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A Dragon Kissed by Sun Chapter 52 (The Old Lion)
🕑 Added 2023-08-16 19:38:39 +0000 UTCTyrion Lannister
"Why are you here?" Jaime inquired, his voice carrying over the rhythmic clip-clop of their horses' hooves as they traversed the streets of King's Landing. Sunlight danced playfully through the gaps between the towering buildings, casting intricate patterns on the cobblestones below. The air, heavy with the symphony of bustling merchants and eager shoppers, enveloped Tyrion's senses, painting a vivid picture of the vibrant marketplace that thrived within the city's walls. Every step they took brought forth a chorus of haggling voices, a melange of aromas from exotic spices, and the palpable anticipation of potential buyers seeking the perfect wares to satisfy their desires.
Tyrion more than once needed to stop his pony from walking straight at a man running through the streets without thinking; the streets were quite busy during the middle of the day, especially during the dusk; around that time, the brothels would be full, people from all ranks of life would go to brothels, including Tyrion who had heard from Baelish that he had new women from Essos, Tyrion wondered how the man had gotten his hands on beautiful women from Essos, but Tyrion wasn't complaining.
As Jaime's question hung in the air, Tyrion's sharp ears caught its every word, but rather than responding immediately, he indulged in a deliberate pause. In that fleeting moment, his nimble fingers stealthily delved into the depths of his pocket, retrieving a petite bottle of wine. Upon closer inspection, the bottle revealed itself as a testament to the grandeur of House Lannister, with its opulent sigil emblazoned proudly at its core. The cork, meticulously crafted from boiled and polished wood, beckoned to Tyrion's mischievous nature. A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he parted his lips, allowing his teeth to grasp the cork's edge nimbly. With a deft display of strength, Tyrion adeptly removed the cork from the confines of the diminutive vessel. Without hesitation, he expelled the cork from his mouth in a swift expulsion of air. Finally, triumphantly, Tyrion raised the bottle to his lips, savoring the velvety nectar that flowed forth. The ruby-hued liquid cascaded into his eager mouth, its sweetness akin to the nectar of honey. Savoring the exquisite taste, Tyrion couldn't resist pressing his lips together, relishing the lingering essence of the wine that now danced upon his palate.
With amusement dancing in his eyes, Jaime couldn't help but chuckle softly as he observed his little brother, Tyrion, indulging in a glass of wine. However, beneath the mask of a playful smile, a flicker of sadness and pity lingered in Jaime's gaze, a bittersweet reminder of the past. As he watched Tyrion consume the wine with an insatiable thirst, as if it were as commonplace as water, Jaime's mind wandered back to a time when his brother's smile held a genuine warmth. But everything had changed for Tyrion ever since that fateful day, and the transformations were felt in small increments. It began innocently enough – the wine became his solace, his escape from the harsh realities of life. However, as the wine flowed through his veins, guiding him towards the dark allure of brothels, where he sought solace in the arms of strangers.
Jaime really wished to tell Tyrion the truth about who Tysha really was. She had been the only woman who ever loved him, but the memory of his nightmare returned back to Jaime every time he thought of telling Tyrion the truth.
' "How could you, Jaime?" Tyrion's voice trembled with a mix of anguish and disbelief, his eyes filled with betrayal. "You were the only one I had. The one family I always loved. You betrayed me." His voice cracked, thick with emotion. Tyrion's gaze pierced through Jaime, his words echoing in the air. "Do you Know What He Made Me Do? What I did to HER." The weight of his words hung heavy in the room, suffocating the air.
As Tyrion's voice quivered with pain, his eyes ablaze with a mix of rage and sorrow, Jaime closed his eyes, unable to escape the truth that enveloped them. He had underestimated the depths of their father's depravity, never imagining the extent to which he would go. In his naivety, Jaime believed that their father would simply annul the marriage, bidding Tysha farewell. But he had been gravely mistaken. He sought to make an example, to teach Tyrion a lesson.
