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Notes:

If you usually read from Fanfiction.net and are wondering why there haven't been updsates there, for some reason the site isn't saving the chapters when I upload them no matter many times I try so either it's a waiting game or we're just gonna use here

Chapter Text

Loras

For a first attempt at being as stealthy as a thief, Loras thought he was doing quite an excellent job of it. No one he passed by in the night had given him so much as a second glance. The common people of King's Landing either had better things to do, or one glance was all it took to avoid him. His dark cloak did well to cover his face with shadow.

The only worry Loras had was spooking someone into alerting the Gold Cloaks of him, thinking he actually was a thief or a killer off to do his dark business.

But no matter the watchman or anyone else who might confront him tonight, that slime spymaster, Qyburn, was not leaving his sights. There was a bad feeling in Loras's stomach ever since he found out that the King kept him in the service of the throne.

That feeling nearly became vomit when he found out that Margaery had never made it back to Highgarden.

It was this morning before Aegon's excursion party left for Harrenhal that one of Grandmother Olenna's handmaidens had asked about Margaery's tidings, as a correspondence from her sister in Highgarden inquired about when they might see a Tyrell back home. The news of Margaery's absence was new to him and his grandmother. As far as they knew, Margaery was in Highgarden. She had clearly said it was her plan to return to help ready the castle for their cousin taking on their name and ruling.

How could Margaery have gone missing? And where? Part of Loras suspected that it could be the Lannisters' doing. Tommen's letters were frequent when Margaery was in the Red Keep, but none of them were replied. Could he have become desperate and kidnapped her? Or maybe it was the doing of Daenerys Targaryen, trying to strong arm the Tyrell House to change allegiance if she had to.

One thing was for certain, if a plot did involve Margaery, it would have been incredibly of note to spymasters, and yet not a single word from Qyburn had been reported to the King relating to it. That filth of a man was hiding something. Every fiber of Loras's body told him so.

Loras kept a faithful distance between himself and the expelled maester, waiting for just the right moment to corner and confront him away from any unwanted eyes and ears. It wouldn't do well for Aegon's reputation for his Council to be seen with strange persons in the night. Despite his need for answers, Loras could not betray the debt and faith he owed to his King.

Aegon saved his life, Margaery's life… and welcomed him into his service without a shred of judgment. If love was a luxury Loras could have, he damn well would have fallen for Aegon weeks ago.

It didn't hurt that the King was so damn beautiful either. Loras noticed the moony eyes Sansa gave her cousin when she thought no one was looking, and he didn't judge her one bit.

For nearly an hour, Qyburn had visited several suspicious characters and fewer that were more reputable such as simple marchants, trading coin for substances.

The time finally came when Qyburn turned down an alley that Loras knew, for he and Renly once shared several scandalous moments together in their younger days of fun and love.

Loras pursued faster and caught up to Qyburn, grabbing him by his black robe and pulled him into a corner that no back window could see down into and no whisper would echo. His hand pressed against Qyburn's mouth and his arm pushed up under Qyburn's chin.

"One scream, and I break your fingers, understand?" Loras threatened when his eyes met little man's and Qyburn nodded calmly, holding his hands up and not resisting at all.

Lowering his hand from Qyburn's mouth, he was practically stunned to find Qyburn smirking at him.

"A second later and you would have found me turned around to greet a good evening to you, Ser Loras," he said quietly. "Or do you not find it all convenient that we meet in a place you sought refuge with your late lover?"

"Quiet!" Loras hissed, pushing Qyburn against the wall. His anger boiled at such mockery and being toyed with. "If you expected me-"

"Discovered," Qyburn corrected, "the moment you set foot off the bridge to the castle. I've been at this game far longer than you have, my boy. You make a terrible spy." Another press up against his neck, on the verge of choking him, brought Qyburn to the point, "your sister is in no danger, Loras. She is perfectly safe."

Of course the rat knew what Loras wanted. "Then where is she?"

"In another laboratory of mine, healing from the surgery."

It was a faint pause before Loras's rage would have exploded at Qyburn. Laboratory? Surgery? What was this freak doing to his sister? Turning her into that monster Gregor Clegane became? Or was it some other hellish thing for the sake of an experiment? Had Qybrun not noticed and clarified a second sooner, his neck would have been broken then and there.

"She wanted her beauty back," Qyburn said quickly, "all I did was repair the scars to the best of my ability."

Loras removed his arm from Qyburn's chin but grabbed his robes at the shoulders and practically threw him against another wall, making Qyburn groan in pain.

"Take me to her, now!" He almost shouted, dropping Qyburn after he did and pushing him forward.

"Kindly refrain yourself," Qyburn requested, massaging the back of his head, "all is well, I promise you."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Loras pulled his hood back over his head and followed Qyburn back into the streets. He expected to be led to Flea bottom, thinking no one would consort to looking for Qyburn there, but considering that it's where all the unwanted go to hide, it made sense it wasn't.

What didn't make sense was how they were heading straight back for the Red Keep.

"I thought she was in a different laboratory?" Loras inquired with a strict tone in his words.

