Sorry for the slow updates. I've not been locked in.
Lyonel POV
The night stretched endlessly.
Lyonel had ridden Thunder for what felt like hours, though time became difficult to measure beneath moonlight and exhaustion. The dirt road twisted through patches of trees and open fields, silent except for the steady pounding of Thunder's hooves against the earth.
The moon hung bright above them.
Brighter than before.
Silver light spilled across the road like something holy.
Lyonel glanced upward briefly.
Strange.
Tonight, the moon somehow reminded him of Princess Rhaena Targaryen again.
Her silver hair.
The way it had almost glowed in torchlight.
Though…
He frowned to himself.
Her temper was far uglier than the moon.
Cloud chirped from atop his head as if mocking him.
"Don't start," Lyonel muttered.
The Thunderbird puffed its feathers proudly.
Lyonel shook his head and looked down at the woman resting weakly in front of him atop Thunder.
The septa had barely spoken during the ride.
Her breathing remained soft.
Slow.
Perhaps she had fallen asleep.
Or perhaps she simply lacked the strength to speak.
Lyonel frowned.
Whoever those men were, they had frightened her badly.
Too badly.
Every time Thunder moved too suddenly, her body tensed.
Like she expected pain.
His grip tightened around the reins.
Bastards.
He rode onward.
The cold air bit against his face while exhaustion slowly settled into his bones.
Gods, he needed rest.
His legs hurt.
His arms ached.
Eventually—
Something appeared ahead.
A building.
Large.
Wooden.
Light spilled faintly from the windows.
Lyonel narrowed his eyes.
An inn.
Or at least something close enough.
Outside, several men sat drinking beneath torchlight while others lay sprawled near barrels or benches, clearly drunk.
Laughter drifted through the air.
Relief washed over him.
Shelter.
Food.
Walls.
For one night, at least.
Thunder slowed as Lyonel approached.
He carefully dismounted, boots crunching against dirt.
Cloud fluttered off his head and landed atop Thunder instead.
Lyonel turned toward the septa.
"Hey," he said quietly.
No response.
He frowned.
"You awake?"
Nothing.
Lyonel hesitated before gently reaching out toward her shoulder.
The moment his hand touched her—
"AHHHHHHH!"
She screamed.
Lyonel jumped back in complete shock.
"Seven hells!"
The septa recoiled violently, scrambling away from his touch.
In her panic, she lost balance entirely and tumbled from Thunder's back onto the dirt below.
Her hood slipped free.
And Lyonel froze.
Silver-gold hair spilled around her shoulders.
His breath caught.
Purple eyes looked up at him.
Beautiful.
Unmistakable.
Targaryen.
Lyonel stared.
Her face—
Gods.
She looked almost like a younger version of Princess Rhaena Targaryen.
Not identical.
But close enough to make his stomach twist.
By the Seven…
Was she—
No.
She had to be.
The woman quickly pulled her hood back up.
Her expression hardened slightly.
"You're not one of those men," she said cautiously.
Her voice shook, though less from weakness now.
"Who are you?"
Before Lyonel could answer—
A rough voice interrupted.
"Septa, are you alright?"
Lyonel turned.
One of the men from outside the inn had approached.
Broad-shouldered.
Bearded.
Behind him, others lingered, though most looked half-drunk.
The septa immediately answered.
"No," she said quickly. "I am not."
Her hands trembled slightly.
"I was taken from my carriage."
She glanced uneasily toward Lyonel.
"And I do not know who this man is."
Lyonel blinked in disbelief.
"What?"
He stepped forward immediately.
"I'm the one who saved you from that camp!"
The septa looked at him carefully.
Her expression shifted.
Then she shut her eyes briefly.
When she opened them again—
"You are right," she admitted quietly.
Lyonel exhaled.
Gods.
Before anyone could continue—
A white blur descended.
Cloud landed directly on the septa's head.
Everyone froze.
