Blood and Cheese Part 1

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

Ser Criston Cole walked in silence.

Ahead of him, the rats called Blood and Cheese shuffled forward, driven by his presence.

"M-my lord..." Cheese's voice trembled with barely suppressed fear, his eyes darting nervously as he looked back at Cole.

"The Prince summons us... in a place like this?"

Cole did not answer. He led them to a circular dungeon chamber, somewhat more spacious than the others, and halted.

In the center of the cell, a figure wrapped head to toe in coarse gray-brown linen knelt on the cold stone ground.

The fabric was thick, revealing nothing of face or form.

Only a muffled, choked whimper escaped from the bindings, laced with a hint of struggle.

Blood's eyes narrowed.

He had seen scenes like this too many times.

Usually, they were the ones preparing them for their victims.

Cole drew a dagger from his belt. The blade glinted coldly in the torchlight.

He offered it to Blood.

Blood did not take it. He looked at the dagger, then at the whimpering figure, his Adam's apple bobbing. "My lord, this is..."

"You do it. The Prince's orders," Cole commanded.

Blood and Cheese exchanged glances.

Then Blood swallowed hard, reached out, and took the dagger.

He walked toward the linen-wrapped figure. The whimpering rose sharply at his approach, a pleading wail as if begging him to stop...

But Blood pressed on regardless.

The body within the cloth began to tremble, futilely scuffling backward.

Blood stood behind it and raised the dagger.

At this moment, if His Highness wanted this man dead, then dead he would be.

As for the reason? That was not his place to ask.

The first thrust sank in below the shoulder blade. The blade tore through thick cloth, skin, and muscle.

The whimper twisted instantly into a short, sharp scream muffled by the fabric. The figure arched forward, then slumped limply.

Blood did not pause. The second thrust, the third...

Most of the blows landed on the back and sides. This was not a clean execution—it was more like a slow butchery.

With each strike, the whimpering and struggling weakened, until at last, only the dull thud of blade into flesh remained, along with Blood's own gradually ragged breathing.

A full dozen strikes...

He stopped. Drops of blood dripped from the blade's tip, pooling on the ground.

The figure was utterly still now, the linen soaked through and stained a deep black.

Cheese watched in silence from the side. A vague wrongness gnawed at him, but he could not name it.

Blood flicked the blood from the dagger, turned, and looked at Cole.

"It's done, my lord."

Cole tilted his head slightly, that handsome, cold face wearing a hint of amusement. "Check carefully."

"Make sure."

Blood frowned. The unease in his heart swelled violently.

But he obeyed, turning back to the corpse.

He bent down, using the dagger to pry up the edge of the linen where it was stuck by blood. His fingers gripped the cold, wet cloth and yanked hard.

The linen slid away.

He froze.

Firelight flickered, clearly illuminating that face—pale, carved deep by the years, twisted in extreme agony and terror, the murky old eyes wide open.

That face, Blood knew too well.

"No..." A broken sound squeezed from Blood's throat.

He staggered backward.

"No! Impossible!!!"

"The Seven!!!

"Father!!!"

He spun around, eyes bloodshot, veins bulging, burning with a hatred that could consume everything!

He held the dagger, and saw Cole standing there—the bastard who had made him a kinslayer!

His only thought was to kill him!

But Cole shoved, sending the utterly frozen Cheese hurtling toward the direction Blood was charging!

"Ah!" Cheese yelped, colliding headlong with Blood. The two tumbled to the ground.

A sword's gleam slashed across in that instant.

"Urgh! Ah!!" Blood let out a wretched scream!

His right hand, the one that had just gripped the dagger, was severed at the wrist by a cold silver flash, flying off with a spray of blood, landing with a wet thud not far away.

"Hah..." Cheese curled up, staring in terror at what had happened.

Orderly, heavy, murderous footsteps echoed from the stairs at the dungeon entrance.

More torches flooded in, turning this bloody place bright as day.

A squad of soldiers in full plate armor, moving in perfect unison, filed in silently.

On their helmets and pauldrons, the sigil of House Hightower glinted in the firelight.

Crisp applause rang out, unhurried.

