Chapter 61: On the Shores of Darkwell Part II
Mid 158 AC
Stones larger than men flew with every smash of the titanic claw, the monster wielding it advancing quickly enough to keep pace. The great splashes of broken bridge tumbling into the waters below echoed throughout the cavern, reverberating as claps of thunder amidst the shouts, cries, and the horrible hissing of the monster bearing down upon them. "Scatter!" Casper cried, breaking apart men trying to form a line. "We clump together, that beast will crush us! Stay out of range of those claws, and strike from its blind spots where you can. Go, go, go!"
Their training once again taking over, the great cluster divided as waves parting before the bow of a ship, encircling the old warehouse as Baelor stumbled through it. Yet when he tried to join one of the groups, a chunk of bridge sailed past, nearly striking him, tearing a gouge into the ground beside him. On instinct, he diverted course, only for another rock to land on his other side, crushing a Galewood man too hurried to notice the incoming projectile. More rocks rained down around them, what few men amidst Baelor trying to divert to the side, only to be driven back or crushed by the projectiles from the wretched beast.
"Into Darkwell!" Ser Thorne cried, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a broken arch of the now-gone bridge. Baelor followed closely behind, turning back enough only to see the spears and arrows of their men harmlessly bounce off the creature's shell and armored legs. With a horrid gurgle, it lurched out of the water, charging across the shifting soil and pebbles with thundering steps, taking a swipe at whomever drew too close. Yet the beast was slower on land, he noticed, its great size not doing well out of the water, and thus he reached Darkwell itself well before the creature did.
"Scatter, we must break its attention get the prince to safety!" Casper cried as they reached what may have amounted to a town square, surrounded by rocky outcroppings, homes carved into cave wall, and whatever rubble and natural formations yet lingered in the town. Immediately, men ran in pairs and trios in every direction, disappearing into darkness. "My prince, we'll try and lead it away, you go that way!"
The prince nodded. "Ser Thorne, with me!" he cried, only for the thundering footsteps to be upon them, and a claw larger than his horse nearly flattened him into the ground, only his instincts of the training yard having him roll out of the way just in time as the ground cracked beneath his feet. He looked up to see the beast bear down upon him, that cavernous maw of a beak opening as if to swallow him whole. Holding his sword tightly, Baelor did what his training told him to do.
Run.
Turning tail, he fled between a pair of buildings, twin braids whipping behind him as the crash of rock and the gurgling hiss of the monster followed far too closely for his liking. Every breath, every step, he focused as much as he could on those, so that he was not overcome by the knowledge of what would happen should he fall. Recalling the long hours running around a castle and of how his legs would burn after running for as long as he could, he dodged rocks falling from a ledge as the ground shook. Yet he pressed on, rushing into a house and hurling himself through the opposing entryway, just as the massive claw came crashing through the structure.
All around him, rock splintered as if wood caught in a gale, with dust and debris scattering about. He continued to evade his gargantuan pursuer, ducking around corners in time to avoid the strike of a claw, and passing by any open spaces quickly enough to avoid whatever the beast threw at him. Yet as he entered one of the larger buildings, the opposing entrance directed straight for the glowing waters of one of Darkwell's many rivers, the entire wall behind him broke, a shard of rock glancing off his armor, but with enough force to send him rolling across the stone floor. Sprawled against a far wall, his sword disappearing into the darkness and falling rubble, he rose to run, only for the horrid visage of the monster to loom before him in the dark, those terrible eyes fixed upon him with what the prince could only call unfathomable malevolence.
Then the ceiling cracked, as did the far wall, and before he could run, before the beast could strike him down, the shattered far wall crumbled around the beast. In a panic, the great animal tried to flee, but the great weight of the ceiling bore down upon it, and while its legs were strong, they were not meant to hold the weight of such a small piece of the world. So it fell upon its armored underside, legs splayed as an almighty crash sounded around them, and Baelor saw, to his horror, a shard of the ceiling fall in front of his escape.
He was trapped in there, the ceiling held up only by the angle of how it had landed on the horrid creature, and its own integrity. Were that to fail, surely he would perish. Rushing over to the great stone, he tried to pull on it, the distant light of the river outlining it in a pale imitation of before. Yet it would not budge, likely hundreds if not thousands of pounds heavier than the heaviest man he had ever knocked to the ground in the training yard.
The prince turned to see the creature observing him, even in its pinned state, and to his shock and horror, its beak seemed to twist into a smile as those eyes, those terrible eyes, surveyed him with a calculating look. Impossible! A beast could not give off such an aura of malicious intelligence or murderous intent, and yet Baelor could feel it in his bones, his mind, his very soul…
"Prince," it said, the hiss bringing to Baelor horrid memories of a dark future, of actions taken by a man that was him and yet could not be, and of a dark shape, presiding over his chained form. "Blood of dragonsss… once more we meet."
