The force Eddard Stark sent into the Riverlands to hunt down The Mountain was not a large one. There were only a little over a hundred men in all.
Lord Beric, Thoros of Myr, Ser Gladden Wylde, and Lord Lothar Mallery each brought twenty soldiers. Eddard also sent thirty House Stark guards to accompany them. Lord Raymond Darry joined the expedition with twenty of his own men. In addition, Ser Karyl Vance and Ser Marq Piper each brought several dozen squires and attendants.
Eddard had ordered Lord Beric to take command, seize Gregor, and bring him back to King's Landing to face the king's judgment. With so few men, it hardly seemed like enough to capture The Mountain.
Worse still, Ser Karyl Vance of Wayfarer's Rest and Ser Marq Piper of Pinkmaiden Castle were both worried about their fathers, who were preparing for battle beneath the Golden Tooth. They might leave the party at any time. So this small force rode out of King's Landing in a fierce display and headed for the Riverlands, but their progress was slow. They had to search for traces of The Mountain while also keeping themselves supplied.
The Riverlands were in terrible shape as well. Fearing an invasion from the Westerlands, most of the Riverlords had gone to Riverrun with their men, leaving only a few to hold their castles. The frightened smallfolk in the countryside were even harder to find. Some had hidden in their lords' castles, while others had fled for their lives to King's Landing.
"Look, what is that?"
One day, Lord Beric spotted a red comet in the sky and asked Thoros, who was drunk beside him.
"That is the Red Messenger," Thoros said. "It means we're close to finding that bastard, The Mountain, and giving him a gift of Fire and Blood."
"Let's hope so," Lord Beric said. "I still need to get back and report to Lord Eddard."
Lord Raymond Darry glanced at the two of them, but there was little amusement on his face. He was a careful man and had brought a raven with him. No one found that strange, since Lord Darry's lands were not far from here.
A few days later, near Pinkmaiden Castle, Ser Karyl Vance and Ser Marq Piper came to bid Lord Beric farewell.
"My lord Beric, this is where we part. You must be careful."
The two men had received grim news from routed survivors who had fled back from the fighting at the Golden Tooth. The battle there had already begun. The old Lord Vance had been killed, and the old Lord Piper had fled in panic toward Riverrun. Shaken by the news, neither man had any heart left for hunting The Mountain. They needed to gather their strength and go reinforce Riverrun instead.
If not for the wine red birthmark that covered half his face and half his neck, Ser Karyl would surely have been a very handsome man. He had melancholy eyes, and now, with his father's death and defeat weighing on him, they looked sadder than ever.
"Then the two of you should return to Riverrun at once," Lord Beric said, without trying to stop them.
The Kingslayer had broken out from the Golden Tooth and was now besieging Riverrun. Lord Beric understood the helplessness and panic in their hearts.
After seeing off the heirs of House Vance and House Piper, Lord Lothar Mallery frowned deeply.
"How could Great Lord Tywin be so cruel and ruthless? He openly let the Kingslayer slaughter the Riverlands host beneath the Golden Tooth."
He went on, his expression dark.
"House Vance is no ordinary house. Their lands are broader than those of their liege, House Tully, and they can field more troops. They are second tier nobility. The Kingslayer killed Lord Vance and now he is besieging Riverrun. Is Great Lord Tywin not committing treason by doing this?"
"Lord Eddard sent us to capture The Mountain. This mission was dangerous from the start," Ser Gladden Wylde said with a sigh. Quietly, he was already thinking about slipping away. He knew what The Mountain was like. He knew how savage the man was.
The most frightening possibility was that something had happened to the king, or that the Lannisters had taken control of him. Otherwise, Tywin would never have dared to challenge the order of the Iron Throne so openly.
Ser Gladden's guess was not wrong. Tywin's intelligence was far better than theirs, and his heart was even crueler. Unless something unexpected intervened, this little force was already doomed. News of their departure had long since reached Tywin.
"What is there to fear?" Lord Beric shouted. "I will kill that false knight, The Mountain, and report back to Lord Eddard."
