Sansa was in a miserable state that night. She laid in bed knowing that tomorrow was her big wedding to Tyrion, and she certainly wasn’t thrilled about it. Being wed to a dwarf without her approval was certainly not the fairy tale wedding she’d imagined. She’d had her chance, of course, with Petyr’s offer. He had given her the chance to escape King’s Landing, but she had turned him down. The possibility of staying in King’s Landing to marry Loras Tyrell made her stay only to regret it now with less fortunate choices given to her. At least there was the bright side to it: she would be free from Joffrey. The psychotic boy-king had done everything to beat, humiliate and torture the poor girl, on top of executing her father. Tyrion was still a strange sight, but he’d been the one to treat her the kindest in a long time, and his power would be enough to keep Joffrey at bay.
Then the bag went over her head. Sansa’s muffled cries and protests were ignored as a pair of strong figures marched her out of the room and through the halls. They tore off her night gown until she was completely naked apart from the hood. She felt a thick, broad shackle clamped around her throat and heard the tinkling of chains before the hood was removed, leaving her wearing nothing but her bindings. The chain locked around her neck and led some ten feet away to another woman, naked and locked into it a similar fashion.
She was in one of the countless unused rooms of the castle, and one of the bigger ones. It looked like it would have been used for hosting some large dinner or small party, but was empty apart from the current inhabitants: herself, the guards who had dragged her in here, the other woman, and up on the small balcony overseeing the room was Joffrey.
“Good. You finally made it,” Joffrey said with a shallow smile, as if it was Sansa’s fault for not being kidnapped quickly enough. “I think you remember Ros. She’s another one of my other playthings.” He gestured to the other woman on the other end of the chain. Sof looked back at Sansa with tired but cold eyes, ones that told that she had been defeated some time ago. Her body bore several small scars and stretches of scabs from old struggles or beatings.
“How may I serve you, your grace?” Sansa asked carefully, looking up at him carefully. She tried but quickly failed to remain calm, tears welling up in her eyes as she gave a hopeful pull at her chain. It didn’t budge, and the tears turned into a sob. “I’m going to marry your uncle. I’m-“
“Not rightly his until tomorrow,” Joffrey cut her off calmly. If his words weren’t enough to get her quiet, he lifted up the small but powerful-looking crossbow that had been resting at his feet. He pointed it rather lazily at them, his grin becoming more genuine, more twisted as he went on. “So here’s what’s going to happen: you two are going to fight for me. You’ll fight until one of you has passed out, at which point I’ll be using this to finish off the loser.”
Joffrey gestured to the guards, who left the room and shut the heavy doors behind them. Sansa stared at the young king aghast, but he looked back at her with impatient expectation. “Well?” he prompted, and Sansa had no other warning for the start of this sadistic deathmatch than the jingling of her chain. She looked up just before Ros stepped up to her and punched the auburn-haired woman the face.
Sansa went to the cold stone floor with her mouth open in shock, rubbing her aching cheek. Tears welled up in her eyes from the pain and were supported by her utter despair at the situation. She was supposed to be safe now! Tyrion was going to be able to finally stop her suffering! Instead, the scarred and naked woman climbed on top of her and started punching at her naked breasts. Sansa cried out in pain, bringing her arms up to shield herself. Ros just angled her fists to drive into another part of her chest, leaving Sansa clumsily guessing to absorb what damage she could.
“Don’t you listen to your king?” Ros growled, a bitter sarcasm filling her words. “Fight back!”
“No! Please! You don’t have to do this!” Sansa pleaded, coming out ass more of a sob than she wished after the punishment to her already aching ribs.
“I do. We can’t all be spoiled little princesses,” Ros hissed as she pulled on the chain and wrapped it around her fist. Sansa reached up to shield her face from the metal-lined impact, but Ros grabbed one of her breasts and raked her nails over it instead. Sansa gave a shrill scream as the bloody lines were torn across her soft skin. Sansa’s wide and teary eyes noticed a similar set of old cuts down Ros’ own chest, as if the whore was trying to make Sansa match her battered appearance.
Sansa instinctively shoved back at her, her palms connecting with Ros’ breasts hard enough to knock her back. Ros took a moment to nurse her chest, but Sansa ran for the door. The chain was just far enough for her to reach and pull at the door. It wouldn’t budge. “Please, your grace! Have mercy!” she blurted.
