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a farewell to feud

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https://funkyimg.com/i/359eA.png

[icon]https://funkyimg.com/i/359ex.png[/icon][nick]Jaime Lannister[/nick]

Отредактировано Jason (2020-12-20 17:30:07)

+7

2

you fool.
you fucking idiot.
you moron.
you must be the stupidest lannister, jaime.
they were telling the truth, now jaime sees it clearer than ever before. the deck of the merchant ship waves under his feet—and it feels like the ground continues waving even after he sets his foot on shore, even after he wanders long and narrow streets of meereen in a bid to find her.
what a fool he is, what an idiot, the stupidest lannister this family has ever seen.
he's covered hundreds of miles just to see her—her, who certainly will execute him the second she sees his face. at the end of the day, he is jaime lannister, the kingslayer, the one who murdered aerys targaryen, while she is the overseas queen, beloved and worshiped daenerys targaryen, aerys's daughter.

meereen was loud, it was boiling and deafening and it was shouting him in the ears in hundreds of languages and dialects.
"you fool, you idiot, you moron", jaime could hear the city chant.

slippin' through dreamland
THAT FIRST FRIEND YOU HAD THAT WORST THING YOU SAID THE PERFECT MOMENT THE LAST TEAR YOU SHED

he can still remember visiting the mines.
it was just the suitable work for him, the father reckoned. tywin always knew best and he knew, that jaime wasn't made for high politics. he was made to be a marionette, a lover for his powerful and passionate sister (basically a marionette too) and maybe as a handsome facade of the family—just perfect to attend any kind of boring and pointless events, just like the annual mines examination, while the other lannisters are busy hewing their way to the crown and planning on how to kill some of their own siblings.
he hoped, though, that he's made a good brother for tyrion.

it was a hot and windless day, and the stiff collar of his white, decorated with gold uniform felt like strangling him. still not as bad as cersei's thin fingers could feel on his throat.
they spent a whole day, inspecting the golden mines, lannisters' former glory. a pointless waste of time, really. the mines, half closed, half deserted were only working at a half of their capacity, if not less. their family's pot of gold, almost empty by now. one could already see the bottom of it. walls, covered in golden dust.
dust was all that was left. (jaime dusted off the white of his kingsguard uniform).

dust is everywhere.
he feels it with his feet, hastily running along the streets of meereen. he feels it on his palms when he accidentally touches a wall or an outdoor stand with exotic sweets. he feels it in his mouth.
jaime dusts off the shirt he's wearing now, nothing like the uniform he used to wear in kingslanding. it's old, worn out and soaked with his sweat. somehow these old and dirty clothes make him feel more free and more of a human, than he's ever felt near cersei.

he tilts his head back, and instantly falls into the sky, as if it were ocean. the sky is endless, too. and tremendously blue—just like the ocean waters. jaime wonders if he can drown there.
but the crowd doesn't let him, he's pinched, yelled at and pushed out of the way.
he has to get back. he's not there yet.
the day is boiling and windless, but jaime can finally breathe.

he will remember it, standing in front of the dragon queen.
he'll think, "at least i had a chance to live and breathe as an average man before i die".

he will wonder at how petite she actually is, this dragon queen and how calm she is, looking at him.
he will wonder, if she's imagining him with an anelace, stabbing her father in the back.
he will wonder, what she's going to tell him, because she will have been examining him for many long minutes already, making him slightly shiver.

you are a fool, jaime lannister, jaime thinks to himself. running away from your family, crossing the ocean incognito, with no weapon, with no self-esteem and only one hand, isn't that foolish?
they were right, all of them. he's been a bloody idiot doing stupid things his whole life.
now at least he's looking daenerys targaryen in the eyes. the woman, who has more rights to hate him than anyone else.

the silence gets tighter and more difficult to stand, just like the bondage on his wrists. jaime surrendered to her guard himself, and they decided it'd be reasonable to tie his hands (if only he had two). the throbbing pain slowly but steadily sets his stump on fire, and it suddenly seems hilarious.
though jaime doesn't laugh, he's hypnotized by the look of daenerys's eyes and the slight smirk on her lips.

