So, finishing the chapter in 2020 did not work out for me after all, unfortunately. That being said, this is the longest part ever, which is also somehow a fitting ending for the longest chapter ever. This time, unusually for a chapter finale, there will be a choice at the very end, so choose carefully! Also, I got an exciting announcement below, as well as the usual chapter end questions. Though the part itself is going to feature some pretty hefty moments, I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless and I look forward for hearing your thoughts!
Drent
To his surprise, the Baratheon knight did not resist as Drent put him in chains, though his Bar Emmon companion stared daggers at them while Edonia did the same to him. In the end, however, he allowed them to capture him without fighting back, which was more than what Drent expected from him. With both knights in chains, he allowed himself a moment to look over the chaos that had erupted in the courtyard.
Under the cover of the night, dozens of soldiers had approached the castle. With the far gate sabotaged, they had now stormed the courtyard before Lord Buckler's men had been ready. What followed was a brutal fight, one where the soldiers of Bronzegate were quite obviously outnumbered. They hadn't expected a fight so soon, not within their castle and Drent feared that many of them would not survive the night. But he could change this. He had their commander in chains and if they had been deceived as he claimed, then perhaps they could end this, they could force the soldiers to surrender in exchange for their commander. If anything, Orys Baratheon struck him as a man who would honour such a deal.
“I swear I had nothing to do with this”, Orys claimed and Drent shot him a glare. “Then prove it”, he replied in a sharp tone. “But you'll be doing it as our prisoner. I won't be taking any chances. Either your men stand down at your command, or I'll make sure you'll spend the rest of your days in King Argilac's dungeon”
Orys gave him a nod. “Fair enough”, he agreed. “I'm not trying to deceive you, but I can't blame you for being cautious” He narrowed his eyes, though briefly, and it gave him a harshness Drent hadn't expected to see in such an otherwise calm man. “In your position, I would do the same”, the knight then added. “So then, Drent Golton, lead the way. Perhaps we can end this madness”
He went with them willingly, as Drent led him and Iwan Bar Emmon down the stairs. By now, the Targaryen soldiers had reached their portion of the courtyard and the Buckler soldiers were desperately trying to build up a proper line of defence. Drent and Edonia hurried to remain behind their own lines, while Orys Baratheon looked at the fighting in the distance with obvious anger on his face.
“We need to get to the Great Hall”, he spoke. “If Quingar is behind this, then he undoubtedly has a plan on how to get rid of Lord Buckler and Ser Emphryus” Drent narrowed his eyes. “It's worse than that”, he replied. “The sons of Lord Buckler, Fell and Errol are here. If Quingar takes this castle and the sons of Lord Fell and Errol hostage...”
“The north of your kingdom would be open, yes indeed”, Orys confirmed. “Make no mistake, I know we will meet as enemies at some point during my liege's campaign, but I don't want it to be now, or like this. My liege wishes to rule over these lands, not bring up his future subjects against him by defiling the laws of hospitality”
“And yet, you brought this Quingar guy to our keep”, Edonia hissed, as they hurried towards the Great Hall. Drent was glad for the darkness around them, for the Targaryen soldiers who were currently fighting against the Buckler men a few dozen feet away from them would have surely hurried towards their leader if they were to see him in chains. “You trusted him enough to bring him here with you”
Orys sighed, before he gave her a nod. “A shameful mistake”, he admitted. “I knew Quingar would be difficult to work with, but he is the son of one of King Aegon's most loyal bannermen, so he was forced on me. I assure you, once we end this, he will be punished accordingly” He glanced towards the Great Hall. “I know words mean little, but I hope my actions can prove my good will. If your Lord Buckler has it, Quingar will rot in Bronzegate's dungeon before nightfall”
By now, the Great Hall had come into view and Drent tensed up as he saw the situation in front of it. The main gate was open as well, a trail of bloodshed from the gatehouse all the way to the hall. In front of the open doors, a host of Targaryen soldiers had gathered, holding against the main force of Emphryus' men. From inside the Great Hall, Drent heard the noise of a prolonged battle.
The Stormlanders had assumed their positions hastily, defending against the larger Targaryen host that pushed against them from the gates, while trying to break through the force that held the entrance to the Great Hall at the same time. It was a losing battle, even if the Targaryen army seemed equally overwhelmed by how swift the violence had started.
“Hold on...”, Orys growled. “The men at the gates... Let me talk to them, please” Drent gulped, as they slowly approached the Stormlander soldiers. Some of them had noticed them already, though with him and Edonia obviously belonging to their side of the battle, none had approached them yet. This was about to change though and Drent could not hide his surprise as he spotted the commander of their hastily assembled army. Warrick Fell led them, still clad in the fine clothes he had worn for the feast, though now equipped with a simple longsword and a shield. Without his armour, he wisely remained away from the frontlines, shouting orders and trying to lead the soldiers to the best of his ability.
In this moment, their eyes met and the commander lowered his weapon as he saw just whom they were escorting towards him. “Drent Golton?”, Warrick asked, as he hurried towards them. Drent gave him a nod, as the knight briefly glared from him to Orys Baratheon. “I thought you were back in the Hall already. Now you're here, with the enemy commander in chains”
“And what are you doing here, Ser Warrick?”, Drent asked in return. “I thought you were by Lord Buckler's side” Warrick shook his head. “Had to get some fresh air before things got bad. Just in time to assemble the defence when the Targaryen cowards massacred the gate guards and let their soldiers in”, he explained. With anger, more severely than what Drent had seen from him even during their earlier talk, he now glared at Orys. “But I see your treachery helped you little, Ser”, he spat. “I promise you, if we die today, I'll make sure you'll die with us”
Orys sighed. “Is it so hard to believe that this is not my doing?”, he replied. “As a token of good faith, I decided to accompany Drent willingly. Even allowed him to put me in irons. In return, I only ask that you hear me out” A more hot-headed man would have surely dismissed the Targaryen knight by now, but despite his obvious anger, Drent was actually impressed how calm Warrick remained. “Speak then”, he agreed.
“Quingar Qoherys”, Orys told him. “I did not expect such treachery from him, but Ser Iwan here did” Warrick gave him a nod. “Takes a traitor to know one, doesn't it, Bar Emmon?”, he interjected and Iwan Bar Emmon was smart enough not to reply. “In any way...”, Orys continued, trying to graciously ignore the slight against his man. “I had no knowledge of this. Quingar must have gathered his loyalists, the one who wish for a bloody, draw-out war with your people, while deceiving my loyal captains”
“That's easy for you to say now”, Warrick replied. “But I don't see a reason to believe you, Targaryen knight. Your kind has clearly proven they cannot be trusted today” With his chained hands, Orys pointed towards the gate. “Let me speak to my men, the ones who try to get through the gate right now”, he told him. “I recognize them, they are good and loyal. Perhaps you are more inclined to believe me once I end this violence”
“Perhaps indeed...”, Warrick mumbled, before he gave Drent a nod. “You'll remain right by his side, soldier”, he told him. “Don't take your eyes off him for one moment. If he tries to escape, you got my outspoken permission to kill him where he stands” Though Drent was not on good terms with Warrick, he saluted in front of the man, before he turned to Orys. “You heard him”, he replied. “Bar Emmon will stay here with Edonia. Try anything and you both die”
Orys did not protest and Drent led him towards the makeshift line, where their respective people fought against each other. It was chaotic and violent, with the Targaryen forces having taken the gatehouse, but the Stormlanders holding against their tide still with a formidable spear wall. Men had died on both sides and Drent could see some soldiers in the backline dragging away injured or deceased comrades, but the scale of the bloodshed was hard to assess in the current darkness and with all the chaos around him.
Right now, the spearmen were trying to drive the Targaryen forces back, who were holding against it with a shieldwall of their own. Neither side had managed to line up their archers yet, but Drent knew it was only a matter of time and by then, this relative stalemate would turn into a slaughter, favouring whomever managed to shoot first. Already, Drent could see some lone bowmen assembling in the courtyard and undoubtedly, the Targaryen captain on the other side of the shieldwall was trying to do the same before the Stormlanders could gather on the walls.
“Archers!”, Drent heard someone yelling from the other side of the battlelines, as they approached, a clear, youthful voice that managed to rise even above the constant roars of battle. “Damn it...”, Orys mumbled and without Drent needing to say a word, they hurried towards the spear wall. “Let us through!”, Drent barked as one of the soldiers turned around, before Orys, despite being bound in irons, simply pushed the man away.
“Hold your fire!”, he roared and his own voice easily managed to drown out the sounds of battle, which now came exclusively from behind them. The Targaryen host in front of them had been cowering down behind their shields already, content with merely holding their position within the gatehouse until their archers were ready to give them an advantage.
“What the...”, one of the Stormlanders hissed, before Drent stepped between him and Orys. “Fell's orders”, he merely said. “Remain on your guard, but do not attack first” The soldier narrowed his eyes, but he gave Drent a nod, just as Orys pushed himself past him and his companions. “I said hold your fire!”, he barked again. Raising his chained hands and merely managing to slip out of Drent's reach, he stopped before he fully broke through the lines of the Stormlanders. “Ser Simon! Simon Stokeworth!”
One of the shields got raised, just a bit, revealing a young face, almost too young fort his war, two wide, scared brown eyes and pale, sweat-covered skin. “General... Ser Orys, is that you?”, the man replied and it was the same voice that had called for archers before. “What are you... did the enemy capture you?” Orys gave him a nod. “I came with them willingly, Ser Simon”, he barked. “This attack, this entire battle, it is not...”