And so, he ordered a squad of soldiers to rape the poor girl, each one throwing a gold coin at the girl's lap after they were done. Tyrion's voice grew softer yet laced with bitterness. " I forced Myself into Her. I was forced to Watch and then forced to do the deed myself."
"Tyrion, I'm sorry," Jaime began, but before he could finish his sentence, the room was filled with a sudden, jarring snap that reverberated through the air. Startled, Jaime's face jerked away, only to be met with a searing pain on his cheek. His fingers instinctively reached for the source of the burning sensation, confirming his worst fears. Turning his gaze back towards his little brother, he noticed his right palm tinged with a faintly red hue. A mix of shock and disbelief washed over Jaime, leaving his mouth agape. Never before had Tyrion displayed such hostility towards him. There was an undeniable intensity in Tyrion's eyes that conveyed a desire for something far more profound than a mere slap across the face.
"Sorry, doesn't Cut it, Kingslayer," Tyrion spat with burning rage, his voice dripping with contempt and frustration. The fiery intensity of his emotions seemed to fuel his words as he unleashed his pent-up anger upon his brother. In a defiant act of defiance, Tyrion's lips curled into a disdainful sneer as he let out a venomous huff, the words lingering in the air like a bitter taste. But it was not just his words that conveyed the depth of his fury; his eyes, usually filled with mischief and wit, now blazed with an intensity that Jaime had never witnessed before. They were like smoldering embers, reflecting a rage that burned hotter than any wildfire Jaime had ever encountered.
With a glint of fury in his eyes, his voice dripped with acrimony as he flung his words at Jaime, "Count the days, Kingslayer. One day I will return and burn everything you hold dear," he hissed, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. The promise of vindication resonated in every syllable he uttered.
As Tyrion turned his back on Jaime, his footsteps echoed through the corridor. Although Jaime's pleas echoed behind him, like distant whispers carried away by the wind, Tyrion remained resolute, refusing to glance back at the brother he once cherished. Shadows embraced his figure as he disappeared into the inky darkness, the finality of his departure leaving Jaime with a hollow ache in his heart. '
As Jaime's heart pulsed with a suffocating sense of dread, he couldn't escape the haunting memories that lingered in his mind like a persistent nightmare. Each thought of revealing the truth to Tyrion dissipated into thin air, vanishing with the ethereal grace of smoke carried away by the capricious wind. It doesn't matter anymore; telling him the truth won't change the past, Jaime told himself repeatedly until he was convinced he was doing the right thing. Yet, an unsettling undercurrent of unease washed over him as if his very core whispered disapproval, reminding him that suppressing the truth was an act more fitting for Cersei, not himself. Despite his fervent desire to prevent the terrifying events of the nightmare from becoming a tangible reality, Jaime didn't want what happened in the nightmare to be a reality.
Jaime escaped his thoughts about his past sins when he felt a gentle nudge on his shoulders. He looked to his right to see Tyrion still riding beside him, carrying the small wine bottle in his left hand that was empty now.
With a mischievous glint in his eye, Tyrion broke the silence. His voice was laced with playful mockery. "Where were you, brother? Dreaming about a lucky girl?" A wry smile tugged at Jaime's lips as he returned to the present moment, grateful for his brother's diversion. Tyrion attempted to take a sip from his empty vessel, only to be met with disappointment as he realized the wine had vanished, much like their fleeting escapades.
As Tyrion tossed aside the empty glass wine bottle, a hint of irritation crept into his voice as he mumbled under his breath, "Why do they always have to get empty?" The bottle crashed against the unforgiving ground, shattering into a myriad of glimmering shards. In a matter of moments, however, the fragments were eagerly seized by destitute individuals who recognized their potential as makeshift yet effective weapons. These resourceful souls knew that even shattered remnants could serve as small but formidable survival tools in their world of scarcity and desperation.
