Snippet #1501630

“Why should we give our beloved Bastard King any satisfaction? I didn’t see him bending over to give me some, or for you,” he said in agreement with Sirena’s voice opinion. He had no intention of playing another man’s game without any direct and upfront compensation. Back in Braavos, hiring one of the Faceless Men in order to carry out the assassination of a royal, and one that was both prominent and secure behind the walls of a Keep, would cost as much gold as the hiring of an army.

Of course, that was not to say that Ammon considered himself unable to perform the assassination - if he had been given that much gold for it and not just left on land with a simple set of orders, he would have done so and been able to get away with it. But, since there was no money for neither him no Sirena, the two of them would much rather frolic about and engage in their own fun.

“We would have to look the part of tortured escapees – and I think we’ll manage that if we took a really rough tumble in the hay before arriving at King’s Landing,” he eyed Sirena with a smile on his face that hinted very much at his desire to engage in some violent bed-play. “You, me, and Loreley.”

They would have to do that a few days before their arrival at the Red Keep, so as to give the wounds and bruises a few days to mottle and close up so as to look all the more believable. At the next inn – or the next time they made camp – was when they would enjoy in their bit of brutal fun. Ammon’s loins already ached for another torrid night with Sirena, but he told himself to wait.

And, by all the Gods that were ever named, Ammon despised waiting.

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Every movement was agonizing. Ammon would have never been able to attest to the fact that sex could be both pleasurable and excruciating until that morning. He and Sirena had stopped by a roadside inn where they got lodging, fresh supply of food and a bath. Of course, since supplies were short in these times, what with the realm being at war, they had gotten what they needed by threatening to butcher the innkeeper.

However, since it was not wise to sleep under the roof of people whom one threatened with death, he and Sirena had taken care of the innkeeper and his family before going upstairs into one of the rooms to engage in interrupted coitus. The two of them had, at first, flipped a copper to see if they should or should not murder their ‘hosts’. The copper had landed with the side of the King’s seal facing upwards – and that had more or less decided for them that killing the innkeeper and his family was indeed the right thing to be done. Leaving such things up to random chance was not only cruel, but deliciously fun. Ammon approved whole-heartedly.

“This was a horrible idea,” Ammon decreed as they saddled a pair of fresh horses – the old horses had collapsed a few hours away from the inn and been long since abandoned. Their appropriation of a new set of horses meant that yet another poor stable boy had been murdered – albeit with less style since the last time, considering that both Ammon and Sirena ached pretty much everywhere that either of them could reach. Ammon had not even had the desire of taking the stable boy on a ride – all euphemisms intended, of course.

“I think I dislocated something…” he groaned as he swung himself unto the back of the horse and winced when his body came into contact with the saddle. Riding would bring many times the amount of pain and though Ammon knew that they would have to keep up their pace so as to make good time, he was still not looking forward to the ordeal.

“If we ride as hard as we did the past four days, then we certainly will look the part of escapees,” Ammon said as he took up the reins and tried to ignore the throbbing ache of every damned inch of his body. “I feel like I’ve crawled out of a dungeon using my teeth and from the way you’re hobbling, I’d say you share my sentiment.”

He looked over at Sirena and let out a laugh, trying not to move his shoulders too much due to one of them most likely being dislocated – or just wrenched in the wrong manner – he could not quite tell. “We passed Highgarden – the main Keep, already. We ought to be a third of the way to Cider Hall.” They had been keeping up the pace of a gallop throughout the whole day and sleeping for a few hours before resuming the gallop once more. It wasted the horses quickly, but had them moving at a very speedy pace.

Ammon rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, flinching as his fingers hit a cut that had begun to scab over and was most likely bleeding again after he had just touched it. He drew his fingers back and looked at them, frowning darkly when he did indeed see his own blood on his hand. Well, they did, after all, have to look part of tortured escapees, did then not?