[center]Collaboration between [@MrDidact] and [@Monochromatic Rainbow][/center]

Silently, Mirren beckoned to half of her party, choosing the men she knew to be the most fleet of foot. "I want you," she began, gesturing towards the pass, "To move in and position yourself ahead of them. I want to see where they're going and then cut them off. With any luck, we'll get an idea of where their little hiding place is - and some prisoners to boot. Wait for my signal - two blasts on this horn." She held up the horn in question, making sure the assembled men understood. 

Waving them onwards, she took the other half of her force and closed the distance, keeping behind rocky outcroppings and other concealment, trying to gauge just where these men intended to go. 

The party of Vultures rode on, vulture-feathered cloaks flapping in the wind as they rode on their sand steeds, evidently unconcerned with the possibility of discovery. They seemed to be riding for foothills sloping down from the mountain peak, several miles from the formation itself. After several minutes, a cavern came into view and it was without doubt that that was where the party was riding. Mirren's men had managed to out manuveur the Vultures and had a prime moment to strike before they descended into the cave. 

Mirren brought her own forces up behind, carefully tailing the party through every winding crevice of the mountains. As the cave loomed ahead, well concealed amidst the sprawling mountains, she narrowed her eyes, slowly pulling the horn from its place at her side and putting it to her lips, even as she positioned her bow on her knee, an arrow nocked ahead of time. She gestured to her archers to nock arrows of their own, and for the swordsmen to creep in closer and cut off any routes of escape.

With her trap set, she blew two piercing notes on the horn, dropping the instrument to fall on its lanyard at her side and seizing up her bow, leaping from her perch at the head of her men as the other half of her men leapt from their own hiding places, swords drawn and arrows nocked. "Surrender!" she called to the Vultures, "Surrender and you might see another day after we're through."

Surrounded, the Vultures were undeterred. They immediately reached for weapons, drawing swords and leveling spears or nocking bows before letting loose harsh ululating war cries and riding at the encircling loyalists with lethal intention. Evidently, they were not planning on surrendering or being captured, each of them to a man and woman intent on dying without betraying their secrets. The clash of battle and the blows of the horn might soon draw the attention of possible nearby patrols or garrinsons on the Spine. As such the battle had to be resolved quickly. One man with two scimitars of black steel rode at Mirren, slashing his blades in the air, trying to run her down. 

Mirren wasted no time in loosing an arrow at the man, rolling to the side and loosing a second shaft in the direction of another bandit on foot, watching in grim satisfaction as the second man crumpled to the ground as the arrow embedded itself in his back. All around her the din of battle rose as her own men fought with the bandits around her. Hurriedly, she stowed her bow, pulling her shield from her side and unsheathing her blade. "We just need one of them alive!" She called, catching an incoming blade on her shield before smashing the steel disc into the man's face before delivering a savage cut to his throat.

Seeing that the rider from before has been missed by her arrow, she grabbed a spear, deftly resheathing her blade. He charged again, and she tensed, ready to drive the spear into his mount's chest. 

The sand steed whinnied out in distress, crumpling to the ground and kicking as the swordsman jumped from the saddle, crashing to the ground as the battle raged around them. The bandits weere ahorse, but they were surrounded, and the loyalists had the advantage. Already a third of their number  were laying dead or wounded.

Seizing upon the upportunity, Mirren brought her shield down upon his helmeted head with a deafening clash of steel upon steel. For good measure, she kicked the man several times and heaved him aloft, throwing him into a nearby rock before rejoining the melee. Behind her, however, she saw him slowly rise, somehow still in posession of his blades, and she whirled, sword at the ready. 

The man jumped at Mirren, blades flashing in the sunlight as he slashed at the mercenary, attempting to land a series of swift cuts across her torso before hopping to the side and resuming the attack. He was quick on his feet and skilled with his blades, expertly trading blows with Mirren as his compatriots furiously fought and died around them. 

Mirren hissed, catching his blows on her shield and striking back with the speed of a serpent. She lunged, aiming for his throat with the tip of her blade, but only succeeded in scraping the man's neck - his blades came in once more and she caught them on her shield a second time, bringing her head down against his in a steel covered headbutt - the man's helmet covered less of his head than her own did, and she smashed her head into his again, driving a fist into his gut and bringing a knee to his groin. 

The man dropped to the ground, his grip on his weapons slackening. But with one burst of fury and vigor he grabbed Mirren's legs and dragged her down to the dirt, striking her across the face once while he drew a dagger and stabbed it down toward her chest, screaming all the while. 

