The Mountain of Ice and Fire

In the night, torches burned on the outer walls of the Tower of the Hand, illuminating the scene.

The Mountain stood before the Tower of the Hand, gazing at the structure where many Hands had met their downfall. Legend had it that the tower was cursed, and almost all who resided within met an unfortunate end.

Tonight, the Mountain had decided to take up residence.

He approached the tower's entrance like a specter. Several guards emerged from the shadows—mercenaries hired by the Imp.

"Halt, Ser," the mercenary captain commanded.

The Mountain drew his greatsword and swung it horizontally, sending the captain flying. He crashed into the wall beside the tower's entrance, a muffled groan escaping his lips. With a thud, his body fell to the ground, twitching a few times before becoming still.

Behind him, Alyn and Ser Glendon, leading the Mountain's guard, did not draw their swords.

The Mountain continued forward, and the remaining mercenaries scattered.

Bang!

The Mountain kicked open the doors of the Tower of the Hand, startling a squad of spearmen in the courtyard. When they recognized the Mountain, they were filled with fear. The spears they held aloft trembled in their hands.

To lower their weapons or not—that was the question.

The Mountain was not alone; he was accompanied by his guard. Alyn and Ser Glendon served as captains of the guard.

"I'm here to see your Hand," the Mountain announced.

"Ser, the Hand is not in the tower," the mercenary captain replied, trembling. He wisely kept himself out of reach of the Mountain's greatsword.

"I know. I'm going inside to wait! Does anyone object?" the Mountain asked.

No one answered.

The mercenaries hired by the Imp were a tough bunch, but against the Mountain, they were outmatched. They were here for money, not loyalty or faith. Between life and pay, they chose life. So, the mercenaries remained still and silent, those closest to the Mountain subtly distancing themselves.

A voice came from the tower above: "Everyone, lower your weapons. Please, allow Ser Gregor to enter."

It was Podrick's voice.

The Imp and Bronn had gone to Shae's chambers for some fun, leaving Podrick to watch over the Tower of the Hand. He was the Imp's most trusted personal servant, but for outside protection, Bronn was the preferred choice.

Ser Glendon led ten men to take control of the tower's gate. He stood with his hand on his sword, his men guarding both sides of the entrance.

Alyn led the remaining men, following the Mountain across the courtyard and into the tower. Starting at the base of the spiral staircase, four men guarded each floor.

The Mountain and his men took over the entire guard of the Tower of the Hand.

Alyn gathered the Imp's mercenaries in the soldiers' quarters, asking them to remove their armor and weapons and go to sleep.

*

At daybreak, the Imp emerged from the fireplace and froze.

A giant lay in the Hand's bed: the Mountain, snoring softly.

Having been the 'Lannister giant' with Shae, the Imp was jolted back to reality by the true giant's imposing figure. He was a dwarf, and the brute in the bed was the real giant.

"Hey!" The Imp poured a glass of wine and splashed it on the Mountain's face. The Mountain startled awake.

"What is it?" The Imp sat on a stool, dangling his short legs, sipping his wine with satisfaction.

"Cersei found out about your arrest of Yoren. She sent the Hound after you, and also dispatched Meryn Trant and Mandon Moore with guards to find Commander Jacelyn Bywater. If I hadn't sent troops to intercept them, Jacelyn would have lost his head tonight."

"I'm aware of everything that happened tonight. So, what's your price?"

"I convinced Cersei not to interfere with Ilyn Payne, but I realized I was being rash. Ilyn hates me and loves his sword, and I can't kill him and take the sword by force right now. So I want you to get Ice for me."

"Ice, a Valyrian steel sword, the Stark family's ancestral blade. Since Ilyn Payne loves his sword so much, he won't give it to me either. Mountain, I'm not Tywin Lannister, and I'm only the acting Hand. Ilyn Payne is my father's most trusted man, his former captain of the guard!"

"Then you'll have to find a way. I cleaned up your mess tonight and convinced Cersei not to bother you before the war. So, you owe me, and you have to repay it."

"Mountain, to be honest, if I reach for Ice with my left hand, Ilyn will chop off my left hand. If I reach with my right hand, he'll chop off my right hand. If I stand on a stool to take Ice off the wall, he'll chop off both my feet. I'm already short enough." The Imp looked down at his dangling legs and sighed.

"I'll give you three days. I must have Ice. You'll figure something out; you're the smartest man in the Seven Kingdoms," the Mountain said, rising, grabbing his greatsword, and heading for the door.

"What if I can't get Ice in three days? Ilyn Payne is unlike any other bastard; he has no weaknesses. Money, women, and wine—he wants none of it. We all know that."

The Mountain stopped. "Imp, if I don't get Ice in three days, I guarantee you'll regret it. I'll side with Cersei, and your new commander, Jacelyn Bywater, might not live another week. Or, Bronn could be the first to die. But rest assured, I won't lift a finger. I won't interfere in any Lannister family infighting, even if I know Cersei's plans. I won't say a word, and I certainly won't warn you. I won't do any more of those stupid things like stopping Meryn Trant or beating Mandon Moore."

