At the banks of Mummer's Ford, the river ran red with blood. The bodies of the Lannisters, the men Lord Beric had brought, and the Crackclaws who had sprung the ambush were scattered everywhere. Blood from the dead stained the water, and corpses lay both in the river and along its banks, amid trampled banners of lions, stags, and lightning bolts.
It had been a brutal clash, but not the one Tywin had envisioned.
The Mountain killed Ser Gladden and his horse with a single blow, and Lord Lothar Mallery fell into the river and drowned. Quite a few panicked royalist soldiers died as well. Fortunately, the Crackclaws had come down on them like warriors sent from the heavens and cut through the Mountain's men, nearly wiping them out.
"I brought a hundred and ten men, and now half of them are dead. Two lords are dead, and so is Ser Alyn, Lord Eddard's captain of the guard," Lord Beric said sadly.
"Do not be afraid." Thoros looked down at Alyn's body in his arms, the man transfixed by a spear. "In a moment, I'll give him words of mourning, words of the Lord of Light, and a kiss from the Lord of Light."
"Lord Beric, you are a compassionate young lord. But you are no match for the Mountain or Tywin. Eddard Stark is the prey they are truly after." The Red Viper wiped the blood from his spear.
Tywin's web of informants reached all the way into King's Landing, and the Lannisters held immense power there. For Eddard to send these men so openly to capture the Mountain, without enough men to do it, was little different from sending them to their deaths.
The Mountain lay on the ground, writhing in pain, his blood slowly turning black.
"Stuff a torn boot in his mouth so he doesn't bite off his own tongue." At the Red Viper's order, someone shoved a dead man's leather boot into the Mountain's mouth.
The Crackclaws carefully stripped the armor from him. His helm, breastplate, iron gauntlets, and greatsword were all thrown onto the ground.
The Mountain had been wearing three full layers of armor. The outermost was plate, dark gray steel covered in dents and scratches left by battle. Beneath that was mail over padded cloth. The innermost layer was leather armor.
The Mountain was monstrously tall and broad, nearly eight feet in height, around 2.31 to 2.43 meters, and weighed some thirty stone, four hundred and twenty pounds, or one hundred and ninety kilograms. He was a giant in every sense. His shoulders were broad and heavy, his arms as thick as saplings, and his whole body was knotted with unnatural strength. Wounds from the Red Viper's spear covered him from head to toe, blood streaming from each one. Worst of all was the wound in his belly. The Crackclaws had bound his arms, hands, and legs with flails, because his sheer size was terrifying.
"I'm taking him back to King's Landing," Lord Beric said.
"The old king is dead, and a new king has taken the throne. Lord Eddard has most likely already been arrested. Joffrey on the Iron Throne is no lawful king. You have already fulfilled your promise to Lord Eddard," Lord Raymun urged.
The surviving soldiers turned pale at those words. The king was dead, the Hand had fallen, and in the blink of an eye they had become traitors in the eyes of the new king. Everyone knew Joffrey was Tywin's grandson, and they had just slaughtered a host of Lannister men.
"I understand that now. But King Robert is dead, and we will never swear ourselves to that Lannister whelp, the grandson of Tywin the Butcher," Lord Beric said.
"Perhaps you should look at this. Joff isn't a grandson. He's a great-grandson," Lord Raymun said. "The King's will. The new king should be Ser Gendry across the sea."
Dazed, Lord Beric took the will from Lord Raymun and opened it. "So that's how it is."
"This..." Thoros read over the words again and again. Every line was staggering. After a long while, he finally spoke. "I trust in the character of Lord Eddard and Ser Barristan. If there are still honorable men left in King's Landing."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Lord Beric said at once. "I am willing to swear allegiance to the rightful heir."
"So am I," Thoros said.
The battered survivors dropped to one knee before the will.
"In the name of the rightful heir, we will take the Mountain away and put him on trial."
"As you command."
"Gendry's point is that the Riverlands offer no natural defenses. Tywin's vengeance will come soon. It would be better for you all to retreat with us to Crackclaw Point," Lord Raymun suggested. With the Great Dog dead, Tywin might well become even more mad.
"You have captured the Mountain, and I have sworn allegiance to the new king. But we must still continue the just cause of protecting the common folk in the name of the late King Robert and Eddard Stark," Lord Beric said after a moment's thought.
The Red Viper looked at him with solemn respect. "Good lad. You are a true knight. Be very careful."
"Prince Oberyn, may I strike him with my sword?" Lord Raymun asked.
"Yes. Best strike his face, not his head. Leave the judgment to the king." The Red Viper thought for a moment. The Cennel Spear was coated with a special poison, so the Mountain would not die so easily.
"For the children of Targaryen, for the people of the Riverlands who died at the hands of this bastard." Lord Raymun's hands trembled. The Mountain was the nightmare of his life. Raymun drew his longsword and struck the Mountain where he lay on the ground, and blood flowed.
