The sun was rising as King’s Landing died. Screams of women and children filled the air with the sounds of battle as the column of chosen men road through the streets towards Aegon’s Hill and the Red Keep standing strong upon it.
These men were knights and men-at-arms some of the finest in the Westerlands and chosen by their lord Tywin Lannister for the task at hand. Lord Roland Crakehall took pride of place at the front of the column as it moved through the streets with many others close at hand. Ser Elys Westerling rode at his right hand and Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides, rode at his left. Ser Amory Lorch rode just behind, licking his pale, piggy lips in anticipation for what was to come.
Lorch had known from a young age he enjoyed killing. When he was a younger man he had hunted in the hills around his father’s holdfast, if it could bleed he would bring it down with spear or bow. Some men hunted for sport, for the challenge of hunting something that could be dangerous or quick or clever. That was not the type of man Ser Amory was, he had hunted because he enjoyed the blood and the power it gave him. His brother had inherited their father’s lands and power and Amory had needed to make his own power and wealth.
Then one day he had found two smallfolk in the woods near his hunting grounds. A boy and a girl, perhaps fifteen and thirteen, they had scared off all the game though and Amory had been unforgiving. He had ridden down the boy and speared him from behind. Then he had raped the girl and left her alone in the hills. Hunting had grown boring for him after that. Fortunately, not long after that Tywin Lannister called his banners to put down the over mighty Lords Tarbeck and Reyne and Amory had gotten to kill again.
The pig-faced man smiled at the memory of pushing little Lord Tarbeck down the well while watching his men cut the tongue’s from his older sister’s mouths before sending them to be brides of the Stranger. It had been that enjoyable work for the Lord of Castely Rock’s son that had earned Ser Amory his lands and wealth. There were always people that needed to be murdered and smallfolk despoiled that the Lord Paramount could not be seen doing himself.
Other men would have done it for the gold, the land, or the women. Ser Amory did it for the pleasure of killing.
True, there were some who would say he was not a ‘true’ knight. Not the kind of knight singers would write songs about that maidens would swoon over, some would say that he had broken his oaths taken as a knight. Amory Lorch was not the type to think deeply about such things, but if pressed he might have said that he kept his oath to serve his liege lord faithfully.
Which was why he now rode to murder a widow, her three year old daughter, and her suckling babe at arms.
He was not the only one on his mission of course, Lord Tywin was nothing if not thorough and the Mountain that Rides would make a good companion in this work. A young man barely eighteen he was the largest of the knights and men-at-arms closer to eight feet than seven and with shoulders as broad as a castle wall. He was garbed in thick plate, grey steel unadorned and simple. Ser Amory Lorch wore much the same. It was the only thing besides their secret mission to separate them from the others.
The walls of the Red Keep came up quickly and suddenly the fighting was begun. They had been told that Ser Jaime had been placed in charge of the defenses for the Red Keep and it seemed that he had not slacked at his duty. Arrows and rocks began to fall amongst the riders, bouncing of the plate of those who had it add lodging in the shields of those who did not. Occasionally a horse would scream when struck and send its rider tumbling when it fell.
Still the Westermen came on up the hill disdainful of the defenders attempts to slow or stop them. Grappling hooks appeared in the hands of some and ladders were hefted over their shoulders. With a shout the grapples were tossed and the ladders were brought to the walls.
Dismounting quickly Ser Amory moved to climb up the ladder, not hurrying to be the first up the ladder but not necessarily holding back. It would not do for him to seem a craven at a moment like this.
Ser Gregor was the first up the ladder of course, the defenders weapons merely bounced off of his armor and then they died screaming cut down like wheat in a field with a swing of his giant great sword. Some of their blood splattered on Ser Amorty’s face as he climbed up onto the wall and a smile spread across his piggy face. Drawing his sword he stood side by side with Ser Gregor and some others cutting their way through the fools who did not run shitting themselves in terror.
The defenders did not stand before this onslaught long, quickly routing and yielding the walls to the Westermen. Two men-at-arms moved to lift the gate and allow more of the attackers to enter as the knights moved down the steps swords red with blood as they hacked down any who found themselves within reach of their blades.
Westerling and Crakehall had already broken through to the Red Keep with several knights of their entourage forcing their way up the steps the large doors.
“Lorch! Let’s go!” Clegane roared pointing a blood stained sword at Maegor’s Holdfast where the draw bridge was down and the door on its other side unguarded.
