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Betad by
The Unbound
Chapter 34: The Bloody Gate
– King Orys Baratheon –
The march north was fairly simple, in truth. Whatever chaos the Boltons are unleashing seems happy to stay north of Moat Cailin, and the issue with the Eyrie is that nothing is coming out of it to begin with. Lady Arryn has sealed it up and no news is coming out of it. Which also means she isn't sending out anyone to attack us on the road.
We had no real issues on the Kingsroad to Castle Darry, and House Darry were both honoured to host me and my forces, and relieved to see us. Given their closeness to the Bloody Gate and the dark whispers coming from the Eyrie, they're more than eager to do whatever is needed to stop Lysa's madness from reaching them. House Darry supported House Targaryen during the Rebellion, but Lord Darry is quick to bend the knee and offer guest rights and the best room in the castle for me. His son, Raymun Darry, has even volunteered his blade along with the blades of some of the Darry men. I've sent them to work under the Blackfish as they're Riverlanders and people respond better to orders when it comes from one of their own.
The Blackfish has already set out to secure the Bloody Gate. In this case, it will be simpler for him to take the Vale knights to capture it because he remains the Knight of the Bloody Gate. He might be able to reason with the men he left in charge of it, despite whatever Lysa Arryn has told them. He has a better chance of settling this peacefully than I do, at any rate. If I show up, I'm the enemy. He's been their commander for years, while Lysa is claiming that I am acting against House Arryn.
If it comes to fighting, he's to retreat and we'll find a new way to take the gate but it's worth taking the chance to try and settle the biggest obstacle peacefully so we don't have to work around it. If the Bloody Gate falls, there's nothing stopping us from marching on the Eyrie except the terrain. In an ideal world, we might be able to take the Eyrie itself without fighting, saving the energy and manpower for the North.
The stupid thing is that we could just wait them out. Lysa can't stay up there forever, especially with winter approaching. If it wasn't for the… wrongness I can sense leaking from that direction, I might just do that. Station a bunch of Vale loyalists at the foot of the Eyrie and wait for either the cold or starvation to force her out of her hiding place.
But with the occult bullshit going on, we just can't risk that. I can't leave her to make whatever situation she's made up there worse. So, the main issue remains. We have to siege the Eyrie, a castle on the top of a mountain. Numbers won't help on the narrow paths, siege weapons couldn't be carried up there. It should be the perfect place to weather the storm, but this storm is one that Lysa won't be able to hunker down and wait out.
"Your Grace," a soft voice says, getting my attention from the various reports I've managed to get from the North. Wyman Manderly has proven a loyal and talented subject, securing the south-eastern parts of the North despite the Boltons men raiding it. His men saved some of the survivors of Winterfell, and he's since given shelter to House Hornwood after their castle fell. House Karstark and Umber are fighting as well, but what little knowledge they can send out is saying they aren't doing well. Manderly has tried to send the refugees south, but with the chaos in the Vale, the Three Sisters have increased their 'definitely not piracy' and have been harassing ships leaving the North.
"What is it, Brienne?" I ask, looking up.
"I am sorry to bother you, but your father insisted that I pass on his request that you join him for a drink, 'unless you've found some other company for the night'," Brienne says, looking a little embarrassed. She's been awkward lately, but I actually know why. Margaery hinted that Brienne should keep me company on the cold road to the North, and Brienne is both embarrassed at the suggestion but also unsure if she understood it right. In truth, Brienne has become rather beautiful, even in an untraditional way thanks to her height and build. Her once short, strawlike hair is now to her shoulder and entirely luscious, and she was forced to request that I modify the armour I made for her as one of the Knights of the Seven because it was becoming uncomfortable around her backside. Despite her embarrassment, she's not entirely against it, having resigned herself to dying a virgin or being married off to someone who has no interest in her sexually. I won't permit that because she's the last heir of Tarth and her father seems incapable of producing any more heirs. I won't have one of my loyal Houses dying out, even if I have to knock her up myself. Margaery and Arianne joked about exactly that, making some new law so that if I did our child would have the right to Evenfall Hall but not the Iron Throne. I think those two get along too well now that they've put their differences aside.
"Of course he did," I sigh fondly, putting down my reports. Why not, I can afford a night away from my work. "Tell him I'll be down shortly, please. I have something to finish up first."
