
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11294193.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic
      Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M, F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_&
      Related_Fandoms, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Tywin_Lannister/Gregor_Clegane, Kevan_Lannister/Gregor_Clegane, Gregor
      Clegane/OC, Tywin_Lannister_&_Kevan_Lannister
  Character:
      Gregor_Clegane, Tywin_Lannister, Kevan_Lannister, Sandor_Clegane,
      Original_Characters, Gregor's_father, Gregor's_sister, Damon_Lannister
  Additional Tags:
      Disturbing_Themes, Gregor_POV, Necrophilia, Murder, Gregor_is_his_own
      warning, Voyeurism, General_Creepiness, Rape, Sexual_Violence, Bondage,
      Gags, Awkward_threesomes, Gregor_playing_with_his_victims, Watersports
      Gregor-style, Forced_effeminization, Have_I_mentioned_that_Gregor_is_his
      own_warning?, Execution, Sandor_POV, aftermath_of_rape, Kevan_pov,
      Indiscriminate_mass_murder, psychological_exploration, The_psychology_of
      Kevan_Lannister, tw_rape:_chapters_1_to_5, tw_gore:_chapter_6, Plot
      Twists
  Series:
      Part 4 of Finished_fic
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-08 Completed: 2017-09-23 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 9665
****** Clegane's Keep ******
by Delay_no_more
Summary
     Clegane's Keep has always been a scary place.
     Based on a plot bunny that Java1 put in my head. But I take full
     responsibility. Read at your own risk.
Notes
     Please read and heed the tags and warnings.
***** Chapter 1 *****
He sat with his back to the wall, his face shielded by the shade of the corner,
his plate filled with roast deer, buttered turnip and mushrooms, mutton stew,
and freshly baked bread – all the good food his father only served up when the
high lords came visiting. He liked sitting in the corner where no-one could see
him, but he could see all.
The hall was filled with the sound of hundreds of men supping together,
laughing, bawling and clanking their tankards of ale.
His head was pounding. It always did, but anger worsened the pain. “Behave
yourself while m'lords are here,” his father's words rang in his ears. “If any
of m'lords' servants disappear there'll be trouble, boy, an' I won't be able to
help you none this time.”
“They can't give us no trouble,” he remembered telling his father. “I'm
stronger 'n them.” The look Ser Harthor gave him in return stung. “That's not
how it works, boy,” he'd said as if his son was an imbecile. “They're lions,
an' we're dogs. They give us our land 'n we serve them.”
Gregor didn't like serving, much less men who were weaker than him.
He eyed his father's guests on the dais. The lion lord was slender while his
brother's tunic lay taut around his waist. Both were trained knights, or so
they claimed, but he knew he'd have no trouble defeating them, even if they
came at him at the same time.
His father was sitting a few feet away from them, groveling before the lords in
gold and red. You don' tell me what to do no more. Nobody told him what to do:
not his father, not the lion lords, not the dragon king, no-one. They're all
weaker 'n me.
He'd killed his first man with his bare hands before his twelfth nameday, a
hedge knight who'd sought shelter for the night in a shack behind the lake.
He'd strangled him and crushed his skull before taking him. Gregor still
remembered his eyes right before his body went limp, bloodshot and bulging,
filled with the realization that he was going to die.
His father's men had found the stripped corpse by the water and raised the
alarm, but Ser Harthor had told them an animal must have savaged the man, and
no-one had dared to mention him ever again. I could kill father if I wanted to,
and he knows it. I could kill him, and those lords, too.
His teeth tore into a haunch of venison, ripping out large chunks of meat,
blood and juice running down his chin. They think they're lions, but I could
tear their throat out.
He gulped down another cup of wine to dull the ache in his skull, but somehow,
that only seemed to make his throbbing head worse.
The feast dragged on and on. All Gregor wanted was to get up and leave the
noisy hall behind, but for that, he had to emerge from the corner and face all
the stares. Everyone always stared.
He'd been too tall for his age all his life. The servants at Clegane's Keep
knew better than to let their eyes linger too long, but whenever people came
from the outside, they would gape at him as if he was some kind of rare beast
from the forest. Some would try to hide their curiosity; others stared
unabashedly. He knew the words they all whispered behind his back. Freak,
monster, freak, freak.
He got a sinking feeling in his stomach when his father leaned over to his
guests, gesturing in his direction.
The lion lord got up, his eyes roaming over the tables down below him. He's
heard tales, an' now he wants to see for himself. Gregor moved back on his
chair, but it was too late. He had seen him.
Men moved aside, clearing the path. There was nowhere for him to hide now.
The lion lord stood in front of him. Gregor was looking down at his plate, but
he could feel the man's eyes on him, studying him. He knew that look well
enough: that odd mix of contempt and curiosity. Freak. He's come to look at the
freak.
The noise in the hall had died down. “How old are you, boy?”
He knew he had to respond, but somehow, all he could do was stare at the table,
clenching his fists. I'm no boy no more. I could strangle you here 'n now if I
wanted to.
“He's shy, Tywin, leave him be.”
Gregor felt his ears redden. He couldn't say what he hated more, the lion
lord's contempt or his brother's pity. I'm not shy, I just don't like talking
is all.“I'm almos'... almost...”
“Speak up.” The man's voice was as sharp and cold as his eyes. “I can't hear
you.”
Before Gregor had a chance to say anything, Ser Harthor stepped in. “Almost
sixteen, m'lord. He's almost sixteen.”
“Then he ought to be able to speak for himself.”
“He's a good boy, strong as ten men, and loyal, m'lord.”
Gregor took a deep breath. Father's selling me like a piece of cattle. Slowly,
he rose from his seat, his heart still pounding. Half the hall gasped. The
portly lion took a step back, and even his brother seemed startled.
That was all he needed to regain his voice. “I need to take a piss,” he said as
loudly and clearly as he could before pushing the gawking Lannister soldiers
aside and heading for the door.
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning for rape and generally disturbing scenes. This is Gregor.
