[Chapter Size: 4200 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Riverlands, 300 AC.
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Sandor stared at Jon for several seconds, trying to process what he had just heard. His eyes still carried anger, but a few moments later his expression began to change.
Then his eyes widened. "You... no. It can't be," Sandor said.
"I know that, the first time we met, but I never hid myself, and you know very well that my eyes are unique in the entire world. You should base it on what you've been hearing about me. After all, no one has eyes like mine," Jon said calmly.
Sandor was still a little stunned. He kept staring at those glowing eyes before him. "Why are you here?"
There was no way to argue against that. At the same time that this man possessed a completely abnormal appearance, Sandor had heard many stories about him while he was in the Red Keep. He had heard rumors, complaints, and even Prince Joffrey speak of the King of Arctic as a plague. And they always talked about his green eyes, as if they were the very living fire he used to destroy entire enemy fleets.
His desire to strangle that man vanished completely. In its place, a primitive fear was born.
How could it not?
That man had tortured his brother in a way that turned the feared Mountain into a joke throughout all of Westeros. Gregor Clegane had lost his title as Tywin's great hound, becoming a man without a sword arm to wield, without a tongue to speak, and without a penis to rape.
"You say you want to help me kill him, but wasn't it my brother who killed your brother when he was just a baby?" Clegane asked.
He immediately noticed the change in Jon's expression. It seemed he had touched a sensitive point.
Sandor simply picked up his mug and began drinking the damned beer from that place, avoiding looking into those eyes for the moment. Sandor felt a small satisfaction at finally having countered one of that king's provocations.
But he soon realized something was wrong. The very air had changed.
He felt his mug freeze in his hand, forcing him to let go of it quickly. He looked on in shock as parts of the table began to be covered in ice.
Jon's eyes were glowing. The other group of people near the tavern's counter did not notice much, but they seemed surprised; they felt the air freeze inside that place.
Then Jon blinked, and everything returned to normal.
"It's true," he said. His voice was colder than before. "In fact, I would let you defeat him. But I would never allow you to kill him." Jon paused.
"It may sound strange, but my loss because of that man is greater than yours..." Jon clearly did not like the idea of his brother having been murdered by someone like Gregor.
"Anyway, I'm heading to the Castle Darry because I can't let the little boy die in that place, and Gregor will do that. And I also intend to deal with your brother once and for all." Jon looked at him again.
There was a calm gleam in his eyes, as if he were simply waiting for an answer. Then Jon turned his head.
The six men who were in the tavern were already talking to the sellsword behind the counter. They all looked irritated and kept their hands close to their swords.
"It seems your friends are quite impatient." Jon watched the men approach.
"They might not even let us finish this conversation." He turned toward the group, as if it did not matter in the slightest.
"Hey, are you with him?" one of the men asked while Sandor also looked toward the group.
The question was not directed at Sandor, but at Jon. After all, he was still an unknown variable in that situation. He had appeared out of nowhere.
No one had seen any horse outside, and if he was not alone, there could be more men hidden nearby.
One of the sellswords walked to the entrance of the place to check the surroundings, while the leader began approaching their table.
"It seems we're going to have to fight your hunters, Sandor Clegane," Jon said calmly before looking at the man in front of him with a smile.
"Does that matter?" Jon answered the earlier question again.
The man stared at him for a moment and then looked at his companion at the entrance. The fellow nodded, confirming that there was no one else outside.
"Of course it doesn't matter." He began drawing his sword. The others did the same as they moved away from the counter.
"I don't know if there's a bounty on your head, but try to keep him alive. If he's worth anything, that'll be more money for us."
As he spoke, the others were already preparing for the fight. Even the innkeeper pulled a sword from inside the establishment; he did not even know who Sandor was until he heard it from the group.
Seven against two. "Clegane, perhaps it's time for you to see what you're capable of," Jon said, looking at Sandor before beginning to draw his own sword.
