Game of Thrones Season 8 Chapter 14
The Kingsroad – Arya
"You're out of your fucking mind!" the Hound shouted at her when she first told him her plan back in White Harbor.
Arya had been expecting it, knew it was crazy, but she had no choice. Kill Jon and Dany, or kill Cersei first. But not before she wrote a letter saying the contract was cancelled.
"How can we do that?" Gendry asked when she told him what had happened. He was calm, a rock, listening carefully, asking a few questions, then trying to help her figure out what to do. They were in their rooms in White Harbor, not long after her confrontation with Jaqen. Of course Gendry knew who he was and what he was capable of, having seen it first hand at Harrenhal.
"You can't kill Jon and the Queen," he said right away.
"Never, but if I don't someone else will."
"We have to warn them."
"We will…but it won't do much good," she said as she paced across the floor of their bedroom. "You don't know them like I do. They take a contract and then they kill, no matter what. It's all about their reputation."
"If they kill our Queen the whole of Westeros will come after them."
"I thought of that too, but she's not our queen…not yet." Then an idea came like a flash of light. "Maybe they don't kill queens! Maybe once she is crowned the contract will be cancelled!"
"But not for Jon."
She sighed. "No, not for him. So we have to get to Cersei. Make her cancel it."
"How?"
"Don't worry about that. If I have to cut off all her toes and her ears and nose, she will do it."
"Maybe. But how do we get to her?"
"We can't. I will."
Now he got a bit mad. "There's no way I am letting you go all by yourself."
She smiled at that. "No…not for the first part. But the end, if she's in Storm's End…that will be up to me to get close to her."
"Getting close to Storm's End won't be easy. We need help."
"Maybe…and I know just the person to ask. He wants to go there, too."
They found the Hound in the exercise yard where he was sharpening his sword. They quietly told him what was up and when done he got very angry at them. "You're both mad, you know? They'll catch you and hold you for ransom or to make your brother throw down his sword. Or worse."
"Not if you're with us," Arya said.
"I'm just one man. She's got a whole fucking army. Golden Company, Lannister men, even the Dornish by now I bet."
"And your brother," Gendry added.
The Hound took a menacing step towards him. Gendry wasn't small but the Hound had him beat in size and strength. "Listen, you shit. My brother and I will meet someday, but I'm not dragging you two along on some fool's adventure."
"When Cersei dies, the war ends," Arya said. "If she cancel's the contract I can save Jon and the Queen. You help us, you get a chance to kill Gregor. I will make sure the Queen agrees."
He was about to shout again but he paused and looked at her. "How?"
"She's my friend. She will do it."
He scoffed. "Queens always make promises they can't or won't keep."
"Not this one," Arya shot back.
The Hound took a deep breath and then nodded. "Maybe. But how you going to explain this to the rest? Davos, Tyrion?"
"We say nothing," Gendry said. "Till we get near Harrenhal."
And so it went. Tyrion was quite mad, as was Davos. "Now what in seven hells do I tell your brother?" Tyrion demanded of Arya as they sat on horseback near the intersection of the road to King's Landing and Harrenhal. Behind them the army was marching along at a steady pace, Unsullied, Dothraki, Northmen, iron born, and the rest, with plenty of horses, mules, donkeys, all pulling wagons with supplies.
"That I have a job to do, that's all," Arya told him.
"He won't like it," Davos said, worry etched on his lined face. "I don't like it, either."
"We're going," the Hound said in his grim way. "Don't you fucking try to stop us."
"No, we won't," Tyrion told them, resigned to their plan. "It's Gregor, isn't it?"
"Aye. It's time."
"Well, then, I shall wish you all good fortune."
Davos shook his head. "It's madness." He looked at Gendry. "You agree with all this?"
"I go where she goes," the big smith replied.
"Aye, love will do that to you," Davos said. "Make you do foolish things. Right, if you are going, then use some sense. Take a pack mule and some supplies. A tent as well. Gods knows what you will find for shelter. And Cersei's men could be anywhere on the Kingsroad or at the capital. Best to avoid it altogether."
"Hard to do that," Arya said as she looked around. "The road is the only sure way south in all this snow. But we will try to be careful. Thank you." As the Hound and Gendry went off with Davos to get some supplies, she moved her horse closer to Tyrion and lowered her voice. "Tell Jon and the Queen to be careful. There may be assassins in Westeros."