“Archers ready!”, an older voice roared from behind and Orys tensed up. “NO!”, he yelled. “Hold your fire! Ser Simon, tell them to hold their fire!” From behind them, Drent heard someone hurrying towards their spear wall. “Archers ready, Ser!”, one of their soldiers yelled and out of the corner of his eye, Drent could see bowmen rushing towards the wall. “Seven Hells...”, he growled, knowing that if just one arrow would fly today, they could all die. He didn't even have a shield, neither did Ser Orys, but it would likely matter little in the slaughter that would undoubtedly follow. Just one arrow...
“Hold your fire!”, he yelled, while Orys did the same. From somewhere behind the shield wall, the voice of Simon Stokeworth sounded, frantically trying to stop his own archers. “Hold your fire!”, one of the Stormlander captains yelled, though Drent did not dare to calm down yet. “Simon!”, Orys barked, regaining the younger knight's attention. “Who gave you the order to attack?”
“I... Ser...”, Simon stuttered and though Drent could barely see his face through his own men and the Targaryen shield wall, he could only guess how utterly baffled the knight was. “It was Captain Corlys, Ser!”, he then exclaimed and Orys sighed. “One of Quingar's men...”, he mumbled. “Ser Simon, order your men to stand down. Not just the archers”
“Ser?”, Simon gasped and though Drent could not see Orys' face right now, the anger in the Targaryen knights voice was unmistakable. “Give the order!”, he roared. “I will not repeat myself. Quingar Qoherys tricked you, he lied to me and attacked our host while their guard was down” His voice, while strong and firm, could barely travel as far as it had to, reaching Simon Stokeworth's ears but undoubtedly not those of his soldiers.
“You mean... we were not following your orders?”, Simon stuttered and Orys gave him a frustrated nod. “Think about it, Stokeworth”, he hissed. “Would I ever give an order like that? What has happened today is a disgrace! Attacking a man while a guest in his own home, it violates the laws of gods and men. Too many have died and more will tonight, all because of Quingar Qoherys. He tricked you too, captain, and if you wish to avoid my wrath, you order your men to stand down right now!”
“He has been captured by the enemy!”, another soldier yelled from behind the Targaryen shieldwall. “We need to free Ser Orys! Charge!”, yet another man yelled, but none followed his command. They were soldiers and though the battle was heated, it had thankfully not yet escalated to the point where a single hapless command could break their discipline. As long as their commanding officer would not give the order, few were willing to break rank and none would do so alone.
“Right now, Simon!”, Orys yelled once again, before one of the shields in the wall rose, as one of the men slowly stood up. Still keeping the shield upwards, protecting his upper body against an attack, but nonetheless breaking the formation up. Drent could see that the man was indeed young, wearing a chainmail coif and a white tabard. With one hand, he clung to his large shield, the other still clenched around a longsword, though he was not pointing it at the Stormlanders. “Stand down, men!”, he yelled. “Especially the archers. Seven, I want those archers as far away from the walls as possible”
“Good man”, Orys told him in an approving tone, before he turned to Drent, presenting him his chained hands. “Does this prove my good will?”, he asked, though Drent cleanly shook his head. “That's not my decision to make”, he hissed. “Once Lord Buckler and his son are safe, we can discuss the terms of your release. Until then, you remain my prisoner”
The Targaryen knight raised an eyebrow, but having avoided near-certain death from his own archers seems to have calmed him down considerably. “You're brazen, for a lowborn soldier”, he replied. “I respect that. So be it then. I remain your prisoner, but let us set aside our differences until Quingar is dealt with”
“Agreed”, Drent confirmed, before both turned back to the Targaryen host. “Ser Simon, send word to our men on the far gate, your fastest horse right now”, Orys barked. “Tell them what happened here. I tie my own fate to that of this castle, so tell them to stand down if they don't want their general's blood on their hands”
“Right away, Ser”, Simon promised. “Shall we...” He approached the spear wall and none of the Stormlanders made any attempt at lowering their weapon. Their captain, the man whom Drent had spoke to briefly a few moments ago, glared from him, to Orys, to Drent. “What game is this?”, he spat. “You captured their leader. They willing to surrender now?”
“We already have”, Orys replied before Drent had a chance to say anything. “But the men inside of your Great Hall don't know it yet. The man responsible for this battle, he is fighting against your lord right now, if he hasn't defeated him yet. If we hurry, we might be able to save Lord Buckler's life, at least” He looked to Drent, then back to the gatehouse. “Ser Simon and his men are loyal to me only”, he told him. “They can help with overcoming Quingar and his men”
Immediately, Drent shook his head. “No chance, Ser. We are not allies in this, though our goals might align”, he reminded him. “You are my prisoner and until this is over, your men will remain on the other side of our walls” He turned to the captain. “Once the Targaryen soldiers have retreated, you need to bar the gate. Tell the archers to man the wall and remain on your guard”
Though the captain was quite likely outranking him significantly, it mattered little right now. There was chaos around them and violence, there was still fighting on the courtyard and men were dying. Right now, he was the soldier who had captured the enemy general and he had prevented a massacre here at the main gate, so that gave him enough authority for the time being. Instead of having any objections, the captain merely saluted in front of him.
“We follow their demands, Ser Simon!”, Orys growled, though Drent could tell he was not happy with this turn of events. From behind the shieldwall, Simon Stokeworth saluted to his imprisoned general, undoubtedly trying to follow his orders as good as possible. Then, Orys glared down at Drent. “Lead the way then, Drent Golton”, he told him. “And let us hope my soldiers won't be needed to defeat Quingar and his men inside of the Great Hall”
With the situation on the main gate defused, Drent hurried back to the Great Hall, with the chained Targaryen knight close behind him. By now, it seemed that Warrick Fell and his soldiers had made some progress, as the Targaryen blockade of the hall was clearly broken through. Most of the fighting seemed to have relocated into the hall, though Warrick still remained behind, together with Edonia and Iwan Bar Emmon, as well as several of his men who guarded the courtyard.
“The situation at the main gate is under control!”, Drent confirmed and Warrick sighed audibly in pure relief. “Good”, he muttered. “Most of my men have broken through, but there's still a lot of enemies in the Great Hall. I don't know how Lord Buckler fares, or Bernard or Jonathan, but the fight is severe. Had we lost that gate, we would have lost the castle”
“My men know they were deceived now”, Orys told him. “As we're speaking, I have sent word to my host on the far gate. It won't be long until the fighting has stopped” Warrick gulped, before he glanced at the Great Hall. “Not in there”, he muttered. “This knight of yours, Quingar Qoherys... if he's actually behind this, then he has planned it well. The smaller doors into the Great Hall are locked and barred. Will take forever to break through. All of your men in there are either on his side or have no means of hearing the truth from you. And we're running out of time”
“Damn him!”, Orys spat. “I know he was unhappy about me trying to negotiate a truce between us, no matter how temporary it might have been, but to resort to this... I fear no matter how this day will end, he'll have the war he so desperately sought” Warrick raised an eyebrow. “A war on two fronts”, he replied. “I heard your king is marching against Harren Hoare right now. Are you certain you can hold off the Storm King without him?”
Orys shook his head. “More than two fronts, once the other kings have amassed their armies. I was counting on King Argilac to block any Reach troops from marching through his land against us, but if today's negotiations fail...”, he growled. “A truce would have been the best for your kingdom and for mine. When he planned his war, King Aegon tried to avoid becoming an enemy of the Storm King, but after today, I don't see any hopes for calmer minds to prevail”
“You mean your king never wanted to declare war on the Stormlands?”, Drent interjected and Orys gave him a quiet nod. “Not at first”, he spoke. “They have fought side by side against the Volantene just a few years ago. Believe it or not, but King Aegon has a lot of respect for your liege and so do I. That's why he sent Corilyan Celtigar to Storm's End on that fateful day, hoping to avoid a war against the greatest warrior of this continent. It wasn't until he learned of his kinsman's fate that he sent King Argilac a letter as well, one written in anger and the heat of the moment”
Drent frowned as he thought back to that night. It had seemed simple back then. An insult to the princess and a reaction that, while harsh, was not exactly unexpected from the Storm King. But he could see the expression on Orys' face right now, the regret, and he understood without a doubt that it had been a token of good faith by the Dragonlord. One Argilac, Argella and the entire court of Storm's End had spat upon without giving it much of a thought. The people who had died today and the ones who would follow in this coming war, they had to die because of that. Because Aegon had failed to understand the Storm King and because Argilac had been unable to look past a perceived insult.
“It is of no use to dwell on the past”, Drent then proclaimed. “Should we make it through this night alive, the Storm King will hear of your honesty, though I doubt it'll change much. For now, we have a lord to save” Orys gave him a nod, as he raised his chained hands. “I suppose I will remain your prisoner until then?”, he asked and Drent flashed him a dry grin. “Don't act as if you wouldn't do the same if our roles were reversed”, he told him.