“Come now. We all know where mercy gets your family,” Joffrey called back with a grin, his thumb rubbing almost sensually along the wood of his crossbow.
Ros followed the lead of the chain and grabbed Sansa by the hair, lifting and then smashing her face into the hard wood of the door. “Stop running, little girl!” Ros spat venomously as Sansa bounced back from the wood, staggering and with a bloody nose. She was dazed enough that Ros had little trouble wrapping the chain around Sansa’s neck and pulling it like a choking leash. The collar prevented it from being fatal, and Ros was experienced but not especially deadly as a fighter. It wasn’t the best way to finish Sansa, but it certainly kept her struggling and afraid. She choked and gasped as the chain found her flesh, forcing her to emit a thick glob of drool.
Sansa pulled at the chains, turning and thrashing until the back of her head smacked into Ros’ face as a helpful side effect of her struggles. Ros released the choking grip on the chains and Sansa eagerly pulled herself free of them. The cold metal ran down her body like a noisy, metallic snake as she turned to face Ros once again, rubbing what exposed flesh there was on her neck. “Please, listen to me,” she choked out, coughing until her breath came back to her. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t want to die.”
Ros touched her lip and checked the blood on her fingertips. “Then fight,” she ordered grimly, coming for her once again. Sansa tried to back away, but the chain kept her from getting very far. Ros grabbed the middle of the chain and suddenly pulled on it, making Sansa stumble towards her when the other end jerked on her neck. Ros clashed with her unwilling foe, wrapping one arm around Sansa’s collared neck and sending her other hand between her legs.
The bride-to-be screamed as Ros gouged her nails into her privates, squeezing and scratching anything she could find. Her fingers hooked painfully inside of her labia while her thumb dragged a painful streak down through her pubic hair. “Stop it! Stop it! Please! I didn’t do anything to you!” Sansa wailed. She started to cry openly.
Ros gave a sharp pull on Sansa’s hair and hissed into her ear. “You think I care what you’ve done?” she demanded as she twisted and drive her thumb into her lower belly harder. “It doesn’t change what I’m about to do to you.”
Sansa’s screams reached a new high pitch as Ros started to draw blood from her deep cuts, dripping over her thighs and pussy. “You had everything handed to you, but some of us had to work for our food. I’m no spoiled trophy of a wife. I’m a lowly whore, and I’ve been fighting my entire life just to make it this far.”
Sansa was more shocked and unsettled by the woman bitterly spelling out her life to her as she finally managed to pull free from the grip on her head. Ros tore a few pieces of her hair out while she backed away, but this time she at least knew she couldn’t outrun the chain. She tenderly held her bloodied cunt as she watched Ros with increasing fear and wariness.
“Stop running!” Ros screamed at her, pulling down and stepping on the middle half of the chain. Sansa staggered and was caught with a quick punch to her eye. The beaten betrothed hunched over clutching her face, wincing as she felt the swelling and bruising form around her socket. Her bending over just made it that much easier for Ros to stalk after her and spike her knee up into Sansa’s breasts, knocking the wind out of her and sending her stumbling to her knees. Ros send a kick to her face that left Sansa flat on her back and sobbing as she tried to curl up defensively.
Ros straddled Sansa’s stomach, her bare legs spread enough that the auburn-haired girl could see her privates slide against her skin. She also felt Ros grab her by the breasts and viciously drive her nails into her skin, opening more freshly bloody cuts. Through Sansa’s screams, she could see a long and jagged scar running down the prostitute’s shapely breast just beside her nipple.
“Let me tell you something, you craven little shit,” Ros snarled at her. Sansa could only quake and cry as she pulled desperately at Ros’s wrists. She managed to push one away, but Ros just used it to grab a chain instead of Sansa’s breast. She wrapped the chain around the royal’s breast and squeezed it tight like a makeshift noose, making the tit swell as it changed to a sickly shade of red and purple, oozing out more blood from Sansa’s latest injuries.
“I worked damn hard to reach where I was. I’ve done things you’ve had nightmares about,” Ros went on, almost like a lecturing mother more than an angry attacker. “I was the best I could get for my lot in life. I was a lowly whore, but I clawed my way up the rank.. I was second only to the brothel’s owner.” She gave a twist of both her wrists, drawing more blood and pained cries from Sansa by claw or by chain. She leaned into hiss her words, spraying Sansa’s face with spittle for emphasis. “But royal or whore, there is no position you can reach by any means that can’t be taken away from you.”