His fist slammed into the wall of the privy, leaving a dent. Streaks of blood
mixed with the crumbling plaster, but he was so angry he barely even noticed
the cuts on his knuckles. I'm not shy, and I can speak alright. Everyone was
afraid of him, everyone.
The servants shook with fear when they brought him his meals or made his bed,
relief in their eyes when he just grunted and sent them on their way again
without incident. His brother always ran from him, and his sister would turn
pale when she caught a glimpse of him. Even father was scared of him, and
rightly so. I could snap his neck no problem.
He put his cock away, wiped his bloody hand clean on his shirt as best he could
and started to head back to the Great Hall. “Sit with the lions, boy, maybe
they'll take you into their service, son,” Ser Harthor had said. But he was
sick of all the noise, of the red cloaks staring at him, of his father trying
to sell him like a piece of meat, of the lion lords looking down on him. Fuck
'em all.He turned around and walked towards his bedchamber in the inner keep.
His brother was heading down the hallway, stopping in his tracks as soon as he
saw Gregor coming. For a moment, it looked as if there was a smile on Sandor's
face, but it was only the light of the torch flickering across his scarred
face. Then, his brother turned around and sped away. Run, little bastard, run,
an' thank the gods I'm in no mood to give chase.
The door to his sister's room was ajar. Elinor stood behind a half-closed
curtain, wearing nothing but her long white underskirt, bent over a bucket,
washing herself to get ready for bed. Father told her I'm at the feast. She
thinks she's safe.
Gregor's mouth twisted into a smile. He pushed the door open a little further
to get a better look.
Elinor was a woman flowered, only two years younger than him, her waist
slender, her breasts full and round. He could tell by the way her hands were
shaking as she pinned up her hair that she had heard him. But she pretended as
if he wasn't there, spreading soapy foam over her face, gently rubbing it in
before washing it off with water from the bucket.
His cock was twitching. I could take her again, makes no matter now.They would
never find her a husband, not after what he had already done to her. He unlaced
his pants and started stroking himself, watching as Elinor patted her face dry
and slipped on her bedrobe.
A hand touched his shoulder. Father. “It's late. Come, boy, time to go.” Not
while m'lords are here, his eyes seemed to say. I mean it, son.
Gregor slammed his knuckles into the wall, leaving a bloody print. He wanted to
shove Ser Harthor aside, walk into Elinor's room and take her right in front of
him. But his father's eyes were cold. Not today, son.
“Fine,” he grunted. He was too tired to deal with his bitch of a sister anyway.
She wasn't like the serving girls. Sometimes, she would fight back, screaming
for help - as if any of the guards would dare to stop him. But her shrieking
and kicking always made his head hurt.
Ser Harthor accompanied him all the way back to his room. “Get some sleep,
boy,” he said before he closed the door. “We'll go huntin' with the lords
tomorrow, you show 'em what you can do.”
He thinks he can tell me what to do, but he can't, he'sweak, weak n'
scared.Gregor was pacing in his room, trying to calm down. He was about to go
back and find Elinor to take what was his when a knock on the door interrupted
him.
It was his sister's handmaiden, carrying a flagon of wine. “Your... your... f-
father sent me, m'lord. To... to bring you-”
Before she could finish the words, he had grabbed her, pushing her onto the
bed, tearing open her dress.
The girl let out a shriek and tried to twist away, but it was too late; he had
her pinned down. He covered her mouth with one hand to muffle her screams as he
ripped off her smallclothes. “Shut up!” He didn't like it when they screamed.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
He flipped her onto her stomach, holding her down as he forced his way inside
her. The girl was sobbing, writhing underneath him in a desperate attempt to
free herself. “No-one can help you none,” he whispered in her ear, “Not the
guards, not my father, not the lion lords. I'm stronger than all of 'em!”
Somehow, those words only made him angrier though. I wanted Elinor, not her. He
thought of the lion lords, all high and mighty, with their contempt and their
pity. I could have had Elinor no problem if it wasn't for them.
Instead, he was stuck with this useless serving wench. Father's afraid o' the
lions, but I'm not. I could take 'em just like I can take her.He wondered if
they would they sob and squirm like heror if they would fight back like Elinor.
Either way, he would wipe that smile off the stout lion's face, and then he
would teach his arrogant brother what it meant to be afraid. They wouldn't look
at me like that no more. They'd be scared o' me.
“I'll show 'em what I can do, father” he mumbled as he spilled his seed inside
the girl. “I'll... show... them... alright.”
***** Chapter 3 *****
He awoke with the girl's limp body by his side. The candle on his bedside table
had almost burned down. “Get out.” He shook her. “Get out. Now!”
When she did not move, he gave her a push, shoving her off the bed. She hit the
floor with a thud. Stupid cunt. I wanted Elinor, not you.
The flagon of wine she had brought him was still full. He took a deep sip and
then another. It was sour and burned in his nose, but he was used to that.
Always cheap wine for the dogs.
“I need to piss,” he told the lifeless body on the floor. “You get out before
I'm back or I'll snap your neck.”
He trudged toward the door, grabbing his oil lamp on the way. He wouldn't have
needed it: the hallway was brightly lit, fire flickering in every single torch
hanging on the wall. In case the lion lords are afraid of the dark.
At least the keep was finally quiet. All the drunk Lannister soldiers had
stumbled into bed in the stables.
Only two red cloaks sat in front of Ser Harthor's quarters. His father had even
vacated his own bedchamber so the lions could sleep comfortably. Of course.
He'd give 'em Elinor if they come asking for her. He'd thank 'em for the honor.
He clenched his hand around the lamp's metal handle.
It was only when he came closer that he noticed the guards were fast asleep.
Too much wine.He slapped one of them across the face and kicked the other, but
they did not wake. Nobody else was around. I could go see if sweet Ellie is
with the lords, give 'em all a good fright.
His heart was pounding in his chest. He quickly looked over his shoulder before
he slipped through the door.
A fire burned in the hearth of his father's solar, and there was food and wine
on the table, but no-one was around. A large, iron-clad door led to the main
bedchamber. But it was the smaller, wooden door right next to it that caught
his attention.