Finishing my letters, I call for a page to send them both south. One is for Margaery, as we've stayed in contact as best we can. The other is for Stannis and Lord Redwyne, with a simple instruction to go to the Three Sisters and beat some sense into the pirating scumbags. Clearly the Ironborn's fate was not enough of a lesson for these imbeciles.
I swear to the Gods above, if I have to make a stop at the Three Sisters after dealing with the North, I will have no choice but to do some very unkind things to the idiots delaying my return home.
For now, I'll leave it to the Master of Law and the Master of Ships. The Three Sisters are sworn to House Arryn, but given the very questionable state of House Arryn at the moment, there's not exactly anyone to complain if I have Stannis take a large stick and beat the various highborn of the Three Sisters with it until they stop fucking up. Besides, a busy Stannis is a happy Stannis and he's beaten out the worst of the corruption in King's Landing. He needs something else to hit. Even Shireen agrees he's far happier when he's almost overloaded with work.
Sometimes, I think he and my father are more alike than they would ever admit. Father needs war, Stannis needs work. Renly wants and needs neither. He tried to follow us north to stay with Loras but basically everyone agreed that that was a terrible idea. Renly is many things, but he is not a warrior and he wouldn't be able to get out of fighting if he came with us. When even Loras was telling him to sit his ass back down in King's Landing and wait for us to return, Renly agreed easily enough.
Out of sheer curiosity, I spared with Renly as he's usually lingering around where Barristan and Loras are tutoring me. I beat him. Easily. He's not… terrible? He knows the basics and which end of the sword is the pointy bit but it felt like fighting Tommen rather than facing my older uncle. He's just uninterested in swordfighting. Well, metal swords at least, I'm sure he's quite adept with meaty ones.
As such, he's far better off helping keep the courts under control. His battlefield is a social one, and I think it's better for everyone if it stays that way.
Heading down to the hall, I have to admit that my father has a point. Squirreling myself away in my room, pouring over documents, isn't going to inspire the men that followed me to war. Sharing a drink with them is a far better way to inspire loyalty. Father doesn't know a lot, something he's oddly proud of, but he knows how to fight and he knows how to inspire.
Besides, I should be there for when he's had one too many and decides to start swinging his new hammer around to show off. It'd be a poor showing to our hosts to let him demolish half of Castle Darry when they're being so generous.
Joining the various knights, father is quick to pull me into the head seat he kept for me and slap a goblet in my hands. It's only as the night begins proper, with the various knights surprised to see me drinking with the men, that I realise that this might be the first time I've actually drank with him. Sure, we've both been at events where we were drinking but I've always been too busy to just share some wine with my father. Something I'll have to work on, as I really don't know him as well as I should. I was away in Casterly Rock for most of my life, and everything has been happening so fast since I returned.
For tonight, it seems enough to have me beside him as he drinks, boasts and tells tall tales.
…I do have to kick him slightly as he boasts about the Battle of the Trident, given that three of Lord Darry's sons died there. Our Host doesn't look too offended but I suppose he's also remembering that he sided with the Mad King and lost. The fact that he got to keep his land is lucky enough without taking offence to the winners boasting about their victories.
– Days Later –
"The Bloody Gate is yours, Your Grace," Brynden says as we approach, a grim frown on his face. I was right to assume he'd have a better chance with just Vale Knights but it wasn't as simple as we had hoped.
"How bad was it?" I ask plainly, getting a scowl from him.
"I've known some of these men for years. They were smart, dutiful and loyal. And yet, we found them raving mad," Brynden admits with a scowl. "Managed to convince them I was here to serve my niece to get in. Couldn't fool them for long, and they went… I can't even call it mad. Feral. These men were sane and talented when I went south. I barely recognised them upon returning."
"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Father asks with a scowl. "Jon must be turning in his grave at the state of his land."
Father and Lord Stark were fostered here, so it must be a shock for them to see the chaos that's engulfing it.
"Aye, the place has gone mad. They even killed the Septon, and I swear it looks like they've been chopping pieces off and eating it," Brynden admits with a small shudder. The place does look more like a charnel house than a keep, or maybe a butchery. Blood and bones in places they have no business in being. The wrongness I can sense coming from the Eyrie is only feeling stronger here.
"There's a madness in the air itself, leaking from the Eyrie. Whatever is happening in the Vale, the Eyrie is the source of it. We rest here, tomorrow we move on the Gate of the Moon. Lord Royce, has there still been no word from your cousin?" I ask, getting Yohn's attention.
