15 Chapter 13: Interlude: The Jailed Knight & Burnt Boy

"Are you asleep?"

The words came from a tone unfamiliar to him, lacking in respect or restraint and jarred him awake. As he woke up, the prisoner looked at the one who had called for him, from the bars of his prison cell.

It was a boy, nearly seventeen to eighteen years of age, with an unusually robust build, one that would not have seemed out of place on a full-grown man. He was tall and muscular, coupled with keen eyes. But the most striking thing about him, was his face. Half of it had been burnt beyond recognition.

"Now, I am not," the prisoner replied with a curt tone, all drowsiness gone in an instant as he observed his visitor.

"I am at a loss, young man, who might you be?"

"There is no time for introductions, we may do all of it later, if we survive. For now, I will ask you this. Do you wish to escape?"

Instantly, the prisoner's eyes became wide and alert, and calculative.

"Of course, and I presume you wish to help me? You would not be here otherwise, I think …," the man replied coolly, to which the boy gave a grunt.

"I will help you escape, in return, you shall owe me a favour. If you agree to this we can leave now," the boy spoke without wasting time.

The man did not hesitate. He nodded his head in agreement. As soon as he did so, the boy moved swiftly from the door and returned. He dragged in a man, who was quite literally dead, and was in the garb of a gaoler. The boy knelt down and plucked a bunch of keys from the dead gaoler's belt and opened the door.

"Switch your clothes with this man, and drag him into your cell and lay him on the cot. Ensure that his face is towards the wall, and the back towards the cell gate," the boy instructed, at which the man smiled nostalgically.

"It is not my first time escaping a prison, boy, but I admit, last time it was me who was helping someone escape," the man chuckled, to which the boy grunted.

"I know."

Soon, the man had exchanged his clothes with the dead gaoler and had placed the corpse inside his cell, and both of the adventurers began to make their way out.

"Wear your face mask, that way no one will stop you," the boy advised. The man nodded in agreement and pulled out a facemask from the gaoler's pouch and covered the lower half of his face. Due to the decrepit nature of the black cells, it was not odd for its gaolers to wear a facemask to avoid the putrid stench within the building. The rotting smell of human waste and rotting dead bodies could be quite nauseating.

As they reached the entrance of the black cells, the boy casually walked out, and no one challenged him. Rather than that, they took a look at his face, and tried to keep out of his way which helped both of them immensely.

The man took note of it, although he remained quiet for a moment. He became apprehensive though, when they reached the part of the royal stables earmarked for House Lannister. Uncaring of his companion's turmoil, the boy released two horses and brought them back, and also brought out a sack from the corner.

"Your stuff," he gruffly retorted, to which the man grabbed it, and looked inside. Inside the sack was his armour, and his sword.

"The chief gaoler had it in his office, like some trophy. Fucking cunt, unless he won it off your corpse, he had no right to this," the boy spat, and strapped his own sword to his back. The man watched the boy with an inscrutable look on his face, and then picked up his own sword, and got on his horse.

"What about the armour?" the boy asked with a curious glance.

The man hardened his face, "It is worthless now." The boy nodded in agreement.

"We need to get out of the city now, we have till daybreak at best, before they find us," the boy spoke gruffly, and then, without any further ado, the two of them raced out.

As they made their way out, the prisoner observed, "You seem to have a remarkably free hand in moving throughout the Lannister camp."

"My brother," the boy growled, "casts a big shadow. No one in the Lannister army would try to stop me on account of him." Admitting that fact seemed to rile up the boy further.

"Where are we going?" the prisoner asked, after a moment's pause. "I could theoretically be on my own way and leave you to your own, but I am not an ungrateful man. You seem to have clearly planned this out, and you seem to want something from me. What do you suggest we do?"

"You clearly have no idea how much the stag hates your guts!" the boy growled, "once the news of your escape breaks, I would not be surprised if he mobilizes the entire army to get you back. There is a reason why we did not take a ship from the port. They are watched round the vigil, and I would not be surprised if the stag would send the ships of the royal fleet after the ships that sail out of the port tonight in a bid to catch you. You are too famous, too recognizable."