The Imp was stunned.

"Your Bronn will resign in less than five days. Want to bet?"

"Impossible! I pay him twice what anyone else would," the Imp said, downing his wine in one gulp.

"This time is different. After Bronn resigns, he'll leave King's Landing. He'll no longer be the Hand's personal guard, and no noble will care if he's killed. After Bronn dies, who will protect you when you go out? Shagga and Conn? A bottle of good wine will have them passed out in a tavern."

"What is Cersei planning?"

"I want the Stark family's sword—Ice!" The Mountain stared at the Imp.

"Mountain, you won't gain anything by getting Ice. The Starks and the northern lords will see you as an enemy. Ice is the Starks' ancestral sword, a famous sword of the North, symbolizing their honor and pride. Do you want to earn hatred? Unending hatred?"

"Get me Ice, Imp. Otherwise…" The Mountain shrugged. "Your affairs in King's Landing will become very difficult. Your people will die mysteriously, like Ser Yoren! I believe Cersei is capable of anything!"

The Imp's ugly face turned pale!

The Mountain led his men out of the Tower of the Hand. Day had broken!

*

Not far from the Red Keep, there was a small alley.

The alley was called Hook Alley.

It was short, like a hook, connecting the Street of the King and the Street of Steel.

Because of its proximity to the Red Keep, many courtiers and warriors rented houses in Hook Alley. It was a place of freedom, separate from the residences within the Red Keep, a completely private place where they could relax, even bringing prostitutes back to collapse the bed.

Living in official quarters inside the Red Keep did not allow for such freedom and ease.

In a corner of Hook Alley, in the most secluded spot, was a simple room with only one chamber.

The resident of this small room was a well-known figure in King's Landing. He was famous not only in King's Landing but throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He was the King's Justice: Ser Ilyn Payne.

Before dawn, Ilyn Payne was already awake.

He wasn't old, but his hair had almost completely fallen out, leaving only a ring of gray-black hair behind his ears that draped down his back. The rest of his head was bald.

He lit a candle and took the greatsword Ice down from the wall. As he drew it, a palpable chill rushed out.

Ice was long, longer than Ilyn Payne's own greatsword. Standing upright, it was taller than most adults. When Ilyn Payne attended court, he carried Ice slung diagonally across his back, the hilt protruding from behind his right shoulder, towering over his head.

Ice was too long to be worn at the hip.

The hand-and-a-half width of Ice did not make it as heavy as it appeared, due to its Valyrian steel construction.

Valyrian steel was forged by blacksmiths in the Freehold of Valyria across the Narrow Sea. Its raw material was ordinary steel, but the forging process involved magic, spells, and the influence of dragonflame, making the steel very special. Valyrian steel of the same size was lighter than any other steel, yet more durable.

Every sword made of Valyrian steel was a treasure, capable of slicing through iron like mud.

Four hundred years ago, the Doom of Valyria occurred. Ground fire erupted from beneath the earth, destroying all mountains, rivers, and life within five hundred miles, including dragons. Since then, the forging techniques for Valyrian steel were lost. Skilled craftsmen could only melt down existing steel to reforge weapons.

Because the smelting techniques were lost, existing Valyrian steel became extremely precious and rare. Most Valyrian steel swords in Westeros were kept by old noble families, each sword with its own name and story.

Ice was the ancestral sword of House Stark of the North, forged from Valyrian steel, a famous sword of the Seven Kingdoms.

Ilyn Payne loved this sword dearly.

Every day, before dawn, Ilyn Payne would rise to sharpen his sword.

Sharpening his sword and killing people were Ilyn Payne's two great pleasures in life. He had no interest in wine or women.

Seventeen years ago, when Tywin Lannister was Hand of King Aerys Targaryen, Ilyn Payne was Tywin's captain of the guard. At that time, Ilyn still enjoyed wine and women. Later, King Aerys granted Jaime Lannister the honor and position of Kingsguard without Tywin's consent, which greatly displeased Tywin, as he had lost his chosen heir.

The Lannister family of the Westerlands could not be without an heir!

In a fit of anger, Tywin resigned as Hand, a position he had held for twenty years, without the King's permission, and returned to Casterly Rock in the Westerlands. This made King Aerys Targaryen feel that his dignity had been severely challenged, so he cut out Ilyn Payne's tongue to warn Tywin.

Ilyn Payne could no longer speak, nor did he know how to write. He could not communicate with the outside world. Robert Baratheon, after his betrothed Lyanna Stark was taken by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, rebelled and eventually seized the throne with the help of House Stark of the North, House Arryn of the Vale, and House Tully of the Riverlands.

For the stability of the dynasty, Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister of the Westerlands formed a political marriage. Robert sat on the Iron Throne, Cersei became Queen, and to show goodwill to his father-in-law, Robert appointed Ilyn Payne as the King's Justice, the executioner specifically responsible for beheading people for the King.

After Ilyn Payne's tongue was cut out by the Mad King Aerys Targaryen, he lost his love for wine and women. He fell in love with swords and solitude. The only two pleasures left in his life were killing and sharpening his sword.

