To epitomize the world in which we live, we must first step back and remember that we are flawed.
But to understand the world in which we live, we must recognize that man realizes just this: the good exploit the flaws and the wicked jeopardize their...
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King's Landing has changed, in more ways than just the different skyline—ash where there once was the Sept—but also the people whose cries do not sound but a silence of paramount breadth takes hold of them even as they travel through the avenues and towards the Dragonpit. And yet, this monument of enormous histories—host of Gabrielle's early years as a child wanderer—is not so different from what she remembers in that long-ago past, an ancient reminder that perhaps history is not foreign, but perhaps more lasting than current political reality. But only she and her oldest friends could see such a thing—Tyrion, Sandor, Varys—while the rest gape and gaze in awe of the arising relic with no knowledge of the horror most persistent to this era and the dangers lurking around every corner, even if the dragons are gone.
She walks beside Jon in their rather lengthy procession led by Tyrion and Missandei as the Hound, three wolves, and the cart—caging the wight—take the rear. Their ears are filled with the sounds of gravel beneath their feet and the shush of leather brushing between their thighs as they move closer, but in essence, it is replaced by the sound of loud and proper armor as a rank of Lannister troops meets them at the crossroads with a familiar face at their front and followed by two distinctly less red.
"Welcome, my lords," Bronn greets them, but even the most chatty patrons he's known do not impart their own welcome greetings to this hellhole of a capital. And even the sounds of gravel can no longer mask the tense silence, prompting Bronn to quickly turn to Brienne and Pod behind him without due pause, "Your friends arrived before you did. I've been sent to escort you all to the meeting."
Watching slowly, Tyrion stiffly nods for the Dothraki to follow after the Lannister soldiers as two groups merge into one united mass of greater Essosi and Northern guard. But unlike the other two of her previous trio, Gabrielle stays towards the middle of the group with every intent to stay at Jon's side and watch the wolves safety at her back. Few of the men look tempted to approach the massive direwolves who dwarf the mule, but she would not undermine Cersei's certain insanity at such a stunt as this. Although she ought to be more concerned about the dragons.
"Will you sit with me or Queen Daenerys?" Jon asks as rocks crunch beneath his feet, and she turns to him with a twinkle in her eye that forgoes any sort of tension between them.
"You, of course," she quips with loosened tongue but lighter breath of almost a whisper. "Where else would your fictional fiancee sit?"
Jon raises an eyebrow at her tongue, "Fictional?"
"Aye," she nods mischievously as her chin juts upward confidently, "I've received no favor from you."
"You've received many favors from me," Jon grins as his voice becomes a whisper and she almost laughs, choosing merely to instead impart, "Cheeky prick."
He intends to address that innuendo as well, but before Jon can even look to the flush on her cheek, Jorah turns from ahead of them with a blunt expression, "As engrossing as this is, I'm meant to remind you of the weather."
