Lya sat at the fighting pits with a grumble. She had hated the idea of the pits since the beginning. She didn't want to watch men shower each other in blood for glory. Lyanna loved a good fight, maybe not as much as she used to, but still. This was not fighting. It was butchery.
Daenys stuck to her like they had been attached with needle and thread. She half stood and half sat next to her. Always ready for a fight as she felt the anxiety from her Lya. Staying against her black leather pants until her dark fur blended in. Lya wore a blouse, the color of Daenerys' dress. Their silent reminder that they were one while no one else knew. Even Daario did not know of their love. Jorah did, Lya thought, he had figured it out. But that did not matter now. Missandei had pulled her hair into tight braids until her scalp stung. But still they did not hurt as the southern styles used to.
"Where have you been?" Dany hisses as Hisdahr sat down to her right. For some reason this annoyed Lya. That was her spot. Though now she sat directly to the Queen's left. It was nice to have Missandei by her side. The Naath woman a delight for Lya. She found a child like nature in the woman that reminded her of Arya while she had a sharp and thoughtful mind like Jon. Her siblings. Well sibling.
That was another thing Lya chose to keep in the back of her mind. Her place was here right now. Soon, she thought, soon they would go home. And soon she would have her revenge. "Just making sure everything's in order." Hizdahr's voice brought her from her thoughts. Rather than dwell, she looked out at the fighting pits. They were covered with House Targaryen sigils. Lyanna watches as an announcer steps to the middle of the pit and waves his arm to silence the crowd.
"Free citizens of Meereen! By the blessings of the Graces and her majesty the Queen, welcome to the Great Games!" The Announcer raises his hands and the crowd begins to roar. Lya notices the look of disgust on Daenerys' face. She shared it. Even Missandei felt their dislike. "My queen, our first contest. Who will triumph: the strong or the quick?"
"I fight and die for your glory, oh glorious queen." The man deemed quick says. The words seemed ominous. Like a prayer left unanswered.
"I fight and die for your glory, oh glorious queen." The strong one speaks next, starring at the Queen. The crowd is silent.
"They're waiting for you," Hizdahr mutters. "Clap your hands." Daenerys looks down at the two men. After a moment, and with a look of distaste on her face, she claps her hands. The crowd roars and they start fighting. After some parries, the Quick man slices at the Strong man's neck.
"That one, the smaller man, no question, that's where you should put your money." Daario says, pointing at the quick man.
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"The smaller man it is." Tyrion says, seemingly neutral at the whole experience.
"I'm not putting my money anywhere." Daenerys shakes her head, watching with lips pulled in disgust.
