Kill the Boy 25
- Outside Yunkai -
Jaime Lannister and Jon Connington rode side by side, something that hadn't happened for many years. Behind them, Missandei and young Griff are talking, mostly the young man trying very awkwardly to flirt with the beautiful southern islander, but they were managing to hold a conversation.
Behind all of them rode the Golden Company.
"You've certainly done well for yourself," Jaime notes after the prolonged silence becomes too unbearable.
Jon gives him a look, then smirks, "Aye, I have. Can't say the same for you. Fucking your sister, how Targaryen of you."
Jaime frowns, but he doesn't rise to the jab. He does reply though, using his usual whit to deflect the irritation, "Well who do you think we learnt it from?"
"Hey!" Young Griff growls from behind.
Jaime smirks and Jon groans, "Damnit boy, you're giving yourself away."
"So he is one of the Dragons," Jaime nods, "Where'd you find a Blackfyre? I thought they all died out after the Ninepenny War."
"He isn't a Blackfyre," Jon sighs.
"Then who is he?"
Griff kicks his horse forward to ride beside his guardian, "I am Aegon Targeryen, rightful King of Westeros."
"Oh," Jaime blinks, then a small smile forms on his face, relief washing over him.
"Do you doubt me, Kinglsayer?" Aegon growls.
Jaime looks at the boy, and the smile that plays across his lips is genuine, "No, I don't think I do. I'm just glad to hear you are alive."
"What?" Aegon's narrowed eyes widen in disbelief.
"I am," Jaime asserts, ignoring Connington's disbelieving gaze, "When I killed the Mad King, I didn't know my father had set the Mountain on you, if I had, I would have gone to save you and your family."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not a monster, boy," Jaime snaps, "Nobody deserves the Mountain. He is a sick fuck that should have been strangled in the crib."
"Then why did you kill my grandfather?"
"Because he wanted to burn King's Landing to the ground."
"What?"
"Wildfire?" Connington asks, and Jaime nods. The former commander of the King's forces shudders, then tells Aegon, "horrible stuff, your grandfather enjoyed burning men alive with it. To think he'd do it to the whole city."
"He ordered his pet pyromancer to do it, stabbed them both before the order could leave the throne room," Jaime tells them, "I'm not sorry I did it, not sorry the Targeryens lost their power. There've been more mad men in your family than in most."
Jaime gives Aegon a hard look, and the boy's gaze stays locked to his.
- Whitewoods Keep -
Ghost watched Drogon cautiously, and the dragon returned the wariness in kind. While its siblings had grown accustomed to the direwolves of the Starks, the black dragon had kept its distance. It hadn't been able to stay very far, having to stay near its mother, Doreah, or Irri the entire time that they were in Winterfell, but it did not eagerly associate with them.
Rhaegal was already on Ghost's back, eagerly making use of the direwolf's back as a mat to sleep on. Drogon gives its sibling a chuck, which is half heartedly answered by the sleepy green dragon.
"How old are they?" Jon asks from the other end of the room. He, Dany, and Ygritte were watching the showdown with interest.
"Months," Dany tells him, "they were born of the fire that I burned my husband's remains in."
"Will they get bigger?" Ygritte asks.
"They should, if they are not confined."
"Conwhat?"
"Trapped in a small space," Dany tells her, "Maester Luwin explained that the dragons my family chained in the Dragonpit atrophied over the generations."
Ygritte narrows her eyes at her, but Dany is looking at Ghost and Drogon. Jon helps her, "They got smaller."
Ygritte smiles at him. Sometimes she despaired at what the southern cunts had done to the common tongue. It was like they wanted to make a mockery of plain speaking, and the so called highborn kneelers were the worst offenders. She knew they talked shite about her where they thought she couldn't hear. The maids were eager to tell her so, they appreciated some plain speak and good meat.
"How big'll they grow?" she asks, "We could use 'em when the dead come."
"The dead?" Dany looks between the two of them, confused.
Jon nods, "Like your dragons, other things are emerging from legend. White Walkers, the Others, they march south to the Wall, and the dead march with them."
Dany raises an eyebrow, but the serious frowns on both his and Ygritte's faces stop her from speaking so plainly as to call them liars, "you've seen them?"
"Yes."
"Aye."
Dany looks between them, and shivers at the certainty they share.
- Outskirts of Whitewoods -
Ramsay led the Mountain through the people, the heavy furs blocking all of their features. Gregor had killed three more travelers to steal their garb, he was so cold. The big man was a summer boy, no two ways about it. Ramsay and Myranda just wore a layer to protect themselves from the harsher winds, they were children of the North.
"We better be close, boy," Gregor growls, though it is muffled by the layers of cloth over his face.
Ramsey looks back at him, and sees that Gregor is pulling at the cloth over his face, his eyes obscured. It looks like now is his chance. Taking a quick look at Myranda, atop their horse, he was glad to see she was not looking.
He pulls his dagger and thrusts.
"Ahrg!" Gregor bellows, and the Mountain falls back a step, clutching at the dagger now sticking out of his side, "You're going to pay for that, boy!"
"No," Ramsay laughs, and then he dives under the horse and exclaims, "I rather think I won't!"
The eyes of the crowd turn as one when Myranda gives a shriek of pain as the Mountain's massive sword cleaves her and her horse nearly in two. Ramsay chuckles, thinking the fate more than deserving. The girl had crossed him, and watched with enjoyment as he was debased.
It was he who debased, dehumanized, made mockery of the gods, old and new. Sh was now free to explain her own participation to those same gods!
