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The Icefyre Conquest 23
🕑 Added 2023-08-22 12:38:44 +0000 UTCRight now, Lorch’s horse was the only one out of every mare currently in Winterfell who was in heat. The Northern mares had already had their mating season a few weeks ago, while of those from the south, not many possessed mares to begin with—especially the knighted soldiers, as it was considered unsightly to ride upon a female mount according to the Seven-Pointed Star.
It had taken just a couple of times for my current steed and his mare to begin mating, and each time, I had pulled him away with the help of the stablemaster before anything more than a few sniffs and snorts could happen. And now that it was free from the reins, it was going to find that mare in heat to rut into her…while leading me straight to Lorch. While poisoning him in the castle, or stabbing him in some secluded corner of Wintertown was more than doable—I didn’t want this to just be a murder, just another kill for me.
I don’t know what this was going to be, whether someone would call it revenge, justice, or just bloodthirst…but what I did know was that Amory Lorch was going to feel every second and moment of pain that girl in the Red Keep had felt. I wanted him to scream, to beg before me for mercy that I was never going to give to him, and as I idly fingered the hilt of my dagger, I wondered if my grandsire would have been proud of my thinking.
Shaking my head to dispel the thoughts better left forgotten, I looked ahead as the horse began to trot faster than before, snorting heavily as it jumped over a creek. Taking a deep breath, I felt the cold air enter my lungs, the familiar chill in my nose and chest calming me down as I palmed the hilt of the dagger at my waist. Feeling the rough, worn-down leather on my palm, I breathed out and moved after the animal, finally able to hear the cursing of the Westerland Knight as his own mare began to react. Climbing over an exposed root, I watched him lower his bow as he slid off the mare, cursing and scowling as he slapped the beast’s flank.
“What the fuck is wro-of course it is another horse,” the man cursed as he saw my horse walk into view, the animal throwing its head around and displaying its mane as it moved towards the mare. Growling slightly, Lorch dropped his bow and drew his sword, advancing towards my steed, only for his eyes to catch the slight saddle, as well as the white dire wolf sewn on one of the bags attached to it, “Wait…you are that bastard's horse!”
“I am surprised you gave me enough attention to notice that,” I answered, picking up a piece of wood from the ground, and walking towards the Knight casually. Right as he started to whirl around, I swung my arm sharply, smashing the half-rotten wood right into his temple, “But then again, could just be your habit to hurt and kill children.” The wood broke into pieces as it connected with Lorch’s head, and I dropped the bit remaining in my hand as the Westerland Knight fell to the ground like a stringless puppet.
Blinking open his eyes, Lorch winced as he felt the throbbing over his temple, the dull pulsing of pain reminding of how he had been attacked by that Northman’s ba- “You northern dog!” He roared out, remembering with a jolt the face of the Snow as he had smashed his head with the wood. He jerked, feeling rough ropes binding him to the tree behind him, and as his vision returned, he saw that he was at the mouth of a cave, rocks, and mud on the ground beneath him…while a fucking wall of ice covered the entrance? “What devilry is this?! Where the fuck are you, Jon Snow?! Remove these right now or Lord Tywin shall make a second Castamere out of you and the Starks!and I will probably leave you alive, otherwise, you don’t know what my Lord will do to you and your house for this!”
He growled, pulling against the ropes binding him to the roots, wincing as he felt them cut into his wrists. Giving up on freeing himself by force, he glared around, taking note of his weapons sitting just out of his reach. By the Seven, he was going to skin the bastard alive for this…whatever this was supposed to be. No doubt the kid thought that it was a fun game to do, but he was going to gut the bastard in front of his fath-
“You are awake,” a voice broke through his thoughts, and Lorch lurched as he saw the subject of his murderous thoughts walk towards him from inside the cave, the light from outside showing his pale face as the bastard fucking smiled. “I was about to throw some water on you, but then I thought that you should get to enjoy your sleep a little more.”
“You think this is funny do you?!” He seethed with rage, his face reddening as he jerked forwards in vain, wishing that he could wrap his fingers around the smirking pig’s throat and squeeze the life out of him—however, bound as he was, Lorch had to settle for just growling in rage and spitting fire with his eyes at his capto., “If you know what is good for you, then cut me loose right now! Otherwise, when my men find us, it is not going to be pretty for you or your father! You don’t know what kind of shit you are stepping into, bastard, especially with Lord Tywin just a league away at most!”