The men were somewhat surprised by the confident smile that remained on Jon's face. Even surrounded by several enemies, there was not the slightest trace of concern in his expression. He was actually enjoying himself, which should not have been normal.
That made some of them think that perhaps he was mad.
Before anyone could do anything else, Jon grabbed the chair beside him, the one no one was sitting in, and kicked it. The wood cracked under the force of the blow.
The chair flew across the tavern and struck one of the men squarely before he could react. The man cried out in pain and surprise, dropping his sword.
The others barely had time to process what had happened. Jon simply charged at them with his sword in hand.
The first man who threatened him tried to strike him. Jon moved only enough to evade the blade. Then he took advantage of the opening and attacked.
A single clean thrusting cut pierced the man's neck.
As he fell, another charged forward with force and a shout of rage.
Jon blocked the blow. But he put so much strength into the counterattack that his opponent's sword was knocked backward, causing him to lose his balance.
Jon spun quickly. His blade swept across the man's neck.
The head rolled across the tavern floor.
Another sellsword tried to strike him immediately afterward. Jon leaned aside to avoid the blow and answered with a vertical slash.
The blade cut through the man's forearm. He screamed in pain.
The hand, still gripping the sword, fell onto the tavern floor.
The other three men still standing were somewhat frightened, and that gave Clegane an opening to step in. After all, he was not going to stand still.
Sandor threw himself at the nearest enemy, who barely had time to react. He was too busy watching Jon slaughter three men in a matter of moments.
The bloodied blade struck his belly and sank deep into it.
The man screamed in pain.
"Die!" Clegane roared.
He ripped the sword free with a brutal motion, causing the man's entrails to spill across the tavern floor.
Now only three men remained. And all of their confidence had vanished.
Jon quickly advanced toward the innkeeper. Realizing this, the man behind the bar ran behind the counter and pulled out a crossbow.
At the same time, Jon killed another sellsword—the one he had knocked down with the chair, still lying on the floor—striking him with a clean slash.
When he turned around, he saw the crossbow aimed at him. He quickly shifted his sword to the side, using the widest part of the blade as protection, as if he had already been prepared for it.
The innkeeper pulled the trigger. The bolt fired.
Jon moved his sword in a swift strike. The projectile shattered upon hitting the steel.
The innkeeper was completely shocked by what he had just seen. But Jon gave him no time to react.
He gripped the sword by the hilt, twisted his body, and hurled it forward using the strength of his muscles.
The sword cut through the air. The man barely had time to realize what was happening.
The blade struck his face head-on. It sank between his eyes and pierced part of his skull. The innkeeper did not even manage to let out a horrified scream and simply died. His body collapsed behind the counter.
Jon turned his attention to the man missing part of his arm, crying as he stared at the blood pouring from where his hand should have been, and then to Sandor. The Hound was still fighting his last opponent.
Sandor quickly used his monstrous strength against the terrified man, who was desperately trying to defend himself from Sandor's merciless attacks.
"I give up! I surrender!" the man shouted.
"You don't need to, I'm going to kill you!" Sandor roared, delivering a blow that sent him flying backward and crashing onto one of the tables due to Clegane's sheer strength.
"Please—" He barely had time to say it before Sandor simply sliced open his chest right there on top of the table, spilling his guts across it as the man died in agony.
Jon nodded and turned back to the man staring in terror at the blood pouring from the place where his hand should have been.
He saw Jon approaching him and immediately began begging for his life. "Wait! Wait!" he shouted.
But it was not Jon who attacked him, but Sandor, who came from behind without showing the slightest mercy.
His sword pierced the man's chest. The sellsword howled in pain and fell to his knees as the sword was pulled from his chest. An instant later, Sandor cut his throat. The body fell heavily to the ground.
The fight was over. Sandor raised his head and looked back at Jon with suspicion.