"Oi!" Comes a call, and he sees two men approaching Gregor rather than retreating.
They enter the large circle that has grown around the dead girl and horse. Their killer tears off his hood and growls at the two, "Who the fuck are you."
"I am Robb Stark," the younger of the two returns, drawing his sword, "Who are you?"
"Not the Stark I was supposed to go after first, but you'll do," Gregor snorts, then looks to the other man, "And you?"
"Tormund, you big ugly fuck," the red headed man tells him, then points behind the Mountain, "And that's Wun Wun."
Gregor Clegane turns, and he had to look up to meet a face for the first time in more than twenty years. The giant, Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, looks down at the tall human and growls, "Whhhhoooo?"
Gregor doesn't answer, instead he leaps backwards. He is going to kill the Stark and retreat, get the fuck out of the frozen North. He'd tell Cersei that…. The Stark was still alive?
Gregor's sword swings over Robb Stark's head as Tormund tackles the boy to the ground. The furred wildling rolls to his feet and growls, "You just dun gone and fucked yerself."
"They only one here fucked is you!" Gregor roars, and swings his blade at the wildling. Tormund jumps back. The massive knight tries to press the advantage, but his sword is caught on his backswing.
He turns to glare, and instead bauks when he sees Wun Wun holding the sword by the blade, the giant growling in pain as he grabs the sword that to any other would be massive but to him was the size of a long dagger.
Gregor drops his blade and moves away from the giant, who drops his sword and swings the now open palm towards him. The Mountain easily evages, and it is clear that though the giant is slow, he has the power in his blows to crush even a big man like Clegane.
Falling back makes Gregor nearly trip over his actual prey, though. Robb Stark's blade slices through the cloth of his furs, but dings of the steel of his plate. Gregor nearly laughs, and he grabs the boy's sword arm. With a triumphant twist, he breaks it.
Robb gives a bellow of pain, agony coursing through him as his forearm is snapped and then twisted unnaturally. He nearly drops to his knees, but the pain that comes with stretching his destroyed arm forces his feet to keep carrying him.
Gregor reaches for the boy's throat, intent on ripping it out, but Tormund is there, roaring in anger. The wildling leaps onto Gregor's back, and the Mountain has to raise a hand to block the red head berserker's blade from skewering him through his own throat.
"Staaark!" Wun Wun growls, and grabs Robb Stark, pulling the boy away from Gregor.
The Mountain growls, intent on hanging onto his prize. He grabs Tormund's blade and pulls, smashing the back of his head into the wildling's nose, then stabbing down at Robb Stark with the sword now in his hand.
Robb, through the pain, sees this, and grabs out. He doesn't grab for the blade, he grabs for the dagger, tearing it from the Mountain's side with a yell. Gregor rears back in pain, tugging at Robb Stark's arm as he does.
There is surprisingly little resistance, and he looks down. He blinks at the hand and wrist in his grip, then at the Stark boy being held up by Wun Wun. Robb glares defiantly at him, his remaining hand holding the dagger Ramsay had stabbed him with and pointing it at him. The blade drips with blood, not just the Mountain's, but Stark's as well.
"You've got balls, kid," Gregor chuckles, throwing the hand on the ground, "I'm gonna have fun cutting them off."
"Not today, you won't," Comes a new voice, and Gregor turns slightly. There is a middle aged man standing there, as well as about thirty Stark guards armed with bow or crossbow. The man growls, "you have two choices, surrender or die."
Gregor sees the danger, and bows his head, "Surrender."
"Get Lord Stark to the Maester, no!" the man calls, and the guards circle Gregor to get to the Stark boy.
Robb Stark collapses, then. He'd given as best he could, but he'd just had his arm broken and he'd then had to cut it off to avoid dying. He wasn't going to be going anywhere for a while, and once Gregor got away from the guards he'd be able to pay the boy one final visit.
He's surprised when an arrow goes through his knee, and bellows in pain as his leg collapses out from under him. He turns to glare, and he sees Ramsay, standing atop one of the buildings not far away, a shit eating grin on his face and a bow in his hand.
- Inside Whitewoods Keep -
A guard bursts into the chamber, startling Ghost and the dragons. Jon leaps to his feet, "What is it?"
"My Lord! It's your brother, he's been gravely injured!"
"What! By who?"
"A massive man that came into Whitewoods," Gered, who'd burst in, tells him, "It's the Mountain, Gregor Clegane."
"What?" Jon grabs his sword and rushes out of the room, Gered and the women trailing behind, "Nevermind that, where's Robb?"
"Maester Martyn and Samwell are tending to him in their chamber."
Jon turns down a hallway, intent on seeing his brother, "What happened? What did the Mountain do to my brother?"
"He… he took his hand."
Jon freezes, then he turns back to Gered.
Gered stops, takes a moment, then tells him, "The Mountain made a scene, slew a young girl on the outskirts of Whitewoods. He did so nearly right in front of Tormund Giantsbane and Lord Stark. They and Wun Weg… Wun Wun… confronted him. In the fight your brother was grabbed and his arm snapped. From what Master Jory told me, he saw Robb cut his own hand off rather than lose his life to the Mountain."
Jon's face twists, anger and pain for his brother's plight bleeding into him. He takes a moment, "Is the Mountain a threat?"
"At the moment? No, he took an arrow to the knee when the guards took him in, and they were not kind to him. He's in the cells now."
"Good," Jon nods to himself, "arrange for him to be brought to the courtyard in an hour, I will see to my brother, then I will take his head."