“That is if he can hear your screams, Lorch,” the bastard replied flippantly as he sat down in front of him, just out of the reach of his legs. His eyes glinted in the shadows as he waved a hand towards the wall of ice covering the mouth of the cave. “That is thick enough to cover any noises you are going to make, and well, you don’t need to worry about whatever the Old Lion might do or not. You have something else to think about.”
Before he could even understand what in the name of the Mother the boy was talking about, a sharp, painful sensation in his leg made him look down…only to blink at the sight of the spear of ice coming out of his foot. It was a thin thing, barely as wide as his finger, and it had pierced clear through one of his toes, puncturing through the bone and leather cleanly. Then he felt the full brunt of the pain as he tried to move his foot, only to grunt as he felt the ice grate against the insides of his foot.
“What th- where the fuck did that come from?” He shouted, feeling the numbness settle over his foot as he somehow stopped struggling, feeling the ropes in his wrists burn against his skin as he stared at the ice, “Am I dream-”
“No you aren’t,” the bastard interrupted with a small smile, reaching out to poke the thin spear of ice, “I assure you, this is quite real…and well, I have a few questions for you.”
“Are you fucking wi-AHHH!” His disbelieving rant turned into a scream as Snow raised his hand, and another spear sprouted out of the ground right into his ankle. His eyes widened even as the pain made his head spin, because as stupid and mind-boggling it was…spears of ice didn’t just sprout out of nowhere, and this was definitely no dream, otherwise, he would have woken up long ago from this farce, “Wh-What the fuck is happe-what are you doing you bloody cockroach!”
“Stop screaming will you?” The boy chuckled, flicking the second spike sharply as he leaned back and cracked his knuckles. Another icicle grew out of the slightly snowy ground to meet his hand like those fucking fire wizards from Essos, “This is probably not even a hundredth of the pain you gave to that girl in the Red Keep. I mean, how many times did you stab her? Fifty or some, right?”
“Magic!” He gasped, his eyes wide as he focused on the piece of ice in the Stark’s hand, a pale, transparent thing as big as his palm and shaped like a leaf, “The fuck?! What devilry are you doing you fucking bastard?! I will hang you by your intestines in front of your father you son of a bitch! Leave me alone and cut me loose right now, or I swear I am going to break your sister right in front of you before passing her onto Clegane and the hors-ughh!”
Snow slammed the dagger he had created into his foot from above, cutting through the leather right into the middle of his foot. And finally, unable to control himself, Lorch screamed, feeling the numbing pain spread out from the inside of his foot as Snow lifted his hand, leaving the dagger in place. “You shouldn’t say such things when in the presence of someone who can do magic, “ the bastard tsked, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood up, kicking one of the spikes and sending a lance of agony up his foot. “Now, tell me about the day you went up the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast. Don’t try to act tough Lorch, we both know that you are not brave, but just a cruel asshole with a powerful Lord backing you.”
Scared and out of his wits as Lorch was—and just how the fuck was the bastard doing magic of all things?!—he knew that currently, his best bet was to agree with whatever the mad dog in front of him said, while hoping for someone to find them. Nodding in agreement, Lorch moved his fingers around on the mossy ground, hoping to find anything sharp enough to saw through the vines binding his arms as he looked at the boy before him warily. “What do you want to know?”
“How did you guys get up to Maegor’s Holdfast?” The boy asked first, raising a finger as a small spike of ice grew out of his fucking fingertip, “Don’t give me that crap about scaling the walls. I know for a fact that you can’t climb for shit, and the Mountain is too heavy to use a couple of ropes like a normal soldier. Besides, everyone knows that Maegor's Holdfast isn’t accessible from the outside due to the gaps in the walls.”
“What do you mean how we got in?” He grunted out, sweat beading on his forehead as he felt the sting on his wounds, his eyes flicking down to the bloodless icicles sticking out of his leg, “We scaled up the walls with hooks and ropes, and entered through the balconies and th-FUCK!”
Snow’s hand grabbed his mangled ankle, and he squeezed the swelled-up heel of his foot harshly, making him shout in pain as he felt the ice move against his bones, and sheer torture made his head spin for a moment. He had never experienced anything like this, except for the time when a piece of wood had lodged itself inside his arm during a joust—and even then, the Maesters had removed it swiftly instead of torturing him from the inside!