Beric was a young nobleman with red gold hair. Dressed in a black satin cloak embroidered with stars and mounted on a black charger, he looked splendid and extravagant. Of course, he had no idea that the king was already dead, or that Eddard was likely doomed as well.
"Exactly. Since Tywin's dogs are barking in the Riverlands, I will kill the dogs," said Thoros, the red priest of Myr.
Thoros was a tall, fat, bald man in loose red robes, and one of King Robert's drinking companions. Though he wore the red robes, he had never been truly devout. His heart still yearned for battle, drink, and women.
"What is there to fear?" said Alyn, the Northerner, with open disdain. "We Northmen have never feared wild dogs. On the contrary, I mean to kill him."
Alyn had taken over after Jory was killed by the Lannisters and had been appointed captain of the guard in the capital. Now he was here as House Stark's representative in the hunt for The Mountain.
Seeing how confident the three men were, and being men who cared greatly for honor, Ser Gladden Wylde and Lord Lothar Mallery said no more. Lord Raymond also remained silent.
"The Mountain once burned, murdered, and plundered in places like Sherrer Village and Mummer's Ford," Lord Beric said. "I think he may still be somewhere around there."
Their force would have to pass by Mummer's Ford again anyway, and it lay north of Pinkmaiden Castle.
"I think we would be much better off waiting a little longer," Lord Raymond said suddenly, voicing his objection. "We have not found The Mountain anywhere else. Crossing Mummer's Ford rashly now would be extremely dangerous."
"Are you questioning my ability?" Lord Beric snapped, his face flushing red with anger.
Lord Raymond looked at him and answered in a firm, righteous tone.
"I am a lord of the Riverlands. No one wants to kill that beast, The Mountain, more than I do. But you know as well as I do that the Lannister soldiers are well trained, and The Mountain is no ordinary foe. Tywin is also the king's father in law. He probably knows our numbers perfectly well. Why not find a place to stop, rest, and wait for reinforcements?"
"Lord Darry? What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Reinforcements? What do you mean, you coward?" Alyn shouted angrily. "The Mountain is infamous, but that does not mean you should look down on our courage."
"Reinforcements?" Lord Beric looked at Lord Raymond curiously. "Where would they come from? The Riverlands can barely look after themselves right now. Do you have other reinforcements, Lord Raymond?"
"If I say I do, then I do," Lord Raymond said earnestly. "If none of you believe me, then I will leave on my own. I ask only that you trust me. I hate the Lannisters even more than you do."
"Then where exactly are these reinforcements?" Ser Gladden Wylde asked. Lord Lothar Mallery looked just as puzzled, though both men also felt a flicker of relief. More men would certainly be better. "Will Plowman's Keep send reinforcements?"
"My raven will bring reinforcements."
"In that case, we'll trust you for now." Thoros of Myr hurried to smooth things over. If Lord Raymun really fled with his twenty men, this little detachment would likely break apart on the spot. He knew Lord Raymun's past. He had once been loyal to the Targaryens, and he would never surrender to the Lannisters.
"Then I will follow Thoros's advice. We'll camp in the woods tonight and go to Mummer's Ford tomorrow." Lord Beric was more inclined to listen to Thoros of Myr. Thoros was not especially famous in the Seven Kingdoms for his status as a priest. He was far better known as a warrior. During the Greyjoy Rebellion, he had been the first man over the walls of Pyke, and later generations still praised him for it. With a flaming sword coated in wildfire to frighten his opponents' horses, he often took top honors in melee tournaments.
The night was still and dreadful. The Red Comet hung high overhead, brighter than the moon. Thoros stared up at the crimson star. "My god, what does this mean?"
Most of the soldiers slept poorly. They knew nothing of the quarrel among the lords during the day, but the Mountain's evil name alone was enough to make men shudder. And this force, even counting every last man, numbered only one hundred and thirty.
"Thank the gods, we finally caught up with you." The thunder of hooves tore through the sleeping camp. A full three hundred knights arrived, clad in black armor, black as endless night. At their head rode a tall man whose helmet and visor hid his face.