Lorch grunted pulling his sword from the guts of a poor, foolish boy in leather armor that gave little protection against his sword. With the Mountain in the lead the two butchers forced their way across the yard as the last of the Targaryen Loyalists formed a weak semi-circle trying to stop any more Westermen moving passed them.
Leading the small portion of fighters in between Lorch and Clegane was a lord in a black and grey surcoat with black wings on white in the center. Lord Symond Staunton, master of laws.
Perhaps the Lord of Rook’s Rest had had no way to honorably flee from the city like many others, perhaps he had finally grown some balls, whatever the reason he stood between the Mountain and his goal. He did not stand long.
Leaping into the center of the two man deep line in front of him the Mountain slammed the edge of his shield into the face of the first man in the line and took the head off of Lord Staunton in one swing of his great sword. The others in the line screamed and began to run denying Lorch the pleasure of killing any of them.
It doesn’t matter, there are plenty to be killed in there. The pig-faced knight thought as he and the Mountain crossed the drawbridge of the Holdfast, the first foes to ever take the Holdfast by storm in history though neither would care. Beyond the bridge there was only a door of oak and iron keeping them separate from Elia Martell and her children from them. It would take multiple strong men with a thick battering ram quite some time to bring down that door. Gregor Clegane took a step back to kick it down in an instant.
A spear flew through the air and buried its point into the center of that door, a hands breath to the left or right and it would have struck Ser Amory or Ser Gregor.
“Gregor! Hold!” A voice shouted out with authority from across the drawbridge.
Ser Amory turned quickly lifting his sword with a smile on his face wondering who had come to give him the opportunity to kill him.
That smile died faster than Lord Staunton had.
Standing across the drawbridge in a lion’s head helm with golden armor and a white cloak was Ser Jaime Lannister. And he was pointing his gilded sword at them. There was blood on the tip of the sword.
“Ser Jaime,” Ser Amory greeted Tywin Lannister’s son attempting to sound as amicable as possible. It was obvious he was a afraid. “Should you not be guarding the king?”
Jaime did not show any fear on his face; there were two knights behind him one’s arms were black and red with a silver flail in the center and the other had two black war hammers on white crossing a field of blue. Three knights against the two, with one being the Mountain and one being Jame Lannister. This was not a fair fight for either side.
Amory Lorch would have thanked the Seven for his faceguard if he had been the type to pray, the Lion of Lannister could not see his fear and neither could the Mountain or these two other knights.
“The Mad King is dead, and you are standing between the Kingsguard and the King. Not a safe place to be.” Jaime spoke, a man of eighteen he showed more bravery and sense than Lorch would ever possess.
An embarrassing noise came out of Lorch’s throat as he took a slight step forward placing himself between Jaime and Gregor. It was a sound that was a mix of fear and gasping for words to say. He needed some lie, some excuse, and some protection from that gilded sword. Lord Tywin would understand, surely? He would forgive this failure. Lorch lied to himself as he lowered his own sword just slightly.
“Drop your swords and come across in peace Ser Amory, Ser Gregor. The fighting is done. If I have to come across this bridge in war, you will die.” Jaime threatened. No he did not threaten, he promised. Amory Lorch nearly pissed himself then, imagining what Lord Lannister would do if he found out he had lifted his steel against his favorite son.
Lorch didn’t have a moment to answer though. The Mountain was not a fool, nor a stupid man. He had to know that fighting Jaime had no good ending, that Tywin would not reward him for killing his son. But Ser Gregor’s blood was up from the killing and he did not see Ser Jaime as his lord’s son. He just saw a fool in a white cloak threatening him.
The Mountain let out a roar to shake the foundation of the Red Keep and charged forward bowling Ser Amory to the side and through the air. Amory screamed as he flew through the air down into the dry moat. His sword tumbled from his hand and his armor brought him down on one of the wicked iron spikes with enough force to pierce his armor at one side and come out the other.
Now Amory Lorch did piss himself. And shit himself as well. He let out a pitiful moan, the only sound he could make with a spear through his innards. He squirmed and moaned attempting to find some way off of the spike to no avail. It would take him more than a half an hour to die, and the last thing he would see was the Mountain and the Lion clashing on the drawbridge of Maegor’s Holdfast.
And so died Ser Amort of House Lorch, at the age of thirty-eight impaled on an iron spike through accident at the hands of his ally. He died reeking of piss and shit and moaning pitifully. He was a rapist and a murderer, and a child killer. He would not be missed.