This chapter is relatively short compared to the others, but I've chosen to leave this part as a standalone entity to emphasize its significance within the storyline. I hope you enjoy this brief yet pivotal moment in the narrative.
This is a story based on the Game of Thrones books and TV series, but be warned, it's a very AU (Alternate Universe) story. If you're someone who doesn't enjoy a story that deviates a lot from canon, where certain characters may act out of character, or if you're not a fan of romance with a good amount of fluff, and a story that ultimately has a happy ending, then this may not be the right story for you.
CLEGANE'S CAMP: NEAR THE RED FORK, ON THE BORDER WITH THE RIVERLANDS 298 AC
In the war camp near the border with the Riverlands, Gregor Clegane loomed over the map spread out on the table. His massive frame cast a shadow over the figures gathered around, their faces etched with a mix of fear and reverence. His eyes, cold and calculating, flickered with a perverse delight as he absorbed the news of Lord Jon Arryn's execution.
"It seems the realm dances to a new tune," he growled, his voice a gravelly rasp that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to listen. The corners of his mouth curled into a twisted smirk.
"What are your orders, my lord?" one of his men dared to ask at that moment.
"Crossing the Red Fork" Gregor replied, "There are three small villages: Wendish Town, Sherrer, and Mummer's Ford. Perhaps they could become our training grounds, where our swords may once again taste the flavor of blood."
One of his lieutenants, Ser Arlan, a seasoned warrior with a face marred by the scars of battle, stepped forward cautiously. "My lord, should we not wait for instructions from Casterly Rock? Lord Tywin's plans may require our cooperation."
Gregor's laughter boomed like thunder, filling the air with an unsettling menace. "Tywin trusts in my judgment," he declared, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "We shall not wait like cowards. We will cross the river and unleash hell upon the unsuspecting villages of the Riverlands."
"But what about the repercussions, my lord?" another soldier dared to question, his voice trembling with fear. "The Riverlords will not take kindly to our aggression."
Gregor's grin widened, a deranged glint in his eyes. "Let them come," he snarled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his greatsword. "We will welcome their challenge and revel in the slaughter that follows."
"Ser Arlan, prepare the men," he continued with a tone of voice that brooked no further discussion. "We depart in 2 hours."
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER (NEAR WENDISH TOWN, THE RIVERLANDS)
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson hue across the sky, Gregor Clegane led his men into the heart of the Riverlands. The sound of their boots trampling the earth echoed like a death knell, heralding the impending massacre. The village lay ahead, its inhabitants unaware of the impending doom hurtling towards them. Gregor's lips twisted into a cruel smile as he surveyed his surroundings, the scent of fear and desperation tantalizing his senses.
"Spread out," he commanded, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Leave no stone unturned. Let them taste the wrath of House Clegane."
With ruthless efficiency, Gregor's men descended upon the village like a swarm of locusts, tearing through homes and families with savage abandon. The air filled with the screams of the innocent, a symphony of agony that fueled Gregor's perverse pleasure.
He waded through the chaos, his sword dripping with blood, a crazed glint in his eyes. Each swing of his blade was a dance of death, a macabre display of power and dominance.
But amidst the carnage, a flicker of resistance emerged. A group of villagers, driven by desperation and fueled by righteous fury, dared to stand against the tide of destruction. With makeshift weapons in hand, they confronted Gregor and his men, their defiance a beacon of hope in the darkness.
Gregor's laughter boomed like thunder as he met their challenge head-on, relishing the opportunity to crush their spirits beneath his heel. The clash of steel rang out, a cacophony of violence that echoed through the night.
Blood soaked the earth, painting the landscape in shades of crimson as the battle raged on. But in the end, there could be only one outcome. Gregor, consumed by his bloodlust, emerged victorious, his enemies lying broken and defeated at his feet.
As the last echoes of battle faded into the night, Gregor stood amidst the ruins of the village, a triumphant smile playing on his lips. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue, a reminder of the power he wielded and the fear he instilled in all who dared to oppose him.
The stench of death and burning flesh filled the air as Gregor surveyed the chaos around him. Flames engulfed the homes, casting eerie shadows that danced upon the blood-soaked ground. He watched with satisfaction as his men set fire to the remaining structures, the crackling of the flames mingling with the agonized cries of the dying.
A twisted grin spread across Gregor's face as he walked among the carnage, reveling in the destruction he had wrought. He kicked aside the lifeless bodies that littered the streets, his laughter echoing through the night like the wail of a banshee.
In the flickering light of the inferno, Gregor's eyes gleamed with a savage delight. He had unleashed hell upon the village, and it lay in ruins at his feet. And as he stood amidst the devastation, he knew that this was only the beginning of the terror he would unleash upon the Riverlands.