The Baratheon knight took his imprisonment with stoic stride. “So be it then”, he proclaimed. “Lead the way. I'll do my best to help, but I pray you can do without my blade against Quingar” As they approached the Great Hall, where Warrick's men had carved a way inside, right through the Targaryen soldiers, Drent glanced at the knight. “We have Emphryus Dresfel by our side”, he spoke. “He is the best swordsman in Westeros”
“So I've heard”, Orys confirmed. “But even the best swordsman can die when facing many enemies. I've been at Raylansfair too, I know the army he faced. He survived against all odds, but he remains injured, doesn't he? Quingar meanwhile is the strongest man I know. He would be a good match for your Ser Emphryus even at the height of his skill. As it is...” He glanced to Edonia, specifically at the bow she carried in one hand. “I trust you know how to use this?”
Edonia gave him a slow nod, to which Orys sighed. “Usually, I'd be against killing a knight with such a weapon, but Quingar has proven his wickedness today”, he replied. “Now, one well-placed arrow might spare us a drawn-out battle. Though I would prefer to capture him alive. He has to answer for what he did today. Then, he can hang for all I care, like the common bandit that he is”
“If I get the opportunity, that man is dead”, Edonia hissed, just as Drent reached the Great Hall, the first of his small group to pass through the opening their men had carved. Some Targaryen soldiers were still fighting in the entrance, others had surrendered and for most, just looking at their leader in chains was enough to lose all will to continue the battle.
The Great Hall, however, was a mess. Tables were toppled, makeshift barricades, where the Stormlanders tried to defend themselves against the Targaryen troops. Most of them were unarmed, hiding behind the few armed guards or trying to defend themselves with all they could get their hands on quickly. There were no battlelines, no orders to be shouted, just pure chaos, though the arrival of Warrick and his men meant some relief for the defending Stormlanders.
On the far end of the Great Hall, Drent could see Lord Benedict Buckler, fighting near the toppled lord's table. The old lord had somehow managed to get his hands on a sword and a shield and though he did not wear armour, neither did his opponent. Quingar Qoherys was indeed as much a terrifying sight as Orys had hinted at, but he was only one man without armour, merely armed with a greatsword, which he swung with the grace of a butcher, but faster, way faster than what Drent would expect from a man of his size.
Bernard Buckler could barely remain on his legs. Still heavily injured from the tournament, he was visibly bleeding from a fresh cut to his side. Somewhere behind him, Emphryus Dresfel was holding off two Targaryen men-at-arms at once. He was still standing, at least, but Drent could see how he struggled even against two common soldiers. The greatest knight of the Stormlands was injured, tired and fighting for his life.
Between them, there was utter chaos. Though there was a path to the lord's table, people were fighting all over the place, sometimes crossing their way, rarely organized in groups larger than two or three men and almost never paying much attention to anything but the opponent right in front of them. There were injured men of both sides trying to crawl away and those who were trying to help the dead or the dying. No archers, thankfully, but Drent didn't even want to imagine how deadly a volley could be in this chaotic melee.
“Stand down!”, Orys yelled, but even his firm voice was unable to carry far over the sheer cacophony of dozens of men fighting to the death in an enclosed room. Occasionally, as they pushed past, a few Targaryen men noticed him, some even long enough to try and follow his command, but as a whole, few were paying attention to him. Quingar was the central figure here, two heads taller than the already imposing Lord Buckler, easily the most recognizable figure in this entire chaos. Huge, the tallest and strongest man Drent had ever seen, perhaps twice as heavy as many ordinary men, with his pale, bald head and the red and yellow gambeson. Then, there were the roars coming from him and in a battle where even Orys was unable to get heard, Quingar's vicious screams carried far.
“Get to Lord Buckler!”, Warrick yelled, as he and his men pushed on. They were holding against Targaryen soldiers, few of whom even reacted to seeing their commander in chains. Quingar's men, he realized. They were not loyal to Orys and they would continue fighting until their terrifying leader was dealt with.
Behind him, he heard a clear scream and as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Edonia on the ground, with a Targaryen soldier above her. The man had his sword raised, ready to impale her, but before Drent could even react, Iwan Bar Emmon had jumped at the man, pushing him off Edonia and slamming his chained fists into his unguarded face. “Go, go!”, he yelled and he didn't have to tell them twice.
Drent charged forward, running past Warrick Fell and his men, towards the lord's table. Perhaps it was Orys' presence, perhaps it was sheer luck that he made it this far without being attacked, but for the entire run, he couldn't take his eyes off the fight between Quingar Qoherys and Benedict Buckler.
The old lord fought like a man who had done nothing else in his long life. Despite being smaller, lighter and older than Quingar, he parried each strike of the greatsword with his shield, though each attack almost caused him to stagger. In return, Quingar attacked him with impunity, enjoying the greater reach his weapon offered and ignoring the attempts of the old lord to close the distance between them.
“Pathetic!”, he roared, as he attacked again and again, with Benedict barely able to parry the swift, but severe strikes. Even from afar, Drent winced as he saw the hits. Parrying too many of these attacks, even with a proper blade, it could be enough to outright shatter a man's shield arm and from the awkward way the lord held his shield, it was clear he already felt it.
Without mercy, Quingar brought his sword down on the lord over and over, each strike a bit different than the one before, sometimes high and crushing, other times from the side, swift and deadly. Benedict barely managed to raise his shield high enough and long before Drent reached the table, he went to his knees, dropping his sword and pushing his shield against the greatsword with both hands.
“You are supposed to be the famous Lord of Bronzegate?”, Quingar spat. “Perhaps you were, before old age has slowed you down, before your glory days were spent. Now, you're as threatening as a little girl with a kitchen knife” As he said these words, he brought his sword down again, a feint this time, avoiding Lord Buckler's shield and slicing down at him. The old lord barely managed to push the sword aside, avoiding a certainly fatal strike in the process, but the tip still sliced through his upper leg, leaving a deep, painful cut.
“Quingar!”, Orys Baratheon yelled and the huge man paused. As he spotted his commanding officer, a wide, brutish smile appeared on his face. “Orys, how nice of you to join us!”, he proclaimed. “I see you got yourself captured by the enemy. Worry not, once I have taken this castle, you'll walk free again”
“Cease this madness at once, Qoherys!”, Orys now roared and Quingar's smile faded entirely. “Figures you'd be less than thrilled... But Aegon will be and that is all that matters!”, he growled. “If you haven't noticed it, we're at war. We're supposed to kill our enemies, not make peace with them! And that is exactly what I intend to do here...” With these words, he raised his sword again, glaring down at Lord Buckler.
“Father!”, Bernard yelled, as he rushed towards the larger knight and his downed father as fast as his injuries allowed. He managed to get there fast enough for his longsword to parry Quingar's attack, but Drent was by no means close enough to help him. “Shit...”, Drent spat, gripping his spear tighter. Before he could charge towards Quingar, he felt someone holding him back and as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Orys. “The keys”, the knight hissed, as he raised his chained hands. “You will need my help against this man”
Drent sighed before he turned around again, though he did manage to give him a nod. Before he was able to unlock the chains himself though, he saw how Quingar delivered a violent kick against Bernard's injured leg. The younger knight stumbled to the ground, injured and in clear pain, with Quingar glaring down at him. “You're not any better than your old man”, he snarled. Instead of finishing him off immediately, however, he stomped down upon the knight's injured leg with one heavy foot. Even from afar, Drent could hear the crunch, as the already damaged bone snapped entirely, followed by Bernard's howls of agony.
“Shit!”, Drent spat and instead of freeing Orys himself, he tossed him the keys, before he charged at Quingar. The Qoherys knight saw him coming, of course and before Drent could reach him, he took a step to the side to avoid his attack, one hand reaching forward. He was fast, by the gods, he was faster than he had any right to be, and before Drent could pull back the spear again, Quingar had grabbed it shortly below the tip.
“And who are you supposed to be?”, he growled. Though Drent pulled against it with both hands, Quingar managed to pull the spear towards him, yanking it out of Drent's grip with just one hand, the other still clenched around his greatsword. “Doesn't matter, really. Just some dead man” He did not even strike at Drent with his sword. One swift, brutally strong attack with the soldier's own spear was enough to knock him down. Though Drent tried to dodge it, he was unable to avoid the attack, as the blunt end of his own spear was slammed against his head.
For one moment, the entire world was spinning. The strike had been strong enough to drown out everything else, from the noise of the battle to the chaotic mess around him. In an instant, Drent staggered to the ground, barely able to lift his head to look up at the terrifying knight. He did so just quick enough to see Quingar throwing the spear into the crowd, undoubtedly taking another innocent life, before he grabbed his sword with both hands.
“... Buckler”, he spat and Drent's hearing returned only slowly. He could see how Quingar turned to Bernard, however, raising his sword to end the young man's life. “NO!”, Benedict Buckler roared from his side, having used this opportunity to get back to his feet. “Get away from my son!” He parried the strike meant for Bernard with his shield, but Quingar was quickly adjusting to this new opponent.
“The old man wants more, huh?”, he spat. “Have it your way then, Lord Buckler. I want you to die, knowing that I will end your line tonight” He brought the sword down again, once more at Bernard and Benedict hurried to get between his son and the next attack. From his position on the ground, only slowly gaining the strength to ignore the throbbing pain in his head, Drent could see it was another feint. And he knew that Benedict Buckler had made a fatal mistake.
Before Benedict was ready, Quingar dashed to the side and brought the sword down upon him. The old lord was not quick enough to defend himself and Quingar's greatsword cut through his shield arm, as easily slicing through flesh and bone as it would have through half-melted butter. The Lord of Bronzegate fell to his knees just as his arm reached the ground, severed halfway between the elbow and the shoulder.
