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GOT Chapter 91: The Massacre at Raventree Hall
🕑 Added 2025-08-25 06:21:51 +0000 UTCKal raced through the stormy night with superhuman speed. The moment his eyes caught sight of Raventree Hall ahead— And once he confirmed no
Kal raced through the stormy night with superhuman speed. The moment his eyes caught sight of Raventree Hall ahead—
And once he confirmed no one had kept pace with him—
He didn’t hesitate for an instant. Kal flung aside the grappling hook he’d been carrying, used only to mislead the others.
Just as he was about to crash into the moss-covered ancient stone wall, his foot pressed lightly against the ground. He vaulted upward, then pushed off a crevice in the masonry, soaring onto the battlements of Raventree Hall.
As ill luck would have it, not far from where he landed, a soldier had come out in the middle of the night to piss.
When the rain began to fall, the man hadn’t even finished tucking himself away; he was lingering beneath the archway of the tower gate, seeking shelter from the downpour.
But suddenly—he heard the rush of air, and in the next heartbeat, a figure stood before him.
The unlucky man had been discovered.
Kal’s fingers brushed lightly against his belt, and the gilded longsword once belonging to the Kingslayer appeared in his hand.
He raised the sword, fixed his gaze upon the soldier—and with a casual flick of his wrist, the weapon flew.
In an instant it spanned the space between them, piercing the Lannister soldier’s throat, severing his cervical vertebra, and ripping open half his neck.
“Nh—”
A cry so faint it was nearly inaudible drowned within the rain and thunder.
Blood sprayed under high pressure from the torn neck the moment it burst open, scattering freely against the driving storm.
[Thud!]
The man’s body crumpled to the ground, half his torso still within the dry archway, but his ruined throat already submerged in the rainwater outside the tower.
Kal strode forward, grasped the hilt of the longsword now lodged deep in the brick wall behind, and pulled it free.
A quick inspection showed that, thanks to the pre-applied [Weapon Enchant], it bore no damage at all.
Still, its edge—once unnaturally sharp—seemed to have undergone some subtle change.
Then, within that same gatehouse, Kal methodically cut down seven or eight more men, tearing their heads apart with effortless precision.
Soon after, he found what he was looking for: the rotary lever that controlled the great city gate.
And just as Jon Snow and the others burst from the orchard outside and reached the walls of Raventree Hall—
They arrived in time to see the heavy, iron-bound gate, massive and reinforced with thick steel, slowly rising from the ground.
It was as if Raventree Hall, at that very moment, welcomed them like a maiden unable to wait any longer.
Slightly startled, Jon Snow didn’t pause to think. He was the first to charge through the city gate.
The more than two hundred men behind him rushed in close on his heels.
And in less than the time it takes to draw a dozen breaths—
This valley fortress, once like a paradise hidden from the world, erupted with the sounds of slaughter.
Caught off guard by the sudden assault, compounded by the midnight storm, the Lannister soldiers—rudely roused from their deep sleep—hadn’t even managed to grasp their weapons before blades struck them down.
Whether dead or not, they fell where they stood.
Armor against none. Prepared ambush against men dragged out of dreams.
This was a massacre.
An undisputed massacre.
Of the Lannisters’ thousand soldiers, by the time the chaos abated enough for them to rally, fewer than four hundred remained. More than half had already been cut down, killed or maimed in the first wave.
But just as the survivors, under the shouted orders of their captains, began to scrape together a defensive line—
A towering figure strode into view through the thunder and storm.
Clad in heavy plate, dragging a massive warhammer whose head rang against the cobblestones with every step—the haft alone as thick as a child’s arm—he advanced through the night rain and flashing lightning.
He stopped before the Lannister line, then slowly raised his head.
Upon it rested a great antlered helm. In the dim light of the storm, he loomed only as a colossal shadow.
But in the faint gleam of what light remained from the sky, one detail shone clear: the golden crowned stag, leaping proud as though across sea cliffs and the Milky Way.
“Bar–Baratheon?!”
The cry burst from a knight who recognized the sigil.
What answered him was the warhammer rising, the head arcing down in a spray of shattered raindrops—
And the splintering of a skull, insignificant and fragile, beneath its crushing weight.
...
The night would always pass, and morning arrived as promised. The first light of dawn had only just begun to glow, yet Blackwood Vale lay shrouded in thick, lingering mist.
Here and there, the cawing of ravens echoed through the haze.
The thin fog drifted across the verdant valley, but within the stronghold of House Blackwood, the ground was strewn with corpses.
On the ancient stone walls, moss was soaked with the blood that had long since gone cold. The once-green stains had turned into a grotesque mixture of blackish red and dark green, forming a strange, mottled brown.
Upon the two massive square towers, the golden roaring lions of House Lannister had already vanished without a trace. What remained now were bare, weathered stones.
In their place, at each square watchtower along the battlements, Stark soldiers now stood sentinel, scanning the surroundings with vigilance.
