In the distance, other sections of the Lannister forces were withdrawing from the smoke in a somewhat organized haste. Lord Tywin, still on his horse, was holding the rear and directing his men, trying to organize and get a hold of things.
However, from behind Tywin and the reserves, Tyrion could see a mass shapes arrive. These shapes were brandishing swords, scythes, axes and cudgels. The new arrivals attacked, catching the rear off guard.
A number of men began to fall to their blades and strikes. Tywin and his men turned their attention toward them and retaliated.
Almost simultaneously, from the kingsroad, another force of shapes armed with a variety of odd weapons, attacked. They drove into the men fleeing the clouds of smoke, both Lannister and Stark. Some of the newcomers even entered the purple haze.
If he had to describe what was going on, Tyrion would simply say that it was madness. Arrows from the Lannister's own archers fell on the worsening chaos in an attempt to alleviate their pressure put upon their liege but wound up injuring some of their own comrades.
Several more smoke arrows fell and soon ordinary arrows replaced them. Tyrion ducked beneath a discarded shield, narrowly avoiding being struck by one of the arrows. He stumbled forth and tried to find Bronn and Axel. If there was anything he could do in this awful mess, Tyrion could focus on finding his cousin, who was entrusted to his care, and his sellsword.
The dwarf picked his way across the battle, ducking as arrows fell and jumping out of the way of individual battles.
His head was still woozy and his mind was foggy. The world tilted and swirled around him, as if he were on a ship in the midst of a terrible storm. His lungs burned from the aftermath of inhaling all that awful smoke.
Suddenly, Tyrion was blindsided by flabby man in ragged clothes. His axe slipped from his fingers.
Flat on his back, the dwarf tried to get up but was pushed down by his attacker's boot.
"Stay down!" the man snarled, his voice echoed in his eardrums like a scream in a cave. The dwarf looked around for a weapon and saw his axe and a dirk. Both were just behind his reach. Tyrion tried to force the man's boot off his chest but was unable to, his strength fading and the world would not stop spinning.
The flabby man with ratty brown hair and a chubby face powdered ghostly white, raised his cudgel to smash the dwarf's face but was stopped when a blade sprouted forth from his chest. The powdered man was thrown aside and Tyrion saw Axel and Bronn standing over him.
The two were dirty, caked in grime and glistening with sweat. Axel's eyes were wide and frantic while his lips twitched, constantly threatening to turn into a grin.
Bronn was stone faced but looked somewhat rattled by what was going on around them.
"There you are cousin!" Axel cried cheerfully. Bronn pulled Tyrion up and returned the axe to its rightful owner.
The three set off, heading towards Tywin and the rear, where it looked like the Lord of Casterly Rock was holding his ground and rallying his men.
The distant rumbling of hooves reached them and Tyrion threw a glance behind and saw death. From out of the smoke, which spread out further and joined some of the other smoke clouds forming a hazy purple wall, came at least a dozen riders astride a number of different kinds of horses.
Some were small shaggy ponies and large workhorses typically found on farms. They seemed to have seen better winters. However, a fair number of the horses, surprisingly, were coursers. These horses typically belonged to highborn lords and knights but their current riders looked a dirty mob of common folk.
Leading the riders, astride a handsome pale charger, was the infamous Laughing Prince.
Tyrion had heard of the man. Smallfolk spoke of him in the same manner as they would when they spoke of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield or Barristan the Bold. He thought it strange that they did.
Based off of what he heard, the dwarf figured the man was probably some mummer who had lost his mind and took up the life of an outlaw. However, to actually see him in person, Tyrion could see how the man could've built up an infamous reputation.
The outlaw was white as, quite literally, white as snow. His hair was green and lips like rubies. He wore no armor, saved for only a green breastplate and a purple cloak that billowed behind him like a banner. The Laughing Prince rode forth, holding aloft a fine blade that gleamed in the morning light. He looked like an otherworldly prince, majestic and fearless as he charged into battle.
Behind the outlaw prince, a sizable force of men came charging out of the smoke, screaming war cries and letting out loud mad cackles. They numbered roughly a few hundred by Tyrion's estimate, though the dwarf's mind was still a little foggy.
Ser Gregor and Ser Kevan rallied together what men they could and tried forming a shield wall. The Laughing Prince and his followers charged right into it, knocking down the barely prepared forces.
The pale man cackled loudly, swinging his blade and freeing a soldier of his head.
Ser Gregor made quick work of two of the riders, separating the upper half of one man with a single swing and then beheading the horse of the second.
The Lannister forces fought hard. Though they significantly outnumbered the Laughing Prince and his band of outlaws, their forces were in disarray.
Tyrion cast a weary eye toward the Stark half and saw that they were in full retreat. Their lines scattered and choked by the encroaching purple smoke. Men limped away, some helping their comrades while others crawled, gasping for air.