"Once more?" Baelor parroted, trying again to move the slab of stone, even shouting out for help, but in this potential tomb, all he could hear was his own throbbing heartbeat, and the hissing of the monster across from him. A hissing he knew to be from the sleep he so dreaded these past few nights, before he was saved by whatever miracle had arrived before he fell into darkness.
"Indeed," this beast, no, this abomination replied, its large claw immobilized beneath a large pile of rubble. The other claw, Baelor noticed, was far smaller in size, but no less long and wicked in appearance. As comparing a broadaxe to a glaive of similar length, perhaps, but no such weapons could ever be as jagged and foul looking as those two.
"You… you were in my dreams."
"Yesss, I wasss," the beast said, those terrible eyes looking him over as if he were a prize to be won, or worse, a quality cut of pork. "Yet unlike before, it would ssseem you have me at a… disssadvantage. A sssituation in which I am willing to… negotiate."
"Negotiate?" Baelor was unsure if his ears were simply tricking him, the ringing from the falling rock still a dull ache, or if the beast was trying to… parlay? "Why would I do that?"
"Bessst you do, sssince you are trapped in here with me, with nowhere to run," his foe replied. "Asss a generousss god, I am not unwilling to let bygonesss be bygonesss, and leave thessse landsss, never to return."
So it called itself a god. Hard not to believe it capable of such, seeing as it was speaking to him, and had spoken to him in his dreams of all places. Yet it was here, this great calamitous creature, and was trying to strike a bargain. His wariness tempered by intrigue, Baelor stayed back, but looked the monster over. It did indeed appear trapped, and he could hear distant shouts. Surely his men would find him soon, and yet, what did it hurt to at least… hear what this beast had to say?
"What are you called?" Baelor asked.
"I have been called by many namesss, many in tonguesss you know not," was the reply. "Yet for now, you may call me… Nadresy."
Baelor's eyes widened at that. That was a Valyrian word, specifically for a bastard. This indeed was some horrid fusion of entirely different creatures, but had it always been this way? Had some dark magic formed this malevolent beast? "So if I and my men were to depart, you would leave Dorne?" he asked.
"Wesssterosss itssself, for I yearn for the homeland I never knew, to bathe in watersss I have never once called my own," it said, small rocks tumbling down around it from the deep hisses of its speech. "I would leave you to your kingdomsss, and trouble you no more."
Clearly the monster was at a disadvantage, but how long that would remain was unfortunately likely not long enough to find some way to kill it. Considering he saw how ineffective the men's weapons had been against this thing when it exited the water, Baelor felt trying to fight it would only see more of his men dead. He had already lost too many to the army of undead drowned and would rather they fight no longer. "Where would you go?"
It shifted slightly, the rubble holding it down moving slightly, but even more rocks tumbling onto the pile pinning it to the ground. "To Esssosss, to the Rhoyne, prince of dragonsss," it replied. "I would even make it worth your while."
"How could you do that?" Baelor asked as voices drew nearer his blocked escape. Essos, the Rhoyne… had this creature come with Nymeria's people? Or had it been born here, having never laid eyes on that great river?
"Thossse treasssuresss you have taken, they meant nothing to me. A treasssure I yet posssesss, however, I believe any Targaryen would find mossst interesssting indeed," the beast replied, a great chunk of hardened foam oozing from an open hole upon its back. From within stood a small chest, its details lost in the gloom and the foam itself.
"My prince!" a voice cried, somewhat muffled by the stone slab blocking his escape. "Are you injured!"
"Nay, I am not," Baelor replied, not taking his eyes off the monster. "Ser Thorne, is that you?"
"Yes my prince, I am here, we'll have you out of there shortly. The monster, is it dead?"
"No, no it is not," Baelor said, watching the small chest retreat within the creature's shell once again.
"Ssso, will you leave me be?" the beast asked, shifting once again, the crumbling roof cracking and crumbling as it did. "Ssso that I may leave thisss place asss well, and return to the Rhoyne?"
Baelor heard several splashes from the other side of the stone slab. On instinct, he moved to the side of it, the horrible eyes tracking his every movement. He wanted to leave this place, and this creature wanted to leave for Essos. Why would he stop it, when none of the weapons of his men could hurt the damn thing? Better they flee and live with a story to tell rather than perish should he refuse.