That man had taken down almost the entire group by himself; this last man he killed had been incapacitated by Jon, not Sandor. "They wanted to hunt me down, so I should have been the one to finish him off," Sandor said, since Jon had also intended to kill that last one.
Jon merely let out a small laugh. "So..." He walked over to the sword he had thrown and pulled it from the innkeeper's corpse. "Now we work together at the Castle Darry?"
Sandor remained silent for a few seconds.
A silence had taken over the place, then Sandor snorted. "To hell with it." That was the closest thing to a positive answer Jon had expected to receive.
Silence hung over them as Jon left the bodies behind and walked toward the counter.
There was a small piece of paper there. It was the paper those men had left behind.
Drawn in black ink was a portrait of Sandor. It was quite similar and easy to recognize for anyone who knew who they were looking for.
Jon picked up the poster and placed it against Sandor's chest. "Here's your wanted poster. You won't have peace, but I can help you, if you prove yourself worthy."
He paused. "Anyway, I'm leaving."
Sandor stared at the paper for a few seconds, looking at the image of himself drawn by someone. It was not entirely accurate, but it wasn't as if you saw a man with half his face burned every day, was it? He then tossed the paper aside and followed Jon outside.
A short while later, he was being carried by Caraxes. Holding tightly onto the eagle's legs while the massive eagle flew through the skies, Sandor could not hide his discomfort. He swore he would never do this again.
A few kilometers ahead, the two hovered above the Darry castle, landing in a corner before approaching and observing. There was still daylight.
"You insist the boy is alive?" Sandor asked. "I doubt my brother left him alive. Unless his master demanded it."
"That is exactly what happened," Jon replied. "Tywin Lannister gave orders to keep him alive for now." Jon then revealed a small cold smile.
"But your brother has become quite a sadistic monster. He enjoys torturing children, men, and women, now that he can no longer... well, you know... use what he had between his legs." Sandor's expression hardened upon hearing that.
"He was a rapist until Dark Sister, in my hand, cut that part off," Jon added, almost humming the words.
The two continued observing the castle from a distance. There was a small village around the walls, but much of it had been destroyed. Bodies could still be seen scattered in some places.
"Well, how do you intend to attack the place?" Sandor asked.
"First, we'll take down all of your brother's men guarding the walls." Jon continued watching the castle. "Then we'll climb."
"There must be a hundred men in there." Sandor looked at Jon as if he were insane.
"There are two hundred," Jon replied calmly.
That made Sandor frown. "And you want to get involved in that?"
"We can finish them off." Jon answered as if he were commenting on something ordinary.
Sandor found no response to that. In any case, they waited until nightfall.
They remained hidden in the forest until night arrived. When darkness finally covered the lands around the Darrys, Jon stood up. "Let's go."
Sandor simply followed him. Soon they returned to the observation point they had chosen that afternoon.
The guards were still patrolling the walls. "How do you plan to take them down?" Sandor asked.
Jon removed the bow from his back. "Isn't it obvious?" He rested the bow in his hand. "We'll bring them down from a distance."
Sandor stared at the walls. "Don't be ridiculous. That distance is more than two hundred meters."
Jon merely smiled. "It seems you haven't heard much about me." He raised the bow.
"That distance is nothing." Then he added, "Although this bow is far inferior to the ones we use in Arctic."
Sandor watched in silence.
Jon also seemed to have forgotten to bring a quiver, after all, where were the arrows? There were none!
Sandor believed this man was playing with him. But Jon did not care about his thoughts.
Instead, he placed his fingers on the bowstring and began to draw it back. At the same time, he aimed toward the walls.
A layer of cold began to form in front of his hand. Quickly, the moist air around him started to condense.
Small crystals appeared. They spun in a straight line before his fingers.
Then they began to join together. The ice grew rapidly. An entire arrow started taking shape in front of the bow. It was created directly from the moisture present in the air.
Sandor watched in shock. For a moment, he completely forgot about the castle before them.
