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fandomweekly2020-10-10 10:27 am
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2020-10-10 10:27 am
Entry tags:
[#070] UNEASY ALLIANCE (GAME OF THRONES)
Theme Prompt: #70 - Networking
Title: Uneasy alliance
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jaime is less than impressed by the North and the men who shall be returning with him to King's Landing.
Jaime winced at the sourness of the wine from his cup as he sipped. It was no Dornish Red, and had all the hallmarks of being casked by a peasant, a little too much ash inside the barrels, not enough time left to mature. In short, it was cheap swill.
If he had thought that it would remove the taste of the other food presented to him, he'd been sorely mistaken. All it had done was add a swirling discomfort in his gut where the fat of several roasted pigs was already congealing. Seven courses and all of them had been far from what he was accustomed to eating in King's Landing, or anywhere for that matter. Everything had been cooked in endless amounts of animal fat, even the vegetables. Now they were bringing around an eighth course which appeared to be some sort of bread pudding, but also bubbling at the edges of the earthenware bowls with an excess of butter.
'They call this a great feast?' he asked, leaning closer to Ser Boros Blount who did not seem to be having the same trouble digesting the Northern fare. 'If Robert weren't so drunk he might have said this was an insult.'
Boros Blount skewered a glistening haunch of lamb, the meat falling away from the bone with barely any effort, before raising the point of his knife to his face and taking the whole huge chunk in one mouthful, chewing on it even as a little of the juices leaked from the side of his mouth. 'If Robert weren't so drunk,' he said, continuing to chew, 'he'd have been too busy decrying the lack of ale to worry about whether the food was any good.'
That was true enough, Jaime agreed. Robert was a drunken fool at the best of times, but here he had feasted upon everything set in front of him with alacrity, serving girls bosoms included. How Cersei could stomach it amazed him, her husband so openly ogling those whores in front of her. Robert would demand a bedding tonight but he'd be too drunk and too selfish to care whom he bedded. It would be in Jaime's interest to pay several of those serving girls to attend their King.
He pushed away his cup, unable to swallow another mouthful. Ale was what he needed. He'd asked an age ago for someone to bring him some, but they'd either forgotten or been told that the King's table wasn't to be served anything so common as ale. Surely it couldn't be worse than the wine. He pushed up from the table and Boros Blount's eyes followed him.
'Where are you going?'
'To find something decent to drink so I can keep drinking until I no longer remember we're here,' he replied. The sooner they returned to King's Landing and left this miserable wintry backwater, the better. The North might be larger than the other six kingdoms put together but that was where its greatness ended.
He spotted the next table down, where the lesser folk began to seat themselves in order of next most important to least important all the way back to the end of the hall. There wasn't anyone here Jaime knew, and none of them looked particularly important to him, but their table was laden with several jugs of ale and something that resembled baked apples, thankfully not swimming in a pool of lard. It almost looked edible.
'Ser Jaime,' a young man called to him. His face lit up but Jaime felt no flattery at the salutation. The man was combed and washed but still looked scruffy. Then again, Jaime could have said that about all of them. 'Please sit with us if it please you.'
Jaime somewhat reluctantly eased down onto the wooden bench, but was at least relieved when someone passed a large horn of ale to him. He took a deep swallow and was pleased to find it wasn't terrible. Apparently all the really unpalatable fare had been reserved for the guests of honor. Everyone nearby had turned their attention to him, a decorated knight among a sea of allies and hero worshippers he didn't care much for. They would make good fodder on the field of battle and that was about it, he expected.
'It's an honor to have you join us,' the young man said. 'It's been a long time since the Siege of Pyke.'
Jaime raised an eyebrow. The lad didn't look old enough. 'You were there?'
'We fought alongside you. Don't you remember?'
He'd tried to forget. Pyke was even more primitive than the North. All those idiots who drowned themselves trying to prove they were worthy of their so-called God. Would that they'd all drowned themselves and saved Robert's army the trouble. 'So many battles, so hard to keep track,' he blithely responded. 'You are...'
'Jory Cassel.'
'Cassel. A relation to Ser Rodrik?' He'd been forced to make the acquaintance of Winterfell's Master at Arms earlier. Whilst they were here he'd been instructed to ensure Joffrey continue his sword training whilst Ser Aros Santagar remained in King's Landing. The man was about twenty years past his best fighting as far as Jaime was concerned. Joffrey would make short work of him.
'Nephew,' Jory replied. 'We put them in their place though, didn't we?'
'Who?'
'The Greyjoys.'
'Oh. Yes.' He felt distracted, able to see the King even more clearly from this position. A pig really wasn't fit to rule.
'I've already received word that we're to head south and join Lord Stark as his guard.' Jory looked delighted at the prospect. 'I've never been that far south.'
He was in for a rude shock, Jaime thought, but at least they were both leaving this place. Hopefully never to return.
'I expect we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other.'
Jaime forced a smile. 'Yes.' He took a long draught of ale. It seemed he wouldn't be able to leave the North behind entirely.