"What? Do you know something?"
"Just…tell them to be wary."
"That's it?"
"Yes."
He stared at her and then nodded. "I will."
A short time later they were on their own, heading south, three horses and a pack mule with a tent and more food loaded on it. A cold wind was blowing across the road, making snow drift in their path. "South," said the Hound. "About time. No more freezing cold for us. If I never see the North again I will be glad."
"Oh?" said Arya in a teasing tone. "And here I thought you were in love with my sister."
The Hound cursed as Gendry laughed. "What's this now?" Gendry asked.
The Hound didn't deny it but he was not happy. "You'd best keep such things to yourself," he growled at her.
"Why?" she asked in reply.
"No use talking about what can never be."
"Why not?" Gendry asked next.
"Cause of who she is and who I am."
"Rubbish," said Arya.
"If a smith can marry a lady, why can't you?" Gendry added.
"Marriage?" the Hound gasped. "Stop it, no more. Mind where you go and keep your eyes peeled for Lannister men."
"I doubt we'll see any of them," Arya said. "All gone south for their queen."
She was right. For seven days they saw hardly a soul. The wars had devastated the lands, and they only found shelter a few nights in inns. But on the first day they had a nice surprise. They came upon the inn where Arya had lost Nymeria and the Hound had killed the butcher's boy, the same place where she and Gendry had been turned over to the Brotherhood. But all those bad memories mattered not now, for their friend Hot Pie still worked there and they had a nice reunion. They ate a big meal, caught up on all their stories, and shocked the rotund baker's boy by telling him they were married.
"Gosh," said Hot Pie. "That's grand. I'll have to bake you a nice pie for a wedding gift."
It was ready in the morning, a nice hot apple pie, and after breakfast they took what was left of it and said their goodbyes. "When the war is done, you can go home to King's Landing," Arya told him. "I'll help you set up your own bakery."
He was stunned. "That would be great. But I can't pay for such."
"Don't worry about that," she told him.
"Thanks," he said in a shy voice.
As they climbed on their horses the Hound was stuffing his face with another piece of the pie. "Is it good?" Hot Pie asked
"Good enough," the big man said after gulping his food. "Come on, you two. We ride."
And so once again they said goodbye to Hot Pie.
Coin they had, and room and food they got at other places, but other nights they were forced to make do in the tent. One sat guard while the other two slept. The cold wasn't as bad as it had been up north, but it was still cold. They built a fire in the shelter of woods, set up the tent, and after eating a hot meal got some rest.
It was on one of these nights that Nymeria came back to her.
She heard the howling first, sitting by the fire as the other two slept in the tent, their snores loud enough to be heard outside. Then slowly see saw the eyes, pinpricks of yellow glowing in the darkness.
"Get up!" she shouted as she pulled out Needle with one hand and grabbed a long stick of burning wood with the other. "Wolves! Get up!"
They were up in a flash, standing by her side near the tent, weapons in hand, the Hound with his huge sword and Gendry with the new war hammer he had made. Gendry also picked up a burning stick.
"Get some fire," he said to the Hound.
"Fuck that, I'll gut them all."
Then Arya felt it, sensed it…a presence…Nymeria.
"Gods…it's her."
There she was, coming out of the trees, into the firelight, a huge direwolf, Nymeria. She stared at Arya, her eyes glowing.
"Hello, girl," Arya said. "Nymeria."
Nymeria growled and sniffed, staying where she was. "Arya," said Gendry with worry. "This is your direwolf?"
"Aye. Nymeria. I lost her…when…when…"
"I killed your butcher's boy," the Hound said, some regret in his tone.
"Sansa and Joffrey lied. He never hit him. But Nymeria did bite him."
"All in the past," the Hound said.
"I was forced to make her run away," Arya said, a choking feeling in her throat, constricting her words. She looked at Nymeria. "I'm sorry. I had to do it. So you could live. But they killed your sister instead. I'm sorry."
Nymeria slowly walked around the fire to her. Arya dropped her burning stick and reached out and touched her head.
And Nymeria howled.
It was so loud they thought the sound would never end. All around them more wolves howled, as if the entire forest was full of them. The horses and mule were going mad with fear and the Hound and Gendry had to grab their reins and hold them still.
Then Nymeria ran away and they heard many feet running after her.
"No…come back!" she shouted, starting to move into the forest, but Gendry grabbed her.
"No…it's too dangerous!"
