The Starks' Keeper - Chapter 9
Hi there! Very sorry to be this late. I had so many things to handle… I missed you a lot, I really hope you'll still be there when this chapter will be posted.
I know I haven't been as present as I wished it. This chapter was by far the longest so I decided to divide it and to post what happens next in the few coming days. It was very complicated for me to write because of the difficulty of the plot, I really tried to describe the actions of the different characters as if it was a GOT episode. SanSan won't be present in this and I truly apologize, but they'll come back asap, I promise.
Note: I'm very stressed about this one, I really hope you'll like it!
"Where's Arya?"
Brienne's voice was nothing but a slight noise in all the agitation. The Stark camp had been attacked, and now it was a real battlefield. Ser Davos looked at her after taking his sword out of a dead body. Noticing the concern in his eyes, she understood the man had no idea where the Stark girl was.
The Unsullied and Dothraki were powerful. They had taken them all by surprise, just after the night had fallen. Ser Brienne whipped the blood off her forehead as she observed the scene around her. If the Unsullied and the Northmen had once been allies, now all of it was gone. They were facing each other with nothing but hatred, fighting like animals.
This was too much. Too many battles, too much blood.
Too many deaths.
She looked at the Keep – or what was left of it – and felt her heart miss a beat. Queen Sansa was there. She had to reach her, she had to protect her. As another soldier attacked her, she let a loud roar out of her throat and fought with all the strength she had in her body, ready to do anything in her power to protect Catlyn Stark's daughters.
She killed another man. And another. And then, she stopped counting. An angered and loud cry caught her attention. She turned on her left and saw Arya Stark fight against a Dothraki. The fury in her eyes completely distorted her face. In a few minutes, the man was dead, drowning in his own blood. The girl lifted her eyes and met Brienne's glance. They were both covered with blood, but it did not matter. They shared a silent glance, understanding the seriousness of the situation, and they were attacked again and focused back on what they were best at: fighting.
Arya could not think – not for now. It was as if she was dancing, as if the time had stopped all of a sudden. All around her was nothing but screams, sword noises and bloodshed.
When Brienne looked back at Arya, the girl was pulling a dead body into a small street. She shivered when she noticed the redness of Arya's eyes as the girl unsheathed a cold blade before bringing it to the man's face.
What was she doing?
She did not have the time to wonder, for a Dothraki charged her on his mount. Ser Brienne jumped and cut the man's head while he was still on his horse. She managed to calm the beast down and to mount it, her bloody sword glinting in the night. All she could see was the Red Keep, its majestic shadow still noticeable in the night. She was coming. Coming for her Queen.
"The Unsullied rose up. They attacked several members of the Council… They even freed the Mountain."
Sansa felt her heartbeat echoing in her rib cage. She had left Bran just a few seconds after Ser Jaime, and she had also been alerted by the agitation in the halls. Now, she was observing Jaime Lannister and noticed the fear in his eyes as he listened to the squire he was holding by the neck. She rushed herself towards them.
"Where is Jon?" she inquired.
Noticing her presence, Jaime let go of the boy, who curtsied in front of the future Queen in the North.
"I don't know, your Grace. Your brother and the Hound are missing."
She felt Ser Jaime's attention focus on her and managed to hold back the fear that was growing in her heart. She had to think. And she had to act. Now was not the time to panic.
"I want at least ten Northmen to protect King Bran," she said loudly.
Everyone around stopped. Several Stark men approached her and unsheathed their swords in silence.
"Yes, my Queen," said one of them in a majestic bow.
Jaime observed the young woman who was standing right next to him. She would be a magnificent ruler, and she perfectly knew it. Once again, she made him think of a young Cersei. Beautiful, fierce, cunning. And yet, Lady Catlyn's compassion was also strong in her. He could tell she would excel in the ruling. She nodded to all the soldiers that were in front of her, and ordered them to reach her brother's apartments.
"Protect the King," she commanded.
Some of them disappeared in the halls, others ran in the opposite direction, ready to fight, once again.