"Don't be so impressed. You haven't seen anything yet..." Jon said, and Sandor could not even respond.
Jon had already moved the bow toward the next target. The first man was walking along one corner of the wall, where no one would notice his fall as long as he made no noise.
The moment Jon fired, the ice arrow shot forward at tremendous speed.
Far faster than any ordinary bow could provide.
It crossed the distance almost in a straight line, without losing height or slowing down. The arrow struck the man's neck exactly.
It pierced his flesh. The guard let out a small choking sound, but he was incapable of producing any noise that could be heard beyond a few meters.
His body fell to the ground. At the same time, the ice began spreading rapidly through his veins.
Within a few seconds, he was completely frozen. Unable to move even a single muscle. He died three seconds later.
His skin took on a bluish hue and his flesh became as rigid as stone. The ice arrow possessed that characteristic. It was practically a death sentence.
Once someone was struck, there was no turning back.
In any case, Jon turned his attention back to the walls. Sandor remained impressed.
That arrow created through an unknown form of magic was something he had never seen before.
He did not even understand all of its effects. But the speed of the shot and Jon's absurd accuracy made the warrior swallow hard.
He definitely did not want that man as an enemy.
Jon continued firing, and one sentry after another fell.
At times, he even released two arrows almost simultaneously to eliminate guards positioned side by side.
There were not many men patrolling the walls. About ten, and all of them died quickly.
"Come on. It's time to pay the castle a visit," Jon said as he moved forward.
Sandor followed him, and some time later, they reached the walls.
Jon placed his hand against the stone and began to invoke his ice magic.
Crystals appeared before them. Then pillars started growing from the ground. One after another, forming an improvised staircase that allowed them to climb the wall easily.
Jon was the first to ascend. Sandor came right behind him, but he could not help frowning as he looked at the ice. He even touched it before feeling his hand burn.
"Use the glove," Jon reminded him. He had handed over a thick glove taken from the equipment attached to the giant eagle's saddle.
Sandor quickly put it on. Only then did he begin climbing the frozen pillars.
Shortly afterward, both reached the top of the wall. Jon observed the interior of the castle.
There were still about twelve guards scattered around the place. He took up the bow again and began firing more arrows.
"By the gods... what happened to them?" Sandor muttered. Beside him lay one of the bodies that had been taken down earlier.
The victim was completely blue. Even the blood had stopped flowing. Everything remained frozen around the wound and the ice arrow.
"Don't worry too much about it." Jon merely shrugged.
Sandor nodded despite his furrowed brow. He recognized a horrible death when he saw one, and his eyes remained uneasy.
Then the two headed toward the wall stairs. They descended into the castle while Jon began searching the place for what he had truly come to find.
"We could try creating a distraction, but I believe it's easier to take down a group of them before we're discovered," Jon said.
He walked over to a small structure where they kept stacks of firewood stored.
He raised his hand, and a red sphere appeared before him. The fireball hovered in the air, radiating heat, but not enough to set the place ablaze.
Jon simply left it floating there in the air and walked away. Shortly afterward, he found Sandor pushing the frozen bodies into a corner of the wall.
"Let's go inside the castle." Sandor nodded and followed him. The two advanced into the fortress.
They soon found a few servants working in the kitchen, while several soldiers were still eating in the main hall.
Jon approached one of the women and covered her mouth before she could scream. He went straight to the servant who seemed to have the most influence among all the others.
Then he dragged her into a secluded corner. The woman tried to struggle, obviously frightened, but she was unable to escape.
Jon pressed her against the wall. Then he placed a finger in front of his lips, signaling for silence.
The servant looked at him fearfully and remained still. "Listen, woman. I need some information. I'm not with your captors. We are not with these soldiers from the Westerlands."
Jon slowly removed his hand from her mouth. The woman was clearly mistreated. It was obvious she had been suffering abuse for quite some time.