Sansa reacted as much out of disgust as instinct, but either way she lashed out with an arched hand. The nails dragged over Ros’ breast and just by chance, they caught on the edge of her long chest scar and tore a piece of the wounded flesh back open. Ros reacted with a furious cry, recoiling as one hand went to cover the freshly bleeding wound. Despite her bitter encouragement spurring Sansa on, the whore punched Sansa in the cheek and left her another bruise for her finally fighting back. If she was indeed trying to motivate Sansa to fight, it certainly didn’t mean she was going to go down easily when she did. Panicked on what else to do, Sansa reached for the wounded breast and squeezed. Ros howled as the old injury exploded with pain and blood like a living memory, sending a sickening sensation through her stomach.
Sansa finally pushed her away and crawled out from under her, leaving Ros on her hands and knees as she cradled her bleeding tit. Sansa knew now she couldn’t run. She still didn’t want to fight the poor woman, but what other choice did she have? Giving in to Joffrey’s sick game felt disgusting, but if she died here, she’d never have the satisfaction of him knowing that she had gotten away. That he couldn’t control her any more. This wasn’t about good and evil or right and wrong anymore. Joffrey saw to it that there was no “good” choice left. Now it was only life and death, and some small but steely part of her awoke and refused to accept death.
Ros started to rise to just her knees when Sansa spotted the chain’s path. It didn’t provide much of an angle for choking, but it did run between the hooker’s legs. Rather than run from it, Sansa took a page from Ros’ book and pulled the chain up as hard as she could. Ros shouted out in pain as the chain wedged itself into her snatch, forcing its cold links in between her pussy lips. They twisted in place when Sansa pulled harder, pinching at her tender flesh and warping the pitch of her painful cries.
“Just give up,” Sansa grunted, a desperate plea for the fight to be over. She wanted to be back in her bed. She wanted to wake up and know she had escaped. She wanted to pray that this was just one immense and sadistic bluff by Joffrey just to make her sweat one last time. The last was the longest stretch of them all, though, and she told herself that she would see this through to the end regardless.
“Not how it works, my lady!” Ros rolled over to one side and pulled the chain with both hands. It tugged on her collar and made her fall to her knees, and while Sansa had tenderly nursed her wounds and fled from the slightest pain before, she ignored her scraped knees and rushed for Ros on all fours at a desperate pace while she was still high on the adrenaline. She threw herself on top of the whore as they lashed out for each other, grabbing and clawing each others’ faces and hair in a savage exchange of attacks. They rolled across the floor as they each fought for position, making the chain dig into their backs and ribs at random. They each shut those out as they focused on their opponent, with Sansa’s slowly growing fury matching Ros’ head start as far as acquiring bruises and blood.
Their tumbling fight crashed Sansa’s back into the hard stone of the wall, halting their accidental travels across the room. Ros was quick to grab her by the hair and bash Sansa’s pretty little head against the wall with a dull, sick crack. The reluctant rival cried out in pain, but shoved her palm up into Ros’ chin to bend her head back painfully. Ros growled and struggled to turn her head back down and raising Sansa’s head for another spike into the wall, but the royal surprised her when she shot her fist out and landed a strike to Ros’ throat.
Ros gagged and pulled back from Sansa, clutching her throat. Sansa ignored the pain in her knuckles where they hit the collar and rose to her feet, stomping down at the breathless prostitute. It was perhaps the last thing she’d expected herself to be doing as a lady, but here she was. Somehow, Lord Petyr Baelish’s face surfaced in her mind and the grim wisdom he once shared with her rang through her mind: “The world is no song, my lady. Some day you might find that out at your own peril, just like I did.”
Ros finally grabbed the attacking foot, pulling hard and letting Sansa land on the hard floor beside her. It took the wind out of the fallen lady long enough that the more seasoned fighter was able to mount her. Ros sat on her stomach and faced her legs, forcing them apart and dragging her nails over Sansa’s thighs. Sansa caught her breath just in time to scream in pain while the tender muscles were scratched up. When Ros’ claws reached the end of their trail of destruction, she balled up a fist and smacked it down on top of Sansa’s open twat. The lady howled in pain beneath the prostitute, her head swimming from that shocking impact to her pelvis. Seeing little other option, Sansa reached under Ros’ ass until she felt her vagina and squeezed at the tender petals of flesh.
