Game of Thrones: The Storm

S3E3 - Walk of Punishment

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"But the Stag with Fangs shied away from the lion's roar." 

Lady Olenna's words played in your head as you walked back through the halls of the Red Keep. They only seized when you got to your room, and you laid eyes on your twin swords, placed on the trunk at the foot of your bed. 

"Malora," you called as you continued to stare at your weapons. The tips of your fingers tingled for their feeling. Your back felt open and exposed without them strapped to your back. 

What a strange feeling for you. To yearn to disobey orders when the consequences for your actions were laid out very simply. 

As you stood there in the middle of your room, deadpan staring at your swords, the taste of iron filled your tastebuds as you bit the inside of your cheek. Malora had already entered the room, talking to you even though you weren't listening. 

"Laramie." 

You snapped your head to look around when you heard your name. When you turned to Malora, she looked to be shining the silverware on your table. 

"Did you say something, Malora?" You asked with slightly furrowed brows as she looked up at you. 

"Only asked if you wanted to see the new dress they finished this afternoon," she stated as you shook your head subconsciously. 

"No... I'm fine," you answered hesitantly, looking over at the trunk where your leathers and armor were stored. Your hand slowly grabbing ahold of your antler necklace and rubbing the smooth cold metal. 

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That night you lie awake, staring at the ceiling. You weren't nervous, and you weren't overtly sad about anything, but for some reason your body rejected the notion of sleep. 

"The smartest thing your father did was send you away to Astapor," Lord Tywin's words seemed to whisper in one ear, while Lady Olenna's words sang in your other. "That man did you the worst disservice in the history of parenting, even if you were just a bastard. Sent you to Astapor knowing how they treat the Unsullied, knowing how they treated little girls and women in Slaver's Bay."

You glanced over at the trunk across your bed chambers that contained your leathers and armor. Your swords, which were placed on top of the trunk, seemed to call out to you. A part of the steal poked out from the sheath, glimmering in the moonlight. 

"You will be required to leave all armor and blades in your chambers during small council meetings."

"And if I see you in those outlandish and provocative armor and leathers again, I'll have you whipped. And cover those scars on your arms." 

You continued to stare at the swords the more his words seared into your brain. Your expression turning with every passing second as the wind outside the Red Keep started to pick up, and thunder could be heard in the distance. 

"Fuck Tywin Lannister," you said under your breath as you pushed your covers off of yourself. 

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Tywin stood stoically as he waited for the rest of the small council to enter the Tower of the Hand's chamber, the new location where he felt the small council should be held. One hand rested on the back of his chair as Lord Varys, Littlefinger, and Maester Pycelle all filed into the room. 

For a moment, the three small council members just looked between each other as if they didn't know what to do or expect, until Tyrion appeared behind them. 

Slowly, while staring down his son who wore a smug expression, Tywin finally decided to sit down, making the other small council members move to take their own seats at the new table.