[Aganzir]

“This is what all you filthy Tyrell traitors get if you raise your hand against a Dornishman!” Nog yelled and turned to face the spectators unarmed.

It was the last mistake he would ever make.

Enraged by the death of one of their own in their midst, and angered by old rivalries being thrown in their faces, the Tyrell patrons advanced on Nog. Hands gripped him tight and carried him outside the inn. More bodies appeared, leading horses, bringing ropes, tying knots. Before Nog knew what had happened, he was tied between four huge beasts.

"Very well, sir. No hand will be raised against you." The voice was suspiciously polite. "But he who dares grasp the rose should ever fear the thorn."

Nog was still trying to puzzle that one out when a loud, "Hup!" was shouted. Relentlessly, the horses began to move apart. Realising what was about to happen, Nog screamed, a prolonged wail that echoed in the evening air.

All men must die.