Some of the black armored soldiers were old, some were maimed, yet all of them carried the same ruthless resolve. They bore no banners. In their silence, they were cold as the moon.
"I heard Tywin's dogs have been lurking around here," the masked man at their head said in a muffled voice. A wrapped long spear was slung across his back. "So I came to kill dogs too."
"You've come at just the right time." Lord Raymun let out a sigh of relief as he looked at the sizable force outside their camp. They were dusty from travel, but the Riverlands were already in such turmoil that no one paid any mind to an army that came and went like ghosts.
"What is this?" Lord Beric was taken aback, then stepped forward with Thoros to speak with the leader of the force.
He knew the state of House Darry well enough. Lord Raymun had nothing left to his name, so how had he gathered such a large force? Lord Raymun Darry had lost three brothers at the Battle of the Trident. The fall of House Targaryen had cost House Darry half its lands, most of its wealth, and nearly all its strength.
Beric and Thoros saw the size of the force, and so did Ser Gladden Wylde and Baron Lothar Mallery. But Lord Beric, as their leader, chose to go forward with Thoros alone.
In the darkness, Lord Beric finally made out a few familiar sigils.
"Boggs."
"Crabb." House Crabb's sigil was a giant riding a wild bull and holding a pine tree, in tribute to the legendary hero Clarence Crabb.
"Brune." House Brune's sigil was a brown bear's paw on a white field, ringed by two brown borders.
"Hardy."
"Cave."
As a lord and heir, Lord Beric knew these arms well. Nearly all of these houses were noble families from Crackclaw Point.
"You... you are traitors." Lord Beric finally understood and drew his sword. These men had once been Targaryen loyalists, so naturally they had ties to Lord Raymun. "Lord Raymun, what is the meaning of this?"
Lord Raymun leaned close to Beric's ear. "You hate the Mountain. We hate him even more. This is cooperation, and no one needs to know."
"Even if our hatred runs deep as the sea, we are on the same ship now. We have to look after one another," Mortimer Boggs said coldly, his face worn by wind and hardship. "I was once as proud as you, Lord Beric, until I was defeated in war."
"Pitiful." The masked man gave a cold snort. "At a time like this, you still care about the Dragon and the Stag? The Dragon and the Stag are about to reconcile, and the most pitiful fate of all will be yours, young man."
"Say whatever you like, but I..." Beric's face flushed red.
"Look at yourself, boy. You're in your twenties, handsome and fine looking, but you've rarely fought and scarcely seen war. Do you know the Mountain? The more you know about him, the more careful you have to be."
Lord Beric said nothing. Thoros stepped forward and looked over the warriors before him. Since they all hated the Mountain, there was still some hope.
"The Mountain's men are bloodier than ours, and they outnumber us. Everyone knows that. If they appear tomorrow, they will most likely ambush us," the masked man said.
"And if they don't? No matter what, I'll be the first to charge," Lord Beric said loudly. "This is my mission. If I can finish it myself, I won't ask for your help again."
"You'll die, young man." The masked man could not help warning him. "Once you cross the river, you'll be bait."
"Even if I die, this is still my knightly duty." Beric let out a snort. "I am willing. This is my task. But if I am gone, and you happen to kill the Mountain, then please pass word to Lord Eddard for me."
"Very well. A truly stubborn knight," Mortimer Boggs said, half mocking and half trying to dissuade him.
"What else is there to tell Lord Eddard?" The masked man burst out laughing. "The king is dead, Eddard is in the black cells, and your little force is about to become outlaws as well."
"What?" Lord Beric and Thoros were stunned, as if they had fallen into an ice pit. They had never imagined that after leaving King's Landing, the situation would change so completely.
"But this is our mission, and besides, the Mountain truly is a beast," Lord Beric said through clenched teeth.
"I have to finish Lord Eddard's task first. I have to avenge those smallfolk."
"Don't tell the Northerners the truth. They're just a bunch of fools," Mortimer Boggs instructed.