That's where mother used to sleep.He tried to picture her face, but all he
could see were her bulging eyes in her moment of death. It was an accident. I
never wanted her dead.Other women had followed to warm his father's bed, but
none had lasted very long.
He carefully pushed the wooden door open, raising the oil lamp so he could see
inside the room. There was only one man in the bed, his body turned away from
him, facing the wall. He felt briefly tempted to wake the lion lord, shout at
him, scare him out of his wits. But he knew there would be trouble. He'll wake
half the keep.
His head hit the frame of the door as he turned around. Damn this bloody
place.Everything was too small.
The man in the bed sat up, squinting his eyes. “Tywin? Is that you?”
For half a heartbeat, Gregor was paralyzed, unsure of what to do. He saw me.
There'll be trouble.
“Who's there?”
He knows I'm not his brother. He's going to scream bloody murder.Gregor slowly
lowered the lamp, trying to think of something to do.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” The man sounded frightened now.
Without thinking, Gregor jumped onto the bed and pressed his hand onto his
mouth. “Shut up!” He hissed. “Shut up now or I'll snap your neck.”
The lion lord tried to fight back, thrashing wildly and biting his hand, but
that did nothing to stop him. He felt a sudden rush of exhilaration. Those eyes
that had looked at him with pity earlier were filled with fear now. 
He knelt on the other man's chest, squeezing all the air out of his lungs,
choking him until his body went limp. There'll be trouble, a voice at the back
of his head whispered, but it felt good, so good.He had to force himself to
stop. I can't kill him now, he told himself. I'm not done with him. I'llshowhim
who's shy.
He tore up the bed sheet and stuffed it in the lion lord's mouth. That'll help
keep him quiet. His eyes darted around the room. There was a long cord hanging
next to the curtains. He cut it off and firmly bound the man's hands behind his
back before tying up his legs as well.
He finished just in time before the lion lord started stirring on the bed,
groaning in pain through his gag. Gregor picked him up and threw him over his
shoulder as if he weighed nothing. “Let's go find your brother.” Before he
comes 'n finds us.
He took the man's sword, as well as the rest of the cord and a pillowcase. I'll
have to be fast.
The heavy door to his father's bedchamber creaked as he opened it, but it was
only when he dumped the bound man onto the bed and tapped the sleeping
Lannister lord with his sword that he awoke.
His face turned pale when he saw his brother next to him on the bed, struggling
to free himself, but his voice remained calm. “What is this folly, boy?”
“I'm no boy.” Gregor pointed the sword at his chest. “I'm a man.”
“Then act like one.”
Gregor slapped his face. There'll be trouble, he knew, but he no longer cared.
He'd wanted to do this for so long. “You don't tell me what to do. I'm stronger
'n you!” The shock in the other man's eyes was priceless. Didn't see that
coming, m'lord?
For a moment, the lion lord was so startled he did not move. Then he darted
towards the edge of the bed, reaching for his own sword. Gregor dropped his
weapon and grabbed his arms, throwing him back down.
“I'm faster 'n you, too. An' I'm sick o' all your talking. You talk too much.”
He smiled as he closed one hand around his neck and stuffed the pillowcase in
his mouth.
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Yup, Gregor is still his own warning.
The lion lord was fighting back, thrashing on the bed, struggling to free
himself from the iron grip that pinned him down. Gregor wrestled with him for a
while to gauge his strength before he grew bored and flipped him onto his
stomach, twisting his arms behind his back.
His eyes were searching for the cord he'd brought to tie his hands when he got
a better idea. He grabbed the man's sword hand, bending and twisting the wrist
until he heard a muffled howl of pain and the sweet sound of bone crunching.
“Try fightin' me now!” He grunted. “Get your bloody sword an' try fighting me
now.”
He was tempted to snap the other wrist and his ankles as well but thought
better of it. Don't be greedy, boy, leave some for later, his father used to
say at dinner. Leave some for later, Gregor. He smiled as he found the cord and
tied it around the lion lord's legs. Father would piss his pants if he could
see me playin' with his precious liege.
The man was holding his broken wrist, staring at it as if trying to convince
himself that he was only dreaming, that none of this was actually happening.
The shock in his eyes gave Gregor tingles in his groin. Didn't see that comin',
m'lord. Didn't think adogcould harm you. I'll show you. “Get your sword, an'
maybe you can save your brother.” 
Smiling, he twisted his broken wrist one last time. Then he turned towards the
other man next to him on the bed, cutting through the cloth of his night robe
with his dagger until he lay completely naked, hands bound behind his back, his
chest heaving up and down, his pale legs trembling. Still feelin' sorry for me?
Still think I'mshy?
He pulled him across his lap and gave him a good swat on his backside before
pulling his buttocks apart and forcing a finger up his quivering hole, laughing
at the look of shock and helpless indignation on the man's face as he kept
probing him. “Squirm all you want. No-one can save you now. Is just your sweet
ass 'n me.” And your lordly brother, but I'll fuck him too soon enough.
He could see the other lion from the corner of his eye, using his one good hand
to drag himself forward, slowly crawling towards the door. Tryin' to run.Gregor
smiled, pretending not to notice, waiting until the man had reached the door
before getting up and grabbing him by the ankles, effortlessly dragging him
back inside on his stomach. “No runnin'.”
He got himself a jug of wine from his father's solar. By the time he was back,
the lion lord had almost reached the door again. Gregor took a deep sip
directly from the jug, letting him crawl all the way to the hallway where the
red cloaks were still sleeping before pulling him back into his father's
bedchamber. “I said no runnin'.”
The Lannister lord was holding on to anything he could find with his one hand,
the table, the chairs, and finally, the frame of the door, but he was no match
for Gregor. In the end, he lay on the floor, defeated and exhausted,
frustration in his eyes.
“Tired of his this game, m'lord? Let's play another game then.” Gregor picked
him up and threw him onto the bed, pressing down on his chest with one hand
while slapping his face with the other. “Let's play fuck the lion lords.”