Qyburn stopped, turning his head and looking plainly at Loras. "It's not difficult to make another, Ser. Any empty room will do, and the Red Keep has dozens in plain sight, and even more out of it."

They continued onward, but instead of crossing over the bridge, they took a small path that led underneath. With only the light of the moon to guide them, it was hard to see and both of them nearly tripped flat several times. Eventually they came to a small cave that was pitch black, but after taking five steps inside, Qyburn produced a flint and striked, lighting a torch that was waiting for them within the cave.

Loras lifted his hood down and followed closely in the light. At first, he was able to guess where underneath the Red Keep they were, but after many turns and passages he never knew existed, he was bewildered as to where they could be now. At one point he wondered if they were even still under the castle grounds at all, traveling deep underneath the bottom of the bay perhaps?

Finally they came to a man made hallway with a door at the end with light leaking out from the other side.

Qyburn lifted a finger up, indicating for Loras to wait, before approaching the door and knocking thrice, pausing, and then once more.

"She's locked herself in?" Loras asked quietly.

"It's not uncommon for a stranger to wander about these parts. Best not to take chances with the more dangerous ones." An iron lock clicked and hinges scraped as Qyburn pushed the door open and walked in. On the other side of the door, however, wasn't Margaery, but a peasant girl.

"Good Evening, Gilly." Qyburn greeted. "I hope all is well down here for the three of you?"

"It is." The peasant girl smiled at him. "Lady Margaery's been helping me read stories for Sam."

Loras took a deep breath as he stepped forward, revealing himself to the girl and a young boy who was in the far corner of the room with little wooden toys of horses and knights.

"It's quite alright," Qyburn placed a hand on her shoulder when she gasped at the sight of Loras. "This is Margaery's brother, Ser Loras Tyrell."

"Loras?" came Margaery's voice, prompting Loras to walk in faster. The moment he stepped inside, he was surprised by the sudden change in scenery. The halls he walked through were decrepit and dreary, and he fully expected to find his sister strapped to a wooden slab surrounded by tables of potions and tools.

Instead what he found was a room that had a certain coziness to it, like what he imagined farmers from his lands would live in. There was nothing rich or extravagant, there was simply enough to make it feel comfortable. There was an open chest with some simple clothes, a copper tub and some soaps. And of course there was Margaery, sitting in a cushioned chair. Her hands, fingers, and the left side of her face were covered in bandages, but she looked well. Resting on her lap was a simple hairbrush and a small wooden plate with a lemon cake with three forks. She must have been sharing with the peasant girl and the little boy.

"Margaery!" Loras swiftly stepped over to her side but hesitated to touch her. "Are you alright?"

His sister carefully set the plate and hairbrush off to the side on the nightstand between the chair and her bed. "I'm perfectly fine, Loras."

"Good," Loras let out a sigh of relief before nearly exploding at her, "What in Seven Hells were you thinking? Why would you trust the son of a whore who-"

"Mind your language in front of children, Ser," Qyburn interrupted.

"Please, calm down, Loras." Margaery rested her wrapped hands on his. There was a pregnant pause as her eyes drifted from their hands to his eyes. "I couldn't take it anymore, Loras. Every time I saw myself in a mirror like this, I saw her behind me, smiling at the victory she took from her failure." The venom was clear in her voice. "I won't let her have anything more from us. Nothing. Do you understand me?" 

"I do, but why him? Why not another maester?"

"Because there are no Maesters who can. Before I came, I searched among the Citadel and sent ravens across the Narrow Sea even, but nothing. I had only one chance left, and I took it."

"But why didn't you tell us? Me? Grandmother?"

Margaery almost laughed. "Because I knew neither of you would even humor the idea of trusting the man who aided in our family's near demise."

"And you do?"

"Not entirely, but enough for this. After all I've seen and learned about him, he loves his work more than anything. He's more loyal to it than he is to people." She sighed, calming both of them down. "Besides, the children who tend to me are very kind, and I love their company. Some were from the orphanages I visited. I like feeling like I'm a big sister to them."

Looking back at the peasant girl and the boy, visabley confused since the girl was clearly older than what he expected for one of Qyburn's Little Birds.

"This is Gilly and her son, Little Sam. She's Samwell Tarly's lover and my friend."

Loras' brow shot up. "Tubby Tarly has a lover and a son?" Seven Hells, the world truly was coming to its end.

"Don't call him names!" Gilly hissed at Loras. "He's the first man since the Long Night to kill a White Walker, and he cured Ser Jorah of his greyscale, more than you've done I bet." She glared fire at him.

Killed a White Walker? Cured greyscale? When did Samwell start becoming interesting? The Night's Watch truly did make a man out of him like his father wanted.

"I'm sorry about my brother, Gilly." Margaery apologized. "He's thick headed at times."

"Hmph." Gilly went over to her son and tended to him.

Margaery touched Loras's hand. "She's a kind soul, Loras, and strong. I'm glad Qyburn asked for her help here. If you knew her better, you'd even admire her."

"It's not usually like you to take interest in her type."

"I've changed in many ways, Loras. And I think it's for the better that I do. Besides, I'm happy to help her for all she's doing for me."