"No, Your Grace. Our messages have gone unanswered, which is most unlike Nestor," Yohn admits with a deep frown. House Royce of the Gates of the Moon is a junior branch of his own House, led by his cousin. He's on good terms with it, and the Gate of the Moon is the last defence before the climb. After that, its steep steps and the three waycastles that defend them.
Numbers won't help us capture the Eyrie, which is why we need a small elite team to scale the mountain and capture it. If Lysa has any sense left, she'll have those loyal to her at the waycastles, making the climb far more dangerous.
Mya was a good source of information in planning this, as she spent many moons guiding travellers up to the Eyrie and back down, but there's no easy way around the waycastles. The Eyrie's reputation of being impenetrable is well earned indeed.
"I pray that he and his family have merely been forced to flee Lysa's madness," I sigh, already fearing the worst. "For tonight-"
"Your Grace!" someone shouts, cutting off my words as I pause. Been a while since I was interrupted. The man, who I don't recognise but believe is probably part of the Vale retinue from his coat of arms, runs toward us, panting and sickly pale.
His moves are frantic enough to have the Kingsguard move in front of me, but he stops a few feet away as he stutters something out through gasping breaths.
"Catch your breath. What is it?" I ask, gesturing for the Kingsguard to stand down. They stay on guard, but step aside to give him a clearer view of me.
"M-monsters, Your Grace, Monsters coming from the east!" he gasps out, sending a wave of whispers and shouts through the men.
"Brynden, this is your gate. Take command. How do we secure it? If there are abominations coming from inside the Vale, we can't let them leave," I demand, getting him to straighten up.
"Aye, we can't," Brynden agrees, shouting out orders as the Bloody Gate is turned against its original purpose. Today, it stands between whatever is approaching from within the Vale and the rest of my realm.
Gesturing for the Kingsguard and Knights of the Seven to follow me, I head to the vantage point to see what in the Seven Hells he's talking about.
Focusing my blessing from Hircine, my eyes widen as I get a glimpse of them. As it turns out 'monsters' is about the best I could have described the approaching creatures as well, my eyes widening slightly at the sight of them. They're humanoid in nature, taller than a man with gangly limbs and pale grey skin, but their 'hands' are replaced with three long clawlike fingers, with tails that are lined with spiked bone and their faces… twisted and elongated snouts with rows of fangs within. I can't help but notice the dark red stains on their twisted mouths.
"Harrold, my bow!" I call, getting my 'squires' attention. Harrold Hardyng was purely a political choice, as he's almost certainly the next Lord of the Vale and a good relationship with him only helps, but right now I think he's thanking whichever god was looking out for him that his place in this battle is by my side.
As he passes me my bow, the gifted Heartwood bow from Prince Jalabhar, I instantly ready it and take an arrow from the offered quiver, pulling it back with a serious frown on my face. These things… do not belong in this world. Whispers of 'Hungers' and 'the Shivering Isles' echo through my mind, but I put that out of my mind as I ready my aim and let loose.
– Nymeria Sand –
She was already regretting coming North.
Yes, she knew there had been rumours of monsters and people who fed on blood and moved at inhuman speeds through the night, but she'd been… doubtful, knowing how rumours spread. She thought she was being clever, using this as a chance to get in close with the King who'd be separated from his usual harem girls. She patted herself on the back when she got her fancy new armour, seeing the Blessed King's admiring looks as she showed off the goods. SHe'd considered jumping in his bed at Darry but his father kept him busy and an opportunity never revealed itself. It wasn't like she could sneak into his bed without the Kingsguard running her through, but she was sure she'd have plenty of chances to get what she wanted.
Now, facing these freakish abominations, she wished she was back in King's Landing with Arianne and Tyene.
She watched as arrows peppered down from the battlements and skewered the hideous creatures, but most just kept going even with several arrows sticking out of their disfigured forms. Why did she have to be so proud of her spear skills again? She was no stranger to battle, but that was man against man, and these… things seemed to have no regard for their own lives or suffering.
Another arrow shot forward like a falling star, piercing one of the creatures between the baleful red eyes. That one fell, knocked back from the sheer force and as she looked back, she spotted the white and gold armored King staring down at them. Before she'd even had a chance to look back, he was being handed another arrow and she turned in time to see it pierce the skull of another, each shot landing perfectly.