“I said I want the truth,” the boy commented softly as if talking about the weather, pushing in his fingers and twisting sharply, and Lorch bit his lips as the pain became too much for a moment. Snow pulled back his hand, flicking away the drops of blood on it as he stared at him, “Now, let's try that again. How did you and the rest of Tywin’s men get into Maegor’s Holdfast?”
“You think Tywin will let this go?” he wheezed out, feeling the way blood pulsed out from the holes in his foot as he glared at the bastard before him, “He will destroy you like he did the Tarbecks and the Reynes. Even Aerys was nothing before his anger, and you think he will leave you alive after he sees what you are and what you have done?”
“That depends on whether he knows that it is me or not,” Snow replied, standing and taking a step forward to press upon Lorch’s foot with his own, snapping the ice under his heel and making the man choke on his own words, “After all, how many people will believe that Ned Stark’s bastard can torture and stab someone so many times, especially the famed Manticore? Also, you are forgetting something Lorch…Tywin isn’t here, and neither will he be, but I am.”
The boy leaned down and caught the leg Lorch tried to kick him with, and the sheer disappointment in the boy’s eyes enraged him more as he began to struggle, leaning forwards to somehow bite the neck of the devil and make a run for it. “Honestly,” he began, his grey eyes closing for a moment as he pressed down upon his injured ankle, tearing a short scream from his throat, right before a punch slammed into his face from the side, “You are making this more difficult than it has to be. Just tell me what I want to know, before I decide to see if you can survive fifty stabs or not.”
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It had taken me almost half an hour to get everything from the blubbering, bleeding mess before me, Holes and cuts littered his legs and arms, while three of his fingers were broken and mangled beyond recognition. Both of his eyes were swollen, and I watched with apathy as he coughed some blood out on his gambeson, his chestplate long since removed so that I could break his ribs. His right knee was broken, and two of his teeth lay in his lap along with his own drool and blood. And he had pissed his pants.
I may have overdone it a little when he threatened my sister and family repeatedly.
But at least the information had been well worth it. Lorch and Clegane were two of Tywin’s most trusted men, probably right behind his own brother, Kevan Lannister. And while Clegane was a mad dog aptly named the Mountain, Lorch was much more useful to Tywin. While not much of a fighter, Lorch was intelligent and cruel in equal measures, which meant he was privy to a lot of Tywin’s deeds—a lot of which weren’t even known to Westeros, or even his own family.
Like how Tywin had conspired to get rid of his younger son’s wife by painting her as a whore, all with the help of Jamie Lannister no less.
Or the fact that Tywin had gotten a bastard or two of his brother Kevan, and even one of his Tygett killed to ensure no issues with succession came up, especially after their mothers demanded a life in Casterly Rock.
Tywin Lannister was so obsessed with his legacy and Lannister's name that he probably jerked off to it.
Sighing a little as I stood up, I looked down at the man before me. Materializing some ince over my hands, I melted it the next moment, washing the blood off my hands. I watched the last of the red-tinted water fall to the cave’s floor, seeping through the moss and cracks in the ground within moments. “What a mess,” I sighed, turning away to bring the man’s chestplate and weapons so that I could tie them back to his body. Fastening the straps of his armor, I looked Lorch right in his barely open eyes, “You told me so much today Lorch, so I guess I can tell you one little thing before you die.”
The man just warbled out a wheezing ‘what’, his nose running and his head lolling to the side as I strapped his sword to his waist, wrinkling my nose at the mucus that dripped down on my fingers. Wiping them clean on his trousers, I brought over his armored boots from the horses outside next, sliding them on his feet and tying the knots behind his shins. “Do you know how the Rebellion ended, Lorch?” I began softly, moving around to cut the vines tying the man to the tangle of roots on the cave’s wall. The man simply whimpered, and I saw how the rough vines had cut into wrists, rubbing the skin and the flesh beneath raw, “Robert defeated Rhaegar on the Trident, while Eddard Stark killed the three remaining KIngsguard and brought his sister’s body North. Except for one thing…Lyanna Stark gave birth to two children.”
Lorch stilled for a moment beneath me, and as I cut open his hands fully, he lurched forwards on hsi broken knee, his left hand moving to grip the hilt of his sword. I watched as he let out a choked scream, the sudden movement on his fractured knee and broken fingers sending him crashing to the ground as he tried to turn over, wheezing and gurgling helplessly like a worm. Raising my foot, I brought it down on his ankle, crushing the bones underneath the sabaton viciously as the copper dented underneath my leg.