"I-," he began, only for the rock blocking his escape to crack sharply. Turning in surprise, he found the stone split down the middle, and then a small splash of water impacted the divide, pressing it further apart. Torchlight shone on him, temporarily blinding him, but a white armored hand reached in for him.
"My prince!" Ser Thorne cried, the gap now large enough to crawl through. Behind him, Baelor could just see the outline of Casper supporting old Perros, a broken jug of water at his feet. "Come quickly!"
Baelor turned to see the beast, whose eyes had left him, and moved onto old Perros and Casper. A disturbing expression overtook them, the innermost pupils glowing same sickly color as the waters and the undead abominations that had emerged from them.
"Traitor!" the beast screeched, the noise driving Baelor to his knees as he reached for the Kingsguard's gauntlet. The building shook as it struggled to free one of its claws. "You traitorousss ssswine, water witch! I will ssseee you sssuffer for thisss heresssy!"
Suddenly free from its prison, the long claw thrust straight for Perros, impacting on the stone wall just above the gap. What was left of the building shook from the blow, and as he rolled away from a falling slab of sandstone, Baelor saw the gap open just a touch more. Scrambling to his feet as Ser Thorne withdrew his hand, he dove through the gap just as the wretched beast reared back for another strike, screeching in rage. As Casper and Ser Thorne grabbed him, the great claw slammed into the wall again, and with a shuddering groan, the entire structure began to sway dangerously, splitting and fracturing where it met the solid ground.
"Go! Go!" Casper cried, hauling the prince to his feet, and with the wall's swaying only increasing, they began the mad dash towards Darkwell itself. Only… another great crash from within dislodged the last of the wall's support, and with a rumble akin to thunder, it began to tumble towards them. Baelor ran as hard as he could, the ache in his legs ignored as the thunder rock behind him drew closer and closer above their heads. Falling rocks split and shattered, sending pieces flying in every direction, some raining down on them as hail. Ahead of him, he saw a large shard embed itself in the lower leg of one of the men, Galewood livery near indistinguishable beneath the dust upon them all, and the man fell with a cry, nearly being trampled by their group.
Baelor tried to help him, but wordlessly, Ser Thorne pushed him along, just as the rest of the building gave way, and crumbled into a massive pile of rubble. The dust from the sheer weight of it falling battered at Baelor's eyes, forcing him to close them and shield his mouth, lest he taste it as he had that horrid dust from the Stormlands. As he blinked his eyes clear of such foul particulates, he looked back to see only a massive pile of broken stone and shards of rock, some of them having fallen from even greater heights from the building's destruction.
"By the gods, is it dead?" Ser Thorne asked.
"We can only hope so, or if not, then we best be on our way," Casper said, turning to Baelor. "My prince, where is your sword?"
"Lost in the building, likely now crushed under all that rubble," he replied, already feeling the beginnings of bruises forming. "We need to get out of here."
"Indeed, let us rejoin the-," Old Perros began, and then the pile of rubble shifted. From one side, battered and with cracks growing along its surface like spiderwebs, the great claw burst forth.
"Flee! Now!" Baelor cried. Not a man there needed a second command, and as one, they turned and ran. Ahead of them, Baelor could see the rest of the men gathered near the bridge, where torches blazed on the other side and distant figures were scrambling over the rocks. A torch passed one of the darkened banners, and to his surprise, he saw the great stag upon it. Lord Baratheon's reinforcements! How had they arrived so quickly?
"My prince! Look out!" a voice cried, and Baelor turned to see a shattered slab of rock hurtling towards him.
Time ground to a near halt, his eyes widening as he drew nearer the old warehouse. Some part of him kept trying to run, but the projectile was approaching him faster than he knew he could move. To his side, he saw Casper bringing out his flail, as if to strike the great slab, but what could such a weapon do against such a massive rock?
Was this his end?
Had he lived a better life than his alternative had, even with so few years under his belt?
The great slab was nearly upon him when a wave of power crashed into him, lifting him up and off his feet. For a moment, he was submerged in a wall of water, and then broke through the other side just as the rock impacted where he would have been. For the briefest moment, this wall of water, more a shield covering their entire party, held against the rock, and then as the rock cracked in twain before their very eyes, the watery wall imploded. Rushing down and around them, Baelor saw his fellows scattered every which way, with himself being carried into the old remains of the warehouse. He cried out in pain as he landed on something, even as it gave way beneath his body, and coughing at the water that temporarily surged over his prone form, he leaned up to see the great mass of Nadresy fully burst from the distant pile of rubble.
"Men! Surround the beast!" he heard a coughing cry sound, and from near the shore, he saw Casper wielding his flail, standing between the approaching Nadresy and a kneeling, shuddering Porros, a great column of water breaking apart at his back.