She sighed and nodded and he let go. "She'll come back. She must."
The next morning they packed up and were on the road shortly after breakfast.
"I don't see your pet," the Hound said.
"She'll be back."
Arya knew, because she could sense her, out there, moving through the forest off the Kingsroad. And then they heard her howl. They looked left and she was on a small hill, all alone, and slowly she came down to the road. The horses began to get skittish again.
"In front," Arya said to Nymeria and the big direwolf moved far in front of them, padding alone in the slushy muddy road.
"So, she coming with us to Storm's End?" the Hound asked.
"Yes."
"I don't think they let direwolves in inns," Gendry said.
"We'll see," was all she said, a big smile on her face. Things were going well…but it didn't mean they would continue to do so. And she that big worry as well. How could she get to Cersei and make her do what she had to do? If she didn't, Jon and Dany didn't have a chance. The Faceless Men were relentless, and would never stop until the one they were after was dead.
King's Landing – Daenerys
Her impromptu coronation over, and with the dragons safely placed in the Dragonpit, it was time for the new Queen to get down to business. A thousand and one problems confronted her, but none was more urgent than feeding the many people still in the city. Much in storage had been destroyed in the various attacks, and Cersei's men had taken much more. The only blessing was that there were now fewer mouths to feed. Still, they would fall short eventually.
"Harrenhal still has plenty, Your Grace," Davos reminded her. They were in the Tower of the Hand, in quarters Cersei had occupied and then abandoned, the servants told them. With her were her small council, Jon, Davos, Tyrion, Jorah, and Varys. Grey Worm, Lord Manderly, and Lord Edmure Tully should have been there as well, but they were still busy settling the soldiers. And Theon and Yara had only this morning taken a merchant ship and had sailed back to Maidenpool to collect and bring the rest of the fleet south, weather permitting.
After a short discussion she gave the command and Davos and Jorah got to work organizing men and wagons and horses and mules to begin ferrying rations from the great castle of Harrenhal to the capital.
"It still won't be enough, in the long run, Your Grace," Tyrion said after Davos and Jorah had left them.
"And only the gods know when winter will end," Jon added.
"May I make a suggestion, Your Grace?" Varys asked. She nodded to him and he continued. "The Free Cities will be seeking to renew contacts soon enough, once they learn of your victories. I suggest we send out word to them, asking for food aid."
"But how will it be paid for it?" Dany asked. The coffers were empty and most of the coin she had brought from Meereen had been spent on supplies and her army's clothing and a thousand other things.
"We pay in the future," Varys said. "In coin or supplies. Westeros has plenty of wood, fish, furs, iron ore, coal, and other commodities the east desires. Surely someone will want to begin relations, even if payment will be made in the future."
"What about the coin from the wagon train attack?" Jon asked. "The coin of the Reach that Ser Jaime stole."
"Not ours, at least not all," said Tyrion. "Bronn told me that most of that coin reached the city before our attack, so we got little out of that mess. And if we are to secure the Reach as allies, they may demand it back, what little we have."
"For certain they will," Varys said. "My little birds are out now seeking their new leaders. We should hear from them shortly. And they will want it all back, not just the few sacks we have."
"Cersei has the rest," Jon said.
"Not anymore," Varys told them. "She used it to secure the loan for the Golden Company contract."
"We cannot pay them what we don't have and never stole," Dany said. "They can place the blame for all that on Ser Jaime and Cersei."
"But they were our allies, Your Grace," Tyrion reminded her. "So they will be expecting some compensation."
"I have nothing to offer them," she said in exasperation. "Gods, who else is waiting for a hand out?"
"Ah, that reminds me," Tyrion said. "We have to start making payments soon."
"Payments?" Dany asked. "To whom else do we owe money?"
"The Iron Bank," Tyrion said and he pushed on before she could ask what he meant. "I found a letter in Cersei's solar…sorry, Your Grace, your solar now. Seems my sister forgot it when she hastily packed up. It's from the Iron Bank, reminding her of her debts and the current interest rate."
"What's that to do with me?" Dany asked in surprise.
Varys looked pained. "Your Grace…the Iron Bank cares not who wins the war, only that they get their due. Cersei took the loans as Queen of Westeros…so they will be expecting the crown to repay the loans, no matter who sits the Iron Throne."
"That's mad," Jon said, anger on his face. "Cersei took the loans, not our Queen."
