The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Silk Street, silk shop.

“How many Dornishmen does it take to shoe a horse? No more, no less, exactly nine. One to nail the shoe, eight to hold the horse.”

A large-headed knight, reeking of alcohol, laughed.

Several Dornishmen who were selecting silk on the other side raised their heads and looked over.

The speaker was a rude man with a large head and a terrifying scar on his forehead. He wore fine armor, but it only protected his vitals, with leather covering the rest.

The drunken, rude man looked ferocious!

“Ser Chiswyck, what are you babbling about?” His companion quickly stopped him.

“I'm not babbling, I've been to Dorne, and the Dornish are really stupid! And I didn't make up this joke, a Dornishman told it himself at the gambling house last night. Ser Templeton, don't push me, there aren't any stupid Dornishmen here.”

“I am a Dornishman, knight,” a young man stepped forward, blocking the path of the large-headed Chiswyck and Templeton. “Apologize, knight.” The young man's hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

This was a very dangerous move.

The large-headed man pushed Templeton aside, swaying as he approached, his eyes fixed on the young man's left breast, on his family crest. The large-headed man was not tall, and the young man, standing straight, was a head taller than him. “Boy, are you a noble? Are you?... A large black bird on a yellow background, with something pink in its claws…” He turned to Templeton, “Ser Templeton, take a look, what is that thing in its claws, a man's little worm? Hahaha, hahaha!”

The young man was furious. His right hand, which had been on the sword hilt, released it and slapped the drunkard's face.

The drunkard swayed violently, narrowly dodging the young man's slap, and stood there grinning.

The young man missed the slap, his face burning. His mother and sister were watching him, as were three knights of his family.

The drunkard leaned closer to the young man again, his eyes seeming barely open. “A baby, an infant. The big black bird is clutching a baby in its big black claws. What kind of family crest is this? Such a stupid design, damn it.”

The young man felt the blood rush to his head. He clenched his left fist and punched the drunkard's nose with all his might.

Suddenly, the drunkard in front of him was gone. His left fist could not retract, and he stumbled over something. A strong force struck his lower back, and the young man flew out, slamming his head against a stone threshold with a thud, and immediately lost consciousness.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The three knights drew their longswords together.

The drunkard laughed, “Don't draw your swords, I never like drawing swords.”

Clang!

His companion, Templeton, drew his longsword, the tip pointing at the young man's neck on the ground. “Don't draw your swords, knights, he's drunk. If you're not satisfied, you can beat him up.”

The longsword gleamed coldly, pointing directly at the young man's neck. If the tip of the sword were to lower, the young man would die instantly.

“Sheathe your swords, knights!” the lady in the center said in a deep voice.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The three knights slammed their longswords back into their scabbards.

The young lady beside the old woman ran over. Templeton's longsword lowered, the tip piercing the young man's neck, and blood flowed out. “Don't come over, my lady.”

The young lady stopped abruptly, her chest heaving, her eyes like swords.

Templeton laughed loudly, ignoring the young lady's murderous gaze. He reached down, picked up the young man from the ground, and slapped him hard, leaving five bloody finger marks on the young man's handsome face.

The young lady, the lady, and the three knights exclaimed together, “What are you doing?”

“Cough, cough, cough!” The unconscious young man was awakened by the slap. Templeton seized the young man and retreated from the shop. “If you want to fight, go ahead, just don't draw your swords.”

“Knight, we are the House Braemore of Dorne. I am Lady Laura Braemore, and this is my daughter, Jonessa Braemore. The one you are holding is my son, Penrose Braemore. Please release my son.”

*

House Braemore, one of the nine great houses of Dorne, has a deep background, vast territory, and glorious history. The family castle, Braemore, is located on the banks of the Torrentine, beneath the Dornish Mountains.

The Dornish are divided into three major groups: the "Salty Dornish" by the sea, the "Sandy Dornish" in the deserts and narrow river valleys, and the "Stony Dornish" in the high mountains and passes of the Red Mountains.

