"I, Sandor Clegane, swear fealty to Jon Stark and his house, from this day until my last day. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New." Sandor held his sword high above his head. "My sword is yours to command!"
"And my will and my charge shall guide your sword." Jon recited the ceremonial words he had once learned alongside Robb. "There shall always be a place for you at my table, and a fire for you at my hearth."
The ceremony was complete. The bond of vassalage was forged.
A unnerving grin spread across the Hound's face. He put on a mocking, playful expression. "My lord, if you ever need me, just whistle and call 'Dog!'"
"'Dog'?"
"My lord!" Sandor smirked, suddenly standing at attention.
"Is that how Joffrey usually called you?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Since you are my vassal now, I believe a lord should show respect to his bannermen. From now on, I will only call you Sandor."
"My lord..." Sandor's nose stung with emotion, but he insisted, "My lord, you can just call me Hound."
Gods, what did the Lannisters do to you?
Jon felt uncomfortable but stuck to his decision to call him Sandor. He wanted a warrior, not a slave.
Calling Sandor "Dog" might satisfy some sadistic urge when he was powerful, but that kind of petty amusement would be costly if he ever found himself in trouble.
Jon looked up at Sandor, who towered over him by half a head. "Since you are my vassal now, I'll tell you something not many people know yet."
"Speak, my lord." Sandor bent down, still grinning obsequiously.
"King Stannis wants me to go to Riverrun and persuade Robb Stark—my brother—to lay down his crown and pledge fealty to the Iron Throne. If I succeed, His Grace will name me Duke of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. Of course, I'll have to take Casterly Rock and the West myself."
Hearing this, Sandor's eyes widened. Even his burned left eye seemed to bulge like a boiled egg.
"You're going to be Duke of Casterly Rock, my lord? The Rock isn't easy to take!" Sandor warned.
In his opinion, Harrenhal wasn't bad. A bit ruined, sure, but huge and sturdy. Casterly Rock was great, but he doubted Jon would live to enjoy it.
Like everyone else, Sandor hoped Jon wouldn't get ideas about attacking Casterly Rock.
He even started listing exactly how many arrow towers, armories, and hidden tunnels the Rock had.
Seeing Sandor genuinely concerned for him, Jon felt a bit touched.
He asked jokingly, "What if I'm determined to take Casterly Rock? We just finished the ceremony. If you want to leave, now's your chance. No one will know."
Sandor looked into Jon's eyes. His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to say something. Finally, he sighed helplessly. "Seven hells. No one will know, but the Gods will. If you're dead set on fighting, I'll follow you."
Jon chuckled inwardly. He knew there was no such thing as absolute loyalty, but for Sandor to pledge this much right after swearing fealty was far better than any mercenary.
He patted Sandor on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm not the type to throw lives away. I heard the Westerlands prisoners are still being held in the Dragonpit. Let's go see them."
Since Hakon and Harrion had left, Jon only had about two thousand men under his direct command.
The Westerlands soldiers who surrendered during the wildfire encirclement numbered around four or five thousand.
Although they were mostly Lannister and Westerlands elites with relatively high loyalty, the most fanatical ones had charged too hard and burned to death. The survivors weren't impossible to turn.
Besides, how much loyalty could a feudal lord really command? Most of these soldiers were from peasant families; at best, they were slightly better off than average.
Whatever the Lannisters could offer in the future, Jon could offer too. He didn't believe he couldn't win them over.
The Dragonpit was originally built by the Targaryens to house their dragons.
Before the Dragonpit, the site was home to the Sept of Remembrance, built by Aegon the Conqueror to honor his second wife, Rhaenys.
But the Sept of Remembrance was destroyed during the cruel reign of Maegor the Cruel, who bloodily suppressed the Faith Militant uprising and built the Dragonpit on its ruins.
The Sept honored Rhaenys, but Maegor's mother was Queen Visenya. Maegor had a violent temper and cared little for sentiment.
After the dragons died out, the Dragonpit was abandoned, becoming a haven for thieves, whores, bandits, and gangs.
After Jon took the Red Keep and secured victory, he rounded up the trapped Westerlands soldiers and locked them all in the Dragonpit.
Since King's Landing was short on food, Jon only gave them one meal a day—just enough water and gruel to keep them alive but too weak to cause trouble.
When Jon and Sandor arrived at the Dragonpit, they heard harsh laughter. Riding closer, they saw a group of Florent soldiers tormenting the prisoners.
Several Florent men were tossing rice balls back and forth over the heads of the starving Westerlanders.
The famished prisoners were running back and forth chasing the food like monkeys, looking pathetic and wretched.
Some Riverlands soldiers nearby were cheering them on.
Jon didn't intervene immediately. These Westerlands soldiers had likely tormented civilians in the Riverlands the same way. A little suffering was deserved.
After a moment, a Florent soldier sensed the approach of troops. He turned and saw a unit of about a hundred men drawing near.
Realizing the leader was Jon, he quickly hurried over to bow.
They knelt before Jon, looking nervous.
House Florent's troops were Stannis's most loyal core, representing the Queen's Men. Jon didn't want to start a conflict with them over some morally questionable prisoners.
"Rise. I'm just here to see the prisoners."
