My bad guys. Copied the wrong chapter for this.

xxxx

We rode as quick as the three horses carrying Jaime could handle, since I was pretty sure we would just finish Brune’s job if he fell to the ground in his condition. I was leading the way with three other knights as my escorts, with Ser Lyle carrying Jaime riding behind us and the rest of the men further back.

Two bandits died before they realized I meant what I’d said, and soon they were keeping up with the cantering column of knights, even the ones who spent the entire way whining about exhaustion. It’s amazing what the body can endure when your life is on the line.

The dense gloom of the woods surrounding us slowly gave out the closer we rode, though the sun never came out from behind a blanket of clouds that had formed in the sky. I held on to the hope of survivors up until we turned the last bend on the road. Then we came upon the village, or the place where it had once stood. Nothing remained but charred stones and the empty shells of burned down hovels. Thin fingers of smoke still rose here and there, dissipating only when they climbed far enough into the air.

As for the villagers… Corpses lay strewn all along the main thoroughfare and surrounding alleys, some burned and cut open, guts spilling to the ground; the bodies of every woman we passed had their clothes torn and their legs spread, mouths open in silent screams, throats slashed. The whole place smelled of ash and misery and death.

The column slowed as we rode in, the man adopting solemn faces, many turning ugly stares at the bandits who seemed to shrink on themselves. I didn’t even have the heart to hurry them on. Where would we be rushing to, in any case? If there were any survivors of this butchery, they would be long gone.

As we came to a stop at the center square, I noticed that there were some three buildings still standing in the south side of the village that were previously hidden by a grove of trees, but there wasn’t a single sign of life there.

Before I could begin issuing orders, Ser Lyle called out behind me, “Your Grace, I think… I think he’s gone. I can’t find his breathing.”

My mouth set in a hard line. I knew he would die the moment we stepped into this hellish village. “I see,” I said, not even bothering to look at him. “Please, put him in one of those houses there. I will pray over him later.” He gave me a soft ‘Aye, Your Grace,’ and went about it. I watched him pass me by with the other two knights. Ser Lyle had covered Jaime with his own white cloak, and his body looked like a ghost astride the horses.

If the mood of the men had wilted at the sight of the village, then it died with Jaime. The knights and bandits waited behind me, each and every one of them silent. A light breeze swept through the column, and the horses whinnied nervously at the strong smell the wind carried. The deathly stillness in the village seemed charged to burst, like a fire pit filled with kindling, waiting for the tiniest of flames to set it ablaze.

And I meant to be the spark.

When I glimpsed Ser Lyle entering the house with Jaime’s corpse, I turned to the men. At their front rode one of the Baratheon serjeants, the leader of the squad I ordered to charge at the bandits. He was an older man in his middle years, with short hair more white than black and an ugly scar that ran the whole length of his right cheek. He’d served Robert ever since the first battle of the Rebellion all the way to his final days; it was the reason he stayed loyal to us, instead of going to Stannis or Renly.

“When do you reckon this happened, Ser Godric?” I asked softly.

He hawked up a gob of phlegm and spat it down on the ground. “At night, Your Grace,” he said in a gruff, no-nonsense voice. “Makes the smoke harder to see, and the glow of the fire won’t make it through the woods surrounding it for anyone else to notice. The brush’s too thick ‘round these parts.” He turned about his saddle and pointed at some of the burned down houses surrounding the square. “They must’ve done it just before it rained, too, else some of those wooden houses there would still be alight.” And indeed, many were still littered with wooden slabs and beams that had survived the blaze.

“It rained at night, some two days previous,” I said.

“That’s when, then.” He bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

I looked at the line up men behind him, then pointed at the bandits. They had been not-so-gently sat down in a tight circle where they could be watched, but they wouldn’t be idle for long. “Set these animals to work,” I commanded. “These people deserve a peaceful rest, so the Gods may welcome them in the heavens. Gather the bodies here, and when we arrive in King’s Landing, I’ll send back the men to bury them, and a septon to give them a proper farewell.”

xxxx

Day had faded into twilight by the time the work was done. The sky turned a rich purple that faded into red as it approached the western horizon. Some of the men had set torches around the square, as night was close approaching and the clouded sky was sure to hide the moon.

The last of the bodies was of a slip of a girl, no more than a toddler, in reality. It was hard watching the corpses being brought out, even to me. And the men took it worse. The knights overseeing the bandits became crueler as the parade of bodies went on, quicker to beatings and lashings at any sign of disobedience or slacking off.

That was good. I wanted them riled up.

The Strongboar had returned from the house soon after I gave the order to work the bandits, and he stood dutifully at my side now, his face a mask of somberness. We’d put the horses to drinking at a nearby stream, as even the well in the village had a dead person within.

“Round up the outlaws then kneel them by the bodies,” I said to Ser Godric, who I’d put in charge of the work. Then I addressed all the knights, “I ask that you all join me in silent prayer for the people. We’ll make sure the scum who did it sit there and watch it.”