In this Dornish delegation, all three groups were present, with distinct characteristics: the "Salty Dornish" were supple and dark, with smooth olive skin and long black hair that flowed in the wind; the "Sandy Dornish" were even darker, accustomed to wearing bright long scarves on their helmets to protect themselves from the intense sunlight of Dorne; the "Stony Dornish" were the most handsome and beautiful of the three, descendants of the Andals and the First Men, with brown or golden hair and faces slightly roughened by the Dornish sun.

House Braemore belongs to the Stony Dornish group.

The lady wore a satin robe with flowing long sleeves and a jeweled belt. The armor of the three knights beside her was densely decorated with polished copper pieces. The young man held by Templeton was dressed in brocade, with a shining silver belt. Jonessa Braemore, the heir to House Braemore, was slender, with a delicate neck and a beautiful face.

*

The large-headed Chiswyck laughed, “Templeton, it turns out we really offended a great Dornish noble. Why don't you quickly release the young master of House Braemore?” He staggered out. Suddenly, a flash of cold light, Jonessa's short sword was drawn, and she stabbed at the large-headed Chiswyck.

Suddenly, her wrist tightened. The large-headed man was already close to Jonessa, his hand grabbing her wrist like steel. With a slight twist, Jonessa's arm was twisted, and the short sword in her hand was now in Chiswyck's hand. The short sword was placed across Jonessa's neck.

Jonessa froze instantly, unable to move. She was a beautiful woman, with a soft fragrance emanating from her body, intoxicating the large-headed Chiswyck. In an instant, Jonessa Braemore was restrained again, and the three knights changed color.

Lady Laura Braemore's face was unpleasant, and she shouted, “Knight, are you a vassal of which great lord?”

*

Lady Braemore realized that the other party had come to provoke them, but they were measured, injuring people and taking them hostage, but not killing them.

Their Dornish delegation of nine great houses was here to demonstrate their strength!

Their Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, had a feud with the Tyrell family of Highgarden: the eldest son and heir of the Tyrell family, Willas Tyrell, had his leg crippled by Prince Oberyn Martell in a tourney when he was young—Willas had already lost and surrendered, but Oberyn still thrust his lance down, leaving Willas with a lifelong disability, known as the Cripple Tyrell.

Lord Mace Tyrell had four children: Willas the Cripple, the brave Garlan, Loras the Knight of Flowers, and Margaery the Little Rose. The fact that the heir, Willas, had a crippled leg was a thorn in the side of the two great families.

Braemore instinctively felt that the other party was from the Tyrell family.

To prevent conflict between the Tyrell and Martell families, the king and the Hand ordered the 20,000 troops of the Tyrell family stationed in the King's Landing training grounds to withdraw 2,000 men each day, to be completely withdrawn within ten days. Lord Mace Tyrell obeyed the order to withdraw his troops, but he had previously stationed 3,000 Tyrell knights and soldiers in the Red Keep.

It was also because the Martell and Tyrell families not only had constant territorial disputes, but also had a feud over the crippled leg of the heir, that Jeyne Westerling and Littlefinger had long formed an underground alliance with the Queen of Thorns.

On the night that Littlefinger checked the small devil's financial books, Littlefinger spent the night in the Tyrell family's Maidenvault, and did not appear until dawn. No one knew what he and the Queen of Thorns had conspired, but it was definitely not a good thing...

*

The large-headed Chiswyck laughed loudly, “Lady, do Dornishmen need to rely on the name of their family to win a fight? No wonder someone said that it takes nine Dornishmen to shoe a horse, one to nail the shoe, eight to hold the horse, truly well-deserved, hahaha!”

Lady Laura, no matter how well-mannered, could no longer endure it. “Knight, release Jonessa. If you want to fight, then let's have a good fight.”

“No problem!” The large-headed man took Jonessa's scabbard from her waist, sheathed the short sword, and threw it to Templeton. Templeton caught it. “Thank you, my lady.”

