Blood and Cheese - Part One

Late at night, the stone steps of the dungeon beneath the Red Keep spiraled downward.

Ser Criston Cole walked in silence.

Ahead of him were Blood and Cheese, the pair of ratcatchers he was driving forward.

"M-my lord..." Cheese's voice trembled uncontrollably. His eyes darted about as he looked back at Cole.

"The Prince has summoned us... to a place like this?"

Cole didn't answer. He led them into a slightly more spacious, circular dungeon chamber and stopped.

At its center, a human figure wrapped tightly from head to toe in gray-brown burlap knelt on the cold stone floor.

The heavy fabric concealed every feature and the shape of the body beneath.

Only muffled, indistinct sobs escaped from within the bindings, tinged with struggle.

Blood narrowed his eyes.

He'd seen this sort of thing too many times.

Usually, they prepared it for their victims.

Cole drew a dagger from his belt. Its blade gleamed coldly in the torchlight.

He held it out to Blood.

Blood didn't take it. He looked at the dagger, then at the sobbing figure, his Adam's apple bobbing. "My lord, what is..."

"You'll do it. It's the Prince's order," Cole commanded.

Blood and Cheese exchanged glances.

Then Blood swallowed and reached out to take the dagger.

He walked toward the burlap-wrapped figure. As he approached, the muffled sobs rose sharply, the wailing seeming to beg him to stop...

But Blood kept going, heedless.

The body beneath the cloth began to tremble. The person inside tried in vain to scoot backward.

Blood stopped behind them and raised the dagger.

At that moment, the Prince wanted this person dead. So they had to die.

As for the reason? That wasn't his place to ask.

The first thrust went in below the shoulder blade. The blade pierced the thick cloth, skin, and muscle.

The sobs twisted into a short, shrill scream, stifled by the fabric. The figure arched forward, then slumped limply.

Blood didn't pause. The second stab, then the third...

Most of the blows landed in the back and the side. This wasn't an efficient execution. It was more like a prolonged torture.

With every stab, the sobs and struggles grew weaker, until at last there was nothing but the dull sound of the blade entering flesh and Blood's own breathing growing heavier.

More than a dozen stabs...

He stopped. Beads of blood dripped from the tip of the dagger and gathered in a small pool on the floor.

The figure had gone completely still. Only the burlap had changed color, darkening as it soaked through with blood.

Cheese watched silently from the side. He sensed something was wrong, but couldn't say what.

Blood shook the blood from the dagger and turned to Cole.

"I'm done, my lord."

Cole tilted his head slightly, amusement on his handsome, stern face. "Check carefully."

"Make sure."

Blood frowned. The unease in his heart suddenly swelled.

Still, he turned back as instructed and went to the body.

He bent down and used the dagger to pry up a blood-stuck edge of the burlap. Grasping the cold, damp fabric, he yanked it away.

The burlap slid off.

He froze.

The flickering torchlight clearly revealed a pale face, its deep furrows etched by age, twisted by unbearable pain and terror. Cloudy old eyes stared wide open.

Blood knew that face far too well.

"No..." A broken sound escaped Blood's throat.

He stumbled backward.

"No! Impossible!!!"

"Seven save me!!!

"Father!!!"

He spun around, eyes bloodshot, hatred blazing within them with enough force to burn everything to ash!

Dagger in hand, he saw Cole standing there—the bastard who had made him kill his own father!

He had only one thought: kill him!

But Cole shoved Cheese, who was standing beside him, completely stunned, straight into Blood's charge!

"Ah!" Cheese screamed as he collided with Blood. The two of them tumbled to the floor.

A sword flashed down in an instant.

"Urgh! Aah!" Blood let out a terrible scream!

The right hand that had just gripped the dagger was severed at the wrist by a flash of cold silver. It flew away in a spray of blood and landed nearby with a wet smack.

"Hhk..." Cheese curled up, staring in horror at what had happened.

The orderly, heavy, murderous tread of boots echoed down the steps from the dungeon entrance.

More torches poured in, illuminating the blood-soaked chamber as bright as day.

A squad of soldiers in full plate armor filed in silently, moving as one.

The crest of House Hightower gleamed on their armor and shoulder plates in the torchlight.

A steady round of applause rang out.

One clap, then another, then a third. In the dead silence, each sounded especially clear.

Aemond Targaryen stepped through the passage the soldiers had opened.

