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Night was falling.
Jaime Lannister, wrapped in a plain black cloak, crouched in the shadow of an old oak and slowly stroked the hilt of his sword.
It had been far too long since the blade tasted blood.
The tourney a few months back—being knocked off his horse by the Hound—had been humiliating enough. During the melee he'd tried to single the dog out for a proper fight, but someone else stole the glory by taking on two men at once. By the time Jaime stepped in, it was already over.
Barristan only cared about winning. Or maybe the old man was scared of losing his title as the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. He'd shouted something that threw the Hound off, and the fight ended in seconds.
Not satisfying. Not satisfying at all.
"Ser Jaime," a voice whispered beside him.
"Our orders aren't to lift the siege. We're only supposed to look like the vanguard of the main army."
"The Hand never told us to fight."
Jaime glanced sideways at Vylar.
Father always picked men who were either ugly enough to scare smallfolk or handsome enough to look the part. This one had landed the job of Red Keep guard captain on nothing more than a pretty face and swordwork barely better than a goose's. His courage and principles were about the same as a sheep's. Even Tyrion could push him around.
"We didn't ride all this way just to watch the enemy attack and do nothing," Jaime said.
"But… but the Hand…"
The Hand?
Jaime curled his lip in contempt.
The Hand treated honor like it was his lifeblood, but honor was nothing but horseshit.
Everyone thought Eddard was marching to war. Even Jaime had believed it at first—thought the man had some spine. But no. Eddard had pulled them aside for a secret little meeting and laid out this pathetic plan.
No engagement. No fighting. Just ride around, apply pressure, look threatening.
Cowardly. Utterly cowardly.
He must have used the same underhanded tricks at the Tower of Joy to kill Jaime's brothers.
Otherwise, why would the Dayne girl have jumped from that tower when Eddard returned the sword Dawn? And why bring a bastard back to the North and never say who the mother was?
Gray hair. Long face. Looked exactly like his father.
Exactly like…
Like Joffrey.
The corner of Jaime's mouth twitched.
Joffrey looked more and more like him every day, and blind Robert had never noticed a thing.
Now that drunkard was gone. No one could stop Jaime from going to Cersei, from taking the love she gave him.
Except Joffrey.
That damn boy had stolen half of Cersei's time since the day he was born. Grown up, he still wasn't like a normal child—always thinking, scheming, never as sweet as Tommen or Myrcella. Not even as entertaining as Tyrion, who at least told jokes to make him laugh.
"Ser? Ser Jaime?"
The sheep was bleating again.
Jaime ignored him and kept watching the enemy camp in the distance.
The crabmen's siege camp was a complete joke—no order, no sentries. A single charge could scatter them like chickens. They didn't even know how to besiege a town properly. No filled ditches, no mantlets for the archers, not even proper ramps. Just a ridiculous tree trunk with handles nailed on—apparently that was their battering ram.
If Father were in command, the heads of every officer would already be on pikes.
"Captain Vylar," Jaime said suddenly, "the Hand and the main army are still picnicking somewhere behind us. They can't see what's happening here."
He clapped the sheep on the shoulder, almost kindly.
"Besides, if we don't hit them a couple of times, how will anyone believe we actually showed up?"
"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
…
Twilight had fallen.
On the edge of the camp, campfires crackled.
Scrape. Scrape.
The crabmen were sharpening their newly issued axes.
"This sea-king is all right," one said, holding the blade up to the firelight. "Soon as we got here he sent us decent weapons."
"And the food's unlimited."
"Last time I followed that little princeling on campaign, the stingy bastard wouldn't even let me have an extra bowl of soup. Made me push his damn cart the whole way."
"Push his cart?" The man next to him laughed. "You got off easy. When we climbed that mountain you didn't have to follow us up."
"Gods, I've never seen a mountain that high in my life. Left in the morning, reached the top at night. Thought my legs would snap."
"And once we got up there, no rest—they made us carry everything back down," another crabman with a missing tooth added. "Had to turn it all in at the bottom. Tried to keep anything and you got a backhand across the face."
He glanced left and right, then pulled a silver ring from his tunic and wiggled it on his finger with a proud grin.
The others crowded in, whistling.
"They stripped us naked and you still got that out? How?"
Missing-Tooth gave a mysterious smile.
He never got to answer.
The ground suddenly trembled.
The thunder of hooves tore through the starry night.
"Weird—the lords' horses are all inside the camp," Missing-Tooth muttered.
He stood up to get a better look.
Behind the leaping red flames of the campfire, a golden sun came roaring out of the darkness on a storm of hooves.
A moment later a lion appeared above the firelight—golden mane, snarling jaws, claws outstretched as if ready to devour the world.
Missing-Tooth stared, frozen.
He felt a cold sting across his neck, like something important had suddenly gone missing.
Then he fell.
In his last flicker of awareness he saw dozens of knights leaping the flames. Golden lions and silver claws flashed and clashed in the firelight.
Horns wailed.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
…
The night grew quiet again.
Inside the crabmen's central tent the commanders were crammed together.
The flamboyantly dressed Lysene pirate was shouting.
"What enemy attack? A few dozen men on a few dozen horses rode past the camp, killed a handful of people, burned a couple of tents. You call that an attack? Where's the rest of their army?"
A bald head gleamed red in the candlelight.
"I did exactly what you asked—I made the camp look like a disorganized mess," Lord Brune of the Crabs snapped back. "What do you mean 'lure the enemy in'? This was a stupid plan from the start."
"If you'd landed your men faster instead of taking your sweet time, they wouldn't have slipped away."
Salladhor Saan cursed in Lysene.
"Enough," Davos Seaworth cut in. "The report says the attackers flew Lannister banners. The leader wore gilded armor and a lion helm."
"It must be the Kingslayer. He's a dangerous man."
"His Grace warned us there would be a major battle here. That means the enemy vanguard has arrived. We need to stay alert—"
The horns sounded again.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
The commanders grabbed their weapons and rushed outside.
All they saw was a small party of cavalry vanishing into the trees.
…
Dead silence.
The crabman on watch was loudly boasting about his silver ring.
"I'm telling you, this ring I got by—"
His comrades dropped their spears in terror, blew two quick blasts on the horn, and dove back through the camp gate.
Yellow-Tooth tried to turn his head, but his neck suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
…
The stars wheeled overhead.
"This ring I got by—"
Black-Tooth managed two words before a sharp pain bloomed in his chest.
He turned and saw two swans—one black, one white—carrying a bow as they streaked across the sky.
"Enemy atta—"
…
Just before dawn.
"This…"
Toothless got half a word out before his fingers and the silver ring both hit the dirt.
"Enem—"
…
At first light the silver ring lay on the ground.
No one bothered to pick it up anymore.