The prisoner nodded. These were all points that he himself had come to already.

"I assume, you have a plan then," he asked casually.

"I do," the boy nodded, "but before that, we need to talk about my favour," the boy spoke out, to which, the man nodded in agreement.

"Very well, what do you ask of me? I do not have much gold or worldly possessions to offer, but my word is my bond. Anything that is within my power to give, is yours," he spoke seriously, to which the boy paused, his eyes alight with satisfaction.

"You are one of the two greatest swordsmen in Westeros. I need you teach me how to kill, because there is a man I need to kill more than I need to live. He is stronger than me, faster than me, and is bigger than me. What he is, however, is shit as a warrior. But his strength makes up for his lack of skill. If I am to kill him, I need to be more skilled than him," the boy growled, while the man frowned.

After a while, the man sighed and replied, "It is not my place to judge. I gave you my word, and I will train you. But it must be after we have reached a safe place, and decided upon our new course of action."

The boy grunted in satisfaction, clearly pleased that his gambit had worked.

"Who is it, that you wish to kill so badly?" the prisoner asked after a while, curiosity rife in his tone.

"My brother," the reply shocked him to his core, and he pulled his horse to a stop.

"What!? No man is as accursed as a kin-slayer, boy!" he exclaimed in shock, as he gazed at the young man in front of him.

"My brother is Gregor Clegane," the boy replied in a deadpan voice as he gazed at the man in front of him calmly.

The words died within the prisoner's throat as he looked at the boy dumbfounded. After a few moments, his face broke into a smile, and then he gave a throaty laugh.

"Well, my father used to say that laws were meant to be broken, after all," he chuckled, and then gave a curt bow to the boy, "Allow to me formally introduce myself, my name is Selmy, Barristan Selmy, also called Barristan the Bold."

"Clegane, Sandor Clegane," the boy introduced himself, as both of them resumed their travel.

"So, where are we going?" Barristan asked again.

"Duskendale," Sandor replied, "Even that arrogant stag would not think that you would go back to the very place that made you a household name in Westeros in the first place," he finished with a grin on his face.

Barristan could not help it. He laughed again even as they raced their horses forward.

Six days later, after carefully travelling in a deliberate manner to avoid any roaming patrols, by using hidden trails, they had reached a village on the outskirts of Duskendale. Here, they put in the next part of their plan into operation.

Barristan obtained the services of a barber within the village, and shaved his head completely bald. Then, after disposing of their current garments, they dressed themselves as common sell-swords. To complete his disguise, Barristan took a knife, and gave a deep gash to himself on his face, by cutting a line from the top of his forehead to just below his right eye.

Without flinching, he cut himself, and stood still as Sandor crudely stitched the wound up. It was a crude, battlefield stitch, which would scar. Also, the inflammation from the wound would make it difficult for anyone to identify him, which was his plan.

Sandor, on the other hand, knew that his burns would make him easily identifiable. Too many people had seen him go into the black cells, and return back with a guard who was the disguised former Kingsguard. It would not take long for everyone to know that he had helped Barristan Selmy escape, and by now the word would have been out. He was certain of it. To complete his disguise, the boy took a jar of burn salve, and applied it liberally on his face, and then wrapped his face completely in cloth bandages, covering half of his face.

With their disguise complete, both of them made their way towards Duskendale.

As they neared the gate of the town, the guard in charge of the gate challenged them.

"Halt! State your business!"

"We are from Kings Landing, my name is Bald Pate, and this is my son, Dunk. We are trying to find a ship to take us to Essos or may haps Dorne," Barristan replied smoothly, while the guard and his fellows scrutinized him closely. Unknown to everyone, the head guard had stiffened for a second at hearing the names, before he collected himself, with none being the wiser as to what had happened.

"You seem to have had a rough go of it, recently, from the looks of it, friend," the man observed with a rather inquistive gaze as he looked at the two visitors.

"Aye," Barristan growled, "We lost everything when the damned Lannister's sacked the city. Lost our home, my wife was killed, and we got these wounds for daring to try and save ourselves from those curs! Now, we just want to get as far away as possible from those mongrels," he spat on the ground, for good measure.

