"I'm afraid the pride of Tywin Lannister is worth more than our combined wealth. The lives of his minions, however, are a far more affordable purchase," Orys replied grimly. "I know you hate him, and I don't expect you to ever change that. I wouldn't if such a fate befell Myrcella, but I truly believe he didn't order her death. The deaths of her children, maybe, but Elia was too damn valuable to throw away."
"No, I don't suspect I'll ever like the old bastard, or any Lannister for that matter. But maybe I can like a Baratheon," Oberyn admitted. The hatred he had for the lions was likely never to fade, but he wouldn't see his house destroyed by continuing to plot against the Seven Kingdoms with no Targaryen to rally behind. "Now, what is this I hear about you being so cruel to my adorable niece? She cries herself to sleep over your coldness."
"She does remember that I'm getting married this month, yes?" Orys asked with a wry tone.
"I fail to see how that matters," Oberyn shrugged easily. "But alas, Arianne is a dedicated girl. I don't expect her to give up when she set her eyes on her prey."
Orys just sighed at that, but the prince was far too serious for his own good. No man that handsome should go to his wedding bed an inexperienced virgin. A shame he refused Ellaria's offer; it could have been a most enjoyable way to celebrate their newfound friendship.
– Orys Baratheon – Next Day –
The reports of a commotion reached me before Varys did. I still don't trust the conniving little eunuch, but this once I do believe him as he explains what happened last night. It's probably my fault, after all. I set Baelish on Varys, then Oberyn on Baelish, and Baelish must have assumed Varys was the one to find his whores.
"I do wish you had brought this to my attention, Your Highness. A spymaster is no good when you go out of your way to blind them," Varys simpers in that soft, creepy voice of his.
"I'll take that into consideration," I reply simply as Oberyn snorts and leans against his spear. Today, blood will be spilt.
"Are you implying your King did something wrong, Varys?" Mother asks, making Varys turn to her.
"I wasn't aware Prince Orys had been crowned yet, Your Grace," Varys replies simply with a tiny smile on his lips. As Mother predictably goes to respond, I hold up my hand.
"Varys, do we have enough to deal with Baelish? If you are telling the truth, and I believe you are, then he's starting to lash out from being cornered. I won't leave a dagger at the backs of my entire family," I say, making Varys nod.
"After questioning the girls, I must agree with Prince Oberyn. This was a elaborate scheme for someone like Baelish, but he is still an amateur playing in a master's game. You have more than enough evidence to take his head, if that is your desire," Varys agrees, watching as I take a deep breath.
"And he's still in the Keep?" I ask, getting a nod from my mother.
"I demanded his attention over some financial matters of the wedding. He's in his office, and I've placed several Lannister guards near him. Jaime is also in the area, ready to run him down if he tries to flee," Mother agrees. "He seemed somewhat suspicious, but mostly because he was already on edge. He is not unused to me making demands."
"Then let's end this farce. I want him arrested. Take no chances, we don't know how many people he has turned, how many allies he has. Only use people you trust with your life," I order, getting a nod from my mother as she rises. "Oberyn, I appreciate your aid in this, but I want to keep your part in this show a secret for now. Varys will take the credit for finding the whores. I don't think Clegane or Lorch are particularly intelligent, but I'll not risk spooking our prey on the eve of their executions."
"I care for credit far less than I care for their heads, my friend," Oberyn agrees with a dangerous smile. There's a reason he's armed and armoured today.
"There is the matter of the girls involved, Your Highness," Varys says softly, getting my attention again.
"The poisoner was coerced through threats of violence against her family. She may have poisoned the goblet, but she didn't know it was meant for Margaery. The second was merely a smuggler at worst. I'm willing to show clemency if they speak against Baelish," I say, making him nod. They're incredibly minor in the grand scheme of things.
– Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) –
When the guards arrived at his little office, kept out of the way and small enough not to draw attention or jealousy, he only felt numb. He should have left after Varys escaped, but he knew the truth. If he ran, Varys would re-emerge with all the evidence needed to end his life.
He'd considered trying to fight or flee, but the look in Jaime Lannister's eyes told him that such an act would only lead to his death.
He had hoped Varys had fled King's Landing, buying him time, but as he was brought to the throne room at swordpoint, he spotted the conniving little rat standing at the foot of the Iron Throne. The court gasped and gossiped as Jaime led him toward the throne, and sitting upon it, Orys stared down at him.