Title: Uneasy alliance
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jaime is less than impressed by the North and the men who shall be returning with him to King's Landing.
Jaime winced at the sourness of the wine from his cup as he sipped. It was no Dornish Red, and had all the hallmarks of being casked by a peasant, a little too much ash inside the barrels, not enough time left to mature. In short, it was cheap swill.
If he had thought that it would remove the taste of the other food presented to him, he'd been sorely mistaken. All it had done was add a swirling discomfort in his gut where the fat of several roasted pigs was already congealing. Seven courses and all of them had been far from what he was accustomed to eating in King's Landing, or anywhere for that matter. Everything had been cooked in endless amounts of animal fat, even the vegetables. Now they were bringing around an eighth course which appeared to be some sort of bread pudding, but also bubbling at the edges of the earthenware bowls with an excess of butter.
'They call this a great feast?' he asked, leaning closer to Ser Boros Blount who did not seem to be having the same trouble digesting the Northern fare. 'If Robert weren't so drunk he might have said this was an insult.'
Boros Blount skewered a glistening haunch of lamb, the meat falling away from the bone with barely any effort, before raising the point of his knife to his face and taking the whole huge chunk in one mouthful, chewing on it even as a little of the juices leaked from the side of his mouth. 'If Robert weren't so drunk,' he said, continuing to chew, 'he'd have been too busy decrying the lack of ale to worry about whether the food was any good.'
That was true enough, Jaime agreed. Robert was a drunken fool at the best of times, but here he had feasted upon everything set in front of him with alacrity, serving girls bosoms included. How Cersei could stomach it amazed him, her husband so openly ogling those whores in front of her. Robert would demand a bedding tonight but he'd be too drunk and too selfish to care whom he bedded. It would be in Jaime's interest to pay several of those serving girls to attend their King.
He pushed away his cup, unable to swallow another mouthful. Ale was what he needed. He'd asked an age ago for someone to bring him some, but they'd either forgotten or been told that the King's table wasn't to be served anything so common as ale. Surely it couldn't be worse than the wine. He pushed up from the table and Boros Blount's eyes followed him.
'Where are you going?'
'To find something decent to drink so I can keep drinking until I no longer remember we're here,' he replied. The sooner they returned to King's Landing and left this miserable wintry backwater, the better. The North might be larger than the other six kingdoms put together but that was where its greatness ended.
He spotted the next table down, where the lesser folk began to seat themselves in order of next most important to least important all the way back to the end of the hall. There wasn't anyone here Jaime knew, and none of them looked particularly important to him, but their table was laden with several jugs of ale and something that resembled baked apples, thankfully not swimming in a pool of lard. It almost looked edible.
'Ser Jaime,' a young man called to him. His face lit up but Jaime felt no flattery at the salutation. The man was combed and washed but still looked scruffy. Then again, Jaime could have said that about all of them. 'Please sit with us if it please you.'
Jaime somewhat reluctantly eased down onto the wooden bench, but was at least relieved when someone passed a large horn of ale to him. He took a deep swallow and was pleased to find it wasn't terrible. Apparently all the really unpalatable fare had been reserved for the guests of honor. Everyone nearby had turned their attention to him, a decorated knight among a sea of allies and hero worshippers he didn't care much for. They would make good fodder on the field of battle and that was about it, he expected.
'It's an honor to have you join us,' the young man said. 'It's been a long time since the Siege of Pyke.'
Jaime raised an eyebrow. The lad didn't look old enough. 'You were there?'
'We fought alongside you. Don't you remember?'
He'd tried to forget. Pyke was even more primitive than the North. All those idiots who drowned themselves trying to prove they were worthy of their so-called God. Would that they'd all drowned themselves and saved Robert's army the trouble. 'So many battles, so hard to keep track,' he blithely responded. 'You are...'
'Jory Cassel.'
'Cassel. A relation to Ser Rodrik?' He'd been forced to make the acquaintance of Winterfell's Master at Arms earlier. Whilst they were here he'd been instructed to ensure Joffrey continue his sword training whilst Ser Aros Santagar remained in King's Landing. The man was about twenty years past his best fighting as far as Jaime was concerned. Joffrey would make short work of him.
'Nephew,' Jory replied. 'We put them in their place though, didn't we?'
'Who?'
'The Greyjoys.'
'Oh. Yes.' He felt distracted, able to see the King even more clearly from this position. A pig really wasn't fit to rule.
'I've already received word that we're to head south and join Lord Stark as his guard.' Jory looked delighted at the prospect. 'I've never been that far south.'
He was in for a rude shock, Jaime thought, but at least they were both leaving this place. Hopefully never to return.
'I expect we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other.'
Jaime forced a smile. 'Yes.' He took a long draught of ale. It seemed he wouldn't be able to leave the North behind entirely.
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All it had done was add a swirling discomfort in his gut — I particularly liked how you linked the wine to his discomfort. I feel like his line sums up Jaime as a whole.