If Quentyn was angry at his outburst, he didn't show it, even showing a slight smile.
"Four hundred," Quentyn said, firmly. "Out of respect for your dead men."
"We know of his value to you."
"And I know the value of what I am bringing to you."
...
Lord Beric and his companion shared a look and nodded.
"Four hundred." The man in the red robes finally agreed.
Quentyn placed the coin on the stump, which the two men carefully examined.
"It's all there." Lord Beric nodded. "Thoros, give the order to release the prisoner, he is not our problem anymore. I wish you good fortune, boy."
"I wish you good fortune, Lord Beric. May you find a safe journey home."
The two of them nodded and left with the coin and the bags, while Quentyn turned to Cletus.
"Get the man on the carriage. Chain him, and do not remove his bounds, the bag over his head, or his gag. Give the order for no one to talk to him or touch him, understood?"
"Clear as day." Cletus replied, quickly hurrying to find Arch and hoist the man on the carriage. Julia took the bag and handed it to Quentyn, who examined its contents. Apparently satisfied and bearing a wide grin, he ordered everyone on the carriage.
Meanwhile, the men that had flooded the clearing had slowly retreated back into the darkness from whence they came, leaving little trace of them being here in the first place.
Once the tall man was securely fastened in the carriage, Quentyn made sure that everyone was clear on his orders, and urged Quentyn to leave the clearing back towards camp.
Sitting opposite Cletus, Quentyn's smile was broad, yet concealed some sort of mischief. Patting the tall man's right shoulder, he carefully rose his voice:
"Don't worry, your troubles are almost over."
The travel back to camp wasn't long, but it was done in near-absolute silence, which slowly unnerved Cletus. Who in the seven hells was the man sitting bound and gagged in their carriage and what was his worth? If Quentyn paid three months of rations and four hundred gold dragons, it seemed like he was very valuable.
Once arrived at camp, Quentyn sent for his healer and instructed Arch to tie the man to a large oak tree, while keeping the bag, gag, and other ropes used to tie the man up. It wasn't long before the mysterious tall man was standing, tied up to a tree by a dozen ropes, just outside camp.
Quentyn then sent for everyone at camp, and gathered them just outside of the man's earshot, while his maester went to the man's side first. Then, he slowly approached the tree, tapped on it for a couple moments, and beamed a large smile.
"People of Dorne!" he cried out, dropping his accent entirely. "For long we have waited for our moment, for our justice. Time and time again, it was denied to us! By the usurper and his dogs, and by his so-called masters of law and justice!"
Meanwhile, Cletus had noticed that the tall man had begun to panic at those words, desperately trying to undo his ropes. It was no use, Arch had tightened them extremely well, and he was just hurting himself trying to escape.
"I am but a little prince, it is true. But I have not forgotten what has befallen my kin all those years ago. I have not forgotten how they killed little Rhaenys and little Aegon. I have not forgotten our slaughtered kin on the Trident." Quentyn continued with ardor.
"And today, I say, enough! We have waited too long! It is time that Dorne gets a taste of vengeance and justice that we have been denied for so long. Today!"
Quentyn marched towards the man and placed his hand atop the bag covering the man's face.
"Today, people of Dorne, I give you…" Quentyn jerked his hand upwards, revealing the man's face, while Arch threw down the contents of the bag besides him. "I GIVE YOU AMORY LORCH!"
Cletus stood there, incapable of moving or uttering a single word. It was madness. Rhaenys' murderer, in the flesh, under his very eyes.
"Now before any of you wish to enact justice." Quentyn pointed at the ripped cloth that Arch had scattered on the ground, showing the sigil of a black manticore on white. "I wish to remind you that little Rhaenys died of half-a-hundred cuts."
Quentyn took out a dagger from his doublet, and showed it to the dumbfounded crowd.
"I wish for him to suffer at least twice as much. I wish for his body to be cut two-hundred times before his death. As such, my healer will give him a potion that will allow him to live through wounds that would usually kill or put a man unconscious.
But believe me, he will suffer pain." Quentyn's words struck deep into the hearts of every man present there. Only his words stopped the crowd from ripping Lorch apart then and there.
"As such, I will ask that you do not stab where it can kill.
Show my healer where you wish to strike, and then if he gives his assent, do so. If he does not, pick somewhere else. There is much useless space to cover. As for his face, leave it be, for I wish to inform the people of Dorne that part of our vengeance has been fulfilled."
Quentyn then raised his dagger in the air.
"Form a line." He ordered, and every man and woman shall strike with this blade four times. When you have finished your turn, give this dagger decorated with the sun and spear of the house this man has insulted and brought on his own demise from, to the next dornishman so that he too can have a piece of vengeance."
