471A/N: The sequel starts about 2-3 weeks after the epilogue. That should give me enough time to allow the perspectives we saw in Chapter 65 of OBAS to be able to happen. That being said, I'm still terrible with times and travel so can we overlook any discrepancies, please?
This story is rated M due to graphic violence and other nastiness that is found in the ASOIAF world. So please keep that in mind whenever you open up this story. That warning applies to this very chapter which includes graphic violence and references of violence against children.
George R. R. Martin is the master/creator/owner of the ASOIAF and Game of Thrones universe, I own nothing. This is just me killing some time and having some fun. I make no profit on this nor do I seek to.
Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign
By Spectre4hire
One
No, No.
He didn't look back. He couldn't look back.
He had to keep running.
That stupid Crow! All he had to do was hand over the bastard and they'd leave.
He hissed when a branched thwacked him in the face. He stumbled, eyes closed from the hit, but he was able to keep his balance. He touched the spot where he was hit and saw blood.
Amory Lorch looked back and through the thickets of trees and bushes saw no sign that he was being followed. Relieved, he allowed himself a small reprieve to catch his breath. His cut was still stinging when he moved to lean himself against a nearby tree.
It was supposed to be so simple. The Crow gives him the bastard and they could return to the capital. He had a signed order from the Queen! And still the Crow refused to yield to them their lawful prisoner.
The Crow was crafty, evading them in the Crownlands and then slipping into the Riverlands.
The Crow must have crowed at that, Amory smirked. He must have thought he was safe.
At that point, he had to think quickly. They moved into the Riverlands and were careful to evade northern scouting parties that roamed the borders. They dressed like pilgrims and refugees, no Lannister colors or armor to betray them or their true intentions.
It was his fault, The Crow brought it on himself. So when they finally cornered him and his recruits, he hadn't hesitated to give the orders for his men to just kill all of them. It would be quick and easy. They were Lannister men and they were going up against unarmed rabble.
And then they showed up! He wasn't sure what drew them to their location, the noise, the fire, but the next thing he knew, coming out of the woods like demons were northern riders, the Stark banners flapping in the breeze.
They were crying: Stark! Winterfell! The White Wolf!
He watched, struck still and silent by the burst of panic and chaos that ensued amidst his men. It was when he saw him join the fray did he recover his wits and did the only sensible thing he could do-run.
The White Wolf, his red banner was flapping in the night behind him and beside him was his monstrous wolf. He rode through the Lannister line with ease and who he didn't get with his sword, his wolf was quick to pounce on.
The men's screams and cries as steel and jaws ripped through flesh followed him as he ran away.
Their deaths served as the distraction he needed to escape.
This simple mission from the Queen was now turning into a catastrophe.
If the Starks spared any of the men, Amory knew they would spill everything. They didn't have his resolve or loyalty to the Lannisters.
In remembering the Queen, he moved to his hip and realized it was gone. The sliver of worry slithered inside him. His missive from the Queen, signed by her. It wasn't with him. He must have left it on his satchel with his horse back where he abandoned the useless cowards the Queen had given him.
I never should have agreed to this, he grumbled. His loyalties were to Lord Tywin, but he was beyond the city preparing for Renly, and she had persuaded him. She had one remaining problem and she wanted him to discreetly remove it.
She was beautiful and the promises she made had him willing to follow her orders.
Who wouldn't want to fuck a Queen? Just the thought of her below him in bed, saying his name made his worry turn to lust. His body reacting to such a potent thought.
-CRACK-
He looked up at the snapping of a branch. Amory scanned his surroundings, but saw nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. He ignored the cold chill that climbed up his back, and blamed it on the wind, and not fear.
"I need to keep going," He told himself, he had to warn the capital that the Starks would know of their failed mission. It wasn't his fault. He knew he'd be blamed for it, but Lord Tywin knew his worth, and how well he served. He'd blame the weak men who'd rather submit to their enemies then die.
Amory wasn't sure where he was, but he was certain he ran in the right direction. He moved cautiously in the darkness. His hands pressed forward to make sure he didn't hit any more branches like the one that nearly took out his eye.
The stinging had ebbed from the cut, and he was grateful.
I shouldn't be too far from the Crownlands border, he told himself, and if I'm spotted I carry no proof of his Lannister loyalty or armor to betray my martial intent. I'll just say I'm a pilgrim going to the capital. It was such an easy and believable lie, he laughed at the ingeniousness of it. Yes, I'll be fine.
Confidence restored, he kept going. It was slow moving and he cursed himself for forgetting his horse, but he hadn't had the time.