In turn, Mirren grabbed at the blade of the dagger, gripping the edge tightly in a hardened leather bound hand as she pushed it to the side with all her might, fumbling for her own knife that currently lay useless at her side. She brought an elbow up, smashing the man's nose with two savage strikes - but again he thrust at her with the dagger, and she brought an armored arm up to block the blow. The chain held, but the force of the strike sent a bolt of pain lancing through her arm. She snarled, grabbing the man by his head and bashing it into her own helmet, bringing her knee into his groin yet again. 

Her opponent's face was covered in bruises and blood, his nose and mouth both leaking crimson as he screamed in pain, the wounds finally taking a toll as the adrenaline waned. The raider vainly tried to rise, tried to get to his knees, but collapsed each time, fumbling for a grasp on Mirren as he were still intent on killing her. All around them, the Vultures had been slaughtered, only a handful or so still fighting while the rest bled out or were already dead. In the distance, the sound of thundering hooves could be heard. No doubt the clamor had attracted attention and who knew how many Vultures were now bearing down on the company. Mirren's attacker flailed weakly on the ground and the cave mouth yawned in front of them, black as night. 

Mirren growled, a low, animalistic sound, and drove her fist into the man's face again, and again, and a third time. After a moment, she narrowed her eyes and pulled out her own dagger, driving the blade through the man's knees to hobble him as she dashed off to assist her men in finishing the last handful of Vultures left.

Time was of the essence, and she constantly cast fearful looks over her shoulder, expecting another party to join the melee. As quickly as she could, she and her men ended the battle and caught their breath. 

After a moment, Mirren looked around again, "We can't stay here - they're coming. Grab as many of the dead and wounded as you can and follow me." She returned to her own foe, grabbing the man and beginning to drag him. "Hurry." She muttered, just loud enough for a few men near her to hear.

Mirren's company moved fast in compliance, several scouts quickly stabbing wounded Vultures as Mirren's foe blacked out and was dragged behind her. His helm had several red paint stripes in a pattern evocative of claw marks and he seemed to be the party's leader. the rest of Mirren's men either covered the approach or gathered their wounded men, all heading toward the cavern.

 A few men had the presence of mind to gather mounts from both sides as well as the few bodies that were crown loyalists, not leaving too much evidence behind. All the while the sounds of an approaching party grew ever louder. The last of her men retreated into the cave and the company found themselves in a large tunnel that led deeper into the foothills. Scones for torches were present at regular intervals and it seemed to be a Vulture tunnel. A secret way for them to navigate through the Red Mountains. 
 
 They could doubtless use the tunnel to escape and it might even led them somewhere vital, but without a map or guide, the trek might prove perilous.
 
Mirren eyed the passage warily, but had no desire to wage a last stand against a relief party of Vultures. She looked down the tunnel, eyes unadjusted to the lower light level, straining to make out any detail in the further reaches of the cave. After a moment's pause, she sighed, gesturing to three men who seemed to have escaped the recent clash wholly unscathed, "You three take the lead and report back if anything suspicious rears its head, come tell us. We'll follow up behind you with this lot." She jerked a thumb in the direction of their recently acquired prisoners. 

The trio of men, all of them native Stony Dornishmen, nodded and headed off with weapons and torches at the ready while several men posted themselves near the entry of the cave, weapons drawn as the sounds of an approaching party became ever louder and louder. If they were caught in the cave, and there was no way further in, they would be in a perilous situation. 

Eventually one man came running back, "The path keeps continuing further and further in, there's a branching path and right before it, a large cavern, big enough for all of us to fit in. The path there is narrow enough for us to defend indefinitely. But we must go now, they are almost upon us, we can't stay here" Another man spoke up, this one a Stormland Marcher who kicked one of the prisoners, "Aye, and once we get there, we should make these Vulture bastards talk. Mayhaps they can lead us to safety. Or even a secret passage to the spine. Orders my lady?" 

Mirren remained silent for all of two seconds before nodding, unsheathing her sword as she took a torch from the wall. "Lead on, then." She instructed the man, looking back to the mouth of the cave. Their prisoners and wounded were few enough in number that they could be carried or escorted without too much delay. However, Mirren hung back at the rear with a few men and instructed a few others to lead the party, should the Vultures attack into the cave, she would help hold them off. Her hope, however, was to avoid further conflict entirely - certainly, with another company of men she could easily fight another skirmish like the last, but in her current state she wished for nothing more than to escape this cave and return to the safety of the larger host with her newfound prisoners. 