Loras smiled hearing how happy Margaery sounded through all of this. "How much longer must you heal?"

"Only several days remain before we may remove the wrappings and-" Qyburn's words fell short when a set of knocks came from the door in the same pattern Qyburn gave. He looked puzzled and rushed over to the door, opening it and revealing another child behind it, a young boy.

"Oscar, is everything alright?" Qyburn knelt down and the boy cupped his hands to Qyburn's ear, whispering something that widened the spymaster's eyes. He looked directly at Loras. "You must leave now."

"Not until I-" Loras objected, but the old man didn't let him finish.

"We have intruders in the Red Keep."

Cersei

No matter how many times since her imprisonment, Cersei could never keep a regular track of time of what day it was or what hour. All of the meals were the same, stale bread, a cup of water, and a shriveled carrot or potato. She tried to count the seconds in between out of sheer boredom once but her mind was so unreliable in the darkness that she could not keep track of how long a second was.

What she could guess though was that autumn was nearing the edge given how colder it was getting down here. She had a ragged sheet to keep herself warm in the first month and she had hoped that the warm blanket she received was from Jaime when she first held it, but the note saying it was Tyrion made her despise it so much she would have burned it had she had any fire. But now, in the shivering cold, she could not deny the warmth. It was soft, new, and clean in the first days. It made her miss the outside, the luxuries she lived in all her life.

All her life. She tried to control her fate but it was always in another's control.

She knew that her charm alone could have swayed Rhaegar to marry her had her father not cocked up negotiating a betrothal with the Mad King. She knew that she wouldn't have been a frail bitch like Elia who's only job was to birth children that were more Dornish than dragon. Her children could have had silver hair instead of gold and they would have made Rhaegar proud. Joffrey wouldn't have been neglected by a fat whoremanger drunk and been made the greatest king in all of Targaryen history. Not even that bitch Lyanna would have been able to succeed in bewitching Rhaegar. She probably got naked on all fours in the woods to gain a second look from Rhaegar to start.

But no, she did not get Rhaegar, instead she got her true love. Her brother with whom she shared a womb with at birth. They were meant for each other more than Targaryens were for themselves. But even then, someone else took him from her. Everyone always taking what rightfully belonged to her!

She was destined to be Queen from birth. She was the Queen. She is the rightful Queen. And the moment she finally had the slip to escape, she would burn the entire city to the ground. If the Iron Throne could not be hers to govern then no one would get to have it. There would only be ashes left and she would gladly tread over them with a smile on her face.

A pitter patter echoed in the halls. She curled under her blanket in hopes to not be seen. This wasn't the guard that brought her meals. That stupid oaf of a man made more noise. Someone was being quiet, trying to hide. But who could it be? She knew she had enemies in the Red Keep now more than ever. Who came to finally get their petty revenge?

There was only a little candle flame that came into view. But in the darkest parts of the Black Cells, a little candle flame was like a morning sun. And what the light revealed warmed Cersei's heart greater than a summer's day.

"Jaime," Cersei crawled forward to the bars of her cell and reached out to him. Immediately he set his candle down and rushed forth to her, extending his arm through the bars and cupping her cheek.

"Cersei," He breathed and pushed his face into the bars as much as he could and she met him with a kiss she had longed for with the greatest desire for gods know how long she had been down in this darkness.

She pulled back, cupping his cheek. Just glad that he was here. "Tommen… is…"

"He's doing fine." His words brought a calm to her, letting most of her nervousness fade away. "Our son is coming into his own as the Lord of Casterly Rock, Cersei. He didn't need the crown, he needed his home. And since Margaery-"

Hearing that name, Cersei hissed in anger. "That whore, she'll quicken with his babe and then kill him." The witch's words, gold being their shrouds. Tommen's would be a golden rose. Each of her three children, it still dragged her into the depths of despair… though in the end, it hadn't been Margaery that had cast her down. The Dragon Queen… or the little bird Sansa. Younger and far prettier. Which one would the great King Aegon stick his cock in first to father little monsters of his own? 

It didn't matter. Margaery was still a threat.

"No, King Aegon wouldn't allow that."

Cersei snorted. "You would believe that of him? Of a Targaryen… of the supposed son of Rhaegar. Have you forgotten what father and Joffrey did to their families?"

Jaime winced. "I was there for part of it, remember? Aegon's not like Aerys, or the other weak kin of his who wore the crown. He's like Rhaegar, and then more."

"You always did have a soft spot for Rhaegar." The Silver Prince, how if he had married her none of this would've happened. Some ghosts still haunted the world. "Will you be with our son?"

He shook his head. "Aunt Genna will, alongside her sons… and cousin Devan and my friend Addam. But Margaery left for Highgarden more than a month ago-"

"Then get word to our family, Jaime! The bitch is gone, there is no one to stop them from raising the armies!"

"Yes there is," he retorted, "a host of the Tyrells have taken over manning Casterly Rock. Tommen's more or less a hostage too."

Cersei banged her fist on the bars but it barely did anything except hurt her hand.

"Cersei," Jaime began, "I made a deal with the King. If I serve him as a Kingsguard, then by the end of his crusade, I can go home and watch over Tommen. I can help him, guide him… be his father."