Amory had been off of it to personally teach that Crow a lesson when they came. The horse was too far and risky to try to get back to. Not when the Starks came pouring through the darkness, a band of shouting savages flashing steel and screaming curses.
It was a terrifying sight. he shook his head, refusing to think more on it. I have nothing to fear from them. He reminded himself.
The Starks will just be the latest in a long line of destroyed families that crossed Lord Tywin. He smiled, satisfied, I had a part in those houses' falling and I'll be there to watch the Starks follow them into the grave.
A wolf's howl pierced through the night.
Amory frowned. It's far, he was certain it was. I'm safe.
The rustling of the bushes in front of him brought him to a sudden halt.
He looked forward, but didn't think he saw any sign of man. No, there wasn't. His hand was resting on the hilt of his dagger. It's just a stupid squirrel or bird.
His heart's pounding was so loud he wondered if the animal could hear it.
He passed it and the bushes stilled. He dispelled a breath. He had been overreacting. He allowed his mind to play a trick on him.
It wasn't fear. It was the song of battle. He corrected himself. He wasn't afraid. He was aware. It was my blood rising and waiting for the thrill to come. It was an intoxicating feeling and one he had felt many times in his service of Lord Tywin Lannister.
That sensation that filled his senses that made him feel as if he was unstoppable. The rush that only came in battle. With every kill, only enhancing it, pouring through your body like crackling flames while you soaked it all up, feeling like the Warrior himself. It was delightfully addicting, but difficult to truly replicate.
Such a pity, he lamented on their failures at being unable to recapture that glorious tingling furor that would course through him.
What's the life of some peasant to a princess? He remembered it so well.
She was so weak and frightened. Whimpering and crying out for a father who not only abandoned her, but was already dead. It was pathetic. He had laughed when she thought she could hide from him, dragging her out of that bed.
Such a foolish girl. The dumb brat screamed and kicked him, but he taught her a lesson for that.
She was a bug and he was the boot.
Amory had killed several men to get to her, but those guards were only the kindling to the fire, she was what made it truly burn.
In my hands I ended a dynasty, he reveled in such power, such control. The famous line of warriors and dragon riders, kings and queens, and it was my sword that brought them to an end.
The dragon's reign was over. That's power, he relished it.
He wondered if he'd recapture it when he helped slaughter the Starks. The images that followed of the bloodied wolves playing out in front of him made him smirk. Soon, he promised himself.
A noise cut through his thoughts. He stopped at once.
He moved his hand to the hilt of his dagger withdrawing the blade from its sheath when suddenly a white blur flashed from the corner of his vision. Amory had just enough time to turn before its teeth sunk into his hand.
He screamed. The jaws crushed through bone and flesh. It was instant agony.
The dagger fell out of his grip, his fingers were slacked and slicked with blood. The pain burned up his arm.
"GET OFF!" He tried to swat the stupid beast with his other hand.
The wolf furiously shook its head, a ripping noise followed, Amory could barely hear it over his own yelling.
His legs buckled beneath him, and he fell to the ground. It wasn't until he looked up towards his attacker did he realize that his hand was missing. It was in the direwolf's jaws.
Such a bizarre sight for him to comprehend. A deranged noise escaped through his lips that was part laugh and part sob.
He then looked down at what remained of his wrist. It was a ruin of torn flesh, mangled muscle and exposed bone. He sucked in a breath when the wound throbbed.
The wolf simply stared at him. Its eyes were two drops of blood. Its muzzle was red and in its jaws was Amory's hand.
He used the wolf's inaction to push himself backwards. He moved slowly, reeling in pain. It was at its worst when the nub touched something. Then it felt as if his wound had been seared by flame.
It was a struggle to move. He was nearly out of breath when he finally felt a tree he could lean on. He let out a weary sigh, and his body sagged in relief.
"Ghost," A voice cut through the night, "To me."
The direwolf towered over him when he was sitting down, looked in the direction of where the voice had come from and then back to him. The wolf's blood colored eyes lingered on him, and he felt the fear ripple through him at the intensity of the wolf's stare.
It's unnatural.
It was the flickering of light that caused both man and wolf to turn as a torch was seen moving through the darkness towards them.
Amory Lorch knew who it was at once- Lord Stark's bastard, The White Wolf.
"Ser Jon Snow," Amory greeted him through clenched teeth.
The intruder didn't regard him at first, he moved to stand beside his wolf to see what it still had in its mouth. "Drop it, Ghost," He chided his wolf as if it were a hound, but the direwolf obeyed, releasing its grip on Amory's severed sword hand.