Tyrion heard Ser Gregor roar, "You!"
He turned his woozy head and saw the massive knight stomping toward the Laughing Prince, who had dismounted and just run man through with his bloodied blade.
The green haired outlaw turned, a curious look on his face. When he saw the Mountain making his way toward him, his smile widened.
"Ah, Ser Clegane!" the Laughing Prince said loudly and amicably "A pleasure to meet a knight of your stature at last!"
The Mountain said nothing. When he was close enough, he swung his blade at the outlaw, hoping to separate the man's head from his shoulders.
The outlaw ducked and sidestepped a follow up swing.
"Now, now, there's no need for that!" the Laughing Prince said, almost conversationally. Another swing from Ser Gregor followed by another fluid evasion from the outlaw. Ser Gregor said nothing. He just kept swinging, getting angrier with each miss.
Tyrion was speechless by what he was seeing. The pale man was evading the Mountain's attacks, seemingly with almost no effort.
When the large knight tried to thrust, the Laughing Prince batted it aside with some considerable effort. When the outlaw retaliated, the Mountain evaded and grabbed his opponent's sword. He pulled the slender man in close and head-butted him.
The pale outlaw staggered back, rubbing his sore face and fell onto his rear.
A sadistic and satisfied grin appeared on the Mountain's face and he surged forward to take advantage of the opening. Tyrion's eyes widened. This was it. The Mountain was going to kill the Laughing Prince. However, as the large knight raised his sword to cleave the outlaw in two, a black chain wrapped itself around the sword and prevented Ser Gregor from delivering the killing stroke.
Tyrion, the Mountain, Bronn and everyone closest to the fighting turned and saw another figure whom the smallfolk hold in reverence. The Dark Knight.
He sat astride a black destrier, clad in black armor, cloak and a black helm with tall pointed ears. Ser Gregor scowled at the newcomer.
"You again?" the Mountain growled.
"Yes, me again" the knight growled back, his voice was low and rough like gravel.
"My hero!" the Laughing Prince cooed.
"Shut it!" the Dark Knight snarled.
"Don't interfere!" the Mountain roared at the knight, "His head is mine!"
"I can't let you do that"
"Why not?" Ser Gregor sneered, "Worried that I might dishonor myself killing an unarmed man?"
"No, because I already have a claim on his life" the knight in black countered coldly. He dismounted. "You wish to take it, you will have to best me first."
The Mountain sneered. He lowered his blade and unwrapped the chains from his sword. The Dark Knight pulled his chain back toward him. It disappeared within his voluminous black cloak. Tyrion, Bronn and Axel looked on in amazement as the chaotic battle carried on around them.
Tyrion couldn't believe that this was happening. It was almost exactly like something out of a dream or one of the old songs. Heroic knights and infamous figures from history, in the midst of climatic battles, facing each other down, one against one.
The knight in black drew his own sword, a tall, two handed blade.
The Mountain hefted his sword and he charged the Dark Knight. He moved quickly but the knight in black was quicker.
He raised his blade and met Ser Gregor's, causing a loud clang of metal. The Dark Knight directed the Mountain's sword away and drove a elbow, tipped with a black metal spike, into the large knight's gut. Ser Gregor grunted and forced the black clad knight back with a punch.
The Dark Knight stumbled back but quickly regained his footing.
Tyrion spied a hole in the lower part of the Mountain's breastplate, near the belly. There didn't seem to be any blood coming from the hole. The spike had pierced the breastplate but it didn't seem to have pierced the mail shirt underneath.
The two continued their battle, trading sword strokes. The Dark Knight moved fluidly, blocking and batting aside the Mountain's powerful swings. The Mountain, meanwhile, couldn't seem to break his enemy's defenses or find a gap in it.
In the midst of their private duel, the Laughing Prince stealthily got back on his feet, sword in hand and murder in his eye.
The outlaw moved to stab the giant knight in the back but Axel ran at the pale man with his sword raised.
Tyrion felt his heart drop into his stomach. What was you doing you bloody idiot? Tyrion mentally cursed at Axel.
The Laughing Prince was close enough to attack the Mountain, whose sword was locked against the Dark Knight's, but the outlaw spun around in time to catch Axel's sword with his own.
"Hello there!" the pale outlaw greeted cheerfully. Axel paled as he stared into the emerald eyes of the lunatic.
"Nice of you to join our dance!" the outlaw giggled, forcing the boy back.
The two traded blows, though it was clearly one sided. Axel was barely keeping up with the Laughing Prince's quick sword swings, while the pale outlaw was clearly toying with the youth. Amusement clearly written on the pale man's face and his movements seemed relaxed and natural, as opposed to Axel's rigid and somewhat clumsy movements.
The boy was soon overwhelmed, his sword knocked free from his hand. The youth tripped over the corpse of a fallen Lannister soldier.