Falling back, Cersei's eyes drifted to the cold floor of her cell. So that was it then. "You're abandoning me."

Jaime said nothing. His only reaction was his fingers curling into a fist.

"This isn't you, Jaime. We shared a mother's womb together, we were born together, we joined together in body and soul." She crawled back up to the bars. "This has to be a trick, isn't it? You have something planned but you can't tell me, you can't risk it…" Jaime still said nothing and it was the silence that kept being the worst answer for her. "You coward…"

"Cersei…" 

She shook her head, eyes shut as hot tears welled beneath her lids. "You probably didn't even hesitate to take back the white cloak. Last time was to be with me, but what is this time, hmm?" Opening her eyes, she stared at him. "All you ever wanted to do was look pretty for the King as a glorified bodyguard, to relive what you couldn't be with Rhaegar, your beloved Silver Prince! Nothing else mattered to you… nothing. Absolutely nothing." He hung his head, which only drove her anger further. "You couldn't save Joffrey, you didn't even try! You couldn't save Myrcella!"

"I know!" Jaime hissed. "I couldn't save them, that's why I have to do this. I have a chance to make things right, Cersei, and I took it."

"You had your chance when Tyrion was in the cell, not me. You could have killed him and saved father from your idiocy but you didn't! None of this could have happened if you did what I asked! Why wouldn't you do it? You who stabbed your king in the back and pushed a ten year old boy out a window?"

"He was my brother Cersei. I'll never forgive him, but he will not forget what happened to our family. He's trying to help you. I can't do any more than I have. Tyrion is the only chance you have of being somewhere out of this darkness until your time comes. Please see the reason for this. If you try to help him make a deal with the King, you can be someplace with a window, and a bed."

Cersei shrunk into herself. "Why would you taunt me with such a terrible idea? Why would you dangle a shred of hope for me here? That little monster has had our family's blood on his hands since the day he was born. I can't let mine be on his too!" Hot tears she thought she had exhausted began to streak down her face. "I don't want to die here," she felt Jaime's hand over hers, "I don't want to fall to sleep in the darkness and not wake up again."

"Then please," Jaime pressed with eyes full of tears too, "Let go of your pride and beg for mercy. You did not order Ned Stark's death, you did not orchestrate the Red Wedding, and you had no part in the death of the Targaryen babes or Elia Martell. If we do things right, and play the rules well enough, then there could be a chance you can be a privileged hostage, not a prisoner. We can be together again, Cersei, like we were always meant to be."

Swallowing dryly, Cersei could only see these suggestions as madness and stupidity. But the darkness was no friend of hers. The small candlelight and Jaime's beautiful face in front of her, if he left and never returned then she could not have the strength to live on. She needed him more than she needed light.

She reached her arms through the gates and hugged her lover softly, both of them dripping tears onto the other's clothes.

Cersei never said the answer she found because her mind jumped into alertness when she thought she heard a light tap of footsteps in the corridor. It had to be her mind playing tricks on her. But the smooth voice that appeared from the darkness proved otherwise.

"The whore of Casterly Rock," an foreign voice said with pure smugness. 

Cersei knew this voice, her blood boiled with hatred hearing it. The last time she ever heard this voice was years ago when Oberyn Martell had his head crushed open.

Ellaria Sand and her sluts.

Cersei pulled herself to her feet now that the light didn't blind her. All of those Dornish sluts were smirking at her. Ellaria, that smug cunt, the bitch who murdered Myrcella. Jaime also jumped to his feet and immediately pulled a dagger from his side since he did not have his sword, but one of the snakes used a whip and caught Jaime by the neck and another used the butt of her spear to jab him in the stomach.

They were quick to overpower Jaime, pulling him to the floor of the steps and holding him in a locking position that would not allow him to move. The last one took a long piece of cloth from her hip and gagged Jaime so he could only give off muffles instead of cries for help when he tried. With Jaime incapacitated, all the Dornish sluts turned their looks to Cersei with deep pleasure.

She could see it in their eyes. They didn't just come here to gloat and mock her, they came here to kill her.

This wasn't the bastard's doing, Jaime said her life is what kept the Westerlands in line. The bastard couldn't afford to let this happen. But how would he know that these sluts were here?

If this is how her end was to come, then so be it, but these Dornish whores would not get the last smile. She was a Lannister and a lion still has claws.

The cell door creaked open and Elliara and one of her daughters stepped inside. "What do you think, Tyene?" Elliara asked. "Should we use the Long Farewell or something that will hurt her as she bleeds?"

"I say we use the Viper's Fire, mama." The daughter brandished a crystal vial of an orange substance that glowed in the candlelight. "I want her to scream from a worse pain than you did when papa died."

"That's my girl," Ellaria praised.

Cersei started giggling and brushed her short hair out of her face. All the Dornish whores' smirks fell and anger replaced their mood. "That's what this has all been about? You're mad your lover lost a fight he chose to be in? What more could you expect from a buggering trollop fighting for an Imp?" She grinned bitingly. "Ironic, since Tyrion lived after all, but your Prince's fate was far better than that fool deserved."

