On a foggy summer’s morning, down on that smoothstone terrace beneath the Red Keep, Ser Balon taught me that you must always make the first move when you’re fighting outnumbered. If you wait for them to surround you, he told me, you have as good as given up.

So when the two bandits holding longswords took to the sides to circle me, I waited until they were as far apart as possible before pulling the trigger. I was slower than any of them, weighted down by a set of plate armor that left only my joints unprotected and a suit of mail beneath it, but predators are often surprised when prey has something to say about their hunting.

The man with the two knives had one of those moments of shocked indecision as I rushed him. Someone cursed behind me when I took off, dead leaves crackling beneath them. If I let them get to me before I was done with the first, they’d have me, armor or not.

My reach was longer, and when we stood close enough, I faked high, swinging Lightbringer up as if going for his neck. The bandit brought his knives to bare, crossing them to catch the blade. With a twist of the wrist my sword turned down on its sweeping arc, and valyrian steel parted flesh and bone right where leg meets groin.

Metal clanged off the side of my helmet, twisting it out of place and unbalancing me for a moment. No doubt he’d taken a retaliatory strike on that split second before the pain from the loss of a limb registered in the brain.

He might as well have saved me, as I stumbled to the side only to feel a sword whistling right past where my neck was. I caught myself with two steps and turned, bloodied blade already blocking the next swing. The two swords met an inch away from the back of my knee; my stance was awkward and unstable, but I managed to put enough weight behind the sword to push the other off, gaining some much needed space.

I fixed the helmet on my head and looked. It was the pale-eyed man, his stance a picture of perfection. He didn’t come at me for a moment, watching. Behind him, the knife-bandit finally started to scream as he fell to the ground. His cries came like a crescendo of realization, first the painful grunts, then the horrified scream over the fact he hadn’t a leg anymore, to finally the whimpering of knowing he’d bleed out and die in the next minute.

The third bandit hadn’t come after me. He scrambled to kneel beside the knife-bandit, one hand going to his stump of a leg where blood gushed out in torrents. “Marion,” he called, voice trembling. “Oh seven bloody fucks, Marion.”

Marion the one-legged bandit stopped whimpering long enough to say, “Jos… Jos, I don’t want to die, brother, I don’t want to die,” before going right back to it. Now that I thought of it, they did bear a striking resemblance, though peasant faces often tend to look like each other.

“That’s oh so very touching,” I mocked, loud enough so the brothers could hear me. From the corner of my eyes, I had seen Jaime wheeling his horse around to ride our way. I needed only to stall long enough so he arrived, then we could do a simple one on one fight, and I wouldn’t go down being known as the king that was done in by a pair of smallfolk bandits. “And though I’d usually say the penalty for striking the king is death, it seems he has that well in hand.”

Jos’ head snapped my way; fury and tears burned in his eyes. “Kill him, Brune,” he hissed. Marion had gone silent in his arms. He glanced down at his brother only to see he was either dead or unconscious and started to cry. “Kill him or I will.”

“Oh ho,” I said, laughing. I pointed at Brune with Lightbringer. “It seems you’re no simple bandit, then, eh? House Brune, was it? From Crackclaw Point? Perhaps I’ll visit your family’s home when I’m done with you? Maybe—”

I ducked as a dagger flew over me. Over Jos’ crying, I let out a cackle of laughter that sounded crazy even to me. “There’s two other kings in Westeros still, my Brune friend. Perhaps you were aiming for Stannis instead of me with that knife? I’m afraid he’s all the way beyond the Wall at this point.”

My taunting didn’t seem to work. Still looking at me flatly, Brune approached me; his steps were measured and silent, undisturbing of the brush beneath him. Despite his smaller stature, he looked like a great cat on a hunt.

I breathed out and stepped up to meet him. The suffocating warmth inside my armor caused my sweat to feel like it was boiling, yet somehow the heat was fuel to me. The mix of sensations made my skin crawl and my heart race in exhilaration. This is what I was waiting for. In the distance, the battle still rang on, and Jaime had already ridden halfway to us. I trusted him to take care of the beleaguered Jos who still cried over his brother’s body.

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It would just be me and the Brune fellow.

