Game of Thrones || The Sword of the Morning

A Dance With a Dayne and a Dragon

~~Evelyn Dayne~~

Meereen. She's so close.

Daenerys is so close.

The masters have sent me to Meereen to partake in the apparent reopening of the fighting pits there. It makes sense Daenerys outlawed them but I wonder as to why she reopened them.

This is not the way I wanted to show up to Meereen. Ankles and wrists in shackles whilst some filthy fucking slave owner carries Dawn in his filthy bloodstained hands.

The mere thought just make me angry.

The master leads me along with several others past the Great Pyramid. Daenerys' Unsullied and her Second Son don't seem to be patrolling much of the streets considering there's supposedly the "Great Games" happening today. The masters must be pretty ballsy to lead slaves through open streets.

A sharp slash from the whip strikes my back again for the eighth time today. The one twenty-sixth this week. They don't like the fact that I won. Either that or they don't like me in general.

Another lash, another scar. But what's one more on this scarred body?

I groan as they lead us down where the gladiators are held before the match in the arena. I look around the room, seeing swords, axes, shields and all sorts of weapons on the table, many men already preparing themselves.

The room is somewhat dark as I look for any opponents I might struggle against in the pit. It surprises me to see a Dothraki here. It seems he's been doing this for a long time. His braids are almost as long as his arm.

Another man sits alone across the room, seemingly totally focused on the objective which we all have.

Live to die another day.

The master unlocks our shackles and takes them off. He looks at me with a glare before smirking, dropping Dawn and my other sword on the ground in front of me.

"You better win. I wagered a fortune on you."

He turns and leaves.

"I'll lose on purpose just to spite you."

I mumble, crouching to pick up my swords. It feels good to have them both in my hands again after the short separation.

I sheathe my regular sword on my waist before looking at Dawn with a smile. People would probably find it weird but I plant a soft kiss on the Valyrian like blade, sheathing it in my scabbard on my back.

I glance back at the lonely man in the corner as the crowds outside begin to cheer as two men, a small and a massive man, exit the room to to one or both of their deaths. He's looking right at me.

I step towards him, hand holding the hilt of my sword on my waist in case this man wants problems.

"What's with the staring, friend?"

I ask and I notice that the man seems a bit older. Too old to be doing this kind of fighting.

"Who are you?"

"Depends on who you are."

He replies simply and in scoff for a moment in amusement.