The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Chapter 260: Burning and Killing

(Happy New Year! Good luck and prosperity! Winner winner, chicken dinner tonight!)

*

Eddard, accompanied by Elrin, Halwyn, and Littlefinger, ascended the city wall. The gold cloaks on the wall immediately stood at attention and saluted, paying their respects to the Hand of the King. Eddard nodded in response and looked down at the base of the wall. Outside the bronze gates, hundreds of people had gathered, men, women, and children alike, appearing to be refugees. They were shouting for the gates to be opened, wanting to see King Robert.

Judging by their accents, they were Riverlanders, people Eddard knew well.

A company of gold cloaks hurried over from another section of the wall, all armed with bows and arrows.

The squad leader guarding the bronze gates sternly warned, "Where did you rabble come from? Disperse immediately, or I am authorized to use force against you."

Gold cloaks had never been polite to commoners.

The gold cloak archers arrived, and with a command from their squad leader, they drew their bows, aiming at the people below the wall.

Eddard said, "Don't shoot. Open the gates and let them in."

The squad leader disagreed, "Lord Hand, it's still dark. We don't have enough men. If so many people rush in, something might happen. Janos Slynt…"

"Open the gates," Eddard said, looking at the squad leader.

The squad leader didn't dare disobey and reluctantly ordered the gates to be opened. The people surged in, the scene descending into chaos. Lord Hand Eddard shouted from the wall, "Citizens, don't push and shove! Enter in an orderly fashion, or I'll have you thrown out!"

*

Littlefinger appeared at the entrance to the Iron Throne. He was dressed in a well-tailored brocade robe, a high-end silk shawl fastened to his shoulder with a silver mockingbird pin. His eyebrows, hair, and cheeks had been meticulously groomed, every detail perfect. He walked in slowly with an elegant demeanor and noble bearing, a mocking smile on his face. "What's happening today? The Lord Hand is calling a Small Council meeting so early in the morning. Heh, it seems I'm the last to arrive."

Littlefinger walked to the foot of the seven steps leading to the Iron Throne and bowed to Eddard Stark, who sat on the throne with a stern expression. "My apologies, Lord Hand. I'm late." His gaze swept over the crowd of refugees, a look of surprise on his face.

Lord Hand Eddard sat on the Iron Throne, his expression as cold and hard as the frozen earth of the North. "Lord Baelish, please take a seat. We have much to discuss today."

"As you command, Lord Hand!"

Beneath the Iron Throne, on either side, were the ranks of courtiers. On the right-hand side of the Iron Throne, only the royal family and members of the Small Council had their own seats and tables. The remaining courtiers, military officers, knights, and ladies-in-waiting could only stand.

Today, all the courtiers and military officers stood on the right, while the left was filled with ragged refugees, many with injuries. Eddard had already ordered them to be examined, and fortunately, the wounds were all minor cuts from swords.

Minor injuries were not fatal, not affecting bones or tendons, but the wounds were long and numerous, covered in blood, making them look terrible!

The seats of the Small Council were occupied by Grand Maester Pycelle, Master of Whisperers Varys, and Master of Coin Littlefinger Petyr Baelish.

Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, had gone hunting with Robert Baratheon in the Kingswood. Master of Laws Renly Baratheon always enjoyed hunting with his royal brother, and this time was no exception. Master of Ships and Lord Admiral Stannis Baratheon had returned to Dragonstone after Jon Arryn's death. Eddard had sent several letters urging him to return, but had received no response.

The Small Council consisted of seven members, including the Hand of the King. Three were absent, but as long as three members of the Small Council agreed, the decree had the force of law.

These people were all injured, and they were quite frightened. Even inside the Iron Throne room, they were still apprehensive and trembling.

This group of Riverlanders was entering the Red Keep of King's Landing for the first time, witnessing so many nobles gathered together for the first time, and seeing the Iron Throne and the king, or perhaps the Hand of the King, on the throne for the first time. Some heard the nobles referring to the person on the Iron Throne as the Hand of the King, which confused them. Shouldn't the king be on the Iron Throne?