"What do we do?" Jaime finally asked her.
She had almost forgotten the Lannister was still here.
I don't know.
Sandor growled as he tried to get rid of his chains. Two Unsullied had come to his cell. One of them had punched him in the face, but if it was supposed to weaken him, it had only risen the Hound's fury. His heart was pounding in his chest as he tried to focus, his vision blurring. He felt like a savage animal in a cage. He looked at his hands and saw the blood on them and on his chains. Turning around, he noticed both of the Unsullied bodies, their blood still fresh on the ground. How had he managed to kill them both? He could not tell – plus, he did not care.
He looked around him and saw the door of his cell was open. Good. All he could think about was his craving for freedom. He seized one of the dead soldiers' spear and left his bloody cell for good.
People were screaming out there. Something was wrong. Still holding the spear, the Hound felt his anger get him, and he let it flow through his veins, ready to fight. He had been treated like a fool, but he had waited enough. Now nothing would prevent him to kill Gregor.
Tyrion could feel the blood filling his mouth, but he could not see a thing. After he had left his King's room, someone had kicked him in the face as he was making his way through the stairs. The impact broke his jawbone. The same person had put a bag on his face, and now he was completely blind. His hands and were tied, and someone was pulling his ties so violently he had fallen four times.
The pain was unbearable. He could hear the people surrounding him. They were talking in Valyrian.
"Nāpāstre", he heard them say.
Traitor.
Therefore, he had been captured by a bunch of Unsullied. As his captors made him walk for a very long moment, he could hear screams around him. He wanted to talk to them, to summon them to free him or negotiate his fate, but he could not. He knew why he was here. He could not speak. The blood was still filling his throat, his pain was driving him crazy, but it was nothing in comparison of the shame he was feeling.
For he was a traitor.
When he felt the bag being removed from his head, the cold air of the night slapped his face. Everything was dark, and Tyrion realised his eyes were too hurt to allow him to decipher any form around him. All he could hear was the calm sound of the Sea. He presumed they were in a cove.
Tyrion blinked several times and lifted his head. Someone was in front of him, looking at him as if he was nothing but a pest.
His heart pained him as he recognized Grey Worm.
He tried to make a sound, but the thick blood in his mouth forced him to spit first on the sand.
"Lord Tyrion Lannister," Grey Worm started. "You betrayed Queen Daenerys."
"You know I did not do it on purpose. I –"
Before he could end his sentence, he felt a hand slap him in the face with unbelievable strength. It made him bleed even more, and the pain made him wince as two warm tears reached his cheeks. He felt miserable.
"Silence," Grey Worm ordered.
His voice was placid. Had he gone mad as well? Was it his plan? To avenge his beloved Queen by killing all the men who had failed her?
All was so calm here, with the peaceful noise of the waves. Tyrion could still hear the screams coming from the city, and the truth hit him painfully. The Unsullied had decided to end what the Dragon Queen had started. They were now slaughtering the last survivors of the Great Fire.
Where were the others?
His thoughts stopped as Grey Worm pursued:
"You will pay for this. You will pay for the rightful Queen."
Could not he see that it was useless now? Daenerys was gone, and Tyrion would be haunted forever by this young and beautiful woman he had loved with all his heart.
How foolish they had all been to believe that a small Council would have been enough to handle what was now left of Westeros. King Bran had made Tyrion his Hand, he had forgiven Jon Snow. No one had listened to Grey Worm's warnings. And now there he was. He would die as a traitor.
He observed Grey Worm as the latter started to look away. Someone was coming. Seeing the hatred growing in Grey Worm's eyes, Tyrion realised he was not the one the Unsullied abhorred the most.
A few seconds later, another man was on his knees right next to Tyrion. The Imp felt his stomach burn at the sight of Jon Snow. The man was as pale as ice, so thin Tyrion wondered when was the last time he had eaten. He looked like a dead man.
Jon had received the same punishment than Tyrion. His hands were tied, his face was bruised, but the Lannister had the horrible feeling that Jon had not even fought back. He seemed empty. The Stark boy looked at Grey Worm as silent tears formed in his eyes.