The twelve-year-old boy wore simple black clothes and an expression of satisfaction.

His uncle, Garvin Hightower, followed close behind, watching in silence.

Blood lay beside his severed hand. The stump of his wrist was a mangled ruin, and agony gnawed at his bones.

He struggled to lift his head and glared at Aemond with his one bloodshot eye. His voice was hoarse with boundless resentment. "W-why... my Prince... why are you doing this to me?!"

Aemond tilted his head as he looked at him.

"Just settling a debt."

"A debt?!" Blood roared with all the strength he had left, spitting blood. "We... we've never done anything to hurt you!

"Maybe we did work for Prince Daemon once... but we were only small fry, following orders!"

"Daemon?" Aemond said softly.

"No, no, no."

"You weren't small fry."

"Think harder."

Blood went rigid. For a moment, even the pain seemed to vanish beneath his utter bewilderment.

Cheese stopped groaning, too, and stared over in terror.

"Of course you don't remember," Aemond said, walking forward slowly. His boots stopped at the edge of the pool of blood.

"You owe the Targaryens a blood debt..."

He spoke softly, but his words struck Blood's heart like a hammer.

Blood frantically searched his memories. Dark, blood-soaked fragments of the past raced through his mind, but he couldn't find any trace of a connection to the young Prince.

All he knew was that he'd been set up. He'd killed his own father with his own hands.

All for a debt that didn't even exist?

The collapse brought on by that realization was a thousand times worse than the pain of losing his wrist.

"Ah!!!" A fury and despair he couldn't comprehend tore through him.

His remaining left hand shot out and grabbed for the dagger on the floor, still wet with blood!

He would kill that bastard! If he had to, he'd die with him!

"Whoosh!"

A long arrow cut through the air with deadly precision, pierced the palm of his left hand, and pinned it to the stone wall behind him!

"Urgh!" Blood screamed again. His left hand hung from the wall, his body twisted into a posture of agony.

Behind Aemond, Terra the Huntress lowered her bow, her expression impassive.

"My Prince! Spare me! Please, spare me!" Cheese broke down completely. Tears and snot streamed down his face. He ignored the wound in his abdomen and scrambled toward Aemond on his hands and feet.

"It was him! That damn fool offended you!"

"I had nothing to do with it! I don't know anything! I'm loyal to you... I've always wanted to serve you!"

"I... I'll confess! We did a lot of work for Prince Daemon."

"I know his secrets. I know the secret passages in the Red Keep. I can still be useful! I'm definitely useful to you!"

He crawled to Aemond's feet and tried to cling to his black boots.

Aemond looked down at him, his violet eyes utterly indifferent.

Suddenly, he bent down, grabbed Cheese by his greasy, tangled hair, yanked his face up, and slammed it against the rough stone wall beside them!

"Thud!"

The dull impact rang out. Darkness and stars filled Cheese's vision, and a burst of pain exploded across his forehead.

Aemond let go. Cheese crumpled like a rag.

The boy took a spotless white silk handkerchief from his pocket and unhurriedly wiped the fingers that had touched Cheese's hair.

"A pity," Aemond said, looking at Blood, pinned to the wall, barely breathing from the blood loss and agony, yet still glaring at him. He shook his head. "You have only one relative."

"That's far too easy on you."

At that, Blood cursed Aemond, while Aemond quietly watched him, taking in the resentment, bewilderment, fury, and pain.

After a while, he drew his sword.

He walked up to Blood and looked into his furious, bewildered eyes.

Blood demanded through his pain,

"Why?!"

"Why are you doing this?!"

Aemond smiled at him and said softly,

"There isn't always a reason."

The blade flashed in a swift arc.

Blood's head left his neck and hung in the air for an instant. Pain and confusion remained in his wide-open eyes as it rolled to a stop in front of Cheese.

Cheese was terrified out of his mind by his companion's head lying so close, but the instinct to survive overpowered everything else.

He struggled again, crawling toward Aemond with the last of his strength. He clung to the boy's leg and begged incoherently through his sobs:

"No... don't kill me... my Prince... I can still be useful... I really can..."

"Everything I know about Prince Daemon... I'll tell you all of it... please..."

Aemond lowered his head and looked at the fat man at his feet, his face smeared with snot, tears, and blood as he trembled.

"Don't rush," he said, gently kicking Cheese's hand aside.

"You're the star of the show today."

He raised his voice slightly.

"Bring everyone up here."