"For King Robert and Lord Eddard, for my soldiers, for the farmers of the Riverlands." Lord Beric's longsword slashed across the Mountain's cheek.
"For the North." Harwin's voice broke as he plunged his dagger into the Mountain's abdomen, unable to control his emotions.
"For Crabb."
"For Boggs."
"For Brune."
The Mountain's body was stabbed until it became an even more mangled, bloody mess.
"Go, Lord Raymun. Quickly gather your peasants and servants, leave the castle, and head to Crackclaw Point. Tywin will turn the Riverlands into the White Lands sooner or later."
"Understood." Lord Raymun nodded.
The group parted ways. The Crackclaws followed the Red Viper back to Crackclaw Point, carrying the Mountain's mangled body. Lord Raymun gathered his men and belongings, then fled toward Crackclaw Point. Lord Beric, meanwhile, took his men to continue their guerrilla warfare.
...
Highgarden, rich and flourishing, was even livelier at Rose Manor. The war had not yet reached the Reach, so its people could still feast on plentiful food and enjoy the performances of fools and mummers.
"Renly now wants Highgarden to send troops, and he's willing to make Margaery his Queen. Loras has written as well. Joffrey on the Iron Throne demands our fealty, and across the Narrow Sea there's Robert's bastard who suddenly appeared. How is Highgarden supposed to choose? It may not be long before Stannis starts calling for support too." Lord Mace looked over the declarations in his hand, turning the matter over in his mind.
Mace had once been broad and powerfully built, though age had left him somewhat stout. Even so, he was still a handsome man. His brown hair curled thickly, and streaks of white had already appeared in his pointed beard.
"Look at my foolish son. He's already beside himself with joy at the sweet fantasy of putting a Queen on the throne. This is a family quarrel that began with Robert's death. We need to be careful," said the Queen of Thorns.
Lady Olenna was in her sixties, small and silver-haired. Her hands were soft, her fingers thin, and when she spoke there was the sharp sourness of an old woman in her tone.
"That may be true, but chances like this do not come twice," Lord Mace said. "And it isn't just me who resents it. Lord Rowan and Lord Redwyne feel the same. The Reach has men and arms in abundance, strength enough to rival anyone, yet Robert never allowed us into the Small Council. Is that not plain contempt for the Reach?"
"Perhaps you ought to listen to the children for once. Their wits are better than yours." The Queen of Thorns motioned for Willas and Garlan to speak. Loras was not here. He was still at Storm's End.
"I expect House Baratheon will fight among itself first. Renly, Stannis, and Gendry. Renly originally held the advantage. With the Stormlands and the strength of the Reach together, no one could have matched him. But now there is the king's will. If the Stormlords start wavering, I fear Great Lord Renly may not be able to make it happen. The Stormlands were never heavily populated to begin with," Ser Garlan said.
Garlan looked very much like his younger brother, Ser Loras Tyrell, though he was taller, broader, and bearded. His personal sigil bore two golden roses on a green field, marking him as a second son.
"War is war," Margaery said as she listened to them. The Tyrell girl wore a cloak woven from autumn flowers, fluttering in the wind, with green beneath it that made her all the more lovely. She was still young, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a slender, beautiful figure.
"Would they really cast Renly aside for a bastard?" Mace frowned. "He's only a young man, a former smith, and a bastard besides."
"That little smith has won more battles in a few short years than you, Lord of Highgarden, have won in your long twenty years of soldiering," the Queen of Thorns said, unable to resist stabbing at her son.
"What does that matter? I..." Lord Mace flushed red.
"He is young, yes, but as long as that boy keeps winning, his men will keep loving him. Do you think the people of the Stormlands cannot see that Renly is all polish and no substance? They simply had no better choice before. Renly looks splendid, has charm, and keeps himself nice and clean. He knows how to dress, how to smile, how to bathe, and from that concludes that he ought to be king. But what now? Eddard and Barristan may be rigid men, but plenty of people respect the character of rigid men."
"Garlan, you met him once, did you not?" the Queen of Thorns asked her grandson.
"They were already formidable then. Now they'll be even more frightening. Khal Drogo was the fiercest khal in the Dothraki Sea, yet he was no match for him. That little smith is no ordinary man. He's as fierce as the Laughing Storm, and far too careful in his thinking for someone his age," Garlan said. "If I hadn't seen it myself, I would never have believed a young smith could possess that kind of ability. Perhaps he was simply born with it."
"I've studied his methods as well," Willas said with a nod. "It's a common hammer-and-anvil tactic, but his grasp of timing is extraordinary." Willas was a handsome gentleman of Highgarden, though sadly lame in one leg.
"So we just sit and wait?" Mace asked.
"Stannis will never work with the Tyrells. The hatred between them runs too deep. And there is no place for us beside Joffrey," Willas said. "I once thought Renly was a good choice, but if someone rises to split the strength of the Stormlands away from him, then Renly's position becomes dangerously unstable."
