Hers Is The Fury

Parley Requests

[Red Keep - Dungeons]

Bronn and Jaime were walking by the dragon skulls. Both men had sparring swords in their hand.

"We don't have time for this. We should be preparing the city for a siege. The Dothraki are coming." Jaime said.

"All the more reason for you to train. Unless you plan on fighting Dothraki twelve year olds."

"I seem to recall them giving you a bit of trouble as well."

"And here I am ready to train."

"Why down here?"

"I don't think you want people to see how you look swinging that thing yet."

"Today might be the day I kill you by accident."

"Oh, you won't be swinging it at me." Bronn stopped walking and held his torch out.

Tyrion stepped from around a pillar and looks at Jaime, who looked angrily at Bronn.

"I'll leave you to it." Bronn turned and walks away leaving Jaime and Tyrion alone.

"I needed to see you and I knew you'd nevr agree to meet."

Jaime remained silent and stared at Tyrion.

"You made me look like a complete fool. I thought I'd surprise you by hitting Casterly Rock, but you were three steps ahead of me. You abandoned the family home. Completely unsentimental. Father would have been proud."

"Don't talk about our father."

"Listen to me-"

"I once told Bronn that if I evr saw you again I'd cut you in half."

Tyrion glanced down at the sword in Jaime's hand.

The tension between them was palpable, like the weight of a thousand swords hanging over their heads.

It was hard to believe that these two men were brothers, born of the same blood. Their father, Lord Tywin Lannister, would be proud to see them like this - locked in a bitter struggle for dominance and power. But then again, perhaps not. For despite their shared lineage, Jaime and Tyrion were as different as night and day.

One was the golden child, a paragon of strength and courage. The other was the black sheep, a dwarf who had always been an embarrassment to their family name. And yet, despite their differences, they shared something deeper than blood or bone. They shared a history, a past full of pain and loss. They shared memories of a father who had never truly loved either of them, but had loved one more than the other.

Jaime could feel Tyrion's gaze burning into him, searching for some sort of weakness, some chink in his armor. But Jaime was used to withstanding such scrutiny. He had been training for it his entire life.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was something admirable about Tyrion. Despite being born a dwarf, despite being treated like garbage by their father, Tyrion had carved out a life for himself. He had proven himself to be clever, cunning, and resourceful. He had become the master of his own fate, in a way that Jaime never had.

It wasn't Tyrion's fault that he was born the way he was, but their father's treatment of him had always eaten away at Jaime, making him feel guilty for being the favored son.

And yet, deep down, Jaime couldn't help but envy Tyrion in some small way. He envied him for his resilience, for his ability to turn their father's hatred into fuel for his own ambition. He envied him for finding a way to survive in a world that was not built for him.

"I freed you," Jaime muttered. "I freed you, and you murdered our father."

"Do you want me to apologize? I won't. I'm not sorry for what I did. He was a horrible father, a horrible man. Everyone knew it."