BLUE MOON ; Jaime Lannister

chapter twenty-six ; "discontentment."

Blue M O O N

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ꜱɪx ; "ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ."

THE DREAM - THE VISION, WHATEVER IT WAS, HAD NOT ENDED WITH THE FALLING. In the darkness, voices whispered to her as Jenny fell - some would chant, some would scream. All different things, in foreign tongues, all distorted. Sometimes in the darkness, images would appear to her - blurred to her wind-whipped face. It felt as if she was far beneath the surface of water, the pressure building against her head as she plummeted deeper and deeper below.

Bound hands with nuptial lace, stained in blood. A goblet of sparkling gold, overspilling with frothing crimson the shade of wine. A tower in the sand, the red mountains of Dorne at its back. A viper was being squeezed with the hand of a giant until its eyes bulged out of its skull and popped. A shadow of a winged beast flying over the city of King's Landing. An intricate crown of gold with a butterfly tickling the metal, then it fell from a tower and smashed into the ground.

With every image, there were screams and terrified cries in her ears - growing louder with everything she saw, until silence. Not even the whispers tormented Jenny, it was just soundless. That was worse than any of the screaming.

Then she saw it, a ship sailing on dark waters. It was a big ship and Jenny could tell it had once been lavish, yet the wood on the surface had been chipped and corroded from the salt water. It glided through the foam that lapped at it, trying to attack the deck - but the sea failed miserably every time. At the ship's bow, a man stood, his white cape billowing behind him; it was unmistakable to Jenny, she knew who this man was.

With floppy white hair, a stern beard and a moustache to match - new wrinkles adorned his face and his pale eyes were tired and haunted. He was as pale as milk glass, cheekbones hollow and his frame frail, this was not the man who she had remembered. He looked like he had seen things that the eyes of men should not; something unholy. Under his arm, Valtheos Daemadar clutched onto a book, and in his hand was a sword that was not his own. Its pommel was the shape of a lion, the blade glinted with dangerous hidden dark swirls - this was valyrian steel.

In the distance, Jenny could see the silhouette of the Red Keep. It loomed down onto the bay, shadowing her Father's face and only his eyes were in colour. She realised nobody else was on board - a ghost ship, floating into King's Landing. He was all alone. How had he managed to sail back by himself? Where had he gone?