"So that's it for you, Dondarrion," he muttered to the corpse. "Made into a pincushion by dead men, so the wolf bitch could get away." He turned to the priestess. "That's really it?"

She nodded solemnly. "The Lord of Light had need of that girl in this moment. Everything he has done with her, and with us, has led us here."

"And then what?"

She shrugged. "And then her purpose, too, will be fulfilled."

Dondarrion was one thing – he'd had his chances, more chances than any man deserved – but that didn't sit right. "The Lord of Light," he sneered, "Tortured that girl for years, fucked her up every which way, to make a killer of her – and he'll have what he wants from her today and then kick her aside?"

The priestess paced slowly. Turned her back on him, the brazen bitch, as if daring him to- "The Lord set her on a path that was long and difficult, yes," she murmured. Then turned suddenly to him, with half a smile. "Though not as long and difficult as yours." She dragged a finger down her own cheek softly.

He swallowed. Swallowed down some of what he wanted to say. "Fuck your god," he snarled at last. Pointed to himself. "This wasn't thanks to your god, it was thanks to my brother. And fuck him too. Can you look into your damned fires and see what happens to him?"

"I've already seen," she said at once. "Do you want to know?"

"Aye. I do." His voice was rough with appetite. "Do I kill him?"

For a moment she was silent, and he thought she might not answer. But then her chin tipped up as if in challenge and she said: "Yes."

He laughed. "I take it back," he said. "The fuck your god. I take it all back."

She returned his laughter with just a small, polite smile.

"So what about the girl?" he said. "What happens to her?"

"That girl lives long and sees much," the priestess says. "And she carries you with her all the rest of her days."

He frowns – good mood falling away a little. "Sounds like I'm going to die."

"All men must die. Valar morghulis, we say."

"I know what you fucking say, the girl says it all the time." He could hear the dead men pounding on the door. He looked the barricade over. Returned his attention to the priestess. "Do I die here – now?" Though how he was meant to kill his brother if he died tonight...?

He went cold: there was a way. "Do the dead get me?" he demanded. "Is that what happens?" It hardly counted as a victory over Gregor if he stumbled down to King's Landing too dead and blue-eyed to enjoy it.

The priestess sighed. Floated away from him to stand nearer the fire. "People always think they want to know how they die, until they know."

Horse shit. "How the fuck do I die?" She didn't answer. "Tell me," he said, "Or I'll take this axe and I'll fucking make you, you bitch."

Her head jerked up and her voice came like a whip. "You die in fire."

He felt his face go slack.

Then she relaxed. Softened. "But you're not afraid."

Finally he pulled himself together enough to give her a piece of his mind, but before he could start she slipped her hands in her sleeves and kept talking. "Death by fire is the purest death there is," she said. Horse shit. "And yours comes when you are ready for it. When you choose it." What the fuck? "It's a good death, my lord. Not everyone is so fortunate."

"When I choose it," he echoed. "Horse shit. When's that?"

She smiled at him. Fuck her for having a beautiful smile. "Not today."

The End.