Game of Thrones Imagines Book Two

Se sȳndor morgho - Part 1 - Tyrion x Bronn x Reader

This imagine has a hint of the Roman Colosseum about it, I am afraid. Of gladiatorial fights. So, I hope that you will forgive me for mixing my own interest in the ancient world, into this story. This chapter is a little shorter, but I will make up for it in the next part. And I know that gladiators rarely fought to the death, as they were expensive and took too long to train to waste them by killing them in the arena. But I have taken a little artistic license, just like Hollywood. I hope that you enjoy.

The warrior looked up, as they heard one of the slavers announce the fight. Announced to all those that had come to buy, what they could expect to see. That the warrior that was to enter the arena was the best that the inhabitants of Meereen. The inhabitants of anywhere, would ever see step foot into the fighting pits. And that anyone that wished to possess the warrior, would have to be prepared to pay handsomely for the privilege.

Suddenly the gates opened. Sun streaming into the once dark surroundings. The warrior pulling their helmet down over their features. The only things left visible, being their eyes. Eyes that could pierce the souls of their opponent, just as easily as the blades that they wielded could pierce their bodies.

In the beginning, it had been hard. Hard to get used to the armour. The helmet that the slavers made them wear. Hard to get used to killing before they were killed. But now, the smell of blood, death and sand, were the most beautiful of odours. The screams of the vanquished, and the cheer of the crowd, like music to the warrior's ears. Finally stepping foot into the pit, the fighter could feel their heart began to pound. The sheer size of the crowd was like nothing they had ever seen before. The heat and noise were overwhelming, but they had no time to concern themselves with such things. They had to concentrate on the kill. That no matter how many opponents the trainers sent after them, they must all fall by the sword. A promise that this time they would be sold, if they were victorious. The warrior hoping that their new master would be better than the trainers and slavers. Their new position would be better than living in the stinking pits.

"Gentlemen...........and ladies. I give to you the one and only, Se sȳndor morgho." The man above the pit announced grandly, to the jostling crowd. The throng chanting "MORGHO! MORGHO! MORGHO!" as the black clad warrior moved to the centre of the pit and dropped to their knee. Praying to their gods and ancestors that they would survive this fight, before rising again, and nodding to the man on the podium. The mass of excited onlookers chatting excitedly, as the warrior swung their sword through the air. Loosening their muscles in preparation for what was to come. The trainer holding his hands up once again to quiet the crowd, as he prepared to announce the names of the men that were unlucky enough to find themselves as the opponents of Se sȳndor morgho that day.

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"What are we doing here?" Bronn huffed, as he and Tyrion pushed their way through the mass of bodies. Trying to get to the front of the crowd. Trying to get to the wall that surrounded the fighting pit.

"We are here, because I have realised that I need someone else to watch over me. I have come to appreciate that you cannot always be there. Like when you have wandered off to the Street of Silk. When you are hungover. Or when you are doing whatever else it is that you do when you disappear. This way, I will still have someone with me, when you are far too busy for your duties. And what place better to find a warrior than here." Tyrion explained, as he finally managed to squeeze past the legs of the other buyers, to stand at the wall.

"Ya joking right. The bastards from the pits are ruthless, emotionless, killers, that eat, sleep and breath death. Ya don't really think that ya can trust one of them ta watch over ya, without slitting ya throat, do ya?" Bronn asked in disbelief, as he looked down at the little lord.

"That is strange, because I have heard sellswords being described in exactly the same fashion. And I have had people tell me not to trust you either. That if someone offered you enough gold, you would quite happily slip my throat. So, perhaps if I get a fighter from here. If I promise them freedom, a home and gold, they will keep you from cutting my throat, just as you will keep them from it." Tyrion explained. The little man chuckling to himself, as Bronn grumbled, and crossed his arms.

"Just trust me, Bronn. I know what I am doing." Tyrion continued, as he and the rest of the crowd turned their attention to a man that stood on a podium. The scarred and weather male telling the mass of people, that the warrior they were about to see enter the arena, was the best that the inhabitants of Meereen. The inhabitants of anywhere, would ever see step foot into the fighting pits. And that anyone that wished to buy the warrior, would have to be prepared to pay a king's ransom for the privilege. A gate that had just opened, attraction Tyrion's attention. His brows furrowing as a darkly dressed, strongly built, yet still lithe looking figure appeared from out of the gloom. A strange, haunting helmet, that reminded the little man of the one that Sandor Clegane wore, preventing him from seeing the features of the warrior beneath.

"Gentlemen...........and ladies. I give to you the one and only, Se sȳndor morgho." The man on the stand announced grandly. The crowd around the little lord and his sellsword beginning to chant "MORGHO! MORGHO! MORGHO!" as the black clad fighter moved to the centre of the pit and dropped to their knee. Remaining still for a moment, before rising again, and nodding to the man on the podium.

"What the hell is going on? Who, or what the hell is Se sȳndor morgho?" Bronn asked. The crowd continuing to cheer and chant as the warrior swung their sword, as if slashing at an invisible opponent.

"Se sȳndor morgho means The Shadow of death in High Valyrian. That must be the name that they have given him. And morgho, means death. It seems obvious that the crowd thinks highly of whoever this man is. Perhaps I have found the one that I am looking for." Tyrion managed to explain over the din of the crowd.

"Yeah. Well, ya better wait ta see how this Shadow of death fights first, before ya start throwin ya gold around. Not above a slaver ta hype up one of their item fa sale, ta get a better price." Bronn replied. The crowd around the Westeros duo quieting once again, as the man held up his hands. All of them waiting for him to announce who the poor bastards were that would be losing their lives to Se sȳndor morgho that day.