Despite the measures taken, everyone understood that they did not guarantee reliable protection. The crossbow crews were as good as dead men—if the dragons began killing anyone, these would be the first to fall.
Together with Kevan Lannister, we formed a new unit called the Roaring Flame. The name alone made its purpose clear—these men were intended for a highly specialized role: operating crossbows and trebuchets that fired both wildfire and common flame.
Thus, a third regular military unit appeared in the kingdom, each with its own specialization. In essence, they were future sappers, masters of traps, and experts in the use of fire. Life itself had dictated what needed to be created—and when.
For reasons unknown, our enemies lingered in Volantis for two weeks, and then took another twenty days to reach Westeros. On the one hand, this worked in our favor; on the other, it created its own problems—waiting always weighs heavily on the mind and breeds unease.
A great deal happened over the course of that month.
First came a double execution on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. A massive crowd gathered, hearing every word spoken by the herald:
"For treason and betrayal, for deceit and embezzlement, for rebellion and inciting House Arryn to rebellion, Petyr Baelish is stripped of all titles, offices, and property, and his body is sentenced to be quartered."
At these words, the royal headsman, Ilyn Payne, stepped forward to the specially erected block. Truth be told, the man had grown rather starved for work of late! At last, he had a chance to demonstrate his craft—and stretch his limbs a little.
Assistants laid Littlefinger's body upon the block, and Payne methodically severed his hands, his feet at the ankles, and then his head. The head was mounted on a spike and put on display for all to see. The remaining parts of the body were sent to various regions of Westeros.
In truth, there is a certain message in executing an already dead body, and such gestures are often used. In this way, a king expresses contempt for a former enemy, while also delivering a clear warning to his vassals. Moreover, such an act is considered deeply dishonorable for Baelish—and in a world where honor still holds weight, that matters.
Next, we executed Sandor Clegane.
Bound in chains but unbroken, he was brought onto the platform and turned to face the crowd. The rising wind tugged at his grown-out hair, at times revealing the horrific burn that marred the left side of his face. The herald stepped forward once more:
"For treason and desertion, for casting a shadow upon the honorable name of the Kingsguard, for numerous murders, and for supporting Petyr Baelish, Sandor Clegane is sentenced to death by beheading."
The crowd inhaled sharply and surged forward as one.
We all stood upon a specially erected platform—the entire Small Council, along with numerous lords. Neither Margaery, nor Myrcella, nor Sansa, nor Roslin were present, but Arya Stark was. Several of Harald Orm's men watched over her discreetly.
At the sentence, the Hound paled, but then stubbornly set his jaw and looked at me with unmistakable contempt.
"Do you have any last words, Sandor Clegane?" the herald asked.
"Shove your offer up your ass," the Hound spat to the side before turning toward me. "And you—boy on the Iron Throne—I'll be waiting for you in hell!"
The execution of the Hound was an excellent opportunity to demonstrate that the king not only knew how to show mercy, but also did not forget his enemies. Moreover, it was a perfect chance to prove that the Kingsguard—and its traditions—were not empty words.
Did I feel sorry for Clegane? Not in the slightest. I did not know him, and he stirred no sympathy in me. To me, he was a sadist and a murderer, a rabid dog, a fallen knight whose death could be put to use. That was all.
The Hound approached the block on his own, knelt, and said calmly:
"Do your job!"
Payne's assistant swept Sandor's long hair away from his neck, and in the next instant came the whistle of steel cutting through the air. The Hound's head struck the stone with a dull thud and rolled down the steps. Dark blood poured forth in a heavy stream.
I cast a brief glance at my own squire, Mavyr —the younger of the Cleganes. I wondered how he would react to the execution of his kin. He did not react at all. He watched calmly, as if it were not his uncle's head that had been severed, but that of some chicken.
I took no pleasure in executing men or watching them die. But Westeros is a monstrously cruel world, and its king must be stern—stern to the point of cruelty. He must give the people not only the carrot, but the whip as well. Fear, as a force that restrains and reinforces the throne, must always be present. It was time—time to show royal justice!
The Hound was beheaded on the very same steps where Joffrey had once executed Lord Eddard Stark. I glanced at Arya—she appeared completely impassive, yet for some reason I felt that a storm raged within her.
(End of Chapter)
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