"Good, go in. You will see no friends of the Lannister's in this town, I can assure you of that," the guard smirked, as he stepped aside and nodded to his men, permitting the two of them to pass inside. Everybody missed Barristan giving a quick sharp nod to the guard, who returned the gesture. Once they were gone though, the guard quickly excused himself and went somewhere else.

Smoothly, Barristan and Sandor walked in and made their way to the harbour of Duskendale. They were told that a ship to Dorne would leave the next morning. After booking their passage on the ship, the two of them made their way back to the inn where they had rented a room for the night.

As they reached the inn however, they noticed a huge commotion occurring. Lots of people were gathered within, and seemed to be celebrating.

"What is going on?" Sandor asked, even as he approached one of the men celebrating, who paused and then broke into a grin.

"The war is not over yet, mate! The Rebellion has suffered a great defeat! The Dornish have thrashed the cowardly flowers of the Reach in battle at Starpike!"

That took both of them by surprise.

"The Dornish!" Barristan asked in shock, as he looked at the man in surprise.

"Aye! The old lady of Dorne has declared independence! She says that she will not bow before a whoremongering brute who danced atop the corpses of her daughter and her grandchildren! Dorne has broken from the Iron Throne for good!" the man spoke with obvious relish, enjoying the looks of surprise on their faces.

"I don't believe it!" Barristan whispered in surprise, while Sandor just looked on slack jawed.

"Believe it, friend!" the man continued, "and it gets better! The Dornish army is being commanded by the boy-prince of Dorne. The son of Doran Martell! They say he wiped out the fat flower's army completely!" he roared, only to be joined by the cheers of the others in the inn.

"Aye!" another man exulted, "My cousin says that the fat flower lost over 15,000 men! It is going to take them weeks to clear the battlefield of the dead!"

Another round of cheers erupted.

"The maesters say that this is the greatest victory since the Field of Fire! The last person to win like this was the fucking Conqueror himself! Here is to Dorne, boys! Long may they live!" another man cheered, again to another round of laughter and applause.

Shocked and stunned, the Kingsguard and his accomplice quietly made their way to their room.

"Due you think it is true?" Sandor asked quietly, as he looked at Barristan with a hopeful look in his eye.

"Must be! The people of this town have no love for Kings Landing, and from the looks of it, half the town is in there, celebrating. We will know more, once we go to Dorne," the knight replied.

"And what will you do, once you reach there?"

"I will try and see Prince Quentyn, and offer him my sword. Arthur always spoke well of him, as did Lady Elia. It would seem that they were right to do so," the man sighed, as he leaned back on his cot.

"She did not deserve what happened to her. It was not right," Sandor spoke after a while, with a gloomy look on his face, while Barristan's face became stony.

"No, she did not deserve it," he agreed.

"It seems old Tywin has a habit of ordering the deaths of other men's daughters and he has finally found a man willing to do it," Sandor cursed, while Barristan narrowed his eyes as he tried to understand the meaning behind those words.

"You really don't know why I want my brother dead, do you?" he asked, even as he sat down on a chair, and faced the Kingsguard.

"From childhood, Gregor was always different. We knew there was something wrong with him, all of us in our family, that is. He would take pleasure in hurting people, and keep tormenting them. Our father tried to stop him, but he couldn't. Gregor grew too fast, too big and too strong. And after our mother died, he withdrew into himself, and stopped bothering," the boy spoke softly, and he looked at the other man.

Pointing to his scarred face, he continued, "Once, I just saw a toy lying on the ground, I was nine years old at the time. I started playing with it. It was Gregor's. I did not know it at the time. However, as soon as he saw me playing with it, he snapped. He began to beat me black and blue, even though I cried and told him I was sorry. He did not listen. He did not listen at all. And then, he dragged to me to the fireplace, and shoved me in head first, screaming that he would teach me my place. I screamed, I screamed like anything, but he did not listen, he did not care, he did not care at all," the boy whispered, as tears streamed out of his visible eye.