Beric and Thoros both nodded.
The next day, the Red Fork of the Trident was broad and slow, its course winding and twisting, dotted with many small islands, sandbanks, and narrow crossings. The west bank of the Red Fork of the Trident stood higher than the east.
Lord Beric's standard bearer raised the banner for all to see. At the top was the crowned stag of House Baratheon. Below it was the black banner of House Dondarrion, embroidered with a purple lightning bolt cutting across the night sky.
This small detachment was trying to cross Mummer's Ford.
"Where is Lord Daemon? He brought so many sellswords, yet he's not with us," Lord Lothar Mallery could not help asking.
"Forget about him. He's nothing but a suspicious farmer," Lord Beric said with a snort.
Thoros of Myr swept his gaze across the river around them. Tall reeds and other water plants lined both banks, which made the situation look even worse. They had too few men, so few that they did not even have enough for scouts or for men to burn away cover.
"Boom. Boom. Boom."
The war drums began to sound, and Lord Beric felt his heart pounding with them. It seemed Lord Raymun and his companions had been right to warn them.
He felt some regret over his boldness, but the first man to charge was the true brave one. He could not tell others that he had won by hiding behind someone else. He would face the Mountain head on.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" Lord Beric shouted at the top of his voice. The hundred man force immediately went on alert, though they were already struggling to cover both front and rear. Aside from the Northerners' guards, most of the warriors brought by the other nobles were raw recruits, the clumsiest and most timid sort.
From the west bank of the Red Fork of the Trident, a group of red cloaked spearmen who had been lying in ambush burst out first, blocking their way with shield walls and long spears. Then came the pounding of hooves from the east bank. A terrifying figure appeared with a band of cavalry. The Mountain and his men had arrived.
The Mountain's armor was made of heavy dark gray steel plate, scarred by long and brutal use, with no sigil or ornament of any kind. His sword was a two handed greatsword, yet in his hand it looked as easy to wield as a dagger. The Mountain's men were grinning. They were butchers and rapists, but their fighting strength was plainly greater than that of Lord Beric's force.
"Kill them. If any of you let an enemy escape, I'll kill you myself," the Mountain roared. His men answered with savage laughter. A small portion of them were elite heavy cavalry, while most were light cavalry. But without question, they were a pack of bloodthirsty butchers. Joss Stilwood, the Mountain's squire. Raff the Sweetling. Shitmouth, and the rest.
The flames of battle flared across the riverbank in an instant, making every nerve tighten. Lord Lothar Mallery roared as he charged at the enemy, cursing Lord Beric as he went. "Lightning Boy, quit pretending and get our men out here now."
But Lord Lothar Mallery's luck was truly miserable. He hastily dodged the lances of the Lannister cavalry, then fell into the river. He flailed in panic, only to stumble into deeper water, and in the end he drowned.
The Mountain swung his greatsword like a furious engine of slaughter. Almost no one could withstand him face to face. When that greatsword came down, men were usually cut clean apart, heads severed from bodies, torsos split in two. It was a terrifying sight.
"Woooooo."
Then the bleak cry of a war horn sounded again. This time it came from beyond the eastern bank. Another force of cavalry appeared, right at the Mountain's rear.
A full three hundred black armored riders, apart from a few scouts, came charging in at once. Some crashed head on into the Mountain's men, while others crossed to the far side of the river to attack the Mountain's infantry.
"Damn it, what is this? Didn't King's Landing say there were only a little over a hundred men?" the Mountain cursed. He had prepared a two hundred man ambush, which should have been more than enough. He had never expected this group to have a hidden elite cavalry force. Damn them.
At the sight of reinforcements, the men under Lord Beric also found their courage rising. They no longer paid any heed to the spearmen on the west bank. Instead, they charged straight at the Mountain's cavalry on the east bank, forming a pincer attack.
"Whizz, whizz, whizz."
The five shot Myr crossbows sang with a sharp metallic hum. They were not shooting at men, but at the horses first. To carry out the mission quickly, many of the Westerlands cavalry had not armored their mounts.