Now, he could only hope that his words would suffice in stopping Orys from killing him. He didn't know what Varys had told him, but he could-
"Petyr Baelish. You have been brought before the throne accused of a long list of crimes, including embezzlement of Crown funds, treason and attempted murder of Lady Margaery Tyrell," Cersei loudly proclaimed. Orys wasn't officially king yet, but he was on the throne and Robert was just watching from the sidelines with a deep scowl on his face.
Ned Stark looked around in confusion, his stony face falling into a scowl, and as much as it filled him with distaste, the Hand may be his best bet at survival. Lysa had helped get Cat and her idiot husband to trust him, and the King still had more power than his son-
"I must confess, I'm rather confused-" Petyr started, not giving anything away even as Varys giggled. "Prince Orys, did you not request my aid in investigating Lord Varys for this very crime?"
"I did," Orys admitted. "And I requested Varys' aid in investigating you. You brought back nothing. Lord Varys brought back a mountain of evidence, including two collaborators, whores from your brothels, and a chain of evidence leading back to you."
"I own many brothels, and between them, employ thousands of whores. I rarely interact with them directly, far too busy with my responsibilities as Master of-" Petyr tried, once again being cut off as Vary began to spin his painfully true tale.
Varys painted a picture for the court, regaling them with the elaborate plot he had concocted. Each agent he used linked back to him. He could only stand there in disbelief as he realised the truth. Orys had already set Varys on him before they had their conversation. He'd been played.
"Prince Orys, I assure you that I have nothing to gain from such a-" Petyr started.
"You had little to gain, yes. What you did have was everything to lose. Entirely thanks to the charges of treason, corruption and embezzlement. I have a confession of my own, Lord Baelish. I showed you only a fraction of the… discrepancies I found in your accounts. You knew my investigation was closing in, and sought to kill my bride-to-be as a distraction, to buy yourself time from the noose closing around your neck," Orys said, calling for the records. To his horror, it was Eddard Stark who pulled out a thick tome and began to read. Orys stared him dead in the eyes, a knowing smile touching his lips.
Ned, the Northern Buffon, read through the mountain of discrepancies that Orys had identified, including some of the more damaging ones, such as the interest rates on the loans he took out being smaller than he reported, allowing him to siphon off the difference. Ned read out how he'd been replacing the staff and key figures with people indebted to him, how the purchases and labour costs that he had reported were often twenty to thirty percent higher than the real cost. They painted a picture of a greedy lord of minor influence stealing a fortune that would make a Great House jealous to fund his illicit business empire.
He knew exactly what Orys was doing. With the Tourney, some of the most powerful houses were amongst the court, and he was being painted as the son of a hedge knight envious of his betters and committing a mountain of crimes against the realm to fund his ambitions. Which was accurate, but laying it out like this was poisoning the court against him.
"Before I returned to King's Landing, another man was also looking into the records, Lord Baelish," Orys started, and Petyr felt his heart drop as he realised where this was going. "Jon Arryn."
Ned and Robert both stiffened, not in surprise but in fury, and he realised just how outmanoeuvred he had been as Orys continued painting the scene. His decision to have Lysa send the message to Cat dooming him further as Orys informed the court of his friendship with Lysa, how she had been the one to get him the job he so abused in the first place. He told a tale of Petyr taking advantage of a grieving widow to try and frame others for his crimes, and while they had no real evidence, they didn't need it with proof of his other crimes. It was all circumstantial, apart from the financial stuff, which was going to be his end either way.
He tried to defend himself, again and again, but with each attempt he was cut off by more evidence, more witnesses. His words had no effect when some minor Vale noble claimed to have seen him meeting in secret with Lysa right after Jon's death. Ned spoke of the message that Lysa had sent, which Catelyn had believed was out of character. Despite the treasonous contents, Orys made it clear that Lysa wasn't to be punished for sending it as she was a grief-stricken widow being manipulated by a snake pretending to be a friend.
This was not a trial, but a show. One with a script written by Orys Baratheon and played out by his puppets. The sentence was decided before he'd even walked into the room.
"On the charges of embezzlement, corruption and theft, your guilt is clear for all to see. I strip you of your position, your businesses and your land. Your fortune and empire was bought with the Crowns gold, and the Crown will be taking it back," Orys declared. Petyr glared, his mind racing for a way out of this. "For the crime of the assassination of Jon Arryn and the attempted murder of Margaery Tyrell, do you have anything to say in your defence?"