From the other side, he heard the shouts and stomps of armored men approaching, and as the thunder of the horrid beast's steps drew near, he rolled off whatever he had landed on. Turning to look, Baelor saw it to be the great rotting crate he had been unable to take before, and from within its shattered contents, he saw something… strange. It was a handle, but not that of a sword. It was too long, and even in the faded gloom of this hellish place, it bore a smoky shine that could not be mere castle steel...
Casper glared into the eyes of this horrid beast, a figure from the nightmares of too many. Long had he tried to help shield his men from the worst of the beast's influence, but as the nights had dragged on, his sleep would suffer if he did not withdraw from the defense. So his men too dealt with horrid dreams and portents of doom, no matter what he tried. Long had the others in his mindscape, the gods of this world, told him of their waning power, and whilst he had seen in it their forms, their own abilities, he had not yet seen it in this creature.
That old Perros had saved the prince, and indeed most of them, with the last strength he had before collapsing was a testament to what the strength of magic still was, even so greatly reduced. Without a word, two of his bowmen grabbed the old underdweller and began to drag him to safety, the rest of their combined forces beginning to surround the great creature as it approached. Yet the monster bearing down on them appeared none the weaker for the loss of magic in this world as Perros did, and as he tightened his grip upon the beast, he was… unsure of how to proceed. It was not a good feeling to have, especially now. He had planned for so much, done so much with comparably so little, and now he was facing a foe far beyond any he knew of in this world, save for what would come over a century down the road. He would not live to see that, but with the promise of the gods of this world, perhaps it would fare better than in the original timeline. Yet he dismissed such thoughts, the here and now taking precedence over longwinded plans and the matters befitting of gods.
Then a voice spoke in his mind, the same he had heard when he appeared cloaked in storm and shadow before a troubled prince and rescued him from falling into a coma or worse.
"Interloper, at last we meet in the flesh," the voice grumbled in his skull, and from how the eyes of the coming monster followed him, it could truly be no other.
"Your lisp is gone," Casper thought back as he tried to halt the wave of nausea that came over him. Through one eye he saw the world around him as any other did, but in the other, overlaid as if a picture from another camera, and entirely against his will, he saw… more. He saw the empty darkness of the dreamscape overlaid his other eye's sight, and within it he saw the terrifying extent of this beast's potential power. What everyone saw before them… should the beast grow, it would be far, far worse.
"I am Nadresy, I have no need for a lisp in this land between, as the physical limitations on such beasts as ourselves is… reduced," it said, taking a swing at him with the longer, thinner claw. He rolled to the side, beach stones crunching and shifting beneath him as he did so. Men to his right threw whatever short spears and arms they could, but no arrow penetrated the monster's armored hide, and whatever stuck into its great shell drew no blood or ichor. "Of course, you would know that already."
Nadresy. So that was its name. "Bastard? Fitting, given your existence, but I must disagree with part of that. I am no beast," Casper replied in his mind, grunting as he sidestepped the claw trying to crush him. He gave it a strike with his flail, and the beast reared back with a hiss, the shell splintering like glass struck by a stone.
"Oh, but you are. The mortals of this world cannot see it as I do, and you may even be able to try and delude yourself, but alas, you can no more fool me than you can yourself," it whispered in his ears, just as it swung away a man trying to pierce the joint of one of its horrid legs. "We are alike in that way. I can see you for what you truly are, and what you could become, as you can for myself. Why fight against such truth?"
"Something being truthful and being right are not always the same." Sidestep, another blow from the Whirlwind upon the armored exterior, and more cracks formed along the longer, narrower claw. More men tried to attack the beast, but the eyes retreated into the armored skull as bowmen drew back and fired a volley at its face.
"Yet despite that, you are more monstrous than any mortal could ever imagine." The eyestalks extended back from within the skull, and with a horrific crunch, it grabbed a stumbling armsman and bit him in half, spitting out the pieces as it lunged again. It then skewered another man with one of its giant legs, punching through steel plate as if it were wet tissue. "To think of how they would react to you if they knew of your origins, to know of the pure savagery you brought with you from your world, wherever that may be."
"They wouldn't believe me even if I told them," Casper replied, dodging those same skewering legs as they tried to pierce him. One he slammed his flail into, right where the larger joint formed, and with a screeching cry, the beast retreated a touch, the offending limb held aloft as it bent at an awkward angle.
"Are you so certain? For all their ignorance, the people of this land are not entirely stupid. I have seen through their dreams of what they have built, and what they could build, were it not for the foolishness of those who seek power. But then again," it chuckled, kicking up stones as it scuttled around, driving back anyone who drew too near, "are we both not foolish beasts for doing the same?"