All Grey Worm could give him in return was a glacial glance filled with loathing.
Tyrion looked at him painfully, hoping the previous King in the North would look back at him, but nothing happened. It was as if Jon knew what was happening, or worse.
As if Jon had wanted this to happen.
Sansa was trying to think. Jon was in danger. Bran as well.
Where was Arya?
She jumped as someone grabbed her arm. Although he had been severely wounded, Jaime Lannister had not lost all of his strength.
"What are you doing?" she inquired before freeing herself from his grasp.
"I'm taking you to the King's chambers."
She was about to reciprocate, but he interrupted her:
"Do you see another option?"
She could not answer him. So many thoughts were in her head now, overwhelming her body as she realised she did not know what to do. What kind of ruler would let his men die while patiently sitting on a chair? She remembered when she had waited hours aside with Queen Cersei and the other women of the Keep during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Or when she had hidden in the caves with Tyrion during the Battle of Winterfell as many others were facing the Dead. But it had nothing to do with this situation. Now, she was about to become a Queen. She had to think differently.
"I'm not going," she simply answered.
"Beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. I won't go back knowing my men are in danger as well as my brother and sister."
"Is King Bran not your brother? Trust me, your Grace, don't try to play the brave here."
She stepped back.
"I'm not playing the brave, I'm just doing what's right. If you want to reach King Bran's apartments, feel free to do it. I'm not going. I have to be with my men."
Gods! Could the Starks realise how stupid they were sometimes? Always blinded by their notion of power, always trying to do the rightest thing in any circumstance. Jaime wanted to let the girl go and die on her own, but he noticed the pride in her eyes. He had seen it before, but not in Sansa's eyes. In her mother's.
"Fine," he abandoned. "Since you've decided to risk your life, at least I'll go with you."
"I don't need – "
"Well listen to me, Highness. Your dear Jon has been taken and you feel very concerned, but I'm sure the fucking Unsullied also kidnapped Tyrion. So if you'll excuse me, I don't need your permission to leave the Keep and cross this bloody hell at your side."
Sansa frowned. Even if Ser Jaime had talked with anger, she had the weird feeling Tyrion was not the only reason why he wanted to lead her out of the Keep. Oddly enough, she deciphered the Lannister wanted her protection.
Now was not the time to ask him his true reasons. She followed him.
"My Lord, behind you!"
Gendry jumped as he realised this sentence was meant for him. He definitely was not used to be called "Lord". His camp had been established right next to the Keep, and therefore it was the last bulwark to protect King Bran.
He turned around and felt his heart jump in his throat. A gigantic monster was right in front of him, its eyes as red as blood and fire. What was this thing?
Gendry jumped with all his strength on his left, avoiding the beast's smash. He had seen Death, in many of its forms, but the thing that was standing in front of him was not alive yet not dead. It was wearing a black armour and a great helmet that was hiding its face, but those eyes – those eyes were the ones of the Seven Hells.
"I need men!" Gendry shouted.
He would not be able to face this beast on his own.
"We need to be quick."
Ser Jaime had brought Sansa in one of the hidden places of the Keep. They were both making their way through a small staircase, barely lightened by some candles. Suddenly, the Lannister stopped.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Someone's coming."
Sansa's breath stopped automatically and she silently squeezed the dagger Arya had given her before the Battle of Winterfell. Jaime internally cursed himself for not having any weapon. They had no escape. He quickly lifted his crutch as he heard their assailant get closer. It was a spiral staircase, and Jaime hoped he would hit the person coming in the head, violently enough to make him fall back. The steps got closer, and suddenly, Jaime was face to face with a man, a sharped knife right on his throat.
Sansa felt her heart jump, but then a laugh made her thrill:
"What were you 'bout to do with your crutch?"
She had already seen the man who was now addressing Jaime as if he was a friend. An amused smile was on his face before he burst into laughter:
"Ser Jaime Lannister, the Crutch Knight!"
"Enough," Jaime growled.