The septa went perfectly still.
Lyonel's heart nearly stopped.
Please don't do anything stupid.
Cloud tilted his head.
Then climbed awkwardly onto her shoulder.
And—
Licked her face.
Lyonel stared.
The septa blinked once.
Twice.
Then—
She smiled.
Actually smiled.
The expression transformed her face entirely.
"A beautiful creature," she whispered softly.
Her hand carefully reached up to pet Cloud's feathers.
The Thunderbird chirped happily and rubbed against her shoulder.
Lyonel blinked.
Cloud liked her.
And she liked him.
Immediately.
Which—
Oddly—
Made Lyonel trust her more.
The rough-looking man stared openly.
"By the Seven…" he muttered. "That's the biggest bird I've ever seen."
Another drunk man laughed.
"Must be a blessing from the Seven!"
Cloud suddenly stiffened.
Completely.
The Thunderbird's feathers rose.
Its eyes fixed somewhere down the road.
Lyonel noticed instantly.
His expression changed.
Slowly—
He turned.
Far in the distance—
Movement.
Riders.
Many riders.
Moonlight reflected faintly off steel.
And they were coming fast.
Lyonel's stomach dropped.
"Fuck."
The riders were too organized.
Too quick.
Too purposeful.
Bandits.
It must be Ser Rian's men.
They had tracked them.
Lyonel turned instantly toward the inn.
"EVERYBODY GET INSIDE! NOW!"
The men blinked in confusion.
One drunkard frowned.
"Who do you think you are?" he snapped. "Trying to command us?"
Lyonel grabbed the man by his shirt and pointed toward the approaching riders.
"I don't give a fuck what you think," Lyonel growled.
"They're coming here to kill us."
Silence.
Everyone turned.
The distant riders were much easier to see now.
Fast.
Armed.
Too many.
Fear spread immediately.
"Oh fuck…"
"Inside!"
"Move!"
The drunken confidence vanished instantly.
Men scrambled toward the inn.
Benches overturned.
Mugs dropped.
People shoved each other through the doors.
Lyonel quickly helped the septa to her feet.
"Can you walk?"
She nodded weakly.
"Yes."
"Good."
He led her inside.
The moment everyone entered—
The doors slammed shut.
"Barricade it!" Lyonel barked.
Tables scraped violently across the floor.
Chairs piled against the entrance.
Barrels rolled into place.
Windows shuttered.
Panic filled the room.
Outside—
The sound of approaching hooves grew louder.
Thunder remained outside.
Lyonel froze.
"Shit…"
Then—
A loud neigh sounded outside.
Cloud cawed proudly.
Thunder was still there.
Waiting.
Good horse.
Lyonel slowly drew Adder's Fang.
The dark Valyrian steel gleamed in the candlelight.
Around him, frightened faces turned toward him.
Some holding kitchen knives.
Others axes.
One trembling old man gripped a poker like it would save him.
The septa stood nearby with Cloud perched protectively upon her shoulder.
Lyonel looked toward the door.
The hooves stopped outside.
Silence.
Then—
A voice called from outside.
Calm.
Confident.
Dangerous.
"Open the door," the man shouted.
"We only want the girl."
Lyonel tightened his grip on the sword.
The inn was silent.
Outside, horses shifted in the dirt.
Men muttered.
Lyonel tightened his grip around Adder's Fang and stepped closer to the barricaded door.
Then he shouted back.
"Fuck off!"
A few nervous laughs escaped some of the men inside.
Outside, silence lingered for only a moment.
Then the same voice returned.
Calm.
Cold.
Confident.
"Give us the girl," the man called, "and everyone else lives."
The pause afterward felt deliberate.
"If not," the voice continued, "you all die."
Fear spread through the room immediately.
Lyonel could feel it.
See it.
Men looked toward one another uneasily. Some tightened their hands around tankards or tools. Others avoided eye contact entirely.
