Ser Gregor Clegane, severely wounded during his trial by combat, was in constant agony, his howls and roars echoing day and night. The pain, coupled with his frustration, was enough to make anyone shudder. He was therefore moved to a more secluded room for treatment, specifically within the Water Garden, near the Sept of the Seven, a place of quiet prayer.
Aegon, injured in a tavern brawl by the young prince, was also residing there. Three of his personal attendants, Raff, Tobbert, and Chiswyck, had come with him. They were all from the Clegane lands. They were getting a bit tired of the knight's constant roaring, but thankfully, the kitchen had sent over a feast of food and wine, along with a large jug of Milk of the Poppy.
Finally, some relief. The men worked together to force the pain medication down Ser Gregor. Sure enough, his roaring subsided not long after, and soon, they heard his snoring. They breathed a collective sigh of relief and returned to the outer room to enjoy their own dinner.
"Hey! Did you see her? The girl from the Riverrun kitchen? She's got it going on! Look at those breasts. I wonder how many men she's been with!" Raff raised his cup, downed a full mug of ale, and began to speak with spittle flying everywhere. "Bet the bottom isn't as good, though."
Tobbert spat. "So what? There's another place that's even better!"
The others chuckled. "Hey! That kid from the farmer's place, the one you met while accompanying the knight to the blacksmith? Thirteen or sixteen years old? What was it like after you used him like a woman?"
Tobbert drew his sword and gestured mockingly at his crotch, and everyone laughed again. The wine was good tonight. Chiswyck burped, and as he drank, he thought, it was rich and sweet, making it hard to stop drinking one cup after another—
Meanwhile, in the secluded Godswood of Riverrun, Viserys listened contentedly to his brother's solo performance—his brother could even improvise! The humid fragrance of damp plants and flowers, the faint glow of silver strings in the dark night, and his brother's voice, singing above him, made Viserys, with his head resting on his brother's lap, feel satisfied and at peace—to protect this happiness, he would do anything, even stain his hands with blood.
Night had fallen. Rhaegar picked up his harp and took his brother's hand, intending to lead him back to their suite in the castle to rest.
"Oh, right, brother, I wrote a lot of letters. I was going to send them to you by raven, but I'll give them to you in person now." The young prince tilted his head. "Are you going to read them tonight, brother?"
Rhaegar's eyes were filled with a gentle smile. He said softly, "Yes, I'll read your letters tonight."
The young prince's face lit up again. "Then, brother, you take your time reading them. I'll go visit my new friend, the one I mentioned to you, Petyr, nicknamed Littlefinger. He's not doing so well, so I'll go play with him before coming back."
Rhaegar knew his brother wanted him to take him back to King's Landing to manage and run their portion of the property, so he agreed.
Viserys kissed his brother's cheek in a straightforward manner, and Rhaegar returned the kiss. The two had recently taken to using this method for short exchanges: congratulations, or daily farewells. Afterward, he walked clearly through the castle's staircases and corridors, and then went to Littlefinger's room.
Penicillin was indeed a miracle drug. The moment Littlefinger saw Viserys, he stopped pretending to be bedridden—the doctor had initially diagnosed that he wouldn't be able to get out of bed for at least twenty days.
"How are things? Are everything ready?"
Littlefinger had an advantage in Riverrun that Viserys didn't: connections. His cleverness, when applied in the right places, was incredibly effective. In just two days, he'd secured two sets of black, thick jackets, leather armor, gloves, and shoes, perfectly sized for both of them, plus a barrel of tallow for candles and a few sulfur-dipped pine sticks.
Viserys was pleased. He sniffed the pine sticks and casually asked, "Do you know where this sulfur comes from?"
Littlefinger thought for a moment. "Bought from Dorne, I believe. There's a river there called the Sulfur River, and the stones along its banks give off that smell."
Viserys's heart leaped – he seemed to recall that this was a necessary ingredient for explosives. One part saltpeter, two parts charcoal, and three parts sulfur? With this black powder, what would the White Walkers and the Night King be? He could blow them all up, better than dragonglass, right?
But for now, he didn't have any big weapons. All he could use were flames and the two daggers Littlefinger had produced.
"No house sigils on them. Bought them from a nearby blacksmith. They're sharp enough."
The two boys, one big, one small, changed into their clothes, covered their hair, and quietly slipped through the empty corridors, heading towards the Sept of the Seven, where people only went for concentrated prayer.
The quiet healing room now only echoed with snoring. Viserys first covered his nose, unable to stand the stench inside: the combined smells of alcohol, foot odor, and body odor were like a sewer, these maggots! Then he was pleased to see that, under the dim yellow light of the candles, the few men who had drunk the spiked wine were all passed out on the table. It seemed Milk of the Poppy was the strong anesthetic of this era.