Elliara hissed and lashed forward with a blade drawn from her bracelet and cut across Cersei's cheek, the blade cutting through and chipping her teeth. But Cersei did not scream, she would not. She would not scream but for getting one chance of vengeance for her little girl.

"You fucking Lannisters! After you die, I'll make sure that your bastard boy dies as slow and painful as you are about to. And then your lover will beg me for death."

Cersei slashed her hand out, scratching Elliara across the face. Her nails marked Elliara's forehead and cheek, ruining that Dornish beauty. Elliara fell back and the daughter came forth with a dagger and stuck Cersei in her belly.

Cersei's breath escaped her, the blow feeling first as but a shove… yet immediately a burning pain radiated to every part of her body, as if spidercracks on a pane of glass, branching out every which way. She voiced groans as she fell and writhed, groans that changed to cries of agony. Her hands were covered in blood and the tears burned her cheek. She yelled and screamed from such pain, but through all of this pain she smiled at the whores standing over her, at the marks she left on that stupid bitch.

She was a Lannister, and they would not forget her roar. 

The last she saw before the pain took her sight… and her mind, was of Jaime. His eyes filled with the immense agony of seeing her demise.

Tyene

The bitch's screams ended sooner than she hoped, but it only showed how weak she was. Cersei Lannister, the once Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, died in utter agony within a dark cell of her own castle.

"Are you alright, mama?" Tyene looking at her mother's face trickling with blood.

"Just a scratch," she hissed angrily and spat on Cersei's body, "a thistle could have done worse. If Daenerys asks, then that is what did it."

Tyene and her sisters nodded as the sisterfucker squirmed and yelled muffled noises. Ellaira looked down and started to laugh when she saw the fool actually crying at this.

"Obara, shut him up."

With the butt of her spear, Obara hit the Kinglsayer on his temple hard and knocked him out. Nymeria and Tyene loosened their hold. "He's limper than Theon Grejoy," Nymeria japed.

"Do not insult the man," Obara argued, "Theon's got nothing to have limp about him."

Nymeria clicked her tongue. "Didn't think you cared about poor Theon Greyjoy. Sad you're not gonna have little squid babies with him?" Obara's gesture in return was not a wholesome one.

"Enough, you two," Elliara chuckled. "We'll take him back to Dragonstone and kill him there. The people will think he went in pursuit of his lover's killer and died trying. They'll never know where his body falls."

Tyene smiled proudly at her mother's intelligent plans. To come up with something so quickly and naturally, she hoped that she would be just like her.

"Now go take care of the monster in the deep. I'll keep these two lovebirds company."

"Yes, mama," Tyene said, "We'll be fast."

"But not too fast," Nymeria grinned with Obara and the three sisters rushed quietly down the steps of the black cells. Some of these fuckers in the cages smelled horrible, enough to make shit and vomit aromatic.

They had passed by the cell with the secret passage that mama had paid a king's purse and a heated night on Dragonstone to discover and descended deeper into the dark of the Black Cells. The cages were now empty, only skeletons and rats were down here. But then, there was only one cell left at the very bottom, a big cell and inside was not the man that killed their father, but a rotting corpse… or at least that is what they thought when they looked upon Ser Gregor Clegane.

The beast was chained up in his cell, standing up and head hung. Was he asleep or already dead? The smell would have convinced Tyene he was dead. Regardless, she went to the lock of the cells and used her lockpicks to open the damn thing. The lock was old, but refurbished for the recent prisoner, enough that it wasn't too hard to open it.

Obara opened the cell door and stepped in first. "He's mine."

"You got Trystane," Nymeria hissed, "I got this one else I tighten my whip on your fat throat."

"It should be a spear that kills the monster. Father would have done it that way."

"Father would have killed him any way he could." Nymeria swung her whip and slashed the end across the Mountain's chest, leaving a gash that bled something that wasn't blood, something more akin to a black ooze. But the Mountain did not so much as twitch.

"Is it even alive?" Tyene asked, taking a step back. Was it only she that grew apprehensive? As if the Black Cells grew slightly colder every pace closer to the beast that took her father, aunt, and cousins?

A snort echoed in the cell. "Who the fuck cares?" Obara risked a few steps closer and thrust the butt of her spear into the monster's stomach. But there was no reaction. "Fuck," Obara hissed, "they didn't even try to keep him alive." She flipped her spear around with the blade pointing at the Mountain. "But we can still have some fun with him-"

No one saw it happen until it was too late. One moment, the Mountain was still, yet in an instant there was a loud 'chink' and a large arm broke free of a chain and wrapped around Obara's neck. A quick tug pulled her into the monster's body as if she weighed nothing, lifting her from her feet and choking her. She couldn't move her spear to attack, she could only squirm and wheeze out agonizing breaths.

"Obara!" Nymeria flung her whip and slashed the tip across the Mountain's grotesque face that was twisted in an expression devoid of emotion outside his blood red eyes. He didn't even try to dodge it, but again he didn't react at all when he was stuck.

The Mountain tugged free his other hand, breaking the chain where it connected to the wall and with a powerful twist, snapped Obara's neck backwards.