But the creatures just kept coming, and she knew it was time to live up to her boasting. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw her father charge, dodging the claws of a creature and piercing its mouth with the spear of bitter mercy in a brutal thrust, before kicking it away. The prongs of bitter mercy ripped through the back of the creature's throat, leaving it dead as he continued on. Obara wasn't far behind, and she knew she had to follow suit. Her armour felt so light she could almost imagine that she was fighting naked, no doubt inspiring the men, and her new spear was sharp and she could swear that it almost adjusted itself to strike true. The Blessed Kings handiwork was impressive indeed.
As the creatures reached the gate, not all of them tried to race through it, as many lunged at the walls to the ramparts, digging their hideous claws into the stone and climbing up to the archers above. Orys didn't seem worried, firing non-stop as the Kingsguard sliced at any of the creatures that reached the top.
As she stabbed one in… what was probably its heart, if its heart was in the same place as a man's, she watched Lord Robert grab one of the ones trying to climb by the tail and ruthlessly yank it back down with a bellow, bringing his hammer down on its head with enough force that she could have sworn the ground shook.
Perhaps it was her shock at the fat former king's strength that let her guard drop for a moment, turning back in time to see another of the creatures lunging at her. Her spear thrust forward to meet it, stabbing clean through its chest but… wherever the important organs were, that was apparently not it as the creature's claws flailed at her, blocked by her shield as she was knocked back onto her ass. With its weight pushing her shield down against her chest, she couldn't get her arms out from under it, no room to pull her spear out of the creature either as that hideous mouth descended toward her face, its breath smelling of blood and rotting meat.
She heard Obara shout, charging to her aid, but Nymeria knew her sister wasn't going to make it before those fangs reached her throat. As it turned out, she needn't have bothered to begin with as a thud and a splatter of blood caught Nymeria off guard, pushing the creature off her (just in time for Obara to stab its heart). Looking at the creature, her eyes flickered to the arrow sticking in the side of the head, deep enough that the arrowhead was peeking out of the other side then up to Orys.
Well, now she had to fuck his brains out. Grabbing her spear, she gave Obara an apologetic look as her sister barked at her for getting distracted in a battle.
– Lord Robert Baratheon –
Swinging Stendarr's Hammer, he laughed as it smashed into another of the freakish creatures. He didn't know what they were, but they were defiling Jon's land and his sons kingdom. For that, he'd turn each and every one of them into a thick paste. Their claws scratched at his new armour, not even damaging the paintwork as he grabbed one by the hideous face and smashed its head into the ground, stomping on it.
This was the fucking life! Why did he ever let them stick his fat arse on a throne?! He was a warrior, and he would live and die a warrior. But sure as fuck not today! To his side, Ice lashed out and cleaved one of the fucking things in half. It was odd, Ned didn't usually use Ice in battle, claimed it was too big for that, but today he was swinging the thing with one hand, a scowl on his face.
Of course, that scowl might be because his son turned into a giant wolf and was currently ripping the head of a monster with his bare hands. Unlike that Dacey chick who was ripping their heads off with her bear hands! Ha, he'd have to use that one later. And better yet, she would be wearing nothing but warpaint and a smile when she turned back. Gods, did he love those Northern girls.
What he wouldn't give to take that wild and untamed beast of a woman to bed for a round or eight, but given the way she stared at Orys, he guessed he'd have to be satisfied that at least one Baratheon would be piercing that bear with their mighty spear.
Orys was going to put a stop to this madness and bring Jon's land (and crazy bitch wife) into line. All Robert could do was grab his hammer and hit everything that got in the way of that.
– Barristan Selmy –
The world had certainly become a strange place.
And yet, some things did not change. It was times like this that he was pleased to be a simple warrior. All he had to know was who his King was and who were the fools trying to harm him. Be they bandits, rebels, madmen or freakish monsters, the answer remained the same.
Stab them.
His sword lashed out, his foot following to kick the decapitated corpse of the monster back down the way it came. Finding out that these creatures could climb a solid stone wall was not a pleasant discovery, and only confirmed King Orys' wisdom in keeping the Kingsguard and Knights of the Seven with him. They simply didn't live in a world where a simple thing like a twenty foot wall was enough to stop foes from reaching them anymore.
