Chapter 66: The Shadow Downstairs
Montun, who had just smashed through the door, charged straight in without pausing.
...
The ambushing band of robbers were naturally at a severe disadvantage; more than half of them lost their lives before they could react.
The remaining group of robbers had just retreated to this stone house.
They had just shut the door, and taking advantage of the temporary respite from danger, the robbers were about to discuss their next move when they were startled by the commotion Montun made.
Was this even a man?
The closest robber, in a moment of hesitation, had his skull shattered by Montun.
The bandit leader roared, "To battle!"
A robber gritted his teeth, steeled himself, and gripping his sword tightly, charged toward Montun.
Beneath his helm, a flicker of disgust on Montun's simple face went unseen.
Montun's thick legs strode forward nimbly. The round shield in his left hand smashed down with a bang, swatting the robber, sword and all, aside. The entire motion was filled with a sense of primal strength.
Within the small confines of the room, Montun used his physical advantage to dispatch the nearby robbers in short order.
At this moment, one by one, the Clansmen also poured into the room and joined the slaughter.
As soon as Anguy entered the room, he fixed his gaze on the bandit leader, who was shouting orders but hiding at the very back.
Anguy's lips curled slightly as he pulled an arrow from his quiver.
Just as Anguy was about to draw his bow, the warhammer in Montun's hand, stained red with gore, went spinning through the air.
With a crash, the flying hammer struck the bandit leader squarely in the face, letting out the sound of shattering bone.
...
Anguy switched targets. With a *swish*, an arrow flew, and a robber fell with a cry.
After loosing his arrow, Anguy looked at Montun and said helplessly, "Nice aim!"
Because of the visor, Anguy couldn't see Montun's expression, but from the degree to which the ball of flesh jiggled, he could tell how happily Montun was laughing.
A simple-looking fatty?!
The battle was drawing to a close.
Anguy, forgoing his usual composure, quickly drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and fired a swift shot.
A Clegane clansman holding a battle-axe was just about to take the head of the last robber when the sound of an arrow whistling through the air reached his ears.
*Thwack.* The robber clutched the arrow in his neck, fresh blood pouring from his mouth as he fell to the ground.
The axe-wielding clansman grunted, turning his head to stare at Anguy, his eyes glinting dangerously.
"I'll buy you a drink!" Anguy hurriedly made a drinking gesture. Only then did the axe-wielding clansman give a slight nod and look away.
Montun pulled his visor up and said simply, "Anguy, don't forget my roasted meat."
Anguy temporarily ignored the cunning fatty. "..."
The tall, axe-wielding clansman walked over, his voice rough. "Montun, next time you break down a door, take me with you."
Montun looked up and nodded simply.
...
After two days of fighting, Glyn's Clansmen had eliminated a total of four bands of robbers.
The spoils were decent. The old Glyn would have been secretly happy for half a day.
He was still very happy, but now that Glyn had spent so much time with the extravagantly wealthy Lannisters, this level of profit could no longer bring him the same kind of joy as before.
Glyn's appetite was also growing.
After resting for a day, Glyn and his party, each on a strong horse, re-entered the Rose Road, holding the Clegane banner high as they headed south.
...
...
Red Keep, Tower of the Hand.
Lord Jon Arryn, having returned to his sickbed, was about to speak when he felt an itch in his throat and could not help but burst into a fit of violent coughing.
After a long while, Lord Jon Arryn finally spoke, his voice hoarse and rasping, "Petyr, this time I... I'm afraid I'll be bedridden for a while longer."
Petyr comforted him, "My lord, you will be well soon. You must have faith in Maester Pycelle."
Lord Jon Arryn said in a low voice, "Yes, Pycelle's healing arts are superb."
After a moment of silence, Lord Jon Arryn asked again, "And Stannis?"
Petyr's face was a bit helpless. "After Lord Stannis bid you farewell, he left King's Landing with his men. I imagine by now..."
Petyr spread his hands and continued, "...he should be on a ship back to Dragonstone."
Lord Jon Arryn sighed weakly. "That stubborn eagle."
Petyr offered comfort once more. "Everyone knows Lord Stannis's temperament. You mustn't take his words to heart. You have your own difficulties. Others are not the Hand of the King; it's quite normal that they don't understand you, or even resent you."
Petyr was skilled at observing details. Although Maester Pycelle acted normally, the fleeting change on his face did not escape Petyr's eyes.
He had truly underestimated Lord Stannis's capacity to cause harm. This time, Lord Jon Arryn's health looked very grim.
Petyr's comfort at this moment was absolutely sincere. Lord Jon Arryn could not die yet; it did not suit his interests.
...
Petyr's voice was very gentle. "I imagine you've long grown accustomed to it."
Petyr's words seemed to improve Lord Jon Arryn's complexion considerably. "Petyr, starting tomorrow, come directly to the Tower of the Hand."
Petyr's lips curved into a smile. He bowed to Lord Jon Arryn with a hand to his chest and said respectfully, "My lord, I am deeply honored to be of service to you."
"Go and rest."
Lord Jon Arryn raised a hand slightly, gave a weary wave, and let his eyelids droop weakly.
...
At this moment, Petyr, having just left Lord Jon Arryn's bedchamber, was descending the stairs.
The surroundings were silent and empty, the torchlight dim.
A pale, plump hand suddenly reached out and grabbed Petyr's arm.
Petyr's grey-green eyes trembled slightly, but he instantly recognized the owner of the hand.
Petyr allowed himself to be pulled closer, his hands naturally coming to rest on the shadow's waist. He said in a low, husky voice, "My Lysa."
The shadow's identity was Lysa Tully.
Lysa Tully hailed from House Tully of the Riverlands and was the wife of Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King.
Although Lady Lysa Tully also kept her voice low, she could not hide the joy in her tone. "You always think of me first, my Petyr!"
Her vision gradually cleared as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Lady Lysa Tully had the blue eyes of House Tully.
Lady Lysa Tully had a head of voluminous, auburn hair. After giving birth to Lord Jon Arryn's only son, Robin Arryn, her body had begun to grow plump.
Now thirty-one, Lysa Tully's body was puffy and slack. Though her cheeks were powdered, she looked ten years older than her actual age.
At this moment, Petyr's eyes held only the Lysa Tully before him, as if he were gazing upon the most precious treasure of his life.
Lady Lysa Tully most loved Petyr's enchanting gaze; she could never get enough of it. She was instantly captivated.
Lost in her loving intoxication, Lady Lysa Tully had completely forgotten where she was. Her plump, white hand slipped inside Petyr's long robes.
Petyr lowered his grey-green eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Lady Lysa Tully, who was crouching down.
Though Petyr kept his voice low, it was filled with affection. "Lysa, not too loud."
(end of chapter)