It felt wrong and twisted, but Sansa grit her teeth as she heard Ros’ screams of pain echoing her own. This was what it took to win. It was what Ros resorted to, and judging by the old scratches and scars she could feel by the whore’s privates, it was what her rivals had done as well.
Ros threw herself off of Sansa at last. The lady let her do so, but held onto her pussy as tightly as her fingers would go.
“Let go, you little wolfling!” Ros screamed at her. She was propped up on all fours, letting her snap a kick backward into one of Sansa’s hanging breasts. She grunted and jolted from the hit, but kept her iron grip on Ros’ twat. After all, if she had gained anything from staying with Joffrey, it was a tolerance for pain.
Sansa pulled back on her foe’s flesh, dragging her by her well-used cunt several feet back. Ros screamed and clawed at the ground, failing to resist the vicious pulling at her mound and pubic hair. Sansa was making good use of the harlot’s weak spot, and had no intention of letting go. Sansa kept her grip while awkwardly positioning herself over Ros, beating her fist down on the hooker’s head. The pain in her already abused pussy and Sansa’s indignant fury bubbling to the surface was starting to overwhelm Ros as she moved to her knees and braced her hands over her head for protection. Ros had fought out of anger before, but she hadn’t felt the outrage and pent up frustration that was fueling Sansa through this leg of the fight in a very long time. She had resigned to her fate, but Sansa was only just starting to properly lash out against it.
Sansa had to stop to catch her breath, regrouping with her rage while her sweaty hand still clawed idly at the whore’s snatch. Ros took her chances on the moment’s reprieve and thrust her hips backward. Her buttocks slammed into Sansa’s crotch, knocking the lady a few inches back. Ros turned sharply and drove her elbow backward, slamming it right into the lowest part of Sansa’s bush. The blow rattled Sansa so hard she clutched her crotch and fell to the floor, curling up as she hissed deep, angry breaths through her teeth. Ros crawled past her to grab Sansa by the thighs and force them apart, biting into the tender muscle right where her leg met her hips. Sansa let out a sharp cry, but grabbed and pulled on Ros’ foot to try tearing her off.
Ros maneuvered more expertly than she did, resisting her pull and moving her mouth closer to Sansa’s center until she locked her teeth together around her labia. Sansa let out a sharp cry from the crushing sensation on her genitals, but it was far more full of rage than despair. Ros expectantly thrust her hips into Sansa’s face, sitting on her nose and lips so that when the royal tried to repay her cruelty, she had less space to spread her mouth. Sansa struggled to match Ros’ position, trying to get a solid grip on the flesh and hair already surrounding her mouth. Sansa tried to shut out the pain as she grabbed Ros by her buttocks, digging her nails into the soft skin and using it to secure her biting grip on Ros’ experienced loins.
The ladies locked in on their vicious 69 position, mouths locking with the other’s genitals. The chains tangled loosely around their skin, crudely binding them against their foe’s body. Tongues and teeth searched over the opponent for better positioning, experimentally probing for weaknesses and the perfect angle to chew their opponent into collapsing with pain. While Ros went with biting at random locations around Sansa’s pussy lips, the lady went for a deeper approach. She was as surprised as anything to find herself shoving her tongue into Ros’ cunt, probing the wet depths of her womanhood just to bite the inner flesh when the petals opened wide enough. Ros jolted and twitched, her hips pulling away from her just to jolt back into Sansa’s face by pull of lust and gravity alike.
Even with the top position, Ros was realizing the spot she’d put herself in. Sansa’s desperate rage was sending her in for more vicious bites, her inner walls too wet to catch and draw blood but sending upsetting shocks through her body. They were upsetting not only from the pain, but that her pussy was growing wetter by each attack. She was being outpaced by the raging royal. Even then, some part of Ros hoped Sansa would win. She was a lost cause herself. Her body and mind were experienced, but worn out by what the world (and a few particular men) had done to her. Sansa’s motivation was raw and fresh, still potent. Ros felt that she could die and no one would miss her, unlike the prized lady beneath her.
But wanting her to win was not the same as surrendering. She was worn out by the world, which meant she was too calloused from its shit to simply roll over and die. She grabbed the chain beneath them and pulled her mouth off of Sansa’s crotch with a loud gnashing sound and breaking off their oral duel. She hooked the chain under one of Sansa’s legs before she pulled up, sitting upright to put all her weight into it. On top of mashing her ass and pussy into Sansa’s face, it ripped the chain up until it was buried tightly inside the auburn-haired lady’s tender holes.