One clap, two claps, three claps. In the dead silence, the sound was piercingly clear.

Aemond Targaryen stepped out from the path the soldiers had automatically cleared.

A twelve-year-old youth in simple black attire, a satisfied smile on his face.

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

Blood lay beside his own severed hand, the stump a mess of flesh and blood, agony gnawing at his bones.

He struggled to lift his head, fixing his bloodshot eye on Aemond, his voice hoarse with boundless hatred: "Why... Your Highness... why... did you do this to me?!!"

Aemond tilted his head slightly, looking at him.

"Just settling a debt."

"A debt?!" Blood roared with all his strength, spittle flecked with blood, "We... we never did anything to wrong you!

"Maybe we worked for Prince Daemon once... but we were just small players following orders!"

"Daemon?" Aemond said softly.

"No, no, no."

"You weren't small players."

"Think harder."

Blood froze completely, even the searing pain momentarily buried under vast confusion.

Cheese also stopped whimpering, staring over in terror.

"Of course you wouldn't remember." Aemond stepped forward slowly, his boots treading at the edge of the pool of blood.

"You owe House Targaryen some blood debts..."

He spoke softly, but each word struck Blood's heart like a hammer.

He frantically scoured his mind, dark, bloodstained fragments of the past flashing by, yet he found no trace linked to this young prince.

He only knew he had been set up, that he had killed his own father with his own hands.

All for a debt that didn't even exist?

The collapse this realization brought was a thousand times worse than the pain of his severed wrist.

"Ah!!!" Incomprehensible rage and despair tore through him completely.

His remaining left hand shot out, grabbing again for the dagger still wet with blood on the ground!

He would kill this bastard! Die together!

"Fwish!"

An arrow split the air, precise and vicious, piercing straight through the palm of his left hand, pinning it to the stone wall behind him!

"Urgh!" Blood screamed again, his body dangling from the pinned hand, twisted into a painful pose.

Behind Aemond, Terra the Huntress lowered her bow, expressionless.

"Your Highness! Your Highness, have mercy! Mercy!" Cheese completely broke down, tears and snot streaming, ignoring the wound on his belly as he crawled on all fours toward Aemond.

"It was him! This damned fool offended you!

"It's nothing to do with me! I knew nothing! I'm loyal to you... I've always wanted to serve you!

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

"I know his secrets, I know the secret passages in the Red Keep, I'm useful! I'm definitely useful to you!"

He reached Aemond's feet, trying to grab the black boots.

Aemond looked down at him, his violet eyes holding only indifference.

He suddenly bent down, grabbed a fistful of Cheese's greasy, matted hair, yanked his face up, and then slammed it hard against the rough, uneven stone wall beside them.

Thump.

A dull thud. Cheese's vision was instantly flooded with darkness and stars, a searing pain exploding from his forehead.

Aemond let go. Cheese crumpled like a rag.

The Youth pulled a clean white silk handkerchief from his bosom and leisurely wiped the fingers that had just gripped the hair.

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

"That's far too easy on you."

At those words, Blood cursed Aemond, while Aemond quietly watched that defiance, that confusion, that fury, that pain.

After a moment, he drew the sword at his waist.

He walked up to Blood, meeting his eyes full of rage and bewilderment.

Blood demanded through his pain.

"Why!?"

"Why, damn it!?"

Aemond smiled at him and said softly.

"No particular reason."

A flash of the blade cut an arc through the air.

Blood's head left his neck, lingering in the air for a single instant—those wide eyes still holding pain and confusion—before tumbling to the ground, stopping right in front of Cheese.

Cheese, terrified out of his wits by his comrade's head so close, was overwhelmed by the primal instinct to survive.

He struggled again, crawling toward Aemond with the last of his strength, clutching his shin and babbling through tears:

"No... don't kill me... Your Highness... I'm still useful... I really am..."

"About Prince Daemon... everything I know... I've told you... please..."

Aemond looked down at the fat man at his feet, his face a mess of tears, snot, and blood, trembling all over.

"Don't rush," he said, lightly kicking Cheese's hands away.

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

He raised his voice slightly.

"Bring them all up."