Harrenhal.
The platform above the bear pit.
Vargo Hoat, the leader of the Brave Companions, was rushing across it, intending to return to his room to pack, but his path was blocked by someone.
He cursed loudly with his lisping mouth, "You idiot! I told you, this city can't be held, we need to run quickly. You want to stop me?"
Vargo Hoat possessed an extremely flexible moral bottom line and a very keen sense of war, or more accurately, a sense of self-preservation.
When the news of Lord Tywin's defeat by Stark reached Harrenhal, he knew that relying solely on the few hundred criminals of the Brave Companions and the one or two hundred soldiers left by Lannister, it would be impossible to hold out.
These few people weren't even enough to man the walls!
It was said that Robb Stark, the King of the North, had an army of thirty thousand and a pack of direwolves serving him.
Vargo Hoat preferred bears to wolves, so he planned to slip away.
Lannister's gold was indeed good, but one needed to be alive to enjoy it!
Ser Amory Lorch, as the Lord of Harrenhal personally appointed by Tywin, naturally could not sit by and watch the other party leave. He reached out and stopped the mercenary leader who was trying to leave, angrily shouting, "Vargo Hoat, before Lord Tywin left, you promised you would defend this castle! Damn it, your promise is worth less than my farts!"
He was short and fat, wearing a bulky full steel plate armor. As a landed knight of the Lannisters, his family crest was emblazoned on his cloak.
Above was a crimson background inlaid with three gold coins, and below was a white background with a black manticore.
"Go to hell, you son of a bitch."
Vargo Hoat looked at the furious Amory Lorch, suddenly reached out and grabbed his plate armor, used all his strength to throw him down, and then roared, "Brothers, attack!"
The short and fat Ser Amory rolled down the rocky wall like a steel barrel, first crashing through wooden boards, then hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
Before he could catch his breath, a black bear climbed out of the pit. Seeing its territory invaded by humans, it let out a furious roar, revealing a mouthful of dirty, rough teeth, and charged on all fours, then stood on its hind legs, its two paws slamming down heavily.
"Move! Move! Move quickly!"
Ser Amory screamed, trying to make his numb body move, but unfortunately, he didn't budge an inch until the bear's paw came down. With a loud 'bang,' an incredibly sharp pain shot through his chest, and a mouthful of blood sprayed out.
Immediately after, his body was ravaged back and forth by the black bear like a toy. As his consciousness gradually blurred, Ser Amory suddenly thought of Rhaenys Targaryen, Prince Rhaegar's daughter.
That day, he was like this black bear, dragging the screaming girl from under the bed, then stabbing her dozens of times with a dagger until she could no longer make any sound, only then did he stop.
At this moment, that little girl seemed to be looking at him. She was covered in blood, her skin was bruised, and her eyes were a crazy and deadly crimson. A pair of bruised little hands fiercely gripped his throat.
The black bear lowered its head and glanced at the human who was no longer moving. After tearing at the already deformed plate armor with its fangs and claws, it let out a long, foul-smelling breath of resignation and leisurely returned to its den.
The surrounding shouts of battle seemed to have nothing to do with it.
The members of the Brave Companions, who had long been ready to kill, heard their leader's roar, grabbed their weapons, and immediately attacked the Lannister soldiers they had just been chatting and drinking with.
Caught off guard, more than half of the guards loyal to Lord Tywin were suddenly killed. With shocked faces, they clutched their wounds and slowly fell to the ground, blood pooling on the ground between their fingers.
Another small portion reacted, just about to pick up their weapons to resist, when they were targeted by dozens of crossbows. Bowstrings twanged, arrows flew, nailing them one by one to the ground.
On Crying Tower, Arya stood by the arched window, witnessing everything. After seeing a familiar figure, she reached into a crack in the wall and pulled out a slender, fine steel one-handed short sword.
Jon's Needle!
The little girl used one of her names to have Jaqen H'ghar retrieve this sword for her.
At that time, the scoundrel who had stolen the sword had already left Harrenhal with the army, but Jaqen, after disappearing for a few days, personally handed it back to Arya.
The little girl held the short sword and ran down the winding stairs, her steps light and nimble.
Panting sounds suddenly echoed.
"Damn it, you bitch, don't block my way!"
Weese cursed obscenely as he tried to climb up Crying Tower, intending to hide in some unnoticed corner to avoid the fighting outside, but he paid no attention to Arya's right hand hidden behind her back.