Gregor enjoyed seeing him writhe like a fish out of water, watching the panic
in his eyes build as he struggled to breathe, but he needed him to stop trying
to flee. It was beginning to annoy him. “You're worse 'n Ellie, m'lord. Bitch
bit me once.” He tapped the gag. “You can't bite me though. No biting, no
talking, and no more runnin' neither.”
He sat on the lion lord's chest, a triumphant grin on his face, tearing up his
bedrobe of heavy brocade with his bare hands and using the strips of cloth to
tie his wrists to the frame. The right hand was blue and swollen, tender from
the fracture, making the man wince as Gregor wrapped the cloth around it and
bound him tightly.
There was a quill and a roll of parchment on the bedside table. Gregor reached
for the quill and pushed it up the man's nose, wiggling it around until he
started sneezing. “Looks like you caught a chill, m'lord.” He kept tickling his
nose and poking up his nostrils until the lion lord's face was red, his eyes
swollen and teary from all the forced sneezing. You're mine now, mine to play
with, nothin' you can do.
A sudden thud jolted him from his thoughts. The stout lion had rolled off the
bed and bumped his head on the floor, a thin trail of blood trickling down his
face as Gregor pulled him back up by his neck, shaking him.
“Runnin', fightin', kickin', worse than Ellie the both of you.” He pushed
him onto his knees. “If you scream, I'll snap your neck,” he whispered as he
pulled the gag out of his mouth. But he need not have worried: the man was
sobbing quietly, too terrified to move or call for help.
“I been watchin' you,” Gregor told him as he stroked himself to hardness. “You
always try to please your brother. Tywin Tywin, always Tywin this, Tywin that.
See how you like pleasin' him now!” With that, he shoved his face down onto his
brother's lap, forcing his cock into his mouth.
The kneeling man was retching and gagging, but Gregor had a firm grip in his
neck, preventing him from raising his head and pulling away. “Best not bite
down too hard when I fuck you, or you'll bite off your sweet brother's cock.”
He spit into his hands, rubbing the saliva onto his member before digging his
hands into the trembling shoulders in front of him, breathing in the scent of
fear and desperation as he forced his way inside the tight hole.
He could not see the man's eyes, but he could feel him twitch and contract in
panic as he kept thrusting, and he could see his father's liege lord turn his
head, unable to look Gregor in the eye at last. Not so high and mighty now, he
thought. Not so high an' mighty at all.
And for the first time since the damned Lannister army had set foot in
Clegane's Keep, he felt fully alive again.
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     If you've made it up to this point, you probably have a pretty good
     idea what lies ahead. But yeah. This is Gregor at his best/worst.
 
The lion lord kept collapsing on the bed, his body shaken by violent tremors.
Gregor had to drag him back up onto his knees, but it was hard to hold him
still. Is easier with a corpse. A corpse don't move so much.
Taking a living creature was better though: the smell of fear, the body
twitching and contracting, the taught ring of muscle right at the entrance
working wonders around his cock.
He'd never considered a living man's opening would be so tight –tighter even
than his sister the first time he'd taken her, so tight that Gregor's member
was still sore just from entering him. But the exhilaration pulsing through his
body made up for the pain. “Still think I'm shy now?” He grunted. “Still think
I'm shy?”
The lion lord could do nothing but gag and cough in response, choking on his
brother's cock. His face had turned almost blue. Gregor yanked his head back
and slapped him. “No passin' out. I'm not done with you.”
The man gasped for air. His lower lip was quivering, making it seem as if he
wanted to say something, but no sound would come out of his mouth.
“Done talkin'? Good. Don't need no babblin' lions around here.” Gregor stuffed
the cloth back in his mouth, pushing his head down onto the mattress. Jus' to
be safe. Don't need no screaming lions neither.
He kept thrusting until his seed came bursting out of him in a series of
explosions and he collapsed on top of the lion lord. For a sweet moment, his
mind was completely blank.
As his member went limp, he suddenly felt the pressure in his bladder again
that had made him leave his room in the first place.“I was goin' to take a piss
before I found you,” he told the man underneath him, relishing every word.
“Might as well take one inside o' you now.” He relaxed his muscles, feeling the
warm fluid rush out of him. It felt good.
The lion lord's face twisted into a mask of horror and revulsion at this final
insult. Didn't expect that, did you? Gregor thought, the smile on his face
widening. This night is jus' full o' surprises for you lions.
Once he had emptied his bladder, he pulled out at last. The man was face-down
on the bed, sobbing into his gag. “Stop your whining, or I'll snap your bloody
neck.” Gregor shoved him aside, kicking him off the bed.
The slender lion lord's face had turned ashen, cold sweat forming on his
forehead.
Gregor grabbed his sword. “You're my wife now,” he told him as he cut the cord
that bound his legs, holding him still with his other hand. His cock was
swelling again just from watching the man struggle helplessly against his iron
grip.
“No kickin'!” He pushed his legs back against his stomach and pressed the end
of the blade against the underside of his balls, twirling it briefly. “Know
what I should do? I should cut off your man parts and cut you a proper lady
hole. How would you like that?”
The man froze at the sensation of cold metal on his private parts. His green
eyes that had looked down on Gregor earlier with so much contempt were filled
with blind terror now.
Gregor couldn't help but laugh. “Ah, your hole will do. Is just as good as a
lady hole. Bet is a virgin hole, too.” He flung the lion lord's ankles over his
shoulders. “You hear me? You're my lady wife now. I will fuck you 'n your
virgin hole like a shy maiden on her wedding night, m'lord.”
Nothing compared to the feeling of absolute power as he lowered himself. Like
fucking the king hisself. And might be I will one day. Who gonna stop me?His
cock was still slick with cum and blood, but the man was clenching so tightly,
he had to force his way in, scraping the skin at the tip of his cock.
But the pain was rewarded with the most amazing sensation he had ever felt. He
stayed in the tight, quivering spot for a moment, letting the man's panicked
muscles do all the work for him. Then he thrust deep into the empty space with
a loud groan until he hit a wall, making the lion lord shriek into his gag.