He felt another wave of delirium go through him. He made a wet, rasping sound. He tasted blood in his mouth. He had bit the inside of his cheek too hard.
That was when the bastard turned to him. "Amory Lorch."
The venom in his voice made him recoil. "I'm a knight," He reminded the bastard. "It's Ser Amory Lorch."
Jon Snow just stared at him.
"As a knight, I have the privilege to be taken alive and to be ransomed."
"You are afforded that," His voice was quiet, but hard.
"Then I turn myself over to you." He saw something on the bastard's face at those words and it unsettled him.
Pah, he dismissed that second of cowardice, it was a trick of the light. I have nothing to fear from this bastard.
"Well?" Amory shouldn't have been surprised that a northern savage didn't understand the rules of chivalry. "What are you waiting for?" He was so impatient in that heartbeat he tried to move his arm, but instantly regretted it. The wound pulsed pain that lanced up his arm. He bit down on his lip to muffle his cry.
"I'm waiting for the others," He then turned away from him and towards Ghost and with a slight flick of his head. The direwolf slipped back into the darkness. "You have my oath as a Stark that I will do you no harm."
The bastard's face was hard to read in the flickering torchlight. "You say you're a knight, but you killed a girl, a princess." There was a tightness in his tone.
"So what?" Amory growled, not knowing what that dead Targaryen had to do with anything, "If she grew up she would've let any lord with a bit of land or coin claim her cunt to try to strike against my liege lord." He was holding his bleeding stump to his chest. "So I killed her first!"
That seemed to upset him. "So you did," the bastard took a step closer to him and Amory instinctively moved backwards, but all he felt was the hard bark digging into his back and neck.
"It's better to kill them in the cradle," he defended, "I stopped a war!"
"Is that what you tell yourself?" His free hand was clenched at his side.
"I ended a dynasty, bastard, " He tried to adjust his sitting position to look straighter and taller, but once his stump touched the ground, the pain returned, searing up his arm and into his chest. He closed his mouth to muffle the howl that strangled his throat. He felt tears in his eyes. Amory pressed on, he wouldn't cower to some bastard.
"I was there when Lord Tywin ended the Tarbecks. I tossed the tiny lord down a well," He laughed, remembering the loud splash the three yeard old boy made when he hit the water.
"I was there when he drowned the Reynes in their own castle. I could hear their cries and sobs." He sneered, "And I was there in the Red Keep to end the Targaryens." He slowly lifted his other arm, ignoring the pain and pointed a bloody finger at Jon, "And Lord Tywin will add the Starks to his list when he wins this war!"
The noisy approach alerted them they were not alone and Amory could not hide his relief, but what he saw wasn't more Stark men to put him in shackles and to escort him to the nearest castle so he could be properly attended to as a knight of his standing deserved. No, it was just a woman dressed in armor.
"I've surrendered," He told her. "I'm a knight and I surrendered."
The woman looked at him, but her face betrayed nothing, "Is it true?"
"It is."
She nodded, but she didn't seem to care. "I found this," She held out a rolled up piece of parchment.
Amory felt his heart sink, recognizing it at once. It was the Queen's orders to him.
The bastard took it and read it in the torchlight. "It looks like the Lannisters have broken the truce." He handed it back to her. "The others?"
They were talking as if he wasn't there in front of them. I'm a wounded knight, he was afforded several rights which they were ignoring.
Stupid savages.
"Some of the Watch recruits were killed before we could intervene," her eyes moved towards him, but he would not deflate at her stare. "We'll escort what's left of the recruits to Harrenhal," She informed him. "I already sent a rider ahead to inform your brother of the Lannisters' breaking the truce."
"Good," The bastard said, "King Stannis will want to know and plan our reprisal."
"What about me?" Amory hissed to get their attention. "I need to see a maester!" His last words made him light-headed, and he could feel some of his strength begin to drain.
"Princess Rhaenys had a brother."
The woman reached out her hand to take the bastard's free one.
He turned away from Amory to her. A silent exchange seemed to pass between them before he gave her a slight nod that looked to be of gratitude. Snow then turned back to him.
"Aegon?" He remembered the babe. He was not sure what that dead Targaryen had anything to do with him seeing a maester. However, it seemed to bother Snow so Amory pushed the only blade he could into the bastard. He's already swore he would not harm me.
"He got his head smashed in."
Something feral flickered over Jon Snow's face.
Amory felt a cold shiver go through him that made him shudder. "I'm your prisoner," He said aloud to remind the bastard that his rights still needed to be observed.
The woman snapped her fingers. "What about Tarstark?"
A ghost of a smile came to the bastard's expression at her suggestion.