As Jaime rode alongside Tyrion's pony, a mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes, causing him to chuckle softly in amusement. As the sound of his laughter filled the air, the weight of the past seemed to melt away, dissipating like a distant memory. In that fleeting moment, Jaime found himself drawn closer to his little brother. With a gentle pat on Tyrion's back, Jaime couldn't help but reminisce about the time when his brother, in all his audacious glory, had coerced their unsuspecting uncle into a whimsical dance on his name day. The sheer absurdity of the memory brought a wide grin to Jaime's face as he playfully teased Tyrion, "I was just thinking about the time you forced our uncle to dance in your name day," In response, Tyrion's laughter erupted like a chorus of joy.
"I still remember our father's face. He looked as if he just swallowed a lemon," Tyrion added humorously; Jaime chuckled, remembering his face; their father that day had looked humiliated, but despite his reputation, Gerion never showed fear in front of Tywin, often telling him that he was afraid to laugh, just to make Tywin even angrier, the man who was said not to be afraid of anything.
"Not just Father. Do you remember what Cersei did?" Jaime questioned as he leaned closer to Tyrion, both brothers laughing with amusement, their horses slowly riding towards the Red Keep.
As Tyrion attempted to mimic Cersei's voice, he exclaimed with a mischievous grin, "You demon monkeys," causing both Jaime and Tyrion to erupt into uncontrollable laughter. Their boisterous mirth echoed through the bustling street, capturing the curiosity of passersby, who cast puzzled glances their way.
After laughing, Jaime kept his smile on his face, his eyes looking at the Red Keep getting closer as they rode their horses forward; Jaime couldn't help but wish for the day that his prince was crowned King to come sooner, being in The Red Keep was something Jaime found it more difficult to do as time passed, the only people he considered friends were Ser Barristan, Tyrion, and Jon Arryn to an extent, everyone else was disgusting, especially Cersei, and Littlefinger.
Jaime felt bad for Jon Arryn; the man was eighty name days, perhaps the oldest Hand of the King in the history of Westeros, the man was trying to lead the realm, but with Cersei being Queen and Robert being King, it wasn't easy, all he could do was try to minimize the damage done by the two of them.
Jaime remembered when Robert had once gotten drunk in front of Barristan and Jaime. They were forced to drag him back to his bedchamber, which was quite difficult knowing his weight.
' "Why, Ned." With a whisper escaping his breath, tainted with the scent of alcohol, the room fell silent. Jaime and Barristan exchanged a knowing look, their eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and weariness. With a shared understanding, they continued their task of guiding the stumbling king towards the sanctuary of his bedchamber, the weight of their duty heavy upon them as they navigated the dimly lit corridors of the castle.
"Why? Why was I made King? You. Not me. I wasn't made to sit in a Chair all Day." Robert continued murmuring under his breath with a hint of both drowsiness and sorrow; Jaime wondered if he should say something but soon decided just to put him in his bed and leave him to sleep.
As Jaime and Barristan finally arrived at the opulent confines of Robert's bedchamber, they carefully maneuvered his imposing and rotund form onto the luxuriously adorned bed. The king's weight pressed against Jaime's sinewy arms, causing them to strain slightly, reminiscent of the effort required to transport a plump pig.
With a subtle gesture, Barristan silently urged Jaime to vacate the chamber, allowing the weary ruler to succumb to the embrace of much-needed slumber. Jaime reluctantly grasped the door handle and turned it. Caught in a moment of vulnerability, Robert's voice, muffled by the haze of sleep, reverberated through the chamber. "Ned," he murmured, his words laced with a wistful yearning. "Ned, I really wish we could just ride together to Braavos and never turn back, fight, laugh, just like old times, "The door creaked softly as he bid farewell to the slumbering king. '
As Jaime stood beside his little brother, a curious expression played on his face as he turned towards him and gently reminded him, "You know, you have yet to tell me why are you here?" The words lingered in the air as they approached the imposing entrance of the Red Keep, its grandeur and significance palpable. The colossal double gates, crafted meticulously from solid metal, loomed before them, emanating an aura of power and mystery. Jaime's eyes fixated on the two soldiers stationed atop the towering structures flanking the gate, their purpose evident as they began to manipulate a mechanism, setting the massive gate into motion. Slowly, the heavy metal barrier yielded, unleashing a resounding symphony of metallic groans and creaks that reverberated through the air.