There was only one way out now. A trial by combat. It was all that could save him. Orys paused, a confused look crossing his face, and at the crucial moment, when he had but seconds to demand his trial, his words failed him. His mouth opened but nothing came out, and in the crowd, he spotted a red-haired woman staring at him with the most unnerving look in her eyes.
His mouth closed again, and Orys merely raised an eyebrow as his silence was taken as an admission of guilt.
"Nothing, truly?" Orys asked, shaking his head. "So be it. I, Prince Orys Baratheon, find you guilty on all charges. The sentence for your crimes can only be one thing, as you are too frail to be of any use to the Night's Watch and too conniving to be trusted not to continue scheming if given the chance. I sentence you to death, and curse you for making this my first true act upon the Iron Throne. Unless you have any objections, Father?"
"I should take my hammer and split your head like a grape, Littlefinger," Robert spat, hatred on his face. He believed Orys' claims, and Petyr knew that there was no convincing him otherwise at this point. "Hear me, all of you. Orys might not have had his coronation yet, but make no mistake. That's your king."
"Tempting though it may be, I'd rather not make such a mess," Orys joked, getting a dark laugh from his father. "Bring a block. Loras. Remove his head."
The Knight of Flowers looked surprised for just a moment, before he turned back to Petyr with a dark look in his eyes. Petyr tried to speak, but all that came out was a scared sob as Jaime stopped him from struggling, the crowd jeering and cursing him as he was forced down by bigger, stronger men.
"You should never have tried to hurt one of Highgarden's own," Loras said, drawing his blade. Petyr could only hope that his plans continued to inconvenience Orys long after his end, bitterness and hatred filling him as he stared up at Orys.
Then, Loras swung and he knew no more.
– Prince Orys Baratheon –
Baelish's head hits the ground with a wet thud as I watch. There's even a few cheers from the crowd, happy to see someone we so successfully demonised meet their end. I wonder if they'd be cheering if they knew the truth of what I just did.
I almost kept him alive to interrogate him on the true depths of his corruption. To find each and every stash, every bought agent. But I couldn't take that risk. He has too many allies and indebted fools that any prison would be suspect. No, I needed to send him somewhere he would never escape from.
As they remove his body, I feel his soul being taken away. To the Spiral Skein, Mephala's realm. His prison, his afterlife. His secrets won't die with him, but there's no escaping from the sentence I've laid out for him.
"It brings me no joy to start my reign with bloodshed," I start, my voice projected over the full court. "But there are many wrongs that I wish to see righted. Baelish has exploited his position for years, enriching himself at the cost of the realm entire. Ours is the Fury. I do not see myself as a violent man, but I will not stand by and permit corruption or crimes because it is easier than standing against it. As such, I have an announcement to make. There are two men amongst the honourable knights of our realm who are making a mockery of the very title. Criminals, butchers, masquerading as knights. Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane."
The court goes silent at that, listening to my every word carefully. Sandor Clegane stiffens at the mention of his brother, but I can read him well enough to know he's not about to speak up in defence of his brother.
"Gregor, the infamous Mountain, was knighted by Prince Rhaegar when he was fifteen years old. Since then, he has tortured and murdered hundreds, including his father, sister and first two wives. His own brother bears the scars of his cruelty, and I have seen him kill smallfolk for nothing more than his own amusement with my own two eyes," I say, watching Sandor freeze as I call attention to him. He looks extremely uncomfortable, but he doesn't speak up in Gregor's defence and just nods once. "Amongst his crimes are the rape and murder of Princess Elia Martell, despite being ordered to capture her as a hostage against Dorne. It is to my shame that both my Baratheon and Lannister family played a part in permitting him to continue the facade of knighthood after this sickening act, one that he openly boasts of."
Father frowns, but he doesn't speak up. Mostly because I discussed this with him earlier. Dragonspawn or not, calling for the deaths of babies is never going to be a good look for anyone.
"Amory Lorch is a coward and a killer of children. The so-called Manticore stabbed Princess Rhaenys, a three-year-old girl, half a hundred times because she kicked him and wouldn't stop screaming after being dragged away from her room. I have discussed this matter with my grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister, their liege-lord, and we have come to an agreement. I understand why, at the end of the Rebellion, it was… not prudent to punish them, but I will not have such barbarians calling themselves knights of my realm, especially given that both have only continued their sadistic ways, unrepentant for their actions," I continue, feeling my heart beating faster as I give my first real speech. "As such, I strip them both of their titles and declare them outlaws. Today, they will both be arrested and face their long-awaited punishment. There is no place in any of my kingdoms for rapists or the killers of children."