There was no scream of pain from the old lord, despite the agony that immediately reached his face. His pale eyes widened in shock, but the vicious, downright hateful look within them remained. “FATHER!”, Bernard yelled and the lord winced. Instead of looking at his son, he used his last moment to stare up at the man who was about to kill him. There was hatred within his gaze, unbroken and vicious to the last moment. He mumbled something, but Drent was unable to understand it, just before Quingar rammed his sword into him once more, the weapon entering the old lord's body through the neck, stabbing through his chest and possibly, hopefully, killing him quickly.
“A weak death for a weak man!”, Quingar roared. “But I shall keep my word. Now, little Buckler, where were we?” He chuckled, as he grabbed his sword with both hands again. With his broken leg, Bernard was unable to flee, nor did he seem to intend it right now, as he merely stared at his dead father, wide-eyed and unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.
He had his back turned to Drent, not even paying any attention to the soldier anymore and it would be his first mistake during this fight. Before he could strike Bernard down, Drent had jumped at him, unarmed but not incapable of harming him, or at least slowing him down. Wrapping both arms around Quingar's neck, he dragged him back, briefly causing the knight to lose his balance. Quingar staggered back, one hand still holding the sword, the other reaching behind him towards Drent, who was pressing both of his arms against the man's neck now.
More importantly, while Quingar glared over his shoulder at Drent, he failed to pay attention to Orys Baratheon, who was charging towards him. Though similarly unarmed, Orys was strong and fast and the punch he threw at Quingar looked appropriately painful. The other knight staggered back, taking Drent with him, before slamming the soldier against the toppled table.
“Fuck...”, Quingar spat, before he began to squirm beneath Drent's grip. Just as Orys was reaching out again, the Qoherys knight slammed his back against the table as well and with it Drent, who was still clinging against his neck. This time, pain flared up in Drent's back, as the wood smashed against his spine and in a reflex, he let go of Quingar, dropping to the ground behind him just as Orys punched him once again.
Quingar stumbled, almost tripping over Drent and dropping his sword in the process, but he did not go down yet. Instead, he caught himself and just as Orys tried to attack him again, he had readied himself. He did not catch the punch, instead he freely took it, while using the opportunity to deliver his own strike against Orys, hard enough to make the other man stagger immediately. There were not many men who could tower over Orys Baratheon, but Quingar was staring down at him and from the way Orys reacted to the blow, he was clearly stronger as well.
Behind him, Drent was crawling away from him, towards the massive greatsword on the ground. Though he had little experience with such a large weapon, he had seen knights using it often enough and it was the only blade readily available. While Quingar and Orys were locked in a brawl behind him, throwing punches at their opponent while outright taking any hit meant for them, he reached Quingar's sword.
The weapon was heavier than he expected and Drent groaned as he tried to lift it up. Though he had always considered himself strong and capable, the difference between him and Quingar when it came to sheer strength was enormous. The thought that he had swung it around with one hand for most of their battle was baffling.
But he could wield it, if not well, he could swing it and that was all he needed. As he turned back to Quingar, he saw how Orys Baratheon was forcing the knight's entire attention. Both were bleeding by now, both were still delivering heavy, vicious punches at each other and at least for Orys, it seemed as if he was giving it all, striking at Quingar with a hatred and a fury Drent hadn't expected from such an otherwise impeccable knight.
He did not waste any time. Lifting the sword up with both hands and using all of his remaining strength, he attacked Quingar, who had his back turned against him once more. It would have been almost simple to just decapitate the Qoherys knight. It wouldn't have been an undeserved fate. But just as he was about to strike him down, Drent had to think back at what Orys had said before. Perhaps it was better if Quingar had to stand trial for all he had done today.
As such, what could have been a killing blow merely cut into Quingar's side, deep enough to injure him severely, but not enough to kill him. Quingar gasped, followed by an actual groan of pain, as Drent pulled the blade back, slicing through the knight's side and carving a deep, heavily bleeding wound. Now, Quingar staggered, glancing over his shoulder at Drent, his eyes wide in surprise. “You...?”, he gasped. “A simple soldier... with my own blade?”
He turned towards Drent, a sudden, severe fury on his face, but before he could attack, Orys Baratheon made his move. The knight, though bruised and bloodied just as well, slammed his fist against Quingar's fresh wound with all his might, a nasty attack and enough to knock Quingar to the ground at last. The large man fell heavily and he slammed against the stone ground without being able to protect himself, just as Orys climbed on top of him.
“Why?”, Baratheon growled and as their leader had fallen, it seemed the will to fight had left the few remaining Targaryen troops within the hall, especially as they saw none other than their general kneeling on top of Quingar, pressing one fist right against the brute's injury. Drent hadn't expected such a downright vicious streak in Orys Baratheon, but it was downright refreshing to see. “Why did you do this?”
With what little strength he had left, Quingar merely chuckled. “You really don't know, huh?”, he gasped. “Poor bastard that you are, I thought you would understand best, the length we are willing to go to get some recognition, some respect. Had I taken this castle, I would have opened half of this pathetic kingdom to our king's army. You think he would have been angry? You think he wouldn't have used that chance? He would have rewarded me richly and you know it!” Quingar shook his head. “You can be his strong right hand for all you want, Orys Baratheon, but you are a hypocrite. We're at war with the men you defended today. It won't take long now and you will be forced to fight them”, he growled. “And even then, you are going to hesitate, because for all that brawn of yours, you remain a hypocrite and a coward”
“Enough!”, Orys roared and with the Great Hall falling silent ever so slowly, his voice finally carried through the entire room. He pulled Quingar close with both hands, while staring daggers at him. Quingar in return flashed him a wide, blood-stained grin. “Today, you have broken the laws of gods and men, Quingar Qoherys. You... are nothing but an animal, a wild beast to be put down. Perhaps I will have to face these men again, on another day, but before that, I'll make sure you won't see another war in your lifetime. A gibbet is all you can expect from me”
With these words, he slammed his fist down into Quingar's unprotected face again, knocking the injured knight out at long last. Drent glanced to the side, seeing how Emphryus Dresfel was slowly approaching them. The two men who had fought against him were dead by now, as were dozens on either side in this senseless slaughter. He had his sword lowered and as he and Drent locked eyes for a moment, he gave him a nod.
“Ser Orys?”, Drent asked, as he approached the Baratheon knight. Orys was visibly trembling, not with sorrow, but still with a fury that would have made even the Storm King proud. He did not accept Drent's hand to help him up, instead he staggered back on his feet by himself, though he barely managed to remain standing. Up close, Drent could see how badly Quingar had gotten him. One side of his face was swollen up and his short, black beard was blood-stained.
“We made it”, the soldier then mumbled, as Orys staggered towards him. Briefly, the knight had to rest one hand on Drent's shoulder, though slowly, he shook his head. “Have we?”, he asked and Drent's gaze fell upon Bernard Buckler, who was still kneeling on the ground, now crouched over the corpse of his murdered father.
“Perhaps we have stopped him, but the damage is already done”, Orys mumbled and Drent understood what he meant. “This was our last, fragile chance at having peace and Quingar took it from us. For that, your people can deal with him as you desire, but it won't bring back the lives that were lost today and what little peace could have been reached between your king and mine” His fingers clenched around Drent's shoulders and the soldier could see the regret in his eyes. “In the end, I fear Quingar will get what he desired so much. After what happened today, your king will demand blood and rightly so”, he told him.
“That he will”, Emphryus snarled, as he approached them. “It matters little that you prevented a massacre today, Ser Orys. For what your knight did here today, murdering a man in his own home... you were honour-bound to help us today and for that you remain the only Targaryen lackey I keep even an ounce of respect for. But you know that our own honour demands revenge, for Lord Benedict and his good men who died to Targaryen treachery!”
“It was Quingar, Ser”, Drent tried to interject, but Orys Baratheon cut him off by shaking his head. “He was working alone, yes, and I doubt my king even suspected what his knight was about to do. But that doesn't change the fact that he acted under our banners”, he disagreed. “It was King Aegon who knighted him and gave him the power he abused today. And it was me who brought him to this keep. As such, I accept my responsibility in today's events”
“Most would have tried to blame someone else”, Emphryus growled, though he gave Orys a nod. “Leave this keep with your remaining men and leave our lands. What you did today has earned you that much at the least. It's the only reason why I'm not going to butcher you. You'll have your peace until the Storm King hears of what happened here”
“I was hoping we could be better than this. A fool's hope perhaps”, Orys sighed, before he have Emphryus an almost respectful bow, which the knight responded to in kind. “It has always been a fool's hope”, Emphryus replied. “This war is inevitable, I knew that much even before your knight murdered Lord Buckler. I look forward for it even, although killing you won't bring me any joy”
Orys clenched his fists, before he shook his head. “Likewise, Ser Emphryus”, he mumbled, before he glanced at Drent. He extended one hand and even though he was an enemy after all that had happened today and a knight on top, Drent shook it “And farewell, Drent Golton. I pray we won't meet each other again, for I fear the next time will be on the battlefield” They separated from each other and Orys turned around, towards the open door, glancing at those of his men who had survived the battle. “Next time, it will be as enemies”
No Choices for this part
Ysilla
“Ysilla...”, a voice whispered to her and she slowly opened her eyes, letting out a slight groan in the process. It was cold where she was lying and though Theodan was pressing his back against hers, he hardly offered any warmth, nor did the thin blanket the young guardsman had given them. Stiff and with aching bones, she glanced up. She was still chained to the central post of the tent and now, several hours after she had been captured, her wrists were already aching.