As Jaime's fingers lightly caressed the hilt of his sword, a mischievous smile danced upon his lips, releasing a melodic whistle that echoed through the air. With each step, his noble steed responded eagerly, its hooves rhythmically pounding against the cobblestones, a symphony of sound that announced their arrival. As they approached the towering gate that guarded the entrance to the magnificent castle, Jaime and Tyrion reined in their steeds, bringing them to a graceful halt. Dismounting with a swift and practiced motion, Jaime's boots met the solid ground. In a seamless display of efficiency, two eager squires hurried forward, their eyes filled with awe and admiration. With gentle hands, they deftly led Jaime's horse and Tyrion's pony away, the rhythmic jingle of their bridles mingling with the fading echoes of hoofbeats as the animals disappeared into the depths of the castle stables.
As they crossed the threshold of the mighty Red Keep, Tyrion's voice broke the silence, his words cutting through the air like a dagger: "Father is angry." Jaime's eyes darted around the grand hall, taking in the intricate tapestries that adorned the walls, each one meticulously woven with the proud emblem of House Baratheon, the Deer, and the fierce emblem of House Lannister, the Lion. The torches that lined the corridor were not mere sources of light but works of art in their own right, their handles fashioned to resemble the fearsome jaws of a lion, ready to devour any who dared to challenge the might of House Lannister. The absence of any trace of the dragons, once the dominant symbol of power on these ancient walls, was a stark reminder that House Targaryen had been extinguished, their legacy reduced to nothing more than whispers in the wind.
"Why?" Jaime questioned, his voice betraying a hint of innocence as he played the role of the oblivious sibling, though deep down, he was acutely aware of the reason behind their father's anger. Ever since the Mountain's demise, Cersei's fragile composure had been teetering on edge. Jaime, with his keen observation, couldn't help but notice her increased reliance on the solace of a wine-filled glass delicately cradled by her slender fingers. An exasperated scoff escaped Jaime's lips whenever he caught sight of her in such moments. It was ironic, he thought, how she still harbored resentment towards Robert for his indulgence in alcoholic beverages, oblivious to the fact that her own vices mirrored his. If there was one thing his sister was good at, it was complaining and being a whore. Those two things his sister knew how to do well.
To think I used to love her, Jaime thought, suddenly having the desire to slap himself in the face. Cersei never loved me; she only loves herself, and she loved me because I reminded her of herself; once I stopped caring, I was no different than Robert, Jaime thought with his blood boiling. He felt the need to let out his frustration somehow. He had tried to through beating knights he didn't like, but now it didn't work anymore. His frustration didn't go away; Jaime felt the need to distract himself some other way.
"The mountain has fallen, Jaime. Father is furious that his best soldier is nothing but dog piss and the worst part. Prince Oberyn's bastard defeated him," Tyrion explained as he and Jaime started walking upstairs to where their father was residing.
Jaime flinched slightly when his brother called the Prince a 'Bastard,' something Tyrion noticed right away, making him raise an eyebrow. "The Mountain was a fool. He attacked Jon Sand out of spite because he lost," Jaime was quick to defend his prince's actions.
"Well," Tyrion began, his voice laced with a mix of intrigue and contemplation. "Whatever reason the Bastard had for killing the Mountain, Father still thinks the King should have done something to him," he explained, his words tinged with a hint of defiance. With a deliberate emphasis on the word 'Bastard,' Tyrion's voice crescendoed, echoing through the corridor. Meanwhile, Jaime, his features etched with a subtle mixture of weariness and frustration, couldn't help but release a soft, resigned sigh. It was a sound borne out of his discomfort, a testament to his unease at the audacity of his younger brother's brazen portrayal of the Prince as a 'Bastard.'