"Yes, my lord."
The soldiers led Jon to the ruined Dragonpit.
Soon, four or five thousand prisoners were brought out. Ten days of near-starvation, combined with the earlier forced march, left many with visible ribs.
Stepping out of the Dragonpit, many shivered in the sudden drop in temperature. The light outside was also brighter, causing them to squint uncomfortably.
It took nearly a quarter of an hour for the thousands of prisoners to adjust.
Sandor looked at the cowering Westerlands army, who resembled withered stalks of wheat after a harvest. They had completely lost their sharp edge. He felt a pang of sorrow.
He was also curious how Jon planned to recruit these men.
Suddenly, a voice spoke up from the crowd. "My lord, are you going to kill us?"
The speaker was a soldier with brownish-yellow hair. It was unclear if he had Lannister blood, but if he did, it was very distant.
Jon looked at the soldier and said, "I am indeed here to kill. But not all of you."
The wind carried Jon's voice to most of the crowd, making them perk up.
Sandor's ears pricked up too. He glanced at Jon sideways. If he wants to recruit them, why kill them?
"I know you lot had a grand time raping and pillaging in the Riverlands. If the Lannisters had won, you probably would have sacked King's Landing just like you did fifteen years ago."
The prisoners' faces went tight.
"I also know Tywin condoned much of it. But that doesn't mean I will forgive you. If the rest of you want to live, form groups of ten. Vote to execute the one among you who committed the most evil. The rest will live. And I will take you back to the Westerlands. Start now!"
Jon's words caused an uproar among the prisoners. Some eyes flashed with defiance.
But seeing the heavily armored soldiers flanking Jon, they knew they had no chance.
To suppress these prisoners, Jon had brought his elite heavy infantry.
If the unarmed prisoners rebelled, they would be slaughtered. If they accepted the decimation, they had a ninety percent chance of survival.
Jon waved his hand. Under Martin's direction, the Riverlands soldiers pulled the Westerlanders out in groups of ten and forced them to vote.
"I only killed two people! You told me to do it!"
"Bullshit! You killed four! Two of those women were raped to death!"
These soldiers were rough men. When it came to life and death, pleasantries vanished.
"Those two women were dying anyway! You! Jayne! You raped them the hardest! It should be you!"
"Quiet! Vote now!" a Riverlands soldier barked.
Soon, the first group of ten singled out a soldier with a long, thin face. The Riverlands soldiers gave each of the other nine a dagger. They each stabbed him once until he collapsed, twitching.
Next group...
Before the sky turned completely dark, this decimation—framed as punishment for crimes—was finally over.
Because the groups were formed mostly of men who knew each other, forcing them to kill their acquaintances shattered whatever remaining cohesion the Westerlands army had.
When over five hundred bodies were piled to the side, the remaining prisoners looked like lambs waiting for slaughter. Soon, soldiers brought firewood, and Jon ordered the bodies burned.
A massive bonfire was lit in the Dragonpit.
Orange flames roared toward the sky, driving back the darkness.
This was the first mass execution at the site since Maegor burned the Faith Militant over two hundred years ago.
The firelight illuminated every face, and the air filled with the sickening smell of burnt protein.
Sandor looked at the silent prisoners, then at Jon. He felt unusually docile, truly like a hound. Killing hundreds without batting an eye—the coldness of it reminded Sandor of when Tywin exterminated House Reyne years ago.
Tywin had flooded the mines of Castamere, drowning the entire Reyne family and wiping them from Westeros.
As the fire burned, Jon looked at the prisoners. He could feel that their morale wasn't just low; it was nonexistent.
As a collective military unit, they were dead.
"Alright. Let your sins vanish with this fire. I said I would take you back to the Westerlands. But if anyone dares harm an innocent civilian again, you know what awaits you."
Jon finished speaking, but no one responded.
After a long while, a young, trembling voice came from a corner. "My lord... will you really take us back to the West? You won't... you won't kill us...?"
Though the soldier stammered, the men around him made space so Jon could see him clearly.
Jon looked at the young soldier, who seemed no older than seventeen or eighteen.
"Tell you what. I won't leave tonight. I'll sleep here with you."
"Eh? My lord?!" Sandor tried to stop him, but Jon waved him off.
In full view of the soldiers, Jon walked into the middle of the prisoners. He chose a small mound of earth, ensuring most of them could see him.
He spread his cloak on the ground and lay down directly. "It's getting late. Sleep if you want. I'll have someone bring breakfast tomorrow."
"My lord, I'll stay with you—" Sandor started, but Jon cut him off.
"Go back and protect my sisters. Bring plenty of food tomorrow. And some wine. That's an order."
With that, Jon pillowed his head on his arms as if to sleep, but suddenly sat up again.
He unbuckled the sword Stannis had given him, tossed it aside, muttered something about it being "uncomfortable," and then lay back down under the stunned gazes of thousands of soldiers.
The autumn breeze blew gently, and the stars overhead shone like lanterns.
At first, the soldiers huddled in groups of three or five, whispering. But soon, one by one, they lay down to sleep with uneasy hearts.
One became two, two became three, and soon, thousands of soldiers were sleeping under the open sky.