"I am sorry, lad, no child should have to go through that," Barristan spoke gently, as he looked at the broken boy in front of him, and he realized somewhat as to why the boy would consider becoming a kin-slayer.

"That's what broke my mother's heart, I suppose, she died a few days after," Sandor continued. "Once he became a man grown, his violence could not be contained. However, he had a sort of brutish cunning. He knew that if he kept on doing what he did, sooner or later, the law would catch up to him. So, he decided to offer his services to Old Tywin. He figured that if he had a Lord Paramount on his sides, nobody would dare touch him. At that time, the old lion was preparing to crush the Reyne's. He told my brother, that he had many men offering him his service in a similar manner and he was not impressed. What he wanted was someone who would not hesitate in obeying his orders no matter how harsh, how cruel or unjust it may be! A man who did not care what society would do, one who could inflict violence on a scale never seen before, and would make all tremble in fear before him. One who did not give a damn about what the world would think about him. He asked my brother if he was such a man," Sandor all but growled.

Listening to the tale, with a melancholic tone, Barristan nodded, "Go on …,"

"My brother said, yes," the boy growled, "to which the old lion asked him to prove it. He asked my brother to become a kin-slayer, to kill someone in his own family with his own hands to prove to Tywin that he was such a man! To Tywin, we were just dogs, not even worth considering. For him, only Lannister's matter, everybody else are worms! And my brother, eager to get his patronage, agreed," the boy whispered.

"He killed our sister," the boy wept uncontrollably, while Barristan looked at him in shock.

"What!?" he asked in horror, as he looked at the weeping boy.

"Aye, she was our father's youngest child. A weak, frail girl, but Gregor killed her all the same. He strangled her, and showed her corpse to Tywin, who now had his hatchet man. From then on, whenever he needed someone killed, he called for my brother, and my brother became untouchable in the Westerlands. During the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellions, it was on his orders, that Gregor massacred everyone in Tarbeck Hall. He raped and killed Ellyn Reyne's daughter in front of her, before killing them both. Of course, Roger Reyne caught up to him afterwards. Their battle was fierce, and the Red Lion wounded my brother bad, but his strength of body was too great for the Red Lion, who had to retreat, wounded. Then, old Tywin broke the dam of Castamere, and drowned everybody in the castle. He could not take the chance that his pet monster could win in a fight against the Red Lion a second time. He simply killed them all, by drowning them all like ants crushed under a deluge!" Sandor growled, while Barristan was pale as he heard the depravity of Gregor Clegane, and the callousness of his liege lord.

"And Rhaegar of all people knighted him, the irony of it all. Gods, had we but known," the Kingsguard sighed.

"Settle down, lad, you will have your vengeance soon enough," Barristan advised the boy, who began to calm down.

"You seemed surprised by my brother's actions, but not that of Old Tywin's," Sandor spoke after a while, in a shrewd tone. It was an extremely accurate observation, and Barristan could not help but be impressed that the boy had realized it.

He nodded. "Aye, your brother's tale surprised me, yes, but I have known that Old Tywin was capable of great cruelty from the beginning," he admitted.

"You did?" the boy asked in surprised.

"Aye lad," the Kingsguard replied back. "I have known Tywin since the time we were both there in King Aegon the fifth's court. Tywin was the King's cupbearer, while I was the squire of Prince Duncan Targaryen. From childhood, the one thing that has set Tywin apart is his pride. He is the sort of man who would not hesitate to burn the world to ashes, to avenge an insult. At that time, his father Tytos had squandered the power of their house, and they ran the risk of losing the Lord Paramountship of the West itself. For someone, who values his pride more than his life, the jeers and insults of those who mocked his house, cut deep indeed. Once he became lord, though," Barristan sighed, while Sandor nodded.

"I know, the whole damn world knows now, thanks to that fucking song," he growled.

"Aye, may haps there was a little bit of good in him once, I don't know," Barristan replied back. "We moved in different circles, he was a Lord Paramount, and I by that time, had become one of the greatest knights in Westeros, and the newest member of the Kingsguard," he spoke frankly, without an ounce of pride in his voice. A testament to the fact that what he claimed was irrevocably true.