Tyene and Nymeria yelled out in anger at the instantaneous loss of their sister. Nymeria thrashed her whip again but it was caught this time and pulled too fast for her to let go. Nymeria was pulled to the ground and a heavy foot pressed down on her back.

Tyene drew one of her daggers and with a quick and fast throw, sent it straight for the Mountain's fat head but he raised a hand up and it pierced straight through his palm. Fool, that dagger was coated in poison that would instantly take effect. 

But it didn't. She waited several seconds in baited breath, but the Mountain just stood there as if he was also waiting… or silently mocking her efforts. "What… what are you?" she managed to stammer, only to see instead of blood, more of that dark ooze out of the wound left by the dagger. 

The poison was meant for a man, and the eldest child of Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand bore witness to the fact that Gregor Clegane was no longer a mere man.

"Tyene!" Nymeria cried out but Tyene was frozen with pure fear. She tried to ready her other dagger to throw but it fumbled between her fingers and clanged to the ground.

This beast that could break through its chains that did not bleed blood, that was not human, it made her shake terribly. She could not move, only watch as the monster picked up Obara's spear and stabbed it down into Nymeria's chest. Nymeria gasped and croaked out before going limp.

Tyene fell back and her breeches grew wet and hot from her piss. She crawled backwards and began to scramble for the way out. She turned her body over to stand up and run, closing the gate behind her.

She stepped back as the Mountain stood up against the bars. She looked at both of her dead sisters where they lay. She left them there… what was going to happen to them? Was the beast going to eat them? Or rape them like he did Elia?

The answer was neither as the Mountain pulled her dagger from his palm and dropped it. Then, he wrapped his hands around the bars of the cell and tugged as hard as he could. The entire cell door cracked but it did not open. Tyene ran as fast as she could up the stairs.

"Mama!" She cried out for help as loud as she could. The only sound that replied was a great groan of steel from below and crashing. He was free.

Tyene ran faster and faster, hoping that the Mountain was slow when it came to stairs. The light of her mother's candle grew in sight. "Mama!"

Elliara had walked down to meet Tyene. "What happened? Where are your sisters?"

"Mama!" Tyene ran into her mother's arms in tears, sobbing heavily but not wasting any time. "He's not a man anymore! He killed them! We-we-we have to run!" Her mother looked utterly confused until her eyes drifted behind her daughter to the soft but growing sounds of thudding stomps.

Then suddenly, Tyene felt something slash deep into the calf of her left leg and she screamed out in such pain. The Mountain had thrown Obara's spear and cut through the muscle straight to the bone. The spear planted itself into the stone of the wall, signifying that he was here, and they would not be escaping the way they came.

Ellaria grabbed Tyene and pulled her up and they ran, ran as fast as they could. Tyene hopping on her good leg and crying hot tears. The only thing that kept her moving was the absolute fear of looking at that monster's face if it killed her.

Arya

Someone uninvited was in the castle.

The faint echoes in the dark hallways gave it away. There was a girl screaming, not of sex or anger, but fear and pain.

Arya had just finished her Water Dancing in the gardens and on her way for a bath, but then she stumbled upon the bodies of two dead guards when she got indoors.

She first thought to run up to the apartments of the castle but when she looked at the guards she recognized them as the men who were meant to be on the night shift guarding the entrances to the Black Cells.

Someone was going after Cersei.

Arya couldn't take it anymore. This was the opening she needed. Some fool who had a grudge, or a traitor still with loyalty to the Lannister Queen, to give her the excuse she needed to be close enough to Cersei to kill her. Ever since Joffrey finally died, Cersei was at the top of her list.

But, when Arya had entered the dimly lit throne room, she found that the intruder was not one person, but two women. Who the fuck were they? Both of them were terrified and didn't even register Arya as they ran… one of them was running, the older of the two, and she carried the other by the arm because of a terrible limp. Seven Hells, the younger one's leg was broken, bleeding, and almost mangled.

A soft thudding echoed into the room and Arya saw a giant lurking figure enter. She smirked when she realized who it was and how lucky she was tonight to cross off not one but two names from her list, the last two. The Mountain was half naked and his chest was covered in some black liquid that couldn't be blood. In his hand was the top half of a broken spear with a blade covered in glistening red blood.

Arya drew Needle and twirled it around as she readied herself. She saw how the giant brute fought against the Hound and knew exactly where to strike. Pure strength was not enough, the Mountain's zombified state made him three times as dangerous and without pain. The winner of this duel would be speed and precision, both things she had mastered.

Arya took the advance and ran forward with good pace. She held Needle firmly and saw the path of her first strike before the Mountain even showed any sign of the movement she predicted.

Sure enough, the Mountain raised up his broken spear and Arya fell to her knees and slid on the floor, ducking underneath a slash and swinging Needle up under the Mountain's arms, cutting into his muscle but not as deep as she meant to. She spun around at the end of her slide and stood up. Needle was sharp, but the Mountain's muscle was tough, like thick leather.

Lesson learned. She had to go for the softer spots.