Lorch screamed, his voice broken and tired beyond measure as I pressed down on the broken joint, taking delight in the way he writhed against the ground. Finally, now that I had every bit of information I needed from the man…I was free to kill him. Kill the man who had been a stepping stone, a hurdle to pass, a mission since the very start of my life. I myself didn’t understand it, but even though I had never seen Aegon or Rhaenys, I somehow felt responsible to avenge their deaths. It was confusing, since beyond Visenya and the Starks, I shouldn’t have really developed any attachments to anyone, especially to my dead half-siblings, but that hadn't really mattered for some reason.
I hated Lorch and Clegane as much as I had hated Harras—and well, it would go along way to get the Dornish on my side…whenever I got to creating a side for myself that is.
Grabbing him by his long, matted hair, I grunted as I heaved, dragging the man to the mouth of the cave—by the Old Gods was the man heavy! Waving a hand at the barrier of ice separating us from the forest outside, I forced it upwards to form a few stalactites, and dragged Lorch’s mostly unmoving form to the mouth of the cave. Wiping my hands clean on the man’s trousers, I kneeled down and looked him in the eye, his swollen red ones staring back at me blearily.
“I am that child, birthed by Lyanna Targaryen on her deathbed,” I murmured, and Lorch just groaned in response, his eyes closing in pain and what I assumed to be the realization of his death as I stood up, “You should know, that the girl you killed in the Red Keep wasn’t even my sister. Rhaenys Targaryen yet lives, and one day, when you meet Tywin and Clegane again, remember that you helped me a lot, Amory Lorch.”
Moving away, I grabbed my horse and pulled it away from the female, both of them rearing up and shuffling around at the sudden smell of blood and urine that began to permeate the area. Climbing on it, I pulled on the reins and turned it around moving away slowly as I looked at Lorch’s feebly moving form, before my eyes flicked over to the hanging ice above him.
With a thought, they flew through the air into his body, the squelching sounds of ice crushing and piercing through his flesh making me shudder for a moment as I saw the way Lorch’s body was mutilated beyond recognition. My hair stood on the end, and I barely controlled the bile that rose through my stomach as I grit my teeth and move in the direction of the camp. This was the first time I had tortured someone, ignored the cries begging for mercy and apologies to mutilate and carve the flesh before me…and it had been more difficult than I had imagined.
But I had to steel myself.
Not just for me, but for Visenya too…because this was just the beginning.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“What are you thinking about?” Robb’s voice echoed in the empty Godswood, and I jumped in my place, turning around to look at my cousin as he came to stop beside me, “Never seen you so lost in your head.”
“Just thinking about the war,” I answered, my eyes returning to the smiling face of the Weirwood, “Lorch’s body stored in the ice?”
“Hm, yeah,” he nodded, sighing the next moment as he sat down on the ground, removing his fur cloak and laying it below him, “Septa Mordane raised a fuss about how a Knight of the Seven, that too one as decorated as Ser Lorch shouldn’t have died in the North…and the stupid bint did that right in front of Blackwood and Galbart both. As if I don’t already have enough trouble to deal with.”
“You should send the goat away,” I chuckled, sitting down beside him and scooping up a bit of snow in my hand, chucking it at the unsuspecting Heir of the North “I mean, Catelyn can teach RIckon all about the Seven, and to be honest, all that is a stupid load of crap from people who didn’t like our land and people…or anyone more powerful than themselves.”
“Careful,” he grinned, wiping the snow off his face as he laughed loudly, “Don’t let my Lady Mother hear you speak about that, or she will declare you a heathen and send you outside Winterfell. Then what shall I do without my brother and the commander of my forces, eh Snow?”
“Probably die in a ditch while reciting the etiquettes and laws of the Seven Who Are One,” I rolled my eyes, shoving him away, right before a snowball slammed into my head from behind. SPuttering in surprise as Robb guffawed, I turned around to glare at my assailant, spitting out snow from my mouth as I straightened up, “And who the fuck is this?”
“SNOW FIGHT!” Arya Stark screamed, and another snowball smacked me in the face, courtesy of little Bran standing besides her, while Sansa and her servant stood off to the side, aghast expressions on their faces. Glaring at the littlest Starks before me, I grabbed some snow from the ground, and crushing it into a ball, I advanced on my enemies—both of whom seemed to realize the danger as they gulped and looked towards Robb. But it wasn’t going to do them any good, not when I could simply pick them up and throw them into the pool behind me.
That would teach them about throwing snow on your elder brother.