“You filthy whore!” Sansa shouted against Ros’ loins as the metal links dug into tender flesh. “I had you.”
“When you’re not winning, there’s nothing wrong with changing the rules of the game,” Ros chided as she gave the chain a painful twist. Sansa hissed and bit her lip to try to shut out the intrusive pain, the links crushing down deeply enough to send a shocking pain through her clit. She tried to roll over and reach the rival whore, but Ros’ grip on the chain was also keeping her from moving one way or the other. Ros was on her back to keep her from rising, and going forward dug the chain deeper into her sensitive flesh. Moving to either side simply caught one of her legs on the painful tool.
Ros gave another violent pull that made the damp metal pin Sansa’s clit against the back of her vaginal walls. The royal gave a long scream at the top of her lungs, her voice tinged with rage even as tears welled in her eyes. She carelessly let the drool run from her lips, too caught up in her pain and fury to care. She would rather focus on her escape and survival than her hygiene right now. “After all that, I almost thought you’d put up a real fight,” Ros gloated as she leaned into her aggressively applied weight.
Her opportunity presented itself as one of Ros’ shifting legs, bracing her bare knees on the ground to help herself resist Sansa’s thrashing. The royal grabbed one by the ankle and raked her nails along the sole of the whore’s foot, sending a shocking wave of pinpricks up through Ros’ sensitive skin and spine. Ros gave off her own startled scream, shuddering at the first of the sensation and then jerking away violently when Sansa repeated the move, this time with both claws down both of her vulnerable feet.
Ros threw herself off as far as the chain would let her go, rubbing her tingling soles as Sansa moved to her hands and knees. She pulled the now damp chain out of her privates, staring grimly down the rest of their bindings as she wrapped the slick metal around her fist to mimic Ros’ strategy earlier. Ros winced as she finally started to put some weight on one of her feet, trying to rise and pulling on the chain to reel her opponent in. Sansa flexed her slender arm and braced herself, no longer willing to let Ros control the pace of the fight as she pulled back.
While Ros prepared for a tug of war with their bindings, Sansa surprised her by rushing through her flimsy guard. Sansa slammed into her with her full weight behind the charge, spurring herself on with a continuous growl. She didn’t stop snarling or charging until she felt Ros’ back hit one of the stone walls. The women’s naked and scratched up bodies pressed together, hard nipples spearing into their opponent’s soft skin and crotches locked together in a brief embrace. Sansa came to a sharp stop as the impact rattled through the both of them, but she recovered quickly and bashed her chain-wrapped fist into Ros’ lower belly. The links of the chain plucked at her pubic hair to add to the pain of the bruising body blows, bringing shades of blues and purples to the edges of the whore’s used and wounded womanhood.
Ros still wouldn’t go quietly, even as the sinking pain in her crotch and stomach made her start to feel lightheaded. She slammed her knee into Sansa’s crotch, but the tangling chain drew most of her momentum from her. She was stuck in place, thrashing and clawing back at Sansa with a desperation that the royal likened to a cornered rat.
Sansa threw one more punch with her chained fist, this time right into Ros’ pussy. She left her hand down there to grind her fist against the, the cruel metal scraping and digging into her sexual depths. Ros gagged with pain and grabbed at her assailant’s invasive fist, but Sansa took the other end of the chain in her free hand. She quickly wound it around Ros’ arms, tangling her arms together in a quick, crude, but affecting binding. Sansa pulled it tight, jerking Ros’ arms away from her awkwardly and leaving her helpless.
“Submit,” Sansa hissed sharply, glaring into Ros’ eyes. She clearly had the upper hand. She was clearly going to win. It was Ros’ choice if it was going to be quick or slow. Willing or not.
Ros’ reply came accented with a glob of spit to the royal’s face. “Never.”
Sansa’s reply was similarly direct: she kept her chained fist in Ros’ crotch, but took her by the hair with the hand holding her improvised wrist bindings. She lifted Ros’ head back and cracked it back into the stone. “Submit!!” she snapped more sharply, pressing her face into Ros’ while it rested against the stone.
Ros blinked away her dazed expression and glared back with a quiet rage, almost daring Sansa to continue. “You haven’t the stomach for it, you weak little cunt.”