"As if you'd be able to kill me. I'm sure the lass right behind you would make a better rival."
"Talking about a "lass", may I remind you your addressing Lady Sansa Stark, the future Queen in the North?"
Jaime felt filled enough as he saw Bronn's surprised expression.
"Of course! My apologies, Your Grace," he said with a curtsy. "Very complicated to recognise a face in these dark passages."
"And you are?" Sansa asked.
"Ser Bronn, Your Highness. Of the Blackwater."
Now, she could remember who the man was. He had always been with Lord Tyrion when she was still in King's Landing. She had not talked with him a lot, for the man was coarse.
"And what are you doing here, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?" inquired Jaime, mockingly imitating Bronn's voice.
"I'm a fighter, y'know. I see agitations in the halls, I follow it. Let me guess," he asked Sansa, "you're looking for your prisoner brother, aye?"
"That's exact," she answered.
"We need to leave the Keep as fast as possible."
"Fair enough, come with me then," Bronn stated.
He lifted his head an saw Jaime and Sansa's dubious glances.
"Alright, I can tell you don't really trust me, but knowing the place swarms of Unsullied and Dothraki, and you both don't really know how to fight, I think I'm the best option here, don't you think?"
Jaime sighed. The bastard was right.
"You betrayed Queen Daenerys."
Grey Worm was growling, internally boiling with hatred. In front of him was the men Daenerys had trusted and cared for, and in return, they had both destroyed her. Missandei had died in front of them, and Daenerys had avenged her death by burning King's Landing to the ground. And for that, Jon Snow had slaughtered her. The man she had loved and with whom she wanted to share her world.
He observed them. How miserable they were. Jon's face was buried under the darkness of his hair, and Tyrion's eyes – full of tears – were looking at him with an emotion Grey Worm could not decipher. It was too late for remorse.
"Where is the third prisoner?" he asked his men in Valyrian.
"Black Rat and Bloody Rodent did not arrive yet," answered one of the soldiers.
This answer made him clench his jaw. The Hound – that was how everyone called him in Westeros – was a strong man, difficult to handle. After all, he was the Mountain's little brother, and the Mountain – or rather the beast – had been difficult to release. But after Grey Worm had given him its previous weapons and armour, Ser Gregor had calmed down and left his cell.
Grey Worm hoped the Mountain was having his fun outside. All of the people in Westeros seemed to fear him. Now they were served.
But what to do with Tyrion and Jon, knowing Sandor Clegane was still missing? Grey Worm knew he could not wait. He had to act.
"Grey Worm, please," he heard Tyrion say, "listen to me!"
That was enough. The Unsullied leader approached the Imp and threatened him with a sharp dagger.
"The next time you speak," he rumbled, "your tongue is cut."
Tyrion loudly swallowed. Grey Worm stood up and made his way towards Jon, who was still sitting in the sand, his hands tied in his back, his hair hiding his wounded face. It was as if looking at a statue. The man was physically afflicted with his guiltiness.
Grey Worm would do him a favour if he kills him, Tyrion realised.
"You," said the Unsullied. "You fucked the Queen."
Jon lifted his head, facing the man who was addressing him as if he was nothing but a cockroach.
"She loved you. She trusted you. And you killed her."
Jon was silent, facing his captor with empty eyes.
"And for that, you'll be the first one to die."
Sansa was still following Bronn. The man truly knew the Keep, and he was quick. Ser Jaime was right behind them, although his wounded leg slowed him considerably. He recognized where Bronn was leading the Stark girl. Soon, they were all near the shore, the Keep right behind them.
"The Queen asked you to bring her to her men," Jaime reproached.
"Aye, I heard that," answered Bronn as he turned around. "But knowing we're only three, and you're not the knight you used to be, I preferred to take a safer way."
Jaime wanted to punch him in the face. He internally swore against the man and was about to tell something scathing, but Bronn stopped suddenly. He turned around and grabbed Sansa's arms, hiding them behind a great rock.
"What is it?" Jaime whispered.
"Shhhhh," Bronn hushed him.