Then someone spoke.
"Take her."
Lyonel turned instantly.
A broad, drunk man stood near the wall, trembling.
"Leave us alone," he muttered. "We ain't dying for some girl."
Before anyone else could speak—
Adder's Fang pointed directly at his throat.
Lyonel stepped forward.
"Say that again," he said quietly.
The room froze.
Lyonel's voice had gone cold.
"Speak again," he continued, "and I'll separate your head from your body."
The man swallowed hard.
His courage disappeared at once.
"I—I…"
He shut his mouth.
Good.
Then another voice cut through the room.
Old.
Sharp.
Commanding.
"We will not hand her over."
Everyone turned.
The speaker stood near the hearth.
A smaller old man with grey hair and tired eyes.
Despite his age, he stood straight.
Proud.
Angry.
"This is my inn," he said firmly. "And I'll not see a septa taken by low scum like you, Rian!"
Silence followed.
Then—
Laughter.
Deep laughter from outside.
Another voice answered this time.
Lower.
Stronger.
More dangerous.
"Just give me the septa, Clement," the man called, amusement thick in his tone. "And all of you live."
Lyonel narrowed his eyes.
They knew each other.
The innkeeper, Clement, spat toward the floor.
"Come take her then," he barked. "I'm not afraid of dying."
The man outside laughed again.
"You've still got courage, old man," he shouted. "But I'm sure many inside do not."
Then his tone changed.
Louder.
Tempting.
"GIVE ME THE GIRL," he yelled, "AND EACH OF YOU GETS TWO GOLD DRAGONS!"
Lyonel's stomach sank.
Gold.
Fear and greed mixed poorly.
He knew what came next.
Sure enough—
One of the drunken men stood abruptly.
"I'm not dying here!" he shouted.
Knife in hand, he rushed toward Lyonel.
Everything happened quickly.
Lyonel moved on instinct.
One clean motion.
The man collapsed in two, hard to the floor, no longer a threat.
The room erupted.
The septa gasped sharply beside him.
Lyonel stepped protectively in front of her.
"BACK!" he shouted at the room.
Adder's Fang gleamed darkly in the firelight.
"Try me," Lyonel growled. "You'll end up the same."
For a moment—
No one moved.
Then another man shouted from the back.
"There's only one of him!"
Fear turned to desperation.
"And there are many of us!"
That broke it.
Many of the men surged forward.
But not all.
Others stood beside Lyonel instead.
Clement grabbed a wood axe from behind the bar.
"You fools!" the old innkeeper shouted. "You'll doom us all!"
A younger stablehand grabbed a poker.
Another man lifted a stool like a shield.
Then chaos began.
The cramped inn exploded into shouting.
Steel struck wood.
Tables overturned.
Men grappled in tight spaces.
Lyonel kept himself between the attackers and the septa.
He fought carefully.
Not wildly.
Every movement mattered.
One man rushed him with a carving knife.
Lyonel knocked the weapon aside and shoved him hard into a table, sending both crashing over.
Another tried to circle behind him.
Cloud screeched from above and slammed into the man's face, sending him stumbling backward in panic.
"The bird! Fucking bird!"
Good boy.
Lyonel blocked a rusty knife with Adder's Fang.
The lesser steel chipped immediately.
The man recoiled in shock.
Lyonel cut his head off.
Beside him, Clement struck another attacker across the shoulder with surprising force.
"You ungrateful idiots!" the old man shouted.
The septa pressed herself against the wall, frightened but watching.
Lyonel noticed her shaking.
He moved closer instinctively.
"Stay behind me," he said.
She nodded silently.
Another rush came.
The inn had become cramped madness, splintered furniture, overturned chairs, frightened screams, heavy breathing.
Lyonel's body screamed in pain.
He was tiring.
Too many fights.
Too little rest.
Eventually—
The room grew quieter.
Not silent.
But quieter.