Some of the Black Armored Cavalry were old, some were crippled, but without exception they were savage, ruthless fighters, far superior to Lord Beric's showy but useless men. Their equipment was excellent as well. Black plate armor, crossbows, great axes, heavy hammers, and more. Even the northerners were stunned. Where had Lord Raymun found such a band of killers?
"Kill." Mortimer Boggs gave a wave of his hand, and the new five shot crossbows they had brought from Myr unleashed a volley. For this pack of Lannister butchers, this was judgment.
The Mountain's warhorse drew the heaviest fire. The maddened beast was riddled with bolts, then reared up, shrieking and plunging forward, only to be pierced by even more longspears before crashing heavily to the ground. The Mountain hit the riverbank, then rose without a scratch, swinging his greatsword in both hands as he charged again.
"I'm your opponent, beast!" the Red Viper shouted, finally revealing his spear. He had waited for this day for so long. More than ten years.
The Red Viper's spear was eight feet long, made of ash wood, smooth and heavy. The last two feet were steel, ending in a slender leaf shaped head that narrowed to a wicked point, sharp enough to shave with. The spearhead glimmered with a black sheen. Besides the spear, the Red Viper also carried a handsome shield.
Mortimer Boggs watched the frenzied Red Viper. Hatred truly carved into the bone. For all these years, every waking moment had been filled with thoughts of revenge. They were all the same. But he still had to keep an eye on the Red Viper. Lord Gendry had instructed him to.
The Red Viper and the Mountain clashed on a patch of dry ground by the riverbank. No one else had the leisure to watch them. The Mountain's men were already caught in a whirlpool of death.
All across the battlefield, the sound of killing rose in waves. Without the Mountain, their greatest strength, the Crackclaw men swept forward like a raging storm, cutting apart and encircling the Westerlands soldiers. Blood ran red through the water, and Mummer's Ford became a place of slaughter.
One red cloaked soldier after another fell into the water. The Mountain's troops were vicious, but they also had their share of rabble. The Crackclaw men were just as fierce, and they held the advantage in numbers and equipment.
The Red Viper went into battle lightly armored. Aside from a gorget, vambraces, throat guard, mail shirt, and battle skirt, he wore only soft leather and smooth silk beneath. Over his mail was a layer of gleaming bronze scales, though it offered less than a quarter of the protection of the Mountain's full heavy armor. Still, at least he had listened to advice. The helmet on his head was finely made, with a face guard, yet lighter than an ordinary helm.
"Before you die, you need to know my name. Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne!" the Red Viper hissed, staring at the giant before him. "Princess Elia is my sister."
"You talk too much," the Mountain roared, then hacked at the Red Viper with his sword.
The Red Viper slipped aside with ease. His spear scraped across the Mountain's chest, leaving a long bright mark on the steel armor.
"Princess Elia. Princess of Dorne."
"You killed her, you raped her, you murdered her children!" the Red Viper bellowed, watching the path of the falling sword and making sure to stay clear of it.
With his spear and speed, the Red Viper attacked again and again. The spear could strike at the Mountain's belly, but the armor there was indeed thick and heavy. The Mountain's helmet was massively cumbersome, restricting his vision. He relied only on raw speed and brute strength in his savage attacks, never expecting the Red Viper to come so well prepared.
The Red Viper flicked his spear around the greatsword, darting in and out like a serpent's tongue. The Mountain truly was a huge target. The Red Viper pressed the attack, but he still could not pierce that full suit of heavy armor. He circled, thrust, and sprang back, always faster than the Mountain.
The spear had the advantage of reach over the sword, enough to keep the Mountain from touching the Red Viper. Again and again the Mountain hacked at the shaft, trying to cut off the spearhead, but he could not manage it. He lunged forward, and the Red Viper flashed past him.
The spear slammed into the Mountain's chest with a loud clang, then slid away. The Mountain answered with a string of furious roars as his greatsword hacked through the air.
