Bronn froze for a moment.
Then a burst of wild laughter tore out of his throat.
"Ha! Ha! Hahahahahaha!"
The sound echoed through the empty riverside woods, shrill and unhinged, enough to make even the hard-faced soldiers around him shift in surprise.
He laughed so hard he slapped his thigh.
"Good! Good! Good!"
"Tywin Lannister's brother!"
"I killed Tywin Lannister's brother!"
He threw his head back and howled with laughter.
"My worthless life was worth it after all! That's a fair trade! Hahahaha!"
At that moment, he almost wanted to applaud himself.
That ambush trick he'd picked up from Solomon had worked beautifully. Gerion Lannister had died a humiliating death, thrown into a pit trap and crushed under his own horse. So much for great lords and noble blood.
The only real pity was that the caravan had been empty.
Nothing but a few damned crystal lenses.
Nothing else.
Not a single gold dragon.
And now he'd lost his life over it.
The soldiers around him watched the laughing madman in silence, weapons in hand, waiting for Damon Lannister's order.
At last, Bronn's laughter died away.
What replaced it was something darker. Colder. A despair that had sunk all the way into his bones.
He knew better than most what it meant to fall alive into Lannister hands.
That was worse than dying.
The dungeons under Casterly Rock were full of ways to keep a man alive long after he started begging not to be.
And for a crime like his, they would not let him die quickly. They would drag it out. Break him piece by piece. Let him rot into old age if they had to.
A hard glint flashed in his eyes.
He could not be taken alive.
Absolutely not.
Slowly, carefully, his hand crept toward his waist. Hidden there was a small dagger. Better to cut his own throat with it than spend years being peeled apart in some Lannister cell.
At this point, death was the better bargain.
His fingertips were just about to brush the hilt when Damon Lannister suddenly spoke.
The words hit him like a crack of thunder.
"Tell me, Bronn."
"Did Solomon Stinkfort order you to do this?"
Bronn's mind jolted.
Solomon?
What in the seven hells did Solomon have to do with Gerion Lannister's death?
His thoughts raced. He ran back through everything he remembered, trying to find the link. There was none. None he could see. Damon had waited all this time just to ask that?
Was it because Solomon had hired him once?
But how would the Lannisters know that?
Damon watched the stunned look on his face and pressed harder, as if he could see every thought passing through Bronn's head.
"Answer me. Did he order it?"
"House Lannister does not forgive its enemies. We will make him die far worse than you. A hundred times worse. A thousand."
In Damon's eyes, there was no world where a mercenary captain had the nerve to do this on his own. Bronn had looked genuinely ignorant of the connection between Solomon, the glasses, and Roderick.
That only made the answer clearer.
There was only one explanation.
That greedy little Riverlands lord had wanted two bites of the same gold. Take the payment, then hire mercenaries to seize the goods back. He just hadn't known that control of the deal had passed from House Tyrell into Lannister hands.
Bronn, meanwhile, was completely lost.
Then a much colder thought crawled into his head.
Did they really know he'd once worked for Solomon?
The idea made his skin tighten.
This was Lannister reach. Lannister eyes. Under that gaze, nothing in Westeros stayed hidden. Not even the trail of some nameless sellsword.
And then another voice started screaming inside him.
Say it.
Say Solomon did it.
Cloud the water. Maybe you live a little longer.
And even if you still die, drag that smug little bastard down with you.
It was perfect revenge. Cost him nothing. Exactly the kind of petty spite Bronn had always enjoyed. The boy lord had threatened him before, acted like he knew everything, acted like he owned the board.
What was the harm in shoving him into the grave on the way out?
He should have enjoyed the chance.
He usually would have.
But for some reason, when his lips moved, no words came out.
Not one.
He didn't know why.
Maybe it was the way Solomon had thrown him that bag of gold outside the Bloody Gate, open-handed and without hesitation.
Maybe it was the absurd trust in it. The way that arrogant little lord, for all his sharp tongue and superior look, had simply handed over a fortune like he expected Bronn to do the job.
Maybe it was none of that.
Maybe it was just that with death this close, some things stopped being funny.
Whatever it was, he couldn't say the words.
So he just stood there, silent, staring at Damon Lannister.
Damon saw the silence and, to Bronn's surprise, smiled.
It was a strange smile.
He brushed a bit of dust from his clothes, dust carried over by the river wind.
"Good."
"Silence is an answer too."
"Your silence has already told us what we need to know."
Bronn blinked, not understanding at all.
Damon turned and began walking back toward the rear of the formation. His part in this was finished. House Lannister's enemy would soon receive the end that had been chosen for him.
As he walked, he spoke in the calm tone of a man reciting a sentence already written.
"The truth is, we don't need you to say it."
"Your answer only helps me understand the matter more clearly."
"If you want to keep your secret, then keep it."
He paused.
Then his voice turned colder, harder, every word like ice driven under the skin.
"Because whether he was involved or not..."
"Lord Tywin has already given the order."
"Everyone connected to his brother's death..."
"Must die."
Bronn felt his heart sink all the way down.
Now he understood.
He'd dragged Solomon into it.
In Bronn's eyes, the Lannisters did not care about the truth. The lion was enraged, and what it wanted was blood. Everyone even loosely tied to this affair was going to be sent to join Gerion in the grave. Solomon was just another target. Another body to feed Lannister rage and prove Lannister power.
And Solomon, poor bastard, had only just begun to rise.
Now he was marked because once, somewhere along the road, he'd hired the wrong man.
Bronn almost laughed again.
Sorry, my friend.
Still, company in the dark isn't the worst thing.
Damon Lannister reached the back of the formation, turned, and looked at Bronn with the sort of contempt a man reserved for an insect already pinned under his boot.
Slowly, he raised his hand to give the order.
His voice rang out over the cold river wind, heavy with promise and blood.
"House Lannister always pays its de..."
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