It was Jen who had called out to her. The other woman was sitting as far away from them as her chains allowed, in the far end of the tent and sluggishly, as much as her chains allowed it, Ysilla began to crawl towards her. “Hey...”, she mumbled, noticing the scared look in those blue eyes. She reached out for her, placing Jen's hands in hers and clenching them gently, while trying to give her something that could pass as a reassuring smile.
“Did I...?”, Jen asked and Ysilla immediately shook her head. “I couldn't sleep either way”, she admitted truthfully. “Too much to think about” Jen sighed, as she crawled closer. The chains made their embrace awkward, but it was still good to feel her this close. The throbbing pain in her wrists served as a stark reminder of the situation they had found themselves in, but with Jen by her side, it mattered just a little less.
“Yeah”, Jen mumbled. “Same here” She closed her eyes, as she rested her head against Ysilla's shoulder. “I... have never been so fucking scared in my life before” She glanced at the tent door, which was closed at this late hour, but Ysilla was still certain that the young guardsman was still there, so she did not dare to raise her voice.
“You know, we got so much in common”, Ysilla said, trying to give Jen a sweet, playful smile, though she was certain the result came off as stilted, if nothing more. “Because I've never been this scared either” That was not entirely true, of course. She had been terrified on the first day of Theodan's exile, when she had to readjust to a life without her brother to look after her. And when he returned, she had been terrified that things were different between them from now on. And then, just a few hours ago, when he had to fight against the Iron Viper.
Jenelyne actually smiled, perhaps out of pity at her poor joke, but her smile was refreshing and genuine. “Perhaps I'm a bit less afraid with you around”, she admitted. “You had my back today. I...” She paused and even though the only light was that of the torches outside, which barely managed to shine through the tent, Ysilla could see that she was averting her gaze.
“Yeah, I get it”, Ysilla replied. “Your brother wants to escape at all cost, you think it's too risky. Can't be easy to side against him like that” Reluctantly, Jen gave her a nod. “He's always been there for me”, she mumbled. “As long as I could think. Our parents just... left us when we were both young. Allar speaks of them sometimes, but I can hardly remember them. For most of my life, it's just been me and my brother”
Despite the chains around her wrists, Ysilla managed to placed one hand on the back of Jenelyne's head, gently holding her for a moment. “I'm here for you too”, she promised. “And Theo, I guess, but he can be an arse, so don't expect too much of him” Her playful remark was met with a chuckle by Jen and for a brief moment, it seemed she was able to ignore the concerns that haunted her. Yet after a moment, the shadows returned to the girl's eyes, as she looked up at Ysilla again.
“Are we... are we going to...”, Jen mumbled. “Are we going to make it?” She barely seemed to dare even think about it and this time, Ysilla could not hide the grim fear that had taken hold of her ever since Yoreen had brought them to his camp. “We are”, she spoke and this time, she was lying through her teeth. “For what it's worth, I'm on your side in this. If we keep our head down and do as we're told... well, maybe we have a chance of getting out of here. You and me and Theodan and Allar...”
Jen blinked and as she looked up, the expression in her deep, blue eyes had changed. There was still fear, very much so, but there was also a slight fragment of hope and trust as well. “If you say so...”, she spoke, as she came closer, enough for their breaths to mingle. “I believe you. Seven, as long as I have you on my side, perhaps... perhaps we can get out of...” She did not manage to finish her sentence, as Ysilla pressed her lips against hers, giving her a brief kiss.
“Oh, get a room you two”, another voice groaned. This time, it was Allar, who was sluggishly raising from his makeshift resting place on the ground. “Can't get any sleep with you two lovebirds around” he looked from Ysilla to Jenelyne. “If you haven't noticed, we're in a tight spot right now and the last thing I need is you two not being able to get your hands off each other for a moment”
Ysilla rolled her eyes. “And you... stop being so grumpy all the time”, she hissed. Though she cared for him a great deal as a friend and companion, she could not hide mild annoyance at the way he looked at her whenever she was close to Jen. How he so obviously wanted things to be different between them. Perhaps it could have been in another life. “If you have a problem with me and her, then say it openly”
Allar's eyes widened slightly, as he crawled closer. Somewhere behind him, Theodan groaned, though he turned around, not waking up from their conversation. Her brother had always been a healthy sleeper and this aspect hadn't changed in the years of his exile, thank the gods. “Is that what you think?”, he then asked and his voice, though sharp at first, softened considerably. “That I have a problem with you and my sister being, well, together?”
Next to her, Jen blushed, the colour on her cheeks visible even in the otherwise dim darkness, as she quickly turned away from them. Ysilla paid her no mind and instead raised her eyebrow. “Is it not the case?”, she asked and to her actual surprise, Allar shook his head. “Far from it”, he admitted. “You make my sister happy. How could I have a problem with that?” His tone was more friendly now, even accompanied by a rare, but honest smile.
“But?”, Ysilla asked and Allar's smile faded. “But you're risking her life and your own. That I cannot accept” Ysilla narrowed her eyes, as she glanced at the tent door. “You really think we can escape from here?”, she asked, to which Allar gave her a nod, without hesitation. “And even if we can't, it's better than to just sit around and wait for that Reachman to be done with us. After all this monster did in Yronwood, we cannot trust him”
At long last, Theodan groaned as well, showing that his remarkably heavy sleep was finally disturbed by their conversation. “What's going on...?”, he mumbled faintly, as he rolled onto his back, opening his eyes only with great reluctance. Ysilla gave him a mild smile. “Nothing”, she told him. “Try to find some sleep” With these words, she glanced at Allar. “No matter what we're going to do tomorrow, we'll need it”
Allar waited for a moment, before he nodded in agreement. “Fine”, he replied. “Let's just...” He paused and Ysilla immediately tensed up, as she heard footsteps in front of their tent, several heavy boots marching over the rough, rocky ground. The light of the torch in front of their tent was barely enough to illuminate three or four men, including the guardsman.
“Little Dylar!”, a hoarsy voice called out for the boy and she could see his thin figure flinching. “Y... yes?”, he replied and his tone was weak and somewhat shaky. He had possibly been asleep even, his entire stance showing how nervous he was. “Still up so late, huh?”, the hoarsy man replied and this time, Ysilla could see Dylar nodding. “Yeah. Commander Yoreen told me to stay on guard tonight”, he replied. “I don't want to disappoint him”
Another man chuckled. “So dutiful”, he spoke. “But you don't look too well. Find some sleep, boy. We're here now. We'll take over for you” Dylar relaxed visibly, while Ysilla clenched her fists at the same time. That tone... she had heard it before and she did not like it. “Don't go...”, she mumbled to herself, as she stared at the tent door.
“Jen...”, Allar mumbled, as he crawled up next to them. “Get behind me. You too, Ysilla” She looked over her shoulder, realizing that Theodan had gotten up as well. Though still visibly tired, he hadn't wasted any time to get himself ready, now crouching on the ground nearby. “No”, Allar mumbled, so quiet that his voice barely reached Ysilla's ears. “Theodan, lay down again. If they think you're sleeping, they might let down their guard”
Her brother narrowed his eyes. “I...”, he was about to protest, before he saw the look on her face. “Got it. But if anything happens to her, I'll...” He paused and sighed, as Ysilla gave him a mild smile. “I can look after myself, Theodan”, she promised him, but he seemed not convinced. While Jenelyne followed her brother's command, she herself remained by Allar's side.
