Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Jon Snow, Jaime Lannister
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Word Count: 636
Words/Prompts Used: 4) a library, a snowstorm, the color pink
The sound of footsteps approaching is what first caught his attention.
Jaime sat huddled on the stone floor, his hands and feet tied together. The frozen air in his dark cell seeped into his bones. The snowstorm outside was determined to break its way into the caverns the Starks had turned into their prisonholds. Jaime had thought the Eyrie had its lock on dungeons. Turns out, they had nothing on Winterfell. He was hungry; he was filthy; he was freezing; and most of all, he was exhausted.
That didn't stop him from raising his head to check out his visitor though. If Jaime was going to die, he was determined to do it with dignity. To his surprise, however, none other than Jon Snow - King of the North and Gods Knew What Else - walked into his view.
Jon said nothing at first, just gazed upon Jaime through the iron gated door. Jaime desperately wanted to say something witty, but found he was just too tired to care. The boy he'd once mocked the last time he had been here had now become a man worthy of his respect. Jon now stood tall, even among men twice his size. Jaime had thought him a fool back in King's Landing. He knew now Jon was no fool. He was the only one who had kept his eye on the ball, refusing to play the game of thrones. Winter had indeed come, and the dead were coming with it. Jon was the only one who had prepared.
Jon nodded to the guard by Jaime's door. The guard opened up the gate and roughly pulled Jamie up. "If you wanted to dance, you only had to ask nicely," Jaime taunted the guard. The guard looked about ready to strike him when Jon finally spoke up.
"Remove his chains."
Both the guard and Jaime looked at Jon in shock. Jon betrayed no emotion. The guard knew to follow orders the first time though, and reluctantly took off Jaime's bindings. Jon then said, "Leave us." The man gave a slight bow, then left the two of them alone.
Jaime stood appraising Jon, as most assuredly Jon stood appraising him. "Well, Your Grace," Jaime drawled, "will it be swords or fists?"
"Neither," came the reply. "Follow me."
The silence unnerved Jaime as they walked. Jon led them out of the dungeon, through some winding passages, and up some stairs. Finally, Jaime could take no more. "Bold move, turning your back on me."
Jon approached a door and turned to the Kingslayer. "I need your help," Jon looked him squarely in the eyes. "You're here to help. Should I be afraid?"
The statement stunned him. Of all people, a Stark should not want a Lannister's help - let alone trust one. But then it turns out, Jon Snow is not a Stark.
"It's so obvious now," Jaime suddenly realized. "I can't believe I never saw it before. You're just like him."
Finally, Jaime saw a crack of emotion flit across the king's composure. Jon quickly recovered, and opened the door, allowing Jaime to step past him into the room.
It was a library, and to Jaime's relief, warmth emanated from the fire burning brightly in the large fireplace. The reds, yellows, pinks, and oranges of the flames cast a comforting glow across room. A massive table was situated prominently in the middle, and Jaime recognized immediately the map of Westeros that lay upon it. He walked over to the table to assess the positioning of the makeshift items being used to mark the movements of both living and dead.
"They've breached the wall?"
"Aye. The ravens we are receiving indicate they are moving at the pace of ten miles a day."
Jaime nodded, face grim. This was why he was here. "Let's talk strategy then."
