XXI

The Sellsword

Bronn had been almost all over Westeros and to a number of the free cities. He'd been beyond the wall and on one occasion had trekked so far as to go off the maps into the land of Always Winter. All those sights great and small did nothing to prepare him for the sight of Minas Morgul.

They had passed from Ithilien into the beginning of a great valley flanked by black mountains. Herumor had explained that when the Volcano of Mount Doom erupted the ash would often fall upon the mountains and that the stone was white when cleaned. The fields leading into the valley started as grass, but gave way to fields full of pale wilted flowers with black stems. Here Herumor had instructed them to feed the horses from feedbags he'd brought in their supplies, for none of the animals would touch any of the plants in the vale.

Finally they stood before the city itself. Though the surroundings were dark and the sun glowed through the clouds only dimly the city was lit with a pale corpse-white light, and a strange vapor seemed to rise from the sharp angular walls.

The entire party was silent, even Shagga and Crakehall, who when together never shut their mouths for more than a few minutes, were awestruck.

Finally Tyrion spoke, "Well I'm sure it looks nicer on the inside."

Herumor nodded, "It is my lord, I have been here before. The lodgings for men are near the city center, though we will need to pass through the orcish districts."

Looking at those walls Bronn felt something… he realized it was fear, though a type of fear he didn't think he'd ever felt before. He'd feared his first battle, his first kill, his first woman… but this? "Lord Tyrion," he said suddenly, "I…" he didn't know what to say, suddenly feeling foolish. He looked to Crakehall and Shagga, who averted his gaze, he could tell the felt the same.

Clegane looked at them all with disgust, "It's only a city, and we are here to show the worth of the Westerlands." He turned to Tyrion, "My lord if these cowards will not accompany you by your command I will dispose of them here myself."

Tyrion had been staring at the city himself, but Clegane's words seemed to shake him out of it, "No. No, I don't think that's necessary. This place has an effect on men, like The Wall almost…" the little man sighed, "Herumor lead us on, any more and I fear I will not be able to continue."

Herumor waved his arms and took the lead, "Your feelings are understandable my lord, the Witch King of Angmar rules here, and he is beyond man now." Bronn could see something in Herumor resembling a shudder, but it was greatly repressed, "in the presence of higher beings it is not uncommon for mortal man to feel the limits of his form."

As they reached the great glowing gates of the city their fear didn't abate any, and Bronn noticed that Clegane had donned his great helm. Doesn't want us seeing his face, he thought, he's as scared as any of us. Bronn jumped as the gates creaked open, though he could see no one at the top of the wall that could've spotted them and he was sure Herumor had made no gestures or signals.

Nobody was there to greet them, and there were a handful of men walking the streets, but all seemed to be going somewhere just behind the row of buildings lining the street, and Bronn could swear at least one man was just circling the same building over and over.

"This way friends," Herumor said, pointing towards the tower in the city center, "we're to stay there."

The rest of the way there was no less unnerving. Bronn was certain the men walking the streets were an act now, for they said little and the city had an eerie silence about it. Crakehall rode close to him, "Sellsword, do you hear that?"

Bronn craned his neck and heard a distant chattering, like the scurrying of a million insects, "I do, what in seven hells is it?"

Crakehall scanned the alleyways, "I don't know… this is a foul place."

They reached the tower at last, they were greeted by a man in a black armor astride a great dark destrier. Like Herumor he had a certain regal air about him, and he was tall and broad shouldered with a taut angular face like he was carved from stone.

"I greet you Tyrion Lannister as the Mouth of Sauron the Great, Lord of Mordor and the East." The stranger's voice was as deep as the Stronboars, but more refined… smooth. Still, there was something off about it, as though someone else repeated his words in a whisper somewhere.

"Whatever you desire will be provided by the most gracious of hosts," the man continued.

Tyrion suddenly seemed to remember his role as envoy, "Many thanks… I'm sorry I don't think I caught your name ser."

The man smiled, there was nothing outwardly unfriendly about it but it still put Bronn on edge, "I am only The Mouth of Sauron, I neither need nor desire any other names or titles."

He turned to lead them into the keep at the city center. In here Bronn had to admit things did seem a bit nicer, it had the feel of a place where men lived and worked. A great hall had been set up with long tables, and Bronn could smell food cooking somewhere. Seeing the servants scurrying around Bronn realized something suddenly, they aren't human.

His startled gasp seemed to alert the Mouth, who turned to see that the rest of the party was having a similar realization. He laughed and gestured for some of the servants to come forth. Their skin ranged from a dark green to black, and they had slender pointed ears. Their faces were the worst though, with crooked teeth and beedy hungry eyes.

"These are orcs, do not let their appearance fool you, they are quite friendly to those who show the proper respect to the Great Eye."

Tyrion was skeptical, "Is that true?" he asked the orc, who jerked suddenly, clearly not used to being addressed, "are your… people friendly master orc?"

It looked at him suspiciously as if afraid of some trick, "we… we serve the master," it said in a raspy voice, "men are often here and we have at times entertained your kind as well Lord dwarf."