Ser Godric was an efficient man, and soon the bandits were knelt by the fifty something bodies arrayed in the center square of the village. We were lined up behind them, aach man had their heads bowed, offering their own piece of grace to the dead. But I had something else in mind even as I mouthed and whispered nonsense words, which to anyone looking seemed like prayers. The dead would not hear them, anyway.

I signaled Ser Lyle, and he cleared his throat as a sign to stop the praying. Sparing a nod as I walked past him, I started going down the line, looking at every one of the men in the eyes.

I needed to be careful with how things went down now. Too much and they’d likely kill the outlaws before the time was right, and in a manner that did not benefit me. Too little and they’d frown at my actions here, and negative stories have a way of hurting monarchs more than swords at times.

“Look at what these animals did, sers. These were our men, our women, our children. Innocent folk, going about their life. They could be anyone of your fathers and brothers, butchered like cattle; your wives and mothers, beaten and violated; your children... tortured and murdered.” I shook my head. “No. I misspoke earlier. These are not men, nor even animals. Make no mistake, sers. They are no different than the demon I slayed that night.” Angry muttering began, the men spitting at the outlaws, some easing swords out of scabbards. The bandits had clearly grown antsy with the situation, some shaking as they knelt there. “None of them deserve an easy death. A quick death. So I command you to take them, put them in one of the standing houses, and bar them within. For they shall burn! Burn like they did this village! Burn like they will in the seven hells!”

Swords came fully out then, and the men cheered and howled like a mob hungry for blood. A few of the bandits made to run after my words, but they’d all been re-tied together in a line, and they were soon brought down. The men were quick to corral the bandits toward the last of the houses, kicking and screaming as they were. I noticed that it was made entirely out of wood, and had likely survived the fire out of pure luck.

Only luck wouldn’t do it this time.

I didn’t have to wait long until the bandits were locked and tied inside, and the torches came out. The screams started soon after, with pleas and repentances as prevalent as curses. They would have died by the smoke rather than the fire like I wished, so I had told the knights to let all the windows of the two-storey house open.

I stayed until the final voices died out inside the burning house, before telling the men justice had been served, and that I’d go pray over my uncle alone before we left.

xxx

When I got to the house, I went straight to Jaime’s body. He’d been laid out on a wooden table in the main room, the slab of wood short enough that his feet stuck out in the air. His skin had already turned a bluish hue, and his lips were as purple as the twilight sky; but his body was still warm to the touch.

My hand wrapped around the handle of the dagger, and when I slid it out, I saw the truth of it. The blade was valyrian steel, sharp like a razor. Mind racing, I tore at the leather wrapping until I could see the hilt clearly beneath it. Dragonbone. As black as night and hard as steel.

I only knew of one such dagger in Westeros, and it did not bode well that it was here. The implications were not that hard to grasp, but I still had the dead son of Tywin Lannister on the table to sort out.

Like with Lightbringer, I had no idea what I was doing here. And if it didn’t work, I’d have to deal with an enraged Tywin and an uncertain future for my most loyal kingdom. But I had to try.

I remembered Melisandre and Thoros praying over Jon and Beric’s bodies in the show, and read of the last kiss being performed in the books. I knew not how to do either, but I could improvise. It seemed to be working for me so far.

I unsheathed Lightbringer, then ran my already injured hand over the sharp blade. The cold bite sent agony lancing through me, but I pushed through it. When I poured my blood over the ruby in the hilt, the sword erupted in black fire. The dark light cast shadows in the room that seemed to writhe and twist around me.

“Alright,” I murmured. “That was some twenty lives for you out there. Do your thing now. I’m your Azor Ahai, and it just so happens I need this man alive, R’hllor.”

As soon as I said the fire god’s name, it was as if someone else moved my body, guiding me. I grabbed Lightbringer with both hands, one over the ruby and the other over the blade. Like the last time in my drawing room, the fire didn’t hurt me as I touched it. And I could swear the wounds in my hands started healing. Pushing that thought to the back of my mind, I brought the blazing sword near my mouth and took a deep gulp of the flames.

I almost despaired for a moment, but something held me firm. My whole mouth flooded with the taste of smoke and ash, choking me until my eyes felt like bursting out of their sockets. When I was so full of hot air inside me I thought I was going to explode, I took one trembling hand off the sword, opened Jaime’s purple lips, and breathed black fire straight into his mouth.

Instantly, Lightbringer grew hot as the sun in my grip, and the whole room shone with red light from the ruby. I let the sword burn me, or at least it felt like it, until the bright light blinded me and the searing in my hand brought me to the ground. Pain bloomed deep within my chest as something seemed to slither out of my soul, its oily tentacles giving out their grip on me.

Then it was all gone. The pain, and the light, and even the bone-deep cuts in my hands. But my lungs still burned, and I coughed and spat until grimy black goo fell from my mouth. The taste of it was an indescribable putrid that made me gag.

When I could finally right myself, I looked up from the floor. Jaime was already sitting on the table, staring at me. His eyes were red as blood, and his lips were curled into a wily smile.

“Hello again, my prince.”