Their sentries stretched outward, even up onto the hills beyond Blackwood Vale.
They had replaced the roaring lions of Lannister with their own bodies, their clothing in Stark colors serving as the new banners.
As for the others—those not on guard duty—they were the men of House Stark who had labored through the night without rest, pushing through exhaustion to clear the battlefield.
They carried the bodies out of Raventree Hall and laid them together in a muddy clearing beyond the castle walls.
For the rest, they had no time to attend.
Within Blackwood Vale, the common folk who once lived here hid in their homes, daring only to peer through cracks in doors and shutters. After a night of storm and slaughter, the castle had once again fallen into the hands of strangers.
They whispered in the shadows, but not a single one dared step outside.
Inside the castle grounds of Raventree Hall lay a muddy yard, a timber hall like a cavern, and a small godswood.
Within that godswood stood an enormous, long-dead heart tree.
Kal still wore the same garb from the night before, save for the waxed woolen hood that had disappeared.
He had planted his warhammer into the muddy earth before him, both hands resting upon its haft, his head tilted up as he gazed at the dead heart tree, lost in thought.
The clothes beneath his armor were still drenched, so that from the seams of his plates water continued to drip, tinged red with blood.
“Boss—my lord,” Hall’s voice came from behind, tireless even after a full night’s work. “In the castle, we found members of House Blackwood that had been imprisoned by the Lannister soldiers.”
“They say they are the children of Lord Titus Blackwood. They wish to see you.”
Kal turned his head slightly at the sound, casting Hall a glance.
“The children of Lord Titus Blackwood?” Kal asked with a trace of doubt.
Hall nodded. “Yes. They were locked inside a stone chamber. Along with them were several craftsmen, a maester, and other figures of some importance.”
“They were all confined together, beneath the tower to the right of the main gate.” As he spoke, Hall lifted his hand and pointed in the direction.
Kal glanced over, and indeed saw that it was the very place where the Lannisters had mounted their final resistance the night before.
A pity, though—what they faced was a towering, human-shaped giant beyond common sense.
Once that massive warhammer began to swing, the only sounds besides the howling rush of air were the crunch of bones breaking beneath its blows.
Under such violence, not even a single scream or wail could take shape.
That last line of defense, before Kal, had been no sturdier than waterlogged paper. With just a breath, it had crumbled apart.
“So, by the looks of it, perhaps last night they meant to use the hostages to force us into negotiation?”
Kal rubbed his chin, his eyes holding a faint trace of irony.
“Well—perhaps—” Hall scratched his head in embarrassment at the remark.
But as his eyes rolled in thought, he quickly provided Ser Kal Stone with an excuse. “Still, among the hundred or so captives we took, not a single one ever mentioned such a thing—”
Kal chuckled at that. “Then it never happened, did it?”
“Of course!” Hall laughed as well.
Having convinced himself that it wasn’t he who had denied those dead men their chance, Kal lifted his gaze once more toward the ancient, long-dead heart tree before him. Finally, his eyes settled on the face carved into its trunk.
Watching that face, from which red sap still seeped, Kal allowed a meaningful smile to cross his lips. Then he hefted his hammer again, turned, and strode off toward the direction Hall had pointed out earlier.
“Let’s go take a look, and ask the Blackwood family just what exactly has been happening here in Raventree Hall,” Kal said as he walked. Then, as if recalling something, he turned his head to remind Hall once more.
“And tell Kossi I need to know how many Lannister troops spread out from here as their base, and precisely in which directions. I know he can handle this task.”
“Yes, my lord, I’ll go inform him at once!”
“Mm.”
Kal strode forward with forceful steps, the bloodstained plates of his armor clanging with metallic echoes as he moved. The sound startled flocks of ravens perched upon the dead heart tree.
With harsh cries, they took wing, circling above Raventree Hall like a black cloud before slowly dispersing, vanishing to who knew where.
When Kal arrived at the stone chamber Hall had spoken of, he raised his eyes. Stark soldiers, having replaced the Lannisters, now stood guard at the entrance.
They lined up in two rows along the corners of the walls, perhaps a dozen or twenty in all.
And as Kal appeared, they turned their heads one after another, gazes filled with astonishment, awe, and other shades of the same meaning—
As though they were staring at a legend.
Meeting their collective salute of eyes, Kal gave them a gentle smile before lowering his gaze to the group of a dozen people gathered in the center.
This was a relatively spacious chamber. Several tables, chairs, and benches were set about, suggesting it had once served as a dining hall.
At the heart of the group sat five children.
Kal’s eyes settled on them at once, for they clearly formed the center around which the others gathered.
Among them, aside from a little girl of no more than seven or eight years, the rest were boys. The eldest appeared to be fifteen or sixteen, about Jon’s age.
And indeed, Jon Snow was here too, hanging about rather than hauling corpses with the others.
Kal paid him no mind. He walked straight toward the five children at the center.
But as he passed by Jon, he casually placed his warhammer into the boy’s hands.
