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Jimmy flicked the blood from his greatsword, then slid it back into its sheath before bending down to pick up an iron longsword from the ground.
"Whoosh."
"Ah!"
Amory Lorch, who had just begun to run, was suddenly nailed to the earth.
"Run? Did you really think I'd let you?"
Moments earlier, Jimmy had flipped over the body of the man wearing the horned helmet. It was not Gendry. The realization had brought him a quiet sense of relief.
At least he had not broken his word. He had promised the Old Wolf that he would keep Gendry safe. If Gendry had died while Jimmy was off taking a piss, what kind of man would that make him?
Jimmy did not make promises he could not keep.
Now, it was time to deal with the filth who had interrupted even that simple moment.
Killing, in itself, did not trouble Jimmy. War was war. But creatures like Amory Lorch were something else entirely. They were rotten. And rot had to be cut away.
Jimmy searched the battlefield until he found what he needed. More than forty swords lay scattered among the dead.
"This will have to do."
He glanced down at Amory, who lay pinned and helpless.
"You'd better pray you pass out."
"What are you doing? What are you doing? I serve House Lannister, I am—AAAH!"
Jimmy said nothing more.
One by one, he drove the swords into Amory's body.
Then he turned and walked away, leaving behind a grotesque monument of steel and flesh.
Amory's fingers still twitched. His eyes still rolled in their sockets. He was not dead yet.
But death was inevitable.
No man could survive losing that much blood.
Jimmy paused after a few steps, an idea forming in his mind. His lips curled into a faint smile.
He picked up a shield and, using blood as paint, drew a symbol across its surface.
A tree.
Its crown, painted in red, spread wide like a canopy of flame. The trunk bore a face. Two downward crescents formed hollow, watching eyes, and an upward crescent shaped a mocking smile.
The Laughing Tree.
He tossed the shield onto Amory's broken body.
Let them wonder.
Let them fear.
…
Jimmy rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension in his muscles.
The important thing was done. The vermin had been purged, and all attention would now be drawn here.
That meant Gendry and the others would be safe.
When Horus returned, he could handle the rest. Finding people was his specialty.
…
"A demon! A demon attacked us! He moved faster than a galloping horse! His blade burned red, and he wore armor made of smoke!"
Crack!
Gregor Clegane's greatsword fell again, cleaving the sixth fleeing survivor in two.
Each man he questioned told a more absurd story than the last.
Amory had been acting under orders from the Gold Cloaks, tasked with capturing a traitor the queen herself had named. And yet now, this was what remained of his force.
Madness.
"Take me to the site of the ambush," Gregor ordered.
The Mountain might have looked like a beast driven by rage, but he was not a fool. A man who truly lacked control would not have survived this long.
He understood fear.
He understood power.
And he respected both.
It did not take long to reach the battlefield where Amory had slaughtered Yoren and his recruits the day before.
The evidence was unmistakable.
At first, it had been Amory who butchered the Night's Watch escort and their charges.
Then something else had come.
Something worse.
Bodies lay scattered everywhere. Men and horses alike had been cut cleanly in half. Armor had split like parchment beneath an unstoppable edge.
Gregor stopped.
For the first time in a long while, his expression grew serious.
Strength like this…
If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he might have believed he himself was responsible.
And the blade.
He knelt beside one of the corpses, examining the clean, flawless cut through hardened steel.
Sharper than his own weapon.
Far sharper.
Only Valyrian steel could do this.
Then he saw it.
Amory's body.
And the shield resting atop it.
Gregor froze.
His massive frame trembled ever so slightly.
The painted tree.
The smiling face.
The Laughing Tree.
The knight of legend had returned.
Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Even if he were still alive, he would be an old man by now. There was no way he could still possess strength like this.
But what truly made Gregor tremble was the way Amory Lorch had died.
Forty-seven swords had been driven into his body.
Forty-seven.
And paired with the shield bearing the laughing tree, Gregor's mind was dragged back to another death.
Princess Rhaenys.
She, too, had been stabbed forty-seven times by Amory Lorch.
The ghostlike armor. The overwhelming strength. The laughing tree crest that had once shared a mysterious connection with Prince Rhaegar. And now, the exact same number of wounds.
Was this revenge?
Had something truly returned from the grave?
"No. I don't care if you're a ghost, a god, or some coward hiding behind tricks. I will find you. And when I do, I will crush your skull with my own hands."
Gregor swung his sword wildly, sending the scattered blades clattering across the ground. His rage was loud, violent.
But beneath it, buried deep, was fear.
…
Jimmy began his purge.
Every cavalry patrol that had been terrorizing the Riverlands, every group extorting grain and slaughtering civilians, became his target.
He left no survivors.
And every time it was over, he left behind a wooden shield carved with the symbol of the laughing tree.
Then, dressed in the attire of a wandering noble, Jimmy would sit quietly in taverns and listen to the legend he was creating.
"Have you heard? The ghost of the Silver Dragon Prince has returned. He's hunting those responsible for the past. First, he became a boar and tore out the king's guts. Now he walks the Riverlands, slaughtering those who butchered his people."
"They say Amory Lorch died the same way he killed the princess. Forty-seven blades. Justice from beyond the grave."
Jimmy lowered his drink, unable to hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Since when did I become Rhaegar's ghost?
Still… he had to admit, the story had a certain appeal.
Among the nobles, a different version spread.
They believed it was the mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree, returned to repay Rhaegar for honoring his secret at Harrenhal long ago. They preferred this explanation. A man, no matter how powerful, could still be killed.
The common folk believed otherwise.
To them, it was a ghost. A protector. Something eternal.
Something that could never be defeated.
Jimmy didn't care which version they believed.
What concerned him more was Horus.
It had been days since Horus left, and he should have returned by now. Given his speed, he would normally have been back within hours.
Had something gone wrong?
Jimmy checked the bond through his internal interface. Horus was still alive. Unharmed.
Jimmy let out a slow breath.
Next time, I'm not sending him out alone.
The worry lingered.
Just then, a conversation from a nearby table caught his attention.
"Did you hear? The Mountain is leaving the Riverlands."
"Gods, finally. Everywhere he goes, bodies end up split in half. They say he's been gathering prisoners and taking them to Harrenhal."
"Harrenhal? Wasn't Lady Whent—"
"Not anymore. These days, Harrenhal belongs to the Old Lion."
Tywin Lannister.
Jimmy placed a copper star on the table and rose without drawing attention.
Outside, he mounted his old horse and turned toward Harrenhal.
Gregor Clegane.
It was time.
Truthfully, the most visibly brutal monster was not always the greatest threat. In recent weeks, Jimmy had killed dozens of lesser nobles and knights whose cruelty far exceeded even Gregor's.
That was why he had saved the Mountain for last.
If Gregor died too soon, the smaller predators would scatter in every direction.
Three or five armored knights could wipe out an entire village without resistance. If they fled, they would bring chaos and suffering to countless innocent people.
But as long as the Mountain stood, they gathered under his shadow.
Contained.
Predictable.
Once Gregor fell, and Jimmy made his intentions clear, perhaps the Riverlands would finally know peace.
Or at least, something close to it.
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