The men with Ser Gregor all had blood on their hands, and House Targaryen was just one of the targets.
Viserys's heart pounded. He drew his gleaming blade, just like he'd practiced in secret. He grabbed one of the men by his greasy, fat neck, found the carotid artery, and, gritting his teeth, slashed! Blood spurted out like a silent fountain, splattering the wall. Viserys looked at the exposed layers of fat, disgusted. It was truly disgusting. He'd used so much force that he'd also cut the man's trachea. The man gurgled twice, bubbles of blood forming – he was probably dead.
Viserys felt no emotion over killing him. He looked at Littlefinger. The boy's face was even paler than it had been on the day he'd been injured, but he knew he had to get through this. Littlefinger, following Viserys's gestures, steeled himself and dispatched the second attendant in the same way.
Together, they killed a third man, nearly severing his head with two daggers. The small outer room was now soaked in blood.
Viserys checked the edge of his dagger and led the way into the inner room.
Gregor hated Rhaegar, who had cut off his arm. His wound throbbed with pain, and he was filled with rage. He needed a whole barrel of Milk of the Poppy to calm down. After drinking some today, he felt a little better. With his intense desire for revenge against Rhaegar Targaryen, Gregor fell asleep, his mind entering a hallucinatory state.
His revenge became very simple. He saw Rhaegar Targaryen standing before him, touching his shoulders with his sword - knighting him? Gregor's eyes flashed with a murderous light. He waited for his chance, pulled out his greatsword, and chopped off Rhaegar's legs! Then, with both hands, he crushed that hateful silver-haired head into pulp!!
Blood sprayed, and he laughed. Then, chaos erupted, the world turned upside down, and he inexplicably found himself in King's Landing. The Crown Prince was dead, and everywhere there were whispers and lamentations. So what? He slaughtered wantonly, all the way into the Red Keep—he smashed all the silver mirrors that had reflected the Crown Prince, threw the harp into the fire, and stomped on the bed where Rhaegar Targaryen had slept, slashing wildly with his sword. There were two little whelps, a daughter trembling under her father's bed, and a son still in swaddling clothes. He knew they were Rhaegar's children! Laughing heartily, he watched with satisfaction as his subordinates dragged the daughter out from under the bed and stabbed her over fifty times, while he smashed the baby with silver hair like his father's against the wall. And there was a woman, Rhaegar's wife! Ser Gregor grabbed her black hair, forcing her to witness the corpses of her children, then slapped her twice, hard, until her mouth and nose bled, and her face was unrecognizable! But it wasn't enough! Ser Gregor unbuttoned his trousers—he wanted to tear her apart! To rip her in two!
The black-haired woman suddenly burst into flames, burning the corpse to ashes. Flames soared, King's Landing was reborn in fire, and the Seven Kingdoms burned together—Ser Gregor then saw a pair of cold, purple eyes appear in the flames—this person emerged from the fire, with silver hair and purple eyes, his face very similar to Rhaegar's. But he was cold and ruthless! Filled with the hatred of revenge—who was it? Ser Gregor suddenly felt a sharp pain in his neck!!
Viserys, seeing the unconscious The Mountain, thought of everything this person had done, and hatred surged in his heart. He stopped Littlefinger from setting the fire just yet, he wanted to go up and cut off that big head to vent his anger.
However, the dagger only went halfway in, and The Mountain woke up! The strong man roared and jumped up—the weapon still stuck in his neck, and he had lost an arm, but he still had teeth, and with a vicious bite, he almost got Viserys!!
"Damn it!!" Viserys cursed. He nimbly jumped away, but Ser Gregor also struggled to his feet from the bed, glaring with bloodshot eyes, "You little brats, I'm going to skin you alive!"
He raised his tree trunk-like legs and kicked the table in the room, sending it flying towards Viserys!!
Viserys dodged, and the wood crashed against the sandstone wall, splintering into pieces. Ser Gregor charged at him again like a mad bull—Viserys was unarmed and could only dodge again—he shouted at Littlefinger, who hadn't run away, "Oil!!"
Petyr trembled but managed to smash the bucket of tallow resin at the big guy with a dull thud. The bucket shattered, and the semi-solid stuff fell all over The Mountain again—Viserys had already picked up the fallen candle and pulled out a pine strip from his pocket, throwing it! Ignite!!
Whoosh, the flames shot up.
Petyr stepped back two paces, watching the inner room nervously. Viserys was squeezed into a corner. Fire, fire was getting bigger!!