As I speak, Oberyn, the drama-queen, makes his grand appearance as he pushes the doors open and walks in, fully armoured and wielding his spear. He's lucky I warned the guards because his strutting his way toward the throne could have ended with him being attacked.
"Uncle Jaime, I want you to lead a squad of true knights down to the tents. Prince Oberyn has… volunteered his services in bringing down the Mountain, who I doubt will accept his sentencing with grace," I say. Letting a Lannister lead the team will take some of the shame away from the Lannisters, a necessary move to keep Grandfather happy. Sandor outright laughs at my words, and I turn to him. "Sandor, you are welcome to join them."
"Aye, I think I'll do that," Sandor agrees, and I see Joffrey go to speak before Sansa whispers something into his ear and he goes quiet again. "We bringing him in alive?"
The fact that his own brother is eager to join the squad going to bring him to justice only further solidifies that Gregor is a monster that needs to be put down.
"No. I have considered this and the danger is simply too high. To try to bring down such a beast alive would only endanger the men sent on this mission. I'll not risk more lives just so a headman's axe can take the Mountain's head instead of a knight's blade. Their crimes are deserving of execution a dozen times over, and their guilt is undeniable as it is something I've personally heard them boast of over my years at Casterly Rock," I reply, getting a grim nod from him.
Well, the court certainly got their drama today as the final preparations are handled.
– Prince Oberyn Martell –
Orys made a promise, and the boy delivered.
In truth, he had expected Orys to try and find a way out of paying his side of the bargain once the time came. He also expected to go back to Doran and continue plotting against the Baratheon rule.
And yet, Orys had kept his word to the letter. Well, almost. Orys claimed that his first act as king would be to strip them of their titles, but it was his second act as 'almost king', and that was good enough for Oberyn as they made their way to the tents where the Mountain and Lorch had been drinking, unaware of their death sentence.
This was not how he had pictured his vengeance, but somehow it felt better. It was not going to be an epic duel; the odds were stacked too much in their favour for that. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer himself, led them forward and dismissed the Lannister guards who clearly knew something was going on, if not the details.
Sandor Clegane gripped his blade with a fierce scowl, hints of fear on his face and in his posture. Oberyn had since quizzed the large man, and only confirmed what he already knew. The Mountain was a monster, long before he killed sweet Elia.
Barristan Selmy was the calmest, here to deliver the King's Justice. He had been surprised when Barristan the Bold had volunteered himself, but Oberyn wasn't going to turn down a chance to see the man they called the greatest knight in the seven kingdoms fight. Perhaps he still carried the guilt of not being there to protect Elia and her children.
As they entered the tent, the Mountain froze and looked at the gathered group with a deep scowl as he slammed down his drink. The monster's eyes looked over the group, brows furrowed as Amory rose and went to speak to Jaime. Amory seemed confused, but the Mountain acted first as he let out a monstrous roar and flipped the table toward them with enough force to almost bowl over a surprised Jaime. Oberyn ducked as a metal flagon was thrown at his head with incredible force; the Mountain was not as stupid as he looked.
"Have you lost your mind, Clegane?!" Amory shouted, still confused as Oberyn slid forward and before the Manticore could even react, stabbed the unarmoured man through the heart with his spear, piercing his back in an instant. Barristan and Jaime both looked to him with various amounts of disapproval, but he didn't give a damn as he felt a rush of pure joy flood his veins at the terror on Amory's face as he fell.
"Fucking cowards," the Mountain roared, gripping his blade as he charged like a raging bull, swinging the blade at the still recovering Jaime. Sandor stepped in, blocking the blow though being knocked back a step as he tried to withstand the sheer power behind the Mountain.
"Gregor Clegane, you have been found guilty of rape, torture and murder, and sentenced to death," Barristan said, utterly calm as he readied himself.
"The old cunt sold me out," Gregor realised, glaring at Jaime, who just shrugged.
"You're a mad dog, Mountain. You were always going to be put down eventually," Jaime replied with an easy smile. "You could always take the black if you fear the Stranger so much."
"Fuck the black," Gregor replied as he headbutted his brother before he tried to skewer the other giant, his blade deflected by Barristan in a single move that convinced Oberyn that he never wanted to face Barristan the Bold.