Cold terror forced the haze from Tyrion's mind and something drove him forward. Maybe it was the fear of losing one of the few relatives he truly loved was what drove him, or perhaps it was a fear of what his father would do if he had failed.
Whatever it was, Tyrion took action. He rushed forward, axe at the ready, toward the Laughing Prince.
The pale outlaw aimed his blade at the boy's throat. "You have amused me well enough boy," the Laughing Prince said "But here we must part ways."
He was about to drive the blade through Axel's throat when Tyrion swatted aside the outlaw's blade with his axe.
The Laughing Prince yelped like a girl and jumped back. Menacing green eyes looked Tyrion over and a high giggle escaped the outlaw's lips.
"Oh what a day" the outlaw cackled "First the Mountain and now the Lannister Imp"
"I see that you've heard of me," Tyrion said. His mouth was dry and his body ached and was weary. But somehow, he forced himself to stand.
"Only by reputation" the pale outlaw said with a smile "Nothing too good I'm afraid."
"I'm not surprised," Tyrion grumbled.
The Laughing Prince smirked at the dwarf, looking him up and down as if he were a part of a mummer's performance. It would seem that even the mad outlaw who murders people in horrific ways looked down on him.
The dwarf tightened his grip on his axe. He didn't want to fight but, whether it was the haze from the smoke or from the rush of having defeated a number of Stark men, Tyrion was ready and expecting one.
The attack didn't come. A high, almost musical horn sounded. The Laughing Prince turned his head and a disappointed look replaced his cheerful one.
"Oh damn" he grumbled.
Tyrion frowned in confusion.
The pale man quickly mounted his horse and roared "Retreat! Retreat!"
All around them, men scattered, breaking away from individual fights and struggles. The outlaw turned to Tyrion and Axel and grinned.
"Until we meet again" he said, sounding certain of a future meeting. He bowed his head and galloped away. His men fell in behind him, the remaining riders and those who were on foot.
"Get back here!" Tyrion heard Ser Gregor bellow. The dwarf looked and saw the Mountain trying to give chase, swinging his massive blade at the outlaw prince, but stopped after running a short distance. It was an almost comical sight but Tyrion was in no mood for laughter. Not after what they had just endured.
The dwarf looked and saw that the Dark Knight had vanished like smoke. Speaking smoke, the purple wall of smoke began to clear as a cool wind swept down from the north and from the east.
As the smoke cleared, Tyrion was horrified by the sight of hundreds of corpses, all staring up at the sky with wide, empty eyes and permanent smiles. Their laughter echoed in the back of the dwarf's mind.
He looked to Axel, who stared in mute horror at the carnage of those who fallen in battle and those who had fallen due to the purple smoke.
Behind them, the remaining Lannister forces, clansmen among them, began to count the dead, search them and dispose of survivors. A fair number had survived, though morale had taken a serious blow due to the bizarre deaths and the appearance of the already legendary and unpredictable outlaw.
After a stretch of grim silence, Axel looked to Tyrion. "Thank you cousin" the youth said, sincerely grateful for his help.
"Anything for my favorite cousin" Tyrion replied, honestly "besides, you saved my life and placed me in your debt. I couldn't let you die before I repay you. As you know, a Lannister always pays his debts."
A small smile appeared on Axel's face. He looked up at Bronn, who had appeared by their side.
"Are all battles like this?" he asked.
The sellsword shook his head "No" he answered plainly "They usually make more sense than…well, than this" he gestured to the gruesome remains of the battle. "Hopefully this doesn't become common place. The world is strange enough as it is."
Axel nodded slowly. The three remained there, trying to understand and make sense of what happened.
That night, there were no songs or celebration. Axel, Tyrion and Bronn shared the night, drinking and eating, their bodily wounds cleaned and dressed by healers, their frayed souls and emotions tended to by Shae and other beautiful women.
Tyrion saw Ser Gregor was angry at losing the chance at killing both the Dark Knight and the Laughing Prince. He didn't even know how close he was to death that day. But the dwarf didn't need nor want his thanks. What he wanted was to sleep and forget what he just saw.
Unfortunately, there was still a war to be won and a dangerous outlaw running amok, now possessing the ability to literally kill people by making them laugh themselves to death.
As he sat by the fire back at the Lannister camp, sharing wine and meat with the remnants of the clansmen he brought with him, Tyrion thought about what Bronn and Axel said. This was a truly strange battle.
The victor of the battle was uncertain, though both sides would claim that they won, they were both certain that the one who got what they wanted from the battle was the Laughing Prince.
Tyrion feared that the oddities won't end here. They were only going to get worse.
(a/n: well, what do you think? Kinda rushed I know, but I really wanted to put something out for the last episode of Game of Thrones. Until next time. See you around!)