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The Black Cells, Red Keep.
Late at night, the stone stairs of the dungeon spiraled downward into darkness.
Ser Criston Cole walked in silence, his white cloak stark against the gloom.
In front of him, the two "rats," Blood and Cheese, stumbled forward, driven by the point of his scabbard.
"M-my lord..." Cheese's voice carried an irrepressible tremor.
His small, beady eyes darted uneasily as he looked back at the knight.
"The Prince is summoning us... in a place like this?"
Cole did not answer. He stopped them in a circular interrogation chamber, lit by sputtering torches.
In the center of the cell, a figure wrapped tightly from head to toe in grayish-brown burlap was kneeling on the cold stone floor.
The fabric was thick, making it impossible to discern any facial features or body shape.
Only a muffled, indistinct sob, carrying a hint of struggle, escaped from within the bindings.
Blood's single eye narrowed.
He had seen this scene too many times. Usually, it was something they prepared for their victims in the back alleys of Flea Bottom.
Cole drew a dagger from his waist.
The blade's edge shimmered with a cold light under the torchlight.
He handed it to Blood.
Blood did not take it immediately. He looked at the dagger, then at the sobbing figure.
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
"My lord, this is..."
"You will do it. This is the Prince's command," Cole ordered, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Prove your loyalty."
Blood and Cheese looked at each other. Cheese was sweating profusely.
Then, Blood swallowed hard. He reached out and took the dagger.
He walked toward the person wrapped in burlap.
The sobbing grew suddenly louder as Blood approached, the wailing whimpers seemingly pleading for him to stop... but Blood walked on regardless.
He was a professional. He didn't ask questions.
The body wrapped in the cloth began to tremble, fruitlessly scuffing backward across the stones.
Blood stood still behind it and raised the dagger.
At this moment, if His Highness wants this person dead, then he must die.
As for the reason? That is not for a rat catcher to ask.
Thud.
The first strike stabbed in from below the shoulder blade. The blade tore through the thick cloth, skin, and muscle.
The sobbing instantly twisted into a short, sharp scream muffled by the fabric.
The figure arched forward and then slumped down powerlessly.
Blood did not pause. The second strike, the third... most of the blade's hits landed on the back and waist.
This was not an efficient execution; it was a butchering.
With every strike, the sobbing and struggling grew weaker until, finally, only the dull sound of the blade entering flesh and Blood's own heavy breathing remained.
A full dozen stabs later... He stopped.
The blood dripping from the tip of the blade formed a small puddle on the ground.
The figure was completely motionless, the burlap turning dark black after being soaked.
Cheese watched silently from the side, wringing his hands.
He vaguely felt something was wrong, the shape under the cloth, the sound of the voice, but he couldn't say what.
Blood flicked the gore off the dagger, turned around, and looked at Cole.
"I'm finished, my lord."
Cole tilted his head slightly, a playful, cruel expression on his handsome face.
"Check it carefully."
"Confirm the kill."
Blood frowned. The unease in his heart suddenly expanded like a cold balloon in his chest.
But he turned as told and walked back to the corpse.
He bent down, used the dagger to pry open the edge of the burlap soaked with blood, grabbed the damp fabric with his fingers, and gave a hard pull.
The burlap slid off.
His whole body froze.
The firelight flickered, clearly illuminating the face, pale, covered in deep furrows carved by time, distorted by extreme pain and horror, with cloudy old eyes wide open in accusation.
This face was all too familiar to Blood.
"No..." a broken sound squeezed out of Blood's throat.
He stumbled backward, dropping the dagger.
"No! It's impossible!!!"
"The Seven!!! FATHER!!!"
He turned abruptly, his eye bloodshot and crimson, burning with a hatred enough to incinerate the world!
He saw Cole standing there, the bastard who had made him kill his own kin!
His only thought was to kill him!
He lunged.
But Cole gave a shove, slamming the completely stunned Cheese toward the direction Blood was charging!
"Ah!" Cheese cried out, colliding head-on with Blood.
The two rolled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
A flash of sword light slashed across in an instant.
"Ugh! Ah!!" Blood let out a wretched howl!
A cold silver light swept across his right wrist. It instantly detached from his body, flying off with a spray of blood and landing with a wet thud not far away.