The little girl obediently moved aside. Weese mumbled another curse and lifted his foot to walk, suddenly feeling a chill at his waist, followed by a sharp pain. He looked down and saw blood gushing out like a spring, and Arya was holding a blood-stained short sword in her hand.
"The Stark send their regards!"
The little girl's tender face was very calm, but her eyes revealed the ruthlessness of a Running Wolf Flag. Her body pressed against the wall, she dodged Weese's dying swing, and then quietly watched his body go limp and roll down the stairs.
"A certain one is greatly pleased that the girl solved a name with her own sword."
Jaqen H'ghar slipped in from a nearby window.
Arya's eyes widened. She didn't know how he did it; outside was a wall hundreds of feet high. She tilted her head back and said, "But I still have a name, don't I?"
Jaqen H'ghar stood motionless in the shadows. "Yes, can the girl now give a name to a certain one? A certain one's mission in Harrenhal is complete and needs to leave."
"No, I still have a name now, you can't leave."
A hint of cunning flashed in Arya's eyes. She had heard that Robb had defeated Tywin, and Ser Brynden was leading troops here. If she just stayed quietly in Harrenhal, she would be rescued by soldiers loyal to the Stark.
At that time, perhaps this name could be given to Robb. He was already king, and he would surely need many names to disappear.
Jaqen said calmly, "No, a certain one must finish what needs to be done before leaving. A certain one wishes to hear a name now."
Arya slowly moved along the wall. She didn't know why, but she suddenly felt a pang of trepidation, as if danger enveloped her whole body, but she still said, "I already told you, I don't have a name now. You have to wait."
"A certain one will not wait. A certain one can take the girl until a new name is heard."
Jaqen H'ghar stepped out of the shadows. After reaching Arya, he suddenly exhaled a puff of white smoke.
The little girl smelled a sweet, cloying floral scent enter her nostrils, and then she felt dizzy. Her body was picked up, and Needle was taken from her.
"A certain one keeps his word, girl, you need not worry."
Jaqen's voice was soft as silk. In her daze, Arya cursed in her mind, "That bastard, I should have said his name earlier!"
The shouts of battle inside Harrenhal quickly died down. The members of the Brave Companions, laughing and cursing with their companions, scavenged spoils from the corpses, not even sparing their own fallen comrades.
They were criminals and exiles to begin with; honor and principles meant nothing to them.
Their own well-being was all that truly mattered.
After killing Amory Lorch, Vargo Hoat stood above the bear pit, looking at the tattered corpse for a long time, feeling that he might never be able to board the Lannister's golden ship again.
However, given the current situation, he felt that the desolate North and the rich Riverlands also seemed like a good choice.
Although he didn't like wolves, if he could become the Earl of Harrenhal, perhaps it would be tolerable.
Having made up his mind, Vargo Hoat said to his subordinates, "Little ones, quickly go to the dungeon and invite those lords from the North. Entertain them with hot broth and fragrant bread!"
Thus, Robert Glover from Deepwood Motte dramatically escaped his captivity. He was the brother and heir of Earl Glover.
Looking at a tall, slender man with a goatee who was smiling eagerly at him, Robert Glover was somewhat at a loss. He tentatively asked, "Lord Hoat, what has happened?"
In the dungeon, he had vaguely heard the sounds of fierce fighting from above, and he had personally witnessed seven or eight Lannister soldiers being mercilessly killed by the Brave Companions who surged in.
But why was this happening?
Vargo Hoat grinned and leaned in, putting an arm around Robert's shoulder, and said with his lisping mouth, "Hahaha, Lord Glover, from today onwards, we are all on the same side."
"Oh, good, good."
Robert Glover still didn't understand what had happened, but looking at a group of mercenaries with weapons and blood-stained clothes, he could only smile and nod.
Immediately, the northerners who had just escaped captivity and the Brave Companions from Essos became friends. They happily gathered together, emptied the wine cellar, and the kitchen began to stew broth and roast rabbits.
A group of people gathered around the bear pit, watching a Lannister guard who hadn't died fight a black bear with a blunt sword. This was one of Vargo Hoat's favorite spectacles.
Only no one noticed that a dark figure, holding another smaller dark figure, hid in the stables. When the city gates opened at dawn, two swift horses galloped out of Harrenhal amidst exclamations, heading towards Saltpans.
That was a port city, where ships bound for Braavos often docked.
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