A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

battles, by his own admission. He has even killed, to hear him tell it.”
    â€œA boy,” she said again. “Have pity.”
    â€œMy lady,” Thoros said, “I do not doubt that kindness and mercy and forgiveness can still be found somewhere in these Seven Kingdoms, but do not look for them here. This is a cave, not a temple. When men must live like rats in the dark beneath the earth, they soon run out of pity, as they do of milk and honey.”
    â€œAnd justice? Can that be found in caves?”
    â€œJustice.” Thoros smiled wanly. “I remember justice. It had a pleasant taste. Justice was what we were about when Beric led us, or so we told ourselves. We were king’s men, knights, and heroes . . . but some knights are dark and full of terror, my lady. War makes monsters of us all.”
    â€œAre you saying you are monsters?”
    â€œI am saying we are human. You are not the only one with wounds, Lady Brienne. Some of my brothers were good men when this began. Some were . . . less good, shall we say? Though there are those who say it does not matter how a man begins, but only how he ends. I suppose it is the same for women.” The priest got to his feet. “Our time together is at an end, I fear. I hear my brothers coming. Our lady sends for you.”
    Brienne heard their footsteps and saw torchlight flickering in the passage. “You told me she had gone to Fairmarket.”
    â€œAnd so she had. She returned whilst we were sleeping. She never sleeps herself.”
    I will not be afraid,
she told herself, but it was too late for that.
I will not let them see my fear,
she promised herself instead. There were four of them, hard men with haggard faces, clad in mail and scale and leather. She recognized one of them; the man with one eye, from her dreams.
    The biggest of the four wore a stained and tattered yellow cloak. “Enjoy the food?” he asked. “I hope so. It’s the last food you’re ever like to eat.” He was brown-haired, bearded, brawny, with a broken nose that had healed badly.
I know this man,
Brienne thought. “You are the Hound.”
    He grinned. His teeth were awful; crooked, and streaked brown with rot. “I suppose I am. Seeing as how m’lady went and killed the last one.” He turned his head and spat.
    She remembered lightning flashing, the mud beneath her feet. “It was Rorge I killed. He took the helm from Clegane’s grave, and you stole it off his corpse.”
    â€œI didn’t hear him objecting.”
    Thoros sucked in his breath in dismay. “Is this true? A dead man’s helm? Have we fallen that low?”
    The big man scowled at him. “It’s good steel.”
    â€œThere is nothing good about that helm, nor the men who wore it,” said the red priest. “Sandor Clegane was a man in torment, and Rorge a beast in human skin.”
    â€œI’m not them.”
    â€œThen why show the world their face? Savage, snarling, twisted . . . is that who you would be, Lem?”
    â€œThe sight of it will make my foes afraid.”
    â€œThe sight of it makes me afraid.”
    â€œClose your eyes, then.” The man in the yellow cloak made a sharp gesture. “Bring the whore.”
    Brienne did not resist. There were four of them, and she was weak and wounded, naked beneath the woolen shift. She had to bend her neck to keep from hitting her head as they marched her through the twisting passage. The way ahead rose sharply, turning twice before emerging in a much larger cavern full of outlaws.
    A fire pit had been dug into the center of the floor, and the air was blue with smoke. Men clustered near the flames, warming themselves against the chill of the cave. Others stood along the walls or sat cross-legged on straw pallets. There were women too, and even a few children peering out from behind their mothers’ skirts. The one face Brienne knew belonged to Long Jeyne Heddle.
    A trestle table had been set up across the cave, in a cleft in the rock. Behind it sat a woman all in grey, cloaked and hooded. In her hands was a crown, a bronze circlet ringed by iron swords. She was studying it, her fingers stroking the blades as if to test their sharpness. Her eyes glimmered under her hood.
    Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. Brienne felt a shiver climb her spine.
Stoneheart.
    â€œM’lady,” said the big man. “Here she