Eventually the host reached the described chamber and the wounded were laid out on the floor on cloth mats so that a healer, a local female scout gifted with medical talent, could see to their wounds. The prisoners were bound and placed under guard while men were posted at the mouths of both branching paths and the tunnel they had just emerged from. They waited, anxious at the possibility of facing combat once more. They couldn't stay there, but they couldn't advance without a firm idea of where they were supposed to go. Luckily they had prisoners, including the Vulture captain, who began to stir. 

Mirren sighed, walking over to the man with a grim expression on her face. She grabbed the man by his cloak, squatting down over him as she waited for him to awake. After a moment, her eyes narrowed further, "Right." She muttered to the man, "We'd like to get out of these caves, and we'd like you to help. Feel like talking?"

The man spit on Mirren, cursing her in old Rhoynish before speaking in common, "I have nothing to say to you, you treacherous whore. I'd rather die then betray our king, the true king of Dorne." The Captain's eyes were steel and many of the other prisoners seemed just as stubborn, Mirren would have no easy answers to be sure. The Captain said, "Cut our throats and be done with it, even if I tell you, what do I have to hope for besides being roasted to death by a dragon? You have nothing over me." 

Mirren raised an eyebrow at the man, sitting back in amusement. She understood some of the words the man had spat at her - she was by no means fluent in the language, but she had some capacity over it. "I won't deny being a whore, you can thank a certain noble for that. But I question your insinuation that I'm a traitor. Some might call you a traitor." She shrugged, "I'm a mercenary, not a knight, nor sworn to any man of the realm. So tell me, Vulture, how it is I am any more a traitor than you?" She waited for him to speak, adding as an afterthought, "And, tempting as it is to kill you eventually, for now we'll have to suffer your presence a little further. My humble apologies."

The Vulture scowled, "You fight against your people, against true Dornishmen fighting for their people. And for coin. You're even worse then most of these Iron Throne bootlickers. Throwing your lot in with Marchers just for gold." The sounds of a party milling about outside the cave travelled down to the group in the cavern and an archer gestured anxiously to Mirren. The Vulture cackled, "Listen to that. All I have to do is wait and my compatriots will come and slaughter you all and myself and my men can walk away free." 

Mirren let out a small laugh. "I'm the bastard daughter of a Lyseni bedslave and a guard captain. Would you have me cut myself in twain and ship one half to Lys and leave the other half in Dorne? I love Dorne, but my life doesn't revolve around it." She sat back down, looking him in the eye, "Let me assure you, Vulture - should it come down to it, I would gladly fight for Dorne against the world, but right now, I don't see an existential threat to my home, and I don't see ancient customs being overridden. What I do see is a man talking tough to the woman who defeated him. We'll talk later, once I've dealt with your friends." She stood, gesturing to a few men in the back. "Watch them for me, will you?"

At the mouth of the tunnel, a small party of Vultures advanced with torches and swords. They were of a similar size to the band that Mirren had just eliminated, perhaps a few had been left outside to watch their mounts. They moved forward cautiously, alert, on the look out for any threat. But none of them could see the loyalists and their torches made them blind to everything hiding in the darkness. A few more minutes and the Vultures would be on Mirren's band. 

Mirren scowled, gesturing to her men to remain silent. Her eyes scanned the interior of the cave, seeking for any more potential advantages to give herself, and finding none. The only trick that came to mind was drawing back further into the cavern and attempting to encircle the oncoming party. Something told her that wouldn't do much, however, and she remained silent for a few moments more before motioning to her archers to nock arrows. "When I give the word, I want as many arrows in those bastards as possible. Everybody who's still good to fight in a melee, I want you behind me to bottle them up."

The Marchers were among the best marksmen of the Seven Kingdoms, and they eagerly strung their bows at the unsuspecting Vultures. The party came ever closer to Mirren's men, alert but unaware of their presence. None of the party had bows, preferring sword, axe, and dagger. A few dozen men were now firmly in the tunnel, marching along with their captain, a slight-framed figure with an ornate hand-axe in the vanguard. 

Mirren nocked an arrow on her own bow, taking careful note of the clear leader of the group. She wouldn't shoot to kill the man, but maybe a wounding shot would net her a second prisoner. However, she kept her sword loose in its sheath - she was under no delusions that this might end with all of enemy party falling to the ground. 