Jaime slashed at Gregor's side, cutting into the flesh and making the Mountain growl out in pain, but this was only ever going to end one way. Sandor punched his brother in the face, then kneed him in the dick in a truly amusing and very much not honourable move, Barristan disarmed Gregor with true skill as he used his own blade to wrest Gregor's much larger sword away, and then shouldered Gregor.
Oberyn knew that Barristan could have killed Gregor right then and there, but instead he pushed Gregor in such a way that left him directly in front of Oberyn. Right there, he forgave Barristan for failing Elia as he lunged and stabbed his poison-coated, blood-soaked spear into the heart of the Mountain.
"For Elia," Oberyn said simply, fury and hatred in his tone.
The Mountain spat a mouthful of blood at him, grabbing the shaft of the spear as he went to speak. Sandor's blade slashed forward and sliced Gregor's head clean off before a single syllable left his mouth.
"Fuck your final words," Sandor said simply.
The tent went silent as the group shared a moment, before Jaime sighed and ran a hand through his golden locks. Barristan said nothing, seemingly in silent prayer before he opened his eyes and just gave the group a nod, turning and leaving to report their success.
"Hound, do you mind if I keep the body?" Oberyn asked, getting Sandor to turn to him inquisitively. "I wish to take him back to Dorne to display the so-called Mountain for all to mock."
"Only if I can piss on his corpse first," Sandor scoffed, making Oberyn laugh.
"We can piss on him together, my friend. I'll buy the drinks," Oberyn said gleefully, slapping Sandor on the back and throwing an arm around his shoulder (or trying to, but the fucker was almost as big as his brother). Sandor just grunted in what may possibly be agreement, spitting on Gregor and stealing his sword.
– Cersei Baratheon – That Night –
"Jaime, you know I'm right," Cersei said, watching her twin pout despite his age.
"They'll mock me, I swore an oath-" Jaime tried.
"They already mock you. You've served Robert since the day he was coronated, and they still call you Kingslayer. Barristan has frequently said your white coat should be replaced with a black one," Cersei said, watching Jaime flinch. He cared too much about his honour, despite it all, but she had a job to do.
"What about Tyrion-"
"Jaime, you know Father. If Father and Tyrion were the last two Lannisters alive, Father would call an end to our House then and there. He will never let Tyrion inherit Casterly Rock. Never. You have a duty, Jaime. I know you don't want this, but end on this high note. You brought honour back to House Lannister by slaying two false knights, and are being let go to fulfil your duties to your House. There's no dishonour in it," Cersei said, stroking his hair for a moment before she stopped herself.
"Forget my vows, go home, get married, pop out a few Lannister babies then?" Jaime asked with a deep sigh.
"Yes," Cersei agreed, surprised by how little the idea bothered her. Once upon a time, she'd kill anyone who tried to take Jaime from her. But now? It was for the best, and it would help Orys. Jaime paused, and for an instant, a look of hurt crossed his face before he schooled it. "You've been miserable here, babysitting Robert. How many times have you complained to me about your duties? Now is the best time. With Orys taking over, there'll be so much going on that your dismissal will barely draw a second glance. If you stay here, you'll always be the Kingslayer. It doesn't matter how much you do, how hard you keep to your vows, you're still wearing the same cloak that you stained with Aerys' blood. But you are so much more than that; you can be so much more. You will be Lord Jaime Lannister. Every time you've complained about how Father run things, about how he treats Tyrion, you'll have the power to change it. As immortal as he seems, even Father isn't going to live forever. A decade or two, at the most. I don't want the house to go to some cousin because Father would rather see his line die out than give Tyrion a single copper star."
Jaime continued his sulking, but she knew her twin enough to know she'd won this argument. Between her and their father, Jaime was never going to truly put up a fight.
As she soothed his wounded ego and honour, keeping her clothes on, unlike a younger Cersei, she pondered her next problem. With Robert retaking his ancestral seat of Storm's End, that made Joffrey the heir… which was a problem. The chance that anyone would work out the truth was minuscule but still concerning, as the last thing she needed was for people to think she was trying to steal the Baratheon lands with a Lannister bastard. The chaos would complicate Orys' rule considerably.
But this was salvageable. Joffrey just needed to not reproduce, while Sansa ended up with a womb full of Baratheon seed. There were ways to make sure that Joffrey's seed remained weak, and all she had to do was convince Orys to seduce and impregnate Sansa, and the problem would correct itself in a generation.
Either that, or she killed Joffrey and married Sansa to Tommen instead, but she was not in a rush to jump to kinslaying as a solution when a mere cuckolding would suffice.
