The Red Keep

"Presumably an open lie, though I do not know if Waters himself is behind it, or if he genuinely found the men as he says and was himself deceived by them. We also cannot be sure if Ser Kettleblack knows that he speaks a lie, or if he has simply taken the bastard at his word."

His hand clenched and then unclenched from the hilt of Heartsbane a couple of times, before he spoke again.

"I am concerned that Tommen may not fare well in all of this, but I maintain that we cannot bow to the demands made by Aurane Waters. Perhaps it is a matter best left to Aegon once he has taken the throne."

As the King rides into the Keep and makes for the Throne Room, Baratheon men swarm the castle. Massey is sent to Maegor's Holdfast, to secure the would-be Targaryen, whilst Morrigen's men are sent to secure the Maidenvault. Tully and Arryn men take control of the Hand's Tower and that of the Kingsguard, and soon the walls are bedecked with the Stag of Baratheon once more as the King's men climb the walls and gatehouses. Gold and Red Cloaked men alike are led out of the complex in fetters, disarmed and stripped of their trappings. Many are allowed back into the city, whilst the officers and men of standing are sent into the newly-acquired dungeons. Amidst it all rode Stannis Baratheon and his entourage, caked in blood and viscera, the stag-antlered helmet now traded for the crown of golden flames that licked greedily at the King's nearly naked scalp.

A group of Serjeants, from the Golden Company, walk out of the Great Hall, glancing at what rings remained. Ten had been removed from each of them in order to pay their ransoms. Others had plenty remaining, but others had few rings to show for their services. But the rings no longer mattered beyond their value now. The Golden Company was disbanded by the victorious Baratheon and many were being sent to the Wall to serve out sentences. Some would make it, others wouldn't, either by the Winter killing them, being hanged for attempted desertion, or likely escaping to become bandits. Jon Lothson looks at the Mudds and Strongs that were among the group.

Where to next?

He says as some of the group stops to look at Jon. The Mudds glanced at each other while the Strong cousins did the same. Shrugs would follow. Lorimas Mudd spoke.

Haven't the faintest of ideas, Lothson. We are free men, sure, but we knew the life of mercenary work. Maybe some sellsail could use us.

Duncan scoffs at the thought.

Sellsail work? You might as well drown yourself. You don't even know how to man a sail, Lorimas.

Denys chuckles at the remark, knowing that this was true for a lot of mercenaries from the Golden Company. They were good with horse, bow, sword, and spear, not managing a ship. Denys then speaks after.

We are here though. The land of our ancestors. Maybe a lord could use us. We still got some rings for money and plenty of lords likely lack good men.

Old Jon and Young Jon, two other Mudds, nod their heads in agreement, including Lothson. Old Jon speaks next.

You make a point, Strong. We are former mercenaries though. We'd likely get lesser work cause we can't be trusted.

Duncan could see what the old Mudd meant.

There gotta be someone who is willing to take us in. Coles are looking to return to the Stormlands, Peakes been discussing of going back to the Reach. Maybe we should look to the Riverlands?

Strong grabs the shoulder of a passing mercenary, Tristan Rivers, pulling him into the discussion.

I bet this one could go back to the Riverlands too.

Duncan states with a grin before releasing Rivers.

Worth a try at least.

The several present nod their heads in agreement.

It was almost midnight when she descended into the Black Cells. A word to the gaoler brought the prisoners forward; rapists, murderers, and a Kingslayer dressed in rags. With a flick of the wrist, a brazier took to a spark, and Jaime’s face was partially illuminated in the gloom. The Lion of Lannister looked a sorry sight as he was brought forward in chains, gaunt and wearied from malnourishment. The Red Priestess towered over him, a pale ghost of burning crimson that seemed to light the very room. A few of the prisoners shielded their eyes while others couldn’t move them, transfixed on the woman that was seemingly carved from ivory by the gods themselves. A ruby throbbed at her throat like a beating heart.

”You. Stay here. Take the rest away.” Her powerful voice commanded, and soon only the Kingslayer and some common crook were left with the Red God’s chosen. ”Kingslayer. You have a strange destiny laid out before you.” She reached out and touched his chest, right over his heart, as her dancing eyes of crimson stared directly into his own. ”Tell me, what do you fear the most?”

Wordlessly she produced a skin of water and handed it to the broken man. ”You have been condemned to the flames, to be burned until death on the morrow.” She pulled her hand away, and in the darkness she smiled. ”But the Lord of Light has a different plan for you, Jaime Lannister. A purpose, so that you may not die needlessly. So that you may regain your honour and serve the Lord and the Realm in the war to come.” Melisandre pulled the jewelled bracelet out of the folds of her low-cut dress, and despite the cold she did not shiver. ”There are worse things a man can face than death.” She turned the key to undo his chains, the shackles that bound his good hand falling to the floor, the harsh smack of metal on stone echoing throughout the blackened halls of the Red Keep’s bowels. This was a home for forgotten men, sent to rot. Melisandre imagined that many prisoners never saw the light of day again, condemned to be left until they decayed into old bones. The Red Priestess took a hold of Lannister’s wrist with a strength of grip that belied her slightness of frame, and gently clasped the rubied bracelet around his forearm. It matched the one at Melisandre’s throat.

”You are Kingslayer no more.” She pronounced, and in the gloom the two men stood before her shimmered with light, their faces contorting into blurred shapes as their frames grew and shrank like shadows. Jaime would feel no different, but he would look to the side and see that the other man, a common criminal that had similarly lost his right hand, now stood wearing his face. The Kingslayer stood before a facsimile of himself, still strong and handsome despite being as gaunt and ragged as the beggars of Flea Bottom. Likewise did the other man notice that Ser Jaime now wore his own face, and though he had begun to loudly and fearfully protest the broad shouldered gaoler re-entered to club him back into the cell.

”North. The Onion Knight waits at the river with a boat that will take you to Eastwatch.” Melisandre raised Ser Jaime, or rather his new self, from the dirty straw floors of the black cells. ”You are needed beyond the Wall. A Stark still lives in the Land of Winter, and you must find them. Bring him back to the lands of the living.” The Red Priestess was looking at him intensely, and grabbed again at the ruby at his wrist. ”Take this off only when you arrive. Find Jon Snow, and tell him of your purpose.” She silently hoped that Snow would operate with some discretion. ”Remember. You will be dead to the world. A man will burn in your place on the morrow.” The Red Priestess released his wrist. With a nod to the gaoler, the door to the upper levels opened. Another Red Priest entered and threw a change of clothes to Ser Jaime’s feet. They were all black. ”Your way out will be open. The Lord of Light has chosen you, and I have seen you in the flames, but you will need all your strength to survive Beyond the Wall. Do not fail.”