"Heh..." Cheese curled up, watching everything in terror.
Orderly, heavy, and grim footsteps came from the stairs.
More torches flooded in, lighting up the bloody cell as bright as day.
A squad of soldiers in full plate armor filed in silently.
On their breastplates, the lighthouse sigil of House Hightower shimmered.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Crisp applause rang out in the dead silence.
Aemond Targaryen stepped out from the path the soldiers cleared.
A twelve-year-old boy in simple black clothes, a satisfied smile on his face. His uncle, Gwayne Hightower, followed closely behind, watching in grim silence.
Blood lay beside his severed hand, his wrist a bloody stump, the pain gnawing at his bones. He struggled to raise his head, staring fixedly at Aemond.
"Wh... why... Prince... why... do this to me?!" his voice was hoarse with overwhelming resentment.
Aemond tilted his head slightly.
"Just paying a debt."
"Paying a debt?!" Blood roared, spitting bloody foam.
"We... we never did anything to wrong you! Maybe we once worked for Daemon... but we are just small characters who followed orders!"
"Daemon?" Aemond said softly.
"No, no, no. You are no small characters. Think about it again."
Blood froze. Even the intense pain seemed covered by a massive sense of bewilderment.
"Of course you wouldn't remember," Aemond stepped forward slowly, his boots treading on the edge of the pool of blood.
"You owe the Targaryens a debt of blood..."
A son for a son, Aemond thought. Or in this case, a father for a son. A preemptive collection.
Blood frantically searched his mind; fragments of his dark past flashed by, but he could not find any trace related to this Prince.
He only knew he had been set up; he had killed his own father with his own hands.
All because of a debt that didn't even exist?
The breakdown brought by this realization was worse than the pain of his severed wrist.
"Ah!!!"
Incomprehensible rage and despair pierced through him.
His remaining left hand suddenly reached out, grabbing for the blood-wet dagger on the ground! He was going to take this bastard down with him!
Thwack!
A long arrow whistled through the air, precise and ruthless, piercing directly through the palm of his left hand and pinning it firmly to the stone wall behind him!
"Ugh-ah!" Blood screamed again, his body suspended by his pinned hand, twisted into agony.
Behind Aemond, the huntress Terra lowered her bow expressionlessly.
"Your Highness! Your Highness, spare me! Spare my life!"
Cheese broke down completely. He ignored the bruises and crawled toward Aemond on all fours, sobbing.
"It was him! It was this damned fool who offended you! It has nothing to do with me! I know nothing! I am loyal to you... I've always wanted to serve you!"
"I... I confess! We did many things for Prince Daemon. I know his secrets, I know the secret passages of the Red Keep! I'm still useful! Please!"
He crawled to Aemond's feet, attempting to grab the black boots.
Aemond looked down at him, his purple eyes containing only indifference.
He suddenly bent down, grabbed a handful of Cheese's greasy, matted hair, yanked his face up, and then slammed it hard against the rough stone wall!
CRACK!
Cheese's vision filled with darkness as pain exploded in his skull. He slumped down like a rag.
Aemond took out a pure white silk handkerchief and unhurriedly wiped his fingers.
"A pity," Aemond said, looking at Blood, who was pinned to the wall, gasping for breath.
"You only have one relative here. This is really letting you off too easy."
Blood cursed Aemond with every breath he had left.
Aemond drew the sword at his waist. He walked in front of Blood, looking into that single eye full of anger and confusion.
"Why!?" Blood screamed.
"Just why!?"
Aemond looked at him with a gentle smile.
"There aren't that many whys. Sometimes, the debt is paid before it is incurred."
The sword traced a silver arc.
Shing.
Blood's head left his neck. With eyes wide open in eternal confusion, it tumbled to the ground and stopped in front of Cheese.
Cheese shrieked, scrambling back from the severed head.
"No... don't kill me... Your Highness... I'm still useful..."
Aemond looked down at the fat rat catcher, face smeared with snot and blood.
"Don't be in such a hurry," he said, lightly kicking away Cheese's reaching hand.
"You are the protagonist today."
He raised his voice to the guards.
"Bring them all up."
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