“I...”, Dylar mumbled, before he shook his head, to Ysilla's relief. “I can't. Ser Yoreen gave me an order” The first man was now close enough for Ysilla to clearly see him in the light of the fire. He was standing right next to Dylar, placing one hand on his shoulder, while still facing the tent. “Yoreen this, Yoreen that”, he growled and his voice, while previously at least somewhat calm, was now lacking anything affable about it. “He's not here though, isn't he? And even if he were, he would not understand”
Dylar gulped. “Neither do I, I'm afraid”, he stuttered, to which a third man chuckled. “There's women in there”, he hissed. “Dornish women. Saw them when they brought them in. Quite fair, if I may say so” Now, the second man snorted loudly. “Yoreen, he's a harsh master to serve and me and the boys, we came to the conclusion that he's not worth it. There's more needs to life than food and pay and frankly, both kinda suck here. Other captains here in the Marshes, they understand. When we pillage a dornish village, or sack one of their towns, they look the other way, while we, the men who fight and bleed for them, we fulfil our needs”
“N... needs?”, Dylar now gasped. “You mean... you're going to...” He tried to break free of the first man's grip, but the man was both taller and larger than him and as he tried to scream, the brute quickly pressed one hand on his mouth. Ysilla could only hear his muffled cries. “Now, shut up, little Dylar, or I'll make you”, he growled. “I like you. Really I do. You're a comrade and I don't kill comrades if it can be avoided. You're from Raylansfair, aren't you? Been there once. Lovely little town up the coast” He paused and glanced at the boy. “You won't scream now, aye?”, he asked and slowly, Dylar gave him a nod. “Good. Because if you do, I have to gut you like a fish”
“What... what do you want?”, the boy asked, his voice showing an almost crippling fear. The first man chuckled coldly. “I told you I don't kill my comrades”, he replied. “I merely avenge them. Those dornish rats in there, they killed a friend of mine today. Resisted our scouts and butchered them. You know, I served under the commander's old man, back in Oldtown. Ser Maron Mullendore, now that is a man worth serving under. He's got a grand vision, you know, but he's not like the rest of those knights, so high and mighty. He understands the needs of his men”
Once more, he chuckled to himself and as he came closer to the tent, Dylar remained standing there, completely unmoving, forcing him to remain just out of the tent door's reach as well. “Yoreen though... he's a zealous madman. Even heard he's flogging himself and that he hasn't touched a woman in years”, the man continued. “I came here because I hoped he'd be like his father, but he couldn't be more different. Oh, he got the short temper and the violence, but nothing of what makes Ser Maron such a great man to serve. Today was the final straw, when he captured those dornish rats alive. Any other man would have killed them on the spot, or given them to his men after what they did. Those were good men they killed today, good friends”
“Just a month ago, he caught Gibbs with a local girl”, the second man hissed and his voice had lost it's jovial tone as well. “Bitch had basically thrown herself at him, but when Yoreen caught them, she began to cry and sob and claim he forced himself upon her. And Yoreen... he believed that girl over one of his own men. Carved off Gibbs' cock with that horrible gelding knife he keeps in his tent. Threw his manhood to the hounds. We tried to save him, but Gibbs, he bled out before nightfall. The bitch got away, even with a small pouch of coin as... compensation, as he called it”
Ysilla flinched as she felt a hand on her upper arm and it took her a moment to realize that it was only Allar. He gave her a sharp, utterly serious glare. “Whatever is going to happen now, don't scream”, he told her. “That is our chance. Stay calm and I'll get us out of here” She hesitated for a moment, but there was confidence in his gaze, so she gave him a slight nod. “I'll make the first move once he lowers his guard”, Allar continued. “Whatever happens, I'll look after you”
“You see?”, the first man interjected. “That is the sort of man your Ser Yoreen is. Hardly a man at all, eh? There's no joy in his life, just room for endless violence. It's just that he rather targets his own men than the enemy. I don't see why I should serve that bastard any longer” He moved his hand towards the tent door and Ysilla held her breath, just as he stopped. “So, that's why me and the boys are going to leave camp tonight. Back to Oldtown, anything's better than to waste away for this brutal son of a bitch” Now, he reached for the tent door, his fingers already sliding it away. “But before we leave, we're going to take some good, old-fashioned revenge and then some more”
He glanced inside and in the fire of the torch, Ysilla could finally see this man properly. He was round-faced and plump, with a crooked nose and a broad, bearded jaw. A thin, long scar ran from his upper cheek all the way to his lower lip, splitting one corner of his mouth in half and giving him a permanent sneer. “Now, Dylar, I like you. You seem like a good kid. Wasted in this dornish hellhole”, he added, without taking his eyes off the four prisoners. As he and Ysilla looked at each other, he gave her a spine-chilling wink. The boy in his grip squirmed slightly, though with the man's big, flesh hand covering his mouth, he was unable to scream. “How about that, you can join us. Get out of here with us. Stay quiet and let us take our revenge on these rats, or join in even if you like”
Slowly, he removed his hand from Dylar's mouth and the young man's eyes widened. “Oh gods... no, you will not....!”, he gasped, before he frantically looked aorund. “He...!” He did not even manage to finish this one word, as one of the two men behind him had walked up to him. This one was the tallest of the trio, a bald and heavily-tanned soldier with an eyepatch and a lean, well-shaped face. In an instant, he had pressed one hand on the smaller and thinner man's mouth and though Dylar struggled, it was to no avail.
The first man was now glaring at him with cold caution. “That was a mistake, little Dylar”, he growled. “Hold him, Bell. Make sure he's not going to scream” With narrowed eyes, he got close to Dylar, always cautious to remain out of the reach of the four prisoners. “I don't want to kill you, boy, but you're making it hard for me. Stay quiet and maybe you can get out of here alive”
Behind him, his last companion walked up. He was stocky and with thick arms, as well as a wild, bushy beard. Ysilla spotted hints of grey within them already and the smile on his face was one of mocking politeness. “Hello”, he greeted them, as he reached to his belt. “One of the girls for you, boss, and one for Bell, I suppose?”
Their leader gave him a nod, as he turned away from the pale and visibly terrified Dylar. “And you?”, he asked, to which the older man merely shrugged. “Let me kill the men”, he told him. “I don't lay with a dornish girls. Only barely above pigs, if you ask me” His leader shrugged. “Fine then”, he confirmed. “I'll be taking that one” With this, he pointed at Ysilla, who tensed up beneath his glare.
“You touch her and I'll kill you!”, Allar barked and the leader chuckled. “I'd like to see that”, he replied. “Fact is, there's no one here. None willing to help you, at least. Yoreen's fast asleep. The tents around you are empty. Those few who aren't, we've made sure they won't wake up anytime soon. Gave them some wine, spiced with an old family recipe”
With these words, he and his older companion walked inside. The third man, the one called Bell, followed closely, though he held onto the still-struggling Dylar Harking with all his might. “So, you can beg, you can cry”, the leader hissed, as he approached Ysilla, while his older companion walked up to Theodan, who was still lying on the ground as Allar had told him. “You can scream all you like, for I'll be giving you good reason. Fact is, you murdered some people I cared for and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you live another day after that. Knowing Yoreen, he'd even let you leave” He shook his head and with one hand, he pulled a long knife from his belt.
His companion did the same and Ysilla realized that the third man was armed with a longsword, though luckily, he was the only one with such a weapon and he was preoccupied with holding the struggling Dylar. Just two men with knives. The odds could be worse, but she still felt cold dread in her stomach.
“Oh gods...”, Jenelyne gasped and Allar glanced over his shoulder at her. “Quiet, Jen”, he barked, before he turned to the first man, who was now approaching him and Ysilla. The man flashed him a wide grin. “Jen, huh?”, he spat and behind him, the older man approached Theodan, who was crouching down, ready to jump up once his opponent would come closer. “You should be quiet, missy. Be quiet and I'll make it quick. But if you scream...”
Ysilla stared him straight into his small, dark eyes and in this moment, as he threatened the girl, something snapped within her. “Fuck this”, she spat. This was not a soldier, not even a trained swordsman, just a thug with a knife. She knew his kind well and though he was probably stronger than her, she was faster and for all his arrogance, he hadn't expected her to be anything more than a scared girl. But right now, she felt no fear at all, not of him, nor his companions, not even of Yoreen Flowers. There was just anger.
She rammed her elbow into the man's stomach and though he gasped, he did not stagger back. Instead, his grin faded, replaced by a cold, hateful sneer and he tried to attack her. A second later, Allar was by her side. He jumped into the man and punched him with both hands at once, knocking him back and landing on top of him.
“What the...”, the older man growled and for a moment, he turned his back on Theodan. Her brother used this moment to attack. Jumping up as much as the chains allowed it, he wrapped the iron around the man's throat, before pressing one knee against his back. Immediately, he began to strangle the thug, who dropped his knife and began to claw at the chains, trying to regain his breath.
“Thought it'd be easier, huh?”, Ysilla spat, as she glared at the third of the three men, who was still holding the young guardsman. He could have ran now, could have probably gotten away even, but she knew his kind. As prideful as they were thick-headed, he did exactly what she expected. With a curse on his lips, he let go of Dylar, who fell onto his knees. “And you'll stay here!”, he barked, as he kicked the young man's back, knocking him forwards onto the rocky ground. Then, he drew his sword and pointed it at the prisoners, unsure whom to attack first.
To his left, Theodan was strangling his opponent, with the man already growing visibly weaker. To his right, Allar was wrestling with the leader of the trio over the knife and though his hands were chained together, he was also larger and stronger and on top of the thug. Ysilla saw how he grabbed his sword with both hands once he glanced at Allar and before he charged, she knew where he would head to. “Allar, look out!”, she yelled and not one moment too late.
Just in this moment, Allar had managed to wrestle the knife from the first man's grip and with one swift strike, he rammed it into his opponent's throat, before pulling it out just as he rolled to the side. The third man's strike missed him, but Allar was now crouching right in front of him. Without wasting any time, he rammed the bloody knife into the man's knee right beneath the kneecap, where he twisted the blade.
The man roared in agony and by now, Ysilla was certain that the entire camp had heard the commotion. Allar came to the same realization and without even bothering to finish off the knee-capped soldier he turned to Dylar Harking, who was just barely getting up again. The boy was bleeding from a head wound and as he glanced around, disoriented, scared and in pain, the first thing he saw was Theodan, who just finished strangling his opponent to death.
“Oh no...”, he gasped, with wide eyes, as his gaze wandered to the screaming man, then to Allar, still holding the blood-stained knife. The tall dornishman was approaching him, slowly and menacingly. “No, no please!” Dylar screamed, as he began to crawl away. Allar let out a groan, as he leant down to the boy, pressing one knee against his stomach. “Shut up!”, he barked. “You have the keys to our chains, right? Give them to me, or I will kill you”
“Allar, he didn't do anything...”, Ysilla hissed and she knew it could be only moments until the rest of the camp would be here. Her companion shrugged, as he reached for the boy's throat, pressing the knife against it. “He's one of Yoreen's lackeys”, he spat. “Should be fucking glad I'm giving him this chance. The keys, boy, now!”