"If King had done that, he would bring shame upon himself," Jaime quickly added with a look of bewilderment, looking down at his brother, who let out a chuckle.
"Our father's pride has been hurt, Jaime," Tyrion said, "Father doesn't care about the opinions of the sheep, and neither should you. The others can say whatever they want. Their words don't matter to us, but the opinions of our banners matter. The Mountain's death is a stain in our family's name, and as long as that Bastard sucks air. Our name will stay stained. A Lannister always pays his debts after all." Tyrion finished with a small look of confidence. He almost looked proud of himself. Jaime looked away from his little brother, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth, as if he just swallowed something sour. The words his brother just said were something Jaime expected his father to say.
"We have already done too much to House Martell. We didn't need to tighten the rope around our neck more than it already has," Jaime reasoned, looking down at his brother. Tyrion's face didn't change. He simply murmured. "Maybe, Jaime, but we are lions. We should not care about the opinions of the vipers. The rope will never truly disappear."
Jaime couldn't help but let out a sigh of frustration through his nose. He hoped he could change his brother's mind; Jaime didn't want his brother to be another casualty in the upcoming War.
Jaime quickly decided to have a long talk with Tyrion soon. When he had a perfect opportunity, Jaime would explain the truth to his brother, making him see reason and convince him to join the Targaryen Side; Jaime could already see it, his brother sitting on the throne of Castely Rock where their father sat.
Jaime and Tyrion found themselves standing before the sturdy wooden door that guarded the entrance to their father's solar. With a sense of purpose, Jaime raised his hand and rapped on the door, the sound reverberating through the hushed corridor. Time seemed to stretch, accompanied by a heavy silence, before the commanding voice of their father finally reached their ears, beckoning them to enter.
"Come in," the words echoed in Jaime's mind, urging him forward. Eagerly, he pushed the door open. His gaze briefly swept across the room, catching sight of Cersei seated across from their father, her presence both familiar and unsettling. But Jaime's focus was drawn inexorably to his father, who sat at the desk, engrossed in the task of penning his thoughts onto a piece of paper. With a soft click, as the door closed behind him, Jaime stepped further into the room.
With a knowing look exchanged between Jaime and Tyrion, their eyes reflecting a shared understanding, they wordlessly walked toward the desk. As they gingerly approached, their footsteps barely audible against the opulent flooring, they took synchronized actions to maneuver a chair into the perfect position. Seated side by side, they awaited any sign of acknowledgment, but Tywin kept writing without looking at them.
Time seemed to stretch infinitely, a suspended moment where every tick of the clock was drowned out by the rhythmic scratch of Tywin's quill against parchment, etching his authoritative words onto the surface with a resolute determination. The room was cloaked in an almost palpable silence, broken only by the delicate clink of Cersei's crystal glass as she indulged in a sip of ruby-hued wine, her gaze lingering on her father and brothers, a subtle smirk dancing upon her lips.
In the dimly lit chamber, the silence was palpable as Tyrion Lannister surveyed the room with his keen eyes. He noticed the peculiar absence of any words uttered, a void that seemed to hang in the air like an unanswered question. Tyrion's agile fingers extended towards the ornate handle of a porcelain vase, brimming with crimson wine, the intoxicating liquid shimmering in the candlelight.
As he contemplated moving the vase closer to his reach, a sudden shift in the atmosphere caught his attention. Tywin Lannister momentarily averted his gaze from the weighty letter he had been meticulously drafting. His piercing gaze locked onto Tyrion, a mixture of disapproval and curiosity flickering in his eyes.
The younger Lannister, undeterred by his father's penetrating stare, held his ground, meeting Tywin's gaze with an unwavering determination. A silent exchange passed between father and son. Tyrion continued his actions unperturbed, resolute in his decision to pour himself a glass of the exquisite vintage.