Tyrion had an answer to that. "I am afraid the Iron Bank does not think the way most people do. Yes, Cersei took the loans, but in their eyes the crown did. So the crown owes them. Joffrey had similar words when he discovered how much his father was in debt. Littlefinger told him the same, that it was the crown's debt, not Robert's."
"Bloody hell," Jon said to that. Then he had another thought. "The Unsullied took Casterly Rock. Surely we got some coin from there."
"Sadly, no," said Tyrion. "My family's gold mines had run dry in recent years, a secret my father kept from the realm. Oh, there is coin there, but not as much as we need. Besides, that is my family's coin, not the realm's coin. I would be willing to offer some to the crown, but…"
"No," said Dany sharply. "I will not start my reign by robbing my lords. We shall have to raise coin in other ways."
"Taxes on the land and import duties," said Varys. "The traditional way. But hard to collect in wartime."
"When I was Hand to Joffrey I taxed the whorehouses and wine sinks of this city," Tyrion said. "They hated me for it, but still we raised some coin."
"Will it be enough?" she asked.
"No, Your Grace," said Varys. "Fewer such places exist now and the people that remain have less coin than before."
"My dear Varys," Tyrion said with a grin. "People you know not at all it seems. In times of trouble, they will spend more on the pleasures of the flesh, not less."
"Thank you my lord for schooling me on such matters," Varys replied. "But it will still not be enough."
"Do it," Dany commanded.
"They will despise you," Jon said in worry.
Dany sighed, feeling trapped. "We must raise money and we need food. When their bellies are full they will thank me…I hope. But raising that coin will take time. Right now we have to find a way to secure more food for the people. Let us send ships and letters east. Lord Varys, I believe Illyrio Mopatis in Pentos will be acceptable to sending us food now, with payment in the future."
"I am sure he will, Your Grace. After all he did help you and your brother a great deal in the past. I shall write to him at once. But I must warn you he will expect some consideration other than payment in the future…perhaps a lowering of taxes on imports."
"Offer him what you think appropriate," she told him. "But don't sell my whole kingdom."
"Of course not, Your Grace." Varys stood, dipped his head, and was gone.
"That just leaves the war," Tyrion said as he poured some wine for himself from a glass decanter on the table.
"The war will have to wait," Jon told them. "Everyone is tried and worn out. I think it best we wait here for a week at least. We should also send out letters to all we can, asking them to declare their loyalty and send us aid."
"Of course," Dany said. "Tyrion, I believe that is a task for a man of words."
"Most certainly." He gulped some wine, stood, and dipped his head and was soon gone as well, leaving Dany and Jon alone for the first time since Harrenhal. Everyone seemed to know how they felt for each other, but still they were cautious, and spent their nights apart on the road south.
They looked at each other across the table. "Not as easy as I thought it would be," she said.
"Nothing worth doing ever is…Your Grace."
She smiled. "You don't have to call me that when we are alone, Jon."
He came to her side and looked down at her belly, which was still not showing her condition. "How are you?" he asked with concern.
"Fine…not sick anymore, so that is good. Sam said all is well."
"Sam? You told Sam?" Jon said in surprise.
"Yes, he's our healer…he…what's wrong?"
"Nothing…just…I wanted us to be wed before anyone else found out. And Sam, gods love him, his mouth does run sometimes."
"He will keep our secret."
"Let us hope. Arya might suspect also. It was she who told me of your sickness."
"Yes…gods, her message about assassins. I have been thinking on it."
"So have I," Jon said. "She knows assassins…she's trained with them, but never before has she warned us about them. Maybe she has some information about a planned attack."
"Only one person would order such an attack."
"I know. But how can we protect you?"
"Me?" she said in alarm. "I am more worried about you."
"I can take care of myself.'
"Jon…sorry, but you have never faced such an enemy. In the east, I was trained from childhood to expect men with knives in the night, in the market, anywhere I went. I have a sense of it now, of who belongs where, and who doesn't. In the east I survived over a dozen attempts to kill me."
"Gods, I did not know."
"Few do. Barristan Selmy saved me once. Jorah, another time. And Varys at times sent assassins with one hand and word for me to run with the other. No, don't get mad. He was playing the game, preparing for my or my brother's return, keeping Robert happy while ensuring we would survive. If other men had sent the assassins we would have had no warnings of them."
"A dangerous game he played with your life."
"I am still here."