Waiting in silence for them to draw closer, she held up a hand, plainly visible to the men clustered right beside her, but nearly impossible to glimpse from further up the cave. She waited, until the Vultures were within a few dozen paces, until she was sure that, any closer, and they would surely glimpse them even with the wan light of a torch. Dropping her hand, she gave a harsh whisper in old Rhoynish. If these Vultures were of the Greenblood, as her current captive was, the meaning of the word - 'Loose!' would tell them all too quickly what lay for them further up the cave. And, should they not understand, the hail of arrows that immediately followed  would convey the message perfectly well.

Mirren aimed at the leader, loosing her own arrow at his vulnerable thigh - without pausing to see the results, she drew her sword and shield, calling to the men at arms behind her to join her as she rushed into the enemy. 

The arrow caught the captain right in the thigh, and a feminine grunt was heard as the captain crashed to the ground, clasping the wound while the men in front of and behind her were riddled by arrows. The volley was incredibly effective, the confines of the tunnel and the close proximity guaranteeing that every single arrow found it's mark. Almost half of the Vultures were killed or wounded in a moment. Still reeling from the sudden attack, the loyalists had the initiative over the Vultures and more met their ends on blades before the fighting began in earnest. The group was obviously torn in its resolve. Some kept trying to attack and advance while a few were backing away, obviously contemplating retreat as the battle turned. If any of them should survive to warn the Spine of the danger, the results could be catastrophic for the greater offensive. 

Mirren narrowed her eyes, calling her troops to loose arrows again, taking her own bow in hand and firing off an arrow at the back of one man, grinning in morbid satisfaction as he crumpled to the ground. 

"With me!" She called, taking up the sword again and charging after the retreating Vultures. After a moment, she called to two men, "You there! Take their captain and bring her back to the other prisoners!" As she ran past the woman, she scooped up her axe, intending both to keep it for herself and disarm the Vulture. 

The captain snarled, reaching for a dagger only to be punched in the face by one of Mirren's men as the royalists chased the Vultures back out into the open, cutting them down as they ran. A few were even trampled under their comrades in their haste to escape. Once they cleared the cave, another handful of Vultures were ahorse, serving as lookouts and guards. Most of them set their horses at a gallop for the royalists to cover the few Vultures who escaped the cave, while one immediately spurred his horse and attempted to escape the battle entirely. 

Mirren immediately seized her bow, letting her men hold off the Vultures attacking them just long enough to line up a shot with the man attempting to escape. She was by no means an expert archer, but she did her best to steady her breathing, taking a moment to sight in on the man's back before loosing the shaft, praying to whatever gods did exist that it would find its mark. "With me!" She yelled, seizing her blade and shield once more and plunging into the fray. She blocked an incoming slash, letting the blade glance off her shield before lunging forward to impale her attacker through the neck, "Don't let them get away!" She commanded, looking around to try and get a sense of the unfolding melee. 

Luckily for Mirren and the campaign, the arrow found it's mark and the rider slipped from the saddle with an arrow through his back. A Marcher bowman shot an arrow through  a horsemen's eye and Mirren's company did an admirable job of holding up to the small horse charge, though a few men were run down or slashed by blades. The melee was still very much in the royalists' favor as the remaining horsemen tried to outflank the men while the handful of foot soldiers were quickly finished off. One rider charged straight at Mirren, attempting to trample her beneath the hooves of their steed. 

Mirren hurriedly snatched a spear from the hand of a dead Royalist, hurling the weapon with all her strength at the chest of the onrushing beast, watching in satisfaction as the spear buried itself in the horse, sending its rider toppling. Seizing the axe she had taken from the second Vulture captain, she rushed the man, delivering a savage kick to his gut. "Surrender, damn you!" She hissed, "Surrender and we'll spare your lives!"

The man, crushed under the weight of his fallen horse, groaned in pain and only barely raised his arms to drop his weapon. Once he had, it was already over. The rest of the riders were quickly overtaken and surrendered as well, with one stubborn holdout sprouting a chest full of arrows. One of the men came forward and said, "My lady, the day is won. But I believe it is too much of a risk to continue reconaissance with so many prisoners. I ask leave to take half of the men to escort them back to the main army. One prisoner can be left behind, and perhaps these tunnels could be scouted. It may give us a way to enter the Spine and spare the army. Orders?" 

Mirren remained silent for a few moments, before shaking her head. "I think we should head back as a whole group. Splitting up to half our number to delve deeper into hostile territory sounds like a recipe for disaster. We can return, but for now I think it best for us to regroup and rejoin the main force. The wounded need treatment, and I want to hear what our new friends have to say when we get back to camp. Thoughts?" She turned to the man, raising an eyebrow questioningly. 

