Game of Thrones: The Storm

S1E5 - The Wolf and The Lion

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That night in the Red Keep was probably the coldest one since you arrived back to the capitol. It reminded you of the few cool days that you spent in Winterfell.

You were out walking again, but when you looked down the corridor that Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella's rooms were, you didn't see anyone standing guard.

Slowly walking down the hallway, you listened for movement inside every one of their doors, just in case something was wrong, completely disregarding that someone could have been standing beside a pillar, shrouded in darkness, watching.

"You should be resting," a voice broke through the darkness as your head snapped to the direction of whoever was there. You recognized the voice though, even in your delirious and sleepless state, you could tell it was just none other than Jaime Lannister.

"I wish I could," you crossed your arms as you walked closer to where he stood. It was a smart spot, nobody would see him if they were coming from either side of the hall, especially with how dark it was.

"Perhaps you're troubled by what Gregor made of Ser Hugh. Seeing as you ran off with all three of the royal children afterwards." 

"I was comforting them," your expression turned sour at his jab. 

"I would expect the Laramie Storm, who I have heard nothing but bone chilling stories about, not to worry herself with the emotions of the royal children. We have septas for that," Jaime said sarcastically, fully knowing your patience was already thin. He never got to speak with you often, but he knew you had a short temper like your father. 

"And where was the Kingslayer during the joust... though I suppose a tournament is a young man's game. No old men for you to cut down." 

Jaime's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at your words. "Your father is a bad influence on you, Bastard." 

"Ouch," you said with a blank expression. "Such an insult." 

"Maybe baby killer is a better fit," his soft and sultry voice cut right through you when he said, 'baby killer.'

"You say it like I wanted too." 

"Nobody knows what you want, Storm. You're a shut book to everyone but the King and Lord Varys from the sounds of things. You could be as much a fraud as Ser Hugh." 

"Have you ever seen the fighting pits? Of course you've never been to Slaver's Bay, so how could you. Raised in the polished training yards of Casterly Rock, then the Red Keep." Pausing, you noticed him shift his weight, as if he wasn't ready for whatever reality you were about to throw in his face. 

"It's a strange thing," you paused before swallowing to prepare yourself. "More than half of the men who went into the pits had never wielded a weapon in their life. The ones who did know... the champions, were either set free or disposed of after winning over and over... people started getting bored, fights lacked the luster they once did."

He studied the expression you held. Your sightly agape eyes, the way you shook your head when you spoke. Your body stood still though, as if you were a statue. He couldn't tell if this revelation was hard for you to talk about, or if you actually enjoyed it.

"Then came the bastard daughter of the mighty King Robert Baratheon. The Stag with Fangs," you said, the name you earned in the pits rolling off your tongue. "You shoulda seen it... the entire stadium was packed as full as it could be every time I fought, just so a few Masters could watch me cut down their slaves and captured Dothraki. Even a pair of leopards for a bit more of a contest. Cleaning my own cuts and wounds. Being chained in secluded rooms away from anyone else, being beaten if I did not obey. Starved, burned, drowned, humiliated in any way they knew how... and I still won. Every. Single. Time." Your head tipped back a bit as your eyes started getting glossy. Your eyes darted around his armor again before landing on his eyes one final time. The small, forced smile you spoke with was now completely gone.