"Still, it is time you had a bodyguard, more than my sister. A Queensguard. Traditionally they have been picked from the best knights of the realm."
"Yes, perhaps you are right. But no knights. I will pick men from among the Unsullied and Dothraki. They I will trust with my life more than any Westrosi knights whose loyalty is not certain."
"As you wish."
"And what about you? Who will guard you?"
"I said…"
"No…I want someone…Bronn! Yes, perfect. He will be by your side always."
Jon looked to protest then nodded. "I suppose he is some brothel or wine sink this time of day."
Just then Varys came back. "A raven has arrived from Ser Cortnay, Your Grace. It seems the Dornish and Cersei have joined forces outside of Storm's End. Already they are preparing a large encampment, with siege lines facing the castle and other lines face north and west."
"Gods," Dany said. "How many men does she have now?"
"Well over 40,000 it appears."
The numbers made her heart sink. She looked at Jon. "And us?"
"Less than ten thousand."
"Plus two dragons," Varys said with a hopeful hint.
"And the castle," Jon added. "With Storm's End at their backs they will have to be wary. Maybe we can send reinforcements by sea. We must write back."
"A sound idea," Varys said. "But Ser Cortnay also says this is his last raven for the capital. Seems the enemy archers keep shooting them down. I'd hesitate to send word of our battle plans on such a dangerous route."
"Yes," Dany agreed. "We must be cautious. They could intercept our messages. And if the castle has already fallen we will be facing a very difficult situation, my lords."
Storm's End – Ser Gregor
Pain he had known most of his life. First came the headaches, when he was just a boy. The maesters said it was because he had grown so large, so fast, but he knew it was something else, in his head always was the pressure, dulling his senses, giving him a constant throbbing ache. Ale and wine helped, but soon it wasn't enough. Milk of the poppy was better, but expensive, and difficult to find at times. When the pain was at its worst he lashed out, and people got hurt…or died. His brother's face in the fire, his sister falling down the stairs in the family keep, his sword in his father's belly in the forest.
When his sister and father died and he had almost killed his brother a second time he fled to the Lannisters, and they gave him a purpose, a place in their ranks, and access to coin and the milk, to dull the pain.
So he served for years, a dog of war, going where Lord Tywin told him, killing who he told him to kill, including the Dornish woman and her brats. They have to die, he told Gregor at the gates to the Red Keep that bloody day, so Robert could hold the throne.
Years passed, years of boredom and failed marriages. Years where his brother and he were kept apart, for Sandor wanted his head, and Lord Tywin needed them both. Sandor still wanted his head, and said as much when they met briefly in the Dragonpit.
And then a new war began, and once more he was unleashed on his lord's enemies and all was right. But the Dornish never forgot or forgave what he had done. The Dornishman came for revenge. He was small, but agile…with poison on his spear. Such pain he had never known, filling his belly, making him scream…then came peace. He thought he was dead…he could rest at last.
But no….it was worse…much worse.
"You will serve the Queen," Qyburn said to him when the fog cleared and he realized he was still alive. He tried to speak but couldn't. He could hear and understand but his voice was gone, his vocal cords seemingly paralyzed. All he could do was nod his head. He felt no pain, no need to sleep, no desire for food or drink or women. The pains were gone but he was left with…nothing, except an awareness of this nothingness. When he saw his face reflected in a basin of water he knew he had truly become a monster.
So he served her, he fought her enemies, killed them, tortured them, soaked the ground with their blood. Now once more they asked him to do what he did best.
He stood outside her pavilion, on guard as always, as all around the men of two armies busied preparing siege lines. Her voice summoned him inside.
There she sat, the royal bitch, as he used to call her when he had a voice. His men laughed at that many times. She was his lord's daughter, the king's wife, but he knew how cold she was, and how much like her father she wanted to be. "She needs to grow a pair of balls first," one of his men had jested, and that brought more laughter as they ate and drank. The memory bothered him, for such joy and comradeship he would never have again. Now he had six new brothers, knights all, but they feared him, he knew, and could smell their fear when near him. He could cut them to pieces and not even care.
"Ser Gregor, we have a task for you," the Queen told him. She was sitting at a table, with Qyburn on one side and the tall blond Dornishman called Yronwood on the other. The weakling called Strickland was also there. The Dornishman gave him a cold stare but he only had eyes for the Queen. She nodded to Qyburn and he began to speak.