The man nodded, "Certainly, that would be more cautious. There is a chance that if we do not seize the oppurtunity now, we may not be able to  capitalize on this discovery as effectively. The Vultures may be able to reinforce the passages to impede our entry. But you are right that there is inherent risk in proceeding with a smaller force. Ultimately you must decide whether the potential benefits outweigh the risks." 

Mirren nodded in turn, remaining silent for a moment longer. "I do think it best to play it cautious. I've no desire to see men under my command killed or taken captive because I was too impatient to play it safe. Or to find myself in such a scenario, for that matter." She frowned, "Go collect everybody and gather our new prisoners, I'll stay out here on lookout."

The men dispersed to enact her orders and within moments the survivors of the company gathered with the wounded, the dead, and the prisoners they had taken. Those too wounded to ride by themselves were loaded behind a comrade on a horse while their deceased comrades were hitched as delicately as possible on top of a spare mount. The prisoners were bound by the wrists and hitched to the back of other steeds. One of the Marchers came forth and said, "We're ready to move my lady. With this report, griffons and other scouts can reconniter further. The main army should be less than an hour away by now. Doubtless Ser Gendry will be pleased. Shall we depart?" 

Nodding, Mirren made to mount her own horse. "Sounds good. Let's make good time, I don't want to run into more of them on the way back." She paused, before turning to a few Dornishmen among the party, "Ride ahead of us and make sure the way is clear, will you? I don't want to have them spring the same trap on us." 

Just over half an hour later, Mirren's advance party approached the marching army led by Ser Gendry and Ser Garlan, who were advancing steadily towards the spine. The combined Reachman, Stormlander, and Dornish lines were orderly with the men marching in formation and several griffon scouts screening the advance. The party was challenged by outriders before being allowed to pass, and by the time Mirren's forces reached the vanguard where Gendry and Garlan rode, the sun had set low behind the mountains and the order had been given to make camp for the night. 

Ser Gendry Baratheon's commander pavillion was just being erected as Mirren rode into the officer square of the camp, her wounded already sent off to the field medics and the rest of her men sent to rest while the captured captains were being marched alongside her. Gendry, still in his black plate with yellow surcoat, nodded to Mirren, "Ah, Garlan's scout. You come highly recommended. And I see you've brought a gift." The captains were forced to their knees and Gendry continued, "Tomorrow, we make our move on the Spine. Tonight, we plan. Best to get this over with, what is your report?" 

Mirren shrugged, "We found some new friends, the welcoming party was more energetic than I'd anticipated, but we fared well against them. They're operating out of a network of tunnels and caves throughout the mountains - we don't know just how far they extend, I wasn't willing to take the risk of dividing the party, but well, the mountains are full of them." She paused, looking down at them, adding as an afterthought, "They're a lot more Rhoynish than I'd expected."

Gendry rubbed his chin in thought, looking at the prisoners before replying, "Our griffon scouts tell us that the climb to the Spine is perilous.But if the rebels have a tunnel and cave system in which to operate, that may be their secret entryway to the spine. Likely there's hidden passages all over these mountains, hence how they can blend back into the rock after a raid. And Rhoynish you say? Hmm... that is troubling. We had thought that the Vulture King may have had support limited to the Stony Dornish, but this suggests that his support has a broader base than we thought. It's too bad we don't have more intelligence on the tunnels, but you made a prudent move. I'll have a company secure that entrance. As for our prisoners..." 

Gendry walked over to the kneeling man and woman, and got his boots spit on for his trouble. Gendry shrugged before backhanding the man so hard that a tooth flew out from his mouth, "I don't suppose our new friends told you anything? Well, I'll have the griffins perform an aerial sortie and the main army needs must march on the spine and blockade it. But having a secret passage way to the Spine could spare time and lives. We need them to talk. I have some of Arya's... specialists with us. They have their gifts. But perhaps you can assist? Do you think you can make them talk? They'll be spared if they do, if not, then they will be punished as traitors." 

Mirren winced slightly as Gendry backhanded the man. She fought for the Crown, but held no ill will towards her foe, and seeing Gendry strike his captives struck a chord in her. She resisted the urge to step in and stop his blow - barely. She didn't know if she could do it again. There was no honor in war, any who deluded themselves into thinking such she made a point of avoiding - but there was common decency, and she held disdain for any who would strike prisoners as such. "I will do what I can, but I cannot promise anything. They do not view me favorably."