Sansa felt her throat swell as Bronn silently mouthed them "Un-sull-ied". She slowly extended her head and managed to hold a gasp. Over ten meters away, Grey Worm was standing in front of Jon and Tyrion. Six other Unsullied were standing around the prisoners. The sight of Jon made her feel sick. He looked like a dead man, his paleness emphasised by the red colour of the torches around them.
So that was Grey Worm's plan? To capture Tyrion and Jon?
The truth hit Sansa in the face. Not to capture them. To execute them.
"We need to do something," she ordered.
"We can't, Your Grace," Bronn whispered. "They'd kill us in a blink!"
She looked again, feeling her heartbeat race faster and faster.
"And for that, you'll be the first one to die."
Grey Worm's words were as dark as the night surrounding them. He had gone completely mad. One of the soldiers approached her brother and pulled his hair violently, exposing his neck.
No. This could not be happening. Jon's face was the one of a ghost. He was sitting in the sand, silent as a stone as cold tears were going down his cheeks, simply waiting for the blade.
He looked like her father. Exactly like him. She was about to shout his name but felt Bronn's hands on her mouth. He strongly held her against him, for he knew she was about to do something stupid. Sansa felt as if she was on the Capitol again, trying to shout to King Joffrey to pardon Eddard Stark.
She saw a great sword lifted in the air as its blade glinted in the moonlight, and she closed her eyes, waiting for what would now be the rest of her life.
A life without Jon.
She could not face it. She could not. She stopped her struggle and felt her heart slow down as she was about to let the darkness consume her. Jaime looked at her and felt sorry for what he was seeing. Sansa Stark had become the poor girl she had been once. The girl that had lost everything.
He had to do something. For her and for Tyrion, who was also sitting in the sand, his blood staining the grains.
But before he made a move, a noise he knew too well caught his ears. The sound of a throat bleed. The Unsullied who was holding the executioner sword was now bleeding out on the sand, a gaping wound distorting his throat, as the other soldiers watched him die in shock. All the eyes focused on the killer, who was one of them.
Then, everything happened fast. Before Grey Worm could say something, the Unsullied soldier faced the other ones in an incomprehensible chaos. Tyrion could not believe his own eyes. What was happening? On his right, Jon Snow collapsed, and it was only at this moment that the Imp noticed a great cut on the man's abdomen. The former King in the North had been stabbed like a lamb, and that was why he had been incapable to pronounce a word.
Tyrion took advantage of the situation to approach Jon. He wanted to keep the man's attention, waiting for any help to come, but as he tried to pronounce a word, he felt the blood thick in his mouth.
Around them, the Unsullied were massacred by one of their kind.
Sansa, Bronn, and Jaime could not realise what was happening, but they could not look away.
The soldier was quick and powerful. He cut their legs, their hands, anything he could to annihilate his assailants. Finally, they were all dead.
All except Grey Worm.
The latter tried to decipher the face hidden behind the helmet. An Unsullied would never kill one of his own. The man standing in front of him was a monster.
"What have you done?" Grey Worm spat in Valyrian.
No answer.
The man in front of him silently seized the sword that had been supposed to execute the Queenslayer. In a mad shout, Grey Worm jumped on the man who was now his greatest enemy.
"Let go of me!" Sansa ordered Bronn as she struggled against him.
Jon fell. He needs me.
That was all she could think about for now. Jaime still observed the fight and cursed all the Gods he knew for his incapacity to act. Tyrion was here, trying to help the Stark Bastard, and Jaime was incapable to make a move. He was too slow because of his leg, he could not run, and yet that was all he wanted to do.
Grey Worm fought with all his strength, but although his enemy was not stronger than him, he still was faster. He was not fighting like an Unsullied. He was cunning and light, always one step ahead. Before he managed to make another move, he felt something cold pierce his left leg. Then, something warm flew against his skin.
Pain. It was painful.
He did not even manage to look at it, for he could not stand anymore. He fell on the floor, crawling on his back as he fiercely observed the man who had managed to hurt him.