“What's that? Can't hear you. Speak up, sweet lady wife. Or can't you speak for
yourself?”
Gregor cupped his face, forcing him to look at him. Fucked the arrogance right
out of you, he thought. His groin tingled, sending shudders of pleasure through
his body as he picked up the pace again, plunging in and out with full force
until he spilled himself inside the warm hole.
“Ah, my sweet lady wife,” he sighed, resting his head on the other man's chest,
playing with his nipple. He could feel the lion lord twisting underneath him,
trying to extricate himself. 
I showed you, he thought as he dozed off. Father's afraid o' you, but I'm not.
I showed you who's in charge.
A clank jolted him awake. Something's wrong, he knew immediately. He looked
down at the lion lord. The man had stopped struggling against the limp shaft
still stuck inside of him, his eyes distant and vacant as if his mind had left
his body.
There was another clanking sound. Gregor pulled out, cursing. His eyes searched
the room for the other lion, but the man was gone. Is alright, he tried to calm
himself,I tied him up good, he can't be far.
He grabbed the lion lord's blade and headed for the door, only to run into a
Lannister soldier on the other side of the doorway. The red cloak looked scared
when he saw Gregor towering above him, instinctively taking a step back, his
sword trembling in his hands. But there were ten others behind him.
The way was blocked.
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning for graphic depictions of violence and gore
See the end of the chapter for more notes
People had gathered in the courtyard in front of the inner keep. Most of them
were strangers from villages in the hills surrounding Clegane's Keep, craning
their necks to get the best view of the wooden platform and the makeshift
gibbet on top of it. Everyone come out to see the execution, Sandor thought.
There were no stalls or carts though, no vendors selling food or ale, no
mummers, not even beggars. The lion lord had made it known that anyone caught
lining their pockets would face the noose.
Sandor felt a twist in his stomach, whether from fear or anticipation he could
not say. He had brushed his hair all the way over his scars and drawn his hood
deep into his face. We look like peasants come for the spectacle, jus' like
everyone else. Or so he hoped.
Almost a fortnight had passed since they had fled the keep in the middle of the
night, just him, his sister, the maester, and Alma. His sister's maidservant
had been barely conscious, so they had to carry her through the empty halls of
the inner keep and past the barracks where the Lannister troops were sleeping.
Maester Quenten had not expected her to survive, but she was with them now,
holding his sister's arm, squeezing her hand. Elinor wore rags and had covered
her face as well. All Sandor could see were her dark eyes. His sister hadn't
wanted him to come along, but he'd insisted he needed to see for himself. She
couldn't argue with that.
“Fools, all of you,” Quenten had told them. He was no older than five-and-
twenty, but he liked to act like he was their father. “You should be glad you
got out.” Elinor had argued with him until late into the night. “Why risk your
life, Ellie?” The maester had pleaded with her. “They may be looking for you.
Gregor will be just as dead, whether you go or not.”
But Elinor could not be swayed. “I need to see,” she kept saying. “We've lost
so much already, Quent. I need to see with my own eyes. How do you expect me to
sleep if I don't know he's gone for sure?”
Quenten doesn't understand, Sandor thought. He's not like us. He didn't grow up
with Gregor.The maester was just another fool in love with his sister who
thought he could save them. In the end, it wasn't him who saved us though.
The crowd parted as the herald announced the lion lord, but Sandor caught no
more than a glimpse of him as he rode in on his courser and sat down by the
side of the platform. A second horse followed, drawing in a man by his feet.
Could it be true? Could we be free of him at last? It was only when they
dragged him onto the scaffold that Sandor realized the man to be executed
wasn't Gregor but their father. Ser Harthor kept collapsing, his face pale as
he stumbled up the wooden stairs.
“We bring before you Ser Harthor Clegane,” the herald cried, “to face judgment
for the crime of plotting to take up arms against His Grace, King Aerys of
House Targaryen, the Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and
the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”
“He's lying! Father's no traitor fightin' the king. He done nothing of that
sort.” Sandor looked up at his sister, but her face was expressionless.
“He'slying, Ellie!”
Elinor shrugged. “Makes no matter if it's true or not. They'll kill father all
the same.”
He didn't understand how she of all people could be so cold, so indifferent.
“Is Gregor supposed to be up there, not father! We have to tell the lion lord
father done nothing, Ellie. We have to!”
Elinor's face hardened. “He should have protected us. We owe him nothing.”
“You do. You owe him.” Sandor's hand clenched into a fist. “If the lion lord
kills father 'n Gregor, I'llbe the lord of the keep, and I order you to tell
them father done nothing.”
His sister looked at him calmly. “We're no lords, Sandor. We're dogs.”
“I'll be the dog of the keep then,” he said stubbornly. He didn't like the way
she talked to him as if he were still a little boy. “If you don't tell the lion
lord, I will.”
She grabbed his arm. “Don't. You'll be a deaddog up there with father if you
show your face.”
Sandor yanked free. “I've done nothing wrong.”
“Makes no matter. Father's done nothing wrong. The Lannisters' own sworn men
who caught Gregor done nothing wrong. They're all dead men. Everyone didn't
make it out that night is dead or good as dead, Quenten says.”
Quenten does too much talkin'. He's right about father though. Father's good as
dead.He felt so helpless watching the hangman put a noose around Ser Harthor's
neck as two men propped him up. Then they checked the rope and slowly pulled
him up until his legs were kicking in the air. Sandor turned his head.
“Look at him!” Elinor's face was hard. “He never tried to protect us. We had to
protect ourselves.”
Sandor forced himself to look at the scaffold. Ellie should have poisoned
Gregor, he thought. His father's face had turned almost blue as he struggled
for air, but whenever his legs stopped kicking, the executioner would lower
him, allowing him a few breaths before jerking him up again.