"I don't seek power."
"Yet it will come to you through your actions, interloper, for control is power, and you incessantly seek it in every action you take. The other gods have seen it yet say nothing, for they will seek your servitude through some misplaced sense of loyalty. A deal with a god is a tricky thing, any mortal should realize that."
"As your deals were? Any price I demand, no matter how great, would be nothing compared to what you have wrought upon these people."
Nadresy didn't even deign to reply to that, only giving a hissing laugh as it grabbed one of the remains of the shattered stone and threw it at a group of men, pulping several within their armor.
Casper rushed up to it and struck the joint of the leg next to the first he had crippled, and with a horrendous wail, the beast stumbled upon the ground, its movements slowing. "The joints, target the joints!" Casper cried, turning to his men, and as several made to cram their halberds and pikes into whatever openings they could find, he realized his mistake just as the larger claw grabbed him and began to squeeze.
"This does not matter in the end, little godling, for I will heal from these few injuries long before your men can try and kill me," it hissed in his ear, its wicked maw beginning to open, slowly, deliberately, without a care for the chaos of the men around them trying to attack it, many of their weapons unable to leave so much as a mark, for the legs moved too quickly. "Once I devour you, I will take your power for my own, and then after slaughtering your little party I will return to the Rhoyne, to bring back the might of the Rhoynar in my image. As for these cities I have heard of through the minds of those I devoured centuries ago, of Volantis and others, they will be as steppingstones to my rise as a living god, feasts to repay the famine I have endured slowly devouring these underground simpletons. Now then," it said, armor beginning to bend under its great claw as it drew Casper closer, his struggles for naught even as his flail continued to strike against the great claw, cracks spreading with every strike from a pinned hand.
"Fuck you," the godling in his grip replied aloud, hacking a wad of spit towards one of its eyes.
Nadresy had the audacity to roll its horrid eyes before it scoffed. "Embrace your death with dignity, you little-,"
"WITH FIRE AND BLOOD!"
There was a flash of darkened smoky silver, and with a screech that shook the very ground beneath them, the beast retreated, Casper falling to the ground in a grunt of pain, something inside him likely broken. Pushing apart the claw as hard as he could, he freed himself from the now-severed appendage, and as he made to rise, a figure stepped between him and the monster. Prince Baelor, breathing heavily, his expression fierce, armor dented, and wielding a weapon of Old Valyria. One made not for simple duels or the prestige of a house, but for the butchery armored Valyrians and even dragons, should it come to that. A Valyrian battle-axe, its great blade dripping in sickly red blood, with more gushing from the stump it had left behind on the behemoth before them.
"There shall be no peace with your kind, monster!" the prince cried as Casper stood beside him, Whirlwind once again at the ready. "Men! Today we slay this beast, and achieve victory! Attack!"
Baelor charged forward, Casper by his side as the swarm of men, amazed by the sight of their prince, surged forward around the beast, batting at it with whatever weapons they had. Nadresy screeched and with its bleeding stump spraying hot, sticky blood every which way, tried to crush the prince beneath one of his forward legs. Yet Casper interceded, crushing into the joint with the Whirlwind, and not a moment after withdrawing, saw Baelor swing the axe into that same joint.
Castle steel was of great quality, especially when made for a prince, but no castle steel had damaged the great armor of this hideous titan. Yet what the prince wielded was no mere steel, but an artifact of Valyria, forged in dragonfire and with untold magics woven into its every inch. With a sickening crunch, it severed the leg at the joint, dark blood splashing about as the beast lost balance amidst its screeching. It stumbled, falling to the ground, and Casper watched as men with pikes found their openings. Amidst gushes of blood, they jammed their steel into the softer joints, pushing deeper and deeper within the monster's flesh.
Nadresy thrashed in pain, legs crunching as it tried to scurry away. Yet the men continued their attack, even as it lashed out with its remaining claw towards Casper. Even with his abdomen aflame with pain, he lurched to the side and swung his flail, the chain wrapping around the claw, and with a twist amongst the dimly glowing runes, the chain tightened quickly. With a horrid crunch, the claw broke beneath its onslaught, but the stump slammed into him as the monster flailed, sending him flying back. Even as he fell to the ground, Baelor's axe struck another leg, cleaving it in twain. The prince did not duck in time and another leg, already damaged from one of Casper's previous attacks, lashed out and sent him sprawling.