Ysilla did not know how it happened. Dylar was panicking by now, almost hyperventilating and frantically looking around for a way out. In one moment, he was still struggling. Then, Ysilla blinked, only to open her eyes to the sound of a panicked gurgling. Allar was dropping the knife and let go of Dylar, who was now squirming on the ground, pressing both hands onto the deep gash through his throat. “Shit... shit!”, Allar exclaimed, as he backed off the dying soldier. “I didn't mean to...!”
“The keys!”, Theodan exclaimed and Allar immediately knelt over Dylar again, who was wheezing now. Before he could find anything, however, another figure appeared at the tent door. “What the hells?”, a woman exclaimed and Ysilla recognized Roseandre, the only woman she had seen in Yoreen's entourage. Seeing the carnage, she immediately backed off. “Guards!”, she yelled. “Get the commander, quick!”
“No, no, no!”, Allar screamed, as he went through the dying man's pockets. “He doesn't have it... he doesn't have the bloody key!” Just a second later, soldiers stormed the tent. Ysilla had backed off already, getting between them and Jenelyne, while Theodan tried to kept them safe by being as far away from them as possible.
Allar barely managed to reach for the knife, as one of the soldiers kicked him in the face, violently so. Theodan was slightly calmer, as he did not reach for any weapon. Instead, he raised his hands to shield his face from their attacks, presenting his open palms in an attempt to appear as harmless as possible. Within moments, half a dozen soldiers had entered the tent, armed with swords, with two more standing guard at the entrance, themselves carrying spears with them.
Roseandre appeared again, looking over her shoulder and frantically waving someone over, while Allar was thrown to the ground. Two soldiers knelt onto his back, while two more held Theodan down. Ysilla was spared any physical assault, but two soldiers approached her and Jen, pointing their weapons at them. “Don't move!”, one of them snarled, while the other knelt down to the injured man, the one whom Allar had knee-capped.
“Ser Yoreen!”, Roseandre yelled. “We got them under control, but it's a bloodbath” She took a step to the side and Ysilla gasped in sudden fear, as the massive figure of Yoreen Flowers entered the tent. He was towering over the common soldiers, so much that he had to lower his head to properly fit through the tent door. His pale, cold eyes glanced around, quietly overlooking the carnage, as his expression soured even further. Behind him, the smaller and leaner figure of the Iron Viper followed in his shadows.
“Morris Barclay, Hugh of Tanner Street...”, Yoreen mumbled, glancing from the dead leader of the trio that had assaulted them to the older man. Then, his eyes widened and for a brief moment, he seemed genuinely shocked. “And Dylar Harking...” He looked from Ysilla to the injured man, then back to her. “What the hell happened here?”, he roared.
“Your men...”, Ysilla gasped, barely able to speak as he came closer. Her heart was beating furiously in naked fear and she almost flinched as Jen pressed herself against her back, even more terrified than she herself was. “They attacked us. Said they wanted to desert, but before that, they wanted to kill us and also... they...” She cut herself off, while looking up at the knight.
“Is that true, Bell?”, Yoreen growled, as he glared down at the injured man. Bell groaned, before he shook his head. “We didn't do anything, Ser”, he then managed to utter, still in clear pain. “There was a commotion in the tent and Harking asked us to come and help him out. When we entered, they attacked us. Jumped at us. They wanted to kill us and...” He paused and even in this twilight, Ysilla saw how he grew pale, as Yoreen knelt down next to him.
“Four chained prisoners, jumping and overwhelming four of my guards...”, Yoreen growled. Without warning, his hand darted forward, grabbing Bell by the throat and as the knight rose to his feet, he effortlessly pulled the injured man with him, lifting him up with one hand. “Ser, please...”, Bell stuttered, but Yoreen shook his head. “Just last week, I had to punish a friend of yours. You know the price for rape, even attempted. And you know the price for murder, even attempted”, he growled. “I know you lot. Oldtown dreg. Rotten to the core, like everything my father sends me. I know what you are capable of”
Quietly, Ysilla noticed him reaching behind him, where he was carrying a thin, sharp knife. “And do you know what, Bell?”, he now growled, pulling the man close and glaring at him. Though his tone was calm and quiet, his voice carried far and there was malice in it. “I don't believe you...” Without hesitation, he rammed the knife into Bell's groin. At first, the man's eyes widened, too stunned to scream, but as Yoreen moved the knife upwards, cutting and carving up to his gut, Bell began to scream, then to shriek in horrible agony. He was twitching and flailing, but Yoreen knew neither mercy nor hesitation. He only stopped as he reached the man's navel and by then, Bell was dead already.
With quiet disgust, Yoreen let go of the deserter. “Remove this dreg from my presence”, he growled. “His companions too. Throw them to the dogs” One of his men saluted in front of him, but as he turned to the corpses, Yoreen held him back. “Not the Harking boy”, he replied and his voice was almost soft as he said this. “Put him in his tent. Have the maester clean his wounds. We owe him that much”
Once again, the man saluted. “Yes, Commander Yoreen, Ser!”, he exclaimed, as he and two of his comrades began to work on the corpses. Still, two were restraining Allar, another two were holding Theodan down, while Jen and Ysilla were held back by one soldier each. There was Roseandre near the entrance to the tent and the Iron Viper right next to Yoreen. And who knew how many were awake by now, gathering around the tent, waiting for their commands.
“Thank you...”, Ysilla mumbled, but as Yoreen turned back to her, his expression was downright murderous. “I am not done with you yet, prisoner!”, he spat, before he pointed at the corpse of Dylar Harking. “What about him? Was he part of that assault on you?” Ysilla gulped, but before she could reply, Jen spoke up right next to her. The other woman was still shivering, but as she spoke, her voice was almost calm. “He was”, she spoke, lying without missing a beat. “He let them in and when we fought back against his companions, he tried to help them. We... we had no choice, please...”
Yoreen raised an eyebrow, before he flashed her a smile devoid of any joy. It was an expression of pure malice. “We always have a choice”, he told her. “What to do with our lives. How to treat the people around us. To stick to the rules or to break them” He raised a finger. “You, for example, you just chose to lie to me”, he then added and Jen's eyes widened. “I...”
“Not another word from you, girl”, Yoreen growled and his smile disappeared as fast as it had come. “This boy here, he was not a good fighter. Could barely swing a sword, almost hurt himself with bow and arrow. Good for nothing but camp work. But he excelled at that. He was loyal and he could follow orders and he had a kind heart” He shook his head and Ysilla got the impression that Dylar Harking's death actually hit him. “He was a good soldier and I knew I could trust him to stand guard here”, he then mumbled. “Who of you did it?”
“What...?”, Allar gasped. “We... we only tried to...” Yoreen cut him off. “Oh, I get it”, he spat. “These cunts assaulted you and you defended yourself. I'm not judging you for that. In fact, you did good with them. But that doesn't mean that I can forgive what you did to Dylar. When they were down, you were trying to get the keys, right? The keys he never had on him” With these words, he gave the Iron Viper a nod and the foreign sellsword reached into the pocket of his long coat, revealing a ring of keys, which Yoreen commented with a cold nod. “You killed one of my favoured soldiers for nothing”, he growled. “That boy has a family in the Reach. A father and a sister who wait for his return and you took that from them. Back when you were killing my men, before I captured you, that was a battle. That was something else. But Dylar... that was murder” He narrowed his eyes. “And there is only one punishment for murder”
Ysilla's eyes widened as she realized what he meant. “No... you can't...!”, she began, but Yoreen cut her off again. “I think I told you before that I don't need all of you to talk, little spy”, he replied. “I thought that would be enough to keep you in line. Turns out, perhaps I should have done this right after I captured you. Perhaps Dylar would still be alive in that case”
“I did it!”, Allar barked and Ysilla was surprised by how calm he sounded. “I killed him. If you have to punish someone, take me. Spare the rest, they only defended themselves” Yoreen raised an eyebrow and next to Ysilla, Jen stopped shivering. “Allar...”, she mumbled, her eyes widening as she realized what her brother was doing right now. “Don't... no, please... don't...”
“You're trying to defend your friends”, Yoreen deduced. “Almost admirable, if it wouldn't come from a dornish rat” He glanced at the blood-stained knife in his hands. “But you alone won't be enough. I don't need all four of you to talk, I don't even need three. Two is all I need and I choose the ones who are less likely to give me any trouble” He raised his hand and his men looked up, listening to his words. “Restrain them. Two for the men, one on each side. One for the women each. Hold them back, but make them watch. I want them to see”
Now, Jen began to twist within the soldier's firm grip. “NO!”, she screamed. “Allar, no! Please, don't do this!” There was naked panic in her voice and she was struggling against the soldier so heavily that the man who was holding Ysilla let go of her to come to his comrade's aid. She staggered forwards, with wide eyes, feeling nothing but a numb sense of dread, as she couldn't take her eyes off Theodan.
She barely realized that the Iron Viper had stepped up to hold her back. “Do not intervene”, the sellsword whispered and his tone was not as hostile as she had expected. “If you do, he will punish you worse” She gave him a nod, barely even realizing it, as she still stared right past him at Theodan. Not now... not like this...
Her brother was calm, surprisingly so after what Yoreen had just announced and he looked at Ysilla, giving her a soft, almost gentle smile. “Don't look”, he spoke, but she couldn't. She could not look away from him, as Yoreen's soldiers lifted him up, restraining him firmly and preventing him from even struggling. She felt nothing in this moment but overwhelming terror, too much to speak, even too much to cry.