– Margaery Tyrell –
Arriving in the gardens, she gave Loras a grateful nod as he kept a distance away to give her some privacy. He had been peacocking around after the shocking court earlier. He was awfully proud of being the blade that ended the treat to her life, considering Orys and Varys were the true minds behind unveiling the scheme.
…maybe he took after their father more than he wanted to admit, because her father had also been peacocking around.
Reaching Orys, he looked up and brightened a little as he spotted her. His posture was unusually grim. Orys was a serious person, but rarely as grim as his Uncle Stannis was said to be.
"Good evening, Orys," Margaery said with a slight flourish before she took her seat next to him. "A lot on your mind?"
"A little," Orys admitted with a laugh. "I'm not even King yet, and I'm already stacking quite the body count. Just… wondering if there was a better way to handle things."
"You avenged a wrong that most were satisfied with ignoring, and removed a threat to your family, and to me," Margaery reassured him. She had been shocked by his actions, but that wasn't to say she didn't entirely approve. The sheer evidence brought forth proved that Orys hadn't done this lightly, he'd made sure that there was no doubt of the man's guilt.
"You are part of my family. We might not be married yet, but you are my betrothed and I wasn't going to let anyone get away with trying to assassinate you, certainly not to cover their own tracks and hide their greed," Orys said, stroking her cheek as she beamed up at him.
"Perhaps you could have done things differently. Maybe there was a better way to handle things, but the only people who have suffered are those who deserved it. You actually got a genuine smile out of my grandmother, and what could almost be construed as a genuine compliment, for exposing and ending Baelish," Margaery teased, getting a laugh from him.
A silence, comfortable and warm, fell over them for a moment as she held Orys' hand in her lap, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb.
"Did Arianne know about your deal with Prince Oberyn?" Margaery asked after a moment, unable to stop her curiosity as Orys nodded.
"I snuck away to approach Prince Oberyn, and she was in his tent when I arrived," Orys admitted.
"She tried hinting at you and her having a 'secret late night meeting'," Margaery explained, once again getting a laugh from him.
"Well, technically I had a secret late night meeting with her uncle, though given Oberyn's tastes that could be equally damning," Orys joked. "I didn't actually speak to Arianne herself."
Margaery smiled, only slightly smug as she confirmed her suspicions, resting her head on Orys' shoulder for a moment.
"I can't believe you're going to be king when we marry. It all seems so soon," Margaery admitted, listening to his unregal snort.
"You can't believe it? I thought I had a decade before the crown fell to me. My father truly is unpredictable," Orys replied with a chuckle. "I can't say I don't like it. Sitting in that throne felt… right, today. Even as grim as the situation was, sitting there and seeing the court before me felt natural."
"You looked like you belonged. You sent out a good message today. You showed the highborns that you aren't going to be as… passive about ruling as your father, that you won't tolerate corruption or cruelty," Margaery reassured him, before smiling teasingly. "And you looked amazing doing it. You wear power well, my King."
As he turned to speak to her, she captured his lips in a deep kiss, his hand moving to her waist. She took it and moved it a little higher, feeling his fingers sink into the silk of her dress as he kept his hand on her breast.
…Loras had better be minding his own damn business.
— Bonus Scene — Orys Baratheon
Returning to my room, later than intended and with my clothes ruffled, I smile to myself.
Today has been a good day.
As I undress, I pause as I spot a raven staring at me from the windowsill, red eyes staring into my soul. It caws once, flying away and I can only watch as the messenger of Lady Nocturnal leaves, but not without leaving me a gift.
Wrapped in black silk, a package sits on my bed that definitely wasn't there when I came in.
There isn't a person in the world who wouldn't recognise the shape, as I unwrap the sword she's left for me and look upon it with a mixture of amazement and disbelief at how quickly she worked. Somewhere in the astral plane, I sense her amusement and a general feeling of almost mockery at how easy this was for her.
The greatsword is truly a thing of beauty as I look over it and the unmistakable ripples of Valyrian Steel along the massive blade. Despite the legendary steel, it's the hilt that draws my attention, red and gold with a roaring lion as the pommel.
Lifting Brightroar with both hands, I look upon the Lannister ancestral sword, and smile. Today has truly been a very good day.
Author's Note: The time honoured tradition of ganking the scarier enemies continues. Fuck duelling the Mountain one on one, get him drunk and unarmoured then jump him with the best warriors you can find.
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