The fighting stopped.
Several men groaned on the floor.
Others had fled to corners.
The survivors stood panting.
Blood stained the wood.
Broken chairs littered the room.
Very few remained standing.
Lyonel leaned briefly against a table, breathing hard.
Then—
BOOM!
The front door shook violently.
Everyone jumped.
Another hit followed.
Wood cracked.
Outside, Rian's men had started breaking through.
"They're coming in!" someone shouted.
The barricade shifted.
Another impact.
The hinges groaned.
Old Clement, somehow still standing despite blood running down one arm, spat onto the floor.
"We can't hold the first floor," he said grimly.
Another crash echoed through the inn.
"Upstairs," Clement ordered. "Narrow stairs. Gives us an advantage."
Lyonel looked toward the stairway.
The old man was right.
Fewer could attack at once.
They had a chance there.
Not a good chance.
But a chance.
Lyonel nodded.
"Move."
He helped the septa first.
Cloud fluttered onto his shoulder while the remaining survivors hurried upstairs.
Below them—
The front door finally splintered.
Cold night air rushed inside.
Men shouted.
Boots thundered across the lower floor.
Lyonel turned at the top of the stairs.
Adder's Fang rested in his hands.
The septa stood behind him.
Clement leaned against the wall, gripping his axe tightly.
The others looked terrified.
Outside the stairwell—
Heavy footsteps approached.
And somewhere below—
A deep voice laughed.
"Found you."
The stairs became a slaughterhouse.
Boots thundered against old wood as the bandits rushed upward like starving wolves.
"Hold them!" Clement roared.
Lyonel planted his feet at the top of the narrow stairwell, Adder's Fang gripped tightly in both hands.
Cloud perched above on a ceiling beam, feathers raised, eyes sharp.
The septa stood behind Lyonel, terrified.
The first bandit appeared.
A man with a scarred face and an axe.
He swung wildly.
Lyonel stepped aside and cut clean across the man's neck.
Blood sprayed across the stairwell walls.
The man stumbled backward—
And fell down the stairs, crashing into the men below.
Screams followed.
"FUCK!"
"He killed Jory!"
"Push forward!"
Another came.
Then another.
The stairwell worked in their favour.
Only two or three men could come at once.
Clement smashed his axe into one man's shoulder with surprising force.
The old innkeeper screamed through gritted teeth.
"You bastards drank in my hall!"
A younger survivor shoved a knife downward into another attacker's chest.
The man shrieked and tumbled backward.
For a brief moment—
Hope returned.
Maybe.
Just maybe—
They could survive.
Then came the man with the mace.
Huge.
Armoured.
He charged up the stairs through bodies and blood.
Clement swung first.
The old innkeeper's axe struck the man's shoulder.
Barely slowing him.
The mace came around.
Hard.
Fast.
CRACK.
Lyonel's eyes widened.
Clement's head split open.
The old man dropped instantly.
Dead before he hit the floor.
"No!" one of the survivors shouted.
Fear spread immediately.
The line broke.
Another bandit rushed through and buried a knife into a man's stomach.
A man screamed.
Someone slipped on blood.
Cloud shrieked from above and slammed into a bandit's face, claws tearing skin.
The man stumbled backward, clutching his eyes.
"Agh! Fucking bird!"
Lyonel fought desperately.
He blocked one sword strike.
Turned.
Cut another man across the chest.
Adder's Fang moved beautifully.
Dark Valyrian steel sliced through poor iron like cloth.
A sword shattered against it.
A head rolled down the stairs.
Blood coated Lyonel's hands.
His arms burned.
His back screamed.
He was exhausted.
Too exhausted.
And there were too many.
The survivors died one by one.
A spear through the throat.
A knife in the gut.
A hammer to the face.
The room became nothing but screams.
Lyonel knew.
They had no chance.
Not anymore.
He cut down another attacker—
Then grabbed the septa's wrist.
