Late at night, the stone steps beneath the Red Keep descended deep into the dungeons.
Ser Criston Cole walked in silence.
Ahead of him were Blood and Cheese — their clothes stained, their bodies reeking of damp and filth — driven forward under his cold gaze.
"L-Lord… sir…" Cheese trembled uncontrollably. His eyes rolled back before he forced himself to look at Cole again.
"The prince summoned us… here? In a place like this?"
Cole gave no answer.
He stopped them inside a circular chamber whose iron door stood half open.
At the center of the cell, on the cold stone floor, lay a human figure — wrapped tightly from head to toe in coarse gray-brown linen.
The fabric was thick; no shape of face or body could be made out.
Only a restrained, muffled whimper escaped the bindings, accompanied by weak, futile struggling.
Blood had seen scenes like this too many times before.
They were usually meant for victims.
Blood was not bound.
He glanced at the dagger in his hand, then at the whimpering figure. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
"My lord… this is—"
"It is the prince's order," Cole said flatly.
Blood approached the shrouded man. As he drew closer, the whimpering rose sharply, the body trembling and twisting in desperate resistance.
Blood stopped behind him and raised the dagger.
The first strike drove in beneath the shoulder blade.
The blade pierced the thick cloth, skin, and muscle alike.
The whimper turned instantly into a sharp, muffled scream. The body convulsed and then collapsed forward, twitching weakly.
Blood did not stop.
A second stab.
A third.
With each blow, the struggling weakened, until only the dull sound of steel entering flesh remained — and Blood's increasingly heavy breathing.
A dozen strikes, perhaps more.
At last, he stopped.
Blood dripped from the dagger's tip, pooling slowly on the stone floor.
He shook the blade clean and turned toward Cole—
Then hesitated.
Something compelled him back.
Blood knelt beside the corpse, cut open the blood-soaked linen with his dagger, seized the cold fabric, and yanked it away.
The cloth slid down.
He froze.
Torchlight flickered across a face — pale, deeply lined by age, twisted in agony and terror. Clouded old eyes stared wide open.
A face Blood knew far too well.
The face of the man whose cowardice, incompetence, and drunkenness he had despised all his life — yet could never truly abandon.
His father.
A broken cry tore from Blood's gore-filled throat.
"No! Impossible!!"
"Seven save me!!"
"Father!!"
He spun around violently, eyes bloodshot, blazing with hatred fierce enough to burn the world itself.
He raised the dagger toward Cole — the bastard who had made him murder his own kin.
Kill him.
Kill him now.
But Cole shoved the utterly limp Cheese toward Blood.
"Aah!" Cheese screamed as he crashed into him. Both men fell to the ground.
Steel flashed.
"Ugh—AAAH!!" Blood howled.
The wrist of his dagger hand was severed by a cold silver arc. His hand flew free, blood spraying as it hit the floor with a wet slap.
Cheese curled into himself, watching in frozen horror.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the stairs at the dungeon entrance.
One.
Two.
Three.
In the deathly silence, they sounded thunderous.
Aemond Targaryen emerged from the passageway as the soldiers parted automatically.
The twelve-year-old prince wore simple black robes. A satisfied smile played upon his face.
Blood struggled to lift his head, staring up with crimson eyes, his voice hoarse with monstrous hatred.
"Why… Prince… why did you do this to me?!"
"It's called settling debts."
"Maybe we once did something for Prince Daemon…" Blood rasped.
"But we were just small men! We did what we were told!"
"You are not a small man," Aemond said calmly.
"Think again."
Because of a debt that never even existed?
The realization shattered Blood utterly — a pain a thousand times worse than his severed wrist.
I'll kill him.
We'll die together!
"Whoosh!"
A long arrow tore through the air — precise, merciless — piercing Blood's left palm and pinning his hand to the stone wall behind him.
"Y-Your Highness! Mercy! Please, mercy!"
Cheese completely collapsed, sobbing as he crawled forward, heedless of the wound in his abdomen.
"It was him! That bastard offended you!"
"I had nothing to do with it! I know nothing!"
"I'm loyal to you — I always wanted to serve you!"
"I know secrets! I know hidden passages in the Red Keep! I'm useful — I swear I am!"
He clawed his way to Aemond's feet and tried to grab the prince's black boot.
Aemond looked down at him. In his violet eyes, there was nothing but indifference.
Suddenly, he bent down, grabbed Cheese by his greasy, matted hair, lifted his face — and slammed it into the rough stone wall.
Bang.
A dull impact.
Cheese's vision exploded into darkness and stars as pain burst across his forehead.
Aemond released him. Cheese collapsed like a discarded rag.
The boy drew a white silk handkerchief and slowly wiped the fingers that had touched Cheese's hair.
After a moment, he drew his sword.
He stepped toward Blood and met his furious gaze.
Blood croaked through the pain.
"Why…?"
"Why?!"
Aemond smiled faintly.
"For no reason."
The blade flashed.
Blood's head left his shoulders, hung in the air for a heartbeat — pain and confusion frozen in its wide-open eyes — before rolling across the stone and stopping at Cheese's side.
Cheese shrieked at the sight of his companion's head, but the instinct to survive overwhelmed everything.
With his last strength, he crawled again, clutched Aemond's calf, and sobbed incoherently.
"Prince Aemond… everything I know… I'll tell you everything… please…"
Aemond lowered his gaze to the trembling man at his feet, face smeared with tears and blood.
"Don't worry," he said gently, brushing Cheese's hand away.
"You are today's main attraction."
He raised his voice slightly.
"Bring them all up."