Their father had never protected them, Ellie was right about that, but he did
not deserve to die like this. And the hangman, the hangman looked so
indifferent, so uninvolved, raising and lowering him on the gallows as if he
were doing just another job. Sandor saw right through that though. That one's a
monster jus' like Gregor, likes to kill people slowly.
Alma was beginning to grow nervous, tugging at his sister's arm. “We should go,
m'lady. I don't like this none. Too many red cloaks.” She was right, Sandor
realized. The soldiers with their lion-crested helmets were scouring the crowd
as if they were looking for someone. They know we fled the keep that night...
Ellie shook her head. “Not before I see Gregor. I have to see him, Alma. Don't
you want to see him die?”
Sandor was no longer sure he did. And there was that sickening doubt again that
had been gnawing at him all day. “What if he got away, Ellie? What if he got
away? Is Gregor, Ellie, Gregor always wins, he always wins...”
She took a deep breath. “He didn't. Not this time. They'll bring him out after
father, I promise.” But there was doubt in her eyes.
“You should have poisoned him,” Sandor said.Him, not the bloody guards. That
had been sheer madness, even Quenten said so.
Elinor turned around abruptly, glaring at him. “I tried. I tried to poison
Gregor. Quenten kept promising he'd get me Sweetsleep from the Citadel, but he
never did, couldn't get none, nothing but empty talk from him. So I gave our
sweet brother Dreamwine and Milk of the Poppy. Once, twice, thrice I tried.
Should have killed a horse each time, Quent said, but it only made him more
aggressive. Tell me, Sandor, what did you do to rid us of Gregor?”
Nothing, he thought. Because Gregor always wins. Makes no matter what we do. He
always wins. He got away again. We lost everything, and he got away. He tried
to fight back the tears.
The hangman was cutting off his father's privy parts and burning them while the
herald kept shouting about the just punishment that awaited anyone with a
treasonous heart. I should have told father. I should have told him what Ellie
was planning.
A man in the front row started retching as the executioner opened Ser Harthor's
stomach with a single long cut, pulling out his entrails, spraying the
spectators with blood. Sandor covered his eyes, fighting the urge to gag, but
it was too late. His breakfast spilled onto the ground.
Ellie wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back. “I never thought Gregor
would go for the lion lords themselves.” Even her voice was shaky now. “Maybe
one of their servants or their gold, something to get him in trouble with
father, but not the lords themselves. Gregor preys on the weak not the strong.
I never thought-”
Alma squeezed her hand. “We did the right thing, m'lady. But we have to leave.
Too many red cloaks. Quenten was right. Is not safe here.”
Their father had stopped struggling, hanging motionless by his neck.
All Sandor wanted was to slap his sister, kick her, scratch her face. Youknew
Gregor would go for the lords, he thought. Alma gave him Dreamwine. You know
what he's like when he's had Dreamwine, you said so yourself. Youknewyou were
waking the mad dog, but all you could think of was watching him die. He wanted
to tell her, to let her know he could see through her charade, but he couldn't
get out the words.
They were bringing out the horses now. Sandor had never seen an execution in
his life, much less one for high treason, but he knew the part that was to
come. “I don't want to see this, Ellie,” he whispered. “I can't-”
“Take him back, Alma,” his sister decided. “I'll stay and watch. I have to see.
I need to know that Gregor is dead.”
Alma started crying and pleading with her to leave with them, but Sandor no
longer cared. You didn't save us, he thought.You doomed us. I hope the lion
lords catch you. I hope they catch you and kill you like father.
He glanced at the wooden platform one last time, at his father's lifeless body
swinging back and forth. They were still bringing out horses, twenty, thirty,
forty. What are they going to do with forty horses? But whatever it was, he did
not want to see.
He took Alma's hand.  “Come. Leave her,” he said firmly. “We have to go.”
 
Chapter End Notes
     Apparently, hanging, drawing, and quartering really became a thing
     under Eddie_I , so I just couldn't resist.
***** Chapter 7 *****
“We found another body in the river, my lord, a big one. It is bloated and
badly disfigured, but-”
That was all Tywin needed to hear. “Check if it's him,” he ordered.
The captain bowed his head. “At once, my lord.”
Kevan felt a sharp twist in his stomach, as if someone were pulling at his
intestines. It won't be him. There is no way... “I can see for myself if you
want, brother.”
Tywin frowned. “I doubt it's him,” he said, staring at the cup of wine in his
left hand before placing it back on the table, untouched. “But do check, if it
will ease your mind.” He was pacing back and forth. Like the lions locked in
the bowels of the Rock, Kevan thought. Are they still there, I wonder? Or are
they all dead?
“How can a man eight feet tall just disappear off the face of the earth?” His
brother was staring at the dark red canvas of their tent. Or perhaps he was
looking at nothing in particular at all, as he so often did these days. “We
should double the reward for his head.”
Kevan shuddered. The gods know the smallfolk bring us enough heads as it is. “I
will give the order, my lord,” he said.
“I just don't understand how...How could he get away?” Tywin sank into his
chair at last, wincing ever so slightly as he did, exhaustion in his eyes. He
looks so old. His brother had aged a good decade in less than a moon's turn.
“We will find him, I promise,” Kevan said quickly. “But please, let us return
to Casterly Rock. We need not stay in this place. You can send men to search
for him. It has been so long since you've laid eyes on the Rock. Don't you miss
home?”
It had taken over a hundred men and eighty horses to tear the bloody keep down.
Kevan could still hear the screams of those buried inside. But instead of
returning home, his brother stubbornly insisted on staying camped out by the
ruins of Clegane's Keep, obsessed with leading the hunt for the monster
himself.
Some days, Kevan wondered if they had both died that night and were stuck in
some hell, condemned to living and reliving their torment over and over again.
Damon... If it wasn't for Damon, may the Father judge him justly, we could have
served the bloody beast what he deserved and moved on.
“We're staying.” His brother said in a tone that brokered no argument.
He will see reason eventually, Kevan thought.He must. He'd sent a raven to the
King himself, begging him to recall Tywin to King's Landing, but the breach
between Aerys and his brother went deeper than he had feared. There was no
answer from the Red Keep.