Every day before dawn, Ilyn Payne would rise to sharpen his sword. Before, he sharpened his greatsword; now, he sharpened Ice.

Sharpening stone, oil, sharpening cloth—all were prepared. Ilyn Payne began to sharpen Ice.

Valyrian steel never wore down, broke, or suffered any flaws from collisions, but Ilyn Payne still insisted on sharpening his sword every day. He loved his sword as his life, especially since Ice was a Valyrian steel sword, a true supreme sword, the ancestral sword passed down through the Stark family of the North.

In the candlelight, the surface of Ice displayed a water-like pattern. Rings of dark纹纹 emerged from the depths of the sword, one ring after another, layer upon layer, making Ice appear translucent. These were the beautiful patterns left in the blade after countless hammer blows, unparalleled.

Valyrian steel—the best steel in the world! Valyrian swords—the best swords in the world!

Toc, toc, toc!

Someone was knocking on the door, knocking on the door of the small room in Hook Alley.

It wasn't dawn yet. Hook Alley was quiet, and the knocking was soft, but it sounded like thunder in Ilyn Payne's ears.

After losing his tongue, Ilyn Payne's hearing had gradually become very sensitive.

The sharpening stone in Ilyn's hand paused, then continued to sharpen the sword.

The knocking outside also paused, then continued.

The swishing sound of sharpening, the gentle knocking. The hand of the person sharpening the sword was steady, and the person knocking was patient.

Sharpening his sword was something Ilyn Payne enjoyed, especially sharpening the Valyrian steel sword Ice in the early morning, but if someone kept knocking on the door, and the door was so close, this enjoyment would be severely disturbed.

Ilyn Payne finally sighed. He could no longer continue sharpening his sword. His heart was disturbed, in chaos.

Ilyn put away the sharpening stone, oiled Ice, and carefully wiped the oil off with the sharpening cloth.

Ice felt cold in his hands, the blade was bright, and the body of the sword was translucent. He waved it gently, and the sword's aura was ethereal, the blade emitting a light as if a brilliant starlight flashed.

Ice was sheathed!

Ilyn Payne opened the door.

Standing outside the door was a dwarf in rich brocade robes—Tyrion Lannister, the current Hand of the King. Behind him stood two guards: the sellsword Bronn, who was like a long knife hidden in its sheath, and Podrick Payne, Ilyin's kinsman, a shy boy.

Both Ilyin and Podrick were from House Payne of the Westerlands.

"What is it?" Ilyin's eyes seemed to ask.

The Imp glanced around Ilyin's room. Besides a bed, there was no other furniture; the space was small and couldn't accommodate anything like a wardrobe.

"I need the knight's help," the Imp said.

Ilyin's gaze was cautious and cold.

"Jaime Lannister is imprisoned in Riverrun, in the Riverlands. I'm planning to rescue him. Everything is ready, but one essential item is missing."

Ilyin Payne raised his head, his chin pointing towards the three people outside the door, his resistance obvious.

"Our plan is to exchange Sansa Stark and Arya Stark for Jaime Lannister. The exchange negotiation is just a pretense; the real plan is a prison break."

Ilyin Payne snorted.

Podrick noticed that his family elder looked haggard, his expression cold, his face pockmarked, beardless, with deep-set eyes and sunken cheeks. The grey robe looked dirty, and a sour, rotten smell wafted from the room.

"The prison break plan is foolproof. Now, all that's missing is a token," Tyrion Lannister looked behind Ilyin Payne, at Ice, the Stark family sword, hanging on the wall.

"Official business, I'm sorry," the Imp said with regret. "Podrick!"

Podrick took out a money bag from his pocket.

"It's full of gold dragons." The Imp took the money bag and tossed it to Ilyin Payne. Ilyin Payne didn't move; the money bag hit his chest and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

"Ser Ilyin, regardless, I must take the Ice sword. For Jaime Lannister," the Imp said.

He stepped back. Bronn stepped forward. Podrick hesitated, then stepped forward as well. Bronn's hand gripped the horn-hilted dagger at his lower back, while Podrick's hand rested on the hilt of his short sword.

"Big man, please move aside," Bronn walked up to Ilyin, almost nose to nose.

Ilyin had killed many people. The King's Justice had beheaded too many, and he carried an aura of death about him.

But this aura of death had no effect on Bronn.

Bronn's killing intent surged. With the Hand of the King backing him, his reason for taking the sword was justified and aboveboard.

With right on his side—his confidence was boosted!

Ilyin Payne was in his nightgown and had no weapons on him. He blocked the doorway like a lone wolf, his eyes bulging, like a zombie skeleton.

"Ser Ilyin!" the Imp said, "You don't have to do this. I promise to find you the finest sword in the future. A Lannister always pays his debts. Consider this my debt to you."

"Ser, step aside. I'm losing my patience," Bronn's eyes narrowed slightly, like a cat squinting in the sunlight. His right hand tightened around the horn-hilted dagger, ready to draw blood.