"If that is how it stands, then we must not be hasty. If Loras wants men, give him a little support," Willas said with a nod. "Once they've decided the outcome among themselves, whoever remains will be the one to come seeking our roses."
"But Renly promised us the Queen," Mace said hurriedly.
"Be quiet. This is treason, and now it's dangerous treason. Robert has plenty of sons, and Renly has an elder brother. What right does Renly have to claim that ugly Iron Throne? Do you think his foul-tempered brother and savage nephew would simply let it go?
Loras may be good at knocking men off their horses with a wooden lance, but that sport hasn't made him any smarter. And as for you, sometimes I wish I were a country farmwife, just so I could take a big wooden spoon to your fat head and pound a little sense into it."
"In any case, we must move only after careful thought. Struggling for the Iron Throne is not a joust," said the Queen of Thorns. "House Stark, House Arryn, and House Lannister all ruled as kings for generations. Even House Baratheon, if you trace them through the female line, descends from ancient royalty. Only House Tyrell was no more than a line of stewards before Dragonlord Aegon burned the rightful King of the Reach in the Field of Fire."
"That is why we must be wary of those lurking in the shadows. As those detestable Florents are always wailing, our family's claim to Highgarden is indeed not the firmest."
"Yes," Lord Mace said, having no choice but to heed his mother's advice.
"Garlan, how do you think Robert's Smith son will make his move?" the Queen of Thorns asked. "This time, he is not the one defending a castle, but the one attacking."
"He will build himself a fortress, wear the enemy down behind strong walls, wait for them to take the bait, and then destroy their mobile forces in one decisive stroke. The real question is where he will choose to raise that fortress."
"It seems Great Lord Tywin will not be sleeping well these days," the Queen of Thorns snorted. "He has offended far too many people."
"New intelligence has arrived from the Riverlands," said one of House Tyrell's maesters as he entered the garden.
"Oh, one good thing and one bad," the Queen of Thorns said after reading the letter. "The Kingslayer has broken out from the Golden Tooth, Edmure's men suffered a crushing defeat, and now he is besieging Riverrun. But their mad dog was not so fortunate. Ser Gregor the Mountain was defeated at Mummer's Ford, and no corpse was found."
"The Mountain is dead?" Garlan was startled. "On the battlefield, few could match him. How could Lord Eddard's little force possibly have killed him? Beric's company has only Thoros with any real ability. The rest are mediocrities, and Beric himself is only some pampered young lordling."
In truth, Garlan himself was a formidable fighter and had a sharp eye. He excelled with the sword and often trained against three or four men at once to simulate the conditions of real combat and prepare himself in advance. But he cared little for glory, which was why he was not as famous as Loras.
"That is the truth, Garlan," the Queen of Thorns said with a smile. "That mad dog is dead, and I daresay no small number of people will drink fine wine tonight. Tywin sent the Mountain to ambush Beric's party, but Beric somehow had reinforcements. That black armored force all but wiped out the Mountain's men."
"A black armored force?" Garlan listened closely. "Could it be...?"
"Looking at the situation around King's Landing, no one there has troops to spare, and the Riverlands are barely holding on. Could it be Edmure?" Lord Mace mused.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Edmure is a fool. The Kingslayer smashed him to pieces," the Queen of Thorns said dismissively.
"If it was the King from across the Narrow Sea, then he moved far too quickly," Garlan said after a moment's thought.
"No matter what, the situation is twisting and changing at every turn. You had better pay a visit to Myr."
"Then I'll go," Garlan said.
"I want to go too," Margaery spoke up.
"Very well, good children, the two of you may go together." The Queen of Thorns reached out and stroked her granddaughter's hair.
"That is enough. The rest of you may retire. My little rose stays."
"As you wish."
The others left the manor, and only Margaery remained.
"Do you still remember the story I told you about my own love, child?" the Queen of Thorns asked, taking Margaery's hand.
"I do."
"They once wanted me to marry a Targaryen, but I would not have it," the Queen of Thorns said. "I meant to choose the best, not some second son who fancied men."
"Yes. Later, Grandmother, you got your chance, and Grandfather fell in love with you."
"Yes, child. I made him fall in love with me." The Queen of Thorns tightened her hold on her granddaughter's hand. "A fool like your father only waits for opportunity. Only the very best create it."
"But others already have Queens. What about me?" Margaery asked hesitantly.
"That depends on what can be made to happen, child," said the Queen of Thorns. "If that young Smith truly can build an empire greater than even the Conqueror's, then I think many people will choose to hold their tongues. Two Queens would not be such a shocking thing. Just look at the men your father and the others picked for you. The first was a drunk, the second liked men. It was all dreadful."
"If you are to become a Queen, then why not choose the very best one? The one who will win in the end."
"I understand what you mean, Grandmother. I will watch him carefully, and see whether he is a king Highgarden can give its loyalty to." Margaery smiled at her grandmother.
"Watch him, weigh him, judge his worth. Then make him fall in love with you."