If I cannot convince the King, Tywin will spend the rest of his life hunting
down a ghost. He will go mad. It wasn't the first time the thought crossed his
mind.But he left me no choice. Either this or-
“They found the traitor's younger children,” his brother interrupted his
thoughts. “A girl and a boy. They were hiding with a servant's family, but the
girl's father betrayed them when he saw a piece of the old dog's body dragged
through the village. Have them questioned. They may know where their brother is
hiding.”
“They will tell us what they know, my lord, I will make sure of it.” Kevan
rose. “Get some rest, Tywin. We will find Gregor.”
===============================================================================
The sweet, putrid smell hit him like a punch in the stomach as he entered the
maester's tent, making him gag. But as soon as he caught a glimpse of the body,
relief prevailed.
The man had been beheaded.Someone must have tried to collect a reward for that
head. No man over six feet tall is safe in these parts any more. The body was
large, but even bloated, it wasn't large enough. Kevan shook his head. “It's
not him. See that he is buried properly.”
Maester Selmond covered the corpse as if that would somehow mask the smell.
“His lordship wants to see for himself first.”
Kevan felt a chill running down his spine. I am hisbrother. Who will he trust
if not me?“Show him, then.”
The maester nodded. Kevan did not particularly like the man, but there was
nothing he could do, at least for now. Does he know maesters have been dropping
dead like flies?
But if Selmond had any inkling as to what was going to happen to him once he
had outlived his usefulness, he did not show it. “Let me take you to the
children, my lord,” he said. “I can help you make them talk, if you'd like.”
Bile rose in Kevan's throat. I truly must be in hell that a man whose craft is
the art ofhealingwould make me such an offer. He felt his mouth tighten. Tywin
may yet keep him around, I suppose. His own bitterness startled him. When did I
begin hating my brother? “That won't be necessary,” he said softly. “I'm tired.
They'll still be there on the morrow.”
“I've questioned the maester who was with them,” Selmond continued,
unperturbed. “He told me some interesting tales, claims the girl helped her
brother by poisoning your guards.”
“A man will say anything when questioned sharply,” Kevan said coolly.
“You're right, I'm sure.” The maester turned around. “Do you need anything to
help you sleep, my lord?”
“The usual,” Kevan said. “For me, and for my brother as well.”
***** Chapter 8 *****
Kevan waited until the camp had quieted down for the night before he got up
from his pallet and dressed himself. The cup of spiced wine mixed with
Sweetsleep still stood on the table. He took a sip to calm his nerves before
pouring the rest into his wineskin. Four nights times two, makes eight drops.
That will do.
The air was crisp as he stepped out of the tent. “Can't sleep,” he told the
guards. They were used to seeing him wander around aimlessly between the rows
of tents in the middle of the night.
A faint light was flickering in Tywin's marquee. His brother hardly ever slept
these days, refusing to take any of the maester's potions. Kevan felt a pang of
guilt as he watched his shadow pace inside the tent. It's not my fault, he
thought. I had no choice.
As a child, the maesters had always told him that going through hardship side
by side welded people together. Lies, nothing but lies. He took one last look
at the faint silhouette behind the crimson canvas. Does he ever have regrets?He
wondered. Does he ever feel guilt?
Or perhaps guilt truly was for lesser men. What's done is done. He straightened
his shoulders and resumed walking down the muddy row towards the last tent on
the left. It was made of the same dark red cloth as his own, but much smaller
and streaked with dirt at the bottom.
The guard manning it stepped aside to let him through. Just one, Kevan thought,
feeling that familiar feeling of bitterness rising up in his throat
again. Justone guard for Tywin's most prized prisoners. This is what happens
when you murder half of your own men.But at least his brother's thirst for
blood was working in his favor this time. The fewer witnesses I'll have to deal
with the better.
The inside of the tent was dark except for the glow of his oil lamp. A boy and
a girl lay huddled on the ground, dressed only in their thin undergarments,
their ankles shackled to the middle pole.
The boy was asleep, but the girl raised her head as he entered, pushing herself
up. She was shivering in the cold, her eyes red, her face puffy. Kevan could
see the outline of her pointed breasts through her undertunic.
“Where's Alma?” There was a sullen, almost angry tone in her voice. And those
eyes... Her eyes seemed so eerily familiar, Kevan could not bear to look at
them.
For a moment, the tightness in his chest made it impossible to breathe. He
clenched his fingers around the wineskin, resisting the urge to take another
sip. Could it be true what Selmond claims? Could she have helped her
brother?The idea was ridiculous, of course, just the kind of story only a man
desperately trying to end the pain of torture could come up with. But nothing
seemed impossible any more sincethatnight. He had to ask her to her face and
judge for himself before he could-
“Alma, m'lord, my handmaid.” The girl's voice jarred him from his thoughts.
“They taken her away... I need to know where she is...” She had crossed her
arms around her chest, trying to cover herself, her eyes glistening in the dim
light of his lamp.
She's just a child, Kevan thought, scared for her friend and for herself. “We
let her go,” he lied. “She's of no value to us.” He took a deep breath. “I have
some questions, my lady.”
“We don' know where Gregor is,” she said so forcefully she woke the boy
sleeping in her lap. “I'd tell you, m'lord, nobody wants him dead like me, I
swear, I wouldtellyou, but I don' know!”
Kevan looked at her, and then at her brother trying to hide behind her.
Suddenly, he felt completely calm again. They're just children, cold and
scared. “I know.” He said. “That's not what I want to ask you.”
That was the last thing she had expected. “You believe us?”
He nodded. “Yes, I do.” He paused, knowing he should not say what he was about
to tell them, but it no longer mattered. They'll be gone soon enough, one way
or another. “You couldn'tknow where he is. Your brother is dead.”  Gregor is
dead. It felt strangely satisfying to say the words out loud.Tywin is chasing a
dead man.
