When The Throne Bleeds

8. A Mother's Love

The gates opened and Irida rode inside, swiftly jumping off her horse. Men were running off in the direction of the Library Tower, and women were hurrying in the same direction, carrying buckets of water.

"Form a line to the Tower! Keep passing the bucket to each other! Faster!" She shouted at the women.

"Marie!" She called as she saw the kitchen girl hurrying out of the servants' quarter. "Take your younger friends with you. Go to the Tower where this line of women ends, take their empty buckets, fill them up and give it back here, to the start of the line." She ordered sharply. Marie nodded, her childlike face seeming dazed, and rushed off.

As Irida saw the sight around her, a seed of a thought formed in her head and she felt as if time had slowed down. It was pitch black in the night, the orange flames of the fire the only source of light. She heard men shouting at each other near the fire, she heard the women pass the buckets of water to each other, she heard the faint orders of Robb as he supervised the men, she heard the fire reach high crackling with energy, she heard the water rolling out of the buckets as it was being passed around.

And in the midst of all that, she finally caught the thing that was odd. The seed of her thought had grown and bore fruit. Everyone was running towards the Library Tower, all their attention was focused on it. A distraction.

She turned on her heel, and sprinted in the direction of the Maester's Turret. She ran up the staircase, taking three steps at a time, already drawing her small blade.

Please, let me make it in time. He can't die. I cannot be late.

She finally reached the door, it was slightly ajar. And the sounds of a scuffle could be heard. It was no time for stealth. Irida burst in, taking in the scene.

There was a man there, a man not native to the North. And he had a sharp dagger in his hand.

An assassin.

Catelyn was there as well, her palms were dripping red and there was a thin ragged slit on her shoulder. She had been fending off the assassin. As soon as he saw Irida, he whipped Catelyn around and pressed the dagger against her throat.

"Stay back, girl. And put that knife down." He threatened gruffly.

Irida glanced at Catelyn. There was a hint of fear on her face. Not for her own life, she only wanted to protect her son. Irida put her hands up in surrender, showing her blade. It was the size of her palm, but it's razor sharp edges could not be mistaken. She slowly bent down to drop her knife, hands trembling slightly, nervousness all over her face. But her mind was alert.

She flicked her wrist slightly and the knife was gone. The assassin looked down at his leg. The knife has cleanly sliced his skin opening a small gash, embedding itself in the wall behind him.

He looked at her, his sneer mocking, "Nice try girl. Why don't you-" He stopped short.

The dagger fell from his hands and his hold on Catelyn weakened. In a moment, he lay flat on the floor, his body writhing. Green and violet veins began appearing on his skin and the gash on his calf started producing a white coloured fluid. His eyes became almost completely red as the blood started bursting from his optical nerves. Irida knelt down beside him and checked his breathing. He was still alive.

The Siren's Kiss has worked perfectly on him. The poison was known for its paralyzing properties which often inflicted enormous pain to the victim. The pain was said to be unbearable. But the victim always lived. It was a beautiful method for torture, men bled and screamed and begged for death but the agony never ended. The Gold Serpents specialized in killing with poison, it was the Dornish way, a way which was effective and agonizing.