The Red Viper slipped past the attack. He had to raise his round shield to block the second blow. Even so, he was swift and agile enough to avoid the greatsword's killing arc as it slashed past only inches from his body.
The Red Viper sprang back, rolled, and pulled out his spear again. After enough exchanges, he had finally found a weakness. There were joints between the plates of heavy armor, and those were the weakest points.
"Prince, our time is almost up," Ser Mortimer Boggs could not help saying.
The battlefield had already turned into a one sided massacre. Tywin's pocket trap had been perfectly designed, but with the variable arranged by Gendry, the trap had been turned inside out. The thugs of the Westerlands had nearly been slaughtered to the last man, and now everyone had gathered around to watch the bloody scene.
At that moment, everyone understood. This ferocious warrior was the Red Viper of Dorne.
The Mountain could feel his strength draining fast. Such large, violent movements were a heavy burden even for a man like him. Sweat ran down into his eyes, making him pause for an instant.
The Red Viper seized that instant, the one precise moment he needed. He crouched, took aim, and thrust.
The spear shot out like lightning, like a venomous serpent, slipping through a gap in the heavy armor. It struck at the joint beneath the arm, the weakest point in the whole suit. The spearhead punched through mail and leather.
Blood began to flow from the Mountain's armpit, but his stamina was truly monstrous. He still struggled to swing his sword, though his movements had grown slower.
"Princess Elia of Dorne." The Red Viper moved behind the Mountain. That momentary pause was the best chance he would get. He began searching for every joint in the armor. Behind the knees, there was a gap. Under the arms, there was another. Only by driving through plate, mail, and leather could he make the Mountain feel pain.
The Red Viper gripped his spear tightly and looked at his fallen foe. Then he roared and put all the strength in his body into the blow.
"For my sister. For those children."
He drove the spear straight through the Mountain's belly until the shaft cracked, pinning the giant to the ground. The Red Viper looked down at the fallen Mountain. Death was sweet, but far too cheap for an enemy like this. He stood, brushed the dust from himself, and sweat soaked his hair.
"Prince, stay back. Lord Gendry gave strict orders," Mortimer Boggs shouted. "Don't touch the Mountain with a sword. Don't get too close to him."
"When it comes to nerve and courage, I really can't compare to the young anymore." The Red Viper gave a bitter smile, but at last he had gotten what he wanted.
"I wanted you to say her name, but I already know the answer. You can give Tywin my regards in hell."
The Red Viper stepped back and caught the spear Mortimer Boggs tossed to him. He let the greatsword in his hand go and took up the spear instead.
He looked at the Mountain. The broken spear was still lodged in his body, pinning him to the earth. The Mountain tried to grab the shaft, but he could no longer move properly, and the pool of blood beneath him kept spreading.
The Red Viper took up the spear and kept to a safer distance, then thrust again from afar, aiming once more at those gaps, those joints.
Suddenly the Mountain grabbed the spear, trying to drag the Red Viper in front of him. Everyone was startled. This was the terrifying burst of strength he unleashed just before death, strength no ordinary man could withstand.
The Red Viper immediately let go of the spear. The Mountain lunged and caught nothing but air. Now he truly was at the end of his strength.
"Damn it." Mortimer Boggs waved his hand, and the Crackclaws carefully pinned down the Mountain's arms with flails and bound them together.
The Mountain was barely alive now and had lost all strength to resist.
"Someone once asked me to spare you. Perhaps you still have some use left."
"Let's go," the Red Viper said.
The Crackclaws swaggered over as they finished tying up the Mountain. At some point they had already brought over a cart.
"You should leave as well. You are no longer heroes, but rebels named by the Iron Throne. Surrender to the Lannisters or go back home. Do as you please," Lord Raymund said to Beric and Thoros. Beric had survived, but Alyn from their party had died.
"In the name of King Robert, to uphold the law and protect the people," Lord Beric said. "I'm going to kill these Lannister dogs. You should leave quickly as well. Tywin's army may arrive before long. He is going to hate the gift you've brought him."