With a practiced hand, he gracefully lifted the carafe and delicately filled his goblet, the ruby liquid cascading like a river of indulgence. The weight of Tywin's scrutiny hung in the air, the silent tension between them thickening. Yet, Tyrion remained steadfast, refusing to be intimidated by his father's disapproval.
With measured composure, he returned the vase to its rightful place on the table. In the ensuing silence, Tywin's eyes followed Tyrion's every move, his face an impenetrable mask of unreadable emotions. The room remained hushed, the only sound being the soft clinking of glass against wood as Tyrion set his goblet down.
Tyrion delicately raised the goblet to his lips, savoring the rich, velvety taste of the vintage wine as it danced on his palate. His eyes, framed by a mischievous glint, shifted towards his father, their gaze locking in a moment of unspoken tension.
With a wry smile curling at the corners of his mouth, Tyrion's voice dripped with sarcasm as he broke the silence, "Well, as much as I enjoy the company of everyone here, especially yours, Cersei," his hand extending towards Cersei in an exaggerated gesture. Cersei's icy glare pierced through him, her grip on the delicate crystal tightening. Cersei's wrath threatened to explode like shards of glass, aimed straight at Tyrion's audacious face.
"Why did you request us here?" inquired Tyrion, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of skepticism. Leaning casually against the plush chair, he fixed his gaze upon his formidable father, peering over the rim of his crystal goblet brimming with crimson wine.
Tywin rose from his seat with an air of authority, casting a penetrating gaze upon his children. At that moment, Jaime, Tyrion, and Cersei found themselves averting their eyes, captivated by a mix of apprehension and a familiar sense of vulnerability. In the presence of their father's unwavering intensity, Jaime couldn't help but feel like a child ready to be scolded by his father.
"I came here to deal with the little snake. The mountain's death has caused more trouble than anticipated; people are already making fun of my name." Tywin spoke with suppressed anger until his eyes landed on Cersei. The latter felt a shudder from his piercing gaze. "While speaking with Lord Arryn, I met Prince Joffrey." Tywin stopped talking for a moment, letting the information sink in; both Jaime and Tyrion held their breath; Tyrion even put down the glass of wine, secretly enjoying it. For the first time, he wasn't the disappointing child.
"It seemed I have overestimated you, Cersei," His voice carried a subtle undercurrent of mockery mingled with the suppressed flames of anger that burned within him. Jaime couldn't help but notice the genuine surprise etched on Tyrion's face at his father's unexpected redirection of attention toward Cersei instead of him. Meanwhile, Cersei's countenance transformed before their very eyes, her cheeks flushed crimson with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, a testament to the inner turmoil she grappled with.
The weight of accusation was heavy upon her. "I did not do anything!" she declared, her voice quivering with a mix of fear and determination. As she locked eyes with her father, she could sense the scrutiny in his gaze, causing her to falter momentarily. Her fingers anxiously gripped her knees.
"You're right. You did nothing. You allowed the crown prince. Your son to grow up a fool. My expectations for you were on the ground, but somehow, you found a shovel and dug a hole." Tywin spat, looking down at Cersei, who gulped slightly; Jaime couldn't help but shift uncontrollably on his chair as Cersei opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to come up with the right words to say.
"Joffrey is perfect." Cersei finally defended her little boy, looking up at her father, trying to appear brave.
"Beating servants, insulting everyone, ordering King's guards to find him small animals, killing them, opening up a pregnant cat doesn't sound perfect to me." Tywin listed as he strode with calculated poise around the ornate chair occupied by his daughter Cersei, his piercing gaze akin to that of a vulture surveying its prey. The room seemed to grow colder as Cersei, her delicate hands nervously clutching her own knees, felt an unsettling shudder ripple through her body. Her emerald eyes, usually filled with confidence and cunning, now cast themselves downward, fixated on the intricate patterns of the marble floor. With an air of calculated malevolence, Tywin positioned himself behind Cersei's chair, his words dripping from his lips with an icy chill that sent a shiver down her spine.
