Bronn froze for a moment, then a helpless, uncontrollable laugh erupted from deep in his throat.
"Ha! Ha! Hahahahahaha!"
His laughter rang through the empty woods by the river, wild and shrill. The cold, well-trained soldiers around him looked on in disbelief.
Laughing, he slapped his thigh. "Good! Good! Good!"
"Tywin Lannister's brother!"
"I fucking killed Tywin Lannister's brother!"
He remembered the first-issue website domain,
"My worthless life was worth it! A fair trade! Hahahahaha!"
He threw back his head and kept laughing. The ambush tactics he'd learned from Suleiman had certainly come in handy. The disgraceful death of Gerion Lannister, crushed beneath his own warhorse after falling into a pitfall—these great nobles were no better than anyone else.
The only pity was that the caravan hadn't had anything at all, aside from a few damn crystal spectacles! Nothing! Not even a single Gold Dragon! And now he'd paid with his own life!
The encircling soldiers watched the madman laugh, their weapons in hand, waiting for Damon Lannister's orders.
At last, Bronn's laughter slowly died away, replaced by a despair that sank to his bones. He knew better than anyone that being taken alive by the Lannisters would be a hundred times worse than death.
The dungeons of Casterly Rock were full of ways to make a person wish for death.
Especially someone guilty of a crime like his. They wouldn't let him die easily. They'd torture him until he grew old and death finally claimed him. A glint of resolve flashed in his eyes.
He couldn't be captured alive. Absolutely not. His hand crept slowly toward his belt, where he had a small dagger hidden. He'd use it to slit his own throat. That was better than being slowly tortured to death.
In a situation like this, death was