Jonessa's face was flushed, making her even more charming and beautiful. The large-headed Chiswyck, smelling the soft fragrance on her body, felt his heart pounding. He stood behind Jonessa, and the rogue's experienced hand groped down to Jonessa's indescribable rounded area. Jonessa shuddered, turned around to strike, but the large-headed Chiswyck laughed loudly and stepped out of the silk shop.

Jonessa was filled with shame and anger, gritting her teeth, and retreated angrily to her mother's side. The three Braemore family knights were all furious. They were Stony Dornish, tall and broad, a head taller than the large-headed man. They all unsheathed their longswords, removed their helmets, clenched their fists, and rushed out together.

The large-headed Chiswyck also unsheathed his longsword, stood firm on the street, all traces of drunkenness gone, clenched his fists, and bowed slightly, as if preparing to run and sprint.

This was a very strange hand-to-hand combat stance that the Dornish knights had never seen.

One knight rushed towards the large-headed man, his fist like an iron hammer, smashing towards the large-headed man's head. The large-headed man did not dodge, but suddenly went up to meet it. The large-headed man slammed into the other's fist, a loud bang, like a drumstick hitting a skin drum. Then, there was a crisp cracking sound. The knight screamed, his wrist fractured. The large-headed man only swayed slightly, laughing loudly, his huge head unharmed.

This head had withstood General Tobert's knife without dodging; it had been shot by an arrow from a general under Stannis during the Battle of the Blackwater. Although the arrowhead had pierced in, it was unknown whether it was because the bone was too hard or because the distance was too far, but the iron arrowhead had not penetrated the head and caused a fatal injury.

In just one exchange, Lady Braemore, Jonessa, and Penrose were all shocked.

What kind of person was this? What kind of head was this?

The second knight roared and spread his arms, pouncing on the large-headed man. “Be careful!” Lady Laura shouted. Sure enough, the large-headed man laughed loudly, withdrew and fled, but suddenly turned around and kicked the knight in the crotch. The knight let out an 'oh' sound, his face turning blue and black, and fell down, his body arched like a large shrimp, convulsing non-stop. It was estimated that it would be difficult for him to go to a brothel to have fun in the future.

In street fighting, the large-headed Chiswyck had more than twenty years of careful research, summary practice, and refinement into unique and valuable experience in various ingenious and shameless tactics. Speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness had long been his most basic skills.

The third knight hesitated. Although the other party was smaller than him, in this kind of fight where the outcome was decided in the blink of an eye, he… suddenly had a new idea—after all, it was just a headbutt and a kick to the crotch. One comrade had a broken wrist and another had fallen to the ground, and the crotch-kicking foot could not be tried again.

The knight turned back, drew a bright longsword, and rushed to the large-headed man.

The large-headed man laughed, “Good, my lady said that as long as you draw your swords, we will draw our swords!”

He turned back. Templeton had already drawn his longsword and threw it over. The large-headed man caught the sword in his hand and ran towards the other party again. His eyes had changed, as if he were a starving wolf. This was too dangerous. The large-headed man drew his sword, he was going to kill.

“Be careful!” Lady Laura's heart skipped a beat. She saw the large-headed man's face change drastically, and his eyes became very scary, a fierce light that would kill.

A flash of cold light, the knight slashed horizontally, the sword light heading straight for the large-headed man's neck.

The large-headed man did not block, did not dodge, did not retreat, and continued to run forward. In the exclamations of the onlookers, he simply lowered his head, the sword light swept over his head, the sword energy shaved off a strand of black hair. The large-headed man crashed into the other party's arms, as if bowing his head to embrace a long-lost friend.

The knight shuddered and stood motionless.

The large-headed man retreated, the sword in his hand piercing the knight's body, piercing into the abdomen and coming out of the back… Crimson blood dripped from the tip of the sword to the ground… He retreated empty-handed, leaving the hilt on the other party's body, trembling slightly…

“You fucking drew your sword first!” The large-headed man chuckled, “Dornish knight, consider this sword a gift from me, you fucking! One to nail the shoe, eight to hold the horse!”