"Ser Gregor, there is an iron gate, in a cave on the seashore by the castle. It is heavily guarded. But we must have access. We need you to lead an assault, into the castle, and to the main gates. Fifty men you will lead, all Dornishmen. Once the cave tunnel is breached we can send two hundred men of the Golden Company to follow your party." He turned to Yronwood. "That should be sufficient?"
"Perhaps, depending on how many men they have."
"We will have surprise," said Strickland. "Once the killing starts they will panic." His eyes turned to Gregor. "Especially when they see him."
"Very well," the Queen said. "You leave after sunset, Ser Gregor. Dismissed."
He dipped his head, turned, and left. As he was exiting the tent flap, he heard Yronwood speak. "Does the brute even understand?"
"Oh, I assure you he does," Qyburn replied.
He heard, he understood…more than they knew.
The Dornish hated him, had for years, wanted him dead, one had tried to kill him already…and now they were here again. His Queen and brothers had gone to their camp to talk. Qyburn told him the Dornish would be offended if Gregor also went. Maybe so. But now this attack…Ser Gregor Clegane did not survive so many battles because of brute strength alone. He knew something was up. The Dornish had joined the Queen…but why?
There had to be only one answer. They have offered his head. If so, one other person would die…her, the bitch. Before death's warm embrace finally took him she would die as well.
Darkness came and Qyburn came to him. "It is time, my friend. I wish you fortune…and…be careful. Oh, dear."
He looked and sounded sad and now Gregor knew for certain. At times Qyburn spoke to him as a parent to a child and that somehow warmed Gregor's cold heart. But he could never forget it was this madman who had kept him alive in this state of nothingness when he should have just cut off his head and be done with it. When the bitch died, he would be next, his creator.
They took a roundabout route so prying eyes on the castle walls would not see them. There was no moon and the sky was cloudy, with a drizzle starting to fall. They moved slowly, a guide in front, then Strickland and one of his officers, Rivers, then Gregor, and fifty Dornishmen. Many were armed with crossbows, others had big wooden shields. Before they left, Rivers told them the plan.
"I'm leading you. There will be many enemy crossbow men inside. We use the shields to protect us, get close to the gate and jump out behind the shields and shoot them through the iron bars of the gate. Once we whittle them down, Ser Gregor will charge and open the gate. A simple iron chain and lock. Can you smash it?"
He nodded and Rivers nodded back. "Right. Once the gate is open we charge inside. No quarter until the whole castle surrenders. And no stopping for plunder."
"The Queen has one more command," Strickland said. "No rape, no murder. Any man who disobeys will be hung. Plunder will be divided equally, with you men getting first choice…if you live."
"Enough talk," said a Dornishman in front. "Time for blood."
"Good luck," Strickland said and he stepped aside. A half hour of stumbling and trying to be quiet brought them to the seaward side of the castle. Down on a narrow beach they walked, the sea to their right crashing on the beach, the spray and drizzle making them wet. To their left was nothing but darkness, the cliff and the high walls above.
Suddenly came the distinct twang of a crossbow firing from the darkness head of them. A Dornishman grunted, let out a groan, and crumpled to the sand. Their crossbows fired in return and for a few moments bolts flew back and forth. Gregor charged and saw four bowmen. One was already falling with a bolt in his throat, two were reloading, and the last saw Gregor and fired his crossbow in fear, the bolt going wide, and then he dropped his crossbow and ran. Gregor sliced the head off of one man, the left arm off another, and caught the last one from behind and skewered him.
In the melee one more Dornishman died, and two got wounded. The Dornish left two other men to help them back to camp. "No sense being quiet now," Rivers said. "Come on!"
Down they ran and there was the tunnel, a short river of water cutting through rock out to the sea, with the sea trying to push it back in at the same time. The water was shallow and they splashed through it to a flat place on the other side. As they did so more bolts came out of the dark tunnel, and another man died. But now shields were up and they formed a wall and advanced down the tunnel, half in the water, half not.
Down at the end they saw torches and many men behind an iron gate. For ten minutes they worked forward, men shouting, firing, reloading on both sides, cursing, bleeding, dying. Gregor waited for the chance to charge. Bolts bounced off his thick armor, bothering him not the least.
Finally Rivers gave the command. "CHARGE!"
Gregor ran from behind the shield wall, his massive sword in hand and in front of him he saw men's eyes go wide in terror. "Fuck!" someone shouted. "It's him!"