Shrieking, Nadresy fell to the ground with a great rumble, its remaining legs unable to continue supporting its great bulk. Men continued to stab at it, but the legs retreated beneath the great beast, only their thickest portions yet exposed. The head pulled further in, shielding the fleshier neck, and the eyes nearly entirely retreated within the armored skull, which none dared approach.
"Leave me be," it hissed, startling near every man, bringing the entire party to a near standstill. Men looked around, worried and unsure, for the voice they had all heard in their nightmares had returned.
"You tried to kill us all, foul beast!" Baelor said, rising with a dangling arm, keeping back from the monster's beak with his axe at the ready. "First within our minds, from nightmares untold! Then with your horde of monsters, and then by your own hand!"
"Pleassse!" the abomination begged as Casper, with a wheeze, rose to his feet. "Jussst let me go! I'll give you whatever you want!"
"There is nothing you have that I want, monster," Baelor replied as Ser Thorne, limping but with his sword at the ready, rejoined him. "No treasure you possess is worth the terror you will leave in your wake, the toll you will wreak upon this world and its people. You would bring only slavery and death, madness upon a world that needs nothing from the likes of you. You will die here, monstrous Rhoynespawn!"
"Then I will take you with me!" it screeched, and with its horrid beak wide open, frothy foam spilling from that dark maw, the head shot forward, neck reaching out as a viper's strike towards the prince.
Casper leapt into action even as the beast spoke, and with every bit of strength, swung his flail upon the fleshy neck of the beast. Flesh pulped beneath the blow in a shower of gore, and a horrific crack echoed through the area as the head fell to the ground, mere feet from the prince, the impact knocking him to the ground. Immediately the rest of the beast went limp, legs unfurling as the men resumed their assault, hacking and stabbing at whatever unarmored joints they could find.
From the maw of the beast, its great tongue lashed out. Baelor screamed from the muffled crunch of the horrid appendage wrapping around his leg, and as it dragged him towards its great maw, he tried to swing his axe, but with only one hand, all it did was leave a great gash in the beast's tongue.
Then Ser Thorne was upon it, and with a swing of his sword, cut through the terrible tongue, which erupted in a fountain of gory foam. With a weak, rattling screech, the beast bit at open air with its jagged beak, unable to reach them, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare at them with hatred and fear in its monstrous eyes.
"We must leave, the beast can do no more, and the prince is wounded," Ser Thorne said, gently helping Baelor to his feet on his good leg. The prince said nothing, holding back a whimper as he gingerly put weight on his other leg, only to nearly collapse when he did so.
"Yet if we leave it alive, it will heal," Casper replied, motioning to the severed claws. Already, though slowly, the bloody stump was sprouting thin spirals of shell and interweaving bone, upon which gory muscle and sinew moved like snakes. "We must kill it."
"Yet how?" Ser Thorne asked as more men surrounded them, the wounds they had inflicted upon the beast's legs already stitching back together. "What little we have done is already coming undone."
"The brain," Casper said, and from the nearby rubble of the old warehouse, he retrieved a long shard of rock, a piece from the great slab Nadresy had thrown at them in their retreat from the destroyed Darkwell. "Through the eye socket, my prince, we must kill it."
"A stake is a fitting end for a creature as horrid as this," the prince whimpered, Ser Thorne keeping them both to the side, far from the angry maw unable to reach them. "Ser Thorne, take me to it."
The horrid hissing and pleading words of the beast did little to dissuade them. With his flail in one hand, and the shard of rock in the other, Casper stood alongside his prince. With a swing with his good arm, the Valyrian battle-axe severed one of the eyes, and amidst a fountain of foamy gore, Casper drove the shard of rock into the gaping wound.
"Don't do this!" Nadresy cried in his ear, fear lacing every word as Baelor held the shard in place and Casper raised his flail.
"Please! I can give you power, the power to do whatever you wish in this world! Please don't do this, I beg of you!"
Yet Casper ignored those words, and with careful strength, struck the flattened end of the rock shard. Nadresy shuddered in pain as Baelor removed his guiding hand, and with growing ferocity, the young Stormlord drove the shard of rock deeper and deeper into the abomination's skull. Amidst pulping brain matter and foul stench, he continued, splashing them with it but uncaring of their state. He was wounded, the prince was wounded, untold numbers of men were dead or dying, and this creature dared to now seek some measure of peace, when it could have departed for Essos in the aftermath of the Dance?
As he prepared the final strike, a whisper of a whisper slithered into his ears, the horrid iris of this darkspawn bastard staring directly into his soul.
