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GOT : Chapter 101
🕑 Added 2024-06-05 12:54:00 +0000 UTC( Archibald POV )
Night had fallen on King's Landing and, with it, an eerie silence had imposed itself on the Red Keep. A silence that was deceiving, however.
Indeed, the Dornish had planned to make their escape that night. All of them.
Quentyn didn't want to take any chances…it was now or never. The chaos following the end of the trial by combat wouldn't last very long, and their window of opportunity was closing. Many Dornishmen had already been sent home, but tonight, the last fifty would go.
Prince Oberyn would lead the first group to the beach, while other Dornishmen would sneak in small groups, no more than five. The small clearings below the Red Keep being perfect grounds for small embarkations to come and go between the Dornish ships at anchor offshore.
Tomorrow, the Red Keep would wake up and notice that everyone was gone…and that a few guards had had their throat slit, too. After all, one couldn't be too careful.
There were only six people left in their rooms: himself, Quentyn, Ned, Nymeria Sand, Myria Jordayne and Iris Anson. Wordlessly, they all prepared, taking care packing their things, while Arch kept watch to see if anyone was coming.
Finally, a tap on his shoulder. They were all ready.
"Is it safe to go?" Quentyn whispered.
Arch nodded in response.
Quentyn turned to Ned and the two Salty Dornishwomen.
"Well, good luck to you," he whispered, handing Ned his things, and his frog, which Ned awkwardly accepted. "Take care of Achilles and make sure he doesn't croak. Just keep him inside your vest pocket and he won't say a word. Do you remember your instructions?"
"If you aren't back before three hours past the hour of the wolf, we leave anyways." Ned nodded, trying to shove the tree frog into his vest as best he could, while the frog itself was having a hard time fitting inside, considering its head was deforming slightly. In the end, Ned gave up and kept it open.
"My prince, are you sure…" Iris Anson, the older woman of the three, at almost nine-and-ten, whispered.
"We must do this. It is what honor and justice demand," Quentyn replied, his gaze unwavering.
"Surely there must be someone else," Myria Jordayne protested in turn. "We cannot risk harm coming to you."
"I fear that it must be me, and you know why," Quentyn sighed. "We've prepared for this. Now, go. Else it shall be too late."
Ned looked at Quentyn worriedly, but eventually nodded and tiptoed out of the room with the two women, bags in hand. Arch was now alone with Quentyn and the sand snake.
"It's time," Quentyn said in a dark tone.
Arch and the snake nodded simply, following Quentyn out of the now empty room and into the dark halls of the Keep. There were a few twists and turns, a few dead men in the hallways, their throats slit and bodies carefully thrown out of view or placed as though they were sleeping.
Arch felt his breathing continue to increase rapidly. He wasn't exactly discreet like the other two with his size, after all, he wasn't supposed to be here.
If only Cletus hadn't fallen for the Tyrell girl, he would have been here instead. But with his cousin making his bed with the roses, it was on Arch that the responsibility came.
He gulped slightly as they approached the tower of the Hand, and they all took cover behind a wall, since two sentries were placed in ambush.
Arch immediately looked at the snake, who drew two daggers from under her dress. Taking a few moments to aim, she threw both at the same time.
The sentries had no time to react.
Both daggers lodged themselves in both sentries' throat. One of them managed to gargle something before falling, their armor clanking slightly.
Arch felt the blood drain from his body. Did anyone hear this? The faintest sound surely could awaken the whole Keep. And they'd be dead. All three of them.
Fortunately, nothing moved, and Arch could breathe a sound of relief.
"Good shot, love," Quentyn whispered into his lover's ear, earning a smile from her while she took the bloody daggers back.
"Let's keep moving." Arch looked over his shoulder, worried that someone might find them.
"Big man is right, let's go." The snake led the way into the turning staircase of the tower. Soon enough, they were climbing these stairs, until they found the hall they were looking for. Of course, there were sentries there, in their crimson cloaks.
However, it was more difficult. The hallway was facing a wall, not an open space, and the sentries were therefore one in front of the other. One dagger could kill one, but the other…
The snake breathed heavily as all three of them took cover.
"Damn it…" she whispered, frustrated.
"I think I have an idea." Quentyn whispered back, reaching for his pocket.
Searching in his vest, he pulled out a golden dragon.
"Alea jacta est…" Quentyn whispered, blowing on the golden coin while sliding it down the hall.
Arch frowned, not bothering to try and translate some kind of Valyrian dialect, instead keeping his eyes riveted in front of him as one of the sentries moved. Mechanically, he reached for his hammer, forgetting that he'd entrusted Ned with it, instead keeping a sword, much less cumbersome inside some tight hallways of the Keep.
The sentry didn't say anything, though. Instead, the soldier looked at his partner, and then took one step to the right and moved down to pick up the coin.