"I've never wanted your death," the man said without any accent.
"Who are… you?"
The man slowly took his helmet off. Grey Worm frowned, still crawling back.
Tyrion felt a shiver as the man brought his hand to his face.
With a quick move, it was not a man anymore, but a girl.
Arya Stark.
Grey Worm gasped as he understood what was happening. He tried to get one of the spears on the floor, but his hand was cut off before he could seize it. He let out a bestial growl of pain and brought his bloody stump against his chest.
"As I said," Arya pursued, "I've never wanted your death."
Grey Worm's shouts continued, but she did not care. She had made sure to wound him severely enough to make sure he would not be able to charge her. But she wanted him to listen to her.
"But… you threatened the people I care about. First, you captured the Hound."
She slowly approached him, still holding the sword in her hand.
"Then, you rioted against the King. You wounded Jon, and you almost killed him."
Grey Worm looked at her, pain glinting in his eyes. He knew what was about to come.
"You're a fighter. I see that. You're loyal. I understand. But you threatened my family tonight."
The Unsullied looked at her and finally accepted his fate. Nothing was worth fighting for in this world. His men were lying on the ground, his Queen was gone, Missandei was dead.
Tyrion squinted as he saw the man look at Arya Stark one last time, and simply nod. He lifted his helmet and threw it away. The moment after, Arya lifted her sword, and with a quick move, removed Grey Worm's head from his body.
Time stopped.
Sandor had managed to leave the Keep for he had seen his brother cell was empty. Despite of the chaos all around him, he could only focus on Gregor.
"Have you seen Sansa?"
He knew that voice.
Brienne of fucking Tarth.
He looked at the woman who was standing just a few inches next to him. Her blond hair was covered with blood and mud. She looked exactly like the day they had faced each other.
The day she had almost killed him.
"I don't know," he answered.
Sansa Stark was not his priority anymore.
"Where's Jon Snow?"
He growled in anger:
"I don't know either, I don't care either."
Sandor looked around, searching for his brother. He knew he was outside, he knew he had been freed. Brienne gave up and let the man alone. She was close to the Keep now.
"Retreat!"
As she was making her way towards the Red fortress, a man's voice caught her attention. She saw the young Gendry Baratheon run away with a few men. The boy was holding a huge hammer in his hands as if it was the most precious thing in the Seven Kingdoms.
But she was not prepared for what was right behind them.
The Mountain.
A man tried to charge him, but he was roughly dismembered the moment after. It was as if Death had come in person to mow down the survivors of the Great Fire.
The last time Brienne had seen him, it was during his fight against Oberyn Martell, the Viper. Ser Gregor Clegane had squashed the man's skull as if it was made of paper. The image was flawless in Brienne's mind, she knew she would remember it forever.
Ser Brienne shivered as she felt the Mountain's eyes on her. Whatever this thing was, it was not human anymore.
Gendry had run as fast as possible, taking the most men he could with him. They had tried to face the monster but it seemed to be a lost cause. The young Baratheon had almost lost an arm in the process, and the pain that was burning his nerves right under his chest plate was driving him mad. As another soldier was killed by the giant, Gendry hid behind a wall, his hands tightening around his hammer. Tonight was probably his last moment on earth.
"My Lord, what do we do?"
The man beside him was about the same age. Gendry hated this role. He had never asked to be the one in charge, he had never wanted to be the lord of Storm's End. How many men had died because he was nothing but a former blacksmith who did not know how to give orders?
He saw that many Dothraki and Unsullied were trying to reach the Red Keep. He knew the King was in danger.
Stark soldiers needed backup.
When he finally looked behind him, Gendry saw a tall man standing in the alley, wearing a golden armour. The man fiercely faced Ser Gregor, who was approaching him, his eyes as red as blood. Gendry rapidly realised it was not a man.
It was Ser Brienne.
I know... That's an unnerving cliffhanger, but I prefered to cut the chapter. I truly think it would the reading, knowing I have many things to explain. Please, please review, this chapter is by far the one that stressed me the most!