Tyrion's eyebrow raised, "My kind?" He paused a moment, "oh you must mean those dwarves from the mountains that Herumor spoke of. I'm afraid I'm just a very small man."

The orc seemed confused by this, "m'lord I must return to my work." He hurried back to the table and laid out silverware.

The dinner was not as boisterous or enjoyable as the one thrown for Faramir and Herumor back at the Tooth. It was some of the best food he'd ever eaten, a roasted chicken covered in some sort of brown glaze paired with a bright yellow cornbread, but he felt unable to relax and enjoy it somehow and even the wine, which was as strong as anything in the Westerlands, did nothing to help him.

He slept fitfully in the group barracks that had been offered to the men from the West, and though he knew Clegane and Crakehall had been offered their own rooms they had both opted to stay in there with the rest of the Lannister men.

The next morning Bronn had gone to see Tyrion but had found the little lord's quarters empty. He flagged down a passing orc who was going from room to room collecting chamberpots, "you there, where's Lord Tyrion gone?" The orc was quiet, it was a small wiry thing, and Bronn towered over it. He quickly pinned it against the wall, "WHERE?" he bellowed.

"The little one went to speak with the Mouth!" it squeaked suddenly, "they're not to be disturbed!"

Bronn growled and released the creature, looking back into Tyrion's room he saw the green cloth Faramir had given him. Absentmindedly he tucked it into his pocket before going back to the men's quarters.

The mood was foul to say the least, Clegane brooded in a corner drinking milk of the poppy, and Crakehall was halfheartedly trying to get someone to spar with him in the yard, but no one wanted to go outside. Shagga sat atop a stool silently, polishing one of his axes with a dirty grey rag. They did not see Tyrion again for the rest of the day.

The next day Bronn decided again to look for the dwarf, but this time he took Shagga with him. He didn't feel comfortable being alone here. We'll be talking about my fee after this, he walked quickly through the courtyard from the barracks to the door. The wind blew and it sounded like a dying man's groan, Seven hells, I'm done with gold, I'm asking for a castle.

Tyrion was gone from his room again, he searched the hallway for another orc, and when it tried to run Shagga grabbed it by the neck and lifted it up. Without being prompted it spoke, "He's with the mouth!" it rasped.

Bronn rubbed his temples, frustrated, "where are they?"
The creature was choking now and with a gesture Bronn told Shagga to let him down. The thing gasped for breath before it replied, "the great tower, they're in the tower…" before Bronn could ask anything else it ran on all fours away from the two men.

Shagga growled, "Shagga has had enough, where is this tower?"

Bronn returned his gaze, "this way, I saw the door when I was here yesterday… I think it's time we collected our employer." They came to the door leading to the highest tower in Minas Morgul. Bronn attempted to pull it open but couldn't. Turning to Shagga, "it's locked" he said.

Shagga gestured for him to step aside, doing so Bronn saw him heft one of his axes and bring it down on the doorhandle. With a clanging sound the axe shattered and Shagga fell backwards. The big man groaned on the ground and Bronn examined the door.

"Not even a dent," he scowled. "Come on, we aren't getting in."

When they returned the barracks was in an uproar, it seemed Crakehall and Clegane were trying to calm the men.

"They took him off to eat him!" one man said, panicked.

"I hear men's teeth are like gold here! They took 'em one by one!" another man said in a high pitched tone.

"QUIET!" Crakehall bellowed.

The men quickly quieted and Bronn took the chance to ask, "Ser Crakehall, what's going on here?"

Clegane and Crakehall turned to them and Crakehall sighed, "One of the men's gone missing. Supposedly he went to take a shit and never came back."

Bronn frowned, "when was this?"

"At least two hours past."

Shagga snarled, "it's time to leave this place, they've taken the halfman and they will take us now too."

"The savage is right," Clegane echoed, "If we must we can cut a path to the gates, but they will not take me in my sleep." Agreement went up around the room and Clegane continued, "I say we leave tomorrow morning, they say these orcs cannot bear the sunlight."

Bronn thought a moment, he truly didn't wish to leave Tyrion here but… a man had to look out for himself first. He felt the green cloth in his pocket, "We'll need help getting out of here, Faramir promised it to us if we bore this cloth under our standard." He lifted it out of his pocket, showing the room.

"Fat lot of good that does us now," Crakehall barked, "how's he supposed to see it? And what can he do if he does?"

Bronn thought a moment, "perhaps if we could get a man to the gates with a standard we could drape it over the wall, whatever aid they can offer we're in no position to turn it down."

Shagga stepped forward, "Few of the men Shagga has killed heard him coming. Shagga can sneak to the walls to do this thing and none will know."

The sellsword sighed, "I suppose we've got a plan then, tomorrow Shagga will alert Faramir and the rest of us will ride to meet you at the gate?"

Clegane and Crakehall looked to one another, "If that's how it's to be then…" the Mountain muttered. Unspoken was the question of how they'd open the gates while presumably under attack, but it was a mad and desperate plan in any case.