None of these people had ever seen the king, nor had they ever seen the Hand of the King. Even those who lived in King's Landing might never see the king in their entire lives.

Guided by the relevant courtiers, an old man came forward and knelt before Lord Hand Eddard. "Your Majesty…" the old man said tremulously, "I am from Stonebridge, adjacent to the Crownlands…"

"I am not the king!" Eddard interrupted the old man. He was wearing a white linen tunic, embroidered with the Stark family's direwolf sigil, and a black wool cloak fastened at the neck with the 'Hand of the King's golden badge'. Black, white, and gray, the three possibilities of truth. "The king is currently hunting in the Kingswood. I am his Hand, Lord Eddard Stark, also known as the Hand of the King. Tell me who you are and everything you know about these bandits."

"My Lord, a few nights ago, I had just fallen asleep when I heard someone knocking on the door. I opened it, and seven or eight soldiers barged in."

"You said soldiers?"

"Yes, my Lord, I am absolutely certain they were soldiers. They were wearing good armor, all had helmets, and they carried longswords. I run a tavern in Stonebridge, my Lord."

"Hmm!"

"These men came in and demanded wine. After drinking their fill, two of them broke into my wine cellar and threw a torch inside, and the whole cellar went up in flames. The other soldiers started setting fires too. One of them said to kill me, but another said I was too old and it wasn't necessary, as if their commander didn't allow them to kill old people."

"Hmm?"

"Then one of the soldiers asked me if I wanted to live or die. Of course, I wanted to live. So they drew their longswords and slashed me a dozen times on my face, arms, and legs, then drove me out of the room, forcing me to flee towards King's Landing with arrows."

The old man had three long cuts on his face, slicing across his entire face. He also rolled up his sleeves and pant legs to show everyone the cuts on his arms and legs.

The cuts were not deep, but they looked shocking and terrible. And this kind of injury was also very dangerous, easily causing excessive blood loss and death.

"You're sure they wanted you to flee to King's Landing?"

"Yes, my Lord. Then I met more villagers, and we fled to King's Landing together, or we would have been killed."

"Someone is provoking the royal authority!" Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, said among the courtiers. "Clearly, they deliberately forced these people to come to King's Landing."

"Do you have anything else to say?" Eddard asked the old man.

"My Lord, I have nothing left now. Tavern, money, food, savings, I have nothing. Those soldiers burned down my tavern… my Lord!"

Eddard nodded, and the old man was led away. The next man brought before the steps of the throne was a middle-aged farmer. Eddard told him he didn't need to kneel, but he was very frightened and could only speak fluently after kneeling.

"…Lord Hand… they dragged my whole family out of bed and burned down our house and livestock pens," the farmer said. "My eldest son went up to stop them, and several soldiers rushed up and slashed him dozens of times. They chopped off his head and limbs, cutting him into pieces like pork, and wanted to sell me each piece for a copper star."

"Oh dear, that's so cruel. What kind of bandits would do that?" Varys reached out to cover his rouged lips, his eyes full of horror.

"The old man just said they were soldiers, fully armed soldiers," Littlefinger Petyr corrected Varys.

The farmer began to cry.

"What happened next?" Eddard's face was as hard as rock, his tone as cold as ice.

"Later, I woke up from a daze and saw them forcing my wife and daughter to tie my youngest son to a tree. They said my youngest son was already an adult and couldn't be spared. I knelt and begged them, willing to exchange my life for my son's life. One of the officers took out a bow and arrow and shot my youngest son, saying it was punishment for my disobedience. In the end, my youngest son was shot with more than a dozen arrows, all in his hands and feet, and they laughed."

On the other side, two women were crying, probably the farmer's wife and daughter.

"Again, they were forced to come to King's Landing," the Knight of Flowers said. "These bandits… or rather, soldiers, their purpose is clear: murder, arson, cruel methods, forcing old men and women to report to King's Landing."

"Wait a minute!" Littlefinger said. "You said you were a little slow, and that officer shot your son with an arrow?"

