The Sun And The Spear (Game Of Thrones)

Chapter IV - Lewyn

Blood And Fire

Myr was a shithole.

Lewyn had thought so the last time he had visited the Quarrelsome Daughter of the Free Cities. And that was before it had been torn apart by war against it's sisters of Lys and Tyrosh. Yes, he was convinced that Myr was indeed a shithole. But, deep within him, the inner warrior was alive. The sellsword he had used to be wanted nothing more than to take his spear and begin to cut down whichever cunt stood between him and a big bag of gold.

"Remember the last time we were in Myr?" Edric asked as he moved to walk beside his friend. Lewyn nodded as a smile bloomed across his face. Perhaps Myr wasn't as bad as he thought.

"What was his name? That nobleman's son?" Lewyn asked. Edric laughed at the memory, "Bellodos?"

"That's the one!" Lewyn said with a grin. He remembered the nights of passion they had shared at the man's home. And how Lewyn had callously impaled Bellodos with a spear merely days later. "He was impressive in the bedroom. Less so on the battlefield."

"I still remember the look on his face when you put your spear through his stomach," Edric said, trying his best to imitate the face. Lewyn burst out laughing, shaking his head at the poor impression.

"If you two are done with the trip down memory lane," Ser Gerris interrupted. He gestured ahead, where two men wearing golden armour rode towards them. One of them carried a banner of pure gold, with no designs or devices emblazoned upon it. The banner of the Golden Company.

"Who goes there?" The other man asked, one hand on his sword as the other man tightened his hold on the banner. Lewyn thought he could take him on, even if the man was on a horse. "I don't recognise your banners."

"I think the black serpent is enough to recognise them," Lewyn said. The banners that were flying behind them were Lewyn's personal banners instead of House Nymeros Martell's. It was the same, except for the addition of a black serpent wrapped around the spear and sun. "Tell Captain Strickland that the Prince of Snakes is here and he shall not take kindly if he is made to wait."

The bannerless rider nodded and turned his horse around, riding off into the distance as his steed kicked up dirt around them. Lewyn let out a sigh, crossing his hands as he looked at the other rider. The man's features were hidden beneath his helmet, but from what Lewyn could see, he wasn't someone he knew.

"Have you been with the Golden Company for long?" Edric asked, seemingly following the same chain of thought as Lewyn. The man shook his head.

"Two years."

"Hmm," Lewyn replied before the group fell into silence. No one spoke for a long while, an awkwardness settling over them as they awaited the return of the other rider. The Martell prince's hand came to rest on the scimitar at his hip, ready to draw the sword if he needed to.

"You're Dornish," The rider said eventually. Lewyn nodded, looking up at the man. Most of the Golden Company came from Westeros; exiles and misfits who had fled the homeland to do the only thing they were good at - killing. And, the Martell Prince's time with the sellsword company had taught him that few things were as dangerous as a powerful army looking to get paid.

"What gave it away?"

"Your accent is odd for a man of Westeros," The man said. Lewyn shook his head, that wry grin plastered across his lips, "Have you ever considered that to us, it is the rest of Westeros with odd accents?"

"Fair enough." The man turned at the sound of galloping hooves. On instinct, the men of the serpent's company placed their hands on their swords and covered the unarmed Maester Myles, preparing for an ambush. Lewyn was impressed by the synchronisation of the movement. Their time at sea together had turned them into a unified group, in tune with the others.