Arya ducked again under another fast and powerful swing, coming up behind her enemy and swiping fast at the Mountain's neck. But she had become embarrassed, only for the briefest of seconds, when she finally noticed that even with the extension of Needle in her hand, she did not have a long enough reach to touch above the Mountain's shoulder. She would have to do something drastic at the right moment.

The Mountain proved that even though he was sluggish, he was fast too. He swung his massive arms and fists at Arya and she ducked and weaved around, always letting the powerful strike carry the man into a sway and striking where she could. Needle stabbing into the Mountain's arm where a painful nerve would be but no scream came through. She slashed across his legs but he did not buckle. She even stabbed at his stones but that only made him bear his teeth in great anger and try harder.

The Mountain raised his giant foot and stomped down at Arya hard. She dodged and missed him but only just. The marble floor made a crack and shook just a little. The Mountain was almost kneeling at her, enough that she had a step to climb on him.

Arya, using a burst of speed, dashed forward and set her foot on the Mountain's knee, jumping up onto him and striking out at the one place that was guaranteed to be fatal. She stuck Needle deep into the Mountain's eye until she felt the tip poke at what she felt had to be the back of his skull.

Her momentum carried her into the Mountain's free arm and it felt like she had been swept under her feet. She lost her grip on Needle and fell to the ground, landing on her head and immediately feeling a headache and a cut.

She rolled away almost immediately out of the way so as to not get stepped on. But then she registered that she dealt a killing blow to the giant cunt and almost had time to smile and looked up to see the brute fall.

Her heart sunk in her chest.

The Mountain… he was still moving. His free arm reached up to Needle and slowly pulled it out of his eye. A strange growl came from his teeth that spurted more of that black goo and in one effortless attempt. He tightened his fist and broke Needle's blade in two.

Arya lost her breath when the pieces fell to the ground. She gasped when the Mountain charged and managed to grab her at her neck. His grip was like stone. No matter how much she pounded and punched, she could not make any mark on him.

How could this be possible? She was a Faceless Man, a Water Dancer, she couldn't die like this!

"Brother!" A sound like an angry dog's bark broke through the throne room. Arya felt herself pulled around and then thrown. She hit something hard, so much that the slight throbbing pain on her head and the burning of her lungs felt enjoyable compared to this. Was this death?

The Hound

There was something resting in his gut tonight that didn't feel well, something that told him that something was wrong, the same kind of feeling that kept him from falling too deep into sleep around potential death.

Sandor had been doing a small patrol duty just to keep himself busy, but the familiar sounds of women whimpering in the dark brought him to find two dornish women, one with a broken leg covered in blood and piss, and the other in an absolute state of exhaustion. The limp girl was shaking and kept muttering over and over the same name.

"The Mountain… the Mountain…"

Without another reason needed, Sandor drew his sword and ran for the Black Cells with all of his speed. If his fucking brother had broken out than it was damn time for round two with him. He burst into the throne room, not expecting to find what he sought so soon and something that froze him where he stood.

There was a small body laying next to a pillar and the Mountian was advancing towards it, the body of a stupid, dumb, little girl. "Brother!" he shouted.

Arya wasn't moving, it was too dark to tell if she was breathing. But he couldn't look to check, not with his brother in the way of getting to her. Gregor acted like Sandor wasn't even there.He was covered in a lot of wounds but walked as though they were all flea bites, and instead of blood dripping from them all it was… something black. Arya was certainly a wolf indeed to have done that much to him, but it wouldn't have been for anything as Gregor just kept advancing to Arya's body.

"Get away from my girl!" Sandor yelled as he charged forth with his sword drawn high. All his brother had was a broken spear and no armor. This time he wouldn't lose. He would dice this monster into a hundred pieces and feed them to the fish, the King's wolf, and any other beast he could find.

With all his strength in his arms, he brought his sword down like it were Robert Baratheon's mighty warhammer, hoping to break the spear even more like he did to Beric's sword when they fought in trial by combat.

But as expected, Gregor's skill remained as it was and his strength was in full force when he slashed the spear up to meet the sword. Both weapon clanged loud like fucking bells from the Sept of Baelor.

The brothers of House Clegane were embodiments of strength itself as they fought. Their weapons made so much noise that it wouldn't be no surprise that the castle would all be awake soon.

Unfortunately for Sandor, some dumb cunts who were part of the castle guard decided to try and step in and help. He had just clashed his blade with the spear and nearly had himself able to parry the damn thing out of his brother's grip, but a young guard, one of the Tyrells given how fucking clean and pretty he looked, ran in head first with sword held high only to get pulled into Gregor's arm and used as a human club when he was swung at Sandor, knocking him back.

When the Hound got his footing, the stupid guard already had one of the Mountain's hands wrapped over his chin and in one effortless tug was now a headless idiot. Gregor tossed the broken spear aside and picked up the guard's sword, now armed with proper steel.

The Hound gripped his sword in both hands and took a quick glance back to see the other guards were stopped in their tracks.

"Back the fuck off! Or else you'll wind up like that cunt!" He took the advance again, but slower, needing to keep his guard up more now that it was sword against sword. "Come on, you ugly fucker! Show me just how black your blood really is!"

