The sun beat down mercilessly on the Boneway as the traveller made the journey across the last few miles with the deliberation of somebody who was aware that He was possibly marching to His death. All it had taken was an execution; well an execution and a kidnapping which caused it and soon the words came true as they always did,
"Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted."
A dynasty three centuries old, which had survived Rebellions, invasions, Civil wars and calamities wiped out in less than a year by armies led by an Old Man, a feeble lord, a Second Son and an Oaf. That's permanence for you. He had heard about the Sack of the Capital just before He left and a part of him knew that if he did die, it would be a compensation that He would not find out exactly what they did to the Children.
"Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent"
The voice reminded Him and He could not help but imagine that this was a kill He would enjoy; to sink His blade into the Lion lord's heart and to reveal to Him in His dying moments that all His power could not keep him alive, that it was nothing more than an illusion, easily dispersed as the sun cuts through the morning mist. He knew that people in His line of work were not supposed to find any joy in their actions, but if one of the greatest mentors could admit to such desires so could he, to an extent. The name would be listed but for now, to business.
He shook his head slightly to get rid of the thoughts swarming around His head like flies around a corpse and tightened the hold on His reins. There was work to do. He took a gulp from His water skin, enjoying the relief provided by cold spring water inside while silently reminding himself to conserve the limited supply. He loosened the sword in its scabbard, same for the long knife. He rechecked the pouch holding the darts and flasks and proceeded with the rest; the spear was strapped to the saddle, too long to be carried on His back and the shield on his back was hidden by a cloak to prevent the heated metal from burning him and blackened to prevent its glint from giving Him away. As he finished the last of His checking it came in sight, the Tower of Joy.
His brother had been a true Dornishman, full of Pride and with the same easy wit which the Rest of the Seven Kingdoms considered insufferable. He, on the other hand, was the bastard Son and did not have the freedom for such easy graces. True, he was treated better, but with it came the expectation that He would make something of Himself to account for his "good luck". Forsaking all that for a Creed was not something that Lord Allyrion or the rest of His family would consider as such.
"Everything is Permitted"
The voice reminded Him and He did take responsibility for His actions, both good and bad. The banishment was something He could live with but now that He was so close to Home, the temptation to just walk away was almost overwhelming. He could almost hear His brother japing about how badly the tower was named, judging from the screams emanating from within its walls. He both wished for and against that His brother had matured beyond that. Godsgrace could not afford a Jester, fool or weakling for a lord but He also personally did not like the idea of His brother losing Himself to intrigue. He took out His Myrish eye and peered through it.
"Hide in Plain Sight"
This came off as a warning and He could see why. The three Kingsguard at the foot of the walkway was bad, the archers were even worse. He could have held his own against a moderate member of the guard like Darry (who at that moment was feeding crows beside the Ruby Ford) but He would be a fool to try against the likes of Dayne. Dawn was distinctive, even from a distance and He had no intention of feeling its touch. Hightower was strong, yes, but ageing and the long-repressed bias against Reach men was at play but He could not risk it, especially since there was another one there. The White Bat was marginally better than Darry, and he also had numbers on His side.
Still, in the end; they were men and He could have baited them away from each other so that He could subdue them before the Wolf Lord appeared and blood flowed. It was just his luck that the presence of archers had to ruin it all. He counted four, not enough to fend an army off but more than enough to pepper Him with holes should he try to ride straight ahead and bait the knights. They had to die, but not just yet. He entered a cave which He had explored back in previous journeys and unhitched his horse. He did not light a fire but did relieve himself, he could not afford to shit himself and give himself away by the stink the next day. So he waited.
The sun passed its journey almost maddeningly slowly against the sky as the shadows lengthened and the creatures of the night stirred. The woman had stopped screaming but now, the sudden silence was driving him mad. If she died, his country would be in flames. The Kingsguard seemed to take alternate four-hour shifts outside, and four inside in a day. The remaining hours they slept and there were always two on duty at a time, each having had only two hours of duty before receiving the new partner, with none ever truly exhausted. It was quite a clever plan.
The archers though, they could not coordinate as well. Always, there were two on duty, with two staggered shifts a night and two staggered shifts during the day, all of six hours each. When dusk came, that would be his best opportunity. One archer would be exhausted and the other would be blinded after being used to the bright sun. It was time to act.