Sansa tore at her hair again, lifting and then smashing her skull against the stone once more. She delivered it a second time before she bothered to demand it again. Ros’ bound arms tried to reach for her head, but she shook it weakly as she glared more weakly back at Sansa. The royal kept up this treatment, screaming for her to surrender a fourth time. By that point, she simply started to pull and bash Ros’ head into the wall as rapidly and quickly as she could.
“That’s enough,” Joffrey interrupted at last. “She’s an easy target now.”
Sansa ignored him and kept beating the dazed and glassy-eyed Ros into the wall. The woman had refused to stop fighting, so neither would she. She wanted this over. It had to end, and the wolf blood in her screams for more bloodshed.
“I SAID, ‘that’s enough!” Joffrey repeated with a sharper and louder tone. Sansa remained relentless in her onslaught. Joffrey shouted for his guards, and Ser Osmund promptly opened the door. The armored man quickly took Sansa by the arms and pulled the thrashing, naked woman away from the struggle.
“Thank you,” Joffrey sighed impatiently. “I thought I’d never get to test out this new crossbow.” Ros was propped against the wall, her eyes glassy from the beating but staring up at the boy king with hazy attention. She was conscious enough to see him, but as she slid down the wall onto her ass, she knew she wouldn’t have any hope of running or fleeing. The bolt took flight with a sharp, precise sound as it buried itself into Ros’ right breast.
The meaty sound seemed to snap Sansa out of her frenzy, staring at the mutely shocked expression on Ros’ face. “She squirmed,” she faintly heard Joffrey complain, noisily reloading his crossbow. He buried another, and then one more to be sure as Sansa watched the woman die in front of her. Ros stared ahead with her eyes wide, not unlike Sansa’s own. The key difference, Sansa realized all too clearly, was that the spark of life was gone in the slumping whore. The woman was dead because of her.
Sansa took a single, shuddering breath before she fainted on the spot, the shock and the remaining pain suddenly too much for her. Joffrey looked at Sansa with a dismissive shrug. “Get her back in her room,” he ordered. “And get rid of that mess over there before she starts to stink.” Osmund nodded firmly and set to handling the living woman before disposing of the corpse.
The exhausting darkness that consumed Sansa certainly wasn’t as good as sleep, nor was it restful. She was plagued with unsettling visions, barely even dreams so much as troubling images. It was clear that she had taken a massive step in a new direction for her life. This sudden change had saved her life, but taken another. She could see her mother and father standing over her; her father frowning with disapproval and her mother with a look of forlorn disappointment.
That woman’s blood was on her hands, and would never truly go away… but she’d done what she had to. She had taken a life and truly given away her innocence… but she had succeeded. She had let Joffrey win and played his dark game…
“But I am alive,” she said quietly but firmly to whoever would hear. Her parents faded back into smoke, her father’s head in particular lingering a moment as if detached from his body before it vanished with the rest. In their place, Petyr and Joffrey emerged from the smoke. Sansa couldn’t go on following her family’s examples; that had gotten them killed and let her make too many mistakes. It was a dark world that demanded dark deeds. She would not have to enjoy them like the crueler souls she had met, but she would do them.
Ser Osmund Kettleblack dumped Ros’ body into the unmarked hole in the ground. He brushed his bloodied gloves off on his lap as he looked to the figure in the shadows of the nearby tree.
“Don’t imagine you’re here to help with the digging,” Osmund joked dryly as the figure eyed the corpse. It was clearly dead, and clearly from the numerous crossbow wounds, but the claw marks and signs of extensive struggle told the true tale.
“The bad investment is dealt with,” the stealthy guest summarized. He didn’t have to look at Osmund to emphasize the casual warning. “How was the fight?”
“Savage,” Osmund summarized. “The whore was dragging the lady around the room for most of it until she snapped. She looked ready to tear the woman to pieces before the king asked for me to intervene.”
The small man considered the corpse and Osmund noted the faint, sweet smell of peppermint coming off of him compared to the smell of rot that clung to his person. At last, the man produced a bit of parchment, scrawled down a message, rolled it up and thrust it at Ser Osmund. “Would you be so kind as to see that this reaches the Red Keep’s chief steward? I think it’s something that would catch his interest.”
Osmund took it carefully before tucking it into his belt. “Certainly. Just as soon as I’m done with my other duties.”
The short man nodded, leaving the scene to let the guard get on with filling the grave.
The End