His last two steps were taken quickly as a viper. The moment he was in range, his sword lept thrice in quick succession, high and low then slicing at my hip. His speed was such a surprise that I struggled to keep up, barely deflecting each of the blows.

He danced around me, gliding from thrust to slice to thrust again, always aiming at the chinks in my armor. When I tried to use that defense to my advantage and bullrush him, he would weave aside as easily as leaves in the wind, and I would have to block a hack to the back of a knee or jump over a tripping foot.

We disengaged for just a moment before Brune was on me again, his sword flashing in a thrust to my neck. This time, I managed a good parry, swiftly twisting into a riposte aimed at his armpit that was sure to take the fight out of him. His side step came before I even started the movement—a trap, and I had to use my vambrace to block the sideway swipe of his blade.

Hot agony flared in my forearm, and a grunt escaped my mouth unbidden. I retreated back two steps in a rush, throwing out a wild swing to keep Brune at bay. He was stronger than he looked, I realized, and quicker than me. Better than me. I gulped in air again, as if that would somehow stave off the pain. It didn’t. When I brought both hands to Lightbringer’s hilt, my left hand felt numb and weak at the grip.

In my periphery, I saw Jos finally letting go of Marion’s corpse and charging at me in a rage, only for Jaime to jump out from his horse and tackle him to the ground. But I couldn’t focus on that.

It was all I could do to match Brune’s pace, our blades meeting repeatedly in a clash of magic steel against castle-forged iron that rattled my injured arm. There were already notches in his blade wherever it met the valyrian steel squarely, and I knew I needed only to hang on until his blade gave out or Jaime finished pummeling Jos into the ground.

I opened my mouth to speak, only for Brune to close the distance. His sword was a whirlwind targeting my neck and visor and armpits, keeping my own blade stuck in a high guard; that’s why his sweeping kick to the back of my left leg coming at the same time his sword sliced at my right armpit easily brought me to one knee.

Then I was seeing stars as the flat of his blade crashed against the side of my helmet, and Lightbringer flew out of my hands. Black washed over my vision and blood flooded my mouth where my tongue caught on teeth. Even dazed, however, I knew I had to move, so I jumped and tucked into a roll to the side.

I went down awkwardly with the antler rack on my head scraping on the earth, and I ended up sprawled on my back. Before I could move, a weight settled over my chest, driving all the air out of me, and something pulled on the bottom lip of my helmet. The gap of the visor went up, blocking my vision, but my hands flashed up on instinct and were just fast enough to catch the dagger destined to pierce my throat.

The blade cut into my hands instantly, my tight grip around it only making it easier. The blood coming out turned my hands slippery, but I kept desperately pushing up with all my strength, struggling to keep it away from me.

I cursed at him, cursed his mother and his father and three generations back, spat until I realized I was only spitting on myself, thrashed and tried to kick him with my legs. But Brune was an unmoving rock against a rushing river, and he had his whole bulk behind him. The dagger lowered, slowly, tortuously, until the cold metal bit into the soft skin at my neck.

Then I heard a desperate “No!” followed by running footsteps, and suddenly Brune was gone, taking the dagger with him. I drew in a desperate breath, trying to get my bearings, and the near-death shock was gone as soon as it came. My hands felt raw, the cuts reaching bone, but I didn’t allow myself to stay down. Through the searing agony, I grabbed the rack on top of my helmet and threw it away.

My eyes could see again, and what I saw when I turned to the side was Jaime struggling with Brune on the ground, rolling around like kids at play. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, as I doubted even three minutes had passed since the ambush had been sprung, but deep into the brush as we were, I couldn’t find the glint of the dagger in the middle of their tousling.

I wanted to keep laying down there more than anything I’ve ever wanted, but I knew I couldn’t afford to do so. I pushed myself up as fast as I could, reached behind my back, and took out my own dagger.

Brune had ended up on top in their struggle, but he had his back to me, and both his hands were somewhere between him and Jaime. Without a second of hesitation, I lunged and drove my blade straight into the back of his neck and out the front. I knew he had died as his body instantly went slack, and I had to handily throw his bulk to the side.

Taking a relieved breath, I smiled down at Jaime, a cheeky quip ready to make light of the fucked up situation my impulsiveness had landed us on.

That’s when I saw the blood, and the dagger sticking out of his chest. And the words died on my tongue.