"Yes, my Lord," the farmer said, trembling, not knowing whether from fear or grief.

"Then how could you still see them shoot your son with more than a dozen arrows, all in his hands and feet? When that officer shot the first arrow, didn't you immediately take your wife and daughter and run away?"

"My Lord, I tried my best to run away, but my limbs were weak, and I couldn't run fast at all. My wife couldn't move at all, and I could only carry her away. The officer complained that we were too slow and dawdling, said he would punish our arrogance, and ordered the soldiers to shoot my youngest son for fun, and didn't allow them to kill him with one arrow. He said it was more merciful to let him bleed to death naturally… even now, I can still hear my youngest son's pleas and screams."

"Who were they? What sigils did you see? What banners were they flying?" the Knight of Flowers asked.

"My Lord, I saw the golden lion banner, and I saw the manticore," the farmer said tremulously.

"The golden lion banner, that's the banner of Lord Tywin of the Westerlands. The manticore, whose sigil is that?" the Knight of Flowers said.

"It's the banner of House Lorch of the Westerlands. The manticore is the sigil of House Lorch. Within House Lorch, Ser Amory Lorch is the commanding general," Eddard said indifferently.

The sound of women crying rose from the crowd of commoners, growing louder and louder, sternly suppressed by the courtiers responsible for maintaining order!

Grand Maester Pycelle stood up from his seat on the Small Council. "Lord Hand, Ser Loras, members of the Small Council, if Lord Tywin sent Amory Lorch to attack the people of the Riverlands, they would definitely wear ordinary armor. They would never fly Lord Tywin's banner, and Ser Amory would not wear his family sigil, nor would he dare to do such vile things under the banner of House Lorch. Someone must be deliberately framing Lord Tywin."

Littlefinger looked thoughtfully at Eddard on the Iron Throne. "Lord Hand, the Grand Maester's analysis is very reasonable!"

The Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell, sneered. "Grand Maester, are you saying that Lord Edmure Tully sent his own soldiers to slaughter his own people and then blame it on Lord Tywin of the Westerlands?"

Grand Maester Pycelle tremulously stroked his long white beard. "Ser Loras, I believe that the soldiers who committed this crime and the people who burned the crops and villages of the Riverlands last time are the same group. As for who this group is, I don't know, but based on common sense, it certainly wouldn't be the people of the Westerlands. If it were them, they wouldn't blatantly fly the banner of the Westerlands."

The Knight of Flowers said, "Grand Maester, since the news of Lady Catelyn Tully capturing the Imp spread, don't you know that Edmure of Riverrun is gathering his bannermen at the Trident? And Ser Jaime, who fled back to the Westerlands, is also mobilizing troops in the Westerlands, gathering at the Golden Tooth. It is very possible that the people of the Westerlands openly attacked the borderlands of the Riverlands this time."

Eddard sat high on the Iron Throne. He saw someone sneaking out of the throne room, surely a fellow going to report to Queen Cersei. Eddard had no idea which of the many courtiers in the hall were the queen's people.

Eddard shouted, "Stop arguing! Does anyone here recognize the origins of those soldiers? Speak up."

A short, fat man with bandages all over his head and arms walked out, led by three courtiers, and stood below the steps of the Iron Throne.

"Lord Hand, I can confirm they were not bandits," the man said. "First of all, they didn't steal anything. Everything they took was thrown into the fire."

Eddard nodded, giving the man the strength to continue.

"They couldn't have been outlaws either. Outlaws need food, and they like to collect gold and silver jewelry, but they didn't want food, and they didn't collect silver stags and copper stars from door to door. And the nobles' houses in town weren't robbed either,"

"The nobles in town?"

"Yes, my Lord. We are Oakenshield, and there are several baron families in town."

"What happened to these people?"

"They were all killed. Those soldiers were especially ruthless to the nobles, and they showed no mercy to the nobles' guards. I personally saw a noble family driven into the fire, and they didn't even spare the children."

"Killing all the nobles? Then it's definitely not Edmure Tully staging this to frame the Lannisters of the Westerlands," the Knight of Flowers said proudly, looking scornfully at Grand Maester Pycelle for his inaccurate judgment.