Gendry nodded, gesturing to a few nearby guards, "There's no harm in trying. We'll take the soft approach first. Lay the deal on the table. If they refuse, then my wife's people can have their turn. Perhaps after that their tongues will be looser. I hope for their sakes, it needn't come to that." Gendry knelt before the woman, "You have ears surely. Why don't we spare everyone the trouble and just tell us what we need to know? Cooperate and you will be treated honorably. Otherwise, you will be treated as enemies of the crown, and that is not taken lightly. What say you?" 

The woman said nothing, but delivered a stunningly fast headbutt. Gendry, massive and strongly built, reeled back more out of surprise than pain and scowled. He stood, "Right then. You were warned. I'll make an example out of you. Hammer!" It took two of Gendry's squires to lift and carry the massive warhammer and walk it over to Gendry. The weapon had been King Robert's and was terrifying to behold. The woman tried to maintain composure as Gendry retrieved the hammer, lifting it with ease, "No need to worry. You'll get a second warning." Gendry lifted the weapon over his head and prepared to bring it down on the woman's knee, a blow that would shatter bone like glass. 

Before he could deliver the blow, he found his arm in a vicelike grip, another hand on the shaft of the weapon, and a furious hiss in his ear. "Stop." Mirren murmured, unable to stand at the side and watch. "If you wish to torture prisoners, I suggest you find your own." She narrowed her eyes at him, despite the difference in height there was no fear evident in her eyes - even though she felt sick to her stomach inside, a mixture of fear and disgust gripping her internally. "But I will not stand by idly and watch you maim someone for... what, daring to oppose you?" She scowled back at him. 

Several nearby guards reached for the pommels of their swords, but Gendry held out a hand, a surprised expression at his face as he easily shook his bull-like arm out of the grip, laying down the hammer for a moment, "Torture? This is nothing compared to what Dornish rebels like them have done to crown forces in the past. My forebear Orys Baratheon had his sword hand cut off. Aemon the Dragonknight was imprisoned above a pit of vipers. That was torture. This is a consequence of striking a man when he has held out his hand in good faith. If we don't take a firm  line with these traitors, they won't take us seriously."  

"Ah, yes, because shattering the knee of all who defy you will earn you the hearts and minds of all." She sneered, "I don't give a damn for all the gods in Westeros and beyond for what their ancestors did to your ancestors. They can all rot, they're dead." She glared at him, releasing the hammer and taking a step back, palm resting on the pommel of her own blade, still held in its sheath, "But I will not stand idly by as you maim my prisoners to stroke your own hubris." She glared, "I make no claims to have a stake in this, but if you strike her now? You'll simply enrage the rest more. Remember that."

Gendry took the hammer in one hand and laid it on his shoulder, "I don't want their hearts and minds, I want their submission. 'Tis easier to bend the knee when bones are broken. They are the ones who raided our villages, put my people to the sword. And you want me to suffer their insults lightly? When I offered them clemency? Too much mercy is weakness to these sorts." Gendry shook his head in exasperation, "An idealistic sellsword. I never would have guessed." 

Mirren raised an eyebrow at him, "Spoken like every other noble who sought to subjugate Dorne." She scoffed, "When Rhaenys rode down on her dragon to burn and conquer, what befell her?" She left the question hang in the air for a moment, before continuing. "I seem to recall there was something about dungeons. Probably. What happened when the armies of the Reach marched to conquer? I think scorpions were involved that time." She shrugged, walking back over with her hands at her sides. "A firm hand has its place here, by all means - when you find the Vulture King, I'll hand you the hammer myself. But hobbling every prisoner who dares defy you? Read up on some history, not everybody responds to punishment with submission. Some of them just starting biting harder."

Gendry dismissed her with a wave, "I won't debate morality or discuss history with you, there's no time for such trifles. But fine, your prisoner will be spared the rod on this occasion." Gendry gripped Mirren's shoulder tightly, "I am open to opinions and ideas from my subordinates, but don't question my authority in front of my men or captives. And never lay a hand on me in such a manner again or I'll have you flogged."

Mirren shrugged, "Do what you will."

Gendry stared the prisoner down, holding the hammer near her head and saying, "This would have crushed every bone in your leg if not for that woman there. Remember that. My patience only goes so far. Tell her what we want to know and you won't have to see this again." Gendry turned to the guards, motioning to have them moved to a nearby black tent, "Have at it sellsword. You have one hour, then my wife's people will start in on it." 

Mirren nodded. "I'll have the information ready for you." She turned to the two prisoners, offering them a hand up to stand, before leading them off to a secluded area. She would get the info she wanted.