The Mountain bared his yellow teeth, black ooze leaking out of his mouth and the many wounds left by Arya, and stomped forward. The veins in his head began to bulge against his pale grey skin and for one brief second torchlight from the guards reflected those bloodshot eyes that were red as poisoned blood, one of them mangled and oozing that black gunk.

Sandor yelled as he clashed steel with his brother again, coming up from below and striking to gain an opening to do something fatal, going for the neck, the jugulars, or trying to take off an arm or a hand. He caught sight of Arya's toothpick she called a sword broken in two on the floor. What in Seven fucking Hells did she think she was going to do with that? She got the eye, that was something at least, but it bothered Gregor as much as a heavy fart.

A lunge was countered, Sandor stepping in closer to his brother. Parrying the sword, he brought his elbow up hard into Gregor's nose, breaking it and throwing his brother back, but at the same time felt a strong hand grab his hair and pull him down too. In an instant, there was a great pain on his scalp, then the feeling similar to pulling off a scab, and then even more pain that made Sandor yell out.

He grasped at his head but felt a hand grab at his collar and pull hard, choking him and throwing him back. Sandor slid on the floor and felt the wind get knocked out of him but that didn't stop. Everything was dizzy and he could see his brother was not damn tired at all!

If he lived through this, he was going to kill that fucking runt that made Gregor like this. He coughed and wheezed once the air came back to him and looked at Arya, still laying helpless still. If he died, then she was next and no one in the fucking castle could stop this. Not the Bastard King, not Little Bird… perhaps the Dragon Queen and her flying reptiles… but only after what? Two, three dozen of the highborns dead and a hundred guards? Would they get back from their stupid hunt by then?

He crawled back to his knees but flinched halfway up when the torchlight gleamed in the blade of his sword, blinding him for half a second but it felt like a minute, and there was a strange warmth in the light, and a feeling of a calm, voiceless whisper. He paused, looking at the flames around and back at the eye of his brother back at him, understanding, and taking one moment in his life to damn himself and just believe.

Sandor got to his feet and stood up, keeping his eyes on his blade and damning every fucking hell that existed. If this was the only way to get his revenge and save Arya, then fine.

He placed the blade of his sword on his palm, the edge angled into the skin. It was time for Gregor to feel the same pain he had inflicted.

"Lord of Light," Sandor began, trying to remember what Beric and Thoros had always babbled about and failing to remember. Soon deciding to fuck it and go about it his own way. "Don't be a damned cunt, and help me." With a quick draw, Sandor hissed as the steel stung his hand and drew forth blood that erupted into fire. 

His instincts withdrew him from looking at the fire, but when he locked his eyes on it, he could see his brother's face next to it. No, not his brother, but that ugly monster instead… No, his brother was always this monster, whatever the mad maester did to him, exposing Gregor's true self. The monster that he was going to kill once and for all this time. 

"Brother!" he snarled at the top of his lungs. "Now it's your turn to burn!"

He ran forth once again with a sword burning with fire as hot as his hatred for his brother. The flames growled and fluttered as he swung with all of his mustered strength.

Sandor's flaming sword lit up his brother with light and revealed a horrid monster filled with just as much rage at him, but eyes locked on the burning blade, distracting him from looking where he should be. Sandor punched his brother back, out of the openness of the throne hall and closer to the aisle. The confined space between the pillars and walls would make it harder for Gregor to maneuver as good as he was, which had been sluggish already. The only thing keeping the Mountain a foot in this fight was his strength and inability to grow weary.

Sandor's blade chipped his brother's sword with every strike and finally he landed a great slash across his brother's left arm, a wound that cauterized as soon as it cut deep in him.

Gregor roared an inhuman sound as the black sludge oozed through his teeth, lunging in an attempt to tackle his brother down. Sandor just barely managed to dodge aside and lay another slash across his brother's back that would have killed any normal man but of course not the Mountain.

Sandor yelled out and strike after strike, dealt all of his strength and anger onto his brother until finally he was able to force Gregor to his knees. He kicked his foot, almost stomping it onto Gregor's kneecap and a loud crack echoed past the yells. Gregor buckled and fell to one knee, grinding his black teeth and sputtering out the ooze that flowed in his veins in place of blood. He looked up at Sandor with eyes consumed with anger and madness.

Taking the flaming sword in both hands, Sandor stabbed hard into his brother's thick head and pierced through the other side with a blade still burning. Sandor buried the sword to the crossguard and when he tried to pull it free, the blade broke in half. The end of the blade that remained stuck in the Mountain's head remained on fire for several seconds while the body of Ser Gregor Clegane fell forward onto the marble floor, finally dead.

Dropping the broken sword, Sandor ran over to Arya's body, falling to his knees and picking her up. "Arya! Arya!" he lightly jostled her in hopes to wake her as though she were only sleeping. "Arya!"

"Mmm," a light moan of pain escaped her followed by a strained cough. "So…" a small voice said, "I'm… your girl?" a smile cracked as those little brown eyes looked at him.

"If you speak of that to anyone..." he'd threaten her later. Right now she needed that Tarly boy or Qyburn, or anyone who could heal for all he cared. He stood up with Arya in his arms. "Where's a fucking healer!?!"