Grand Maester Pycelle said, "It's obvious that Edmure Tully didn't stage this himself. No one would be so foolish. It's also obvious that it couldn't be the Lannisters of the Westerlands. They wouldn't be so foolish either."

"Grand Maester, I can confirm it was the Lannisters of the Westerlands," the short, fat man said. "I am a blacksmith. I used to run a blacksmith shop in Lannisport in the Westerlands. I am familiar with the accent of the people of the Westerlands. Of course, the accent of the Westerlands doesn't prove anything, but I recognized the general who broke into Oakenshield to burn and kill. It was none other than Ser Amory Lorch."

Boom!

The throne room erupted in commotion!

Grand Maester Pycelle protested indignantly, "My Lord Hand, the testimony of a blacksmith, devoid of honor, is not to be trusted. He is lying, I can see it. We should hang this deceiver."

"I swear on my life and honor, and take a solemn oath before the Seven, that the general who led the troops to Oakenshield and committed arson and murder was undoubtedly Ser Amory Lorch."

"A blacksmith's honor?" Grand Maester Pycelle sneered contemptuously.

"Maester Pycelle, I will make my own judgment. Please do not interrupt the blacksmith's testimony," Lord Eddard said sternly. "Blacksmith, continue."

"Ser Amory Lorch was on horseback, ordering his soldiers to form a large circle. They would release one captured man into the circle, and then Ser Amory would ride around, hunting him down. He would deliberately hack at the man's arms, back, and shoulders, treating him like livestock, until the man collapsed. Only then would he sever the poor man's head with a single blow, before bringing in the next prisoner for his amusement."

Littlefinger said, "Blacksmith, I am curious as to where you were hiding during this slaughter."

"My Lord, I was drinking in my smithy when I heard the commotion. I thought it was bandits, so I grabbed my axe and rushed out, only to be met by a line of soldiers. I dropped my axe and turned to flee, and was struck on the head and arm by swords. I immediately fell to the ground and played dead. The soldiers laughed as they passed by me. The Seven must have been watching over me, for no one aimed another blow at me. Later, I heard and saw everything. I quietly got up and fled while Ser Amory Lorch was amusing himself by taking lives in the circle."

"Oh dear, how dreadful and cruel," Varys said, daintily raising his fingers to his mouth in a womanly gesture.

Eddard could not remain seated. He involuntarily leaned forward, his fingers touching the cold metal. Between each of his fingers was a blade, the tips curved like claws, reaching out from the armrest of the throne. Though three centuries had passed, some of the blades were still sharp, keen as razors. This chair could kill a man, and if the legends were true, it had killed men—like Maegor the Cruel.

"Even Ser Amory Lorch would not be so foolish," a courtier could not help but express his opinion. His name was Marq Piper, and he was quick-tempered and very belligerent. He was young, a nobleman from the Riverlands, and a close friend of Eddard's brother-in-law, Edmure Tully. Edmure commanded great respect and popularity among the younger generation of nobles in the Riverlands. This Marq Piper did not believe that Amory Lorch of the Westerlands would do what the blacksmith claimed.

"My Lord, they were all riding warhorses," the blacksmith replied calmly. "I worked as a stable boy before I became a blacksmith, and I can tell the difference. Not one of those horses had ever plowed a field, I swear it by the old gods and the new."

"Bandits on warhorses," Littlefinger said with a sly smile. "Bandits cannot afford many warhorses. It is entirely possible that the bandits stole the warhorses from somewhere else. As for the banners and sigils, anyone who wants to can make any sigil and any pattern on a banner. The blacksmith's testimony may lead us away from the truth."

Thank you to the following book friends for their rewards: [Order You, Jin Xiaoyanei, Riding a Donkey to Read]. Thank you to Jin Xiaoyanei for the 100 yuan reward. The bonus chapter will have to wait a few days. Recently, there are many friends visiting and relatives to visit for the New Year, so I have no time, ah ah ah.