"Have faith men, the Blessed King is with us!" Ser Bonifer rallied, defending the archers with the members of his Holy Hundred who had joined them on the battlements. Barristan did admit that Orys made an inspiring figure in his white and gold armour, the helm having a golden crown forged into it. Orys didn't react, his arm rapidly moving as he sent arrow after arrow down at the horde, each shot ending another life. Gods be praised that he never had to fight such an archer during the Rebellion, or the tale of Barristan the Bold would have ended with an arrow in his helmet's eyesocket.
He grimaced as he saw the first of their number fall, Ser Preston Greenfield grabbed by one of the creatures and dragged off the battlements, letting out a shout that ended with a sickening crunch. He died fighting to protect his King, despite the dour knight's anger at being forced to uphold his vows after so many years of lax enforcing.
Barristan would see him honoured.
But the moment this battle was over, he intended to beat Boros Blount. Never, in the history of the Kingsguard, had one of their number fled leaving their King to face the threat alone, until today. He had been harsh on Blount for his laziness and gluttony, but clearly he had been far too kind after all as the craven had pissed himself and fled rather than face down the monsters in defence of his king.
He had disgraced himself, the Kingsguard, the very concept of chivalry, and was no doubt cowering in some corner of the Bloody Gate. He'd soon learn that he had more to fear than the creatures of the night.
When Barristan got his hands on him, he'd pray for another monster attack.
— Bonus Scene — Kraznys mo Nakloz
The 'Blessed' King had ran off North. He didn't know why and in truth he didn't care to know. It was a mild inconvenience as his pet would not be able to deliver her sting to him directly, but the Queen was an acceptable second target and things were far more likely to go smoothly with the warlock King gone.
They could speak of blessings all they liked, but the Sunset Savage King was no doubt using blood magic of his own, the hypocrite. For all his speeches, he was the same as any man, more than willing to sacrifice others for his own ends.
Fishing out the charm the Warlocks of Qohor had given him, he looked at the small effigy of a black goat and snorted, tossing it into the flames as they instructed him. Missandei would do her job, even if it cost her her life. Meanwhile, he was going home, not wanting to be anywhere near Westeros when the former slave murdered the Queen who had generously saved her. Neither again would a 'highborn' dare to free a slave, and the King would return to find his beloved dead. He didn't understand why the Qohor fanatics cared so much, but he didn't need to either.
Getting up, he pushed away one of the pleasure slaves on his ship and went to tell the captain to set sail for home, a smile on his face. Opening the cabin door, that smile lasted all of a second as his world erupted into pain, a blade shoved between his ribs the moment the doorway opened.
He stared at the Unsullied in shock, gasping out as he collapsed to the ground with a hefty thud, turning to call for the other Unsullied to come to his aid. His eyes widened, a mouthful of blood coughed up as he tried to call for aid, watching the other Unsullied finish off the captain. The only other 'free man' on the ship.
His feeble cries for help went unanswered as the Unsullied took control of the ship, turning it and heading back to the port, but in their haste to make land, they missed his pleasure slaves approaching him, and Kraznys let out a desperate command for them to aid him.
His final moments, the last thing he felt in this life, was the heeled shoe of his favourite pleasure slave stomping down on his manhood as she cursed him in three languages.
– Missandei –
She felt the moment the foul magic tried to take control of her, to force her to slay the one who had shown her such kindness. She wanted to resist, but the blood they had taken from her betrayed her and would have puppeted her body.
…if she was able to move at all.
Nude and held in the air by the tight ropes wrapped around her body and connecting to the wooden frame, Missandei was a threat to exactly no-one, a gag in her mouth, her arms bound behind her back.
It was odd to be thankful to the one who had placed you in such a position, but as she stared at the Queen Mother, Missandei admitted that this was probably for the best. Now, if only she had a clue what the woman had planned for her.
Missandei would not have blamed the woman for slitting her throat, knowing that Missandei was a threat to Queen Margaery and more importantly, the unborn children growing inside her, but somehow Missandei didn't believe that it was the dagger she had to fear.
Author's Note: Slightly shorter chapter because uh… I spent all day yesterday trying to get the last achievement I need in Marvel Rivals. I got Hall of Djalia exactly once over two days of playing almost nonstop. I then got diabolically molested by a Magik player.
If I have to get my balls stepped on, it might as well be by the hot russian mutant in a stripper outfit.
why did i write that
Written: 29/03/2026