Ser Gregor screamed in agony, but— Petyr's grey-green eyes widened. He saw that the flames licked at the young prince's clothes, but the prince stood in the fire, unhurried. His hair shimmered with a platinum glow, but it didn't burn!!
Viserys picked up another sulfurous pine splinter, and with a light stroke in the flames, the entire splinter became a burning sword!
He held the flames steady in his hand, and swung at Ser Gregor—The sword slammed hard against the giant's face, and he was completely engulfed in flames! The second strike—the blazing splinter accurately stabbed into Ser Gregor's screaming, gaping mouth, into his throat!!
The giant's flayed face was starting to char, his eyeballs and eyelids melting together into a lump of black coal, and his screams gradually faded. Petyr smelled the strong stench of burnt flesh and skin, which should have made him vomit, but at this moment, his entire attention was firmly held by another matter: the young prince's expression was joyful, a cruel smile on the corner of his mouth as he stood not too far from the burning giant, and continued to reach out with the sulfurous pine splinters, igniting between the giant's legs.
It smelled even worse.
Petyr trembled all over, the crackling of the burning, the drops of human fat, Ser Gregor's head gradually turned into an indistinguishable black ball, and below—the skin burst out with red and black flesh, and was quickly burnt to a crisp.
So burning people was this satisfying, Viserys understood the Mad King. He was carefully admiring Gregor now, if you could still call that thing Gregor—the man's muscle tissue was burned away, and his two bad legs could no longer support the remains, collapsing like a ruined wasteland.
Was he dead?
Viserys walked over and pulled out the dagger embedded in the other man's neck, pressing down and cutting again—the charred, brittle head was easily separated this time!
Finally, he'd killed him. And he didn't have to worry about some mad scientist resurrecting him, either! Viserys thought as he stomped repeatedly on the charred bones, crushing them into fragments—maybe this was what it meant to grind someone to dust.
Petyr stared at the young prince with his mouth agape. Almost all his clothes had been burned away, but he was still unharmed.
"You need to leave. This will alert others soon. Go back to your room, change your clothes, and then bring mine. Find me by the river behind the Sept of the Seven," Viserys instructed. Speaking calmly, he walked to the outer chamber where the bodies lay and lit all the sulfur pine strips, tossing them onto the corpses.
The fire grew larger.
"Remember to keep my secret," Viserys actually smiled at him. His purple eyes were bright and sharp, filled with rationality.
Petyr stumbled backward, turning to flee as the prince had indicated—he didn't know if he was afraid or exhilarated: A True Dragon! A True Dragon is immune to fire!! He'd thought it was just a legend, a story, and now it had become reality before his very eyes!!
The fire consumed the garden and Sept of the Seven beside Riverrun, and the head of House Clegane and his three attendants, who had started the blaze, all perished in the flames due to excessive drinking. Their deaths were so gruesome that their remains were reduced to humanoid charcoal; a touch would cause their arms to fall off. The Riverrun attendants responsible for collecting their remains merely picked up a few distinguishable black bones from the ground and wrapped them up as a formality. Ser Gregor Clegane's remains were incomplete.
That night was chaotic due to the rescue efforts. The commotion startled the Crown Prince Rhaegar, who was reading letters in his room. He first rushed to Littlefinger's residence, only to find the room empty—the Crown Prince was shocked!
He then hurried towards the burning Sept—the fire had already turned the roof red-hot. Rhaegar's face was pale, and he called out Viserys's name, wanting to rush inside, but was desperately stopped by everyone.
"Brother!!"
This cry was like a sound from heaven. He turned around and saw his brother, unharmed, walking from the riverbank. Rhaegar embraced Viserys, finding his clothes clean but his hair wet, and he smelled of smoke.
"Where have you been?" he asked sternly.
"I just saw the fire start and helped Littlefinger out to watch the excitement. The safest place seemed to be by the river, so we went there to watch, brother. The people putting out the fire splashed me a bit – there were a lot of people by the river, so it was convenient to get water." Viserys explained. "And, I heard it was Ser Gregor and the others who got drunk and the candles set the house alight."
Rhaegar felt something wasn't right, but he didn't want to dwell on it. He held his brother, his most precious treasure in the world, and kissed him again.
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Thanks to the little angels who threw a mine or irrigated nutrient solution for me during the period of 2020-06-27 15:43:062020-07-01 16:40:53
Thanks to the little angels who threw mines: Preserved egg and lean meat porridge 4; Jiao Bao 1;
Thanks to the little angels who irrigated nutrient solution: Passerby 47 bottles; Preserved egg and lean meat porridge 1 bottle;
Thank you very much for your support, I will continue to work hard!