They slept in shifts, though Bronn found himself unable to get much. He'd often slept soundly on the eve of battle, death was something he hoped to avoid of course, but it was something he understood enough that it's threat brought adrenaline and action not cowering and fear… but somehow he thought that something more than death would await them if their escape failed.

His uneasy rest was broken as the Strongboar shook him awake. "Sun's up, time to get moving."

He nodded and quickly threw his chainmail over the leathers he normally wore. Everyone was quiet as they armed and armored themselves, he noted that Shagga and the standard were gone and guessed that the Wildman had left just before dawn. The men marched in single file out the door and moved as one to the stables, the black and red lacquered armor of the Lannister redguards shining in the low sunlight that penetrated the Morgul Vale.

Luckily their horses were still there, and once mounted up the men moved together towards the small gate of the central keep. Seeing their approach one of Herumor's men walked to them, "M'lords why are you-" Bronn heard a sudden *whoosh* and the thrown spear caught the man through the eyesocket. Bronn didn't see who'd thrown it and he didn't care. He dismounted and pulled a small weighted lever he knew would cause the doors to open.

As they pulled apart they could see the streets were inhabited in earnest now, hundreds, maybe thousands of orcs walked to and fro going about their business. With the gate opened he saw them all pause and glance the way of the citadel. He drew his sword.

"CHARGE!" He shouted, and somewhere he heard Crakehall and Clegane echo his words. The orcs were unprepared for a fight and easily scattered, the party ran down any that stood in their way. Feeling his bravery return Bronn reached his sword to one side and lopped the head off one of the scurrying beasts who might've otherwise escaped.

They reached the gates, which were again unmanned. He saw a pair of great wheels in front of them which he realized would need to be turned. Gesturing to the redcloaks he barked, "get those moving!" The men saw his purpose and jumped off their horses and moved to the turnstiles.

By now the orcs had rallied. The creatures scurried like ants out of the buildings, covered in crude jagged black armor and bearing blades ranging from simple swords to curved scythes and spears.

The men stayed as close as they could while still protecting the two groups on the turnstiles, the wave hit them with a savagery Bronn had never seen in men… until with a roar he saw Shagga emerge from the gatehouse swinging his remaining great axe.

In spite of the situation Crakehall laughed, "Good to see the oaf again isn't it?" He bellowed.

Bronn found himself grinning a little too, before he turned and began parrying the strikes of a pair of orcs who'd slipped through the skirmish line. He stabbed one and with a quick motion pulled his knife and threw it into the other's skull. Glancing to his side he saw Clegane kill three of the creatures with a great swipe of that terrible longsword, the orcs fell back in fear.

Suddenly there was a loud thudding noise and around the corner onto the main street Bronn saw… well he wasn't sure what it was, it was at least a head taller than Gregor Clegane and it carried a great black hammer, rough stony scales covered it's head. The thing roared and rush towards them.

"Spears!" Bronn shouted, and hearing him a few of the redcloaks with pikes tried to form up to stop the thing's charge, but it swept them aside with ease, tossing them high into the air.

"Fuck this," Bronn mumbled to himself, and prepared to attempt to climb the wall when he saw Clegane lumber forth screaming like a madman. The big thing saw him and raised it's hammer but with a quick blow Clegane struck at it's wrist. Although the strike made a sound closer to steel hitting stone than flesh the creature roared with pain and dropped the hammer. It raised a fist to strike but Clegane raised his shield, the largest Bronn had ever seen, to block it. Stumbling from the blow the great knight fell to his knees. Pulling his arm back he suddenly pushed his enormous blade through it's throat. The thing fell backwards onto several orcs that were behind it, and the mass fell back before Clegane's wrath, for the man had entered a state of legendary bloodlust.

"Stop this senseless violence!" a voice roared over the battle.

Bronn took a moment to recognize it, Tyrion?! He thought madly, but as the orcs fell back and parted he could see the little lord sitting atop a horse in the middle of the street alongside the Mouth of Sauron.

Everyone was in a state of shocked silence before Crakehall stepped forward, "Lord Tyrion… we'd thought, well…"

"Thought you'd embarrass me? Thought you'd insult Sauron the Great by running amok in his city like this?" Tyrion's voice was bolder and stronger than Bronn remembered... The little man sighed, "Your conduct means we must leave early, I was enjoying many enlightened discussions with my friend here," he gestured to the Mouth, who wore an amused grin, "I'd hoped you could all be more mature than this."

The Mouth spoke now, "Worry not lord Tyrion, we will forget this slight if you only bear our message to your lord father." He gestured and a group of orcs quickly moved around the men and began opening the gates. "Go freely friends."

Tyrion rode to them, and after a moment of confusion the men mounted up and began the ride out of the city following his lead. Looking around Bronn saw they had lost perhaps half the redcloaks, though both the knights and Shagga appeared to be intact.

Bronn rode up alongside Tyrion, "Tyrion is everything-"

"Silence" The little man raised his hand, Bronn could see it bore a golden ring with a square blue stone set in it. "You have not performed to my expectations Bronn, we will discuss this further when we have returned."

Bronn sighed angrily, "Yes, yes we will."