Amory could only blink at them. He was having difficulty concentrating on them. He was dizzy, and his head felt so heavy. What are they talking about? He didn't understand. When are these others showing up? I need to see a maester.
"A good name for our future house," He agreed mildly, "save for you know," He reminded her, and she looked at him with a look of surprise that didn't look sincere. It seemed like some joke between them, but then their mirth slipped away from their faces.
She spoke softly, but the words did not carry to Amory. They spoke in hushed whispers, but it was not a long conversation.
He could hear the bastard let out a breath.
Are my wits bleeding out of me too?
"You spoke of Aegon and his murder. I killed the one responsible." He took another step closer towards him. The woman followed, but remained a step or two behind him.
"Why should you care? You're a Stark!" He kept his grip on his arm loose to not further antagonize the wound. "Your father fought against the dragons."
"I am a Stark," He crouched down in front of him. He held the torchlight, the orange glow was put between them. The woman now stood behind him, one hand resting on his shoulder, and her eyes were on the bastard. It was a soft gaze. "But my father wasn't."
"W-what?" He stared back. The bastard's eyes were so dark they nearly looked black, but in the flickering torchlight they almost could've looked…
"My father was Rhaegar Targaryen."
Amory gaped at him. Rhaegar's son, he didn't want to believe it, he couldn't. It wasn't possible. This is madness.
This is a ruse. A jape that he can tell his friends when they take me to a castle to see a maester.
It's impossible. He told himself.
Rhaegar's children are dead. They were draped in Lannister red and gold and presented to the new King. I was there. I did my duty for the crown.
"It was my uncle who raised me," The bastard's voice was icy. "He taught me the ways of the First Men, at how to look a man in the eye and to hear their last words before you carry out the sentence."
"I surrendered to you," He hissed. "You're a knight and I surrendered!"
"I accepted it," He said flatly. He turned back to the woman. She had been standing behind him a silent spectator, unsurprised at his revelations. "We should leave before more come."
The question was on Amory's lips but it was answered in the darkness by a series of growls that made him quiver as if he was staving off an icy breeze. Looking forward he saw pairs of eyes blinking out of the darkness. They were all looking back at him.
One set was different. It was the terrifying red eyes of the bastard's direwolf. It then stepped out.
Then the others slowly began to emerge behind to reveal themselves. They were wolves. He counted two, three, no four coming out of the woods, sniffing the air, and baring their teeth. They did not advance far. Their only hesitation was in the large white direwolf. They cowered to it, who had moved to join its master.
Amory felt the fear in his chest, cold talons clutching at his heart. "You gave me your word!"
"I told you no harm would come from me. And I will do you no harm." He gestured with the torchlight where the wolves were waiting. Eyes flickering back between the bastard's direwolf and Amory himself. "However, I can not speak for them."
Silently seething at this savage's betrayal, Amory noticed how close the bastard was to him. I'll send this dragonspawn into the grave, he thought triumphantly, Or I'll hold him for ransom to make sure this bitch and his wolf would honor my rights as a knight. He nearly smiled and then he reached out to grab him, but his fingers found only air. It was then he saw the swipe of the white direwolf's large paw come towards him, slashing forward to protect its master.
He cried out when its sharp claws raked across him. The pain bloomed and burned in his belly.
Amory then felt something warm and wet fall onto his lap. He slowly lowered his head to look and saw to his horror, his intestines were beginning to slowly slip out of him like pale eels, twitching on his legs with blood washing over them. He let out a mangled shout in a mixture of agony and disbelief.
He fumbled at grabbing them to try to put them back in, but with one hand missing it was too challenging. The slimy feeling of them on his remaining fingers made him lurch.
I'm holding my own guts, a detached voice observed inside him. He trembled.
Amory looked up, feeling the weight- damp and hot begin to increase on his lap. He shook his head, trying to stave off the dizziness that was seeping through his senses.
"My sister's name was Rhaenys Targaryen. You murdered her." The bastard looked at him behind cold grey eyes. His other hand was in the snowy white fur of his direwolf. "The last face you'll see is that of her brother's." He moved away, the torch in hand with his direwolf beside him.
Amory whimpered.
In the dark, he could see the wolves' outlines stalking forward, snarling. Their breath was hot against his cheek and it smelled of rotting flesh. He feebly tried to swat one away, but it easily avoided him, and then when they completely surrounded him, they struck.
In the end, it was only agony Amory Lorch felt before the black nothingness finally took him.
A/N: Everything about Amory being attacked by Ghost and what follows is a creative liberty, drama and gore over accuracy. So please don't point it out, I know.