Jenelyne, however, was screaming now. Terrified, blood-curdling screams, the kind that would haunt Ysilla's nightmares undoubtedly. She was screaming as if it was not her brother who was about to be killed but she herself. And perhaps it was, after all. A part of her at least. Allar merely glared at Yoreen, as the knight walked up to him. “Do you have any last words?”, the knight asked, as he raised the knife.
Allar shook his head. “Not to you”, he growled, before his expression softened. In this moment, there was no hatred on his face, no anger, not even fear. He looked past Yoreen and right at Jenelyne. “I love you, Jenny...”, he mumbled and his tone was warm, soothing even, though it was overshadowed by the sheer despair in Jen's voice. There were tears in his eyes, however. No matter how calm he was forcing himself to be, his eyes revealed that he was despairing, no less than his sister. “Forgive me for leaving you...”
“Allar!”, Jenelyne screamed. “No, don't... please, don't do this!” Without even paying her any attention and surely without mercy, Yoreen rammed the blade into Allar's chest, right where the heart was. The dornishman's expression was already calm, but even right now, it did not change much. His eyes widened and his legs gave in beneath him as Yoreen twisted the knife. At the same time, Jen's screams died down, into a low, terrible whimper. She fell to her knees and the soldiers let go of her, realizing that she was not a threat right now. Still sobbing, she stared at Allar's dead body and seeing her like this, it broke Ysilla's heart.
“One more”, Yoreen growled, as he pointed the knife at Theodan. “Your friend took it well. Just try to follow his example” As soon as he said this, Theodan flinched. Something was changing within him. The deceptively calm facade was cracking, revealing helpless anger beneath. “You fucking animal!”, he barked. “Don't make her watch. Spare her that much”
As Yoreen walked up to him, Ysilla could barely look at this horrifying scene, but neither could she look away. Tears were clouding her voice and Jen's blood-curdling screams still echoed through her mind, but she could still see Theodan and she could hear Yoreen as he spoke. “Why should I?”, he growled. “Any last words?”
Instead of replying, Theodan spat in the Reachman's face. “Fuck you”, he hissed, while Yoreen frowned. With one hand, he wiped the saliva off his face, before he shrugged. “You want it the hard way then, don't you?”, he growled. “Have it like that then, as you wish” He turned around and Ysilla held her breath, as he raised one closed fist. “Roughen him up a bit, boys, will ya?”, he barked. “Don't hold back and don't stop unless I'm telling you”
The two men who had previously held up Allar saluted in front of their commander and as they approached Theodan, Ysilla felt her calmness fading, making way for the same sheer terror Jenelyne had to feel before. “No...”, she gasped, as the Iron Viper puller her closer. “You don't have to look”, the sellsword whispered. “But for all that you hold dear, do not fight back. He can be worse than that, so much worse”
Theodan was pale now, as he stared at the two soldiers who were about to beat him to death. He opened his mouth to say something, but in this moment, the first fist hit him. With one soldier holding each of his arms, he was unable to fight back or even just to defend himself, as the two soldiers began to beat him. Punch after punch hit his unprotected face and after the second hit, Ysilla already saw blood pouring from her brother's nose.
“No...”, she gasped and now she realized how powerless Jen had felt. Yoreen stood there calmly, though now there was a grim, spiteful smirk on his face. “Please, don't do this!”, she screamed. “Let him go, you can have me. You can have me, but please, don't! No!” And despite of what the Iron Viper had told her just moments ago she was struggling now, stemming against his grip. The sellsword held her back, pressing against her and preventing her from breaking free.
“Theodan!”, she shrieked, as her brother went to his knees. He was bleeding heavily now, from his nose and lips and from his cheeks and as he tried to look up at his executioners in defiance, one of them kicked him in the face. After that, she was not sure if he even remained conscious. She continued to struggle, though her voice quickly broke into a whimper. “Theodan Allyrion...”, she mumbled, as she looked at Yoreen, her sight a blur from all those tears.
He didn't have to hear her, much less listen to her. However, as soon as she had said these two words, he flinched and stared right at her. “Hold it!”, he barked at the top of his lungs and immediately, his men stopped throwing punches at Theodan. Her brother was still alive, barely at least, though he had fallen to the ground. Only the two men who held him up prevented him from collapsing on the ground. One of his eyes was swollen shut, bruised like the rest of his face, though the one eye he could still see through stared at Ysilla in a mixture of fear and relief. He opened his mouth and mumbled something, but she was unable to understand him. However, she realized that he was shaking his head, at least slightly so.
Instead of looking at him, she stared at Yoreen Flowers, however, who approached her swiftly. “Viper, unhand her”, he growled and the Iron Viper let go of her at once. She staggered forward, towards the knight, who held her at arm's length away from him. “What did you say?”, he then snarled and she sighed. “His name is Theodan Allyrion”, she replied. “The firstborn son and heir of Alester Allyrion, Lord of Godsgrace”
She knew that from here, it was only a small step for him to find out what they had truly planned to do in the Reach and she knew what this would mean for Dorne, but right now, she couldn't care less. Nothing mattered right now, nothing but Theodan. “And I am Ysilla Sand”, she continued. “His half-sister”
Yoreen stared at her for a moment, before he dropped the knife, the weapon he had used to murder Allar with, as his eyes widened. Then, without warning and without holding back, he gave her a heavy slap. Her cheek exploded in pain, as the sheer force of the hit was enough for her to spin around. “You...”, Yoreen growled, as she sunk to her knees. Her cheek was throbbing in pain now and as she reached for it, she winced, as she felt warm blood.
“Out of all of your secrets, this is the one you kept from me?”, the knight barked, as he grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look into his cold, hateful eyes. “You are of noble blood, your brother is the son of one of the Yellow Toad's most powerful bannermen and you let me think you're nothing but common spies?”
Despite the pain and the numb fear that still threatened to overwhelm her, Ysilla managed to narrow her eyes, sending Yoreen a glare no less hateful than the sheer malice that radiated from him. “What difference does it make?”, she hissed, to which he let go of her clenching his fists in obvious frustration. “It means you are not prisoners of wars”, he told her sternly. “You are highborn hostages. It means you are more important than I ever realized”
He turned away, grabbing the soldier closest to him and violently pulling him closer. “I need the maester, right now!”, he barked. “He needs to look at Ser Theodan's injuries. As for his sister...” He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “This is no place for a woman of noble blood, even if she is a bastard. She will be given a bath and some proper clothes. Then... then you will bring her to me once again” His expression was blank right now, there was no open malice anymore, just a small hint of frustration. “Then, we will dine and you will be given the chance to come clean. Why would Lord Alester's son and his bastard daughter try to cross the Mountains of Dorne dressed like peasants?”, he growled. “You will tell me everything if you wish to avoid another... mistake like the one that happened today”
“Mistake...”, Ysilla mumbled, as she stared at Allar's corpse. Then, she glanced at Jen, who was curled up on the ground. The girl was sobbing heavily, unable to look up, with her eyes closed. “What about him?”, Yoreen asked, as he pointed at Allar. “Was he of noble blood too? Don't tell me I just killed a highborn hostage” Ysilla gulped. “You killed him because he murdered your guardsman, didn't you?”, she replied in a hollow tone. “What difference would it make?”
Yoreen rolled his eyes. “Quite some, as much as I would like things to be different”, he growled. “But if a man of noble blood kills a lowborn peasant... the law is clear. Our kind is not punished in the same way. Had I known that... he would still be alive” He looked away from Allar and stared at her once again. “So, I'm asking you once more, is he of noble blood? And what about his sister? Just common dornish dreg, the two of them?”
Ysilla hesitated to answer, just a bit too long and Yoreen approached her once again, fast enough for her to flinch. “If your little friend here is highborn, even just a bastard, she will receive better treatment”, he promised. “The knightly code is clear on how to deal with highborn hostages” Better treatment? Ysilla looked down at Jen and she had to hold back tears as she saw her there. Crying, sobbing to herself, mourning for her brother. She could have been there as well now, easily so and she couldn't even imagine what Jen had to feel right now. “But I'm warning you, girl. If you lie to me, you'll regret it”
Though Jen and Allar were both lowborn, perhaps Yoreen didn't have to know. Would it be so unthinkable that she and Theodan were accompanied by two highborn bastards? And indeed, she remembered two who would roughly fit. Indra and Kisara Sand, the bastard nephew and niece of Lord Trevas Gargalen, who used to be the Lord of Salt Shore when she was younger, back when her father had taken her on a trip to the dornish coast. They had to be roughly in Jen's and Allar's age by now... as much as she feared the consequences of lying to this man any further, if it would spare Jen the worst treatment these animals had to offer, perhaps it was worth a try...
[Tell him that Jen and Allar are highborn] [Tell him that Jen and Allar are lowborn]
End of Chapter 3 : Ours is the Fury
Your Choices:
Alliance – Arthur decided to seek aid from the Alley Cats against Wolfius Woodbark
Compromise – Jaron agreed to assassinate the triarch for Lysara Rogare
Trust – Drent decided to take Orys Baratheon captive
Survival – Ysilla decided to cooperate with Yoreen Flowers
Treason – Garthon decided to help Maurice with imprisoning Torvin Hale