he wonders, if she's going to burn him without warning.

he is a fool, oh he is.
a fucking idiot.[icon]https://funkyimg.com/i/359ex.png[/icon][nick]Jaime Lannister[/nick]

Отредактировано Jason (2020-12-20 17:30:17)

+4

3

And what shall we make ourselves from today? A memory, a seedling, a word?
What can we hold up to the light and find despair has not yet touched?

he looks like a tramp, and they said he used to be golden. gold, gold, gold, solid gold.
they still love him. even in chains. even covered with dirt, sweat and dust.
they said tywin lannister shits gold. same goes to his children.
and he looks like a tramp, he doesn’t look like a lion at all, the tired shadows around his eyes.
he used to be murderous, and here he is - he looks so lost.
don’t let it fool you. he is a lanister, and lannister always pay theirs debts.
the golden lion of lannister owes daenerys targaryen, the last of the dragons, hella lot.
daenerys tilts her head, and it might look as if she was staring. well. she is staring.
there is a really long list of things she could ask him.
she’s not in a hurry.
she keeps watching him.

rewind a few moments.
jaime lannister was basically dragged in here, and you couldn’t be graceful while at it, you can’t be beautiful.
somehow he managed, standing tall as ever, his head is golden, he’s tired, he’s lost, he’s far from whatever things kept him alive.
they said he turned himself in.
why?

- leave us alone,
daenerys hears herself say, and she bets he smells like sun, like sea, she adores the sea and she misses it like she misses breathing, she bets he smells like sweat and blood, still blood, and you could never distinguish between the targaryen blood on his hands and any other.
funny thing.
people around her whispering, jorah, her knight is here, quick to support and to protect, ‘are you sure you want to be left alone with him’
she shrugs, - he’s tied. he’s unarmed, - she studies jaime, - quite literally. what kind of queen would i make if i was afraid of a caged lion? you can stay, i suppose. you’ve heard enough of him.

and she watches as her people leave them, she watches him, and how dare he, indeed, showing up here like that? how dare he? looking at her. not even bothering to avoid the eye-contact.
how dare he?
he doesn’t look like a lion. at all.
- we skip the introduction part, i think, - she says, her voice almost quiet.
she’s quiet. and it’s a familiar kind of quiet, of course, a quiet before another storm.
viserys couldn’t shut up about him. he took their father's life. a final blow to the family's well-being. but was it? really?
people around her couldn’t shut up about him.
- what brings you there, ser jaime? they say i should do you justice. pay you back what you did to my father without further interrogation. but we’re not in a hurry, are we?
she hates the ropes. honestly. the chains. she hates it. even on the murderer.
she could order to untie him, of course. but we have time. all the time in the world. he doesn't know it yet.
- i have a question for you.
and she worries on her bottom lip, and damn it, she shouldn’t be nervous.
am i insane?
am i a prophet?
and the line, oh, the line is really thin.

- what did my father say when you stabbed him in the back?
and she knows. she’d seen it in her dreams. those terrible delirious dreams.
jaime was glowing in there. they found him sitting on her father’s throne – hers now. rightfully. still covered in blood, and still he was golden, golden, golden, he was divine. her father was a very old, blind, dying dragon. he was dead long before she was born. long before she was even conceived.
what did he say indeed?
the same thing he’s been saying for hours or so they told her. the same thing he repeats looking straight into her face in those dreams. the same thing that makes her stare at the ceiling for hours after she wakes up.
burn them all.
she wants her confirmation.

think twice.
he doesn’t look like a lion at all.
then again. he probably thinks the same about her dragon heritage.
fine, daenerys thinks, we’ll wait.