"With my dying breath I curse you, beast from beyond. Three to love, yet three to lose, and you shall…"
"Fuck you, Nadresy. Tell Alfrid Sand I said hello." The beast uttered nothing more, for with a final, savage strike of his flail, Casper drove the very end of the rock shard deep into the eyestalk stump. With a gurgling rasp, the beast's other eye rolled back and slumped down, the rest of its body going limp. In his other eye's sight, he saw the essence that roiled off the beast still, and with the sheen of an oil slick, it began to flow off the beast and onto the ground around it, forming a low, dense fog. A great deal of its innate magic, however, seemed to evaporate into the air, rising high into the ceiling and disappearing into darkness as the light of life left the monster's final eye. With a sigh of relief, Casper stumbled back from the creature, almost in a daze as his vision finally cleared, and the other world faded away.
Nadresy was dead, and with it, the last of the great physical remnants of magic in Westeros.
Casper glanced at what he believed might have been north. Well, perhaps not entirely…
The pain was horrid, greater than anything he had felt before. Lord Galewood looked around his stony prison, no amount of thrashing able to move the stones that weight down his limbs. He could feel the blood trickling from the wounds the shards of rock had left in him, but the flow had lessened to where it did not hurt as much. Indeed, for another pain, the pain brought by worry, ate at his heart. Where was his son? Was he okay? That horrid creature, it had torn through their lines and means of escape with so little effort, yet he could not hear its thundering footsteps anymore. Had it retreated? Where was everyone?
He heard footsteps, of boots upon solid rock, moving around nearby. "Help!" he cried, his voice muffled and weak. Curse this blasted pile of stone pinning him down! T'was a miracle of the Seven that he was not crushed to death, merely pinned. Yes, he was injured, but he would recover, once he was out of this infernal place and with his son in Galewood.
A light moved over him, and he blinked from the flickering torch suddenly taking up most of his vision.
"Lord Wytch!" he cried. Perhaps he was a touch delirious, but the man seemed relieved to see him. It settled a bit of the fear in his belly, at least. "Am I ever so glad to see you! Please, help me from this pile of stone, you'll need more to move the larger ones though."
"And I am glad to see you yet live, Lord Galewood," the young lord replied, sticking the torch in a nearby pile of stones before turning back. "Too many men have been lost to that monster and the creatures it summoned."
"Aye, I saw Lord Greycairn dragged underwater after being thrown by one of those larger… things, such a terrible fate," the older lord replied. "So the beast, is it dead then?"
"Aye, dead, by my hand and that of the prince, as well as from the many wounds our men graced its infernal carcass with."
"Did you see what happened to Greycairn's heir? Their house will have a new lord."
An odd look took over the young man's face. Sadness, mixed with a touch of… grim determination? "I saw him dragged into the water as well, nearest the shore, by those monsters that were once children. We were able to pull him from the water after, but he was too far gone to revive."
"So House Greycairn is no more," Lord Galewood said as the young lord moved a stone from one of his legs. Oh, that was why it didn't hurt so much, it was bent the wrong way. He would never ride again, it seemed. "Their lands will now fall into the hands of Lord Baratheon, to be done with as he sees fit. What about my son? Is he with the others?"
"No, and know that I take no pleasure in this, my lord," Lord Wytch said, kneeling beside him as he rolled another rock away. "He retreated with us towards Darkwell, but I saw him be crushed by a portion of the bridge the beast threw at us. Your son is dead, and I'm truly sorry."
Lord Galewood's shock was too great to allow for tears. Indeed, a deep numbness spread throughout his body, his mind slowing as a ship in a windless sea. "My… my son? He's… he's dead?"
"Indeed, and as I told Lord Wysp before his passing, I would not have held your sins against him, nor your house, for you told none of them of your plot. Yet now, only two others yet remain who know of what you and your fellows did to my father, and I have faith that Lady Craggner will keep that secret to her dying day, lest she and her son lose their lands. As for you, Lord Galewood," Lord Wytch said, and as he leaned over him, Galewood noticed a darkness in the man's eyes, "it gives my heart great joy to see your eyes fill with fear…"
The old lord could do nothing as the hands moved towards his mouth and nose.
Lord Wytch continued his soft song, even as he firmly began to press down on him, "so lean in close, and I will whisper the last words you'll hear, oh, oh…"
Baelor winced as he watched men with Baratheon banners finally make it over the ruined bridge, slabs of stone pulled and pushed by teams into a rough enough position to allow for carts and men to cross in relative safety. In time, with it so thoroughly ripped apart, it would likely crumble entirely into Darkwell's river, but he would not return to this place to see it rebuilt.