Quentyn then turned to his healer, who had finished administering a violet liquid to Lorch. The gray-haired man slowly removed the gag from the pig-faced figure, with Quentyn slowly walking forwards and pointing to a spot no man would want to be stuck in.
"Please, I'll give you anything…" the man begged between tears.
"Really?" Quentyn smiled. "Who gave the order?"
"Tywin Lannister! It was Tywin Lannister! Please, don't kill me!" he pleaded. "Lord Tywin ordered us to!"
"Thank you," Quentyn said calmly, bringing the dagger closer to his eyes, and then dropping his arms, shrugging.
For a brief moment, Cletus thought that Quentyn wouldn't do it. But instead, Quentyn looked Lorch in the eyes and asked:
"Did Rhaenys beg too?"
And with that, Quentyn rammed the dagger between Lorch's legs, likely unmanning him as the screams of the pig-faced rat filled the camp.
The prince slowly brought the dagger out and without a word, gave it to Cletus, who was unknowingly standing at the front of the line.
"For Rhaenys." Quentyn whispered to Cletus with a tear in his eye.
Cletus then walked forwards with the dagger, covered in blood and…whatever other liquids. He didn't care much for Rhaenys and Aegon, they held no kinship to him.
But Rhaenys…she was but a girl of three namedays. And then Cletus remembered his own childhood, watching little Gwyneth as she played with her toys and called Cletus "Cleetah".
His mind wandered to little Gwyneth, riddled with half-a-hundred cuts, begging for her older brother or mother to save her.
Instinctively, Cletus pointed to somewhere. The healer nodded. Cletus' blade found its mark, deep into the man's stomach.
"For Rhaenys." He managed to let out as the man screamed again.
Cletus then handed the dagger to Quentyn's cousin and lover, who nodded in thanks as he handed her the dagger. He spared a look at her while taking his place at the end of the line. The bastard pointed to where Quentyn had struck, the healer nodded, and the snake sank its fang into the man's guts.
Cletus cleaned his hands of the blood that had splattered, joining the end of the line, with the Red Viper's bastard soon joining him.
"Did it feel good?" he asked her.
"Better than anything in the world." She smirked. "And for once, all of Dorne can revel in our vengeance. Even you, Yronwood. Did it feel good striking him and hearing him scream?"
"More than you can imagine, Sand." Cletus nodded simply, clearing the last traces of blood from his hands.
Gulian then joined them at the back of the line. Then Gerris, then Arch, then Lucian Toland, Ned Dayne with part of his blonde hair sprayed with blood, and forty-five other Dornishmen.
Cletus struck Lorch three times, each time imagining Gwyneth in his head and the torture of poor little Rhaenys, as the man before him went from just that, a man, to a bloody mess of skin and guts. One strike in the shoulder. One in the hand. One in the ribs.
Finally, when the two-hundred cuts were achieved and the last man had given Quentyn his dagger back, Quentyn addressed the crowd one last time.
"There remains one more thing to be done. Lorch killed a Martell, it is only fair that he loses his life to a Martell." Quentyn then raised his dagger, moved to the mess of a man attached to the tree, and slit his throat. "Tonight, Dorne has had part of its vengeance. Tonight, Rhaenys is avenged."
"For Rhaenys!" the Dornish crowd erupted in cheers.
Cleaning his dagger, Quentyn then sent for Gerris, Gulian, and Lucian Toland. The three of them came quickly enough and gathered around.
Gerris had some blood on his cloak, just like Lucian. However, Gulian's red and black tunic covered anything he had, although some blood on his hands did show that he partook in tonight's glorious deed.
"You already know that you are to go back to Dorne," Quentyn said slowly. "Ser Lucian, I wish for you to accompany Ser Gulian and Ser Gerris to Sunspear. Take ten men with you and ride for Tumbleton and the rest of our host.
Tell them of what occurred here, and ride hard for Stonehelm along with a hundred men. A ship will take you to Sunspear. Cut off Lorch's head, take it along with his body and possessions to Sunspear so that all of Dorne may know that its vengeance is complete."
"It would be my honor, my prince." Ser Lucian immediately fell to his knees and cleared his voice. "My prince, I have doubted you in the past, but today, you have given us all vengeance beyond what we could hope for. My sword is yours should you ever need it."
"Your loyalty is appreciated, Ser Lucian." Quentyn smiled. "Now go, and warn Dorne and my father that Rhaenys' murder is avenged by Dorne's hand."
"And what of us?" Cletus asked
"Well." Quentyn's voice fell a little. "We ride for Summerhall. Afterwards, we will have to see what the wind brings."