[icon]https://funkyimg.com/i/359ew.png[/icon]

Отредактировано Daenerys Targaryen (2020-05-30 17:01:29)

+4

4

he knows, what she probably sees in him. a lannister, a lion, who lost it's paw. hid it's claws and came creeping, looking for... for what?
what was he looking for?
getting off into the see, seeking through the streets of free cities. listening to what cailleaches  in braavos and myr where telling him, looking into the flames in pentos and volantis. what was he looking for? coming back to the lannisport, stepping back into the kingslanding. putting his uniform on, taking his armor off. looking his beloved in the eyes, looking catelyn stark in the eyes.
he was looking for something, everywhere, around every corner, running further and further.
now he is looking the dragon queen in the eyes—and he for sure wouldn't be able to withdraw his eyes. even if she ordered him to.
he looks her in the eyes and strangely feels nauseous. as if he were seasick finally setting his foot ashore. as if he were running for so very long and can finally see the finishing line.
has he found what he's been looking for?

when he was little, his nanny used to tell them bedtime stories about dragons and children of the forest. about trees that could see and ravens that could foretell the future and recall the past. cersei hasn't been really impressed bu these stories, she preferred the ones where she was the queen and the golden lioness. jaime, though, always paid attention to these stories. he would then retell his little brother tyrion all the tales he's heard. about the third-eye ravens, about the long winter and about the dragons that can burn half a world with one breath.
he never could've expected to meet a dragon.
how come, that he's known two of them and killed one—and was supposed to kill the second one, too.

how come, that he doesn't fear her?

this does feel like a finishing line, a place where he can confess his sins—oh he has a plenty of them—and maybe even get the atonement.

she is quiet—not in a threatening way, though.
she is quiet, because she doesn't need to shout to be heard.
people, surrounding her: her knights, her advisors, her bloodriders—all grown up men, all twice as big and strong as she is, they all kissed the rod.
she is quiet—she is a quiet and weak girl. however there's nothing weak around her.

jaime suddenly remembers aerys screaming. how his eyes blazed with fury, how his hands shook, how he screamed.
burn them all.
burn them all.
jaime still hears him screaming these words—he was just a boy, he was just seventeen. and his king, whom he has vowed to protect and serve in the name of all the living, of all the common people and the noble men, his king went completely mad, screaming

"burn them all", jaime says. his voice is suddenly loud in the empty hall. "he said, 'burn them all', your grace. he'd been saying for several hours already. he said, burn them all. burn them in their houses, in their beds, in the streets. burn, he would repeat. burn them. burn them all". jaime closed his eyes, unable to look at daenerys anymore. he was there again, in the great hall of the red keep. he saw aerys again. he was there again, scared and lost. he was a boy, and his king was mad. "and then i stabbed him the back, your grace. you are right. i stabbed him, the king i gave my oath to protect. i break my oath and stabbed the king aerys ii targaryen, your father, in the back. when he fell on the ground, his blood spilled on the floor, he continued to whisper—for he couldn't shout anymore—he continued to whisper the same three words. burn. them. all".

jaime can remember his blood, covering the marble of the floor. he looked at his blood—dark, dark red blood of a man. looked like an ocen. jaime was looking at it for some time that felt like eternity. he was tired, gods, he was so tired. he looked at the ocean of blood he spilled on the floor and didn't know how to cross it. he was so tired—he still is so tired, even after he crossed dozens of oceans—and he just wanted to rest.

he finally dares to look at daenerys again. in her face he finds a hint of something—something he's been looking for all these years.

"i am sorry, your grace, that i killed your father and therefore drew you in so much pain and so many sufferings. but i do not and will never regret killing the mad king. for he was a madman your grace, he was a madman who wanted to burn the whole city to the ashes. would you be able to serve your king if he ordered you something like that?"

who was he, to come here and tell her that?
who was he to dare that?

just a man, alone, with one hand.
a man looking for his penalty.
[icon]https://funkyimg.com/i/359ex.png[/icon][nick]Jaime Lannister[/nick]

Отредактировано Jason (2020-12-20 17:30:29)

+1


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