Even so, she took a breath and remained silent, still looking at Jon with fear. "Who are you?" she asked in a low voice.
"We are here to liberate the castle," Jon replied calmly. "We are killing every man wearing red armor."
It was true that not all of the Westerlands soldiers present belonged to the Lannisters at Riverrun. There were some men from other houses, like those serving in the garrison of House Darry's seat.
But they were not numerous enough to influence his plans. There was only one person in particular that Jon wanted to find.
Even commanding only two hundred men, Gregor Clegane was there. And this was perhaps his best opportunity to deal with the Mountain once and for all.
The woman seemed to calm down a little. "I need to know one thing." Jon looked at her. "Should we be worried about the servants betraying us?"
She looked stunned for a moment. "Are you serious? Who are you people? Do you have enough men to kill all of them?"
"We have enough men." It was the only answer Jon gave.
The woman looked at him suspiciously. She clearly did not believe that two men could take a castle.
Even so, she answered, "We've been abused by them for moons. We serve to warm their beds and satisfy their desires after watching our children and husbands be killed." She spat on the floor. "So I wish, just like many other women, for all of them to die."
Jon nodded. "Excellent."
He paused briefly. "I want you to warn all the other women in the kitchen. No one is to scream or make any sound coming from the main hall."
The woman nodded, and Jon asked again.
"Will I find the women of the castle in their rooms with them?"
"Yes."
Jon fell silent in thought for a few seconds. He understood the problem perfectly.
It would be difficult to kill all the men in their rooms without a woman being present. They would certainly scream upon seeing their bed companion being killed.
Whether they were being forced or not, it was simply a female survival instinct.
"We'll have to switch to another plan." Jon thought about the red sphere he had left outside the castle.
"Well, let's kill everyone who is eating and drinking. Remember, tell all the kitchen servants to remain silent while we do the work."
She nodded again and then headed to the kitchen to speak with the other servants.
Jon turned his attention back to Sandor. "There are about twenty men inside the hall. I can take down at least half of them with magic."
He then handed over three crossbows that he had taken from some of the Mountain's men they had killed.
"Use these." Sandor took the weapons, already loaded. "I'll attack first. You should bring down two or three of them. I'll finish the rest with my sword." Sandor simply nodded. Despite it being a somewhat crazy plan, he believed in this man after what he had seen.
Jon moved through the castle. He seemed to know every corridor perfectly thanks to the small rodents that observed everything for him. Soon they reached an elevated area above the main hall, similar to the upper galleries found in the great halls of the Freys.
It was the perfect place for an ambush. None of the men below noticed their presence.
The soldiers laughed, drank, and mocked one another while devouring their food. Some were already complaining about the absence of the servants.
"Where are those women?"
"They're taking too long."
"And here I was thinking I'd have company tonight."
The laughter continued.
Jon ignored all of it and raised his hand. This time, he did not even use the bow. He simply lifted a few fingers, and the cold began to condense around him.
An ice arrow appeared. Then another. And another.
Until ten arrows hovered around him, floating silently in the air.
Sandor did not know what to say in the face of that display. Even so, he prepared the crossbows.
The next instant, Jon pointed forward.
The arrows launched. They cut through the air at tremendous speed, and each one found its target.
Men began falling immediately. Some died on the spot as the ice pierced their skulls. Others choked as the freezing temperature locked their bodies from within.
The hall descended into chaos. At the same time, three crossbow shots echoed out—Sandor struck three men almost in succession.
The remaining soldiers rose in alarm.
"Enemy attack!" some shouted.
"What is this?!" Others tried to understand what was happening with those crystallized arrows lodged in men's bodies while looking upward and seeing two men.
But Jon had already jumped down. He landed on one of the tables. The wood burst beneath his weight, and plates shattered.
Sword in hand, he immediately advanced to finish the massacre.
After all...
He could have simply created more arrows and killed everyone from up there.
But where would the fun be in that?
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