The waterskin had become empty a while back, but the cold night air had left small droplets of water trickling on the walls, ready to be collected. It was not enough to refill it but still better than going thirsty. He strung his bow, Dornish Yew with a horn backing and arrows armed with a bodkin or barbed arrowhead. The blade honed and ready and his darts recoated. At the end the sword, forged by an orphan who had some skill with the ways of the Rhoynar and blacked to avoid catching the light, it lay hidden inside his padded scabbard.
He climbed down and peered at the targets. He only had a few minutes till the shift changed. The sun had mostly set but the silhouette of the tower showed up quite clearly. He was half a shadow here with his Dun robes but the Kingsguard would not fail to notice the archer fall. He had to get to the other side. He bridled his horse and put in a special tool of his, and then bid it an almost tearful farewell. After tonight, the horse would not look at him; much less allow him to ride. Then he slapped it on the rump and watched it trot away.
On its back was a quite convincing mannequin wearing a loyalist coat of armour with arrows sticking out of the back. The sight alone was enough to get their attention, but what happened next stunned them. As a primitive fuse finished ticking the body burst into flames and the horse stampeded as it tried to escape from its fiery passenger. The Kingsguards were forced to step forward and help the poor beast as it tried to run them over. He looked away before it happened, partly because he could not bear to see what had happened to his loyal companion, but also because every single person who was staring at the sight was now effectively night blind.
As he reached the base, he hid in its shadow and allowed his breathing to become controlled. As he looked up; there could not have been a better chance than this. One of the archers had his back to him, almost right above him with his back begging for an arrow.
It received the wish, as the archer keeled over, preceded by a silent whoosh, the sound of an arrow passing through chainmail and a soft grunt as the air was knocked out of him and he fell, right on top of the assassin. That was far noisier.
The Horse's screams had muffled most of it, but even the most inept of archers would notice if their fellow guard would have vanished without a trace. He had to act quickly. He climbed carefully, making sure that he didn't knock aside any loose masonry or even worse, show up next to a window. A Dornishman heavily armed at that, entering a holdfast which held the She-wolf would not be taken well.
He reached the top more or less the same time the screaming had died away and about the time that the second archer noticed that he was all alone on the roof, remembered the sound of something falling a few minutes ago and putting two-and-two together started looking over the edge. He received a knife in the neck for his troubles as the Assassin finally reached the top of the crenellations. He twisted the blade and pulled back, choking the archer on his own blood. The fates finally seemed to be smiling on him as he pulled himself up to the roof.
Scratch that, fate was a merciless bitch intent on tormenting him. Taking out two unsuspecting dazed archers was difficult enough given these situations, taking out two with their bows lined at him would be impossible, in those same circumstances.
He pulled up his shield just about the same time as they released. The first arrow had actually managed to penetrate through his shield, hammered steel coated with bronze, though not completely. 'Dornish Yew' he thought vaguely, as the second arrow deflected off the edge.
He charged the first archer while throwing a dart at the second archer to distract him. Pulling up his long knife, he feinted a strike, and the archer in front reflexively used his own dagger to counter as expected. Instead of steel striking steel, the archer was met with a face full of hammered steel, knocking out a few teeth and leaving him dazed. He finished the job with a strike to the heart. He had no chance for respite as at that moment an arrow lodged itself firmly in his knee. Due to the robes, it would have been difficult to tell what part was armoured and what was not but a sure bet would have been the back of the knee. The second archer, rather than rushing in to help his comrade had decided to take his chances at longer range and loosed an arrow. The gamble paid off and the emboldened archer pulled out his knife to finish the job. Stupid, the Assassin thought about the both of them as he tried to pull the arrow out. The archer tried to stab him only to be met by the hidden lamellar and gambeson and instead received a belly-full of cold steel as the Assassin turned around and struck him with the flat of his hand. With some vindication, the Assassin twisted and pulled his hand free and let the archer fall to the ground.
He had managed to pull the arrow free and treated the leg but the damage was done. He could not put much weight on it without a brace and he might lose it without stitches. There would be time for that later. For now; there were three white cloaks inside who had to be reminded that if they decided to put honour before sense, they would be dead men.