He winced as Ser Thorne looked him over, having just returned from searching the monster's corpse for that small chest. "How bad is it?" he asked, ignoring the blood of the infernal beast dripping from the head of his axe onto his shoulder. Gods, he felt thrice his age, he needed some good food and a great deal of rest. The medics and maesters as well, for while Ser Thorne knew some skill at healing, he would rather a professional tended to his wounds. At least his sworn shields were yet alive, injured as they were, as he had thought them lost in the rush to Darkwell. Hopefully they would all heal well from this adventure.
"Well, your arm is definitely broken, but we won't know for certain how serious it is until we can have your armor removed," the Kingsguard replied. "Much the same for your leg, my prince."
"It does hurt, but only in the middling portion of my leg, thankfully," the prince said, ignoring the weight in the small satchel he carried on him, their contents unknown to all but himself. "I have heard tales of broken ankles and the like never truly healing."
"Aye, they can be some of the worst breaks, but fret not, under a good maester I am certain you'll be healed in no time." The man sat near him, already wiping the grime and monster blood from his sword. "With this beast gone, perhaps now peace can finally come to these lands, without its infernal influence poisoning the wells and minds of those who you will come to govern."
Yes, this beast, Nadresy. It was dead, and with it, hopefully his nightmares would cease for good as well. For even now, as he stared at the monstrous corpse, whose horrid flesh was beginning to slough off before his very eyes, his thoughts turned to the future, as they so often did these days. With the beast dead, and the glow from its malign presence fading from the rivers that flowed from the great spring, would this water now be forever free from its taint? He already had an idea forming of creating a vast floodplain, in which crops could be grown for the good of Dorne's people, and not for the coffers of their lords with which they could use to rebel…
He glanced over to see Casper return to them, limping and battered, but alive. One of just many who were injured, some far more than others, but for the fierceness of their opponent, far fewer had died than against that undead army. It was just that some of their deaths had been more… gruesome, unfortunately.
"Did you find Lord Galewood?" he asked, wincing as he turned to his friend.
"Aye, I did," the Stormlord replied, leaning against what was left of the ruined warehouse. Already, men were digging up a stack of crate that had been buried beneath the one in which Baelor had found his axe. Judging from the only one he had seen men open, his brother would be very, very pleased by their find. "I'm afraid he is dead. Suffocated by rocks pressing upon his chest, I'm afraid. The uninjured are retrieving his body, to put it with that of his son."
"This was a costly adventure, to lose two houses in one day, but this day will ultimately be one that betters the lives of so many more. Yet with the houses of Greycairn and Galewood now extinct, what will happen to those lands?" Ser Thorne asked.
"That would be up for me to decide, for last I checked, they have no kin close enough to lay claim to them," a voice said, and the trio turned to see none other than Royce Baratheon marching up to them. The man's eyes traced their battered forms and that of their men, as his own moved to assist the injured and load the last of the treasures onto carts, before glancing to the corpse of Nadresy and back. It lingered briefly on Baelor's axe, and unbidden, the prince's grip tightened on his weapon, but relaxed when his foster father looked him in the eye. "It would seem you three have been busy while on this excursion."
"Indeed, my lord," Lord Wytch said, grunting as he moved towards them. "Wasn't all that enjoyable, though. Might have to stay in my keep for the winter."
"I can see that, and I doubt any man would blame you for not coming out again until springtime," he said, turning to Baelor, whose stomach suddenly ached, not from apprehension, but from a soft happiness. His foster father gave him a proud smile as he drew his sword and tapped at the quickly decaying monster. "So, this beast… a hard-fought victory, I take it?"
"The hardest we've ever had, I would wager, even more than the Storming of Sunspear," Ser Thorne said, rising to his feet. "Lord Baratheon, the prince and Lord Wytch are injured, among many others, but I doubt any of us can ride in our current conditions."
"Aye, I'll have carts laden with some blankets to make the journey easier," the man said, turning back to them. "But first, in the light of what has occurred here, there needs to be something done."
"Yes, foster father?" Baelor asked. Hopefully his brother hadn't sent for him to return too soon to Kings Landing.
"My prince, Lord Wytch, I would ask you to kneel. Ser Thorne, assist them as needed, if you would."
Baelor was confused as he did so, supporting most of his weight on his stalwart Kingsguard. Lord Wytch, by his side, gave him a small smile and a nod before they looked to the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, around whom their weary men gathered. The man gave them a sharp nod before raising his sword before him, the flickering torchlights giving it a soft glow.
"Prince Baelor of House Targaryen, Lord Casper of House Wytch, do you both swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"
A different sort of numbness crept into Baelor's stomach.
"Yes," he and Casper said in tandem.
Lord Baratheon nodded. "Then Prince Baelor, in the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women…"