The few survivors ran before Gregor even got to the gate. His sword came down and the chain and lock were smashed. Up they went, inside. And behind him men stabbed and killed the wounded enemy.
A narrow set of stairs was around a bend, and up it Gregor went. Two brave souls at the top fired bolts at him but when they saw them bounce off his black armor they ran as well. More tunnels and rooms they came upon, filled with men, and a hard fight they had, but soon they prevailed, as reinforcements from the Golden Company joined them, and panic spread before the massive figure of Gregor Clegane slaughtering all he saw.
In an hour it was over. Behind them came more Dornishmen and men of the Golden Company. They rampaged through the castle, killing any armed man, even if he dropped his sword. Gregor killed over a dozen men and would have killed more but they fled when they saw him. His sword and armor were dripping in blood. Out into the outer courtyard they finally emerged, the sky still dark, but many torches and lanterns were about, giving them light to continue the killing. The hardest part was at the main gate where forty men fought till the end and men on battlements shot arrows and bolts down on them. Some of the Golden Company's deadly archers were inside by then and took care of those on high with precise volleys of arrows. Still, a dozen and a half Dornishmen and twenty or so of the Golden Company died as well, and many were wounded. As the main castle gates opened and the army outside it charged in, the survivors fled into the great central keep of the castle, including their leader.
From a high balcony Ser Cortnay Penrose shouted down curses at them. Rivers shouted back. "You have lost, Ser Cortnay. Surrender and we will spare everyone. If not, we will kill them all."
"Maybe so," he shouted back. "But the dragon queen will soon be here and roast you all alive."
A young girl was brought forth, held by two Golden Company men, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rivers looked at Ser Gregor. "Kill her."
The girl screamed, cried, struggled in the grip of the two men who held her. The girl was so like his sister…her death had been an accident. One morning he awoke, his head screaming in pain, and he had staggered from his bedroom down the stairs, seeking wine, when he bumped into her and she fell. Days later she was dead.
His sword came up, but did not fall. Rivers gave him an odd look, and then she was there, the bitch.
"What's all this?" the Queen demanded. With her was Strickland, Yronwood, Gregor's six brothers of the Queensguard, Qyburn, and a dozen other lords and sers, none of whom had done any fighting at all. Many men at arms carrying torches and lanterns surrounded them.
"Your Grace," Rivers said. "The castle is yours."
"I can see that," she snapped. "Why is Ser Gregor about to kill a little girl?"
"Penrose is hold up in the central keep. A little persuasion to make him open its gates."
"Fool," she said. "Ser Gregor, lower your sword." He did so. "We do not kill our subjects, idiots," the Queen continued. "Not ones so young anyway. Go girl, go to your family."
The girl ran away as fast as she could. "There will be no murder, no rape, I commanded," the Queen reminded them. "I need loyal subjects, not terrified lackeys."
"And what if Penrose does not surrender, Your Grace?" Strickland asked.
"Starve him out," Yronwood said. "Most of his garrison is dead, he is surrounded. Soon he will face a rebellion among whatever few followers he has left in there."
No sooner had he said these words than a head fell down at their feet from above. It was of an old man, grey haired and whiskered. "Ser Cortnay, I presume," Yronwood said.
Strickland stepped over and looked at the head in the mud. "It's him, all right."
The gates to the central keep opened and those inside surrendered. "Who killed him?" the Queen asked as about thirty men came out and laid down their arms, followed by many terrified smallfolk. They all got down on their knees before her.
A handsome young man dressed in chainmail spoke. "I did, Your Grace."
"Do I know you?" she asked, a curious look on her face.
"Yes, Your Grace. Ser Devin Haldain. I once served as a squire to the master of arms in King Robert's court."
"Of course. Now I remember." She looked at the head of Penrose and back to the boy. "Why did you kill him?"
"To prove my loyalty to you, Your Grace. And he was a fool. He refused your generous terms."
"Well done, Ser Devin. Pick up your sword. Rise and join me." He stood and came to her side. "A drink in my pavilion seems like a nice reward."
"I would be honored, Your Grace." The Queen and the boy knight started to walk back toward the main gates.
"Your Grace," Yronwood said. "We had a deal."
She stopped, turned and gave Gregor a long look, and then turned to Yronwood. "We did. Do as you please."
As all this was going on Gregor had watched them slowly move to surround him, the Dornishmen…he had been right, they wanted his head, and her words told him she had agreed.