The snake didn't have to be told anything. She pulled out the same two daggers and threw them again, with deadly accuracy. The sentry standing up took the dagger in the side of the throat, a clean shot.
However, the one crouching didn't. Instead, he took it right on the cheek. Arch was ready to rush and finish him off, but instead, quick as a fox, the Volantene bastard took out another dagger and aimed straight at the throat, finishing the sentry off before he had time to cry out anything.
"That was close," Quentyn breathed a sigh of relief as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Did you ever doubt me?" the snake mockingly asked.
"I don't think I had time to," Quentyn whispered nervously.
The three of them made their way past the sentries, taking care of finishing them off. Then, all of them moved in front of the door – locked, of course.
"Shit." Arch sighed. "What now?"
The snake turned her head towards Quentyn, who cleared his throat, and then knocked on the door.
Arch thought his friend had gone mad. What was he doing?
"What is it?" came a voice from inside the rooms.
"My lord," Quentyn tried the best Reacher accent he could muster. "It's the Dornish. They're gone! You must come at once!"
The door opened almost immediately.
"Wha…" the figure said, clearly not expecting them to be standing there,, before Arch shoved his fist into the man's face.
The Lannister man didn't have time to react as he stumbled a few steps backwards. That was more than enough time for the three Dornishmen to step inside the room, quickly locking the door behind them.
"Greetings, lord Tywin," Quentyn grinned from ear to ear. "Pleasant night, isn't it?"
"You…" the old lion started, clutching his obviously broken nose.
"Arch, bound and gag him," Quentyn ordered.
Archibald didn't have to be told twice. In one great swoop, he picked up the Hand of the King, took the ropes he'd been keeping in his vest pocket, and immediately gagged the old lion before he had the good sense to scream out. Then, he tied his hands and feet, ensuring that the lion couldn't move, and sat the unfortunate man in a chair.
The snake took position on the bed, while Quentyn stepped up, Arch moving towards the door, keeping it closed, but also opening a small peeking hole in order to watch for intruders.
Arch could see that the old lion was panicked. His demeanour was still calm, but his eyes told another story.
"Sorry to interrupt your sleep." Quentyn frowned. "But I fear this conversation couldn't wait."
"Love, I don't think he can speak," the snake intervened, grinning.
"Good," Quentyn replied. "I'll do the questions and answers, then. You might be wondering, Lord Lannister, why am I here? In fact, I think you already know."
The old lion didn't react, his eyes sternly fixed straight forwards, in a mixture of panic and confusion. Quentyn didn't care much, dragging forwards a chair of his own to sit upon across from the Lord of the Rock.
"I'm here so that you may honor your house's word." Quentyn grinned from ear to ear. "A Lannister always pays his debts, no? Well, I am here to collect your debt, Tywin Lannister. The debt written in blood when you ordered your beasts to savagely kill Elia and her children. However, first I want you to know everything that will come after you die.
I want you to know that you brought in the fall of your own house and that your legacy will be nothing but ash once I am done with you."
Quentyn raised a finger to point at the old lion, looking like a maester about to give a lecture. "When you die, there will be nothing keeping the Tyrells from exercising their control over this city. Your grandson will rule as a king subservient to the whims of the Reach, and the Westerlands will answer to Highgarden in all but name. Sure, your grandson will rule – for a time, of course.
Tapping his finger against his temple, Quentyn continued, "Because for all your planning and great delusions of grandeur, you made yourself a lot of enemies, Lord Lannister. Your vassals are not loyal because they respect you, but because they fear you. And fear alone cannot rule.
When you die, the Westerlands will collapse. Some will side with your son, Tyrion. Others might side with Ser Kevan, Ser Lancel or Ser Daven. Others will want the protection of Highgarden. It truly doesn't matter in the end."
"The North hates you for what your family did to Ned Stark. When they come back, they will want to see your lands burn. The Riverlanders saw their keeps burnt, their lands reduced to ash, their people slaughtered and their daughters raped, do you think they will hold back when they eventually turn their eyes west?" Quentyn spread his hands wide while the old lion glared at him, eliciting a short snort of amusement from the snake.
Quentyn's grin took on an edge that would have been sinister in any other circumstance. "Most of all, the Dragons hate you.
For Aegon, for Rhaenys, and for everything that came after. When I bring back Daenerys Targaryen, will she show mercy to your family? Or will she burn them all? I don't think it matters, and I don't think I care. What matters most is that when I am done with everything, the Westerlands will be a pitiful shell of their former glory, their riches gone and their power destroyed.
House Lannister will be but a footnote in the histories, a family that once ruled a kingdom reduced to bending the knee to the Tullys, Starks or Tyrells to survive. Your house will be reduced to nothing. Your bloodline will rule neither the Seven Kingdoms, nor Casterly Rock, I can promise you that much! And all because you decided to have three innocent people killed out of, what? Fear? Pride? Revenge?"