With an air of stern authority, Tywin whispered his ominous declaration to Cersei, his words carrying a weighty promise of retribution. "Your son is a fool; sat him straight, or I will have him fostered to Castely Rock where I will... discipline him." he insisted. His gaze fixed upon Cersei's ashen face, drained of all color, her expression a canvas of trepidation. Expecting a fiery outburst from his sister, Jaime was taken aback when Cersei, instead, lowered her head and acquiesced with a quick, obedient nod. It was a moment of unsettling submission as if the formidable lioness had momentarily lost her roar and succumbed to the dominance of her father's presence.
"Good," Tywin spoke slowly, his eyes quickly settling on Jaime and Tyrion.
"The North is making alliances with The Dorne. I have reasons to believe that Lord Stark doesn't see the King as much of a friend as he used to," As Tywin spoke, he walked back to his seat, sitting down and looking directly at his three children; Jaime wondered if his father had an informer.
"What do you expect us to do?" Tyrion questioned, leaning forward from the chair, placing the glass of wine on the table, and looking at his father with intrigue.
Jaehaerys Targaryen
Clutching the pommel of his gleaming sword, Jae's weary sigh escaped his lips, swirling like a wisp of frigid mist in the crisp winter air. With a resolute determination etched upon his face, he swung his blade towards the training dummy, unleashing a ferocious strike that left a deep, jagged slash mark upon its lifeless form.
Fuelled by an unwavering resolve, Jae unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes from every conceivable angle, causing fragments of the dummy to explode into the air, cascading like snowflakes upon the frozen ground below. As the training dummy's semblance dwindled to mere remnants of its former self, Jae's exertion was evident, his sweat-drenched brow glistening in the pale sunlight. In the midst of his accomplishment, an unexpected sound reached his ears, the faint echo of approaching footsteps on the snowy terrain. Instinctively, Jae spun around, his heart racing, to find Lady Arya Stark gracefully striding towards him with an air of quiet confidence.
With an inviting smile gracing his lips, Jae directed his question towards Arya, his voice filled with curiosity and intrigue as he uttered, "My lady, what are you doing here?" However, a flicker of annoyance momentarily danced across Arya's features upon being addressed as a 'lady,' causing Jae to detect this subtle change in her demeanor swiftly. Yet, in a swift and graceful motion, Arya adeptly transformed her countenance into one adorned with a captivating smile, concealing any trace of vexation that had briefly clouded her expression.
Arya's eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and admiration as she approached Jae. "I heard from Nymeria and Obara," she began, her voice tinged with awe, "that you're the best swordsman in all of Dorne."
A small smile tugged at the corners of Jae's lips, unable to contain his amusement at his sisters' exaggerated tales. Though he may not have been able to defeat his father or Ser Arthur Dayne, he had earned a reputation that reached even the ears of the young Stark girl.
With a playful glint in his eyes, Jae replied, his voice laced with humor, "Ah, My sisters like to talk, my lady. Can I do something for you?" As if to match Arya's height, Jae gracefully lowered himself to one knee, his gaze leveling hers.
Arya's determination shone through as she met Jae's gaze, her voice filled with unwavering resolve. "I want to fight with you," she declared, her words carrying a sense of adventure and eagerness mirrored her fiery spirit.
So, Arya and Jon finally meet. Their first interaction will be quite funny to write. Daenerys will also appear in the following chapter.
Fun Question: Since Val was removed from the Show, which actress do you think would have been the best to play her?
Comments
TheWateringWizard
A few chapters I hadn’t read apparently. I wonder what that Tywin cunt has planned
Drinor
Glad you liked it
Rahul Vijay
TFTC! I enjoyed the chapter.
Rahul Vijay
I agree with Katheryn Winnick. I also think the actress who played Lagertha would also be ideal for Val.
FangRu
Younger Katheryn Winnick or Blake Lively.