She stared at him blankly. “How do you know? They looking for him everywhere. I
seen the red cloaks come through the village, askin' around, takin' people-”
“He's dead,” Kevan interrupted her. “I know because I ordered his death and
watched him die. He's gone.” Burned, his ashes thrown in the river, if the gods
are good and Maester Edwell did his job. Of course, there was no way of knowing
for sure. Kevan had felt sick to his stomach as soon as the maester had started
preparing the body to smuggle out of the keep, and he could hardly ask the man
now. Edwell was just as dead as everyone else, slain for the crime of knowing
too much.
“Why, m'lord?”
“Why?” The boy echoed.
Half his face was gone, Kevan noticed for the first time. Nothing but charred
skin and raw, oozing flesh. A gift from his brother, no doubt. He straightened
his shoulders. “Because he deserved to die.”
The girl shook her head. “I saw them kill father... Gregor deserved
worse, m'lord, you know it... Why take pity on him?”
“I gave him a taste of the Strangler,” Kevan said, irritated. He'd asked
himself again and again if he could have done anything differently, but the
answer was always the same. I had no choice. He had to go. I was running out of
time. “It was a quick death, yes, but hardly a sweet one.”
“Poison? He should have been hanged, drawn and quartered, and that would have
been mercy... No, no, m'lord, I believe none of it. He got away, he always
does. So don't tell us no more of your sweet lies.”
She truly hates her brother, Kevan realized. She had that same look in her eyes
as Tywin did so often these days: anger, frustration, the knowledge she'd been
cheated out of justice yet again. He hurt her, too. She knows what true pain
feels like, and she hates him for it. There is no way she would have helped
him.
“Gregor always wins,” the boy said, burying his scarred face in his hands. “I
told you, Ellie, Gregor always wins, he alwaysgets away.”
“He didn't,” Kevan said, exasperated, seating himself on the only chair in the
tent, looking down at the skin of wine in his hands. They're good as dead
anyway, he reminded himself. “I had your brother killed because I mean to
live.” It felt good to finally tell someone.
The girl cocked her head, and even her brother sat up, suddenly interested.
“You know what happened,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster.
“It's an open secret, no matter what my brother likes to tell himself. As long
as Gregor lives... as long as my brother thinkshe lives… I am a...a-” A
victim. He was unable to say that word out loud. As long as he lives, I am
avictim, not a witness. “I was in the room... I saw with my own eyes...
Everyone else who did is dead, hanged, slaughtered, poisoned, buried alive.”
She frowned. “You're a Lannister, m'lord, an' his lordship's brother.”
I am a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and the kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of
gods and men, aye, you don't have to tell me that. He'd been able to comfort
himself with that thought until the day they had found Damon's body in the
woods. “Slain by outlaws,” Tywin had declared. He'd hanged two hedge knights a
few days later who'd confessed to the crime. Their bodies were still rotting on
the gibbet along with countless others, but they were little consolation to
Kevan.
“I may be a Lannister,” he said. “But my blood won't save me, not if I'm the
last to know. A common enemy though... As long as your brother lives, we can
hunt him down together.” At a price...But everything always had a price.
Killing his own brother would have driven Tywin just as mad sooner or later. I
saved us both.
“An' there's jus' one way to make a man live forever, is what you're tellin'
me, m'lord?” The girl studied him, trying to decide whether to believe him or
not. “Promise me it's true, promise me Gregor's dead.”
“He is. My brother left me no choice when he killed our cousin.” All for the
crime of catching the monster.Every time he remembered Damon's cut throat and
his cracked skull, Kevan felt his blood pulsing in his ears. Our own kin, a
Lannister of the Rock, your late wife's beloved brother, butchered like a dog.
Howcouldyou, Tywin?
She nodded, convinced at last. “I watched father die. There's some people
nobody's ever safe from them, not even their own blood. But what if he finds
out it was you who-”
“That is none of your concern, my lady” Kevan said, a little more harshly than
he had intended. He did not need her to remind him of what was at stake for
himself. Time to end this. “My brother will insist on having you questioned.
I'd let you go, but with all the soldiers searching for your brother...” He
paused, handing her the skin. “I've brought you wine to help you sleep. It's
not much, but it should suffice for the both of you.”
The girl weighed it in her hands before handing it to her brother. “Drink,
Sandor. Is best we get some sleep.”
The boy gulped the wine down greedily until his sister grabbed the skin.
“That's enough. You heard m'lord. We have to share it.” She closed her eyes and
took a small sip before setting the rest aside and cradling the boy's head in
her lap. “Sleep now. Gregor is dead, an' the lion lord will tell his brother
we've done nothing. Everything's going to be alright.”
For half a heartbeat, Kevan was fooled by her words, but then he saw she was
crying. She knows. “You don't have to drink that,” he said, unsure what else to
do or say. He'd ordered many men's deaths, but this was different. “Maybe we
can find another way...”
“I watched father die. I don' know much, but I know a monster when I see one.
Is what happens when you grow up with a monster as a brother. I see them all.”
She was swirling the wine around in the skin before raising it to her lips and
emptying it in one go. “Is better this way. Give Alma a taste, if it please
m'lord, and Quent as well.”
Kevan did not know what to say, so he just nodded as she rested her head on the
ground.
“What did you want to ask me, m'lord? You said you had some questions...”
“Makes no matter now.” He said. “I got my answers.”
“You're a kind man, m'lord.” Her voice was slurred as if she was drunk. “I'm
sorry... I shouldn't have... I didn't know he would... I'm sorry-”
Sorry forwhat? Kevan felt a twist in his stomach. But the potion had started
taking effect, and she could no longer move her lips, her face slowly freezing
into a mask. It's just the poison clouding her mind, he told himself. It means
nothing.
He waited until both brother and sister had stopped breathing before getting
up. She's right about one thing, he thought. Tywin will figure out what
happened once his rage cools and he has time to think it through. He'll put the
pieces together. But that was a problem for another day. For now, we'll keep
hunting Gregor. And figure out who killed our most valuable prisoners.
“If anyone comes asking,” he told the guard on his way out, “tell them Maester
Selmond was the last to see the children.”
 
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