"Move!"
She stumbled after him.
Cloud flew overhead.
Lyonel shoved open a nearby room and slammed the door behind them.
Immediately—
He shoved furniture against it.
A table.
A chair.
A cabinet.
Anything.
His breathing came ragged.
Heavy.
His entire body hurt.
Gods.
He was too tired for this.
Outside—
Shouting.
Boots.
Crashing.
The septa sat against the wall.
Crying quietly.
Lyonel frowned.
"What's wrong?"
She looked up.
Tears stained her cheeks.
"So much death…" she whispered.
Her voice shook.
"All for me."
She looked toward the floor.
"You should have let them take me."
Lyonel shook his head instantly.
"No."
His voice came firm.
Certain.
"Those men out there are cowards."
He looked toward the door.
"Murderers."
"Rapists."
"Scum."
His grip tightened around Adder's Fang.
"The men who died protecting you?"
His voice softened slightly.
"They're with the Seven now."
"At peace."
The septa wiped at her eyes.
Slowly.
Then nodded.
"Yes," she whispered.
"You're right."
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
BANG!
The barricade shook.
Both jumped.
"Break it down!" someone shouted outside.
BANG!
Wood cracked.
Lyonel cursed.
"Shit."
They needed an escape.
Now.
He looked around quickly.
Small room.
Bed.
Chest.
Table.
No windows.
No hidden doors.
No stairs.
No escape—
Then his eyes landed on the wall.
Wood.
Lyonel looked at Adder's Fang.
Then back to the wall.
An idea.
Without hesitation—
He walked forward, and he swung.
The Valyrian steel sliced through the wood effortlessly.
Wood split apart.
Again.
And again.
Soon—
A large opening appeared.
Cold air rushed inside.
The septa blinked in shock.
Outside—
The ground below.
Not too far.
Still high enough to hurt.
Lyonel swallowed.
Gods, he hated heights.
"Cloud!" Lyonel shouted.
"Bring Thunder!"
Cloud cawed immediately and shot through the opening into the night.
Behind them—
The barricade cracked louder.
"They're almost through!"
Lyonel looked at the septa.
"We jump."
Her eyes widened briefly.
Then she nodded.
Braver than he expected.
Together—
They jumped through.
The fall hurt.
Hard.
Lyonel landed badly and rolled across dirt.
Pain exploded through his back.
"FUCK!"
For one horrible second—
He thought something broke.
But he was able to move.
Good.
He quickly looked toward the septa.
She had landed awkwardly but seemed unharmed.
Bruised.
Shaken.
Alive.
Then—
A familiar neigh echoed.
Thunder came running from the darkness.
Cloud proudly perched atop his head like some victorious commander.
"Good boy," Lyonel muttered breathlessly.
Thunder stopped beside them.
Lyonel forced himself upright.
His back hurt like the Seven Hells.
Everything hurt.
Still—
No time.
He helped the septa onto Thunder first.
Then climbed behind her.
Behind them—
Men shouted inside the inn.
"They escaped!"
"OUTSIDE!"
Lyonel grabbed the reins.
"Go!"
Thunder surged forward.
Fast.
Very fast.
The cold night wind whipped against them as they fled into darkness.
For a while—
No one spoke.
Only hoofbeats.
Heavy breathing.
Moonlight.
Then—
The septa finally spoke softly.
"Take me…"
Her voice trembled weakly.
"To Harrenhal."
Lyonel frowned.
"Harrenhal?"
Before he could ask why—
Her head suddenly slumped forward.
Completely limp.
Lyonel's eyes widened.
"Shit."
He grabbed her before she fell from the saddle.
"Septa?"
No response.
Gods.
Please don't die now.
Cloud cawed worriedly overhead as Thunder kept running through the endless night.
If you can, please read my novel (THE LAST LIGHT OF THE LIVING SUN) AND MAYBE EVEN A COLLECTION.