Unavoidable Fate

The smell of charred flesh.

It was the stench of human flesh and fat bursting in fierce flames, mingled with the smoke and scorch of burning hay.

On this cold, clear dawn, it clogged everyone's throats.

Countless stakes stood in the center of Oxford Town's square, flames like greedy tongues licking at the figures bound to them.

They were the more than one hundred septons who had refused to surrender.

Ser Gregor Clegane lit the bound septons one by one, a cruel, exhilarated smile on his face.

The septons' screams came one after another, so shrill they seemed capable of shattering even the dark clouds overhead.

But as time passed, the cries gradually became low whimpers, until at last there was only the dead silence broken by the crackling of firewood.

Tyrion Lannister stood at a distance, forcing himself to look toward the screams. He could not show even a trace of weakness before the lords of The Westerlands.

"The gods will judge us."

Someone whispered, their voice trembling in the cold wind.

Ser Gregor Clegane turned his massive head and swept his gaze across the pale-faced soldiers of The Westerlands behind him.

No one dared say another word.

Tyrion Lannister looked at the surviving septons standing beside him, shivering uncontrollably.

These were the ones willing to submit.

"This is mercy."

Tyrion Lannister's voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly across the silent square.

"I have cleansed their souls in this world, sparing them the cold of hell."

He turned and stood before the septons.

"Raise your heads."

The septons timidly raised their heads and looked at the misshapen figure giving orders.

Tyrion Lannister pointed at the blackened corpses. "I need you to tell everyone in The Westerlands."

"Septon Anthony, and these people—the divine revelation they heard, where did