"By then, Aerys made him his hand, and that was the beginning of ruin for House Targaryen," Barristan replied. "Tywin's ambition knew no bounds, and soon after becoming hand, he literally turned the royal court into a copy of Casterly Rock. Aerys resented it of course, but he needed Tywin's help to restore order after the Ninepenny wars. The war with Maelys Blackfyre had left its mark on the Kingdoms, and the tragedy of Summerhall did not help. But Tywin's arrogance was now unchecked, and finally Aerys had enough. He had made up his mind to dismiss Tywin, when disaster struck," Barristan spoke softly, as though remembering past events.

"What? What happened?"

"The defiance of Duskendale," Barristan smiled, "The event that made me a household name in Westeros," he concluded with a sad look on his face.

"Though," he paused, "there were some who believed that it was orchestrated by Tywin himself. The White Bull certainly thought so," he paused, while Sandor looked at him with mouth agape.

"Really?" he whispered in shock.

"Aye," Barristan replied back. "Think about it. The timing of the defiance was to eerily near. Just days before the king planned to dismiss Tywin, Lord Denys suddenly did the foolhardiest thing ever by kidnapping the King. Now that I think about it, a minor lord of little repute would never have dared to kidnap the King, unless he thought that he could get away with it, or if he had a backer, whom he believed could save him from the repercussions of such an act. The only one with that kind of power at the time was Tywin of course. If the King had been killed, then Tywin would have had to assume the regency as Rhaegar was still too young then. By marrying his daughter to Rhaegar ostensibly to support him, he would have become the King in all but name, except for one thing," Barristan paused.

"You, it was you," Sandor realized.

"Exactly, my saving the King ruined the plans of Darklyn and his supposed master, I suppose. But the damage had been done. Whatever tortures they had inflicted on Aerys in the dungeons of Duskendale hastened his madness. Either way, the defiance gave Aerys the reason he needed to dismiss Tywin, though Tywin claimed that he resigned because the King refused to take his daughter as a bride for his son. Ser Gerold Hightower, however, was still wary of the Old Lion, and always kept an eye on him. He did not trust him you see, and it was he, who advised Aerys to take Jaime Lannister into the Kingsguard as a hostage to ensure that his father did not overstep his bounds again," Barristan smiled grimly.

"Fuck me!" Sandor whispered in shock as he heard details, that normally he would never have been privy to.

"Aye, but it all came to naught," Barristan sighed, "Aerys was losing his sanity, but we never expected Rhaegar to follow suit, and the Lannister's took their revenge after all," he finished bitterly, and silence descended upon the room.

"Now what?" Sandor asked quietly, as he gazed at the man.

"Now, we go to Dorne, where I will meet up with a few old friends, and then we will go to see Prince Quentyn Martell."

"Old friends?"

"The White Bull and The Sword of the Morning, I have just sent them a message," Barristan smirked, while Sandor gaped at him in shock.

"How? When?"

"You are a resourceful lad, but, I have been doing this for a lot longer. The eunuch does not know it, but the White Bull has inserted his own men into the eunuch's spy network. That way, we the Kingsguard would always be aware of any threats to the Kingdom. And if necessary, in certain cases we would let the eunuch know only what he needed to know, while we would personally take care of certain threats to the Kingdom without it ever becoming public."

As he looked at the shocked gaze of the boy, Barristan Selmy laughed. "Don't be so shocked, boy. We are the Kingsguard. We are an organization that was set up by the greatest spy master the world has ever known. Visenya Targaryen, the wife of the conqueror himself. This is a secret that is only known to a select few members of the Kingsguard, and Jaime Lannister, that pretentious prick, has no idea about this."

Sandor swallowed nervously, as he detected a hint of bloodlust from the legendary knight.

"Arthur Dayne has a predestined meeting with your brother, and I have set one for Jaime Lannister! The Kingsguard may no longer exist, but we too pay our debts! The lions of Casterly Rock will realize it soon enough!"

Author's note:

I had planned to post this father after Reverberations, part 2, but it still under re-work. In the mean time, this will set the tone nicely for the new direction I intend to take this story in.