The Prince of Thorns

🌹Lions Den🌹

Alester sat upon a fallen pillar, a jagged remnant of the ruined Dragonpit. Once, the stone had held up the weight of dragons. Now it held only a weary man with too much in his heart.

The sky above was a dull grey, clouds hanging low over King's Landing. Wind whispered through the broken bones of the dome, rustling ash and dust in lazy spirals. Alester's eyes were fixed on the Red Keep, perched high on the hill like a vulture watching over the city. His gaze lingered, as if the castle might answer him. Or as if she might appear.

Footsteps approached from the left.

"Do you mind?" Jorah Mormont asked, motioning toward the broken pillar.

"Please," Alester said, waving a hand without turning his eyes away.

Jorah sat with a quiet grunt, letting his old bones settle on the cold stone. For a moment, neither man spoke. They sat shoulder to shoulder in stillness, the war hanging between them, unspoken.

Alester's thoughts were far from battle plans. Every brick of the Red Keep brought her closer—Myrcella, behind those walls, yet unreachable.

Jorah followed his gaze. "It's not easy, is it? Being close to someone you can't touch."

Alester said nothing.

"I was married once, you know," Jorah continued, voice low and weathered. "To your aunt. Lynesse."

"I know," Alester replied, still not looking at him.

"She was beautiful," Jorah went on, his tone a blend of fondness and regret. "Too beautiful for Bear Island. Too beautiful for me."

Alester slowly turned to face him.

"I loved her," Jorah said. "And I lost her. Not because I didn't love her enough, but because I loved her poorly. I tried to give her what she wanted. Lavish things always."

"She left because you didn't give her enough?" Alester said.

"She did," Jorah admitted. "To Lys. She never looked back."

Alester finally dropped his gaze from the Keep, eyes settling on the broken stones at his feet.

"My mother always said she was an arrogant woman who thought herself a queen," Alester said at last, voice tinged with something caught between scorn and sorrow.

Jorah gave a short breath through his nose. "She wasn't wrong. Lynesse carried herself like one. Even when she was just a girl on a rocky island, she wore that pride like silk."

Alester looked at him now. "And yet you loved her."

"Aye," Jorah said quietly. "And I lost everything trying to keep her happy. My name. My honor. My home." He paused, then added softly, "Your mother was a kind woman."

Alester looked surprised. He hadn't known Jorah had met her in person. "You met her?"

Jorah nodded. "Once or twice. Your father was quite lucky."

Alester's gaze dropped, touched by the unexpected kindness in Jorah's words. The weight of memory pressed on them both, the silence stretching like the shadow of the Red Keep overhead.

"I see her up there," he murmured. "Every stone reminds me of her. Every shadow makes me think she might step into the light. But she doesn't."

Jorah didn't speak. He understood silence better than most.

"If Cersei has her locked up," Jorah said softly, "then that means she chooses you, not her mother."

Alester's gaze shifted to Jorah, noting the quiet tension in the older man's posture.