Hello everyone, I know have been gone for a while, but I am back. I cannot guarantee quick updates, but I will be continuing this troy. Thanks for all who review and follow, and favorite. I know this may seem a short chapter, and I apologize if the fight is less than satisfactory. read, enjoy, and review.

Rathmore Prison.

Like any prison, no matter the location or name, Rathmore Prison struck fear in the hearts of any Ikemmian, especially the citezens of Winterfell, to which the prison was conjoined. A pitch black fortress that contained 6 subterranean levels of cells full of Ikemmu's worst villains and blackguards. A place of nightmares, guarded and watched by men and women with nothing left to fear. It was rumored to be inescapable. Indeed, in a way it was, but not simply through virtue of vigilant guards, strong cells and locks, and firm walls. The simple truth was that for the past 20 years, no one tried to escape

The reason for this simple truth was not just the vigilant guards, the locks and strong cells, and the firm walls. It was the power and reputation of its Warden.

Chulain Nadar. The Grey Death, some called him. A legend among the Shadar-Kai. Warmaster of Ikemmu. General of its armies. Battle-brother to his king in all but blood. He is equal parts feared and adored by the soldiers under his command.

Now, he stands in an arena on the ground floor level of the prison, his prison. He is stripped to his waist, displaying a physique that had been forged in a life of hardship and endless battle. He was not tall, nor short, but somewhere in the middle. Scars, tattoos, and piercings of all varieties cover his gray torso and face. Amidst his long, dark grey hair are silver piercings, from which dangle silver chains the length of his gray hair. Wrapping around his gray hands and snaking up both sides of his gray arms until it connects at his gray shoulder blades is a continuous tattoo of a spiked chain, with actual piercings to represent the spikes. In his grey hands he holds the same weapon, wrapped around his gray hands and arms.

Currently, he faces three prisoners, each whose crimes are as dark as a Westerosi night. These had been observed as being the most troublesome, the ones most likely to create problems in his prison.

They are why he needs to set an example, as he always does.

He speaks to them. His reasons are simple, and to the point. "Behind me is a locked gate. Beyond that gate lies something that you have learned to treasure greatly..." He stares at them with his grey eyes. They recoiled slightly. He continues. "Freedom."

"However, Freedom must be earned." He gestures to a weapons rack. "You have been rested and fed. With your weapon of choice, you will attack me. Should you manage to draw my blood, or even kill me, then the gate will open, and you will be free."

He pauses.

"However, should I kill you, then you will be naught but food for the ravens, and a home for maggots and worms. Should you not attack me, the guards will take you back to your cell, and beat you until your arms and legs are broken. Am I understood?"

The three look at one another. Then they walk over to the weapons. One grabs two daggers, another a long sword, and the third a battle axe.

Nadar's body tenses in anticipation.

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The one with the long sword attacked first, charging in blindly. His weapon was raised for an overhead slash. Nadar easily sidestepped it. As the prisoner charged past, Nadar stuck out his foot, and he fell onto Nadar's waiting arm, where his neck was pierced by the chain's razors. Grabbing the prisoner's head, Nadar yanked him forward, ripping open the man's neck, and leaving him to leak life blood onto the dirt ground.

Battle-axe and daggers moved to either side of him. 'Flanking. Smart', Nadar mused. He loosens the chain around his arms.

Battle axe charged from the left, Daggers from the right. Battle-axe swung his weapon sideways. Daggers tries to rush. Nadar weaves around the short blades, and ducks the axe, spinning and letting his hair fan out. From the cries of pain, the blades at the end of his head chains have worked as they were supposed to. The two prisoner's retreat. But Nadar sprints toward Battle-Axe. Ducking another wild swing, he sprung up, a chain wrapped cut to the prisoner's jaw, simultaneously breaking and cutting. As the prisoner drops his weapon and clutches his ruined jaw, Nadar wrapped his chain around the main's neck, and pulled. A moment later, the man's head and body are on the ground. Adamantine was the sharpest metal, after all.

Now there was only one left. Daggers. Nadar saw that he had a terrified expression on his face, with scratches bleeding from Nadar's hair blades. Nadar looked at him with his head cocked to one side, and arms spread out wide, as if to say "Well?"

Daggers charged. Nadar did as well, his chain fully out and swinging over his head like a halo of doom. As they got within striking distance, Nadar brought his keening chain down upon Daggers' head. As he did so, Daggers threw one of his weapons, even as the chain cut his head open. The fight was over, but the dagger cut Nadar's cheek. the General did not flinch.

He looked at the shredded body, and then motioned to two guards who had been silently watching.

"Take this one and bury him outside the gate."

"Why, General"?

"He drew my blood. Thus, he is free. Throw the others into a pit."

A simple man. A simple soldier. A Gray man. General Nadar