From the depths of his soul he found his voice at last. Out it came, a grumbling, rumbling tortuous sound of a man who had lived hardly a day in peace, one word that those there would never forget.
"BITCHHHHHHH!"
His massive sword was already swinging when the word ended. Qyburn died first, cut in two at the waist, a strange look on his face, of surprise and shock, as his two bloody halves fell into the mud and snow of the courtyard.
Yronwood was next but he managed to duck his blow and run behind a dozen of his men. Gregor ignored him, and them, and charged the bitch. Two of his brothers and the young knight were the only ones able to step in front of her in time.
The boy died first, his head flying through the air like he had done to Ser Cortnay not so long ago.
His brothers were better, skilled in sword, and blows rained on his armor, front, back and side. His sword caught one under the left armpit, cut through armor, and blood poured out as he staggered away. The second he smashed in the face with his huge gauntlet covered left hand and the blow stunned the knight, who fell to the ground, hurt but not dead.
Then he felt something hit his back, penetrate armor and enter his flesh. A crossbow bolt, but it did not hurt at all, his senses were so dulled. Then a dozen more hit and bounced off of him. He turned to see his tormentors, all Dornishmen, men who had fought at his side, and now they were reloading.
"KILL HIM!" the bitch screamed as the four remaining Queensguard were dragging her towards the central keep and its open gate. Soon they were almost inside.
He could not reach her, knew it was too late, so he vented his wrath on the rest. Men died, legs and arms came off, heads rolled in the dirt, blow after blow hit him, some got through his steel, but he still stood. They kept trying to reach up and hit his well armored neck, aiming to cut off his head, and Yronwood shouted for them to do so, thinking this was the way to make him die. Then they threw ropes around him, tried to drag him down, but he just cut the ropes and used them to pull men close enough to kill them. They threw torches at him, tried to burn him with oil, but he killed the man carrying the barrel and it smashed open on hitting the ground and caught fire, burning three Dornishmen to death, their screams filling the air, the smell of burning flesh making many gag.
After more than twenty men died and a dozen more were gravelly wounded, the rest stood back, fear in every eye.
"He is not human!" Yronwood shouted in amazement and fear.
"For fuck's sake!" Rivers cursed. "Let him go before he kills you all!"
"No…never!" Yronwood said. He turned to his men. "We are thousands…he is but one man…beast…the monster who killed your prince! Killed our beloved Elia and her children. Who will have the honor?"
No one stepped forward.
And now Gregor laughed, the sound inhuman coming from his tortured vocal cords inside his helm. At least half a dozen ran away after that.
"DIE!" he screamed next and ten more fled.
"I will do it myself!" Yronwood said at last but as he tried to advance a half a dozen of his men dragged him away.
Gregor stood all alone now, a circle of wary men many paces away. "There is a horse," Rivers said, pointing to a large coal black horse nearby the main gates. "Take it…go."
"The bitch," Gregor said.
"She is not yours to kill."
"Kill."
"No…go, or I will tell my men to help the Dornish. We are too many, and soon you will die."
"Die…now…kill me."
"He wants to die," Strickland said. "I can't blame him. Go fall on your sword if that's want you want."
"Bitch…first."
Then something landed by his feet, stuck in the soft ground, a huge crossbow bolt, steel. He looked up, and on the battlements some Dornishmen had turned around a heavy crossbow like machine called a scorpion. Each bolt was six feet long and could easily go through his armor.
"Kill him!" Yronwood shouted up to them.
He could not fight this. He had to go…and kill the bitch another day. Men scattered as he ran to the horse, just as another bolt slammed into the ground where he had just been. The horse was big and strong, one of his six brothers' horses. As he rode through the gates another bolt missed his head by a hair and slammed into the castle wall.
Across the siege lines he rode, men standing and looking, but doing nothing. The guards at the northern wooden barrier on the Kingsroad tried to stop him but he rode straight on through and they jumped aside.
North he went, not knowing why…thought of turning around, letting them kill him anyway they could, ending his nothingness…and then he knew what to do. If one man could kill him in a fair fight it was his brother. But first he would get them to help him kill the bitch. He had heard Qyburn talking to her. The dragon queen was at Harrenhal. He would offer her his sword, help her defeat the bitch. Maybe Sandor was there as well. Soon it would be time to end their feud…after Cersei was dead.